#tearing up to a 30 year old song

[yeahiwasintheshit]

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Birthday Blues✨

Jackson! Joel Miller x bartender fem! reader

A/N: This is a little one-shot I did for @justagalwhowrites Joel Miller’s birthday celebration writing challenge! I had so much fun with this one and love it so much. I hope you enjoy! This one is all in Joel’s POV 🩵

Summary: Joel spends his birthday sulking on the porch, regretting the mistakes of his past. Just when he thinks he’ll spend his birthday alone, you come around and turn his cloudy skies into sunshine.

Rating: 18+ only

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: Lots of angst, Joel’s POV, Jackson! Joel, losing Ellie, regrets, no use y/n, fluff, yearning, angst/comfort, lots of feelings, Joel’s birthday, age gap (Joel is 54, reader is 30)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  The wooden rocking chair creaks like a rundown, abandoned building, making the old floorboards of the porch groan beneath him with every shaky breath he takes. The acoustic guitar feels like a heavy anchor in his arms as he thinks about those long afternoons when he’d teach Ellie how to play songs of his past. Now, it feels like sawdust under his calloused fingertips. Brittle and old. Just like he is.

   September twenty-sixth. The day he can’t fucking stand anymore. The day he was brought into this unapologetic world, not realizing he’d lose himself along the way.

   Birthdays were supposed to be spent with loved ones. A celebration of life. But what does he have to celebrate anymore? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He doesn’t have anyone anymore. He’s just… alone. 

   Sarah is gone, dead. And Ellie… she wasn’t coming back. Not to his house, his doorstep. No. She’d just stay away like the plague. 

   Fifty-four-years-old. Just one step closer to being six feet underground. He wishes he was already dead because that’s how he feels. Hollow, broken, lonely. 

   God, he’s so fucking lonely. Ever since Ellie found out about the fireflies. About what he did…

   She hates his guts, hates the way he lied straight to her face for months, hates the reason he did it. She thinks he’s selfish and feels like she was used. But really, he only looks at it one way. 

   He saved her… And he’d do it a thousand times over if he had the choice. To lose another daughter. Well… he just couldn’t. So, he did the selfish thing and got her out of that hospital. Because if he lost her, he’d surely lose himself.

   But he already lost her. Lost himself, too. So why does any of this even matter? It’s useless. He’s useless. 

   He strums along to the melancholy tune, the frail strings sliding along calloused skin, echoing the quiet melody back into the cool autumn breeze of Jackson. Maybe Ellie would hear it, come running back with tears staining her hazel eyes, apologize for moving out and screaming at him to stay away. But she was the one that stayed away. He never wanted to…

   He just strums along and keeps playing. The song that he had written just for her. A song she probably hears in her nightmares now. Maybe it’d bring her back…

   He gets lost in the music, greying curls tousled by the wind, his green flannel clinging to his flexed biceps, broken military watch glistening in the dying orange sky. Just when he starts to get drowned out by the screaming voices in his head, a soft, lilty voice pulls him from the darkness.

   “Hey.”

   His head snaps up and his calloused fingers still from the sudden intrusion. When he sees who it is, he freezes in place. His jaw locked, eyes wide, teeth clenched together. It’s you. The pretty bartender who caught his eye the moment he stepped into Tipsy Bison that first he arrived in Jackson.

   There you are. Hair blowing gently in the brisk breeze, doe eyes locked on his, a half-smile curled against your glossy red lips. Jesus. You’re even more beautiful with the orange sun shining down on you, casting halos over the crown of your head. 

   You’re absolutely breathtaking.

   “Haven’t seen you around Tipsy Bison lately. Was wondering where you’ve been.” You look at him intently, questions spiraling in those pretty shades of moonlit eyes. 

   “Been a little busy, I guess,” he mumbles, keeping his fingers locked tight around the neck of the guitar. 

   “Got your whiskey waiting for you behind the bar. Been saving it just for you,” you smile sweetly, nearly making him drop to his knees at the sight.

   “Thanks, darlin’. You don’t gotta do that, though. Might as well jus’ give it to someone else,” he sighs, eyes dropping to his denim-clad lap. It’s been a while since he went and drowned his sorrows at the bar. He’d rather just do it in the comfort of his own home. A home that was empty now except for him.

   “You okay?” you ask, voice leery as your eyebrows thread together in worry. 

   “’m fine,” he states lowly, eyes hollow and weathered from the pain he wears like weights under his eyes day after day. He’s not fine. He’s far from fine. 

   When’s the last time someone asked if he was fine? He can’t even remember.

   “You don’t sound fine. You look… sad.” Your voice is quiet, subdued, and your eyes look like clouded skies with hurricanes and thunderstorms brewing ominously. You look just as sad as he feels. 

   You’re so empathetic and tuned into other people’s feelings. He wishes you’d stop that. Stop looking at him like he deserves to not feel like that. But again, It’s hard to look away when a beautiful girl who’s kind, caring, and all around good is standing right in front of him, asking him if he’s alright.

   “Reckon I am sad,” he finally mutters, eyes cast down to the fading paint of the wooden boards on the porch. But then he looks up again, and there you are. Beautiful eyes swallowing him whole.

   “You want to talk about it?” You lean against the stairwell on the porch, eyes boring into his, arms crossed over your soft blue jacket.

   He shakes his head and sighs. “Darlin’, I really don’t think you wanna sit here and listen to an old man talk ‘bout how he’s feelin’.”

   You shift your weight and flex your jaw, like he just punched you right in the gut. Fuck. He’s already ruining everything, but what you say next surprises him. “I’ve got time.”

   He stares at you a moment, feeling like he just got struck by lightning. You want to stay and listen? You’ve got time?

   “Why don’t you take a seat then? I don’t wanna bore you with my problems. And God forbid I waste more of your time,” he murmurs.

   You shuffle your way up the steps and sit slowly into the wooden rocking chair next to him. The one he crafted by hand. “Like I said, I’ve got time. I’m listening.” You smile softly at him, and he can’t help but to memorize the outline of your pretty face. Your deep dimples that appear whenever you’re grinning, your light freckles scattered across your nose. The ones you get from sitting out in the sun for too long. You always did love the sunlight. That’s something he picked up on quickly.

   He’s watched you for so long from a distance. Only really saying hi if he was stopping by the Tipsy Bison for a drink, maybe waving at you when you walked past him on the street, the casual back and forth glances the two of you would exchange every once in a while. 

   He’s shy, reserved, an introverted man that likes his space. But he’d have no problem sharing his space with you. Especially when you wear that flowery lavender scent that magnetizes him to you.

   After a moment of comfortable silence, he huffs out a heavy breath and begins. “Look, I’m not the best at talkin’. Especially ‘bout how I’m feelin’. But let’s make this short ‘n sweet. I know you got better places to be.”

   You lean back into the slant of the chair and rest your arm on the smooth armrest, smiling over at him with your sweet demeanor. “I don’t have anywhere to be, Joel. So take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” 

   He sets his guitar down and leans it against the edge of the porch, carefully scooting back into the worn chair. His thumb taps nervously against the armrest, but you just stay quiet and keep your eyes on him. It helps him breathe a little easier, he thinks. 

   Taking his time chewing over the words, he finally spills them. “I’ve made some stupid mistakes in the past that I can’t fix. No matter what I do, nothin’ is gonna change what happened.”

   You knit your eyebrows together like you’re mulling it over, guessing what he could be talking about. The way you bite your bottom lip and flick your eyes between the open mailbox that says Miller’s and back his way says you do know. “Are you talking about Ellie?” you ask hesitantly.

   “How did you know…”

   You shrug and push a piece of fallen hair behind the slope of your ear. He wishes he could be the one doing that. “This town is small, Joel. I notice things. It’s not a secret Ellie moved in with Dina.”

   He sighs deeply and pushes his fingers back through his slick hair, letting the tousled curls fall back into place. “Guess gossip gets ‘round fast here. Shit.” He lets his head hang low, cursing under his breath when he thinks about the way Ellie stormed off that day. She said she never wanted to speak to him again, and it hurt just as much as Sarah’s death.

   Your voice jolts him out of those dark thoughts. “Have you talked to her lately?”

   He clenches his jaw and shakes his head defeatedly, tears lining the back of his eyes as pain radiates down his spine. “It’s been over two months. She can’t even stand to look me in the eyes. Fuckin’ hates me, and it’s all my fault.”

   And there you go again. Looking at him like a lost puppy with those big doe eyes of yours. You make him so soft. Nobody else can do that. Not since Tess.

   “I don’t think she hates you.” 

   You place your dainty hand on the back of his for a few seconds. Warmth shoots through his skin, races down his bloodstream, nearly chokes him up when you retrieve it and place it back in your lap. In just those few seconds, he felt what it would be like if you were his. But that couldn’t happen. You’re far too young for him, a twenty-four year age gap, fresh out of your twenties. Just now thirty. You’re too pretty, too out of his league, too good. 

   You’re just too good for him. He’d never deserve a woman like you. Not after everything he’s done. 

   I don’t think she hates you. The words permeate and sizzle deep in his brain.

   “No? Well, sweetheart, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but that jus’ ain’t the case,” he scoffs, kicking the heel of his worn boot into the porch to get his point across. 

   You twist your fingers together nervously and look up at him, sparkling eyes shining like starlight. “You know she asks about you, right?”

   His mouth gawks open, and he stares wonderstruck at you. “What?” He can’t believe his ears. “She… asks ‘bout me?”

   A faint smile lifts over your red lips. “Yeah. She sometimes comes up to me at the bar and asks if you’ve been in recently or if I’ve talked to you lately. She wonders about you, Joel.”

   His mouth feels like sandpaper, throat dry and closed up. Maybe the dry air will suffocate him before he gets his hopes up. “Why would she do that…”

   You shrug and give him a tight-lipped smile. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two. And it’s not my business to ask, but I don’t think she’ll stay away forever, Joel. No matter what you did or how bad you think it is, she’ll come around. I know she will.”

   His grip tightens against the armrest, nails digging like claws into the rustic wood. “I dunno. She really stuck it to me to leave her alone. Don’t think she wants me ‘round anymore. S’why I stayed away. She’ll never forgive me…” His voice is strained, sad, choked up like he forgot how to breathe. He wishes she’d forgive him. Just one word from her. That’s all he wants.

   “Give her time, Joel. I know she will,” you say encouragingly as the wind laces through your silky hair, blowing it just enough for him to see the pretty blush painting your cheeks pink.

   You’re so fucking beautiful.

   His deep bravado voice drops an octave as he looks up through glassy eyes at the sunshine of a woman sitting before him. “How do you know?” he asks quietly.

   You just shrug and smile. “I just know, okay?”

   “Mmm.” Sitting back in his rocking chair, he thinks and thinks over your encouraging words, analyzing them like tiny jigsaw pieces. A puzzle that just can’t be put together. You never were the type to linger on sadness. Never seemed to let a rainy day cloud your joy. You were always so carefree, always bringing rainbows after destructive thunderstorms. Always just there.

   Slowly, steadily, your fingers curl around his dark green flannel, hooking underneath his bicep. And your eyes, like a warm summer’s day, shine brighter than he’s ever seen them shine before. Just like shimmering sparkles under a starlit sky. Embers and all. “Hope is like a migrating butterfly. It spreads its long wings and takes off in the morning sky. The butterfly may not return to the same place for quite some time, but it always seems to come back to the place it came from. Eventually, it returns home. She’ll come back, Joel. Ellie will come home.”

   His eyes cloud over, foggy from the tears building in his dark brown irises. And when one slips free and slides down his cheek, falling like a raindrop and landing on top of your hand, you don’t pull away. You stay. No one else had stayed. But here you are, smiling up at him like he’s the center of your gravity. Like he’s worth something to you. 

   And then something happens. Something he hasn’t done in so long. He smiles. He smiles at the pretty girl that turned his entire birthday upside down. He smiles because you stayed when no one else did.

   You stayed.

   “Think you jus’ might’ve struck some hope inside me after that speech, darlin’,” he drawls, brown eyes sparkling into yours.

   “Glad I could be of service,” you giggle, your hand brushing over the fabric of his soft flannel. And there you go. Giving him that breathtaking smile. He wishes you’d never leave.

   “Look at you. Ruinin’ my plans of sulkin’ for the rest of the evenin’.”

   You tilt your head and give him that look. A look like you want to drown out all his sorrows. “Why are you sulking in the first place?”

   Sighing loudly, he rakes a hand slowly down his patchy beard and stares out into the void of the green and yellow leaves littering the ground. “‘Cause it’s my birthday. And I got nothin’ to celebrate.”

   You sit forward in your seat, drawing your hand back to your lap and staring all wide-eyed at him like you just can’t believe he’d be alone. “It’s your birthday?”

   “Mhm,” he hums, feeling the excruciating pain of losing Ellie all over again. 

   “What are you doing spending it alone, then?” you whisper, heartbreaking eyes tearing his soul in two.

   He pushes a hand painfully slow through his windblown curls and takes a deep breath as he thinks of that stupid fight he and Tommy got in. “Me and Tommy had a fight the other day. Reckon he doesn't wanna see me for a few more days after that. Maria’s on Tommy’s side. And Ellie… well. You know. Needless to say, I got no one to celebrate with.”

   Silence permeates through the cool air, a deafening noise that rings through his ears. He wishes you’d say something, anything. Break the lull that hangs like a thick, impenetrable wall in the sky. Maybe you too are having second thoughts of being here alone with him in his suffering.

   “Can you just… wait here for a few minutes?” you ask, pushing yourself up and hanging over the thresholds of his rickety porch.

   He takes a minute to digest your words, thinking you won’t come back. “I suppose. Not goin’ anywhere. Why?” he asks hesitantly, his voice hoarse from the thought of you disappearing too.

   “Just wait here. There’s something I forgot,” you plea, your pretty smile telling him you’ll be back.

   Before you take a step off the porch, he stops you. “You don’t have to, you know. Come back, I mean.”

   You give him a small smile, your hair blowing softly in the wind, tangling around your beautiful face. An angel cast in shadows from the purple and pink painted sunlit skies. “Nobody deserves to be alone on their birthday, Joel. Not even you,” you say in a soft, lilty voice. 

   You hang there a second, just watching each other. Waiting for something, but he doesn’t know what. And eventually, you take that step off the porch. “Be right back! Just wait here,” you shout, running off into the sunset.

   “Alright,” he whispers, watching you go. And then you disappear down the street, practically sprinting back to your house or back to the bar. He doesn’t know. All he knows is that he hopes you come back. 

   Please, come back. 

   He fidgets in his chair, trying his best not to pull out the greys from his tousled curls. His chest feels tight, like his button-up shirt is stifling the chilly air all around him. He feels choked up, like something is lodged deep in his throat. Feels like he drank too much whiskey, palms sweating against his jeans. 

   Lord knows he shouldn’t feel like this. Shouldn’t act like this means anything. But what if it does? What if this is everything he’s waited for? He shouldn’t yearn for you, shouldn’t pine mindlessly for the pretty bartender that’s way too young for him to be falling for. But he fell head over heels the first moment you said hi to him in the bar. Your smooth fingertips brushing against his when you passed him a glass of whiskey. It felt like fire smothering his insides, igniting dangerous feelings that he should’ve never developed in the first place. 

   He shouldn’t have fallen for you, but he did. And now, he was wrecked. 

   You come walking back just minutes later, your hands behind your back, something hidden behind your jacket. And when you make your way back up to the porch, you hold out a single muffin with a blue birthday candle placed right in the center.

   “What’s this?” he asks, eyes wide as you place it in the palm of his hand.

   “A blueberry muffin. I just made them this morning. I hope you like blueberries. It’s not much, but it was made with love and care. So here, something sweet that I hope will brighten up your day.” 

   He stares in awe at the fluffy muffin, blueberries scattered around the pastry. His eyes mist over, tears licking at the edges, threatening to spill at any moment. He’s not used to this kind of treatment. Someone being nice, thoughtful, acting like he’s special. 

   He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve you.

   “Th—thank you…” he chokes out, holding back tears.

   “Happy birthday, Joel,” you smile, lighting the candle and making shadows cast over his palm from the flame. “Make a wish.”

   “Think it already came true…” he whispers. 

   Your eyes meet, tension thick in the air, smiles bouncing off each other's mouths. And when he blows out the flame, you give him a quick, fleeting kiss to the cheek. A kiss that’ll surely never wash off his skin. It’ll stick like permanent ink until his mouth hangs over yours.

   “You’re a sweet little thing, ain’t ya?” he asks, his skin tinged red from the blush you’ve painted over his tanned skin. 

   “Sweeter than a shaker of sugar?” you giggle out. A laugh that sounds like music to his ears.

   “Sweeter than sugar, darlin’,” he confirms with a wide grin.

   His hand finds yours, lacing his fingers through until your warmth is mixing with his. And as the sun goes down, stars igniting the sky in glitter, you lean your head on his shoulder while you tell him stories of your past. He could listen to you all night. He thinks he could listen to you forever. 

   You stay there until midnight, fingers entwined together, his hand pushing a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear, memorizing your perfect smile and dazzling eyes. And just before you go, he pulls you in for a kiss. A kiss that could make the entire world stop. Because in that moment, on your soft lips, he thinks he found heaven. 

   Just as you turn to go, a figure emerges from the dark shadows, leaving him breathless and dumbstruck from the sight. He rubs his eyes, figuring he’s seeing things. Maybe the sleepless nights have finally got to him. But your encouraging smile says it’s real.

   “Joel, look. She came back,” you smile, eyes glossy just like his are now. 

   She hesitates out in the road, jaw locked and eyes watery. Those big hazel eyes haven’t changed a bit. 

   Ellie. She came back. She’s here…

   And just like a butterfly, she spreads her wings and waves, mouthing happy birthday as she lingers by the open mailbox. But that’s enough. That’s one step to fixing a promise he broke. 

   “Ellie,” he calls, voice cracking as tears drop down his face. 

   “Joel,” she nods, giving him a half-smile. “Can I… can I come in?” she asks hesitantly.

   “‘Course you can, kiddo.”

   And it’s then, right at that moment, where everything fell back into place. Right when she stepped back into his life. He has a feeling you had something to do with it, but he’ll thank you for that later. Maybe tomorrow when he stops by your house and asks for some more blueberry muffins. 

   Today will go down in history as one of his favorites because he got the girl, and Ellie came back home. He got his birthday wish after all. 

[buttercupblu]

i wanna fucking tear you apart

Vampire SuguChoso x Reader|Halloween Special Three-Shot

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3

the deets: oh god, where do we begin? let's start in the home of the supernatural, shall we? the great city of New Orleans. and you are absolutely about to shit bricks for having to return here, and not for a reason any sane person would believe. you don't even want to say it out loud and make it real, make them real. but you have to find them, someone's life is at stake if you don't. and the worst part? you reluctantly have to rely on someone, something you've spent years convincing yourself was just a figment of your imagination. be careful reader—or not, you seem to get off on that—because you're about to walk headfirst into something that's going to change your entire world and make you question everything you swore you'd never believe in. w.c: issa surprise. whoever gets the closest, gets a drabble of their choice (restrictions apply. i have to be familiar with the show/story. drop an ask to participate :3) tags: summoning ritual w/ special guest possessive Ghost Gojo who is annoying asf as always but even moreso bc now he can bounce all over the place, ghostly touches, hands up skirts, no bathroom privacy?, taunting and flirting through sexual assault, he's obsessed with your smell and is a panty-sniffer 🧍🏾‍♀️, cunnilingus, fingering, P in V and literally getting the breath knocked out of you, creampie? (you'll understand), coercion for a taste, rutting, and you don't know if you hate him for all of it by the end of the beginning of your journey angel’s note: Satoru...please.. earworm 🐛: tonight you belong to me remix, or the original by Patience and Prudence, it's creepier in my opinion but such a great song

—Believing—

You don't believe in vampires.

So why in the entire fuck are you standing outside of a restaurant hoping you'll be able to talk to a ghost?

You glance up at the sinking sun, the sky bruising with dusk as the nervous tap of your heel against the cobblestone almost syncs with your heart.

Be cool, be cool.

Surely no one's noticed you sitting here for the past 30 minutes, fidgeting with your fingers, mentally pacing back and forth trying to decide if you'll walk through those doors you haven't opened in 6 years.

Those pale green doors that hold centuries worth of secrets that can never escape.

Including...

But what if all of that was just in your head?

You were younger back then, new to New Orleans, and all those stories, legends, and creepy tales could have easily messed with you.

No.

You know what you saw.

What you felt.

What you heard. His voice. That smile...

Your chest feels like a knot tied too tight, yet a strange hope flutters beneath the nerves.

Hope that the past wasn't just some weird trick your mind played on you.

Because you could never forget it.

You just hope he hasn't forgotten you.

You take a breath watching the sun finally slip behind the horizon of the place of your eerie past. The old, chipped sign still hanging crooked above the door, and wrought-iron lanterns cast orange halos on the cracked sidewalk.

Closing time is near, and so is the truth you came here for.

But will this be another bust? Or will you finally get to confirm that all of it was real?

It has to be, he has to be...because he's the only one who can help you find where they are. If they even truly exist.

And the second you finally muster up the strength to face and push through those heavy, creaking doors, there's no turning back.

Walking in feels like you've gone back in time, and everything is just as you left it.

"Hi, welcome to Muriel's." The hostess greets you with a smile that you try to reflect back, hoping that she won't notice your nerves—or worse, that someone from your past will recognize you. "Just to let you know, we will be closing in about 30 to 35 minutes but you are welcome to dine in or takeout." And her eyes drift over your less-than-formal attire, a slight flicker of curiosity in her expression, but her pleasant smile never wavers.

You clear your throat. "Dine in, please," you say, and she nods, tucking a menu and silverware under her arm before leading you through the over-the-top space—each step digging you further into the rabbit hole. The details of what you left behind propels you back into the past, and suddenly you're 19 again, juggling plates and wiping down tables under the watchful gaze of the old regulars. When you last worked here.

The hum of conversation fills the space, but you tune it out, your eyes scanning for familiar things. What the restaurant purposefully lacks on the outside, is equally lacking on the inside.

The tables, dressed in those heavy burgundy cloths. The stuffy velvet chairs, more decoration than comfort. The twinkling glass chandelier that always sparkled a little too brightly for the dark, moody space, and the drapey curtains, still tacky as ever, decorate the walls and clash between the old-world elegance and overdone theatrics.

The bar stools are still worn in the same places, and the corner booth where the kitchen staff would gather to sneaks shots of whiskey after closing still stands strong.

You don't see anyone you recognize—thankfully—but the atmosphere still feels the same. Especially when it seems like the walls are watching you, their quiet judgment as thick and heavy as the air filled with the smell of fried shrimp, garlic, and something bitterly sweet, like old wine left to ferment for too long.

Walking past the table where you used to sit with your tips, counting down the hours until closing and sweet escape, feels heavy, and every step after is like pulling back a curtain on memories you buried deep, unsure if they ever really even happened. But every flicker of light, every clink of glass, makes your heart race just a little—confirming some kind of PTSD because even if your brain doesn't remember, your body does.

The whispers. The rattling. The presence. Always there, but never seen.

Showing up here almost every single day was definitely the bane of your existence, but you couldn't just quit, not back then.

You needed the money to make ends meet, especially when you chose to go to school out of state.

A broke college student struggling to stay afloat in the wild and "haunted" streets of New Orleans where every shadow told a story and every corner whispered a myth.

NOLA, of all places: home of the supernatural you've never believed, and yet here you are, purposely choosing to have a seat at its table. And nervously glancing over at thee table, perfectly set as if waiting for someone special, yet desolate and tucked away from the rest. The phantom feeling of what happened there years ago creeps through your body as you pick at your meal, trying to ignore the urge to bolt on what you think is the stupidest plan you've ever had in your entire life.

By the time you finish up, your heart is pounding, but despite being the worst place you've ever worked in, the food is still as good as you remembered. It always felt like a home you've never visited, soothing your body and making you fight tendrils of sleep.

The restaurant quiets as the final patrons start to leave and you're one of the last stragglers. You pay your tip and stack your dishes out of habit, and now the real waiting begins. "Shut up, shut up," you say to your gut feeling. "I can do this." And you take one last deep breath and yourself before you head towards where everything first went down: the bathroom.

The long, narrow corridor seems darker than ever, the black walls and red carpet only adding to the sense of isolation where you'll be camping out until closing.

You catch a glimpse in the large mirror and pause, barely recognizing yourself—nerves tightening your expression, tension locking your shoulders.

You look like you've already seen the ghost you've come to meet, but give yourself a reassuring head nod, though it feels hollow. Nevertheless, you enter the stall where it all began. Of all the places to meet a ghost...it had to be while you were hovering over a toilet seat. That perv.

Crouching into place, you pull your knees into your chest and try to steady your nerves, listening to the sounds of the restaurant closing—clattering dishes, murmuring voices—all of it mingling with your thumping heartbeat.

This is so stupid, you think, hiding in here like this, feeling so ridiculous you try not to laugh at the sheer stupidity of it all. But the thought of backing out now and being like "Oops, my bad." to the staff feels even crazier. You're officially in too deep to turn back now.

You shift in your spot and try to get comfortable, knowing that closing can take quite a while in a place this large and "fancy". But your anxiety is not having it, and you nearly lose your balance, your feet slipping and almost falling into the bowl. You curse, gripping the sides of the stall for stability when you freeze, swearing that you heard a snicker.

You hold your breath thinking you've been caught, but when a silent moment passes then two, you huff and shake your head like an Etch-a-Sketch. You know must be hearing things but fuck, how long is this going to take?

It's nerve-wracking when the staff do finally come in to do bathroom checks, but after what feels like an eternity, you're sure the coast is finally clear. When you creep out of the stall, the restaurant is eerily still now that it's fully closed, and once you've collected yourself, you make your way out, finally ready to sit at the table you've been staring holes into all evening.

The velvet rope falls to the side as you part the way. Your fingers trail over the cold cutlery on the table—the finest in the restaurant, decked with gold trim and sitting on porcelain platters. A small smile tugs at your lips. He's always been the type to require the finer things, even in death. Though you're surprised he hasn't turned the place upside down at the slight wrinkle you catch in the tablecloth.

You sink into the chair, the soft and barely worn cushion molding beneath you, almost welcoming you to the table amidst the unsettling darkness, urging you to quickly pull out your candle and a pair of lace panties. Doubts swarm your mind, but you begin anyway, preparing to start the ritual you've never tested before and solely banking on what you've come to know and what you've experienced.

But what if he doesn't show up?

