#maybe the more bizarre the name the better off you are

[fauna-and-floraa]

Love idol groups who have just the most fucked names like imagine you're about to debut and you get told your groups going to be called kis-my-ft2 prounced kiss my foot 2. Like okay. Sure. I guess.

[midnighvtm4ss]

Rosemary

Summary: After finding out Arthur’s secret you soothe your aching heart with a nice girls night out drinking in Rhodes. Unfortunately for you your problems seem to follow you everywhere. part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

AO3 link (a better rewritten version of this fic on ao3)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Content: angst, hurt/no comfort, nothing a girls night out cannot cure ;) grammar errors for sure :(

a/n: I know you guys all wanted part 2 to be their happily ever after but,, I crave some more angst so yeah it gets messyy !! But nonetheless our girl gets some fun with the girls and some more information about Arthur and Mary’s hush hush meetings. Let me know your thoughts about it and if you sweets want part 3 !! P.S. I recommend you listen to “Rosemary” by Sierra Ferrell while reading. It’s so so good, it also kinda inspired this little fanfic here <33 (gif from pinterest)

“G’mornin’ sweet girl” Arthur groggily whispered against your neck giving you a light kiss, the movement causing the thick hair of his beard to tickle the space between your neck and your shoulder, before rolling out of bed with a tired groan, the mattress shifting under his movements unlike your unmoving form.

After your late night discovery of not one, not two but a whole drawer full of your boyfriend’s ex-fiancé letters it was safe to say that sleep didn’t come easy for you. As much as you wanted for all of this to be a dream, to close your eyes, wake up and sigh of relief laughing about the ‘bizarre dream’ you had with your Arthur while cuddling under the soft protection of the thick bed sheets, reality decided to slap you right in the face instead, leaving you awake all night trying to hold onto all the broken pieces of your heart.

During your sleepless night you wandered to yourself your next move. Should you just throw everything into his face revealing to him that you knew that the ‘sorry fellow’ of the letter was, in reality, his ex fiancé and yell at him as soon as he wakes up or wait and find out more before confronting him ? Considering the fact that you couldn’t properly read, you just had Mary’s name on various envelopes as evidence. Maybe they’re catching up on each other’s life. Just harmless conversations.

Although your heart screamed at you to just confront him first thing in the morning you knew that with what little evidence you had you would just cause a scene. You needed to go deeper into this story. As much as I’d hurt you needed to know for sure if you wasted three years of your life going after a man whose heart had already been claimed a long time ago.

You brushed off Arthur’s affection muttering a quick tired ‘morning’ before stretching your limbs out and leaving the tent, ignoring the man behind you still sitting on the bed looking at you with a puzzled expression at the lack of your usual loving greeting. Even though you two had the biggest tent in camp, aside for Dutch, it felt claustrophobic being in there with him. You needed space to think, to breathe, to not hurt.

The fresh breeze of October grounding you from your spiraling thoughts as you walked towards the pot of coffee on the fire near Pearson’s tent.

“Well look who’s here in all her glory” a voice, which you recognized as Karen’s by the thick accent, basically yelled at you over the nearby round table.

“You look like you fought a damn herd of buffalos Miss. What the hell are you an’ that old man doing in the night” she cackled at the last sentence gesturing you to join her at the table. Seated on her left Tilly shook her head sending you a sympathetic look.

“Are you already drunk ? Why are you so loud for, it’s seven in the morning” you grumbled in your mug of coffee as you took a sip, instantly cringing at the burnt taste that filled your mouth before sitting down with them.

“I’m happy to inform you that I haven’t had a sip since yesterday at lunch” she smiled smugly lifting her chin up at her achievement.

“That’s ‘cause we haven’t seen Miss Grimshaw yet. Bet you by the end of the day you’d kill for a little bit of booze after that woman.” Tilly said fixing the buttons on her yellow blouse, her words reminding you of the long day ahead of you, making you mentally shiver. It wasn’t exactly that you dreaded the woman, after all, you all knew she cared about you in her own twisted way but her attitude didn’t help with making the camp’s chores more tolerable. It seemed like the warmer weather of Lemoyne was putting everyone on edge.

After a few minutes of Karen and Tilly arguing on what was the worst chore to do around camp Abigail and Mary Beth’s dainty figure joined your small group, Mary Beth’s eyes briefly locking on yours before greeting the other girls. You couldn’t quite understand the meaning behind that look but something told you that at some level she knew something about the letters. That possibility made you nauseous to even think of because it would mean that Mary Beth, the girl who always put a smile on your face, the one who always had your back ended up covering for your cheating partner. You needed to know the truth and you needed it now. But before you could even mutter a word to her Karen called your group to attention.

“Gals, I don’t know about y’all but if I stay just one more moment in this godforsaken camp I’m gonna lose my mind.” her statement gaining a few nods and grunts among your group. With the unnecessary gunfight in Valentine leading you all to move further away from the West and this absurd play at sheriffs in town, tension was undeniably high around camp. “I heard from a handsome fella I met in town that there’s going to be some famous lady from Saint Denis singing at the saloon this evening. Heard also there’s going to be some rich folks from Saint Denis with her. Are y’all thinking the same thing I’m thinking ?”

there was a moment of silence as Karen looked at everyone with gleaming eyes.

“Hells know I need a break from this. I’m in” Tilly was the first who broke the silence followed by Mary Beth, the two girls earning a big smile from Karen.

“I don’t know, I have Jack and,” Abigail never had a chance to finish the sentence as Karen immediately interrupted her, telling her to leave Jack with Hosea for a few hours at not make a fuss. It’s not like you were going to be there all night, plus god’s knows how that woman needed some well deserved time for herself once in a while.

You couldn’t lie, the idea of going out after weeks of being in the same spot with the same routine every day excited you quite a bit and if on top of that you add some good ol’ pickpocketing then consider yourself sold. You were going out this evening no matter what.

“Are y’all lazy do-nothin’ girls done chit chatting !? There’s so much work to do today and you’re all sittin’ there doing nothin’. This generation is unbelievable. Get your asses off to work. Now.” The unmistakable trill of Miss Grimshaw's voice shook you from your comfortable seats putting you all to work for the day. As you got up from your seat you tried your best to ignore Arthur’s piercing gaze on you.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

The sun was slowly setting over flat iron lake, the sky tinted with a mixture of oranges and pinks. You passed your day washing the camp's dirty laundry, scrubbing dry blood and dirt from the old fabrics of each camp’s member clothes. Managing more or so to avoid Arthur throughout launch, the task not easy as he sat down with you and wouldn’t stop talking to you or asking you questions. You tried your best to not straight up ignore him, answering with monosyllabic answers to his questions. Eventually, he understood you weren’t having it, his hands leaving their place on top of the one you had flat on the table. An annoyed expression evident on his face. Why all of a sudden were you ignoring him ? His mind working miles an hour to find out what he did wrong but failing at the task. You seemed fine last night so what the hell happened to make his darling so distant from him.

When you were getting up from the table to put your dirty dish in the washing bin he tried to stop you, his calloused hand delicately taking your wrist. His confused face met with your tired one. He studied your face almost as if the secret to your behavior was hidden through your mesmerizing features. He tried to say something but the words wouldn’t come up, leaving both of you staring into each other eyes, his aqua ones filled with turmoil, before Uncle's voice burst your bubble calling Arthur for work.

After that, you only saw him half an hour later mounting on his horse before riding off.

You definitely needed this night with the girls.

Putting on your last finishing touches to your lipstick you met with Tilly and Abigail near the horse-drawn carriage that Lenny swiftly stole from a nearby town.

“Hello ladies,” you faked a bow lifting your skirt up by the sides the action causing the other two girls to laugh “ready for this eventful evening ?”

“Well of course I’m ready” Tilly replied mimicking your fake posh accent before getting on the carriage helped by Lenny who was your driver for the night since he also had some business to attend to. You waited for Karen and Mary Beth before going off to town, the drive to Rhodes filled with light chit-chat and silly songs, your mind and heart already feeling at ease.

As you all thanked Lenny for the drive you looked around noticing the numerous people around you, the town buzzing with life but most importantly buzzing with opportunities to steal. Before entering the saloon you strolled through the town, Abigail and Mary Beth’s skilled hands already pickpocketing around while you, Karen and Tilly distracted the poor fellas.

Twenty dollars in your pocket and half an hour later you entered the saloon, gladly finding an empty table to sit near the stage that was occupied by a tall blonde woman in a fancy dress who you deduced was the famous singer from Saint Denis.

With drinks on the table and the sweet melody of the guitar, a light conversation about your successful operation sparked amongst your group until a man approached your table, the heavy scent of alcohol evident on him as he tried to drunkenly flirt with Tilly, ending up insulting her rather than woo her earning a slap in the face from the girl, attracting some attention to your table. Luckily the slimy man was too drunk to react and decided to wander off as you all giggled at the situation.

Round after round you all let loose getting up to dance to the merry melody of the music. Tilly standing near the table swaying in her red dress, with Karen by her side singing her heart out, already too drunk for her own good, while Abigail chatted with one of the men from Saint Denis. You shot her a wink as soon as you noticed the wealthy man making her face light up with mirth.

What an absolute fool you are John Marston.

The only two sitting down were you and Mary Beth, whose eyes never left you since sitting down. Her presence a reminder of your cracked heart. It was supposed to be a fun night at the saloon away from your problems, but your curiosity and need to be wrong about Mary and Arthur gnawed inside of you.

“Mary Beth,” you cautiously greeted her, scooting your chair closer to hers so the other girls wouldn’t hear the two of you from their nearby positions. You didn’t want any more drama to spread around tonight.

“Hi,” there was a long uncomfortable pause before she looked up to you again and started blurting everything out. “I’m sorry, I really do. I should have told you he was receiving letters from her again I just didn’t know how to tell you. When I found the first letter two weeks ago he told me he was gonna tell you. But then I saw how you reacted yesterday seeing her letter and I knew he didn’t” She took your hands in hers before continuing, her words coming out fast, the alcohol in her system making her accent heavier “Oh I’m such a fool, please forgive me, I just didn’t want to come between your relationship”.

You were taken aback by her sudden confession, you thought it would be a tad more complicated to let her open up to you about it. Hearing her point of view definitely helped you clear your mind a bit, she had a fair point. It wasn’t her fault Arthur decided to hide something like this. Your anger towards that man growing more and more. Nonetheless, you couldn’t help but notice one thing.

“You said the first letter arrived two weeks ago ?” you asked her. His drawer was full of letters, it was impossible to send that many letters in just two weeks.

“Yes, then I gave it to Arthur, I usually pick up the mail but Arthur has been helping me lately, why?” you started to fidget with the bracelet Arthur gifted for your first anniversary, a small gesture you did when thinking or anxious. The dots in your mind slowly connecting.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

You were about to go back to camp, everyone was on the carriage. Lenny, who had come back from his business with some intel, was back in his driver seat ready to go when you noticed you forgot your gloves at the saloon. Quickly apologizing you clumsily hopped down the carriage, your tipsy state making your movements far from gracious, giggling to yourself you walked back to the saloon to retrieve your gloves. Thankfully they were still on the table untouched.

As you walked back to the carriage enjoying the chilly weather of October from the corner of your eyes you noticed a familiar figure standing outside a building. Maybe it was the alcohol running through your veins or perhaps your curious nature but you turned to steal a glance at the figure.

All color drained from your face as you saw who it was.

As you saw her.

You met her just once in the past but the figure you saw was unmistakably the one of Mary. Smiling up at a man you instantly recognized.

You felt your heart cracking even more. You ran away as fast as you could, leaving pieces of your shattered heart behind as you reached the carriage, quickly hopping on.

During the whole ride, you tried your absolute best to not cry in front of everyone and ruin the cheerful mood, biting the inside of your cheeks as a distraction.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

You were back in your tent when Abigail stopped by.

“Hey, I saw you earlier and you didn’t look so good, are you ok sweetie ?” she asked, her sweet voice full of concern as she put her hand on your shoulder moving it in a calming manner, the tone of her voice and her action causing you to break down in tears like a child to their mother. She quickly pulled you into one of her comforting hugs as you violently sobbed your heart out. Soft ‘It’s ok’ left her lips as she held your shaking form in her arms. Managing to let out a small ‘Arthur’ to answer her question on what was wrong.

Seeing him with Mary tonight was the final straw. You didn’t need any more evidence, you already had everything you needed. He lied to Mary Beth about the letter, he lied to you about it too, matter of fact he lied to you about everything. How could he walk around kissing you, touching you, acting all caring as if nothing. As if he didn’t have a drawer with Mary’s letters, as if he didn’t lie to you this whole time.

Your heartbreak slowly turned into anger, the more you thought about it the more your blood boiled.

“Wanna talk about it ?” sensing you calming down from your sobs she gently fixed a strand of hair behind your ear, a concerned expression evident on her fair features. You dried your tears, your hands stained with mascara. You undoubtedly looked like a mess, or at least you felt like it.

Then, a familiar sound of hooves on the ground could be heard from the entrance of camp.

Arthur was back.

“Oh, so help me God I’m gonna strangle that piece of shit”.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Whiskey, Neat - Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: snowstorm, bartender!Simon, tattooed!Simon, anonymous sex, sex w/ a condom, getting over a breakup, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, praise, alcohol

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: For Kinkmas 2024 (Anonymous Sex)

Caught in a snowstorm, you stop in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Drowning your time at the bar across the street from your motel, you find a little heat during the cold weather.

ao3 // main masterlist // kinkmas 2024 masterlist

“Another?”

You glance away from the television screen above the bar and meet brown eyes that are the same color as the drop of whiskey lingering in the bottom of your glass.

The bartender you lock gazes with places the open whiskey bottle on top of the bar. “This one is on the house.”

Arching an eyebrow, you observe the empty bar around you before answering. “I’m your only customer.”

The bartender shrugs. “It’s Christmas Eve. Feeling generous.”

More like there isn’t anyone else to make conversation with. Inside, it’s warm—almost toasty. The two television screens above the bar play old movies—the sound off but closed captions on. Around the ceiling dangle multi-colored lights that probably belong on a tree and not hanging in a bar.

You gently move your empty glass in the bartender’s direction. Lifting the bottle, he tops you off.

His name is unknown to you—his real name that is. Ghost is what he offered when you first sat down on a stool to drown your sorrows. Not only do you not know his real name, but half of his face is covered in a black half-balaclava. All you can see are his brown eyes and blondish-brown hair. There are tattoos—that much you know. The backs of his hands and fingers are covered in them, disappearing beneath the forest green knit sweater he wears.

It’s bizarre, but you haven’t said anything. Why should you? This is his establishment. You’re just a customer.

“Want me to leave the bottle?” asks Ghost.

Yes, is what you want to say.

The last few days have been fucking miserable. First, you found out that your boyfriend of three years was cheating on you. After dumping his ass and sending him packing, you had to promptly jump in your car and head out for the holidays, knowing you’d have to explain to your family why you came without him.

Then you hit a snow storm.

It was so light at first—just a dusting. But it quickly turned south, and now you’re stuck in this tiny fucking town in the middle of fucking nowhere with hardly any cell service.

“Better not,” you reply. “I need to be able to walk to the motel.”

Ghost cocks an eyebrow, his gaze momentarily turning toward the large window near the door. You follow his line of sight and almost flinch. The wind howls, occasionally rattling the window. Snow comes down in thick sheets. You can see the light from the streetlight across the street but not much else.

“Right,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“And what about you?” you retort. “How are you getting home in this?”

Ghost crosses his arms over his chest. It’s not a threatening stance. He’s completely amused by you. A sudden rush of heat warms the back of your neck and sinks straight to your toes before curling upward to seize your core.

Get a fucking grip.

“I’ll sleep here.”

“You’ll—here? At the bar?”

“There’s a pretty comfortable sofa in my office,” he says casually. “Has a pull-out bed. Helps on these…late nights.”

Jesus Christ.

Your pussy is wet, nearly throbbing. It’s fucking insane. Ridiculous. You broke up with your ex not even two days ago. What the fuck is going on with you?

“But there must be someone at home who might worry?”

Ghost snorts. “Maybe my cat.” He rolls up his sleeves to mid-forearm, revealing more tattoos. The man is fucking covered. “What about you?”

Single. The man is single and asking if there’s anyone who might be missing you.

You down the rest of your whiskey. “Only family. They know I’m delayed.” He nods, and you continue before you lose your nerve. “I just broke it off with my boyfriend of three years.”

Ghost straightens a bit, his gaze intense. “Can I ask why?”

“He cheated. A lot.” All the emotions from that moment begin to stir. The whiskey might have chased away some of the ache, but not all.

“Sounds like a bloody fucking fool,” replies Ghost. “Letting something like you go.”

You laugh. “You hardly know me.”

“And you hardly know me,” he purrs.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Feeling bold, you venture forward. “It’s storming pretty hard out there.”

“It is,” agrees Ghost. “The sofa has room for two.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” you tease.

Ghost takes your empty glass and places it in the sink behind the bar. “Don’t think anyone else is coming in.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

Ghost comes around the side of the bar, a set of keys in his hand. He leisurely heads for the door, locking up. Pocketing the keys, he saunters back to you, confidence in every step.

Placing his tattooed hand on the bar top, Ghost leans in. “You can go if you want.”

“And if I want to stay?”

His other hand finds the side of your throat, he draws you in until your faces are nearly touching. “Then let’s help you get over that ex of yours, yeah?”

Oh my God.

You don’t remember getting off the stool or the walk back to his office. All you remember are Ghost’s hands and the way he leads you. He’s not pushy—simply confident and eager.

The two of you collapse onto the sofa as Ghosts hands immediately go for your thighs and hips. With the door shut, it’s dark in the office, the both of you mere shadows. The small window in the ceiling provides little light—most of it is covered in snow.

Even in the dark, your gazes are locked. You sense his heat—sense his desire. His touches are languid and unhurried. Savoring. But touching isn’t enough. You need to kiss him, to feel his lips against yours.

It’s a small test, and Ghost surrenders, allowing you to remove the balaclava. Even then, you cannot discern the details of him. Not really. You gently trace his bottom lip, and his mouth opens, the tip of his tongue swiping against your skin.

You lean in until your noses brush, mouths moments from touching, but you do not close the distance. His scent invades you, filling your lungs as the whiskey burns in your veins. It is Ghost’s growl that draws you forward—that brings your mouths together.

There is not one kiss but many. Each one is a claiming—an eraser of your ex from your mind and body. Your fingers tug at Ghost’s clothes, wanting him to be free of them—to feel his skin against yours.

His answer is to respond in kind, and between the kisses, clothes disappear until there is nothing between your bodies.

Ghost’s palms squeeze your ass and your pussy clenches. You inhale sharply, and Ghost uses this moment to break away from your stinging lips to fall upon your neck, sucking and biting as his hands roam upward to play with your breasts.

Ghost hums softly against your throat. He works a nipple to a stiff peak. Once done, Ghost dips his head and swipes his tongue over it. Your back arches, hips rocking against him in desperation, his hard cock poking your thigh.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, hand descending to move between your legs, finding your clit.

He rubs at it gently and your breath hitches. Ghost explores, fingers moving further between to part you, finding you slick and wanton.

