#my blending could have been better but i don’t want to keep fucking with this

[slut4thebroken]

Until Next Time

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Neil Lewis x reader

Summary | The second time Neil sees the stranger, he gets a little bolder.

Warnings | Smut, non con, 18+, sexual content, non consensual everything lol, Neil being a creep once again, in public, groping, grinding, thigh fucking, kissing, blackmail, pervy needy Neil.

Words | 2.4 k

Notes | And yes you horny bastards, there will be a part 3 🙄

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Part 1

Every single time he took the subway he was constantly looking around, seeing if you were there. After a couple weeks he started losing hope. He still jerked off to the pictures he took of you, but he accepted that he wasn’t going to see you again. 

That was one week ago. 

He was standing in the subway car looking at his phone when he heard it. “Sorry about that.” He would recognize your sweet voice anywhere. His head snapped up and he looked around until he found you. 

You looked even prettier than he remembered. Your makeup was still subtle, but this time for the day rather than for a club or wherever it was you went, and your hair looked just as soft as last time. He couldn’t see past your neck though. 

He started subtly moving toward you, trying not to draw attention or make it look like he was walking closer. When the doors opened and people were going in and out, he walked quickly, blending in with the movement. You stepped back to give people more room and he was almost behind you now. He could see that you were wearing a tank top— which makes sense given that it’s the middle of summer. But he couldn’t see anything else yet. 

His cock was already fattening up in his pants just staring at you. He waited a tortuously long time for the doors to open again, then he was moving quickly until he was behind you. He saw now that you were wearing a skirt. A pleated one that was just the right length to make you look unintentionally slutty. You were shorter than him now that you weren’t in heels and he stepped a little closer to get a view of your tits again. Were you even wearing a bra? If you were, it must've been strapless. 

He ignored the painful tightness of his pants and focused on you. Were you wearing shorts this time? He prayed the answer was no. Pushing down his nerves, he tentatively raised his hand to lightly grab your hip, making you turn around. Before you could say anything he was shushing you. 

“Before you yell, I want to show you something.” He said quietly, releasing your hip to grab his phone. You seemed to recognize him now, especially when he pulled up a picture and showed it to you. “These have been really useful personally… but I’m sure a lot of other men would love to see it. I’d hate for them to get spread around…” You stood there frozen, staring at the picture of your panties. “I hope you don’t have an important job… This kind of thing will set you off on a completely different path.” He frowned mockingly. 

“M-my face isn’t even in it… There’s no way to know that’s me.”

“Yeah but employers don’t really care about technicalities. One accusation and you’re done.” He shrugged. “So,” he pocketed his phone and placed his hand back on your hip, “are you gonna yell? Or are you gonna be a good little girl and not fuck up your reputation?” He waited for you to respond, but you just stared at him with teary eyes, silently begging him not to. “Smart choice. Turn around.” He said quietly. 

Once you obeyed, he placed both hands on your hips and slid them up to your waist, then back down. He stood closer so he could look down at your tits, hearing your breath hitch when his bulge brushed your ass. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered. “I’ve thought about you every day since then.” You tried to step forward but he just pulled you back, keeping you planted firmly in front of him. One of his hands slid down to grope your ass and it was better than he could’ve imagined. 

“I’ve thought about coming on this ass again every single fucking day.” He groaned, placing a kiss on the back of your neck. When he suddenly turned you around, you gasped and placed your hands on his chest to steady yourself. He snaked his hands up your waist, then up even more until he was groping your tits over the tank top. He bit back a moan once he realized that you weren’t wearing a bra. 

“Jesus Christ.” He murmured, massaging them in his hands. 

“S-stop… Someone will see.” You whispered, trying to push him back by his chest. 

“Someone will see if you draw attention to us. Stay nice and quiet and we’ll be fine, baby.” He looked around behind you and when he was sure no one was watching, he brought his hands down to your thighs and slipped them under your skirt. You gasped when he roughly cupped your ass and pulled you closer. 

With his bulge pressed to your pelvis, he groaned quietly and started rubbing it against you. Under his hands, he could feel the lacy panties you were wearing and he ached to find out what they looked like, but he had to be patient. 

His back was only inches away from the wall and everyone in front of you was facing away, toward the doors. It was practically perfect. Keeping one hand on your ass to hold you still, he moved the other one up to grope your tits again. He was focused on your nipples just barely poking through the fabric, but when he heard a low whimper, his eyes snapped up to your face. There were still tears in your eyes, but your cheeks were flushed and you were biting your bottom lip, holding in any sounds. 

“I fucking knew you wanted this. You’re probably already wet too, huh?” He chuckled quietly and you shook your head with a quiet whine. “No?” He cooed mockingly, tilting his head like a confused puppy. “I think you’re lying to me.” 

“I- I’m not,” you started, but cut off with a gasp when he suddenly pulled your tank top down, exposing your tits. “Wait-” You whispered, panicking. 

“If you make a scene, you’ll draw attention. So go ahead, baby. Make a scene.” He dared and you looked around nervously, trying to see if anyone had noticed what was happening. When you finished examining everyone, you closed your eyes and a tear rolled down your cheek, making his cock throb in his pants. He cursed under his breath and tightened his grip on your ass, then started rubbing up against you even harder. With your tits now out, he used his free hand to grope them, roughly pinching and pulling on your nipples, making you hiss in pain. Once he was satisfied with touching them, he grabbed his phone again. 

“Wait,” You tried to stop him, but he gave you a warning glare and grabbed your ass hard enough to force a whimper out of you. So you shut your mouth and let your arms hang limply by your sides. He took a few pictures, then lifted the front of your skirt to take a few more, this time getting your tits and panties in frame. Before putting his phone away, he righted your clothes, then turned you around and lifted your skirt, getting more pictures of your ass that was barely covered by the slutty lace panties you were wearing. 

“Take them off.” He ordered, pocketing his phone again and turning you back around to face him. 

“What?” You choked out. 

“Take off your fucking underwear. Now.” When you heard his tone, you used shaky hands to slowly push them down your legs, then step out of them. You placed them in his open palm and he immediately lifted them up to his face and inhaled deeply. “Fuck.” He hissed and you let out an embarrassed whine. “God you smell fucking incredible.” He groaned quietly, already getting excited at just the thought of being able to smell your cunt when he jerks off at home. 

Unable to take it anymore, he stuffed your underwear in his pocket, pulled your tank top back down to expose your tits, then grabbed your ass under your skirt and continued grinding his bulge against you. His movements were desperate and far too obvious for their current setting, but he didn’t care. All he could focus on was how soft your ass was, how pretty and perfect your tits were, and how beautiful you looked trying to hold back tears from his assault. 

“You drive me fucking crazy.” He whispered with a small smile. Suddenly leaning forward, he kissed across your neck, making you whimper quietly. He bit and licked, but mostly focused on sucking the skin into his mouth, leaving as many marks as possible. He wanted everyone to see how much of a pathetic slut you are for him— for a stranger. As the intoxicating smell of your perfume invaded his senses, he groaned and his kisses got sloppier. 

Anyone who looked back would just see a couple being slightly perverted in public, with him grabbing your ass and kissing your neck. But they wouldn’t know that you were bare under your skirt, letting him mark you and claim you as he got himself off with your body. They wouldn’t be able to see the way your tits were out, your hard nipples pressing against his chest. And they wouldn’t be able to see the way you were crying silently. 

When he pulled away from your neck, he kept his face only inches from yours, feeling your breath fanning his lips. Unable to hold back, he moved one hand to fist your hair and hold your still as he surged forward, pressing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. You whimpered and tried to push him back, but he was unmoving. Wanting to deepen it, he forced his tongue in your mouth, licking into the kiss, making you whine and try even harder to pull back. He couldn’t really decipher the taste of your mouth but it was something sweet. After another moment, he pulled back, a trail of saliva connecting your lips. 

“Fuck, baby.” He rasped, voice thick with arousal. His orgasm was nearing quickly and he looked around once more, then released you to open his pants and free his cock, making you stiffen. 

“W-wait,” Your breathing grew shallow as your eyes widened. He shushed you and grabbed your ass again, pulling you closer until his cock was between your thighs, pressed up against your heat. 

“Kiss my neck, baby. C’mon.” He all but whined, desperately bucking his hips and fucking your thighs. “You know what I’ll do if you don’t.” He said through a breath, making you stiffen, but lean forward. He held his breath until your lips pressed against his neck. “Oh my god.” He whimpered. “Leave some marks.” He practically begged. 

Reluctantly, you sucked and licked and kissed and bit all over his neck. Leaving a few marks and making him even needier. Through heavy lidded eyes, he looked around the crowded subway car, finding everyone still either facing away from them, or focused on something. This was so fucking perfect. 

“Good girl. Keep going… Put your hands in my hair.” With a silent sob, you lifted your hands and gently grabbed his hair. “God— you’re gonna make me come.” He said through a breathy laugh. “Squeeze your thighs together.” You obeyed and he had to bite down on your shoulder to stifle a moan. 

His hips started bucking more frantically now. If anyone looked over, it wouldn’t take them long to figure out that something inappropriate was going on. But he was so fucking horny and drunk on you that he didn’t even care. He wouldn’t care if every single person turned around and started watching. They wouldn’t see your tits or feel your ass like he could, they couldn’t feel your lips or the softness of your thighs. So he didn’t give two shits if people wanted a free show. It didn’t change the fact that you were his.  

“You’re so good at this.” He whined, enjoying the feeling of your lips on his neck and your body against his. He was able to smell your perfume and your hair so clearly and it was making his brain practically go blank. 

When the subway stopped, he paused and held you close to make sure no one could see your tits. He waited until the subway started moving again before continuing, listening to the automated voice call out the next stop— his stop. Tightening his grip on your ass, he started rutting his hips faster as he chased his orgasm. You continued kissing over his neck and lightly pulling on his hair, getting him so worked up that his dick almost hurt with how hard it was. 

“Don’t stop… don’t stop, baby.” He whispered breathily, moving one hand from your ass to squeeze and grope your tits. You whined quietly and it was like everything inside him just snapped. He bit down on your shoulder and pulled his hips back to jerk himself off quickly until he finally fell over the edge. Each rope of come that shot out his cock landed between your legs, covering your cunt in his seed— marking you. He grunted quietly as he panted, riding it out and savoring it as much as possible. When his orgasm finally faded, he tucked himself back in his pants, then pulled back to look at you with a smile. 

“You’re such a good girl.” He chuckled, taking out his phone. “Lift your skirt for me.” You let out a silent sob, but took the bottom of it in your shaky hands and slowly pulled it up. He took a few close up pictures of your pussy and some wider shots when his come started dripping down your thighs, then pulled back even more to get your tits in it too. “Smile.” He chuckled, getting once of just your face and your tits. That’ll probably be the one he uses the most. He put his phone away and bit his lip as he stared at you, reaching out to feel your tits one last time. 

“Goddamn…” He muttered to himself. The subway slowing down snapped him out of the trance he was in. “This is my stop. Thanks again.” He smiled, moving his gaze up to look into your glossy eyes. “Until next time.” The way he said it was as if you both had your own inside joke now. You didn’t respond as you fixed your tank top and wiped the tears and mascara tracks from under your eyes, but he wasn’t exactly expecting you to. When the subway finally stopped and the doors opened, he walked out, already imagining what would happen the next time he saw you. 

Part 3

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[concreteangel92]

Hey there! It's blend-in-with-the-madness 🙂

Thank you for offering to write something!

The BDSM Noah moodboard has really fried my brain so I'm not sure what I want to request exactly haha. Surprise me! Since this one is the birthday present, I'm sure Noah would do something amazing and very smutty for my birthday, uh the reader's birthday of course 😆

For the Halloween one, Noah and reader go to a costume party. Reader has been a brat all day and she's being extra bratty during the party. Noah takes her into a bathroom for quick little edging "punishment" and he says they'll finish at home only if she behaves. She pushes his buttons and says she'd like to see what he'll do if she doesn't behave. 😏 I'll let you take it from here!

For the Halloween costume part, Deadpool and Wolverine have been living rent free in my head since I saw the movie lol so... I think Noah would look great in the Deadpool costume (mask kink honestly) and reader is wearing this (https://imgur.com/a/eRxVUxX) a Wolverine themed dress for easy access during the party and maybe after the party too

Thank you again for offering to write! No rush on these at all! 🙂🫶

Noah Sebastian x female reader

18+

Warnings: brat taming, dom/sub relationship, fingering, remote controlled vibrator, semi public?, mean!dom Noah, I think that’s about it haha

I’m so sorry this has taken so long to get up but I hope it was worth the wait for you!! ☺️

First part of the request is here

* You’ve been a huge brat all day. I’m taking back chatting, being sassy for no reason and just over all winding Noah up just because you could

* You could tell Noah was taking it all in, even if he hasn’t said anything, you knew you’d eventually pay the price

* “you better behave yourself at this party”

* “Don’t I always?”

* Noah would just give you a glare in response “I mean it, if you act up tonight then there will be serious consequences”

* You nodded to keep him quiet but in your head, you knew you were far from done.

* Later that night you were both dressed for the Halloween party you were attending

* Noah was dressed as Deadpool and you were a female wolverine

* Seeing Noah in the mask was a huge kink of yours, one of the reasons you’d suggested this as your couples costume

* Once at the party, you allowed Noah to think that you were behaving, it was only a couple hours later that you started to push his buttons once again

* If you were grabbing a drink, you’d only get one for yourself and when he asked where his was, your response was “you have legs, get it yourself”

* You’d make small jokes at his expense in front of his friends and talk over him during the conversation

* Not being able to hide the small smirk on your face when you would catch the look he was clearly giving you through the mask

* What tipped him over the edge was when he caught you chatting to some random guy who was talking to you and when you saw his gaze, you playfully put your hand on this guys arm when you laughed at his poor attempt at a joke

* Seeing Noah shaking his head was all the confirmation you needed that he was extremely pissed off

* You made your excuses to this guy and went upstairs to the bathroom

* You let out a small shriek when you felt someone push you inside and slam the door before locking it

* “You really have been a disobedient girl tonight, what the fuck was that?”

* You looked up at him innocently “what do you mean?”

* “You know exactly what I mean, you’ve gone too far tonight so let me remind you of who you belong to”

* The next thing you knew, Noah had flipped your dress up, pushed your underwear to the side and he had his gloved fingers knuckle deep inside your dripping cunt, relentlessly working your body like a violin as you felt your high building

* He’d pulled his mask off at this point, it was thrown next to where you were sitting up on the counter

* “I can feel you clenching down on me, getting close baby?”

* You moaned out a choked “yes”

* For Noah to then bring his fingers away, leaving you staring wide eyed at him

* “Too bad, only good girls get to finish. If you start behaving then I’ll make sure you finish later”

* Feeling extremely annoyed at being edged, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying “and what if I don’t?”

* Noah stood back and glared down at you, he blinked at you a couple times before he reached into one of the pockets of his costume

* “I had a feeling I’d have to be prepared for your back chatting mouth”

* He pulled out the remote controlled vibrator you owned and held it up to your face, your attitude swiftly changed when you realised what he was about to do

* “What’s the matter angel? Don’t feel like running that mouth of yours now?”

* He then pulled your underwear down your thighs so he could push the toy inside of you, your walls instantly gripping onto it

* “Now, you will keep this in for the rest of the party and take what I give you. Don’t even think of taking it out until we are home. Do you understand me?”

* Noah had put your underwear and dress back in place and had caged you in by putting his arms on the sides around you, his tall frame looking almost intimidating as he leaned over you

* “Answer me”

* “Yes sir”

* Noah smirked and stood back up and reached for his mask

* “Good, you can behave”

* Once he’d put his mask back on, he unlocked the door and gestured for you to go out in front of him

* You could fully feel the vibrator as you walked

* It was as you were walking down the hallway that you suddenly felt your knees nearly buckle as the vibrator buzzed to life, sending shock waves throughout your body

* “Shit!”

* You turned around and saw that Noah had his phone in his hand and waved it casually

* “Brats need to be punished”

* And for the rest of the party, he certainly made sure you were learning your lesson

[celandeline]

in your head, on your mind // Jordan Li x Reader, Part 2

the brainrot only increases day by day. i want to be them. i want to fuck them. i cannot decide which one of those options i want to do more. anyways, here's part 2. thanks for all the love and support on part 1!

word count: 1874

previous part // next part

You ended up texting with Jordan for most of the night, smiling and giggling to yourself as your roommates slept across the room, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. It was hard though - with every text you found yourself more and more enthralled with Jordan. Everything about them, their sense of humor, their obvious intelligence, the way that they blended flirting with casual conversation, just made you like them more. And the fact that you couldn’t read their thoughts over text only added to the experience. Made it authentic - what were they thinking about right now? You couldn’t know. It was intoxicating. 

Around three in the morning, when you were finally ready to pass out, you made plans to hit the gym together tomorrow. 

Which is why you loiter in front of the gym now, checking and re-checking your phone to see if they’ve texted you again. It’s 1:57, three minutes before you said you would meet up, though you’ve been waiting for at least five minutes more. Anxious. Excited. Thinking about them already. 

…be perfectly fine, you’ve got this. It’s not even like a real date or anything, you’re just hitting the gym. Casually. Casual. Okay. Oh, fuck okay. Wow. You look really good in workout gear.

You pick up on their thoughts before you see them, just as anxious and excited as your own. Turning, you smile as they come into view, today in their masculine form, dressed in a loose tank top and baggy sweatpants. “Hi Jordan.”

“Hi.” They say, a smile stretching across their lips. “You look nice.”

“You said.” You say. “Or, thought, rather.”

Right. You’re in my head now, shit. Different than text. “Still thought I should say it out loud.” They say with a shrug. 

“I appreciate it.” You say, and you do. It isn’t often that people take to repeating what they’re thinking in speech once they learn you can hear their thoughts. 

For a moment, the air is silent between the two of you and you simply look at each other. They really are pretty - you could fall into those chocolate eyes and never be able to find your way out. And their hair, you so desperately want to run your fingers through it, it looks so silky smooth. 

You smile as Jordan’s thoughts - much the same as your own - run through your head. You’re so fucking pretty its unreal. I can’t believe you said yes to hanging out. I can’t believe we spent all night texting each other - when was the last time I did that? Like highschool probably. I need to pump the breaks dude fuck. Sorry. I’m sorry. 

“You don’t have to apologize-” You start. 

“I know, it’s just- I’m not used to it yet.” They say, pulling open the door to the gym for you. 

You walk inside, hit by the smell of sweat and rubber and the metallic tang of blood all at once. The sounds of working out - machinery clanging, grunting, screams of pain, echo around the place mixing together with the generic pop music playing over the gym speakers. You hover near the entrance, waiting for Jordan to take the lead. 

“I, um, took the liberty of reserving a sparring room for us.” They say, voice raised a little over the din. “We don’t have to though - I mean, that’s just usually what I do to work out.” No pressure if you don’t want to touch me. I didn’t mean it like that - you already know. 

“Sparring’s fine, yeah.” You say. “Thanks for getting a room.”

“‘Course.” Jordan says, starting towards the back of the gym, where the sparring rooms are located. You follow in their wake, passing hordes of your sweaty peers, all focused on bettering themselves. It is easy to tune out the telepathic chatter when you are inclined to focus on Jordan anyway. 

It isn’t a far walk to the sparring rooms, and Jordan pulls open the door to room five, holding it open for you to walk in. Like the rest of the sparring rooms, it’s completely padded - ceiling and all - to minimize the amount of damage students would do to each other. A circle is drawn out on the center of the floor, a boundary to use for a more traditional match. You drop your gym bag near the door, and turn to Jordan. 

“So what rules do you usually go by?” You ask. 

“Hand to hand only, no powers if you can help it but I guess since you can’t really turn yours off don’t worry about that.” They say. “Uh, we can use the circle if you want but usually me and whoever I’m sparring with just go until someone’s pinned.”

“That sounds fine to me.” You say. “And since I can’t not use my powers, I think you should be able to use yours too. Just to be fair.”

Jordan purses their lips. I would throw you through these walls with my energy blasts. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.” You say. And then, planting your voice in their head, “I trust you to be gentle with me.”

Jordan’s cheeks tint red. “Okay.” They clear their throat, and set their own gym bag down. “Stretch first?”

You stretch together, working through most of the usual positions and then some that you hadn’t heard of before at Jordan’s prompting. Now, feeling nice and limber, you stand in the center of the room, across from Jordan, your fists raised in front of you, ready to strike. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Jordan raises their own fists, adjusting their stance. For a moment, everything is still. 

