#there’s two more that’s below remember

[stevie-petey]

growing pains

But you’re tired of pretending. “Why am I here, Steve?”  “I thought we already established it’s because you walked in the snow.”  He’s dodging. Avoiding the question and the truths that will come with it. “Steve.” Hissing his name is familiar, it feels more natural. This is how it should be between you. Anger, disdain, raw. “And there it is,” He winces. “The fighting begins. We lasted, what? Ten minutes? Merry Christmas to us.”

Summary: steve buys you shitty coffee five years after your breakup.

Rating: general, swearing

Warnings: fem! reader, use of y/n, exes!au, slight unhealthy relationship if u squint, ambiguous ending (kinda)

Words: 8k

Before you swing in: hi my dears ! heres a very sad/bittersweet coffee shop conversation with far too many flashbacks and miscommunication. yummy ! unintentionally made this a christmas fic, so the bleachers song merry christmas please dont call is very fitting lmao. enjoy !

-

A flurry of snow coats Hawkins. Christmas lights reflect off the pristine white as the quiet stills everything in the town. There are no cars that drive past you. Hardly anyone littering the sidewalk as your footsteps trace a path in the freshly fallen snow. In the small, rundown cafe there is only one other patron brave enough to face the winter cold. 

The bell above the door signals your arrival.

Steve looks up at you. 

The flush of cold air stains your cheeks a ruddy red, though his gaze tinges the hue pink. The blush gives away the fondness you hoped you had buried below your sternum; but the fondness is still there. It will always be there. 

Steve gestures silently, offering you the seat in front of him. He’s chosen a small table in the back of the room. Secluded. Private. But he doesn’t stand to greet you. 

You sit. The cold makes your body slow. Steve’s presence makes your posture stiff. Your hands remain folded in your lap. You don’t place them on the table, too reminiscent of the times he would reach across and interlace your fingers together. 

The deliberate act is small, your only defiance, but still, after all these years, Steve sees it for what it really is. You’re still exactly as he remembers. The corner of his lip twitches, hiding a smile that you still know the weight of. How it felt against your own lips. 

“The whole town is buzzing about a white Christmas. We haven’t gotten snow like this in years.” 

Inconsequential. Steve’s first words to you in five years are inconsequential. 

There are still flecks of snow on your clothes. A snowflake melts slowly on your scarf. You watch its demise. There is nothing you want to say to him. 

Steve shifts slightly. Clears his throat. You still make him nervous. “I wasn’t sure you’d still come.”

“I walked.” Your first words to Steve are inconsequential, too. 

“In all this snow?” His surprise is soft, bordering on amusement. He takes his coat off, and underneath is a cheesy holiday sweater that makes your throat clench. “Aren’t you freezing?”

You shake your head. “I like the cold.”

And then Steve smiles. Genuine, it stretches across his entire face. “Yeah,” a breathy laugh that echoes in your ears. “I remember.”

– 

“I can’t feel my legs.” Steve whines, lagging behind you as the two of you trek through the snow. You’re at the bottom of the hill, still a long way from the top. “How are you still alive?”

You’re flushed in excitement and youth. The apples of your cheeks match the pink hat that keeps sliding into your eyes. Planting your feet firmly into the snow, you continue to climb. “It’s not that cold.”

“It’s freezing–shit!” Steve slips on a patch of ice. His voice cracks as he yelps, and you giggle at his embarrassment. He glares at you. “Please don’t laugh at me. I’m miserable here, Y/N.”

“You’re the one who wanted to come. I was perfectly happy going sledding alone.” You’re halfway up the hill now. The flimsy plastic tube you’re using to sled hangs loosely from your hand. “Don’t be such a baby.”

Steve scoffs. “God forbid I try to be romantic and go sledding with my girlfriend.”

Your cheeks flush an even deeper shade of pink. It still feels weird, hearing him call you his girlfriend. The word is new, foreign, but the warmth that accompanies it is one that you hope you never get used to.

“Besides, who even goes sledding alone?” Steve continues, still pathetically behind you. “What if you got hurt? No good boyfriend should allow that to happen.”

You snort. “What, are you my knight in shining armor now?” Shifting low, you start scooping up some snow. “Is that what you want me to say?”

“All I’m saying is that I’m totally a saint.” 

You laugh, now packing the snow into your hands as you form a snowball. “Oh, I’m sure you are.” Steve hasn’t noticed what you’re doing yet. He doesn’t know that in a matter of seconds you’ll cover his face in snow. Sneaking a glance at him, your breath catches.

There are snowflakes in Steve’s hair. A few kiss his cheeks, dancing along his freckles. The brown of his eyes glow warm ember in the white snow. His skin is pink, alive and pure. He’s beautiful. Devastatingly beautiful in a way that makes you ache.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Steve asks you, face wrinkling in confusion. 

You cough, embarrassed to have been caught. The snow in your hands starts to sting. The pain grounds you, clears your mind, and you try to pretend that the molasses in your bloodstream isn’t love. 

Throwing the snowball, it explodes in Steve’s face. He shrieks, sputtering at the cold shock. “Y/N!”

You laugh, loud and happily. Your ribs ache and your breaths escape your lungs in a burn that soothes you. Steve lunges toward you, hands finding your waist as he pulls you close. He grips you tightly, he can feel your laughter in his chest. 

“You’ll pay for that!” he buries his nose in your neck and you squeal, laughing even harder. Steve pulls you impossibly closer. He relishes in your warmth. He relishes in the way you squeal when he starts to tickle you. 

Warm. Everything about you is warm. 

You are sunshine against Steve’s skin. 

–

Someone else walks into the cafe, the sound of the bell echoes in the chasm between you and Steve. There are no more snowflakes on your scarf. The warmth of the cafe is stifling, although there is a comforting familiarity to it. 

“How are you?” 

Another inconsequential question, although you can’t fault Steve for it. He’s trying. More than you are, anyways. But what are you supposed to say? What are you supposed to do, seeing your first love after five years of silence and absence? 

“Fine.” The response falls flat, mundane. Disinterested. Wincing, you really do try to sound as if you want to be here. “Good. I-I’ve been good.”

“Yeah?” Steve raises his eyebrow, leaning in. “I mean, I’m not surprised.”

Your shoulders tense. “What do you mean?”

Seeing your unease, Steve quickly explains himself. “Shit. That sounded ominous. I’m sorry,” he runs his fingers through his hair. The same way he used to do when he was seventeen. “What I meant is that Robin told me. About what you’ve been up to these last few years.”

Your shoulders drop. Of course Robin still talks to him about you. You suppose it’s only fair, seeing as how she tells you about him, too. She remained friends with you both after the breakup. She hadn’t wanted to take anyone’s side, and she’s kept true to that. 

“What has she told you?” 

It’s a real question. You know Robin would never tell Steve anything embarrassing or incriminating. But curiously gnaws at you. 

“Nothing bad, unfortunately.” Steve gently teases, but his prodding is only met with your uninterested gaze. He sighs, clears his throat. “She told me you moved to New York. Nearly screamed my ear off when your publishing deal got accepted. It’s pretty incredible.” 

Your fingers pick at the skin underneath your nails. “It’s only for one book.”

“Five years, and you still can’t accept a compliment.” 

“You’d be surprised by what can change in five years,” your eyes avoid his. “Is the coffee any good here?”

“It’s terrible,” Steve slides his mug over to you. Steam rises from the black liquid inside. “Milk and sugar. Hope it’s still how you like it.”

You take a sip, cringing at the taste. You’ve come to prefer your coffee black, bitter but rich. The coffee Steve has bought you is too sweet, but you drink more anyways. It gives you something to do. 

“I’ve been good, too. Thanks for asking.” Steve leans against his seat, placing his hands behind his head. He’s as coy as ever. The years haven’t made him humble. “I’m sure you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t wondering.” You set the mug down. “I heard you made history being the youngest English teacher at Hawkins High.”

Steve’s mouth parts in shock. In another life, you pinch his lips together and kiss the tip of his nose. In another life, five years ago, you did.

But not this life. “Robin talks about you, too.”

“Of course she does,” Steve echoes your earlier thoughts. He leans back again, eyes never leaving your face. “Were you surprised? Steve Harrington. English teacher.”

The answer comes easily. “No.” 

“No?”

“No,” you twist the mug around. Steve stares at you and you wish he would stop. He’ll see through you, he’ll see the fondness and he’ll know everything you’ve tried to erase. “You were always interested in what I was reading. You didn’t hide it very well.”

Steve smiles to himself, his own fondness leaking over. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t.”

He could never hide anything from you. 

– 

You’re in the classics section of Hawkins’ library. You wanted to check out a few books they recently collected. The librarian has your personal landline. You’ve spent more and more time in the building, reading all of the greatest authors. 

Steve always comes with you.

“Look, Y/N. I adore you, but if there aren’t any ass-kicking spies or alien babes, then I’m not reading it.” He shoves the book you hold in front of him away. “What the hell is a Brontie, anyways?”

“It’s Bronte,” you poke Steve’s cheek. “And I really need you to stop pretending that you don’t know these authors. It’s gotta be exhausting.”

He grabs the hand poking his face and twists it, forcing you to spin and land against his chest. “I’m not pretending, sweetheart. I don’t know any of these names.”

Steve claims he comes to the library with you because he gets lonely without you, but you’ve caught him rifting through Albert Camus and Erich Fromm. He could spend hours paging through their works. 

But you’ll allow him to keep this one secret from you. 

“C’mon,” you laugh, tugging Steve’s arm towards a new section. “Help me find Fyodor Dostoevsky. I want to study the way he writes his characters’ inner monologues.”

“No way that’s a real name.”

You laugh again. “Just shut up and help me, please.”

Eventually you find Dostoevsky and you become engrossed in his words. They’re intricate and complex, yet there’s a simplicity and plainness that strikes you. You write down a flurry of notes, not wanting to forget a thing; one day you want to command words the way all the authors you’ve studied seemed to do. 

You’re so lost in the world Dostoevsky has built, that you don’t notice Steve’s absence until he returns again. 

“Hey, check this out.” He’s holding a book, his finger saving the line he wants to show you. “This Pablo Neruda dude was like, a total romantic. Wanna hear?”

You lean against the bookshelf, curious. “Are you going to read to me?”

The only response is Steve’s charming smile. He steps closer to you, your breath mixes with his. “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I don’t know any other way of loving.’”

He closes the book, but he doesn’t move away. Your foreheads touch. 

“Love”. A word neither one of you has said until now. Until Steve read you a poem and uttered the word three separate times. 

He loves you, and you love him. 

Standing on your tiptoes, you kiss him. Steve kisses you back. 

– 

“Do you enjoy it?”

Steve drums his fingers on the table. “Enjoy what?”

“Being someone that kids look up to.”

He breathes out slowly. “I forgot how much you love asking heavy questions.”

You finally look at him. “You’re the one that asked to meet for coffee.”

“Fair point,” Steve scratches the back of his head. “Thank you, by the way. For agreeing.”

“I was in town.” You look away again. “The holidays. And the wedding, I guess. Nancy asked me to come.”

“I still can’t believe she got Byers to agree to a winter wedding.” Steve shakes his head, smiles to himself. “Anyways, to answer your shockingly emotional question: I do enjoy it. I love teaching. I love being someone that kids can come to. Is it terrifying? Absolutely. But selfishly, I like to think I’m good at it.”

Even though you don’t want to, you smile at him. “You’ve always been good with kids.”

Steve doesn’t expect your sincerity. The praise is small, a throwaway comment more than anything else, but it’s the nicest thing you’ve said to him in years. He’s suddenly shy, ducking his head. “I don’t know. Those little bastards were really difficult to handle.”

The little bastards being Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, Max, and El. The kids you grew up with, a consequence of being neighbors with the Wheelers. One day there was a kid on your doorstep demanding you let him use your old scooter.

Mike had been only nine then, but he had been fierce and persuasive. After giving the scooter over, Mike forced you into his life. Then the rest of the party’s lives. 

Nancy came later, then Jonathan, and then, eventually, Steve. 

“They admired you.” You tell Steve, honest. “They still do.”

He blushes again. “You really think so?”

“I remember more than you think,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I remember everything, too.”

– 

The morning of the kids’ graduation, it’s a blur of packed cars and nervous excitement. Steve offered to drive everyone, giving the parents time to get situated and find seats at the high school. 

“Your car reeks.” Mike kicks Steve’s seat.

He glares at the kid. “Why didn’t you ride in Nancy’s car, then?”

“Her and Jonathan are gross.”

Lucas fixes his graduation cap. “They whisper to themselves a lot. It’s creepy.”

Max elbows him. “It’s because they’re in love, doofus.”

“Steve and Y/N are in love, and you don’t see them whispering to themselves.” Dustin points out, which you laugh at.

“I’ll be sure to never whisper to Steve with you guys around.”

Will pokes the back of your head. “Can you tell your boyfriend to drive faster? If we’re late, I think Hopper might actually kill him.”

“My dad would not kill Steve.” El corrects. “He would only hurt him. A lot.”

Steve pales slightly, stepping on the gas. “Alright. Guess we’re getting a speeding ticket, then.”

You end up arriving at the high school with a few minutes to spare. All the kids run out the car, throwing a quick thanks as they scatter. They’re gone in a heartbeat, a mass of green caps and gowns. 

“We’ll see you guys on stage!” You shout through the window, waving as they leave. 

“Remember how nervous we were when we graduated?” Steve asks you.

You shake your head fondly at the memory. “You wouldn’t stop sneezing. I had no idea you were a nervous sneezer until then. Robin thought it was the most embarrassing thing ever. I contemplated breaking up with you.”

“It’s a debilitating condition, Y/N.”

The graduation is long, but with six separate kids to listen for and cheer on, it passes quickly. When their names get called, you and Steve are the loudest ones who cheer. Robin calls you guys dramatic, but she screams her heart out when Dustin walks the stage. 

Nancy cries when Mike walks, and Jonathan, who had only just stopped crying after seeing Will walk, has to hold back his tears yet again as he consoles her. 

The five of you are a mess, and when the kids find you after graduation, you aren’t sure who starts running first. They swarm you, arms encase you and you hold onto them tightly. Will is crying, El can’t stop jumping, the kids are all a mix of emotions, yet they all remain fixated on Steve.

“Did you see the way I walked?”

“I waved at you! Did you see me?”

“You’re really loud when you scream, ya know that?”

“A poster would’ve nice. Just saying.”

All their eyes are on him. Their questions directed at him, eager to be answered. They seek Steve’s praise, like sunflowers following the sun’s rays. 

As you stand back, watching the way Steve is so loved by the kids, you fall in love with him all over again. 

– 

Steve picks at the frayed edges of his old jacket. It’s the same one he bought with you, back when winter in Hawkins was warm and yellow and light. Now everything is dull. Grey and bleak. 

“I never thought that you’d forget.” He acknowledges your hurtful words. He doesn’t like their implications. “I’d never think that.”

Steve’s clipped words make you defensive. Heat rises to your face. It makes your heartbeat spike. “There are a lot of things I thought you’d never do.”

He sucks in a breath. 

The cafe is quiet again. Your coffee remains untouched, cold. 

Steve finally tears his eyes from you, and the loss of his gaze feels colder than you expected it to. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To see his disdain for you on his pretty face, for him to hurt how you had. Isn’t that why you agreed to this?

The way Steve’s entire demeanor changes, how quickly his smile slips from his face, makes you question why you’re even here. Suddenly you want to take it all back. To mold his face into a happier one, get him to look at you again and trick yourself into believing that the tenderness in his eyes is real. 

“I’m sorry.” The apology comes out fast, the words mesh together, but it’s the best you can manage. “That… that was mean.”

“I think mean is fair.” Steve looks at you, his lighthearted smile is back, but it doesn’t shine like before. “Honestly, I’m relieved you’re being mean.”

You’re confused. Everything he does confuses you. “Is that why you asked me to coffee? Because you wanted me to be mean to you?”

“Partially.” He sips your discarded coffee and quickly spits it out. He wipes his mouth, gagging. “Jesus, that’s fucking rancid. I don’t even know why I did that. I hate coffee, and it’s even worse when it’s cold.”

He’s making a whole show of this. The way Steve talks to you, the questions he’s asking and the way he responds to whatever you tell him. He’s trying to recreate something that isn’t there anymore. Treating your time in the coffee shop together as if you’re two friends catching up.

But you’re tired of pretending. “Why am I here, Steve?” 

“I thought we already established it’s because you walked in the snow.” 

He’s dodging. Avoiding the question and the truths that will come with it.

“Steve.” Hissing his name is familiar, it feels more natural. This is how it should be between you. Anger, disdain, raw.

“And there it is,” He winces. “The fighting begins. We lasted, what? Ten minutes? Merry Christmas to us.”

Fed up, you slam your chair back and stand. If Steve wants to evade every question and act as if this is all some giant joke, then he can go fuck himself. 

The sudden motion makes Steve jump, but he quickly stands up with you when he realizes that you’re leaving. “Shit, wait–”

Steve’s hand grazes yours and you flinch away, reeling back. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Y/N…” He stands still, the venom in your voice cementing him to the ground. In all the time he’s known you, you’ve never rejected his touch. Bitterly, he thinks that you were right about what you said when you first arrived at the cafe.

A lot can change in five years. 

You press the back of your hand to your forehead, trying to calm yourself down. Even though there’s no one else in the shop, you still don’t want to cause a scene. Not here. Not like this. 

“This was a mistake.” You swallow down bile. Steve still manages to get such a vulgar rise out of you, and you hate it. “At Nancy and Jonathan’s wedding, we won’t speak to one another. We won’t ruin their day, and you can sit with Robin. I don’t care. We can just pretend that we don’t–”

Your words die in your throat. You can’t bring yourself to finish them. 

“That we don’t what, Y/N?” Steve knows exactly what you mean to say. He narrows his eyes at you, pushes you to lay the final blow. 

Your breath stutters. Your body is cold. You may still make Steve nervous, but he still makes you nervous as well. He can still cut through you viciously in a way only someone who has truly loved you can. 

He stands before you, begging. “Say it.”

You’ve always been weak for him. “That we don’t hate each other.”

But your words are meaningless. As if you could ever hate each other. 

Steve lets out a bitter laugh. “The one thing I can’t do when it comes to you is hate you.”

“Steve–” You want to take it all back. You shouldn’t have said it. You don’t know why you even said it, but you did.

“I can go five years without hearing your voice. I can wake up without you next to me. I can spend the rest of my life regretting that I lost you.” Steve doesn’t move, he doesn’t come near you. He’s hurt and he’s in pain and you don’t know how to be the one to help him anymore. “But what I can’t do, the only thing I can’t do, is hate you.”

–

The bay window caught your eye first. Then it was the rich brown wood floors, and then the garden that overlooks Lover’s Lake. Inside the apartment there are vintage tiles that you adore and the baby-blue walls make you feel faint.

The home Steve finds for the two of you is, unsurprisingly, perfect. 

“Do we really get to live here?” You ask, breathless as you wander through the empty hallways and bedroom. Never before have you had such endless space to yourself. It feels very adult, very final, and you wouldn’t have chosen anyone else to experience this first with than Steve.

“We better get to live here.” Steve huffs, setting down another box. You tried offering to help, but he scoffed at the idea and told you to admire the apartment instead. “The deposit was fucking expensive.”

Your fingers brush over the cream white curtains. They’re soft beneath your touch. “At least your dad was kind enough to pay it.”

“And if by ‘kind enough’, you mean ‘wanted his son to move out already’, you’d be right.”

“Same difference.”

Steve laughs and the sound echoes through the empty room that you know you’ll have years together to fill. You already have a million things you want to purchase for the apartment. Steve’s only request had been that you make the apartment feel like a home.

As if anywhere with Steve doesn’t already feel like a home. 

Later in the night you order pizza, starving and exhausted from moving. There’s no table for you and Steve to sit at. No chairs to rest on. You eat your first meal in your new home on the floor, surrounded by boxes and laughter. 

It’s perfect. 

“While I’m grateful for Mrs. Wheeler for giving us her spare bedding and all,” Steve wraps the blanket tighter around the two of you. The bed beneath you is lumpy and old, the only furniture that came with the apartment, but a bed is a bed. “I feel weird sleeping in her sheets.”

You press your nose against Steve’s neck, feeling your bones sag with relief. “She’s hot. I’d sleep in her sheets any day.”

Steve chokes on his spit, falling into a coughing fit while you giggle hysterically. He hits his chest, tries to suck air back in, and you’re laughing so hard there’s tears in your eyes. 

“You can’t just say that!” He sputters, still coughing.

“I know you were thinking it!” You giggle again, your smile presses against Steve’s cheek. His body is warm and soft and he smells like home; it's addicting. He’s still coughing when you kiss his cheek and brush his hair back. “Can you stop dying already? I’m trying to kiss you here.”

Steve wraps his arms around you and throws his body on top, smushing you beneath him. You squeal, giggling even harder now as he litters your skin with feathery kisses. “You’re trying to kiss me, huh?”

His nose runs down your cheek. Down across your forehead, to the tips of your ears. He kisses every inch of skin he can reach. “I don’t think you’re doing much kissing here, Y/N.” Steve kisses your eyebrow. His lips skim your chin, they linger in your laugh lines as endless laughter pours from you. 

“It-it tickles!” More laughter, you try to shove Steve away, but he places all his weight against you and kisses the apples of your cheeks. His fingers curl around your waist, nails digging in softly. He has you right where he wants you. 

“Kiss me,” he breathes into you. Over and over he repeats himself, kissing you with every enunciation. “Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.”

Steve begs you and you ache. He never has to ask you. You would do anything for him. 

You tilt your head, find his lips, and you get lost in each other. He kisses you slowly, intentionally. With a softness that makes you shiver. He whispers how beautiful you are, how much he loves you, and the syrup in your lungs simmers.

“I love you,” you murmur, lips kissing his chest. “I think you’re my favorite person in the world.” 

A childish praise, but it’s everything to Steve.

– 

Steve orders you another coffee. Black this time, no sugar. The barista brings the cup over when it’s ready, the steam the only source of warmth between you and him. 

Snow falls outside and Steve hasn’t been able to look at you since you sat back down. 

You’re not entirely sure why you’re still here. Neither one of you talk. There is no more disingenuous small talk between you. No more forced smiles. Polite questions about how the other has been.

All there that remains between you and Steve is the absence of what was. 

“Robin said we’d only last five minutes.” 

You remember the surprise on her face when you told her you’d accept Steve’s offer for coffee. She didn’t think you’d say yes, and the surprise quickly morphed into skepticism. She placed her book down, patted your hand, and told you good luck.

Steve laughs, short and staccato. “She has such shit faith in us. We’re nearing twelve minutes now.”

“We’re stubborn.” The coffee is disgusting even without the excess sweetness. Steve is right. The coffee here is truly horrible. 

“If I remember correctly, you’ve always been the more stubborn one.” He isn’t mean when he says this. More observant, stating a fact.

You set the coffee down. “And if I remember correctly, you hit your head a lot when we were kids.”

A small smile. “Which would mean?”

“That it’s possible you don’t remember anything correctly.” You tug at your scarf. “Maybe I wasn’t as stubborn as you’re remembering.”

Steve laughs this time, a real laugh that melts the ice that froze over moments ago. “Whenever we argued, you never let me get a word in. I’ll never forget that. I would’ve found it impressive, if it weren’t directed at me.”

Snippets of memories flash through your mind. You and Steve hardly argued throughout your entire relationship, but when you did, the fallout was always scattered pieces. 

“Doesn’t mean I’m stubborn.” You say weakly, still not quite ready to admit otherwise.

“I’d argue with you, but I was hoping we’d make it to fifteen minutes.” Steve takes your coffee, sips it again and cringes like he did before. Only he doesn’t say anything this time. 

“Is there a prize if we make it to fifteen?”

He smiles into the coffee. “Possibly.”

Silence again.

Steve keeps the mug in his hands, using its warmth to soothe his cold fingers. Years ago, he would use the heat of your hands to warm him. But your hands remain folded in your lap and you no longer want his touch. 

The silence eats at you. You bite your lip, twist your fingers together. You don’t know why you stayed, but you don’t know why Steve stayed, either.

“I was pretty stubborn, wasn’t I?” 

Steve looks at you. His eyes shine for a brief moment. “Maybe a little.”

– 

Shortly after moving into your apartment, you started writing. After years of reading other people’s stories, you felt that it was time to write your own. But finding the story was difficult. Every night you stared at your blank pages, willing them to fill with the words you were unable to write. 

As for Steve, he started picking up spare shifts at the local diner. He hated being a waiter. He thought it was degrading, but as a twenty-two year old with no college degree or work experience, it was all he could do. 

Money was tight, you were both starting to feel the weight of truly being on your own. You weren’t just two kids anymore. There were real responsibilities now. Grappling with your futures rather than imagining them.

And then one day you got a phone call that changed everything. 

“I can’t miss this interview!”

“And I can’t just leave work in the middle of the day to drive you, Y/N.” Steve sighs deeply over the phone. You can practically envision the way he pinches the bridge of his nose and tugs at his hair. It’s grown long. Longer than it’s ever been before. You like it this way. 

You glance at your watch and curse, frustrated tears burning your eyes. “Steve, please. This could make or break my entire future.”

“Sweetheart, I understand that, but if I leave work early, I’m getting fired.”

“You don’t know that!” You need him to say yes. You need him to drop everything for you and drive you to Bedford so that you can meet with a literary agent and discuss your work. 

It all happened so fast. One moment you were sending yet another draft of short story ideas to random agents. The next, you’re getting a phone call offering an interview in a town an hour away from Hawkins.

None of it felt real. That is, until the catch fell against you: the agent can only meet today and you don’t have a car. 

“David explicitly told me that if I leave work early one more time, my ass is grass.” Steve rubs his face, exhausted. He wants to help you, he wants you to finally get your big break. You’re far too talented for Hawkins, you deserve to be somewhere better; but the reality is that you can’t afford it right now. “Can’t someone else drive you?”

“I already called everyone else.” Your face is hot from anxiety. “Robin. Nancy. Jonathan. Hell, even Mike and the kids! But no one can take me and I have to be there in two hours.”

