#why my mom said it taste like flesh

[coffee-and-geto]

“HOW CAN I LOVE WHEN I’M AFRAID TO FALL?”

“I fell in love with you as soon as I saw you, as soon as you covered me from my father, as soon as I heard your laugh, saw the amazing mother you are, and realized I never wanted you to leave this house.”

✧ pairing: CEO! satoru gojo x f!reader

✧ summary: to your almost regret, your life as a single mother seems to be weighing more and more heavily on your worn-out shoulders. so what could be better than pretending to be the CEO’s girlfriend of the business you work for, knowing that his father is the general manager?

✧ warnings: +18 only, smut, nsfw, her daughter is called hinata, fake dating/single mom tropes, angst, mother insecurities, fluff, reader’s ex is a jerk, unprotected sex, sex (p in v), overstimulation, pussy drunk (satoru), nipple play, fingering (f!receiving), oral (m), this fic is (really slightly) inspired from the french book ‘un printemps pour te succomber’ by morgane moncomble, including therefore small similar dialogues, (pls guys learn french only to read this masterpiece!!), fanart by @/ilameys on twt.

✧ wc: 10,154

“Can I taste the frosting?”

Your lips curve into a smile. “Of course, angel.” You crouch down and hand the spatula coated in pastel pink frosting to your five-year-old daughter. Her little fist wraps around the handle, and joy spreads across her angelic face like rays of sunshine. “So? How is it?”

“It’s so good!” she exclaims, and you chuckle.

“I’m glad you like it.” You glance at the clock in your kitchen. “I’ll put the frosting in the fridge. While the cake bakes, go back to playing, and I’ll call you to help decorate the cake as soon as it’s ready, okay?”

Hinata nods, blowing you a kiss that you return after a moment of surprised hesitation, your lips forming an “O”. Amid delighted laughter, she skips away, and you turn back to face the bowl of cake batter.

Why does it have to be so hard?

Every birthday, you hold back tears because who said ‘single mom’ doesn’t rhyme with ‘baking your own birthday cake so your daughter can sing to you’? But what hurts more — this, or seeing your flesh and blood envy her female friends who have their dads in their arms and their mothers content with their families?

The silence of loneliness can sometimes be louder than company.

“Happy birthday! Happy birthday, mama!” your daughter sings, clapping her hands as you blow out your candles in the warm, yet dimly lit, living room. “Come on, come on! Let’s eat the cake!”

With a knife, you cut two slices, one for each of you, and it only takes a few more minutes for both your mouths to be covered in pink frosting, with laughter echoing in the room. The heartache, briefly chased away by the short-lived joy, returns later that night when your daughter snuggles up in your arms in your double bed, which seems to be missing something.

Fuck, being a single mom is tough, you think as you wipe away the tears flooding your cheeks with the back of your hand. No one to support you, all the responsibilities fall on your shoulders, and now doubts about your daughter start invading your mind: “What if she blames you later for not having a father?”, “What if she thinks you’re a bad mom?”, “Do her friends at school say anything about you being the only unmarried woman among all the parents in her class?”

These thoughts have never stopped, not even during your pregnancy, whether about the weight gained or lost, or the changes in your body. Are these regrets? But how could you regret bringing such an angel into the world? Maybe it’s more about the lousy partner who left you the second he found out you were pregnant.

Probably the second option.

°°°

“WHERE IS MY SON?!”

A male voice thunders across the entire floor of the company. You jump, turning to one of your colleagues over the small partition set up for employee privacy. “Who’s yelling like that?” you whisper, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I heard it’s the new general manager…”

Your frown deepens. “Is that why they handed me the summary of our sales figures to drop off at the office upstairs?” To prove your point, you lift the massive stack of documents.

Your colleague presses his lips together, his eyes widening in a way that already gives you the answer. “Oh God, you’re the one in charge of that? Good luck. It’s to be delivered to the new director.”

A sigh escapes your lips.

For a start to the workweek, it seems you’re about to face the stormy mood of the new boss, who apparently brought his kid to the office. What a perfect beginning.

As usual, the upper floor is deserted, as it’s generally reserved for executives with direct ties to the company’s CEO. Few people take the elevator to reach the top floor of the skyscraper. Arriving in the lonely hallway, it should be a simple task to knock on the boss’s office door, drop off the elephant-weight stack of documents, and leave.

So why does the sound of running footsteps seem to be getting closer and closer behind you?

In a flash, a man dressed in a navy blue suit rushes past you, bumping your shoulder. He nearly topples the threatening stack of papers, but you manage, at the last second, to catch everything before you lose your balance. The young man opens the door to the women’s restroom, and before entering, he glances over his shoulder.

Never in your life have eyes made such an impression on you.

Two cerulean blue orbs lock onto yours with a mischievous aura. A smirk tugs at the corner of his thin, pink lips. From his pale skin to his albino hair, the man exudes charm and beauty from every pore. The sheer allure of his appearance leaves your brain too stunned to react, numbing it. How can someone be this handsome?

“SATORU!”

His serene and amused expression vanishes instantly, and you jump in response. Replaced by an exaggerated look of fear, he addresses you, “Cover for me. If he asks you, you never saw me!” And his tall, slender body disappears into the women’s restroom.

More footsteps echo down the hallway, this time from a second man, just as tall and physically similar to the young man you just encountered — though slightly older, with wrinkles lining his face and a mix of albino hair and silver from age. You have no time to react except to straighten up against the wall.

His blue eyes, more gray and stern, settle on you as he approaches. “Did you see a man? A tall idiot running around and flirting with any woman he sees,” he grumbles the last part, his eyes thoughtfully fixed on the light carpet.

You shake your head robotically. “No… I—”

“Never mind,” he cuts you off with a dismissive wave of his hand — as if your answer is irrelevant and he’s heard it at least twenty times before. He sighs and scratches at the stubble on his chin. “Who are you, anyway?”

“An employee, sir.” You gesture to the stack of documents that’s beginning to make its weight known in your arms. “I was asked to drop this off in your office.” The tone of your voice almost pleads with him to let you in and relieve you of the annoying burden.

“The report? Ah yes, of course.” You sigh in relief as he unlocks the door with his keys. “I suppose you’re wondering who I am?”

“The new general manager, I guess?” you reply, raising an eyebrow. You drop the heavy stack onto the desk and exhale deeply. “We heard you on every floor.” You can’t help but chuckle at your own remark, offering the director an apologetic smile.

He rolls his eyes, but a light chuckle still rumbles in his chest. “You’re right. It’s because of my son.”

His son?

You repeat the word aloud, confused, and he clarifies. “My son is the new CEO of this company, and I almost regret my decision to give him that position.” He shakes his head, his gaze drifting toward the blue sky visible through the large window, then refocuses on you. “I apologize in advance. He’s going to be a real handful.”

“I understand. I think we’ll manage to put up with him,” you add with a smile.

In the end, this new boss doesn’t seem as strict as your colleagues have been saying, and his story about his son is more amusing than anything. You cough slightly into your elbow and clear your throat, murmuring an apology.

“Are you sick?” the director inquires.

“A little,” you admit reluctantly, feeling embarrassed as you adjust the mask on your face. “Sorry. I couldn’t stay home.”

“No problem.” He crosses his arms over his chest and sighs. “Well, I think I have some work to do. See you later, I suppose.”

You don’t hesitate to leave the boss’s office and quietly step into the women’s restroom. “Is… someone here?” you murmur in a hoarse voice.

The creaking of a door answers you, and the general manager’s son emerges from a stall, looking cautious. He looks like a little boy checking to see if his hiding spot in a game of hide-and-seek has been discovered, which makes you stifle a discreet giggle. He turns to you and offers an apologetic smile. “Sorry about earlier. I didn’t hurt you, did I, sweetheart?”

The nickname catches you off guard, and warmth floods your face. “N-No, I’m fine. You’re the new CEO, right?”

“Satoru Gojo, at your service, pretty girl.” He winks, a reminder that he’s quite the flirt.

You introduce yourself in return, running out of things to say, your hands nervously clasped by your sides.

“Pretty name,” Satoru murmurs. He closes the stall door behind him and exhales, shaking his head. “Phew! That was a close one! Thanks again!” He strides toward the exit with one last charming smile in your direction, leaving the restroom and a lingering scent of cologne behind him.

°°°°

“Why aren’t you answering?”

“Damn it, you’re so annoying with this!”

“There’s no point in moving every few months, I’m going to find you.”

“For fuck’s sake, answer my messages! I told you I need you! I swear I’ll help you raise Hinata this time.”

“I made a mistake, so let me fix it by answering my fucking messages! I know you’re reading them!”

You swallow hard, your throat tight, and press the “block this contact” button on your phone. It’s the fourth time this month. He’s been harassing you with messages and finding a way to contact you no matter how many numbers he uses, even when you change yours. The same goes for your address, as apparently changing apartments is no longer enough to escape him.

You know he’s in debt — one of the many consequences of his excessive gambling, even when you were still in a relationship with him. Smoking, drinking, and of course, downing tobacco like it was water, only to charm you while hiding this lifestyle to get you into his bed, then fleeing the moment you were pregnant.

So now that he needs a woman and a child to escape his debts, he’s reaching out to you — the woman he abandoned after promising marriage (without a ring, of course), got pregnant, and deserted, only to come crawling back to you.

“Mama? You okay?”

Your daughter’s concerned little voice pulls you out of your daze. The cartoons playing on the TV haven’t had the desired effect — they’re not distracting her from the anxiety that’s been gnawing at you day by day. Maybe today, it’s showing enough for people to notice?

“I’m fine, angel,” you reassure her with a perfect smile — perfectly fake, because that’s something you’ve learned to anchor over time.

You pat the empty spot on the couch next to you, and she nestles under your arm. “If you say so…” Hina murmurs, clutching her worn-out bunny plush.

The state of the plush catches your attention, and a pang of guilt stabs at your heart. What kind of mother lets her daughter carry around a stuffed toy in such poor condition? Maybe you are a bad mother? Otherwise, why would Hina deserve such a pitiful situation? She deserves so much better than you…

“Little angel?” you murmur as she wraps her tiny arms around your waist and nuzzles into your belly. “Are you okay?”

“I love you.”

And the three little words sound… unreal.

Hot tears blur your vision, and it takes every bit of strength you have to whisper back, “I love you too, Hina.”

°°°°

3:00 PM.

In less than an hour, you’ll need to pick up Hinata from school.

Normally, you avoid lingering at work. You go through your usual routine as an employee, nothing special or fun — a hello, goodbye, see you tomorrow to colleagues without worrying about what’s happening around you or the gossip, even when it involves coworkers getting together.

The only change: now it’s you who gets stuck with the task of delivering all the documents to the general manager. According to one of your peers, he doesn’t seem to be strict or threatening when it comes to you. So this time, you’re tasked with delivering an additional file about the production of a new product on the market to both the CEO and the general manager. For the second time, you head up to the highest floors of the company headquarters to knock on the CEO’s door — it’s the closest. But no one answers.

No surprise, since the director’s son spends his time running through the hallways to avoid his father and shirk his responsibilities, right?

You’re about to knock on the Director’s door, but a familiar gust of wind brushes your face with a soft, fresh breeze. Satoru Gojo appears beside you with a charming smile and glances at what you’re holding.

“H-Hello, sweetheart. How are… you?” he greets, slightly out of breath from yet another chase with his father.

“I’m fine. Here.” You hand him one of the folders, and he takes it, pretending to read it. “The next meeting—” But he grabs the second document and, before you can react, opens the door to his office and casually tosses them inside before shutting the door.

“SATORU GOJO! KEEP IT UP, AND I’LL DISOWN YOU!” The boss’s voice echoes through the entire floor as he appears from behind the emergency exit door. “YOU!” He points a finger at you, standing right next to him. “Still bothering our employees?” He grumbles, his jaw clenched so tightly that you can hear his teeth grinding.

“That’s not true, father!” Satoru protests, feigning outrage. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. “You’re chasing me while I’m just saying hello to my girlfriend?”

You freeze, turning your head toward him, as lost as the Director, who squints his eyes. “Your girlfriend? Since when—”

“I was going to tell you,” Satoru continues, shaking his head, his fingers squeezing your waist while you remain paralyzed. “Here’s my new girlfriend.”

“Are you lying to me and dragging some poor woman into your childish games?”

In the back of your mind, you note that he doesn’t seem to recognize you despite the last time you saw each other.

“What? I’m telling the truth! Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” And he leans in to plant an affectionate kiss on your cheek.

Your heart almost stops for a second. But you quickly snap back to reality under the insistent embrace of his arm and his hand around you. “Y-Yes…”

What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into?

“Well, if you’ll excuse us, father, my darling and I are in a hurry.” He leads you away before you have time to protest and heads toward the elevator with you.

Once the doors close, Satoru takes your hands in his and leans toward you. “I can explain everything.”

If his cerulean blue eyes hadn’t been so persuasive, you would have exploded right there and then to yell at him.

You, the girlfriend of the CEO of the company you work for? Did this really have to happen to you? You can already picture your termination letter under your nose as you exit the back of the building. A glance at your watch tells you that if you don’t hurry, you’ll be late to pick up your daughter.

“You’re in a rush?”

“I have to pick up my daughter before I’m late,” you reply curtly, “and look at the mess I’m in now!”

“I know, I know…” Satoru rubs the back of his head, right where his immaculate undercut is. “Maybe I can explain on the way? Where’s your car?” He looks around the parking lot, his eyes searching.

The question — however mundane — makes you blush with embarrassment. “I… take public transportation…” you mumble, pouting.

He furrows his brow, as if you just admitted to showering with maggot-infested soap. “Excuse me? I don’t take public transportation.”

“Well, I do.” A hint of defiance returns to protect your pride.

How could he possibly understand when he lives like a rich man, without worrying about grocery shopping, paying bills, and of course, taking public transportation during the week to avoid wasting gas because it costs an arm and a leg! But for him, that must not be part of his daily life, especially since he’s one of society’s privileged.

“Let’s take my car then.” He says this without waiting for you, as you remain standing there. He pulls out his keys and opens the passenger door. “What are you waiting for?”

“But— I— Are you out of your mind?” you burst out. “I’m not getting in that car! I’m supposed to pick up my daughter, and now I’m pretending to be your girlfriend! In front of your father!” You emphasize your words with wild, energetic gestures.

He bursts out laughing.

Cute.

“No chance. We’re going to pick up your daughter and clear this all up. And please, stop refusing to get into a car that’s way better than those buses that reek of sweat.” He rolls his eyes, and you note how much he resembles his father when he does that.

“I have an errand to run anyway,” you persist.

“And that doesn’t change the fact that I want you to get in this car,” Satoru chuckles.

Taking a closer look, the car is as luxurious as the ones you dream about at night — yours, by comparison, looks like a junk heap ready for the scrapyard. Reluctantly, you climb in, Satoru’s chivalrous demeanor not going unnoticed as he snickers at your surrender. He quickly gets in, asks for the address of the school, and sets off after starting his car, which smells just as good as he does. You feel like a piece of trash in the middle of this little universe he inhabits.

“My father bugs me every day to find a woman,” Satoru murmurs at first, one hand resting on his thigh, clad in business suit trousers, his eyes fixed on the road over his round sunglasses. “That’s one of the reasons I avoid him.”

“And why involve me?” you snap back.

“Well, to be honest, it was partly impulsive. I met you the other day, and then, in the moment, I just wanted my father to leave me alone.” He has a half-smile that makes you swallow hard, and he gives you a knowing look before returning to a serious expression. “I’m sorry for dragging you into all this.” A pause. “I just hope you’re not married, otherwise—”

“No, I— No.” You close your eyes for a moment, the innocent question burning like a fiery arrow piercing your already aching heart. Did you just hear a sigh of relief? “And your father doesn’t seem to have recognized me since the other day,” you can’t help but point out.

“The mask.” Satoru grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. “He didn’t recognize you because of that. He’s always had a bad memory and poor eyesight.”

“But you recognized me.” You focus on the road’s scenery to avoid confronting his mesmerizing eyes. “I’m not going to wear my mask forever, you know? And I don’t want to keep pretending—”

“Please,” Satoru whispers, placing a hand on yours, sending a shiver down your spine. “Just until he and my family get off my back.”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“How much do you want?” He asks immediately, as if he just remembered something.

“What? No! I don’t want your money!” you protest as quickly as he did. “No, I…” And you groan, sinking into your seat.

Holy shit!

“What have I gotten myself into, seriously…” you moan, crossing your arms over your chest, a grimace distorting your features.

“Please. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’ll do everything to make it just a minor detail… I’m only asking you to change your name in front of my father when you pass as my girlfriend, wear a mask, and change your hairstyle at work — if we want to avoid suspicion. He won’t suspect a thing, I swear.” He pulls into the school parking lot and parks quietly.

Thoughts bombard your already exhausted mind, and you massage your temples. Why does this have to happen to you and no one else?

Satoru murmurs your name, making you lift your head. “It will only be a few family events, just for appearances, nothing more. I won’t bother you any further.”

You sigh, and the sound of the bell signaling the end of classes rings out. “I need to think about it. Thanks for the ride. Have a nice—”

“Come back. I’ll take you home,” Satoru suggests, pressing the button to unlock your door.

What’s the point of refusing?

You nod, finally getting out of the car to go pick up your daughter, who runs toward you as soon as you reach the gate.

"Mama!" She jumps into your arms.

You return her embrace, heading towards Satoru’s car. “Did you have a good day?”

“So much fun! I made you a drawing!” She’s practically bouncing as you reach the car.

Noticing your daughter’s confused look, you clear your throat. “Uh… A-A friend of mine is giving us a ride home, okay?” She blinks innocently and waits for you to open the car door, which is almost as tall as she is. Hinata gets in as you do, and you cough slightly. “This is Gojo. My friend.”

“Hello, princess.” Satoru turns his head over his shoulder with a big smile. “What’s your name?”

“Hinata,” she replies, her legs gently swinging.

“Very pretty.”

“Thank you.” She blushes and tries to hide a smile.

On the way, you try to fill the awkward silences with small talk until you arrive at the supermarket.

You had promised to buy Hinata a new stuffed animal since last night after spending hours worrying that you weren’t being a good mother. Again.

“That one!” Hinata almost runs towards a bunny plushie that’s twice the size of her head. She grabs it with her little arms and gives it a hug.

Satoru and you reach the aisle, and out of habit, you check the price under the albino’s watchful eye. Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when you see the amount, and you place a trembling hand on Hina’s shoulder. “Angel, I think it’s—”

“…Perfect,” Satoru finishes, his large hands taking the plushie from your daughter’s tight embrace to check the price tag with its shocking number. “Do you like it, little one?” he asks, looking down at her.

Hina nods energetically. “Yeah!”

“Then we’ll take it.” Satoru hands the plushie back to her and turns towards the checkout lane, already reaching into one of his pockets for what looks like… a wallet.

You react immediately, your hands finding their way around his arm. He doesn’t push you away at all and even smiles at the contact. “Gojo… No.”

“It’s Satoru to you, sweetheart,” he whispers gently. “And why not? It’s just a stuffed animal,” he scoffs. He takes Hinata’s hand so she can place the plushie on the conveyor belt.

“No, it’s not nothing to me,” you persist through clenched teeth, embarrassed that the cashier might be paying attention to your conversation.

Satoru shrugs. The cashier scans the plushie, and he uses contactless payment to pay for it. With your hands still around his arm, he places one of his on top, an intimate closeness.

“I could get used to this,” he murmurs near your ear, making you turn beet red. But he can’t continue as your daughter clings to Satoru’s leg like a koala, showering him with a thousand thank-yous for the gift. “You’re welcome, little one.” His hand gently ruffles her hair. He grins, now turning back to you. “It’s on me. You don’t owe me anything.”

Your discreet protests, so Hinata doesn’t suspect anything, come to an end when he drops both of you off in front of your home. Hinata commented that Satoru’s car looked like the one from the movie Barbie: Princess Charm School she had seen recently. He unlocks the doors as you get out of the car. Satoru’s hand catches yours, slipping a piece of cardstock into it. His contact details are on it.

“Just in case,” he mouths silently.

Nevertheless, you slip the business card into your pocket and respond just before closing the door, “I accept.”

°°°°

“And no funny business, okay? Never run in the hallways, if he tells you to wait, don’t move an inch, and—” You stop yourself as you notice your daughter is more interested in admiring the elegant decorations of the office hallways with wide, doe-like eyes and an adorable, slightly open mouth.