He hasn't the last few times you've visited, and this...this is the most extreme measure you've taken so far.

If this doesn't work, then nothing will, and you hold your breath as you give the match a hard look before striking it, watching the flame cast a glow in the shadows before bringing it to the wick and lighting the darkness.

The restaurant seems even more disturbing as you glance around the dark. Watching, waiting for any movement, any indication of a presence, of his presence. He's never been predictable, so good at surprises and keeping you on your toes as you worked your shifts from the sun up until it set late at night. Giving you the biggest of scares the first time you felt a brush of your ankle in the bathroom. Thank God you were already on the toilet.

Now, all you can do is wait. Wait and hope that tonight is diff—

Goosebumps rise on your skin and that PTSD kicks in again, catching a glimmer of light in the corner of your eye as a sudden chill creeps in, slithering over your skin. It's subtle at first, like a draft through an open window, but quickly intensifies, feeling the temperature drop by several degrees. The hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention, and for a second, you swear you can see your breath fog in the dim light of the unnatural cold.

Your arms cross over your chest, instinctively rubbing warmth into your skin, and just when you go to wrap the sweater you brought around your body, it hits you—that smell you could never forget or find anywhere else. Heavy, almost suffocating. Filling your nose and seeping into every breath when you hear his voice echo out of nowhere.

"Panties for dinner?" The voice curls around you, laced with that same mischievous edge you remember from years ago.

"Shit!" Your stomach plummets into your ass when you look up. Across the room, in the dim reflection of a nearby mirror, you see him. White, ghostly hair sitting atop a tall, slim figure, his form hazy around the edges like smoke threatening to dissipate.

You can't make out all of him, but the presence is unmistakable. And standing right behind you.

You can't even breathe, frozen, staring at the mirror and his sly grin. But when your fight kicks in and you whip around, there's nothing, just empty air and your hot breath floating in it, and you nearly pee yourself when you turn back and he's sitting right across from you. Calm, composed, and smug as ever, resting in his favorite seat in the house. Reserved just for him.

He leans back, white cotton-clad arms crossing behind his head, his ghostly form flickering in and out of the dim light—almost making him completely translucent save for the reflection in his circular sunglasses. "I know times are changing but—" he tilts them down to eye the lace panties you've laid out. "Even I wouldn't think of adding such a delicacy to the menu."

You release a breath you didn't know you were holding and swallow. "Hello, Gojo."

You never thought you'd say that name again, feeling foreign, yet familiar on your tongue, and though you were just scared out of your wits, relief washes over you. Because at last you know you're not crazy. Not then, and not now.

He's real, and now eyeing you up and down as if you're the next thing on the menu.

Seeing him brings back a flood of memories—memories of late-night shifts, of him toying with you when no one else would be bothered.

Though you've never been the type to believe in anything you can't see, working here taught you differently, and you learned that ghosts are surprisingly easy to find. Or at least, it's easy for them to find you.

He laughs. "Damn, really?" raising a brow, "What's with the formalities?" And he sounds offended for a reason you almost forget why before he has hearts in his eyes.

"Look at you," he says, his voice a soft puff, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. His pale blue eyes gleam with something between amusement and enticement as he takes you in. "All grown up," he pops. "And here after all these years. I didn't think you'd have the guts to come back...and bring such...interesting offerings." His lips curl into a slow smirk.

“Well, Satoru,” your lips purse, “It’s not like I haven’t been trying," you say remembering the frustration of the past few weeks. “I figured something…unconventional might work. Finally.” 

He tsks, casually lifting the lace and dangling it on the end of his fingers before wrapping it in his hand. Eyeing you with mischief as he brings the offering to his face and drowns his nose. 

“You know…” he breathes deeply, “I’ve yet to find anyone else who smells as sweet as you.” His eyes flutter shut a moment as if savoring the scent, his grip tightening. Then, as quickly as the moment came, his expression darkens, his tone going low and sharp eyes snapping open before they narrow. “You can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to have something like that stripped away from you.”

The words hang in the air, thick and cutting. And you know exactly what he means.

“Is that why you’ve been ignoring me?” The question that's been gnawing at you spills out, weighed with weeks of trying and failing to reach him since you first came back, wondering why he wouldn’t show. “Because I left?”

Gojo scoffs, smacking his teeth, and looks away, still holding the lace before dismissively letting them fall to the table. “Is it even worth asking?” His eyes flicker back to yours, dripping with disdain. “You sound so sure. Less of a coward now than you were back then,” he mutters, a bitter edge creeping in that knots your stomach.

“Tell me,” he leans, voice crawling with vice, “…was I too much for you that night?” And your throat tightens, memories of your last shift at Muriel’s rushing back full force. 

Most tourists who flock to this charming, haunted restaurant only know the glossy version of its history.

It’s themed, plays up its rumors, is gimmicky, and serves great food all in one curated pot.

But what most don’t know, is that back in the day, it actually used to be a house—a grand, extravagant mansion that was a symbol of wealth and power, drawing in the city’s elite. But all of that splendor needed someone just as luxurious to maintain it and its reputation for being the place to be if there ever was one. 

And that someone was Gojo.

A filthy rich owner with an exorbitantly large bank account and an even larger love for hosting extravagant parties. He didn’t throw these gatherings just for fun—no, they were about keeping the eyes of the elite on him and his sprawling mansion. His house wasn’t just a home—it was a glittering symbol of his status. 

And as famous as Gojo was for his parties, he was just as infamous for his way with women. A relentless womanizer, he cycled through lovers like the seasons, keeping them rotating out of his door like clockwork and was quick to turn down anyone tried to trap him with promises of children or love. 

Gojo very much valued his freedom, up until he took his very last breath. 

With no one to pass along his estate to, he left no heirs and no family to carry on his legacy, and everything he possessed was auctioned to the public. Being sold to someone just as wealthy and lucky enough to be able to continue the home’s reputation.

But even in death, Gojo didn’t care for sharing the spotlight, or his house.

Through the years, the infamous home was passed from hand to hand, and with each new arrival, Gojo made sure they knew he was still a guest with the same appetite for attention he’d always had. 

His tricks started small, mere nuisances at first—footsteps in empty hallways, doors that wouldn’t stay shut, flickers of lights just as someone reached for the switch. But anyone who dared to claim the house as their own quickly realized that Gojo wasn’t the type to share his space. Years passed, and the mansion’s reputation grew darker. Haunted, they said. 

No one could live there without being tormented by the mischievous, jealous ghost of its original owner, making no one want to touch it with a 10-foot pole. For quite some time, the formerly luxurious home sat on the market, a ghost of itself collecting dust and weary stares from passersby familiar and foreign. But it wasn't until someone got the brilliant idea to say fuck it and try to bank on the legends that it was finally opened to the public, done in a way that was guaranteed to attract people from around the world—by turning it into a restaurant. And consequently making Gojo’s antics truly infamous.

At first, the new owners didn’t believe the stories. It’s just old pipes and drafty halls, they said. But that excuse wore thin. Quickly. 

They would return to tables flipped overnight, chairs scattered around the space like a storm had blown through. Champagne glasses, polished and neatly stacked at closing, would go flying across the bar and shatter against the walls by morning. Whispers could be heard in patrons’ ears during dinner and ruin appetites. 

Workers began quitting. Customers stopped coming.

Eventually, enough was enough, and the owners, desperate and undoubtedly true believers now, decided to strike a deal with the restless spirit and finally appeal to his easily bruised ego. And they set up an exquisite V.I.P. table just for him, even going so far as to allow reservations to be made to have dinner with him and appeal to his sense of companionship once every blue moon. 

Once again, Gojo was the center of attention, and just like that, the chaos stopped.

For regular diners, at least. But then, you came along.

At first, it was subtle—small things that could easily be dismissed as accidents or coincidence. 

A fork slipping from your grasp, a shadow moving out of the corner of your eye.

You’d been warned about Gojo when you were hired but quickly dismissed it as a funny story to tell tourists (like you weren’t borderline new to the city yourself). 

You didn’t believe—not in ghosts, not in any of it. 

That is, until the antics became too much to ignore, and Gojo grew tired of playing games.

The whispers weren’t vague murmurs anymore—they were in your ear, low and teasing and calling your name.

The pranks weren’t harmless either—pinches of the fat on your thighs almost made you drop dishes, gushes of wind fluttered your skirt, exposing your flesh to customers, cool breaths ghosted your neck while taking orders. And on the more vulgar end of the scale, you learned that Gojo had an infatuation with your panties, ghosting his hand under your skirt to skim the fabric and trap remnants of you on his fingers to smell and taste. And when that wasn’t enough, he would resort to stealing them, almost always running off with a pair before the end of your shift so he could relish your intoxicating scent while you were away.

He wanted your attention and was relentless, loving to see you flustered and squirming. And he wasn’t going to stop until he had it.

Then came that night. 

The night everything changed.

It was a quiet evening at Muriel's.

The last of the guests had filtered out, the last of the servers and kitchen staff had gone save for a few, and only a soft clatter of dishes in the back and the low hum of the kitchen being scrubbed down kept your company at the end of your shift.

And it had become the usual for you to be the only one left at the end of the day. Ever since your promotion to shift lead, you were the one expected to close up most days. It was a small step-up—more responsibility, slightly more money—but it almost meant longer hours, on top of still being a full-time student. The bags under your eyes couldn't be darker, but someone had to make sure everything was in order before locking up. You were happy to take the extra cash and kill some debt, but nights like that one—when the restaurant was eerily still, and you were the only one walking its halls—made you question if the raise was really worth it.

You were wiping down and fixing the last of tables, mind drifting, tired, and very, very ready to go home and start your second shift on your school assignments.

You felt your muscles slowly tensing, your movements growing slow and stiff. The air was growing cold as fuck, colder than it'd ever been in the restaurant making hairs stand on your arms and your brows furrow. You wondered if the heat had finally kicked out in the old place when a familiar scent hit you. A thick, heady fragrance that'd been haunting you for weeks—opulent, like aged leather, tobacco, and something sweet like an overripe plum. You'd smell it before, but it was stronger than ever that night, filling the air like a thick perfume that almost made you choke and your heart quicken. Because you were the only one in the restaurant.

A whisper right in your ear almost sent you to glory. "Leaving so soon, beautiful?"

You jolted, a rush of heat and cold spiraling through you as you whipped around expecting to find an empty room as usual, but your rag slipped from your fingers.

Because this time, there it was.

Not just a flicker of light, not just a trick of the shadows—but standing there, casually leaning against the bar as if it'd been waiting for you. Its hair white and ghostly, catching the low light and loosely floating around its sharp, pale face. A man, unworldly and almost hypnotically angelic.

God, he was a vision of the past, looking like he'd stepped straight out of the 18th century. Dressed in a loose, long-sleeved cotton shirt that wasn't buttoned all the way, revealing his chest and looking impossibly soft as it bobbed around him with every subtle move. Untouched by the laws of physics like it had a life of its own along with his baggy, almost billowing pants that seemed more of an accessory to his form than a garment.

He looked like he was floating in water.

But it wasn't just the look of him that struck you—it was his presence.

You'd been receiving little snippets of the supposed guilty party for months, but now he was revealing his full form and moving around the room with an ease that was unnerving. Graceful in a way that made him seem more like a dream than a ghost, his feet barely touching the ground as he circled you—a predator accessing its prey.

He wore circular sunglasses, perched right on the bridge of his nose. The modern touch starkly contrasted the vintage quality of his existence and made him all the more haunting. They reflected the dim light and hid his eyes, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze piercing right through you.

He smiled—lazy, dangerous, and knowing—like he could see every one of your thoughts. "Like what you see?" And your stomach twisted. Because whether you wanted to admit it or not, you couldn't deny that you had been waiting for him.

For months, Gojo had been playing with you, pushing and teasing to the brink of borderline insanity. But never in your wildest thoughts did you expect this. Not for him to ever fully reveal himself. Or for him to be so...ethereally gorgeous in a way that made your mouth dry.

You couldn't help but to stare, captivated by his strange, almost unsettling beauty. You'd been told about his promiscuity, his natural ability to captivate women and now you could see how.

He was an enigma, an impossible class of time periods—both out of place and yet perfectly at home in this old, creaky restaurant.

And despite every instinct screaming at you to get the hell out of Dodge, you were drawn to him, just as you had been since that very first whisper in your ear that made you second-guess reality.

"Well, say something." He laid his cheek on his palm. "Or am I just that handsome?"

And there it was—that egregious arrogance you'd heard so much about dripping from every word, as if he hadn't been terrorizing you from the moment you stepped foot in the place or just given you the jumpscare of your life. Though, what threw you off the most was the way he didn't sound like you expected; his voice didn’t match the way he dressed or the era period he seemed to belong to. It was subtly modern, as if he'd been changing his speech as the years went on.

"Cat got your tongue?" He teased, and you swallowed hard, struggling to find your own voice, but the sight of him, his sheer presence, made it almost impossible.

“I’m not scared,” you finally croaked out, lifting your chin, though your voice betrayed you. And the second the words left your mouth, you regretted them, his brows raising and grin widening as he sensed the challenge in your words.

"Not scared, huh?" He stepped closer until the distance between you was almost nonexistent, calling your obvious bullshit by the way you could barely handle his taunts during your day shifts. He paused.

"Boo!"

You jumped, then immediately felt like a little bitch for falling for the oldest trick in the book. You didn't find anything funny but Gojo roared and slapped his knee. "Awww, you're so cute when you're pissed," he remarked, wiping a fake tear at your scowling face. But then his sensual smile returned, reaching out to tilt your chin. "So what'll get you riled up then, brave little waitress?" And he's behind you before you could turn away, running your blood cold as his nose grazed your neck, inhaling the scent of your hair.

You swatted at him, more out of instinct than logic and quickly spun around—only to find nothing. Just empty space and the faint scent of him still hanging in the air like a ghost.

Fuck, where is he?

Your heart thundered in your ears, each breath coming quicker and quicker as your wide eyes scanned the room.

Panic surged through you, fighting to steady your nerves when you turned back and there he was, inches away from your face.

"Fu—!" You flinched and he snickered. "Still not scared?" And he took another step forward.

Your shaky breaths said yes but your head shook no, trying to stand your ground even as your feet moved backwards.

"No?" he grinned, closing the distance between you with every step. "Good. I don't want you to be." Still, his eyes glinted behind those ridiculous shades that hid too much and made it impossible to think straight. Your body moved on autopilot, flight instead of fight kicking in, until the small of your back collided with something solid.

Your breath hitched, aimlessly reaching behind to steady yourself when the soft, velvety fabric sent pins and needles through your body, slowly realizing that you had bumped into the table you just spent too much time painstakingly freshening up earlier—his table.

His grin was positively wicked now and he watched it dawn on your face, registering the fact that you had bumped into the very thing you unironically set up for him. The cool surface pressed into your lower back, cutlery clinking and shifting beneath your fingers as you pondered escape, but you were trapped.

Gojo leaned over you. "Funny," his cool breath brushed your cheek. "I've been watching you for a while now, you know," he mused, his hand slowly creeping up your thigh. His fingers barely brushed beneath your fluffy work skirt but jolts still rocked through you, and you stiffened as you looked up at him with wide eyes.

"I can detect heart rates," he continued, voice a low purr. "And yours? I've been listening to it for months since I first started...playing with you." He smirked. "How it slows down when you think it's all in your head. How it spikes every time something moves that isn't supposed to. How scared you look when you can't figure out what's happening."

He practically towered over you now, and he down to brush the shell of your ear with his lips as he added, "But it's never beat this fast before." And a breath caught in your throat when his hand slid higher, his fingers curling around the divet of your hip.

"You take such good care of my table, doll. No one has done it better since it's been here." Your knees went weak feeling him knead and trace patterns over your hip with his thumb. "Sooo," he smiled against your ear, "It's only fair I put all that hard work to good use right?"

You tried to twist away, you really did, but it was a fruitless attempt to put some distance between you and the ghost. His grip was ironclad and anchoring you to the table, even in his spectral form, and it reminded you that though he was just a spirit, his strength was all too real, and the cool burn seeped through you, yet contrasted the involuntary warmth pooling between your legs.

You swore under your breath as your body betrayed you with each ghostly touch, shivers cascading down your spine. Your jaw clenched as you tried to ignore the arousal gathering in your panties, but Gojo was no amateur. He had done this dance for far too long and far too many times, and he knew the signs better than anyone.

He pulled back just enough to really get a good look at you, the smirk never leaving his face as he took in the blush creeping up your face. The rapid rise and fall of your swelling chest, the way you tugged on your lower lip in a poor attempt to maintain some semblance of control.

"I'll stop if you tell me to," he murmured so sincerely, but it felt like a trick as his other thumb now traced slow, maddening circles up your inner thigh, inching ever closer to the heat radiating from your core. You started to protest, but the words died in your throat when he finally brushed the damp fabric of your panties.

Your mouths fell open, both of you caught entirely off guard at how surprisingly wet you were.

Gojo let out a breathless chuckle, eyes darkening beneath his glasses at the feel of your warm slick. "Just say the word, beautiful," a silken whisper that seemed to wrap around you along with the continuously languid strokes of your puckering clit.

"Hah," you reluctantly moaned, panic mingling with helplessness in a battle between your mind and body.

Because there was no denying the effect he was having on you.

The gradual build-up of unhinged chemistry had unknowingly begun even when he was just an easily dismissive taunt—no matter how much you wanted to resist.

And the bastard knew it.

Reveled in it even, his ghostly fingers toying with the elastic edge of your panties and teasing you with the promise of something more. You just had to say yes.

No.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the fabric of the table bunching under your fingers as you tried to reason with yourself, to not drink the stupid bitch juice, but with each stroke, each tormenting touch, your resolve crumbled more and more.

"Look at me." His tone left no illusion of choice, and your eyes fluttered open to meet the reflection of your pathetic face in his sunglasses. The distorted image mocked you before he pulled them down the bridge of his nose. "Good girl." The corner of his lip tucked under his teeth and he rewarded you with a firmer touch that made your hips involuntary buck towards him with a mewing "Ah!"

His ghostly laugh filled the room and vibrated through his hand resting between your legs. "I wonder," his brow quirked, eyes wandering over your body. "What other sounds I can draw out of you?"

You tried to respond, lips hot and ready to tell him to go to hell, but the only sound that escaped you was a strangled whimper feeling his fingers hook under your panties and pull them aside, exposing you to the cool air as you looked into his intense gaze. He didn't even have to look to know that you were absolutely dripping, and heat bloomed in your face, your thighs rushing to clamp shut but his other hand firmly held you open.

"So stubborn," he smiled, feeling so lucky he was already dead by the way your eyes shoot daggers, and he got an idea looking at your cute tight-lipped face. "Let's see how long you can keep up that fight of yours, hmm?" And he continued his dizzying but purposely feather-light strokes, determined to bring you to the precipice of shattering into pieces.

If you thought you were crazy before, you felt absolutely insane now the way you had two voices on your shoulder, an Angel and a Devil.

This is a ghost, for God's sake, the angel panicked, screaming about the sheer insanity of the situation.

That dick might hit different though, the Devil argued, voice husky and persuasive, reminding you of endlessly late nights spent studying and the dry spells that came with it. Typical of an obnoxiously busy youth battling between college and work.

It'll literally be out of this world sis, the Devil purred, and though you wanted to cringe at your conscious's bad joke, you couldn't help but acknowledge it as something that just might be true. Because despite the disbelief you were in about the reality of your situation, Gojo's very real, very rock-hard, and solid dick pressing against your knee was undeniable. And the idea of it sinking between your walls snuck into your head all on its own.

Your hand trembled, reaching out, wanting—no, needing to feel the subtly thumping temptation that promised a release you hadn't experienced in far too long. The outline wasn't enough, you needed to feel its girth, its length, and your shaky fingers ghosted right through him.

"Ah ah ah," he chided, caressing your cheek. "Not until you say yes." And you felt physically ill as you took a second to even hesitate. To consider. Absolutely mad. Insane. And disgustingly aching with a need so strong it made your head hurt until both of your bickering voices fell silent when you blurted, "Yes!"

And the world itself held its breath.

But it was all Gojo needed, his eyes flashing in triumph with a devious smirk. And in a movement too fast for your eyes to see, he hoisted you up and turned you over, a gasp escaping your lips and he pushed you into a sinful arch until your chest planted on the table.

The heat of his gaze was blazing, taking in such a lewd display that was begging to be touch, and who was he to resist? Allowing his hands to roam your body with an urgency that left you breathless, his touch cold yet exhilarating and racing your beating heart.

Nudging your legs apart, he crouched down, cooing.

"Even prettier than I imagine." Pushing a huff out of you as his thumb slid in, slowly stretching you and coating his finger in your fluids that made his already translucent finger glisten.

His lips curled into a devilish grin at the sight of you, sprawled out of the table, your face flushed with desire and breaths short and needy. He brought his thumb to his lips, tasting you and almost dying all over again, the mix of savory sweetness and tangy heat making his already painfully hard cock twitch with anticipation.

"Delicious," he purred, "But I need more," and you couldn't even process his words before his hands were on your thighs and spreading you wide, his breath cool against your heated flesh. Then his mouth was on you, tongue tracing circles around your sugary clit, lazy but heavy when your head shot up, feeling him suck it into his mouth with an expertise that made your hand shoot out and try to tangle your fingers in his hair. Helplessly whining and squirming, yet failing to pull him closer to grind down on his face to chase his tongue because he was a ghost after all.

But he was in bliss with your taste and obliged your silent wish, dipping in and out of your core and bringing you to the brink of shattering into a million pieces if it hadn't been for the dick in his pants that was so impatient, and you groaned feeling him pull away with a huff.

"Sweet girl," he murmured, lips glistening with your watery mess as he rose to his feet. "Like a sweet, delectable dish." His thumb rolled over your slit. "But I want to feel you come undone on my cock." And you jumped when you felt his thick, hard length teasing your entrance. Sending a jolt through your body at the sensation of his cool, ghostly flesh against your warm pussy before his hands dug into your hips and he slammed into you with a force so strong it knocked the breath from your lungs.

In an instant, you both froze, him buried to the hilt inside you and feeling your unprepared pussy squeeze and struggle to adjust to being so unbelievably full. Feeling every ridge, every vein of his cock throbbing inside of your tight, little walls.

He groaned, "Fuck," hissing and fingers digging into your flesh as he fought for control. "You feel so..." Losing his words, his hips began to move, thrusts slow and deliberate as he started fucking you and fucking you good after months of build-up and playing with you. Shaking the table until it creaked and groaned, the cutlery clinked and dishes fell to the ground as he drove into you again and again and again making your hands scramble to find purchase on the table and hang on.

It was too much. It was heaven on a very big, very thick, drool-inducing stick. It was so delicious that the intense ache bordered pain and made you want to get away yet run towards it at the same time. But he wasn't about to let you go anywhere.

"I don't know who you've been holding out on me for," he gruffed, eyeing screwing shut at your tight, fluttering pussy, "But tonight, you belong to me." And he punctuated his point with deep, harsh, thrusts.

"Go-Go-GoJO." You stammered over his name wanting to beg for relief, but he just wrapped a hand under your neck and pulled you back against him.

"Call me, Satoru, doll," and he kissed your cheek, still bullying your pussy until your walls caved and hungrily sucked him in.

"Sa-Satoru," you managed, almost breathless, "I'm going to..hah, I'm about to..."

You couldn't even get them out, damn near blacking out when you came and came hard, a powerful, unexpectantly early orgasm ripping through your convulsing body. Wave after wave after of white-hot pleasure washed over you until your body went limp against him and your legs crumbled as he let you collapse against the table.

But he wasn't finished yet and he bit his lips, still deeply pushing through your sore and fluttering walls, his mind a heady mix of egotistical pride and unyielding desire as he felt you shudder and unravel beneath him. He marveled at the sight of you utterly defeated yet still clinging to the table, the way your sweet voice called out his name in ecstasy, and every shaky breath and tremble as he pushed you into overstimulation until his own breath grew uneven.

His release was coming and coming fast, the telltale sign tightening in his core as he watched your ass ricochet off his snapping hips, teetering on the edge of release.

His fingers dug into your nearly limp body and held you in place, each thrust becoming more desperate and erratic because even though his dick was a punisher and you were practically lifeless, your pussy was still whooping his ass. Coaxing him to dig deeper and deeper and look Nirvana right in the face until with a hoarse groan, he finally shattered and moaned your name, knocking your hips into the table and stilling right against your cervix until he spilled into you with a fierce, unrestrained release that left him trembling and breathless and you heady and wondering if you could get pregnant by a ghost.

Huffing, he folded over you, feeling like life had been pulled out of him once again, needing to be as close to you as possible as he grasped the fat of your ass between his fingers. "Fuck, love," he said, damn-near delirious, and the words slipped out before he knew what he was saying. "I would've made you a wife in my first life." But you didn't even have enough consciousness to process the never-before-said words that many before you would've given their very soul to hear.

As the world around you faded to black, the only thing you were aware of was the feeling of Gojo's body pressed against yours and him murmuring your name in your ear like a promise, and to this day you still don't know what he meant by putting your hard work to good use because after allowing him to have his way, his table was left in absolute shambles.

Those few minutes of pure, carnal delirium had burned into you, leaving you shook, figuratively and literally for weeks, even after the semester ended and you returned home for the summer.

And while most would think that would have been the best night in your entire existence and left you begging for more, it actually left you rattled to your core and questioning your sanity. Seeing him, feeling him, almost every night after in your dreams.

Convinced that the pressure of academics, a new city, and your overworked imagination had become too much, you made a choice—one that resulted in you transferring schools and never returning to New Orleans. You left behind your job and all the friends you made and told yourself that the encounter with Gojo had to be nothing more than a full mental breakdown. And yet...

The feeling of him lingered with you for years. So real, so vivid like he was somehow watching, somehow waiting for you to—

"Earth to beautiful." His voice sliced through your trip down memory lane, dragging you back to the present. You blink, realizing with a start that he was no longer sitting across from you.

Following his voice, your gaze darted to the left, and there he was again, lounging on one of the plush chairs in the corner of the restaurant.

You shift in your seat, hesitating as the memories collide with the present. "No," you start, remembering his question. "It wasn't that..."

Gojo's playful smile dims just a little but enough to notice. "Then enlighten me, doll, because last I remember, you just up and left without so much as a goodbye."

You swallow, the knot of guilt building in your stomach. "It wasn't because of you—"

His laugh cut through your words, sharp and bitter, echoing off the walls when he vanishes only to reappear behind you. "Sure didn't feel that way to me, sweetheart."

