#surely i will be just the same as I’ve always been after this third play through | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

littlejuicebox · 10 months ago

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Milk.

Back again for the third time today, this time with some porn with a plot.

I'm really on one with the Dadstarion fics. Something has been unleashed inside me, people.

I need to edit all these headers at some point.

Warnings: babies, angst w comfort, smut, nipple play, breast milk, breast milk drinking, breeding kink, daddy kink, teasing, dirty talk, a bit of soft dom Astarion vibes, 18+ only please

A/N: Most of you already know I'm a degenerate.

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Astarion had been uncharacteristically melancholy this week.

Sure, it wasn’t unusual to witness him in one of his moods of irritation or frustration, particularly when some business deal or another was not going particularly well, or a contract he’d already drafted more times than he could count came back to him with more rebuttals.

But to witness this cloud of sadness around your husband, especially after Gale’s birth, was odd. He’d been the picture of domestic joy and fatherhood, completely over the moon in his new role. He even wore the sleeplessness better than you in the first few months, happy to assist where he could so that his little love could get more valuable rest.

However, just recently, his mood had become detached and distant. Everything he did and said seemed tinged with worry or sadness. It reminded you of the spawn version of Astarion from several years ago, almost always caught in a poor memory or concerning line of thought. That version of Astarion hadn’t shown up in a while. You couldn’t be sure what triggered it.

“Gale’s getting quite good at holding his head up,” You inform your husband as you crawl into bed with him after just putting the three-month-old down for the evening.

“That’s wonderful news, darling.” Astarion replies, with that same distant, pensive air he’s addressed you with all week as he focuses on the book in his lap.

You sigh, and put your hand over the book, obscuring the pages and forcing the elf to acknowledge you, “What is it, Astarion? You’ve been in this… mood all week and I’m beginning to worry you’re regretting parenthood.”

Your husband’s eyebrows crinkle as he places the book on his nightstand, staring at you with a mixture of shock, hurt and confusion, “Darling, do you truly think that? What have I done besides absolutely dote on Gale? And on you!”

You realize you’ve misspoken. You see the wounds on your husband’s face as he assesses you, and your hands come to his cheeks, searching his eyes, “No, no I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I know you don’t regret Gale… I just. I’m worried, Astarion. You seem… sad. Lost in thought in a way I haven’t seen in years and… I don’t know why.”

There is a moment of silence as Astarion’s eyes flash through several thoughts, filtering through a week's worth of garbled noise within his mind. And then he sighs, “I…” he pauses and blinks, forcing himself to meet your gaze, “I’m worried that I won’t be the right masculine role model for Gale. That I’m not strong enough to show him… to show him how to be a good man.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. You cannot even think of something to say, because this certainly wasn’t the direction you thought Astarion would take. He was always quite self-assured in his talents and never hesitant to be the true version of himself after the parasite fiasco over a decade ago.

He continues, “I don’t live in the woods, or whatever it is exactly Halsin does. I’m not an especially talented spell caster like Gale. And I’m fair with a blade but it’s been years since I’ve had use for one and I don’t have the level of training nor regular practice like Wyll nowadays, dear. I review contracts and make investments; I run the winery. I embroider. I’m not exactly the picture of masculinity in comparison to… others.”

There is a moment of quiet between the two of you. Concerned tears form in your husband’s eyes, which he quickly blinks away.

“Astarion… you are the strongest man I know.” You murmur, running a finger along the elf’s cheek as he scoffs and shakes his head. His eyes jerk away from your face; clearly, he does not believe you.

You gasp in shock as you cup his face harder, willing the elf to understand how serious you are. You continue, vehemently, “My love. You cannot seriously believe otherwise! You have endured more than any of us could ever imagine. Over 200 years of… horrible atrocities. And then you came out on the other side of that, after having sacrificed so much — and Astarion, do not ever forget how much you willingly sacrificed — to be better. To choose differently. To be so much more.”

You are ripping the blankets away and crawling into your husband’s lap now, wrapping your limbs around his torso. His head comes to the side of your neck as you hold him, hoping to convey the love and respect you have for the elf with the warmth of your arms. Your fingers latch into the curls on the back of his neck as you speak in a reverent whisper, urging him to believe you.

“I watched you endure years without the sun in more stride than I could have possibly thought. And you are perhaps softer than you were when we met, yes. But this version of you gives me and Gale everything we need and more. I cannot imagine someone stronger or more courageous than you, my love. And I think you have forgotten how much strength it took for you to become this soft in the first place. I love this version of you. And Gale has a wonderful, loving, strong father in this version. Please do not ever doubt that.”

A quiet hum of acknowledgement comes from your husband, but no other words escape him as he lifts his head from the crook of your neck and envelopes your lips in a soft kiss. A thank you.

Your heart is pounding from the passion with which you spoke, and when Astarion’s lips press into yours, that passion and love begins to flow throughout your body. Pieces of you start to wake.

It had been a while since you two were intimate. Not since before Gale's birth. Days and nights had recently been filled with parenthood and left little time nor energy for much else. But as Astarion pushes forward, wrapping his arms around your back, you feel the stirrings of desire deep in your core. A soft moan leaves you as a fire begins to grow where mere glowing embers had been left several months ago.

Astarion must be feeling the same pull, because his hand trails from your back and sneaks under your nightdress to brush along your thigh. He slowly traces up the length of your leg to cup your bottom while he deepens the kiss with a soft, breathy moan of his own. He’s flexing his hips up toward you, the growing bulge in his trousers begging for further stimulation. Your lover’s tongue swipes along your lower lip, asking for entry, and your mouth opens to accept the swirling heat of desire from the elf.

He explores your mouth and caresses your bottom for a while, tenderly, slowly, and in no rush to further things along despite the mutual growing desire between your two bodies. It’s you that finally breaks the kiss before ripping your night dress over your head, exposing two heavy, milk-laden breasts in the process. Astarion brings the hand not kneading into your ass to cup your breast before thumbing the pert nipple.

You gasp, and your husband’s brows crinkle for a moment as he pauses his ministrations.

“Too sensitive?” He asks, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your other breast.

“No, keep going,” You urge him, closing your eyes and rolling your hips forward to grind into his groin. He bucks forward to meet you instinctively.

He tentatively thumbs the nipple again and you moan in response. Without thinking much about it, Astarion brings his mouth to the other breast and wraps his lips around the bud before sucking gently. You release an ecstatic keen in response when his teeth graze against the tender flesh. You are continuing to roll your hips into him when he suddenly retracts from your chest with a shocked gasp.

Your eyes snap open, and you catch the final glimpse of your husband wiping breast milk from the side of his mouth as his cheeks and ears slowly turn pink. And then you feel your own embarrassment growing as rosy patches flush across your chest and cheeks. You quickly move to cover your breasts.

“I-I’m sorry,” You whisper, “it slipped my mind. I forgot about the…”

You’re thinking the moment’s ruined, and moving to climb off your husband, but he quietly brings his hand to your waist and stills you. His eyes search yours silently for a moment, and you’re still so consumed by your own embarrassment that all you can do is stare dumbly back at him, eyebrows furrowed.

But then Astarion lifts one of his hands to your own, slowly lowering it from where it had been covering your breast. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he once again leans forward and wraps his lips around the nipple, sucking gently. Warm milk flows into his mouth and you inhale sharply, unable to look away as your husband removes his lips from your breast, opens his mouth to show you the white liquid, and then closes his mouth and swallows.

He swallows.

And then he smirks up at you with a self-satisfied, mischievous glint in his eyes that causes the slickness between your legs to instantly double.

Gods, this man.

You are convinced your entire body is flushing red at this point as Astarion slowly brings his other hand up to palm the flesh of your breast.

“Would you like daddy to do it again?” He purrs before his tongue laps circles around the side of your heavy tit.

“I— gods, yes.” You respond, blinking down at the elf.

“Okay. But you have to ask me very, very nicely, little love.” He responds teasingly as he trails kisses to your other breast, waiting for you to say something.

“Please suck my nipple,” You whisper, eagerly rolling your groin into your husband's raging erection.

But Astarion doesn’t do what he’s asked. Instead, he’s teasing the bud with the flat of his tongue and humming contentedly, waiting for something from you.

“Please suck my nipple, daddy.” You amend, and the elf instantly engages his lips around your other breast with a soft groan. He’s drinking with vigor as your hands find the curls at the nape of his neck and take hold. Before long he’s retracting again, his mouth full of liquid gold.

And he pulls the same maneuver. Mouth open, flashing the white liquid as he looks directly into your eyes. Mouth closed. Swallow. Devious smile.

“It’s delicious, you know.” He murmurs as you stare at him, still in shock and still somewhat embarrassed by the fact that you are actually enjoying this. His hands come to either breast, both now significantly lighter, and he fondles the soft tissue.

“You shouldn’t be so surprised that you like this darling, I distinctly remember a time when I made you orgasm by mere nipple play alone.” He whispers, a glint of that cocky rogue playing across his face before he trails kisses up your chest and along your neck.

“Gods, Astarion,” You respond, “I need you inside me, now.”

You’re done with the foreplay. Your husband has you ridiculously hot and bothered, and it’s been far, far too long. You're on your knees, which are straddled on either side of his hips as you urgently tug at the waistband of his trousers, trying to work his pants and underclothes off in one motion. But your husband is purposely resisting and refusing to lift his hips, watching you with that same arrogant smile.

Oh, he's toying with you.

“Darling, why am I always the one dirty talking you?” He asks, pulling back from your neck and cocking his head just slightly as he studies your face.

“I— what?” You ask, still pulling insistently at his waistband.

“I’m always the one charming the pants off of you, dear. In over ten years, it’s never really been the other way around. But you know that I love to hear your beautiful words.” He continues, moving one of his hands to stroke between your still-clothed folds.

“Astarion, please fuck me.” You try as you struggle to keep your composure. The slickness of your cunt is making obscene noises as he expertly maneuvers between your slit, watching your expression attentively as you come undone.

He chuckles darkly as he brings his lips to your breast once again, trailing kisses along the side of the flesh, “I think you can do better than that, my love.”

You groan in dismay as the bastard continues to tease you. Several months without sex and somehow you’re still the desperate one while he’s effortlessly maintaining his cool.

“What do you want daddy to do to you, darling?” He purrs, teasingly, as his other hand that isn’t stroking between your legs trails across your skin to fondle your ass once again.

“I want you to fuck me and fill me with your seed.” You whine as his ministrations on your clit become more insistent. You’re trying to play into his desires, to convince him to stretch you open with his thick cock.

Your legs are trembling now. He’s going to make you come embarrassingly fast. You know it. He knows it.

“Won’t you beg me, my love?” He murmurs as his eyes trail across your chest, admiring your larger-than-usual breasts before his gaze locks back onto yours, fingers still strumming your clit, now adding more pressure, “You know I love to hear your sweet little pleas.”

“Please— Astarion. Please, daddy. Please fuck me. Breed me like your good little wife and fill me with—“

You gasp and then moan as your orgasm rips through you with little warning, drenching your husband’s hand in your arousal. The release causes your legs to turn into jelly, and Astarion uses the opportunity to quickly maneuver you into a new position. You are sitting on the side of the bed, and he is now standing, quickly lowering his trousers.

His cock springs free, and the sight causes your eyes to widen in shock. It’s so engorged that the head is slowly turning from that gorgeous pink to a deep purple, begging for release. Thin rivulets of pre-cum are falling in strings from the tip; much of his shaft is glistening from the same evidence of his arousal.

Astarion glances down at his own erection and then warns, “It’s been a while darling, not quite certain how long I will last.”

“Just get inside me already, daddy.” You plead and that’s enough to make your husband growl as he strokes his own member once, twice, prepping himself. He peels your drenched undergarments down your legs and tosses them aside.

As Astarion’s cock slides between your folds you gasp. Gods, it really has been too long. And then he��s pressing into you slowly, groaning deeply with the amount of effort it’s taking him to not release his spend right upon entry into your tight cunt. When he reaches the hilt, the elf stills for a moment and lowers himself down to kiss your lips before pressing his forehead against yours. And then Astarion is slowly rolling his hips, his mouth hanging open in a gasp at the delicious sensation of your walls clenching around him before he closes his eyes to focus.

It isn’t long before he's losing control. Your husband normally prides himself on being a consummate lover; it’s quite typical that he brings you to orgasm twice before finding his own release. But it has been quite some time and perhaps holding off in an attempt to hear your pleas wasn’t as easy for him as it appeared on the outside.

“Gods, darling. You feel so perfect.” The elf pants, almost breathless, his hips stuttering as he jerkily thrusts into you, trying and failing to maintain some rhythm as the pleasure overwhelms him, “So perfectly wet and tight.”

“Come inside me, daddy.” You whisper as you bring your hand to the side of Astarion’s face.

The command shocks him. Like you, he’s suddenly coming with very little warning. His eyes rip open as he’s spilling into you with a loud groan, his cock jerking inside your walls where he’s instinctively buried himself to the hilt.

“Fuck-- gods, Tav--" He hisses through the waves of pleasure racking his body as his eyes roll back. His thighs are trembling as his member continues to throb, spilling several streams of hot, thick seed into you as you watch his face in awe. Mouth agape, cheeks flushed. You love the way he looks when he loses control.

You smile and kiss your husband gently as he comes down from his high, your hand stroking his cheek. And then he’s laughing and pressing his forehead back against yours. A few of his curls fall haphazardly and you reach up to lovingly comb them back into place.

“You are… still full of surprises, aren’t you?” Astarion asks as he slowly withdraws from you, causing the slickness from your lovemaking to run down your thighs and into the sheets.

“I thought you would like it,” You offer shyly, now somewhat embarrassed at your own crassness as the tides of passion recede.

“Oh, I certainly did, darling.” Your lover reassures you as he bends down to retrieve his trousers from the floor, "You cheeky little degenerate."

Just then, Gale lets out a sharp cry from the nursery. You move to stand up, but your husband stops you with a gentle hand and a soft, adoring smile.

“I’ll go and get him. Don’t waste the seed still inside you, dear. Give it a few more precious moments to try and do its thing, hm?” Astarion says, partly teasing and partly serious as he shoots you a wink before heading out the bedroom door to retrieve the infant.

This one won’t take, you know as much. You aren’t ovulating. But as you watch the love of your life exit the room on his way to retrieve the other love of your life, you think you may actually be ready to start trying for another one sometime soon. You know Astarion is simply waiting for your cue.

Anything for daddy.

#astarion fanfic #baulders gate astarion #astarion fic #baulders gate 3 #astarion x reader #baulders gate tav #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion reader insert #dadstarion fic #dadstarion #soft dom astarion #astarion fluff #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female reader #astarion smut #smut

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catopoliscat · 8 months ago

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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.

#nanami x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #kento nanami x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #nanami #kento nanami

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illvmii · 1 year ago

Text

Home For The Weekend.

DBF!Miguel x FEM!Reader, NSFW!! READ WITH CAUTION!!

TAGS: DBF!Miguel, Nsfw, a little fluff ig, pining Miguel, I gave you good parents because you deserve it, oral (fem receiving), praise, p in v, unprotected (use protection gang), a little exhibisionism (people are in the house), Miguel is pretty soft in this one, LMK if I forgot anything

A/N: Because I had to swap accounts and all that, I decided to write smut as a sorry (cause I know that’s what most Miguel fans want LMFAO) so here you go!! It’s Dad’s best friend cause GODDD I love DBF Miguel lemme tell ya. Also not proof read (I’m really fucking tired rn I’ll proof read tmr probably)

You’ve been away from home for a good while at this point. Your college really wasn’t all that far away, but you’ve been so freaking busy it’s unbelievable. You called your parents at least three times a week, even at that point you were failing to do so. You were completely overwhelmed and it was awful.

But finally, finally you had a weekend where you were free. You didn’t have anything to do, so you decided to drive home and spend the weekend there. You knew your parents really missed you, so it was the best choice for all of you (plus you’d been killing to taste some of your moms cooking once again).

You had called your father to let him and your mom know you were coming, but were told a very interesting surprise. It was for sure a welcome one, though. Your father’s best bud, Miguel O’Hara, was staying with your parents for a week. Apparently the man’s house got termites which fucking blew chunks for him. But for you… well, aren’t you just lucky?

That man is HOT! We all know it, he’s absolutely stunning. So when you figured you’d be in the same house as him for a whole weekend, your entire stay seemed to get much more interesting.

Of course it was a ‘Look don’t touch’ scenario, you couldn’t even imagine the hell that would let loose if you made a hit on your dad’s best friend. You knew your father and Miguel were super close, they have been since you were a little girl. Miguel and your pops met when you were in third grade, because you were on your schools little soccer team. Miguel was the coach, since his own daughter Gabriella was on it.

You and Gabi actually became pretty good friends, still are to this day. She’s fun to be around and you text her whenever you have the chance. Of course she doesn’t know about the absolutely disgusting thoughts you have about her father on the lonelier nights. You think nobody but you really needs to know those. God forbid if your dad found out.

You haven’t seen Miguel in… what was it? Nearly three years at this point. He didn’t come around the house much after you turned 19 for some reason. Your dad and him always hung out at bars and such. So you haven’t seen him in a long time. The barbecues Miguel always had once a month were strangely on days you had told your dad you weren’t available, either. It’s very strange. You never have had the best of luck with men, so you just assume god is playing a cruel trick on you.

You eventually pulled into your childhood home driveway, the second you entered your mom pulls you to the side and presses kisses all over your face.

“Oh my gosh! It feels I haven’t seen my baby girl in ages! How have you been, honey?!”

Pressing a kiss to her cheek, you smile, “Been good. Busy, as I’ve said on our calls. But finally got some free time!”

Your mother grinned and pulled you into a hug, “I’m so glad your home, sweetheart. The house just isn’t the same without you here.”

“Dad already getting on your nerves, huh?” You snicker, hugging her back tightly.

Your mom chuckles and shakes her head, “He’s still the same ol’ grump. You should have heard him and Miguel when the soccer game was on… my goodness I was worried we were going to get a noise complaint.”

“Are they really that bad? Geez. I know Dad is bad, can’t imagine two of them.”

Your mother chuckles, “Your father is in the living room. Go say hi, hes been waiting for you all day.”

You give her a nod and walk off to the living room to greet your dad. He’s on the couch, so you plop down next to him. “Hey, Dad. How’s it hanging?”

He turns to look at you and bumps your shoulder with his, “There you are, squirt. Where you been for so long, huh? Outgrown us regular people now you’re a big shot at college?”

