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ckret2 · 4 months

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Chapter 32 of human Bill is convinced he's the best prisoner ever and does not deserve this abuse from the Pines:

Bill gets his fingernails painted! 💅🌈✨ Look at his fingernails, I drew this week's picture just to show them off. They're fun.

Bill also gets bound to a magic poppet that can control his every move.

It's hilarious for Dipper and Mabel, but not for Bill.

The early morning still was broken by Stan's wails of despair.

At some point during the night, the egg-and-toilet-papering kids had come back to Stan's car.

And they'd brought rocks.

####

Bill woke up with a sheet tossed over him and a cupcake sitting on the window seat. The cupcake was pink with green frosting and decorated like a happy jack-o'-melon. It was sitting on top of a note:

"Sorry I didn't mention I had plans tonight! Robbie's mom made cupcakes for everyone so I grabbed you one. The music video's gonna be AMAZING! I'll show you when Robbie posts it!" Mabel had signed with a shooting star.

Bill decided he hadn't been mad at Mabel last night at all.

He battled gravity to heave himself vertical, trudged downstairs to the bathroom, stuck his face under the faucet until his mouth tasted less like sour sandpaper, agonizingly dragged himself back upstairs to his makeshift bed, and collapsed under the sheet to wait until his head stopped hammering.

####

Sprawled on the living room floor, Mabel said, "What should I draw?"

"Draw me." Bill was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, watching the news and nursing a glass of Mabel juice. In an effort to counteract the lingering queasiness from overdosing on sugar and chocolate, he'd spiked the juice with two ground-up Elderly 60+ Vitaman™ brand Man Vitamins (khaki flavor) stolen from a bottle that Ford had bought for Stan and that Stan forgot to take.

"Okay!" Mabel turned around and squinted up at Bill. "Strike a pose!"

"Not like this!" Bill shoved a hand in Mabel's face to force her to stop looking. "Draw me how I really look."

"Bill, that's illegal. Remember?" Mabel pointed at the TV. Bodacious T was reporting on a child who'd dressed up for Summerween as "that weird out-of-towner who bothered us last year, you know the one," and who, under the Never Mind All That Act, had been fined fifty pieces of candy. The child's mugshot showed his crying face, but blurred out his yellow costume.

"He'd be the coolest kid in town," Bill said, "if he wasn't such a crybaby in front of the cops. Draw me anyway."

"I don't wanna get arrested!"

"Do you see any cops?" Bill grinned. "Just don't sign your name, nobody will know it was you."

Mabel considered that. "I can sign it someone else's name." She pulled out a few crayons.

"That's what I'm talking about! Do anything you want forever and frame the innocent!"

"What do you want me to draw you doing?"

"The coolest thing you can think of."

Mabel considered that, and got to work.

The news was boring now. They were talking about the weather, and it wasn't even interesting weather. "So hey, you were gonna tell me about filming last night?"

"Oh yeah!" Mabel said. "Did I mention the part where the dead rose from their graves?"

Bill muted the TV. "And I missed it?"

Robbie had decided the cemetery at his place would be more atmospheric than the trick-or-treater-filled streets (and less likely to have their shots ruined by passersby that didn't appreciate the depth of Robbie's lyrics). It went great, until the vibrations of angsty rock-and-roll stirred the slumbering corpses and they clawed their way from their graves. It turned out Gravity Falls had been having off-and-on invasions of the undead for the past year, ever since somebody decided to reanimate every corpse in town for fun, Bill.

"You can't prove it was me, I'm not the only one who knows how to raise the dead!" Bill laughed. "Hey—you're not drawing this body, are you? You said you wouldn't."

"I'm not, I promise!"

"Then why do you keep staring at me?"

"Um."

"Let me see!"

"No! Don't ruin the surprise!" Mabel picked up a glitter pen with feathers glued to the end and waved them in Bill's face. "And no cheating with your eye-bleeding psychic magic!"

Bill smacked the pen away. "Fine! So what did you do with the zombies? Feed one of the teens to them?"

"No! I chewed like four packs of gum me and Dipper got from the weird homeless dentist and made a fake baby brain. We used it as bait to lead them into an open grave," Mabel said. "And then we realized we could use the brain to train them to do tricks! So now we have dancing zombies in the music video. They actually learned the choreography pretty easily."

"Makes sense," Bill said. "I did fill the space where their souls should be with an insatiable hunger to party."

Mabel grinned. "I thought you said they weren't your fault."

"If they're good at dancing, I'm taking credit!"

"They were pretty good—especially considering how many limbs they were missing," Mabel said. "I'll show you when Robbie's finished editing the video."

"And I'll get to see you playing a creepy ghost kid, right?"

"Yeah! We were the greatest ghosts ever! Check it out, we were like—" Mabel fixed Bill with a dead-eyed slack-jawed stare and whisper-sang, "'We're the things that you have lost. Childhood joy, dead as a ghost.'"

"Chills."

"Dipper tried so hard to get in character as a ghost that he completely zoned out for a minute! When we shook him out of it, he said he felt like he had an out-of-body experience!"

####

At his computer, Robbie clicked play on a clip of the twins standing side-by-side in front of the cemetery gate. As they sang the chorus, Dipper's face went still; and then a spectral gray form rose out of his head, still singing in sync with Mabel.

"Whoa," Robbie said. "Sick. I'm keeping that in."

####

"So, it turns out my bro is an expert method actor," Mabel boasted.

Bill thought back to Dipper drifting up and down the stairs in the middle of the night. "Yep. Sounds like he's got quite a talent."

Mabel set down her crayons and held out a paper. "Okay—what do you think?"

Bill accepted the drawing. "Am I riding on the back of a rocket ship?"

"Like a bucking bronco! See the rocket flames doing a loop?"

"Sure do. Why am I holding a fish bowl?"

"It's like a cowboy waving his hat, but, you're in space. So that's your astronaut helmet."

"It's beautiful," Bill said intensely. "It's the best thing I've ever seen."

"Aw, really? Thanks!"

"When I take over the universe, I'm rearranging the constellations to look like this."

"Don't do that, though."

"Fine, but I'm hanging it up in my throne room." Bill set down his empty glass so he could hold the picture with both hands, beaming at it as proudly as though he'd made it himself. Big change from his lukewarm reception of her house drawing yesterday. She should draw Bill more often. Being a good artist meant understanding what your audience wanted.

Unfortunately, now that she'd finished her drawing, she didn't have anything to distract her from staring at Bill. And she'd taken about as much of seeing him as she could stand. "Bill. I say this with non-judgmental love. But you look sooo terrible."

"Yeah, I know. I think I'm shaped about as nicely as a human could ask for," he pantomimed drawing a triangle in front of his torso, "but let's be real, there's only so much you can do when you're working with a human bone structure. And there's way too much neck—"

"No! Bill, your body is beautiful just the way it is, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I meant your hair looks awful."

Bill had taken a shower yesterday morning, emerged with his hair all wet and tangled, and done absolutely nothing to detangle it. And then, with it still half damp and totally disheveled, he'd shoved it under a cheap acrylic wig for the rest of the night. And then he'd fallen asleep on the floor still wearing the wig.

And now, with the wig removed, his hair looked like a bird had plucked out half a scarecrow's straw brains and made a nest out of it.

"It sure does," Bill said, with the slightly forlorn air of someone complaining about a war in a far-off country over which one had no power.

"So brush it!"

"No. Never. You can't make me."

"Why not? I thought you wanted to keep your hair all triangly!"

"Not enough to touch it. Either it'll figure out how to straighten out on its own or it won't, I'm not messing with it. I've got enough going on in my life today." By which he meant he had the last lingering traces of a hangover, which was a valid excuse to get out of all social, moral, and aesthetic obligations.

Mabel groaned in frustration. "I can't take looking at it anymore! If you won't brush it, can I?"

Bill gave her a skeptical look; but then he flung his hands out dismissively. "Sure, why not? If it bothers you so much. Have at it."

"I'll be right back!"

She got her brush from upstairs and a spray bottle from the kitchen, and directed Bill to sit on the floor so she could get on the couch behind him. After making such a fuss about brushing his hair, Bill was surprisingly well-behaved with somebody else brushing it for him. He didn't even complain when Mabel accidentally yanked on some nasty snarls a little harder than she meant to.

"I feel like a corpse getting prettied up for my funeral," Bill said. "Grooming each other is how humans bond, isn't it? This is one of your little social rituals? If all you wanted was to make sure we're still friends after you ditched me last night, you could have just asked."

Mabel shoved her foot between Bill's shoulder blades. Wise guy. She joked, "Yeah! We're bonding now! After this we're gonna paint each other's fingernails and talk about what kind of boys we like."

"I want rainbow spiral fingernails."

Mabel really should be used to this—but she still kept getting surprised that Bill was interested in the stuff she liked. And not even in a patronizing sure-I'll-play-along way. He'd turned to look at her. There was a gleam in his eyes. He really wanted rainbow spiral fingernails.

And now she wanted rainbow spiral fingernails, too. "Fine! But look forward until I finish your hair." One way or another, Mabel vowed, she would reform Bill into a proper good guy—even if she had to drag him there kicking and screaming. Fun dress-up partners were hard to find, and she couldn't afford to lose Bill.

####

Soos wandered to the living room to find somewhere to hang up his and Melody's "Best Couple Cosplay" award, but stopped in the doorway.

Bill, Mabel, and Waddles were sitting on the floor, watching some kind of cartoon psychedelic fairy princess lecture a spider on the importance of colors, with a bowl of popcorn between them. Bill and Mabel both had bright multicolor fingernails and were eating the popcorn with chopsticks to avoid touching their nails. There was more popcorn on the floor than in the bowl. Waddles had taken no such cares to avoid dragging his freshly painted hooves through the carpet.

"Truth or dare," Bill said.

"Dare!"

"Dare you to assassinate the..." Bill trailed off. "I can't have the mayor assassinated, he runs Rainbow Club. And the sheriff and deputy invited me... There aren't a lot of public officials in this dumb town, are there?"

"I'm not killing anybody, Bill. Truth."

"Fine, coward. What's your favorite toxic fume fragrance?"

"That's easy! Gasoline!"

"Hey, mine too! At least on this planet. It smells like—you know that smell that heralds the coming of rain? Gasoline is the smell that heralds a really fun time."

"Yeah! Like going on a road trip!"

Bill paused. "Right! I was... I was definitely thinking about road trips. That's exactly what I meant."

Mabel added, "And it looks so cool when there's a little bit spilled in a parking spot—"

"The rainbow puddles! Yes! Big fan of the rainbow puddles—"

"I love parking lot rainbow puddles! It's like surprise happiness in the most boring place on the planet!"

Soos mumbled, "Girl talk," decided to hang his award up later, and left.

####

Dipper heard the bedroom door open and Mabel call, "Hey Dipper!"

"Hey." He didn't look up from his journal, where he was documenting last night's zombie adventures. "Oh, hey, bad news—Wendy said she got a text from Robbie, it sounds like all the footage from the cemetery last night is ruined?"

"Aww! What? But we worked so hard to train those zombies!"

"Yeah, it's just static. But everything we shot outside the gates is fine. I wonder if it's something supernatural that interferes with electronics?"

"Something supernatural? In the cemetery? Full of zombies? What are the odds of that!" Mabel laughed. "But heyyy, I've got some good news!"

"What?"

Mabel stuck a hairbrush full of gold hair between Dipper's face and his journal. "I got a replacement for the Bill hair sample we gave Pacifica!" She grinned and whispered, "Wanna make a poppet?"

####

It would have been really cool if the first full moon of summer vacation had come on Summerween. But the calendar gods were unkind that year, and instead, it came the next day, on June 23.

Which worked out, in the end, since it meant they didn't have any scheduling conflicts on the one night they could make a poppet.

They had the ritual space set up in their bedroom—a chalk star drawn on the floor with a black candle at each point—and the doll representing Bill—which Mabel had upgraded with button eyes and a miniature version of his favorite knit hoodie. They collected all the shed blonde strands off Mabel's hairbrush, wrapped them around the doll's neck, and tied them on. They set the doll in the center of the star; Bartholomew talked them through the ritual; the flames on the candles leaped a foot in the air, turned a pale blue, and then went out; and the binding ritual was complete. The doll was now connected to Bill Cipher.

"Weird," Bartholomew said. "Usually the flames turn black. I've never seen them turn blue before."

Dipper said, "That's not a problem, is it?"

"No, no. I've just never used the binding ritual on an alien before! I guess it works a little different!"

Dipper picked up the doll and eyed it skeptically. "Mabel, I know we said we're saving this for emergencies only, but—maybe we should test it out just to make sure it actually works?"

"I guess we should," Mabel said, grimacing. "Just—don't do anything that'd hurt him. Okay?"

Yeah, Dipper should've expected that. Whether he liked it or not, Mabel didn't just see Bill as her weird experiment in criminal rehabilitation—she saw him as her friend. He sighed. "Okay. But is it fine if we do something that would embarrass him?"

Mabel shrugged. "I don't see why not!"

####

As they crept from their room, Mabel whispered, "What if we stick him in a box and shake it up? And then tell him there was an earthquake!"

"I thought you were the one who didn't want to hurt him."

"Oh right."

Bill wasn't on his cushions under the window, so they crept downstairs. Halfway down, Dipper stopped, putting a hand on Mabel's arm. Bill was sitting at the kitchen table, chin in his hand, staring out the window.

"This is perfect," he whispered. "He's completely vulnerable. He's got his back to us, he's looking at the moonlight—even if he turns around, he won't see us because his eyes will have to readjust to the dark."

"I don't know if his eyes need to adjust," Mabel said. "Have you ever noticed he never turns the lights on when he goes into a room?"

Dipper considered that. He hadn't noticed—but now that Mabel mentioned it, Bill did have a tendency to lurk in the dark. "Well—okay, but he's still not looking at us. Let's see how this works..." He studied the doll; then turned it around and gently brushed a finger through its yarn hair.

For a moment, nothing happened; and then Bill swatted at the back of his head and looked around, as if he was trying to find what had touched him.

"I think it's working," Dipper hissed.

"Are you sure? What if there's actually a fly in the kitchen?"

Could be. "Let me see if it can control him."

"Careful—"

Dipper grabbed one of the doll's arms and tentatively lifted it.

Bill's arm shot up. He stared at it in bafflement. "Wh...?"

Mabel bit her lip. Dipper waved the doll's arm.

Bill's arm waved. After a pause, he tentatively asked, "Hello?" As if he thought maybe his arm was waving at someone and he should play along with it.

Mabel and Dipper clapped their hands over their mouths, fighting to keep their giggles quiet. Mabel elbowed Dipper, "Hey Dipper Dipper Dipper, get him to stand up, let me control his legs, I have the best idea—"

Bill knocked over his chair and had to flail his arms for balance as he abruptly jerked to his feet. He looked around, eyes wide and wild, an edge of panic to his voice as he hollered, "WHAT'S GOING ON!"

Dipper held the doll out to Mabel. "Okay hurry!" Mabel took it by the legs—

—and Bill started doing the cancan. He shrieked. "WHAT?!"

Dipper shoved his shirt over his mouth to muffle his hysterics. Mabel was letting little wheezy squeaks out through her nose. Bill's voice was almost an octave higher as he screamed, "WHEN I FIND OUT WHO'S BEHIND THIS, I'M GONNA SHRED YOU—" and they both got so close to bursting laughing out loud that they had to pause to punch each other's shoulders for self control.

Still holding one of the doll's legs up, Mabel hissed, "Dipper do you remember the bottle dance. Where they crouch down with bottles on their heads. Can we—can we get a tiny bottle for the doll—"

Bill was failing both arms to avoid falling with one foot held in the air. He grabbed the counter for balance. And then, with a grunt of effort, he wrenched his foot down and stomped it to the ground.

