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saetoru · 11 months

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。what if you’re someone i just want around (i’m falling again)

synopsis. somewhere along the line, you started to hate suguru—that doesn’t mean you stopped loving him too

— word count. 9.5k (i am in misery)

— contents. post canon! au — fix it! (we all need a good fix it fic with suguru don't lie), this fic was started before recent manga chapters so the higher ups are still alive—just go with it ok :,), geto survives + lives free of kenjaku, exes to lovers, kind of redemption i suppose, mentions of blood, injuries, and weight loss (geto), mentions of canon character deaths (nanako, mimiko, nanami), mentions of wanting to raise children with geto and have a family, no gendered terms but reader has a personality and actual thoughts and feelings, references to the hunger games (you have movie night lol), BFF satoru (he is babie), there is a kiss y’all !! (scandalous i know :O)

— notes. i started this fic back in march and i had trouble with it and put it on pause for a while. i’m very glad i finished it in the end. i always like fix it! fics and this is self-indulgent and idk if ppl will read it bc it’s sfw but it’s ok if they don’t, i loved writing it. thank you koi for beta-reading this whole bad boy. mwah <333

the day suguru is declared a free man is actually the day he signs away his freedom for good.

you say nothing, but you know it’s the truth. satoru fights tooth and nail to plead suguru’s case—you think it’s perhaps a little too desperate for it to be in the best interest of suguru and not himself. but satoru has suffered enough, and admittedly—although you deny it—a small part of you does not want to lose suguru twice. you watch as satoru argues that suguru has already died once—surely he can’t die again? and losing control of his body and mind is paying for his crimes enough, is it not? he argues that there are no ideals left for a man like geto suguru to chase after losing himself to every principle he had left.

and then satoru wins.

you expect it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. you watch numbly as suguru is assigned under your watch. you should be happy. you love suguru—you never stopped. but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not a free man, and now he drags your freedom with his. you’ll never break away from him, never cut through the ropes that tie your hands behind your back and bind you to him—and then you wonder for a moment, unsure if it’s selfish or selfless or some cruel in-between to think this way, if geto suguru was better off dead.

whether that’s for your sake, or his, you’re not sure.

and yes, he’s let off alive, and sure, there’s no real punishment for all he’s done, but you know deep down he’s as chained and shackled as he’s ever been. he’s not allowed to leave the house unless you or satoru are there to chaperone, and it’s never to be anywhere near non-sorcerers. he’s not to live in a place of his own until the higher up’s deem him trustworthy. he has to ask you to buy the things he wants from the grocery store. he can’t even step outside for a smoke unless you’re aware.

for a long time, he doesn’t speak much—can hardly muster a barely audible mornin’ back when you force a smile and greet him cheerily for breakfast. slowly, it turns into half-snarky conversations that get cut short by one of you leaving the room. finally, you’re civil—maybe even friendly. you’re not so sure where you stand with him as of now.

it’s not the same suguru you remember falling in love with, it’s not even close to the version of the man you fell for all those years ago. it’s hard having him here—some days you’re angry and want to throw him out, to scream at him for haunting you again just when you think you’ve moved on from the horrors of your past. some days you want to cry and cling to him, bury your face into his neck and thank him for being here again, for finding his way back to you. and some days you wish you never met him at all, that this would all be easier if it didn’t exist in the first place.

he’s not the same geto suguru you loved, but somehow, because life is as bitter as it is ruthless, you fall in love with this version just as hard no matter how much you deny it.

“i made your favorite,” you smile gently, placing a neat plate of french toast with freshly cut strawberries on the side. you even take great care to get the syrup-to-powdered sugar ratio he likes right, but he doesn’t make a move to reach for the plate. instead, suguru sits at the table stiffly, like he has to be here or there are consequences for that too. it almost makes you sad—even here, he’s not free.

“thanks,” he says quietly, “but i’m not hungry.”

“you said that last night, suguru,” you sigh, “and at lunch. and at breakfast. and at dinner the night before—”

“i’ll eat it later,” he cuts you off, playing with the ends of his hair.

it’s a lot shorter now. it’s you who finds his body battered and bruised after the smoke clears. he’s almost unrecognizable, not the same charming and perfect suguru you’re used to seeing. not the same silkened strands and smooth skin, not the same muscled and toned body, not the same chiseled jaw and soft cheeks. instead, he’s a shell of himself. his hair is matted in knots, his body is almost frail, and you notice the sunken hollows of his cheeks and dark undereyes as you lift him from the rubble a little too easily. but his body is his own—that much you can tell from the way the stitches have disappeared.

it takes shoko a long time to nurse him back to health—it takes even longer for him to open his eyes.

you waited day and night by his side, hand over his as he breathed slowly, unconscious and unsuspecting. it would be so easy, you think one night, it would be so easy to kill him and forget and move on.

you’ve already grieved him once before. you’ve felt and conquered the pain of loving geto suguru and losing him first to himself and then to death. but love is as selfish as it is selfless, and it’s under your mercy that you let him live—yet it’s under your cowardice that you keep him close.

“you have to gain back the weight you lost, suguru,” you sigh, “you’re w—”

“weak?” he finishes for you, eyeing you for a second and then grinning. it’s unsettling, a grin that makes your skin crawl and your heart stop for a moment before he’s reaching for the fork and stabbing into his toast. “is that what you wanted to say? that i’m weak?”

“suguru, you know that’s not how i meant—”

“you’re not wrong,” he hums, chewing on the first bite as he speaks, “i suppose i am pretty weak right now, huh? couldn’t even kill you in your sleep if i tried could i?”

your throat is dry as you shrug, “i suppose not,” you whisper.

“ah,” he grins again, “but that doesn’t stop you from locking your door every night, does it?”

suguru is still healing. his body is weak, and sometimes, he leans against the wall as he walks. his arm is healed—you’re not entirely sure how, but you catch him rolling the shoulder out every now and then like it’s sore and stiff. he’s lost a lot of weight—part of it is from being bedridden for as long as he was, injured and half alive, and part of it is from barely eating—save for the few bites you force into him. you never thought there’d be a day when you could say this—but the odds of you beating suguru in hand-to-hand combat are high, and the reality is an everlasting reminder that he is not who you fell for.

you swallow, letting out a shaky breath as he watches you closely, diligently cutting another bite from the french toast sitting on his plate as he stares you down like he can see past your soul. you don’t know what’s scarier—that suguru can still practically see yours, or that you’re unsure he even has one anymore.

“you tried coming in?” you ask, unsure what else to say. he merely shrugs, takes another bite, and sets his fork down.

“thought i’d check on you,” he pops a strawberry half into his mouth as he speaks.

“is that what it really was?” you raise a brow, “or was i right to lock the door?”

you’re not sure why you lock the door at night. maybe it’s because you don’t trust him, or maybe it’s because you don’t want him near you just yet. you’re not sure. you’re not sure how satoru can go back to his cheery self, how he can step through your door and boom a loud yo, suguru! before settling beside suguru on the couch with his feet on the coffee table as he rambles away. maybe it’s not real—maybe it’s satoru desperately pretending that if he tries hard enough, things can go back to how they were.

but you don’t know how he still has the energy to try, and you don’t know if you have it in you to try anymore yourself.

you and suguru stare each other down like that for a bit, the tension rising with every silent second that passes. you’re sure he doesn’t want to be here as much as you don’t want him around—but you’re also sure he’s glad it’s here with you as much as you’re glad it’s with no one else.

“you tell me,” he smirks after a bit, the hint of amusement making your fists clench. how dare he have the audacity to look at you like that in your own home? like he has the upper hand over you without trying? “what do you think i was there for?”

“i think you should stay in your room, suguru,” you say carefully, “i bought a new bed just for that room.”

“how sweet of you,” he hums. he sips the tea before him—it’s cold by now, but it’s just how he likes it, rose with one sugar. “you must have been excited to have me.”

“hardly,” you mumble bitterly—you can’t help it. you want him to feel hurt, even just a little. you want him to know that just because he’s back, it doesn’t mean you’ve waited all this time for him to be. liar, a part of you says, you’ve always waited for him, haven’t you? but suguru doesn’t seem phased—he doesn’t even blink.

“then tell me, why am i here?” suguru asks, his tone is as casual as ever.

i wish i knew, you want to say. i wish i knew but i don’t.

“because satoru asked you to be,” is all you can say.

he nods, pushing back his plate and standing up, offering you that same grin. “you’re right,” he hums, “that’s exactly why i’m here.”

it hits you why his smile is so unsettling once he leaves—it’s almost genuine, like he’s still loved you all this time. impossible, you tell yourself. suguru stopped loving you a long time ago. and you need to stop trying to figure out why.

————————————————

even despite telling yourself you don’t care what suguru thinks, a small part of you needs to prove to him you’re not scared of him. that you don’t fear for your own safety in your home, and that him being here is not some form of him haunting you. you don’t care. he shouldn’t get the luxury of thinking you care. he can come in and watch you sleep like the creep he is if he wants—you couldn’t bother to give it a second thought.

the first night you take a chance and leave the door unlocked, suguru slips into bed beside you. it wakes you up instantly, and before you can question it, his head tucks into your neck, and his hand grasps your shirt tightly. you notice the panting almost instantly—and then you realize, it must be a nightmare.

you fall into old habits, even after all these years, defaulting to care for him like it’s second nature.

“you’re safe, suguru,” is what you settle for saying after a moment of contemplation. it’s all you can really think to say, so you brush your lips over the top of his head as you murmur, “you’re safe,” over and over again.

as difficult as it is to have suguru around, as painful and cruel and aggravating as it is to be reminded of his distant existence even as he’s two doors down, this part feels natural. it’s almost like you’re back in jujutsu high, waking up to him sneaking into your room as he presses his weight over your body and wakes you with soft kisses along your face.

except this time, he’s not annoyingly demanding cuddles or telling you about his weird dream, he’s not stealing your blanket and demanding you play with his hair. this time, it’s not the same suguru—and this time, it’s not jujutsu high.

it’s your room. the one you got on the other side of town to leave the sorcery world behind, somehow still stuck right in the center of it no matter where you go. and yet, just like all those years ago, your legs tangle, and your arms wrap him up, and you murmur, “you’re safe,” while he catches his breath.

“but they’re not,” he mutters in between labored pants, making you pause.

and then you remember.

faintly, you recall the blonde and black hair from a distance, you remember bitterly wondering what’d it be like watching suguru fathering children of your own as you came to the reality that it would never happen. sometimes, you wonder if you hate nanako and mimiko for existing, for living as the dreams you never got to live through with suguru.

it’s selfish—to hate two children because they are what you do not have.

but then you feel something wet hit your neck, and then you wish they were okay—for his sake. and just for a moment, you’re selfless again.

“they’re not safe,” he mutters, making you sigh.

“they are,” you whisper, hesitating for a moment before letting your fingers slip into his hair. you scratch gently at his scalp, feeling his body melt into yours almost instantly—like it’s a response that’s natural to him. “they’re not suffering. not anymore.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” he scoffs. you shrug, letting your cheek press against the top of his head as you sigh.

“it helps me feel better,” you say softly, “‘s just how you learn to cope.”

it’s an understanding you both silently come to. loss on both sides. bloodshed on either ground. defeat no matter which ideal you take. to love is to bear the pain of mortality—it’s a lesson that you never cease to learn until the ends of time itself.

“the jujutsu world is one of suffering,” he grits, sniffling into your neck. you hum, pressing a kiss to his head as your eyes close.

“every world is one of suffering, suguru, you can’t erase them all. the sooner you realize that, the easier you’ll find peace.”

you fall into a slumber after that, faintly aware of the way he shuffles closer to you, faintly aware of the soft kiss pressed to your skin as sleep takes over your body and drifts you out of consciousness.

when you wake up the next morning, suguru is gone, and the door is closed. the blanket is tucked up to your chin, and your neck still tingles from last night.

————————————————

“get up,” you throw a pillow at suguru, waking him up with a start as he sits up. his hair is tousled and messy from sleep—it’s now long enough that he can put it in a bun without strands slipping from the bottom anymore. you chuckle as he glares at you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he groans.

“the fuck was that for?” he grunts, holding the blanket up to cover his exposed chest.

it’s funny that he does that, in a way. it’s not as though you haven’t seen his chest…and then some too. it’s not like you haven’t torn his shirt off to stanch the flow of blood from his injuries before or feel the bare skin with your palm under the pale moonlight as the lingering scent of sex breezes through the room.

but somehow, even though he doesn’t need to cover his chest around you of all people, you’re glad that he does. truthfully, it keeps you slightly comforted to know that he’s aware you’re still technically strangers—no matter how well-versed you are in each other’s pasts. but you don’t ponder on it too much. instead, you grin, shoving aside the visual of the small glance you caught at his pecs, and you clap your hands to motion him to hurry.

“we are going grocery shopping,” you say casually—as though it’s not something to make him raise a brow in shock.

“me?” he points a finger at himself. you roll your eyes, and he challenges you with another raise of his brow. “aren’t i supposed to stay away from civilians?”

“yes, you,” you nod, pointing back at him, “and satoru has worked overtime to get you granted permission to roam around with me. he says you’re welcome, by the way.”

“tell him to go fuck off.”

“that’s ungrateful,” you say flatly, “his feelings will be hurt.”

“his feelings will find a way to cope,” suguru huffs. “i don’t want to be around…them,” he says bitterly.

you suppose it’s wishful thinking to hope suguru has let go of his past beliefs. perhaps he’s long abandoned the possibility of the vision he once planned on bringing to life, but you can’t say you expected him to revert back to the old suguru who fought alongside you and satoru. you yourself certainly have no intention of returning to the sorcery world after all the events, so you can’t say you’re shocked by the lack of change he seems to show. but then again, you suppose suguru has changed. whether he sees it or not.

he stays here and doesn’t put up a fight to leave even though he can now that he’s healed. he eats lunch when you tell him and even washes the dishes. sometimes, when you come home a bit late, dinner is even ready on the table as he sits and stares at you expectantly. his plate is empty like yours—like he’s been waiting for you even though he doesn’t need to. you suppose you can see he’s changed in the way he doesn’t scoff at the tv channels you surf through, he silently sits on the opposite end of the couch now and watches with you, and perhaps if you’re lucky, you’ll hear a light chuckle or a quiet sigh as the scenes roll on the screen.

you suppose this suguru is a step closer to your suguru every day he spends with you, but you don’t know if any suguru is what you need right now. perhaps that name should’ve been buried away as a distant memory, perhaps it should’ve only been something you unlock once every year on his death anniversary—when satoru clambers through your door drunk and unsteady as he clutches the hand that killed his best friend, only to share pancakes with you in the morning and pretend like you don’t notice the dried tears on his cheeks while he acts like he doesn’t catch the way your hand shakes as you cut into your breakfast.

but suguru is here now. whether it’s as geto, one half of the strongest duo in jujutsu high, whether it’s as suguru, the love of your life and the sole reason you exist, or whether it’s as geto suguru, the curse user and mass murderer who haunts your past, present, and everything in between.

so you simply sigh, grab the pillow again, and hit the top of his head before walking over to the door as you call over your shoulder, “i’m gonna wait for you by the door in fifteen minutes. be ready or face the consequences..”

“no thanks. don’t wanna,” suguru grumbles petulantly, frowning at you as you stick your tongue at him, smirking as if you’ve just played your ace.

“too bad,” you sing before swinging the door shut.

he’s at the door in exactly fifteen minutes, like he waited until the last possible second to join you as a move of spite. but you simply gesture him out the door and lock up, taking your sweet time as he stands there with an annoyed face. you stare at the doorknob once you’re done, taking a deep breath before turning to him with your best smile.

“let’s go,” you hum.

“after you,” he mutters.

—

he grimaces as soon as he sees the people going about their business, clearly unhappy with the idea of being around non-sorcerers, but one sharp glare from you has him sighing and trekking along. the grocery store, admittedly, is not as bad as suguru thinks—in fact, there are lots of things he doesn’t realize he misses until he watches you grab a shopping cart.

suddenly, he sees shadows. the silhouette of your figure climbing into the cart, the angry wave of satoru’s hands as he claims it's his turn to be pushed around, the figure of shoko pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation from the back—and then, he sees the dark shadow of baggy pants and a small bun. it’s him. suguru watches himself almost in slow motion through the remnants of his imagination as he gently shoves satoru out of the way and reaches to poke the tip of your nose before he pushes the cart with you in it.

it’s a happy memory—and it’s gone all too soon.

as soon as he blinks, the shadows have disappeared—instead, it’s you waving a hand in his face, concern written on your features as you call his name.

“suguru? hey, hello? are you with me?”

he exhales, pulled from his trance as he gently grabs your wrist from in front of his face and sets it down as he nods, “yeah, i’m fine. just thinking,” he mumbles.

for a second, you hesitate, like you almost mean to say something. but in the end, you only nod before turning to grab the shopping cart. but he stops you—grabs the handle and turns to you with a small smile on his face, making you raise a brow as he gently moves you away.

“what are you—”

“get in,” he grins, making you stare at him in bewilderment.

“what?”

“just get in,” he sighs, “you love it when you get to sit in the cart.”

“i’m not a teenager anymore—”

“get in, will you?” he groans, “always so damn difficult.”

“hey,” you pout, glaring at him with your hands planted at your hips, “that’s rude.” it’s cute. suguru stares at you with amusement in his eyes and a soft look on his face that you don’t think you’ve really seen in years.

“humor me,” he hums, “just get in, okay?”

so you do.

with a huff and a grumble under your breath, you fight back a smile and climb into the damn cart just like old times. you swallow and try not to let it get to you when he reaches over and pokes the tip of your nose and pushes the cart around, letting you name off the things you need from your list while he grabs them. and when he sneaks snacks into the pile, you roll your eyes and glare at him in the way you always did—the one that isn’t actually annoyed. fond. happy to let it slide because it’s him.

“we need candy,” you murmur, “that’s the last thing on the list.”

“okay. what kind?” he asks, turning the cart into the candy aisle and smiling softly down at you.

“doesn’t matter, satoru eats anything as long as it’s sweet. he’s more likely to die from sugar than fighting a curse, i think.”

“you buy candy for satoru?” he asks, making you shrug as you reach over and grab a few bags of candy off the shelves, setting them down beside you.

“he comes over a lot so i learned to keep stuff stocked up for him. you know how he gets when he’s hungry.”

suguru feels something he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager. jealousy—specifically of satoru.

suguru is not foolish. he knows as soon as he meets gojo satoru that of the two, one of them is stronger and it’s definitely not himself. for the longest time, he’s okay with that, okay being the strongest only when alongside satoru—until he’s not. and even if suguru always had a bit more attention in the romance department than satoru, in his head he’s always known that perhaps satoru can keep you safer, more well off, maybe even happier. with smooth smiles and eyes as welcoming as an oasis, gojo satoru would never leave you in the dark pit of misery as suguru once had.

something about the thought of you and satoru keeping each other company through the lonely years, filling that empty spot suguru left behind, sharing moments over candy and empty wrappers makes suguru wonder for a moment if perhaps he’d be happier if he stayed. maybe he could have worn a heartfelt smile in a world that carves them off the faces of sorcerers with bloody knives as long as you were there to wipe the blood.

but before he can dwell on it, you snatch one more bag—this time of his favorite candy, placing it into the cart and grinning gently up at him.

“i haven’t bought this one in years,” you admit, “i almost forget how it tastes.”

“me too,” he says quietly.

“well,” you hum, “we’ll have to have some when we’re home.”

home. you say it as though it belongs to him as much as it does you, and then like you always have, without even meaning to, you wash away the dark stains of his jealousy with no trace left behind.

“yeah,” he chuckles, “we—”

“daddy, look! candy!” suguru is cut off by the gentle pitter-patter of two tiny feet running into the aisle, pointing at a bag of candy as a man follows close behind.

his breath hitches.

she’s small, the girl—she has two pigtails with soft strands of blonde hair falling out of the loosely tied bands. it reminds suguru of the first time he perfected tying up nanako’s hair, the soft giggles behind her tiny hand as she twirled in the mirror.

there’s another girl in the man’s arms—dark hair on her head as she curls into her father’s chest and tucks her head into his neck when she sees you and suguru in the aisle. she’s shy, he realizes, like mimiko, and suddenly he remembers the tiny fingers that used to hook into his pants when she got too overwhelmed by the people around her, waiting for suguru to scoop her into his arms.

perhaps in another life, suguru would redo everything differently—he’d be happy with you and satoru and shoko, and nanami and haibara would be there too, well and alive. but no matter what, he’d never redo nanako and mimiko differently. he’d never change a thing about them, not even the way nanako whines too much about small things or the way mimiko never speaks up even when something is clearly bothering her. he’d never change the way he saved them and took them in at the tender age of eighteen, too lost to be a father but choosing to raise them anyway. he’d never change the feeling of pure joy and unbridled pride when they climbed into his bed for the first time, shushing each other so as not to wake him—even though he’d awoken as soon as the door to his room opened.

because he realized that night that yeah, maybe he’d made mistakes in his lifetime, lots of them too. maybe he’d made a bad choice choosing the path he did, or maybe he didn’t. he’s never been completely sure—just that he had to try at least to make his vision for a different world come to life. but one mistake he never made was his girls. one thing he was always sure about was the soft clutch at his pants and the tiny hands reaching for his own.

suguru wouldn’t change anything about nanako and mimiko—except maybe the fact that they aren’t here, gone because of him.