You smirk at his tease, “Don’t worry. I won’t forget about you. Least not yet.”

He flicks your forehead, chuckling to himself.

“Miguel is out in the pool. You should go say hi.”

Your face immediately heats up. He’s in the god damn pool?! With probably little shorts? Oh god…

You nod and stand from the couch and make your way to the pool. You slide the glass door to the patio open and dear god.

You see Miguel, hes swimming laps in the big pool. As long as you’ve known him, he’s worked out a bunch. No wonder he’s so fucking buff.

Stepping down into the patio area, you send him a wave, “Hey, Mr. O’Hara?”

He pauses his swimming and looks up at you. He flashes a smile, “My god, that you, pequeña?”

Miguel shakes his head to get the excess water out, swimming too the stairs of the pool to get out. You see now that yes, he is in little swim trunks.

He grabs his towel to wipe his extremely chiseled chest down. He smiles at you as he does, “How have you been, chica? I haven’t seen you for a while. Your dad sends me photos of you sometimes, but they really didn’t show off how much you’ve grown.”

You blush as he runs his eyes over you to really take in your growth. “I’ve been okay. College is keeping me busy. How about you? I’ve heard your house has termites.”

Miguel let’s out a loud groan, “Mhm. I could hear them in the walls at night, it was hell. At least they’re getting taken care of now, ‘Eh?”

“Yeah. I could imagine that would be hell,” You add on, not helping the conversation at all. You really couldn’t focus on conversing well. The man who has plagued your mind since you hit puberty is standing right in front of you, wet and in tiny shorts.

Miguel fully dries himself off, “I’ll go in and change, alright? Then we can talk some more.”

He walks off and you follow behind. You sit next to your dad in the living room and patiently (not at all patiently) wait for ‘Mr. O’Hara’.

Miguel walks into the living room wearing some loose shorts and a white t-shirt. He sits on a free chair and looks to your dad, “Man, look how big your girl is now! Can’t even believe it. Can’t believe how big my Gabi is, either.”

Your dad chuckles and groans, “I know, right? Time really flies when you get old.”

Miguel shoots you a smile, “I’m not that old, am I, cariño?”

You shake your head quickly, “Of course not.”

Your father chuckles, “You don’t gotta lie to Miguel, honey! Let him have it.”

Miguel leans forward to smack your father’s shoulder, “Ay! You aren’t young yourself.”

Your father and Miguel banter back and forth for a bit, before the soccer game starts out. They shut up immediately to watch, though once the plays start happening they shout at the TV like mad men. You chuckle whenever they do. It brought back memories of you and Gabriella having a play date and hearing them go nuts over the match in the other room.

After the match, it was dinner time, and holy fuck did it smell good. Your mother knew how to cook man, let me tell you.

You were sat in between your mom and Miguel. Your dad and the hunk were talking about the game, while your mother asked you questions about how college was going. You told her all about it, from the gossip to how the vending machine in the lobby stopped working again, which pissed you off to no end.

While you were talking and ranting about “those damn machines”, you felt a thigh press against yours. You glance down, seeing it was Miguel’s. Strange, because you didn’t remember his chair being this close. You shrug it off and keep talking to your mom.

After dinner you were stuffed, so you head up to your bedroom for the night. You were currently sitting on your old bed, snuggled up all nice and cozy while watching some YouTube. That was until the door creaked open. You figured your mom had done your laundry like the lovely lady she is, but indeed it was Miguel.

He stepped into the room with a soft smile, closing the door behind him, “Hey, pequeña.”

You sit up immediately at the sight of him, plucking your earbuds from your ears, “Hey, Mr. O’Hara. What do you need?”

Miguel sits himself on the edge of the bed, “You can just call me Miguel, sweetheart. Mr. O’Hara makes me feel ancient.”

“Alright, Miguel.” You smile, which makes him chuckle. He looks up at you and speaks;

“We haven’t had much time to speak one on one. I just wanted to catch up with you, hadn’t seen you in a while.”

You tilt your head endearingly, “Yeah, it has been a while. College has kept me from coming home, plus you and dad don’t hang out around the house as much as you used to.”

Miguel’s face actually pinks a little at the statement, to your bewilderment. He scratches his head, “Yeah. Just gettin’ out on the town as you kids say makes us feel young, I guess.”

Cuddling your blankets a bit closer to you, you grin at him, “You really aren’t that old. You had Gabriella decently young, right?”

“I guess so,” He shrugs, “It feels like forever ago, yet also yesterday. Can’t believe my flor pequeña is in college now.”

You nod, “Oh yeah, I can’t believe we’re in college either. Gabriella texts me all about her college days. She rants about her boyfriend constantly, she seems to really like him.”

Miguel groans, “Don’t even get me started on that boy. He is not worth my daughter, not even a little.”

You giggle at his protective nature. You’re positive that no matter who Gabriella dates, Miguel will never deem them as good enough for his daughter.

Miguel looks into your eyes, “So, you got a boyfriend, niña?”

“Oh, no. I haven’t really met the right person,” Which was a total lie, by the way. You’ve gone on dates and met super nice guys, but in your head you constantly compared them to your first crush ever, Miguel. They never shaped up, so it never went anywhere.

His eyes widen, “Really? You’re so beautiful now, I’d figure you’d have tons of boys chasing you.”

The statement makes you blush fiercely, “Ah, no.”

Miguel lets out a thoughtful sigh, “You really have grown into a lovely young woman, you know.”

You blush even harder, “Thank you, Mr. O’Hara.”

He places a hand on yours with a chuckle, “I told you, it’s Miguel.”

“Right. Sorry. Sorry,” You take some deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down. Miguel sees this and smiles.

“Why so flustered, cariño? Is it because I called you beautiful?”

You end up covering your face to hide said blush from him. Geez, your heart could not take this right now. You were dressed in some baggy Spider-Man pajamas, yet he is calling you beautiful?

“I-I’m not…”

You can’t believe you’re stuttering. The things this man does to you is insane.

Miguel reached a hand forward to take your hands away from your face. He doesn’t remove it, though. He rests it on your cheek.

“Do you want to know why I stopped coming around your house?”

You nod, staring into his chocolate brown eyes.

“It’s because of your 19th birthday. Do you remember it?”

You think back to those years ago. It was a pretty fun party. You got a bunch of friends and family over and swam in your pool. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but just a fun time.

“Yeah. What about it? Did I do something?”

He chuckles and tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, “Nah. It’s just me. You… that day, do you remember what your swimsuit looked like?”

You think back again and blush. Not one of your smartest moments, buying a white swimsuit. It looked cute online, the thought of that it was supposed to go in water and get wet not really cementing itself in your head.

“Yeah…”

He nods and chuckles, “I saw you step out of the pool, and rushed over with a towel to cover you up. Remember? Sure, it was because I didn’t want you to expose yourself like that. However, I had a selfish reason.”

You look up and tilt your head a little.

“I didn’t want anyone else to see that part of you.”

“Huh?” Your brows furrow.

He smirks, “I was confused by the thought, too. I left right after the party and went to my house. I figured I’d stop having such strange thoughts after a day… but amor, I haven’t stopped thinking about you once.”

Your eyes widen, “Wh- Huh?”

“You’re so beautiful, I don’t think you understand. You grew into this woman who I admire, not just for your looks. You’re wonderful, absolutely wonderful. You’re kind, you’re thoughtful, you’re funny, you’re perfect. I can’t get you out of my damn head.”

You can’t manage to speak at this point. You stare up at the man in shock as he moves his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck.

“Please, let me kiss you, niña,” He basically begs, his eyes look full of desperation, “I’ve wanted to do it for years.”

You manage a tiny nod, so he rushes forward to kiss your lips. He holds you very close against him and kisses you hard. He lets out a groan at the contact. His tongue prods at your lips after a while and who are you to refuse such a man? You let him in, letting out a little groan of your own when he explores you.

After what felt like too short, you have to pull away to catch your breath. He doesn’t stop being on you, though. When you pant, he moves to kiss your jaw and neck.

You let out a little groan, “M-Miguel…”

“No good?” He speaks between kisses, “I’ve wanted to touch you for years, you don’t understand…”

You let out a little whimper, a god damn whimper.

“Please, let me touch you. Fuck, please,” He begs again. You manage a small nod once again. He dives back in to keep kissing your neck.

You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer. His hands move downwards towards your shirt. He tugs it over your head and moans. His hands immediately reach down to squeeze your tits, and you have to cover your mouth to keep your moans in.

He mumbles out a soft “Fuck…” when he uses his thumbs to glide over your nipples. After a few seconds, he leans down to press kisses all over your soft breasts. He still uses his hands to softly prod at them.

You let out a low whine and he looks up at you, “Be quiet, my girl. Can’t have anyone hearing you.”

You nod and keep covering your mouth as he leans down to keep pressing soft kisses to your chest. After a few moments, he tugs at your bottoms and looks up at you. You nod embarrassingly, and he takes them and your underpants off in one fell swoop.

You hear him audibly choke a breath, which makes you blush more. He manhandles you so your thighs rest on his shoulders, and just goes to town.

You let out a loud yelp when his tongue presses against your clit, so he reaches down and puts his fingers in your mouth to silence you. He keeps his mouth going, sucking on the bud to bring you pleasure.

Miguel pulls back with a long breath, “Tastes so good…”

You whimper against his fingers when he leans down to insert his tongue in you. You cry out as he holds nothing back, forcefully having his way with you.

His one hand that isn’t in your mouth is softly caressing your thigh, which is driving you crazy in its own right. It feels like everywhere he touches you is pure heaven.

Though that one hand leaves after a moment, instead he moves to insert a finger in you. You clamp down on his fingers, which makes him chuckle.

“Feel that good?”

Against his hand, you mumble, “Fingers so thick…”

He smirks and curls his index finger, making your hips buck up and you let out another whine. He can softly hear you beg for more.

He complies, of course. Hes waited for this for years, no way he won’t give his girl everything she wants.

He inserts another finger, moving them around a little until he eventually finds your most sensitive spot. He presses the pad of his fingers up against it suddenly, making you jerk and squirm around.

His mouth dives back down to suck on your clit, which drives you absolutely insane. His fingers in both your mouth and inside you, as well as his skilled mouth was far too much for one woman to handle.

Miguel looks over at one of the thighs placed on his shoulder, seeing it shiver and shake. He breaks away briefly, “Are you close already, amor? You’re so sensitive for me. Have you been wanting my touch too?”

You nod frantically when he lowers his head to your clit again. You cry out, “Uh-Huh! Y-You were my first crush!” Your words were mumbled against his fingers, but he understood them just fine.

He sucks on your clit hard and curls his fingers at the same time, which causes you to let out a moan and your thighs shake more. He breaks away,

“Look at me when you come. Look into my eyes as I make you come. You understand?”

You nod and keep eye contact with him as he inserts a third finger, pressing over and over to your g-spot. He uses his tongue to swirl around your inflated bud at the same time.

His gaze, his mouth, his fingers, it was all far too much. After one harsh suck, you came with a muffled shout.

Miguel drank it all up immediately, seemingly absolutely satisfied to be covered in your juices.

He lets you catch your breath and removes his fingers from your mouth. He also lowers your hips back to the bed, being delicate as he does so he doesn’t hurt you. You were panting very harshly, still coming down from your high.

Everything was a bit fuzzy at the moment. Though you refocused a few seconds later- holy shit.

His shorts have been discarded, along with his shirt. He was naked just as you were, and god damn was he big.

He leans down to press a kiss to your stomach, “You think you can go again? Can you take me, pretty girl?”

You try and speak only to realize that you, in fact, can’t. You settle for a thumbs up, which just makes him laugh softly.

He gives you a few more seconds before aligning himself up with your pretty pussy, pushing himself in agonizingly slow.

You let out another moan, so he quickly puts his fingers in your mouth again to keep you quiet. He really, really did not need your parents who were down in the living room to hear this.

He kept pushing himself in, holding his own groans back. He’d used his hand and imagined how you’d feel in the past, but it was nothing like this. This was perfect.

Once he was in as far as he could go, he stopped and let you get comfortable. Of course it was a battle for him, he was fighting his primal instincts to just take your hard and fast.

You keep letting out the most adorable little whimpers, which even though he’s currently fucking you, make Miguel’s heart melt.

You hum against his fingers, “Ready…”

He nods and begins to move very slowly. He focuses on your face as he watches it contort and squeeze with his movements. You were so pretty when you were experiencing such pleasure, he thought.

He whispers, “Good job, pequeña. Such a good girl for me.”

The praise makes you bite down on his fingers a little. Your hands travel upwards to scratch on his back, too. It was taking all your willpower to not be loud.

He moves a little faster, leaning down to kiss you as he does. He keeps mumbling “My pretty girl” And “So perfect, just for me” as he increases his speed.

He knows he isn’t going to last long. He’s been dreaming about you for years at this point.

He begins to sweat as his hips snap against yours. His free hand moves down to rub on your already abused clit. You grunt on his fingers, pursing your lips against them.

“You gonna come for me again, amor? Come on my cock. Can you do that for me?” He speaks very softly. Both to keep it down, but to also be intimate with you.

You breathe heavily as you feel him pound into you. You can feel tears brimming at your eyes from the sensation.

He licks his thumb and places it back down on your clit, rubbing circles over and over again. At the same time, his hips were slamming against yours. Soon enough, you reached a second orgasm. He let out a moan that was nearly too loud when you did. The sensation was his end, because a few thrusts later he pulled out and came on your stomach.

You and him sat there, panting like you’d just ran a damn marathon. Though after a few minutes, Miguel stands and walks over to your nightstand to get the wipes there. He begins to wipe you of his cum and your sweat, cleaning you off so you can sleep comfortably.

You were so fucking exhausted it was insane. You could barely register as he carefully slid your pajamas back onto you, then changed back into his own clothes.

He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, “If I could sleep in here, I would.”

“Mhm…” You mumble, a little upset he wouldn’t be cuddling you to sleep. But you obviously understood his reasoning.

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips,

“Let’s do this again sometime, pequeña.”

Hope you enjoyed you rabid Miguel fans!! Feedback is always welcome. I used spanishdict so please correct any mistakes you see. Reqs open too!!

This was my first time posting anything NSFW on any site ever so I’m sorry if it’s bad LOL

Don’t repost or claim as or own and all that stuff please!! ❤️❤️

#reqs open #miguel x you #miguel smut #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara smut #dbf!miguel #atsv #atsv miguel #atsv fanfiction #miguel o'hara #miguel x y/n

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alooseknot · 16 days ago

Text

Satoru and Suguru, but through Megumi’s eyes?

I’ve thought about this a lot lately, let me explain:

“I.

Megumi is 7, and he wakes up from the same nightmare for the third night in a row. He plods along the hallway, his arms wrapped firmly around his middle, and reaches up to turn the knob on Satoru and Suguru’s door.

The darkness of the room seems to seep out into the hall as he takes a few timid steps into the room. He’s noticed immediately, of course, by the two men in the bed.

“What’s wrong?” Satoru asks immediately, his voice slurred with sleep. Megumi can see him looking at him as his eyes adjust to the low light. Of course, Satoru’s eyes don’t need to adjust, so he knew it was him. He also sees Suguru, who had initially startled awake as well, lie back down, almost immediately asleep.

“Can I sleep here?” Megumi asks, whispering.

Satoru pats the bed next to him, scooting over to let Megumi settle in the middle. Megumi crawls into the bed without another word.

Satoru curls on his side, facing him, and stretches an arm out above Megumi’s head. He ruffles a hand through Megumi’s hair, then buries his hand into Suguru’s hair.

Megumi’s eyelids finally grow heavy again in the warm, safe darkness surrounding him, and he falls asleep to the sound of their even breathing.

II.

Megumi is 10, and he hears the front door open and the door to the hallway bathroom slam. He’s sitting in front of the living room TV playing video games, and he turns around to see Satoru hanging up his keys. He smiles softly at Megumi. Suguru must have been the door-slammer, then.

Megumi hears retching from behind the bathroom door. He stands up to go check, to help. Satoru shakes his head no—not unkindly, but definitively. “I know you’re worried, but he’s okay. Just a hard mission. I’m going to go help, okay? Just giving him a second. Everyone needs a second sometimes, yeah?” Satoru fills the electric tea kettle with water and flicks it on.

“If you really want to help, you can fill this mug up with water when the kettle beeps. Not all the way to the top, just most of the way,” Satoru says, taking a mug down from the cabinet and slicing up a chunk of ginger, throwing the slices into the mug.

Then, he walks into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

Megumi stands by the kettle, taking his post seriously, waiting patiently for it to beep.

III.

Megumi is 15, and he isn’t supposed to be home yet.

He rounds the corner next to his bedroom door when he hears them.

“He loves him, Sugu. And I don’t��I don’t know—I mean, can I save him?” Satoru gasps, clearly crying.

“I know. Breathe. This isn’t your fault, you’re doing what you can. You always do,” Suguru murmurs in response, and Megumi hears the bed creak as he shifts his position.

“Megumi will never forgive me if I have to kill Yuji. Never, Suguru,” Satoru’s sobs are muffled now, likely against Suguru’s chest.

“Satoru, let’s cross that bridge when we get to it. Hell, if we get to it. You don’t know that it’ll ever be relevant,” Suguru’s voice is soothing, softer than Megumi is used to hearing it.

Satoru doesn’t respond, and the next thing Megumi hears is Suguru’s gentle plea : “You have to breathe, Toru, come on, count with me.”

He walks away from the door.

IV.

Megumi is 16, and he isn’t sure what woke him. His phone screen tells him it’s 1:27 a.m. Maybe Satoru finally made it home from his mission.

He ambles out of his bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, just to make sure.

He hears hushed voices before he rounds the corner to the living room. Unsure why anyone would be up that isn’t Satoru, who likely wouldn’t be talking to himself, Megumi is suddenly on alert. He slides his back against the wall, peering around the corner to see who’s there.

It’s Suguru.

He exhales.

After seeing Suguru’s face, however, he feels like his sigh of relief may have been premature.

“Do you want to take a shower, maybe?” Suguru murmurs, standing in front of Satoru where he sits on the couch, pulling off his boots. Satoru places the shoes next to the couch and lets his forehead fall against Suguru’s abdomen. Suguru is quick to wrap a hand around his head, threading his fingers through the hair that isn’t matted down under his blindfold.

“I just want to sleep,” Satoru sighs, and Megumi immediately notices how weary he sounds. His clothing is, as usual, clean and untouched, a byproduct of Infinity, but wherever he’d been had clearly taken a toll on him. Suguru massages Satoru’s head at the temples.

