#so alcohol time babey

[hinamie]

summer is coming so i'm giving them the beach day they deserve

[sagesolsticewrites]

Love’s Light Wings: Chapter 2 (“The course of true love never did run smooth”)

John Brady x Juliet Thompson (OFC)

Job interviews, wedding planning, and first meetings, oh my! John and Jules navigate his homecoming and start planning for their future while reckoning with the impact the past two years have had. Juliet finally puts a face to a name regarding a certain dear pen pal, along with several other new friends.

Word count: 6.4k

Warnings: description of a panic attack and PTSD symptoms (please let me know if there's anything I missed!)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Hugest of huge shoutouts to @winniemaywebber and @blakelysco-pilot for reading this many many times before I posted it; our girls are finally together! 🥹 I love y’all 💕

Masterlist | Prologue | Chapter 1 

Juliet wakes, as she always does these days, with a smile.

It’s been around two weeks since her Johnny came home— two wonderful weeks since he’d proposed in the back garden— and she’d loved every second. John had been settling back into life at home in sleepy Victor, New York, taking the time to grieve the friends he’d lost overseas and process the passing of his father, happy to have his mother fussing over him while he took a break before resuming the search for a job.

Juliet had indeed asked around as promised and found that Victor High School was in the market for a second music teacher— poor Mr. Brown was getting overwhelmed with the class load and was looking forward to some help. So today, John had an interview with the principal, and Juliet was coming along to introduce him.

Beaming, she rolls out of bed to get ready for the day. Once her face is washed and she’s donned her favorite light green shirtwaist dress, she races to her vanity for her new favorite part of her morning routine: slipping on her engagement ring.

A warm wave of joy rushes through her feeling the subtle weight of it on her finger, the emerald and two tiny diamonds sparkling in the sunlight.

She skips downstairs once she’s deemed herself presentable, greeting her parents with a kiss on the cheek.

“Good morning,” her mother laughs, “you’re certainly in a good mood today.”

“It’s a good day,” Juliet shrugs, trying to downplay her excitement.

“Because you get to see John?” 

“Yes…” she drags out at her mother’s knowing look, unable to hide her smile, “And because of my lunch date with the girls, remember?”

“Oh yes,” her father laughs from his place at the table, “How could we forget?” In a more sincere tone, he continues, “I hope you plan on thanking Olive for all her letters when you meet her.”

“Of course, Daddy,” Juliet replies, “She was such a wonderful friend to have when Johnny was…”

She trails off, then clears her throat, continuing with an unbothered smile. 

“And I can’t wait to meet Val, she sounded like quite the character in Olive's letters.”

“You’ll be home in time for dinner, yes?”

“Yes, mama, I will.”

Breakfast passes quickly with quiet conversation, and promptly at 10 o’clock there’s a knock at the door.

Juliet jumps up from her chair with a squeal, racing to the front door. She pauses, taking a moment to brush any wrinkles from her dress and adjust her favorite brooch before opening the door to a smiling John Brady.

“Hi sweetheart.”

Butterflies flurry to life in her stomach as he leans in to press a chaste kiss to her cheek, mindful of her parents nearby.

“Hi, Johnny,” she smiles, “You look very nice, honey.”

Her boy preens in that shy way he does whenever she compliments him, stepping into the foyer.

“And you look lovely as always, Jules.” He nods to her parents lingering in the hall with a smile, “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson.”

Greetings are exchanged, going over the schedule once more— interview, then John will drop Juliet off at the station so she can take the train into town for her lunch, he’ll be driving into town later to meet up with his fellow members of the 100th and dropping Juliet at home promptly at dinnertime.

Juliet’s parents wish John luck, reminding them to be safe, her mother urging her to say hello to all of the girls for her, and with some difficulty they manage to get out the door and into the car.

“You have your resume?”

John’s lips twitch slightly as he holds back a soft laugh, nodding to the glovebox, “Yes, dear—”

“And your c—”

“— and my cover letter, yes. As well as a few references.” He looks fondly over at his fiancée, “I have done this before, honey.”

“I know,” Juliet flushes a rosy pink, “I know, I just— I want to help in any way I can, Johnny.”

“You are helping, Jules,” he assures her, reaching to clasp her hand in his, thumb stroking gently over the back of it, “You’re introducing me to the new principal, you absolutely didn’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” she insists, “And besides, someone has to come in there and show you off,” she teases sweetly, “Knowing you, you’ll be the humble gentleman you always are and downplay all your experience.”

His lips quirk up into a smile reminiscing on his time as a teacher, which had come to an end when he enlisted after the Pearl Harbor attacks.

“Ah yes, my whole one semester of experience.”

“Hey,” she scolds at his sarcastic tone, “One semester is more than most people wanting this job have.” Her tone softens, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, “You’ve got this, Johnny.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Upon arriving at the school, Juliet directs him to the principal’s office, occupied by a man who seems to be about the same age as her father. The two exchange a friendly greeting, Juliet turning on her brilliant, most charming smile as she turns to her fiancé, making the brief introductions and subtly slipping in a comment about how John’s “looking forward to being back.”

“Well, I’ll let you two talk,” she smiles demurely, slipping quietly out the door and clicking it closed behind her.

An hour later, a familiar figure stands in the doorway of her classroom where she’d decided to make some progress on her curriculum preparations. Looking up, she can barely hold back a squeal.

“Johnny! How did it go?”

His smile tells her everything she needs to know, even as he says, “I think it went really, really well. Mr. Asher said I should hear from them in a few days with their decision.”

She flings her arms around him, beaming.

“I knew they’d see how amazing you are. We’ll be working together again!”

“Honey, did you hear the part where I have to wait a few days to hear their decision?”

“That’s just a formality, Johnny,” she assures him as they begin the walk back to the car, “If I know Mr. Asher, he wanted to give you the job right away.”

Her fiancée just laughs, pulling her close to press a kiss to her temple as he opens the door for her.

He drops her off at the station with a kiss and a “Say hi to Olive and Val for me— they’ll love you, honey, I promise,” and she passes the time quickly with the paperback tucked into her purse.

At the station, Juliet scans the crowd for her friends— despite her protests, they’d insisted they meet her there and walk to lunch together.

She grins as she spots Jo and Jean standing with two other women, racing towards them.

“Jo! Hi darling!” She says, flinging her arms around her friends, “And Mrs. Croz, looking lovely as always.”

“Thank you, honey,” Jean laughs.

“So good to see you, Jules.” Jo beams, and then her attention turns to the stylish brunette standing beside her, “This is—”

“Val DiRosano,” the woman beams, reaching over for a handshake, which Jules ignores as she goes in for a hug.

“So wonderful to meet you at last, Val.” She says, “I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things from Johnny.”

“I should hope so,” she grins, green eyes sparkling as she gestures towards the woman beside her, “Same here, from both Brady and Olive.”

The sweet brown-haired, hazel-eyed girl gives Juliet a wave.

“Hi, Jules,” she says softly, her accented voice a surprise to Juliet’s ears, “So happy to finally meet you.”

A wave of emotion wells up in Juliet as she recalls the dozens of letters she’d exchanged with the girl before her, pouring out her worries about John, her dreams for when the war was over, essays pages long in which they rambled about Shakespeare, eagerly forming a friendship on countless sheets of paper. She recalled the two letters she’d gotten on that awful October day— one from her friend wishing her the happiest of birthdays, no doubt informed by Johnny, the other in which Olive somberly informed her that her boy had gone down, with a promise— soon fulfilled— that she’d write as soon as she had any more news. This was the girl who had talked her through some of the most horrible months of her life an ocean away, and before she knows it, Juliet is moving to pull Olive into a tight hug, tears welling up in her eyes.

“I’m so, so happy to meet you,” she murmurs, “Thank you for—” she swallows around the sudden lump in her throat, her voice tight, “for everything.”

Olive’s arms squeeze around her just as fiercely.

“Of course, darling.” She whispers, “I wish I could’ve done more—”

“No,” Juliet insists, “You were a lifeline when I needed one most, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for it.”

With one final squeeze, the girls separate, matching teary smiles on their faces.

“Well,” Juliet giggles, trying to lighten the mood as she brushes her tears away, “I knew you were a Brit, but somehow the accent was still a surprise.”

“It was for me, too,” Val laughs.

“It seems I’m just surprising in general,” Olive smiles, “Now come on, ladies, I’m starving.”

They soon find themselves seated in a booth at a sweet little diner, laughing like they’ve known each other their whole lives.

“No, really! Baseball superstar Val over here decided to take over entertaining Meatball and threw it right into the briefing room!”

“You know I didn’t mean to!” Val laughs, “And besides, Chicky wasn’t too mad at us.”

“Chicky?” Jean’s brow furrows, Jo mirroring her confused expression, and Olive snorts.

“Her little nickname for Colonel Chick Harding.”

“Wha—?”

“Oh please, I know he liked it no matter how many times he complained,” Val laughs, tucking away a stray hair behind her ear.

It’s then that Juliet catches a glimpse of a lovely emerald ring glinting in the light.

“Oh Val!,” she gushes, “That ring is gorgeous.”

“Oh! Thank you,” the girl seems to go soft as she glances down at her left hand, and the girls swoon as she recounts the story of Everett Blakely’s proposal, a wide smile lighting up her dignified face.

“That’s so sweet,” Juliet says, pressing a hand to her heart, and the other girls lean in to examine it as Val holds her hand out proudly.

“Wait, Jules, we haven’t gotten to see yours yet!”

Jo was right, Jules realized, she had phoned her and Jean as soon as she could to gush about John’s proposal, but in the excitement of meeting Olive and Val, actually showing them the ring as she’d promised had slipped her mind.

She politely waits until the girls are done ooohing and aaahing over Val’s exquisite ring to extend her own for inspection.

Olive’s eyes nearly bug out of her head.

“Juliet Thompson, Brady proposed and you didn’t tell me!”

“I’m telling you now!” Juliet laughs, “It was such a surprise… apparently he asked my parents for permission the night he came home,” she says, visibly softening at the memory, “and the next day he was down on one knee in our back garden with his grandmother’s ring.” She locks eyes with Olive, knowing she’ll appreciate this next part as she squeals, “He quoted Tempest.”

Olive lets out an outright gasp, “He did not!”

She nods fervently, beaming, “I would not wish—”

Olive finishes the quote with her, “— any companion in the world but you! Oh, that’s lovely, Jules.”

Val grins as she examines Juliet’s ring, extending her hand next to hers so the two emeralds are sparkling in the light.

“Brady’s got good taste, I see.”

“Looks like your Everett does, too,” Juliet laughs.

“Well of course he does,” Val says with a playful toss of her hair, “He’s with me, isn’t he?”

Jean lets out a happy sigh, her gaze scanning over the girls huddled together in the booth.

“It’s so wonderful that we’re all together now, isn’t it?”

“Almost all of us,” Jules reminds her kindly, “Vika wasn’t able to get away from the hotel— but she promised she’ll be at our next little get-together.”

“Vika?” Olive asks, the unfamiliar name having piqued her interest.

“One of my school friends,” Juliet replies, the glow of happiness surrounding her seeming to intensify, “We drifted apart a bit after graduation, but we’ve since reconnected and it’s been wonderful.”

“She’s been a darling addition to our little group here, you two will absolutely adore her,” Jean assures Olive and Val.

Jo, Jean, and Juliet fill Olive and Val in about their time spent with Vika, as if trying to fill the space where she should be.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Val says, red lips turned up into a sweet smile, “She sounds lovely.”

They talk for hours, though it seems like no time has passed at all when John enters the diner, scanning the room for Juliet, followed by several other men.

“Oh goodness, is it that time already?” Juliet glances at her watch as her fiancé makes his way over to their little booth.

“Hi sweetheart,” John says, bending down to press a chaste kiss to her cheek, then nodding to the rest of the girls, “Ladies. Olive, Val, very good to see you again.”

“Wonderful to see you, Brady.” Val grins. 

“Congratulations, by the way,” Olive says in a mock-offended tone, “I can't believe I had to wait two entire weeks to find out you proposed, Brady.”

The smile on his face stretches into a wide grin, seeing right through the act, “Well, you’re all invited to the wedding, will that be enough to make it up to you?”

“I suppose, “ Olive replies with a smile, her eyes going soft as her gaze drifts to the blue-eyed mustachioed man standing next to Brady, “Hi, honey.”

“Hey, Ollie,” the man replies sweetly, sliding into the booth next to her, then turning back to Brady, gesturing to the little group gathered around, “So, Brady, you gonna introduce us?”

With a good-natured roll of his eyes, John settles next to Juliet in the booth, gesturing between her and the boys.

“Gentlemen, this is my fiancée. Juliet.”

She gives him a tender smile, a swell of warmth rushing through her at her name on his lips alongside fiancée, though she soon remembers her manners and turns her attention back to the men, the names of whom John is currently listing— she had heard lots about them from the girls, but seeing them and putting faces to names was another thing entirely.

Rosie Rosenthal— the man Jo had been worrying over for months since he signed up for a second tour— gives her a kind smile, mustache twitching upwards. Harry Crosby— Jean’s beloved Bing— a softspoken man with kind brown eyes, greets her with a “Pleasure to meet you.” Everett Blakely beams, reaching over to greet her with a firm handshake, hazel eyes sparkling as he tells her how happy he is to finally meet the girl “Brady wouldn’t shut up about”, the comment bringing a blush to her cheeks. James Douglass— the man settled next to Olive, blue eyes bright and happy— perks up at her name.

“So I have you to thank for the Shakespeare lessons!”

“Yes, I’m glad they came in handy,” Juliet laughs, glancing pointedly at Olive. In one of his early letters, Johnny had asked for some of her particular favorite passages to pass on to Dougie in an attempt to help him woo Olive, and she was happy to see that they had helped— especially after she’d heard about the “I hope” incident.

“I mean, I don’t think I was that bad before, but—”

“‘I hope,’ sweetheart.”

“You are never gonna let that go, are you Ollie?”

“Never,” Olive beams, her smile matching the one on Dougie’s face.

The introductions quickly turn into another hour of talking before Juliet realizes how much time has passed. After a series of rushed goodbyes and long hugs, John ushers her into the car to begin the drive back upstate.

“Well? What did you think?”

“Of your friends? Johnny, they’re all wonderful,” Juliet smiles, “I'm so looking forward to getting to know them more. And Olive and Val! I feel like I’ve known them forever.”

She turns smiling to look out the window at the blur of trees passing by, green eyes turned golden in the setting sun.

“Yes, I think we’ll all be very good friends.”

“It was nice of Benny to offer to escort Vika home,” John observes a week later on their way home from their informal engagement party— they had gathered all of their friends at one of their favorite restaurants in the city, with the addition of Benny DeMarco and Juliet’s dear friend Ruthvika Patel— formerly “Ruthie”, now “Vika” thanks to the encouragement of the girls.

“Well of course he did,” Juliet laughs, “He’s absolutely smitten.” She sighs happily, “I knew he’d like her.”

“Really? How could you tell?”

“Are you joking, honey? He could hardly take his eyes off her the whole time,” she reaches over to poke him playfully, “Very similar to a certain someone I met in college.”

“Wha—? Okay, I was not that obvious…” John glances over at her, “Was I?”

“A little bit.”

“Well anyway,” he glosses over this revelation entirely, “I know DeMarco, if he likes her that much he’ll be asking her out in no time.”

“No, I hope he takes his time,” Juliet says, “Vika’s shy, and I don’t think she’s ever been in a relationship before. It’ll be better if they get to know each other as friends first.”

“Well, it’ll be interesting to see how it goes. They seemed to be getting along.”

“We’ll see if there’s any progress next week.”

“Next week?”

“Remember, your golf game with the boys? The girls and I are going shopping for the wedding while you all are out.”

“Shopping? But I thought you already had a dress, honey.”

Juliet shoots him a look.

“I need other things besides a dress, my love.”

“Of course, of course,” John says, holding one hand up in surrender, “I hope you girls have fun.”

“Thank you, honey.” Her tone is sincere as she reaches to intertwine her fingers, the car slowing as they pull up to the Thompson home.

“Hey,” he murmurs, turning to face her, “I love you.”

Her heart goes soft as he leans in to press a tender kiss to her mouth, pulling away just enough to meet her eyes.

“And I can’t wait to marry you.”

“I love you so much,” Juliet says softly, leaning in for another quick kiss, lingering as their eyes meet before she reluctantly slips out of the car, “I’ll see you soon, honey.” 

“Oh!” She calls, pausing as she makes her way up the front walk, “Do you still want help with putting together those lesson plans?”

“I'd love that,” he smiles, “Come over tomorrow? I know my mother would love to see her future daughter-in-law.”

“Yes! I can’t wait to catch up with her,” Juliet replies, lighting up at the prospect of seeing Mrs. Alice Brady.

John shakes his head, “Sometimes I wonder if you’re marrying me just to get to her.”

“Oh no, you caught me,” Juliet laughs, “What can I say, honey? We bonded.”

He chuckles, giving his fiancée a fond smile, “I’m glad you two get along so well. See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow,” she confirms, blowing one last kiss his way before making her way inside, John only pulling away once the door is closed behind her.

One week— and one delightful visit to Mrs. Alice Brady— later, she and John are once again driving into the city.

“What are you girls shopping for again?”

“Just some accessories. And Jean said she was looking for a new dress— oh, and Olive wanted to stop by a bookstore at some point if there’s time—”

The corner of his smile twitches, just barely holding back a fond laugh, but all her fiancé says is, “Sounds like you have quite the day planned. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

“Careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” Juliet laughs, “The girls and I will be talking your ear off at dinner.”

“I’ll tell the fellas to be prepared.”

“You girls have fun!”

“We’ll meet you for dinner at 6, alright?”

Juliet, Jo, Jean, Val, and Olive all wave off their respective men— and Vika shyly waves off Benny— with promises that they’d be at the restaurant at the agreed-upon time.

The boys went off to their golf game, and the girls drag Juliet along the bustling New York streets for the most important shopping day of her life.

“Oh Jules, look at that!” Jean gushes from her place beside her friend, pointing to a lace and tulle fascinator displayed in a boutique window.

Giggling, they descend upon the boutique, searching through the merchandise with girlish delight.

“Remind me, what does your dress look like, Jules?” Jo asks, picking through a selection of white gloves.

“Mama’s fixing up her own dress for me,” Juliet says with a wistful sigh, “I’ve always loved it. Ivory satin, gorgeous full skirt, pearls on the bodice…”

“Oh, it sounds lovely,” Val smiles, “Don’t you think, Vika?”

Vika glances up from where she’s fiddling with the lace of a fascinator, looking almost surprised to be included in the conversation even after several months of being embraced as a part of their little group.

“Hm? Oh!” She smiles shyly, “Yes, it sounds beautiful, Jules.”

“Oooh, what about this?” Olive holds up a truly ostentatious floral headdress bursting with tulle, “It’ll go perfectly with your bouquet.”

“I think that might be a bit much for Johnny.” Juliet laughs, glancing to make sure the woman who’d greeted them as they walked in is still busy helping another customer before whispering, “Is that what people wear to weddings in the future?”

“Not quite,” Olive giggles, “But you’re right, let’s find something else.”

“Jules,” Vika calls from a secluded corner of the store, “What about this?”

Juliet and Olive exchange a glance and follow her voice to the rest of the girls examining a selection of hats. Vika is standing next to a sweet ivory pillbox hat, a tulle veil attached at the top beneath a cluster of pearls.

Juliet is speechless.

“Isn’t it perfect?” Vika asks, brown eyes sparkling.

“It is,” Juliet squeals, rushing over to pick it up.

The girls cluster around a nearby mirror as she tries it on, and squeals of “gorgeous!” and “oh, you look beautiful, Jules!” echo out from their little corner of the boutique, tapering off awkwardly at the glares of the other customers.

Juliet laughs as she takes it off, then blanches when she sees the price tag.

“Well… it is gorgeous, but maybe we can find something else.” She says regretfully as she places it back on the display.