The next inhalation is his as he slowly eases one thick finger into your pussy. Your body immediately clenches around him. Ghost starts to pump his finger in and out of your pussy. His palm presses against your clit, rubbing up against it every time his hand flexes with the thrust of his finger.

The sensation of his finger sliding in and out of you is fucking perfect but it’s not enough to get you where you need to go. You want this man to dick you so good you won’t want to run back to your ex afterward.

“I’m going to taste you here now,” groans Ghost against your mouth. He emphasizes his meaning with an insertion of a second finger.

You have a moment to catch your breath before Ghost pushes you onto your back and drapes your legs over his shoulders.

Starting at your clit, Ghost swirls his tongue around it before tracing a path downward, leaving nothing untouched. With thighs spread, you’re completely open to him. An orgasm is rapidly building.

While your hips jerk against his hold, Ghost keeps you in place. He is setting the pace here—and you are at his mercy. Ghost’s tongue rotates in quick circles inside your pussy before retreating to trace the folds of your labia, and then sliding up to flick against your clit.

With his tongue on your clit, his finger presses against the entrance of your pussy before slipping in. Your body gives in easily, sucking his finger in until you take him to the knuckle. Ghost sucks your clit into his mouth as he begins to pump his finger.

You cry out, the orgasm ascending quickly. Moans of pleasure fill the room, and then you’re whimpering as Ghost continues to fuck you with his fingers and lick at your clit. The orgasm rolls into another, and it isn’t until you’re shuddering with overstimulation that Ghost retreats.

There is a moment of rest before his hand is around your throat, bringing your lips to his so that he can claim your mouth. You taste yourself as much as you taste him.

“I’m going to fuck any thoughts of your ex right out of that pretty head,” he murmurs.

Ghost eases you back onto the sofa. The hand at your throat lingers a moment before slowly sliding down between your breasts and over your stomach.

You hear the distinct sound of a condom wrapper. Ghost grunts and then his shadow moves, settling over you. With legs still spread wide, Ghost rests his cock against your sex. Your pussy pulses in anticipation.

He settles between your thighs, the head of his cock lining up and then slowly sinking in. You moan loudly as you’re stretched deliciously.

“You can take it,” he coos. “That’s it, love. Doing so well.”

More of him slides inside, your pussy fluttering—flexing—attempting to accommodate him. Ghost thrusts shallowly, retreating a bit before trying again. This time, your pussy accepts him greedily, the both of your groaning as he sinks to the hilt.

He takes control instantly. Each thrust is fluid and sharp, a pounding thing that drives you into the sofa. Your arms lace around the back of his neck, and Ghost’s face buries itself against the side of your throat.

“Feel so good,” groans Ghost. “Fucking perfect.”

One arm is braced up, hand firm on the edge of the sofa, fingers digging in for leverage. His other arm rests at your side, almost like a hug. You’re trapped beneath him, but it’s utterly delicious.

The room fills with the sounds of your slick pussy taking him. Each grunt and gasp of Ghost’s is hot against your skin. You cling to him, murmuring nonsense as he fucks you senseless.

You forget about the snow, about your shitty ex, and about the fact that you likely won’t make it to your family’s on time. This is a small town after all. They likely won’t clean the roads for days.

It means you can stay right here.

taglist:

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[disneyprincemuke]

do you want me (dead)? * op81

oscar finds himself with no memory of the race weekend, but he does find your company very comforting amidst all the confusion

pairings: oscar piastri x female!reader

word count: 1.4k

(f1 masterlist) | (series masterlist)

oscar doesn’t exactly remember leaving the house. perhaps he’d been running himself on autopilot the entire morning until he regained consciousness, finding himself roaming by the streets alone.

nobody seems to spare him a second glance as he walks, which in itself is kind of weird.

not that he’s let the fame get to his head — it’s just not out of the ordinary for him to be stopped for a photo or two on the daily. he doesn’t mind. in fact, it’s arguably one of the more fun parts of his day: interacting with people.

it gets easier the longer he works under mclaren and alongside lando. slowly but surely, he’s coming out of his shell again.

the next question in his head is if the race weekend has come and gone. the miami weekend is typically so grand and exciting that it seems to just get past him before he has the time to fully process it and enjoy every moment.

but why isn’t anybody rushing him to get into a plane to head to the next destination?

how weird. it’s even weirder that he can’t find his phone; there’s no way that he just left his hotel without it.

oscar stumbles back when a body collides against shoulder, a whine following the thud of something falling to the ground. he looks down and sees you, just crouching down to pick your things up.

“i’m so sorry,” oscar mutters, shaking his head. “i didn’t see you.”

“no, i’m sorry,” you laugh softly, shaking your head as you lift your eyes from your phone on the ground. “i should have known better than to be checking my emails while walking a busy street.”

he’d been so caught up with the sheer bizarreness of his circumstance that he hadn’t noticed your smaller frame zipping through the crowd. considering how significantly smaller you are compared to him, he just feels worse that now your phone is the one on the ground.

and you were so caught up awaiting the release of your final grades for the semester that you hadn’t seen the guy walking in your direction.

the guilt eats you up; you’re not typically the person to be so engrossed by your phone while walking in crowds.

“i’m sorry either way.” he stands up with you and grins. “is your phone okay? because if it isn’t…”

you take a quick glance at your phone and wave his concerns off. “i’m sure it’s fine.”

you remain in your spot for a few more seconds. people are manoeuvring around both of you, some throwing dirty looks and some stares of confusion as they pass you.

but oscar can’t help but feel drawn to you. the longer he looks into your eyes, the calmer he feels about every single unanswered question in his head.

he tries to look for an explanation in your eyes as to why he is feeling this way. maybe he knows you from somewhere? maybe you’ve met before and he just doesn’t know when or where from?

“are you okay?” you pipe with a small smile. “if it’s my phone, seriously don’t even worry about it. it’s dropped from greater heights and survived before.”

“no, i,” oscar trails off. “i… nothing, i just…” he shakes his head with a small grin. “it’s just been such a long day.”

“long day?” you chuckle. “it’s only noon.”

he scrunches his nose with a shrug. “there’s just a lot going on for me right now,” he laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “well, again, i’m so sorry about your phone.”

“oh,” you frown slightly, “i’m sorry about what you’re going through. is there anything i can do to help?”

your own words shock you — you’re always extending a hand to help people, but this time it might just bite you back in the ass. because this man that stands in front of you is a stranger.

you don’t even know his name.

oscar blinks down at you, taken aback by your unwavering offer.

“i must have freaked you out!” you shriek, waving your arms in the air. “i mean, only if you want to. it’s just an offer; maybe you’ll feel better if you talk about it and get it off your chest.”

oscar furrows his eyebrows, a small smile playing on his lips. he points a finger at you, “are you asking me out?”

a blush creeps up your cheeks as you realise what you’ve said. “no!” you say immediately with wide eyes. “it’s not that you’re not cute, but that wasn’t my intention. i wasn’t asking you out! i was just offering a helping hand if you need one and i–“

you cut yourself off, staring at him wide-eyed and stiff as you realise that you’ve probably rambled his ear off. you clear your throat and stand a little straighter.

oscar looks down at you with amusement and a small smile. “is that offer still on?” he leans down slightly. “i don’t think you’re not cute either.”

“hm, alright,” you say softly. “do you have anywhere in mind?”

he shrugs, taking his spot next to you. “i’m not from here. i’m only here for the weekend.”

“the weekend?” you furrow your eyebrows as you start walking ahead, a place already in mind. “tourist?”

“for work,” oscar presses his lips into a thin line. “i travel a lot for work — miami is supposed to be a short stop.”

“you must be earning the big bucks,” you tease with a small grin.

oscar snorts. “you can say.” he follows you blindly, weaving through the crowd a couple of steps behind you. “so what do you do? studying?”

“yeah, my final year in university,” you confirm with a small nod, “i’m a business major.”

“smart kid,” oscar teases.

he stops abruptly behind you after you stop by a pair of doors.

you beam as the service staff approaches you with a grin. “table for 2, please.”

“2?” the staff repeats to you with eyebrows raised. “we have a time limit for dining in at 60 minutes — plus waiting time. sorry, it’s nearing lunch hour and there’s always an influx of diners…”

“yeah, that’s no problem,” you answer with hesitation in your voice. “do you have a table available? otherwise, that’s alright.”

“we do.” the staff takes a step back and gestures for you to follow her in.

she leads both of you to a table in the middle of the resto-bar, setting 2 menus on the table with a small grin. “can i get you a glass of water?”

“yes, please,” you grin as she walks away. you turn back to oscar. “wait, i don’t think i’ve gotten your name yet.”

“oh, could you turn that up?” someone asks loudly before oscar can open his mouth to give you an answer.

you huff and turn your attention to the tv screen hung behind the bar counter, the volume indeed being turned up by the waitress.

“the miami grand prix has been cancelled by the fia, announced in an emergency press conference following a gnarly crash involving a race car driver.”

the newscaster’s voice begins to bounce on the walls of the resto-bar and it gradually pervades every corner of the bustling room. the previously lively chatter among the patrons slowly dwindles, giving way to an enveloping silence as the news report takes centre stage.

“putting the season on hold,” oscar repeats under his breath, a scowl forming on his face as he processes the words. “why hasn’t anyone told me this?”

“mclaren driver, oscar piastri, remains in critical condition in a local hospital after sending his car into the barrier two nights ago in the track,” there’s a pause, “investigations are underway after foul play was suspected after an inspection of the car that evening.”

a picture pops up on the screen, making you throw your head back with a soft laugh. “hey, that guy kind of looks like you, doesn’t it?”

oscar takes a deep breath. “that is me.”

“what?”

@33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore

MAD THANKS TO @foreveralbon anD @vroomvroomcircuit AND SOAP FOR HELPING ME BRAINSTORM THIS FIC ILY GUYSSZZZZZ KISS KISS KISS KISS

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

tl;dr hitting blinkers on a dab pen with stoner!suguru getou [prev] [nxt]

your situationship with suguru remains undefined. not that it’s pressing—you’re comfortable with deepening the relationship before labeling it. to you, he’s your man that’s not your man, but that’s your man. and if that’s confusing, then trying to define your relationship with gojo might just send you into a spiral. you quickly learned that being involved with suguru means gojo is automatically part of the package, like some bizarre two-for-one deal. 

after only a couple of interactions, gojo was already insisting you call him by his first name, texting you like you’d been friends for years. suguru warned you he was clingy, but you’d imagined it on a smaller scale. not that it’s a problem—he’s not annoying. if anything, he’s entertaining, sending you memes, munchies, and random gossip. since suguru doesn’t seem to mind and occasionally looks relieved to have gojo off his back, you’re happy to go along with it.

the conversation you find yourselves revisiting the most is about suguru’s uncanny ability to outsmoke both of you. every single time, with no exceptions. while you and gojo are baked into the furniture, marveling at how vivid your senses have become, suguru is casually riding a mellow high, maybe a little giggly, but never anywhere close to where you and gojo end up.

the downside? for you, it means being hyper-aware of his fleeting, soft touches—every caress amplified, every kiss leaving you spiraling. one brush of his fingers, and you’re a mess, a pillow princess completely wrecked before things even escalate. you wish you could share that out-of-body, dreamlike state with him, instead of the night ending with him looking after you and gojo like a couple of overgrown children.

gojo, ever the opportunist, proposed a solution: dab pens.

“totally different experience,” he assured you. while building tolerance to smoking is something you can gradually ease into, a dab pen hits like a truck—instant and overwhelming, a visceral high. he already had one picked out, but you can’t help the pang of guilt that creeps in. is it wrong to be plotting on suguru like this? the question lingers, so you text gojo for some reassurance.

satoru :3: nahh its morally grey

you: that’s still not good

satoru :3: everything is relative, the earth is flat, life is a simulation satoru :3: come on I alr bought the cart

you: oh brother you: fine pick it up rn bc I got my shift covered tmr and suguru’s free tn

satoru :3: kay! btw its 90.02% thc satoru :3: the packaging has an alien abduction on it :P

you: you’re not making me feel better

satoru :3: my accomplice <3

you: what if it doesnt work you: ive seen him face 4 blunts. back2back

satoru :3: not if we hit blinkers yk his ass is competitive

you: I just might die tn…

accepting that you have no idea where the night will take you, you call an uber to their apartment, savoring what feels like your final moments of lucidity for the day. when you arrive, you see suguru sitting on the stoop of the building, passing a blunt to toji, whose bruised eye is still faintly visible, serving as a reminder of his failed attempt to hit on you.

men are so uncomplicated—they argue, tussle, and then they’re back to being cordial like nothing ever happened.

as you approach, toji ashes the blunt and nods in acknowledgment. you squint, making out the detailing on toji’s sweatsuit—it’s denim tears, and overall he looks way more put together. his dark hair is trimmed neatly, and he’s sporting a silver chain. suguru’s lounging comfortably in grey sweats, and an oversized black tee. he rises, effortlessly pulling you into his arms. 

“hey baby,” he greets warmly, and you can smell the faint mint of his shampoo beneath the haze of smoke clinging to him. you squeeze his waist, drawing back to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. 

“hi sugu,” you eye toji warily—nodding his way, “toji.”

suguru gestures to toji, “go ahead and top that off, we’re heading in.”

“good lookin’,” toji replies with a sly smirk, waving you away, “see ya.”

the elevator doors slide shut, commencing its ascent, and you can’t help but ask, “is toji out here robbing folks?”

suguru chuckles, clearly amused. “kinda. he started scamming, swiping cards, and jamming chips—that kind of thing.” he shakes his head. “honestly, he’s really been hustling. I’ve never seen him more actively involved with megumi.”

you draw in a breath, “well… that’s good?”

inside, the apartment is clean, lavender-scented, and gojo is already sprawled on the couch, watching cartoons. he brightens when he sees you, enthusiastically patting the seat beside him.

“finally! we’ve been waiting forever.”

“forever” turns out to be less than an hour, according to suguru, but gojo whines dramatically anyway. 

“so,” suguru drawls, eyeing you both suspiciously, “what are you two plotting?”

gojo disappears momentarily, returning with the dab pen like a magician revealing his trick. 

“ta-daa~!” he announces.

suguru blinks, unimpressed. “it’s just a pen?”

“not just any pen,” you reply, resting a hand on his thigh. “trust us.”

gojo smirks. “unless you’re scared or something?... pussy.”

suguru raises a brow, grabbing the pen. “so how are we gonna do this?”

you clasp your hands together, “we can only hit blinkers.”

just as gojo predicted, suguru’s competitive streak takes over. after throwing some jabs and a quick trip to the fridge to stockpile water, you’re ready.

gojo takes the lead, he activates the pen, pressing the button down five times until it glows an ominous red. he lifts it to his lips with a mock salute taking a deep, dramatic inhale. the faint woosh of his draw drags on for several seconds until the light blinks. 

he ghosts the thick smoke for a moment, then exhales in a steady stream. “easy.” he declares smugly—until the coughing starts. his bravado crumbles as he hacks and sputters, spilling water in his frantic search for a sip.

your hit goes about as well. the initial inhale feels smooth, but halfway through, your throat ignites like you’ve swallowed fire. you’re left chugging water, gasping for relief while gojo’s laughter fills the room.

suguru’s hit is no different. he takes the pen with his usual quiet confidence, lips curling around it like this is nothing. the first few seconds are smooth—calculated, even—until the thick, milky smoke betrays him. he chokes, his back shaking as a fit of coughing overtakes him.

“shit,” he rasps, eyes squeezed shut as he leans back. “that cart packs a punch.”

twenty minutes pass, you think you’ve suffered through three, maybe four more hits and you’re all sprawled on the couch in a collective stupor, shoulders pressed together as the room swirls in a pleasant, woozy haze.

your head feels like it’s been submerged underwater. being sandwiched between suguru and gojo, doesn’t help, the warmth of their bodies makes you hyper-aware of how sluggish and foggy you feel. instinctively, you twitch and then wonder if anyone noticed. the tv sounds several decibels louder and you realize that gojo has been watching scooby-doo. 

“hear me out—,” gojo declares out of nowhere, “velma?”

suguru hums. “not really a hear me out. most people would.” he looks at you, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’d love to see you dressed as velma—have you fumbling for your glasses.”

your cheeks flush, but gojo ignores it pressing on. “fred?”

“basic.”

“okay… I got it. the sheriff, he’s got big dick energy.”

you decidedly don’t hear him out. but, he’s already moving on to the next “pressing” issue.

“guys. guys.” he jabs a finger at the screen, “I neeed that big-ass sandwich. like right now. ’m starving!”

honestly, he’s got a point. the towering sandwich dripping with sauces and stacked with layers of meat and veggies looks incredibly appetizing in your current state. suguru seems to agree because he grabs your hand and drags you to the fridge.

the sight inside is… grim. two eggs, a loaf of bread that looks like it’s been there too long, a couple of protein drinks, and some beer.

suguru lets out a long, dramatic groan. “guess we’re hitting the corner store. at least it’s only a block away.”

“an adventure!” gojo leaps to his feet, spinning in an exaggerated flourish. “let’s go!”

the three of you pile into the elevator, the hum of its old machinery filling the small space. when the doors creak open on the ground floor—the correct floor this time (you may have accidentally pressed the second floor first)—there, waiting for you, is obstacle # 1: the brats.

megumi and his friends are darting back and forth across the lobby, their shrill laughter echoing as they roughhouse. you think they’re playing tag, but you’re not sure. the three of you freeze, exchanging a silent look before attempting to walk in a straight line toward the door, as if that might somehow make you invisible.

it doesn’t. if anything, it makes you look incredibly suspicious.

“you guys look weird!” a high-pitched voice cracks through the commotion. “you know you don’t need to walk in a line—we’re not at school!”

you glance down to see one of megumi’s friends: a boy with short pink hair and big brown eyes, staring up at you curiously.

megumi approaches, scowling. his dark brows knit together in a way that makes you feel like you’ve just been caught red-handed.

“I know these guys,” he announces, side-eyeing you all. “they’re friends with my dad. and they’re too old to still be walking in lines.”

he tilts his head, sharp and accusatory. “did you guys cook with my dad’s pot?”

gojo, the boldest of the three of you, raises an eyebrow. “what?”

“you know, my dad’s pot. my mom’s always telling him to stop using it because it smells funny. I don’t know why he doesn’t just wash it. after he cooks with it, he acts weird like this too.”

oh.

suguru takes drastic measures. “megumi, nobara just tagged you back! are you really going to let that slide?”

megumi whips around, glaring at the little girl with cropped brown hair. “nobara!” he yells, charging after her.

taking advantage of the distraction, the three of you bolt for the door.

outside, the crisp night air greets you. despite the brief confrontation, you continue walking in a rigid line, suguru leading the way toward the corner store. you’re at the back, stumbling over your own feet every few steps. gojo, meanwhile, is completely engrossed in his phone, so much so that he almost walks into a pole.

reaching the corner store comes with a short-lived sense of accomplishment until you encounter obstacle #2: deciding what to buy.

inside, the fluorescent lights are harsh and invasive, humming faintly. the cashier, a thin man with neatly parted black hair and sharp cheekbones, greets suguru with a polite nod.

