#which makes no sense the mind can't have feelings but it still.. feels like it..

[sheepispink]

A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT

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Masterlist AO3

pairings: Simon Ghost Riley/ Reader (platonic or romantic, up to you)

tags: probably loads of military inaccuracies, anxiety attacks (possibly?), heavy angst, angst and comfort, paranoia, bad mental health, cuddling and literal sleeping together (up to you romantic or platonic)

A/N: I’d appreciate if no one complained abt the accuract/realistic of the story (ofc if its the characterisation of ghost that’s perfectly ok!) i’m open for criticisation for how i write etc etc but this is a sensitive topic and.. based off personal experiences 😅😅 so it’s very realistic to me even if its not to you!

This technically takes place after this fic but it’s not a big deal in which the order you read it

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You’re an introvert, even if you do get excited really quickly, loud around people you’ve known for a while and love meeting new people. Yet still, you call yourself an introvert, even if that technically still makes you an extroverted introvert. You don't like the sound of an extrovert— someone who thrives off of others' attention and loves to be the center of it, who brightens their days with their friends and always wants to make plans with anyone and everyone. You like the attention sometimes; when Price mentions your name in a conversation, praising your skills, your heart thumps a little louder. Being at the limelight of the party isn't always the worst thing either, especially when everyone laughs at your jokes so hard they double over, grinning so wide you can't help it either. You love your friends, your teammates, even the random soldiers you’ve only exchanged small greetings with. The love for others is held tight in your heart’s vessels, bursting each and every time they make you smile or you just see their presence. You feel so warm and alive when you give them a grin in the mornings, even more so when they seek out your presence throughout the day.

Though, that only applies sometimes— never always.

A familiar soldier could ask you out to lunch and yet your chest begins to twist uncomfortably, like someone is wringing your intestines with their hands. Something screams at you when they say those words, like an invisible line had just been crossed that had been clear in everyone's heads. You had only ever spoken to those soldiers in the gym or around base, there was nowhere else even remotely personal you’d think to take them to. One on one conversations were not common either, since it wasnt that often. It’s not that you don't like them, it’s just.. not right. You’d shake your head apologetically as you force an excuse between your teeth. The regret you then express is a lie, along with the love you felt before— only reduced to a being who could never hold any of those things.

The truth is, you have a sick little parasite in you, it claws at that heart muscle, tearing away the flesh and devouring any love you feel for the people you care about and replacing it with an empty feeling which is always followed by an unreasonable hatred. Your mind grows dark, headaches permanent, as you live through the day as a skeleton of yourself— no longer able to hold any love within you as it slips past your bones in seconds. You don't like the boundaries you’ve mentally set for each person to be crossed, even if it’s a perfectly normal task. In fact, some may even say you’re scared of change. You don’t like to put a label on these things, hell you don't even like to think too hard on these things. It begins to make sense when you sit and reflect, piecing all the reasons for your behaviour together until you hit the final point. Soon you’re done, finally aware of the most significant reasoning behind your antics. The only issue is, being self aware doesn't mean you get any better; no matter how many nights you sit and stare at that mirror, nothing changes.

The only thing you gained was the ability to squash down the parasite from prying eyes. Excuses fall from your lips quickly, no matter how bad you feel when they give you that look of disappointment. It’s not your fault— you know you won't be able to handle an outing like that, you’d get too worked up. Why? You don't need to dwell on it, not right now. This continues for multiple people, multiple soldiers for two weeks, until you're ‘normal’ and you hang around others again. People begin to subconsciously catch on and so your little routine continues to carry on moving so well, staying right on track.

“Sarge? You aint comin’ to team night? Why?”

Ghost stands at the door of your quarters, dressed in his typical training attire whilst you’re sitting in something cozy, made for home wear. You have to fight the urge to cover yourself up. “Oh right.. i, uh..yknow, lot of paperwork to do. Thought i’d stay in.”

You say with a small smile, attempting to ease any concerns he had before but little did you know, he was already growing aware of your little issue, or at least the fact there was one within you. “Paperwork? On a Friday? You should be relaxin’.” You grit your teeth a little, the burning urge inside of your chest returning just like the sick pit in your stomach. It felt so awful fearing just a simple team night out, but it was just so late and you were so tired— you didnt have the energy to be rational the whole time, to think of your next move constantly.

“It’s not a big deal. I’ll come to the next one.” You shrug, turning back to your small desk as you pull another small stack of papers in front of you. His boots thump loudly against the floorboards, sounding like the heavy thump of your heart in your ears. It stops, suddenly, behind your back and your body stiffens as he leans down, looking at the paperwork you’re going through. It’s a lie— naturally, you finished it all. He doesn't even have to stare at you first nor visibly raise a brow; you’re already waiting for him to call out your bluff just as quickly.

“You can just say you want some time alone, yknow.” That catches you off guard, half expecting him to just tell you to stop whining and grab some drinks. His words were still difficult though, how could you easily just say that? Of course, the words itself aren't the hard part, nor speaking it—it’s the implications behind said words. An excuse means you have other things to occupy you, so no one dares to disturb you much after that, however explaining you want some alone time gives way to more questions. Specifically the first being: why? Then they begin to wonder if you’ve been doing okay recently or if you’re struggling with something. You dont like the idea of that at all— people thinking about you in that way. It feels weird, almost like it’s wrong. Sometimes you wished people would just not care, and leave you alone to wallow with yourself.

“Sarge?” You snap out of it, sheepishly scratching the back of your head as he still stands behind you and you turn in your chair, putting the best meek face you can on for the night. “What? No, that’s not why I declined. I’m not really feeling any alcohol today and a new episode of a series I previously binged on the weekend just came out. Sorry.. didn't want to make it seem i was ditching anyone for a show.” Perfect, an awkward grin had tied it all off into a well constructed excuse. Even if it was partially true and this really wasn't fake, it sure felt like everything you did was an act. After all, you really didn't want them to think you were ditching anyone, and you didn't feel like having any alcohol tonight. “A new series” He says gruffly, and you nod with a tight smile, teeth gritting so hard you’re sure they’ll break in a few seconds. “I’ll join you then.”

You blink once, twice, three times in pure utter confusion. Ghost—The Ghost, whose name is rumoured across the battlefield and known for never giving into idle small talk—wants to watch the series you lied about, with you.

You’ve never felt more guilty in your entire life, practically fumbling for a solution. You could just tell the truth, say no and admit you needed to be alone. But this is the first time he’s ever expressed wanting to hang around you, actually together and alone— and miss out on a team night?! He may just want an excuse out of it, but still, you can't just say no now. “Well yeah, i just..” You hate how there’s no easy way out of this in the slightest, torn between saving your own mental health or finally getting close to the teammate who you’ve been on eggshells around for nearly a year now. “My room’s not exactly clean--“

He cuts you off with a gruff, shake of his head, a scoff resounding in his next words, promptly embarrassing you too. “There ya go— knew you wanted to be alone.”

You fumble, not understanding how he managed to pry it out of you so fast, just a simple lie blowing your cover. “I said it wasn't like-“

“See you tomorrow.” He’s gone just as fast as he silenced you, heavy footsteps disappearing out of your door and down the corridors. What you couldn't wrap your head around is how fast he had figured it out and made you confess to your lies that fast— it was a real problem, something you couldn't just let slide. If he knew, did others too?

Unfortunately for you, the very much needed alone time didn’t help as well as it usually did considering this new information has threatened everything that made up the core of your very being—specifically everything keeping you glued together. You just couldn't sit there and possibly relax like you usually did when alone (more specifically think over everything you’ve done wrong until you quite literally fell asleep mid thought)— not when Ghost could clearly read everything you had ever thought about in your life.

That being said, you’ve been a nervous wreck all week, concentrating so hard on looking sane that you’ve barely paid a second of attention to things you should’ve listened to. It’s not like you slipped up regularly, but before that day you were already feeling pretty uneasy and now with still no relief and the added stress, you feel like you really might lose it any second now. Every time you see him, every word exchanged with your teammates—with another person—it eats at you, tugging further on the ropes you’re hanging onto. They’re already been pulled thin, especially since you’ve been put in charge of a group of rookies for the past few weeks now. Of course, you had pulled the short straw when assignments went round because not only did your group love to talk back, but they loved to test every limit by asking the most stupid of questions possible. It’s the second time now you’ve had to lecture one of the rookies about why you can’t just ‘throw a grenade at the enemies’. It’s only temporary, just basic training exercises and medical procedures they need to know until the Officer, who usually oversees them, returns from their sick leave.

You let out a long breath as you enter the small break room, also known as taskforce 141’s meeting room but they’ve let you lounge in here too many times to count. It’s quiet in here, Soap and Gaz both on missions and you assume Ghost must be too. It’s the first time you’ve been able to relax all week, knowing damn well Price is down in London with Gaz. Your shoulders sag, the miserable look returning to cover your features now that you don't need to pull that tight smile anymore. Your chest physically aches from how anxious you’ve been all day, the weight of the day’s mistakes and fears of the future swelling deep in your gut. You know it’s a Friday, know you should just take a long sleep but you can’t help but think about all you have to do for the days to follow. You’re busy the whole day tomorrow, a team outing you can’t deny no matter how much you really do not want to go. Just thinking of all the final work you’ll have to cram in on Sunday makes a splitting pain run along the bumps in your brain. Even your breaths begin to feel shorter, an uncomfortable feeling that you just still cant rid of no matter how long you take deep breaths. Your eyes are weighed down with exhaustion and yet your brain refuses to let you sleep yet. No, you cannot. If you sleep the night away then you’ll only have Sunday left for yourself, and that won't work out, will it?

You pick up the mug you had just stirred, hoping the drink would soothe at least something if not your dehydrated body. Taking a small sip, the hot liquid spills down your throat, leaving a warm feeling in your ribs. “Alone by choice or force?” A gruff voice rings out behind you, along with an arm reaching around to supposedly grab a teabag as well, is enough to make you flinch. Stumbling on your own feet, your mug jolts and the steaming water splashes against your shoulder. If you were worried about someone catching you so vulnerable before, you were certainly terrified now, especially since your skin was burning from a small startle.

“Fuck— sorry—“

Ghost’s gloved hand settle on one side of your waist while the other quickly takes the mug from your hands and places it upon the counter. You cant respond, barely processing the situation and everything just feels like too much and your skin feels so hot, you know he’s seeing you fall apart and still there’s nothing you can do—

Your thoughts snap to a blank when he presses the cold rag against your burning skin. Thankfully the layers of the training uniform stops any severe marks from forming. His other hand rubs your cheek, his mask so close it could brush your face, and you can actually see every speck of brown in his irises. You can't look at him for long though, moving your gaze away quickly, not when you know what you’ve done. For the past week or two you’ve hated him, painting the most horrible picture in your mind. It wasnt even on purpose, you’ve just started seeing everything wrong about him. He doesnt give the rookies much mercy, nor does he particularly entertain any of Soap’s antics even when the situation is pretty lax. He’s boring, he seems to care about nothing but himself somedays, he refuses to let you do something stupid and he never takes that damn mask off even when you’re all supposed to trust one another. You’ve lied to him, yes, forgetting about your hatred when he made you laugh with those gruff remarks. But he’s not the only one— no, you’ve began to hate everyone in this task force, picking at them and every little thing. It’s weird, you don't want to victimize yourself, because you know you’ve done just as much wrong too. But still, somedays you really can't look past the list of things you dislike about your own friends.

“Are you alright? I havent seen you all week.”

Of course he hasn't, you’ve been avoiding them all. It’s nearly impossible to think straight these days and you knew you wouldn’t be able to fake it so naturally, you just stayed away. The more you did it, the better it began to feel. Avoiding them was the solution— you were just the thorn in their side with your tricky mood swings and anxiety always painting them to be the villain. You couldnt just allow this to happen, to destroy them with your issues even if they had no idea about it.

But now, face to face with him, all you feel is unexplainable guilt for everything you’ve done to them— how could you even hate them for a second? His hand is still rubbing at your skin, nudging your face gently upwards just so you’d at least look at him for a second. “Really? The silent treatment now?.” He sighs and you hate yourself, how did you let this spiral to this point— to where he’s apologising to you and yet you wish you could just disappear. Isnt this what you wanted? For everyone to be kind to you? So why are you running— why do you refuse care?

Your lips press together as your teeth bite down on the soft flesh, torn from how much you’ve picked at the skin the whole week. It aches with anxiety, and your teeth hurt from how often you’ve clenched them so hard they scraped against eachother. The only thing you can do is stand there as Ghost fusses over you, trying to get you to move a damn muscle instead of falling apart silently like some kind of broken watch, unable to move forward or backwards. Just still.

“Sarge— snap out of it, look, I'm sorry. Okay?”

His hands are still on you, and you’ve begged for a day where someone would care this much about you and still, you step back, almost afraid. “I’m sorry, Ghost.” You croak out, your hands reaching up to your eyes as you wipe at your skin obsessively, trying to hide and stop anything from leaking. “Why’re you apologising?” He says gruffly, confused by all of this, this sudden onslaught of emotion.

He’s not stupid, he had a feeling you weren't quite yourself this week. Stupidly, he figured you’d just deal with it on your own. That's what everyone did, right? He knows he just takes a breather when he feels a little rough— even Price had his own battles. Comfort isn't a strong point for Ghost, not even when he was Simon Riley, never has and he never thinks it will be. He’s born and bred on violence and the coldness that comes after it, the lack of warmth even as hot blood trickles and emptiness consumes the space where his fellow soldiers should be. So watching you crumble right before him, apologising profusely while your body wracks with shaken breaths, makes something stop in him too. He doesn't know how he’ll do it, but he knows damn well no one fights alone anymore.

“Look at me.”