You whip around to face him, but he's already gone, reappearing across the room, his shoulder leaning against the wall. "You thought I wouldn't notice?" His arms cross. "Didn't even come back for a single shift, just left me hanging like I had done something wrong...no one's ever done that before." And the way he's trying to suppress the sadness in his voice lets you know that he's obviously still salty about it.

For once, the entertainer had his own entertainment—genuine, proper, and unlike anything he ever experienced in the life he knew before and even after death. And it had been stripped away from him just like that.

"I didn't—" And he's gone again, this time materializing at the bar, resting his elbows on it like this whole conversation is nothing but a joke because truthfully, "I've missed playing with you," he confesses.

Heat rises in your cheeks, a mixture of flustered embarrassment and lingering guilt, and you don't know how to feel anymore. "I didn't leave because of you," you insist, but even to you, it sounds weak.

"Then what was it?" Gojo taunts, appearing at a table closer to you, leaning forward in that all-too-familiar lazy, arrogant pose. "Got spooked? Couldn't handle me?" His defensiveness makes it clear he' isn't really listening. "Or maybe..." his voice drops low, "You liked it too much." And your pulse instantly spikes, his teasing combined with what may be a sliver of truth, making your skin prickle.

He watches you with a wolfish grin, knowing exactly what he's doing, how he's affecting you. And when the obvious look of frustration appears on your face before you start to chew him out, he's gone. And you've officially had it.

"Dammit, Gojo!" you snap, pushing up from his table. "Would you stop already?" Your eyes dart around for the source of your anger, trying to follow his shifting presence as he flickers in and out of view. "I came back to talk, not to play your stupid ass games again!" you shout, hoping that'll trigger him, but the room falls silent, the only sound being your own soft breath. You call for him but when he doesn't answer, for a moment, you feel regret, thinking maybe he's finally let his emotions get the best of him and he's disappeared forever.

"Tell me..." and in a sudden flicker, he's in front of you, his touch cold and electric as he softly brushes your cheek. "After all these years..." His fingers draw a slow line from your neck to your tummy. "Can you still feel me...down there?"

And your jaw slacks open,

You let out a short exhale, instinctively taking a step back, but Gojo is already pressing forward, making you stumble back until the cool wood of the bag digs into your lower back like déjà vu. You try to move but his hand is already on your waist, fingers possessively curling around you, and with a casual, effortless push, he hoists you onto the bar and parts your legs with ease before slotting himself between them as if he's always belonged there. And fuck it stirs something deep inside you.

You should be scrambling to get down, but you hate how easily your body reacts to him instead, how the pull between you feels just as strong as it did back then, as if the years apart meant nothing. But Gojo isn't afraid to throw away his ego to show you he misses you, even after all this time. And damn it, you feel absolutely insane realizing that part of you misses him too, even if it was just a few months of build-up and one explosive night.

But you're older now. You're not the same naïve girl he could easily swoon with a smirk and a whisper of words.

No, you were here for a reason and didn't hesitate to swallow down your confusing desire to stick to the mission. Even if it meant breaking his heart.

“Stop,” you say more to yourself than him, but the firmness in your voice surprises both of you. Pulling away from his lingering hands, you shake your head. “I’m not here for that.”

His hands freeze in place, and he leans back just enough to meet your eyes. “No?” He mocks surprise. “Then what are you here for, sweetheart? Because I’m having a hard time believing this isn’t it.”

You lift your chin, forcing out the words before you lose your nerve. “I need your help, Gojo.”

“Satoru,” he corrects you, but his smile slightly falters when he sees you’re serious.

“Help?” He tilts his head. “And here I thought you just missed me.” His smile widens, but there’s something dangerous in it now. Something that makes you remember just how unpredictable Gojo can be. And just you think he’s got the wrong idea and is going in for a kiss, he leans back and gives you space. He sighs, his arms crossing over his chest and gaze flickering over your face. “What could I possibly help you with?” And his willingness to listen is what surprises you the most, but you still can’t believe what you’re about to say, and you draw a steady breath to help get the words out.

“I need to find them.”

His brow quirks. “Them?”

“...the vampires.” And the second the word leaves your mouth, his grin falters.

For the first time since he appeared, the amusement completely drops from his face and suddenly, he's very careful with his words. “I thought you didn’t believe in that stuff.”

“I—” You hesitate, wanting to say that you don’t know what you believe in anymore. Never in your entire life did you expect to have a full-fledged conversation with a ghost, let alone be fucked into oblivion by one, but here you were, living reality as it was and anything was possible at this point, but instead, you just say what’s true. “Things have changed.”

“I see,” his eyes narrow as if weighing your words and he shrugs, walking off a bit. “Quite the 180,” he muses, “But who knows, maybe they’re real, maybe they’re not. Maybe I know,” and he turns back, leaning in. “Maybe I don’t,” he whispers.

His words taunt you, but it’s the look in his eyes that hold you captive, as if he’s trying to pull the truth right out of your skull. “Why? Why are you so eager to find them?” And you’re taken aback by his suddenly jealous tone. 

“It’s my friend…” you start, and you feel pathetic for wanting to cry. “She’s missing.”

Gojo’s face slightly softens, but he doesn’t speak. You just know that he’s listening, truly listening now.

“She started acting all…weird before she disappeared,” you continue, your throat tightening as the memories of you meeting in college race through your mind. You stayed friends after you left, but she never did. “She mentioned vampires once, but I just thought she was messing around. NOLA, y’know?” You shrug. “I blew it off,” you confess, “But now…she’s gone and I—now I don’t know what else to think.” And all of the despair you’ve been suppressing finds its way to your chest.  

But all Gojo cared about was getting an answer that satisfied him, and in an instant, he’s behind the bar, his fingers ghosting under your chin and tilting your head back until you’re forced to look at him. 

“So this is about your friend then? Not the vampires?”

Your face twists. “Yeah, of course, what else?”

He looks off to the side, muttering something under his breath. Then his eyes narrow, glinting with something unreadable as they snap back to yours. “And why do you think I’m just going to hand you that kind of information? That I would even have it?” And the temperature around you drops so sharply you can see your breath hanging in the air. 

The weight of what you're asking for sinks in when you see just how serious he is, even more so than the power Gojo holds, even if it is just secrets. And yet, here you are, asking him to hand it over like it was nothing. Your throat tightens, lips cold as you swallow hard, but you want him to know you're serious too. “Because I know you can help me, Satoru,” you say with deliberate emphasis. “I remember what you said once…about knowing things.”

If there was anyone in New Orleans who could provide the answers you needed, it was Gojo. He'd been around for centuries, passing through time and history and collecting secrets like currency with effortless charisma and casual conversation. He could easily draw out the most guarded truths from anyone he deemed important or anyone who fell for his seductive charm, always knowing which strings to pull. In this city where the supernatural runs deep, Gojo is a bank of information and the gatekeeper of everything hidden beneath the surface. And just from what you'd told him, he knew this situation was dire.

The silence that follows stretches too long for comfort, weighty as he just watches you with an unreadable expression. For a moment, panic flutters in your stomach.

Have you pushed him too far? Was this plan to reconnect with him for answers nothing more than a foolish misjudgment? What if Gojo chooses revenge and leaves you with nothing—all of this…for nothing?

But then, ever so slowly, that unmistakable smirk returns as he leans close enough to almost brush your cool lips. “Vampires, huh?” His mouth curls into a full, dangerous smile now. “You must be desperate, coming to me for that.”

Your gaze doesn’t waver, and you nod though you hate that it's true. “I am.” And Gojo chuckles, the sound both chilling and thrilling as he traces your jawline. “Then I suppose we’d better make this…interesting.” But you aren’t even surprised because if there was one thing you didn’t need to be told, it’s that Gojo never makes anything easy. Never has. But at least he’s willing to strike up a deal.

Gojo only agrees to tell you what you need to know on one condition: “I want to taste you,” he says simply, like it’s nothing. “That’s it.” And you can’t even fully process the words as his arm slips around your waist, gently pulling your back against his chest, his hand snaking down to find home between your legs. “I didn’t get to properly the first time,” he muses, his breath cool against your neck. Sharing the sentiment as if he knows you may never come back. 

Your pulse quickens, the gravity of what he’s asking settling in. Memories of that night—the sheer intensity of it—clouding your judgment and flooding your mind like the heat building between your legs. The request hangs between you like a blade. Giving you a choice, but you know there’s no real option here. If you refuse, he might not give you what you need. But if you agree…

“That’s it?” you whisper. He nods. And after a moment’s ponder as his fingers tease against your skin and spur your decision, history repeats itself when you once again say yes.

In an instant, he’s on his knees in front of you, eliciting a gasp from you when he swiftly pulls you to the edge of the bar. He blissfully hums, his hands gliding up and down your thighs like silk before parting them like the Red Sea. He ogles you, the blue of his eyes flaring at the sight of your unclothed and oh-so-pretty, glistening cunt confirming what he already knew, that the lace panties you used to summon him had come freshly off your body. 

His eyes darken with desire, never leaving yours as he leans in. "This. This is all I want," he murmurs, and his lips brush the inside of your thigh with a featherlight touch.

“Mmph.” Your fingers curl into fists as you fight the urge to grab his hair and guide him to where you’ve been throbbing the most. Because despite your words earlier, the way your body responds to his touch, every tremble, every subtle sigh, doesn't lie. 

You wanted this as badly as he did. 

But Gojo is in control; his movements deliberate, slow, and savoring every inch of your exposed skin.

And he’s determined to show you exactly what you’ve been missing. 

His cool breath fans against your skin, his lips soft, teasing, and leaving a trail of icy fire as they move closer and closer to your center, to the source of your intoxicating scent that hooked him like an addict from the moment you first entered the restaurant six years ago. 

Your fingers clench the bar's edge, the cool wood a poor substitute for the touch you crave.

God, you wish he’d stop toying with you. Even when you give in and give him exactly what he wants, he still finds a way to make everything a game.

And just when you’re ready to huff and puff, you draw a sharp breath, the first flick of his tongue against your sensitive flesh almost making you fall to pieces. Your back arches as if struck by lightning, unable to help the moan that echoes in the deserted restaurant.

His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he delves deeper, circling his tongue around your puffy clit and puckering hole. And he’s true to his word, taking his time to explore and properly savor you with long, languid strokes that have you gripping the bar until your knuckles turn white. 

Like a man possessed, his hands claim your thighs, devouring you with a maddening intensity and leaving you breathless. A sinful blend of pleasure and arousal as he navigates your most sensitive spots as if he’s done so a hundred times. Cooing into your folds, slurping your juices like a refreshment, making you completely surrender and his name slip from your lips in a desperate, needy whisper. 

He smiles against your bud he sucks like a popsicle, your brows furrowing and body arching as he expertly brings you to the brink of desperate release. “Patience, sweetheart.” Gojo looks up at you, eyes gleaming with mischief as his tongue swipes at the taste of you on his lips. “Good things come to those who wait.”

But waiting is the last thing on your mind as you stare at him, your body aching for more before his lips hover just above your throbbing core. You’re holding your breath without realizing it, every nerve in your body attuned to his every move before he’s on you again, his fingers digging into your flesh and the slight sting only heightens the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Fuck baby,” he laps, a digit slipping into your tight walls, “I’ve missed this.” Adding a second that hooks right onto your G-spot and shoots stars into your eyes—making it worse by slurping your clit into his mouth in a nasty combination while pushing in and out.

The pressure inside you mounts and your eyes roll uncontrollably as you teeter on the edge. Your breaths come in sharp, ragged gasps as your body winds up so tightly it feels like you might shatter as you chase the sensation, hips bucking into Gojo’s face.

His hands clamp down on your thighs. “Stay still,” he commands, his low growl vibrating through you. But his words only fan the flames of your desperation, whimpers escaping you before he’s back at it, his tongue dancing over your clit with fiery precision. 

You’re about to beg, to plead for release, hands scrambling to grasp him when you know you can’t when he slightly pulls back. 

His gaze locks onto yours. “Now,” he says, “Now you can touch me.” And for a moment, you’re not sure you’ve heard him correctly. 

But then you feel it—the change like a switch has been flipped—a newfound solidity where there has been none before that your body instinctively responds to. 

You reach out, tentative at first, and find yourself shocked when your fingers graze the top of his head. His hair is unexpectedly soft; threading your fingers through the silky strands and gripping them lightly as your legs wrap around his shoulders to pull him closer to chase ecstasy. 

Years have gone by, lovers have come and go, but nobody, nobody has been able to slurp, suck, or devour you anywhere near as close as Gojo. He eats you with a passion, with a determination to make you fall apart and come undone like the pleasure is more his than yours. If you could say there was ever a true eater who ever walked this earth, the first person you think of is him. And if you were around in the 1800s, you probably would have tried to trap him and ride his face into the sunset too. 

You pull him flush into your cunt and grind your clit against his tongue without remorse. And it’s that low, guttural hum, his nose nuzzling deep against your folds like a madman and fingers harshly curling right against that perfect, gummy spot in you that finally sends you toppling right over. With a final, drawn-out moan, you shatter beneath his touch and the world explodes into a kaleidoscope of color and light. 

Your legs tighten around him, holding him in place as you ride out the storm of pleasure, grasping his platinum locks with both hands and drenching his face with your sweet release as you cum harder than you have in 6 years.  

Your mouth falls open in shock, embarrassment flushing your body from both squirting for the first time and expecting Gojo to release you in disgust, but his only response is a low hum of approval, and his hands slide up your body to pin your writhing hips down and drink as he pleases. Not missing a single drop. 

Your body pulses with aftershocks on his tongue, each wave weaker than the last but he doesn’t stop. And when your eyes cross from the overstimulation, you beg and blubber until you can’t anymore and finally collapse on the bar, panting and covered in a sheen of sweat as you come down from the high.

Full and satisfied, Gojo slowly pulls away, a smug slip playing on his lips as he licks them. Gazing up at you, his eyes—bluer than ever—roam over your flushed form. “Delicious as ever,” and his praise is almost as sweet as the sight of you. “Now,” he says, rising to his feet, “About those vampires…”

You take a second. “Right…,” and huff, “the vampires.” You’re so spent you almost forgot what you came here for, your core feeling tight and sore as you attempt to sit up. Little groans slip out before Gojo catches you off-guard, smashing his lips against yours in the first kiss you two have ever had—letting you taste yourself on his cool tongue and making your head swim. You could lose yourself it in, seeming to go on forever as his possessive hands roam all over your body.

You moan into his mouth. “Go-Satoru.” Trying to fight the heady feeling, but you should’ve known better. An indulgent man like Gojo would never stop at just one taste.  

He can feel you slowly cracking, and when he finally breaks the kiss, your lips are left swollen and tingling before he steals your breath again when he begins rutting against you. 

“I want to fuck you down on my cock so bad.” His face is buried in the crook of your neck, breaths coming in short, ragged pants—sick off of the scent of your hair. “Would that be so bad?” 

“Satoru,” you breathe out, a plea, a warning? You’re not sure which. “We had a deal, Satoru,” you remind him, struggling to hold onto any semblance of control. The sensation of his length rubbing against your sensitive and still-soaking core is almost too much and a solid reminder how full you were that night, and how full you could be again.

For a moment, it feels like he won't stop—and maybe you don’t want him to. But your resolve, silent yet firm, cuts through Gojo’s haze of desire, even if your body isn’t strong enough to resist and push him away yourself. And with a soft, almost reluctant sigh, Gojo huffs, and swears to himself as he's the one to pull away.

You swipe your bottom lip, for a second missing his on yours, and it takes a moment for you to clear your head, your hands unsteady as they fumble to straighten your clothes and fix yourself up as you slide off the bar. It's only after several deep breaths that your pulse begins to steady, and you can meet his eyes and that same infuriating smirk as he crosses his arms.

“Tsh, you’re no fun,” he teases, but there’s a note of respect in his voice. 

Ignoring his comment, you square your shoulders. “I need to know how to find them, Gojo.”

His hand flies to his chest. “Ouch.” You roll your eyes. “Alright, alright,” he relents, running a hand through his hair. “A deal’s a deal.” He casually leans back against the bar, his tone turning back to business. “You want to find the vampires? The best way is to start with the hunters.”

You frown in confusion. “Hunters? …Vampire hunters?”

He nods, looking at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You find the hunters, you find the vampires.” His voice is calm, but the words hit you like a train.

Oh, this is real. 

Very, very real. 

And your blood runs cold at the weight of your situation, of what you’re getting into.

Your friend wasn’t just caught up in some strange myth or superstition.

You’re not just playing detective anymore.

It was one thing to try to be brave and find out what happened, but it was another to step into the world of those who hunted them, those who lived every moment of their existence on the edge of life and death—purposely seeking out something so dangerous that they have to be exterminated.

“What? You scared now?” His head tilts, noticing your hesitation. “It’s simple,” he laughs, “You get in with them, you’re as good as gold.” And though his words offer the solution you’ve been searching for, they also bring a chilling new reality. And you have to decide if you’re really ready cross a line you can never uncross.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. “And how do I find them?”

Gojo grins. “You don’t find them, sweetheart.” He pushes off the bar. “They find you.” He takes a few slow steps towards you. “Especially someone like you. They’ll practically smell the desperation.”

Your eyes narrow at his comment. Desperation? You’ve been called worse.

Nevertheless, your heart hammers in your chest, each beat trying to signal your impending doom. 

“So, what? I just wait around for them to find me?” Frustration creeps into your tone.

Gojo waves his hand. “No, no, no,” he laughs. “You need to be smarter than that.” And he becomes more serious. “Make yourself known in the right circles. Go to the places they frequent. Show them you’re not someone they can just ignore. Play the part.” And you’re quick to pull out your phone and jot down the few places he rattles off.

As you type, a heaviness creeps in—a strange air shifting between you and Gojo. He watches you carefully, noticing how tired you look, the subtle sag of your shoulders, how your sigh carries the weight of exhaustion. This whole ordeal has felt like one long rollercoaster, but this is just the beginning of your even more difficult journey. And even though he knows what you’re in for, he can’t help but admire your determination.

"You know...I meant what I said before."

You don't look up, finishing up your notes. "About what?" 

"About making you…" he hesitates, but doesn't finish.

But something feels off, and when you glance up from your phone, you catch Gojo’s eyes.

There’s no more teasing. No more smirking. He’s watching you with something else, something that feels heavy yet unreadable. And it clicks weird when a vibe passes through the both of you, simultaneously realizing that the time to part ways has once again come. 

And you’re just as lost now as you were then about how to say goodbye. 

There’s a strange, bittersweet feeling in the pit of your stomach as you watch him casually stroll back to the table where this all started.

“Don’t.” He plops down, sensing what you’re about to say. “I’ve never been good at those.” And though it flashes through your mind that he’s been bitter for six years because you never did the first time, you respect his wish and don’t say it this time either, only pursing your lips and offering a slight nod.

As you turn to leave, Gojo calls after you, softer now, almost…concerned. 

“Be careful.” 

And it’s enough to make you stop and glance back at him, caught off-guard by the sudden shift in his tone. He pushes his glasses up with a small smile, a little sparking reflecting off the lenses.

“But I don’t have to tell you that.”

And just like that, the moment hangs between you—unspoken thoughts and unfinished sentences floating heavy in the space.

You softly laugh, glancing down at your hands to fiddle with your fingers, trying to swallow the thanks welling up in your throat. The last thing you want is to make this moment any more awkward than it already is—as if this entire night hasn’t been batshit crazy. 

Gojo may have made your life a living hell during one of the most pivotal times of your youth, but he’s also one of the most unforgettable things that’s ever happened to you. And it’s in this moment that you finally decide that maybe…that wasn’t so bad. 

…Fuck it. 

You decide to say something anyway. 

But when you turn back to look at him, he’s gone. His scent, his aura, vanished, like he was never there at all. Only leaving the restaurant which sits still and lifeless. Chilling…because it’s never felt so…warm.

“...Thank you,” you whisper to the empty space he left behind, the words feeling almost weightless as you slowly exit the space for what may actually be the last time. It feels strangely freeing, the weight of the night finally easing as you take one last look before the doors close behind you with a quiet click.

Stepping outside into the warm New Orleans air feels so different now like you’ve left something behind in that old restaurant. 

Maybe it’s Satoru.

Maybe it’s a part of yourself that knows things will never quite be the same after this.

It feels like you’ve just spent eternity trapped behind those vintage green doors, and now the world outside looks both familiar and frightening, but the night air hits you like a fresh start.

You're really going to do this. You're going to find the hunters, and through them, the vampires. And then... well, you’ll deal with that when the time comes.

After all, you've already faced a devil, and you're still standing. 

What's a few vampires compared to that?

angel's note: bwahahaha, why do i even bother trying to condense things? ghost gojo was not supposed to have his own part, let alone (blank)K WORDS, he enjoyed reader waaaaay more than intended but obviously, i am not in control of my own stories. but yoooo, first and foremost, the BIGGEST of fucking s/o to @blkkizzat for helping me bring this story to fruition. i told her that i wanted to do a sugucho vampire fic and she said "bitch, where's ghost gojo??" so you have her to thank for this absolutely delectable first part

no worries tho, it's nothing but vampires and blood-sucking 🩸 from here on out, so drop ya name below if you want to be added to the tag list|sidenote: this post lining up with the full moon was not on purpose 😶 graphic credits: fangs banner (anitalenia)|glitter blood divider (violentbudd)|halloween MDNI divider (meeeee :3)|animated red divider (cafekitsune)

art credits: Sugu: 1 (hidouuc) 2 (blobfishswims) 3 (rice5x)|Cho: 1 (yappdoll) 2 (n/a) 3 (koshinomli) 4 (zeilorene)| Toru: 1 (_3aem) 2 (jjk_myaa) 3 (nala_bert) 4 (yurriima)

[kjupchurch-xx]

Conflicting Feelings Part Nine

Three Months Later

I woke on the couch, wrapped in a fluffy blanket, from an extremely peaceful nap as I stretched my arms above my head. The bump on my stomach, clearly now visible. Hugh and I had neither confirmed nor denied anything in the media or on social media. The reports had been swirling for the last two months since my bump became visible. The only people that had actually known was Ryan, Blake, Ava, Oscar, Shawn Levy and our families.

I sat up on the couch, noticing Hugh, sitting outside on the balcony scrolling mindlessly through the random edits of himself as Wolverine on TikTok. He always got a kick out of them and still to this day, did not see himself or understand why he was a sex symbol. I chuckled as I watched him laughing at one of the edits. I got up and walked towards the balcony door, startling him as I opened it. 

"How was your nap, love?" He asked, jumping a bit at the sound of the door opening. 

I chuckled, "It was phenomenal. How's the Wolverine edits?" I asked, amused. 

He laughed, showing me his phone, "Look at this one. This girl says, 'He's 40 years older than me and I need him inside me.' They even used that song Age Ain't Nothin' But a Number." He said, still giggling. 

I laughed, "I literally can't get on my TikTok anymore without seeing your face on my For You page." 

He shook his head, wiping his tears away from his face. He literally would watch the TikToks and laugh until he had tears streaming down his face. It was hilarious to watch. 

He sat his phone down, "What time is your appointment today?" He asked me, referring to the gender appointment. Today was the day we'd find out what our child's gender was.

I looked at my phone, searching through my calendar. "It's at 3:30." I said as I sat my phone back down on the patio table. 

He nodded, "So we've got...three and a half hours." He said as he looked at his phone. 

He piqued my interest, "For?" I asked with furrowed brows. 

He smirked as he pulled me onto his lap and began using his fingers to move the opening of my shirt, near my cleavage, peaking down at my cleavage. 

I giggled, "Not on the balcony..." I teased as I pushed his fingers away. 

He pouted, "Why? This is one of the few places we haven't done it." 

I chuckled, rolling my eyes, "Oh yes, because all we need is someone right there-" I pointed towards the penthouse windows across the road. "To record it and sell it."

He laughed, "Hugh Jackman Goes Down Under." He joked, before starting to mimic the sound of music you'd hear on an old school porno. 

I shook my head, laughing at his banter. "Yeah, let's not. I mean, not on the balcony at least." 

He smirked as he stood up, still holding me, but now holding me bridal style, carrying me into the penthouse. He sat down on the couch, keeping me on his lap as he began kissing me, nibbling and sucking on my bottom lip as his tongue begged for entry. I could feel him growing beneath me as he pushed his hips into mine. The thin fabric of his sweats barely restraining his boner. 

I kissed him back feverishly, allowing his tongue to explore my mouth as mine danced with his. He moved his lips from my mouth, moving them to my neck as his hands found their way to the bottom of my shirt, slipping under the hem, moving up towards my breasts, cupping them. He squeezed them before pulling his lips away from my neck as a slight moan escaped my lips. He pulled my shirt over my head, throwing it towards the side of the room. I reached for his shirt, tugging at it. 

"Take this off." I whined, tugging at the hem of his shirt. 

He chuckled, "Yes, ma'am." He teased as he lifted his arms up, removing his shirt, throwing it in the same direction he tossed mine.

I smirked as I bent down, kissing my way from his collarbones to his neck while grinding my hips down onto his. A small moan escaped his lips as I found the sensitive spot on his neck that drove him wild and sucked on it, nibbling softly. 

He moaned, "Take these off." He whispered as he tugged at my sweatpants. 

I stood up quickly, removing my sweatpants, kicking them to the side along with my thong. He watched me intently as he pushed his hips upwards, removing his own sweats and the Calvin Klein boxer-briefs he was wearing. I licked my lips seeing his erection spring free. It was rock hard, pre-cum already glistening on the tip.   

"Like what you see, baby?" He asked, teasingly noticing my reaction. 

I chuckled, "I always do.." I said as I bit my lip, "I can't decide if I want you in my mouth or deep inside me." I over dramatically sighed. 

He chuckled, "It's a win-win for me, so I'll let you decide." 

I giggled as I climbed onto the couch beside him, getting on my hands and knees as I arched my back, putting my ass in the air as I wrapped my dominant hand around his erection. My eyes met his as I slowly trailed my tongue along the tip, tasting the sweet liquid that glistened on it. He closed his eyes as he bit down on his bottom lip. I took him into my mouth as I pushed my head down, taking him as far as I could. I felt him reach under me as his fingers landed on my clit. His fingers began making slow, circular motions on the area, leaving me drenched. 

He moaned as I bobbed my head, running my tongue down the length of his manhood, moaning as his fingers continued rubbing me. His fingers were magical. His dick was magical. His mouth was phenomenal. There was literally nothing he couldn't do, and not do well. I felt him start slowly pushing his hips upward into my mouth as he continued moaning. He was driving me crazy and he knew I wouldn't be able to hold out too much longer. 