“what’s up, ijichi?” suguru says, raising a hand.

“welcome back, getou. let me know if I can help you with anything,” ijichi replies, his voice monotone but cordial.

you stalk the aisles like predators circling prey, overwhelmed by options. after what feels like an eternity of indecision—picking things up, putting them down, and staring some more—you finally gather your haul and head to the register.

ijichi surveys your collection with barely concealed disbelief: a cinnamon roll, two twinkies, a ready-made hotdog, a bag of hot fries, two cherry cokes, and a pack of gummy bears.

as he rings up your total, you think you catch him gagging slightly. you clutch the back of suguru’s shirt for support, and he glances at you, startled, as if he hadn’t realized you were standing so close.

ijichi bags your items in a flimsy plastic sack, his expression somewhere between amused and horrified. “have a… safe night.”

the bell jingles as the door closes behind you, and a cold breeze makes you shiver. gojo digs into the bag immediately, tearing open a twinkie wrapper with his teeth.

“’s’jus me,” he mumbles through a mouthful, “or waf he lookin’ at ush weird?”

suguru points to his own mouth. “satoru, don’t talk with your mouth full.”

gojo swipes at his face, wiping crumbs on his joggers. his phone dings sharply, and he frowns, glancing at the screen before looking up at you nervously. in comes obstacle # 3: gojo’s spontaneous antics.

“satoru,” you say, crossing your arms both to steady yourself and shield against the cold. “what did you do?”

suguru doesn’t notice your exasperation—he’s in his own world, his hair draped over his shoulder, stray strands framing his face. his faraway expression, cheeks puffed out slightly, makes him look softer than usual. you’d think it was cute if you weren’t so annoyed.

gojo’s explanation spills out in one breath. “okay, so watching scooby-doo made me think about dogs so naturally I started looking up puppy pics on insta, and a breeder I know—,” he gestures to suguru, “yaga, posted about a litter of puppies he’s trying to sell, and I, uh… I made an impulse buy.”

“what?!” you and suguru exclaim in unison.

gojo flinches but presses on. “I wasn’t thinking! they’re pit-lab mixes, and soo cute I couldn’t resist. I didn’t think he’d be ready to sell one so fast, but he’s here now.”

as you near the apartment, you spot a black suv parked out front, hazards blinking. its headlights flash as if signaling to gojo, whose unmistakable white hair gives him away.

gojo shakes his arms out. “guys, do I sound normal? I need to fix this before I come off as an irresponsible pothead.”

“you are an irresponsible pothead,” suguru deadpans, though he smirks. “but yeah, you’re the most coherent right now. lead the way.”

the suv’s window rolls down, revealing a bulky man with dark glasses and a goatee.

“satoru, that you? suguru? long time no see. hop in—the puppies are in the back. you’ve got the pick of the litter.”

gojo heads for the rear door, but suguru tugs at your shirt, pulling you back. his voice is quiet, almost hesitant. “hey… I’m feeling kind of overwhelmed. can you wait with me for a sec before we deal with gojo’s nonsense?”

your heart melts. “of course.” you wave gojo off, telling him you’ll catch up in a minute, and follow suguru into a narrow alley running alongside the building. it’s secluded and dimly lit, the faint sounds of the city echo in the distance as you stop and turn to him.

grasping his hands, you intertwine your fingers with his. his face is slightly flushed, his expression open and vulnerable.

“are you okay? do you want to go inside?”

“no, no—” he waves it off, his voice soft but tight. “I’m just… overstimulated. everything feels too loud, too sharp. I’m all over the place.”

you snort softly, amused by the unexpected role reversal. “that’s how gojo and I end up feeling half the time. you’re so cute.”

rubbing your thumb over his knuckles, you press a gentle kiss to his jaw.

“what do you need from me?” you ask.

he leans into your touch, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “this is nice,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your waist and nestling his face into the crook of your neck. his breath is warm, tickling your skin.

instinctively, your hands sweep under his loose top, brushing over the warmth of his back. his body shivers at your touch, goosebumps rising beneath your fingertips.

“how’s this?” you ask softly.

“good,” he breathes.

you pull back slightly, cupping his jaw and bringing his face close. your lips hover over his, teasing. “just focus on my touch, okay?”

he hums in agreement, and when your lips finally meet, he responds with uncharacteristic urgency. his kiss is fervent, a raw expression of need that makes your pulse race. his hands grip your hips firmly, drawing you closer as his mouth moves against yours. he licks into your mouth, brushes his tongue against yours, making you gasp, then tilts his head to suck on it.

when your fingers trail to the waistband of his sweats, his breath hitches sharply. his reaction is all the encouragement you need, the air between you dense with tension.

he groans, his voice low and ragged as your palm brushes over the prominent bulge straining against the fabric. “fuck—ah, more.”

you glance up, his flushed face and dilated pupils making your heart race. without hesitation, you sink to your knees, looking up at him through your lashes with a teasing smile.

“more?” you echo, pulling his sweats down just enough to release the pressure. leaning in, you blow warm air over the outline of his thick cock through the thin material of his boxers. he shudders, his composure shattering.

“sugu I want to taste you,” you murmur, your voice dripping with need.

he curses under his breath, fumbling to free himself. his hand wraps around his thick shaft, slowly pumping himself once, twice, before guiding his tip along your cheek. pre-cum smears against your skin, warm and sticky. 

“aah,” he groans when you stick out your tongue, letting a trail of saliva drip onto the concrete below. he presses his tip to your tongue, rubbing it up and down as you curl it along his slit.

replacing his hand with your own, you lick a slow, deliberate line from base to tip, savoring the salty tang of his pre-cum. his fingers tangle in your hair, tugging gently as you take him into your mouth, inch by inch, until your lips are flush against the tuft of black hair at his base.

“baby, you feel so good,” he rasps, his voice heavy with pleasure. “your mouth is so warm, wet—” you swallow, tightening around him, and he chokes out a shaky breath. “—and tight.”

you cup his balls, rolling them gently in your palm. his hips jerk, a low moan spilling from his lips. tears sting at the corners of your eyes, but you keep your gaze locked on his, letting the sight of his unraveling spur you on.

“I’m close—fuck,” he warns, his voice tight. 

pulling back, you kiss along his shaft, your hand stroking him in slow, deliberate motions. you glance, lips curling into a sly smile as you whisper, “sugu, come inside.” 

his breath catches as you take him back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks. his moans grow louder, uninhibited, as he grips your hair and begins to guide your movements, fucking your throat.

“ah—fuck, gonna come,” he groans.

you intertwine your fingers with his free hand, holding his gaze as you pull back to suck on his tip, tongue swirling over the slit. with a long drawn-out groan of your name, he spills into your mouth, hot and thick. you swallow every drop, licking your lips as he twitches in your grasp.

“fuck,” he breathes, his voice shaky as he tucks himself back into his sweats. “you’re insatiable.”

you rise to your feet, knees aching from the rough concrete. he steadies you, brushing stray hairs from your face. leaning in, you press a gentle kiss to his lips, letting him bask in the afterglow.

but when you glance over his shoulder, your heart sinks. a few feet above you, a first-floor window you hadn’t noticed before now has its curtains slightly parted. behind the glass, a familiar face smirks at you.

toji.

you freeze up as he leans casually against the window frame, his brows wagging. he raises a finger to his lips, motioning for you to keep his presence quiet. his amusement obvious.

mortified, you whip your gaze back to suguru, pretending nothing happened. the curtains slide shut in your peripheral, and you suppress a shudder, vowing to bury the memory of toji’s shameless voyeurism.

“you good?” suguru asks, brushing your hair back into place.

“yeah.” you mumble. “let’s get back.” 

hand in hand, you return to the street, your absence evidently unnoticed. tucked between two parked cars, gojo sits on the curb, cooing at a tiny white puppy wriggling in his arms.

“satoru,” you gape. “you actually went through with it?”

he grins up at you, holding the puppy aloft like a trophy. “isn’t he adorable? named him gojo junior.”

suguru pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long, tired sigh. “just—let’s go back upstairs.”

the three of you collapse onto the couch, exhaustion settling in. you curl up against suguru’s chest, your limbs boneless, as gojo turns on the tv. the puppy nestles in his lap, so he carefully reaches for the dab pen on the coffee table, grinning lazily.

“one more hit to top off the night?” ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 after ten hours of deep, uninterrupted slumber, you stir awake to the gentle warmth of sunlight streaming through the curtains, coaxing you back to reality. the unfamiliar comfort beneath you takes a moment to register—you’re not on the couch anymore. suguru’s bed cradles you, his arm draped securely around your waist. his breath is steady against the back of your neck, and as you try to shift, his hold tightens.

“mm, too tired. stay,” he mumbles groggily.

a smile tugs at your lips, and for a brief moment, you consider giving in. his warmth, the soothing rhythm of his breathing, and his gentle scent are enough to make you melt back into the mattress. but you’d rather not over-oversleep.

suguru’s hand snakes into your hair, his fingers threading through the strands with a languid tenderness. “what if we just… stay here all day?” he whispers, his lips grazing the nape of your neck.

the temptation is overwhelming. his gentle strokes and soft breaths pull you toward complacency, but you’ve already slept more than enough. with a groan, you prop yourself up against his pillow, feeling the resistance of his arm as he tries to pull you back.

“come on, suguru,” you say, brushing a hand through his tousled hair. “time to wake up.”

he grumbles something incoherent and eventually lifts his head, his cheek faintly indented by the pillow. his squinted eyes and weak smile somehow make him even more striking. the sunlight spilling into the room catches the soft angles of his face, illuminating him perfectly.

“too early,” he groans, shielding his eyes with his hand before reaching out to pull you into a lazy kiss. his lips are warm, slow, and deliberate, but you break away, placing your hands on his shoulders to gently shake him.

“you’re impossible,” you tease, laughing softly.

you reach for his phone on the nightstand, thrusting it in his direction. “here, play some music or scroll through your timeline—do something to get your brain working.”

suguru takes it with a half-hearted hum, pulling you back into his chest as he unlocks it. he scrolls aimlessly through his playlist, swiping through songs too quickly to process. then, a slow, melodic guitar riff fills the room, and his hand finally falters. the soft acoustic melody of sunflower drifts through the air, a perfect match for the warm, serene moment.

his free hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers as he sways you gently. the vibrations of his hum resonate in his chest, and you can’t help but lean into the sound. you savor this side of him—the quiet, vulnerable suguru who lets himself soften in the morning light.

but then, a thought surfaces. the dog. the vivid memory of gojo proudly holding a squirming puppy the night before is unshakable.

“suguru,” you whisper. “what about the dog?”

his body tenses and his eyes snap open. “the wh—” he bolts upright, groaning. “shit, the dog. he really did that? I was hoping I made that part up.”

the two of you stumble into the living room, both disheveled from sleep. gojo is sprawled on the couch, one leg hanging off the side, snoring softly. the puppy darts around the room, tiny paws clicking against the floor.

suguru scoops up the wriggling pup and plops him onto gojo’s chest, startling him awake.

groaning, gojo blinks blearily at the excited puppy licking his face. you watch in real-time as all of yesterday’s events finally catch up to him. he looks up slowly, blue eyes wide, panicked.

“guys,” he says, voice cracking. “how do I return a dog?”

{taglist: @inthedarkshadows000 @saltyhansen | insp: @tojisth3rdwife‘s ask linked [here] ty! ᡣ𐭩}

[solarmorrigan]

Hands Where I Can See Them, Part 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Here’s the thing: Jeff isn’t actually a meddler by nature.

He’s perfectly content to let people be. He keeps himself to himself and is happy when others do the same. It’s not that he’s never curious, it’s just that he asks personal questions sparingly. And he’s probably going to ask them even more sparingly in the future, because the last time he’d asked one, he’d accidentally broken up one of his best friend’s relationships.

In fairness to Jeff, that relationship was going to blow up sooner rather than later (that is, in fact, exactly what Eddie had said to him when they’d talked a few days after the incident in question; Eddie had even said that he thinks he’d needed the wakeup call, though he’d have preferred it hadn’t happened the way it did – the way that hurt Steve so much. All the same, he seems determined to make things right, so– maybe not the worst thing in the world?), but still, Jeff feels a little… guilty isn’t quite the word, but he doesn’t have a better name for the squirm of emotion in his gut when he catches sight of Steve at Melvald’s one evening.

He hasn’t seen Steve in over a week, now – not since he’d abruptly left Eddie’s place after being unceremoniously informed that his boyfriend (Jeff’s pretty sure that’s the train Steve had been on) is apparently not actually his boyfriend.

And it isn’t as though he or Gareth or Oliver had really hung out with Steve sans Eddie before, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t be willing; Jeff’s experience with Steve Harrington in high school had been peripheral at best, and though he hadn’t had the best impression of him at first, he’d actually come to enjoy his company since he started hanging around Eddie after that disaster of a spring break. He doesn’t know much about D&D (though Jeff suspects he knows a lot more than he lets on), and he’s not particularly into fantasy or sci-fi, but he does have a bizarrely encyclopedic knowledge of sports, and had been excited to learn that Jeff is into baseball and hockey.

He's just as bitchy as Jeff had always thought he was, but he’s also unexpectedly kind, and funny in a way that had caught all of them off guard, and largely seems like a solid sort of guy.

And Jeff just feels kind of shitty that the last time they hung out had ended the way it had, that’s all.

That is his main excuse for why he approaches Steve in the cereal aisle at Melvald’s at 8 p.m. on a Friday.

He clears his throat. “Hey.”

Steve turns, brows furrowed as he looks to see who’s trying to get his attention, clearly not expecting any kind of social encounter, but his expression clears a bit when he sees Jeff. “Oh. Uh– Hey,” he says. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I don’t seem like the type to eat breakfast cereal?” Jeff teases, and a little bit of the tension in Steve’s shoulders seems to ease away.

“More like I thought I was the only person lame enough to be grocery shopping on a Friday night,” he counters with a smirk.

“You might be,” Jeff says, though he keeps his voice warm. “I just stopped in to pick up some snacks for the weekend after– uh,” Jeff stops short; shit, why did he bring that up?

Steve stares at him for a moment, calculating, and Jeff sees the moment he makes the connection.

“Hellfire tonight, right?” Steve asks, his tone almost unnervingly neutral as he looks back towards the shelves.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, still watching Steve carefully. “Just ended about half an hour ago.”

Steve gives a slow nod. “How was it?”

And – well, there are two options from here. Jeff could take Steve’s polite interest at face value, tell him it was a good session, and let them both awkwardly get on with their nights, or… He could be truthful, and maybe see how Steve’s really doing (which would also be awkward, so it’s not like Jeff really has much to lose).

“To be honest? Not great.” Jeff shrugs. “Eddie hasn’t been in good form lately.”

He can see the curve of a sad sort of smile cross Steve’s face, just briefly.

“That sucks, man. Hope he, uh… gets his head back in the game soon, I guess?” Steve offers.

Whether he does or not will probably be entirely dependent on how his plans to fix things with Steve play out; Eddie hadn’t told Jeff much (apparently, he’s done accidentally flying his dirty laundry for the time being), but he had said that Steve had asked for a little time, and that they would be talking again soon.

“I think he’s working on it,” Jeff says, rather than digging into that particular can of worms. “And, uh… How are you doing?”

“Fine,” Steve says a little too quickly. “I’m fine.”

Jeff pauses for a minute, pursing his lips and staring up at the ceiling. Is he really doing this? On a Friday night at fucking Melvald’s?

“It just sucks,” he finally says, “that…”

“That you all had to see that I’m actually an oversensitive loser when you realized I’d basically made up an entire relationship and then ran out over it like an idiot?” Steve suggests, his tone so false and light that it sets Jeff on edge.

“That Eddie couldn’t see that he had something really good in front of him. That he completely fumbled it,” Jeff corrects him.

It’s only after he’s spoken that he remembers they’re in a public place, and that talking to one guy about his relationship with another guy isn’t particularly safe. He glances around, hoping it’s not too little, too late, and is relieved to find that the store is just as empty as it had been when he’d first stepped in. When he looks back to Steve, he finds him staring, brows furrowed like he’s trying to puzzle something out.

“Isn’t Eddie one of your best friends?” Steve asks at last.

Jeff shrugs. “Makes me qualified to point out when he’s been an idiot.”

Steve says nothing, just pins Jeff with that confused stare for a moment longer before turning back to the shelf, as if he might finally decide on what cereal he wants.

“If it helps at all,” Jeff says, more quietly this time, “the reason we were even talking about it is because I asked Eddie how it was going – the two of you dating. We all thought you were. We were– well, probably not just as surprised as you, but pretty damn surprised when Eddie said you weren’t.”

“That… actually does. A little,” Steve answers softly, cutting a quick glance at Jeff. “Thanks.”

Jeff shrugs. “It’s just– Eddie’s not– he’s not a bad guy. He gets caught up in things, and he forgets to pay attention, but he wouldn’t do something like that on purpose.”

“I know,” Steve says, not quite sharp, but not quite gentle, either.

“Sorry, I’m not… trying to talk him up. I swear I’m not here advocating for him, or whatever.” Jeff sighs. “You’re totally within your rights to tell him to fuck off—hell, you can tell me to fuck off—I just wanted to say that if he tells you he’s sorry, if he says he wants to fix it, he really does mean it.”

“Yeah. I know,” Steve says again, and this time he sounds gentle – a little soft and distant.

Jeff reaches up and clasps one hand over Steve’s shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze before releasing him. “Anyway, if we’re not going to be seeing you at any of the regular places, you should come over and catch a game sometime.”

It seems like a given that Steve won’t be sitting in on anymore Hellfire sessions for a while, or coming to see their gigs at The Hideout like he had been (he’s already missed one, and they had all pretended not to notice the way Eddie had completely ignored the side of the room with the table where Steve would usually sit and watch), but Jeff finds himself unwilling to let go of his friendship entirely.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, glancing over again.

“Sure.” Jeff shrugs. “Offer stands. Gareth and Oliver’d be happy to see you, too.”

“They’re not into sports,” Steve says.

“But they can be bribed with snacks,” Jeff answers, and Steve gives a huff of a laugh.

“Cool,” he says, the first real smile Jeff’s seen from him all night beginning to cross his face. “I’ll give you a call sometime.”

Jeff smirks at him. “Will you have your people call my people?” he teases, and Steve reaches out to give his shoulder a light shove.

“Fuck off, man,” he snickers.

“Only because I have other things to do,” Jeff says, heading back down the aisle the way he’d come. “Night, Harrington.”

“Night,” Steve calls back after him, sounding a bit lighter than when Jeff had found him.

Feeling a little lighter himself, Jeff snags an extra package of Ho Ho’s on the way to the register. He figures he’s earned it.