He says firmly, both his hands landing firmly on your shoulders, one hand even tempted to just force your chin up but you shake your head profusely. “Why not?” He stays patient for you, even if he knows he may have to force you soon— its the least he can do for you. “I cant look at you. Not after everything i did.” He pauses, hands now settling on your jaw in confusion, he knows this is moving towards an interrogation but he has to know. “What are you talking about?! What did you do?”

“I hated all of you! I avoided you all and destroyed our relationship, i fucked it all up.”

With that he cant stand to see this continue, a gloved hand firmly planted over your mouth as the other wraps around your back. He leads you to the couch even as you squirm, not caring in the slightest. He knows he has strength and not comfort, so he’ll use it to shut you up whilst the truth comforts you instead.

“Look at me.” He says sternly and you do, eyes snapping up with wide fear as you look at him. “That’s not true— okay? None of us consider our relationship with you ruined, not one of us has even mentioned you in a bad light at all.” He makes sure your whole body is pressed against the back of the couch, considering that you didnt particularly look as if you could hold yourself up right now.

“Soap has only talked to me about you once recently— he told me you helped him organize the training schedules for the rookies. Told me to thank you for it because he felt he did not express his gratitude enough. Do you understand now? No one’s mad at you– not one of us have even considered anything to have gone wrong.”

His hand grabs your own, settling it on the center of his chest so you can feel the pattern of his breathing, silently praying you’d try and match it. You can only blink at him though, slowly processing his words with each passing second until his hand leaves your mouth and your lips part, breath hitched before you swallow a sharp breath. “I’ve avoided all of you– i’ve been hating all of you.” You choke out, chest clenching with regret and the weight of unreasonable guilt and his other hand moves to hold your face again, his brown eyes piercing into yours with his silence.

“What is like to hate someone?”

“What?”?

“What is it like to hate someone?” He repeats, his thumb pressing gently into the curve of your cheek.

“I-...” You falter, thinking for a moment before your lips part again. “I dont like things that they do— the way they act and everything about them.”

“You’d avoid them too, right? Like that general you hated. Remember when he touched you and you pushed his hand away?

You nod along in agreement, breathing a bit slower to hopefully ease the pressure on your chest at the moment.

“Y-yeah.. i’d express my dislike clearly..”

“So why did you never push me away the past few weeks? You said you avoided us, but you would always speak to us if we needed to. You still helped Soap too.”

You pause, blinking at him in confusion now, you had convinced yourself that you hated them so why did you never.. actually express it?

“You’re also letting me touch you now and last week you didn't want to hang out with us, but you didnt want to hurt our feelings by saying that.”

You’re left silent, baffled and confused because in your head, you were being horrible to them, hating their guts like it was nothing.

“I think… whatever is going on in that head of yours.” He says slowly, tapping at your forehead gently as you look up at him with widened eyes. “You’ve held it in for too long. You’ve dwelled on those thoughts, so self aware of your own anxieties that you’ve distorted reality. You think you’ve done something bad, because you can't understand why you always feel so bad.” His voice is softer than usual, even if his words are still gruff and holds his thick Manchester accent.

Somehow that alone reminds you that Simon has never lied, not even once, to you. That stern voice of his is straightforward, doesnt mess around and forces his way through any problem. Just like he had just pushed himself to the root of your mind and destroyed your seeds of doubt.

“You’re allowed to talk to us you know. I have a funny feeling you’re scared o’ somethin’. Not sure what just yet.”

He doesnt force you to respond, just speaking his thoughts even if that’s what you usually do when you’re together. The couch creaks as he stand up, pulling you to get up aswell beside him. He places a hand on the crook of your back, gently encouraging you to begin walking towards the door. “Cmon, back to my room. Lets get you cleaned up properly.”

Before you know it, you’re sitting against the headboard of his bed, something you had only felt months ago when you first came here, scared and confused over a stupid hornet. You trusted him to help you then, but you dont understand why you suddenly felt that fear again. Meanwhile, your shirt is half off, Ghost sat on the bed beside you as he inspects the burns on your chest from the tea. It’s harsh, the skin reddened but not enough to be something serious thankfully. He presses a cool towel against it, soothing the stinging skin but he knows it’ll fade out soon enough. You’re wearing his old shirt, and he gave you some comfortable sweatpants too for good measure. You just watch all his moves so quietly, feeling like a ghost yourself in this moment from how detached you are. It’s weird, feeling so much yet nothing at the same time.

“Nothing too bad, should be alright by the morning.” He hums, lifting the fresh mug of tea he brewed for you and brings it to your lips for you to sip before he steals some for himself. “Is your chest still tight?” You blink, not expecting him to ask that of all things because you hadnt exactly mentioned that part and yes, it was. “How did you know..?” Your hand reaches out, silently asking for more of the tea he graciously lets you sip, unable to fathom how he brews it so perfectly each time. “You were clutching at your chest before and your breaths are a little shorter than they should be.” He’s seen straight through you again so you slump your shoulders and just nod quietly. “Yeah, it’s really tight. It’s always like this and i dont know how to make it stop.”

His gloved hand reaches out, gently rubbing at your chest thus making you sink a little back into the pillows. Before he can respond, you speak up with a quiet confession. “That day, when you came ‘round, I was upset. You said you wanted to watch the series with me and I felt so bad. I didn't want to give up my only chance of spending time with you, but I knew my head couldn't take it.”

He nods along quietly, letting you reveal it all to him. “T-then you figured me all out and i got scared— i didnt want someone to know everything about me because i didnt want to be a problem. I want someone to listen but i dont want to be seen as something different. I just.. i dont know how to handle all of this. I dont feel like the person i am when i look in the mirror.”

The strangest thing of all is that it didnt actually take you long to figure it out. You knew all along, of course, but when you’re fighting against yourself, you’re supporting both sides and so a part of you decided not to dwell on a certain bit of information too much. The reason for that to be pushed aside is no part of you wanted to face it.

Your heart always secretly wished someone would find out— that someone would push past the walls you’ve banged so hard against even if they were crafted by the webs of your brain. You prayed and prayed that they’d read through it all, express their concern and one day, one day you’d be saved from this hellish feeling. It was a common daydream for you and yet you were terrified of it. If someone knew, there was no guarantee they’d follow the fantasy. They could ridicule you, or they couldnt be able to comfort you at all, maybe they’d try and it wouldnt even do anything or maybe, just maybe— they wouldnt give a damn about it. What happened then? If that daydream was real, and that was the final outcome, there was no turning back in time. It seemed like only one person would ever figure you out, after all, no one had up until this point.

But then Simon became aware, and you got terrified. You hid away because you were too scared to know his reaction to your problems, even more so his reaction to you. You wanted someone to help, you really did, and yet your brain feared to know the uncertain future of it.

His ungloved hands card through your hair, the callouses gentle against your scalp as he slowly scratches at it. “You need to speak with us, and the others. Your feelings are real— hell, we all have our doubts. I used to feel it before every mission. Soap began to tell me his, then Gaz joined too. Price always looks for a way to solve it, and i give my two pence when i feel i want to. Just cause you feel different, doesnt mean you are. Plenty o’ people felt the same way you did before.”

“Really..? I’m not like.. crazy?”

“No, never. Even if you do some stupid shit sometimes.”

That makes you finally crack a real smile, even if its small and you’re unable to stifle the small chuckle that bubbles in your throat and although he’s the epitome of stoicism, he smiles beneath the mask. “Everyone’s out on a mission, ya can't leave me alone tonight. C’mere.”

You settle yourself in the crook of arm as he lays back against the bed with you, propping up his laptop on his lap as he searches for a good movie.

“You better report back to me everyday this week, alright? I want you here at nine pm sharp, dressed in your pajamas. That’s an order.”

Thinking over all your previous daydreams of how this would eventually go, this was far from how you expected it to be. Firstly, you never expected Ghost, nor it to happen in the military at all. Perhaps you thought maybe later in life it’d occur or maybe Soap or Price would figure it out. Either way, you arent actually upset over it. No one would be your fairy tale saviour in life, coming forward to fight the demons that plagued your head all the time. Even so, the way Ghost had shut you up and calmed you down makes you think he’s pretty damn close to being one, even if knights usually dont scoff at their princess.

He doesnt even look like he’d be willing to give a little kid a hug, but still, you couldnt be happier with how this turned out in the end. Compared to fairytale princes and men in the movies, you knew Ghost and you knew he was serious— so if he wanted to help you, he would. And no, he wouldnt ridicule you throughout the process, nor ever feel like you’ve been misheard. You know that if you spoke to Ghost, he’d listen earnesty and never forget, carrying that around with him even if those anxieties eventually died out.

You knew he’d always linger around, never forgetting you or leaving you behind. Just like a Ghost.

“Okay, i promise i will.”

You say softly, pressing your cheek against the curve of his chest, the faint thump of his heartbeat drowning out any lost thoughts. He was your support, and no matter how bad it got for you, no matter how many times you get overwhelmed and lash out, not even when you avoid everyone— he’d never break away. No, he would always be beside you.

[sleepymccoy]

Okay so something happened in the trekdom (is that a term anyone has ever used)

I think spirk got canonised?? Or something?? And I assume that as my certified Trekkie Mutual you feel some kinda way about this. you’re a Spones shipper but still how we doing?

I'm sure someone's used trekdom! It makes sense as a word regardless

I appreciate the Trekkie certification lol

Yeah dude, look. Most of the fandom is big into spirk so like people enjoying that romance is par for the course! I got nothing against spirk, it's just a bit of a boring dynamic so I don't really spend time on it. Too healthy for my tastes. Spones is way more juicy, it's got the tension and the sort of different world views that you see in good omens, so it's fun!

To be clear tho, spirk is as canon as it's ever been. Strong subtext, but in the way that a homophobe could watch it and say well they're just good friends. Nothing has changed in that sense, it's just another bit of footage doing more of the same. It's less gay than a lot of the original series, but it's new and shiny so on a surface level i get the excitement

Shatner, who plays Kirk, has done this as a non canon short film. It's apparently considered as canon as the novels? Which is like, not much. Most people don't engage. I haven't really looked into that, im not gonna watch it cos it kind of pisses me off

The thing that really fucks my goat about it is that the guy who plays Spock died a while ago, and didn't get along with the guy who plays Kirk. But the guy who plays Kirk has funded and produced and managed this whole thing to be about his character and his importance, regardless of the wishes of the original Spock actor. Including literally doing someone up in prosthetics to look more like Nimoy. Not just Spock generally, but specifically Nimoy's Spock. Nimoy was involved in star trek films in his late life, and he didn't choose to do this when he was alive. Only after his death has Shatner forced this to happen

That's what's leaving a really bad taste in my mouth. And I feel like people are either not accepting Nimoy's death and are happy to see him puppeted by someone he disliked, which makes me pity them. I work in aged care so I know I'm more comfortable with death than the average, but like. This is a bit fucking dark, no? It's maudlin, let him rest in peace for fucks sake.

That, or they don't mind the manipulation of his image if it tickles their ship, which makes me dislike them. And I don't think I'll really get over that any time soon, it's so disrespectful. And those are both negative feelings, so I'm kind of generally not pleased about my dash rn

I'm trying to take an angle of being about McCoy cos he doesn't feature in the short and that feels wrong. Spock-centric stuff is feeling a little tainted right now, but I'm sure that'll pass. Fanart is different to this kind of image stealing, but it's still weird for me rn. And as much as I love Kirk, I can't remove him from Shatner and his megalomania right now. I hope that'll pass, but I don't think Shatner's gonna stop here so. Hm.

Besides I like McCoy and he's not complicated by all this so I'm just continuing to play in my little sandbox

It's a weird time for trekdom. There's a bit of a rift, and not down shipping lines. I'm seeing a lot of posts working through their complicated feeling around the disrespect inherent in stealing Nimoy's face for Shatner. And I'm seeing other people celebrate the disrespect cos their ship held hands and that makes it worth it.

I'm hoping people overwhelmingly calm down a bit in a week, get a bit embarassed about how pleased they were over something so gross, and it just sort of goes away. Then we can all go back to having a go at Shatner for his constant sexism and homophobia

At least it's not fucking AI tho!

[chaoticly-shy-dragon]

I'm back with more demigod dead boy detectives (parts one and two for those interested)! In short, Edwin is a son of Athena (born at the turn of the 20th century) who spent seventy years in the fields of punishment by accident - after he escaped it was 1989 and most of the gods had moved to America of all places.

And despite all that, St Hilarion was still functioning as a demigod heaven. Edwin is not happy. At all.

Charles on the other hand is having an interesting time all around. The backstory for him that I came up with starts from before he was born. The OG pjo au that I read had his father be Ares and yes?! I adore the Frank Zang of him?

But his mom and Ares didn't click in my mind until I realized that Ares is in an on-and-off relationship with Aphrodite - who is cutting and sharp and tough but also soft and ditsy and a bit shallow. His past lovers don't all need to be veterans or kickboxers. It was an eureka moment, to be honest.

Charles' mom (name still in the works) met Ares in a museum showcasing ancient pottery and jewelry - some of them Greek - most of which depicted old heroic tales or bore the scars of the years. They started talking completely by chance - Aphrodite had stood Ares up and he didn't feel like going back to what he was doing. He decided to check this collection out - to reminisce or to try and remember fallen friends. Or just to sulk. Either way, he was there.

Charles's future mom sees him and the conflicting aesthetic of his clothing and the display he was looking at makes her want to talk with him. They hit it off. He asks to see her again and the rest is history.

They are together for four months before she gets pregnant. As expected from a god, Ares disappears from her life with only a few words. Charles's mom is left alone with a baby, in a shitty apartment with no family in the country.

It sucks. Like a lot.

Then she meets Paul Richard Rowland.

(I'm sorry but I can't do Paul's name dirty in a pjo au, I just can't. Although the irony was amusing enough to make me consider it for a whole second.)