“Y/N…” 

Your head falls against the wall. “This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Steve’s heart clenches. He sucks in a breath. “I know that, okay? I-I do. But I can’t afford to lose this job. We’re already behind on rent, we still owe my dad for the deposit–”

“But you can always get another job!” You exclaim, losing whatever grasp you have left of your sanity. “I mean, Jesus, Steve. You’re just a waiter.”

The line is silent for a moment.

“I’m sorry?”

His tone is quiet, it laces guilt into your veins. 

“I-I just meant that there’s a shitload of restaurants in Hawkins,” you’re rambling now, regretting everything. You shouldn’t have called. You shouldn’t have said what you did. But now it’s too late and you’re in too deep. Letting out a breath, your lips tremble. “But there’s only one literary agent who wants to meet with me.”

There’s yelling in the background. Steve mumbles something to someone, you think you hear David yelling at him to get back to work. Muffled rustling, followed by a string of curses.

“I gotta get back to work.” Steve says curtly, not even giving you a chance to respond before he’s already hanging up the phone.

The dial tone rings in your ear. 

You never make it to your interview.

Steve gets home late that night. He walks past you, he doesn’t acknowledge you besides the slam of the bedroom door. 

– 

“I never apologized to you.”

Steve sets the mug down. He doesn’t ask you what you mean. “No, you didn’t.”

You swallow. “I… I’m really sorry, Steve.”

He shrugs. It was a long time ago. He’s forgotten the sting of your words. The marks they left have long since faded. “It was your dream.”

“But you were more than just a waiter. Hell, you were the only reason we didn’t lose the apartment.” You rub the back of your neck, relieving the tension that knots it. “God, I was so fucking naive. I’m sorry for not realizing sooner, for not appreciating everything you did for us.”

Steve shrugs again. “We were just kids.”

The coffee you drank suddenly sinks in your stomach. 

We were just kids.

Sometimes you forget that your relationship with Steve had been your childhood. The two of you met when you were fifteen, fell in love when you were seventeen, and fell apart when you were twenty-three. 

You’d been so young together. The mistakes you made, the hurt you caused, were childish gashes with bullet-sized exit wounds. 

“We were just kids, weren’t we?” The nostalgia in your voice surprises even you. 

A fond smile ghosts Steve’s face. It’s barely there, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. “Young and in love. Now we’re just old.”

“At least we aged well.”

Steve raises his eyebrow at you. “Was that a compliment, Y/N?”

You smile, coy. “Who said anything about you? I was referring to myself.”

Steve scoffs, light hearted. You expect him to retaliate, to tease you how you’re teasing him. Instead, his gaze softens. He leans forward, drawn into you as he always is, and lowers his voice. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

Years separate you and Steve. It’s been nearly a decade since love first tied you to each other. There used to be a knot, tied into something intricate, small, yet lovely, that connected you to Steve. 

And yet, with one sentence, the strings come together again.

“I still haven’t forgotten,” you fall back in your seat, away from Steve. “How you hurt me.”

He mirrors your body language, moving away as well. “And what about how you hurt me?”

You cross your arms. Steve crosses his. Staring at one another, a stalemate is reached. The memories that tie you together are both your vice and your virtue. The love is still remembered, it’s still warm to the touch, but so is the hurt. 

Robin would call you both childish if she were here right now. You can practically hear her now, annoyance in her voice as she rolls her eyes at the staring contest unfolding. She’s always resented how stubborn you both are.

“Why did you call me?”

Steve inhales sharply. He knows he has to answer the question. It’s only fair that he gives you an explanation for why he decided to call you at three in the morning the Friday before your plane was due to arrive in Hawkins’ small airport for Christmas and a wedding you both were invited to. 

But he can’t. Not yet, at least.

“If it makes me look any better, I called Robin first.” Steve forces a laugh out. “Granted, she told that if I called you that I’d probably die. But still. Blame her.”

Everything unravels after that.

“You never showed up.”

“Y/N.”

A crack to the surface, followed by a fist of anger that shatters everything. “You promised me you’d be there.”

“I was dick, I know–”

“Do you know how humiliated I was?” Steve winces, and his shame only enrages you more. “How utterly shitty it was when all our friends, our families, asked me where you were, and I couldn’t answer them?”

“Y/N, please just let me explain–”

“No.” The mug spills over as you hit the table, standing up furiously. You’re crying. You don’t remember the tears building. “You don’t get to call me in the middle of the night, buy me dogshit coffee, and then spoon feed me shitty excuses! You were my boyfriend, I wanted to marry you, and you abandoned me.”

“Is the coffee really that bad?”

Your jaw clenches. Steve rubs his neck, looking everywhere but at you. He’s trying to be funny. His first words to you in five years were inconsequential, and now he’s trying to use humor to ease the sting of guilt that he feels seeing you.

The decision is an easy one. 

“Goodbye, Steve.”

His hand grips yours before you can even turn away. Startled by his sudden touch, you don’t pull back. Not this time, at least. You’re frozen, staring at Steve as he stares at you. He’s pale. His chest heaves and there’s terror in his eyes.

“Don’t.” It’s all he can say to you.

“Let me go.” But still you don’t pull away.

Let us go. Please. 

“I…” He blinks, almost winces to himself. Steve doesn’t know how to tell you the truth. Not anymore. Not like how he used to. But you’re pulling away again and he’s just gotten you back and he can’t lose you. Not again. “I resented you.”

Your back straightens. “Excuse me?”

“I-I know how bad it sounds, but if you just–” Steve gestures behind him, tries to sit you back down. But you don’t move. His eyes plead with you. “Y/N, please.”

He looks so akin to the boy you once knew. The resemblance twists the tendons in your chest, forces the air out of your lungs. You don’t move, but you don’t leave, either.

Steve accepts all that you’ll give him. 

– 

The home you built with Steve loses its warmth. Lazy Sunday mornings cease to exist. He doesn’t hold you at night. Dates go unplanned, dinners eaten alone. Laughter dies and you stop waiting for Steve to come home. Everything stills. Lost in a time capsule that was once your dream. 

Winter comes and the snow that blankets Hawkins softens the dull ache of the distance that’s built between you and Steve. He starts taking night classes at a local community college and you spend your nights writing. 

The first story you write is about a lonely barn owl who hops through dwindling branches trying to find its mate. The creature calls out for someone, its wails echoing through the deserted forest that once was alive with creation. 

A snowflake that gets lost in a storm that it created becomes your second story. Its frail, lithe body too transparent to be anything other than alone. 

Then you write about a dandelion that mourns for its seeds that have been cruelly torn from its body. 

Over and over you write about loss. How cold it leaves a person, the emptiness that can never quite be filled. 

In the end, it’s this sense of loss that gives you everything you’ve ever wanted, yet leaves you with nothing to show for it. 

“I sent my writing to a short story show. I got in.”

Steve unbuttons his work shirt. He worked a double shift at the restaurant, but spares you a tired smile. “That’s great.”

The praise is small, but the rarity of it makes it feel like gold upon your skin. Cheeks flushed, you smile back at him shyly. “Thank you.”

Steve goes back to changing out of his clothes and you’re left to deal with the silence that always seems to follow you these days. Your feet carry you to the bed, sitting down gently as you watch him. He doesn’t shy away from your gaze, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, either.

“The show is in two weeks. Christmas Eve.”

“Oh,” Steve pauses in the closet’s doorway. His hand rests on an old sweater you got him when you first started dating. He pulls out a different one instead. “Well. I already took the day off, so I’ll come.”

You try not to focus on the fact that he makes attending sound like an obligation. A dull chore he has to complete. 

“Robin already promised she’d be front row. Jonathan and Nancy, too.” You get up, stand behind Steve, rest your head on the back of his neck and encircle your arms around him. He stiffens at the touch, so do you. But you can’t let him go. “I think even some of the kids will come. And my parents, obviously.”

“Sounds like you’ll have an entire crowd devoted to you.”

“Yeah, but I only really want you there.” You whisper, vulnerable.

Steve sucks in a breath, releases it. He doesn’t say anything else. 

The next two weeks you read your collection of short stories aloud for hours on end. You rehearse how to present them, the right cadence and intonations. How to make the loneliness heavier, the serenity sweeter. You don’t let Steve listen, claiming you want to surprise him alongside everyone else the day of the show.

Later, you’ll come to understand that you had been afraid of how he’d react. If he’d even react at all. 

The show is a haze of people and praise. Robin brings you flowers, Jonathan takes pictures of you with all the kids. Dustin surprises you with an old leather journal he found for you to write all your ideas in and El hands you a ribbon to bind it. 

Your mother cries and your father hugs you warmly. Mrs. Wheeler and Nancy bring Christmas cookies and organize the large audience you’ve built for yourself in the seats provided by the show. It takes two entire rows to seat everyone you love. 

Robin saves a seat for Steve. He’s late.

The night is spent listening to brilliant writers reading their stories to a small, but kind, audience. There are a total of eight featured writers. You’re scheduled to read your writing last.

After the second writer finishes, you look anxiously over at the audience and bite your lip when you still don’t see Steve. The fifth writer goes on and your nails are bloody from picking at them. Mike murmurs something to Robin, who shakes her head and nervously shifts in her seat, eyes never leaving the empty seat next to her. 

The seventh writer shares a story about newfound love and its warmth. 

Nancy finds your gaze and the pitying look in her eyes makes your nausea even worse. 

You stand in front of a mass of people who lean into every word you read aloud. The seat next to Robin remains empty.

Steve never comes.

And it’s the last time you ever wait for him.

–

“I really was proud of you, you know.” Steve says softly, regretfully. “Robin told me you won an award later that night.”

“I did.” The award had been your ticket out of Hawkins. It got you money, connections with publishing agents. You moved to New York not even a week later.

Steve looks down. “I should’ve been there.”

You don’t bother to agree with him. You don’t want to coddle him, lessen the guilt he feels for how cruelly he hurt you. You’ll never forget the pit that formed in your stomach when you realized he wasn’t coming.

“I regret what I did. Every single day I wish I had gone.”

“You resented me instead, apparently.” Your laugh is cruel, cold.

Steve sits back down numbly, his body falls and the seat beneath him catches it. He places his hands on the table, slowly, defeated. He looks up at you, allows himself to finally confess everything. “I resented how easy everything seemed for you. I mean, you were making a name for yourself while I waited shitty tables and slept through grueling night courses.”

You clench your fists, still refusing to sit down. “And that gave you a right to diminish my own accomplishments?”

“Nothing makes sense when you’re twenty-three.”

Not an omission of truth, but rather acknowledgement of how differently you see the world when you’re young. Though you want more from Steve, you accept this. In a way, you suppose he’s right. 

“I didn’t go to the show because I was scared of how much I was falling behind.” Steve doesn’t look away from you. He’s laying all his cards on the table, open and waiting for you to read them. “We were in over our heads, but somehow only I was the one drowning.”

Rent, bills owed, grappling with adulthood while still shedding your adolescence. Loneliness while being together. Careers that hurt and dreams that struggled for breath. You and Steve had been drowning together. Until one day you weren’t. 

Steve drinks the coffee, he doesn’t pressure you to sit down again. Instead, he sighs. “I let your words get into my head. In your mind I was just a waiter, and I felt that nothing I was doing with my life was worthwhile. The only thing I had done right by the time I was twenty was having you love me.”

The anger that was quick to rise is also quick to dim. There isn’t any left for you to fight. 

Finally, you sit. You take the coffee from Steve and the now cold liquid is a reminder of how much time has passed. “The age old question: do actions speak louder than words?”

Did what I say justify what you did? Or did they cause each other, creating a cycle that we can never escape? 

You won’t forgive him, but you understand him. Steve was hurting just as much as you were, only his hurt came from your own insecure and unsure words. You told him he was just a waiter because you were scared all you’d ever be was an unknown writer. The weight of your future made you scared, the uncertainty of it all overwhelmed you and made you cruel. 

Steve had fallen victim to the same fate.

“Robin told me it was growing pains.” Steve says. “What happened between us. It was all just growing pains.”

Begrudgingly you smile. Your cards are on the table as well. “You called me to discuss growing pains?”

The crinkle of Steve’s smile warms the cold cafe. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

“Tell me, then. Are we done growing?” You lean forward, allow your body to be near Steve’s again and the buzz of the proximity sets your skin on fire. He breathes in sharply. He hasn’t been this close to you in what’s felt like a lifetime. 

Steve leans forward too. You can smell his cologne, his eyes still shine how you remember them. His face is the same, though weathered with age and experiences you no longer know about. You count the moles that scatter his face, heart thumping wildly when you realize you still remember how many there are.

He’s still so beautiful. 

You’re weak for Steve. Your bones still remember the weight of his love.

“I don’t think we’ll ever be done.” Steve sinks even closer, nose almost bumping your cheek. You hold your breath, body humming. 

Breathless, you ask him, “then where does that leave us?”

Steve pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. He studies your face, the familiar angles and peaks of your nose. Your eyes, how they’re still his favorite color. Your hair is the same, maybe a little shorter now, and your perfume still the warm vanilla that reminds him of home. 

You’re still the girl Steve fell in love with when he was a kid. He’s still the boy you fell in love with when you were a child. There is still hurt, memories you both want to forget, but there is love within it. Young love can be formed anew, if someone lets it. 

“Together.” Steve finally says. “It leaves us together.” 

-

⌑ writing masterlist

⌑ please feel free to like, reblog, and comment. i adore hearing from you guys :)

[saintslewis]

forever yours: the series | 44

— series.

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x black oc, lindokuhle lee vilakazi

summary: work just never ends for lee, even during her down time but hey? more money and possibly more connections.

warnings for this chapter: cussing, outfit descriptions, social media.

saint’s team radio 🪽: first chapter! hope y’all enjoy 🤍

pls like, comment and reblog!

taglist down below!

dividers from @cafekitsune

ATLANTA, GA

The smell of hair straighteners burning through each bundle filled Lee with some sort of comfort, knowing she was going to walk out of this salon with a fresh do and a check on her maintenance to-do list.

It wasn’t that exciting of a race that she’d have to go to in a few days time. Austria. Not always the most fun of grand prixs but it fills a gap for the ever growing f1 calendar. She looked straight ahead at the mirror watching the hairstylist work her magic in the prestigious looking salon Lee had seen on instagram.

The stylists here were nosy, trying to be all up in people’s businesses including that of customers. Lee had no time to take no bullshit but she knew the lady was still working on her head, something she knew she couldn’t afford to mess up. Her phone became boring after some time even seeing a few messages from her assistant and her niece’s babysitter/ au pair.

“Hold up, hold up!” A voice yelled out in the salon with excitement in the tone. “Don’t I know you from somewhere, girl?”

Lee hoped and prayed that they weren’t talking to her. They couldn’t be. She wasn’t all that known except in the f1/sports community. “Yeah, you look real familiar, girl!” And in the corner of her eye, she saw another hairstylist plop down on the seat next to her with the biggest grin on her face. “Kya! Remember that girl I showed you with that fine ass man two weeks ago?” The lady shouted over to someone else.

Oh God. Lee immediately knew what this was about. It’s all anyone recognised her for the past few weeks. During the week of the Canadian Grand Prix, someone compiled a bunch of vids that included Lee and the sport’s greatest, Lewis Hamilton lookin cozy. First, it was the camera pointed to Lee during the race and of course she had to admit, her makeup looked good that day.

Then it was when a couple of fans saw them walking together through the paddock to their respective cars, laughing and a hug that lasted a little longer than usual and that had the internet going ballistic.

Forcing a smile, Lee gathered the energy to speak when the lady was done speaking. “Yeah! That’s her! That nigga looked rich, girl. That’s your man or what because if not, a sister could use a little lovin.” The woman laughed, causing a ripple effect in the salon, hairstylists and patrons alike.

To be messy or to not be messy? It’s not like she’s ever going to see these people ever again.

“We’re not a thing. He’s just a close friend but if you want, I’ll put in a good word for ya.” Lee spoke, already feeling the heat of the hot comb a little too close to her scalp through the wig cap.

The woman stared at her then smiled. “You a real one! And your accent is cute as hell.” She got up and left Lee’s side to her other friends and Lee sighed in relief. She’s been asked that very question one too many times in the past few weeks.

Sitting for another 30 minutes, Lee finally got up, paid and left the salon feeling all brand new. Of course she spared smiles and laughs with the hairstylists but she’s never wanted to get out of there quicker. The noise and heat was just overstimulating her senses. She still tipped though, you don’t get champagne at every hair salon.

“Yes, Santana?” Lee answered the phone, settling into her car seat of her rental. She’ll admit it, she did splurge on the rental but it’s not like she had anything to lose. Although the Maybach did fuel some unnecessary rumours.

“Lee, oh my goodness! I’ve been trying to reach you. Anyways, Lewis’ publicist and I were speaking and he’d like for you to speak in his segment for Drive to Survive in Austria. He arranged a whole thing.” Santana spoke through the phone, sounding like she was in the city.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she thought over of it for a second. “You know what? Sure. I know there’s gonna be a bit of a schedule change though for me, right?” Lee asked, fastening her seatbelt and connecting her phone to the car speaker so she could pull out of the parking space.

“Yeah, you’d be missing that SkySports segment with Danica about Red Bull and VCARB. So it’s all up to you-”

“Absolutely cancel that shit. I’ll speak to Lewis more about the deets but thank you, Santana. See you at the airport, yeah?” She turned into a drive thru of some fast food restaurant, she was too hungry to even focus.

The two wrapped up the convo and within 10 minutes, Lee got her food. Deciding to not eat in the car, she sped through to her airbnb and hopped out. Setting her phone on the kitchen island, she facetimed Lewis rather so she could eat.

“You still in Spain? I know those clouds from anywhere.” She joked once the call connected and she could see his confused face pop up on the screen. “Matter of fact, I’m in London but I’ll let you have that one.” Lewis smiled, finding a spot to sit down so he could have her whole attention.

“Listen, I’m hearing that you wanted me to speak with Netflix?” Lee unpacked her food order and laid it out in front of her.

He furrowed his eyebrows a bit before realising what she was talking about. “Oh um, yeah. Wanted to get through to you professionally and all that. Need someone on my side, y’know?” He cleared his throat, making his voice slightly raspy.

“My whole career is based around supporting you, Lewis. So I don’t mind, you know I got it. They want me to say some shit about your move to Ferrari?” Lee looked at the screen as she drank her soda.

Lewis nodded, his eyes slightly squinted under his cap. “I know it’s been a recurring topic but I just wanted someone who’ll be positive all the way through the segment.” He scratched his beard.

“Okay, no problem. I’ll talk to those directors then because they tried to talk to me earlier. You know I was supposed to work with Danicka before I heard of your thing?” Lee chuckled in disbelief, biting into a spoonful her grilled chicken bowl.

“You look good.” He spoke, smiling when he saw her being taken aback at his compliment. “Thank you? I got my hair done today, this is what Austria will see on their screens. But did you hear what I said?” Lee raised her eyebrow at the man.

Lewis chuckled before answering. “I heard, love but I don’t want to talk about her or any of them. Tell me, how are you getting to Austria?”

Pausing her hand on the spoon, she looked at him. “No, Lewis, I will not be flying with you. We’ve already got enough rumours as it is. Plus, I don’t wanna step on nobody’s toes.” Lee went back to stabbing through her food.

“Should I ask you again? I rather like the back and forth with you.” Lewis giggled, seeing her eyes dart to the screen once again. “Whatever you say, I’ll just smile and nod.”

She rolled her eyes. He was unbelievable. “Whatever you say, Mr Hamilton. I’ll see you in Austria next week.” Lee smiled, eating another spoonful of her food. He sighed and now it was his turn to roll his eyes at her stubbornness.

The two continued speaking on the Netflix interviews and how the directors would twist their words for the sake of good television. The conversation didn’t last too long because Lewis had other things to tend to whilst Lee would appreciate eating her lunch peacefully without him teasing her about looking like a chipmunk while she had food in her mouth.

-

RED BULL RING, AUSTRIA

Her heels were surprisingly comfortable for their first wear. The small chair that Netflix provided was a bit cold but luckily she didn’t have to be there for too long before she returned to SkySports to film something within the paddock.

The film crew assistant’s hands were shaking as he tried to mic Lee up. Because of how much time it took to get the mic strapped, some people got the nerve to walk up to her in her most peaceful time in the paddock.

“You know, I’ve always thought you looked super intimidating with your heels on! Like you’re a villain or something.” A loud, agitating voice with a side of clacking sandals invaded her personal space even more than the man strapping up the mic on her back.

Sighing and rolling her eyes, Lee gave Danicka a sharp look, one that said ‘shut up or you’ll get your ass beat’, and fixed the sleeves or her blazer. It didn’t take too long for everything to be set before beginning her solo segment on something the RedBulls were doing this weekend.

Damn, I need a shot. Or more money to motivate me

So focused on her inner thoughts while watching the playback video of her segment, she got knocked out of it by a tap on her shoulder. Once she felt the tap and it awoke her senses, she also heard the cheers and murmurs surrounding her. It could only be one person.

“Good morning, Lewis.” Lee said to her dear friend, who loved to do this surprising thing lately, as she stood up straight. The man was always in awe when he locked eyes with her. “Mornin’ Lee. I’ll see you later for our thing, yeah?” He smiled, his eyes probably crinkling behind his sunglasses.

“We have a thing?” Her eyebrows furrowed, her nose scrunching up a tiny bit before letting go. A little trait of hers that Lewis loves so much. “You need to check your emails more, sweetheart.” He winked, she just knew he did, behind the designer sunnies before walking away, tucking his hands back into his pockets.

What she could not explain was why her stomach did the thing when he winked. When she smelled his delicious cologne and surprisingly loving his Adam Sandler-esque tracksuit.

“Uh Lee? Are you okay?” The cameraman, Josh, stood up straight and asked his friend in concern. Snapping out of it, she looked at Josh. “Huh? Oh, yeah I’m good. Just fine.” She reassured him, looking back at the direction Lewis went, knowing very well that he left a while ago.

Josh then had a smirk on his face. “Right. What’d your boyfriend say?” He teased, feeling a smack on his arm a second later. “Don’t start with me, Josh. Don’t even think about it, yoh.” She warned, stepping back to the front of the camera to finish up her work.

saint’s notes 🧝🏽‍♀️: wellllll this is a small small introduction to the mini series and how their lil friendship goes! Lewis is a yearnerrrr in this one but that’s alright 🤭 hope you guys enjoyed!

🫧 tagslist: @mauvecherie-writes @chaneajoyyy @alika-4466 @queenshikongo3 @serpenttines @emjayewrites @exotic-iris13 @yeea-nah @vsfavs @motheroffae @h4vertzz @arshiyuh @henneseyhoe @cocobutterqwueen @gwenda-fav @httpsserene @peyiswriting @saturnville @purplelewlew @greedyjudge2 @sunfairyy @marvel-hotchner @boujiestpoet @f1-football-fiend @shhhchriss @jewel-diva44 @pickingupmymercedes @tian-monique

🫧 dividers: @cafekitsune

[1425fivefive]

Omg a medieval au landoscar would go so hard !

anon, this ask plus thinking about lando taking off oscar's armor plus this incredible art of oscar did inspire me to write a little landoscar medieval au drabble (1.8k words, nsfw below the cut)

Lando’s gaze was fixed on where his fingers were working to free the buckle connecting Oscar’s breast plane to the pauldron covering his shoulder. Lando’s brow furrowed as he tugged the leather through the clasp, little pink tongue just poking between his lips. Every move was careful, methodical, like Oscar was a horse who might spook if Lando moved too quickly.

It was always strange, those first few moments after Oscar returned from the battlefield to the manor house where they’d set up camp, the bedroom full of furs and velvet and flickering candles. Remembering how to let himself be touched softly, handled gently. How to let someone get close to him without anticipating a dagger to the gut.

Lando managed to get the plates covering Oscar’s right arm off, before moving automatically to Oscar’s other side. He skimmed a thumb over Oscar’s jaw as he went, just the hint of a touch. He knew not to push too quickly. That Oscar needed time to remember how to be soft.

Months ago, when the first skirmishes had broken out, Oscar had thought he needed it hard and fast. He’d ride back from the field, leap off his horse mid-stride, toss the reins to a squire without a backward glance. By the time he reached Lando’s rooms he’d already be halfway out of his armor, pieces scattered behind him along the hall. 

Lando would be hunched over his desk, studying miniatures, pouring over battle plans, the slim golden crown Lando wore in public tossed carelessly onto a chair. Oscar had thought about asking Lando to wear it while Oscar bedded him. Watch the crown prince fall apart for him.

But Oscar preferred when Lando was stripped free of it all, naked and honest and wanting. When Oscar could pretend that they were nothing more than two men taking pleasure in one another. That they had no titles other than their names.

In those first few weeks of war, though, Oscar felt like he’d forgotten how to be anything other than his title. He’d shove Lando over the table and fuck him rough and fast, fingers digging into Lando’s slim hips, sucking and biting at Lando’s skin.

It never felt good, exactly. He felt no better than an animal, mounting and thrusting until he came, but Oscar had thought that maybe it was what he deserved. On the battlefield he felt more animal than man, driven only by fear and desperation and the primal, all-consuming need to survive. He felt like something base and beastly. Something made purely for fighting and fucking. 

But one evening, as Oscar struggled to tug Lando’s breeches over his arse, Lando had twisted around to face him, resting a palm on the center of Oscar’s chest, and whispered, “Let me.”

Oscar had let Lando steer him to the bed, using nothing more than the soft press of his palm against Oscar’s chest. Let Lando push him back against the velvet bedding. Let Lando ride him, slow and steady and careful. Let Lando press kisses to each of Oscar’s fingers, his neck, his lips.

Oscar felt like he was remembering himself during it. Remembering that he was something capable of gentleness.

Eventually, he’d remembered himself enough to slide a hand into Lando’s curls, marveling at the way Lando leaned into his touch, and didn't shy away. Like he knew Oscar would never hurt him. Oscar wrapped his other hand around Lando’s cock and Lando shivered above him, letting out a breathless Oscar. 

Oscar drank in every slow roll of Lando’s hips, Lando’s quiet gasps and breathy pants as Oscar stroked over Lando’s cock. When Lando came with a hitched moan, spilling hotly over Oscar’s stomach, Oscar tugged Lando down into a desperate kiss. Lando was still shuddering above him, unable to do anything more than pant into Oscar’s mouth as he rode out his orgasm. But Oscar didn’t care, couldn’t think of anything other than how good it felt to remember his body could bring someone pleasure instead of pain. He’d come moments later with a strained cry of Lando’s name.