"I need you, baby." He said lowly as he ran his other hand through my curly hair. 

I sat up, stroking him as I climbed over and straddled his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing my lips onto his. I reached down with one arm and gripped him, lining him up at my entrance as I sank myself down, taking every inch of him, moaning loudly feeling his length stretching me out. 

He hissed, "Fuck, you're so tight." He said, gritting his teeth. "You always feel so good, baby." He said lowly as he gripped my hips. 

I bit my lip as I began moving after adjusting to his size. I threw my head back in ecstasy as I felt him start thrusting his hips upwards, matching my movement. He leaned forward, taking one of my nipples into his mouth and sucking on it. I began bouncing a little faster while crying out in pleasure. 

"Shit, you feel so good, baby." I managed to stammer out as I continued bouncing on him. 

I felt him begin nibbling on my nipple, "Yeah? You love riding my dick, don't you, love?" He groaned as he began sucking on the other nipple. 

I moaned loudly, "Yes, Daddy." 

We rode out our orgasms on the couch before I got up, "We probably need to shower before we go to the appointment." I snickered. 

He nodded, giving me a cheeky smile, "Probably a good idea... I'll make lunch, then I'll shower once we finish eating." He said as he got up, throwing his sweats on and walking towards the kitchen. 

I grabbed the dirty clothes and took them into the bathroom with me, discarding them in the hamper as I turned on the water and waited for it to heat up. I stared at myself in the mirror, looking at the bump, running my fingers over it. Three months ago, this was the worst thing that could've happened to me. Now, I find myself excited... More accepting. I noticed a small bruise that was on my chest, left by Hugh while he assaulted my chest, leaving a hickey. I chuckled to myself as I checked the temperature of the water with my hand, stepping in to shower. 

After my shower, I could smell the food Hugh was cooking. It made my stomach rumble. He knew that since I'd started experiencing cravings, I was obsessed with broccoli. I could literally eat an entire plate of only broccoli. I wanted it every way possible, except cold and raw. That still repulsed me. I quickly dried my hair and went into our walk-in closet, grabbing a Nightmare on Elm Street t-shirt and black yoga pants, slipping them on. As I stepped out of the bedroom, the smell of the food got stronger. 

I walked towards Hugh, who was plating the food. "It smells so good." I said as I sat at the island. 

He smiled, handing me the plate. "I made garlic Parmesan broccoli, the chicken was sauteed and seasoned with lemon pepper." 

I smiled, taking the plate, sitting it in front of me. "Thank you for making lunch, love. It smells amazing." I said as he sat beside me with a plate of his own. 

After eating lunch, he took a quick shower and got ready to drive me to the gender appointment. I grabbed the keys to his Range Rover, handing them to him as he appeared from the bedroom doorway.

He smiled as he grabbed the keys, "Ready?" He asked me as he walked towards the door of our penthouse. 

I smiled, nodding, following behind him. "Let's go." 

As we made our way out of the door, down the elevator and to the parking garage, he held the door for me as I got into the Range Rover. Once I was in, he came around and got into the driver's seat, driving us to the 3:30 appointment. The closer we got, the more I could feel my nerves rising. He noticed and reached over, grabbing my hand, squeezing it slightly. 

After arriving at the OBGYN's office, he looked over at me, "I can't believe this is happening right now." He gushed. 

I chuckled, "I can't either... but there's no one else I'd rather be in this situation with." I said as ai smiled at him, caressing his hand. 

To avoid too many people finding out, the nurse ushered us into the backdoor, bringing us into a room. Hugh and I walked hand-in-hand into the room as I sat down on the examination table, he took a seat in the chair nearby as the ultrasound technician entered the room. 

"Mr. Jackman, Ms. Jordan, it's good to see you again." She smiled, "Are we ready to see baby's sex today?" She asked enthusiastically. 

We both nodded, smiling as she turned the monitor on and got everything prepped. I lifted my shirt up for her as she grabbed the gel. "Cold gel, okay?" She said, warning me. 

I nodded for her to continue as Hugh stood up, coming to stand beside me, grabbing my hand and holding it tightly. My eyes immediately went to the screen as I felt her spread the gel on my stomach and begin running the wand over it. I felt my excitement plastered all over my face as I saw the little bean appear on the screen. 

Hugh was beaming from ear to ear as he watched the monitor as the tech watched as well, speaking to both of us, "Baby is growing as expected. They're very active. Let me see if I can spot the sex." She said as she continued moving the wand. 

I looked over at Hugh, who was glued to the monitor, still holding my hand. I smiled at his reaction before adverting my gaze back towards the monitor. The ultrasound tech smiled, "There it is." She said proudly. "Alright guys... It looks like we have a little girl here." She said, looking at both of us with a smile. 

I smiled as my head snapped towards Hugh, who was becoming emotional. I giggled as I reached up, wiping a stray tear that was spilling over. "Aw, baby..." I gushed, seeing his reaction. 

He giggled, wiping his face. "I know, I'm emotional." He said, "She is going to be so perfect." He said softly, almost in disbelief as he looked at me.   

[eternalgirlscout]

renowned goats aficionado and good opinion enthusiast sarah eternalgirlscout i come seeking your wisdom. what are some boppy or danceable tmg tunes

I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED. your mileage may vary on danceability, but i do think all of these are certified bops. there are many more goats songs that could be classified as such, but i tried to make this quick + short so i limited this list to ones i had something to say about off the top of my head.

spotify link, if you're so inclined

Dance Music

this one was my first thought and it's not exactly a happy song to start with, but the upbeat tempo in contrast to the subject matter is intentional and one of my favorite things about the song

Southwood Plantation Road

allow me to share one of my favorite tmg banters from 2003:

"This, my friends, is a dance number. Somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty audiences so far this year have declined my kind offer that they get they freak on to this song. But you may freak away. I won’t tell nobody. [Audience member: Southwood Plantation Road!] That’s the fucking song, my friend!"

Alpha Rats Nest

another anti-love song in the vein of "No Children." a lot of songs off of Tallahassee could be categorized as bops, but this is the other one i think of when i think of tunes that make me want to get up and move

Corsican Mastiff Stride

when the album Getting Into Knives came out and i heard this song for the first time, i literally dropped what i was holding when the drums started

Parisian Enclave

the sheer rhythm of this one is irresistible. it really gives the sense of collective, swift movement, like the rats this song is about

Pigs That Ran Straightaway Into The Water, Triumph Of

another song about movement, about freedom

Choked Out

when I was in undergrad, there was more than one incident of me headbanging so hard to this song while driving that i didn't realize i was going like 15 over the speed limit

Foreign Object

an old friend and i used to joke about getting tax benefits married if we were both single in our mid-30s, and a vital part of the scenario we imagined was that this song would be our first dance at our wedding

January 31, 438

a song about dancing! like "Dance Music," the subject matter is enhanced by the irony of being paired with this tune

Wage Wars Get Rich Die Handsome

another song i should not be allowed to listen to while driving

First Blood

like a lot of high-tempo mountain goats songs, the boppiness and danceability is at odds with the topic in order to make a point. it's a fast-paced, entertaining jam tearing down the mythology of the action movie, an often fast-paced genre that puts entertainment above the implications of its philosophy. and you can shake your ASS to this song

This Year

what else is there to say about this song? the first time i saw the mountain goats live, in a tiny theater on a college campus in northern wisconsin, almost the entire crowd stood up from their seats and danced in the aisles. i spun under my now-husband's arm and i swear i got a smile from john darnielle. there WILL be feasting, and dancing. this year, next year, every year

any other Goats Enjoyers are welcome to add to this post! i admit this skews fairly recent. let's get some crunch on it

[ohsunnyboy]

living wine | song eunseok ˚₊‧⁺˖

song eunseok is good at maths, a vampire or an extreme lightweight. one of those is false, and it's not the one you think it is!

TAGS: college!au, vampire!eunseok, human!reader, gn!reader, vivid descriptions of blood, veins and feeding, kissing and caressing, gets suggestive by the end!!

A/N: eunseok has such vampire-esque visuals i couldn't help myself hehe self indulgent as per usual (idk why this turned out so long i just wanted to write some hot bloodsucking)

WORDS: ~2400

"How on earth did you get all of this wrong?" You stare at the question sheet and back at his laptop. The fang about, find out! sticker on it fraying and stained with takeout. "I thought communication studies was meant to be easy?"

"It's not wrong. There's no wrong in comm studies," he groans, still rolling about the floor of your dorm like a toddler. “I swore to Sungchan this would be the last time I change my major and he's going to tear me apart if I can't ace this."

"Oh boohoo, your mysterious campus vampire aura will be ruined. What will everyone do?" you intone, rolling your eyes.

Said mysterious vampire, Song Eunseok, buries his face into your plush cushions and groans some more. Imagine communications being the biggest of your worries in the world.

As a political science major, with a minor in vampire relations, it seemed natural when you stumbled into Eunseok's friend group at a You Can Fang event at the college. A vamp and human mixer to encourage integration due to well... reasons.

Because the thing is, vamps have only been about for 30 years.

Which is a lie. Or rather, a condensation of the fact that they've been generally acceptable for 30 years. It's only now do you find tick boxes for vampires on questionnaires, 24/7 blood banks and raw blood on the a la cartes to cater to the perpetually living.

Apart from that, it's been since the dawn of time they've been kicking about, seamlessly blending into society by acting like the rest of you. As evidenced by the one stretched out like flattened dough on your plush carpet. Eunseok physically exists at 18, has the vainness of a 15-year-old but has been kicking around for 22 whole years.

Which somehow doesn't qualify him from doing college level anything even half well.

"You still there?" Eunseok’s voice is muffled from where he's face down on the carpet, that or it's his fangs digging into his lip. He’s been limp and lethargic like this for far too long.

"Yeah, yeah just baffled at what you've written," you hum.

You shift the laptop from your lap to the floor next to you, choosing to study the moping princess. Eunseok’s brown hair is almost black in the dim of your room while also sticking up everywhere from running his hand through it constantly. Even his clothes look out of it, which is a feat for someone who always aims for college campus chic. Further, while it’s traditionally vampiric to be ghastly pale – Eunseok’s always had a tan from when he was bitten at 18 that just stuck around – his skin somehow looks even worse in the lamp light.

"What's wrong, Eunseok? You've been like this all week," you sigh.

Thump-thump. The clock ticks three times; it’s nearly midnight and the full moonlight peeks through the blinds. Thump— he shifts. “It’s nothing..." Curling further up into a ball. Like you believe that, he’s a professional whiner.

"Real convincing. How about you sit up and look me in the eyes when you say that,” you quip back. With some more prodding at his head with your foot, Eunseok sits up petulant.

You take your time to look at him properly now: Eunseok’s sunken eyes and dry mouth. It makes your own lips purse in concern. It’s a far cry to what your Eunseok usually looks like however it’s all signs of what you’ve been suspecting all this time. Idiot.

"I am completely fine,” he says it with the utmost uncertainty of any college student lying through their teeth about already having started a paper that is due the next day.

"Seok... you're paler than a sheet." When you say it, his face nearly brightens up. "That’s not a compliment!" And only then does he huff out a small laugh, eyes casting to the side.

“I’m fine, promise. Just…long night?” Eunseok mutters but it comes out like a question. You know he sleeps poor in general but that’s no excuse. You pay way too much attention to him, is what some voice says at the back of your mind, but never mind that.

Maybe it’s a reassurance when he snakes a hand around your ankle, but his cold embrace only reminds you of what he is. Maybe it’ll make whatever you plan to do just a bit easier. The question’s been dancing on the tip of your tongue since the start after all.

"...When's the last time you fed?" your eyes search for his as you ask, but he seems hellbent on avoiding your gaze.

"Why? are you offering?" Eunseok snorts and you can taste the sarcasm in his tone. He shakes his head again, before finally raising his gaze to yours apologetically. "...Look this week's been so bad. All the blood banks are low, my new TA is Satan incarnate and Sungchan chipped my tooth last time I tried feeding from him so I couldn't even feed properly then.” His finger’s drum across the skin of your ankle: pinching and smoothing.

"...and then everybody's also been busy with the new semester,” you conclude.

"Exactly.”

The silence consumes the room. You’d liken it to someone taking a fluffy blanket and smothering you in it. Dying in comfort and screaming in silence.

The sensation of Eunseok’s fingers on your skin is what grounds you. Pinch and soothe, thump-thump, pinch and smooth, thump-thump. Goosebumps have started to rise up your leg as you watch his movement. Thump-thump, pinch and smooth. You’ve grown used to his cold whenever you press against each other, even when he tries to stay away. Despite it, your heart races all the same.

Thump-thump, pinch and smooth.

The carpet bites when you crawl to him.

"Woah, woah hold on. You’re not doing what I think you’re doing.” Eunseok holds out his hand like that’s going to stop you. “You've never been fed on before,” he says it with such a painful sincerity that you think it’s meant to hurt, but right now, waiting in silence is hurting you more than he ever could.

"You need it, idiot. Besides, I trust you enough.”

"I've been a vamp for like 4 years! I don't trust me enough!"

"What happened to feeding from Sungchan a minute ago? You literally led the safe feeding talk at that You Can Fang thing last year!" You kneel back, saving yourself from your tone.  

Eunseok’s pinching and smoothing down the skin of his own hand. Nerves line him but you know he can hear your heart much better than you can your own. Thump-thump-thump—

"It was from his wrist, and it wasn’t term yet. I’ve – well, I’ve looked at yours, your veins are way too faint,” Eunseok mumbles. His beady eyes dipping towards your throat, while your own eyes track his tongue as he wets his lip. “You know I’d have to feed from your neck.” His voice trembles under the suggestion. Under this light, it should be impossible to tell if he’s blushing, but you swear he’s buzzing with heat.

You’re not stupid: you pay attention to your vampire education and etiquette classes. Enough people walked out of that feeding talk red faced and a little shifty eyed at anyone that had bite marks at the neck. The blush that sears across your face now probably mirrors theirs.

The thing is, you’ve made up your mind a long time ago.

“I’m offering, Eunseok. Don’t be more of an idiot than I think you already are.”

Thump-thump-thump—

Eunseok’s pupils swallow up the whites of his eyes, and in the next instant, you’re being lifted, straddling his thigh, his arms a crushing force wrapped around your back and cradling your head. Burying his face into the skin of your throat, he makes a high sigh of relief. Fire licks up across where you touch, eating you alive before he’s even sank a fang.

Even if he’s stone cold under your touch, the room feels like it’s been plunged into a broil, losing yourself in a steamy haze. He noses at your pulse, the tell-tale thump-thump-thump— of your own must be as loud as the fucking heavens crashing down on him. Amber and roses, the scent that’s haunted you everywhere since you got it for him, reminds you of all that he is.

(Yours.)

A breath, another, another, before Eunseok’s head tilts up from where you’ve locked your arms around him, and you come to stare at his impossibly dark eyes paired with his pearly peeking fangs. “…Are you sure?"

You close your eyes, seeking patience. “Take as much as you need, idiot.” And Eunseok exhales so hard his whole-body shakes. Your hand tightening itself at the mess of his hair. Come on, take it.

His eyes flutter, stupidly long eyelashes ticklish against your skin, his head ducks and you get a second before he presses his lips to your neck, drops his fangs and bites.

The pain is a pinch.

A sensation that will root itself into your guts and sear itself into your muscle memory. It crawls up your jaw and shatters across your head; it splits from your skull, and it streaks down your back; and then it sets aflame everything you thought was burning already. Distantly, he groans into your skin with the same neediness as before.

Where there is fire, his lips come to sooth. Eunseok lets out a soft, needful sound as he presses his lips over your skin – and maybe you do too. Every inch of you breaks into shivers. Thump-thump-thump-thump— an anthem backed by chorus. You can feel yourself losing grip in his hair, but Eunseok just pulls you impossibly closer into him, propped up in his arms as you give more onto him. Drinking you in and eating you whole.

“Thank you,” he starts mumbling into your skin, over and over. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Eunseok slurs it out like prayer. Blood drunk is the word you can find floating in the haze of your mind. You turn the thought of it over and over in your head with fascination. You have to bite back a whine.

Even without the blood, you could lose yourself to the feeling of his roaming hands. Always so close to edging under your sweatshirt but catching himself every time. His hands clench at your hips, taut in a way he’s never been before.   

"Please, Eunseok..." Amid your daze, you find the strength to nod, finding his hands and slipping them under and then up, and up. You reward him, pressing a kiss to his hair. He answers with a groan that shudders down your body. Tracing the line of your spine, ribs and collar. Leaving you gasping into your quiet dorm room. You’re half aware of your agape mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head, every part of you singing as Eunseok takes.

Propped up in each other’s arms, you don't know which one of you has given more to the sensation. Far away, you think you could sit like this for hours. Wrapped up in everything Eunseok. Subject to a degree of sheer want that you’d never want him sharing with anyone. Yours, yours, yours. It’s the anthem of your heart when you’re pressed against each other in one hot line.

…It could be another age when you feel his fangs detract. 

All you hear is your heaving breaths against the tick of the clock. The hum of your blood has plastered itself to the walls of your mind, another fixture that you’ve somehow adjusted to. Just like the cold that meets your neck again, and again. A break in the ice after drowning for hours.

Eunseok laps at the puncture wounds at your neck with enthusiasm. His hands planted firmly on your hips, holding you in place. You want to squirm as he leaves a trail of kisses to chase after the blood that drips from the wounds. Savouring every drop of you.

You bring a hand up, to cradle his working jaw, marvelling at the flush on his skin, the utter mess of his hair, how he holds you so gently.

“You… you taste like living wine. You know that, right?” Eunseok croaks out, eyes closed, head down. Something in you is struck with awe, you’ve never seen him like this. “Taste so fucking good.” He punctuates it with a kiss at the base of your throat, searing with want, humming from satisfaction.

He continues to trail them up all the way to the corner of your mouth. Teasing at your lips with his red stained ones. “You’ve ruined this for me. Don’t want anyone else feeding from you,” he purrs.

Instead of sitting there limp, you capture his face and plant a quick kiss to his lips. “Don’t want you feeding from anyone else either.” You can taste your blood on your lips as you smile and look him dead in the eye. “You’re mine too.”

Thump-thump. Eyes wide open, he stares back at you with the same craze. Partnered with Eunseok’s own brand of a self-satisfied smirk that’s driven you insane since you met him – it's mix made for devastation.

“Feel better now?” you croak out.

“All thanks to you,” he hums.

Moonlight pierces into the room and you can see him clearer now. There’s some more colour to his skin, flush from exertion, with your blood a lip-stain. Even his dazed eyes are somehow more alert than before – in spite of being a notorious lightweight.

“Let me take care you.” Eunseok preens under your hands and moves.

You nearly go dizzy from the rush as Eunseok manhandles you. Lifting you from under the knees, plastering you to his front, legs bracketing his waist, before depositing you onto your bed. A laugh escapes you from the rush of Eunseok caging you in, while landing a glancing peck on your lips

“Oh?” And you quirk your brow. A cheeky grin on your face at his own amused look. "A round two?"

However, Eunseok just rolls his eyes and collapses beside you. “We both have class in the morning and it’s like 1am.” The cheeky bugger buries into your side and slings an obnoxious leg around your hip. “I’ll get you like a Gatorade in the morning for your electrolytes when we wake up, yah?”

To be honest with yourself, there’s not enough strength in you to protest or even roll your eyes back at him. Your heart’s too busy guiding you to sleep while a hand finds yours in the night.

Thump-thump… pinch and soothe.

(Needless to say, you had to wear a turtleneck to class tomorrow morning.)

pls lmk how this turned out bc this one was a learning experience for me! a like or reblog would be lovely if you enjoyed ty <3 ⭒ masterlist

[seungkwanniee]

ANGELS STILL EXSIST?

pairings : barista!seungcheol x fem!reader

genre : angst with little fluff in it , strangers to acquaintances

warnings : mention of food , lonliness , agoraphobia (being scared of crowded place) , overthinking , anxiety / panic attack , reader being harsh to herself , struggle to breath , people making fun of reader , mention of bulimia ( not at all ) , tears , few swearing

wc: 1.8k

synopsis : s.o. just has a messed up mind, and Seungcheol is in the right spot in the right time

an : starting school in one day so manifesting that it will be not hard write trought the school year + changed my dividers because the previous ones were basic asf. My frist time writing a thing like that so yes i know this isn't the best 😭

〔 masterlist 〕

today was not your day but again, when it was ? At least, you got dropped earlier from work, so you just decided to make a quick stop to the near bar. You went here for like, 2 times? and it was long ago but you always overhear your coworkers talking about how they always try to make in time to eat ones of their breakfast. They must have gold hands then?

[5.17pm]

as you enter in the cozy bar, the little bell above the door makes everyone knows your presence. It wasn't that crowdy, fortunately. You just wanted to chill and eat as you were starving after your tiring work today. In you sight, you can only see an old couple ejoying their tea while behind the counter a young and lovely man raise his head as soon he hears the familiar sound

"what we order for you?" he asks when you stand up in front of him. His soft smile shows his single dimple and makes his eyes go so cutely tiny "a capuccino" you reply, completely forgotting about your hungry state "that's all?" he involountary remembers you that you haven't eat nothing for hours "oh, a brioche too" the guy behind the counter nods, inviting you to take a seat

and now, you get why they love this place. It wasn't for the food (well, also this) but you founded this so comfortable, maybe you liked it better than your home. From your house you can't eat a spetacular brioches, smell the good things that they prepare at the moment, you can't hear the sound of the laughter filling the athmosphere while watching the stunning sun setting down the flower sitting outside the bar. Your house was nothing compared to his: your cooking skill weren't this good, the smell was nothing but the atrocius gas coming from the cars running down the street. Your house was always so soundless, no laughter filling it, and from your window no sunset can be seen.

It wasn't a home, it was just an house, but you never really realized how sad and underwhelming it was.

Your thoughts got distracted from the same guy - Seungcheol, you can read from his tag now - serving you what you ordered, "eat well" his smile was always here, and you find it so cute but you wonder how many times he fakes it, what's under it. You just smile back at him, thanking him. Overall, they were so right about this place, its like entering in another world.

[2 days after]

you never liked waking up early, but what you were doing today? You just woke up 30 earlier than usual just to experience the same coziness before going to work. It was so additcing, not your fault

You get dressed in your usual clothes, swatpants and big coat because it was damn cold outside. Just the walk from your front door to your car, freezed your cheeks and nose making them slightly red. Maybe you were too sensitive, but anyway you rushed trowards the car door, making inside and putting on your playlist to wram you up. You hum along the songs, tapping your fingers on the wheel, involountary smiling as you know the warm and cozy place will confort you.

It wasn't like you expected tho, you widen your mouth when you see the amount of person entering and exting the bar. Even tought it was all cute, the big sign with the cutest writing and the colorfull flower standing outside, you didn't finded it cute anymore with all this people. You was so stupid, ofcurse it would be crowded if they are making the best breakfasts. Your soul was fighting inside: you were a grown woman, how you can't go inside a place only because people were in there. It sounded so redicolous to yourself, you can't even imagine what people would think. Otherwise, you wanted to taste another time the delicious brioche you eated only two days ago, it was so good that just thinking about it was making your mouth watering. You didn't even did breakfast at home for this reason, it was time to take aside your childish fears, no?

The cold weather hitted once again your cheeks, making you walk faster trowards the entrace and without even thinking about it, you were in. Maybe it was a bad choice as your legs were trembling under your warm sweatpants, but now you're here. You can't just walk outside againg, you would look dumb. What the other people would think of you? an odd weird kid. They would laugh while telling the not-so-funny story to ther friends, coworkers, family. And what if they recognize you in the street again? they would laugh right in your face for sure. What if, what if, wha-

"omg, y/n is here" the sound of a voice calling you out makes you raise your eyes from your shoes. You hide your head more into your scarf when the familiar faces are right in front you, and this makes you wish you never left your car or maybe your house. You awkwardly smile at their not welcomed figure, letting out an hand from your pocked to give the girls a little wave. You never get along your coworkers that much, you just ended up with no friends inside the place so they just makes little fun of you. Nothing you can't handle, it was common, but you being already overwhelmed because of the crowd inside of the place wasn't helping you at all. "what are you doing here? you eat for real?" you giggle with them, when they make fun of yourself, "it wasn't even funny" you wish you had the courage to say that, but in reality you just stand here while they makes fun of you. "make sure you don't throw up after eating, mh" the disgusting hand lands on you cheek, caressing it while her fake caring tone only makes you feel dizzy. Making fun of you just because you're skinnier than them wasn't funny.

You watch them walking away, well you can't properly do this. Your eyes were itching because of the tears wrapping them, and your head spinning wasn't helping at all. Your slightly trembing hands were making a pounch inside of your coat pockets because you were angry, sad, tired, defenceless and weak at the same time. The troath was now completely dry, you weren't even sure if you were able to speak to someone in few minutes, adding to your heavy chest. You were having a panic attack for sure. You went trought this many times before, so you should know how to deal with it, but it was like you can't even think straight right now, never wishing more to someone rescue you.

And it was like today the planets were all on your side, literally an angel falling from the sky. When you hear the soft voice speaking almost near to you ear, taking one of your arm walking you somewhere, you tought you was in heaven. 'This is real life or I just died?' were your exactly tought. "i'm sorry to bother you, I just saw what happened" the guy says, but it was like you weren't even listening him. "sit down" he places both hands on your shoulder, forcing you to take a sit in a place you never seen, but it seems more like the back of a local. "okay, kay, it's okay" probably he was looking at you with pity eyes, and it just sound so ridiculous. Your eyes weren't able to contain this amount of water, they just needed to escape somewhere. Your elaborated breath was making your chest havier and more painful, at the point that it started to be harder to breath by yourself. "gosh" he humble, Seungcheol was mad worried for you. It may sound weird but as an empathetic, yes, he was so worried about a stranger, half-stranger. He noticed you right away when you entered for the frist time to the bar, you looked so pretty in your big coat that was pratically eating you. It looked so obvious in your face your tiredness but in his eyes, you still looked so gorgeous. Something in you attracted him that he almost jumped from happiness when you appared again today. He was praying all day long hoping that you would show up so he could make a move and well, now he is making a move, not the one he expected tho.