They hit it off even with the occasionally crying baby in the next room. Soon they are engaged to be married - and married soon afterward. Charles's last name is changed and would you look at that - a happy family.

Not.

Charles is a charming and athletic boy with a love for ska and a bit of a temper. His dad is a cunt and his mom is quiet. That's fine until it isn't.

In an argument, it gets out that Richard isn't Charles's actual father (he is 14 when that happens). Stuff gets progressively worse after that (both with Richard and with the monsters - Richard's whole "something is wrong with you" really drives in the "I am different" mindset you really don't want in an untrained demigod) until Charles' mom gets desperate and contacts the boarding school - Ares had assured her that it would always have a spot for Charles.

(The phone number is that of the school board of all the still functioning demigod establishments. Had Charles been a girl they would have referred the mom to one of the all-girls or mixed schools. It's a system run by descendants, wind spirits and satyrs.)

((It's not as efficient as say sending satyrs to schools, but they only have so many satyrs. They do the guardian routine! Honest!))

Fast forward and Charles has been to St Hil for almost a year and a half. He is a semi-full-year camper in the sense he went home once for one summer and then only for two to three days a year.

He gets along with his siblings and the cricket team. He is friendly and nice but 80s racism and classist bullshit exist - he can't be too vocal with his thoughts and opinions less he is ostracized by his peers, he has to play a role he only has half the script of. The demigod thing isn't always a blessing.

He is a deft hand with daggers and knives, he is skilled with a sword - but he would prefer to play cricket or go to concerts. No magical barrier means nightly patrols and the occasional monster attack.

Cue the death scene. It plays like canon but with weapons. He is chased into the freezing lake by his siblings and his former mates. (And Charles had been so excited about having siblings - but this - they - he couldn't call brothers.)

There aren't any naiads during the winter - or they are sleeping deep into it. No one intervenes. He manages to escape his pursuers by going deeper into the woods until he comes across an old shed.

Charles goes in.

(He didn't hear the sharp snap of twigs and branches in the other direction of the one he was going. He didn't notice the second pair of footsteps shadowing his own.)

((He does see the lantern.))

And they finally meet. Isn't it grand? (TBC)

[arcanarix]

Make That Double, Ch11 - Yan!SatoSugu X Fem!Reader [AO3]

❥ Word Count: ~6.8K

❥ Warnings: none in this chapter

❥ Summary: Double the trouble, or double the fun? Difficult to say when you're unfortunately roped into the affairs of two powerful shamans who can't leave each other alone, either.

Slower moments have become a bit rarer, and you cherish the moments where Geto keeps his hands entirely off of you. Especially around the twins, he’s come to respect the idea that you want to keep those matters entirely separate. Even if in his mind, he might think that a happily married couple who can’t keep their hands off each other is a healthy thing for the twins to see, you just don’t want to entertain it yourself.

Because no matter what he thinks, none of this is fucking real.

Geto and the twins have taken the liberty to take you out, first to a bakery as per tradition (the girls can’t go without their sweet treats), then a stroll around the park (again, as per tradition), and Geto insists remaining behind for a bit for a picnic and some sight seeing. While you engage with the twins, he sets aside time for solo meditation in the fields.

“Mom! I’m so excited for you and Mr. Geto to get married!�� Nanako exclaims in the middle of attempting to snatch one of their hand-held game consoles from Mimiko. Mimiko huffs at her sister, keeping the console just out of Nanako’s reach while she’s got her brows furrowed in concentration, trying to beat another level at a classic Sonic the Hedgehog game. “It’s going to be so great for you to really be our Mom for real!”

“Nanako! For fuck’s sake,” Mimiko scoffs as she shoves her away. “Wait your turn! I’m almost done with this level and then you can play!”

“Girls,” Geto cautions from afar. “Be kind to each other! Remember I don’t like to see you two fight.”

“We’re not fighting!” they shout back in unison and you can’t help but hold back a little snort at that. Typical sister behavior.

“She’s just being rude as usual,” Mimiko sneers while shooting a glare at her. Nanako fumes, her nostrils flaring.

“Well you’re just hogging the game!” Nanako shoots back while scrunching her nose in disgust.

You find your lips twitching into a little smile at the exchange. Such a normal one in spite of the world they’re in, where you’re still not sure if you can make any sense of it. But little moments like this—where they behave like people and not like they’re plotting to change the world to fit an agenda that doesn’t seem plausible in the long run—it doesn’t feel that way here.

“So which one of you is the older twin?” you ask playfully, knowing full well that’s not the sort of question you want to ask twins.

“I am,” Mimiko points out in a matter-of-fact tone, side-eying her sister, and Nanako huffs in response. Such animated reactions from Nanako which is hallmark for the younger sibling in your experience.

“It doesn’t matterrrrrr because I’m the prettier one,” Nanako retorts while sticking out her tongue. Mimiko rolls her eyes at that and the game plays the level complete jingle when she hands the console over to Nanako.

“Finally! Sheesh, you take forever to beat these levels,” Nanako taunts as she navigates her character—she prefers Tails while Mimiko goes with Knuckles or Shadow—through the next underground level.

You giggle again at the scene and freeze the moment you feel Geto’s presence creep up from behind you, settling beside you and pulling you into his chest. You don’t say a word, shutting your eyes as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head and then to your temple. His arms snake around your waist, securing a protective hold.

“You seem like you’re enjoying yourself,” he murmurs, his tone tender, and his eyes flicker with a bit of amusement, but not from tormenting you this time. No, no—he’s happy you’re trying to make an active effort to be a part of this family.

For a moment, things go still between the two of you, and it’s not uncomfortable, exactly. You take notice of the way the sun’s warmth bathes your skin and you ground yourself with the sound of the soft rustling of leaves as soft gusts of wind rushes by. The more you concentrate on grounding, the more you can feel the pounding of Geto’s heart. A gentle ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump rhythm may have been a therapeutic one if it’s from someone else.

But you remember your place. You’re not free yet.

He calls your name and your eyes snap open again. He glances down at you with his eyes shining in the sun, twinkling like the little gemstones those violet eyes of his resemble. Yes, he does appear something akin to royalty, but he’s a slippery serpent beneath that fair facade.

“Yes, darling?” you whisper, wishing dearly to escape to another reality where you’re not in this cage.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your skin as he presses another kiss to your temple. “We all love you.”

He can believe that all he likes, but you know it can’t be true. Your fingers play with a few stray strands of his hair which gleams so brilliantly in the daylight. He does have such beautiful hair and such beauty is wasted on a man of his nature.

“I know,” you reply, but you don’t know. Not really. You’re not sure if you can ever believe a word that comes out of his mouth because there’s always going to be something else to decipher. “I know you do, darling. I’m happy that you’re happy with me.”

His finger trails along the gold chain on your neck, admiring how it reflects the light. That same finger dares to dip lower to trace little patterns along your collarbone and you suppress a shiver throughout your body.

“You make me the most alive I’ve felt in years,” he remarks—he’s been saying that a ton more lately, you notice—his tone reverent, like he’s praying to you like you’re his God instead. His hand finds yours, intertwining them as his thumb massages along your knuckles. Soft. Slow. Gentle. But each touch leaves behind a tingling sensation like in a way he’s marking you in a much more discreet way, in a more insidious way. You feel as if you’re restricted from movement or from any true protest, his hold on you tight, suffocating, much like his overall presence in your life is.

Somehow this feels more intimate than any time you have with him in bed which somehow feels impersonal and detached. “All I wish is that you feel like you belong with us because you do, my love.”

The smile that forms on his lips is soft; it’s such an unusual sight—like he’s trying to find some inkling of the man he might have been once upon a time before you came into the picture. Your lips purse; what kind of man had he been in the past? Any different to the version of himself now? At one point, has he tried to be kind?

You don’t know why you’re so curious all of a sudden, but if there’s anything the world has taught you, it’s that villains in the story are made, not born right off the bat.

“Sheesh, get a room, Mr. Geto,” Nanako grimaces while watching the two of you interact. Mimiko has a blank but you can definitely read displeased expression on her face. Your complexion pales at the remark and Geto can’t help but laugh in that empty and condescending way of his until his shoulders shake and he adjusts you so that you’re in a more comfortable position in his lap.

“I’m sorry, Nanako,” he replies through a string of hearty chuckles. “Don’t mind us. You focus on your sister.”

“Kind of hard to do that when you’re making it all gross and hot and heavy and we’re stuck watching it like non-consenting voyeurs,” Nanako quips with a flat look on her otherwise animated face. Mimiko hums in agreement.

“Well, at least we know Geto hasn’t forgotten how to charm a woman,” Mimiko points out with a note of sarcasm as she quirks an eyebrow. “For a while there I was concerned that with you being all work and no play you had forgotten how to find pleasure in the simpler things in life, Mr. Geto.”

You cover your own flushed face, and you can feel Geto’s gaze avert to you and the embarrassment sinks deeper into your very core of your being. You don’t even know why you feel this way but you have made it a point in the past not to behave in such a way around the twins.

You don’t even like entertaining this.

“You two,” Geto objects, and you can’t believe you see him fighting back a flushed face himself. This is the first time you have seen him lose his composure like this. “Don’t make me ground you both again.”

Nanako gawks, appalled, sticking her nose into the air before twisting herself fully away so she doesn’t have to witness the two of you faux doting on each other while she tries to focus on the Sonic level she’s still in the middle of completing.

You laugh openly again at her reaction and are then cut off as Geto jerks you to his direction, his lips hovering just above yours as your bewildered eyes bore into his before they squeeze shut the minute his lips meet yours. This time the kiss isn’t forceful or invasive, but coaxing. Gentle. A hand rakes through your hair as he deepens the kiss, the flat of his tongue resting over yours. As he pulls away a barely visible line of spit connects your lips and he breaks off the connection with a little flick of his tongue. His face is still flushed but more so from arousal than embarrassment.

“My love,” he rasps in a seductive manner, cradling your face.

“We all adore you so,” he reminds you again.

You don’t protest when he captures your lips in another passionate, consuming kiss—mostly because it might cause a bit of an unwanted scene—your arms snaking around his neck, your lips moving against his to appease his efforts. That’s what he wants, isn’t it? To seem normal, healthy?

You can do that. Just for a while longer.

The day you loathe is rapidly approaching. Miss Suda has taken the liberty of assisting you with your wedding preparations along with a few of Geto’s other servants. Geto has all the money in the world to throw away for the sake of the spectacle, and he’s all about showing off.

You stand there motionless before the large mirror spanning one wall almost like an accent, hands to your sides as Manami Suda fusses around with the silk of your wedding kimono. Her fingers are nimble, deft; her voice remains soft with that underlying edge of disdain (whether toward you or toward Geto is hard to discern for sure); her words with you are jagged and sharp like the jewels on her neck.

“I know you don’t want to do this,” begins Suda, her tone lacking any true comfort in them. “But I guess, playing the long game comes with its compromises.”

You do not respond to that. More like you don’t have any real response to that that won’t come off as bitter and vindictive which you do have every right to feel. Because if there’s one aspect of your agency Geto can’t change, it’s your right to feel the way you fucking feel.

In a way, you think of your silence as another way to protest. It’s one she dismisses easily with a sigh, though. She continues to shuffle around you as she adjusts your kimono, examining, assessing every curve and crevice of your body, determining your measurements, practically eyeballing it and not really utilizing the tape measure in her hands. Almost like this stuff comes as easy as breathing for someone like her, and given how effortlessly fabulous you think of her, it can’t be too far off.

The kimono she’s chosen for you is a beautiful one, but wearing it feels like a ball and chain, just a bitter reminder of your sorrows since your arrival here and now Geto hopes to pin you down permanently.

“For a week before the binding ceremony, you’re expected to fast along with Geto,” Suda explains, her voice still as detached as ever like she’s discussing something completely arbitrary like today’s weather. She gestures for you to lift your arms, her eyes scrutinizing the intricately patterned silk as it falls gracefully around your figure. “Then during the first ritual, he’s going to mix his blood with yours, but not the other way around this time for obvious reasons.”

Your eyes flash with irritation, undirected at Miss Suda of course.

Gee, you might have never guessed! Your lips curl into a bitter little smile at that notion. How can it be otherwise with someone like Suguru Geto, their ‘enlightened one’? Someone who can never dare taint his pristine sorcerer blood with that of a lowly monkey like you, even if he claims to love you. This marriage feels more like a purification process.

What an audacious way to put it, but that seems right up Geto’s alley.

“So what else should I know about the ceremony?” you dare to query like you’re interested in what to brace yourself for but your voice drenched in sarcasm. You fail to mask the bitterness in you but you figure it doesn’t matter around Miss Suda. As a woman, she understands your plight, your disdain, your reluctance to accept the status quo, and certainly empathizes with you but she has to maintain some semblance of her mask should Geto waltz into the room uninvited.

“Well, a long-winded speech from Geto, I suppose,” Suda answers with a sigh that borders on sympathetic. As sympathetic someone as stoic as her can appear toward non-sorcerers, even if you are a sister regardless of your status. “And you have to give one as well. I can help you prepare one. I can’t expect any sentiments you have for Geto are anything positive.”

Oh, if only. Maybe then this all won’t feel like such a fucking joke but here you are, about to be tied to a man you despise more than words in your extensive vocabulary can express. That says something.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath, practically seething at the mere prospect. “Guess he’ll find any way to stroke that already over-inflated ego of his…”

Manami chuckles at that as she steps back to admire you in your wedding kimono.

Her dark green eyes meet yours through the mirror as she adjusts some of the wrinkles on your hips.