Part 6

-

Tag List (Now full, I'm sorry! Drop me a line if you want off the ride): @bushbees @y0urnewstepp4r3nt @gleek4twd @hellfireone @westifer-dead @anne-bennett-cosplayer @starman-jpg @mugloversonly @swimmingbirdrunningrock @alycatavatar @y4r3luv @rhapsodyinalto @vinteraltus @lilpomelito @tillystealeaves @noctxrn-e @pearynice @giverobinagfbrigade @novacorpsrecruit @hotluncheddie @strangersteddierthings @alongcomesaspider @theheadlessphilosopher @jettestar @rajumat @garden-of-gay @jamieweasley13 @dam28lh @oldwitcheshat @lololol-1234 @perfectlysensiblenonsense @salty-h0e @r0binscript @mavernanche @back2beesness @a-lovely-craziness @paintsplatteredandimperfect @redbullgivescaswings @emmabubbles @heartstarstar-blog @thesuninyaface @thatonebisexualman @fruitandbubbles @erinharvelle @m-owo-n @theystoodandplayedwithsilence @surroundedbyconfusion @luthienstormblessed @3ldr1tchang3l @pansexuality-activated

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

How the iudex sleeps

Unexpectedly enough Fontaine started wondering how the great judge is productive enough to do all his work and some bizarre ideas start pooping up until the iudex himself says his 'secrets'

Read also: otters sleep holding hands and with their babies on their bellies and I found that incredibly sweet

WC: 1,3K

Cw: gn reader, you both have a baby but it isn't specified if he is biologically related or adopted

‘The chief of justice is a busy person’ is a known fact amongst the citizens of Fontaine, who see him working through many cases plus uncountable quantities of paperwork. That led to a question for some people ‘how does he get enough energy for the day’ at first the common guess was coffee but they were told off by an angry melusine.

“Huff! As if monsieur Neuville would ever drink such things! Only weird humans can drink something that bitter”

That quickly shut down that possibility and led them back to the board of ideas. About that time reporters started to notice how many people seemed interested in maximizing their energy and being awake for longer, while they aren't life changing or particularly interesting sections, some weeks are remarkably unremarkable and anything is better than nothing.

Now every week there would be a few merchants promoting tonics, pallets and pills that enhance energy, even when they would find ways to waltz around trying to mention the judge in their advertisements.

‘Lawfully energetic’

‘as fierce as a dragon’

‘enough to stand 100 trials’

Even if the last one was almost enough for the mermonia palace to get involved for using Neuvillette's name it was vague enough that it got off the hook.

Usually Furina’s crew would be able to rehearse two scenes before tea time but for some reason it was already 2 pm and they were still rehearsing the beginning of the play.

“ I'm sorry, Ms. Furina, I just can't connect two ideas together today” the female lead says as she grabs her head, sighing deeply. Furina touches her back and before she can ask about it someone shares a thought to the air.

“ Oh! Have you tried nilotpala lotus tea? It seems to stimulate the nervous system and clear up brain fog. Maybe the iudex uses that” the man who was supposed to be practicing the piano to match the scene says with a slight poison over his words.

“ Isn't brain fog rich coming from you?” Furina yaps at him “ your tempo was off the whole day” as she looks over his shoulder and rather than seeing a music sheet she finds the newest issue of steambird “what are you even reading? Focus on the piano! We have a show next week!”

She quickly grabs the paper and starts reading the small column with advertisements and tricks, huffing at the idea “stop reading those newspapers and keep rehearsing! The magic fix you are looking for is simply a good night sleeps, like the iudex you are stalking for an answer” she sighs loudly before looking at her crew.

“Is that all?”

“Simply a good night's sleep. What else were you expecting? An extract with 10 times more caffeine than a cup or liyue acupuncture?” She looks at her crew and finds some of them nodding and others seemingly disappointed “now, a break or can we start from the top?”

Unsurprising enough, very few people believed what she claimed, most likely wishing for a strange concoction that can make up for bad habits. Even then a few girls believed it to be rational enough of an answer, seemingly even one of them must have said furina knew his whole nighttime routine causing a hoard of reporters to crowd her door asking senseless questions.

‘Does he use sleep mists?’

‘What kind of fabric are his sheets?”

‘What does he eat before bed? Does he drink water?’

After being stalked everywhere from her home to the supermarket or the café she started dressing up in disguise to escape, luckily a few days after she noticed the quantity of reporters went down and only one came knocking on her door asking about the rescheduling of her play.

“ Oh, yes, we had to reschedule as there was an ‘important trial’ that had to be dealt with urgently. A representative of the palais mermonia apologized for the inconveniences but in the end the most important thing is justice!” furina says with her characteristic theatrical flare. Now looking at the reporter scribbling things on his notebook she adds a bit “the new date will be in two weeks, if someone presents the special meet and greet tickets with the old date they will still be valid”

As he finishes writing he goes off to write the article “thanks miss!”

Now standing on the doorway to the rehearsal room, Furina was expecting the usual sleepy greetings or the usual chitchatter or gossiping but, unusually enough, the whole room was silent and her whole crew was hunched over a spot, their backs facing her.

Clearing her throat she greets them first but they still don't react “ morning? Guys? Are you all okay?” she rounds them trying to get their attention until one of them catches sight of her.

“Director! Look! Monsieur Neuvillette told his secret to the newspapers!” He grabs the yellow paper and holds it to her face, a big bold font meeting her eyes.

CASE MELUSINE AND OTHER QUESTIONS WITH THE IUDEX: PAST CASES TO HIS GREATEST SECRET

‘Greatest secret?’ Furina thinks for a second ‘did he already publicly state to be the hydro dragon? Doesn't seem like it’ but she quickly smiles at her co actor “So? What is his secret?”

But all her crew look at her with a questioning glare “ what we have been wondering all this time? Who would have guessed our director was right!”

“What is that even supposed to mean?!”

Charlotte looks at the pages full questions she prepared for her so desired meeting, who knew that after so long wishing for it she would truly get a chance to interview the iudex, even if half the questions she prepared couldn't be answered for privacy or because the cases weren't closed she got enough material to fill a good pair of pages. Even then she couldn't lose this opportunity and started asking the ‘dumber’ or sillier questions

Looming over one particular line she wonders, would the judge consider it rude for her to ask that given he was giving her his important time but she simply swallows and asks

“How are you able to work through so much work?”

“My apologies?” Neuvillette furrows his brows and looks confused “I don't think I quite understand what you mean”

Charlotte breathes in deeply before elaborating “People have been wondering how you have enough energy to do all the work you are able to do”

Neuvillette stays silent for a second with his eyes closed

“It's known the iudex doesn't talk about his private life, so if you don't want to answer-”

“ It's not that” Neuvillette reassures her calmly “it wasn't a question I was expecting, that is all” he crosses his legs and details as Charlotte writes

But regardless of how many tries we have thrown to the ceiling we all were wrong, the way our judge is able to power through the day is simple actually, a comfortable bed and his beloved family. Even if he refused to expand on information about his family he did speak more about his routine.

“I'm unsure why people care so much suddenly but it's very simple, really, I always sleep with my lover in bed and keep our child on my chest” even as Charlotte choked on her own spit at a sudden juicy revelation neuvillette barely glanced over the rim of his goblet “we are also rather particular about bedding, but for now we settled on silk flower sheets made I'm liyue”

As he drinks water a small smile creeps up his lips, remembering that very morning vividly, his fingers firmly entangled with yours, almost as if he fears you would leave and meet a cold spot when he wakes up, even when you are practically hugging his side. Or your young baby peeking his head out of his father's sleeping shirt and feeling the soft beating of his heart with a pleased face.

Hm, he is sure that is why he always wakes up with enough energy to power through his duties .

Opening his eyes he finds Charlotte with small tears on her lashes and muttering ‘how sweet’.

“ So about your son…?”

“No”

“Understood”

[serxinns]

Hi! I was wondering if u can do a normal class 1a x reader platonic hc’s? Like readers quirk is like briar from league of legends and readers pretty sweet but scares class 1a a lil

I haven't did fucking headcannons In a WHILE I hope you enjoy them!

Disclaimer I do not know much about this character so if I mischaraterize something then I'm sorry

•ever since you transferred to Ua, they always thought you were a bit weird, especially when you 1st introduced yourself. It was a wild one.

•"Hello, the names y/n l/n and I think blood is tasty!" There was a sudden silence in the class a couple of sweat drops formed on some of the students while you just casually smiled like what you said was completely normal... oh boy it was gonna be a long but fun ride for sure

•your 1st ever companions were Mina and Denki the three of you matched each other's energy and chaoticness it was like 2 dumbasses and one less of a dumbass the 3 of you would get into the most shit like one time you convince Kirishima that he could be a hammer so you somehow got a big nail and test it out resulting in Kirishima knocked out and you 3 getting scolded by and yelled at by katsuki , making iida realizing he has to deal with an extra chaotic person now

• Next was Kirishima your victim I mean your friend you can count on Kirishima was quick to like you due to your lay loose and enthusiastic behavior making him want to be you at times two whenever the two of you trained together you were encouraged each other Kirishima especially and whenever he feels insecure you would encourage him and make sure he's a strong manly man he is! Yall two are just loveable idiots

•Shoto and you had a strange yet wholesome friendship at 1st. Shoto was uncomfortable and cold towards you, which you didn't mind, and you respected his boundaries, but it all clicked when he saw you eating soba. "You like soba?" You turned to face the expressionless boy with a bright smile. "Of course! I even like it with sesame oil, grilled chicken, and a yummy fried egg! Want some?" You reached into the fridge and handed him an extra soba pack and that's how your friendship began even without the soba he thinks ur a pretty interesting person to talk to even with your bizarre talks

"Omg bro you look like that penguin dude from sanrio!"

"I have a cousin name sanrio?"

•next was Ochako she's a tiny bit scared of you at 1st worrying you might get her blood (cough cough flashbacks with toga) but you quickly reassured her that you wouldn't do it without permission which makes her feel a bit better after a bit of time and communicating with each other she starts to feel a bit comfortable with you like would invite you to her room for advice and stuff and the two if you would go out at night to watch the stars with some other students like tsuyu or maybe Tokoyami her most favorite activity is to tell space facts to you (I hc her as a space geek)

•Momo was always your go to whenever you need help with a test and she acts like she's annoyed with it but she genuinely enjoys your company you may the studying sessions fun and interesting for her whenever there's a big test that you forgot to study about all you had to do was go to her dorm and give her the puppy eyes and if she sighs you know that's a instant she then help you study mostly you just copying her notes and make SURE you get a Good grade if not she's gonna make you test the test again untill you get a good grade but outside of studying she spoils you with gifts and more to show off to your other classmates and invites you and the girls for a tea party which ends up quite chaotic

•Jirou was your music bestie you and her trade music Playlists like it's Halloween candy you like cutely but with disturbing music types of songs while jirou like cozy, calm, and peaceful genre but she admits your types of songs are amazing! But you sometimes scare her with your type of music one time she overheard your headphones blasting some sort of innocent cheery music talking about "we'll be together forever!" She thought it was cute so she asked you what song it was and you told her the lyrics and..

"Hey y/n what's the title of that song is sounds catchy?"

"So you became the moon!"

"Awww that's sounds pretty cute whats it about anyways?"

"It's about two kids drowning in a frozen late and they became together in heaven!"

"...you know what that's probably one of the tamest songs you played knowing you I'll take it"

Yea let's just say she was used to your kooky creepy music but she didn't mind, as long as that song slaps she's jamming it with you!

•Bakugo and you were fucking CHAOTIC rivals like yall two would never get along especially when the two of you 1st met you and bakugo would make a competition out of everything to the point he stopped paying attention to izuku at times which he doesn't know if he should be worried for blessed maybe both but the two of you will cause a storm one time yall wanted played Mario party with sero, and sato to see who was the best and it esuclated fast everyone in the class were rooting for you or bakugo even most of class 1b joined in on this making bets and momomeven making merch of this, shit was like a football game but unfortunately it was cut short by a angry aizawa with fuzzy bunny slippers with a hello kitty pajamas (don't even ask) but after thst night the two of you became popular

▪︎ but aside from then bakugo secretly respects you your determination and you wanting to give your all makes him admire that somehow so be bugs you everyday for now on wanting to see that determination again even the rest of the class started to notice and tease him about it which pissed him off

• Izuku isn't at all scared by you but rather is intrigued by your personality and quirk when you 1st introduced yourself he asked alot of questions about you, how your quirk operates, kind of quirk is it, do you drink animal blood-? He wants to know everything and you let him, you and him will chat each other's ears off about your favorite pro hero's and sometimes even go out to hunt for rare hero merch, you even helped izuku by participating in the black Friday event to get a all might themed ice cream maker that he has this day thanks to you if it wasn't for you punching that Karen, he cherished that ice cream maker to this day and even host ice cream parties here and there the two of you basically shared it

• But overall you were their chaotic sibing that are willing to protect, defend, and come to your aid even if it's your fault and out on the battle field you were a beast out there that one time when you, jirou, momo and denki, beat a bunch of villians you didn't know your arm was broken untill you pointed out momo and jirou freaked out while denki ran to get some aid but strangely you weren't bothered by it rather you were joking about it

Momo- "it's ok y/n help it's on the way stay put stay calm"

Jirou - just take deep breaths and count to 10-

"I wonder if I can sling it around will it spin freely"

Both- wtf-

• Yea you were a werid bitch but you were there werid bitch and they wouldn't trade you for the world

[livelaughlovesubs]

(Repost cuz tumblr still doesn’t like me- seriously, it’s the six time @nvllxiety)

Dom!reader x sub!akutagawa (reader is gender neutral)

Warning: handjob, overstim, overall very soft

Today your love came home especially early. Despite that fact he looked extremely exhausted and tired, your heart throbs a little whenever you see him in that state. You wanted to take care of him, to make him feel loved. Which is why you were hugging him gently as you two lied on your bed. Your arms wrapped around his waist from behind, chin placed on top of his head. “How was your day aku?” You whispered softly, noticing how tense he was. The boy took a deep breath before explaining, “it was fine as usual.”

You never knew if what he said was the truth, or maybe he doesn’t know better. Another reason why you try to be as tender and patient with him as you could. One of your hand found its way to his hair, ruffling through it while scrubbing his scalp slightly. “I see, as long as you are doing well.”

Akutagawa didn’t need to look at you in that moment to know you were smiling. As always you were being your kind and caring self, something that irritated him as well as made his heart pound. This feeling was weird, it hurts in his chest but he doesn’t want to let go. Suddenly you moved closer to him, those arms of yours tightening around his cold body. You were warm, or at least warmer than him. The warmth radiating from you was heating him up, his body was no longer cold. Now his cheeks were getting hotter, and that curling sensation in his stomach grew stronger. Truly bizarre.

“Hey, ryuunosuke.” He could swear his ears just got redder from the way you said his name, the way it rolled off your tongue made him feel tingles. Was this because you used his first name? “Do you… want me to help you? Down here.” You asked in a quiet manner, then your eyes wandered towards his crotch. “…huh…?!” The boy shook a little, this was surprising, why was his body acting so strange today. A shiver ran down his spine, and you noticed it. You didn’t rush him, waiting once again, matching your pace with his. “If you want to.” He answers, not looking into your eyes, rather avoiding them. “I see, thanks.”

God, he can read you like an open book, can’t you stop grinning at him like this? It was almost embarrassing. He grabbed a pillow, holding onto it like how you were holding him. Panting into the fabric while you slipped a hand inside his pants. “Cute.” You mumbled at the sight unfolding in front of you, feeling your own heartbeat rising.

Slowly you wrapped your hand around his half erect member, he let out shaky gasps as you did. With even more meticulous effort you gave him a handjob, moving it upwards in slow motion. When your fingers reached the top, you rubbed his tip a little, collecting the precum leaking from him to use as lube. He started to trembled, now grasping the pillow even tighter. You knew he was shaking because you could feel it, that was how close your bodies were. Without rushing things too much, you picked up the pace, your hand now moving a tad faster. His face was red as a cherry, completely different than his normal pale complexion. The shame and embarrassment he felt was practically painted on his needy expression, eyes half lidded as he tried to not squirm away from your touch.

In the end, he wasn’t able to keep himself still. Jerking his hips back and forth, matching the rhythm you set. Small whimpers started to slip from the boy. “Mhm..! Hu-uhgnn, hm..” those already barely audible sounds he made were further muffled by the pillow he was holding. If it wasn’t for how dead quiet the room was, you wouldn’t have been able to hear them. The only other noise that occurred were the sounds of yours and his breathing, as well as the blankets being moved aside. Soon enough he reached his limit, clawing at the pillow like a cat while you gazed at him with loving eyes. What are you going to do with him? He was so adorable you were going to overdose on cuteness.

“Ahh…haa-ha, nghhh…” Akutagawa whines a last time before he came, his slim figure trashing around a little. His shoulders also jerked upwards for a split second and his face twisted into one of bliss and want. You could feel something wet dripping down your hand, a familiar sensation by now. “Good job, aku, you did well.” You praised him again, feeling content with him. “mhm.” He gave back meekly, still not daring to look at you.

“… and are you up for a second round?” What? The boy had to think for a moment, you wanted another round? His ears just tainted bright red, it made you chuckle a little. While he was still ponding over your suggestion, you moved your hand again. He yelped, “eh-uhh..!” Now finally facing you, staring at you with hesitant eyes. “It will be fine, leave it all to me.”

This time he was a bit more expressive than before, jumping at every contact. It’s obvious he was more sensitive now, his shoulders were raised to his ears as he bit into the pillow. Was the pleasure too much? Was he ashamed of his voice? How cute. Your hand moved slightly faster, you could hear the pounding of your own heart, it was getting louder and louder. “Mhm..hngnnn, hmm..!” The boy let out some high pitched sounds. He was trying his best to make it easy for you, but in the end, he didn’t succeed. His legs clenched together, the overwhelming feeling was taking him by a storm. It felt so good but also frustrating, how he was losing himself over such a small thing.

“Ah.. y/n.” Akutagawa whispered, not knowing why he called out to you. “Yes? I’m right here with you, don’t worry, you are safe with me.” You reassured him, knowing that he was getting closer which is why you picked up your pace once again. “Hmm-!” Chocked out moans escaped him, a sigh that he was enjoying himself. This made you feel proud, of yourself and him. “So good, so so good for me.”

“Please..” he managed to say between ragged breathing’s, mouth hung agape while he continued to shiver. “It’s alright, dear.” You said, smiling when you noticed him looking back at you. “Ah-ahhHHh…!” Not long after he came again, this time his entire body shook as he came. Another wave of build up ecstasy washing over him, enough to make his mind go blank for a second. “You did so well, I’m proud of you.” You said, while kissing his head, hand still moving though slowly to help him come down. A sigh of relief and disappointment came from the male when he realised this was over. Now he was even more exhausted than before.

Even more of his fluid was running down your hand now, you grabbed a tissue to wipe it away. This was only a temporary solution, you should get a towel. “I’ll go to the bathroom, okay?” You proposed but he turned you down, switching positions so that he was facing you and snuggling against your chest. “… just a minute.” He demanded and closed his eyes. This act caught you off guard, but it wasn’t bad. Haaaah… you just can’t say no to him when he’s being this sweet and vulnerable.

[insanescriptist]

Cremation is just another fun(erl) service

So blaming random 4am thoughts that have been plaguing me all day for this

----

Jason woke to a bright room, thin sheets and the smell of a hospital embedded in his body.

First as always, assess. Hospital. No affiliation printed on the walls or anywhere. Private room, but small. That door looked like it led to a private bathroom. Generic flower picture, a mounted screen turned off. Really fucking bright sunlight from the windows.