"watch my breath, can you?" he kneels in front of you, his hand slipping down to your shaky arms and it may looks nothing, but his hands were bringing you the comfort you always wanted, not only when your mental health was messing with you. His brown eyes never leaving yours for a sec, piearcing right inside of you. "you need to match my breath, you can do it" his voice like honey for your hears, he wans't rushing you neither disrespecting your boundaries. Your heart was literally racing inside of you, and so many thoughts were going inside of your head. Why you weren't able to controll your attack today, you always deal with it but it was like you weren't in your body anymore. You was wondering why a stranger was helping you, there were still angels in this earth. What the fuck he was thinking of you, maybe you just looked so ugly, rediculus or like a kid. His bar was so full of people, he must be working right now but you were probably just a pain in the ass for him.

"stop thinking, focus on my breath" his hand moves on your chin now, slightly raising your head, while he gently caress your cold cheek. It didn't disgust you as before, his touch was gentle, almost scared of breaking you, that it brought a feeling of inexplicable calm. Your eyes glued on his lip, following his same peace.

"i'm so sorry" you take deep breaths when you were able to talk again without killing yourself for the lack of air. Now that you were able to think straight, the face of the guy seems so familiar to you. "for?" the guy tilt to one side his head, still kneeling in front of you while his hands lay on your knees. He looked so cute when his dimple shows, while his hair moves to his forehead because of the movement. Your hands were playing with each other, still feeling a little embarassed. Doing this, your eyes land on the tag attacked on his brown apron. "Seungcheol" it was supposted to be a thought, but it involountary slipped out of your mouth, "yeah, that's me. What's your name?" your cheeks turn red when you realize, making him giggle. Almost wishpering your name, you stand up from the chair, making Seungcheol standing up too. "you must be busy, i'm sorry that i bothered you. We can go back inside" you words were almost impossible to understand as your voice was so low and still a little cracked for the crying.

"don't worry, stay here, I can bring you something to eat" he invites you to take a sit again, but you were to stubborn. You already fucked up his schedule, you weren't bothering him any more. Plus, your work was waiting you soon. "Don't bother, go back to work. I have to go to mine soon" your still red eyes looked at him, and those were the things that weren't convincing him at all. "I insist, you must be hungry. I can take you to work if you want"

how angels can still exist?

[hailtothepumpkinqueen]

Headcanons for the Shane Stardew Valley that lives in my Switch because I wanted to put them down somewhere lol 💙🐔

•He's 35 years old. When Farmer tells him that's not old he replies "Old for a gridball player" and shrugs. (basing this on mid-30's apparently being old for a lot of sports lol)

•Definitely not as "weak" as he thinks he is either. The man helps Marnie around the farm, including hucking around heavy bags of animal feed and hay. And probably hauling heavy boxes around JojaMart. So great upper body strength, just gets tired and out of breath more easily than he used to.

•Strong arms and soft tummy 👍

•5'7" but wishes he was at least 6'1". A little insecure about it, especially since Farmer is taller than him.(she's 5'10")

•Favorite color is blue 💙

•His last name is Cooper. (Purely because I find it funny for him to have "coop" in his name. Like chicken coop lmao)

•Ears are pierced. I imagine 10mm gauges and two other piercings. Doesn't wear them super often, but enough so the holes don't close up.

•I think he'd be a Taurus. Stubborn but also down to earth.

•Started showing signs of depression as a teenager, but got dismissed as being "moody" and "lazy".

•Both parents had issues with alcohol and were distant/absent. His dad physically distant, as he was gone a lot and often came home drunk. His mom emotionally distant due to untreated depression.

•Leaving Shane to care for himself a majority of the time. So lots of microwaved pizza rolls and frozen dinners.

•Started drinking before the legal age because there was always alcohol in the house.

•Has not spoken to either parent since he moved out.

•Gridball was initially a good distraction for all the shit going on in his life and a way to get out of the house. Discovered he had a genuine love for the game and was really good at it. Good enough to play for the varsity team in college.

•Definitely a bit of a hot shot in college. Pretty popular for his goofy and easygoing personality and had a lot of friends(including Jas's parents). A few flings and serious relationships too.

•Ended up tearing his ACL, which put an end to his dream of going pro with his gridball career.

•Which exacerbated his depression and worsened his dependency on alcohol as a coping mechanism...which lead to a pretty bad breakup with his partner at the time. (This literally came to me in a dream lol)

•Light sleeper, particularly sensitive to noise. On top of having trouble sleeping a lot of nights because his brain won't shut off. Hence why he'll have a beer or two before bed, it helps him sleep.

•When that doesn't work he goes on walks. Nighttime is a preferable time to walk anyway because less chance to run into someone and have to make annoying small talk.

•Has dark circles under his eyes pretty much all the time due to lack of good sleep.

•Runs hot, basically a walking space heater. Which is great in the winter but MISERABLE in the summer.

•Was the best man at Jas's parents' wedding.

•And one of the first people to hold Jas after she was born. He was afraid he'd drop her or something and in awe of how tiny she was.

•Loves that little girl SO much, but when her parents died...he was in no position to be taking care of her. Not with his worsening depression and even worse alcohol dependency. So he signed over custody of her to Marnie, who was more of a mother figure to him than his own mom ever was(In my head, Marnie is Shane's mom's older sister).

•Used to spend summers on Marnie's farm as a kid. It was a nice break from his home life and gave him things to do.

•Was living with Marnie and Jas for about 6 months when Farmer moved to Pelican Town.

•It was his idea to pay rent, because he'd rather eat his shoe than feel like more of a burden than he already does.

•Listens to predominantly rock, but secretly knows the words to a lot of pop songs thanks to Jas.

•Lets Jas paint his nails or put makeup on him. Will wear the nail polish until it flakes off, no matter the color or glitter content.

•Has an armband tattoo of fairy roses around his bicep. For Jas, obviously.

•Definitely friends with Emily (they swap bird facts and just vibe) and and considers Sam a work friend(absolutely talk shit about Morris when not talking about music). He just seems to attract bright, friendly people lol

•Not a people pleaser by any stretch of the imagination (there's a reason he stocks shelves instead of being behind the counter at JojaMart), but loves making the people he cares about happy.

•Him being standoffish and prickly is definitely a defense mechanism. Can't get hurt again by losing someone if you never get close to them in the first place, right?

•Can tell when it's gonna rain because his bad knee starts hurting. When Emily teasingly calls him clairvoyant, he goes into a spiel about the scientific evidence that the drop in barometric pressure affects joints and it's not magic. It's basically an inside joke between them.

•Swears like a sailor but tries to censor himself around the children. So "sugar" and "fudge" and "son of a biscuit". Lot of food words lol

•Walks quietly. Accidentally scares people all the time because he just "appears out of nowhere".

[didhewinkback]

thirty, flirty and thriving

a something old blurb for the birthday boy. 2 and a half months late but who's counting

word count: essentially 3k, warnings: none

---

He can feel tears prick his eyes the second they all start in on the song. All of his favorite people in one place, just for him, gathered around the cake you’re holding up. Suppose he’s someone who cries at birthdays now. 

He’s just…bloody overwhelmed. Perhaps it’s all the tequila flowing through his veins but it feels like more than that. Thinking about how you somehow managed to surprise him with all these people to celebrate his birthday, that his friends - some of whom he hasn’t spoken to in ages, ranging from the lads from school to the friends he made in LA when he was 22 - all made the trek to London to be with him tonight. How he’s often the youngest in his group of friends and how it feels like just yesterday that meant being 19 in a group of 30 year olds and now it's being 30 in a group of friends on the other side of 40. 

He’s fucking thirty. 

It should send him into a spiral about where the time has gone and how it went by so bloody quick but right now, he’s just grateful for where it’s landed him. Right here. Surrounded by his favorite people on the planet, his arm wrapped around the shoulders of the woman he’s going to marry, his best friend in the entire world. Ten years ago, he was getting monstrously drunk at a club with Grimmy and their mates, feeling both on top of the world and more alone than ever in ways only an incredibly famous 20 year old can. But here and now, he feels settled. He feels good. Like he’s lived a thousand lifetimes but also like he’s just getting started. 

“....happppy birthday to yOouUuUou” everyone sings, all eyes on him as they wait for him to blow out the candles. He places his palm to his chest, trying to lock eyes with as many people as humanly possible, trying to say thank you with a look, doesn’t want to do a speech, not now. He just loves these people, he loves this life, he loves his birthday and –

He feels an elbow in his side and looks over at you, your face aglow from the absurd amount of candles you’ve squeezed onto the cake - he’s 30, not 87, thanks - your eyebrows raised in expectation. 

“Cake’s fucking heavy, mate” you say and he throws his head back in laughter, smacking a kiss to your head before looking back out at the party. 

“Sorry - know the wax ‘s getting everywhere, but just wanted to say -” he says, taking a deep breath, vision blurring a bit. “‘M so lucky and feel so grateful to you all for being here. Thank you’s never going to be enough. But you’ve all made me into the man I am today ‘nd I wouldn’t be me without you. So thank you and I love you, I love you, I love you.”

And with that, he takes a deep breath, squeezing you close and making a wish, wishing for every birthday to feel just like this, for the ability to make everyone in this room feel like they’re making him feel now as he blows all the candles out in one swoop. The party erupts in cheers and whoops and he barely has time to press another kiss to your cheek before he’s pulled back into the fray, bombarded with an endless stream of hugs, kisses, people rubbing his head and pressing glasses of tequila into his hand. He just feels like he could burst, is the thing. A room full of people who know him and love him and don’t want or need anything from him, just want to celebrate him for who he is. They’ve turned the music back on and he sways his hips and stomps his feet as he knocks back another glass, letting the beats wash over him as he gets lost in the crowd of friends.

It’s later, he’s tucked in a booth with the lads as he takes in the room around him, though it’s spinning a bit more than it was before. Tom’s got his arm around him and is telling the 18th embarrassing anecdote of the night, trying in vain to bury the fact that just moments ago he got a bit teary when he spoke about the first time they met. And that’s when he sees you across the way, laughing about something with Johnny. His eyes trace the line of your neck as you tilt your head back, the curve of your jaw, and then, as if you can sense him, your eyes lock with his. 

It never gets old, this. It feels like electric currents are buzzing through his system when you smile at him, that just for him smile,  as he tilts his head towards the doors leading out back, once, twice, three times, topping it off with a dramatic roll of his neck until you’re smirking, already making your way up to stand. He taps Tom on the thigh before sliding out of the booth and making his way over to where you’re waiting by the doors, instantly wrapping his arm around your waist and burying his face into your hair, breathing you in as the two of you duck outside. 

It’s cold, but the heaters and fire pits around the patio help and he wraps himself around your back, matching you step for step as you head over to the corner railings, away from any prying eyes. You lean against the railing, looking up at the night sky, what you can make of it from the city lights. He wraps his arms tighter around you, nuzzling his face into your neck. 

“Y’ cold?” he asks and you’re shaking your head but he feels you shiver against him and that’s all the answer he needs, already pulling his suit jacket off despite your protests, and holding it out for you to put it on. “C’mon, ‘s my birthday wish.”

You shake your head and snort, sliding your arms into the jacket and turning around, wrapping your arms around his waist as you smile up at him. He shuffles you a bit closer to the heater, pressing a kiss to your cheek, brushing his knuckle along your jaw.

“Good birthday?” you ask softly and he’s already nodding, can’t believe you’re even asking.

“The best,” he says, “Can’t believe you did all this.”

“You really had no idea?”

“Surprised the shit out of me.” he says. “Y’ always get stressed when we’re running late for dinner so that’s the only reason I thought y’ were being jumpy.”

“Oiii–” you say, slapping him lightly as you laugh. “Not my fault you took ages to get ready. Man’s early for everything but the second you tell him what time to meet at a restaurant, he moves in bloody slo mo.”

“Heeey.” he whines, but there’s no heat behind it, pulling you closer and laughing when you do.

He can hear the party raging on from out here and he still just can’t wrap his mind around it. That he’s 30. That he’s gotten to live the life he has over the last ten years and he has all those people in there to thank. He’s bowled over, the love in that room radiating through his every pore. Not sure he ever knew he could be this loved. 

He can feel your eyes on him and knows you’re letting him gather his thoughts, content to just stand there and patiently wait until he’s ready. Letting him do what he needs to do. Never pushing, or prying. Just knowing him. And loving him. And there’s just something about that, isn’t there?

“‘M just like…” he starts to say, stopping himself when he feels emotion clog his throat. “I cried 10 times already. Bloody Cal is here.”

“Easiest party planning of my life,” you say back softly, tightening your arms around him. “Everyone said yes immediately, they were so excited to celebrate you. Everyone in there really, really loves you.” 

His breath gets caught in his throat at that, blinking back the tears that seem to permanently reside in his eyes tonight. He rests his hand along the side of your face, dragging his thumb along your jaw. Not sure what he did to get nights like this, to get you looking at him like that. He’s so, so lucky.

“I really, really love you.” you say softly and he just - he can’t explain the noise that escapes him as he crashes his lips against yours, tightening his grip on your jaw as he kisses you the way he’s been thinking about all night. You sigh against his lips as he pulls you impossibly closer to him, lips not daring to leave yours for a second, kissing you over and over again. 

He could stand here forever, kissing you like this, but he has to breathe, eventually. He pulls back slowly, kissing along your jaw, cheek, temple before burying his head into your neck. You slide your arms up his back, hugging him around the neck and pulling him close, your hand coming up to rest at the nape of his neck, scratching at the short hairs there. You just stand there for a minute, wrapped up in each other and this may just be his favorite part of the night. There’s something about knowing he’ll always have this. Your arms to fall into. And that’s the greatest birthday present a lad could ask for.

“Thank you so much for all this,” he mumbles into your ear. “Best birthday ever. Proper birthday.”

His heart skips a beat when he hears your delighted laugh, pulling back to get a glimpse of your face, the way your eyes are glowing as they stare back at him.

“I can’t believe you remember that.” you say with a laugh. “You were pissed and burning your mouth on a cheese toastie almost a decade ago when you said that.”

“Mmm, a cheese toastie,” he says, giggling at your eye roll. “Course I remember it. Think it every year. ‘S not a proper birthday unless you’re there. I love you so, so much.”

“Thanks for being born,” you say softly, leaning into his touch. “Greatest thing to ever happen to me. You.”

“Baby - ” he breathes out, but can feel emotion clogging his throat again, trying in vain to blink away the tears your words made spring to his eyes. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone, hand shaking not just from the cold. A lifetime of knowing you and you still make him weak at the knees. 

“Y’ make every day feel like my birthday, y’ know that?” he says softly, feeling like he’s found the right words for the first time tonight. “This party ‘nd this night is incredible. But nothing - nothing - compares to getting to go home with you every night. Greatest gift I ever got.”

He can see the words hit you, the deep breath you take as your eyes rake over his features, smile twitching at your lips as you look at him with such love in your eyes he feels his heart skip a beat. You’re looking at him like you always look at him, really, really seeing him with nothing but utter love in your eyes. God. There aren’t words for that, are there? 

You pull him in, kissing him hard, like you’re trying to pour every ounce of love from your mouth to his and he’s more than happy to drink it up. Drink you up. Drink you in. His favorite taste, his favorite mouth, his favorite person on his favorite day.

His hands squeeze you tighter, living for the way you lean into his touch as it rakes down your back, settling on your bum. He could lose himself in this, in you. But you both seem to become aware of your environment at the same time, deep kisses slowing into gentle pecks before you drag your lips up his jaw, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek as you pull him close, hugging him tightly. His arms wrap around your waist as he sinks into your hold. He nuzzles his head into your neck, breathing you in, as he slowly sways the two of you, the party mere background noise to the sounds of your steady breathing, the feel of your hands carding through his short hair. 

It’s a while before he moves, slowly, begrudgingly, pressing a kiss to your neck and tightening his arms around you before mumbling, “I’ve got a crazy idea,” into your skin. 

He lifts his head to look at your face, can see your eyes twinkling, already bracing yourself for what he’s about to say, already in on the joke. It’s a bit he’s been doing every few weeks at this point, ever since you set the date. 

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” you ask, unable to stop the smile growing on your face as you slide your arms down his shoulders, resting your hands on his biceps. 

“Was thinking - since y’ did such a good job planning this party… what do y’ say we throw another one? Like, end of June maybe? Right after your birthday?” he says, pretending to actually mull over those dates, trying to remain deadly serious while your lips twitch into a smile.

“Hmm. I think I could be down for that.” 

“Yeah? Same guest list, bit more of your friends. Some family maybe. Could do it in Italy, near the house.” he says, trying to keep up the bit but the reality of what he’s saying is catching up to him, the familiar tears making an appearance again as he chokes out his next words. “Y’ could wear white.”

“And you could wear a suit.” you say softly, eyes never wavering from his. “Maybe get a new ring.”

“Yeah. You’d like that?” he asks, bringing his hand up to your face when you nod. “You wanna marry me, baby?”

“I really, really do.” you say, the look in your eyes making his heart beat out of his chest.

“Four months,” he says quietly, almost in disbelief of his luck, his life. “You’re gonna be my wife in four months.” 

He can’t tell who moves in first after that, both of you clutching on for dear life as you just about snog the living daylights out of each other. He’s never wanted to ditch a party more in his life. Just wants you, your bedroom, and several hours to even begin to express all he’s feeling right now, all he wants. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you. 

You softly moan into his mouth and he just about loses his mind, thinking about he’ll have a lifetime of getting that sound out of you, just for him. He pulls you impossibly closer as he drags his tongue over yours, keeping your jaw in a tight grip. He could die here, actually. He’d die a happy man, being slowly taken apart by your mouth. 

“Oiii!!!” Johnny’s voice through the open door has the two of you springing apart in shock, though he doesn’t let you get far, burying his head in your neck as he moves his hand off your jaw to flip Johnny off. 

“If you’re both done rubbing against each other out here –”

“Oh grow up, Johnny!” you shout at the same time Harry lets out a “You wish!” that has you smacking him against the head as he laughs.

“The Holmes Chapel lot did promise Hometown Hero over there a birthday shot.” he slurs and Harry begrudgingly pulls away from you to twist towards the doors, pulling your back into his chest as you both face Johnny, his hands resting on your shoulders. “And we’ve been waiting bloody ages –”

“So bloody dramatic,” you huff and Harry laughs, pressing a kiss to the back of your head. 

“We’ll be right in,” he says watching as Johnny rolls his eyes, holding up a hand to indicate “you’ve got one minute”, as he turns back inside and closes the door behind him. 

“Suppose we better go in,” you say, turning to look at him over your shoulder and he all but swells with pride at the look of you, the swollen lips and slightly messy hair. He tilts your chin a bit more towards him and kisses you once more, squeezing your shoulder before taking a step back. You shrug out of his jacket despite his groan, handing it back to him as you bring your hands up to attempt to smooth down your hair.

“Let’s go, old man.” you say and he squawks, sliding the jacket back on before giving you a cheeky smack on your bum, which you try in vain to dodge before reaching for his hand, interlacing your fingers and heading back into the fray. 

The night spirals from there in the best possible way and while he may not remember every conversation he had, every song he danced to, every shot he took, he’ll always remember the way that room made him feel, the love radiating towards him, overwhelming him, inspiring him, fortifying him. He’ll always remember the feeling of your hand in his, the way your body felt against his own, and later, the taste of you on his tongue. Feeling like he could do anything with you by his side, your love making him feel like the greatest version of himself. Like the best is still yet to come, if that's even possible. 

Proper birthday.

---

a/n: the way i literally had 3/4 of this written on february 1st and then could not get myself to finish it. but here we areeeee baby. hope people are still interested. i really like it and couldnt let it go. let me know what u think love u mean it

taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

[archangeldyke-all]

prologue to the next ao3 fic i'm writing! it's childhood friends to enemies (to lovers) with sevika! hope you enjoy <33

30 years ago

Sevika trudges through the streets, kicking a rock along as she goes. Being ten fucking sucks. 

At the time, Sevika always thought that six would be the worst year of her life. That was the year her mom died. It was also the year her dad started drinking. But now she’s older and wiser; finally big enough to work in the mines: and Sevika’s beginning to suspect that life just gets worse and worse until you’re lucky enough to die.

Seven was worse than six. Seven was when Sevika learned that if she was going to steal and scam to feed herself, she was also going to have to fight. Sevika got her nose broken four times when she was seven. 

Eight was when she got tall and smart enough for her dad to feel threatened by her. It was the first time her nose had ever been broken by him.

And nine was when her childhood cat died. She found poor little Ladybug in the back corner of her dad’s closet, cold and stiff, curled up on top of her mom’s favorite red poncho. 

But even in those years Sevika wasn’t constantly sore, and her feet weren’t always blistered and bleeding, and she wasn’t coughing up dust all the time. 

And now she is. For less than a hundred bucks a week. 

Still. She has found one nice thing about being ten. 

“Sevika!” You squeal as you sprint up to your best friend’s side. Sevika tries to bite back her smile. She’s pretty sure she succeeds. 

“Easy.” She grunts as you launch yourself into her arms. You’re clinging around her waist, uncaring of the fact that she’s covered in soot. When you pull away to grin up at her, your cheek is smeared in black dust. Sevika chuckles and wipes it clean for you. “Hey, Honeybun.” She greets. The nickname makes your smile impossibly wider. 

“How were the mines today?” You ask as you haul your old flour bag over your shoulder. You’re so tiny, still only seven, and the bag is half your size. Sevika sighs, easily lifting it out of your grasp and hitching it over her shoulder for you. 

“Eh. You know.” She shrugs, trying to act tough, like she wasn’t just on the verge of tears from exhaustion. “How’s your Gramps?” She asks. You shrug, digging around in the little satchel you keep slung over your side. 

“He says to say hi to you. He said if I sell all these buns I can take five dollars of the profits.” You gesture to the bag hanging off Sevika’s shoulder. “Wanna help? We can use the money we earn to get some spicy slugs from Jericho’s!” You offer. Sevika grins. She’d say yes even if you weren’t buying her food. 

“I got nothin’ better to do.” She says cooly as you pull a bundle of fabric out of your bag. You unravel the scrap, and Sevika knows what’s wrapped in it before you can even unveil it. She can smell the cinnamon. You reveal the pastry to her with a grin, and her belly growls. Sevika briefly wonders if the sound is from her hunger, or if it's from the bugs that always seem to be crawling around in her stomach when she’s with you. She snatches the treat out of your grip and tears into it, trying to distract herself from the fuzzy feeling in her chest. “Cinna-roll for my Cinna-Sev.” You sing-song. Sevika rolls her eyes, nudging you with her elbow and huffing an embarrassed laugh. 

“Fuck off.”

She follows you blindly, letting you lead her up the winding streets of the Undercity and toward the docks. You’ve got a few spots around the city you frequently visit to sell baked goods, and judging by the way sailors are grinning and waving at you, this is one of them. 

“Bread girl!” A woman hauling a net full of fish off a boat calls. You giggle and wave at her. 

This has been the best part of Sevika’s days as of late: passing out bread to strangers with one hand, snacking on treats with the other,  as you exchange and count coins and loafs with your adoring customers. 

Sevika first bumped into you three days into starting work at the mines. You came down to pass out rolls to the miners dismissed at lunch time, and a few teenagers were giving you trouble. Two of them were throwing your bag of rolls over your head in a cruel game of keep away, while the third teen was snooping through the little coin purse you’d dropped. You were pathetic, and clearly about to be robbed blind, and Sevika was tired. But… She couldn’t help herself, and she stepped in to defend you.

You both ended up getting beaten to a pulp, and you still got robbed; but she earned your friendship. 

You’ve been there to pick her up from work when she gets off every day since then. She gets teased endlessly for it. She’s ten, and you’re only seven. All the kids she works with want to know what she’s doing with a baby like you. But those kids haven’t tasted your grandpa’s treats. And they’ve never made her laugh like you do. 

Sevika watches you work with a small smile. She wonders if you know how cute you are and play it up to sell more buns, or if it’s really just you. Bugs start crawling around in her stomach again, and Sevika tears her eyes away from you, looking up at the sky instead. 

It’s rare that she ever gets to see so much sky. Down in the Undercity, the sky is sliced into thin slivers, only visible from the right angles. Up here you can’t escape it. The sun’s starting its slow descent, and the blue sky’s turning a sweet yellow. A storm’s brewing in the west, dark clouds starting to cover the very edge of the horizon. 

In the river, the dock starts to fill up with fishermen and tug boats docking for the night. The swell of sailors and seamen quickly buy up all your buns, but you’re in no rush to leave the docks, and Sevika’s never in a rush to get home. 

So, she kicks off her shoes and socks and rolls her pants up, sitting beside you at the end of the dock, both of your feet gently kicking your feet in the river below. You’re counting your earnings on your lap, and Sevika watches with a cringe as coins start to slide off your legs and toward the water below. She reaches out and catches a few. “Thanks Sev.” You giggle, reaching for the coins and putting them in your satchel. You snap your bag closed then sigh, leaning over to rest your head on her shoulder. Sevika freezes for a second, and then she rests her head on top of yours. 

“How’s your dad?” You ask. Sevika swallows the lump in her throat. She’s never talked about him with you… or anyone, really. But you seem to know anyway. 

“Eh. Fine.” She shrugs. You kick her ankle in the water, and a tear falls down her cheek. It's quiet as both of you allow the lie to be true for a while.

“Do you wanna run away to my house? Gramps won’ mind. Y’know he loves you.” You whisper. Sevika’s heart swells, and she wraps her arm around your shoulders and pulls you to her chest, hiding her tears from you by kissing the top of your head. You’re so young. Nothing’s hurt you yet. Sometimes, Sevika scares herself thinking of all the things she’d do to keep you safe.

“I’m alright, Honeybun. You don’ gotta worry about me.” She whispers. 

Across the bay two men chat, waist deep in the water and clinking bottles of ale together as they bait their fishing hooks. You and Sevika watch the pair for a while, one broad tall man, one skinny and short. They seem to be in a deep conversation, and occasionally their laughs will carry across the river to reach the two of you. 

“They’re not gonna catch anything. Storm’s comin’ in, the fish’re all hiding.” Sevika says. 

“You’re full'a shit.” You giggle.

“‘M tellin’ Gramps you’re cursing.” Sevika threatens. You jam your elbow into her side, and Sevika cackles. “C’mon, let’s go to Jericho’s before it starts raining.” She says once she catches her breath. 

Before either of you can rise, shouts float across the water. The fishing friends have started fighting with one another, their rods forgotten as they shout, splash and tussle. “Are they… playing?” You ask.

Sevika studies the scene. An animalistic roar floats across the bay, and the big man shoves the skinny guy's head underwater. Her stomach drops and she springs to her feet, gathering your shoes and trying to tug you away as quickly as she can. “We need to get outta here.” 