“suguru?” you ask softly, reaching for his hand as he grips the cart tightly and pulling his gaze away from the family in the distance.

he blinks, meets your eyes, and knows that you know. with one glance at your face, he knows you understand. the world is cruel, one filled with suffering, he thinks. but then he remembers what you said, that every world is full of suffering, not just his—that it’s a truth he has to come face to face with.

but it’s hard. it’s hard when this man has his two little girls and suguru does not—it’s hard to watch someone have what he wants with no worries of losing it, all because of people and their own weaknesses. he thinks for a moment that he’s been right all along—that non-sorcerers are too weak for this life, that the jujutsu world has always suffered so they don’t have to.

but then the man speaks up, catching both of your attention.

“your mother used to love those,” he says quietly to his daughter, a pained smile on his face. instantly, you and suguru both seem to understand the weight of that single sentence.

every world has its own pain, suguru realizes. its own cruelties and unfairness, its own way of bringing suffering in its wake as it rips away the things closest to you from your begging fingertips, leaving them cold and empty and numb from the lost weight underneath them.

“let’s go, suguru,” you whisper, “we have everything we came for.”

“yeah,” he whispers back, clearing his throat so his voice doesn’t crack, “let’s go.”

suguru leaves the grocery store with you after you pay, and for a brief moment, he’s unsure. unsure whether he’s grateful to satoru for fighting for him to be able to come and grateful to you for dragging him along, or if he wishes he died along with the rubble, gone before you could find him and turn him into this.

“before you even think about hiding away in your room,” you say, grabbing the bags from the cart as you put it back where it belongs, “you have to help with putting away the groceries.”

“sure,” he says smoothly. he grabs all the heavy bags from your hand, and you make a move to protest that you don’t need him to take the heavier ones, that you’re fine and can handle them like you’ve always handled them.

but he walks off, and finally, you decide to simply follow.

————————————————

satoru likes to come and visit—you’ve started a routine movie night every week (unless he’s away, of course.) it’s fun, but it also means he makes your veins pop because he’s a headache like that—always makes himself right at home and eats your snacks like this is his place and not yours. he helps himself to your already limited candy and puts his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table no matter how many times you tell him not to.

you try sitting with legs as long as these, he always whines, earning a harsh glare from you as you smack at his shins until he ultimately caves and begrudgingly sets his feet down.

but then they always make their way back up to the coffee table, and you’re too busy enjoying his company to care—although you’ll never admit it.

satoru is endearing like that, swallowing the dark clouds from your shoulders whole and eating up your burdens with that side of responsibility that you don’t think you could ever stomach. satoru is just like that, you realize, taking the brunt of the weight and laughing off every concern until you can’t help but not take them seriously yourself.

it’s hard to remember that sometimes you didn’t just lose suguru, the love of your life, that night. everyone lost something. shoko lost someone to smoke with, yaga lost a student to scold, nanami lost a headache to avoid, and satoru?

well…satoru lost what you think might’ve been the only filled void of his miserably empty life.

it’s hard to remember that satoru lost his best friend—the only best friend he’s ever had (although you like to think of yourself as a close contender)—because he’s so good at letting you forget. he brings you ice cream (that he eats half of because it’s only fair he gets a share), and he sits and hogs your couch (that he argues you don’t really need as much space as him on because your legs aren’t as long), and he watches those stupid sitcoms that are dry with boring jokes (that you used to make suguru watch back in the day).

it’s hard to remember that satoru also lost as much as you because he’s so damn good at making you forget about your own loss, you don’t care to think about anyone else’s for a while. just a short while. just until he’s yawning that obnoxiously loud yawn and stretching those awkwardly long limbs of his before he claims he really should go and that being the world’s best teacher requires as many hours of beauty sleep as you can squeeze in.

and then he’s off. and it’s empty again. and just like that, you’re reminded of why he was there in the first place—to fill in that sick and painful void that geto suguru left in you.

it’s gaping, like he tore a chunk of you right out with sharp teeth, like you’re just a piece of meat for him to get his fill of. if suguru really loved you, would you be so easy to let go of? why couldn’t he smile? because you could—god, you could smile just from the sight of him alone, you realize a long time ago. him with his cigarette tucked between his lips, those death sticks as you called them, hung loosely from his mouth as he gives you a lopsided grin.

geto suguru is enough of a reason to smile. the world could crumble at your feet and leave you with nothing but rubble and dirt, and still, suguru is the core of the earth you’re searching for.

so why couldn’t you be the same? what is it you were missing? what about you was just not enough for him like the way he was enough for you?

it dawns on you one night, through bitter tears and shaky sobs, and that sick, twisted, pleading feeling in your gut that begs the wind to carry him back to you—geto suguru has never loved you the way you loved him.

and for that, you can never forgive him, you don’t think.

“you tryin’ to go bug-eyed?” he asks, settling down on the couch next to you, making you snap out of your trance. you shake your head a little, stare back at him for a moment before putting on that look on your face where you roll your eyes and pretend everything is fine.

“no,” you huff, “i’m just thinking.”

“about…?”

“satoru has rarely ever missed a movie night.”

“maybe he’s sick of you,” he shrugs, grinning slyly at you as you narrow your eyes with a glare, “there’s someone here to keep you company now so he’s probably taken his opportunity to run.”

“you’re hardly company,” you scoff, “freeloader.”

“hey,” he defends, shrugging as if it’s not his fault. you suppose it’s not. “i didn’t ask to be rescued. you can’t be high and mighty and petty. ‘s not how that works.”

“says who? you don’t make the rules. i can be graciously kind and a jerk all at once.”

“complexity,” he nods, “i like it.”

“i’m not as complicated as you might think,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you stare at the time. yeah, satoru isn’t making it—which, he told you as much, but he’s strolled in at the last second too many times to count before. you figure today would be the same. “as long as you don’t skip movie nights with me, i’m pretty simple to keep appeased.”

“alright,” he props his feet up on the coffee table—seriously, what is it with asshole men putting their feet on your table? satoru is a terrible influence. “let’s have a movie night.”

“what?” you blink.

“movie night,” he repeats, “you said you don’t like skipping movie night—”

“well, i meant i don’t like satoru skipping movie—”

“well, it was me before satoru, wasn’t it?” he says with a smile. his eyes are closed, crinkled at the corners, but his voice is carefully neutral—like he takes extra care not to let you see any emotion behind it.

but that only means there is an emotion, isn’t there? is he jealous? does he hate the fact that you and satoru have a routine of your own without him? that you don’t need him to continue living your life?

good. he should be. he walked out on you all those years ago. he killed a village. killed his parents. you never even got to meet them—he never even got to take you home and introduce you to them before he ripped away every fantasy you ever had with him.

and now he’s back—he has the audacity to live, to laugh in your face with his existence that yes, geto suguru is here. and he was supposed to be executed, but your stubborn friend didn’t let that happen. he was supposed to be your husband by now with kids and a happy little home, and you were supposed to be his parent’s new addition to their family that they loved so much. but none of that is even close to happening, and it’s suguru’s fault, and the least he can do is show you some regret and maybe feel just the slightest bit bad that you now have to watch shitty movies with his best friend instead of him to feel normal.

ex-best friend? half best friend? you don’t even know—do they still consider each other their best friends? does anyone consider suguru anything? you don’t know what you consider him. but you think the least he can do is act just the slightest bit pathetic after making you feel so pathetic for so long just to even the score.

he should be a stranger. he feels like an old friend. but either is dangerous.

“alright,” you sigh, “let's bring back movie night. don’t fall asleep.”

“i get plenty of sleep nowadays,” he hums, “i have more than enough free time for that now.”

“how lucky of you,” you snort.

—

picking a movie with suguru is difficult. he actually has standards—satoru watches anything so long as he gets snacks, and he can make anything fun to watch with the way he comments from the side like a critic. suguru, on the other hand, actually cares about the quality of a movie, the metrics that make it good.

so you pick the hunger games just to piss him off.

“seriously?” he raises a brow, “this is your pick?”

“yes,” you grin, “i like these movies.”

“of all movies—”

“my house, my rules,” you grin cheekily, “you can pick the movies as soon as you start paying the bills.”

“wow,” he deadpans, “stooping to use my financial status against me? i thought you were better than this.”

“oh suguru,” you sigh dramatically, grabbing a bag of chips from the table, “you don’t know me at all.”

all things considered, you think it’s a rather enjoyable experience. it’s not as fun without satoru’s stupid comments that you pretend to hate, but suguru provides his own commentary that earns a giggle out of you here and there too—although his are not meant to be funny. but that’s the appeal of it, you think.

“she should have picked gale,” he mumbles. you raise a brow.

“peeta was always there for her, did you miss the rain scene?”

“so was gale,” he says smoothly, grabbing a chip from your bag and making you scowl.

“gale killed her sister,” you point out, “and a lot of other people too. he was ruthless. she needed peeta.”

“gale did what he had to do,” suguru mumbles.

suddenly, it doesn’t really feel like you’re discussing the movie anymore. it feels more than that. it feels sickening—the air is heavy, and your throat is dry and god, you just wanted a movie night and not this heaviness as you talk about stuff from the past without actually talking about it.

you blink before turning to your chips, playing around with the bag as you shrug.

“in the end he didn’t get katniss, did he?”

suguru studies you for a moment, stares a little too deep into you that you start to feel the urge to bolt to your room and go to bed.

“guess not,” he says quietly, “guess that’s the one regret he has, huh?”

you think for a second, as suguru stares at your eyes with something you can’t quite read, that you might cry. you might cry and throw that half-empty can of soda in his face for speaking in codes and making you question what he means and remember your past. you might cry because suguru could’ve always gotten you—in fact, he had you.

it’s not fair. nothing is, but you can’t help but dwell on it.

“i’m going to bed. it’s late,” you mumble after a few moments, standing. he only nods, staring at the tv as the credits roll. when you make it to your room and the door shuts behind you, you debate clicking the lock in place.

in the end, you don’t lock the door. suguru climbs into bed with you once more later that night, shaking slightly from his nightmare but calmer than usual. he’s still gone by the time morning comes, and you still never mention it.

it hits you one night that maybe he still has you—maybe you never let him stop having you, no matter what you say.

————————————————

suguru is good at cleaning while you’re away. you have to go out and do adult things like breadwinning and grocery shopping and bill paying. he dusts and cleans and even takes out the trash when you’re home to monitor him as he steps two feet out of your front door. sometimes, because you like to get on his nerves, you accidentally mess up a corner of the house just as he cleans it, laughing as he shoots you an unimpressed look.

“stop getting crumbs on the floor,” he mumbles, “i just vacuumed.”

“you make a good malewife,” you giggle, “vacuuming and everything. how cute.”

“don’t call me that,” he grumbles, sitting down on the couch.

“but you missed a spot,” you point to the crumbs you’ve sprinkled from your fingers as you snack away, making him glare. “failwife.”

“i’m going to divorce you and take everything,” he snaps, making you snort as you put your hands up in surrender.

“you don’t have to, you know,” you murmur, “clean, i mean. i can handle it.”

“i think i should carry my weight around here,” he shrugs, “since you are basically sugar babying me around for now.”

“dangerous curse user to the world, but sugar baby to me,” you tease, pulling a chuckle out of him as he rolls his eyes.

sometimes it’s nice to have his company. suguru is good with banter like that, he’s not annoying like satoru where you run in circles. suguru makes you laugh from your belly, makes the hiccups catch in your throat as you double over. he’s always been like that, always known how to make laughter pour from your lips and trickle down your chin. it’s comforting to know he still knows how. it leaves a small amount of bitterness that he’s still able to make you feel like this.

“by the way, next time you go shopping, take me with you,” he says casually, “i need to buy stuff for my hair. it’s growing.”

“you’ll finally see the sun just for your hair?” you gasp, “who knew that’s all it’d take?”

despite the playfulness in your words, there’s still shock. suguru is willingly stepping foot outside your house. he’s finally choosing to return to life after living like a recluse no matter how many times you and satoru have tried to beg him to get up and go somewhere. the most you can get out of him is a walk around the neighborhood before he goes back to wandering your home and hiding away in his room.

suguru is returning to life, his life, and you can’t help but wonder where that leaves room for you.

“my hair is my charm,” he reasons, “wouldn’t you agree?”

there’s a smirk on his lips when he asks—it’s like he’s seventeen and teasing you again, giving you that unfairly flirty smile that used to make you stutter as a kid. back when you were hopelessly in love. back when it was you, suguru, and the world in your corner. back when you had dreams of your future, practically giggling as you planned it away in a notebook.

suguru was always perfect like that, the kind of guy you could only dream about. he’s always been handsome—he’s always been the center of attention everywhere you went. you used to huff about it, about all the attention he managed to get from walking into a room alone. but then he’d smile, give you that tender look of his as he’d chuckle, and you’d be hopeless again.

he shouldn’t have that effect on you anymore after over a decade. but he does. it’s cruel, the way the universe works. it’s like there’s a magnet that pushes you together no matter how far you try to go, still pulled by gravity straight into his awaiting eyes and devilish smile.

“i cut your hair off once, i can do it again,” you huff. he laughs, it’s good-natured and kind.

“i was a bit heartbroken when i realized it was so short, i have to admit,” he says, “i didn’t look like me.”

“you looked good,” you say quietly, “i think you’d make anything work, to be honest.”

“yeah?” he grins, “any requests? i might consider it if it’s you.”

“oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, “how about shaving your head bald? let's see how much charm you have without all that hair.”

“i could charm you without the hair still, couldn’t i?” he winks.

it’s unfair how he acts like normal. like a few months in your home undoes everything he’s ever committed, all the atrocities he’s caused. the way he flirts with you feels like you’re his again. the way he’s aged and changed feels like you’re meeting someone new. you don’t understand how suguru is so natural with that—with seamlessly falling back into a rhythm with you like nothing has changed at all.

deep down, you know that suguru is just moving on with his life. he’s making the most of what he can. he can’t die, satoru would never let him have a peaceful death after all this. he can’t go back to the way things used to be, whether that’s his sorcery days or his curse user days, and he certainly can’t start over. so he’s making do with what he has—which is very little in reality.

it’s you, your home, and the biweekly visits from satoru and occasionally shoko. so he weaves you seamlessly into his life and treats you with a sense of normalcy you can’t hope to treat him with. maybe it’s because suguru was actually able to move on after he left.

it’s the part you hated him most for. for building a family with new people. for having two girls that he raised as daughters. for finding people to follow him and trust. suguru, after he walked away from everything he ever knew, actually did something with his life—even if it could hardly be considered good.

you? you fell deeper and deeper into a pit of denial until clawing your way back out was too impossible, until you had to leave behind everything you’ve ever known to get away from the remnants of his existence.

it’s easy for him to weave you back into his life because he chose to cut you loose. it feels damn near impossible to let him weave back into yours after he tore himself from the edges and frayed away.

“don’t do that,” you sigh, making him frown.

“do what?”

“you know what, suguru,” you pinch your nose in frustration, “stop acting like things are normal.”

“things are definitely not normal,” he snorts bitterly, “i think needing your approval to take the trash out is not equal to normal.”

“then why are you acting like…” you trail off, unsure.

“like what?” he raises a brow.

“like we never changed,” you slam your hands down on the couch in exasperation.

he stares at you for a minute, blinks once, then twice, and then furrows his brows.

“well, of course we changed,” he mumbles in confusion, “i know that—”

you shouldn’t have said anything. you quickly realize that. suguru is not trying to act like things are normal—he’s trying to be civil, and you’re just a fool. a fool who looks too deeply into everything and assumes what you want to out of things and god, you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your one and only ex-boyfriend in over a decade who was once dead and somehow came back to the land of the living.

of course, he knows things are not the same. he doesn’t want what you think he does. it’s been years and suguru has moved on—he had already moved on all those years ago, and you’re the only one here that is still focused on the past. and now he knows it too.

you stand before he can finish, nodding as you stare down instead of meeting his eyes, pretending to adjust your clothes.

“right, of course you do,” you nod, “i don’t know why i said that. just ignore me, i’ll be going to my room now. i have…things to do, so i’ll be—”

“hang on,” he frowns, hand grabbing your wrist, “i don’t mean it like that,” he says gently.

fuck geto suguru for being so confusing and fuck him for being nice about it too.

“you can let go, suguru,” you pull at your wrist, “forget what i said, i wasn’t thinking—”

“i still feel the same,” he cuts you off, making your eyes widen, “if that’s what you mean. i never stopped.”

never stopped—that’s almost worse than moving on. how could he have felt the same all those years and still never come back?

“that does not help even a little,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “that makes this so much worse, do you see that?”

“i know,” he sighs, “i’m sor—”

“don’t say you’re sorry,” you grit your teeth, “we both know you’re not.”

“maybe not,” he admits, “i had to try. and that meant leaving—i’m sorry that’s not what you wanted.”

“it’s not!” you turn around, pulling your arm out of his grasp—suguru, for what it’s worth, takes the shove to his chest like a champ. “of course i didn’t want you to leave and kill a bunch of people and have an execution stamped on your forehead and live your life without me.”

“i know—”

“and now you’re back. back! in my house, eating my food and sleeping in my bed for half the night and i just have to act like this is normal. how is any of this normal?”

“it’s not,” he agrees. he’s calm. so calm, it almost makes you mad. why is he so calm? “nothing about anything in our lives is normal. it never was.”

“you ruined my life,” you blink back tears. he smiles sadly, taking a step closer.

“i guess i can take the blame for that,” he nods, hands finding their way to your hips. against your better judgment, you lean half your weight against his body. this is bad, very bad—but it’s also the best thing ever.

being close to suguru feels like the sun’s heat tearing through your skin—it’s warm. it’s pleasant. it leaves you parched and drained with a dry throat. but still, you need it to survive.

“why did you come back?” you ask tiredly. his hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow circles.

“i don’t know,” he hums, “i didn’t really get a say. maybe i was always meant to, who knows?”

you look at him at that—tilt your head to get a good look at his features. his eyes are more tired, and his cheeks are a bit more sunken in compared to the youthful flesh you remember him with. his hair isn’t as healthy, and his forehead has the slightest traces of pale marks from the scars. but he’s still suguru—and you have always loved suguru, even if he gives you every reason to hate him.

“you make my life unreasonably difficult,” you mutter.

he hums, smiling. “can i?” he asks breathlessly, pleadingly. you stare at his eyes, he stares at your lips. you know what he wants—but fuck, you can’t let him have it so easy.

“can you what?” you ask, raising a brow slowly.

“are you really gonna make me say it?” he grunts, lips almost curled into a pout. it’s cute, the way he looks longingly at your lips—it’s so cute and beautiful and dangerous all at once, just like suguru.

“yes,” you say, “yes i am. i deserve to hear it suguru, after everything you put me through. you…you left me. i wasn’t enough for you. i mourned you. i grieved a body i never even saw. do you know what that does to a person? to lose them not once but two times? the least you could do is tell me what you want,” your voice wavers just a little.

it shakes for the lost time. for the moments you’ll never have. for the memories you lost. for the past that’s tainted. time is cruel like that. but that’s the beauty of it all—the fragility. it’s like sand falling through the cracks of your fingers, every grain slipping from your reach but still soft and soothing against your skin as it falls. everything fades over time, everything starts to hurt one way or another. but it stops. it heals. it starts over. the sand fills the cup of your palms again, warm and delicate and just as beautiful as before it crumbled.

“can i kiss you?” he asks desperately, “please?”

“kissing me is not a temporary thing,” you shake your head, “not anymore. it’s for good. only for good.”

“i want to kiss you for good,” he nods, hands digging into your hips impatiently. you’re close. you’re too far. he can feel you, smell you, hear your unsteady breaths. but it’s not enough. he needs to devour you, taste you on his tongue, and melt you with his touch. “i won’t stop this time,” he promises.

“you better not,” you sniffle, tears blurring your vision. you hated suguru for leaving you. you hated him for coming back to you like this. you never stopped loving him, never will stop loving him—and maybe that’s what love is. when the darkness is worth trekking through for the afterglow of the light. “if you fucking leave me again, you’re dead to me. i don’t care how many times you come back to life. you’re dead to me.”

“okay,” he agrees through a shaky chuckle, “i suppose i deserve that. let me kiss you, yeah?”

“yeah,” you breathe.

he kisses you—years too late, he kisses you. it feels like you’re teenagers again. it feels different and foreign. you know this feeling like the back of your hand. you don’t understand what this sensation is anymore. it’s new. it’s old. it’s perfect. it hurts. suguru is here. he promised not to leave—you don’t know if you believe him, but you’re going to trust that finally, for once, you are enough.

you’re enough to make him happy. to give him a sense of purpose. to keep him swimming when his limbs start to sink.

finally, for once, you’re enough.

“i love you,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing the words into you like he’s offering you the air from his lungs, “i never stopped. i promise.”

“you don’t deserve to hear it from me,” you murmur back, panting against his lips, “not yet.”

“fair enough,” he chuckles, “you sure know how to leave a guy waiting.”

“i learned from the best,” you shoot back.

he grins—suguru smiles, heartfelt and real. life is full of misery, it’s painful, and nothing fucking makes sense. everything is cruel. everything dies no matter how carefully you water the roots. there’s always something, someone, ready to tear it from the earth. but if you keep planting the seeds, suguru will keep watering.

maybe something kind can bloom from that, something big enough for him to hide under the shade when the scorching heat of tragedy becomes too much.

in this world or in the jujutsu world; in this life or in the next. suguru is yours.

“why am i here?” he asks gently, his face digging into your neck. you hold him, cradling the back of his head as you hum.

“because i need you here. will you stay?”