“Come on, I’ll turn off the lights and start the water,” Suguru whispers.

Satoru nods, inhaling shakily.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” Suguru breathes, sitting down on his heels to rest his forehead against Satoru’s.

Megumi, suddenly feeling the weight of his intrusion, creeps back to his room as quietly as possible.

Megumi is 17, and he hears Satoru and Suguru arguing in the kitchen. He pulls out a headphone to listen, pausing the music he’d been listening to while doing homework on the living room floor.

“I just don’t feel like it, Satoru. Isn’t that a good enough reason?”

“No, because you never ‘feel like it’ anymore! You’d think I was asking you for a miracle, not to literally just go out for the evening.”

“Well, you never ‘feel like’ doing anything I want to do either. When’s the last time you sat and read a book with me, huh?”

“That’s different, Suguru, I’ve never done that. You know what I’m saying, and you’re purposefully ignoring it.”

Suguru doesn’t reply.

“Things are bad again, aren’t they?”

Suguru still doesn’t reply.

“Please talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk. I just want to sleep. You go out. Invite Shoko; she’ll appreciate it.”

“I want to help you, you asshole. Stop pushing me away.”

“I don’t want your help, Satoru.”

Satoru laughs harshly at this.

“Yeah, well, you sure as fuck need it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you! Are you kidding me? You’re just content to rot, going to work and then coming home and sleeping your life away? Or some other fucking mindless activity? It’s not normal, Suguru. It’s not healthy. And I’m not just going to sit by and watch you do it.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Suguru raises his voice, which catches Megumi off guard. He never yells.

“Nothing about this is normal, Satoru. My life, our lives, me. I’m not normal. Do you think I like this? Feeling fucking hopeless, not having the energy to do anything, fucking sitting on the floor in the shower because it’s too much to stand—“

“—Suguru, listen—“

“—Don’t interrupt me.”

They are silent for a few long moments.

“I’m sorry,” Suguru says, raggedly.

“No, I’m sorry, I said I wanted to help and I’m definitely not helping,” Satoru sighs.

“I—Satoru, I—“ Suguru tries, then stops.

“Things are bad again,” Suguru settles on, his voice breaking.

Megumi doesn’t hear Satoru reply, just the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.

Satoru only speaks when Suguru starts crying.

Whatever Satoru says to him is too soft for Megumi to hear.

#gojo satoru #jjk #satosugu #geto suguru #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #angst #jjk suguru #satosugu fanfic #jjk geto #megumi fushiguro #i love parental gojo

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whoistartaglia · 1 year ago

Note

Stawwwwp your stuff is so cute!!💖💖💖

If requests are open, may I ask for playing with Wanderer, Tighnari, and Kaeya's hair?

Thank you! And I hope you have a great rest of your day/night ✨️

very thankful for this request💪 i’ve been thinking about this idea for a while now

playing with his hair

wanderer

wanderer usually likes it when it’s him playing with your hair, but tonight you wanted to switch it up a bit. when you’re cuddling together and your hands start to thread into his hair, wanderer point blank turns to you and asks in an almost offended tone, “what are you doing?”

“playing with your hair,” you respond, gently tugging on another lock. you pause and look into his eyes. “is that okay?”

when wanderer doesn’t respond, you let his hair slip through your fingers.

“i’ll stop,” you whisper.

“no, it’s…” wanderer searches for the right word.

you wait patiently in silence. wanderer thinks you look like a confused puppy with your head tilted to the side. your eyes certainly remind him of one, always filled with adoration. for him. sometimes, he still can’t believe it.

“nice,” he finishes at last, sounding like it’s the first time he’s ever said the word. wanderer settles back down so you don’t have to see his face—though, that doesn’t hide the redness in his ears. he clears his throat. “you can keep going.”

his voice is ridiculously soft, but when you let out a teasing, “are you sure?” it turns back to rought concrete.

“yes,” tight, unyielding. you can picture him rolling his eyes. “i’m sure.”

you laugh and once again start running your fingers through his hair. he eventually falls asleep, and if you manage fight through your own dropping eyelids, you’ll hear him murmur your name, said like a scared prayer to a benevolent god.

tighnari

oh, when you start playing with tighnari’s hair, the man turns to puddy in your hand. nevermind the teasing attitude or sarcastic indifference he gives you during the day. at night, when you’re massaging his head with small, light circles, tighnari’s edges smooth out. not that they were never too rigid to begin with—at least, not with you—but the tension in his face will evaporate and he’ll have this content, peaceful smile on his face that lingers even into sleep.

and if you start playing his ears? first, consider yourself lucky that you’re allowed such a privilege; second, he might literally melt like ice under the desert sun; third, should you call him out on such softness, he will absolutely deny it.

“blushing?” he muses. he blinks open his eyes, and you feel bad you woke him from sleep. your guilt vanishes when he states: “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“oh?” you bring the back of your hand to his cheek. “i don’t know. seems pretty warm to me…”

he brushes off your hand with a small protest in the back of his throat.

“it’s warm because it’s hot here. that’s all.”

“oh, yes. i’m freezing.”

“[name],” tighnari sighs.

“tighnari,” you respond. he looks up at you with a pout—a pout, for archon’s sake—and you can’t help but laugh. “okay, okay. i’ll let it go.”

tighnari relaxes back down. you start running a light finger over the back of his ears, and tighnari sighs again, content. quietly, you lean down and whisper, barely able to keep the amusement from your voice: “but you totally are blushing.”

kaeya

kaeya loves it when you braid his hair. he just thinks your fingers are so gentle when you’re tugging and pulling at his hair in forming the braid. honestly, he’ll let you do anything you want to his hair, aside from cutting it all off. (even then, he might at least consider it, though he’d never let you go through with it).

you’ll be braiding his hair one night, same routine as ever, when you realize something. you tug on a strand and it doesn’t come free; neither does the adjcent strand next to it.

your fingers still, and your heart drops to the bottom of the ocean. in trying a new type of braid, you’ve created a knot in kaeya’s hair.

“well?” kaeya asks some time after you stopped. “did you finish?”

he goes to run a hand over the braid and you stop him, quickly lacing it with yours. now kaeya does turn, an eyebrow raised, a pointed glance at your entwined hands.

“not that this isn’t lovely,” he starts, squeezing your hand lightly, “but i do feel like there’s another motive at play here.”

“not at all,” you say, averting your gaze.

kaeya makes to touch his hair with his other hand, to which you also grab and hold in your own.

“okay, [name], sweetling, now i’m a concerned. please tell me you didn’t rip off a chunk of my hair.”

“you would’ve felt it,” you grumble. but then you sigh and shyly tell him, “…but i might have made a knot.”

kaeya studies your face, and after a second, he surprises you by placing a peck on your lips.

“what was that for?” you ask, embarassed.

“because you look so worried,” kaeya responds with a sigh. he worries for you sometimes, he really does. “don’t worry. it can’t be that bad. though,” he glanced at your hands again, still entwined, “i’d find some comfort in finding out for myself.”

you reluctantly release one hand. kaeya touches the knot and reassures you once again it’s really nothing. you both work to get it out before you’re back to braiding it again. though, it’s kind of difficult now.

kaeya still won’t let your other hand go.

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natspookie · 1 year ago

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match made in uni

☆ teacher college au ; strict adviser!nat (science teacher) x coadviser cute!reader (english teacher)

— im sure school isnt the same for everyone butttt for me in each class we have a teacher assigned as our advisor!!! they also teach classes

— longass oneshot because i’ve been working on this for two months……

soon, it was the beginning of a new school year at nyu. natasha, a science teacher known for her strictness, is finally getting her own advisory class.

natasha walks over to to her desk at the large, wine colored faculty and the new paper at the bulletin board catches her eye.

the list of co-advisors and advisors for this school year. natasha walks towards it and racks her eyes for her name and sees another beside it.

advisor - co advisor

Romanoff, Natasha - Y/l/n, Y/n

Barnes, Bucky - Rogers, Steve

Maximoff, Wanda - Barton, Clint

…

natasha furrows her eyebrows at the unfamiliar name next to hers.

“wanda, who is y/n y/l/n?” natasha turns around to the other redhead. if anyone were to know who and what, it would be wanda.

wanda was always the first to get on campus, natasha second.

“oh! she’s the new english teacher. very sweet young woman, maria accepted that job in harvard, remember?” she says with a sweet smile.

“you know this how?” natasha takes her seat in front of her desk, beside wanda’s “i bumped into her as she was given a tour, you’ll love her as your co- advisor!” natasha gave a hum.

she didn’t meet you till 2 weeks before the school year started. a faculty meeting was held at the auditorium. natasha walked in, expecting to be second, but was now third. she saw wanda and a y/h/c talking.

“nat!” wanda waved her over as the y/h/c turned her head to see natasha approaching “natasha, this is y/n! y/n, natasha”

“y/n” you smiled, extending your hand for a handshake “romanoff” she shook your hand once and dropped it “oh- of course, y/l/n then” you laughed as she nodded, taking the seat beside wanda.

natasha wouldn’t lie, you were attractive. she just didn’t know you enough. the meeting soon started, briefing what would happen when the students came. the list of advisors and co-advisors came up, making each person familiar with who they were working with.

after that, natasha soon realized your desk was beside hers at the faculty. you didn’t have much but some flowers at the side and sticky notes up.

natasha didn’t see much of you till the week of school starting itself. “wanda, do you happen do have y/l/n’s phone number?” “why don’t you ask her yourself, flirty” wanda giggled

“not in that way, genius. we need to prep our classroom” “sureeee… here ya go” wanda gave a post it as natasha grumbled, taking it.

Natasha Romanoff

Y/l/n, if you’re free please meet me

at our assigned room tomorrow. Thanks.

— N.R

Y/n Y/l/n

Sure! Around what time? :)

Natasha Romanoff

11AM Sharp.

Y/n Y/l/n

Got it! See you there!

“nat why are you being so dry to this poor woman” wanda looked over natasha’s desk as she hid her phone to her chest. “snoopy” “dry texter” “Well she’s my co-advisor! I’ve never had one and I like to handle things on my own”

“A, you’ve never even been an advisor, you need help. B, she’s kind, don’t break her. C, she’s pretty, maybe date her” wanda winked again “oh fuck you” natasha rolled her eyes “romanoff! we’re in school” “oh come on, I hear you swearing at little maximoff all day”

11am the next day came and each advisor and co had to decorate their own classroom. natasha and you decided to just make it as simple as possible. you two were decorating with quiet music playing from a vinyl player.

“sorry if ever i’m being rude or dry, i don’t trust people easily” natasha said, breaking the comfortable silence as she hung up decorations over the board.

“i don’t blame you, you did just meet me last week” you let out a chuckle as natasha climbed down the short ladder “natasha” she extended her hand “y/n” you shook it “I think this is good enough” natasha looks around the decorated classroom, satisfied.

“mhm… hey, wanna grab lunch? i know a great place around here” you suggested “why not”

you and natasha walked over to a café after lunch for come coffee “order?” she asked you as you took a seat “iced caramel macchiato please” she nodded and ordered for you both

natasha told you about her many stories as a teacher. “yeah this one time some kid threw a fit and ripped all the pages from their book” natasha said with a low laugh “oh lord” you shook your head with a smile

“what about you? is this your first teaching job?” natasha tilted her head “sort of? i was a student teacher for 2 years before i graduated this year”

“oh, so you’re like fresh out of college?” “yup, i kind of retook a year in grade school though so i was like a year or two older than my batch mates. they graduated 22 and 23 and me, 24” i shrugged sipping on my coffee. “that’s nice”

“what about you?” “my age? i’m 36.” your eyes widened at that “look, i know i’m old but at least don’t make it obvious” natasha laughed lowly “no! no i just- you don’t look it at all, i honestly thought you were in your 20s” you chuckled “well thank you, i’m flattered” natasha smiled

the morning of your first day, natasha handed you an iced caramel macchiato and you blushed as she remembered your order. “nervous?” she smiled, taking her seat beside you.

natasha wore a black betau top with cream wide leg trousers. you wore a lace flare top with flare pants.

“sort of, i have 3 classes today. they’ll probably hate me” you groan and take a long sip of the coffee “unlikely, you’re very likable. you may even take wanda’s place as nicest teacher. but if they ever disrespect you or any of that, i will personally have a chat with them”

“i really appreciate you, natasha” she nodded and stood up, extending her hand “time to have our first advisory class” she winked and you chuckled, shaking your head.

“good morning class, i’m ms romanoff, your advisor this school year. and beside me is your co-advisor, ms y/l/n. i’ve been teaching at nyu for 5 years and this is my first advisory class. i will also be your science teacher.” natasha said with a straight face as she turned to look at you before looking back at the students

“hi! good morning, i’m ms y/l/n, your co- advisor and english teacher this school year! it’s my first year teaching and i look forward to getting to know everyone” you smiled

natasha briefed everyone on general instructions and the schedule. english as first period today and science as last.

“that’s it, be good everyone, thank you” natasha stopped her presentation and all the students went off to chattering. you opened your laptop, opening your slides when natasha whispered behind you. “good luck, you’ll do great” she winked and you thanked her before you heard the door shut.

if’s been a month of teaching with natasha. you were cleaning up your things as your finished your class when natasha walked in, her class being the one after yours.

she made small talk to you while setting up her own things. she made you laugh when a student suddenly asked. “ms y/l/n! you’re a lesbian, correct?” your eyes widened at the topic

“excuse me, i don’t think it’s appropriate to ask a teacher that.” natasha shut them up as you both left the classroom, sharing a laugh

you had slipped out the fact you had a girlfriend in college to natasha on one of your café hangouts so she probably got the hint.

"what got them to ask that question" natasha chuckled "well the boys keep asking me out and i keep declining them. but don't they get they are students?!" “oh trust me, it gets better. i’ve had my fair share of questions and-” natasha halted her words when she got the hint some students were whispering as the both of you passed by the halls.

“what are they whispering about?” “i’m actually not sure as well” you said “well i’ll see you after class” you waved to natasha, making your way to the classroom.

“ms y/l/n, i don’t mean to invade your privacy or anything but- are you and ms romanof dating? everyone has been talking about it and- i- i just didn’t want to assume” a student came up to you and you choked on your spit

“i- um- no! and i’m sure ms romanoff wouldn’t fancy the idea of students talking about her love life.” you shook it off with a smile, thoughts racing through your head. no way natasha would go for you.

“students are saying we’re dating?!?”

"hey, you've been staring intently at that paper for awhile, you alright?" natasha tapped your shoulder, standing beside you.

"this interpretation is so..." "so.." "read it for yourself" you lifted the paper up to natasha "pick a line from any shakespeare poem and interpret it... the answer was..”

'my chosen poem is 'o never say that i was false of heart' and my line is 'as from soul, which in thy breast doth lie', i think it means shakespeare approves of lesbians’"

"you can laugh" you said as natasha let out a loud laugh, covering her mouth. you looked up and you saw natasha smile widely before looking into your eyes.

time went by too slowly when natasha cleared her throat and handed you back the paper. “it’s funny” she stated, sitting back in her seat. the silence was now awkward.

of course she wouldn’t go for you. “yeah” you whispered and stood up. natasha watched you as her words died in her throat.

the next few weeks were you avoiding natasha as much as you could, and her doing nothing to fix it.

you had a particularly rough week with taking an extra class since wanda was down with the cold. you happened to have a love for history as well.

the papers to grade were twice as much now. you rubbed your forehead in frustration as you were the only one on school campus.

“y/n?” you turned around to see natasha by the door “yeah” you murmured before turning back to the papers. “it’s 1 am what are you doing?!” she walked over to your desk and saw the amount of papers scattered.

“go home” she stated “not done” you whispered, leaning on the palm of your hand “you can continue tomorrow, dekta” natasha let the nickname slip but was thankful you were too out of it to notice

natasha started filing the papers for you as you rested your head against the desk. “i can take homeroom alone so you don’t have to get in till 10am, ‘kay?” she helped you stand up as you murmured a yes.

“you won’t fall asleep driving?” she asked and you shook your head. “safe travels” she watched as you drove off.

the next morning students frowned at the loss of their favorite teacher in homeroom. “alright, we finished a few minutes early so… any questions?” natasha asked and received many raised hands

“yes, diana?” “where’s ms y/n?” natasha softened at the mention, not going unnoticed by the students “she- she’s taking a rest but will be here for your 3rd period”

“is her girlfriend taking care of her?” a student piqued. natasha stiffened “whatever ms y/l/n and her partner do is not relevant.” natasha looked at her watch and grabbed her stuff “have a good first period everyone.”

natasha couldn’t help but feel a weight on her chest by the thought of you having a partner that isn’t her.

unbeknownst to her, the students were ready in their cupid skills.

“i’m telling you, diana! she frowned and got all cold again by the mention of ms y/n having a girlfriend!” the student argued. “what if we sent fake flowers to her desk and ms romanoff got more jealous!” “that’s so childish!” “well- i am a teen?” the students bickered but quickly got quiet when their next subject teacher came.

the next day natasha’s mood got worse upon seeing roses on your table, with a note. you came a few minutes after hers.

“morning ms romanoff” natasha tried to hold her tounge at the downgrade from natasha to ms romanoff.

“morning y/n, you know you can call me natasha, right?” you nodded but smiled at the flowers on your desk

“girlfriend?” she asked and you laughed “no” you opened up the card to see a horrible pickup line that made you laugh.

“people ask me what blush i use, i just show them a photo of you and i’m all roses” you read out loud to natasha.

“corny” she snickered “yeah? you can do better than that, romanoff?” natasha spun her chair to face you “as a matter of fact, yes.” “try me” you smirked “oh you’ll see.”

since then, every morning you would get to your desk with a pickup line from natasha which were undeniably good.

it’s been four months of teaching when you left quite frantically that piqued natasha’s interest,

“what’s the rush?” she chuckled “gotta date” you shoved your stuff into your bag “bye wanda, steve, bruce, tasha!” you left before a reply

“hope she gets laid” wanda muttered, earning a slap from natasha “what! i’m being supportive!” natasha grumbled in response

the next day, natasha was surprised to see you and wanda earlier than usual. “morning nat!” wanda greeted and you forced a smile to her as well “what’s wrong?” “she stood me up… i got a lot of work done last night though” you leaned back in your seat

“i’m sorry y/n/n” natasha set her stuff down and handed you the daily pickup line. she smiled when you laughed. “how do you never fail to come up with a bad one?!? this is like number sixty!” “one of my many talents” natasha winked.