You know they’re going to move before they do it. 

Jordan lunges forward, but you’re already darting back, finely tuned into their thoughts, able to counter every move they make before they’ve even finished deciding to do it. When you’d first arrived at GodU, people had underestimated you, thinking your power couldn’t be practically applied in combat situations. How wrong they were. 

Yeah I figured as much. Jordan, unsurprised, changes forms, trying again to land a hit now in their more lithe female body. Still, you’re able to stay one step ahead, dodging the moment they begin to swing, darting back as soon as they lift their foot from the mat to kick at you. You take the opportunity to land a sharp hit on their side, right between two of their ribs, and then another in the center of their stomach. 

Damn, okay Y/N, packing a punch. Jordan groans, but doesn’t stop, instead doing their best to return the hits. You dart away again - keeping yourself one step ahead and an arm’s length away. 

It goes like that for a while - you, carefully in tune with Jordan’s every move, and Jordan, growing more and more frustrated as they fail time and time again to land a punch. It’s fun, listening to their thoughts grow more and more frantic, strategizing and re-strategizing ways to knock you off your guard, and you find yourself biting back a smile, not wanting to infuriate them further. You’re winning without a doubt, until-

Is this what it’s going to be like when we fuck?

Jordan’s thought throws you off your rhythm, and you falter, their fist breezing past your face as you barely move away in time. They grin, and you hear their voice in your head; what? I thought you were used to that sort of thing?

It’s true, you had told them that it happened more often than you liked to admit - and it did, but never in a situation like this. In a fight, most people were focused on well… the fight. Not…

God, your shoulders look so good in that shirt. You should get more shirts like that. I want to sink my teeth into your muscles. 

Jordan throws another punch, and you only narrowly dodge it again, doing your best to ignore the way they’re thinking about you. It’s hard though, when you’re so focused on their thoughts anyway to try and keep ahead of their punches. You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

It all comes to a head when Jordan actually lands a hit on you because you were distracted by the image of you and them, pressed against the lockers of the locker room, making out with furious intensity. There was a quality to the thought that made you think it wasn’t the first time Jordan had conjured this image - but it was the sharp change in focus that actually made you falter. 

Jordan lands one hit, and then their hand wraps around your arm. Before you can wiggle free, they shift into their male form, grip tightening. I’m going to throw you to the floor. 

If it had been anyone else, the thought would have sparked fear. But instead, excitement swirls in your stomach. 

As gently as someone can throw someone else to the ground, Jordan flips you. You land on your back against the cushioned floor, the impact radiating through your whole body. Before you can scramble back to your feet, Jordan - still masculine and therefore immovable - pins you down, almost laying on top of you. 

“I win.” They say, lips only inches from yours. I could kiss you right now. Would you let me? You don’t have to. 

You press your lips together, fighting off a smile as you pretend to struggle in their grip. “Fine you win. What kind of prize do you want?”

“Don’t tempt me.” They say, eyes darkening as their pupils widen ever so slightly. Fuck. Do you mean that?

You smile, and wind your thoughts into theirs. You don’t get to fuck me - not yet anyway - but I’ll kiss you if you still want it. 

The second the thought registers, Jordan is pressing their lips to yours, roughly, hungrily, like they’ve been waiting. You know they’ve been waiting - you can feel it in their thoughts, in the way that they run a hand down your side like if they stop touching you you’ll disappear. As soon as you feel them let their guard down, you flip the both of you over, giving yourself a turn to hover over them. 

Their eyes widen as you break the kiss to start leaving little kisses along their jaw, working towards their neck. Oh fuck. You can’t- you said we can’t fuck right now, you cant start kissing me there- fuck. I can’t fight this boner-

They shift under you, reverting back into their female form. You take it in stride, still continuing your path to the sweet spot beneath their ear. You suck hard on the delicate skin once you land, and they groan deep in their throat, pushing their chest up against yours as their eyes roll into their head. You pull back to enjoy their reaction, and when they open their eyes again, you smile. 

“I wouldn’t have been offended by a boner, you didn’t have to switch to hide it.” You say. 

Jordan smiles. “Habit, sorry.” They pause. “Um.” I need to go home and jerk off. Like right now. Sorry. “We should do this again, sometime.”

You roll off of them, smiling as you plop down on the matted floor. “For sure.”

[lpham2525]

Misunderstanding: Part II

[YOR is waiting up for LOID one night when both he and FRANKY come into the flat. LOID has a limp so severe that FRANKY has to help him through the door.] 

YOR: Loid! Franky! What happened?! 

FRANKY: Easy, easy. Let him sit down first.  

YOR: Should I call for an ambulance? 

TWILIGHT: No, no. It’s not that bad. I’m just...sore. That's all.  

TWILIGHT (grunts as he sits on the couch): Ah, much better. 

YOR: Loid, what’s going on? What happened to you?

TWILIGHT (sighing): Yor, there's something I need to tell you.  

YOR: W-what is it?  

TWILIGHT: Well, I’ve been pulling a lot of late nights recently, and I think I should let you know that... 

FRANKY (impatient): Your husband’s fucking Twilight.  

YOR: T-TWILIGHT?! Th-the Westalian spy?! 

TWILIGHT: ... 

TWILIGHT: Franky, can you give us a moment alone?  

FRANKY: And miss this?! No way!  

TWILIGHT: *gives him the Twilight Glare*

TWILIGHT: Franky... 

FRANKY: Okay, okay. I’ m going. I’ll see ya later...if you survive this.  

[After FRANKY leaves, TWILIGHT turns back to YOR.] 

TWILIGHT: Yes...it’s true.  

YOR (in shock): If that’s true, then...that’s why he never developed romantic feelings for me! My husband’s...gay! How could I have not seen it?! The signs were all there!  

YOR: So your first wife... 

TWILIGHT: Never existed.  

YOR: And Anya? 

TWILIGHT: Adopted.  

YOR: Does, erm, does Anya know about Twilight?  

TWLIGHT: No. I made sure to keep it well hidden from her.  

YOR: Hmmm....maybe because Anya might tell someone at school? I can’t imagine a traditional school like Eden would be welcoming to a gay father. Well, regardless... 

YOR: Loid, I want you to know that I support you.  

LOID: You...you DO?!  

YOR: Yes, I don’t think it’s shameful at all, and it’s sad we live in a society where you can’t express that part of yourself.  

LOID: I don’t think that it’s shameful, but...I also have no desire to express that part of myself. It would make my life—and my job—so much harder if people knew. My identity must remain secret. 

YOR: Well, I can understand about your job. Some people might not trust a doctor if they knew of...other things he dabbled in. And I also understand that kind of...alternative lifestyle requires secrecy. People are tortured and killed for these kinds of things after all. 

LOID: I’m glad you understand. I'll be honest, though, I am bowled over by your support. This was not the reaction I expected.  

YOR: What did you expect?  

LOID: Crying. Screaming. Cursing. Slapping me. Reporting me.  

YOR: Oh no, Loid. I would never report something like this. I mean, for a while, I suspected my brother of the same thing, but I would never report him for being who he is so...why would I do that with you?  

LOID: You suspected your brother of being Twilight?  

YOR: Oh no, I didn't suspect him of being Twilight, but of having the same sexual inclinations that you do. And who was I to judge? I love my brother and I support him, the same way I support you and whatever you want to do with your life. 

LOID: The same sexual inclinations? I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I had times when I slept with other women only because I needed to— 

YOR: Blend in. I know. It’s okay.  

LOID: She knows I needed to blend in for my honey traps! She really is the sharpest person I’ve ever met! 

LOID: But it was never anything personal. 

YOR: I understand. I’m sure they do too.  [beat]

LOID: So your brother has also... 

YOR: It's possible. Likely, even. 

LOID: I didn't know the SSS did that kind of thing. Or maybe he had to honey trap someone for an assignment? Or could he be a spy? Maybe he's a mole like Wheeler! A spy for some agency but posing as SSS? Wait, I had Franky check his background. Maybe we missed something somewhere... 

LOID: Yor, while I appreciate your support, I’d like you to keep this a secret. Don’t tell anyone. Especially your brother.  

YOR (putting her hand over her heart): I promise to not tell anyone. Oh, and Loid?  

LOID: Hmm? 

YOR: The next time you have to “work late”, you don’t have to hide it from me. I know what you’re doing now and again, I support you.  

YOR: *fidgeting* 

YOR: I do have a question, though. 

LOID: Yes? 

YOR: Is Twilight always so... 

YOR: *gestures to Loid’s limp leg* 

YOR: Rough? 

LOID (chuckling): Not always. Some nights are just...more intense than others, let’s put it that way.  

YOR: Okay, but please be careful. I don’t want you hurt. 

LOID: I’ll be careful. I promise. 

LOID: I can’t believe I have such a supportive wife! It doesn’t make much sense, but I’m not complaining! 

YOR: I can’t believe I have a gay husband! Everything makes so much sense now!

[joshsindigostreak]

I See Hell in Your Eyes

Chapter Thirteen

“‘Cause I love the light I’ve found in you.”

Vamp!Josh x Vamp!Reader

Authors Note: So sorry it’s taken so long to update the original story. My life has been crazy the last month or two. But I’m back at it! Hope you enjoy. Especially the ending.

Word Count: 3,048

Warnings: Descriptions of blood.

Orlando. Fucking Orlando. It made perfect sense to have a Blood Den in a city that was a revolving door for tourists, but the senseless traffic and relentless humidity had Josh pouting in the backseat of the car driving them to the Den. He reached forward to fiddle with the backseat AC controls for the fifth time. 

“If you keep messing with that you’re going to break it,” you mildly huffed from your seat. Your Vampire gave you a sideways glance as he gave up on the air and leaned back into his seat. 

“It’s boiling back here,” he muttered in annoyance. 

“We’re almost there, Josh.” 

He didn’t want to have an attitude, but the constant stop-and-go traffic, the shitty AC, and the fact that he was just tired, was working every nerve he had in his body. The last week or so was a lot busier than the previous weeks on your tour. The schedule wasn’t as spread out as it was before, and now the both of you were sleeping more on the plane than in an actual room. He slept fine, but Dimitri’s staff would not stop asking either of you if you needed anything or wanted anything to drink and while the hospitality was appreciated, he just wanted more time not only to himself, but with you. 

You could sense his frustration from your seat, and in an effort to make him feel at peace, you scooted over so that you were sitting directly next to him, and softly took one of his fidgeting hands into your own. 

You leaned in to whisper in his ear, “how many Human Companions are we going to see tonight in Mickey ears?” 

He looked down at his hands, thinking about it before answering, “at the very least, fourteen.” 

You smiled and played along, “over a dozen, you think? Hmm…I’m going to say closer to twenty.” Once you saw a real smile creep along his face you rested our head on his shoulder, enjoying the alone time with him before your night took off. 

~!~

By Midnight, the count was approaching eleven. The two of you sat comfortably in the corner of the Den, in a familiar roped off area, having just shared a meal together. The manager of the Den had insisted that they indulge in one of his regular humans, a cheery girl in her late twenties who introduced herself as, “Morgyn with a y,” and that she was B-Positive. At this point on your tour, “gifts” such as these were pretty common and Josh had gotten used to the whole procedure. After he exchanged a look with you he nodded at her and she practically bounced onto the shared couch, immediately offering both of her wrists with a grin on her face. 

Now it was your chance to sit back against your Vampire  and people watch. The VIP area faced the main entrance, Josh had provided colorful commentary whenever a new pair of faces walked in. 

“I never thought I’d see this many Vampire’s in Hawaiian shirts,” he observed, close to your ear. 

You smiled and absently rubbed your thumb on his thigh, “blending in is one of the most important skills to have. Not everyone is good at it.” 

As you spoke, another Vampire was making his way across the room to find an unoccupied booth, gently holding the hand of a woman wearing Mickey Mouse Ears.

“That’s twelve now,” Josh announced as his lips ghosted your cheek. 

You watched the new pair settle into the booth, and the light that was fixed above them gave you a better look at the ears. 

“Oh, hers are purple! You know I don’t think I have ever gotten a pair in all these years.” You turned to your Vampire and gave him a questioning look. 

He saw that look in your eye, and knew the question before you spoke, “you can’t have them.” 

Instantly you pouted, “oh come on! I could just ask nicely for her to give them to me?” 

He knew exactly what you meant by ‘asking nicely,’ “you are not going to Persuade her into giving them to you either.” 

You sat back and mumbled, “it would be a nice souvenir for Orlando…” 

“You could just…buy your own?” 

“Ugh but where’s the fun in that, Boy Scout,” you chided as you leaned forward to grab your drink off the table. As you took a sip of it your features scrunched together in disgust, “these drinks are terrible tonight. I feel like anything that isn’t directly from a human has been watered down.” 

Josh threw a glance at your drink and then back at his own, noting that his seemed a little light compared to the other establishments they had been to so far. 

“Just try to remember that after tonight we’ll be in New Orleans at our final stop…and after that we are free to go home.” 

The last word threw you off so much that you set the glass back down a lot harder than you intended to. What was home to the two of you? Your apartment? Michigan? Or somewhere completely new? 

“You’ll be free to go back to Michigan…”

He caught the far off tone in your voice and wanted to make himself clear, “Sweetheart, I do have to face my parents eventually…but I’d love for you to come with me, if you wanted.” 

You were still looking away from him when you felt one of his warm hands curl around your thigh and his thumb rubbed small circles into your skin. 

“Your parents would literally kill me for what I did.” 

Josh shook his head, “oh, I wouldn’t let you go into that house while they’re there.” Your brows knitted together in curiosity and confusion. “Instead, you will be staying in the nicest suite at the nicest hotel near my old place…safe and spoiled.” His voice trailed off to a level of softness that was even rare for him. 

You willed your eyes to not water. He always made everything sound so easy. He always had a solution to everything. Often you wondered if it was because of his upbringing as a hunter, or something that was just him. The idea that someone was always putting you first still felt strange at times. In the three centuries you had been alive, he had been the only one to treat you like this. 

This former hunter, with his messy curls and a gap between his teeth, was the only form of daylight that couldn’t hurt you. 

But if you were to be hidden in a hotel, that meant he’d be going there alone…and worry rushed through your system. You hated to ask, but it needed to be said, “do you think…do you think they’ll do anything…,” the silent ‘to you’ hung in the air. 

Your Vampire’s face faltered but only for a moment, and he shook his head, “for my sanity I’m going to ho- think they won’t.”  

You chewed on your lip, and searched his face. There were so many things you wanted to say, but every word died in your throat. Instead, you gently cradled his sharp jaw in your hands and brought your mouth to his, letting your touch speak for itself. It wasn’t rough, fast, or possessive. You were almost trying to match his softness with your own, and think of anything else besides the subject at hand. He smiled against your lips, and brought his hands to your forearms to gently hold them. A whisper of, love you, caressed your mouth and while your eyes were still closed, your Vampire’s were slightly open, looking at you as best he could from how close you were. 

In a flash, Josh separated himself from your lips and brought your hands to his lap to fully hold. 

“Ok, enough about that, we’re here to have fun, sweetheart,” his eyes twinkled, as they always did when he would try to lighten the mood in a way that only Josh Kiszka could. He was so infectious that you couldn’t help but smile ear to ear at him. He glanced over at the table, “looks like our glasses are empty…we should fix that. How about we top=shelf it this time?” 

“I thought we were already top shelving it, Boy Scout?”

“Yes and no…our little attendant did say they had just acquired an AB-Negative from a French tourist that was said to be a rare treat around here, and we would have first dibs due to our little visit…,” his cheek dimple slowly revealed itself as he talked. 

Admittedly, you loved it when Josh spoke like a Vampire. It warmed you every time he settled in a little bit more, even though he still had a long way to go. You gave him a quick kiss again, “you sound so sexy when you talk like that…” 

“I try,” he replied with a shrug and a smirk. 

Minutes later you were presented with your rare beverage while your server was going over the notes as he poured it in fresh glasses. There was a prominent cinnamon note that Josh particularly loved, and he immediately requested another glass. 

After a few more rounds, Josh leaned in close to your ear, “how about we have one more glass and then head out a little early?” 

Your eyes flicked down to the security guard, a smirk gracing your face, “we do need some time to rest before traveling tomorrow…”

“Exactly…,” 

It wasn’t long before the two of you were whisked out of the Den and back into the car you arrived in. As you settled in the backseat, Josh was gazing at you intently. 

“On our way out…I noticed something that was abandoned in one of the booths…” 

You threw him a sideways glance, “oh yeah? What?”

He reached behind him and pulled out something purple. Purple mouse ears to be exact. 

Your eyes widened and a light laugh escaped your lips, “you little shit.”

He shrugged, “I saw those two run off to a private room and they never came back for those. Finders keepers and all that.” 

You smiled and pulled him in for a kiss, not caring that you were once again trapped in Orlando traffic. 

~!~

Forty-eight hours later, the two of you were once again dressed up and perched in a VIP section on the second floor of a three-story establishment in the French Quarter. The second floor was the main attraction, filled with familiar tables and chaise lounges along the walls, with a crowded dance floor in the middle. The third floor was reserved for patrons who wanted to feed in peace and had a much quieter atmosphere. Both floors sat above a regular bar, where the humans within had no idea what was going on above them, or through the inconspicuous door with an “employees only” sign haphazardly taped to it. 

This place was far better than the last few Den’s you had visited. It was very evident that it was recently restored to retain the historic charm of  the building, while also filling it with the modern amenities and security measures that a Vampire of the present day could enjoy themselves and relax. Dimitri had really gone all out here, and he was definitely saving the best Den for last. 

The Vampire’s of New Orleans kept to themselves a lot more than at the previous cities. They weren’t as fascinated with your story as others were. Occasionally through the first night you would catch a few staring, but it was mainly just shared glances and nods. This had Josh free to truly enjoy the Den with you and blend in a lot more. 

Even better, you had ran into some old friends, Georgiana and Iris, a pair of sisters who were turned roughly two hundred years ago. Unlike Monica, you were truly friends with these two, and regularly met up with them every few years. Josh introduced himself eagerly, grateful to finally find friends of yours that were mostly normal and not overtly creepy for the sake of being creepy. You almost wanted to pinch yourself with how well that first night was going. 

But the second night. The second night was when things took a turn unbeknownst to you. 

~!~

The heavy bass pulsed in Josh’s ears as he made his way to the bar. The room was so full of Vampire’s and their Human Companions that it was a bitch to walk through, but eventually he found an empty stool to perch on while he waited for a free bartender. All three employees were busy with other patrons, but Josh wasn’t in a hurry so he sat there patiently. He managed to make eye contact with one of the bartenders, and just as he called out his order over the crowd noise, he felt a heavy presence saddle up next to him on the nearest stool. 

Slowly turning his head, he saw a menacingly familiar face: Isaac Wexcombe, his Vampire’s Maker. The much older Vampire was focusing his blue-gray eyes on the lowball glass in his hand, absentmindedly swirling what was left of his drink at the bottom. His dirty blond hair looked like he had run his hand through it one too many times, but it oddly suited him. 

“How’s  New Orleans treating you,” his northern English accent drawled. 

It was rare for Josh to be caught off guard like this. He sat there for a few seconds, taken aback that he was this close to the creature who had tormented his girl so much. 

“It’s been great so far,” he replied in a clipped tone; keeping it cordial. The young Vampire kept his eyes on the Englishman, and watched how those blue-gray eyes swept over the crowd and landed on the one Josh called Sweetheart. He felt the heat prickle the back of his neck, hating the way Isaac was looking at you. It was a look of a thousand-yard-stare mixed with a twisted but subtle smirk. You were none the wiser in the VIP section, leaning in close to Georgiana as you listened to her talk. He silently prayed that you wouldn’t look over, as he knew seeing Isaac would ruin your night and spend you spiraling. 

His thoughts were interrupted when the bartender set his drink order in front of him, causing Isaac to hold up his glass and for another round. The older Vampire glanced at the glasses in front of Josh, and the smirk grew even bigger. 

“Cherie still loves her Manhattans I see,” he mused as he drained the last few drops in his glass. Josh snapped his attention at Isaac, giving him a hard stare. “A-Negative, right? She could never resist that one.” 

Josh had to focus to not grip his own glass too hard or else he’d break it. The very sound of that petname made his stomach twist, as he had heard it used more than he’d like in the few memories he had shared with you. 