“I think I got all of your measurements. I’ll tailor the kimono to complement your body. You’ve got quite the figure,” Suda compliments with a small smile. “And of course, we can figure out what we’re going to do about hair and makeup. It’s still your wedding day, and while it might not be your dream wedding, we still want you to look your best.”

The words fall flat. Practically meaningless to you but you know she’s actually trying to forge some kind of bond with you and she doesn’t even need to do that.

You mumble a half-hearted, “Thank you, Miss Suda,” as your gaze lands on the mirror again. The reflection staring back is someone you no longer recognize. While the kimono is stunning as you’ve stated before, it’s an iridescent cascade of blues, silvers, and a hint of some pink shifting beneath the lights, it still feels like a mockery. Just some cheap version of a bride’s gown (even if Geto has spent a fortune on this damn fabric).

“Please, call me Manami,” Suda waves off, her dark green eyes twinkling with something that you can’t name. “Of course. I’m going to grab some more supplies, so hang tight for a few, alright?”

Manami then saunters out of the room with a little flounce to her shapely hips (that you’re a bit envious of yourself, you can’t help your eyes trailing after her a bit) and into the restroom to fetch more supplies, her absence leaving you alone with your raging thoughts. The silence is suffocating, deafening—broken only by the soft rustle of the silk kimono as you shift in your spot.

You give yourself another once over, glancing once again at your reflection, but all that stares back is still a stranger to you. You long for the woman you once were, someone full of fight and might and spirited as ever, but she seems beaten and bruised when you look hard enough past the superficial. All the little marks Geto or Gojo have left behind has tainted your perception of yourself. You feel dirty, used recklessly by two horrid men. You appear more fitting as a servant girl than a greedy sorcerer’s wife, yet he deems you the worthiest among a sea of unworthy.

You find your mind beginning to wander off to another reality, envisioning a scenario where you marry your real dream man and not some nightmarish ghoulish version of him that you find in Geto. You think of someone who’s attentive, someone who’s kind, someone who doesn’t coerce you or force you into some twisted fantasies his best friend has about sharing his girl. You’re not even his girl and you refuse to address yourself as such. Not without the title he’s thrust upon you being laden with resentment and bitterness. Foul like those curse spirits Geto is forced to consume.

You only ever hear him speak ill of his cursed technique, and you’re surprised he even vents to you about such thing when before he doesn’t bother to discuss his rituals in exorcisms of unsuspecting clients. In some ways, it seems that he’s begun to use you as a way to ground himself between the burdens he’s forced to carry on his labored shoulders. It’s almost as if…when he speaks anything of his role as a sorcerer, he doesn’t view his role as his sworn duty. More like an obligation he’s been forced into himself.

It’s almost as if…being a sorcerer is something he’s never wanted, either. While he enjoys being worshiped like a deity without a shadow of a doubt, he doesn’t appear to want to do this all alone. Yes, you understand you’re here to fill a certain void Gojo won’t be able to fill at one point in the future. But there’s something else there that you just can’t wrap your head around.

There are still too many missing pieces to this large puzzle. But the sooner you fit everything together, the sooner it might be easier to get the fuck out of there.

After the first few bits of preparations for the ceremony, you retire back to the bedroom and prepare a bath for yourself. Geto has not yet returned from his typical duties, and you don’t really care to wait much longer. You shut off the main lights and lit some tea lights to rim the bath tub and help yourself to some of the Epsom salt and bath oils Geto likes to spoil you with from time to time. This might have been even better with a bath tray full of bountiful gourmet snacks, but you can do without them.

As you wait for the bath to fill up you reach for some other supplies. In the middle of twisting around you realize the mirror beginning to crack and a shard flies toward your hand and you shriek from the contact, frightened out of your wits as you scramble out of the restroom and slam the door shut. You can’t even see what attacked you; it just seems like it came out of nowhere and now you’re fully naked with a sliced up hand and as blood drips out from the large gashes you try desperately to dab it clean with a towel you still had in possession.

Geto rushes through the door upon hearing you scream, calling out your name —what timing—and his eyebrows flash upon seeing you so shaken up, like you’ve seen a ghost which in his world isn’t far off because you couldn’t perceive who or what had been in there with you.

Geto dashes to you what feels like seconds, careful in handling you as you try to babble some excuses over what happened, trying to tell him you’re fine and it’s just a few scratches but he hushes your rambling and tells you to calm down.

Funny words coming from a man who looks far from calm about this.

Geto gingerly grabs the injured hand. He inspects the cuts and gashes, his eyebrows furrowing into what almost seems something akin to concern. It almost looks like how he looks when he tries to express guilt for when Satoru takes things too far between the three of you.

“Who dared to do this to you?” he demands, his voice low, grainy, feral eyes meeting your frightened ones. “Who the hell did this to you?”

“I-it was an accident,” you stammer, struggling to form a coherent response and a little dazed as you take in what’s happening—he’s not just concerned, he’s absolutely furious. Not with you, but with what’s happened to you? Are you sure you’re not hallucinating this entire thing? “I-I was just trying t-to reach for something and s-something cut me. I couldn’t tell what it was and I—!”

His piercing violet gaze renders you nearly breathless, as you endlessly babble on and on and on trying to find the right words but he lets out a sigh out of irritation. It’s not directed at you.

“—Someone attached a curse to you,” he interrupts while a deep scowl stresses his features, his forehead wrinkling. “It’s one I don’t recognize. I’ll take care of the problem, but I’m taking you to the infirmary to get this taken care of or actually…”

He trails his finger along the edges of the largest gash on your hand, his touch gentle, tender, but also clinical like he’s trying to examine your wound like a medic. You grimace from the light sting from the contact, tears welling in the corners of your eyes. He mutters a half-hearted apology under his breath as he gathers some supplies to help clean and disinfect the wounds.

“I’ll take care of this myself,” he snarls in a sharper tone. “I won’t let you out of my sight.”

He’s gentle with his handling of you, such a stark contrast to what you usually see from him. If you don’t know any better you might have glimpsed at something a bit more humane beneath the numerous layers of the role he’s forced into himself as some kind of deity. You know better than to trust what he chooses to show you. It’s all part of some grand scheme. That’s all he knows how to do; he’s a puppeteer. He knows how to string those around him along and it’s not just limited to you. You see that in how he slaps Satoru around like an obedient dog even if he claims to love him too. You can’t tell if a man like him understands what love really is.

If someone like him can truly love at all.

You examine his gestures with a quizzical look on your face. Nothing about this guy adds up at all; everything about him is a conundrum, a mystery. You don’t even understand the half of what kind of burdens that weighs so heavy on his shoulders.

“There,” he comments after a period of silence, inspecting your hand for any cuts or gashes he may have missed while tending to the wounds and ensuring everything is bandaged up. He cradles your hand in both of his, and your jaw slackens as you scrutinize him. It’s hard to make out what thoughts might be raging in his mind, but you’re shocked to find he truly is concerned for your safety.

"Suguru?” you inquire, tilting your head as you continue to search his eyes for something beyond what he chooses to display. You can’t understand it. Does he actually think you’d fall for this? That you’re going to believe he cares for you?

“You don’t have to speak,” he mutters as he leads you to the bed and gestures for you to rest on it. You follow his order without another word. One of his hands brushes through your hair as a way to ground himself, perhaps he’s grappling with what his next steps should be in figuring out who’s planted that curse he’s probably exorcised between this time and you haven’t realized it because you’re not yet gifted with the vision even with the aid of the talisman. He joins you on the bed and pulls you into him, his expression blank, unreadable. You take your uninjured hand and cup one of his cheeks, brushing your thumb against his skin.

“I’m alright now because of you,” you try to soothe him with false praise, but as long as he believes your words does it matter if they’re true or not? All you can ever say is what you know he wants to hear. No one ever likes the truth, especially when it hurts. “Thank you, Suguru.”

You bite down on your lip, snuggling yourself into him, just trying to bring him some semblance of reassurance, of comfort, something you wish you could have yourself but this brings you nothing but more and more resentment building a fortress around your heart. You feel him kiss you on your head again, hugging you close, breathing slow, controlled.

“No one should think of bringing harm to you,” he growls under his breath. “I’ll figure out who planted that curse and see to it that they’re executed on sight. No one should insult either of us like this.”

Your head snaps up at that. Both of you? Are your ears deceiving you? Why is he acting like this—? Why are you finding yourself falling for the act? Because that’s all this is to him, right? Just a little show?

“Suguru,” you begin tentatively, your hand dropping to his chest, drawing idle patterns as you usher for him to look at you. “Look at me; I’m fine now.”

Though I wish that curse offed me the chance it got, you think to yourself. Because if I can’t get out of here alive…

Geto grits his teeth at that, trying to find comfort in what you’re saying but failing; his grip around you constricts like squid arms and you feel your heart racing.

“I know,” he admits finally, loosening his grip as he steps out of bed. “You rest here. I need to take care of a few things. From tomorrow, we begin our fast.”

You nod and watch him as he ambles out of the bedroom, leaving you to dwell on everything.

Everything keeps making my head spin, you think, I don’t know what more to do…

Your eyes widen upon realization and you amble into the restroom to switch off the bath, thankful it hadn’t spilled over during all of this. As you perch on the edge of the tub, you hear the bedroom door creak open again and Geto returns, joining you in the restroom.

He’s brought you a bouquet of flowers, some more pain reliever, chocolates…

And you notice something else, a more bashful expression. Bashful. That’s something you’ve yet to witness from someone who prides himself on being composed and far too above such emotions.

He rests the bouquet of fresh red roses on the bathroom counter and rest the box of chocolates on your lap.

“Those are your favorite, aren’t they? You…mentioned that those were your favorite one time,” he mutters, his gaze averting elsewhere as though he’s trying not to make a big deal of this like he had just moments ago. “Are you alright?”

You blink, gripping the box of chocolates tightly.

“I am,” you whisper, “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll be fine. You exorcised whatever that was already, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he replies, his gaze landing on the broken area of the mirror. “We’ll get that repaired as well. It might have been a stray curse, but you never know. I’m not very well received in the world of jujutsu and their conservative ways, so they might’ve planted a few things for me here and there.”

Ah, paranoia. Always a fun look on a man who already has so many other issues.

“So you think that thing was really after you?” you ask him, fiddling with the box.

“Perhaps,” he concedes, sliding a finger down your cheek. “Or someone close to me.”

You don’t know how to respond to something like that. You go completely silent but he’s the one kneeling before you now, his hands resting on your knees.

“I see you were drawing a bath,” he comments in a low voice. “You’re free to do that now, of course. There’s nothing here to harm you anymore, Mamma.”

You nod, brushing your hand through his bangs, admiring how silky his hair feels. He takes such good care of it, and your fingers idly twirl a strand while you hum in response.

“Join me?” you invite him, and you catch him flushing slightly in response—yet another moment of bashfulness that’s so rare to see from him. You can’t believe what you’re asking, but this doesn’t have to be more than what it really is for you and that’s trying to fucking survive this torment.

His breath hitches but he stands up, disrobing before you and getting into the tub, the water sloshing a bit as he settles inside. He beckons you to follow and you do, allowing him to pull you onto his lap.

“You’re supposed to be safe here,” he says after a period of silence. You’re not really paying attention, focused on the way the flames on the tea lights still flicker every now and then. “You still are, as long as you’re with me.”

He can keep telling himself that, but you know your own truth, you rown reality. It’s a reality you sorely wish to escape from, but your spirit is beginning to fade.

The dreaded day arrives. As you are instructed to do, three days prior you have fasted alongside Geto as a way to honor the cult. It’s in a way seen as a spiritual awakening.

Following the first ceremony, there shall be a bountiful banquet that only shall be shared between the two of you; no other spectators so you can enjoy your first night as an officially wedded pair.

You stand close behind Geto before all of his devotees who are on a platform just below you. Nanako and Mimiko are hidden in the crowd somewhere, but you know they must be eager to finally see their efforts in making their father not be lonely actually work out for them. You so dearly wish to crush their spirits like they have yours…

The chanting from Geto’s followers begins softly, their voices murmuring in unison:

“Death to the fool, punishment to the weak, love to the strong…”

The words merge into a crescendo, echoing through the grand hall of the temple.

Ah, the classic prayer Geto scripts himself for his goons to chant to him and he soaks up the attention like he really is some kind of God. It can’t be further from the truth, but you figure here, that doesn’t matter. Here, Geto calls the shots. Geto is the man of the hour at all times. Now he expects you to share his throne even if this is not what you want for yourself.

“Death to the fool, punishment to the weak, love to the strong…”

Man, I knew the guy was full of himself, but this is just on another level, you think as you’re seated next to him on a raised platform as his followers kneel and pray to both you and him. They chant like soldiers at war. Their words echoing through the room. As one of his followers in a Time Vessel Association cloak ignites the large fire in the center of the room, that’s when the ceremony finally begins.

“Followers of Time Association, lend me your undivided attention on behalf of our Enlightened One, our Lord, and our King, Geto Suguru,” the follower wielding the dancing torch announces in a deafening tone to the rest of the room. Your gaze flits around each corner and you find Manami and Miguel standing at the very end of the room, observing the events. “Tonight, we gather to celebrate the union between our Lord, our King of the New World and his chosen bride. A worthy woman who has sworn herself to him.”

Such fucking lies, you think to yourself as your gaze flits downward to your hand, which is still healing from the gashes from your accident. Geto notices something amiss with you and rests his large hand over your injury free one, catching your attention. Your brows furrow as he gazes down at you with a blank expression. If you don’t know any better, you would have thought he was expressing concern for your wellbeing.

But you know if he truly cares he would not have put you through this.

As Geto is presented a knife with the Time Association engraving just like the one on your necklace, you wince as you watch him sink the blade ever so slightly to pierce the skin and draw a bit of blood before doing the same to you. You clench your eyes shut as you feel the slight sting but you can tell Geto is trying to be kind, to be gentle with you. He presses two fingers into the open wound and gathers a bit of blood to circle into your wound.