The doll's leg yanked out of Mabel's hand.

Dipper and Mabel fell silent, staring at the doll. They looked at each other. Mabel whispered, "It shouldn't be able to do that, right?"

They looked at Bill.

Bill's face was burning red, and he was so far past fury that his expression was perfectly blank. His eyes were huge, and round, and pointed straight at them.

They bolted up the stairs.

Bill charged after them.

They screamed in terror. They weren't loud enough to drown out Bill: "WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU BRATS—"

Mabel grabbed Dipper's arm. "Dipper, do something!"

"Uhh—!" He tossed the doll in the air and caught it.

They heard an alarmed yelp as Bill was launched in the air and then a crash as he landed on the stairs again.

They scrambled into their room and slammed the door. "Safe!" Mabel said.

"Yeah," Dipper said, panting for breath. "Can't get us here."

The doll's head twisted 180 degrees to stare up at them.

They yelped. Dipper tossed the doll to Mabel. Mabel held it out at arm's length, threw it in her nightstand's drawer, and slammed it. It tried to open again and she leaned against it with her full body weight. "Dipper, the duct tape! In my craft supplies!"

"Which craft supplies?!"

The tiny knocking inside the drawer was echoed by the pounding at the door, accompanied by a string of creative death threats: "—and when I'm finished the coroner won't know which corpse was which! I'll make a belt out of your spinal columns—!"

"We didn't do anything," Mabel shouted, "it wasn't our fault!" She took the duct tape from Dipper and frantically wrapped it around the night stand. Dipper added, "It was someone else! And we'll never do it again—"

Sleepy and muffled, Soos's voice drifted through the door, "Dudes? What's all the hubbub?"

Dipper and Mabel gasped, "Soos!" "Save us!"

His voice the perfect tone of righteous indignation, Bill declared, "I'm being assaulted, that's what!"

Stan's voice joined in from downstairs: "BILL! If you don't leave those kids alone I'll cave your nose in!"

"THEY'RE THE AGGRESSORS," Bill screamed, half hysterical. "They are! I'm the victim here! I'm being victimized!"

Stan shouted, "Kids, good work! Bill, you can go to—" He grumbled as he self-censored, "—sleep! Shut up and go to sleep!"

"You can go jump in the bottomless pit, Stanley Pines! I'll tear you all apart with my teeth if I have to! NOBODY in this stupid junk heap of a shack is getting any sleep until I get my—"

From just outside the attic door, Stan roared, "BILL!"

There was a dull thud as Bill leaned against their door; a lot less shouty, he quickly said, "I'm going to bed, I'm going to bed, I'm going to bed."

"That's what I thought," Stan snapped. The kids heard his footsteps retreating downstairs. Soos said, "Um... night," and his door shut. After a moment, there was the creak of footsteps retreating from the attic door.

Dipper and Mabel slowly, softly snuck across the room to the door, and pressed their ears to the crack. No sound.

They stayed there for several minutes, barely breathing, listening to the silence.

Finally, Mabel pulled away and looked at Dipper. They both nodded, and Dipper opened the door a crack to check if the coast was clear.

Bill's eye stared in. "Hey, kids!"

They yelled. Dipper tried to slam the door; but Bill had already shoved his hand through. Fingernails painted with neon colors and black spirals clawed at the doorframe. He shouldered through the gap in the door, and then he was in the room, smiling much too wide and eyes fixed on them like helicopter spotlights on two wanted criminals. There was blood on his teeth. "Wow! Playing with poppets?"

Dipper upturned his suitcase and held it up like a shield. Mabel pointed a can of spray paint at Bill's face. Bill took a step closer and they took a step back.

"Pretty advanced trick for a couple of children your age," Bill said conversationally. "Not bad, not bad at all. Heck, I'm impressed you pulled it off! Although you didn't make a very smart choice of test subject." He stomped a foot twice.

Something in the nightstand thudded twice. The twins jumped. Bill laughed at them.

Mentally cursing himself for having flinched, Dipper straightened his back and glared at Bill. "You're just mad you got jerked around like a puppet! What's the matter, Bill—you can dish it but you can't take it?" Mabel looked at Dipper like he was crazy.

Bill's indulgent smile cracked, dropping into a snarl of rage. He shifted his weight toward them. Mabel dropped into a judo stance and Dipper sucked in a breath to shout for Stan.

Before anyone could launch a full attack, Mabel took a shaky breath in, forced a nervous smile, and said, "Bill, hey..." (His eyes snapped to her face like a predator that just heard a twig snap.) "This was—just a funny prank, and we're all cool? Right?"

"Mabel," Dipper muttered. "Shhh!"

But Mabel kept looking at Bill. "Right? Buddies?" She held up her arm, showing Bill her friendship bracelet.

Bill stopped and rocked back on his heels. He gave Mabel a long, hard look—like he was seriously considering whether to accept the reality she was inventing. "Yeah. Real funny." Smiling through grit teeth, he said, "You know—it's been a while since I've had my energy strung between two vessels. I didn't even know what that experience felt like for a human! Very interesting. Educational. And it was nice to feel weightless again for a second. Even if the landing was a little rough." He licked the blood off his teeth. One of the teeth shifted. "So—thanks so much for spicing up a boring night. It's been a real blast. Hasn't it." He stared at them like he expected an answer—and possibly like he planned to strangle whoever answered first.

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look. Dipper shook his head slightly. Mabel looked Bill in the eyes again. "Yeah! Big blast. So, you're not... mad. Right? Nobody's mad!"

Bill stared her down for a moment longer; and then said, "Sure, kid! It's all fun and games!" He forced a laugh—and then another, longer one, hahhh, like he was exhaling all his rage. And just like that, he was back to normal. "I'll admit it—for a second there, you almost got me good! Not bad at all." He held out his hand insistently. "And now the game's over, so you're gonna give me that toy so I can neutralize it. Aren't you?"

Dipper bit his lip, looking past Bill toward the stairs. He could yell for Stan; there was no way Bill could kill them before reinforcements got here—

Mabel elbowed Dipper's side and whispered, "We can't keep it."

And she was right. Now that Bill knew about the doll, he'd be spending all his time plotting how to get past them to take it, and they wouldn't have a second's peace. Either he got it now, or he got it later. Bill wouldn't rest until the doll was out of their hands.

Because he was terrified of it. Why wouldn't he be?

"Yeah," Dipper sighed. "Game over."

"I'll get it." Mabel peeled just enough duct tape off the night stand to wiggle it open a crack and try to squeeze her fingers in. Bill stretched his hand toward Mabel, and the doll stretched an arm out of the drawer. Mabel flinched in surprise, but grabbed the arm and yanked the doll free.

"Ow." Bill grabbed his shoulder and rolled it gingerly. "Careful, kid, are you trying to dislocate my arm? I don't mind popping it back in, but eventually that socket's gonna wear out."

"Sorry! It was a tight squeeze." She held the doll over Dipper's suitcase shield. "Here."

Bill snatched it from her hand. "Thanks a million, star girl." He favored them both with his most nearly-charming, far-too-wide smile. "Good night, kiddos. Have sweet dreams."

"You too," Mabel said weakly.

Bill left. Dipper shut the door. He and Mabel both heaved a sigh of relief.

From the loft over the attic, Bartholomew called, "Is he gone?"

"What are you doing up there?" Mabel asked. "Barty-mew-mew the scaredy-cat."

"I'm not fighting that guy, I'm porcelain and he's crazy."

Dipper flopped on his bed and stared at the ceiling. "Welp. I'm gonna have nightmares about Bill chasing me up the stairs."

Mabel sat on her own bed. "He just wanted to terrify us. And to keep us from seeing we'd terrified him." She fingered the star beads on her friendship bracelet. "He wouldn't have hurt us, I'm sure of it."

"Wh—seriously? You don't think Bill—"

"I know! But he's changed a tiny bit! He'd hurt anyone else, but he won't hurt us," Mabel said. "Or—well, me, at least. But I think he'll leave you alone too if I'm with you!"

Dipper pushed himself up on his elbows to look at her. "If he'd caught us on the stairs, do you really think he wouldn't have tried to tear us apart?"

Mabel considered that; and then reluctantly admitted, "He wouldn't hurt me as long as he remembers he doesn't want to hurt me."

"Yeah, well. I wouldn't count on him remembering when he's mad." Dipper slid under his covers and rolled over. "Barty, can you get the lights?"

"Sure, one second." All the lights and lamps in the room flickered ominously; and then, with a sinister pop, snapped off without being touched.

"Thanks, man."

Mabel didn't climb into bed. She was staring at her fingernails. She'd painted them the same colors as Bill's; but she'd used a black marker to draw spirals on his, and he'd drawn stars and sloppy tiger stripes on hers. In the dark, the colors were all faded.

This time, just once, maybe she and Dipper were the bad guys. He might disagree—he'd actually been puppeted, maybe he saw this differently from Mabel—but that probably didn't make it okay to do it back to Bill just for fun. They should've saved the poppet for an emergency. And the cancan, she decided, was definitely too much.

She smoothed out her covers; then she pulled up her knees to her chest, hugged them, and stared thoughtfully down at Bill's face in the middle of her zodiac blanket.

####

In the dark and quiet of the downstairs bathroom, Bill sat cross-legged on the toilet lid. He held the doll in his cupped hands. Soon, he'd disassemble it—but not yet. Tonight, it was his tool. He shut his eyes and focused on it.

There was the thinnest thread of energy, channeled through his shed hair, connecting this doll to him. He studied the thread, feeling it in his mind, exploring it, strengthening it—until he could almost feel it tugging on him.

And then he started psychically groping for similar connections.

He set the doll on the floor, on top of the drawing Mabel had given him.

His other eyes—the billions of depictions of his face scattered across this planet—weren't meant to be used in this dimension. They were designed like windows he could peer through from the Nightmare Realm; here on Earth, he was on the wrong side of the windows to see through them. And he wouldn't be surprised if the Axolotl had somehow found a way to blindfold them on top of that—after all, he seemed to have done the same to most of Bill's other abilities.

But Bill was resourceful, he was stubborn, and he didn't have anything better to do.

He focused all his energy on trying to feel the drawing the same way he felt the doll, searching for a connection between this body and that face—and he searched, and searched, and searched.

He wasn't sure how long he tried. At least a couple of hours. Straining, straining—for nothing. His head hurt.

What was the difference? The doll was shaped like him, the drawing was shaped like him. What did the doll have that the drawing didn't?

The hair. A bit of his flesh.

Bill knelt over the picture, studying it in the dark. He opened an eye wide, wiped a fingertip across the surface of his eyeball to collect his tears, and pressed it to the drawing's eye.

He could feel a thread of energy stringing from his eye to the paper.

He climbed back on the toilet lid, shut his eyes, and focused on that thread. With an effort that threatened to split his head in two, he pried open his inner eye. And then he was staring up at his own human form from the drawing on the floor.

His body was shaking. His head was throbbing. He wobbled dizzily on the toilet; and as he saw himself topple off, his trance broke, the vision disappeared, and he blacked out. White spots burst behind his eyes.

When he next opened an eye, the room was spinning. He shut his eye. It was several minutes before he could sit up without being sick. He leaned against the wall and let the sweat on his forehead and cheek soak the old wallpaper.

The white spots he'd seen as he passed out were his distant all-seeing eyes.

He'd done something tonight. That was good. But there was no way he was seeing through any other pictures like that. He needed something he could focus his power through, like an antenna.

He needed gold.

####

(Last chapter of the year!! If you enjoyed, I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts & comments! Thanks!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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escapingrealtiylovinginsanity · 3 months

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Nick Amaro NSFW Alphabet

Guys I finished rewatching season 14 and I forgot how much I hate the storyline they give Nick. I love him as a character, but I would love to completely reconstruct his backstory. He has to be one of the most personally screwed-over characters in SVU. Am I the only one who hates the hidden love child-which I’m completely disregarding? Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this!

Warnings- Some Maria-hate (sorry not sorry).

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Nick's aftercare is exceptional. He cleans you up, washing any mess he has made off you with a warm washcloth or a hot shower. Then it is cuddling and whatever you want in your post-glow bliss. Usually, it’s time for you to talk about whatever you want. Something you did, a movie you saw, an awful joke you heard that you laughed at but didn’t seem worth bothering him about. He wants to hear it all.

It’s a time that you have this full attention. Sometimes it leads to more vulnerable emotional conversations that he seems to have an easier time having when his walls are down after sex. Sometimes words are too much and the two of you just hold each other, caressing each other's bodies.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and their partner’s)

Nick’s favorite body part of himself is his hands. They are rough, calloused, and strong from years of sports, hard work, and shooting a gun. They are dexterous and versatile enough to accomplish his endless paperwork, playing catch with Zara, fixing things around the house, and his favorite teasing you with them until you come apart so prettily with his name on your lips.

Nick loves your entire body. He tells you all the time there is nothing he would ever change. He loves your curves and doesn’t discriminate between them. Why be a boobs or ass man, when he has two hands and a willing mouth that can have both and more?

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Nick is a jealous man, and he knows it. You are his and nobody else. After spending a significant amount of time watching any another man try to talk or flirt with you there is nothing more that he wants to do than take you to his bed and paint his cum all over your body. It gives him undeniable satisfaction seeing his seed on your skin claiming you in the most barbaric way. He should hate it because it may be considered demeaning, but he can’t. Even later when he is cleaning you up, he smiles knowing the evidence of his DNA still lingers on your skin, clinging to you.

D = Dirty secret (self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It’s not necessarily dirty but you made Nick come embarrassingly early by calling him Papi one day out of nowhere while you were riding him. He never liked the idea of being called daddy by his partners. It seemed weird to him but hearing the word Papi come from your lips as you took your pleasure from him did all the right things.

When you guys were basking in the afterglow, he casually asked you about the nickname. You had admitted that one of your friends had told you it was a common term of endearment for Cuban men but you seemed a bit embarrassed. Instead of just telling you he liked it he spent the next few months trying to casually reinforce the nickname whenever you used it by getting you off as many times as possible.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Nick has experience. While he did go through a bit of a Casanova stage in his teens and early twenties, he has always been more of a long-term partner kind of guy. The different women did teach him about different ways to enjoy sex and a bit of experimentation. However, when he married Maria, it was narrowed down to what she liked. She liked sex that was very plain and vanilla, missionary mostly. She wasn't very interested in sex after she had Zara and what they did do was repetitive.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Nick’s favorite position is doggy. He likes the control of your body it gives. His hands are free to caress and massage you. He can take you with your back pressed tightly to his chest fistful of your hair to make you look at him and steal open mouth kisses as he thrust into you. Or he can push you down on your knees with your face in the mattress as he holds your wrist behind your back and pounds into you hard and fast. Moans and his name bouncing from the walls as he takes you deeper and deeper. He loves leaving Hickes and love bites on your neck and down the back of your shoulder.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Nick is a very passionate man but that doesn’t always translate into seriousness. You guys have had sex that you have laughed halfway through. You have been mid sex and his beard rubbed just right to tickle you and send you squirming with laughter that was contagious.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Nick’s hair is dark and thick, and it curls when it gets too long. He keeps it trimmed up for hygiene's sake typically. He doesn’t think much about it when it gets overgrown when life is too busy, or he just can’t be bothered. When he is in a relationship, he keeps up on it more as a respectful consideration for you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Nick is the definition of a Latino lover. He will spend his time with foreplay and the sex making sure you know how important you and your pleasure are to him. He calls you sweet nicknames and tells you how much you mean to him and how he has missed you and your body. If he pins your hands, he intertwines your fingers.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Nick doesn’t masturbate often. When he does it's usually not to pleasure himself so much as to get a release from some stress. It’s quick and efficient and then he washes up and continues with his day or gets ready for sleep. He will also get himself off if he is horny, but you are not available or in the mood.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Nick’s love language is words of affirmation, and he has a major praise kink that he likes to mix with his dirty talk. He is also a bit of an exhibitionist. He likes to push the line of where you can have sex without getting caught. Just be careful while he’s drinking because it heightens all these kinks and can lead to some pretty close calls.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Nick’s favorite place to have sex is the bedroom because it has the most options and comfort. He has become a big fan of the laundry room. While the space is limited, Zara doesn’t feel the need to interrupt when you go in there because she doesn’t think there is anything of value and would rather watch TV while you guys do the ‘laundry’ unlike when you guys try to sneak away to the bedroom or bathroom. There is a door so there is no risk of her getting in there unexpectedly. Nick has also found many uses for the dryer while it’s on that aren’t clothes-related.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Nick is not hard to convince to have sex or turn on. But he is a very visual man, and if you want to make him go feral wearing lingerie or one of his shirts buttoned halfway up is a good way of giving him an instant boner.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Nick grew up with an abusive dad and he watched him beat his mom. He will never hit, slap, or do anything that could hurt you. An open-palmed smack on the ass is about as far as he will take it and that’s only if you enjoy it. He will never degrade you because it is against his morals of respecting women.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Nick likes to get as much as he likes to receive. He wants you to sit on his face, sit not hover. If you don’t know the difference, he will pull you down on top of him and lick and devour your cunt until your legs are shaking to the point where sitting is the only option. He will work you up so well you will be riding his face. He loves 69ing too. Your moan vibrating around his dick from the pleasure of him eating out your pretty pussy? The answer is always yes.

