#“i mean we are basically already his dads. i think the security of making it official would be good for him”
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i've always been team "taakitz adopts angus" and listening to imbalance did not change that (angus would be in his early 20s by then, it makes perfect sense that he's not home right now + empty nest syndrome fits in very well with taako's whole dissatisfaction deal)
what it did do, after seeing how kravitz interacts with taako's friends and family, is enlighten me to the fact that *kravitz* was actually the one to initially propose bringing out the adoption paperwork, rather than taako
#eliot posts#taz#taz imbalance#taakitz#taako taaco#kravitz taz#angus mcdonald#“taako i've been thinking and i think it's time we officially adopt angus”#“adopt angus??? why would we do that!”#“i mean we are basically already his dads. i think the security of making it official would be good for him”#“just because he lives with us doesn't make us his dads. did they not have roommates back in your day‚ bones?”#“okay first of all roommates are usually adults and pay rent. second of all you're literally packing his lunchbox as we speak”#“...well shit. you got me there.”
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❝ 𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 ❞
❝ EVERYONE WANTS SATORU GOJO, SO WHY ARE YOU THE ONE STUCK GUARDING HIM ? ❞
✧ pairing: rich boy! gojo x bodyguard! reader
✧ summary: after the gojo family receives threats to their lives, you're hired to protect the heir to the company, satoru gojo - you just didn't realize how charming the rich heir would be - and just how hard it would be to resist his advances.
✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, reader is around the same age as gojo (both in their 20s but age is vague), virgin! gojo, switch! gojo, oral (f + m), handjob (m), dry humping, fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), depictions of violence, mentions of yakuza, dirty business dealings, gojo's made up dad and suguru make an appearance
✧ wc: 15,311 (i don't know what to say at this point)
✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 1 has been sold to @forest-hashira and two anons!
“So, is this your first time?”
Satoru Gojo would be the end of you — one way or another.
One way would be you sacrificing your life to protect him — fairly run of the mill when it came to guarding someone, the risk of putting your life on the line, though the chance of death usually was fairly slim. You had only come close — twice.
You didn’t care to make it a third.
The other, increasingly more likely, way was that you would lose your mind to his incessant yammering before you even had a chance to neutralize any threat to his life.
You nearly spit out your drink at the question, wiping your mouth with a napkin, before managin to choke it down, “Excuse me?”
And his lips annoyingly curl, “Your first time guarding someone,”
The heir seemed fairly nonchalant, even after his father had sat the both of you down in a room filled with more security agents than the prime minister of Japan himself had, and had lectured him about the importance of staying with you the entire time and to respect your authority — well one out of two wasn’t bad. He’s eating a piece of cake instead of a meal, his fork digging into the back of the cake again and again, toying with his food as he did with you, “I mean, you seem fairly young, but old enough to be entrusted with my safety,”
“Well, since you insisted on going to school, your father needed someone unassuming who looked around your age,” you lean against your hand, your other drumming against the table, as your eyes scanned the area — table of frat boys, group of girls sneaking glances at Gojo, various other students, no real threats — unless you counted the girls’ death daggers towards you, “someone who wouldn’t look out of place with you, raise any suspicions, but who could still protect you,”
His lips curl, as your eyes find their way back to the young heir, “So basically, you had to look like my girlfriend — shouldn’t I hold your hand? Sell the act? All in the name of my safety,”
You jerk your head towards his group of admirers, “I think what we’re doing now is plenty — unless you’d like your guard to get mauled by a bunch of hormonal college girls,”
His eyes slid to his adoring fans, as he pities them with a wave, erupting squeals from them, “I think you could take them,”
“How flattering,” you reply drily, picking at the food in front of you, “now finish your lunch so we can get to our next class on time,”
“Are you still upset that we were late this morning?”
“No, I’m upset that we missed half the class and I had to take the fall for it,” the heir had oh so kindly told the professor that you had made them run late (even though he was the one who spent far too long in the bathroom).
And even though you wouldn’t be attending this school for long, you hoped that you wouldn’t have to make yourself look like a fool the entire time you were here — but — your eyes found Gojo’s again — sticking with Satoru Gojo almost made that a guarantee that you would look like a fool — one way or another.
And you were already the fool — for thinking that a college aged boy would have any real food in his refrigerator. Although, Satoru Gojo was a different breed — instead of alcohol and questionable containers of takeout, there was...sweets.
So. Many. Sweets.
Not just cookies and candy — but literally six different kinds of mochi (for some reason?) and almost any pastry you could possibly think of was stocked in the house. And the freezer was more of the same — seven different containers of ice cream and one aged bag of edamame stuck in the back.
“Gojo?” you stare into the open refrigerator, while Gojo lays back on his couch, scrolling on his phone mindlessly.
“Yeah?”
“Do you have any food?”
“What do you mean? The refrigerator is full of food?” and his voice is thick with genuine confusion and you’re almost wondering how this man survived to this age.
Oh yeah, he’s rich.
You sigh, closing the refrigerator doors, and striding over to him, only to snatch his phone out of his hands, “Sweets are not real food — how do you eat like this and function?”
He only shrugs, lips curled into a grin, “I’m just built different,”
“You mean like a person who won’t make it to age fifty?” you toss his phone back at him, “get up,” you grab your sweatshirt hanging by the door and throw his jacket at him. He barely catches it, as he sits up, his face displeased with your sudden need to get him up.
“Where are we going?”
“So,” Gojo says, his hands in his pockets, as you both walk the aisles of the grocery store, “why did I have to come with you?”
“Because I’m going to show you how to actually shop for groceries, so you don’t have a heart attack and die before my stint with you is up,” you grab essentials and basics — oil, rice, cereal, pasta, spices, flour, sugar (although did he really need sugar with the amount he was already consuming?), “you know it would suck if my client died before we eliminated the other threats on his life,” before you add with a smile, “though I think your eating habits are more likely to kill you,”
“You know men really hate sarcastic women,” he bites back, before something catches his eye in the aisle and he places it in the cart, “major turn off,”
“Well, mission accomplished then,” you roll your eyes, as you look back at the cart to see a box of cookies, “you know when I said you were a moron, I was half kidding, but now,” you lift up the box of cookies, “you have a million cookies at home,”
He pouts — why do you feel like a mother refusing their child their candy at checkout? — “Not these ones,” you take the box and put it back on the shelf where it belonged, and he relents.
“Did you eat like this before college?”
He shook his head, “My meals were prepared for me by the chef at my home, I never really had much of a say in what I ate, or anything really,” and you shake your head, “my father wasn’t really the type to let me handle anything on my own — thus the need for a babysitter,”
You nod, “So no one really taught you how to take care of yourself?” and he shakes his head.
“Guess not, but I guess no time like the present to learn,” he examines the box of baking powder you had just placed in the cart, “like what this is,” and you snort, taking the box from him and placing it back in the cart.
“Maybe by the end of this trip, we’ll have you making it past the age of forty,”
He raises an eyebrow, “I thought you said fifty?”
“The cookies made me lose more faith in you,”
The two of you continue to shop, as you help him pick out vegetables, meat, and other necessities for the house. You separate the things for you and for him meticulously, as the two of you head over to the checkout, and he’s placing everything on the conveyor belt together, including your own things, “No wait, those are mine—”
“Consider it payment,” he stops you, as you continue to try to argue, but he’s only blocking you from the conveyor belt with a raised arm, a real smile on his lips, “just let me do this for you,” And you can’t find any words, so your mouth shuts, and you nod — as you watch him speak with the older cashier with his patented charm.
And the cashier stops you right as you’re leaving, whispering, “That’s a good one, don’t let him go, ok?” and you pause, her words sinking in as blood rushes to your cheeks.
“We’re not—”
“I know,” the older woman chuckles far too knowingly, as she hands you the receipt, “but you never know.”
“You coming?” Gojo calls, turning to look back at you, as he pushes the cart of groceries, and you look from the cashier to him, before fleeing with a quick ‘thank you.’
And as you go home, you glance at Gojo, maybe there was more to him than you initially thought.
“This is so boooooring,” Gojo’s whining for, what you assume is, the billionth time, “I hate philosophy, moral arguments? It’s such bullshit,”
“You know philosophy is literally a subject that encompasses everything right?” you tilt your head watching him lay on the floor as the two of you sit at the table, his head right next to you, as you sit cross legged, “there’s no avoiding it in life,”
“Well can’t I avoid it in school at least? Because college feels very different from real life,” and you roll your eyes, flicking him between the eyes.
“Just write your paper, I already finished mine,” and he perks up.
And he slides his laptop over to you, “Then you can write mine,”
“That’s not happening,” and he groans again, “you know if you spent all the time that you whined working on your paper then you’d be done,”
“Were you this much of a buzzkill when you were in college?” Gojo stares at you, “what do you even do for fun?”
“Why is this relevant to you writing your paper?”
“Why is writing my paper relevant to protecting my life?” and you open and close your mouth, “c’mon give me something, anything,”
“How about this — when you finish a page, I’ll answer a question, any question,” you offer, and he grins, as he sits up and begins to type away at his laptop.
You sit back, lying back and using your phone, until about fifteen minutes later when he’s holding his laptop up, showing you that he completed a page, “That fast?” you’re skeptical, and then you grab his laptop, skimming the page, wondering if he was trying to trick you — he wasn’t. It was good, more than good — it was a wonderful discussion of deontological ethics.
“How did you finish this so fast?” you raise an eyebrow, “you complain so much, but you wrote this page far too quickly,”
He shrugs, “I’m good at everything, sweetheart,” and you roll your eyes, “jealous?”
“Totally,” you scoff, before grinning, “so get back to work,” and he gapes at you, before groaning dramatically, lying back on the floor again.
“Ugh, this is too much work,” he whines again, “I don’t know why I had to take this stupid class,” he grumbles.
“Then why did you?” you scroll through your phone, checking for any new alerts or updates from his father or any other member of the security team, “you have a choice in what classes you sign up for, don’t you?”
And for one of the first times, you saw Satoru’s playfulness ebb away, replaced with almost a bitterness — as bitter as his words were usually sweet, “Maybe most college kids do, but I don’t have a choice in most of the things I do, including the classes I pick,”
You tilt your head, “Your father?” And he nods, “did you even choose your major?”
His eyes drift to the ceiling, “Is it a choice when your father tells you you’re either being groomed to run his company when you graduate or he’s not paying for you to go to school at all?”
“No, it isn’t,” you admit, “but it could be worse, he could have stuck you with a glorified babysitter on top of it,”
He cracks a smile, “I don’t know, maybe I have a thing for babysitters,” and you roll your eyes, cracking a smile.
“Get back to work.”
“Fuck,” Satoru muttered, watching the rain come down as he waited outside the university awning of the building he had just finished his class in. You had left him to go to class by himself — you trusted him enough not to get murdered while in class and on the walk back (high praise) — and said you’d likely just meet him back at the apartment. But now, he didn’t know how he’d get home without getting soaked.
He checks his phone for any rideshares nearby, but there were none. And he would rather go drown in the rain than call his father’s driver, and guarantee a lecture about being prepared for “any given situation.”
Shit. Maybe he would just risk walking.
So he did. The rain soaked through his clothes all too quick, the wet fabric clinging to his skin, and the cold leeching the warmth from his body. And he couldn’t help but think if you were with him, you would have remembered to bring an umbrella.
Weird, when did he ever really rely on anyone else?
Yes, his father had maids, cooks, and personal shoppers when he was growing up — but they weren’t people he relied on — he did, but it was expected. It was their job. And yes, he was a job for you too — but…it was different.
Satoru didn’t know when it happened but he had gotten used to your presence in his life. Whether it was at home or in class, you were always there. And it wasn’t as annoying as he thought it would be. It was…nice to have someone there to lean on. But, as he glanced up at the storm clouds, holding a hand above his eyes — rolling dark clouds with no signs of the rain letting up — this would be his reality once the threats were a distant memory.
“Gojo!” He blinks, his eyes snapping forward, and he sees someone coming over the horizon.
It was you — umbrella in hand, as your footsteps echoed with the splashes of water from the rain that collected on the ground. And you found your way to him, holding the umbrella over his head. He stared at you as you grew closer, wondering if you were real. And he wasn’t surprised you found him —
“How did you know?” He asks when you stand, catching your breath, short pants, as your eyes flicker up to his.
“You always forget your umbrella, so I figured you needed one,” you shrugged, “plus I finished my meeting early so I came to get you,” and he only stares at you, “what?”
And he only shakes his head, as he takes the umbrella from your hand, fingers brushing, as he holds it up over the both of you, your shoulders brushing as you begin to walk home. And he found himself wishing for a split second that the threats would never stop.
“Just wondering if it’s in your job description to protect me from colds too,” and you snort, lips curling into the same smile he loved to see.
“With you? It is.”
“A party?”
“Yes, known as a gathering of people where—”
“I don’t need you to define the word,” you grit your teeth, as you watch him pull out shirts from his closet, holding them up, before shrugging, “do you know the kind of danger you could put yourself in by going?”
“I know, the party might go into a frenzy at the sight of me, think of all the students who’d glare at you then,” he grins, as he finally settles on an outfit — charcoal gray shirt and a blue button down, “might have to call another bodyguard to guard you instead, princess,”
“Aren’t you the princess if you’re the one being guarded?” you bite back, and he only laughs, hands in his pockets, “Gojo, you have serious threats that have been levied—”
“Against my father—”
“And you, the heir to your father’s company,” you cut him off, crossing your arms, “are you seriously going to risk our lives because you want to get drunk and fuck around with a bunch of idiots?”
The answer was yes, of course.
And now here you were, stuck babysitting this spoiled heir at a party. You hadn’t really been to any parties — hadn’t bothered to. You had gotten through college at a young age, perks of skipping a few grades, and you ended up in the family business regardless — so you didn’t bother to party much. Not when you had things to accomplish — babysitting a drunk heir wasn’t one of them.
It has started as you expected. Gojo had flitted away from your side the first moment he got, disappearing into the throng of horny and drunk college students. You wove your way through the crowd, careful not to trip over the students making out, dancing, or drinking on nearly any available surface. The smell of beer and cheap cologne wafted through this dorm. And you had almost given up on finding him when you spotted him stuck to the sides of three girls, all of them far too eager to hang off his every word.
You sighed, this was going to be a long night.
“You one of Satoru’s girlfriends?” you glance to your side and see Suguru Geto in person. You had learned all about Satoru Gojo and the people he hung around. Like those three girls — one of them had a long distance boyfriend, the other had a cheating situationship she was trying to make jealous, and the other just wanted to fuck him for the experience. Suguru Geto was one of the only friends of Gojo you had liked from what you had read about him — humble background, on scholarship at the college, but one of the best students here — and a philosophy student of all things, the very subject his best friend hated.
You want to say no, but unfortunately, you have no idea what the idiot has been saying to other people, “Something like that,” you sip at your drink to make the bitter words slide down, “why? Are you?”
A chuckle slips past his lips, as he takes a swig of his drink, “Well I already like you better than the others. You have a sense of humor and seemingly more than two brain cells,”
“Don’t give me too much credit,” you snorted, leaning against a wall, “I did end up here after all,”
“Fair enough, how’d he convince you to come?” And you shake your head — good question. What choice did you really have? You could have let him go alone, but probably not a good look
“I don’t even know honestly, feel like I’ve been dragged here to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid,” you glance at him and the gaggle of girls, “though maybe I already fucking failed at that,”
Geto shrugs, as his gaze slips from Gojo to you, “I mean until he sticks his tongue down one of their throats, I think you’re doing pretty well,”
You laugh, “Good to know,” and you both continue to chat, and unbeknowst to you, while your focus is torn away from Gojo, his attention is fully on you.
If looks could kill, Satoru imagined his crystal eyes were nothing more than daggers ready to strike, as he watches you and Suguru talk.
It was his fucking idea to come to this party, so why were you having more fun than he was?
He swirled his drink miserably — he had barely taken a sip of the beer poured for him — why would he when it tasted like piss? He didn’t understand why people liked to drink — especially when they could eat mochi instead — but now, as he stares at you and Suguru, maybe he was starting to understand.
He can’t hear what either of you are saying over the blaring music and the chatter of students surrounding him, but he can see the smile on your lips and the laugh that left them.
Why the fuck do you look so happy to talk to Suguru?
You seemed so bored when he was with you—and did you just fucking laugh again at something Suguru said?
The crinkle of plastic and the distinct feeling of a spill made his gaze snap to his hand — he just crushed his plastic drink cup. He sighed, as he simply placed it among the other abandoned drink cups on a nearby table, before wiping off his hand with a napkin.
Why did he even care? You were nothing but a nuisance anyway. All you did was follow him around, make him go to class on time, make sure he was safe, care about his well-being—
What the fuck was he thinking?
His eyes couldn’t help but slide back to you as he tried to enjoy the girls' company, their slight touches and soft pouts and sweet words not going unnoticed by him. But that was how it always was. Once people found out he was rich, people wanted to be his friend, they wanted to date him, they wanted him — but not really him, they wanted his money.
First world problems, right?
But you — you hadn’t been like that. You were irritatingly punctual, unfazed by his money, didn’t care in the slightest about his father or who he was — you just wanted to do your job. And he was your job, for the time being.
And now he got to see you smile — your lips perfectly curled in a smile that both he wanted to see all the time and grated on his nerves — but you were smiling at someone else. And Suguru no less.
“C’mon Satoru, you gonna make eyes at your boyfriend all night?” Aiko said, nudging him teasingly, her words far too slurred.
“Help us finish these shots,” Yumiko whines, as she offers him a shot, urging it into his hands.
He’s grimacing, he hates alcohol — he hates how he feels during and after; he hates the disgusting, metallic taste; and if it couldn’t get worse, he’s a lightweight. He stares at the shot.
“It’s just one shot,” Misaki grins, holding up her own, clinking hers to his, “you’re already three shots behind everyone else,”
And he’s about to open his mouth to refuse — make up an excuse of having to wake up early or stomach being unsettled — and that’s when you catch his attention. You were laughing now, a noise far too pretty for his liking, as you shoved Suguru’s chest playfully.
Fuck it.
He downs the shot, the liquid searing down his throat, dragging down until it settles in a burning pool in his stomach. Finally he tears his gaze away as the girls offer him another shot — as you grin at Suguru — this was going to be a long night.
“Hey,” Geto jerks his head, “you might want to deal with that,”
You whip your head around.
“Oh what the—“
Gojo was hanging all over the girls he was with, barely able to stand on his two feet, as he swayed from side to side — his cheeks glowed with the telltale glow that told everyone he had been drinking (if that wasn’t obvious by literally everything else).
Fuck.
You had kept an eye on him. You swore he had only taken two shots of alcohol, how was he this drunk already? You examine and sniff the two shot glasses he used — no peculiar smell or residue — you run through the gamut of tests you could do on hand and conclude two things: 1) Gojo wasn't drugged and 2) he was a lightweight.
But that didn’t stop him from acting like he wasn’t, as girls egged him on to take more shots, and from the way they were eyeing him, their intentions were anything but pure.
You sigh, walking over, slipping past a drunk couple making out, a person passed out and sleeping on the floor, and a cluster of cheering onlookers as a student chugged what you can only assume was a disgusting concoction of alcohol.
Until you finally reached his side.
“I think you’ve had enough, isn’t that right, Satoru?” And he’s blinking at you, before he’s grinning, slurring your name.
“You’re no fun,” and he’s clinging all over you, his hands curled around your waist, “such a buzzkill, don’t even like to have any fun with me,”
“Looks like you had too much fun without me,” you murmur, your arm slinks around the middle of his back, “let’s get you back to your dorm,”
“Hey he’s fine, he’s having fun with us,” Aiko glared at you, a hiccup leaving her lips, “don’t go crashing our good time because he’s not interested in you,”
“Yeah why don’t you go hang out with Geto or whatever? We’ll take good care of him. C’mon Toru, let’s go to my place in Shibuya, I have a huge house there,” Yumiko says, barely coherent, and you raise your eyebrows at the nickname, as she leans in to whisper, alcohol wafting off her breath, as she lifts up her middle finger, “fuck off,”
Honestly the only reason you can understand the gist of what she meant was because of her middle finger. Their other friend is passed out on the couch.
“I don’t think any of you can even care for yourselves,” you scoff, and Satoru is hanging all over you already, mumbling words you can’t make out in your ear, “I’m taking him home, you should take your friend home,”
“Geto, wanna help me out?” And Geto nods, trying to take Gojo other arm, but Gojo pushes him away, instead clinging to you, you stumble a moment before catching both of you, “Gojo—“
“No, wanna go home with just you,” he’s officially whining, and you’re having flashbacks to the summer you spent babysitting, but — you look at the drunk white porcupine clinging to you — somehow this idiot is worse than the kid.
You sigh, “Geto, make sure that girl gets home safe,” you gesture to the one passed out on the couch, “I’m going to deal with this one,”
Geto stares at the two of you, the far too tall Satoru hunched over onto your body, “Can you—“
But you’re already walking away, able to drag Gojo away with relative ease (it’d be far easier if he’d pull his own weight, but at least he was quiet).
That was, until you got outside. And then the whining began again.
“How can you treat me like this?” Gojo’s hands cling to your arm, his face buried in your shoulder, “you shouldn’t ignore the one you’re supposed to protect!” and he’s shaking his head like a petulant child, his bottom lip quivering.