“Sev.” You whimper, pointing. Sevika’s eyes catch on what’s got you scared: a growing splotch of red staining the water where skinny arms are flailing and clawing at the hulking figure holding him down.

“C’mon, Honeybun.” She grunts, trying to pull you away from the docks. The sky opens up, the first drops of the storm starting to fall.

“S-Stop!” You squeal. Sevika lets go, worried she’s hurt you, but when you fall to your knees and start screaming across the river Sevika’s heart shatters in her chest. “You’re hurting him! Y-you’re gonna k-kill him!” Your screams are ignored, carried away by a strong gust of wind before they can reach the other side of the bay. Sevika’s tugs on your arm cease, she collapses to her knees beside you.

“Honey, let’s go home.” She begs, her voice wobbling as her hands try to guide your face away from the scene ahead of you. Your eyes keep darting between hers and the fight where the skinny man has stopped struggling completely. The surface of the river is still beside the small echoing rings of raindrops falling. 

“S-S-Sevika--” You cry as you lean forward, burying your face against her chest. A crack of lightning flashes in the sky. Sevika puts her hands under your armpits and hauls you up, keeping you tucked against her as she drags the two of you as far away from the docks as she can.

Right before she ducks around the corner, a clap of thunder booms, and a skinny arm bearing a knife breaches the water.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette @ellieslob

[thisisxli]

𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫. - 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐁.

Rs: Pro! Katsuki Bakugou x Pro! GN Reader(afab)

Warnings: manga spoilers, ANGST, grief, slight panick attacks, MAJOR character death mention(not canon but is canon..), heart break

Tags: bittersweet, different circumstances, reader is kind of a crybaby but for good reasons, time/dimensional travel, reader is hopelessly in love with him + will hopelessly be stuck on him for the rest of their life, Katsuki is equally or more in love, reminiscing, everyone is in their early 30s

Summary: Being hit by a quirk is one thing. But to be sent to another universe is absolutely bewildering. It starts to become heart-wrenching when someone you once knew as dead is now alive in this alternate universe.

wc: 1.1k

Recommended song:

a/n: if you enjoy this work, check out the others in my Masterlist. :)

Being hit with a quirk usually didn't phase you, it was rather common for you.

But to be sent to a whole other timeline- or rather... universe? You knew it was the same timeline but different universe. Why? Because Katsuki Bakugou was standing right in front of you- with another you holding his hand, both staring at you in surprise. In fact, it wasn't just them. But other old classmates from the high school you used to attend. Shocked faces as the other you ushers them out the room. You couldn't move your gaze away from Katsuki at all. Because the Katsuki you knew was dead. To see him standing, more mature, a grown man ridden with scars has you bawling rather quite embarrassingly.

"Hey! Who the hell- wait no.. What-" Katsuki's head turns to you and the other you aggressively, confusion and agitation growing into his face. Before he could blow at your crying figure, the other you steps up in front of you, hands held up in defense. "Katsuki! Don't.. resort to that. Let's be calm and rational.. Let's.." The other you turns to you, a worried expression displayed on their features. "Let's just talk."

And so, that's what you did. You explain how you were in the middle of battling a villain just before you got hit by their quirk. Kirishima and the other pros must be worried about you right now.

"And... Bakugou," your breath hitches, eyes flickering to him for a second, "in my universe.. You died. You died in the war from All For One... or rather, Shigiraki." Katsuki stiffens at the mention of that familiar yet foreign name. So did other you. The... other Kirishima rubs your back soothingly. "Edge-shot wasn't able to repair your heart.. it.. it- after you died, I couldn't- I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you mutter, bowing deeply at his feet as you squeeze your eyes shut tight, tears escaping through and past your eyelids. Your breathing rapidly increases which Katsuki quickly picks up before Kirishima does, grabbing you under the arms gently, lifting you up to sit back to your position. The other you seemed almost heart-broke at the thought of dead-Katsuki, sharing their sympathy.

Katsuki was silent the whole time, a calm expression on his face. You barely saw that back in high school. You wonder how he is at this time of age.

"Kiri, let's go," the other you urges, waving a hand at Kirishima. They give you a soft smile before walking off and out the room with the red spiky haired man. You and Katsuki sit there in silence, a few silent tears escaping your face at the view of your.. dead crush/classmate? You didn't even know anymore. "Stop your crying," Katsuki scoffs, closing his eyes. You blink at him. Seriously? Maybe he was still the same- "I hate seeing you cry," he looks into your eyes, raising his hand to your face to wipe a tear with his thumb, "it makes me upset." Wait- woah. Were.. you two together?

You blush heavily, wrinkling your pants when you tighten your hold on it. He notices of course, waving your hand away. "I don't know if you're just realizing we're together," wow. He reads you like a book. "But if you are just now realizing it, you need to get that brain of yours checked."

Same old, same old. You snort before laughing, earning a soft scowl from him. "Tell me.." Your laughter dies out, tilting your head to listen, "how is it like.. without me there?" You blink at him, smile dropping quickly. "Well.. It's... empty, at least for me, always has. A lot of us are doing fine there, it's like.. you never existed," his face turns sour from that, "but you are brought up time to time.. and we celebrate the day you died- not that we're celebrating that you died! But.. you were honestly," you look up at him with adoring eyes, "one of the greatest heroes of all time. So we felt the need to celebrate the day of your self-sacrifice."

Katsuki looks at you, unable to comprehend on how to respond to that. Luckily, when nothing comes to mind, you ask him a question, "how did.. we..? How did you.." He chuckles, running his scarred hand over his hair. "I confessed first, if that's what you're asking. We started dated in our second year and have been ever since," his eyes avert down to the golden ring on his finger and your eyes also follow, "and we.. got married. about six years ago."

You look up at his face, his face contorting into a softening loving look. You never seen this side of him before at all. Your feelings that you never lost for the boy, now man, seems to grow a little more.

You both flinch when a weird swooshing sound comes from behind you, a portal comes into your view when you turn. Out pops is a way much more familiar red spiky haired man. "(Y/N)! You-" suddenly his voice breaks and stops working, staring at the grown blonde man in front of you. "Bakugou," Kirishima breathes, tears seeping from his tear ducts, threatening to fall. Now it was time for you to cry. You shake your head violently, jumping into Bakugou's arms, catching him by surprise. "N-no! I don't- wait please! I don't want to go yet! Not yet, not yet! Please- Katsuki! I have so much to say- so much to ask! Please-" Katsuki kisses you in an open mouth kiss, hands gently caressing your face and hair.

Heat rises to your cheeks as tears fall, his warm lips detaching from yours. "That always works," he chuckles softly, looking up at Kirishima with a fond smile before looking down at you with his piercing eyes that held so much love, the same you held for him. "(Y/N), I am so, so sorry that I'm not there. I really am, for everybody. If you had more time, of course I'd answer anything you'd ask. But let me tell you this," he gently pecks your forehead gently, as if on cue, the other you walks in with a small Bakugou clinging onto their leg. Your lip bobbles at the sight. "I love you. I always did, have, and will," Bakugou wraps his arms around you, smiling at the now-crying Kirishima from your universe. Even with Katsuki's voice being so soft, his voice still remained so gruff. His voice was like hearing music for the first time in years. Something you hadn't heard in years.

Before you step through the portal, you look back at the happy family, all three smiling at you. You smile back, feeling a little bitter that you couldn't have this ending. But nonetheless, you were happy that another part of you still got this ending. You felt closure. Now that you know that he still survived from the war, you were a little happy.

Only that it was just from another universe. Not yours.

[justagalwhowrites]

Wonderland

You and Joel get away for your first wedding anniversary.

A canon Lavender No Outbreak AU one shot inspired by a request for a fic based on the song "Your Body is a Wonderland." Can be read as a stand alone fic with the understanding that Joel and Reader have been together for years and are married with a daughter. You can find the original Lavender here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader from the Lavender No Outbreak AU (AKA Joel and Doc)

Length: 6.9k

Warnings: Smut :D! Oral sex; unprotected P in V sex; reader is described as being post-pregnancy and having a different body as a result but no broader description of her body beyond the fact that she has hair; age gap (reader is late 20s, Joel is late 30s.) No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

January 2005

“Baby.” 

Joel’s hand found the small of your back but you didn’t look back at him. You stayed focused on the child in your arms, on her brown eyes and dark curls and skin so soft all you wanted to do was nuzzle into her and breathe in her sweet, baby scent. 

“It’s gonna be fine,” your husband pressed a kiss - gentle and slow - to your temple. “We’re only gonna be a few hours away…” 

“I know,” you said softly. Evie made a breathy little baby sound and you smiled. Couldn’t help it. 

“Tommy’s watched a baby before,” Joel continued as you swayed with your daughter. His hand shifted so it was below your shirt and on the bare skin of your lower back. “And Sarah will be here, too. And it’s just for two nights.” 

“But she’s never been apart from me,” you said softly, tears pinching at the back of your throat as you brushed her hair away from her little forehead. “What if she’s afraid? She’s going to look for me, she always looks for me right when she wakes up and I won’t be here and what if she can’t calm down and she doesn’t keep food down when she isn’t calm and…” 

“Hey,” he said, taking your chin delicately in his fingers and turned your head to face him. He smiled gently, his brown eyes soft and crinkling at the edges. “I promise, it’s gonna be OK. We can be back here real quick if something goes wrong and she’s with family. It’s OK.” 

You looked back at your baby girl. She wasn’t even a year old yet, it seemed too soon to be going away for a weekend, no matter how much you really wanted to. 

One of the downsides to getting married just a few months before having a baby was that you didn’t get much time to enjoy married life before it became all about the new life you’d brought into the world. 

Of course, Sarah had always been top priority for both you and Joel but, since she was a teenager, you could rely on her to look out for herself some so the two of you could get quality time. Before Evie was born, you and Joel regularly went out just the two of you. You could leave Sarah at home with cash for a pizza or she’d go to sleep over at her friend Lizzie’s place and you and your husband could go and make out at the back of a movie theater like teenagers.

A baby was a whole other story. 

You’d always loved children, loved spending time with them and seeing how they experienced everything, all of it brand new in their eyes. It was a joy to watch them discover themselves and the world and you adored hearing their thoughts as they puzzled through everything from basic societal rules to trying to figure out if there was a meaning to life. But you hadn’t been prepared for just how attached you’d be to your own child, who was both so much larger than she’d been when you’d given birth to her but still so impossibly small and fragile that even having her in another room made you anxious. It took months longer than it really should have for her to consistently sleep through the night because you kept checking on her, ensuring that she was still breathing and lying in the position that was supposed to be safest and that she didn’t seem bothered by dreams or colic. 

Being a few hours away was terrifying. 

But it was your first wedding anniversary with Joel and you really wanted it to be special. Wanted time just the two of you that you hadn’t had in the months since your daughter had been born. You missed being able to spend hours and hours with nothing in the world besides you and your husband. 

You just needed space from the baby to get that. 

So Joel had booked the hotel you went to for your wedding night the weekend of your anniversary and gotten Tommy to agree to stay at the house with Evie and Sarah for the two nights you’d be gone. You’d overheard him talking with his brother about it a month earlier, when Tommy was over for dinner and you’d gotten up to change Evie. 

“I’ll leave good instructions but you can’t be callin’ all the time,” Joel was saying as you made it to the living room, Evie squirming in your arms. “She’s gonna be a nervous wreck, rather just stay here if…” 

“Joel,” Tommy said, voice soothing. “I got your girls, it’s alright. Handled Sarah when she was that age, right?” 

“You’re why I can’t do exponents,” Sarah said dryly. “Dropped me on my head a few too many times…” 

“Someone needed to reel you in,” Tommy replied and you could hear the teasing wink in his voice. “Can’t have you being too smart now.”

“Mean it,” Joel said, tone serious. “Need you to actually do this…” 

“Joel,” he replied. “I got her. It’s alright.” 

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Tommy. You did. You just didn’t know how to be this far away from your daughter, knowing how vulnerable she was and how much she needed you for everything. 

But you needed time for you and your husband, too. You were so dangerously close to getting lost in your identity as a mother, already struggling to remember just what you were before Evie existed. You needed a weekend away. Some distance would be good, for the both of you. 

“Come on, Mama,” Tommy smiled, holding his arms out. “Gimme that one and you two love birds get on the road. I promise if something goes wrong, I’ll call.” 

“But you won’t need to,” Joel said, raising his eyebrows at his brother. “Right?” 

“Course not,” Tommy waved him off. “We’re gonna have the best time, Uncle Tommy is going to be her favorite person, just you wait.” 

You sighed and nodded, pressing your lips to Evie’s soft little forehead and breathing in her sweet baby smell before passing her off to Tommy’s waiting arms. He pulled her into his chest and smiled, wide and open mouthed, making a happy coo. She cooed back, reaching her tiny hands up toward his face. 

“I know,” he said, voice high and childish. “I’m so much better lookin’ than your daddy! Yes I am! And so are you!” 

“Be a good girl,” you said as Evie totally ignored you in favor of her uncle. “Love you so much, big sister will be home soon and…” 

“Kid,” Tommy looked up from your daughter in his arms to meet your eyes. “I’ve got this. Go have fun.”

“Thanks again, Tommy,” Joel said. 

“But…” you began but Joel just shook his head and looped an arm around your waist, tugging you to his side and guiding you to his waiting truck. 

“You grabbed the bags?” You looked up at Joel and he smiled a little.

“Sure did.”

“And Tommy has the number for the hotel in case we don’t have signal?” 

“The hotel and the restaurant we have reservations at tomorrow and even the diner next door with the good waffles since I figure we’ll end up there at least once.”

“And…” 

“Baby,” he cut you off, opening the passenger door of the truck for you. “It’s going to be fine. There’s a stash of your favorite snacks in the truck and if you just get in the truck, we can go.”

You looked back at the house, biting your lower lip and twisting your fingers around on themselves. 

“OK,” you said, climbing in the front seat. Joel smiled, leaning in to kiss you before jogging around to the driver’s side door. 

The drive felt longer than it was, you seemingly hyper aware of every mile you were further away from your baby. But there was something invigorating about it, too. You had your husband all to yourself for the first time in almost a year. You’d had a few date nights, of course, and the two of you made a conscious effort to spend quality time together, even if it was just watching late night TV in Joel’s arms while Evie slept in her bassinet a few feet away. 

But this? Two nights with no obligation to anyone but each other? It seemed like the purest form of indulgence. 

“How we doin’ over there?” Joel asked about halfway into the drive. 

“Good,” you smiled. “The snacks have helped.” 

“I know my wife,” he smiled back. “Lookin’ forward to getting to know her a bit better the next few days…” 

Your cheeks got hot as Joel’s hand found your knee, gently trailing his fingers over your inner thigh. 

“Is there anything you want to do when we’re in Galveston?” You asked, suddenly feeling oddly self conscious. It had been so long since you’d last had this much time just you and Joel, what if things were different now? 

“Mostly?” He asked, brow cockily raised. “Spend time with you where no one else can get to ya. If there’s something you want to do we can but if it’s up to me, we’re stayin’ in that room.” 

“Joel!” You gaped at him, trying not to laugh. 

“What?” He glanced over at you, smiling a little. “I’m selfish. Don’t wanna share the best thing that’s ever happened to me with anyone else on our anniversary.” 

Joel pulled up to the hotel and parked under the overhang by the door, squeezing your knee as he turned off the truck. 

“You stay put just a second.” 

“OK,” you laughed, watching as he got out of the truck and jogged around the front of it to open the door for you, offering you his hand to help you down. You laughed again. “My my, so attentive.” 

“Least I can do,” he winked, giving your fingers a squeeze as you got out of the truck. 

He wouldn’t let you carry any bags besides your purse, either. When you tried to go with him to the front desk, he put a hand on your lower back and nodded to the lounge across the lobby. 

“Why don’t you go there,” he said. “Get yourself one of those flowery cocktails you like so much.” 

He steered you in that direction before you really had a chance to argue, so you went and took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink you’d never heard of but there was honey and lavender syrup in it so you figured it’d be good. You sat there sipping your cocktail, listening to the pianist in the corner and watching your husband in line at the check in counter, just admiring the shape of him. He was so tall and broad, his shoulders pulling a bit at his flannel shirt, and he was probably three weeks past when he usually liked having his hair trimmed but you’d been so busy with Evie’s first Christmas and everything that came after you hadn’t had a chance to cut it. 

But you liked him a little on the shaggy side. You smiled a little at the thought of running your fingers through his curls while kissing him and feeling him deep inside of you. 

The pianist changed to a new song and you fished your phone out of your bag, flipping it open and texting Sarah. 

Made it! How’s it going? 

Mercifully, Sarah responded quickly. 

Good! Tommy hasn’t dropped her yet.

You laughed a little. 

I’ll take it. She eating? How was school today?

Yup! Some baby food chicken and peaches. Tummy time now. And school was fine. All is OK Mom.

“In town for business or pleasure?” 

You looked up from your phone and flipped it shut to find a man in khakis and a button down leaning against the bar next to you. 

“Oh,” you almost jumped at his proximity as he looked you up and down. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” he smiled. His hair was blond and his eyes were blue and he looked a little bit like a Ken doll. Definitely not your type. “Can’t remember the last time I saw someone as pretty as you drinking alone at a hotel bar.” 

“Oh,” you said again. “Um…” 

“So I think you must be in town on business,” the man continued as though you hadn’t said anything. You tried to peer around him to see where Joel was in line but he followed you, cutting off your view. “No way you’d be here by yourself otherwise.” 

“Well, I’m here on vacation,” you said, fidgeting in your plush high top chair. “And my…” 

“Must be here with friends then,” he smiled. “Girls’ weekend?” 

“Well, no,” you laughed a little. “Actually…” 

“I know you can’t be here with a boyfriend,” he said. “If you were my girl, I’d never let you out of my sight…” 

“She’s here with her husband, actually,” Joel said from behind the man, who stood up straighter and turned, slowly, to find your husband at his back. Joel smiled. “Hi. Appreciate you keepin’ my wife company while I got us all checked in but, if you’ll excuse me, you’re in my way.” 

“Sorry, man,” he shoved himself up off the bar. “Didn’t know she was spoken for.” 

He trudged off to the other side of the lounge and you watched him go, making sure you didn’t audibly laugh until he was out of ear shot. 

“Oh my God,” you half laughed, half whispered to Joel. 

“I know,” he kissed your temple and laughed into your hair. “Leave you unattended for half a minute and got guys tryin’ to steal you out from under me.” 

“No accounting for taste in hotel bars, apparently,” you teased, going to polish off your cocktail but Joel put one of his large hands on your arm. 

“Take your time,” he said, taking the seat next to you. “Wouldn’t mind a beer after that drive. They’re gonna put the bags in the room, anyhow.” 

“Oh,” you gasped in faux shock. “So fancy!” 

“Only the fanciest for Mrs. Miller,” he kissed your cheek as you giggled. 

The two of you had some drinks and you were pleasantly tipsy for the first time in almost two years, only a glass of wine here and there since Evie was born and you were nursing. She’d only weaned about a month ago but you’d been too busy to indulge. Joel put an arm around your waist and guided you to the elevator and you draped yourself over him, giddily kissing him as you held yourself against him. 

“So,” he said between kisses. “Been thinkin’.” 

“Have you now?” You smiled against his lips. 

“There is something we could do to keep random men from tryin’ to pick you up the second you’re out of my sight,” he smiled back as the elevator dinged. 

“Really?” 

He turned you around and pointed you at the doors and kissed the side of your head before nudging you forward. 

“Room 1023,” he said. “And yeah, think there’s somethin’ that’s pretty easy to arrange.” 

“And what’s that?” You asked as he steered you down the hall toward the end of the building that faced the gulf. He pulled a room key card out of his pocket and swiped it at the door, opening it for you. 

“Well,” he said, nudging you into the room. “Bet they’d leave you alone If you had ring.” 

“I have my wedding band,” you frowned down at your hand and the simple white gold ring that matched Joel’s. “I like my wedding band.” 

“I know,” he said, closing the door behind him. “But thought you could use something with a little shine.” 

You made it all the way into the room and gasped, a bottle of champagne on ice, chocolate covered strawberries and a bouquet of roses waiting for you near the door leading to the balcony. 

“Joel!” You gasped, your hands flying to cover your mouth. “What….” 

You looked back over your shoulder to see him down on one knee, a little box open in his hand. 

“Joel!” You yelped it this time. 

“Never did ask you properly,” he smiled a little. “Figured I was overdue. Especially since you’ve given me the entire world, only fair that I get on my knees to ask you to do me the honor of continuing to be my wife for as long as we both shall live.” 

“Of course I will!” You dropped to your knees next to him and kissed him, pressing yourself against him. 

He more beamed than smiled against your lips and pulled the ring - a diamond-encrusted band  with no center stone, the gems making an almost floral pattern all around your finger as he slid it into place. 

“If you don’t like it, we can pick somethin’ else,” he said as you gaped at the ring. “Thought this was more your style and would be out of the way with the girls and then medical school…”

“It’s perfect,” you whispered, the stones reminding you of the flowering vines you painted on picture frames and table legs. You sat down fully in the floor and tore your eyes away from the ring to look at Joel. “But… I mean, can we afford this? I love it, I really really do, but…” 

“I had some money set aside for it,” he sat down next to you. “Wasn’t joking when I said I should’ve asked you years ago. I’d been saving up for a ring for a bit but then…” 

You looked back at your hand and just nodded, not wanting to think about the few weeks the two of you had broken up because Joel thought he was holding you back. 

Then your eyes went wide, looking back at Joel. 

“But I didn’t get you anything! We said the trip was our gift to ourselves and…” 

He laughed. 

“Didn’t want you stressin’ about it, Baby,” he said. “Now, why don’t we go get some dinner without worrying about the kids waiting for us at home?” 

You got changed into a dress that had been a little big before Evie and now was a little snug and hoped that it didn’t look too noticeable once you put a cardigan over it. But Joel didn’t seem to mind, looking at you with warm, soft eyes as he sat across from you at the restaurant. He put his hand on the table, fingers reaching for you, and you put yours in his. He smiled bigger when you did and gave your hand a squeeze. 

By the time you headed back to the room, you were having a hard time not ripping his clothes off in the elevator, his arms around you, holding you tight against his front as you kissed him deeply, his cock hardening against your stomach. 

When you got to the room, you dropped your purse on the dresser and tugged off the cardigan before going to turn out the lights but Joel caught your wrist, running his thumb over your pulse point. You frowned. 

“Joel…” 

“Was thinkin’,” he said, tugging you close to him. “If you wanted to give me something…” 

“I do,” you said, a little breathless as he trailed kisses over your forehead. 

“You don’t have to,” he said, his lips still against your skin. “I don’t want to make you feel obligated or uncomfortable but…” 

He trailed off, working his way down your jaw to your throat, your shoulder, until he lifted your wrist to his lips and kissed you there, too. 

“I’d like it if we left the lights on.” 

You frowned a little, looking up at him. 

“Really?” You asked. “That… I don’t know…” 

“Miss seeing you,” he said quietly, kissing your wrist again. 

“It’s different now,” you said, chewing on your lower lip. “I don’t look how I used to look…” 

Before becoming a mom, you’d never really been shy about your body with Joel. He made it very clear that he thought you were the most beautiful, most sexy woman on the planet. You might have questioned his judgement but you never doubted that he felt that way. But things were different after having a baby. There was just more of you now. You were hyper-aware of it, the fact that - even almost a year after giving birth - you weren’t anywhere near wearing your pre-pregnancy jeans and that, the more of you there was wasn’t exactly sculpted and smooth. You weren’t stupid, you saw the kind of woman who was on magazine covers and in movies, the kind of woman men liked. You’d never been further from that kind of woman than you had been in the last year. 

The last time you remembered being naked in front of Joel where he could actually see you was just after Evie was born, when he helped you in the shower while you recovered. It wasn’t like you’d been trying to turn him on then and that had felt strange enough, your husband’s hands on a body you didn’t fully recognize as your own. 

Ever since, you always put on a robe as soon as you were out of the shower. You’d stopped styling your hair and doing your makeup naked, even at the height of summer. And, while you and Joel had found a good groove with your sex life even with a baby at home, you always turned off the lights before you started undressing. 

“I know,” he shrugged. “I don’t, either. Didn’t have quite this much of a belly when I first conned you into bed with me…” 

You scoffed but smiled a little. 

“I like your belly.” 

“And I like your whole body,” he said, his hand going from your wrist to trace over your arm to the curve of your breast, down to your waist. “Love it, actually. Every damn inch of it.” 

You crinkled your nose at that. 

“But I have stretch marks,” you said. “And…” 

“Baby,” he smiled gently. “You’re my wife. Most beautiful damn woman on Earth. I love lookin’ at you. Loved it when we first got together, love it now. Hell, if I had my way, all I’d do would be look at you and our girls.” 

“Really?” You asked, brows raised. “Even right now?” 

“Especially right now,” he nuzzled against you before kissing you gently. “I know you don’t look like you did when you were 21 but I fuckin’ love that. Your body got you through college and helped raise Sarah and grew our baby girl. I want nothing more than to be able to really look at you, especially while I’m inside you.” 

“And that’s what you want for our anniversary?” You asked. “Just… me with the lights on?” 

“More than anything.” 

You took a deep, shaky breath. 

“Well, let’s pop that champagne because I think I need some liquid courage,” you said. “But OK.” 

Joel kissed you, gentle and deep, before opening the wine and pouring you each a glass. 

“To the most amazing wife anyone could ask for,” he said, tipping his flute to you. You touched the edge of yours to his with a quiet clink. 

“And to the most perfect husband.” 

You drank two glasses of champagne and ate a strawberry before you put your glass down on the table and took a deep breath, standing in front of your husband and feeling almost like you did the first time you got undressed in front of him. 

“Promise if I’m not what you want, it’s lights out?” You asked, stomach tight and heart pounding. 

“Oh, Baby,” he gently brushed your hair back before cupping your cheek in his large hand. “There’s no world where you’re not what I want. You’re exactly what I want. Promise.”

You swallowed hard and nodded, holding  his gaze as you reached for the zipper at the side of your dress, tugging it down slowly. 

Joel’s hand traced down your throat to the strap of your dress, slipping it down your arm until it hung near your elbow. He did the same with the other side before delicately tilting your chin to kiss you. His lips were soft and gentle, not desperate for you so much as savoring you. You moaned into his mouth and his lips grew firmer against you as he nudged you back toward the bed. You shrugged out of the straps entirely, your dress only held up by the fact that you were pressed tightly against Joel. He pulled his lips from yours just enough that you could look in his eyes. 

“I’ve got you, Baby,” he said softly. “Promise.” 