To your great misfortune, Hinata’s preschool is on strike for a while — which means almost all the teachers are absent. So how do you take care of your daughter when you can’t afford to miss work? By bringing her to your fake boyfriend’s office, of course! You quickly make your way toward Satoru’s office, Hinata following with her hand in yours. But just as you raise your fist to knock on his door, two large hands land on your shoulders, nearly scaring the life out of you.

“Hey, hey!” You whip around abruptly, a new mask on your face — just as the plan intended.

“Satoru…” you grit through your teeth. Hinata looks up at him and grins. You sigh.

“What do I owe the pleasure of all this lovely company?” Satoru asks, not taking his eyes off yours while giving Hinata a high-five.

As usual, he’s dressed in a luxurious suit — probably worth the rent of the apartment you live in — his slightly tousled albino hair and the familiar scent of cologne filling your nostrils. You catch yourself staring a little too long, and mentally kick yourself when his curious gaze turns mischievous.

He just realized you were checking him out, damn it!

“Hinata’s school is on strike. I need you to watch her for the day, if that’s not a problem, and since you seemed so insistent on returning the favor I’m doing for you…” you mumble, avoiding his gaze. “I see you’re spending your day roaming the offices rather than staying in yours…”

“No problem at all,” Satoru replies automatically, a pleased smile on his lips. “Ready to go to the CEO’s office?” He picks up Hina, who giggles and clings to him like a koala.

It’s your turn to smile in relief. “Thank you so much. I have a meeting with your father in an hour, and I’ll come get her at noon and again at the end of the day.” The sight of the two of them close together makes your heart melt — and for once, you don’t blame yourself for seeing Hinata happy to be with someone else.

°°°°

5:00 PM.

You’ve sent a message to Satoru asking where he was, since knocking on his perpetually empty office seems to be pointless. The meeting with the other company members about organizing the launch of a new product was particularly painful, but one thing is certain: the general manager didn’t recognize you with your more subdued hairstyle and the mask plastered on your face.

“Come to the parking lot like last time.”

And that’s the last message from Satoru (you gave him your number during lunch).

In the empty parking lot, only Satoru’s car is present, and you cast a curious glance through the windows. The two troublemakers give you a grimace — tongues sticking out and faces scrunched up. You sigh as the passenger door opens automatically.

“Satoru, you don’t have to—”

“Hina said yes and that she wants to come to my place,” Satoru cuts in with a mocking expression.

Reluctantly, you get in, your heart pounding in your chest with all sorts of panicked thoughts. However, Satoru doesn’t seem to share your reservations and starts driving as soon as you’re settled.

“So, this means you’re coming to my place,” he says, hands on the wheel and a quick glance in the rearview mirror, “and I’m inviting you to dinner.”

“No—”

“Mom! Please, Satoru is being too nice.” Hinata complains. You glance back, and she looks at you with wounded, pleading puppy eyes, arms crossed over her chest.

You grumble, slumping back against your seat as they both cheer in victory.

“By the way, I’m stopping by your place so you can pack. We’re invited to a family wedding, and my father invited us.”

“WHAT?”

°°°°

You place a box with your gift on the designated table for presents, and an arm wraps around your waist. “You look stunning,” Satoru murmurs against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin, which breaks out in goosebumps.

With a flushed face, you turn your head. “Satoru…”

“What? Just because we’re pretending to be a couple and barely know each other doesn’t mean I can’t speak the truth.” He pauses. “Well, actually, we do know each other a bit, don’t we? We’ve had dinner together.” He chuckles at your half-grimacing, half-deadpan expression, pulling you closer as music fills the wedding reception hall.

You turn your head along with him toward the back of the room, where the bride’s bouquet is about to be thrown. A tight smile curves your lips — this is one thing you’ve dreamed of. Dreams have always been just that — dreams in your life, and even when love comes knocking at your door, it’s only passing through, just like your situation with Satoru.

His father didn’t notice anything, and since Satoru lives alone in a villa, it’s hard to say no when he offered for you to stay with him until he’s settled, with your own room and a staff available 24/7. He even had a tailor make a custom dress for the wedding you were both invited to. Hinata is looked after by a lovely nurse, and you’re enjoying a life you’ve always dreamed of. So why not make the most of it despite your past?

A Satoru who’s too comfortable with you isn’t so bothersome given the time you’ve spent together lately — both at the office, acting as a couple in front of certain people, and sometimes showing affection to each other to appear believable, even though they haven’t asked for kisses yet, so—

A fluffy and soft object lands right in the middle of your face and falls into your arms. You search for what seems to be a petal in your mouth and suck in your breath at what you realize it is.

The bride’s bouquet.

A gulp forces its way down your throat as the whole room applauds because… you’ve been hit in the face with the bouquet? Not to mention the lamentations of other female cousins who had jumped with all their hopes to catch it… But why you, who hadn’t asked for anything?

“Sweetheart?” Satoru mutters, his chest still pressed against your back. His tone is so sweet, nonchalant, as if you’ve been a couple for years. “My father is watching us, and I think he’s expecting me to do something.”

You swallow and nod, dreading what might happen next. Will your heart stop beating when Satoru says:

“May I kiss you?”

Never, ever, has anyone asked you that question. Not even your ex.

So, with a nervous nod, you allow him to capture your lips in a soft, languid kiss. His tender lips taste like the cotton candy children eat at the fair. They cherish yours with every movement (which you can’t help but return in kind). Each press sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

When the kiss ends, Satoru places one last kiss on the corner of your lips and clears his throat. “This is the first time I’ve wanted to marry my girlfriend.” His warm breath ignites your body.

Has your heart exploded?

If not, why can’t you breathe?

“Awww… How adorable you are with your pretty girlfriend, Satoru!”

An elderly woman approaches you both, supported by her old cane, and you note her albino hair, similar to Satoru’s.

“My dear aunt…” Satoru smiles widely without breaking away from you.

“You make a lovely couple,” Aunt Gojo continues, giving you a wise look.

“Oh, thank you.” You immediately bow and introduce yourself. Satoru’s hands squeeze your waist, and he chuckles at your manners.

“Take good care of her, you idiot,” the aunt finishes before drifting away, a tap of her cane on Satoru’s head making him sigh and rub his sore skull.

“Well, at least we look convincing, right?” he adds.

“Yes…”

Of course, he said that because he saw his aunt before you! Don’t think he said it because he meant it or—

“By the way,” Satoru takes your hand in his and leads you to the center of the dance floor, “I meant what I said before my aunt interrupted us.”

And you’re at a loss on how to interpret his playful wink.

°°°°

“WOW! Hinata, you’re so rich!”

“Is this your dad’s castle?”

Hinata takes Satoru’s hand and faces her friends in his chic living room. “It’s my daddy’s!” She nods proudly and runs off with them toward the games and festivities organized for her birthday. The children run everywhere, scream, and burst into laughter throughout the room. The perfect atmosphere.

It’s exactly what you’ve always dreamed of giving Hina.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you murmur to Satoru, who, despite your comment, shakes his head joyfully.

“I’m glad she likes it,” he replies.

“I wasn’t talking about the party.”

He freezes and turns his head toward you. “Didn’t you tell me you’d never been married?” he dares to whisper, possibly afraid of hurting you.

“That’s true. My ex left after learning I was pregnant with Hinata.” You exhale the breath you’ve been holding, the weight of the secret finally lifted.

Maybe he won’t want to keep pretending to be your boyfriend after this…

“You can still tell me his name, you know, sweetheart?” Satoru moves closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist, as if it’s completely natural for him, but there’s a tension in his touch. “I can take care of him and—”

You shake your head to dispel the tiny bit of resentment that’s urging you to say yes. “It’s okay. Thanks for agreeing to pretend to be her father. I know it’s going to be a bit of a hassle for a while, but she cares a lot—”

“Nuh-uh.” He places a kiss on your cheek, then another on the side of your neck, causing you to shiver. “She’s already talked about it in my office.”

You open your eyes wide. “What…?”

“Hinata likes you much more than you think… You’ve suffered too much,” His other hand glides over your stomach, and his thumb traces affectionate circles on your waist.

“Thank you,” you breathe, leaning into his touch. And for a moment, the weight on your shoulders completely lifts. “We haven’t had the best birthdays recently, so I’m happy to see Hinata get what she wants.” Your eyes rest on your daughter, dressed as a fairy, waving her glittery wand at one of her friends dressed as a witch. “So, thank you for everything.”

“No need to thank me, sweetheart. But which birthday are you talking about? Yours? When was it?”

Embarrassed, your mouth feels dry. “...A while ago.”

Satoru pulls you tightly against his chest, wrapping his strong arms around you, his nose buried in your hair. “You’re such a strong woman… I can take care of you if you want. You and Hina will live like princesses, and if you want to sleep with her or have your own room, that’s no problem for me.”

“What? No, Satoru, you’re joking…”

“I’m not joking,” he insists, his gaze diving into yours — and for a second, sincerity fills his cerulean eyes.

With your mouth slightly open, you whisper, “We barely know each other, and—”

“Mama! Papa! We need to break the piñata!” Hinata rushes over to you, not paying any attention to how close you are to Satoru, and grabs each of your hands.

“Yes, angel, we’re coming,” you respond to your daughter with a weary smile, before glancing at Satoru, who is no longer looking in your direction.

Why are his ears so red?

°°°°

You place the last birthday decoration box in a corner of the living room as Satoru asked and straighten up with a grimace from your aching back. “Geez…”

The upper floor of the huge house is strangely quiet, and you furrow your brows. Could they have gone downstairs?

“Hinata? Satoru?” you call out as you walk through the hallways.

The evening darkness makes it hard to see clearly, and only the faint beam of light escaping from the kitchen door guides you.

“Are you there?” you ask, gently pushing the door open, and what you find leaves you stunned.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” the two of them exclaim, holding an enormous cake between them.

A few candles illuminate the underside of their beaming faces, party hats perched on their heads. The kitchen is a huge mess, counters covered in flour and frosting, and dishes overflow from the sink, threatening to topple over.

You stand speechless as they continue to sing your birthday song. Your nostrils and eyes start to itch strangely. Why is your vision suddenly blurring? It looks like transparent waves just above your lower lashes, threatening to overflow if you dare to blink. Yet, you can’t escape it.

Not when they set the cake on the table and pull you into a hug while your nose runs, tears roll down your cheeks, and your choked-up throat is on the verge of bursting into sobs. Satoru keeps kissing your hair, never stopping for a second to comfort you with sweet and reassuring words, his hand drawing circles on your back. Hinata wipes your tears while her own roll down her little cheeks.

Seeing you cry has always been contagious for her.

The moment gives you a glimpse of what your life would be like if you had a complete family, and Satoru’s words echo in your mind. How could he be so perfect in just a few weeks of knowing him?

Once the emotion passes, a few minutes later, you eat your birthday cake with laughter and cheer, accompanied not just by the one person who now means everything to you, but by both.

°°°°

“Watch out, Hina. You have applesauce on your chin,” Satoru chuckles, his hand grabbing a napkin to wipe the excess food around the child’s mouth.

The heartwarming scene makes your heart swell. You definitely don’t regret going out with Satoru and Hinata to have a meal at a chic terrace in their company. The family atmosphere finally gives you a glimpse of the life you’ve always hoped to live. Hinata growing up with a loving father and mother, and you, loved and supported by an ideal partner. Why not reconsider Satoru’s proposal, then? He’s the first man to think of you, even after your birthday had passed some time ago.

“I’m going to the restroom,” you murmur to Satoru, who nods in response, a wry smile curling his pink lips.

But why did it have to be on this day that a man finally approaches the two people you care about just as you slip away? He clearly waited from afar for you to let your guard down around your daughter so he could show up right in the middle of the table, facing a little girl — his daughter, technically — next to a man who isn’t her father.

Satoru slowly raises his head toward him, brows furrowed and wary. “Can I help you?”

Your ex says your name. “Where is she?” he mimics asking as if he didn’t know.

“What do you want with her?”

“To talk to her. I have the right. And you’re with my daughter, just so you know.” He crosses his arms over his chest, trying to appear threatening, but Satoru remains stoic, more contemptuous than anything else in the face of such a scruffy, unshaven nuisance.

“She’s not here; you can leave,” Satoru responds. And out of protective instinct, he pulls Hinata’s chair closer to him, his eyes narrowed. Satoru understands perfectly that your ex is back to claim his rights over his daughter, just as he’s been harassing you with messages about it.

“Excuse me? When my daughter is in the arms of a stranger? I could call the police immediately and we’ll sort this out very quickly,” your ex retorts sharply. He takes a step toward a lost Hinata, her big doe eyes blinking innocently between the two men. Of course, she doesn’t recognize him.

An altercation begins between the two, which naturally attracts the attention of other diners around. And you walk into the middle of the scene, frozen in shock at the sight of your ex hurling threats at Satoru.

“She’s taking my daughter, so I’m taking her back! And it’s not a bastard like you who’s going to help her regain my rights!” your ex spits with venom. His icy eyes find yours, terrified, your hands trembling and your complexion as pale as a sheet. He’s about to address you with the same angry speech, his face flushed with rage and a vein ready to burst at his temple.

Do you get déjà vu?

“‘Your daughter’?” Satoru repeats with a deadly gaze and a jaw quivering with rage. “She’s been sitting next to me for over an hour, I’ve been feeding her for over an hour, she’s been calling me by my name for over an hour, and you’re talking about ‘your daughter’? At this point, whose daughter is she... yours or mine?”

Your ex, publicly humiliated, opens his eyes wide with hatred. “You little son of—”

“Sir, we ask that you leave the terrace; you’re disturbing our customers,” a security guard declares firmly. He’s accompanied by another colleague, and when your ex protests, they grab him by the arm and escort him away amidst his shouting and the murmurs of other customers who keep staring at the three of you.

You move closer to Satoru, who immediately stands up upon seeing you — having not realized you were there — and can only offer you an apologetic look. “Let’s go,” you silently mouth (your throat too tight to dare let a sound escape, fearing it might break before you say anything), taking the hand of a silent and lost Hinata. “I’ll pay the bill and—”

“It’s already taken care of; we can go,” Satoru gently interrupts, following you to his car.

And it’s on the silent drive back that you realize something.

You’ve officially fallen in love with Satoru Gojo.

°°°°

“Look, Mom, Dad and I made a drawing for you!” Hinata proudly holds up a colorful picture with three easily recognizable characters on it.

“Did you brush your teeth?” you ask as you take the drawing to admire it, just as much smiling as your daughter. She nods and then does a little twirl to show off her new pajamas that Satoru gave her earlier in the day. “It’s beautiful. You’re so talented,” you chuckle, leaning in to plant a kiss on her cheek.

Satoru appears in the doorway of Hinata’s room, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest, a perpetual playful smile curving his lips. “Ready to go to sleep?”

“Yes, and I showed our drawing to mama,” Hinata asserts, bouncing on her bed.

“Oh yeah? Did mama like it?” Satoru asks softly, his eyes now locked with yours.

“Mama loved it and thanks Daddy,” you whisper, your voice quivering with emotion that threatens to spill over.

Half an hour later, Satoru and you find yourselves in the hallway with a sleeping Hinata and her little lullaby snores.

Satoru wraps his arm around your waist as usual and buries his face in your neck. Your heart is already racing, and your breath catches when he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” The embrace is a simple hug but with unspoken words easily guessed.

“For everything.” Satoru sighs, and for a split second, you hope he’ll let you speak, but no. “I didn’t mean to make a scene and—”

“And you think I’m going to blame you for protecting us? That I wasn’t touched by what you said about Hina?” you mumble near his ear. The closeness gives you another chance to see his ears turn red. “Is Satoru shy?” you giggle, open to teasing. He hums, hiding his face so you don’t see his expression.

“I love you.”

You blink, because you must have heard wrong. “Huh?”

“Marry me.” And he’s already on his knees before you, eyes pleading. That usually confident cerulean blue is now so submissive, so close at hand… But the sudden turn of events leaves you stunned. “I want to be your husband, not just have you as my wife. I want to raise Hina with you and give you everything you need.” Not letting himself be distracted by your stunned expression, he continues, “Want my money? I’ll give it to you. My house? It will be in your name. Want my body? It belongs to you. My heart? It’s already yours.” And he starts kissing the backs of your hands desperately. “I love you, I love you… Please, marry me…”

“Satoru… You—” you stammer, backing away, your brow furrowed. Everything is a jumble in your head, both from his touching declaration but also because it’s all moving too fast for you. “You… love me?” you manage to whisper.

He crawls to you and wraps his large arms around your thighs, almost choking with desperation. “I fell in love with you as soon as I saw you, as soon as you covered me from my father, as soon as I heard your laugh, saw the amazing mother you are, and realized I never wanted you to leave this house.” He whispers your name like a divine invocation. “I’ve fallen in love with you more than just once.”

You don’t immediately respond, and that’s okay in his eyes. He doesn’t want to pressure you, just for you to know the truth and for him to be completely transparent with you.

“It’s okay if you don’t share my feelings; I just want you to know that—” But he’s cut off by your rush toward him on the floor as you press your lips to his, pulling him into the dance of your lips that one gives to the other in a long, passionate kiss. “God… I love you so much…”

“I love you too, Satoru,” you murmur against his mouth between kisses that turn into moans as he slides his warm, wet tongue between your lips to request access to your mouth.

Both of your breaths become ragged and heavy. Satoru takes the opportunity to lift you by the underside of your thighs and lead you to his bedroom, carefully closing the door behind him without breaking the contact of your swollen, desirous lips. He gently lays you on the king-size bed with silver satin and frost-blue sheets.

With a tenderness of loving slowness, Satoru breaks the kiss. “Do you want to continue?” he asks, his voice husky. You nod timidly, but he shakes his head with his mischievous smile — finally back. “Nuh-uh. Your words, sweetheart.”

“I want it, Satoru,” you reply after a sigh of exasperation so adorable in his eyes that it makes him laugh, then he places a light kiss on the corner of your lips.

“Alright… Gonna take care of my beautiful girl, the best, the most wonderful mother, and maybe future wife—” He places a finger on your lips. “Oh no, you’ll answer that later if you want, when I have something concrete for that occasion.”

You sigh in frustration because the answer is already on the tip of your tongue, but it soon turns into a moan as he kisses the side of your neck with such deliberate slowness that you really wonder if he’s going to tease you to the limit. His hands roam over your clothed chest, exploring your already hardened nipples. His lips find their way to your collarbone, marking it with love bites and hickeys that elicit muffled moans from you.

“If you knew how long I’ve dreamed of doing this…” Satoru comments with a touch of affection, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons of your shirt. “Exactly how I would act with my wife—”

“And your father?” And he chuckles again.

“We don’t care about him.” He casually tosses your top aside to tease your sensitive, erect nipples through the fabric with his thumbs. “Such humble underwear… Would you like me to buy you something more daring?” he purrs, pulling on a strap to snap it against your gooseflesh-covered skin.

“Would you do that?” You bring your lips to his, and he immediately responds to the kiss. You also remove his black turtleneck sweater to reveal his toned, muscular torso. An adventurous hand glides over his chest, making him groan slightly, and then stops at his lower abdomen where a vein runs lower down. You place a kiss there with a small, sly smile.

For the first time, you’re about to make love with someone.

“Hmm? Satoru? Have you ever thought of me in outfits like this?” Your nimble fingers unbutton his pants, revealing a prominent bulge in his fly.

“Sweetheart, don’t—” he hisses between his teeth from the sensation of the slight friction between his erection and your eager fingers as they pull down his pants to caress and rub his dick through the thin fabric of his boxer. “Your hands feel so good…” He breathes softly, his hands stroking your bare arms with a feather-light touch.

“Answer my question…” you purr, your nails pulling at the underwear to free his hard, twitching cock. The tip is perfectly reddened, with veins coursing along its pale length of 8 inches. Almost automatically, your mouth waters, and you waste no time kissing the slit of his already glistening tip with pre.

“Babe, don’t tease…” Satoru closes his eyes and lets your hand wrap around his length, begging to be touched. “F-fuck— Yes, yes, I’ve thought about it, about buying you the most expensive and luxurious lingerie— ah!” he almost whimpers. You take a little over 2 inches of him into your mouth to stroke the base. “But also in those maternity clothes— oh god… C-can you really blame me?” He rolls his eyes and can’t help but buck his hips toward you, his body pleading for your mouth to take care of him.

You withdraw his cock from your mouth to whisper, “So you’re a naughty boy, hmm?”