“You’re the one who left my side, not the other way around,” you grumble, as he’s finally beginning to walk by himself but he’s still stuck to your side like an overgrown cactus, “you’re the one who wanted to go to this goddamn party,”
“Yeah but you’re the one who's supposed to protect me,” he pouts, as he stops right in front of his building, “I can’t do your job for you,” and he’s finally standing in front of you, his cheeks and nose still flushed from the alcohol, his hand still clutching at yours, “do you even know how to do your job?”
You grit your teeth. Would punching the person you’re hired to protect be a breach of contract? You rub your temples, it may come to that.
“You’re an idiot,” you jerk your hand away, shaking your head, “my job is to protect you, not to stop you from doing stupid college boy shit,”
He’s crossing his arms, “I could have been in danger — what if that alcohol was poisoned? I feel really sick,” he grips, holding his stomach with pursed lips, and you’re thoroughly unimpressed.
“I looked at it, it wasn’t poisoned,” you raise an eyebrow, before sighing, and shrugging your shoulder bag off your shoulders, rooting around in the pouch, “but if you want, I have something in my bag that will turn your stomach inside out and we’ll be sure to get the poison out,”
“Nooooo, no! I’m fine,” he’s shaking his head, his voice grows soft, “I just need to get to bed,” he mutters, and you roll your eyes, but grab him by his wrist.
“Come on, we’re going inside,” and it’s a struggle to get to his apartment — more like a luxury penthouse — on the top floor, but somehow you get him inside and shepherd into his bedroom. And he’s shrugging off his button up before pulling off the shirt underneath.
Your gaze snaps away, cheeks burning, your eyes trying to erase the glimpse of his fucking unfairly chiseled physique — complete a surprisingly broad chest and shoulders — how the fuck was that hiding under his clothes? He looked like a stick normally with his clothes on.
“See something you like?” he’s snickering, as you hear the click of his belt and the and sounds of rustling — assuredly stepping out of his jeans.
“No, just not used to clients stripping for me,” you turn your back to him, as you hear the creak of the mattress and the crinkling of his comforter and sheets.
“Am I just a client to you?” his words were still mildly slurred, and you knew he’d be pouting if he had enough brain cells to do so, “you can turn around, I’m under the covers,” he adds with a grumble.
You turn and see him curled up under his blanket and you have to bite back your smile — now he most assuredly looked like one of the kids you used to babysit.
“Well what else am I supposed to see you as, Gojo?” you cross your arms, and he’s muttering under his breath, “what?”
“That’s just it. You don’t even call me by my first name,” he’s brooding, face twisted in a scowl, “I don’t have a lot of people I trust. Most people are just after my money or my looks,” he looks at you, “you’re different. Kinda weird,”
You quirk an eyebrow, “is that a good thing?”
“Well I trust you,” he admits, and you note the tips of his ears barely visible outside the comforter are red — is it still the flush from the alcohol? “I don’t really have many of those,”
And you’re taken aback — you thought you were nothing but a nuisance to this party obsessed prince, but maybe there was more to him than you thought. You toyed the ring on your finger, maybe you had more in common than you thought.
“Thank you, I’m glad you do, because you can, trust me that is,” you say softly, “good night, Satoru.”
And he does sleep after that, as you spend the night keeping watch, half to ensure his safety and the other to make sure he slept on his side in case he threw up
(and he did, twice).
“I need to talk to you,” Suguru Geto barely looked up from his phone when he saw Satoru in front of him, his best friend looking more irritable than usual — his usually bored affect seemed to be on holiday, “Suguru?”
“I heard you the first time, what is it?” and Satoru snatches the phone from Suguru’s hands, “what the fuck—“
“What were you doing last night?” and Suguru tilts his head, before rubbing his temple.
“Give me my fucking phone—“
“What did you talk to her about?” And Suguru stares at him, his brow furrowed, smart mouth ready with a reply about a stint in a spa or a retreat was needed before his lips curl.
“Oh. Her,” and he’s leaning back, a lazy shrug, “this and that,”
“Cut the shit, Suguru, do you like her or not? Did you get her number?” And Satoru is trying to unlock Suguru’s phone, as Suguru watches with a tilt of his head and a wry grin on his lips, “huh? what is it?”
“So you like her, that much is clear,” and he’s crossing his arms, “I assume you didn’t tell her or you wouldn’t have come in swinging and stealing?”
Satoru stares at him, slack jawed and cheeks turning a deep pink that only carnations could rival, “No! She’s just a…friend of the family, and she’s not supposed to be with—“
“She told me she liked you,” his heart catches, mouth falling open, before Suguru’s lips curl, “well, she said that she was one of the many, rather,”
Satoru’s cheeks burn, “It’s not like that, she barely even fucking looks at me. Can you believe that? Me?” and he gestures up and down his body.
“I see your ego is still intact,” Suguru scoffs, shaking his head, before leaning back on his palms, “just tell her how you feel, Satoru, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is I have no idea how she feels and it’s all your fault!” And Suguru raises an eyebrow, “you charmed her and I’m sure you’re the only one she’s thinking about now,” he covers his face, “and after what I said to her last night…” he couldn’t believe he admitted that you were the one of the only ones he trusted. And he called you weird.
He honestly didn’t know what was worse.
“What did you even say?”
“Say to who?” and Satoru turns, finding you standing behind him, arms crossed.
And Satoru cuts Suguru off before he can say a thing, “Not important. What are you doing here—“ you grab him by the wrist, a wave of heat makes his nearly burn red as you begin to drag him away, “what are you—“
“Bye Geto,” you say, waving at the raven haired student, before taking Geto’s phone and tossing it back to him, “I’m taking the idiot—“
“HUH?”
“Good luck. He might need to be fed — he’s in a mood,” and he waves back, same smile on his lips.
“What did you two do, adopt me?” Satoru grumbles as you pull him away, “where the hell are you dragging me? How did you even find me?”
“The post hangover suits you well, we have to get to class, and I placed a tracker on you,” and he’s jerking his hand away, staring at you, “I have to be able to find you, don’t I?”
“Where?”
You tilt your head, “Why would I tell you? Don’t worry about, I’ll remove it after we’re done here,”
You weren’t going to budge on this — and if he argued more, you would take it up with his father. And he would like to avoid that as much as possible. He sticks his hands in his pockets, , “I’m tired, can’t you just go and take notes for me?”
“I thought you’d be more concerned about the threats against your life, instead of sending your bodyguard off to your class for you” you hiss, and he’s pouting again, unable to meet your gaze, “what’s your problem, Satoru?”
And he pauses, the retort on lips dying as his brain looped in an infinite spiral of his name on your lips, “You called me ‘Satoru,’”
You tilt your head, “you told me to last night,” and then you add with a wicked grin, “remember? When you said I was one of the only people you trusted,” you tease, but he’s too busy hearing his name repeat in his head again and again, “Satoru—“
“Better be careful, sweetheart,” his lips curl into that annoyingly charming smile, “keep calling me by my first name and I may fall for you,”
You glare at him, before rolling your eyes, “I see you’re feeling better now,” you walk forward, glancing back at him, “you coming?”
And his wrist tingles still tingle from your touch, his lips quirk into a smile, “Yeah.”
“Why did you become a bodyguard?” Satoru asks you, the movie you had haphazardly chosen still ongoing had all become background noise while you spoke, the illumination from the television screen being the only thing that kept your faces lit in the dark living room (he had insisted on shutting the lights off for an “authentic movie watching experience”).
It had been a few weeks, with no signs of the threat posed ever being eliminated — still new threats were being made, and the Gojo family was still on edge.
But you were on edge for a whole other reason.
His fingers were still shoved in the bag of kettle corn he had been snacking on this entire time, but you could feel his gaze on you, instead of the movie.
“What do you mean?” your eyes slide to him, as your phone’s ringer goes off with a spam email, and you silence it, keeping it on vibrate for emergencies, “and what’s with the sudden question?”
The two of you had settled into your routine — days spent in class, meals shared, grocery shopping, and nights spent either in or out — but again, always together. And, it wasn’t bad — some of it was fun, to the point you almost forgot you were working.
But you were working. Even now, as your legs are thrown up on the couch, crossed underneath you, your knee brushing against his thigh.
He shrugs, “You owe me a question, remember?” and he reminds you of your promise from weeks ago — you had wondered why he had never asked you anything that night, “You never talk about yourself. You implied you have your degree, but not much else. From what I’ve seen of you, you’re intelligent — you could have done anything, why this?” and his lips curl into that mischievous, “unless you just had to guard me when you found out it was me,”
You toss a throw pillow at him, but he catches it with ease, “If only your body was as bulletproof as your body,” and he huffs out a laugh, as you sigh, “why are you interested anyway?”
“Because I am,” you scoff.
“Nice reasoning,” he only grins, a thousand watt even in the dark.
“I thought so,” and he’s holding the pillow to his chest, “c’mon, can you not tell me even one thing about yourself?”
He wasn’t going to let this go was he? And you relent, chewing on your lip, “My family has been in this business for years — my grandfather, my father, my uncles, and my cousins, and I wanted to be one too. To protect people — it’s a lot more work than it seems. It’s quick thinking, critical reasoning, and analytical skills. It’s all I ever wanted to do after watching my dad do it,” you say softly, “but he didn’t think I was capable of it. He thought I was too soft. Too weak. So I decided to prove him wrong,”
“You weak? Has your father met you?” and you huff a laugh, “I’m serious,” his cerulean pools meeting yours with not a ripple of hesitancy in them, “I’ve seen you — I don’t I’ve met anyone this determined, or stubborn,” he adds with a smirk.
“I’m stubborn?” you gape at him, “this coming from the king of stubborn,”
“Only if you’ll be my queen,” and you roll your eyes, but your cheeks burn, as your gaze turns back to the movie — why did your heart catch at his words? “but trust me, I’m very flexible in other aspects,”
“Oh my god, is every other sentence that leaves your mouth a pick-up line?” and he opens his mouth, “don’t say ‘only for you,’ or I will be the only threat you have to worry about,”
“Promise?” you grab another pillow, but he catches your wrist before you can toss it. Your breath catches, and you can’t meet his gaze — you can’t, because you know if you do— but then he whispers your name.
And you can’t help it. You look at him. His eyes are so pretty. They were really the first things that struck you when you met him — that was before he opened his mouth. They looked like they contained multitudes, a far too beautiful ocean tucked behind sunglasses and an irritated scowl. But it wasn’t a secret that Satoru Gojo was attractive — especially not when every other person glared at you for simply being in his presence. But physical attractiveness meant little if a person wasn’t good — because superficiality could only take you so far.
And you knew what it was like to be only judged superficially — and by the way Satoru’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes when these people chatted him up, he was far too used to it.
And once he did speak, you had written him off as another rich kid — you had seen them a dime a dozen throughout your schooling and from the people your family was protected to hire. But there was something about him — something you couldn’t quite shake, even though every part of you was telling to do so.
“What is it, Satoru?” And his fingers tug you a little closer, gently, his hand loose enough for you to slip away, but you don’t. Why don’t you?
“You don’t always have to have your guard up,” his voice is soft, far too soft for the far too loud heir, “it’s okay to open up,”
You shake your head, but still unable to pull away, “It’s dangerous,” and he laughs, a sound that only warms the thin icy barrier between you both, melting it to nothing.
“Isn’t danger the whole reason we met?” And now his thumb brushes up and down against your wrist, and you wonder if he can feel your pulse roaring just underneath.
You pull away again, shaking your head, as you cross your arms, trying to hold your resolve together, “I can’t do my job if I’m distracted,” and you couldn’t, even now, you weren’t evaluating any risks, you weren’t trying to find the source of the threats — no, you were too busy trying not to inch closer to your client, trying not to look at his lips, trying not to give in to what you wanted.
“And I’m a distraction?” he looks far too pleased, but a thought seems to sour his smirk, “I thought Suguru was more of one,” and his lips are caught in a slight pout.
“Geto was just keeping me company while you entertained those girls hanging on your every word,” you can’t dull the point to your words, and it replaces his pout with a grin.
“So you were jealous,”
“You’re the one who was jealous — you could have killed Suguru with your glare alone,”
“But you didn’t deny it,” and it makes you stop — why didn’t you deny it?
“I can’t do this,” and you’re pulling away, before flicking off the tv and rising from the couch your phone in hand, turning towards the hallway, “it’s late we should go to bed—“ but he’s catching your wrist again, “Gojo—“
“Satoru,” he corrects, and you hated how gentle his fingers felt around your wrist, “how are you supposed to protect me if you’re too busy running away from me?”
“I’m great at multitasking,” and he’s drawing closer to you, his soft footfalls against the carpet, even as you step away from him, “my job is to protect you, we can’t get distracted—“
“I thought you were so good at multitasking,” he chuckles, his fingers find your wrist again, slipping to intertwine with your own, fingers interlaced, and your phone falls from your fingers and onto the couch, “what I said that night when I was drunk was true — I don’t have a lot of people I trust. People don’t understand. They put me on a pedestal or they don’t want me, they want the concept of me — not the reality,”
“I’m not licensed as a therapist you know,” and he’s sighing.
“Do you always have to deflect with humor? Because if we both do that, we’ll never get through a conversation,” and he squeezes your hand, “which I guess I don’t mind if that means you’ll stay,”
“Satoru—“
“We don’t have to do anything now — we don’t have to do anything at all,” and you can feel his words warming your skin, “but don’t you feel something?”
You hesitate, and you can’t look at him, “No, I don’t,”
“You’re not a very good liar — don’t they teach you that in bodyguard academy?”
You snort, holding your head, “Is that where you imagined I got my training done?”
“Well, you don’t exactly like to share, now do you?” he’s stepping forward again, and you can’t bring yourself to run away anymore.
“I shouldn’t,” and you hear the faint sound of his breath hitching, “but I do,”
You don’t need to look at him to hear the smile on his lips, “so maybe it’s a distraction worth having,”
“But—” and he’s gently turning you to face him, his fingers brushing a stray hair from your face, heat blooming with his touch, “Satoru…”
“Why do you keep saying my name when you know I like hearing it?” he’s teasing, but you’re not shying away from his touch, as his fingers cup your chin now, upwards, so you meet his gaze, “maybe we should have had you pretend to be my girlfriend,”
You chuckle, “Oh I could see that going wrong in so many ways,” and he’s leaning even closer, as he’s left the line you’d drawn far behind, marred it with his touch, and is luring you over to stumble over the edge with him.
“Is this one of them?”
“Probably,” and his lips brush against yours — he tastes sweet, the taste of kettle corn lingers, as his fingers cup your cheek now, and find purchase on his shoulder. It’s brief, a soft press that leaves you far too breathless, as if his touch had taken the air from your lungs, only to leave heat behind, “definitely,”
“Is that a good thing or—” and your lips find his this time, a gasp you swallow with a smirk, and he melts into your touch, eager fingers grasping at the front of his shirt. And he responds in kind, his fingers tracing a path, as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before his hand settles on the back of your neck.
His touch set every nerve ending on fire — a desperate wildfire that burned a trail across your mind and body — leaving only the crave of his touch behind, that left you wanting more, needing more.
“Was that good?” you murmur, as you take in your handiwork, his pink lips were bitten red by your kisses, his marble skin a lovely flush, and his gaze far too needy. God, it’s far too easy to get lost in him — pull your anchor from the shore and get lost in his gaze and touch, “god I shouldn’t ask that, we shouldn’t be doing this—” but your body refuses to pull away, and you don’t think by the grasp he has on you, that you’d be able to anyway.
But he only gives you the same answer to each of your statements — he kisses you again, slower and more languid this time, as the two of you walk towards the bedroom, your hands reaching for each other and the walls, as you both stumble into his bedroom.
“We don’t—” he says, between kisses, “I didn’t—”
“I didn’t either, but—” you can’t stop touching him, you don’t want to, despite the logical part of you screaming at you to leave his room, it’s overridden by just how much you want him. He’s frustrating, he’s an idiot, he’s sweet, he’s cute, and he’s a little pathetic — but you liked that in a man. Every sense of logic is screaming at you to stop — but it all turns to white noise “but I don’t want to stop.”
He’s grinning as he pulls you into another kiss, his arms wrapping around his waist, pressing you against him, “That addicted already?” lips parting as he kisses down your neck, pulse jumping under his touch.
“You’re just lucky Geto didn’t get to me first,” and he furrows his brow, before his teeth graze against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, drawing a gasp from your lips, “Satoru, what was that for—”
“So everyone knows you’re mine? Including Suguru,” he’s sucking lightly at the mark, soothing his tongue, “and I’ll make sure he knows,”
“Oh, I trust you’ll be subtle,” and he’s guiding you towards his bed, both of you falling onto it, his knee pressing your legs apart, as he hovers over you, his ocean gaze dark as a storm ridden sea.
“Oh you know me, princess,” and his knee presses against your clothed cunt, rubbing against it teasingly, “subtlety is my specialty,”
“Subtle as a truck,” you murmur, and he’s laughing as he kisses you again, making your lips curl, as his hands slide up your sides, squeezing your hips, “Satoru, please,”
“What’s the fun if I don’t get to tease you?” he’s kissing needy kisses to your neck, as his knee doesn’t relent, grinding lightly against your increasingly wet core, slick leeching through the thin material of your shorts, “gotta make sure you want it right?”
“You treat all the people you bring home this well?” and he’s pausing, lips against your neck, “I didn’t mean anything—”
“You’re the first,” you stare up at him, and he’s hesitant for once when usually he’s always barreling forward, “I’ve never brought anyone here,” and he licks his lips, a deeper flush settling over his porcelain skin, “I’ve never actually—”
And you blink, “Really?”
He huffs, “Is it that surprising—”
“I mean a little, from the way everyone acts around you, and the way you act—”
“Well, ‘act’ is the key word, now isn’t it?” he’s licking his lips as he looks down at you, “it’s easy to act when you know what they expect from you — a role to play,”
“Well, the role’s been filled, so how about you just be yourself for me?” you murmur softly, a featherlight touch as you trace the curve of his jaw, and his lips find his smile under your delicate touch, “so I can ask, is this your first time like you asked me?”
And he’s leaning up to kiss you, your hand resting against his chest, his heartbeat galloping under your touch, “And if I said yes?”
You smile, before flipping him onto his back, his gaze wide as he stares up at you, “Then we better make it memorable.”
“Please, I want to—“ his soft pants left his perfect lips, chest heaving as your fingers curled around his erection, far too hard from just what you had done. You’d stripped yourself and him bare — your inhibitions left far behind — as your lips kissed the tip of his aching cock.
“Lemme make you feel good, Satoru,” you murmur, looking up at him with fluttering eyes, your fingers smearing his pre cum along his length, and he’s pressing his head into the pillow, “s’big, can’t wait to feel you inside me,” you murmur, and you slowly pump him, drawing moan after moan from his lips.
“Won’t last long—can’t—“ he’s biting his lip, his hips thrusting into your touch, before your lips suck at his tip again, and he’s gone, cumming hard all over your face and fingers. God, it never felt that good when he touched himself. Your fingers even brushing against him made him want to cum almost instantly, your soft touch and lips were enough to send him over the edge over and over again.
He’s panting, eyes fluttering open to see you licking your lips clean with your tongue, as you meet his gaze with a grin, slowly sucking on each one of your fingers until you’ve cleaned yourself of his cum.
“Princess, fuck,” he’s lying back on the pillow, as your lips slowly kiss back up his body, your tongue dragging between the fluttering muscles of his stomach and chest.
“Already hard again?” You murmur, a smirk on your lips, “so sensitive for me,”
He’s keening at your words, a whimper leaving his lips. His eyes are blown out in pleasure as he meets your gaze, and you kiss him again, sloppy and messy, as his tongue brushes against yours, your clothed pussy grinding against his erection.
“Please,” he can’t help the words leaving his lips, “I need you,”
“Is this the first time you’ve begged for something?” You tease him, smirk on your lips as your thumb teases one of his nipples, pulling a gasp from his lips, “such a good boy,”
He hissed at your praise, “fuck—“
And you’re grinding against him, he’s already embarrassingly hard, blood rushing back to his cock as if it never left, as it drags against the all too wet fabric of your panties. And every small moan that leaves your lips leaving him needing more, his pre cum mixing with your cum that seeps through your panties, and is the second time he comes with you gonna be just grinding against each other on this bed? But he can’t help it if you keep nibbling at his neck like that, your pretty little pants in his ear, the head of his dick catching on your clit — so fucking good.
“Toru, c-close, ngh, g’nna cum—“ and he’s nodding, forcing his eyes open to watch you cum, your chest shaking, as you hover above him, your eyes squeezed shut and lips parted as you said his name.
“S’good,” he’s grunting, “Cum f’me,” and you both do, the slick and stickiness between your bodies almost unbearable, as you both pant, as you rest your head against his shoulder.
The silence sinks in for a moment, as you kiss his cheek, “we can stop here if you want,” your voice is soft, nose brushing against his neck, “don’t want to make you—“
And he’s flipping you onto your back, his fingers finding the waistband of your shorts, your breath hitching as he drags the material down your legs, and tosses it behind him, “I want this, I want you, and I won’t stop saying it until you believe it,” he leans down, breath warming your breasts through your shirt, before his lips suck at your clothed nipples, making you shiver, “you like that, huh?”