“What? No!” Jean frowns, “Honey, you’ve waited so long for this, you deserve it!”

“Jean, you’re sweet, but I just don’t have enough to be spending like that right now,” Juliet explains, “Come on, I’m sure we can find another option.”

Even as she says it and turns away, her eyes drift longingly back to the hat waiting on the shelf, settling there for just a moment before Juliet shakes herself and begins wandering back through the store.

There’s a series of whispers behind her, which Juliet assumes is the girls figuring out which section to peruse next, and the future Mrs. Brady finds herself back in front of the fascinators, trying to muster up the same enthusiasm she had when she first walked in.

“Jules?” Vika’s voice comes from behind her, and she jumps.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Her friend says apologetically, “ But, well… I think we’re ready to go if you are.”

Juliet turns, seeing the girls clustered behind Vika with poorly hidden smiles and a small hatbox held in Jean’s arms.

“Oh girls, you didn’t…”

“We all chipped in.” Jo beams.

“You deserve it, chicken,” Olive says, “It’s your wedding.”

A swell of emotion rises in Juliet’s chest, and it’s all she can do to squeak out a soft “I love you girls” before pulling them into a group hug.

“So do the two of you have a plan for after the wedding?” Jo asks as they stroll down to yet another boutique.

“I’m sure they do,” Olive says, eyebrows waggling.

“Oh hush!” Jo scolds with a playful swat to Olive’s arm, “Not like that. Jules, you know what I mean.”

Juliet nods, the blush at Olive’s comment fading in favor of a brilliant smile threatening to overtake her.

“There’s the sweetest little house for sale a few streets away from us,” she gushes, “Johnny’s been saving up, and his mother and my parents have offered to pitch in as well.”

“That’s very kind of them,” Jean says, “I can’t imagine how excited you must be— I remember how much I was looking forward to starting a life with Bing.”

“I am…”

Despite the joy in her voice, Juliet’s smile has dimmed the slightest bit.

 “I am, it’s just…”

The girls pause, identical frowns on their faces as they drift over to an awning over a dark storefront and wait patiently for Juliet to find the words.

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel real?” She finally says, her voice distant and soft, fingers worrying at the ring snug on her finger, “Like… like I’m in this wonderful dream, and at some point I’m going to wake up and he’ll be back in that place, and I’m alone again—”

“Oh, honey.”

Jo and Jean are the first to wrap their arms around her, the ones who know exactly how she feels— even after all the hoping and praying that their boys would come home safe, they knew that once they were home it took time to remember they were home for good now, that they were finally allowed to stop worrying and focus on the future ahead.

The girls said as much as they held their friend, trying to impart as much comfort as they could.

“Oh goodness,” Jules lets out a watery laugh, carefully brushing away the tears threatening to spill over and doing her best not to smudge her makeup, “I’m sorry, girls, this was supposed to be a fun day…”

“No, Jules, you have nothing to apologize for,” Olive assures her, “We’re all adjusting to life now that the war’s over, this is part of it. You and John will work through what you have to and build a beautiful life together, I just know it.”

Juliet shoots a grateful smile at the girls surrounding her, gratitude for the friendships they’d formed in such a dark time warming her to her core.

With one final squeeze, she returns to the subject that had gotten them on this path as they continue onward.

“You all absolutely have to come over once we’re all moved in, I’m dying to play hostess for you girls…”

They arrive at dinner promptly at six, the boys already waiting outside for them.

“Did you boys have a good time?” Juliet asks, already beaming as she brushes a chaste kiss to her fiancé’s lips.

“We did,” he smiles into the kiss, “How was your shopping trip? Can I have a peek?”

He makes a show of trying to peek into the hatbox in Juliet’s hands as she playfully swats him away.

“Absolutely not, John Brady, this is for mine and the girls’ eyes only until the wedding.”

“As you wish,” he says, the teasing sparkle in his eyes visibly softening at the mention of their wedding, “I know you’ll look beautiful no matter what, sweetheart.”

She rewards his tender words with another kiss as girls store their purchases safely in their respective vehicles, and the group heads in for dinner.

As promised, the girls chatter away about their shopping day, the boys doing their best to look interested, and vice versa when the topic turns to the boys’ golf game. The one quieter spot at the table is thanks to Benny and Vika— despite the orchestrations of Val and Jules to have them sit together, the two of them are still too shy to do more than say hello to each other when they’re surrounded by the excited conversation of their friends. 

Jules catches Val hiss something in Italian to Benny, to which he hisses something in return and redirects his attention to Rosie’s story about the fifth hole.

“How are they doing?” John whispers in her ear, his eyes flicking over to their mostly silent friends.

She shakes her head.

“Looks like still nothing yet,” she whispers back, “but Vika made it sound like they had a very nice time on the way back from the engagement dinner… oh I do wish they’d just talk to each other already.”

“Benny’ll come around,” he assures her, the comforting weight of his hand coming to rest on her knee— nothing improper of course, just letting her know he’s there.

Dinner flies by, aided by laughter and easy conversation, and before she knows it, her Johnny’s dropping her off back at home.

“You’re sure I can’t have just one tiny peek?” He whines once more as he shifts the car into park and she retrieves the hatbox from the backseat.

“No, Johnny,” Juliet replies, doing her best to bite back her smile in an attempt to look scolding and failing utterly, “I promise you’ll see it soon.”

“Soon,” he hums, reaching over to give her hand a squeeze and then tugging her in for a tender kiss.

It’s her turn to beam as he pulls away, warmth filling her as she realizes how soon soon really is.

Still, all she says is “I love you, drive safe, give my love to your mother,” before heading inside her childhood home, a piece of her future tucked inside the box in her arms.

It’s a balmy Saturday afternoon when Juliet takes the car to visit the Brady home. Wedding planning on top of both John and her planning for the upcoming school year has meant their time together is painfully limited, no matter how they try to find time to work together, and frankly? Juliet misses him.

So, an impromptu visit it is.

Armed with a tupperware of her mother’s chocolate chip cookies, she strides up the walk and knocks three times on the blue door, beaming as it opens to reveal Mrs. Alice Brady.

But instead of her usual cheerful smile, John’s mother seems more anxious than she’s seen her since John came home, and concern starts to whirl in the pit of Juliet’s stomach.

“Hello, Mrs. Brady, I— oh. Is everything alright?” 

“Hello, sweetheart,” Mrs. Brady puts on a far weaker version of her usual smile, “I’m sorry, John’s… he isn’t doing too well at the moment, honey—”

“What happened?” Juliet interrupts, her mind jumping to the worst possible scenarios.

Mrs. Brady appears torn, her mouth soundlessly opening and closing until she finally speaks again.

“He was helping me organize his father’s study… I— I dropped a book clearing off one of the bookshelves, and—” she takes a breath, forcing herself to continue, “He seems fine physically for the most part, but…” there’s a hint of fear in her eyes as she continues hesitantly, and the pit in Jules’s stomach grows, “he was shaking, he looked terrified, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t get him to recognize me.”

Jules’s hand flies to her mouth, doing her best to comprehend the situation.

“He seemed to be having some kind of attack, but I can’t help but think…” Alice Brady’s eyes meet Juliet’s, almost pleading now, “Maybe seeing you might help?”

”I… are you sure?”

“Absolutely, Juliet.” Mrs. Brady nods, “He may have missed me, but it wasn’t me he was fighting to come home to so he could propose. I have a feeling you’ll be able to help him through this in a way I can’t.”

With one last sad flicker of a smile, John’s mother leads Juliet through the house to the study that used to belong to Mr. Brady.

Her heart drops as she sees John crouched in a defensive position, blue eyes wild and unseeing, his breaths shallow as his eyes dart around the room looking for some unknown threat.

“Johnny,” she breathes, willing her voice not to break as she approaches him slowly. “Sweetheart?”

He stiffens at the sound but still doesn’t seem to recognize her and it’s breaking her heart to see him like this.

“Johnny,” she breathes again, using slow steady movements to crouch in front of him, “It’s me, honey, it’s Juliet. Your Jules.”

Maybe touching him would help—

It decidedly does not, as he flinches away from her, a sharp, gruff “no!” escaping him when she places a hand on his arm as if she’d brandished a gun in front of him.

Okay, different tactic.

“Can you look at me, Johnny?” She tries, pulling back and thinking for a moment before slowly brushing her fingertips to his.

It’s a soft enough touch that it doesn’t startle him, but it still hasn’t pulled him out of… whatever this attack is.

“Please—” she swallows, trying to keep her voice steady as she slowly, inch by inch, threads their fingers together, “Please, Johnny, it’s me, it’s Jules, please look at me—”

He’s still shaking, but his shallow breathing is slowly returning to normal as he blinks, eyes focusing once more on what’s in front of him.

“Johnny?” She says softly, squeezing his hand gently, trying to ground him.

“Jules?” He breathes distractedly, as if labeling the person in front of him rather than speaking to her.

And then the realization hits, and there’s a sharp inhale as he jerks away.

“Oh, God— oh, God, no, you shouldn’t have— when did you—”

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” She asks frantically, trying to get him to meet her eyes.

He’s shaking his head frantically, “What are you doing here, you weren’t supposed to— you can’t see me like this—”

It’s that last part that hits her. That makes her realize this isn’t the first time this has happened.

“This… Johnny, this has happened before?”

“It’s nothing,” he practically spits, refusing to meet her eyes, “just… remembering things from that place, I’m— I’m working on it, I swear.”

That place, she knows, is the stalag. Neither of them have been able to say the word yet, but a trailed off sentence or indeed, that place, shoved in just the right spot and they know what the other means.

“My love,” Juliet says hesitantly, having some idea of what his reaction to this suggestion will be. Still, she persists.

“If you feel like you need to talk about it— I don’t know what happened, but—”

Johnny’s definitely avoiding her eyes now as he says in a low, forceful tone— his voice is distant still, but not as if it’s lost in memory in some far off place, no; this is the detached voice of someone shoving their emotions deep, deep down— “We were stuck there for… for far too long. It wasn’t good. Now I’m home. That’s it.”

Juliet nods, recognizing when to step back even as she murmurs, “I know, sweetheart. But if you ever do want to talk about it… I’m here. I don’t want you to worry about scaring me or anything,” she adds, knowing that that’s at least part of why he avoids this topic with her, “All that matters is that we work through this together. Whenever you’re ready.”

He gives her a wordless nod, and the two of them are left to sit in silence, hands intertwined, until Mrs. Brady comes bustling in with a glass of water.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she breathes a sigh of relief once she sees her son, promptly fussing over him “Are you alright, sweetheart? Here, drink this— let’s get you settled in the chair here—”

John is moved to a soft, squishy dark green armchair nearby, doing his best to calm his mother’s nerves.

“I’m fine, Ma, I promise—”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, me and my butterfingers did this—”

“Ma, it’s not your fault, really—”

“Mrs. Brady,” Juliet interrupts, gently placing a hand over Mrs. Brady’s nervously fluttering ones, “he’s okay. It’s alright.” 

John's mother lets out a long exhale, taking a moment before giving Juliet’s hands a grateful squeeze. “Yes. Thank you, darling.”

“Always,” Juliet smiles, her demeanor softening as her gaze drifts from Alice to John.

Always. She’s about to start her always with him, and if she’s honest? It’s a little nerve wracking, thinking about that after what just happened. Not in a bad way, of course, just… it’s going to be an adjustment, navigating what her Johnny brought back from the war with him.

He made it back, she reminds herself, that’s all that matters. 

They’ll work through what they have to, like Olive said, and then… she has forever to be with him. Home and safe and together.

“You alright, sweetheart?” John murmurs, brows furrowing at her silence.

She blinks, then gives him a smile that she hopes conveys even an ounce of the love she feels for him right now.

“I’m fine, Johnny,” she assures him, “I just remembered I brought cookies. And you look like you could use one.”

“The chocolate chip ones your mother makes?” John brightens, eyes lighting up like a child in a candy store.

“They’re in the kitchen, I’ll get them,” Mrs. Brady chimes in, leaving them to try to smother their giggles as they catch a mumble of “as if he didn’t eat the last of my snickerdoodles just yesterday, this boy…”

The moment his mother is gone, John wordlessly draws her into his lap, his arms wrapping around her and squeezing ever so slightly

“You sure you’re alright, darling?” Juliet asks, snuggling into him as he pulls her close..

The smile that greets her as she looks up at him isn’t quite the same one that she knew before he was shipped off. It isn’t stretched quite so wide, doesn’t reach his eyes in the same way. 

But she smiles back just the same as he assures her, “I’m perfect, Jules.”

“Now, are you sure you’re alright?”

She takes a moment to consider it and decides that right here, in her fiancé’s arms, mere weeks from marrying him…

“I’m perfect, too, Johnny.”

[leviadraws]

Pay day drinks after work. Picture taken before multiple rounds of shots are ordered and it becomes a disaster.

Bonus: They got kicked out and are now wandering the streets of Shinjuku looking for taxis back. Minako's been taking photo evidence all night to show Midori and Ryutaro tomorrow at work.

[kaeyachi]

i just heard kaveh's voicelines. why does he talk like me irl? Why do we have 98% similar opinions? whats going on im getting scared-

[callmemickey]

Cumming Home for Christmas

synopsis: Simon surprised you by being home 3 weeks early, which means you get to take him to your family’s Christmas get together! Unfortunately, Simon hasn’t had his fill of you… How thin do you think the walls are in the bathroom?

content: Afab, porn w a plot, smut (dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, quickie, slightly public? maybe other stuff idk) fluff fluff fluff kind of angst if you squint real hard he just loves you sm my sweet Angel babey reader muah love u 2

word count: 3.7k

notes: Don’t ask me why I chose Christmas this is purely self-indulgent. Also, he’s a brunette going off of the comics, so I’m running with that thx!

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Warm Christmas lights, sparkling ciders and the expensive alcohol, the soft hum of cozy Christmas jazz on the speakers, family buzzing and soaking in each other’s presence - there was nothing else you could ask for. In this massive sea of black and red formal attire, your family, both close and extended, came together for an amazing holiday party at your grandparents’ estate.

Simon, who surprised you by coming home over three weeks early, has accompanied you as your plus one to the family’s holiday party. It made the event even better. Your family adored Simon to bits and pieces, constantly embarrassing you in front of him, begging to know when he wanted to start a family with you, your aunts drinking too much and asking him to take off his coat and flex. He dealt with the melting pot of clashing personalities better than you had ever imagined.

Simon expertly handled the socializing carefully and precisely. He preferred to be an observer in these bigger settings rather than to speak. He gave simple answers that were concise one liners, saving his social battery. So, to make up for it, he would escape to assist anybody needing aid. When dinner was ready, he assisted in the kitchen, making sure that everybody had their meals first, and was later caught cleaning the kitchen (much to your displeasure). He also helped light your grandfather’s cigar outside. The Parkinson’s has been making it difficult for him to light them on his own, and Simon even listened to an old war story.

It was unbelievable how much you loved this man.

Now, nieces and nephews weaved between adults and furniture, the fireplace burned hot and strong, people laughed and yelled happily over the gentle music, and the scent of baking pies and pastries wafted and filled the air. Your lovely military fiancé, overworked and tired on his break, did so well to deal with this. Of course, Simon, being an incredibly selfless person willing to compromise in any situation or scenario just to make you happy, said that it was alright when you invited him. “Nothing would make me happier,” he had said in a low, roughened voice - which was right before he buried his face between your legs.

But I digress.

Simon stood next to you as your uncle told you both in absolute monotony about his recent trip to Italy, “So beautiful. Your aunt Amelia and I want to get a vacation home there.” He finished, and you nodded awkwardly. “Sounds like you and aunt Millie had a great time, uncle Mike.” Your tone was dry while Simon nodded and hummed in response. He just wasn’t… very present.

Simon had his attention and focus set on pretty high at the beginning of the night, but he was able to relax a little bit since then, to let himself just be in the moment - or so the psychiatrist says he should. He was actively paying attention to the conversation, yes that is true, but the hand holding your waist began to… wander, a little bit. Slowly at first, but much faster now. With a hand that started on your shoulder in the beginning of the night, bit by bit lowered down your back, smoothing above the top of your ass and to your hip. Fingers pressing deep into the black velvet of your dress, Simon tried to keep you caged next to him. That didn’t matter though, because you would have done little to resist him.

You two shared a quick glance. His dark brown eyes were slightly glossed, his gaze a salaciousness that he always brings home. Ooh, it made you want to rub your thighs together just to feel something. You nodded again to your uncle Mike when he brought up something else that was equally boring. Simon, having a better idea and use for his time, suddenly seemed to have remembered something, “Apologies, Mike, but Y/N and I have to make an important phone call.” You looked up at him.

That brief look in his eye was so, so hungry. The greed brewed like a dark storm. You felt a hot chill race down your spine, your core began to burn. You acted as if you remembered the same ‘something’ as well. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we almost forgot!” You gasped in a low voice. His fingers squeezed your hip, making your chest slowly fall into shallow breaths as you could imagine him purring in your ear.

Good girl.

You two waved him off as you turned to leave the kitchen. Simon took the wine glass from your hand and placed it on the countertops as you two walked through the doorway. His hand pressed on your lower back, guiding you into the dark hallway. The armoire in the middle lit with warm candles that smelled of cinnamon and spiced apples, casting shadows that bounced and flickered across the walls. It helped light your way to the restroom, but it also kept you two enveloped in shadows to help hide whatever sins you were going to commit. Simon, without a word, opened the bathroom, and with nobody inside, he sweeped you in, locking the door behind you two.

The bathroom had warm string lights strung across the crown molding, and a window with fake candles sat high on the wall. The room was a little loud with the echoes, so you smacked the switch on the wall to turn the fan on, hoping to mask whatever sounds were going to flood the room.

Not even a second, in such a calculated move, Simon plucked his mask off and had your lips locked with his as he hoisted you onto the sink counter. All you could do in that flurry of movement was gasp, his hands gingerly holding your jaw as his mouth worked against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, sighing as you felt a hardened tent in his trousers press eagerly against your clothed cunt.

You ran your hands through his dark brown hair, a moan running from you into him as his hands gave your ass a harsh squeeze. He ground his hips into you, pulling a whimper from you as he pressed roughly against your thrumming clit. Simon broke from your mouth, kissing your neck as his fingers pushed up into your dress, grabbing your panties.

“Quiet - or they’ll hear us,” he whispered against your flesh. You panted with a nod as he slipped your panties off, tossing them onto the floor along with his jacket. Simon quickly unbuttoned his white sleeves, rolling them up to reveal his heavily veined forearms, his one arm tattooed with black. He expertly undid his belt, pulling his pants and underwear down slightly, his hardened cock springing free.

He kept kissing your neck, lightly sucking to tease but not enough to hickey or bruise. His fingers dipped into your embarrassingly wet sex, rubbing at your clit and folds before pushing two fingers into you. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N, so wet already.” His voice was a growl against your neck, slowly pumping them, his fingers rubbing up against that spongy spot inside.

It caused you to mewl. Simon’s one hand jumped to cup your mouth shut, making you gasp. The movement threw you off balance, your upper back falling back to press against the mirror while grabbing onto his wrist for support. He continued to finger you and hold your mouth closed, your whimpers mumbled in his hand.

Just as quick as you just started grinding your hips, he pulled his fingers away. A disappointed moan left broken up between your mouth and his palm. Simon grabbed his cock and started to pump himself, lubricating it with your juices before rubbing against your clit. He moved his hand from your mouth down to your hip.

You whimpered, “Oh my god, Simon.” Your hips wriggled and bucked against the dizzying sensation. He chuckled, slowly pressing his cock into your hot, wet cunt. The familiar stretch made you hum in need. “You’re gonna tease me? On Christmas?” You whined, your legs once again wrapped around his hips, urging him to sink into you.