Isaac twisted in his seat to fully look at him, “I’d introduce myself, but I believe you already know who I am, don’t you, little hunter?” Josh glared at him even harder in response. 

“You’ve been brought up once or twice,” he replied coolly. 

A fresh drink was set in front of Isaac, and he chuckled slightly as he took a sip, “oh, little hunter, we both know that's not where you recognize me from…,” he leaned closer toward Josh to sneer, “now tell me…does she still taste like cherries?”

It took every single supernatural muscle in Josh’s body to not lunge at the asshole, but he knew that he couldn’t cause a scene here. Not only because he didn’t want you to know your Maker had slithered into the place, but because the Council was breathing down his neck enough, and he didn’t want you to potentially face any consequences because of his lack of control. 

Isaac laughed lightly while he took another sip and muttered, “I hope you’ve seen the better memories, at least…” 

“What the fuck are you even doing here, anyway?” 

He arched an eyebrow at Josh and gestured around himself, “I live here, little hunter.” 

“You know what I mean,” Josh said through gritted teeth. 

His stare turned even more icy, “I am simply a patron of the newest Blood Den New Orleans has to offer, enjoying my night.” 

Before Josh could counter, the bass dropped on a song playing overhead, and your friends in the VIP area started shrieking excitedly about loving the song, and pulling you with them to the dance floor. His gaze whipped over to you, once again checking in to see if you were alright. 

“Best be getting that drink to our cherie, she always hated her drinks getting warm,” was whispered in his ear and when he turned back to Isaac, he was greeted with a vacant barstool and a drained glass on the bar itself. His eyes flitted around the room and in the crowd, hoping to see where the asshole went, but he couldn’t find him at all. 

After taking several deep breaths, Josh gathered both drinks and worked his way back to the VIP section. You were out on the floor with your friends, and he sat back on the velvet couch watching you have fun. Normally he would’ve gone down and danced with you, but he was rattled by the whole encounter with Isaac, and he didn’t want you to pick up on his shift in mood. 

Instead, he sipped his own drink while he recalled some of his favorite ways of disposing of Vampires. He may have been one of the Undead now, but he still vividly remembered his years as a hunter, along with his favorite cases. A simple stake through the heart was too nice. He didn’t just want Isaac to die, he wanted him to suffer. But being confined to an eternal night meant he needed help. He needed the one person who was sadistic enough to happily join up for what could be his final case. 

He needed to call Jake. 

To be continued…

Tag List:  @dannyandthekiszkas , @readyforthegarden  , @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine , @wideminded-dreamer , @runwayblues , @wildbluesorbit , @llightmyllovee , @rhythm-of-space , @sacredthefran , @writingcold , @alwaysonthemend , @wetkleenex-gvf , @josh-iamyour-mama , @lightsofthe-living-gvf , @gvfcinema , @sacredthethreadgvf , @losfacedevil , @jakekiszkasbuttsweat , @shutupdevvie , @hearts-hunger , @gretavanfleetposts , @ascendingtostardust , @mackalah , @andromeda-raine-gvf , @jake-kiszkas-smirk , @gracev0609 , @sacredjake , @earthlysorrows , @gvfpal , @myownparadise96 , @itsafullmoon , @gvfmelbourne , @twistedmelodies , @that-witchy-pan , @gold-mines-melting , @texas-bbq-pringles , @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface , @sadiechar , @char289 , @stardustvanfleet , @sunfl0wer-power , @holdingup-fallingsky , @bladenotblaze , @gretavanlace , @lipstickitty , @jjwasneverhere , @josiee-gvf , @peaceloveunitygvf , @exokpopfreak , @gretavanhockey , @gretavanazula

[koffeewife]

SHURI X JAMAICAN READER

Summary: A night out at the club takes a bit of a turn when y/n’s favorite song comes on and she starts drunkenly singing it to shuri , it’s the songs unique lyrics that takes shuri over the edge…

Warnings: tipsy reader, high reader, high shuri, implies smut (I’m too scared I’ll ruin it if I write smut lol)

(A/N: post writing this I am just gonna say hats off to all the writers on this platform because it is so fucking hard to translate an idea into a flowing story and I think this is the first and last time I try to do so 😭)

Soooo I’ve been on tumblr for a while reading and interacting but I never dared to write anything..but THIS scenario played out so nice while I was driving and smoking. This song was playing and it started from there you can listen to it but idk if it’ll actually go with the story so the choice is yours. If this is shit tell me immediately I’ll take it down and stfu forever 😭🫶🏾

I don’t plan on translating the patois in the dialog but if it’s necessary pls lmk and I’ll add it !

…here we go🫣 *inhales*

-

1:00AM at the club was your favorite time because the normal DJ switched out for a Jamaican one. Who so happens to be your favorite cousin.

You and Shuri decided to go out together to get some drinks in a more social environment rather than staying in like you had for the last year. Getting tired of hearing the complaints that “ Y/N put a spell on our Queen” or better yet “The Queen is pussy whipped” This was the perfect place to show face and vibe discreetly.

You made the final lick to seal your third blunt of the night. The bass in the club going hard to ‘The Harder They Fall’ by Koffee.

“Perfect song to spark the blunt to.” Shuri your girlfriend of 3 years chuckled.

The first pull was harsh but the second was sweet. That’s how you earned the name sour patch from your stoner friends.

“Here baby” you passed the blunt over. When your eyes locked so did your knees, it was a good thing you were sitting.

“You know you look really good when you’re high.” You boldly said. Shuri chuckled in reply and took a hit.

“If you think I look good so good sthandwa , dance with me”

She abruptly got up and put the blunt out, which forced you as well since you rested on her chest . As you two made your way towards the dance floor you locked eyes with your cousin.

When you saw that dumbass look on her face from the DJ booth you knew she was about to troll you in some way. The previous song seamlessly began blending into an intro you knew too well.

(start playing song here)

*Flash Back*

“Y/N long time mi nuh see yuh up weh mi spin yuh kno!” Your cousin said over wine at her place.

“It haad fi lef yuh yaad when it hold suh much luv .” You chuckled. Shuri was by no means keeping you from going out. It was more so you kept each other inside.

“Suh it guh when yuh get a gyal wid a ten outta ten ehhhhh!” You couldn’t help but bust out at the song reference she made.

“Gyal yuh nuh easy!” You laughed .

*Flash Back Over*

As soon as the bass dropped in the song you turned your back to Shuri to whine your waist.

Gyal , your pussy good mi gi’ you

10 outta 10

Up inna mi bed mi want you spread out again

“Careful, this same waistline is how you got stuck in the house for a year.” Shuri whispered in your ear, her waist keeping up with yours as she caught everything you threw.

What a body good , like you mek

outta gem

Hot inna your clothes when you

Step out again

“I’m just showing appreciation for the song choice it’s a tribute to you My Queen.” It came out a lot more breathless than you would have liked but truth be told her waistline was now leading and it was making you dizzy.

A just 10 outta 10 outta 10

Outta 10

Open up your book and mek

Mi tek out mi pen

You turned around to sing the chorus directly to her and the more words you said the darker her eyes sets.

“Slow whine gyal, your so fine

Pussy mek mi cum in no time” you sang.

Even under the club lights you could see the desire swimming in her eyes at the vulgar words you sang to her in your native tongue.

Without you even noticing her hand slide up to house your throat . “ nkosazana uyayazi ukuba indenza ntoni?” (Princess, do you have any idea what that does to me ?) Shuri rasped in your ear over the music.

You couldn’t do anything but stare at her like she hung the stars in the sky herself. The same effect that patois had on her, Xhosa had on you.

It was an instant panty soaker.

“masigoduke ndizokwazi ukubuyisa imbeko sithandwa sam” (let’s go home so I can return the tribute my love.) she ghosted over your lips.

Eyes heavy from the blunts , drinks , and Shuri’s goal to have cum untouched by her voice alone . You closed the gap between you two . The kiss was slow and deep but by no means was it romantic.

Her tongue danced with yours aiming to fuck you in the filthiest reaches of your mind. You knew if you didn’t leave now you would absolutely let her take you where you stood and no one would dare to try and stop the Black Panther .

You reluctantly broke the kiss with a gasp “yes.home.now.come” you spoke all at once and out of order.

You heard her laughing behind you as you practically dragged her off the floor.

“So you think I’m a 10 out of 10 ehhh” she teased . You tried to keep a straight face but failed thinking you both knew that you were both the 10’ s that made up the highest score.

-

*nervous chuckle*😅

[stripedstarsblueflags]

If you could do 9 and 17 from the dialogue game for loscar it would be amazing (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

I read your another one with sargebon and it's dknfkskdnsjks *explodes from emotions*, please write more🙏🙏🙏

i swear i didn’t mean to write 4.7k, but what did i wake up to this morning? no beta we die like williams public image

here you go loscar nation 💙���

“You can’t keep it bottled up forever.”/“Feel better now?”

Pain is temporary.

Pain is irrelevant.

Pain is invalid.

He shouldn’t have been gritting his teeth. The ache in his jaw throngs all the way down his neck, and at some point he’d bitten the side of his tongue. Oscar doesn’t remember that; he just remembers driving, the scream of the engines crowding into one meaningless cacophony, staring down the beam wing in front of him and willing the pain to end.

It didn’t. It hasn’t.

He’d known the first race was going to be bad, but he’d been confident in the adrenaline, the 5.8 kilometers of pure endorphins to keep him above it lap after lap. And it had… sort of.

The pain had spread, though. As the race went on Oscar could imagine the single fracture widening like unraveled thread, jagged edges deepening and shooting outwards until his whole body was cracked porcelain. The pain was sharp, hot, razor-wire wrapped around his chest. It was almost a reprieve to be overtaken, because then the frustration and determination to make up the place would block out everything else for just a moment.

He didn’t finish on the podium, but that was alright. It was Lewis’s moment, and anyway he could barely lift himself out of the car, let alone a crown-shaped trophy.

It was easy to smile and nod his way through the debrief, easy to let Lando do the talking. Lando didn’t know about the break. A lot of the team didn’t know, because it was supposed to be minor, it was supposed to be temporary irrelevant invalid just a little setback. And it would be. He just had to have a little breather first, ice it, give it some time.

It’s almost sunset when he leaves for the car park. He’d spent too long in his driver’s room, slumped against the wall with his shirt off, eyes firmly closed because looking at the bruising made him nauseas. He’d told Kim a little about the situation, told him he’d call if it got worse, and asked to please not let anyone disturb him. Nobody had.

He’s fumbling one-handed with his keys when a voice says, “Leaving so soon?”

Oscar nearly jumps out of his skin, his keys clatter to the ground. “Jesus christ, Logan, don’t fucking do that.”

Logan puts up his hands innocently, but the gesture is incompatible with the smirk on his face. “Not my fault you don’t look up,” he says. “I was trying to get your attention.” He’s leaning back against a telephone pole, dark blue hoodie blending in with the evening shadows. Still, Oscar can’t help but feel snuck up on.

Oscar shakes his head. “You walk too quiet.”

“That’s a weird insult.”

“You’re weird.” Oscar starts to bend over to pick up his keys, but a stabbing pain shoots all the way through to his shoulder blades and he bites back a sudden shout. He has to abandon the motion midway.

Logan walks around the car and picks up the keys. He’s pulled his sleeves up over his palms, fingertips barely visible. Oscar doesn’t really feel the cold, but there’s already a slight flush over Logan’s cheeks and nose. His lips look redder than normal.

Logan’s voice softens. “It was really bad today, huh?”

Oscar looks away, breathing around the aftershocks. His first instinct is to lie, to offer a curt and stoic denial. To snatch back his keys.

But Logan would see through any of that in an instant.

“Not great,” he admits. He can hear the grimace in his own voice. “I just need to give it some time…”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m driving.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “I just drove a Formula 1 car, I think I can handle a little traffic.”

“I’m not saying you can’t.” Logan’s smiling again, but it’s a gentle smile, knowing and fond. His eyes are bright, crinkled at the corners. He doesn’t give back the keys. “I’m saying you don’t have to. You’re staying at the Platt Hotel, right?”

”Yeah,” Oscar answers. He has half a mind to just make a grab for his keys, but the other half is thinking about left turns, how he has to move his arms so much more with a normal steering wheel. How long the drive gets at night.

“Cool, me too.” Logan looks down at the keys and unlocks the car, then steps forward and pulls open the driver’s side door. He has to get right into Oscar’s space to do it, arm practically reaching around his waist. There’s a rush of warmth as he moves closer, a fluid and unhurried step as if they’re not just millimeters apart.

Logan starts to turn back to him, and Oscar realizes that if he doesn’t step back their faces are going to get closer– a lot closer. The wind ruffles Logan’s hair, and they’re close enough that Oscar catches the scent– something fresh and summery, seawater and citrus…

He steps back in a hurry, uncharacteristically clumsy as he’s set off balance by a fresh cascade of memories. What being this close in the dark would’ve meant years ago. How they don’t touch anymore but his body recognizes the warmth, the chest-to-chest contact like a second skin. How the urge to stay in place, to reach his hands up isn’t conscious but muscle memory.

He nearly falls over at the suddenness of it all, the nostalgia that’s hit him like a truck within a single moment. Logan puts a hand on his shoulder, no more than a pat, but it’s stabilizing. “Sit in the back,” he says. “That way you can put the seatbelt on your right.”

Oscar lets Logan drive his car, and it shouldn’t remind him of anything.

Logan’s never even driven his car, this or any others. The city is unfamiliar and indifferent. They’re going to the same place, but not because it’s anybody’s home.

And then Logan connects his phone to the bluetooth, and Oscar remembers the playlist.

Seasons change and our love went cold…

From the backseat, Oscar says, “Remember the time you had to drive me back from that club?”

Logan laughs over the music. “How could I forget,” he answers, smiling at Oscar in the mirror. “You’re the worst lightweight I’ve ever seen.”

Oscar laughs even though it hurts. “It– it wasn’t that bad, I…”

“You had one drink, dude. One. And then I had to carry you off the charaoke stage.”

Oscar groans. “I was only 18. I shouldn’t have started with tequila.”

“You think?” Logan turns up the music. “Wow. What a throwback.”

I dare you to do something, I’m waiting on you again…

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Oscar points out.

“Guess not.” Logan tries to shrug and turn the wheel at the same time and ends up with something like an interpretive dance. “I just haven’t thought about it in forever.”

“Really?”

Oscar doesn’t know why his voice comes out so small, so hurt. He doesn’t know why he is hurt.

Maybe because of how the night ended.

How Logan had driven them both back to his own flat because he didn’t want to leave Oscar alone. How he’d tucked his arm around Oscar’s waist and lowered them both onto the bed because Oscar’s didn’t have the coordination. How they’d fallen asleep, and woken up, wrapped around each other.

And I still hear the echoes, the echoes…

“Just feels like a while ago,” Logan says nonchalantly, and Oscar decides to let it go. He has to let it go.

They arrive at the hotel sooner than Oscar expects.

They’d talked the whole drive home, not about anything important. Airport stories, golf, which one of them has the weirder teammate (every time Oscar thinks there’s no one wilder than Lando, Logan tells him Alex’s latest hot take in blatant defiance of all human logic, and Oscar has to concede). Even with the music, it felt somehow quiet in the car, and Oscar realized he couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had spoken alone.

They take the same lift, and Logan leans against the opposite wall. Leaning against every vertical surface in sight doesn’t come naturally to Oscar, but it suddenly looks like a good idea; his whole body aches. Sitting down in the car, his arm propped against the door, had been a reprieve. Now he’s all too aware of his own weight, his hand heavy and limp at his side like a stone. The pain in his chest is different now, less sharp and more pressure. Like the deformed seat is still around him, constrictive and unyielding. His body has been overcompensating without him even noticing, but he’s paying the price in his spine, the back of his neck.

He closes his eyes and the weight increases, a white-noise waterfall filling his head. The voice trying to catch his attention comes out muffled, incomprehensible.

“Oscar.”

Oscar flinches back into the present, which is a bad idea. He grimaces and tries to cover it up by talking too fast. “Um, sorry, what was that?”

Logan furrows his brow at him, his eyes darkening with concern. “I said ‘What floor.’”

Oscar looks at the unlit panel of buttons and realizing he’s been standing in an unmoving lift for almost a minute. “Eleven,” he says, after taking a moment to think about it.

Logan steps forward and presses the single button.

“What floor are you on?” Oscar asks, trying to sound casual.

Logan looks him up and down slowly, chewing his lower lip. He puts his hands back in his pockets and some sort of decision happens behind his eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells Oscar.

On the eleventh floor, they step out together.

Oscar doesn’t even think about it. The only thing on his mind is his hotel bed, and how much he can’t wait to get in it.

It takes Logan following him into his room and closing the door behind him for his alertness to return. “Wait, why– why are you in my room?”

“What will you do after I leave?” Logan asks.

The question sounds loaded, almost like a trap. Oscar looks back at Logan, trying to search his face for any sort of answer, but his steely eyes are unreadable.

“Probably just… go to bed?” he says warily.

Logan reaches out and touches his lips.

It’s so shocking, so unexpected and jarring that Oscar completely freezes. Logan’s touch is feather-light, fingertips warm and gentle on his lower lip, drifting to the corner of his mouth.

And now the memories are back for real. How Logan’s fingers had once felt dragging through his hair, splayed over his shoulder blades, laced between his own. How his bitten-down nails had still managed to leave scratches, long red streaks, on his back. The pressure on his lips when he tucked his face into the side of Logan’s neck, pressed a kiss to the top of his head on long and empty nights, accidentally bit Logan’s lip behind the fence of a karting track because he was sixteen and stupid and had never kissed a boy before.

Logan’s voice is low, solemn, and Oscar tries to listen over the pounding of his own heartbeat.

“You have dried blood on your mouth,” Logan tells him. “You’re dehydrated. You haven’t eaten in hours. Your hair is tangled. You’re still wearing your watch. You haven’t taken your meds. You can’t keep this bottled up forever, Oss. You’re in pain.”

Oscar tries to form words, opening and closing his mouth around air before he can stutter out a sentence. Logan’s eyes are near burning with intensity. How much he sees is burning.

“I… I was gonna take care of all that.”

Logan shakes his head. “No, you weren’t,” he says.

Oscar shouldn’t let this happen.

He shouldn’t let this happen because they’d said it was over. They’d promised. It was a consensus, a mutual understanding. They both knew everything they had to lose. They’d ended it nearly three years ago and it had stayed ended.

He shouldn’t let this happen because they can’t mean anything to each other. They can’t be anything other than friends.

But that’s not what this is feeling like.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan runs a flannel under the sink and dabs the blood off Oscar’s lips, warm and wet pressure a relief against the teeth marks. When dips his fingers in the water and pushes Oscar’s hair away from his forehead, easing apart the tangles and sending tingles down his spine that are too familiar.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan takes his shirt off for him. When he lifts the fabric with careful hands, slow, steady. When Oscar whimpers as he has to lift his arm and Logan stops to let him catch his breath, free hand firm on his lower back. “Ssshhhh,” he whispers.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan sits next to him on the bed talks him into taking the painkillers, gentle and persistent. “You’ll sleep better if you take them, and you need the water.” Oscar mumbles his protests even as Logan twists the cap off a water bottle and puts it in Oscar’s hand. “It’s not weak to need help. I’m not here because you’re depending on me, I’m here because I care.”

Oscar swallows the meds and looks over at Logan. He can feel the wide-eyed, dumb shock on his own expression, because he’s not quite sure he heard right. Maybe in his exhaustion his mind was just telling him what he wanted to hear.

But Logan’s eye contact is steady, unwavering. His jaw is set. The silence that stretches between them is taught, electric.

Oscar leans closer.

”Careful,” Logan whispers, but he doesn’t pull away.

Oscar takes Logan’s face in one hand and kisses him, and it’s like they’ve never been apart.

Their lips move together and it’s like they’re eighteen, tasting alcohol on each others’ mouths and not caring, needing the contact anyway.

Oscar’s eyes slide shut and it’s like they’re seventeen, too-long phone calls over too much distance, whispering about the things they would do if they were together.

Logan cradles his jaw and it’s like they’re sixteen, but also not like that. Because then they were clumsy and unsure and heavy-handed with desire. But now Logan holds him like he knows where Oscar will break, and where he can push back.

They kiss and it’s like they never ended.

Logan pulls away too soon and Oscar chases his mouth, embarrassing and needy and not caring about it. Logan puts a hand in his hair and tugs his head back, not painfully but keeping the distance. “Breathe,” he commands.