“Shut up,” your cheeks burn, but he’s only tugging your shirt over your head and off, his gaze hot as he drags his eyes down your exposed body, and it makes you squirm, “Satoru — please—“
“Now who’s the one doing the begging?” he leans down to suck on your nipple, while his fingers toy with the other between his thumb and forefinger, “I wanna learn what makes you feel good — wanna make you cum under my touch, wanna taste you,” he switches sides, his teeth grazing the skin of your breast, sucking a mark before soothing it with his tongue, “mine,”
“Satoru, fuck, I want—“ and his fingers trace down your body, making you gasp, he’s kissing down your chest and then your stomach, tongue dipping into your bellybutton, “you fucking—“
“Gotta make you feel good don’t I?” he has a shit eating grin on his lips, as he settles between your thighs, and his fingers press against the growing wet patch on your panties, “though it looks like you’re already feeling good,”
You bite back a whimper, “Are you gonna make me feel good or are you gonna keep talking—“ you moan when his thumb bears down on your needy clit, rubbing it through the nearly translucent fabric of your underwear.
“What was that, sweetheart?” And he’s snapping the waistband of your panties against your skin, “couldn’t hear you,”
“You fucker—“ and he’s kissing your clothed cunt through the wet fabric, nose brushing against your clit, making you nearly shake, as he inhales before he moans.
“So sweet, must taste even sweeter,” he murmurs before tugging your underwear down, before you’re kicking it off, making him chuckle, “so eager,” and you scowl up at him, ineffective from the way lips are parted, “you’re so cute,”
“I’m not cute,” you pout, and he’s laughing, a noise you could drown in, just as you do his eyes.
“You’re very cute, and I’ll tell you as many times as it takes you to believe it,” and his lips press soft kisses to your thighs, “my cute bodyguard, you gonna guard my heart as well as you do my body?”
And before you can reply his breath is warming your soaked cunt, his fingers parting your folds apart, your clit was puffy, your sex slick with your mixed juices, “so pretty, this all just for me?” And you hiss as he holds your outer lips apart, “so this is what your pussy looks like, huh?” And your thighs are twitching, trying to shut, but his palms hold you apart, his heated gaze meeting your shy ones, “you’re perfect, don’t hide from me, you’ve done enough of that,” and he kisses your clit, making you moan, “and I won’t have that anymore,”
“Satoru—“ and his tongue drags over the length of your dripping pussy experimentally, tip of his tongue flicking against your clit, fuck, how can he this good at this? Your toes are already curling as he groans, his fingers sliding under your thighs, and tugging you impossibly closer to his face. Your fingers weave into his white locks, “‘ngh—
“Be a good girl and take it,” he grunts against you, slurping your juices, the sounds of his tongue buried in your cunt, fucking you open, dragging across your walls, “taste s’fucking good, how’d I hold out this long without tasting you?” And your eyes flutter open at his groans, seeing him grind down on the sheets, so fucking horny from eating you out, “g’nna just cum from your taste alone, Princess,” you’re so incredibly soft, so soft, despite your walls being so tough, and it makes only eat you eat you from the inside out.
You’re so close, and all you hear is the sounds of his greedy tongue swallowing you whole, and the sound of your heartbeat and short gasps. Your walls flutter around his tongue, your thighs twitching under his touch, hips jolting forward to meet his touch, his tongue so fucking deep that you can’t see straight, “Toru, please, I’m so close—“
And you feel him groan into your pussy, redoubling his efforts before his fingers find your clit and rub at it while he sucks at your cunt. You cum hard, fingernails digging into his scalp, as your back arches as he eagerly eats you out through your orgasm. The wet squelch of your cunt and his tongue slurping against you, drinking every drop you offer him.
And then finally he’s pulling away with a pop, his chin and mouth dripping with your release and his spit, pink tongue darting out to clean up your cum from his face, wiping off the rest as he looked up at you from white lashed half lidded eyes.
And you can’t even speak, still coming down from your high, as he kisses up your body again, your thighs still shaking from your orgasm, your fingers reaching for his cheek, tracing his jaw, before cupping his cheek.
“How the fuck do you know how to do that well?” And he flashes a pretty smile, as he drags his thumb down your lips.
“I said I was a virgin, I didn’t say I didn’t know how to do some things — and as you know, I’m an excellent student,” and you huff, raising an eyebrow, “and I’m naturally good at everything,”
“And always so humble,” he laughs, before he kisses you again, letting you taste yourself on his sweet lips, and you’re rolling him over onto his back, his erection slick with precum, pressing against your sensitive cunt, “let me make you feel good now,” you murmur, his cock twitching against you, “wanna ride you, Toru, need you in me,”
And he’s hissing, as he moves to sit against the headboard, “You keep talking like that princess, I’m g’nna cum before you even—“ and your fingers are reaching between your bodies, and you’re stroking him, smearing his precum over the length of his shaft, making his hips jerk, “fuck—”
You’re so fucking pretty — your teeth baring down on your bottom lip, as you straddle him, hovering still, his aching tip barely brushing against your dripping cunt, “are you sure?” you murmur, eyes meeting his own, and his lips quirk into a smile.
“Never been more sure of anything,” and you sink onto him, thick length parting your folds, and he groans, as you fit him in your pussy, inch by inch, until your hips are flush. And fuck, he’s never felt anything better — pleasure runs up and down his body, as his hands find their way to your hips.
You’re tense at first, your back slightly arched, and when he shifts under you, a moan is ripped from your lips, as you begin to adjust to his size, “s’big, Toru, gonna make it hard for me to last too, feels too good,” you’re mumbling, and he’s holding his hips taut, making sure not to move — or else, he’s sure he’d cum in one stroke, “g’nna move ok?” and he’s nodding desperately, your walls already fluttering around him — slick and warm, better anything he’d ever felt.
You lift up to the tip, before beginning to rock steadily up and down, as he moans, your sweet cunt swallowing him eagerly, as you began to fuck yourself on his cock. Your chest bounces as you ride him, and he can’t resist leaning forward to take a hardened bud in his mouth, your moan making his cock twitch inside you. And he knows why people become addicted to sex — hell, he knew was an addict for it now, but only with you.
“Fuck, never felt anything this good before, sweetheart, feel s’perfect for me,” he’s grunting, the coil in his stomach growing tighter, as your pace grows more and more sloppy. He wasn’t going to last long, and neither were you from the way you were groaning his name again and again. The wet squelch and smacks of your bodies meeting again and again, only making it harder to hold back, and when he looks to see a white ring of your precum pooling around the base of his dick, he’s nearly gone, “fuck, baby, need you to cum with me,”
“It’s okay, pretty boy, cum for me,” he keens at the praise, but he’s stubborn, as you established, and he won’t cum until you do too — and so he ensures it, reaching between your bodies to rub meanly at your clit before meeting your thrusts with his own.
And his tip brushes against that spot that has your vision blurring and toes curling, “Toru, ngh, I’m—” and you’re cumming hard around him, making him spill his warm and thick seed inside your cunt, and he’s groaning you name as he does, your body slowing as you both come down from your highs, your head resting on his shoulder, as your bodies grow limp, resting, his back pressed to the headboard of his bed.
His fingers trace the curve of your back gently, as he turns his head to press soft kisses to your neck, “Am I still just a distraction?” his lips curled into a smile, and you chuckle, burying your face in his shoulder.
“Definitely,” but you lean back to cup his cheek, and look at his pretty face again, “but one worth having.”
You don’t wake from your alarm the next morning.
Instead, you wake to banging on the door. You both jolt awake, and he’s pulling you into his arms, even as you move to get up, he won’t let go, strong arms around your waist. You’re easing his arms off, trying to be gentle, “Toru, let go, and wait here, your father had a panic room installed in your closet, you hear anything, go inside—”
“No, I’m coming with you,” and you shake your head.
“I’m hired to protect you, not the other way around,” you leave his embrace, and face him, his crystal eyes blurred over with worry, “I can handle this,” you reassure him, your fingers intertwining with his, as you press a kiss to his knuckles, “I promise,”
“But—” and you kiss him gently, silencing his protests, before you slip away into the hallway.
You enter the living room, shutting the bedroom door without a sound, stalking through the hall, as you grab a knife and pepper spray from the chest of drawers that was pressed to the wall of the hallway — you had several self defense tools hidden all over the apartment. Your heartbeat thunders in your ear, mouth dry, as you approach the door from the side.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Mr. Gojo, open this door,” and you sigh, relaxing, as you check and unlock the door for him.
Shinsaku Gojo was only a man you were able to meet once before your work for him began. And it was a privilege even to see him then. His schedule was always packed — multiple meetings, multiple clients, and multiple women, all vying for his attention. Even as you spoke with him the first time, his eyes were on his phone the entire time, except when he had warned you, not to let anything distract you from protecting his son.
And you had done just that — and even worse, his son had done the distracting, “Mr—”
“Where’s my son? He hasn’t answered his phone all morning, and neither have you—didn’t you hear from your agency?” his voice is raising, as he dials your number again, and your phone vibrates on the couch. He scoffs, disconnecting the call, as his hard gaze turned back to you, “what if there was a threat? You left your phone—”
“Dad,” Satoru emerges from the room, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, “it’s not her fault, she forgot it last night when we were watching a movie,”
“Watching a movie?” he sneers, his cerulean gaze the same as son, but without any of the warmth Satoru had — an icy tundra compared to a warm pool, “she should be watching you, that’s her job—”
“She was watching me — something you never bothered to do,” and his father’s eyes narrow, “she’s shown more concern for me than you ever had — and she only met me a few weeks ago. What’s your excuse for being a pathetic piece of—“
“Satoru,” your fingers brush his shoulder, shaking your head, “sir, I take responsibility for this lapse of judgment. Don’t blame your son,”
Satoru lowers his voice, “it’s not your fault—“
“It is. I disregarded by duty to protect you,” your cheeks burn with shame — “what if i had missed an alert you were in danger? What if I failed to protect you because I wasn’t focused? What if—“
“Nothing happened,” he says softly, and the twitch of his fingers tells you he’s gonna reach for you, but you step forward, shaking your head.
“Nothing did,” and you turn to his father, “I’ll protect Satoru until you can find a suitable replacement for me. But I compromised my mission to protect him. I would like to resign as soon as possible,”
“No! I—“
“Agreed,” his father says, “I’ll have your replacement here in an hour, make sure you’re packed up by then,” and his father leaves without another word.
You brush past him to gather your things, but he’s caught you by the wrist, “Why did you do—“
“Gojo,” and you can’t bear to see the hurt in his eyes, “I can’t let my feelings get in the way of keeping you safe—“
“I don’t care—“ you cut him off.
“I do, I couldn’t stand if something happened to you because of me. What it was an emergency last night and you got hurt because of my own carelessness—“
“It wasn’t careless what happened last night—“
“It was,” you say, walking to your room, “and it won’t happen again.”
You left. You had expected a fight, an argument, a dramatic show of tears — but nothing. Satoru hadn’t even opened his door to watch you leave. The other bodyguard arrived quickly, and you left the penthouse and didn’t look back.
It was for the best.
You had a duty, a role to play, and more than that, you couldn’t let him get hurt because of your inability to compartmentalize. Even so, Satoru’s father was kind enough not to have told your father what happened — or you supposed it was pity in exchange for your quick and easy resignation.
Fuck. Why were you still thinking about this? You rolled over in bed, burying your head under your comforter. A week out, and you still couldn’t stop worrying about Satoru, about his safety, about the hurt on his face, about that night…
You had fucked everything up, and fucked Satoru up in the aftermath.
You poke your head out, and stare at your phone on your bedside table — 7:45 PM, no new messages — you had written out six different messages to him again and again, before deleting them. You wondered how many more you’d write before you finally would rid your mind of him.
Would you ever rid your mind of him?
And that’s when your phone rings. But it’s not flashing Satoru’s number — it’s his father. You scramble for the phone — why was he calling? And you can only think of one reason. You can’t say a single word when you pick up — his father already hissing his first question.
“Where is he?” your words are lodged in your throat, stuck on your heart that had leapt from your chest.
“What?”
“Where’s Satoru? He came to you didn’t he?” he growls, and you hear a slam, assumedly his fist against his desk, “he shook off his new bodyguard, and his phone is off,”
“He hasn’t — I haven’t talked to him since I left—” your mind is running a mile a minute, racking your brain, placing the call on speakerphone, as you text Satoru, where are you? “Where did the bodyguard see him last?”
“He had him at the dorms, he said he was going to see a friend, and then gave him the slip,” his father groans, “you hear anything from him, otherwise—”
“I’ll let you know,” you cut him off at the threats — you had more important things to do. You checked your messages, but your messages hadn’t gone through, and you tried calling him — but it went straight to voicemail. Satoru was upset — he could’ve blocked you or turned off his phone to piss off his father, but you didn’t see him doing that. He was an idiot, but he knew his father would lose his shit.
And then you remembered. The tracker you placed on Satoru — you never took it off. You had sewed it into the insole of his daily shoes (the man had far too many clothes and shoes, but he rarely found the energy to not wear anything besides the shoes he always wore).
You turned it on, biting your lip as you watched the tracker loaded, and his location popped up — and it wasn’t at his apartment.
It was in Shibuya — you typed in the address and he was at a house.
You furrow your brow, who did he know who lived in Shibuya? And then it clicked.
Fuck.
Those girls.
Satoru groaned, fuck, why is his head hurting so badly?
It wasn’t exactly unusual the last few days. He hadn’t been sleeping much since you left, he spent most of his nights watching TV and rotting in his bed. But everything reminded him of you — his bed, his couch, and even the shows he watched (he had continued one of the shows you both had started one late night).
His apartment was a disaster — a mess of empty soda cans, empty wrappers of candy and old takeout containers. But he couldn’t be bothered with it — to clean it up or call someone to clean it up. His bodyguard had taken up residence in your room — or rather the guest room — and hardly emerged, keeping an eye on him through cameras his father had installed around the doors and hallway.
Not that he really needed to, Satoru rarely left his apartment, even had skipped classes for a week — sending an email that he had a very contagious illness and that he’d be happy to attend class if necessary. They sent him materials to work on classwork from home, piled untouched on his kitchen counter, with a possible smudge from the hot fudge he had last night.
He had made progress — instead of staying in bed, he moved onto the couch for his afternoon nap, and he had just fallen asleep when there was a banging on his door. He groaned into the couch pillow he had just gotten comfortable on, before pulling it onto his head, trying to block out the sounds of the knocking.
“Satoru! Open up,” he hears Suguru’s voice through the door, “open the fucking door, I know you’re not sick,”
He pulls himself up, groaning, as he wipes the small amount of drool from his lips, as he meanders to the door, throwing it open.
“You look like shit,” Suguru says, brushing past him to enter.
“No ‘hello, you look like shit?’” He mumbles, still rubbing his eyes, “what are you doing here?”
“I should be asking you that,” he stands, hands in his pockets, as he takes in the mess with a wrinkled nose, “although I see you’ve decided to redecorate,”
“Hilarious,” Satoru replies, lying back on the couch, “did you come here just to hassle me?”
“I’d be lying if I didn’t say that wasn’t part of it, but the other was to see if you’re ready to pick yourself back up after your breakup—“
“It wasn’t a breakup,” Satoru snaps.
“If it wasn’t, then why does it look like you haven’t showered in several days since she left?” Suguru raises an eyebrow, and Satoru scowls.
“I’m sick,” he turns away to face the couch, “I don’t have the energy to shower,”
“But you have the energy to eat about half a dozen mochi doughnuts?” Suguru holds up an empty doughnut box, and Satoru holds a couch pillow to his chest, “Satoru, come on, it isn’t like you to wallow like this,”
“I’m not wallowing—“
“Yeah, yeah, you’re sick, right?” Suguru says sarcastically. Satoru doesn’t need to look at his best friend to know he’s rolling his eyes, “well you don’t seem like you’re sneezing or coughing so go take a shower or something,” Satoru gives a weak fake cough, and he could feel Suguru’s glare, “fine, rot in bed, but you have to get up sometime, just text me when you’re ready to,”
And Satoru hears Suguru’s footsteps recede to the door, swinging shut with a click behind him. He buries his face in the pillow. It wasn’t a break up. How could it be when you didn’t even have a relationship to begin with? You had made that clear enough when you left without another word to him. He didn’t leave his room until he heard the door shut behind you, and he made his way out to watch you leave out the front door of the apartment. And you didn’t even look back. But you weren’t the type to.
He felt like he was always looking back — one way or another.
And even now, as he came to — he was trying to remember what he had done after Suguru left. Someone else had shown up — knocked at his door. Offered to get him out of the house — offered him free alcohol and a distraction.
And he had agreed — if only to forget about you for a moment. Drinking was the only thing that made him forget — if he only could somehow forget how terrible alcohol tasted.
His head spun, so was this a hangover? It’s certainly worse than the one he had before — the last one felt like his brain was fuzzy and nausea clawed at his stomach — this time, it felt more akin to someone taking a blender to both of those organs. And his neck, he stretched it both ways. How had he fallen asleep?
And then he tried to lift up his hand to rub his eyes, and he couldn't, wrist straining against something — his brow furrowed, what was arm caught on — and his eyes fluttered open. It was dark — the only light came from another room, peeking through the crack at the bottom of, what he assumed was, a door. And then as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he looked at his arms.
Ropes. Twisted around both his arms, binding his wrists and forearms to the arms of a chair, and his vision blurs — what? His legs jerk instinctively, but ropes dig into the flesh of his ankles, and he glanced down only to find what he expected.
“You’re awake,” the light flicks on, he lifts his head, blinking away the fog in his head and the burning tears slipping from his eyes, “didn’t realize the drug would knock you out for that long,”
He blinks again and again, light flooding his eyes, until he can see and sees a familiar face — “Misaki?” the light sends a piercing jolt through his head, “or is it Yumiko?”
“Well that’s flattering, you can’t even remember my name?” she sighs, crossing her arms, “well I unfortunately don’t have the same luxury,” and then she adds with a quirk of her lips, “it is Yumiko,” and she steps forward, as his eyes squeeze shut, his head still banging, “sorry what I gave you to knock you out can cause some light sensitivity,”
It’s slowly sinking in, “I don’t know what kind of weird kink you have, but I’m not interested,” and she scoffs, pressing her knuckles to her chin, “where am I?”
“Do you think I’m really going to tell you that?” she raises an eyebrow, “I did send you threats after all, you don’t think I’d be that stupid to tell you where I am,”
He needed to buy time, he needed to find a way to get out of here, and to do that, he needed time, “What? Are you obsessed with me or something? Do you want my body?”
“I’m going to stop your overinflated ego there,” she sighs, leaning against a table that was behind her, “I have a debt to pay and you’re the price,”
“Debt?” he repeats, “is this where you explain your whole plan? And villain speech? Because I usually I could care less, but I’m feeling a little generous with my time, as I’m a little tied up at the moment, so—”
“Do you ever shut up?”
“It’s known to happen on occasion,” she rubs her temples, and then something occurs to him, “how did you get my address? You showed up and invited me,”
She shakes his head, “You think I couldn’t find out your address after sending you threats?” and she sighs, “You know this is why I tried to do this at the first party — get it over with so I wouldn’t have to deal with this. But then you crushed your beer cup, your little girlfriend got in the way, and that idiot Misaki accidentally switched her shot glass with yours, so I couldn’t get you dosed,” she grits her teeth, “and then the rest of the semester, your girlfriend was up your ass the entire time — but she wasn’t your girlfriend was she? She was your bodyguard,” he says nothing, “you don’t need to confirm it for me, I already found her information, her name, her address—”
“What do you want? Money? My father will pay anything to get me back. Tell me who you need to repay and he’ll do it,” and her lips curl.
“So serious now — and so cooperative, maybe I should have kidnapped her too while I was at it,” she shrugs, while she grabs her phone from the table — a burner — “my father will be here to escort you to where you need to go. The yakuza will take it from there,” his blood runs cold, “Don’t cause a fuss and i can promise your girlfriend will stay safe,”
He grits his teeth — he was so stupid. This was exactly the kind of shit you were trying to protect him from. And it was the thing he landed himself in the moment you left. But he didn’t care — because it was better this way, because you were safe this way.
“Wow, you’re pretty cute when you’re all quiet,” and she’s walking over, and he’s flinching as she drags a manicured nail down his cheek, before tilting it up, “it’s just that mouth that’s a problem,” and her thumb brushes down his lips, “don’t bite, or we might have a problem,”
And he doesn’t, but then he smiles back, “you might like it when I bite,” he smirks, “why don’t you come here and find out?” And she raises her eyebrows, leaning closer, and he smashes his forehead into hers, “fuck off,”
She stumbles back, losing her balance, and leaning against the table as she clutches at her forehead. Satoru watches her, trying to wriggle out of his constraints, rope chafing against his skin, red welts rising on his skin, but he only manages to get one hand free before she’s starting to get her bearings, and then he’s trying to free himself, his chair tipping over. And now he’s lying helplessly as she stumbles forward over to him, clutching a knife she grabbed off the table.
“I have to hand you over to the yakuza, but they didn’t say you had to be completely unharmed,” she presses the tip of the knife to his cheek, “maybe we’ll do something to that pretty face of yours,” he grits his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut.
CRACK.
