#you will see them in a bigger piece all hanging out soon

[atrxs]

i remade he

[zillychu]

designs for a zine piece! enjoy some background story my illustration never needed under the read more (fair warning I did NOT edit this at all):

newbie mage apprentices Sam and Tucker who became friends bc they're kinda… the ones at the bottom of their class and struggle the most, for different reasons. they become besties over time and practice together!

except one night, something goes terribly wrong. they spent the last few nights preparing for a project, a bigger spell that needs an intricate circle with precise measurements to work. but when they try to activate it, well… 

oops. they summoned a demon.

which is, for one, extremely illegal. only certified demonologists are allowed to summon demons because they're so dangerous. anything less than a perfect binding circle and thoroughly researched info on the demon, including their true name, is even remotely safe.

but, weirdly enough… the demon seems just as surprised as they are. as Sam and Tuck frantically try to figure out how to dispel the demon, they realize–oh god, did their circle actually sufficiently bind the demon? it can't leave. they watch the demon tentatively poke it's claws into the air around the boundary, and watch it fizzle, retreating back with a strained hiss.

okay. okay, they can do this. without death looming over their heads, they can figure out how to send the demon back. it's cool, it's fine. except while they leaf through their books, they notice the demon watching them. it looks kind of… curious. timid. interested in what they're doing. it catches them noticing his staring, and it. apologizes? it seems flustered?

weird, okay. they keep looking, and the demon starts talking. at first, little comments to itself. mumbles that soon get just loud enough to hear. little “ooh, is that a telescope?" and “is that what fire looks like up here?" and “that must be for making charcoal…”

Sam is the one brave enough to be like "are all demons as chatty as you??” and the demon gets flustered again, apologizing. says he's just never been topside before, he's only read about humans in tomes. oh wow is that the moon outside? it really IS blue up here! is it always blue? what are you doing up? I thought humans slept at night?

Sam and Tuck can't help getting pulled in with the demon's genuine curiosity. they're wary though, since they know demons can be clever, conniving. there's a number of ways a demon can get the upper hand on a summoner who has them bound. if he gets their full names, gets them to smudge and break the circle… there could also be ways they aren't aware of. so they consider their words carefully, but engage in some chatter while they research.

it's almost morning by the time they find a way to send the demon back–but as they prepare the spell, the demon says WAIT WAIT and they stop, uncertain. the demon starts stammering out how this is weird but like… he really had fun tonight. he doesn't get to just hang out much, especially with anyone his age.

Tuck is like “how do you know our ages??" and the demon points out "oh, you said something about Paulie’s 18th birthday party, so I thought…” and they're both like oh shit we didn't even notice we did that?

“Paulina" Sam corrects in her dumbfounded stupor. 

“Right, Paulina!" the demon snaps his fingers, but quickly loses his confidence when Sam and Tuck continue to stare at him like they're not sure what's going on. he coughs and fidgets and says “um, well, I was just wondering, I guess… if you wanted to summon me another time, I wouldn't mind. you see those circles there? yeah, that's what summoned me. the candles helped too I think. oh, it doesn't need all those runes though, probably don't want to redraw all those.”

Sam and Tuck are practically gawking, but… for some reason, this demon looks so sincere. so much like them, awkward and lonely and genuinely curious.

it's a bad idea. a terrible one, even. the demon probably noticed they're newbies and not demonologists. it could be hoping they make an error in their circle, or mess up a candle, or reveal their names on accident. 

But, well. They're stupid. they're also eager for anything to help them in school, and too empathetic for their own good. they send the demon off with a yeah, no. they then think about it for a week, and end up summoning the demon against their better judgment.

the demon is shocked and so happy, they can't help but be a little endeared. they lay down some ground rules, take care to be as safe as possible… and soon, this demon that introduces himself as “Phantom" becomes a nightly visitor. they talk about their worlds, find out they share a lot of common interests, and help each other in their studies. which, hello, demons also study? bro are you serious??

they play games, laugh till their ribs hurt, and open up to each other on a far deeper level than anyone expected. over time, Phantom becomes a true friend.

Sam and Tuck quietly begin to lament the fact Phantom is stuck in that damn circle. they want to take him places, let him see the human world he seems so interested in. they want to paint his stupid claws and noogie him between his dumb horns and hug him.

but it's an astronomical risk. it's legal for a demonologist with a proper permit, but it's still considered a grave taboo to grant access to a demon outside a circle. there's just too much at risk. demons can be dangerous enough to lay waste to entire towns, take multiple teams of military-rank mages to take down.

they wouldn't risk it… if they hadn't snuck into the library’s restricted section and copy a page from a demonologist book that gives them good framework for a contract. they make some edits to it though, giving Phantom at least a little wiggle room to protect himself if need be. and allow him use of transformation magic so he can hide somehow. but they spend weeks making sure they have airtight wording to ensure Phantom can't cause anyone or anything any substantial harm. 

when they finally bring the contract to Phantom, he's stunned. he cries. nothing needs to be said, they all know the gravity of their proposal. even if they ask for proof of Phantom's trust in turn, first. they ask for his full name, so they can bind him. just temporarily. but in that moment, they'll have full control over him. they could instead tell Phantom to serve them, force him to obey their every order. even if it's just for a moment, giving them his full name with the proper circle and incantation, is putting his life in their hands. 

Phantom, with tears still in his eyes, smiles warmly and nods. with only a breath to steel himself, he gives them his full name. Daniel James Fenton.

magic sparks in the circle, and Sam and Tuck finish the incantation. ethereal chains sprout up to wrap around Phantom's arms and legs, which makes him jump–but the unwavering trust in his eyes makes the two humans choke up.

they release the binding. all that's left is to break the containment barrier in the circle, so Phantom can walk free.

“Uh, about that…” Phantom laughs sheepishly… then proceeds to step outside of the circle, merely wincing when the barrier zaps around him.

Sam and Tucker gawk. Phantom scratches his neck. “Y-yeah, so… your barrier circle was already broken that first night. It's, uh… right over there. You missed a spot.”

abject horror overcomes them because this entire time Phantom's been visiting, he could have broken out? EASILY?? THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN DEAD.

Tucker falls to his knees, but soon starts to laugh. it's kind of hysterical at first but slowly, he and Sam are genuinely laughing. they're so STUPID, and Phantom is the most un-demonlike demon they've ever HEARD of. Phantom is still flustered, stammering out apologies because he wasn't trying to deceive them or anything! he just didn't want to scare them! without a proper containment circle they technically couldn't send him back either, so he just… went back using his own magic each time they “dispelled" him. 

once they've calmed down, Phantom morphs his body into a human form–which shock Sam and Tuck, because uh, only elite demons are capable of that. they were expecting an animal, or straight up going invisible. Phantom laughs it off, says he just, spent a lot of time practicing bc he's so interested in the human world (not a lie, but). he proceeds to adopt the nickname Danny, and they all have FUN WONDERFUL SHENANIGANS

(and sometime in the near future, when faced with something truly threatening he needs to protect them from, Danny reveals that. well. their contract also had some holes in it. and he's had access to his full demon power this whole time. whoopsie! it's a good thing he genuinely loves them and doesn't want to hurt anyone, or their asses would be SO dead lol)

they're about as normal about his full demon form as you'd expect from me btw:

[gutsby]

Cowboy Killers

Pairing: Cowboy!Joel x Reader

Summary: On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Warnings: 18+. Drunk-Assholes-to-Enemies-to-Lovers. Oral (m!receiving). Road head. Age gap. Daddy kink.

Note: My favorite sub-genre of country music is ‘I’m Gonna Fucking Kill My Husband,’ and I think Miranda Lambert’s ‘Gunpowder & Lead’ is a perfect representation of that.

Word count: 4.1k

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and—

“I’m about to lay this motherfucker out,” you announced.

Across the line, your friend laughed.

“Yeah? You see him?”

Of course you saw him. Who else would be wearing a Carhartt flannel and jeans in ninety-four degree heat? Not a soul in this world but your friend’s own lying, piece of shit, hopefully-soon-to-be-ex boyfriend, you guessed.

The game that Old Fuckstick Miller had decided to play tonight was a dangerous one—he was dumb as shit, and you were drunker than a skunk. He was dating your best friend, and she was not present at the Tipsy Bison to see the barefaced clusterfuck taking place before you now.

She was home, over thirty minutes away. He had told her that morning he would be working late, and not to wait up. You were here, at the bar, approaching one A.M. with a Redbull Vodka clenched in either fist and a Texas-sized frown on your face, seeing the very same man with his hands all over a woman that wasn’t your friend. You’d wanted to puke as soon as you saw them. You knew you could never trust a man who claimed to be an Austin native and couldn’t name a single George Strait song.

Your friend had only been dating the guy for a month, and you’d just seen his face in pictures up until now, but from what you could see less than twenty feet in front of you—slightly blurred from all the drinks you’d had—this guy was him. A dick. There, cheating on your best friend.

And no man would get to do that and walk out unscathed if you had anything to say about it.

Your grip tightened on either one of your fizzy drinks and, barely managing to cradle the phone between your head and your shoulder, you gestured over to another friend.

“Dave. Take it,” you said, words slurring a little.

Dave York cocked an eyebrow but said nothing as you passed him one of your RBVs and shimmied off the barstool. By the time he was able to pose his question, your ass, your phone, and your one remaining drink were already wobbling the other way. Vaguely, you heard him:

“Where ya headed, hon?”

You turned and raised your drink, then seriously doubted he would be able to hear you over the blare of the music, but yelled back anyway, ‘I’M GONNA KILL SOMEONE!’

The age-old pro-forgiveness aphorism continued to thump in your brain as you made your way over and began to contemplate every feasible method of murder.

A gun in the face would’ve been too simple—and besides, you’d never owned or shot a firearm in your life.

Poison could be fun, but from the way you were approaching the man now, you seriously doubted he’d ever let you get within a mile of his drink. You nudged the phone closer to your ear and took a sip from your own.

“Closing in,” you told your friend simply.

She’d already given you the go-ahead to execute the confrontation and beat his ass any way you pleased after the fact. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ you’d finally get to encroach on this little loved up scene at the other end of the bar. The man had had his back turned to you, and the stunning redhead hanging off his neck, likewise, had no idea what was coming. You smiled.

“Promise you won’t go to jail this time?” your friend said.

“Will you bail me out again if I do?” Your grin got bigger.

“Well, duh.”

“Good deal. I’ll be the shitfaced inmate with ‘Fuck Men’ tattooed on her forehead. Wait for Travis County to call.”

“I love you, psycho.”

“Love you more.”

You ended the call.

And you were fully ready to end this man’s life when you saw him lean in to kiss the woman’s neck—that was sick.

You weren’t thinking straight. You weren’t seeing straight

You yelled out, ‘He-e-e-ey, honey!’ without blinking.

The couple turned.

As soon as the man had done a full 180, you flung your drink in his face and made sure the cup struck his nose.

“You cheatin’ FUCK!”

He flinched, sprayed by your vodka-infused energy juice.

The music overhead was loud, but not so deafening as to prevent the bar from hearing your shriek. From the front of the room, a band was playing ‘Gunpowder & Lead,’ and you couldn’t help but feel the song had been fate.

“What the f—” the adulterer started, evidently stunned.

You knocked the Shiner Bock out of his hand and spat:

“Working late, are we?!”

And spilled another patron’s beer reeling back.

“Got a little caught up on the way home?”

Gesturing toward the green-eyed beauty to his left. At first, the girl fixed her stare on you as if you’d sprouted another head, but then, by turns, she was tilting it to him.

“You have a girlfriend?” she hissed.

Cheater McFuckstick was wiping his beard with his hand

Shaking his head.

“Hell no, I ain’t never—”

“LIAR!”

Channeling your inner Representative Wilson circa 2009, you let your mouth fall open and stared at the big, burly man like the Congressman had once done to President Obama all those years ago. The semi-stranger in front of you was far less composed than his political counterpart.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he snapped.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

“Is she your girlfriend?” would-be mistress said, shrill.

“NO!” you and been-knew asshole yelled together.

You saw the man’s nostrils flare, and at the same time, the woman beside him departed. Quickly. A few people around you cleared the way, while others still stared, gawked, and murmured amongst themselves. The Miranda Lambert cover band continued on without a hitch, though you could tell there had been a stir in the crowd. They probably thought the worst of it was over.

They thought wrong.

“You’re a dick,” you seethed, unrelenting.

You almost expected the man to turn and leave.

You thought wrong.

“You’re a cunt.”

And the man chucked a stray whiskey sour in your face.

The $15 spirits splattered on your skin like the meanest insult of all. His aim was better. Though he didn’t let go of the cup, as you had with him, he did make sure to coat the whole of your twisted look with the liquor, and once it landed, he had had the nerve to do something else, too.

He brought the glass to his lips then drank what was left.

“How’s it feel?” he sneered.

You stood in wet, sticky silence for half a second; arguably, you’d earned that cocktail to the face.

On the other hand, who the fuck did he think he was?

You grabbed a random can of Keystone Light and flung it at his chest to give him a hint—and catch him off-guard.

“You’re a bitch, Tommy Miller!”

“Wh—”

“Maria’s my best friend, you absolute f—”

“What—”

“—and you cheated on her for what? All so she—”

“What did you just call me?!”

“A BITCH!”

“No, the NAME!”

“TOMMY MILLER!”

“I’M JOEL!”

Oh.

Oh.

You and Joel were shortly escorted out of the bar.

Joel’s name, and a trace of bourbon, were still fresh on your tongue when you found yourself stranded in the middle of the Tipsy Bison parking lot two minutes later. You leaned into a car beside you and held your stomach.

“Someone drop you on the head as a baby?” Joel barked.

Presently, for you, the world was tilting sideways, and your head was throbbing at a nauseating tempo.

“Go around slingin’ drinks at any old man you—”

Green. Green must’ve been the color of your face as you braced your hands on your knees and assumed a stance as if to scream at the ground. Rather than expecting any noise to ring out, though, you had only to squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto a hunch for something much less pleasant. And viscous.

Reeking mostly of Red Bull and regret, if you had to guess.

Joel took a big step back, and then he took another.

“Da-a-adgummit, girl, what the—”

He turned away just in time to miss the sight of you emptying your guts on the ground, but not quite fast enough to be spared the sounds of you retching. They were loud. Joel Miller was known to be a largely imperturbable force around these parts, but even he was made to feel queasy hearing that. Out of habit, he clapped his hand to his own gut and stumbled off. He stared at the bar, then at his car, then at the gravel crushed under his feet for what felt like the longest time. Then his gaze lingered to his lower half, and he thought:

‘Please, please don’t gimme no daughters. Please.’

He was forty-five. The time for making babies and raising daughters to be anything like a woman of your ilk was probably long past him. All the same, he kept his gaze on his crotch and sighed. Balls, you better not betray me.

When he heard the crunch of rocks, he turned around.

“HEY!”

Oh, no. No. Not tonight.

You were staggering to your car, keys in hand.

“Hey!” Joel called again, jogging after you.

It seemed the second shout had done him no more favors than the first. You were fumbling to get the key inside the door, and you looked as determined as ever.

Over your shoulder, you tossed back, careless:

“You ain’t the boss of me, Tommy Miller.”

You got the key to turn. You opened the door. You were just about to climb inside what looked to Joel to be the ugliest Dodge Ram pickup he’d seen in his life, when he grabbed your arm.

“It’s Joel,” he growled. Pinching your elbow tight as he tugged it back, “And you ain’t driving anywhere tonight.”

Somewhere in front of him, tilted away from his line of vision, you must’ve been grinning, because the next thing he heard from you was the scoff of a laugh.

“Oh yeah?”

Joel flipped you around to face him.

“Yeah,” he snapped.

Feeling a bit like a kid for mimicking your tone.

What were you, twenty-two? Twenty-three? You couldn’t have been a patron of a place like Tipsy Bison for very long, or else he would’ve recognized you tonight.

Then again, you struck him as the type to have had a fake ID since you were fifteen, so he really couldn’t know.

“I’m twenny-wuh-un,” you slurred up at him, exaggerated, once he’d made you step down from the running board and onto the ground. Answering his last unspoken question with the same, sleepy grin as before. Then lifting one of your hands to wag a finger in his face, “I can drink legal anywhere I want to in this country.”

“Not there,” Joel nodded to the interstate.

You looked to where he’d gestured and whistled. Standing and staring, like he had done to his crotch.

“Well fuck me-e!” you said next, dragging out the sound a childish amount, “You the law or somethin’, Mr. Joel?”

“Ain’t no cop.” Joel rolled his eyes.