Ever since, Oscar had let Lando lead. Let Lando teach him how to be tender again.

As Lando pulled the plate coverings off Oscar’s left arm, unbuckled the straps holding Oscar’s breast plate, tugging it free, Oscar felt like an oyster being shucked from its shell, revealing something pink and fleshy and new.

Lando always struggled with the chain mail, slightly too short to pull it over Oscar’s head. Oscar leaned forward to make it easier.

“Thank you,” Lando murmured.

Lando draped the chain mail over a chair. It reminded Oscar of the shedded skin of a snake he’d seen in the woods once, fluttering over a branch. The echo of something dangerous.

Lando made quick work of the rest of Oscar’s clothes. Oscar tried not to notice the guilt on Lando’s face as he took in the fresh bruises littering Oscar’s skin. 

But Lando brought a finger up to trace over what Oscar was certain was a particularly nasty one on his rib cage from when he’d been knocked from his horse with the flat of a sword.

After Oscar could barely stand it, he caught Lando’s hand and tugged it up to his lips. “Enough,” Oscar murmured, pressing a kiss to Lando’s knuckles.

Lando opened his mouth as if to say something, but he said nothing in the end. Simply let Oscar unlace his jacket and breeches, push them to the floor as if they were worth nothing.

They stood there in the flickering candlelight, free from their airs, their titles. Holding each other’s gaze as if they were equals.

Oscar brought a tentative hand to Lando’s face, stroking over the soft skin of Lando’s cheek.

Lando’s eyes fluttered and he turned his head to the side, pressing a warm kiss to the center of Oscar’s palm. The same way he did before battles, pulling Oscar’s hand to his lips, kissing the rough skin of Oscar’s palm and whispering, “Remember.”

Oscar had never asked what he was meant to remember—Lando, himself, that touch could be gentle. All of it, Oscar thought.

Oscar knew, then, what he needed from Lando. Knew how Lando could help him remember.

“Can you—” Oscar trailed off. He wanted it more than anything but he struggled to ask for it. Couldn’t stop imagining how the other knights would react if they knew Oscar spread his legs for the crown prince. 

The knights already knew Oscar spent most nights in Lando’s chambers. But Oscar had been careful to keep up the illusion that Lando was the only one on his back. There was something powerful in bedding the crown prince, something almost enviable in fucking the man who sent them to war. But to let the crown prince fuck him? Oscar’s stomach twisted at the thought.

But he didn’t shy away as Lando slid his hand to cup Oscar’s arse. When Lando ghosted his fingers over Oscar’s hole, Oscar couldn’t hold back a whine.

“God,” Lando breathed. “This is what you want?” He pressed one of his thick fingers against Oscar, the barest hint of a stretch. 

Oscar shuddered at the feeling. “Please,” Oscar whispered.

Lando groaned, finger pressing more firmly, and muttered, “Christ, you’re—”

But Oscar never found out what he was because Lando was already tugging him toward the bed, pushing Oscar back against the pillows and settling between Oscar’s legs.

They didn’t do it this way often but Lando moved confidently, coating his fingers in oil and watching Oscar closely as he opened him up, pressing soft kisses to Oscar’s chest, his nipples, his stomach.

Oscar couldn’t help the desperate noises pulled out of him by Lando’s fingers, his cock pink and dripping against his stomach.

“Perfect,” Lando breathed, bright eyes dragging over Oscar’s shuddering form. “Fucking perfect for me, Osc.”

Oscar let out a wounded noise, clenching around Lando’s fingers. He was perfect, in a sense. Fighting Lando’s wars and rolling over for him, after. It made Oscar want to shove Lando off, pin him to the bedspread.

But Lando was looking at him with open adoration, his eyes bright, lips parted, fingers huge and perfect inside Oscar. And even in the dim light, Oscar could see the bags under Lando’s eyes. Oscar knew that it killed Lando every time he had to stand and watch Oscar ride out, knowing Oscar might never return. It was one thing to be the one leaving. It was another to be the one being left.

Oscar hooked a heel behind Lando’s thigh, pulling Lando closer, rocking back against Lando’s fingers, desperately trying to take him deeper.

“Please,” Oscar begged.

Lando leaned down to press a kiss to Oscar’s chest, the skin already flushed a bright pink. The movement pushed Lando’s fingers deeper and Oscar let out a frantic moan. He had to shoot a hand down to grab his cock and squeeze, desperately trying not to come.

“Please,” Oscar repeated, squirming underneath Lando. “Please, I just—” He reached a hand up to Lando’s curls, tugging him down into a kiss. 

Lando moaned into the kiss but pulled back after a few moments. “What do you need?” he whispered, voice ragged.

His cock pressed against Oscar’s thigh and Oscar felt like he was shaking out of his own skin at the thought of Lando pushing in, filling him up completely. Making Oscar forget about anything other than the press of Lando inside him. 

“Help me,” Oscar begged, grinding back against Lando’s fingers. “Help me remember myself.”

“Fuck, Oscar,” Lando groaned, bending to press a kiss to Oscar’s neck. “Always.”

“Thank you,” Oscar breathed, relaxing against the mattress, relief flooding through him. “Fuck, I—thank you.”

Lando slid his fingers free and lined himself up, the steady press of his cock overwhelming enough to have Oscar tossing his head to the side and tightening around Lando, letting out a needy moan.

Lando whined, clearly trying not to come, but he smoothed a hand over Oscar’s hair and whispered, “So good, sweetheart, there you go.”

They were the precise words Oscar said to Lando sometimes as he pushed inside, when he could tell Lando was fighting it, his body desperate for it but not willing to cede control. It was enough to have Oscar relaxing slightly, just enough to let Lando slide home.

Lando stayed there for a moment, letting Oscar adjust, letting Oscar feel it. Oscar couldn’t stop whimpering, soft, tiny noises, but he pulled Lando in for another kiss, letting Lando swallow his sounds.

In Lando’s bed, Oscar felt as though he’d never existed anywhere else. He forgot about everything other than the feel of Lando inside him, the warm heat of Lando’s body against his, and the wet slide of Lando’s lips against his. 

He remembered, finally, how to be soft.

[dadsbongos]

on hard times

5.4k words / summary - jimmy needs a place to stay, and what place is better than with his enabling best friend, curly, and curly's hot step-daughter? nothing could go wrong!

warnings - fem!reader, piv sex, noncon jimmy, stepcest, objectification/sexism (thank u jimmy), curly and jimmy should both be shot in the head

reader is 20 not actually a teenager.

[B Side: Jimmy Zare]

Sitting in a hospital room is not unfamiliar to Jimmy, the only peculiarity to it now being that he’s the one in a gown with his ass out. He’s perched over the edge of the bed now, elbows on his knees and flicking an unlit cigarette between two fingers. Below him is a head of flaxen hair, thick hands unzipping a black bag full to the lumps of plain long-sleeves and jeans and socks.

Grant Curly is Jimmy's sole emergency contact. Mrs. Grant Curly used to be Curly's emergency contact. Next was Grant Curly senior. Then Jimmy Zare.

Jimmy thinks that's fucked up. He should have a Mrs. Jimmy Zare and a Jimmy Zare senior and then, finally and as a last resort, there would be Grant Curly.

But, unfortunately, that’s just not true.

Curly now rolls socks on both Jimmy’s feet. Patting the man’s ankle in a way meant to be reassuring, but only squeezes repulsion from Jimmy’s face.

“I can dress myself,” he sneers.

Lots of remarks could’ve followed from Curly’s mouth -- most apparent being: why’d you let me get this far? None of them come, though, Curly simply nods and stands and kicks the bag closer to where Jimmy’s legs dangle over the edge.

“You got everything?” Curly grimaces at his own question, “What happened to your phone?”

Jimmy shrugs before shucking on a stiff pair of jeans, grunting with the effort and cupping his bruised over stomach, “Dunno.”

Curly bites back a sigh, Jimmy watches it happen in real time: a little bit more faith in him is eaten back by disappointment.

All the same, he pulls over a black long sleeve. Violet stomach screaming in protest as he hisses a curse for his dimwitted neighbor, stumbling back into the bed.

“Alright,” Curly bends, hands out to assist Jimmy in standing, “Let’s get you home.”

Jimmy elbows his friend away, paying no mind the pained wheeze he lets out, before stumbling onto two feet by himself. In the hand not bracing his abdomen, is a crinkled plastic bag with vomit-stained clothes and a peeling leather belt.

In silence they wade through the buzzing clinical halls. Hours prior this same hallway was in chaos, Jimmy knows that -- he just doesn’t remember it. Not between yellow-black dots sucking out the light in his eyes or the stinging remnants of bile around his teeth. Now the corridor is sleepier, and stars are beginning to crawl out from behind the horizon.

Jimmy wonders if he waited until now- if his neighbor would’ve had her kids already in bed, too tired to check out the next trailer over rattling-

He supposes it doesn’t matter. He’s already breaking out toward the parking lot with Curly.

Who then takes a bold step toward the bubblegum Jeep with no back doors, which he knows is not Curly’s car. Meaning one thing,

“Oh,” Curly says like a last minute thought, “Kid’s home, by the way. I hope that’s fine.”

He smiles in such a tight way that slyly communicates: it better be fine because there’s no fighting this. All importance Mrs. Grant Curly took up in the man’s life was drained instantly when she served divorce papers; a space rapidly refilled with the child from a previous marriage. The crooked thorn in Jimmy’s side. The new emergency contact. You.

“Why do you even have a room for it?” Jimmy shuffles into the passenger side, scooting the seat forward and leaving the seatbelt dangling at his shoulder, “Not your kid.”

Curly waves off such criticism, “I love her! She’s nice and funny, everything I could’ve wanted.”

“Ugh,” Jimmy gags, eyes fluttering shut, “Do I get my own room, or do I have to share?”

If his eyes were open, he’s certain he’d be forced to gaze upon that same pressed smile. That stale smile that says more than enough. Jimmy will not like this.

“You got the couch or my bed,” a click and hum vibrates Jimmy in his seat before the car electrifies with whistling pop music. Big chunky tires rolling onto the highway back into clean cut suburbs.

Jimmy cringes at the moaning welps over the radio and flings a hand out, one eye creaking open just enough to make out the volume knob between his crowding lashes. Twisting it far down while croaking,

“You’re a grown ass man, the fuck are you listening to that shit for?”

“It’s just what she left on,” Curly’s jovial, despite the rude quizzing, “You don’t like a bit of girly pop?”

Jimmy glares, turning his whole head to spit daggers toward his friend, “If that little cunt is playing this shit while I’m over, one of us is dying.”

Curly just laughs, then quietly murmurs -- too quiet to be taken seriously, “Don’t call her that.”

Curly is like the sun. Big and bright and nurturing no matter how violently you resist. Making Jimmy mercury: small and red and forever revolving around him.

Upon pulling into the broad driveway up to Curly’s two-story home, Jimmy’s already rich negative attitude only sours more. He spots the sleek little navy blue Toyota Corolla (that’s seen more blood and sweat and tears than your cute two-seater would ever know about) closer to the door.

“Why’d you pick me up in this if your car was here?”

“I figured you’d appreciate this one more,” Curly snarks, killing the engine and jingling your ring of chains with two keys. One for the house and one for your car. Aside from that is a rose gold blinged out rectangle with your name on it, pink little plastic cats, a metal fairy, and purple fuzzy dice.

“Figured wrong,” Jimmy slinks out, curling the clear bag of his belongings to his chest before patting the plastic with loud ‘pops’ as the pair steps through the front door, “I wanna wash this.”

Curly hisses lowly, head turning toward the very obviously clunking washing machine in the utility closet, “I think she’s doing a load right now.”

Ideally, Jimmy would toss his shit in with yours but God forbid the princess gets just a little crusted vomit washed off alongside her delicate thin dresses and lace panties.

“Then I just leave this shit?”

“Looks like it.”

Jimmy really hates you -you’re a little bitch. And you’re hopping down the stairs in a yellow Pony Express shirt three sizes too big for you, smiling, waving, melodically chirping:

”Hi, Uncle Jimmy!”

“Don’t call me that,” Jimmy huffs at you, eye rolling while Curly’s back still faces him from the kitchen.

You stop at the foot of the steps and pout out at him, “Jeez, aren’t you rude? Did they have to amputate your heart out there?”

Jimmy rolls his eyes again, this time with more apparent gusto. He flips you off to boot. You pull an offended scowl before trampling over to Curly and tugging the back of his shirt, murmuring dirt and shit and lies into his big ear. Curly doesn’t spare the energy of twisting back before calling out,

“Jim’ play nice, please?!”

Jimmy hates you. You’re not even Curly’s. You were just some teenage sulk when you came into their lives, and now you’re some codependent wimp living at home. Despite the blonde never complaining about this fact, Jimmy just knows it’s insane that you’re still clinging around. It’s all that pampering Curly did on you.

You skip back out, hands tied behind your back with that awful smile. Rosy lipped with just the perfect sliver of teeth showing, and the apples of your cheeks glowing. The best part of you perched like that is that he can make out the plumpness of your tits -- could probably even reach out and squeeze one before you manage untangling your hands to shove him off.

“So, how long are you staying?” your soft voice grates him again,

Shrugging at you, Jimmy confesses, “Until I get my own house back.”

Your mouth opens, brows furrowed, then they dart up in shock -or perhaps realization- and your mouth closes. You nod and look back at Curly, then again at Jimmy, “Okay,” and prattle back into the kitchen.

Murmuring ensues.

That’s when Curly presses, “Jim’, are you takin’ my room or the couch?!”

More murmuring. You hiss something and he can see the whip of your arm as you whack the blonde’s arm. He laughs quietly and waltzes out, shaking his head a bit,

“Sorry, little lady says you’ve gotta take the couch.”

Jimmy’s scowl must be so hilarious because Curly just laughs harder. You come out whining, smacking at the man’s arm again with a belated shush.

Your concern is brushed off without thought, “It’s just Uncle Jimmy.”

You love Grant, really. He’s been a massive teddy bear since the day you met, but his fatal flaw is his guilted sense of devotion. Especially when it revolved around dear old Uncle Jimmy.

A soft jingle and hiss clues you all to the sudden silence where a machine once clanged. Jimmy spares no seconds before thumbing over his shoulder and seething at you, “Change your load over. I got shit to wash.”

“Grant, don’t let him talk to me like that!” you stomp your foot and whine.

“‘Grant’,” Jimmy mimics your voice, tone nasally and drawn impossibly high.

“Already bickering,” Curly plasters on his worst smile yet, hands fisted on his hips, “This’ll be a good time.”

***

It, decidedly, has not been a good time.

Not in the mornings.

“Grant’s out for his jog,” you mumble around a spoonful of fruity cereal. Milk faintly pink from the artificial dyes.

Jimmy doesn’t even dignify you with a response, prowling from the bed with his striped pajama pants sagging and an unmatching black beater swerved to expose one of his nipples.

“You have a tit piercing?” said with undeniably judgment. Poking the bear just to prove it won’t do anything.

As expected, you receive sullen silence. Jimmy only confirms he heard you in how he roughly yanks the thin material to cover the silver bar through his nipple.

That’s precisely when you spot something sure to make the bear roar. Thin line upon thin line, now blistering white and all stacked in uneven rows along each forearm. A couple stretch past his elbow. You open your mouth, then think better of pointing those out. Partially from some undeserved pity, and partially because of some fleeting certainty he’ll actually kill you over that remark.

“Slept in real late today, huh?” is what you decide on instead.

Jimmy, again, completely skimps you. Rooting around the cabinets until he finds the shiniest bowl and clacking it loudly on the marble counter. Taking down your box of pebbles cereal, ignoring your scoffed protests, and pouring out an overly generous portion. Despite his determination to dodge you, he throws down his bowl -splattering milk over the hardwood table as he does- right beside yours.

Chair skidding out before he hunches over the table. Elbows ungracefully planted on either side of his bowl.

From your peripherals, you watch Jimmy eat. Milk dribbles down his greyed scruff and he crunches open-mouthed, you can identify each sugary morsel just before it’s mashed into rainbow paste. No amount of blatant cringing or sighing does you any favors, so you resort to simply abandoning breakfast before you hurl what’s gone down.

Little do you know that as you rise, so too does the material of your itty bitty silk shorts. Riding up into your ass until fat is spilling out the bottom, and Jimmy hones in on the sight as soon as you’re up. Following with utmost interest as you round the table and perch onto the silver sink ledge, flicking on the hot tap. Definitely prettier bent over the counter than when you’re talking.

If you were his step-daughter you’d probably never leave the house. He’d have the door deadbolted from the outside.

Jimmy blinks at that. Leaning back in his chair, stare unwavering as your hips veer left and right with the effort of scrubbing out dried cereal, and folding his arms. He blinks again, this time with more confidence in his chest.

There’s a reason you’re here, and it isn’t because you’re Curly’s kid.

“Hey,” Jimmy’s voice is buried in the back of his throat, all gravel and rock beneath every different thing he actually wants to say. Eyes rounding over your exposed ass cheeks, “Why’d your parents split?”

Your guttural offense is pretty indicating, “Grant’s not my dad.”

“You still live with him.”

“Yeah, when I’m not on campus.”

Jimmy’s silence is so stagnant, you have to turn to confirm he’s still in the room.

Surprisingly, he is, and he’s staring right at you. Every muscle in his face stony, a hardset confidence as if he knows everything before he even opens his mouth, “Your mom’s just downtown, isn’t she?”

Rather than rationalize -whether it’s a lie or not- you swallow the nerves in your throat and turn back on him, “Why do you care so much? Do you wanna live here forever or something?”

“Call it curiosity.”

“Then be curious about why you don’t have your own place yet,” if you spent even a second longer at that sink then you would’ve gotten a ceramic bowl buried into your skull.

Luckily you immediately break for the stairs, jumping them two at a time (joke’s on your stupid ass anyway, now he’s memorizing the way your tits jiggle up each step).

Not out on errands.

Jimmy’s leaning against the rickety cart with a plastic red handcover. Head drooped to one shoulder, silently observing as you stretch up to grab a jar of Curly’s favored peanut butter from the top shelf.

“You can ask for help,” Jimmy sneers.

You ignore him, flagrantly. Even kicking a leg onto the bottom shelf, selfishly knocking over thin blue boxes of macaroni with your other foot stretching backward. One hand clutching the middle of the bay for purchase, the other high above your head.

“Fine, be a bitch about it,” he sighs and sinks back.

Suddenly thankful he did because at this angle with you reaching for that height: your little cotton panties suctioned against your pussy lips become visible beneath that teeny pleated skirt. A studded belt hangs limply around the loops.

The swell of your ass is more obvious from down here, too.

Jimmy hangs a little more to the side, slowly fishing out his phone and holding it at his chest. Eyes drawing toward the screen as he ensures his flash is off before snapping a far away picture. Then two fingers crawl over the glass, pinching at your cunt and zooming in for another three pics.

Briefly, he wonders if he could get away with reaching out and pulling aside the gusset for the holy grail of shots.

Just as his hands are twitching to carry out the mull-over, you’re fucking turning. Sweaty and huffing,

“Okay, fine, can you grab this?”

Jimmy pockets his phone with an eye roll and easily swipes the orange-lidded jar into your cart.

Not at dinner.

“You get this every night?” Jimmy asks, undeniably lewd with thighs sprawled apart on the chair. A hand clutching either knee.

Curly shrugged, hands politely folded over his abdomen, “Not every night. Sometimes we order in.”

“Your own housewife in training,” Jimmy whistles, watching you at the stove and not bothering to temper his volume, “Guy that puts a ring on it will be lucky.”

Out of minuscule respect for Curly, Jimmy decides against vocalizing the rest of his statement.

Still, though, Curly has the gall to look offended. Broad chest puffing out and thick jaw setting into a disturbed square. Hands curling around each other less politely now, and his knee starts bouncing as he says,

“Won’t need a husband when dad’s here for her.”

Jimmy can only laugh as you visibly cringe upon the utterance of that dreaded ‘D’-word.

“What do you think of that, kid?” Jimmy rolls one elbow over the back of his chair, spare hand now flattening over the table, “No husband, just Dad.”

“He’s not my dad…” you grumble, not unlike that pouty, sulky teenager you were when you and Jimmy first met.

“Well, any dating prospects?” it’s the most tender Jimmy has been with you yet, and by the immediate glow in your face he can read your appreciation.

Curly, however, is the one to answer -a much more rotten expression written over his face, “No,” he frightens himself with how aggressively the two letters spit out, so he tries again with the tiniest, fakest chuckle, “No suitors yet.”

And now you’re pissed, glaring at Curly before whipping right back around.

Jimmy revels in it. Watching you and your step-dad silently bat one argument over the other. He wonders if you two really think it’s all over his head.

And certainly not at night.

On the way to your room is Curly’s. Curly is a deep sleeper, so Jimmy has never felt more assured than right now as he twists the handle on your bedroom door.

Unlocked. As it should be. Your sweet heart entirely unassuming to the dangerous wiles of men twice your age.

He bets your pussy is even sweeter than your heart. It has to be when your personality is so gratingly cliche. Maybe by the end he’ll be even more bewitched by you than Curly.

The thought makes him snort.

Steadily planting a knee onto your marshmallow mattress, Jimmy soothes one hand over your thigh -- kicked over fluffy pink blankets. Soft skin that bounces right back into place. Firm and dewy. Your body embraces him completely, which he already knew it would.

A crackly groan makes his eyes dart from your thigh to your face scrunching at the sudden contact.

Silently, he squeezes, just to see the exact moment you rouse behind those batting lashes.

Initially, you smile -tight-lipped- until your bleary vision makes out the figure on your bed. That exact moment, when you realize who’s groping up your thigh, is when your smile tears apart.

“Calm down,” he husks into the open air of your bedroom, calloused palms cutting along your waist and pausing at the warmth of your collar bones, “It’s just Uncle Jimmy.”

Now is when you kick. A startled gasp shoved back behind the palm of his hand, fingers clamping tight around your jaw. He swings a leg over yours, effectively straddling your pelvis. Grinding down between your legs, something thick and hard protruding from the loose stripes of his pajama pants.

“Feel that?” he taunts, pressing against you harder, lowering his face by yours until the stiff scruff along his cheeks is tearing up your soft skin, “That’s my dick, and it’s going inside you.”

A scream is muffled against his thick palm, you smack at his ribs but he pushes forward without constraint, wrenching up your silk candy slips. The sleaziest little smirk smears over his entire face as your boobs spill out, he cuffs the material to your throat. Pressing your legs open with his own, kneeling on one of your thighs with his full weight and you’re sure the bone’s going to snap. Another scream dies against his meaty hand.

Reaching up, you knot one hand in his stringy hair -yanking out chunks of chestnut- and crushing fingerprints into his eyes.

“Be -fuckin’- nice,” Jimmy tugs you down the bed, blanketing your body with his, “to Uncle Jimmy, yeah?” he snickers in your wide-eyed, sweaty face, quickly swapping the hand over your mouth with his lips. Spearing your face open with his tongue, slobbering over you.

Burying your knees into Jimmy’s sides does about as much as it would if you flicked paper in his face.

Jimmy peels off your thin lace panties, balling them up in one hand and yoinking down his pants with the other. Stretchy hem now digging halfway down his thighs, he taps the hot head against your clit. Then sliding it down your slit, highlighting around your hole with two circles. Grunting against your lips, sinking just beneath the seam to drag back up toward the twitchy little pink bundle up top.

Licking over your tongue one final time, he saps up the final sweet mint taste from your toothpaste before pulling back. Pecking you, outrageously chaste for a man now bruising your tits with his fingers, before parting altogether.

Sneering, “Keep quiet for me,” and stuffing your own panties into your sodden, swollen mouth.

Jimmy heaves your knees over his shoulders, bending over you before sliding in -- staring you dead in the eyes as he lets out the most dramatic huff. You gasp as he sheathes in a single swing, throwing your head back at the sudden stretch with a grunt following.

“Soft and warm,” he hums, biting at your pulse with sick glee, “Tight.”

You wail in protest, but it gurgles out a little sweeter. Just a tad higher pitched than you mean for. Eyes watering and back arching as you try budging for even slight breathing room.

Stubbornly, Jimmy locks his chest against your bouncing tits. Eyes needling down at the pillowing flesh, hard nipples peeking out with every ragged thrust. Thrusts that get smoother, steadier, wetter the longer he’s inside you.

Cold teeth dig into your neck, velvet tongue laving the area as he sucks welts along your skin. Hot pants fanning the juncture with every gushy dive of his hips. Then he laughs out the cruelest dig when that first splat rings around the sweltering room:

“Take it so good, princess,” just to continue with a snide, “Knew you would.”

Biting down on your spit-soaked panties provides superficial comfort, squeals still leaking from the corners of your mouth. Muffled, but not silenced.

“What would your old man think about this?” he chokes, pulling up enough to stare down at your pinched face, “You’re gonna cum for me.”

One of his hands settles over your throat, crushing the sides warmly. Not enough to actually choke you, but just so there’s bruises by tomorrow morning.

“He’ll have to get rid of one of us,” Jimmy hisses coldly, now scarring his bottom lip with crooked teeth, brows furrowing as his cock twitches in your sucking cunt.

it better be you he thinks curly was mine before you

He spits down onto where you’re swallowing him up -- frothy spit dribbling cooly over your clit and along the broken seam he fucks. Instinctually, your hips buck up for it -for more. Thighs clamping around his neck and throat bobbing with a trapped moan.

A practically inaudible yadyyee manages to break past your gag, Jimmy snickers as you crow louder aaatyyyy as you seize around and below him. Eyes flying open and nails scratching up to reopen silvery scars on his arms as you nearly choke on your own slick panties.

“And is this the part when I call you ‘baby’?” he draws a thumb beneath your shiny lip, spit webbing your skin together, “Whore,” is what he chooses instead, “Cumming like the pretty slut I knew you were.”

And just like the slut he knew you were the second he saw you, you grind into his pistoning. Tears caking your lashes and cheeks flaming hot, your body still caves to any attention it’s given.

