#mild inconvenience au

[yourbuerokrat2]

Aaravos going through his library after season 5 looking for some kind of ritual or spell to reverse Virens redemption arc. 

[watermel0ns-dumb-cringe]

Oh yeah jde penny has heelies now. Just for the sole purpose of sliding around while tripping/kicking people over

[fauvester]

love love the idea of garashir being each other's parents' favorite child. garak is charming, urbane and deferential to his in-laws and they love him (despite his gender, race and 'advanced age'.) enabran tain is mildly, morbidly fascinated by julian. wants to examine him under a microscope. hairless cat appeal

[fslurusami]

i think edogai should have gotten more chances to be crazy. 2 episodes of human skin outfits is not enough. she should have bit somebody

[ganymedesclock]

I want to clarify: AUs can change a lot but Shadow is still very recognizably himself and yes his backstory has just as much weird stuff in it as is standard, so his attempts to pass as a very ordinary person are almost comically transparent.

[iced-souls]

Alas what does it mean if the sun makes you sneeze..

[wttcsms]

angels like you can't fly down here with me (i'm everything they say i would be), megumi fushiguro ;

pairing megumi fushiguro x f!reader word count 11k  synopsis people like him don't get happy endings but megumi fushiguro (foolishly) considers himself to be the exception — after all, he has you. content contains yakuza au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, breeding kink, slight daddy kink, attempted sa, minor violence & depictions of blood author's note if ur on my ao3, you know this is from 2021!!! my writing has changed up since then, but i'm going to be releasing a revised version of this which will be rewritten and feature more scenes, more worldbuilding, more plot, relationship and character development, etc!! i figured releasing this on tumblr would help me gauge how worthwhile revision of this fic will be, so lmk if u like this au & want to see it become even better <3

Don’t do it.

He repeats the command inside his head again, and then one more time for good measure. (And then another time, just to drive the point across.)

He won’t — can’t; isn’t really allowed to — get into (another!) fight.

(Well, there’s a part of Megumi that knows that despite Gojo’s sing-songy warning of “now, now, Megumi, I don’t need a frequent visitor’s card for the principal’s office”, he doesn’t actually care. All he’s really concerned about — if the mild interest the reckless teenager turned legal guardian shows can even be called that — is whether or not Megumi wins.

And he does.

Every. Single. Time.)

For the most part, Megumi Fushiguro is fairly stoic in general, but to a concerning degree when one accounts for the fact that he’s only ten years old. For the odd three or so years he’s been under Gojo’s wing, Megumi’s mask of disinterest stopped becoming a mask and started becoming a part of him.

(Try as he might, Gojo’s not nearly as funny as he thinks he is. Maybe the connection between them might have been stronger if Gojo was a bit more responsible and if he was actually present, but he’s got his own shit to deal with. Besides, Gojo’s under the impression that what he’s doing isn’t cruel, but rather a means to an end. Megumi’s never going to be able to get stronger if he doesn’t learn how to survive on his own.

After all, being alone and having to fight to survive is the life people like them live.)

The older preteens in the area have a bad habit of picking on the younger students. Because the elementary and middle schools are so close together, the younger students who have the misfortune of walking alone tend to be targets for bullies in need of pocket change or a good laugh. Most of the time, they get both.

As of late, everyone’s favorite target happens to be Megumi Fushiguro, the boy with the messy black hair and indifferent attitude, even when confronted by boys two years his senior and almost a whole entire head taller than him.

Last week, Megumi gave the three older boys dumb enough to harass him for money bloody noses, bruised egos, and a thirst for revenge. That was the first (and supposed to be the last) time he got into a fight (for this school year, at least — something Gojo had told him, while winking). So, even when the trio is back together again, taunting him and trying to get him to take the first swing, Megumi keeps walking forward with his perpetual look of disinterest, those cold blue eyes of his staring straight at the path ahead of him, never paying any mind to the gangly bodies of the middle school boys who keep trying to block him from moving.

Don’t do it.

He tells himself this once more. You don’t want to have to inconvenience Gojo. Then, you’ll be stuck listening to him pretend to lecture you. You don’t like spending too much time with Gojo. He’ll make weird jokes. 

The thought of having to deal with Gojo’s presence is enough to get Megumi to unclench his fists.

“Move.”

It’s the first thing he says to the group since they started following him after school. He tells the boy with the brown hair this. The brunet seems to be their ringleader of sorts, and even as nothing more than a ten year old child, Megumi knows that being twelve/thirteen and harassing little kids for sport is a sign of patheticness that will only grow and fester into something darker unless someone beats some sense into them. Obviously, they didn’t learn their lesson from last week.

“Huh? What the hell did ya just say, ya little brat?” The brown haired boy sneers, looking down at Megumi.

School has just let out, so there are dozens of kids of all ages walking down the sidewalk. They’re all aware of the situation happening, but everyone chooses to turn a blind eye to it. Partly because this is such a common occurrence that it just starts to become something that blends into the scenery, but also because there are some rumors surrounding the Fushiguro kid that’s enough to make anyone with a heart of gold reluctant to come to his rescue.

The main rumor circulating around the school is that Megumi Fushiguro has ties to the yakuza. Granted, most kids his age have no idea what the yakuza is, and even those who somewhat know only know through exaggerated definitions from their older siblings. Generally, everyone just accepts the fact that the yakuza is bad, and by default, Megumi Fushiguro must be bad too. Older siblings tell their younger siblings to avoid “that boy” at all costs, unless they want to end up with a finger cut off. Megumi’s classmates huddle together and conveniently choose to look everywhere else but at him when on the playground.

For anyone else, this might have been enough to cause some hurt feelings. Everyone thinks the boy must be some type of stupid to be so oblivious to the rumors centered around him, but the truth is this: Megumi is well aware of what people whisper about behind his back; he just doesn’t care enough to prove them wrong.

And they’re not wrong, anyway.

(For some parts of the rumors, at least.)

Because it’s true — Megumi does have ties to the yakuza. His father, who he can’t seem to attach neither a name nor a face to, must have done something bad. Something bad enough to have him cross paths with Satoru Gojo, the young head of the Gojo Clan, one of Tokyo’s most prominent crime families. It’s the same Gojo who decided to adopt both Megumi and his stepsister, Tsumiki, despite having nothing (so far) to gain from it. After all, why would a teenager willingly assign himself the responsibilities of caring for small children — one who resembles the man that tried to kill him and the other being an ill little girl confined to a hospital bed for who knows how long. All Gojo gets from this deal is a headache, bills, and more problems than necessary.

Megumi’s not really sure how the rumors started in the first place. He thinks it’s because kids his age are easily influenced and have a tendency to run wild with their imaginations. With the rising popularity of gangs from the high school students, this interest seems to have trickled all the way down to the elementary levels. Megumi certainly fits the description of their idea of someone from the yakuza: silent, secretive, scary.

(If they were a little bit older, maybe they would have just seen him as an introvert.)

No matter how ridiculous the rumors get, though, it doesn’t change the fact that the root of them is true: he is connected to the yakuza. After all, he’s being primed and prepped to be someone of value in the clan. Once you’re tied with the likes of them, you might as well just resign to the knot fate’s trapped you with. He’s learned quickly that the only thing harder than getting into the yakuza is getting out.

And because his sister’s and his life both depend on him doing as he’s told, getting out is a funny pipe dream at best and the Fushiguro siblings’ cause of death at worst.

“I told you to move. You’re blocking my way.” Megumi’s tone of voice betrays nothing. Annoyance, maybe, but he speaks flatly regardless of how he’s truly feeling. Gojo says it’s kinda creepy. Gojo also says that being a little creepy isn’t bad.

(Gojo should know; he’s a certified creep in Megumi’s eyes.)

“Oh — so the little boy can speak up.” The boy with blond hair laughs. It’s a nasally sound that grates Megumi’s ears.

He’s not an idiot. Megumi is well aware of the fact that no matter how much he feels like it isn’t true, he’s still just a little ten year old boy. He should be playing with the toy cars Gojo bought him, not worrying about the gritty future that lies ahead. But still, the phrase rubs him the wrong way.

Little boy.

He wasn’t so little when he kicked them down to his height before properly bashing their faces, now was he? Even now, he can feel the anger coming up. He clenches his fists, wondering if he’ll get suspended for fighting right next to school property.

“Leave him alone.”

Another voice appears, but not from any of the boys. No — this time, it’s coming from a little girl on the sidewalk across from theirs. Everyone involved turns to stare at the source of such a command and are greeted with the sight of you with a Hello Kitty backpack. You’ve got a frown on your face that doesn’t match the brightness of your pink outfit.

Megumi recognizes you instantly. You’re in the same class as him. You were in the same class as him last year, too. He tilts his head, trying to figure out what exactly it is you’re trying to accomplish here — and why.

He knows his social standing in the school. If he’s at the bottom, you’re right at the top. A beaming pillar of light, everyone flocks to you like moths after a flame. But you’re alone today, not surrounded by the usual crowd of boys and girls who are often vying for your attention. Seeing you alone enables him to see you more clearly, without all the distractions getting in his way.

You’re small. Shorter than him, and way shorter than the middle school boys. You’ve got a bow in your hair and brand new shoes on your feet. If anybody should be socially aware, it has to be you. Those at the top, Megumi knows, like to remind everyone of their placement. You shouldn’t be here. You should be ignoring him like he’s got the plague, just like everyone else.

All three of the boys start to laugh after sizing you up. The laughter only serves to make you even more irritated, but you can’t speak because one of them is already talking through his laughs.

“Don’t tell me. Is this your girlfriend?”

The group erupts into more laughter, and while Megumi’s expression remains the same as it’s been for the past few minutes, yours only shows your growing contempt.

“She’s no one.” Megumi throws you an odd look, one of neither annoyance nor gratitude for trying to help him out. He uses your presence as a distraction, and he manages to take a few more steps before one of the boys is yanking him back by his bookbag.

“Grab her.” One of the boys says, and the third boy, the one with the messy red hair, starts to cross the street.

Megumi watches as you stay right where you are. Are you stupid? Why won’t you run? The boy still has a solid grip on his bookbag, keeping him in place. He wonders if it’ll be a waste of his breath if he tells you to start running — you probably wouldn’t listen to him anyway.

But then Megumi figures out why you don’t look too frightened, because not even a second before the older boy manages to cross the street to your side of the sidewalk, a man in a suit is running towards you, a scowl on his face.

“You said you were going to the restroom, young lady!” The man scolds you while panting for breath. He surveys the scene, looking at you, and then the middle school boy by your side before turning his head and seeing Megumi in between the other two boys. “What’s going on? Is everything alright? Did they do anything to you?”

“No, Mr. Higashi. B-but—“ Your bottom lip starts to tremble, and even though Higashi is certain that the tears about to fall are fake, the situation itself looks serious enough to the point where he doesn’t call you out on it. “Th-these boys are being really mean.” You let out a high pitched wail that makes the boy let go of Megumi’s bookbag. “They just threatened to attack me and my friend out of nowhere.”

“Your father will be informed.” Higashi frowns, eyeing the guilty boys who look confused and a little shocked at this turn of events. “Mr. [Surname] certainly won’t be pleased to hear about this.”

The middle school boys pale when they hear the man name drop your family’s surname.

After all, it’s the same last name that’s engraved on plaques all over the school, thanking your family for the many donations they’ve received.

You enter into Megumi’s life that way: unexpectedly. He never thanked you for intervening, but it’s not like you did it for the thanks anyway. You did it, you tell him, because you figured he needed some help.

“I had it handled.” He tells you flatly. “Why are you even sitting here? Your friends keep staring at us.”

It’s true. Stories of what happened are already circulating around both schools, and while all your friends spent the whole entire day pestering you for the full story, you chose to keep quiet about the situation. And now, here you are, choosing to sit and eat lunch with Megumi, someone who also knows the true story of what went down but the only one people aren't brave enough to ask.

Your whole entire table of friends keep their heads huddled together as they go back and forth with each other, every one of them sparing glances at Megumi’s table. It makes the rice in his mouth taste stale. He should have just stayed in the classroom to eat, especially if he knew you would be bothering him.

“Gee, is that any way to treat a friend?” You huff, not at all actually annoyed with him.

“We’re not friends.”

“Too late. I told my dad we were.”

There has been one question on his mind ever since that incident. Just who exactly is your father? He’s not stupid; he knows that you must come from a wealthy family. If the buildings and auditorium named after your family isn’t enough proof, the fact that you always have the latest toys, the nicest shoes, the cutest stationery sets — that’s material proof of a spoiled princess.

You continue speaking, and as if you can read his mind, you’re already answering his question. “My daddy’s called a CEO. But the man you saw is Mr. Higashi. He takes care of me when dad’s away at work, and everything I do gets typed up in a report that dad sees every day. He wasn’t happy about what happened, so he says the boys will get in trouble. He told us not to worry, though.” You have a pleased smile on your face, waiting for Megumi to say something in reply.

“Okay.” He says, after a while. He only spoke because it seemed like you were waiting for him to. “It doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“What’s so wrong about being friends with me?” You tilt your head. Everyone wants to be friends with you. And that’s before they even figure out that you live in a real life mansion with actual servants, and that sometimes you’re allowed to eat dessert for dinner. Even without the wealth, you still draw people in, whether it be with your bright smile or cheery attitude.

“Don’t you already have enough friends?” He can’t figure out what you could possibly want with him. Even though Gojo’s got the backing of the clan and enough funds to run the Tokyo underground with cash to spare, it’s not like Megumi is in a position to take advantage of it. Gojo hands him a thick wad of cash every week with a tip to “spend wisely, hehehehe”, and Megumi takes the tip to heart. A majority of the money sits saved in his bedroom, underneath a floorboard he spent a week trying to figure out how to loosen without anyone catching on. (Which was actually easy whenever he realized that nobody seems to really watch him to begin with.) So, he doesn’t look like he has money, and isn’t that what all rich kids want? To surround themselves with equally rich kids?