“imma get coffee, be right back” you left and wanda immediately said “ask her out.” “what?” natasha looked at wanda “come onnnnnn! it’s been 4 months” “should i really?” natasha asked quietly and wanda shrieked a yes. a small smile was forming on natasha’s face at the idea.

the next day natasha came even earlier than wanda and set roses on your desk.

natasha fiddled with her pen when you walked in “morning wands, morning tasha” you sat on your desk and smiled at the roses. wanda quietly snuck out the door. “are these from you?” you smirked, jokingly at natasha. “yes, and this is for you, natasha said seriously and handed you a post it. in specific, a sticky note that asks you out. this one finally has her name signed on the bottom.

“i- of course” you smiled at natasha “great! i- um- i’ll pick you up tonight at your place” “alright” you smiled widely “i have a thing- i’ll be back” she nodded as you left.

bonus-

you kept all post its from natasha and she was in awe when she saw them in the box.

the students all went crazy when they saw you both kissing online.

wanda was a bridesmaid at the wedding.

#natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha romonova #black widow fic

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severinageto · 4 months ago

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SILENCE - ONE SHOT

Silence.

Suguru thinks his life has been quite silent lately. Yes, the twins talk to him. Miguel and Larue too. In fact, they always talk to him.

Sometimes he thinks it might be too much, more than he can bear. “Perhaps adopting two five-year-old girls when I was 17 was a bit impulsive”, he thinks while brushing his hair for the first time that day.

However, those thoughts vanish once he has breakfast with them. Cereal for Mimiko, every morning. Nanako, on the other hand, insists on mimicking his traditional breakfast; not just the miso soup and rice bowl, but also the green tea and coffee. But she is too young for those stimulants. Orange or grapefruit juice is fine.

Sometimes, he looks at them with concern. He is not sure if he wants the same life for them. Perhaps a bit of normalcy is all they need.

And his life is anything but normal.

Once a week, he decides to take an afternoon for himself. As soon as he finishes teaching them what they should be learning in a traditional school, he leaves them with Miguel. He takes them to play, to different places. The square, the park, sometimes even drives to the beach. He knows from the photos and videos his loyal number two takes that they have an incredible time.

"Time to play leader," he thinks as he dresses in his gojo kesa. Meetings, exorcisms, more meetings, more exorcisms. Sometimes, photo sessions. The Vessel investors believe leveraging Suguru's charisma is good for business. They are not wrong. It has grown significantly since social media began.

Ugh, Facebook, Instagram, Line. They are not his style at all. Nevertheless, he pretends. And he is very good at it. Otherwise, he would not be the most sought-after exorcist in the Japanese archipelago.

But there is something he does like about social media. As if reading his mind, it suggested a contact for him. His fingers almost instinctively went to the profile.

"Of course, Satoru doesn’t have it private," he thought when he saw it. More than six hundred posts, all at his disposal. Some might think the albino did it out of egotism, but he believed he knew the truth. It was not just ego, but a desire to share. Perhaps, even a desire to share with him. His travels around the world, his selfies with his students (who were obviously there against their will), his meals. Sometimes, even reflections. Sure, maybe a comparison between Pepsi and Coca-Cola was not the deepest thing from his mind, but still; it was his mind. He laughed, noticing that he had not changed substantially. But that laugh was followed by a melancholy sigh. How he missed that way of thinking.

Nobody made him laugh like that.

Absolutely nobody.

On the other hand, Suguru knew he also viewed his profile. But it was not as personal as his. On the curse manipulator's Instagram, there was only room for his cult leader persona. He could not allow anything else. He could never show his vulnerability because, when he did, nothing good came out of it; even though it had been with him, he did not realize it. So how would he notice through a screen whatever he tried to communicate?

"Get over it, Suguru, get over it," he told himself as he left home. "You don’t have time to think about this. You don’t want to, either."

Or did he? Again, he found himself going to the station where they used to meet. Why was he doing this? He knew quite a bit about Freudian theories on unconscious acts, but this was too much. The third time, in less than six months.

"I’ve got some time to kill," he thought as he sat in the same spot. It was a public place, after all. He crossed his legs and took out Runaway Horses from his bag. He began reading, his hand resting on the bench. Suddenly, his gaze shifted to the corner of it. His heart literally stopped for a second. A camellia, his favorite flower, lay there, almost as if it had always been part of the place. Unchanging, beautiful, and eternal.

Coincidence? He did not know, but nobody else knew that was his favorite flower.

He tucked it into his book, sighing.

Perhaps in his blue life, silence also reigned.

—————————————————-

Image by @12eeeeco on X.

#stsg #stsg brainrot #jjk stsg #gojo x geto #geto suguru #satosugu #stsg fanfic #one shot #gojo satoru #jjk fanfic

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alltaternotot · 5 months ago

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The Recovery Plan | N. MacKinnon

Summary: Nathan and Y/N have a date planned, but a nasty cold gets in the way.

WC: 2K

CW: Sick fic! Bad communication, slight insecure reader, so the tiniest little bit of angst. Tooth rotting fluff, Nathan is a sweetheart. Confessions, swearing, lightly proofread. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Hart trophy and best boyfriend award goes to this fella!

<><><><>

You let your phone ring and ring, then go silent, the third call coming through and going to voicemail.

One thing everyone knows, you, his teammates, the media, basically the whole hockey-enjoying public, is that Nathan MacKinnon is a health nut. Like, twenty-four hours a day, never shuts off kind of health nut. In the few months you had been exclusive, he had maybe three cheat days, and had never seen you sick. So when you woke up with chills, a fever, a cough, and a head stuffed to the brim with pressure, you decided to let Nate’s calls go to voicemail and curl up in your cocoon of blankets.

He was leaving in a few days for a long, important road trip, and you were not going to be the reason Nate couldn’t play. A cold was absolutely unacceptable to pass along to him. No amount of phone ringing or anything else could convince you otherwise. You would just have to instacart some NyQuil and some soup and tough it out solo. You were not going to bother him with your issues when he had much more important things to be worrying about.

The problem was, today was Nate’s off day, and the original plan was to meet up at your favorite cafe for a light lunch, then take a trip to Red Rocks. There was absolutely no way that was happening now. You hoped he would just assume you were tired and make his own rain check of the date. You didn’t let the thoughts swirl too long before falling asleep.

Nathan was completely and utterly worried.

You had never blown him off like this, not once in your year-ish long friendship or your few months of dating. He knew you always had your phone on you, and there really wasn’t a good reason to not have it. He was calling from the cafe, now 15 minutes past your arranged meet time. After dialing you about five times, he dialed Miles Wood instead, who happened to live in the same complex as you.

“Hey Dogg,” Woody answered, “what’s up man?”

“Hey, um, have you seen Y/N? I’ve called her a bunch, we were supposed to meet up but she isn’t picking up the phone.” Nate explained, hearing a faint hmm on the other end.

“I haven’t. I’m a ways out from home otherwise I would go check for you. Maybe she forgot?” Woody offered, secretly hoping it wasn’t that because of the awkwardness that would ensue if that was the case.

“Ok, I’ll go check on her. Thanks Woody.” He said, and hung up the phone after their goodbyes.

He threw on a cap and his sunglasses, making sure he had all of his essentials before locking up and getting in the car. You had given him a spare key in case of anything, so it was going to be no problem getting in. He just hoped for the best, but still assumed the worst secretly. He had a nasty habit of doing so sometimes.

Once he arrived at your complex, admittedly speeding a little to get there, he found your car still parked in its reserved spot. That was slightly relieving. He basically skidded into the guest spot and hopped out, locking up quickly. He chose to take the stairs up to your floor, deeming it faster than waiting in the lobby for the elevator. Your door was locked, understandably, the irrational thoughts slowly leaving his anxious mind. He slid the key into the lock, twisting and opening the door softly to a dark apartment.

Not a single light was on, the only light coming in from the window in the living space. It was very, very quiet, unusual for the space when you were in it. He loved how you lit up every room you graced. Things were tidy and normal, so no crazy robbery and kidnapping. He roamed around, looking for a sign from you in the kitchen, the living space, and the balcony, finding nothing.

Finally, he came to your bedroom, slowly twisting the handle in case you were inside, he didn’t want to startle you if you were. He noticed the black out curtains drawn, the room completely dark save for your salt lamp in the corner. Your floor was messy, tissues littering the ground and stacked high in the trash can. Your phone was on the nightstand, plugged in face down. Your bed was an absolute mountain of blankets unlike anything he had ever seen, just a tuft of your tangled hair sticking out the top on the pillow.

“Oh, baby.” He muttered to himself, a pang of guilt washing over him.

Now he understood. His girl was sick and sleeping while he was definitely ringing her phone off the hook. He stepped closer, trying to find you under all of that fabric. Your head was poking out onto your pillows, hair a mess and cheeks blazing red. You had a crumpled tissue in your hand. He stuck his hand out, running the back along your forehead. You were roasting under there, but he could feel your body shivering from the chills. You stirred, but didn’t wake.

He quickly stood straight, leaving you with a quiet click of the door. He locked up, dashing back down to the car and speeding to the local Walgreens. He filled his basket with all sorts of cold and flu necessities: medicine, cough drops, peppermint tea, your favorite Gatorade, a few of those crackable instant cold compresses, and a thermometer. He hoped no one would stop him in here, wanting to be as fast as he could. Luckily it didn’t appear that anyone knew or cared that he was there, shouting a thanks over his shoulder.

The next stop was Whole Foods, so he could grab some chicken noodle soup that was remarkably close to how his own mother made hers, when Nathan or his sister were sick as children. He threw in a sandwich for him to eat later, an extra couple of your favorite drinks and a chocolate croissant for you when you were feeling up to it. He checked himself out, making his way back to your apartment as quickly as he could. He walked back in with everything, trying to be as quiet as possible. He quickly set up a little tray of soup, medicine, and gatorade. He heated up some water in your kettle and steeped a couple of the tea bags. He cracked the cold compress and wrapped it in a paper towel before making his way back to your room.

He set the tray down on your desk, walking over to your window to crack it under the curtains, airing out the stuffy, overheated space. He checked the thermometer, making sure it was calibrated and working. Now he could finally sit down on the edge of your bed, and start the Nathan MacKinnon recovery plan.

He placed the thermometer on your forehead, dragging it across and down, 102.2F flashing back at him when it stopped thinking with a beep. That made him worried, more than anything else. He grabbed the cold compress, resting it on your forehead so, so softly. You stirred again, this time waking up. The throbbing pressure in your head had only gotten worse, the pain now rattling your jaw and your teeth. You were sweating under all of those blankets, but so impossibly cold at the same time. You groaned in pain before rolling over into a heavy mass that was dipping your side of the bed. Nate’s hand found your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek in feathery dashes.

“N-Nate?” Your voice coming out hoarse and patchy. “No, no you need to get out of here.”

“I’m not going anywhere, babe. You need to break this fever.” He said, his hand sliding down to brush over your shoulders.

“No, you can’t get sick because of me. You have so much to worry about right now, I’ll be fine.” You insisted, watching his face slide into a sad frown through sleepy, delirious vision. “I’m just gonna instacart s-some meds. Go home before you catch this.”

“I beat you to it already. I’m not leaving so you can stop trying to convince me.” He crouched down, “do you think you can sit up to take something?”

You nodded, gingerly sitting up, trying to keep the pain from getting any worse. The blankets slid down as you sat up against the head board, now noticing that you had slept until 3:30pm. You guys would have been enjoying the beauty of Red Rocks by now. Nate grabbed the tray of goodies from your desk, setting it down gently. He popped the two gel caps out of the package, silently asking for your hand before unscrewing the cap to the Gatorade.

“We need to keep you hydrated, so keep taking sips of that,” he mentioned, watching you weakly swallow the cold medicine. “I hope you like chicken noodle soup, it’s very good.”

He picked up the spoon, taking some and guided it to your lips, letting you take a few bites. It definitely helped to settle your stomach, but chewing was painful. You honestly had no strength for more than half of the little bowl of soup, so Nate picked it up and returned it to the desk, placing the Gatorade next to you again. This time, Nate rounded the bed, climbing in and grabbing the remote, earning little hoarse nonononono’s from you.

He didn’t listen, of course, just adjusting so your head was resting in his lap, pulling a couple of the endless blankets up over your shoulder. He laid his hand gently over the cold compress, keeping it in place, while he picked an easy watch kind of show. Finally he sent a text to Woody, letting him know you were ok and that they were going to have a sleepy day in. His hand found your head, dragging his fingers through the tangles so you wouldn’t have to brush a huge birds nest out of your hair when you were back on your feet.

“Nate, please go, I can’t even imagine getting you sick. You guys have h-hard division rival teams coming up, they need you more than-“ you tried to reason.

“I told you already that I’m not leaving. Your fever was pretty high, and you needed to eat and drink something. I’m here to support you, whatever that looks like, and today it looks like this.” He explained, calmly and softly like it was the easiest decision he had ever made, “plus, I’ve been with you the last two days, slept here, and I haven’t gotten sick. And if I do get sick, I’ll figure it out with the staff. I’ve done it before.”

“I ruined the whole day, and my body hurts, and I don’t want you to have to deal with me right now.” You said, your eyes beginning to mist up with frustrated tears, “please, I promise I can deal with it.”

He realized you had begun to cry softly, a couple of tears dripping onto his shorts, “oh baby, you didn’t ruin anything!” He turned your body so you were laying face up, his hands coming to brush away your tears, “Also, I’m not dealing with you, I want to be there for you when you’re struggling. I don’t want you to handle it by yourself. This is just what you do when you love someone.” He rambled, the words coming out quicker than he could think.

He… loves you?

That’s the first time either of you had said it. He had planned to take you on a nice date, give you flowers, wine and dine the hell out of you, before finally telling you he loved you. Of course he knew he loved you, so he gave up the momentary wave of apprehension and went with it. No time like the present, even if that present was stuck in bed with a brutal cold.

“You love me?” You asked, choking on the words a little bit.

“Yeah, I do.” He said, looking deep into your eyes for any sign of rejection, “and I want you to be ok, so rest. We can talk about it more when you’re ready to.”

You turned back towards the tv again, Nate grabbing the cold compress to put back on your head. You close your eyes, feeling sleep call you. Nate returned to carding his fingers through your hair, keeping a slow and steady pace. Every once in a while he would run the compress over your neck and shoulders, trying to cool your burning body. The meds were already helping to bring the fever down. He could feel your breath begin to even out against his leg.

“Nate?” You asked, almost too quiet to be heard.

“Hmm?” He hummed, leaning down to hear you better.

“I love you too.” You admitted, feeling his lips press into your head before sleep overtook you again.

<><><><>

#nathan mackinnon #Nathan mackinnon imagine #Nathan mackinnon fic #nhl #nhl fic #nhl rpf #t’s imagines #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche fic #avs fic #your honor I’m convinced he would actually do all of this #Nathan mackinnon x reader

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aurumacadicus · 10 months ago

Note

1+14; angsty stuckony? 😩🫣

Hopefully this is angsty enough lol. For background purposes, Steve is a swan, Bucky is a magpie, and Tony is a hummingbird.

Steve had always been attracted to blues. And he probably shouldn’t have found it embarrassing, except of all the people who had showed interest in him, Peggy and Bucky had been the only two who hadn’t been upset when they noticed his eyes wandering over other people’s feathers when they were out and about. Peggy had politely but sternly told him that she was choosing to believe it was because he saw the artistic nature of them, and he’d agreed, because his eyes might have drawn toward blue feathers, but he was a monogamous bird.

Bucky teased him, though. It was always good-natured, but Steve couldn’t tell how sincere Bucky was when he noticed Steve’s eyes being drawn away and he grinned like a lecher and asked, ‘are they pretty?’ So he chose to ignore it like he had with Peggy. He had eyes. They caught blue and were drawn to it. It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t like to share, anyway.

“Steve,” Bucky said one night, when they were all battle-sore and retired to their own rooms to decompress. They were chowing through their third pizza before they went to pass out in bed. “Have you noticed Tony’s wings?”

“Buck,” Steve sighed, and the pulsing headache he’d been trying to beat to bed caught up to him. He wiped his hand on a napkin and then lifted it to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Right now?”

“They’re blue,” Bucky continued blithely, munching on a garlic knot. “Shiny.”

“He’s hummingbird on his ma’s side,” Steve said tiredly, repeating what Tony had told him when he’d noticed Steve’s… looking. He’d assumed Steve was comparing them to Howard’s instead of ogling.

Steve hadn’t corrected him, too scared of the reaction he might get when the team learned about his attraction to blue feathers. Sure, it would probably be good-natured teasing, but he’d been looked at as odd back in the forties, a swan not sticking to his own kind like they were known for. He didn't want to test that theory.

“I think we should court him,” Bucky continued, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “Seeing his blues against your whites would be sexy as hell.”

“Buck,” Steve tried again, even though he couldn’t tell if he was angry or shocked. He also couldn’t help but imagine it, Tony’s iridescent feathers quivering against his white ones. It was a pretty picture in his head.

Bucky slanted him a sharp look, quelling whatever he was about to sputter. “Don’t fucking play stupid, Steve. Your eyes are already saying yes. Have been since the first time you looked at him, probably. Now I just need your mouth to tell me the same.”

Steve felt himself flushing, and his mouth dropped open in shock. Despite that, he could feel his wings raising, feathers beginning to spread in invitation. “I just don’t want Tony to…” he began, helpless.

At that, Bucky’s stern gaze faded. “Tony isn’t going to think less of you, Steve.”

“I know,” Steve said quickly, because he did. He did know that. Tony was one of the most accepting people he’d ever met. Too accepting perhaps, in some ways, but it wasn’t his business to say so.

But the few times he’d worked himself up to go after blue-feathered dames, before Peggy, they’d looked at him like he was… wrong. Like he was treating them as objects to covet. And while he’d come far enough to realize some birds were so chased after that they were wary of any potential mate that came their way, he still remembered the shame he’d felt as he wondered if they were right.

“Of course, there’s also the problem the opposite direction, where he thinks we’re joking or making fun of him,” Bucky muttered, apparently taking him at his word. He rubbed a hand over his chin thoughtfully as he picked through and discarded ideas. Steve waited patiently, because his tried-and-true flirtation technique was ‘god I hope they notice me first.’ Finally, he smacked his fist into his open palm. “I’ve got it. He seems to really like watching us spar.” He looked back up at Steve. “We need to manufacture a way to get him on the mat with us.”