He knew it the second you were introduced to him. In a spaghetti strap and short shorts with bleached bangs. Dressed like every other little pornstar in the making. Hellbent on catching as many eyes as possible just to rip it away like he was some yippy puppy content to be played with and walked and given little treats. Maybe your dad was, but Jimmy never had that paternal instinct.

Jimmy just wanted to defile you.

And now you live under the same roof: you’re all his.

Last minute, Jimmy slides out easier than he went in and beats his cock into your pubes. Rivulets of your wetness roll down the curve of your ass with nothing to plug you up, sheets darkening beneath you.

Tugging your panties out so hard he nearly knocks out a tooth, Jimmy balls them again and licks up the drool from your chin. Knuckles catching your overstimulated clit as he frantically jerks off, hips cracking forward until your pelvis is streaked in thick white ropes.

Pitchy and broken you wail, “Daddy…!”

Jimmy could’ve cackled in your face, if not for the sound of metal clicking over his shoulder.

And maybe the sight before him -Curly in the doorway, clutching the brass knob hard enough for his knuckles to whiten- could’ve been terrifying. Men kill other men for touching their daughters, after all. But all that intimidation flies out your window, decorated with the daintiest peach curtains, as soon as Jimmy spots the tent in Curly’s boxers.

Curly reads the electric glint in his old friend’s eyes. Something bright and livelier than he’s seen from the man in a long while.

Something that makes him feel relieved he doesn’t have to keep the medicine cabinet locked.

Something that says: I know why your wife left you.

*** ***

[A Side: Grant Curly]

“It’s late, Grant…”

“I told you not to call me that.”

An eye roll is the last thing he wants to see. He scowls, drunkenly, and shoves his head into his hands with all the indignity of a child.

“You really think drinking makes you easier to talk to? It’s no wonder you make her so…”

“So what?”

The stilted silence preceding a sigh tells him the what he needs to know. Unhappiness permeates the house now. Having it all pinned on him feels so fucking unfair, so fucking untrue.

“You know what,” another sigh, this time more playful -more throaty and evidently annoyed, “Daddy.”

“I thought marriages didn’t fall apart until at least the fifth year…” he pouts up at you, again with all the righteousness of a toddler.

You smack his arm, “You guys have been dating longer, anyway. Besides, you kinda knew it wasn’t gonna work out, right?”

“I thought we’d be okay.”

Two hands settle on either of his shoulders. Thumbs pressing into the knotted muscle between his shoulder blades and up toward his stiff neck. Pulling tense flesh until he’s all malleable and soft again.

Curly groans, pleased, and leans into your touch. Laying his head against the back of the couch to stare up at you. A lopsided smile gracing his lips as he confesses with whiskey-slick lips,

“You’re a blessing, sweetheart.”

You grace him with one of those humble, tight-lipped grins that make him all gooey in the center. A paternal feeling, he’s sure.

Whenever your mother upsets him, you’re there.

More things make Curly want to kill himself than they don’t these days. He has the sick urge to fellate a gun after most minor inconveniences, and suddenly the only way he can feel true joy is when someone half his age is fawning over him. It should be another reason he wants to die, but it isn’t. You could never be.

He places a thick hand on yours and grins, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Looping both arms around his neck, you settle your heated cheek over the back of Curly’s head and squeeze. Flushing your breasts against his back with a sugary whisper, “Probably die miserable.”

“Probably,” he reaches up to squeeze your wrist.

Knowledge would be him pushing you off right now. Wisdom would be kicking you out of his house. But that ripe, sweating instinct makes him encourage you to slither over the back of the couch.

He pulls at your cropped sweater, laughing in your flustered face as you giggle. Legs wild before you’re slipping into his lap, thighs spreading yours apart with his hands on your hips. Thumbs scarring up your bare ribs.

“How are you so like her, but so different?” he wonders aloud.

“I dunno…” you shrug off shyly. Hips ticking against his.

“Mhmm,” he lets you and leans back, eyes fluttering shut as warmth eats him from both directions. Your body is sweet while the alcohol is savory. Both ways, he’s treated with nothing but love.

Then there’s your lips on his cheek, he smiles into it. Turns his head just to kiss the air above your own cheek as he sighs,

“Thank you, baby.”

“Daddy,” your hips cant down harder and now he has to plant both feet firmly in the ground to keep from thrusting up. That would just be inappropriate, right? But no more inappropriate than what you utter next, “Can I suck you off?”

His eyes peel open one at a time. Bloodshot. Confused, “Huh?”

“I know Mom doesn’t,” you grind down on him again. The material of your oversized sleep shirt riding up. Nothing but pink lace panties greet him. Damp and sticking to his shorts, “But I really want to…”

“Uhh,” maybe if you could let him think for a second, he’d have replied better. Maybe if you could stop rubbing that wet cunt on him for even one breath, he could’ve given you the emphatic NO you deserved. But you didn’t, so he didn’t.

Instead, he just sat you on the floor and waved with one hand while the other came up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “Fine, fine, yes.”

Already, the carpet burns your knees. But you rock forward and unclink his buttons.

Without technique, but eager and hungry: your mouth sinks onto his cock. Feeling it twitch and thicken on your tongue as you whine. Hollowing your cheeks with both hands burying manicured nails into his meaty thighs. Noisily slurping the spit dribbling past your gaping lips.

Sucking more than you can handle, trying to impress Grant by tickling your nose with his wiry gold pubes just makes you gag. An abrupt gush of thick slobber waxing his pelvis.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, throwing his head back with bending brows, “Be careful, honey, don’t hurt yourself…”

Despite himself, he’s knotting hand at the back of your head. Not-so-subtly pushing your forehead against his abs.

Curly cannot verbally explain or comprehend his relationship with you in labels, the guilt just eats him up.

The comfort of a stepdaughter should be non-existent -or at the least temporary, but you’re still here. You love him and he adores you. He has no strength to beat you away.

*** he really should just die ***

Little under a year spins by before his phone rings, interrupting the unquestioned domesticity.

You caught bits of that call while perched on the kitchen counter. Bare legs left to swing while Curly stirred creamer into his coffee. His old Pony Express shirt swamped over you. A girl’s voice blisters out from the other side. You glare at the speaker in juvenile jealousy despite how displeased Curly seems to be listening to her.

Occasionally he’ll nod, no matter how ridiculous the notion is given you’re the only one looking. Jaw popping. Fingers tapping.

“But he’s alive?” is the first thing of substance he says.

Curly is Jimmy Zare’s emergency contact because Jimmy never had a Misses or a Senior to count on. Not even the highly inappropriate relationship with a young girl to lean on.

You assume that is all connected to the phone call that suddenly has him all serious.

“Okay. I’ll be out there soon,” he nods again, making you want to rip his head off it’s so cute how stupid he is sometimes, “He can stay with me… I’ll be sure.”

He doesn’t look your way after hanging up. Instead, he spares a few minutes blankly staring into the cabinets.

Curly thinks Jimmy is like the sun. Big and angry and burning with barely contained passion. Making Curly mercury: small and burnt and the first to be swallowed when Jimmy inevitably blows up.

It’s so cute how stupid he is sometimes.

“Grant?” you murmur, head tilting.

He finally satisfies your need for attention. Eyes widening as if he spontaneously forgot and then remembered who he’s looking at. He smiles tightly and pats your knee like he’s trying to comfort a child after a lost softball game,

He even speaks to you like one.

“Uncle Jimmy’s staying with us for a bit,” before you can ask anything more, he turns away toward the front door, “Try not to fight with him.”

“Eugh… He’s weird!” you protest, “Can’t he stay at a hotel?!”

Curly pokes his head out and shakes it, disappointed, at you, “He’s staying with us,” then disappears to announce, “I’m going to pick him up! Be dressed when we get back!”

You wait until he’s slammed the front door behind him before muttering, “I am dressed.”

Uncle Jimmy is the type of person men shouldn’t trust their daughters with, so maybe this is a step forward. Somewhere in the knotted affair your life became, a gleaming light assures you this means Grant has his eyes on a new Mrs. Curly.

It’s so cute how stupid step-daughters are sometimes.

@toxycodone / @maniacpixiedreamboy + @xyfanficarchive + @m-carriaga2021 + @reniverse 

[bestanimal]

Round 2.5 - Cnidaria - Scyphozoa

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Scyphozoa is a marine class of cnidarians commonly referred to as “true jellyfish”, “jellyfish”, or simply “jellies”. They are composed of three living orders: Coronatae (“Crown Jellies”), Rhizostomeae (“Root-mouth Jellies”), Semaeostomeae (“Flag-mouth Jellies”).

Scyphozoans usually display a four-part symmetry and have an internal gelatinous material called mesoglea, consisting of as much as 98% water. A ring of muscle fibres within the mesoglea surrounds the rim of the dome, and the jellyfish swims by alternately contracting and relaxing these muscles. As medusae, they eat a variety of crustaceans and fish, which they capture using stinging cells called nematocysts. The nematocysts are located throughout the tentacles that radiate downward from the edge of the umbrella dome, and also cover the four or eight oral arms that hang down from the central mouth. Some species, however, are instead filter feeders, using their tentacles to strain plankton from the water. The mouth opens into a central stomach, from which four interconnected diverticula radiate outwards. Some genera also have smaller mouths in the oral arms. The lining of the digestive system includes further stinging nematocysts, along with cells that secrete digestive enzymes. The nervous system usually consists of a distributed net of cells, although some species possess more organised nerve rings. Some species also have pigment-cup ocelli, though they are not as advanced as Cubozoan eyes. Coronataens (ex: image 2) are characterized by a deep groove running around the umbrella, giving them the crown shape which gives them their name. Rhizostomeans (ex: image 1 and 3) do not have tentacles nor other structures branching off from the edges of the bell. Instead, they have eight highly branched oral arms which fuse together as they approach the central mouth of the jellyfish. Semaeostomeaens (ex: image 4 and gif below) have four long, frilly oral arms flanking their quadrate mouths, as well as tentacles.

Most species of Scyphozoa have two life-history phases, including the planktonic medusa or polyp form, and the inconspicuous, but longer-lived, bottom-dwelling polyp, which seasonally gives rise to new medusae. Most species appear to be gonochorists, with separate male and female individuals. The gonads are located in the stomach lining, and the mature gametes are expelled through the mouth. After fertilization, some species brood their young in pouches on the oral arms, but they are more commonly planktonic. The fertilized egg produces a planular larva which, in most species, quickly attaches itself to the sea bottom. The larva develops into the hydroid stage of the lifecycle, a tiny sessile polyp called a scyphistoma. The scyphistoma reproduces asexually, producing similar polyps by budding, and then either transforming into a medusa, or budding several medusae off from its upper surface via a process called strobilation. The medusae are initially microscopic and may take years to reach sexual maturity.

Scyphozoans have existed since the Early Cambrian.

Propaganda under the cut:

The Lion’s Mane Jelly (Cyanea capillata) is one of the largest jellyfish, with the largest recorded specimen having a bell width of 210 cm (7 ft) and tentacles around 36.6 m (120 ft) long.

Jellyfish of the order Rhizostomeae are considered edible, both as a delicacy and for use in traditional medicine, and are eaten mainly in Asia, typically dried and/or salted.

The giant Nomura's Jellyfish (Nemopilema nomurai) can reach similar sizes to the Lion’s Mane Jellyfish, and their large size and quantity often negatively affects fisheries in East Asia. Aside from humans, their only predators are swordfish, tuna, sunfish, and leatherback sea turtles. A decrease in predators and an increase in favorable conditions and warming seas have caused an explosion in population, displaying that an increase in animal populations is not always a good sign! Scientists are studying their venom for use in medical applications, such as for treating joint disease and in cancer research. The Japanese company Tango Jersey Dairy also produces a vanilla and jellyfish ice cream using Nomura's Jellyfish.

While most jellies are exclusively marine, the Bay Nettle (Chrysaora chesapeakei) ventures into the Chesapeake Bay’s brackish water all the way up into the freshwater of Baltimore’s Inner Harbor.

The Giant Phantom Jelly (Stygiomedusa gigantea) is a deep sea jellyfish that is rarely seen, with only around 110 sightings in 110 years. It thought to be one of the largest invertebrate predators of the ocean's midnight zone and twilight zone, with an umbrella-shaped bell that can grow up to 1 m (3.3 ft) in diameter and paddle-like arms that can grow up to 10 m (33 ft) in length. The bell's pliant tissue allows for the jellyfish to stretch 4 to 5 times its size, presumably to engulf their prey. They do not have any stinging tentacles and instead use their arms to trap and engulf their prey which consists of plankton and small fish. The Giant Phantom Jelly has a symbiotic relationship with the Pelagic Brotula (Thalassobathia pelagica), for which it provides food and shelter beneath its massive billowing bell, while the fish aids the jelly by removing parasites.

The Mauve Stinger (Pelagia noctiluca) is a fairly small purple jellyfish that is able to glow in the dark (bioluminesce). Light is emitted in the form of flashes when the medusa is stimulated by turbulence created by waves or by a ship's motion. Unusually among cnidarians, Mauve Stingers are able to consume phytoplankton, alongside copepods and other usual planktonic fare.

The Moon Jelly (Aurelia aurita) (see gif above) is gaining popularity in aquarium touchtanks as they lack long tentacles and their sting has little to no affect on humans. They are also one of the longer-lived jellyfish, living up to two years in their medusa form, and are easy to rear and feed, making them a good candidate for giving humans an up-close learning experience with jellies.

Fun fact: my dad let me watch The Sphere (1998) when I was 7 and it gave me Scyphophobia, a fear of jellyfish, that lasted for several years. I knew the behavior of the jellyfish as depicted in the movie wasn’t real, but I still wouldn’t enter the ocean for the next 5 years, and when I did start entering the ocean again every time I saw a jellyfish I would get out and not go back in again for another full year. It took a touch tank and several positive experiences with some moon jellies to get over my fear, and now I would say I’m fully recovered!

[wings-of-ink]

Alright, everyone!

HERE ARE THE ASKS YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR

Below the cut are the asks and my answers/responses. I do apologize for not answering these individually, but some of them contain spoilers for chapter 5 content. Given the developments and reveals of the chapter, I want to let things simmer a bit before I pop off responses like normal.

If my Nonies listed below want to pop back into the ask box and let me know they got their answer, I would appreciate that, but you don't have to either (or if you have an additional question or comment, that's fine too!). I will reblog this a few times to make sure you have a higher chance of spotting it.

I numbered the Asks and put my answers in another color so you can tell things apart a bit easier. This is a trial run on answering these this way. I will also tag things for spoilers. ^_^

Anon:  "There's a she-wolf in the closet" made me laugh so hard I cried sdfjglkjl I was not expecting that out of nowhere 🤣😭  the temptation to name the wolf Shakira...............immense.

I'm so glad you got that reference! My husband and I sing that song to each other with the little "awoos" and all, lol. It was too good to pass up. Fun fact, if you name her Shakira, Oswin has a unique response. 

2. Anon:  Hmmm. "I like the name Aster I'll probably use it again" HMMMMM hMMMMM hmmmMMMM Is this new Aster the ??? RO

Remembered that, did ya 😁 (I was quietly cackling when I wrote that for the old ask). You questioning Aster just makes me want to mess with you Nony, you can't tempt me like this! 

3. Anon:  Aster is so hawt, carressing our cheek w his thumb???? "i wont hurr you" pls let him be an ro bc gah damnnnn

Glad that did it for you, Anon, lol. There will be more of that in store. ^_^

4. Ravioli anon here, hope you remember me LOL I just finished reading the new chapter and I HAD A BLAST The whole gang in here now!!!!!! Aster is no longer question marks!!!! (I will admit when they were introcuded I almost, ALMOST expected their name in game to just be ???)

Hello Ravioli! Still chuckling about that I hope you know. The temptation was unreal to leave ??? in there, lol. At this point, even I know him more by that than his name!

Also to keep up with my perfect choice of names, my she-wolf is now named Der, because together we are Ravi and Der Get it, Ravi 'n Der. Consider this as a way to honor our dear grandma we were named after by our loving dads, you'll never be forgotten, you girlboss of a woman 

OMG, you are killing me over here, lol. This makes me want to code something for that, lol. Just your fathers shaking their heads at your MC while still being kinda amused and weirdly proud. Grandmother Ravinder would glare at you, but smile later.

5. @origamihoshi: Screaming about the necklace Oswin gives MC, my headcanon about MC wearing the snail shell as a necklace can now be canon! and I guess more reasons for my MC to be down bad for Oswin oops. I'm loving the update! I'm so happy to finally meet Rune, I love them so much! I wanna befriend them all. and I feel like there's been a good balance to spend time with all the characters so far and that makes me really happy. 😌Also cuddling with Zahn was so sweet oh my god, I love them so much too! I got so many more questions about MC and the curse, and the mark for that matter, looking forward to when we finally get some answers.

I very, very nearly told you that when you posted your MC, I was so ecstatic. I thought if you while coding that section too. I am so glad you enjoyed the new chapter and new goodies. Lots of fun stuff to come! ^_^

6. @mutsuowo:  HELP I NAMED THE SHE-WOLF ASTER BECAUSE I FIRST CALLED THE MULE YARROW AND NOW I HAVE NOT ONE, NOT TWO BUR THREE ASTER* GOING AROUND (I know one changed to Lakota but the joke that count)

Whoops! Lol Sorry my friend! I don't think any more Asters are hiding about at least. Probably….

7. @mutsuowo: I got spoiled of Aster's name by accident and even then I mistook it for being Lakota, so I thought somehow Lakota had a divorce and took the children to be an option romance with the MC. Cue to me acting like a variety game host and going "We have a cult member, a magician, childhood friends and also a wolf...what about you Aster ? What do you bring to make we choose you ?" The answer was being a DILF

Lol! Oh dear, yeah, bestie has a quarter-life crisis and leaves his wife and 4 kids to live that DILF life. Love it, this is some quality daytime TV stuff. 😆 

8. Anon:  Hello there! I am currently in the middle of the newest chapter, very very good work! Spoiler ahead : So MC is absorbing magic? That might actually help the theory that somehow MC is a god, demi-god, or whatever that is: cursed because they are on this plane and needing magic as a very part of their being? I can't imagine that a god wouldn't be starving for magic if deprived of it. Perhaps in GC it's not magic gods handle, but something similar? The fact that we CHOSE the mark truly makes me think that somehow we were choosing an aspect of ourselves for some reason. Not only something physical either. If not our domain, perhaps a tell of why we were cursed in the first place ? I wonder if, before the Curse manifested, MC would have been flagged as a magic being ? I don't think there was anybody that could have sussed them out back then though ? Rune is amazing, btw, big fan. Can't wait for Purple Lad to accompany us and need a bath as badly as Duri did !

Oooh, are you perhaps my Nony who sent some other theories in about this? Very juicy theory as well. Next chapter you'll learn a bit more about Hayat's curse over the gods and see if it lines up or changes your thoughts more. 😁 I'm glad you like Rune too! They are in for a new experience for sure. Even if they aren't as stuffy as other nobles, they definitely appreciate more refined things. The little town MC grew up in might be a bit of a culture shock. 

9. Anon:  Sooooo... I'm thinking we ARE the mad god ! A reincarnation of it at least ! Thinking about how the cult wanted us dead, I am thinking that as long as MC is alive, they can't have another incarnation of them.   But What exactly was it that drove the god mad ?

Oooh! This one is juicy too! These theories are so tasty! Lots of questions with this one. And like the one above, there may be some info in chapter 6 that may just give more evidence one way or another.

10. Anon:  Me on my first playthrough: oh, Oswin's pretty cute! I think I'll try romancing him first Me when I meet Zahn: oh no you can't just make me choose like that how am I supposed to do this Me when I meet Duri: are you kidding me. Ok screw it I'm romancing Duri Me when I meet Rune: FUCKAIJASJDSAAA Me when I meet ???: No reaction because I'm already combusted. I can't even anymore 

Lol! I am glad and maybe just a tiny bit sorry that you're so torn, my dear. Let's find some glue and get you patched up… ^_^

11. Anon:  HAVE THEORIES! NATHAN IS DURI'S UNCLE, AND ASS-TER -HE DESERVES THAT AFTER THE RING BUSINESS >:( - WAS RAISED BY THOSE ASSHOLES WHO ALMOST KIDNAPPED MC! (I am open to Asster endearing himself later, but I'm mad at him rn, how dare he hurt my already hurt, lovely, MC 😡😡😡) Anyway, your writing is impeccable as always, can't wait to (perhaps) bring Asster to his knees (with love or spite, or maybe both?? He seems like someone easy to love-hate, lol). Tysm, for God Cursed, I love it <333

Yaaass, moar theories! That's a good one too! Nathan having some secrets wouldn't be shocking either. They'd get along too… And it is totally fair for MC to be salty! And ASSter is a perfect nickname, lol. It's also fair that in chapter 6 you'll be able to (try to) get after him about it. :3

12. Anon:  TW SPOILERS ''There is nothing I want more than to hear you…hear you say what you- Nothing more… But for your own sake. Y/N, I'm a monster. I have been a monster. Your heart should be free of thoughts of me until you know what haunts my sleep at night. If you can do that for me and your heart does not change, then I will hear those words and I will spend the rest of my days showing you what you mean to me.'' UUUUHHMMMMM, EXCUSE MEE?????? LIKE THIS IS THE MOST-ROMANTIC-NON-LOVE-CONFESSION I HAVE EVER HEARD??? EVEN THOUGH IT BURNS ME TO NOT KNOW WHAT AFFLICTS OSWIN, AFTER HEARING THAT I'M WILLING TO WAIT FOR HIM.

I love that you love this! I might have cried juuuust a little bit when I wrote that scene, lol (shocking, I know).

13. Anon:  replayed the IF from the start for the update and gosh i felt so bad for our dear MC who has gone through SO much in a (relatively) short amount of time. and the way MC just always thinks about their fathers makes me sobbbbbb. one that always gets me is the scene where MC cried out for their fathers when they were in pain (my heart broke when they said they wanted to be held by their papa). another is in the scene with jasper and co. (‘i learned it from my fathers!’, yesss go MC!!!!). but oh, just imagining the absolute heartbreak the fathers would feel if they knew how MC cried out for them and knew about everything that MC went through, makes me tear up! MC is SO loved by their fathers and MC loves them just as much and i love that. i hope we’ll be able to give da and papa the biggest hugs when we see them again 🥹wonderful update, author! i absolutely adore the world you’ve built and the brilliant characters you’ve created (shout out to one my favs.. our new she-wolf friend <3)

I set out on this IF journey intending to be a bit hard on the MC and I think I succeeded, lol. It might be hard to believe but I really do love the MC as a character too and I feel for them. Hopefully not too hard, but they're on a journey of perseverance so I have faith in them. ^_^ That scene really tore me up too, especially thinking about how hard it would hit the dads to know their beloved kid was calling out to them. 😭 I am so glad you enjoyed the update, my dear, there will be great big dad-hugs in the future, I promise (and more than a few tears). ^_^

14. Anon:  idk if it's choice or route-specific but, zahn was NOT looking good at the end of chapter 5 and i'm worried 😟

Not route-specific (unfortunately???)…they're…going through some things. 😬 (sorry in advance)

15. Anon:  Hi, hi!! Dropping by to blabber about the update after i've finally had time to lose myself in it! (Oh no it got long again.) Okay, so, from the very moment i saw your intro post (over half a year ago, methinks) i decided to go for Rune's route first. I have been very patient, very faithful. And now i can finally say it was so, so worth the wait!!! they have me wrapped all around their beautiful noble finger; they're perfect, they are everything (i mean, how many people can say a literal god shows up for their birthday? yeah, thought so). I know they are no exception either and have their own share of issues, but honestly? that's even better. I wish i was kidding about the amount of times i daydream about them. Look at me now how i'm smiling like a stupid idiot. And the fact that i can make my MC an absolute shy mess around them is just so!! *chef's kiss* 

"Oh no it got long again" is like the tagline for my existence, lol. I am so giddy that you adore Rune! I think they've had less traction since they weren't introduced until now, but I also believe they are just the type of person that is better experienced. I enjoy writing all of the ROs, but Rune is such a presence in my heart and I really hope that comes through.

Also, did Duri seriously rat them out like that? Umm, for science, of what nature, exactly, are the books under Runey's bed?

LOL and I'm so glad you caught that bit about their "hidden literature." Rune LOVES romance novels, including the ridiculous smutty ones even if the plot is kinda bad.

Anyway, moving on, because you fed us so well with the story once again!! Can i just say i love your brain? Can i? Is that weird? Apologies. So!

You can totally say that, lol. I appreciate that you think so, my brain frustrates me sometimes, but I like how smooth it is. Very soft.

We learned so much in this update, and yet our answers are still too far to reach--but that's the whole fun about this! I'm thinking things, i'm suspecting, but i'll hold onto my theories for now… It is indeed very fortunate that each of MC's new friends can seemingly contribute a piece to this vexing puzzle; question is, is the picture only missing the very last piece, or are all four needed for it to be complete? I'm folding my hands and patiently waiting to find out in future updates. 

Oooh, you're speaking my language, Nony. There are some theories up above, maybe those will get your mind spinning too. That's a very good question though too. Eveyone seems to have something that might help MC out…so the question could be, do they go full Power Rangers and combine them to solve this problem or is one strong enough on their own? Hmmmmm? Time will tell.

One thing i will say is, more people may know about MC and their whole deal than Oswin may want to even consider. People with not the best intentions, that is.

I'm sure it's fiiiiiine. Probably just a…crazy…crazy fluke. It's fine. 😀

Speaking of, Oswin is so sweet! He cares so much i think it's rending him apart. Perhaps he should partake of Nathan's pipe every now and then. You know, for recreational purposes. Frankly i admit i don't know how mean you still can be to Oswin because every time there's a choice during his scenes i just tunnel-vision to the friendliest one there. It really makes me feel sorry for him if there are MCs out there who are still bitter about their relationship. As he was opening up about what kinds of actual horrors he witnessed and had to deal with in consequence, it really made me think MC's little group should, as a side-quest, go out and find him a therapist, because this guy *slaps him on the back* can fit so much trauma in him!