Oscar does, not realizing how long he’d gone breathing in only Logan and abandoning oxygen. He pants, breath hot and ragged, lips wet. It hurts, but not as much.

”Feel better?” Logan whispers.

Oscar nods and closes the distance once again.

“You can’t keep it bottled up forever.”/“Feel better now?”

Pain is temporary.

Pain is irrelevant.

Pain is invalid.

He shouldn’t have been gritting his teeth. The ache in his jaw throngs all the way down his neck, and at some point he’d bitten the side of his tongue. Oscar doesn’t remember that; he just remembers driving, the scream of the engines crowding into one meaningless cacophony, staring down the beam wing in front of him and willing the pain to end.

It didn’t. It hasn’t.

He’d known the first race was going to be bad, but he’d been confident in the adrenaline, the 5.8 kilometers of pure endorphins to keep him above it lap after lap. And it had… sort of.

The pain had spread, though. As the race went on Oscar could imagine the single fracture widening like unraveled thread, jagged edges deepening and shooting outwards until his whole body was cracked porcelain. The pain was sharp, hot, razor-wire wrapped around his chest. It was almost a reprieve to be overtaken, because then the frustration and determination to make up the place would block out everything else for just a moment.

He didn’t finish on the podium, but that was alright. It was Lewis’s moment, and anyway he could barely lift himself out of the car, let alone a crown-shaped trophy.

It was easy to smile and nod his way through the debrief, easy to let Lando do the talking. Lando didn’t know about the break. A lot of the team didn’t know, because it was supposed to be minor, it was supposed to be temporary irrelevant invalid just a little setback. And it would be. He just had to have a little breather first, ice it, give it some time.

It’s almost sunset when he leaves for the car park. He’d spent too long in his driver’s room, slumped against the wall with his shirt off, eyes firmly closed because looking at the bruising made him nauseas. He’d told Kim a little about the situation, told him he’d call if it got worse, and asked to please not let anyone disturb him. Nobody had.

He’s fumbling one-handed with his keys when a voice says, “Leaving so soon?”

Oscar nearly jumps out of his skin, his keys clatter to the ground. “Jesus christ, Logan, don’t fucking do that.”

Logan puts up his hands innocently, but the gesture is incompatible with the smirk on his face. “Not my fault you don’t look up,” he says. “I was trying to get your attention.” He’s leaning back against a telephone pole, dark blue hoodie blending in with the evening shadows. Still, Oscar can’t help but feel snuck up on.

Oscar shakes his head. “You walk too quiet.”

“That’s a weird insult.”

“You’re weird.” Oscar starts to bend over to pick up his keys, but a stabbing pain shoots all the way through to his shoulder blades and he bites back a sudden shout. He has to abandon the motion midway.

Logan walks around the car and picks up the keys. He’s pulled his sleeves up over his palms, fingertips barely visible. Oscar doesn’t really feel the cold, but there’s already a slight flush over Logan’s cheeks and nose. His lips look redder than normal.

Logan’s voice softens. “It was really bad today, huh?”

Oscar looks away, breathing around the aftershocks. His first instinct is to lie, to offer a curt and stoic denial. To snatch back his keys.

But Logan would see through any of that in an instant.

“Not great,” he admits. He can hear the grimace in his own voice. “I just need to give it some time…”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m driving.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “I just drove a Formula 1 car, I think I can handle a little traffic.”

“I’m not saying you can’t.” Logan’s smiling again, but it’s a gentle smile, knowing and fond. His eyes are bright, crinkled at the corners. He doesn’t give back the keys. “I’m saying you don’t have to. You’re staying at the Platt Hotel, right?”

”Yeah,” Oscar answers. He has half a mind to just make a grab for his keys, but the other half is thinking about left turns, how he has to move his arms so much more with a normal steering wheel. How long the drive gets at night.

“Cool, me too.” Logan looks down at the keys and unlocks the car, then steps forward and pulls open the driver’s side door. He has to get right into Oscar’s space to do it, arm practically reaching around his waist. There’s a rush of warmth as he moves closer, a fluid and unhurried step as if they’re not just millimeters apart.

Logan starts to turn back to him, and Oscar realizes that if he doesn’t step back their faces are going to get closer– a lot closer. The wind ruffles Logan’s hair, and they’re close enough that Oscar catches the scent– something fresh and summery, seawater and citrus…

He steps back in a hurry, uncharacteristically clumsy as he’s set off balance by a fresh cascade of memories. What being this close in the dark would’ve meant years ago. How they don’t touch anymore but his body recognizes the warmth, the chest-to-chest contact like a second skin. How the urge to stay in place, to reach his hands up isn’t conscious but muscle memory.

He nearly falls over at the suddenness of it all, the nostalgia that’s hit him like a truck within a single moment. Logan puts a hand on his shoulder, no more than a pat, but it’s stabilizing. “Sit in the back,” he says. “That way you can put the seatbelt on your right.”

Oscar lets Logan drive his car, and it shouldn’t remind him of anything.

Logan’s never even driven his car, this or any others. The city is unfamiliar and indifferent. They’re going to the same place, but not because it’s anybody’s home.

And then Logan connects his phone to the bluetooth, and Oscar remembers the playlist.

Seasons change and our love went cold…

From the backseat, Oscar says, “Remember the time you had to drive me back from that club?”

Logan laughs over the music. “How could I forget,” he answers, smiling at Oscar in the mirror. “You’re the worst lightweight I’ve ever seen.”

Oscar laughs even though it hurts. “It– it wasn’t that bad, I…”

“You had one drink, dude. One. And then I had to carry you off the charaoke stage.”

Oscar groans. “I was only 18. I shouldn’t have started with tequila.”

“You think?” Logan turns up the music. “Wow. What a throwback.”

I dare you to do something, I’m waiting on you again…

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Oscar points out.

“Guess not.” Logan tries to shrug and turn the wheel at the same time and ends up with something like an interpretive dance. “I just haven’t thought about it in forever.”

“Really?”

Oscar doesn’t know why his voice comes out so small, so hurt. He doesn’t know why he is hurt.

Maybe because of how the night ended.

How Logan had driven them both back to his own flat because he didn’t want to leave Oscar alone. How he’d tucked his arm around Oscar’s waist and lowered them both onto the bed because Oscar’s didn’t have the coordination. How they’d fallen asleep, and woken up, wrapped around each other.

And I still hear the echoes, the echoes…

“Just feels like a while ago,” Logan says nonchalantly, and Oscar decides to let it go. He has to let it go.

They arrive at the hotel sooner than Oscar expects.

They’d talked the whole drive home, not about anything important. Airport stories, golf, which one of them has the weirder teammate (every time Oscar thinks there’s no one wilder than Lando, Logan tells him Alex’s latest hot take in blatant defiance of all human logic, and Oscar has to concede). Even with the music, it felt somehow quiet in the car, and Oscar realized he couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had spoken alone.

They take the same lift, and Logan leans against the opposite wall. Leaning against every vertical surface in sight doesn’t come naturally to Oscar, but it suddenly looks like a good idea; his whole body aches. Sitting down in the car, his arm propped against the door, had been a reprieve. Now he’s all too aware of his own weight, his hand heavy and limp at his side like a stone. The pain in his chest is different now, less sharp and more pressure. Like the deformed seat is still around him, constrictive and unyielding. His body has been overcompensating without him even noticing, but he’s paying the price in his spine, the back of his neck.

He closes his eyes and the weight increases, a white-noise waterfall filling his head. The voice trying to catch his attention comes out muffled, incomprehensible.

“Oscar.”

Oscar flinches back into the present, which is a bad idea. He grimaces and tries to cover it up by talking too fast. “Um, sorry, what was that?”

Logan furrows his brow at him, his eyes darkening with concern. “I said ‘What floor.’”

Oscar looks at the unlit panel of buttons and realizing he’s been standing in an unmoving lift for almost a minute. “Eleven,” he says, after taking a moment to think about it.

Logan steps forward and presses the single button.

“What floor are you on?” Oscar asks, trying to sound casual.

Logan looks him up and down slowly, chewing his lower lip. He puts his hands back in his pockets and some sort of decision happens behind his eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells Oscar.

On the eleventh floor, they step out together.

Oscar doesn’t even think about it. The only thing on his mind is his hotel bed, and how much he can’t wait to get in it.

It takes Logan following him into his room and closing the door behind him for his alertness to return. “Wait, why– why are you in my room?”

“What will you do after I leave?” Logan asks.

The question sounds loaded, almost like a trap. Oscar looks back at Logan, trying to search his face for any sort of answer, but his steely eyes are unreadable.

“Probably just… go to bed?” he says warily.

Logan reaches out and touches his lips.

It’s so shocking, so unexpected and jarring that Oscar completely freezes. Logan’s touch is feather-light, fingertips warm and gentle on his lower lip, drifting to the corner of his mouth.

And now the memories are back for real. How Logan’s fingers had once felt dragging through his hair, splayed over his shoulder blades, laced between his own. How his bitten-down nails had still managed to leave scratches, long red streaks, on his back. The pressure on his lips when he tucked his face into the side of Logan’s neck, pressed a kiss to the top of his head on long and empty nights, accidentally bit Logan’s lip behind the fence of a karting track because he was sixteen and stupid and had never kissed a boy before.

Logan’s voice is low, solemn, and Oscar tries to listen over the pounding of his own heartbeat.

“You have dried blood on your mouth,” Logan tells him. “You’re dehydrated. You haven’t eaten in hours. Your hair is tangled. You’re still wearing your watch. You haven’t taken your meds. You can’t keep this bottled up forever, Oss. You’re in pain.”

Oscar tries to form words, opening and closing his mouth around air before he can stutter out a sentence. Logan’s eyes are near burning with intensity. How much he sees is burning.

“I… I was gonna take care of all that.”

Logan shakes his head. “No, you weren’t,” he says.

Oscar shouldn’t let this happen.

He shouldn’t let this happen because they’d said it was over. They’d promised. It was a consensus, a mutual understanding. They both knew everything they had to lose. They’d ended it nearly three years ago and it had stayed ended.

He shouldn’t let this happen because they can’t mean anything to each other. They can’t be anything other than friends.

But that’s not what this is feeling like.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan runs a flannel under the sink and dabs the blood off Oscar’s lips, warm and wet pressure a relief against the teeth marks. When dips his fingers in the water and pushes Oscar’s hair away from his forehead, easing apart the tangles and sending tingles down his spine that are too familiar.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan takes his shirt off for him. When he lifts the fabric with careful hands, slow, steady. When Oscar whimpers as he has to lift his arm and Logan stops to let him catch his breath, free hand firm on his lower back. “Ssshhhh,” he whispers.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan sits next to him on the bed talks him into taking the painkillers, gentle and persistent. “You’ll sleep better if you take them, and you need the water.” Oscar mumbles his protests even as Logan twists the cap off a water bottle and puts it in Oscar’s hand. “It’s not weak to need help. I’m not here because you’re depending on me, I’m here because I care.”

Oscar swallows the meds and looks over at Logan. He can feel the wide-eyed, dumb shock on his own expression, because he’s not quite sure he heard right. Maybe in his exhaustion his mind was just telling him what he wanted to hear.

But Logan’s eye contact is steady, unwavering. His jaw is set. The silence that stretches between them is taught, electric.

Oscar leans closer.

”Careful,” Logan whispers, but he doesn’t pull away.

Oscar takes Logan’s face in one hand and kisses him, and it’s like they’ve never been apart.

Their lips move together and it’s like they’re eighteen, tasting alcohol on each others’ mouths and not caring, needing the contact anyway.

Oscar’s eyes slide shut and it’s like they’re seventeen, too-long phone calls over too much distance, whispering about the things they would do if they were together.

Logan cradles his jaw and it’s like they’re sixteen, but also not like that. Because then they were clumsy and unsure and heavy-handed with desire. But now Logan holds him like he knows where Oscar will break, and where he can push back.

They kiss and it’s like they never ended.

Logan pulls away too soon and Oscar chases his mouth, embarrassing and needy and not caring about it. Logan puts a hand in his hair and tugs his head back, not painfully but keeping the distance. “Breathe,” he commands.

Oscar does, not realizing how long he’d gone breathing in only Logan and abandoning oxygen. He pants, breath hot and ragged, lips wet. It hurts, but not as much.

”Feel better?” Logan whispers.

Oscar nods and closes the distance once again.

[weixuldo]

Linecook Anakin HCs

pleaseeee i cannot get this idea out of my mind (maybe i’m just tryna romanticize my job lol) also lemme just say this list is hella unorganized ( just like my brain lol)

warnings: cursing, ani is a typical horny young adult, smoking; weed

Muscular arms, veins!!

Beautiful blue eyes look up at the screen to see the next meal prep (you imagine those same eyes looking up at you like that if you ever get him on his knees)

He always finds something to compliment you on (even though there’s not much room for expression due to the standard comply uniform)

He’s almost always working cause he wants money and honestly doesn’t mind the atmosphere of the kitchen. 

Plus weed isn't cheap and he likes to smoke :)

On breaks you’ll often see him out back smoking a cig or a vape (depending on his mood).

“You know that stuff is bad for you right?” 

“Yea, i dont really give a shit tho”

You roll your eyes, “well don’t tell me I didn’t warn you when you’re carrying around an oxygen tank in thirty years”

He sent a play sad face your way and exclaimed “That’s so sweet, you’re looking out for my health”

“You’re so full of shit Skywalker” you say as you go back inside.

Though, after that encounter you notice he started to chew a lot more gum and smoke a lot less

He flirts with other waitresses too, but you are definitely his favorite

Reaches stuff on the top shelf when you can't. 

“Need some help princess?”

Winks at you from behind the window

Before you got to know him, you were a little afraid of him

He’s honestly so good at his job that it’s scary- he rarely messes up an order and if it's messed up it’s usually ‘cause someone rang it in wrong.

He’d be messing around one minute then barking orders at people when it got busy- he was always so focused on whatever he was doing whether it be cooking the meat, tossing salads, making desserts, etc

You used to see him roll his eyes or talk shit to other waitresses when they didnt do something right. 

“There’s a button for that ya know-”

“You didn’t tell me no onions”

“Ring it in if he wants it that way- I got too many orders to keep up with the shit you’re tellin’ me”

But he seems to be nicer to you…

“Hey Ani- could I get no tomatoes on this please”

“Sure thing, sweetheart”

“There’s my favorite girl” he says when you walk into the back. 

Some servers get jealous of his blatant favoritism (he takes longer on their orders when they’re nasty to you)

The other cooks get along with him fine

You can often find them goofing around in the back

But they think he’s waaaaay too handsome for his own good.

“Why you workin’ here when you could be on the cover of a magazine?”

“He’s here cause Skywalker’s got terrible manners and no game” another cook laughed.

“the fuck I dont” Anakin responded as the rest of the cooks all laughed along. 

His coworkers like to tease him when they see how flirty he gets when you come around. 

Nicknames include: “Pretty boy”, “player”, “heartthrob”

The heat of the appliances mixed with the rush of the night end up giving him a sheen of sweat and a warm blush to his pretty face. 

Ngl, this man would get greasy by the end of the night…

Dried food, condiments,and oils staining his black shirt

By the end of the shift he would have a lingering smell of char from the grill as well as a combined smell of all the food in the kitchen and his own musk from his sweat.

But the blend of labored scents mixed with his cheap cologne and deodorant made for an oddly enticing aroma.

You would joke with him during closing about how bad he smelled, though deep down you knew you liked it. 

“Yea, well we can’t all be in the front smelling like daisies and sunshine” he joked. 

He thought you smelled nice? You had worked a full day too- there was no way.

You insisted you didn’t smell much better than him but he shook his head, “nah princess, I could breathe you in all day”

That may have been a little creepy coming from anyone else, but it was anakin… the hottest guy in the restaurant, the talented cook, the guy you had a huge crush on. 

He’ll saunter into the back while you’re rolling your silverware and chat with you

“Ugh, I’m so ready to ge the fuck outta here” he sighs.

“Tell me about it, today has been so long” 

“Have you atleast made decent money?” 

“Yeah”

He laughs

“What’s so funny?”

“I don’t know why I even asked if you made good money- I should know the answer to that when talking to a girl with such a pretty face,” he says, before slipping back into the kitchen, leaving you with a heavy blush. 

He loves when you’re on ice for side work because the ice machine is right by him in the kitchen 

He likes to watch your ass as you bend down to shovel the ice- if he’s lucky he catches a glimpse of your lacy panties as they ride up your hips. 

When it’s not busy he carries the bucket for you and revels in all of your adorable “thank you’s”

His least favorite side work for you is when you are assigned to the front house because that means you’ll be spending most of the night in the dining area rather than in the back with him. 

Asks what you’re doing on your day off. 

“Probably gonna get high with some friends”

His eyes widened, “you smoke?!”

“Occasionally”

“Weren’t you the one who told me i’d be toting around an oxygen tank?” he quipped and you rolled your eyes. 

“Chill out pretty boy, I mainly just do eddies”

“And you never told me this?!” he grabbed at his heart with a dramatic expression. 

With the new info he spends the next few days working up the nerve to ask you to smoke with him sometime. 

Lucky for him, you’re closing on Saturday and so is he. 

After you check out all of the other servers and do your side work, you head to your car but Anakin calls your name before you leave the kitchen. 

He invites you to hot box in his car before you go and to his surprise you agree (you had a rough night, so why not? plus he is your crush after all)

You get into his car and unbutton your top a bit, it was hot in the restaurant today. 

He turns on the AC and steals a glance at the lacy bra you have on. 

After passing around a blunt the two of you are getting up there; maybe it’s the delirium or maybe it’s the weed, but he is looking finer than ever

you can’t help but hold the blunt between your fingers as you lean across the center console and press your lips against his

he sucks in a breath in surprise before he returns the action.

soon you’re on his lap, grinding on his growing bulge as he runs his strong hands through your hair and all along your body

tbh, you don’t even care that you have open shift tomorrow- this is worth being sleepy

[emonaculate]

Episode O: Teaser

For as long as I can remember, I've been different—special in ways I couldn’t quite understand. Maybe it was my unusually white hair or my blue eyes that resembled frozen ice cubes. I’ve tried to blend in, to act as if nothing was wrong, but normal has never been my forte.

You’re probably reading this and wondering what I’m babbling about. This isn’t the story you signed up for, right? You want to hear about all the villains I've taken down, the babies’ foreheads I’ve kissed after saving New Tokyo from yet another threat. Well, I’m getting to that—just let me be a little melodramatic for a moment. Jesus, can I ever catch a fucking break?

To those of you who just happened to stumble upon this book and have no idea what I’m talking about, let me explain. My name is Satoru Gojo, and I’m the one and only Spider-Man, protecting my home, New Tokyo, from anything and anyone that threatens its peace.

This little book you’ve found—yes, the one you’re nosily reading—is my diary of sorts. My therapist recommended I write down my feelings. According to her, I’m “severely mentally unstable” and she thinks that voicing my thoughts instead of relying on self-deprecating jokes might help me get “better.” So, here we are.

And don’t worry your pretty little head; I fully intend to start from the very beginning and explain exactly what made me so unstable in the first place. Fair warning: my story is a long one. Not that I think you mind—look at you, all curled up in your cozy pajamas, excitedly waiting for me to share the depressing tale of my life. Yeah, I can see you; don’t act shy now. Fix your posture and go drink some water! I know you’re hunched over and probably haven’t left your room all day (and no, work doesn’t count).

Sorry, that’s an old habit I picked up from—well, it doesn’t matter. Let’s begin, shall we?

Satoru was jolted awake by the sound of his curtains being ripped open, the bright sunlight burning through his closed eyelids.

"Get up, loser."

The now fifteen-year-old boy sat up and glared at his attacker; his piercing sapphire eyes locked onto a pair of matching ones. Of course, who else would wake up the birthday boy in such a cruel fashion but his annoyingly cheerful older sister, Sayori Gojo?

Standing at 5'10", Sayori looked down at her younger brother with a devilish smirk. The piercing in her lower lip gleamed with mischief, mirroring the sparkle in her eyes. Though they shared striking features—those vivid eyes and snowy white hair—the siblings couldn’t be more different. Sayori was as pale as could be, and her once-long, beautiful hair was now a choppy mess that seemed impossible to tame. It also didnt help that she had the features of a model. However, piercings adorned her face: in her nose, on her tongue, and, of course, in her bottom lip, all of which their parents disapproved of.