“yes,” he murmurs, “i think i’ll stay.”

hi. i have been working on this since march. its still not how i envisioned it to be originally but that's okay. i had fun writing it and it means a lot to me even tho its kind of. well....cliche LMAO like everything i write. but. i enjoy the cliches okay ?? i do. kxljchskdf hope u guys didn't hate it </3

also the fic banner is …. not the greatest. just ignore it ok

#teepods.writings #fics.#geto x reader #geto x you #geto fluff #geto angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru angst #geto suguru fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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dreamingofbucky · 1 year

Text

IS IT TOO LATE?

Miguel O'Hara x Spider!F!Reader (one shot)

summary: He casted you back to your universe. But now he's back and you don't know why. you thought he hated you for the longest time. But that's furthest from the truth.

tags/content warnings: very much angst. heart strings will be pulled at. consensual smut. p in v. love confessions. soft!miguel. fangs are used for pleasure. begging. size kink. praise, like tons of it. mig and reader healing themselves together.

Word Count: 4.2k (whoops)

author’s note: not beta read. mild midnight miguel thots. more angst though with a very happy ending. idk i was in my feelings lol

You could sense him close to you. You always did, even despite your spider senses.

It was like he’s infected himself into you even years later, unable to get him out of your system.

You were in your kitchen, putting away some dishes when you got the feeling of him being near. It was like a prickle at your neck that grew and grew until every hair on your body rose. You whipped your head around the kitchen and narrowed your eyes to find him. You couldn’t though, he was always good at hiding himself.

“Miguel?” Your voice drifted throughout your apartment. It fell flat though and a sigh wringed out of your throat once you realized he wasn’t there anymore.

But then your spine stiffened to its own accord and you whipped your head this time toward the hallway. You grabbed the dish towel to dry your hands before you made your way. You weren’t on guard, but you kept the towel on your shoulder just in case. Your spider strength would probably work just fine, but you didn’t know what he’d want.

“Miguel? I know you’re here, somewhere,” you called out again with more tenacity in your voice.

There was a creak in the living room and you increased your pace until you were at the entrance, flicking on the light that flooded the room. He wasn’t hiding. He was in the corner, staring at a photo on top of your fireplace.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, fingers reaching for the towel on your shoulder.

His broad shoulders slumped for a moment before he finally turned. He was in his blue and red suit, the one you knew very well. He looked better than the last time you saw him. His face though, was contorted in an expression you couldn’t read.

“I–uh, I’m not sure why I came,” he finally mumbles.

You take a step forward and tread lightly. It’s been four years, so you really didn’t know why he came. This was his decision anyway, to leave you and keep you at a distance.

“It’s been years,” you remind him. He finally turns completely and his brown eyes gleam red a little and then fade back to the rich color you once loved.

The man you once swore you loved forever, until he didn’t. Your heart tugged at the memories of what you and Miguel had. Attempting to push those thoughts away to keep yourself from spiraling like before, you clear your throat.

He finally replies. “I had to see you.”

No reason. Nothing else. Just those five words.

You take another step forward and he does too.

“You can’t just come here without an explanation,” you pushed. Your irritation was starting to increase and your patience was starting to thin for your ex.

Miguel is quiet as he stays grounded. But your senses heightened when he lifted his hand and turned his wrist toward you. Before you could react in time, a bright orangish red web shot out of his wrist and latched onto your chest. You grunt as he pulls you into him, closing the distance. You grab the string of the web and pull it off your shirt, but it's stuck.

“Miguel,” you bite. A smile curls at his lips before a talon comes out of his pointer finger and he snips the web.

“Sorry,” he breathes.

“You’re here, because?” You press again. Your heart was hammering against your chest and you were hoping he’d tell you what he needed you for.

“Spider Society misses you.”

Oh. You weren’t expecting that.

“I’m sure they do,” you quip.

It wasn’t your choice to leave them. To go back to your universe and live out your days. It was Miguel who pushed you to this point.

You even got engaged two years ago to who you thought you could live the rest of your days with. And then things took a turn. Things didn’t work out. He felt like you were stunted by him in this universe. Although you still did your best to be the Spider-Woman your universe needed, it wasn’t enough.

It was like the action of Miguel casting you out back to your universe made you lose your spark. Made you less of who you were meant to be.

You hate him for it. Well, you did the first year before you started to make a life for yourself here. It didn’t work out, obviously.

The thing was, you never really understood why Miguel did what he did. It was so quick, so sudden, casting you out. You thought you were doing well in Spider Society. You made friends, you aced missions. So what did you do wrong? You even loved him to your best ability.

Was it because you couldn’t put universes first before anyone else in your life? Miguel was so bent up on the idea that sacrifices had to be made when it came to being Spider-Man. Guess that included you.

You were a sacrifice he had to make for a reason you still didn’t know.

“Just wanted to check in, see how you were,” he says in an almost whisper. He drops his gaze to your lips and you gulp. No, you couldn’t feel like this for him. Not anymore.

You lift your hand and press your palm to his chest. He looks at it before his brows furrow. His hand then reaches over and caresses yours. His fingers fiddle with your ring finger.

“Your ring, what happened? Where is it?”

You sigh, attempting to turn on your heel and get away from him but his fingers move to your wrist to keep you there. You knew he’d know about you getting engaged. You got your spider senses alerted whenever he was near the first two years you were gone. You knew he was checking up on you frequently. Until he stopped. He didn’t know the engagement was broken off and you lived alone in that small apartment.

“Miguel, let me go.”

He doesn’t budge, so you press your other palm against his chest for leverage but he doesn’t move an inch. Your emotions are getting heightened from it all and you can feel tears start to spring into your eyes. You feel pathetic.

“What happened?” He repeats, his eyes turning soft and curious.

“Nothing happened. You happy?”

“No–” he shakes his head. “Tell me.”

You sigh, not wanting to fight with him. You had years of it when he started becoming too focused on stopping Spider people from disrupting their canon events. Those fights ended up pushing you both to a point that couldn’t be turned back around.

“Miguel, I’m not in the mood. I’ve had a long day. It’s late.”

“Dime qué pasó,” he almost pleads.

Well, if it made him let you go then you had no other choice. You took a deep breath and stared at him. You needed him to know what he did and how it resulted with you no longer having an engagement ring.

“He left me, Miguel. Does that make you happy? He saw how much I couldn’t handle being so far away from my people. From my friends. From you. He saw how it ruined my life being stuck here. I tried so hard to fake it until I was happy, but he saw through it all. He loved me so much that he let me go. Unlike someone who casted me out–”

“I didn’t cast you out because I didn't love you,” he interrupts with a growl. His face leans closer and your core flutters.

Fuck, your body could still react to him like no time has passed.

“We were young,” you argue. “That wasn’t love, the longer I had time apart to contemplate it. We were simply infatuated, but that wasn’t love.”

“It was for me, sabes esto.”

“No, it wasn’t Miguel,” you bite.

Miguel is silent, dropping his hand. You take a step back, a deep breath leaving your lips. His own shoulders move softly with his breathing. Some of the strands of hair at the top of his head fall over his temple and forehead. You want to so desperately lift a hand and brush them back in place. But that's not something you can do anymore.

You take another step back, finding yourself sitting on your couch. You placed your elbows on your knees and took a deep breath. You heard his footsteps follow and he knelt down, placing a finger under your chin and lifted you enough to see him. To look at his eyes that are yearning for you to speak to him.

“Mira, I lied. They didn’t miss you. I did. I stopped checking in on you to give you space. To move on.”

You scoff. “You can see how well that worked out.” You lift your naked ring finger to make a point.

“I needed to see you one last time.”

This brought you to straighten your spine and look at him with widened eyes. “Last time?”

He nods.

“What do you mean, Miguel?”

He’s silent for a moment. “I’m not going to check in on you ever again. You won’t be bothered by me. I’m taking some space from Spider Society as well. They’re better off anyway.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the revelation. He was going to demote himself from the society he created for us? One of the best places you’ve been able to call home for years. You missed it dearly, you couldn’t deny that.

“You can’t just leave them. They need you.”

Miguel’s eyes cast down and this time it’s you bringing a hand under his chin and lifting enough for him to look at you. You scoot a little closer to him where your knees brush. A fire burns in your belly.

“They don’t. I hurt people. I hurt you. I need space and time before I can come back and delegate again. I took things too far.”

“So you’d rather disappear than try to fix things? Did you ever plan to allow me back to Spider Society?”

He shakes his head. “I thought you’d be content here with him. You seemed so happy.”

You laugh. “That wasn’t happy, Miguel. That was coping.”

His thick brows furrow. “No, you were happy.”

“Are you trying to convince yourself? Are you really trying to control the truth? I wasn’t happy. I thought I could play along with this life to deal with everything. I was in survival mode. It was purely a facade. Imagine being introduced to a safe haven and then being stripped of all access to it and its people. That’s what happened to me. I had no choice but to try to make a life for myself here.”

Miguel is quiet for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line. His forehead wrinkles as he thinks deeply.

“This would be easier if I hated you.” He finally mutters.

Now you’re the one raising a brow. “Excuse me?”

“Call this an atonement,” he says. “I shouldn’t have done that to you, but I’m not sure bringing you back would fix things. What happened can’t be undone.”

“I never asked for you to fix it. I’ve learned how to make this my home. It was a home before I got my Spider abilities and it could be my home after.”

“But you’re not happy. You just said so yourself,” he counters.

You huff out a breath, exhausted at all of this back and forth. Why was he really here? If he wanted to see you one last time he could’ve done that without making himself known. He could’ve creeped in the shadows to do it.

“What do you want?” The words are sharp and roll off your tongue like venom. His hands raise and rest on your knees. He’s still kneeling and he scoots closer. A hand travels up your thigh and you suck in a breath.

“One last time,” he repeats so softly you almost miss it.

“We already had our one last time,” you say quietly. You remember that last time you felt him near you. That was when you truly thought that was the last time you’d feel him in your universe.

“No, bebita,” he responds gruffly. “I need you one last time.”

His words aren’t registering in your brain.

“You made it very clear you didn’t need me.”

“Will you let me finish?” His eyes connect with yours and your heart thumps loudly against your chest.

“Finish then,” you push.

“It’s easier to hate you because then I could move on. I never did, bebita.” The nickname rolls off his tongue in a way that makes your core flutter and you clench your thighs.

“I–” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Casting you out was the worst thing I did. I couldn’t take it back, my pride wouldn’t let me. I loved you so much, but I couldn’t say it. It was always on the tip of my tongue. You were it for me, bebita. It crushed me even more to see you making a life for yourself here. Finding a partner to be with, that was the worst of it. It took me months to deal with that one. But I couldn’t risk losing you to the things we did for the universes we saved. Pushing you away was the hardest thing to do, but the safest. If I didn’t have you to sacrifice in life or death situations, then that's what I had to do. I couldn’t lose you in those ways, I just couldn’t.”

His confession brings tears to your eyes and you wrap your hands around his neck. You lean in, pressing your forehead against his. You take a deep breath and he does too. Soon, your breathing becomes sync with his.

“You hurt me,” was all you could say.

“I know, bebita, I know. I’m so sorry. I loved you–I love you so much. It felt like the only way I wouldn’t lose you.”

“But you ended up losing me anyway in the process,” you remind him. He nods.

“I lost you anyway. Please forgive me. Or did I come at the wrong time where that’s not possible? Is it too late?”

You contemplate it for a moment. You hurt for so long with his decision, but now you know why. He did it because he loved you so much. It reminded you of your ex-fiance. He broke things off because he loved you and wanted you to find your true happiness. He knew it wasn’t with him as much as he wanted it to be.

Funny how it’s the same concept with Miguel, but not quite. Miguel’s way was harsher and broke you. But he’s here now apologizing and on his knees.

All the feelings of your life with Miguel come back surfacing. The good and the bad. But he was the best thing in your life.

“And what would we do after this? Would you just leave and never see me again? After everything that’s been said?”

He grabs your cheeks and pushes you back a little. His face is pained as he thinks of a response. He leans in, kissing your forehead before kissing your nose and then your cheeks. “I don’t know anymore. Lyla asked me the same thing.”

You smiled softly. “Lyla… I missed her.”

Miguel smiled as well, tears in his eyes. “She misses you everyday. She might be the reason why I came tonight.”

“I’m glad, then,” you say. This brings another smile to his face and your heart warms. Your whole body warms.

“Miguel,” you whisper. He leans in again, pressing his lips to your nose. You inhale his scent for a moment.

“I can’t repair what’s been done.”

“You can’t,” you concede. “But we can take it day by day.”

“Really?” He says with a little happier tone.

You nod. “But you can’t do that again. Don’t push me away. Don’t make me think you hate me. That I was the worst thing in your life.”

A sob pulls through you and tears cascade down your cheeks. Miguel is quick to brush them away with his thumbs. He finally brushes his lips against yours and you stiffen at the movement.

“Can I?” He asks softly.

Instead of answering, you lean in to close the distance. His lips were soft and the memories of kissing him all over filled your senses. Your body still craved him, you just pushed those feelings as down as you could.

He continues to kiss with passion, like a man starved. His tongue presses against your teeth and you part your mouth, allowing him inside. He groans a little at the feeling and a moan escapes your own lips.

“Let me make it up to you, por favor,” he asks, moving his hands to your thighs and running them up until they find your hips. You hitch your breath at the feeling and you nod.

“It won’t make up for all these years, but you can try,” you say with a little spite and a little tease. Something in you wanted him to work for it. You couldn’t just forgive this easily, he had to know how much you hurt all this time.

“I’ll live the rest of my days making it up to you then, bebita,” he kisses you once more before moving his hands from your hips to your backside. He pulls you hard closer to him before you’re straddling your hips. You squeal from the sudden movement and then he rises. He starts to walk as you continue to kiss, as if he mesmerized the layout of your apartment from his check-ins. This brought another flutter to your core and you needed him in more ways than one.

He enters your bedroom and plops you on the bed softly. You shift yourself up to the pillows and he climbs the bed alongside you. Your hands come up to his hair, making their home in his strands as he continues to attack you with kisses. He moves his lips to your neck and you moan loudly, bucking your hips up. He groans from the sounds.

“Bite me,” you plead through breaths.

“Estás seguro?” he asks, lifting his lips from your neck for a brief second. You push his head back down to your bare skin and nod.

“Yes, please, Mig. Bite me like you used to. Fuck me like you used to. Make me whole again,” you plead. You can’t help the tears that come back to your eyes and fall down your cheeks. He doesn’t notice though, which you’re grateful for.

He obliges though, kissing your neck and then you feel something piercing you. His fangs sink into your skin and it feels wet instantly. You moan through it, leaning down to bite his own neck.

“F-fuck,” he moans once his fangs pull out. He lifts his head to look at you and it’s like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. His eyes light up and then turn into a feral thing you were so used to in the past.

Miguel knew how to be gentle with you when he could, but you always noticed the way his eyes would turn red with a primal need to love you until you were thrashing and screaming his name, clenching around him.

You needed him to go that far. You wanted him to.

“Don’t hold back,” you whisper finally.

His eyes search yours before he nods and snakes his hand under your hair and wraps his fingers around the strands until he can pull your neck the other way. He leans in and you feel that pain again as he sinks his fangs into the other side of your neck. Your hips buck up again and you gasp.

“Smell so good, taste so good,” he murmurs. His lips travel lower, kissing your collarbone. He helps you out of your mundane clothes before you’re lying naked in front of him. With a press of his watch on his wrist, his suit pixelates into nothing until he’s there naked over you. You forgot for a moment his suit does that.

“Please, Mig,” you say in deep breaths as you feel his erection pressing against your hip. You reach down blindly, feeling for his cock and then caressing it in up and down motions. He groans through this and curses under his breath, jutting his hips further into your hand.

“Need you,” he pleads.

“You have me,” you assure him.

He lifts himself on his knees which causes your hands to fall from his cock. He then begins to stroke himself and you spread your legs around him. His eyes glance down at your core and your cheeks heat.

“So fucking pretty and wet already for me, bebita. Just like I knew you’d be.”

You just nod as you stay transfixed on him, rubbing his cock before he positioned himself at your entrance. You didn’t care for him to prep you, you needed him now.

“It’s going to hurt, tell me to stop if you–”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off. You made a point by reaching down and grabbing his wrist around his cock and aligning yourself with his tip. You pressed his tip against your fold and you both gasped. You shut your eyes briefly at the wonderful sensation.

He always fucked you so well, that was something you missed. And now he was here, doing just that.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well. Such a good fucking girl,” he grunts as he presses himself into you, inch by inch.

The pain soared throughout your body with each inch, but you didn’t care. You finally had him again and your cunt clenched around him. He moaned at the movements, but you couldn’t help yourself.

When he finally pressed into you all the way, you both took deep breaths. He leaned in, pressing his palms into the mattress to support himself. He shifted a little, moving inside you and you whined.

“So big,” you gasped.

“You can take it, bebita,” he cooed. “You always did so good for me, you can do it again. Okay?”

You nod, biting your lip as he moved his hips to slowly pull out of you and then he slammed back in, causing you to shift up on the bed from his strength. He curses under his breath again and you whine at the stretch of him. His girth was bigger than you remembered and you swore he was splitting you in half, but you loved it.

“More, more,” you begged and he obliged. He snapped his hips back and forth into you, earning a cry from your lips at each thrust.

“So pretty when you cry for me,” he groans as his hips start to grow sloppy. He was getting closer to his release and you were too.

Your core tightened and your pussy clenched around his cock in a beautiful way.

“So close,” you mumbled through his thrust.

“Come with me, bebita,” he says before leaning down, sinking his fangs into your neck once more. This makes all your sensations come alive and you can’t hold back anymore. Your legs wrap around his waist, causing him to push deeper into you and hitting the best parts.

“I’m going to–” you screamed before you felt everything explode. You saw stars, your body was shaking, and he was holding onto your tightly. He dropped his head into the crevice of your neck and muttered nonsense as he came right after you. Rope after rope of his cum filled you up and you clenched around him even more, milking his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpered as his hips stuttered and he collapsed over you. “Please don’t do that, not gonna last the night.”

You giggled, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist. You both breathed intensely but you were so fucking happy.

“I love you, bebita,” he finally says, lifting himself to look at you. He wipes a strand of hair that was stuck on your forehead. You grab his face and kiss him. He moans deeply and his cock twitches inside you.

You squirm underneath him. “I love you too, Miguel. Always have, always will.”

He kisses you back with more passion. “You mean it?”

You nod and laugh as he tickles your side. You try to squirm away, but it’s hard with his cock still in you. Your pussy flutters around him again and he groans. “Bebita, that will only make me go for another round.”

“I know,” you confess with a smile.

You had years of catching up to do, anyways. You didn’t plan to leave that bed anytime soon.

Miguel smiled and wrapped his arms around you before flipping you both over. His back plopped on the bed and you were straddling him above, your head laying on his chest.

“You don’t have to ever forgive me,” he whispers, stroking your bare back. “But I hope you give me the time to make it up to you.”

You lift your head, resting your chin on his chest. He cranes his neck to look down at you.

“It’s not too late,” you finally answer and those words were all he needed to hear.

#miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #spider man 2099 #across the spiderverse fanfiction #spiderverse #spiderman #oscar isaac #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction

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enhaheeseung · 3 months

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Toxic - L. Heeseung

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader!

Warning: toxic ex, mentions of relationships, crying, angst kinda, suggestive, drinking, party setting.

Genre: toxic relationship, ex’s to?

WC: ??? Short lol

Note: This is my first time writing a Drabble thingy so go easy on me lol half edited btw.

Toxic ex-boyfriend hee that still has friends that are friends of yours, so whenever you go out to a party or a gathering, you can expect him to be right there.

Who spots you in a crowd and casually walks up to you at one of those said parties to greet you as if you both didn’t break up a year ago because of how toxic the relationship was getting.

Who when you try to walk away from him, he’ll grab you by your wrist and gently guide you somewhere else, a bit more quiet. His hand rests beside your head on the wall behind you, the other holding a red solo cup as he bends his neck lower to talk to you. “I miss you,” he drunkenly spills out to you and sets his cup aside, his other hand going to hold your waist. His touch is barely there, yet it still burns your skin despite your clothing covering it.

Who holds you still when you try to get away, and with both of his hands now resting on your waist, you felt too weak to even move. Just his touch alone could have you in shambles. “You miss me too, right? Miss us together?” he whispers, pulling you into his chest, and the moment his cologne hits your nose and invades your senses, you helplessly melt into his arms.

Who hums in contentment when you lean against him, his palms stroking your back softly, and moments later, you hear soft sniffles, ones that you heard over the phone countless of times after your break up. He’d always do this, and you knew exactly what was coming next. You just don’t know if you had the strength this time to turn him away. “I’m sorry, y/n. I know I’m insecure, and I know I get jealous to the point of anger, but it’s just cause I love you so much and don’t want you going anywhere without me. I need you by my side and no one else’s.” he nuzzled his face against your cheek, his warm, flushed skin sending sparks throughout your whole entire body. “You know I’m selfish, baby,” he chuckled, the deep bass in his voice rumbling against your chest, leaving your heart no choice but to beat faster. “So selfish.” he holds you tighter, putting emphasis on each word as he inhales your inviting scent.

Who finally lets go when you come to your senses and push him off of you. You step away from him, trying to stabilize your shaky voice. “Heeseung…” his name hangs in the air, his eyes softening as he watched you moving further and further away from him. His heart dropped to his stomach cause even though there wasn’t even a five-foot distance. The gap was still too much for him to handle. “I have to go…”

Who can’t take no for an answer. “No,” he steps closer, holding onto you so you physically can’t leave him. “Come on, don’t do this to me, don’t do this to us, please,” he begs, the smell of alcohol still heavy on his breath.