Nick loves a good blowjob. You found that it can fix his bad attitude. He came home in a bad mood and was trying to start a fight about something petty and irrelevant. He was in the kitchen slamming stuff around as he was making his coffee, bitching about how messy it was. You knew it had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with a disaster case, and marched over to him and grabbed his belt. He froze at first not sure what was going on, but it wasn't complaints falling from his lips when you dropped to your knees and gave him a quick messy blowjob. When you were done and got back to your feet, you pecked his lips and told him you were late for work leaving him stunned. When you returned home the kitchen was clean, he had cooked homemade traditional Cuban food, and he apologized to you all night long with a lot more than just his mouth.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Nick likes to make the foreplay slow and passionate, to make sure you are satisfied and ready to take him. When it comes to sex his preferred pace is fast and on the rougher side. Your body in his hands as he pounds into you your breast bouncing, head thrown back as you take him.

He does have a gentler side that comes out quite often. One that takes you slow and steady. He will kiss every inch of your body whispering Spanish words of endearment and praise against your skin. These are the times he wants to look you in the eyes and make sure you know his love for you in this physical act. That you can hear it, feel it, taste it, and see it in his eyes.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Nick loves a good quicky. Life is busy, especially with a job like his and kids. Sometimes you just have to take those fifteen minutes and make them worth every second. It doesn’t always need to be long to be good and satisfying. Besides Nick enjoys seeing you after a quick tousle out with your friends or random people knowing exactly what causes that flush in your cheeks. Knowing that his cum is still leaking out of you and into your wet panties unless of course he still has them in his pocket for safekeeping.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Nick is willing to experiment with his limits. He is willing to try any position you want at least once. He likes to push the limits where you two can get away with having sex. He likes the bathrooms at bars, the laundry room when Zara is preoccupied, and getting head when he is driving in low to no-traffic areas. He likes the adrenaline of the possibility, but he doesn’t actually want to get caught.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Nick has stamina for days. He can drag out foreplay and sex for hours if you will let him. If you're planning on a sleepless night and are okay walking a little funny the next day you only have to give him about a half hour to recuperate and he will be ready to go again if you are.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No, Nick’s not a toy guy. He is kind of old-fashioned and I think he might take it as a hit to his masculinity if you wanted to use them when you were in bed together.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Nick is an ungodly tease. His sweet and dirty talk is second to none. He can get you wet just by telling you about what he is going to do to you. The innocent but consistent touches drive you crazy. Then when he finally has you in the bedroom you can almost taste the pleasure, he is going to give you. He teases you more and tisks about how impatient you are. “All good things come to those who wait, Corazón.”

If you want his teasing to stop, you will have to beg him or start teasing him back. He can give way better than he can take. You will have him changing his pace quick.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Nick isn’t loud but he is by no means silent. He likes to dirty talk, and praise you in bed with a mix of English and Spanish words. He grunts and moans but keeps the noise to a minimum when Zara is in the house. If he knows that there isn’t a risk of being interrupted or overheard that is when Nick gets louder and likes to fuck you to upbeat Cuban music.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Nick doesn’t know how to ask for attention or affection. He grew up with a controlling abusive father and a traumatized turned aloof mother. Then he married Maria, a strong-willed but distant and emotionally unavailable soldier. He never got consistent affection and doesn't understand his own need for it. He doesn’t consciously know he does it, but when he needs that affection, he will initiate sex even if he is not in the mood to have it. He will make it so good for you like he has to earn it. You will moan and call his name as he wrecks you with his fingers and mouth.

Then he will usually wave you off when you go to reciprocate even if he is hard. He knows that what he really wants is already within reach because when you are pleasure drunk and boneless it always means that you are willing and wanting to cuddle. Your fingers will stroke and play with his hair, your other hand wandering his back teasing tense muscles until they relax. It takes you a long time to figure out what he is doing and when you do it breaks your heart.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Nick has a lean body with muscular arms and thighs. His chest is toned with a visible six-pack. He has a sparse dusting of hair on his lower stomach, a happy trail leading down to his goods. Nick is a big boy, above average in size. His cock is thick and long with a slight upwards curve.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Nick has a pretty high sex drive but good control over it. While he would prefer to have sex four or five times a week, he doesn’t expect that. He has times when he becomes a sex hound, and you swear it always seems to match up to when you're ovulating. His sex drive can also completely diminish during bad sex crime cases.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Nick is one of those rare men that sex boosts his energy, at least for a little while. The flood of endorphins gives him a giddy relaxed high. If it is a quickie or during the middle of the day, he will have the sudden urge to accomplish something, or if you're really lucky cook traditional Cuban food. If it’s time for bed you will almost always fall asleep before him, but he is content to lay in bed with you either just cuddled up or playing games on his phone until the high fades.

I forgot how long this prompt takes but hey there’s Nick’s! I have quite a few Nick miniseries that I’m going to be working on. One is the relationship building between the reader and Zara while still featuring Nick of course.

I have another series that will be more angsty and will probably take longer because it’s going to be a split vibe of what could have happened in a situation with Nick and the reader's relationship when tragedy hits. I’m excited to challenge my writing in that way.

Let me know if either of these piques your interest! I hope you enjoyed xoxo

#law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #svu #nick amaro x you #nick amaro x reader #nick amaro imagine #nick amaro svu #nick amaro

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blingblong55 · 8 months

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Coney Island- Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Based on a request:

Helloo, it's my first ask here but i saw something on tiktok about having a specific type of a guy that's; closed off, stoic and stuff but he has a soft spot for a specific person and reader thinking its them but no. I just need angst😭 honestly. That's all thank you!!

F!Reader, death of character(s), angst, platonic!relationship, no happy ending --

Months before your death, that is when he broke your heart. He was so cold and rude to most people on base but there was one person who could touch Simon and talk past Ghost. The men of the task force were on his best side, but she was on the special side of his life. You always thought it was you, the one who could be his entire life only to find out you weren't even on the list.

He never spoke much of his life to you, you only heard bits from the other men but as any fool does you believed it was for him and you to have some sort of good place in this Earth. For months he gave you flickers of hope and you sure believed they were real. Each time you thought you were passing those high walls of his, there seemed to be a new wall you never heard of. A labyrinth with no way out and the way in has been closed off by spikes. His cruel words of that day were such spikes.

"Lieutenant-" you paused as you had seen him and the girl sitting on the bench, how he was so open to her. All his emotions were out for her to see and hear. He painted the sky with his hurt and past but it was for her eyes only, never to be yours. All the questions you asked, only to be spoken to her, never to you. You'd jump in front of a bullet, grenade or anything to protect his past and mind and he'd discard it. His insecurities, fears and all those years of trauma, laid for her and her only.

It was clear then that it was a team of two, him and her. You began to question it all, the nights he asked about your life, telling you...no, pleading you to tell him, that it was the only way for him to open up to you. The nights you cried to him, all your weapons laid for him to point them and shoot you in the back. Losing your mind over minor mistakes and still he held her close, never you.

If I pushed you to the edge But you were too polite to leave me?

The day he lost you, what a nightmare was that day. The smoke in the streets, the passing bullets, one for your chest and the invisible one for his heart. Despite the hurt he brought upon you, you never left. The reason even to this day makes his head ponder. What is he now? Why is he alive and not you? The blood that leaked from your body, the way his hands were painted with crimson, how he lost you and gained a new shade to paint the skies for her.

Will you forgive my soul When you're too wise to trust me and too old to care?

Every time he could, there he was. Talking about his sorrows to you now underground. The flowers that he replaced every time he was there, always fresh for the garden he forgot to make while you were alive. The first question he would ask you in the afterlife or in the next life is, "Can you forgive me?" and would you? Can you be so delicate with his dying heart?

Did I paint your bluest skies the darkest grey?

Back at the place where he knew he lost you, you were alive then but that morning he lost his friend. "R/N, listen to me, it's not that I don't trust you-" you shake your head and chuckle. "No? Then what is it, lieutenant? Hate? shame? I told you about all of me and now here you are. I am me, I can't be someone else, all of me has been shown to you! And you can't trust me? This is rubbish, sir! I can't hide anything from you, here I am...what more can't you see!" That is all you wanted, just a little piece of him because he took all of you.

Coney Island, the place where he saw your first death.

And when I got into the accident The sight that flashed before me was your face But when I walked up to the podium I think that I forgot to say your name

Eighteen months after your death, that's when he got into the worst gunfight of his career. Everyone was injured that time, Soap with a bullet in his leg, Gaz with a severe concussion, Price laid on the floor as blood dripped down from his shoulder and there he was, alone and behind a wall, tears ran down his face. The first time he was scared in a long time was that night. Bullet on his arm, cut by his torso and the image he had of you by his chest dripped with his blood.

The speech he gave at your funeral, how in his many years of service he had never been so afraid to speak. The room filled with friends and family, all looked at him. He felt as if they all knew the pain he caused your heart, what if they did? GODDAMNIT WHY NOW!

"The funniest person I had by my side was her, stupid jokes I learned from her now said to others." The speech went on for 10 minutes because he had more to say than the five sentences to say. And in each sentence, none of them had your name. He was afraid to even say it for he had no right to ever say your name not after he was the one with the knife on Coney Island.

But I think that I forgot to say your name Over and over

As he felt his life near the end, the last thing he saw was your face, fingers caressing the photograph.

"R/N," was his last breath.

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cacoetheswriting · 7 months

Text

pearl: v-day 1986 [drabble]

word count: 1k

content warnings: best friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, a little cheesy fluff, adult language, use of pet names, oblivious idiots in love, self-doubt / insecurities - if i missed anything, pls let me know!

pearl masterlist

“I fucking hate this holiday,” Robin sighs dramatically.

The video store is poorly decorated with a variety of cheap pink balloons and cardboard heart cutouts, painted red and smudged with a glue/glitter mixture. The posters on display were all of movie stars kissing and the plastic stand right inside the entrance featured a collection of cheesy romantic comedies.

Valentine’s Day never looked so good.

You shrug at Robin’s words, dipping a brush into some red paint before proceeding to apply the acrylic onto another cardboard heart. “It’s not all bad. I for one think there are worse holidays than this one.”

Robin rolls her eyes, sitting up on the counter. “You’re just saying that ‘cause this year you are blessed enough to have a boyfriend.”

You poke her arm with the wooden end of the paint brush and she chuckles.

“Eddie’s not—”

“Right.” Robin rolls her eyes and grabs a pair of scissors along with a piece of paper, “I forgot you guys aren’t into this whole label thing, or even admitting you actually like one another. Which is really cool, very progressive, but considering everything you’ve been through and how much he clearly cares for you, don’t you wanna just bite the bullet and call the boy your boyfriend?”

A soft sigh escapes your lips as you look up at her. “Of course I do, but that’s not the point.”

“I’m seriously confused then.”

“I just don’t want anything bad happening to him.”

She raises a brow, not looking away from the arts and crafts in her hands. “Super cryptic, not at all weird.”

You’re about to respond, in an attempt to explain your reasonings for not wanting to tell Eddie you actually care for him as more than just a friend, when the door opens and you’re greeted by the very metalhead you’re talking about with Robin.

Eddie smiles when he sees you and you instantly return the happy expression, carefully placing the paintbrush on the half finished heart. By the time he’s at the counter, Robin jumps off and disappears between the stands — not before saying hi to the metalhead and shooting you a knowing glance.

“Hey, princess.”

Eddie leans over the countertop and kisses your cheek.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, not because you don’t want him here, but because you made plans for later in the afternoon and you weren’t expecting to see him until then.

He shrugs. “Just wanted to see my favourite girl,” he says, fidgeting with the sleeve of your shirt. “Apparently it’s the most romantic day of the year. Some baby in a diaper is going around striking unwilling participants with arrows. Real gory shit, if you ask me.”

You laugh lightly. Eddie continues, a cheshire cat grin spread across his features.

“Had to make sure you didn’t get hit,” he adds.

Playfully rolling your eyes, you reach for his bouncy locks and tenderly push them away from his handsome face, keeping your hand on his cheek after. He settles into your touch instinctively, brown gaze glued to your own.

Yeah. Totally ‘just friends' behaviour.

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re too late. I believe an arrow struck me quite some time ago and I’m bleeding internally,” you play into his dramatics, “Run and save yourself. That diapered baby is ruthless.”

Eddie chuckles. He then tilts his head and places a hasty kiss to the palm of your hand before pulling away from you placid grasp — again, totally nothing more than ‘friends’ behaviour.

You watch closely as he reaches for the inside pocket of his jacket and slowly retrieves a poorly wrapped gift. His gaze meets yours once again when he hands the present over.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, princess.”

You’re taken aback ever so slightly ‘cause here Eddie stood, a rectangular item in his hold, wrapped in what looked like pages from a book, held together with a red shoelace.

You retrieve it hesitantly and the first thing that pops out of your stupid mouth is: “Eds, Valentine’s Day gifts are usually reserved for people in relationships, not friends. And now I’m the idiot who didn’t go the extra mile.”

But Eddie shakes his head.

“Stop. Don’t even talk like that,” he appeals, “Nothing to be fretting your pretty head about, okay? I’ve been meaning to give this to you for some time now, just so happened I remembered where I put it this very morning. A happy coincidence, if you ask me.”

You don’t entirely believe him but nod in agreement regardless. Your fingers work to untie the ribbon and you’re gentle with the wrapping paper — thankfully you think to keep it because you realise quite a few months later it’s the excerpt from the chapter of Lord of the Rings Eddie read to you shortly before your almost second kiss.

And then you freeze.

Eddie thinks you hate it or something because he’s quick to interject, explain.

“It’s a tape, as you can obviously see,” he’s babbling, “The cover is of Pearl, but so you don’t get confused between this and the original, I wrote E.V. in the corner here,” he points and your gaze follows, “for ‘Eddie’s Version’, cause I re-recorded all the songs myself. Acoustic. Just me and my guitar. It took fucking forever, but I-I think it was worth it. God, do you hate it—”

“No, fuck no!” You exclaim and look at him again, “This is the best gift I think I’ve ever fucking received. Thank you!”

“You mean it?” Eddie questions.

“A thousand percent, Eds. I love it and…” I love you, you want to add only to stop yourself at the last minute. “Seriously, thank you.”

He’s smiling again and before you can react, he effortlessly jumps over the counter and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a thrilling embrace. Your heart swells at the contact. It swells when you think about the gift in your hand. Honestly, it swells so hard, you swear it’s about to fucking explode.

