#but I'm annoyed that no one's even raising it as a possibility. ao3 is not a social media site
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I guess one question that strikes me as very important, that I haven't seen anyone raise:
What would it look like to make an attempt at scaling down AO3?
Who would need to be persuaded, for example, to lock down AO3 to logged in users only, freeze commenting and possibly slow down account invites? Presumably that significantly damages AO3's status as a community hub without compromising its mission, and makes steps towards having a less strained budget and volunteer team. Make it very clear that they are not a social media site, they're an archive that hosts fanfiction. I genuinely do not know who would have to make this decision though. Could you do it with four board members?
In any case, some of the hypotheticals people are laying out, where the harm to volunteers and users both are so large and intractable and the organization's interest in mitigating them is so limited, would warrant attempting this or something like it right?
#Kneecap search so you can't filter by date and if your search returns >1000 results you get an error#there's LOTS of things you could do to make it less user friendly as social media without compromising the mission#hell throw out search altogether if you need to! no more tag wranglers. make people link their fics directly from other platforms#if you've identified the mild sardonicism I haven't been able to excise from this post I think this probably shouldn't happen#but I'm annoyed that no one's even raising it as a possibility. ao3 is not a social media site
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Love Bites
Summary: Your complicated relationship with Miguel is pushed beyond the usual bounds when you ask him to give in to his deepest desire.
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x fem!Reader
Word Count: 1.9k
masterlist // join my taglist // follow me on instagram & ao3
a/n: i'm unashamed to announce that all i thought about when Miguel was on that giant movie screen was writing a fic where Miguel bites reader...........clearly i was team edward.
warnings: porn with some plot, mostly just porn though, p in v sex, Miguel is sort of a grump, undefined relationship between reader and Miguel, biting kink???, mentions of blood, etc.
“Shhh, baby.” Miguel cooed, pressing his hand over your mouth to quiet your whimpering moans. “You’re taking me so well, honey. Y’just have to be a little quieter.”
You could barely hear him, so caught up in the pleasure of having him deep inside you that his voice was a gentle murmur in the back of your mind. You were on the verge of, yet another, orgasm at the hands of Miguel, who was currently thrusting into you so hard you were sure you’d go flying off his desk if he didn’t have a firm grip on your hip.
“No one’s here, Miguel.” You whined, albeit a little quieter than before, and muffled from the hand he still pressed against your lips. “They all went home hours ago. We’re the only ones crazy enough to still be working this late.”
Was this still considered working? You’d been going at it for at least an hour.
“You don’t know that.” He emphasized his words with a harsh thrust, seducing a rather loud whine from your throat. “Stop that.”
As annoyed as he probably sounded, you knew he didn’t mean a word he was saying to you. How many times had he pushed you into this desk and begged to feel you clenching around him? How many times had you let him? The cycle that made up you and Miguel’s relationship was vicious and addicting - a clash of skin on skin, teeth against teeth, body against body - if any of the other spider-people knew just how well Miguel knew your body, they’d raise even more hell about his favoritism of you.
Because of course it was obvious to any casual passer-by that Miguel and you were something. Friends? Miguel didn’t really have any, and neither did you. Lovers? You were almost positive that lovers communicated beyond ‘Can I take your pants off?’ and ‘Fuck me so hard I forget my name, please.” Co-workers? Well, if tearing each other’s clothes off every time you were alone counted, then sure, Miguel was your co-worker.
“Miguel.” You whined, arching into his bare chest and moaning when your nipples rubbed against the hard muscles that made up his body. Your current position - naked and being fucked into Miguel’s desk - was arguably a dangerous one. If someone did happen to still be at HQ and came anywhere near Miguel’s workspace, there was no chance you’d be able to hide what you were doing. “Use your super-hearing. No one’s here.”
Miguel faltered for a few seconds, pausing his movements - because God knows he couldn’t focus on anything but your sweet pussy while he was moving inside you - so that he could focus on the noises around his office. You tried to control your breathing, allowing him to move through each floor until he was certain no one was around to hear your moans.
“There’s no one here.” He bobbed his head once, confirming what you’d been trying to tell him for the better part of an hour. That was all you were going to get from him. He’d never say outright that you were right, but the softened caress of his fingers over your jaw was enough to tell you he at least acknowledged your contribution.
“So I can be loud again?” You questioned, spreading your legs wider so he could thrust into you as deep as possible.
“No, needy girl.” He shook his head, the softness in his eyes now replaced with something carnal and lusty. He cupped your jaw with both hands and thrusted all the way into you, grunting when you involuntarily clenched around his thick length.
“Why not?” You whined.
“Because when you’re moaning like that in my ear, cariño, I can feel myself losing control.” He grunted, gently rocking in and out of you. He kissed your shoulder before softly resting his forehead against it. “Don’t want to hurt you, baby.”
You blinked once, twice. This was uncharted waters for you and Miguel. He’d never vocalized these fears before, and you weren’t sure what that meant.
“You won’t hurt me, Miguel.” You tentatively cradled his head against your body, running your fingers through his soft, black hair. “I trust you.”
He abruptly pulled away from you, meeting your gaze with what looked like both, confusion and hope in his eyes. You watched him watch you, unsure if you’d gone too far. Did co-workers/lovers/friends often have vulnerable conversations when tied together in the most intimate way possible?
“You trust me?” He was still softly thrusting in and out of you, and you wondered how long he’d been wanting to have this conversation. Had it been days? Weeks?
“Of course.” You scoffed, as if what you were saying had been obvious, though clearly it had been weighing on Miguel’s mind for quite some time. “You can let go with me, Miguel. I’ll tell you if it’s too much, okay?”
He paused, mulling over your words for a moment before tentatively nodding. You smiled, and suddenly Miguel’s mouth was on yours, and you couldn’t remember which way was up or down because his mouth was downright sinful. A spark erupted in your chest, eliciting a groan from deep in your throat. It was every skyscraper you’d ever jumped off of, every leap of faith you’d taken while swinging through the city, every goosebump you’d ever felt, tingling throughout every nerve in your body.
Miguel, in all his silent glory, must’ve felt it too, because he let out the most delicious moan you’d ever heard in your life before deepening the kiss even further. His tongue swiped over yours, and in a swift, thoughtless motion, he tugged at your lower lip with his teeth before trailing down to your neck. His thrusts were relentless and deep, a wild juxtaposition to the gentleness of his mouth nibbling at your throat. And Jesus, you’d never considered biting to be something that turned you on, but the thought of Miguel sinking his sharp fangs into your skin as he fucked you was, arguably, the hottest and most fucked up thing you’d ever thought about in your life.
An involuntary moan echoed out of you at the thought, and you found yourself mumbling incoherently into his ear.
“Miguel, Miguel, Miguel, Miguel, Mig-”
“You sound so sweet when you’re moaning my name, baby.”
He pressed a chaste kiss to your swollen lips before returning to your neck. He nibbled, licked, and sucked along the column of your throat, getting more aggressive the louder you moaned. The familiar heat that coiled in your core was so close to erupting that you started to talk before you realized what you were doing.
“Can you…” You trailed off, panting and a little embarrassed at the question you wanted to ask.
“Can I what, amor?” He gripped your hips, slamming into you with such force that you felt the words tumbling out of you.
“Can you bite me?”
A low groan slipped from his throat, so far gone in the pleasure that he barely hesitated before sinking his teeth into your shoulder. The pain was almost immediately coated by such an immense warmth that your orgasm suddenly and violently ricocheted through your body. You shook against Miguel, shuttering with every pass of his tongue over the mark he’d left on you.
Miguel wasn’t far behind you. You were unknowingly clenching around him so hard that he couldn’t stop the pleasure from overtaking him as well. He sunk his teeth into your throat, marking you harshly enough that you were sure it would leave a huge, purple bruise. He grunted, movements faltering, before thrusting into you deeply and coming.
Blood slowly trickled from the wounds on your neck and shoulder, and he eagerly licked at them while you tried to come down from what was arguably the highest you’d ever been. Every time his tongue passed over the sensitive marks, a spark of pleasure shot through you so violently that you eventually had to shove his mouth away from them.
“That was…insane.” You finally said, laughing at how blissed out Miguel looked. “But I liked it.”
“You’re going to be so bruised tomorrow.” He noted, mirroring your grin with a wide one of his own.
And you suddenly realized how fucking handsome he was when he smiled. You knew, of course, that Miguel was objectively the hottest person you’d ever seen, but he’d never smiled at you that way before - vulnerable, walls down for once - and you were suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him again.
“We should pro-”
You cut him off by wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him into another kiss. It was slow and sweet and even though he briefly tensed when your lips met his, he eventually eased into the kiss, allowing himself the sweet indulgence of kissing the pretty girl in front of him. When you finally pulled away from him, lips swollen and red and maddening, he let out a soft whimper in protest.
“It’s only midnight.” He mumbled, glancing at the clock before kissing you again.
“If you try to make me get back to work after this, I’m going to slap you, Miguel O’Hara.” You breathed.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I was going to say let’s call it a night.”
You suddenly became very aware of his length still buried in you. Surely, if he didn’t want this to continue, he would’ve pulled out earlier, right? He wouldn’t be kissing you like you were the only girl in the world, right? But Miguel had always been temperamental, sometimes hot, usually cold. Unease coiled in your gut as you tried to figure out where his head was at. This joining had certainly felt different than the other times you’d been with him, but did that really mean anything when it came to Miguel?
“My place or yours, Mami?”
Your heart thundered at the nickname, and all the doubt from moments before was replaced with thoughts of him, him, him.
“Either one.” You shrugged, “We’ll have to stagger our arrival times tomorrow so no one suspects us. Especially with these.” You pointed to the bite marks on your shoulder and neck.
“Or,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “we could say fuck it and show up together.”
You blinked up at him, wondering if he meant what you thought he meant.
“What about the bites? Don’t you think people might think they’re…weird?”
He shrugged again. “Let them. I don’t care. They make you feel good, so fuck everyone else, baby.”
“Is this ‘nice-Miguel’ going to stick around or is it just because you’re high on blood right now?” You teased.
He scowled, but you noticed the tiny tick in his jaw that indicated a hidden smile. “You saying I’m not nice, baby?”
“You’re a perpetually grumpy person, Miguel.”
“Not with you.” He grumbled.
“Especially with me.” You corrected, kissing the tip of his nose. “But I like that about you.”
“You do?” He perked up, grinning slightly.
“Yes.” You nodded earnestly. “Of course I do.”
He nuzzled into your neck, resting his head on your unmarked shoulder, and mumbled, “I like you too.”
Tag List:
@foxglove-grove @lavnderluv @khaleesihavilliard @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @deliciousfestsalad @lilyevans1 @imagineadream @22carolina08 @definitelynotsugar @casualchaoticdevil @peachy-flxwr @nashja @xshewayout @blep--bloop @kpopgirlbtssvt @aynsleywalker @queenofthenoobs @ostricx @horrorflix @myhomethesea
#marvel#spider man#spider man 2099#across the spiderverse#across the spider verse#spider verse#spiderverse#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara imagine#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara headcanons#spider man x reader#spiderman x reader#spiderman#marvel smut#marvel masterlist#marvel imagine#marvel fanfiction#imagine#fanfiction#mcu#marvel cinematic universe#amhrosina
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Dopamine
On AO3:
Viktor x f!reader
Rating: Explicit
Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, dubious science, mostly canon compliant, no use of y/n, chemist!reader, eventual smut.
Cw: explosions (no casualties), rude language.
Words: 1.6k
[A/N: tags and content warnings to be updated in each chapter, updates weekly.]
Part 2 Part 3
Chapter 1: A Forced Vacation
The sound of the blast was loud and echoing, which made Viktor believe the explosion must have happened nearby. Jayce's immediate reaction after uncovering his ears was to go out the door to try to find the source, but Viktor stopped him, reminding him that they didn't know if there was fire or anything dangerous outside. The announcement came shortly after when a muffled voice urged them to evacuate the academy building through the speakers on the ceiling.
"Please remain calm; a small-sized explosion has taken place at the manufacturing facilities; there is a chance there might be potentially harmful compounds in the air, so please make sure to correctly place the gas masks provided at the beginning of the academic term, you may situate them under the emergency equipment cupboard near the main entrance of each laboratory room, we reiterate: please remain calm as you evacuate the premises."
"Small explosion?" Jayce huffed as he retrieved the masks from the cupboard. Both of them did as they were told and calmly but energetically walked down the hallway to get to the main entrance of the building, where dozens had already congregated.
No one seemed to be affected by the recent developments except for Viktor; he even overheard a group of people excitedly chattering about possible places to have fun during their sudden evening off. Interruptions already annoyed him profoundly, but the importance of the breakthrough he recently had made this untimely interference ever more infuriating. He was leaning on a wall, impatiently tapping his cane against the concrete floor, when Jayce decided to investigate the matter, and the expression on his face when he came back was less than encouraging.
"So?"
"I don't think we'll be able to return to work, at least not today."
"What happened, though? What was the explosion about?"
"Uh…one of the quenching systems blew up; not sure I understood the reason why." Jayce hoped Viktor didn't catch on to the reason for his hesitation, but he did; it was a lost cause.
"Ha! I should've known it had to do with the chemistry department; it's almost like she is scheduled to create chaos at least once a month." Viktor started to raise his voice and gesture excessively.
"Come on, Vik, cut her some slack; they didn't expressly say she was directly responsible for any of this."
"When is it not her fault, though? It's almost like she lives to hinder my work!"
"Why are you so angry? Did you misplace your caliper again?" You said, appearing from behind Jayce with a playful pout only to annoy him more intentionally.
"If it isn't the source of all my problems," Viktor said, rolling his eyes.
"What did I do now?" You said, laughing ironically.
"I had an inkling that such a monumental mishandling could only be your fault." he hissed.
"you're wrong as usual, Sparkle."
"You designed those vents!" This accusation struck a nerve in you. And any mood for playful banter had been substituted by indignation.
"First of all, I'm a chemist, not an engineer, so if anything, it's a testament to my brilliance that those scrubbers have been working at all, and as a matter of fact, they would have continued working perfectly if it weren't for you."
"What do we have to do with any of this?"
"The sizing of the quenching system I put in place was appropriate until the hextech team came to be, and you two decided to start pumping out microelectronics all the time, the amount of suppressing agent that has to be pumped through the system to accommodate for the things you have been manufacturing exacerbated the machine, of course it was gonna explode eventually!"
"Why didn't you adjust the sizing then?"
"Because it's not my job! I'm here to research organic materials, not design your machinery. I warned the council, and they didn't seem to care, so if you have a problem, take it up with them for not hiring the appropriate people for the job."
"How can you be so offhand about what happened? This could've been fatal had there been people in the facility."
"Oh, get off your high horse, Viktor, you're only mad because I'm involved, and you're being forced to interrupt your work. Don't pretend like you care."
"Of course I care. Do you think I'm a monster?"
"Of course not. You're definitely well known for being big on safety protocols." You said with a clear tone of sarcasm.
Viktor knew you were right and could not argue against that, but he wanted to retort. He wanted very badly to say anything at all. Unfortunately, you had already turned on your heels to walk away from them, leaving him with narrowed eyes and a deep frown.
"You kind of set yourself up for that one," Jayce said casually. He had been quietly witnessing you two fight as he usually did. Viktor gave him a furious glare as a response and walked back to his dormitories resentfully quiet.
--------------------------------------
Murmurs could be heard coming from the entrance of the laboratory wing. There was a strong feeling of emptiness in your stomach as you approached, that you usually would have attributed to not having eaten anything that morning; however, this time, it was a clear fear of facing the consequences of the previous afternoon’s incident. It hadn’t been your fault; you were as angry as the next person, and for an institution with that many wealthy investors, the Academy had a silent policy of spending as little as possible on as few departments as they could. Everyone knew that with the unlooked-for creation of the Hextech team, the investments in all the other research departments had been drained to be allotted to the council’s golden duo; there had been multiple coffee machine conversations about it. Yet, you were anxious.
They wouldn’t blame you, would they? Viktor did, and if there’s something that son of a bitch was good at beyond tightening nuts and bolts was persuading a crowd. What prevented him from convincing all your colleagues that this whole debacle was your burden? All that muttering was probably him rallying up a crowd to lynch you.
You breathed in. When have you been afraid to face him before? This was unlike you.
I don’t owe anything to anyone. That idiot can badmouth my character as much as he likes, but he can’t argue with the facts.
You relaxed your shoulders and unclenched your jaw.
“Get a grip, damn it!” You said to yourself quietly as you put on a laid-back cast and opened the door to the main hall.
No heads were left unturned when you walked in. Some faces were neutral, some carried the type of warm smile of someone who would be happy to see you, there was that one guy from the poli-sci department who was a tad too smug about your entrance, some seemed worried, and one of them—the bane of your existence—looked at you with a pronounced frown, eyes narrowed, and mouth turned upside-down.
"What's everyone doing here? I thought I was late already. Did I miss a memo?" You said with a casual tone, a painfully obvious attempt at masking the existential crisis you were having just moments earlier.
"Labs are gonna be closed for a month; something about them needing to disinfect and ventilate potential harmful agents from the facilities."
Part of you was glad it had been your friend Moira who spoke up first, but on the other hand, you feared the silence before the storm, and you were soon proved to be justified in doing so.
"I hope you are happy."
"Why would I be?
"You just cost us a month’s worth of work." Viktor sneered through his teeth.
"I'm sure you can afford that. Differently from the rest of the research departments, you don't have the risk of losing your funding if you don't churn out constant developments, so I don't see why you are so upset."
"This isn't the first time you have gotten in the way of my work. You could say I've boiled over."
This is when people started to walk away. Your 'explosive' relationship with Viktor wasn't a novelty to anyone, and they knew better than to try to intervene. It had been more than a year at this point; you resented him for not admitting the preferential treatment they were given by the Academy, and he resented you for some…unfortunate accidents that had delayed his work before. You both knew you had some fault in each of those things, but stubbornness and pride had prevented you from admitting this to one another. To his dismay, Jayce had had to play mediator, the child of a divorce that never happened.
"Except this time, it wasn't my fault, but of course, you'd jump at any opportunity to blame me for something."
"Maybe if you were competent enough to complete the task you were given, it wouldn't have happened."
You were livid.
"I played engineer for a couple of weeks and designed a machine that worked without a hitch for 3 years. You are an engineer and can't get any of those little prototypes of yours to work. Remind me who's incompetent again?"
"Woah, okay, that's enough. Let's all go home and relax, okay?" Jayce said, already dragging Viktor from his cane arm and not allowing him to proffer any of the offenses he intended to.
How dare he say you were incompetent? You were head and shoulders above him in every possible category. Fine, perhaps he had an edge when it came to discipline. And organization. Maybe charisma, somehow everyone liked him. You understood why. He was handsome too, charming even…
Maybe if he— No. don’t even start.
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Bali, Baby! Pt. 1 - Satoru/Suguru/Reader
credit for this incredible image here!
pairings: past!satoru x reader, suguru x reader, past!satoru x suguru
warning: overstimulation, edging, cheating (?), vaginal fingering, it's not really a warning but everyone is queer bc I'm queer and that's how it is
summary: your ridiculous ex has decided to drag you to vacation plans the two of you made in the past. what could possibly go wrong? well actually, just about everything now that you’ve hooked up with both your and Satoru's best friend Suguru the night before you leave for vacation. so what ELSE could possibly go wrong?
AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48025003
“Two weeks?”
“Two weeks, Sugu, two fucking weeks!”
“And your flight leaves tomorrow?”
“And my flight leaves TOMORROW!”
Suguru’s in the middle of retying his hair when you suddenly shout, startling both him and the other guests here. The framed scribbles and crookedly hung paintings covering the walls make the small coffee shop you’re currently in seem that much smaller. It also kindly reminds you that they’re doing little to contain your outburst.
You hear the slightest chuckle from Suguru as you look around the shop and take in the sight of forgettable and slightly annoyed faces glancing at you. As you raise your hand and nod awkwardly in some sort of apology at the frowning face, Suguru’s chuckles turn into full on laughter. Of course when your annoyed eyes meet his humored honeyed ones, he manages to seal his lips almost immediately into an amused yet quiet smile.
With the amount of stress you’ve been under lately, it’s no surprise that it’s dribbling out of you at the seams. The strenuous months, the neverending weeks, the exhausting days, came to a point meeting with one of your pickier clients. It was a meeting — an official integration signing — that you’d been working on for the better part of a year now and somehow, someway, you woke up late.
As you were running late, clamoring onto the subway and fighting with a very orny elderly man, some random interns — now former interns — had deleted entire files that were in the middle of being backed up by IT. Files that pertained the client’s history, previous sales, all important information that impacted their place in the business. On top of running late, on top of fighting with the elderly, on top of important information disappearing into the ether, you also spilled coffee all over your favorite blouse. A large stain that definitely wouldn’t be coming out any time soon.
In short, today was a nightmare.
And yet all of those events, all of those little disasters, couldn’t even begin to equate to what made today a day for the books. When you’d finally arrived at your office with your assistant not too far behind, Gojo Satoru was in the middle of your room with a mischievous grin you knew all too well. He was sitting on the edge of your desk, arms folded and legs spread wide. He’d ignored the coffee stain on your blouse, ignored the exhaustion in your eyes, and ignored your demanding of why he was here as he exclaimed, ”We’re going to Bora Bora, baby!”
It turns out the location is actually Bali, not Bora Bora, but the blinding light of Satoru’s excitement could not be dimmed by your correction and obvious annoyance.
By now, the end of your workday, the series of small and big disasters have filled your mind. It feels weighted there as if your brain is wriggling under the weight of your responsibilities. But the longer you stay here, the longer you listen to Suguru laugh at your expense, the weight begins slowly and steadily lifting. With all of the stress from the previous months, weeks, days, you need to rant and rave more than ever. You need to rant and rave specifically to someone that knows Gojo Satoru inside and out.
The annoying white-haired man had a way of getting under your skin that no one else could even come close to accomplishing. It’s not that you’re patient or impatient. You think you have an...average amount of patience that a person should have. There’s just something about Satoru that annoyed you more than the average person. His nonchalant way of talking, his uncaring attitude, something that made the flippant comments he made that much more irritating.
While people who didn’t know Satoru personally and only ever heard second-hand accounts insisted on you just ignoring him or cutting him off, you knew deep down that the idiot has good intentions. Afterall, you’ve known him better than anyone. He used to be a lot worse in high school.
So the desire to complain about Satoru led you to someone who knows the two of you very well. Someone like Suguru who is just as kind and patient as Satoru is childish and impatient.
The sigh you finally let out is a long steady gust of air that never seems to end. When it finally does, Suguru speaks up softly. “Hey, maybe it’s a good thing. When was the last time you actually took a vacation?”
Large fingers coax and eventually pry at your small ones to loosen their vicious grip around your mug. As you release the thin ceramic and allow those fingers to stroke along the lengths of your hand, you think about the question.
It has been a while.