“I’ll kill him,” Steve said simply. He was a swan. Tony was a hummingbird. Tony was only a few inches shorter than him, but his bones weren’t as solid. Delicate, Steve had called him once, and Tony had been torn between preening proudly and punching him in the face for patronizing him. Still. Steve had a hundred pounds on him of pure muscle with wings to match. Even if Tony wasn’t aware of their physical differences, he’d never allow Tony to goad him into a fight.

Bucky considered this, then leaned on the table with a sigh. “Oh boy. Well,” he groused, leaning his cheek on his fist irritably. “I suppose we can always ask Natasha to help us manufacture another ‘is that a threat or a promise’ situations with him.”

Steve remembered the situation where Tony had slanted a sly, smug look at them after mentioning him being sore for days. He remembered the lascivious tilt to his smile as his eyes flicked up and down Steve’s body before flitting to Bucky’s. He remembered the iridescent ripple of blues and greens along Tony’s wings as they fluttered becomingly behind him. He remembered the slow, syrupy drawled, 'is that a threat? or a promise,' a tease and an invitation all at once that he’d been too embarrassed to chase.

“She’ll be so insufferable about this,” Steve finally sighed, because he knew they’d be asking her.

Bucky huffed, shaking his head fondly. “Well, she usually is.”

#aurumacadicus writes #soliloquent-stark #stuckony #featheruary

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bad268 · 9 months ago

Text

Every Step of the Way (Pablo Gavi X Barca! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/FCB

Requested: Nope, I’m testing it out. I’ve been a Barca fan since 2018, but never actually did anything with it lol. Also, I’m aware he doesn’t speak English, but my Spanish is elementary level at best, so I’ll stick to English with Spanish nicknames.

Warnings: ACL recovery discussed A LOT (I used my sister’s experience with it so yeah)

POV: Third Person (She/her)

W.C. 2208

Summary: What's worse than one ACL injury? Two ACL Injuries!

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

Within 10 seconds, the lively stadium became silent. It was a freak accident, and it never should have happened. It was a normal game against Madrid, and she had already scored the point that took the Barcelona team ahead 2-1. Looking back, maybe it was ambitious to go for another goal so soon.

She remembered going for the kick but could not remember anything after that. Maybe she got hit by another player or maybe she twisted her leg wrong. All she knew was that it hurt like hell. It felt like her leg was on fire as she registered being carried off the field by the medical team.

In the locker room, she learned that she had torn her ACL. That was not something she needed to hear during the height of her career. Like her boyfriend, she was one of the youngest on the team and one of the most promising talents. And now, she had to come to terms with being benched for at least nine months.

The same week that she sustained the injury, she was already in surgery. It was a fast turnaround; she felt like she was getting whiplash. Everything during that week hand blurred together, and the next thing she knew, she was in their bed at her and Pablo’s apartment with a metal knee brace. That’s when it started to set in.

What if she could never get back to her normal? What if she could never play again? What if there are complications with her recovery? What if this…What if that…What if… What if…What if…

That’s what Pablo walked in on; his girlfriend of two years was on the verge of a panic attack as she frantically pulled at the metal brace. She was crying and screaming that she was fine. She was just dreaming. She was not actually injured because it was all in her head.

Pablo ran forward, pulling her hands away from her knee quickly before she could do real damage. He held her hands as he watched her thrash around before finally settling down when she met his eyes. Her eyes were watery as she met his, trying to regain her sanity, until she was able to understand what he was saying. “You’re okay. You’re going to be fine, mi vida (my life). I’m here to help you every step of the way. Wait, wrong choice of words.” He was rambling, something he only did when he was extremely nervous. The thought made her smile a little as she squeezed his hands to get his attention. “How are you feeling now, mi amor(my love)?”

“My leg is on fire,” She sighed, and Pablo had to hold back the smile since he knew the thrashing and pulling at the brace did not help her in any way. If anything, it made the pain more intense. Instead of voicing these thoughts, he just moved her to sit up on the bed. “Where are we going?”

“We are going to get you out of bed and get food. Then, I can give you more pain meds,” He replied quietly as he leaned down to press a small kiss to her forehead before kneeling to make sure none of the cogs on the brace came undone. That was the last thing they needed. “What are you feeling?”

“I don’t really care, whatever gets the pain to stop faster,” She complained as he pulled her up to stand on her one good leg. He pulled her crutches over as she playfully glared at him with no *real* heat behind them. “Do I have to use the crutches? They hurt my arms.”

“I could always carry you around,” Pablo offered with a smirk as he moved his arms to be under her arms and around her back as he picked her up straight. Clearly, this was not what she envisioned, causing her to laugh. Pablo chuckled with her as he was happy she was starting to get out of the deep rut she was in moments before. “Was this what you were thinking?”

“I imagined bridal style, but now looking back, this is probably the only plausible way you could carry me,” She admitted, and she was right. He could not really hold under her knees because of the stitches and the brace. It would have been more uncomfortable for her than using the crutches. “I feel like a ragdoll.”

“The cutest ragdoll I’ve ever seen,” He joked with her, causing her to roll her eyes as she slapped at his shoulder. “Hey! I wouldn’t hit the person who’s holding you up right now.”

“You wouldn’t drop me,” She gasped in mock offense. Pablo sent her a look that said ‘Challenge me,’ and she knew it was over. He loosened his hold on her as she slowly slid down his chest. She jokingly pleaded, “No, Pablo, please. Don’t let me go!”

“I’d never leave you,” He reassured as he pulled her back up and kissed her. “I’ll be by your side every day until you’re back on the field.”

“Then you’ll break up with me?” She teased.

“No,” he chuckled bashfully as he hid his face on her shoulder. “I’ll be on the sideline then.”

After a week of recovery and relaxation, she started rehab. The specialist started her out on small exercises like bending her knee and slowly putting more weight on it. It was a slow process, but she was getting to the point where she could walk unassisted. Sure, she still had to wear the metal brace and use at least one crutch, but it was so she did not strain it any more than she already had.

And who was by her side through every appointment? Pablo. Who was there every time she needed new medication? Pablo. Who was there to carry her every time she did not want to walk because he had no backbone when it came to her? Pablo. Boyfriend of the Year, honestly.

It finally got to the point where she could go to a game a month after her initial injury. Not to play in it, but she could sit in the stands and cheer on her favorite country. She was cleared just in time to attend the final game of Spain’s European Championship qualifying group against Georgia, and of course, her favorite midfielder was playing. She was not on the sideline per se, but she was in the stands in the first row from the pitch.

She was wearing one of Pablo’s kits (obviously) as she leaned her body weight against the barrier, cheering him on. It was still early in the game, and there were no points on the board. He was doing an amazing job given that he tweaked his leg a couple of days prior in the Barcelona game. He was running like he owned the field and making some good plays.

Within 10 seconds, the lively stadium became silent, and she felt her heart drop. All she did was blink, and suddenly, she knew something was wrong. The camera zoomed in on Pablo, who was lying flat on the ground, clutching his right knee. His face clearly showed his pain, and it hurt her to see him in pain. It took a few minutes, but he was walking back on the sideline, getting checked out.

He came back a little while later for another play. Before he even started running, she had that feeling in her gut again. It was not long after running back to the field that he was kneeling on the grass, clutching his leg as the yellow card was thrown.

It felt like forever for her. She wondered how long it felt for him. How bad did it hurt? How bad was the damage? Did he just dislocate his knee? Would he be back in later?

She did not get to delve too deep into the rabbit hole. He was walking, well limping, off the field again with some assistance, but at least he was walking. That had to have been a good sign, she thought. She turned to grab her crutch, so she could make her way up to the concourse. Maybe they would let her down into the locker room to see Pablo.

It was a little difficult given that the game resumed and people were back up and cheering, but she managed to get to the concourse without tripping or injuring herself more. She approached a couple of security guards that she knew personally.

“Do you know if I’m allowed to go down to the field or in the locker room?” She asked, hopeful, as they stepped away to radio down to the security by the locker room. It did not take them long to go back over to her and direct her to the elevator. Once again, it felt like forever, but she made it down to the base floor.

She hobbled her way over to the locker room where she immediately recognized one of the Barcelona physicians walking out. It was eerily quiet despite the game being in full swing just outside the hall. It filled her with nerves.

She needed to keep her composure because he needed her support more than ever. She took a minute for herself and took a few deep breaths before she pushed through the door. Despite expecting to see him injured, nothing could have really prepared her for seeing him flat on the table.

She limped over beside him where he had one arm over his eyes and the other fist clenching as physicians assessed his knee. She made sure to stay out of the way as she grabbed his fist, unwinding his fingers to grasp at her hand. She used her other hand to run through his hair as he kept his eyes screwed shut, leaning into her.

After a few moments, the physicians finished up. Instead of vocalizing what was wrong, they gestured to her leg before pointing at him. They stepped out of the room, and that’s when Pablo noticed they were not touching his leg anymore, causing him to lift his head and look around. She took her hand out of his hair as she sat on the table since her knee started bothering her, and when he laid his head back, it landed on her lap. She moved her hand right back to his hair as he stared up at her.

“Guess who gets to play nurse now?” She attempted to joke.

“If you’re insinuating that it’s you, we’re screwed because you’ve only been recovering for a month,” He sighed, “No offense.”

“Oh, none taken,” She replied sarcastically as she took her hand out of his hair and leaned back on it. Immediately, he started complaining as he used his hand that was not already holding hers to reach back to find the other. “No, that was mean. Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry, mi amor(my love),” He mumbled as he stuck out his bottom lip in a pout. “Will you play with my hair again now? I’m in pain. Speaking of that, did they say what they think it is?”

She smiled down at him as she put her hand back into his hair and he reached his hand back to hold her wrist there. “I know you are, and I’m sorry. At least we get to go through the same recovery.”

“You’re lying,” He gasped, eyes widening as he sat up and looked back at her. “Do they think I tore my ACL? That would mean I’m out for the season! And the EuroCup!”

“Welcome to the club,” She tried to joke, but he was not laughing. She moved so that she was sitting right next to him as she wrapped one of her arms around his shoulders and still held his hand in hers. “Hey, don’t start just yet. They probably need to take you for some X-rays and do a couple more tests. Don’t get too far ahead of yourself. You could have just strained it.”

“How long would I be out if it’s a strain?” He asked quietly, leaning back into her embrace.

“Pretty sure it’s anywhere from three weeks to three months,” She said after she googled it. “Whatever happens, just know I’ll be with you every step of the way…wait. Not that. Wrong choice of words.”

That’s what broke him. He started laughing as he leaned onto her shoulder before whispering, “I get it.” Then, the physicians came back into the room with a gurney to take Pablo to the X-ray. He looked nervous and anxious again, but as soon as he looked over at her, he knew he would be fine. “Will you hold my hand, mi vida (my life)?”

“Of course, I will,” She answered endearingly as she stepped aside for the physicians to move him to the gurney. She grabbed her crutch and followed them toward the X-ray. He looked over at her, and at that moment, he knew that he could not live without her. They would be with each other through every step of the way, and when they were both healed, he knew just the way to thank her.

~~~

Part 2 ->

~~~~~

#pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi #gavi x reader #gavi #gavi imagine #fc barcelona #fc barça #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x you #gavi x you #gavi x yn #fc barca #bad268 #ship268 #thing268

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michwritesstuff · 2 years ago

Text

Knight in Shining Khakis (Top Gun: Maverick: Jake Seresin)

a/n: something I wrote quickly since i’ve been in a writing slump, but I thought this was cute and fun so I hope you guys enjoy :)))

summary: female reader (she/her) x jake “hangman” seresin Another rowdy night at the Hard Deck leaves you searching for Rooster to come and save you from the unruly and horny patrons. But when Rooster is nowhere in sight, Hangman offers his assistance in helping you out. He turns out to be just as charming and cocky as you expected, but kinder than you thought.

notes/warnings: mentions of unwanted drunk attention and creepy men, age-gap, somewhat fake dating but not really

word count: 1.0k

It was a busier Saturday night at the Hard Deck with the influx of the spring break crowd in San Diego. A bunch of college-aged kids dying to test their luck and charm on the military men and women.

You understood, just a short 2 years ago you fell into the same category. Now you were studying for your Master’s in Social Work while working at the local bar in your free time.

You had grown close with the regulars, chatting with them while you served and sometimes meeting up during the day for coffee or just a beach hang out. They made it enjoyable. The only downside to working at the Hard Deck was the drunk men who thought being an asshole and making offensive comments would get them anywhere.

Hence your current state. You marched up to the dart board where Coyote and Hangman had been playing round after round for the past hour. Glancing back to the busy bar, you shuddered at the thought of having to deal with all the horny boys alone.

You rapidly tapped on Hangman’s shoulder after watching him hit his third bullseye in a row.

He turned around, a confused look on his face before his lips lifted into a small smirk at the notice of your presence, his eyes glancing down to your figure.

You were just a sight for sore eyes, he thought. Your ripped denim shorts hugging your hips and accentuating your waist in just the right ways, while still being short enough that it looked like your legs were never-ending. And don’t even get him started on the tank top that framed your collarbones in the most unbelievably sexy way.

You stood with your hands on your hips, foot tapping impatiently as you watched Hangman unashamedly look you over.

“Where’s Bradley? I need his help.”

“Snuck off with Phoenix a few minutes ago, pretty sure they left” he replied, taking a sip of his beer as his eyes quickly scanned your figure once more.

“Ugh of course he did,” you whispered under your breath, eyes scanning back behind you to the unattended bar where the unruly patrons whistled and waved over to you. The boys laughing and pushing each other in the process.

God, you really hated college boys.

“But how can I be of service sugar?”

To the untrained eye it may seem like you were having a regular conversation with Hangman, which couldn’t be any further from the truth. Out of the entire dagger squad you barely conversed with Hangman. He was always around, and you would steal glances back and forth, but you rarely ever chatted with him one on one.

Bradley was usually your go-to guy for this type of thing. It happened on accident one night when a guy was just a little to forward and wouldn’t leave you alone. All it took was for Bradley to say “Hey asshat! Leave my girl alone,” while dressed in his service khakis and the guy buggered off. From that point on Bradley would come around and chat you up, pretending to be your boyfriend and watch the guys walk away, pride on the floor and dick tucked away.

Any of the Dagger squad could pull it off really, even sweet-ole Bob who looked like he wouldn’t hurt a fly could be intimidating if he wanted to be, especially when he was in uniform. But Jake, he was intimidating all the time. Something about his icy green eyes pierced your soul and you found it harder than you thought to hold eye contact with him.

“I need you to pretend to bemyboyfriend,” you whispered, rushing and slurring your words at the end.

Hangman was pretty sure he heard you clearly. He knew what routine you and Bradley had going on. He had seen it time and time again while you worked at the Hard Deck. You would leave the bar, bringing Bradley his favorite draft beer and he would follow you back. Chatting you up for a few minutes, give you a wink and wave goodbye to the retreating backs of the men who had tried so hard to take you home.

He always wished it was him who you would’ve asked at the beginning.

And now here you were, looking cuter than ever and asking him for help.

“What was that darling?”

“Hangmannn,” you whined. Hearing you whine out to him did more to him than you would’ve thought. Of course he was going to help you, just wanted to see you get a little flustered first.

Of course he was being difficult right now. You knew he had heard you. You couldn’t believe that you were letting yourself inflate his ego even more. He was gorgeous, you couldn’t deny that, but he was cocky and arrogant. And be knew it, that somehow irritated you the most. He knew what he did to you and just couldn’t help himself.

“Alright, lets go sweets,” he smiled, placing his beer on the table and intertwining his fingers with yours as he led you back to the bar.

But when you went to let go of his hand, Hangman surprised you.

He followed you behind the bar, picking up a dish rag to wipe the spilled drinks that had accumulated during your time away.

“Hangman you don’t ha—”

“Jake,” he corrected, a playful grin reaching his eyes as he admired your confused face.

“Call me Jake.”

“Jake,” you smiled, nodding your head and turning away so he couldn’t catch another look at your flustered state. You enjoyed how his name rolled off your tongue, it felt personal. And little did you know, so did he.

Jake had far surpassed your expectations as a fake boyfriend. He wasn’t overbearing or showboating. He simply just talked, keeping your attention glued to him the entire night as he helped you serve the bar. And it worked, you felt like you were in your own little world as the two of you continued conversation, the unruly patrons at the back of your memory as all you did was hand them a drink and a half-hearted smile.

From talking about your families and growing up to the most embarrassing moments of your college days, you talked for hours on end. You don’t think you’ve ever laughed so hard in your entire life.

And when your shift ended, Jake had helped you close up. He walked you to your car, hands intertwined, you don’t even remember whose hand reached for whose.

You dropped your hand from his, unlocking your door and giving him one final glance.

“Thanks Jake, I had fun tonight.”

“Anytime darlin” he dipped his head down to yours, pretending to dip a cowboy hat towards you.

You shook your head with a boisterous laugh before climbing into your car and reversing out of the parking lot.