That's a good way to describe Oswin. He feels very intensely and those emotions are difficult for him to manage. I try not to be too mean to him, but I do want to try and give a decent variety of responses to the past tension for some MCs. Negativity there isn't a huge focus, so I try not to go too far down the rabbit hole with it at least, lol. A therapist is a great idea for him, for real. You cracked me up with that reference, I imagine Lakota trying to sell him to the MC, lol.

 I see Zahn has entered the trenches(TM). Just after i had them repeatedly stabbed in MC's place. And just after they finally got to cuddle with MC. This is fine. Not gonna lie, for a solid second you had me believe we wouldn't see them come back from that totally not evil or at least highly doubtful church of theirs, and that we'd had to leave without them. Haha, no waay. Lunan wouldn't do that to them, right? Right? Oh thank gods. See? I was right. Anyway, it seems like their character development arc is coming up soon, so i'm keeping calm and not cracking my knuckles, not at all.

Oh yes, there will be some development soon here. Tee hee?

Duri is so fun. Their playfulness is so endearing, so much so that i find myself repeatedly swayed in my decision to have them in a (now mostly) platonic relationship with MC. Simmer down, you'll have your turn. It had me rolling how they snapped once the bandits insulted their feet lmao! Also, also, their dynamic with Rune? Mmm, so good. I love the kind of friendship that's like "yeah i picked up this weird wet dog one day and now it won't leave me be and it's annoying, but only i'm allowed to say that. here, have a treat."

I love that you love that. Writing Duri is fun and I get to break some social norms with them so it's a win-win for us all. The relation to Rune is a blast.

Moving on, Duri sniffing MC after they talked with someone they didn't know; Duri immediately leaping at the opportunity to tease a jealous MC; Duri coming to MC's rescue to put a harasser in their place--they can't keep getting away with being so charming! Oh wait, they can. Human laws don't apply to them, after all.

Duri is already so loyal. Like a pup you picked up at the shelter, the connection is pretty quick for them. Also, if you didn't know, you can also get Rune to get defensive of MC being harassed in the tavern. Currently thinking of changing the code of that, but if you choose to stay neutral or a bit distrustful of Duri, Rune will get involved instead. Both have the confidence and the power to back it up though, can't go wrong.

And Aster? Something is up with him. Big time. Bost obviously, his name. I don't know, i don't know, i'm not convinced it's a coincidence or merely "fate." I'm watching you, Aster. Okay, and yes, i see why MC might need his help, but he never once elaborated on that part where he said he needs MC for power. Sooo, naah, i'm not putting my egg in your basket, not yet. Especially!! After he so brutally demonstrated just how much of a bigger hand he has over MC. That was evil. (In a good way.) He's unhinged, and i love that in a character. I would not trust him even with a cheese grater.

That may be wisdom here for sure, lol. Aster is quite the character, as are all of them I suppose. All have secrets he especially has some serious growing to do. He'll be an interesting addition - and a very smug one at that. Maybe juuuust maybe MC can get him to feel a little remorse for being an ASSter, to quote a previous ask, lol.

I almost thought MC's group of friends were going to mistake him for the kidnapper and everyone would want to throw hands, or would at least be very leery of him, so seeing how easily he slotted in had me a little surprised (and i think he was a bit surprised himself).

That very nearly happened actually. I cut it because of chapter length, and I'm thinking I want to polish the ending for that anyway. I feel like I was burnt out while writing that and I pushed it too fast. So, we'll see what happens in future….

I really, really liked the option of having MC be scared of him after he put a cork (dart) in Jasper's mouth (throat). The head tilt afterwards? Wiping away a stray tear? "Now come sit with me on my picnic blanket designer cloak to talk about how everything is drawn to you, including me?" "I'll need to study you?" Yes, i'll take your entire stock.

I'm glad you enjoyed your dessert, Nony. ;) There will be some serious studying in the next chapter.

Oswin being extremely quiet while MC was recounting their failed abduction because he was still recovering from those 6 panic attacks he had since finding MC's room empty and with signs of struggle.

THIS absolutely. MC may get an account of the experience later.

 i can't wait to see what the dads are going to say about each of MC's new friends! I can already imagine who might not entirely vibe with whom, especially if papa and da are going to be in a sour mood after they see my (feral despite being the healer of the party) MC scarred and sore despite their letters containing nothing but rainbows and sunshine (oops). MC's right, though, how are they going to house so many people lol.

This will be so much fun, especially when it comes to sleeping arrangements…A couple ROs will get themselves sorted but there's a couple that we might just get a "one bed" trope with, lol.

And last but not least, MC got the promised puppy!!! (i named her "Ginger" <33) 

Oh that is such a cute name too! She is kinda the color of ginger and she's also very gentle (ginger) AND she can be very spicy if you piss her off. Very gingery.

I have been here before and gushed about your writing on multiple occasions and i don't want to repeat myself over and over, so i'll just reiterate once more that i'm constantly blown away by how real and vivid you make everything feel. You're putting things down and i'm picking them right up, thank you, thank you, yup, i'll have that as well, thank you. You're painting pictures inside my head, and they're gorgeous and vibrant and moving now--hey, how did you even get in here? I'm convinced you're a mage. MC is not the mage here (yet?), but you sure are!! It's okay, you may fess up now. As always, thank you so much for all your hard work! May your holidays be full of joy and rest! Take care <333

I am so thankful that you resonate so much with my writing, my friend. That really truly makes my heart so glad and encourages me to keep at it. I hope each chapter brings you more and more enjoyment and adventure. ^_^

16. @rhiannon02:  IM SCREAMING OVER CH 5 LITERALLY SCREAMING ASTER ??? IM IM LOSING IT

Well, hang on dear, maybe I can help you find it, lol. (I heard that one in my soul) ^_^

That's all for now! ^_^

[ohmykinks]

Papai

Noel !

Sum :: Santa in portuguese is "papai noel" ; that has the word daddy introduced in the first word, christmas has arrived and they want to make a special gift to their girlfriend

Warnings: MINOR Writing (Anti's DNI) + Proceed with caution + Semi public sex + Hold the moan + Daddy kink + Breeding kink ( Toji, Geto ) + Degradation ( Toji, Gojo, Sukuna ) + Oral ( M - Geto ) + Cowgirl (Toji) + Fingering ( Gojo ) + Petnames ( babe, love, princess ) + Rough sex ( Sukuna, Toji ) + Soft mdom ( Geto, Gojo) + Praise + Jjk x Fem reader

A/n: A Christmas special! Happy holidays to y'all! remembering, I'm a minor so if you don't like it just don't interact

Gojo + Geto + Toji + Sukuna

Satoru ::

“What a nasty girl huh? Arching so good for me...” - He whispered fixing his hands, pushing deeper and deeper into his girlfriend tight hole; which tried to expel his fingers squeezing against it

“My family is in the living room! Slowly please..! ~ Mmm-” — moaned needily against the palm of your own hand, feeling your spongy walls squeeze his fingers tightly

“I guess da princess should stop moaning like a whore then, fragile girl” — He said speeding up the movements, and with his thumb, making circular movements on your clit, making you arch your back just like a cat

“That's the way I like, a obedient good girl, you're so warm inside... Y'know that babe?” He spoke as he searched for your g-spot, curling his fingers, rubbing them on your insides

“I usually don't go that hard on ya, but you look so adorable and palpable on this dress! I can barely... A-ah.. Resist”

He could barely contain his own noises, his eyes charged with desire and lust, which made your skin shiver, a shiver rising up your spine as you felt something rising in your insides; the world melted completely as the heat of the moment increased

“Betcha you been thinking of daddy's fingers fucking you senseless while you cant even remember you own name huh?”

You could barely think straight, sweat running down your face, your dress already crumpled, occasionally being pulled up from your waist; Satoru hates being distracted while fucking his girl

“Like t-that daddy! Ri... Right there- Dont..”

“Stop? Chill... I wont” Satoru speed up the movements of his fingers, you felt that at any moment Satoru would reach the entrance of your womb, his fingers were so long that the only reaction you could have was to moan like a little bitch and roll eyes back to your head

Your orgasm already was almost dripping out of you, when a warm wave hit your body, you put your head back, releasing all your juices out, soaking Satoru hand completely

He pulls his fingers out with a loud, wet “pop!” and brings his two digits to his slightly pink lips, tasting your juices

“Could you squirt on my cock too?”

Suguru ::

He held the back of your neck, bringing you closer to him, your nose brushing against his crotch

Every time the head of his cock hit the back of your throat, you heard soft frustrated moans from Geto, there was a slight blush on his cheeks; Christmas dinner was almost ready, and the two of you in the room, while anyone suspected what might be going on inside

“Greedy girl... Betcha can't even put me whole in your-- A-aah!” — Your throat swallowed him whole, with small and light gags, which went unnoticed by Suguru

He held your hair tight, guiding your movements back and forth, while you held his thighs, nails gripping his skin, leaving red marks

“Atta girl” — Suguru said, giving a little caress to your hair, running his fingers between them, stopping to look at your beautiful face - “Squeezing daddy so tight... If ya continue at this pace, I'll end up painting your cute pink lips white”

“When I cum... Swallow it all babe, you're lucky I won't cum inside your cunt”

“Y-yeeaahh d-... d-daddy...” — You spoke between his cock, your voice muffled, rolling your eyes, choking more intensely

You huge and hungry eyes looking at him from below made Suguru horny, very very horny, he bit his lower lip gently, trapped on the feeling of your tight throat around his cock

“Gosh, I wish this was your wet pussy love... Fuck! Make me cum princess... Make daddy fucking cum...”

Your muffled moans echoed through the room, Geto's sounds forming a contrast between yours, his grip on your hair losing strength, his body getting softer, while a drop of sweat ran down his forehead

“gonna... Ngh!~... C-cumming!” — His seed hit the back of your throat, making you gag, your cheeks full of Suguru's cum, swallowing it all and then licking your lips

“Now... Lets have a creampie, shall we?”

Toji ::

“fuck!~ Jus' like tha!-” — He held your hips, pulling you down on his cock, which drew a moan from your lips

“Bounce on my dick just like da desperate whore you are..” — The bed hit the wall, you could barely move, Toji helped you, slapping your ass

“Pathetic! Ya barely sat on me and already need help” — Grumbled, Toji had no idea how big he was, and how much he stretch the entrance of his girlfriend pussy when penetrating

“t-too... B-big..” — You answered him, trying to get used to his size, starting to move without help, with slight movements up and down

Toji grabbed your breasts, pinching the nipples, drawing moans from you lips, you writhed against his cock, putting your head back; trying to cover your mouth, but he held you wrists so tight, you can barely move

“What nice tits... 'Come here” - You came closer, while he grabbed you, licking your nipples, running his tongue between them, while with the other hand, he squeezed the other so hard as to leave a mark

“D-daddy... Slow down plea- mmmmm~” - You could barely finish your sentences without interrupting them with a satisfied moan; in response to Toji's taunts, you rolled your waist, as you went up and down on his cock; like an elevator

“C'mon, you can take it, It's not like ya haven't swallowed daddy's cock with tha tight little pussy before” — Toji encouraged you, with his face still on your breasts, the bed making noises as loud as the two of you made sure everyone was listening

The encouragement motivated you to go harder, you went up and down with more intensity, each thrust made you turn your eyes back to your head, it was all driving you crazy; Toji grabbed your ass, nails sinking into your soft skin, making you not even 1 centimeter away from his balls when bouncing

“that's riiiight... Cum for me bitch, make this pussy drip all over my cock” — Toji said amidst grunts, rubbing your rounded clit with his thumb

“gonna make you a fucking mommy-” — It wasn't the first time and not even the last he came inside, and you loved to cum along with him

“Make me pregnant please daddy! Ngh! ~... Aaaaaaah~ Toji~” - You moaned needily, gently grabbing Toji's hair, breasts swaying deliciously

You both felt tight feelings inside you, heavy breaths, warm and passionate kisses, you both could feel that at any moment you were going to explode

“c-cumming...!” — You gave a last hoarse moan, feeling his cum run down your thighs, you fell with your head against his shoulder, sweaty and breathing unregulated, his thick hot seed spreading inside you; and as soon as you got off him, it was dripping out of your entrance

“I think she had more fun than the two of us babe...” — Toji said pulling you into his arms

“Next Christmas, I'm going to buy a toy as a gift for our son... It's going to be a boy”

Sukuna ::

“what a nasty bitch huh? Begging me to fuck ya while your parents are preparing dinner for Christmas when i told you to wait” — He thrust into her pussy while one of his hands covered her face

"Youre such a tease"

“Be very quiet for daddy, and maybe I'll let you cum, disgusting little thing...” — Sukuna cursed you while slapping your pussy, making you moan against his palm

“Shameless girl... Don't you feel sorry for being such a slut? Tell me youre sorry” — He increased his speed and thrust deeper, waiting for an answer

“I-im sorry, I-im sorry, Please forgive me... A-aaaaaaahhh... Just like that 'Kuna”

“Are you sorry about what nasty girl?” — 'Kuna tested you, wanted to see you lose control, wanted you to moan his name loudly for everyone to hear

“For being a bitch who doesn't know how to wait...” — He felt satisfied with the answer, going faster, hitting your sweet spot with the head of his cock; he circulated with two digits on your fat and rounded clit from excitement

“That's more like it” — He held your neck as a support for every thrust he gave to your tight pussy

“Squeezing me soooooo good... You are so hot, your tits shaking.. make me want to just kiss them” — Sukuna squeezed your soft globes, drawing murmurs from your lips

“I-i want to cum...” — You said needy, your eyes hungry for your own peak, hands squeezing the sheets

Sukuna increased speed and pressure, pinning you to the bed by the neck, squeezing moderately

“i wanna cum- i-i wanna cum- please let me cum! L-let me cummmm-” — Begged to cum, while you felt your head spinning, Sukuna cock making you see stars

“Pretty please, where's your manners greddy girl?” — He smirked, teasing you once more

“pretty please pretty please pretty please pretty please pretty please prett- O-ooooh~ Fuck!” — And when you least expected it, you already squirted on his cock, his thumb still on your clit, rubbing slowly circles; he went down, sticking his tongue in you entrance, penetrating two fingers, and then, looking directly into your eyes

“i guess you'll get punished for cumming early”

[earthlybeam]

Hiii, I see the post of the daring surprise kiss and i like it 😔 could you do the same but with Lindir, Haldir, Elrohir and Elladan ?

elves react to a daring surprise kiss from reader/you while drunk on wine at a festival.

how would the elves react to this?

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Lindir, haldir, elrohir, elladan Versions are below.

🎶𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓻

♫ The Starlight Festival in Rivendell was a night to remember, filled with the shimmer of lanterns casting soft, golden light across the shimmering landscape, and the music of harps, flutes, and voices intertwining in harmony. It was a time when even the most serious of Elves couldn’t help but be swept up in the magic of the evening. The air was alive with an unspoken sense of celebration, with laughter ringing through the valley, and Lindir, as always, stood at the heart of it. His music enchanted all who gathered, his voice a calming presence that seemed to pull at the very soul, and tonight, his performance was no different. The crowd watched with rapt attention as he strummed the strings of his harp, lost in the beauty of his craft. But you, perhaps a little more affected by the wine than usual, stood near the back, caught up in the magic of the evening. The music felt as though it was wrapping itself around you, pulling you closer to Lindir’s voice. It was a spell, a song that moved through you like a current, and without fully understanding why, you found your feet moving, guided by the music and the overwhelming pull of the moment.

♫ The crowd seemed to blur as you swayed forward, your vision narrowing to Lindir at the front of the stage. His hair, dark and falling in perfect waves, framed his delicate features, and his hands, graceful and fluid, moved expertly over the strings of his harp. His concentration was absolute—he was lost in his performance, his back straight, his eyes focused on the strings in front of him. There was no hint that he even noticed you drawing closer, his entire being wrapped in the melodies he was creating. And then, in an instant, the music no longer mattered, nor did the world around you. The moment felt like it stretched, and before you could fully register what was happening, your body moved of its own accord. You closed the distance between the two of you in a heartbeat, leaning forward, and, as if swept away by an unbidden impulse, you pressed your lips against his. It was sudden, a bold move that was uncharacteristic of you—a kiss that broke all the propriety and restraint you’d known. And then, just as suddenly, you pulled back, your heart racing from the unexpectedness of it all.

♫ For Lindir, everything stopped in an instant. The music, the laughter, the rhythm of the festival—all of it vanished as he froze. His mind struggled to catch up with what had just happened. His eyes widened in shock, unable to process the sudden intrusion of your kiss. The warmth of your lips lingered on his, but his body was still locked in a state of complete disbelief. His heart leapt into his throat, thundering loudly in his chest as his face turned a deep crimson, almost matching the soft glow of the lanterns hanging above him. His pointed ears, usually so serene, flushed a bright shade of pink as well, betraying the depth of his embarrassment. His gaze flickered briefly to the crowd, and for a split second, the realization hit him with a visceral force: this was not just a private moment. This had happened in front of an entire audience. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and the weight of all the eyes on him threatened to crush him under its intensity. His worst fear had come to life—exposure. He was no stranger to the spotlight, but this was different. This was not the performance he had prepared for. It wasn’t part of the planned act. In an instant, Lindir’s carefully cultivated control slipped through his fingers like sand, and all he could feel was the burning sensation of humiliation flooding through him. His hands, trembling slightly, faltered as they reached for the strings of his harp. He stammered, struggling to regain his composure, but his voice failed him. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. His mind, usually so sharp and composed, had gone completely blank. He tried to find his next note, but it was as if the music itself had disappeared. His heart beat wildly in his chest, and for a moment, he didn’t even know if he could breathe. Desperation, confusion, and panic surged within him as he cast a quick glance toward the crowd. They were still staring—some in shock, others whispering amongst themselves, but all of them waiting for him to react. It was like being caught in a dream, one where he was powerless to change the course of events. His body moved of its own accord. In a moment of panic, Lindir pulled away from the edge of the stage, stepping backward so quickly that his foot almost caught on the edge of the platform. His hands fumbled to place the harp back in position, though his fingers were stiff and clumsy.

♫ “Continue without me,” he muttered, his voice strained and barely audible. His words were not directed at anyone in particular but to the musicians who were still playing behind him. He couldn’t focus. His mind was too scattered, too overwhelmed by the moment to continue. His gaze shifted back to the crowd, still watching him, waiting for him to recover. But he couldn’t. His composure, so carefully guarded, was shattered beyond repair. With a near frantic urgency, Lindir bowed his head and began to step back further into the shadows, his feet quick, almost stumbling in his haste. He didn’t even glance at you, couldn’t bear to meet your eyes in that moment. His only thought was to escape, to put as much distance between himself and the spotlight as possible. The music played on behind him, but the silence in his mind was deafening.

♫ Once backstage in the garden of Rivendell, hidden from the eyes of the crowd, Lindir leaned against the cool stone walls, pressing his palm to his forehead, trying to calm the storm inside him. His breath came in shallow gasps, and though the crowd’s murmurs were muffled, he could still hear their whispers echoing in his mind. What had just happened? What did it mean? His pulse raced, and the heat in his cheeks refused to abate. He wasn’t just mortified by the kiss itself—no, it was the exposure, the attention that had accompanied it. He couldn’t fathom why you had done it, or if it had been a mistake. All he knew was that he was drowning in a sea of confusion. The warmth of your kiss lingered on his lips, and his mind couldn’t seem to shake it. Something stirred deep inside him—something that both frightened and intrigued him—but his own self-consciousness overwhelmed it. He didn’t know how to process it. His head spun with embarrassment, and for the first time in a long while, he felt completely out of control. It was a feeling he wasn’t used to—and one that made him deeply uncomfortable. In the solitude of the backstage gardens, Lindir stood, trying to calm himself, but it was no use. He needed time. Time to process. Time to recover from the unexpected onslaught of emotions that had caught him entirely off guard.

♫ Time passed, though it felt like an eternity, and the festival continued without him. Eventually, the laughter and music faded into the background as the night grew darker. You, too, found yourself retreating from the crowd, seeking solace or perhaps an answer to what had transpired. It was then, in the quiet of the backstage area, that you found Lindir, standing with his back to you, his posture stiff, his shoulders tense. His eyes were closed as if he were trying to block out the world around him. When you approached, he didn’t turn, as though afraid to face you—or perhaps afraid of what he might find in your eyes. Finally, after a long moment, he exhaled shakily, his voice barely above a whisper, the words almost trembling with the vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. “I… I did not expect such a… sudden gesture,” he confessed, his hands fidgeting at his sides as if he were unsure of what to do with them. His gaze remained averted, staring at the ground in front of him. “I… I apologize for retreating so quickly, but… I was not prepared for… that. And with so many watching…” He swallowed hard, as if trying to steady his emotions. “Please, do not think poorly of me. I… I was not offended… only… overwhelmed.” For a moment, there was silence between you, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Lindir’s voice quivered slightly, betraying the anxiety that roiled beneath the surface of his composed exterior. His eyes flicked upward toward you, a nervous glance, before they quickly darted away again, as if afraid to hold your gaze. His discomfort was palpable, and yet there was something else, something deeper in his eyes—something that spoke of confusion and uncertainty, but also a spark of something more, something he didn’t quite know how to name.

♫ Despite his shyness and the shock of the moment, he couldn’t entirely hide the warmth in his expression, the faint glimmer of vulnerability that flickered beneath his usual reserve. “I… I do not know what to think just yet,” he admitted quietly, almost to himself. “But I cannot deny… that what you did… affected me. Perhaps in ways I cannot yet understand.” His words were soft, unsure, but there was an openness in his voice that you hadn’t expected. In his flustered state, the barrier he so often kept between himself and others had lowered, if only slightly, and the rawness of the moment had exposed a side of him that was rarely seen. “I… I need time,” he said, his voice trembling slightly, as he finally looked up at you, his gaze steady for the briefest moment. “Please, be patient with me.” And as Lindir, the ever-composed minstrel, stood before you, still shaken but honest in his emotions, you sensed that this unexpected, vulnerable moment might be the beginning of something deeper between you both—something that would take time, understanding, and perhaps a little more courage from both sides to fully explore.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

➳ The Starlight Festival was a night that would forever be remembered in Lothlórien, the realm of the Elves bathed in the soft light of the stars above. It was an evening of reverence, where the Elves honored the celestial bodies—those ancient lights that had guided their people for eons. Songs were sung, stories were shared, and the air was filled with an otherworldly energy as the Elves celebrated the constellations, weaving tales of the Firstborn, the Valar, and the timeless beauty of the stars. Haldir stood at the edge of the gathering, as he always did. As a sentinel, his duty was to protect the lands of Lothlórien. His eyes were sharp, his senses alert. Despite the festive atmosphere, his posture was stoic and commanding, ever watchful for any sign of danger. He stood just outside the main circle of revelers, the flickering lantern light casting shadows across his face, his silver hair catching the glow of the stars above. Every now and then, his eyes would shift toward the group, ensuring everything was in order, his gaze lingering on the movement of the dancers or the hushed conversations that drifted on the night breeze.

➳ You, on the other hand, had immersed yourself in the warmth of the festival. The wine had loosened your usual reserve, and you found yourself swept up in the joy and music that filled the air. Elves sang ancient songs with haunting melodies, their voices intertwining with the rustling of the trees. You were surrounded by friends and revelers, each lost in their own reflections on the stars, but your eyes kept drifting back to Haldir. As the evening wore on, the effects of the wine began to take hold, and the world around you felt a little softer, a little more daring. You giggled to yourself as you swayed slightly to the rhythm of the music, your eyes catching Haldir’s stern yet watchful gaze. There was something about the quiet sentinel standing alone in the shadows that intrigued you—a quiet strength in his stoicism that you found strangely magnetic. And tonight, under the spell of the wine and the soft moonlight, you felt emboldened.

➳ A mischievous thought crossed your mind, and before you could second-guess yourself, you made your way toward him. The movement of the crowd seemed to part in front of you as you drew closer, your steps slightly unsteady but your heart racing with excitement. Haldir was caught off guard as you approached him, his eyes narrowing as he saw the mischievous gleam in yours. He straightened slightly, his instincts flaring, but he remained still, knowing that he could easily keep watch and remain alert. You, however, had other plans. Without warning, you reached up and kissed him. It was a sudden, daring act that caught him completely off guard, your lips pressing against his before he could react. His eyes widened in shock, and for a brief moment, time seemed to stand still. His breath caught in his throat, and the cool evening air seemed to freeze around him.

➳ His body stiffened, his hand automatically reaching out to steady you, though it lingered uncertainly, not sure how to respond. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the bold, unexpected gesture. He flushed slightly, his cheeks tinged with an unexpected warmth. This was not the Haldir who remained composed and in control, always vigilant. No, tonight, this was a Haldir who was thoroughly disarmed—caught between surprise, confusion, and something else he couldn’t quite name. You pulled away, grinning cheekily, your breath still light from the wine. The moment hung between you, and for a heartbeat, you both just stared at each other, the tension palpable. “What are you doing?” Haldir finally muttered, his voice low, though it had a slight edge to it—almost a mix of disbelief and something more soft, something vulnerable. His eyes flicked quickly to the surrounding elves, making sure no one else had witnessed the kiss. He muttered under his breath, as if trying to make sense of the situation, “You’ve made me vulnerable… in front of the stars.”

➳ Despite his words, his hand remained on your arm, and his fingers tightened slightly, as if he was making sure you were still standing, still alright. His usually stoic expression had faltered, replaced with a flush that was difficult for him to hide. He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself, but his gaze flickered back to you with an unspoken question—one that he couldn’t quite ask. “Did you think this was wise?” he added, his voice now tinged with something that wasn’t quite frustration, but more concern—an odd mixture of reprimand and care. The flush on his face deepened, though it wasn’t entirely from irritation. “I do not believe the wine has done you any favors.” You let out a breathy laugh, your tipsy grin widening as you took a small step back, admiring the way his usually controlled demeanor was starting to crack under the weight of the unexpected kiss. Haldir, ever the protector, straightened, but you could see a slight shake of his head, a frustrated yet amused chuckle escaping his lips. “You are a distraction I did not plan for,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to dismiss the moment, but there was a glint of something softer in his eyes. He wasn’t angry, not truly—just flustered, unsure how to react to something so outside of the norm for him. A small part of him was irked—by the suddenness, by the boldness—but a much larger part was… well, charmed, whether he liked it or not.