*** 

Where the hell you’d gotten it in your head that he wouldn’t want to see you, Joel had no idea. 

He couldn’t imagine something more ludicrous. All he wanted to do was look at you. If he could buy a ticket to sit and just look at you all day, he would. 

But you hadn’t let him in months and fuck, he missed seeing your body. 

It took Joel weeks to even figure out what was happening. Immediately after Evie was born, everything was exhausting and hectic. You needed rest, Evie needed constant care, Sarah needed to keep on top of her school work and extra curriculars, Joel could only take so much time off work. Sex hadn’t been on his mind at all, he only wanted to take care of his daughters and the woman who has given him everything he could ever need. He didn’t notice the small changes that happened alongside the huge ones. 

But as the two of you started to come back into yourselves as individuals and a couple - instead of just Mom and Dad - Joel started to notice a difference. 

You never got changed in the bedroom anymore. At least, not when Joel was there. You always went into the closet or the bathroom. The closest you’d come was tugging on your pants under your robe and putting on your shirt with your back to him. You always put at least one of his shirts on after sex, never sleeping naked in his arms anymore. 

And then he started noticing that you always turned out the lights before sex. 

You did such a good job of making it seem romantic or flirty, he was worried, for a moment, that it was because of him. If you weren’t really attracted to him anymore. But he caught you watching him with a hungry look in your eyes as he looked for a clean pair of boxers when he got out of the shower one day after work. Evie had been napping and Sarah was out with a friend and Joel practically pounced you. 

“You just got all cleaned up!” You laughed as he kissed along your throat. “You’ll get all sweaty…” 

“Sounds great to me,” he growled before nipping at your neck. 

“Here,” you pulled back from him. “Got a better idea.” 

You nudged him down onto his back and you took him into your mouth, licking and sucking him until he came down your throat with a desperate groan. 

“See?” You panted, wiping your chin clean. “Better.” 

While it certainly wasn’t bad, it definitely wasn’t better. Joel didn’t want to just get off. He wanted you. He wanted the rest of the world to fall away, to feel you everywhere, to watch you come apart while he was deep inside of you. You sucking him off was fun but it wasn’t what he craved, what he really needed. 

Once he pieced it together, he wasn’t even sure how to bring it up. What was he supposed to do, look at you and go “Hey, Baby, I’ve noticed you haven’t let me gawk at you like some stupid fucking teenager lately. Think we can make that happen?” 

He hadn’t even intended to bring it up this weekend. He’d kind of hoped that if he could make you feel special, that if he could give you some evidence of how much he adored you, you’d just… forget to turn off the lights one night. 

But then he was a few beers deep and looking at you from across the table, your dress tight across your breasts and eyes all but glowing in the candlelight and he couldn’t help himself. He needed you. He needed you to overwhelm all his senses, he needed to be able to worship at the altar of your sex. He needed to see you. 

But you looked so nervous - as though there was a snowball’s chance in hell that he’d look at you and not want you - it made his heart ache. 

“I’ve got you, Baby. Promise.”

You just nodded and Joel took the sides of your dress and pulled back enough from you that it fell away from your breasts, the soft flesh pressed high in your strapless bra. He tugged the dress over your stomach and hips until it fluttered to the floor around your feet and you looked at him through your eyelashes, your breaths coming quick and shallow. 

You were so much more beautiful than he remembered. 

The swell of your breasts, the soft curve of your stomach, the plushness of your thighs. He wanted to touch and taste and sink into all of you, every inch. 

“Oh, Baby,” he breathed, not able to take his eyes off you. “You are fucking gorgeous.” 

“Really?” Your voice was quiet, doubtful. He managed to pull his gaze from your body to look in your eyes. 

“Really,” he said. “Most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.” 

You still looked uncertain. 

“Here,” he said, nudging you down onto the bed. “Let me show you.” 

He unhooked your bra and delicately removed it before pressing gently on your shoulders so you were lying back. He unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt before he pulled it over his head and cast it aside. He desperately wanted to feel your skin, fabric was just going to be in the way. You watched as he crawled up the bed beside you, his hand skimming over the softness of your stomach to your chest. He cupped your breast, cradling the warm, plush weight in his large palm before he thumbed gently at your nipple, the flesh peaking and pebbling under his touch. You groaned and squirmed a little, your thighs pressing tight together as your eyes closed, face sharply focused and he smiled a little. Fuck, he’d missed this. 

“Love how full you are here after nursing our baby,” he said, taking that firm little nipple in his mouth and sucking you gently as he held your breast, making your back arch. “So damn sexy, knowing I can make you feel good like this…” 

He moved to the other side, giving you the same treatment there, too, looking up at your face as you whimpered and moaned beneath him. 

After a while, he reluctantly moved down your body, trailing his lips over your breastbone to your stomach, his hands at your waist. 

“Love how soft you are here,” he said. “Love that you’ve grown and changed with me and our family.” 

He kissed slowly down your stomach, pausing at the top of your panties to tug them down, you lifting your hips from the bed to help. He dropped them to the floor and traced a finger over your glistening slit, making you gasp. 

“Love how warm and wet you are for me,” he said, thumb circling your clit. “That it seems like you want me almost as much as I want you…” 

“I do,” you were panting below him. “I want you, I want you so bad…” 

“Good,” he said, leaning down and giving your slit a gentle, almost teasing lick. “Because I’m gonna make you come for me. Gonna make you feel so good, Baby. Gonna make you see just how much I want you.” 

He sucked your clit into his mouth and you gasped, your back arching and your fingers knotting in the bedspread and he couldn’t help but smile against you as he looked over your body to how your head was pressing back into the mattress. 

Joel released you and ran is nose over your slit, pressing between your lower lips to nestle against your clit as his tongue dipped ever so slightly into your dripping core. 

“Joel,” you whimpered, trembling, body tense. “Fuck, Joel, I…” 

He slipped his tongue into your tight, wet heat and you gasped, back arching as you ground your hips down against his face. He couldn’t take his eyes off you as he ate at your sweet, tight little pussy. One hand stretched up to your stomach, spreading wide over your impossibly soft skin, the other sinking into the flesh of your thigh to pull the supple warmth of you against his cheek. 

Joel could feel you starting to tighten and tense around his tongue, your wetness dripping down his chin, and he was so fucking hard in his pants that he was rutting down against the bed. The taste of you, the heat, the musky sweet smell, the sight of you as you arched into him. He released your leg and thrust a finger into you alongside his tongue, pressing into the tender, deep parts of you he knew so well and you came with a choking little sob, your channel fluttering over him. He worked you through it, his touch easing as your orgasm did, until he slid himself from you as you lay, limp and gasping below him. He quickly removed his pants and underwear before kissing up your body, leaving a trail of your slick on your skin. When he reached your lips, he kissed you there, too, desperate and deep and you moaned into his mouth as his tongue slipped into yours. 

“See?” He said softly as he gently traced your hairline at your forehead, your eyes wide and pupils blown. “You even taste fuckin’ amazing, Baby. Not a damn thing about you I’d change. Except maybe that you could see yourself how I see you.” 

“Joel,” you whispered in that way you did when you were blissed out and couldn’t remember much outside of his name. He smiled a little and gently kissed your lips. 

“It OK if I keep makin’ you feel good, Baby?” He asked, pressing slow, deep kisses to your cheeks and jaw between the words. “You have no idea how bad I need to be inside you.” 

“Please,” you breathed. “I need you, I need you so bad…” 

He slowly reached between your bodies and traced your sex, making you gasp, and dipped two fingers just inside your entrance, gathering your slick and bringing it to his cock. He spread his precome and your wetness over himself, moaning a little at the feel of both of you together on his skin. 

“Here,” he said, pushing back from you so there was enough space between your bodies that you could look down and see where he was working his length. “Look, Baby.” You lifted your head just enough to obey and he looked down your body, too, as he brushed his thick head against your clit before he started to sink into you. “Look how good you take me with this gorgeous fucking body of yours. It’s like you were made for me, just to drive me wild…” 

“I was,” you whimpered, still looking down where he was entering you. “I was made for you, nothing feels as good as you, nothing…” 

“Love seeing how you take me,” he said as he stopped half inside you, thrusting shallowly in and out of you, the ridges inside your tight channel catching on his head. “Love seeing you like this, all bare and hot and wet for me.” 

He sank all the way into you then and you moaned at the feeling of him stretching you, your pussy holding him so close and tight. 

As he looked down at you, he couldn’t understand how anyone - even yourself - could look at you and see anything but perfection. Your body was paradise, wonderland, heaven incarnate. He longed to hold and kiss and memorize every inch, wanted to spend the rest of his life doing nothing but worship you and everything you’d given him. 

Joel thrust slow and deep and hard a few times that way, where he could see him disappearing into you, your fingers digging into his biceps as you moaned and panted below him. But he wanted to see your face and feel your skin even more than he wanted to drink in your body. He pressed himself deep and lowered himself onto you so he could feel your skin everywhere on his. Your eyes latched onto his, your gaze looking almost as desperate as he felt and he worked his cock impossibly deeper into you, making your back arch up into him. You rocked your hips against him as you pulled him closer, your pussy already getting tight over him. You were so beautiful like this, all needy and so full of pleasure it looked like you might burst with it. 

“Fuck, Baby, think you can give me another one?” He asked, breathless, as he set an aching rhythm inside of you. “Want to feel you come while I’m inside you, want to make you come.” 

You just nodded, a little frantic, your hips working back against his, your channel getting even tighter around him, making him moan. 

“Fuck, don’t think I’m gonna last,” he dropped his lips to your throat, kissing and sucking the soft skin there. “You feel too good, Baby, not gonna make it inside you…”

“Joel,” you whimpered. “Please…” 

“Together,” he said, lacing his fingers with yours and pinning your hand to the mattress over your head. “Want to come together, Baby, love you so much, want to come with you. You just tell me when you’re gonna come and then let go for me, just let go for me.” 

He adjusted his angle ever so slightly, his cock harder than he could remember it being anytime in the recent past, and he ground himself down inside of you, his hips pressed against your clit as he worked you from the inside. His head barely left the place deep within you that made your toes curl and your back arch, just giving enough room when he pulled back for each stroke to feel more intense than the last. Just when he felt like your channel couldn’t get any tighter, your fingers gripped his skin so hard he knew it would leave marks but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“I’m gonna come, Joel,” you sounded so desperate. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna…” 

Your orgasm took hold and your pussy throbbed and pulled around him, pulling his own release from him in hard, thick ropes as he emptied himself into your dripping heat. 

“Fuck, Baby,” he pressed his mouth into your shoulder to muffle his moans as he held his cock so deep inside you it almost hurt with the intensity of it. “Fuck, you’re doing so good, Baby. Let it all go for me, just keep… keep milking my cock, just like that, doing so fucking good…” 

You moaned, clinging to him as you came undone, this orgasm stronger than Joel remembered feeling from you in months. Eventually, you went limp below him and he collapsed, half on top of you, half beside you. You trailed your fingers through his hair and down his back and he could feel the thick, heavy thrum of your pulse from inside of you. 

He wasn’t sure quite how long the two of you lay like that before he adjusted, bringing you with him so his softening cock was still held within you, making it so you were facing each other on your sides. 

“Missed seeing you like this so much,” he said softly, brushing your hair back from your face. 

“I missed it, too,” you whispered back, biting your lip for a moment. He frowned. 

“You OK Baby?” 

“Oh I’m great,” you smiled gently. “I guess I just… I feel a little silly for worrying about that now.” 

He tugged you closer to kiss your forehead, breathing in the lavender scent of you as he did. 

“We’re going to be together forever,” he said. “Forever’s a long time. There’s gonna be a lot that we see change but you better believe that I will always be crazy about you and this beautiful body of yours. Hell, every time you look at me I feel like the luckiest man alive because you’ll even breathe in my direction, never mind be with me. I’m always gonna want you, Baby. Can’t be helped.” 

You smiled a little. 

“Don’t think it’s silly for us to come all this way just to never leave the hotel room, do you?” You asked. “Because I’m not sure I want to go anywhere tomorrow.” 

He smiled back. 

“Sounds like the perfect day to me, Baby. Any day is a perfect day if I get to spend it with you.” 

A/N: Thank you for reading and for still being here for Joel and Doc months after their main story wrapped.

Love you!

[fanaticsnail]

Daughter of the Sea: Chapter 5

Masterlist Here, Header Masterlist Here

Word Count: 3,500+

Synopsis: The news you received made a ripple turn into a tidal wave, the information shaking you to your core and shatter not only your own heart, but the heart of your niece and her crew. The man you love pleads for you to process this information in another way, and you truly want to, but your duty causes you to place a hard barrier back up to fortify your heart.

Themes: Unrequited requited love, slow burn, long fic, long distance relationship, friends to lovers, found family dynamics, love over time, (smut, mdni 18+, NSFW - chapters will be marked accordingly), love-making, angst, hurt, gendered terms used, swearing, adult language. 

Notes: Benn Beckman x f!reader, platonic!Mihawk x f!reader, platonic!Shanks x f!reader, slight mention of MiShanks ship, Beginning: Shanks is 19, Mihawk is 23, Beckman is 30, f!reader is 22, Uta is 2 months old for the sake of the plot (canonically she's 2 years old). The f!reader is suggested to be native to Kuraigana with her mannerisms and language.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @since-im-already-here @mfreedomstuff @gingernut1314 @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @indydonuts

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Approaching the land, you heard the soft music of Uta's songs spill from her voice and smelled the bready pancakes fried in sizzling butter. Immediately, your heart panged with a guilt unlike anything you had ever felt. Wanting nothing more than to join in on the merriment and remain blissfully ignorant, you kept your hood up and darted into the bar unseen. 

No sound was emitted from you that you did not intend, your skills throughout the ages not going unpracticed. As Shanks moved away from the main bunch, you tugged at his left sleeve, prompting his eyes to meet yours. You gestured with your index finger to your covered lips for him to remain silent, his face immediately growing cold at your attire. He gave you a curt nod, steely eyes holding to your own with absolute seriousness.

Leading him away from his crew and out of sight behind the bar, you stood upright and informed him of exactly what was relayed to you. 

“Mihawk has been promoted to one of the seven warlords of the sea, his orders now being given by the World Government,” your voice remaining hardened and emotionless, “His bounty is canceled, as has mine been by association.” Shanks’ surprise and horror wrote itself on his face, his expressive hazelnut eyes welling in rage. 

“What does that mean?” Although his words had all the elements to depict a question, there was no ask within. He knew what it meant, just as you came to terms with it moments prior. 

“It means, for now,” you felt the danger rise between you, “You, your crew, and all those associated with you,” you darted your eyes between his, “Are not only Mihawk’s, but are my enemy.” He clicked his tongue, immediately stepping forward and reaching for you, prompting you to step aside to dodge his embrace. 

“You're going to let him tell you how to lead your life?” he spat his question, looking at you with brutal animosity, “Going to let the World Government house-break you, to force you to serve them like a dog begging for a scrap at their master’s table?” He attempted to reach for you again, you stepping back to avoid him. 

“Please don't, Captain,” you attempted to keep your tone steady, the small wobble in your voice giving you away. “I-It’s hard enough as it is to come to terms with. You think I want this?” Shanks attempted one last time to grasp you, his two hands immediately finding your biceps and tugging you into a warm embrace. 

The tears finally fell as you buried your head into his shoulder. You circled your arms up his back, physically shaking through your silent sobs. He held you, placing his chin atop your head and biting back his own emotions. 

“How long until I can make contact with you or Mihawk?” he whispered, his hand smoothing your hood over your shoulders. 

“Two years for a single call,” you whispered between soft cries, prompting Shanks to raise his right hand to cup over his lips. He was wracked with grief, already mourning for his friendship with Mihawk and grieving the relationship he had developed with you over the years. 

“Letters would be out of the question until three to four years have passed?” he choked out, gripping you tighter as he felt you begin to fall apart in his arms. You admitted his rationale with a soft nod against him. 

“When will we see you again?” Shanks’ voice was barely above a whisper, his tears now spilling over his lash line and down his cheeks. You solidified your fate with two condemning words. 

“Five years.” 

Holding each other for a moment longer, both of your bodies remained eclipsed by shadow and your presence not missed from within the bar. After a moment, his kindness poured from his lips with a soft question. 

“Would you join me and my crew if I asked you to?” he tilted your face up with his index finger, “Serve aboard the Red-Force, live with Uta and be with her always. Use your skills as a spymistress to keep her safe, use them to make contact with Mihawk. Be with Beckman-.”

“-I can't, Shanks,” you whispered, the quiver of your mouth shielded beneath the shroud of the covering, “I owe Mihawk my life. I only live and breathe now because of him, and I refuse to leave him to bear this new burden alone.” Shanks' fury ignited, feeling the wound fester and bubble within him as he slowly released you. 

“You're not even going to say goodbye to them, are you?” he accused you, his anger feeling tangible as he bore his unrelenting stare against you, “You're going to slink and cower away like the viper you used to be, the snake I knew you to be all those years ago. Not even going to reassure the crew you don't hate them-.”

“-This was a mistake,” you whispered to yourself, backing away from him and shifting out from the shadows and into the light, “I never should've been persuaded to come here.” Shanks' stalking approach had you raise your arms in defense. Yassop straightened his back, immediately clocking your shrouded figure and whistling to get Roux's attention. 

“Get out of here, snake,” Shanks barked at you, his unblinking gaze having panic written itself over you, “Slither back into the beak of the hawk. Live in his talons, enjoy your wines in the gloomy prick’s castle in silence. Have no joy within the walls, and enjoy a life eclipsed by shadow.” Instead of backing away further, you stood firm in place. Your hands extended out in defensive combat, your eyes narrowing. 

“I am no mere animal you can bark at to intimidate, Red-Hair,” you snarled, a deep frown warning him to not to engage you further, “I have my orders, and you know where my loyalty lies. If this is where you strike me down, so be it.” Instead of taunting you further, his booming, commanding voice cut over the lively chatter within the bar. 

“Dracule Mihawk, lord of Kuraigana and World's Greatest Swordsman has been promoted to a mighty warlord of the sea, boys,” he barked to his men, voice dripping with hate and venom, “And his spymistress has decided to join him on this next plight as the whispering word of the World Government.”

Your panic shot up your spine, freezing you in place as you felt several eyes draw over your form. A soft cry of your name shattered your heart, Uta's voice quivering over every syllable of it. There was no more ‘Pretty Aunty,’ there was simply your name. The name felt foreign on her tongue, as did her absolute sorrow. 

“So, drink up to the promotion, boys,” Shanks continued his taunt, his humorless voice stabbing you in the heart with each subtle jab, “We have two new enemies in our midst: Dracule Mihawk, uncle to Uta, and my f-former-...” Shanks couldn't finish his sentence, his heart shattering at the memories he shared with his rival turned friend. 

Movement was temporarily gone from your mind, your body frozen in your defensive stance as you watched the Red-Hair Shanks fall apart in front of you. You wanted to lunge forward, to comfort your friend and to reassure him that both you and Mihawk still love him: want to see him thrive and grow, but your guard refused to lower. A soft and steady drawl called over to you, your name first shattering before his question tumbled from his lips. You were frozen, your eyes snapping over to meet the source of a soft question. 

“It’s true, Darlin’?” 

It would've been so much simpler to just leave, to flee the bar and not face the two sets of eyes you could barely stand the thought of meeting with. You were adamant to all who knew you that you were not a coward, not one to turn away when things got rough and you allowed your actions to speak for themselves. 

As soon as you drew your eyes up to his steely orbs, you were lost within their depths. His face had a soft tuft of flour smudged atop his chin, his hand holding a spatula for Uta's pancakes. You could feel everything in his eyes, watching as the windows revealing his heart to you began to eclipse with the hardened curtains of steely betrayal. 

“I have no choice,” you whispered to him, “I live in Kuraigana, I serve Mihawk as his-.”

“-Take that fuckin’ mask off and face me properly,” his bark stung deeper than Shanks’, Uta now clutching at him and soothing over his shoulders as he slouched on the ground. 

You closed your eyes, inhaling a deep breath through your nose before removing your mask by hooking your middle finger beneath it. Stalking lowly towards him, eyes refusing to depart from him for a moment. The image of him like this was branded in your memory, the former night and morning spent within each other's arms faded away with each soft step. 

“And your hood,” Beckman halted your slow approach, prompting your hand to raise to your hair and tug back the hood from concealing your hair. Again, you walked over to him, halting when he barked once more at you. 

“Your uniform,” he uttered in a low and bitter drawl, “Take off that thieving robe, and let me see you properly.” You immediately scoffed at him, untying the bands and loosening it from your body, revealing your torso adorned in a soft, dark bandeau. Marks of the prior night of shared love littered your body. The Red-Hair crew all witnessed the indents, welts and swollen kisses over your torso and shoulders, Beckman’s pride soaring in his chest as the cause for such unbridled expression of love. 

“Anything else, sir?” your low growl taunted him, chin firmly in the air as you looked down your nose at him. He raked his eyes over each mark, memories of the actions that caused them momentarily flooding his mind before his eyes met with yours. His gaze was hard and unmoving, unreadable and unexpressive, and it frightened you. 

“Aye, actually,” he handed the cooking supplies over to Roux at his side, “There's so much else that needs to be said, questions that I have that I know will lead to nothin' but heartache.” He stepped towards you, his shoulders squared as he looked down at your shorter form. 

“But I'll settle for this first,” he leant down, his arms immediately hooking over your shoulders and drawing you into his body. Lips locking with yours, you felt his sorrow stab at you like one of the blades tucked at your calves. You tried to hold back, tried to not give in to feeling the way you wanted to, but his lips coaxed every truth you could muster with his lips gently collecting yours beneath it. The shards guarding your heart melted away, all within the arms of the man you loved.

Raking your arms over his torso, your guard completely fell away. All of your prior, pent up guilt and sorrow pushed into him by meeting his passion and pressing more of yourself into him. His fingertips raked through your hair, his mouth humming against yours as you anchored yourself against him further. 

A soft shriek of joy prompted you to break away from the kiss, both of you snapping over to meet with Uta’s gleeful applause. Shanks sighed, cocking his head to the side as he watched you both lovingly continue to hold each other while Beckman glared at him. Uta rushed over to you, slotting herself between you both and circling her arms around you. 

“Okay, Pretty Aunty,” she suddenly uttered, prompting your voice to catch in your throat, “Can we please be enemies after breakfast? And can breakfast be extra slow?”

The desire to both laugh and cry overtook you at once, immediately slinking to your knees and out of Beckman's embrace to collect her in your arms. Uta mimicked your emotion, her tears spilling freely as she laughed with you. 

“I'm so sorry, gorgeous girl,” you whisper, pressing your lips against her cheek and giving her several soft pecks against her face, “I can’t. If the marines get wind of it, they’ll report it to Uncle Hawk and he’ll likely get punished for it. I can’t do that to him.”

“Not even gonna stay for a cup of coffee before you go?” Beckman jokes with you, his sorrowful voice holding a scrap of hope that you'll cave and remain behind with him. You gripped Uta tighter, ensuring she felt how hard this was for you to break from her. She clutched at your shoulders, her arms wringing around your neck and holding you close. You chose to ignore Beckman’s question, physically unable to answer him without breaking down further. 

“How long until we see each other again?” Uta whispered between soft sobs. You cradled her head, placing it against your shoulder as you did the first time you held her in your arms. Feeling your heart shatter as soon as the comparison was made, you whispered into her hair. 

“It will be five years until I can hold you like this, my princess,” you stuttered, “My beautiful, gorgeous girl,” you released her from your arms and gazed into her pooling eyes, “Daughter of the sea, with the sweet song of a siren.” She sniffled, her lip quivering and clenching her teeth against the flesh to halt her cry. 

“I promise I will watch over you,” you whispered after taking a moment to collect your thoughts, “While I may not be able to be with you like this in some time, I will always see you have your needs met in one way or another.” Just as you moved to pull away from the embrace, a warm hand cupped over your shoulder. 

“I’ll walk you to your ship,” Beckman’s stoic voice caused your spine to tingle and your heart to beat faster. You rose from your low bow after holding Uta for one final time. As she slipped from your arms, she immediately ran to Shanks. He cradled her, refusing to look at you as he shepherded his daughter towards the bar.

Elevating your body to your feet, you gripped your discarded clothes and slung them over your forearm. Refusing to turn back to face the Red-Hair pirates, or to acknowledge the man at your side, you began to make your way back to the docks. 

As your foot drew up to meet the plank of your ship, you were immediately halted by a strong arm slinking around your waist and drawing you back into his chest. Turning immediately in his arms, you hung your head low and balled his shirt within your clenched fists. 

“Oh, Darlin’,” his lips found the crown of your head, whispering softly against your hair, “You're truly gonna leave, just like that?” You sniffled, choosing not to say anything to him as he continued to prod at you, “Nothin' I can do or say to make you stay with me?” 

“Could I say anything to have you leave Shanks and join me in Kuraigana?” you shot back, looking up at him with your eyes narrowed and accusatory, “Could I have you give up piracy and work for the World Government with Mihawk to be with me?” 

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head and sighing mournfully. He pressed his forehead against your own, raising his palm to collect your cheek within it. 

“I thought as much,” you smiled at him, your eyes softening as you gazed into his, “Just as I couldn't ask you to remain faithful to me in any other way. You deserve happiness and love, Beckman. If you find it with another-.”

“-Stop it,” he hushed you, pressing his lips against your forehead before gazing back down into your eyes, “I've only ever had your name written on my heart, and it will only ever belong to you.” Time stood still, both of your hearts yearning to remain beating as one. 

“I've wanted you in my arms for five long years, Darlin’,” he continued, his resolve almost breaking as he softly whispered his vow-like promise, “What's five more to someone like me?” 

“You know where to find me,” you whispered, hovering your lips over his as you stepped up onto your toes. Your breath was quaking, your hands shaking and your heart fluttering so hard you felt sick. 

“Keep a weather-eye on the horizon,” he uttered before his lips collided with yours. His right hand cradled your face, his left arm holding you firmly against him as you hooked your arms beneath his shoulders and held him firmly against you. 

His lips molded against yours, his feet ushering you up the panel to board your boat. Moving his left hand down to collect your hands, he moved them around his neck as he hoisted you into the air to carry you aboard. Kisses never ending, he wrapped your legs around his hips and caged your body against the topmost post in the center of your small ship. His hips stapled yours against the wooden post as his lips roamed over your face. 

“Beckman, I have to go,” you moaned, Beckman's lips trailing over your neck and towards your collarbone, “I have to go, now.”