“I guess.” Your bubbly mood seems to dampen a bit at the mention of the other kids. They like you, sure. But they like each other a lot more. The gap between you and the other kids isn’t noticeable at first, but the novelty of having an endless supply of company has lost its luster. Meanwhile, the glamor of your life only keeps the hoards of “friends” to grow as the days go by. It’s always “let’s have a sleepover at [Names]’s!” or “[Name], we have to go to your house because you have the best toys!”. You wonder if they like you, or the shiny things that they get when they’re with you. “But, it’s not like youhave any friends.”

“I don’t need any.” The response is quick — instinctual. Gojo, even if not the greatest guardian by any parental standards, still presses Megumi to have a proper (or, as proper as it can be) childhood.

(“You know, I don’t care if you bring any friends over. Just make sure no one ends up accidentally getting shot, okay, Megumi?”

Yeah, because that’s definitely gonna push him towards throwing as many parties as he wants.)

People in his position don’t have many friends. It’s hard to, he assumes, because of all the killings and betrayals and power plays.

(And, he’ll soon learn that it hurts a lot less to lose an enemy than it does a friend.)

“Hmm. Okay.”

But you don’t get up from your seat, and he doesn’t tell you to move.

The next day, you’re carrying two bento boxes. The lunches are prepared for you by world class chefs and everything is done in a rather cutesy manner to entice you into not wasting your food. The fruit is cut into pretty shapes, the food has picks with animals on them, and everything is colorful and to your own personal tastes.

You take a seat next to him once again. He looks up for a second, sees that it’s you, and returns back to his meal that looks pitiful in comparison. Leftover rice and some cold meat. You think it’s the same thing he had last time.

“For you.” You slide the second bento you had requested towards him before opening up your own.

“What’s this for?”

“For you to eat, silly.”

“...How much?”

“Huh? All of it, I guess? If you don’t like something, tell me, and I’ll request something different tomorrow.” You don’t quite understand what he’s asking you.

“No. How much does it cost? I'll bring you the money tomorrow.”

“Why would it cost you?” Now you’re really confused.

Didn’t anyone ever teach you that everything comes attached with a price? If it’s not money you want, it must be something else. At least, if Megumi’s judgments are right. (And they usually are.)

“Fushiguro, I brought you this because I want you to eat well and grow strong.”

He wonders what rice shaped like Hello Kitty has to do with his strength.

“Also, so the next time people give you or me trouble, you can fight them, okay?”

Oh. So it’s protection you want. He contemplates what he thinks your request is before popping a piece of food into his mouth. A meal made with care — he can taste the thought that’s been put into it. Shoving his old lunch to the side, he quickly starts eating at the one you brought him.

Okay. So maybe he does accept your offer.

“Meguuuumi.” You whine out his name, messing up the navy sheets of his bed while he sits at his desk, trying to finish his application for university. “I’m bored.”

“Good. Go to your own house then, and leave me alone.”

“You’re so mean to me.” You sigh, turning your head so that half of your face is pressed against his pillow. The scent of his shampoo still sticks to the fabric, and you subconsciously inhale the scent some more. It’s familiar and reminds you of him, your favorite person in the world.

No one believes you when you tell them that Megumi is your best friend. No one wants to believe that it’s true. After all, the two of you look more like a shoujo manga trope than an actual pair of best friends. The cold, inexpressive dark haired male lead with a secretive past he doesn’t want anyone to know about and the bright, bubbly, ball of energy that is constantly clinging to his side. It’s like looking at night and day with you two.

“And yet, you’re still always here.”

You’re still by his side, even when the two of you reached middle school and high school together, and he spent a majority of his time starting (and finishing) fights.

(“Get off of him!” You screamed, yanking on the collar of one of the boys who happened to be trying to grab Megumi from behind. You don’t have the same amount of strength as them, but everyone at this point knows who you are and who exactly your father is. No matter what the origin of the fight is won’t matter; all that matters is that the precious daughter of one of Tokyo’s richest CEOs got caught in it, and that’s enough to get everyone involved into some deep shit.

Immediately, the boy scampers off, and the other boy Megumi was punching into the squeaky clean floors of the hallway begins to thrash around wildly, eyes wide at the sudden sight of you. Seeing you coming from behind Megumi is like watching the sun peek through a dozen storm clouds.

Megumi gives him one last punch, not nearly as satisfied as he thought he would be. Honestly, getting into fights with low level delinquents is beneath him. It’s not just his knuckles and clothes that are getting dirty; by feeding into the school’s image that he’s this young, violent yakuza heir, he’s dirtying the prestige Gojo claims is oh so important.

“Megumi.” He straightens up at the sound of your voice, which usually sounds so sweet, especially when it’s directed towards him. Instead, you have an uncharacteristic frown on your face and you sound… mad. “Let’s go.”

You’ve got a hand wrapped around his wrist, and people part when they spot the two of you making a hasty exit. The teachers aren’t bold enough to cause a scene with you, and the students know both you and Megumi are practically untouchable — one being the spoiled brat daughter of a rich and powerful businessman, the other, a ticking time bomb with ties to the yakuza.

You don’t stop walking until the two of you are in a secluded courtyard at the school. No one goes here, mainly because it’s in such an inconvenient location and there’s nothing but trees and weeds over growing it. The two of you found it within your first week of being here, and ever since then, it’s become your designated spot to avoid prying eyes.

“I thought you were over stupid fights. You told me yourself that they weren’t the type of people worth beating up.” You scold him, forcing him to take a seat on the bench that creaks under his weight. You make a noise as you inspect the drying blood on his knuckles.

If an outsider were to look at the scene before them, they would gape at the unbecoming sight of you on your knees, in between his legs, too close for a duo who claims to be “just good friends”. But there’s nothing inherently dirty in your thoughts. Instead, you’re staring thoughtfully at his hands, inspecting the minor damage done to them.

Megumi swallows hard as he looks down on you. He shouldn’t be feeling like this — you’re his best friend, his only friend. The only person who’s by his side. If you could read in his mind, there’s no doubt that you would be recoiling away from him in disgust…)

You’re still by his side, even when he told you the truth about himself after waiting years to see if you were truly his friend or not.

(“The rumors—” He starts to say, but you shush him, rolling over on your side to face him. The two of you are lying on the grass in your massive backyard, trying to spot a shooting star that’s supposed to be passing by at any second now.

“I don’t care about that.” You tell him. Middle school was a bitch to deal with, mainly because as everyone was in the process of growing up and “maturing”, so did the rumors they spread. Now, the two of you are halfway through your first week of high school. A new school, a couple of new classmates, and new rumors surrounding the odd pair.

“If I told you the rumors about me being someone you should avoid were true, would you be mad?” He’s lying on his back, still staring up at the night sky. He’s not turning to face you, almost as if he’s scared to look at you.

“Yes.” You answer without any hesitation. “At the person who’s spreading that around.” You clarify, poking him on his side to lighten the somber mood he’s setting. “You’re the only real friend I’ve had in forever, Megumi. I don’t think what anyone says about you would change that.”

“What if I did something bad?” Like kill a person. What then? What would you think of him if he told you the full truth: that Gojo told him that he can’t shield Megumi from the dirtier aspects of this type of life. That he’s spent hours after school, hours after hanging out with you and pretending to be a normal teenager, learning how to assemble, disassemble, and then reassemble a gun. That his target practice isn’t glass bottles lined up in a row or sheets printed out with human bodies. What happens if he told you that his target practice was low level scum from rival yakuza clans that Gojo couldn’t be bothered to kill himself?

“Mmm. How bad are we talking? Like, lied to me when you said my Christmas outfit looked good but half my ass was practically exposed bad or committing a felony bad?”

“What if I told you… that I really was a yakuza heir.”

The silence is palpable and especially soul crushing to Megumi as he waits for your reply.

“It wouldn’t matter to me, Megumi.” You say. You know that this isn’t just some type of hypothetical question he’s asking for fun. From his odd living situation to the intense nature of him in general to the fact that he knows practically everything about you, but you barely know the full extent of his childhood traumas despite growing up alongside him, you know deep in your heart that there has to be something going on with him. Something dark enough to harbor stories about him.

“Are you sure about that?”

You reach for his hand in the dark, finding it without really needing to look. He’s not one that’s prone to initiating physical contact, but you found out that he doesn’t really mind when you reach for him first.

“You can’t get rid of me, no matter how crazy or fucked up you think your life is.” You squeeze his hand, still staring at him.

You don’t notice the shooting star flying past the night sky, but Megumi is looking right at it. He knows what he’s wishing for.

For your words to be true.)

You’re still by his side, even when he brought you to his sister’s bedside. She’s sick, afflicted with something no one knows, not even the private doctors that Gojo’s spent millions on. She was still conscious, albeit confined to her bed when the two of you first met, but she’s been in a coma ever since the last year of middle school. You were by his side as he broke down about the news. It was the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

So, no matter how much it may seem like he’s pushing you away, you don’t budge. For someone smaller than him and definitely weaker, you’re awfully resilient. And while people make the occasional joke, telling you to “blink twice if you need help”, you don’t pay any attention to them. If only they knew the truth: that you’ve got Megumi Fushiguro, heir to a massive yakuza clan, wrapped around your dainty finger.

He’s so whipped that he found himself asking Gojo for a rare favor.

(“College?” Gojo rubs the back of his neck, staring at Megumi. “I mean, I guess it’ll be good for you. Meet a wild party girl, take her to your dorm room, tame her—”

“An education is the whole point of attending, you know.” Megumi interrupts him before Gojo can jump into a story highlighting all of his sexual endeavors with college girls back in the day.

“Eh. I guess.” But then a grin lights up the feature of the man who [kind of/by definition] raised him. “But y’know what I know for a fact.” He wiggles his eyebrows, his glasses slipping down his nose as he tilts his head downwards. “You wanna follow [Name].”)

It doesn’t really matter if he’s not good enough to get into the university you’ve already received an early acceptance for. Because Gojo tries to make up for being an absent father figure, he fills in those empty spaces with cold, hard cash. All it takes is one nice donation, and Megumi’s wherever he wants to be.

Where he wants to be, he realizes, is to be by your side. Wherever you go, he’ll gladly follow. Funnily enough, despite the two vastly different backgrounds the both of you come from, you both have similar means of getting what you want.

Your father had already looked over the list of universities you had in mind, and all you could do was excitedly squeal and start rambling the moment the acceptance letters came in the mail. Despite the fact that your father’s physically absent from your life most of the time, he still tries to show he cares in the things he does for you. If paying off over half a dozen major universities in order to make you happy is something he has to do, he’ll do it without batting an eye.

It’s the same thing on Megumi’s end. Granted, Gojo’s means are more along the lines of using money as a lubricant and then death as an inevitable. Money talks, a gunshot to the head silences. Nobody can accuse anyone of taking bribes if said accused person is in a grave six feet under.

Sometimes, Megumi wonders how you’re just so oblivious to the fortunate circumstances in your life. You chalk up a lot of your father’s wishes as just “good luck”. In school, you’re placed on a pedestal, revered as some goddess-like, otherworldly being. People are practically tripping over themselves, running towards you for a crumb of your attention. Anyone sane would gladly wield this power and use it for all its worth. Not you, though. Not you, who’s kind and considerate and completely clean from the corruptness that plagues everyone else.

Megumi knows good and well that he’s not a hero — couldn’t be farther from it, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t feel a moral obligation to go out and rid the world of all evil. (It’d be hypocritical, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s most likely belonging under the evil category himself.) From a young age, he’s already known and come to terms with his fate. He’s going to train and learn from the best, and eventually, he will succeed as head of the clan. That is his purpose. That right there is the reason why he’s still alive today. That is why he can find himself sitting at his desk, submitting an application that’s already guaranteed to be followed up with an acceptance letter, ready to pretend for four more years that he’s normal.

“D’you think college will be fun?” You ask him, making yourself comfortable in his bed.

“No.”

You laugh at that. You like Megumi for a lot of reasons, and his honesty is one of them. Despite the fact that he likes to keep most of the darker details of his life to himself, you know that he would never lie to you. In a world full of people who are constantly lying, it gets tiring trying to figure out who’s real and who’s fake. It doesn’t help that you want to believe in everyone either. If you didn’t have Megumi loyally staying by your side all this time, you doubt you would have made it this far in your life without anyone taking advantage of you and your kindness.

“My dad said I can finally get a boyfriend when I go to college.” You say this fact so casually that Megumi almost — almost — gets fooled into believing that this is not a cause for concern. Almost.

“Oh.” He’s at a loss for words. He knows that it’s inevitable; that one day, you’ll find a guy you like and want to get closer to him. He knows that you’re not always going to be by his side, and he knows that it’s going to happen because he’ll have to push you away eventually. The older he gets, the deeper he’s burying himself into his grave. He doesn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.

It’s not like boys have never tried approaching you before. People have spent years thinking that you and Megumi were a couple, and then after finding out from you that the two of you are nothing more than “best friends”, boys were still hesitant to talk to you. The glare Megumi would give them from behind your shoulder acted as a strong enough deterrent.

“I know. Now the only problem is finding a guy who’ll actually wanna date me.”

“They all will.” The words leave his mouth faster than he can even think about them. He’s not wrong, though. Every time the two of you are out in public together, he sees people shooting quick glances at you, at your ass, at your bright smile. The looks they give are predatory, dangerous, even. If it’s not your looks, it’s your shining personality that draws them all in. And if that’s not good enough, there’s always the enormous wealth attached to your last name. That’s the key to getting them to stay.

“You can be so sweet sometimes, you know that?” You giggle, glad that he’s still typing away on his laptop. If he were to look at you right now, he would see that you’re reacting way too positively to such a lackluster compliment. It’s not like he listed reasons on why anyone would ever want to date you, so he probably could just be complimenting you to make you happy.

(That’s just the excuse you’re going with. You know your best friend — that means you know that he would never say something he doesn’t truly think or believe.)

There’s a secret you’ve been keeping from him. A secret so big that you think you might’ve been keeping it from yourself, too. Something so big that your body simply can’t contain it any longer.

You like Megumi. 

Of course you do. You keep telling the whole world what great friends the two of you are. You talk to him about your dad all the time (which must mean he’s important, because you rarely get to speak to your dad, so you have to choose your topics of conversation wiseley). You trust him more than you trust yourself. Ever since middle school, you’ve been telling yourself that you liking Megumi isn’t anything to be ashamed or confused about. You like him because he’s your friend, and you’re supposed to like your friends.