With adult life eating away at your sanity, you barely had any time for yourself now. Never mind time for your best friends and other close relationships. With how packed your schedule usually is, by the time you did have a break you couldn’t manage much more than keeping to yourself for the day. You were always too tired to hang out with co-workers or long-time friends; always too tired to entertain or be entertained by dates; always... too tired.
The small blips of time you found between meetings and fancy events was spent rotting away in your bed while watching increasingly bizarre youtube videos in a neverending rabbit hole. This cycle was only broken if Satoru and Suguru managed to call as many times as was necessary to get you to answer the phone. Then the two of them would come over and crawl into bed with you, forcing you to get dressed and go outside or offering to rot away with you depending on just how bad their day was.
Regardless of how busy they were in their own lives, Satoru and Suguru always seemed to have enough time for you when you were free. Even if Satoru had to break away to make important phone calls while the three of you were shopping or Suguru had to hold his phone over your head in bed and quickly answer emails between movie popcorn breaks. Of course, you tried to put in the same amount of effort, but they always insisted that you take your time.
Suguru especially would tell you to come to them when you had the time and energy to be there, without any sort of stress or worry.
The problem is you’re always stressed or worried.
Finally, you offer a thoughtful,”Yeah, I guess it’s been a while.”
As you stare into the steaming beige liquid in your mug, you realize that Satoru’s random offer couldn’t have come at a better time. All of the stress weighing you down could wash away in an instant under the warm Bali sun and in the cerulean waters lapping at white sand. Everything you could ever need to reset your perspective and purpose in life could be there.
I t’s the perfect time, the perfect place, and the perfect getaway.
“But it’s so last minute,” you try anyway, even though your mind is somewhat decided,”there are so many things I have to handle at work. I can’t just leave for two weeks.”
Suguru’s thumb glides to the smooth skin of you palm, soothing the creases that have begun to unknowingly form on your forehead. Some of that tension that always seems to linger in your body, in unseen crevices that you can’t reach or see, releases into the air.
Suguru counters your doubt, your pessimism, immediately as he says firmly,”You have an incredibly capable assistant in Nobara. She can easily rearrange any meetings you have coming up. Your team is very skilled too and fully capable of handling your accounts for two weeks. Have a little more faith in them.”
You’ve shaped your team so carefully and diligently over the years that even if you spontaneously blew up they’d be able to at least survive without you. Maybe Nobara, Inumaki, Panda (a strange nickname that stuck within the department), and others would have to ride your coatails and study old notes stashed away in your office, but they’d make it for at least a year before the higher ups noticed.
As much as you hate it, Suguru’s words along with the loud and firm voice in the back of your head are starting to make a lot of sense. The idea of a vacation, of stiff colorful drinks and sun-heated skin, become more and more appealing with each stroke of Suguru’s thumb.
This form of encouragement is a lot more meaningful and maybe even slightly more dangerous than Satoru’s loud and irritating, ”Just take off! Who cares?”
With a roll of your eyes, you groan,”Fine, you got me there.” The slight admission has Suguru’s smile widening. Away from work, away from stupid meetings, away from the city for a couple of weeks. It’s nearly perfect.
But then it hits you. The reason for the added irritation today, the reason for the additional stress that’s been piled onto your shoulders, hits you like a freight train.
Gojo Satoru.
Two years ago, you and Satoru had gotten absolutely wasted. You don’t really remember how exactly the vacation was booked but after being chided by Satoru in your office some of the details had been filled in.
“So, we were both drunk.”
“Okay.”
“And you kept complaining about how you wanted to get away from everyone except me and be entirely alone.”
“I mean...sure okay. That sounds like me.”
“And you were sitting in your favorite chair so you were especially relaxed. Remember?”
Your mind flashes to a warm lighting in the impossibly large bedroom within Satoru’s loft. Your mind also reminds you of the fullness you felt between the hazy waves of too much wine and dizzying horiness. A large pale hand on your stomach, cupping the slight bulge in your tummy, and the feeling of Satoru’s broad chest against your back as you stared at the small phone screen.
“Maybe you were too busy cumming to reme—”
“Satoru!”
Nobara had shifted awkwardly at the comment, clearing her throat to remind Satoru that she was indeed still in the room.
“Anyway,” he grinned mischeviously,”I told you to pick anywhere in the world and I’d make Nanami book it. You picked Bali and we found the Ryomen Resort.”
“Because I wanted that special suite with the pretty tub.”
“Right and we made it for two years out because...?”
“That was the only time it was available.”
After the two of you broke up, your dream trip had been forgotten about entirely until now. At least for you anyway.
While Satoru claims he forgot to tell Nanami to cancel the reservations after the “disagreement” happened, he also claimed that he couldn’t cancel them now because they were paid in full; also something about being unable to change the name on the suite. It isn’t hard to believe that you don’t believe him in the slightest.
It’s not that he has a tendency to lie or deceive, but the resistance behind not wanting to cancel didn’t make sense. Despite the ever-present silver spoon in his mouth, Satoru grew up with and developed impeccable organizational and management skills that were required to run his family’s conglomerate.
There’s no way that he would forget to cancel it and even if he somehow did, there was absolutely no way Nanami would forget. He was Satoru’s personal assistant for a reason.
And even if they somehow both forgot, Gojo Satoru is disgustingly rich. He wouldn’t care about having to pay some stupid cancellation fee or just kissing the whole trip goodbye altogether. In fact, you have the ridiculous Ballon Bleu de Cartier “I’m sorry for killing your Monstera, Charlie, while you were away” watch and the “I totally didn’t mean to stand you up and then ask what are your plans for tonight I didn’t see your calls!” day trip to Paris to prove it.
So why would Satoru suddenly care about spending money now?
The whole thing reeks of ulterior motives and classic Gojo Satoru schemes.
“But it’s Bali,” you insist, trying and failing to keep the whiny-twinge away,”with Satoru. I’m worried he’ll get the wrong idea.”
Suguru’s thumb stops its journey across your palm and sits heavily on your hand. When you look up at him, you swear you can see a flash of...something. It’s a sort of glint in his eye that disappears as soon as your gaze focuses completely on his.
“How long has it been again,” he asks, feigning ignorance,”a year?”
For a moment you genuinely think that Suguru doesn’t remember the year the two of his best friends barely spoke or saw each other without causing a scene. It was a disastrous year for you, but it was you . Suguru had his own life and friends outside of the drama between you and Satoru. But the way his honeyed brown eyes avoid yours, gives you answers you need.
Suguru does remember.
He remembers every moment of that year.
Your breakup was immature and stupid.
It resulted in public fights that had the two of you storming off in different directions whenever you tried to talk it out. It resulted in angry phone calls and blocking and unblocking phone numbers. It resulted in obnoxious social media posts with blurred girls and boys in exotic places that were everything you weren’t.
Satoru is immature. He’s always been and probably always will be. Although you know he’s immature and that everything he says should be taken with a grain of salt, Satoru also knows how to get under your skin. He knows how to drag you down in the muck to his level and make you just as angry, just as spiteful, as him.
You, on the otherhand, are mature enough to admit that you were also immature.
It was as if seeing you go through life through retellings of coffee dates with Suguru, through prominent articles that his colleagues spoke of with your name written in neat letters at the bottom, and through social media posts from friendly gatherings and rooftop parties that Satoru was pointedly not inviting to; all of these things had somehow convinced him that you weren’t mourning the death of your relationship alongside him.
The years of knowing each other inside and out made every fight, spat, and pointed post that much more painful. By the middle of it, even Suguru didn’t want to deal with either of you. He would avoid hanging out with either of you so he didn’t hear complaints. Although you can’t really confirm it, you’re also pretty sure that he left the country to go on tour and meet with clients; right after he said he needed space.
The whole thing was messy, messier than you’d like to admit.
But recently the two of you have started working on healing your relationship and trying to make everything better a little bit at a time. No, it would never go back to the way it is, but maybe it could be close.
Finally Suguru releases your hand altogether to take a sip from his own mug. The steam is gone now, leaving behind a rapidly cooling drink. He breathes his next question in the mug as if to hide it,”You think he’s been carrying a torch this entire time?”
All you can do is shrug and try to ignore the way your stomach flips and whirls at the stupid impossible not-true idea,”I dunno. It’s Satoru. You can never tell what he’s thinking.”
Your best friend hums and allows his gaze to drift towards the large window beside the two of you. He watches a city in motion, noting cars honking at each other in packed lanes and people huddled together on the sidewalk while others speed off to their destinations. His eyes flit up to the large skyscrapers watching over the flow of life in a city at dusk.
Sugaru takes another long sip before saying,”I’m pretty sure he has a girlfriend now. If that makes you feel a little less awkward about the whole thing.”
The whirling and swirling of your stomach sinks just as rapidly as it began.
“You know how he is,” he continues, setting the mug down and tilting his head slightly.
Satoru isn’t a player by any means, but he also isn’t that fond of relationships. He’s too work-focused to cultivate a serious relationship with anyone that isn’t just “let’s meet up at this time and get our rocks off”. As kind as he can be when he wants to be, Satoru always ends up jumping from one gorgeous person to the next with only desire and the urge to forget about work fueling his every move.
The second it gets difficult, the second those midnight calls start turning into mid-afternoon calls, Satoru cuts it off.
“All too well,” you hum, taking a bite of the lonely croissant planted on the table in front of you. But even though he tries to keep things casual, Suguru did just use the word “girlfriend”. The idea wasn’t foreign. Satoru has had partners before, but once they demanded more of his time things tended to fall apart. But again...the word “girlfriend” was just used by his best friend.
“Well,” Suguru starts, mischief and exciting lighting up his brown eyes,”Do you wanna see her?”
“Oh,” you grin as you begin rubbing your hands together,”You know I do.” The laugh Suguru lets out this time is melodic and calming, a cool salve on your frying nerves. He whips out his phone quickly and taps away at his phone with a light smile on his face.
As you wait for the evidence, you take the time to take another bite. Wiping off any stray crumbs on your face, you look about the small coffee shop in awe. It’s a hole in the wall that’s been a constant throughout all of your upbringings. The furniture has changed slightly throughout the years, along with pastry options and professional framed scribblings on the walls, but it’s remained mostly the same.
After school, the three of you would come here to grab coffee and loiter in a specific corner with a large blue-cushioned booth. You’re still not sure how it always remained open and available every day after school for all those years, but now you’re sure Yaga had something to do with it.
The three of you would pretend to do homework and listen to Satoru make ridiculous jokes and bribe you into doing his assignments. If it weren’t for Yaga owning the place, you all definitely would’ve been banned by now with the incredible way that Satoru’s voice carried throughout the small space. It’s a comfort being here and, now that you’re older, a privilege.
“Think I got it,” Suguru mutters before flipping the phone to face you.
When you take in the image on the small cracked screen in front of you, you’re actually a little shocked. Satoru doesn’t really post his partners and playthings. Sometimes there are snapshots of them in the background of his pictures, quick clips of their faces that you can’t really see. The clips could be one of his numerous friends or someone passing by in the background, nothing distinct to show that he was with them.
The vague nature of these posts is what Satoru prefers. At least that's what you initially thought.
The potential partner is a lot lovelier than the others. In this picture their eyes are wide and their smile bright as they pose with Satoru’s arm firmly around them. Their bright blue hair is striking against the pale nature of their features, asymmetrical bangs pinned back with multi-colored clips. It looks like they’d just finished up a game of bowling.
A slight tap of your finger reveals a grey tab hanging on the blue-haired wonder’s clip that reads “Miwaaah”.
The last time he’d posted clear pictures like this was when the two of you were together. You remember the hearts within captions and the very noticeable different in likes between Satoru’s selfies and pictures with you. You also remember the day he deleted all of those photos.
Suguru lies the phone on the table then so the two of you can continue tapping through pictures and profiles. A few more pictures of Satoru and Miwa in different places appear on his page. Oddly enough, the two of them seem very happy together.
Well it shouldn’t be odd, should it?
The prospect of Satoru being happy and restored from all of the drama should make you happy, but it leaves you feeling weird instead. Rather than focus on the weird, the odd thoughts that begin to circle overhead before feasting on your brain, you focus on the confusion.
If Satoru had someone, why didn’t he just take Miwa to Bali? He’d probably gladly pay whatever fee came with changing the reservations so why didn’t he just change it and take them?
“If Satoru is dating her then clearly—”
“Them.”
“What?”
“If Satoru is dating them. Their pronouns are in their bio.”
“Oh. If Satoru is dating them then he’ll probably leave you alone. Maybe he’ll annoy the fuck out of you,” Suguru pauses briefly to relish in your small laugh,”but he knows when to quit. Clearly he’s preoccupied now anyway.”
As much as you want to believe that, you also know for a fact that Satoru has never learned when to quit. He never knew when to stop what he was doing or saying and simply listen to what someone else was trying to tell him. His habit led to many fights and situations where, if he had just listened, it would’ve ended okay. Even if Satoru didn’t try anything romantically, that wouldn’t stop him from bringing up old fights or bothering you on purpose.
A part of you knows this and even still, the idea of vacation is incredibly tempting. And hey, maybe you’re thinking of the old Satoru. The old Satoru wouldn’t have insisted on trying to get the coffee stain out of your blouse this morning instead of insisting on buying you another one. The old Satoru wouldn’t have even bothered coming to your office to invite you on this vacation to begin with. You find yourself nodding, more to yourself than Suguru, and leave it at that. Clearly there wouldn’t be any mixed signals or awkward moments because your ex has moved onto someone else.
______________
Suguru can safely say it’s almost like old times.
Almost.
The two of you talk about anything and everything, weaving between stupid co-workers, opinions on the latest trends, and drama with your other friends. He forgot how easy it is with you. Years of honesty, trust, and patience have led to smooth waters with the slightest of ripples.
In that simplicity, Suguru doesn’t have to think when he speaks. His words flow freely through him along with phrases and secrets that only make sense to the two of you. Well, the three of you.
The comfort that comes with being around you has been something Suguru has unknowingly been craving as of late. He’s so relaxed, so enchanted by your presence, that he almost forgets why you demanded to see him in the first place. As you spoke animatedly about a series you were watching, he feels the telltale signs of ominous churning in his stomach at the thought of why he’d been summoned today specifically.
Your relationship with Satoru would always be a small pebble rolling around a securely tied sneaker. While there were times where it didn’t bother him so much, there were also times where the discomfort couldn’t be ignored. It was an occasional annoyance that prodded at one’s flesh when they least expected it before rolling around the crevices of the encased fabric. Somehow that occasional annoyance that grew and shrunk went unexplained.
When you and Satoru were together, Suguru managed to spend some time with the both of you. He was still included in group hang outs, still received numerous texts in your shared group chat, but the energy was different. Satoru was yours and you were his. There was no hiding behind potentially exaggerated gestures or intent behind words.
Your relationship was there, clear as day, in every kiss and touch that the two of you shared. Suguru was obviously, and sometimes painful, on the outside looking in. In all of your years of friendship, this relationship between the two of you was something that couldn’t be shared. During that period in time, the cuddles between the three of you weren’t the same. The energy had shifted in a way that left Suguru on the outside, alone in a way he’s never felt since knowing the two of you. The loneliness, the absence he felt, was too much.
So he distanced himself in the only way he knew how.
Suguru focused on his career as a tattoo artist to ignore the hollow feeling of loneliness he felt. He’d already had a bit of a cult following of loyal fans and other artists who admired his work, but it was then that he decided to get serious. He used this excuse of wanting to expand to you and Satoru, to his other friends that questioned why he’d been so down lately, and to himself, that he had seeds to plant in order to go further in his career. To make a longstanding name for himself. Suguru is brave enough to admit now that he needed the distraction, but he’s not exactly sure why he needed the distraction.
He still had plenty of friends other than you two. He knew logically that you both loved him as much as best friends could love each other.
So why had he been so upset?
And why do those feelings linger even now?
Time slips through his fingers faster than he’d like. By the time the two of you finish up at the coffee shop, waving Yaga goodbye and turning out onto the street to head home separately, Suguru realizes that he doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t understand why he has this random desire to suddenly stay with you as much as he can. He wants to make you laugh more, see you smile more, and see you relax more.
After only a couple of hours of being together, Suguru can already see the way you’ve relaxed while talking to him. He can already hear the tension seeping out of your voice as you talk more.
It’s been so long since the two of you broke up that Suguru got to spend time with the old you. The old you before dating and breaking up with Satoru. Before all the fighting and the drama, before Suguru cowardly ran away from whatever he’d been feeling; is still feeling.
He almost feels selfish for asking, but when you turn to part with him on the corner of Parker street, he finds himself pushing out a hurried,”Have you packed yet?”
It’s a dumb question.
You’d just been telling him about how exhausting work and this entire day was, but Suguru wants to hold onto this moment with you. This strange moment where he has this need, this want, to see you right now more than ever.
“I haven’t,” you say thoughtful, and he’s thankful there isn’t a hint of annoyance,”fuck, I need to run to the store and grab so much stuff.”
“I can come with you,” he offers, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweats,”need something to do anyway.”
Despite the laid-back appearance he’s trying to project over the desperation, Suguru’s heart aches a little when you look up at him with a soft smile,”Really?”
He’s pretty sure he has flash art to set up on his socials for an upcoming charity event. He knows he has clients that he needs to follow up with to confirm overseas sessions. Suguru has plenty of other things to do for his brand that are currently being put on hold, but somehow he’d rather watch you pick out clothes than do any of those things.
Suguru nods with a smile and lets you wrap your arm around his to turn in the direction of...whatever store you want to go to. The two of you begin your leisurely walk, your voice takes on a knowing tone as you say,”You actually have plenty to do.”
He lets the statement sit in the air. He won’t liet to you and deny that he doesn’t have a lot to do. It’s the truth and both of you know it. “Actually what is your flash for this month?” you ask again, nudging him. Maybe you think that the innocent pondering will help him get the most out of his time. Although he appreciates the gesture, Suguru doesn’t want to be bogged down with talks of work right now. So he shushes you before you can ask anymore questions. “If I’m coming with you,” he says calmly, peering down at you with pointed amused eyes,”we can’t talk about work.”
“Fiiiiine!”
__________________
An average Wednesday evening has left your favorite department store mostly empty. Despite the occasional droves of people wandering the aisles, the immense size of the store is nearly overwhelming. The endless variety of items in different shapes and sizes makes it almost impossible to actually find what you need. Maybe that’s why you like it so much, it allows you to pick up random things that you had no intention of buying.
Just like old times, Suguru slowly strolls through aisles with a cart between two calloused fingers and watches your dart between sections to grab accessories, clothes, and shoes. On the way over here, you’d insisted that you only needed necessities. In reality, your cart quickly fills with items that weren’t even on the small list you insisted on going over with him just outside of the store.
Somehow everything currently in the cart is a “necessity”.
Black platform shoes that you didn’t even really explain the reason for. Not that you need to. Dresses with unique colors and interesting designs that you looked skeptical of. Brightly lit Hawaiian shirts with eerie patterns of cowboy raccoons in various duels. You even managed to toss in several snacks that you might need on the trip to hold you over.
Even though Suguru knows that those platform shoes will be tossed aside after three whiskey sours. Even though he knows that the linen pants you’ve picked out will look fantastic, but you’ll definitely be annoyed by the feeling of the fabric rubbing together. Even though he doesn’t mention that those snacks are won’t last you through the first few days or your vacation. Suguru enjoys this moment and everything that comes with it; including listening to you provide the pros and cons of buying a new tiny backpack that you definitely don’t need.
Just like old times you grabbed more clothes and held them up to your frame before asking,”Do you like this on me?”
And, as always, before he could really respond or even form an opinion, you would toss it into the cart. “We’ll just see later. I’m almost done.” A statement you’d always mumble before rushing off to the next aisle.
Eventually, once the cart was nearly overflowing, the two of you made your way to the fitting rooms tucked into the very corner of the store. Suguru now sits on one of the hard plastic benches just outside of the row of stalls as he waits. The cart full of your potential things sits right next to your stall, surrounded by rejected clothing waiting patiently to be returned to their respective homes. With how slow the store currently is, the fitting room is empty. The only sounds hovering around the fitting room are the occasional rustling of clothes you’re take on and off and an old pop song from several years ago bumping through faded and even older speakers.
As his fingers tap away at his touch keyboard, Suguru thinks over the client’s request he’s currently reading. As his fingers tap away at his touch keyboard, Suguru thinks over the client’s request he’s currently reading. A hyperrealistic version of La Danse by Carpeaux spread across the entirety of their back with no detail spared. It would be possible but with its immense size and the amount of shading it would need, it’d be well over a few days. Although it would take an obnoxious amount of time, the overall pay with tip included would be fantastic; nevermind the clout of completing such a piece of art.
But Suguru would have to be in the studio all day, potentially sleeping in the small room in the back just to save time on commuting; he would also have to squish this appointment between his regulars and the occasional walk-in. It’d be a hassle, but the work alone would be worth it.
As Suguru mulls over the details and starts to tap through his calendar to find availability, he hears the curtain rustle with a finality. When he looks up, you’re there and posing in a small romper. The fit of the romper pushes your chest slightly and cups your ass in a way anyone would be stupid and just wrong to deny is attractive. It’s divine and takes everything in him not to bark at the sight of it.
“Wow,” is all he offers as he waits for you to say something. Regardless of how good it looks on you, you’re probably gonna say that you hate it— “I hate it.”
“Why?” he asks, leaning back against the wall behind him and slipping his phone into his lap,”It looks great on you.”
You’ve always had a great body. Your curvy frame has been admired by many people, himself included, openly and in secret whe you thought they weren’t looking. For some reason though, you’re always so picky with your clothes. Even though everything looked great and continues to look great on you, you still have trouble with shopping overall.
Suguru isn’t entirely sure where it comes from, but he tries to acknowledge the existence of your insecurities and emphasizes what he and the entire world sees. Beauty. You turn around for him and vaguely gesture behind yourself in exasperation. “Look at the back,” you insist,” it’s too tight.”
The pale green open legs of the romper fold just underneath the curve of your ass, accenting its plumpness. There isn’t any added padding or any false advertising to assist your rear. The thin romper only gloriously emphasizes what you naturally have on display.
...Oh and the back was slightly open or something, Suguru isn’t entirely sure.
But can anyone really blame him? He’s currently too lost in trying to form words in his empty head.
Suguru is one of your best friends. He cares about you and wants you to feel as comfortable and happy as possible in whatever you’re wearing, but the sight alone of your twirling and posing in different directions slowly weakens his resolve. You arch and twist as you probably eye the mirror in your stall and it takes everything in him not to keep babbling about how hot you are.
“I can’t tell,” you suddenly say with a huff,”do you like it?”
God, he loves it actually.
“Yeah, I think it looks great, but do you like it?”
“Ugh, fine. I’ll get it but only for you okay?”
Suguru quickly and efficiently stomps down the flutter in his stomach that drifts lower the longer he looks at your ass. Really , he wonders, all for me?
“What did you say?”
You turn to him with a pout before forcing a smile on your face and he prays that you miss the way his eyes meet yours a little too slowly. “I said,” he grins, forcing confidence and calm into his voice,”Lucky me. Seriously though, if you don’t feel great in it then don’t get it.”