“One more,” he uttered desperately, his lips finding yours and expertly chipping away at your intentions with each slow, intentional kiss. Your hand found his cheek, swiping at the flour he had spattered on his face from making Uta her pancakes, and you smiled against him. 

“Five years,” he murmured against your mouth, “Five years of waiting for you to admit you loved me, and five more until I get to have you again.” He playfully bit your bottom lip, nipping at the slightly bruised flesh. 

“Five years,” you confirmed with him, leaning forward in his arms to place a gentle bite against his jaw, “Unless we just so happen to be in the same area at the same time.” His body froze, his heart swelling at the notion. 

“We could accidentally run into one another,” his excitement gathered in the pit of his stomach, “There’s a few vineyards that Mihawk might need some samples from, and we could always do with more barrels to travel with.”

“Elegia is a beautiful country for music and poetry,” you informed him, trailing several kisses down his throat and nipping at the prior marks, “Uta would do well there with her vocal practice, and Mihawk always needs more romantic smut-novels to keep him entertained.”

“Oh, Darlin’,” Beckman found your lips by coaxing you up with his chin, “If you could use your talents to whisper a word to get to me,” he hummed against your lips, his longing already tangible in his motions, “I'll be waitin’.”

“We'll wait for the hurt and the heat to die down,” you whined against him as his hands hooked over your thighs and pressed more of himself into you, “Then we'll see how much I can get away with.”

“Don't do anything reckless,” he warned you, breaking his lips away to gaze into your eyes, “For now, keep your guard up and I'll do the same for the sake of Uta, my captain, and my crew.”

He placed you back onto the ground, immediately turning to aid you in readying your ship. As the last of the ropes withdrew, you shrugged your uniform back over your shoulders, leaving the front wide open to showcase Beckman's marks to him. Smiling, he jumped over the railing and began unweaving the ropes on the dock. 

“Whatever happens next, please know that my heart is with you,” you confessed to him, tugging up the wooden plank and tying it off at the side. “Enjoy your life, enjoy raising Uta, and enjoy wooing a variety of women-.”

“-Why would I want other women when I have you waitin’ for me?” Beckman scoffed, shaking his head, “You're worth enduring the lonely suffering of a man in love at sea.” You laughed at him, reaching forward and taking his hand in yours as your ship began to carry you to sea. 

“Then I will make your endurance well worth it the next time we meet,” you smiled at him, causing his heart to swoon for you as your grip slipped through his fingertips. He attempted to reach for you once more, but the distance was far too wide for him to meet his hand with your own. 

“I love you, Darlin',” he called to you, “No amount of years’ll change that.”

“And I love you,” you called in return. You saved your tears for the moment Goa kingdom was out of sight. 

The image of Shanks, Uta and Beckman was branded forever in your memory, prompting your breakdown to propel longer. Each item aboard your ship that was from the crew and your niece, you locked in a chest away with the entirety of your heart. 

There it would remain until the time came where you could expose your love to the light once more.

[wrathofresistantx]

Anthony Barbaro - The Olean High School Shooting

The Shooting

On December 30th, 1974, at approximately 2:50pm, 17-year-old Anthony Barbaro entered Olean High School. He was armed with a .30-06 rifle, a shotgun, smoke bombs, and a pistol. Before going to the school he told his younger brother "Tell mom I've gone to do some target shooting".

Upon entering the school through a side-entrance, he went up to the 3rd floor of the school and set off a molotov cocktail made from a Coca-Cola bottle filled with gasoline. He then shot the lock off of the Student Council room before going inside and tying the door shut.

Hearing a fire-alarm in the school, 61-year-old Earl Metcalf was sent upstairs to see what the problem was. Metcalf was a custodian at the school, and was part of a 12-man crew doing maintenance in the basement at the time. When Metcalf reached the 3rd floor, Joe Kusidlo, who was the school's 3rd floor custodian, warned Metcalf not to go further, as he thought he heard gunshots.

Metcalf went forward anyway and was confronted by Barbaro when Metcalf saw him through the window of the Student Council room. Anthony then opened the door and shot Metcalf, killing him. At around 3pm, Barbaro began shooting at people on the street from the 3rd floor.

From the 3rd floor he killed 25-year-old Carmen Wright while she was driving her car near the school. He also killed 58-year-old Neil Pilon, who was shot while fleeing from his truck during the shooting.

At 3:05pm, the Olean Fire Department received a call of a fire at Olean High School. This fire came from two smoke bombs used by Anthony Barbaro to lure the fire department to the school. Upon arriving at the school, the Olean Police Department received a call at 3:07pm from the Fire Department saying "Send all the help you can, the police and all. We're being shot at". Four police cars were dispatched to the area, and the area was sealed off 15 minutes after the initial call came in.

The shooting lasted over 90 minutes, as by 5pm witnesses reported that two "long-barrelled" weapons had been tossed out of the 3rd floor window. The police had also planned an assault on the school, with them moving to the top floor armed with shotguns, rifles, protective equipment and gas masks.

When police entered the 3rd floor student council room, Anthony lay on the floor with a gas mask over his face and a tape recorder by his left ear. He then let the police handcuff him and put him away on a stretcher. According to police testimony, Barbaro "was limp, conscious, not overly affected by the tear gas that filled the room".

The police also found 17 spent shotgun shells and 18 empty rifle cartridges, as well as 27 live rounds for a rifle and 30 for a shotgun. A 30.06 rifle was also found beneath the 3rd floor window. Its stock and barrel were broken in two, as well as being equipped with a telescopic sight and having one live round in the magazine.

The word "Shit" was also found written on the wall of the Student Council room in 20-inch letters and it was found that Anthony had been listening to the song "Ticking" by Elton John during the shooting. This song shared parallels to his own life, as it describes a quiet boy who goes on a shooting spree.

Anthony Barbaro

Anthony Barbaro was born on September 9th, 1957, to parents Ned and Helen Barbaro. He also was the oldest of his siblings, with him having two younger brothers and one younger sister. He was also a lifelong resident of Olean, with the family living in a two-storey house on the outskirts of the city.

Anthony was reported as being extremely quiet and "a loner". His uncle, Michael, said that "He never swore or said a curse word. He was quiet, very reserved, polite. He was a brain. He never had a girl friend. I never knew him to even go out with a girl". He was also the eight highest student in his class of 290, and wanted to be a physicist or a chemist.

In the wake of the shooting, much was made of Anthony's academic abilities. He had recently received a Regents' scholarship to go to college, and was an 'A' student. Upon hearing his nephew was the shooter, Michael Barbaro said "That's my nephew! He's an 'A' student!". Classmates also called him 'the professor' in Biology classes, and neighbours reported seeing him with a rifle and gas mask playing outside. The general attitude towards Anthony after the shooting was that he was a quiet student who rarely, if ever, caused any trouble.

He was also ranked third in Olean High School rifle team, with a teammate of his stating: "He was always very careful with the gun and he was always telling everyone else to be careful". Another teammate of Anthony's said that they sometimes "joked about holing up in the armory with all the weapons, you know - a sort of stand-off thing". It was also said that he "liked to read books about war, he liked war films".

Anthony's performance on the schools' rifle team was widely discussed, with Joe DeCerbo, Barbaro's rifle team coach, saying that he was "an excellent marksman" and that he regularly came to practice twice a week and was "very responsible, very safety minded".

Anthony also had a job at the Castle Restaurant, with his mother soon coming to work as a cashier. Frances Sullivan, who was a waitress who worked with Anthony said that she "loved him like a son" and that he said to her "I'll see you on New Year's Eve" and asked her if she wanted him to come into work early that day.

Barbaro's Trial

Anthony was arraigned on 31st December on three counts of second-degree murder, six counts of first-degree assault, and five counts of first-degree reckless endangerment.

On the 1st April 1975, Anthony was found competent to stand trial, with a preliminary hearing taking place on October 27th, 1975. Barbaro's defence lawyer, Vincent Doyle, stated that Anthony had a "serious, deep-rooted mental illness that precluded his conviction" with it also being said that he didn't remember committing the shooting.

"He can't remember pushing a couch against the doorway but yet he can remember shooting at a figure that appeared in the doorway" said Doyle. He also said that Anthony "forgot several details of the school room but he remembered the shooting".

It was also found out that Anthony had been planning the shooting for five months, with him having a notebook containing other locations he considered for a shooting. These included Rock City Hill, Olean High School and a line stating "get a car and drive through town shooting". Anthony only decided to commit the attack 12 hours before, after feeling more and more depressed for two weeks.

Barbaro's Suicide

On November 1st, 1975, Anthony was found hanged in his cell. He was found with a bedsheet knotted tightly around his neck, with the other end being tied to the bars of his cell. His death was ruled as a suicide after an autopsy was conducted.

He left multiple notes in his cell prior to his death, with two reading:

"To Whom It May Concern,

It hit me today that whichever way the trial goes, I won't survive. So I've decided to save all concerned some time and pain"..."I know for many it is too late, too late; but my life is all I have left to give.

Some will always ask 'Why?' I don't know - no one will. What has been, can't be changed. I'm sorry. Anthony Barbaro".

"The End,

It ends like it began; in the middle of the night. Someone might think it selfish or cowardly to take one's own life. Maybe so, but it's the only free choice I have. The way I figure, I lose either way. If I'm found not guilty, I won't survive the pain I've caused - my guilt.

If I'm convicted, I won't survive the mental and physical punishment of my life in prison. Therefore, this is the only logical thing to do.

The following pages contain the details and my farewells."

Other quotes from these notes read:

"People are not afraid to die; it's just how they die! It's this way with me; especially when considering pain. I don't fear death, but rather the pain. But no more. Now, my fate is in the hands of the Lord - His will be done."

"Now, come the thoughts at large. Mostly regrets I guess. I regret the pain I will cause my family and friends.

I regret that day the force took me - and the pain, suffering and destruction that resulted. I regret losing the few good memories...

I regret the foods I'll never taste, the music I'll never hear, the sites I'll never see, the accomplishments I'll never accomplish, in other words, I regret my life."

After his death Anthony was cremated, in accordance with his wishes. 300 people attended his funeral, with Rev. Roy Ronald asking the congregation to "think of all those years when there were no headlines. When Tony was doing his chores at home, when he was at school, working hard as always, when he was an altar boy here at St. Mary's, serving very faithfully".

[someonexsomeone]

Bus Boy

Title: Bus Boy

Author: SomeonexSomeone

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: NonSorcerer!Megumi Fushiguro x np!Reader

Summary: There's a really cute guy on your bus ride.

Authors Note: completely inspired by Laufey's "Beautiful Stranger"! okay listen listen listen I know Laufeyfest is over but I love this song sm and I'm sad I didn't put it on the official list so like just think about this as a spin-off type deal okay?

There's a really cute guy on your bus ride. Like, not just a fleeting, ‘eyes skimmed and appreciated and moved on’, but more of a ‘eyes skimmed, couldn’t comprehend what it saw, near whiplash to make sure I’m seeing what I’m seeing’ cute. He wasn’t looking at anyone near him, but the way he fluidly moved with the bus and the people around him made it clear he was more observant than his relaxed stance appeared. He was looking out the window, the sun shining just right on his face so every sharp angle was highlighted, his eyes sparkling as they watched the passing scenery. Eyelashes long enough to question if they were real or not barely fluttered as things whipped by, and didn’t move in any way to indicate he knew you were staring (which was impressive because you had been staring at him for just a tad bit too long at this point, and oh god, why won’t you look away? This has to be getting weird right?). His hair was dorky in an endearing way, spiked up in all directions, though it didn’t look like he had to use any product to get it that way. Effortless, just like the rest of him. 

You were rather reluctant to come all the way out to the countryside for your summer vacation. To be completely honest, you nearly burst into tears when your parents decided you would go help out your grandparents for the summer, needing to ship you away while they went to whatever new conference they needed to attend. Plans that had been in the works for months suddenly went down the drain, and there was nothing you could do about it. You loved your grandparents, you really did, and their adorable farm on the outskirts was often a great place to get away and relive old memories. But, to be honest, there hasn’t been anything fun to do down there in years. You were older now, nearly the age where you would set out on your own adventure with all the freedoms and restrictions adulthood provided, which meant that you were much too old to be digging around in muddy creeks to look for frogs, or dressing up in ridiculous outfits to entertain your grandparents’ many friends. Both of those memories forced a shiver up your spine. If they made you reenact The Princess and the Frog again…

That was what most of the bus ride had consisted of, reliving old memories and having to physically stop your face from contorting by squeezing your hands together, until just as you were pulling into the town center, the cutest guy you had ever seen sat right across from you without warning. Your long stare was interrupted by his very being, and the way the sun haloed his head almost made you question if you were witnessing a real encounter with an angel on Earth. To be fair, you were sleep-deprived, barely managing to hop on this bus before it left the train station, bag being hastily shoved back together when it popped open from the force of your desperate attempt to get aboard. A complete mess, for lack of a better description. And here was some guy at… 5:30 am (?!?) looking like he was one wardrobe change away from walking down the runway. He definitely caught your eye, to which you hastily looked away, trying as hard as you could to will the universe into help you this one time in making the cutest guy you’ve ever seen not remember the person who made a fool of themselves by ogling at him with drool dried to the side of their face. 

Now you think the universe listened a little too hard. Of all the things to really pay attention to, it had to be your wish to be forgotten by Bus Boy (Vehicle Man? Beautiful Stranger? Hot Farmer? Angel Guy? You had yet to come up with a good enough name to describe him), and not any of the other countless wishes you made before getting onto that fateful bus. You’re a little embarrassed to admit, but ever since that original meeting, you’ve been trying to get a second chance at a first impression. Any errand your grandparents needed to do, you were the first to volunteer. Grocery shopping, delivering or picking up from friends, even going as far as going back to the train station to pick up an emergency order, all to get a glimpse at your cute Bus Boy. It was even expected at this point, no one asking before dumping something in your hands with the shared bus pass placed on top. It was mortifying the teasing that came with it now, most of your family, and their friends, figuring someone was the reason why you were too excited to head into town, despite the many, many excuses you came up with to justify your actions (you were pretty proud of yourself for some of them, but, alas, your family is too romantic to want to believe anything else). 

In the least creepy way possible, and with a lot of trial and error (which is also definitely not creepy), you were starting to notice a pattern in his daily routine. He rode the bus at an ungodly hour in the morning, seeming to head from the larger town to the farmland on the outskirts, getting on long before you would and a handful of stops before you, which made it difficult to see him then. In the afternoons, it seemed like he was the same type of errand boy you were, whether by choice or not you weren’t sure, but he rarely carried anything with him and it was a completely random chance that you would see him. At night, or, really, around sunset, he would be on the bus headed back towards the town, seemingly going home. 

This seemingly random schedule, and the complete opposite nature of your bus routes, made it nearly as hard to avoid him as it was to see him. It seemed almost karma in nature the way he would always show up on days you weren’t feeling your best, just trying to get in and out or not bothering to put any effort into your appearance, and those instances where you were feeling great, on top of the world in confidence, he was nowhere to be seen. 

Which is, of course, how you ended up here, staring (gawking) at him on the hottest day of the year. This had to be the ultimate punishment, all that complaining from the beginning of summer and the secret wish you had that something, anything, would prevent you from being forced to the outskirts of civilization topped with the fact that you’re kinda sorta stalking this guy who, let’s be real, has no clue you exist. 

It was the most brutal day of your stay so far, being sent to your grandfather's close friend to help them move some things around. Easy enough, right? Wrong. It was only after you got there that they dared to tell you that they needed the entirety of their old shack emptied so they could tear it down to build a new one. Very exciting for them, a very mud-covered day for you. There wasn’t much you could do to salvage your clothes from the brunt of it, completely stiff from the dirt and grass and just years of grime that thrived in that neglected shed. One tumble involving a rusted bucket of mystery liquid destroyed your pants and shoes, and an accidental bump into a support beam sent a rain of rotten wood to really add to the whole experience. The couple was nice enough to send you back in some spare clothes so you wouldn’t dirty the bus with the worst of it, but you must have been a sight anyway because not a single person on the entire ride back had the decency to look subtly. The pants fit, thankfully, but they were bright pink and fuzzy, and the shirt was an old button-up that was nearly as ratty as the ruined clothes in the plastic bag by your foam sandal-covered feet.

To be honest, you were near tears, feeling pathetic.

And to make matters worse, Bus Boy, naturally, had to make an appearance and kill any happiness you hoped to find at the end of a grueling day. Sitting prettily, taking a break from the newspaper spread across his lap to watch the passing landscape, like some artist's wet dream. What were the odds that he was going to be on this stupid bus, far later than he ever did, passing all his usual stops, prolonging this horrible moment? You wanted to curl up into a ball, but there was also something healing about staring at this beautiful man that made breathing simultaneously easier and harder. 

Now that you were looking closer, you could tell something was a little…off. What it was, you weren’t completely sure, but his usual relaxed stance was a little stiff, kind of like he was getting ready to bolt the moment the door opened. Honestly, you were surprised every time the doors opened and he remained where he was, just as tense, if not more, as the minutes passed. 

Not that you were looking that closely, of course.

The one mission you had currently was to make it off the bus before he could get a good look at you. Not that you had any idea if he noticed you, before today or even right now, but the idea that maybe this could be your second first impression made you nearly jumpy as he looked. After that initial gawking session, you would only let your eyes pass briefly over his, just to make sure he wasn’t looking at you, before returning to look towards the front of the bus, willing it to go just a little faster. Of all the days to have Bus Boy ride past his usual stop, it had to be today. Your hands couldn’t sit still in your lap, one too many passes over your face has made it impossible to figure out if you just added more dirt or you were just that gross, and you had to force your leg to top bouncing because it kept nudging the bag at your feet, the crinkle of plastic booming in the nearly empty bus.

Then finally, finally, it pulled up to your stop. You were on your feet before the bus came to a complete halt, a rookie mistake as the doors always took a second longer to fully open, and, of course, Bus Boy had to be sitting right next to the exit. You bounced on the balls of your feet, the longest 4 seconds of your life. You couldn’t help it, casting one last look at the boy you had tried so hard to ignore all ride. And, to your horror, he was looking right back at you, stunning you into near rigor mortis. 

Cute? What was I thinking? This guy is gorgeous!

“I-” his soft voice started (of course he had to have a nice voice too, are you freaking kidding me-), but you didn’t look up, forcing your way through the door the second they were wide enough, calling out a thank you to the driver over your shoulder, practically sprinting down the hill to your temporary residence. You were absolutely mortified.

Megumi watched you bolt with wide eyes, a blush creeping up his cheeks. He slapped a hand over his mouth, hiding his expression from anyone who dared to look over at him. It was the only thing he could do to stop them from shaking.

It was how Yuuji and Nobara found him three stops later, his legs nearly jelly as they pushed himself off the bus and into the darkening evening. His tight grip on the wad of newspapers he brought was nearly humorous.

“Woah! What’s up with you?” Yuuji called, jogging up to meet him. He was carrying a bag bursting with snacks under his arm, bounding up to him in anticipation of the star gazing the three were going to do tonight. Nobara leisurely strolled up beside him, arms gently carrying a blanket Megumi recognized as Yuuji’s. Megumi shook his head once, twice, trying to snap himself out of the spell you had cast on him, instead taking a second look at the now obvious women’s bag his friend was carrying.

“What’s with the bag?”

“Oh! Nobara was complaining about her shoulder acting up again, so I offered to carry it for her.” Megumi side-eyed his other friend, who was skillfully dodging his gaze in favor of examining her nails. It’s more than three months now since Nobara injured her shoulder helping our Yuuji and his older brother Sukuna reinforce a collapsing wall in their house (she was excellent with a toolbox, though it was rare for her to do any of the actual dirty work), a minor injury that didn’t even have her hospitalized, but every once in a while her shoulder will mysteriously ‘act up’ and Yuuji, who was horrified that his friend was injured in any capacity helping him, immediately is at her beck and call. “Gojo and the rest say hi, by the way. We passed each other on my way out, and he wanted me to bring you this.” Megumi rolled his eyes at the condom deposited in his hand.

“What an idiot.”

“He really is. Did he seriously think you’d have the courage to ask even though you’ve been creeping on them all summer without a word?” Megumi swung out his elbow, but Nobara simply sidestepped, putting Yuuji between the two of them.

“Shut up.”

“What, was your beautiful angel even more breathtaking today that you couldn’t ask them to come?” Nobara teased. Yuuji laughed, jostling Megumi to match the goofy atmosphere. After all, it wasn’t every day that their cool and collected friend looked as vulnerable as he felt. 

Megumi hesitated, recalling immediately the adorable shyness you displayed today, something he hadn’t seen since that first night he saw you. Your face was covered in dirt, obviously exhausted, and in clothes that were definitely not yours. He easily remembered your flushed face as you made eye contact, the longest he’d had the pleasure to hold. He felt a pleasant shiver run up his spine.

“Yeah. Something like that,” he mumbled, his cheeks flaming bright pink. His companions didn’t give him a moment of peace, hounding him immediately for his more than obvious crush. Megumi rolled his eyes at them, chucking the unneeded (but not unwanted) condom in the trash as he ushered them to start their climb up the hill.

Next time, he thought, falling into step with his laughing friends. Next time, he’ll pluck up the courage to finally ask you to hang out outside your near-daily bus rides. And, while he’s at it, tell you just how beautiful you are.

______________________________________________________________

masterlist  l  Laufeyfest masterlist

[tomscocksleeve]

Not In Love

Story is based off the song Not In love by Crystal castles + Robert Smith.

═══════════════════════

Tom x female reader

Tw: arguing, fighting, make up sex?, angst, smut, unprotected p in v.

════════════════════════════════════

You were going through your old pictures on your phone and you had seen the old memories of your old best friend. Tom kaulitz. You wanted to cry at the thought of how things went down. You didn’t end up on bad terms, life just happened and he was gone. Later you had seen a text from an unknown number. It had piqued your interest and you read it.

Unknown

Hello? This is y/n?

Well hope this is the right number

It’s Tom. I’m back.

Your heart jumped out of its chest. You couldn’t believe it. You secretly had a crush on your best friend and now he’s finally back?! You squealed and arranged a meet up as soon as soon as possible. You had gotten ready to meet up with him and you rushed to the cafe to meet him. You felt so nervous.. it had been two years. Jesus.. you thought. As you waited for 30 minutes you waited for any sign he would show up but you started getting a little upset. You had some hope though, maybe he was just a little late.

After an hour you started giving up and you were walked out upset. As you did you saw Tom with a girl kissing her.. grabbing her waist.. you were pissed. You threw your drink at him cursing. “What the actual fuck! I waited an hour just for you to be with some whore!?” The girl seemed confused and mad the girl then spoke. “What are you his girlfriend?” And you replied. “No.. but he was supposed to meet me here!” Tom looked at the girl letting her go and he grabbed onto your shoulder it hurt.. “Relax! What the fuck? I was coming there was no reason for you to call her a whore.” His eyes were cold. Maybe it was because he changed.. he had cornrows now and his eyes were more darker than ever. You felt your eyes well up with tears. All you could think about was his grip. It could leave a mark.. it hurt and you tried pushing him off before he yelled at you. “I WANTED TO VISIT A FRIEND STOP ACTING SO FUCKING POSSESSIVE. SOMETIMES I HATE THAT I MET YOU! WE ARE NOT IN LOVE!” Those words did it for you. He pushed you away and you started crying. You felt

Your throat had gotten sore and you crossed your arms holding yourself and cried walking home. It was so cold… you finally arrived to your apartment and you kicked your heels off throwing them at the wall as you cried for what felt like hours at that rejection. You deleted every photo of him off your phone.

Timeskip- 2 days later

Tom had texted you after two days..

Tom:

Hey.. look two days ago.. I was out of line. Come over?

You were hesitant. You thought about it and sighed before driving to his place like a complete idiot. Tom opened the door smiling before bringing you into a hug. You hugged him back and he kissed your cheek in a friendly way. You could tell he wanted something. And he sat you down on the couch before sighing.

“Look y/n.. I invited you over because.. I wanted to sleep with you. I like you a lot and just please..” he stopped and held your hands and you looked into his desperate eyes. You looked away thinking and you sighed. What harm would he done?? You would finally get what you wanted. You then nodded giving the okay and he smiled before kissing you gently at first. He leaned you down on the couch as his kissing pace quickend. You moaned softly in his mouth as you felt his hand cup your cheek and it felt special. As you started getting hot he touched the bottom of your shirt prepared to lift it up. He waited for you to be okay with it and you just nodded and he started taking your shirt off.. then your bra.. he grabbed your breasts massaging the nipples and then placing his mouth on them to suck them. You moaned as he did so. Your breasts were sensitive and he took notice. He had a little smile before he sucked the top of your breast and left a hicky on you.

He then took your pants off and noticed how wet you already were. He smiled and kissed your lips before he rubbed your clit through the panties seeing how sensitive you were. He then kissed your lips, jawline, down your neck, all the way down to your stomach before placing a gentle kiss on your clit. He took your panties off and he smiled kissing your inner thigh saying compliments like “you’re so perfect..” “you’re gorgeous..” “you’re so pretty..” you were so turned on by his words and he then took his erection out and he placed it at your entrance before pushing himself in and as you cried out he held your arm and smiled “you’re okay baby.. you’re doing so good..” you took all of his inches and as he quickened the pace you moaned louder and louder he was fucking you so hard that you struggled to even think or process any words. “Good girl.. you’re doing great.. we can cum together..” he said whispering as he fucked your brains out kissing you at the same time.

Once he shot his seed inside you came at the same time. Your cums mixed together and once he pulled out the cum leaked out of you. He went down to lick up every last drop being careful to not cause too much overstimulation. He then kissed your cheek.

After

Once you both were dressed he cuddled you and kissed your head. “You know.. that was the best sex.. I hope you forgive me… and maybe we could really be something one day.”

You turned to him and stood up glaring at him. The audacity.. as if you forgot how he stood you up. “Are you joking!? You ruined everything. I’m not in love.”

His eyes widened and he felt a little hurt and annoyed and he stood up and held your arms. “Please relax… I’m here now that’s what matters..” he said as he placed his forehead on yours. You pushed him away. “NO!” He was then upset and he scoffed “fine then just get out! I wanted to fix us.” You didn’t know how to respond… you were conflicted and now you felt bad and you hugged him. He hugged you back and kissed your head.

His eyes were close and yours were open and all you could think about is how you guys are not in love… it was just the comfort you both wanted in the moment… you both might never be in love ever..

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I really hope you guys enjoyed this one!! It’s wayyy longer and more dramatic I love the support and hope to write more stories