"You're going on fifty... why do you act like this?" Satoru grumbled, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

A squeak of disbelief escaped Sayori’s lips, clearly shocked by her brother’s claim. "I am only twenty-seven! I just recently turned that age, so let’s not act like it’s anywhere close to fifty, you freak."

Gojo rolled his eyes, slipping out of bed to stretch and prepare for his day—his birthday.

Satoru turned his back to Sayori, moving to his (one of many dressers) to pull out clothes for the day. He could feel her lingering in the doorway, a smirk still plastered on her face.

"Seriously, Sayori, I need to get dressed," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, not wanting her to mock him for anymore voice cracks. "You can’t just barge in here and expect to hang out while I’m half-asleep."

Sayori leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "But it’s my job as the older sister to make sure you don’t just throw on whatever looks least wrinkled."

"Well, I’m not a toddler anymore. I can dress myself." He threw a shirt over his shoulder, missing the mark as it landed on his bed instead.

"But can you really?" she teased, stepping further back into the room, her eyes scanning the chaos of clothes, figurines, and gaming controllers strewn about. "What if you end up wearing something ridiculous? You know how embarrassing that would be on your big day?"

"Sayori," Gojo warned, spinning to face her with a glare that could kill. "If you don’t get out of my room right now, I swear I’ll tell mom and dad where you were on family picture day."

Sayori's eyes widened in horror as she lifted her hands up as a sign of surrendering. Yes she was a grown woman, but both she and Satoru knew that making their parents unhappy meant them telling the siblings' grandfather.. and no one wanted to disappoint grandfather.

"Fine. Don't come crying to me if you get bullied for some funky ass fit."

"Yeah, Yeah," Satoru said, smirking as he nudged her toward the door. "Now out you go. I’m serious."

With a dramatic sigh, Sayori finally relented, stepping back into the hallway.

"Otaku loser."

She murmured to herself as she walked away from the door, flipping off the teen.

"Crack whore," he called after her, slamming the door before she could come back to kick his ass. As he turned back to his reflection, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the string of curses that followed the older woman banging on his locked room door. Once the banging died down, Satoru redirected his attention to focusing on getting ready for his birthday celebration.

Today wasn’t just any day for Satoru; it was the one day a year his family pretended he was their top priority. While most kids looked forward to presents or parties, Satoru just looked forward to being noticed.

Sayori’s visit, as chaotic as it was, had been a rare gesture. Usually, she was the ghost of the house, flitting in and out of their lives, almost always in defiance of whatever their parents were trying to enforce at the moment. If their parents praised something, she was bound to hate it. If they disapproved, she’d embrace it with open arms. But even with all her rebellion, she still managed to show up for his birthday each year, barging in to tease him and make a ruckus just because she knew it mattered to him.

His parents, however, were another story. Gojo Enterprise was their true firstborn, and everything else—including him—seemed to come second. They rarely had time for him, and on the off chance they did, their visits usually consisted of half-hearted advice, critiques on his school achievements, or reminders of how he could "be even better." If they bothered to ask about his grades, it wasn’t because they cared about him but because they wanted to show off his straight As in one of their many social gatherings.

Satoru sighed, already preparing for the disappointment he was bound to face today, as he glanced at his blurry reflection in the mirror. Staring back was a scrawny, pale kid with a mess of white hair that never seemed to settle the way he wanted. He gave his reflection a halfhearted smirk. It wasn’t that he hated how he looked—well, maybe a little—but it wasn’t exactly what he’d call intimidating, either.

He squinted, barely making out the details of his own face in the glass.

"I really need to find my glasses," He muttered, groping around on his dresser until his hand brushed the familiar, clunky frames. Sliding them on, his vision cleared, and he grimaced. There he was, in all his nerdy glory, complete with a pair of thick glasses that did nothing to boost his confidence.

Satoru sighed again as he rifled through his clothes, pulling out a graphic tee featuring a retro anime character that probably no one else in his class even knew about. He tugged it over his head and then picked out a pair of faded jeans that were just slightly too big. His sister's teasing rang in his mind, and he huffed, folding up the cuffs so he wouldn’t trip over them.

As he fiddled with his clothes, he caught sight of his reflection once more. Yep, he was thin as a twig, with a body that looked like it might snap if the wind blew too hard. But his mind quickly shifted to his upcoming birthday plans—the new manga release he asked his parents for, the multiplayer game he’d been itching to finish with Geto and Shoko. Those thoughts made him forget, even if just for a moment, about his awkward looks and lack of bulk.

He rolled his eyes as he recalled Sayori’s antics. Sure, she loved poking fun at his “style,” but it wasn’t like he could hide who he was. He was a full-blown nerd, and no amount of fancy clothes or money was going to change that.

Satoru double-checked the lock (he had made it himself using scraps from Geto's parents mechanic shop), feeling a small sense of relief as he heard the click. It wasn’t that he hated the maids or the staff—they were usually polite enough—but he couldn't stand how they’d rearrange everything, trying to turn his room into some pristine display instead of the controlled chaos he preferred.

To anyone else, it might’ve looked like a mess: figurines lined up haphazardly across his shelves, manga volumes stacked in precarious towers, and a jumble of notebooks, controllers, and cables sprawled across his desk. But to him, every item had its place. His favorite games were within arm’s reach, his sketchbooks for drawing piled near the window for the best light, and his notes from school carefully wedged between books on his bed frame. It was a system no one else could understand, but it worked.

He took a final look back at his door, almost as if he could will it to stay locked even if he couldn’t be there to guard it. With a small sigh, he turned and started down the hall, steeling himself for the inevitable attention he’d get today.

Satoru descended the grand, spiraling staircase of the mansion, his fingers trailing along the cool marble railing. It was early, and the house was quiet save for the faint hum of voices echoing from the foyer. As he reached the bottom, he spotted them—two familiar figures standing awkwardly in the grand entryway, dwarfed by towering crystal vases and oversized paintings on the walls.

“Yo, birthday boy!” Shoko called out, offering a lopsided grin as she tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. She wore her usual black leather jacket and ripped jeans with some random punk band tanktop, looking relaxed despite the stuffy atmosphere of the mansion.

Beside her stood Geto, hands in his pockets, his expression cool but with the hint of a smile he usually reserved for special occasions. “Took you long enough. I thought you’d abandoned us for some high-society brunch,” he teased, his eyes twinkling.

Satoru couldn’t help but laugh. “As if I’d ever choose those people over you two. I’d rather deal with Sayori’s wake-up calls every morning.”

The three of them exchanged grins, and the comfort of their presence helped Satoru shake off the lingering weight of his family’s expectations. Unlike everyone else in his life, Shoko and Geto never cared about who his family was or how extravagant his home looked. They were here for him, and on his birthday, that meant more than anything else.

Shoko held up a paper bag. “I brought breakfast sandwiches. Figured you might not want to eat whatever rich people snobby shit they serve here.”

Satoru’s face lit up. “You’re a lifesaver. And you know me too well.” He snagged a sandwich from her bag, taking a huge bite as they made their way toward the front door.

“So,” Geto said, raising an eyebrow, “you ready for some serious button-mashing at the arcade? I’ve been practicing, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be taking down the ‘birthday champion’ today.”

Satoru smirked, his mouth full. “Good luck with that, buddy. You’ve never beaten me before, and I don’t plan to let you start today.”

They laughed together as they stepped outside, the morning sun warming their faces. Satoru glanced back at the towering mansion behind him, then back to his friends, who waited for him by the sleek black car his family had arranged for the day.

The arcade was alive with flashing lights and the constant hum of machines, its walls plastered with neon signs and colorful yet corny posters. The air was thick with the familiar clinking of tokens, the beep-beep of high scores being shattered, and the excited chatter of kids and teens alike. Satoru, Shoko, and Geto had been there for hours, fully immersed in the chaotic joy of the place.

They had already blown through several rounds of classics—racing games, fighting games, even a basketball shooter. Geto had tried his best to dethrone Satoru on every machine, but the birthday boy’s natural knack for gaming held strong. Each time, Geto threw his hands up in defeat while Satoru flashed his signature smug grin. Shoko, meanwhile, had spent most of the day lounging in one of the booths with a soda, only occasionally joining in to wipe the floor with them in games that required quick reflexes. It appeared that the young teenage girl was too cool to play with the boys but she still appeared to enjoy watching them play.

As the hours slipped by, they barely noticed the crowd thinning around them. The noise from the machines still pulsed, but it had quieted slightly, with only the diehard players sticking around until closing time. Satoru was at one of his favorite stations—an old-school zombie shooter game with plastic guns that rattled in your hands as you fired.

He stood poised, blasting away at wave after wave of the undead, completely in the zone. Shoko sidled up next to him, leaning casually against the machine, her eyes gleaming with an idea.

"You think you’re hot stuff, huh?" She said, watching as he took out another zombie with ease.

Satoru glanced over, raising an eyebrow. "Please, I’ve been beating this game since I've known how to pronounce the word "Gameboy". What are you getting at?"

Shoko smirked. "I’m saying let’s raise the stakes. One final round before we head out. You versus me, on the zombie shooter. Winner gets to make a bet."

Geto, munching on what was probably his fifth snack of the day, looked up with interest. "Now this I gotta see."

Satoru chuckled. "What kind of bet are we talking about?"

Shoko’s eyes glinted mischievously, as if she knew something that Satoru didn't. "If I win—which, let’s face it, I probably won’t—you have to sneak us into your parents’ lab. I’ve been dying to see what kind of tech they’re cooking up in there."

Satoru froze for a second, blinking at her as if she’d just suggested something insane. "You want me to break into my parents’ private research lab?" he asked incredulously.

Shoko shrugged, nonchalant as ever. "Yeah. What, scared I might actually win?"

Satoru narrowed his eyes, the competitive edge kicking in. "Fine. But when I win, you have to actually go with me to see Alien vs Spider-Ants III"

"Deal," Shoko said, grabbing the second gun controller from the holster.

They both positioned themselves in front of the screen, the machine lighting up with eerie green and red colors as the game counted down to start. Geto leaned on a nearby arcade machine, arms crossed, watching the showdown with a growing grin.

The game began, and for the first few rounds, Satoru dominated as expected, picking off zombies with perfect aim and precision. Shoko kept pace, but just barely, struggling to keep up with his rhythm. As the levels progressed and the zombies came faster, something shifted. Shoko’s aim became sharper, her reflexes quicker, and soon she was gunning down zombies with an accuracy that surprised both Satoru and Geto.

"Shoko, when did you get this good?" Satoru muttered, beads of sweat forming on his brow as the game threw its hardest challenges at them.

She didn’t answer, too focused on the screen, her face a picture of calm concentration. The crowd around them had thinned even more, but a few people gathered to watch the final showdown. The zombie boss loomed on the screen, huge and menacing, but Shoko remained unfazed.

It came down to the final seconds. Satoru’s score was high, but Shoko had caught up, and in a burst of perfect timing, she landed the final critical shot that sent the boss crashing to the ground.

The screen flashed: Player 2 Wins!

Satoru’s jaw dropped. Geto let out a low whistle, laughing. "Well, well, looks like you’ve been hustled, sweetheart."

Shoko stood there, grinning widely, her gun still in hand as she shot Satoru a triumphant look. "Guess it’s time for you to keep up your end of the deal, Gojo."

He shook his head in disbelief, but he couldn’t help smiling. "You seriously just pretended to not be good at this game so I could show you my parents' lab?"

"Looks like it," Shoko said, leaning the gun against the machine with a satisfied click. "Now, speaking of that lab..."

Satoru groaned, rubbing his temples. "You’re insane, you know that?"

"I know," she replied, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. "But come on, we’re not really gonna pass up an adventure, are we?"

The arcade buzzed softly around them, the flashing lights now dimming as closing time neared. The clock was ticking, and Satoru knew that tomorrow, or sometime soon, he’d be leading them on a whole different kind of game—one far more dangerous than any zombie shooter.. if he got caught that is.

Satoru couldn’t believe he was actually going through with this. The city lights of New Tokyo glowed around him as he led Shoko and Geto down a deserted alley that ran along the back of Gojo Enterprises’ research lab. The building was sleek and high-tech, its walls lined with reinforced glass and flashing security cameras, and the closer they got, the louder Satoru's heartbeat thudded in his chest.

They crouched near a loading dock, out of sight from the main entrance. The thrill of sneaking out in the dead of night was exhilarating, but the stakes felt entirely different now. He took a deep breath, trying to look calm even though his mind raced. After all, he’d convinced his parents' driver to drop them off by claiming they were going to a midnight movie—no one would suspect a thing until morning.

Shoko nudged him, a grin plastered on her face. “So, how are we getting in, Mr. Genius?”

Satoru pulled a small key card from the pocket of his baggy jeans. "Family card. They give one to all Gojo relatives for ‘emergency access,’" he said, quoting the excuse his parents had given when they handed it to him years ago. He’d never had a reason to use it—until now.

Geto raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been sitting on this secret card and never used it?”

“Didn’t exactly plan on breaking into my parents’ lab,” Satoru shot back, swiping the card on a hidden panel by the door. The scanner blinked green, and with a soft hiss, the heavy door slid open. “But let’s move fast. Cameras reset every five minutes, so we don’t have much time before they pick us up again.”

They slipped inside, careful to stay low and quiet as they made their way through a dimly lit corridor. The lab felt eerily empty, with the hum of machinery and faint, blinking lights from high-tech devices casting shadows across the walls. As they crept further into the building, they passed rows of glass cases displaying various prototypes—everything from sleek gadgets to high-tech robotics in the early stages of development.

Shoko’s eyes sparkled as she inspected the devices on display. “Wow, I had no idea they were working on stuff like this,” she whispered, leaning closer to get a look at a sleek, futuristic helmet inside one of the cases.

Geto chuckled softly. “Satoru, you’ve been holding out on us. This is some next-level tech.”

Satoru rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t hide a grin. “You think I know anything about this stuff? They don’t exactly invite me to company presentations.”

They reached the far end of the corridor, where a steel door loomed, marked with a glowing red Authorized Personnel Only sign. Satoru hesitated, glancing at Shoko and Geto, both of whom seemed unfazed.

"Well, here goes nothing," he muttered, swiping his card again. This time, the door opened into an expansive room filled with a dizzying array of tech—computer stations lined the walls, and strange devices blinked and whirred on metal tables. In the center of the room was a large glass chamber, towering over them with cables stretching to the ceiling and intricate wires weaving in and out of its frame.

"What… is this place?" Satoru whispered, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous lab.

Shoko moved closer to the chamber, her curiosity overriding any fear. “Maybe… some kind of energy source? Or a containment unit?”

Geto joined her, nodding in agreement. “Looks like something out of a sci-fi movie. You sure your parents just work in tech?”

Satoru shrugged, suddenly feeling out of place in his own parents' world. “Beats me. They’re always secretive about what exactly goes on in here.”

They edged closer to the chamber, marveling at the sleek design and the strange, pulsing energy that seemed to radiate from within. Shoko reached a hand out to the glass, her eyes wide. “Think they’d notice if we touched—"

Before she could finish, a faint hum grew louder, and the chamber seemed to activate, the energy inside swirling in bright colors that almost hypnotized them. Alarms began to blare throughout the lab, red lights flashing along the walls.

Smoke poured into the room, thick and suffocating. Satoru coughed, his heart hammering as the reality of their situation sank in. He had known this was a risky plan, but he’d never expected things to spiral out of control like this. Alarms blared louder, echoing off the metal walls, and the sound of heavy footsteps told him that security guards were close—way too close.

Shoko’s eyes darted around the room, her face unusually serious. “Satoru, we need an exit, now!”

Geto was already tugging on his arm, but Satoru hesitated for one precious second, glancing back at the chamber they’d accidentally triggered. Whatever was inside it was still glowing, pulsating faster as if it were alive.

“Gojo, move!” Geto’s shout snapped him out of his thoughts.

He tore his gaze from the chamber and followed them through the smoke-filled lab, scanning the room for any possible way out. Just as he spotted a side exit, the security guards burst through the main entrance, their flashlights cutting through the smoke.

“Stop right there!” one of them yelled, reaching for his radio to call for backup.

Satoru bolted, adrenaline fueling him as they sprinted toward the side door. He could hear Shoko’s heavy breathing and Geto’s hurried footsteps right behind him. They reached the door just in time, slipping through and slamming it shut behind them. But they weren’t safe yet. A new alarm began to sound, signaling that the side exit had been breached, and they could hear the guards mobilizing to cut them off.

“This is bad—really bad,” Satoru muttered, his voice thick with fear. His parents would never forgive him if they found out he’d broken into their lab, especially after setting off all the alarms. And that’s if he was even lucky enough to make it out without getting caught.

“We’ll worry about that later,” Shoko said, her usual nonchalance now replaced by urgency. “Just focus on getting out of here!”

They rounded a corner, spotting a stairwell that led up to the rooftop. Without hesitation, they bolted up the steps, lungs burning as they climbed. Reaching the top, they burst out onto the rooftop, gulping in fresh air as they skidded to a halt. Below them, security lights swept across the alleyway, and they could hear more guards closing in.

“Look!” Geto pointed to an adjacent rooftop a short distance away.

Satoru’s stomach dropped at the sight, but with no other option, he nodded, steeling himself. “We jump on three.”

With synchronized breaths, they counted down, then ran full speed toward the edge, launching themselves into the air. Satoru’s heart skipped a beat as he flew over the gap, barely managing to land on his feet. Shoko and Geto landed beside him, all of them wobbling but standing.

As they darted toward the next stairwell, Satoru cast one last glance back at the lab, the pulsing glow of the chamber visible through the windows. He didn’t know what they had just unleashed—or what his parents would say when they found out—but he knew that after tonight, nothing would be the same.

Satoru barely had a moment to catch his breath, a triumphant grin just starting to form on his face when the sharp, searing pain shot through his hand. It felt as though fire had exploded beneath his skin, racing up his arm and spreading through his entire body in waves. His muscles locked up instantly, his limbs going rigid as he collapsed onto the rooftop, his vision blurring around the edges.

He tried to scream, but his mouth wouldn't move. He could only lie there, his mind whirling as he struggled to make sense of the pain.

"Satoru!" Shoko's voice cut through the haze, sharp and panicked. Her face swam into his vision, pale against the dark sky as she leaned over him, hands hovering helplessly. "Something bit him—a spider or...something, I don’t know!"

Geto knelt beside her, his own face stricken with worry. "Stay with us, man! Just breathe, slow breaths. You’re okay."

But Satoru was no way in hell okay; he got fucking bit by the damn predator it felt like. The pain was consuming, a hot, pulsing sensation that twisted and convulsed in his muscles. His vision swam, and his hearing faded, Shoko’s frantic voice becoming muffled as though he were underwater. He couldn’t even feel his limbs anymore, just the intense, searing agony and the terrifying sense that he was slipping away.

Focus, he tried to tell himself. Breathe.

But the harder he tried, the worse it got, until the world finally faded entirely, sinking into total blackness.

Satoru blinked, trying to shake off the lingering fog in his mind. The hospital room came into focus, sharp and clear—clearer than he could ever remember seeing, actually. His eyes darted around, adjusting to the sudden brightness that seemed to be assaulting his senses. Everything was so vivid, so intensely defined. His mind stuttered over the realization, then froze as he looked over at the nightstand and saw his glasses lying there, untouched.

He swallowed, the bitter taste in his mouth making him grimace. It was the kind of taste he associated with hospital medication, antiseptic and sharp, but it was nothing compared to the shock of realizing he could see perfectly fine without his glasses.

Satoru brought a shaky hand up to his face, feeling his bare skin where his frames usually rested. He stared at his fingers, noticing the faint prickling sensation running through his hand, where a painful, pulsing ache was subsiding. He clenched his hand experimentally, and to his surprise, the movement felt almost... unnatural. Powerful, even. But also slightly off, like he wasn’t entirely in control of his own strength.

His mind raced as he tried to make sense of everything. Just as he was about to sit up, the door creaked open, and a familiar face poked through—Shoko, eyes red-rimmed and worried, though she managed a weak grin when she saw he was awake.

"Satoru," she whispered, relief flooding her expression as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. "You’re okay."

"Kind of feels like I got hit by a truck," he muttered, the sound of his own voice startling him with its newfound clarity. "But...I guess I’m fine." He hesitated, looking down at his bare hand, flexing it slowly. "Shoko, what happened? All I remember is that something bit me, and then… nothing."