A huff of air passes between your lips before you walk back into the fitting rom and pull the curtain behind you closed. It continues on like this, you occasionally coming out with a new article of clothing for Suguru to give his genuine opinion on. There are a couple of “nos” which you completely agreed with, but also several “yeses” that made their way back into the cart. Between each wardrobe change and each inquiry for an honest opinion, Suguru continues to type away at emails and answer curious DMs about pricing and custom pieces. He can proudly say that he has most of his work done by the time you’re finishing up.
After divying up accessories, shoes, and most of your new clothes, all that remains is a short lilac “dress”. It’s a different style than you’re used to, but Suguru had insisted that there wasn’t any harm in trying it. Maybe it the scraps of fabric could be something that you really enjoyed. It’s only now, when you ask for his help, that Geto Suguru realizes just how big of a mistake he’s made.
“Help,” you pout, doing your best to cover the swell of your chest. Ignoring the pesky loud insistent and horny devil that insists he should try to get any eyeful he can, Suguru’s hands hover over your form as he asks,”Uh...how?”
The “dress” is a mess of strings and short fabric that don’t really make sense. With the way its currently wrapped precariously around your frame, Suguru supposes that it’s not supposed to cover much. Soon the two of you begin working together on figuring out whatever this...mess is. You hold onto the two long string sat the top of the “dress” as Suguru fixes the pieces in the middle so they wrap around your waist appropriately now.
By the time you’re both done, you’re wearing the sluttiest dress he’s ever seen. A short skirt that shows a peek of your ass, a halter top that clings to your chest, strings in the middle that cross your frame, and a carefully tied bow around your neck that holds the “top” together.
“It’s...” he begins to say, trying to find any words to describe the fabric other than lewd, slutty, or begging to be taken off.
“Ridiculous,” you finish for him with a laugh,”I can barely move in this thing.”
Suguru wonders if that’s the point of this thing, to hold or restrain whoever wore it into submission. To be easy access for whoever was in the room.
“Maybe that’s the point.”
Instead of staring at him in disgust, you laugh and cup your chest through the fabric of your dress. By the twist in your face and the exaggerated pout on your lips, Suguru already recognizes the inside joke before his brain does.
You whine, an ugly loud sort of moan falling from your open mouth and ask,”Isn’t that the point, daddy ?”
It’s a joke that all of you have done — and still do — for as long as Suguru can remember. The only difference between this time and the other thousand times you’ve done it is that you’ve never done it half naked before. As comical as the moan is and the way you cry again in a high-pitched voice,”Daddy” is, Suguru’s monkey brain decides that he loves this noise on you.
He loves how ridiculous this all is, but his brain wants to hear what you actually sound like when you’re about to cum. Maybe without the “Daddy” title, or maybe with,” he’s not entirely sure yet.
“Cut it out,” he huffs, trying to stare at you with minimal interest and lust,”we should get out of here. They have to be closing soon.”
“Shit, you’re right. Should I put this back or just buy it?”
Suguru is too caught up in the moment to think about what he’s truly saying. With this lighting, with the inherent intimacy of a smaller room, he can see your nipples press against the fabric of your dress, practically begging to sit pretty in his mouth. He can see the way the lilac of the dress compliments the richness of your skin in a way that somehow elevated how beautiful it already looked day to day. It can’t just be the skimpy dress because he’s seen you in plenty; high school and college parties with ridiculous forever 21 dresses he’s never seen after the first couple of wears.
It can’t be the nearly unbearable joy at getting to spend time with you again after being away for a few weeks, business keeping him away from his friends. You’re too gorgeous right now and Suguru is too stupid to really think about what he’s saying before it’s out there for all of the world to hear.
“I like it,” Suguru says plainly,”but you can’t wear it out.”
For a moment, the raven-haired man wants to fall into the floor and let the concrete swallow him whole. Then, after that, Suguru wants the earth underneath the concrete to swallow him further until he’s in the center of everything, burning into nothing at the earth’s massive core.
Or — alternatively — maybe he could curse an angry and vengeful god who would smite him with the hottest stroke of lightning it could manage. Whatever’s easier. He’ll take anything over trying to explain his way out of this.
At least your voice has more than a hint of amusement when you ask,”Why?”
Why, indeed. You are definitely entitled to an answer, but Suguru is currently too afraid of scaring you with the truth. The truth is that he wants to be the only one to see you in this dress. The truth is that he wouldn’t even let you leave the hotel with this dress on, nevermind the fitting room of the store. The thought of eyes or hands that aren’t his own ogling and touching your frame makes searing annoyance burn away at him. Wracking his brain for some sort of logical answer that isn’t cave-man logic, Suguru spits out the first thing he can think.
“What if you get cold or something?”
Idiot.
You stare at him for a moment, amusement bringing a laugh out of you and confusion making your eyebrow quirk up as you say,”Uh, Sugu? It’s Bali.” Your smile widens at the very slight widening of realization in Suguru’s eyes and you continue with a knowing,”the weather is going to be gorgeous.”
There’s a brief moment where Suguru shrugs and flounders for any sort of answer he can think of. Anything that will keep this moment from getting too weird and too out of control. But then, it is getting weird and out of control isn’t it? He shrugs again when nothing comes to mind and your smile is now a rueful and curious grin.
Folding your arms across your chest, you take another step closer to him and ask,”Wanna try another excuse?”
“Fine,” Suguru sighs, snorting at the way your eyes light up,”I just don’t like it okay?”
“But why,” you draw out with a grin,”why don’t you like it? It’s because it looks bad right? Admit it.”
An offended shock travels through him as he listens to your declaration. Is that what you thought he was getting at? “Wait what?” he asks, just to be sure. You lean back against the wall behind you with a cool shrug.
“You say you love everything on me,” you continue,”to the point where it’s just unrealistic.”
“Unrealistic?”
“Yeah, you can’t love everything on me!”
“What if I do,” Suguru insists, mouth dipping into a frown,”what if I just like how everything looks on you?”
“Okay,” you smirk,”then what don’t you like about this dress?”
Suguru really hates how knowing and smug you look right now. He tries to laugh it off, tries to lighten everything and move on, but it comes out as a weak huff and a roll of his eyes. The more he thinks about what he could say to defuse the situation, the more honesty shines like a beacon. He can muddle the truth slightly. Maybe the slight nugget of truth will deter you from trying to seek a more concrete answer.
“As your bestfriend,” Suguru starts, wading through the waters carefully,”the dress is a little...much. What if someone tries to get a little handsy?” Just as you open your mouth to counter him, to insist that people will get handsy regardless of what anyone would be wearing because that’s just how some people were, Suguru comes into your space. You lean against the cold wall behind you as if to get a little space away from him, shuddering at the feeling of its coolness on your skin.
Now he’s effectively caging you here, using his size to show you the feeling of being sort of subdued by an unwanted body. But Suguru is anything but unwanted. He smells the soft floral allure of your fading perfume from this angle. He can see the way your breath hitches at his closeness, the rising and falling of your chest stopping only for a second as you look up at him.
“So right now,” he continues, pulling one of the tight bands of string around your middle and letting it snap back against your skin,”if I was some asshole, any asshole, I’d be able to grab you anywhere.” A slight wince comes across your features at the feeling, but Suguru can also see the glitter of something in your eyes. A sort of glitter that sits heavily in your eyes, so heavily that your dark orbs do nothing to hide it. A glitter that Suguru has only seen directed at other people’s way.
Your hand comes up to rest on his chest, not so subtly feeling the warm skin just beneath the black shirt,”Maybe that’s why I like it.” The laugh you allow to slip through is full of strain and tension, but Suguru doesn’t say anything about it. He doesn’t laugh along or try to add to your joke at all. Something is happening here, something that he definitely doesn’t want to end.
Even though you try to laugh it off and force this moment to be lighthearted, the two of you know there’s nothing lighthearted about it. There’s no reason for Suguru’s concern about what you’re wearing and when you should be wearing it. There’s no reason for Suguru to act this ridiculous thought in his head out and physically show you what he means. There’s definitely no reason for you to be pulling Suguru closer, so he’s flush against you. As close as he can be while still looking you in the eyes. There’s something here in this small room bringing the two of you together in a way that you’ve never really been before. Sure Suguru has considered it greatly over the years, but he’s never acted on it.
No matter how many times he wanted to pin you down and fuck you out of the slutty Forever 21 dresses you wore in college. No matter how many cuddle sessions over the years with the two of you alone got questionable to say the least. No matter how many people asked Suguru if you were available and all he wanted to do was say that you belonged to him...and Satoru. He never did anything to try and take this relationship further. Before it would’ve ruined things and left a strange taste in the back of your throats but now? Now it would permanently destroy the fragile thing the three of you currently have.
“You like it because you want everyone to touch you?” he asks, hearing the slight annoyance in his voice,”I thought I knew all your kinks.” His fingers travel a little further up your torso, fingers grazing just underneath the swell of your chest. Suguru definitely doesn’t miss the way you lean up into the touch. “No,” you answer with a soothing sigh,”not everyone.”
Although whatever you have now is fragile, although he literally just insisted to himself that this is stupid, the way you’re looking up at him now has every logical thought in his head swirling down the drain. Suguru leans in a little too close to be friendly, too close to insist later on — when he reflects on all of this and hates himself for it — that he hadn’t really crossed a line. You don’t move away at his closeness or at the way his hips press flush against your navel. In fact, Suguru notices the excitement in your eyes, the need for soem sort of change to happen.
If he reaches any further in your top, he could cup the flesh of your chest with two fingers. If he reaches far enough, discards the top altogether and unveils your flesh for the world to see, he could give a polite wet thorough hello to the pebbled skin of your nipple.
The thought alone is enough to encourage the beginnings of swelling to his cock. For a moment, he wonders if you can feel just how hard you’re beginning to make him by doing the absolute bare minimum. Can you feel how long he’s been wanting to do this? How long he’s been staring a little longer and harsher than necessary at those skimpy Forever 21 dresses you used to wear or the slight movement in your breasts when you slip your bra off through your shirt?
“Not everyone huh?” he asks, quickly realizing he’s been staring at you like a weirdo. From this close though, maybe it doesn’t matter. You shake your head, your lips fitting into a smile that’s less amused, less knowing, and more wanting. “Only certain people?” he continues, pressing you to say something that’ll give him some sort of hint,” It’s plain to see that with the right words now, with the right touch, with the right tone, the two of you could change any and everything in the blink of an eye. Years of desire building up to this very moment in some random store.
Despite his earlier hesitation, Suguru feels bravery course through him as you look into his eyes. He feels so brave, so impossible confident, that his thumb comes up to join the other two and brushes against the pebbled skin of your nipple. A soft shudder leaves your lips as you follow this thumb’s journey. Your mouth parts to say something, anything that will encourage him to keep moving.
“Uh...is anyone in here?”
The fear that settles deep into your bellies is cold and sudden. Suguru nearly jumps out of his skin before moving away from your form. He moves too far, too fast, and ends up cooly hitting his head on the set of hangers on the other side of the fitting room. Ignoring his hisses as he rubs the back of his head, you take a peek from around the curtain and grimace at the exhausted sales associate staring right back at you.
“H-hi,” is all you can manage. It must be just as lame as it sounds because you can see the undeniable strength it takes for her to not roll her eyes at you. There’s no way to hide Suguru’s giant body in the stall now, not with him being several inches taller than you and quietly muttering about the hangers.
“Hi,” she answers in slight annoyance,”we’re closing in 5 minutes.”
“Shit,” you mutter,”I’m so sorry. We’ll...I’ll head out to pay now.
“Sure,” she replies knowingly, taking the time to look over your shoulder at Suguru and then back at you,”have a good night.”
There’s a moment where neither of you say anything. You both stand in silence and look at everywhere but each other which is nearly impossible in the small space. The heat from earlier hasn’t dissipated with the interruption. It somehow burns brighter than before, lighting up the room with its intensity. You grab your discarded clothes slowly, looking around for your belongings in the mess of clothes. “We should get going,” Suguru suggests lamely, painfully aware that he’s stating the obvious,,”do you know what you’re getting?”
You reach behind your neck and begin to untie the thin strings around your neck before responding,”Kinda. I’ll look through them super quick after I change back.” Suddenly your eyes meet his for the first time since all of...that. Letting the strings fall around your shoulders, your arm goes to hold up your top limply in a poor attempt of modesty.
From where he towers over you, Suguru can see the push of your chest against the fabric. One wrong move, one quick impulsive decision, and he could see your flesh for himself. He could claim it as his own. “Can I ask you something?” you ask, eyes dipping from his eyes to his waist and back. He knows he’s chubbed up in his pants, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He loves how you own this, whatever this is, and confirm thoughts and feelings that he initially thought only he had.
“What’s up?”
“Wanna help me pack tonight? I have to get sooo much done.”
Suguru doesn’t want to admit that he’ll drink up any time with you that he can. Right now he can’t figure out if this is some sort of need finally being met or the culmination of years of odd feelings he didn’t want to look too closely at. So he chooses the easy-going route instead, something that he’s seen Satoru do time and time again when things got too serious. The raven-haired man tries to avoid thinking about the way his pants feel slightly tighter at the soft rising and falling of your chest as you await his answer.
Suguru shakes his head with a grin and tilts his head to the side as slight offense climbs its way into his voice,”Wow, now it seems like you’re just trying to take advantage of my kindness.” You roll your eyes and lightly shove him away with one hand, a smile making its way onto your feature. Initially his large frame barely moves at the motion, but then suddenly Suguru gasps and holds his arm with a pained groan. It makes you laugh — his goal after all — and pull at his arm to push him out of the stall altogether.
“I’m gonna get dressed,” you laugh softly,”keep guard.”
“Will do,” he says with a smile and promptly walks over to your cart.
As he hears the rustle of clothing, he hears you speak up in an awkward sort of tone,”So...do you want to?”
Could he...?
“Help me pack,” you finish, voice slowly growing tight at the sudden silence in the room,”I’d appreciate the help. Also, I just...I dunno, I haven’t seen you in a while.” Suguru says nothing as he leans against the hand-rail of your cart, trying his hardest to read the sudden change in emotion. He can’t really tell if you’re trying to make everything “normal” or attempting to seem casual after the tension. He manages a hum to show he’s listening, but waits for you to give him a little more.
“Remember all those sleepovers we used to have?” you ask, neatly leaving out the part where your sleepovers consisted of one more person besides the two of you,”I just miss them I guess.”
Suguru smiles softly at the memories as he says,”Yeah. I can help you pack. I’m supposed to be driving your tomorrow morning so...I can sleepover tonight.”
You pop out of the fitting room with a bundle of clothes under one arm. His heart flutters at the happiness in your eyes. “Thanks, Sugu,” you smile, the warmth there livening up his skin,”that means a lot.” As Suguru goes to respond, to say that maybe he has something he wants to talk about, he feels your hand shoving him yet again. He snorts at the reaction and notes the flustered look on your face as you mumble something about “too mushy” and grab your cart.
Even though everything seems fine on your way out of the store, Suguru notices that you go out of your way to gander at marketing posters in the store, to glance sympathetically at the tired employees more than usual, or to judge lingering customers in the store; even if you are one. You don’t seem bothered by your earlier actions, but the silence is still weird. You buy your items with ease, still quiet and maybe reflective, and wish the sales associate who walked in on the two of you a good night.
________
By the time you both arrive home, any possible awkwardness has faded away. The packing session turns into a modeling session where you make ridiculous poses that make Suguru laugh so hard his abs ache. Then the session turns frantic as you pack and repack to make sure you have everything you need. Even though the two of you drift in and out of the conversation as you fold and refold, you both avoid what happened earlier in a complex dance. Even though you playfully smacked his arm and Suguru grabbed your wrist with a laugh, the two of you pulled away without a beat and moved on smoothly.
Even though you modeled bathing suits just to make sure they “looked good”, Suguru said you looked great as his eyes openly caressed your body. Even though Suguru dutifully followed your request at sleeping in bed with you like the old days, you tried your hardest not to grind against him as you physically brought his arm around you.
________
Suguru looks as peaceful and easy-going as always in the hazy orange-blue light that early morning brings. Your body begins twisting and reaching before you even realize it, a ghost of a smile hitting the corner of your lips when his arm only loosens around your form a fraction. You pull black tendrils of hair out of their loosened prison, instinctively allowing the hairband to wrap around your wrist with a thwap. At the feeling of your fingers slipping through his hair, Suguru lets out a sort of groan that resembles a lazy lion. He pushes his head into the feeling, humming even louder when you begin occasionally scratching his scalp.
Despite his soft noises, the overall calming silence of early morning slows the bodies down significantly. The two of you stretch around each other, pushing away only briefly to try to not-so-subtly rub the sleep from both of your eyes and make sure you’re both somewhat presentable. When you lie on your back this time, Suguru doesn’t fully relinquish his arm.
Instead, he rests his head on your shoulder and keeps his arm firmly around your middle. His warm breath spreads against your collarbone, warming the cool skin there. This is all very different than what you’re used to, but not entirely foreign.
You remember sleepovers throughout high school in a cramped basement with three bodies trying their hardest to fit onto Suguru’s beat-up couch. You remember sleepovers throughout high school where if you weren’t in that basement, you were lying in Satoru’s king-sized bed and promising that the three of you would be together always.
You remember sleepovers in college in either of your dorms each week, squished together in the twin-sized bed dorms provide like a pack of sardines. You distinctly remember that no matter the location or where you decided to lay your head for the night, waking up every morning with Satoru sprawled partially on top of you and snoring into your ear while Suguru’s hair covering your face.
You would always allow, demand, and welcome any amount of closeness the boys were willing to give as possible. So while Suguru’s presence in your bed isn’t entirely foreign, the tension in it is definitely new.
With the weight of him pressing into you, you can feel his knee caging your thigh and the tip of his nose pressing against the soft skin of your neck. Although he’ll always be your Suguru, your best friend, you can’t help the way your mind wanders to last night.
You’ve never thought about whether or not you found Suguru attractive until last night. Of course, you could admit that he was attractive but it never really went anywhere from there. But now things are different.
Now cracks of curiosity are slowly forming through the “I will not look at Geto Suguru this way” wall you’ve built up over the years. This bubbling tension is far from a joke gone horribly wrong or a weird “we should try it at least once” impulsive decision.
If Suguru found you attractive to the point of action, wouldn’t he say something to you? With everything that’s happened, would he not distance himself in that way? Dating Satoru blurred social lines for all of your relationships and impacted the way you all interacted. The three of you were already very close, closer than people could really understand, but once you and Satoru started dating, Suguru seemed to distance himself.
As you lie there in bed, unsure of the time, your mind flashes to the feeling of his fingers on your skin in a way you’ve never felt before. As you stare at the pale expanse of Suguru’s leg, longing to trace the intricate tattoos covering the skin, you regret your idiotic decision to date Satoru. It ruined everything the three of you had. For a time, after the two of you broke up, it seemed like it had.
Suguru was split between hanging out wtiht the two of you as you mourned something that was doomed to fail. It must’ve been annoying, you think as you brush the stray strands of hair out of your face and wrap a few fingers around the tresses, and exhausting. Despite how tiring it must’ve been, Suguru was there for the two of you and insisted that you could all make this work again. That it didn’t have to be this way. You could all be friends just like before.
It would’ve been possible.
Maybe now with Gojo distracted and Suguru here, everything could go back to normal. You wonder if you’ve ruined those chances yet again though as your mind wanders once again to the feeling of his skin on yours.
As you reflect on the night before, Suguru’s very warm and very heavy body moves. He shifts once against you and then twice, seemingly burrowing further into the blankets surrounding the both of you. On the third time, you can feel a firm presence somewhere against your thigh. The presence is only there for a moment before Suguru adjusts again. It’s too late though. You’ve felt it. The telltale sign of morning arousal for certain people.
“What’s that line again,” you ask, eyes never leaving the white ceiling glaring back at you,”is that your phone in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”
Despite the feeling of his once relaxed body tensing and his hand moving away from its home on your stomach, Suguru apologizes with a tired laugh. A very slight adjustment follows the laugh, the feeling of him on your thigh now ghost-like in nature as you try to remember the shape and feel.
The silence that follows shortly after grows heavy and charging as it heats up the air with its intensity. Suguru lies still next to you now, every ounce of sleep and calm previously in his body leaving in a steady stream. Neither of you want to move away entirely and deal with the awkwardness that often came from these situations.
At the same time though, neither of you want to pull away entirely or create space that so desperately needs to be there.
Silently, delicately, you move his hand that pools in a small space between the two of you over your stomach, resting the large palm against the sliver of skin your slightly disheveled tank top leaves. The two of you watch his gentle fingers caress your skin and the goosebumps that rise with each stroke. The calm that comes naturally with Suguru has always been addicting.
It encourages a state of relaxation that’s almost akin to mindlessness. Physical affection that made you sink into his arms, boneless and open. Laughter that always seemed to flow out of your body naturally and easily. There’s something about Suguru’s presence that brings a comfort that always makes you stop thinking completely.
As you remember his fingers on your body last night and feel the way his fingers carefully dance along your body, you can feel your brain begin to shut off. The “what if”s and “what about”s fade into the background as his large warm fingers slowly, but surely crawl their way underneath your tanktop and explore.
As those fingertips dance along your torso, pulling your tank top up as it makes its unknown journey, Suguru’s brown eyes look up into yours. By the time your shirt is lying above your chest, goosebumps marking your skin, Suguru’s fingers turn into a full palm that holds your breast and gently squeezes the delicate flesh in its hold.
Something about the way you don’t really feel exposed to him necessarily like this, something about the ghost of a smirk on his face at the sight of you shivering slightly at being exposed to the cold, solidifies that this is Geto Suguru. Your Getou Suguru who knows all of the kinks you’ve joked about all of the years, all of the pleasure spots around your body, and who currently looks very happy. Like he’s thanking the stars for aligning in the exact position that they did in order to bring the universe to make this happen right now.
But Suguru doesn’t move from his hand or anything really. He just hovers there as his dark eyes watch every twitch of your muscles and hazy-eyed blink of your eyes. Suguru doesn’t move when you arch slightly, moving his hand away slightly so contact is never made. Suguru doesn’t move when you pout, your eyebrows beginning to furrow at the lack of anything. He even doesn’t move when you wrap a hand around his wrist and pull the limb toward you.
Suguru’s stronger than you and easily maneuvers out of your hold.
Frustration begins to boil away at your stomach as your gaze hardens into a not-very-convincing glare. Suguru smiles at the sight but continues to remain still. Your best friend knows how impatient you are. From long road trips to emotional-support DMV trips to sitting around at Satoru’s martial arts tournaments in high school, you can barely tolerate waiting for your food to fully cool before shoving it into your mouth. It appears that sex is no different.
“Sugu,” you huff out, sucking your teeth as he dodges your breast yet again,”if you don’t do something I’m going to scream.”
“Tell me you want it.”