He hears a body slump over, and the clatter of the knife against the cement floor, and his eyes open to find you kneeling beside him. He’s blinking, murmuring your name, “What are you—”
“Well I never did remove that tracker did I?” You’re cutting the ropes on his wrists and ankles with the knife, “and I’m lucky you wear the same damn shoes everyday,”
“Why did you come for me?” he says, as you finally free him his restraints, your fingers gentle as they examine the welts and bruises left on his skin, “you could have just told my father where I was or the police,”
“I could’ve. I saw where you were and I figured it out—“ and your voice wavers, “but all I could think was that I wanted to find you. And I didn’t wanna wait for anyone else. I didn’t want something to happen just because someone else was too slow,” the lump in your throat grows only larger, as you sit, “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you,”
“Why?” he asks softly, his fingers brush against your cheek, and he knows why — he does, but he needs to hear it.
“Because I just want…to be the one to protect you,” you admit, tears burning at your eyes, as your thumb traces over his rope burns and bruises, “I wish that I could have,”
“You did a pretty good job, considering I almost was about to get my face cut up,” and he gently wipes your tears away, “imagine what a tragedy that would be,”
You give a watery chuckle, cupping his cheeks, “I’m sorry,” and he opens his mouth, “no i really am. I shouldn’t have slept with you, only to cut and run after. I thought…I thought I was doing you a favor,”
“How?” And you sigh, blinking away your tears.
“I put your life in danger by doing that. I couldn’t do that. I knew the only way you’d let me go is…if I lied to you and said I didn’t care about you,” you bite your bottom lip, “and I’m sorry because I only hurt you more in the end,”
He kisses your lips gently, chastely, his breath warming your lips as he parts from them, “you did,” and you scoff, pushing him playfully, “but as long as you promise not to do it again, I think I can find it in my incredibly generous heart to forgive you,”
You kiss him again, softly, your fingers sliding to the back his neck, into his undercut, “I promise,” and he grins, before leaning back to kiss you again, when a cough behind you catches your attention.
“My father will be getting here shortly you idiots, while you gaze fucking stupidly into each other’s eyes,” she sneers, and you raise an eyebrow.
“You think I’d come here without calling the police? They already have picked up your father — and they should be almost here—“ and the sounds of an ambulance and police sirens come into earshot.
“Good timing,” Satoru mutters, as Yumiko tries and fails to stumble to her feet, and you get up and pin her to the ground. Satoru raises an eyebrow, and watches, as you glance back at him, tilting your head in question, “nothing, it’s just…hot to see you in action,”
You laugh, “Did she hit your head too?” And he shrugs, as he gets onto this feet with shaky legs, “Satoru—“
And he sits next to you, leaning on your shoulder, “just let me rest here for a minute,” he mumbles.
For the first time since you left, Satoru felt like he could finally rest.
And Satoru did rest, he realized as he blinked awake to the ambient sounds of the hospital room, the distinct beep of the heartbeat monitor, the dim light of the moon filtering through the shades, and the distant sounds of people walking through the hall. He hears the sounds of sheets rustling, and his gaze snaps over to his left.
His gaze softens. You were fast asleep beside him, your arms tucked under your head, your breaths were soft, as they were the night you two had spent together. He sat himself up — fingers running through your hair gently. You had fallen asleep before him that night, face buried in the crook of his neck, and your legs entangled with his. And now you slept beside him on a chair, leaning on his bedside.
His fingers carded through your hair again, and you stirred, as he swore under his breath, your eyes fluttered open, “Toru?” you mumbled, still half asleep, and he hummed.
“Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he sighed softly, “why are you sleeping here? You should have gone home,” you sit up, stretching, as you furrow your brow, eyes scanning him for any sign of an injury or distress.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay — you were unconscious, but no concussion thankfully. I tried to wake you up but you wouldn’t wake,” you sigh, words tumbling out almost faster than you can think of them, “they mostly kept you for observation, but are you feeling okay? Should I get the nurse—“
And he’s pulling you into a hug, arms wrapping around you, as he sighs, burying his face in your neck, “I just want to stay like this for a while,” he murmurs, “I got everything I need right here, got it?” He feels you nod, and he feels the hint of your tears on his skin, but says nothing, only his lips quirk, “you did mean your promise?”
“I did, I won’t leave like that again,” and he’s leaning back, head tilted, and you chuckle, “I mean I won’t leave you at all, how’s that?”
“Good girl,” he murmurs, leaning closer, and his heart squeezes when he hears your breath hitch as he does. His eyes flicker to your lips and back, “can I kiss—“
But you kiss him first, softly, your fingers brushing his cheek, and god, why was it that a single touch from you melted him away to nothing? Whittled his world view to a pin where all he could feel, all he could see, was you.
And then you kiss his cheeks, his chin, his jaw, and then your teeth graze the soft part of his neck, drawing a pretty gasp from his lips, as you suck lightly on his skin.
He’s whispering your name, breath sucked from his lungs as if your teeth had pierced through his throat instead of just his skin, “what was that for?”
And you smile, “so everyone knows you’re mine.”
“You’re changing your major?” Suguru raises his eyebrow, as he lounges on Satoru’s couch, holding his head up with his elbow propped against the top of the couch, “your father must’ve been thrilled about that,”
“He lost his shit, but that geezer can fuck off,” Satoru shrugs, “he threatened to not pay my tuition, but once I threatened to go public with his dealings with the yakuza, he saw it my way,”
Suguru tilts his head, “His what?”
You bring over tea from the kitchen, placing it on the table, “After what Satoru found out from Yumiko and her father, their debt to the yakuza would have been paid off by kidnapping one of Satoru’s father’s close relatives, but I was wondering why was the yakuza so eager to do so?”
“Apparently my old man had the brilliant idea of entertaining the yakuza on some deal he was making,” Satoru explains, leaning back on the couch, as you sit against his legs, “and when he backed out, the yakuza wanted to push it through anyway — and well, thus their blackmail of Yumiko’s father, once they found out his daughter went to school with me.”
“Yeah, turns out her father had gambling debts owed to the yakuza,” you sighed, “she got caught in the crossfire — I almost feel bad,”
“Speak for yourself, she drugged me, tied me to a chair, and held a knife to my face,” Satoru scoffs, sipping his tea that he had you drown in sugar.
“Well you didn’t complain when I did that last night,” you reply, making both Satoru and Suguru choke, and you laughed, squealing when Satoru lifts you into his lap to bury his face into your back.
“You two are officially sickening to be around,” Suguru grimaces, still coughing from choking down his tea, “I think I liked it better when he was wasting away in his apartment,”
“You wasted away after I left?” You turn to look at Satoru, who shoots a glare at Suguru, “sorry Geto, that’s not happening again,” and Satoru softens his gaze, pressing a kiss to your head.
“Alright, that’s it, I’m leaving,” Suguru gets to his feet, as he glances back at you two, “don’t rush to get up, I’ll see myself out,” he rolls his eyes.
“Don’t worry we weren’t going to,” Satoru pulls you closer, and Suguru narrows his eyes, before his lips curl into a grin.
“Just for that, I’m sending your girlfriend a picture of the mess you looked like when she left,” Satoru gapes at him, while you bite back a laugh.
“Suguru!” Satoru calls, but the door’s shut, and you’re starting to giggle. He’s pouting now, “so my girlfriend thinks it's funny to see me in the pathetic state she left me in?”
“Oh your girlfriend finds it very funny, and she might even make it her boyfriend’s contact picture,” you smirk, and he’s biting back a smile, “What?”
“This is just the first time we called each other that,” he mumbles, a slight dusting of pink on his cheeks, “it’s nice,” he admits.
“Well, I am yours, aren’t I?” you smile, and he presses a kiss to your lips, as he would again and again.
“My one and only.”
✧ a/n: so this fic was so freaking long. i'm sorry it took so long to post this - i got a little sidetracked by prof geto haha. but i'm hoping to start on the next one soon :). i think i'll put a poll up on which one i should write next! edit: forgot to tag the people who requested this, its now added in T_T
✧ taglist: @teatreeoilll, @intrxspectiv, @marvel-fanaticz, @ilovemybabes, @lwustyz, @jayathelostdragon, @vampzys, @sleazymac-n-cheesy, @soilmayo, @iwassentfromhell, @lobotomy-kaisen, @gojoallmine, @forest-hashira, @h3artpiecexx, @lailarratx, @gummibat, @hanlay, @ilovewoo9, @nvmlolo, @h6avenly, @eriyvesa, @alexandraioann4, @eclipsephase, @sokkasmoon, @aizzon, @makotome9, @daddytojji, @fluffy-pancakes01, @imjustmememe, @spookyy-gracee, @forest-fruits-jam, @that-goth-bisexual, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @lookinreality,
#sab [mlist]#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo smut#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru smut#satoru gojo x you#gojo x reader smut#satoru gojo fanfiction#jjk x reader#jjk fanfiction#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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Oh GOD, breeding kink with Ghost but he's actually determined to get his darling pregnant because after everything they've been through together, how much he loves her and vice versa? I could go on but it's just something to think about. I also strongly believe he'd be that kind of girl dad heheh
Couldn't Love You More (Ghost x F!Reader)
Left pic credit: @ vhenan_virabelasan on IG
Word count: 3.7 k
Tags/warnings: Tooth-rotting FLUFF. Mild, soft smut 🔞, crying (from joy), breeding kink (obv), comfort no hurt. All the softness and love.
A/N: Excuse me, more soft!Ghost coming through! I hope you like this take anon 💕
"I'm tired of using those things."
Simon rarely whispers, hardly ever murmurs, and never coos. But this time, his voice is deliberately soft.
You sigh and put the condom package down on the table. This evening had been a nice change, a pampering for your poor, stressed-out nerves. He had done his best to take your mind off work ever since he got home: he took you out for a 3-course dinner – which reminded you of the early days of your dating – and it was all supposed to end in a good stress relief of a fuck.
You'd sent him suggestive texts all morning, knowing he was coming home today. Those messages were extra naughty because you happened to be ovulating, and juicy, and horny as hell.
And you know he has waited for this moment as well. Which is why you can't get your head around why he wants to raise the subject of using other methods of contraception right before you're about to have sex.
Why would he suddenly start complaining when both of you are already naked – practically seconds before you're about to roll down the condom for him?
"You know I've tried, Simon," you sigh again – you don't even bother to disguise the annoyance in your voice. After all, you've tried basically everything to make it more pleasurable for you to make love without the risk of getting knocked up. You hate the rubber between the two of you just as much as he does, if not more. Apparently you need to remind him how the last attempt with the pill went.
"I become a bloated monster," you say, realizing you're pouting only when he laughs.
You absolutely love it when he does: it's a rare thing, even with you. Even after all these years of love and dedication, the warm, husky chuckle at the back of his throat makes your heart flutter and your head feel dizzy.
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean…?"
The man has a tiny twinkle in his eyes, and the flutter in your heart turns into something heavier, more serious. He looks you up and down as if to weigh whether you're ready to take in what he's about to say.
"How about we just ditch the bloody things?"
Your heart is truly getting it today: it skips a beat or two from what he says. From what he implies.
"But you…” you whisper, still unsure if you're truly discussing the same thing here. “You said that kids are a bad idea."
"They are."
The twinkle in those eyes turns into an amused gleam, the corner of his mouth lifts up a bit from seeing you so shocked.
And Simon never said he didn't want children.
It's just that he has avoided the subject like it's a seasonal flu he doesn't want to catch.
He would make the perfect father: you just know it. Sad to say, but it was one of the main reasons you fell for this man. It's stupid, but it's true: women look for these things. They can tell if a guy would be a good choice for a father. They notice safety, security, the willingness to support and provide.
Biology and instincts be damned, you simply can't deny that Simon is the first man who made you think about what it would be like to have children. And of course the perfect candidate for a father thought that kids were a bad idea…
It seemed like a cruel joke, the way he brushed you off when you first approached him with your shy request. You pussyfooted around the subject, were as delicate as one can be, knowing it might make him uncomfortable.
And it did. It more than just did.
He freaked the fuck out, went to work, and worked himself nearly to death – literally almost got himself killed, and you understood that this was serious. His childhood, his past, the dangers of his work – of course he thought himself unfit for the role.
Infuriatingly, it only made you more convinced that he was the perfect choice. The man was just so fricking responsible.
You barred your mouth shut after that. Instinct told you Simon might just leave if you continued the talk about having kids. Not because he couldn't take it, but because he would want to give you a chance to find someone to raise a family with before it was too late.
It was his view of unconditional love: he was ready to let you go if need be. He would set you free if he suspected it would make you happy.
But then you saw him look at tiny kids – usually the ones that had just learned to walk – with a fleeting longing in his stare. It always turned into a withdrawn sulk, the gaze of a man who has accepted his fate.
He seemed to have the softest spot for little girls, especially when they were laughing and giggling or being unruly rascals, and sometimes flinched when a baby started to cry in the store. He looked a bit distressed for a second, and not because of the noise – but because he couldn't locate the immediate source and go and calm the baby.
That's when you realized he actually wanted kids. The biological clock on this man was ticking just as furiously as yours.
Years passed, and you silently buried your dreams of raising a little family together. He was enough for you, more than enough: you would not break up because of this. No man could ever replace Simon.
But it still hurt. It was like a wound that never healed.
Until this night…
This night, it seemed he would not only cure it but heal it so well it wouldn’t even leave a scar.
You suddenly find yourself under him – his moves are so quick that it's almost like you're teleported there. He sometimes does that: lets you play with him for a while, have your fun on top before reminding you who is in control here.
And this time, he won't even let you play.
"Simon, what are you doing," you sigh with barely concealed exhilaration.
As if you didn't know exactly what he is about to do.
He looks at you with that possessive look he sometimes has when you two have been apart for far too long. And there's something more behind that stare. It tells you that this is serious; this means business. The package you placed on the nightstand remains unopened and, apparently, will be the witness to his mission tonight.
Serves the damn thing right…
You take in the absolute beef of this man: the bulk of pecs above you, the wide, solid middle that nearly swallows you every time you're under him.
You almost disappear between him and the mattress when you two are doing missionary, and it's one of the best feelings in the world. You've wanted to sink your teeth in to those huge, solid shoulders for god knows how many times. Once or twice, you actually did give him a little bite, only a nib, really, during a good pounding – and giggled at the breathless grunt of "Hey" that followed.
The trail of hair, darker in tone compared to the hair on his head, spreads over his abs which rest under a thin layer of fat. The happy trail, as you call it, runs down until it meets the heavy cock that always makes your mouth water like it's your favorite meal.
His hand is weighty, adoring when it comes to rest on your waist – the callous of his palms feels just the right kind of rough as he gives you the softest squeeze and a caress.
And he must know from the wanton looks you gave him all evening that he can just walk right in. Probably knew from those texts already that you've been wet all day long.
You try to spread your legs wider than they can go as he grabs himself to be positioned to your entrance. The fat tip of him feels heavy on your folds as he lazily slides himself up and down your slit, teasing the opening but not going in. It feels heavenly to sense him, all of him, with nothing there between you. There's no lifeless rubber: just his thick velvet meeting your wetness and silk.
The darned man won't even answer your question… Probably knows it's not really a question, just an astonished sigh of love.
"It's…not safe," your head falls back as he pushes the first few inches in – teasing you still by not giving you the full length and thick of him.
"Tired of safe, too," he rumbles softly above you, feeds more of himself in, and you tighten around his cock: receive him with fierce love and yearning. He groans at the sensation – it must feel divine for him, too. It must feel like it's meant to be this way. Now and forever.
You sigh as he starts to move, slow and intense, just the way he knows you like it when there's been too much stress and life has been a bitch. He always makes you feel better, always makes you melt in his arms when you run to him from the unfair, fucked up world.
He's got some bad days too, and that’s when you ruffle his hair, scrub his back in the shower, give him a sloppy little blowjob, or make him his favorite dish, anything to make the tension in those mountains of shoulders disappear.
You two worship each other; there’s no question about that.
"Simon–ah… Truly, are you serious…?"
"Hell yeah."
The idea of him cumming inside you is thrilling enough, but it's not just about that.
You're ovulating, and he's a man in his absolute prime. He reminds you of mountain lions and snow leopards, living their life in harsh conditions and in wandering solitude until… Until the perfect companion comes along. He's simply the most virile male there is; broad, wide, and heavy, always ready when you are.
A man like Simon just cannot be infertile.
His eyes are half-lidded already, and those pale eyelashes make you bite your lip and grab his butt like it would be a life or death situation if he chose to withdraw.
And you know he loves it when you grope his ass and try to assist him with the thrusts.
His little helper, indeed…
"Bloody fucking hell, you feel good…"
His head rolls back, exposing the tendons on his neck, thick, like the rest of him. Everything in this man is thick and broad and good – and fuck – he glides in and out like a dream. Somehow the extra layer of rubber has taken the brunt of his thickness away, but you feel it now, all of it, and it's something you could die for.
He grunts and thrusts, then halts for a while, chuckles all breathless…
"It's gonna be one hell of a show, sweetheart."
He's talking about what comes after. How it will be when there's a new addition and not a crew of two anymore. It brings tears to your eyes to see how he's already thinking about the future – and how he does it with a smile and a pleased chuckle.
"I'm used to sleepless nights," he reminds you softly. "You're not."
Ugh – he's thinking about your well-being when it would only make you the happiest woman on earth to take care of his children. Your children.
"I'll manage," you whisper.
"I know you will."
The tears are so close now; he’s simply the one and only person in this world for whom your love is boundless. It’s endless, overflowing.
He pulls back a little, raises your legs to rest on his shoulders, then crawls forward – he’s about to go deep, and the indecent but insanely sweet position makes you quail from him at first. It’s just too much all of a sudden.
"Wait–"
"The boys said this'll do the trick," he explains, waits until you adjust under and around him.
"The–the boys?"
He had been discussing this with his workmates…?
Discussing which position is the best to help conceive?
"Yeah. Wanna do this properly."
This man might actually be serious… He just might be serious about this, and you still have difficulty grasping it.
"I can't believe you want this," you whisper, still trying to catch your breath on what's happening.
"Believe it or not, it's gonna happen now."
The smallest tear escapes, and you purse your lips, shut them tight to prevent a tiny little bawl from erupting.
"I've always wanted you, Simon," you breathe into the air between you as he starts to make love to you, fill you with intent. "Just you, all these years…"
He rarely whispers, but this time, his voice is the softest hush.
"Right back at ya, darling."
"I–I want to give you… want your kids," you whimper, tears coating your voice as he continues the torture while the sweet, tight love surrounds you both.
"I want a family, Simon," you pant weakly, almost distressed. So urgent, desperate, like the wound is yet to be healed. You've never said those words to him before because you were afraid he might leave.
"Love… fuckin' hell."
He has to stop to catch his breath, to catch the truth. Of course he has known it all along without you telling him, because he simply has those instincts of a wild animal.
But words are powerful… They are magic. And this magic wants itself spelled out.
"I'll give them to you," he promises. "All of it. I swear."
Your eyes drift closed from the full wave of his vow. This mission is a crucial one, then, one of his most important ones. The man loves challenges; he loves when you up the stakes. Perhaps that's what this is about: he doesn't want to be a coward about the thing you both want.
The skulls, the brass and death that always surround him can't take away the fact that he's a lifegiver. No matter what anyone says, men can give life, too. He has already given you so much, and now he's going to give you children.
A few more tears push through, and it's one of the sweetest things in your life: to get fucked by him so good while you're crying from joy.
"Luv. You trust me?"
You open your eyes again, and the sight of him is crystallized through tears. It's the most beautiful thing.
"I trust you," you answer with a shaky breath.
Your trust is even more drugging to him than the tightness of your cunt, it seems. The corner of his eye twitches once, his brows knit together, and a pained look passes in his stare: but it's the sweet kind of pain, just like yours is.
"Feels so good," you whisper, looking up at him with devout love. "So, so good…"
"You're damn right," he sighs, panting with strained, short breaths. "Never felt this good."
He rocks you like you're under the sea, at the bottom of the ocean where the waves are mellow and the seabed is made of the softest sand. You're squeezed between his arms, tightly; he pins you to the bed with his body. The flutter of those pale lashes with every thrust is illegally sweet.
Your lips are bolted shut from the raw sensation, the swelling waves, but when a noise finally erupts, it does so with force.
You know it makes him wild whenever you cry and plead under him. You know it sends him straight to the edge, too: when you moan and tighten around his cock, spread yourself for him to plunder while you're clawing at his back. You were so embarrassed the first time you noticed the red marks on his skin after your little sessions, but he was only pleased and said you should never apologize for that. His body is full of past pain and torture, and still, still, he allows, even wants you to destroy it even more.
"Faster, Simon, please…"
"Yeah, that's it. Beg... Beg for me, love… "
And damn right, he's eating up your wrecked state like it's time for Christmas dinner, and the table is brimming with his favorite food. You're close, so close it would be torture, devastation if he stopped.
"Ya want me to give it to you?" His voice is more rough, more commanding. God, he's close too.
"Yes–give it to me, please–"
Just don't stop, whatever you do, don't stop…
You beg some more, but it's incoherent. Just the way he likes.
Simon–fuck…
There's no reason to it, just ah's and fuck's and love's, all knit together in a sweet, heady mess as you come–
Fuck–!