And then you came to terms with the fact that you like Megumi beyond the borders of friendship.

It starts with you seeing him the way other girls must see him. You’re not blind, you know. It’s obvious that Megumi is far from ugly. If he wasn’t so intimidating, you’re sure he would have had his fair share of confessions, too. Megumi’s pretty, although calling him a pretty boy wouldn’t do his character justice. He’s got lashes people pay extensions for theirs to look like, and the prettiest dark blue eyes you’ve ever seen, and his hair, which he doesn’t put forth any type of effort in, always looks good whereas the same hairstyle would look messy on anyone else.

It’s not just his looks, though. Even if you look like the type of person who would judge others based on such shallow standards, you didn’t approach Megumi simply because he’s attractive. He’s… interesting. He’s got this reputation for being a delinquent, and maybe all the fights on his school record prove it, but he’s surprisingly respectful. He’s the type of guy who gets up from his seat to let an eldery woman have it. He loves animals. He’s honest and sweet despite his seemingly stoic nature, and he’s so oblivious to just how good he is.

Maybe it’s because he’s so blinded by the light that is you. You, with your cutesy bento boxes that used to be made by your team of personal chefs but are now made with your own manicured hands. You, with that bright smile of yours that he wants to always see because god — he thinks he would be willing to destroy the whole world if something were to ever make you so upset. You’re kind and beautiful and everything people write love songs about. You’re so good, and he’s nothing like you.

He’s nothing like you, because he highly doubts that you spend your time fantasizing about him like he does with you. It’s wrong, he thinks. And dirty, and disgusting, and vile. You’d hate him, he’s sure of it, if you knew what he thinks about late at night. That he sits on his bed with his cock pulled out from his shorts, leaking with precum as he strokes himself to the thought of you. Do you not see him as any other guy? Despite your lack of experience, surely you know just how dirty boys’ minds can be? You’ve got to be conscious of the fact that he’s any other guy, right? So, why — why — do you always roll around in his sheets, letting your sweet perfume stick to his sheets. Your tiny tops and skirts are always clinging tight to your body, and you never feel the need to readjust your clothing when it rides up. Do you not see him trying his hardest to look you in the eyes when the two of you are talking, despite the tantalizing sight of your skirt bunching up, exposing the smooth skin of your thighs?

Little does Megumi know (and if you have your way, he’ll never find out), you spend nights in your room, whining and trying to stuff your cunt with the same fingers that painstakingly made him his lunch. He’s your best friend since childhood. He looks at you like you’re an angel, and you don’t want to destroy that image by revealing just how dirty you really are. How every time he gets so close to you, you subconsciously bring your thighs together, trying to rub them together in a poor attempt to relieve some tension. He’d be disgusted with you, you’re sure of it. Maybe even betrayed.

Besides, it would never work out. Megumi doesn’t see you the way you see him. He might look at you with a soft look you’ve never seen him give anyone else, but that’s because you’re his only friend. It’s not like he’s harboring any hidden feelings for you, and just because you’re so convinced that there’s no one better than Megumi around, it doesn’t exactly mean that you won’t feel this way about anyone else.

Megumi’s got a rather monotone cadence with his voice, so you’re not too surprised by his seemingly unethusiatic response to you saying you’re now allowed to date. Still — there’s a slight pang of disappointment when you realize that he doesn’t sound jealous at the prospect of you dating someone else.

You decide right then and there that the healthiest thing to do now is to just bury your feelings for him deep inside your heart, to tightly pack in all those pesky feelings and store them away so you can make room to allow others to fill in his space.

gumi <3: where are you? gumi <3: i’m feeling tired and i have an assignment due tomorrow. i’m going home. gumi <3: you know i wouldn’t leave without you. cmon [name]. let’s leave now

Megumi frowns at his phone. He can clearly see that all his messages are being delivered, not to mention that he’s already called you twice and has been sent to voicemail twice. He can be patient when he wants to be, but right now, he’s getting a little pissed.

You know that he doesn’t like parties, and you know that he doesn’t hang out with the same people you do. He also knows that you don’t even really like most of the people you surround yourself with, so whyyou suddenly decided to do a 180 and reestablish your throne as the head of the social pyramid, he doesn’t know.

Lately, things between the two of you have been a little… weird. Sometimes he catches you staring at him with a sad smile on your face; one that you immediately replace with your usual one when you realize he’s looking right at you. Despite him asking you if everything’s okay, you vehemently deny that there’s anything wrong, and you’re quick to change the subject.

He thinks he’s losing his best friend, his only friend. And maybe it only hurts because he’s grown used to your presence in his life. Maybe it hurts because you’re his friend. But he knows the truth. It hurts because he’s losing you.

Did he do something wrong? Did he accidentally somehow reveal the extent of his feelings for you? Did you suddenly decide that maybe associating with someone like him isn’t something you’re meant for? Do you…

Do you hate him now?

It doesn’t matter. Maybe it does, but not right now. Right now, he’s more focused on getting the hell out of this stuffy ass living room, filled to the brim with drunken young adults and people he couldn’t care less about. The only person that matters right now is you, and he’s on a mission to find your location.

He’s got this ominous feeling in his gut, like something bad is about to happen. He’s Megumi Fushiguro, for fuck’s sake, so bad things have a habit of following him wherever he goes. But still, he’s made a personal promise to himself that no matter how bad things get, you’ll never get caught in the crossfire. He’s willing to die to keep that vow.

If you don’t reply to him, you most likely have a good reason. He doesn’t want to be clingy, is pretty damn certain he doesn’t even have a right to be, but he’s still worried about you. He’s pushing past the wall of sweaty bodies, trying to catch a glimpse of your hair color, the waft of your perfume, the familiarity of your laugh, but he can’t catch a single crumb of you anywhere.

You’re nowhere in sight, and he’s immediately filled with dread.

He yanks a guy who’s coming from upstairs.

“Ow, man, what the fuc—”

“Is anyone else up there?” Most of the time, the parties are restricted to just the first floor, with the unspoken rule being that only the upstairs should be used for people trying to fuck or to use the bathroom (or, people trying to use the bathroom to fuck). You’re not anywhere downstairs, and if you were simply using the restroom, you would have been back down here by now.

“Shit, I don’t fucking know.” The guy squints at Megumi, as if trying to see if he knows him or not. With the way his expression pales, Megumi comes to the conclusion that the guy might not really know him, but he knows ofhim. Gojo says that with the right reputation, the two concepts are practically synonymous. “But I heard a guy ‘n a girl, I think, walk past the bathroom. I don’t know who, though!”

Megumi lets go of the boy’s shirt, and he’s quick to run off before Megumi can give him any more wrinkles in his shirt — or do something much worse.

He’s thinking. Odds are, it’s probably not even you. With so many people roaming around this house, it’s likely that he just missed your presence. Your phone could have died, so that explains why he can’t reach you.

He finds himself heading up the stairs anyway.

It’s fine. He tells himself. You’re fine. You’re okay. Nobody would dare to touch a single hair on your head unless they want to suffer directly at the hands of Megumi. People around campus call him your guard dog, and it’s not necessarily a nickname he hates.

The atmosphere upstairs is vastly different from the one downstairs. There are no lights turned on, and all the doors to the rooms are closed. He hears a flush coming from one end, and out walks a tipsy girl who’s staggering a bit. There are only so many doors to choose from, and he doesn’t really want to accidentally walk in on two people trying to have sex, but the need to confirm your safety outweighs any possible embarrassment he may suffer from, so he continues on his mission.

The first two rooms are revealed to be empty, leaving just one more. Megumi takes a deep breath before trying to turn the handle.

It’s locked. 

His gut is telling him something isn’t right, but he’s forcing himself to chalk it all up to paranoia. He curses under his breath, wondering why he even let you out of his sights for a single second.

Because he didn’t want to seem clingy. Because he didn’t want you to have any more reasons to keep on pushing him away. 

He decides to call you one more time, and as he’s listening to the dial tone, he hears a faint sound coming from the other side of the locked door.

It’s a phone ringing.

He presses his ear against the door, trying to make out any more sounds he possibly can. Is it still a coincidence when the phone stops ringing right as Megumi is greeted with your voicemail message of “sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now, but you probably should’ve just texted me!”

Without the annoying dial tone distracting him, Megumi can listen a little more clearly to what’s going on. There’s… there’s someone crying.

The voices are muffled, but he can make out bits and pieces of what’s being said.

“—fuck up… crying like a damn bitch… want this.”

He’s heard enough before he’s banging his shoulder against the door.

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” He’s screaming, hitting it again. There’s a chance, the voice of reason inside of him is saying, that it’s not you that’s crying behind that door. Even if it wasn’t, Megumi still wouldn’t have stood by idly. But instinct is telling him that it is you, and that’s enough cause for him to bang his shoulder against the door once again. He hears a scream, and a male voice cursing.

The force of his body banding against it is enough to have the door really test the strength of its lock. Megumi’s never been the bulkiest person in the world, but he’s still got some defined muscle to him. The door is creaking, almost bending to his will, but he fumbles in the dark for the gun safely tucked away by his side.

It’s a gift from Gojo. To speed up the process when something needs to be done quick is what Gojo said it was for. He’s never used it in such close proximity to you, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

No silencer. He forgot the fucking silencer. With the deep bass rumbling from the speakers, he doubts anyone would be able to hear the gun go off anyway. He aims for the handle, pulling back the safety, and fires once, then twice. With a foot aimed at the door, he kicks at it, pleased to see the way the abused door finally bends to his will.

The open door reveals a scene that makes Megumi see red: you, with tear stained cheeks and your clothes bunched up and strewn across the floor with a guy Megumi vaguely recognizes as someone sharing the same Econ class as the two of you — Mahito.

“You fucking bastard.” Megumi practically lunges forward, tossing his gun to the side. He doesn’t see reason, is numb to common sense at this moment. All he feels is the need to hurt this fucker. To make him bleed, to have him on the brink of death, to see the light of life leave his dark eyes.

Mahito is fast, but even he couldn’t imagine the speed that Megumi would possess when pushed to the edge. This is different from the fights you’ve witnessed during school. This is something entirelydifferent.

The first punch has Mahito wincing in pain. The second, third, and fourth ones are thrown back to back, and there’s no time given to recover, no chance to gain the upper hand. He’s falling down, and Megumi’s on top of him, drawing back his fist only to slam it against him again and againand again.

Megumi knows he’s got something fucked up inside of his head — what other explanation is there to reason with why he finds this bloody violence so satisfying? His knuckles are bloody, and he can’t tell where Mahito’s blood starts and where his own ends. There’s a wild grin on his face, one that you’ve never seen before. You’re not sure if it’s a trick of the shadows, but the feral expression on Megumi’s face transforms him from your loyal best friend to something monstrous.

“‘Gumi, st-stop.” The words stumble out of your mouth as hiccups, but you don’t miss the way Megumi’s raised arm freezes in its higher position before he slowly brings it back down to his side. He’s breathing deeply, and all is silent in the room.

As if the sound of your cries is enough to snap him out of his daze, it’s almost scary how fast his mood shifts. Just a second ago, he was hellbent on beating Mahito to a bloody pulp, and now the darkness drowning those blue eyes of his is practically gone. He makes his way to the bed, each step hurried but still hesitant. Do you even want to be near him right now? 

You answer his question with some more small sobs. “‘Gumi, I—”

“Shh, it’s okay, [Name].” He’s picking up your clothes from the floor, ready to help you get dressed. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Megumi.” His name seems to be the only thing you’re capable of saying right now. After he helps you get dressed, he’s thrown off guard when you cling to him, with your arms wrapped around his neck and your wet cheeks pressed against his shoulder.

The moment the two of you are exiting the room, both of you far too wrapped up with the other to pay him any mind, Mahito lets out a laugh before groaning at the pain Megumi inflicted.

The two of you don’t know what you just started, but no worries — Mahito has the means of ending it.

It’s only a matter of time.

You’re too good to be true.

You won’t listen to him when he tells you this (you never do), but he swears you’re a fucking angel or something otherwordly. There’s no other possible explanation for just how breathtakingly beautiful you are, or how you’re the only thing consuming his every thought. Despite the fact that all the blood on his hands has reached an amount that he’s sure he’ll never truly be able to wash it all off, you don’t shy away from his touch. As a matter of fact, it seems like you’re keening for it.

“‘Gumi.” You mewl out, sticking out your tongue to lap at the precum on Megumi’s thumb.

You’re well aware of just how dangerous your boyfriend (the title makes you giddy every time you refer to him as that) is, but you know him. You know that the hands of a killer are the hands of your lover, and most of the time, you have a hard time believing the awful things he’s had to do with them. Because right now, those hands that are meant to be weapons are handling you with care, touching you so gently, you would have thought you were made of glass and ready to shatter.

“Look at you, all spread out for me. What happened to my precious, shy little girl, huh?” He removes the hand that was cradling your face back to his cock, stroking his length, the saliva from your tongue acting as a minor lubricant. The first time he fucked you was the first time you’ve ever had sex with anyone ever, and it had been the start of an addiction. You love Megumi. You love everything about him, from his character to his tenacity, all the way down to his cock, with its red tip that’s sticky with pre and leaking out more as he stares down at the obscene position you’re in.

Your face feels warm as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened with a mix of love and lust that you don’t think you’ll ever get used to being on the receiving end of.

“Need you, need you so bad, please, ‘Gumi—” You’re staring up at him, giving him your best doe eyes.

“Fuck.” Just the sight of you beneath him, completely bending to his will, whining out for him to pretty please fuck you has him ready to cum right on the fucking spot. He’s pressing the tip in, his breathing faltering just the slightest as the warmth you provide envelopes the most sensitive part of him, nearly causing him to lose all self control right then and there.

You let out a cry as he pushes himself deeper in you, making himself at home in your gummy walls, one hand gripping your hip and the other holding onto the headboard.

“You feel so good for me, baby, shit.” He hisses, waiting for you to adjust, impatient but willing to bear it if it means it’ll feel better for you in the long run. After all, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t endure, just to ensure your happiness.