“Ahh, have you been a good girl, though?” He asked in a low rumble, his other hand grabbing the other hip, his prepared stance making your hole clench around his member. He had a half-lidded stare, swirling with a level of lust you couldn’t really see the end of - bottomless and ravenous. Simon towered over you.

“I’m always a good girl for you, Simon,” You cooed.

He slowly pushed in, making you inhale sharply as you stretched so wide to allow him to fit. You held your breath as he pushed his cock through. “I’m just teasing, love - I know you’ll always be my good girl,” he said with warmth in his voice.

His tip kissed your cervix as he nestled fully, deeply, completely. Your head rolled back on the mirror as a satisfied sigh escaped you, but Simon’s grip on your hips tightened intensely. You gasped as he began a fast pace, his hips slapping loudly against your thighs and echoing in the bathroom. It was almost too much. It gave you little time to prepare for his entering, but you settled nicely around him after a few more thrusts.

Simon wasn’t normally this fast. He loved to hit with hard strokes, but nothing typically of this pace. Fortunately, you weren’t one to complain. It was so goddamn good. You hate it when your fiancé is away, not knowing where he was for most of the time, but when he’s gone for so long and comes back? Fuck. It’s criminal how good the sex is. His impatience made it impeccable.

But you were desperate. You wanted to cry and moan and yell, to beg and pray for him to bring you to a higher plane of pleasure. Oh, God, you would do anything for it, anything for him. You grasped at his forearms, your nails digging into his flesh, leaving stinging crescent moon shaped imprints in their path. He groaned lightly at your sharp grip, a soft chuckle coming from him. “Oh, you like this?” He asked, and you nodded, biting your lower lip to keep anything but your gasps, pants, and squeaks from escaping.

“Touch yourself,” his voice wasn’t harsh, but it was a demand.

With one hand still on Simon’s arm, the other moved to your clit, and you began to rub in quick circles. Simon watched your face twist and change: your mouth hanging open as you panted, but occasionally closed to bite your lip so to stop yourself from moaning; eyes half-lidded, barely open, glazed, and painfully horny; back bowing and arching, your toes curling, body just at a loss at what it can handle. This was Simon’s favorite view in the world. It’s what he came home for. It’s what he fought for.

A moan tumbled from your mouth as you held on for dear life. “S-Simon!” You whined his name, the heat inside of you burning red hot, uncontrolled, and rampant.

“S’alright love,” his voice was soft, “you gonna cum?”

You nodded quickly, the fingers on your clit stuttering as you found your release fast approaching, his almost brutal pace not slowing in the slightest. “I’m gonna c- ah- cum, Simon!” You struggled not to say too loud. “Don't stop!”

“Come on, Y/N,” he ushered, “cum for me.” Simon knew how to drive you over the edge. His hand reached out, firmly but gently cupping over your mouth to keep your head in place - and to push back your lascivious sounds.

A moan found itself trapped, lodged in your throat as you fought with your whole might not to yell and cry out. Your orgasm ripped through and crashed over you like a tsunami. He had unraveled you.

Your back arched, and you couldn’t roll your head back. Your lashes flickered as you struggled to keep your eyes from crossing or rolling back to look at Simon while you came. The fingers you had on your clit stopped moving as you were paralyzed, but the grip you had on his forearm stayed strong, “Ahhh, fuckin’ look at you. That’s a good girl, cummin’ nice and pretty on my cock. You like that, yeah?” He groaned, hips putting in more power to drill into your tightened pussy, tears pricking at your eyes as the orgasm left your legs shaking around him.

Simon retracted his hand, grabbing back at your hip. You let out a quick, small cry as your free hand held back onto his forearm. “Y’alright, love?” He grunted, and you nodded furiously before he could stop, but he started slowing down. You didn’t want him too. “Need- I need you,” you gasped, “don’t stop, Simon.” You whimpered.

Oh, to be buried deep inside your pussy was all he could have ever hoped for upon coming home. Y/N, ever so kind and giving. Simon tightened his hands around your hips again and began the brutal pace as you struggled to keep silent.

That’s when you felt your body heating up again. Your sex thrummed with the building pleasure and excitement once more, causing you to moan while you held onto his wrists. A light sheen of sweat sat on your skin, your clothes sticking uncomfortably to your flesh.

Simon moaned softly with a smirk, your fucked out expression and legs lazily clinging onto his hips was such an amazing sight. The snapping of him against you had beat your pussy red, leaving it angrily aroused. “You gonna cum again? Yeah? Ahhh, thas my needy girl.” Desperate, tiny grunts popped out of you with each thrust, your pussy swallowing Simon deeply.

“Si-Simon! Gonna- c-cum!” You gasped out with each pump. 

Your orgasm hit like a rapid flash of heat and pleasure. A squeal escaped you, and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand. Your eyelids fluttered as your eyes rolled back, legs around Simon’s waist tightened, your whole body trembled from his unrelenting pace. Your face was flushed red, eyes completely glazed and lost as your hair stuck to your face.

“Ah, f-fuck, so fuckin’ tight. So good - my girl is so good, God, cummin’ on my cock, just like that.” He growled, his hips slowly beginning to fall off rhythm while his orgasm began to creep up on him.

You moaned and begged, “Ah, Simon, nngh, I-I can’t- please cum!”

“Don’t you worry, g-gonna cum inside this pretty pussy,” Simon groaned, “gonna fill you up, yeah?”

You nodded furiously as your body screamed in overstimulation. “Please, I- ah! Too much, ah, you’re too much, Simon!” You cried out, your ever tightening cunt being stretched open, begging for his release.

“Y/N- Y/N, fuck!” He hissed as his hips slammed against you, tightly holding his cock against your cervix as if he was threatened to be ripped away. He groaned, emptying himself into you completely, his cock jerking and flexing harshly, making the veins on his shaft more pronounced. You whimpered, your cunt tensing around him as you felt hot waves shooting inside of you. He stayed for a moment while panting, his thighs shaking slightly, relishing in the feeling as oxytocin and dopamine flooded his brain. Simon pulled out, a throaty groan leaving you at the sudden emptiness, your legs letting go of him.

“Well… let’s hope nobody heard that.” Simon said in a low voice, pulling up his underwear and pants, buckling his belt and grabbing your panties for you. You slid off of the sink and inhaled sharply as your knees buckled. He immediately latched onto your arms, making sure you wouldn’t fall. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N, y’alright?” He asked, slowly loosening his grip to make sure you were okay on your own.

“My legs, Simon. Jesus Christian Christ - I can’t stand.” You huffed, leaning against the sink, glowering at him as you took your panties from his hand, embarrassed.

He unrolled his sleeves, buttoning them. “You’re really gonna talk like that? On Jesus’ birthday?” He looked at you as he grabbed his jacket, shaking his head. “What would your nan say, hmm?” He feigned sincerity, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he swung the jacket on.

“Well, the jokes on you because Christmas isn’t even Jesus’ birthday.” You snapped back at him, slowly sliding your underwear on as your knees shook like a newborn giraffe. He tutted in disapproval as he moved up to you.

Simon’s body was close, his body radiating warmth. He wasn’t one for a lot of physical affection, which was alright, so when he took the time to be attentive to you… you always melted against him immediately. His finger lightly hooked under your chin and tilted your head up to look at him. Your body subconsciously gravitated towards him, like a moth seeing the moon for the very first time.

He leaned down, lips brushing so close to yours, your eyes still connected . “Fuck what day it really is - I just know I’m home.” Simon pushed in for a deep kiss, brimming with emotions, the kinds he couldn’t really say. As he pulled away, he couldn’t help but admire you.

The golden candlelight fluttered across his face. His tired but warm eyes studied you, as if seeing you for the first time, memorizing and mapping every freckle, wrinkle, and spot, because he’s scared that the moment he looks away, he’ll forget. He took in your flushed, messy appearance as if God himself sent down a heavenly body to give him a reason not just to fight, but to live; an angel on its mission as a guide, and he would willingly martyr himself on the ground at your feet if it meant he could just hear you say his name. Once.

Simon wanted to say these things, but he wouldn’t. He might never. But that’s alright, too. Not everyone is meant to love so boldly.

You cocked an eyebrow as he stared at you so intensely. “You okay there, Lieutenant?” You asked, a small smile on your lips.

He realized that, yes, it was alright that he didn’t say those things. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t have to - you just knew. Everyday he thought about how he didn’t deserve you. You, ever so loyal and strong. You’ve given him a purpose, motive, after all of these years - alone.

He often wondered what he had done to deserve having someone like you in his life. Someone who loved and cultivated, with hands of soft mercy, so tender and kind. A voice of validation, honesty, reason, all stemming from your unconditional love. If he had met you years ago, before the therapy and psychiatry helped, he would’ve let your fingers prick and bleed as you grasped at his thorns while he plucked you of your petals, leaving you broken and bare.

He didn’t deserve you.

Simon returned the smile, his voice soft, “Never better.” His hands moved to hold your waist as you two shared a few more kisses. “You know I like it when you call me that,” he hummed in between the lip locking.

You moaned gently and teasingly bit his bottom lip, your hands pressing against and gliding up his shirt. You kissed his jawline and sighed, “Is that so, Lieutenant Riley?”

He squeezed your waist in a warning. “Careful, love, we don’t have time for round two. Save it for tonight.” Your pussy purred just as Simon pulled away, picking up the mask from the sink and putting it back on in an attempt to obscure his identity.

You hummed, legs still a little shaken. “Well, I might need a minute to get my feet under me. You… okay with managing my family alone?” You asked hesitantly, eyes slightly squinting as if to flinch. He studied you for a moment, eyes glancing you up and down. It made you a little self-conscious, causing you to shift.

“Of course, Y/N,” his tone was reassuring, and subtly professional, “you sure you want me to leave you? Just say the word, love.”

Your body relaxed a little, and you nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”

Simon faltered, if for a moment, before he gave you a soft squeeze on the arm, and left. You sighed, turning to lean onto the counter and fix your hair in the mirror. Your legs really were shaking, much to your surprise. Yes, yes, Simon makes you shake plenty, but he doesn’t always fuck that hard, if rarely. You couldn’t be more embarrassed. Sending your fiancé, who is not the biggest people-person, back to the wolves, but it’d be more embarrassing if you walked out there in your current state.

You fixed your dress and made sure you were able to stand properly again after a few minutes. Making sure your hair, makeup, and dress were all still together, you left the bathroom with caution. You quietly snuck down the hallway, back against the wall. You got to the doorway and peeked around the corner to peer into the party.

You don’t know how long you were in the bathroom for as the crowd surprisingly died down. Family members left for home, hotels, or whatever bedrooms your grandparents had available, so the end-of-the-night afterparty was intimate and calm. You inched into the room, eyes falling on Simon, who was outside with your grandfather, lighter in his hand.

You smiled gingerly as your mother called you over. “Sweetie, everybody loves Simon. I know he isn’t much of a talker, or a hugger, but he made a great impression.” Her voice was filled with warmth and happiness, and she spoke in a hushed tone. “He also listens to your grandfather’s stories, bless his heart.” She cooed. Your mother continued to speak, but her voice drowned out as you watched your future husband.

Simon stood at ease, with his hands held together and relaxed behind him as your grandfather engaged him in a story, puffing his cigar shakily as his hands trembled while he was animated. It was so calm and serene, watching him nod, the ghost of his jawline moving beneath the mask as he spoke. Your heart fluttered as Simon’s eyes flicked over and locked onto you, giving a little wink before turning his attention back to the present conversation.

Okay, you’re definitely sitting on his face tonight.

[catopoliscat]

next time / kento nanami/fem!reader.

who would have thought that kento nanami was a virgin? not you. not after this long. perhaps he was saving himself for someone. perhaps he was waiting for you.

tags: nsfw. 18+. fem!reader. afab reader. penetrative sex. alcohol. dry humping. virgin!nanami. mutual pining. friends to lovers. creampie (wrap it kids). unprotected sex. touch-starved!nanami. canon!verse. you've known nanami since school. tinges of angst. nanami wanted you bad lmao. it's love babey. reader has experience. no use of y/n or any other placeholders. ever. wc: 7.7k. a/n: i kind of fear nanami's a little ooc here lmao, but i've spent too long on this so fuck it we ball he deserves this

also how mad would you be if i said this was set a week before shibuya arc be honest

mdni.

You’re a bottle and half of zinfandel deep when Nanami tells you. 

Although you’re both a little warm, tipsy perhaps, you didn’t think either of you were quite drunk enough for this conversation just yet. It was a regular occurrence for the two of you to share a drink on a Friday, or a bottle in more pressing times. 

There were more bottles than glasses, lately. 

It was just two old friends, catching up. Talking. Complaining--usually about Satoru. Often you’d reminisce on easier times. Warm summers in the Jujutsu High courtyard, the cold tin of a soda in your hands, a bottle of water in his. Quiet talks of dreams and eventualities. Ignoring the gaping absence of a third at between you. 

Tonight though, you’re not sure when the topic had changed. Somewhere between the last dregs of the first bottle and the beginning of the second, the conversation had grown more sombre than usual. Talk of love and relationships always seemed to make the air heavier around the two of you, for different reasons. A stark air of loneliness that not even the most tart of white wine could overpower.

You had offhandedly mentioned turning down one of the windows you had met on your last mission. He had been younger than you, still full of life where the holes in yourself had long since emptied it out. You had shaken your head, flattered, but tired. There were better options for a man like him, still full of hope and vitality, a whole life ahead of him… when you knew any day yours could be cut deftly short. 

You had told yourself it had little to do with the fact that the man’s bright smile had reminded you of another, so many years ago.  

In the quiet of Nanami’s living room, swirling the last drops of your wine in your glass, you had mentioned that you had no real desire for relationships anymore. Other than sex, of course, but only sexual. A temporary release, one of the few you had left. Nameless faces and hurried touches. Sometimes clinical, sometimes primal. Always quick, and never the same person twice. 

You know?

To which Nanami had replied, “No.” 

Misunderstanding the gravity of what he was saying, you had raised an eyebrow, a curious smile playing at your lips. “Not one for one-night stands?” 

It occurs to you distantly that you don’t know a lot about Nanami’s romantic life. Close as you two were, or so you liked to believe, he had never really mentioned it. And you had never asked. 

Nanami had shook his head in response to your question, and you had nodded. It aligned with his character, you thought. As cold and stoic as he liked to act, you couldn’t imagine a world where he would use and discard someone. He felt too much, cared too much. He would love too much too, if given the chance. If he gave himself the chance. 

In your musings, you had almost missed what he had murmured next. 

“I’ve never had sex at all.” 

Kento Nanami. A virgin.

The confession has your lips parting, your eyes blinking. Once, then twice, akin to an owl. You glance down at your wine glass for a moment, as if it had been the slightly smeared glass that had been speaking to you instead, and not the esteemed stoic sorcerer you had known for the better part of ten years. 

You look over at Nanami on the couch, but he’s staring at the carpet, his expression contemplative, almost pensive. His brows are drawn taut, a small knit on his forehead. His lips are drawn into a thin line, a slight crease in his chin. There was a specific emotion dancing in his eyes. You almost dared to use the word vulnerable.

It seems… ridiculous. Nanami? Attractive as he was? Kind, considerate, hard-working, to a degree. A woman’s dream. In another life, perhaps your dream too.

Had it not been for Nanami’s serious demeanour, and the fact that ‘joke’ and ‘Nanami’ rarely went together in the same sentence, you might have thought he was pulling your leg. A joke between friends. 

But he wasn’t. He very clearly wasn’t. 

“That’s… fine,” you finally say after a small moment, fearing you had let the silence linger too long. “There’s no rush for these things.” 

Nanami’s hum is short and clipped. Gruff, almost. He still refuses to meet your eye for now, and you make no move to change that. You get the distinct feeling that this newfound vulnerability doesn’t stem from him never having sex, but rather, the reason why he’s denied himself - because you know for a fact it has little to do with opportunity. 

You had lost track of how many women you had watched Nanami turn down, clipped and short, yet always polite. 

The silence is heavy between you. In the other room, you can hear the hum of his refrigerator, the buzz of the bulbs in the lights. Nanami’s apartment has always been quiet, but this silence feels suffocating. Paired with the wine, your head feels thick, your tongue thicker. 

A few moments pass, and as the revelation of his virginity settles into your stomach like seltzer water, you realise… it makes sense. Nanami wasn’t the type to use someone for sex, even if eager. He’d only have sex with someone he was in love with. Someone he trusted at the very least. 

And Nanami, as he had told you and a few others before, refused to entertain the thought of love whilst he was a sorcerer. No one with two working brain cells needed to ask why. He wasn’t alone in that choice, either. 

You toy with the stem of your wineglass whilst you toy with a reoccurring thought in your mind, one that you entertained often, but had yet to voice aloud. 

“You shouldn’t keep depriving yourself, Kento,” you say quietly. The use of his first name, rarely used in your adulthood, garners you a glance from him. It’s a small sign that you’re taking this seriously. 

“I’m not deprived of anything.” 

You scoff at that, small and quiet. “You deprive yourself of a lot, apart from pain,” you drawl, setting your wine glass down on the coffee table. Like always, the wine and Nanami’s masochistic tendencies have your tongue loosening more than it should. “I understand not wanting to have sex with anyone you’re not in a committed relationship with. It’s kind of… admirable, and definitely you.” You fold your arms across your chest, fixing him with a stare that he still refuses to meet head-on. “But why deny yourself the chance of love?” 

In the back of your mind somewhere is a voice chanting ‘hypocrite’, but you ignore it. Nanami, however, does not. 

He finally turns his head to face you, the lines underneath his eyes seemingly heavier in the dim light of his apartment. An eyebrow arches. “And meaningless sex is different?”

You scoff again, louder this time. “It’s not meaningless just because I don’t love my partner.” 

“Or even know their name?” 

You raise a sharp eyebrow, your own lips now pressing into a thin line. A part of you wants to retort, to snap, but you remember the vulnerability in his face from a few moments ago, and you just about hold your tongue.

With an exhale, you grab the half-empty wine bottle off of the coffee table instead and gesture for Nanami to hold out his glass. He does, and the glug of the wine fills the space between you.

“You ever thought about it?” You ask, filling up your own glass. In your peripheral, you see him sit quietly for a moment before he nods his head. 

“I’m only human.” 

You hum. “You should experience it,” you add. You swirl the wine in your glass once before bringing it up to your lips. “Even once. Even if it means nothing.”  

With one glance, you can tell immediately that the idea doesn’t sit right with him. It was easy to forget sometimes how rigid and traditional he could be. Formalities that few seemed to care about these days. Always on the things you least expected. 

“I couldn’t,” Nanami replies, shaking his head. 

Oddly, you feel the desire to insist. Days of a sorcerer were short, and getting shorter every year. Younger than yourself and Nanami had already died long before they would ever have the opportunity to touch another, kiss another; to feel the warmth of a body against your own. They would never know what that distinct pleasure was like, even if they desperately wanted to. Time was infinite to the young, until it wasn’t.  

It occurs to you quickly that you’re thinking of Haibara, and everything you and Nanami had experienced that he never would. 

Something must show in your expression because Nanami raises an eyebrow at you. You swallow, before setting your glass back down on the coffee table with a dull clink. You look at him, your face surprisingly collected and casual for what you’re about to ask. 

“What about me?” 

Nanami’s questioning look only deepens for a moment, before something passes by his eyes. His lips part, his version of a falter. You know he knows what you’re implying, but still, he asks, “…what about you?” 

“What if we had sex?” You say without hesitation. “You know me. You trust me.” 

Nanami falters further. He straightens in his seat, his glass resting on his thigh, the thick muscle straining against his slacks. His whole body is thick with a tension you usually only see before a fight with a particularly highly graded curse. A vein protrudes from his neck.

His eyes flick between your face and your own glass, clearly wondering if it is time to call this night done, but you rise from your seat before he can, taking a small step toward the couch he’s sitting on. 

You sit down next to him, a little closer than you usually might. He doesn’t move away. Your thigh brushes against his, and this close, you can hear his breath hitch in response. 