…the orgasm is so intense it points your toes, makes you wrap around his middle with what little strength you have in your arms and fingers and those tiny little claws. Your nails sink in, somewhere between his shoulder blades: he's so wide you can't quite reach to hug him, but you latch onto him like a drowning person nonetheless.
"Oh–oh fucking god…!"
He comes, right after, buries himself so deep that it stings a little, but you would never, ever complain. He pumps you full, doesn't even move, only arches his back to go even deeper, although he's already buried there to the hilt.
And never has he in all your years together sounded so vulnerable. He usually just grunts and huffs when he comes, but now you get a whole string of words and a fragile, broken pitch. He sounds as if he's near the point of breaking into tears.
It must feel divine to cum inside you instead of a condom, and what's even more, with the intent to fulfill a mission with that shot. Give life.
If you don't get pregnant from this, well… you doubt you ever will.
He's lying on top of you in a heavy, panting heap, sounding like he's just done ten deadlift PRs in a row. You can't help but laugh, breathless, too, and caress him as he comes down from his sex high.
"You can let me go now," you ghost your fingertips up and down his back when he still doesn't move. It's not that you want him to release you, but he's simply too heavy to be lying all over you like this for long periods of time.
"Nah not yet. Gotta make sure..."
He thinks you want him to pull out, and you giggle some more.
"You're crushing me," you laugh. "And we can do this all weekend, silly. If you want to make sure."
His middle contracts with a silent laugh, too.
"Got a fair point there, love."
Finally, he lets you out of the spread. He pulls out, too – that's not necessarily what you wanted, but when he takes you in his arms, you don't complain.
"That was… so nice," you say, suddenly shy. As if this was the first time he wrapped himself around you in a post-coital embrace.
"That was the best."
He's so warm, and the arm around you is heavy, even when lax. Especially when lax. You feel soft and sweet in his hold made of pure strength.
"I'd be surprised if not. You were very determined."
"You think that did it..?"
He's suddenly shy, too. You could swear he has never asked such a fragile question during or after a mission.
"No half-assing with my sweetheart."
One could say he really used his whole ass on this. You know it, because you're the one who spurred him on with weak but eager hands.
"...but I think it would be best to try again tomorrow. Just in case," he suggests, and you can hear the smile. God, that you love him.
"I wouldn't say no to that."
You imagine him waking up to your baby's cry with a sigh and a jaw-dislocating yawn, hushing you back to sleep by telling you it's his turn to go. He would finally locate the source of crying and make it his mission to cradle the little breadcrumb back to sleep, too. You just know Simon would sometimes fall asleep on the sofa while the baby is still in his arms, sound asleep just like their dad.
And you also know the child would make him laugh more. He would have the greatest time hearing all the silly (not to talk about the clever!) things the kid comes up with once it started talking. Simon would listen with a straight face, at first – out of respect – but then he would come to you with an unrestrained smile and a comment: "Did'ya hear what that little thing just said? Unbelievable..."
Whenever the kid had a tricky question, you would send them to Simon. It's decided already. You imagine him explaining things to the child with his steady and calm briefing voice while you're trying to keep your giggle in.
And when the little one was big enough to run around and poke things off the shelves, Simon would embrace you from behind while you're pouring some morning tea and say: "Should we make another one, hmm?"
After all, your little troublemaker would also need a friend to play with...
There's a gigantic, peaceful smile on your face, and Simon should be snoring by now… But he's still awake, and the arm around you draws you closer. He even tucks his hand partly between your body and the mattress. It's the sweetest prison from which you never want to escape.
"What if… What if I get grumpy when I'm pregnant?" You start to chit-chat nonsense while he holds you against a solid chest. You know he will fall asleep soon, and you wish to voice some fragile concerns before he does.
"I'll bring you ice cream to keep you nice and calm," he mutters in the back of your neck, sounding drowsy already.
"What if ice cream won't help?"
"I'll bring you chocolate."
You smile at him having a solution to every problem, no matter how minor.
"You're really not afraid…?"
"Of you being grumpy? Nah I don't think so."
"No," you laugh at him joking around. "Of… changes."
"After all that we've been through? No." He brushes his lips over your neck, and you turn a little to look at him.
"Simon... What made you change your mind?"
He thinks on the answer for a good ten seconds. You know that inward look, which is both a gaze to the past and a shaky, hopeful glimpse to the future.
"Don't wanna die without knowing how our kid would look like. What they would be like."
You swallow past sorrow – it's such a beautiful thing to say that you have to catch your breath for a moment. Then you put your hand over his arm, the one keeping you close to him.
"Guess I got tired of living in fear," he sums up the change of heart, and you have to blink back more tears.
"I'm tired of living in fear, too," you whisper, and he entwines your fingers together. The kiss that follows is like a seal to your change of plans. It's pure hope.
"Could you... Could you say that we'll be fine?" You speak on his lips as softly as you can. You sometimes worry that he's annoyed by your constant need for reassurance, but he sounds as solid as a soldier can be.
"We'll be fine like always. Promise you that."
He doesn't seem to mind: if anything, you could swear that giving you encouragement only makes his chest puff up a little. The man gets satisfaction from you needing him in your life like this.
"Don't worry. I'll take care of us."
You ease fully into his embrace. He has said he'll take care of you many times before, but now your world is changing. It has changed already; you just know it. There's no more you and him, a team of two.
There will be a tiny little breadcrumb too.
#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley fluff#simon riley smut#ghost x you#simon riley x you#simon riley imagine#soft simon riley#soft ghost#fluff and smut#call of duty#mw2 fluff
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“Rob, come on!”
“Don’t you ‘come on!’ me!”
Steve immediately snorts a laugh.
Rob gets all flustered, “I didn’t- I mean- oh fuck you very much Harrington.”
“Don’t worry Rob,” Steve chokes out around his laughter, “I’ll try not to come- try not to get it- oh my god,” Steve dissolves into breathless laughter.
Rob slaps the manila file into Steve’s hands, “I don’t have time for your bullshit,” and she marches off down the corridor, kitten heals clacking on the linoleum.
Steve jogs to catch up, “what would Vicki say?” Steve asks, mock scandalized.
She cuts her eyes at him, scowling from behind her too long bangs, “don’t even joke.”
Steve opens the file while Robin pulls out her key card and straightens her jacket. What she wears is far more stylish than what she did when they were teenagers, but she’s never quite grown out of being a little gangly. Where Steve filled out even further, what with the morning runs and evening swims, weekends spent at the local gym and basketball court, Robin has always remained very slim. She looks good today though, she’s definitely grown up, but thank god she never grew out of being Robin – for some reason today she’s paired an emerald green jacket with navy pinstripe pants and shiny, cherry red shoes and somehow, it kind of, sort of, works.
It’s probably the colorful scarf pulling it together, or something.
“The files a little light,” Steve comments as she activates the security lock and holds the door open for him to pass through.
“Yeap. First fourteen years are...pretty vague. I’ve tracked the parents; the mother’s been dead a few years,” Steve makes a face, “and the dad is a guest of the state,” Steve can feel his face crumple even further. “Yeah. He’d been in and out for a while, assault, aggravated assault, theft, possession, possession with intent, honestly it’s a laundry list, the one that stuck was manslaughter.”
“Oh man, not the mom,” Robin makes a face in answer, “fucking hell.”
Robin holds up her badge for security to see, and they get buzzed through. Steve’s nose tickles with all the Omega scents.
“Luckily he wasn’t around at the end, I don’t know if he even knows about his parents. They kicked him out when he presented,” Steve tuts, “yeah, I know, but it was actually the best thing they ever did for him. He was picked up by his uncle, dad’s brother. The guy had regular, full time employment, suddenly the kid’s got medical records, there’s regular prescriptions for blockers and birth control, his school attendance goes from fifty five percent to ninety seven.”
“So the uncle is a good guy?”
Robin sighs, nods, “hopefully he pulls through.”
Steve continues to scan the file as Robin stops them at the final doorway, leaning against the closed door, “says here he’s non verbal?”
“Most of the time, it’s behavioral, he can speak, does, occasionally. We picked him up from the hospital; he’d gone in with his uncle, cardiac arrest that led to some complications, he's had a couple of surgeries already, but he might be in for a while. He's waiting for a pacemaker now, I think.”
“Shitty.”
“Yeah. Steve, listen a second. This kid...it could be anything. He was clearly malnourished growing up, this could be a trauma response. He might suffer with PTSD, might get separation anxiety-”
“Yeah, Rob, I get it.”
“I just,” she deflates a little, hopeless, “this isn’t the place for him. The other Omega, they mean well, they try and include him, and you know what they’re like, curious about new people, but that just drives him away. He doesn’t come out of his room much. Stopped coming into the dining hall for meals; I tried to wait it out, thought if he got hungry enough he’d cave,” she spreads her hands, “nada. I had to cave; he just eats in his room. And he’s terrible with food. Basically unless it’s been shaped into a nugget or came out of a can, he doesn’t get it. Like he’s never even seen real food before...this just...it’s not the place for him here Steve. All the others, it’s like...like a camp out for them, you know? Not him though, he needs some stability. He needs a home.”
“I get it Rob, it’s not my first rodeo.”
“I know, I know, that’s why I called you first, obviously...it’s just. I know it’s a lot. And I know it’s hard on you, after.”
Steve thinks of Dustin, who still calls him the first Sunday of every month without fail; how he’s expecting his first pup with his mate Suzie. Thinks of Max, how fierce she is, how close they got even in the short time they were together. Her mom made it through rehab though, and got custody back. She still drops by sometimes, and Steve loves to see her. The last time she brought her new boyfriend, Lucas, with her, looking for approval from the only father figure she’s ever really had. The Byers boys who came into his care when their mother had some sort of psychotic episode. How the Beta Jonathan had been so stand offish, where Will, too young to have presented yet, had sort Steve out to cuddle into every night. It was bittersweet, the day Joyce got custody back; Steve was glad it worked out for them, but he was still devastated to see them go.
He’s helped out with a lot of kids over the last six years; he can do this.
“It is...but it’s worth it.”
“Steve,” Robin touches his arm, briefly, “this one will be worse. Fostering kids is one thing, being a temporary pack Alpha for them...Eddie is two months off being eighteen years old, legally able to take a mate, potentially sexually active-”
“Rob, I’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. And if he needs me,” Steve shrugs, “it is what it is.”
“Steve,” she tries again, voice gentle, “I just need you to be sure.”
Steve’s only had one other Omega in his care who was old enough to need Steve in a sexual manner, as well as all the other needs that the people in his temporary pack often have; when she left it was...bad. Neither of them ever say Nancy’s name out loud, haven’t for a couple of years. But Steve knows now, what it is he’s getting into.
He knows this has the potential to be painful, he’s broken enough bonds now. Pack scent bonds; it’s unavoidable. It’s the support of an Alpha, it’s exactly what Steve is there to provide. What happens after will not be Eddie’s problem; it’ll be Steve’s.
And he won’t make the mistake he made with Nancy. This time he’ll remember that Eddie’s going to leave, won’t let himself fall into the illusion that it’s real. He knows now, that it hurts.
Just like it has every other time, when his new pack leaves.
“It’ll be fine Rob. I’ll be fine.”
She bites her lip, not looking sure at all, but she nods and leans more against the door, pushing it open with her shoulder as Steve follows her though. There’s laughter along the hall, two young Omega playing chase rush past them, “take it outside please!” Robin yells after them.
Steve tags along, knows all the doorways are bedrooms; young Omega on this wing, all in need of a safe haven. Steve can hear the bustle and chatter of the dining room, the clatter and scrape of cutlery loud as they pass the doorway. At the very end of the hall, the last door stands propped open by a plastic chair, there’s a red plastic tray with a plate sitting on it. There’s evidence of crumbs and sauce from what had been eaten, but the peas haven’t been touched. The window is open too, letting in a fresh breeze. The Omega is curled up, wedged in the corner of the room on his single bed, a book held open in his hand as he stares at them in the doorway.
“You know you won’t die if you eat a green thing, right?” Robin asks him.
He tilts his head, his curly hair shifting, and purses his lips, kind of frowning with one eyebrow quirked up, to Steve is sort of says, ‘why take the risk?’. Steve has to school his features so he doesn’t laugh.
“Okay Eddie, this is Steve, and he’s been kind enough to offer to put a roof over your head for the next little while, how does that sound?”
Eddie shrugs.
“Good enough for me,” Robin replies like Eddie’s spoken, “okay, pack your things.”
It’s not a scowl, not really, but the way Eddie side eyes the radio means...well, Steve’s not even sure what it means, “you can change it, if you like.”
Eddie huffs and shrugs, crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in the car seat, looking out of the window. The next song comes on; Steve pretty sure it’s Taylor Swift, and Eddie suddenly lunges for the radio. He presses the seek button until he hits something that, to Steve, sounds like two angry guitars hate fucking in a bear infested mine, but he lets it go since Eddie doesn’t turn it up any louder.
Steve carries Eddie’s unfortunately light bag of belongings into the house, “we can go shopping, maybe tomorrow or the day after. I don’t know if you know how this works or not, but you have a state budget, or rather, I do, for you. So don’t worry, if you need anything, just ask.”
He leaves Eddie’s bag at the foot of the stairs, Eddie cautiously following him as Steve points out the blindingly obvious, “lounge, kitchen, through there is the garage, that’s out to the yard.” Eddie eyes are huge in his head, darting around like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “Utility through there, bring me your basket when you need, I’ll show you how to use the machines. That’s my office, I work from home two days a week, but I have to go into the office for three,” there’s a distinct spike of anxiety in the air, “but that isn’t for a couple of weeks, or until your Alpha is better, so don’t worry yet. One of the perks; you get me PTO.”
Eddie frowns at him, “Paid Time Off.”
Eddie frowns again like Steve’s presented him with an alien. Never mind.
“Okay, upstairs, this is my room,” Steve opens the door, watches as Eddie scans the room with poorly disguised interest. The bed is neatly made, the thick comforter and pillows all fluffed up. The carpet a deep gray and the rest of the room dark rich wood with some splashes of forest green, “now, I’ll show you your room, but it’s entirely up to you where you sleep. I under stand that your uncle was your familial Alpha and you lived in close quarters so...where you sleep is up to you. If you need that.”
Eddie’s gone so red Steve worries his head might explode; Steve, somehow, manages not to laugh at him. He shows Eddie to the next door down, “this is your room, I will never come in here unless you explicitly invite me or I think there’s a genuine cause for concern, okay? There’s a lock on the door, but I do have a master. So if you don’t want me barging in, you need to let me know you’re okay when I ask, okay?”
Eddie nods.
“Good, I need to be clear about that from the start,” Steve puts Eddie’s bag down in the threshold, “there’s extra nesting materials in the top of the wardrobe, the bathroom is through there, help yourself to all the toiletries, they’re for you. Feel free to chill out for a bit, get cleaned up, I’ll do food for about six ish.”
And Steve leaves him to it.
Steve’s chicken parm is, even if he says so himself, pretty damn good. His sauce is ninety percent blended vegetables; carrots, tomatoes, bell peppers; a trick he learned when trying to hide more vegetables in the kids food. He’s got a similar recipe for mac and cheese that no one has ever complained about, even though the sauce is at least fifty percent carrot.
Also, he figures the breaded chicken is just, like, a giant chicken nugget, right?
So that has to look sort of familiar. And you can get spaghetti out of a can so, surely, this isn't so different.
If Eddie doesn’t like cheese...well, that’s just unnatural. Steve’ll just have to take him back to Robin.
Steve’s got everything on plates and is about to call for Eddie, but the kid appears in the doorway, exactly six oclock. He’s got his arms wrapped around himself, uncertainty coloring the air, but he’s here, that’s the important thing.
They eat together in the breakfast nook, Eddie picks at his food rather than just eating. Steve tries to match his pace, suspicious that as soon as Steve stops eating, Eddie will stop too. He’s right.
Steve makes a mental note to do a grocery shop and go heavy on the snacks. Steve can see the evidence of Eddie growing up malnourished. He’s too pale, his eyes far too large in his face, his joints protrude and his clothes hang off his frame.
There’s no conversation, but Steve doesn’t push it. It’s not time yet.
They watch TV for a while before bed, Eddie curled up tight at the opposite end of the couch, as far from Steve as he can get. Steve adopts a relaxed posture, lets himself sink down. Pulls a blankets off the back of the couch to go across his knees and leaves another in the middle, an obvious hint to Eddie if he wants it. He doesn’t touch it.
Eddie slips away after an hour, heads upstairs. Steve watches the kid go but doesn’t say anything. It’s a pretty solid start; he’s had much, much worse. Eddie doesn’t appear to be any kind of flight risk, which is a huge plus in Steve’s book.
He messages Rob with an update before pulling out his laptop and responding to some emails. He might legitimately have a couple of weeks off work, but that doesn’t mean he wants to return to a landslide of unanswered messages when he does go back.
He heads to bed a little after. Showers and goes through his night time routine; it’s only nine but it’s been a bit of a day, and Steve intends to read for a while. It’s thirty minutes before he hears Eddie’s door open and close. The creak of the stairs. Steve sneaks to his own door, opens it a little and stands there, ears straining.
Listens as the front door rattles but doesn’t open. The key is right there, Eddie’s not trying to escape; he’s checking the house is secure. Steve hears the fridge door a few moments later, then the TV, turned down low.
Steve goes back to bed, happy that Eddie is already making himself at home. He’s asleep thirty minutes after that. And he sleeps well, until something disturbs him, the bed covers shifting. Eddie freezes when he realizes he’s woken Steve. Steve’s still half asleep, and it’s easy to just not make a big deal of it, he yawns, lifting the covers. Eddie slips in, rolling over and wriggling back, allowing himself to be the little spoon. Steve throws a leg, an arm, and the covers over Eddie’s slim frame, and easily goes back to sleep.
When Steve wakes up, Eddie’s gone again.
Steve finds Eddie on the couch. It’s a scene he’s used to, the TV displaying the little, ‘are you still watching?’ box. He’s had a lot of kids who can’t sleep without company, or background noise, or something, and finding them on the couch is pretty normal.
What’s not normal is the position Eddie is sleeping in, his head hanging off the edge, one arm flopped awkwardly above his head and the other bent underneath him, one leg hooked over the back of the couch. He’s snoring. It’s...kind of loud.
And also kind of adorable. Steve pushes those feelings down reminds himself; he cannot get attached to this one.
He knows how much it hurts.
#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#steddie#fliclet#robin buckley#waynes going to be fine#obviously#alpha steve harrington#omega eddie because he's so pretty#omega eddie munson
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tease tidbit tuesday
tagged by @wikiangela @forthewolves @eddiediaztho @eowon @mammameesh
tagging @hippolotamus @alyxmastershipper @apothecarose @thewolvesof1998 @folk-fae @wildlife4life @monsterrae1 @911-on-abc @theotherluciferr @heartshapedvows @bonheur-cafe @disasterbuckdiaz @loserdiaz @giddyupbuck
putting most of this under the cut, because i highly doubt this wip will be finished, hence putting this for tease tidbit tuesday
okay, putting buddie in a miraculous ladybug au since that show and buddie are brainrotting me super bad atm. if some of this doesn't make much sense, that's because i just wrote this. basically, eddie is ladybug and buck is chat noir. (keeping eddie as ladybug because male ladybugs are still called ladybugs so *shrugs* anyways that's it here's the snippet!
The thing is, Buck may not be able to see Eddie, but Chat Noir is.
It’s reckless and stupid. Possibly on the verge of letting his secret identity become known if he does this. He can already hear Maddie’s arguments of checking in on the Diaz’s in his superhero persona while this lawsuit is still going on. How he might slip and say something so Buck Eddie can’t help but figure out that it’s him. Maddie always claims that if she didn’t see him transform right in front of her when she moved back she would figure out Chat Noir is him anyways.
For some reason he doesn’t care. He knows Eddie is trustworthy. If anyone can keep a secret, it’s Eddie.
Buck lands on the Diaz balcony railing when he’s face to face with the man himself. He has to force himself not to yelp in surprise. Still in the Chat Noir persona which means he has to appear calm, cool, and collected. Along with suave and secure in what he’s doing. Eddie, meanwhile, pulls back in shock at the sudden intruder on his property.
“Chat Noir?” he asks. Eddie’s eyes rake over him as if he can’t believe Buck is actually there. Or well, that Chat Noir is actually there. Buck has to admit the disbelief in Eddie’s eyes is more welcome than the hostility he’s seen earlier today at the grocery store. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Oh. Um. Patrol?” Buck winces as his tone makes the statement into a question. “Patrol. I’m doing patrol right now. With Ladybug. He has the other half of the city. We do it about once a week to make sure everyone stays safe from being akumatized.” There. Sounds legit.
Eddie’s mouth twitches up. Buck is familiar with that expression. He gives Chris that same look whenever he’s lying to his dad. Eddie will let Chris lie to him long enough to realize that whatever web he’s spun has become too tangled for him to weave himself out of. Buck’s not sure why Eddie is currently giving him that look, but he’s going to ignore it. “Right. Sounds fun. How do you two coordinate all that? Big city like LA? Must be complicated.” Eddie leans back against the balcony, allowing himself to get closer to Buck who’s still crouching on the railing.
Jumping fully onto the balcony, Buck waves his hand in the air. “Ah, you don’t want to learn all that. Too boring.” Eddie snorts. “Anyways, how are things with you, Eddie?”
“How do you know my name?”