You kept smiling. Then you turned on your heels.

And instead of trying to climb back into your truck, you sauntered off—in what direction, Joel couldn’t tell. You were more so bumbling about, turning in circles like the world’s most scantily-clad, semi-intoxicated ballerina. And then you stopped. You put your hands on your hips.

“‘Cause I’m the law,” you resumed in a slow, deliberate drawl. The twang you used was mostly feigned, “And you cain’t beat the law. Don’t nobody get away with that, not even a bunch’a Alabama smart alecks, believe you me.”

Joel didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about. The man was Texas born and bred, and you knew it.

He communicated as much by pinning you with a wide, bewildered stare, and something in that seemed to amuse. You stared back, making your eyes bug out too.

“It’s a quote from a movie,” you said, after a beat, “You’ve never seen Fried Green Tomatoes before?”

Joel couldn’t say that he had.

Joel reckoned there was a lot more than just movies he didn’t share in common with you. Miss Twenty-One. Barely a year past the age he’d been when he’d moved out of the house and tried to make a living on his own.

This woman, this girl he saw twirling out in front of him now probably couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel if he’d asked you to. Joel shook his head and moved his feet, frown etching deep.

“Alright, princess. Up.”

You didn’t seem to understand, until he’d lifted you. Up.

You were thrown over his shoulder and carried to a truck much nicer than yours in less than fifteen seconds or so.

“Stinks in here,” you said as soon as he’d set you down.

Then, sniffing the air—and grinning:

“Aw, hell, Miller…you smoke?”

Joel wished he’d said no.

Wished he’d rolled his eyes and told you to pipe down, stop asking him questions. It would’ve made the drive a whole lot easier, and more peaceful. Nowhere near as painful, either, if he were being perfectly honest—the strain in his jeans had already gotten to be more than he could bear, and all you’d asked for was a pack of smokes.

“They call ‘em Cowboy Killers,” you said, matter-of-fact.

“I know what they’re called,” Joel grumbled in reply. Flicking the radio on and hoping to find a tune that would drown out the too-lovely, cloying voice you’d assumed as soon as you thought you might win a cigarette off of him. More chatty now than ever.

And for one, blissful moment, Toby Keith had you beat. The calm was fleeting. As soon as ‘Who’s Your Daddy’ started to drift through the car’s old speakers, you reached across and turned the knob to the left.

“Gross,” you muttered.

“What?”

“Got a light?”

“Blow me.”

Joel’s harsh, clipped tone was deliberate. The way he’d made himself mean—meaner than he’d been around a woman in a long, long time—was a choice. He couldn’t let your faux sweetness win him now. Not after you’d thrown two drinks in his face, mocked his truck, and foreclosed any possibility of getting laid by way of all your publicized infidelity philippics and shit-talking. Giving in to your charms from where you sat in the passenger seat now would only sink him further in his own esteem. Simply put, Joel’s ego couldn’t take it.

“Okie doke,” you said presently. Shrugging.

“Now keep your—HEY!”

Joel nearly swerved his truck off the road and into a ditch. Your deft little hands had slipped into his lap—and started palming his crotch through the denim.

He’d just managed to right the vehicle before jerking a look your way, staring at your hand, then your face:

“What the fuck was that?!”

“You said ‘blow me,’ Joel!” you huffed, and you seriously appeared as distraught as he was, “Sorry for listening!”

Joel grit his teeth with all the force of a cold steel trap.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts.” He gripped the wheel even tighter.

“I’m aware.”

“Where the hell do you live, anyway?”

You told him.

Your hand slipped down to the seat beside him.

And just as Joel let out what felt like the tiniest sigh of relief—he knew where that was, and the address sounded vaguely familiar—he yelped again. This time, he managed to keep control of his truck, but it was hard.

Your fingers had returned, and they were kneading the bulge under his jeans. Joel flushed from head to toe.

He didn’t have so much as half a mind to make you stop. He didn’t want to see you slink back over to your side of the car. But you were twenty-one, and he was forty-five. And you were both under the influence to some degree. And he was driving, for fuck’s sake. Shit like that only worked in dreams—not on a highway in a town like this.

He turned the radio dial to 75. At length, he heard it loud:

‘WHO’S YOUR DADDY? WHO’S YOUR BA-A-A-ABY?’

He saw you cringe.

“C’mon, Joel,” you groaned, “That’s…yuck.”

The fingers of the one hand kept digging, rubbing, but the other reached out and turned the music down again.

Joel shifted in his seat, feeling the pleasure start to bloom from the pit of his stomach, but not wanting to let you off that easy. Briefly, he looked from the road to you.

“What? You got a problem with Toby Keith?”

“I got a problem with anyone sayin’ ‘daddy’ like that.”

You unzipped his fly. Popped the button of his jeans from underneath the soft shelf of belly hanging over it, and held him, finally. You could only cup his erection through his boxers at that point, but the friction was enough to send a shiver through the whole of the old man’s body. He hadn’t been touched like that by a hand that wasn’t his own in…he couldn’t remember how long. He sighed.

“That why you’ve got your hand down the pants of a man old enough to be your father?” Joel quipped.

He couldn’t help it.

Your hand only gripped him tighter. From the passenger seat, you’d leaned over and started crawling. Scowling.

Your knees swiftly planted themselves on the old, upholstered cushion of the bucket seat, and you slipped a touch beneath the waistband of his underwear. With a hand that was smooth and soft and eager to please, you wrapped your fingers around that base and leaned in.

“You sound like you want me to say it,” you whispered.

Under your hand, he pulsed. His gaze stayed on the road.

“Don’t make no difference to me, sweet pea,” he said, and was amazed how even he was able to keep his tone:

“But those ‘Cowboy Killers’ you wanted…”

Your fingers curled tighter. Your head sank lower.

“…they don’t come cheap, y’know.”

Oh, you knew. He saw a smile snag at the corners of your lips as you brought them to his lap, and he had to force himself to look at the road again. It was empty and dark.

The tarmac stretched out for days. The fields rolling past warned sternly, ‘Don’t let her win,’ and something more in between each tree seemed to invite deliberation—remembrance, maybe. Joel was far too focused on the feel of your mouth to give the woods a second thought.

You’d worked the first inch between your lips in a slick, obscene sort of kiss; you made room for just the head and then toyed with a bead of precum leaking out of his slit. You licked it, squeezed the shaft in your hand, and hummed while the first real moan rumbled through him.

Joel turned to putty with just that flick of your tongue. He didn’t have to see your face to know he was losing.

On the wheel, his grip grew tighter, and he choked out:

“Ain’t your fuckin’ lollypop, kid.”

Then, dropping one hand to push down on your head—make you take him to the back of your throat in one go.

“Daddy wants you to suck him like a big girl, hear?”

At the base of his cock, he felt you gag. From the bottom of his heart, Joel knew there was no sound sweeter than that. He ran his fingers over your skull and tapped gently.

“If you want those smokes,” he told you—and really, with all the warmth and moisture of your mouth enveloping him now, he’d had to try to sound rougher than he was, “You’re gonna do what daddy says and suck him right.”

You gagged again, then squeezed his denim-clad leg with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his member.

Joel yanked you by your hair and made you look up.

Your cheeks were already smeared with spit and tears. Much to his surprise, he found your eyes alight and soft.

Suffused with desire, too, from what he could see.

“Yes, daddy.” You grinned up at him.

Joel knew if he let your gaze stay on his a second longer now he’d either crash his car, blow his load, or fall in love—and he simply refused to let you succeed on any of those fronts, so he shoved your face back down.

You sucked him obediently. Greedily. Mouth growing more pliant and wet by the second, as if your jaw and salivary glands had contrived to get him as close to release as possible, as quickly as they were able.

Joel took a left onto a road he had only a dim recognition as being connected to yours, and he got that feeling again. You were bobbing your head, taking him further, flattening your tongue along the bottom of his member when his pleasure swelled inside him. At the same time, he felt a sense of dread. His hands were shaking on the wheel. He didn’t dare steal a look down to the sweet, soaked, perfect little mouth sucking him dry, because he knew that feeling would only strike twice as hard. He had to cum, or make you stop, or bring his truck to a halt.

As it was, he felt five tiny crescents sink into his thigh as you gripped him tighter, and a noise bubbled up in your mouth. Your breathing went shallow, and your lips stretched wide—you were trying, and succeeding, in deep-throating his thick, throbbing, much-too-old-for-a-girl-her-age member down close to your windpipe, and Joel could feel it. He hit his blinker, not thinking, and saw a sign that marked your street. Trepidation hit him again.

Fully, this time, in a feeling that was more like terror.

He didn’t have another second to question it, either. By the time he had the old, lone farmhouse in his sights and his heart nearly halfway up his throat with fear, your own throat pulsed, and opened the last two inches to him in. Your nose found their home in the rough, grey, wiry hairs at the base of his belly, having swallowed him whole, and Joel quickly sensed the start of what he knew too well.

He came down your throat in one, two, three, four, five long spurts, and didn’t let his foot off the gas even once.

He saw your house, approaching closer now, and paled.

No fucking way.

You’d wanted to skip the whole way up your drive.

Spit still drying on your cheeks, cum resting comfortably in your belly, and a smile as bright as the sun on your face as you waved to the F-150 pulling off toward the road, you’d never felt more alive—or smug—in your life.

“Is your dad…Lucien Flores?” Joel had asked no more than a second after his dick slipped out of your mouth.

“The one and only.”

Somehow, his face got even paler. His jaw visibly clenched, and his palm hit the top of the wheel. Hard.

It was then that you’d learned your father had hired Joel Miller on as a full-time ranch hand sometime last week.

He’d remembered the address, vaguely, but didn’t connect the dots until he’d pulled up in front of your house and damn near punctured your windpipe with his pulsing dick from how fast he’d jumped up—and cum.

His spend had almost shot through your nose with the force of it, but you didn’t mind. Once he’d revealed the wild, gory, and admittedly hilarious details of his newfound employment, you were too busy laughing your ass off to care if he’d torn your throat in two with his dick.

“So you really are a cowboy, then,” you’d said, giggling.

Joel had scowled. Rolled his eyes. Practically turned the color of a tomato when you leaned in and kissed him.

Now you were waving to him from your front door.

Joel’s truck was slow to go. The taste of him was fresh.

And there, weighing light in your back pocket while you said goodbye was a brand new pack of Marlboro Reds.

2:21 AM

You were safely in bed. You checked your phone.

Aside from fourteen missed calls, you saw:

1:09 AM – Maria

DUDE

1:09 AM

TOMMY JUST CAME HOME

1:09 AM

THAT’S NOT HIM AT THE BAR

1:13 AM

IT’S JUST JOEL!! HIS BROTHER!!!

1:13 AM

ABORT ABORT ABORT

1:42 AM

DAVE SAID YOU BEAT JOEL UP???? CALL ME

1:54 AM – Dave York

Ur gonna fuck that old dude aren’t u

[roses-and-revolutions]

Everyone from babies to young adults suddenly disappears from Amity Park, and the ghost portal self-destructs as well. The GIW and the Fentons obviously come to the conclusion that it’s ghosts but realize that this issue is way bigger than they can handle, so they call in the big guns, The Justice League.

Of course, they don’t tell the Justice League everything when they come. No matter how much they thought themselves to be heroes, they were simply glorified police in spandex. And with how they operate, they are all too small-minded and won’t be able to see the bigger picture. They also knew fully well that a lot of their methods weren’t even remotely close to being morally or ethically right, and if the JL found out, they would be screwed. So they simply told them enough to get them on their side. 

Besides, how could they not help with how many people were missing? This was going to be easy.

_______

The Justice League didn’t trust the GIW. Something about them was just off. But so many missing people were on the line, so many kids! 

Ghost?

Should they call in the JLD?

_______

Jason knew something was off with Crime Ally.

Nothing was wrong per se. In fact, everything was going great. Crime was at its lowest in like… forever. The general atmosphere was more calm, if not a bit chilly. He himself was calmer. And there were fewer kids on the streets. Which would have been a good thing if this wasn’t fuckin’ CRIME ALLY!

Jason’s been stressing himself out, trying to find out what was going on. He’s been searching up and down, talking to people left and right. No one was reporting anything amiss. Some even told him that they still saw the kids walking around, though not as often as before. And they also looked like they were being well taken care of.

He even saw and talked to some of the kids himself and it was the truth. 

But when he asked where they went, they only laughed and ran away from him. Shouting that he would know soon before they disappeared around the corner. At this point, he was sufficiently freaked out and was so close to getting Batman to contact the JLD, but something told him otherwise.

A few days later Jason was in bed. He had ended patrol early that night and intended to get a full eight hours if he could.

But as fate would have it, he would not. Because just before he could hit the hay he heard it. Well, felt it would be more accurate but how could you feel a siren’s song? Pulling you? Drawing you in. Telling you that it would give you your deepest desire.

He didn’t even bother to suit back up into Red Hood. He just followed it. Followed and followed, Until he got to a dead-end alleyway. But there was no ‘end’. All there was, was darkness. 

He began to get skeptical and took a few steps back. But the feeling was still there. Pulling, telling that all of his answers were in that darkness. Everything he wanted, needed, awaited beyond it. 

He did the stupid thing and went into the darkness.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t the feeling of walking through thick goop. But the feeling didn’t last long, and he eventually stepped out.

Again, he didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. 

Kids running around without a care in the world, unrestricted. Teenagers just hanging out and being kids too. Whatever adults he saw all looked pretty young, but they were all happy. 

He looked around and noticed that it looked like a weird mix between a suburb and a night market, but it worked quite well. The stalls were all unmanned, and it seemed whoever could just take whatever they wanted. Dim but pretty lights connected all the stalls to as far as his eyes could see. And the sky.

In Gotham, there’s so much smog and bad weather you’d be lucky to even see a piece of blue during the day so no wonder people often forget about the night. But this, the night sky wherever he was, was beautiful, beyond what words and even thoughts could convey.

“Hello, Mr. Red Hood.”

Jason jumped. Was he so out of it that he didn’t even notice someone coming up behind-

Forget what he just said about the sky. The woman right here that was now standing before him? She- She-

“Are you single?”

There was silence. Then she giggled. Guess Jason didn’t need his helmet huh? His face was enough.

He also wanted to die again but hey, at least she laughed!

[diremoone]

layers | geto/gojo.

— short story

you’re their favorite kouhai, everyone at tokyo and kyoto knows this. they also know that if anyone or anything were to touch or harm you in any way, they would feel the wrath of the most powerful duo. and one day, someone is dumb and foolish enough to do exactly that.

note(s): this isn’t a full complete drabble with a complete ending, but it’s something I’ve enjoyed writing. flop or no flop, this was a fun piece to write :D But tbh I’m thinking about deleting it and redoing it, or adding more. or maybe a part two lmao??

****

Trees were nothing but a blur of green to your vision. The car was going fast, way too fast for you to make out anything but the simple colors blue and green.

You blinked several times, shaking your head to keep yourself from dozing off. You were tired, so very very tired from such a long and exhausting two days of being on a First Grade mission that turned out to be a bigger issue and much more than it was worth.

They should’ve sent backup with me…

You leaned your head against the back of the backseat. You closed your eyes for just a moment, then opened them again for just a few seconds. The process was rinse and repeat; the only way to keep yourself awake.

Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fall asleep. Don’t… Just… don’t…

“Hang on, Miss [Last Name]!” frantically spoke the driver. He was probably looking in the rear view mirror, seeing you laying back on the seat with your eyes opening and closing. More so of the latter.

You heard the sound of a dial, then the voice of your driver hurriedly speaking into it. Problem was, you couldn’t understand a single word he was saying. It was all so… incoherent. Funny enough, it sounded like you were underwater.

Your head lolled to the side again, eyes half open with nothing but the same blur of green outside the window. Your hand was still over the wound, covering it with as much pressure as possible until you got to the school.

Unless you passed out first.

You could only imagine your upperclassmen holding this over your head as a joke for the rest of your life.

If you got to a medic in time, that is.

——————————

Everything had been fine. Just fine.

Great, in fact, he muses.

Him and Geto had been getting some ice cream to satisfy his sweet tooth, while Shoko complained that he was eating too much while munching away on her own ice cream like a damn hypocrite.

“What should we do now?” Shoko questioned.

“Might as well head back to the school,” Suguru suggested. “It is getting late and—”

“You’re no fun!!” Satoru complained. “Why are you so by the book?”

The black-haired male gives his childish friend a look of both amusement and exasperation. Of course Satoru was going to be like this. It was in his nature to be as anti-rules as possible. Especially if it meant pissing off the higher-ups.