From the corner of your eye, you can see Robin staring at the two of you. A stupid smirk plastered across her face.

thank you for reading <3

& tagging some cool people that expressed interest in this lil series: @cactusangie , @spenciesprincess , @capitanostella , @ashlynnkennedy , @ms1oftheboys

pearl masterlist

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x best friend reader #bestfriend!eddie munson

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brighttears · 7 months

Text

Filth

Joel Miller x f!reader

One use of y/n, no physical description other than having hair

Summary: You and Joel are on the road, heading to nowhere in particular, but going there together, though you're nothing more than partners on the road. It takes a risky yet intriguing move by you in the face of danger to urge Joel to explore your relationship a little further, and it leads to you touching for the first time, then much more than that, and feeling things neither of you have ever felt before. Aka: you have wild sex in the dirt

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: violence, starts with suicide of a stranger but basically porn with plot (minors dni!), unprotected PiV, Rough sex, hair pulling, lots of biting, multiple orgasms, creampie, brief sub!Joel but almost all just dom!Joel, possessive!Joel, Joel is just extremely horny (I think that’s it on that front? but pls lmk if I forgot to anything!), pet names (darling, baby)

A/n: like 7k of this is just smut ok. Idk what came over me. Anyways Im so fucking terrible with multi parters but now I have three chapters written, I’m writing like Joel Kerouac and his fucking scroll I stg I just have like 20 pages to rewrite to be presentable and split into parts. So welcome to part one of filth. Btw sorry if the formatting is weird my wifi’s down so I can only use my phone

series masterlist

—

“Come on, keep up.” Joel says, looking at you over his shoulder.

You trot to his side as you approach the building—a large and wide, run down brick warehouse by the side of the road. It’s the first thing you’ve come to in a long while, walking down the empty road, surrounded by trees. Joel slows his steps as you come closer, and you follow his lead. There’s a large metal door on the side and the only windows are around the front, a thin rectangle of glass block windows high up on the wall. Joel glances back at you as he pulls out his gun, and you pull yours out to raise it in two both as you reach the door.

It’s surprisingly silent as Joel pulls it open, but as you pause just outside, you hear a faint shifting.

“There’s somethin’ in there.” Joel says quietly. He looks back at you, “Stay close.” You nod, and he starts with slow steps inside. The room is big and deep, and you can barely see, but you catch the glint of a doorknob on the other side of the room, and you walk towards it with quiet, careful steps.

Joel stops to turn to you, “Ok. You stay right behind me—” Suddenly, you see movement behind him, and the beginning of a screaming growl before you raise your gun and shoot. An Infected falls dramatically at your feet, its face splattering on the concrete ground. Joel looks at it, then at you, his eyes wide and brow pinched sternly, and he whispers angrily, “What the fuck was that?”

“You didn’t see it, it was behind you,” you start but Joel cuts you off. “You don’t just go shootin’ at anythin’ that moves.. We don’t know what else is in here. Could be full of Infected. Could be full of Clickers.” There’s a silent pause before you reply, “Doesn't sound like there are.” Joel sighs, glaring.

“Don’t shoot unless I tell you to. Got it?”

You nod shyly, somewhat embarrassed now.

“Jesus.” Joel says under his breath, shaking his head as he looks head at the door. When he looks back at you, he states firmly, “Stay behind me.”

You nod again, and start back towards the door. You enter an office room, those same glass block windows shedding much more light into the smaller room. There’s a desk and a chair at your side, a fake plant set by the windows next to a line of filing cabinets. The room is pretty much untouched. Nothing of value, even before the apocalypse. Behind the desk, next to a pasteful, plain painting caked in dust, is another door, slightly ajar. There’s shuffling inside, then stillness, and you can hear very faint, fast breathing.

“There’s a person in there.” You whisper to Joel.

“How do you know it’s a person?” He looks back at you skeptically.

“I hear breathing. It’s fast, but they’re trying to be quiet. Infected don’t do that.”

Joel pauses his eyes on you, considering, then looks back to the door. You approach slowly, and Joel nudges the door open with his foot, announcing, “You’ve been found out. Come out into the light where we can see you, hands up.”

There’s more breathing, faster now, but no movement.

“I said, come out, into the light, hands raised.”

Finally, they step out into the line of light—it’s a woman, absolutely terrified, with a bite mark on her shoulder. It’s fresh, and infected. Thick, tangled dark hair farms a pale face, piercing blue eyes bugging out of her head as she stares at you. She grips a gun in her hand, but it’s pointed at the floor. Her breathing is rapid.

“Drop the gun.” Joel demands. After a pause, “Drop the gun.”

The woman squeezes her eyes shut, flinching, then drops it, her hand shaking, and it thuds on the carpet.

“Kick it to me.” She pauses again, and Joel repeats himself harshly, “Kick it to me.” She does it without opening her eyes. Gun tsill trained on her, Joel leans down to pick it up and then shoves it into his belt. “Now give me one good reason not to shoot you.” He says as he straightens. The woman’s eyes fly open, and she looks petrified. Her lips try to move, quivering, but she’s unable to speak.

Joel cocks his gun, but you put your hand on his shoulder, “Wait.” He glares at you with wide eyes, but you step towards the woman, lowering your gun to your side. He clamps his hand around your arm, but you shrug it off, not even looking at him as you walk up to her. When you get to her, you see that her entire body is quaking.

“Hey.” You say in a soft tone, “What’s your name?” She stays silent, wide eyes staring. You continue, attempting to be friendly. “My name’s Y/n. It’s ok. I’m not gonna hurt you.” You keep your voice as soft as you can and shake your head lightly, “I’m not gonna hurt you.” You shift closer to her side, trying to keep her eyes on you instead of the barrel of Joel’s gun.

Eventually, she swallows, and speaks, “Maggie.”

“Hi, Maggie.” You reply with a light smile, continuing slowly, “We saw that Infected in the other room. Looks like he got you, huh?”

She swallows again, then nods. “Yeah, I–I was alone,” her voice tremors, “and I didn’t see him, n’…” she trails off, swallowing hard again and blinking at you.

“Yeah, we almost didn’t see him either. I’m sorry.” She stares back, a deer in the headlights. You take a breath before continuing, “I think… you know what has to happen now.” Maggie closes her eyes and pauses, then nods vigorously. “Look,” you start again, “I wanna give you an option. We can do it for you. You can close your eyes, it’ll be quick.” You raise your hand, holding your gun out in your open palm, and she looks down at it. “Or you can do it yourself.” You say quietly. “It’s up to you.”

This wasn’t planned. You just couldn’t bear to see her go in the state she was in, is still in.

Maggie looks up at you, down at the gun, then back at you. “I… I wanna do it myself.”

“Ok.” You whisper.

Slowly, she takes the gun out of your hand, then raises it shakily to her temple, wide eyes glued on yours. She’s still shaking. She pauses.

“It’s ok.” You assure her, slowly nodding, then slip your hand into hers. Maggie nods vigorously again, trembling, and you squeeze her hand. She squeezes it back, then the trigger, bang, and slumps against the wall and then to the ground, her hand slipping out of yours, the gun thudding with her.

You look down at her, swallow, and pick up your gun.

“Can we go now?” You say to Joel. He looks shocked, though trying to hide it, then nods.

“Let’s go.”

He walks quickly back outside, and you struggle to keep up. He’s obviously pissed, but there’s a strange look mixed within it. He continues quickly past the building, then suddenly stops, turning to you.

“What the fuck was that.”

“I don’t know, I just, she just, she looked so scared, and you—you asked her for a reason not to shoot her, but she couldn’t speak, so I just wanted to give her a chance—”

“That was stupid.” Joel glares. “Walkin’ up to someone who’s infected, someone with a gun—”

“She dropped the gun, and the bite was fresh.”

“You don’t know what she was gonna do.”

You cut him off, defensive, “She was scared stiff. She couldn’t have done anything if she wanted to.”

“Why the fuck did you give her your gun? She could’ve shot us both.” He shoots back fiercely.

“She wasn’t going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I was looking in her eyes. She knew she had to die. There was no reason for her to shoot us.”

“You don’t fuckin’ know that! Even if she didn’t, havin’ no reason hasn’t stopped people before.”

“You had a fucking gun pointed at her. If she had even flinched, you would have shot her.”

Joel looks at you, then down, shaking his head. “That was fuckin’ stupid.” He takes a breath, then looks back down the road, and starts walking back along it. Following beside him, you glance at his face. On it you see a mix of anger, confusion, but maybe a hint of recognition, of understanding as he mulls it over. Then, that strange look from earlier, something else you can’t place.

After a while, he stops suddenly, turning to you, “Why’d you give her an option?”

You pause, then shrug, voice shy, “Well, she had to die, and she knew that… but… I don’t know…”

“‘You don’t know?’ That’s the answer you’re going with?” He responds, irritated.

You take a breath. “Because there’s not much choice left to be had anymore, with anything. She’d gotten this far, which mean she’s had to do the same kind of shit we have, and she was just so fucking scared, and I just wanted her to have some kind of say in how she went. I wanted her to be able to go with some kind of dignity.”

“Was it that, or did you just not wanna get your hands dirty?”

“I’ve shot people. I can do that.”

“That’s not what I was askin’. I’m askin’, were you doin’ it for her, or were you doing it for you?”

“For her.”

“So, you could have shot her, but you chose not to.”

“Yes.”

He pauses, then says, “If I told you to shoot her, would you have?”

“Yes.”

Joel pauses again. “If I told you to, you would have done it, no hesitation, no mercy, no nothin’?”

“Yes.”

“No hesitation, no mercy, no nothin’.” He repeats.

“Yes.”

“Just cause I said so.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I trust you.”

There’s a long moment of silence, the both of you just looking at each other, before he asks, “If I told you to shoot me, would you?”

“…Why would I shoot you?”

“Just answer the question.”

After a moment, you reply, “Yes.”

There’s a longer moment of silence before Joel says, “Get on your knees.”

“…What?” You ask quietly.

“Do as I say. Kneel.”

You pause, then do. “Are you going to shoot me?” You ask, voice still small.

“Close your eyes.”

“Are you going to shoot me?”

“Close your eyes.”

After another moment, you do. You’re blind now. It’s quiet. The wind gently brushes over your face. I trust him. I trust him. I trust him. You repeat the mantra in your head as the seconds tick by.

“Open your eyes.” Joel’s voice is much closer now, and when you open your eyes, he’s squatting in front of you, face less than a foot from yours.

Your breath hitches.

Silence.

Joel’s eyes bore into yours, searching, you don’t know what for, but searching. You feel naked. Exposed. Still blind, though your eyes are open. You’re lost, no idea what to do, or what Joel will do next. I trust him.

“…What is it?” You ask eventually, voice coming out quieter than you intended.

He stares into your eyes for a long while, and then his lips move, but he stops. Eventually, he says, voice quiet but strained, “I want something from you.”

“What?” You nearly whisper.

He pauses for another long while, then, quiet, desperation in his answer, “Everything.”

“It’s yours.” You whisper back almost immediately. Your mind swirls, velvet ropes twisting around each other, your gaze frozen on Joel, so close to you. “You can take it. Anything. I’m yours.” You answer like you’ve been waiting forever for him to ask, and only now do you realize that you have been.

Joel lips part and he lets out a soft breath, and then he moves his face closer, lips merely inches away, and while your eyes are trained on his, you feel his knuckle brush gently over your cheek.

Then, he kisses you. You breathe in as soon as his lips meet yours, your mind bursting and melting as they slip between yours, tasting him, sweet and heady. Quickly, he deepens the kiss, passion pressing into your mouth, and then pulls you forward, tugging his arms like a hook around you to pull you into his lap. You straddle him, his strong hands immediately going to grip your sides, and you comb your hands through his hair. Joel lets out a soft moan, the sound shooting a jolt of electricity through your body, and you press yourself closer. When he slides his tongue between your teeth, you open yourself for him, hands sliding around his face, through his hair, just, all over, messy, eager, starving to finally touch him. He lets out another soft moan, your lips parting with it before he brings your them back in, kissing you slow but passionate.

As you push and pull your hands around his head, Joel’s neck relaxes, letting himself lean and fall with your touch, his hands traveling over your sides, your back, your hips. You feel him relaxing under you, letting out more breathy moans; he’s being submissive, you can feel it, his defense falling. Big bad Joel is putty in your hands.

You keep moving over him like this, then start planting kisses over his cheek and jaw before you move your lips to his neck. Wet and sloppy, your tongue travels over his neck, relishing in his flavor–pungent, earthy, salty with caked sweat, but it doesn’t make it any less palatable. It’s him. With your chin pressing over his collarbone and chest as you advance around his neck, his beard scratches your temple, breath warm in your ear. You lower your hands to ball his jacket in your fists over his shoulders, keeping him there.

Joel’s hands tighten around your sides and he breathes out, “Shit.” More whispers of moans come out of him, his hands back to sliding all over your torso, and he breathes out, “God,” before his grip hardens, rubbing cupped hands up and down your sides, and then he moves his chin down to nudge your face away, grabbing your lip with his teeth and pulling you back in to kiss you, rougher, hungrier, immediately pushing his tongue past your teeth. One of his hands reaches up to clutch your chin, squeezing your cheeks to hold you in place. He slides the grip around to the back of your neck and bends it to get at your neck.

He kisses, then starts to bite, as if he’s claiming you, and you melt at the idea, your mouth falling open. To be his. He bites harder, sure to leave a dark make. There’s no one to see it, but if there were, they would all know. You’re his. Joel uses his nose to slide your shirt away so that his mouth can reach your shoulder, biting again before he brings his tongue to lick a flat line along your collarbone. You moan, your entire body buzzing. He kisses hungrily, his tongue on that sensitive spot along your neck, just above your collarbone and next to your throat. He nips it, then moves back to the side of your neck, almost opening and closing the entirety of his mouth around your skin, sinking his teeth in like an animal.

You feel his hands start to slide under your shirt, running up and down your back, his mouth still pinching your neck, enough for it to hurt, but you don’t stop him. You don’t want him to. You want him to do as he wants. Mark you. Own you.

His thumb lays along your jaw as he holds you open for him, and then he slides it up, his palm over your ear with his fingers around the back of your head to pull his lips back into yours. Eager, frenzied, fervent. Joel’s hand slides from your side to your thigh, squeezing it while the other falls to the collar of your shirt, tugging, and you’re pulled further into his mouth, hands gripping his shoulders, just for support, just to hold on.

His grip moves to your ass, squeezing, while his hand continues to tug at your shirt, the fabric digging into the back of your neck as you hear the sound of fabric ripping, and you let out a quick moan, your mouth opening with it as your neck is tugged down. Slowly, dramatically, he licks back into it, his tongue hooking around the back of your top teeth to keep your mouth on his as he continues to rip the fabric of your shirt, finally tearing it fully in half. As soon as he does, he pushes forward, leaning you down so that his mouth can travel past your chin to drag it wetly down over your sternum. He kisses down the center of your chest while his hand caresses your breasts, the other still simply clutching your ass.

With every part of you squirming, you grip his jacket in balled fists. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been touched; and like this, never like this, by someone like Joel, no kind of animal like him. Tilting your head to the sky, you moan, eyes closed, brow drawn up, shivering both from his touch and the breeze over your bare chest.

Joel drags himself back up, sliding his hand back up to your neck to slowly pull your faces back together. He looks at you under lids half closed, his teeth almost barred. He bites your lower lip, then his teeth come back down over your neck, biting it unrestrained, mouth open, teeth on either side, as if he was trying to take a piece out of you, and then both hands go down to start to grind your hips over his. A cold fire runs over your skin, engrossed completely in him, mind spinning, him all around you, every part of his body against yours.