“I won’t last if you keep this up— hgnn…” he whimpers completely, his dick splitting your mouth in two as you take him all in. Your head starts to bob back and forth, and he is so close that he spills moans of your name. “G’nna cum, baby, don’t—”

You hollow your cheeks, and the next moment, he cums in your mouth, long, thick ropes of his release filling your already full mouth with his shaft. You hum under his orgasm and swallow slowly. You slide his dick out of your mouth with the same rhythm to smile at a Satoru with ears as red as his cheeks.

“F-fuck, sweetheart,” he pants, his calloused finger wiping away the mixed cord of your saliva and his cum with a swipe of his thumb.

“M-hmm… You taste so sweet…” He doesn’t let you continue and crushes his lips against yours, tasting himself on your mouth. “I want you, Satoru…”

“I’m yours, princess.” He helps you quickly remove your remaining underwear so that you’re completely naked in front of him, knees resting on the expensive mattress. He kneels at the foot of the bed, and his fingers explore your sensitive, already dripping cunt.

“So wet for me… Did I do this to you just with my cock?” His fingers spread your swollen folds to gather your fluids and rub your throbbing, needy clit.

Your nails dig into his arm as you lift your hips under the sharp pleasure. “Satoru, it feels good…” you gasp in a whimper. His forefinger and middle finger spread your wetness all around your intimacy. “Please don’t tease…”

“Not tease? Weren’t you doing it, sweetheart? What a nerve,” Satoru scoffs, tapping his finger at your entrance. “Can I?”

“Please…” You wince as you move your hips down for more. And that’s exactly what he does, immediately inserting his finger into you, cursing.

“You’re so fucking tight… and so wet,” he curses, his finger moving in and out of you with careful softness. “I can already fuck you without making you cum first.” He stops finger-fucking you and looks up at you. “Is that what you want, love?”

You nod before arching your back on the bed. Satoru climbs onto the mattress and helps you wrap your legs around him. “That’s it…” He takes his length in his hand and teases your responsive cunt with the tip to get it wetter.

“Don’t tease, Toru, I swear…” And he smirks.

“Toru?”

“Sorry, I—”

His tip presses against your tight, pulsing entrance, and he grins. “I want you to moan that nickname while I fuck you, ’kay?” He grips your hips to pull you closer to him, and with one swift movement, he slides into you, a groan escaping from behind his lips as your deliciously tight, warm, gummy walls wrap around him as if you were meant for him.

The stretch causes a slight discomfort at first, and you almost cry in relief when Satoru notices. He patiently waits for you to adjust before starting a slow, deep rhythm inside you.

You widen your lustful eyes, tears forming at their corners. “Ah! Toru… Jus’ like that…” Your eyes roll back as the tip of Satoru’s dick hits the back of your cervix, making you shiver and tighten around him. “Fuck… s’deep…”

“So fucking perfect, so fucking mine,” Satoru groans, his hips rocking into you without ceasing to swell between your gummy walls. His chest rises and falls in a breath as ragged as yours, asking for more every time you moan for him to go deeper. (He discreetly rolls his eyes and babbles incomprehensible words — completely pussy drunk.)

And that’s exactly what he does. He slams back in brutally, making you cry out his name with each thrust. “Shhh… You don’t want Hina to hear us, right? So keep quiet, baby…” He helps stifle your gasps and moans of pleasure by capturing your lips with his, alternating between fast, rough thrusts and slow, gentle ones in your hole that he fucks shamelessly.

Blood rushes to your ears, a rare sensation you haven’t truly felt the last time you were with someone. It wasn’t just about carnal pleasure between Satoru and you — but about love. The fusion of bodies loving each other and providing mutual pleasure, even as they burn for each other— physically and emotionally.

One of Satoru’s hands slowly slides to one of your breasts and teases a sensitive nipple. The arch in your back encourages him to detach his mouth from yours to capture the other nipple with his wet lips. The growl he lets out sends a wave of intense shivers through you, making your eyes roll in overstimulation.

“P-please, Toru, please, I’m already close,” you whimper against your trembling palm — a feeble attempt to contain your sweet sounds as he speeds up his hip movements in your sloppy cunt — the sound of his balls slapping your skin filling the room. Your words are punctuated by the tightening of your walls around him, swearing he could cum inside you just from hearing you beg.

“Cum on my cock, baby, cover it,” he coos, giving another kiss to your abused chest. The clenching of your jaw with your teeth dug into your lower lip forces you to groan. “Want me to fill you up?” And you nod, tears showing your imminent orgasm. “Anything for you, my beautiful girl.” His hips slam against yours, and his fingers continue to tease your breast, rubbing your puffy clit.

Satoru’s own breath becomes heavier, more labored as he keeps singing praises while you gasp, his lips pressed along the line of kisses he’s placing down your jaw. “T-Toru, Toru, cumming!” you cry out as your walls spasm around his cock while he reaches his peak and fills you with his hot, liquid release, warming your lower abdomen. You see blinding stars illuminating your vision.

He hisses almost gutturally, his nails digging into the flesh of your hips. “Oh god… S-Squeezing me while I’m cumming too…” He closes his eyes for a moment, letting his peak subside at the same rhythm as yours, his forehead damp with sweat resting against your chest. 

Only pants and groans escape your lips, each one accompanied by difficult swallows and the feeling of your sweaty bodies pressed against each other.

“How was it? Did I make you feel good?” Satoru asks immediately, once his breath has returned.

The concerned questions touch your heart so deeply that you lift tearful eyes to him. “Are you going to leave, after this?”

His expression falters, and he gently withdraws from you to envelop you in his embrace. “No, baby, of course not… I won’t, I swear on my life I won’t leave you… I’m not him. I’m the one who hopes you won’t leave…” he whispers hurriedly. “Don’t think about that. I’ll always be here, for you and for Hina…”

You sniffle, your eyes red. But Satoru smiles tenderly, wiping away your hot tears. “Save your tears for later, sweetheart.”

“Why?” You clear your throat.

He sighs, the aftermath of the effort from the activity settling on him, and places a chaste kiss on your sweaty temple. “Did I tell you that my father invited us to dinner tomorrow night?”

“No,” you shake your head, “but what’s the link?”

“Don’t you understand?” he murmurs in your ear, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll understand in time.”

°°°°

“I see. So it was an unexpected encounter.” Gojo’s father nods, shrugging his shoulders. “But I wonder how a woman like you can have feelings for such a fool…”

Satoru chokes on a piece of meat he’s chewing and takes a sip of his water. You stifle a giggle, with some steamed vegetables speared on your fork, just waiting for you to devour them. For a man who appears so stern and strict, Mr. Gojo is quite a wealthy man who spends his days reprimanding his son for not doing this or that.

Yet, there’s a certain paternal camaraderie between them — a father-son relationship, if you will.

“That’s not true,” Satoru retorts, his voice still gravelly. He has an adorable pout on his lips, like a child wrongly scolded.

“Yes, like you’re not a womanizer,” his father retorts, rolling his eyes.

“It was so you’d leave me alone,” with furrowed brows, he wears a mischievous smile at his father’s incredulous expression, “but sweetheart came into my life,” he continues, looking at you with a tenderness he has rarely shown.

“I hope you manage to put up with him until… well, until you decide to marry — if that’s what you choose,” his father sighs, turning his attention back to the dish in front of him.

“Satoru isn’t a bad person, you know,” you start gently. “He is certainly a thoughtless brat with grotesque immaturity,” Satoru almost spits out his water this time, and you continue with a wry smile, “but he has a great sense of attention and unmatched generosity. I believe he will be a good husband, I assure you.”

“I must admit,” he says with a wise smile, his wrinkles less pronounced.

Satoru casually says your name, “Yeah, yeah… By the way, could you pass me the salt, please?”

You freeze, while Satoru’s father suddenly looks up with an incredulous expression. “Who?”

And you smack your forehead with the palm of your hand.

°°°°

The cries of a newborn fill the room as, breathless and on the verge of fainting, the midwives congratulate you, bringing your second child wrapped in clean blankets at your request.

“He’s beautiful…” Satoru murmurs as he approaches you, leaning down to the tiny baby with his albino hair and blue eyes — his exact likeness. “Thank you, my love, thank you, thank you, thank you…” His voice breaks as you raise a weak, exhausted hand toward him, but with a serene smile on your lips as you whisper how much you love each other.

He immediately wraps his fingers around yours, your wedding rings sparkling as they brush together like stars sealed for eternity.

✧ a/n: how i love desperate men, hihi! 🤭 hope you all enjoyed this one-shot!

✧ tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @whathappenedtobees @drippymcdrippison

[getosbigballsack]

But just imagine nights' slow, passionate nights with your husband Gojo Satoru. It's just one of those days, hands tangled within your hair, the other hand desperately holding on to your hip and you gently bounced up and down on his cock. Your forehead pressed against his, sweat dripping from both your forehead. Lips so close, you could feel his every breath, every groan, and whimpers falling from his lips. It's nights like these that you both treasure given the fact that you're busy being a mother to your three sons daily while he goes out to work to provide a comfortable living space and ensure that his family wants for nothing.

But of course, it's the sacrifice you've both made to be a mother, a father, a business man, and stay at home mom, is what made nights like these more special, intimate and you dare to say FUN. Trying your hardest to keep your voice down. You don't want the boys waking up to see their mom being "played" with by their dad, though you were both safely covered with the sheets.

"Ngh!" A desperate cry for more of his cock slipped from your mouth.

"Shhh... baby, not so loud. I know... fuck I know you want more," he whispered before pulling your lips against his.

"'M sorry. It just feels NgH... so good. I want it deeper and harder, please!"

He chuckled against your lips, teeth biting and pulling onto the sweet swollen flesh, "sure I'll give it to you deeper," he said using his hand on your hips to pull you closer to his body while he planted both legs on the bed to get a better angle to thrust his cock deeper into you. "But I don't know if I wanna give it to you harder."

"Why?" You whined.

"Because you won't be able to keep your voice down." You cried a bit, tears streaming down you face. "And it's been a while since I've been inside my wife's warm creamy pussy. So let me take my time and cherish this moment."

And he did cherish the moment, slowly thrusting up into your gushing, creaming, pretty pink and wet pussy, kissing and savouring the taste of your lips. He never stopped making love to your pussy, not even when be flipped you onto your back, hovering over you. His hand intertwined with your and his face buried in crook of your neck, biting onto you soft skin when your pussy clenched and held his cock.

You went at it all night, and even when the sun peaked above the window sill he was still inside of you, though he's sleeping his cock was very much awake inside if you. Just waiting and ready to take you for what's left of these moments alone together.

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU // Chapter 1 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Reader (You) Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.8k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), descriptions of burning, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. For years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because you feel like something halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 

You can’t wash the smell of hospital out of clothes, not really. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Scott’s new-found abilities and the murky world they’ve been dragged into is making it pretty damn hard to keep his promise. 

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real and old family skeletons rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive? 

Maybe, the real question is how long will they want to? Chapter Summary: After your annual interrogation with Sheriff Stilinski, you meet his son who turns out to be very handy with jumper cables and incoherent babbling.

A/N: Does this look familiar? It should lmao. I gave into the peer pressure. All the messages and requests were too powerful. Here is a reader version of my ofc season 1 fic. Obviously some things have been removed to get rid of specific names/descriptions, so you want to read the full thing you can read the og version and check me out on ao3 (dork_knight)! For the sake of not clogging tags, I'll probably just do my reader version on tumblr and the full oc lore version on ao3 from now on. xx

Some say the world will end in fire. Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.

Before your mother’s death, you would have picked fire. Every single time. 

You never liked the cold; never really had to get used to it growing up in central California—but the crux of your argument, the twisted logic behind it all, was that most burn victims died from suffocation before they felt the flames. A small mercy, really, in the face of unspeakable tragedy. 

In the end, however, statistics were just numbers, your mother didn't die from smoke inhalation, and there was no mercy in burying a parent before you were old enough to have children of your own. Nothing ever ended poetically off the page. Death was just death, and it was always ugly. Someone should really tell that to Robert Frost, you mused, biting at a raw hangnail.

The medical examiner said the actual cause of death was pulmonary edema; at least, that was his best guess based on the state of the body. He didn’t say that she felt everything, her skin peeling back into her flesh, her flesh liquefying into fuel, her joints flexing into contorted pleas until the fire incinerated her last nerve ending. He didn’t have to; you connected those dots all on your own. You’d been twelve at the time, not an imbecile. 

“I’m sorry to drag you through this all again.”

You flitted your eyes away from the flickering lightbulb above Sheriff Stilinski’s head and met his gaze; it was nauseatingly sympathetic. Your responding shrug was a small, little thing—more like a twitch in practice, “Not your fault.” 

Your yearly visits to Sheriff Stilinski’s office were solely your father’s doing, even if no one wanted to admit it to your face. Most mayors would use their political power to get their child out of a police station, not into it, but perhaps he stopped being your dad somewhere between the funeral and now. 

“If you could start—”

“From the beginning,” you smoothed your thumb in small circles over the armrest of your chair, attentively tracing patterns into the polished wood, “I know.” This was, after all, the fourth anniversary of your first interrogation. You’d become somewhat of an expert at being a useless witness. You picked at your uneven cuticles before continuing, “Mom put me to bed around 10:00—which was kind of late for a school night, honestly, but she let me stay up to finish another chapter anyway.” The right corner of your mouth twitched for a brief moment, “Nancy Drew: Password to Larkspur Lane. I told her that forcing someone to go to sleep in the middle of a mystery was specifically forbidden in Geneva Protocol II.” Your mom had been far too indulgent of your lip on most occasions, but that night she didn’t smile at your snarky aside. She let you finish the chapter because she was too tired to argue; you could tell. At the time, you saw it as a victory. Now, it kept you up at night, the drooping lines of your mother’s mouth spilling over the pages of whatever book you were trying to read.

You bit down on your tongue when a stray splinter snagged against the soft pad of your thumb, “Dad was out of town, so it was just the two of us. Mom always put me to bed when Dad was gone; said it was the only way she could get to sleep. Had to make sure my window was locked.” You paused for a long moment: everything went dark after this. Your mother kissed the top of your head, murmured, ‘Love you,’ turned out the light, and then that was it. You woke up in the hospital, and your mom was dead. 

A bead of sweat dripped onto your top lip. The air in the Beacon Hills police station was, without fail, sticky with heat and body odor—and it wasn’t just the oppressive Californian sun. Even in the winter, a person could choke on the stifling warmth. Idly, you wondered if it was a matter of interrogatory tactics or budgetary constraints. 

“And then,” Sheriff Stilinski prompted gently, though you both knew how the story went from here. You had told it to him and a dozen other officials at least a hundred times in the last four years. 

You bit down on your thumbnail and winced when your teeth snagged on the tender nail bed, “And then nothing. I opened my eyes, and a nurse said that you found me on the front lawn.” 

“You don’t remember how you got outside?” 

You shook your head, staring past the Sheriff's shoulder. Large pieces of dust floated through the air, highlighted by the slivers of light trickling through the blinds. Suddenly, you had a newfound appreciation for the lack of fans in the room. 

Sheriff Stilinski cleared his throat and rubbed his hand over his jaw, “You don’t remember saying it was an angel?”

Blinking slowly, you looked at the grim line of the Sheriff’s mouth and gripped your knees tightly, digging your fingers into fragile skin until your wrist cracked, “I should, right? I was twelve. I should remember something—that’s what everyone thinks. That’s what my dad thinks.” Your eyelids fluttered to a tight close, and your voice went so quiet you could barely be heard over the hum of the copier outside the door, “He thinks it was me. That’s why he makes you question me every year.” Copper flooded your mouth as the soft lining of your cheek split under the brunt of your teeth, “He thinks you’ll finally figure out how I did it.” 

You were scared to open your eyes as the silence stretched between the two of you. You’d danced around the subject before, hinted and spun around the heart of it, but you’d never truly discussed how it looked from the outside. Sheriff Stilinski had been kind enough to give you a few different excuses over the years: trauma, head injury, oxygen deprivation, just plain ol’ grief—but whatever caused your temporary amnesia wasn’t so conveniently explained. In fact, currently, you had no explanation at all. When you finally peeked through your lashes, clumped together with frustrated tears, you couldn’t quite figure out what expression the Sheriff was making. He leaned back in his desk chair and frowned, “I’m sure he doesn’t—”

“He does,” you cut him off. Your eyes went flinty, irises darkening to something far more ashen with the resolve of your anger. You never had any trouble reading your father’s face; the disgust was thinly-veiled between the flickers of fear. 

Sheriff Stilinksi leaned forward so that you had no choice but to look him in the eyes. They were kind—more tired than usual, but still kind. They always were. That was one thing you remembered from that day, waking up in the hospital to Sheriff Stilinski’s kind, watery blue eyes, just before the entire world fell apart. His voice was gentle, but firm, when he finally spoke, “I don’t.” 

You nodded numbly and pulled at a fraying string on the hem of your denim skirt until the thread snapped. 

“I mean it, kid. They couldn’t identify the source of the fire. They couldn’t even find an origin point; no twelve-year-old could pull that off.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, “Could anyone?”

Sheriff Stilinski’s brow furrowed, and his mouth screwed up into a crooked line, like he was chewing on his words and deciding if he should swallow them or spit them out. “I wish I had all the answers for you. I really do. Not knowing, it’s worse than any truth.”

You blinked up at him for a moment, once again taken aback by his raw sincerity, and swallowed hard. He wasn’t the one who was supposed to have the answers; he was the one who was supposed to ask the questions. There was one failure in his muggy office, and it wasn’t the Sheriff. “It’s okay,” you said quietly. “Not your fault.”

He looked like he wanted to argue the point, but whatever he wanted to say was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the phone on his desk. “I have to take this, but if you remember something, or if you just need to talk—”

“My dad spends a small fortune on a psychiatrist and a behavioral therapist for that,” you stood up quickly, shouldering your bag. You forced the corners of your mouth into a small smile, tight at the edges like a sheet that had been stretched too thin, “But thank you. For everything.” 

The Sheriff’s gaze darted to a framed photo on his desk. You had seen it before, on one of your many visits to his office. It was of a boy—his son, you assumed—he looked like he was around five or six at the time. He was grinning, wide enough to show off his missing incisors, and his fingers and wrist were stained cotton-candy blue from a melting popsicle. You must’ve been that happy once, right? In the beginning, everyone was unencumbered by the weight of imminent mortality. Maybe that’s what Sheriff Stilinski was thinking, too. He looked away from the photo and gave you a small smile, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

You gave a half-hearted wave before wrapping your fingers around the strap of your backpack and walking to the parking lot. 

Outside, the sky was grim, a mocking reflection of the dour expression on your face. The spite in your eyes hardened when big, fat raindrops splattered against the apples of your cheeks. For a moment, you just stood there, glaring at the rain and cursing the cosmos for their utterly unamusing sense of humor.

A jeep pulled into the parking lot, and the squealing engine startled you back into reality. The search for your car keys was, of course, a considerable endeavor. Nothing could be easy. Not here. Not today. Not ever, you thought. A bit melodramatic maybe, but the weather was certainly ripe for a bit of self-pity.

You stacked your textbooks and binders onto the hood of your sedan, haphazardly throwing your jacket on top of the pile to protect your painstakingly penned Kafka essay from the rain. By the time your fingertips brushed against the cool metal of your car keys, your hair was damp and curling at the ends. 

The momentary relief was short-lived when you pressed the unlock button five times and the accompanying beep didn’t sound, not even once. For an absurdly long minute, all you could do was rest your forehead against the driver’s side window, breathing heavily until condensation gathered next to your mouth and the drizzle speckled dots onto the sleeves of your thin cotton shirt.

“If you’re trying to charge the battery through osmosis, it’d probably be more effective to smash your head against the hood.”

You jumped, and then flinched again when your keys clattered against the ground. You caught a glimpse of the phantom speaker in the side-view mirror; bizarrely, he looked just as surprised as you felt. You turned around, trepidatiously—objects may be closer than they appear n’all—and tried to swallow your rapidly rising heart. 

“Sorry,” the boy pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down and had the decency to look contrite, “big mouth.” He rubbed a hand over his chapped lips. “It’s a real problem. It’s so big, actually, that my foot just slides right in there like…all the time,” he gestured animatedly with a flat hand, a quick sliding motion, like a fish through water.

You blinked at him, slowly, and bent down to reach for your keys, “Might wanna see someone about that. Sounds unsanitary.”

“Eh, it’s hardly the worst thing I’ve put in my mouth,” he said, eyes widening into horrified round circles the second he stopped talking. A faint flush creeped up his neck to his ears, and your heart dropped back into your chest. Slashers and ax murderers didn’t blush. Probably. You hadn’t ever met one, but it seemed like sound logic.