Buck scrambles to think of some lie. “Also part of the job description. To know every person I’m supposed to save. You’re Eddie. You have a son, Chris.” His smile widens. “Awesome kid, by the way. Great choice of costume last Halloween.”
That brings a groan from Eddie. “He went as you. Of course you think it was a great choice.”
“And you made a fantastic Ladybug with him. Though not as great as the original.” He brings a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell him I said that.”
A laugh escapes from Eddie’s lips as if he couldn’t help it. “I’ll…I’ll try not to.” There's silence for a few seconds. “My friend had a bet on how many people would wear Chat Noir costumes.”
Buck tries to keep his composure under control. He remembers that stupid bet he did. Although at the time it didn’t seem stupid. An ego boost - a way to see how much everyone in the city actually likes him. He was looking forward to Halloween. Constantly going to stores to see which costume would be sold out the fastest. Ladybug’s was always the winner by just a hair. When he saw Chris dressed as him he felt such elation he felt like he had all his powers without wearing his suit right then and there.
“Oh? Who won?” he asks, pretending as if he didn’t already know.
“I - I think he said Ladybug did.” Eddie rubs his hand over his mouth. That’s when Buck notices the bruises.
“Hey. What happened here?” He goes over to take hold of Eddie’s hand. Eddie immediately snatches his hand back. As if snatching his hand would erase the fact that Buck already saw the damage.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Eddie. Come on. It’s me.”
Eddie’s brows furrow at him in confusion. Right. Buck forgot. He’s not Buck, he’s Chat Noir. There’s no reason for Eddie to confide in him. No reason for Eddie to trust him. “I mean, who better to unload your problems than a random superhero, huh?”
Eddie looks like he’s fighting something within himself. Then finally he nods, agreeing. “I just needed to punch something.” The words send an uncomfortable sense of deja vu. Something Ladybug said at their last akuma attack. I need an excuse to punch something right now.
“Any-any particular reason?”
“Buck.” Buck winces at the venom that laces Eddie’s voice when he says his name. “My friend. Or, at least I thought he was. Sometimes I even thought he might be-”
Buck holds his breath as he waits for Eddie to finish his sentence. Might be what? “Things are just really fucked up right now. Chat Noir, I don’t think this is something you can fix right now. Or Ladybug,” he adds as an afterthought.
“Are you sure? Just tell me what’s going on and I can talk to Buck and-”
Eddie gives him a sad smile. “No. But thank you. Really.” His hand settles on Buck’s shoulder. Like it’s done so many times before. “Go out and finish your patrol.” The smile then turns sly. “Say hi to Ladybug for me, will you?”
Buck watches Eddie head back inside. When Eddie notices Buck still hasn’t moved, he makes a shooing motion with his hand. The movement is so similar to Ladybug that Buck can’t help but roll his eyes and jump away onto the next balcony. Shaking his head, he grumbles under his breath how stubborn the man is.
Maybe he’ll just have to do more “patrols” and see if any chinks in Eddie’s armor start to crack.
He’s not really paying attention to where he’s going. Just enjoying the feel of the night wind against his body as he’s gliding through the city. So it’s a surprise when suddenly a familiar, wry voice says next to him, “Patrolling without me, kitty?”
“Ladybug? Shit, where did you come from? How did you even know I was here?”
The red and black spotted suit shakes with laughter at Buck’s fumble. “I hear things. Have any news to share?”
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SXF MANGA REREAD: CHAPTER 1
The conclusion of the second season has left me alone and bereft please join me as I fill the void.
We start with some bitchin spy action
oh shit
Truly the first few chapters are why I think you see so many people upset about the series settling into a slow burn family comedy. You start off with some juicy Hollywood movie shit here. Assassination! Straight off the bat! Cars careening off bridges! Great stuff.
Now, it’s time for a little quick exposition. We got two countries, they don’t like each other, they are using spies, blah blah.
SHODDY WORLDBUILDING:
In Japanese they are straight up written Eastern Country and Western Country (with “Ostania” and “Westalis”) in furigana. Tatsuya Endo, please.
There is one spy who’s the best tho
Here he is!! It’s our boy!!
He’s bamboozled that bad guy out of those silly pictures!! Time to also be mean to the dude’s daughter.
lol what a dick
A NOTE ON FASHION:
“Robert” is not as fashionable as “Loid,” the double breasted suit was already on the way out in the early 60s (The SXF vibe seems to be early 60s? Except when it isn’t?) being replaced by the single breasted suits we generally see him wearing. Edgar also is wearing a double breasted suit, but he doesn’t seem like the type to worry about fashion trends.
Loid however does seem to really care about looking sharp, and I’m proud of him for that. It’s basically his only non spy-related interest. Maybe someday he will have two interests!
Loid gives Karen a new complex, and then waltzes out of her life. Onto the next mission!
SHODDY WORDBUILDING:
Berlint 😂
On the train to Berlint, Loid learns that he has to become a fake dad for silly bullshit reasons that are vital to world peace. This silly bullshit is called Operation Strix, and it is so, so important. The most important mission ever.
I wonder if there’s some significance to the name Strix? It’s a mythological creature, but also a genus of owl. In Japanese it’s written 梟, which literally means owl, so maybe the mythological part is not intended?? I want to know more.
The early art is weird at times
ON THE SPELLING “LOID”:
I hate it.
The real estate guy asks him if he has a girl or a boy, and he says he doesn’t know yet. I feel like I should hate these jokes where Loid says something mind-blowingly suspicious, but I actually love it every time.
Anyhow! On to step two: secure a child.
Tatsuya Endo has a real talents for making just the most detestable jerks. I love to hate you, drunk shitty orphanage guy!
It’s her!! It’s Anya!! The early art is, again, a little weird here.
The absurdly hard crossword puzzle is such a good gag.
Daughter acquired!
ON THE TRANSLATION “PAPA”:
I love it. There’s no real equivalent to “chichi” in English, so they went with something that means dad, but is also a little weird and a little baby talk-y. Perfect. I watched a couple episodes of a fan sub of the anime, and they translated it as “Daddy” which is cute but is simply not weird enough. Anya is a Weird Little Girl.
Anya immediately begins helping, by acting deeply weird and suspicious. We love it.
I love that Spy Wars is just always on somehow.
Onwards! They go out and do some shopping! Anya is a lot! Loid doesn’t understand her! He goes to his local library about it, which is kind of adorable? And gives an early glimpse into a fundamental aspect of his character. With enough information, Loid can accomplish anything. He is certain of this. He has built his whole life around this concept.
LOID HAS NEVER HAD FUN IN HIS LIFE:
You are accidentally playing hide and seek with your daughter somehow, with no idea that it is even happening. Amazing.
Anyhow he finally barricades her in the fucking house lol
It’s Franky!! I love you, Franky.
He tells Loid that his new kid legally does not exist, and has been returned to the orphanage 4 times, and Loid decides not to look further into any of that. Greatest spy in the west.
Meanwhile Anya is causing problems. I love her.
Edgar is back, which doesn’t make sense because the Edgar stuff was happening in another city, but I guess Edgar is just also in Berlint now for some reason.
We get a brief flashback to Anya’s time as an Eleven-style lab rat, which is sad. What does “studying” entail? I think we will all be sad when we find out ☹️
Loid returns and we are treated to a sick. ass. fight. Loid takes a guy out with a can of tuna. He breaks a chair over a dude’s head. I think there was some commentary from Endo (maybe in Eyes Only?) about how using improvised weapons just hits harder. We know more about cans of tuna than guns or whatever. We can imagine what taking a tuna can to the face would feel like.
What a dick.
Anyhow, Loid bamboozles the same guy with the same trick a second time, bravely rescuing Anya, and now it is time for a sad flashback
Don’t cry, little german boy.
Anyhow, the world where kids don’t cry thing should be so corny, but they really pull it off somehow.
For some reason he decides to walk back into danger and beat those guys up?
When did he have time to set these traps??
Sick
Loid kicks everyone’s asses, and then, there’s Anya waiting for him, and she wants to stay with him. This is the moment. This is the moment where he realized, subconsciously, that he loves her. Consciously is still a work in progress. But like, he already cares about her so much. It’s been been like 2 days, and he’s gone from “I hate kids” to “I can’t abandon this little girl who I callously adopted to use for my own purposes”
(…This is the plot of the Despicable Me, isn’t it?)
This little scene on the streetcar warms my heart. Papa is a cool liar.
Ok, jesus christ this chapter is long. I didn’t realize that we also have getting into Eden happening the first chapter??
Anya takes the entrance exam, her cheating plan, as usual, does not really work out, but she does her best and she passes.
Loid experiences a single moment of relief and collapses 😂 The man is so powered by sheer anxiety that his body doesn’t know how to react.
Anya gets the mail, there is a little cute cuddling, and then, the kicker! We need a mama!!
Chapter rating 4/5
A little too much stuff happens in this first chapter, on reread. The streetcar scene is such a logical ending! The Eden test, and then the subsequent complication of needing 2 parents felt tacked on, almost like that should have been padded out a little and made its own chapter, but also I am eager to get to my girl Yor so 🤷♀️
Looking back on some of their earlier interactions, Loid has not been thinking through Strix logically from the start. This kid has no birth certificate, and she has been repeatedly returned to the orphanage like a naughty puppy for no obvious reason. She is (allegedly) 6 and she solved a crossword where one of the words was “symplectomorphism” with no adult assistance?? There are some questions he should be asking here, but instead he’s buying her posters and snacks.
He hasn’t had anything to love in so long, you guys. He’s going to love this kid with everything he has, it’s just going to be a long, long time before he understands that it’s love.
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hi I love every thought you add to that literal magical healing cock au. That last one about the dad w a terminal illness made me think of whether he'd want to research an actual cure and maybe grapple (perhaps at/with Spock) about how both his instincts feel selfish - to be able to potentially find a cure for others vs to be able to end any harm now. Like the latter seems obvious but considering what happened with his own dad y'know? Also like what level of suffering is ok to let resolve through traditional means and who gets to decide that. It's just such a delish thought experiment of an au
(re: this)
okay but YES, absolutely, I really haven't decided on a what sort of tone I want for the story because on one hand, there IS an inherent comedy to the situation, but on the other hand, I'm sitting here like. If Starfleet finds out, I don't care HOW chill they are, there is ABSOLUTLEY going to be some ambassador on some planet they're trying to get a treaty with with some sick relative that Starfleet would just, like, mention. Like no no no we're not trying to pimp you out, we promise, but also. Here's an interesting fact, huh?
It's one of the main reasons why it HAS to have an end date tbh.
And re: the dad stuff, I don't know if I'll include it because it really is a long diversion, but part of it also is, like. The crewmember (we'll call him Dan, I need a name), he can't just go and ask McCoy, but also? It's his DAD, so he also can't not ask McCoy? And Dan is having like an entire nervous breakdown about it until McCoy finds out through other means and then has to, basically, volunteer? And afterwards he just. Asks the dept heads to just tell him if anyone else is in that same position of just. Torn between two evils? Can't ask him to do that/can't not try to save someone important to them?
But YES re: is he just??? going to go around and sleep with everyone who's got this terminal illness???? is he just letting ppl die every second he's not sleeping with someone???? (also the benefits of being on a five year mission, he can't exactly just quit and become a full time sex healer) (jim reminds him of this very aggressively one night when mccoy is Deep In It)
And YES, like with the main crew he's friends with them, so it's easier! If it's his friend suffering, then offering isn't - they're friends! He's. He's helping out a friend in a specific situation with a time crunch factor! the scenarios i picked are all specifically time crunch or in uhura's case just: prolonged pain. But where exactly is that line?
I also - which I probably won't include because it's a lot heavier than I was thinking I was gonna make this - was thinking of a security officer actually dying, and his bf just. Having a breakdown and basically demanding that McCoy save him? And McCoy has to be like. He's dead. And then he has to grapple with like. What if he wasn't dead. What if he was in a coma. What if -
And then he drinks himself into passing out, tbh.
Also somewhat off-topic, but putting aside the magical healing cock, I do love the idea of crewmembers just coming to McCoy for a second opinion on treatment for their family & friends half a galaxy away? They're like "hey my sister's sick and her doctor said it's ___ but you're you, so can you take a look at her medical records? She already gave permission." Like he's just everyone's on call second opinion whether he likes it or not lmao?
anywho i am indeed extremely torn between having this be mostly silly shenanigans with a layer of angst and some grappling with the inherent coercion, or just like. a LOT of angst and some grappling with the human condition with a layer of silly shenanigans wrapped around it, lmao.
do they keep it from starfleet command? do they not keep it from starfleet command, but kirk and uhura work together to make sure mccoy doesn't get even one (1) msg from them about his condition? does spock sit in mccoy's office while mccoy talks himself into circles, because kirk always interrupts and gets angry, but spock will let mccoy talk himself out, even as he gets into, like, the really fucked up aspects of what he's trying to deal with/what some part of him really does think he should be doing?
like there's two different stories here haha, and i don't know that they fit together, but they're both interesting!
but also dan's parents ask after that "handsome young doctor fella" the entire rest of that 5 year mission lmao, and while dan is UNSPEAKABLY grateful that mccoy saved his dad's life, and mccoy & dan absolutely cannot look each other in the eyes 🙃
i want it to be the lighter story, but BUT there's just a lot to unpack around the edges of it that's hard to ignore!!
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Not here to dogpile! I promise!
And while I definitely think Geto wasn’t the greatest at raising Nanako and Mimiko since they do have this unhealthy codependency thing. It should be noted that Geto didn’t have anyone from the cult/family to raise Nanako and Mimiko.
The author stated in the internet that it was only Geto himself that raised them. And it was only Nanako and Mimiko’s decision to join because of how much they love him. It’s unhealthy yes, but Geto is the type who can’t really say no to his precious daughters.
I mean. I definitely think it’s way better than what Gojo did with Megumi. Gojo did not raised him. He literally only “save” him due to his curse technique and thinking he would be a strong ally growing up.
Do I think Gojo cares about Megumi? To a certain degree. But definitely not in a family way. Gojo views relationships a bit too transactional. I mean Gojo was aware about Megumi’s suicidal tendencies, but not completely understanding where it stems from. And plus, there was a flashback in the manga of Gojo literally had him dragging a young Megumi on a mission already. Definitely not dad material.
Gojo basically only “raised” Megumi as a child soldier essentially. I mean, you can’t blame him. Because that was how Gojo was raised, so he thought it was the best for him. Overall. Geto = Dad (not the best but he still raised them with love and care). Gojo = Not Dad.
OH MAN ok so first i must preface this by saying that some of this really depends on what you make of their interactions, because not all of this is stated in the text. in the end, we may just have different interpretations ^^
so while it does not seem that geto directly raised nanako and mimiko as followers in his cult, he is still a cult leader himself and it doesnt seem that he makes much of an effort to shield them from what hes doing and what his ideologies are. its very clear that the two worship him as a father figure and greater & both of the twins subscribe to his movement. nanako and mimiko are directly involved in the sorcerer's side of his plans, acting as some of the key players in his plans and even willing to assassinate other sorcerers in his name.
in the end, even with how much geto loved mimiko and nanako, he was subjecting them to incredibly harmful ideology and indoctrinating them into a genocide effort. all in all, that is abuse, no matter how much he loved them.
on gojo's side of things, i really cant claim that he was the best father figure either, but i dont think he was trying to be in the first place. when geto breaks off from jujutsu tech and takes the girls and takes over the star religious group, gojo instead goes to the fushiguros, whom he was either previously ignoring the existence of or he was putting off confronting toji's last words until geto's defection prompted it (we really don't have confirmation of his thought process here and if he had already planned on going to the fushiguros, so this is all speculation).
in any case, the main thing is that gojo and geto practically swap ideologies by the end of the past arc. where geto turns to a violent and drastic solution, gojo instead carries out in the spirit of geto's previous ideals, while also trying to secure a better future for the next generation of sorcerers. interestingly, its right after geto assumes control of the cult in the manga we are shown gojo meeting megumi.
what it seems to ME from their interaction, is that gojo is considering tojis last words and is giving megumi a choice. megumi rejects the idea of going to the zenin clan on the basis that it would make tsumiki unhappy (i wonder if gojo says this because he knows how they would treat tsumiki as a non sorcerer, or because he as a clan kid has some prior experiences. who knows). to be honest, i dont think that megumi had a plethora of options. he could have gone to the zenin clan with tsumiki and been well trained but unhappy, or he could have tried to evade the zenin clan for as long as possible, which wouldn't have been possible to keep up forever without having proper training on his techniques. gojo offers megumi a third option, presumably acting as a buffer and helping to train megumi. it IS possible that gojo could have offered megumi protection from the zenins and to lead a normal life away from sorcery indefinitely, but theres debate if thats even possible. megumi was going to be sold for an [unknown] large amount of money because of the strength of his sorcery, which likely means that the zenin at least knew he could be an incredible asset. maybe someone they didnt see as impressive or valuable might have been able to get out if they fought hard enough, like maki and mai, but that probably wouldnt have been possible for megumi. the sheer strength of his sorcery puts him in trouble in the jujutsu world, whether hes targeted or recruited for it.
i dont think that gojo was specifically training megumi to be a child sorcerer and an asset to him, because his parting words to me imply more of gojos own issues with geto (of course, speculation) than wanting megumi to be a strong ally of his, especially because gojo is not looking at megumi and has a kind of melancholic smile.
i have seen the interview that gege did where he claims that gojo did it to "seek human resources", but i do think that its an incredibly strange setup, especially with having the contrast with how geto is solidifying his own beliefs in how to move forward in the jujutsu world.
part of the reason im iffy about stuff like this is because gege will set up and have gojo act as an adult who is actively trying to help the children he meets and change the jujutsu world starting with the younger generations, and then he will turn around and say that gojo doesnt care as long as the kids are strong. i know that gege is known for being harsh on gojo and hating his character, so i wont lie, i dont put as much weight into stuff like that....
dont get me wrong, gojo was definitely not "dad" material! in reality, i think he was more of a mentor figure than anything else. we know that he gave financial support, he helped megumi train, and he also helped give him advice, but he definitely wasn't there 100% of the time. in fact, im not entirely sure he would have been able to do that at all considering he would have likely had to take up even more missions than he was already doing to take up the slack from geto defecting. in contrast, i dont think that geto should have assumed being their father figure at all, especially in the way he did, considering hes also gojo's age when he takes the twins in (assumed around 19-20s) because he posits himself to the twins as self assured and morally superior to nearly everyone else around them, which is also very unhealthy because at that age you yourself are still learning, and if youre taking care of young and impressionable kids who are willing to take anything you say as the ultimate truth, you should definitely let them know that youre not like. a god on earth. NOT THAT HE SAID THAT but like you get what i mean
#i WISH gojo would have been able to help the fushiguros more#but he was pretty isolated from everyone else at that point and was probably busier than ever#that and hes not the most mature guy he definitely would have needed more help or at least less responsibilites#its why i like the idea of shoko and nanami and eventually ijichi helping him raise them#not the best cast for child rearing of course but it might have been better than whatever gojo might have managed on his own#ask#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen spoilers#OH ONE MORE THING MY BAD#gojo definitely did not take on getos old beliefs of what being a sorcerer means#but in the end his more selfish approach seems to work out well for him and the people he helps anyway#cult mention
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I was wondering if you could do a pre-dad!MH/EMH guys (of your choice kinda like the one you did way back in march) before they were traumatized and everything went downhill (😭) I kinda feel like they’re parenting would kinda change sense they are not burden by their respectives trauma. Besides Tim cause he was been through it since birth but he was getting better
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Warnings: I don't think that there's really anything other than just some minor talk about common parent-child issues
Author’s Snip: I wrote for just Evan, Tim, and Vinny. If you guys want the others/any others than just say so in my inbox.
Notes: I arguably picked the most dad-esk characters in EMH and MH. I mean Evan technically already was a dad so he's already got some dad in him other than just his vibes
I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.
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Evan
I've mentioned before that Evan would be the type of dad that would basically be his kid's best friend
Obviously he'll put on the parental pants when he needs to to make sure you aren't doing things you aren't meant to and also take care of your needs
But Evan believes that a parent and child's relationship should be one of the closest bond and relationship in a person's life. And so he has a big emphasis in making sure that you two get along and have a close bond
You're honestly his whole world, he practically revolves around you. He's secretly really doting on you and will deny it if anyone points it out
He's still his regular self and maybe to some more serious people he seems like an immature guy and that he might not be the best dad
But Evan really does do a lot and isn't afraid to put your needs before his
Vinny and Jeff are like uncles/god-fathers to you since you probably grew up and were taken care of by them too
I've said this before but Evan would be such a good fun dad. He's perfect for being a dad
Tim
I've talked about before the being a parent is scary because he's scared of his condition and the Operator getting in the way
But let's just. Pretend he doesn't have that, just so we can see this man be a father without any worries of paranormal beings and things tormenting him or his child
I think Tim is still scared of messing up and being a dad at first.
I mean, who isn't. You are in charge of meeting the child's needs, providing safety and security, forming morals and understandings, and have to put in a lot of physical, emotional, and mental energy.