There was no fucking way he was in Gotham then. Everything was too nice. Normal by standards outside of Gotham. There were blinds, not metal shutters. The walls were cleaner than Gotham allowed outside of Downtown and he could see greenery through the window.

Okay. So what had he been doing? Jason remembered and then wished he had his Jerichos to shoot himself with. Mystic Shit™. Okay. Okay. That was not one of his better ideas, but if he's recovering in a hospital, it worked. World saved.

So recovery. How fucked was he?

His skin looked so fucked. Which meant he had been worse. He's had time to recover and lose muscle tone in, going by how twiggy his arms were. His hands looked good. Clearly someone knew he cared about those if they went through the effort of restoring those.

Hmm, that was odd. No matter how much Jason hated the Lazarus Pits and all its by-products, it would have been a faster and more simple way to recover from near-death than the long incarceration in a hospital for a John Doe.

Jason wasn't sure if he'd been abandoned yet again by those who called themselves his family because he could, "take care of himself," or if he had been written off dead. Again.

Hospital beat the coffin by a long shot.

And it was with that cheery thought, a nurse -obvious meta human nurse- came in and burst into excited Japanese, because that was of course, his luck.

It's after the nurse and doctors leave that Jason loses his shit.

It looks like he's sulking in bed, but mentally everything in his head is exploding. Imploding.

Three. Fucking. Years. Coma.

Burn victim so bad they not only expected him to die in the first couple of days, but still expect it because of the infection risk his fucked up skin represents.

Still the conversation with the medical staff -of varying degrees of bizarre- was enlightening.

No, he has no idea who he is. Did he ever get anyone visit? How did he get here?

Of course some amnesia is to be expected. No, some of the nurses visited. No one knows how he got here.

Does he know what his quirk is? Uh?

Trauma blocked amnesia, the doctor mutters.

What's the last date he remembered?

Saturday. Maybe? The last year? No, I'm pretty sure my memory is shit and I'm trying hard not to freak out over not knowing anything. So could I get the year number?

And then there's the fucking year number. Once he got it translated into more normal terms.

Mystic Shit™ said fuck you to the future.

Except Jason knows this is not his future. Again, if it was, this would have been treated as a fucking inconvenience. Effective skin restoration goop -the proper name escaped him- was easily available to those with the right connections. A normal baseline human with 2nd and 3rd degree burns would be fine in less than two weeks with it, with nary a trace to show for it.

Thanks to the three year coma, his muscles were all atrophied as fuck, despite their best attempts at physical therapy. Because of all the burns and later burn scars and infections making it basically impossible to actually do fuck all about maintaining muscle tone until he was basically burnt skin and bones anyway.

He was so fucking weak now. It wouldn't last forever. He'd escape this hospital before he was discharged, before whatever "benefactor" showed up for whatever "purpose," he was suppose to serve now, as they had the medical debt over his head or was threatening his loved ones or whatever. If one didn't show up in the next week, he was losing his genre-savviness, because shitheads always wanted to claim shit, if it looked useful.

And Jason was used to looking useful, until he was no longer useful and they just didn't care. The amnesia made him less shiny, but Jason couldn't pull off the brain dead zombie imitation without actually being a brain dead zombie crawling up out of his grave.

So under the thin hospital sheets, Jason twitched his muscles.

Two weeks of emotional freak outs, watching the news, physical therapy and drugs Jason had had enough.

And he broke out.

----

Yeah, he regretted it almost immediately. Hard not to in the stupid paper gown, barefoot and bare ass.

Thankfully people were people, even with the plethora of meta humans he had seen, so it actually wasn't hard to find clothes. Someone left a hoodie in their car and Jason broke into said car. Put on the hoodie. Hotwired the car and drove off.

Somehow for being in the fucking future by two centuries and change, cars really hadn't changed. More evidence of Mystic Shit™ slamming him sideways.

He drove to the next town over, picked another direction, drove some more. Parked the car near what looked like a chop shop, negotiated the car for some money. He probably got ripped off, but better than nothing.

He walked to a corner store, bought some flip-flops after bullshitting an excuse that his had broken. First aid stuff. You know, for his feet. Hair dye in three different colors, because Rose Wilson could pick out a bad dye job at a hundred meters and so Jason learned how to dye his own hair properly so as to avoid her mockery, only to get mockery (affectionate) anyway.

It was a mix of instinct and lifelong observation that let him find an empty apartment quickly. He stole some sweatpants and passed out on the bed.

----

The thing is, Jason doesn't regret his crimes like Bruce thinks he ought to do, with a massive pity party and flaming self-hatred and punching criminals instead of shooting them. He hates the necessity of doing crimes, even if that crime is a net gain to society, but that's why all his serious crimes are premeditated. He's homicidal, not a psychopath.

Not Pit-mad either, no matter what the rest of them might have thought.

Again, he's homicidal, not a psychopath. And when he doesn't have to be some sort of costume soldier to be discarded by family for the disgrace of disfiguring the memory of a dead boy? He's actually chill and boring.

That is to say, he crashed at that apartment for three days, felt progressively more like himself, especially after the dye job -white hair all over, now a solid and boring black- but it still didn't change all the other issues the Mystic Shit™ inflicted on him.

This body isn't actually his. Too young, scars not right where the burns didn't fuck him over. Thankfully his existing coping mechanisms for dysphoria work and it's shoved to the side.

It's also a shit body. Not even a month out of a three year coma with inadequate -by his standards- of medical care. It's weak and building muscle to do everyday civilian shit, is going to take months to do. Pushing as hard as he did during the escape wrecked him the next three days. Jason may not know what's going to happen, but with his luck, it's going to suck and training is preparing to make it suck less. The only certainty he's got is that his skin or lack thereof is going to kill him from infection if he doesn't fix it.

He's got no legal identity here. Which basically puts him back onto familiar ground of legally dead.

Beyond the lack of paperwork, he's got a lack of funds. He also has no easy target to steal funds and equipment from, even just for fun.

For more disadvantages, he's in a different country, with different laws and a whole different culture. He would be climbing on board a fucking plane to Gotham, if it existed in this world, for some familiar ground.

He really is the unluckiest Robin. It also means he is also the most prepared Robin.

---

The first six months after waking up in this mockery world of heroics were the absolute worst.

He started at one foot in the grave and crawled out of it before the casket could really eat him alive. Jason had experience in casket busting. He didn't wanna repeat it.

He still didn't know who he was -in who was he inhabiting- but it wasn't like Jason had a lot to go on. 'His' quirk was thermo-manipulation, most obviously in the blue fire he could call to his hands but he could do some ice too; it was thanks to Duke's light and shadow manipulation that he had even tried for the duality. He had white hair. Presumably Japanese heritage but quirks had really erased or blurred a lot of racial lines. Also presumed dead and young.

Access to the Quirk Registry took some doing, but again, not everyone followed basic computer security, much less what it took to keep someone bat-trained out of their systems. Again, for nearly two centuries in the future, a lot of the technological development had stagnated. Searching through the Quirk Registry hadn't yielded any result but none of his other methods had struck anything either. And he had looked at the recently dead and/or presumed dead. Sure, he had some leads that looked viable, but he wasn't going to follow those up yet.

He had fixed a few of his most pressing issues the past six months. His ignorance of the local area, the local and national politics and so on. This world supported and had an entire industry catering to making child soldiers and sell their image and reputation to make money and more child soldiers that called themselves Heroes.

His weak ass body no long cried doing daily tasks and only hated him after working out. Yes, Jason was pushing it but he was well aware of how months of preparation could mean shit in the face of seconds.

His infection risk was severely reduced after quick research bender let him make the most generic knock-off brand of the skin restoration goop in a shitty homemade lab. Did it fix his skin being patchwork fucked in places? Some. He wasn't going to get feeling back properly, but at least he looked more normal. Maybe with enough moisturizing he might look a little less Frankenstien's monster.

He also had a cash inflow. It wasn't great, but it supported his apartment. And the second set of papers. And the 2nd apartment.

Which meant in grand old tradition for Jason, time for him to bounce to the next apartment and come up with a new name.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Curiosity

Bucky x Y/N

Bucky has a question. One Y/N did not expect.

Requests Open - See Blog!

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Bucky being a precious little thing..

"Y/N?"

The familiar sound of Bucky's voice drifted from the living room, a mix of curiosity and hesitation woven into the single utterance of her name.

Immediately, Y/N felt the prickle of anticipation that had become second nature since they’d moved in together. Bucky's endless stream of questions had started innocently enough—about pop culture, slang, or even the latest in music. Every day brought a new inquiry as he tried to fit into a society that had changed so drastically since the 1940s.

But every now and then, a question came up that was... a little less innocent.

She made her way down the hallway, half expecting to find Bucky with his phone in hand, ready to show her some bizarre internet meme or picture that had left him puzzled. Yet when she stepped into the living room, what greeted her was entirely different.

Bucky sat in the corner of the couch, hunched over, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. His steel-blue eyes, normally so focused and sharp, were trained on the floor. His brow furrowed ever so slightly as if he were wrestling with something in his head. It was an unusual sight—he looked more serious than usual, contemplative in a way that tugged at something deep inside her.

"Yeah?" she prompted gently, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe, trying to break whatever spell he was under.

At the sound of her voice, Bucky looked up. His expression softened when his eyes met hers, and a small, almost sheepish smile pulled at the corner of his lips. He seemed relieved to see her, yet that tension in his shoulders hadn’t fully dissipated.

"I just... have a question," he said slowly, as if trying to ease into the conversation.

Y/N raised an eyebrow but moved across the room, lowering herself onto the couch next to him. The fabric gave way under her weight, and she could feel the warmth radiating off his body as she settled in.

They had grown close since living together—comfortably so—but every now and then, he could still surprise her with the bluntness of his questions. Something in his voice, though, told her this wasn’t one of his usual inquiries.

She turned to face him, nodding her head in silent encouragement.

"What’s edging?"

The question was so unexpected that she nearly choked on her own breath. Y/N blinked, her brain scrambling to catch up with what he had just said. Did I hear that right? She turned to him, wide-eyed, as she processed the bluntness of his question.

"You—you what?" she managed to stammer out, her voice strangled as she fought the urge to laugh or cry—maybe both.

Bucky's brow furrowed further, his mouth pulling into a frown as he looked at her with genuine confusion. He shifted awkwardly in his seat, almost as if he regretted asking in the first place.

"I, uh... I read it. Somewhere." He rubbed the back of his neck, an action she had come to recognize as his default when he was unsure of something. "Is it bad? If it is, you don’t have to—"

"No, it’s not... bad. I’ll tell you," Y/N interrupted, cutting him off before he spiraled into some apology about making her uncomfortable. She could already feel her cheeks heating up. "It’s just... kind of inappropriate. But not your fault you don’t know these things." She smiled awkwardly. "Plus, you’re an adult."

Bucky shifted again, this time leaning back slightly, still looking uncomfortable but more curious now. His fingers twitched on his leg, betraying the tension he was holding inside. He glanced away from her, as though mentally scolding himself for making things awkward.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "Maybe you could teach me how to use the Google better after this so I don’t need to keep asking you stuff like this all the time."

At that, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly. His words were so sincere, almost innocent despite the heavy subject. The sound of her laughter lightened the tension in the air, and even Bucky cracked a small, embarrassed smile.

"Sure, I’ll teach you how to use ‘the Google,’" she teased, the warmth of her voice softening the edge of the conversation. But the humor faded quickly as they both remembered the question that had yet to be answered.

Bucky cleared his throat again, straightening himself. His eyes flickered to hers, and suddenly, the room felt smaller, the weight of his curiosity palpable in the space between them. "Right," he said quietly. "So, edging..."

Y/N took a deep breath, her palms rubbing against her jeans. Never thought I’d be explaining this to Bucky Barnes of all people, she mused to herself.

She felt a strange fluttering in her stomach as the words began to form in her mind, the awkwardness building.

"Okay, so... edging is... a sexual thing," she began slowly, carefully choosing her words. She risked a glance at him, noticing the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly, his attention fully on her. "Basically, it’s when you—or a partner—bring you close to, um, release and then stop right before it happens. You do it over and over again, as many times as you want."

The explanation spilled out of her quickly, almost clinical in nature, but it didn’t stop the deep flush that began creeping up Bucky's neck and into his face. His ears turned a deep shade of pink, and he seemed to stiffen beside her, his breath catching for a split second.

"Oh." His voice was rougher than usual, and he cleared his throat again as if trying to shake off the sudden intensity of the conversation. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked away, avoiding her gaze.

For a moment, silence settled over them. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but there was an undeniable tension that neither seemed to know how to break. Y/N glanced down at her lap, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the edge of her sleeve, unsure of what to say next.

It was Bucky who finally spoke, his voice quieter than before. "Have you ever, uh... done that?"

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. The question hung in the air, bold and unflinching. She felt her face heat up again, and she wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or something else entirely. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her pulse quickening as she considered her response.

"Not with another person," she replied honestly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s gaze shifted to her, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke again, his voice low and careful.

"...Would you want to?"

The air between them seemed to crackle with unspoken words. Y/N’s eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected that. Not from him. Not today.

[kechiwrites]

light of day toxic baby daddy!ghost x reader part 6/?

synopsis: trust is hard to build when the foundation is so shaky, and while you and simon certainly aren’t on the same page, at least you can stand to be in the same bookstore.

wc: 2.5k

cw: afab!reader, some fluff and domesticity, very light angst, hurt and comfort, language, you and simon sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, heavy petting, trust issues, tommy being the light of both your lives, no gendered language. no use of y/n ever.

author’s note: long time no see! this is a direct continuation to white flag. I strongly recommend you read it first, hell you may wanna reread it, it has been a while. thank you all sm for your love and patience, it means a lot that you're still interested in this lil 'verse.

new to baby blue? start here.

Navigating around Ghost in the morning is bizarre. A new reality you aren’t quite sure you’re ready for. Your son, to his credit, takes it in stride, opening your bedroom door and beaming at the sight of his father laying next to you.

It’s hard to stave off more tears when Ghost doesn’t miss a beat, sliding out of your sheets and whisking Tommy up into his arms, while the little boy lets him know that Sundays are always for pancakes, and how you make the best ones, and how he’s just so happy “dad will get to try them!”

They leave the bedroom door wide open, allowing you to hear the rumble of Ghost’s answer, but not necessarily the words. Tommy’s laugh chimes in afterward, like tinkling glass and carefree joy.

You’re uncharacteristically slow to rise. You blame it on having someone else to divert Thomas’ attention so early in the morning. Someone to listen to his early morning babble and chime in with appropriately timed ‘hmm’s and ‘is that so’s. It’s nice. Paralyzingly nice. Fills your chest with this balmy, uncertain kind of calm, one you haven’t felt…maybe ever, Certainly not since you’ve had Tommy. 

When you do finally get up, Tommy is already directing his dad on what to take out of the fridge, boasting about how helpful he is when it was just you and him. 

“Best sous chef within a hundred miles!” You scoop up your son, nuzzling your face into his neck while he screams between peals of laughter, wiggling in your hold. You catch Ghost staring at you, the both of you, with the weird look on his face, it's inscrutable, like he wants to smile but doesn't think he should? Maybe he can’t? It wouldn’t surprise you. Either way, you ignore it, spinning Tommy in a circle before you approach his father. You extend your baby as best you can towards him (he's way too big for you to be holding him like an infant, but old habits die really, really hard). Ghost holds his arms out to receive him, handling Tommy's weight better than you do, shifting the boy under his arm like a sack of potatoes. Father and son leave the kitchen to you, opting to sit in the living room and entertain each other (meaning Tommy will likely do whatever he wants, and Ghost will pretend he has the will to stop him). Immediately, the four year old digs in the toy box you keep near the sofa, his body half inside the plastic tub. You start mixing the components into pancake batter while Tommy tells Ghost the names of his toys, a seminar during which Ghost nods seriously, affirming he's listening when Tommy inquires after his attention. 

“What do you want in your pancakes?” You ask, leaning over the kitchen island to peer at the blond, who has Tommy strewn across his legs, smashing plastic dinosaurs together. His confusion, his wariness is a picture, honestly, you could almost laugh.

“Plain’s fine.” He responds, and Tommy unhelpfully shouts; “Ew dad! Plain’s gross!” before he brings a plesiosaur up to his father’s face, making the toy reptile kiss his dad’s cheeks. 

Your expression is a mirror of your son’s when you grimace at the soldier. 

“Plain is gross.” You keep eye contact with him as you toss a heavy handful of chocolate chips into the batter. 

He shrugs, standing and letting Tommy hang on to his bicep, his little feet dangling and kicking in the air, an impressive move that has the boy squealing with laughter. 

The batter sizzles in your frypan, a warped, scratched, old thing that’s definitely seen better days. The non-stick has worn off from years of use, but you manage to scrape the pancakes off the surface and flip them back down. 

The vintage radio on your coffee table sputters out a scratchy, slightly distorted version of an upbeat pop song, surprising you. It’d been mostly decorative, a cute little brown and white centerpiece for your, frankly, feeble living room set up. Tommy croons out of tune over the music, and you can’t stave off the smile while you plate more breakfast.

Simon must’ve been fiddling with it.

-

You have to talk. You know you have to talk. About the night before. About the future, whatever that future even looks like. So when Tommy’s maple syrup sugar high succumbs to the inevitable crash, you tuck him in for a nap and return to sit next to Simon. Closer to him than usual. Close enough that he can cover your knee with his palm, and when he does, the calloused skin is so hot you worry he might have a fever, his body overheating in response to processing more emotion than he probably has in the last ten years. 

“I appreciate you…staying this morning.” You start, and when he turns to face you his eyes are fathomless, dark brown and so painfully familiar. Immediately, you bury the sentiment in safe territory under ten tonnes of dirt; “Tommy was happy to spend the morning with you. Doesn’t usually get that.” 

You feel like a coward, even though you have every right to be scared, to hide how you're feeling from your son’s father. 

Simon, to his credit, merely bobs his head and gruffs back to you; “Thanks for asking me to.” 

And you did ask him, didn’t you? You finally asked for something of him, and he’d given it so freely it had shocked you. Scared you so bad, you poured your heart out in response, finally laid it all on the table for him to gawk at, to poke at, to ‘hmm’ and ‘ahh’ over. 

And it had felt good, in the light of day.

You can’t stop staring at his hand on your knee, his skin overwritten with plenty of silverskin scars, crisscrossing over each other, puckered and healed. When you drag your fingers over them, you find two you don’t recognize, two injuries he must have gotten somewhere far from here, some place far away where problems like teething and daycare and tantrums must have seemed so small, so insubstantial.

You’re surprised you could identify them as new, and you follow the longer one up his arm, flipping his wrist over, pushing up his sleeve, and tracing it with your finger until it ends near the crook of his elbow, running parallel to a vein in his forearm. Simon’s exhale is shaky, rattling out of his chest, uneven and fast like he’s been holding his breath. You raise your head and just fucking stare. Catalogue the halted, cautious look in his eye, the way his mouth is downturned and tense. 