Who can visibly see you slowly but surely getting sucked back in the longer be pleads with you, but you can’t cause you know exactly what it would lead to, yet you still just can’t step away. “Come back to me, love. You know I can change.” he bends down, hands far too low on your waist to be considered appropriate for ex’s, but you don’t mind, and you also didn’t mind when his warm lips made contact with your neck, and just like that you were his again as his kisses got wetter and sloppier you couldn’t help the moan you let out. “Yeah, baby, that’s right, moan for me. Nobody else can do you the way I can, isn’t that right?” He kissed your earlobe, and you weakly gripped his broad shoulders to hold yourself up, otherwise, you would have collapsed from the euphoric feeling of his lips making out with your sensitive neck. “Kiss me.” he leaned back, searching your eyes with his desired filled ones. He can’t help but smirk when he sees you zeroing in on his lips, the anticipation rising in his veins, and just before your lips can meet, one of your friends is dragging you away from him, and just like that, the moment is over your head is finally cleared. And as you look back at him while you’re being escorted out of the party, you can’t decipher if you feel happy that you’re not around him anymore or sad by the unmistakable look of hurt and disappointment on his face, but as the cold air hits your face, you’re just glad that the moment is over and you can finally breathe properly.

Who can’t help but feel like his life is ending when he sees you being taken away from him. Anger and jealousy bubbling in his veins, and he tries to resist running after you, but he can’t despite his friends calling for him not to. It’s just too bad that when he gets outside, it’s too late, and you’re already driving home with your friend. He touches his lips and closes his eyes to calm himself. The feel of your skin still there, and he smirks while opening his eyes and swiping his tongue on his bottom lip, knowing he’d be seeing you around.

#enhypen heeseung #enhypen #heeseung #lee heeseung #enha heeseung #engene #heeseung smut #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #lee heeseung x y/n #enhypen lee heeseung smut #lee heeseung angst #enhypen fanfic #lee heeseung smut

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dev1lm4n · 1 year

Text

polaroid

pairings: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel made sure the eight shots he took from his polaroid 600 were the best.

word count: 4.4k (istg this is not as long as you'd expect)

warnings: explicit (18+), p in v, no protection, kinda manipulative, joel's old age is emphasized hehe ;)

notes: this is super foul i had to take a break writing it lol. anyways, send me a req or chat me up pls i swear i'm friendly.

10:30 PM

Every ticking noise that damned clock made managed to hammer itself into your subconscious mind. It’s taunting you endlessly, reminding you of the fact that Joel Miller once again broke his promise. You’re aware that it’s a cycle, but you couldn’t help relent the last time around. He was begging on his knees, telling you how much you meant to him, and that it was an honest mistake. He then made another promise. One that you had faith in. Turns out he’s still too mouthy for his own good.

His lies were not good for you. It was dreadful.

Every sense of yours was heightened. You felt the significant need to move without end; if your limbs were moving then perhaps you could continue to burrow that crawling sensation in your stomach, or at least you could ignore it a while. First, it was chewing on the plush skin around your finger tips. It helped satiate your crowded head for a second or two. But then the questions came around without warning.

Had he been in an accident? Was he hurt somewhere, unable to call for help?

The thought of him lying somewhere injured and alone made you feel sick to the stomach. Pictures of terror flooded your head; all the carcasses and tangy blood. All the rot and rats. You were spiraling in a downward motion. It was only in moments like these that you knew it was still there, the fear, coursing through your veins as if it hitched a ride on your hemoglobin. You needed an immediate distraction. A way to rid yourself of the tumultuous mess in your head, which might just be the small nook of Joel’s things.

You took a leap out of bed, flinching as you’re instantly greeted by the bitterly cold floor boards. It took all of your emotional strength to reach that particular corner and all of your physical strength to pick up the one item that reminded you of Joel; his polaroid 600. The black object gave a light sheen as you cradled it between your gentle fingers.

“I’m home.”

His gruff voice put you at ease. The sigh that escaped your dry lips was slow, as if your brain needed that time to process what had happened, to recollect the marbles you’ve dropped all over the floor. You needed to reset your emotions or else it’ll come faltering down like a broken dam. It’s pathetic how you’re already on the brink of weeping; tears pricked the edge of your vision, that sweet part of your lips tucked under your blunt canines.

You were soft when it came to him. He was your sole purpose - the only reason you’re still breathing in new air.

Joel’s footsteps sounded familiar. You remembered the rhythm and the weight to it, the click-clack against the wooden floor. But tonight it sounded a little hesitant - a slight drag to the way he moved - which was probably caused by your failure to respond. Here in Jackson people strived to return to a certain degree of normalcy, but everyone knew deep inside that the fear lingers. Neither you nor Joel could ever get rid of the constant fear of carnage, of arriving home to nothing but a corpse.

A defined thud resonated around the room. You looked over your shoulder in response, meeting Joel’s large build crowding the bedroom’s entrance. He looked just as you expected. Revolver in hand, crow’s feet emphasized in worry, tired eyes trained on you; you’d have considered the gesture a little grand if you didn’t know Joel and what he’s been through. But you knew him. Through and through. So you settled on a tight-lipped smile.

“Sweetheart.. you didn’t answer.”

Joel let out a hoarse sigh as he lowered his weapon in haste. You weren’t afraid of his little machinery, but he always hated having it in his hands when you’re around. He told you it made him remember all the blood he’s spoiled and he wouldn’t want that kind of thought being associated with his pretty angel. Joel was corny, that’s for sure.

His shoulders sagged dramatically. He muttered something to himself, perhaps thanking whatever entity out there for keeping you safe while he’s away.

“You’re late. Again.”

Joel was a liar every now and then, but he wasn’t a bastard. He wasn’t planning on making up a fucked-up rationale on why it’s permissible for him to break promises with you, nor was he planning to make you feel like you’re over-reacting and hysterical. He was wrong and that’s that. You weren’t looking his way, but he knew for a fact that you were upset. It’s almost a little too obvious from the way your shoulders heave up and down, as if trying to contain your heavy heart.

“Yeah. I shouldn’t have-”

“You’re doing this way too often, Joel. I don’t think I can-”

His boots drummed boisterously as he approached you with much caution. Your ominous tone was making him nervous.

“No.. don’t do this to me, sweetheart. Please. Just hear me out.”

He knew you’d hear him out everytime, even when half of his truths were undeniably stupid at times.

“I brought you the films. For the polaroid. Remember?”

“You did?”

You turned on your heel at the bribe he’s thrown. Lo and behold, he’s holding what appears to be a thick case of something. You threw out any trace of manners your parents had taught you and reached instantly for the packaging, practically ripping it off his fingers. Joel didn’t complain one bit. It’s as if he’s planned this all out to happen; your anticipation and ultimately, his forgiveness.

It was the size of your palm. A faded sky blue rocked the front covers, while a streak of rainbow decorated the sides. It looked nothing like you’ve seen before and you’re simply elated to hold such a gem between your hands. You ran your fingers down the softened cardboard front, reading along what was written in thick black letters. POLAROID. A perfect match to the tool you’ve been cradling ever since Joel managed to once again miss his curfew. Your lips inevitably curved into a sweet smile. The fatty part of your cheeks lifted in excitement, causing your eyes to turn into pretty crescents Joel adored a whole lot. You’re so easily satiated - it’s embarrassing at times.

“How do you use it. Joel?”

“Oh, sweetheart, let me show you.”

He shuffled towards your left side. His expression straightened back to how it usually is - a little mean and grouchy - as he received the ancient camera back from you. It must’ve been a fresh stock from back in the day considering how untouched the plastic shell seemed to be. Joel remembered that his polaroid back in the day was anything but pretty. Scratched on all sides, a glittery rainbow sticker stuck to the very front (a little reminder of his sweet daughter Sarah), with a flash button that barely worked. He smiled faintly at the memory.

You watched with great concentration as he tore open the cardboard ruthlessly. He’s not one for patience, that’s a fact you learned just now. His thick thumb made its way past the silver packet, then a small grunt slipped past his lips as a sign of victory. Joel popped the film inside the crevice. A whizzing noise surprised you off your feet, which was rewarded by a light chuckle from your side.

This contraption of his - the polaroid as he called it - threw up a square-shaped plastic along with its almost alien-like whirring noise.

“What’s that?”

“That’s just the protective casing, no need to worry.”

You hummed in response. Curiosity punctured your bubble of worries.

“I’ll show you how to take a picture, yeah?”

As Joel motioned for you to take a step back, he had this.. look on his face. You would’ve guessed that he was actually gazing at you lovingly if it weren’t for the tinge of fear laced across his features. It was the most obvious in his eyes. Deep inside those brown irises was the brutality he’s endured. Down there was where his black dog resided, pushed into a corner but always looming at every given moment. His eyes never sparkled. Not even with you.

You were deep in thought, perched over the edge of his bed. Joel didn’t warn you when he clicked over the shutters. Either he’s too worn out from his ventures out in the wilderness or he’s just too entranced by the sight you’ve proposed to him. It didn’t matter though. What mattered was the fact that you’ve unfortunately closed your eyes at the bright, flaming flash. What mattered was that you just wasted a very valuable film.

“Shit. I think I closed my eyes there.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“But-”

“You look pretty even with your eyes closed, girl.”

Joel picked up the picture and flicked it over to you. You caught it just in time. But you were utterly puzzled by the fact that there wasn’t anything on the square-shaped paper.

“There’s nothing there, Joel.”

Your eyebrows furrowed unsurely. A million thoughts reeling in as you took the picture between your fingers, looking over it under the moonlight filtering through.

“You need ta wait and be patient, pretty.”

You muttered out a foul word, looking all petulant and bratty at his request. Was he fooling you with all his mystical objects? You stared at the picture expectantly. Cautiously as well, as if it’d turn into something otherworldly. It was then that you saw it. How the colors and shapes slowly emerged from the white paper. And there you were, frozen in time, captured forever in that single moment.

An exaggerated gasp escaped your lips.

“See. It works.”

“Yeah, but my eyes are closed. You need to count to three, y’know. That’s the gentlemanly way.”

Joel grumbled, but agreed begrudgingly. He stretched his back like the old man that he was before he settled beside you. The bed creaked an embarrassing noise beneath his weight - you wondered how the two of you hadn’t received a single noise complaint from your neighbors. You could see him clearly now, where the moonlight shone brighter, even when a part of his face was covered by the blunt-edges of the polaroid.

“One.”

His accent was such a playful tune, as if he were the star of his own movie. You could have sat there all day just to listen.

“Two.”

The map of wrinkles on his face told of the most incredible journey. His crow’s feet told of laughter, of warm smiles and affection. His forehead told of worries past and worries present. But mostly they were so deeply ingrained they told of a man who’s been through hell and back. To reduce his glory to a sign of age and incompetence would be disrespectful.

“Three.”

A flash of white blinded you for a second, but this time you made sure to smile with such poise.

Joel flicked the picture in his hand. He looked.. star-struck. As if he’d caught a glimpse of what Aphrodite looked like herself, of what all the good in this world could manifest into, of how unworthy he was to have you sitting here in his bedroom. You were heavenly - the kind that was unheard of after shit hits the fan - and it was good to be reminded once again. He fell into silence.

“Was it not good?”

He shook his head as he placed the polaroid down by his side.

“Why are you-”

His power was overwhelming when he purposefully pushed you back onto the stiff mattress; it seemed that all his rough jobs chopping up woods and tackling infected had done him a huge favor. Even when he’s grazing the silver birthday mark, he’s still as ravenous as ever. You landed along a gentle thud, his large hand managed to cup over the back of your head to keep you safe. Joel always treats you like a frail porcelain piece, even when you’re begging for him to treat you like a rag doll.

Joel’s large arms caged you in on either side. You feel small underneath him and it felt good. It felt like you didn't have to worry about a single thing in his presence. Your nimble fingers grazed over his worn-out flannel that perfectly fits around his large fore-arms. A squeeze here and there to reassure him that you’re okay with this, with him taking charge. You knew just how defenseless he felt these days and you’d like to ease his burden just for a little.

For a moment, all you could hear was his ragged breathing and all you could see was his darkened gaze.

“You’re so perfect.”

He purred lovingly as he leaned in close. His pointed nose brushed against the lobe of your ears, while his stubble tickled that sensitive spot below your jaw. You’ve always loved the beard-burn from his scarce stubble; it always felt personal, the one thing nobody else could do except for Joel. One touch and it was over. It was always that way with you and him.

His open-mouthed kisses drew a sloppy wet trail down the left side of your neck. He took his time to worship you, granting you those claim marks you’ve always fussed about. A bloom of discoloration here and there. You’ve always told him that it was rather childish, but he didn’t care. You were his art work and this was his creativity taking reins.

There’s something about him that lit you up from the inside and there’s something about you that crushed him. Touching you was like being handed the holy grail, like committing a sacrilegious sin from how faultless you were.

“Stay still.”

He ordered you and you were to comply.

Joel pulled away ever so slightly to reach for the polaroid that’s abandoned by your side. He gave you a cheeky smile, one that you didn’t think was possible to be sported so confidently by a fifty-something years old. He then lifted the camera to his eye and adjusted the settings, making sure that the exposure and focus were just right. He wanted this picture to be perfect, to capture the essence of those marks he’s crafted like a true artisan.

A flash disrupted your trance once more. Another one of those whirring noises occurred.

You looked at him in disbelief as he put away the polaroid and its creation, giving you his undivided attention once more. Was Joel about to document this entire night like a ballsy teenage boy? You couldn’t help but giggle at the thought. Joel always managed to make things feel juvenile every single time, as if this was your first night tangled up and not the nth time.

“Are you trying to create a sex tape or something?”

“Nah.”

He answered shortly, too busy pawing your tank top off to even give you a proper answer. Joel tugged the thin fabric upwards, giving you a slight tilt of his head to urge you to lift your head and let the tank top slide off. He’s tried the ‘ripping-off’ technique to maintain efficiency before, but he knew he’d be greeted with an earful after you’ve come down from the inebriated daze he’s initiated. Clothes were expensive, that’s what you always say.

If he were to name one part of your body he’s obsessed with, he knew exactly what to say, no matter how shallow it must’ve sounded. They’re just way too pretty. Joel leaned back down, attaching his wet lips to your plush mounds. Throughout the years he’s spent with you, he’s learned your favorites. He’s learned how you’d mewl whenever he’d run your sensitive buds under his calloused fingers. Twisting it cruelly or flicking at it teasingly, he’d marvel at its hardened form every time. Then he’d reattach his lips right on target, suckling on it while listening to your verbal cues. He’d receive a desperate ngh if he wasn’t going the way you wanted him to and a pleased moan of his name if he’s doing fantastic.

“Joel!”

Your squeaked exclamation had him working overtime. His soaked tongue doing laps around your nipples, getting each one all worked-up before he moved on to the sweeter part of this deal. He looked starved doing this and it made your hole twitch.

Once again, Joel leaned back to reach for the damn polaroid, pulling you away from your whimpering frenzy.

“Push your tits together and smile, sweetheart.”

He ordered and you did just that. This time your eyes looked hazy, like you’ve been high on something, but your breasts looked as amazing as always. Nipples perked upwards as a result of his persistent endeavors. Joel looked pleased at the developed picture, scrutinizing every detail as if he’s some acclaimed photographer. He sat back down evenly on the bed. You were left there, smiling loopily and awaiting his next order,

“You want me to take a good shot of you, hm?”

You nodded.

“Sit down, sweetheart, and take off your shorts.”

You pulled yourself up eagerly. Your movements were a little clumsy as you pulled your shorts off, kicking them off once they reached your knee.

“Show me where you need me.”

A taste of doubt pooled in your stomach. He lowered the polaroid slightly, knowing that his encouraging look would ignite back the confidence in your chest. It worked wonders on you everytime and you’re back on track again. You slowly pushed your thighs apart, one at a time to rile him up just the right amount. Your floral patterned panties were still in place as Joel hadn’t quite ordered you to remove them just yet and in this space, you work by his orders. Still, the wet patch was embarrassingly obvious, running down your slit and growing particularly wide atop of your entrance.

He cocked his head to the side. A motion you could only deduct as a heartening push for you to go a step further. You pulled the soft cotton to the side, growing breathless under his cruel stare. The cold night air grazed your clit in a manner that made you writhe; you were sensitive all over and all you wanted to do was beg for him to fill you up already. To have his large hands pin you down and strike your airway, leaving you breathless and asking for forgiveness. But that’s not what good girls do and you know that only good girls deserve to be rewarded.

Apparently exposing yourself to this extent wasn’t enough for Joel as he hasn’t snapped a picture yet. Desperate to please him, you placed your fingers on either side of your outer labia. Lips tucked deep beneath your teeth as you pulled them apart. Only to reveal your throbbing clit and your sweet cunt that’s been twitching at every look he gave you. It’s all sticky too. A webbed substance coating every part vulgarly. Joel chuckled at the sight, making fun of your submission towards him.

The whirring sound occurred again and you were relieved.

“You want to touch yourself?”

“I want you, Joel, please.”

“That’s not in the question.”

You shivered at his authoritative tone.

“Yes, please.”

Joel nodded permissively. You nodded, doing your best to keep calm under pressure. Pretending he wasn’t there staring you down would be an awfully hard task, but you’re forced to prevail. Your little hole spasmed as you pressed your soft fingers onto your needy clit. You settled on a circular motion, bringing it around your clit then down to gather some natural lubrication from your profusely leaking hole. This motion alone had you chanting his name like a kind of magical mantra.

Your eyes scrunched close, lost in deep pleasure while drowning in embarrassment. It wasn’t enough - that’s for certain - but it was good enough to satisfy the aching pain.

“Put a finger in.”

He recommended and you abide without a saying. Your fingers felt dramatically different than his, they’re a lot stubbier so they wouldn’t be able to reach the good parts, but they’ve become your trusty friend after years of being a lady. Your left hand stayed focused on your clit, while your other hand ventured closer towards your leaking hole. A sharp inhale was what you took before you pushed one finger pass. It went in too easily and just the feeling of being halfway full made you feel euphoric, a hoard of pathetic moans teasing your tongue.

“What a good girl.”

His compliment was accompanied by the now familiar snap of the polaroid, whirring in as per usual to form an image of your vulgar body. Once again, Joel abandoned his treasured property to the side to admire you. Admire his good girl that’s gone by the rules because you know how amazing he’ll treat you when you’re being sweet. Joel was erratic as he unbuckled his belt, doing it with such haste he’s fumbling to pop the buttons open. It made him let out a frustrated grunt that’s easily met with your joyful set of laughter.

“You ain’t gonna get a good fuckin’ if you kept that on.”

His Texas twang shut you up easily. You grinned at him brattily, still stuffing your pussy nice and good as if you can’t stand another minute without something inside of you. He shook his head at the sight. Joel joined in on your playful games when he finally managed to relieve his cock of the fabric prison it’s been kept in. His cock had always been pretty - a pinkish tip with a peachy shaft, always leaking with pearly stickiness up top - yet it seems you’ve forgotten what it looked like up close. After all, it’s been awhile since he took good care of you.

Joel fisted his cock with a tempo you’ve grown familiar with. You’ve witnessed this sight multiple times, yet you’re still bewitched by it everytime. Once he’s satisfied with how sleek he’s turned out to be, he shuffled closer to you. Eyes boring deep within yours with every kind of emotion available to mankind. All mixed up and served as an intoxicating cocktail. He’s trying to tell you something, you knew that, but you’ve never actually figured out what he’s been dying to say. Those thoughts soon turned warp as he fitted himself on your entrance. He ran his shaft up and down over your slit, teasing a reaction out of you.

“Fill me. Put it in- Joel- Joel, please.”

You thrusted your hip upwards with need and that was enough to give him the reassurance he needed. He eased in carefully, knowing that fitting his fat tip was a hard task you never got used to, while his pointer finger rubbed perfect circles on your sensitive nub. A subtle burn caught your throat when he finally bottomed out entirely. He was so girthy it’s hard to situate yourself around him. It even managed to prick a tear out the corner of your eyes.

“Beggin’ me to fuck you good. Teasin’ me like a brat. You’re really somethin’, ain’t ya?”

He rasped in your ear as he inched even closer. His hips snapped just at the right moment and with the perfect altitude to get you trembling. You reached out to hold onto the collar of his flannel. It became your only lifeline as he implored even further, pulling out then immediately filling you up like you’re some sort of pastry. An avalanche tumbling down within your lower abdomen. The pleasure was from another kind of heaven. The kind that could only be brought out by a man who’s dangling in weighty sins.

“Gonna be the end of me.”

To be filled to the very brim made you lose your head. Everything was starting to melt off, your common sense and your previous anger of his audacious lies. It all disappeared at every thrust, every time his lengthy cock disappeared inside your pretty cunt, everything seemed to feel alright. Everything was bright and pristine. He was a good man and so was you. Your eyes flickered, rotating between the sheen appearing on his wrinkled forehead and where his shaft was swallowed by you.

“I’m sorry for being an asshole.”

You knew this was coming. He’s always asking for forgiveness whenever he’s seven inches buried within you. Perhaps that’s exactly what made him an asshole.

“Joel- Just-”

All the words you’ve assigned were scrambled once more when it reached the tip of your tongue.

“I’m sorry for lyin’.”

He whispered out faintly. Was that his version of ‘I love you’? Your hazed mind couldn’t know for certain, but all you knew was that it was sincere from the depth of his heart. You could always tell when he’s being vulnerable and when he’s patching up those brick walls again. He was here right now, in the moment, and entirely euphoric at the way your cunt pulsed around him.

“More, Joel. More!”

“More what?”

“More of your c- cock.”

Joel filled you up so good. It was torture the way he always kept you at bay, but right now all you could think of was how no one could fill you up this way. Even when he’s cruel and distant, even when he occasionally declines your request to remove his clothes and let you see him whole, even when he lies, you are always going to be there. No one could ever fuck you the way he would.