“Alright, we’ll go—”

Shoko holds up a pointer finger to halt the conversation. “Aha, hold up guys. Sensei’s calling.”

“Maaaan! What now?” Satoru whines.

Just as the white-haired male goes to complain some more, he realizes Suguru’s expression changes. And that he’s not looking at him anymore — that he’s looking at Shoko now. So Satoru does the same, and now he sees his brunette friend’s face sheet white, eyes growing red like she’s about to start crying.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll be there.”

She clicks the phone off and looks to Geto, the whites of her eyes beginning to become red.

“Shoko?”

“We need to get back to the school. [Name]-chan’s hurt.”

The two males freeze, eyes going wider than saucers. But that reaction doesn’t last but two seconds, and Suguru’s pulling out his fastest Cursed Spirit he’s got and finishing the rest of the route back to school on it with his friends.

He and Satoru turn to look at one another, and Suguru knew his heart was the only one beating wildly in nothing but terror.

The three of them watched as the car pulled up; they landed as soon as the driver got out of the car.

Satoru’s and Suguru’s breaths hitched the second they landed beside the car.

Anger. Rage. Was there even a word to describe how they felt?

The red of your blood became the red of their rage — the red being the only color that they could see.

“Shoko, can—”

Her hand is already placed on your left side, her Reverse Cursed Energy pumping through your body. But the damage was done.

Your head rolled to the back of the seat, right hand limp on your stomach and left hand open, hanging loosely over the edge of the seat. Blood covered your palms, all the way up the inside of your forearms and up to the crook of your elbow.

And how pale your skin was. Was anyone supposed to be that shade of skin color? Of course it wasn’t. They knew that already. You weren’t supposed to ever be this way. Their adorable kouhai that was just too sweet and too nice for the world they lived in was never supposed to end up like this: sickly pale, blood pouring from the wound in your stomach and knocking on death’s door.

Shoko finishes healing you after what seems like forever. In reality, it’s only just a few minutes. But in those few minutes, both Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru come to a full understanding of something: they realize that you mean a lot more to them than just being their cute little kouhai. They can’t imagine you living in a world without you in it. Every thought of you not being there didn’t settle with them. They hated it. They weren’t able to envision coming to school without you passing by them in the halls. Seeing a world where they visited your headstone was unacceptable.

So many thoughts, so much anger, all accumulated within a matter of minutes that drives a permanent mark into their hearts and minds: that a world without you in it is not worth living in, and they love you too much to see anything else bad happen to you.

Suddenly, Yaga Sensei appears before them. Shoko moves out of the way so he can grab you, haul you into his arms and carry you to the infirmary where they have painkillers and other medicine. Shoko follows him, but Satoru and Suguru remain behind.

“Suguru?”

“Hm?”

“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

“That we need to kill someone?”

“And that’s why you’re my best friend.”

———

Taglist: @vagabond-umlaut • @torusbabygoat

not the gojo x student reader you guys wanted ik ik but I wanted y’all to read this anyway so sue me 😭😭

[sozila]

convalescence. (sukuna x reader)

synopsis: convalescence noun. time spent recovering from an illness or medical treatment; recuperation. ryomen s. itadori was a disease that infected every part of your life, and you didn’t notice until it was too late.

pairing: best friend's older brother!ryomen s. itadori x pre-med uni student!fem reader.

warnings: explicit content eventually, mdni. mentions of underage drinking, descriptive sexual activities. masterlist | previous | next

you are on: incubation. (part one) a/n:

hello!! my name is sozila, and this is my first ever work on tumblr/ao3 so bear with me if my writing seems a little elementary :,) let me know what you think, esp if it's constructive feedback! i've been a huge fic reader since i was 11, if that's any solace <3 (i'm in my second year of college now lmao) this piece really just came to me because i craved older brother sukuna and breezed through every fic with him in it. also, i wanted to incorporate parts of my college experience and hence the allegory to infectious diseases, i promise i'll hash it out adequately soon haha <3 also to note: i'm aware this chapter is rather short, but i intend to make longer chapters as the story continues! until then, here's a little bit of what i have :) enjoy!

ao3 link here.

incubation. (part one) you were 2 years into being best friends with yuuji itadori before you saw him. an idea of him was created in your head through a web of yuuji’s descriptions, megumi’s mild irritations. nobara’s hot-cold opinion that “he’s an insufferable asshole, but those tattoos do numbers on girls”. some part of you felt allured by the mystery of his identity, even though you knew exactly who he was. at least, as much as you could from the near-empty instagram account and pictures from yuuji’s childhood littering the apartment.

it was odd you didn’t meet until now, but university had other plans for you. it made sense though— as a pre-med student, you didn’t have much time to hang out or go to frat parties, as much as nobara complained about your lack of thrill for wilding out. you digressed, but promised as soon as you secured an internship you’d maybe allow a bottle of vodka on you, in the comfort of your shared apartment. yuuji and megumi never held your busy schedule against you; which you genuinely appreciated. you loved that whenever you did get to see them, things picked up right where you left off.

which is why you were surprised at the very least to be met with someone you knew yet were so unfamiliar with standing before you when you knocked on yuuji’s door.

“you one of yuu’s new leeches or what?”

your brows furrowed a little more at the jab on your character, but you utter nothing as you take in the fact ryomen itadori isn’t a mythical brother your best friend made up. he looks exactly like the lockscreen picture on yuuji’s phone, save for a couple new tattoos on his face and arms. his hair was a mix between a mean undercut and ivy league, sporting the same pink hue of his younger brother’s. a simple silver chain hung on his neck which drew you downwards to his chest. he was definitely built much bigger and wider than yuuji. coarse, and just.. raw. you register you’ve been staring at this man clad only in a wife pleaser and joggers for an inappropriately long time and clear your throat, straightening, holding your bag a little closer as if it was going to disappear with a glance of his sanguine eyes.

“you gonna stand there all day, or should i close the door on ya?”

his gruff voice now laced with irritation led you to match his demeanor. you give him a wry, plastered smile and push past him. he lets you, surprisingly.

“can’t really go in with you blocking the entire entryway, asshole.”

he doesn’t acknowledge the blatant insult and walks towards the kitchen. your nose catches it first- he was cooking something really good. suddenly, he yells over his shoulder while he stirs the pot.

“yuuji c’mon, i’m not babysitting for your ass!”

the thomp-thomp-thomps of yuuji’s footsteps follow with him hurrying down the stairs and he flashes a dorky smile to you. “sorry, sorry! you met my lovely best friend then, aniki?”

he grunts without turning around. you didn’t even consider this a conservation, but yuuji seemed unphased by his wet-blanket personality. guess older brotherhood looked like this. yuuji flits around the stove where he’s working to stick a finger in the pot and steal a taste, which sukuna smacked him upside the head for.

rubbing the back of head, yuuji then turns and faces you to give your arms a little squeeze. “megs is running a little late from swim team practice, but he’ll be here soon. ryo made dinner for us though!” he quips brightly.

with a whip of his head and a withering look, you deduced sukuna wasn’t aware of this information, but grumbled to himself. you made out a “motherfucker” and “freeloader” in his long curse.

you pull your happy-go-lucky friend a little out of earshot and bring him to your level to whisper harshly. “yuu, i don’t want to inconvenience your brother.. he already seems pissed i exist,” you murmur. your gaze returns to the giant man in the kitchen and something tickles in your chest. immediately he slaps your shoulder and chortles, as if you told him something outlandish. “don’t even worry! he acts like that all the time, he just doesn’t know you well enough yet.”

you weren’t sure you even wanted him to.

it was 7:30 when you heard the ring of the doorbell and your head lifts from the snug placement you took on the couch. sukuna had already slipped away upstairs so yuuji answers this time, much to your dismay. you lament internally that megumi wouldn’t face the same frosty welcome as you did. you hear two voices instead of just the one you expected and crane over to see a certain red headed girl you knew. she beams upon noticing your peeking form. “you’re here early, miss i-have-no-time-for-my-beloved-friends,” quicker than you could react, she was already beelining to jump on you with a smothering hug.

you try to muster a clear response but get muffled by her puffy knit sweatshirt. “if you checked your phone you’d know i told you!” you push your computer out of reach so it wouldn’t be swept in the tornado that was nobara kugisaki.

megumi had already taken a seat on the rug beside yuuji, deep in conversation about winter finals. however, it became evident it was more megumi lecturing yuuji on course material and the latter looking more confused and stressed by the second.

you move nobara enough to clap your hands and catch their attention.

“if you guys utter the word ‘exams’ one more time, i swear will explode.”

nobara snorts above you and knocks on your head. “look who’s talking. is your memory shot to hell or do you not remember all the times you bring it up yourself?”

“she literally did this afternoon,” yuuji mumbles with a pout. you throw a decorative pillow at him.

“hey! don’t forget i literally made your study schedule for you. and even the studious want a little break,” you defend with a huff. nobara d’awws and squishes your cheeks. “my poor little baby! however did you survive.”

“you guys suck. i deserve nothing but love and affection.”

yuuji rolls his eyes and whines. “oh my goood, yes we love you and appreciate you, hugs kisses rainbows blah blah— i wanna watch a movie already!”

you giggle at his antics as nobara pushes off you, walking to the unabashedly large TV and starts filing through yuuji’s big movie bookshelf. “what are we feeling tonight? fast and furious, ladybird, jigsaw..”

after a couple minutes you all agree on midsommar, which you protested but lost in a 3 to 1 vote (democracy is a joke). you could never sleep properly after a good horror movie, hence you always watched them during the daytime. but because your friends were evil, namely nobara, you had to endure some at night and ended up sleepless and jumpy. “if you can’t sleep, just slip in with me tonight,” nobara counters with a dismissive wave. while you knew neither nobara nor her girlfriend, maki, would bat an eye because of their long friendship with you, you worried for your own well-being. nobara was a huge kicker in her sleep (she denies this profusely). too many times after a night out you’d wake up on the floor with bruises on your side while nobara dozed peacefully, starfish-ed on the bed. you sigh and accept your fate.

the movie ends up being just as if not more unsettling than you expected. you knew nobara clocked out much earlier than you thought when you heard no reaction to the bear scene (never getting that image out of your brain, you fear). you stretch your neck to assess who’s out. beyond the dirty plates on the coffee table from the dinner sukuna “made” for you all, you can make out yuuji cradled into megumi’s chest, snoring lightly. the urchin haired boy didn’t stir much either, so you peel from nobara’s vice-like grip on you to throw a blanket over the two of them. out of the corner of your eye, you see yuuji cuddle into megumi a little more, a small smile on his dozing face. god, you eagerly await the day they could be honest about their feelings. you step back around quietly to adjust nobara on the couch into a more comfortable position.

to navigate out with a better light you fish your jeans for your phone but to your dismay, are met with empty pockets. it didn’t help that your nerves on high alert and the living room was lit only by the glow from the tv. something straight out of a horror movie. genuinely fuck my life. you frown as you crouch down to feel around underneath the couch. after a few minutes of helpless padding later, the task seemed fruitless and you began to retreat to yuuji’s room. nothing could prepare you to feel a big, cold hand palm your shoulder. you freeze, your spine going icy. is this how i’m going to die? swiveling faster than your mind could compute you almost let out a bloodcurdling shriek, only to be met with the same cold hand pressing your mouth shut.

“are you fuckin’ mental?”

sanguine eyes bore back into yours and you fight the urge to bite the hand pressing on you. the audacity of this guy was baffling, really.

you shove him off and glare pointedly.

“me? i’m mental? says the dick who decided to sneak up on someone and grab them like a fucking serial killer!”

you jab a finger on his chest, seething in a whisper. his chest, in reality, was much harder than you anticipated and your finger probably hurt more than the attack on him.

a step. he’s closer to you and now in possession of said finger.

“i lightly tapped you. the rest was damage control, sweetheart.”

“sweetheart?”

“i can’t call you that?”

“how about you don’t call me anything, ever? thanks.”

“makes sense that i can’t call you. got your phone, and all.”

your mouth drops a little. “what?” he snickers. “if you weren’t so busy trying to curse me into the next domain, you’d realize i’ve had your phone in my hand this whole time. fuckin’ idiot.”

lo and behold, your phone was nestled in his raised hand, looking much smaller than you remembered. or was it that his hand was just that large in comparison? how big was this guy, really? part of you wanted to stop everything and just ask him to hold different objects and compare how they perceived in his grasp. but reality struck and you recall this is the same guy who just scared the living daylights out of you.

you yank it out of his stupid mammoth hand, ripping his grasp on you in the process and take a step back. you were awfully close to one another upon closer inspection.

“not an idiot, by the way. 4.0 gpa doesn’t exactly scream stupid.”

“idiocy applies to everyone, sweetheart. regardless of how much you dick ride your textbooks.”

every word that left his mouth had a lilt to it. the laughter in his eyes, his head cocked to the side.. he was messing with you and relished it. that pissed you off. who the fuck was he to decide who you were? what you stood for? you had barely known this imaginary-but-actually-real brother for a couple hours, and here he was insulting and teasing you all in one gift-wrapped present. what gave him the confidence to be so insufferable? and better yet, what could you do to stomp it out?

“go to hell, sukuna.”

you were unwilling to stay in his irritating presence for a moment more. your face was stony and unrelenting, your foot tapping incessantly in impatience. you wanted to slap his face off, but thankfully for him, your best friends were in dreamland just a few feet away.

“goodnight, idiot.”

your feet padded angrily up the stairs and you could still feel those dark sanguine eyes boring into your skull and all over your body. you decided that imaginary or not, yuuji itadori's older brother was the most pompous asshole you've ever had the displeasure of meeting. you didn’t get hit with your skin radiating heat until you closed the door of yuujii’s bedroom behind you. question is, was it anger or arousal?

... she never told me her name.

omg light banter... guys i really love slowburn so sexy time isn't guaranteed soon :( once i've outlined it i'll add specific explicit warnings and maybe you'll get a glimpse of what i envision for you and sukuna aaaaa :) for tumblr, i'll have a navi/masterlist up in a little!

peace luv bathtub!!!

© sozila 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other mediums or sites. cross-posted on ao3 and tumblr under same alias.

[lxndonorris]

sharing is caring - Lance Stroll

Y/N x Lance Stroll Theme: Fluff (light touching, not explicit) Lance is very good at finding snacks during race weekends, and he always shares them with you x word count: 1600+ taglist: @game-set-canet @cloud-55 open for requests! :)

The high-octane buzz of the paddock swirls around you, but your heart is calm, steady as you stand just outside the Aston Martin garage. 

You lean against a sleek, dark green wall, a comforting anchor amidst the whirlwind of mechanics, engineers, and media personalities scurrying back and forth.

The Saturday sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the circuit. There are still 90 minutes until qualifying begins, and you are waiting for him.

Lance is in a meeting—probably being briefed on tire strategies, telemetry, or maybe just having the usual driver's talk with his engineer. You agreed to meet here after the meeting, right in front of the garage.

Your eyes scan the bustling pit lane, taking in the bright colors of the rival teams, but it is all background noise. You aren't focused on any of it because you know he would be with you soon.

The scent of rubber and gasoline fills the air, blending with the faint waft of coffee from the team hospitality areas nearby. As much as you are used to being here, the anticipation never faded.

The atmosphere at a Grand Prix weekend is addictive. But it is more than just the racing. It is the stolen moments—the brief yet intimate times between the flurry of team meetings and on-track action—that make the weekend truly special.

A sudden, light touch grazes your back, followed by fingers that trace their way up around your shoulder. Your breath hitches, and before you even turn, you know who it is. You spin around, a smile already forming on your lips, and there he is.

Lance stands before you, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. His racing suit is half-on, the top half casually hanging down around his waist, revealing his form-fitting white nomex shirt underneath. His cap is turned backward, a few strands of his tousled dark hair sticking out beneath it, a faint stubble framing his face. He looks effortlessly beautiful. 

You always thought he did.

You don't get a chance to say anything before his hand cups your face, and he kisses you, soft and sweet, like it always is between you. His lips are warm, the briefest escape from the intensity of the race weekend, and you can't help but sigh contentedly into the kiss.

"Hey," he whispers, his voice low and just for you. "The meeting was fine, but honestly, I couldn't wait to get out of there and see you." His eyes search yours, his hand still resting on your shoulder.

You smile back, feeling warmth spread through you. 

"You should've texted me; I would've come earlier," you tease.

He chuckles, his grin widening, and that's when you notice the chocolate donut in his hand.

Lance has a notorious sweet tooth, always finding something to snack on during race weekends.