Jake decided from that point on he would do anything and everything he could to make you laugh like that again, and you had a sneaking suspicion that you would let him.

check out the rest of my masterlist :))

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miwtual · 2 years ago

Photo

PHOTOPEA BLENDING TUTORIAL by kai @heroeddiemunson

howdy! i’m back with another tutorial for photopea :) nobody asked for this one, but i have noticed people who have reblogged my gifsets commenting on my blending, and i thought it’d be cool to have a tutorial on how i do it!

what you need:

photopea (basically photoshop in your browser, completely free!)

basic giffing knowledge, because i won’t cover it in this tutorial (other tutorials: tutorial by @benoitblanc, tutorial by @ashleysolsen)

decide what scenes you’re going to be blending; i don’t recommend blending more than three gifs together, just for the sake of being able to see what all your gifs are. for this tutorial, i will blending three gifs together. also make sure that all of your gifs are the same amount of frames as well, otherwise this blending tutorial won’t work!

step one: making your individual gifs

first thing’s first: you need to make the individual gifs you’re going to be blending. make sure when you’re cropping these gifs, you have a sort of understanding of what they will look like together; you can check this by right clicking on one gif, selecting duplicate to, and choosing the gif you’re going to be blending it with. on the other gif, you should have the duplicated version of the first gif on top. here’s what my work station looks like after i’ve duplicated two of my three gifs onto the third gif’s canvas:

now you can change the opacity of the gif(s) you have layered. here’s an example of what my three gifs may look like when they’re blended together (the middle gif is at 50% opacity, and the top gif is at 30% opacity):

since none of these gifs have been colored yet, it may be a little hard to see, so feel free to play around with the opacities of your gifs to make sure that you cropped them how you want them to be blended. i like my crops, so now i can color each of these gifs individually!

when i’m blending gifs, i like to think of them as my “base” and “flavor” gifs. “base” gifs i tend to keep simple, usually with some sort of color overlay on top of them to make the “flavor” gifs pop out more. below is what my “base” and “flavor” gifs look like individually before i’ve sharpened/blended them:

for my “base” gif, i colored it as normal, and then went to layer > new adjustment layer > gradient map; from here, i clicked the black to white gradient in the pop up, and then chose the white color and changed it to the color that i wanted (in this case, the hex code #b7a6ff). my “flavor” gifs are colored as i would color any other gif i’d make that isn’t blended.

save your psds of these gifs, sharpen, and go to file > export as > GIF. now you have the gifs you’re going to blend! great job! :)

step two: making your blended gifs’ canvas

now that we have our gifs we’re going to blend, we have to have a “canvas” to put them on. to do this, go to file > new… and make a new canvas. make sure the canvas is the same size as your crops, and your background is set to black! below is what i did for the gifs i’m going to be blending:

now to put our gifs that we made onto this canvas! unfortunately, photopea doesn’t allow you to use the open & place feature for gifs, so we’ll have to go to file > open and open our gifs individually. similarly to what we did in step one, right click your gifs and select duplicate to and duplicate the gifs you will be blending into your new canvas.

now your canvas will look something like this:

and we can move on to the fun part, which is actually blending the gifs together!

step three: blending!

so, when blending gifs, there’s a lot of ways to do it. i’ve found that blending gifs is a lot of experimentation, since you’ll probably never find yourself blending two gifs the same way every time.

for now, let’s change the blending modes (drop down menu above the layers panel; it should say “pass through” right now) for each of the gifs, that we can actually see them as we blend them.

for my “base” gif, i always set the blending mode to “lighten” no matter what. but the fun thing about your flavor gifs is you actually have a fun choice of choosing either “lighten” or “screen”, depending on what you want the gif to look like. below i show the difference of what “lighten” or “screen” look like for each of my flavor gifs:

i personally really like what it looks like with my first “flavor” gif with the “screen” blending mode and the second “flavor” gif with the “lighten” blending mode, so that’s what i’ll be doing; but it always depends on your gifs that you’re blending and what you want it to look like, so do what works best for you!

so as you could probably see from my screenshots or your own gifs, sometimes it gets a little hard to see your gifs. to fix this (and probably my favorite part of the blending process), select one of your gifs, and then look below your layer panel to click the “add raster mask” button (it looks like a little rectangle with a circle in the middle of it). do this same step for each of the gifs you will be blending, and your layers panel should look something like this (i’ve also highlighted the “add raster mask” button):

the raster masks are white, which means anything white is something you can see. using black with the brush tool gets rid of parts of the gif that may be visible. for example, this is what my gif looks like after playing around with getting rid of some of the stuff that was covering the parts of other gifs i wanted visible:

but to me, the black is a little too intense, as it gets rid of a lot of the gifs. but we’re in luck: the best thing about raster masks is that you can use various shades of grey to really blend your gifs together in unique ways by changing the colors in the bottom left corner. below i have a couple screenshots of what my blending for these gifs look like, as well as what my layers look like with the different shades of grey i used:

and now, our gif is almost finished! make sure to save your canvas as a psd, just so you don’t lose any of the work you’ve done.

step four: finishing touches

before we save this gif as a gif, i want to do some finishing touches. as we all know about me, i love myself some very colorful gifs, and i want the purple to stand out more in this gif. to do this, go to layer > add adjustment layer > gradient map and do like what we did for the “base” gif to make the same black to purple gradient we did before.

on the gradient map layer’s raster mask, use your brush tool like you used for erasing parts of your gif in order to erase part of this layer. i personally make my brush 1000px large and with 0% hardness into what i like to call my “big fluffy brush” (which makes no sense, because it isn’t fluffy, but it’s what i call it anyway). doing your best to center your brush in the middle of your gif and left clicking once should get rid of most of the gradient map’s color, but feel free to click again if you’d like. here’s what my gif looks like after two clicks of my big fluffy brush:

that doesn’t add much more color, but that’s okay, because it does add more contrast for us. go to layer > add fill layer > color fill and put in the color you have been using (in my case, that purple color). like the last layer, do your best to center your big fluffy brush and left click until you’re satisfied. here’s what my gif looks like after two clicks:

from here, i change the blending mode to “color”, and set the opacity at 50%. i then right click and choose duplicate layer, and with this new layer, change the blending mode again to “soft light” and set the opacity at 25%. now my gif looks like this:

now my gif is much more colorful! from here, i’ll add some typography and whatever else to my finishing touches before i once again save this psd so i don’t lose my progress. and now we can move to the final step!

step five: exporting

before we can export our gif, we have to combine our gifs together so they act as one singular blended gif rather than multiple separate gifs on one canvas. go to layer > animation > merge, and your individual gifs should be combined into one gif on your layers panel something like this:

and now, you can go to file > export as > GIF. make sure your gifs move together as you want them to, as well as that it’s until 10MB, and viola! congrats, you’ve just blended together a gif! :)

#photopea tutorial #photopea gif tutorial #completeresources #allresources #userars #userzesty #tusersai #dailyresources #gif tutorial #photopea #mystuff #mytutorials #hopefully i explained this good enough #feel free to send me asks if i said something confusing sjdhldsf

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that1emowitch · 3 months ago

Note

Hey I saw your ask for fanfics and I don't know if it still is or if you do AU....but my friend and I were joking about a Birdflash fast food AU...like in the mall food courts with the stalls all in the same area...thanks!

Thanks for the ask! I'm always open to any kind of fic ideas to feed my writer's block hehe I’m not completely sure what you meant, but here’s my fun little take on that! I got a cute idea and ran with it lolll Young Justice (show) AU, except Wally doesn’t know Robin’s real identity. Exists outside of the show’s canon timeline. Dick’s 18, Wally’s 20. Jason is Robin, he's like 12-ish. Alr established relationships are Artemis/Zatanna and Conner/M'gann. If you haven't watched the YJ show yet, dw, it'll still make sense. ALsO, GO WATCH IT IT'S SO GOOD

Word Count: 7191

TW: None

Summary: Dick playing games with Wally just for the heck of it and making Jason tag along. Wally’s a huge simp.

AO3 link

Wally West, better known to the world as Kid Flash, was just exiting the changing rooms of Mount Justice with his iconic red and yellow uniform slung over his shoulder. He'd traded his speedster suit for a simple hoodie and jeans combo, his fiery hair tousled from the quick change. He didn’t mind the hustle—he was used to doing everything fast, after all.

As he walked into the lounge area, the familiar sight of Artemis and Zatanna caught his eye. The two heroines were seated on the couch, engrossed in a conversation with laughter bubbling between them. Artemis was leaning against Zatanna, both of them looking entirely too comfortable. They were dressed in casual outfits that hinted they were heading out rather than staying in.

"Well, if it isn’t our favorite lovebirds," Wally announced, his tone a mix of amusement and mock exasperation.

Zatanna looked up first, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Look who finally decided to join the living. What’s up, Wally?"

Wally shrugged as he dropped onto the arm of a nearby chair. "You know, the usual—saving the world, busting bad guys. But hey, speaking of ‘what’s up,’ where are you two headed? Doesn’t seem like a night for crime-fighting."

Artemis shot him a teasing glance, crossing her arms. "Not everything’s about crime-fighting, West. It’s date night."

Wally rolled his eyes dramatically, though a smile was already forming on his lips. "Date night again? You two are always on date night. What’s a guy gotta do to get some attention around here?"

Zatanna chuckled, nudging Artemis playfully. "You’re just jealous because you’re not invited. Besides, what happened to Conner and M’gann? Thought you were their third wheel."

"Please," Wally scoffed, shaking his head. "You think I’m hanging out with the golden couple? They’re in their own world. I’m starting to think everyone here’s got something better to do than hang out with little ol’ me."

Artemis smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Ever thought of hanging out with Rob— I mean, Nightwing? He’s always up for some action."

At the mention of Nightwing, Wally’s smile wavered just slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he masked it with his usual humor. "Yeah, right. If only Nightwing wasn’t on a mission with the new kid. It’s Baby Robin’s first solo gig without Batman, so Nightwing’s got babysitting duty."

"Robin’s first mission?" Zatanna tilted her head, curiosity piqued. "He’s what, twelve?"

"Yep, and raring to go," Wally confirmed with a nod. "Nightwing’s been training him hard. The kid’s good, but he’s still just a kid. Guess that makes me the last wheel on this wagon."

Artemis gave him a sympathetic look. "Come on, Wally, don’t be so dramatic. You’ve always got something going on. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be a genius or something? How do you even find the time to whine about being alone?"

Wally grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I’ve got time for everything, Artemis. Speedster, remember? But if you must know, I’ve got a job to get to anyway."

Zatanna blinked, her eyes widening in surprise. "A job? You? As in a regular, non-superhero job?"

Artemis looked skeptical. "Wait, you’re a superhero, a student at Central City University, and you have a normal job? When do you sleep?”

"Sleep’s for the weak," Wally quipped, but the grin on his face was more real this time. "Besides, gotta stay busy. You guys aren’t the only ones with lives outside of the team."

Zatanna looked just as surprised. “Yeah, what kind of job are you doing, Wally? I thought you were too busy for anything else.”

Wally shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. “Just working at the food court in the local mall. Gotta pay the bills somehow, right? I can’t let my parents cover all my tuition fees. Besides, it’s not like saving the world pays well.”

Artemis rolled her eyes, but there was an amused smile on her lips. “Only you would find time to be a superhero, ace your classes, and work a part-time job. You’re insane, you know that?”

“Insanely awesome,” Wally corrected her, giving a mock bow. “Thank you very much.”

Zatanna chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re something else, West. But seriously, don’t overwork yourself. We don’t want you burning out.”

Wally waved off her concern. “I’ve got it all under control. Don’t worry about me. You two just go enjoy your date night. Try not to miss me too much.”

Artemis smirked as she grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “We’ll try, but no promises.”

Zatanna winked at him as they headed for the door. “Have fun at work, Wally.”

“Will do. You two have fun too,” Wally called after them, watching as they walked out of the lounge, the door sliding shut behind them. Once they were gone, Wally let out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair. He loved Artemis and Zatanna, really, he did. But it was hard not to feel a little left out sometimes. Everyone seemed to have someone, whether it was M’gann and Conner, or Artemis and Zatanna. Even Dick had Jason to focus on. And then there was him, Wally West, the odd man out.

Shaking off the melancholy that threatened to creep in, Wally picked up his uniform and made his way to the zeta tubes. He had work to get to, and he wasn’t going to let himself get bogged down by thoughts of what he didn’t have. There was always tomorrow, always another chance to hang out with Dick, or to do something fun with the team. For now, he had to focus on the present.

“Zeta tube activated. Kid Flash, B03,” the automated voice intoned as Wally stepped into the zeta tube.

— — —

The night had settled into that dreary lull where everything felt slower, even for a speedster like Wally West. He stood behind the counter of the food court’s burger joint, absently handing out orders to customers with the practiced ease of someone who could do this in his sleep. Which, frankly, he felt like he was doing.

Boredom gnawed at him as he forced himself to smile at yet another tired-looking customer. I could have done this in seconds as Kid Flash, he thought, eyeing the clock that seemed to be ticking by at a snail’s pace. But, he reminded himself, it wasn’t about the speed. It was about the money. The money that kept him from having to burden his parents more than he already did, that paid for his textbooks, and that somehow made him feel like a normal guy for a few hours a week.

Not that normal was all it was cracked up to be. Wally stifled a yawn as the latest customer took their tray and walked off. Finally, a break. He retreated into the kitchen, slumping against the wall as he tried to muster the energy to make it through the rest of his shift. Maybe he could grab a snack or—

Ding!

The familiar chime of the front counter bell rang out, signaling another customer. Wally groaned internally, the small moment of peace shattered. Pushing himself off the wall, he mentally prepared to slap on his customer service smile and head back out.

But when he reached the counter, Wally froze in place.

Standing before him were two people—a young man and a tween boy. But it was the man who instantly caught Wally’s attention. He had tan skin that seemed to glow under the harsh fluorescent lights of the food court, paired with striking baby blue eyes and dark, tousled hair that looked effortlessly perfect. His smile was brilliant, the kind that could light up a room, and Wally felt his breath hitch. The man looked like he’d just walked out of a magazine, or like some kind of Greek god casually browsing for fast food.

Whoa, Wally thought, his mind suddenly blanking. He was vaguely aware of the younger boy at the man’s side, staring up at the menu with wide eyes, but it was hard to focus on anything other than the man’s presence.

The boy, who had the same blue eyes and dark hair as the man, was clearly excited as he scanned the menu, but his gaze lingered on the prices a little too long. There was something cautious in the way he looked at each item, like he was weighing his options carefully despite the fact that he was clearly well-to-do.

The young man nudged the boy gently, his voice smooth and encouraging. “Order whatever you want, Jason. It’s on me.”

The boy—Jason—looked up at him, his eyes brightening at the reassurance. After a moment of contemplation, Jason finally settled on his choices. With the man’s encouragement, Jason stepped forward, telling Wally the order for both of them. “Uh, two cheeseburgers, a vanilla smoothie, and a chocolate smoothie… oh, and a side of fries.”

Wally’s brain was still short-circuiting from the initial sight of the man, and it took a moment for the words to register. When he realized they were waiting for him to take the order, he snapped back to attention, his face heating up. “Uh, sorry, can you repeat that?” he stammered, mortified.

The young man chuckled softly, clearly amused rather than annoyed. “Two cheeseburgers, one vanilla smoothie, one chocolate smoothie, and a side of fries,” he repeated patiently.

Wally nodded quickly, punching in the order with a speed that would have been impressive if he wasn’t still flustered. He risked another glance at the man, who was now leaning casually against the counter, watching Wally with a relaxed smile. Jason was fiddling with the straw dispensers, blissfully unaware of Wally’s internal turmoil.

When the order was finally done, Wally hurried to grab the food, barely trusting himself to meet the man’s gaze again. As he handed over the tray, their fingers brushed for the briefest moment, and Wally’s heart skipped a beat.

“Thanks,” the young man said, giving Wally a smile that seemed far too dazzling for such a mundane setting. Jason took the tray, and the two turned to find a table in the food court.

Wally watched them go, a mixture of relief and disappointment swirling in his chest. The moment was over as quickly as it had started, and he found himself wondering who they were—especially the man who’d managed to leave him tongue-tied with just a smile.

As they disappeared into the crowd of the food court, Wally shook his head, trying to shake off the daze. He’d seen good-looking people before, sure, but there was something different about this guy. Something that stuck with him even as he tried to focus on the next order.

There was this lingering feeling that he’d seen that guy somewhere. Even the boy. He’d seen or met them before, but he couldn’t figure out where.

The night dragged on, but Wally couldn’t help sneaking glances at the table where the two of them sat, laughing and talking as they ate. He didn’t know why, but something about the man’s presence made his usual boredom feel a lot less heavy.

— — —

After finishing his shift at the mall, Wally had raced home, not because he had anything urgent to do, but because he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that had settled in his chest after his encounter with the young man and the boy at the food court. Something about them had lingered in his mind, like a song stuck on repeat.

Now, sprawled out on his couch with his phone in hand, Wally was absentmindedly scrolling through Instagram. He wasn’t really looking at anything in particular, just letting the stream of images and videos wash over him as he tried to unwind. But no matter how much he tried to distract himself, his thoughts kept drifting back to the striking blue-eyed man and his younger companion.

Why did they seem so familiar? Wally wondered, his brows furrowing as he scrolled past a series of memes. He couldn’t place it, but there was something nagging at the back of his mind, like he’d seen them somewhere before.

Suddenly, a post caught his eye. It was from one of the many celebrity accounts he followed, mostly out of idle curiosity. This one was a photo taken at a recent gala—a typical fancy affair, complete with a red carpet, flashing cameras, and enough designer clothes to fill a department store. But it wasn’t the opulence of the event that made Wally pause. It was the people in the photo.

There, in the middle of the shot, stood billionaire Bruce Wayne, smiling suavely at the camera. But it wasn’t Wayne who held Wally’s attention—it was the two people standing beside him. One was a young boy with dark hair and bright blue eyes, dressed in an immaculate tuxedo. The other was a young man, also with dark hair, the same electric blue eyes, and that same effortlessly charming smile.

Wally’s eyes widened as recognition finally hit him like a bolt of lightning. No way.

He quickly tapped on the photo, enlarging it to get a better look. There was no mistaking it. The young man and the boy from the food court were the same people standing next to Bruce Wayne. They were Dick Grayson and Jason Todd, Wayne’s adopted sons.

Wally sat up straighter, his heart thumping in his chest as he stared at the screen. That’s why they looked so familiar, he realized, his mind racing to connect the dots. He’d seen their faces a hundred times before, on TV, in magazines, and splashed across social media. They were practically celebrities, famous for being part of the Wayne family—a family that was almost as famous as the Justice League itself.

“But what the heck were they doing in a random Central City food court?” Wally muttered to himself, scrolling through the comments on the post, searching for any clue that might explain their unexpected appearance. There was nothing, just the usual gush of admiration for Bruce Wayne’s philanthropic efforts and the Grayson-Todd brothers’ good looks.

Maybe it’s just a rich people thing, Wally thought, trying to make sense of it. He’d heard that billionaires could be eccentric, doing things just for the experience or because they felt like it. Maybe they’d just decided to grab some fast food for the novelty of it. Yeah, that had to be it. Rich people being weird.

But even as he tried to dismiss it, Wally couldn’t shake the feeling of awe that had settled in his chest. He’d just served burgers to Dick Grayson and Jason Todd—two of the most famous people in Gotham, if not the entire country—and he hadn’t even realized it. And Dick… Wally’s thoughts drifted back to the way Dick had smiled at him, the way his voice had sounded so smooth and kind. It was enough to make Wally’s cheeks flush even now, hours after the fact.

Curiosity got the better of him, and Wally found himself searching for Dick Grayson’s Instagram profile. He didn’t follow it—he wasn’t really one to keep up with celebrities—but it wasn’t hard to find. Dick had millions of followers, his profile filled with snapshots of his life. Charity events, photos with Bruce and Jason, pictures of him hanging out with friends, and the occasional gymnastics video. Wally couldn’t help but scroll through the posts, his starstruck awe deepening with each passing second.