And then, all at once, you’re all over him. Grabbing at the collar of his shirt and pressing kisses to that uncertain mouth, plastering your chest to his and falling apart with wanting. 

You used to do it all the time. Sit on this same leather sofa and kiss him, half in and half out of his lap, with your arms wrapped around his neck, only breaking your hold to slap at his hands whenever he tried to escalate. And he always tried to escalate, because he “didn’t come over to make out like 13 year olds”. But you knew deep down he liked it. Like being pliable in your hands, letting his ever present guard down, liked when your lips skimmed his throat and when you bit down, sucking bruises into his pale skin.

“Do you ever get any sun?” You’d said, teasing, pulling away from his exposed jaw. You’re home, both of you, after he’d taken you out for the first time. To a pub. To meet his workmates. Not friends, he’d spoken vehemently, and you suspected from the way Johnny MacTavish (Soap, he’d wanted to be called) had stared at you, bug-eyed and disbelieving, Ghost didn’t really consider anyone his friend. Maybe not even you. Talk about a red fucking flag.

“Enough.” And whether he’d been answering your question or just voicing his frustration with the lack of action, you never found out, opting instead to submit to searching hands and the straining fly of his pants. You let him spread you out and take.

Now, Ghost doesn’t try anything. Now, with four years and endless bullshit between you, he lets you do what you want. You aren’t quite sure what he’s trying to prove, what all this; the pancakes, the sleeping over, the fucking book, means. You just know you don’t want to think too hard about it. Don’t want to ruin what could very well be a ceasefire during a war you were painfully ill-equipped for.

He stays still, lets you kiss him, lets you pull and touch and take. Lets you drag your tongue over the edge of his teeth. He’s hard, and under the hand you have on his chest his heart thumps erratically, hummingbird fast. With your other hand you take hold of one of his wrists, urging him to touch you, anywhere. He takes the gift, pressing his digits into your thigh and crowding in close. One of his hands finds your throat, settles at the base where it slopes into your shoulder. You aren’t quite sure who deepens the kiss, but ultimately, it doesn’t matter when Simon pulls you into his lap, biting at your bottom lip and chasing your tongue with his own. He groans his contentment into your mouth, letting his fingers slip into the waistband of your pants before they stall in a rare bout of hesitation.

He tries to pull away, probably means to say something, but you don’t give him the chance. Instead, you nod jerkily, pressing your face to his collarbone, using both hands to pull down the neck of his shirt so you can mark the expanse of scarred skin. You’re desperate, and it shows in your actions, how you sink your teeth into his skin, how you grind down against the hard column of his cock, straining against his fly. All of it speaks to just how bad you want this, want him. Just how badly you want to forget any of it ever happened in the first place.. 

All the crying and confessing, the slow, soft, silent domesticity of your morning together and the familiarity of making out on your worn, cream coloured couch, compound together. It has you crying out in defeat, in relief, in pleasure when Simon pushes his hand underneath your clothes, slides his fingers against your clit, rubbing slow sure circles that force gasps from between your lips. He murmurs into your throat, not really saying much of anything, just whispering your name, humming and sighing while he pushes your underwear to the side, dragging his fingertips over your entrance, tracing your hole until you shudder with need.

“C'mon, c’mon.” You urge quietly, shifting your hips so he has easier access. His fingers are deep within you and so goddamn thick. Blunt, calloused and moving so slowly, fucking into you and revelling in how you bear down, tightening like a fist around him. You can feel how soaked you’re making his hand, the slick noise fills the room around you, a perfect accompaniment to the heavy breathing between you. You shift so you’re able to unzip his pants and put your hand on his cock, the warm length searing the skin of your palm. His hips jerk up to meet you, fucking the soft circle formed by your fingers and his head falls back, allowing you to nip at his Adam’s apple. It must feel very good, because he forgets he’s in the middle of fingering you for a while. Just lies back and chases his peak, to which you think, fuck that. You stroke down to his groin, and linger there, squeezing at his base until he gets the idea. Soon both of you are moving in tandem, teasing each other under your clothes like teenagers. Like two people who like each other, who can’t keep their hands off each other long enough to undress. Like two people without trust issues, and arguments, and the looming fear of being abandoned. Your peak hits you fast, crashing down on you in waves, unrelenting, over and over. Your face is buried in the crook of his neck, your mouth basically plastered to the skin there, using your lips to deduce just how fast his heart is beating, how close he is. 

Simon spills over your hand soon after, his cock twitching in satisfaction, his chest rising and falling in time with your own laboured breaths. The room is at a standstill, and the quiet sits between you, pleading with you to interrupt the slowing pattern of your breathing, nagging you to say something. Something that will fix everything. Because it has always been your job to fix the problems, to fix him.

You open your mouth, to joke, to sigh, to say or do something that’ll diffuse the tight, anxious, aching sensation in your chest but Simon beats you to it. 

“The book was good.” He mumbles, letting his head fall back, until it’s resting on the back of the couch, rather than remaining nested in the hollow of your throat. 

“You finished it?” It’s hard not to smile when he nods the affirmative, the bodice-ripper had to be at least 20 years old, maybe more; a relic you’d uncovered from the take-one-leave-one library at the local laundromat. The Rancher and the Runaway had a strapping blond cowboy and his brunette virgin charge on the cover, locked in a passionate embrace. It was smut, good smut, barely held together by family drama. 

And Simon had finished it. He’d liked it.

The very idea starts a fit of near hysterical laughter in you, so bad it jump-starts a bout of short-breathed hiccups. 

“Okay, okay wait.” You huff, clutching your stomach in-between cackles. “Which brother is your favourite?” You cover your mouth with the hand not covered in drying come when he glares at you, your shoulders shaking with glee. His dick is hanging out of his pants and your clothes are rumpled and half removed, the both of you smelling of sex and each other, but somehow, that just makes it funnier.

You bet it’s fucking Garth.

“Garth.” He rumbles, and you fucking howl. 

disclaimer: reader’s opinion on pancakes are not my own, i fuckin love plain pancakes. also the rancher and the runaway is a real romance novel, not technically a bodice ripper but i recommend it if you like harlequin romance and cowboys. If u read it come tell me. series masterlist here

support city girls, reblog what u like

[suzukiblu]

. . . anyway I met a new soulmate AU concept and I'm gonna make it the Core Four's problem, natch.

It's kind of weird and awkward when Tim's Pocket shows up, because a) Tim's Pocket is Superman, and b) Superman is dead.

So that's . . . several kinds of weird and awkward, yeah.

"B," he says first thing into the cave, trying to sound professional and reasonable and not like he's kind of freaking out a little. Or . . . more than a little, maybe. "Can we, uh . . . talk?"

"Go ahead," Bruce says, not looking away from the Batcomputer. Tim really wishes he would. It would make some things easier to explain. Like his Pocket. Specifically his Pocket would be much, much easier to explain.

"My Pocket showed up last night," Tim says. Bruce nods in acknowledgement, still not looking away from the computer. His own Pocket is sitting on his shoulder, and at least she's looking at Tim. She also looks a little gobsmacked, which is saying something for her. Cat came from Selina, after all, and is very rarely gobsmacked.

"We'll get them a mask, then," Bruce says.

"Glasses might be better," Tim says resignedly. Bruce . . . pauses. Cat tugs his ear. He turns his head, and Tim tries not to die of embarrassment as his Pocket continues to hover over his head, peering curiously at Bruce.

He's Superman, still. The costume is a little different for some reason–there's black in it and different divisions of color and weird unnecessary-seeming belts and straps and gloves–but it's still undeniably Superman, big red cape and all.

Bruce looks blankly at Tim's Pocket. Tim's Pocket grins confidently back at him.

"What the fuck, Tim," Bruce says.

Tim does not in any way whatsoever blame him for it.

.

.

.

Cassie's Pocket is Superman and she has no idea how to feel about that. Superman's dead, for one thing. And also like in his thirties, at least? If not forties. And also dead.

"Uh, Mom?" she says when she comes down for breakfast. "Something . . . happened?"

Her mom looks up with a frown. Cassie's Pocket chirps a friendly greeting.

Mom stares.

"He's too old for you," she says immediately.

"Mom!" Cassie protests, and her Pocket cackles and swoops a circle around her head. "You–stop that, you jerk! And Mom, don't embarrass me in front of my Pocket, oh my god!"

"He should be embarrassed," Mom says darkly, glaring at Cassie's Pocket. He looks mildly offended. Cassie is very offended. To be fair, she also did not expect her Pocket to turn out to be a full-grown man with incredible alien superpowers and it's kind of freaky and a little off-putting, but that's her business, not her mom's.

Also, like, well . . . he's really cute, honestly. In a very weird way that she doesn't quite know how to reconcile with an adult man, but still. He's her Pocket, so there's no way he's a creep or a predator, and he's also Superman so there's definitely no way he's a creep or a predator, but the situation is really freaking bizarre all the same.

She's never even met Superman, so him being her Pocket really doesn't make sense. Especially because he is, again, dead. That'd be a really strong soulmate bond. Like, scary strong, Cassie thinks.

Though in retrospect, expecting Superman of all people to die was maybe kind of stupid of the world at large.

.

.

.

Bart is pretty surprised when his Pocket happens. It's Superman, he thinks? Which is weird. Superman's, like, super dead. Superman's from like . . . the twenty-first century, and Bart is definitely not.

And like . . . he's also just old. Like really, really old.

Lame.

"I'm gonna call you Soup," he decides immediately, poking his Pocket's curly hair. His Pocket looks just as immediately unimpressed and folds his arms. "What, you don't like it? Seriously? Okay, what about Soupy? Soupers? Soupette? Sou–ow ow ow stop!"

Okay, he's gonna have to workshop the name a bit, he guesses.

[flatassthrowaway]

Passionate and Deeply

~Chapter One~

Y'all might actually hate me for this chapter, but you can let me know what you think.

Just a gentle reminder that this story will eventually become 18+. MDNI please.

If you didn't read the prologue, it's here. Enjoy!

A few days passed, and it was now the end of February. I haven’t seen Ford for a whole week since we met. According to Susan, I just missed him the other day.

I wonder… was he looking for me?

No, it couldn’t be. No one sought after me.

He’s probably busy anyway with his paranormal investigations. He doesn’t have time to think about lil ol’ me.

Nevertheless, he did give me his address and said to stop by whenever I wanted to talk about the paranormal.

I was finished with my work for the day, and we only had like one more hour of sunlight before it was total darkness, so I decided to go visit him. I mean, why not? It’s not like I have anything better to do.

I got all bundled up before heading out the door. As I locked the door, I noted that the icicles around my home appeared to be… moving?

I shook my head and looked at the icicles again, but they were completely still.

Sheesh, I think I’ve been working too long. Now I think the icicles are moving.

Maybe getting out of the house will do me some good.

Thankfully, his home wasn’t too far from mine. But… I did start seeing weird signs shaped as arrows that said, “To the Mystery Shack,” and “Amazing!” as well as “Enter!”

Where did he live, exactly? And why were there so many bizarre signs leading to his home?

By the time I got there, there was a young man sitting on the porch of the home, talking with…

Ford!

He was fully bundled up with a maroon jacket lined with faux fur, and dark jeans with dark brown winter boots.

“There you are, Ford!” I called him, rushing over.

He turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Uh… what? Do I know you, kid?” He asked in a raspy voice.

Oh no! I wonder if he caught a cold? Although, it sounds like he’d been smoking for a while to have that kind of voice. I didn’t notice it during our time at the diner.

“Come on, Ford! It’s me!” I told him my name again. “Don’t tell me you forgot me already!”

“Kid, listen! I told you I don’t know who you are! Now leave us alone and get outta here!” He said in an even rougher tone, and he turned his back to me.

I sighed sadly. I guess he really doesn’t remember…

“Wait a sec, girl dude! Mr. Pines, why are you being so mean to the nice lady? She’s just looking for your brother,” the man on the porch spoke. He wore a dark green jacket, grey sweatpants and black winter boots.

“What…? Brother?” I asked. This man looked identical to Ford!

Twins…?

The man sighed and turned around. “I’m not Ford. My brainiac brother is inside. I’m Stanley Pines, but you can call me Stan,” he introduced.

“And I’m Soos, Mr. Mystery himself! I, along with my wife and grandma, live here with Mr. Pines and his twin brother,” Soos introduced.

I smiled. “Well, it’s nice to meet you Soos… and Stan.”

“You too, girl dude!”

The door then opened, revealing a young woman who appeared to be the same age as me, but she was heavily pregnant. She wore a long sleeved lavender dress that fell to her feet, and white fluffy slippers. She had light brown wavy hair that was pulled up in a ponytail, hazelnut brown eyes, and tan skin.

“Soos? Mr. Pines? Dinner’s ready!” She told them.

“Finally! Thanks Mel,” Stan said, leaving the three of us.

Well at least I found people in my age range. The woman, who I assume is Mel, turned to me. “Oh, hello! Soos, who’s this?”

Soos introduced me to her. “And this is Melody Ramirez, my lovely wife, and soon-to-be mother of my child,” he said.

I smiled. I could feel the love radiating from his words about his wife. He truly loves her.

“Nice to meet you, Melody,” I said.

“You as well,” she said. “Hey! Why don’t you come in for dinner? We’re having meatloaf tonight!”

“Oh… I wouldn’t want to impose…” I trailed off.

“Hey, don’t worry about Mr. Pines,” Soos said my name. “He’s a little rough at first, but he’s one of a kind. Plus, his twin brother is here, which is who you really wanted to see, right?”

I nodded. “Yes…”

“So come in! I’d hate for you to be left out in the cold,” Melody told me.

I smiled and nodded as Soos went in, and I went in after him, instantly feeling much warmer. I took my shoes off, and once I finished, Melody and Soos gave me a strange look.

“What is it?” I asked.

“This isn’t a shoe free home. You can keep your shoes on,” Melody told me as Soos went to the table.

I shrugged. “Mine is. I suppose old habits die hard.”

“As long as you’re comfortable. Come on, let’s get you some food,” she said, guiding me to the dining table.

An elderly woman, who I assume is Soos’ grandmother, happily dished out food, and I saw Stan and Ford side by side, seemingly bickering. Soos was at the head of the table and started eating the food in front of him.

There was meatloaf, mashed potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes, kale, broccoli and asparagus. There was a large pitcher in the middle that was steaming.

This truly looks like a feast.

As I approached the table with Melody, I heard what the bickering between Ford and his brother was about.

“But you told me I ought to make some more friends! I finally made another one and you’re irate over it?!” Ford said incredulously.

“Poindexter, I said find a friend, not someone you can fuck around with,” Stan said.

Ugh, he’s one of those guys.

“Ay! Language!” The grandmother scolded Stan. “Not in front of mi bisnieto!”

“Sorry toots,” he told her before turning to Ford. “But I’m serious, Poindexter. If-“

“Um, Mr. Pines-“

Stan cut Soos off. “Not now, Soos! I’m tryin’ to-“

Soos cut Stan off. “But Mr. Pines, she’s right here!” Soos cried.

Both Ford and Stan looked at Melody and myself, and went wide eyed.

“Well… shit,” Stan said.

“Stanley Pines!” Abuelita scolded him.

“Sorry! Sweet Moses…”

Melody turned to me and smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry about this. It’s normally not this noisy. Or rude,” she told me apologetically.

I shook my head. “No harm done,” I told her.

Melody sat down next to her husband, and Abuelita begrudgingly took a seat next to Stan. Seeing four empty seats, I took the one next to Melody. I wonder why there’s so many?

Actually, Ford did say his niece and nephew visited, so maybe it was for them.

Melody and I dished out for ourselves, and we began eating, along with the rest of the family.

“I just wanted to thank you for inviting me into your home,” I told them.

“Anytime, cariño. It’s nice to see that my granddaughter-in-law has a friend who she can share things with,” Abuelita told me.

Aww, she’s so kind. She reminds me of my own grandmother. I miss her…

“Actually Abuelita, she’s a friend of Ford,” Melody corrected her. “Although I wouldn’t mind being friends.”

“It would be nice to have a girlfriend here, I agree,” I told her.

“Oh? Wow, you must really like her to invite her here Mr. Stanford. Never invite anyone to our home, except that hillbilly man,” Abuelita remarked as she continued eating.

Ford doesn’t appear to trust people. I guess that’s one thing we have in common.

Except that hillbilly man she spoke of. I wonder who he is.

Ford scratched the back of his head. “Why, yes. I believe that she would make a great co- I mean female friend,” he replied.

“Oh, that’s so wonderful!”

“So,” Soos said my name in between bites of his food. “What brings you to our wonderful town?”

I smiled. “I’m here for work,” I told him.

“Yeah, what kinda work you do?” Stan asked.

“Stanley, it’s ’what kind of work do you do?’” Ford corrected him.

“Poindexter I swear if you start with that grammar shi-“ Stan cut himself off when he noticed Abuelita was glaring at him. “I mean that grammar thing, we’re gonna have some problems!”

Ford rolled his eyes as I told everyone what I did for work.

“Oh, so you can travel and still maintain the same kind of work? That’s cool!” Melody said.

I smiled. “Thanks.”

“Listen, let me cut to the chase,” Stan told me. “How long ago did you meet my brother?”

“About a week ago,” I said.

Stan turned to his brother. “Normally I’d be happy for you, Sixer, but I don’t like this,” he told his brother.

“Stanley, why is-“

I drowned out their bickering and quickly finished my food. I thanked Melody, Soos and Abuelita for having me, and Melody went to see me off.

“I’m sorry about that again. You’re always welcome back here… with or without those two.”

I chuckled. “Thanks, Melody. I hope to speak with you further at a later time.”

“Me too. I hope this doesn’t taint your experience of Gravity Falls. It’s a wonderful town, I promise,” she told me as I donned my winter boots again.

“Thank you, Melody. Have a good night. Rest well,” I told her.

“Thanks! See you around,” Melody told me as she waved.

I waved back as I stepped outside, and began trekking home. The wind was cold and bit at the exposing skin on my face.

I knew I should have brought a face cover.

“Wait!” I heard a familiar voice call my name.

I turned around to see Ford running up to me. He caught up to me and gave me an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry for what my brother said about you. He should have never said those demeaning words to describe you,” he told me.

I shook my head. “It was coming from a place of concern, so I understand,” I told him as we kept walking to my home. “I mean… I’d be a little surprised if he was on board with our budding friendship. Honestly… I’m surprised I’m not too young for you.”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “Why would that be a problem?” Ford asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. You hear stories about young people like me taking advantage of older people? I think that’s what your brother is afraid of…”

“I’m sure you’re very smart dear, but I am rather intelligent. I would know if you were trying to take advantage of me,” Ford told me.

I gave him a half smile. “That’s the thing, Ford,” I told him. “You can be as smart as Einstein, Newton and Tesla combined, but emotions can cloud your judgement no matter how smart or how dull you are. Maybe… maybe your brother is right. Maybe we shouldn’t pursue this friendship…”

We arrived at my house, and he turned to me. “Is that what you want?” Stanford asked. “Please, look me in the eye and tell me that this is what you want.”

I looked at him, and… I can’t tell him that.

Maybe it’s because I’ve gone without having any close friends for so long, but… I really, really don’t want our budding friendship to end. It’s been so long since I had a friendship that I actually felt good about.