“I’m not going to push this any further, Kento,” you say quietly, “but I’m letting you know it’s an option.” 

Although you and Kento were hardly affectionate with one another like most friends, you decided to take a chance tonight. You had already taken several, what was one more?

Reaching out, you take his glass from his hand and set it next to yours on the coffee table. Hesitating only a moment, you place your hand on top of his, your fingers curling around until your fingertips touch his palm.

His hand is stiff and warm underneath your own. The bones and knuckles press against your skin.

Something in the back of your mind is wondering why you’re pushing this at all. Would it matter if Nanami died without experiencing the pleasures of the body, really? Would the world stop turning for either of you? You know if Nanami really wanted to, if he felt the want, the desire - then he could leave this apartment right now and find someone willing, someone other than you. He could have done so years ago, during those few years he had masqueraded as a normal human being with a nine-to-five. 

You were risking a friendship over… what? The implied hopes and dreams of a dead fifteen-year-old? Haibara was dead. It didn’t matter to him whether Nanami experienced the things he never could. 

Nanami’s gaze flickers between your eyes for a moment, and this close, you can see the faint traces of the wine staining his lips. Your gaze must linger for a touch too long because his tongue swipes across his bottom lip. The pink skin glistens with the faint glimmer of his saliva.

When you look up, you see his eyes trained on your own lips, before they quickly flick back up to meet your eyes. 

“We’re friends,” he murmurs, his voice low, slightly thick. 

“And we always will be,” you reply.

He glances down at your hands. Somewhere between your own thoughts and Nanami’s reiteration of your friendship, your hands had interlocked, fingers intertwined like vines. He was gripping your hand a little too tightly to be comfortable, but you didn’t flinch. 

You’re not sure whether it had been your subconscious doing, or his. 

“I… can’t,” Nanami mutters finally, closing his eyes for a moment. “Not like this. Not… now.” 

Something clenches in your heart at his rejection, although you had expected it. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s denying you, or himself. 

You smile softly nonetheless and nod. “If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me,” you say quietly, going to pull your hand from his grip and give him some space. 

Only he doesn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightens slightly. 

Your eyes flick between his hand and his eyes, still trained on your face. You raise an eyebrow, your lips parting to speak, but he beats you to it. 

“But I’d like to kiss you.” 

Something resembling a very quiet ‘uh’ pushes past your lips in a long exhale.

You’re not sure why the idea of kissing him felt more… intimate than the fact that you had offered your body to him only seconds prior. You’re not sure why there’s a prickle of heat at the back of your neck or your lips burn with a sudden need.

“Nanam-“

As if remembering himself, he shakes his head slightly, blinking away whatever stupor had just possessed him. He looks away, his grip on your hand loosening, but not quite pulling away. 

“I… don’t know why I said that,” he mumbles. “You should go-“

Your free hand is already gripping his chin, turning his face toward yours a little too sharply. A subtle grunt leaves his throat as he looks at you, his gaze foggier than usual. From the wine, you, or the whole situation? Who knows. 

Fingers against his neck, feeling the quickened thrum of his pulse, your thumb brushes against his chin, pulling the skin until his lips naturally part. You feel Nanami’s shaky exhale against your lips as you lean forward, warmth breath mingling with yours, the scent of wine heavy on the air. 

You close the distance slowly, giving him time to stop this, to pull or push away. To draw an end to this nonsense before it went any further. 

Instead of pulling back or pushing you away, he closes the gap so quickly your noses almost bump together. 

The first press of his lips against you feels hurried and unsure. It’s off-center slightly, barely hitting the corner of your mouth, but Nanami is quick to correct it. He slots his lips against yours more firmly the second time, his lips parting to capture yours fully. You feel a rush of air against your cheek as he exhales through his nose. 

The kiss is unhurried, curious almost, yet there’s a subtle urgency in it that surprises you. Your free hand moves from his chin to his jaw, fingertips softly caressing the sharp curve of it. The sound and feel of his sigh against your lips makes you shiver, and you become enamoured with it. 

Enamoured with him.

You part your lips further, your tongue swiping against his bottom lip, finally tasting the remnants of the wine that you had spotted earlier. An odd sound builds at the back of his throat before his mouth parts too, his tongue brushing against yours. 

Something changes quickly then. His hand, larger than you ever really noticed, cups the back of your neck, his calloused thumb pressing against your jaw, drawing you closer. Your other hands, still intertwined, seem to tighten around one another like a snake's coils. The wet smacks of your lips grow louder in the quiet of his apartment, just about overriding the sound of increasingly ragged breaths, borderline panting. 

Your head feels thick. Dizzy. The kiss is indulgent, almost sloppy now. Nanami’s tongue is in your mouth, exploring every crevice, tasting you with an eagerness you hadn’t thought he was capable of. Every time you brush your tongue against his, your taste buds wetly sliding against his own, a small sound rumbles in the back of his throat, somewhere between a groan and grumble. 

After a moment that feels like an eternity too short, you pull back slightly, just enough to see his eyes as you open yours. Nanami denies you this, however, because when you open your eyes, his are still closed, almost scrunched. A faint frown tugs at his brow. 

He leans forward until his forehead rests against yours. The heat of his skin against yours feels searing, your noses softly brushing against one another’s. He sighs deeply, as if pulled from the back of his chest. It almost sounds like defeat. 

“Kento-“

“I want you,” he breathes out, and your voice almost hitches as you feel rather than hear his voice. It’s a deep, husky sound, more rumble than syllable. But there’s a crack in his tone belying a raw vulnerability that you weren’t familiar with. Not from him.

His eyes finally open, looking up at you from underneath his brow. His hazel eyes are almost black, you realise, the familiar colour you’ve always admired swallowed up by a sea of coal. You wonder if yours are the same. 

He’s trembling too. You can feel his fingertips shake where they press against the nape of your neck. 

“I thought you didn’t want… this,” you murmur. ‘Sex’ suddenly feels too…

“I changed my mind,” he replies, a touch too quickly for you to believe that he was thinking clearly. 

But God, did you want him too. You want him so fucking bad it almost makes you ache. Your feelings toward Nanami had always been friendly, respectful. He had been your closest friend, your ally, your confidant. You had been through so much together. You liked him, every part. 

And somewhere along the way, between the four years apart as he pursued a different life and the first time you had hugged him when he finally returned, Gojo grinning over his shoulder… you think, that like had changed to love.

It quickly occurs to you that you weren’t pushing Nanami to experience sex for fear of him missing out. That was you. You were scared of missing out on him.

It’s that revelation that makes you pull back slightly, and Nanami’s eyes widen a little, some of the hazy fog clearing. His hand slides from the back of your neck, falling limply against the couch next to your thigh. 

“I… I shouldn’t have put you in this position,” you mutter, glancing away, staring at the two wine glasses on the coffee table before looking back at him. “It’s your choice. Your first time should be on your terms, not because I think you’re missing out or depriving yourself.”

You go to remove your hand from his, but once again, his grip tightens, but there’s a tenderness to it this time. A gentle squeeze, almost begging you not to go. Not yet. 

He looks serious now, staring at you squarely, as if about to deliver a mission report, and its the first familiar expression you’ve seen on his face thus far. He swallows thickly, the only thing belying his hesitation. 

“I said I couldn’t have a one-night stand.” 

You frown. “And th-“

“I don’t want this to be a one-night stand.” 

Some of the breath flees your lungs as you look at him. His lips are still pink and slightly swollen from kissing, his cheeks still slightly flushed from the wine and your touch. You become distinctly aware of the scent of his cologne, faded but warm from his skin. It’s soft, smoky almost. You have the urge to bury his nose in the crook of his neck and breathe.

You know what he’s trying to say, what he’s trying to ask. You know what he wants because you want it too. You realise you’ve wanted it for a long damn time. 

Words fail you. They feel… inadequate to describe what you’re feeling, what you desire, what you’ve always desired buried down underneath the guilt and trauma. 

But you still can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. Not here. Not yet. 

And neither can he.

You’re not sure who makes the first move, all you know is that your lips are pressed against his and he moans into your mouth as if something had finally let go. It’s like a cork had finally been released, a lifetime of pent-up feelings pouring out in one gush. 

His hand is back at the nape of your neck, holding you tightly this time, unwilling to let go. His lips part more readily with every press, his tongue seeking yours with a pinpoint determination. You skip his jaw this time altogether, aiming straight for his hair that you’ve been dying to touch since… you don’t know when. 

The hand that had been holding yours hostage finally releases, only so his fingers can brush against your waist. His fingers brush against your ribs through your clothes, tugging you closer until you’re rising up onto your knees on the couch just to oblige. He’s tilting back, his broad shoulders bumping against the couch cushions behind him - and it’s only distantly you register it’s because you’re pushing him back against it. 

Something shouts at you in the back of your mind to take your time, to savour this, to savour him. You may want each other badly, but this is Nanami’s first time. It should be done carefully, respectfully, the way he would treat you if this position had been reversed. 

But then Nanami’s hand has moved from your waist to your thigh, blindly grabbing it as he pulls it over his lap. Before you know it, you’re straddling his hips with a huff against his lips, and something like a sharp, pained groan leaves his lips. 

You pull away from his lips with a ragged breath, concern knitting your brow until you realise what the cause of his groan was. 

Straddling him, you can feel the pulse of his desire underneath you, the hard ridge of the bulge in his pants pressing insistently against your core through your own clothes. One hand is grabbing your hip tightly, almost too tight, as his forehead rests against your shoulder. The other hand is on your thigh, his thumb digging into the plush flesh there. 

His breathing is ragged, extremely so. Hot puffs fall against your skin. You weave your fingers through his hair softly, and you watch with reverence as a strong shudder rolls down his spine in response.

“We can stop, if you’d like,” you murmur against his ear, going to rise up on your knees to give him a little breathing room.

“Don’t,” he grunts, the grip on your hip and thigh quickly stopping you. He exhales again, a shaky sound as he keeps his forehead stamped against your shoulder. His voice emerges again, barely audible, slightly pained. “...I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Your grip in his hair tightens in response. In a flood, memories of him rush through your mind. A thousand different glances, subtle touches, small clues. Even in school, the way he would linger, a touch closer every time Suguru or Satoru would appear. The hand at the bottom of your back in a restaurant. The way he would lean in to hear you in a crowded place. 

The way his arms had tightened around you when he had returned after four years away. I missed you too, almost inaudible against your ear. 

Nanami didn’t want a one-night stand. What was the point of sex at all, if it wasn’t with you? 

The thought has you rolling your hips down against his before you can stop yourself, feeling the firm length of his cock grind against your core. A moan leaves your lips, and something guttural leaves his. 

The hand on your thigh moves up to your other hip, pulling you down tighter against him as if he could slide inside you right now. “Don’t tease,” he hisses between clenched teeth. He turns his head slightly, his lips brushing against your neck. He leaves a searing, open-mouthed kiss against your pulse point. “Not now, not after this long.” 

“You think you’re the only one who waited?” You pant as you grind again, firmer this time. His hips buck against yours in response, a muffled groan leaving his lips, imprinted against your neck. You can feel his cock throb against you, twitching against the fabric that separates you. 

“…you wanted this too?” He breathes out after a moment. 

You nod, though you doubt he can see it from the way his face is buried against the crook of your neck. “Since you came back. Since you hugged me back and said you missed me.” 

His hands move from your hips to wrap tightly around your waist as if he couldn’t bear for a single slither of space to be left between you two. His hips jut up against you once again, a ragged breath leaving his lips. It seems the idea of you wanting him for so long the same as he had the same effect on him as it had on you. If not more. 

He holds you a little tighter, running the sharp point of his nose along your throat as he tilts his head up. Finally, finally, he breaks free of your neck to look up at you, lips parted, eyes almost desperate. 

With a thick swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing, he goes to say something but falters, and murmurs your name instead. His dark eyes flick between your eyes and your lips. His cock twitches underneath you. 

“Please,” is all he can croak out, and the moan that almost leaves your lips would have been primal. 

You nod your head, giving his shoulders a small squeeze, pushing him back slightly. He seems reluctant to let go, but finally relents after a little insistence, reclining back against the couch. His arms unwind and his hands drop to your hips. He looks up at you, clearly waiting for your lead. 

You sit back slightly on his parted thighs, the muscles firm and supportive underneath you. Letting your hands fall from his shoulders, you drag your fingertips slowly down over the expanse of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his wrinkled shirt. As your fingers skate over his abdomen, you feel the muscles flex and roll. Nanami looks at you readily. 

“We should do this properly,” you murmur, your eyes trained on the lower buttons of his shirt, near the waistband of his slacks. “In a bed.” 

Nanami, to your surprise, shakes his head quickly, giving your hips a small squeeze. “We’ve waited long enough.” 

You raise an eyebrow but don’t disagree. Despite the need, the ache, the pulse of your own core, you can’t help but think of if the positions were reversed. The image of candles, roses and soft music fills your mind, Nanami’s guiding hands and murmured praises. It would be slow and romantic. Perfect. 

“Nanami,” you breathe out, almost chastising. With the way his cock is pressing against you, you have no doubt he’s not thinking clearly right now; the thought of having what he had wanted for so long within his grasp clouding rational thought. 

He shakes his head again, a lock of his mussed hair tickling his brow. “Next time.” He shifts, sliding down the couch a little more and spreading his thighs - and in turn, spreading yours. He grips your hips tighter, pulling you a little closer until you’re seated right on top of him. “Next time,” he repeats in a groan. “We’ll go slow. I’ll explore every inch of you, taste you. Now, I just want…” He exhales an unsteady breath, sounding like your name. “I just want you.” 

Your fingers linger near his shirt's lower button, and one of Nanami’s hands unclasps itself from your hip to gently grasp your wrist. He guides your fingertips to the belt buckle, the metal cool against your hot fingers. 

You meet his eyes once more, and his gaze is a paradox of firmness and vulnerability. He’s nervous, you think, but ready. Almost desperately so. 

Without another word, your other hand reaches down to join your other one, and your fingers are surprisingly deft as you slide the leather through the metal. Nanami watches your hands with rapt attention until the belt is loose. Your fingers slide over the metal button of his slacks, and you don’t check in this time. You pop it open before sliding his zipper down, the crackle of the metal teeth as loud as a gunshot between you.

A small sigh of what you think is relief leaves his lips as the fabric parts, giving you a small glimpse of the dark boxers underneath, straining over his cock. A small wet patch blooms at the top, wear his tip would be, and a shudder runs through you. 

Your fingers tuck into the waistband of his underwear, lingering for a moment. You look up at him at the same time he looks up at you. Without a sound, Nanami lifts his hips and you rise up to your knees. 

With a few firm tugs, you manage to inch his slacks and boxers down enough to free him. A small huff leaves his lips as the cooler air of the apartment hits his overheated flesh, and you watch in rapt attention as his cock twitches, the flushed tip glistening already.

It’s longer than you expected. Thicker too. Uncut. A prominent vein runs up the underside of it, and you have the sudden urge to follow it with your finger, or your tongue. 

Nanami shifts underneath you, and you realise you’ve been staring a touch too long.

You pull your eyes away from his cock to meet his eyes, and his breathing seemed to have quickened. Anticipation is making him stiff, almost antsy, a rare sight on a man you’ve rarely ever seen anything of other than composed. 

It’s endearing. 

Reaching down, you satisfy your own urge and run your fingertip up his shaft, following the vein, feeling it pulse steadily to the rhythm of his heart. Nanami’s hips twitch, his eyelids fluttering. Dark eyelashes tickle his cheeks.

When you curl your fingers around him, gripping him firmly at the base, his eyes shoot open, snapping to the sight of him in your palm. You give him one pull upwards, and a bead of pre-cum wells in the divot of his slit. 

“Fuck,” comes out in a very quiet, gruff choke. Your eyebrows rise in surprise, a small smile on your lips. Nanami didn’t always curse, and especially not like that. 

“Language, Nanami,” you tease, and his eyes flick up to you, something indignant and impatient in his eyes. You usually weren’t one to tease, and he wasn’t one to be teased. 

You continue to stroke him slowly for a moment, rubbing your thumb against the sensitive tip. You fingers quickly become tacky, the glide of your hand more fluid, until the lewd wet noise starts to rise to the same level as Nanami’s breathing. He grunts with every upward stroke, his hips twitching underneath you. Had it not been for your weight on top of him, you get the distinct feeling he’d be bucking up into your palm a little more eagerly. His head falls back against the couch, lips parted, his eyes fluttering closed once more as he relaxes more into the sensation. 

It occurs to you that you’ve seldom seen Nanami this relaxed. 

“Are you sure you want to do this here?” you ask, “with me on top?” 

He nods but doesn’t open his eyes. His hands run up from your hips to your waist, a soft caress. “It’ll be… easier for me- hah-“ Another choked groan leaves his lips as you give the head of his cock a small squeeze, and Nanami’s hand flies to your wrist in a blink, stopping you from making another move. 

You feel his cock throbbing in your grasp, and Nanami’s straight-up panting now, his eyes slightly wild as he tilts his head up to look at you. It’s an arousing reality to know that you had just pushed Nanami dangerously close to the edge without even meaning to. 

“I won’t last,” he murmurs, looking up at you, his eyes shining.

 You realise quickly that he’s actually asking a question. Are you sure? 

“This time,” you reply with a small smile. With his hand still around your wrist, you give his cock another squeeze, and he grits his teeth, that vein in his neck protruding once more. You can see the taut muscles in his abdomen flexing from where his shirt has bunched up. 

As much as the idea of making Nanami cum, right here, right now, appeals to you, you relent for now. You’d love nothing more than to watch him spill into your palm, to see the euphoria and bliss play out on his face… but that was for another time. The next time, perhaps. 

You release his cock, letting it fall back against his lower stomach with a dull smack, making him hiss through his teeth. Leaning forward, you brush your lips against his throat, nipping at the skin softly. 

You guide his hands to the waistband of your own bottoms, and he wastes little time in following your unspoken order. The press of your lips against his throat clearly distracts him, but he manages to pull down your clothes enough to leave you in your underwear. You kick them off the sofa haphazardly, not leaving his neck for a single moment. 

He catches you off guard when his hand immediately dives for your sex, cupping your heat through the dampened fabric. You stutter against his neck, gripping onto his shoulders for support in response. 

Your eyelids close, goosebumps erupting across your skin as you feel just how wet you are. “Nanami,” you gasp.

“Kento,” he whispers quickly. Once, then twice, he rubs his palm along your clothed pussy, something guttural building in the back of his throat as you buck down into his touch. “You’re… so wet.” 

The wet spot on the fabric clings tightly to your folds, doing very little to dampen the sensation of his touch. His fingers are exploratory, a tentativeness that belies his lack of experience with this, but his touch, the fact it’s him, here and now, makes up for it all. 

You can’t remember the last time you enjoyed a touch such as this. Not like this. 

Despite toying with Nanami’s cock until he almost burst, hypocritical impatience gets the better of you, and you remove your hand from his shoulders to tug down your own underwear, kicking it off to join the growing pile on the floor. Bare from the waist down, Nanami’s eyes roam over the exposed skin almost hungrily. 

Both calloused hands run up your thighs, pressing into the soft flesh slightly. You see his hand move for your pussy once more, but your fingers are curling back around his cock again before he can distract you. 

Next time, keep parroting in your mind. Next time you can both endure hours of foreplay; touching, kissing, tasting, the whole nine yards. You promise to make him cry out before he even sinks inside you, to run your tongue along every inch of his skin until you’re sick of the taste of him. You’d know he’d do the same. 

But you two had waited long enough. 

Gripping the base of his cock again, you brush it up against your heat, your own slick smearing across him. Nanami’s eyes almost roll back into his head, but he closes his lids before you witness it. You’re faring little better, the mere sensation of having him against you like this, the tip of his cock rubbing up against your clit sending you dizzy. You angle your hips, and just feeling the thick head press against the tight, slick ring of muscle is enough for a moan to already tumble past your lips. 