Shoko glanced at the door, as if worried someone might overhear, then lowered her voice. "The doctors said it was some sort of spider bite. They were… surprised by how intense your reaction was. You were unconscious for almost a full day, Satoru. They were worried you’d need emergency care, but then you suddenly stabilized."

Satoru’s brow furrowed as he listened, the hospital room seeming to sharpen even further in his vision, every speck of dust, every crease in the bedsheets standing out. "A spider bite," he echoed, trying to wrap his head around it. He swallowed, feeling his heart rate start to quicken. "Shoko, this might sound weird, but... I don’t need my glasses."

She looked at him, momentarily confused. "What? Like... your vision’s better?"

"Perfect," he said, still half in disbelief. "Everything’s way sharper than before. And it’s not just my sight—it’s like my whole body feels different. Stronger, somehow."

Shoko’s eyes widened slightly as she watched him, the hints of worry creeping back into her expression. "Maybe… I don’t know. The doctors didn’t say anything about side effects from the bite. I figured you’d just need some meds and rest, but..." She bit her lip. "Maybe this is something else."

"Yeah, maybe," Satoru murmured, glancing down at his hand, flexing it again to see if he could detect any more changes. His hand was still tingling slightly, and for a second, he could swear he felt something coursing through him, like an electric hum simmering just under the surface.

He went quiet seeing how worried his friend had become over his current state and thought quickly to change the subject.

"So what did you tell my parents and did they find out?"

Shoko's gaze softened, and she looked away, scratching the back of her neck. "Well, I... I didn't really have to tell them much," she admitted, her voice dropping. "Your parents didn’t exactly come rushing to check on you."

Satoru nodded, the familiar sting settling in his chest. Of course they hadn’t shown up—not that he’d truly expected them to. They were probably too busy to be bothered with a minor "incident" like their only son lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

"But don’t worry," Shoko continued quickly, "Geto and I took care of everything. We told the doctors it was some freak accident at an arcade and that you didn't want to bother your family. Geto's great at talking to adults, so he handled most of it. I made sure the story didn’t get too detailed, just in case anyone decided to contact your parents."

Satoru managed a small smile, the weight lifting slightly. "You guys are lifesavers. I don’t even know how to thank you.”

Shoko grinned, folding her arms over her chest. “Yeah, well, I’m not missing my friend’s birthday just because he’s out cold in a hospital bed. Besides, that’s what friends are for, right?”

He relaxed a bit, letting himself enjoy the normalcy her words brought. "Still, sorry for dragging you both into this. I swear I’m done with ‘birthday dares’ for a while.”

“Oh, come on. Just means next year we’ll have to top it,” Shoko teased, the worry lifting from her face for the first time. “But no science labs this time. That’s my rule.”

Satoru chuckled, feeling that bittersweet blend of relief and exhaustion.

Satoru left the hospital the next morning, a strange mix of anticipation and uncertainty bubbling under his skin. Shoko and Geto stayed by his side, laughing and teasing him as he forged his parents signatures on the discharge papers and threw on his jacket. On the outside, everything seemed normal. But with each step out of the hospital and into the bustling streets of New Tokyo, Satoru couldn’t ignore the surreal sensations coursing through him.

As they walked, he noticed the colors around him seemed richer, more vivid. The sunlight was brighter than ever, and he could even make out the distant hum of traffic and the rhythmic beat of footsteps on the street in a way he’d never noticed before. Sounds that used to blend into the background now came alive with distinct clarity, like the street vendors calling out their deals or the faint clinking of coins in a cup. He found himself grinning, though he quickly covered it, hoping Shoko and Geto wouldn’t catch on.

Once he parted ways with his friends, Satoru ducked into an alley, eager to test out just how far these changes went. He glanced around, then focused on the nearest building, a three-story structure with narrow ledges and windowsills. He flexed his hands and felt that faint tingle from before, almost like his muscles were thrumming with energy, as though something deep within him was waiting to be unleashed.

With a burst of confidence, he reached up and grabbed the edge of the first window ledge. His hand seemed to stick to the surface, and he felt a strange ease as he hoisted himself up with barely any effort. Climbing felt natural, almost instinctual, as he scaled the building effortlessly, moving from ledge to ledge until he reached the top, breathing only slightly heavier than normal. He looked down, heart pounding with excitement as he realized just how far he'd come with barely a bead of sweat.

For the next few days, Satoru honed these strange abilities in secret. He found that he could leap several feet in the air, lifting his entire weight with ease, and his reflexes had sharpened to the point that he could catch a falling object before it hit the ground without even thinking about it. At home, he practiced in his room, keeping his movements swift and silent. But hiding his new powers became tricky when it came to everyday life.

He had to remind himself to walk at a normal pace, not to slam doors by accident, and to avoid overdoing it when reaching for things. More than once, he found himself gripping something—like a cup or a book—only to nearly crush it in his hands. He made a habit of wearing gloves in front of his family to keep them from noticing how sticky his grip seemed to be at times.

At school, he kept his distance, careful not to reveal just how fast he could dodge or how precise his aim had become. His classmates might have thought he was just focused on his studies, but in reality, he was constantly aware of every sound, every movement around him, his senses alive with newfound sharpness.

Yet, every time he looked in the mirror, Satoru felt a pang of disbelief. This new strength was thrilling, but the mystery of what exactly had happened to him—and what else might still change—kept him on edge. The spider bite had unlocked something inside him, something that seemed beyond his understanding, and for now, all he could do was keep it hidden and hope it wouldn’t get him into even more trouble.

"Yo, earth to Satoru! For fucksakes man, I've been calling you for about five minutes. You good?" Geto questioned his bestfriend, flicking the boy's head.

Satoru blinked seeming hyper aware of his surroundings once more, sitting at the lunch table with his friends.

"Shoko was explaining that she has free time to go see that aliens movie if you still wanna go... Hey, since when did you start wearing contacts?"

Satoru cleared his throat, forcing a grin as he adjusted his seat. "Oh, yeah—uh, thought I'd try the contacts thing. Glasses were getting annoying, you know?" He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling an uncomfortable warmth creep up as Geto and Shoko both kept their eyes on him.

Shoko arched an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but she let it slide, taking a long sip of her milk tea. “Right. Well, if you’re done spacing out, are you still down for the movie tonight?”

“Of course!” Satoru said, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He winced, then shrugged, trying to play it off as nonchalance. “I mean, yeah, sounds good. I could use the distraction.”

Geto leaned back, crossing his arms and studying him thoughtfully. "Okay, but seriously, man, something’s different about you. You’re... taller? And last week you had those huge bags under your eyes, but now…” He squinted, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “It’s like you’ve hit some weird puberty growth spurt overnight.”

Satoru forced another laugh, brushing off his friends' observations with a dismissive wave. "Maybe I just finally got a good night's sleep. Been hitting the books too hard, I guess.”

Shoko wasn’t buying it. She watched him closely, her gaze drifting from his eyes to his posture, noting the way he seemed more poised, almost... alert, like he was holding back some bound-up energy. She shook her head slightly but decided to hold her tongue, letting Geto do most of the interrogating.

“Alright, fine,” Geto finally relented, shrugging. “Guess puberty is just hitting you like a truck, or maybe all those spider bites actually boosted your immune system or something.”

“Yeah, maybe it’s the spider bites,” Satoru muttered, forcing himself to look casual as he took a bite of his food, trying not to think about how true those words were.

As they settled back into their usual banter, Satoru’s mind wandered again, this time with a strange sense of exhilaration. He couldn’t wait to test the limits of his newfound abilities later, though he knew he’d have to be careful around Shoko and Geto. They might not have figured out his secret yet, but one wrong move, and they’d be onto him in no time.

The theater was packed, buzzing with the energy of weekend crowds as Satoru met up with Geto and Shoko by the concession stand. They handed him a large soda and a bag of popcorn, and the three of them made their way to their seats, laughing and chatting about random nonsense as the previews rolled.

Settling in, Satoru tried to focus on the movie as it started, the eerie music and ominous landscapes immersing him in the story. But not long after the first scene, a strange sensation began to creep over him—a tingling sense of unease prickling the back of his neck. He shifted in his seat, glancing around the theater, but everyone was engrossed in the movie, their faces dimly lit by the flickering screen.

“Satoru, you good?” Geto whispered, catching his movement.

"Yeah," Satoru replied quickly, forcing a casual smile. "Just... bathroom break, I’ll be back." He slipped out of his seat and exited the theater, the sensation growing stronger with each step he took.

The hallway outside the theater was quiet, with only the faint sounds of distant movie scenes filtering through the walls. Satoru turned toward the restroom, hoping the walk would shake the feeling off. Just as he rounded a corner, however, he heard muffled voices. A quick glance confirmed it: near the vending machines at the far end of the hall, a young girl was cornered by three men, their postures aggressive, her expression one of fear.

His heartbeat quickened, and he took a step closer, instinctively straightening, his mind racing. One of the men looked up and noticed him, his mouth twisting into a sneer.

"Hey, kid," the guy called out, his voice low and menacing, "mind your own business unless you want trouble."

Satoru froze for a moment, considering his options. He clenched his fists, then forced himself to nod and back away, walking to the restroom as if he hadn’t seen anything. But the uneasy feeling gnawed at him, intensifying with every step. There was no way he could just ignore it, not after what he’d seen.

Then, his gaze landed on a rack of merchandise near the entrance—specifically, an alien mask sold as part of a popcorn tub set. An idea sparked, and before he knew it, he grabbed the mask, slipping it over his head as he moved back toward the hallway. He made sure to pull the hood of his jacket up over it, creating a makeshift disguise. Heart pounding, he squared his shoulders and strode back toward the vending machines.

The men were still there, laughing and murmuring threats to the girl, who looked like she was struggling to hold back tears.

"Hey," Satoru called out, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. His stance was calm, but his body thrummed with the same strange energy he’d been feeling all week. "Leave her alone."

The men turned, looking stunned for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Look, it’s a freaking alien coming to save the day!” one of them sneered, stepping closer. “You better walk away now, or you’re gonna regret it.”

Satoru felt a surge of confidence, his senses heightened, and without another word, he lunged forward, his fist connecting with the guy’s stomach hard. A loud crunch was heard (okay Satoru definitely needed to learn how to pull his punches.) The man stumbled back, clutching his middle in shock coughing in agony, and the others gaped before snarling and moving toward him. But Satoru was ready.

He ducked a punch, easily sidestepping and sweeping the man’s leg out from under him, watching as he tumbled to the floor. The other grabbed his shoulder, but Satoru twisted, using his newfound strength to wrench free and land another hit square in the man’s jaw. The guy staggered back, dazed, and before they could regroup, Satoru shot the girl a quick nod.

“Run. Now,” he said, his voice steady.

The girl hesitated, then nodded gratefully and took off down the hall. The men were left disoriented, clutching their bruises as they glared at him.

“You freak!” one of them shouted, reaching out for Satoru again, but he dodged, throwing one final punch that sent the guy crashing against the candy stand. With his heart pounding and his muscles humming, Satoru straightened, watching as the men scrambled to their feet and bolted out of the hall.

"I'd put some ice on those ribs.. maybe see a doctor." He called out after them.

Satisfied, he adjusted the alien mask and slipped back into the theater, where Shoko and Geto were too immersed in the movie to notice his absence. He pulled off the mask, hiding it in his jacket with a quiet, exhilarated breath.

He'd never felt so alive.

As Satoru settled back into his seat, the adrenaline still coursing through him, he felt an odd mix of exhilaration and relief. The movie flickered on, but his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts about what just happened. He glanced at Shoko and Geto, who were completely engrossed in the film, unaware of the small battle he had just fought.

The eerie atmosphere of the movie now felt different to him; it was as if the tension on screen mirrored the heightened state he was in. He shifted in his seat, letting the popcorn bag settle in his lap as he tried to ground himself in the moment. But the feeling of empowerment lingered, nudging at the corners of his mind.

After a few moments, Geto turned to him, a bemused expression on his face. “What took you so long? Did you get lost in there or something?”

Satoru chuckled, brushing it off. “Yeah, just had a little trouble finding the restroom.” He grabbed a handful of popcorn, trying to focus on the movie and not the chaos he'd just left behind. But the image of the girl’s frightened face haunted him.

“Bet you’re glad to be back,” Shoko said, not looking away from the screen. “I heard the part where the spider-ant emerged from the woman's stomach—such a classic jump scare!”

“Totally,” Satoru replied, forcing enthusiasm into his tone. But inside, he was still replaying the confrontation in his head. He didn’t just intervene; he had fought back.

As the movie progressed, Satoru found himself occasionally glancing at the exit, half-expecting the men to return, though they were likely long gone. The thrill of standing up to them filled him with a strange sense of purpose.

“What are you thinking about?” Geto asked, noticing Satoru’s distracted demeanor.

“Just… the movie,” he said, forcing a grin. “It’s pretty intense.” He leaned back, trying to blend into the ambiance of the theater, but the incident weighed heavily on him.

Finally, as the credits began to roll, Satoru felt the energy of the theater shift. People started to stand and chatter, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to do more. He leaned over to Shoko and Geto.

“Hey, what if we check out that comic shop down the street after this? I heard they have some new releases,” he suggested, hoping to keep the momentum of their night going.

“Sounds good to me!” Shoko replied, stretching her arms. “I could use a new read.”

Geto shrugged. “Sure, why not? Just make sure you don’t get us into any trouble, alien boy.”

Satoru laughed, feeling lighter. “No promises.” As they made their way out of the theater, he took a deep breath, the cool air outside refreshing against his skin. Maybe tonight would be the start of something new for him—something more than just movies and popcorn.

Two Years Later…

At seventeen, Satoru Gojo stood tall, his once-scrawny frame now replaced with defined rippling muscles, the result of relentless training and countless nights spent honing his powers. His snowy white hair had grown out in unruly waves (he should probably cut it), which he made no effort to tame. His dimples—something he never knew he had until recently—now made every smirk dangerous, a fact that hadn’t gone unnoticed by his classmates, who were starting to call him "unreasonably good-looking." Adding to the change were the black stud earrings glinting on both ears, giving him an effortlessly cool edge.

He slid a pair of sleek, pitch-black circular shades onto his face, shielding his hypersensitive sapphire-blue eyes from the glaring sunlight that threatened to overwhelm his vision. His eyes, once a challenge to focus, had become razor-sharp weapons. He could spot movement from blocks away, read the most subtle shifts in a person’s body language, and detect danger long before it arrived. But with these new skills came the annoying side effect of photosensitivity—regular daylight now felt like staring into a floodlight, hence the constant use of his shades.

It wasn’t just his body that had evolved—his entire life had shifted. For the past two years, Satoru had been living a double life, one that required not only skill but secrecy. By day, he was just another high school student at a private academy, juggling exams, family expectations, and the occasional run-in with Shoko and Geto. But by night, he was someone else entirely: Spider-Man, the masked vigilante swinging through the streets of New Tokyo.

The Suit

His transformation into Spider-Man hadn’t been easy. It had taken months of trial and error, sneaking into restricted areas of Gojo Enterprise’s labs, using the tech his parents had locked behind biometric doors and firewalls. He’d spent countless nights disassembling prototypes, siphoning materials, and testing equipment in secret. With no one to guide him, everything was self-taught—a series of failed experiments, some of which nearly blew up in his face. But eventually, the pieces fell into place, and the suit he envisioned became reality.

The final product was a sleek, custom-designed suit with a unique color palette that felt entirely his own. The base was matte black, hugging his athletic frame like a second skin. Blue accents streaked down the sides of his arms and legs, giving the suit a dynamic, aerodynamic look. And over his chest and back was the unmistakable insignia of a spider, rendered in bright white, striking a perfect balance against the black background.

He’d integrated tech from Gojo Enterprise into the suit, scavenging from discarded prototypes and building his own systems. The gloves housed web shooters—miniature, pressurized devices capable of firing synthetic webs strong enough to hold a car. His boots were equipped with magnetic grips that allowed him to cling to any surface effortlessly, and the suit itself was lined with a lightweight polymer, providing enhanced durability without sacrificing mobility.

Inside the mask, he’d embedded sensors that worked like augmented reality displays, feeding him real-time data—heat signatures, environmental readings, and even surveillance feeds he’d hacked from public cameras. He didn’t just fight crime; he studied it, locked in on threats with laser focus, moving like a shadow through the streets.

A Double Life

Two years of living like this had given him more confidence than he ever thought possible. No longer was he the awkward, nerdy kid struggling to fit in. He was stronger, faster, smarter—and it showed. His parents barely noticed the difference, too preoccupied with their business ventures to pay attention to his personal life, but that was just as well. It made it easier to keep his secret. Despite his parents not noticing; his classmates certainly did. Especially the girls.

To his friends, he was still Satoru, the same cocky kid they’d grown up with—just with a bit more... swag (cringe) now. He still met up with Shoko and Geto regularly, playing it cool as if he wasn’t sneaking out at night to swing from rooftops and take down gangs, smugglers, and corrupt politicians. They had no idea about the Spider-Man persona he’d created, and he intended to keep it that way. For now.

But even with all the training, the fights, and the wins, he knew this life wasn’t just fun and games. New Tokyo was a city of shadows, with forces far more dangerous than petty thieves lurking in its corners. And if he wanted to survive, he had to keep evolving—both as Satoru Gojo and Spider-Man.

He stood on the edge of a high-rise building, the night wind tugging at his hood, the city sprawling beneath him in a sea of glowing lights. A subtle smirk played on his lips as he adjusted his mask, tucking the alien mask that had started it all into his belt as a lucky charm.

"Alright," he whispered to himself, the thrill of the hunt thrumming through his veins. "Maximum effort, I got a chem test to study for.. just a quick patrol."

With a flick of his wrist, he fired a webline, the familiar thwip sound bringing a rush of excitement. The line caught on a nearby skyscraper, and in one smooth motion, Satoru launched himself into the night, disappearing into the cityscape like a shadow with a purpose.

Author's note: AHHHH! I've been working on this piece for months and I've done everything in my power to make sure it was perfect! I really hope everyone likes it because I really have worked super hard to make this the best piece of fiction I've ever put out. I plan to make the full story over on Ao3 if this gets enough positive feedback. Yes, Y/n has not been mentioned yet but she is coming and will be present and center in the next installment. The first big baddie is also going to be in the next chapter as well. I also want to note that this story is going to be very angst heavy so prepare yourselves. My last words of the night are be kind to one another, drink water, and live laugh love Gojo Satoru!

[shunin-gumis]

As Master Joe Wishes - Track 09

Seasonal Team Event - L4mps

Thank you Myun for handling this chapter!

Location: Inside the Company Car

Daniel: Alright, why don't you tell us what happened back there? 

Samejima: Hahhh, the world is going straight to ruin…  Everything’s all in shambles because I messed up… 

Netaro: Sammy, cheer up! Until my planet brings about the apocalypse, you gotta live on!

Samejima: Haah, I got no choice, huh…. That’s the life of an adult. No resting till you’ve paid off your loans.

Daniel: You’ll know when to call it quits.

Daniel: You just gotta keep on struggling ‘till the time comes. 

Samejima: — Alright. That’s all sorted, then.

Samejima: The main player of Anonymous came onto the scene late, and then they disguised themself as me and hijacked the chain of command at the scene, taking Joe away.

Samejima: My impostor must’ve forced the detectives out of the car around the Shuto Expressway area. 

Samejima: That guy — We’ll call him X— his motives are quite complex. He ordered members ABC to act as his decoys while he escaped from the manor. 

Samejima: They must have escaped from the police car into a vehicle they prepared ahead of time.

Netaro: You’re saying that during that sequence of events, our dear Sammy was all tied up and gagged?

Samejima: Stopp!!! Don’t remind me! You’re gonna make me cry!! 

Daniel: If they’re planning to flee the country, they’ll have to go through Tokyo Metropolis International Airport first.

Daniel: They probably didn’t take into account that their disguise would be found out so quickly, nor that they’d get caught up in some car chase.

Samejima: I wonder…Putting aside the members ABC who were left behind, X seems quite capable of making a solo getaway. Even if they had to do it by force, they could probably blend in with the crowd at the airport and slip away.

Daniel: Welp, looks like it’s gonna be a race to see who can get to the airport first.

Daniel: Though, won’t we get a ticket for speeding?

Samejima: It’s okay. The road’s been closed off since morning for this escort under the guise of construction work.

Daniel: So that’s how it is. Ya hear that, bikers? 

Nagi: The Shuto Expressway. We won’t get our license suspended by riding tandem, right?