"Where'd you get that?" You ask, tilting your head toward the donut, which looks perfectly glazed and delicious.

Lance's eyes dart to the side as if he were trying to recall.

"Uh, somewhere," he says, flashing you that boyish smile. "I honestly don't remember. I just sort of found it."

You playfully pout. 

"It looks so good."

Without a word, Lance breaks the donut in half and hands you the slightly bigger piece.

"Here," he says, holding it out to you. "You can have a piece if you want."

You take a bite, the rich chocolate coating melting on your tongue. It tastes ridiculously good—soft, sweet, and decadent.

"Okay," you say, after savoring the flavor. "I'm convinced. You have a real talent for finding the best snacks."

He laughs softly, brushing a finger over his lips as if contemplating your words.

"It's a gift," he says, smirking. "Years of practice."

Just then, Lance's eyes soften, his gaze falling to your lips.

"You've got chocolate right here," he murmurs, leaning in. Before you can react, he kisses you again, this time slower, with a playful edge, his lips brushing against yours until the chocolate is gone.

When he pulls back, there is that same spark in his eyes that never fails to make your heart flutter.

You giggle and playfully pat his tummy through his shirt, feeling the firm muscles beneath.

"You're always finding ways to steal kisses, aren't you?"

Lance just grins, his hands casually slipping around your waist, pulling you in closer.

"What can I say? I like any excuse." He drops his voice, teasing. "Plus, I'm sure Fernando got a donut too if you want another one."

You burst into laughter, resting your head briefly against his chest. "I'm fine, I promise," you say, smiling. "But thanks for the offer."

Lance's arms stay comfortably around you, his fingers tracing light patterns along your back. You stand there for a moment, just enjoying each other's presence amidst the noise and movement of the paddock.

Then, however, you notice a small speck of chocolate clinging to his crisp white Nomex shirt. Your eyes narrow in playful suspicion.

"Lance," you say, drawing out his name teasingly. "You've got a little something right there..."

His brows furrow in confusion for a second, until you swipe your finger lightly across his chest, brushing the rogue piece of donut off. As the crumb fell away, a tiny, faint chocolate stain remains, just above his heart.

You smirk, glancing up at him. "A chocolate stain, Mr. Stroll? Really?"

He follows your gaze down to the stain and immediately pouts. "Aw, no way..."

Lance tries to brush it off himself, but it only smears a little more, his fingers grazing the fabric ineffectively. 

"It won't come off!"

You chuckle softly, watching him struggle for a second. 

"Don't worry about it," you say, your voice light as you lean in closer, fingers brushing over the spot again. "Once you zip your suit up, no one will see it."

Lance's lips quirk into a sheepish smile as he looks at you, his eyes shining with that mischievous glint you adore.

"True, but I know it's there," he teases, still pouting playfully.

You shake your head, amused by how dramatic he is being over such a small thing.

"Oh, the tragedy," you murmur, your fingers trailing gently over the stain once more, pretending to inspect it.

As your fingers graze his chest, you hear him giggle—a quiet, boyish sound that makes your heart flutter. The light touch of your fingertips on his shirt tickled him, and you can't help but laugh along with him.

"Stop it," he says between giggles, his hands moving to grab yours, still grinning. "You're making it worse!"

You smirk, giving his chest a playful pat.

"Okay, okay, I'll leave it alone. But seriously, it's barely noticeable."

He pulls you closer, resting his chin on top of your head for a brief moment, his laugh fading into a contented sigh.

"I guess I'm just going to have to live with it. But only because you say it's fine," he adds dramatically, his lips twitching into a smile.

You look up at him, still smiling, your heart full.

"Good. Now go make sure you've got no more surprises before qualifying starts, right?"

Lance tilts his head back, pretending to think deeply.

"Yeah, I think I'm good," he says, the hint of a smile still on his face. Then, with a wink, he adds, "Unless you want to check again."

You roll your eyes, laughing softly. "You're impossible."

"And you love it," he whispers, his arms pulling you into another hug.

With a soft kiss to your forehead, he releases you, that boyish grin still on his lips as he turns back to the garage.

"Are you nervous about qualifying?" You ask softly, running your hand along his arm, feeling the tension of race weekend start to seep into your moment.

"Not really," Lance replies, his voice casual, though you sense the focus beneath his words. "I mean, it's always a bit nerve-wracking, but I feel good today."

He looks at you, his expression growing a little more serious. "Having you here helps."

His words, simple and sincere, make your heart swell. Even though you have been together for a while now, it never gets old hearing him say things like that.

"I'm always here for you, you know that," you say, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

He gives you a crooked smile, the kind that is both confident and humble, and you can tell he appreciates the support.

"I'll try my best to make you proud," he says, his thumb brushing against your hip.

"You always do," you whisper, squeezing his hand.

Suddenly, over the distant hum of engines and chatter, a voice crackled over the team radio. Lance's engineer is calling him back to the garage, reminding him they have to start prepping for qualifying.

Lance sighs, glancing toward the garage, where a few crew members are already looking his way, waiting for him.

"I've gotta go," he says, his tone regretful. "But I'll see you after quali, okay?"

You nod, giving him one last hug before letting him go. "Good luck. I'll be cheering for you."

He grins—that charming, almost boyish look that always makes your heart skip a beat.

As he turns to head back into the garage, he glances over his shoulder and winks. "I'll make sure, to bring you another donut."

You laugh, shaking your head as you watch him disappear into the garage, surrounded by his team, ready to do what he does best.

And even with the faint stain on his shirt, he looks effortlessly perfect—just Lance, the man that you love.

[adore-laur]

Hii I love your writing ! Idk if you’re still taking dadrry requests but I’d love to see how he’d react to one of his girls being super picky with food and how he deals with that ! Like him making a bunch of meals for his baby hoping she’ll like it :’)

——

Now that his youngest was able to eat solid foods at six months old, Harry took it upon himself to introduce her to the wonderful world of fruits and vegetables. While it might have been easier and more convenient to purchase jars of mediocre mashed baby food from the store, Harry was a chef and wanted to expand his culinary capabilities. And maybe impress you just a little bit. You were slowly weaning from breastfeeding, and he wanted to show his appreciation for your relentless nourishment. Keeping his babies alive and healthy made him forever indebted to you. His favorite way to repay you was by cooking whatever meal your heart desired and making sure your belly was full.

It was eleven a.m. when Harry got started on making lunch. You were out of the house with your eldest at her weekly swimming lesson and were due to arrive home shortly. He was hoping you didn't stop for lunch on the way back since he was planning on making the whole family lunch once he satiated his babbling baby girl seated in her high chair.

After mulling over potential recipes, he decided on something simple—baked pears and a side of steamed zucchini made into a purée. He got to washing and slicing the three pears he nabbed from the roadside farmers market downtown, all while listening to the mourning doves coo and the waves lapping the shore outside the open window. He fell into a tranquil state of cooking, his muscles on autopilot when handling knives, bowls, and pans. It was second nature to him—his favorite pastime next to hanging out with his girls.

Once the pears were baking in the oven, Harry whipped up the zucchini purée. He chopped one up, placed the pieces in a saucepan, and then seasoned them before steaming the pale green vegetable for ten minutes. In the meantime, he lifted his baby girl from her high chair and snuggled her close while the sweet aroma of his cooking concoction swirled in the air. She was getting bigger every day, and it snapped his heart into little pieces. Pretty soon, she'd be crawling around the house with curiosity. She was already teething and mimicking sounds. Laughing and putting toys in her mouth. And while those milestones filled him with an enormous amount of pride, he couldn't help but realize how short-lived they were.

When the oven timer beeped, Harry sat his baby girl on his hip and carefully took the glass dish of pears out with a hot pad. They were golden brown, which made his stomach grumble. He set them on the stovetop and flicked the heat off for the zucchini. He needed both hands for the next step, but he really didn't want to stop holding his baby, whose wispy hair smelled like the lavender shampoo he used during her bath time last night. She was awake and in a slightly cranky mood because of teething. The only thing he could do to alleviate the irritable pain she was experiencing was to offer his knuckle as a soothing thing to gnaw until he found the time to order a teething toy. He was unconcerned with the drool and dull ache caused by her. This wasn't his first rodeo.

It was actually why you had started to wean earlier than you did with your first child. You mentioned breastfeeding was uncomfortable enough, and adding teeth to the mix was even more unpleasant. He wholeheartedly supported your decision and made it his mission to never have you stress over cooking separate meals for two babies and yourself. It was part of his lifelong repayment.

While the pears and zucchini cooled, Harry rummaged through the living room in search of the baby sling—also known as the greatest invention for multitasking parents. And dads who couldn't get enough of holding their babies. Guilty, he thought to himself.

Once he located it under a pile of princess dresses, he put it on and wrapped his baby nice and snugly in the fabric. Then he went back to the kitchen and used his two free hands to grab the food processor from the corner cabinet. Setting it on the island, he brought over the zucchini and poured them in before pressing the purée setting. The grating noise startled the baby, and Harry gently bounced in place while covering her tiny ears.

Mushy green slop was the result after he turned off the loud device. It wasn't necessarily appetizing to him, but the way his daughter was making grabby hands at it made him proud of his very own baby food creation. He opened the silverware drawer and grabbed a silicone spoon. He dipped it into the purée and then held up a small serving to her awaiting mouth.

"This is zucchini," Harry said, sincerely hoping she'd like it. "It's good for your bones and digestive system. Now, you have to tell Daddy what you think. This is a trial run to find out what you like." He delicately stuck the spoon in her open mouth and watched her slowly remember how to chew. Her rosebud lips smacked together as some purée slid down her chin. Babies were cute when they ate, but boy did they make a mess. Her expression didn't give anything away, but the way she was spitting out everything that was on the spoon sure did.

"All right," he whispered, a bit disappointed. "That’s okay. Zucchini's not for everyone."

Her chubby fist reached up and landed on his neck, no doubt protesting for better food. He couldn't help but laugh at the green smears bordering his adorable daughter's mouth. Taking his phone out, he captured a couple of pictures and sent them to you before wiping the mess with a paper towel. He made a mental note to also order bibs—another sign that she was growing up too quickly. God, it wounded him. He might have to ask for a third baby after all.

Harry walked over to the stovetop and picked up a warm, baked pear slice. Using his teeth, he tore off half a chunk for himself and guided the other one into her mouth. He had to help her chew this time since the consistency was more solid than the purée. His thumb and forefinger held her jaw as he gently moved it up and down. His baby's beautiful eyes stared at him, entranced by his face so close. He stared right back at her, admiring all the parts that were him and you. Day by day, she looked a little more like you, and he was ecstatic about it. His genes might've been strong in the newborn stage, but they stood no chance against the potent beauty of yours.

There was nary a complaint when she swallowed the piece of pear. None at all until Harry got her another, and as soon as it touched her lips, she burst into tears and pushed his hand away like it was the absolute last thing she wanted in front of her.

"Not even pears?" Harry said, equal parts humored and defeated. "You're going to be a picky little eater, aren't you? Just like your sister."

With a sense of mild failure sitting in his chest, he opted to feed her a bottle of breastmilk in the refrigerator until you got home. Your motherly instincts would surely help him figure out her palate. Even though he was a chef and understood everyone's acquired tastes, it was his daughter who was unimpressed with his skills.

Eating the rest of the pears and the bland zucchini purée, he laughed to himself. His girls kept him on his toes, but he wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

——

[rhadamanthes]

Ice cream chillin. Sukuna x reader

word count : 1k

warnings: food play(nothing gross) humping, biting, established relationship, missionary, oral play breeding kink

You come back from the kitchen carefully closing the door not to wake your boyfriend up. Treat in hand you walk to the bed planting a sweet kiss on Sukuna's cheek and lay next to him your head at the foot of the bed facing the tv hanging on the wall. You unwrap the ice cream humming when it makes contact with your tongue. It was not a particular hot day but having a frozen treat sounded like the right thing to do. 

As you keep eating the sorbet you do not think it would melt that fast. You catch a piece of the ice cream with your finger putting it back in your mouth squealing at the fact you now have a drop down your chin. Before you can do anything to stop it from going further down you feel a tight grip on your jaw, from the side of your eyes you see Sukuna now wide awake, his eyes more crimson than you ever saw them. 

He then approaches his face to lick you clean off the trail. You close your eyes shut at his gesture his tongue is so warm. you take the stick heavy with the remaining ice cream out of your mouth asking him "Did i wake you up?" he huff taking the ice cream from your hands straddling you in a way that you can feel his crotch against your ass "did you ? sucking on that thing like a slut? i think that yes you did" he says tapping your cheek twice silently asking you to open up. And you do, which makes him let out a satisfied groan , pressing his nose into your hair and letting his free hand slide to your throat, grabbing it lightly. 

His hand that's holding the treat approaches your mouth filling it with what is left on the stick; you groan at the fact that he is pushing it so far in your mouth almost making you choke "now you're going to do it properly" he whispers, with your positions his voice his going straight to your ear making you blush and you body hot all over, already feeling the heat pooling at your panties.

Sukuna starts trusting the stick in and out of your mouth, smearing it all over your lips and making saliva drip at the corner of your mouth. You can tell that he enjoys what he is doing to you as he is grinding against your ass making you feel how he grows harder and harder.

Soon there's not a single drop left on the stick. Your boyfriend notices this and throws it somewhere in the room, you yelp trying to reach for it thinking the way he discarded it is gross. But he is quick to turn your body around, laying on your back now he pins you down with a kiss. A gross kiss his tongue is moving like it's searching to get all the flavour from the ice cream, gosh he is even licking  your teeth. 

Out of breath you push on his shoulder to break the kiss. the both of you are panting in each other's face and before you can say anything he bites your cheek not hard enough to leave a bruise but enough to sting. 

Sukuna's way of loving you is carnal, you're used to this so you're not really surprised when he starts biting down from your face to your chest harder and harder. with his hands he starts kneading at every part of your body slowly starting to undress you from the little clothing you're wearing ;a tank top and a coton short. You can't help but moan his hands are warm and so much bigger than yours, you're getting wetter too. He must feel it because he presses his nose right on your crotch and takes a deep breath "Sukuna!" you cry in embarrassment hitting his head lightly. 

Your boyfriend gives you a cold stare for your gesture, his hands still on your hips he gets them closer to your pussy and rip out your panty. you gasp in shock but don't react to it this time you guess that you deserve it. quickly getting rid of his sweat and boxer he starts stroking his cock in front of you it's fully hard and already leaking the sight makes your mouth water. Before you can make any move he spreads your legs wider and puts them at the side of his waist. He rubs his thick length up and down your entrance making you arch your back from the bed at the anticipation. Sukuna leans on his forearms giving you a chaste kiss before entering all the way inside of you making you moan in the process.

His head now rests in the crook of your neck, hands being your head keeping you in place,  you can hear him growling at the newfound sensation. He moves slowly at first making you frustrated, you claw at his back only making him louder. Sukuna's whole body weight is on you, you feel closer to him like that you feel safe. "Sukuna please" you beg in his ear digging your nails in his back a little more. 

Taking the hint he let his hands slide to your waist once again holding you tightly as he start pounding you into the mattress finally picking up his pace. you moan uncontrollably finally getting what you wanted. The friction of his cock inside of you drives you crazy. It feels so good tears start forming in your eyes you close them shut, gripping even harder on his back at this point you're gonna draw blood but you know he likes it. Sukuna alternates between giving you kisses and biting you softly, never letting his pace slow down pushing out your gummy walls.

The sound of you two fucking fills the room with heavy moans and squelching sound from how wet you are for your boyfriend added to the sensation you feel your orgasm building up quickly locking your legs behind sukuna's waist as you feel your release approching. taking his face out or your neck he hovers  you looking at your face he loves to see your expression when you are cuming. And you do, filling him with pride as you call his name with tears down your cheek.

He calls you a good girl while wiping the hair out of your face he is close too, keeping going until he finishes inside of you not caring to ask you if he can you always beg for him to fill you up not now your to limp, watching him eyes half close with a lazy smile hanging on your lips. Sukuna his panting slowly catching his breath he returns your expression. leaving kisses all over your face you hear him chuckle as he starts licking sweat off your forehead you grunt in disgust laughing a bit too. 

When the two of you catch your breath you kiss his collarbone softly. resting for a bit he then takes you to the bathroom cleaning you up a bit between soft kisses and head pat. making your way back to the bedroom you lay on the bed with a bag of chips as a snack, he is less likely to get carried away by that you think of chuckling to yourself.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

This idea randomly popped into my head and I just wanted to write it down.