“Mm — ah — please.” There are still tears welling up in your eyes — precious girl, he hasn’t even began to properly fuck you, and you’re already tearing up? The sight of you completely and willingly at his mercy is enough to get him to start rutting his hips against yours, the satisfying sound of skin slapping against skin resounding and bouncing against the walls of his bedroom that is starting to feel more like the both of yours.

“Y’feel so fuckin’ good for me, baby.” He groans, his pace quickening, the thrusts getting sharper and rougher with every roll of his hips. You’re powerless against his strength, and this type of easy submission feels so natural, feels so good, when it’s him that’s taking advantage of it. “You’ve got the sweetest pussy, y’know that?  I could fuck you forever.”

His praise goes through one ear and out the other with you, but your heart swells up to twice its size. Even if you can’t focus on the words all too clearly, you’re still aware that Megumi’s probably praising you. You can come to this conclusion because he’s always praising you. He’s always so sweet, so gentle, so loving — when it comes to you, that is.

“Hng — daddy!” You can’t help but let out a high pitched moan as he hits that sweet spot inside of you that makes you buck your hips up.

There’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing. Clenching around his cock like that, making those cute little noises that he can’t help but want to hear all the time, and then calling him that.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy.” 

Forget igniting something within him; you whining for him, calling him something that’s the root cause of all his childhood traumas… That’s like dousing him with gasoline and tossing a lighter at him. He’s going to burn through all his energy, channel all this dark, feral energy, and use you as the one unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end.

He fucks into you so deeply that if your eyes weren’t shut tight, there’s no doubt that you wouldn’t see the unmistakable shape of his cock outlined against your tummy. The headboard is banging against the wall, and the squelching sounds of him roughly thrusting in and out of your sopping cunt is so lewd and so dirty that if you had any room to harbor a single ounce of shame, you would be downright embarrassed.

“How about you make me a daddy, huh? How about I fuck a baby in you?” He won’t lie and say it’s not something that’s never crossed his mind. The thought of your stomach round with a life the two of you created is enough to get him to continue with this near-brutal pace he’s set forth. “Doesn’t it sound nice, baby? My baby giving me a baby, what—” He grits his teeth as you tighten up. “—a fucking dream.”

“Baby. Wanna have your babies.” You cry out, tears spilling out and wetting your cheeks as your arms find their way to his neck and broad shoulders, trying to pull him in closer. The heat building up from within you feels like you’re about to fucking explode. “‘Gumi, I love you, Iloveyoupleasegimmeababy—'' Your words are practically unintelligible as you slur them out, the words sticking together as you cum all over his cock, all that pleasure that has been building up now physically tangible, if the white ring encasing his cock every time he pulls out is evidence.

“Fuck! You feel so fucking good. Always so fuckin’ tight.” He’s reaching his own end, and you’re just lying there, trying to recover from such an intense orgasm but unable to as your too sensitive walls clench around the constant intrusion of his cock. Spurred by your little love confession and his mind imagining his daydreams coming true — you, as his cute little housewife, taking care of the kids the two of you made together — he finally shoves himself as deep as he physically can, making sure that as he cums, nothing will spill out.

“‘Gumi.” You whisper, your head resting against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted to start a family?”

He’s silent for a minute.

“I wouldn’t mind starting a family with you.” And he means it. He knows this life isn’t one meant for children — look at how he turned out, for god’s sake — but he thinks that for you, he can do anything. Even make a family work out. As long as it’s what you want, he doesn’t mind how hard it may be.

You snuggle closer to him, burying your face in the warmth of his chest. “Good.” You mumble. “I wanna start a family with you, too.”

Megumi feels… at peace. Like he’s got the whole entire world in the palm of his hands. He wraps his arms around you, and realizes that no — right now, he’s got his world right in his arms.

Mahito likes to play with his food before he devours them whole.

Humans are just so… vulnerable. Even the coldest people have a heart; it’s only a matter of whether or not they find someone warm enough to defrost it. Megumi Fushiguro, for example, likes to walk around this world, acting indifferent and claiming to follow his own moral conduct, only to give himself the biggest weakness he could possibly harbor: you.

He still remembers that party. He still remembers the way you were dressed like a little slut, completely oblivious (or maybe you were just acting coy) to the wolfish stares all the guys were giving you. He had the same class as you. Seen the way you clung to Gojo’s charity case, as if the ground would swallow Megumi whole if you let go of him. You’re cute, and you scream naive virgin, and that’s precisely why Mahito wanted to take you to that bedroom and have his way with you.

And then, your infamous little guard dog bared his teeth and pummeled him into the hardwood of a stranger’s bedroom floor.

Grudges are cancerous. If you don’t deal with it right away, it develops into something worse. It takes over all your internal organs, ruining you ‘til the only thing you can focus on is getting revenge. And the longer you wait, the more vengeful you get. It doesn’t become a matter of ruined pride or reestablishing honor — it becomes about inflicting the most pain one possibly can. It becomes about suffering — about transferring your pain, your anguish, onto someone else.

Mahito isn’t the type to hold grudges, but for Megumi, he’ll make a special exception. He wants to see just how well trained the boy is; after all, he’s been taken under the wing and supervision of Satoru Gojo, the myth himself. Surely, his student must be nearly as skilled, right?

It’s been a long game of watching and waiting on Mahito’s end. A lot of lurking in the shadows and gathering intel. It’s a lot more boring than he anticipated, but today’s the day where all his hard work finally comes to fruition. Megumi Fushiguro is going to regret ever interfering with him that one fateful night. The burning humiliation he’s felt has long since fizzled out, but since he’s already been set on the path of orchestrating Megumi’s destruction, he figures it only makes sense to see it through. You only can let go of a grudge after you get your proper revenge.

He’s been leaving Megumi all sort of taunting, teasing threats any chance he gets. Mahito’s got nothing but disgraced yakuza members on his side; those who have committed acts vile enough to get them kicked out of what is essentially a group of criminals. He knows how to be twisted — hell, twisted might be the only thing he knows how to be.

Killing girls that resemble you and sending him the photos. Taking videos of you when you’re out in public alone. Leaving voicemails for Megumi, ones that leave him pale faced and unable to breathe as he listens to how Mahito wants to tortue you.

Megumi’s been on edge for the past few months, unable to explain to you why. It’s why you don’t understand why Megumi won’t let you go back to your car, even though you left your phone in there.

“I’ll go. Or, we can go together.”

“You have to wait for our coffee! And besides, I don’t even know where I left my phone. It might not even be in the car, but you’ll just waste your time searching for it if it’s not there.”

“So then why do you have to go look for it?”

“Because it’s my phone? Also, I reeeeeallly don’t wanna have to wait for our coffee, so I figured looking for my phone in the car would kill some time.” You give him that sweet smile of yours that he loves so much before waving him goodbye. “I’ll be back by the time our order is ready, pinky promise!”

At the end of the day, it’s all luck. Mahito realizes this as you happily skip out of the crowded cafe, headed towards your car to search for your phone. He doesn’t know why you’re returning back to your car, doesn’t even really care. All he knows and all he cares about is that you’re headed there alone. And while you’ve been alone plenty of times, he’s never had an opportunity quite like this one. A chance to finally detonate the bomb that’s been lying dormant underneath your car, ready to be activated at the press of a button. He could’ve killed you plenty of times already, but it’s not enough to merely murder you. He wants to make it a spectacle, sure, but he also only cares about one audience member watching: Megumi.

From where he’s hiding, blending in with the rest of the customers from the bakery across the street, he’s got a decent enough view of Megumi, who’s sitting by the glass windows, watching you with furrowed brows as you unlock the car door.

Mahito can’t help the cruel smile that spreads across his face as pushes the remote connected to the bomb.

Nobody expects to hear the loud, resounding boom of something exploding. The surrounding cars parked next to yours have their alarms going off like crazy; it’s nothing but high pitched, blaring noises blending together to create a disruptive harmony. People are screaming, someone is on the line with emergency services, and—

—your precious car is set aflame, reduced to a burning pile of scrap metal no salvage yard will take.

In this moment, Megumi Fushiguro’s world crumbles to ashes.

[meltedheartz]

thinking about ftm!reader and mean!izuku who thinks it's so cute how they just can't defend themselves against him :((

tw : college!au, dub-con, condescension, mild bullying (in a way), chubby reader, reader wears glasses, reader's a bit of a loser, dacryphilia, creampie, no protection (don't be silly, wrap that willy!), mating press, izuku's a whore for reader, praise and petnames, don't care how big you are cuz izu's bigger, gn pronouns used :3

word count : wrote this on a whim, so i honestly don't know..

it starts when you accidentally bump into him, stumbling back yet he was barely even startled. you apologize profusely, and izuku just waves you off at first.

you think it's rude, before rushing off to wherever you were trying to get too—forgetting about it.

but izuku spots you around that coffee shop near the campus, sees you in the hallways with books nearly stumbling from your arms, watches as you take notes as the professor speaks.

a couple of people whisper about you, how you never bother speaking to anyone, and how nervous you seem when someone approaches you.

it's like cornering a bunny, izuku thinks when he decides to speak to you.

well, it's more like being passive aggressive than actually conversing.

"wow, you're soo smart. you must be real fun to be around, huh? your voice is really high pitched, are you sure you're alright?"

you tell him to stop being a dickhead, if he doesn't wanna be around, he doesn't have to be. izuku waves you off and laughs, says you're like a startled animal that thinks it's intimidating, and it makes you frown.

"you're an ass," you poke at his chest, before picking up your bag and adjusting your glasses.

"hm? where are you going?" izuku pointedly ignores your insult, but it feels more ticklish than insulting or hurtful.

you ignore him right back, attempting to storm out of his dorm room. of all the people you get to work with, you get paired with him. it's annoying—more an inconvenience, than anything.

izuku watches as tears well up behind those clear rims you wear, sees the furrow in your eyebrow and nearly laughs at it, wants to call you a crybaby for it; just like everyone used to do to him.

he can sort of see why they did it, and when it comes down to someone as soft and quiet as you, it's nearly impossible to resist.

"we're not done with either of our parts. you don't need help on yours?"

when you don't answer, izuku takes it upon himself to grab you hard enough to stop you, but not enough to hurt. it causes a slight discomfort, makes your breathing stutter a bit as you sniffle and try to pull away—but you physically can't.

izuku speaks again, looming over you with a small scowl. "why are you ignoring me? i thought you wanted to get this done, what happened to that?"

you just wanna slap him for asking that. he knows the answer — knows exactly what he did wrong and why you got fed up.

"let go of me. i'll work on my part by myself, dickweed."

"nuh-uh, that's not fair to either of us, is it?" izuku coos, grabbing your bag for you and tossing it onto the futon he has sitting just a little bit away.

you sniffle again, more tears welling up and threatening to tip over and down onto your chubby cheeks, and you can't even wipe them away cuz you're arguing with such an asshole.

you seem so frustrated and angered, but he knows that instead of yelling, you cry. it's pathetic, makes him wanna bite your cute face and boop your nose just to see you sniffle some more.

"you mad at me?" izuku asks, tugging you back into the small apartment that you stupidly decided to visit to get your joint assignment done.

"this is stupid — let me go, midoriya." he frowns at that, his grip loosening just a bit before it tightens again.

he clicks his tongue and drags you right back to his room, with all the superhero posters and expensive collectors items that can't be found anywhere else.

izuku sits you down but doesn't let you go—hasn't let go of your arm since he got a hold of it. "what happened to calling me by my name?"

"that is your name," you snark back. you watch as his eyes narrow a bit and he makes his way on to the bed, looming over you.

you feel.. small. it's not like you were ever bigger than him, he goes to the gym more times a week than you can keep track of and is over 6'0" — of course you aren't bigger than him.

"don't get smart with me honey. you know you don't wanna do that." izuku sighs and makes you lay down, and you feel your heartbeat speed up as your eyes widen.

you struggle and squirm, but he just smiles and puts more of his weight on you, making it near impossible to even move.

"m-midoriya—"

"izuku. say it," he breathes out, tucking his face into the crook of your neck almost forcefully.

he hears you hiccup, sees as the tears flow over and how your eyes get all glassy—all doe-eyed and he laughs.

"izuku, get off me—" you try to move again, you feel the grip around your wrist tighten more and it feels more and more uncomfortable as it does.

"i love you. you're so cute, what would you have done if it was someone else on top of you? hm?" izuku raises his head to look at you, and feels bad.

feels that guilt of actually making you cry, seeing how scared you are of him. "ah-ah, shh. i'm sorry. i didn't mean to make you upset, okay?"

that doesn't make the tears stop, but izuku thinks it's fine. the apology sounds genuine—more genuine than the usual sarcastic 'sorry' he gives you, more genuine than the mean laughs he gives you after making you throw a crumbled paper ball at him.

"i hate you, you're s-so mean," you hiss, wanting to kick and scream at him.

you feel the hold he has on your wrists loosen, but he doesn't let go entirely. but it's more than enough for you to wriggle free.

izuku smiles again, "i know. i know, 'm sorry."

the words that leave his mouth make you hiccup and stare at him, the typical scowl you always give izuku on your lips.

"you never show that you're actually sorry." you sniffle, and have to move to wipe the onslaught of tears the stumble down your pretty face.

izuku pauses when you say that, eyes grazing over your face before he lights up.

"how about i prove it, would that make you feel better?"

"s-slow down—"

"mgh—s-sorry," izuku gasps, but doesn't make any move to slow down, hips stuttering into yours as he watches you shake and clutch at the sheets.

it's been a little over thirty minutes, you think, but you're not sure. it's not like you can think when you can feel izuku's pretty cock all the way in your tummy—making sure you know he's actually sorry.

he spent all his time before this slurping at your pretty cunt, fingering you to completion as he sucked at your cute clit and made sure you felt good.

even now, izuku was trying to make sure you felt as good as you possibly could with him, watching your eyes roll back with every thrust into you.

"love you s'much, soo soft n pretty-" izuku whines, kissing you all sloppily yet so lovingly.

it makes you clench up around him, trying to close your legs but you jus can't because of the mean mating press he has you in.

"such a good boy for me, yeah?" the words paired with his dick stirring up your guts make you wail.

it's almost too much, but it's not enough as you cream around his cock—a milky white ring forming at the base of it as he pants and gasps right next to your ear.

he pounds a little faster—a little harder before his thrusts get sloppier and nearly lose rhythm. you can barely see his face without your glasses and the tears blurring your vision further.

but izuku makes sure that you can hear him good and well as he moans and whines, feeling the blunt tip press against your cervix as though it never wants to leave.