“I-“ I cut myself off.

The chime of the icicles interrupted me. I looked away from him as I saw the icicles come to life. And… I wasn’t going crazy! They really are mice!

“Ahh!” I cried, startled that the icicles turned into mice. We both heard a beeping coming from him. Ford turned around and looked at what I saw, and he breathed a sigh of relief, his breath manifesting in a small bit of mist escaping his mouth.

I looked at him in confusion. How the hell was he not freaking out?

“Well, I finally found it. The anomaly we were looking for,” Ford said, taking out a tablet and taking a picture of the ice-made mice.

What… the hell?

I was absolutely dumbfounded. Was this a part of his paranormal investigations?

“Is that… what?” I said in shock.

This was the first time I heard him genuinely laugh. It was… it was pleasing to hear.

“I’m sorry they gave you a fright. These little guys were what I was looking for,” Ford told me, softly caressing one of them with his index finger. These little icicle mice were rather… affectionate? It rubbed its tiny head against his finger.

“So this is what you do,” I said. “You never answered me in terms of what you did, after all.”

Ford scratched the back of his head. “Ah, that is true. I suppose I do owe you.”

I looked at him expectantly, and he turned a little pink. I looked away in order for him to feel more comfortable. I have been told that my gaze is a little jarring.

“In short, you were right to say that I am a paranormal investigator,” he told me. “I am also a scientist and adventurer.”

I smiled. “Ha! I knew it!” I said, watching the little icicle mice curl up with each other to create one large icicle.

It’s so interesting how… they even exist.

“I just hope… the experience with my brother doesn’t dissuade you from coming to see me again,” he told me. “I meant it when I said you could come and see me whenever you wanted to talk about paranormal topics.”

I smiled at him. “Thank you, Ford.”

He gave me a kind smile in return. My smile dropped, and he gave me a concerned look, almost as if to ask me what was wrong.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your brother when we were in the diner?” I asked.

Ford sighed. “To be frank… I try not to talk about him. Not because I’m ashamed of my brother, but…”

I nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

Ford scratched the back of his head. “Well, perhaps I can tell you at a different time.”

I nodded. “Whatever is most comfortable for you.”

“While I have you here…” Ford trailed off. “Why did you give me the exact change of the bill? Even after you went on that tirade about needing me to be a gentleman?”

I raised an eyebrow. “It most definitely was not a tirade! I said one sentence!” I retorted. “But, with that being said… I would be comfortable telling you that at a different time.”

Ford nodded. “I see. Perhaps instead of you dropping by unannounced, we set a date for when we can speak about our favorite topic,” he told me with a smile.

I gave him a small smile. “At long last, a solution!” I said playfully.

Ford chuckled. “Friday almost always seems to be a good day for spending time with others, if my people watching is anything to go by.”

I chuckled. “This Friday it is,” I told him. “I didn’t realize you were such a stalker, Ford~”

Ford blushed when I said this, and scratched the back of his head.

Mbjr mbjr mbjr mbjr

Zopa zopa zopa

Why the hell do I always do that? I always make people uncomfortable and put my foot in my mouth! This is why I can’t keep any friends! Now this nice man doesn’t even want to meet up anymore.

Thankfully, he did crack a smile and chuckled, which relieved some of my anxiety.

“Goodnight,” he said my name. “Rest well.”

“Goodnight, Ford. You too,” I told him. I waved to him as I went inside and closed my door, and it wasn’t until then that he started walking back to his home.

Also, what the hell was he talking about when he said that house was eerily quiet? That was a lively home!

Whatever. I’ll bust his chops about it later.

For now, I sleep.

Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

Next part is here!

[leslie057]

rating things owned by nancy elizabeth wheeler

because she’s got a lot of little things. mostly they are very cute and strange little things.

starting off strong we have the prettiest tissue box in the world. 9/10, i think if i were sick it would make me feel better to have such a nice tissue box.

i’m fairly certain this is her diary beside it because her diary looks pink in the upside down version of her bedroom. so this is probably it? 11/10, i want to read it so bad. and very sweet pic with mom—7.5/10.

next up these pinstripe pants !! 10/10 i love them so much. oh and the index finger ring is there obviously, 8/10, such a consistent piece of her character.

a ribbon for being the bestest girl ever in the world. 10/10. also the card of cardinals: 6/10, probably just a christmas card or something rather than a symbol of her love for birds. but i still like it.

mr rabbit gets 11/10 for the name alone. and why does he look dead. i love him. he’s me.

descent from xanadu: QUITE LITERALLY 0/10. at first i was SO excited to cheer her on for reading a sex and drugs book at school but as it turns out? bizarre and gross. seems to go heavy on nonconsensual stuff. i snagged a free pdf and command f’d for whore and bitch. lots of results obviously (one use of c*ck crazy bitch…lovely). it seems men in this book say a lot of sexist stuff that the women pretend to hate but love which i can’t imagine is great for a teenage girl to consume. also just not sexy at all.

literally so bad, and this is not the worst of it.

sooo bad. the author was what 70 (??) writing that his female character got clinically DIAGNOSED with being a slut for every guy she comes in contact with. i know options for sexy literature were probably limited at this time but…please go check out something else. i wanna bonk her on the head with this book (paperback) and hug her. you don’t need to read this to be cool and sexually aware. moving on.

on the other side of that, the blondie calendar gives us a sense of the GOOD media she’s consuming!! a 10/10 no questions asked. we don't really get to see many of her hobbies or interests outside of investigation so this is a much appreciated detail.

of course like all good things in life the blondie calendar does get replaced. its replacement is what i will call Weird Antinaturalist Art Piece #1 seen in her room in s4. i give it a 4/10 because idk what’s going on really.

and here is a very crunchy screencap of Weird Antinaturalist Art Piece #2 from s4 which i will give a 5/10. note the boyfriend typical photography above it, for sure a 10/10.

there is also Weird Antinaturalist Art Piece #3 which gets an 8/10 because i like the composition and the piano player. where did she get this and why. interior decoration is her passion.

the sleeping bag and crochet pillow setup. 7/10. would take a cat nap here.

pluto!! 15/10, the best mickey mouse character i would say. i hope her cousin is taking good care of him.

bulletin board 10/10. i love how obvious it is that she has had this up for forever. probably a nice constant in her life.

and my favorite pic up there is this precious one. look at herrr. 5000/10.

her floral weekender bag. 6/10, i like it, but not as much as i like the speedwalk and the toss into the backseat. she was SO ready for her lab takedown road trip.

trapper keeper is a 9/10 because they probably put anything and everything on trapper keepers back in the day and yet still she chose this lovely understated hot air balloon. elegant.

tom cruise poster is 1000000/10 actually. she is so loyal to that man. actually though not a great pic of him all things considered so maybe i give it a 999999/10. (i love it so much because i know for a fact that jonathan byers works proactively to never acknowledge this poster, because he is more mature than that.) (he is not more mature than that, in fact he is a little pouty about mr cruise.)

KITTY FIGURINE. 10/10. i thought it was just in s4 but i found it on her other nightstand in s1. very very adorable. i imagine it is now one of the first things she sees in the morning (well that and her blue telephone: 8/10) which is bizarre and cute. the mixtape drawer gets a 10/10 for reasons that i don’t think i need to get into.

white fingerless gloves! 10/10. so chic for monster hunting.

black fingerless gloves from s4. hmmm 3/10, they're cool i guess but they don’t feel very nancy and the white ones are so much better. especially because you may get the splatter effect of monster blood on them in a battle scenario, which would be badass.

piggybank (with her name on the side). 2/10 unfortunately i don’t like him. he looks at me like i took out his whole pig village and i just need some quarters. also did she paint this herself? in that case, 3/10 for customization lol.

pastel underwear drawer: 10/10. her committment to the hollistic aesthetic and color palette of her room is impressive here. it was a good idea to use this drawer as a deterrence against her little brother and a money hiding place but clearly he has no manners and is a THIEF.

STRIPED SOCKS. 10/10. i realize it's hard to see because she's moving so fast (slow down he is not going anywhere) but they are indeed stripey even though i would have guessed solid white. and wow what good sleeping socks. stripes are just cozier. hope she got lots of sleep in those.

[scary-grace]

Enough to Go By (Chapter 15) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Chapter 15

Your experiences with the cops have been mixed, but right now, the cops are so relieved that someone’s found Eri that they don’t ask you too many questions. They run your name through the database, of course, but when they come up with no prior arrests and the fact that you’re quirkless, you can actually see them write you off as a suspect. Sometimes your uselessness works to your advantage. You’re planning to make a clean getaway, but Eri wakes up as you’re trying to put her down and starts to cry. You try to remember who she said she wanted earlier. “Can you bring, um, Deku? She said something about him.”

Deku is a bizarre name for a hero. You wonder what Midoriya Izuku was smoking when he picked it out. “Let me see,” the officer on duty says. She smiles at Eri, who squeezes her eyes shut and hugs the plush corgi even closer to her chest. “I’ll make a call. You might have to wait with her.”

“That’s okay,” you say. You’re sort of interested to meet Midoriya Izuku. Tenko hates him, and you want to know what Tenko’s up against. “I don’t mind.”

It’s not a long wait. Maybe forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes of Eri tossing and turning restlessly in your arms, waking briefly and falling asleep again, sometimes crying whether she’s awake or asleep, before two heroes come barreling into the police station. You know the first one is Midoriya, but you’ve seen the second one before, too – Eraserhead, Class 1-A’s homeroom teacher. The one who was defending his psychopath student on national TV.

Anger flares up inside you, and you fight to tamp it down. You can’t look defensive or hostile. You need to look harmless and quirkless and maybe a little stupid, so you’ll register as such a nonevent that the idea of you being involved with the League of Villains will never cross their minds. Midoriya reaches you first, out of breath and a little panicked. “Eri! Are you okay!”

She stirs slightly, and while Midoriya’s trying to figure out how to yank her out of your arms while still asking nicely, Eraserhead arrives. He activates his quirk at once, although you’re not sure who he’s trying to use it on. “Why is she unconscious?”

“She’s sick,” you say. “She was like that when I found her.”

“Why didn’t you bring her to the hospital? That would have been the logical choice.”

“You’re supposed to bring lost kids to the police, aren’t you?” You let your face fall slightly. “I just wanted to do the right thing. I wasn’t sure.”

“You brought Eri back. That’s the most important thing.” Midoriya’s focused on her. “Where did you find her?”

“I was walking home from the grocery store and I heard something in an alley. I thought it was a cat, but I went to look and it was her.” You’re a better liar than Tenko is. You know how many details to add, when to be nonspecific. “Do you know how she got there?”

“We don’t comment on active –”

“The League of Villains took her,” Midoriya says, cutting Eraserhead off. “We rescued her from Overhaul – it was on the news – but they took her before we could take her to the hospital. They must have decided to give her back.”

“They dumped her,” Eraserhead corrects sharply. “Giving her back would entail taking her to a police station or a hospital.”

“But they couldn’t go there without getting arrested,” Midoriya says. He holds out his arms, and you pass Eri in her blanket bundle to him. He looks at you over her head. “Did she say anything about them?”

“No,” you say. An idea pops into your head and you run with it – something to push back on the story Eraserhead is telling himself, something to make Midoriya think he’s right. Something to confuse them both, to make sure that the story Tenko was afraid they’d tell isn’t the one that survives. “She had the blanket when I found her. And the toy.”

“Oh,” Midoriya says. Eraserhead doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t look happy. “She seems like she really likes it.”

Even in her sleep, she has it crushed to her chest. You keep playing dumb. “Can she keep it?”

“Of course,” Midoriya says at once. “Right, sensei – er, Eraserhead?”

“If nothing is wrong with it, and she wouldn’t prefer a toy not given to her by a villain, yes.”

So she will get to keep it. It’s just an ordinary toy. You’ve made the handoff to the heroes, and now you can go. But would the slightly brain-dead civilian you’re playing just go? You get to your feet, but hesitate. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Yes,” Eraserhead says. “She’ll be in good hands. Much better hands than she’s been in over the past twenty-four hours.”

You start nodding, ignoring the surge of frustration at the comparison between Tenko and Overhaul, and turn to leave. Eraserhead’s hand comes down on your shoulder as you’re walking away and scares the hell out of you. “What’s your name?”

“The police have it.” Wrong answer. If you had nothing to hide, you’d just have said your name a second time. You start babbling to cover up the error. “They looked me up and everything. Did you know they keep addresses? Like all the addresses I’ve ever lived at. It’s so weird!”

“Did you see anything?” Eraserhead asks. You shake your head. “Was anyone in the alley with her?”

You shake your head. “I only saw her. I wouldn’t have known she was there if she hadn’t made a sound.”

“She’s lucky you went to investigate,” Eraserhead says. The weird look you give him isn’t even slightly faked. “Most people wouldn’t.”

“Oh,” you say. “I – um – I’m glad I looked, too. It was – nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Midoriya says. He’s awkwardly rocking Eri. “Sensei, should we call an ambulance?”

“That would be best.”

They’re not paying attention to you anymore. You leave, feeling like you’ve dodged a bullet or ten.

The League is in a celebratory mood when you get back. Defeating Overhaul and cementing Tomura’s status as the next leader of the criminal underworld is a big deal, and you’re happy, too – but at the same time, you’re stuck on the fact that life as you know it is ending. If the Hassaikai could find you, other people could, too, and you’re still quirkless. Defenseless. It’s not safe for you to be here on your own. And Ryuhei was right. As the team’s medic, you have to actually be with the team to do any good. It’s right that you should leave. It was going to happen eventually. And you still feel like you’re losing something you can’t replace.

Because you are. After this, you won’t be a civilian anymore. Even if you’re not committing serious crimes yourself, the semblance of a normal life you’ve been maintaining will die away. You’ll be like your cousin Manami for real. Except that compared to what you’re mixed up in, Manami’s strictly small-time.

“I’m gonna miss this place,” Spinner remarks, sprawling out with his feet up on your couch. It takes way too much effort not to cry.

You head back to your room to pack long before everyone else starts to settle down. What are you supposed to bring with you when you go on the run? Your costume, obviously. Medical supplies, obviously, which you’ll restock from the soon-to-be-set-up supply caches when you need to. Changes of clothes, deodorant, toothpaste, toothbrush? You try to figure it out based on what the League’s been asking you to buy for them, and it already feels like you’ve got too much stuff in the backpack you’re bringing with you. And that’s not even counting the evidence.

There’s not much left of Shimura Tenko. You’re pretty sure you have all of it, and there’s not room for it in your backpack, even with the plush corgi finding a new home, and you can’t leave it here for whoever searches your apartment once you’ve gone missing. The smart thing would be to get rid of it. Crumple up the valentine, shred the photos, throw the album away, flush the locket down the toilet and forget about it all. But you don’t want to do that. You don’t want Shimura Tenko to exist only in your memory. If something happens to you, it’ll be like he never existed at all.

You fold the valentine carefully, slide it into an empty sleeve of the photo album. You bury the album at the bottom of the backpack. The locket lands on the nightstand, to put on later. That just leaves you with the journal. You haven’t read through it at all yet, and even though you’re pretty sure you’ll be flushing the pages down the toilet, you decide that you should read a few of them first.

It takes only a few seconds for you to wish you hadn’t. The journal starts when you’re seven, and all the feelings you hadn’t learned to hide yet are scrawled on the page. Anger, confusion, sadness, loneliness, hurt, guilt. So much guilt. You didn’t remember how hard your younger self had tried to find Tenko, how much trouble you’d gotten into for sneaking out to look for him. You didn’t remember how insane everyone made you feel – not just for believing that he was still alive, but for remembering him at all. It’s obvious in the weight of your pen against the paper, the heaviness of the strokes, the size of the characters. HE WAS REAL. HE WAS HERE.

As the pages turn and you grow older, your handwriting gets better, until the day you found out your parents were planning to wipe your memory, at which point you go insane for real. Given what a mess your handwriting was and how blurry and water-stained the paper is, you’re surprised you managed to pull it together long enough to hide the journal and everything else away.

You’ve always thought your parents were wrong to do what they did. You still think that. But when you read through the journal as an adult, you can catch the faintest glimpse of why they went that far. If you had a kid and they were doing this, you’d be worried. You wouldn’t know what to do. And if it was really you, you grown up for real with a kid you’ll never have, you’d be terrified, because you know where this leads. It leads to throwing away a decent life, a normal life, and following your best friend off the edge of the world.

There are a lot of pages in the journal. You have to flush them down the toilet in handfuls, and you’re so focused on getting rid of them that you don’t realize how weird it is to flush the toilet eight times in a row. Someone clears their throat and you look up to find Dabi and Toga watching you. “What are you doing?” Dabi asks.

“Disposing evidence.” You yank the last set of pages out of reach and flush them, too. “Get out of my room.”

Dabi leaves. Toga stays, poking through your bathroom cabinet. “Can I have this?” she asks, lifting up your meager makeup collection. You nod. “What about this?”

Perfume you never use. “If you want to carry it, it’s yours,” you say, and Toga grins. “Actually, if you help me pack, you can have whatever’s left in my closet. That you’re willing to carry.”

“You’re the best! I needed some new things.” Toga hugs you, then turns to your dresser and closet, all business. “Bring all your underwear. Like, all of it. We can’t do laundry very much and I don’t feel as gross when I can switch mine out.”

That’s reasonable. “Don’t bring anything with short sleeves or anything sleeveless. Warm stuff only. It’s getting really cold at night,” she continues. She starts taking things out of your dresser and putting them on the bed. You can’t tell if she’s picking them for herself or for you. “Find a way to wear your hair that won’t get messed up too easy. We won’t get to wash it very often, either.”

Your hair’s going to be hidden by the veil, but that’s still smart. Toga has more suggestions – clothes with sturdy fabric, bras that aren’t uncomfortable to sleep in – before she gets serious. “Period stuff. I made Mister shrink a whole bunch of it, but it sucks to have to ask him to un-compress it.”

“That was really smart, though. It makes stuff a lot easier to carry.”

“We should have him compress most of the supplies,” Toga says, her eyes brightening. “That way we can carry more!”

She runs off to tell Tomura and the others, and you go back to reorganizing your backpack to fit Toga’s must-haves in it. She comes back a few minutes later, all business once more. “If you have jewelry, bring it so we can sell it if we need money,” she says. “And just to have. It’s nice to look pretty sometimes.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

She throws a sock at you. “Being mean to yourself isn’t cute. Tomura-kun likes you how you are. Overhaul was really gross and even he liked you.”

“He didn’t like me. He just knew he could use me to get to Tomura.” You feel guilty when you think about it. You could have derailed Tomura’s plans so easily, just by being weak, being unable to fight for yourself. You need to fix that. “I wasn’t saying I’m ugly. I’m just saying I don’t think about that a lot. Anyway – jewelry?”

Toga nods, and you start digging your jewelry out of its various hiding spots. Rather than investing in a jewelry box with a lock that Compress could pick in two seconds, you scattered your small collection around your room, figuring Compress would give up the hunt rather than risk Tomura’s wrath. It must have worked, because everything is right where you left it, and none of it’s been replaced by one of Twice’s copies. You’re hoping Toga will let the subject drop, but she doesn’t. Not quite. “How did you make Tomura-kun fall in love with you?”