Joel moans into your skin, and you relax your body, letting your arms fall lax around his shoulders, allowing him to move you as he pleases. Let him do what he wants with you. Let him have you. Feeling it, Jole moans again, deep and low as he sucks a breath in through his nose, inhaling you. His fingers curl around your jeans at your hips, tugging them, almost unthinkingly, just tugging. In response, you lean your head down to push him away so that you can look down to start unbuttoning your jeans for him. When you look up, you meet his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes makes your breath hitch, and in the most erotic way possible, you feel like you’re being boiled alive. He’s looking at you like prey, like he wants to rip you apart, full of lust, of need, and he nearly growls as he leans his lips back onto yours, and you wrap your arms back around his shoulders.

With your jeans undone, Joel slides a hand down, and his fingerw press into you already soaking through your underwear. Instantly, his touch instantly pulls a loud moan from you, breathless. He moans right back, deep and low as he sucks on your bottom lip, then opens his mouth again over yours to kiss you harshly, his hand smoothing up and down between your thighs. Your fists bunch the fabric over his shoulder again, moans cascading from your open mouth, and Joel leans back to watch you.

You open your eyes to him and moan just at the sight, his mouth open and dribbling both of your spit, his cheeks flushed, still looking at you under half lidded eyes, looking like a wild animal as he feels over your wetness, and your body rolls into his touch. He slides his hand up from between your legs in a line up to caress your chest again, your own cum trailing over your skin. His other hand keeps hold over your hip, grinding you down over his hips again. Right from under your core you can feel his hardness, and you release a shaky breath, a deep craving boiling up in your chest. Joel’s eyes flutter closed for a moment as the contact rolls from between you, his mouth falling open wider as a moan falls through a deep breath.

His hand falls fast from your chest down to the band of your underwear, tugging it as he his mouth goes back to your neck, now doing nothing more than sliding his tongue along it, then bites down again as he begins to rip apart the next piece of clothing. He brings his mouth back up, both hands gripping your hips now to pull you down and grind, his bulge firmer now, making deep contact right against your opening through your jeans. With both of your mouths open, your lips brush and bump, breathing moans into each other’s mouths as he moves you over him faster, almost bucking into you as he holds you down, rolling your hips back and forth.

With a deep growl, he grabs the fabric of your underwear, ripping it down until it pulls away, exposing your pussy for him to slip his hand back onto, sliding all of his fingers up and down as he continues to grind, each pull gliding his fingers farther in. Your moans louden helplessly, your heart pounding. Joel’s forehead rests on your chin, mumbling things you can’t make out. The hand from your hips reaches for your hair, bunching it in a fist to find your mouth again. He breathes hotly into it, mumbling unintelligibly before he slides his tongue back in. You’re almost throwing your hips over him, both his hardness and his hand making sweet contact with your pussy as your tongues find a rhythm in each other's mouths.

Your hands fall to fumble with his belt, undoing his jeans with haste, and Joel’s breath quickens, going back to clutching your hips before you’re even done, moving desperately against you. He lifts you up and you get the message, moving swiftly with him to remove your boots and jeans, the remnants of your underwear flapping against your leg at the one spot that they’re still attached over your thigh. As you climb back onto his lap, you slide your hands eagerly over his chest, hooking your thumbs around his shirt to lift it up. Joel lets out a breathy, loud moan as you do, then hurriedly pulls it over his head to toss on the ground before he pulls your hips back towards him, placing you down on his dick.

A loud moan skids from your throat as he enters you, and he takes no time to start pumping himself into you, loud as he tugs and rolls and pulls. Your hands slide over his back and into his hair, combing and clutching as you’re lifted up and down over him. His firm cock fills you repeatedly, his body warm and powerful around you.

Joel has his mouth back on your neck, kissing and licking and biting, your skin sore, the stumble on his cheek scraping against your throat. He becomes rougher, controlling your hips with his hands gripped so hard it hurts, but you relax your body again, rolling with his movements, allowing him to take you as he wants. Joel leans back and your head falls to look down at him, and he still has that hungry look on his face, wet and flushed, breathily heavily and leaking low moans. Your own voice becomes louder as you take in his expression, and he lifts his hand to clamp around your mouth. He looks back down, his head against your chest as he watches you coming up and down over his thick cock. He lets out a long moan before wrapping his arm around your waist, pushing himself father into you, keeping his hand on your face with your head leaned over his shoulder. He picks up his pace, mouth on your neck again, the sensitive skin abused at this point, but pain has never felt so good, and you let your moans loose into his palm.

The pleasure builds as he thrusts himself deep inside you, faster, and you whine into his hand. Joel lets his mouth come off your neck, leaning his head into the crook of your neck, letting out loud, breathy moans. His arm comes back around from your waist to close around your hip again, bringing you down harder at him, widening his thighs to go deeper, hitting your limit repeatedly, and you nearly cry out.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel breathes out, “you feel so good.” His voice jumps with the beat of his body as he repeats, “Feels so good.”

He lets go of your face to bring it back to his, kissing wet and rough, sucking and licking, your teeth clicking together.

“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he says again, though it comes out almost like a whine, muffled in your lips. He starts moaning more, going harder, faster, and it starts to hurt your hips, but he keeps a relentless pace, griping so hard you know your waist will be covered in bruises—another mark from him, he’s claiming you, your his, and you know it, and so does he.

“Shit,” he breathes out, wrapping his arm around your back and his hand back over your mouth to hold you close as you cry out moans.

The pleasure is almost too much at this point, but he’s fucking you, finally, so you take it, and his moans grow louder, sounding almost pained, like he’s trying to hold back though he’s already fucking you in such a desperate manner. As he hits your limit, sweetness slicks its way from between your legs through your body and up into your mouth like he’s plunging sugar up through you, and you clamp your legs around him, knees on his sides, twisting your ankles around his waists as your toes curl and your eyes screw shut. You cum around his dick, thigh shuddering around him.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Joel breathes out, as if you had a choice. You're almost screaming moans into his hand when he doesn’t let up, fucking you relentlessly through your orgasm, but he still doesn’t stop, only going harder. As he keeps going, you feel tears start to ball up in the corners of your eyes, falling down your cheeks to meet your spit already wetting his palm. You grip the hair on the back of his head, body wrapped around him, holding on for dear life. Joel let’s go of your mouth, wrapping it around the back of his neck to tug your face down into the crook of his neck.

“Bite down,” he tells you, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, pushing you further and further, and you obey, closing your mouth around his trap. Joel moans loud, a deep breath puffing out his chest against your body, and he squeezes your ass hard, tugging your onto him while he bucks up into you. His fingers in your hip nearly reach the bone, fucking you animalistically, like he himself can’t stop, is unable to stop fucking you. His breaths are ragged, and he makes another sound like a moan and a whimper, once again sounding pained, and he moves his head up to press against your neck, mumbling things you can’t understand into your wet, bruised skin.

He pauses, slowing, almost stopping for a moment, but not even long enough to catch any sort of breath before starting back up again, rougher, urgent, hammering into you, moaning loudly. He bunches your hair into a fist with his hand still pulling and tugging you over him. His movements become frantic, aggressive, needy, and he pants into your neck.

“More,” Joel breathes against your skin, sounding more like an escaped thought, and then he jolts into you, starting to simply press your hips down on his cock. More, he wants more, and you don’t know how much more you can take, but you’ll give it to him. His moans come out like whimpers, pained, but he wants more, more, more.

That deep euphoria starts to build inside of you, and you know you’re about to cum again. You release your teeth from his shoulder, almost pressing your lips to his ear as you grip his hair, forearms tight against his back, holding tight, and you tell him, “I’m so close,”

At the sound of your voice, his movements and breaths start to slow a little, seeming to put effort into speaking, “I know,” then slowly, carefully, pressing deep inside of you, he says, “so, so close.”

You whimper loudly, and he takes it as a sign to start fucking you faster, like he’s starving for it, like he needs it more than anything. That feeling grows inside of you, an incredible pressure that feels like it can’t twist any tighter, and you moan gutturally, almost completely overwhelmed. He’s all over you, all around you, his spit, his breath, his hands, his dick deep inside of you, all you can smell is him, all you can taste is him, all you can feel is him. He makes a groaning, moaning growl, somehow fucking you faster, and he holding tightly onto your torso as your body jolts against him.

He slows then, letting out another growling, groaning sound, and his grip loosens slightly, only for his fingers to dig back into your skin. He reaches up to pull your head back by your hair, looking at you with almost glazed eyes. They move down from your eyes to your lips, and he pulls you into another kiss, his tongue pressed into your mouth as he moves slowly inside of you.

Just when you thought he had finished, he starts moving faster again, but more deliberate. Purposeful. Did he cum, but what’s more? He kisses you deeply, holding you as close as he can, arm pulled around your waist with his hand pressed firmly against your back. He keeps himself attached to you as if he can’t pull himself away, like he’s physically unable to let you go.

He moves faster again, movements becoming more frantic, almost primal, keeping his mouth on yours. He pulls back to let his forehead press against yours as he fucks urgently, then starts mumbling incoherently again, like he’s unable to speak properly anymore. Joel pushes you farther, farther, his movements aggressive, clutching at you like he only wants to take more of you, like taking you is the only thing that matters, the only thing that exists, the only thing he can physically do. He starts moaning again, breathy but loud and jolting from his throat, breath hot into your open mouth as he fucks faster, leaving bruises in a pattern of his fingertips. He stops his mumbling to reattach his mouth to neck, simply holding his mouth around your skin, teeth digging to the beat of his hips, claiming you, and you feel yourself close to cumming for the third time.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whimper, and he takes his mouth back to yours, kissing you again, sucking your lips.

Then, in a low, quiet voice, he says, “I’m… greedy… I need… more…”

“Everything, take everything,” you reply, out of breath, and his throat starts back up with moans, leaning his forehead against your cheek. You bring your hands over the sides of his neck, pulling his head back to look at him, but his eyes are screwed shut, his teeth bared slightly, like he’s in pain, but then he opens his eyes to meet your gaze and he looks so incredibly desperate. As he watches you, he adjusts his hands on your hips, moving harder, pumping into you relentlessly. He looks to have forgotten everything other than you, held onto him, like he’s lost himself completely in you. Need. Need. Need. Your body almost hurts, that place for pleasure almost abused by now, and yet, you feel yourself drawing closer to another climax, and you cry moans, still focused on his face. His movements are frantic, taking more, moving as fast as he can with wild intent. He closes his eyes, lips searching for yours again, and you give them to him, your tongues instantly meeting. His hands slide around your torso, nails scratching down your sides, shifting the, around your ass, your back, your hips, your stomach, up your front, clutching your breast, moaning and touching and kissing as if he knows nothing more than this. Like he was made for it.

He pushes you father, taking you deeper, filling you to the brim, and you feel yourself so close, the pleasure more raw, so you pull your lips away to tell him again, whining, “Joel, I’m so close, I’m so close,”

He keeps his eyes closed, then barely gets out, “Just a lil’ more, baby, just a lil’ more, please, please,” and you couldn’t refuse if you wanted to. And then you feel it, that wave of euphoria flowing back through your body, taking that route from your pussy through your thighs, up your chest and shooting into your head, and it’s completely overwhelming this time, and you hear yourself crying out jagged, long moans, eyes squeezed shut and leaking tears. You feel nothing else, only him, all you know is him and this feeling and his arms sliding and clutching and pumping into you as you bounce on his cock. You feel like you’re going to burn, like you’re not even human anymore, but he doesn’t stop, only going faster as your entire body trembles around him. You hold onto him helplessly as he fucks you violently.

For a split second, it seems as if he’s stopped moving and it makes some sort of sound come out of you, right in the middle of rapturous orgasm, but then he changes how he takes you, not just pushing into you now, but painfully gripping onto your hips to pull you down over him. You try to relax your body again for him, letting him move you, slower, pulling and tugging you down over his cock over and over and over again as you cum.

“Oh, god,” he says, breathing heavily. His moans sound nearly anguished, as if he’s still somehow holding something back, like he’s trying to keep this going as long as possible.

All he wants is more. You can tell. Nothing else. Only more. He starts to quicken his pace again, bouncing you in his lap, aggressive again, fingers digging into you. You feel like you can barely take anymore, but you want to, and you can tell that he’s going to keep going until his mind or body breaks, taking you until he can’t anymore. And you’re his, all his, for him. He moves like he can’t control himself anymore, purely wanting more, more, more.

Joel presses you down hard over him, fitting every centimeter of himself inside of you as starts thrusting to that limit again and again and again. He kisses you like he wants to consume you, like he needs you to be completely his, and if you had room to talk, you would tell him, I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.

His fingers crab and claw at you, and you feel things you’ve never felt before, that you couldn’t even describe, and it feels so otherworldly good. He kisses you frantically, like he can’t get enough, moving like he can’t possibly go as intensely as he wants. His tongue probes, digs, licks. There’s no stopping now, it doesn’t even feel like an option. Your body is a mess, mush in your stomach with some other substance filling the rest of you, something created by him and, naturally, for him. You feel yourself about to cum on him again, surprised that your body can still function like this, you’ve never been able to go this long, but he makes you, Joel takes you there.

He mumbles more against you lips, and you can barely understand it, but you hear him say, “God, oh, god, so good, so good, please, I need it, I need you,” and his words alone are enough to push you over the edge again, and you tremble, almost vibrating around him, legs still locked around his back, and he moans loud and quick as you cum on his throbbing, bucking cock.

He grips your body like he wants you to implode you around him, and you just might if he doesn’t stop. Your orgasm is longer than any one before, and the long moans you let out are almost gargled in your throat as every muscle in your body shudders around him. He’s almost like a god, creating this feeling that you didn’t know existed. With your head tilted up, Joel kisses and licks your throat, breathing raggedly, sounds never ceasing to come out of him—simply sounds, almost words but not quite, and he wraps his arms around you, keeping you held tightly onto him as you squeeze helplessly around his cock.

If you could speak, despite how close you are to your absolute limit for everything, you would beg, for more, anything, everything, for him to get what he needs, all you want for him is to get what he needs from you. You gasp as the complete euphoria blossoms and pours over you, almost an unbelievable wave of pressure and pleasure, and you think, this is like heroin on steroids, a kind of euphoria that prods repeatedly through your pussy into every part of your body. And from the way he’s going, you know this must feel just as good for him as it does you. As the feeling encompasses you, you’re like a rag doll in his arms, though your hands grab and claw at his back, your fingertips feeling like they’re vibrating as they press into his skin, then climbing through his hair to bunch and clench in your fists. With your chin hooked around his shoulder, Joel continues to pour mumbles into your neck. You’re not human beings anymore, just piles of pleasure attached onto each other. You have no control, and neither does he, fucking you like an animalistic machine, violently, his arms fumbling to wrap you tighter, going deeper, faster, harder, and you’re both crying out at this point. How much more does he have, how much longer could he possibly keep going? For god's sake, he’s in his late 50’s.

You grasp onto him, crying and clawing and squeezing and gripping. “Oh, god,” he groans out against you, bucking frantic and chaotic, and this must be it, he must be at the top of that cliff, about to crash down from this record breaking climax. He cries out one final, long, guttural moan, falling into whimpers as he thrust as deep as humanly possible inside of you, becoming slow jerks as he finally pumps the rest of his cum inside of you.

Eventually, it slopes into just twitching and shaking, him pinned deep inside of you. Joel’s body starts to relax, releasing his grip that leaves behind throbbing prints. You lean back on him, muscles exhausted, and look over his face. You begin sliding your hands around it, feeling over his cheeks, brushing your fingers over his wet and puffy open mouth, your thumbs over his eyebrows before pushing your fingers through his hair. His shoulders heave with deep breaths, looking back at you through half lidded eyes, dazed. Now suddenly gentle, his hands slide up your thighs and over your sides, gliding up your ribs before falling back down to rest over your legs.