“Choking hazard,” you hummed, leaning back against your car. Your fingers traced a small dent in the door, the cause long forgotten, “It’s definitely still a choking hazard.”

The boy grinned before fixing his expression into something on the cusp of severity, “I’m about 95.7% sure that anything bigger than a fist is completely mouth-safe.” He held up his fist and nodded sharply, “Make that 98.3% sure.”

“98.3?” your brow arched.

“Maybe even 98.9.” 

The buzz of a lamp post hummed above your heads as you stared at each other with little smirks until the quiet made you sink your teeth into your bottom lip and big-mouth drum his fingers against his forearm. 

“So,” his sneakers squeaked against the slick asphalt as he shifted his weight, “you need a jump?”

You pursed your lips and ran your eyes over the front of your car, “I might give osmosis another shot. 30 seconds is hardly a fair trial.”

“Of course,” he hummed, “you gotta be fair.”

“We are in front of a police station.”

“Well,” he scratched his cheek, “it’s not a courthouse.”

“Technicality.” You were slightly horrified when you finally noticed that you were smiling. The sensation felt like it had escaped straight out of the uncanny valley and latched onto your face like a parasite in need of a host. It only took two weeks for muscles to atrophy; years must have completely decimated the fibers in your cheeks. “I guess I could use a jump. If your offer was an offer and not a hypothetical.” 

“Smart choice.” The boy rapped his knuckles against the hood of your car and said, “Steel’s probably pretty low on the permeability scale.”

“As opposed to a skull.”

He snorted and then nodded towards the large lump of books and papers covered by your freshly dampened jean jacket, “You should probably move your stuff. Y’know, ‘cause of the very un-permeable battery.”

“There’s that,” you sighed and started stuffing your things back into your backpack, shaking it violently until your notebook finally slid past your chemistry textbook, “and flunking English isn’t high on my list of things to do this weekend.”

His gaze flickered back and forth, rapidly cataloging every corner and crevice of your face. You tilted your head, brows pinched, and stared back at him with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. His eyes, you noticed, became a peculiar shade of brown in the yellow glow of the setting sun and the fluorescent light of the lamppost. More like honey, you realized, more like honey than irises. Something finally clicked behind them. "You,” he pointed aggressively, “you go to Beacon Hills.”

You pushed his finger away from your face with your own, “Safe bet, considering there’s exactly one option for the next 2,000 square miles.”

“You’re kind of a smartass, you know that,” he muttered. He struggled with the trunk of the jeep parked next to your car, cursing under his breath until he finally wrenched it open with an almost guttural grunt.

Your lips parted briefly, and then you grinned drolly. It was refreshing, not being treated like some fragile little creature who would buckle in the knees—or possibly set something on fire—at the slightest confrontation. “Kind of?”

“Total.” He nodded decisively before sticking his head and torso into the depths of his trunk. “Completely, entirely, and wholly a smartass.” There were various clanging sounds until he re-emerged with a pair of jumper cables, “Never noticed that in class. You don’t really…say anything.”

You bit back the snark poised on the tip of your tongue. When people looked at you, the only thing they saw was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. You were the daughter of the woman who burned to death on Cedar Street; your mom died, and you were there. It seemed like that was all you would ever be in Beacon Hills. 

In the grand scheme of things, it was better to be no one. 

High school had been your chance to slip into social obscurity—more kids, more drama, less discussion of homicide by arson—so you took it, wholeheartedly. You kept to the corners of classrooms, away from extracurriculars, and your mouth resolutely shut. 

“I try to exclusively bring the smart and leave the ass at home,” you finally replied.

The boy’s eyes drifted downwards for a moment, and his voice did a funny, squeaky thing when he said, “I should give that a go sometime.”

“10/10 would recommend. No one bugs you—and teachers never throw erasers at your face.”

“So you do remember me,” he grinned a little and rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt before unlatching the jeep’s hood and propping it open.

Slanting your head, you watched his profile. There were moles scattered across his cheek and neck, and his angular jaw clenched as he struggled with the knotted cords in his willowy fingers. “Vaguely,” you said faintly. It was coming back to you in pieces. That was life after twelve for you: bits and pieces. Everything was made up of the disquieting moments when you surfaced from the haze and into the present. It should’ve felt like a lungful of air, but it didn’t. It always felt like choking. 

He wiped his grease-smudged hand on his jeans and then extended it towards you, “Stiles.”

You took his hand, despite the strange formality, and shook it—mainly because of the black streaks staining his pants. “Y/N.”

His fingers twitched a few times when he connected the clamp to the coordinating battery terminal, and your eyes widened. You held your breath in your sternum until you registered that he hadn’t been electrocuted. He was just naturally tweaky, you concluded. It was either that, or he had jumped one-too-many engines in the last 24 hours…unless it was hidden option C, and he was actually tweaking. Unlikely, given he was on his way into a building teeming with cops, but far stranger things had happened in Beacon Hills.  

You sighed a little as you listened to the rain patter against the asphalt and the roof of your car, rubbing your palms over your arms until the goosebumps prickling along your biceps receded into your skin. Stiles looked back at you again, and his mouth wormed its way into a little frown. His head disappeared into his trunk, and after a moment a lumpy maroon mass hurtled towards your face. You caught it before it could smack into your nose, and you clutched at the soft material until you realized that the projectile missile was actually just a sweatshirt. 

Stiles was staring at you when you looked up from your hands. A small, unsure…something squirmed over his face, and you felt a little stupid, just standing there, hoodie limp in your arms. It happened a lot—more than it should after so many years. The invisible quicksand materialized in the strangest, most insignificant moments. You blinked, completely brainless, at simple questions, stared aimlessly into your closet until your second alarm startled you into snatching the first shirt you came across—clasped at a stranger’s hoodie until the rainwater pooled on your lashes dripped into your eyes.

Robotically, you thrust your arms through the sleeves and tugged it over your head, “Thanks.” The sweet scent of grass clung to the fabric, and there was something earthier underneath it, something like evergreen. You smiled slightly, combing your baby hairs behind your ears, “I guess I forgive you for attempting to blind me in the process.”

Stiles’s shoulders unwound as he scoffed, “That was an excellent throw. First-line material, honestly.”

You looked at him and tilted your head, eyebrows crawling towards your hairline, and Stiles sighed loudly, “Okay, so I’m not an ‘athlete’ or whatever—but I’m working on it. You’ll see—you’ll all see.”

You hummed softly, unconvinced but grateful enough to not comment further. Another bout of silence fell between you, but it wasn’t so restless this time—even after Stiles torpedoed his body through his passenger seat. He fought with his keys for a while until the correct one slid into the ignition. 

The jeep’s engine hummed pleasantly in the background as you let out a soft sigh, dropping your head back against your car window. The rain had stopped somewhere between trying to unlock your car and now, but you couldn’t quite recall when. The chill wasn’t so bad, you realized, without your foul mood casting a shadow over your head.

Stiles landed back on his feet and leaned against the jeep. You could feel his gaze on you again. A tickling sensation trailed down your spine as you fiddled with your keychain. You took a step backwards and bit your bottom lip, “I should probably try start my car…y’know, before you throw something else at my face.’”

He nodded, taking a step towards his jeep, “Solid plan. A tire iron was next.”

You slid into your car and stared at the steering wheel, forgetting to laugh at his joke. You wrapped your fingers around 10 and 2 and silently called upon every deity you’d ever heard of to end your suffering. Stiles seemed nice enough, but you seriously doubted your smalltalk capabilities were up-to ‘ride home’ standards. Perhaps, you should revisit your resounding dedication to atheism, you thought, as the engine sputtered in protest a few times and then came back to life. 

Stiles flashed two thumbs up through the window. The smile on his face was positively goofy, but his dismount from the jeep was somehow even goofier. He stumbled over his large feet a few times before regaining stability. You bit back a smile when he shot you another thumbs up, this time through the dash as he removed the jumper cables from your car’s battery.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans again; at this point, you were convinced that they were beyond saving, but Stiles didn’t seem concerned. He tapped against your window before stepping around the open door, “You should probably let it run for a while. Take the scenic route home; enjoy all the Beacon Hills hotspots open past 8:00 pm on a weeknight. I personally recommend the Rite Aid or Walmart.”

You snorted, “Maybe I’ll swing by the Preserve. I hear the woods are especially beautiful in the foreboding darkness.”

“Don’t.” Serious was an odd look on Stiles’s face. You decided that you much preferred the goofy grin. “Don’t go anywhere near the Preserve. It’s officially cordoned off—totally locked down, quarantine-zone-central. Something about flesh-eating, parasitic plant life.”

“As completely real and unobtrusive as that sounds,” you drawled, “don’t worry about it. Literally every single person in town knows about the body they found in the woods.” It was bound to happen, small town and all—and ‘woman dies in deadly animal attack’ was the most interesting thing that had happened in Beacon Hills since the intersection got a Target two years ago. “I’ve seen every installment of Friday the 13th and The Blair Witch Project. If I’m going to be murdered, I refuse to also be humiliated by a cliché C.O.D.” 

The manic expression on his face softened to a relieved smile and then again to a little smirk, “So what’s a certified fresh murder, then? Not that I doubt the depths of human depravity, but I think society killed off originality a few centuries ago.”

You thought back to a house fire with no origin, accelerant, or discernible cause. Apparently, not. “You know what they say,” you sighed, “life finds a way.”

Stiles tilted his head, “And death.”

“And death,” you agreed, staring at a small chip in your windshield. The cracks had just begun to spiderweb out from the pit. 

Stiles looked like he wanted to say something, and he looked so much like the Sheriff with his face twisted around thoughtful contemplation that you couldn’t believe it had taken you this long to make the connection. The boy in the photo had grown up. How unfortunate for him. Stiles swallowed whatever it was that was lingering on his tongue and shut your door. He leaned his elbow against the window frame and cocked his hand in a stiff little wave, “Seeya at school. I’ll bring something fun for target practice—maybe grapes. You like grapes? Don’t answer that—I’ll surprise you.”

You put your car in drive once Stiles was safely a few feet from the wheels and gave him a dry smile, “The anticipation is killing me.”

What a scary place to be, you thought as you watched Stiles disappear in your rearview mirror. Anticipation. Hope. Life. You were chronically good at surviving; cockroached your way out of every horrible thing life squashed you with. Lately, all you could do was cling to your heartbeat and the warmth of your skin, until you were barely more than roadkill. A walking carcass was a far cry from living, but death would not stop for you, so you stopped looking for him. You kept treading water, took your pills, stopped existing—you were a lot like Schrödinger’s cat that way: too stubborn to live, too stubborn to die. You didn’t know what to do if someone unsealed the box and forced you to choose. That was the trouble with possibility; it required far too much uncertainty.

Your dad’s SUV was parked in the garage when you finally pulled into your circle driveway. It was a rare sight; your dead battery had disrupted your usual routine. You were supposed to be safely tucked away in your room after an early dinner—take-out usually, sometimes a quesadilla if you were feeling exceptionally inspired—by the time your dad got home from work. It was dysfunctional in every sense of the word, but it was the only way you could function in the same space. 

He used to stare at you from the other end of the dinner table: not eating, not speaking. The only way you knew he was alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest. After a while, he moved dinner to his office. ‘Working dinner,’ he’d say in passing, ‘budgets are due.’ Eventually, he stopped coming home altogether. It was better that way, you thought. You loved each other better from afar, where the power of nostalgia could cloud all the present unpleasantries. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you now. You wondered, and you desperately didn’t want to find out.  

You shouldered your backpack and made sure your car lights were off twice before quietly creeping into the mudroom. You could hear the buzz of the microwave as you toed off your sneakers and tried to discern the smell emanating from the kitchen. Something with garlic and tomato. Bona Vita, probably. Your dad loved their al pomodoro. 

You tried to make yourself as small as possible as you skulked into the kitchen, shoulders hunched to your ears and grip tight around the strap of your backpack. Your dad’s back was to you; you could see the wrinkles in his collar from where he tugged at it when he was agitated. He stopped stirring his pasta once you reached the island. 

“Did…” your dad trailed off for a moment, still facing the kitchen counter, “did everything go alright with the Sheriff?” 

You shrugged even though he couldn’t see you, “I guess.”

“It’s just,” he rubbed at his jaw and looked down towards the oven, “it’s almost eight. I was wondering…worrying.”

He still wasn’t looking at you. You stared at the back of his head and sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. Look at me. Your brows pinched, and your back molars ground together. Look at me. 

“I called him. Sheriff Stilinski. He said that you didn’t speak for long.”

“Didn’t have anything new to say,” you shoved your hands into hoodie pockets, realizing belatedly that you forgot to give Stiles his sweatshirt back. Another problem for another time. 

“That’s not what I—” your dad grasped the lip of the counter and hung his head like it suddenly weighed too much for his spine, “I was wondering what happened to you.” 

“Oh,” you shifted your weight onto your other foot, “dead battery. I think it was the door light.”

Your dad nodded a little, “Do you need someone to pick up your car?”

“Got a jump from a friend.” Not a friend, not really, but you supposed it was the closest you’d come to one in the last four years. That was just a little too sad to say out loud. 

“Good.” He nodded again, “Good.” 

You nodded because it seemed like the only thing to do and slipped towards the hallway. You’d taken no less than five steps out of the kitchen when your dad said, “You could call me. Next time, you could call me.”

Maybe. Maybe you could if he would look at you.

[gatheringbones]

[“The way I told my mom was less than ideal. I was home on a school break and talking to Jessie for about an hour on the telephone. My mom kept knocking on my bedroom door, telling me to get off the phone. I was totally frustrated and came storming into the living room. She said something snide like, “I don’t know who this Jessie is and why you have to be on the phone with her for so long.” “She’s my girlfriend! And I’m bisexual!” I shouted angrily. I don’t actually remember what she said after that.

Telling my gay father was a lot less dramatic. He just said some thing like, “That’s great—whatever makes you happy.” Interestingly, he wasn’t jumping for joy over me joining the team or anything.

Jessie and I didn’t last very long; we really were better off as friends. I don’t think people, including me, realized how serious I was—this wasn’t an experiment or whimsy—until I met Jen.

Jen was the Big Dyke On Campus. She was a senior, super intelligent, opinionated, really out. Everyone knew who she was because she was a big-time activist, very outspoken about things like sex, SM, and porn. She also went to class dressed in men’s shirts and ties. This was no friendly, sporty lesbian that everyone found charming. She was a butch dyke, brazen in her gender and style, and I was drawn to her. She was frantically finishing her honors thesis when we first met, and so our early encounters were at the library. I remember kissing her for the first time on the library steps and feeling such intense desire that I thought I would explode and shatter into tiny bits of flesh at her feet. She was a brilliant flirt, so self-assured, so deliberate and generous with her words, so powerful at casting a spell on me. Consumed by her, I wanted to surrender, to give her everything. She was the smartest, fiercest lesbian I knew. And then she was my girlfriend.

Jen used to read On Our Backs and Susie Bright’s Lesbian Sex World to me at bedtime every night. (She was even in charge of bringing Susie Bright to speak on campus that spring.) We were so connected, so engaged in the relationship. Every single day, there was something new to learn, share, discover. I did so many things for the first time with Jen. Jen was the first girl I ever lived with. I experienced the tremors of my first earthquake in bed with Jen and her yellow lab. I had my first taste of what now is my favorite all-time food at the hands of Jen: sushi. Jen was the first woman to fuck me with a dildo. Jen was the first woman to tie me up. The first woman to spank me. To fuck my ass. She topped me for the first time, I bottomed to her for the first time, and we switched. We watched fag porn together. She was the first girl I ever fucked with a strap-on. She was the first girl I ever stripped for. Jen was the first girl I ever bought a tie for. Jen brought me to buy my first pair of Doc Martens. She was so articulate about her desires and her politics, so sex positive, that I felt like I could tell her anything. She was my lover, my mentor, my dyke teacher, and so much of who I am today came from her.

Before her, I felt closeted not only about my desire for women, but my desire to explore the myriad possibilities of sex. Coming out finally gave me the freedom to do so. I was never tortured or miserable with all the boys I’d been with; in fact, physically, they were pretty satisfying. I couldn’t always connect with them on an intellectual or emotional level, so I always felt like something was missing. While I was sexually precocious with men, I never tried new things, experimented, voiced fantasies—being a dyke totally coincided with my overall sexual liberation, and the two awakenings became intrinsically linked.”]

tristan taormino, from this girl is different, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[machiavellli]

hey hey I wanna know what taylor swift song to you associate with each of the slytherin boys? I've been thinking about it all day because I already have one in mind for all the marauders and I'm interested in what you think

Ciao tesooo!!😽🩷

Mhhhh personally I think I would associate each boy like this:

Mattheo Riddle - my tears ricochet

"And I can go anywhere I want/ Anywhere I want, just not/ home"

pls this is his trauma and I live for it

Lorenzo Berkshire - gold rush

"I don't like that anyone would/ die to feel your touch/ Everybody wants you/ Everybody wonders what it/ would be like to love you"

he is my golden boy and everybody would die for this cinnamon roll, change my mind, you can't.

Theodore Nott - mirrorball

“And I'm still a believer, but I/ don't know why/ I've never been a natural, all I do/ is try, try, try"

Also trauma for his deatheater family and also because I headcanon him to be an introvert, sometimes he has to force himself in situations, and a tad insecure. He is smart, as we established in our headcanons, but he might feel like that he always had to prove himself, he is a natural, but he doesn't feel like it.

Blaise Zabini - Sweet Nothing

"’Causе they said the end is comin'/ Everyone's up to somethin’/ I find myself runnin’ home to your sweet nothings/ Outside, they're push and shovin’/ You're in the kitchen hummin'/ All that you ever wanted from me was nothin'"

I feel like this is about his relationship with his mom/dead father, I know he has mommy issues and he just wants to be loved🥺

Draco Malfoy - Would've, Could've, Should’ve

"And if I was a child, did it/ matter/ If you got to wash your hands?/ Oh, all I used to do was pray/ Would've, could've, should've/ If you'd never my way/ I would've stayed/ On my knees/ And I damn sure never/ would've danced with the devil/ At nineteen"

I know this song is about grooming and also probably one of my favourites, so I know what I am talking about here, but I imagine this song to be applied to the relationship that he had with the deadeaters, voldemort and also his parents. Everybody used him, and he was so young, so naive.

can I add Ominis and Sebastian?🧍‍♀️they are also slytherin boys...OKay I will, just ignore them in case:

Sebastian Sallow - this is me trying

"They told me all of my cages/ were mental/ So I got wasted like all my/ potential/ And my words shoot to kill/ when I'm mad/ I have a lot of regrets about that/ I was so ahead of the curve, the/ curve became a sphere/ Fell behind all my classmates/ and I ended up here/ Pouring out my heart to a/ stranger/ But I didn't pour the whiskey"

Seb is the goddest boy, a brilliant one, that was blinded by the love for his sister. He went too far and lost himself in the darkness during the process. Now, he is just a kid, full of regrets, still tasting the tears for his action and for his failure. Love is indeed a weapon.

Ominis Gaunt - epiphany

"Keep your helmet, keep your/ life, son/ Just a flesh wound, here's your/ rifle/ Crawling up the beaches now/ "Sir, I think he's bleeding out"/ And some things you��just can't/ speak about/ With you I serve/ with you I fall down, down/ Watch you breathe in/ watch you breathing out, out"

My poor boy, the purest cinnamon roll ever, what adversity he had to suffer because of his family. The pain they indulged shoot straight back at him.

Sum up: everybody is traumatized except Lorenzo!

Thank you for asking, this was fun!!🩷🩷🥺

[sylvienerevarine]

hi I wrote another Oblivion short story about Sacha and the Adoring Fan (or Ben, as he's known in the Sylvieverse). you know that thing where your surrogate mom becomes a terrifying demigod. very relatable.

-----

Benirus Manor was short on insects in the winter months, and so Benethir was understandably surprised when the first violently-purple butterflies swooped through the sitting room. Surprise gave way to bone-deep fear when the insects multiplied, seemingly out of nowhere, until they formed a vast, swirling cloud that produced screeching not-quite-music. Out of this cloud stepped a tall figure in a purple waistcoat.

Benethir knew about Sheogorath, of course. His parents had taught him a few useful things before they’d died. What he didn’t understand was why Sheogorath now had the blue-gray skin, sharp nose, and wavy dark hair of his erstwhile employer and guardian, Sacha Llervu.