Just imagining Helen if he didn’t become a creep. Helen growing up and doing everything he can to get away from his abusive parents. Helen buried himself in his art, trying to perfect and improve it and make something out of it. Helen goes on to become a very well-known artist, making a living off of his work, so much so that he starts to travel so that he can experience new things and further his creativity with all the different views he sees and people he meets. Helen who saw you one day in a park and knew immediately you were the most gorgeous person he’d ever seen. Helen keeps going back to that park hoping to see you again, and he does.

He walks up to where you’re sitting and politely asks to sit next to you, and he’s elated when you agree. He absentmindedly draws the landscape around you, catching your eyes as you compliment him on his work. He bashfully thanks you, explaining he’s an artist and does it by trade. You ask to see more of his pieces, and he shows you photos of them, explaining all of the details and inspirations that went into them. You talk for a few hours, and at the end of it, Helen asks if it would be alright to get your number. Despite fearing rejection more than when publishing any art piece, you accept again, and he feels elation flowing through him.

He decides to stay in your city for a much longer period of time than he originally intended, halting his travel plans. The two of you keep talking, and eventually, Helen asks for you to model for him. You’re unsure at first, not really convinced you’d be the best model for him, but he insists, citing his beliefs; that you’re a very attractive person and he’d love to capture you artistically. Though flustered, you agree to his request and begin casually modeling for him. Soon, all of his sketchbooks are filled with you. Once Helen draws you a few times it becomes muscle memory to him, and he finds himself absentmindedly sketching you whenever he’s distracted. The two of you continue to grow closer, meeting up for lunches and dinners, hanging out when the two of you are free, and occasionally with you modeling for him in between.

Helen knows a few weeks into talking to you that he’d like to ask you on a date, but it takes a few months in truth before he gets there. Months where he was supposed to be leaving your area, but instead he’s renting an apartment, buying furniture, creating a permanent space he never planned on doing, but he can’t force himself to leave. By the time he’s finally confident enough to ask you, you’re equally as interested in him, and soon one date becomes two, and then three, and then four, and then Helen is convinced he’s never going to be able to move away from you.

You’re the most charming and wonderful person he’s ever met, with all of your quirks and habits, and he just can’t help but fall deeper and deeper in love with you every day. Sketches of you become paintings, some of which are subtle enough to obscure your identity he publishes, but those that truly follow his work and online presence begin to recognize the silhouette in his pieces with the person he’s regularly taking photos with when the two of you are on excursions, although nobody has definitive proof of it being you, it’s obvious that you’ve enamored the once lonely artist.

Helen continues to grow, amassing a bigger audience and obtaining a much more stable financial income from his work, taking up commissions in his spare time that contribute heavily. He still travels on occasion but is no longer alone. He takes you with him, showing you his favorite places, all of the beautiful areas you’d never been to before, but can’t help but recognize from some of the photos he once showed you on that fateful day at the park. Months turn into years, a lonely apartment turns into one with warmth and two bodies to occupy it together, and Helen can’t help but relish in the fact that you are the best decision he’s ever made.

Eventually, of course, he asks you to marry him. He takes you to a spot he said he’d been planning on scouting for a painting, a gorgeous area, one of the most beautiful he’d ever taken you to. While you’re admiring the scenery, he kneels down behind you, and of course, when you turn to face him finally and he pops the question, you can’t help but say yes. The next piece he publishes is of a hand, adorned by a beautiful engagement ring in front of a gorgeous view. Then, it becomes two people in love on their wedding day, the same ring spotted in the painting, now accompanied by a wedding band. Through all his early trials and tribulations, Helen never thought he’d find someone to settle down with, but he’s never been more thankful for anything than he is for meeting you. His art started so dark, so moody, but after growing with you it’s become filled with so much warmth and expression. The once lonely artist found his muse that changed his life for the better, his muse that he’ll continue to paint for the rest of his days, so long as he is able.

[arminsumi]

so happy you're writing for gojo and getou!! You make my day fr <3

Thinking of ex getou hc... he annoyingly drapes himself over you like your not broken up, still brings you lunch and snacks when he knows your craving them, hugs you for way too long Infront of other men until you break and take him again <33

He would not be afraid of being toxic if it ment getting you back

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒꒱ ex-boyfriend

GETO x f.reader

A/N: i am in pieces at the word choice 'drapes' 😩 thank you for your request — so happy i can make your day 💗 i kinda... wrote an excessive amount srry if i deviated a bit i was in a real suguru state of mind

♪ NOW PLAYING: don't blame me, your love made me crazy

Wc: >900

Overview; Suguru just can't let you go. His mad love reels you back into his arms.

Content; fluff, (ex.bf) headcanons

Warnings; light toxicity, light obsessiveness/possessiveness (?), jealousy, he doesn't let you leave

arminsumi's library

— He is the definition of the "I'm not her ex" ex-boyfriend. Anyone who asks "Did you two split?" will be met with a firm "No. We're just working things out." from Geto before you can even open your mouth to speak.

— Soft, good-smelling, and good-looking; his aura permeates through the air of your apartment as soon as he walks in. He unashamedly invited himself over and said "Aren't you lonely without me? C'mon admit it. I'll make some tea, do you want? Okay then, I'll make you one anyways."

— Behind those abyssal eyes are all his unchanged feelings for you; his one and only. He can't move on. You have a death grip on his mind; he thinks about you in the shower, on the road, walking to the store, while shopping. Daydreams of you are plastered throughout his routines.

— He engulfs you in a consuming hug and peers down at you with a tender look. He's so much bigger than you; the broadness of his shoulders are laughable in comparison to yours. "Missed you, baby." he says, usually pressing a kiss to your cheek (smirking when you swat him away like a fly), and he says that a lot; you can feel the weight in each word.

— Of course... when in front of other men, his hugs seem to get clingier. Heavier. Longer. More possessive. He hangs on your body as if he's the clothes on your back. His scent lingers on you.

— Still lends you his oversized T-shirts and insists that you wear them before heading out for coffee with your coworker, Gojo. Asks for 'proof' pics that you really are wearing his shirt.

— He calls you by the nickname you always favored, the one that had the power to weaken your knees to the point of falling to them. Paired with that silken, dangerously attractive voice and the yearning glint in his eyes, you're a goner.

— He's always been able to read you like an unravelling scroll. As if you're a painting and he's an artist, he knows every brush stroke that creates an artwork like you.

So when you push him away, he knows that you actually want him to hold you tight. When you tell him to give up, you actually want him to try harder. And when you shakily answer no to his inquiry about "Do you still feel for me?" he knows you actually mean yes.

— Leans in to whisper something in your ear when you've got company or guests over at a party. He loves forming a barrier of intimacy between you and him in a public setting; he thinks that they should all witness how capable he still is of flustering you. His heart lurches when you react to his whispers with the same swooning smile as you did in high school.

— He pops up at your workplace, "I got you your favorite." he says with a smooth smile that you instantly succumb to.

— He selfishly drags you back into his arms like Hades mythically dragged Persephone back into the underworld.

— You want to move on from him ? Nope, not happening. He's dead set, completely determined, to dig his way back into your heart.

— Needles of jealousy prick his chest when he sees you laughing because of someone else. He can't stand that, not even for a second, so he invades the conversation and plucks you out of it like you're a gemstone lost among rocks in a dirty river.

"Let's go." he says, "Go where?" you ask, but he whisks you away without answering.

— Honest to god, if he could snatch you away and trap you in a castle, he would. In fact, he can, minus the castle — but his penthouse will have to do 🤷‍♀️

A few lavish invitations to dinner at his place lead to you sleeping over like how you used to. It's all part of his grand scheme. "Baby, come back to me." he murmurs into your hair. "This house is so cold without you."

— Come the morning, you're readying yourself to leave for coffee with your coworker again. Stupid Sunday tradition, Geto hated it. No, he despised it; it made his head spin with anger.

"I've got to go... Suguru?" He blocks your path down the hallway, his silhouette giving hint to his serious frown. It's dark in the hallway, but not darker than his eyes.

"You're not gonna let me leave, are you?"

"No." He admits heavily. "Come on, don't look at me like that; I love you. You'll be safe here. You know what, tomorrow I'll make you your favorite for breakfast, doesn't that sound nice?"

— All these sweet words are said in a smooth, murmuring voice... while his veiny hands firmly plant on the front door and force it shut with a startling bang after you attempted to open it.

"Stay." he demands in a threatening, low voice. "Please?" he lightens it at the end, aware of how scary that probably sounded.

— He's wrapping you around his finger like how he did in the beginning. You coil around his life until, without realizing soon enough, you're back in it.

— Just like that, his love ensnares you once more, and you're happily trapped in his big strong arms.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 75 (Nearing Delivery and There's a Fancy Cake!)

As with all her pregnancies, Heather worked hard up to her due date. Running Buttercup Pet Clinic meant very little time off and she was always tired, but she was more confident than ever in her team's ability to hold things down when she took some family leave after delivery.

She'd begun making ambrosia treats to sell, giving a few to Conrad so he'd have them when he returned to the lighthouse. But as ever, he was in no hurry to chase down ghosts and death, and it had been months since the Ambrosia Society's last newsletter. With Heather so close to giving birth and Ash about to celebrate his birthday, Conrad was happiest sticking close to home.

The did pay a quick visit to her family in Henford-on-Bagley, where they picked up a death flower from her mother's last batch so they could start growing a bush on their own. "Thank you for this," Heather said when they arrived. "We're too busy with life and work to wait for our plants to grow, and our upstairs hallway isn't big enough for a cherry tree."

"Take as many as you need," said her mother as River handed her a rare, spiky red and black plant. "It'll be winter soon, and you might want to grow the plant outdoors to give it as much natural light as possible."

One evening, Heather returned home to see a woman peering in one of their windows. "Hello?"

Startled, the woman gave a half smile and rushed toward the square. "The paint job is lovely," she called, but in a moment she was gone.

Inside, Heather found Conrad in the living room watching TV. Right away, he could tell something was bothering her. "What is it?"

"There was a woman looking in our kitchen window."

"What are you talking about?" He jumped up to take a look.

"She's gone. I said hello and I was going to ask her what she was doing but she took off and said she liked our paint job. But I swear to you, she was looking into the house."

"What did she look like?"

"Tall, pretty, blonde hair, black shirt, and she had a Selvadoradian accent...I think."

"Maybe it was a tourist who got lost on their way from the creek," he said, trying to calm her anxious nerves. "I don't think there's anything to worry about, but I'll see if anyone's filed a similar report at the station tomorrow."

They were both unnerved but life went on until it was time to celebrate Ash's birthday. Heather and Conrad were planning to host Harvestfest at home later that week, so they decided to forgo a large party.

"I wish I had the energy to throw something bigger for him," Heather lamented. "But with the Landgraabs in Oasis Springs for the long weekend, I'm happy not to hear Nancy moan about how much sugar you get in a piece of cake."

"He'll just be happy to have the cake," Conrad assured her before he stood to bring Ash to the candlelit dessert - a tiered confection Heather had baked to improve her gourmet cooking skill. "He'll have all the time in the world to hang out with his family and friends, and plenty more birthdays."

Heather smiled as her phone rang. (It was her family. Bad timing made plot!) "Hey Mom, are you guys ready to sing Happy Birthday with us?"

"Of course! Where's the birthday boy? How are you feeling?"

"I feel good. Tired, but good. This one kicks way more than Ash or Jett ever did. It's wild! Oh, they're coming downstairs now."

Conrad brought Ash to the kitchen and hoisted him up, and Ash blew out his candles with a big gust from his small lungs. Conrad, Heather, and her family sang and cheered.

Ash was growing up before their eyes. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

Sorry, psych! Short post coming tomorrow, all about Ash but not technically storyline. I put myself on a time crunch to get certain posts out by a certain deadline I set for me, so I'm squeezing in a quick little Ash hype post to give us a taste without making another post too long and splitting it, pushing certain events past when I want them to post. He'll be a kid tomorrow, I promise!

[qvrcll]

suggestive + fluff

swimming with snow would entail quite a number of things:

he’s a touchy-feely sort of person. very intelligent when manoeuvring up and around you, allowing him just enough space to invade yours. he’s sneaky about it too - a palm resting against your belly (oddly warm and soft in its receive when it rubs affectionately against you), fingers that tickle at your sides, arms that tuck against you like vices rather than just tendons. when you smile at it, bring it up, tell him to quit it, he’s only likely to be more encouraged.

the first to offer you a towel to wrap yourself up when you get the chance. he’ll be all nonchalant about it too, a swipe of a glance and his hand extended bearing the soft material, letting out a little “here you go,” when really, he’s rebounding against every move in his head like chess. wondering whether you think he’s a fool, whether the towel would catch fire and burn, whether you would even appreciate the sentiment. but as soon as you’re curving into that smile you always give him, his worries are scattered. but, wait, is that a sneaky hand that nests against your shoulder?

he likes to hang back and observe you like he is absent within the moment. expect him to sit behind you whilst you converse with the others that have joined you, resting his cheek against the back of you, kissing the soft, wet flesh occasionally. a bit of a starer too - takes little shame in setting his eyes on you. your lips? he’s already flitting down towards them with more than a breath. your eyes? he has yet to break contact. your neck? beware, he’s beginning to grow antsy without kissing it till the skin starts to fester.

he’d be so annoying with this but loved to loop his finger through your bathing suit and stretch it out, before letting it band and snap against your skin. nothing too much to hurt, but enough for you to to squeal at. he likes to believe that he does it for the sole purpose of aggravating you, but really, he enjoys the little noises you let up too. the way you whine at him, tell him to stop because it hurts so much (it doesn’t, the effect of it is what you desire), the little frown that pulls at your face as your eyes pool with faux anger. a droll lick of fire he finds comical above all things else. when he’s got you on tenterhooks, almost avoiding him out of luck, to get out of his grasp, he’ll pull you back into his chest and kiss his way into an apology. really, it’s all too easy. the heat of the sun working your front as he works the string of your swim top between two lousy fingers - and there’s nothing but the scrape of sand to keep him quite as cool.

does this harrowing little move where whenever he gets out of the water, he’ll inch his way towards you slowly when you’re least on your guard. when he’s close, he’ll clinch his palms around your ankles and pull. pull, not with decency, but instead, he’ll play the dirty game, where he uses all of his strength and get you under him in a swipe. likes it when you giggle, he says, or squeal when his arm swipes against your own and you can see just how much bigger he is in comparison to you (his biceps come as hulking pieces of meat to your eye, curved and powerful) or if his thighs unintentionally come forward to trap your own in between them, digging into the sand as his dog tags coldly dangle against your neck with a blurring ache. no need to quieten, no one is watching.

refuses to divulge into this particular secret but loves kissing you when you’ve both been deep into the water, where your kisses are practically marred with the salty brine of the waves. when he kisses, its like he’s been starved of that, too. all hungry, consuming, when his lips work against yours in quick succession, marking them with little bruises where he doesn’t see it fit to stop. but when you’ve both been swimming? salt enters the equation. a bitter tinge in your mouth and he’s keening for the taste of the bitter mineral slotted against your mouth. it’s like something primal to him and a bitter thing, that he will take to the grave.

© 2023 qvrcll. do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[mrsportgas]

The Neighbor. Chapter 2

Summary: The story takes place in the real world. Shanks, your unbearable neighbor, makes you a proposition that you're unsure whether to reject. It could be the start of a friendship, or maybe something more?

SHANKS X YOU

WARNING: Except for the first chapter, the rest will contain scenes of sex and violence, making this fanfic strictly +18.

TAG LIST: @buggsclownie @commanderfreethatdust

"I'd rather freeze," I whispered to myself.

"Are you coming or not?" Shanks repeated as he approached the porch of his house.

"I'm not going into a stranger's house, thanks."

"You're friends with Luffy, right? Tell him you're at my place, and tell your friend too. Anyway, I don’t think I’m a stranger. I wasn’t going to do anything weird to you."

"That's what you say." The truth was, the cold I felt was unbearable. I figured if I told Nami or even Luffy and something happened, at least they’d know where I was. "Fine, but as soon as Nami arrives, I'm leaving."

Shanks left the bags at his door and walked over to where I stood, shielding myself with the umbrella. "Shall we?" He started walking. I had to jog a little to catch up and fit under the umbrella. As we passed by his car, I noticed it was the same Range Rover that had splashed me earlier.

"Hey! You were the one who drove through a puddle and soaked me!" I said, pointing at my drenched clothes. Shanks scanned me from head to toe with his eyes, licking his lips as he did. Realizing it, I felt so embarrassed. Was he checking me out? At that moment, I couldn't tell if it disgusted me or if I liked it.