Joel lets his head fall forward, resting in the crook of your neck, breathing hard, and you brush your hands through his hair as you both catch your breath.

You are an absolute mess, and so is he, both coming back down to planet earth in each other's arms. Eventually, both of your breathing starts to slow, coming into an even rhythm. Lazily, he slides his hands back up and down your sides, and you keep your hands in his hair, petting him like a dog. You keep your eyes closed, being in nothing other than this moment, nothing other than in each other's arms. One of your arms slings over his shoulder, brushing your other hand over the side of his head.

Joel raises his head slightly to rest his chin on your shoulder, his nose leaned into your neck, and he lets out a deep sigh. You sigh after him, then start planting kisses over the top of his head. When you pull his head back to look at him again, he looks like he could fall asleep right here in your arms, but, with your eyes open again and now actually grounded back into reality, you start looking at your surroundings, and anxiety starts to bubble up as you realize that you are in the dirt on the side of the road, completely out in the open, and completely naked.

“Joel, we need to get up,” you tell him, still scanning around. You cup his face in his hands, looking back down at him, but he seems to be mesmerized. “Joel, we need to get up.” You tell him again, then finally recognize realization in them.

“Oh, shit,” he whispers as his eyes widen, and you pull away from each other, him removing himself from inside of you, and, having to use each other for support and balance, you pull each other up to your feet, wobbling.

With his warm arms still wrapped around you, Joel sighs, looking over your face. You desperately wish you could just stay like this, standing here in the dirt, looking like Adam and Eve, but you say, “We need to get dressed.” As you look around at the ground, searching for your clothes, you realize that your shirt is now unwearable. “And I need your jacket,” you add, “I don’t have a shirt anymore.”

“Wha’d’you mean, you don’t have a shirt anymore?” Joel looks at you with his brow pinched tiredly.

Your lips tug up shyly when you remind him, “You ripped it in half.”

“Shit.” He says, his lips tugging up with yours, then looks down at the scattered clothes. “I did, did’n’ I? Sorry, I just got so caught up in you. Did’n’ really mean to.”

“It’s ok.” You reply quietly, smiling back up at him.

“Shit,” Joel breathes out with a smirk as he totters over to pick his jacket off the ground, coming back to bring it around your shoulders. He holds you by your biceps in front of you, looking over your face with another slurred “Shit,” before pulling himself away as you both stumble around after your clothes. You shove your arms through the sleeves of his jacket before finding your boots and pants, realizing the other detail of your shredded underwear.

“God damn it,” you chuckle to yourself as you pull your pants back on, then sitting to do up your boots. When you look up, Joel is leaned over his boots, pants on but not buttoned up. You grab his shirt off the ground before hobbling over to him, holding it out to him. As he straightens back up, he gives you another smirk as he takes it from his hands. You step a little closer, looking down to do up his pants for him. When you step away, he’s frozen, still holding the shirt in his hand.

“Never had someone do that for me.” He says, smirk fallen from his face, and you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek with a smile. When you pull away, he chuckles, then pulls his shirt back on. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” He says as he pulls the hem around his waist.

“By now, I think I have an idea.” You smile back at him, and he chuckles again before bringing you back against his chest, cupping your face to pull you into a kiss. “God, you are somethin’ else.” He says, lips teasing yours.

“Says you,” you smirk, pulling away.

He looks down at you, chuckles, then looks back down the road. “Alright, we really gotta get going. We’ll find some clothes somewhere along the road.” He leans down to pick his pack up and sling it around his shoulders. “We already got a guardian angel lookin’ over us the way we were screaming out here. Jeez, we really did get carried away.” He turns to walk back down the road, looking at you over his shoulder with his hand offered out.

“I’ll say,” you reply as you grab your back and trot up to stride next to him, slipping your hand into his with a smile.

Swinging your hands at your sides, he smiles and chuckles. “Jesus, I really wasn’t expecting that from myself.” He lets go of your hand to instead link your arm over his. He hums a deep sigh, then says, “You make me feel dangerous, dangerous things.” You look up at him, twisting a smile around your face. He glances down at you, smirks and chuckles, then tugs you into his side as you walk. “You wanna know somethin’?”

“Yeah, what?”

“The first time I saw you, I knew you were special.” He chuckles lightly, “I was like, ‘Jesus, she’s pretty.’” He chuckles again, “‘I could fall for her if I’m not careful.’”

“Well I’m glad you weren’t.” You smile. “You wanna know something?”

“I do… what?” He asks, looking back down at you.

“I’ve been wanting you to do me like that since the day we met.”

He pauses, looking at you, “No kidding?”

“No kidding.” You say, grinning, fluttering your eyelashes, hardly able to believe what’s in front of you now, that Joel feels the same way, that he wants you just as bad as you want him. “Jesus, I haven’t smiled this much in a long time. My face hurts.”

“That not just from smilin’.” Joel smirks down at you, and you feel your face going hot. Suddenly, he spins you around to hold you in front of him and leans into another kiss, then moves his head down further, biting your neck lightly. It’s painful, and you shiver, but smile. “Look at’chou, all marked up my me.” He whispers against your neck, and your eyes fall closed, another hot shiver running through you. “You’re mine.” He teases his lips along your skin, “Always gonna be a little bit mine.” He rubs his lips over your neck lightly before whispering again, “I want you. So I’m gonna mark you up,” you feel him smile against your neck, “make sure everybody knows. This cute lil thing over here? Nobody touch. She’s all mine.” Heart fluttering, you chuckle lightly,. “N’ I’m all yours.” He breathes out over your neck, heating up your entire chest, then plants a simple kiss. “And you know what? I don’t want just a little bit of you.” He bites lightly again, “I want all a you.”

“I told you,” you breathe out, only able to get words out like that, “everything. You can have everything. I’m yours. All of me.”

Joel nearly growls, whispering more against your neck, his hands sliding up your waist, “You have no idea how bad I wanna take you again, right here.”

You smile but shy away, grabbing his hand to pull to keep walking. Part of you wants him to, despite how ruined your body already feels; you’re obsessed with him at this point, but you try to keep yourself reeled. “Not here.” You tell him, “We gotta keep going. Find somewhere before it gets dark. Besides,” you bump your side against him, “I’d be shocked if you could get anything else out of you now.” Joel chuckles and you squeeze his hand, changing the subject, “I hope we find a town somewhere up ahead.”

Suddenly, you hear dogs barking, a lot of them, and Joel tugs you into the tree line. He pulls you to face him, his face now entirely serious. He raises a finger to his lips, “Shh.” Dripping with anxiety, entirely caught off guard, your eyes are wide as you look at him. You nod. You have no idea what these dogs mean, but it’s a threat, and your hand instinctively goes to your gun on your hip. He sees your hand move, then shakes his head no.

“Don’t move. Be silent. And follow my lead. Ok?” He whispers sternly.

You nod, brow pinched with anxiety, but you’ll do anything he says.

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tiredly101 · 1 year

Text

Red paint and TV...

Pairing: Wally Darling x Hired by the mafia killer!Male reader

Part 2, Part 3

Summary: Male readers turns on the tv while cleaning the "red paint" in his hands where he stumbles onto Welcome Home... What a cute main character

Illustrated Au, this was won by this poll!

M/n pov

I walk inside my house with a sight escaping my lips, I turn on a cigarette and walk to my living room so I can turn on the TV. I scroll through the channels and find a colorful cartoon show that catch my attention and so I leave it on while walking towards the sink.

"Oh, hello neighbor, I have been waiting for you," said the main character which made me look up briefly but I continued washing my hand, I saw how the character was still in silence and decided to say a soft "Hello".

"Well neighbor, my name is Wally Darling and I was wondering how has your day been?," Said the cartoon character and I looked at him before taking the bloodied shirt off.

"Sore but good, I guess," I said while looking at Wally Darling while putting a clean shirt, I could have sworn that I saw the cartoon character blush. I sit down in the couch while kicking the bloody leather shoes and I sighted in comfort when I took from behind my pants the hidden gun.

"Well that is good neighbor, but I need your help," said Wally making me look at him before turning my old cigarette back on.

"Alright, shoot away," I said while looking at Wally, he is handsome but sadly he ain't real like most of the fictional man I like. We all have been there buddy

As time ticked away I could feel myself drifting off but I stayed strong and carried on watching the seemingly never ending chapter. I hear my phone ring and I pick it up, it was my boss, I mute the Tv and pick up.

"Heya boss man... I see, when do you need this woman taken care off? Before the morning? Alright, on it boss man," I said before hanging up the phone and putting the volume back to the Tv to see Wally painting while humming. I grab the remote control and feel myself hesitating to turn off the tv while I stared at Wally's black eyes and so I leave the show going while I prepare.

I grab my gloves that I forgot last time and put on the boots again, I grab the gun and hide it my back to then put the long black coat which I used not only for style but to hide multiple weapon. I grab the suitcase I dropped in the entrance and make sure that I'm not missing any parts of the sniper and when I'm sure I have everything I walk back to the Tv and hold the remote in hand.

"I have to go Wally, I'll see you later tonight," I said softly before turning off the tv and walking away.

Part two? Definetly so let me know if you want to be tagged!

#Welcome Home #wally darling x male reader #wally darling x reader #Tiredly Jackie writes

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ratsetflummi · 27 days

Note

Okay, now the FUNNIEST Legend of Drizzt moments. *gets popcorn*

uhhh, how much time do you have?

i need to put this under a read more, because i ended up finding one scene per book on average

told you that this series is actually a comedy

1) that time when drizzt thought that three lighting bolts aimed directly at his face were just a friendly sparring session, and then immediately got distracted and forgot all about that attempted assassination because he saw a cat

2) drizzt and zaknafein both going "oh no, he is lost to the evil ways of our people, i would do the world a service by killing him" at each other, but not doing anything about it

3) the first thing we ever learn about jarlaxle being that he has special gay pride merch that is enchanted so you can still see that it's supposed to be a rainbow even in complete darkness

4) that one human wizard drizzt ran into in the middle of the underdark. just. that wizard's entire existence. why does he have a german accent. why does he keep shooting lightning bolts out of his tower when they keep being reflected back at him. rip brister fendlestick, you were only in that one scene, but i miss you every day

5) the mindflayers going "fwoop!" when they shoot a blast of brain melting energy at you

6) drizzt: who are you? you are not my father! zombie!zaknafein: no, i am your… mother!

7) drizzt learning what a skunk is

8) that one wizard that entreri was travelling with in streams of silver messing up her knock spell and dropping entreri's belt instead, and entreri going against what you would expect from his archetype in that kind of story (which would be getting angry and possibly violent) and just sarcastically going "oh wow, great job" and calmly picking his belt up again

9) drizzt casually revealing that he can juggle, suggesting that either he juggles as a hobby (unlikely) or implying some interesting things about drow weapon training

10) entreri choosing to put sewer water in his mouth just to gain little tactical advantage (and then still losing the fight anyway)

11) entreri showing up disguised as regis, dropping his own name in conversations weirdly often under the assumption that the companions are way more worried about him than they actually are, and the companions being completely oblivious about regis acting way differently than normal

12) entreri's insistence that he and drizzt are great rivals, while drizzt can barely be bothered to remember that entreri exists

13) drizzt training a seal to retrieve guenhwyvar's figurine from the bottom of the ocean

14) the heart-shaped drizzt-seeking locket. the fact that that exists, as well as the fact that entreri had that back in the peak rivalry days

15) entreri casually introducing himself as mister do'urden for absolutely no good reason (i genuinely still don't know why he did that)

16) jarlaxle: kimmuriel, you are the leader of the bregan d'aerthe now, i'm going on a road trip with entreri kimmuriel: i'm what?! entreri: you're doing what?!

17) entreri going to the effort of painting jarlaxle's silhouette on the wall to throw knives at the crotch

18)

19)

20) jarlaxle being peak peacock in promise of the witch-king

21) jarlaxle throwing pies at a random couple in a bakery because he mistook them for assassins

22) the reveal that jarlaxle and kimmuriel were just casually watching entreri fuck his girlfriend

23) the several scenes in pirate king where salvatore seemingly forgot that regis is a halfling, because drizzt keeps putting his arm around regis' shoulders and walking away like that, when really regis' shoulders should be down somewhere around drizzt's knees

24) a manifestation of mielikki coming to carry catti-brie to the afterlife, catti-brie responding that she needs to go sleep with her husband first, and mielikki allowing this and just coming back for her in the morning

25) entreri and dahlia behaving in a way that i can only describe as two teenage girls fighting over their mutual crush

26) the entire scene when they threw charon's claw into the primordial pit and entreri failed to die

27) drizzt: come on an adventure with me! entreri: drizzt, it's two in the fucking morning, what the fuck

28) drizzt making puppy eyes at entreri so he will please go on an adventure with him and entreri just closing the door in his face

29) the entire soap opera that was drizzt and dahlia's relationship

30) kimmuriel walking in on jarlaxle sleeping with at least two drow of undisclosed gender and just standing there and staring until jarlaxle finally puts on his trousers

31) jarlaxle's constant innuendos and seeming inability to shut up about his sex life

32) jarlaxle looking completely calm and composed from the outside at all times, but any scene from his pov revealing that he has no idea what he is doing and is lowkey panicking half the time

33) catti-brie: drizzt is my husband, i have been brought back to life to help him and not for anything else bruenor: yeah, same! uh, except that he isn't my husband

34) the dragons flirting with drizzt and drizzt kinda panicking about how to reject them without being eaten as revenge

35) jarlaxle finding drizzt down in a tunnel fighting demons, and just pulling an entire fine dining set out of his hat and having fancy dinner while his bird is ripping more demons apart just around the corner

36) the reveal that jarlaxle is bald because of repeated fireballs to the face

37) this instance of everyone rolling nat1s on their geography check

38) jarlaxle threatening people with knowledge of his kinks

39) random citizen: she's so pretty jarlaxle: yes, thank you, finally someone who recognizes my beauty

#the drow books

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mystellenia · 3 months

Text

chapter 1: chit chat

summary: in the bustling atmosphere of the field, amidst sports activities and the warm october weather, you bond with phoebe, sharing gossip about school cliques and observing the dynamics of your fellow classmates. later, during spanish class, a chance encounter with Abby leads to an unexpected exchange, marking the beginning of a potential friendship

content warnings: none

now playing: chit chat by beach weather

(wc 3.8k) (read time 12-15 mins); bet on it masterlist

The field was bustling with noise, with yells and claps coming from cheer practice on one side of it, track runners stretching on the other, and the girls' soccer team doing drills in the middle. The sun had started its slow descent into the mountains, painting the clouds and everything below them a pink-orange color. Even though it was mid-October, it was still more than warm enough for shorts and tanks, overpowering the ocean chill of the Pacific. Thanks, global warming.

You sat at the very top row of the bleachers with your books out, Phoebe by your side. She was new to Oak Ridge, and you took it upon yourself to make her comfortable after your meeting in Physics class. You were glad, to be honest, that you two became friends so quickly after a freshman and sophomore year of only surface-level friends. It was refreshing.

The two of you waited at the field every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for Phoebe's twin brother, Theo, to finish basketball practice. After finding out you and Phoebe lived in neighborhoods connected by a park, you guys started carpooling to and from school, with Theo driving you all in his car. It's not that you couldn't drive, or that you didn't have a car—you could, and you did, but gas was expensive, damnit, so why not save money and mooch off of her brother? The righteous and honorable thing to do, obviously.

"Okay, so you've already told me about track," Phoebe said. "How about the soccer girls?"

Ever since you two started talking, you made it your mission to fill Phoebe in on everyone and their personalities and lives, telling her who was cool and who was an ass.

"You see the brunette with the black and pink cleats? She has a red shirt on." She nods, so you continue. "That's Alyssa. Myers. She's super nice. She was my lab partner in Chem last year, but she got shit-faced drunk at a party in summer and made out with, like, three guys in the hour. All of whom had girlfriends. So overall, she's pretty liked, but the girlfriends of those guys she tongued hate her guts."