"shit, shit— 'm cumming," he gives short little thrusts as he does, cumming harder than he has in months just knowing that he finally has you.

you're both sweaty and you feel a little icky, embarrassed at all the crying you did. izuku kisses you—softer than he did before, wiping some hair from your face as he does.

"love you." izuku mutters. he doesn't care if you don't say it back, just as long as you know he loved you at the very least.

"i love you too."

A/N ; i haven't written smut or anything in MONTHS. i hope this is good in some parts, it's very rushed and not well thought outt :((

b4 anyone asks, minors are allowed to interact with my account. i don't care, as long as you aren't under 15. i fully understand that you guys have hormones, and the "minors dni" thing is straight bullshit to me. luv you guys, i will be making an account intro, but it won't be anytime soon cuz i'm lazy.. ＼(≧▽≦)／

[humblefryingpan]

Au where Bruce doesn't adopt Jason (because it never crosses his mind) but, after getting away with stealing Batman's tires and hitting him with a tire iron, Jason comes to the conclusion that B ain't shit and he can absolutely do more petty theft and mild inconveniences.

Batmobile is left unattended? The tires are gone. Batman drops a batarang/grapple gun? That's Jason's now. Batman tries to talk Jason into giving his stuff back? He clearly doesn't have them, you're crazy Bruce (the collection is visibly right behind him, he is literally holding a batarang as he says this).

Bruce tried to complain about it to Dick but he laughed so hard, he gave up. Dick thinks Jason is hilarious and after making sure he isn't dangerous helps him get into the manor. (Alfred won't say it out loud but he also clearly finds the kid funny so he let it happen)

Bruce eventually has a thought of "oh He's just looking for a family! I should adopt him!" And asks Jason if he wants to be officially adopted. Jay laughs in his face and throws a pillow at him. Bruce realises he was wrong.

He doesn't die, just goes out of town for a month or two to visit a friend and B immediately goes "all of my stuff is here wtf where'd Jay go?" and after looking around gotham he comes to the conclusion that he's dead. He tells Dick and Alfred that Jason died in an 'I'm absolutely certain' way so they assumed he double checked and didn't just overreact to a few weeks of absence.

Everyone was shocked next time he came to the manor (including Jason because he didn't think they'd care that much and didn't realize that B would assume he was dead) and it's just

"Jason?!? I thought you died!?"

"I was literally just at Roy's house?? Did you not think to check before assuming I died???"

Everyone is incredibly happy, Jason is just confused (and kind of flattered)

The other kids still show up, Tim came over to be B's fill in for Jason like a week before he came back and became a hero a few months after Jay came back. (They don't fight in this au because Jay didn't consider himself Bruce's son and neither of them were robin)

Damian is very concerned about the random dude that drops in and out of the manor (stealing random shit every time, from mugs and snacks to an entire TV) but B and Dick just go "nah he's basically family dw" like no that's our random theif.

Do you see my vision? I've been thinking about it for like an hour and finally decided to just post it. If this is a thing or if someone writes a fanfic or smth pls show me

[crimsonmonsoon]

The wedding scene but its a cowboy/western AU HUZZAH!

I kinda wanted to write what this scene would look like in this AU... So read that below for funzies.

Side note my dad walked in after I finished this and said "wow! Who's the little princess?" so Xie Lian is now a princess, confirmed.

All the beasts, demons, creatures, and even the wind itself had gone quiet as Hua Cheng approached the wedding carriage. He'd waited a few moments after slaughtering every binu that remained, skulking about the carriage which held one person--presumably a bride, but of course, he knew who it really was, why else would he be there? One of the doors--curtain closed over the window--lay ajar, evidently bashed in by some beast which had dismantled the hinges. Though the wind hand no resonance, there was a slight cacophonous creaking from this door laying askew, gently rocking back and fourth in its tired frame. Hua Cheng approached and pushed the door slightly open.

He kept his head bowed, ensuring his hat cast a shadow over his face so that his beloved would not see the hideous monster that lay beneath. He picked up on Xie Lian--dressed in a frilly white and inconvenient wedding gown--shifting, his breath changing at the sight of Hua Cheng's outstretched hand. Hua Cheng could practically hear Xie Lian's anxious thoughts, knowing not to trust the dark figure before him while also deciding to give in, likely under the impression he could save someone. That's always what Xie Lian would do. He'd save someone he'd never know, even if it meant he had to suffer greatly.

But he wouldn't be suffering with Hua Cheng. At least, Hua Cheng hoped he wouldn't.

The light touch of a gloved hand against his own sent chills up Hua Cheng's spine. He kept still, allowing Xie Lian the time to shuffle to the edge of his bench in order to bunglingly step out of the carriage with a dress so large. Hua Cheng didn't even know what to think of the dress. He decided it best not to look at his beloved, lest he act stupid. He kept his patience, assisting Xie Lian out of the carriage.

The hoop-skirt beneath all those petticoats got caught in the door frame and Xie Lian, having no experience in matters like these, immediately fell forward. He gasped and Hua Cheng quickly caught him, holding him respectful and giving him a moment to gather himself. He noticed Xie Lian's eyes had caught the butterfly pattern on Hua Cheng's sleeves. However, the wedding veil likely obscured too much of Xie Lian's vision to see much further than that.

Hua Cheng helped right Xie Lian on his feet, careful to make sure that the white gown didn't touch any of the bloody corpses of wolves surrounding them. He could sense Xie Lian was wary of him, likely planning a way to attack if anything implied Hua Cheng might pull a stunt. So, he was as meticulous with him as possible, showing more gentleness to him than he had to anyone ever before. His pace was slow, so Hua Cheng matched is, nonchalantly leading him away from the wedding carriage, which had been cut free of horses.

As they passed a dense tree line into a carved path, wolves began to scamper in the distance, circling around and beginning to close in. Xie Lian's tender gloved hand clutched Hua Cheng's in anticipation. As one wolf, louder than the others, came particularly close, Xie Lian had actually reached for the gun at Hua Cheng's hip, to his alarm. However, he could help but smile as Xie Lian softened again, having heard that these wolves weren't circling them as predators, but were whimpering and creeping away in fear. The pistol was never drawn.

Then they came across a skull. Hua Cheng acted as if he had not seen it, purposely making an effort to crush it under his step. He could hear Xie Lian's small breath of confusion and mild concern. Xie Lian would be more surprised to hear the pitter patter of rain on the umbrella Hua Cheng had just drawn. However, it wasn't raining. Over the howling of wolves and the cold still air, a smell of blood arose, almost overwhelming to the senses. Hua Cheng remained composed, and Xie Lian relaxed again.

When the blood rain came to a stop, so did the two immortals. They stood beside each other, still hand in hand. Xie Lian side stepped away, lifting his head to get a better look at the man who'd guiding him away from the wedding carriage. It was clear he'd been waiting to do this, slightly lifting his skirt with his free hand to release the cattle-rope--previously hooked around his hoop-skirt--out and in Hua Cheng's direction like a striking rattlesnake.

The cattle-rope was met by an enormous eruption of silver butterflies, twinkling like a thousand stars. Hua Cheng had vanished.

[buddierecs]

hurt/comfort buddie fics.

all of these are general audience, teen and up or not rated (no smut) make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

a leaf falls on loneliness (highly recommend this fic!!) by: iimpossible_things "buck doesn’t think that if he were to say, “i’m in a bad place”, that anyone would turn him away. really, he doesn’t. the 118 has too many good, kind people for that. but every time he wants to open his mouth, to say something, to reach out to eddie or bobby or hen or chim, he hears eddie yelling, “you’re exhausting.” —you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting— so each day he does his job and he laughs and he jokes and he pretends he’s the care-free goofball he’s always been. And each day he packs away his bruises and his worries, takes them home to his empty loft with its quiet rooms, and licks his wounds in silence." word count: 11k important tags: angst, fluff, happy ending, orginal male character blue skies by: spaceprincessem "buck meets another savior baby and everything comes crashing down" word count: 36k important tags: my sisters keeper au, original characters, ptsd, nightmares, emotional whump, evan buckley break down, getting together and i'm not good at winning fights anymore by: spaceprincessem "five times buck needs to feel eddie's heartbeat and the one time eddie needs to feel his" word count: 24k important tags: 5+1 things, whump, protective!eddie diaz, getting together, soft boys in love, ptsd give your heart and soul to charity by: 42hrb "eddie dumps god, gets some more therapy, accepts parts of himself he was taught to hate, loves his best friend, and loves himself" word count: 12k important tags: emotional hurt/comfort, pov eddie diaz, character study, catholic guilt, therapy, pining, getting together i could find you darling, in any life by: justhockey "buck and eddie meet in afghanistan. it changes everything." word count: 27k important tags: diferent first meeting au, army!eddie diaz, navy seal!evan buckley, emotional infidelity, slow burn, hurt/comfort, love confessions catharsis by: rogerzsteven "it only takes one minor inconvenience for buck to have his long overdue breakdown" word count: 5.3k important tags: emotional hurt/comfort, mental/emotional breakdown, bobby nash as evan buckley parent, multiple pov stay by: soft_satan buck’s voice was soft and hesitant, but full of patience when he finally spoke again. “did I do something to upset you, chris? i can leave—” "no!” chris whirled on him, a complete shift from the standoffish vibe he had been giving a second ago. the tears he bravely held back finally broke free from his eyes, sliding down his rosy cheeks from behind his glasses. he shook his head vehemently, the yellow crayon falling to the table. “no, I’m not mad. please…” his words turned to whimpers, his lip trembling. “please don’t leave me too.” word count: 31k important tags: whump, angst, family feels, found family, getting together, team as family

habits by: whileyouresleeping "buck's not sure what's going on when eddie starts kissing him on the head after a rough call, only now it's a thing, and it's a thing buck would very much like to continue if he knew what it meant." word count: 4.9k important tags: tooth-rotting fluff, mild hurt/comfort stick with you by soft_satan "eddie licked his dry lips as he reached for his radio, trying to keep his movements slow and delicate to prevent any more damage to himself or buck. “diaz to captain nash.” “go for nash,” came bobby’s quick reply. “you two okay? where are you?” “we’re in a bit of a sticky situation here…” “we’re a shish kabob, cap!” buck chimed in. eddie rolled his eyes" word count: 5.9k important tags: impalements, whump, getting together, love confessions, hurt!buddie still by: brewsrosemilk "for the first time, buck longs for a bullet wound to treat. dirt to dig at. a door to break through. something. there’s nothing. “your guess was correct, diaz,” the bomb technician tells them, as he gestures to the orange circle. “you’re standing on a large sensor plate, wired to a detonator. It’s incredibly important that you don’t move. don’t shift. when you put your weight down, it was like cocking a gun - you take your weight off, this thing is powerful enough to take the entire house with it." word count: 9.3k important tags: near death experience, love confessions, happy ending, first kiss

be my baby (i'll look after you) by: youdrewstarsaroundmyscars118 "buck finally breaks down after fixing everyone but himself" word count: 1.5k important tags: nightmares, ptsd, panic attacks, pet names, cuddling, pre-relationship, almost love confession i was made for you by: youdrewstarsaroundmyscars118 "buck’s taking care of christopher while eddie is in texas when chris gets sick and has to get surgery." word count: 5.3k important tags: sick!christopher diaz, parent evan buckley, hospitals, bobby nash is evan buckley's parent, getting together, 118 crew as family i know you're hurting (but so am i) by: justhockey "eddie understands better than maybe anyone else ever could, how it feels to have everything unravel in the palm of your hands. he knows frustration - he knows fury. he’s painfully familiar with that burning rage that crackles in the tips of your fingers, that makes your skin hot and chest tight, and makes you want to punch anyone that dares to even look at you. but that doesn’t give chim the right to lay a damn hand on buck" word count: 3.7k important tags: ptsd, feelings realisation, protective!eddie diaz, communication, 5x04 coda of bikes and concussions by: datleggy "buck gets into an accident on his way to work in the morning, and before he can explain why he's late, he gets thoroughly chewed out and the rest of his day goes way downhill from there." word count: 7.6k important tags: injured!evan buckley, misunderstandings, father-son relationship (buck and bobby), team as family it's okay by: itsmylifekay "buck gets hurt on a call and doesn’t tell anyone." word count: 11k important tags: injury, dissociation, buck needs a hug love language by: whileyouresleeping "eddie's love language is acts of service, and buck doesn't totally get it." word count: 6.4k important tags: mild hurt/comfort, pining, fluff, friends to lovers don't go without me by: ingu "there was a snap, and a crack, and buck was suddenly weightless. the car, the tree, eddie, everything was falling. buck was falling. falling." word count: 31k important tags: major character injury, pining, team as family, whump, love confessions, getting together accidental (please check tw!!) by: rosefield "post lawsuit, buck accidentally cuts his arm. he decides that maybe not getting help is best for everyone." word count: 36k important tags: depression, suicide attempt, post-lawsuit, worried!eddie diaz, happy ending

check out the recs for mature rating hurt/comfort fics :) explicit rating hurt/comfort fics

[howlonomy]

I wonder, how often does Monster Clover forget about their snout and walk into things on accident? Squish food into their snout by mistake? Or perhaps get their wings or tails stuck or jammed in something? Or even tripping over their own tail?

Annoying, but adorable, mild inconveniences brought on while getting more used to their body, to a point where it's not always on their mind, but not to the point where they're actively able to subconsciously move their new limbs out of the way through muscle memory yet.

It's the kinds of little things that fascinate me with AU's like this.

oh ALLLLL the time. medical supplies are full stock at the house bc clover is constantly forgetting they have a weird new body with extra limbs. not to mention how many times they’ve accidentally scratch someone/something bc of their talons (they always feel bad about it)

[utahimeow]

play of the game — atsumu miya

summary — your boyfriend cheats on you, so to get back at him you sleep with his biggest enemy— the quarterback of your college’s rival team.

pairing — qb!atsumu miya x f!reader

warnings — nsfw content. minors dni. college football au, mentions of cheating, smut, oral (m receiving), fingering, squirting, unprotected sex, creampie, mild degradation (slut, whore)

word count — 4.7k

author’s note — this is just a porn script tbh

Finding your boyfriend in bed with another girl is not something anyone expects, and it's certainly not something anyone can prepare for.