I snatched the umbrella from his hands and ran to his front door. "Open up, I'm freezing to death, you freak."

Shanks hurried to the door, running his hand through his wet hair. Damn, he might be older, but he looked amazing. He quickly opened the door, holding it for me to pass.

"Don't look at my butt," I said curtly.

Shanks burst into laughter. "Do you ever relax? What do you think I am, some pervert? A kid like your little friends?"

I entered the house quickly, and honestly, everything was perfectly decorated. Every piece of furniture, every painting, was meticulously placed, and it was all beautiful. There were paintings, statues, and various trinkets from around the world, along with elegant rugs, sofas, and tables.

"Do you like it?" Shanks asked with a smirk as he leaned, arms crossed, against one of the tables.

"Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m not as easily impressed as your other friends."

Shanks laughed out loud. "Come on, you'd better take a shower before you soak all the rugs in the house."

"A towel will do."

Shanks motioned for me to follow him to the bathroom. We went upstairs to a huge room with an even bigger bed, and behind one door, the bathroom. "There’s the shower and towels. Do whatever you want."

The bathroom was enormous, with a large shower and a jacuzzi. Clearly, the man had money, unlike our rented house where the faucet barely worked.

Once inside, I locked the door. I didn’t want that pervert opening it or trying anything. I took off my wet clothes, trying to spread them out as much as possible on a radiator on the wall. I took out my phone again to see if anyone had messaged me, but there was nothing. I called Robin, and finally, it started ringing.

"Y/N? Is everything okay?" Robin answered on the other side of the line.

"Are you with Nami? I locked myself out and can't get in," I replied, hoping Nami was there.

"HEY Y/N!!! COME HERE NOW!!!" I heard Luffy shouting in the background.

"I don’t have my keys, and my clothes are soaked. I need to wait for Nami to get home. Luffy, I’m at your friend’s place."

"Okay, Y/N, I’ll try to contact Nami, or if she comes here, I’ll tell her to bring you the keys," Robin replied.

"HUH? What friend?" Luffy could be heard asking in the background.

"Shanks."

"That’s awesome! Have fun!!! I didn’t know you two were hanging out!" Luffy responded without thinking.

"Luffy, he's just my neighbor, that's all," I said, knowing he wouldn't understand the situation and would keep thinking there was something going on with Shanks. "Robin, we'll talk later. I'm fine. I hope Nami replies soon."

"Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye out. Call me if anything happens."

We hung up. I grabbed a towel and got into the shower, cranking the water up to boiling. I really needed it; my body warmed up almost immediately. Shanks’ smile when he looked at me came back to my mind, and I found myself daydreaming about his body and that smile.

Someone knocked on the door. "I left some clothes on the bed. I imagine you’ll want to change; I doubt you can wear your own," Shanks said from the other side of the door.

"Thanks," I replied, unsure of what else to say and feeling embarrassed by my recent fantasies.

I finished showering and wrapped the towel around myself, slowly opening the door just in case he’d decided to wait for me in the room. But no, even the bedroom door was now closed. I quickly grabbed the clothes Shanks had left—a pair of sweatpants, a hoodie, and some slippers—and took them back to the bathroom to change, feeling secure knowing the door had a lock. When I was ready and mentally prepared, I checked my phone again, but still no word from Nami.

I hesitantly went downstairs. Shanks was in the kitchen, leaning on a high table while looking at his phone.

"Want something to drink? Are you hungry?" he asked, not taking his eyes off his phone.

"I’m fine, thanks," I replied, feeling a bit awkward, rubbing my arms to warm up a little more. "My name’s Y/N, by the way."

Shanks lifted his head and walked out of the room, returning with a blanket. "Here… Y/N," he said with a smile on his face again.

He placed the blanket over my shoulders, brushing my body lightly with his hands. I shivered, feeling his warm touch on my skin, and a part of me wished that moment would never end.

"So, Y/N, what brings you to this city?"

"My Ph.D., and you?"

"I work as a CEO for a multinational," he responded cheerfully.

"I see…"

"You know, I grew up with nothing, so when I realized I could use my brain, I worked hard to get all this so I’d never go hungry again, nor would my parents, although now it’s just me."

"Wow… I’m really sorry."

"Thanks, but I’m fine. As you’ve probably noticed, I spend my time traveling the world and working now and then, although I’ll be stuck here for quite a while," he added.

I responded with a kind of nervous laugh.

"What's your PhD about? What do you want to do with it?" he asked as he sat next to me at the high kitchen table.

We spent quite a while talking about my PhD, university, and our mutual friendship with Luffy. It turned out we had much more in common than we initially thought. So much so that I lost track of time.

"Are you hungry? I was thinking of ordering dinner," Shanks said suddenly, moving a bit closer.

"Actually, I am hungry, but I was supposed to meet my friends for dinner. I hope Nami replies soon."

"Well, I'm going to order something, and if you have time, you can have some. If not, no big deal." A big smile appeared on his lips again, making me blush. "What do you like?"

"Order whatever you like."

"Do you like sushi? Check this place out—they just opened. Let’s try it."

"Yeah! Luffy mentioned it yesterday, but they say it's the most expensive place in the city. I'll pay you half."

"You're at my place, you're not paying anything," he laughed.

"Then order something cheaper."

"I don’t care about the money. I’ll get this; it looks good." Shanks started picking out all kinds of sushi, condiments, and appetizers.

Suddenly, my phone started ringing. It was Nami finally calling.

"Y/N!!! I stayed late at university, and then my phone died, I'm so sorry! I just talked to Robin and charged my phone. I'm on my way now. Are you okay?"

"Nami! Yes, I’m fine, I’m at the neighbor's place. Call me when you get here."

"I just ordered everything. Consider it an apology for splashing you with the car," Shanks said with a playful grin. "If you want, sit by the fireplace so you can warm up while you wait for your friend."

We both got up and headed to the sofa. I sat on the end closest to the fireplace, and to my surprise, Shanks sat in the middle. Though I was feeling more and more comfortable, I had to admit that I was starting to enjoy his company.

After a while, the doorbell rang, and we both assumed it was the delivery. Shanks stood up and opened the door.

"Hey, old man, I hope you didn’t do anything to my friend," Nami said, walking right in without caring if she was invited or not.

"Your friend’s just fine, don’t worry," Shanks replied, surprised by her boldness.

"Nami! Let’s go home," I called from the sofa.

"So, it’s true you’re doing okay," Nami teased me, trying to get a reaction.

I got up, folding the blanket, and headed toward the door.

"I know we ordered food," I said, looking at Shanks.

"Don’t worry, you had plans with your friends first."

I smiled slightly, "See you around."

I followed Nami out the door, and we quickly headed back to our place, going straight up to my room. Nami closed the curtains quickly. "Tell me everything."

"Nami, nothing happened. He was just being nice."

"Y/N, you’re wearing his clothes…"

"Oh my god! My clothes… I left them in his bathroom…" We both burst into laughter. I recounted my little adventure as we laughed.

"So, you like him, huh?"

"Nami… He’s just our neighbor, and he’s nice, that’s all," I said, trying to brush off Nami’s mischievous grin. "I should go get my clothes and return his."

"Okay, so I shouldn't wait for you to go back?" Nami asked with a little nudge to stop teasing me.

"You can go ahead if you want, I'll go later."

The truth was, I felt bad since he had ordered dinner for the two of us. And honestly, I wasn’t sure why, but I wanted to keep talking to him. So, I changed my clothes and headed back to his door, ringing the bell. "I brought your clothes," I said as soon as he opened the door, hoping he’d ask me to come in.

"Thanks, that was fast," Shanks replied.

Seeing that he hadn’t picked up on my hint, I tried again. "Has the food arrived? I’m hungry."

"Aren't you supposed to have dinner with your friends?" But seeing that I wasn’t making any move to leave, he added, "Do you want to come in?"

Shanks stepped aside, leaving the door open for me to enter. I felt a small sense of relief as I crossed the threshold, returning to the warmth of his home. It was strange how such a short time had been enough for me to feel more comfortable around him, although there was still something about his demeanor that kept me on my toes.

He led me back to the living room, where a low table was now set up with all sorts of sushi, colorful rolls, and some dishes I didn’t even recognize. There were several bottles of sake and tea, and the fireplace was still glowing, casting a warm and cozy light around the room.

"Sake?" Shanks asked, lifting one of the bottles and pouring into two small cups without waiting for my answer.

"Just a little," I replied, taking a seat on the sofa while he sat down beside me, this time closer than before but not uncomfortably so.

I tried my first bite of sushi, and it was delicious. Luffy was right about the food, as always. Shanks watched my reaction with a satisfied smile.

"Good, right?" he asked, sounding confident.

"It’s not bad," I said, trying to sound indifferent, though I knew my expression gave me away. I couldn’t help but smile.

We spent the next few minutes chatting about trivial things: the food, Luffy’s adventures, and our lives before ending up in this city. Shanks spoke with such ease that, for a moment, I forgot about the age difference between us or the fact that, until a few hours ago, I barely knew him.

When we finished eating, he offered me more sake. I hesitated at first but accepted a second cup. I could feel the warmth of the alcohol starting to relax me, and little by little, my guard came down.

"You know, you’re different from what I imagined when I first saw you," Shanks said as he leaned back on the sofa, gazing at the fire in the fireplace.

"Oh yeah? What did you think?" I asked, curious.

"Well, when I soaked you with my car, I thought you’d hate me. Then, when you resisted coming into my house, I knew you had a lot of character. But you’re more… interesting than I expected. You have more layers, you know?"

"Layers?" I laughed at his choice of words. "Like an onion?"

"Something like that," he replied with a smile. "But seriously, I’m intrigued by what you do. The effort you put into your PhD, the passion you have for your studies… It's refreshing to meet someone with such clear goals."

His gaze locked onto mine, and for a moment, the atmosphere filled with a tension I didn’t know how to interpret. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but I wasn’t expecting it either. I couldn’t help but blush.

“I’m just trying to do the best I can,” I replied, attempting to steer the conversation away from myself. “And you? You must have had to work incredibly hard to get where you are.”

Shanks set the sake glass on the table and got comfortable, now looking at me directly.

“Yeah, but I’ve also been lucky. I think in life, you have to be in the right place at the right time… and know how to seize opportunities when they come.”

I felt the weight of his gaze, making the air feel thicker. We were sitting closer now, and the spark in his eyes wasn’t something I could easily ignore.

“And what do you plan to do now that you’re here for a while?” I asked, trying to break the silence that had formed between us.

“Right now?” he asked with a small smile, as if he knew what I was trying to do. “I suppose I’ll take the time to enjoy the company… and see what comes up.”

I couldn’t help but notice the hint in his voice. I bit my lip, feeling the atmosphere fill again with that strange mix of attraction and hesitation.

Suddenly, the sound of my phone vibrating on the table broke the tension. It was Nami.

“Excuse me,” I murmured as I picked up the phone and stood to answer it. Looking at the screen, I saw a message:

Nami: “Are you coming in the end? Everything okay?”

I looked at Shanks, who was still watching me with that same smile on his lips, then back at Nami’s message. I hesitated for a moment, then typed my response.

Me: “I’m fine, don’t worry. I think I’ll stay here.”

I put my phone away and turned back to Shanks, who had now also stood up.

“Everything okay with Nami?” he asked casually.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I told her I’d stay a bit longer. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” he replied as he slowly approached, his eyes still locked on mine. “In fact, I’m glad you decided to stay.”

I felt a slight shiver run through me, but this time it wasn’t just from the cold.

Shanks was slowly getting closer. I could feel his presence filling the space around me as his gaze remained fixed on mine. The warmth of the fireplace still filled the room, but it wasn’t the only thing making my senses sharper.

Without a word, Shanks sat down next to me on the couch, closer than he had been before. His fingers brushed against my leg with a softness that surprised me. It wasn’t intrusive, but the warmth of his hand on my bare thigh, right where my sweatpants left the skin exposed, made me hold my breath. I glanced down, seeing his hand moving slowly as he traced soft circles with his fingers.

“Are you comfortable?” he whispered, his voice low and deep, filled with a sweetness I hadn’t expected.

“Yes…” I replied in a murmur, my body reacting faster than my mind could process. His hand moved up slightly, now caressing my arm with the same care he had shown on my leg. His touch was gentle, almost as if testing the limits.

The contact was disconcerting but also exciting. My thoughts tangled between the sensation of his fingers on my skin and the uncertainty of what would come next.

I could feel the tension building in the air, a mixture of nervousness and anticipation. I bit my lip, trying to organize my thoughts, but the moment felt as if it were about to burst in any direction.

Just when it seemed everything was about to overflow, Shanks slowly withdrew his hand, giving me space and a smile full of intention. “It’s late now. Shall I walk you home?”

I wasn’t sure how to interpret his words, but I nodded. “Yes, that would be best. Thanks for dinner and for letting me stay here a while.” I stood up, feeling the warmth of the fireplace and the touch of his hands still lingering on my skin.

Shanks grabbed the jacket he had left on a chair and offered it to me. “It’s cold outside. I don’t want you getting wet again.” I put it on, grateful for the gesture. We walked together to the door, and with a subtle motion, Shanks opened and held it for me to pass through.

The night air was cold, but less biting than it had been earlier. We walked in silence the few meters separating our houses. When we reached my door, Shanks stopped and looked me directly in the eyes.

“It’s been a good night, Y/N. I’m glad you came.”

“Yes, it was… interesting.” I smiled shyly. Though the air was still charged, the proximity to my door made me feel a bit safer.

“Goodnight, Shanks.”

“Goodnight, Y/N. Sleep well.”

I watched as he turned and crossed the street back to his house. When his door closed behind him, I sighed and opened mine, climbing the stairs to my room, my mind still swirling from the events of the night.

The next morning dawned fresh and quiet, and to my relief, I didn’t have any academic commitments. Nami, Robin, and I had planned to go out that night. A new nightclub had opened in town, and we had decided it was the perfect occasion to dance and forget about the hectic week we’d had.

Around nine at night, we gathered at the apartment. Nami, as always, looked stunning in a tight dress that fit her perfectly. Robin had opted for something more casual but equally elegant. I, for my part, had chosen a fairly sexy but flattering dress, not wanting to go unnoticed.

“Ready?” Robin asked as she touched up her makeup in front of the mirror.

“Yes, let’s go. I need a couple of drinks to relax,” I responded, still thinking about what had happened the night before with Shanks. I hadn’t shared all the details, just mentioned that I’d had dinner at his place, but Nami kept making playful comments whenever she had the chance.

We walked together to the nightclub, which was already packed. The neon lights and the music pulsed through the air, making the floor vibrate beneath our feet. We entered, and soon we were lost in the crowd. As we danced and laughed, I began to relax. The rhythm of the music made me forget, for moments, the nervousness I had felt since the night before.

Suddenly, I saw a familiar figure at the bar. Shanks. He was surrounded by a group of friends, all laughing and drinking, clearly enjoying the night. He was wearing a tight black shirt that highlighted his physique, and his red hair was slightly messy, giving him a carefree, seductive look. I froze.

“What’s wrong?” Robin asked, noticing my reaction.

“Nothing, it’s just… Shanks is here,” I replied, discreetly pointing toward the bar.

Nami turned and saw him. “That’s Shanks? Wow, I didn’t expect to see him here,” she said, smiling mischievously.

“Are you going to say hi?” Robin asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

“I don’t know… I don’t want him to think I’m following him or something,” I replied, feeling a bit awkward.

“Oh, don’t be silly. Let’s go to the bar anyway, I need a drink,” Nami said, already pulling us by the hands toward where Shanks was.

As we approached, Shanks looked up and saw me. A wide smile spread across his face, and he stepped away from his group of friends to come closer.

“Y/N, what a surprise to see you here,” he said, his voice rising above the music.

“Hi,” I responded with a nervous smile. “We came out to have some fun.”

“Do you want a drink? My friends and I have already ordered a bit of everything. Help yourselves, girls,” he said, also addressing Robin and Nami.

“Yes, sure, why not?” I replied, feeling my nerves intensify. Shanks offered me a drink and gestured for me to join him in a quieter area.

While Robin and Nami stayed chatting with the rest of the group, Shanks and I found a corner where the noise of the nightclub wasn’t as overwhelming. We sat on a couch, our legs brushing accidentally.

“I thought about you today,” Shanks said suddenly, looking at me intently.

“Oh, really? Why?”

“I felt like our evening was cut short. I was tired, but I wanted more. How about another dinner? What do you say?” he asked, his tone serious but filled with a slight provocation.