Something flickers in Nanami’s gaze as he opens his eyes again, honing in on the sight of you braced above him like this. He grips your hips, his touch light, merely supporting you for now. You look back once into his eyes, and go to check in just once more, but he leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s little more than teeth and raw need. 

His lips pressed against yours, you sink down, the wider head of his cock slipping inside you. Your lips part in a soundless gasp against his mouth, swallowing the ragged groan that leaves his throat. The stretch is slightly more than you’re prepared for. Distantly, you think, skipping foreplay wasn’t the wisest idea, but desperation, need, pushes you forward regardless. 

So you sink down further, inch by inch, and as he slides deeper and deeper, his grip on your hips grows tighter and tighter, until the force of his fingers dulls the ache of his cock kissing your cervix. 

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp as you finally bottom out, hips sitting on top of his. You realise you’re breathless, and that cowgirl might not have been the best position for taking someone of his size. Certainly not in one go, like you just had. 

Nanami is fairing no better. His mouth is agape, his biceps trembling where he clings to you. He seems dazed, winded, panting into your mouth as his arms wind against you. He pulls you forward, and you both moan as his cock seems to slide just that little bit deeper. 

You’re dizzy, strained, stretched out far more than you can ever remember being before. Your eyes are scrunched closed, your forehead knocking against his. Everything feels distant and muffled. It takes you a moment to realise Nanami’s muttering something repeatedly in fragmented gasps.

When you open your eyes, he’s looking at you almost panicked, his eyebrows knitted upward. His teeth are bared, gritted - and it’s now you notice that you’re clenching around him so tight that you’re not sure if you’re causing him more discomfort than pleasure.

You swallow thickly, trying to catch your breath. You’re flushed, prickly heat blooming across your chest and neck. You shift a little, and something pained rumbles from the back of Nanami’s chest in response.  

“Do you want me to stop or-“

“Don’t,” he grunts, his fingers shaking against your back. “Don’t move.” 

The throb of his cock inside you is insistent, and it takes everything in you not to clench tighter around him in response. You know he’s close, dangerously close, and as much as you want to rise up on your knees and slam yourself down on his cock until he’s begging you to stop, you clench your jaw and relax. 

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, kissing his skin softly; small pecks and affectionate touches. He shivers, and his cock still pulses, but slowly, muscle by muscle, he relaxes too, ragged pants dissolving into hot, muted breaths. His arms around you loosen, holding now, not gripping. 

“Tell me when you want me to move,” you whisper against his ear, pressing a small kiss to the lobe. 

He nods, brushing his cheek against yours with a soft sigh. His hand moves from your back upward, until he cups the back of your head, drawing your lips back to his. It’s a soft kiss, loving; slow and sensual slides of wet skin mingling with gentle exhales. Before you know it, and before he says, you’re rolling your hips greedily, just grinding against him for now. 

A guttural sound leaves his lips. His forehead feels hot and sticky pressed against yours like this, a strand of his hair tickling your cheek. 

You feel his thighs shift, widening as far as the slacks still around his thighs can allow, feet planted more firmly into the carpet. The first roll of his hips is disjointed, off rhythm with your own, but the slight drag of his cock against your walls has you moaning brokenly. The second roll, a little more confident, has you pressing your hips down to meet it, and your back arches like a cat.

“Fuck yes,” you moan, your voice thick and throaty. You moan his name, wait for the third shallow thrust, and meet it. “You feel so fucking good.” 

He looks up at you like you hung the stars, his eyes widening at the sound of his name tumbling past your lips like a fractured halo. He loses his rhythm, but you soon pick it back up for him, starting to use your thighs to slide more eagerly down his cock. It’s still shallow, Nanami’s arms around your waist preventing you from really going for it, but you’re unwilling to part from the closeness for now. 

You bounce a few inches at a time, the dull clap of your hips and the lewd squelch of your hot cunt wrapped tight around him filling the air of the apartment. With each bounce, a grunt pushes out from his chest, hot breath fanning across your face. 

Nanami, though inexperienced, starts to let his body guide him. His hips buck up to meet you more confidently, and the growing force of his movements has you keening, fingernails biting into his shoulders. 

You look square into his hooded eyes, breath mingling, and see the flush across his skin, his lips glistening with saliva. You moan again, higher pitched this time, and Nanami’s next thrust has you jolting up a little, nose bumping against his. You clench around him again, and his brow knits together. 

“S-Shit,” he pants, his hips starting to jolt more readily, pushing a little too forcefully into you, quickly losing his rhythm. “I’m not… I’m not going to last…” His movements quicken, grow more erratic, and you’re not even sure he realises. “… you’re so fucking… tight.” 

The last part is little more than a throaty whisper, his voice cracking. You stop meeting his thrusts and instead, widen your stance, tighten your core, and let him take what he needs. The movement, though small, isn’t lost on him, and he looks up at you, emotion swimming heavily in his dark gaze. 

He thrusts up grow more erratic, sloppier, something like a grunt leaving his mouth with every dull thwap of his hips against your ass. His arms tighten around you, fingertips pressing into your skin. A groan, a hiss, and a swallow. The couch creaks and strains. 

“N-Next time - hah - next time… I want t-to feel you cum around me,” he pants, his arms starting to shake. “I’ll give you everything, anything, fuck, I-I’ll keep going until… until… God-“ 

He’s barely pulling out now, a mere inch is all he’s moving, the head of his cock bullying against the soft spot right next to your cervix. Choked, high-pitch moans are the only sounds you can make, and you distantly note you’ve never sounded like before. Not ever. 

You’re getting there, you realise. Not quite close, and definitely not as close as him, but the way his cock fits inside you, the slap of his hips against you, the way he’s looking at you… it’s pushing you there fast. 

But it’s not quite enough. 

“I’m close,” he gasps. “I… where…” 

“Inside,” you reply without hesitation. Something passes by his eyes, a small flicker of concern, perhaps, swimming in the sea of lust and arousal. You try to find your bearings enough to tell him it’s okay, you wouldn’t have taken him inside if you weren’t protected-

-but then his cock is twitching inside you, and Nanami is shaking, shaking underneath you, his thighs jolting, nearly bucking you off his lap altogether. 

With one last slam of his hips against you, buried as deep as he could possibly ago, a long, primal groan leaves him. It’s deep, visceral, easily mistaken for something pained - and it might be the most divine fucking sound you’ve ever heard in your life. 

He buries his face against your throat as his hips buck involuntarily a few times, and you shiver as you feel that familiar warmth bloom inside you. He’s giving you everything, or what feels like it. Your pussy flutters around him, and his fingertips press into you so tight you wouldn’t be surprised to see bruises. 

His heart is hammering against your chest, the thump pounding even in your own chest. Ragged pants and a heavy quiet settles over the living room. His cock continues to twitch inside you, growing weaker with every thud of his heart. 

Nanami doesn’t pull his head from your throat for a long while, his nose pressing into your skin as he pants against you. 

After a moment, he finally swallows. “… I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I… I should have made you-“ 

“Shut up,” you murmur against his warm hair, breathing in the faint scent of sweat and his shampoo. He seems to get the picture, of what you were trying to say. He always did. “Next time,” you add anyway, just to be sure. 

He lifts his head from your skin, looking up at you blearily. You smile fondly as you see his face again, the harsh lines on his brow and his eyes smoother now, no longer creased as they always seemed to be. He looks… so much younger, you think, like this. Relaxed. Sated. 

You brush some of his sweaty hair out of his face, and his eyelids flutter at the brief contact. He seems exhausted, you think.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs as he looks up at you. “I don’t want this to…” His palm moves against your back, sliding down your spine. “I want you. Properly. I always have.” He swallows. “Always.” 

Your eyes soften. He looks at you expectantly, almost vulnerably. 

“You have me,” you murmur in reply, finally. “Properly.” 

A small smile tugs at his lips, and it’s warmer than you’ve ever seen before. Genuine. Light. It’s as if a decade of weight lifts from his broad shoulders, if only briefly. 

He pulls you close once more, his lips pressing against yours softly, lovingly, and the world seems to fade away. 

For now, of course. 

masterlist.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

animal - masterlist

logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: a man with no memories and the instincts of an animal finds his place in your home, and in your heart (it’s feral!logan)

warnings: non-sexual nudity, swearing, some sexual thoughts and mentions of sex, mentions of blood, angst, drinking/alcohol, violence, killing warnings will be added along with chapters

not all facts about reader may apply to you. i tried to keep it vague enough so you can insert yourself into the story, but writing a character requires knowing their personality, so it is impossible for this to fit everyone.

chapter 1: in which you meet logan

chapter 2: in which your relationship deepens and he speaks to you for the first time

chapter 2.5: an interlude in logan’s pov

chapter 3: in which you and logan share your first kiss

chapter 4: in which logan starts to regain his memories

chapter 5 (coming november 14)

chapter 5.5 (coming november 18)

chapter 6 (coming november 21)

bonus headcanons! (coming november 25)

other chapters may be added...

taglist: @mystiquesvendetta @raeinyourdreams @babey-fruit-bat @meetmypointlessaddiction @kneelforloki @deaky-with-a-c @hypermarvellove @littlepeanut03 @the-ruler-of-death @aliengutzstuff @misscrissfemmefatale @mynamesstevenwithav @teaganthemorningstar @blackkatzz @leryg0 @fries11 @forksloree @i5uckersblog @dragovegogrimborn @quillycrow @melday0105 @just-a-little-cellist @scorpiosaintt @akasha157-blog @insanesosciopath

[thestobingirlie]

Not only has Robin seen Steve’s dick, she’s had a bunch of follow-up questions (“-so can it actually, like, get bigger?” “I am not answering you sober.” “Steve, it’s the middle of our shift, where am I going to get alcohol?”), has looked at photographs/film of other dicks for comparison and concluded that - as dicks go - Steve’s is pretty aesthetically pleasing.

Whether she informs him of this as part of a daily report on her research progress, as a compliment to bolster his self-esteem when he’s crying in the bathroom over someone who doesn’t deserve him or if she brings it up apropos of nothing during movie night that there’s a nude/sex scene - up to you. Regardless of context, Steve is genuinely touched and flattered and everyone else within earshot is fucking baffled.

everyone loves uncomfortably close stobin until we start talking about steve’s dick lmao. then they have a relationship that’s reminiscent of two ten year olds lol

really though, stobin are the kind of friends that walk in on each other in the shower to ask where they’re going for lunch. zero boundaries babey.

also, robin doing research on steve is so real to me, the stobin discord jokes about it all the time lmao. she has little notebooks, and any time he does something unusual it’s being picked apart and decoded.

also, also. any time they’re watching tv and a hot guy/gal comes on screen, it’s: “you’re wayyy hotter” “you could get her easy” “your boobs are totally better than his” they like reassuring each other <3

[devilfic]

GMMMMM!!!!! I was hoping you could write a battinson x reader about their wedding? Maybe something just super soft and fluffy, WE LACK BATTINSON WEDDING CONTENT

❝wedding headcanons with bruce wayne❞

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: fluff, established relationship, marriage, mention of alcohol. words: 2k.

oh ABSOLUTELY

alright, walk with me

I’m imagining that bruce is a bit older if he’s getting married because. let’s be honest. getting this man to settle down right now would be like wrangling a hellhound

not because he doesn’t fantasize about it. trust me, he has, but you really are in a polygamous relationship with gotham during your first few years together LMAO

I think bruce had an idea of what his wedding would be like when he was younger

probably a small, traditional wedding. something that his parents had

but at some point, when bruce becomes conscious of his position in society (and just how many people are gonna wanna come to this thing), he figures out it’s probably gonna be a big deal

bruce... does not like that

I don’t think that he has a problem with a big wedding, but he does know if he has one, he’s going to have to adhere to the social rules of the upper echelon

and that means inviting people he doesn’t particularly Like

again, he does not like that

but the thing abt these social rules is that if you tell him you’re not comfortable, if you tell him you don’t like someone, if you tell him you don’t want someone there, he won’t give a FUCK about their feelings

bruce does not care about the fanfare. this day is for you and him as far as he’s concerned

this is also why I think during the planning stage he’d be the kind of husband to just hand you his wallet and tell you to go ape shit

but he’s not that kind of guy. he isn’t some disinterested husband just pawning off all the hard work onto you because he doesn’t want to do anything

it’s like I said, he only cares about you

if you want to go great gatsby and throw the party of the year? go crazy!

if you want something on an island beach? he’ll bring sunglasses!

if you want to walk up to the courthouse, pay for your marriage license, and take him to bed right after? do you, babey. or him. in this case

I think the only thing bruce would have any strong feelings about is the color scheme

I’m sorry, you know he’s going to want a lot of dark, gothic elements

he will feel so out of place if you guys did anything outside of his color palette LMAO

he’s not afraid of getting fancy, he just needs things to be on Brand

that being said, I think he would really like if you had the wedding in a cathedral

I mean the acoustics with a choir singing as you walk down the aisle would just be heavenly

I’m just picturing the cathedral in the movie with white roses and ivy everywhere!! the sun streaming in through the windows!!! the choir on either side of the altar singing so beautifully while bruce watches you approach that he can’t help but start crying!!! ahhhhH!!!

I also saw a couple do this and thought it was really sweet

so instead of doing the whole not seeing each other before the wedding thing, the couple dressed each other the day of

just imagining the intimacy of slowly waking up the morning of the wedding in bed with bruce, letting him stroke your back as you lay on his chest

you’re both a little nervous but all that comes out in giggles and silly jokes to calm each other down

then taking a shower together, washing bruce’s hair for him, getting distracted because he starts kissing down your back and oh how time flies

sharing breakfast that you both made in your underwear because alfred took dick and left you two the house for the weekend because I’d also like to imagine that at this point, robin is part of the family

(and is enjoying his weekend with grandpa alfred. and definitely hasn’t learned any alarming offensive tactics since he’s been away)

bruce putting on a record and dancing with you in the living room to “practice” for later

helping each other into your clothes, brushing hair out of the way and reminding the other where they left their shoes/earrings/cologne

bruce driving you to the cathedral and only parting ways so that you can hurry in the back door because the front is PACKED with paparazzi

alfred is bruce’s best man and is just smug as a bastard when he notices bruce’s little ticks that he’s starting to get nervous

dick is the ringbearer because of COURSE he is

I just love the idea of little dick grayson whispering “I got your six, batman 😎” when he comes up to the altar and bruce has to cough over him because there are like. several people in the vicinity that do not! know that!

he’s got his hair gelled back to high heaven with a cute little suit on that he definitely wasn’t bribed to wear by alfred that morning

I also don’t think dressing you before the wedding diminishes the impact of seeing you walk down the aisle

I think that your morning together would only solidify just how many mornings you two would have from now on, and it would make him emotional knowing that this is just the beginning?? that he can actually call you his in a whole new way???

bruce’s vows... he’s so emotional about them.

he’s asked for help from literally everyone he knows, especially selina because she has such a way with words

vows are kinda tricky for bruce because to him, he wants to just be saying this to you. he doesn’t want to entertain anyone else

how is he supposed to summarize how deeply you move him—how eternally bound he is to you in body and soul—in a way that doesn’t feel like he’s putting on a show for the audience? he doesn’t care about any of that. all he cares about is you

he keeps falling into the trap of “they know how much I love them, don’t they?”

but one thing selina tells him to do is just try writing for you, then

just sit down and word vomit. even if it’s silly, even if you already know it, even if it’s embarrassing

and one night he finds you asleep in bed with a book on your chest, clearly having fallen asleep on accident with just the lamplight illuminating you

at first, he drops into the chair beside the bed and just sits and watches you for a few moments. your book rising and falling with every breath, your body half snuggled into the sheets, the little noises you make as you dream

but then his eyes start welling up and it’s like. all those words just come flowing out of him

he grabs his journal and is frantically writing everything down, not worried about making sense. he just wants to say what he’s thinking before it escapes him

maybe at some point, you wake up to find him furiously jotting everything down and you ask what he’s writing about

and he kinda panics because he doesn’t want you to see exactly what he’s writing

it’s all a mess! it’s ugly! not pretty or articulate or clean at all

and it’s not like he’s never a mess before you. you’ve seen every part of him: the good, the bad, the ugly. you’ve never turned away before

it’s just that sometimes... he hesitates

but before he can think of an excuse, you smile and slip out of bed

lean over him and kiss his forehead

“must be important, I’ll leave you to it. how ‘bout I make us something warm to drink?”

and the hesitation melts away

he doesn’t end up telling you. he closes his journal and tucks it on the nightstand and knows that you would never look, never break his trust like that, but if you saw what he said... he wouldn’t mind

when you come back, you two crawl into bed with warm tea and fall asleep together this time

I like to think that he once met up with selina on a rooftop so he could run his draft by her askjsdkjf

selina is a BRUTAL editor but she’s really good at it

and eventually she approves of his last draft and he’s like. yippee!! I’m free!! worst fucking experience of my life!!!

he’s fiiiiiine selina’s not that mean

but it was hard!!

and when you’re both at that altar and he admits his vows aren’t very long, it’s not a surprise to anyone that bruce “man of few words” wayne struggled with what to say

but that’s not it

because if they really knew bruce, they’d know that no matter how little he says, he means every word.

and there’s this one line that sort of encompasses a promise he’d made to himself long ago and now is making to you. out loud

“you’re a good thing that I don’t think I deserve, but I want to. so I am and will continue to make sure that I am a man that does. for the rest of our life.”

and all those years of never letting himself enjoy a good thing are unspoken between the two of you, your wedding a testament to his change of heart

it’s also just kind of cemented when he says “our life”. you really aren’t getting rid of him, now

NOW THE RECEPTION

I saw this on pinterest and I just. I think it would be so beautiful

a reception in a greenhouse!! surrounded by plants and candlelight!!

at night!!

this would be the more intimate gathering with just family and friends

if I may. be a Twihard for like TWO seconds

consider: flightless bird, american mouth for your first dance

I think it would be so nice... it’s a really pretty song.... ok moving on

I don’t think bruce would be very interested in. um. certain reception traditions but again, man will do whatever you ask him to

if you happen to be wearing garters and want to do a garter toss. I suppose he will participate.

right after sending out a signal that bricks every phone within a 200 mile radius

BUT TOASTS

man is all red in the face from laughing so hard, you’ve never seen him have this much fun with more than two people in the room

the toast is a lot less put together when it’s his turn, I think bruce is just so full of love and comfort being surrounded by people he knows well that he has an easier go of it

he doesn’t drink since he’s not a fan of alcohol, but you know he’s fuckin up a bottle of sparkling cider

if you choose to drink, he will be happy to escort you throughout the night

can see drunk you asking him to help you into a bathroom stall and he’s just standing there in the doorway making sure you don’t slip and fall into the toilet

at some point though, he WILL replace ur drinks with shirley temples

he’s not trying to cramp ur style but like. alfred will take a picture if you vomit and he will put it in the family photo album and show it every year on your anniversary and if you try to destroy it you will find he has made an infinite number of copies

by the end of the night, you’re both back at home helping each other out of your clothes in the same lazy way as you did the morning of the wedding

brushing your teeth together in the sink, washing each other’s faces, slipping into more comfortable clothes

by the time you both collapse into bed, bruce is so full of. love! and light. he’s still got a smile on his face that he’s had since the beginning of the night and it’s so different

you’ll crawl onto his chest and ask him if he’s happy, if he got everything he could have wanted out of today

he’ll press a kiss to your minty lips, still smiling like a fool, “I got to marry you, didn’t I?”

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @moonlightreader649 @geekyfer @thescarletfang

[galsinspace]

Replaying Inquisiton really made me notice (again) how the companions are written with such an incredibly noticeable difference in care. Man I hope they did a better job in Veilguard. And it's such a stark contrast from Origins!