Briefly removing the lustful lens you’ve had on since you woke up this morning, you take a second to really consider Suguru. He presses his lips against your forehead as he begins to move. Suguru leaves his place on your shoulder and leans on his elbow to hover over you a bit. His hand comes to rest just underneath the pebbled skin. Then he waits. The eagerness in his eyes matches what you can only assume is bursting out of yours.
But why isn’t Suguru doing anything?
Does he want you to take control?
As if you’re not waiting on bated breath, Suguru sits up a little higher and uses that halted hand to pull the thick black band from around your wrist. Your eyes follow the movements of his fingers, fluid and unconscious as they gather his long hair and pull it into some sort of messy bun. Out of his face and unable to tickle whatever parts of your body it landed on. “I just want to be sure,” he insists, some of that lust dialing back in his eyes,”I just want us to be sure.”
Then you notice his slightly stiff hands and the way his fingers accidentally pull his bun to far before he has to start the process of retying his hair all over again. The way his eyes flicker about your face nervously as his mouth just begins to pull into a frown. Seeing his nervousness minds your lust-fried brain that this is new to you both.
As sexy as all of this is, there’s a choice in this. A choice to keep everything as close to the past as you could or to venture off in some unknown path. But as his arms begin flexing with apparent the effort it takes to retie his hair, you notice his body. You remember that you want to feel good and make him feel good in return and only then does your mind settle matters for you by shutting itself off. You nod. It’s a hurried nod that reveals every bit of desperation you’re holding in your bones.
The sight has Suguru tsking and shaking his head in disapproval. With his messy bun somewhat settled on his head, he leans down again on his elbow to get closer to your body. Annoyance fills your chest as you watch Suguru, with this newfound consent, do absolutely nothing.
“Geto,” you find yourself pouting, grabbing lazily at his wrists as he laughs,”I want it. I want it. Just do something please. Oh my fucking Go—”
Sharp and long pain bleeds into hot pleasure as your body is viciously brought on edge. Your annoyed pout turns into a pathetic whimper as your eyebrows furrow in pleasure. Body moving simultaneously towards and away from the offending hand, you squeeze your thighs together at the raw ache of your pussy. Need, unbridled need, fills you in a way that’s nearly overwhelming with the sheer power of it. Suguru’s initial pinch soon turns into a twist as he watches you at the mercy of his whims.
The command in your hold on him loses its potency as your lips part to let out moans growing in intensity and length. Suguru’s dark eyes never leave your face as he starts rolling the nipple between his fingers.
“More, Sugu. C’mon,” you gasp, grabbing his wrist and trying lamely to bring it closer.
Surprisingly Suguru actually listens.
He leans down quickly, too far gone to care about the awkward angle, and licks along your breast. It takes the slightest tilt, the slightest nudge of his nose, for your nipple to finally make its way into the warm cavern of your mouth. His mouth, warm and wet, unleashes a predatory tongue that eagerly greets your sensitive flesh. Your fingers find his hair as the tip of that muscle flicks against the swollen nub and ruin the bun he so carefully put together. Your mind fades as his tongue increases and decreases in speed, each new action unpredictable and random.
The thick tendrils of hair in your fist slip and bend along with your movements, your arches, your whimpers, and a sudden harsh suck has them pulling painfully from Suguru’s scalp. He moans into your chest, pushing his head into your hand with an encouraging nod. As Suguru begins to switch to your neglected breast, a renewed pleasure courses through your bones, and you feel more and more of those thrusts.
The power in them, the feel of his cock faintly rubbing against you, has you thinking very hard about his cock.
Whether the thick length of him curves up slightly or whether it’s just as huge as all those people in high school and college exclaimed, or whether his favorite spot sits in wait on the underside of his tip or right on the slit. You heard stories throughout high school and college of
“Impossibly big” and “long and perfectly curved” but you’ve never experienced it for yourself.
You had classmates and friends of friends occasionally ask you for explicit details about Suguru and Satoru because of your friendship. There were very few times when Satoru was drunk and would flash you or accidentally walk in on Suguru while he was getting changed, but you always looked away.
You’d close your eyes and rush out of the room immediately. When people asked all you could say was “Ew, of course not” or “Are you kidding me? Look at them”. Now you’re eating those words when you should really be eating his cock. Now you’re curious and you need to know everything, every single detail you can about his cock. You need to know the shape of it in his briefs, the natural smell of him, the girth of inside you, the impossible heat it’d bring.
Somewhere in between his sucks, he must’ve noticed you getting a little too spacey for his liking. By the time you gather the courage, the small bit of sense you had left, to tell him to take his cock out, it’s too late. His teeth descend upon your nipple and squeeze the swollen aching flesh viciously. Maybe Suguru really was paying attention all of the times you’ve talked about your kinks and emphasized how anything to do with your chest was the key to your pants.
Those teeth, that delicious squeeze, soon expand into a slight stretch as he pulls his head back slightly. The orgasm takes the two of you by surprise. Your back arches into the firmness of his body, the weight of him bearing down on you to hold you in place. His other hand holds onto your hips firmly, pinning them to the bed effortlessly. Your sleep shorts bunch up a bit in his hand as he holds you still and waits for you to come down.
Closing your eyes tight and holding on, your body hums with the suddenness of it, the unpredictable nature of it, as if neither of you was prepared for this.
By the time you finish cumming, chest panting slightly as you finally open your eyes, you feel the press of large fingers against your clothed folds. “Holy shit,” Suguru snorts, pushing further into the slightly tacky cotton,”soaked through your shorts.”
It’s not like you’ve never came from just your nipples before. You had to be really into the moment for it to happen, the need to be relaxed or mindless driving the action. But it doesn’t really happen with hookups or relationships. Well, that’s not true.
It happened pretty often with Satoru.
“Needy, baby.”
Suguru presses a chaste kiss on your temple and easily maneuvers the cotton of your shorts until he’s home in the confining wet heat of your underwear. The odd angle doesn’t work for either of you. Quicker than you’d like to admit, you peel off your shorts and underwear, tossing them into the far corner of the room. With easier access, Suguru’s fingers crush past the trimmed hair of your mound and travel down to your swollen clit.
A tentative brush of a dry fingertip on sensitive flesh brings out a desperate and annoyed whine from your very chest,”Sugu, stop teasing.”
All Suguru can do is smile at your patience — your neediness — as he spreads your slick around your heated folds with experienced fingers. You look up at him with a huff and immediately try to hold back the smile Suguru kisses your forehead gently.
“Been wanting to do this for a while,” he admits in the short-lived quiet,”let me enjoy it okay?”
You’re too dizzy with want and need and ache and burning to pay attention to it, keening when his finger begins to tighten its lazy circles. Although somewhere deep inside, the precious kisses Suguru keeps giving you make your heart ache.
Somewhere that ache flows down and lands firmly on your clit.“Enjoy it faster,” you groan with a slight pant,”wanna suck you off.” He grinds against your thigh in response, barely biting down the gasp that leaves his mouth at the pressure on his tip.
His fingers move down to the rest of your cunt, gently and roughly rubbing on sensitive spots until they glide with ease in your folds. It’s only when you’re on the verge of biting the meat of his cheek, twisting to press against his flushed cheek with your mouth open, that a long finger slips in without any resistance.
There’s no comment or protest this time. No annoyed huffs either. As if to punish your previously childish behavior even more, another long finger joins its sibling and sits in your heat. There’s the slightest bit of resistance now as your body adjusts to the feeling of sudden and thorough fullness.You wiggle your hips to relieve the pressure slightly and nod against Suguru’s lips on your temple as he asks if you’re okay. Then the fingers move slowly, purposefully, out of your drooling hole.
The adjustment doesn’t take too long to get used to. You buck your hips, impatience building once again, and whimper,”Sugu.”
There’s no hiding the genuine annoyance starting to bubble beneath your skin. Even if he’s bigger than you thought he’d be, you could take him now. You can take the discomfort, the painful stretch in your pelvis as your insides greet him. He’s only just begun and, with the lack of sex recently, you’ll probably ache tomorrow.
But a part of you right now needs the pain. Needs to feel the burn that’ll deliciously light up your cunt into an overstimmed used and ruined thing. It’s been ages since you’ve last been touched and you want to feel every single part of it now. You also want to be good for Suguru and in return have him be good for you.
You want to feel the weight of his cock in your mouth, on your tongue, and in your throat. “Yeah,” you whimper, encouragement and praise bleeding into your voice,”More, c’mon. I want it—” His fingers are long enough, thick enough, that it should be enough, but you want more. Your cries go unheard as his eyes focus solely on the wet slosh your pussy makes as he pumps at your hole.
The speed of those fingers finally picks up and travels right past where you’d begged for them to be. Instead, you meet a brutal pace that has your legs shaking slightly and hips meeting the meat of his palm. With each slight smack of his palm, each buck of your hips, your clit can only take each shock of a slap. Your orgasm builds just as viciously as the last. It claws its way from deep in your belly, making itself known with each slight “pap” on your clit. This is all too much. He’s only fingering you and your orgasms are unforgiving and seemingly constant. As Suguru continues to break the thin threads holding you together and rip them in half, the pads of his fingers rub meanly against that swollen bump inside of you.
“Sugu, Sugu, Sugu,” you chant, body writhing,”I want—”
“I don’t think you know what you want,” Suguru cuts in, hips moving a little more insistently against your thigh. You’re vaguely aware of the cotton wetting your skin when he speaks up again,”You’ll probably take anything I give you at this point.” He ignores your desperate and indignant pleas as he pulls his glazed digits from your clingy cunt,”My fingers, my tongue, my cock, my cum...in your slutty wet pussy or maybe somewhere else.”
You can feel the way your holes instinctively clench at the suggestion and can see the way Suguru grins at the feeling of those muscles tightening. As you moan at his mischievous grin, moan at the way he touches you so roughly yet so gently, those fingers find their way between his slightly parted lips. Suguru sucks off the lingering dribbles of white and hums softly at the musky taste of you dancing around his tongue. draw two individual paths along either side of your folds to wrap around their prize.
The beauty of Geto Suguru isn’t lost on you in this moment.
The wildness of his hair as it fans all over your shoulders and tickles your arms, hair tie long-forgotten in the festivities. The darkness of his eyes only shows warm lust and unfiltered and unyielding want. The various tattoos dance along his arms and cover his chest in such a way that the bright silver of his nipple piercings draws your eye. You’re probably staring for too long because Suguru begins to shift under your gaze. It isn’t discomfort or shyness, but it doesn’t feel confident or happy.
“Do I look pretty?” he asks suddenly, pursing his lips into the most obnoxious duck face.
“You’re the prettiest, babe,” you answer with a laugh,”Need you though.”
The brief humor between the two of you dissipates and all that’s left is the heady scent of arousal.
“You have me,” Suguru smiles a little wider,”Now you’re just getting greedy.” Your pout deepens at his comment and the thought of biting his nose dances across your mind. As Suguru slides his fingers back into your aching heat, you know he can feel how wet you are. There’s no way he can’t see how much you want this. He’s even heard you beg for it, so why is he holding back?
Because Suguru hates you probably, you think, hates you so much he doesn’t want you to feel good. But you don’t want to think anymore. You want to go stupid on his cock, to become a drooling wet mess, destroyed and then slowly put back together again.
“You keep whining and complaining,”Suguru sighs, steadily picking up his previous pace,”what do you want anyway?”
You whimper immediately, arching your back as those fingers relentlessly curl upwards and press. “Suck you off,” you answer dutifully, eyes following the pale blur of Suguru’s hand between your legs.
Yeah, baby,” he coos, pressing another kiss to your forehead,”you wanna suck me off that badly huh?”
“Yeah please please plea—”
Loud. Incessant. Irritating. High pitched.
The gratingly loud song of the ringtone is enough to slow the pace of Suguru’s fingers inside of you.
“What the fuck is that?”
Suguru sits up a little further, slipping the pruny fingers into his mouth to suck your juices off as his other hand scrolls through the offending device. The bright light of his phone draws a groan out of him. “Shit. Six missed calls,” he mutters, “and he’ll just keep calling”. All you can process is Suguru and another orgasm.
All you care about is Suguru and another orgasm. Instead of sliding down the ledge, you’re slowly backing away and heading back home. In order to think again, in order to be a person who contributes to this world, you take matters into your own hands.
You clamor your way up from your lying position to sit up and straddle the thick muscles that make up Suguru’s thigh. Although his eyebrows have begun to furrow, his other large hand — the not-pruny one — guides you by your waist to sit fully on your new chair.
Now, with firm pressure on your clit, you’re too far gone to care about who’s calling and why.
The mild annoyance on Suguru’s face isn’t enough to deter you. Not after all of the teasing he’s been doing. If it can’t be the man itself, at least a part of him promises salvation. As you steady yourself on his shoulders, whimpering at and promptly ignoring the tightening grip on your waist, you begin to move your hips. The insistent pressure on your clit isn’t enough to make your mind completely shatter but it’s enough to get you over that ledge in front of you.
“Hey,” Suguru grunts softly, trying not to think of the sweet kiss from your bare pussy leaving a damp patch on his thigh,”you might wanna hold off.” The ringtone fades and leaves the filthy sound of sex behind.
A part of your mind whispers that you should ask just who’s calling Suguru at this hour but as his hand guides you more, starts lifting his thigh slightly to meet your hips, you forget everything else. Cramps burn their way into your hips and thighs as you maintain pace. While he moves you as well as he can, you don’t really trust him.
How can you be so sure that he won’t tease you? That he won’t drag you kicking and screaming from the mountaintop again all because he wants to take his time?
“Sugu,” you pant, leaning closer to the sturdy man,”please. No more okay? Help me.”
“Shit.”
There it is again. Shrill and irritating.
“Just answer. I’ll be quiet promise.”
When you look at him, you can see a slight panic in Suguru’s eyes. Attributing it up to the possibility of being caught, the shock of a fantasy being served on a silver platter, you keep humping. You watch as those eyes travel down the length of your body, taking in your bouncing tits and jiggling tummy, and focus solely on your skin meeting his. “Fuck,” he hisses, hand slowing down the speed of your hips,”you’re getting my thigh so wet baby—”
As hot as the feeling of wetting his skin is, the incessant ringtone is bringing you out of your horny reverie and into annoyance. “Sugu,” you grunt, trying to regain speed despite his hold on you,”focus, answer the phone okay?”
Suguru rolls his eyes and huffs, blindly tapping away at his phone with his other hand as he stares at your sex,“What happened to ‘Sugu, please’? All that sweet stuff from earlier?”
Despite the distractions, the annoyance, the resistance in your movement brings just the right kind of force against your clit. You’re nearly toppling over now, staring down at the rocky waters below and feeling ocean spray on your cheeks. You’re close. So close that you can practically taste it. The banter is usually welcoming, but not now. It’s now or never.
“Stop,” you moan, clinging to his shoulders,”shut up, fuck. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon —”
You barely notice Suguru’s palm leaving the heated skin of your hip. Your eyes water with the intensity of the build-up, the rise right before the fall. All that matters is the next few seconds before you can finally fall off that ledge, before you can drop down into the abyss. But then it’s there, hitting you so violently that you swear you can both hear and feel the rush of water. Suguru hisses at the feeling of warm and wet dribbling on his thigh. He has half a mind to toss you on the bed and pound you into it. ”Face down, ass up, now—”
“Suuguuruuuuu~”
The familiar voice has the two of you stopping immediately in your tracks, fear electrifying both of you. The haze leaves both of your eyes as you stare at each other in horror.
“Suguru, where are you?” you hear again, heart and stomach sinking as you finally recognize it. It takes longer than you’d like to admit for the two of you to locate the source of the voice.
Although you know that voice better than anyone, you still feel terror run through your bones as Suguru holds up his phone and flashes “Satoru” on the screen.
#suguru x reader#getou x you#getou smut#satoru x suguru#jujutsu kaisen#jjk smut#jjk x you#geto x reader#gojo x reader#gojo x geto#suguru geto#gojo satoru#black reader#gojo x black!reader#geto x black!reader#technically anyone can read though
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Remember the Wingman Wayne AU? I decided to write a sequel :D (it can be read separately tho, so this is a new part 1 of 8!) | also on ao3 now
'Robbie!'
Steve startles her by loudly drumming his hands onto the counter and she turns around to look at him.
'Why are you here? Did you forget it's your day off today?' She slams a pile of tapes on the counter, right next to his hand, making him jerk it away reflexively.
'Watch out for my hands!'
'Then stop being so annoying!'
He sighs dramatically, but ceases his incessant drumming and instead leans his elbows on the counter.
'Would you like to go on a date with the most perfect girl in the world?' he asks, sounding like he's presenting some kind of game show and about to reveal which prize she has won.
Robin wrinkles her nose. 'Why do you sound like you're scamming me?'
'I'm not scamming you!' he exclaims in an indignant tone. 'I literally have the perfect girl to set you up with, trust me!'
'And what's the catch?'
'No catch.'
'Are you absolutely one hundred percent sure about that?'
'Yes!' he calls out in an exasperated voice.
She squints her eyes at him, but decides to give him the benefit of the doubt – for now, at least.
'Alright, I'm interested. What's her name?'
'Uhh... I – can't tell you. It's a blind date.'
She squints even harder, making Steve's face almost disappear from her vision.
'You don't know her name, do you?'
'Uhh...'
'Steve.' She sighs. 'What did you do? Did you get scammed?'
'No!' He raises his hands. 'No scam, alright? I just – I forgot to ask her name.'
'Okay, so in what uncivilized gutter did you pick up this presumably perfect lesbian who doesn't even properly introduce herself to the guy who wants to set her up with what may possibly be the love of her life?'
'I haven't actually met her,' Steve admits. 'No, no, listen!' he quickly adds when Robin opens her mouth. 'Remember Eddie's uncle, Wayne? The one who set me up with the love of my life?'
Robin nods. 'Impossible to forget, you talk about him constantly when you're not talking about Eddie. It's weird and mildly creepy.'
'I can't help that the man is fucking awesome!'
God, it really is too easy to get Steve all huffy.
'Okay, so I haven't actually met this girl, but Wayne has! And he thinks she's the perfect match for you, and me and Eddie are living proof that he's always right about that shit. So you should definitely go on a date with her. She's a reporter, that's cool, right?'
'Very cool,' Robin replies blankly. 'And how much did you tell him about me? Because I never met the man, dingus, so forgive me if I'm a little skeptical about how he knows I'd be such a perfect match for this mystery nameless reporter girl.'
'He knows enough about you, alright? Can you please just trust his judgment on this one? Worst case scenario, it'll cost you a few hours of your time. Best case scenario, you'll find your true love and live happily ever after.'
That is actually an annoyingly strong argument – well, not the happily-ever-after shit, that's way over the top, but Robin does have nothing to lose here; even though she doesn’t know Eddie's uncle, she trusts the man enough to believe that he wouldn't set her up with some creepy psychopath. So she might as well go for it and see what happens. She has to admit she's curious about the girl. It's not like she has a huge range of queer women to choose from around Hawkins, so it would be rather stupid to waste this chance without even trying, right? It's been a while since she actually dated. She broke up with Vickie months ago and her lack of dates has less to do with not being ready to move on and more with the fact that she's a lesbian living in goddamn Hawkins, Indiana.
'Alright, I'm in,' she decides, causing Steve to cheer and pump his fist in the air like some gross straight dudebro.
'YES!' he yells out. 'Alright, I'll call Wayne to let him know that you're in. And you should be ready for a romantic dinner at Benny's tomorrow at 7 o'clock. I'll take your evening shift, no need to thank me.'
'A romantic dinner at Benny's?' Robin repeats in an incredulous voice. 'Are you sure I wanna meet this girl if that's peak romance for her?'
Steve excited smile drops so fast it's almost comical. 'It was Wayne's idea, okay,' he says, and it sounds slightly more defensive than necessary. 'The man lives in a trailer park, cut him some slack.'
And something about that is oddly cute – both the fact that Steve is so ready to defend Mr. Munson and the idea of this middle-aged straight man picking out Benny's Burgers as a go-to lesbian date location.
'Okay, I won't complain,' she's quick to tell Steve. 'The burgers there are impeccable.'
'That's the spirit!' Steve's slightly too intense excitement is back on again. 'Tomorrow, 7. Be there or be prepared to stay alone forever.'
'That's a bit much,' she mumbles as Steve walks out of the store, turning around at the door to shoot finger guns at her while crashing into that one Fast Times cardboard cutout that's somehow always in his way. She snickers while turning her attention back to the tapes she had been sorting, trying not to think too hard about what’ll be waiting for her tomorrow evening.
Pt2
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Home is Where the Heart is (Part Two) || Farmer!Rick Grimes (TWD) x Teacher!GN!reader AU
Part 1...
rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax
AVAILABLE ON AO3
Inspiration: Like Real People Do by Hozier.
Summary: Your life was spinning out of control, you knew that. After a string of particularly shattering events, you decided it was time to start anew. With a little help from one of your Grandma's rentals, you found yourself in the small town of Alexandria. The last thing you expected was your neighbor, Rick Grimes.
TWS: starting over, swearing, and identity crisis.
[[A/N: pretty is used gender neutrally here, so if you don't like that I'm sorry!!!Thanks for reading !!! For that anon, ly <3, enjoy :))) ]]
You were staring at your computer screen, the empty word document not quite intimidating you but it was definitely... something. The flickering little line that showed where you were typing was starting to get annoying though.
It was a lesson plan, one of the first ones actually, but one you had put off until further notice. Just something about the circulum hadn't sat right with you that day so you pushed it off. And then you pushed it off again, and again, and again-
Needless to say, you were now about two weeks away from your first-ever semester. Solo semester. You'd been a teacher's aide before, but never... never on your own. Just 'a lack of positions where you lived, and you weren't willing to relocate' problem, really. It was exciting and nervewracking and a lot-
Your life couldn't have been upturned at a worse time, honestly. Especially with so little experience on your own, but you told yourself you'd own it. You'd-
Just as you were getting into the groove of your writing process, your laptop flickered off. And then, you noticed the lights were off too. Your power was out.
"Fuck," you groaned out, half tempted to through your head down onto the table.
It wasn't a surprise, really. You knew that the internet wasn't exactly the best out here, and you'd bet that the electricity would be a little spotty too. But just because it made sense, didn't make it any less shitty.
You roamed outside, hoping to possibly get some cell service -to call the electricity company, or maybe your Grandma? Actually, now that you thought of it, you weren't sure that you knew who did the electricity of the house-
"Funny seein' you 'ere," the deep drawl lured you out of your thoughts -southern beyond belief.
You shifted, shading your eyes from the sun but just enough in his direction to see him. He stood tall, the morning looked good on him, his curls freshly washed and shirt unstained. The breeze of the morning tussled him slightly, and despite the warmth, he didn't look bothered by it. Out on the front porch in a set of pajama pants and coffee held gently in his hands -it looked warm, was Rick Grimes.
"Hey," you responded, dumbfounded -your brain had all but flatlined at the man... again.
He looked at you questioning, the slightest raise of an eyebrow -a sort of small smile brushing across the brim of his mug (almost teasing), "You're up early."