“What’s that look for?” the god of madness demanded, eyeing Ben’s dropped jaw and wide eyes. “Oh, right, the butterflies. Bit of a different mode of transport for me, but it’s good fun. Now, come on, don’t tell me you don’t recognize me when I’m dressed well for once.”

The notion that Miss Llervu somehow was Sheogorath was impossible to consider, so Ben didn’t consider it. “You’re lying. You stole Miss Llervu’s face, somehow, and you’re trying to make me lose my mind. It won’t work.” Unless it already has. 

“I get it, you’re confused. Trust me, so was I. But I’m not trying to trick you, Ben–I wouldn’t do that. It’s me. Good old Sacha, in the flesh.” She looked at one slim gray hand and grimaced. “Kind of.”

Ben folded his arms stubbornly. “Fine, then. Tell me something only Miss Llervu would know.” It was a stupid question–Sheogorath could undoubtedly look into his mind and dig out a memory–but he couldn’t think of a better test.

To his surprise, Sacha’s face softened. “You used to draw pictures for Agronak, before he died,” she said quietly. “They weren’t masterpieces, but he loved them. Used to hang ‘em up around the Bloodworks, and Owyn was always peeved about it, but didn’t feel like he could argue with the Grand Champion. Good times.”

Tears rushed into Ben’s eyes before he could stop them. “It’s you,” he choked out. “I believe you, but…why are you like this? Why are you a… a…”

“Daedra? That’s a long story,” said Sacha. “Here’s the gist: I did a favor for the old Sheogorath, and he decided to retire to the realm of Order and passed the job to me. I won’t say it was an easy adjustment, but here we are.”

“So that’s what you’ve been doing, this entire time? I don’t understand, Miss Llervu.” Ben scrubbed furiously at his damp eyes. “You were a famous knight, a hero, and then you just disappeared. There were all sorts of horrible rumors–people said you’d become a thief, a murderer. Even that you had joined the Dark Brotherhood. Then nothing. People thought you’d died. I just…I don’t understand why you didn’t come back.”

“I didn’t come back because I couldn’t, lad,” Sacha said quietly. “Those rumors you heard…most of them were true. I thought if I did the Nine a favor, they’d bring Marty back, but they didn’t. So I went down a dark path. You wouldn’t have wanted to be around me.”

I always want to be around you, he thought. You’re the only family I have. He didn’t say it aloud–some things you just couldn’t say to Sheogorath.

“But listen, Benny boy, I didn’t just come here to apologize,” said Sacha. “I came to offer you a job.”

Ben frowned. “Didn’t you already give me a job?”

“A better job, ya dumpling. Actually, less of a job, more of a title. How would you feel about being a duke?”

“A…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence, the notion was so absurd. “Of what?”

“Of Mania, naturally. Prettiest part of the Isles, if you like excessive sunshine and rude women. Our old Duke–he was another Bosmer, incidentally–defected when the Greymarch got a little too interesting for his taste, and long story short, he’s dead now. So I thought to myself, who better to take over than my loyal ward Ben?”

“You’re joking.” Ben searched her face, frowning. “Aren’t you?”

“Serious as the grave, duckie. ‘Course, you’d have to move to the Isles, but it comes with a flash new mansion and a good chef and a whole host of interesting neighbors.” Her smile faded slightly. “It’ll be hard to come back here often, you understand, but I’ll try my best to make it happen. You could live a good long life in the Isles, and as for me–well, I’ve got used to having you around, it seems. You’re a good lad.”

Ben hesitated, thinking. The notion that he of all people should become a Duke of Oblivion was…well, it was madness. 

Then again, what did he have in Cyrodiil? A big empty house. Few friends, no family. Living vicariously through brave gladiators going to their deaths in the Arena. He would never be offered an opportunity like this again, least of all from the only adult who gave a damn about him.

“Well, Miss Llervu, if you’re offering me a job, I guess I’d better accept,” he said. It was difficult not to squeal, but he managed it. “Shall I get packing?”

“Not much need, unless you’ve got a few sentimental things to take. We’ve got Oblivion’s finest tailors in New Sheoth, and a good smith besides.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “By the way, with all this going on, I reckon you’d better stop calling me Miss Llervu.”

Of course, she wasn’t Miss Llervu anymore, not really. She was so much more now. Ben allowed himself to mourn for a moment before speaking. “Very well, ma’am. What should I call you?”

“Dunno,” said Sacha vaguely. “How about Mum?”

[itz-me-brett-duh]

His Harmony, Her Hope Part 5 ❤️🐢

(Side Note: It’s been officially a month since I started! Thanks for everyone who likes, follows, comments, requests, or reads my work. Without you I would not have the confidence to write. 💕 Love y’all! POV changes. Mini flash back kind of. All characters are aged up! Credit to @rinksu-no-joo she put in most of the work, I just chose some words to make it flow better!)

Raphael POV:

He couldn’t sleep. Because of her. Every single time he tried to close his eyes, his mind would wander back to her. Seeing her. Touching her. Hearing her. Smelling her…All that was left was to taste. His heart wanted something that he could not have, and even though his tired brain submitted to it at first, he knew he needed to stop.

Not only because it was wrong to think about a girl you just met that indecent way. But it just wasn’t possible. Surely she would pick Leo over him, or even a human. She might be a mutant but she’s beautiful. Damn she’s beautiful!

He decided to distract himself. Even though he was tired he forced himself to keep pumping iron. One more rep. To punch harder. Faster. Stronger. But no matter how hard he tried, for some reason she was still in his heart. Like a small bulb in a dark room, her light was carving into even his darkest of corners, of the depths of his mind, heart, and soul.

In the morning he was throughly exhausted. How could Donnie fucking do it? Coffee? Energy drinks? What the fuck was even in that ‘Worlds Best Mom’ mug? “Hey, fix me up some of…that stuff…will ya Don?” His brother looked up surprised. He chose not to question it though based off the ‘I’m gonna kill the first thing that pisses me off’ look he was getting from Mr. Grumpy Pants.

“Woah dude, you definitely don’t wanna drink that…it’s good…but the side effects last for days man. Trust me I’m usually down for anything but…never…ever again. Woo wee! That was a wild trip!” Mikey was probably right, but maybe the ‘side effects’ would take his mind off of things.

“Mikey you’re being dramatic, it has only kept me up for…three days. But that’s normal for me! I told you that caffeine would affect your ADHD, and mess with your brain’s natural chemistry…But you had to sneakily make yourself some anyway. There you go Raph. I specifically engineered it to also help my neurons process things faster, so it’s a little different than regular coffee. Made it black just how you like it.” Raph didn’t. He hated coffee in any form, it tasted like shit. He’d rather stick to his water, occasional soda, and those damn good protein shakes that Mikey always made.

Kaina POV:

It was early when she woke but she stayed in bed. Staring hard at the high ceiling making sure it change back into her tight cell from childhood. But it never did. In the distance she could hear a keyboard clicking.

Searching even further she could hear the sound of flesh hitting tough fabric. She focused in on the grunts that were coming from the individual. They were raspy but determined growls. It was him. Her heart fluttered.

“…Raphael…” She said his name aloud, letting it roll off of her tongue. He must’ve also been contemplating life. What else would urge him to work out this early?

She carefully got up. Tip-toeing to see him. He was sitting now. Eyes tired and empty. She felt the urge to fix whatever troubles that lie within him, but how could she when she was still fixing herself. She decided to try and sleep again. Maybe it would help aid her faster. Maybe he would. She a woke again some time later. Hearing voices but focusing only on his.

Raphael POV:

“Sooo…guys…we have a female staying in our man cave, that’s different!” Dammit why did Mikey have to bring up her.

“First of all, we’ve never called it that. Secondly, we’ve had April spend the night before, it’s not that big of a deal Mikey.” But was is. Maybe if she wasn’t so damn cute it wouldn’t be. But she is. Not because she’s a female, because she’s just her. She’s Kaina. She’s gorgeous. Raph didn’t agree with either of his brothers on this one.

“Bro! Of course it’s a big deal! What are you even talking about? Don, now we don’t have to die alone…now…for dibs are we picking straws or-”

In walked typical Leo, saving the day. Well at least he brought pizza. “No Mikey. What’s your problem anyway? Ever since Kaina showed up all you can think about is dating, when you should be more worried about how many more mutants Shredder has made. Bebop and Rock Steady are already hard enough to deal with, not to mention these new mutants are trained. And who knows if she is actually trustworthy.” Great Leo was up. I mean he was correct this time, but he’s still Leo.

They all grabbed a slice, well except for Mikey who was already wolfing down his third slice.

“Bro you’re too narrow minded. If Shredder made her how many other hot babes do you think you made? We just gotta turn them good, and then boom! Girlfriends! My plan is fool proof.”

That was it. Raph smacked his younger brother in the back of the head. “Shut up! Mikey if she was interested in that she’d choose it for herself. She’s not property, ‘sides she’s had enough decisions made for her.”

He took another bite contemplating his next move. He smirked. “Anyway I don’t know any woman who’d want an ugly bum who can’t keep his room cleaned.”

Mikey gasped in horror. “Oh shoot you’re right! I gotta clean my room real quick!” He ran off just like Raph had planned.

“Dad told you to do that a week ago!” Donnie shaked his head disapprovingly.

He chuckled. “That gentleman is how ya stop Mikey from eatin all the pizza.” Smirking as he went to take another bite but stopped as Kaina appeared.

Kaina POV:

“Hey.”

“Mornin…” His voice was as rough as his textured skin. She couldn’t help but blush, she only hoped he wouldn’t see it.

His eyes locked with hers, like two magnets that couldn’t be pulled apart. It only made her blush more. “Hi…” Her voice felt small and frail, why was he making her so nervous.

“How are you doing today Kaina?” She turned to look at Don, needing a relief from Raphael’s heart throbbing gaze.

“I-I-I’m not sure…this is all so new…but exciting! But new…” Did those words even make any sense? Fuck she could hardly even speak because of him.

“That makes sense. Do you mind if I run a check up on you…later?”

She had to remind herself that he was Doctor Stockman, he could actually be trusted. “That’s fine…but Donnie no needles please.”

Before Donnie could respond Leo straightened. “Well it’s good to see you up Kaina, but ninjas rise early.” 

“Well I was actually up early…but I was a little nervous to come out.” Leo seemed to act like such a jerk at times.

“Back off Leo! Someone just gets out of a horrible situation and the first thing you do is nag her!” She smiled to herself, it had been a long time since someone had been so nice to her.

She watched as his bulky body purposefully bumped passed his brother in blue. “Why don’t ya come eat. We got pizza, but I think Donnie ordered some other stuff if you’d like to try it” She nodded, smiling up at him.

Raphael POV:

He gestures her to sit on the couch, as he turns to face an annoyed Leo. “Raph I wasn’t lecturing her, I was just letting her know.”

He grunted a laugh sarcastically and rolling his eyes. Not even bothering to whisper like his brother. “Sure…” Leo knew what he was doing, but he always had to maintain a perfect image.

Kaina POV:

“So this is…pizza?” She asked taking the plate and pulling it into her lap. It certainly smelled good. She picked up a piece of pepperoni, bringing it up to her mouth to test the water.

CRASH! She jumped causing her to drop her bite. “W-What was that?”

“Mikey.” They all said it in unison like they had practiced it every day.

And out he stumbled. “Here’s the lovely lady! I was just working on my ninjitsu, gotta stay sharp.” He started doing tricks with his nunchucks, it was awesome but she could tell he was showing off. “Pretty impressive right?” She couldn’t help but laugh and nod. Mikey sure was a goofball.

Raphael POV:

“Speaking of training after your done eating would you like to train with me? I’ll go easy on you of course.” Well well well, typical Leo underestimating someone’s skills.

“Oh! Uh sure Leo…”

Raphael chuckled, she wasn’t cocky but Leo certainly was. In fact she seemed nervous. He needed to boost her confidence, while simultaneously knocking Leo’s ego down a few pegs. “I bet fifty bucks that she kicks his butt.” If she wasn’t able to he might have to kick his own brother’s ass. But he knew she was capable. Something in his gut told him she had to be. 

He looked at his two younger brothers. Donnie shrugged, “i’m in.” Mikey nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

Before Mikey can say what’s on his mind Leo rolls his eyes. “No you perv, you are not going next Mikey! Guys this for training, not a game.”

“Well boys Leo’s starting to sound like a chicken to me, but I could’ve sworn he was a turtle!” Raph flapped his arms like wings and made chicken noises. He smirked as he heard her sweet laugh. Little giggles that sounded like music to his ears. 

Leo side in frustration. “Fine we’ll do it your way Raph, but if I win you have to start respecting me more, I am your leader after all.”

He clenched his jaw, but he decided it was worth the risk. “Fine by me.”

Kaina POV:

As the two brothers argue she focuses her attention back to her know cold pizza. It still smelled fine and she wasn’t picky so she ate some. Oh. My. God. It was fucking delicious! all her life she was forced to eat the bare minimum for experimental success. She never thought she would eat something so heavenly, so cheesy, so saucy, so yummy. It tasted like home, but was new at the same time.

Mikey leaned over. “It’s good right?” She nodded swallowed and grinned. “Yes, very much so…do you…do you have anymore? They never feed us this much and it definitely wasn’t this tasty!”

“Listen Kaina, you’ll never have to deal with that here.”

“Well Donnie that is if Mikey eat everything.” Raphael laughed.

“Hey! You eat up stuff too!” The youngest turtle retorted, throwing punches at his brother.

“Hey let’s not fight…By the way…I’m sorry for almost hurting your friend. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. If you say they’re a friend I’ll trust you.” The boys nodded. She stuffed the last bite of pizza down and she was ready.

Raphael POV:

Raphael stared as she got in her ready stance. It made him sad he was not up there instead of Leo. Fighting could be intimate, not sexual, but intimate. But he knew he didn’t want to hurt her. Not that she couldn’t kick his ass, but the thought of him even giving her a paper cut, scared him.

“Ready?” Leo said in his own stance.

With a determination and grit in her eyes Raphael could tell she was. “Yes.”

It started in a flash. They circled each other. Leo whipped out his swords and she…she…where was she…?

Kaina POV:

“Woah!” One of the other brothers exclaimed.

Even though she had the advantage right now she knew she couldn’t get cocky. “Where’d she go?” She reappeared as quick as she had vanished and did a move known as Meia Lua de Compasso. Her foot kicking Leo down hard. Enough to knock the wind out of him for awhile.

Raphael POV:

Could she be anymore badass? Raphael never thought turning invisible could also be a turn on but it was. Knowing that his brothers where all there though he pushed it out of his mind. It would not happen. It could not. She did not feel the same and she never would. Or at least that’s what he thought. He followed his brother up to the mat.

Leo groaned in pain holding his head down. “So big bro where’s our fifty bucks?” She laughed again at his comment and he smiled at her. “You did amazing out there Kaina!”

“Thanks Raphael!” He blushed hoping none of his brothers or her could see it. He had to remind himself again that nothing would happen. But when he looked back up at her…she was…Was she was blushing too…?

[teadrop-12]

I really love the headcanons they're honestly so spot-on and very fun to read through if its not too much can I have hcs from you of my girl Dos🙏🙏🙏

YYESSS MY BELOVEDDD OMG omg u already know a lot of hcs n u made me have a lot more so ty 4 that omg

right off the bat. does not get along with kids. either that. or she is the cool mom to them. but her experience with every kid in the show says otherwise

her real name is MAYBE Dahlia.

bi. 100% bi, with a preference for women

terrible at math but good at everything else

when i said shes bi i mean like. kinda stereotypical bi. with like the leather jackets and also falling head over heels with a woman at first sight but it takes her months to actually start to like a guy

like. i adore acaiberry right.

and rizdos

but u know how dos went and infiltrated MATA and Bakar tried to flirt with her n like she was uninterested. what if like she ran into the most ethereal woman ever (geetha,,maybe i dunno,,,,just a suggestion,,,)

and that just causes her to almost fail the entire mission because of ONE OLD ASS LESBIAN

well geetha isnt that much older than her bc shes like,,,the same age as rizwan?? apparently?? but this isnt about her

owns a motorcycle. much cooler than rizwan's, like its got purple lightning on it and stuff.

if i was to compare her to a toh character shes like eda and lilith combined. like she takes wildly unnecessary risks but also completely stoic and unwavering at some.

but really she also reminds me of elle from tlou2

has a lot of jewelery, just rarely wears it

i said before she is not good with kids but her skills at makeup and being fucking awesome are what get her by. like she can get any kid to like makeup and motorcycles in three hours

really close with trez, again, thanks to you bella i have this headcanon. but like hes like her brother, maybe they grew up together?

she brags about being in a band but really she was only in it for a month (girlfailure)

never really caring unless its someone she knows like family, like MAYBE Trez, Rizwan is an exception

either she doesn't like music or she listens to heavy metal, but like with her partner she'd have their own music taste in her playlists and stuff

whoo time for some cringe dark heartwrenching headcanons!!

when she was in the numeros she was unknowingly cloned because before rizwan she was the strongest of the numeros. but that backfired bc it turned out to be a child.

and im not saying who that is because bella you know this headcanon all too well and no one else can know until i've fleshed out everything but a hint is she was homeless until MATA

like the clone ran away when she thought she'd be terminated and thats why she was homeless.

genuinely cries a lot when she thinks of losing people she loves. like she'd go in private and cry her eyes out and come back like nothing happened

when she dated jenny she had a plan in the back of her head to run away with her and off the grid from the numeros.

we all know that can't happen now

shes been through so much shit as a kid and always thought she was so mature and that she should have been able to handle it so if she ever has her own like single or adopted or with someone i dunno, she would cry because she realized she was that small and innocent once and she didn't deserve that

i hate it here

i might be projecting

i dont even have this many headcanons for my spiky haired daughter

i might be projecting on this one a little but i also got this hc from a comic by catboymoments

anyways!! i think thats all for now but if i think of any more i'll add them ilysm bella also feel free to ask anything else!!

[dandelion-blues]

#3 PJO One-shot

A Test of Madness

Now on Ao3

Broken glass. Shards embedded in my skin. Coppery blood marked my skin, yet I gripped the shards harder, and it cut deeper into my palm. I wanted to feel pain. I wanted to feel alive. To feel my heart pumping and ignore that golden tint in my blood. To ignore the sea and ground and sky humming their chaotic tune for me to leave natural disasters in my wake, to scream and shout out all my frustrations.

Breath in…

Breath out…

Everything is fine. I'm Percy fucking Jackson, I can't afford to have a breakdown right now. I need to be on my best behavior, so the gods don't have an excuse to kill me. I need to be strong, I have to be the one to fulfill the prophecy, so Nico can live. I-I can't afford to be vulnerable, when could I ever be?

Everything is fine. I am 14 and ½ years old, and I just held up the sky last week, and the gods voted to kill me. Everything is fantastic!

Just breathe. Why is my vision blurry? Oh, I realize, as I taste salt on my lips, I'm crying. I start sobbing. Why am I crying? I grip the shard in my hand harder. The pain is stabbing, biting, and I bleed more.

Then, panic shoots through my veins. I don’t want this. I don't want to hurt anymore. Why am I doing this? I drop the shard from my hand. It clatters and breaks on the floor.

My knees fall to the floor as if the weight of the world is on my shoulders again. The broken pieces of the mirror dig into my pants, but all I feel is the overwhelming fear and hopelessness as I sob. My breath comes in shuttering gasps, and I cry and sob for the first time since I was twelve and thought I lost my mom.

Men can’t cry, shut up I told myself.

Aw, looks like brain boy is a coward too, no I’m not. I’m not! Still, the smell of rancid trash and beer bottles hit my nose, and the fear and nausea instantly came to me.

There was a purple haze in the air.

My tan skin became pale, and my green eyes sickly. Now I could only see as Smelly Gabe leered over me.

“Please no!” I screamed, “I’m sorry!”

I sobbed and awaited my beating. There was nothing I could do. Even as the son of Poseidon with all these powers, I was powerless. I was weak, useless trash, just like I’ve always been.

I felt his meaty hands grab me, I felt them on my throat. Black spots filled my vision, and I couldn’t breathe.

I thrashed around, choking and desperately trying to get some air. I wanted to live. I needed to. I couldn’t just leave the prophecy to Nico; he is only a little kid.

I grabbed onto Gabe’s fingers around my throat, and I pulled hard. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I remembered the minotaur’s horn in my hand — snap.

Gabe screamed in rage and pain, his fingers bent in broken and purpling.

“You little monster!” Gabe screamed, frothing from the mouth, “I’m going to kill you!”

I was still gasping for air, kneeling on the ground, but I looked at Gabe, my green eyes dark as the deepest seas and I said, my voice but a whisper but still it echoed around, “No you aren’t.”