"Oh, that's cute," she laughed, her voice laced with sarcasm.

Your eyes trail to the girl next to her, a soccer ball ping-ponging between her legs as she shoots down the field. "Then, next to her, dribbling the ball, is Dylan Hernandez. Brown, curly hair in a bun. Bright blue shorts. You see her?"

She scoffs as if she can't believe what she's seeing. "What do you mean, do I see her? Yeah, I see her, and she's hot." Phoebe drools over Dylan a little while longer before you start again.

"She is the fuckboy of the soccer team. I've never seen someone pull so much. But everyone knows that right now she's messing around with Adri."

"I don't know that," she argues, her brows furrowing in curiosity. "Who's Adri?"

"Well, now we move on over to the cheerleaders. Adrienne Newport is a flyer—yes, the flyer who just went thirty feet up into the air. She's really sweet, actually. The nicest out of Lizzy's bitch pack, for sure."

Phoebe just purses her lips into a tight line before you realize that she doesn't know any of these names. "Oh, sorry, sorry. Lizzy, Liz, Elizabeth—whatever you wanna call her—is the captain of the cheer team. She's the red head lying on the grass with that ice pack next to her. I bet you it was for her 'sprained ankle' that she so conveniently forgot about once she got the okay to sit out."

"I have her in my geometry class," she hums. "God, that girl is dumb as a doornail when it comes to proofs.

"Yep," you sigh, "that's Liz. Adri and Liz are friends, but they got into a huge fight last year when Adri got to be a flyer, but Liz was just a tumbler. I mean, Adri's probably flyer because she's 115 pounds soaking wet, but Liz just wasn't having it. She can be nice, but she prefers to be a brat. She threw a tantrum in front of Principal Grey, who is her dad's golf buddy. Well, another spot magically opened up, because they were both able to be flyers that year. Since her dad knows Woods, she's virtually untouchable here."

"Ugh," Phoebe groans. "I hate mean girls."

"No," you counter, "she's nice, she's just... catty."

Phoebe squints and tilts her head. "So... just mean, then?"

You chuckle. "Yeah, you're right. Just mean."

"Wait..." Phoebe starts before trailing off. You follow her eyes to see what she was staring at. "Who's the blonde walking up to her, to Lizzy?"

You finally spot who she was talking about. Toned, buff arms, short soccer shorts on her chiseled thighs, and one neat, blonde braid falling down the middle of her back. Abby Anderson.

You admit, she was attractive. Anyone with eyes could see that. She just wasn't your type, and you were almost positive you weren't hers. She was popular and always surrounded by a big group of friends, while you kept to yourself most of the time, save for when you were with Phoebe.

"Oh, that's Abby Anderson, captain of the soccer team. Abigail, but no one calls her that. Just Abby."

You see Liz throw her arms around Abby's neck, pulling her down into a hug. Abby loops her arms loosely around Liz's waist before Dylan playfully slams into Abby's back, breaking them up.

"Are Liz and Abby dating?" Phoebe questions.

"Nope," you say, popping the p and grinning at her. You turn back to the field, your shoulders dropping in an inexplicable slouch. "Doesn't make sense with how tight they are. And Liz is supposedly straight, too, but then she goes and drapes herself over Abby and no one bats an eye. Like, it's so painfully obvious that you even noticed after seeing them for literally ten seconds."

"Oh, you feel quite strongly about this," she pokes. "You jealous?"

"Oh, please. I only have Abby in three classes, and I would rather kiss a toad than date Liz."

Phoebe throws her head back in laughter, clapping her thighs and trying to calm down. The two of you settle into a comfortable silence for a moment until Phoebe turns to you to say something.

"How do you know all of this about everyone, anyway?" she prods.

You shrug. "Adri and I were friends for about three minutes in freshman year before I realized she was just using me for answers. Like I said, she's a brat."

You squint down at Adri and the ponytail sitting tightly on the crown of her head, secured by a blue and black bow with a ram on it. "Two years later, and I don't even think she remembers it. Sure doesn't act like it."

Phoebe hums and checks her phone. "It's almost five. Theo should be getting out soon."

You start to pack your things and zip your Physics textbook into your bag, quietly laughing at how you two came to study but ended up gossiping the whole time. Playful shouting suddenly comes from the gym, and you look up to see who was there.

A rowdy group of boys file out of the gym, whooping and still dribbling basketballs. Theo walks out talking to a teammate, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a towel draped over his head. You and Phoebe stand up with your bags and begin walking down the bleachers to meet him.

Theo finishes up with his teammate, clapping him on the back before addressing you. "Hey, y'all ready?"

"Hey," you respond. You think back to Phoebe checking her phone and realize there's still time to stop for food. Your lips curl up in a smirk, getting ready to nag Theo. "Wanna get us food?" you ask with a mischievous grin.

"I was just about to ask—you're lucky I already wanted some. Practice was long today. How do you guys feel about In-N-Out?"

Phoebe claps her hands together and shakes them, mirroring a prayer pose. "God, you're the best, Theo. Can I drive?"

Theo immediately starts walking, responding with a "No" without looking back at Phoebe.

Phoebe puffs her lip out in a pout, feigning disappointment and grumpily mumbling, "I take it back."

The two of you follow Theo, walking past the end of the field where Abby, Dylan, Adri, and Liz stood and chatted. You felt someone's eyes boring into you, so you turn to their group to find Liz burning two holes into the side of your head.

Liz has always been loud—be it from cheer or just her need to be the center of attention—so you overhear her statement as you walk by her.

"Do you guys know those two girls walking with Theo? They've been staring at us all practice." Her voice fades out as you walk towards the parking lot. She pops her hip and crosses her arms tightly over her chest, listening to Dylan's indistinct response.

"Dude, come on, where you at?" Phoebe asks, noticing your far-out stare.

You shake your head and tell her it was nothing, and you all reach Theo's car and begin loading in.

Soon enough, the three of you pull into the drive-thru, and you order what you always do—a plain double-double, fries, and a strawberry shake. After receiving your food, you, Theo, and Phoebe now sat in the parking lot, talking and eating your burgers with music blasting in the car. Phoebe and Theo were bickering about something in the front row—what it was, you didn't know. In these few months, you'd learned to tolerate their sibling catfights, zoning out or ignoring their jabs at each other.

"Theo," you cut in. "Do you know Liz? Woods?" you ask, thinking back to her stare on the field and wondering the cause.

"Yeah," he nods, "I have her in Physics. We sit next to each other."

"Really?" you say surprised, looking at him through the rear-view window.

"Yeah." He turns back to look at you, speaking around his bite. "Why do you ask?"

"It's nothing," you brush off. Phoebe then turns to look at you, too, squinting her eyes in suspicion. "Okay, she just looked at me weird when we were leaving school. Like I said, nothing. I was just curious."

Theo turns back to face the front, grabbing his Coke and taking a sip. "Liz has a staring problem," he dismisses. "She's always looking at me in Physics."

"Yeah," Phoebe adds. "We have Student Aid together for first period, and every time I use the printer, she stares at me, no doubt."

You stare out the windshield, thinking about what Phoebe and Theo said. You glance down and see 6:18 on the clock, the numbers blinking before the time changes.

"Guys, it's getting late," you say, remembering the pile of Spanish homework you have waiting on your desk. "Let's go home."

"You're right," Theo says, wiping his hands on his sweats to clean them and starting the car.

He pulls out of the parking lot and starts towards the highway to your guys' neighborhoods. Putting your earbuds in, you shuffle your playlists, landing on an old Bruno Mars song and humming as you look out the window.

San Diego was always busy, no matter the time or weather. If it was cold, club goers threw on jackets and danced through the night. In the early hours of the morning, teens skated through the streets, laughing and talking until the sun rose.

You lift your head at the sound of the numbers of your gate code being punched in, the gate beeping as it swung open. Gathering your stuff, you unbuckle your seatbelt as Theo pulls up to your house, saying goodbye and telling you to let your mom know that he said hi.

"I will," you promise, waving at Phoebe through the window while you pull your key out.

Turning the key, you push the door open and are met by the TV still on, evening news discussing the week's weather. Your dad lay on the couch, passed out and softly snoring. Your mom was a banker and worked fairly late, so you figured she was still at work.

Heading upstairs to your room, you open the door and drop your backpack next to it. Slipping off your school clothes, you change into an oversized shirt and shorts and plop into your desk chair with a heavy sigh.

Your desk was messy with papers, worksheets from Spanish and English splayed across it. You cleared an open space to begin working on your Spanish work that was due tomorrow.

Mrs. Ortiz, your Spanish teacher, was pretty chill, but she hated nothing more than late work. If your work is late, then my grading is late, too, she'd say.

Luckily, late work wasn't an issue for you. Spanish had come easily to you, and it was always one of the easier classes you took.

Your phone buzzes on your bed and you lean over to grab it. A notification from Instagram showed up on your screen, and you unlock your phone to see it: newp.adri03, who you may know, is on Instagram.

Clicking on the notification, you open up Instagram and see that it was Adri's account, her feed filled with pictures of family vacations, beach trips with friends, and selfies. What a coincidence, you think, her account being recommended to you after what happened on the field today.

A highlight called life!! catches your eye, and you tap on it to look at the pictures. You skip through them, tapping past a blur of colors, and you slow down to tap back and find a picture of girls in dresses.

Adri, Dylan, Abby, and Liz all were dressed formally, and you recognize the date as this year's homecoming.

Adri wore a corseted light green dress, her straight hair partially pulled up into a half-up half-down ponytail as she posed in a shrug. Dylan looked charming as ever, donning a black button down with the sleeves rolled up, her hand draped over Adri's shoulders with her hair pulled back into a braided bun.

Abby stood next to the pair grinning with a thumbs-up, her hair cascading over her shoulder in a loose braid, wearing a white button up with a navy-blue suit vest overtop it. Liz leaned her head on Abby's shoulder, her eyes closed, and her lips lifted in a soft smile. She posed with a peace sign out in front of her for the camera, a pretty golden slip dress accentuating her hips.

Your lips curled up in a smile at how cute the picture was, at how everyone seemed so happy.

You noticed small tags over all the girls, quickly clicking on Abby's username. She only had two posts and one highlight up, all of them either about soccer, friends, or her volunteer work at the childrens' hospital.

You knew she had parents in the medical field, and she always talked about her dream of getting into med school in Spanish class.

The thought reminded you of the packet you have yet to complete. You flip it open, starting to fill in the past tense conjugation tables. Your eyelids quickly grow heavy, though, so you eventually set your head down on your arm and fall asleep.

Your alarm goes off right in your ear, making you jump up and scramble to turn it off. Your phone reads 5:30 am, so you get up to start getting ready for school.

Heading to the bathroom, you put your hair up to wash your face and brush your teeth, patting your face dry with a towel. Returning to your room, you sit down at your desk to put on makeup. You don't wear much—just some concealer under your eyes, blush on your cheeks and nose, and some mascara.

As you start, you notice your Spanish packet open and about to fall off of your desk. You close it and place it on your backpack to make sure you won't forget it.

Ten minutes later, you finish your makeup and quickly throw on a college crewneck and some jeans, packing your homework and throwing your bag over your shoulder.

Theo texts you at six-oh-nine.

theooo: We're outside

theooo: You ready?

You don't respond, instead just grabbing a bottle of water from the kitchen and walking out to his car. "Hey, Theo," you say, opening the passenger door to sit down, putting your bag between your legs and buckling your seatbelt.

"Hey," he responds. "How'd you sleep?"

"I slept—" a loud and groggy groan from the backseat interrupts, "—well."

You look over your shoulder at Phoebe laying down across the seats, a fluffy sleep mask covering her eyes. "It'stooearlypleasebequiet," she slurs, her voice still thick with sleep. If you looked up "not-a-morning-person" in the dictionary, you'd find a picture of a snoring Phoebe with drool dribbling down her chin.

You listen to her and stop talking, turning the already inaudible music down. Instead, you take out your phone and see a notification from Clara.

claire bear: it's snowing again. i hate new jersey weather :(

You and Clara have been friends since elementary school when she stood up for you while a group of boys spat spitballs at you. Clara responded by saturating a ball of paper the size of her hand in gutter water and chucking it at a boy's head. Safe to say, they stopped immediately.

The two of you were inseparable. Well, that was, until she moved to New Jersey in freshman year for her stepdad's job, and while she settled in well and made friends, she absolutely hates cold weather and is quite vocal about it. Two years later, you were still best friends and texted almost every day.

you: haha sucker

you: it's still 70 degrees here

claire bear: enjoy your melting icecaps and deteriorating ozone layer

you: whatever

You scrolled through your feed until you got to school, Theo heading to his basketball buddies while you and Phoebe got breakfast and sat in the quad. Phoebe still didn't speak—she usually defrosted by the end of her first period, Student Aid, after running errands and texting you while she wasn't busy.

You spot Abby and Dylan together laughing with the rest of the soccer team. Although school wasn't overly cliquey, all the sports teams usually stayed together.

Liz and Adri lingered close by with the other cheerleaders, the other girls forming a semi-circle around Liz and Adri, intently listening to Liz talk about boys or another topic in her catalog of trivial issues and gossip.

The bell rings, and everyone stands up to hurry to their class. You walk Phoebe to the library as you always do, then head to AP US History for first period.

You go through the motions of the pledge, executing them almost robotically after ten years of practice. The morning announcements catch your attention, though, and you focus on trying to hear Mikey on the crappy intercom over the morning ruckus of the class.

"...get into the Halloween spirit with Ram's boo grams! They will be sold on the stage during both lunches for just three dollars. Attached to the candy is a card—you can either leave your boo gram anonymous or write a spooky note for a special guy or ghoul. That's gonna be all for today's announcements. This is Mikey, your basketball team captain, signing out. Go Rams, Hoo-Rah!"

The scrambled clicks of the office announcement phone trying to hang up rattle through the intercom before it cuts out with a click.

Mr. Greyson stands up with a sigh to move to the front of the room. He fixes the cufflink of his perfectly pressed button up, then pushes his chestnut hair out of his face. He's one of Oak Ridge's younger teachers, and he's well-loved by students for his chill approach to teaching.

After his short lecture, you open your laptop to complete today's even shorter assignment and set a reminder to do the reading he assigned.

Once you finish the assignment, you open Netflix and watch your show, occasionally stopping to text Phoebe. APUSH always goes by fast, so you're not surprised when the bell rings. You quickly pack up and head down the hall to Mrs. Ortiz's room for Spanish.

You notice Abby slouched in her chair, tapping away on her phone and bobbing her head to a song playing through her over-ear headphones. You walk past her desk to sit at your own, one desk forward and to the right of hers.

Your feet stop as you pass her desk, looking back at it to confirm. Her completed conjugation packet sat on top of her folder, her neat script filling the page.

Rushing to your seat, you rummage through your bag and pull your folder out with the packet. You must've fallen asleep before you finished it. Great.

You glance over at Mrs. Ortiz at her desk. She was still putting attendance in, so you had a little time before she came and collected the packets.

You flip to the second page and start scribbling down answers, another page behind it that you still had to do.

A silvery voice fills your ears, asking, "Do you need the packet?"

You look over your shoulder and see Abby Anderson staring back at you, her eyebrows raised in expectance. Her eyes flick between your own, clocking your panicked stare as you look back at her. Her gaze falters a bit, jumping from your eyes to your cheeks and nose, then back up to your eyes.

You stumble over your words, finally ekeing out, "Yes. Yes, thank you."

She hands the packet to you, and you thank her again and start copying her work down. You finish just in time, turning back to return her packet just as Mrs. Ortiz claps her hands and stands up.