“Where do ya want me, darling?”

He prompted as if you still have the right mind to answer. You were pulsing without end, rocking through the orgasm that’s just edging to come by.

“Inside. Inside, please, please, please.”

You chanted without end. All throughout your eventful high, thighs jittering and rocking into his every movement as a particularly loud moan echoed around the room. He granted your wishes kindly; injecting you with what he’s been withholding all week, white painting your insides like it was some sort of high-end abstract art. You heaved at the feeling, extremely pleased.

“Fuck, sweetheart.”

He greeted your freshly drugged out mind sweetly. It was then that you hear the last two whirring noises consecutively. One of a close-up shot of your fucked up hole oozing his own dose of cum, and another a pretty shot of your dazed expression. Joel quietly thought that it’d be the perfect accessory for his damn wallet.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #tlou #joel miller #joel miller tlou #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us imagine

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beewolfwrites · 1 year

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you could write something about y/n not being japanese and not knowing Japanese so Chishiya is super interested in her and helps her learn some japanese? Thank U!! ❤️❤️❤️

Soooo, for those who used to read my fics, hello again! I'm alive, lol. Just had a busy year, lost an aunt to covid, completely changed my career, had a whole spectrum of family issues, and lost all time for writing anything.

I haven't watched season 2 yet, but apparently they've put Chishiya in the Jack of Hearts game and he eats some cookies (??)

This ask was from such a long time ago, so I'm sorry anon, I hope you're out there somewhere enjoying season 2! The request was so similar to the character in my fics, so I just wrote this as kind of a deleted scene from AWIAF, early on just after she joins the Beach.

Enjoy :)

____________________________

I traced the kanji for 帽子や, making sure each thin black stroke was neat, in perfect order. Despite the mid-morning sunshine, the bar and pool was empty. Even the usual bartender was tucked away behind hotel curtains, likely sleeping off a game. Having only arrived a few days ago, I didn’t know what I had expected, but I quite liked this side of the Beach. An inflatable flamingo lay discarded on the pool’s edge, and on every surface tall glasses glistened with the dregs of warm cocktails - ghosts of last night’s chaos. However, the warmth of the sun grazing the back of my neck and the soft lap of the pool reminded me that there could be some respite here - maybe not heaven or a utopia, but something.

Hunched over my notebook, I flicked through a pocket dictionary, listing the kanji for useful words.

帽子や - Hatter

危ない - Dangerous

生きる - to live (ichidan verb) - 生きます (formal)

死ぬ - to die (godan verb) - 死にます (formal)

“What a waste of time.”

Even with the quiet of the pool, I hadn’t heard him approach. The air shifted, disturbed by his sudden presence, as he sat on the barstool beside mine. A little too close for comfort, his shadow blocked out the sunlight and he smelled like the shared detergent from the Beach’s laundry room. He didn’t reach for any of the drinks or snacks, but sat playing with an old iPod as he analysed the notes in front of me. I flattened my hand over the page, fighting off a shiver.

“I didn’t realise it was any of your business how I spend my time.”

“It isn’t,” he said. “But if you’re going to be of any use to Hatter, you need to change your strategy and learn the language faster.”

Strategy? For learning Japanese? Me and my notes had nothing to do with him. “I don’t know what you’re taking about. Not everything is a game, Chishiya.”

He raised a brow. “Isn’t it? Hatter didn’t let you stay out of the kindness of his heart. He wants playing cards, and I gave him my word that you're smart.”

“Are you suggesting I’m stupid?”

“No, but what use is a player who can’t understand the rules?”

If he hadn’t come here for drinks or snacks, surely he only found me to pressurise me. I didn’t need his unhelpful little comments, warnings and riddles. There was more than enough of that in the games.

“I didn’t luck out of those games, you know? I actually did understand the rules. You knew that already, so stop trying to play with me.”

He smiled, clearly enjoying himself. “This whole world is a game, and even now you’re in a life or death situation. Are you sure you have time to be writing out kanji for words you already know?”

I closed my notebook. Yes, I had known deep down that writing out vocabulary wouldn’t get me very far. But it was hardly as if the Beach offered intensive fast-track language classes for poor unfortunate tourists who landed themselves here. The only hope I had was Chishiya, who was currently more invested in detangling his headphones than holding this conversation.

I leaned back, stretching out my fingers to feel the sun once more. “What do you suggest then, O Great Language Master?”

“Immersion.”

The idea was laughable. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m about as immersed as I can get. I’m in Japan, surrounded by Japanese people, playing death games that are only explained in Japanese —

“And yet you hide away in your room. You only come down when the pool is quiet. You don’t speak to anyone aside from myself or Kuina, and most of the time, you speak to us in your own language.” His catlike eyes slid across in a side glance so calculating, it hurt. “Am I wrong?”

There was nothing more I could say. I couldn’t even argue with him, and there was no point to it. “So what can I do then?”

He shifted, turning to face me fully. “Between now and tomorrow, only speak to me in Japanese.”

“What if I don’t know how to say something?”

“Then ask,” he said, “or look it up in that dictionary. But don’t rely on a language that isn’t going to help you survive.”

I pursed my lips, thinking through my words before speaking. “なぜ私を助けて”

Why are you helping me?

Chishiya looked away, squinting out across the courtyard. His mouth curled as if there was a private joke I had missed somewhere.

“さあね...”

He slid off his stool and slipped his ipod back into his pocket, before heading back into the hotel.

Who knows?

#alice in borderland #aib #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x oc #chishiya x reader #imawa no kuni no arisu

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yeehawbvby · 1 year

Text

In Too Deep (Arven x GN!Reader) | Ch. 3*

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: “I nudge my way through his forest of hair and latch onto his throat – wanna give him the same pseudo-bolt strike he hit me with earlier. Gooserene bumps sprout along his skin at the first lick.

Desiring more than that from him, I trail my dominant hand down his broad neck; his strong, stocky chest; and his cute, slightly chubby belly. Finally, I gently cup him through his sweatpants.”

Author’s Note: My headcanon age for Arven is that he’s a young adult, somewhere between 20-24 years old. If this proves to be wrong in the future, please consider him to be aged up to this range!

Likewise, for the sake of the continuity (i.e. Little Buddy and whatnot), you have a similarly tiny stature to the main character in Pokémon SV. For the sake of all of us, your character here is not a teenager lol, but instead roughly the same age as Arven, give or take a few years.

Thank you for understanding!! ^^ Enjoy the final chapter, please let me know what you think, and take care! x

Check it out on ao3!

“As if I’d ever want to stop.”

While Arven speaks, he shimmies my pants down just below my butt, and squishes it in both hands. Then, in one swift motion, he lifts me slightly up and lays me down in the grass, slipping my shorts off me entirely.

As he gets a good view at my lower half for the first time, he looks amazed. Arven wastes no time putting his dominant hand to work, simultaneously nipping and kneading at my thighs.

“Ahh–Arven!”

I’m fucking mesmerized by how he appears to know exactly where to press to make me quake. Enamored by how well he’s catching onto my responses already. And I sure as hell don’t miss the way his eyes darken, while he drinks in the sight of me writhing and moaning beneath his touch.

“Look at you,” he mumbles. “Am I really doing that alright?”

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, nodding at him. “You’re perfect.”

Now that he’s made sure I’m thoroughly enjoying what he’s done so far, Arven kisses his way across my thigh before putting his mouth on me. His tongue is magical. I instinctively buck into Arven’s lips, and deciding that he wants more control, he splays a hand across my stomach to hold me down. Even without my guidance, he sucks and licks in all the right ways.

Just as he did with his hands, Arven’s paying attention to every twitch of my hips; reading every expression on my face, as if it’s an instruction manual; squeezing on the soft skin of my side and tummy any time my eyes stray from him, to silently remind me that I’m all his.

He sends me over the edge way sooner than I’d expected. That piercing, hungry gaze bores into mine as I cum, running my fingers through his fringe and moaning his name like a prayer.

As I finish, I trail my gaze up to the cloudy night sky. Post-nut clarity reminds me that we’re thousands of feet below mainland Paldea. Who woulda thunk that this is where I’d pull my crush and take his virginity?

I easily shake the thought from my head and watch with hearts in my Arceus-forsaken eyes as Arven eats me clean. Overstimulating me so well. I shudder and groan some more, cursing under my breath.

“Please,” I whisper. Wanting him to fill me so badly but not being able to verbalize it through the sensations. Arven hums inquisitively against me, sending vibrations through my body. “Need you.”

Smirking, he brings his body up over mine. His forearms rest on either side of my head and his hips between my legs while he kisses my lips, then my forehead, and then whispers how good I’m being for him. Arven grinds against me, pulling another whine from my throat while I melt at his praise.

Continuing to rut his clothed, hardened nether against mine, he teases, “I wonder what everyone would think if they saw their rough and tough new Champ being such an angel for me.”

My hands move up from their spot against Arven’s chest, and I wrap my arms around his neck.

“Don’t care what they’d think.”

I nudge my way through his forest of hair and latch onto his throat – wanna give him the same pseudo-bolt strike he hit me with earlier. Gooserene bumps sprout along his skin at the first lick… off to a good start! Desiring more than that from him, I trail my dominant hand down his broad neck; his strong, stocky chest; and his cute, slightly chubby belly. Finally, I gently cup him through his sweatpants.

…Holy shit, he’s so thick.

Arven sighs my name, preceded by a quiet “Fuck,” as I trail my fingers up and down the outline of his shaft.

When I notice a wet spot of precum seeping through the fabric, I halt tending to his neck, unable to stop my lips from curling up. I take the silent encouragement as a sign that it’s okay to push his pants down. Arven obliges by elevating his hips slightly, and as his cock springs free, it bounces once against my leg with a satisfying tap.

I don’t waste time getting back to it, eager to feel what he’s like without anything in the way. I trace each vein, toy with the head, and tease light pumps along his length. Memorizing his shape while he breathes pleasured sighs and hums against my shoulder. Arceus, he sounds so sexy. This angle is tedious — I have to reach between our laid bodies, and don’t have much room to work — but I guess I’m doing fine.

“Hold on.”

Oh. Or not.

I promptly stop, hoping I didn’t do anything to sour his experience. “You okay?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’m…” he laughs, and it sounds a little shaky. “I don’t wanna cum before I can fuck you,” Arven mutters, lifting his head to get a better view of my face. “But this feels so amazing, and–” Feeling evil, I give him a little squeeze. “Shit, stop that!” I stick out my tongue while he laughs, bushy brows downturned.

“Sorry…”

“No you’re not.”

“No I’m not,” I confirm with a goofy grin.

I fidget with Arven’s tee shirt so that I’m not tempted to mess with him some more. He continues to look down at me, making me feel a little self-conscious after a few seconds pass. I tear my eyes from his with a slight tilt to the side.

“W-what?”

Shifting his weight further onto his left arm, he brings his right palm to my face, lifting it softly to look back up at him. “That smile is…” Arven leans down, and finishes his sentence while barely brushing against my lips. “So goddamn beautiful.”

Oh.

He closes the gap and places a soft few kisses on my lips. My heart flutters in my heaving chest while I smile through the contact, feeling unbelievably giddy…

And then my eyes shoot back open while I squeak out a surprised (and loud) moan. Just when I thought we were having a sappy moment, Arven slipped into me. That sneaky bitch.

“Gotcha,” he grunts through a cocky smirk that’s only betrayed by his upturned brow.

I wanna rebuttal, but my “Fuck you!” morphs into an “Oh god,” halfway through, rendering it a lost cause. Arven eases his way further in and we groan in unison.

“S-so tight, fuck.”

Our breaths struggle in tandem as he bottoms out, my eyes not leaving the sight of him inside me. Something I’ve felt like a creep daydreaming about all this time is finally coming to fruition. I look up and notice Arven watching too… maybe he was thinking the same things all along.

We take a few moments to gather our bearings, his forehead resting upon mine. I hold my hand against his bangs to keep them from falling directly into my eyes, and I wordlessly let him know that I’m ready for him to move whenever he is by offering a small nod. Arven’s eyes scan my face. As he eases his way out, I bite my lip with anticipation while studying his expression. Thrusting back in, only slightly less slowly than the first time, I lose sight of him. My eyes roll shut, and the grip that isn’t in Arven’s hair is breaking apart the poor grass below us. He pauses again, and I open my eyes to see his shut as well.

“You okay?” I whisper, softly rubbing my thumb against his temple.

Arven opens his eyes as he nods, then laughs quietly. “Didn’t think my first time would be like this.”

“Like… in a good way?” Answering me through actions, Arven inches out more assuredly before snapping his hips against me. “Shit!”

“No,” he rolls his eyes to emphasize his sarcasm, picking up his pace. “This is terribleooh fuck.”

Arven plasters his lips onto mine as he finishes moaning my name, swallowing my desperate whimpers. He feels so fucking good.

Lewd slaps and soft spoken profanities fill the night air. They’re the only things that can be heard – the crashing waterfalls further down the Great Crater and the occasional chirp of wild Pokémon nearby pale in comparison.

Growing sweaty from all the activity, Arven slips out for a moment to lean up and take off his shirt. I’ve always assumed I’d see his half-naked form at some point, but at, like, the beach or something. Never thought I’d be blessed with it occuring in this context. I don’t shy away from leaning on my elbows and drinking in his body, obsessed with how… normal he looks, in the sexiest sense of the word.

There are patches of short body hair freckling his torso – shaved recently enough that it’s barely there, but long enough ago that it’s beginning to grow back. He has a soft yet sturdy physique, courtesy of all the time he spends eating his delicious creations and exercising via outdoor expeditions. And his bare skin is kissed with pretty little birthmarks, in places never seen by eyes other than his own before now.

He’s so, so stunning.

I come up to a kneel and steal Arven’s mouth again. Feeling his unclothed chest, tummy, and sides; tasting every bud of his tongue that he allows me; craving every single inch of him. I only retract to slink my own shirt off.

Arven pulls away and mutters some Paldean that I don’t understand under his breath, as his hands roam my body. A soft breeze blows by us as he trails up my sides, thumbing at my nipples and scratching my back with the other eight fingernails. Can’t tell if my prickling skin is because of the wind, or his touch. For the upteenth time tonight, our lips meet, but this time he’s simultaneously laying down and pulling me on top of him.

Feeling way too eager, I sink myself onto Arven’s cock as soon as we’re comfortable. We both shiver with each bounce I make, and he squeezes my hips tightly while I utilize his chest as leverage. I lean my upper half forward, moving one of my hands to the ground beside him. I then trail my free fingers across his jawline, hovering my lips just above his while I tug his chin up towards me, without closing the gap.

He mewls my name into my mouth, followed by the most earnest “Holy shit~” I’ve ever heard from him. I fill his own jaw with unintelligible swearing and moaning, drunk off his hands, his husky voice, and how full I am.

“You’re s-so fucking thick,” I murmur through hooded eyelids, swallowing through a deep breath before I continue. “Feels s’good.”

As if my words were the pep talk he needed, Arven takes back the lead. He lifts my hips a little higher than I’ve been bringing them, allowing himself to buck up into me as he cups my face against his. His pumps are borderlining erratic, and the wanton noise that comes from my throat has me worrying that Nemona, and Penny, and the fucking Professor – wherever they are – will all hear this.

Struggling to speak through his own moans, Arven drowns me in praise. “Listen to you, making such cute sounds for me.” I nearly die. “Y’feel so perfect around me…” Oh Arceus. “You like it when I fuck you this hard, little buddy?”

…

I snort through the pleasure, and then we both fall into a fit of giggles as we realize how weird it sounds for him to call me that in this context. Our foreheads crash into each other as we both keel over a bit, him forming into a crunch while my body folds inward. All the while, Arven doesn’t stop ramming into me, which just makes things funnier.

I vigorously nod as I lift my head, brushing it off. Don’t care if it’s strange that he called me “little buddy” while [redacted] inches deep inside me, because frankly, it would be weirder for him to stop calling me that. My cheeks hurt from laughing, while fucked-out tears filter my vision.

“I love it, Arven,” I lilt, both our smiles refusing to falter. “Please don’t fucking stop!”

I gently place my forehead on his, my hands clutching his shoulders for dear life while I gaze into his murky aquamarine orbs. Arven squeezes his hand between us to tend to my front. Working with newly familiar territory while repeating his earlier commendations of how good I am, how much of an angel I am, how tight I am. He seeks reassurance too, and works me harder and faster as I tell him how incredible he is.

“M’gonna… oh god, Arven, holy fuck!”

Arven wrings another orgasm out of me, patiently fucking me through it while putting off his own. As I’m coming down from my high, my sweaty chest pressed against his, I nuzzle myself into the crook of his neck. I sleepily mutter sweet nothings through more overstimulation. In between soft kisses, I add, “Want you to cum too… please.”

My name is mewled by a raw voice, followed by “Fuuuh— where? Quickly.”

“Anywhere,” I pause to unleash a moan I couldn’t keep pent up. “Please cum for me, just use me~”

Another throaty moan comes from him, and he slams into me a few more times, no longer holding back. It’s utterly animalistic. Not that I’d complain.

He pulls me off, and I scoot down to kiss his hips while jerking him through his completion. I take note of how Arven twitches and humps slightly into my grasp. Watch him scan my body and movements without shame. His elbows are propping him up, and the sexiest expression I’ve ever seen is adorning his face. Once he’s done, I begin to lick him clean of the thick ropes painting his stomach, prompting a surprised gasp.

“What?” I mumble, suddenly feeling embarrassed at how impulsively I did that. Good god. “S’not like we have a rag or anything down here…” I trial off with a poor attempt to cover my actions.

He laughs, shaking his head. “No, you’re… oh Arceus that was so hot, c’mere.”

Arven sits up and motions for me to get closer to him. I oblige, wrapping my arms around his neck while his consume my waist.

“That was amazing,” he murmurs against my shoulder. “Love you.”

This isn’t the first time he’s said it, nor will it be the first time I’ve said it back, but it’s only ever been — or at least seemed to be — platonic. This exchange takes on a whole new meaning now.

“Love you too, bud… Love you so much.”

428 notes · View notes

senorabond · 8 months

Text

Rumor Has It: Chapter 2 (Peña x f!reader x Pike)

Pairings: Javier Pena x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader; future Pena x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 2 Summary: You’re reviewing the case file Javi gave you when a memory of your last night in D.C. distracts you. After a bit of a brainstorm, you decide it’s finally time to call Marcus back and get his opinion. He always has the right words.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: masturbation (f!reader), flashback, thigh riding, oral sex (f receiving), semi-public/workplace sex (evidence locker after hours), hand on throat for control, Dom/sub dynamic, soft Dom!Marcus, praise kink, you are such a good girl

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem/afab. Marcus is strong enough to lift Reader up onto the edge of a table (no mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color), Reader has hair long enough for Marcus to brush away from face, Marcus is super thoughtful and thorough when planning for sexy times

Words: ~4.5k

Author's Notes: A huge thank you again to @kilamonster for being my wonderful beta, talking me through my fear of posting dirty talk, and letting me bounce random porny ideas off her. <3

Again, there’s no specific time/setting, I just really wanted to get both Javi and Marcus together in the same story. In my mind, Javi is post-s3 of Narcos, and Marcus is somewhere around/after s7ep1 of The Mentalist.

I learned basically everything I know about the court system from true crime TV and podcasts, so the legalese here is purposefully vague. I have no idea what it would take to prosecute a federal case, lol. However, I did find some interesting information while researching art fraud/money laundering! I’m happy to share links to my sources if anybody is interested.

Masterlist || Previous Chapter

Chapter 2

Later that night, you sit cross-legged on your bed, the various photos and documents from Peña spread out around you. You can see why he was so adamant about Customs involvement – there was enough circumstantial evidence in front of you for some lower-level courts to convict. Peña doesn’t strike you as the type to take chances though, not at this point in his career. If he’s making an arrest, he wants a case airtight, no room for technicalities or sympathetic juries. He’ll have worked with enough federal prosecutors to know what he needs to put bastards away and keep them there.

You think back to your conversation with Peña for what must be the twelfth time since that afternoon. It’s still difficult to reconcile the reputation with the man. Javier Peña, the senior DEA agent, was by reputation a force of nature; women and men alike wanted him and wanted to be him. He is unapologetically brash, arrogant, and always gets his way. If he believes something is worth getting, he’ll do whatever it takes, even if he has to use less than savory channels.

Javier Peña, the man, is intense, focused, driven, and has some of the saddest, most beautiful, big brown eyes you’d ever seen. He has a level of self-awareness you hadn’t expected. He struggles with asking for help, even if he can recognize his own limitations.

With a sigh, you take the wire transcript in hand and lean back against the pillows propped up against the headboard. The conversation had thankfully already been translated from Spanish with the original attached for reference. You had basic Spanish under your belt from high school and learned some choice slang from friends and exes, but you didn’t know nearly enough to comprehend the entire conversation on paper in front of you.

The men were discussing various works of art and their estimated values at auction and on the black market. One of the men, Castano, was insisting he could simply forge a copy of a famous painting since it was “just a bunch of splattered paint” that “didn’t look like anything anyway.” You chuckled to yourself.

You used to think the same thing about the abstract expressionism paintings you’d seen until somebody actually took the time to explain the meaning behind the movement. Agent Marcus Pike knew a lot about art – it was his job, after all, as head of the FBI’s art crimes unit in D.C. You worked closely with Pike and his squad to close a major case before you put in for the transfer to Texas. The two of you had spent a lot of time together and grown close, developing a mutual professional respect before things had ever gotten personal.