So it all scares Tim a bit, but he's able to get it together and find some support systems like Brian and the rest of the group
He's actually not too bad at it and actually grows from it
It's a little bit funky for him when their small but he gets used to that
I feel like he's best as the dad who you can talk to and he can give you some life advice and stories that are semi-good. I mean it's not bad so at least it's not that
Vinny
Vinny makes a pretty okay to good dad
His personality and attitude strikes be as both a good one for being a dad but also that maybe be would have some faults
He seems like he'd enjoy it and the thought of being a dad and makes jokes about it
But sometimes Vinny will have moments where he doesn't know what to do or how to handle it
Like lets say is kid is a teen and they're doing stuff and getting into things that he doesn't like, or he and his kid get into a fight/argument
He sort of has no idea what to do and might put his foot down too harshly or not enough
I feel like it would be a little to heavy with him because he just sort of trouble shoots and just goes off what he thinks he should in that moment rather than stepping away for a moment and thinking about it
He's doing his best, don't get me wrong
But sometimes he just has a moment where he just doesn't know how to handle something and thinks that he should
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Umireread: Legend of the Golden Witch - Chapter 1: Arrival at Niijima Airport
Sat, Oct 4 1986 - 8:00AM
The following contains spoilers for the entirety of Umineko. Please do not read if you are yet to finish it.
And we’re off! …With the dulcet tones of Doorway of Summer heralding us in. I don’t think it’s a bad track by any means, but you’d struggle to create a song that screams “generic VN” more than this even if you distilled it in a lab. I suspect that this (and other questionable elements at the beginning) is a specific choice to try and lull the reader into a false sense of security (to subvert expectations, if you will,) but man does it do a huge disservice to the story. I like the scene in Kinzo’s study, and it definitely has some hooks to it, but I don’t think it outweighs the general nothingness we get here.
Also worth mentioning that Doorway of Summer is like 2 minutes long. That’s a tiny song to be looping over and over and over through these introductions.
I think it’s really interesting how much of a deal they make out of everyone’s names consisting of unconventional Kanji readings - that’s absolutely a hint towards the intricate wordplay that the entire Epitaph revolves around. Kind of a shame that there’s literally no way to translate that into English properly.
Presented without comment. I’m going to nod at the low hanging fruit, but I don’t really have anything to add that hasn’t been said before.
You know, I’m fairly sure that I missed the connotations of this dialogue the first time round. I definitely wouldn’t say I was innocent 10 years ago, but a lot of the innuendo must have gone over my head.
Wow! A lot of gross writing early on! This one is kind of interesting because there’s definitely a double meaning there. After all, giving birth to George before Krauss and Natsuhi were able to conceive was basically her weapon against the rest of the family. Literally true for Eva indeed.
I find it funny that Ange is set up here and basically no-one catches it on their first read because you’re already being introduced to this host of characters that you don’t really care about yet, being told that they all have weird names, and are now being told about offscreen people who don’t appear relevant just yet. I guess it’s an interesting point to pick up on if you go into Umineko knowing everyone here is going to be murdered, so Battler’s sister will be left behind, but it’s absolutely a detail you’re not going to remember 130,000ish words from now at the end of Episode 1.
…Wow yeah there sure are a lot of front loaded sexual references, huh. I wonder if that’s Ryukishi’s attempt to try and keep people interested through all these introductions? It kind of ties back to what I was saying earlier about how Umineko kind of opens rather generically so it can punch you harder later, but really all it’s doing is dissuading the people who’d really be interested in the later stuff and can’t stomach usual anime shenanigans.
Kind of amusing how George talks about wanting to start his own business empire, and prove his worth without relying on handouts from his dad. Sweetie, you’re knee deep in privilege already, you’ll never be able to claim you were “self made”.
MARIAAAAAAAA!!!! I remember on my first readthrough I could not stand Maria at all, even when they explored her more in the later episodes. I’m actually really excited to see her here for some reason, so we’ll see whether I’ve warmed to her, or if I’m going to slowly grow to dislike her again.
Also, very bold choice to have your new song to replace “Tower of Summer” to be “HANE”. I’m not saying they’re the same song, but, you know. All it really invokes is a sense of more of the same, and THIS ONE’S EVEN SHORTER TO LOOP AAAAAAAA
I’m not going to be overanalysing everything, since that’s an effort in futility, but I do find it semi-amusing how Maria is basically describing Beatrice’s family tree after Kinzo decided to keep it in the family.
Yeah, gee, I wonder why. I do quite like how this is posed as a throwaway question that’s rhetorical here, but actually quite a significant part of his character exploration in Episode 7.
Wow! I’m sure that won’t age like milk! Especially not in the rose garden a few chapters from now!
I find it quite charming how Battler’s such a wuss at the plane shaking so much. I think I’ve mentioned to a few friends that Battler kind of suffers from Steven Universe Syndrome in early Umineko, where he’s made out to be a shitter to intentionally give him even more room to grow later on. I don’t mind this part of him. I do mind all of the perv stuff we have coming up.
JESSICAAAAAAAAAAA! Between Mion and her, I really like how well Ryukishi writes “tomboys facing significant familial pressure and responsibility”. It’s a hell of a niche, but he’s good at it. I think I remember preferring Jessica to Mion, but they’re both golden characters.
Yeah, here we go, Battler trying to grope his cousin is really him at his worst. This is such an unfortunate filter to gate the rest of the novel behind, because there are so many people who would love the story that Umineko has to tell, but have no chance of making it beyond the sleaziness we’re opening with. I don’t fault anyone who gets to this part and goes “yeah this story isn’t for me”, even though it’s such a minute part of it.
I think there’s an element here where you can argue that Battler’s perv tendencies are a reflection of Kinzo in him - reflections which we’ve already seen are present in Rudolf - but inevitably there’s a real divide between “this was intentionally written for narrative purposes” and “this was written because Ryukishi is horny”, and these early scenes feel much closer to the latter than the former.
There’s an element of “boys are strong, girls are weak” here, which I’m not overly fond of. At a base level, it’s just dated sexism and boring writing. One level up, it can be seen as a reflection of the character’s beliefs from their sheltered upbringing, but I’m hesitant to attribute it to that since the narrative doesn’t really make a pass at it? However, if we go one level above that, you can read into this is a reflection of Yasu’s twisted views on gender and inferiority, since she’s the one penning this message in a bottle. I’m not completely sold on that idea since it’s unclear if this is actually part of the penned tale or whether we’re still in reality before everything begins, but I do like the idea of Yasu venting these thoughts through Jessica at this time. I’m also a little more content with Battler’s perviness when viewed through the lens of Yasu portraying him that way, since it turns the scene from Battler being a creep to Yasu penning self indulgent fanfiction of the guy she’s into. It might be worth keeping an eye on that to see how stark the difference is once we get into the Tohya Forgeries - I’ll eat my words if Battler’s perviness is still pretty high in those, but I think the bulk of it is in Episodes 1 and 2, which is an interesting thing to think about.
Please stop talking about boobs I’m begging you.
It’s kind of interesting how much they’re painting Rosa as a saint here. I think the main intention is to, again, go for the wham shot once you see her hit Maria in the rose garden, but another part of me is wondering whether this is Yasu intentionally framing Rosa this way. The fact that she gives Rosa such an excellent finale at the end of Episode 2 shows that there must be some real appreciation there, wanting the world to see her in such a good light. I don’t remember Rosa doing anything of note in Yasu’s backstory, but I wonder if there was any specific event or just general kindness that fostered a positive bond between them.
This one isn’t a narrative note. This is just a comment on how here, and even in the original and pachinko sprites, their noses look nothing alike. Good meme.
Oh wow they directly address Battler and Rudolf being the most like Kinzo in the family. I’m still not excusing the rampant boob obsession earlier though.
I’m also going insane at Towering Cloud in Summer. That’s three songs we’re frontloaded with which convey near-identical vibes while being far from intellectually stimulating. Bad creative decision.
Interesting to see Kyrie’s style of thinking having bled into Battler here. We’re turning the Chessboard around before we even establish that metaphor.
I also find it interesting how Maria has trouble understanding Battler being between 2 houses, given that she’s from a broken home herself. I guess she just sees being raised by a single mother as her normal, and hasn’t really put much thought into the possibility of a life going back and forth between a mother and father?
Ah, Battler wants to turn the island into a golf course, he’s too far gone. Irredeemable rich person confirmed, smh smh
I like the juxtaposed generations where all the adults are concerned about the Ushiromiya Family Wealth, but all the kids are trying to distance themselves from being rich. Battler being estranged for 6 years adds a good rugged edge to his character where he’s coming from a place outside of this uber wealthy family, and has a more relatable outlook on life. Beyond the narrative importance of this, it’s just a good character decision for the Protagonist in general.
I missed the screenshot for it, but the part where Battler notices the Torii Gate is missing and Eva comments “Even though it’s been 6 years, you remembered?” Once again, presented without comment.
Hour of Darkness is another fairly generic song but it’s such a breath of fresh air here. I wish there was more mystery and intrigue to break up the introductions, honestly.
Kumasawa is having so much fun telling ghost stories about the shrine. I like how we’re juxtaposing Nanjo and Genji, who were quite serious in the Prologue, to Kumasawa, who’s just having fun and living her best life. Great characterisation over just letting her be another stiff member of staff. To be honest, I actually like all the early characterisation that everyone is getting so far, but I do think that’s only because I know and care about these people already. I don’t think the character explorations are particularly interesting when they’re just 10 or so strangers you’re meeting for the first time.
There’s an awful lot of setup here for Maria just blindly believing what people tell her. Critical information to solving the mystery later is once again just given to you freely (while you’re bored out of your skull).
Side note unrelated to Umineko: I’ve always found it cool how “Typhoon” and the Japanese word for it “台風” (pronounced tai-fuu) are phonetically similar. There’s not even a shared linguistic root there, it just happened accidentally. I guess it’s bound to happen occasionally when languages contain as many words as they do, but still, it’s neat.
yeah now say that in red
I’m also picking up on the line that George doesn’t lie - I guess he doesn’t? At least for the first two Episodes, I’m pretty sure everything he says is accurate. I kind of want to keep an eye on that and see if that does indeed hold true for the Episode.
Man, that was a long intro. And we’ve still only met around half the cast! I think it’s something of a necessary evil to set up everyone here (and then have the big meeting to show off potential motives between the adults), but it really just sucks if you’re trying to get into it for the first time. I’ll be interested to see how the Rokkenjima introductions compare to “here’s everyone at an airport, now watch them bum around for a while”.
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here’s my wishlist for santa clauses s2:
better writing. s1 had pacing issues up the wazoo, a terrible choice of villain, and a very unsatisfying ending, among other things. i hope we get some new writers next time around or at least the writing team listens to our criticism and fixes things.
better elf actors. not all of them! it was just noel and that head security elf (i don’t even remember his name, sorry) who i didn’t like. i just like their line readings were kinda robotic to me. like they’re hallmark movie actors and not disney actors, if that makes sense? i didn’t hate the characters, i just wish they were played by better actors. sorry.
more bernard. obviously that’s why everyone tuned into this show and i think he should come back. maybe even just to explore his post-north pole life or his history with the other santas. not sure how that’d apply to whatever plot s2 has, but hopefully the writers will find a way to bring him back.
more charlie and bring back the millers! what do you mean charlie hasn’t told his family yet that his dad is santa claus? you don’t think he’d tell his kids stories about his adventures in the north pole every year around christmas? come on. i understand and respect him not wanting to take over for scott, but i think he should at least come clean to his family. and have some cameos from the millers too. i wanna see lucy and sandra hanging out.
maybe some legit setup for a santa successor? i would hope the kids’ powers were written into the show as more than just a way to help their dad. especially cal’s, like he’s so clearly set up to become the next santa, i kinda just wanna see it happen already. (though preferably without the rapid aging and weight gain? i want my himbo boy to become santa, but not, like, Traditional Santa, at least looks-wise)
also, a better basic premise than “saving christmas” bc god knows we’ve done it before (and in, like, every family movie about santa claus & christmas ever, basically)
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i have some hcs about Grelle's pre-reaper life, which i have formed over years upon years of thinking about her 24/7. Bear with me, I'm sick so my brain can't think of the right words to use, and this is very unstructured and full of gaps (which id be happy to fill) because it's my first time talking about this to anyone and idk what I should and shouldn't mention. tw for period-typical queerphobia, mentions of abuse and suicide (because, you know, shinigami):
She was the eldest child. To me, the eldest of three, but the number isn't that important. Her family was well-off but not influential. I am undecided on this, but i lean towards them being comfortable because of her dad's occupation (trade???? medicine????), rather than a noble title.
I just know she was a clever little smartass as a kid! She wouldn't focus on any subject that bored her, but to me she was always very witty, athletic, and a fan of the arts, although her temper and capricious nature were present ever since she was little. She probably had some dark traits and crueler instincts even as a kid, but 1) it was nowhere near as bad as it is in canon, and 2) it was enabled by an overbearing mother and a dad who uhhh,,, will be explained as we go.
She adored her mother, who was a sweet, mild-mannered woman. They were inseperable throughout her childhood, and her mother encouraged her to be herself and was accepting of her feminine/flamboyant mannerisms and habits (something her dad did not like at all). I want to think that Grelle's mom love her throughout her life, even when it hurt, but her passive nature didn't let her interfere and help her child.
And here comes my favourite topic; Grelle's dad! Imo, he sucked, in a period-typical bigot way. I think of him as a hot-headed but otherwise intelligent man (as intelligent as someone like him can be), who had the biggest inferiority complex because of his humble origins (immigrant/working class parents and stuff). This made him obsessed with securing his legacy through an heir, so he really pushed Grelle to act the way he expected an heir should act. After a certain age, they would fight over Grelle's behaviour and identity, and he would often resort to violence to make sure she wouldn't "act up" in public or do anything that would result in him losing face (because i do have a mean streak, i like to think that she's the spitting image of him; same hair and eyes, similar features and build, similar personality and temperament. Even though she's stuck at a fairly young age and she definitely inherited the grace and some delicate details from her mom, the resemblance is uncanny. You know, because im a sucker for the "resembling someone you despise" trope, it makes everything worse when you think about it).
So it basically started to get bad after Grelle turned like, 10? 11? The time kids are sent to boarding school, and when puberty first hits. I think her dad turned a blind eye to her clearly being trans and having different ambitions than what he wanted because he thought it was just his Kid being a Kid and that she would outgrow it. After he realised that wasn't going to happen, he'll broke loose. Now I think that something happened in her mid teens, probably a breakdown, an especially big fight, an event of sorts, that made her snap under the pressure and finally start playing by her father's rules. Imo I see her adopting a persona that has qualities from both butler Grelle and OVA Grelle (which I'd love to expand on but it's an entire post in itself). She maintained the qualities her father thought valuable, but never questioned him or went against his wishes in any way.
This went on for around a decade, until she became a reaper (in canon she's in her late twenties to early thirties when that happens). I would blame that on a steady mental decline; she turned inwards, escaped through fiction, and some of the tendencies that were already there (i don't want to give them a term; im not a psychiatrist, and even though i have my theories about Grelle's mental landscape, again, whole other post) met some growing delusions and a ton of repression and resentment, and it obviously didn't mix well. Even though she could mostly keep it to herself in the beginning, it became more and more obvious that she was slipping away as she entered her mid-twenties.
I think she became a reaper because of an impulsive thought or an event that she magnified in her head to a catastrophic degree, or again as a result of a breakdown. We know from canon that she often acts before she thinks, and that she can have extreme reactions to things according to her mood. I know people used to think about how she went through with it a lot, but I honestly have no idea. I want to say that she killed her dad before she did it, but it might be too gratifying and self-indulgent so I am not decided on that yet.
Aaand that's p much it?? Like that's a very general version of it because I've already forced you to read all that. Thank you sm for your time, I would love to read more hcs about our girl, and to also expand on specific areas of mine if i get the chance. I love our oc Grelle Sutcliff 🥰
(ill star signing these as anon mo if that's okay!)
I was planning on picking apart this ask & giving my own take on ur headcanons but I just decided that that's too hard so I'm just gonna post it like this lol
But anyways YES I LOVE IT. It's obvious that you think about this a lot & I thank you for sharing ur brain with me 😌 It's so interesting how pretty much every fan has a different version of Grelle and her backstory in our heads. I would love to hear other people's personal takes on her!
( and yeah ofc that's okay! nice to meet you :) )
#sorry i couldn't give a more in depth response#im very very very burnt out right now bc of irl stuff (´-﹏-`；)#Kuroshitsuji#black butler#ask#anon#grell sutcliff#grelle sutcliff
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This is another song I associate with my security breach au, specifically with Gregory. I honestly find this to be one of the most emotionally gut-wrenching and evocative songs in the whole album especially when you can make out the lyrics of the bridge right before the final chorus, specifically the way you can just hear her wail after finishing the bridge with “I LOVE YOU” fucking hits so hard
"I love you" / I try to hold onto the meaning of the words / As we fall deeper into nothingness / I try to hold my breath / I try to reach your hand / But we cannot connect
It is a horrible truth that cannot be unseen / The nihilistic sea / The non-existence beneath your skin / And inside every single comfort / Your face / As I try to repair the meaning of / “I LOVE YOU”
With the whole song being about the horror and sheer sadness that comes in the face of catastrophe the rest of the album sounds so casual about (the utter destruction of one’s entire world, mortality, catastrophic failure and a truth that guts you), it reminds me of the almost fridge horror in Security Breach. The game isn’t scary, the story it tells isn’t scary, but then you really… think about it. You play as a deeply traumatized homeless orphan just trying to survive in a world that seems against him, unable to trust anyone, all sense of childlike innocence someone at his age should have absolutely ripped out of his hands and twisted into instruments to kill, the target of a serial child murderer for the mere crime of having no safe place to go, no adults to trust, no one to help him. He can call for help all he wants, but it doesn’t matter, because no one will listen. If anyone does, they will only hurt him more. The horror and danger Gregory suffers doesn’t read well through the eyes of the audience, but this is the kind of trauma that absolutely shakes someone and destroys them for life. His world is ending, or it feels like it is. Everything is out to kill him. The very sky he stands under echoes the bloodred glare of Vanny’s glowing eyes. His sister’s eyes, in this AU. He doesn’t recognize her anymore, not the monster she’s become. She was the one thing he had left and now his whole world is crumbling and burning under the bloodred sky occupied by her gaze, watching and stalking him like a predator.
But it’s not that he thinks she’s bad. He desperately doesn’t want to. To the point that he can barely connect the rabbit-masked woman who tried to stab him to death in his sleep to his beloved big sister. So he can’t even begin to process it. He just so desperately wants to reach out and find his sister, the real one, under the mess of a horrible life that doesn’t, does not, will never care about him.
The instrumental fits the aesthetic of SB really well as well as the vocals of the first singer, and as someone who was an orphan as a baby I think that is the true horror of SB. I was abandoned shortly after being born, and was placed in an orphanage where I pretty much had to fend for myself. My parents told me that I was basically "the runt of the litter" since I was smaller than the other kids there, and was completely quiet, never crying or drawing any attention to myself, so the already overworked staff would pay attention to the other kids. This is where my parents think I developed my selective mutism from. I was incredibly underweight, and could barely perform any basic motor functions when my dad came to take me home after being adopted. There was a very real possibility that I could've died if my parents never found out about me, and adopted me. My situation is vastly different from Gregory's, but just the fear that any day could be your last is something that hits me extremely hard, since just like Gregory if I did end up dying, or something happening to me, then there would've been no one looking for us, or missing us.
I think that's why I still think SB is scary, to a different extent.
#anyways sorry for trauma dumping but this was the perfect opportunity to explain why sb is still scary to me-#asks#answered#valleyfthdolls
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castle 6x13 limelight
the doppelganger vicarious mom episode liveblog
Love the music
hate parapazzi.
what's with her eyeliner? I mean I like it.
"She had spinach in her teeth"
More material to torture you with *rawr chomp chomp*
Pi lol
but also oof 7am work
I love pi
Hi!
Bye!
Unless that's a murder XD
Poor girl on call before 7am
"this isn't about me today"
love esposito's scarf & becked's jacket
Oof manager first mother second.
(she's more than the personal assistant she seems a little bit gay for mandy)
Talk to the security firm then
don't get drunk babes...
Oh four months...
construction my beloved
this kid is too bright eyed to be in construction
How old is this guy to be with a 22yo?
Oh he's an artist.
Love lanie's scrubs over her long sleeve.
Oh wow claire samuels.
WAIT CASTLE'S JACKET-- THAT'S THE ONE ETHAN SLAUGHTER GETS
& also eckett's outfit is nice
Oof place is trashed!
Lol the blood wine
"closing time?" girl you're at your hotel room!
Don't even know claire's name?
Good point. Mom: It wouldn’t make much sense to have a decoy if they’re going to be seen hanging out together.
she's not wrong but she's kinda bitchy. she's also hungover so yk.
"probably???"
"youve" worked hard
Ryan reminds me a lot of simon tam rn. kinda twinky looking in comparison to the ppl around them but when you actually look at them they have good shoulders
But I don't think I like his vest
Castle is so great making her a cup of good coffee
RC: How do you feel?
Mandy sutton: Considering I’m supposed to be dead – (she gives him a wry look) – about right.
.. On a much smaller scale
Alexis my beloved
put down her phone on the table
Mandy smiling at that but then alexis turns around
Jim thinking caskett broke up I love it
Ok so I'm leaving for the week & this is it. I'll have one week after this to watch the rest of Castle. I have spent what like four months watching Castle? doing my liveblogging? My entire summer. & now... back to school. Kill me.