"Too early," you groaned, taking a seat on your porch in a delicately colored rocking chair -your Grandma's doing if you had to guess, "-working on some lesson plans I should've done months ago."
"Lesson plans? You the new teacher?"
You laughed, slightly, nervous, "Word spreads fast around here, then?"
"Always," he grinned, "-you'd be lucky to do anythin' out here without commentary."
You smiled, looking out into your yard -the billowing grass and trees were unfamiliar but peaceful. It was nice to just exist for a moment with someone else, even if you hardly knew them, it was nice. Freeing, even.
"What's the lead theory as to why I'm here?"
"Not sure," Rick paused, tilting his head towards you, attentive, "-why you got a good reason?"
"A super mysterious one," you answered back -playfully, "-what do you think I should go with? Spy overseas, or undercover royalty under witness protection?"
He chuckled, lightly, and something in your chest fluttered -the deep timber swimming into your head. He has a nice laugh, you noted somewhere far away in your head. It was just a thought, you'd let your brain get away with it this once.
"You lookin' for better stories or more intrigue?"
"Intrigue," you answered -doing a dramatic gesture with your hands, almost theatrical, "-no one should truly know me."
"Royalty," he responded -unflinchingly, "-ya look the part too."
You gasped, faux-offended, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're pretty," he answered, fluidly -as if the words out of his mouth were nothing but the truth, "-too pretty to be 'ere. Makes more sense."
"Oh," your mouth clicked shut -blush rising on your cheeks (chanting in your head, probably married, probably married, proba-), "-thank you. Good to know what I could get away with."
"Just the truth," he responded, one hand brushing over his beard as his coffee was set down on the top of the fence -a bit precariously.
You laughed, tilting your head back and rocking further from the motion -the buzz in your stomach was a teeny-tiny little thing. It wasn't anything to worry about, you knew better. You knew better than to walk right back into it again, believe and ignore and love-
It wasn't the time.
"Still," you added -smiley and with an accent you couldn't quite name, "-you'll back me up on my backstory? Death threats from my home kingdom ran away for safety."
He grinned -something big and bright, and it made you falter for a moment, "Sure, I'll tell 'em myself if I 'ave to."
You stilled, ever so slightly -eyes heavily focused on the world in front of you, intent like once you looked away it would disappear. Or maybe you would, back in that apartment, back with...
"Everythin' okay?" Rick interrupted, blue eyes intently on you -he must've noticed.
"What? Yeah-" you cleared your throat, blinking away some of the fog in your eyes -hoping he didn't see, "-Sorry, just got lost in my thoughts. I... I really need to get back to my lesson plans actually."
"Well-"
You interrupted, standing to your feet, "How long does a power outage usual last out here?"
He merely furrowed his eyebrows at you, somewhat understanding that something was bothering you but he didn't push, "Just a few minutes at most, maybe an hour if the weather's bad."
"Okay, good," you sighed in relief, before straightening and turning back to him -schooling your face into something more normal, neutral, "-It was nice talking to you, Rick. I'll... I'll see you around, yeah?"
"Yeah," he nodded, a sort of low grumble that seemed almost slurred in the morning, timber that shook your bones, "-and Y/N?"
"Yes?"
"If you ever... need anythin'," he started -carefully, blue eyes flickering over you with a concern you hadn't felt in a bit, "-I'm just a door down. Anythin'."
"Okay," you responded, quietly, genuinely, "-I'll be sure to take you up on that, Grimes."
#rick grimes#rick grimes x reader#its griming time#stuff n' thangs#rick grimes x you#rick grimes x y/n#ricky dicky doo dah grimes#twd#twd rick#rick grimes x y/n fanfiction#rick grimes oneshot#home is where the heart is#rick grimes x gn!reader
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I'll do anything if it's with you
ummary
Crowley is rather reluctant when Aziraphale drags him out of the warmth of the bookshop into the cold of winter. And becomes even more so when he discovers it's for ice-skating.
Notes
Thank you Monielysium for your donation to Alzheimer's Research UK in exchange for this story.
INEFFABLE ADVENT CALENDER
On Ao3
Rating G - 1101 words
"Angel, where are we going?"
Crowley was a little annoyed that Aziraphale had made him bundle up against the cold and dragged him outside without saying anything.
"We're almost there," Aziraphale reassured him, patting his hand.
Crowley grumbled, "Why do we have to go out in this cold? We were so comfortable on the sofa, warm in the shop."
Aziraphale chuckled softly at the annoyed demon's pout. "I'm sure you'll enjoy what we're about to do, and if you don't like it, I promise... wait till I think... a hot chocolate and lots of hugs and kisses to make up for it. "
After that, Crowley had no choice but to give in. He put up no more resistance and let Aziraphale lead him. What he didn't like, however, were the gloves the angel had forced him to wear, because it felt like a barrier between their hands. He grumbled, preferring to feel the angel's skin against his own.
Aziraphale's voice interrupted his grumbling, "Here we are."
Crowley, lost in thought, hadn't looked where they were going, and when he looked up, he realized they were in front of a huge ice rink with lots of people skating on it.
He asked, "Angel, what does that mean?"
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and cheekily replied, "What do you think?"
Crowley shook his head and replied, "Out of the question! I don't want to make a fool of myself on the ice. I have a reputation to uphold!"
Aziraphale chuckled, "Crowley, my dear, you don't really think I'd let you make a fool of yourself, do you? Besides, I'm sure you exaggerate. Just look at the way you move when you perform a miracle, it's as beautiful as choreography. I'm sure you'll quickly find your rhythm on the ice and I'll be the one making a fool of myself."
"I doubt it," Crowley grumbled.
The angel took off a glove and stroked Crowley's cheek with the back of his hand, then when he'd put the glove back on, grabbed his hand and pulled him behind him.
Still overwhelmed by the tender caress and the angel's compliment on the way he moved, Crowley let himself be pulled along without resisting.
They walked to the skate rental place and took a ticket before sitting down on a bench to put the skates on.
Crowley stood up carefully, checking his balance and grumbling again, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him as Aziraphale said gently, "It'll be more natural on ice.
Then he slipped his arm under Crowley's and added reassuringly, "You'll see, everything will be fine."
Crowley could only soften at the way the angel was trying to make the experience as pleasant as possible, and he leaned forward to plant a light kiss on the tip of his cold, reddened nose.
Aziraphale smiled softly, and sliding his hand down the demon's arm, he grasped his hand and said, "Let's get on the ice.
They approached the opening that gave access to the rink.
Crowley was now genuinely amused by the way Aziraphale was acting, part coach, part mother hen: "I'll hold your hand at the beginning, okay?"
Crowley retorted teasingly, "You don't need an excuse to hold my hand, you know?"
"Idiot."
At the first few steps, despite all of Aziraphale's advice, Crowley tensed because he felt he had no control over anything, and God knows he didn't like that feeling at all.
Aziraphale murmured softly, "Relax, I'm here," then planted a gentle kiss on the demon's temple to calm him before continuing, "Lean on me and follow my rhythm.
Crowley chuckled softly and replied, "That's what we do best. Lean on each other and follow each other's rhythm."
Aziraphale chuckled in response and they began to move forward.
As the first lap passed without incident, Crowley smiled proudly and regained some of his aplomb. But he didn't let go of Aziraphale's hand.
To be honest, he wouldn't have let go even if he were perfectly balanced.
He dared to take slightly larger strides to increase their speed, feeling more and more at ease.
The breeze was exhilarating. Crowley looked at the rest of the trees and the landscape around them, the Christmas lights, and let the speed carry him away.
As always when he was with Aziraphale, there was something exhilarating about doing things that humans do, whatever it was.
Crowley asked Aziraphale, "Will it be there all winter?"
"As long as the temperatures allow, I suppose."
"Then we can come back?" asked Crowley eagerly.
Aziraphale smiled affectionately at Crowley's cold reddened cheeks and replied, "We've only just started and you want to come back already?
Crowley simply nodded, pleased at the happy expression he'd put on the angel's face.
Aziraphale pulled Crowley to him, wrapped his arms around him, and kissed him tenderly on the ice. They stayed there, indifferent to the skaters who curved to avoid them.
By the end of the evening, Aziraphale had held up his end of the bargain. They were now both snuggled up together, kissing on the sofa, wrapped in a cozy blanket, two steaming cups of hot chocolate on the coffee table. As they parted to catch their breath, Crowley said softly, "What a lovely reward."
Aziraphale blushed slightly and replied softly, "The reward is just as pleasant for me.”
Snuggling up to the demon, he added, "It's great that none of us fell today."
An eerie silence answered him, and he felt the demon stiffen slightly.
"Crowley?"
He looked up to see Crowley's face and, noting the guilty look on his face, asked, "Did you have anything to do with the fact that none of us fell?"
Crowley replied in a falsely innocent voice, "Natural skill?"
But Aziraphale saw the mischievous gleam in his eyes and insisted, "Crowley..."
The demon replied cheekily, "A little demonic miracle of my own?"
Aziraphale burst out laughing, and when he finally calmed down under Crowley's amused gaze, he straightened and murmured against his lips, "I suppose I should have known better. This side of you is one of the sides I love the most, and if I hadn't loved you for centuries, I would have fallen in love with you right now. My dear, mischievous demon."
He laughed softly again before leaning forward and kissing the demon tenderly. When he pulled away, Crowley said jokingly, "Now that I know that just using some of my abilities gets me this special treatment, I'm going to use them more often."
Aziraphale laughed again, then used all his skill to wipe the impertinent smile from the lips of his cheeky demon.
_________
Still not beta'd
Still not my native language
Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰
Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝
Ineffable Growing Love series : (After season 2)
Part 1 Story 1-99
Part 2 Story 100-?
Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)
#good omens#aziracrow#ineffable husbands#ineffable boyfriends#aziraphale#crowley#good omens fanfiction#aziraphale x crowley#crowley x aziraphale#christmas#advent calendar
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ages ago i asked for prompts on twitter and i think ava had requested cherik + bodyswap, and i forgot i wrote that til i found it looking at my files so i figured i'd also post it here ages later lol it's too short for ao3! but perfect length for tumblr.
-
“I don't know how you do it,” says Charles.
His voice—it's Erik's, no doubt. Words coming from his mouth, his body. His body, that Charles is currently inhabiting.
“Do what?” asks Erik, with—with his voice, God damn it. This whole situation is so strange.
It's supposed to wear off in a few hours, said the other teachers. Just a mutant learning to control their powers, nothing else. But now Charles is Erik, and Erik is Charles, and it's been the most insanity-inducing hours of his life. They haven't left Charles' room, as they decided to spend this ordeal as quietly as possible: in bed, reading.
“This. Alone with your thoughts,” Charles says. “I'm miserable. And overstimulated, even though I am not doing anything. It's…”
So much. His skin is prickly, impossible to touch. He can sense the clock ticking—not just the one inside the mansion, but everyone's. Phones buzzing or vibrating. The kitchen. Jewelry. The televisions. The satellites. The cities further away. The core of the Earth—
Erik takes his hand. Charles takes a moment to note how different his own hand is, when he's being touched—this is not comforting. So many times he's held someone, held a student, tried to comfort them with a gesture. And now that he's being comforted by his body—God, he should never be close to people.
“Breathe in,” Erik tells him. “Narrow your focus to one thing. Try your wheelchair.”
It's such a big power. To narrow it to something so small like his wheelchair feels like an impossible task, but then he notices a little helping hand: it's sloppy and careless, but the undeniable sensation of a telepathic push. Erik’s not good at it—good God, how is he holding up with all those voices?—but he’s good enough to guide Charles to his objective.
His body slumps against the bed, once the world is reduced to just the wheelchair.
“How do you do it?” Charles repeats. “It’s so quiet. It’s so lonely. And this power—it’s too great, I’m afraid. How does your body not fall apart? How does your mind not fall apart? How do you—”
Erik cuts him off. “I am wondering the same thing about you, as we speak. There is so much noise. People cannot stop thinking, not even for one second. How do you not go insane?”
He supposes the same questions he asked have the same answer Charles would give Erik: you get used to it. You settle into it like a second skin, until one day you no longer get to think about it.
“You get used to it,” he says, although he knows Erik must have heard it, anyway. His grip on Charles’ telepathy isn’t that good—Charles presumes he doesn’t know how to leave his mind. Erik hums anyway. “I suppose it’s more impressive right now, to be in a body where—it’s truly yours. Mine, it feels like it shares a bit with every single person. I cannot stop myself from seeing through their lenses, even for a second. I guess being alone right now—truly and well alone, it just… makes me wonder. How you don’t go insane. How you talk to people, how you are such a good judge of character. I can only be one because of my powers, and even then, I can go so wrong.”
Erik raises an eyebrow in his direction. It’s so odd, looking at his face. Does Charles really look like this? No wonder he got into so many arguments. He’s rather annoyed at that face.
“Funny, again. I have been pondering that myself. If I could listen to every thought, every sentiment, and every motivation behind someone’s actions—well, perhaps I’d become a hermit. It takes incredible strength to do this. I admire you.”
Charles smiles a little. “I suppose we are both so exceptional,” he says. He squeezes Erik’s hand again, trying to focus on Erik’s body, wanting to be held by it instead. “Only a few more hours to go.”
“Maybe we won’t go insane in three hours,” Erik smiles back. “Who knows? We have got plenty of time.”
#cherik#writing#occasionally ill be like hii does anyone have prompts and its like the most fun i have at night#i love when i have the taking requests mood. hope it strikes again
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Playing the Hero
[Astarion x Named Tav]
Phayelynn's eyes flitted side to side with a sense of urgency. It hadn't been her who the Gur was after. A flicker of worry crossed her face as she failed to spot any sign of Astarion.
“He’s downstairs, brooding as usual,” Shadowheart said with a roll of her eye, letting out a giggle, “Astarion? Really?” she raised an eyebrow, “That’s who you’ve decided to fancy out of our little group. I guess I can’t say I didn’t see this coming, but...” she teased.
Phayelynn flushed, quickly rushing to defend herself, "What?" she sputtered, “I don’t fancy him,” she spoke in a hushed voice, looking towards the stairs. “I’ve only known him for, what, a week?”
Shadowheart shrugged her shoulders. “That’s plenty of time to gain attraction to someone,”
Phayelynn leaned back, scrunching her nose up- was it?
--
Thanks everyone whose kept up with this story 💜💜💜
Here's another long one for you!
Also, we go a little more into Phayelynn's backstory here, which I'm excited to share. She's the character I use in actual campaigns, and I kinda want to post her character sheet on her eventually?.....
(word count: 5,358 )
Read on AO3 or below :)
Masterlist for Phayelynn's adventures here
Phayelynn’s heart thumped so hard that she could feel it pounding in her throat as she ran through the labyrinthine streets of Baldur’s Gate.
She’d been on the run all night, with little rest before she had to get on the move again. Her breaths were short, shallow, and labored as she willed air into her tired lungs. She ignored the sweat trickling down her face, stinging her eyes just enough to be annoying. The early morning sun had just started to rise, casting eerie shadows on the towering buildings that surrounded her. The chiming of the city bell pierced through the silence, waking its citizens to start the day while it only added to the sense of urgency and danger that engulfed her.
She had no clue where she was headed, the streets unfamiliar as this was her first time past Wyrm’s Crossing. Her journey to the Upper City had been clandestine, having snuck into the back of a cart with no windows to avoid detection. Now, she was hopelessly lost, with no bearings or landmarks to guide her. Time was working against her, and she couldn’t afford to stop and ask for directions, not when the Flaming Fists were hot on her trail.
Phayelynn’s heart kept threatening to burst out of her chest with every step she took. She strained her ears, listening for the sound of their pursuit as she swiftly swerved around a corner, trying to shake them off. But the sound of their boots thudding against the cobblestone and the jingling of their armor only grew louder. Her eyes widened, and her heart sank as she realized she had trapped herself at a dead end. She skidded to a stop and, in frustration, slammed her hands against the brick wall.
Turning around, she pressed herself tightly against the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible. She could feel the panic surging through her as she realized the gravity of what she had done- or rather, what she had failed to do. And now, she was going to be at the mercy of the man she had attempted to kill.
The impenetrable fortress of Wyrm’s Rock had been looming when she had first stood in front of it, its walls towering high and its gates firmly shut. But it wasn’t so impenetrable. After all Phayelynn was able to sneak in fairly easily, thanks to Raphael’s detailed instruction.
Their plan had seemed foolproof- get in as a hired performer, blend in with the night’s dinner party, and then take out Vizdos with the knife Raphael had given her. Foolproof.
But not Phayelynn proof.
She’d been watching him all night as she performed on stage. He mingled with all sorts of members of the court, his haughty laugh playing a sharp chord in her gut. Even how he sipped at his wine sprung a vile feeling in her stomach. She was welcomed to stay after her performance; the compliments of her playing and songs would normally get to her head, but she could hardly recall any of them as she continued to stalk her prey.
Phayelynn hadn’t even noticed someone had been watching her more intently than some puppy-eyed admirer, until a dark-haired man approached Vizdos, whispering something in his ear. Vizdos’s face flashed with alarm, his hold on his goblet tightening as he seemed to be scanning the crowd, searching for something. And then their eyes met, and everything came crashing down.
All the years she had spent convincing herself that she was no longer afraid of him turned out to be a lie. The moment he recognized her, her fear tripled, and she felt her hands start to shake. The knife she had kept ducked up in her sleeve clattered to the floor as she desperately scrambled for the door.
And now she stood face to face with the guards he had rented out for the duration of his visit to the city.
The distant sound of bells grew louder and more insistent, causing Phayelynn to startle. Surely, it wasn’t for her. Suddenly, a loud, lurching noise pierced the air, making her jump in fright. The ground shock as pulse waves shot out from above. She kept the palms of her hands against the wall to keep herself steady.
The Flaming Fists stopped in their tracks, their attention captured by the strange and ominous sound. They looked about, back from where they came in from, and up to the skies, looking for its source. As they searched, a vast shadow fell over them, blotting out the sun.
Phayelynn didn’t understand what she was seeing as long, writhing tentacles reached out from a monstrous ship in the sky that seemed to defy all reason. The sight filled her with unspoken horror, leaving her utterly speechless. A shiver ran down her spine as she felt the blood in her veins turn to ice.
Even the Flaming Fist, so intent on capturing her only moments ago, stood frozen in fear as they realized what it was. A Nautiloid was no ordinary sky-ship fueled by magic but a Mind Flayer vessel. And it was hovering over Baldur’s Gate.
With a cry and clank, as they abandoned their weapons, the Flaming Fists turned and fled, abandoning their mission and duty in the face of such terror, shouting about how this was the end.
Normally, Phayelynn would’ve laughed at their cowardice, made some sort of joke, anything, but she could only watch in horror at the scene unfolding before her. The famed Flaming Fists, who were supposed to protect the city, were running away, leaving her and every other citizen nearby to fend for themselves. She gaped, unsure what to do. She quickly realized it was a Mind Flayer ship, reading about them in books, but she’d never thought she’d see anything like this in her life. The screams and cries of the citizens of the Upper City started to fill the air, and Phayelynn knew she had to start running again.
As she ran out of the alleyway, she found herself right in the middle of the chaos, fast erupting in the streets. She followed the flow, hoping the locals knew where they were going, hoping that they had some sort of escape plan.
Up ahead, she could see the ship fully for what it was, and it was haunting- a picture that would be forever painted in the back of her mind. She stopped running as the people around her brushed past her. She was going to die here.
One of the ship’s tentacles had wrapped around the bell tower, crushing it easily. The deafening sound of the bell’s final toll rang loudly as it came crashing down. Shivers ran down Phayelynn’s spine as she watched in horror as stone and brick rained down on the streets below. If she had kept going, it would’ve crushed her, like it just had those who had kept running past her
Those who survived quickly turned on their heels, their cries of anguish heard as they ran back towards where she stood.
Phayelynn was getting lost in the crowd as people frantically pushed and shoved each other out of their way in a mad scramble to escape. She felt claustrophobic, looking for any opening, any way to squeeze out and find somewhere to hide from the mayhem and destruction around her. Suddenly more tentacles appeared, snaking down from the ship and lashing out at anyone in their path. She watched as the moment someone was touched by them, they combusted into ash.
She weaved through it, tears welling up in her eyes. As she pushed forward, she watched in horror as someone before her was reduced to ashes. Unable to get out of the way in time, she ran through it. Desperately trying to keep some composer, she spat and wiped at her face. She was then knocked off balance by a mother, frenetically shoving her way through the crowd with her child in tow. Phayelynn stumbled, tripping over her own feet.
Phayelynn was gasping for air as she crumpled to the ground amidst it all, bringing her hands up to cover her head. People rushed over her without a second thought.
Her mind tore away with thoughts of Raphael and whether he was watching her from somewhere. And if he was, was he disappointed? Was he not helping her because of her failure to kill Vizdos? That didn’t sound like him, though. He was probably trying to find her, or maybe he had no idea any of this was even happening. She didn’t know which of the latter made more sense.
She then thought of her uncle, who was residing just outside the city. She wished she had never set foot in this damned city like he warned her to. If she had listened, she would never have gotten herself into this. Why did she never listen to him?
The commotion around her came to a halt, and she knew that meant everyone around her had gone or was dead. Wearily, she lifted her head, only to be met with a slimy tentacle wrapping itself around her ankle.
As she opened her mouth to speak, a sudden burst of energy engulfed her body. She tried to scream out, but before she could finish, her body disintegrated into dust that slowly descended to the ground.
----------
Phayelynn’s body jerked upright with a sudden gasp. She found herself lying in a bedroll near a lit fireplace. Her eyes darted around the room, struggling to catch her breath as she fought to shake off the remnants of the lingering fear left behind from the nightmare.
The sun’s warm rays streamed through the windows, casting a tranquil glow over the quiet room. The only sounds heard were the crackling fire and the sweet melodies of birds chirping outside. She tried to focus on it, helping her steady her breathing but was struck by a sharp pain piercing her side. She attempted to sit up, to toss the covers off of her to look, but a gentle hand pressed down on her shoulder, urging her to stay still.
“Easy,” Shadowheart’s voice coaxed her back down onto the soft bedroll.
Confused and disoriented, Phayelynn looked around again, taking in the rustic decor and simple furnishing. Her gaze eventually landed on Shadowheart’s worried face, and she struggled to find her voice.
“Where are we?” she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper.
“We’re at Ethel’s,” Shadowheart said, looking around the place, then back down at Phayelynn. “Thankfully, we weren’t far away.”
Phayelynn couldn’t shake off the restlessness that Shadowheart’s reply had awakened in her. In flashes, the memory of the fight with the Gur flooded back, and with it, the image of his knife stabbing her over and over again. Her vision started to blur, and the panic began to set in. Phayelynn tried to sit up again, but the pain was too much, and she grimaced, clutching her side.
Shadowheart let out a small sigh, her patience wearing thin as she watched Phayelynn’s stubbornness. Despite her annoyance, Shadowheart still extended a helping hand. She gently placed her hand behind Phayelynn’s upper back, steadying her while the other pressed against the healing wounds. She muttered an incantation, her voice low and soothing, as the healing magic began to flow from her fingers. Phayelynn visibly relaxed, sinking into Shadowheart’s hold as the energy washed over her, easing her pain.