The faces of the two culprits as you discovered them will remain ingrained in your mind forever— they even had the audacity to act shocked, like you had been the one to inconvenience them.

In an instant everything had turned red, and you turned on your heel and stomped out of the house, curse words flying out of your mouth in a never-ending stream, fists balled up by your sides, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Not tears of sorrow, though, no. Tears of sheer, total rage.

You didn't even want to look at Ken, let alone listen to him as he trailed behind you and begged for you to let him explain. He sounded pathetic, the way his voice cracked with desperation— anyone would think he's the victim. Not a thing in the world could have convinced you to stay, so you hopped in your car and sped away without looking back.

"Two years tossed away like that. What an idiot. The night before his semi-finals too, unbelievable! And the fact that he cheated on someone like you? Pathetic. Every day I’m reminded why I left your father. And I’m glad I did!”

“Oh, my God, mom,” you exclaim, both out of exasperation and laughter. You’re helping her cut vegetables for dinner— something you’d hoped would get your mind off of the entire situation, but as it turned out your mother shared your contempt for the boy. “I don’t wanna talk about him anymore.”

Her face drops, morphing into a pity that in turn makes you feel bad. “I’m so sorry, I was hoping talking smack about him would make you feel better.”

You giggle, but quickly your shoulders slump.

“I just wanna forget about the whole thing," you admit. Perhaps it's not... the healthiest way to deal with it, but you know from experience that once you let yourself go, everything comes crashing down and you lose control. So you resort to pushing things away for long enough until they're not a problem in your life anymore, and that's exactly what you plan to do this time.

But your muscles are still tense with the burning anger your ex-boyfriend brought you, knowing he probably hoped to get away with it. Probably planned on buying you flowers and a glittery necklace so you wouldn't suspect a thing.

"Why don’t we go to a club tomorrow?”

"What?" you spit, frowning as you whip your head towards her.

"Well, I doubt you still wanna go to your ex's football game," your mom says, shrugging.

"Yeah, but why would we go to a club?" you ask, finding yourself laughing at the absurdity of her suggestion.

"To get drunk and forget, why else?”

You stare at the carrot in your hand, and also the knife, pondering. The last thing you want to do is go to the game. But not showing up would mean Ken wins, and you don't want that either.

You want him to feel terrible for what he did, which is why you'll show up and support his rival team– the Black Jackals. They've always been better in every way. Stronger, more strategic. He despises them for it. No matter how hard he and his team pushed themselves, they could never pull through. It doesn't make it any better that the quarterback is a smug asshole who makes sure Ken never forgets that he's second best.

That's it: Atsumu's the perfect revenge. What better way to get back at a cheater, than sleeping with the enemy?

The next day, game day, you put together an outfit that you know will make people stare, and more importantly it'll catch Atsumu's attention. A simple cropped cardigan that makes it look semi-casual, paired with a tennis skirt that's a little short to be modest.

You show up to the game right as it starts, filled with vengeance and an indomitable will.

Your ex-boyfriend spots you as he runs onto the field, flashing his pearly teeth at you, a smile that once had you melting. Now all it does is bother you. Makes your jaw clench and your hands tighten into fists. You glare back at him with daggers.

Atsumu is easy to spot. He's one of the tallest players on the field, and his presence takes up the entire stadium. His voice booms over the whole field when he barks his callouts. Like a magnet, he keeps everyone's eyes on him, including yours.

The game ends with a final score of 55-46. It's no surprise to you that the Jackals manage to secure their spot in the state finals, not when Ken spends half the game gawking at the way you clap and cheer for the opposing team.

Atsumu's team swarms him, whooping and hollering and chanting his name, and you watch on with a strange sense of pride, or perhaps it's the satisfaction of spite. For a moment he catches your eye as you celebrate like it's your college, shooting you a wink before he's lost in the high of winning again.

Everything's working out perfectly.

You give it about twenty minutes for everyone to clear out until you head to the locker rooms. Before you enter, you reach for your phone, open your messages with Ken, and text him: "be at the locker room in 20 minutes no earlier no later".

The locker room is empty when you wander into it. There's almost no sign of life– except for one person, of course, the very one you're looking for. Number thirteen. Quarterback for the Black Jackals. Six feet and two inches of bleached blond waves and an ego the size of Mars. His confident posture makes him radiate contagious triumph. Frankly it's intimidating as hell, but in a way it thrills you.

You puff your chest out and hold your head high as you approach him, swaying your hips just enough to make you look confident but not conceited. You don't say anything. It's better to let him notice you.

Just a few feet away, Atsumu's eyes land on you, and almost immediately your gaze drops to his bare torso. Tan muscles flex with every movement, glimmering with droplets of water. His towel hangs low on his hips and six defined ripples run down his abdomen to where a distinct v-shaped line dips below the piece of fabric. Before you can help it, your mind drifts to the thought of being pressed against him.

"Hey," he says casually, tearing you suddenly from your little daydream. He looks at you like you're familiar to him.  "You're Ken’s girl, right?"

You're not even subtle when you roll your eyes, sighing as you explain the story you're going to have to explain a hundred times for the next few weeks. "Not anymore. I found him hooking up with some girl yesterday."

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry," Atsumu says, face softening into something sympathetic.

You shrug. "It's his loss."

Atsumu grins, and the impressed look he stares at you with fuels your ego, egging you on as you step closer towards him.

"Actually, that's sort of why I'm here. I had an idea to, uh... get back at him," you say as he shuts his locker door over.

"Yeah? What's that?" he asks, turning to face you and towering over you when he does. He's almost scary now– shoulders so wide, even without his gear. You have to consciously tell yourself not to shrivel up and cower in front of him, so you let your eyes wander down his chest in an intentionally obvious way.

"Well... How do you think he'd feel about his ex hooking up with his biggest rival? His loathed enemy?"

Atsumu's thick eyebrows shoot up. For a moment you panic, thinking you've come on too strongly and freaked him out and ruined your chances. But a second later the corners of his lips curl up and his eyes fill with a curiosity and you relax a little.

"What's in it f’me?" he asks, but if he truly weren't interested he probably would have said no by now.

"You get to two-up him. Beat him to the state finals and fuck his ex."

He laughs, and it's the hottest thing you've ever heard. It's a low sound full of a type of confidence that borders arrogance. It's probably the best way to describe everything Atsumu does.

"That why ya wore that little skirt? So I'd notice ya?"

His words come almost unexpectedly, his accent betraying you, making your knees weak. You thought maybe you'd have to do a little more convincing, push him towards abandoning any morals. It leaves you having to compose yourself for a moment before you reply, and that's when your mind formulates a devilish idea.

"Actually it was so Ken would notice me and see what a mistake he made," you quip. That's when a grin spreads over his lips and his fingers land under your chin, immediately sending shivers down your entire body. God. If that's your reaction to a feather light touch of his fingers, then...

He steps forward, closing the gap between you and him until your back is pressed against the cold metal of the lockers. He leans in close, just half an inch away from your lips, so close, yet so far it's painful, but the way his giant figure looms over you has you frozen in place.

"Cute," he says.

"Fuck you," you breathe, so he gives you what you want, and you know it's because he wants it too. He kisses you, hard enough to knock your head back against the locker, but the way his lips melt against yours makes the pain turn into a dull tickle. Your arms latch around his neck like a reflex. His hands land on your waist, one moving straight to your ass, the other drawing circles into your hip as he pulls you in until you're flush against his hard body.

He barely has to try when he pushes his tongue past your lips– you're far too rapt by him to put up any sort of resistance. Your knees buckle, your thighs squeezing together as the pulsing between your legs grows almost unbearable. Atsumu works your mouth with his tongue with such fervour that you forget everything, clawing at his shoulders to keep yourself upright. You don't even realise he's unbuttoned your cardigan until he's tugging at the sleeves, pulling your mouth from his to tear it off of you.

Shamelessly his eyes drop to your chest and to the lacy black bra you chose to wear, then back up at you with a primal desire in his eyes, like he's asking for permission.

"Touch me, Atsumu," you mutter, near-whining when you do.

It’s all the assurance he needs. In the blink of an eye his lips are at your neck and his massive hands are cupping your tits and he's not holding back in fear of pushing too far anymore. His teeth graze at the delicate skin under your jaw, him nibbling at your flesh so harshly that you gasp, then you're smiling when you imagine what your neck will look like– tainted with tiny bruises from him for everyone to see.

You struggle to breathe when he squeezes your tits and kneads them in circles. A tiny moan slips past your lips as you breathe out, and it might be embarrassing if it didn't feel so fucking good.

Atsumu's hands trail along your sides with purpose, sending shivers running down your entire body, until they reach your ass once more. He tugs at the hem of your skirt and you mindlessly fiddle with the zipper to help him shove the fabric down your legs without second thought.

Atsumu pulls away, glancing down, raking his eyes down your body with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. "Fuck, yer gorgeous."

The air in the locker room is cold– something like sixty degrees with the air conditioner blasting– but you're dying from heat from the sheer hunger in the way Atsumu gazes at you. He wants to ravage you, his mind spinning at the thought of how you'll take him. His cock is so hard already where it presses against your stomach, it almost hurts him. He needs relief now.

"On yer knees," he utters. "Wanna put yer pretty mouth to use." Straight away you're sinking to the floor, sweet eyes filled with mischief. His thumb rests on your lips, gliding over them before he dips the finger inside. You don't hesitate in wrapping your lips around it, relishing the way Atsumu's mouth gapes at the sight.

Hurriedly he tears his towel away to reveal his erection, flushed pink, covered in protruding veins, thick and intimidatingly long. He takes his length in his hand, pumping it a few times to smear the precum that dribbles from his tip along his cock. Then he brings it to your mouth, tapping it against your lips like he's trying to make this moment last as long as possible.

You curl your nimble fingers around his dick, gripping his muscular thigh with your other hand for leverage, and bring his tip to your mouth. Your tongue darts out, kitten licking at his head while you move your hand up and down slowly to tease. For a second you pull back only to spit, using your hand to coat him with your saliva before you wrap your lips around him. He hisses when you do, his hand flying to your hair to push it out of your face.

There's so much of him. You're barely halfway to the base before he hits the back of your throat and your waterline swells with tears. Despite how much you fight to open your airway, you just can't.

"What, can't take any more of me?" he asks, tantalising. "Surprising, considering how much of a slut I can tell ya are."

You wish those words didn't spur you on as much as they do, but soon you find yourself bobbing up and down rapidly on his cock, fuelled by spite as you jerk off the rest of what you can't take with your hand, determined to prove something he already knows. You press your tongue forward, feeling smug when he twitches in your mouth.

"Oh, fuck," he whispers, low and raspy, his hand tightening its hold on your hair.

Before long you're running out of air, so you pull off of his cock with an exaggerated pop, letting a string of saliva follow you as you smile innocently and bat your lashes at him in a calculated manner.

Despite the fact that you're on your knees for him, he's the one that looks like he'll do anything for you.

Your head dips back down, but this time your mouth envelops one of his balls and for a moment you think he's about to pass out. He braces himself on the locker in front of him, letting out a low groan as you jerk him off and mouth at his balls simultaneously.

"Jesus, fuck," he breathes, swallowing hard. The praise makes your heart soar. Seeing him slowly come undone like this because of you sends you on a power trip. It's the strangest adrenaline rush you've ever had.

The noises your mouth makes are nothing but obscene. You let your spit slobber all over him with intent, twisting your hand as you work him quicker and quicker. Atsumu stutters out an endless stream of swears, falling apart slowly above you like it's his first time having his dick sucked. Experience comes in handy sometimes.

"Keep suckin’ like that ‘n’ I'll come all over yer face– fuck," he groans and you don't realise it's a threat until he yanks your head away from him. "Is that what ya want? Or do ya want me to fuck ya?"

Truth be told, Ken would lose it if he found out you so much as flirted with someone like Atsumu. If he knew you sucked his dick, you can guarantee some damage will be done. But if he knew you fucked him?

Without hesitating, you bring yourself to your feet, to your pathetic height compared to his, watching him devour you with his eyes. His hand moves to the space between your legs where he grazes fingers grazing over the fabric of your panties.

"Bet yer soaked already, hm?" he says. His eyes are half-lidded as he stares at you and your mouth drops open as he presses his fingers gently against you. Like a sadist, he smiles a little at your every reaction to his touches that are never quite enough, but that's just what he wants.

"Knew it," he says. He’s grinning. It’s terribly condescending. "Ya are soaked. And I haven't even taken yer panties off."

"Atsumu, please," you manage, but it's more of a whimper than actual words. He presses a little harder and you jolt, curling your hands around his biceps and giving a pathetic whine.

"What? Tell me what ya want." He knows exactly what.

"Need you..."

He laughs, low and patronising. "Sit on the bench for me, baby. Gotta prep ya first."

You do as told, settling on the bench a few feet away with your legs shamelessly apart for him. His massive hands are rough against your inner thighs, but still he manages to raise goosebumps all over your skin. His fingers find the band of your underwear, pulling lightly.

"Want these off ya," he rasps. You raise your hips a little as he tugs the fabric down your legs, leaving you entirely exposed and growing hot. "God, yer body is fuckin’ gorgeous."

His fingers move to your clit, and a moan slips out of your mouth once he starts to draw circles against it.

"So sensitive. What, yer ex-boyfriend never touch ya?"

He did. He wasn't bad, per se, but he was nothing mind-blowing in bed. Perhaps it's the rush of energy, the thrill of this entire ordeal that amplifies even the most gentle touches for you.

Atsumu's finger circles your hole, never quite dipping in like he's purposely testing your patience. His mouth curls into a devious grin as he gathers up your arousal and spreads it all over your clit, drawing a gasp out of you. "Yer dripping."

Still you physically don't care enough to feel embarrassed, even though you should be at the effect this man has on you. But when he slides two of his long fingers inside, with complete ease of course, your mind switches off and the only things that occupy it are Atsumu and the flicker of warmth growing in your stomach.