Ryui: Dumbass, you’re gonna make us fall over!!

Nagi: Ryui, you need to hold on tighter or we’ll be off-balance.

Ryui: Fuck off!!

Daniel: Doesn’t look like there’s a speed limit. Feel free to go full throttle in order to get the little lady back.

Nagi: Okay.

Location:  Highway

Nagi: Ryui. If we go at this speed, I’ll be able to stabilize the bike better. That okay?

Ryui: Don’t ask me about every little thing. 

Samejima: —Please listen, you two.

Samejima: It’s going to be a dangerous road from here on out. As embarrassing as it is to admit, our unit won't be able to get there in time.

Samejima: If you’re even a little bit unsure, please do not hesitate to pull back. That might even work better for us—

Ryui: We’re going. We’re absolutely doing it.

Ryui: I’m not doing it for Joe. Everything I do is for Toi above all else.

Nagi: …Yeah. 

Nagi: Me too, I want to save our master.

Nagi: Let’s go, Ryui.

Samejima: —I understand. Thank you for your assistance.

Samejima: In that case, Yowa-kun, if you would.

Netaro: Leave it to me~! Daa, get me closer to the bike.

Daniel: ’Kay.

Nagi: ? Netaro, it’s dangerous to lean out of the window.

Ryui: What’s with that fancy-ass feathery device?

Ryui: You tryin’ to stick that on the bike?

Netaro: I invented it in a jiffy just now, I call it my “Breaking through the Stratosphere Over-the-Rainbow Booster Engine”!

Netaro: The feathers on the sides were made in the image of Icarus’s wings♪

Ryui: Won’t they fuckin’ melt!!!!! 

Netaro: Aaaand, the installation is finished. Gii, give twisting the grips and upping the throttle a go.

Nagi: Okay, I’ll—

Nagi: !!!??

Location: Inside the Company Car

Nagi & Ryui: AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Daniel: Ooh, those two were gone in the blink of an eye…

Netaro: WAHAHA! Their screams are quite pleasing to my eardrums♪

Samejima: … Ah, dawn is breaking.

Location: Inside Car

Anonymous Member A: Phew~ Seriously, thanks for saving our asses.

Anonymous Member B: If things kept going downhill like that, I probably would never have seen my family again. 

Anonymous Member C: You sure this teddy bear is really a “national treasure?”

X: …..

Anonymous Member A:  O-Oi, stop talking while driving. 

Anonymous Member A: Don't let your guard down till we get to the airport.

Anonymous Member C: R-Right. Sorry. 

Joe: (This is the man who pretended to be Samejima. He may have donned a mask and sunglasses to hide most of his face, but I can still feel a chilling gaze coming from him…)

X: Here, use this.

Anonymous Member B: Eh, scissors…?

X: Our mission isn’t to take this teddy bear back. It's to find the "precious treasure." So there's no problem if we make it easier for us to carry around.

X: … Do you understand what I’m saying? 

Joe: ……！

Anonymous Member B: W-Well… Then, starting with the nose….

Joe: No!! Halt this instant!!

X: !

Anonymous Member A: W-What the hell, the back window just cracked!!

[infernalodie]

𝐈𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐄𝐥𝐬𝐞 || 𝐋𝐞𝐱𝐢 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝

“𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘮𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘉𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵“

Pairing: Lexi Howard x Male!reader

ilomilo series

Summary: Did I ever say that you’re unpredictable?

(gif used is not mine)

Warnings: Angst

Words: 969

I wasn’t much of an optimist before. Really, I was just in the background of some rather sleazy drama flic that was beyond human comprehension or believability. And realistically, I preferred being the side character or extra. Helped me blend in and just be another face no one would ever think about again.

And that was a helpful trait with keeping “updated” on your life. Before work, you would go to the coffee shop down the street. Talk to the waitress, someone you must know from the daily schedule you’ve made before walking back and taking over for one of your coworkers. From there, on breaks, you just take a small walk two blocks and visit a comic book store whilst the old lady who owns the store covers for you.

From what I could tell, you preferred DC over Marvel. But just a quick Instagram search and I’m available to all the little bits about you. A music enthusiast, a comic geek, and a movie critic. None of the posts have a caption to capture what you were feeling when uploading them. But I can quickly tell that most kids in East Highland don’t have the same likings as you. Comments on these posts come from followers that do though, and they must be enough for you to say ‘fuck you’ to the rest of the world and post what you want.

And I know we have a date at 8 PM, but I just needed to see you. Can you blame me though? It’s important that I learn these things so we can talk and naturally get to know one another. This is fine. I’m taking things slower than I had in the past. I want this to be special compared to what it was like with Fez. You are special. You are different. And you are beautifully sweet with Maddy-

Wait. What the fuck?

What the hell is she doing at your work?

I know for damn sure that she is heavy into music like you or I, so why is she here, Y/n? From what I can see, you don’t seem all too impressed with her being our space as well. Brows furrowed and eyes narrowed in a glare as she spoke sweet nothings. It was despicable honestly. If I didn’t know any better, I would think that she’s just being friendly. But I know my friend and I know that in the time of her dating your brother, you two got to know one another. Now, on and off you two would talk, but she never went out of her way to show up at your work. So, what’s the change of heart?

Maddy moved around the counter, lips twisted in a smile that rivalled your unimpressed deadpan that looked incredibly attractive. “C’mon, Y/n. How long have we been at this?” Maddy inquired, stopping when she stood by your side. “We can just sneak into the office. Get a quick fuck in.” She closed the space, lips pressing to the edge of your jaw. “You are so much bigger than your brother.”

Listen, I have no problems with Maddy. Did she pull some stupid shit sometimes? Abso-fucking-lutely. Has she had a rough go when it came to your brother? Yes. But she is delusional. The whole argument she had with your brother in the hot tub is a testament to that and I think you know that as well.

So, what the fuck is her play here?”

“Maddy, it’s not a good idea,” you protested. “I’m not afraid to say that I am scared of Nate. I know what he’s done to you and Jules. Have you ever thought of what he might do to me if he found out we’ve been fucking?”

A groan fell from the girl’s lips. “He’s not going to find out, Y/n. I have no reason to tell him shit,” Maddy sighed, lips twisting in a grin. “C’mon. It’ll be fun. I’ll let you be rough.” With her hands finding yours, she began to pull and guide you, and you allowed it.

God, seeing her this dick whipped over you was insulting. Well, maybe not for you but you aren’t a guy to just throw yourself around. You were quiet, reserved, charismatic, and goddamn adorable when you didn’t mean to be.

This isn’t you. You aren’t the type to just give up on your job just to go get laid. This didn’t make any fucking sense. And even if I move down the sidewalk and try to get a better angle, I can’t see jackshit inside that office. Not to mention the sun glare coming right back at me.

I’m too exposed out here. If I can’t see you, that means I don’t know if you’ve noticed me or not. But this just means I have reasoning for Maddy’s clinginess to you. A manipulative, selfish, stupid bitch. I won’t let her do this to us. I won’t let her get between us right when I finally enter your life. I just have to figure out what I am going to do next, and I don’t yet have the faintest clue as to what that may be.

But what I do know is that this sharing shit isn’t going to work. If it be with someone more competent and maybe shared the same love I have for you, then this would be different. Because maybe I could love someone just as much as I love you. Except, this is reality and I won’t be doing any 60/40 bullshit. You are meant for me. We are meant for one another and Maddy is forcing herself into the perfect frame we are making together.

And somehow, I’m going to need to get her the fuck out of it.

[seung-mongmong]

Rogue Waves (A Minsung pirate fic) Chapter Three

Warnings: Brief mention of jumping overboard, some romantic undertones(finally)

Masterlist

This was an awful idea.

Han was simply supposed to help prepare some of the things Felix would be using for breakfast. Now Felix was going to have to change the plans he had due to Han butchering a sizable amount of the vegetables he would have used. Not to mention he still had the grace to let Han stay and even thanked him when they finished up. Han felt awful for the whole mess. He stuck around to help Felix clean, with a side of too many ‘i’m sorry’ s. When the whole kitchen was back to being clean the two sat down, catching their breath. 

Han could see blonde curls bouncing in his peripheral, Felix scooting closer with a bright smile. “You did good today!” felix said, and han rolled his eyes

“If good means ruining everything then yeah, you could say that.” Han responded 

“Don’t say that! You did your best. By the way, the next few days we don’t have very many tasks so I'll ask the Captain to give you a day or two off so you can adjust to sea life, maybe explore the ship!” Felix said, his smile returning. Thank god, Han didn’t need to fuck up a task back to back, he’d look like a complete idiot. He continued the friendly chatting with Felix, the two staying up well into the night. Han didn’t even notice the sun disappear. The two bid their goodnights, shuffling off to the sleeping areas. He felt bad keeping Felix awake late, and he knew it was better to get good rest.

Not that Han could sleep anyways. He had been given some spare clothes to sleep in and told where he could stay, but no matter how he tried he was still wide awake. He rolled off the bed, creeping through the sleeping quarters as quietly as possible. The waves were rocking the boat like a cradle, and the ocean noises drowned out the patter of his feet on the floor.It was eerily quiet on the upper deck. He couldn’t help but feel comforted though, the ocean breeze in his hair as he leaned against a railing. He stared out at the sea, the pitch black blending in with the night sky, only broken up by the moon and its reflection. Out here in the quiet night he could almost pretend nothing was wrong. He could pretend he was still home, left alone about marriage.

Hans' thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice.

“What are you doing out here?” the captain's voice. Han glanced back, spotting him without his coat again. He looked less intimidating in such casual clothes. 

“Just…enjoying some fresh air.” Han said, looking back towards the ocean “i should ask you the same, it must be late.” he added 

“About midnight, judging by where the moon is in the sky.” Minho said, moving to stand next to Han “you aren’t out here to jump overboard are you? You seemed awfully unstable when you begged to stay.” 

Han laughed quietly, letting an arm hang over the rail “no, not this time. Being on this ship is probably the best path I have right now.” he mumbled. He could see MInho’s face, basked in moonlight as he watched Han. His gaze was unwavering, his full attention on Han. He looked curious mainly. Han opened his mouth to try and fill the silence, but the captain cut him off.

“Why?” he asked. Han blinked, trying to understand what he was wanting elaboration on, and Minho continued “Why leave? I get the marriage part, but marrying a stranger and staying wealthy and cushy sounds a lot nicer than risking your life on a pirate ship. Especially one known for being merciless.” 

Han took a breath. “I…I don’t know, I just couldn’t handle the monotony, the expectations, the idea of marrying someone I didn’t know- some woman my parents chose- what they told me terrified me, so I left.” 

“I still don’t see why it's so bad.” Minho raised an eyebrow, drawing a sigh from Han. “Maybe it was different for you, but I grew up with as many stories as I wanted to read. My favorites were the ones where the main character finds their soulmate. Maybe I still want to believe that I can find someone like that. I remember my best friend as a child always told me he believed everyone had a soulmate. He told me he hoped it was fate that I'd find true love one day. Maybe the hope I'm clinging to was enough to push me, make me go.” Han said.

Minho didn’t respond, simply staring down at Han. It was times like these that Han wished he could read minds. He didn’t have a clue what Minho was thinking, emotions swimming behind his brown eyes. Han could feel a shiver run up his spine at the stare. 

“I know, it's childish.” Han started, crossing his arms defensively

“It’s not,” Minho interrupted, “believing in something is nice, I suppose.”

Han went quiet, gazing down at the still water near the boat. With Minho so close he could feel the light brush of his undershirt. He hadn’t expected any mercy from the captain when he arrived, let alone this. It was nice. “Well who knew pirate captains believed in childish dreams.” Han teased, relaxing when Minho chuckled. “Well, you have to dream to lead an interesting life. How else would I come up with Piracy as a career?” Minho said, a teasing tone behind his words

“I suppose you have a point, Captain. Though dreams of piracy aren’t the most spectacular” Han said, a smirk on his face

“And your dreams of running away are so much better?” Minho leaned closer, a smile spreading across his cheeks. Han laughed quietly, lightly hitting Miho on the arm. When Han finally looked up at the captain, their eyes met. He could swear he saw them almost sparkle in the moonlight, his smile crinkling up the corners. His breath almost felt stuck in his throat as he scrambled for something to say. 

“...I should get to bed. I guess…thanks for the chat, Captain.” He said, voice soft. He lifted himself off the railing, slowly padding his way towards the sleeping area. He paused when he heard quiet speaking, the captain not turning to face Han. “Call me Minho.” 

[woundlingus]

Sabriel in the 70s conversation pit (my second most recent reblogged post)

In news I’m sure will horrify you as requester and everyone else who knows me for my horny niche, I actually made fluff with feelings- they get a fade to black tho so know in your heart that they fuck gross and nasty

Short sabriel fluff, misunderstandings and feelings under the cut ❤️

“Welp, this is me.”

Sam hovered just behind as Gabriel slipped a key into a lock that looked like it was just about ready to rust and fall apart, sure he was going to have to kick the door in and give the neighbours all something to call the cops about, but by some miracle the key still turned within and clicked the old thing open, sending the door creaking itself open on uneven hinges.

“Make yourself… comfortable, I guess,” Gabriel told him, hovering in the doorway as he watched a world he no longer lived in come to life with the flick of the lights.

Faded orange carpet, green walls, a fucking disco ball. Movie posters on the wall for some obscenely sexualised horror movie with the final girl splayed out in the monsters arms, and a boxy tv on one of those rounded tables.

It was seventies in a way Sam had never been old enough or rich enough to experience firsthand, his encounter with it was mostly floral wallpapers in motels, and the playboy magazine that used to be Dean’s that he’d stolen, which might have even been John’s that Dean had stolen first, which was… a lot grosser now that he was old enough to think about it.

The tables were red, the counter tops were red, the chair seats were red- none of it worked together, which in its own gauche way seemed to work. If Sam had to conjure an image of where the trickster might reside, he might very well conjure this very image. It was enough to make him want to laugh, at the predictability, at the cliche, at the almost vulgar way Gabriel had set up an apartment to look like a set he could picture tall and tan oiled men pushing over blonde babysitters in what looked like a ‘sex pit’ of a living space sunken into the floor, all to the tune of Girls On Film.

It would be very funny, if that person still existed.

This had been a home, and yet Gabriel wandered around the furniture as though he were a stranger, afraid to touch any of it too much. He stuck out like a sore thumb in a space he would have blended in just a few years ago, instead he cringed away from the performance of fun and sexuality. Despite being a man of small stature Gabriel had always taken up a lot of space with a big presence, but here among relics of things he didn’t want or need anymore he just seemed so much more impossibly small; perhaps it was the way he refused to look up from his shoes, like if he raised his head to look at the world he used to fit into he might fall apart and he’d just managed to get himself together after so long, he’d only just gotten brave enough to let Sam drive him here and open up a time capsule from a life pre-hell.

“Thanks for doing this, by the way,” he called back to Sam as he wandered around barstools to get to the kitchen. “There shouldn’t be much to pack.”

“You want me to get started anywhere in particular-“ Sam started, watching Gabriel swing the fridge door open and then immediately slam it shut with absolute disgust. “We’re not bringing the fridge, huh?”

“Absolutely not, don’t open that if you value your life.”

He wandered off down toward a hallway, presumably where he’d find the bedroom and most of Gabriel’s personal possessions that he’d care about keeping, but the guy appeared right in front of him to cut him off from going any further.

“You uh, don’t wanna go in the bedroom until I clear some stuff out first either.”

Sam, with the roll of his eyes, “Gabriel, I’m a grown up. I don’t care if you have sex toys, just tell me which drawer and I’ll leave it alone.”

“It’s cute you think it’s a drawer. Don’t go in there.”

He didn’t know if it was better or worse not to know, not knowing saved him the potential trauma of seeing something he was not prepared to know about his only very recently offical boyfriend, but the not knowing left his mind running rampant with ideas that were probably a lot more dramatic than the reality hidden behind the door- he just thought he deserved a heads up beforehand if Gabriel needed to put him in a little cage with a tail in his ass in order to get off.

“Well, is there anything I can touch?”

He hadn’t meant to, but it had been a long drive and he was tired, and it left an air of shortness to his question. He was tired, Gabriel had asked him to come all the way out here and now he wasn’t even allowed to touch- it almost always felt like Gabriel didn’t want to make space for him, and that wasn’t entirely fair to say when he knew this was hard, but it was hard too to be guarded away from bubble wrapping lava lamps like it was all sacred ground of a better life before he was stuck with Sam.

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

And it’s all over just like that, before it can even start. With the mighty archangel Gabriel, pulling at his fingers, lip wobbling like he was waiting to be yelled at. Punished. Put in his place.

Again, frustrating, especially when neither of them were wrong, and neither of them could help it.

He throws his hands up in defeat, and follows the stairs down into the sunken lounge space to find a seat to bide his time, “Fine. Let me know when you’re done.”

“I don’t know what I did,” Gabriel said, following him down like a little mouse. “If I did something wrong you have to tell me.”

It felt silly trying to find the words to lay it out so bare and plain, that surrounded by gaudy riches Sam felt insecure. Insecure about the kind of life he could provide someone like Gabriel- something like Gabriel. An archangel; a god; a playboy. What could a poor man who was too scared of loud noises and had a bad back provide for the likes of him when what Gabriel enjoyed most was luxury in excess and being the center of a party? How many others had passed through the door, how many lovers had he shared a bedspace Sam wasn’t allowed to enter? What kind of a life was it for a social butterfly to live buried under the earth with Sam and his only friends- his older brother, and Gabriel’s brother; who were basically obligated to be his friend based on principle. Sam wasn’t fun, his idea of fun was being left alone for a solid fifteen hours to get a really good sleep and maybe jerk off without having to wonder if Dean was going to kick in the motel door at any moment. That’s who Gabriel was saddling himself with, a man who was thirty seven and still needed to sleep with his big brother in the room lest he have bad dreams, he couldn’t even give him a motel room to fuck in.

But Gabriel could do all those things if he really wanted to now that he’d gained a little more strength back, and if it’s what made him happy then it’s what would make Sam happy, because what really made him happy was Gabriel! But hadn’t, not even once, tried to allow Sam into any part of his life. It was all grand tales of mighty conquests and high speed chases, and none of the actual living- at least, not with Sam. Maybe Gabriel had another boyfriend, a better one that he saw on weekends when Sam was away hunting with Dean. One that was cool, and funny, and liked all of the things Gabriel liked…

Okay… now he’s just spinning out, so he has to say something before he creates a whole pretend man to get angry at.

“Why don’t you want me involved in your life?”

Gabriel stared at him hard for a good long minute, long enough for Sam to flush a deep shade of red with embarrassment.

“Never mind-“

“You are my life.”

Gabriel says it so matter of factly that it’s now Sam’s turn to sit there gobsmacked and staring, and while it makes his heart swell a little he isn’t quite sure he believes fully that Gabriel wasn’t saying that just to shut him up.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying-“ Sam stopped and gestured at all of Gabriel’s things, “-This. Your life. Who you are. You never let me be a part of it, you never let me in.”

“This isn’t my life,” Gabriel said, an echo of exhaustion to his tone and the way he slumped into the tacky printed pillows. “This was a thing I did. I don’t let you be a part of it because I’m embarrassed. For whatever reason you’ve decided that you see something of worth in me, and I don’t want you free roaming my past and remembering I’m some kind of scumbag.”

“I don’t care that you were… very… sexually active, Gabriel.”

“This is about more than just the sex- this isn’t me! This life isn’t something I want to associate with you!”

A line of tension forms in Sam’s jaw as he snaps his mouth shut, but before he can glare and storm out, Gabriel continues.

“I’m building something new, something better with you. All of this is buried under a mountain of shit with Loki and what happened that I don’t want to begin to unpack, I just want to go! I don’t want you in here becoming tangled up with everything that feels so bad when you’re the only good thing I’ve got!”

Well, now he just feels stupid.

The shame must be visible all over his face because Gabriel scoots across the lounge to drag him in close, closing the distance first for Sam to the be able to put his arm around him.

“Right… sorry.”

Gabriel shrugged, “I don’t know what there is to be insecure about, it’s not like any of this was ever real.”

“It was though, even if it’s all tainted and bad now this was your life, and I can- I want to help you pack what you still love and bring it home. Pretending it’s not real isn’t going to fix anything, let me help you do this right. Say goodbye.”

There was a deep sigh from under Sam’s arm as Gabriel relented, whether he believed Sam’s quack science or not was up in the air but he’d do it anyway.