“Lae’zel is outside,” Shadowheart informed her, nodding towards the front door. “Keeping watch.”
Phayelynn’s gaze followed Shadowheart’s gesture, and she could faintly see the glinty of Lae’zel’s armor in the sunlit, standing guard outside. She felt a sense of comfort knowing that the githyanki decided to stay, much against her reservations about coming here in the first place.
Shadowheart continued, “And Gale is downstairs, making you a cup of tea for when you wake up.”
Phayelynn’s spirits lifted even more at the thought of a warm cup of tea. Her lips curled into the faintest smile, barely visible on her tired face. She hadn’t expected the gestures from her companions, who still stood by her side. She felt guilty to say, but she half expected them to abandon her. It wasn’t like they were friends, though she wished she could call them that. They were only forced together by circumstance. She couldn’t help but feel like a burden, constantly relying on them for help and getting herself into trouble. Admittedly, the fight with the Gur was not entirely her fault, and she had worked to prevent it, but she still felt responsible for it.
But it wasn’t her who the Gur was after.
With a sense of urgency, her eyes flitted side to side in search of any sign of Astarion. A flicker of worry crossed her face as she failed to spot him anywhere. The memory of the last time she had seen him played out in her mind, causing a wave of fear to wash over her. He had been shot with an acid arrow by the Gur. The thought of Astarion being taken by Gandrel sent shivers down her spine.
“He’s downstairs, brooding as usual,” Shadowheart said with a roll of her eye as if reading Phayelynn’s mind. Phayelynn breathed out a sigh of relief as Shadowheart let out a giggle. “Astarion? Really?” she raised an eyebrow, “That’s who you’ve decided to fancy out of our little group. I guess I can’t say I didn’t see this coming, but...” she teased, letting her hand drop from Phayelynn’s side.
Phayelynn was quickly taken aback by Shadowheart’s statement and quickly rushed to defend herself, hoping Shadowheart wouldn’t notice her blush. “What?” she sputtered, “I don’t fancy him,” she spoke in a hushed voice, looking towards the stairs. “I’ve only known him for, what, a week?”
Shadowheart shrugged her shoulders, finding amusement in Phayelynn’s denial. “That’s plenty of time to gain attraction to someone,” she said, “It’s nothing to be ashamed about. I’d just be careful with Astarion,” she warned.
Phayleynn leaned back, cheeks turning even redder. She scrunched up her nose- Was it? No, she shook her head, “You got the wrong idea!” she argued, hoping to change the subject.
But Shadowheart wasn’t going to let it go, “Oh, have I?” she titled her head, “So you just let any old vampire lure you into their tent and drink your blood? Very pragmatic.”
Phayelynn’s heart sank as she remembered that now everyone knew about what actually happened in Astarion’s tent last night. She wasn’t sure if she preferred them knowing the truth or if it was more embarrassing than what they had assumed had happened. “He was hungry, and I-I just wanted to help,” she tried to defend her actions, ignoring the headache that was forming.
“Wanting to help nearly got you killed,” Shadowheart pointed out, a little harsher than she had intended. She sighed, feeling guilty. “We’re supposed to trust each other. He should’ve told us. We could’ve helped. Could’ve been better prepared against the Gur.” she narrowed her eyes. “Or you should’ve come to me this morning. I couldn’t restore some of the blood he took from you. Do you realize how much blood you’ve lost after today? You’re lucky to be alive.”
Phayelynn didn’t realize how serious her wounds had been until hearing the sharpness in Shadowheart’s tone. She had almost died today. As she tried to speak up to apologize, her words were abruptly interrupted, leaving her feeling uncertain and uneasy.
“Oh, petal!” Ethel’s voice called as she walked up the stairs, holding a bottle of salve in her hand.
Her voice had a sickly sweet tone that made Phayelynn feel even more uneasy. “Something told me to get my arse up here. I was going to apply more salve to your wound. Don’t want scars on such a beautiful girl, now do we?” she kneeled down beside them, opposite of Shadowheart, pointing at Phayelynn as she continued, “Lift up ‘ya shirt, now, girl.”
Phayelynn felt Shadowheart’s caution around Ethel instantly, which left Phayelynn even more confused. Didn’t Shadowheart seek out Ethel’s help with removing the tadpole, and then healing her while she slept on death’s door? There was an unspoken tension in the air, and Phayelynn couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
As Phayelynn struggled to remove her shirt, which was still tangled with most of her belts and other traveling clothes, Shadowheart moved to help. Shadowheart lifted Phayelynn’s shirt up enough only to expose her wounds, allowing Ethel’s cool hands to apply more of the healing salve.
Phayelynn watched wide-eyed as she finally got a good look at her injuries- there were at least five, if not six, different marks where Gandrel’s blade had pierced through her skin. Frowning, Phayelynn watched as Ethel twisted the lid back onto the bottle of salve, closing it.
Ethel pushed herself back up, her knees cracking, causing her to let out a faint sigh. She gazed down at the two girls, and a smile appeared on her face, “Oh, these old bones,” she muttered. “Your friends were so worried when they brought you to me, petal. Thank goodness they did, or you might not have made it. You owe them a big apology for frightening them like that.” Ethel said, her finger pointing towards Phayelynn, then the stairs for emphasis. “Now, let’s get ya’ up on ya’ feet. Your friend should be just about done making you that cup’a.”
Phayelynn’s cheeks flushed with shame, the guilt of making them all worry about her hitting her. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, turning to look at Shadowheart for a moment.
“I guess it could’ve happened to any of us.” Shadowheart shook her head gently, reaching out to help Phayelynn stand.
Phayelynn took slow and unsteady steps down the stairs, her hand gripping the railing tightly for support. Shadowheart walked beside her, providing a steadying hand to help her reach the main area of the home. At the bottom of the stairs, Astarion was leaning against the wall, lost in thought, until the sound of their footsteps brought him back. Phayelynn’s heart skipped a beat, hoping he hadn’t overheard Shadowheart’s teasing. She tried to put it out of her mind as he stood up straight and moved to greet them.
“Look who’s still alive,” Astarion said with a sly grin, though his relief was evident. He quickly tried to cover it up. “Have a nice nap?”
Shadowheart rolled her eyes at his attempt to hide his concern. “Please, you were the most worried out of us all.”
She continued leading Phayelynn further into the home while Astarion trailed behind them, biting back a clever remark he failed to think of as he kept a watchful eye on Ethel as she guided them towards a dining chair near the large open fireplace.
As Phayelynn entered the main area, she saw Gale taking a teapot off the firepit, and mixing herbs together before pouring the water into the cup. As Ethel guided her to a chair, Phayelynn’s eyes met with a girl she didn’t recognize, and she couldn’t help but wonder if this was the cause of the tension in the room. The girl didn’t acknowledge her, tears streaking down her face as she sniffled, attempting to gulp down a spoonful of food.
Gale perked at her arrival, carrying the hot mug over to her. He gave her a delicate pat on the shoulder, relieved to see her up and about, “You have us all a fright.”
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. Grateful for the tea, she took a sip, feeling its warmth spread across her body, asking, “How long was I out?”
“A few hours.” Gale’s smile faded as he answered. He nodded towards the front door. “Lae’zel is getting antsy.”
“She can wait a little while longer.” Shadowheart’s tone was laced with annoyance as she followed Gale’s gaze, crossing her arms against her chest. They had hit yet another dead end on their quest for a cure, and she couldn’t help but feel bitter about it.
Phayelynn furrowed her brow and looked at them expectantly, eager to know what was happening. “But I thought we were here for a cure?” she asked, her voice tinged with confusion.
Shadowheart, Gale, and Astarion exchanged a knowing look, silently communicating that it was time for Phayelynn to drop the subject, especially with Ethel still near. Phayelynn looked between them, catching their silent conversation, and frowned. Shadowheart had insisted on coming to Ethel for a cure, but something had clearly gone wrong. What had happened during the time that she was out affected Ethel’s ability to help them?
As they stood there in silence, the girl sitting in front of Phayelynn let out a long whine, her stomach growling audibly. With a whimper, the girl let out a long whine, drawing everyone’s attention to her.
Ethel, the seemingly frail old woman, held out some bit, sharply reprimanding her with a pointed bony finger, “I don’t want a crumb left on that plate, Mayrina.”
“Auntie Ethel, please,” Mayrina let out another whine, begging for mercy, “One more bite, and this pie is gonna come back up to say hello.”
Phayelynn’s eyes widened, pushing her chair back before that could happen. She looked between her companions, then Ethel, then the girl Mayrina, quickly putting together that whatever this was had to be the reason for her companion’s reasons for being on edge and eager to leave.
Ethel, with a stern expression on her face, pointed at the plate of food in front of Mayrina. “Don’t make me get the wooden spoon,” she threatened, “You know you need to eat for two, so stop procrastinating and get to it.”
Mayrina suddenly rises from her seat, her face contorted in pain, as she clutches her stomach. Phayelynn immediately springs into action, placing her teacup on the table and moving to assist her. But before she can reach Mayrina, Ethel quickly intervenes and forcefully pushes Phayelynn back down into her seat. As Phayelynn looks up, she sees Shadowheart and Gale quickly approaching, the look on their faces suggesting that they don’t appreciate Ethel’s behavior.
Ethel’s voice booms across the room, “Gods, grant me patience. Mayrina, eat your food now or face the consequences.” Her tone is that of a strict disciplinarian admonishing a child.
Phayelynn, visibly upset, not by being pushed but by Ethel’s treatment of the girl, doesn’t think twice about speaking up, “Do you treat all your guests this way?” Her voice was firm and resolute as she confronted Ethel, clenching her fists tightly at her sides.
Ethel’s face contorted with anger as she turned to Phayelynn, her voice dripping with venom. “Oh, Petal. I’m the reason you’re still breathing, so watch your tone, sweetie.” she snapped, “Your friends have rudely refused my help with the worms in your heads. I’m not afraid to kick you lot out and show you the door.”
Phayelynn furrowed her brows, unsure why Ethel’s help offer had been declined. Before she could respond, Astarion stepped forward, pushing past Shadowheart and Gale. He reached out and grabbed Phayelynn’s arm, pulling her back with a firm tug.
“That won’t be necessary,” Astarion interjected, his voice calm but firm. “We can escort ourselves out. Thank you very much for your…,” he trailed off, gesturing with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Hospitality.”
Ethel glared at the sarcastic comment. Phayelynn, on the other hand, wore a frown on her face and allowed herself to be led away, but she wasn’t willing to let things go, but Astarion expected it. He pinched his brow together as she opened her mouth,
“Something isn’t right.” Phayelynn started. Her eyes then sparkled with a mischievous gleam as she opened her mouth to speak. She lowered her voice, “She’s a witch or a hag, yeah?” She looked furtively at Ethel, who’d turn to make Mayrina sit back down and eat.
Astarion ground his teeth together, “It’s none of our business.” he said curtly, hoping to end the discussion until they were far away.
As Astarion dodged Phayelynn’s probing questions, she knew that her suspicions had been correct all along. Ethel, the supposed healer who lived in the woods, was not as innocent as she appeared. There was something more dangerous about her. Despite the warning signs, Phayelynn wasn’t willing to leave the situation alone.
“I knew it! That’s why you’re all so eager to leave this place,” Phayelynn gasped, her eyes widening in realization. “But we can’t just abandon that poor girl.” Astarion’s gaze turned cold, and he spoke with a fierce determination, “I told you, it’s none of your business. We need to leave now.”
With all the strength she could muster, she freed herself from Astarion’s grip and took a step back, determined to make it her business. She turned swiftly on her heel, her gaze fixed on Mayrina, and asked with genuine concern, “Do you need help?”
“You know, deary,” Ethel seemed to be getting increasingly agitated by their presence. “I don’t appreciate busybodies around here. This is my home, and I want you all out.” With a pointed finger, she gestured towards the door, her message clear.
“No, this woman is clearly in trouble,” Phayelynn shifted her gaze from Gale to Shadowheart, her heart pounding in her chest as she silently pleaded for their support. They had to see that Mayrina was in danger, that Ethel had something nefarious afoot.
Gale had been the first to see Ethel for what she was, his senses alerting him to the unmistakable scent of magic. It was the putrid, foul-smelling kind that could only have come from a hag. He conveyed his suspicions to his companions through their unspoken connection of tadpoles, while Ethel and Shadowheart worked tirelessly to save Phayelynn’s life.
They had to exercise caution until Phayelynn woke up and they could leave. They’d play as polite, considering what she was and what she might be capable of doing should they anger her. While Phayelynn had been resting, Shadowheart volunteering to keep a watchful eye on her, Ethel offered them the cure they had originally come here for, by plucking out one of their eyes, kissing it, and then putting it back in its socket. When they refused, Ethel insisted on making Phayelynn some tea. However, Gale knew they couldn’t trust her. So, he stepped in and offered to make it himself, lying that Phayelynn had a specific preference.
Gale watched as Phayelynn now stood, staring down Ethel, not grasping the gravity of being Ethel. This would be no easy fight. He agreed they couldn’t just leave Mayrina, but they were unprepared for this fight. Before he could reach out to her through the tadpole, to warn her, to tell her they’d come back after they regrouped, Ethel let out a growl,
As Ethel’s lips curled into a sneer, her eyes flashed with a wild glint. “You want to play the hero so badly? Fine. Let’s make this interesting,” she spat out.
With a flick of her wrist, Ethel transformed Mayrina into a luminous orb, which she then vanished into thin air. As Mayrina disappeared, she left behind a trail of glittering dust, the only sign that she had been there at all.
Suddenly, the world around them began to fade away, the warm glow of the fairylike sunlight washed away by a sickly green-yellow hue. The scene began to morph into something entirely different, something dark and foreboding. The sunlight wetlands morphed into a swamp, murky and insidious, reeking of decay. The air was thick and humid, the tranquil sounds of the wilderness Phayelynn had woken up to gone, taken over by unknown screeching creatures and the incessant buzzing insects.
Outside on the front porch, Lae’zel was alarmed at the sudden change in the surroundings, and she jumped to her feet, her eyes wide in alert. She muttered curses under her breath. She takes a few steps forward to investigate, but before she can reach the door, she spots three small, red-eyed creatures charging up the steps that lead to the front yard. In their tiny hands, they hold weapons that gleam menacingly. Without hesitating, Lae’zel lets out a fierce battle cry and charges forward to confront the creatures. The istik’s inside can deal with whatever mess they gotten themselves into.
Phayelynn and the others watched Ethel, who stood before them, start to twitch. Ethel’s features twisted and contorted into monstrous proportions. Her body grew, towering over them, and her nose stretched out, pointing as rot and moss covered her grew from her skin. Her hands grew into giant paw-like claws.
Phayelynn and her companions stood rooted in dread as they watched Ethel convulse before their very eyes. Her once gentle features distorted into a grotesque mask. Her body began to grow, stretching out like a towering monolith that loomed over them. The hunched form of an old woman twisted and bulged as her skin became covered in a pallid leafy moss that seemed to grow and spread before their very eyes. Her human features contorted into snarling lips and pointed snout, and her eyes glowed with a fierce, otherworldly light. Her hands, once dainty and frail now grew into massive, paw-like claws that could tear through anything in their path.
“Little half-elf, so desperate to be special.” Ethel’s mocking wrenched through Phayelynn’s mind, making her cry out and clutch at her head.
Ethel stomped closer, letting out a growl that sent shivers down Phayelynn’s spine. Without thinking twice, she stepped back and instinctively raised her hand, shouting, “De Torno!”
Her fingertips glimmered with a vibrant purple light, and as she released her spell, a powerful shockwave erupted from her hand, sending Ethel flying off the stairs. Ethel landed in a heap, barely escaping from falling into the blazing fireplace. The impact was so strong that it reverberated through the room, leaving Phayelynn trembling with the after-effects.
Astarion knew this was going to escalate and was prepared. Swiftly and silently, he cast a misty step, teleporting behind Ethel. With his keen eyes locked on the hag’s movement. As soon as she got up, he took advantage of her momentary vulnerability and launched himself forward in a brisk and fluid motion. With an expert flick of his wrist, he delivered two precise dagger attacks. Ethel staggered forward, disorientated and unable to react immediately.
Shadowheart watched as Ethel shoved Astarion. With a fierce hiss, Shadowheart unleashed a guiding bolt, and Gale followed up with a firebolt. The hag let out a blood-curdling cry and staggered, her eyes darting around frantically like a cornered animal. Her vile smile revealed rotten teeth as she cast the same spell that had trapped Mayrina on Phayelynn, transforming the bard into a glowing ball of light and causing her to disappear. Ethel’s gaze then flickered around the room before settling on the fireplace behind her. She rushed towards it and disappeared through the brick.
Her voice echoed through the room with a cackle, “Enjoy playing with your new friends! I’ll enjoy playing with mine! Bye-bye!”
As she let out a high-pitched, almost maniacal laugh, her voice rolled across the entire room, bouncing off the walls and filling the space with an eerie energy. With a tone of evident delight, she exclaimed, “Have fun playing with your new friends! I’ll certainly have a great time playing with mine! Bye bye!”
The atmosphere in the room was tight and discomfiting as Shadowheart and Gale exchanged glances, both feeling a sense of blame and guilt. Phayelynn had been taken by the hag, and they had failed to stop it. Astarion’s face contorted with anger, and he vented his frustration by forcefully plunging his knife into the wall, leaving a deep gash in the wood.
As the group stood there in silence, Lae’zel’s heavy footsteps could be heard echoing through the room, her armor clanking and splattered with fresh blood. She marched in with a determined look on her face, surveying the scene with a steely gaze. It didn’t take her long to figure out what had happened here. She spat on the ground,
“Kainyank.”
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Also, just look at all the sass from them. I love them so much 💜
#astarion x tav#astarion x oc#astarion romance#astarion x mc#tav bg3#astarion x reader#astarion x female tav#astarion x female oc#astarion x female reader#shadowheart is my bestie she just doesn't know it yet
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Regulatory Relations, chapter 2: Man with a Plan
Okay, I'm going full steam ahead with Fake Married!! I actually hit par for Nano for the first time since this weekend last night, so I think this is the project my brain wants to work on most. HERE WE GO, I HOPE YOU ENJOY :)
Also posted on AO3 here!
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Between his ready room and Spock’s door, Kirk had changed his mind four times. This was an insane idea. He couldn’t possibly marry Spock.
But the idea of Spock serving elsewhere, for them to send padd messages back and forth every once in a while until they never spoke again, filled him with a grief that he couldn’t even put a name to.
But this entire plot hinged on the idea that his favorite marble column impersonator would agree to marry him publicly.
But if they got married, he would never be able to marry someone else.
He came to a halt in the middle of the hallway, forcing an annoyed ensign to swerve around him, stack of padds wobbling precariously in her arms. He stared down the familiar corridor of the Enterprise as the sheer imbalance of his feelings hit him. When he thought about Spock leaving the Enterprise to be the captain of some science ship across the galaxy from him, the barbed-wire edges of panic started to circle every thought. His chest physically ached. When he thought about giving up the possibility of marrying for love later in life, he felt nothing at all.
Kirk started walking again. If he was being honest with himself, beneath the nothingness, he felt the barest hint of relief. Every person he had ever dated had hated playing second fiddle to his ship and his career, and it had driven every one of them away in the end. He would never have to worry about that again, because his and Spock’s priorities had, for years, been exactly in line. He spent more time with Spock than with anyone else on the ship. Honestly, him and Spock getting married almost made a certain sort of sense.
He was wearing the treads of his shoes down in front of Spock’s door, trying to place his thoughts in order and figure out the most logical way to structure his proposition, when the door slid open. Spock in his meditation robes appeared before him, and his mouth went dry. Was he really about to propose to his best friend?
“Captain,” Spock said. “I could hear you. Why are you pacing in front of my door in such a manner?”
“Can I talk to you?”
Spock’s room was warm and musky, familiar and comforting. Kirk looked around at the evidence that Spock — son of two worlds, claimed by neither — had settled in here in a way he never had anywhere else, and he squared his shoulders. When he turned back to Spock, the Vulcan was watching him with one eyebrow raised.
“You don’t want to leave, right?”
That eyebrow arched impossibly higher. “No, captain,” Spock said eventually, and despite his flat affect Kirk could read the unhappiness beneath. “I do not want to leave.”
“I have an idea,” he said. “It’s a little bit illogical--- maybe a lot illogical--- and it might require some acting on both of our parts. And you can say no if you don’t want to, of course. But I want you to stay, and I think it might work.”
“I am amenable to all suggestions that would allow me to maintain my current posting,” Spock said, and the slight stress on the word ‘all’ revealed how much he meant it.
“We’re friends, right? And we serve well together. You don’t want to leave. I don’t want you to leave.” Kirk paused to catch his breath. His heart pounded in his chest. Why was he so nervous?
“Those are factual statements,” Spock said quietly.
“Starfleet regulations prohibit the separation of legally married couples.” The words burst from him and hung in the smoky air between them. Spock’s eyes widened slightly. He could practically hear the hum of Spock’s brain as he processed the implications of what Kirk had said. What he was suggesting.
“Captain,” Spock said, his voice low and guarded. “You would offer this to me?”
“I don’t want you to go,” he repeated.
“You would not be able to marry another unless we divorced,” Spock said.
Kirk scoffed, only a little. “I don’t know if you noticed, Mr. Spock, but folks aren’t exactly jumping in line to marry a man who’s never home.”
“But you would sacrifice ever having the option? To keep me here?”
Kirk turned back to Spock’s shelves, unable to bear the weight of his burning gaze. It had seemed so simple in the hallway. Nothing had to change between them; in fact, their getting married was the only way he could ensure that things wouldn’t change between them. Spock’s intensity surprised him. He ran a finger over the smooth wood of Spock’s lyre, just to have something to do with his hands.
“I find that I don’t really care about having the option,” he said. “If it ever comes up, we can talk about it. For you, too, if you wanted it. But right now, what matters most to me is keeping you on the Enterprise.”
“After T’Pring and the kal-if-fee, a union of that kind will not be available to me. I am hesitant to subject you to the same condition, even if it means securing my position here.”
Kirk turned back at the quiet desolation in his voice. Across the room from him, Spock stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his shoulder slumped as much as they ever were beneath his robes. His face was impassive, but his eyes were pinned to the ground.
“Spock, you can’t really believe I value you less than some hypothetical partner in a future that might never happen.”
Spock’s eyes flashed up to meet his. “Do not think that I would ever doubt our friendship, captain. I simply doubt that you will not miss romantic companionship as the years pass.”
Sometimes Kirk really fucking hated his younger self for the recklessness with which he had loved and left. “If that happens, and that’s a pretty big if, we can talk about it then. But for now, and for the rest of my career if we’re being honest, you being around means more to me than any fling ever could.” His stomach sank as he reconsidered Spock’s opposition. “Spock, if you don’t think this is a good idea, or you don’t want to, we just won’t. It’ll be fine.” He wiped a hand across his mouth and turned his head back to the shelves so he wouldn’t have to watch Spock say that he would rather leave than agree to marry him. But Spock unclasped his hands from behind himself and approached him slowly, with a look on his face akin to curiosity.