Your thoughts travel back to the last time Pike taught you something about art. It’s a bittersweet thought, since that was also your last night in D.C., and the last time you saw him. You’d come so close to saying more than you were ready to admit, and certainly more than you were ready to hear in return.

With a sigh, you drop the transcript on the bed and fall back onto your pillows. That last night in D.C. was also the last time you experienced an orgasm you didn’t give yourself. More than one, actually.

Your mind floods with images and sensations from that night and, rather unconsciously, your hands begin to retrace the parts of your body Marcus had touched. Fingertips ghost over the crook of your neck and across your collarbone to the collar of your worn t-shirt. Marcus’ t-shirt, actually. You’d stolen it unapologetically when he’d forgotten it at your place and told him it looked better on you anyway. Marcus had agreed, and then shown just how much better he liked it on you.

While your one hand is occupied at your breast, the other busies itself at the waistband of your panties. Eyes closed, you slide a finger over your dampening slit, remembering the path Marcus’ tongue traveled as your breath hitches. God, that man could use his mouth. And he loved to use it on you. You let the memory of that night wash over you…

Washington, D.C. 6 months ago

“There is one thing I need right now.” You feel a bit giddy at your recklessness, but any nerves you might have are quelled when Marcus runs the tip of his nose up your jawline to your ear.

“And what’s that? Hm?” He inhales your scent and hums with pleasure. Before you can stop yourself, you shift the hand at Marcus’ hip to his crotch. When you feel how hard he already is you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Marcus inhales sharply through his nose at your touch, then lets out a groan in your ear at your gentle squeeze. “Tell me what you need.” His five o’clock shadow rasps against your sensitive skin as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth.