I gritted his teeth and closed my eyes, focusing on air and the water around me.

“Go away!” I pushed my powers through. Water in the air and from the cabin came in, washing the blood from my skin and healing my mind and body. I shouted now with renewed energy, “You aren’t real!”

The haze cleared away from me, and I saw there was no one in the cabin with me.

Still, the leftover essence permeated the air, and I would be hard pressed to not recognize it, and I seethed, “Dionysus.”

The god shimmered in the air in a purple haze and soon became flesh before me, and I didn’t recognize him at first. He wore a purple chiton instead of leopard print and was slim and fit. He looks pretty and has purple silky hair that curls around golden leaves in his hair. Still what truly gave him away that this was Dionysus was that he drawled in his usual tone, even if his voice was clearer and less nasally, “Yes, Peter Johnson.”

I glared at the god, and he smirked amused. I snarled, “Why did you do this?!”

Dionysus rolled his purple eyes, “I’m the god of madness, and well who am I not to encourage someone’s descent into madness.”

Still, I saw the way the god wouldn’t meet my eyes, as if he was ashamed.

“That isn’t it.” I said.

Anger filled Dionysus eye’s and he glared at me but he saw the damage in my eyes. The way I put on a brave face, but was still trying to hide my fear — the way the god always reminded me of my worst fears of alcohol and madness.

Dionysus gritted his teeth, still he answered in a monotone voice, “It was a test set up by the King to see if you would fall into madness and thus could be killed off.”

I sat there numbly, blood pounding in my ears. How dare he?! How dare the King do that? After everything I’ve done for them, even after I won the vote to spare my life! Zeus truly is a dictator, isn’t he?! He wants to kill a 14-year-old just because he’s afraid.

Are the gods even worth saving? Well, Kronos sure isn’t any better.

I sigh still seething, I’ve always done this for the demigods anyways. What’s one more reason to hate the gods?

Still, I glance up at the camp director who is once again avoiding my eyes. I breathe in deeply and ask, “And what about you? Why’d you agree to do this?”

Dionysus clenches his fists, still avoiding my gaze, “You cannot avoid an order from the King, lest you risk unimaginable punishment.”

So that’s it, isn’t it?

I start laughing, hysterically. Tears rolling down my face as I laugh so much, I wheeze.

Dionysus stands there shocked, double checking that he isn’t using his domain once again on the boy.

Percy looks at Dionysus, “We are both just scared of our father figures, aren’t we?”

Dionysus' eyes open wide and shock, and anger starts to light his purple eyes, but he deflates when he sees the sincerity in Percy’s eyes.

Dionysus sighs, “Yes, I guess we are.” And Dionysus looks away pained, “The only difference is you beat yours and he’s not some immortal that can just come back.”

Percy stands up on shaky limbs and the god lets him approach, “I know that we don’t get along, but I wouldn’t be Sally Jackson’s son if I didn’t reach out to help.”

Dionysus snorts, “I guess that’s why you got on my nerves by not acting like I always expected heroes to act. You’re not really Poseidon’s son, the way you are your mortal mother’s are you?”

Then, Dionysus' visage changes back to looking like a trailer park cherub, “Also, Peter Johnson. You have a week of stable cleaning to do because you broke your mirror.”

My mouth hangs open in shock and I yell at Dionysus as he leaves, “No fair!”

The god just laughs back.

I just smile back. Perhaps things won’t be so bad, but I have a feeling that worse things are yet to come, but I’ll get through them anyways, just as I always do.

Notes:

I usually don't write in first person, but I thought I'd try it here.

I also feel like Dionysus is deeply misunderstood as well. Yes, he is a flawed character, but the chance for growth is there. Percy isn't Theseus, just as Dionysus isn't Gabe.

First - Previous - Next PJO One-shot

[eremitaerebus]

"Hush, child."

(This is narrative lore for my mc for my novel, Camille Velendula. It is posted out of order bc i said so.)

The Fanged Archer: Part II, Section III

Camille had ran, ran as fast as he could from his mother's estate. Coughing and stumbling as the silvery dust in his lungs zapped his energy, he eventually fell to his knees, coughing almost to the point of gagging. It felt horrible, breathing it in. Tears stung in his eyes and sobs crawled up his throat as he kept trying to expel the awful substance from his body. To no avail. What was it that made him like this? It looked really silvery, but it was a powder. Who knows what it was. All he knows is that he wants his mama back. Why did they hurt her? Those pointy sticks of theirs, driven right into mama's chest-

No. Mama was okay, right? She'd come find him. For now, he kept walking. He needed to see if he could find anyone who could help him. So he walked. And walked. He saw some delightful little birdies, streams he felt too cold to play in at the time, and trees. And rabbits.

He found a few rabbits on his walk. And each time the rabbits scared the little boy, because whenever he looked at them he felt as if he was a cat, about to pounce. His mouth ached because they sought flesh, he wrung his hands because they felt like claws. No, no, that can't be right! He doesn't want to hurt the bunnies.

So he kept walking until his limbs ached and he had bitten his lips until they bled, which tasted awful. He'd done that before on accident, but ever since mama had bitten him his own blood tasted revolting, even worse than before. The sun was rising, which caused a pang of fear to rise in the young vampire. Mama said to stay away from the sun. That was the price of his fangs, she said. It would hurt him if he felt the sun again.

Looking around, (was the night always this bright?) he found a hollow in the base of a tree, just big enough for a little boy to fit inside. He quickly crawled inside, and curled up in a little ball. He felt so small, so scared, so lost. He wanted his mom back, was that so wrong? He could still smell her blood on the soles of his shoes from when he ran out of her manor. A soft sob escaped him, then another, then a few more, then tears were rolling down his face. Strangled whimpers and gasps were all he could manage, the little elf finding it harder and harder to stay quiet. After all, there were dangerous things in this forest, right?

Then, he heard something. Footfalls on the forest floor. The crunching of leaves. A soft, handsome voice calling, "Hello? Are you okay out there?"

That's when the footsteps neared his hollow, and the figure bent down. It was an elf, with long, curly blonde hair and beautiful green eyes that reminded one of maple trees.

"Hey, little guy. You alri- oh- okay!" He said, backing away as Camille bared his fangs and hissed. He didn't know why he did it, it just felt right. Then there was something that flashed in the man's eyes. A grownup emotion Camille couldn't decipher.

"Hey, hey," the elf soothed. "You're okay, buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you. Why don't you wipe your eyes and come on out, alright? I have a nice hearthfire waiting if you'd like to join me."

Camille stopped his feral hissing and considered. A hearthfire sounded nice. And so did this nice stranger. He slowly clambered out of the hole and stood before the elf. He had a bow and quiver slung across his back, and wore the deep green ensemble of a huntsman. He offered both a hand and a smile to the elven child.

"Come. My village is this way, young one."

Camille tentatively took the stranger's hand, following him through the woods.

"What's your name, mister?" He eventually asked.

"Call me Aamertel," the huntsman answered.

Eventually they arrived at the village, and to the people's surprise he brought back not game for the butcher but a child. And this child in question would spend the next few years with Aamertel, learning to read and write, to hunt with a bow, and most importantly, who he was. And when Camille cried because "I'm so sorry for biting that sweet little deer, I don't know what happened," Aamertel did not judge, simply held the bloodsoaked child he considered a son.

One day, he was sat down with Aamertel, and the usually cheerful hunter had a serious look about him.

"Do you know what a vampire is?" He had asked.

"No," Camille had replied. He didn't tell Aamertel how when his mother was slaughtered, he heard one of those weird warrior clergymen looking people hiss "Filthy bloodsucker scum. Where's the kid vampire?"

Sliding the young elf a book titled "Vampirism: The Disease and the Diseased", the elder gave him a softer look this time.

"It may explain our little... incidents in the forest." Aamertel murmurs.

Camille looks at the cover. Maybe it would. And he knew his caretaker- no- his father would help him.

[smolwritingchick]

Forced To Believe Chapter 31- The Slammy Awards

Chapter Summary: Melanie celebrates Jon's Birthday. Ambrose confronts Morgan on why she has been lying to him. Problems arise when Ambrose's attitude problems start to annoy Morgan and the rest of his teammates. CM Punk makes a shocking request at TLC

Words: 5,000+

------ 'Saturday Morning.'

Melanie was in jeans and one of her Morgan shirts as she was in her shared hotel with Jon. She saw him in jeans and a dark blue shirt and walked up to him, hugging him from behind. 

"Guess who?" She grinned as Jon smiled. She released him and he turned around. "Happy Birthday!" She showed him a gift out of her bag.

"Thanks, babe." he opened the gift to reveal a mug that said 'World's Greatest Boyfriend.' "Wow. This is nice."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Get ready! We're gonna have an awesome day."

"What are we doing?"

"We, are going to an amusement park."

"Really?" his eyes lit up.

"Yep! We should have a fun day today at Six Flags since we're in a warm state today." 

Jon picked her up and twirled her around as she giggled and kissed him again.

"Awesome, let me grab my jacket and we can go." He released her.

When they arrived at the amusement park around 2 PM, Jon's eyes lit up. "Aw man, are those go-carts?" He pointed to them

"Yeah, wanna go "

"Let's go!" He grabbed her hand and dragged her to the go-cart station as she laughed. 

He reminded her of a little boy on Christmas, opening up presents. It was nice to see him happy since he wasn't able to enjoy a lot of fun things like this as a kid. Jon won 1st place while Melanie won 2nd.

"Haha, I know you're happy." she chuckled as Jon was grinning like crazy since he won. She then dragged him over to where the cotton candy was. "Hi, are you open?"

The cotton candy lady looked up in surprise. "O­oh my gosh, you're Morgan and Dean Ambrose."

"In the flesh." Melanie smiled.

"Sup." Jon greeted.

"Wow s-­sorry I'm trying not to get excited." The lady blushed

Melanie giggled. "It's okay. May I have a bag please?"

"Of course!" The cotton candy lady gave her a bag of pink cotton candy. "You can have a discount."

"Oh, no, I'll pay full price. I don't want to be treated with discounts because I'm famous," she replied and the cotton candy lady nodded and respected her wish.

"If it's not any trouble, do you mind signing my cotton candy hat?" The cotton candy lady took off her hat and took out a Sharpe.

"Anything for a fan." The Philly diva signed it with Jon.

"Thank you so much! Have a nice day! Oh. And happy birthday Dean!" 

Melanie happily ate her cotton candy, savoring the sweet taste. "You really have a sweet tooth." Jon chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Ha, when I was a kid, my mom and dad had a huge cake that they got from a party. It was 12 inches. Guess who ate the whole cake and got a stomach ache for a week? Yours truly. I got grounded too."

"Someone's been a bad girl..."

"Hey! I am not bad. I am a good girl. Innocent."

It was getting dark out after they went on a few roller coaster rides and ate lunch. They decided to go on a Farris Wheel before they leave. 

Melanie leaned on Jon's shoulder as she looked at the sunset. 

"You really made my day." he smiled down at her.

"Glad to hear. I love making you smile."

"Why?"

"Because you make me happy when you smile." she smiled at him.

He leaned down and kissed her. "I love you, Mel."

"I love you too."

'Back at Jon's Hotel Room'

Melanie was in the bathroom while Jon was watching TV. "Mel, are you all right in there? You've been in there a while," he called out.

"Hey! Don't rush me!" She yelled as he laughed.

Melanie was in the bathroom, looking at herself in a dark blue Victoria's Secret set. She decided to put her hair up as well. 

"All right." She grinned to herself. She walked out of the bathroom and leaned on the door. "What do you think?"

He turned his attention to her and stared at her body, checking her out, up and down.

"Damn..." He got up and walked over to her but she shook her head.

"You're always in control. Now it's my turn. Let it be about you tonight." She pushed him on the bed. "So, sit back, relax and let this chica work her magic. Let me...be your Mox girl tonight."

"Your wish is my command..." He smirked as she straddled him and started to kiss him.

'Next week, Hours before The Slammy Awards on Raw'

Morgan was walking backstage, all ready in her black dress but gets grabbed by Dean. 

"Dean, what the heck?" She exclaimed as he dragged her to a room and shut it behind him. She watched him seething in anger. "What's wrong? Dean, what is going on with you? You've been off your rocker for a while now and I want to know what is going on." 

She leaned on the wall while he was glaring at the floor. He was already in his suit for the Slammys. She couldn't help but notice that they were in a storage closet. Wouldn't a locker room be better to discuss stuff? 

"Was it the kiss? Dean, there was no way I could have stopped the kiss, okay? Plus, I already got my revenge with the help of I mean, I already got my revenge on Goldust by giving him a backfire on Smackdown. We don't need to worry­-"

"Why didn't you tell me about the Wyatts?" He looked up at her. 

Morgan froze. She was in hot water now but knew that it was coming. She really didn't want to talk about the Wyatts right now, so she decided to play dumb.

"What are you talking about?" She asked with a confused look.

"What happened between you and the Wyatts?"

"Nothing."

"I'll ask you again...what happened between you and the Wyatts?"

"Nothing!"

"You know I don't like it when you lie to me..."

"I'm not lying."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not!" 

"What happened between you and The Wyatts?"

"Drop it." She retorted.

"Answer me."

"Drop it. Drop it right now. You're being ridiculous..."

"Oh...now you want to play that game huh? Well, let's play another game." He pushed her to the wall and pinned her arms on top of her head with one hand. "Now, I'm going to ask you again...what is going on between you and the Wyatts?" He asked as she was taken aback before regaining her composure.

"I have no idea what you're talking about..." She narrowed her eyes.

"Won't tell me the truth huh? Then I'll make you." He began to touch her thigh with his free hand, raising it up slowly.

"Okay!" She exclaimed as he released her. "It all started on Raw when Luke saved me from Goldust. I asked him, why did he save me and he said that he didn't know. On Smackdown, Luke was watching me talk to Kaitlyn and that was the time when I got distracted. So, when you, Roman and Seth kept giving me the cold shoulder and told me I couldn't manage you guys at Survivor Series, The Wyatts came and told me that they would be waiting for me." She explained as Dean started to get angry. "And, when I got locked in a closet during Survivor Series, Bray was there, saying I had to unleash what's inside of me. Then, last week on Smackdown...Luke...helped me get revenge on Goldust..."

"So you lied to my face, every time I asked you what was wrong or what was going on with you and the Wyatts..." He muttered.

"I'm sorry, okay?"

"Sorry? You're not sorry, not yet." He pinned her arms to the wall again. She could smell his cologne and could feel his body heat on her. "Do you know how it made me feel when you gave him a small smile? Hm? That smile...should have been for me and me only, not any other man..." He growled. 

"And do you know how it made me feel when he grabbed your wrist? When he touched you? The only man who should touch you is me and me only." He breathed in her ear as she closed her eyes. "You're mine...Not Goldust's and certainly not Luke's...you got that?"

She couldn't speak because she was too hypnotized by his words. It turned her on a little. "I..."

"You're mine and I'll destroy anyone who wants to take you away from me."

"Why are you acting like this?" 

"Because you drove me to this, Morgan...you make me lose my mind...I'm crazy about you..." He started to kiss her neck as she bit her lip and sighed. "Say you're mine...Answer me, Morgan." He said in a demanding voice.

"I-­I'm yours."

"Say it like you mean it."

"I'm yours."

"Good and that better stay that way..." He looked at her as she was breathing heavily. He was about to kiss her but backed away as she was about to kiss him. "I'm sorry, did you want a kiss from me? Well, maybe next time you'll remember who makes you hot and bothered all the time instead of giving smiles to other men and lying to me." He smirked at her and left the room as she tried to get herself together.

'Raw'

During the preshow, they announced that The Shield won Hashtag of the Year, Breakout Star of the Year, and Faction of the Year.

Morgan tweets 'Woo! My boys and I are on fire tonight! #BelieveInTheShield'

Then, on the WWE Website, they revealed that Dean and Morgan won Couple and Kiss of the Year.

Morgan tweets 'Couple and Kiss of the Year? Nice. Looks like it's the start of #MrAndMrsAmbrose #BelieveinDeanAndMorgan'

'Later'

Later on Raw, "Ladies and Gentlemen please welcome the presenters for Double Cross of The Year, The Shield!" Justin announced.

'Sierra'

'Hotel'

'India'

'Echo'

'Lima'

'Delta'

'Shield.'

The Shield walk out in black. The male members had on black suits while Morgan wore her black dress and had her hair out and curly at the end. 

"Hey! Wow, do they ever look like winners," JBL said. "They look great!"

Seth was on the left while Morgan, Dean and Roman were next to him. Morgan heard the crowd cheering loudly and heard the women screaming. 

"I know...I know...I look great." Dean smiled as the fangirls screamed for the male members.

"Wow." Morgan listened in amazement. "I think you guys killed the Fangirls. Yikes," She said as the screams got louder.

"And what about you?" Seth asked.

"I didn't do anything, you three made the women fan girl like crazy. Am I right?" she asked as the women cheered in agreement.

"And what about the fanboys?"

"Oh, I don't have fanboys." She shrugged.

"Oh really? Does Morgan have some fanboys out there?" Seth asked as the men cheered loudly.

Morgan looked flattered as the guys chanted 'We Love Morgan!'

"Oh, you guys are just trying to make me blush..." She giggled. Moments later, the fans, mostly the males, chant 'Twirl.'

"You guys wanna see Morgan twirl?" Seth suggested as the guys cheered loudly. "Let them see your dress."

"Okay, fine." She walked to the stage and twirled around as she heard wolf whistles in the crowd. She giggled and walked back to The Shield and stood in between Dean and Seth.

"Stay away, she's mine," Dean announced as the guys boo him. "I know, I know, I'm lucky. I got the sexiest woman in this company. Kiss and Couple of the Year. Top that." He bragged.

Seth started to get annoyed. Dean's cockiness was starting to tick him off, especially when he bragged about having Morgan as his girlfriend. 

'We get it, you're her boyfriend. Don't be cocky'. He thought. 

He really wanted Morgan to at least slap the cockiness off his face one day. 

The Outspoken Diva didn't like Dean bragging and or his cockiness just like Seth and Roman. It was a little bit too much. And extremely unnecessary.

"Um, let's not make it about me, let's make it about the Double Cross of the year." she grinned at the crowd as they cheered.

"Double Cross of the year...Now we've already picked up two awards, tonight in the pre show, along with me and Morgan winning kiss and couple of the year, but this is one award, we know nothing about," Dean said.

"That's right my man," Seth spoke. "2013, year of The Shield. But all that justice we dispensed, we did it our way. Man to Man, straight up. Hahaha."

"So, if you're thinkin' about crossing." Roman began. "Or even double crossing The Shield, I'd wake up. Because you're gonna pay the price. And that's why-"

"That's why you'll never see our names." Dean interrupted as Morgan and Roman glanced at him. "In this category. Your nominees are..." He continued as the titantron showed the nominees which were Mark Henry, Shawn Michaels, Paul Heyman, and Triple H. After the fans voted, and when the Miz was in the ring with Kofi, Seth began to talk again.

"And your winner for Double Cross of the year is..." Seth trailed off as Dean opened up the envelope. 

The group takes a look at the result as Dean widens his eyes and looks up and then back at the envelope. Seth and Morgan were waiting for Dean to say the winner but Roman was tired of waiting and spoke up.

"Shawn Michaels!" he announced as the crowd cheered and Dean looked a little annoyed. 

When Shawn walks out, he shakes hands with The Shield and hugs Morgan, kissing her on the cheek

Morgan tweets 'Thanks for the support #FanBoys! I love you all! #KeepBelievingInMorgan'

In The Ring'

Punk was in the ring while Dean was with The Shield at ringside. CM Punk and Morgan lock eyes and smirk at each other.

"You're just asking for a punch in the face," Morgan said to him.

"I got this. I don't want help. I got this." Dean said to his team.

"Okay. We got you." Roman replied.

"It's just CM Punk, you got him, man," Seth added. 

When the match starts Dean and Punk lock up.

"Take him out." Roman looked on.

Punk starts taking control of Dean's arm. "Don't yank his arm off!" Morgan exclaimed. 

The crowd was chanting 'CM Punk' as he continued to take control of his arm. Morgan was watching Punk's movements closely. Punk can hurt people, the hand, wrists, arms, legs, knees, anything. 

Dean manages to knee him in the ribs when he goes high risk and starts to take control. Later on, Punk manages to do a flying clothesline outside the ring on Ambrose and turns his attention to Rollins and Reigns who are stalking him on each side of the ring. Morgan was on Seth's side, keeping her distance from the drama.