He’s really something, Wally thought, marveling at the way Dick managed to look effortlessly perfect in every shot. There was something magnetic about him, a kind of natural charm that seemed to leap off the screen. It was no wonder he was so popular.

Wally sighed, setting his phone down for a moment as he tried to process the day’s events. It wasn’t every day that you ran into someone like Dick Grayson in a fast food joint, and it definitely wasn’t every day that someone like Dick Grayson looked at you like you were worth noticing. It was enough to make Wally’s head spin.

But as much as he was drawn to Dick’s public persona, Wally knew that whatever fantasy he was entertaining was just that—a fantasy. Dick Grayson was a world apart from Wally West, living a life of luxury and fame that Wally could hardly even imagine. Still, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to know Dick for real, to talk to him, to maybe even be friends…

Wally shook his head, laughing softly at himself. Get a grip, West. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is. But even as he tried to push the thoughts away, he couldn’t help but take one last look at Dick’s profile before setting his phone aside for the night.

The image of Dick’s smile lingered in his mind as Wally finally drifted off to sleep, a small, secret part of him wondering if fate had more in store for him than just a chance encounter.

— — —

The familiar hum of Mount Justice’s security systems greeted Wally West as he arrived at the team’s headquarters the next morning. The sleek, futuristic corridors felt like a second home to him, a place where he could be both Kid Flash and Wally West without worrying about maintaining a secret identity. Today, however, Wally was more focused on the remnants of the previous night’s encounter, the memory of Dick Grayson’s smile still lingering in his mind.

As he made his way through the base, Wally found himself instinctively heading toward the training room. The doors slid open with a quiet hiss, and he paused in the doorway, his breath catching at the sight that greeted him.

Nightwing was there, moving fluidly through a series of acrobatic exercises on the jungle gym, his body twisting and turning with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. Wally leaned against the doorframe, watching in awe as Nightwing flipped through the air, landing perfectly on a narrow beam before launching himself into another complex maneuver. There was something mesmerizing about the way Nightwing moved—every motion was precise, every muscle perfectly controlled. It was like watching a dance, and Wally couldn’t tear his eyes away.

For a moment, Wally allowed himself to simply enjoy the view, captivated by Nightwing’s smooth motions. There was an effortless beauty to the way he trained, a kind of controlled chaos that reminded Wally of why Nightwing was one of the best. It was hard not to be impressed—no, more than impressed. Wally felt a twinge of something deeper, something that he wasn’t quite ready to name.

After a few more minutes, Nightwing completed his routine with a final, flawless flip, landing on the mat below with a soft thud. He straightened up, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair as he reached for a water bottle sitting on a nearby bench. That was Wally’s cue. He sauntered into the room, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Showing off for me, Rob?” Wally teased, his tone light as he crossed the room to join his friend.

Nightwing took a long drink of water before turning to face Wally, a playful grin on his face. “You know me, KF. A performer can’t resist an audience.”

Wally chuckled, leaning against the bench as he watched Nightwing towel off the sweat from his workout. “Well, I gotta say, you make it look easy. Seriously, I was getting tired just watching you.”

Nightwing laughed softly, tossing the towel over his shoulder as he leaned back against the wall. “Comes with the territory. How’s life treating you?”

Wally shrugged, his thoughts briefly flickering back to the previous night at the food court. “Oh, you know, the usual. Classes, missions, and… working like fucking SpongeBob,” he added with a dramatic sigh.

Nightwing’s expression didn’t change, but there was a glint in his eye as he spoke. “Heard you picked up a part-time job. How’s that going?”

Wally raised an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “You heard, huh? Bats and their intel… Is there anything you don’t know?”

Nightwing shrugged, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. “We have our ways.”

Wally rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the fondness that crept into his voice. “It’s not bad. I mean, it’s not the most glamorous job in the world, but it pays some of the tuition fee. And hey, it’s kind of nice to be normal for a while, you know?”

Nightwing nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I get that. Sometimes it’s good to have something that grounds you, keeps you connected to the real world.”

Wally appreciated that Nightwing seemed to understand. “Yeah, exactly. Plus, it gives me a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Not that I don’t love our morning training sessions or anything.”

Nightwing chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “Yeah, I bet.”

“Speaking of which, how’d the mission with Baby Robin go last night?” Wally asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Nightwing’s face softened slightly at the mention of Robin, though his expression remained guarded, as it always did when it came to Bat-related missions. “It was… fun,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Wally tilted his head, giving Nightwing a mock-annoyed look. “That’s it? Fun? You Bat-types are always so cryptic. A little more detail wouldn’t kill you, you know.”

Nightwing shrugged, his smile turning into a smirk. “Gotta maintain the mystique, West. Keeps people on their toes.”

Wally huffed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. He was used to this kind of answer from Nightwing—and from Batman before him. The Bats never revealed more than they had to, always keeping their secrets close to the vest. It was just part of who they were, and as much as it could be frustrating, Wally had learned to live with it.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Wally said, waving a hand dismissively. “Gotham’s all about secrets and shadows. But one of these days, I’m gonna crack that Bat code of yours.”

Nightwing laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Good luck with that. You’re welcome to try, though.”

There was something about being around Nightwing that just… made Wally feel so light.

— — —

Wally was in the middle of refilling the condiment station when he spotted two familiar figures strolling into the food court. Wally’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized them immediately—Dick Grayson and Jason Todd. It seemed like they had returned, and this time, they weren’t just passing through.

Jason looked less than thrilled, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face as he followed Dick through the food court. Dick, on the other hand, seemed in high spirits, his usual easygoing charm on full display as he chatted animatedly with his younger companion. Wally watched from a distance, trying to suppress his grin as he observed the interaction.

“You know, you could’ve just said you wanted the fries,” Dick was saying, his tone light but teasing. “You didn’t have to complain about everything else.”

Jason shot him an annoyed glance. “It’s not about the fries, Dick. It’s about you dragging me out here again.”

Dick laughed, the sound clear and bright even from where Wally stood. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad. Besides, it’s been a while since we had a day out. And you’re the one who insisted we had to try this place.”

Jason rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile at Dick’s persistence. “Yeah, well, next time, maybe pick somewhere less… mall-ish? And less here? We both know why you’re here—”

Dick gave Jason a playful nudge. “Alright, alright. You go sit at that table, and I’ll take care of the order. Deal?”

Jason muttered something under his breath but reluctantly headed towards a nearby table, his frustration melting away as he plopped down into a seat. Wally couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene. Even from a distance, it was clear that Dick and Jason had a unique, if slightly contentious, dynamic that was oddly endearing.

When Dick made his way over to Wally’s counter, Wally straightened up, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He couldn’t deny that seeing Dick again made his pulse quicken, his thoughts returning to the charming young man he had encountered days before. Dick’s presence was like a magnet, pulling Wally’s attention as he approached with that same effortless grace.

“Hey there,” Dick greeted with a friendly smile, his blue eyes lighting up as they met Wally’s. “Back for another round of burgers and smoothies.”

Wally nodded, trying to maintain his composure despite the fluttering in his chest. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. Two burgers, vanilla and chocolate smoothies, fries. Right?”

Dick laughed, his amusement evident. “Yep. You remembered, huh?”

Wally tried not to blush. “Uh, a lot of people order this. Exact. Combo. Uh. Anything else?”

Dick shook his head, his gaze lingering on Wally for a moment longer than necessary. “Nope, that’s it. Thanks,” Dick’s gaze moved to Wally’s name tag. “Wally. Cute name.”

Wally opened his mouth to respond, but his voice caught in his throat, cheeks burning. Dick Grayson knows my name! Holy shit— He quickly rushed into the kitchen.

As Wally prepared the order, he couldn’t help but steal glances at Dick. The way Dick moved, the way he spoke, even the way he smiled—it was all somehow magnetic, and Wally found himself captivated once again. It was almost as if every gesture was calculated to charm and disarm, and Wally was more than willing to be charmed.

When he finally handed over the tray of food, Dick’s smile widened, and he reached into his pocket. Wally’s eyes widened in surprise as Dick placed a crisp $100 bill on the counter, leaving Wally momentarily speechless.

“Wow, thanks,” Wally said, his voice betraying his astonishment. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Dick shrugged, a casual yet sincere expression on his face. “Just a little something for the trouble. Consider it a tip for good service.”

Wally watched as Dick turned and headed back to Jason’s table, his movements graceful and effortless. The sight of Dick settling into the chair across from Jason, their banter continuing as if nothing had happened, left Wally feeling both elated and perplexed.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Dick and Jason’s visit than met the eye. Why did two Gotham celebrities choose a Central City food court for their outings? Was it really just a spontaneous decision, or was there something else behind it?

But as Wally watched them, a part of him dismissed the notion as typical rich people eccentricity. After all, he’d never be able to fully understand the lives of billionaires and their adopted kids.

With a sigh, Wally returned to his work, trying to focus on the mundane tasks at hand. But the memory of Dick’s smile, the warmth of his words, and the generosity of his tip lingered in his mind, leaving Wally with a curious sense of wonder and anticipation.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d get to see Dick Grayson again soon.

— — —

Happy Harbor Park was bustling with activity on this sunny Saturday afternoon. Families picnicked on the grass, kids ran around chasing each other, and couples strolled hand-in-hand along the winding paths. It was the kind of lively, vibrant scene that Wally West found himself unexpectedly drawn to.

His usual routine had left him feeling restless, and as he wandered through the park, knowing Conner and M’gann were on a date here. They were seated at a quaint little picnic table, complete with a basket of food and a checkered blanket spread out between them. It was a romantic setup, and Conner’s mildly annoyed expression when he saw Wally approaching was also quite classic.

“Hey, guys!” Wally called out, waving as he approached the table. “Mind if I join you?”

Conner looked up from his burger with a frown. “Wally, seriously? This is our date.”

Wally shrugged, a mischievous grin on his face. “Come on, don’t be a stick in the mud. I’m just here to hang out. You two look like you could use a third wheel.”

M'gann looked up from her salad, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Wally, you’re crashing our date? How original.”

Conner shook his head, clearly unimpressed. “You could at least find your own date. You know, someone who actually wants to hang out with you.”

The comment stung more than Conner probably intended, and Wally’s mind immediately flashed to Dick Grayson. He couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to go on a date with someone like Dick—someone who seemed to belong to a world so different from his own. The thought made his cheeks flush with a sudden, unexpected warmth.

M'gann noticed the change in Wally’s demeanor and raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, I see how it is,” she teased, her tone playful. “Someone’s got a crush. And you don’t even need to be an telepath to figure that one out.”

Wally tried to play it cool, but his blush deepened. “What? No way. I was just thinking about—uh—something else.”

M'gann’s smile widened as she leaned in closer. “You don’t need to hide it, Wally. It’s written all over your face. You’re definitely thinking about someone special.”

Conner looked between them, a smirk forming on his lips as he picked up on M'gann’s teasing. “Come on, spill it, Wally. Who’s the lucky person?”

Wally laughed awkwardly, trying to brush off the conversation. “Oh, no one important. Just… someone I ran into recently. It’s nothing.”

Conner raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Nothing, huh? So why are you blushing like a tomato?”

Wally rolled his eyes, trying to regain his composure. “Alright, fine. Maybe there’s someone I’ve been thinking about. But it’s not a big deal. They’re way out of my league. Our encounters were probably just chance.”

M'gann’s eyes softened with a hint of sympathy. “Wally, sometimes chance encounters can lead to something more. You never know.”

Wally shrugged, trying to play it off. “Yeah, well, I’m not holding my breath. Besides, you guys enjoy your date. I’m just here to crash it and steal some of your fries.”

Conner grumbled under his breath but didn’t protest further as Wally helped himself to a handful of fries. M'gann continued to tease him lightly, but there was a warmth in her eyes that suggested she genuinely cared about his feelings.

As the afternoon wore on, the three of them chatted and laughed, the initial awkwardness fading into a more comfortable camaraderie. Wally tried to push his thoughts of Dick Grayson aside, focusing instead on enjoying the company of his friends. But even as he joked and shared stories, a small part of him couldn’t help but wonder about the possibility of seeing Dick again and whether there might be something more to their chance encounters than he had initially thought.

He wanted there to be more.

— — —

The food court was bustling as usual, the hum of conversation and the clatter of trays providing a familiar backdrop to Wally West’s evening shift. He was in the middle of restocking napkins when he saw the familiar sight of Dick Grayson and an annoyed Jason Todd walking into the food court again. This time, however, they were joined by a striking redheaded girl who looked to be around Dick’s age.

Wally’s heart sank as he took in the sight. The girl was beautiful, with fiery red hair that framed her face in soft waves. She laughed at something Dick said, and Wally’s chest tightened at the thought that Dick might be on a date with her. The pang of disappointment was sharp and immediate.

Trying to mask his feelings, Wally quickly composed himself and forced a casual demeanor as he went about his duties. He avoided staring too much as Dick and his companions made their way to the counter. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, attempting to ignore the fact that the very person who had captured his interest was now accompanied by someone else.

“Hey there,” Dick greeted with his usual charming smile as he reached the counter. Wally tried not to let his emotions show as he met Dick’s gaze.

“Hey,” Wally replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “What can I get for you today?”

Dick seemed completely unaware of Wally’s inner turmoil as he placed their order with practiced ease. “The usual—two cheeseburgers, a vanilla smoothie, a chocolate smoothie, and a side of fries. Oh, and we’ll need it to go.”

Wally nodded, taking down the order and moving quickly to prepare it. He tried to keep his focus on the task, determined not to let his personal feelings interfere with his work. As he was assembling the order, he noticed that Dick and the redheaded girl were chatting animatedly, their easy rapport only making Wally feel more dejected.

After a few minutes, Wally handed over the completed order. Dick reached into his pocket and pulled out another $100 bill, which he placed on the counter. Wally started to thank him, but Dick had already turned to leave, carrying the bag of food with him.

Just as Wally was about to put the money away, he noticed something peculiar—a small note folded neatly under the bill. Curiosity got the better of him, and he unfolded the note, his heart pounding in his chest.

The note read: “Call me <3 – Dick”

Wally’s eyes widened as he stared at the phone number scrawled beneath the message. It took him a moment to process what he was seeing. The world seemed to slow down as he glanced up, searching for Dick, but the group was already making their way out of the food court. Dick didn’t look back, his attention fixed on the redheaded girl and Jason.

Wally stood there, dumbfounded, holding the note in his hand. The realization that Dick had left him a way to get in touch was overwhelming. A mix of excitement, confusion, and nervousness swirled inside him. Why had Dick left him his number? Was it a genuine offer to continue their conversations, or was there something more behind it?

The note felt like a lifeline, an unexpected chance at something Wally had only dared to dream about. But the girl with Dick had made him doubt, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe he had misinterpreted the gesture.

As he watched Dick’s group disappear through the mall’s entrance, Wally’s mind raced with possibilities. He wanted to call Dick, to see where things could lead, but the uncertainty of the situation made him hesitate.

He glanced at the note one more time before carefully slipping it into his pocket. For now, he needed to get through the rest of his shift, but he knew that his thoughts would be occupied by the note and what it might mean.

— — —

The training room in Mount Justice was abuzz with activity as the team went through their morning drills. Conner Kent was working on strength training, M'gann M'orzz was practicing her telekinesis, and Artemis was running through archery exercises. In the midst of it all, Wally West was struggling to focus, his mind clearly preoccupied.

Nightwing, ever observant, noticed Wally’s lack of concentration. He had been working with the team on hand-to-hand combat drills, and Wally’s distracted demeanor wasn’t going unnoticed. After a particularly grueling set of exercises, Nightwing called a halt to the session.

“Alright, everyone, take a break,” Nightwing announced, his tone authoritative but calm. The team dispersed to grab water and catch their breath.

Nightwing approached Wally, who was leaning against the wall, absentmindedly rubbing his shoulder. “You seem off today, Wally. Something on your mind?”

Wally looked up, momentarily startled by the direct question. He tried to mask his unease with a casual shrug. “Nah, just a bit tired. Long night, you know?”

Nightwing’s eyes narrowed slightly, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Long night, huh? Anything in particular keeping you up?”

Wally frowned, sensing an undercurrent in Nightwing’s tone. “Just… stuff. Nothing to worry about.”

Nightwing’s smile widened, as if he found Wally’s evasiveness amusing. “Well, if you say so. But you know, if there’s something you want to talk about, I’m here.”

Wally hesitated, feeling a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt compelled to share a bit more. “Actually, there is something. I’ve been thinking about this… hot guy who gave me his number.”

Nightwing raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Oh? A hot guy, huh? Sounds like something worth looking into.”

Wally rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a flush creep up his cheeks. “Yeah, well, he’s been showing up at the mall where I work. The thing is, I’ve kind of had a crush on him for a while. But he left me his number, and now I’m not sure what to do.”

Nightwing’s grin turned sly. “You should definitely call him.”

Wally blinked, taken aback by the straightforward advice. “Wait, seriously? You’re just telling me to go for it?”

“Why not?” Nightwing replied with a shrug. “If he’s interested enough to give you his number, there’s probably something there. And you never know unless you give it a shot.”

Wally couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. He had been harboring feelings for Nightwing, too, and the idea of pursuing someone else felt like a betrayal, even if it was unintentional. “I guess so. It’s just… I’m a little nervous, you know?”

Nightwing’s expression softened slightly, though the playful edge remained. “I get it. Nerves are normal. But sometimes, you have to take a leap. And who knows? It might turn out to be something really great.”

Wally looked at Nightwing, taking in his encouraging words and the genuine warmth behind his smile. Despite the conflicted feelings he had, Nightwing’s support was comforting. “Thanks, Nightwing. I’ll think about it.”

Nightwing clapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit. Just remember, sometimes the best things come from taking a chance.”

With that, Nightwing turned and walked away, leaving Wally with a swirl of emotions. He couldn’t deny the lingering feelings he had for Nightwing, but the prospect of calling Dick Grayson left him both excited and anxious.

— — —

Wally stumbled through his front door, a whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind. He quickly dialed the number from the note, his heart pounding in his chest. As the phone rang, he paced back and forth, trying to calm his nerves.

After a few rings, the call was answered. The voice on the other end was unmistakable.

“Hey, Walls.”