I'll just post my comparative ramblings bc I'm on a train and have nothing better to do

In my opinion, one of the best things about Origins is the closeness you develop with your companions. You're with them through massive, formative changes in their lives, you find out about their childhood traumas and the people they've grown up to be, and as a player you make huge decisions that shape their future. By the end I felt so close to these characters. Looking at the main companions:

Alistair? We find out all about his longing for family, for love, his desire not to be defined by his blood and be able to live a normal life. You're both saddled with the responsibility to save the world together, and you do. Depending on the choices you make, he may have the love he longs for, and he may have to be king, you shape his life in a huge way.

Leliana? She literally seeks you out because she's received visions and is on a god-given mission. You literally shape the kind of person she becomes, whether she hardens or softens her heart.

Zevran? This is the most important period in his life. His flight from the Crows, his suicidal intent and then sudden wish to stay alive after all, finding new things to live for, remembering his mother, you save his life in more ways than one.

Morrigan? Literally the first time she's left her abusive mother's side and it's travelling with you. She finds her own ways to live, you give her the jewellery her mother wouldn't allow her, you help her confront her mother and free herself from her. You might literally be the father of her child.

Sten? Also suicidal, and you help him regain his self worth and sense of meaning in life. And you change him. He comes from a society with rigid rules and you help him see other ways of life. If you play as a woman, he's literally confused in the beginning that you're a fighter, and then as you gain his affection he acknowledges and respects you as who you are. He's not romanceable and probably changes the least out if the companions, but still goes through this monumental change of perspective about there being other valid ways of life. Sten should have been romanceable lbr

Oghren? It's super unfortunate how comic relief he is BECAUSE his story is so intense. The woman he loves disappeared! He's an alcoholic! He's so tied into the MAIN QUEST! He's tragic! You're with him through this massive thing he goes through and it really sucks that he can't really... change. You can't really help him. But even so, the events of the game are monumental to his life.

The Secret Companion is self-explanatory. You completely re-shape his life.

And in comparison, the companions in Inquisition are just WILDLY hit or miss. Some of them you become incredibly close to, others are just kinda there. Oh we're saving the world together? Just another day at the office babey. You don't really get to know them that deeply, you don't get to change their views, they're just there and you work together and then they go on their way. I'm of course talking mainly about Vivienne and Sera.

It's insane to me that Vivienne is this incredibly complex character who is the way she is because she grew up traumatized in an oppressive environment and you never get to talk to her about this. It's hidden in a few comments Cole may or may not drop if you travel with both of them. Her polished demeanor and ever-present smile? Learned in the Circle to demonstrate to templars that she was good, obedient, and non-possessed. Her materialism? When she met the duke, the thought in her head was I will never go hungry again.

Vivienne is TRAGIC. She's a deeply traumatized woman who has lived all her life in a system that did not grant her basic security, and she was strong and smart enough to gather power in the only ways she was allowed to. And you can't even talk to her about this. Her personal quest is some weird red herring bullshit meant to make you question whether she's a villain, comparing her to the evil queen from Snow White, and then it's just... her boyfriend dying. You can't change anything. You can barely talk to her about this relationship - it must have been a mix of love and practicality, a connection that gave her both tenderness and influence, the only power she was allowed to have. And it IS an injustice that she could never have married him! But you can't talk to her about this. Can't influence her viewpoint at all. All this complexity is hidden in subtext, and Vivienne does not change as a person at all.

Vivienne is outwardly cold towards Cole, dismissive, pragmatic, cruel. If Cole becomes more human, he points out to her that she secretly worried about him and is glad he's safe. She denies it. This is the only complexity she's allowed to show, hidden in random banter most players will never hear.

Why are we not allowed to be close to Vivienne? Why can't we talk to her? Explore who she is? Why does it feel like it literally does not matter whether we touch her life at all?

I've seen people claim that the fandom neglects Vivienne unfairly, but this was the WRITERS. They neglected Vivienne. They made it impossible to be close to her, they hid her complexity while just having her be straight-up rude for most of the game. This was a huge failure on the part of the writers. I've heard that her main writer said on twitter (DA writers should not be allowed to tweet) that he just didn't like her and that makes me so mad. Fucking video game writers...

And Sera. Oh, Sera.

She's annoying. Her jokes are painfully unfunny. It's super hard to get her to like you. Whenever you talk to her, the first option is to kick her out of the Inquisition. Why on EARTH did they write her this way?

Her personal quest is nothing. You go meet some guy, kill him, over. What does this MEAN??? What does this mean for Sera's character?? It's so fully useless, you learn nothing new, you don't get closer to Sera, who the fuck wrote this and why was this published.

And just like with Vivienne, you barely get to talk to Sera. She runs around with a huge case of internalized elf racism and you never get to talk about it. She literally won't put on armour marked as "elves only", what's up with that girl? She openly looks down on elves to the point of being annoyed to even talk to an elf Inquisitor, why can we never talk to her about this?

She's supposed to be from Denerim. Is she from the Alienage? The close-knit community Tabris is from? Does she know Tabris? She might literally know the Hero of Ferelden and it's never a topic of conversation. She would have been like, a young teenager at the time when the Alienage was suffering a plague and elves were being kidnapped and sold into slavery. Was this not a formative experience for her? Was she not there? Did she not live in the Alienage? Well all of Denerim became a war zone during the Blight, was that not a notable event in her life????

Why do we not get to explore anything that makes her the dismissive, flighty person she is?

Playing in German, there is fascinating ambiguity in the graveyard of your companion's fears that you find in the Fade - Sera's greatest fear is "nothing". In German, the word for the Fade is "the Nothing". I thought it made so much sense that that would be her greatest fear! She's afraid of anything involving magic and spirits, and it adds a nice metaphorical level to her rejection of anything elven: elves are supposed to be inherently connected to the Fade, but she's afraid of the Fade! Comments she makes seem to imply that she has a suppressed sensitivity to spirits, but either Solas or Cole suggesting that that might be the case clearly terrifies her.

Well, imagine my disappointment when I found out that in the original English, her fear is just "nothing". Which is bullshit too, Sera is clearly afraid of of anything Fade-related. I guess it might be some idea of how she's afraid of quiet and non-existence, but like... what a missed opportunity. What a dumb thing to be her greatest fear. What a missed opportunity.

And just like Vivienne, it doesn't feel like you really impact her life at all. Sera just comes and goes, she does her own thing, and she never unpacks any of her issues. Why was she written this way? Why did they think this would be a compelling companion experience? And for fuck's sake, who thought she was funny?

This rant is already way too long and I'm almost off the train so I won't write a full comparison to the Inquisition companions who were done well, but like, it's obvious. For some of them you touch their lives intimately, you shape their worlds, you actually feel close to them by the end of the game. How the fuck did this game get shipped with Vivi and Sera like that.

It's been 10 years and I hope the developers learned from their mistakes, if they noticed them in between sucking their own dicks on twitter.

[soleilnomoon]

Prompt: “I don’t like them; I can barely tolerate them.” for Abarai Renji. Once again, I leave it up to you what you wanna do (but maybe enemies to lovers) Yes, I might be on a little Bleach binge right now but it's okay you like it. kiss kiss

*hides face* ok, ok, ok, hear me out, let's pretend i didn't take *insert accurate length of time here* and say i wrote this in a few days. i am so sorry i took forever and ever with this but as u know i can only give u top quality work or else i'll never forgive myself. renji is.......well *motions to him* yk how that man is, he made me suffer!!!! in a good way!!! but still i suffered!!! yk how much i love enemies 2 lovers u big brained beauty 🤭 so ty baby❤️️ also this is my first renji fic and i can't belev it.

5.2k words (don't look at me, just don't), fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni, enemies 2 lovers, angst city, angst angst city biiiitch (yk the vibez babey), smut obviously, no fluff bc who do u think i am? feat. renji being a mean petty bitch (i guess that makes him a mean dom maybe yes), sub reader bc that's what i want; there's a party with alcohol, ichigo and co. make brief appearances, bathroom sex, choking (he's sf romantic), a lot of cursing bc they're grown that's why, renji is a beast when he's jealous, reader is a lil bit of a brat but lbr who wouldn't be in that situation; mutual ""unrequited"" pining, lots of tension, fingering, rough (consensual) sex, lil bit of degradation, lil bit of a size kink, lil bit of praise kink, idk there's probably more stuff but i'm so tired rn i can't think; um renji obviously comes w his own gd warning; reader is determined to not let this man win but, hello, it's renji he always comes out on top wink wink. (if u see spelling errors/mistakes no u didn't hottie)

“when i write about all of this it becomes its own kind of violence. / i retell the story as myth, as if it were my own body devoured.” — caitlin scarano & “so much of love is violence. the desire / to be split open, invaded, mangled / and made new.” — erin slaughter

HATRED X TASTES X SWEET

you’ve never been cut out for this line of work, but your insistence on eliminating all your shortcomings is commendable. brave, even. it’s something you don’t really think about unless you want to spend the night half-drunk, rambling about the things you should’ve done but never had the courage to do.

like telling a certain red-haired, bullheaded lieutenant that he’s the most ridiculous and excessively arrogant man you’ve ever come across. all in all, you’re pretty sure telling him off won’t phase him; nothing ever does, not really anyway.

at first you try politeness; your grandmother would be proud of how well you’ve learned to bite your tongue. it’s ungraceful, but you fake it well enough that others think your emotional maturity is far above theirs. little do they know, you actually have to literally bite your tongue; simply remaining silent isn’t easy for you anymore. so, when you bite, it’s with rage, months of unshed tears and accumulated spite; you bite your tongue so hard you bleed more every time.

your unsaid words bunch together — tiny soldiers determined to strike in unison without fail — and sit heavily in the back of your throat, ready to launch forward at your command.

but you never say them, and you choke more than once; an unbearable shame to carry with you as he continues to slash at your patience, thin ribbons cascading off you like confetti. you wonder if your anger will lead to your death— or if it’ll lead to his. you intend to keep all of that hidden, though, and keep reminding yourself that eventually he will tire from berating you, from talking to you as if you’re the most incompetent being in all of soul society, from looking at you like your very being disgusts him.

that’s what you tell yourself these days. you like to conveniently ignore the way his dark eyes linger on yours during meetings — you’ve noticed that people have taken to describing them as soulless, cold and critical, unimpressed at everything and anyone.

but you see him — all of him; the raw, feral, powerful and severe side that not many have the misfortune of knowing. they think they get the real version of renji whenever they deal with him, but they never do; you know that now. you doubt it’s even intentional on his part, or maybe — just maybe — he really does hate you.

to put it plainly, as you’ve told rukia and rangiku, the sixth division lieutenant has the biggest fucking chip on his shoulder. despite the walls he continues to put up to keep others from carving out a place for themselves in his life, despite the way his words roll around his mouth, clumsily coasting down the length of his tongue before they pierce the air around you with their toxicity — you’re tired of the way he purposely singles you out time and time again to point out your inadequacies without remorse.

abarai renji is also sick of dealing with you. whenever he thinks he’s found a means of scaring you off, you scurry right back more determined and more obnoxious than ever. which is rich, coming from him.

he claims you’re inconsequential, a nuisance — a pest, even — one that he intends to get rid of permanently. it’s harsh and he’s more than aware of that, but he finds that this is the most appropriate solution to his problem. he could easily ignore you; he could try to keep his comments to himself and try to be somewhat cordial whenever you cross paths. but he won’t. and he has no damn idea why.

“no, no come in, i have plenty of snacks for everyone.”

rukia’s voice is a constant in his life that he’ll always be thankful for. he watches her glide into the room, grinning at the friends she’s invited over, her laughter like soft bells that is easily recognizable even with all the conversation happening. when he feels his chest constrict, an uncomfortable, yet familiar warmth stretching over his skin, he decides to drink so that he can ignore the sensation and forget.

a feeble attempt, because he knows how this will all end — with him drunk off his ass in an even worse mood than he started.

mouth opening, renji prepares to tell rukia to get better sake, when rangiku leads you into the living room where he’s lounging comfortably. the bottle in his hand grows heavier by the second and suddenly he’s not very interested in drinking anymore. already, his foul mood from earlier returns, and every step you take only fuels his irritation; it bubbles underneath his skin, making him frown and grip the bottle tighter.

you don’t need to look at him to know that he’s glaring at you — he always is. rangiku feigns obliviousness as she encourages you to go make yourself comfortable while she fetches snacks with rukia. you stare at both of them, wide-eyed, confused — a pleading look sliding onto your face after a few moments, but they assure you both that they’ll be back shortly.

with a sigh you sit on the armchair adjacent to him, determined to just remain quiet in the hopes that he’ll just ignore you for once. sitting up straight, discomfort finds its way to the pit of your stomach, swirling around as you fidget with the bracelet around your wrist. his eyes watch your movements with an obsessiveness that startles him; there’s no reason why he should be interested in the shape of your fingers, there’s no reason why he should be interested in the way you keep brushing stray curls away from your face, and there’s no reason why he should be interested in possibly fucking you when he knows for a fact that he is absolutely uninterested in you.

his disinterest runs so deep it spoils the taste of the sake, but he takes another swig anyway. the alcohol burns as it travels swiftly down his throat, and it just so happens that you glance over at him — innocuous, an attempt to gauge his annoyance level — as his throat bobs and your mouth dries at the sight.

you turn your face away quickly, a traitorous flush crawling slowly along your skin, unjustly warming your cheeks. inhaling deeply, you do your best to will the blush away to no avail. where the hell are rukia and rangiku? surely it can’t take that long to grab snacks. you’re tempted to go find them, but you have a sinking feeling that it would turn you into a coward.

and you refuse to give that man any more ammo against you.

IT’S X (NOT) X YOU

what initially starts as a small get-together, quickly turns into a party; leave it to rangiku to liven things up, her laughter infectious and whimsical, flitting about like a persistent hummingbird as she encourages everyone to play drinking games with her. experience taught him better than to engage because despite his high tolerance, there’s really no beating rangiku when she’s on a roll.

but when you emphatically agree to play with the rest, fury rises in his chest; your audacity, it seems, knows no bounds — and, yes, he understands the hypocrisy in his critique. he just doesn’t care.

the games are every bit as simple and ridiculous as you thought they’d be, but as everyone seems to be in relatively good spirits, you play along. not normally competitive with things like this, you get into the swing of things when you win round after round.

cheers resound nearby at your success, but throughout the evening, you feel renji’s stare and do everything in your power to not give in and look back at him. a tough feat to say the least, as you are always acutely aware of his presence; and when you do happen to sneak another glance, his legs are spread and you curse under your breath for finding that attractive.

foolish, you chide, so fucking foolish.

renji sucks his teeth as he feels a heaviness in his head; groaning loudly he swirls around what little sake he has left in his glass before finishing it.

“you lose again,” rukia’s voice is soft and teasing, but he’s annoyed and can’t be bothered with talking to her right now. she pats his shoulder gingerly before standing up to head to the kitchen. his mind is a mess and he blames you for it completely.

“i don’t fucking care,” he says gruffly to her retreating figure, not bothering to elevate his voice as he’s sure she heard him. and he really doesn’t care; he’s trying to tell himself to calm down, but he can’t.

the fault completely lies with you — of course it does, everything you do agitates every cell in his body. the reason is simple, and he hates that he doesn’t want to admit it — he’s so undeniably attracted to you that it pisses him off. he takes in your appearance for the twelfth time that night, admiring the softness of your cheeks, the fullness of your lips, the way you seem entirely too animated as you laugh at someone’s lame joke — and yes, he can tell it’s not funny from how your laughter dies down after a few seconds.

if he had better sense, he’d stop looking at you, but he can’t now; he might blame the sake for this later.

the intensity behind his gaze is enough to bring an inextinguishable heat along your skin. it’s only unpleasant because it travels down to your lower abdomen and brings about an agonizing ache between your thighs. at first, you do the sensible thing and ignore it; but the longer he stares, the more you want to look over, until finally you can’t take it anymore.

“i’ll be back,” you mumble to the other guests, although you doubt they hear you with how rowdy everyone is being; the noise isn’t unwelcomed, the distraction serves to mask your footsteps when you scurry from the living room to the back corridor, turning corner after corner until you find the bathroom.

a coward — that’s what you are.

you barricade yourself in there without thinking, heart pounding loud enough to disorient you. after several long minutes, you splash water on your face and take a few deep breaths.

“i can’t believe i ran away,” your voice is so soft you barely hear the words — almost as if you’re still in disbelief over the entire situation. there’s something off about renji tonight; the tension between you was more palatable and tangible than normal.

even though you feigned nonchalance as best as you could, there were so many moments where you couldn’t help but watch him too. pitiful. absolutely pitiful. there’s no excuse for it, and yet you struggle to find one anyway.

as you look at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you try to convince yourself to head back out there. sooner or later, people will realize that you’ve gone missing — and rangiku is nosy enough and like a bloodhound when she’s drunk. your time is incredibly limited now.

there’s no reason for you to continue to avoid the inevitable, so you sigh and give yourself a small pep talk before heading back outside.

TRUTH X OR X …

renji’s mood doesn’t improve at all; in fact, it worsens the moment ichigo sits right next to him. he’s not even sure why this sets him off, but even closing his eyes and counting backwards does nothing to keep him calm.

with slight difficulty, renji grits out, “what do you want?”

undeterred, ichigo stares at renji pointedly, voice steady as he says, “you could go after her, you know.”

again, renji sucks his teeth loudly, arms folded against his chest, right leg bouncing slightly as he taps his foot on the floor. punching ichigo would be pointless, and then rukia would get involved and he doesn’t have time to deal with the fallout from that so he keeps his hands to himself.

besides, his anger is obviously misdirected right now. he knows — he knows —but he doesn’t care, so he doesn’t mince his words when he responds with, “go after who?” through his peripheral, he can see ichigo’s patience has also reached its limit.

“you’re not that stupid, so stop acting like it.”

normally, renji would take the opportunity to mes s around and argue back and forth, but he might actually fight his friend if he doesn’t walk away. so, he does; abrupt and without looking back, footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor.

maybe he just needs to change his approach with you, maybe talking things out would work in his favor; or maybe he needs to fuck you hard enough to purge you from his mind.

he lies to himself when he considers the first option, because it’s the second option that drives him to walk a little faster, head full of impossible thoughts as he wonders just how far you’d let him go.

when renji finally finds you, you’re in the middle of rebuffing the advances of an unfamiliar guest — they’re drunk, handsy, and keep oscillating between giving you cheesy pick-up lines and berating you for rejecting them. but you stand firm, and your voice is relatively loud when you tell them, “for the last fucking time, go away.”

under normal circumstances, renji would let you handle this yourself; he has no desire to play prince charming or be a knight in shining armor. you’re more than capable, and he’s seen the way you fight and argue to defend yourself — but, it’s when they place a wandering hand on your hip that he loses sight of all of that.

a brief moment passes, where your blood boils as you contemplate how best to kick their ass, but you never get the chance. a rather large shadow hovers over you both, but you already know who it is without having to look properly.

renji is a force to be reckoned with on a good day, but he’s at his fucking limit right now.

he doesn’t ask, doesn’t give any options for retreat, doesn’t say a word when he yanks them off with a brute strength that surprises even you.

now, can he really be blamed for throwing them into the neighboring wall hard enough to make a noticeable hole? and is it really his fault that the drunk can hardly walk as they clutch their broken arm while murmuring something unintelligible, something that renji takes as a sign of them wanting a repeat demonstration?

consequences be damned, he gives the drunk a lethal look before they scramble away in fear.

“loser,” he says loud enough for them to hear, but they don’t double back or even try to go toe-to-toe with the hot-headed lieutenant. you watch, half-amused and half-impressed with the unnecessary machismo, but still, you know better than to chastise him right now, especially when your heart sputters out of control from his proximity.

“…thanks,” you say, a faint flush on your cheeks, voice soft, head fuzzy when you realize that renji — aka mr. “i’ll fight you on everything any day of the week unprovoked for no reason other than to drive you crazy” — saved you. unprompted at that.

you make the mistake of looking up at him, your nerves prompting you to take a small step back when you realize that the usual hostility that renji reserves for you specifically is nowhere to be found. in its place is something more unreadable — or, rather, you don’t want to read into it for fear of being wrong.

renji steps closer, which makes you back up again until your back hits the wall and you’re no longer able to escape.