"CM Punk is in deep trouble," Cole said as they went to a commercial.

Near The End Of The Match, Punk hits Dean with a crossbody but Dean rolls them over and pins him for a near fall and as soon as they get up, Punk kicks him in the head. He pins him for another near fall as The Shield were relieved. 'This is awesome' chants surround the arena as Dean throws Punk out the ring, near The Shield. Dean distracts the ref as The Shield look at Punk and trash talk to him. 

But then Ambrose gets out of the ring and starts arguing with his team.

"You know what? How about the three of you just go." Dean throws Punk in the ring.

"Are you kidding me, right now?" Morgan asked, looking confused.

"I said leave!" Dean yelled.

"Excuse me? Who do you think you're talking to?" She snapped and stepped up to him. "You're not gonna talk to me like that. You've lost your mind!"

"Uh oh! Uh oh!" Cole exclaimed as the crowd started to get hyped. The fans were standing up to get a good look at them fighting.

"Back up, Morgan, back up..." Ambrose growled as Roman held him back.

"You wanna yell at me? Who do you think you are?" She shouted in his face.

"Would you calm down and just go? Damn it! You don't freaking listen! Just go!"

"How about you ask nicely instead of yelling at me!"

"Morgan! Calm down! Don't argue with your boyfriend! Where is the love!?" JBL yelled as Seth and Roman were looking amused at Morgan, pleased that she was putting him in his place.

"The Shield are showing cracks..." King looked on.

"More like Dean and Morgan are showing cracks. Morgan looks livid." Cole said.

"I wonder if the WWE Universe wants to see them feud again someday," King said.

"They better not!" JBL retorted.

"Get out of here. I don't need you." Ambrose waved her away.

"You don't need me?" She slowly repeated, taking it all in.

"Are you deaf? I don't need you. Get out of my damn sight." His anger got the best of him.

"Oh, okay then." She decided to smack him across the face as the crowd went wild and Roman released him.

"Morgan!" Seth held her back, secretly happy that she slapped him.

Dean holds his cheek and looks at her in shock.

"Damn..." Roman murmured, looking at the red handprint on Dean's face. He was amused and happy she did it.

"She just slapped her boyfriend! I thought you two loved each other!" JBL complained and started freaking out. "Morgan! What are you doing?! Couple of the year! Mr and Mrs Ambrose! This should not be happening!" 

"Oh well, it's happening!" Cole cheered as the crowd chanted 'Yes!'

"What the hell was that for?!" Ambrose yelled while Seth let Morgan go.

"You're cocky, that's why. I'm tired of it." She confessed. "We're tired of it." She pointed at Seth and Roman. "So, if you're this confident and don't need us, fine. Bye, have a nice life. Go focus on your match, don't worry about me, you don't need me or Seth and Roman." She started walking near the ramp as Seth and Roman followed her. 

In the ring, Ambrose gets hit with the GTS as The Shield look annoyed and Ambrose loses the match.

"Wow..." She retorted and shook her head, turning around and getting on the apron. Punk looked alert as she smirked at him. "Hey, how ya doing?"

Punk was about to run after her but she smoothly gets off the apron and laughs. Seth tries to get in the ring as Punk tries to go after him but he slides out of the ring. Once Punk turns around, he gets speared by Reigns and holds his stomach in pain. 

"A spear! A spear by Reigns!" Cole exclaimed. "Now those ribs may be broken."

Morgan gets in the ring and stalks Punk. She waits for him to get on his knees and she hits him with a spinning kick in the face, dropping him as the crowd 'Ohs'

"Ooh, you may wanna put ice on that." She slid out of the ring as The Shield's theme came on.

Rollins helps Dean get over the barricade as Punk recovers and holds his ribs. He looks at The Shield and then Morgan, nodding to himself.

"Okay...all right...okay," he said to himself.

Morgan tweets 'Couples aren't perfect. We are going to argue and fight. #INeedSpace'

Morgan also tweets 'Oh poor CMPunk. Those ribs aren't gonna heal in 6 days. You sure you want to face my boys at TLC?'

'WWEMorgan101 You picked a fight. You started it. Now I'm going to finish it. It's on now.' Punk replies.

'Hit me with your best shot CMPunk.' Morgan replies back.

'Be careful what you wish for. I found your weakness.' Punk replies back.

'WWE Exclusive on Raw'

Morgan was walking backstage, annoyed and sat on a black crate and tried to calm herself down. 

"Rough night?" Roman asked as he walked over to her.

"Ya think?" She snapped.

"Easy tiger. Just trying to be a friend."

"I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. I just need space."

"From Dean?"

"You can say that. He can be so annoying at times. I'm tired of him bragging. It kind of gets out of hand, you know?"

"Me and Seth agree. I didn't like how he snapped at you moments ago. That was uncalled for." 

"I'm used to his anger issues..."

"Couples argue you know. You're not perfect. You're going to disagree."

"I know. I guess my anger just escalated until I couldn't take it anymore."

"Seth and I understand why you did what you did. Don't beat yourself up. So, are you going to talk to him?"

"Me? Talk to him? No. He can talk to me. I'm not speaking to him until he apologizes."

"Sounds fair enough."

"Anyway, thanks for listening to me vent. You're a good friend." Morgan got off the crate and hugged him.

"You're here for me, I'm here for you. We have each other's backs. I told you from the beginning when you started being The Shield's Girl."

"Yeah. I can't wait for the new year."

"Why?"

"To see you rise as a big star. You're a beast in that ring, man. I can see you as WWE Champion one day." She playfully punched his shoulder as he chuckled.

"Thanks. You know Morgan, I want to see you wrestle superstars one day."

"Like my cousin?"

"Hey, you never know. I can see you do it. You're not fragile."

"One day, just not anytime soon. I need to mentally prepare myself for that. I'm just not ready to face any superstar this year." 

Roman grinned. "It better be in 2014."

"Never say never."

----

'Smackdown'

The Shield was in the ring while Dean was on commentary. 

"We're back on Friday Night Smackdown, The Shield in tag team action against The Usos and we're joined by the United States Champion, Dean Ambrose at ringside. We'll be talking a lot with Dean about his match with The Shield on Sunday against CM Punk. Dean, a match that hardly seems fair to CM Punk." Cole said.

"Well, I thought I just join you guys out here on the booth because I wanna make sure that you guys understand how much trouble CM Punk is really in. It's just a hopeless situation that CM Punk is gonna be in this Sunday at TLC when he steps in the ring...with The Shield." Dean replied as the Usos made their way to the ring.

Cole and JBL start talking about their show and how they won a Slammy for it. 

"You wanna talk about Slammy awards..." Cole began.

"The Shield picked up a lot of Slammy awards," Dean said.

"Indeed you did, listen to this Dean, The Shield won, breakout star of the year, hashtag of the year." 

"I didn't have enough room in my suitcase to fit all my Slammys."

"The faction of the year and the maneuver of the year for Roman Reigns' spear."

"And don't forget kiss and couple of the year with Dean and Morgan," JBL reminded.

"Morgan and I won those awards hands down. We sacrifice things for each other, we love each other and we are the hottest couple in this company. Plain and simple. If we didn't win those awards, it would have been an injustice. Now, it was an injustice that she didn't win diva of the year but she is still one of the most dominant divas in this company and she continues to shine each and every time she gets in the ring. She's the Harley Quinn of my dreams." Ambrose smirked.

"Speaking of the Outspoken diva, where is she?" Cole asked.

"She should be here soon. She had to get ready since she had some errands to do." Dean explained.

'To Morgan'

Morgan was already in her Shield attire and was putting on her gloves. She then began to hear footsteps.

"Guys, I said I'm coming..." She called out but heard a thump. "Guys?" She looked around.

"Think again." A voice said as her eyes widened.

"W-­what are you doing here?"

"Sit down." The voice ordered as she quickly obeyed and sat on a chair.

'Back to Dean'

"I have a question, are The Shield showing cracks? You've kind of rubbed Morgan the wrong way on Raw when you yelled at her." Cole said.

"Yeah! What the heck Dean? You two are my favorite couple. Why would you two argue like that?" JBL exclaimed.

"Well, the crowd seemed to love it."

"No, they didn't. That's a lie."

"Listen, Morgan and I aren't perfect. We're gonna argue and we're gonna fight. All couples do that." Dean replied.

"So, what's your status with Morgan?" Cole asked.

"We're...still not talking."

"Still not talking? Dean, you two gotta get it together!" JBL exclaimed.

"Guess you two hit a rocky road." Cole declared. "You think you alienated yourself from Rollins and Reigns as well?"

"What about the last 365 days? That didn't show cracks." Dean said.

"Okay, and what about the cracks now? Crack number one was on Smackdown when you said that you were the baddest man in The Shield and went to take on Punk all by yourself to much of the dismay of Rollins and Reigns. Crack number two was on Raw when you decided to yell at Morgan and got slapped in the face while you two were arguing. And crack number three was when The Shield decided to walk up the ramp." Cole mentioned. "What's up with that?"

"We eat, sleep and breathe this business. That's why Rollins and Reigns and I are like brothers. We're passionate about this business." Dean replied.

"Morgan still isn't here. You sure she even came to work?" JBL asked.

Dean was starting to get worried. "Now I am getting a little worried," Dean admitted with concern in his voice as he wondered where she was.

Near the end of the match, Seth mocks CM Punk and does the GTS on one of the Usos as Roman spears the Uso for the win. 

"And The Shield are victorious," Cole announced.

"At TLC, CM Punk will...Believe in The Shield." Dean took off his headset and celebrated with his teammates.

Suddenly, Morgan is on the titantron in a dark arena, looking worried as The Shield's theme comes off.

"Guys...we have a problem..." She said in a shaky voice as the screen revealed CM Punk behind her and the crowd exploded. 

Ambrose glares at Punk while Roman and Reigns aren't looking too happy. Normally, Morgan would disobey but Punk had a kendo stick and kendo sticks hurt. She started to remember the days when Tommy Dreamer had his back bloodied up by the Sandman with a Singapore cane during the ECW days. She did not wanna go down that road. Weapons would be her weakness if she didn't have a weapon to defend herself. It's been so long since she's been hit with a weapon.

"This is CM Punk, broadcasting in an undisclosed location...actually this is just a basement in the arena." Punk spoke as Ambrose was about to get out of the ring but Seth and Roman stopped him. "Ambrose, I wouldn't do that if I were you...wouldn't want your precious little girlfriend to pay the price, would you?" He smirked as he revealed a kendo stick.

Ambrose starts seething while Seth and Roman glare at Punk. Punk puts the kendo stick on Morgan's left shoulder as she shuts her eyes, looking nervous.

"Just get that stick out of here. It's not necessary." she opens her eyes, shaking her head.

"Oh, so now you're begging? After all the trash you've said? I've found your weakness. Weapons." Punk said as she started to get annoyed. "One of these days Morgan, I want to see if you can actually put those words into truths in the ring. So, you ask why is it necessary to put this stick on your shoulder? Maybe it's because I am this close to whacking you in the face with it. I hope you don't think I forgot about that kick in the face...Now...I could get my revenge on you now..." He continued as the crowd cheered to encourage him.

"Don't you touch her! Don't you dare hurt her!" Seth yelled as Roman tried to calm him down while Ambrose shot a dirty look at Punk.

Punk chuckled. "Don't worry...I'm not gonna hurt her...yet...she can wait. So, you guys make your videos here? It's filthy...it stinks...but I understand that this is your little clubhouse and this is where you like to gather to say your messages. And...I like to send messages too...Like on Raw when a certain somebody decided to put his hands on me just like Morgan here."

He sets the kendo stick down and starts taping his hands. 

"Now on to this Sunday...I believe...it's three on one, The Shield against CM Punk. I believe I'm walking into a whole sail of slaughter. I've said it in the past...Shield, I may be going down...but the question you need to be asking yourselves, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins, Dean Ambrose...is how many of you I'm takin' with me. 'Cause I believe, the last two times...I've been in the ring with a member of The Shield, I've exposed your weaknesses boys..." He grinned as the crowd cheered again. "Believe! In the best in the world." Punk showed his fist to the camera and pushed it away.

"We got this. No one can touch us!" Seth yelled before the three of them quickly ran to find Morgan.

'WWE TLC'

The Shield was on the titantron during the preshow. 

"Good for CM Punk...putting on that brave face...Who do you think you're kidding?" Dean asked. "You know exactly what this is. You know exactly what The Shield is going to do to you tonight, Punk. We're going to beat you to a pulp so you should be scared."

"Punk, you think you can divide and conquer? Well, to steal a catchphrase from another man we put down, it doesn't matter what you think." Seth laughed. "You can't divide us...you damn sure ain't gonna conquer us. Punk, we're forged out of iron. The Shield is unyielding."

"Punk, after what you did on Smackdown, I really can't wait to see you get your ass beat by my boys tonight." Morgan retorted.

"Punk, Punk, Punk, the way I look at it, you're just a liar. In front of the whole world, you've lied. You have no chance tonight. To be honest I think uh, I think you got a little confused last week when I speared you in half, but the thing is, there's one more waiting for ya. You can't take us with you." Roman said.

"CM Punk is a man of conviction. CM Punk is a man of beliefs. But after tonight, Punk, you're only gonna believe in one thing...you're gonna believe in The Shield." Dean pushed the camera away.

'Later'

The Shield was in the ring with CM Punk as their theme song faded. Morgan was in her Shield shirt with black jeans and black boots and fingerless gloves.

Before the bell rings, Brad Maddox walks to the stage. "Wait a second! Wait a second!" He yelled as the crowd boos.

"What is he doing here?" JBL asked as The Shield looked confused.

"There's been a slight change in the match up." Brad said as The Shield looked at each other.

Morgan grabbed a mic. "Um, what do you mean slight change? This match was fine as a three on one match. Punk deserves this beating that he's gonna get tonight " She got cut off by Dean who snatched the mic out of her hands. 

The crowd gave him mixed reactions while Morgan looked at him in surprise and annoyance. 

"Wow..." she muttered, shaking her head at him. 

"What she meant to say was Brad, even if you change the stipulation of the match, it's still going to be a win/win situation for The Shield. The Shield are going to beat Punk into a pulp." Ambrose said with a smug look while Morgan rolled her eyes.

"I see there's another crack in The Shield." King pointed out as Seth and Roman were annoyed at Dean's actions too.

"Well, then maybe your confidence might boost a little bit. Because, since Punk, personally requested this, this match is now a 4 on 1 match!" Brad announced.

"Wait, what? With who?" Morgan asked Seth and Roman.

"It will be...CM Punk versus Dean Ambrose, Seth Rollins, Roman Reigns and Morgan Lopez!" Brad announced.

"What!?" King yelled in a high pitched voice as Morgan slowly turned her head to Brad.

The crowd went wild, chanting 'Yes!' while Punk laughed.

The Outspoken Diva looked at Brad in disbelief. 

Did she hear him correctly? There had to be some kind of mistake.

"Punk personally asked for Morgan to be in the match!?" Cole exclaimed.

"This is not good," JBL said as The Shield turned at Morgan as she looked at Brad and then Punk. "Morgan, run. Run now, run fast."

"Nowhere to hide now." Punk pointed at her.

"Who said I'm hiding?" She retorted.

"Calm down. We got this." Seth said and put her hand on her shoulder.

"Morgan is going to face a WWE Superstar?" King exclaimed.

"Only if she gets in the ring. The Shield might not let her, so she should be okay." JBL added.

"When's the last time a WWE Diva went on to face a WWE Superstar?" Cole asked.

"I'm going to enjoy making you go to sleep, Morgan." Punk taunted.

"And I'm going to enjoy kicking you in the face." She stepped up.

Ambrose smirked. "Over my dead body." He stepped up to Punk as the ref tried to separate them. 

Morgan started to get annoyed again since Dean decided to fight her battles when she didn't need help defending herself. She got on the apron with Seth and Roman as Dean and Punk started off the match.

She tried to get her head together, processing everything that just happened. She wasn't mentally prepared to wrestle a superstar yet and to be dropped with a bombshell like this was insane. She had a feeling she would be going down but decided to keep her head up high and step up. She brought herself into this, so she needs to face the consequences. 

She studied Punk's moves, but was she ready to face him? 

Physically? She'll have to see. 

Mentally? Not so much.

"Put up or shut up time Morgan. You talked trash about Punk, now let's see if you can live up to those words." Cole said.

"Punk says that Morgan is all talk but no action. I'd like to see her take action." King said.

"We just won't tag her in," Dean said to Seth and Roman.

"Um, excuse me, who said I didn't want to be tagged in?" Morgan asked, gaining her composure back. "I'm not hiding behind you guys any longer. Tag me in. Right now." she had her hand out as the crowd cheered. 

Punk was looking forward to this as Ambrose looked at him, Morgan and then the crowd.

"No," Dean answered and turned his attention to Punk. 

Roman glared at Ambrose for that while Rollins looked annoyed.

"Seriously...?" She grumbled while Roman put his hand on her shoulder.

"Don't lose your cool." Roman calmly told her as she nodded. 

He knew she wasn't going to take much more of this. Punk knew it, the crowd knew it, and Seth knew it.

"It's a whole different ball game for Morgan. We've seen her argue and put her hands on The Shield. But let's find out if she has what it takes to be in a match with a WWE Superstar." JBL said as Morgan was in deep thought, watching Punk's movements, thinking of a plan as the match started.

------

Favorite Hashtag?

#BelieveInTheShield

#MrAndMrsAmbrose

#BelieveInDeanAndMorgan

#FanBoys

#KeepBelievingInMorgan

#INeedSpace

[skitskatdacat63]

hi catie u can write as many paragraphs on any film that u watch!!! i think that would be neat :)

also DISCLAIMER i havent watched killers of the flower moon, nor have i fully researched the real life event, but i feel like one of the reasons that people think it’s peak cinema is that it’s really really long and (i am assuming) that it has some interesting cinematography?

idk it reminds me of oppenheimer (film i actually watched). like its good-ish, super lengthy, and portray historical events. the visuals were fantastic but i don’t think it was absolutely perfect and the best film of the century, etc etc…

i honestly dont know where i was going with this so sorry for the super lengthy ask 😭

OKAY THEO THANK YOU FOR FREEING ME FROM THE SHACKLES OF MY INSECURITY

Okay as a preface. Watched this with my mom who read the book it's based off of, so that's an additional perspective I'm gonna touch on, and also was very glad to have. And also YES I HAVE SEEN OPPENHEIMER!!!! Seriously my ultimate film of 2023, probably one of my favorite movies I've ever watched. And I guess I thought that, because I enjoyed that, I would enjoy Killers of the Flower Moon(KotFM from now on), for the exact reasons you stated! Also I'm trying to watch all the oscar nominated best pictures before the event lol!

I will rant now, thank you :)

I'm sorry but like I genuinely don't understand how it's so highly acclaimed???? Like how are all the popular/majority of reviews positive?? Did we watch the same film????? Have I somehow lost my taste for cinema???? It's just like, any argument I've seen about why it's actually amazing is so easy to dispute??

"It's about how evil can be done by normal people and that's why it's from the perspective of the perpetrators blah blah" Well, I just watched The Zone of Interest, and I think it portrayed that concept wayyyyy better. Everything was so off-putting and disturbing, and it was from the perspective of the perpetrators, just like KotFM! And you literally never see those getting murdered, because it's all off screen and yet you still feel disgusted and feel terrible about what's happening, even though you didn't techinally see anything that happened. Meanwhile in KOTFM, the Osage are there on screen, actively being exploited and murdered, and I just don't feel attached to any of it, because it wasn't fleshed out well. And to add on, my mom said so much of the stuff involving Leo's character, yknow the character they picked as the main character instead of the actual Native Americans, was just completely made-up! Wasn't in the book at all!!! Martin Scorcese said that he read the book, and immediately thought that it was a book that needed to be adapted to film. And then just fucking makes up shit???? Yes certainly you have to add narrative stuff into a movie when adapting from a book, but to just make so much shit up just so you can portray it from a different angle is so bullshit to me.

"Every minute in the almost 3½ hour runtime is justified" I am convinced people are straight up lying, I'm sorry. It's not like I don't enjoy long movies! Loved Lawrence of Arabia, that's literally almost 4 hours long. Loved Oppenheimer, that's 3 hours long. I like long movies but oh my god, this was just a complete slog. And I kept seeing people say that the last hour was the best, well I'm sorry but after having to sit through 2½ torturous hours, I just have no mental energy left for what's apparently called the best part. I hate that people always start calling movies with long runtime cinema. Yes there are movies I definitely think are worth the long runtime; this one was not one of them.