➳ Haldir turned his gaze away for a moment, his jaw tightening as he rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to regain composure. He could already feel the weight of his brothers’ teasing in the back of his mind. Rumil and Orophin were bound to notice his discomfort, and the teasing would be relentless for weeks. He could already hear Rumil’s mischievous laughter, hear the way Orophin would press him for details with that knowing smirk. “Well, this will be something I will never live down,” he muttered under his breath, though it was more to himself than to you. But despite his frustration, he couldn’t quite stop the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. Though he would never admit it, a part of him enjoyed the way you had shaken him from his usual stoic reserve. You had thrown him off balance, and while he would undoubtedly scold you, the brief moment of shared connection—however unexpected—left something lingering in the air between you. “What will I do with you?” he finally sighed, his voice tinged with something warmer than before. It was a playful sigh, one that hinted at his growing fondness, despite the teasing that was undoubtedly coming his way.

➳ As if on cue, the sound of light footsteps reached your ears, and a familiar voice called out from behind you, tinged with amusement. “Well, well, look who’s making moves,” said Rumil, Haldir’s younger brother, his grin wide and clearly enjoying the spectacle. His eyes flickered between you and Haldir, mischief dancing in his gaze. “I didn’t think you had it in you.” Before Haldir could respond, Orophin, the elder of the two brothers, leaned in, his expression filled with amusement. “Haldir, you’re a bit more popular than I thought. Or should I say… ‘charmed’?” He raised an eyebrow playfully, clearly relishing in the moment. Haldir’s eyes narrowed, flicking between his two brothers before settling back on you. There was a quiet exasperation in his gaze, though beneath it, a warmth you hadn’t expected. He sighed, his voice low and resigned. “This will be talked about for weeks,” he muttered, knowing full well that his brothers wouldn’t let him live this down anytime soon. Rumil, practically bubbling with laughter, slapped a hand on Haldir’s back with exaggerated sympathy. “You should know by now, brother, that you’re always a target for mischief.” He couldn’t hold back his chuckles as he spoke, clearly enjoying his brother’s discomfort. Haldir shot him a look that was sharp but carried no real malice. “I don’t remember inviting you into this conversation, Rumil,” he replied, his tone pointed, though there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes, a playful spark that belied his apparent irritation. As the teasing continued, you could see Haldir’s stoic composure beginning to waver, though he tried to hold his ground. He looked back at you, the teasing and jabs from his brothers not seeming to bother him as much as he might have let on. There was something different in his expression now—a softness that, despite his embarrassment, felt more genuine than ever. His lips quirked upward into the faintest of smiles, and there was warmth in his eyes as he stepped closer to you.

➳ “You may have caught me off guard,” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with a quiet amusement, “but I’ll be the one getting the last laugh, I suppose.” His words were teasing, but there was something undeniably fond in the way he said them—an acknowledgment of the playful chaos you’d stirred in him. Even as his brothers laughed and nudged him, Haldir remained, his posture a little less rigid, a little more human. He wasn’t just the stoic protector anymore. For the first time that night, you saw him not as the unshakeable Marchwarden, but as a man caught off guard—embarrassed, yes, but still able to smile and enjoy the humor of the moment. His cheeks, though flushed red, betrayed no hint of real annoyance, and as his gaze lingered on you, the teasing from his brothers seemed to fade into the background. In that moment, despite the laughter of his brothers ringing in his ears, there was an undeniable tenderness in the way he looked at you. His soft smile, the light in his eyes—it was as though, for all the teasing, for all the jest, he was still deeply affected by what had just transpired.

⭐️𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓱𝓲𝓻

✧ The warm glow of lanterns strung high in the trees bathed Rivendell in soft, golden light, casting flickering shadows against the smooth bark of ancient trees. The Elder’s Lore Gathering was at its height, the melodic hum of elven voices blending seamlessly with the gentle strains of harps and flutes. The gathering was steeped in tradition, yet it exuded a warmth that felt almost timeless, as if the moments of joy and wisdom shared here tonight would echo through the ages. The elders, seated in graceful circles near the heart of the gathering, recounted tales of the Valar, the Eldar, and the shaping of Middle-earth itself. Their voices, smooth and resonant, seemed to weave themselves into the very air, filling the evening with the weight of ages. Despite the solemnity, mirth was not absent from the gathering. Younger elves sat further back, exchanging sly smiles and quiet laughter, their reverence for the event tempered by the effervescent joy of the occasion. Light, silvery laughter carried through the trees, mingling with the music and the rustle of the wind. Platters of fine food and goblets of Rivendell’s exquisite wine made their rounds, the sweet aroma of elderflower and honey mingling with the crisp freshness of the evening.

✧ Elrohir, however, had chosen to linger on the outskirts, leaning casually against the trunk of a towering mallorn tree. The goblet of wine in his hand caught the light, its deep crimson hue gleaming against his fair skin. His sharp silver-grey eyes roamed the gathering with an air of detached amusement, his smirk faint but ever-present. These moments of shared history and culture meant something to him, though he would never say as much aloud. His dry sense of humor, a shield against the weight of responsibility and grief he carried, often made him an observer rather than a participant at such events. Elladan had vanished into the throng hours ago, likely finding some excuse to avoid the gravity of the elders’ tales. Elrohir, however, remained, his presence unobtrusive yet steady, like a silent sentinel. His gaze shifted to you as you wove your way through the clusters of elves, your laughter rising above the hum of voices every now and then. The wine had clearly loosened your inhibitions; your steps were lighter, your movements a little more carefree than usual. You hadn’t failed to notice him watching you, his smirk deepening slightly each time your eyes met. Something about the way he leaned there, poised and self-assured, had drawn your attention again and again throughout the evening. He was magnetic without trying, and the wine in your veins only amplified the pull you felt toward him.

✧ The night deepened, the lanterns’ glow warmer and softer as the hours stretched on. Buoyed by the festive atmosphere—and the liquid courage coursing through you—you finally made your way toward him, your heart racing despite yourself. Elrohir noticed your approach immediately, his sharp gaze flicking to yours, a single brow arching in curiosity. As you neared, he straightened from his lean, his smirk widening ever so slightly as he regarded you. “You look as though you’ve been enjoying the wine a bit too much,” he remarked dryly, his voice low and smooth. The faint amusement in his tone was underscored by something gentler—an almost imperceptible warmth that only someone who knew him well could detect. His silver eyes glimmered as he tilted his head, waiting for your reply.

✧ But words didn’t come. Instead, driven by a boldness that teetered on recklessness, you stepped closer, closing the small gap between you. Before he could say another word, you leaned up and pressed your lips to his in a quick, daring kiss. The touch was fleeting—barely a breath of contact before you pulled back—but it was enough to leave you both stunned. Elrohir froze, the goblet in his hand forgotten as his eyes widened in surprise. For a moment, he simply stared at you, his sharp features softened by the sheer disbelief of what had just happened. Your face flushed deeply, the heat rising to your cheeks as the reality of your boldness hit you. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still, the hum of the gathering fading into the background. Then, his expression shifted. The initial shock gave way to a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, the sound low and warm. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face with gentle fingers, his touch lingering. “I did not expect that,” he murmured, his voice softer than before. There was no reproach in his tone, only a quiet amusement mixed with something deeper—something tender and unguarded.

✧ “You’re more than a little tipsy,” he added, his lips twitching into a lopsided smile as he wrapped an arm around your waist, steadying you with an ease that spoke of how natural it felt for him to do so. His warmth enveloped you, his presence grounding despite the flurry of emotions swirling in your chest. “A surprise attack, is it?” His words were teasing, but the look in his eyes betrayed the depth of his affection. There was no trace of mockery in his tone—only a playful fondness that seemed to draw you in further. Despite his humor, Elrohir’s gaze lingered on you, searching your face as though trying to commit this moment to memory. His usual guarded demeanor had melted away, leaving him open and uncharacteristically vulnerable. He tilted his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. Then, with a quiet chuckle, he pulled you closer, his arm tightening around you protectively. “Next time,” he murmured, his lips brushing the top of your head, “give me a little warning. I’d like to be prepared for such bold moves.” His voice was soft, almost intimate, the teasing edge giving way to a warmth that left no room for doubt about how deeply he cared for you. As he held you close, shielding you from the curious gazes of those nearby, it was clear that he wasn’t letting you slip away—not tonight, not ever.

✧ But then your hands began to wander. Emboldened by your lack of restraint, your fingers slid along the edge of his tunic, skimming the fabric with an almost mischievous intent. Elrohir stiffened slightly as your hand brushed against the bare skin beneath, his sharp intake of breath barely audible over the hum of the gathering around you. “Careful,” he warned softly, his voice lower now, though there was a thread of amusement woven into it. He caught your wrist with gentle but firm fingers, stilling your movement. “You’re far braver than I gave you credit for tonight.” Despite his words, the faintest flush crept into his cheeks, a rare crack in his usually unshakable composure. He tilted his head, studying you with a mix of exasperation and undeniable fondness. “If you’re trying to test my patience, you’re doing a fine job of it,” he muttered, though his smirk betrayed his amusement. He released your wrist, instead pulling you closer against him to keep your wandering hands in check. “You’re far too drunk for this kind of mischief,” he added, his tone softening as his free hand rested lightly on the small of your back. Despite his attempts at restraint, there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes—a vulnerability that rarely surfaced. He leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “If you want to scandalize the entire gathering, you’re certainly on the right path,” he teased, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “But I think you’ll regret it come morning.” His arm tightened around you protectively, his dry humor giving way to a quiet tenderness. “Let’s get you back to the table,” he murmured, guiding you gently but firmly away from the crowd’s curious gazes. Though his words were measured, his actions spoke volumes—his hold on you steady, his presence warm and unyielding. Elrohir’s usual guarded demeanor had softened, replaced by a rare openness that hinted at just how deeply he cared for you, even amidst your wine-fueled antics.

⚔️𝓔𝓵𝓵𝓪𝓭𝓪𝓷

⭒ The air in Rivendell was crisp with the touch of autumn, the golden hues of the trees glowing faintly under the soft light of lanterns strung throughout the festival grounds. The fragrance of fallen leaves mingled with the scent of warm spiced wine, and the gentle hum of laughter and music blended with the rustling of trees in the cool evening breeze. It was the Rite of the Autumn Dawn, a cherished elven tradition that marked the changing of the seasons—a time of reflection, renewal, and celebration. The festival was alive with joy. Elves danced beneath the shimmering lights, their silvery voices carrying songs older than the mountains, while others shared tales of years long past or toasted to the beauty of the fleeting autumn. The evening had stretched late, and the wine flowed freely, loosening the perfect poise of even the most graceful Elves. There was a warmth to the night—a sense of community, of fleeting mortality even among the immortal.

⭒ Elladan stood beneath one of the great trees lining the festival grounds, the leaves above him a cascade of gold and crimson, catching the glow of the lanterns as though alight with fire. He was the picture of ease, his tall frame relaxed, a half-full goblet of wine in his hand, and an irrepressible grin on his face. He thrived in these moments of lighthearted revelry, and it showed in every bit of his posture and energy. Throughout the night, he had been the center of more than one challenge—racing against other Elves, initiating ridiculous bets, and, most famously, engaging in a loud, dramatic exchange with Elrohir that had sent his brother storming off to the quieter edges of the gathering. Now, Elladan was content to watch the revelry around him, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd for more trouble to stir—or perhaps for someone who looked like they needed his particular brand of mischief. When you approached, the slightest hint of a stumble in your step, Elladan noticed immediately. His keen eyes caught the flush in your cheeks, the loose way you carried yourself, and the sparkle of uninhibited delight in your gaze. A grin broke across his face as he straightened slightly, tipping his head toward you with a mockingly scandalized air.

⭒ “Ah, there you are!” he called warmly, his voice effortlessly cutting through the din of the festival. “I was beginning to think you’d disappeared to drink all the wine yourself, leaving the rest of us to thirst.” Your response was playful, but the wine had slurred your words enough that Elladan had to step closer, his grin broadening with every faltering syllable. His long, dark hair, faintly catching the lantern light, brushed against your shoulder as he leaned in to catch your words, his presence a commanding mix of playful confidence and mischievous charm. Elladan laughed, the sound rich and warm. “I see you’ve embraced the spirit of the festival,” he teased, his eyes glittering as he studied you. “Though, I fear you might be no match for me if you can’t even stand properly. Should I fetch a chair for you? Or perhaps I should carry you to save you from yourself?” He set his goblet down on the grass beside him, entirely focused now on teasing you mercilessly.

⭒ It was in that moment, as he tilted his head back to laugh at his own joke, his guard completely lowered, that you struck. The wine emboldened you, and the playful energy of the festival seemed to whisper encouragement. Without hesitation, you grabbed the front of his tunic, tugging him toward you. The look of startled confusion that flashed across Elladan’s face was priceless—but it lasted only for the briefest of moments before your lips met his in a daring, wine-sweetened kiss. Time seemed to pause. Elladan froze, his body going perfectly still as if he’d been struck by lightning. His eyes widened, shimmering with disbelief, and you could feel the moment he registered what had just happened. When you finally pulled back, the stunned silence only lasted a beat before Elladan’s theatrical instincts took over. “By the Valar!” he exclaimed, his voice ringing out loud enough to draw a few curious glances from nearby revelers. His hand flew to his chest in a gesture of exaggerated indignation, his expression one of mock horror. “Such impetuosity! Such audacity! What would Erestor say if he saw this scandalous display?” He gasped, his sharp eyes glancing around as if searching the crowd for Rivendell’s sternest advisor, his performance growing more ridiculous by the second.

⭒ The sight of him, so over-the-top and utterly unbothered, sent you into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Elladan caught your mirth like it was contagious, his lips twitching into a wide, boyish grin as he stepped closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “I shall never hear the end of this, will I?” he said, his tone dripping with mock despair, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his delight. For a moment, it seemed as though he was going to lean in and kiss you in return, his grin softening just slightly, his eyes flicking briefly to your lips. Your heart raced, and you braced yourself for the touch of his lips again. But then—true to Elladan’s irrepressible nature—he pivoted at the last second, a devilish gleam lighting his face as he stepped away. “Catch me if you can!” he called, already turning and darting into the crowd. His laughter rang out like a bell, bright and carefree, as he disappeared into the sea of lanterns and dancing figures. He turned back once, his dark hair streaming behind him and his grin dazzling as he added, “Let us see if you can top that, my bold friend!” For a moment, you stood frozen, caught between laughter and disbelief at his antics. But Elladan didn’t wait—he was already weaving through the festival with the grace of a stag, glancing back every so often to make sure you were following. The challenge had been issued, and there was no doubt he expected you to give chase, his competitive spirit as infectious as his laughter.

⭒ You barely had time to process his sudden departure before you were stumbling after him, laughter bubbling up even as your legs wobbled from the wine. Elladan’s sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing, and he glanced back every so often, a teasing grin lighting his face as he saw you struggling to keep up. Once, you nearly tripped over a root, your hands flailing wildly as you caught yourself against the edge of a wooden table laden with empty goblets. Elladan’s laughter rang out again, and he slowed just enough to call over his shoulder, “Careful! I don’t think the trees will forgive you if you knock over their wine!” You huffed, brushing yourself off, but couldn’t suppress the wide smile that stretched across your face. Each time you stumbled or bumped into someone—eliciting good-natured chuckles from the nearby Elves—Elladan only laughed harder, his steps slowing just enough to keep you within sight. “You’re doing wonderfully!” he teased, his voice light and playful as he darted around a lantern-lit tree. “Though I might suggest a bit more grace! You’re supposed to be chasing me, not crashing into everything in your path!” Despite your clumsiness, you couldn’t help but laugh along with him, the thrill of the chase and the warmth of his laughter making your heart soar. Every time he turned to glance at you, his grin was so full of mischief and delight that it felt impossible not to be swept up in his energy. The crowd seemed to part for him like water, while you stumbled and wove your way through, your cheeks aching from smiling so much. And yet, despite the wine, despite the obstacles, you felt alive—fully immersed in Elladan’s playful chaos, chasing the brightest star in Rivendell’s autumn night.

[crimsonmochi]

Personal ― S. Gojo

Synopsis. Pornstar!Satoru is used to fucking for money's sake. It's something he does often and something he does really fucking well. When he is requested to guest you, however, it shocks everyone to see an immediate energy shift.

Pairing. Satoru Gojo x fem!reader

Content. MDNI, fem! pornstar! reader, chubby! reader implied, gender neutral pronouns used for reader, no use of "y/n", smut, p in v, cunnilingus, slight choking, some semblance of onlyfans, pussydrunk! gojo, gojo is left handed canon, a little bit pathetic, and a little nasty, probable breaches of work boundaries, no beta

Word Count. 3.9k

A/N. baby's first jjk fic, be gentle </3 please give me feedback and lmk if i forgot some tags :3 reposts encouraged!

Rain dribbled and splattered on the window, the tiny water beads reflecting and refracting the dim light from Satoru's phone. He sat upright on his bed, muscular back against the headboard, upper arms aching from his last session two days prior. He had reluctantly agreed to participate in a "professional"―which, to Satoru, was just a word for more work, smaller pay―shoot with some girl he could barely remember the name of.

The result? The director had barked at him to put himself in impossible positions for the camera's sake, which left his limbs sore and not in a good way. Satoru forced the scene to end, left with his money and a vow to himself to never ever work for studios again. He hated being told what to do, especially from guys who don't actually have what it takes.

While painkillers and a nice massage from the spa below his apartment complex did not eradicate the pain, it did make it much more tolerable.

Satoru's thumb swiped across the screen, scrolling through comments from his latest post, a message to his subscribers asking for content ideas. Sure, he did not like being told what to do, but being kindly suggested by his fans to fulfill their desires was different. In the end, he was still in control.

And it probably won't land him in a pharmacy either.

The request that Satoru found came up the most was for him to do ASMR; some fans wanted to hear those pretty praises, those filthy words he gives to his co-stars, spoken to them instead. Although the idea was alluring, Satoru would rather be on camera than behind a fancy microphone in a recording booth—primarily because he was too proud to opt out of showing his god-crafted body (that cocky bastard). But then again, he could find a way to do both...

He shelved that idea for later.

Other requests were suggestions of people to shoot with. Some popular names came up, women and men he had already filmed with and didn't find too interesting. He could fake it, of course; he was an actor, it was half of his job―but he would be unsatisfied with the end result.

Satoru was about to quit reading requests, bored and uninspired until his cerulean eyes stuck themselves to a particular comment. The space between his eyebrows creased as his eyebrows furrowed. It was a subscriber recommending another star, explaining how they weren't very well known, but they believed them and Satoru would make a great pair.

The wording was not what caught his attention, he had gotten plenty of requests with the same exact sentence before. No, it was the name, your page's name―which, to Satoru, felt familiar yet distant. He hadn't shot with you before, no, that wasn't it. Yet he was certain he knew you, knew of you at least.

His thumb reached for the search bar to type in your alias, his eyelids flickering when his gaze fell on your profile, your soft face on display. Satoru felt his length chub up in his boxers, soft lips parting to accommodate for a sudden need of oxygen.

Just as his subscriber said, you were less popular than him, with less than half the number of subscribers he had and an inarguably cheaper paywall in front of your content. Memories of happily searching for his new credit card numbers to pay for your videos came back rushing to him, memories only a few months old.

Satoru recalled seeing a preview and being immediately smitten by your pretty figure, your plush thighs and your tummy, that tiny thrill in your eyes. Fuck, how he had spent half of his revenue giving you tips on an anonymous account―just to obtain a personalized picture of just those pretty thighs, fisting his aching cock to that image for days.

Just looking at that profile again, oh my god.

His eyes laid on the subscription button. He did not even bother getting on an alt account this time to press it, watching the confirmation request pop up on his screen to gather his fingerprint in order to complete the purchase. When the paywall finally went away, Satoru let out a breath he wasn't even aware of holding, his hand travelling to his boxers, palming himself through his briefs as he scrolled.

And oh, he was gone again.

Satoru had never sent a message to his agent that frantically in his life, asking her―no, begging her to contact you to secure a shoot with you. Asked her to do whatever she could to get you in the studio.

The next few days went by without a reply from your part, and Satoru was going mad. He could not remember being this nervous for anyone, this needy. In between sessions of overthinking (maybe he should have asked you himself or maybe offered something more), he found himself replaying videos of yours he had already seen, notably the ones with other men. He knew them by heart.

Those guys didn't seem to appreciate you nearly as much as you needed, as much as you deserved. It pissed him off beyond what he thought was possible, yet made him so hard; He knew he could fuck you so much better than those amateurs you were with, pleasure you in ways they wouldn't even dare.

Unbeknownst to Satoru, you were just intimidated by his offer. Too much money from too big of a creator and an offer that seemed too good to be real to not hold a catch, which is why you did not answer right away, anxiously weighing the implications. It wasn't until he, in a moment of pure desperation and haze, shot you a private message confirming the offer that you replied, shyly agreeing.

From then on, Satoru could barely contain himself, daydreaming about everything he could do to you with his left hand eagerly moving up and down his cock, breathy exhales escaping his mouth and shaky fists gripping his bedsheets. Too often, he found himself checking the calendar on his phone, awaiting the shoot date, disappointed every time that it was still the 15th instead of the long-awaited 21st. Satoru Gojo did not exactly believe himself to be a patient man.

He sent you little messages throughout the week with ideas and reassuring messages. He wanted to know everything about you, your likes and dislikes, what you thought of him, how your body worked, and how he could get you to whine and moan for him.

On the day of the shoot, Satoru was almost unrecognizable to others involved―his agent and the friends he'd stopped to visit on his way to his studio. The man people had described as cocky, overly confident, and self-absorbed was reduced to a nervous, lost-in-thought mess. All because of you, the pretty little thing he would get to have his hands on later that evening.

He'd showered three times, spent too long in his room figuring out what clothes to wear, as if that would matter, and freaked out over his hair. His hair.

And when you finally arrived at the studio with your assistant, he nearly forgot how to breathe. That, or he was purposely holding back for fear of scaring you off, this cute little thing before him. You introduced yourself, pretty eyes gazing up at him, taking a second to admire each and every one of his features. As soon as he saw your smile, here in person, he told himself he could die happy.

Well, he could die happy after having a taste of you.

You were shy while introducing yourself to him. The interaction could easily have been misread as awkwardness, and that was what Satoru would have gone with, too, if he didn't know any better (if he didn't think so highly of himself). Your softer voice, your pretty eyes, god, those eyes. He could tell you might've had a tiny crush on him as well, and he would be lying if he said it didn't make his head reel.

Your assistant all but confirmed it when you excused yourself to the restroom, admitting that you hadn't stopped gushing about this opportunity since you got it.

And when you got back, he had the most annoying smirk and glint in his eyes, looking down at you.

After discussing what he wanted for the scene, making sure you were comfortable and willing to participate―a gentleman, truly, asked you so many times that you started chuckling your answers―he had his agent and your assistant leave the studio after you agreed to dismiss them. He did not mind an audience, but he wanted this to be personal.

"I film all my own shit anyways," he hummed, hopping behind the camera to adjust the angle.

In the film room of the studio was a bedroom set with a queen-sized bed with navy sheets and a wooden frame. A sliding-door closet with mirrors stood tall on the left side, and a bedside table on the right.

The scene you and Satoru agreed upon was vanilla, but he was pleased with the gist of it. Any way he could have you is a way he'd be pleased with, however. It didn't really matter how for the time being.

You sat in the middle of the bed, your back against the cold headboard and palms against the soft sheets, gazing at Satoru as he grumbled at the camera, shifting through the studio to find a new battery with his lips pursed in a pout. It amused you, seeing a different side of him.

It was only three minutes later that he climbed onto the bed, knees against the mattress as he moved towards you, those blue eyes staring at your frame through those pale lashes. He moved to straddle you, his back straight, his body looming over yours.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," mumbled Satoru, his hand firmly landing on the headboard to support himself, making a louder sound than he intended. "You tell me if I'm too much for you, alright, pretty?" he followed in a softer tone.

You nodded, the pad of your index landing on his shoulder and travelling down his torso, trailing close to the sweatpants he wore. Satoru reached his own unoccupied palm to your face, his fingers hooking themselves at the nape of your neck to pull you towards him. His nose brushed against yours before capturing your lips with his.

Satoru had never felt drunk on a kiss until you entered his studio.

As if a switch flipped in his head, he kept you closer to him, desperate and unwilling to pull away from your lips. He breathed shakily, his minty breath fanning over your mouth.

"Oh, you're good at this," he laughed, an arrogant laugh that made your pussy ache.

"Yeah?" you murmured.

"Yeah."

The hand on your cheek moved to your throat, squeezing at the sides―not enough to hurt, just to make oxygen sparse in your system. "I'll make you feel good, sweetheart, hm? I'll do better than those fucking losers on your page."

The sweetest words said oh so cruelly.

Although it was increasingly hard for you to think, you were able to click the pieces together pretty quick, your eyes widening and your pupils dilating.

'Fourth wall break wasn't part of the plan.

Oh.

He watched.'

Satoru's gaze had changed. Deep, yet precise in conveying the exact energy desired. A short, almost inaudible gasp escaped your lips, and fuck, he fed on that, on your reactions to him, no matter how small or insignificant. It mattered to him.

Warm fingers slipped under your the black camisole hugging your body before you could even notice his hand had left your throat, caressing your skin until he his the jackpot, massaging the same breasts he had spent hours looking at only within the past week.

"Oh-ho— nothing, no bra for me?" Satoru chuckled. He captured your nipple between his index and his thumb, rolling and pinching at it until it pebbled, drawing out a whimper from your lungs.

Satoru was fascinated by what he had under his hand, taking a too-curious approach to exploring, as if he had never seen or felt another body before this point in his life. He took his time to gently remove the fabric off of your body, imagining all the ways he could bind and explore it, worship it, cum all over those pretty tits—

It wasn't until he felt your soft hands trying to discard his shirt that he snapped out of his haze, realizing he was fucking up the pacing.

Satoru latched his mouth to one of your breasts, biting and sucking gingerly while he focused on getting you out of those tight leggings you wore just for him, that truly left nothing to the imagination. He frantically worked to get those white laced panties out of the way with a tad more force than he should have, causing a tear to rip into the fabric.