He stood at Kirk's shoulder and considered the contents of his shelves with him. Then he said quietly, “You always surprise me, Jim.” The sound of his own name shocked Kirk into turning to look back at him.
“I did not mean to imply that I was ungrateful for the offer, or that I did not want to attempt this… ruse. But I also needed to know that it would not cause you immediate distress.”
“Honestly, the prospect of you leaving causes me more distress than the consequences of getting fake-married do.” Kirk leaned slightly sideways to bump his shoulder against Spock’s. Spock hummed slightly, deep in thought.
“If you are certain, captain, I would be deeply grateful. I have found that I very much do not wish to leave.” Spock touched one long finger to a sculpture that Uhura had given him previously.
“Then don’t,” Kirk said. “Let’s get married.”
Spock walked him to the door, but held his gaze as he turned to leave. “Thank you, captain,” he said. “I do not take this lightly.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, and he couldn’t help but smile at him. “Breakfast in the morning? I believe we have a lot to discuss.” Spock agreed, and said goodnight, and when he disappeared behind the turbodoor Kirk pressed his hands to his face and leaned against the bulkhead until he could wrangle his cheek-splitting smile into something a little more dignified.
Then he walked the ten steps to his quarters, mind whirling, and sat at his desk with a padd for the next three hours, planning how exactly they were going to convince the rest of the crew that they were a couple.
☆☆☆
Spock was waiting next to Kirk’s door when he opened it the next morning, dressed sharply in his science blues. They fell into lockstep as they walked to the mess.
“Changed your mind, Mr. Spock?”
“No, captain.”
“Good. I’ve got plans to share with you.”
Over two cups of tea for Spock, three of coffee for Kirk, and a disjointed breakfast spread of replicated options, Kirk laid out his strategy for how they were going to convince the rest of the crew, and from there the admiralty, that they were wedded partners. Step one was physical contact.
“You already frequently touch my person,” Spock said, sipping his tea. Kirk grinned.
“Great! I already have a reputation for being in your space more than other people. Now we can just do it on purpose.”
“Are you implying that your current level of physical contact with me is unintentional?”
Ignoring Spock’s pointed and disbelieving eyebrow raise, Kirk continued. Step two was pet names.
“We do not have pets.”
“Not yet, anyway. And it’s a human expression. A pet name is a term of endearment. What does your mother call your father?”
“Sarek,” Spock said bluntly. “We cannot have pets on the ship.”
“Come on, a cat or something would be cute. Really? She never calls him honey or sweetheart or something?”
“I urge you to remember the tribbles, captain.” But then Spock pursed his lips before saying, “Ashayam.” Kirk did his best to type it phonetically on his padd.
“And what does that mean?”
“Beloved,” Spock said after a beat, so gently that Kirk looked up at him in surprise. Spock looked away from him to stab a piece of fruit with a fork.
“I had a hunch that Vulcans were secret romantics,” Kirk said, and underlined the word. “Do you have a preference for what I’ll call you?”
“No,” Spock said.
“Careful. If you don’t choose something I’ll choose it for you.”
“As you wish, captain,” Spock said.
“That’s another thing. You’re going to have to call me Jim sometimes.”
“I do call you Jim.”
“In public.”
Kirk laughed out loud at Spock’s expression of dismay. Step three was allowing the crew to see how much time they actually spent together.
“I do not understand. We share most meals, work together, and frequently play chess in each others’ quarters. What else is necessary to convince the crew?” Spock’s second cup of tea was cooling on the table in front of him, and he rotated it in his hands.
“They know it, but they don’t see it.”
“Clarify.”
“Sure, they see us spend time together, but they just assume we’re friends. And we are, of course, but now we need to draw their attention to it so that they think something else is going on.”
“You intend to intentionally provoke the human propensity for gossip.”
“I sure do,” Jim said cheerfully. “As bridge crew, we’re hot topics most of the time. If two of us were to accidentally let it slip that we’d been secretly dating for years, it would spread like wildfire.”
If Spock were less controlled, Kirk thought that he’d be rolling his eyes at him. As it was, he sighed quietly through his nose and took a sip of tea. Kirk drained his own coffee and slid it to the side.
“Then, after the groundwork is laid, we’ll announce our wedding.”
“You desire an official wedding?”
“Yes,” Kirk said, affronted. “We’re going to have to submit the paperwork regardless. At least if we have a wedding we’ll have a reason to throw a party.”
“Fascinating,” Spock said, in a tone that implied that he would rather walk out an airlock.
“It’ll be fun, it will be good for morale and therefore performance, and it will ensure that the whole crew bears witness to us being genuinely married. Perfectly logical.”
“As you say, captain,” Spock said. Then he paused, brown eyes scanning Kirk, before saying, “I understand that human beings do not like to keep secrets from their closest friends.”
“There are caveats, but that’s mostly true,” Kirk said. “Why do you bring it up?”
“I believe it would be beneficial to you to inform Dr. McCoy of the truth,” Spock said. He watched Kirk over the rim of his teacup. A little knot of worry that Kirk had been ignoring resolved in his stomach.
“It would be,” Kirk said immediately. “I do want to tell Bones. Do you want someone to tell?”
Spock considered, as Kirk continued to type ideas on his padd, before saying, “I would like to tell Nyota the truth.”
“Oh, that’s perfect!”
“Indeed?”
“She knows everything that goes on on this ship,” Kirk said. “She can help us keep track of if people are convinced or not.”
“It seems you have considered every strategic angle,” Spock said, and held his hand out. Kirk stared at it--- the smooth, dry palm with its faint green lines, the long fingers--- and then back up at Spock.
“I thought holding hands was highly intimate for Vulcans,” he said, a little shocked.
“Your padd, captain.”
Immediately relieved and slightly embarrassed, he handed it over. Spock flipped it around to look at his charts and notes, and Kirk was gratified by the impressed eyebrow twitch.
“You would have made a formidable politician, captain. Or perhaps a novelist.”
“Then it’s settled,” Kirk said, and with his padd out of the way pulled a now-cold breakfast sandwich towards him. “We’ll tell Uhura and Bones, we’ll start to flirt and be a couple in public, and then we’ll get married.”
“And then we will submit the paperwork.”
“Sure, baby, whatever you want.”
Spock’s indignant expression at being called ‘baby’ was worth almost choking on his breakfast.
#spirk#spock#kirk#my writing#tos#k/s fan fiction#kirk/spock fan fiction#star trek the original series fan fiction#fake married
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17 for all (or just the main ones) and 9 for paris 👀
Choosing violence, I see. ;) Let's start with nine lol and go from there.
Have you tweaked the character from canon? If so, what did you tweak?
Hmm... it feels weird to say "the way he earnestly leans on the divine" both for when it comes to Helen and his faith in that things will turn out right at least initially, war-wise, since we don't have any surviving material that reveals what arguments Paris might have used for himself. But if I have done any big, obvious tweaks, it's probably this.
Like yes, it's at least a little an excuse for him, but also, it has been really interesting to have him earnestly believe that the divine influence and gods involved means he has, if not not done wrong, then done it with more understandable reason, and that they (Troy) will surely be fine because they do still have divine protection.
It works out very well together with his general carefree and light personality/attitude.
Are there any ships you can’t stand, why?
All righty. I'm going to put this under a cut because it'll get long lol
Ganymede: he doesn't really have any other big ships... I guess the closest would be Hera/Ganymede which I have seen at least once. Aside from how it's definitely been from a "oh, look at them ditch the bad man in their lives and sticking it to him ~together~" or whatever, I definitely... kind of hc Ganymede as way, way too gay for him to ever, ever think of this as a possibility. Never mind that she, you know. Very intently set about destroying his home and family.
(Bonus: dark and non-con takes on Zeus/Ganymede. Like. I know why people would interpret it in that way, but I just seriously can't stand it. It's just upsetting, because it goes out of the way to put someone who is completely powerless in a never-ending misery. Aside from that I'm not at all into angst in that manner, part of the point of the fun for me with this ship is that Ganymede, otherwise powerless, gains a whole lot of power exactly because he is loved.)
Paris: ... :') People don't really like Paris enough for there to be any ships to be annoyed by lol Except for Paris being used as an obstacle in Achilles/Patroclus, but he gets that less than Hektor does. Otherwise, the closest would be is that 99% of the Helen/Paris stuff on AO3 is negative in a way that isn't even interesting.
To a lesser degree, I guess, Oenone/Paris. But only because of the way it's hammered home he ~abandoned her~ and I'm like. She's a nymph. She doesn't need him in any way a mortal woman might. It's definitely sad to be left by someone you still love, but even if they were, by mortal standards, recognized as married, divorce exists and like. She would have married a teenager while undoubtedly having lived for longer than he has. I don't care about that, but expecting a forever-love from that... (She also definitely is the one with the power between them.)
Adonis: Persephone/Adonis, because I do have some lines in the sand and "woman raising this child as her son and then becoming sexually interested in him" is just... over that line for me lol. Besides, them as purely familial mother&son and Persephone still not wanting to give him up to Aphrodite is much more interesting and fun! (You get fun parallels with Demeter&Persephone that way!)
Angelos: ... girl doesn't have any ships! She doesn't even exist in the same way people have made Makaria exist, fandom-wise! But theoretically, since I hc her as a lesbian, seeing het ships with her would displease me.
Antilochus: ... doesn't really have any ships either. I think what would really piss me off would be making any potential Achilles/Antilochus(/Patroclus) about Patroclus instead (as I just saw a fic imply it was, even when it wasn't even an Achilles/Antilochus ship fic).
Hermaphroditus: The same as above. Buut, honestly Hermaphroditus/Salmacis would just skeeve me out. If one goes with Ovid's version (as my Hermaphroditus does not) she is attempting to assault someone who wants nothing to do with her!
Penthesilea: Oh, this one's easy. Achilles/Penthesilea. Hate any iteration of this, especially when it's not just presented as mutual but her pursuing him. Fuck off about that now. What we have canon-wise is Achilles falling in love/lust with an already-dead woman, no indication of what SHE feels about it. And why would she even be interested in him, anyway??
Teucer: Nothing here, really!
Achilles: ... All right. Achilles/Patroclus, but only because of what fandom and this ship's fans have done with the ship, the characters, and everyone else when it comes to their ship and these characters. It being a juggernaut is just frustrating, but how literally EVERYTHING is made to be about these two, that they are ~the most~ tragic and their story is ~the most~ saddest is like nails on chalk-board.
Trojan characters are used as props for this ship, especially Hector who gets pulled in as a handy "third party interested in one of the two", or, in modern AUs, used as a fucking murderer in weird versions of Patroclus' Iliad death.
Dryope and Sinope: Like several others in this list, there's no ships, really. The only thing, I guess, would be for Dryope to be in some sort of tragic love with Apollo, mostly because the version of her story I go with, Apollo and the son she has by him is a byword, at most. It's her nymph companions that are far more important!
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Written for @tarlosweeklyprompts prompt of the day: Love
Aimée (AO3)
Aimée is pronounced kind of like "eh-may" and it's French for beloved. So yes I cheated a little with today's prompt.
----
"Dude, if that husband of yours doesn't get here soon, we're starting without him." Nancy said, before popping a chip in her mouth.
"Carlos is always very punctual. It's annoying." Iris commented.
It was the first official 126 hang after they got married a few months ago, and the first they invited Iris to.
TK liked her now he'd gotten to know her better. She'd been Carlos' best person at the wedding and they'd discovered she and TK had a very similar sense of humour.
They'd joked about Carlos having a type and the blushing stammering mess he'd turned into had made TK fall in love with him even more.
"Maybe he got kidnapped again." Mateo suggested, earning him a glare from just about everyone in the room. "What? It's possible!"
"Carlos did not get kidnapped, ok?" TK insisted, though the thought was always in the back of his mind whenever Carlos was home later than planned. "I'm sure he's just running late. I'll call him again."
He pulled up Carlos' contact and hit call, thankful it actually rang and didn't go straight to voicemail.
"Hey baby." Carlos answered after what seemed like hours.
"Baby where are you? We're all waiting for you."
"Put him on speaker." Nancy insisted and TK did as she asked. "Reyes if you're not here in 10 minutes we're starting without you and eating all of your chips."
"You always do that already anyway." Carlos deadpanned. "I'm just walking out the door now. I'll be home in 20 minutes. 25 tops."
TK frowned at his phone.
"The station is only 15 minutes away. Where are you coming from?"
"Lexi's place. She uh... had something for me I had to pick up. Something I needed."
"Like what?"
"Just... stuff. I have to go. I'll be home soon. I love you."
"We love you too, Carlos!" Mateo called out, making the rest of the gang laugh.
"I don't think he was talking to you." Iris pointed out. "He's not married to you, he's married to TK. He is TK's heart. He told me himself."
"I know, I was just joking. Though I guess I do love him? As a friend I mean. He is one of my best friends."
TK tuned the rest of the conversation out and continued to stare at his phone. He opened his text thread with Carlos and typed and deleted similar versions of the same text a few times.
"You ok bud?" Nancy was standing next to him and he realised he hadn't even noticed her getting up.
"Yeah... No... I just... He's lying to me." TK stammered. "Not even three months into our marriage and he's lying to me."
"You don't know that. Let's talk this through. Who is Lexi? Is that someone he works with?"
"Yeah... she's his partner. They've worked together for years. She was at the wedding. She danced with Marj."
"Ok. Do you have her number?"
"Yeah... but I can't just call her."
"Why not?"
"Because... she'll tell him and he'll think I'm checking up on him because I don't trust him."
"Isn't that exactly the case?"
"No. I trust him with my life." TK vowed.
"But...?" Nancy prompted.
"But... I can't help but think about the last time he told me he was going somewhere and then he ended up bound and gagged and drugged in a serial killer's kitchen."
"So, just call her and tell her you're worried."
"No... I can't."
"Just do it dude. I came here to have fun with my friends, not to watch you mope around all night."
"I'm not moping!" TK protested and Nancy just raised an eyebrow at him in reply. "I'm just... worried. Paranoid?"
"Oh you're definitely paranoid, but if you don't call that Lexi person, I will."
TK rolled his eyes but knew her well enough to know she would take his phone and call Lexi. He pulled up her number and hit call.
She answered almost right away, as if she'd been waiting for the call.
"Hey TK."
"Lexi, hi, sorry for disturbing you but uhm... is Carlos with you?"
"No he left about 10 minutes ago. Didn't he call you?"
"No he did, he did... I was just... I don't know... I didn't know he was going anywhere after his shift."
"It was kind of a last minute thing. But I promise you he was in one piece when he left here and he was going straight home."
"Right. Ok. Sorry for bothering you..."
"It's fine. I'd be worried too after what he got himself caught up in last time he was home late." Lexi told him, sounding like she'd rehearsed the line or at least already repeated it a few times.
"Yeah... I just don't want to be a widower before we even make it to three months."
"Don't worry, he's fine. He's kind of a dumbass but he's fine."
"A dumbass? Why? What did he do? What happened?"
"He made me promise not to say anything... but you have absolutely nothing to worry about. You'll see when he gets home."
"Right..."
"If it was something bad I would have told you, TK. You're my friend too and stupidity does not trump loyalty."
TK smiled.
"Alright. Have a good night Lexi."
"Thanks. You too. And when your husband gets home, please call him an idiot from me."
TK promised he would and they ended the call.
"See? Nothing to worry about." Nancy said. "He's probably picking up some kind of anniversary present for you. You two are the kind of people who would celebrate your wedding anniversary every month."
TK bit his lip, knowing she was right but not wanting to admit it.
They rejoined the rest of the group and TK did his best to try and keep up with the conversations around him, but his mind kept drifting to Carlos.
About ten minutes later his phone rang and Carlos' name flashed up on the screen.
"Oh gross, you have him as husband ❤ in your phone?" Nancy commented after glancing at his phone screen.
"Shut up." TK mumbled before answering the call. "Carlos? Where are you?"
"Coming up in the elevator right now. Do you want to meet me in the hallway?"
"What? Why?"
"There's something you need to see before I come into the house."
"Why are you being so secretive? What did you do?"
"Did you get his name tattooed across your heart, Carlos?" Nancy yelled over TK's shoulder, who shoved her away as he got up. "What makes you think he doesn't already have that? And that it's across his heart and not somewhere else?"
Nancy made a disgusted face and everyone laughed as TK went to slide open the door.
He was confused for a minute until he saw Carlos coming around the corner. And he wasn't alone.
"Oh my god. Hi you!" he dropped to his knees. "Who are you? What is your name?"
"Her name is Aimée. It means beloved in French. She needed a place to stay for a while."
"Oh really? Are you coming to stay with me and Carlos? Do you want to come to work with me tomorrow? Or are you going with Carlos? Oh am I getting kisses? You are so sweet! Yes you are!"
"Did you buy a dog?" Iris asked. The whole gang had gathered in the hallway where TK was currently being licked to death by a very affectionate brown and white pitbull.
"No, I just kind of took some work home with me." Carlos told her. "She's a K9 officer. A police dog. Only her handler got shot and she needed someone to look after her while he recovers." he explained when the look on her face told him she didn't understand.
"They just let you take police dogs home with you? I have the wrong job." Mateo commented and bent down to greet the dog who had noticed the other humans and their cuddle potential.
"Not exactly. But her handler is one of my training officers from when I first joined the force as a rookie. He asked me to take her while he's out of action."
"But why the lying and the secrets?" TK asked, letting Carlos pull him to his feet and greet him with a kiss.
"You know the dog just licked his face, right?" Iris asked, looking mildly disgusted, and Carlos just about managed to stop TK from making a comment about Carlos having had 'worse' things in his mouth than a little doggy drool.
"That's ok. I don't mind." he said quickly.
"You really love him don't you?" She asked, still not over the kiss she'd just witnessed. "I mean I love you and I love Dylan... and I love dogs too... but I wouldn't kiss one."
"Well that's where we're different." Carlos said with a grin and kissed TK again for emphasis. "Wait, who is Dylan?"
"My boyfriend." Iris said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Keep up babe." TK patted his chest and focused on the dog again. "Aimée come here girl. Come."
"She's very sweet and well behaved when she's off duty. Well on duty too. I got some of her stuff from the station but her food and everything is at Frank's place and he lives on the other side of the city... So I just borrowed some stuff from Lexi from her dog." Carlos explained. "That's why I was at her place."
"So why was she calling you a dumbass?" Nancy asked.
"I wanted to surprise TK... she told me not to because of what happened last time I wasn't honest about where I was going..."
"She was right. I was worried when you were being all weird. And you're a terrible liar." TK told him. "But you're kind of cute so I think I'll keep you around." he joked and bent down to pick up Aimée's lead and took her into the loft, Carlos and the rest of the gang following behind.
TK made a beeline for the fridge to find a snack for Aimée, all while talking to the dog and calling her the best girl over and over.
"I've got treats and food for her in this bag." Carlos said, holding up a plastic bag. "And her bed and favourite toy are in the car."
"Didn't you say her handler got shot today?"
"Yeah..."
"That means she got shot at. So she had a rough day and deserves a special treat." TK reasoned and fed her some bits of sausage.
"Are you seriously feeding her the Kosher sausages you bought for your mom?"
"I didn't think dogs had to eat Kosher? Are dogs Jewish?" Iris commented, starting a whole debate between her and Mateo on how dogs fit into religion.
"She'll understand. And we can always pick up some more before they all come down next week. Or we'll just take her out to dinner somewhere." TK shrugged and held up his hand in front of Aimée's face. "Can you high five?"
"That's not exactly the kind of thing she's been trained to do, babe."
"That's ok. We can work on that."
Carlos watched TK explain high fives to the dog by taking her paw and touching his hand with it and feeding her sausage afterwards.
"You know you're going to have to transfer to the K9 unit now, right?" Paul asked and patted him on the back.
Carlos just laughed and thought of the transfer request paperwork he'd filled in after he got back from hospital and had picked Aimée up from the kennel. He'd tell TK about that later. When he's sure his request has been approved. And Aimée is officially theirs.
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for the one-word writing prompts!
“unforeseen” for hunter x albert pls? (lmk if i didn’t do this right 😭)
Thanks for sending this one in! It's been sitting in my drafts for a while, but I didn't feel confident until posting about it until now. Also, gonna tag @sstewyhosseini. (I hope it's okay that I'm tagging you; I just know that you like them.)
[Prompt List]
Summary: On a mission in a tiny mountain town, Wesker encounters an unforseen complication, BSAA Captain Hunter Delaney.
More of the BSAA Agent! Hunter AU.
Words: 1053 words.
Content Warnings: Canon Typical Violence. Mentions of Death and infection.
AO3
The cold winter winds howl through the tiny, remote town, yet Wesker is unbothered by the frigid air. Ever since his rebirth, he no longer feels the sting of the cold or heat, a benefit on missions like these. The winds blow again, catching the tail of his black wool coat, fluttering in the wind. He moves forward in the snow with purpose, the frozen, white ground crunching beneath his feet. Wesker does not worry about being seen; most of the town’s inhabitants are dead or infected. They prove no threat, clearly the products of rudimentary science. He already thinks of the way the virus could be improved, perfected.
“Captain,” Wesker raises a blonde eyebrow at the sound of the unknown woman’s voice, “Do you think we’ll find anyone alive?”
“Unlikely, Natasha,” the ‘Captain’ replies as Wesker ducks into an empty house. He stays close to the window, allowing him to listen and catch a glimpse of the possible annoyances. “I think we’ve stumbled upon a fucking ghost town.”
“Don’t know that I would describe these as ghosts…” A man replies, cheekily.
“Really, Patrick?” Another man chimes in, his voice deadly serious.
“Oh, come on Arthur,” Patrick whines, “We need a little humor in this situation. What do you think, Kevin?”
“Uhhh…,” Another team member says, presumably ‘Kevin’, glancing between two members as the group moves into his field of view, “Shouldn’t we focus on the mission?” Glancing out the window, Wesker makes out a group of five: three men, one woman, and another person. While observing the group, Wesker spies a familiar emblem, gritting his teeth. The BSAA…. an eternal thorn in his side. Or rather, Christopher and Jill were a thorn in his side, the rest of the BSAA too weak and ineffective to deal with someone like Wesker. The only reason Christopher and Jill even presented a threat was due to his training, during their S.T.A.R.S. days. If anything, the BSAA only gave Christopher and Jill more chances to annoy him.
“Wait,” one of the members seems concerned, the Captain by the sounds of it, as they sniff the air, “I smell someone.”
“That isn’t freaky at all,” ‘Patrick’ mumbles under his breath.
“Do they smell infected?” ‘Arthur’ asks, as the other members raise their guns, preparing for an attack.
“I….,” The Captain sounds unsure, sniffing the air again, “I don’t know. I smell cologne, and the scent of something else. Can’t put my finger on it.” They sniff again, smirking as they add, “Also, I smell shitty body spray. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Patrick, are you trying to fucking kill us with that shit?”