"The main heart of the movie is the romance" Oh my god, this bugs me so much. I was so happy about Lily Gladstone winning and being in teh running for awards....until I watched the actual movie. Her romance with Leo's character literally makes no sense, and I felt just so ???? about it. The movie wants you to think they're so compelling and that it's so unfortunate that Leo's character is doing these terrible things to this woman he loves and her family, but they literally spent zero time fleshing the relationship out???? It was literally like, oh hey they're in a relationship now, don't really get why, but okay. There's actual reasons about why she would marry him(she literally needs a white man's permission to get access to her own money), but no nooooo they're so in love. There is zero build up. She knows he wants her money, he has literally zero charm, and yet she marries him and says "yeah I know he wants my money, but he's handsome!!" In what world!?!?!?? And a lot of the last section is like, awww they're hugging...even tho he murdered her whole family. And its just you get zero sense of any love between them, because they failed to build it in the first place, and certainly you could make this plot compelling but it's just not!!! It's not!!!!!

Another thing is that for basically all of the movie, I really couldn't get a grasp of anything that was going on. It didn't feel like a connected narrative for me, it felt like vignettes. Like, oh hey we're in this scene now I guess, I don't really know how this connects, or whats going on, or where we are in the story! It just felt very discombobulating for me, maybe I'm stupid, but I couldn't get a grasp on it. And I basically knew the plot, and so did my mom of course, but neither of us could really follow it so, maybe that's not a me problem, but a problem with the film! And I think vignettes can be used well, I thought The Zone of Interest did it really well, where you're just voyeuristiclly watching the family, and there's really no narrative, bur it was really effective. KofFM was more like, oh they're trying to tell a story here, but just not ...well. it's even worse when it's so long, because you're just feeling constantly unconnected from the story and its a slog and it's terrible, etc etc. You're just watching the characters fucking meander around, and you're like, man, would love it if it felt like the plot was actually progressing. And so much of it felt like the big events happened off screen, and you're kinda just told that they happened.

Also okay so the book itself is framed somewhat as a murder mystery. It's very well researched, and it slowly gives you the truth, as if you're learning it alongside the actual people involved. In the film, it's literally so obvious within the first 15 mins who the bad guys are. So you're just spending the whole film, watching all these characters(who you really have no reason to care about imo) die, and they all come off as so naive, and you're just furiously gesturing like "does no one notice these cartoonishly bad guys!?!?!?!?!" Yes, you can do a film where you know the truth from the beginning and watch the cast find out, that's a great concept! But this just made the native American characters come off as stupid and naive, and you're supposed to feel bad for them, and I do, but because I know the actial history, not because anything the film is showing me. Again, they don't flesh out the characters well at all imo, so you watch then die, and you're like, okay this person died, this is a depressing situation, but god, can they figure it out already. Again, the narrative with Lily Gladstone's character is that she loves her husband, so she can't really see what's going on. But. That love is not believable. And before they're in love, she's very suspicious of him, and yet now somehow when he's killing off her whole family, it's fine?????

Ugh okay yeah I don't know what else to say, except thst I just feel like I wasted so much of my time, and it really sucked out my energy. I'd like to be more concise, and I probably have more complaints but again, it really just killed my brain. And also that's its very frustrating and isolating when you hated a film, and then all the reviews are extremely positive and you can't see where any of them are coming from. The funniest part is that my mom and I are like wow this movie feels like it's been going on a while, let's check how much is left! Literally only halfway through. I really could not fully focus after that because I was like, I cannot do almost 2 more hours of this shit. I wanted to finish it because i was really hoping it would pick up, and I would realize why everyone likes it so much, but that never happened, I just felt increasingly bored and done with it. I think with Oppenheimer, a film I love, I was originally kinda unsure but as it kept going, I fell in love with it and didn't want it to end; so I guess I was hoping that would happen with this and it never did. It just got increasingly more boring for me, and I just got more aggravated about it. Also cannot believe I saw reviews saying of Scorcese's films, this one was better than The Departed. Absolutely no way.

Anyways this was extremely salty, oops. Wish I could get those 3 hours back, and watch some other movie instead. I wanted to watch Dallas Buyers Club or Tár, but I just feel like I've wasted enough mental energy tonight. Also lol, kept meaning to post this but it's deranged, but I'm talking about movies already and my brain is all over the place so might as well! I really want to rewatch Interstellar, but I feel like it'll completely emotionally destroy me again so I can't. Y'know when you just like a movie so much and ir means so much to you that it's just way too emotionally investing to rewatch!?!??! But I keep thinking about it, bcs im super into matthew mcconaughey rn, but god I really can't or I'll just be sobbing and hurting.

* oh also. My original complaint abt this was that they used a historically inaccurate word. They used the word "genocide" which certainly describes the situation they're in, BUT THAT WORD WAS NOT INVENTED YET!!!!! It's so easy to check that??? Like we know when and who coined it???? Little things like that really bug me, sorry LOL. Its like man, you can't check that one little thing??

[tuxedokit-thoughts]

i want to kill myself

im not going to, but mom says i should write my feelings out. says itll help me feel better

and. i mean. i know its worked before. i have this whole thing to prove it

see even just tryping that much helped a little. at least enough that ny urges are back in the harm territory and not in yhe kill territory. which isnt great. but. yknow. ill take what i can get? i guess?

i dont know anymore. it feels like theres this gaping hole in my chest, and everything i have and everything i am is just pouring and pouring and pouring out of it until there is nothing. i dont want to be nothing.

but maybe it would be easier than this

i hardly got out of bed today. i didnt get dressed, i only ate because my brother was so gracious as to bring me a bowl of canned chicken noodle soup. he put a little rosemary in it, "to make it fancy," he said. it wasnt perfection, but it was the best goddamn soup i had ever tasted in that moment. he used the last clean bowl for it. its his favourite too, a kirby themed ramen bowl with holes for chopsticks and everything.

chicken noodle isnt even my favourite soup. fi think its just. how loved i felt? when he carried that bowl into our cramped little room from our cramped little living room.

i was standing like. an hour ago? and he asked me to try to clean a bowl for him. (he does all the household chores, save for dishes. we both hate them, but i can barely do shit else, so one really shitty chore is better than a mountain of decent ones)

i took one look at our sink, so full of dirty shit you can hardly see the faucet, and i tyrned around and let myself fall limp, face first on my bed.

i put the blanket over my feet, so that if he came in he wouldnt have to see them (even the thought of feet disgusts him, i think)

he did come in, but i dont think he realized how hard it had been for me to even do that. i think all he saw was a whiny, ungrateful, pathetic mound of flesh under a blanket. someone so useless it couldnt even clean a single bowl for him without falling apart.

i heard him clean his own bowl. i have never felt so guilty for doing absolutely fucking nothing.

he already puts up with so much shit from me. im a drug addicted, mentally unstable, sorry excuse for a person.im trying, god im trying so fucking hard, but every day is harder than the last, it seems.

still. he deserves better than this.i dont know why he bothers.

... i keep finding myself scratching my cat scratches from earlier today. it stings. i feel like i deserve it.

i know thats not true. but honestly? scratching at my hand and wrist is better than actually doing something, right? its just a sting on fresh skin. no blood, no fresh wounds. just the pain thats already there. just poking at my bruises so i feel something other than this crushing despair

god. i cant believe i said that. i mean thats a totally normal thing to say in a crisis. ive just soiled my mind with references and medias and now i cant be normal about anything haha

anyway

uh

yeah.

...

i still hate myself. but. i guess this helped me stop crying as much? i dont know. i dont know anything anymore

thats not true

i know my wrist hurts. like a cat scratch, it stings on the back, mostly because thats what it was, at first. from where both my cats claws and my own found themselves digging into my skin, i can feel a bump when i glide my finger over it. and every time the pain gets too dull, too quiet, i let my nail return to its little groove and pull, just for a moment.

i know my heart hurts. like i have been carved open, my contents unceremoniously dumped on the floor. my blood spills out on the floor over my organs and my thoughts, and as i try to clean it up the lead in my veins says stop. and so i lay there, on the ground, next to the contents of the person i have become. it is all blackened by tar and resin.

i know that every breath i have taken today has felt like a chore. like slogging out of bed at 5:45 in the morning to get ready for school, knowing i wont learn shit because all my energy will be focused on holding myself together, or at least keeping myself from shattering altogether. ill just slog through another page of the textbook, wondering why i bothered when i couldve just stayed home.

i know i am loved. even if i dont feel it. even if i dont deserve it.

i know i never had a choice in any of this

...

i know that. for now. ill keep dragging myself out of bed. keep breathing. scratch my wrist so i dont cut it.

and maybe tomorrow ill apologize to everyone whos had to put up with me

{16/11/2023}

[ames-fanfics117]

Eddie, Baby

Reddie fluff written while obsessively listen to Eddie, Baby

“Ow... Eddie, that hurts, man!” Richie whined.

“It wouldn’t hurt as much if you would just be still!” Eddie groaned.

What were Derry’s resident gays doing? They... well Eddie was playing doctor. To the lovable idiot who had shown up at his window (since Richie knew that Eddie’s mom wouldn’t let him in looking like he did) covered in blood and bruises and dirt. Honestly, Eddie’s very own source of nightmare fuel.

But, despite being royally grossed out, Eddie had opened his window and pulled Richie inside.

“What did you even do to get this dirty?!” Eddie demanded as he wiped the dirt off of Richie’s face with a damp towel.

Looking down, there was dirt all over Richie’s shirt, arms, legs, feet, and hair. It was then that Eddie registered that Richie was barefoot. Like, honest-to-God barefoot.

“Why does that matter?” Richie huffed.

“Because that’s the natural thing to ask when your best friend shows up to your window covered in dirt and blood? And where are your shoes? Do you know how unsafe it is to go around barefoot? What if you stepped on glass or some flesh-eating amoeba that started to eat away at your foot skin, huh?” Eddie lectured.

“...theBowersGangroughedmeupandtookmyshoes...” Richie coughed.

“What?” Eddie asked, stopping his application of antiseptics to try to process what his boyfriend had said.

“...the... the, uh, Bowers Gang... they, uh, roughed me up a bit and... took my shoes... and my bike...” he sighed.

“For what reason?!”

“Dunno... they’re just assholes, I guess...” Richie shrugged.

Eddie sighed exasperatedly, returning to applying antiseptics to all of Richie’s cuts. Then, he went to his stash of band-AIDs that he kept in his room underneath his bed and took out enough to cover all of Richie’s cuts, gently applying them.

When he went to apply one to the bridge of Richie’s nose, he found himself getting lost in Richie’s eyes. They were so full of warmth and compassion, despite Richie’s often crude actions and words. They were beautiful.

Eddie shook his head, fighting back a blush.

“Something wrong, Edds?” Richie asked, tilting his head to the side curiously.

“N-no! Go... go wash your feet so I can make sure you didn’t cut yourself on glass...” he demanded, turning his face away to hide his massive blush.

Richie chuckled as if he knew something that Eddie himself didn’t know, but went to Eddie’s bathroom to wash his feet anyways. When he came back, Eddie’s blush had died down and he had gotten his first aid kit out.

“Ok. Sit on my bed so that I can get a better look at the bottoms of your feet,” Eddie instructed.

Richie did what he was told, sitting down on Eddie’s bed carefully.

Eddie picked up Richie’s feet one at a time, inspecting the bottoms thoroughly to make sure that there weren’t any cuts that needed taking care of. There weren’t, thankfully, and as soon as he put Richie’s feet down, he sanitized his hands three times.

“You’re lucky there weren’t any cuts, you know?” Eddie spoke up, breaking the silence that had fallen.

“Oh, is that so?” Richie hummed.

“Mhm,” Eddie responded, moving to sit on his bed alongside Richie.

They were facing each other, sitting cross-legged on the bedspread, so close their knees were touching.

Eddie caught Richie’s gaze again, unable to pull his eyes away from Richie’s. Subconsciously, the two moved closer and closer and closer, until their face were mere inches away.

“Can I...?” Richie asked.

Eddie got the gist of what he was trying to say, nodding slightly. Richie leaned in further, closing the gap and touching their lips together in a kiss. After Richie initiated it, Eddie grew bolder, starting to move his lips against Richie’s, falling into the rhythm of kissing easier than he thought he would. Richie’s lips tasted like the vanilla chapstick he used and the remnants of a Coca-Cola he’d had earlier when they were hanging out.

When they pulled away, their faces were both bright red and they were panting slightly.

“Does this... make us boyfriends?” Richie asked.

“Well, duh,” Eddie huffed.

Richie laughed, pulling Eddie down into another kiss.

They spent the rest of the time pressed up against each other, cuddling and rambling until the sun dipped behind the tree line.

[grandmasickomode]

OC ask time! Who are your most active or developed OCs at the moment? And how would you describe their aesthetics?

OH GOD HELLO.

So basically, I have a handful of ocs that I'm like always chewing on. I will put them under the cut becausw this is gonna get LONG.

Spoilers for Library of Ruina ahoy btw. Also CW: gore I guess in the latter half.

First we have Kep'cho, who has been mentioned before, and he is part Mime on his mothers side. His mom was in fact a mime by birth and his dad was the leader of what amounts to a criminal organization obsessed with rules and pecking orders. (For the library or ruina fans in the audience, this is the Thumb).

His Mime-ish nature made shit hard, though he was often sullen and unwilling to speak to anyone anyway. The excessive structure was too much pressure for him, and so he did what any reasonable teen would do: fake his death and run away to work elsewhere.

His heavy involvment in the Lobotomy Corp/Library of Ruina universe makes it difficult for me to go into edtail about his adventures w/o spoilers. But hes a very calm, sullen man who has grown to learn to be more happy, and accept the idea that its ok to just be a lil silly and goofy.

He absolutely also has a clown bf now, a specific clown from Library of ruina.

Heres what he looks like:

And here he is with his Clown bf

I deew dis :>

anyway. There is also Tusya.

Tusya. Well shes kinda fucked up.

Less a girl and more a flesh polyp with a girl exterior, Tusya was born in the Outskirts of the Ruina universe. Taken in by R corp employee Lamarcus when he was on an expedition with the Rhinos, she was raised in the city, where thankfully she grew up okay despite everything.

Because as it turns out, being a fucked up little flesh eater/cannibal isnt the worst thing to be in this universe.

Tusya eventually grew up and started to work at Lobotomy corporation. She was INTENDED to be enrichment for Nothing There (read: he would tear her insides out and use her body as a shell to go walkabout) but that did not come to pass.

It turns out she has an affinity with Nothing there, as he does not see her as a human and as such, has no desire to kill her. Unlike other ocs who have an affinity with Nothing There, this isn't so much a friendship as it is "enrichment for two similar but different freaks".

At best, he tolerates and interacts with her because HEY. HEY HOW DID YOU GET YOUR SHELL LIKE THAT. HEY WHATS YOUR SECRET WHY ARE YOU ALLOWES TO WANDER WHEN I CANT??? At worst, he will try and eat her because she tastes good. He loves chewing on her hair, which is actually more like fleshy string cheese that looks like hair.

(Here we have Tusya modeling Lobotomy Corporation's attempt at making a clothing line. Its pretty fucking amazing to look at).

Tusya herself is somewhat unhinged, but not malevolent. She's arguably friendlier than most of her coworkers, but she also just. Does her own thing. She doesnt much care for right or wrong, just sees a goal and goes to get said goal by any means.

But how did she get this way?

To be honest Tumblr doesnt like links. So Im going to have to ask you listen to the following songs to help showcase tusya coming into being (dont worry its only 2 songs):

Kiss me, Kill me by Jerryterry

Lusus naturae by Jeff Williams

For those who want the tl;dr version, Tusya's parents (who are unknown to her) wandered into the wrong parts of the outskirts. Tusya's mother was devoured and absorbed by a flesh colony and was dispatched by well meaning membera of the town they belonged to.

After a year of dormancy, the flesh colony came back to life and spat out a now human shaped Polyp that now goes by Tusya.

Tusya is one of my most prolific ocs, being able to be found in many other universes, including but not limited to twisted wonderland, monster high, and dead by daylight.

[blissfulbakery]

CHAPTER ONE: SOMETHING IN MY FOOD

The Blissful Bakery, the most popular bakery in San Francisco, would put a smile on every customer’s face daily. The flavor of the cupcakes, the texture of the pastries–people would fight tooth and nail to get their hands on them. Little did they know that the Blissful Bakery had a dark secret . . .

September 21, 2018

On a beautiful Friday afternoon, Valentina Rodrigez was coming home from work and decided it would be nice to go to the bakery for some sweets. It was down the block from her home so she decided to take the chance. As she walked into the bakery, the smell of freshly baked pastries hit her nostrils. She went up to the counter as a man with blond hair and lavender eyes greeted her. 

“Hello! Welcome to the bakery! My name is Beau. How may I help you today?” the man said with a kind smile, making Valentina feel calm.

“Hmm, let’s see. Oh! May I have an apple fritter, please?” she asked. Since it was almost autumn, she thought it would be a good option.

“Of course! Name?” 

“Valentina Rodrigez.”

“Alright. Just a moment!”

She sat down at one of the tables and stared out the window. Mateo would be home soon and she couldn’t wait to share the fritter with her family. It had been so long since she went to a bakery.

“Order for Valentina Rodrigez!”

She sat up and went over to the counter.

“Wow! That was quick!” “Our workers are pretty fast with that kind of stuff! Here’s your apple fritter!”

“Thanks! Have a nice day!” “You too!”

As she went home, she opened the bag to reveal the pastry–the aroma filling the room. She cut the apple fritter into three pieces, one for her, one for Mateo, and one for her husband until she noticed something: there was a piece of meat in the cake.

“What the . . .”

She took the meat out and examined it for a while. It looked kind of like an intestine: “What is that?”

She called the bakery, a bit panicked.

“You are now calling Blissful Bakery. This is Leonardo. How may I help you?” the masculine voice rang out from the other side of the phone

“U-Um, hello! I’m Valentina Rodrigez. I found something in my food. It’s a piece of meat, I think, but I'm not sure what it is…”

The man didn’t immediately respond, but when he did, his voice was a bit shaky.

“I see…can you come back to the bakery so we can examine it?”

“Of course.” “Thank you. Have a nice day.”

Once she hung up the phone, Mateo came in.

“Hey, mom! What’s that you got there?” She immediately hid the pastry.

“Oh! Uh…nothing, kiddo…don’t worry about it.”

Later that night, she waited in the alleyway at the back of the bakery with the pastry in her hand. Suddenly, a man opened the door and pulled her inside, shoving her into the basement.

“Hey! What the-?!”

“Boss! We got her!” the man yelled out.  A different man, a tall man with a suit and pearl necklace, walked over to her.

“Are you by any chance, Valentina Rodrigez?”

“Y-Yes…what’s going on!” “I have been informed you saw some meat inside of your pastry. You were not supposed to see that.”

“Why?!”

“Did it look like an intestine?” “Yes…”

“That’s because it IS an intestine. Leo!  Beau!  Hold her down.” Suddenly the two men grabbed ahold of her by the arms.  She struggled before feeling something sharp in her chest. She looked down to see a knife sticking out of her chest.

“You know…I AM a little bit hungry. A lot actually!” Christopher stabbed her multiple times as she screamed before opening her stomach up and ripping out her intestines, putting them in his mouth.

“Oh, your flesh tastes much better than I thought it would!  Don’t struggle, ma’am, it will all be over soon.”

“Let me have some!” Leo exclaimed.

“Me too!” added Beau.

“P..Please…I won’t tell anyone..just…let me…” Before Valentina could say anything else, Christopher stabbed her in the neck making her drown in her own blood.

A few hours later, cupcakes were sitting on the table, cooling off. 

“That was fun, wasn’t it boys?” Christopher turned over to Leo and Beau.

“Hell yeah!”

“That was awesome! Remember when she was crying?!”

They all laughed.

“Well, you to go back home. I’ll get rid of her remains.” “Night, boss!”

“Night, you two.”

As the boys left, Christopher looked back at the cupcakes before returning to the basement to remove what was left of her. He stuffed her skull and other body parts into a trash bag before going outside and throwing them into a dumpster, not that far but far enough not to be suspicious. It wasn’t until two days later that she was on the news: 

 “Fifty-one-year-old Valentina Rodrigez was found dead in a dumpter at 3:32 pm on Monday. Her remains were discovered after a dump truck operator opened the bag. We are investigating what happened to her, but this is now considered the most heinous crime in San Francisco.”