I stared at him, feeling that same tension from the night before returning all at once.

“That could be a good idea,” I replied, smiling shyly.

Suddenly, Nami appeared abruptly, dragging Robin by the arm. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

Shanks leaned toward me, whispering, “I’ll see you later. Enjoy your night.” With that, he stood up and returned to his friends.

Nami pulled us toward the bathroom. “Girls, emergency. One of the friends from next door is my PhD advisor.”

“And what’s the problem?” Robin asked, confused.

Nami blushed instantly. I already knew what was going on.

“That’s why you stayed so late the other day and didn’t answer my messages. You like him!”

Nami quickly covered my mouth as if anyone could hear us. “Maybe, I don’t know.”

“He’s very handsome,” Robin said

The three of us laughed and took the opportunity to tease Nami for a while, returning all the comments she made to us daily.

“Girls, I’m going to refill my drink, I’ll be right back,” I said, noticing that the drink Shanks had given me was empty.

As I approached the bar, Shanks and some others from his group were laughing and chatting with a group of girls. One of them, in particular, couldn’t stop touching and flirting with him, and Shanks didn’t seem to mind much.

I timidly approached the bar and ordered my drink. Suddenly, someone put their arm around my shoulders.

“Y/N, I didn’t expect to see you here… are you stalking me?”

Kid.

“Kid,” I said, rolling my eyes. “What do you want?”

“Are you alone? Come with me outside for a while, let’s talk,” he said, grabbing my hand.

“No, I’m with friends, thanks,” I replied.

I grabbed my drink, intending to find my friends and leave. I spotted Nami and Robin, who had joined the group and were each talking with one of Shanks’ friends.

Kid pulled me toward him, gripping my hand tightly. “Who did you come with? Your new boyfriend? I bet he’s got nothing on me. I’m better,” he said.

I tried to pull away from his hand, but his grip was strong. “Come back to me, or I’ll break that idiot’s face.”

“Leave me alone, Kid.”

“Come on, who is it? You probably made him up,” he said, loosening his grip just slightly but not enough for me to escape the situation.

“Him,” I said, pointing at Shanks.

Kid burst out laughing. “Yeah, right, like anyone would believe that. Prove it, then. Go over there and show me you’re with him, and I’ll leave you alone.”

I turned and saw the worried looks on my friends’ faces and Shanks glancing in our direction.

Kid let go of my arm, and I used the opportunity to escape from him.

“I’m waiting, Y/N,” he shouted after me.

I had to do something; I had to get rid of him. I downed my drink in one gulp to gather the courage and make a decision. Okay.

I quickly made my way through the crowd toward Shanks. He greeted me with a look of surprise, though there was an intense look in his eyes, scanning me from head to toe, not missing a single move I made.

I got closer, and Shanks instinctively leaned toward me, much to the astonishment of the girl who was gripping his bicep. Without thinking about the consequences, or anyone else around us, or even what Shanks might think or want, I grabbed him by the neck. My hands moved to his face, and I quickly pressed my lips toward his, not giving anyone time to think about what was about to happen.

Our lips fused together passionately. Shanks grabbed my waist, and his other hand moved to my hair, gripping it firmly. After a moment, his tongue pushed past my lips, deepening the kiss with fiery intensity while his friends began cheering and laughing. I was so embarrassed that I pulled away from his lips. Shanks let go of me, but his gaze lingered on my wrist.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked with concern.

I looked down at my wrist, which was red from Kid’s rough grip.

“What happened, Y/N?” he asked again as I remained silent.

The ringing in my ears grew louder and louder. I had been too impulsive, and now everything was crashing down on me.

Shanks took my other hand and led me to a quieter part of the bar, where the atmosphere was calmer.

“Are you okay pretty? Do you want me to take you home?” he asked gently.

I shook my head. I needed to calm down and get back to normal. I didn’t want to ruin the night.

“Who is that guy?” he asked again, his tone more relaxed, as he moved a little closer and gently massaged my back.

“He’s my ex. He won’t leave me alone,” I said, closing my eyes, trying to clear my mind. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have kissed you without your permission.”

Shanks leaned in even closer, slowly pressing his body against mine, and once again, his lips met mine with great passion. He kissed me for a few seconds, then moved toward my ear.

“Do you trust me?” he whispered while gently biting my ear.

I nodded, completely surrendering myself.

He lifted my dress slightly, slipping his hand under it and grabbing my butt firmly, massaging it while he returned to kiss me again, fiercely.

NEXT CHAPTER

[dreaming-medium]

Animals Without Direction

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Four Hundred and Thirteen

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Masterlist

Four hundred and thirteen.

That’s the amount of stones you were able to count on the floor of the cell you’re being held in. 

Four hundred and thirteen.

Some of them are split in half with a large crack running down the middle. In fact, some are in more pieces than that. The bigger cracks would spiderweb into smaller ones. There’s one stone right under the window that's completely shattered. Should you count it as more than one, then?

No.

No, it’s still just one.

It started as one stone. You can tell by the mortar around the outer perimeter of the stone that it started as one. If it started as one, then it will always be one , right?

Right.

Just like you.

You came into this cell as one person. One person with two arms with two hands, two legs with two feet, five fingers on each hand and five toes on each foot. Who knows what you’re going to have once you leave. 

If you ever leave.

Well, you’ll “leave” eventually. But, who knows if you’ll be alive. 

You may just be a lump of limbs and organs at that point. 

There’s already so much of your blood on those four hundred and thirteen stones. How much more can you take? There’s only so much that a body can handle before it just… gives up. But you, stubborn you, are hanging in there much longer than anyone could have expected.

You and the mage chained to the wall opposite of you. He may be the only bastard in Olera that is just as stubborn to die as you.

Erbus knows torture the way the birds know how to fly. It’s instinctual to them. They know everything about how to make it hurt, sure. But, physical pain you can take. It’s the mental torture that’s fucking killer. 

The window in the wall was completely boarded up within the first day after the battle, depriving you of any and all sunlight. Because of this, you have absolutely no clue how long you’ve been chained here. It could be days or even weeks since the battle. You have no idea.  

The only sense of time passing you have is how emaciated your body looks. You’re able to see each of your knuckles perfectly in your fingers, it’s getting so hard to bend them at all. Soon enough you’re not going to be able to lift your arm to even look at your hand.

The metal cuffs around your wrists feel like they get heavier every single hour.

All of those muscles that you worked so hard for have started to grow thin; the muscles that Changbin helped you grow.

How long does that take? A few days of starvation is when the body begins to eat the muscles. 

It’s not even like you can depend on your body’s natural rhythm either; the guards make sure to wake you up every hour, slamming their weapons into the metal bars that cage the two of you in the room.

And if you pass out from exhaustion, smelling salts are put directly under your nose to spike your adrenal system and wake you right back up.

Your body used to tremble from the utter exhaustion you felt, but you’re past that point now.

They haven’t even started the real physical torture yet, that you’re absolutely sure of. There’s no way that a few punches to the jaw, depriving you of adequate food and water, and keeping your arms chained to the wall are the only plans that these monsters have in store for you.

Gods, you can only imagine how gaunt your face looks. 

Especially if it's anything like Hyunjin’s. His eyes are sunken into his skull, those beautiful cheekbones seem to be the only thing keeping his skin on his face. Dark circles surround his eyes and even darker patches rest on his cheeks.

Both of you have lost the energy to speak to one another.

It’s not that you don’t want to talk to him, it’s quite the opposite, you desperately want to speak to him, but your body just physically cannot come up with the energy to even open your mouth.

When he first opened his eyes after the battle, the two of you were already locked up in your current positions. He was a mess of questions and apologies.

As time went on, the conversations would range about anything and everything. From childhood memories to battle tips. Soon enough, the dialogue between the two of you got shorter and shorter and eventually faded into nothing. 

Some words were thrown around every so often.

But eventually, it all faded to silence. 

The only noise that fills the cell is your rumbling stomachs that are beginning to eat themselves. That and the pained whines and whimpers the two of you let out every once in a while. 

Every so often, a chunk of molded bread is thrown into the cell. Two cups of murky, brown water are placed in front of you just when you think you might die. Sometimes they’re slid along the stone. You’re lucky if they don’t tip over and spill.

The Mercy Division is doing the bare minimum to keep you alive. Not a day goes by that the irony of their title doesn’t slip through you.

And you just know the worst is yet to come. They’re breaking you mentally, day by day, and then they’re going to strike you even harder. 

Deep down, you don’t know if you’re mentally prepared for that.

When a door slams open, your eyes instinctually snap open. When you look over at Hyunjin, you see him do the same. His eyes are unfocused and out of it, but they’re open. 

Heavy boots come marching down the hallway, metal clinking against armor. 

The sound used to send your heart into your throat, but anymore you’re just numb to it.

WIth shallow, slow breaths, you keep your gaze down on the floor, counting and recounting those four hundred and thirteen stones over and over again.

The boots stop and a loud clang of metal smashing together rockets through the air, jolting your heart. It’s a miracle it hasn’t completely stopped yet. 

“Wake up, rats,” the guard barks into the cell. Both you and Hyunjin don’t seem to move fast enough for his liking since he slams his shield into the metal bars of the cell once more, further shocking your heart back into an uneasy rhythm.

Lifting your head, you look up through the bars and stare directly into the eyes of the Mercy Division soldier on the other side.

There’s a usual rotation of about three of them; each of them are nasty in their own ways. But this one is particularly cruel. The last time he brought you a cup of water, he ‘accidentally’ spilled half of it onto the floor just out of your reach.

You couldn’t even crawl onto the cobblestone and attempt to lick it up, it was just too far away. The entire time, he only laughed in your face, slinging nasty words in your direction. 

This time he stands on the other side of your cage with a sick grin on his evil face. The corners of his lips seem to twist upwards in an unnatural way that makes your empty stomach do backflips. 

“Today is the day, rats,” he says to the two of you. Why does he seem so excited? “The boss is coming here today to talk to the two of you. And guess what, I heard something about a friend comin’ with him.”

Neither of you respond, not that you even want to. What’s there to say to a demon? There’s nothing you could say that wouldn’t result in a swift punch to the jaw.

Slowly, you blink your eyes and let them droop back down to the floor. It takes way too much out of you to keep them on his face.

“Aw, why the long faces, rats? Scared? Hungry? Ah, I bet you are exhausted , aye?” A chuckle bubbles from his chest. “Perfect.”

With one last, loud clang of his shield against the jail bars, he walks away from the cell.

You guess this means no food or water for now.

A long bout of silence sits between you and Hyunjin. 

A sharp pain twists at your stomach and you’re not sure if it’s from hunger, sickness, exhaustion, or anxiety. Or it could be a combination of all of them– it probably is.

“Y/N.” Your name comes out of Hyunjin’s mouth as a dry croak that nearly shatters your heart. He sounds so utterly broken.

With great effort, you lift your chin to look over at him.

Both of you are in soiled, tattered clothes. Potato sacks are a higher quality fabric than this. If it wasn’t for the fires lit in the sconces on the walls, you probably would have lost your limbs to hypothermia by now.

Genuinely, you don’t even feel the cold anymore, though. It’s the dead of winter and yet, you barely even notice the air around you. Is it cold? Is it sweltering? You don’t know anymore.

Hyunjin’s hair is everywhere. It’s greasy and unkempt. The strands are practically matted to his head. You’ve never seen him look anywhere near as disheveled as he is now. 

He looks like he’s five steps from the Void.

There’s no shine to his eyes anymore. They’re dull and lifeless. Yours probably are too.

When you make eye contact, he swallows thickly. His Adam’s Apple bobs with his attempt to create any saliva in his mouth.

“Do you–” He has to stop to cough. “What do you think this means?”

Your body shifts against the wall, the chains connecting your wrists to the stone clink with each movement. Gods, they’re so heavy. 

You know exactly what this means, you just don’t have the heart to tell him. Deep down, you know he knows too. 

“It means we prepare for the worst,” you answer thickly, your throat feels like sandpaper. When the words come out of your mouth it makes your head throb.

“As I feared,” he responds.

His tone is quiet and weak, just completely hollow.

By the Six, how long have you been here? 

Exhaustion burns at the back of your eyes and you don’t even have the strength to fight against it anymore. Your eyes droop shut, your head falls back against the wall.

Maybe you can get a few minutes of rest. Just a few. May the Six have mercy, please just allow a few minutes of rest.

------------------------------------------

The door down the hall creaks open and your eyes immediately snap awake as a reflex. The sensation sends an ache right through your skull. 

How long were you asleep? Was it five minutes? Fifteen? Fifty? It doesn’t matter, your body is still screaming regardless. 

Just like usual, you see Hyunjin’s head snap up too. Both of you are conditioned like dogs to get up when that damned door opens. 

“And now I bring you to our two favorite lab rats.” Gods, you hate his fucking voice. His slimy, evil, malicious voice. 

Three sets of boots stop in front of your cell. You can’t even lift your head to look up, you only have enough energy to keep your eyes open and staring down at the stone floor. 

“We’ve been keepin’ ‘em nice and broken since the battle. Some of the boys are takin’ bets on how long until they croak.” You don’t even have the energy to roll your eyes. “Serves ‘em right. Dirty Elves.”

There’s a long moment of silence.

Why isn’t anyone speaking?

“Huh.”

A shockwave goes down your spine. A simple huff of air sends your feeble mind reeling. No…

“I never would have guessed that my little mouse was a rat the whole time.”

No, there’s no way. No. You… you thought he was dead. He’s supposed to be dead! It’s a hallucination. It has to be. 

There’s no way he can really be here. You have to be imagining it in some near death delusion. 

Even with your muscles screaming in exhaustion and borderline atrophying, you manage to lift your chin up to look directly into the very pair of eyes that you used to find never ending comfort in. The eyes that you used to think of as a protective guardian– a brother, a father, and a mentor all wrapped up in one handsome package.  

The age lines on his face don’t change his beautiful appearance one bit. His dark hair is graying a little around the roots, but he has it pulled back in the same bun that you remember. The scruff on his face has some lighter patches around the chin. 

“Allerick…” you croak out weakly. He only stares back at you with a nasty smirk on his face. 

The man who taught you everything you know about fighting– every block, every pary, every combination attack you know– is glaring at you from the other side of prison cell bars; he’s looking at you like you’re worth no more than the dirt on the bottom of his shoe. 

What was he…? No… He works for the Mercy Division? He’s in the Mercy Division? He’s the boss? He’s in charge? 

Your mind is reeling. None of the gears seem to be catching on one another to turn. 

Despite the dehydration, you feel tears start welling up in your eyes as you stare at his smug smile. 

All these years since he disappeared from the Fighter’s Guild… he’s been working for the very people that kill your kind for sport? The man who became your make-shift guardian is now one of the men who killed your real father.

“I always wondered if our paths were going to cross again. I never thought it would be like this,” he adds with a condescending tone. One of his hands comes up and he knocks on one of the metal bars with his knuckle. He clears his throat after he speaks. 

You can’t even focus your eyes enough to read into his expression too much, the cocky smirk is the only thing you’re able to make out. 

When your vision blurs, you drop your eyes back down to the floor. Your head drops to hang from your shoulders.

Allerick huffs once more. “Brebor, when you said they were broken, I was not expecting it to be this bad.”

So that’s the demon’s name, Brebor. 

“We did not want them usin’ their magic on us to escape!” Brebor defends himself with a whiny voice.

“They are an inch from death, fool. How are we supposed to interrogate them if they cannot even look us in the eye for more than ten seconds?”

He has a point. 

“Give them water. Let them sleep. That’s it,” Allerick commands. 

Thank the Six. You know it’s not mercy, but it certainly feels like it. You’re not sure what you’re more excited about, sleeping or drinking water.

“What say you, Skye?”

What?

You try so hard to lift your head, but you just can’t. You can’t pick your head up no matter how hard you try. But you need to know, you have to know if he’s really here.

“I agree. And make sure it is clean water. We do not need them getting sick and dying from infection before we get anything out of them.”

Oh, god it is.

Kim Seungmin. Kim Seungmin is here. He’s here and standing in front of you. Your Seungmin. Your rogue. The other side of your coin. 

You muster all the strength you possibly can and lift your head one last time.

There he is. In all his lanky, broad shouldered glory.

He’s standing right there on the other side of the cell bars.

Don’t react, Y/N, do not react. Obviously, he’s here as a spy. He’s here blending in. Act normal, just don’t move, Y/N.

It takes everything inside you not to cry out in desperation and relief. You’re sure that Hyunjin must be feeling the same way. 