“I need you to show me that evidence locker you haven’t shut up about since we met.”

~~~

Pike stands behind you in the elevator in case you happen upon anybody else working late at the office. The odds are low, except for the contracted private security officers, but you didn’t think they’d want to see Pike’s hardon either. He’s so close, he’s almost pressed against your back while caressing a palm over your ass. You try to keep a straight face, but are practically panting through parted lips.

“You’ve been wanting this for a long time, haven’t you?” Marcus asks, his voice low in your ear as he leans over to push the button for the correct floor. His tone is almost conversational, but you can feel the thread of excitement pulling taut between your bodies. He’d been teasing you with the idea of fucking you in the art squad’s evidence locker for months now, going into great detail about what he was going to do to you – you only had to ask.

You nod silently in response as the elevator doors close, and Pike grips your waist, grinding his erection into your lower back. “Yes,” your breath huffs out. He likes you to use your words, and strokes your arm with an approving hum.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” Your nipples harden at his words and your breath comes out shakily.

Marcus was the first person you’d ever been with to call you a good girl. You never thought you’d be into the kind of gentle dominance and steady stream of praise Marcus employed with you, but it made all the right synapses fire in your brain and took the experience to an entirely different level.

You nod again, playing the game, knowing what he wants to hear.

Marcus’ hand splays across your lower belly, the other sweeping gently across your throat and brushing your hair away from your face. He’s pressing into you, the energy coming off him in waves, leaving you feeling heady.

“Say it for me.” It’s spoken softly, coaxing, but still an unmistakable command.

“I’ll be a good girl for you.” Your voice has the slightest waver, but ends strong.

Marcus’ hand on your belly inches lower and heat radiates between your thighs. “I know you will.”

The doors of the elevator open with a ding that makes you jump, and Marcus moves back with a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder. Gently, he guides you with a hand between your shoulder blades. You’re on one of the underground levels, where the low ceilings and fluorescent lights are stark reminders that you’re both still in a government building and cameras are watching your every move.

A security guard rounds a corner and Marcus clears his throat, then moves to button his suit jacket, presumably to hide his erection. How he manages to walk with that thing when it’s hard, you’ll never know.

The guard waves amiably. “Good evening, Agent Pike. What’re you still doing here so late?” Of course Pike knows the guard; probably knows his kids’ names too.

“Just had something to finish off first.” Biting your tongue to keep from laughing, the two of you pass the guard. “Oh yeah, tell Rosie good luck at her big match this weekend.” You nearly snort. The men share a brief handshake and you and Marcus round the corner, the door to the evidence lockup just ahead.

The two of you share a heated look and Marcus smirks. He swipes his badge and the door unlocks with a small snick. You’re guided inside a dark room that could be the size of a storage closet for all you can see. Marcus flips one of the light switches, and sturdy floor-to-ceiling shelving units are illuminated on either side, hedging you in like a maze. So far, it looks like any other evidence room, except with mood lighting.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” you mutter, and Marcus chuckles. As he leads you along the shelves towards some unknown destination, long shadows from the meager overhead light throw the long rows and corners into darkness.

He takes your hand and explains, “The lighting, temperature, and humidity are all controlled by a central system. Same kind as in the National Gallery.” You nod, genuinely impressed.

“You don’t keep all your evidence here, right?” The room was large, but most of the shelving space was taken up by various sized crates and archival boxes. Marcus shakes his head.

“Just the very valuable pieces that need to be kept under special conditions. Any other evidence is kept in a regular lockup.” Marcus stops and you come up short, nearly colliding with his broad back. “Oh,” you breathe, peering around him and knowing this is what he wanted to show you.

The maze of shelving units opens up onto what looks like a miniature museum exhibit. Paintings are hung on the walls or staged on easels and covered with drop cloths. Sculptures are on pedestals in glass cases along one wall, and to your right are a few chairs next to an expansive table.

Marcus approaches the paintings and proceeds to carefully remove the drop cloths from each work of art. They vary in style, color, expression, and movement. Some of them are encased in elaborate frames, while others are plain, or bare. Now this is what you’d hoped for after all these months hearing Marcus speak of this place in near reverent tones. This evidence lockup could rival most well-funded galleries and museums.

“Are these all forgeries?” You take a step closer to the nearest painting and inspect it – for what, you’re not sure. “Stolen?”

“A bit of both.” Marcus sidles up behind you. Your voices remain hushed, private, intimate.

Hands casually in his pockets, he takes you on a tour of the evidence on display, telling you a bit about each piece – what made the art valuable enough to forge or steal, and a few particulars about each case. He is in his element here, the picture of quiet confidence. Passion laces his every word and brings a spark to his eyes that you’d only seen a few times before when you were about to crack a case.

You have never felt more attracted to him.

Coming up to the last painting, you cock your head to the side and give it a quizzical stare. It’s abstract, composed of a muted yet warm palette. The paint is blended with no discernable lines or shapes.

“What is it?” you ask, looking up in time to see Marcus’ dimple appear next to his gentle smile.

“What do you see?” Marcus steps behind you again, and runs the tips of his fingers up and down your arms.

“I… I’m not sure. What am I supposed to see?” The texture of the paint is layered in some spaces, and there’s almost an ethereal glow emanating from its contrast of light and dark. You feel a bit embarrassed and uncultured. Maybe if you squint or let your vision blur, like it’s one of those magic eye puzzles that give you headaches.

“What I love about abstract art is that there’s no right or wrong answer. I hated it until we studied it in school. I always thought I was missing something, and got frustrated that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.”

You let out a soft hmm of agreement, but are distracted by Marcus’ voice, hot on your ear, lips close enough to graze the sensitive shell. “It was this quote by an artist, Arshile Gorky, that helped me appreciate it more. To paraphrase, abstraction frees the mind and allows it to explore the unknown. Whatever you see is what you’re meant to see.”

You let your mind rest on his words, buzzing from the energy between you. With a smirk, you say, “I bet you got laid a lot in school.”

Marcus gives a surprised chuckle. “I did alright,” he admits, and you hear the grin in his voice.

Turning to face him, you run your hands up his chest and under the lapels of his jacket to his shoulders. Marcus sighs, placing his hands on your waist and pulling you closer. That spark in his eye is trained on you now, his pupils blown while they skate over your face under hooded lids.

“What’s next on the tour?” Your voice comes out a bit hoarse, his gaze almost overwhelming in its intensity.

Marcus smiles, somewhat mischievously. “Just one more thing. C’mon,” he takes your hand and starts leading you to the large table and chairs. “I think you’re going to like this part.”

Leaving you at the edge of the table, Marcus goes to one of the nearby shelves and pulls out a large cardboard envelope from a box, nearly the size of one of the paintings. With the flip of a switch, the entire surface of the table illuminates, humming gently from the internal fan. He pulls out what looks to be a sheet of dark plastic film and lays it on top of the table, revealing an x-ray image.

Marcus’ face is like a kid’s on Christmas morning. “This is an x-ray of that painting over here,” he points to the abstract work you’d been standing at a moment before. The x-ray on the table is a ghostly, black-and-white rendering of the muted swaths of paint. “And here,” he lays a second image down on the table, “is another x-ray taken of the same painting at different settings.”

You nearly gasp. It’s virtually a different image entirely. The abstract painting has been reduced to a haze, overlaying a distinct pastoral landscape. Leaning over the table for a closer look, you feel a pleasantly warm glow on your face from the lit surface. “What the…” Your eyes snap back to Marcus’ face, which is lit up with what you can only describe as glee.

“So you like it?” His eyes are sparkling and that dimple you love so much has reappeared. “‘Like it?’” You scoff. “I love it, Marcus, this is incredible. But…” you gesture at the images, “What exactly does that mean in terms of evidence?” Marcus comes around to your side of the table.

“The first one is a radiographic image of that painting we looked at, which could have told us if there were any traces of minerals or other elements within the paint used. Modern paint pigments are synthetic,” Marcus pulls the first image closer and gestures to the different shades of gray. “But–” he slides the second image next to the first, with its outlines of rolling hills and fluffy clouds, “Historically, heavy metals were frequently used, like lead and cobalt.”

Nodding along with the lesson, you put two and two together. “So the heavy metals in old paint would show through on an x-ray, even if somebody has painted over it.” Marcus is beaming at you, clearly happy that you made the connection.

“Exactly. And then the synthetic paint could be removed later.” Turning to face you, he rests a hip on the edge of the table. The surface light casts dramatic shadows across the contours of his jaw and nose. You mirror his body language and reach out to poke him playfully in the chest.

“No fair; the FBI gets all the fun toys.” The cool satin of his tie slips deftly between your fingers, and you give it a gentle tug. His gaze is alert and hungry as he takes a step closer, and you can feel your body responding to his proximity once again. Marcus trails a finger across your clavicle that sends a chill down your spine and tingles straight to your nipples.

“Yeah, but if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll share.” Threading his fingers into the hair at the base of your skull, he pulls gently but purposefully until your head tilts back and you’re forced to meet his eyes. A shuddering breath escapes your parted lips. Marcus leans in and grazes his lips against yours, barely a whisper of a kiss. His tongue traces the sensitive inner edge of your top lip and you nearly let out a whimper.

“Go on, then. Ask me.” He nips at your bottom lip. “Nicely.”

“Please,” you breathe. Marcus’ arm encircles your waist, while the hand in your hair grips a bit tighter. He uses a tight hold on your ass to grind you against the firm thigh he places between your own. Your hands grasp desperately onto his shoulders as your knees feel like they’re about to buckle from the delicious pressure.

“‘Please’ what?” Marcus prompts gently. You’re pressing back against his thigh now, too lost in the sensation to respond. He withdraws it suddenly and you’re left clenching, all too aware of how badly you need that pressure back.

“‘Please’ what?” He repeats, more firmly this time.

“Please, Sir.” You correct yourself quickly, and are rewarded with Marcus’ lips against yours and the blessed return of his thigh. He’s a man possessed, and you whimper into his mouth as his tongue licks inside. The next thing you know, he’s got you sandwiched between the table and his thigh now, your skirt hiked up, juices leaking through your panties as you ride the firm muscles of his leg.

“Look at you, just beautiful. You’re so hot like this, I love seeing you lose yourself. Does that feel good? Hm?” Marcus presses his hard cock into your hip and groans. “Jesus, I can feel how fucking wet you are through my pants. Are you going to leave your pussy juices on me, so anybody we walk past can see what a good girl you are for me?”

Your eyes are squeezed shut tight, arms gripping to Marcus for dear life as you continue rutting against him, breath becoming ragged. The friction and pressure are almost too much, you’ll practically give yourself rug burn at this rate. But the onslaught of Marcus’ filthy praise in your ear, his hot, steamy breath against your neck, his tongue on your pulse point – you’re already careening out of control and he knows it.

“Are you going to cum for me, baby?” Nodding, wordless, you scramble to hold onto him as Marcus scoops up one of your thighs and hooks it over his hip with a grunt. “Then you better ask first.”

“P-please,” you gasp out, “Please, Sir. Please can I cum?” You’re on the precipice, Marcus’ cock almost painfully hard in your hip.

You gasp when he pulls his thigh away, eyes flying open in shock. “Not yet, sweet girl, hold on for me just a little bit longer. You’re going to cum on my tongue first.” Before you have a chance to protest, Marcus hoists you up fully onto the edge of the light table and pulls up a chair to feast on you.

You’re immediately aware of the warmth the lit surface of the table infuses into every part of your body it’s touching. The table itself feels sturdy and solid beneath you, but you can’t fight an initial moment of panic. “Um, Marcus…I don’t know if–” It’s a struggle to concentrate as Marcus noses at your clothed pussy. A gentle double tap to the crown of his head is all the signal he needs to check in.

“You okay? Do you want to stop?” Marcus’ face is flushed, but his eyes are clear and laser focused on you.

“Is this, uh…safe?” You rap gently on the table with a forced air of nonchalance.

Marcus smiles and strokes the outside of your hip and thigh with his hand. “Totally safe. I triple-checked the specs and tested it out already.”

You lift an amused eyebrow at that. “Tested it out?”

Marcus’ eyes go round at the implication, his dominant persona dropped. “Not like that! I mean I stacked a shitload of evidence boxes on it and did a– well, ah– a simulation, I guess you could call it.” His self-effacing chuckle is endearing. He always knows how to make you feel safe and secure during your more adventurous times together. You smile and stroke his hair as he rubs his cheek against your inner thigh, the rasp of his five o’clock shadow sending shockwaves to your pussy.

“I’m very interested in finding out more about this simulation…Sir.” His honorific on your lips is your signal that you’re ready to continue and his grin turns wolfish. With a playful, smacking kiss to the tender flesh of your inner thigh, Marcus slips his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Bracing your calves on his broad shoulders, you lift your ass a little to help Marcus slide the panties the rest of the way off.

“Open up for me, sweetheart.” Gently, he applies pressure to your knees until you’re completely spread out before him. You might be a little embarrassed being on display if you didn’t know how much he loved you like this: open, vulnerable, and completely at his mercy. The expression on Marcus’ face is practically one of reverence.

“This is exactly why I wanted to bring you here,” Marcus places open-mouthed kisses up your thighs, sucking and nibbling his way to your center. It’s difficult not to squirm, he’s got you feeling antsy and impatient. “I wanted to see you lit up and on exhibit for me, like the work of art you are.”

You must be quite a sight to behold with the bright light of the table shining from beneath you. To drive his point home, Marcus dips his tongue to your core and collects your gathering slick on his tongue, spreading it and his saliva up to your clit in a broad swipe. Riding his thigh earlier has left you swollen and sensitive; your back arches off the table and you gasp at the sudden contact.

Marcus holds you open with one hand so his tongue can more freely explore the full length of your slit, while the other alternates between massaging your breasts and rolling a peaked nipple through your blouse. Desperate for more, you unbutton your top enough to pull the cups of your bra down and leave yourself exposed to Marcus’ roaming fingers.

Your whimpers and shuddering breaths combine with the sounds of Marcus lapping at your seeping cunt. His nose bumps against your engorged clit and you gasp, hips spasming. The hand on your breast disappears, and a finger gently nudges your entrance.

“I’m going to get you ready for my cock, baby. Are you ready?” You nod wordlessly, and Marcus eases a digit inside you, watching your expression. “Oh, pretty girl, you’re so good, so wet. So tight, fuck.”

Marcus laves his tongue over your clit and you clench around his finger. “Mmm, you’re going to take me so good, aren’t you?” Soon, he adds a second, working it rhythmically in and out, sucking and flicking his tongue against your clit until you’re panting.

The wet noises made by Marcus’ fingers inside you are practically obscene. When he crooks them at just the right spot, you lose all sense and writhe against him. You can hear a question in his inflection, but the twist and pull of his fingers are distracting, to say the least. He’s leaning over you now, the heel of his palm applying pressure over your clit to replace his mouth.

“You’re doing so well, I know you can do it. You just need to ask me first.” His fingers inside you are relentless, and you can feel the pressure building inside, pulling taut like a rubber band about to snap. Marcus can tell how close you are and stops with his two fingers buried deep inside and applies his other hand to each side of your neck with just enough pressure to get your attention.

“C’mon, sweetheart, focus for me, otherwise I’ll have to stop.” His fingers are barely moving inside of you, just enough to keep you right on the edge. “You know what to do.”

A sob practically escapes your throat. “Please, Sir. I need to cum. Please can I? I want to be good for you.” It’s impossible to keep the pleading from your tone, you’re so close. Your hips are gyrating of their own accord, feebly fucking yourself on his fingers.

Marcus moves his hand off your throat to cup the side of your face and tangle his fingers in your hair. “Mm, do it. Be my good girl and cum.” Marcus leans down for a final taste where you’re stretched around his curling fingers, then settles his lips around your clit. With a cry, you break and see stars behind your eyelids as your orgasm crashes over you.

“Fuck yes, that’s my good girl. So beautiful like this, so perfect. I can feel you dripping into my hand, baby, you’re so wet. Did that feel good? Is that what you needed?” Marcus praises you through it all, stroking your neck, your breasts, peppering kisses over your mound and belly. His fingers retreat, leaving you fluttering in aftershocks, and you watch him lick your cum from his palm and fingers.

“Thank you for being such a good girl for me, sweetheart. I had to taste you at least one more time before you leave...” Reality falls over the room like a weighted blanket, and you let your engaged muscles go slack against the lit surface of the table, suddenly harsh and blinding. You feel exposed instead of exhibited and you squeeze your thighs together as the final flutters of your orgasm subside.

“Hey, come back to me,” you hear Marcus murmur, and feel him turn your face to meet his. He kisses you slowly and deeply, and you taste your tang on his plump bottom lip. He presses his forehead against yours and you share a couple of breaths.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Additional Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! There is plenty more to come (had to). I'd love to know what you thought -- any and all feedback is welcome! I just want to become a better writer. :)

Chapter 3 || SeñoraBond's Masterlist

#pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #javier peña #marcus pike #javier pena x reader #marcus pike x reader #javier pena fanfiction #marcus pike fanfiction #senorabond writes #rumor has it fic

77 notes · View notes

mollyjeanne615 · 1 year

Note

Could you please write a song adapting Ted and Charlotte’s conversation/flirting/argument in The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals before he leaves her alone with Sam?

Like… there’s the genuine love between them; their respective issues, fears and unhealthy beliefs getting in the way of it; their regret that they can’t just be happy together while also not taking action to make that happen; the stress of being stuck in an alien zombie apocalypse; Charlotte’s grief over and Ted’s resentment of Sam; and their difficulty actually communicating all the previous things. And of course, the sexual tension. I just think that all of those layers interplaying would make a really good song. Especially since their dynamic wasn’t explored much in the show.

There could even be a coda where Ted, after leaving, muses that he could have done better, but he’s been very careful to never give her reason to expect better from him, so she’ll get over it. They’ll be back to their version of normal soon enough (messy as it is). So he doesn’t need to go back in there and apologize or say some heartfelt shit or anything. Then the final notes are the first ones of “You Tied up My Heart”.

I say this every time but holy SHIT this was fun

So I tried to get as much of this prompt into one song as I could - it doesn't cover the entire scene, so there would be a little bit of dialogue between this and "You Tied Up My Heart," but I think it captures a lot of their relationship and connection. There could also totally be some underscoring from this going into the next song in a full production. (Also this wouldn't be in a full production cause they wouldn't be singing, but I dream.) I also cheated a bit with the orchestrations - I've been trying to make them as playable by the original bands of the shows as possible, but for this I switched out the bass part for a second guitar cause why not. There's a little bit of "Time Bastard" in the opening synth part, and there's a pretty big motif/reprise/stolen chord progression in the bridge of the song - I was trying to think of other Hatchetfield songs relating to Spankoffski stories and sexual temptation and all that, and I think this one did the trick lol. I'm super proud of the demo for this one - it came out somewhere between "Dead Girl Walking" from Heathers and "D.O.A." from The Lightning Thief, and I'm really in love with it. Hope y'all enjoy!

In the Worst Way

CHARLOTTE: Ted! I can’t believe you’re thinking about that at a time like this, the whole world could be coming to an end!

TED: Yeah. Exactly. The whole world’s gone to shit and you’re worried about what someone else might think about you?

CHARLOTTE: Well, when you put it like that…

TED:

You think you’re such a good, good girl You pick your nails, you hide your stress But it’s the end of the fucking world So you can afford to decompress

You put your image on a throne You crumple underneath the crown But you need to grow a backbone Before it breaks you down

You’ve been in bed with a scumbag But baby, can’t you see You have a chance to upgrade To a sleazeball like me

So if I’m dying tonight I’ve got a great way to cap off my life I’ll be going out doing the thing I love Screwing around with another man’s wife Maybe there’s better things I should worry about today But I’d rather be here with you So let me say I want you in the worst way

CHARLOTTE: Oh, you’re such a horny bastard.

TED: Always have been, always will be.

CHARLOTTE:

My body’s telling me to run My mind is saying you’re no good But I need something just for fun So I guess I probably should

I’ve wished upon so many stars To be more confident and crude So I’ll embrace the love that’s ours With a badass attitude

TED: Okay!

CHARLOTTE:

There’s something in my gut that says You might still be alright Cause I need someone to love me Before we bite the dust tonight

So if I’m dying today I’m gonna let you lead me astray I might be meeting my maker pretty soon So I’ll get down on my knees and pray Maybe there’s better things I should worry about today But I’d rather be here with you So let me say I want you in the worst way

TED:

Ooh, I want you in the worst way, yeah

TED AND CHARLOTTE:

My happiness is coming first, I won’t be on my own Let all those without sin cast the first stones I’ll do all I can so you’ll never be alone At least until we kick the bucket

CHARLOTTE:

But should I just stick with the devil I know

TED AND CHARLOTTE:

Well, you know what, fuck it!

They make out passionately as a rocking electric guitar solo backs them up.

TED AND CHARLOTTE:

So if I’m dying right now I’ll spend this moment breaking a vow There’s nowhere else I need to be And I needed a little break anyhow Maybe there’s better things I should worry about today But I’d rather be here with you So let me say Yeah, let me say I want you in the worst way

TED:

Let’s let the chips fall where they may

TED AND CHARLOTTE:

I want you in the worst way

CHARLOTTE:

My husband’s brains fell out today

TED AND CHARLOTTE:

I want you in the worst way Maybe there’s better things I should worry about today But I’d rather be here with you So let me say I want you in the worst way

They kiss again on the button of the song.

#team starkid #starkid #tgwdlm #the guy who didn't like musicals #hatchetfield #hatchetverse #ted spankoffski #Charlotte sweetly #most of the time when I write these I'm like “it would be cool if people from starkid saw this eventually but I don't need them to”#but HOLY SHIT I want Joey and Jaime to sing this

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alicepao13 · 2 months

Text

Hudson and Rex S06E14

Damn it, no Mankiewicz lol. Yeah, it was okay, had some funny moments too (Rex is a comedian). There’s a pattern lately where the promos immediately hook me up for the next episode, so even as I’m writing this, I’m already thinking of the next one.

Risotto, jeez, if I was a guy I’d hate Charlie Hudson for the impossible cooking standards he’s setting.

That guy messed up all the floorboards with his blood dripping all over! Good luck getting that out.

Rex being upset and whining as forensics is sweeping the house. Yeah, this sucks, buddy.

Joe did not seriously consider not giving Charlie this case. The man has investigated his own brother!

Well, that seemed like a cold night of shooting. I bet they all enjoyed that :P

“Looks like Rex and I are your problem again tonight”. Well, at least they’re letting us know he didn’t sleep at Joe's couch at the precinct. I’ve given up on seeing Sarah’s apartment and I’d like her to give up on the idea of pretending to live there too.

Are you telling me that packages are not getting scanned somewhere inside the precinct before getting delivered? Oh, boy.

I’ll say this again, if they don’t trust Rex to sniff out whether there’s bomb components inside a package, then there’s no reason to allow him to work in cases.

That’s a lot of keys and I can't help thinking of what their prop master thought about all this.

“Better be safe, right Charlie?” lmao the passive aggressive comment from Joe. Leave him alone, he was right this time. Trust Rex.

Rex barked at the ransomware? Yeah, okay, lol

Getting from low-tech burglaries to high-tech heist. That’s an interesting transition.

Ah, stakeout. And they’re eating fries which was what I was also eating as I was watching this, on a very random note.

Pirating one season of Death Note? How can anyone only watch one season? Lock him up! Also, are we sure this kid is old enough to work at a bank?

Sarah with the beverage assist. I swear, some of these scenes seem like reshoots to add more Charah after complaints were made.

Well, that whole car almost hits Rex thing was anti-climactic. Obviously I didn’t want it to hit Rex, but make it a bit exciting. And it was the cutoff for the commercials too? I mean, I didn’t have to watch them but still.

Someone really loves cryptocurrencies in this show. The displayed price is off by, like, a lot since Bitcoin took off the last few months, which is understandable. Also, assuming that it’s in Canadian dollars, I estimate by the price (if they used the real one) that they shot and/or post-processed this episode near the end of November, as it didn’t really fluctuate around those levels again after that. And kudos for displaying an accurate BTC address.

“Well, that must have hurt”. I beg to differ. These boxes were very obviously empty.

Wait, so is this the end of the unwelcome guests in Charlie’s house? I’m not sure I like the new security system.

Ha! Sarah is still after the risotto. I totally get her.

lol Rex! Look at that evil smirk. He’s totally tripping the alarm for the heck of it. To be fair, when Rex is at home, there’s no need to put the alarm on but let Charlie make the risotto.

While it was an interesting case, it lost me a bit as we were going through the names of the people involved. Also, I did expect someone who came to bleed out inside Charlie’s house to have a more personal connection to him. I find it ridiculous that packages which are sent to the precinct aren’t scanned for explosives, I mean, that’s the first thing you do when a package arrives at a police station.

Promo: Charlie with a bomb strapped to his chest! What’s not to love? Oh, by the way, remember what I said about concussions and getting hit a second time on the head in a short while? This is actually the ghost of Charlie Hudson strapped to a bomb. Also, he has an earbud, which is presumably to communicate with whoever is doing this? Can we use to tell Sarah goodbye please? If this is parallel to the Castle episode, Charlie is going to say “I love you” to… Rex :P

One more piece of useless trivia, a bomb is how we lost one of Rex’s partners in the Italian version (and of course Rex had to watch because why not torture the poor dog, as it was canonically his third partner that was killed). But somehow I’m certain that Charlie will manage to pull through.

Only 2 episodes left! As always, I don't care much for a renewal until we're almost out of episodes.

#hudson and rex

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skaluli · 1 year

Note

people are a lot more critical of eddsworld on tumblr so if u wanna just go off and post a whole college essay of ur criticisms then dont worry about getting eaten alive for it or anything lol

lmao sure king, i know youre probably thinking of the "criticisms of eddsworld" post that i had in my drafts but i need to finish that. instead so nobody is hungry, ill post the script of me "the end of the eddsworld discord server" here and honestly i have always felt safer here. i left twitter because of certain people and certain feelings. mental health is shit and my paranoia is shitter.

The End of the Eddsworld Discord Server

(A script by skaluli for a video that never came out and probably wont.) click" Keep reading" to begin. its kinda long? and has some pictures. (Also afterwards are extra screenshots from the discord that didnt fit into the video itself.)

Well- Cuts to - yes im using the dementia music, this video was supposed to come out before or even close after the closure of the server. Stuff happened and I’m tired. Please excuse what I say that may not matter anymore. I just want to get a video out and it starts by pushing this. ZZZZZZZZ. Happy Halloween or Christmas honestly it could be either.

I suppose it was going to happen at some point, it’s finally the end of the eddsworld discord server. Well expect for the patrons, they still get to do whatever lol. If you’re not in the loop, eddsworld had a discord server, to sum it up it was a place to converse with fellow edd-heads and well isn’t amino. But of course, it doesn’t come out with its own flaws. I mean there was a whole twitter account to showing the weird side of it. It’s over, the eddsworld discord is dead. Whatever the fuck all this is, is gone. Originally this was going to be made a few days before the closure of the discord but I got busy. Busy to the point where the discord server closed like a month ago [THAT’S SO FUNNY SKALULI ITS BEEN EVEN MORE MONTHS] and I’ve only started this script now. It’s called poor time management, don’t be me. [AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA] So, let’s just attempt to bullet point this stuff. Also warning now, I might not have screenshots of everything and I can’t get anything else because well paywall, and even if I did pay, I don’t even know if the original chat still exists. AAAAAA, anyway. I guess I shall start with the “paywall”. So as you know or maybe didn’t or didn’t hear what I said before, the eddsworld server technically didn’t close, just to access the chats and stuff you have to be a patron. But listen kings we get the bloody announcements and twitter feed, yeAHHH. Ahem. Some questions being asked were along the lines of, well why didn’t you just make a separate patron server. Therefore, people not paying still get a somewhere to talk to other eddsworld fans under moderation. Of course, many questions like that and more being asked because well this kinda came out of nowhere. One of the issues is the fact that nobody was answering any of the questions being asked. Avoiding it essentially. Saying things out of the blue, I assume to try and calm the scenario that was created.

Which well got people angry, because well they have a reason to, and you can not deny that. But the thing is the anger got so out of hand that people just started death threating mods. A big note I have to make is that the mods, the crew of which is not Chris or Matthew, and or any of the pateron supporters had a choice in this. They most likely didn’t even know it was coming. You shouldn’t death threat mods and not even just mods just other patreon supporters. [I don’t have screenshots of this but im going by word of someone who said that that was happening to them.] You don’t need me telling you this, it’s basic knowledge. But you do know why they’re doing it though. Because what do you expect by suddenly taking a once-free community and putting a pay-wall over it. Of course people are going to be upset and lash out, even to these extremes. Yes the mods don’t deserve to get treated like this, but they’re getting treated that way by the fans in this case because of what you did. You being Chris and or Matthew. And you yourself not answering on behalf of mods. Leaving themselves having to speak for themselves on a situation that they had no control over. Having to dose the fires of a fire they didn’t even start. An issue being said that the server was getting to out of hand, so it’d just be easier to do what they did [kill the server]. But then why don’t you just hire more mods to manage the community you created? Who knows.

Also not to put my own opinion in here but I kept seeing messages being like “Edd wouldn’t have wanted this” what the fuck. No offense but don’t say that, never say that. Stop. Just pretty please don’t try to speak on behalf on a man that’s been dead for over a decade and act like you would know what he would have wanted. Sorry for the tangent just I see this happening when whatever happens and kids commenting “Edd wouldn’t have wanted this.” Please shush.

Listen I hate kids, I know they can be dumb as shit, I mean after just hearing all that especially. But also, at the end of the day I care about them and if they like and feel safe in the hell of the eddsworld server than you shouldn’t take it away from them. I understand that fan servers are being made but oh god my paranoia of something going wrong since it doesn’t have “trusted moderation” I’m not sure how to put it. It was really only the official safe space to communicate with other eddheads. I just worry that there will be some with ill intentions. I think you can allow me to think that at this point.

And to end it all off, you know how the server’s purpose was just to keep patron content to patrons.

Damn that sure did work.

-cut-

[Note I didn’t write this “now” I wrote this a few days after I mashed this script together.] Okay originally the script ends there on a somewhat snarky remark but while pacing I thought about how I want to make sure my point gets across. I make these videos to help and not harm, by saying that I mean there seems to be a lack of communication between the fans and the crew. And personally, myself I want to try and make a bridge between the two, my own attempts being to show each side and see everything through a different view. Not only I criticize the fans because I want them to improve, I criticize eddsworld because I want the same out of them. Neither is better than the other.

Bonus readout:

Also a request for someone:

Vine thud and then cat thumbs up

END OF SCRIPT