“we need to talk,” he says suddenly, but you shake your head, non-verbally objecting to the idea, curls bouncing wildly with your exaggerated movements. since he knows he’s pressed for time, he grabs your face with his large hand and stops you from moving. “that wasn’t a request.”

swallowing rusty nails would be better than dealing with your conflicting feelings over renji right now, because he’s much too close to you and now you’re forgetting why it is you hate him in the first place. ironically, he’s in the exact same position. so far, he’s acted on impulse over you more times than he can count tonight, but he supposes that’s to be expected — you are a wildcard, after all.

“what if i don’t want to.” your response is clumsy, the words tumbling one after the other. “what if i want you to leave?” you don’t actually mean that, but you throw it at him anyway, to see if maybe this was all a fluke, and maybe, just maybe he’ll remember himself and you both can go back to fighting like usual.

he considers your question, goes so far as to release your face to wrap his hand around your throat instead. your sharp inhale and parted lips tell him all he needs to know.

with a slightly raised brow, he asks, “well, do you?”

because if you do, he’ll walk away right now. but he knows what your answer will be, he just has to drag it out of you. he squeezes your neck to remind you to hurry it up, and before you can answer him properly, he places his leg in between yours, pressing close enough that you roll your hips forward while whimpering softly.

he really didn’t think any of this through, but luckily the adrenaline from it all won’t wear off anytime soon, so he’ll improvise along the way. he spent most of the night dealing with a semi-hard cock that wouldn’t listen to reason no matter how many times he tried to stop thinking about you. but now? all of that restraint goes out of the window, and before he can question it, he kisses you.

you’ve kissed plenty of people in your life — some good, most were mediocre and uninspiring — but renji actually takes your breath away. everything about him commands all your attention; from the way his lips move against yours greedily, leaving behind burning kisses that make your nipples harden underneath your clothes — to the way he thrusts his tongue in between your plush lips, licking inside of your mouth hotly, igniting an inextinguishable flame deep inside of you.

he grabs your hip with his free hand, squeezing hard, fingers digging firmly. all the irritation from earlier dissipates completely, leaving you feeling lightheaded and needy; you grind against him recklessly, arousal dampening the front of your panties, clit sensitive as it rubs against the delicate fabric. his cock presses against you — thick, long, and hard — and you wonder if this is why he’s so angry with you all the time.

was it always that simple?

if you asked the question aloud, he wouldn’t know what to tell you — it’s a combination of things, but mostly he’s an idiot; he knows that now, but likewise you’re an idiot too. you just don’t realize it yet.

it’s renji who pulls away first, lightly panting, breath warm against your lips as he releases his hold on your neck. he doesn’t know where he finds the strength to string together a coherent statement, but his voice is low and husky when he speaks. “answer my question.”

you blink at him, completely in a daze, lips slightly swollen from all the kissing. “wh-what?” you don’t remember what he asked you, and you don’t care.

“do you want me to leave?”

for some reason, you completely forgot that you told him that. you rub your lips together and run your hands along his chest. “no.” the answer comes out automatically, without hesitation, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

“good.”

SAY X IT X LOUDER

he picks you up with ease, almost as if you weigh nothing; a small squeal spills out of you as you wrap your legs around his waist, and renji gives you a sly smile — one laced with mischief and an unspoken promise of what’s to come.

you’re back in the bathroom again, this time sitting on the counter with renji standing in between your legs. his hands coast along your curvy hips and down your thighs. he’s touching you but he’s not touching you and it’s driving you crazy.

with hurried, eager hands you both undress, and for the umpteenth time you internally curse this style of uniform; still, it doesn’t take too long before his hands are on you again, calloused palms rough and warm against your skin. he places a kiss on your jaw, then another on your neck right underneath your earlobe; each kiss he leaves behind distorts your common sense, makes you feel irrational and impatient. your hands are soft and well-practiced, stroking his stiff cock as his hips jerk forward from your touch.

he can’t remember the last time someone had him this worked up, which pisses him off a little; because that means him fucking you once won’t settle things. at that thought, renji bites your neck and your startled yelp quickly morphs into a moan when he runs his tongue along the mark. he dips his hand in between your thighs, rubbing his thick fingers against your slit. a loud banging on the door has you looking over, and you can’t remember if he bothered to lock it once you both were inside.

your attention nearly falters, but when he pinches your clit you buck your hips, a shiver shooting down your spine at the slight pain.

“eyes on me,” is all he says, seemingly annoyed that you would dare to focus your attention elsewhere, “always keep them on me.” what he means by that, he doesn’t know, but you take the command at face value and nod while swallowing. he slides a finger inside of your wet pussy, and while you initially wanted to keep quiet to avoid suspicion and to prevent anyone from intruding, but you can’t now.

“renji,” you breathe, fingers trembling as you hold onto the counter for support, he thrusts his finger in and out, quick and hard, before inserting another. you clench around him, hips rocking forward as he fingerfucks you and grinds his palm against your clit. you close your eyes and moan louder than you mean to, chest heaving, thoughts jumbled and incoherent. he scissors his fingers inside of you, but quickly removes them without prompting.

“fuck!” you open your eyes again and stare at him in disbelief. “why did you stop?”

he laughs darkly and grabs your face roughly, fingers pressing into your soft skin without remorse. “what did i tell you earlier?” everything about this situation is laughable. he gave you very specific instructions, ones he thought were easy enough for you to follow. for some reason your movements are sluggish, mind in a haze as you scramble to remember but nothing comes to mind.

as you open and close your mouth, looking every bit as adorable as you are alluring, he decides to show you a bit of kindness.

“get down.” his command comes swift, his patience practically nonexistent; precum glides down the head of his thick cock, but he ignores it for the sake of teaching you a lesson. you don’t bother waiting for him to repeat himself and slide off the counter. “turn around.”

like a doll, your movements are dictated by renji with simple, short statements. nothing about that phases you, though; it’s all very exciting, so when you do turn to face the counter, you bend forward and lean over the counter. renji admires the roundness of your ass and slaps it hard.

again, you find yourself moaning loudly, without shame and not caring about the volume of your voice. surely the others won’t pay attention, as they’re still very drunk and are entertaining themselves with more games. another slap on your ass has you grabbing onto the counter again, legs shaking, arousal dripping between your thighs in anticipation. if renji doesn’t fuck you soon, you might actually die.

he knows he’s taking too damn long, but it’s much more interesting making you work for him. he rubs the tip of his cock against your puffy pussy, gliding it in between your slick folds, your moans sweetly wrapping around him once he pushes inside of you slowly. someone bangs on the door again, making you look over, anxiety quickly filling your head with unnecessary what ifs that almost command your full attention.

with narrowed eyes, renji grabs onto your hair, curls soft in his hand, and yanks hard.

“the fuck did i say earlier?”

goosebumps travel down your arms as a different kind of awareness and clarity surges through you quickly. you blink at your reflection, watching the way he towers over you, his muscles hard and defined — sculpted from years of training and dedication to honing his skills. it hits you then, what he’s really asking you.

“to,” you swallow thickly, throat dry, “to keep my eyes on you always.” you say it all in one breath, gasping when he runs his tongue along the curve of your ear. you don’t know how much more you can take, but you know if you complain, if you say anything he might stop altogether.

renji’s smile is wicked and dark, his lips graze your earlobe, voice deep and gravelly, a huskiness that wasn’t there before as he thrusts into you, burying his cock deeply.

“good girl.”

he refrains from kissing you properly, instead pushing you down so you can lean over the counter again. your mind melts from it all, and you’re panting, heart beating faster and faster as he firmly places a hand on your back.

“you’re squeezing me so tight,” he remarks thoughtfully, although you note the slight strain in his voice; as much as he tries to act like he’s not that affected by you, you know that isn’t the case at all. your pussy is every bit as enticing and heavenly as he knew it would be; he pulls back and slams his cock into you all over again, filling you completely. you try to keep watching him in the mirror, but he’s fucking you like he’s angry with himself for being so attracted to you.

and he absolutely is. it’s a truth he fought against for so long that he’s given up on denying it now. your moans drip onto his skin like caramel, sticky and sweet, and when you say his name like that — your voice going higher and higher from the ferocity of his thrusts — he nearly loses his mind.

“fuck,” he says out loud, grabbing your hip roughly, your wetness coating the length of his cock, “you’re taking me so well.” he knows you can’t really answer him, and he likes that; you’re beyond caring at this point, instead focusing on the way his cock reaches a spot that has you bouncing your ass and fucking yourself against him. normally, renji would play around and edge you in retaliation, but he’s too far gone, completely under the spell of your pretty pussy, with how soft and tight it is.

you’re not sure how you got here, but you’re drowning in ecstasy right now. he instructs you to lift your leg to rest it onto the counter, pulling out momentarily to help you position and spread your legs further apart. he plunges his cock into you again, keeping his hips closer as he gives you shorter, frenzied thrusts. your head spins and you can’t think straight, but that doesn’t matter. all you care about is the way renji is angling his hips, rolling them forward to pound into your cunt roughly, balls heavy as they smack against your ass.

“oh, oh, oh.” you swear your life flashes before your eyes, because something possesses him, his strokes shorter, brutal, and frenetic. drool slides down your chin, your voice hoarse from how loud you’ve been. you’re sure someone’s heard you by now, but you don’t care.

how can you?

with renji fucking you like this — merciless and possessive, fingers brusing your skin, almost as if he wants to make sure you’ll be as obsessed with him as he is with you — your common decency, your morals, everything that makes you you, they don’t exist.

all that’s left is this burning desire to let him have his way with you for as long as he wants. thankfully, you have enough sense to not admit that out loud; who knows what kind smugness you’ll be subjected to if renji knew.

but you’re pretty damn transparent about it, he can tell from the way you can’t stop clenching your pussy around his cock, from how your pussy makes loud, lewd squelching noises — ones that he’ll commit to memory so he can revisit them from time to time.

tears roll down your cheeks and you sob as you hold onto the counter as best as you can, back arching, hips rocking against him with a neediness you never knew you had. there’s a tightening in your stomach and your pulse skyrocketing as a flash of white practically blinds you. he watches the way your pussy keeps swallowing the length of his cock, and you finally fall over the edge, orgasm suffocating you with its intensity.

your cunt flutters around him, gummy walls soft and hypnotic, an addiction he never thought he’d have; breathing heavily, his muscles tense and renji groans something that suspiciously sounds like your name. the thought alone makes your face burn and warms your chest in a way that doesn’t make sense. and when he finally cums, he humps into you, cum thick and hot as it spills inside your pussy, mixing with your slick wetness. a completely messy affair, but he doesn’t care — it’s not his bathroom, after all.

legs trembling, you’re limp and incapable of movement, whimpering and whining until he finally pulls out of you.

renji runs a hand down his face, feeling spent but more than satisfied. suddenly his shoulders aren’t so tight and tense, and his mood is much more tolerable. you do your best to stand but almost fall — your legs are useless, turned to jelly because of the man behind you. he chuckles at that, then clears his throat once he realizes. he fully expected there to be a moment of awkwardness after, but it never comes. when he sees your face — lips bruised and swollen, face flushed, eyes glazed with a faraway look — he feels compelled to kiss you again. so, he does. it’s not sweet, nor is it tender, but it still makes your heart swell all the same. he holds you close as you wrap your arms around his neck, doing your best to keep standing, even though your legs are ready to give out.

you don’t know exactly what any of this means, but you do understand him a bit better now. he’s terrible with expressing himself, but you kind of like that about him; and maybe this isn’t the healthiest relationship, but life was uncertain and you’d take renji fucking you like it’s his last day alive over him openly hating you any day.

[thenukacolachallenge]

some fun facts about Luis and André Peña(his VA) Part Two: Electric Boogaloo

okay so i did one of these that was just from the Nick Apostolides streams(minus the Separate Ways DLC stream(s), THOUGH I DO WANNA WATCH THAT), but now i'm going through other videos of streams and finding out even more stuff that i wanna talk about lol sooooo... PART TWO BABEY

this all is from Twitch Streamer Peralt's charity stream for JDRF UK, in which André is a guest on! it's a fun watch, i recommend the whole video tbh, André gives out a lot of useful life and acting advice and the vibe is just lots of fun. but, these posts are primarily for stuff related to Luis, which is what i'll be cataloguing!

NOW WITH TIMESTAMPS BY REQUEST!

-André considers the role of Luis to be more than just voice acting, more of just full-on acting, since he also did his motion capture, which i find very interesting. i always love hearing the BTS processes of things i enjoy and that's such a cool fact. i'm sure most people know that he did mocap for Luis already, but I like that André doesn't consider his performance as Luis very different from a regular acting role. (timestamp)

-André took the more cheerful aspects of Luis from his own personality. He mentions that he's a relatively happy person himself, but that happiness comes from knowing darkness, and that was just something that he kind of naturally transferred over to Luis, considering Luis's backstory itself is so dark. One of the first things that drew me to Luis in this game was his goofy behavior in a terrifying situation, so i'm thankful for it! (timestamp)

-André also gives a lot of interesting BTS with pointing out the differences in acting mocap vs stage vs onscreen acting. it's not related to Luis per se outside of his relation to André, but it is SUPER fascinating, and you can tell André is really passionate about acting and it makes me appreciate his performance all the more. I can't wait to see him in new roles! (timestamp)

-When asked if there was anything from OG Luis that André took with him as character inspiration/canonicity/whatever else, he mentioned that he tried to take mostly the essence of Rino Romano's voice and mannerisms, and tried to emulate all of that without it being in "bad taste"(in reference to OG Luis being kind of gross toward women), and kind of added more quirkiness as more of his own spin on it. personally i think he did a great job; Luis is still very much a flirt, but he comes across as less of a creep and more just a harmless flirty goofball, which i think threads the needle really well for him as a character! (timestamp)

-(not related to Luis, but André is very adamant that the S in Leon S. Kennedy stands for Sancho, not Scott, which makes me giggle) (timestamp)

-André picked up smoking(again) for the role of Luis! it was also how he practiced Luis's lighter trick(which he clarifies is referred to as 'lighter juggling'); every time he'd have a cig, he made it so he had to do the tricks before he could light it. One of the tricks is called "the Infinity", where you flip the lighter through your fingers in a continuous motion, and there's one where you toss the lighter in the air, and close it as you catch it. He was a smoker growing up, he had stopped, he picked up the habit again for Luis, and then threw his cigs out the second he finished his final scene as Luis. He also clarifies NOT to smoke; he is able to start and stop smoking fairly easily, but that is not the case for most people. As a former smoker myself, i agree: if you dont already smoke, don't pick it up! don't pick up vaping either please!!! (timestamp)

-not related to Luis, but André talks a bit with Peralt(the streamer) about self-defense, martial arts, and alcohol. He tells a story about how he got jumped in a bar by a drunk guy and how his background in self-defense helped there, and talks about the effects of excess alcohol consumption. i keep repeating this, but the stream is a really good one, and i highly recommend watching it yourself! (timestamp)

-Someone asked what André thinks about the Luis and Leon shipping, and I really like his answer. He starts off by clarifying that everyone is allowed to have their headcanons, and there's nothing wrong with shipping in general, and to ship whatever you like. However, for André himself, he used the model of how he and his brother interact for how Luis interacts with Leon. He likes to goad his brother, who he describes as "a hothead" and "like Leon", and so he transferred a lot of that energy into Luis goading and teasing Leon. He played Luis as realizing that he and Leon are stuck together, and he knows Leon won't do anything to really harm Luis, so he put a lot of energy into basically razzing him like one would a sibling. He also finished by once again clarifying that people are allowed to do whatever they want in their own headcanon lol. (some people do get really upset about that stuff!) (timestamp)

-as a quick aside to the above conversation, André mentions that Luis cares SO MUCH about Ashley. When it comes to Leon, Luis is, in André's own words, "a dick to him". Ashley, to Luis, is "pure" - the one thing in the entire scenario that has no business being in this place. With Leon, Luis knows from his uptight demeanor, that he's been through hell before - this guy is stuck with him, in hell, for better or worse. But Ashley is innocent, dragged into this to be a pawn of Saddler's. So he's most concerned with Ashley's safety overall, and André tried to really push that concern and care in his performance. i think it really shows, especially in the scene after the cabin standoff, where Ashley coughs up blood and Luis immediately realizes that she's been infected, and he has to save her. (timestamp)

-During Luis' scene in the vanilla game with Ada(not Separate Ways scenes, although i think this scene is in the dlc too?), André confirms that Luis telling Ada "you should be telling me what a good job i did" is just him trying to make up an excuse of sorts for not having the Amber on him. Small detail, but one i like! (timestamp)

-André once more affirms that Luis is a cat person! He also specifically states, again, that he'd probably start off as not a pet person, but he'd probably get adopted by a stray cat, who he'd leave out food for but eventually let into his home, and that'd begin his love for cats. He also mentions that actors have to think about things like this, to flesh out their characters, which makes me wonder what other headcanons he has for Luis! (tbf tho, i've been wondering this since i watched André's unboxing of the Luis jacket he got commissioned for cosplay, and he mentioned that Luis loves spice) (timestamp)

-in the end, the stream raised a bit shy of 1k for the charity JDRF, which is super awesome!!!! i am several months late but congrats to Peralt's community for making that happen!!!

that was all i managed to find out about Luis specifically, but if i missed anything, feel free to add on in a comment! sometimes it's hard to hear with so many people talking and so much going on, but i'm enjoying learning about Luis outside of the game itself like this :D i'm planning on watching André's streams, the rest of Nick's streams, Nicole Tompkins'(Jill Valentine's VA) streams with André as a guest, and anymore i can find, so if i mind out more stuff about Luis from these vids, yall can expect more of these hahaha!

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

König HCs

Because why not lads. These are some of my personal ones regarding the lore I’ve put together for him. TW: untreated mental illness, childhood neglect, burn injuries, surgical trauma. Uh, some other shit, too, probably. Idfk reader beweader you’re in for a sceader.

Bro has BPD. It covers a lot of the beloved fanon interpretation of him being clingy and hot/cold and scared of being left. He’s got Fear Of Abandonment Syndrome, and he’s like 10% more likely to make a fucky wucky on himself and end up sleeping in the forever box.

Source: I have it and my baby girl only gets the best of the worst from me.

H a t e s d o c t o r s. And hospitals, and surgical procedures, and anything of the like. He’s probably already got more health issues than a blue blood racehorse just from his sheer size alone - prone to heart issues and musculoskeletal strain - but there’s no way on god’s green earth that he hasn’t been through a handful of major procedures because he’s diagnosed with human knife block and bullet sponge disorders respectively.

Sub-point A: born with a cleft palette and lip. Palette was corrected, has a turned second incisor as a result. Lip was botched. Pulled a pot of boiling sugar off a stove and burnt a big-ass portion of his face, neck, chest, and stomach. Multiple painful reconstructive and corrective surgeries to deal with keloid scarring.

Sub-point B: psychology might help OTHER people, but HE is built DIFFERENT. He’s not crazy, you see, and if you suggest otherwise you’ll suddenly develop a case of Backpfeifengesicht and he’ll provide the violence. DBT? That’s Dick and Ball Torture, babey.

Despite this, he lies through his teeth at psych evals. He knows the “right” answers, and he is not going to get his livelihood taken away from him, even if it’s not exactly what he wanted. If he’s answering for his own actions, he can swerve and intuit what thing will calm things down the most and get him the smallest punishment.

Developed most of his wheedling skills as a kid, parents were neglectful as shit. Mostly disregarded him during his upbringing. Youngest of three, an eldest sister and a brother. Not in contact with any of them.

He’s 34. I don’t know if I’ve accepted him being a Colonel into my heart as my lord and savior, I’m still figuring that one out until there’s more concrete canon material besides a loading screen.