“Now your blood has been purified by mine,” he murmurs with a hint of affection—none of that condescending nonsense or something he often laces with some kind of ulterior motive. Nothing. Just pure affection and you can’t believe that you’re witnessing something like that from a scumbag like him. You see his eyes dilate ever so slightly. The follower returns with small bandages to conceal the small cuts.

Geto yanks you forward, closer to him, and he removes a bit of his yakata to showcase what he’s tattooed onto his collarbone. Your eyes widen into the size of saucers.

Your name. It’s etched into his skin in a royal blue ink. Something he has done to himself. The brilliant color seems to pulsate with some kind of energy one can barely perceive if they’re not actively looking for something else.

“We won’t force this of you, allow this to serve as a reminder of my loyalty and my love to you, my dear,” he tells you, his tone still abundant of affection and you almost want to scoff at him but you hold your tongue. This is not the time nor the place. No need to cause a scene before his loyal devotees.

He gestures you to stare ahead to the endless arrays of followers who still kneel before the two of you, filling the grand hall to the very brim. Nameless faces who continue to chant that fucking mantra like they actually believe in his cause but you know the truth. Many either join him out of obligation or something rather, something that aligns more with their agendas. Suda and Miguel are the only ones standing and Suda has her gaze averted elsewhere, like she can’t live with this.

“May everyone bear witness the bond between the worthy,” Geto bellows to the crowd as they all raise their heads in unison and cheer for all present for the ritual to hear. “Kneel before her. Pray to her now. For as long as she is by my side, she is a Goddess.”

His hand reaches out to brush your cheek with his knuckles. His expression melds into a soft one, and those sharp violet eyes flicker with something else—something almost human, the most human you’ve ever seen from someone who declares himself a deity, a pseudo-religious figure to a world outside of yours you still cannot wholly fathom. He must pity your lack of understanding but he hopes to bring you into his world, into this new world order where only pure sorcerers reign across Japan. Is Japan the only country he hopes to conquer?

The existence of sorcerers outside of Japan are rare; the existence of sorcerers altogether is rare—you’re from outside the country as is Miguel—but you’re dumbfounded by his spiel even still. None of it adds up. There has to be something you’re missing that’s just beyond what he preaches to his followers.

You just aren’t sure what that is.

“It wasn’t fate but chance that I met such a perfect specimen of woman,” he breathes, pecking your forehead in a shocking tender way. Such a goddamn mockery of what love should be, yet he believes fully in his feelings for you. You know better than to think he has any reason or logic behind anything he does or says. “You are now betrothed to me, as my Queen.”

What might have been a dream come true for any other woman in the world is nothing more than a cruel insult or joke to you. A wave of disgust overwhelms you, rearranging your insides like stew, and you find yourself clutching at your stomach as you fight back the tears threatening to spill from your exhausted eyes. The concealer Suda has used for your bridal makeup does wonders on concealing the deep dark eyebags.

You have never hated your very existence more than in this moment. There’s still another ritual to fulfill the following morning. A reception of sorts. A large feast. Geto showing you off to his lowly monkey followers like you’re some shiny beautiful object to him.

Suddenly you hear the sound of a classic band from the back of the room. The banging against Taiko drums drones through the room, soon accompanied by other traditional instruments. Geto leads you to a an empty area of the room, leading you into a slow dance.

It’s difficult to maneuver in a kimono but you follow his lead, your eyes never leaving his as there’s a layer of tenderness in them that takes your breath away for real this time. Your breath catches in your throat as he twirls you around before pulling you back into him. You’re engulfed in the heat from his body; you shiver under the weight of his affectionate gaze that feels so much more like a mockery to what a union between two souls should be. If he really believes this is real then you remember there’s nothing you can do to change his mind.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t find a way to work with this.

The music keeps at a slowed, even tempo as he guides you across the floor. You ignore the endless stares from his devotees, some still chanting that fucking mantra as he focuses on you. His hands slide lower to rest on your waist, twisting you away from the observers’ direct view like he’s trying to protect you from their scrutiny.

“I love you,” Geto calls to you again and your head snaps up to meet his gaze, still shockingly tender. Those violet eyes still glimmer with that intensity but it’s softer, affectionate. Gentle. All the things he’s so, so far from in your book. He tilts your head upward with two slender fingers tucked beneath your chin and you hold your composure the best that you can—fearful of causing a scene in front of all of his ‘subjects.’ “I adore you. Let’s retire for the day. We should eat at that banquet they’ve prepared for us and rest up for tomorrow.”

You glance away, a tear escaping your left eye. “O-okay…”

He wipes away the stray tear, tutting at your reluctance.

“A life with me is better than a life in that circus out there,” he hisses under his breath, words only you’re meant to hear. “Trust me. You’ll come to find this is a blessing in disguise, one day.”

That day may never come. However, you do pick up on something floating above him. A much clearer image of a curse, a small one resembling a rodent hovering just above Geto’s head.

This is the first time you’re ever able to see one even if your vision is still a bit faint, and suddenly you have to fight back the twitching of your lips as realization dawns upon you.

This is the seed that’s planted—your ticket out of there. Now all that’s left is to set everything in motion.

[nochd]

I feel I need to write a conclusion to this thread.

There are of course plenty of other threads by which Evangelicalism and Trumpism are entangled. But I don't feel like wandering off into the weeds.

(If you want my thoughts on Evangelicals and Israel, someone ask me and I'll try and unravel them into something coherent enough to read.)

I started this thread as a follow-up to this one, which was about what leftists could have done differently to change the outcome of the US election. Not that leftists are solely responsible, but our own choices are the one thing we can do something about directly (to repeat the point of that thread).

We can't change Evangelical Republican voters' minds directly the way we can our own.

I've seen individual Evangelicals leave their beliefs behind; I've been an individual Evangelical and I've left my beliefs behind. It happens when you live in a community with people of different beliefs, and you find you can no longer sustain the idea that a good God would send them to Hell.

This would imply that, if you have a pluralistic community and an Evangelical community next door to each other, at the boundary between them the Evangelicals will gradually become pluralists, so that over time the pluralistic community will encroach and the Evangelical one will dwindle.

Which I gather is more or less what is indeed happening in the United States, and that's exactly why the remaining Evangelicals are growing increasingly militant.

Remember, Evangelicals don't see themselves as one group among many or their beliefs as a religion like other religions. They think they worship the one true God and all other beliefs come from Satan. What they see, looking at these trends, is Satan taking over the Earth.

I've seen some well-meaning people on this website trying to assure Evangelicals that "You can be pro-choice / pro-queer / not want to try to convert people (etc.) and still be Evangelical." And they're not wrong; some individual Evangelicals do manage it.

The problem is that framing the issue in terms of you can still keep your identity only makes sense under the cultural consensus that religion is a private matter of personal identity, which -- to repeat the refrain I've been banging on throughout this thread -- is a consensus that Evangelicals never signed up to.

The core of Evangelical belief is that God has provided a life-raft to save humanity from Hell, and that life-raft is called Christianity. Evangelicals are not worried about "If I drop this part of my worldview, am I still allowed to identify as an Evangelical?" They're worried about "If I drop this part of my worldview, will I go to Hell?"

Let me lay out the problem as explicitly as possible: What Evangelicals believe about God is that every belief about God is wrong except for Evangelical Christianity. Hence, if no belief about God is wrong, that means the Evangelical belief about God is wrong.

Evangelicalism and the religion-is-private consensus ultimately cannot coexist.

I'm reminded of Karl Popper's Paradox of Tolerance -- a society that tolerates intolerance will cease to be tolerant. And it's tempting to reach for the solution where we practise tolerance "not as a moral standard, but as a social contract" (from a tweet somewhere, you've probably seen it).

But what does that mean? Do we suspend the religion-is-private consensus for anyone who disagrees with it?

Is that what people mean who say "Religion is fine, except for fundamentalism"? Is a "fundamentalist" anyone who hasn't signed up to this specific modern Western cultural consensus?

Even setting aside the religious aspect and looking at Evangelicals purely as a political bloc, strategies of intolerance always come with the same flaw, which is

The only thing we can do about that, in the here and now, is

vote for the other candidate.

Which a critical number of American leftists... well... didn't.

Anyway. This thread has been a preview of what you can expect under Project 2025.

Best of luck.

Evangelical Christianity is about to become the ruling ideology of the United States. Like it or hate it, it's going to be something everyone needs to understand.

I was raised in it, and I can explain some things.

I also have this persistent perception -- and I'm coming to realize it's pretty rare -- that the kind of "explanation" of your opponents' ideas in which you emphasize how weeeeeeirrd and sTuPiD and MY GOD IMAGINE BEING THIS FAR AWAY FROM BEING A PROPER HUMAN they are, doesn't actually accomplish anything helpful, however satisfying it might feel in the moment.

In this post I said

Three things happened in the 2024 US election:

Conservatives, led by white Evangelical Christians, voted for Donald Trump.

The Democrats did not shift their policy platform to the left.

A critical number of leftists did not vote or voted third party instead of voting for Kamala Harris.

If either #1 or #3 had not happened, Kamala Harris would have won the election. And #3 is the one that leftists could actually, on the day, have done something about.

I am going to do a post about #1 as well.

This is going to be that post.

[elviraaxen]

Maaan.... I'm still in a pretty bad rut. I might just need to play webfishing this weekend. Sorry guys im just not doing so superdeeduper.

[britneyshakespeare]

the middle school principal wants to hire me in a full-time position so bad.

and who can blame him? i'm that substitute 💅

[blujayonthewing]

so I was skimming some of the flavor text in the dnd cookbook justin got for christmas, and the intro to elven cuisine mentioned many elves having dietary restrictions like vegetarianism and veganism because of "their great respect for all life", and not to be too galaxy brained and/or maybe kind of a bitch but I really feel like a lot of elves and druids specifically aren't vegetarian, because they have a better than average respect and compassion for all life but they also have a better than average understanding that that includes plants

[shiningstages]

Me lookin' at my lil content: d'aaaaaaaw it's so cute~

I wanted to do stuff before work, but I like blanked out since I'm sleepy (went to bed around 1? 2?? then woke up at 7:11; not terrible but not like Great) then did my required stretchies / looked up stuff for things~ Tomorrow I have my last PT session and follow-up, and then I plan on cleaning my room / generally just chilling out since it has been Forever, but now...I will try and schedule in time for OC thoughts today and tomorrow (still have to decide if Atlas would be primal or astral...and maybe compare some story stuff to make sure it's not stepping on any Canon toes...but maybe we also don't care about that second bit ghffjghfgvcccgkhf).

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

i've been itching to redo my blog's theme and everything, i need to change things somehow in some way

[sematarygirls]

        BOYFRIEND!RAFE x ANXIOUS!READER

WARNINGS .ᐟ protected p in v, oral (f! receiving), established relationship, loss of virginity, reader and rafe being dorks, slow sex, these bitches do not shut up, reader is very insecure about her body and of course, has anxiety

NOTES .ᐟ this is representation for all my anxious and insecure girlies who giggle and blurt out random stuff when they're nervous (aka me)

You and Rafe were both on his bed making out, him laying underneath you as you straddled his waist—his idea, of course, citing that it would be more comfortable for both of you that way. "You better just have something in your pocket," you jokingly mumbled against his lips, feeling something distinctly hard and suspiciously close to his dick pressing against you.

You had a tendency to make a lot of dumb jokes and laugh when you were nervous, blurting out whatever came to mind before you could decide against it, which was ironic since overthinking was a second nature to you. You were shy and got nervous a lot, especially around Rafe. He was your first boyfriend and the hottest guy you'd ever laid your eyes on, neither of which helping your nerves.

Rafe's hands slipped under your shirt to touch your bare skin, holding you firmly on his lap. "Wouldn't you like to know," his smirk was teasing as he pulled back from the kiss to peer up at you.

"Uh, yeah, that's kind of the whole point of asking," you also pulled back, sitting up as you smiled down at him. You liked it when Rafe went along with your stupid jokes, bantering with you to put you at ease. He never made you feel weird or awkward for using humor to cope with your anxiety.

"Well, if you must know, I'm packing heat," Rafe quipped with a mischievous grin, his grip on your hips tightening.

You gasped exageratedly, feigning shock. "You have a gun?" You knew very well what he meant, but when did that ever stop you from saying something stupid?

He snorted, his blue eyes shining with amusement. "Yeah, I have a gun in my pants because that makes so much sense," he replied sarcastically, finding your nervous humor endearing.

"Okay, Mr. Sassypants," you rolled your eyes playfully, your palms resting on his chest as a smile pulled at your lips.

"Mr. Sassypants?" Rafe repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You know, that's not a very nice thing to call your loving, patient, and amazingly sexy boyfriend."

"Well, I can't help that my loving, patient, and amazingly sexy boyfriend is such a diva," you grinned, feeling his chest rise and fall, his heart beating steadily under your fingertips.

"Diva?" He gasped in mock offense, his hands sliding up your sides. "I'll show you a diva." In one swift motion, he flipped your positions, pinning you beneath him.

You laughed, looking up at him with a smile despite the anxiety gnawing at you. He had a way of putting your mind at ease with just one look, and the soothing circles he was rubbing on your skin were definitely helping. He stared back at you, his gaze softening. He loved your smile and the way your eyes sparkled when you laughed. Truthfully, he loved everything about you, even your innate ability to make everything a tad bit awkward.

His eyes searched yours intently, searching for any signs that you wanted him to stop. Noticing his serious turn of demeanor and his intense gaze, you felt your cheeks heat up. "Oh, cmon, don't get all serious on me now," you rolled your eyes, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, I take my role as your boyfriend very seriously," he grinned, leaning down to kiss your neck. "And, it wouldn't be very boyfriendly of me to let you go on without knowing the wonders of sex."