do note that sometimes i change things while recording and dont edit it into the script since well im supposed to be the only one who sees it and says it blah blah.

i have many other various screenshots i took before the discord closed, as i didnt know exactly what i'd need for the video.

here you can have them:

finally the dates of the files since i last touched them: word doc:

audio:

sony vegas:

if you need any clarification on what i mean or say just ask /gen most times i just word things in a way so i can understand it because my brain is fucked.

only thing that isnt here is the audio i recorded for the video and the beginning of the edit of the video. you dont need to hear my voice.

if you need anything else ill be around. i have other screenshots of various other things.

even something that i dont think the person knows anyone got a screenshot of.

anyway im tired like always and forever, i need to work on it. maybe actually take my meds lmao. thank you eddsworld tumblr for allowing criticism of the show. have a good rest of your life.

#eddsworld #eddsworld discord server #ew #video essay #eddsworld criticism #matt hargreaves #christopher bingham #eddsworld controversy #eddsworld discourse #ew discourse #i think thats all the tags idk

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dev-fiction · 1 year

Note

Hi, no clue if you’re even going to see this but I feel I need to say something-

I quite literally just finished binging your fic Echoes in a single sitting far to late into the night and am utterly floored by your writing. It left me honestly, deeply emotional and I can’t thank you enough for being who you are and putting your talent out there

I’m just a random stranger but I hope you’re doing well, and whether or not you’re planning on continuing this story I’d like to thank you.

-signed, a teary eyed stranger

Hey, Dev here lol. I logged onto this account on a whim today not really expecting much seeing as it’s been so long since I’ve updated anything, but I can’t even begin to express how happy it makes me to see that Echoes is still having an effect on someone somewhere. Thank you so much for reading and enjoying Echoes enough to reach out to me :’)

Not gonna lie I’m currently going through the hardest period of my life. I’m going the therapy and trying to get through it day by day, but sometimes it’s all too much anyway. I don’t want to get too personal so I’ll leave it at that :)

On another note I have about 2/3rds of the next chapter of Echoes written out, but writing has been rather painful so I’m not sure when I’ll be able to finish it.

Either way, reading through the comments on Echoes always helps me get through particularly rough days and it still holds a special place in my heart. Thank you again!

#anon #ily anon #I’ll get through it somehow #echoes #ask

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ladynightlark · 1 year

Note

Hii I just finished reading your fic and let me tell you it was fantastic!! I read it expecting another fun swap au, which it was, but damn the amount of feels in this fic hurts...

I also wanted to encourage you to take all the time you need with the fic!! I’ll be delighted to be able to read it whenever it comes out so please dont put pressure on yourself to finish it…It gives me more time to make completely wrong theories abt it anyway lol.

Speaking of theories I’ve already spent an embarrassing amount of time on the demon slayer wiki trying to find the identity of the muscular girl to no avail :(

Hmm despite that I have another theory I don't think anyones mentioned yet…is the flute player in the infinity fortress Himejima?? I know this sounds ludicrous but he’s the only guy I can think of besides Yorichi who is associated with a flute. I also remember another commenter pointing out the smell of Wisteria in the infinity fortress…Shinobu is that you?? I’m pretty sure the flower pillar isn’t Kanae in this au so maybe the butterfly girls are all demons now…oh god demon Shinobu and Himejima what terrifying concepts…Don’t worry I don’t expect you to confirm anything now I just really enjoy overthinking things haha

On a side note I really loved reading abt your thoughts on Genya!! (I’m the Genya anon lol) I agree he’s such a unique character and his abilities are very cool!

…Out of curiosity tho what do you think of Genya and Sanemi’s relationship?? I recently reread the manga and it brought me nothing but pain so I’d love to hear your thoughts on them!

Thank you so much! I’m glad you’ve been enjoying the fic (and apologies for the heartbreaking moments). I appreciate your patience with the wait, I definitely needed the break and I’m really excited about writing the next parts, especially once mission start taking place!

I know a lot of people have been asking and trying to figure out who muscular girl is, but I’m gonna stay quiet on this until she comes back later. I will say, I may or may not have to tweak a few things about her design to fit the wiki better because…well…she’s appeared in the anime and I got a small detail about her wrong (that I’m fixing soon, no worries!).

Ooh, and same goes for your theories! You have SOME ideas correct, and though we won’t be seeing the Upper Moons in this AU again until MUCH later, the subtle hints are there.

To give a hint as to who certain characters may be and who could be involved in the future (especially the demons), I will say all KNY spin-offs, short stories/light novels, and gaiden books are fair game.

Thank you, I’m glad you liked my little rant about Genya! He’s honestly one of my favorite characters and I could go on and on about him. And that love has certainly been reignited by Season 3, so don’t be surprised if you see that Genya has a bigger role in the AU too!

(Major Manga Spoilers Ahead)

As for his relationship with Sanemi, I think it has to be one of the most heartbreaking storylines of the entire series.

I’ll be honest, at first during my initial read-through of the series, I didn’t really like Sanemi. I’m typically not a fan of characters that bully others and are needlessly cruel, especially when they know it’s wrong and acknowledge that it hurts others and do nothing to change.

It especially frustrated me because I’m pretty close with my siblings, and doing something like that (even for good intentions) just rubbed me the wrong way.

It wasn’t until I read somewhere that in a way, Sanemi was meant to parallel Tanjiro’s story/tragedy that I finally started to understand and appreciate the complexity of his character more.

The fact that both the Kamados and Shinazugawas came from big families (which were killed by a demon), had a loved one turned who the older brother fought, and had said older sibling join the Corps to protect their only remaining younger sibling will never fail to blow my mind. That is high-tier storytelling that I will never get over.

It took a few rereadings of the manga (specifically on Sanemi’s backstory) and watching Genya’s POV on their backstory recently for Season 3 (along with the extra scenes that absolutely crushed me) that I began to understand both the Shinazugawa brothers better.

Deep down, both brothers wanted to mend their relationship with each other, but Sanemi had lost so many good people in his life even after he left home, and rationalized that they needed to be kept at arms length so he could protect them.

He was a marechi, and naturally drew demons to him. Sanemi was fully prepared to embrace that life and what fighting them would entail, but that meant keeping loved ones away so they wouldn’t get tangled in with what he had to do.

Again, I’m not the biggest fan of Sanemi, but I have a lot of respect for the development and symbolism his character is meant to represent. Even if he went about it the wrong way, I can see why he acted the way he did and respect the lengths he would go to to protect Genya when the chips were down in the Infonity Castle Arc. He and Genya truly capture the tragic siblings trope KNY loves to use, and their story will forever be one of my biggest takeaways from the series.

Sanemi perfectly embodies the “you don’t realize what you had until you’ve lost it” quote, and the fact that he’s one of the last survivors of the demon war says a lot.

I will say, I DEFINITELY have plans on how I want to tackle their relationship (and how it may change due to changed events) in my AU, so be on the lookout for that as well!

Thank you so much for asking! Let me know if you’d like me to go a little more in-depth on anything or if you would like me to talk about any more characters, storylines, or headcanons/theories!

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #ask #ask me questions #children of fuchsia light and demon fire #demon slayer fanfic #kny rants #genya shinazugawa #sanemi shinazugawa

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moonilit · 2 years

Text

this is from a prompt but it didn't work out so now its own thing.

Rosaria miss places her Ciggarets and Kaeya gets lectured.

few notes:

I have an AU where Kaeya and Rosa knew each other since childhood so they are much more at ease with each other here than they would in canon

this is an 'attempt' at writing from me lol and I'm not a writer yet, so feel free to skip or send me any feedback!

don't expect great characterizations this is a mess ( think of it as someone who has never been into the kitchen before and something will probably go on fire )

If victoria has a death wish she should just ask.

Rosaria was already on her last thread of patience when she find her final hiding place had been caught, “as a sister you should set a good example for the citizens of Mondstadt, what would the ordinary people and the believers think when they know a sister form the church is smoking?”, It was already in the afternoon, Rosaria really, really was not in the mood, “I will let this be your last warning sister Rosaria, and I expect to see you in an hour” then she leaves.

“what a headache” this is the same old lecture for the same old reasons haven’t they learned what to expect by now? “I need a cigarette”.

Rosaria stepped out from the nearby window and then start walking, she already hid some more of her favorite wine and cigarettes elsewhere, the closest being in Kaeya’s office. She hides there and takes naps when she feels like it, entering through the window, she can see no one is inside, she should make this quick then.

Right when she gets her hand between the files, she can hear someone about to enter the office, and it was not kaeya's footsteps alone.

“The supplies are going somewhere and we still can’t get a clue where” that Jean’s Voice. “I assure you, master Diluc Involving the KoF is the right course of action”. Kaeya opens the door right when Rosaria hide in the shadows, she can immediately tell who has entered with him, the acting grand master and the owner of the angel share.

Kaeya walk further into his office adding to the exchange “the Informants we have should give us their updates within the next 12 hours, I’m on the case you don’t need to worry”. He pull one of his files, and all the messy cigarette packs Rosaria didn’t have the time to hide fell between his shoes… silent befall all three in the room.

“... what?” Jean says as what she is seeing starts catching up with her “KAEYA!?” and looks at him right in the eye bringing him back to focus “what are you- YOU ARE SMOKING?”

“seriously how many new addictions do you need,” Diluc says disapprovingly

“but since when?” Jean yells back, absolutely devastated, “ is it because of the load of work? Did I fail in noticing how pressured you are??”

Kaeya quickly hold his left hand in front of him, “Now hold on a second, I’m touched you care so much about me, but I assure you these are not mine”, both of them don’t look like they buy it, he glances to the window briefly then wave his hand to them “ and come on, its clearly someone's idea of a prank, use your Judgment here do I even look like a smoker? My taste is much more refined honestly, even if I was it won’t be a common brand and you know it”

All three exchange glances for longer than it should take

“... but do you feel like you are too pressured to even put the possibility of smoking?” there is no coming back, it's on Jean’s mind now, she probably thinks Kaeya did put them there for when it gets rough. “No Jean” he sight, “Jean I won’t smoke, I don’t even Like the smell or taste of it”, “your office does have a faint smell though,” Diluc said very unhelpfully, Kaeya grunted “I didn’t smoke Once in my life, and you were there for most of it” Jean moves to put a hand on Kaeya's Sholders “I do believe you” she clearly didn’t “ and you have to promise me we will talk about how you feel after you are done with your next assignment”, Kaeya Just looks at her, knowing when Jean just won’t put a matter to rest and know this will be a long, exhausting battle to convince his superior and brother he did not in fact smoke.

Rosaria didn’t even need to let her cigarette, hearing Kaeya going back to responding to their ridiculous claim, she know she is getting the first seat at the show today, he will ask her to join him in his ‘next assignment’ and they will talk about it then, for now, she is being entertained.

#thanks for the prompt #i tried to post something within the first 24 hours #ask #mon tries writing and people suffer #this would be the tag until I learn or someone will pay an assassin to stop me #genshin impact #kaeya #rosaria #i don't like the first half tbh but #i should just break the ice #idk what to say else #i press 'post now' then lay on the floor embarrassed

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izzy-b-hands · 2 years

Text

Stede’s kids, aka two little shits lol, come looking for him. On their own. In a dinghy.

They truly are his children.

I guessed on their ages, so put them about idk, like 8 or 9, maybe 10 at the oldest for Alma and maybe five or six for Louis, somewhere about there. I may be wrong or off but I’m winging it for now until I find anything definitive re: how old they are in show canon lol.

A note, I did combine some historical stuff for Stede here. Mainly his first son, named Allamby, who had died by 1715 per Wikipedia.

TW for descriptions of child death re: Allamby (made up, because I couldn’t find much to give an exact cause of death, so I just rolled with it.)

I stared at this all day and I think I caught any accidentally a words or major fuck ups, but if I missed something pls let me know and I’ll fix it ASAP dsklfjaskl. Also, if any additional trigger tags are wanted that I missed, let me know and I’ll add them them right away!

---

“Another letter from the kids,” Ed said as he handed the envelope to Stede. “I’ll bet they still want to come out with us.”

“And I’ve told them their mother will not allow that at this time, understandably,” Stede chuckled. “But we’ll remind them.”

He opened the letter and started to read. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

Stede nodded and handed the letter back, moving to sit on a nearby barrel. He’d expected some whining that he hadn’t come back for a bit, or to allow them to sail with him for at least a week or two (Mary wasn’t entirely against it; she simply wanted them to be older before they did so, and that no raid would take place while they were aboard. Sensible requirements that Stede agreed with wholeheartedly.)

He hadn’t expected this.

“They’re looking for us?” Ed said, shocked. “They aren’t old enough for that. Are they?”

“How old were you when you left to be a pirate?”

“Sixteen, or about there,” Ed replied. “How old are yours again?”

“Not that,” Stede laughed nervously. “Oh god.”

“No, don’t panic,” Ed said. “After all, they’re your kids. Smart, good head on their shoulders.”

“And a proclivity to make rash, potentially dangerous and/or poor decisions?”

Ed paused. “Well. Yeah, that too.”

“Should we head their way and see if we can’t find them?” Stede asked. In his head, all he could see were two panicked children aboard a dinghy, in rough seas, potentially about to drown or starve if they somehow survived it-

“You’re picking at the thread on your jacket,” Ed interrupted the stream of potential catastrophes. “Take a breath.”

“I will, when we find them.”

“What else did the letter say?” Olu asked.

“They’ve bought their own provisions, weapons-” Ed read, then paused to laugh. “That’s wonderful! Not even my kids and I’m proud of them. Wonder what they picked up for that, because-”

“Ed,” Stede interrupted. “They likely stole money from their mother, oh god I hadn’t considered that yet. Forget being hung for piracy, Mary’s going to kill me first.”

“No one is getting hung for being a pirate, and I’m sure Mary will...” Ed hesitated. “You know, if we all go ashore, you’ll have a head start.”

“I think I need to lie down.”

“Children are much more resilient than you think,” Izzy offered. “They’re probably perfectly fine.”

“Or dead,” Stede chuckled. “I’ll make myself walk the plank if that’s the case!”

“I don’t think anyone actually does that,” Pete frowned.

“What, make someone walk the plank?” Lucius asked. “Or let their kids die at sea?”

Stede whimpered, and Ed wrapped an arm around his waist.

“Let’s not say dead unless we should find them that way,” Ed said. “And no, walking the plank really isn’t a thing. Sorry, love.”

“Right,” Stede nodded. “Then you can tie the anchor to me and drop me overboard! Maybe let Mary do it, that would only be right. And any loot could go towards funerals-”

He let himself drop out of Ed’s grip to sit on the deck, staring into space. He didn’t exactly want to take back all the years of playing pirate, but at the same time, maybe they wouldn’t have come looking for him if he hadn’t done so.

Ed peered down. “So, we’re going to take the lead on this, and I’m going to help Stede to bed. Sound good, Stede?”

He managed a nod, and didn’t fight when Ed and Izzy helped him up and more or less dragged him to their quarters.

“Try to rest, and think of something else,” Ed said as they dropped him into bed. “Read a book, distract yourself.”

He went to the shelves, and pulled out a book on the designing of children’s funerals, and dealing with grief.

Ed frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Come on,” Izzy whispered. “Sooner we find them, sooner he’ll either be alright, or we’ll lock him in here so he doesn’t jump overboard.”

“Do we know what they look like?” Roach asked.

“No,” Ed replied.

“Names?”

“Alma and Louis,” Ed said.

“Anything else?”

Ed looked back to the letter. “Alma has very nice handwriting?”

The crew groaned collectively.

“None of that,” Izzy scolded. “That isn’t helping.”

“More information would be helpful too,” Frenchie said. “What do we look for otherwise?”

“It’s two kids in a boat, probably just out there floating!” Jim shouted. “The fuck else do you think we need to look for?”

“Whoa, okay,” Olu took Jim’s hand. “Good point though, there can’t be that many younger kids out for a jaunt on the sea without any parents or someone to keep an eye on them.”

Frenchie raised his hand.

“Yup,” Ed nodded. “Go on.”

“Does their mum know they’re gone?”

Silence.

Izzy opened his mouth, then shut it and looked to Ed for direction.

“Possibly,” Ed finally said. “They didn’t say in the letter.”

“So in other words, their mum and her boyfriend might also be out there?”

Ed pondered it in a silent panic. “Yeah. Yeah, they might be.”

“Actually then, we’re looking for four people,” Frenchie said. “Good to know. Really hope we don’t accidentally find them by running over their dinghies.”

“I know we’re all probably a little scared for all of them,” Olu said. “But we need to keep our shit together. Stede’s lost his enough for all of us, frankly.”

“They are his kids,” Ed said sharply. “Though I wonder about the oldest one. Why didn’t he go with?”

“Isn’t the daughter the oldest?” Olu asked.

“Thought so, but before he came back I went snooping through his things,” Ed said. “And there’s a mention of a son, Allamby. He’s the first kid listed on anything that mentioned his family.”

“Could be he’s old enough that he didn’t want to go,” Roach offered.

“Then why not stop the other two?” Frenchie asked. “They’d tell an older sibling at least before they left. I would, were it me. Brother won’t necessarily yell at you about it, even if he doesn’t like it, and he could have been the one to give them money too.”

“We’re wasting time,” Wee John said. “Let’s get to actually looking for them, and then we can ask them about all of this.”

“Capital idea,” Ed declared. “All hands then, let’s get the show on the road.”

“At least we know they’ll be dressed fancy, if they’re that much like Stede,” Frenchie murmured to Wee John. “Could spot a bright silk from a mile away.”

The first three days were fruitless. Stede ate when food was brought to him, drank when water was presented. At night, he walked the deck while the others slept, no matter how much Ed protested. He argued that he slept enough during the days to distract himself from the worst possibilities, the least he could was take the night watch to see if they might be spotted then.

On day four, Ed joined him.

“Can I ask you something?”

Stede nodded, still looking out into the dark at the far end of the deck. The sea was calm, and the moon bright. Perfect conditions to find one’s missing children.

“Why didn’t their older brother go with?”

Stede turned. “Alma is our oldest.”

“Who is Allamby then? I may have peeked at some of your stuff before you came back, and-”

Stede shook his head. “I sort of wish you hadn’t.”

“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have,” Ed said, and took Stede’s hand, reassured when he grasped back tightly. “I won’t again, not without your permission.”

“No, it isn’t the biggest deal in the world,” Stede sighed. “Allamby was our actual first. But he passed a few years ago.”

“When?”

Stede sighed again. “1715.”

“That’s only two years ago,” Ed scoffed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He’s gone and buried,” Stede replied. “What would there be to tell?”

“I’d imagine a lot,” Ed said softly. “How old was he?”

“Five,” Stede said, with another squeeze of Ed’s hand. “Very sweet. Liked picking flowers with me, to bring home to Mary. Wanted to study flowers, actually. Told me how he’d like to discover new ones, and he could name them after all of us.”

“Ambitious,” Ed laughed. “All that at five?”

“He had a plan for almost all of it,” Stede chuckled. “Didn’t really have any idea of how he’d make money to live of course, but truthfully I would have happily paid his way until he was on his feet. And even then, if ever he needed anything, all he would have had to do was ask.”

“What about playing pirate?”

Stede grinned, and finally turned to face Ed. “He loved it. Insisted we go down to the beach to play, the house wasn’t where a pirate would live! We’d walk down and he’d talk about everything involved with it: what weapons he’d use, what he’d most like to have as loot, even how he’d decorate his ship.”

“Flowers?”

“Lots of them. Painted on the walls, on the hull. Didn’t mind that it would mean repainting often. It was a worthy effort to him.”

He leaned into Ed, and Ed slipped his hand from Stede’s to wrap it around his waist instead.

“What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Stede again looked to the sea. It was empty as it had been before.

“We don’t really know. He went to bed as usual, after two extra bedtime stories no less, and the next morning,” Stede’s voice caught in his throat. “He didn’t wake up. We thought he was having a lie in, since he did on occasion. Gave him an extra half hour to sleep or play in his room, whatever he was up to. Then Mary asked that I go up and bring him down for a late breakfast.”

Ed reached with his free hand to wipe a tear off Stede’s cheek as it fell. “Stede, if you want to stop-”

“No, he deserves to be known about,” Stede choked. “After we chose to not tell Alma or Louis about him, at least for now. That leaves only me and Mary and our parents, but they never did like him much. Too much like me, I suppose.”

He took a deep shaking breath. “I went up to get him. And it seemed awfully quiet, but he could sleep deeply. He’d played hard the day before too, all day at the beach, being the best pirate he could be!”

Stede smiled. “He would have loved it out here. I’m sure of it. Not that Mary would have wanted him out here either, but maybe when he was older, she would have...well. I suppose that doesn’t matter now.”

Ed nodded and tried to hold him tighter.

“I just thought he was sleeping deeply again,” Stede said. “He looked fine. Out cold, but fine. No blue in his lips, no gray on his skin. Not at that point, at least. But I couldn’t rouse him.”

Ed didn’t say a word, and waited for Stede.

“It was ridiculous, sitting on his bed, trying to shake him awake. Even went and got a glass of water and poured it over him, the poor thing!” Stede was openly crying now. His eyes hadn’t left the glassy water that surrounded them. “How he would have shouted any other morning if I’d done that! And it would have been deserved!”

Stede wiped away his tears, but they fell as fast as he could remove them. “Felt his forehead, expected a fever. He was cold.”

There was no wind, and the night was cool but not enough to chill. Stede shivered nonetheless.

“I picked him up and ran downstairs and called for Mary and to send for the doctor, or whoever could come by quickest that had any knowledge that might help,” Stede continued. “She knew before I did. Accepted it before I did, more like. She’d warned me before we tried for children, that there was always risk. They could die in childbirth and take her with them. Could have a horrid accident. Could be sick enough to die. Could simply die while in their cot, as a baby.”

He took a gasping breath. “But not at that age. Far too old to be a cot death. But it didn’t matter. Mary waited for the doctor at the door, and I stayed with him. Held him until the doctor made me let go.”

“And Mary?”

“Devastated as I was, but she didn’t fall apart like me until the burial. I think it really hit then. We spent days in the house, not eating, not sleeping. We talked once about what if we went to his grave and checked. Maybe he was really alright, and what if we’d buried him alive?! He’d be scared and want us and he’d think we had abandoned him.”

Ed gently prompted him to walk, to try and get him to their quarters or anywhere that he couldn’t watch the waves. At least for a few moments.

But Stede didn’t move an inch. “We nearly did it, too. Mary borrowed some of my old things, so she could move more easily. We were at the door, shovels in hand, and then we realized what we were doing.”

He sobbed. “And it would be pointless. He’d be as pale and lifeless as he’d been at his wake, in his coffin.”

It was by some grace that Izzy came out of his room, headed for the galley. At seeing them, he changed direction and strode over.

“Did we find them?” he asked Ed in a whisper.

“No,” Ed whispered back. “Could you help me get him to our quarters? I can take over the rest of the night watch.”

“You stay with him,” Izzy said. “I can do it. It’ll be nearly light before we know it anyway.”

With a bit more prompting and gentle pulling, they got Stede to walk away from the rail of the deck.

“Got something!” Frenchie called from the crow’s nest. “Small vessel, not close enough to see all who’s in it though!”

“Dinghy is ready,” Izzy said as he jogged past Ed towards it. “Roach?”

“On my way,” Roach hustled up behind him, kit of medicines and bandages and everything else in one hand. In the other was a small bag. “Got sandwiches and some jars of water in here. No offense to them, but I can’t imagine kids can estimate how much they’d need...”

“We fuck that up often enough ourselves,” Ed said. “And we’re old enough to know better.”

“And yet,” Izzy sighed, but it had no teeth behind it.

Ed tried to get a better look at the dinghy as they slowly made their approach. “I still can’t tell...looks empty.”

As they made their way beside it, he saw he was right. Still a jug of water and a basket of oranges, set by two daggers. But otherwise, empty.

“Fuck,” Izzy said softly. “Maybe they abandoned it and went ashore somewhere?”

“Why would they leave their supplies?” Roach asked.

Before any one of them could speculate, there was a ripple in the water.

Ed felt a hand grasp his at the edge of the dinghy.

Then, a face. “Oh shit! Louis, come back up!”

They watched as Alma dove back underwater and brought Louis up, a fish in his hands. “I caught one! Can we really stop somewhere to cook it and eat it? Can we go now?”

“No!” Alma looked over fearfully to them as she pushed Louis into their dinghy. “We don’t have anything you’d want! We’re looking for our dad, and he’s a pirate! Most fearsome to sail the sea, so if you’re planning to rob or kill us...”

She paused, clearly out of breath from swimming and panic. “Well, I would reconsider it!”

Izzy smiled, then broke into laughter. “Yeah, these are his. Fucking fuck, Bonnet.”

“You know him!” Alma pulled herself into their vessel, and moved her wet hair out of her eyes. “Where is he?”

“We sail with him,” Ed replied. “And he’s been a mess looking for you two, after he got your letter.”

“Told you he’d meet us halfway,” Louis said. “I told you!”

“Oh shut up,” Alma sighed. “Sorry about him, but he’s always like this, I should warn you-”

“I’m not like anything! I’m being polite and I was even going to offer to share my fish with them!”

“How about we tow you back with us, and then we’ll see about the fish,” Roach smiled. “I’m our chef and surgeon, so maybe you could help me cook it.”

Louis grinned, and set the dead fish on the bottom of the boat to hand over the rope tied to the dinghy.

“Curious,” Ed said as they started the trip back. “Did you two steal this?”

“Of course we did,” Alma scoffed. “We’re pirates.”

Izzy was still having giggle fits, even as he rowed. “Yes, yes you are.”

“Dad, ow. Dad! Help!” Louis cried out as Stede picked him up in a bear hug.

“Okay, let’s not suffocate him, metaphorically or literally,” Lucius said as he rushed over. “Hi! Your dad really missed you.”

“I can tell,” Louis said, voice muffled with his face jammed into Stede’s silk waistcoat.

“I was so worried about you,” Stede said as he finally set poor Louis down. “Did you tell your mother that you left?”

“I left her a note,” Alma said, then backed up as Stede moved for her. “Dad, I’m too big to pick up, Dad!”

He did all the same. “And look at you! Sailing in that dress! How on earth did you manage that?”

“You get used to it,” Alma said. “You’re squishing my lungs, I think.”

“Sorry,” Stede set her back on her feet. “I just. I thought you two were dead, and I had no idea how I’d tell your mother or what I’d do; it isn’t as if I’m likely to have any more children and...”

“Dad, you don’t have to cry,” Alma said, but she wrapped her arms around him and nestled her head into his neck.

“I’m hungry,” Louis said. “Mr. Roach, can we go cook my fish?”

“Yeah buddy, we can,” Roach replied. “Ed, if Stede’s looking for him-”

“I’ll let him know,” Ed interrupted gently, brushing away a tear of his own. “Let us know when dinner’s ready, hm?”

“Of course.”

The rest of the crew kept on with their various chores, but all of them stayed on the main deck, watching Stede lead Alma around to show her the ship. In return, she told him how they’d left, stolen their boat, how she’d been saving her allowance to buy everything from their food to their daggers.

No one interrupted directly, but there were smiles and soft giggles all around.

Ed was the only one following after them, listening in and silently cheering at Alma’s resourcefulness. Of all the Bonnets, she seemed the one who might not need any teaching about piracy. Maybe too young, but well prepared for it all the same.

“I am...” Stede sighed happily. “Your mother wouldn’t like to hear this, but I am so proud of you both. What you did was very dangerous-”

“You’ve said that like a hundred times already,” Alma interrupted.

“I know, I know, but I’m your dad. I have to say things like that, so you’re more careful in the future.”

Alma rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Fine, then we’ll board and steal a bigger ship next time.”

“Next time!”

“That or you come back and let us come with now and then,” she said with a little happy hop.

“While that would be a lovely achievement, I think it better I arrange with your mum something that would let you two come out and sail a bit,” Stede said. “If my co-captain is agreeable to it.”

He peered back to Ed with a hopeful smile.

“Absolutely! Say, how good are you two with those daggers?”

Alma blushed. “We aren’t. We didn’t get to practice before we left, and we’ve only used fake swords before.”

“Then I say we get you some lessons on knives with Jim before we take you two home,” Ed said.

“Which is Jim?”

He pointed out Jim, currently winning a knife-throwing contest against Frenchie and Wee John, with the Swede keeping score.

“Whoa,” Alma breathed out as Jim made their best throw yet. “Can I learn how to do that?”

“Jim can teach you that, and I’ll teach you how to take out an eyeball with a dagger, how about that?”

Her eyes shone. “Really?”

He looked to Stede, who chuckled. “I suppose. Better earlier than later, if you’re really going to be a pirate.”

She cheered and rushed away to Jim. They watched her tug on Jim’s coat, mouth moving a mile a minute as she pointed to Jim’s knife.

Jim looked back to them, seemingly waiting for permission.

Stede gave them a nod, and immediately Jim knelt down and handed Alma their knife, showing her how to hold it before tossing it.

“Think Mary’s still going to kill you?” Ed asked.

“Maybe not. Once we bring them back and work something out properly, and I’m sure they’ll need to promise not to run off on their own again. She might show mercy on me then.”

Stede leaned into him, arm at his waist, and they watched the rest of the knife throwing lesson in a contented silence.

“Roach said I did the best job he’s ever seen,” Louis told Stede proudly as they sat down to dinner. His fish was too small to share with everyone, but a portion were on his and Alma’s plates. “I bet I could learn how to be a ship’s chef from him.”

“He’s our surgeon too,” Stede said. “That means learning about bodies and blood and guts!”

Louis grinned. “Cool.”

“They get that from Mary,” Stede told Ed, sitting a spot away from him beside Alma. “She’s got an iron stomach.”

“You’re getting better with that,” Ed said. “Sometimes you just need to be around it more to get used to it.”

“Jim taught me how to throw a knife,” Alma leaned past Stede to Louis. “And Ed’s gonna teach me how to take out an eyeball!”

“Ew,” Louis giggled. “Can I learn too?”

Ed smiled warmly. “Stede, I love them. They’re awesome. I had never really thought about kids-”

“Is Ed like our stepdad like Doug?” Louis interrupted.

Stede looked to Ed with a chuckle. “Well, Doug said you two sort of decided if he was or not. What do you think about Ed?”

“Makes sense he would be,” Alma replied. “Cause Doug teaches us how to paint, and now Ed’s gonna be teaching us stuff too. Plus he’s dating you.”

They both blinked. They’d not so much as kissed in front of them yet.

“How do you know that?” Stede asked.

“I have eyes,” Alma said. “And you two act the way Mum and Doug do. You make eyes at each other.”

“I suppose we do,” Stede blushed.

“You’re literally doing it right now,” Alma said, and looked across the table to Jim. “Do they do this all the time?”

“Yes,” came a chorus of voices.

“We aren’t that bad,” Ed said.

“I bet they kiss like all the time,” Louis said.

“They do,” Izzy stage-whispered from his spot by Jim. “And hold hands, and-”

Alma and Louis broke into giggles, cutting him off.

“Alright, we have a decent feast tonight!” Roach announced as he finished setting down the last dish, covered by a high metal dome. “Hard tack, a stew that I think finally everyone will like, and-”

He lifted the dome off the dish. “Thanks to Alma and Louis, we had more than enough oranges for a cake!”

Louis turned to Stede, mouth open to speak.

“One piece for tonight,” Stede said before he could get out a word.

“Okay, but-”

“Stew first, then cake. It’ll taste better that way.”

Louis nodded. “And my fish before the stew!”

“Of course,” Stede said.

Dishes were passed from hand to hand, until plates were full. Everyone dug in, but Stede took the opportunity to take it all in.

Maybe, now and again, he could have both. His family at sea, and some of his family on land, together.

If he saved some cake for Mary, she’d be potentially more likely to say yes, and he made a mental note to set enough aside for her and Doug.

And maybe one extra piece, for Alma and Louis to share before bed.

#text post #ofmd fic #aka the fic of stede holy shit control ur mini pirates lmao #tho if I ever write a follow up to this mary is probably gonna be pissed but also like I should have expected this djslkafjsal #fkn kids man #on the plus side tho when they do sail with him they've got a sort of second stepdad in Ed (and stepdad Doug on land of course)#and a bunch of adopted aunts and uncles who are gonna spoil them rotten and also teach them shit like how to skin a man #ya know the stuff you need to know around that age lmaoo #tw child death

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