"Satoru—" you gasped, only halfway acting.

"I'll get you another pair," he groaned against your chest, licking over one of the bite marks he had left before unlatching to look down.

Satoru's brain short-circuited.

Sure, he's seen your body time and time over, but that had only ever been through the careful separation of a screen, a paywall. It was different to have access to it, to be able to touch and feel.

He thanked his earlier self for asking if he could eat you out, for now, getting to have your supple thighs around his face and neck. Fuck, he could really die happy now.

Satoru caught sight of your dripping cunt, juices dripping and latching onto your skin. He felt hungry for what seemed to be the first time in his life, moving down your body to kiss right over your mound, your scent filling his senses.

"Oh, s-shit, look at that," said Satoru.

Had he just stuttered?

He nudged his nose in between your folds, brushing against your clit with a swiftness that made your figure jolt. He chuckled, moving his arms to trap your hips and pin them to the mattress, muscles flexing under his skin to intimidate.

"God, she wants me so bad."

Satoru languidly licked up and down your slit, careful to miss your sensitive bud in the meanest way. He whimpered at the taste of you on his tongue, sweet in a natural way, catching both you and himself off guard. If his face wasn't buried in your cunt, you could have seen the faint blush creep to the surface of his cheeks.

"You ever had someone do this, sweet'art?" he mumbled against your heat, lips finally latching on to your clit.

"N-No, not really," you sighed.

"Mh," Satoru hummed disapprovingly, toying with the bundle of nerves between his teeth, one of his arms sneaking away from your hips. He teased his ring finger at your entrance. "You're, fuck- fuck― you're so― taste so good..."

He pushed his finger past the ring of muscle until he was knuckles deep, groaning before he returned his mouth to your clit, sucking in small intervals as he pumped in and out of your velvety walls. Satoru whined when your hand flew to his hair.

And when you moaned for him, he was a goner. He noticed the usually loud and audibly altered sounds had turned saccharine and almost timid.

You had been faking your moans?

He snickered at his realization, breaching through the noise of your moans and the quiet slurps. "I think she loves me," said Satoru in between breaths.

"Wha-, who―"

"Wasn't talking to you, love." Satoru's words drastically contrasted with his soft tone.

He punctuated his sentence by curling his digits to find and abuse that spongey spot, earning a string of nonsense words and whines from you, only encouraging his endeavour. The soft squelch of your pussy around his fingers and his mouth was enough to drive him to buck his hips toward the mattress.

When Satoru felt your soft thighs tighten around his head, he forced himself to pull away, grunting as you desperately moved to grip your fingers in his hair, trying to keep him there. If he hadn't had such strong convictions, he might have stayed down there for the rest of his life, dying happy with his face buried in your pretty cunt.

Satoru straightened his form, his fingers pulling out to find your clit, rubbing it in soft circles. You protested, whining pathetically.

"I know, I know, sweet girl, I'm sorry. Wanna... wanna have you cum on my cock. Can y'do that love? Want you all over me.."

He was mumbling, staring into your eyes with his pupils blown wide. The blue of his irises was overtaken by those black orbs, capturing you in his sight. His chin was wet and dripping, and his lips were slightly swollen.

A gorgeous mess for you to gaze upon.

Satoru's eyes dropped down to the sweatpants he threw on earlier (and called Suguru about just to make sure it looked "casual but not fuckboy"―Suguru called him a dumbass and hung up), carefully bunching up the fabric as well as his boxers before pushing down. Hissing as his length perked up, angry and weeping pre, he breathed a little heavier than before, his shoulders rising and falling. Satoru hadn't felt this worked up in months, maybe years, all from this.

For you.

And you would not be lying saying that had to be the prettiest dick you'd ever seen.

"Shit― look at that, hah," Satoru softly chuckled. "Lift your legs up f'me, pretty, come on.."

He grinned down at you as he helped you push your knees up to your limit, delicately placing your ankles on his shoulders and leaning his torso forward. Satoru placed one of his palms behind your cranium, a small yet protective measure.

"This okay?" asked Satoru, nudging his tip against your folds, collecting your slick to drench his cock, gliding over your clit.

"Y-Yeah, this is fine..."

It was rare for you to be nervous, given that you were used to having sex, filming it, and posting it for hundreds to see. Intercourse was not something you had any insecurities about. Usually.

What caught you off guard was the look in Satoru's eyes, the way he carried himself with a gentleness foreign to anything you've seen from him.

Satoru leaned down to press kisses against your jawline, open-mouthed and delicate, exhaling as he guided his length past your entrance, satisfied at the small gasp he heard from your lips.

"Oh my god, it's even fucking better than I imagined," said Satoru, his voice strained.

He could feel the stretch, your walls fluttering to accommodate him, still so tight and fuck―the tiny high-pitched, almost inaudible whimpers that escaped your throat.

"Don't know if I'll be able to pull out, sweet girl, hah―shit―she's sucking me in, look."

"Then don't," you mumbled, turning your head to meet his lips.

"You can't say shit like that," Satoru scoffed.

"Why not? I want it."

If you were simply pretending for the camera, that was some damn good acting. Good enough to turn Satoru into putty in your hold, to shut his brain off and make him act on instinct alone, script be damned.

Satoru pushed in until his pelvis hit your flesh, his hold on you faltering in strength momentarily, a helpless expression on his face. He listened to your quiet whines, his free hand returning to your clit in hopes of easing the strain.

"Just fuckin' perfect, holy fuuuck―" he strained out.

He withdrew his fingers from your clit to taste you once more, addicted. He drew his hips back slowly, just enough to leave about an inch inside, before thrusting back in at a slightly faster pace, setting a rather slow, intimate rhythm for you to follow.

Satoru watched as your breath picked up, how the slow rock of his hips made your eyes unfocus, and your mouth hang open. He watched as your forehead started to sweat, how your hair moved along his movements.

More importantly, Satoru listened. He heard those moans, shakier and uncalculated. He knew he wasn't crazy earlier when he had the reflection that you had been faking them.

Actually pathetic, those "men" you had been with.

"You're so pretty, y'know that?" Satoru mumbled, out of his mind. Like he was a schoolboy talking to his second-period crush. "So pretty... s'not fair..."

"H-Huh―?"

"S'not fair how it's gonna be―mh, shit―over, how s'gonna be over."

Satoru angled his hips differently, aiming for that spongey spot he had found earlier. That said, he would have had to be able to think straight to get it on the first try; which he could not, not when he was buried deep inside your cunt.

"W-What―aah, fuck, Satoru~"

You couldn't recall any shoots you had done―or any sex you had had at all, actually―that felt as good as Satoru.

"Right there, right? S'that i-it?"

He drove his movements faster, his pelvis hitting the back of your thighs and your ass with a louder SMACK! than it did previously, his breaths becoming further shallow and desperate. His skin grew increasingly damp as his efforts increased, and what were previously grunts turned to shameless moans, whines and whimpers, wanton and needy.

The man was losing his mind, so unlike anything you had seen from him.

Satoru's thrusts soon became erratic and uncoordinated, his face buried in your neck, drinking all of the sounds you were making like he was getting drunk on them.

"Can't... won't last l-long, okay? M'sorry I can't..." Satoru wailed.

His hand found your breast, flicking at your nipple in hopes of making you cum faster, needing to feel you. You were teetering on the edge, and he could feel it, feel how your pussy drew him in.

"Y'know you've been― y'been teasing me for two fuckin' weeks―aah... shitshitshit, so so g-good―two weeks." He paused to groan, pinching your flesh between his index and thumb to elicit a reaction from you. "Can't get enough of you, you're so―and you know it, you fuckin' know it too, I-I know y'do."

"Satoru! So close, please d-don't stop," you yelped, walls constricting around his length.

"Y-Yeah, pretty, I know, fuck―I know, sweet thing. I got you," Satoru panted and tightened his grip on the back of your head as if to brace for impact. "Y'do know how to drive me fuckin' crazy, with―mh, you're so soft and pretty, m-makes me want to quit the business, make you my own, God, make you my pretty wife."

Satoru's mind was running on overdrive, trying to keep up with what the fuck he was saying and making sure you felt good, as good as him. No easy task.

"Shit, gonna make you mine, I promise, fuck―"

His his stuttered as he spilled himself inside you, crying out like a wounded animal. It felt too good, it was too much.

Satoru kept going, although fucked out of his mind, determined to make you cum. He lapped up the sweat from your neck, not caring if it was nasty, while he reached down to your clit once more, slapping the sensitive bud a few times, stopping when he felt your cunt constrict and clench around him, a nice little ring of creamy mixed arousal forming at the base of his cock, gliding down your ass and spilling on the bedsheets.

"Such a mess, oh my God," Satoru whined.

He gathered some on two of his fingers, wiping it right off of your skin. "Taste it f'me, pretty," Satoru groaned.

He could have ascended to heaven right then as you wrapped your lips around his digits, glossy eyes peering up at him through your lashes.

"I gotta keep you."

pt. 2?

[demonslushh]

HMS design sketches!

My mind Design has changed a bit since last time, if you remember my last post. But I would like to say, I have lots of explainations as to why I designed these guys the way I did.

I'll explain below the cut! Consider this a mini-analysis, especially regarding soul. If you guys are interested more in my breakdowns of lyrics and like this analysis, let me know so I can post my takes more, haha. I have lots to say about this album, but having some feedback might help me feel motivated to actually post my analyses!

Alright, so here we are. I'd like to say that, first off, Heart and Mind's designs are pretty self-explanitory — And mostly based off of personal headcanon. Albeit, there are a couple little details I want to highlight.

First, the angel/fallen angel imagery. I talked about this in a past post when I posted my previous mind design, and I really wanted to keep it. Something I noticed in fandom designs is that Heart would have a lot of Angelic traits and Mind didn't, which is totally fair, but I liked the idea of playing with the concept of a fallen angel/"dark" angel theming with him since they're represented as opposites in every other way.

I also do like the idea of Mind being a fallen angel based on a few themes through his story — Particularly in Be Born when he states that he once was in control. The prospect of him being pushed out of power at some point feeds well into this theming.

The other aspect I'd like to highlight is regarding Heart's "Face" and Mind's Chest.

Heart does not have a head in my design, and Mind's chest is completely hollow. I thought that it would be interesting to remove the other's main attribute from each of their designs — So heart does not have a head and, therefore no sort of physical brain, and Mind has no heart in his chest. Again, this was moreso just a headcanon choice, I think it plays into their stark divide during cocophany more. It was fun.

Now, for my favorite aspect: Soul.

My choices for his design do require a bit of explaination based on my analysis of lyrics throughout songs, so I will do just that.

I believe that soul is not a unique entity. Soul is not a third part of the whole — Rather, he is a "hallowed" out version of Whole, and only really exists when Heart and Mind are split, because they split out of him, not just from eachother.

Here's why I think this:

The way that Soul is discussed as opposed to the other three is different in many instances, which is why I've vnever really seen him as a unique Third part, but just a husk of whole.

In the first instance, Mind is saying that he and heart split into "two parts". (of course this could just be the matter of how early on Be Born was written, but ... Shhh.) To me, this says that Soul never "split" into a part — So then, what did happen? This line makes a lot more since when you consider the idea of Mind and Heart splitting off and leaving Soul as a product, rather than a third full party.

Second and Third refer to how Soul describes himself/Is described by others. The second example, from Storm and a Spring, I think is the most compelling evidence that made me really commit to this idea of Soul — "And Oath formed from us both that it would stay whole." This essentially directly states that Soul would be Whole, if not for Mind and Heart's split. And the third example says that Heart and Mind reside within him, which is just another supporting example to the other two points.

So for that reason, My Soul design is essentially "hollowed" — The open void in his chest has no heart or anything resembling it inside, and his mask is half cracked open to show Mind's vacancy as well. He still maintains a few traits from each of them, like one broken wing and one whole wing, having each of their halos, and two sets of arms — one organic and one robotic.

And yeah, that's sort of it. Hope you guys like them :D!

(I may render these later, too. Depends on where motivation takes me, haha.)

[lumaconstante]

Hey sunshine! ☀️✨

How are you?

Today I brought you some reasons to read my fanfic 'Star'.

• It's a fanfic set in the Gotham universe where Bruce Wayne has a biological teenage daughter, the result of a romance he had with a Japanese singer during his youth;

• The story has many references to Alice in Wonderland;

• Each chapter has at the beginning some excerpt from a song by Taylor Swift's Midnights;

• The protagonist's romantic partner is Conner Kent (Superboy);

• We have relevant appearances by Thomas Elliot (Bruce's friend) as the father of a girl;

• Practically the entire Batfamily appears at some point in the story;

• At first, Joker and Harley Quinn don't appear, I explore other villains from the Gotham universe;

• The fanfic addresses the dark side of the entertainment world;

• The fanfic is available in English and Portuguese on Wattpad.

Among many other things!

Below, a brief prologue of the Fanfic And the link for those who want to follow everything on Wattpad:

One, two, three, four.

Four times. That’s how many times the pearls from my mother’s necklace hit the ground as it broke, rolling somewhere beneath the tangle of wires behind the speakers and the jellyfish-shaped lights, while the instrumental music continued to play.

Five, six, seven, eight.

Eight seconds passed before the fans in the front row realized something was wrong—that the woman holding the bloodied knife over the lifeless body wasn’t part of the performance.

Nine, ten, eleven, twelve.

Twelve times. That’s how many times I replayed that scene in my mind since the Gotham City police took me to the station to give my statement about what had happened.

The questions were always the same:

— "Do you know the killer?"

— "What was your mother’s relationship with the killer?"

— "Did your mother have any enemies?"

— "Are you sure of what you saw?"

— "Did your mother have any secrets?"

— "Are you okay?"

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen.

Sixteen was the number of steps from the interrogation room to the psychologist’s office.

I’ve known how to count since I was four years old—it’s my earliest memory, and for some reason, the most vivid.

I was in the rehearsal room, watching my mother practice her performance for her show. She counted each step of her routine as she evaluated her movements in the mirror’s reflection.

— "Counting helps you focus on what’s important," she used to say.

And it was by watching her practice that I learned the numbers. They became an annoying and irrepressible habit, according to some people, but I like it. Counting gives me an illusory sense of control, and I feel comforted by it.

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.

Twenty was the number of dancers who fled the stage, ignoring the fallen body. I remember every detail clearly: the ellipsoidal lights shining in shades of blue and purple, the speakers making the stage’s wooden and iron structure tremble, the pearls from the necklace hitting the carpet, the wireless microphone rolling to my feet.

She never liked pearls; she always preferred sapphires. But that day, since I was going to make a small appearance in her show, she insisted I wear her favorite sapphire necklace.

Bright, fiery blue sapphires. Just like the color of my eyes. I was about to step onto the stage for the final duet when it happened.

Kira Hoshi didn’t scream.

When the knife pierced her abdomen, she looked at the perpetrator in shock. They exchanged words—silent, muted—that I’ll never know the meaning of, and then my mother’s body fell with a dull thud, collapsing to her knees.

The woman with dark hair and colorful streaks looked at me with a smile before leaving the scene.

When I ran toward the bloodied body on the ground, no one tried to stop me.

I can’t remember what happened next. There were no more sequences; the numbers began to jumble in my mind, stuck in no particular order.

The microphone in my hand fell, emitting a sharp, irritating sound as I embraced the bloodied body. She stroked my face, wiping the tears streaming down my cheeks. Her lips moved, but I couldn’t hear anything except the microphone’s grating sound.

Her lips curved into a faint smile as one of her hands caressed my dark blue hair.

"I love you," her lips mouthed silently.

A lump formed in my throat, and more tears rolled down my cheeks.

When her dark eyes lost their shine, I knew I would never hear those words from her again.

I don’t know how much time passed before someone pulled me away from the body. I didn’t even have the strength to look away.

My hands were cold as ice, and the blue and purple lights still flashed overhead when two officers dragged me away as the paramedics approached to examine her body.

But just like me, they already knew it was too late.

A police officer wrapped a thermal blanket around my shoulders. Some idiot had triggered the fire alarm while fleeing the venue, leaving me drenched from head to toe, but I barely noticed.

I simply let them lead me away from the chaos as if I were a little girl, and then they made me relive that scene over and over again until they were either tired or satisfied. And when they were satisfied, they let the reporters swarm me until all I could see were lights.

Every eye was on me, in the center of that room like in a circus. Exactly like in a circus. And as much as I wanted to step out of the spotlight, I knew the wall of people surrounding me wouldn’t allow it.

After the reporters gathered all the material they would sell on magazine and newspaper covers for the next few weeks, I was finally alone—or rather, almost alone.

A police officer chatted on the phone about some idiot she’d met at a party, but she didn’t seem interested or bothered by my presence.

It was nearly midnight when an officer finally cared enough to inform me of what would happen to me next. They told me they couldn’t reach my aunt at the number I had provided, so they searched through my mother’s contacts and called my father, who was already there to pick me up.

I let the thermal blanket slide off my shoulders as I followed the officer escorting me to the station’s exit. In front of the gate, a man dressed in an elegant suit waited by the car. I approached hesitantly, feeling his eyes fixed on me.

— "Hello, Alice," he said, bowing slightly. "It’s been some time..."

[echantedtoon]

A Lovers' Circle (Poly Haishira x Reader) Ch24 A Little Closer

Taglist: @shadyd3ar @jcrml

@tengensangel @miniverse-zen @mysteri0uz @jjamsbangtan

@the-unknown-fandom

@lavenderdropp @mimisweetz. @purplesoulsapphire

@kksmush @denkpanda18 @whomisi @lessthanimperfect @silver-rin

@namis-noodlebox

@k1ttyluverz @akiramente

@rascalraccoon @ravenclawkae1

@gilded-sunrays @crescent-blades

@yukari1k @bloodymarysgirl21

@artbyrebel @abaker74 @lunarluna9482

@rainbowidol @lanabanoms

Remember if you want to be added to the taglist lemme know

(Hearts conquered so far: Gyomei, Sanemi, Tengen, Kyojuro, Suma, Hinatsuru, Makio, Shinobu, Kanae, Mitsuri, and now Obanai. Congrats! You've successfully conquered all hearts! But the journey isn't over yet. The painting Tengen painted is similar to the picture above I found on Pinterest but different. The poem Obanai wrote is also something I found on Pinterest. Also warnings for mentioning of Obanai's scars and the death of most of Tengen's family. The song Y/n sings is Golden Dreams from The Stingiest Man In Town by Rankin Bass linked below.

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/600104719130125897/

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=skhZiUkKtkc&list=LL&index=14&pp=gAQBiAQB8AUB    )

It was Tuesday. Just a few days until New Year's Eve and the party Tengen and Kyojuro would be hoisting at The Uzui's home. You agreed to go when Kyojuro texted you the day after Christmas inviting you to said party. Of course you accepted since you couldn't remember the last time you were invited to a party surrounded by friends. Actual friends you made that you liked a great deal. However this particular day, you had nothing to do and no one else to do anything with. So you cleaned up your house a little bit before deciding on trying out one of the recipes from your new cook book. 

You'd gotten a few Christmas gifts from your friends including a pretty necklace, a cute little throw pillow, and a new cookbook from Sanemi whom looked so flustered when giving you the gift bag it was in. Guess he wasn't used to giving anyone presents outside his partners and family. It was still a good gift however and you settled on trying out the no bake cookies recipe after flipping through the pages trying to decide on what to make. So there you were in one of your aprons mixing the dark brown dough together for the next step of the recipe when you had heard it. The knocking at your door.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

You stopped mid stir blinking up towards the front door as it came again but louder this time. Odd. Who could that be? You weren't expecting anyone today. Everybody else was so busy. Maybe it was the mailman? When the knocks came the third time, you gently placed the bowl down and made your way towards the door. Opening it up and blinking at who was on the other side. 

A man your height stood there staring at you. A thick wool scarf around his neck and lower face, and and even thicker black and white coat making him look comically round. Yellow-green eyes stared at you from between the black locks around his face and you instantly knew who you were staring at.

"Oh. Hi, Obanai. I wasn't expecting to see you here." You smiled but you were a little confused by his presence here. "What are you doing here?"

He didn't answer at first before saying two words. "Totoro kombu."

You blinked. "I'm sorry. What?"

"Totoro kombu," he repeated seriously.

You still stared at him confused at first before it hit you. "Oh. Do you want me to make you more?" He instantly nodded eagerly. "Oh sure. I can do that right now since I got some seaweed. Do you wanna come in? It's cold out there."

He nodded again and you stepped aside to allow him to come inside. He gave a curious look around your house and turned his head hearing you close the door and turning to walk around him. 

"I wasn't expecting you y'know."

"Oh." He slowly blinked. "Did you rather that I have not come?"

You shook your head holding up your hands. "No, no. It's not that." You assured him. "If you just wanted me to make you some more food, you could've just called me instead. You didn't have to go out of your way to come all the way here." You paused when a realization hit you. "Wait. How did you get my address?" You know Giyuu and Shinobu gave everyone your phone number but as far as you knew, no one gave Obanai your address.

"I remembered it from when Mitsuri brought me here before Halloween." Ah. When you asked her to help you bake cookies for Kyojuro's party. That explained it. He then reached up to unzip his coat. "I also wanted to return this to you." You watched as he reached into his coat and pulled out an empty tupperware container, the one you gave him that day at the cafe, before he held it out to you. "Here."

"Oh. Thank you. I hope it was ok," you said while taking it from him.

He nodded looking down. "Yes...Thank you."

You smiled at him. "Of course! I'm just happy you liked it. Do you want some hot chocolate while you wait?" Your head nodded towards the kitchen. "It'll take me a while to make you some more food since you caught me in the middle of making cookies."

He hummed before shrugging. "Sure."

"Alright. Come on in and make yourself at home."

He made his way into the kitchen taking off his coat and scarf before placing them on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. His eyes watched her form walk past him and back towards the kitchen, placing the tupperware in the sink before going back to her bowl of cookie dough, starting to pull out enough for a cookie before rolling them up, placing them on a tray covered in parchment paper, and repeating again and again until the bowl was empty and the tray was placed in the refrigerator. He was silent during the entire process just watching her work from his seat at the table.

When her business with the refrigerator was done, she turned to put the dishes she used in the sink and pulled out a mug from the cabinet. The process of making him a cup of hot chocolate was a little longer than he thought was necessary but when she placed it in front of him he understood why. It was one of those fancy hot chocolates like you'd buy at a cafe. Whip cream on top perfectly with marshmallows stuck in its white creaminess, a candy cane and reusable plastic straw sticking out of it, and some spices sprinkled on top to give it a brown tint to the top. Cinnamon or more powdered chocolate maybe?

"Careful. It's hot."

"Thank you."

He'd let it cool down a little bit before he drank it. Instead he just focused on observing her work still, fetching a small pot from the kitchen and filling it with water from the sink before placing it upon the stovetop. Turning it on before she opened the fridge and brought out a jar. From the sight of it, it must've been the pickled vinegar seaweed used for the recipe. 

"I see you don't have Kaburamaru with you today," you broke the silence as you just simply continued to work catching his attention. "Is there a reason for that?"

"It's too cold for him to be outside," he said simply, "It's safer to just keep him at home warm in his enclosure."

"Oh, I see." Some splashing sound went off as you poured the seaweed from the jar into the pot of water turning on the stove to boil it. "I suppose winter is no place for a cute snake like him."

"No....He didn't feel detect you as a threat."

You paused looking over your shoulder at him. "Come again?"

He stared intently at you still pointing a hand. You noticed that he still wore a medical mask over his face without the scarf to cover him. "Kaburamaru doesn't like people plain and simple. Even only tolerates some of my partners because he knows that I care about them, but that doesn't mean he likes them. He loathes strangers coming up to me however..." He slowly lowered his hand still intensely staring at you as if you were some kind of revaluation to him. "He hadn't once threatened you anytime you were near me. It made me wonder why that was."

You were speechless for a long moment pausing to stare at him. You never once thought of his snake as a threat. After all he wasn't even venomous. According to Obanai, Kaburamaru was just a harmless albino rat snake. He never hissed at you when you saw him, and you only saw a cute noodle with big eyes staring back at you.

"Well.. maybe it's because I never saw him as a threat?," you offered with a shrug, "I mean he's just a harmless little snake, he's not even venomous. If anything he'd probably be more scared of me because I'm a lot bigger and could hurt him if I stepped on him by accident."

"You aren't scared of him at all?...Why?"

"I grew up with an aunt who had a few pet tarantulas and believes in things like talking to spirits with ouija boards and reading palms to predict the future." You shrugged at his wide eyed expression. "A harmless little snake isn't going to phase me."

Obanai slowly blinked even slower nodding his head. "That..makes more sense now..I guess. But if Kaburamaru sees you as no threat, then that means a lot." 

You smiled. "Well I'm glad he's not scared of me. Are you going to drink your hot coco?"

He hummed again but simply just took the straw sticking out of the cup to poke it under his mask, taking a few sips of the sweet drink as you continued to walk around the kitchen grabbing utensils and spices you'd need to make Obanai the food he came all the way out here for. After all you didn't want to be a rude host. He continued to watch you in silence once more as you worked for the next ten minutes taking sips of the drink to not seem rude.. before he stopped glancing down at the drink, contemplating something in his head for a moment, before his eyes glanced back up to you.

"Did you see my face?"

Again you were caught off guard almost dropping the spoon in your hand. "What?"

"On Christmas. My mask was taken." A single finger pointed at his face. "Did you see my face?"

The silence increased in an awkward degree as you both stared.  No sounds other than the boiling water upon the stove before you sighed through your nose with a worried expression.

"I did." You decided to be honest with him. "But you reacted so fast running away and covering yourself, that I didn't really get to see what you looked like under your mask." You answered truthfully. And it was true. He reacted so fast it was almost inhuman. "Plus it's been a good while since last week and I haven't been thinking about it." You really hadn't given it a second thought too busy with so many other things, and you thought the whole situation was behind you. So you never thought about it again until Obanai brought it up again just now. "I honestly don't know what you look like under your mask, Iguro."