Slowly he pumps his fingers in and out of your hole, but his movements are filled with restraint. As much as he wants to fingerfuck you into oblivion, he needs to get you worked up first. Already your pussy clenches around him, sucking his fingers in subconsciously. He chuckles and you burn up.

"Needy little whore," he whispers, before his fingers curl upwards until they find that sweet spot within you with practised ease. Your head falls back then, a quivered moan leaving your mouth as he starts to stimulate you there.

What starts off steady turns into Atsumu dragging his fingers in and out of you with haste. His bicep flexes as he moves his wrist, thin veins popping up on the skin of his arm. He fucks you with such force you're shifting up and down the bench, crying his name as he pushes you towards your climax.

Your thighs tremble. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your hands grip the edge of the bench so hard you might snap the wood. The pressure in your abdomen builds, but so does something else, something deeper at the same time.

Atsumu notices. He sees the desperate arousal in your eyes and speeds his pace even more to something almost unbearable.

"C’mon, be a good slut ‘n’ cum all over my fingers," he says with a grin.

His word is all you need. A few more pumps of his curved fingers and you're hurtling towards your orgasm. Your muscles go tight, and you're clenching around him, and everything is wet because you're gushing as you come.

Atsumu looks ridiculously proud, even more so than when he won today's game. He's got a shit-eating grin on his face, and it takes a few moments for it to hit you that you just squirted.

"Holy shit," you breathe. "I didn't... know I could do that."

Next thing you know, he grabs you by your waist, drops down to the bench and pulls you into his lap like you're nothing but a rag doll, giving you no room to breathe. You're still dizzy from your first orgasm, and now Atsumu drags the tip of his cock through your folds, making you flinch when he glides it over your sensitive and puffy clit.

"Ready?" he asks, letting his dominance crack momentarily to be replaced with subtle concern.

"Yeah," you breathe, tightening your grip on his shoulders as you brace yourself. Truth be told, you’re not ready. Your limbs feel as though there are weights strapped to them and if it weren’t for Atsumu’s thick arms holding you upright you’d probably flop right over. But the look on his face, the hungry gleam in his eyes fills you with greed.

A second later and that concern slips away completely as he pushes himself in, grabbing your hips to sink you down onto his cock slowly. He's barely inside you when you hiss out. The more he presses in, the bigger the stretch, and soon you feel as though you're being split in half.

"F-fuck, you're too big," you gasp, nails digging into his skin. It's a conflicting sensation, the sting as he splits you open and simultaneously the delicious feeling of him filling you up.

"Ya can take it, can't ya, baby?" he says, but it's not a question. It's a demand disguised as sympathy because moments later he pulls your hips down and buries himself to the hilt inside you, leaving your head spinning from the mixture of pain and bliss.

He's so, so much bigger than Ken and God, can you feel it. You think he might be reaching your cervix with how deep he is inside you.

With his hands clutching your hips, Atsumu begins to guide you up and down his cock. He's slow as he moves you, which shouldn't be too bad, but the strength he uses has you near gasping for air after only a few seconds. The backs of your thighs smack against his every time he brings you down, cutting through the silence of the entire locker room.

When his hips start to thrust up to meet yours, that's when you black out for a second.

"Oh, my God," you moan, so shameless it almost surprises you.

"Yeah?" Atsumu grins. Bronze eyes beam with enthusiasm, his hips spurring with speed. "Feels good?"

You start to reply, but a particularly hard thrust has you yelping out, an airy whimper that in no way helps the way that Atsumu fucks you with near-rage.

"Fuck, yer fuckin’ tight," he groans through gritted teeth. His fingers on your hips are turning unholy with a force that guarantees you'll have marks there to match your neck. Deep in your abdomen, a knot forms, tightening with every stroke and every breathy noise that Atsumu makes. "So wet too. God, I could cum right now."

He's pounding into you without relent. Your sweat-slick skin is flush against his as his cock drives into your sweet spot effortlessly with every merciless thrust. It drags against your warm, plush walls so nicely that you quickly find yourself becoming addicted, mind hazy with a craving to be fucked like this forever.

Out of the corner of your eye, in your fucked out state you can just about make out a figure at the entrance to the locker room.

Ken stands frozen, his face expressionless except for the way his mouth hangs and he blinks rapidly. You don't tell Atsumu to stop. You don't even think about it. He's far too taken over by a primal urge as he fucks you to even notice that someone's there.

You make sure to gaze directly into your ex-boyfriend's eyes as you give an obscene moan, grinning as you watch him stumble to leave, and everything becomes more sensitive as the success of your plan settles.

"Fuck, Atsumu," you whine, high pitched and needy, making his cock throb where it's inside you. You drop your head to his neck, nipping softly at his skin while his hands move to your ass and use it to keep you bouncing on his cock.

"Such a slut. Walkin’ in here and beggin’ me to fuck ya," he grunts. "All to get back at yer bitch of an ex-boyfriend, hah? Bet he never fucked ya this good. Bet ya never took his cock this well."

You're gripping onto Atsumu's toned shoulders for dear life, moaning desperately into his flesh as he pounds away at you. Your arousal drips down your thighs and there's a squelch with every drag of Atsumu's cock in and out of you. The knot in your stomach grows tighter and tighter until you're clenching all around him.

"I'm– ngh– I'm close," you warn him in a muffled, broken whimper. It's all you can manage right now with your brain nothing more than a fuzzy mess.

"Yeah? Gonna cum on my cock like a whore? Come on, baby. Cum on my fuckin’ cock." Atsumu is breathless too. He sounds out of it, his accent growing stronger in his ferocity as he coaxes you towards another orgasm, words mingling together as he speaks.

All it takes is a couple more thrusts of his cock until that sensation is back, before the heat in your belly erupts and spreads through every muscle in your body. Everything goes tense as the overwhelming bliss washes over you and it feels so good you're yelling, eyes rolling into the back of your head. You cling onto Atsumu as a surge of liquid from your pussy rains over his thighs.

Again. You squirted again.

"Good fuckin’ girl," he groans, baring his teeth with triumph, his hips never slowing their relentless pace. In fact, the way his cock throbs against your walls has him fucking into you with even more abandon as he chases his own climax.

"Gonna fill ya up, a’right?" he says. It's more than okay.

"Please," you whine despite the way the stimulation borders on painful now, and exhaustion starts to settle in from your two orgasms in a row. "Want your cum."

Atsumu gives two, three more rough thrusts before it's game over. Then with a guttural moan from the depths of his chest and a throb of his cock, he releases his load into you, hips twitching as he stuffs you full. The warmth as he fills you up brings a wave of fatigue, leaving you trembling in Atsumu's arms.

For a few moments, you're both entirely still as you catch your breaths and drag yourselves back to reality. Slowly and eventually, you regain enough strength in your limbs to move, to climb out of Atsumu's lap and land on your feet, but you feel like a baby deer when you stand because your legs are next to useless.

"Woah," Atsumu laughs, reaching out to steady you as you stumble forward. He stands too, helping you stay upright by your elbows. "You good?"

"Yeah," you giggle. He looks pretty, with his flushed cheeks and swollen lips, his golden hair a matted mess on his forehead and his pupils blown out.

"Think I gotta shower again," he says, chuckling. "Also think ya should join me."

There are a few things he could be implying with his proposition, and really you should probably say no. But you're reckless. Drunk off of him. Somehow you still haven't gotten enough of him. The wink he gives you doesn’t help.

"...Okay.”

[baronessvonglitter]

Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 4 🍒 "Ride Along"

pre-outbreak! AU!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 2.610

Summary: during your ride along, you and Joel become a bit closer.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, sexual innuendo, flirting, Joel openly gawking at you, you gawking at Joel's delicious biceps, mutual pining (though you're both too nervous to make the first move), you now have a song 🥰, age gap (reader is 18, Joel is 35), reader's race not mentioned, no use of y/n

Author's Note: this was one of the more fun chapters to write! It also brings us the song which (in part) gave me the idea for this story. Give it a listen and tell me you can't see yourself in Joel's truck on a sunny day, windows down, music blasting ☺️

Series Masterlist

The rest of the weekend you spend in daydreams, imagining scenarios that are unlikely to happen, if only to prepare yourself for what may actually happen. Joel is not likely to sneak into your room through your window, nor to approach you in a dimly lit corner at your job. But you like to think you'd have a handle on what would happen next. You like to think he'd be impressed by your maturity, that you're not like other girls your age.

But you have to admit that at the same time you realize you have no idea of the bounds you're crossing, of what lies beyond those daydreams that play out quite safely in your head. You cannot control Joel but it's very likely he can control you, and you're not sure whether that thought excites you or scares you.

Trevor is out of sight, out of mind. He hasn't even bothered to give you a call. Whatever he sensed between you and Joel at the party that night has obviously hurt him, and he's run back to Houston to lick his wounds. You are surprised that you don't think anything about him except mild annoyance.

Should it scare you that an older man is attracted to you? You could easily shut him out, cut it off before whatever this is branches into something uncontrollable. Right now you're safe.

But what if you're tired of safety?

You're living in your cousin's house, per your mother's permission, driving a car that was handed down to you, attending a school that everyone thought was best for you.

So what's wrong with taking a little something for yourself? Figuring something out on your own, even if you might get hurt in the process? Even if you might get rejected?

Curiosity killed the cat, so the saying goes.. But is there any quote about luck? Because it's purely luck that carries you as you catch up with Joel just before he leaves for work one sunny day. Dressed in a white tee with the sleeves rolled up, high-waisted shorts and your favorite Converse high tops, you catch up with him at his passenger window. "I'm coming with you today," you say with more confidence than you feel, now that you're actually face to face with Joel again. You're taking the initiative because he hasn't reached out. Too late you realize you may be an inconvenience.

Joel looks like a deer in headlights, and for a moment you find it so cute. "Oh.. really? I, uh.. sure, that works." He pops the automatic locks on his door and waits until you step in to turn the engine on.

You smile brightly, heart hammering in your chest. "Good, because I'm buying lunch for us later." You put on your seat belt. "Where are we going first?"

He eyes you as you make yourself comfortable in his truck, and it doesn't escape you that his gaze travels up your legs and to your thighs. You wonder if he's remembering how they feel around him. Then he clears his throat and begins to back out of the driveway. "Well, we got two more new jobs that need to be done, so we'll head to those first." His arm reaches across the back of your headrest as he maneuvers the truck onto the street.

"What kinds of sites are they? Residential? Commercial?"

Joel glances at you and a smirk crosses his lips. "You've done your homework on the contracting business, haven't ya?"

You blush with pride. "There's this beautiful thing called the internet," you remind him.

"Ah, that's a foreign concept to a dinosaur like myself," his deep, warm voice sounds serious but there's a twinkle in his eyes. "Actually, they're both residential jobs. New roofing on one, and the other..." he trails off and you realize he's lost in thought, looking down, obviously distracted by the point where the hem of your jean shorts meets the flesh of your thigh. "The, uh, other job.. is rebuilding a garage." You smile as he forces his eyes back to the road, your heart skips several beats.

"Maybe it's time for some music?" you suggest, as the tension is palpable, and you know he can feel it.

"Yeah, sounds good to me." He reaches over and turns on the radio. The end of an oldies song blasts from the speakers, and is followed by another, and you immediately recognize the bright guitar melody, it's the opening of "Cherry, Cherry". With a grin you start swaying along to the music.

"I love this song," Joel says, his expression one of wonderment. "What's a kid like you know about Neil Diamond?"

"Just that this is one of my favorite songs," you reply with a cheeky grin. "And now it'll remind me of this moment."

Baby loves me, yes, yes she does Ah, the girl's outta sight, yeah Says she loves me, yes, yes she does Mmm, gonna show me tonight, yeah

When he smiles at you there's a warmth in his eyes. "It'll remind me of this moment, too."

"Then I guess this is our song," you say with certitude, leaning back against the seat, the wind ruffling your hair. "Joel, can I ask you something.. kinda personal?"

It looks like he's mentally and physically preparing himself for what your question could be. "Sure. What's up?"

You pause, second-guessing yourself. "So, why don't you have a girlfriend? I mean, I assume you're single." Your voice shakes a little as you ask, and you wonder if he can hear it.

Joel reddens slightly. "Well.. I've just been really busy with work and raisin' Sarah. Never really had time to invest in a relationship before."

You want to ask about Sarah's mom. It's been a burning question ever since you've known him, and you haven't been able to get any information from Sarah herself, whose face clouded at any mention of a lack of female presence in her life. For now it doesn't feel right to ask, and you don't want to put a dent in the fledgling friendship between you and Joel. That's a question you tuck away into your pocket for a later time. Your expression turns playful. "I guess it must be harder as you get older."

He gives a little chuckle. "Yeah, as you get older it gets harder. Women start to want kids.. want to get married."

"Are you against getting married?" you ask, genuinely curious.

There's a long silence from him and you worry whether you've crossed a boundary, brought up a sore subject. "I don't know," he answers with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I get it. Honestly the odds are against married couples. Over fifty percent of marriages end in divorce."

"Yeah. I know a lot of guy who've been burned in marriage."

You wonder if he's including himself in that number and your eyes soften. You feel it's callous to prod him and give pointless statistics. "One of my best friends back home is getting married soon. Her boyfriend proposed on graduation day. He's going into the Marines.. I can't imagine getting married at eighteen."

"Well, I can't say I'd be totally against marriage, if it was with the right person." Joel's smile is nervous, and he focuses on driving.

You could ask him what the qualifications are, and measure yourself against them, but you highly doubt 'teenaged college freshman' is one of the distinguishing characteristics he'll mention wanting in a wife. So you gracefully change the subject as you see the job site up ahead. "I'm excited to see you in action," you grin at him.

"You're excited to see me in action?" he repeats. "Well get ready. 'Cause I'll show you how I do it."

Your heart skips a beat and your blush at his innuendo. Is it innuendo?

It has to be, because he continues. "If you want, you can be my assistant. I can tell you exactly how I want things done." He gives you a side-eye and smirks. He drives up to the site and parks.

You bite your lip, taking the bait. "I'm a fast learner." You're flirting, yes, flirting back.

"I'll show you everything you need to know.."

You wet your lips with your tongue, your face still red. "I'll bet there's a lot you could teach me.."