“Hey!” Patrick exclaims, slightly hurt as Kevin laughs beside him.
“I think he’s trying chemical warfare on the zombies, and we’re just caught in the cross fire,” Natasha teases in while Arthur shakes his head.
“Can you smell anything else?” Arthur asks, trying to get the group back on track.
The Captain sniffs again. “Nothing else besides what we’ve already encountered.” Fascinating. He glances out the window, locking on the Captain’s figure, broad-shouldered and tall. Jet black hair falls to their shoulders in shaggy waves, and their skin is deathly pale, covered in freckles. Wesker notes the long scar across the bridge of their nose and another large, jagged scar on their lip. He briefly wonders how the Captain came to be so scarred. Bioweapons, perhaps? Most didn’t escape without physical or emotional scars. “Listen, come on out. We’re not here to hurt you; we’re here to help you.” As a show of good faith, the Captain holsters their rifle, holding up their hands to show them as empty. How could Wesker resist when the Captain was asking so sweetly?
He opens the red door, all guns training on him as it creaks open. Stepping forward, He meets the Captain’s eyes, delighted by the muted green color and the hint of something darker that dwells within. Stopping several feet away, Wesker smirks. “The BSAA…What brings an organization like you out here to this little village?”
The Captain and Arthur share concerned glances. “There’s been an outbreak in this village. Would you know anything about that…?” The Captain is fishing for his name, but they’re going to have to do better than that.
“An infection,” He plays innocent, his voice thoughtful, “I would not know anything about that, Captain….”
“Hunter Delaney.” How fascinating. Ironic that the captain of a BSAA squad should share a name with one of Umbrella’s infamous creations. He lets out a low chuckle as they raise a black eyebrow, confusion clear on their face. “Is something funny?”
“No, Hunter,” He enjoys the way their name sounds, enjoying, even more, the slight shiver that runs over Hunter, “Nothing funny at all.”
Hunter’s eyes narrow, staring into his black sunglasses as if they’ll find the answers hidden there. A moment later, their eyes widen in horror as recognition dawns on them. Hunter steps closer to him, placing themself between Wesker and their team. “Arthur, take the team and go. I’ll catch up with you later.” Do Christopher and Jill tell tall tales about their dear old captain? Is Wesker the boogeyman that looms large over the BSAA?
Arthur nods, motioning for the team to follow his lead. Sighing, Wesker cannot allow any of them to leave. What a shame. He was having such a nice time talking with Hunter, and now, it’s all over. He dashes forward towards Hunter, a black blur against the stark white snow. As he reaches them, his hand stretches toward the collar of their olive-green jacket, preparing to toss Hunter about. Maybe, he’ll make them watch their teammates die, before having a little fun with them.
Hunter sidesteps him, far quicker than any human could, before throwing a punch with their left fist. They connect with his stomach, knocking Wesker backward and just barely knocking the wind out of him. Landing on the snow, his sunglasses fall away, and several strands of blonde hair come loose. Quickly getting up to his feet, Wesker finds Hunter smirking at him, ready for the next attack. “That all you fucking got, asshole?”
Excitement floods Wesker, now extremely curious about Hunter Delaney. What an unforeseen, yet interesting complication. “You have no idea what I’m capable of, Hunter. Perhaps, a demonstration is in order.”
#Kate writes#the hunter fic tag#Hunter Delaney#OTP: Love Me Mercilessly#Resident Evil OC#RE OC#Biohazard OC#Albert Wesker x OC#albert wesker#I guess you could call this Hunter and Wesker's first meeting#and in every universe Hunter is destined to think he is an asshole upon first impression#I should probably point out that one of Hunter's abilities is enhanced senses which is both a blessing and a curse#Also this was supposed to be short-like 100 to 200 words#and uh this one kind of got out of control#anyway enjoy Wesker being an asshole and Hunter being thoroughly unimpressed#it was also nice to write Hunter getting along with their team#and not their main universe where everything is kinda shit from the start
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☆•☆•☆
Seamless
@tropetember #5: famous au
outlast trials ♡ mother gooseberry ♡ prerelationship ♡ second person pov ♡ ofc ♡ ao3
Saying you are nervous would be an understatement. That's all right, you're not saying anything and no one is asking anyway. The questions will come later and you cannot wait to detail today's design with its accessories. You are great at your job, which should be no surprise given how much you like it. And how much you like her.
Phyllis Futterman is a lot of things; a successful TV host, a functional addict and the best employer you've had in your life. More importantly, though, she's your own personal nightmare today. Strongwilled, eclectic and with no regard for your education or skill in dressmaking, these wardrobe sessions are something you've come to look forward to as much as you dread them. You don't often get to rant on about fashion like this and she makes for an attentive, if often critical, audience. It's intense enough when you do this at the studio, surrounded by the rest of the team, and this is the first time she's coming to the newly acquired atelier. Your newly acquired atelier, because that's how good the show is going. It's, of course, in the corporation's name; but she's given you free range to set up shop. When she does things like this you think she might have a sliver of professional respect for you. As she gave you the news, though, she'd offered to get at least part time staff, in case you found it overwhelming, eyes glinting patronisingly. Of course you raised to the bait, biting out the type of reply that has her wondering why would anyone ever think Brits are polite outloud.
As she rushes in today clad in one of your works, a side smile breaks through when you see her despite yourself. You do good work. She wears it even better. You serve an early tea while showing her your sketches, and she's vocal about both your hits and what she considers your misses. She objects vehemently to a tulip sleeved new look dress the colour of gooseberries.
'That green is nasty.'
'It pairs well with the red in the headpiece, it's simple colour theory!'
'Gooseberry?' she leans over your notes. 'I didn't take you for the literal type.'
'I figured Americans like slapstick so much, let's not bother with any intricate symbolism.'
'It's too muted for a kid's show.'
Her voice is calm, refusing to acknowledge your words, and she is, ultimately, right. Maybe that's why you're spitting mad about it. Then again, it's always been easy for her to get a raise out of you. She turns the pages while you sulkily pour yourself more tea, and examine her expression from the corner of your eye. She's got such a commanding presence it's hard not to be put off when she dislikes something you've invested so much time into. You've been having fourteen hour days, trying to get the workshop together in record time all by yourself. And you do want her recognition. She's a remarkable artist and her show is on the rise, fresh off the war. Would it kill her to reciprocate an ounce of the regard you hold for her, as an entrepreneur? Unaware of your thoughts, she continues to flip through the lookbook. Or not.
'Don't pout. It's just the business'
'I'm not.'
'Brat.'
That catches you by surprise so much the scowl you give is only halfhearted. But it shouldn't, really. She's prone to flying into character, specially when you're working on this.
'Your pretty mouth in your pretty face would make a pretty smile.' She says, singsongy.
You huff, not as annoyed as you should be, and make a point of showing as many of your teeth as you can, lips tight in an unnatural expression. She shakes her head, amused. 'Are you serious, about the pants in a children's show?'
'Well, if it's all bad you can set it aflame.' you give a disinterested shrug. But you were, and tried to make them as feminine as possible to get around that.
She gets up and for a second you're sure you've finally exasperated her. It's a thrilling thought; part of you has been working for it since the job interview. Part of you is devastated. But she doesn't make to start a fire, or stalk out of the room like anyone should after almost an hour of your attitude. She sits down next to you, and you feel your breath hitch.
'Do you know why I hired you?'
You look down, unable to stop an embarrased flush from rising on your face. Shake your head once. And the truth is you don't. You've got a difficult personality, no American accreditations and a penchant for last decade's fashion. An ugly weight sets on your throat, and she forces you to look at her with a firm hand under your chin. You should get up and walk away, because otherwise you might start crying, and that's gonna make the rest of your antics look incredibly professional by comparison.
'Words.'
'No, I don't.' Your voice is clipped but even.
'You couldn't stop arguing with me during our meeting, and I knew you'd bring me designs I'd hate.' You try to look away, but she brings her other hand up, holding you with more strength than you expected. 'I knew you'd make clothes that had no place in this line of business.'
'I'm-' you hate apologising, but the truth is you're quite argumentative. 'I'm sorry.'
'If I wanted you to be sorry I wouldn't have hired you.'
'What?'
'You have ideas, ideas that anyone would dismiss as improbable, but you're set on them. I wanted to know how far you'd go I still do.' She sighs, resembling a weary mother so much it might make you cry had you had one. 'And of course I don't think it's all bad.'
You close your eyes, and manage to even out your breath. You don't know how to thank her, or for what even, so you deflect. 'So,' your voice is raspy now and you clear your throat before continuing. 'So what you said about the green...?'
'Awful.' Despite that, she looks fond as she shakes her head, releases you. Can't win them all, you figure. 'Terrible. Now, are you going to show me the dummies, or what have you even been doing here all week?'
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Resurrected? -Chapter 6
he team is on a routine mission when Phantom gets blasted by one of the goons wielding experimental tech. Unable to keep his ghost form intact he transforms back into his human form. Causing the rest of his teammates to think the beam had somehow brought him back to life!
The team starts to try to protect Danny and make sure he doesn’t die again, always checking around every corner for a possible threat. How long will he last?
Wattpad: Here. FF: Here. Ao3: Here.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
---
OH MY GOSH, GUYS, @2000dragonarmy made this amazing fanart of Conner and annoyed Danny.
I love it so much!<3 I almost fell off my chair when I saw it, It is so amazing thank you! You guys should check them out XD
Fanart <3
---
The Mall, a place where teens hang out on a daily basis. They go shopping, hang out with their friends, and eat food at the food court. And also apparently a place where Danny needs to be shown the joys of the human world so he doesn't kill himself again, or something. Why the place of the peak of humanity is a mall Danny would have no idea.
Danny glances around at the team surrounding him as they walk towards the only mall in Happy Harbor. Conner had put him down a little after Danny's second escape attempt. He keeps carrying him around like a little kitten and it is getting on Danny's nerves.
And now it seems like they have made a protective barrier around him. Some on the sides, behind, and in front of him. Whether it was on purpose or not, it was getting really annoying.
He is not some child! Even if all the other ghosts call him that. Honestly, he is very responsible for his two-years-dead age. He has been able to fight some of the most powerful beings in the zone and won, on multiple occasions!
Others say he could probably beat Superman if he tried. But nooooooooo, his very fragile human body can keel over at any minute. For crying out loud half of this team is human! Or at the very least close to the fact. He rolled his eyes.
He just needs to figure something out. Maybe he could convince one of the ghosts to come over and 'kill' him or something. (not really, but they could make it look real enough). And he is sure there would be a bunch who would be happy to do it. But he doesn't want to traumatize his new friends and team by having him murdered in front of them.
He still doesn't even know if he could transform at this point. He is pretty sure he can, he could feel his core thrumming angrily in his chest at the prospect of being protected and not being the protector. But he still needs to check, just to be sure.
He still feels very weak after that blast, and it doesn't seem normal. Now he just needs to get away from his babysitters for one minute. That's if he could get past an entire SUPER HERO TEAM that is guarding him right now from stubbing his toe.
There was a blur next to him and an arm wrapped around his shoulders. "Come on stop moping around Phantom," Wally said.
"What am I supposed to do? I feel like you guys would get creeped out if I walked around with a bright smile on my face at this point." Danny raised an eyebrow at the speedster.
Artemis bumped his shoulder. "Come on, we are just going to hang out like we normally do, only this time it's at a mall instead of a cave."
"A very homey cave!" Megan butted in, a cheery smile on her face. "And I have only managed to convince Conner to come to the mall with me once before, so this is going to be great. And we can get you some new clothes too!"
Danny grimaced. "I'm wearing clothes already, why do I need new ones?"
"That's the same thing Conner always says." Megan pouted. "You only wore black and white before, and the clothes you are wearing don't match your eyes now. The red doesn't work."
Danny looked down at the clothes he was wearing, it was normal for his human form. His red and white T-shirt and his dark blue jeans. He raised his eyebrow up at the Martian. "But red's my favorite colour."
Robin perked up. "I thought you said it was blue?"
Danny shrugged. "It changes."
"Come on Phantom, Please just let me pick out oneeeee outfit. Only one, I promise." Megan pleaded. Danny looked at her eyes which was a mistake. How were they so big? Probably using a bit of shape-shifting or something. She probably learned the begging tactic from Wally asking for cookies.
"Fine, okay. Just one."
Wally leaned over to him clapping his hand on his shoulder. "Rest in peace man."
Danny grumbled. "That was supposed to be the plan."
Wally chuckled nervously and sped over to his best friend who was closer to the front. He wrapped his arm around Robin's shoulders. The redhead was taller than the acrobat so it was easy. He leaned down to Robin. "You think your old man would be open to adopting another kid who also has a death wish and wants to fight crime?" Danny tilted his head to the side at Wally's comment. He still had some of his enhanced hearing.
He didn't see what expression Robin made, but he kind of shrugged. "I doubt it, I think I was a one-time only thing. B's not much of a kid person. I would be very surprised to see him adopt another one."
"But he looks just like you. Black hair blue eyes."
Robin tilted his head up to Wally. "What would that have to do with anything?"
The speedster waved him off. "Ah fine. I'll figure something else out then. Maybe I can talk to uncle Bary." He put his hand on his chin.
"What? You trying to get him adopted or something?"
Wally threw his hand to the side. "Someone needs to take care of our baby."
Danny ran his hand down his face with a groan.
---
Notes
Beta read by: BrokenBlueHeart
Head cannon, Danny Fenton's favorite colour is Red while Phantom's favorite colour is blue. They don't know why, it's just a slight personality difference.
Thank you all so much for all of your amazing comments on this story, you guys give me so much inspiration and I am always so overjoyed when I read your thoughts on this story! If there are any scenarios that you want to see in the future please comment them! I was stuck with some writer's block for this that's why it took so long to update. I love ya’ll :3
I also hope I didn't get anyone too out of character but we will see, I was kinda having an off time with Megan. But then again this is supposed to be a crack fic, So...
---
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
#Danny Phantom#Young Justice#crack#ao3#fanart#fanfic#crossover#danny fenton#dick grayson#young justice team#artemis#Wally West#poor danny#crack fic#I love this so much#give the boy a break#halfa#ghost identiy gone wrong#robin#danny is a little anoyed kitten and I am living for it#or should I say dying#Conner my beloved
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the last one
wordcount: 1.6K
tags: kinktober 2023, loss of virginity, handjobs, biting, body image, friends with benefits, kenny "its not gay if its with homies" mccormick
synopsis: Kenny might be a little bit of a slut, he might even be trying to quit- but who is he to give up a chance of taking Cartmans virginity?
note: written for kinktober 2023, back when i was full swing into SP, good times, good times. kenman makes me feel all sorts of crazy things and i could go on for hours, but I hope ya'll enjoy and if ya do consider dropping a like or checking the Ao3 port.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/50260609
"She dumped me Kenny," Cartman whined as he slumped back on his mattress.
"Sucks for you bro," Kenny answered with, "How long did this one last?"
"Four dates, and she called me up to a pizza place, let me order and pay, and once we were done, she dumped me! The absolute bitch!" Cartman exclaimed, agitation heavy on his voice, "And that's not even the worst part."
"What's the worst part?" Kenny asked, stretching his arms over his head as he spoke.
"She was going to suck my balls tonight Kenny, I waited all week long for us to get it on," Cartman explained, "And it never happened and to this day, I've still never fucked."
"Skill issue," Was Kennys unfiltered response.
"Fuck you Kenny! It's not like you've gotten anything other than Jew ass!" Cartman spat venomously.
Kenny gave a warm chuckle, "Believe me, I've gotten more ass than humanly possible."
"But you've been in a relationship with Kyle since grade twelve," Cartman said.
"It's an open deal. We just gotta let each other know the day before or after, it's nice really," Kenny said, "Not much he can do to stop me from fucking Damien when I'm dead anyways."
"You've fucked the son of Satan?" Cartman asked incredulously.
Kenny nodded, "Worst bottom ever."
"I still doubt you've gotten that much ass," Cartman said with an annoyed huff.
"I've fucked Kyle. I've fucked Damien. Me 'n Butters were a side deal during my rough patch with Kyle. I've fucked with Tweek. I've been fucked by Wendy, insane strap game," Kenny said, sounding more proud than anything else about his conquests. He raised a finger for each one and wore a cocky smirk, "Me and Craig 'experimented' before I was with Kyle. Bebe as well. Can't forget about Clyde, he actually bottoms. I've fucked Pip. And I'd say that's about it."
"What about Stan?" Cartman asked boldly.
Kenny gave a hum, "That's Kyles business, but I usually play bottom if I'm invited in. It happens a lot when he gets dumped by Wendy."
Cartman could only stare in shock.
"And that leaves you as the only one whose immune to the McCormick charm," Kenny said, wearing a smirk as he pressed a finger to Cartmans chest. He trailed his fingers to the top button of his friends shirt, "And I would say your girlfriend is missing out, but I don't have enough to go off of."
Cartman swatted away Kennys hand, "Dude, unlike you, I'm not a queer."
"Who said fucking your best friend would make you gay?" Kenny said, dutifully tacking on, "No homo bro."
"You wouldn't be interested in what I want," Cartman got out, almost shamefully. He's usually willing to push his friendships, push them to the breaking point.
But Kenny?
He refuses to lose Kenny.
"What is it then?" Kenny asked, raising a brow, "Piss play? Bondage? Asphyxiation? Pet play? Docking? Daddy kink? Electrocution? Force fem? Got any fucked up toys under your bed?"
Cartman had to refrain from just staring in silence, "Kenny what the fuck?"
"I'll try anything once," Kenny said, rearing back from Cartman, hands raised in surrender. He waited for an answer, "What is it then?"
"I just, I would want you to do the work," Cartman got out quietly, "Which is stupid, believe me, I know. But, that's what I'd want."
"Ah, so you're a pillow princess," Kenny accused accurately. With the visceral red on Cartmans face and his instant stutter reaction Kenny knew he hit the nail on the head.
"A-Am not!" Cartman spat defensively.
"Are too," Kenny said calmly, "Is there anything else that you want? At all?"
Cartman stayed silent, before choking out a quiet and extremely shameful, "I bought a collar."
"A collar huh?" Kenny questioned.
Cartman nodded.
"That's pretty pedestrian. I thought you'd wanna role play as Hitler or some shit like that," Kenny said nonchalantly, "Now what do you want me to do with this collar? Want me to wear it? Is it yours to wear? Is a leash involved?"
"It's my fucking collar, and I'm not buying a leash," Cartman explained. The stuff was second nature to Kenny, but it was really getting to Cartman, "Why are you so invested in my sexual interests?"
"So we both have fun," Kenny said nonchalantly, "That's it?"
Cartman nodded hesitantly, "That's it."
"So you wanna wear a collar and have me pamper you?" Kenny asked, touching on as many bases as they covered.
"I, I don't wanna wear the collar yet, maybe next time," Cartman answered with cautiously.
Kenny nodded, "Cool, then sit back, strip down, and let Kenny McCormick work his magic."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, we're doing this now?" Cartman asked.
Kenny nodded, inching a little closer to his friend, "I mean, if you want to."
Cartmans hands were at the edge of his shirt in a second, "I do! I just, wow you're eager," His tone is teasing despite the nervousness bubbling under his skin. His shirt slides off his form with ease and he's tactfully undoing the first button on his pants.
Kennys practically vibrating as he watches, "Nice," Was what he said as he stared at his friend, circling him atop the bed on all fours. The springs creaked as he came up behind Cartman, pillow atop bent knees for a buffer of cushioning.
Cartman leaned back into him a bit, "Now what?"
"Well, you just tell me what feels nice," Kenny said with a sly smirk as he tugged off his gloves.
He slid his hands over Cartmans waist and he froze up entirely at the softness of the touch. Kenny didn't stop, sliding callused hands across Cartmans front. He wasn't as fat as he was back in the day, but he was still soft, and the only difference now is that he's a bit self conscious. The more important question is if Kenny actually cares about that- and he really doesn't. He's made it a point to give everyone else a good time so why stop his efforts at Cartman?
He digs his nails, shockingly well kept, into the plush expanse of Cartmans thighs. It draws a whimper from him along with a slight squirm. He pushes himself further back into Kenny as nails draw higher up his thighs.
"Feel good?" Kenny asked softly, resting his chin on Cartmans shoulder.
His friend nodded and gave a choked, "Yeah."
Kenny gave a warm hum, "Glad to hear it," He teased his teeth along Cartmans shoulder, purposefully avoiding where it would be visible. He bit down and sucked bruises into flesh, repeatedly pressing down his teeth as he did so. It drew shaky moans from Cartman, arms falling limp at his sides.
Kenny smirks against skin, reveling in the way hands grasp at his thighs for an anchor to stay grounded in reality. He easily slides a hand along Cartmans length, the full body shudder it elicits is perfection in itself. He keeps his other hand pressed firmly atop a thigh, fingers pushing against skin until he reaches the point where it turns to pain. He releases in an instant and the undeniably hand shaped mark it leaves is just a bit more erotic than it should be.He swipes his thumb over the tip and waits for the words he knows are trapped in his friends throat.
"Kenny," Cartman keened, head falling back on Kennys shoulder.
"Yeah man?" Kenny asked, not stopping his ministrations for even a second. He brought his free hand to rest comfortably at Cartmans waist, sliding fingers up until he could feel the firmness of ribs. He pressed down on the barely cushioned bones, it made his friend squirm as blunted nails pushed where there was gaps between bones.
There's a gasp before he can get enough oxygen in his lungs to speak, "Fuck you."
Kenny gives a warm chuckle, deep and reverberating in his chest, he knows the vibrations hit Cartman with their forms pressed flush against each other. He draws his hands higher up until he swiftly slides the back of his nails across Cartmans throat, it draws an amazing sound from him.
Kenny smirks, "I'd like to see you fucking try," It's a challenge and with the way climax is creeping up on Cartman he can't muster a snarky response. It amuses Kenny, "You're putty in my hands bro, you couldn't fuck someone even if you wanted too."
Cartman doesn't even bother denying, he leans further back into Kenny and tightens his grip on the smallers thighs. A squeak claws it's way from Kennys throat and he regrets letting it escape with the devious smirk on Cartmans face. He simply counters by just letting go which draws an absolutely pitiful whine from his friend, a weak little call of his name.
"Think twice before touching my thighs then," Kenny warns and Cartman releases his grip entirely, "Good boy."
There's a moan of some sort at the praise, hidden under a horrible attempt to silence it.
"Praise? Knew it," There's a laugh on Kennys voice as he speaks before he presses more bites to Cartmans shoulders and it's just enough to push him over the edge. Before he can cry out Kenny catches him in a kiss, a brief one, just long enough to shut him up and drink up every sound.
Cartman is frozen, his brain feels a bit spotty.
"How was that for you?" Kenny asked tauntingly as he let go of Cartman and pushed himself away.
"I think I'm gay," Cartman groaned out in annoyance.
The laugh it sparks in Kenny is simply angelic.
"Really gay," Cartman tacked on.
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