“That’s a strong word,” you say, thankful you’ve got your back to her right now. Neither you nor Tomura has said the L word. In your case, it’s not because you don’t feel it. You don’t know why you’ve held back on saying it out loud. “I didn’t make him. We just spent time together and it happened.”

“That won’t work for me.” Toga’s frowning. “I like Ochako – and Izuku – and Tsu. But they won’t spend time with me because they’re heroes.”

Your inclination is to tell Toga to find a more realistic crush, but you’re also not an asshole. “You’ve seen Ochako and Izuku at least twice, right?” you ask, and she nods. “When you see them next, try to make a strong impression, I guess. Since you don’t get to spend time with them very much, you have to make it count.”

“Something romantic,” Toga says, and you nod. “When I do that, can I have these earrings? Green looks good with my eyes.”

“Sure.”

“And what about this? Can I –” Toga breaks off, gasps. You turn to find her standing by the nightstand, your locket open in her hand. “Who’s this? Is this –”

You see it in her eyes when she realizes. She claps a hand over her mouth, which is good. Now you don’t have to do it for her. “You can’t tell the others,” you say, keeping your voice low. “Please don’t.”

“I won’t if you tell me everything.” Toga looks shocked and gleeful at the same time. It’s a weirdly intimidating expression. “Otherwise I have to talk to people so they can help me guess. I won’t need to if there’s nothing to guess about.”

You don’t want to tell anyone, but you want out of this conversation, and you don’t want it to leave this room. You sit down on the end of the bed, well clear of the stuff you’re trying to pack, and Toga plops down next to you cross-legged. “I knew him when we were kids,” you start. “We lived across the street from each other. We were best friends until – um –”

“He used to be normal?” Toga looks amazed. “What happened?”

“His quirk awakened. It –” You trail off. You’re not sure how to describe the carnage in what was left of Tenko’s house. It’s not your story to tell. “He disappeared after that. It was fifteen years before I saw him again.”

“How did you know it was him? He looks so different now than he does in the picture.”

“The scratching. He did that as a kid, too. And he remembered me, sort of.” You remember the way he froze when you said his name, how fast he ran from you. You’ve never asked him why he ran away. “There isn’t really that much to tell. That’s it.”

“Childhood sweethearts. That’s so romantic!” Toga beams. You’re not sure you want to call it that when the two of you were only five – but there’s a photo of the two of you swapping valentines right before you kissed him, so you can’t really argue. “He loves you so much. I can always smell when people are in love. He’d do anything for you.”

No, he wouldn’t. You’re pretty sure there’s one thing Tomura wouldn’t do for anyone. You search Toga’s face, looking for any hint that she’s planning to double-cross you. “I held up my end of things. You can’t tell anyone.”

“Why not? I bet they’d think it’s cute.”

“It’s not safe for many people to know,” you say. You think of how Tomura reacted when you told him Kurogiri had brought you to All For One, how relieved he was that you hadn’t revealed yourself. Even with All For One locked up in Tartarus, you don’t want that information getting out. “My friends Yoshimi and Mitsuko and Ryuhei know, and my other friend Kazuo. And now you.”

“Because we’re friends.” Toga hugs you from the side. “I’m so glad you’re finally coming with us! Jin is the best big brother ever, but I can’t talk to him about things like I can talk to another girl.”

“If we’re friends, we have to keep each other’s secrets,” you say. “Even if the others would think it’s cute. You have to promise not to tell.”

“Fine. I won’t tell.” Toga heaves a sigh. She snaps the locket closed and hands it back to you. “I should get one of these. I want pictures of Ochako and the others!”

“Maybe you can steal one,” you say, wondering if this counts as helping the League commit a crime. You’ve stayed out of Kazuo’s searches this long, but you don’t think you’ll be able to much longer. “And it’s not like pictures of them are hard to find. I’ll help if you get one.”

She hugs you again, and the two of you go back to packing. You fasten the locket around your neck instead of putting it on the nightstand. Now that multiple members of the League feel fine coming into your room without asking, it’s not safe to leave it lying around.

Toga’s tired by the time you’re done packing, and so is everyone else. When she leaves, you can hear them all settling down for the night in the living room, bemoaning the fact that this is the last time they’ll have a soft bed for a while. You, meanwhile, need to make sure your absence goes unnoticed for as long as possible. Tenko comes in while you’re composing an email to your supervisors, telling them that you need to take a leave of absence from work for the sake of your mental health. It would be a good idea even if you didn’t need to go on the run.

Tenko shuts the door, sits down behind you on the bed, and wraps himself around you. “What are you doing?”

“Covering my tracks. My family won’t notice for months, but work will notice I’m missing unless I give them a reason not to look.” You scan the email one last time and send it, then shut the lid of your laptop. “I should probably leave this here, right?”

“Maybe not. It would be good to have it,” Tenko says. He notches his chin over your shoulder. “If your job thinks you’re on leave, then it won’t look weird that you’re still connecting to the internet. You can probably bring your phone and keep in contact with the others, too.”

“Okay.” You slide your laptop and charger into your backpack. “But I still have to go.”

“Yeah. It’s not safe,” Tenko says. “The heroes might not have captured all of Overhaul’s minions, and he could have left instructions for them. And they won’t be the last enemies we make. I need you to be safe, and the only way I can make sure is if you’re with me.”

It’s quiet for a second. “Do you not want to come with me?”

“I do,” you say. “It’s just – I don’t know. The way I’ve been helping is the way I’m most useful to you. I can’t fight. I don’t have a quirk. I can find a weapon somewhere and I can do the medic thing, but –”

“Don’t say you’re useless.”

You weren’t going to, but it’s what you’re thinking, and Tenko knows you too well. He hugs you a little closer. “What else?”

The question leaves your mouth before you can think it through all the way. “I want to know where this ends.”

“Overhaul really got inside your head, huh?”

“It’s not about him,” you say. You’ve opened this can of worms. You might as well dump it out. “When we were kids, it didn’t matter that we never won. There was always another day. We could start over as many times as we needed to, and try as many things as we could think of until something worked. But this isn’t like that. When people get hurt, it sticks. When they die, they die, and we can’t get them back.”

You think of Hirono and Sho. Of Magne, who’s not dead but who’s locked up with no way for you and the others to rescue her. “I don’t want us to keep fighting forever. I want us to win fast, before we lose anyone else. And I don’t know what winning looks like.”

“When all of this is destroyed,” Tenko says, like it’s obvious. “There’s no piece of it that isn’t built on lies. Even your job, the stuff you do – it wouldn’t have to happen if the heroes and the idiots who worship them didn’t keep throwing people away. It can’t be fixed from the inside, so we have to tear it down. I have to. It’s what I’m here for.”

You want to argue, but you won’t win. You know you won’t. “And what about after it’s gone?”

“I don’t know,” Tenko says. “But you do.”

You can’t manage anything more than a stunned silence. “I know it needs to be destroyed,” Tenko continues. “Anybody who’s not lying to themselves can see that. But I haven’t lived in it. Not like you and the others have. So when there’s nothing left, you can decide what to put in its place.”

He tucks his head in against the side of your neck. You can feel his eyelashes flutter against your skin. “You were always better at telling the stories than me, anyway. They were never any good on the days you stayed home.”

“Don’t you have any ideas?” you ask faintly. “About what it should be like? It’ll be your world too.”

“You wanted to know where it ends. That’s where,” Tenko says. “We win when we tear everything down. When it’s all gone, you and the others get to choose what happens next. It should be mostly you. Maybe Spinner, too, if you need help with anything.”

“What about you?” Foreboding creeps over you, making your skin crawl. “Where are you going to be, Tenko? When this is all over?”

“When it’s all over there won’t be a point to me anymore.”

“No.” You twist in Tenko’s arms, putting the two of you face to face. He avoids your gaze, which is how you know you’re right, how you know that you picked up the real meaning in what he said. “That’s not how this works. It’s not winning unless you’re with me afterwards.”

“Don’t worry about it. Are you with me or not?” He’s stubborn. You’re stubborn, too. More stubborn than he is – but he’s still talking. “It was nice to think about while we were here. What it would have been like to be normal. But that won’t happen. Not even after we’re done with all this, so there’s no point –”

“Who said I wanted normal?” You cut him off. “I’m your sidekick. That means I’m with you no matter what. So if you want me to get through this and build a new world, you’d better be planning to come with me. Because if you’re not, I’m staying right here with you.”

Are you making some kind of suicide pact? You don’t think so. You think you’re just trying to get it through Tenko’s head that the two of you are in this together, no matter where it goes or how far it goes. He’ll destroy this world that’s hurt him, that’s hurt the League, that’s hurt you and so many others – and then you’ll build a new one, one where everyone has at least a shot at being happy. Everyone. Including him.

Tenko still won’t look at you. You cup his face in your hands, run your thumb across the scar on his lip, and his gaze drifts back to you. “Are you coming with me or not?”

“I – yeah.” Tenko’s red eyes stay focused on yours this time. “I mean, I guess. If you’re serious.”

“I’m serious,” you say, and he kisses you.

He’s not wearing his gloves. You have to pull away so he can put them on, and then again to get more comfortable on the bed – and then again so he can take off his shirt. As soon as Tenko has his shirt off, he’s pulling at yours, and once it’s gone, he drags you into his arms, holding on almost painfully tight. He kisses you hard enough that his lips split in spite of your best efforts. He needs to slow down. You need to slow him down. But when you frame his face with your hands again, he melts against you in a way that’s impossible to resist. Maybe you’re the one who needs to change this time.

Every moment, every motion, fades seamlessly into the next. It feels natural to kiss the scar over the side of his mouth, and the birthmark below it, and move from there to kissing his neck. It’s natural to hook your leg over his hip, to roll to your back and pull him down on top of you. It only makes sense to peel off your pants and unbutton Tenko’s and slide your hand inside, palming him through his underwear. It feels right to kiss him while you touch him, even if it’s a shame to have to muffle the sounds he makes with your mouth. The destruction of everything and the creation of a new world feels so distant that it might as well be a dream. The only thing that matters is the texture of his skin under your hands, the brush of his hair against your cheek, the sound of his breathing and of his voice when he says your name.

“Stop,” Tenko says, his voice shaking, and you obey, withdrawing your hand from his waistband and resting it flat against his stomach. “I want – not like this. This time. I want us to – can we –”

He’s pulling at the waistband of your underwear, and it clicks in your head. There’s something the two of you haven’t done yet. “Sex,” you say. Tenko nods. He looks worried, like there’s a chance you’ll make fun of him or say no. “There are condoms in the nightstand.”

“I thought they were in the bathroom.”

“I moved them,” you say. “Is that weird?”

“No,” Tenko says. “You were thinking about it, too.”

You have been, on and off. You figured it would happen organically, but tonight is sort of your last chance to get your first time out of the way if you want your first time to happen in a bed behind closed doors. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you say. You wind your fingers into Tenko’s hair and tug lightly. “Want me to tell you what I’ve been thinking about?”

Tenko sucks in a breath. “Yes.”

You talk to him while he struggles out of his clothes and searches for the condoms you put in the nightstand. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you say, trying to shed any hint of self-consciousness. “I thought about riding you. Maybe holding your hands down, too – not so you can’t touch me, but so you don’t have to do anything but let me make you feel good. I thought about letting you take me from behind, so you’re in control of everything, start to finish. I’d trust you with that. I know you’d feel so good that I wouldn’t care about anything else.”

Tenko’s gloved hands are shaking as he tries to unwrap the condom. His cock looks almost agonizingly hard. “But then I decided,” you continue, trying not to stare, “that I want you on top of me, this time. I want to see you.”

“Why?”

“I like looking at you,” you say. You could get into it more, but you’re worried you’d embarrass him. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking about.”

He doesn’t seem to know what to do with the condom now that he’s opened it. Then again, he’s never been to sex ed. You take it from him. “I was thinking,” Tenko starts, then shudders as you roll the condom down over his length. “I – fuck, I don’t know, I’m not good at this like you are. I want – you –”

“We can work the rest out later.” You lie back, legs spread, and pull him down with you. “Let’s start here.”

You help him align his cock with your entrance, lift your hips to make it easier as he sinks into you for the first time. Tenko’s a stretch, just shy of uncomfortable, more than enough to make your head spin. Your hands are shakier than you want them to be as you reach for him, and the low moan that exits his mouth sends a rush of heat through you and makes your muscles clench tight. Tenko’s hips give a frantic jerk. “Don’t do that. I can’t last if you –”

“I can’t – not,” you gasp. “You feel even better than I thought you would.”

Tenko’s hips jerk again. You see him grit his teeth, clench his jaw, and his first real thrust is shallow, shallow enough that your body aches for more. The next is deeper, but not by much, and the pattern he falls into deepens by increments, so small that you can barely feel a difference. You know he’s trying to hold himself together, trying not to come too soon, but it feels like he’s teasing you on purpose. Torturing you. almost. Giving you just enough of what you want that all you can think of is what you’re missing.

“Please,” you say, and Tenko’s eyes widen. “I need more. I don’t care if it’s over fast. I just want –”

He sinks into you to the hilt, leaving no space between you, and it takes all your willpower not to cry out. The pace he sets is faster this time, uneven enough to keep you on your toes if your toes weren’t curling already. The only problem is that it makes kissing difficult, and without it, you’re both a little too loud. Tenko’s trying to keep his mouth covered and keep his balance at the same time. You cover it for him with one hand while the other works its way between the two of you, finding your clit. You want the two of you to finish together, or close to it. You don’t want Tenko to worry that it wasn’t good.

You’re closer than you thought you were. A lot closer. “Tenko,” you murmur, your voice shaking. “Tenko, I need you. You feel so good like – there –”

You’d have helped him find this spot if either of you had the patience, but he’s found it on his own, and there’s nothing more you can do. A few uneven thrusts, the slightest pressure against your clit, and you’re coming on Tenko’s cock. You know instantly that you can’t keep quiet, and with both hands occupied, the only way to muffle yourself is to press your mouth against Tenko’s shoulder. He fucks you for a few more unsteady, rapid strokes as you tremble and whimper and moan into his shoulder. The barely-muffed sounds he makes when he comes send one last jolt through you, intense enough that you bite down.

Tenko slumps forward against you, shuddering. You free both hands to wrap your arms around him, holding on tight.  And then it’s quiet in your room, save for the sound of his breathing and yours.

Your mouth is still glued to his shoulder. You can taste his sweat. Or maybe blood. How hard did you bite him? Embarrassment creeps in through the haze, worse when you realize you’re still clinging to him for dear life. You need to loosen up five seconds ago. “Sorry –”

“Huh?” Tenko sounds half-asleep, and two of you are working at cross purposes. You’re trying to let him go, and he’s settling in for a nap. “Don’t do that. It’s nice.”

He yawns. You can’t let him fall asleep like this. You shove lightly at his shoulder. “You can sleep in a second. We have to, um – disengage.”

“Why? I’m comfortable.”

He wants to fall asleep still inside you. That would be surprisingly hot if the condom wasn’t an issue. “The condom might leak. That’s not good.”

“It isn’t?” Tenko yawns again.

You can’t tell whether Tenko doesn’t know where babies come from or if he’s just being obtuse on purpose. “Getting pregnant when we’re about to go on the run would be really bad.”

“You were really good with that kid.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You don’t get an answer, and you decide you’re not going to worry about it right now. “Out.”

Tenko groans and pulls away. You have enough time to ditch the condom in the trash can in the bathroom, followed by the speediest bathroom break and hand-washing of your life, and as soon as you’re within arm’s reach again, Tenko yanks you back down. He flops down into the same position as before, minus actually being inside you, and you decide the comment from before can’t go unaddressed. “Me being good with kids wouldn’t make it less stupid to screw around with birth control.”

“Yeah,” Tenko says, although you’re not sure of how much of it he actually got. His breathing is already starting to even out. “I didn’t know you kept the dog.”

“I kept everything you gave me,” you say. “Are you mad I gave it to her?”

Tenko shakes his head, burrowing deeper into your shoulder in the bargain. The bitemark you left is already bruising. “You win,” he says. You’re puzzling over that, your own eyelids growing heavy, when Tenko speaks again. “I love you.”

Your jaw drops. Toga told you that Tenko felt that way, that she can always tell when someone’s in love, but hearing it come out of his mouth is something else entirely. Some part of you is elated to hear it. That part of you wants to shake him awake and kiss him and tell him that you love him, too – and not so subtly suggest depleting your condom supply a little bit further. That would be the thing that makes sense, the normal thing to do, the thing that somebody who’s loved him for as long as you have to do. You do love Tenko. You loved him when you were children, and you’re in love with him now as an adult. So why does the thought of saying so fill you with terror?

It’s not like you’ve never told someone you love them before. You told Kazuo, when the two of you were dating. It felt easy then. You talked to your cousin about it afterwards, because the two of you were close, and she was surprised to hear you say so. “It’s never easy for me,” she said, and you couldn’t quite hide your own surprise. “It’s easy to feel love. When I love somebody I feel so much I can’t stand it. But saying it out loud makes it real. Saying it changes them, and it changes me. So it’s harder to say for me than for you.”

You always thought that was because of Manami’s quirk, which powers up the person she loves most when she tells them how she feels, but maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s hard for you to say to Tenko because it makes it real in your head – more real than being his girlfriend, than basically moving him into your apartment, than quitting your job and going on the run with him and his villainous organization on a mission to tear down the old world. It’s stupid to think that way, when it’s everything you’ve done that makes it real. After everything you’ve done, everything you’re planning to do, you’ve proved your love for Tenko. Maybe you don’t need to say it out loud.

And maybe Tenko didn’t mean it, either. The two of you just slept together for the first time, and Mitsuko always says that you can’t count on anything a guy says until at least an hour afterwards. It was just an aberration, and it’s not like he’s waiting for you to say it back – he’s fast asleep in your arms, maybe drooling a little bit on your shoulder. There’s nothing for you to worry about. You close your eyes.

It takes you a second to get your bearings in the morning, to remember everything that happened yesterday. It was a lot. Overhaul almost had you kidnapped. You returned the girl the League kidnapped to the police. You realized you’d be going on the run and had sex with Tenko for the first time, and – you become conscious of someone watching you, and you open your eyes to find Tenko, awake before you for once and watching you with his chin propped in his gloved hand.

His hair is messy and his lips are cracked and stained with dried blood, but he looks well-rested for once. “What is it?” you ask. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Then, uh –” You struggle with forming the question. “Why are you staring?”

“You’re my sidekick, and my girlfriend, and we leveled up so hard last night that I slept like a rock.” Tenko cracks a grin, and a new split appears in his lower lip. “And I love you. Is that a good enough reason?”

You reach out and pull him in for a kiss, hoping he’ll count it as a yes. You lick the blood away from his lips and run your fingers through his tangled hair and do everything you can to ignore the twinging in your chest, the weight on the tip of your tongue. You love Tenko. Saying it might change things, but you can’t avoid saying it forever. It isn’t right. And with your involvement in the destruction Tenko’s planned for the world all but assured, you need to do the right thing where you can.