"Oh, right, of course, it would be for my benefit," you giggled, your heart racing at the idea of being intimate with him. You weren't exactly against the idea, but you were still a virgin, and the idea of being with someone like that was undoubtedly nerve-racking.

You could feel Rafe smile against your skin, his hands sliding farther up your sides. "Uh huh, always thinking of what's best for my girl."

"Wow, who knew you were so selfless?" You giggled, biting your lip as he nipped as your skin. Your fingers slotted into his hair as he continued to kiss and suck at your neck, his hot breath fanning against your heated skin.

"I'm a saint, what can I say?" He mumbled, his tone teasing. He was being careful, trying to reassure you without actually saying anything because he knew you'd prefer to keep things as lighthearted as possible to make you forget about how serious the moment actually was. He could tell you were nervous, and he was determined to make you as comfortable as possible.

"Uh huh, a saint," you smiled as he slowly, tentatively pushed your shirt up your body. He was giving you time to tell him to stop, maybe even slap him if you wanted to, but you didn't. As much as you felt like you were going to die on the spot at the idea of him seeing you naked, you trusted him, and you wanted this.

"I am but a humble servant of my sexy girlfriend," he pulled back from your neck to search your eyes again, pausing for a moment before your shirt revealed your bra. You gave him a small nod, and he smiled, tugging the shirt over your head as you leaned up a little and lifted your arms to help him. He threw the shirt aside, eyes roaming your skin, as if memorizing every detail. "God, you're beautiful," he breathed out.

"Shut up," you said bashfully, your heart beating faster under his intense gaze. There was a voice in the back of your head telling you that you weren't pretty enough for him, that he would hate how you looked, and that was why you preferred to fill the silence with easy jokes and stupid quips. It made it easier to silence that nagging part of you that thought you weren't good enough for him.

"No, I mean it," he insisted, his fingers slowly tracing the lace edging of your bra. "You're like, way too pretty to be real. I mean, look at you." There was a sincerity to his words that he couldn't fake, an edge of awe and pure unbridled devotion that made your head spin.

The way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, the way he touched you like he worshipped every inch of you—it was all overwhelming in the best possible way. It had you scrambling in your mind to say something, anything, even if that something was a dumb dick joke.

"I bet you're thinking about saying something stupid, aren't you?" he asked, a knowing smirk on his face as he leaned down to pepper kisses over your collarbones and down the swell of your cleavage.

"I never say anything stupid," you breathed out, as he kissed the skin that wasn't hidden behind your bra. It made your heart flutter that he knew you so well, but it also made you realize how awfully predictable you were.

"Uh huh and I'm the Queen of England," he retorted sarcastically, reaching up to slide one of your bra straps down your shoulder, kissing the bare sliver of skin that was revealed.

"Oh my God, you are?" You gasped, his remark loading you with the perfect ammunition to say something stupid. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, your highness."

"Mmm, flattery will get you everywhere," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin as he continued to kiss and touch you, slipping your other strap off. He slowly unhooked your bra, his eyes meeting yours as he paused, asking for silent permission. You bit the inside of your cheek nervously before nodding.

He pulled your bra off almost instantly, his gaze sweeping over your bare chest. You felt so vulnerable beneath his gaze, resisting the urge to cover yourself. "Okay, your turn, pretty boy," you swiftly said, trying to ease your nerves and figuring you might be a little more comfortable if you weren't the only half-naked one.

"Yes, ma'am," He smirked, leaning back to pull his own shirt off, revealing his muscular chest. You couldn't help but stare, eyes roaming over his abs and the way his muscles flexed as he tossed his shirt aside. He settled back over you, his hands sliding up your sides. "Better?"

"You are annoyingly hot," you huffed, finding it completely unfair that someone as perfect as him could even exist, let alone be on top of you right now.

"Aw, you're just saying that because you want in my pants," he teased, his hands sliding up your sides to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. "But I can't blame you, I am pretty irresistible." He leaned down, swallowing the small gasp you let out at his touch as he captured your mouth in a deep, heated kiss.

"That's slander," you mumbled into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck and curling your fingers into his hair as you pulled him closer.

"Mmm, then sue me," he murmured against your lips before trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck, slowly making his way to your chest.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his soft lips on your skin. He was ridiculously skilled with his mouth, knowing exactly how and where to kiss you to drive you crazy. "Yknow what, maybe I will," you retorted breathlessly, your chest rising and falling a little faster.

"I think we can come to some sort of settlement out of court," He paused, his hot breath washing over your skin before he slowly, deliberately wrapped his lips around one of your peaks, swirling his tongue around it. "What do you think?"

Your lips parted at the feeling, intaking a sharp breath of air. "Uh, yeah, yknow that could work maybe," you grinned, your fingers gently tugging at his hair as he ravished your tits with attention.

"Mmm, I thought it might," he hummed with a cocky grin, switching to give equal attention to your other breast, your back arching ever so slightly, urging him closer. He smirked against your skin, making his way lower and leaving a trail of wet kisses in his wake. His hands slid down your sides to your hips, fingers curling around the waistband of your pants.

"Hey, wait, I don't want to be naked first," you protested, only half joking. You would rather die than be fully naked in front of him while he sits there with his clothes on.

"Oh, trust me, I have no intention of leaving my pants on any longer than necessary," He assured you with a mischievous grin, slowly unbuttoning your jeans, his knuckles brushing against your skin.

"Yeah, 'cause you're a freak," you grinned, moving on to the making fun of your boyfriend portion of the program in an attempt to soothe the pit of nausea in your stomach. You were kind of scared, not that you wanted to be lame and admit that.

"Hey, I resent that," He protested, but his tone conveyed the opposite message as he tugged your jeans and underwear down your legs in one smooth, expert motion, his gaze never leaving yours. "I'm just enthusiastic, that's all."

"Enthusiastically a whore," you snorted, letting your head fall back, staring at the ceiling. You'd really rather not see yourself naked right now, not with the amount of anxiety already coursing through your veins. You did not need a reminder of what Rafe was seeing.

"Whore?" He teased, his fingers dancing along your inner thighs. "I think you mean an amazing boyfriend who loves you and wants to make you feel good."

You hummed thoughtfully. "Uh, no, I'm pretty sure I mean whore," you grinned, reluctantly looking down at him despite yourself.

"Well, this whore is about to rock your world," He smirked, slowly trailing kisses up your inner thigh, gripping your hips. "Just relax and let me do all the work." His voice was low and seductive, his intentions clear.

"You're such an idiot," you laughed at his cheesy choice of words, a little nervous that the witty banter would have to be put on hold. He can't exactly respond to your sarcastic remarks with his mouth occupied.

He hummed, his breath hot against your core. Your breathing picked up, and you were unsure whether it was anticipation or if you were on the verge of a panic attack.

He slowly dragged his tongue along your slit, groaning at your taste on his tongue and the subsequent gasp that fell from your lips, making his painfully hard cock twitch in his jeans. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them further apart and opening you up to him. He had dreamed of this moment, imagined this exact scenario about a half a dozen times as he got himself off, and now that it was actually happening, he was going to relish every moment.

He began to eat you out like a man starved, his tongue delving deep inside your tight heat, familiarizing himself with every inch of you. His nose nudged at your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you that pulled a low whine from your throat. Your fingers threaded into his hair, moaning at the unfamiliar pleasure.

His fingers replaced his tongue, his mouth moving up to the sensitive bundle of nerves and sucking it into his mouth, determined to send you over the edge. He pushed his fingers deep inside and curled them, finding that spot that made your back arch and your hips buck against his mouth.

"Rafe," his name left your lips a breathy whimper as your head fell back against his pillows. Rafe was no stranger to having women under him, writhing and moaning his name, but something about it being you made him crazy. It took all his self-control not to blow his load in his pants right there and then.

He redoubled his efforts, eager to make you cum, rubbing that sweet spot inside you with ruthless precision and sucking on your clit, his tongue swirling around your sensitive nub. Another moan fell from your lips, your grip on his hair bordering on painful as you felt your orgasm wash over you, your legs practically shaking at the intense pleasure.

He groaned as he felt you spasm around his fingers, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. He slowly pulled away, grinning as he took in your dazed expression. He carefully slipped his fingers from your quivering hole, bringing them to his mouth. He couldn't help the moan that rumbled low in his throat as he tasted you on his tongue. God, you were perfect.

His eyes flicked up to yours as his tongue darted out to lick his lips clean. "Good, huh?" He asked, his tone smug. He knew it had been good, but he wanted to hear you say it.

"I'm gonna slap that stupid look off your face," you playfully rolled your eyes, your skin practically burning up with embarrassment.

"I think that would take our case from a civil lawsuit to a criminal assault charge," he grinned, calling back to your previous joke about taking him to court. He positioned himself over you again to press his lips against yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"It's my first offense and a misdemeanor," you mumbled into the kiss, cupping his face. "Worst I'll get is a fine, so... totally worth it."

"Okay, smartass," he pulled away, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, gazing down at you lovingly.

"Just saying," you smiled softly up at him, his hair falling into his face and his blue eyes sparkling. He really loved you, and it was evident just from the way he looked at you. He'd never felt anything like it before. He loved you so much it terrified him.

But, of course, you had to ruin the moment of peace because shutting up was not something you were wired to do, especially not in the face of such charged silence. "Your little friend is poking me again," you blurted out the words before you could stop yourself. Little friend? You really couldn't have come up with anything else?

Rafe couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips as he rocked his hips against you, making you gasp softly. "He's just happy to see you." His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned down at you, his fingers absently tracing along your side.

"Okay, well, can you tell him I don't really know him like that, so maybe he should calm down a little bit," you couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but you loved it, and you loved him. He understood you in a way you never thought you'd be understood by anyone.

"He says he's not planning on staying a stranger for much longer," he smirked, his hips rolling against yours.

"This is actually so stupid," you giggled, your hand covering your mouth as you laughed beneath him.

"Oh, now it's stupid?" He rolled his eyes, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "You're the one who started it."

"Shut up," you smiled, leaning up to kiss him. "Okay, okay, you can... start now, I guess," you said awkwardly. There was only so long that you could stall with stupid dick jokes. Besides, you felt a little bad that he had been so patient and undoubtedly, extremely hard.

"About time," he murmured with faux annoyance, his voice low as he fiddled with his belt buckle and pulled it through the loops, tossing it aside before popping the button on his jeans and slowly unzipping them.

You sucked in a breath, trying to calm your nerves as the sound of him pulling his jeans off seemed to echo through the room. You wanted this. You knew you did, but you couldn't help the pit of fear in your stomach.

He paused, feeling your body tense beneath him as you took a deep breath, a sign he knew all too well. "Hey, look at me," he coaxed softly, cupping your face and stroking your cheek with his thumb. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do. We can wait if you're not ready. Just tell me to stop, and I will, no questions asked, no hard feelings. We can just forget all about it," he reassured you.

Your heart fluttered as you heard your boyfriend's words, meeting his gaze and seeing the sincerity behind his eyes. "No, I- I want to. I'm just... scared, yknow," you bit your lip nervously, mentally kicking yourself. You always seemed to be scared. There probably wasn't a single thing in the world that you weren't scared of.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay," he soothed, pressing gentle kisses to your face, your neck, your collarbone—anywhere he could reach. "There's nothing wrong with being scared. It's your first time. If you weren't scared, that would be a little concerning."

You laughed softly at his words. "You just make sure you wrap it up. I don't know where you've been," you joked. "Safe sex is great sex as the Lil Wayne once wisely said."

He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Lil Wayne, huh? I didn't know he moonlighted as a sex ed teacher." He reached into his bedside table, pulling out a foil packet and waving it in front of your face. "But don't worry, I'm always prepared."

"Jesus, that's a lot of condoms," you said, peering into his drawer and seeing way more condoms than you realistically thought one person would need. "You are a whore of massive proportions. Like, literally a menace to the female population."

"Oh, hush," he grinned, tearing open the packet and rolling the latex down over his length. "I bought them in bulk. You know, for... emergencies," He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, leaning back down to press kisses to your skin once more.

"Eugh," you giggled, your face scrunching up in disgust. "I genuinely do not want to know what a sex emergency is."

"Hey, a guy's gotta be prepared, okay?" He murmured against your neck, his breath warm. "Now, are you going to keep talking, or are you going to let me kiss you and calm you the hell down?"

"Yo, I am literally so calm," you rolled your eyes, lying through your teeth in the name of comedy and also not sounding like the total little loser virgin you were. "So calm and so chill. Literally have never been calmer or chiller in my life."

"Uh-huh," he hummed, clearly unconvinced as he pressed a soft kiss to your jaw, his fingers slowly trailing down your side, his touch gentle. "Because nothing says 'calm and chill' like sex jokes and rambling like you're on speed."

"Well, I can't help that I'm the funniest person alive," you argued, the realization dawning on you that you were naked, and he was naked, which meant there was only so many more sex jokes you could make before the sex actually commenced.

"You're not even in the top five funniest people I know," he teased, his fingers reaching your hip as he slowly pulled you closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours.

"Oh, you got jokes, huh?" You grinned, nervously giggling when you felt his tip nudge at your entrance. "You better take that back if you wanna get laid tonight."

"I think I'll stick with my original statement," he said, his voice low and husky as he pressed forward, the head of his dick pushing into you slowly as he rubbed soothing circles on your hip. "You're just not funny enough to make the cut, sweetheart."

You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth, wincing at the painful sensation. You grabbed his bicep for support, digging your nails into his arm. "Liar," you joked weakly, your chest heaving as you breathed through the intrusion.