Wally froze. It was Dick Grayson’s voice. But it was also Nightwing’s voice—the same voice he heard over his comm during missions. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he felt his face flush with a mix of shock and embarrassment.

“No way,” Wally groaned, slapping a hand over his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Dick– Nightwing’s laughter came through the phone, warm and teasing. “What’s wrong, KF? Didn’t expect to hear from me?”

Wally’s mind raced as he tried to piece it all together. “So, let me get this straight. You’re Nightwing? The same Nightwing I’ve been working with on missions? The Nightwing and Robin who won’t tell me his secret identity? And you’re the guy who left me his number?”

“Guilty as charged,” Dick replied, still chuckling. “I didn’t think it’d be such a surprise. I figured you’d recognize my voice eventually.”

Wally’s cheeks burned with a mix of frustration and embarrassment. “Seriously, Rob? How long have you been playing me? Were you just messing with me all this time?”

“Come on, Wally, don’t be mad,” Dick said, his tone playful. “I thought it would be fun to keep you guessing. And, well, I didn’t want to make things too obvious. I figured you’d eventually put two and two together.”

Wally tried to keep his composure, though he couldn’t help but be flustered. “Oh, sure. Real funny. I’ve been going around with this huge crush on you, thinking you were some mysterious celebrity. And all this time, you were just messing with me.”

Dick’s voice softened a bit, though the teasing undertone remained. “Hey, I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was playing you. I just thought it would be… more interesting this way. And, in all honesty, I was kind of hoping you’d figure it out.”

Wally sighed dramatically, though he was secretly thrilled. “Well, now that I know, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’d say you’ve got me at a bit of a disadvantage,” Dick replied smoothly. “But I’d also say that I’m so glad you called. I was hoping we could get to know each other a bit better. Out of masks and capes. Maybe even go on a real date?”

Wally’s heart skipped a beat at the suggestion. “A date, huh? So now you’re asking me out after all the drama?”

“Yep,” Dick said with a grin in his voice. “If you’re up for it. I promise I won’t be too much of a tease this time.”

Wally chuckled despite himself, feeling a mixture of exasperation and joy. “Alright, fine. I’ll play along. But only if you promise not to make me look foolish in front of everyone else.”

“Deal,” Dick agreed. “How about we meet up at that new Italian place in downtown Star City? I hear they have amazing pasta. We could also go bother Roy afterwards — you know him as KF, I know him as Dickie Grayson. Say, tomorrow night at seven?”

Wally tried to sound nonchalant, but he couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face. “Sounds good. I’ll see you then. And, by the way, I’m still not letting you off the hook for all the sneaky stuff.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Dick replied. “I’ll be looking forward to it, Wally.”

Wally ended the call, staring at his phone with a mixture of satisfaction and disbelief. It was true—Dick Grayson and Nightwing were the same person, and he had a chance to go on a date with him. The thought made him giddy, despite his earlier irritation.

He took a deep breath and grinned, trying to contain his excitement. “Well, this should be interesting,” he muttered to himself, already anticipating the upcoming date.

With a renewed sense of enthusiasm, Wally went about his evening, mentally preparing for what promised to be a memorable night. Despite the teasing and the playful deceit, he couldn’t deny how thrilled he was at the prospect of spending more time with Dick. After all, the two people he had a crush on had turned out to be one and the same—an outcome that was both surprising and incredibly exciting.

#dick grayson #wally west #birdflash #dickwally #jason todd #artemis crock #zatanna #m'gann m'orzz #conner kent #young justice #batfam

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tuliptired · 5 months ago

Note

Hey! If you don’t have much stuff to write I just had a fun scenario I would like to see.

I’ve had the idea of all the Ghostbusters interacting with an almost friendly ghost.

Like, the reader, is a ghost who haunts the old fire department and, for some reason, the busters can’t get rid of them.

But they aren’t a bad ghost. Do they cause a little mayhem? Yeah, but they don’t harm people.

Maybe everyone is a little weary because, let’s face it, they’ve all been through some stuff and expect a possible negative outcome.

… that’s all! Thanks lovely!

You Don't Hear what I'm Saying (Do You?)

Pairing: Ghostbusters & Ghost!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death

90% sure this gif is from frozen empire but haiiii

Better formatting on Ao3!!

Your last moments were, funnily enough, the foggiest in your memory. You always remember the parade running through the streets for a new mayor, generally just a reason to be jovial for a while. You can remember the rain falling from the sky, sending everyone inside for a minute, and you can remember the firehouse you took refuge in. What you can never recall is why exactly you woke up, presumably weeks later, with a splitting headache and no tangible body.

When you got over the shock over your new form, it was hard to come to terms with dying, to know that you inadvertently left everything behind without ever meaning to. Death always seemed so far away to you, as the thrill of the Progressive Era lingered in the air. It was even harder, to know that you’d never be able to leave the confines of the building you passed in. True, you had all the time in the world to explore, or test out your new abilities as a spirit, but it just made you even sadder, to disturb these hardworking men and be reminded of their livelihoods as they served the city. So you slept, invisible to the world and for as long as you wanted to escape thoughts of hopelessness.

Ghost-sleep wasn’t the same, though, not nearly as satisfying as sleep when you were flesh and blood. It was more like suspending yourself in a different state of matter for a while- something you would have never understood until you actually felt it. You didn’t want anything to do with anyone anymore, tucking yourself into the farthest and darkest corners and letting yourself stay dormant for years upon years. After a while, you’d be brought back to consciousness by a dull and throbbing pain in your head, forcing you back “awake”. Time had managed to slip your grasp, the firehouse eventually defunct and destitute in only a matter of time, its rundown interior only giving you more motivation to hide away from it all. In the simplest of words: you were in a neverending state of loneliness.

“I’ll be one minute!” Ray called over his shoulder. He went up the steps of the firehouse, until he was at the seldom used third floor. This place needed a good sweep, maybe a dusting, but that could wait. He had something much cooler in mind.

Ray moved a creaky shelf, looking around for a quick second before he did. “Are you here? You can come out now,” he stage-whispered.

You materialized behind him instead, smiling shyly as you peeked out from the shelving. He was so, so lucky. A ghost! Living in his attic! Technically, the attic of his ghost extermination service, but the little details didn’t matter much.

Not long ago, he was up here to stuff some of Peter’s junk in the tiny bit of storage they had. A chill ran up his spine after dumping it, hair standing up on end. There was no way, right? He scanned the room silently, not daring to breathe or move too hard or too fast. His hopes rose.

Ray swallowed. “Any ghosts up here, come out so I can see you.” No answer. “...we can play a game.”

Still nothing but the sounds of the air conditioning. His posture dropped in defeat- it was wishful thinking, anyway. Ray turned to leave, before he was willed to spin around. Another chill, one that ran down to his bones, racked him, eyes bulging wide as the figure of an early 20th century spirit appeared before him at will.

You didn’t attack him, or wreck the room. You just stood there, blinking occasionally, looking just as freaked out as he was. You were a ghostbuster, Ray! You’ve seen ghosts!

He snapped out of his stupor. “Oh yeah! The game!” He stared at you for a few more seconds, before scouring the room for something. To be fair, he didn’t really have a plan. Ray just thought it’d be pretty cool to have a ghost friend around- who wasn’t Slimer. And now he’s got one! Maybe. He emerged with a little ball, wondering why the hell four grown men owned one. He set himself up for catch, watching as you hesitantly raised your hands.

It fell right through you. Obviously.

Since then, through trial and error, you both compiled information about yourself. For one, you couldn’t talk- at least not much. He’d have to look into that, but it could be something you’d just have to relearn. Secondly, your control over physical objects seemed touch and go. You could interact with some things, but not others- and he suspected that it had something to do with the material’s age relative to your own. You could travel freely, fortunate for you and troublesome for him. Ray had a new experiment this time, one he thinks you’d like.

“You’re from 1902? 1904?” Ray asked, zipping open up a cloth bag that hung around his neck. You put your shoulders up- understandable, you’d been dead for a long time and out of commission for a while. “Well, have you ever had your picture taken?”

He watched as you eyed the Fujifilm in his hands curiously. You shook your head, gazing down at it like it was an object of a folktale. You nearly reached out to touch it, amazement making you forget your current predicament.

He smiled at your wonder. “Do you want one?”

Ray laughed as you nodded wildly, adjusting the phantom clothes that died along with you. You picked a spot that was freer from clutter- near the lab and sitting area, and tried to channel the portraits of dignitaries and upper class families that you only ever dreamed of being a part of.

With a few quick snaps, the best one printed, and it was only a matter of waiting until it would develop. You were impatient- surprised at how quick it took to manifest but annoyed at the dark square that became clearer at only a snail's pace.

“You gotta be patient,” he teased you, protecting the delicate film. “You’re just like Egon.” Your expression dropped, and Ray let up slightly. He felt bad, accidently bringing up his friends like this. The friends that you weren’t allowed to meet, otherwise they’d trap you almost immediately. “They’ll come around. Just give me some time,” Ray promised with a small smile.

You nodded, seeming to understand. Ray’s short gasp tore you from your melancholy, showing you the now developed photo between two fingers. “Look at that,” he said softly, grinning as you inspected it. If he was right, it had to have been decades since you had seen your own face.

“Ray!” a voice called from far below, impatient. He clicked his tongue, carefully leaving you with the photo where you could see it without having to move anything. As he reached for the doorknob, the room was shroud in darkness before illuminating again. You stood proudly, if not a bit coy, flicking the electricity on and off with pure physic energy a few more times.

Ray beamed. “Hey! You learned lights!”

Another quiet day. You counted the front door opening and closing twice from your spot upstairs- Winston lets the door drag, you learned, and Ray lets it slam. That left Janine, the woman you always hear at the very front desk, and Egon, the man you’ve seldom heard any noise from. According to Ray, he’s been spending more time in the lab than anything. Peter, the one with short footsteps, typically sleeps during these drags in the day, especially after a long night like the kind they had prior. It felt oddly comfortable, to familiarize yourself with their routines, though you had no idea what they looked like. How much could you learn about someone, when you observe them without eyes?

You could tell how sunny it was outside, growing jealous that they could soak up the warmth of the world while you were stuck at the top floor with very little natural lighting. Ray would understand, right? One quick trip couldn’t hurt. Everyone was too preoccupied with their midday activities, and if they did happen to see you, you’d scramble back to safety and just deny.

The sliver of light streaming in from the large window in the hallway felt lovely. You feel things differently, when you’re only a soul. There was almost a hypnotic property in the way you were able to bask in the wake of dancing dust, floating along the beam, and you swore your vapors were growing more and more vivid. Thank goodness someone left the drapes open- they’d simply passed through your fingers. Your senses, however, heighten when you’re a ghost. You could tell someone was watching you, and when you turned, it was a resident of the firehouse, disheveled from sleep and pointing one of those vacuum-wand-gun things Ray had tried explaining to you.

Instincts carry you to the safest point of escape. You could hear the man shouting into the vent, probably on the edge of his toes, the presumed image amusing you.

“You’re in the walls?” He hollered incredulously, voice bouncing off the metal. “Not fair.” When you never answered, he stormed off, short footsteps growing further and further away, before pittering back. “Stay off the second floor. Egon’ll see you.”

Winston had the hood of their vehicle propped open, doubled over into it and covered in dark oil. Ray was in bed, sleeping just like Peter was that one day after loud alarms and wailing sirens called them out to a job late that night. You had paid his snoring form a quick visit, but now you just watched Winston, no meddlesome plan in mind as the large white car intimidated you a tad. He shivered, dirty hands running across the length of goosebumped arms before he went back to work.

“I know you’re there.”

You blinked, slowly becoming visibly as he continued to crank a wrench around the soiled engine. “Ray’s terrible at keeping secrets. And it’s 5 degrees colder in here.”

So much for subtly. You were at least a little disappointed, before he spoke again. “Are you gonna possess me?” You shook your head. “Slime me?” No. “Chase me around?” Probably not.

His defenses dropped as he eyed you up and down, looking as stereotypical as a ghost could in your turn-of-the-century outfit and mystic state. “You’re lucky he has no survival instinct,” he pointed the wrench at you, “it’s like second death in that containment chamber-”

Winston saw you frown, softening. Not very nice, you thought.

“I’m sorry. Not cool, talking about death with a ghost, right?” You nodded. He wiped his hands on a spare towel. “And you’re stuck downstairs all day?” shaking your head, you pointed upstairs. All the way upstairs.

You started away from the car. What a gaudy thing to drive around in, you thought. You trusted Ray’s judgment, but not on this. Winston must’ve noticed, asking in disbelief, “you’ve never been in a car?”

You rolled your eyes defensively, and he just chuckled at you. Of course you’d been in a car! Just- not giant white hearses with junky gear strapped to it. Winston only laughed harder, holding the door open for you. “Wanna see this one?”

You swallowed- or, you would, if you still produced saliva. Careful to not fall through and onto the ground, you hesitantly lowered yourself into the seat, jumping slightly as he suddenly turned on the engine. “How is it?” You didn’t answer as he took his spot on the driver's side, and when he looked over, you held out the molecules of your hand, bouncing with the vibrations of the car. Forget how it looked- being in a car was fun. The things you appreciate more when you’re a ghost.

“What else can you do? As a ghost?” You thought about it, before leading him upstairs and pointing to the closed blinds by the large window. He didn’t hesitate to open them, watching as you glowed brighter under the light.

“Sun-basking,” Winston smirked. Just then, the phone started to wail throughout the firehouse, and Ray joined his friend, rushing down the steps, as Winston couldn’t stop snickering.

“What?” Ray questioned, startled awake.

“Nothing, nothing.”

It wasn’t until after their hour long job that Ray realized he had pen all over his face. And, that you were starting to get restless.

You knew Ray would be at least a little anxious that you were out and about, but you just couldn’t help it. You had friends- or at least, people who had no choice but to be around you. Peter tried to trap you a few more times, to “keep you on your toes,” but you always found new ways to escape. Janine had nearly spilt coffee all over herself when she first saw you, trying to figure out her desktop radio, but you were forgiven after demonstrating your best laundering tips from when you were alive. Now, she lets you listen whenever you want, as long as it was an agreeable station. You’d even met Dana, awed at how much she resembled early 1900’s aristocracy. Louis was so easy to mess with that you’d lost track of what you’d done. And it was fun, to stay out of sight and follow Ray around, keeping your laughter to yourself as he shuddered and continuously checked the thermostat.

Peter loved to step on your metaphysical toes, especially in the comfort of night. “What-” he flipped on the lights, watching as you sat in the middle of dozens of lit candles, trying to conduct your own personal seance.

“This is where all my red candles went?” he gestured around you. Whoever you would have contacted has definitely flown away by now.

“If you wanted a nice ghost friend, we would’ve introduced you to Slimer.” And who knew, fellow specters could get slimed? He was a clingy friend at first, but he quickly came to terms with the fact that you had no interest in eating.

Your little antics got bolder and bolder as your new friends started to drop their defenses. Switching around their boots, long john’s or pajamas was always fun whenever you got bored- though it got Winston taken off of laundry duty. He could’ve snitched on you, but he never did, and you silently thanked him with your best attempt at brewing coffee. The mug of water you planned to pour into the pot ended up slipping out of your phantasmic grasp, so that was the end of you trying to do favors.

Back to observing. You had been invisibly watching Slimer finish what was left of breakfast, before Peter came in and chased him out. He must’ve been forced to take care of the piling dishes in the sink, because he worked so hastily that a ceramic plate nearly flew out of his slippery hand. You caught it, not wanting the nice glassware to shatter, bashfully revealing yourself.

Peter stared at you, before turning back to the sink like it was the normalest thing in the world. “Oh. It’s you. Listen, Spooky-” he dried a dish, “I heard you learned ‘lights’. That’s awfully cute, but Egon would have my head if he knew I let a ghost run around. My job is to catch you, and you don’t want that. So, scram.”

Peter was officially off your list of friends. What’d Dana see in him? You irritably stalked off, disappearing from sight again.

“It’s still freezing, I know you’re still here.”

Maybe Slimer was better company. Before you could depart, Peter sighed, leaning against the edge of the sink as if he was surveying the amount of dishes he had left to clear. Reluctantly, he turned to you, starting your ascent to the ceiling.

He holds out a dripping cup. “If you help me dry these, I can open the blinds for you.”

Egon walked in then, and you were back to being as clear as air. “Who’re you talking to?” he glanced up from a notepad. Peter’s under eye twitched, and your whole body quaked as the scientist unknowingly passed through the space you occupied. He didn’t say anything, stilling as his shoulders tensed slightly.

“No one. Say, Egon, how’s a little pool? I’ll let you win.” Peter dried his hands off. Egon didn’t say anything, instead pulling his lab coat closer to himself.

“It’s cold in here,” he stated, pulling up the hefty window. What’s better than sunlight through glass? Sunlight from the source. You settled in euphorically on the sill, ready to sleep for a while. Thank you, Egon- no chores and a great nap. You could continue to dislike Peter, but you did overhear him encouraging Egon to keep the windows open whenever he thought you weren’t around.

Ray sighed, shutting the door to the attic solemnly. It had been a few days, and you hadn’t shown up in some time. Not a sock misplaced, car keys never once being clipped to the back of belt loops rather than the front. Winston had no ill intent, even bringing up your absence a day or two ago. Peter had promised not to try and trap you anymore after he slipped up and attempted it while Ray was turning the corner. Janine wouldn’t, Louis couldn’t…where’d you go?

Egon. It had to be. One surprise, one unsuspecting door being opened…he couldn’t even begin to imagine what could be happening to you in the containment grid. Ray flushed with worry, hurrying down the stairs and bounding into the lab as quickly as possible. “Spengs! Let ‘em go!”

The bespectacled man sat in the dark laboratory, hands wrapped around a cup of what must’ve been tea. There were roots, windchimes, and other trinkets that Ray recognized as objects for attracting the otherworldly placed around the room.

Egon calmly took a sip of his tea. “What’s wrong?” Ray blinked, catching his breath. There you were, not stuck in the mechanics of the containment unit but in your approximation of sitting in a chair, not drinking your tea but enjoying the steam billowing into you.

“But- I thought- you-'' Ray stuttered.

Egon flipped through a few notes. “I’m not that dense, Ray. And they’ve been a interesting topic of research,” he held up what looked like a much more intensely detailed account of your past life. Ray squinted, skimming past dates, addresses, family names.

“I thought you couldn’t talk!” Ray put his hands on his hips, reeling from all this new information.

You simply shrugged, smiling guiltily.

“You’d be surprised. Did you know they learned lights?”

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