He still stared silently at you not saying a word before his eyes narrowed suspiciously. They slowly looked you all the way down to your feet before slowly raising all the way up to your eyebrows. He seemed to be studying your body language as well as your expression. Seeming to trying to find a single shred of deceit. But strangely found nothing in your face or posture to back up his suspicions. You only had a concerned frown.

"You... hadn't seen anything?"

"I mean..I did saw what looked like marks-" He flinched and you quickly held up your hands. "-but like I said, I don't know what you look like at all. It was too fast and long ago for me to make out anything about you."

He had tensed up upon your honest answer...but with an inhale slowly forced himself to relax. "I-I see. So you really hadn't seen my face?" You shook your head no and with how your reaction was, he was inclined to believe that this time. "I see." He repeated again but this time he sounded relieved.

"Did...you want me to know what you looked like?"

"NO!!" You jumped again and he seemed to since at how loud he was. "I mean no. I-I'm not comfortable with showing it." Perhaps maybe in the future but definitely not now.

"That's fine. You don't ever have to show me if you don't want to," you assured him turning back to the stove to finish cooking the food. "I won't ever pressure you too and it's none of my business. If you ever do decide to show me just know that I won't judge you but I want you to do it because YOU want to and only if you're comfortable with it. Not because you think you should. We don't even have to talk about them if that makes you more comfortable."

He said nothing as he just stared wide eyed. So you just continued cooking away as the minutes ticked on and the kitchen was filled with the smell of food. Obanai hadn't moved from his spot even when a plate of food and a pair of chopsticks was placed in front of him before you pointed towards the living room.

"I'll be in the living room." You decided to give him space to eat comfortably. You have to wait for the cookies to get really cold in the fridge anyways. "If you need me, I'll be cleaning up in there. Ok?"

He slowly nodded watching you walk off towards the other room leaving him alone to eat in the silent kitchen. Ever so slowly, his hands reached up to remove the mask from his face. The chopsticks left to the side getting picked up and picking up the strands of shredded seaweed before him, making it's way to the scared mouth from the accident long ago. A sigh leaving his nose as the peaceful atmosphere allowed him to relax. Although his head perked up slightly at the sound of a voice singing softly from the other room alongside the shuffling of footsteps and sound of broom bristles gliding across the wooden floors.

"I think of you and my future gleams.~ My mind is filled with golden dreams.~ I think of you and I love you so.~ All the world takes on a golden glow.~ So hold me close tonight, and fill me with dreams of delight.~ I think of you and your love for me.~ And I know that life with you will be more beautiful than it seems in my golden dreams.~"

That was a song from a Christmas movie wasn't it? Although he wasn't sure what movie if it was from one it was from one but he enjoyed listening to the singing and humming in the background as he ate. You decided to busy yourself by sweeping the floors in your living room and under the furniture. Biding your time to allow Obanai some privacy, however you hadn't noticed the man standing within the same room until he cleared his throat. You looked back up and smiled at Obanai awkwardly standing there coat in his arms, mask back over his face, and his eyes looking down.

"Oh. Are you finished?"

He nodded. "Yes. I left the dishes in your sink."

"That's fine." You glanced at his jacket. "Are you leaving now?"

He nodded again. "Yes. I came to do what I needed to."...He slowly looked back up to you again. "Here." He held up a hand holding a small folded piece of paper. "Before I go."

You slowly took it from him turning it over in your hands. "What is it?"

"Something to say thank you for your help. Nothing more."

A gift? But is wasn't Christmas anymore. You curiously looked at the paper before putting the broom to the side and unfolded the paper. On it in scribbly handwriting looked to be..A poem?

'If I'm being honest

it was a disturbingly short

amount of time

between meeting you

and wanting to say

'"I love you."'

You were surprised by the love poem from Obanai of all people and gave him a confused look but he only looked to the side to avoid eye contact. Oh wait a minute. Didn't Tengen mention that Obanai liked poetry? He must've written this as the thank you he mentioned earlier. You looked between the gift and himself before smiling at him.

"How sweet. Thank you, Iguro. I really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it." He mumbled slipping the cost over his body. "I was just thanking you. Don't take it the wrong way."

"I won't." You beamed at him in a similar way Mitsuri does. "Thank you, Obi. I love it."

He stared before his face lit up a pink and he swiftly twisted to the door swiftly walking away. "Right!Seeyouatthepartybye!!" He quickly forced out as he all but rang out the door leaving you dumbfounded staring after him.

Huh. That was strange but maybe he felt too awkward in the moment or wasn't comfortable with your prescense yet. Either way you appreciated the gift and later pinned it up in your bedroom that night. The rumors Murata had warned you about him was absolutely wrong. He was just as big of a sweetheart as Sanemi and Tengen was. Even if he was a bit strange, he had a good heart.

Another four days passed by. You hadn't heard from Obanai since Tuesday but you didn't expect to when he said he'd see you again at the party. But you were glad for Shinobu calling and giving you a heads up that she and Giyuu could carpool with you much to your delight. If you were going to attend a party until midnight then you didn't think you would be awake enough to drive back home in the middle of the night.

So here you were late that evening sitting in the back of Shinobu's car as she drove herself, Giyuu, her sister, and you to Tengen's home. Already the sky was dark and the first few stars were out. This was very peaceful. It didn't take long to arrive at the familiar fancy Uzui household where other cars were parked and your party walked right up to the door. Snow crunching under your feet and the cold air nipping at your noses. Giyuu got there first and knocked loudly. Just a few seconds later you all heard someone literally run up to the door before it was thrown open and you all were face to face with a beaming Suma.

"YOU'RE HERE!," She cheered loudly before backing up and quickly beckoned you all to come inside. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! Everyone else is already here!"

The inside was decorated beautifully. Black, white, and gold streamers and balloons were tied up everywhere and a large table of pizza, sodas, and other party food was displayed out on it. By said table you spotted Mitsuri holding an entire pizza box for herself scarfing it down. Next to her was Obanai whom was watching her with adoration. However he turned to as soon as you walked in the door. You smiled and waved at him to which he quickly turned away turning a pink and making Mitsuri blink at him.

"Well if it isn't my flamboyant muse!" Your attention was quickly turned to Tengen whom smiled at you and waved a hand. "I was wondering if you were ever going to show!"

"I wouldn't miss this. Not when you promised to finally show everyone your painting." You'd been anxious to see it ever since he promised to show everyone at the party. "Is it finished?"

"Of course it is! I never lie about my painting skills!," he stated matter of fact as he puffed his chest out in pride hands on his hips. "I put the finishing touches on it just yesterday but you're gonna have til midnight to see it just like everyone else!" A hand was held up. "I want this masterpiece to be my first art showcase for the next year!"

"Ok. Fair enough. I'm so excited to see it!"

His smile turned softer then looking at you. "Y'know...this just might be my new favorite painting thanks to you." He gestured a hand to the table. "Make yourself at home! We're gonna be playing a few games and watching a movie tonight so might as well pregame!"

"Thanks, Tengen!" You smiled at him as he walked away and you turned to go hang your coat up when you ran into Hinatsuru.

"Here. Let me get that for you." She gestured to your coat.

"Oh. Thank you and thank you guys for inviting me to your party."

Her pink eyes softly smiled at you in response as she took your coat. "Actually.. it's us who should be thanking you." You were visibly confused so she sighed. "Tengen often gets very sad around this time of year because of his family's tragedy but you managed to lift his spirits this year. I just wanted to thank you for that."

"Oh. There's no need to thank me. I didn't do much aside from posing for a picture."

"Actually you've done a lot more for everyone here than you'll ever realize."

Huh? What did she mean by that? You didn't get a chance to ask her before she had already turned and left. Well...That was certainly strange but you assumed she was just happy with your attempts to help everyone here and be friendly. Shrugging it off, you made your way to Gyomei whom greeted you with a kiss and an arm pulling you against his side as he continued to speak to Sanemi and Kyojuro about how their classes had been going and discussing some historical facts Kyojuro brought up. Gyomei and Kyo seemed to really enjoy discussing the history of religion and the shrines he loved to visit.

You didn't mind just enjoying the company for now until you felt something like your arm to get your attention, making you turn and look surprised to see Obanai standing there. He stared at you before looking off to the side and holding up a single can of cold soda. 

"I-..got you a drink."

You blinked but smiled at him before taking the can. "Thanks, Iguro. That's very thoughtful of you." 

He just quickly mumbled something under his breath before spouting out some excuse and walking away quickly. Earning a raised brow from Gyomei and Sanemi but the two were quickly drawn back to Kyojuro when he brought up the name of a famous mathematician from history. None of you noticed the pink and green haired woman who had been watching the interactions between you and her boyfriend VERY closely. You hadn't even noticed Mitsuri following close behind you until you excused yourself from the men to go get some of the pizza on the table. Well not until you had gotten to the table and started to get some pizza.

"Hi, Y/n!"

You looked up and smiled at Mitsuri happily tilting her head towards you. "Hi, Mitsuri. Am I in your way?"

Her head shook braids swaying. "Nope! I was just wondering what you and Oni were talking about."

You blinked. Obanai? "Nothing really. He was being nice and got me a drink. That's all."

She hummed interested in that fact much to your confusion. "Really? That's it?"

You nodded. "Uh huh. I guess he wanted to try and talk more since he visited me."

"Obanai visited you?" The shock and surprise on her face took you aback a bit.

"Yeah? On Tuesday. Did he not tell you?"

"No." Her green eyes glanced up towards said boyfriend but he was busy with Kanae probably discussing the similar sciences behind their studies. "What did he want?"

"Oh. He was just returning the tupperware I gave him a while back." Obanai didn't tell Mitsuri he visited you? That was strange considering how close they were but you supposed he really didn't want anyone to know about what happened. "He also wanted some more Totoro kombu so I made him some."

"Really? That's all he wanted?" She almost sounded disappointed. "You guys didn't talk or anything?"

You shrugged. "We talked about some stuff that happened at the fair last week and he thanked me but that was it." You told her the truth but left out exactly what happened at the fair you two were discussing and what exactly he thanked you for in order to keep your promise to the snake loving man. "Oh. And he told me a little about his snake but that's it."

Immediately Mitsuri's expression when from disappointed to surprise to absolutely BEAMING. "He told you about Kaburamaru?!" You nodded. "How do?!"

Again confused you shrugged. "Just about what kind of snake he was and things like that. Why?""

You just got an excited squeal out of her which wasn't uncommon as she smiled widely. "Obi, told you about Kaburamaru! He only talks about his snake with people he likes!!"

You blinked. "Really?" She nodded excitedly which made you smile. "I guess we're starting to become better friends then!" You were genuinely happy to be making process with befriending him.

Mitsuri had a strange gleam to her eyes but happily nodded in agreement. "Oh yes! Friendships are a beautiful thing! And so are other relationships too!"

You have her a strange look but nodded in agreement anyways. It was true but a strange choice in words. "So how did you like playing Clara in The Nutcracker?"

You both chatted with each other a bit discussing the play before Shinobi announced she was putting in a horror movie she had brought along called simply 'ONI' as everyone waited for midnight to slowly approach. Hour after hour ticked away and despite the movie taking up a lot of the time, you still felt yourself getting more and more tired. So Tengen decided of another way to distract everyone from the time. And arm wrestling contest between the girls. Of course no one was too enthusiastic about that but complied as just a means of passing the time...You probably should've known better when you sat down and immediately Giyuu stood next to you with his arms out ready to catch something. You should've seen it coming when you agreed to go first against Mitsuri-

"Ready? Set. GO!!"

It was all one big blur. One moment you were sitting at the coffee table as Sanemi shouted go, then the next you were flying to the left and into Giyuu's awaiting arms like a goalie waiting to catch the ball. He stumbled back from the sudden force of your body flying into him causing him to stumble back and you both landed in a heap on the floor.

"OH MY GOSH!! ARE YOU TWO OK?!," Mitsuri instantly shouted shooting up to her feet. "I'm so sorry! I was trying really hard to not do it so hard!"

"We're ok." You both slowly got up with the help of everyone else. Now you knew why Giyuu prepared himself to catch you. Mitsuri had insane strength!  "I guess this just means I'm disqualified."

It was no surprise Mitsuri had won in the end. Tengen suggested another arm wrestling contest between the guys but that was quickly dismissed in favor of Kyojuro offering to go get Saki for everyone. You declined staring that you didn't drink but Obanai was nice enough to get you another soda surprising everyone else but making you happy.

Hours continued to tick by slowly and slowly until someone realized that it was eleven fifty right. Then everyone seemed to completely stop what they were doing to stare intently at the clock on the wall as the hands slowly moved with each passing second. Two minutes felt like an eternity as the hands carefully turned to eleven fifty nine p.m.. Everyone intensely staring at it with baited breath as the seconds tilted down..

Down..

Down..

Midnight-

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!!"

You nearly went deaf from the loud shouts and claps that sounded off around you and someone squeezed you in a happy hug amongst the festivities. Being super tired and fighting sleep,you didn't fight back and just chose to smile at everyone until the cheers slowly subsided and only a happy murmuring was about the home.

"Hey, Tengen! Are you gonna show us that painting you've been boastin' about or what?!"

That made you perk up a bit. The painting you've been posing for hours for. The only one's who's seen it had been Tengen himself and two of his wives. You were VERY interested in seeing it before your body forced yourself to pass out. The silver haired man seemed to beam brightly at it being brought up and placed a hand to his chest. 

"But of course! I've been waiting ages to show this!" With a smile everyone watched as he simply waltzed on into the kitchen and a few seconds later he came back out carrying a wooden stand with a tablecloth covering the square top. Covering a painting! He took his sweet time setting it up in the middle of the room, and grabbed the top of the cloth. "Behold! The eighth wonder of the world!" He gestured to it with his other hand. "I call it 'Newest Adoration!'"

With one swooping motion, the tablecloth was torn off the top and fluttered to the floor. A round of awed stares and gasps filled the room and your eyes widened at the sight of what you saw.

It was you!

Well half of you. Your face looked as if it had been magnified, before strands of your f/c hair had been turned into sickened strands flowing in the wind across the soft skin. Your pupil turned into a f/c diamond crying miniature diamonds falling down your cheek like crystallized tears. A few jewelled strands of the crown you wore for the costume dancing around your forehead. 

"Well?" Tengen gave an expecting look around. "What do you think?"

"It's so pretty!!," Suma gushed clasping her hands together. "You did it again, Tengen!"

"How the fuck is he able to make them look like real jewels?" "It's lovely! You really captured her complexion." "Good job, Tengen!"

He smiled proudly at the praise it garnered but laser focused back on you as you continued to stare at it silently. Wide eyes looking at the beautiful painting before you just looking at it before slowly an arm half reached out towards it before it stopped and instead your hand reached up to run over your own cheek.

"Is that really me?" You almost didn't recognize your voice, it was so small barely a whisper.

Tengen nodded before rubbing his chin looking over the painting. "I mean I did add a fantasy tweak to your eyes but the rest of the painting is just what I saw when you modeled for me." Magenta eyes glanced over you gauging your reaction. "What do you think, Y/n?"

"... It's beautiful. I-..I didn't think I could ever look that beautiful."

"Are you kidding me? You were always this beautiful! You still are even as you stand there!" He gestured to the painting. "The only difference here is that one version of that beauty is engraved in paint." 

A sniffle left your nose. A sleeve reached up to wipe at your eyes before they could start tearing up. 

"Aw. Hey, Y/n. It's ok to cry." You felt Mitsuri hug your side patting your head. "There, there."

"I-I don't know what to say. *sniffle* T-Thank you."

[lycapicta]

Siffrin Headcanons bc i cant sleep

As soon as bro said nya in my game he was assigned the required paws and tail

Doesn't unsheath claws unless he's not wearing gloves they dont wanna ruin them :((

Hair does become completely white after a while but he was talked into dyeing it two tone style again since it suits him

Idea stolen from a friend, but I very much like the idea of Siffrin being albino would explain why he's covered up most of the time

He does not tan he burns...

You all know who I am: Siffrin definitely purrs

He continues his touch therapy outside of the loops and is pretty good with it! He does still get spooked sometimes when he's not ready

Still struggles quite a bit with asking for affection or attention (its easier for him to ask for it from Isabeau)

Cried the first time they ate something outside of the loops

Regularly gets combs or brushes from Mira, but he lets Isa do it once in a while bc he gets jealous lol

Sif didn't completely lose his eye but it is dead (i.e. cant cry out of it, cloudy/damaged) he also can't open it fully and usually settles for having it closed

Their eye patch covers it most of the time but in my design his eye scar is star shaped :)

Spoilery headcanons below the cut

Despite Mira’s healing Sif has lots of scars from hurting himself in the final confrontation with his friends

He has a huge star shaped gash on his chest that mimics Loop's, albeit significantly less clean looking

Has small scars on his arms from the self harm event that you can get in act 5 if you interact with the shard of glass (tries to hide them *unsuccessfully* from his family members at first)

Has chronic pain (something i thought of since the pain he goes through for each of his deaths while looping sort of carries over)

They often have spells where they're in too much pain to move or speak. In these cases the family finds an inn or a place to lay low for a while until it passes. He gets lots of pampering and good foods

This is explored in a fic i haven't finished but Mira teaches Siffrin VSL (Vaugardian Sign Language) to help whenever he becomes nonverbal. He uses it regularly but still struggles a lot with matching Vaugardian words to their respective hand signs

Seems to recall more and more things abt his country as he gets older but he never truly remembers everything (Odile writes everything that she can down for him)

I imagine when the party DOES eventually split up Isabeau and Siffrin still travel a lot, but have their own place in Jouvente whenever they need to settle for a while.

Siffrin is excited to see everyone else's hometowns/countries and is always so happy to see everyone again

Siffrin LOVES touch post loops and is usually all over Isabeau (Isa still has not recovered lmao)

For a long time after everything and even recently Siffrin is enamored with the changes in the weather and the seasons (particularly the rain and snow or the rumble of thunder)

The first night that he experienced a storm after the loops he stayed up for a while watching the rain and listening to the thunder (he had to be coaxed to get his butt in bed)

I also headcanon that he enjoys being out in the rain a lot even if he does become a sopping wet cat afterwards

He never truly gets his original hat back and still has remnants of mannerisms he'd done when he had it (trying to pull down on the brim when embarrassed, etc.)

Isa regularly does a bit of maintenance on his cloak to keep it in good condition (no one else is allowed to touch it)

Sif has episodes where he'll stare up at the stars and sob. He's usually inconsolable, and all the others can do is just be there to give him comfort

Whenever Sif has nightmares he has them in that strange shade (red)

[weirdbeancurd]

snippet from my poolverine hurt/comfort fic (yes I've actually been working on it lol)

I'm looking for peer reviewers for the first chapter btw!! Dm or comment if interested!

The feeling of tears springing to his eyes makes his nostrils flare, breath audibly hitching. He wants nothing more but to melt into the comforting embrace that's being offered, to collapse and let someone else take the reins for once. The sobs are fighting their way up his throat and he knows it's only a matter of time before he breaks. Perhaps he can shatter, just this once, and-

Logan is startled by two hands grasping his shoulders, in what is likely meant to be a comforting gesture. Deep in thought, he failed to notice Wade approaching until contact was made. Suddenly, it's a hundred years ago, he's fighting a war he can barely remember, and an enemy is trying to drown him in a river. His stomach feels like it's eating itself and his entire body aches; being on your feet for four days straight will do that to you. The man presses down on his shoulders, dunking his head below the freezing rapids. In his weakness, they gain the upper hand, and Logan gasps for air. He finds none, instead met with water rushing to his lungs. It's cold, too cold. There's frantic splashing, and he can't breathe, and his throat filling with liquid, and so he lashes out-

“Aghh!”

A cry of pain thrusts him back into reality.

“W-Wade?” He blinks. There is no enemy, no river, no war. Just Wade, pinned to the ground by his claws through his throat. They gurgle, grabbing at his wrists to pry him off. It was all in his head, but the rush of freezing water has never felt more real than at this moment.

[wolfstarlibrarian]

I need help finding a fic that I've read before!

It's based on the show Dash and Lily, Sirius is a Christmas hater and Remus loves the holidays. Remus leaves a notebook in a bookstore and Sirius finds it and reads it. They do challenges for each other, Sirius sings River by Joni Mitchell and has to dress as a reindeer for a race.

I might be able to remember more but that's the basic details of it. I want to say I found it on this page but I can't fully remember! Please help!

Happy to help you friend! Below is the fic as well as a link to the original book that the series was based on!

Sirius + Remus by @sleepcreatecaffeinate

Sirius, a holiday cynic, is spending the season alone this year with his friend away with his family. Remus, a Christmas fanatic, is looking for love. When Sirius finds the red notebook Remus has left in a bookstore, the two start writing to each other. Maybe this year, they won’t have to spend the holidays alone.

📚 Dash & Lily's Book of Dares by Rachel Cohn 📚

“I’ve left some clues for you. If you want them, turn the page. If you don’t, put the book back on the shelf, please.”

[typhoonvash]

Breathe.

Vash just needs to... breathe—to give himself a moment to take it all in, to calm down, to think about his own words. He fixates on his breath while undressing so much that he finally silences his chatterbox mouth for more than a few minutes.

He can't help but feel a creeping shyness in undressing, even if he'd done all of that and more with Wolfwood two hundred years prior. It's been a while! His body wasn't pretty before, and it's definitely worse now. Carved chunks of his flesh look deeper than before, he has far more stitched wounds. He'd nearly lost a leg once, indicated by a twisting, jagged scar around his shin and thigh where a bear trap weapon clamped onto him. Before he turned himself in, the bounty hunters became worse. Desperate, penniless, and hungry, these hunters gave their all to catch him for the unimaginable prize attached to his name. Most people didn't recognize him anymore, but when someone did...

All of the metal had to be removed when things began to shock him wherever he went, replaced by the same sturdy alloy that his most recent arm was made of. Unlike his arm from two centuries ago that didn't survive the end, the one Wolfwood retrieved lacked a gun. He couldn't have weapons in jail for obvious reasons, so Brad made him an arm just like the one he had when he'd met the priest—instead of shimmering green, it was a glassy onyx. That arm served him well. Without Brad around though, Vash can't help but wonder how he'll get a replacement...

With it gone, at least he doesn't need to concern himself over taking it off as well. Vash can just get out of his clothes and slip into the tub before Wolfwood can look at him too hard. He can feel his gaze on him when he's undressing, and while not unwelcome, it does send a terrible chill through Vash's bones that he wishes he could hide better. He wants this. More than anything else on the planet, he wants this right now. He just... hadn't thought about what bathing would entail. Kinda.

Vash huffs and shakes the jitters out from his shoulder to his hand before turning around. His gaze softens as he admires Wolfwood from the chest up, sunken and relaxed in the water just as he'd wished would happen when he built this place. It's satisfying, to say the least.

"Well, you are the only one who's ever been able to catch me," he chuckles and continues with an endearing speaking tone, "I don't have billions and billions of double dollars to give you as a reward though. Guess you got scammed, huh?"

He takes Wolfwood's hand in his as he steps into the bath and sinks right into the space in front of his partner, between his legs and against his chest. The new scars on Wolfwood's body hadn't escaped his scrutiny however; still holding onto his hand, Vash leans forward to present his back to the undertaker. Betwixt all of the scarred flesh and implants are difficult to see fringed scars, lightning scattering in every direction and more.

"We match now, I guess," the water swirls as he returns to leaning against the man behind him, "Do they hurt? What—um... what did they have to do to you? You seem more... Plant-y than I remember. Your heart, specifically. I know it's weaker than before but... it's as if they replaced it."

Vash shuts himself up by dipping his head below the water and running his fingers through it before they lather it up. Strands separate from each other as he scrubs at his scalp underwater, freeing them from a decade of grease and oil. He breaches again and sits up, curiously twisting his back to see Wolfwood's face and golden-brown eyes. The Independent has no idea just how love-stricken he looks, but he does feel tears threaten to pool at the corners of his eyes again.

It's just the hot water, Vash thinks to himself, trying not to think of all the years that came between the two of them.

"Oh, and d-don't worry about me shocking us in here! I've been... feeling calmer. Less zappy. Maybe my 'nap' did work after all..."

“You are…”

Wolfwood has so many options to choose from that he must look stupid standing there blinking at Vash with his lips parted and his head on a slow, back and forth swivel of disbelief.

“Ridiculous.”

An understatement to every thought cavorting around in his head and behind his ribs. Having personally scoured every inch of this house himself, the endless attention and care behind every nut and bolt, every tile, and every painstakingly planed, stained, and delicately carved plank of wood was not lost on him. He hadn't wanted to dwell on the ‘with enough room for two’ of it all.

“Vash.” One day, perhaps, Nicholas might see that jittery anxiety driving Vash’s breathless stream of consciousness take a backseat. They'll work on it. There's always tomorrow…or the day after that, and the day after that one. He doesn't need even a quarter of everything Vash built here for them to be happy, but he understood what it meant to pour your grief into something just to give it somewhere to go. “Everything’s perfect the way it is. If I find a pea in the mattress, I'll be sure to let ya know, Blondie.”

For now, they have a hot bath to look forward to. 

“Alright. Time to get skinny.” 

Wolfwood pauses as a growing pile of clothing pools at his feet and the faucet shudders to life. Two fingers part the steady stream of water while he checks the temperature then squints back at Vash, slender as a reed and just as tall after their emergence from the cave system tunneling through the nearby hills. His gaze lingers, roving over the line of Vash’s shoulders and the scars cutting across his chest before he turns his attention back to grabbing an unopened bottle of soap standing on the lip between the wall and the tub. “Skinni-er.”

Watching the water level climb and peeking back every so often as Vash undresses is an equally surreal experience. The culmination of a four year search across a world that he had grown up in but was no longer recognizable to him, a stark, slap in the face difference between sleeping alone last week and holding Vash in his arms alongside a few skipped heart beats. The more he looks, the more heady he feels. The sound of rushing water seems too appropriate as he leans down to shut off the faucet, like the roar of his own thoughts spinning in his head.

With the bath finally ready, he slides down at the rear of the tub, leaving plenty of room for Vash to join him. Arms spread along the top sides of the bath, Nicholas has an awareness of how prominent the scars branching out from his sternum must look in the light of day. Bringing him out of stasis had been a gamble that Home had to make. 

“They needed someone they could trust to find you before the Eye did. I fit the bill.”