"Shh, just breathe," he whispered against your neck, his voice low and soothing as he paused, letting you adjust to the foreign feeling. "You're doing so good, baby. You're taking it like a champ."

"Okay, don't call me champ while you're inside me," you grimaced, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted as you slowly adjusted to having him inside you.

"You okay, baby?" He asked softly, pushing the slightest bit further into you as he examined your reaction closely.

"Oh, yeah, just peachy," you said sarcastically. The pain was gradually starting to fade, making the whole thing more enjoyable by the second. Though, the pressure between your thighs was intense.

"Mhm, you're a real ray of sunshine," he chuckled softly, pushing the rest of the way into you, his body shuddering as he bottomed out. He was as deep as he could go, his hips flush against yours.

You gasped as he pressed all the way into you, your grip on his bicep tightening. "You're gonna look like you got mauled by a lion after this," you panted out, apologetic for the involuntary response.

"I'd wear that badge of honor proudly," he said, his voice thick with amusement as he slowly began to move, his hips rolling against yours in a gentle, soothing rhythm. "Now, shut up and let me make love to you."

"Don't say 'make love' either. That's so gross," you giggled softly, a breathy moan falling from your lips as he set a slow, pleasurable pace.

"Then what would you prefer I call it?" He murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he continued his steady movements, the friction building between your bodies. "'Coitus'? 'Intercourse'? 'Fucking'?" He punctuated each word with a sharp thrust of his hips.

You moaned, your head falling back against the pillows and brows pinching in pleasure. Okay, you were definitely starting to see what all the fuss was about. "Let's just not refer to what's happening right now as anything at all."

"Mhm, I can work with that," he hummed, his pace picking up slightly as he felt you start to relax more, your body welcoming his thrusts. "Just focus on how good it feels, baby. Let me take care of you."

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours and kissing you deeply as he continued to fuck you with a pace that demonstrated his love and devotion to you. He never thought he would be one for slow, romantic sex, but he didn't think he was into a lot of things before he met you. You had a way of making him discover things about himself he was completely clueless to.

As he kissed you, he slowly shifted his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts to hit that particularly sensitive spot inside you. He felt you tense up, a sharp gasp escaping your lips into the kiss, and he smiled against your mouth. "You like that, huh?"

"You're such an ass," you grinned, your fingers curling into his hair, back arching into him as his tip continued to hit that spongy spot inside you, the pressure low in your abdomen building.

"Maybe so, but you love it," he smirked against your mouth, his hands gripping your hips as he increased his pace, his hips snapping forward in a steady rhythm. "And you're gonna come for me again, baby. Aren't you?"

Your mouth fell open in pleasure, your breath hot against his lips. "uh huh," you nodded, your eyes fluttering shut. He was a cocky motherfucker, but he was hot and he put up with your shit, so it was only fair you put up with his in return.

"That's my girl," he purred, one hand sliding down to rub tight circles on your clit as he continued his relentless pace. "Come on, baby. Let me feel you. I want to watch you fall apart for me."

You gasped sharply at the added stimulation, his name leaving your lips in a whine as you tensed around him, sent over the edge for the second time.

He groaned as he felt your walls clench around him, the sensation of you practically choking his dick sending him into his own release. "Fuck, you feel so good," he panted, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself into the condom with a low moan of your name.

Your walls pulsed around him as you slowly came down from your high, relaxing into the mattress. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath, your whole body on fire and coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

He collapsed on top of you with a satisfied hum, peppering gentle kisses along your neck and collarbone as he softened inside you. "I love you, you know that?"

"Good 'cause otherwise this would be pretty awkward," you laughed breathlessly, gently raking your nails over his scalp soothingly. "But, seriously, I love you too," you added quietly after a beat of silence.

tags .ᐟ   @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @iheartjjmaybnk / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @xoxohoneymoongirl / @bradshawed /

[mad-hunts]

as far as jack could tell, jervis was really out of it; and it made him wonder it was due to something that had happened while he was out with his father, or when they'd gotten here. perhaps both. jack gnawed on his bottom lip, his eyes darting to jervis's hands, which were flexing like he was struggling with something. an eyebrow rose as jack contemplated asking whether he needed some pain medication.

since he didn't receive an answer to his question yet, jack figured he might as well introduce himself. ❝ uhh, well, you don't have to talk to me if you aren't feeling up to it. my sister told me that you fainted in front of her out there — so, i understand if you're still feeling sick. my name is jack, ❞ he scratched at the back of his neck as he continued to observe jervis. whenever the man tried to get up, jack approached him and was about to caution jervis that maybe he shouldn't by lightly touching his shoulder.

but he remembered matilda telling him something about the other really not liking to be touched, so he merely was going to verbally tell him. up until jervis laid back down himself, anyhow. jack couldn't hold himself back from frowning at his poor present state before venturing out of the room with a 'i'll be right back.' and indeed he had been, with two different vials, alongside a few syringes to inject into that IV bag: should jervis want to be medicated. jack figured it'd be easier to just do that rather than forcing him to swallow anything.

he placed those also on the table before tilting his head at the quote jervis had said until it clicked a few seconds later, ❝ that's a quote from through the looking glass, isn't it? and one that the red queen said in the story if i remember correctly. she was basically teaching alice that staying in the same place is falling behind, right? ❞ jack squinted his eyes at that before a thought came to mind. a soft snort left him, but one that was done of an innocent sort of amusement rather than malice. ❝ that is a kind of roundabout way of talking about survival of the fittest. but hey, lewis carroll was all about the whimsy of things, i guess. and its no big deal. ❞

jack pretended not to see the tears that the other shed for jervis's own sake. the blood on his lips was something he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried, though. jack grabbed a washcloth from his pack and held it out towards's jervis's hand. once it was out of his hand was when jack set down that teacup, the slightly too long stripped pants he wore swaying across the ground. ❝ mm, you and dad were both asleep for nearly four hours. sure — i don't think that's silly at all. i keep something on me all the time from when my brother, julien, was still around. ❞ the bracelet he showed the other on his right wrist then seemed to be made up entirely of tiny conch shells.

julien was a big fan of the sea, which jack thought made his death all the more crushing. after seeing the state that the stuffed animal was in, he figured that that bunny must've been really loved; though it didn't really matter by whom it was. the end result was the same, as love changes you. jack knew this well as he'd never wanted anything more than to be embraced by the warmth of it.

he quickly shook that thought off, only to grab the two vials he got from the fridge once more. ❝ eh... the four hours actually went by rather fast. ❞ jack cleared his throat then, ❝ you know, i couldn't help but notice that you aren't looking so hot still, and so i grabbed some meds for you. but i won't force you to take them. i have a pain reliever as well as something that relieves vertigo. are either, or both of these, something you want? ❞

Eigengrau.

A faint hum buzzed in his ears; his mouth was so dry it felt like he’d swallowed a wad of wool.

The thin sheet beneath him brushed his fingertips as Jervis flexed his hands, cracking his eyes open a sliver. The room tilted, everything blurring at the edges. Ah… so he had fainted. Just as he’d suspected. No glasses, then.

"Hey. Ahh, you're awake… That's awesome. How are you feeling?"

The new voice was barely a whisper, young and uncertain—belonging to a boy, maybe sixteen or eighteen by the timber. Was this another of Barton's assistants, a friend of Matilda’s, or perhaps her brother? Jervis couldn’t quite remember; hadn't Barton mentioned something about having more than one child?

He winced, his body feeling heavy, leaden; aching everywhere. Slowly, he exhaled and tried to push himself upright—tried being the keyword. The effort brought only a wave of vertigo, dizzying and blue-hot, making his vision swim.

… ohh, god…

He swallowed thickly, curling into himself. Something wasn’t right. His glasses and gloves weren’t the only thing missing. He was in his socks, jeans, and a now damp charcoal t-shirt, his body slick with cold sweat. His graying auburn curls clung to his neck in tangled ropes. His boots were beside the cot, his messenger bag on a desk across the room. His overcoat and maroon button-down were draped over a chair.

A flicker of discomfort in his right arm. Burning. Tugging.

Jervis glanced down at the source: a plastic tube. A peripheral IV catheter.

"Ah, you know... 'It takes all the running you can do, to stay in the same place,'" he muttered, his voice clipped and hollow; Bermudian accent casual, almost detached. He turned his eyes to the boy; offered him a faint, strained smile. "Keeps things interesting, I suppose... but I appreciate your concern, lad."

He lifted his fingers to his cheek, feeling the moisture trickle down—salt on his lips. Tears, sharp and stinging. Jervis flinched and quickly scrubbed them away with the heels of his hands.

Cold metal pressed into his spine, tight around his neck—the chain with his and Sylvie’s wedding rings twisted against his skin. He must’ve been thrashing in his sleep. There was blood on his lips.

"Forgive me…" His vision swam as he watched the boy set a teacup on the small table beside the cot, just within view. "But I'm afraid I've rather lost my sense of time. How long has it been since I…?" He paused, his voice barely steady. "... if... if you don’t mind, could you please reach into my coat pocket? You'll find a small cuddly toy. A rabbit..." He rubbed his mouth, lowered his eyes. "It sounds foolish, I know... but it... it was my daughter's, you see..."

The boy nodded, moving quickly to retrieve the toy from Jervis’ coat pocket, and placed it on the table beside the teacup. The bunny was missing one of its button eyes, its white fur faded and matted. A pink satin ribbon around its neck was frayed and tattered.

“Thank you,” Jervis said hoarsely. “I must have been out of it for quite a while.”

[jaylalolz]

❛ 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐓 ❜ . . . nicholas chavez

COLLEGE STUDENT!reader x PROFESSOR!nicholas 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

SUMMARY, Mr. Chavez notices that his most intelligent student has been falling asleep and receiving poor grades in class. After class, he decides to check on her, which escalates to something else.

A/N, if you don’t feel comfortable reading this then don’t!! i didn’t proof read this so there might be some mistakes. if so, let me know!! have fun reading, angels.

WARNINGS, smuttyyy

Mr. Chavez adjusted his glasses, scanning the room as he wrapped up his lecture. His students, usually attentive, were scribbling furiously, hanging onto every word. Well, most of them were. One, in particular, sat slumped in the back row, her head resting against her arm, eyes half-closed. This wasn’t like her. She was his brightest student—sharp, focused, always the first to raise her hand, challenge ideas, and submit assignments that left him impressed. But lately, she’d been different. She’d started falling asleep in class, her energy waning, assignments either late or missing altogether.

As the class packed up and filtered out of the lecture hall, Nicholas kept his eye on her. When she made a move to leave, he cleared his throat, voice gentle but firm.

“can you stay for a moment? I need to talk to you.”

She froze in place, her hand still on her bag strap. She hesitated for a second before nodding and walking up to his desk. The other students trickled out, their chatter fading in the hallway, leaving an awkward silence behind.

Nicholas leaned against his desk, arms crossed. His expression softened as he looked at her, the concern clear in his eyes.

“I’m worried about you. You’ve been distracted, your work isn’t where it used to be, and your most recent work was very.. inappropriate. I know something is up and i’m here to talk about it. Whatever you say stays between us.”

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, and the urge to speak was overwhelming. But something inside her pulled back, a voice in her head telling her this wasn’t something she could say out loud. Not to him. Not to her professor.

“I—” she started, then shook her head, her words catching in her throat. “I can’t. It’s… complicated.”

Nicholas leaned forward slightly, his expression softening. “I understand that it might feel complicated, but I’m here to help. You’ve always been an outstanding student, and I can see something’s changed. You don’t have to carry this alone. Whatever’s distracting you, I want to help you work through it.”

She bit her lip, her mind racing. She couldn’t tell him. She wasn’t allowed to, not even by her own sense of self-control. But the sincerity in his voice, the warmth in his eyes, made it hard to keep it all bottled up. She looked at him for a long moment before sighing, dropping her head.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she whispered, almost more to herself than to him.

Nicholas gave her a reassuring look, his voice calm and steady. “Try me.”

She glanced around the empty classroom, the quiet space making it feel like the world had shrunk to just the two of them. She hesitated, then whispered, "What if it's something I shouldn't be feeling? Something I can't talk about?"

Nicholas’ brow furrowed slightly, sensing the weight behind her words. “whatever you’re feeling, whatever’s been distracting you—it’s okay. This is a safe space. It’s just between us. No one else needs to know, and I’m not here to judge you. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

She nodded, feeling both a sense of relief and a lingering uncertainty. She wasn’t sure what would come next, but for now, at least, the burden of silence had been lifted. She shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze, her fingers twisting together in her lap. She took a deep breath, as if bracing herself for something difficult. Finally, she lifted her eyes to meet his, and the words tumbled out before she could stop them.

“It’s you,” she said softly.

Nicholas blinked, thrown off by the unexpected response. “Me?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

She exhaled slowly, shaking her head slightly, as if struggling to find the right words. “I can’t focus because… you’re distracting me. I think about you all the time, and when I’m in class, I can’t pay attention. I try to keep up, but everything just… spirals. And you we’re in my head while i was writing the assignment.”

Her confession hung in the air between them, the weight of it settling in as Nicholas processed her words. He looked at her, his mind racing.

No. She's a student.

A professor and student should never have a romantic relationship. But Nicholas would have her hands chained and her ass marked with his belt if they were living in a lawless society. For the benefit of the two of them, this had to end. "I will be direct with you. I understand why some students enroll in my course. You are a youthful college student. We live in a confusing and evolving period. You're discovering who you are away from home. However, that does not imply that you would make up a filthy story about me.”

Nicholas's mind faltered. The level of tension in the room was increasing to a level that neither she nor he could handle. Something perplexing, thrilling, and erotic. At last, Nicholas said, "I'll give you an A," closing the discussion and putting her paper in a drawer.

"I... thank you, professor. I really appreciate it."

"Anything else?"