HEYY I'M BACK UWU
Claire Samuels
Lol stalkerazzi
RC: They may already have, which is why we can’t find her.
Closing time already?
XD
Castle should make her a coffee
You know it makes sense for claire & mandy to not know each other
"socializing"
Did you upset anyone? Probably?
HOLD ON THAT'S WHY I FEEL LIKE I'VE SEEN THIS BEFORE-- I HAVE!
ok fastforward except Who DID take the photos?
Jim beckett <3
AUnt Theresa CD
Love ryan's fingers & physicality
Woah why r they busting in here all gunned up?
lol beaded curtain
You ok? Yeah. *giant wall of Mandy*
This man is,, unwell
I like how he says "just the motorcycle" as in "No I didn't see anyone, except a motorcycle" or "yes but no more than a motorcycle"
Reminds me of that autiistic timepiece kid in murdoch
Esposito waving, jenkins by the door, ryan's voice so deep rn...
Alexis totally did this on purpose lol
Yay bees yay kiss!
Alexis so awkward lol.
Ah alcoholism
In some way, not exactly how you feel bro
RC: It took me less time to write the last Derrick Storm novel and though both are works of fiction at least that one was believable. How’s the case coming?
Love how Ryan corrects the picture being sideways.
(castle wearing the jacket he gives to slaughter, & it looks great with the green shirt)
lmao I love alexis talking & mandy is listenin gbut..?? I love this entire thing
does alexis have any friends..?
no he THINKS you're alive
MANDY NO
the advent of alexis' PI'ing
Speakerphone
Basic famous person disguise
Yeah privacy pls & thx.
People gettin gthirsty over there!
DON'T GO CALLING PEOPLE!
Well now that she's alive you totally could call her
with alexis lolol
fire tatoo like the bike?
That's ale-- Alexis? What is she doing there?
HOLD ON THOSE PICTURES CASTLE HAS IN HIS PHONE ARE THE SAME ONES HE USED IN THE SCOTLAND YARD EPISODE
Why is alexis the one saying "let's go this way" if mandy is the one who knows the bar
*pulls a gun on them*
I hope Alexis dialled her dad & left the line open.
"We thought it was you!"
why do we only hear the sirens NOW? If they had the sirens on we would have heard them from far away
Listen, fool.
Giffing ryan's nod
How dramatic
oOH THE MUSIC
If u'r gonna kill someone why not zack?
Castle so afraid that beckett would be mad at him
rysposito staring at caskett lol. clipping that if I have the fricking space
They TOTALLY should have gotten married a second time in the mars episode. someone write a fanfic for that
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Hawkmoth was a bitch, and Marinette meant that with every fiber of her soul. Fu was also a bitch, and Marinette actually had good memories of the guy. Not many, but she had some. The fact that the guy got two ten-year-olds to become super heroes and fight a supervillain for him kinda soured those memories, though. But with Chat Noir not allowed to leave his house? Yeah, even as young as they were it only took about a year to find out who HawkMoth was and another year to take him down.
Except, that left Marinette alone. The final battle took her mom away, and Chat had to move out of Paris after his dad was arrested. Luckily Jagged allowed her and her papa to move into his house in Gotham, and everything was…
Well, it was okay. For about a month.
Then her dad was gone too, and she had no way to talk to Jagged, and the police were scaring her—
Yeah, that was the basic order of events that led to where she was now. Pushing fourteen years old, ex-superhero, protector of a magical box of gods, stealing the tires off of a very nice motorcycle.
Marinette was tempted to just take the whole thing, she loved bikes and knew she could drive it. But the thing had more security than she knew what to do with, and the fact that it belonged to Red Hood… she didn’t want to deal with trackers today, thanks. So the tires it was.
Should she maybe care more about the fact that she was stealing from a vigilante with a violent streak? Maybe. Did she? Hell no. For all she knew, maybe Red Hood was a bitch too. (Yes, she was still learning English slang. She was fluent by educational standards, but learning how to curse in a foreign language was fun and she still had a little bit to go. Her few street friends were very happy to help).
A shadow dropped down in front of her, and Marinette’s hero instincts kicked in. The tire iron she was using cut through the air, slamming right into the side of Red Hood’s knee.
—*—*—*—*—*
“Hood,” Batman’s voice grumbled over the comms, instantly grabbing the attention of everyone else who was on the comms. It wasn’t as gruff as he usually sounded, in fact it almost sounded like… he was trying not to laugh?
“Did you get gassed by Joker?” Dick asked before Jason got a chance to respond. “Need backup?”
“No,” Batman responded, sounding a little more composed. “Not a rogue. But Hood, I need you to join me at my location as soon as possible.”
Finally getting the chance to talk, Jason responded a little warily; “Sure, B. Wait,” he blinked at the location that was sent to him. “Isn’t that where my bike is parked?”
Batman didn’t respond at first, only the sound of labored breathing— again, as if he was trying not to laugh. “Just get here, Hood.”
Sighing, but not too mad since the night had been fairly quiet so far, Jason decided to humor the old man and head over. When he could see the cape-clad back of Batman, he easily leapt over the last roof and sauntered over.
“Okay, B,” he had his thumbs tucked in his pockets as he drawled. “What’s the issue?”
Batman was grinning. As in, actually showing amusement. And he just pointed down, straight at Hood’s bike.
Jason rolled his eyes under his helmet, turning to look. At first he didn’t see anything amiss, until he saw movement and looked harder. Oh. Oh, holy shit.
“Is that a kid?”
“Yep,” Batman’s grin grew.
“Is she… stealing my tires?” Hood was so, so glad he wore a helmet that hid his expression. Because… wow.
“Yep,” Batman finally lost his composure, chuckling. “This seems like Karma, don’t you think?”
“And you just watched her so you could rub it in,” Jason groaned, throwing his head back in exasperation. Of course he would. Nobody knew it (except the other heroes who knew him) but Batman was a petty little jerk when he wanted to be. He bought the whole Daily Planet just to spite Clark, for crying out loud.
“Don’t adopt her,” Batman said as he stood up, patting Red Hood’s shoulder. “It looks like she’s almost done.”
“Shit,” Jason hissed, looking down to see that she was, actually, very close to being done. She had already had one tire completely free by the time he had arrived, and now she was only seconds away from getting the other one completely free.
He took a quick assessment— she was tiny, and really thin. Definitely a street kid, he thought, though he didn’t recognize her. He knew most of the street kids that stole to get by, nowadays, which meant she must have been fairly new. But even though she seemed to know what she was doing, her small frame made her take longer unscrewing the tires than it normally would have taken. Sure that she wasn’t a threat by any stretch of the imagination, he jumped down. His plan had been to startle her a little by showing up out of nowhere, but he didn’t want to scare her too badly. Just make her jump a little.
But he had underestimated her, it seemed. Without wasting a second, she jumped up and swung her tire iron at his knee. He cursed, she was a lot faster than her had been expecting. He was able to move so that the weapon only clipped the side of his knee, his knee pad thankfully taking the worst of it. She still hit hard enough to make him stumble and hiss in pain though, which was an accomplishment.
That’s when she abandoned her weapon and her tires, darting to try and escape only for Batman to drop down and block her escape. Though really, it was the grin Batman had that scared the girl most of all, apparently, making her slowly back away from him.
“Please stop smiling,” she begged with a faint French accent to her words. “It is not natural.”
That made Red Hood laugh, already recovered and right behind her. He plopped a gloved hand on her head.
“I know, it’s creepy right?” He joked. “What’cha doin’ stealing my tires, kid? I kinda need them to drive anywhere,” he was careful to keep his voice light and devoid of any anger. He wasn’t really upset, all told. It would be hypocritical of him if he was.
She looked between the two vigilantes for a moment, clear intelligence behind those bright blue eyes as she seemed to consider something. Suddenly she pulled away from Red Hood and stepped away from his reach, straightening up and trying to look tall.
“My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she said as firmly as she could. “My father was Tom Dupain, he was killed in a mugging three months ago. We were living in a house that our family friend leant to us after my mother’s death six months ago, and we moved here from Paris. I haven’t been able to contact him, and the police… I don’t trust them,” she admitted, clearly seeing this as the chance she had been waiting for. “I have been living on the streets since my father died. I am sorry for trying to steal your tires, Monsieur Red Hood. But it was a risk I had to take.”
“Did you expect us to catch you?” He asked, crossing his arms as he re-evaluated the girl. She was a lot stronger than he had assumed earlier, both physically and mentally. She seesawed her hand to indicate ‘kinda’.
“Even if you didn’t, I could make good money off your tires,” she justified with a shrug. “To me, I would win either way.”
“Who is your family friend? Can he help you now, take you in?” Batman asked, moving forward and kneeling down to be closer to Marinette’s height. Neither he nor Jason had missed the part where she was an orphan, but they had expected that considering what they had caught her doing. And they both knew that she wasn’t likely to take any apologies they tried to offer very well. It was best not to show pity, or she might get angry.
Marinette frowned. “... Our family friend is Jagged Stone. He lets me call him Uncle Jagged,” she told them, clearly expecting the disbelieving grunts they gave. “I mean it! You can call him, he might even be looking for me! I—“
“We know,” Hood assured her, now kneeling down as well. Man, she was short. “Calm down, we know you’re telling the truth. Jagged has made several public announcements about his missing honorary niece, we just didn’t recognize your name right away. And Jagged doesn’t have access to very many pictures of you, those he does have the Mayor isn’t allowing him to show because that spineless jackass—“
“Language, Hood.”
“—Cares more about keeping bad press off the air than finding a kid, even if it’s a world famous rockstar who’s asking. That’s probably why you haven’t heard anything, the mayor’s keeping it off the radio and not many reporters are brave enough to take the story and get on his bad side.”
“Oh…” Marinette took a deep breath, fighting the tears that were threatening to rise up. “He has been looking…” she sniffled, curling in on herself a little. “Can you take me to him?”
“I think we can do that,” Batman agreed, standing up. “I’ll contact him. Red Hood, can you handle everything here until I give you a place to meet up with Jagged Stone?”
Jason nodded. “No problem, B. Come on, little rabid pixie. Step one of gettin’ you back to your uncle is to help me fix my bike back up.”
Marinette sighed, shoulders dropping. “All my hard work, undone…” she playfully complained. But in the end she didn’t argue or fight against it, she just sat down and helped him reattach his tires.
All the while, Jason’s family kept teasing him over the comms. Clearly they were also thoroughly amused by the cosmic display of karma.
“...Monsieur Hood,” Marinette asked once they were done repairing the motorcycle and he had given her his too-big extra helmet. He tilted his head a bit to show he was listening. She squirmed. “Can… can we stop by my hideout? I have something really important I have to get.”
Jason smiles gently under his mask. She might not have been a street kid for very long, but she really did bring back some memories for him. He got on his bike and held a hand out to her.
“Sure thing kid. Wanna grab something to eat after? Can’t have a reunion on an empty stomach.”
She gave him a lopsided smile— not quite overjoyed, but definitely hopeful and thankful. Maybe this was the end of her streak of bad luck, she could only hope.
“Only if you don’t mind, Monsieur Hood,” she agreed before taking his hand and letting him help her onto the bike.
“No skin off my back, pixie,” he assured her. Then they were off. He followed her directions until they got to an abandoned building about three miles away, not in a good part of town at all but at least not in crime alley. Marinette easily led him through the building, skirting around other piles of ratty blankets and up broken stairs until they got to the badly-maintained top floor. She led him over to an almost invisible door in the concrete wall that pulled out to reveal what was probably a broom closet once upon a time. It was crowded with what looked like junk and empty boxes, along with a few blankets and two or three changes of clothes that were clearly her’s. A few belongings scattered around— a book, a small pink purse, and… Marinette came out of the pile of mess holding what had clearly been a very carefully hidden box. She also grabbed the purse and slung it over her shoulder, but didn’t seem worried about anything else.
Jason frowned at the box. It wasn’t that big, but it was clearly made of old wood. There were intricate carvings that were painted pink, in a symbol that was itching at the back of his mind. He recognized that symbol, but from where?
“Ready to go, kid?” He asked as he thought about it, getting a nod from Marinette. Twenty minutes later they were at a Batburger, sitting in a shaded booth that couldn’t be seen from the street.
She never let the box out of her sight. She kept it on the seat next to her, and Jason noticed that she tried to keep one hand on it at all times. But when she spoke, now her French accent stood out to him even more than before. But why—?
And then it clicked. Paris. Hawkmoth. Ladybug, Chat Noir, magic artifacts called Miraculous. Wonder Woman had raised a fuss when the heroes disappeared, declaring that something was wrong but she couldn’t put her finger on what. Then the magic users they trusted were called in, and returned from Paris with the grim news that the former Guardian of those artifacts had activated a failsafe and passed the guardianship on to someone else while erasing his own memories at the same time. But nobody knew who he could have passed it on to, so Batman had been given the green light to do all the research he and his team could into the Miraculous box to try and help track it down.
And here it was. The carvings were in pink now, which might have been the “cosmetic change” that Constantine had mentioned might happen when the box changed guardians. He had found the box full of super powerful magical artifacts… in the hands of a newly orphaned street kid who couldn’t have been older than fourteen at best.
What the hell?
“...” Red hood reached into his pocket and pulled out an old receipt and a sharpie. He scrawled on the back of the receipt and handed to Marinette. The girl was halfway into a bite of her burger when he did, and blinked at him owlishly before swallowing and cautiously reaching out to grab it. She frowned at the numbers scrawled there.
“What’s this?” She asked.
“My contact info,” he explained. “I won’t ask questions about why you have that box,” he watched her instantly stiffen but continued as casually as he could; “but it doesn’t matter. You can call me if you ever need help with anything, kid. Help with that box, help if you get in trouble in Gotham again, or even if you’re having a bad day. You can call me for whatever, got it? I don’t care if you think it’s stupid, if you can’t talk to anyone else in your life you can always call or text me and I’ll do whatever I can. Got it?”
“...” Marinette sniffled for a second and looked down at the table in silence for a second. “... what if I want your motorcycle?” she joked, but the watery tone of her voice gave her away.
Jason laughed, patting her head. “I need my bike, but we can talk about getting you your own once you are old enough to get a license. You almost done? Bats says that Jagged is ready to meet you, I can take you to him right now.”
“Yeah, lets go!” she was newly energized and shoved the last bite of burger into her mouth greedily. “And Red Hood?” She asked as they headed out to where he had parked.
“Yeah, kid?”
“Thanks.”
—*—*—*—*—*
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A 5x17 Bobby and Eddie spec drabble roughly inspired by Bartlet and Josh in TWW 2x02. Can be read standalone or as a loosely linked prequel to the Buck and Eddie glass doors drabble. (also on ao3).
Summary: Eddie gets an unexpected visitor at LAX en route to El Paso.
Eddie is not afraid of flying, but he still wishes he isn’t going to LAX to catch a ride to El Paso.
"It's a nice drive," Buck remarks as Eddie packs. He isn't staying long, but he’s taking his softest sweatshirts like they’d be his strongest armor.
Frank once asked him how he felt about needing to hide while in a place that should’ve been safe, should’ve been home. Eddie still doesn’t have an answer.
Eddie hums. "I figured a flight would get me there and back home the fastest. Plus I'm not really in the mood for a solo road trip right now."
His watch reads 6:09, the ridiculously early hour contrasted by the bustle around him, punctuated by suitcases of all sizes and shapes. Eddie drains the last of his coffee as he stares at a Departures screen for his gate. Eddie’s eyes have just slid past Durham when his phone buzzes, drawing his already limited attention away.
(6:11 am) Buck: Found your giraffe socks. They got mixed up in Christopher’s pile.
(6:11 am) Buck: Did you make it LAX yet?
(6:18 am) Eddie: Just made it, about to head towards security.
(6:19 am) Eddie: Keep my giraffe socks safe.
Buck sends him back a picture of his feet, the bright blue, giraffe-patterned socks Christopher had gotten Eddie adorning his feet.
(6:20 am) Buck: I will. :)
Eddie’s response is cut off by the pause of footsteps next to him. He almost drops his phone when he looks over.
“Hey Eddie,” Bobby smiles.
“Cap,” Eddie blinks. “Bobby—what are you doing here? Do you have a flight too?”
Bobby smiles deeper. “No, where would I go? I came to see you.”
“You came to see me,” Eddie repeats. “You came to LAX to see me.”
Bobby blinks as he gestures Eddie towards a bench behind them. Eddie follows him and drops onto the bench, feeling like he’s lost all feeling in his body.
“Wait, is something wrong?” Eddie asks as his heart drops. He clutches the handle of his suitcase so tightly that his knuckles bleach white. “Is it—”
Bobby cuts Eddie off before he can start listing names. “Eddie, everyone’s fine. Everyone’s probably asleep, given that we don’t work today. I really just came to talk, see if you wanted some company.”
“Some company?” Eddie asks incredulously. “At the airport? Bobby, don’t tell me you bought a flight.”
“No, but I came to ask if you want me to,” Bobby says quietly, eyes steady on Eddie.
“Why?” Eddie asks quietly.
“Because I’ve seen your parents,” Bobby says. “And because I’ve heard about them.”
Eddie swallows. “So you think I can’t do this?”
Bobby holds a hand up. “Sorry, I wasn’t done. I’m not asking to come with you to talk to your dad, Eddie, that’s your job. That’s something you need to do. But if you need a friendly face, I can get a hotel room, explore the cuisine around.”
Eddie doesn’t know what he’s feeling, can’t put a name to the heaviness in his chest except that he wants it to linger a little. He wants to hold on for as long as he can.
“Why?” Eddie asks quietly again.
“Because when you came back for me and pulled me out of the fire last week, it got me thinking,” Bobby says. “I thought about the time you got shot.”
There is a minute tremor in Eddie’s hands that he’s mostly sure Bobby can’t see. No one but Buck and Frank know about it; Frank because Eddie told him when they spoke about the shooting, and Buck because he noticed.
“I just remembered how everyone was there,” Bobby continues. “I mean, Buck basically moved in and your Abuela and Pepa were there and so was everyone else. Everyone except your parents.”
Eddie glances down at his feet. He feels like they’re in their own world inside one of the busiest spaces in the world.
“So I thought, there must be good reason for that, and if you want, if you want, I could be there around the corner to help when you’re over there.”
“You’re helping now,” Eddie responds, “Bobby, I said some very horrible things and you just accepted my apology and came in to cook for me and take care of me. You’re helping now.”
“We all say things we don’t mean sometimes,” Bobby says with a small smile. “And besides, you didn’t say anything that wasn’t—”
“No, Bobby,” Eddie interjects almost forcefully. “No, I didn’t mean that and it is not true. Look at all these people you saved. Look at May. Look at me and Buck and Chim and Hen. The 118, we exist because of you.”
For the first time since he fell into step next to Eddie, Bobby averts eye contact with him. Eddie wonders if Bobby came here chasing his own demons too, if he’s looking for absolution in some way not unlike the reason Eddie is returning to El Paso for.
“You believe that even after everything?” Bobby asks quietly. “It doesn’t look like the 118 that I remember.”
“Well, if you want to give me my job back, you’ll get closer to that,” Eddie says teasingly.
Bobby smiles. “I’ve already spoken to the chief about reinstating you on active duty when you’re back, provided you keep seeing Frank. Another reason I had to chase you down here.”
Eddie feels weirdly like he’s in a plane that just lifted off from solid ground. “Bobby,” Eddie starts, but his mind is suddenly out of words. “Thank you,” he says, feeling woefully inadequate. Clearing his throat, he adds, “The Frank thing won’t be a problem, I think I still have a lot to talk about.”
“Good,” Bobby says, “So I’m guessing that’s a no on me giving you company on the plane.”
Eddie laughs. “How about you finish recovering from your near-death experience and give me company through the phone? I can use a friendly voice.”
“You got it,” Bobby says, getting to his feet. Eddie follows. Bobby folds him into a hug, patting him on the back as they part.
“I need to go now if I want to make this flight,” Eddie says as Bobby pushes the maroon suitcase towards Eddie.
Bobby nods. “Safe travels. Text me if you need anything.”
Eddie smiles back and turns around, silently thankful for the early hour and the somewhat manageable line at security. He’s taken a couple of steps when he turns back.
Bobby is still standing there, looking out for Eddie.
“Hey Bobby,” Eddie calls out, walking towards him again.
“Yeah,” Bobby responds.
“You were there too,” Eddie says. “When I got shot. You were there every day too, sending me food even when you were recovering, helping me with physical therapy once you did. You didn’t mention yourself, but I haven’t forgotten.“
Bobby nods, the crinkles in the corners of his eyes deepening, and Eddie thinks that they’re finally mending things. “Go catch your flight,” Bobby tells him. “We’ll be here when you get back.”
Eddie waves and turns around again, and the load in his chest, if not completely gone, feels lighter, like Eddie’s just realized how many support beams are holding it up, sharing the weight with him.
Eddie texts Buck a giraffe emoji as he joins the line at security, and for the first time since he’s conceived this trip, he doesn’t think about turning back.
#911fic#someone explain to me why i keep writing bobby and eddie drabbles#idk what this is anyway have it *throws it at all of you*#5b spec fic#eddie+bobby parallels#tww+911 parallels
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