"There is," his voice is husky, almost strained. "I'd enjoy teachin' you."

There's a tingling in your body as the flirtation seems to have taken a serious turn. Your brain locks up, taking the safest route back. "You're funny, Joel." Your smile is forced.

There's a moment of quiet, a silence that is rife with tension. "I'm not tryin' to be."

You look at him. A new tension fills the air, something exciting and new. You swallow hard. "Think we should get out?"

His countenance changes abruptly, back to factory settings. "If you want. They're almost done here, so it shouldn't take too long."

"Trying to get rid of me that quickly?"

He smirks again and hands you a bright yellow hard hat. "Come on, it's hard hat time. Can't have you gettin' hurt while you're my assistant, now can I?"

You put the hat on and it's a little bigger than you need. Seeing that smirk on his face has brought out something within you, and the words bubble up in your throat. "Can't do it without protection," you smirk back.

"Very true," he says, and you admire him with that yellow piece of plastic on his head. "But there are certain times for exceptions."

"Really? When are those times?" You watch him blush. "Come on, you're the expert. You tell me."

Now out of the truck he eyes you again, and this time you let yourself bask in how it feels. "Am I dressed okay?"

He swallows hard and gives a curt nod. "You won't see me complainin'." Just then a hopeful look crosses his face, as if he's remembered something. "You doin' anything tonight?"

Your heart leaps and you shut your mouth tight in fear it may just jump right out and land at Joel's feet. "Um, I don't think so. Why?"

He rubs the back of his neck and you watch, enrapt, as his bicep flexes. "Well me, Tommy, and some of the guys are gettin' together for a beer after work and Sarah's gonna be all by herself. I'm not sayin' she needs a babysitter, but I know she'd rather spend time with you than alone. Would you be okay comin' over, or her comin' to you?"

Your smile is wide so as to cover the hurt you feel that he didn't ask you out, and then you feel foolish for having thought it would happen at all. "Of course, Joel." Though Sarah probably would have come over even without her dad suggesting it.

"Yeah.. thanks. It's just gonna be.. y'know.. catchin' up with some friends who are in town."

You raise your brow, silently wondering if those friends include women, older women who have more confidence and experience than you. "You gonna wear something other than this?" You playfully tug at his gray t-shirt.

His grin is infectious. He obviously likes your teasing. "You don't think it looks good on me?"

"You look good all the time," you reply, walking ahead, smiling, blushing.

You watch as Joel checks out the site, giving instructions to different workers. It's a side of him you've never seen before. You watch him when you know he's not looking, taking in the way his clothes hug him in all the right places, especially his biceps: round, thick and smooth, half-hidden under his t-shirt sleeves.

When you stop for lunch at a sandwich place, you both sit in the bed of the truck, enjoying your meal. "So tonight.." you wash down your food with some water. "Should I have Sarah at my place in case you bring someone home?" It hurts to ask, as if by simply suggesting that such a thing would happen, that it already has.

Joel only shakes his head, a little amused by your question. "I don't think there's much of a chance of that happenin', sweetheart."

He calls you 'sweetheart' and it's like a caress on your skin. You have to remember to breathe. "You never know. You're hot, you have to know that." At this Joel nearly chokes on his food and you chuckle, patting his back until he's okay again. "There are some women out there who prefer a no-strings attached kind of thing."

"No-strings-attached isn't my thing," he says solidly. "I'm gettin' too old for that kinda bullshit. I want strings attached."

His gaze upon you is piercing, liable to steal your breath away. "I guess that's how it should be. Just two people for each other."

"Yeah.. two people for each other." He finishes his lunch and so do you. "We should be headin' to the next site."

He has to be teasing me. It's just meaningless chatter to someone young and inexperienced. He's having fun at my expense because I'm allowing it.

On the drive to the next, you keep quiet, thinking deeply. Oldies play on the radio but you block out the details of who and what is playing.

"Looks like you'll finally be rid of me after this," you tell him once you're parked at the second site. You get out together.

He chuckles. "Yeah, finally. Some peace and quiet."

You smile back. "Aw, you'll miss me."

"Oh, I don't think I'll miss you for one second." Joel puts his hands on his hips, a silly, defiant stance.

You poke his chest. "If you say so."

He pokes you right back. "Yeah, I say so."

"Come on, don't you have a job to do?"

"Yeah, come on, sweetheart. Let's get to work." This plays out the same as at the first site. Your eyes don't even take in the architecture of what these men are doing. You just see Joel.

"I thought I might get to see you in action," you say once you're away from the builders. "I thought I'd get to see you hammering or sawing.."

"You want to see me use my muscles or somethin', sweetheart?" He steps close to you. "I don't think you can handle it."

"You don't know what I can handle," you tell him with a little attitude, your hand on your hip.

"Sweetheart, you're about half my size. I don't think you could handle what I'm packing." He wears a smug smirk. "But I'd love to show you."

Not for the first time you feel a rush of heat to your core. "I'd love to see it.."

He's even closer to you now. Your entire body sizzles. "Maybe it's time I show you exactly what you'd be working with, sweetheart."

Joel's phone chirps and he frowns as he picks it up. The mood, while not shattered, has changed and you're both back on Planet Earth. You can't help but feel a little bummed.

"I have an emergency I need to tend to. Is it okay if I drop you off real quick?"

"Sure," you smile. On the ride home Joel is on his phone, talking to one of the men on his crew, discussing the problem in question. Your thighs stick to the leather seats. Once you're home he gives a quick smile and wave before driving off.

As you walk through the door you get a text from Hailey, a friend from the cafe. party tonight! finally 21! come thru

You said you'd keep Sarah company while Joel is out, but maybe there's a way you can do both..

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[justporo]

Back Under the Weeping Willow

Brimsterton | A Staevstarion Regency AU

A/N: So we kind of all had a collective feverdream on a Discord server and what came from it was this Astarion x Staeve Regency AU - namely Brimsterton. Much of this originated when we went ham on the server and ping-ponged ideas around. So, many of these ideas were a collective effort with credit specifically going to @somewhatclear @silmaryel and @astarions-pervert-goth-wife. Thank you guys, mwa! That was so much fun. And ofc also big thanks to @velnna who keeps letting me play with his blorbo. Staeve is my favourite barbie doll! <3 Will I ever come back to this? We will see... ~~~ Summary: Astarion Ancunín, only heir to his family's estate and name, finds himself back in his hometown. Suddenly Duke after his parents untimely demise duty demands he takes matters in his own hands and goes towards an unsure future. But back home is still the same: the same old people, the same old fields. The same old memories, the same old yearning as he meets his childhood friend Staeve again - the reason why he left in the first place all these years ago.

Pairing: Astarion/Staeve Wordcount: 1,7k Warnings: mention of character death

The message about his parent’s death had reached Astarion through a courier letter as he had been attending a social gathering. A disease had withered them away more quickly than anyone could’ve had believed. He was duke now. He now owned the estate.

He’d read the words. And a second time and a third. Then he had excused himself without further words and had gone home to pack.

Had someone observed him they would have probably only thought he’d encountered a mild inconvenience. Nothing of consequence really.

And Astarion would have preferred it if had been nothing but a minor inconvenience. That he didn’t have to return to his hometown, to his parents’ - no his - estate now.

But duty demanded it. And duty, in the end, had always been the master that the young duke had bowed to.

On the inside though, conflicting emotions had been wreaking havoc: a certain sadness about all of this, surely, but more than that fear, concern, lodging below his ribs.

But deeper another thing entirely had reared its head: a spark of yearning suddenly being reignited, that he thought had gone cold a long time ago. Almost ten years ago, to be exact.

But as he had quickly arranged for everything to be packed up, a carriage to be sent and for a message to be delivered to a friend to hopefully accompany him on this trip that was bound to become a disaster, he felt his mind preoccupied not with thoughts of mourning. He had barely remembered to request for his all black attire to be laid out for him as visions of forest green hair, teal eyes and that wicked grin flashed through his mind - long past, but surely not forgotten. Never forgotten.

And with memories of old clouding his mind, he had begun his journey towards home - and an unsure future.

Coming home had hurt.

Not merely because of the harsh reality of Astarion’s parents' untimely end. Because this was obviously all very tragic and unfortunate of course.

But in truth he had been estranged from his parents for as long as he could remember. And it had gotten worse over the ten years he had been spending apart from them - and there. Scarce letters had been his only bridge to a past he usually tried to forget.

The real pain though, as the carriage rattled down the rough roads to his past home, had lingered in how everything was still the same.

The same flower fields being turned into grassy seas of green speckled with colour by the wind rushing through them. The same rocks the carriage’s axle struggled not to break under. The same sky painted grey with a storm that might or might not come. The same small town, the same houses, the same ancient weeping willow up on the hill.

The same people.

The same memories.

The same pain pestering him as his hometown came into view after the same final turn of the road.

The same ache he had felt when leaving all those years ago.

Not even Jenevelle accompanying him and laying a calming hand on his knee as Astarion had kept staring out of the carriage window, with his arm propped up and his hand pressed to his cheek, had been able to soothe this particular pain.

Stoically, he had carried on, just the same.

He’d been welcomed at the Ancunín estate with everyone of the staff wearing black and sullen faces. All of them had waited in a line before the manor. Awaiting the new duke with heavy, grieving hearts.

And word of the young duke returning home must’ve had travelled fast because almost immediately after he had received the staff’s condolences, shaking everyone’s hands and exchanging the customary friendly words and sad smiles, people from town had made visits.

There had been more handshakes, eyes full of understanding, even some tears had shed and Astarion’s shoulder patted more often than he would have liked. And even a few confused glances as people noticed his company of a young fair haired woman without the accompanying rings on either of their hands. But at least the shock about his parents’ untimely demise and the grief laying on the whole place like a sheet had spared him the judgement.

It hadn’t spared him of people coddling him though.

So now here he was at a small get-together at someone else’s estate. Having been pushed to attend because visitors had felt guilty about leaving the mourning man alone at this giant estate where everything must be reminding him of the family he had just lost.

Astarion would have much rather stayed at the Ancunín estate. But he couldn’t have exactly told anyone that. Not when polite and caring invitations had been made - and duty demanded of him to kindly take them up on it.

Unfortunately, the small get-together had also turned out to be a not small at all ball. People were dancing and drinking. And then quickly hiding their smiles behind their hands, putting on masks of sadness and concern as soon as they spotted him.

The evening had been filled with more people crowding around Astarion, grabbing his hand to offer him words of support and understanding or a story about his parents he had to pretend he hadn’t heard a million times yet.

Finally, after Astarion had badly mimicked almost breaking into tears after having been told the same story of how his parents had organised that one particular ball, everyone in town still remembered, for the fourth time in a row, he had been left alone. And thankfully even Jenevelle had, after throwing him another asking look, just went to explore the event on her own.

Now the young duke was sitting in a corner alone, holding on to what was now his third cup of wine, as he observed the couples turning on the dancefloor. He watched through people passing by and obnoxious, incredibly pretentious and tasteless low hanging palm leafs from trees that had been placed everywhere. At least they also provided for a nice and rather hidden corner where Astarion had fled so as to not be approached by griefing townsfolk anymore.

Cheerful dance music drifted through the air and the sweet smell of spring flower bouquets filled the massive room as gauzy skirts in all kinds of pastel colours swished over the floors with young ladies smiling coyly and young men nearly falling at their feet for just one of those smiles.

Even as Astarion found himself not as closely moved by grief as people expected him to be, he found it all abhorrent.

It were the same tasteless people with their same tiny mindsets only reaching from here to the next bigger city and their same annoying and boring soirees.

There had only ever been the one person who had made this place interesting.

Astarion downed the rest of the wine in one big gulp and got up to grab another one while wondering how much longer he would need to stay for it to not be considered rude. 

He spotted a servant with a silver tray carrying new drinks in crystal glasses - unfortunately almost on the other side of the room. With a curse under his breath he began moving through the crowd, his head held low to avoid eye contact and more people feeling the need to talk to him, reach for him, console him.

As he passed the edge of the dancefloor he made the mistake of looking up and across the dancefloor where couples were still happily moving in endless twists and turns.

And found the sight he’d been fearing most for. Or yearning for. Astarion really wasn’t quite sure.

On the other side of the dancefloor stood the inspiration and source for those pictures and memories plaguing him since he had sat down in that carriage travelling here. And that ache. And that longing.

The trillering joyful music drifting through the air suddenly seemed muted, time almost slowed down as all those images suddenly came together all at once.

He looked almost like he remembered - the only thing he was not mad about for being the same.

Long dark green hair messily tied back, clothes fine but just a tad dishevelled as to let everyone around know that he wasn’t just like everyone else around. That he didn’t fear to be a little rough around the edges. Teal and black eyes were glinting just as vividly as in Astarion’s memories as he was talking to some lady and lazily holding his cup of wine by the rim.

And then there was his smile. That wicked smile curling up the corners of his lips as he listened to his companion talk.

The freckles on his dark skin had gotten a little more intense and plenty, Astarion could immediately tell. They suited him just as nicely though as they had back then. There were a few lines around his mouth and eyes now and his face just a little leaner, having lost the softness and immaturity of youth in the flesh. But  - as Astarion kept being transfixed by watching him - not his manners or his mind it looked like.

Staeve.

Almost all the same.

As were Astarion’s emotions, finally having torn themselves free from below the worry and the fear. The twinge of longing setting his chest ablaze, threatening to let him burn up right on the spot. His heart began to thunder and his hands still clutching the goblet started to tremble as he stood there rooted in place and beholding the sight of the man that had made him leave his home so many years ago.

Then Staeve’s expression changed. Eyebrows drew together and his eyes darted to the side. As if he had caught on that he was being watched. His head flew around, probably rudely interrupting his date’s words and immediately spotting Astarion.

The young duke immediately felt the heat spread to his cheeks and he hastily tried to turn away as if nothing had happened.

But Staeve didn’t even waste a heartbeat to smile at him, deepening the lines around his mouth and eyes even further. The moment drew out between two heartbeats, feeling endless, as they laid eyes upon each other after ten years apart.

Then Staeve lifted his cup in greeting - as if it had only been yesterday.

And only then did Astarion feel that he had returned home.