Seungmin makes direct eye contact with you. You can read him entirely too well; he’s trying so hard not to show his emotions. His jaw clenches and his eyebrows twitch as he desperately attempts to keep them still.

At his sides, his fingers twitch, just itching to get you out of this prison.

His throat moves as he swallows thickly. You can see right through him, he’s trying so hard to cover up the pain he’s feeling inside. 

But he can’t react right now. He can’t risk that.

“Fine,” Brebor states begrudgingly. “Water and sleep. I’ll have Vin bring water and bread down in a little bit.”

“Nay,” Seungmin says firmly, keeping his eyes on you. “Now. That one is seconds from dying.” He juts his chin in your direction.

By the Six, do you really look that terrible?

Brebor scoffs. “That one? Nay, she’s been nothin’ but trouble since the battle. She was the last one standin’ in the fort. She probably took out an entire battalion by herself before we finally got ‘er. Maybe even two.” Seungmin swallows again. You can see in his eyes that it’s taking every ounce of self control not to lash out and kill the man. 

Brebor continues. “She can survive for a little while before we show ‘er a bit of mercy.” He slams his boot into the cell bars. The noise sends a jolt through your system. 

As soon as your muscles move, a bolt of pain goes through your system and you let out a pitiful whine. Your eyes shut on their own and it takes everything within your body not to choke up with dry tears. The headache behind your eyes makes your brain feel like it’s melting.

“I got three hundred gold on her kickin’ the bucket within the next week.” He lifts his foot to kick the bars again. All of your muscles tense.

“ Enough .” Seungmin’s voice is stern. It sends a different type of shiver down your spine. Brebor’s boot stops mid-air before he can kick the bars once more. “Get her– both of them – food and water. Now.”

“You heard him,” Allerick adds.

The edges of your vision are already starting to fade inwards.The sudden spike in your heart rate had caused your adrenaline to skyrocket and then drop off a cliff. 

So badly, you want to cry. You want to sob and let your emotions pour out of your body and let them drip down your face.

But you can’t.

It would take too much energy– energy that you don’t have left. 

You don’t even know which emotion to focus on to release anyway. It’s like you’ve gotten two stabs right into your chest. Allerick and Seungmin. The two of them are standing side by side right in front of your eyes and it feels like you can’t even breathe.

There’s a shuffle of chains on the other side of your cell.

“You stay still, rat!” Brebor barks at Hyunjin. The chains immediately stop and a loud whine follows it. 

“Did we not just say to let them rest?” Allerick snaps at Brebor who just grumbles in response.

“The two of you are showin’ too much mercy to these scum, I tell ya. They killed so many of our men. Between the two of them they do not deserve any more compassion than you would give a spider on the wall.”

“ We will decide what is too much mercy, not you, soldier,” Seungmin hisses in response. Armor clinks softly as the two of them seem to move around a bit. “Show me to the food and water, I will bring it to them myself if I have to.”

“Right this way,” Brebor grumbles. 

More and more your eyelids droop, your breathing is so shallow, you’re not sure if your chest is even rising and falling visibly anymore. Are your eyes open or is your vision blacked out?

Boots shuffle outside of the cell. Seungmin seems to hiss more orders at Brebor as they walk away.

The quieter his voice gets, the more your sadness settles in further and further. 

One particular set of boots remains right on the other side of the metal bars. You don’t even need to try and lift your head to know who it is. 

“Rest up, little mouse. You are going to need it.”

------------------------------------------

“Y/N.” Your name is hissed quietly into the cell. “Hyunjin. Y/N, wake up, please.”

Achingly, you attempt wrestle your own eyelids to open. How much longer can you continue to do this?

But you know this voice. This voice is gentle and sweet. It’s talking to you with a kindness you haven’t heard in so long, not even in your own mind.

“Please, you two,” it calls again. The cell doors open very slowly, you barely even hear it. The chains on the other wall clink around for a bit. 

There’s some murmuring off to the side for a few moments before boots scrape and thud along the floor in your direction.

Before you can open your eyes fully, you feel a presence right in front of you.

That sends a large wave of fear through your body. Your entire heart kickstarts and you gasp, your body shrinking away from them with a quiet whine. 

“Nay, nay, Y/N, nay, it is okay, I am here, I am right here,” the voice continues to whisper.

Two large warm hands place themselves on your shoulders and you have to fight the scream that bubbles in your throat. 

Still, your body naturally backpedals backwards into the wall even more, your back pressed firmly against the stone.

“Please, Y/N, it’s Seungmin, please, mercenary, open your eyes.”

Your mind is so foggy. But his voice breaks through the fog and what feels like a safety blanket is placed over your fears.

“Seung…” you croak, your eyes wincing a few times as you try to open them.

“Yes, yes, it is me,” he reassures you quietly. “Stay quiet, sweet thing, please, you must stay quiet.” 

He sounds just as broken as you. 

Eventually, your eyes flutter open and you look up at him. When your eyes come into focus, he’s watching you closely.

He looks exactly the same as when you left for Fort Mire, except maybe his hair has gotten a little longer. A haircut might suit him.

“Seung,” you repeat, looking right up at him. “You are here…”

He shushes you again, his hand moving from your shoulder to the side of your head, brushing the matted strands out of your face. The rogue’s eyes flit all over your features, taking in every since bit of damage. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” he says thickly. His eyes are getting glassier by the second. “I am so sorry, Y/N, I am so, so sorry.”

He reaches one hand down and grabs a mug, bringing it up to your lips quickly. “Drink, it’s water, drink, mercenary.”

As he tilts the mug back, you greedily gulp down every drop of water that flows out of the mug. Some of it rushes down the sides of your mouth and down your chin. 

Once the mug is empty, Seungmin brings it down from your face and places it on the floor. With gentle, warm hands, he reaches up and wipes the water off your face with the sleeve of his tunic. All the while, those deep brown eyes are scanning over every feature on your face. 

The muscles in your arm twitch as you try to lift your hand to touch him, but your limbs just feel too heavy at the moment.

Seungmin’s eyes drop down to watch your arm attempt to come up but the weight of the chains brings it back down. You can see his entire face contort like he’s sharing your pain. His other hand comes down to grab yours and bring your hand up to cup his cheek.

He feels so warm. His skin is so soft compared to yours now. 

Weakly, your thumb brushes back and forth across his cheek, just taking in the sensation.

A cough rips from your chest and you can’t fight it. Seungmin winces with you and strokes the side of your hair through it.

“The entire court is beside themselves over this,” he whispers to you. “Not a day goes by where I do not hear Jisung and Felix sobbing quietly to themselves in their rooms. And do not even get me started on Chan and Minho.”

Seungmin shakes his head. “Chan was about to storm Fort Mire himself to bring the two of you home. Minho had to physically stop him from doing something reckless. About an hour of plotting led me to the situation we are in currently.”

“How long?” you ask softly.

“It has been about five weeks since your attack on Fort Mire.”

Your body visibly deflates. Five weeks?! It’s been five weeks of this?!

“I am so sorry, mercenary. It took too long to pull strings to get here,” he explains. “I had been floating around within Erbus’ inner court for months but had no direct ties to get here, it took a lot of convincing.”

 “Allerick…” you murmur. 

Again, Seungmin’s face twists. “He told me he knew you once we left yesterday, he only told me a small bit of your history, but it was enough.” He takes a breath. “Allerick became the commander of the Mercy Division about ten years ago.”

A long, uneven breath is stolen from your lungs and your eyes shut while you desperately try to reign in your emotions.

He doesn’t just work for these devils, he leads them. He tells them what to do. Allerick of the Fighter’s Guild commands his men to skin Elves and have their sick fun with their bodies. 

Your mouth quivers and your eyebrows twitch. Seungmin’s hand on your head comes up to cup your cheek completely. 

“I do not have a lot of time, Y/N. I am not even supposed to be down here,” he says with a new tone of urgency. Your eyes reopen and you stare up at him.

Pain is written clearly across his face.

“I am here under the guise of being an expert in torture and the extraction of information.”

You blink at him a few times. Is he saying what you think he’s saying?

“These next few days are not going to be easy, Y/N. But– But you need to trust me.”

Your head feels like it's submerged under water. The shallow rise and fall of your chest as you breathe begins to pick up as panic takes a hold of your soul.

“I need you to come up with false information that you can ‘admit to’ while I am performing these methods. Please, Y/N. I do not believe my heart can withstand torturing you.” He searches your face desperately.

The hand that’s holding yours to his cheek tightens.

“Seung–”

“Listen to me, Y/N,” he interrupts you gently, yet firmly. “I am going to have to do things to you that will plague my nightmares for the next ten years but it is the only way I can be here and feed information back to Chan at the same time.”

Your entire body trembles, your heart is screaming.

He’s… he’s going to torture you? 

Kim Seungmin is the one that will be torturing information out of you? Your rogue? Your other half?

“You have to trust me, Y/N.” His hand holding your face shakes you slightly. Desperation claws its way up his throat more and more by the second. “You have to hang on only for the next few days, I swear to you.”

Clenching your jaw, your eyes burn with tears that want to form. You do trust him. You trust him with your entire life. But that does nothing to quell the fear within you.

You can take a faceless nobody, a devil, an executioner with a hood over his head. But to be told that the one issuing the worst forms of pain you’ll ever experience is one of the men whom your heart belongs to… it’s almost like it’s just another form of torture. 

“Both you and Hyunjin–”

“Not him.” A dry croak comes out of your mouth. “Not him. Just me.”

Seungmin shakes his head. “Y/N, your body is frailer than his right now.”

“I can take it, Y/N,” Hyunjin calls from the other side of the cell. “Do not martyr yourself once more.”

“No.” Your voice is firmer than you thought possible. “I will take it.”

“Listen to me, Y/N.” The Rogue shakes your head again. “You are not thinking clearly right now. You cannot take all of it. I have to–” he breaks off and his voice cracks.

It takes Seungmin a few solid moments to regain himself. 

“I have to do things to you that I would never do to anyone in my wildest imagination, do you understand? You need to come up with agreed upon false information to give to me so I can quit my torture.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “LIke what?”

“I will be asking you for war plans, fort locations, secrets about Chan, anything. You need to think of what to tell me. It will cease my actions.”

“But I do not know any battle plans anymore.”

“Think of something. You need to be able to tell me something.” 

“Seungmin–”

There’s a few thuds from outside the door down the hall and Seungmin’s head snaps over in that direction.

“I have to go,” he says suddenly and then looks back down at you with unfiltered desperation on his face. “Think of something, Y/N, anything. I beseech you, please.”

Seungmin takes a long few moments to stare at your face. His warm eyes look deeply into yours with anguish behind them. 

If he says to trust him, then you trust him. You trust him and the entirety of Miroh’s court. To the end of the line, you trust him. 

“I will try,” you whisper in response.

A tiny breath of relief comes from his chest and he nods quickly. He takes one last look at your face before standing up slowly, making sure to grab the empty water mug from before and taking it with him.

Just as quickly as he entered, Seungmin leaves the cell, locking the cell doors behind him. 

A few soldiers come down the hallway, all of them looking inside the cell and then over at Seungmin.

“Getting to know your subjects?” One of the soldiers teases.

“Sure,” Seungmin replies. “Something like that.”

[kaiijo]

PROMISES — FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

pairing: fushiguro megumi x gn! reader content: third-year! megumi + reader, canon-typical descriptions of injuries and blood

You can’t make promises as a jujutsu sorcerer. You’ve learned this the hard way. Telling people — vowing to them — that you’ll protect them, that you’ll keep them safe is a waste of time. Swearing that you’ll come back alive and in one piece is a waste of time. Making any promises in this world, filled with so much blood and death and sorrow, is a complete and utter waste of time. You’ve lost too many friends and allies and complete strangers to believe anything else.

There’s blood pouring out of your nose and you can taste the iron tang on your tongue. You are almost certain that at least four ribs are broken and you’re bruised and scraped in more places than you can count.

This was supposed to be an easy exorcism, a low-grade curse in an abandoned warehouse down by the port so there’s minimal risk of casualties. You were sent out by yourself because of this but it’s clear that the information was incomplete because the minute you finished off that Grade Three curse, a much, much worse one slithered out of the shadows and sent you flying.

You barely manage to exorcize it, almost all your cursed energy is spent and you drag yourself out of the warehouse where Ijichi is waiting for you. He rushes to you just in time as you collapse. “Sorry,” you slur as he helps you lay down in the backseat of the car, passing out as soon as the engine rumbles to life.

You wake up in Shoko’s office, sitting up on the operating table she has inside. When you do, three heads whip towards you: Gojo, Shoko, and Megumi’s. Your boyfriend is quick to get to your side, eyes flickering up and down you, clearly trying to see if there are any wounds that Shoko’s reverse curse technique didn’t heal. You poke his forehead and say, “I’m better now, dummy.”

He frowns at you and your heart sinks a little. You know that he’s not happy with you from the furrow of his brow and the set of his jaw and he opens his mouth to say something but Gojo comes up beside him. His mouth is pressed in a firm line and when he speaks, you hear the guilt in voice. “Ijichi texted me. Told me you were taking longer than expected,” Gojo says. “I was on a special assignment and by the time I finished, you were being driven back to campus.” You can hear the unspoken words: I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you.

You crack a grin. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”

It makes Gojo chuckle a little but Megumi’s expression is unreadable. It scares you a little. You know that, to most, that’s just Megumi’s normal look, but you know your boyfriend better than that. Learned his little habits and tells. His right eyebrow twitches when he’s angry. He runs his tongue over the edges of his teeth when he’s anxious. But right now, there’s nothing you can read.

Shoko releases you from the infirmary and you walk back to your room with Megumi. It’s evening, the sun is setting on the horizon and painting the sky in shades of yellow and orange that fade into pink and purples. Megumi drops you off at your dorm without another word and you’re not even sure what to say to him.

After a quick shower, you’re sitting in bed when there’s a knock at your door. You open it, surprised to see your boyfriend outside. You let him in, noticing the small rectangular box in his hand.

You sit back on the edge of your bed and stare at him. He stands in front of you, mouth opening and closing and he glances between you and the box in his hand. Finally, he breaks the silence, words slow and deliberate. “I was going to do this after we graduated but… ” He hangs his head. “But you almost died today. And I know it’s not the first time it’s happened to any of us but I just… need to do this now.”

He opens the box and nestled in satin cushioning are two identical silver rings, one a little bigger than the other. Your heart stops. “What are these, Megumi?”

He takes a deep breath. “Promise rings,” he replies. He takes both of them out and holds the smaller one out to you. Your fingers tremble as you close your hand around it, metal cool in your warm palm. “I know we’re not ready to get married now, and we don’t have to get married a month or a year or even ten years from now,” he continues. “But… all I know is that I want to eventually, with you.”

There’s a familiar pressure building behind your eyes, the beginning of tears stinging your waterline. “Megumi,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. The air is heavy between the two of you. “You know— I can’t— I don’t—”

Your heart breaks at the hurt that crosses his face. “You don’t want to marry me?”

“No!” you blurt out, tacking on quickly, “I do, Megumi. It’s… you know what I think about things like this.”

“I know,” Megumi says. “But I think you’re wrong. Promises… promises are some of the only things we can hold onto in the darkest moments. What keeps us going when it seems impossible.”

You can’t look him in the eye and you lamely say, “You’re starting to sound like Itadori.”

Megumi huffs out a small laugh and you can’t help but smile a little. He stands in between your legs, cupping your face with his free hand. “I just don’t want anything to happen to either of us without letting you know that I want this forever.”

You lean into his touch and glance down at the ring in your hand, rubbing your thumb over the smooth edge of the silver band. You tilt your head up and look at Megumi. And you think about your first meeting, when Gojo steered you towards the second-years and Megumi — Maki and Panda sparring, Inumaki and Megumi tapping away on their phones — and introducing you; Megumi did a double-take when he saw you and fumbled trying not to drop his phone, something Gojo never lets him live down. You think about when Megumi asked you out, egged on by Itadori and Nobara. You think about your first dates, your first kiss, your first everything with Megumi.

You gently pry Megumi’s hand from your cheek and drop your ring in his palm. He looks devastated so you quickly ask: “Can you put it on my finger?”

Megumi’s ears go red but he sinks to sit on his knees, tenderly pressing a kiss to your left palm before flipping it over and, with so much attention and care, he slides the band around your ring finger. Wordlessly, he hands his to you and you do the same, choosing to brush your lips against the back of his hand. He grips your hand and pulls you, enveloping you in a tight hug, face digging into the crook of your neck and you think that Megumi’s right and that you’ve been wrong this whole time.