She remained silent, as Nicholas wanted. Before he lost all control, he had to get the student out of there.

However, she did respond at last. "Why do you study what you do?" It was a risky response from the professor. For this reason, he evaded the topic altogether. “It's getting late. I think you should leave."

"But -"

"Whatever you think you want from me, you don't get, Miss. I've never indulged with a student this much. Don’t tempt me.” It made her feel attracted to him. And it was something she despised. She was extremely frustrated because she hated herself for being so deeply attracted to the professor.

"Or what." bringing the two closer together as they stood on either sides of the desk. They were aware of one other's heated bodies and labored breaths. teasing. Her subsequent remarks served as the final spark. "You would never lay a hand on a student."

When her palms struck the hard surface of his desk, Nicholas pushed her onto it and allowed her to steady herself. He pushed Her down until she was only supported by her elbows, one hand on her back. She made a small arching of her back in an attempt to tease the professor in a desperate manner. "Professor, please..."

"quiet." She felt Nicholas's presence behind her, and her act was answered with a hard slap across her ass.

"Is this what you want?" With his voice hardly more than a whisper. She, on the other hand, made the decision without pausing. "Yes." Nicholas fisted a hold of her hair, very aggressively. Her lips were pursed to contain a cry that leaked out as a high-pitched whine.

"You will address me as 'sir'. If you don't, you will be punished”

"I understand, sir."

In one smooth motion, he unbuckled his belt, leaving her speechless with the sound of leather and metal. While she was thinking about how she was going to walk the following morning, Nicholas hastily covered himself with a condom that she had not seen him take out. "sir...professor, it's been a while - I don't think..."

The professor, really delighted by her response, gently clasped her jaw and ran his thumb over her lower lip. "Shhh... take it like a good girl."

She was so engrossed in his remarks and intense stare that she failed to notice Nicholas pulling her panties to the side and pushing up her dress. He wasted no more time in doing so. He had developed a painfully throbbing and stiffened cock.

The moment Nicholas felt her warm arousal covering his length, he pushed forward a little and groaned. She sensed the mouthwatering sound vibrating from his chest to hers.

With all of his remaining strength, Nicholas whispered in her ear, "Relax, baby, don't tense up," intending to spare the girl from a ruthless fuck.

When he finally gave her a full thrust, she flung back her head and let out a sound that was somewhere between a yell and a groan through parted lips. Nicholas was unable to hear her at all. He could only concentrate on the sensation of her walls pressing just the right amount of pressure against his cock.

Nicholas pulled away, then pushed forward once more, widening her entrance and losing himself in her presence. As Nicholas touched a portion of her that no man had ever touched before, she gasped. In response, she felt every muscle and bone in her body contract, like a bundle of hypervigorated nerves. "I'm not holding back." Nicholas warning was precisely what she wanted to hear.

Nicholas picked up speed, every move intentional and purposeful. With every stroke, she felt herself rise higher and higher, closer to an unfathomable release. She had never felt anything so erotically pleasant as the tension and sense that Nicholas was using her so forcefully. All she needed was one more edge. She was still engrossed in the rhythmic pleasure as Nicholas's fingers crept up on her neck.

As he pressed against her airways, Nicholas felt his cock pulse inside her, his release getting closer as he saw her fight to breathe. Her senses faltered as she focused on Nicholas's relentless thrusts and her own shallow, labored breathing. Her hand automatically reached out to remove the pressure on her neck, but Nicholas's grip tightened and she was forced closer to the edge.

He moaned, "Don't come," reaching even farther down and causing her to cry out, which was like music to Nicholas. “Tell me who you now belong to."

Nicholas used his other hand to cover her lips and stifle a scream as he simultaneously took his hand off her neck to yank her hair back and pushed deeply from a different angle. "Come on, baby. "I know you want to," Nicholas teased, opening her mouth to speak freely. "You're my little whore, tell me."

Her desperate gasps came her raspy voice. "I belong to you. I’m your little whore. please, please, fuck." He continued at his rapid speed, allowing her to collapse several times.

Her eyes were nearly full with tears, and she felt an overwhelming sense of pleasure all over her body. The sensation, noise, and visual of her amazing release was sufficient to set off Nicholas's own. He declared her his, and more than a student, with a last thrust and groan.

The two stopped, gasping for air, realizing what they had done was wrong. Their bodies were drenched in sweat and sensual ecstasy, and their heartbeats and respiration slowed. The professor and the student couldn't help but look at each other, witnessing their reflected feelings. Feelings they were unable to comprehend.

[kalims]

⋆ too drunk to recognize your boyfriend

feat. third years of diasomnia

malleus

"I.. have a boyfriend,"

to an extent. the guarded, suspicious look on your face would have concerned malleus to no belief, to others. he wouldn't have bat an eye whatsoever, but it's you so the feeling crawls up his spine and clouds his heart. he can't help the slight nudge of offense clouding his face cause you definitely shouldn't have any reason to make such a face to his.

the more his arm reaches out towards you—to ground your swaying form perhaps, the more you seem to be inching away from him. which shouldn't make sense at all! "child of man?" he murmurs. dropping the attempt to console you, to which you squint at him. back pressed against the front door to his dorm.

"who are you?!" you point at him, and he blinks. mortification spreads in his head. you've.. accumulated amnesia?!

malleus' fingers clench around the fabric on his chest, just after he had retracted the outstretched limb in fear of frightening you even more. there's a certain stiffness to his hand that illicit a drop of sweat from his forehead. him? he's your mal?

if he had the nerve to cry, he would.

but of course, you remain a priority. you exhibit unnatural behavior. no one just forgets important details in a day! you especially, won't forget about him! and he won't let you, ever.

you sway. your eyes darting around, and squinting like you're struggling to focus on one subject of your attention, a factor that might affect it is the fact you keep looking around instead on settling on something, preferably him. and, malleus is torn between steadying you, or him.

he chooses you.

despite your half hearted protest that audibly makes him sulk more, he twists the door to the dorm open and ushers you inside. not too much of a struggle, if anything, you seem lighter, and he almost actually hauled you around with minimal effort.

"must be a good night," a voice purrs, malleus doesn't have to glance at the source to know that it's lilia. years spent with the man does wonder with familiarity. it took him a couple of decades to get used to him. strangely enough he feels like he's known you longer, despite not.

the statement makes the taller male frown. lilia though, keeps the tiny smile, now tickled with a hint of amusement as the rubies shift from your blubbering form to malleus' face. oh? he's upset now. lilia muses. it's easy to ascertain his boy's move, like a sixth sense.

so lilia decides to probe further. "no? your face tells me otherwise."

malleus huffs a little. one of the habits he never seemed to grow out of ever since he learned to keep his... more draconic traits at bay. "you are less than accurate with your assumption," his eye twitches, either torn between distressed or irritation. despite the conflicting behavior, he still manages to treat you with a gentle hand while leading you towards the couch.

"it is a very terrible day." malleus continues. sad enough to complain, but fond of you enough to take the hint from your apparent cautious behavior towards him. lilia almost laughs when he spies him gloomy, sitting on the far end, away from you.

the lightning strikes just as the clouds roll in. lilia peers behind the curtains, chuckling a little at the weather.

well! he just hadn't seen malleus moping around this much since, what? when that gold trinket wouldn't fit in his tower anymore? "why so, my dear?" lilia coos, positively charmed by the 'adorable' disposition.

of course, he already knows. he'd heard your exchange moments ago.

lilia retains the easy look. "the child of man has forgotten about me," malleus explains. looking more stressed by the second. "whoever has done this, will pay." from a sad, faraway look to rage suddenly. "I beg of you, please return them." then switches back...?

he has half the mind to pretend like you're never gonna return normal but decides against it.

"of course!" lilia chirps. "they'll be well by tomorrow."

and, malleus looks like he had been holding the world by his shoulders seconds ago, a sigh of relief.

the next day, you're not sure why malleus is introducing himself in concerning detail. do you really need to know what color his assigned blanket was when he was given birth to...?

lilia

if anything, he's really the one who enabled your behavior.

"just one more." , "oh my, need another?" , "you look like you need it, come on now, don't be shy, you only live once~"

concerned, silver steadied you as you wobble on your feet. babbling about some nonsense under your breath which only illicits the boy to cast a disapproving glance at lilia (who only wears an amused smile).

"seems like they had quite the night." a cheery comment from the latter, and silver makes no move to resist when he moved closer with silent steps, then pries you to his side inside with a gentleness that would prove that he isn't.. actually the reason for your state, but not really.

lilia cooed, like he'd coddled them before. silver thinks but it is so distinct from the way he used to coax them into bed. "time for bed."

you peel your eyes open, squinting with a crease between your brows. you tug at your arm, of which doesn't really budge but lilia decides to humor the struggle so he lets go and raises his brows. "I'm not a kid!" you say, then turn your head to the side—like a kid.

oh, so adorable. lilia croons, swooning inside his head for a bit. how he'd like to simply hold you for hours end...

the romantic monolog of his daydreams though, is interrupted by you once more. ironic since you were the one he was just day dreaming about.

"oh, my. is that so? how lucky of me." he chooses to say instead.

silver sweatdrops. glancing between your hazy... anger maybe? it's not really anger in all honesty, just bordering. then to the lax demeanor his father exhibited. a glance would find normality in it, but he hasn't seen him pick on someone so...

he doesn't know the word for it, perhaps insisting on bothering a singular person as much as he can?

you gasp, snapping your head to silver. cause apparently you recognize him, but seemed scandalized by lilia's presence. "silver! protect me!"

amused, lilia watches you scurry back behind the boy.

"there's nothing to protect you from..."

"there's a man!"

"I'm a man too..."

"there's a bad man!"

your head peeks out from silver's confused frame, lilia's head follows the action. tilting to the side as you eye him hilariously warily. hmmm.. so very cute. "I'm an innocent, only wishing to steal my beloved." he replies, with a usual lightness. though the usual relaxation you had around him is replaced with irritation.

"you can't steal me away, my boyfriend and his children will strangle you."

lilia shares a look with silver. where did they get the idea of... such violence?

silver shrugs. not a clue, he seems to reply back, committed to just remaining a bystander even if he's technically in the middle.

"is that so?"

you nod vehemently, a more open vulnerability clear on your face than before. you point to lilia (well, technically you don't actually know its him! or maybe you're just playing with him?) squinting, accusing at all with him at the end of your pointer finger. the male only raises his brow, and flashes you a cheeky smile.

lilia contemplates playing with you. as in, replying 'why don't you guess?' because knowing you, even in this state you'd probably tell him: "how would I know?" then proceed to guess anyway.

you would have a cute expression, perhaps. but he isn't so cruel to the point where he would waste time—time you could be using to rest instead, preferably get sober, remember him when you wake up, and return to your lovey dovey self.

alright. maybe not lovey dovey on some days but he would definitely prefer that than you using his son as a shield against him, like the boy could actually hold him back.

well, it is technically his fault... but lilia had all the intentions to care for you if you ever got too drunk, he'd hold you up if you were too unsteady, guide you away from possible fiends, and make sure you recovered well the following morning.

but, this definitely didn't enter his area of expectations.

"yup!" you cry. "he might be short, but he can kick butt." for someone who's heard many arrogant words, he's never seen one who says one thing—a threat in your case, then you proceeded to cower behind the nonchalant silver.

you nudge silver.

silver blinks. "um... that's correct."

you glance back at lilia. as if to say I told you!

"so... he will kick my... butt?" lilia hums, indulging in using the word. goodness, good thing sebek is not here. that boy definitely would've kicked you out for endorsing such foul language.

he feigns a look of horror, to his amusement you seem to brighten.

simply adorable...

long story short. you seem to believe you've truly scared him off when he disappears.

concerned even more, silver watches you welcome lilia back with a dreamy sigh. like... you actually recognize him as your lilia, and not the guy you were just... threatening to bite the curb.

this is absurd... I should just rest... silver sighs.

lilia only beams at the showering affection.

[shotmrmiller]

kyle asking price and johnny what's up with simon having his earbuds in and phone in hand the moment they touch foot on base because before last week, he hadn't even known simon had a phone.

how did you think he got in contact with people?

i just figured he didn't.

anyway, price just shrugs and says, "gotta new girl or somethin'." johnny nods absently, lips twisted in thought.

"somethin' like tha'."

sure enough, come dinner time he can hear a higher pitched voice carrying a sense of urgency or excitement, he can't make out which it is, words coming out in a rapid fire manner.

accent is distinct too, colloquialism that hints at a different region or even country, peppered with slang he's only ever read online.

curious but it's nice to know someone's come to get to know the big man past his rough (and he means bloody rough) exterior.

he quickly tunes it out after, of course, not wanting to intrude on personal matters. but then it's a rare moment when simon's without them.

kyle manages to get snippets then.

(hey, love, just making some dinner; your favorite, actually. shrimp pasta alfredo.)

price taps him on the shoulder and he turns away, snapping back to reality. in the back of his mind, he vaguely remembers simon having an aversion to seafood.

he must be remembering wrong.

in the debrief room while they wait for price, he catches another.

(actually just finished unpacking the last of my stuff. you were a real help with this, i would've hated having to pay for movers.)

kyle recalls seeing simon haunting the hallway as per usual. he must've taken a time off.

on the way to the local strip club. why simon's there at all is a choice but his relationship with you is none of his business.

(yeah, uhm, i'm home and i checked the windows and bathroom like you taught me too. i still can't shake that feeling, yknow? i don't mean to worry you.)

since simon isn't talking to them about it, he must be getting rid of that issue soon. good on him. at least one of them gets to go back to a warm home and a soft pair of thighs.

(kyle doesn't question the other male voice in the call. nor does he question why simon isn't saying a word during it. simon's relationship with you is none of his business. he just hopes he'll get an invitation to the wedding.)