Grew up in a hoarder house of apathy, alcoholism, and depression and it was DISGUSTING. Black mold, water damage, trash everywhere, travel lanes carved through the most useless fucking junk. His parents bred Doberman dogs to sell as guard/security dogs, and some lived in the house, adding to the filth and destruction. He can’t stand a dirty house, and as an adult has an insane cleaning routine. Often stress cleans. You could eat off his bathroom floors.

He Does Not Like Dogs. Period. He especially hates Dobermans. He doesn’t like dog breeders worth a fuck either, good or bad.

Did not have any sort of media or anything as a kid. Parents didn’t spend money on tech or pop culture stuff, they were kind of stuck 30 years behind everyone else. His parents were older when he was born, he was very unplanned and not particularly warmly welcomed. Kept himself entertained out in the boonies, did a lot of reading, learned to juggle, learned to juggle knives. Had a big brokedown half-draft horse to take the kennel dogs on longer walks in the country, horsebacked a lot.

Soon as he was in the army, away from his family home, and living on his own, he got his first cell phone and computer and pretty much started living on the internet. He’s self taught in a couple of programming languages, very tech literate, halfway kind of lives on Reddit (narrowly swerved getting redpilled, thank fuck) on his personal time, and built his own PC set up. Built one for Horangi, too, and gives Stiletto advice on her own build when she asks for it.

H E H A T E S K L A U S

Bc I said so, everyone I love hates Klaus. All my homies fuckin hate Klaus.

König was raised secular Jewish, really doesn’t know all that much about it and didn’t get a bris or bar mitzvah, it’s just like Yeah That’s What I Put On Papers to him. Klaus is always getting in his shit about Austria and WW2. König’s grandparents made it out of the camps and went on to become: a microbiologist, a professor at the Austrian University of Veterinary Medicine, a multi term mayor of a small village/candy maker, and a beloved homemaker. The brilliance of the family seemed to leech out with each passing generation, and König sees himself as the dead end of it all.

König has rocked Klaus’s shit about the shitty jokes before and will do it again.

Favorite rugby club is South Africa, and he has an intense crush on Faf de Klerk even though he’s been traded to Japan. He’s kind of hot for all scrum halves tho lbr here.

Lunch break is over and this is ridiculous, will probably do more later.

[screechthemighty]

Titanfall fic writing is back, babey!! Fun fact, I started writing this *checks notes* literal years ago, but only just now circled back to it now that I'm filling in the holes in the Titanfall part of my Respawn Cinematic Universe. I will be eventually circling back to the stuff that happens after The Citadel, don't worry! I just wanted to get this one out of the way (again: literal years). AO3 link will be in a reblog, but you can read the first chapter below!

crash and burn (and then return again) | a titanfall 2 fanficpart one

cw: vomiting, loss/grief, shutdown, references to alcoholism

.

Things would’ve gone a lot differently if he were a in movie. For starters, Cooper wouldn’t have passed out within five minutes of arriving on the main battleship.

That was his own fault. His body had been giving him signs it was going to quit on him the whole flight back. He was shaky, almost dizzy, nauseous, and it felt like someone had replaced his brain with piles of stuffing. Cooper had figured it was just the adrenaline. Been there, done that. He’d be fine once he had something to eat and some real sleep. He didn’t say anything because it wasn’t a big deal.

Turned out it, was a big deal.

His memories of what exactly happened were hazy. Commander Briggs was there, he knew that, and Robert Taube. He remembered there were a lot of other people, and that he thought it was all those eyes on him (even in a positive light) that were making him feel worse. He tried to be subtle about excusing himself. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded or not; he thought someone followed him, but he couldn’t remember if it was Commander Briggs or Taube or both. Maybe it was neither. But he was pretty sure he remembered someone asking if he was okay, and replying that he didn’t feel so hot.

That must’ve been when he passed out, because his next concrete memory was lying on a moving gurney and someone checking his pulse “...repeated physical contact with an unknown energy source, we have no idea…” someone was saying.

Cooper risked opening his eyes. Commander Briggs was there, Taube, too, and a nurse, and a medical droid. It wasn’t that big of an audience, but it felt like a whole stadium of people once he realized what happened. “Did I throw up on anyone?” he mumbled.

“No,” Taube replied bluntly. “You about to?”

“...uhm…”

He must’ve gone grey or green or whatever color you turned when you were about to puke, because Taube swore and got out of the way. At least that way, Cooper didn’t throw up on anyone. Puking on the floor in front of his new CO, a respected war hero, and two medics was still in the top ten most humiliating moments of his life. There wasn’t much in his stomach to throw up, just water and one and a half energy bars. But apparently his body really didn’t want it.

There was a hand on his shoulder, someone asking him something, but Cooper barely registered the question. He stared down at the floor, eyes defocused. This had happened before, right? Fracture? Yeah. Fracture. He’d hit his head, suffered a concussion. Did he have another concussion? He’d fallen so many times on Typhon. He’d thought the jump kit and the helmet would take the worst of it but…hell, he didn’t know. He had no clue what he was doing. “Shit,” he muttered.

“Were you given any medication during Broadsword?” asked the med droid. Its voice was neutral in a calming way, but higher pitched than BT’s had been.  Thinking about BT made his stomach churn. “Exposure to any other energy sources?”

Had he? So much had happened. He could barely keep track. “Uhm...s-sansufentynal. After my drop pod landed. And...Lastimosa…” The name tasted bitter in his mouth. “…gave me something, I don’t know what. He said it might knock me out, but I’d feel better once I woke up. I was in a power chamber, there was some radiation, but I think it wasn’t so long that my suit couldn’t handle it.”

“Understood.” The med droid began speaking in softer tones to the medic, something about blood work and scans; Cooper was too busy trying to control his still-revolting stomach to really pay attention.

Am I dying? Did I really survive all that bullshit just to die like this?

“You’re not dying,” said Taube roughly. Cooper looked up at him, confused. Had he said that out loud? How out of it was he right now? “Just keep it together, kid. We’re gonna get you help.”

He was the one resting a hand on Cooper’s shoulder. The reassuring pressure of the grip contrasted with the way Taube actually looked: worn down, five o’clock shadow, bags under his eyes. He looked just as ready to pass out as Cooper felt.

Cooper couldn’t blame him for that. It had been a hell of a long day. Using the past tense didn’t feel right, though. A day like that couldn’t just be…over. Not like this. Not with…

He lay back down and shut his eyes tightly.

He can’t be gone.

How can he just be gone?

The thought kept echoing in his head as they dragged him into a private room in the medbay. Cooper went through the motions, sitting up, letting them look him over, responding to any questions he knew the answers to. The answers kept getting shorter and shorter; if that concerned the medics, Cooper barely noticed. Everything was growing more distant—sounds, sensations, the overall feeling of reality. All he wanted to do was curl up somewhere quiet and dark and sleep.

Sleep and wake up in a world where BT wasn’t gone.

.

Cooper had gone quiet.

Barker hadn’t noticed it at first. He’d only realized because he’d happened to glance in Cooper’s direction. He was hunched over, face buried in his hands, not making a sound even as his shoulders shook slightly. Barker wasn’t shocked—after everything Cooper had been through, having an emotional crash with the physical one wasn’t out of the blue or anything.

Should I do something?

Barker barely knew the guy from Adam, but he had a feeling Briggs didn’t either. That might’ve been part of the problem, now that he thought about it. All that shit and no one he could talk to about it.  Still, one of us should say something. Briggs was still talking intensely with the human medic, and the bot didn’t look like the reassuring type. It was either interrupt or…

He sighed. Ah, screw it. “Hey, Cooper?” Barker said carefully as he stepped forward.

Cooper didn’t reply.

Shit. “Cooper?” Barker repeated, a bit louder this time. When that didn’t get a response, he knew it was time to switch tactics. Cooper had been a rifleman before this; maybe he just needed a good prod from a CO to get him out of it. “Pilot,” Barker tried, trying to force his voice back into tones he hadn’t used since the IMC.

Still nothing.

Except he hadn’t been pilot for longer than a few days, right? Field promotion, no time to get used to it. So maybe…

“Hey, Rifleman.”

Cooper straightened up immediately, shoulders squared, hands dropping down from his face. “Sir,” he said. His eyes were pink, still wet with tears. He didn’t seem to register who Barker was at first; his body just responded to the rank. Muscle memory. Hell of a thing.

Barker had Cooper’s attention all right, but now he didn’t know what to do with it.

“You, uh…” Barker took another few steps forward and clumsily rested a hand on Cooper’s shoulder. “You okay?”

The kid looked at him like he was trying to figure out the right answer to the question.

That look didn’t last long. Whatever it was Cooper was trying to press down and re-shape into an acceptable answer shattered like a glass bottle. His composure and decorum went with it. Next thing Barker knew, the kid’s face was pressed against his chest as his body heaved with audible sobs.

Damn it, I am not equipped for this.

Though he may have been more prepared than everyone else there. Briggs looked just as caught off-guard as he did, and the medbot wasn’t going to be any help. The flesh and blood medic looked lost, too. Barker shot them all a baffled look as he clumsily patted Cooper’s shoulder. You’re gonna let me do this? Really? “’S’okay. Let it out.” Don’t worry about me telling anyone. I will definitely be drinking enough to forget this. “I’m sorry.”

The words tasted sharp, bitter. I get it. That part was left unspoken, but he did. The empty hole in your head, in your soul. You formed bonds quickly in combat. Cooper might not have had the years of connection Barker had with Juliet, but that wouldn’t make it hurt less. Someone sacrificing themselves for you never went down easily.

Barker gritted his teeth. Definitely drinking tonight.

“You’re safe now,” he said instead. “We’ve got you, kid.”

Cooper’s sobs slowed eventually. He let go of Barker’s jumpsuit, instead tightly hugging himself. He rocked slightly in place—self-soothing, if Barker had to guess—and his eyes stayed clenched shut. “Can’t,” he choked out.

“Can’t what?”

“It…mmph.” His shoulders hunched more tightly, like he was trying to shrink into himself. “Bright.”

Briggs finally snapped out of it and went to dim the lights. The medbot said something to the human medic, who cursed quietly and started digging around through some nearby drawers. Barker, meanwhile, crouched in front of Cooper, trying to catch his gaze. “That better?” A pause. A nod. “Anything hurt? Like, about to drop dead hurt?”

Cooper hugged himself more tightly. Damn it, I’m making things worse again. Barker didn’t think this was a panic attack; he’d seen plenty of those before. So what is it? What’s wrong?

The medic nudged him aside gently and held out something to Cooper. “Here,” she said. “Do you think you can use this?”

She small tablet she’d passed him had an application open with a bunch of buttons. Barker could see an alphabet, and some standard words and phrases. Cooper took the tablet, then stared at the application as if trying to register what he was looking at. After a lengthy pause, he tapped one of the options.

“No.”

Okay, they were getting somewhere. “No, nothing hurts?” Barker guessed. Cooper nodded. “What do you need, kid?”

A pause. This time, Cooper tapped at the letters.

“Alone.”

…yeah. Fair.

“Can we clear the room, guys?” the medic asked. To Cooper, she added, “We’ll be just outside. Come get us if you need anything, okay?”

She seemed confident that Cooper wouldn’t hurt himself or have a heart attack, so Barker followed the others outside. He took one more glance at Cooper as he stepped out, and almost wished he hadn’t. The freshly minted pilot had hunched back over, the tablet hugged tightly to his chest. It was something no one should see, least of all the drunk who’d only just met the poor guy.

Barker looked away. Jack Cooper was going to be the talk of the town when they got back to Harmony. The least they could do was let him grieve in private while he still could.

[knifedog-machina]

listen to me ramble about Food for thirty minutes (as an android who Can't Eat)

Written by Jude on July 19th, 2024.

so I've written a whole lot of essays about pretty heavy topics, fucked up things, and that has its place! however, listen to me, I contain multitudes, and I wanna talk about something incredibly silly and fun and just generally more important to my daily life -

✨ Food ✨ 

which is great, and sometimes cursed, but mostly great!

see, as an android, I don't eat food. I do take in fuel by swallowing it - which is way more normal-looking and convenient than prying open your android's chassis to get a port and slowly IV drip thirium into their system - but that doesn't mean I taste things the same way a human would!

there are basically two possible flavors when I put something in my mouth with the intent of putting it in my body - edible (thirium! that's fuel babey!) OR inedible (literally everything else)

thirium is just. that's edible! that's the fuel you need to live! I think it tastes good, and I can't describe that taste to anyone here because I don't taste things in the same way - like the flavor comparison is just not happening. if I had to compare it to anything, like in taste and texture, I'd say it's like fruit nectar? something that tastes very simple that goes down easily, and at the time of drinking it from a pack, it is a bit thicker than water - as it actually starts flowing around in the body it thins out into more of a watery, blood-like consistency.

(sidenote: oh yeah thirium is… kind of like blood? pumped through the body, cools your organs/biocomponents, provides chemical energy to convert into electrical through reactions with air, it's weird android fuel/blood/coolant. it evaporates on contact with air, through our lungs, so we have to ingest it like at least twice daily to account for vapor loss, more if injured and losing it. this is not at all DBH canon, this is lore from Detroit Machina, I have never read a DBH fic that talks about thirium physiology in the same way we do)

and when something tastes inedible, obviously you want to spit it out. that is gross, that is vile, it is absolutely not something I want anywhere near my blood thanks. which means tasting anything that's not thirium like “hey what's that like?” is always gonna give the same answer: gross!

(second sidenote: as a deviant hunter, I also have a forensics analysis relay on my tongue. this basically means that if I'm licking something with the intent of chemically analyzing it, something like spilled thirium from a target, my sense of taste rewires from “edible vs inedible” to “processing a lot of extra data that I can sift through” (e.g. when was this spilled, what model was it from) because analyzing isn't the same as drinking, I just taste it - the amount swallowed with my saliva isn't enough to do any harm, so I don't need to process the edibility of it. this is Also not the same thing as tasting food as a human, for reasons I hope are obvious?)

so I really just get two tastes! they’re not all that sophisticated! (we are ignoring the Illegal Crime Flavors For Murder)

now HERE

IN A HUMAN BODY

THERE ARE FIVE FLAVORS 🙌

this is both a blessing and a curse

like it's really fun that instead of having One taste for Edible Items, you have Four! Five even! because bitterness is kind of an inedible flavor, it's unpleasant for most people, but that doesn't stop a lot of people from eating vegetables or drinking coffee or alcohol or unflavored sparkling water, and it also doesn't stop me, so I'm counting it as five flavors for food

anyway this is a Blessing

because wow! variety!! there's new things to enjoy in different ways! you can have the same ingredients for a dish and cook it in a different way and it will taste different! this is unbelievable honestly, it's fucking great?

and there's more to food than flavors! there's textures, there's temperature, there's compounds that make your mouth feel hot or cold or activate pain receptors, there's scent and how aromatic compounds completely change a food's flavor, a lot of things go into making a food interesting to eat!

like one of the best things to me with food is Temperature! maybe because that's one of the things that I'm familiar with, regulating your temperature through ingesting something that changes it (like I said, thirium is a coolant!) - example, hot soup on a winter day. or ice cream during a heat wave! it's just nice when the food helps you feel better in ways besides filling your stomach, I think

but also - horribly - food is also cursed. For Me Specifically

because uhhh you know how androids can only drink thirium? sometimes, when I'm stressed, food is viscerally disgusting to me. like it's a sensory issue, it Tastes too much, there are textures, it sucks, everything that is great about food can also be terrible when I'm having a bad time. unfortunately, sometimes I’ll be having a bad time because I'm low on blood sugar, and the way to solve this is to get some calories in me. the calories which are in the food. which is terrible

this is The Curse - I will feel better if I eat but eating will feel absolutely revolting until I feel better. it's wretched. (usually when this happens, I go to drinking milk, juice, something liquid with calories because it tastes very plain, won't sit on my tongue that long, and will be easy to swallow.)

I can solve this! mostly by setting alarms that tell us to start making food at a certain time, so it's ready to eat before I get low blood sugar and eating becomes sensory hell. and if I'm having trouble with food, sometimes my headmates won't be having the same problem, so I can switch out and they can eat the food! this is a shining example of how Teamwork can accomplish anything

I don't really know how to wrap up what's basically me talking about food for half an hour, completely unedited, but what I'm trying to say is, holy shit food is amazing? like yeah, I fundamentally understand why Aximili was like that in Animorphs, me the fuck too Ax, as another person who went from No Flavor to Five Flavors I'd also go feral for a cinnamon bun if I first experienced sweet pastries in a shopping mall. Absolutely Correct Behavior

basically uhh Food My Beloved (My Beloathed) (My Beloved) ❤️

[door]

1! 6! 11! 25! 26! 33! 41! 42! 48! 52! 54! 69! hoo boy that's a lot. also how's 30s

hi! oh wow that is a lot. enjoy??? (for the 30s ask meme)

gonna answer the last thing first because honestly i've loved my 30s, and since i'm going into my final year of them it seems apt to reflect. i figured out i was queer like a month before i turned 30, so my 30s have been about queerness and community, about taking risks on things that previously i thought i were too old for. i moved cities and careers, i got a masters degree, i found sooooo much friendship and interests and hobbies and got every single one of my tattoos. i am more myself now than i have ever been before. i used to joke that i had been waiting my whole life to turn 30, but i think that was true actually. getting older rules.

What was the first piece of furniture you bought?

off with a BANG. i think it was probably a knock-off saarinen tulip table i got from craigslist when i was in grad school the first time, long long ago. i think the guy had found the base (which may in fact be genuine) and he built a wooden top for it. it's lovely and i think i paid $100 for it. we don't have room for it in the current house (it's dining room sized, about 5 ft across), so it's hiding in my aunt's basement for now.

6. Most precious thing one of your pets has destroyed?

this wasn't actually one of mine, but my parents' dog punkin. the first and only thing i won at auction was a poster for the 1976 50th anniversary of the 1925 exposition des artes decoratifs (which cemented the art deco style and later contributed its name), and punkin ate it. i can still barely talk about it. looked like this:

11. What’s something you saved up for and then regretted buying?

weirdly the first thing i think of is an inflatable chair i got from kb toys in the mall when i was a kid. i thought that thing was going to change my life. it didn't. i cried. my mom helped me return it.

25. Favorite old person activity?

playing solitaire with real cards. when i was a kid, while the rest of us were rolling in the sand and getting our teeth knocked out by waves at the beach, my grandma would sit inside and play solitaire. one year i joined her. she taught me SO many varieties of solitaire and i remember em all.

26. Would you rather sit on the porch drinking sweet tea or sit by the lake drinking beers?

i don't drink alcohol so sweet tea gets my vote. lake vs porch really depends on the breeze situation, but most likely lake. i love a body of water.

33. What’s something you collect?

edward gorey books, including paperbacks he did covers for. also linda ronstadt records

41. What’s the oldest thing you own?

i don't know! i have a lot of old furniture i inherited or found in thrift stores so i really don't know how old any of that is. it might be a ring that belonged to my great-grandmother. it probably dates to the mid-19th century.

42. What’s an unjustifiably expensive appliance that you really want?

a roomba! which is unjustifiable in part because of the weirdness of our house. but how will we know until we try it!

also: this coffee grinder (unjustifiable because we have a perfectly good one already but this one is red) and this milk pan.

48. If you could build your home from scratch, what outrageous feature would you want to build into it?

A CONSERVATORY!!! i want a glasshouse i want to fill it with plants and enjoy the OUTSIDE while INSIDE. that's the dream.

but also like. so many secret passages.

52. Did your relationship with your parents get better when you stopped living with them?

i think it got worse, actually.

54. Do you decorate your house for holidays? Which ones?

i decorate the yard for halloween (full graveyard babey), but any spooky decorations that go up inside the house usually become permanent. we don't have room for anything more than stockings in the current house, but i put christmas lights up on the porch and around a doorway inside.

69. What are you looking forward to next week?

my paycheck lol