“Fine. You want to say goodbye to the house? I feel like the only appropriate way to say goodbye is the same way I said hello. To bring it full circle.”

“Sure,” Sam agreed before he knew what that meant, because all he heard was what sounded like Gabriel making healthy choices, and it wasn’t until the angel had straddled his lap that he understood just how he’d christened the house. “How many people have you screwed on this couch?”

“I mean, they call it the conversation lounge for the great many guests you can have all at once… I don’t know that we were doing much talking though.”

“Oh god…” Sam sighed and scrunched his nose up, trying not to focus too hard on the couch and if he felt any stiff spots beneath where he was sitting.

“Oh no, Sam. God was definitely not in the room when that was happening.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sam groaned and leaned in to kiss Gabriel before he could open his mouth with another disgusting comment, grinning into Gabriel’s throat at the playful shriek out his mouth as Sam toppled them over into the pillows, to give Gabriel a touch of something sweet to remember a chunk of his life by.

[paddockbunny]

The Right Man

Summary : George is one of your longest friends but he’s also your boss, and it’s wrong to have a crush on your best friend and boss right?! Rating : 16+ but please check the TWs Pairing : George Russell x Reader Word Count : 2,124. Trigger Warnings : adult themes, adult language, kissing, unrequited love delectation, best friend trope, boss employee trope, angsty but nothing too bad

Gif owner : @russellius 🥰

Authors note : Still sick but feeling better, thank god! I don’t know if I like this enough but I thought I’d post it and see what you guys thought. Also this fucking app decided not to save my original formatted post so there are a line or two that are missing and I can’t remember what they were so please forgive me if this makes no sense, I’ll run back through it at some point! The “read more” thing will be put in when I can 😘

The party buzzed around the small group you were a part of. Music thumped away in the background and the sound of people enjoying their summer holidays blended amongst it. You hadn’t been to Mykonos before. Hell, you hadn’t even been to Greece before but it was George that insisted you chum him on his summer break that brought you here.

“Keep me company and out of mischief” as he put it. And that was what you were currently doing. You had nursed your fruity cocktail for nearly 40 minutes - the ice slowly turning into water and diluting the strong alcohol due to the stiflingly hot Grecian air - so to keep a clear, open head incase George needed you. Although the notion of him needing you right now seemed ridiculous seeing as he hadn’t needed you professionally this whole trip. A few times you had even thought he might have wanted you here for other reasons. Just yesterday, while out on that yacht he chartered, you were convinced he was eyeing you up when you strolled outside in your bikini. But you almost became certain he had brought you along on false pretences when he practically pulled you into his lap when someone made everyone get together for a group photograph. You could still feel the imprint of his large oversized hand on the curve of your waist. It was almost seared on your flesh like a griddle mark on a piece of tuna. But then you thought he was just being George. Sweet, gentle, gorgeous George. The same one that had asked you to be his personal assistant without you having a single idea what the hell personal assistants even really did. The same George that as a result of that job allowed you to travel the world with him. The George that trusted you, implicitly. That was why your little fantasy of the “boss falling for his employee” seemed so far out of the realms of possibility it simply failed to even comprehend it could exist.

“…and what about you? Boyfriend?” The guy who seemed to know George very well asked, turning to you and shooting you a slight smirking smile “or girlfriend?”

“Uh no. No boyfriend. And no girlfriend.” You glanced at George upon your last word and you saw the cheeky hint of a grin momentarily glide across his mouth. You wanted to believe he had just had the vision of you and another girl together and he was enjoying the thought of it. Typical male fantasy, you figured. “Why? You are a beautiful, beautiful girl.” You realised the man that was talking to you seemed familiar and had a thick Spanish accent but seemed a tad out of place in such a noisy busy bar. Although, you felt you were being a little judgmental as he might have been younger than his salt and peppered dark hair would lead you to believe and besides, you were sure you recognised him from somewhere but you pushed the thought out of your mind in order to answer him.

“Haven’t found the right man.” You shouted above the music and this guys eyes instantly shot toward George which although made you feel sort of awkward, you also felt a bit “wait-a-minute-why-are-you-looking-at-him-and-does-that-mean-something-I-probably-should-know”-ish.

The night ended a little earlier than you had anticipated. You thought George would want to be out till the small hours of the morning. Partying, living it up and being centre of attention. But instead, George whispered in your ear he was ready to leave only an hour or so after the conversation with that guy (who you still couldn’t quite put your finger on how you knew) and so you organised a car to come and the you both up to go back to the beautiful villa he had rented. In the car you became aware that although the ice had been slowly melting in your drinks it had not diluted the alcohol quite as much as you thought it did and so the buzz you were feeling was very much real. Hearing George’s laugh as you swayed while the car went round a rather dramatic corner made you laugh yourself.

“Those drinks were stronger than I thought they were.” “That’s why you only had three and nursed them all the whole night? A little lightweight are we?” He enjoyed having a little fun with you. Mocking and playfully taunting you. Afterall, he was the only person in your life that could get away with it without you ever feeling offended. But that was what came with the decades of friendship the pair of you had. And it was the precise thing you were worried about when George asked you to work for him. You didn’t want to ruin the jovial, relaxed vibes between the pair of you that took so long to build. It may have also been the exact reason you always felt a little dirty and gross whenever you had a rather sexual dream about him or found yourself envisioning him whenever you touched yourself. But even if you were his friend and employee, you were only female and George was insanely hot so you always forgave yourself for it rather quickly.

The drinks really did work a wonder on you as by the time you reached the villa your body coursed with an free spirited buzz. It was a buzz that meant you hadn’t realised that any time whatsoever had passed even if it took a solid 25 minutes to get back to the impressively large abode overlooking the beautiful Aegean Sea. It was also a buzz that meant that you only felt happiness and joy and not any of those horrible other emotions people usually felt when they got a little too close to drunk rather than simply tipsy. Independently you strolled through the door after George. You thought you would head straight to your room and give him the space he was probably seeking when he decided to leave the club. But George gently said your name and asked if you wanted another drink, if you would have another drink with him. You accepted, without so much as a second thought.

George poured the pair of you two glasses of wine. You watched as the deep, dark crimson liquid flowed quickly from the bottle and swirled around as it filled two thin glistening glasses. He simply motioned toward the patio beyond the open doors behind you as he carried your glass for you. You took a second to think how lucky any girl would be who ended up with George. He was a gentleman with slightly old fashioned values. He always held open a door for a woman, offered his hand if needed or his arm if there were a pair of high heels involved, and he never let a girl carry anything. So right now, as he carried your glass outside for you, you felt a little high rush through you and allowed yourself to think of what it would be like if it were YOU that were his. The weight of the cushioned patio sofa dipped beside you after you sat down and it immediately brought you out of your trance.

The conversation was always easy. There was never a second it didn’t flow and it was never, ever forced. You knew everything there really was to know about one and other and so it was so comfortable and easy to talk to him. You took a sip from the emptying wine glass and realised George’s head was turned and his eyes were staring straight at you.

“What?” You whispered and he had that naughty glint in his eye that he had earlier when that Spanish guy asked if you had a girlfriend. “Why haven’t you found the right guy?” He asked it so plainly. It was exactly what you had said back in that bar. “That was what you said, you haven’t found the right guy.” You knew what you said. You didn’t need it repeating to you. Not by one of your closest friends that you happen to be having regular smutty thoughts about. “I don’t know….just haven’t.” You shrugged. Trying to muster up a little bit of sass as you did so so he didn’t see how awkward the question had made you.

“Well….what you look for?” You hadn’t thought the conversation was going anywhere specific but certainly not in the direction it currently was where George was offering to be a one man dating app. You sensed he would keep pressing the idea of you spilling what it was you wanted in a guy until you gave in, either tonight or at some point in the near future. So with the alcohol running through you you decided now wasn’t the time to put up a fight.

“Well….” You took a big inhale as if it were going to save you from the situation of explaining your ideal guy to, well, your ideal guy. “He has to be smart. Someone I can hold a conversation with. And I’d want someone who can make me laugh. Who makes boring, mundane things fun and enjoyable. And obviously a guy who is big on family and naturally wants his own someday. But also someone that makes me feel at ease and relaxed around them. Who makes me feel supported and as if I can take on the whole world.” You had started off by being generic and then as you went on and turned your head to look into those fucking soul boring eyes he had, you began tailoring it more and more to what you could say about him himself. George was every single one of the things you had described and it really was utterly stupid that you were somewhat ousting yourself in such a needy fashion. “But….physically, would be tall, dark and handsome. Strong but not too strong. Well groomed, maintained. Smouldering, simmering eyes like Idris Elba. And I guess, what girl wouldn’t want a guy with a big dick?” You laughed and George did too, but ducked his head down so you didn’t quite see it.

When George finally looked up at you you felt the strange shift in the atmosphere. It went from lighthearted and merry to sort of tense in a millisecond. Nervously, just for something to do you placed your glass on the coffee table right next to his. Had you overstepped a line? You’d talked about guys with him before, specific guys, and this had never happened. The burning need to find out if you had gone too far had you turning your body so you were angled more toward him and opening your mouth to apologise. When without a single shred of warning, warm, slick lips were on yours. George’s lips were on yours.

It took you a few seconds for your brain to catch up but when it did you immediately began kissing him back. You had thought about this moment so frequently that it truly felt rather impossible it was actually happening. And now, as his tongue swiped along your lower lip and his hand found the back of your head, you let a tiny small moan of appreciation rumble through your vocal cords. As you gave permission for George’s tongue to enter your mouth and caress your own he began to lean into you. An action that resulted in you slowly falling against the sofa pillows behind with George baring down on top of you. It was everything you had been wanting for the past few months and it dawned on you that perhaps you were right in your assumptions George wanted you too. You were so lost in thought that when he stopped kissing you momentarily you almost didn’t open your eyes.

“When you told Fernando you hadn’t found the right man, did you mean it?” “No.” You answered immediately. “I’ve known you were the right man when we first met as children. I just, didn’t think you would want me.” Your chest was heaving from either the kiss or the declaration you were making and you knew your eyes had to have been looking up at him full of expectation and longing.

“I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen. Of course, I fucking want you. I’ll never stop wanting you.” And then he kissed you again. It was all you had wanted to hear. The looks, the touches, the burning and feelings weren’t in your head at all. But in the moment all you could focus on what his mouth, his tongue, his taste. Your brain blocked out everything else so it was all about George’s kiss. Allowing you to finally enjoy what you had been longing for for so long.

[purity-the-one]

The Joining of Another

OOC: This is Part Two of "The Fall of Purity and Pyxis", so please go read that first before coming here if you'd like context. Otherwise, feel free to continue!

TW: Angst, Religious Themes, mentions of death

Purity gulped and nodded, calming down their nerves. Their voice mostly returned to its mono-tone state, but there was still an edge of nervousness and concern as they spoke. “Alanixians weren’t always so… uniform as I made them. We used to be a species of hunters and predators. In our planetary system, we were essentially top of the food chain. We didn’t think any better of it, just running off of animalistic urges. Some of us weren’t as blood-thirsty, it was quenchable with enough hunting or affection surprisingly enough. What is it that you call them… canines… dogs yes. We could be trained like dogs. But there were still a handful of those that called themselves the “higher Alanixians”. Both Thirteenth and I are a part of the true Higher Alanixians. And we are the only two. The others who brandished themselves as “higher Alanixians” were simply ones who wanted to keep the bloodshed, the violence. In the three thousand and eight hundred years that I ruled, there had only been twelve to stray from my teachings of purity, unity, and grace. However, Unity and Grace changed their titles to Serenity and Equality. Out of fear of us returning to our old ways, I had the twelve executed publicly, and Thirteenth was the last one we attempted to execute. I spread the word that the highest unity one could achieve as a pack of hunters, was to remain exactly the same. To brandish ourselves as a singularity. Only two didn’t fall for this, I brandished them as Gods despite being normal themselves. But the twelve who began to show emotion were not given chances. They were executed, as I am sure Pyxis told you.” Purity explained calmly, clearly not having any regret for their actions, they would still stand by what they’d done. “But if Pyxis is exhibiting these behaviors, it means that they will likely have these behaviors for the rest of time and space.”

“Okay, so obviously you don’t believe people can change. Isn’t that fucking great. You know, you’re going to blend in just great with a specific group of people here on Earth, and that isn’t a compliment.” Scraps huffed, still holding Pyxis in his lap as he returned the pendant back around their neck, running his hands through their matted and knotted hair. “News flash, Purity. It isn’t all black and white. Which is exactly why the Ruby Suns were created. We’ve been having Alanixians flooding here either to get revenge on Pyxis, or to join the Ruby Suns. We are two-hundred strong now. And you called me high priest earlier. Unfortunately you’re correct.” He continued, shifting as he kept holding Pyxis in his arms, staring at the muzzle. “This isn’t a good look. Why are you here, Purity?” Scraps growled slightly, not exactly pleased with this whole situation. “Ruby Suns… I suppose that name will do. Let us say I’ve had a… change of heart. I no longer wish to make myself an enemy. I’d been hoping that the Thirteenth would be willing to accept my own change, but they attacked before I could speak. How is it that you’re controlling them like that, High Priest?” Purity still kept their distance, but seemed interested. “I’m not controlling jack shit. Maybe if you weren’t a fucking ass-wipe, Pyxis wouldn’t jump you every time you took a breath. They’re actually quite affectionate with others. This is… the first time I’ve seen them this bad. And I’ve seen a lot. Not that you need to know that though.” Scraps gruffed, his eyebrows furrowed. “And use my name. Names are celebrated on Earth. It’s Scraps.”

“High Priest is a title and a name, however if you so desire that I call you something, I suppose bug will do. Now then, bug, take me to your followers. These Ruby Suns.” Purity stood up, dusting off their clothes. “Fuck you and fuck no. I do what Pyxis says, not you. You want to be a part of them? You start as a member. Not as a God. You learn human nature, you learn to control your emotions, and you learn to be not a piece of shit. Then we can talk.” Scraps stood up, carrying Pyxis in his arms still. “Take it or leave it, Purity.” Purity blankly stared at Scraps, clearly not expecting the sass or any of what he’d said. But they didn’t argue as they stood back up. “If that is what it takes, very well then. I will be a part of the commons, bug. But the moment I can become a God again, you will be my High Priest as well.” “In your fucking dreams, Purity. Get out of those clothes.” He opened up his pouch and threw a set of clothes at Purity, a white and red plaid flannel, jeans, and a plain white undershirt. “How do you get the muzzle off?” Purity barely caught the clothes and stared at them before snapping their fingers and instantly changing into the clothes. “The muzzle? Oh, yes that will come off automatically once they’re no-longer blood-thirsty. It runs on their emotions. Once they’ve calmed down, it will disappear.” “Wow, you are a bitch. You better pray it does, otherwise Pyxis is going to cut off your head and play soccer with it. Now get the fuck out of my sight. I’ll find you in a few days. Go figure your shit out the hard way.” Scraps waved his hand and dismissed the other God, standing in the center of the gold stained ground. Purity silently blinked and turned on their heel, walking off in the opposite direction towards the road they’d come from, disappearing for the time being.

[totallynotmeems]

royjamie spotify wrapped fic: #3

requests can go in my ask box or in the comments of this post

requested by @justsomefunshit

fic is under the cut

3. Me and the Devil - Soap&Skin

Early this morning When you knocked upon my door Early this morning When you knocked upon my door And I said hello Satan, ah I believe it is time to go

It was early when Jamie knocked on Roy’s door. 4 o’clock to be exact.

Why was Jamie here, this early in the morning, when Roy had told Jamie last night that today’s training was canceled? 

Roy opens the door, too tired to be angry really, but his resting face was a scowl, so he guesses that’s good enough. “What are you doing here, Tartt? Training’s canceled today. You should be resting that ankle,” Roy says in what was supposed to come out as a scold. He still lets Jamie inside.

“Couldn’t sleep, Coach,” Jamie says, but it’s clearly not the whole story. “Need to do something, feeling too antsy to try and sleep.”

“Come on, let’s go sit on the couch. I’ll find something for you to do,” Roy replies, leading Jamie farther into his house. They sit on the couch, and Roy turns on the TV. It flashes on, showing what was last playing.

“Didn’t know you were such a Barbie fan, Coach,” Jamie jokes. He still doesn’t look quite right. 

“Phoebe had to stay overnight, Ruth had an overnight shift and I’m her resident babysitter,” Roy answers. He turns the movie on, doesn’t even look to see which one it is. He’d like to say they all blend together, but he often finds himself getting more invested in the movie than Phoebe. 

“No offense, Coach, but I don’t think a movie’s going to be enough to keep me occupied,” Jamie tells Roy, but not in a joking way. He seems so sad, like he just needs someone to be there for him, but sorry to be a burden. Roy doesn’t have anything better to do, and Jamie, as much as he hates to admit it, is his friend. Someone he cares about.

Roy grabs what he’d been working on last night and hands the other kit to Jamie. “What’s this, Coach?” Jamie asks. 

“Embroidery. The yoga mums got me into it. It’s calming,” Roy answers. “You want to try it?”

“Not sure if I can be trusted with a needle right now, Coach. Might stab meself,” Jamie answers, looking down. “Sorry. I should just go, shouldn’t I?”

“You’re not going anywhere, Jamie,” Roy states. “You clearly need someone here for you, and you came to me. Not going to let you just go home like this.” Roy takes the embroidery kit out of his hands, and insteads hands him a clipboard with three pieces of black string clipped to it. 

“The hell am I supposed to do with this, Coach?”

“Braid it.”

“Alright.”

Roy goes back to doing his embroidery and watching the movie. There’s someone currently getting kidnapped on screen, or something. Roy honestly hasn’t been paying attention to the movie much, too worried about Jamie to really get into it. Jamie is intensely staring down at the clipboard, carefully braiding the strings together. If he stays like that for too long he’ll get a crick in his neck. 

When did Roy start worrying about Jamie getting a crick in his neck? When did he start thinking of Jamie as more than a player? As more than a friend? 

“Oi, stop hanging your head like that. You’ll fuck up your neck if you keep that up,” Roy advises. Jamie moves himself to sit further back on the couch, his back meeting the couch. Roy gives him a nod of approval.

Roy follows his own directions. This puts him right next to Jamie, shoulders touching, their knees with very little space from each other's.

“Can I ask a question, Coach?”

“Just did.”

“Coach.”

“Go ahead.”

“Why’d you let me in?” Jamie asks, fingers still braiding the strings together. He’s not doing great, but it’s not horrendous either.

“You looked like a ghost, Jamie. Couldn’t leave you out there,” Roy answers. “Couldn’t have my star player getting hypothermia, could I?” The joke falls flat. “Seriously, Jamie. I was worried for you.”

“Thanks, Coach,” Jamie says, but he looks like he wants to say more.

“Want to talk about what brought you over here?”

“Not really.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“My dad came over to my house after the game. Wanted to know why I passed. Why I let Dani take the shot instead of me. Why I went back to Richmond,” Jamie says. “Got mad when I asked him to leave. Started to throw stuff and I just left. Booked it. Went anywhere but there. Had an Uber drive around for like an hour. Then I came here.”

“How long were you outside my door, Jamie?” Roy asks, concerned but with a twinge of scold in his voice. It was freezing outside, he could have gotten sick.

“Half an hour,” Jamie lies. Roy gives him a look. “Hour and a half.” 

Roy stands up and goes to the TV stand. On the far right is a cabinet that opens like a laundry chute. Roy grabs a total of three blankets and comes back to the couch. He sits down and lays the blankets over Jamie and himself. He puts a hand around Jamie’s shoulders. Their sides are pressed up against each other again. They both relax.

--------

“Uncle Roy, why is Jamie Tartt sleeping on the couch?”

Roy and Jamie immediately wake up when they hear Phoebe’s voice. “Uh…” Jamie starts. Roy guesses they relaxed too much and fell asleep. With Jamie’s head resting on Roy’s chest. Awkward.

“Jamie and I had a sleepover since his house was having some issues.”

“Will he be staying tonight too?” Phoebe asks, excited.

Jamie looks worried, but Roy has a smirk on his face. “He can stay as long as he likes.” Jamie looks less worried now.

“Can I have pancakes now?” 

“Ooh! Pancakes!” Jamie says, perking up.

“Yes, Phoebe, you can have pancakes,” Roy says before turning to Jamie. “You can have pancakes, but only if you help clean up afterwards.”

“Got it, Coach!”

And he does.