"Hola, chicos. ¿Cómo están?" she addresses, nodding at everyone's half-assed biens. "Have your packets out, I'm collecting them now."

She collects all the packets from the first row, then passes you and Abby to grab both of yours.

You turn back to Abby and notice her fidgeting with a piece of hair above her ear that must've fallen from her braid. "Thanks again for the packet."

"No worries," she replies, shaking her head and curling her lips into an upside-down smile.

You introduce yourself, and she extends her hand for you to shake, making you snort at the gesture as you accept it.

Your eyes lock onto her forearm, noticing her muscles rippling as her hand clasps around yours.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Abby."

yayyyy chapter one done!! i hope u guys like it :))

@picklesarenice69 @naoblack87

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smoments · 4 months

Text

✧ part 14: memories of a stranger // a satosugu reincarnation au

❝ let's meet again, for the first time. ❞

╰┈➤ in which 19-year old gojo satoru happens upon a stranger at a cafe who speaks his name with a kind of softness and familiarity that satoru’s sure he’s heard before.

➽ chapter 14: the transience of summer

“This is pretty smart, if you think about it. They have students make the art, set up the displays alone, and take everything down at the end. And then they get the money from the whole event!”

“Satoru, they do it primarily for your benefit. It’s a good way to expand your horizons and have professionals see your work.”

“Plus, what do you mean, alone? We were there too.”

Satoru hefts the canvas up above his head just to set it back down atop the set of stairs leading outside, exhaling dramatically and shooting them a wide grin. “You’re right! Whatever would I do without you two.” He pulls them into suffocating side-hugs, beaming like a proud parent when neither of them slap him.

After a second, Shoko swats at his shoulder in a request to be released and looks at him sideways when he relents, her gaze curious.

“I told you about that one guy, right? Who was, like, obsessed with your painting?”

“For real? First I’m hearing of this.”

She tilts her head at him apologetically, fighting a smile. “Oops, must’ve slipped my mind. But he owns a gallery somewhere over in Minato, and he wanted to display it there.”

“Oh, wow. Thanks.”

“Think you’ll do it?”

“That’s… Well, wait a second. I forgot to tell you guys, but I’ve been thinking deeply about my future lately,” he starts, looking around at his friends for shocked reactions and realizing he definitely expected too much when they simply meet his gaze with blank faces, “And I don’t think I want to be an artist.”

This part captures their attention; Suguru flinches back as though slapped, and Shoko gasps like he’s just admitted to locking a very artistic body double in his basement and forcing them to make all his paintings for him.

“Excuse me?”

He waves off their concern, speaking lightly and self-assuredly. “Don’t get me wrong, I do love painting and stuff, but do you know what I like even more than that?”

“Being a bad influence on others?” Shoko offers.

“Educating the youth!”

“Half points.” Suguru tells her sagely.

“My life is not a game show.”

He chuckles at this, lifting his shoulders in surrender.

“We never said you wouldn’t be a good teacher. I bet you’d keep things interesting, at the very least.”

“Yeah, and besides, you know we don’t really care what you do. Like, it’s whatever as long as you’re happy with it.”

He gives her an indulgently gratified look as Suguru walks over to the display, checking for any forgotten pieces of the setup. “Is it just me, or was that actually kinda sweet?”

“Yeah, obviously,” she responds, mildly offended.

“Satoru?”

In spite of its softness, Suguru’s voice has a way of attracting attention, and they both look over curiously, searching his face for the same surprise that was so clearly audible in his tone.

“What’s this?”

Satoru’s eyes widen when the cool light overhead catches on a glint of gold in Suguru’s grasp, and he lets out a shriek as Shoko covers her mouth to stifle a delighted laugh.

“Shoko! Get that away from him!”

“Can’t. I’m holding this.” She lifts the basket in her hands, which would have been haphazardly put together except that Suguru turned out to have a knack for arranging gifts. He’d turned pale when Satoru announced that it was finally ready and held it up proudly for him to see, insisting that he’d clean it up a little before giving it to Shoko (Satoru was greatly wounded by this until he laid his eyes on the final product and decided his pride was a worthy sacrifice for such a beautiful result).

“And what’s the issue, anyway? I like your poetry.”

“I told you already, it wasn’t my poetry! And it didn’t rhyme, either!”

“Thank you, Satoru.”

Satoru looks up sharply when Suguru finally speaks, his face aflame, and does his very best to sound unbothered.

“It wasn’t even anything. Really. I didn’t even write it.”

Suguru smiles back at him warmly, and he feels what he’s sure used to be clear, perfectly formed thoughts falling away and melting on the floor of his brain in a pool of mush. This is definitely not healthy. Luckily for him, Shoko sets a prompting hand on his shoulder, startling him back into clarity.

“I’ve gotta get back - an American singing show Utahime accidentally got us both hooked on is airing today. Thanks for all this, though.” She gestures to the basket in her grip. “My skin gets dry sometimes, especially in winter.”

“I knew it!”

“What?… Okay then, bye.”

“Bye, Shoko.”

He loses himself in thought as watches her turn to leave, pausing to whisper something to Suguru on her way to the door. She’s only just made it down the front steps of the gallery when he calls out to her.

“And- uh- sorry I didn’t take the time to say anything to you earlier.”

She slowly spins to face him, surprise written into the curves of her face and the part of her lips, and he meets her gaze with more earnestness than he’d ideally like anybody to associate with him.

“I’m trying to work on being more proactive and stuff. Not that it’s an excuse for being so dense about what you were going through. Anyway, you needed someone to talk to, I think. I should have been that for you. So… I’m sorry.”

Shoko stills, her throat bobbing visibly when she swallows, and she laughs with that casual ease that he’s come to know her for. It’s too high this time, though; almost like she’s nervous. And he didn’t expect his words to mean anything to her, because it wasn’t as though he could actually go back and fix his maddening lack of initiative, but her dark eyebrows are uncharacteristically taut with emotion, and she’s looking at him now with something like gratitude.

“Thanks, Satoru. It means a lot.”

She waves at them quietly, then continues on her way, her other hand coming up to support the weight of the basket in her grip and her fingers tightening ever-so-slightly around the handle. She glances down at the little cat that rests right at the top, a centerpiece among the overflowing snacks and hand-picked gifts packed into the large container, and it smiles complacently back at her with those dark, painted eyes as her own lips curve upward.

“What did Shoko tell you?”

Suguru is staring glassy-eyed into the wall like he’s just witnessed something unspeakable, and Satoru eyes him with concern.

“What…? Nothing. Just to have a good day.”

“Why would she only say that to you?” He asks bemusedly, his brow furrowed. His gaze trails down the collar of Suguru’s uniform to the item in his hand, and his heart skips a beat. He reaches over to pry his fingers off of the placard and tuck it into his own pocket, thanking his luck that Suguru is so out of it he barely notices.

“Let’s head out?”

“Yeah.”

He lets Suguru lead the way, fishing through his pocket and slipping out the smooth, shiny rectangle to get another look at it.

He wasn’t thinking when he wrote it, really; the words came to him in a dream. They didn’t feel like his, and he didn’t remember ever taking the time to put them together, but the raw emotion seemed to pour from them like water, a tidal wave that sent him to his knees with how deeply it resounded in his chest, and so he allowed them to grace the placard that ended up just below his treasured painting on the wall of the gallery. Even now, his breath catches when his eyes skim the small, engraved letters carved into the golden metal, and he picks up his pace to come to Suguru’s side, trying to ignore the incessant pounding of his heart.

to you, who bloomed and fell away like a fruitless flower.

even if these days fade away, they will remain forever colored.

“we’ll meet again, right?”

words spoken in an unheard voice. in the depths of eternity left behind. scattered within a sea of endless blue.

i’m sorry we couldn’t ever reach you.

Suguru shoots him a subdued glance as he rings the doorbell beside the wooden sign that spells out ‘Fushiguro’ in dark, neat letters, trying and failing to sound exasperated.

“We saw him last week, Satoru.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t been missing that kid too. You mentioned him, like, four times yesterday. You were obviously hoping I’d pick up on the subliminal messaging behind your words and come here with you.”

The front door creaks open after a notable amount of time, and a pair of large, sharp eyes peek through the gap in the entrance. Megumi’s wary gaze finds Satoru first, and his expression drops. He moves to shut the door in their faces without appearing the slightest bit remorseful about it, but Satoru sticks his foot through the gap and eases it open before he has the chance.

“We came to hang out with you!” He announces gaily, beaming down at the child through his dark sunglasses.

“Don’t you have any friends your own age?” Megumi grumbles dispassionately, but allows him to push open the door without any voiced complaint. Satoru narrows his eyes, open hands gravitating towards Megumi’s mess of hair threateningly.

“This brat-”

Suguru cuts him off by stepping lightly on his foot, making him roll his eyes and press his lips together. “Yes, of course, Megumi, but we were hoping to take you somewhere if you have time. Would Tsumiki like to come too?”

Megumi looks at Suguru with a bit more tolerance - likely thanks in part to him putting Satoru in his place. Still, he averts his eyes as soon as he’s finished speaking, resignation settling on his features.

“I can’t. I have somewhere to be.”

Satoru crouches down so they’re at eye-level, giving him a suspicious once-over.

“And where’s that?”

“None of your business.” He looks vaguely embarrassed all of a sudden and drops his gaze to the ground. “But… I have to go to a… school meeting.”

“Going to school after school? Did you get in trouble? I knew the nerd act was all a show.”

When Megumi remains silent and fidgets with his hands nervously instead of giving him the scathing look he expected, Satoru’s mouth drops open.

“Wait, for real?”

Suguru speaks up as Satoru sits there gaping, his tone gently coercing.

“What happened?”

“I have to… I did something to this guy, but he deserved it.” When he catches the look of awe on both their faces, he continues with a touch more defensiveness. “Maybe you shouldn’t be a jerk if you don’t want to face the repercussions.”

Satoru knows Suguru has been teaching Megumi new vocabulary words on top of the knowledge he must amass from the books he always has his nose buried into, but he’s still unnervingly well-spoken for a seven year old. He nods slowly, pretending to be deep in thought, and then sighs like he’s just been requested to do something horribly strenuous.

“Okay, okay, sit down and walk us through it.”

Satoru strolls past the elementary schooler and into the house, making himself at home on the small couch in the living room. Megumi gives him a look, but follows him inside silently, leaving the door ajar for Suguru to enter too.

After receiving a slightly more detailed account of the situation that leaves him feeling equal parts proud and disbelieving of the seemingly innocuous child in front of him, Satoru snaps his fingers, beaming.

“Suguru, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“God, I hope not.”

“Megumi… you just need parents, right?”

Suguru immediately understands his intentions and returns his meaningful look with a warning one.

“Satoru.”

“It’s fine! As long as they’re not, like, homophobic. And see? He looks just like us!”

He leans down next to Megumi, who is seated between them, and grins, poking his cheek in an attempt to squish his face into a smile while he struggles to get away.

“They don’t just let you do whatever, you know. I’m sure they’ll check for identification of some sort. And besides, Megumi probably doesn’t want-“

“Okay.”

“What?”

“Really?!”

Megumi rubs his cheek, which is slowly returning to its normal color, and sighs heavily.

“It’s fine. It’s better than nothing, I guess.”

“Woah, don’t get too excited there, kid.”

“And you two are… Megumi’s parents?”

His teacher, a kind-looking young woman with blond hair cut to her chin, looks uncertainly at the odd group before her - and Satoru can’t really blame her, because he and Suguru are quite clearly college students and barely old enough to drive, let alone have a seven-year-old child.

“Yes, but we really do just love him so much, and we only want what’s best for him, so I hardly think this conversation-“

Suguru cuts off his tirade with a picturesque smile, his tone agreeable.

“That’s right. Thank you for having us here. There was something you wanted to discuss?”

She shuffles the pile of test papers on her desk hesitantly, the tips of her fingers brushing the width of the stack, and then sets it down again and dips her head in acknowledgement, bringing her hands together primly. A folded paper name tag rests next to them with Ms. Nitta written in neat print and bordered by colorful, doodle-esque flowers and hearts.

“Right. So, based on what we’ve gathered from his classmates’ accounts, Megumi has been getting into fights on school property.”

Satoru bites back an ‘is he winning’ and instead gasps dramatically, putting an affronted hand to his heart as though the very idea is unthinkable. Anyway, didn’t Megumi say ‘guy’, as in singular? He was definitely not properly prepared for this. Suguru, on the other hand, is playing the role of concerned parent a little too well, especially considering his earlier protests.

“My darling child would never-“

“Was he provoked? Was it well-deserved?” Suguru inquires. “You see, I don’t think he’d go around starting trouble without reason.”

Satoru tilts his head toward him, slightly surprised at how reasonable a question it is, and Ms. Nitta clears her throat awkwardly.

“Well, perhaps, but that’s quite besides the point. You can imagine a parent’s reaction to their kid coming home all beaten up. Still… he does tend to gravitate towards those who are… aggressively inclined.”

“See? Case closed,” Satoru exclaims triumphantly, throwing up his hands. “He’s just beating up losers. He’s basically a superhero.”

She wrinkles her brow, confusion apparent on her face. “Even if we were to gloss over the other things, I’m afraid that’s not it. Megumi is undoubtedly a very smart kid, but he has some trouble getting along with his peers.”

“Aw, yeah, he’s our antisocial little… guy. He takes after this one.”

He jabs a thumb at Suguru, whose eye twitches in annoyance. He directs a tight, closed-eye smile at Ms. Nitta.

“Yes, and he gets all his agreeability from Satoru here.”

“Are you saying my son is disagreeable?! How dare you!”

“He’s fifty percent my son, too.”

“Well, I carried him for nine months, so I think I deserve at least fifty-one percent!”

“You carried him? Nobody decided that!”

“Yeah, ‘cause it was obvious that-“

“If we could keep personal matters out of the discussion…”

“Please.” Megumi agrees, making no effort to mask the disgust on his face.

“You sure this is the right classroom, right, Yuuji? Damn it-“ The sound of a rattling door knob and muffled swearing pulls them from their heated argument regarding the rightful custody of their non-rightful child, and Satoru squints at the door before leaning in to whisper to Suguru.

“Does he have… tattoos on his face?”

“Ah - this is one of Megumi’s classmates. He requested to be here today.” Ms. Nitta explains, moving swiftly to the door and turning the lock on the knob. She holds it open for them to enter, smiling down at Yuuji, who trots in second. The tattooed man gives her a gruff nod of thanks as his eyes travel the room indifferently, double-taking when he notices Megumi sitting between them.

“Fushiguro?” He nudges Yuuji with his elbow, leaning down to hiss at him in what is quite a poor excuse for a whisper. “You didn’t tell me Fushiguro would be here.”

“I did, ‘kuna,” he protests, indignant. “You were busy playing video games.”

“Huhh? I don’t think so. Anyway, let’s get this over with.”

Ms. Nitta looks to Yuuji questioningly as he and his acquaintance take seats in the tiny plastic chairs usually reserved for her elementary schoolers. Her doubtful eyes flick to the latter, who crosses his legs importantly as the bright yellow plastic squeaks beneath his weight.

“And… are you Yuuji’s father?” She winces at the thought.

“Nah, I’m his brother,” he replies, making a barely perceptible amount of effort to incline his tone towards politeness.

“Big brother,” Yuuji adds unnecessarily. “His real name is Sukuna, but I think he prefers ‘kuna.”

“I absolutely do not, brat.” He glares down at Yuuji, a tinge of red coloring his cheeks, and Ms. Nitta clears her throat.

“So, you had something you wanted to say for Fushiguro?”

“Yes!” Yuuji’s hand shoots into the air enthusiastically. He lets it hover, waiting for stated permission to speak, and she gestures for him to continue. Sukuna rolls his eyes at Yuuji’s behavior, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Fushiguro didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Itadori-” Megumi tries self-consciously, and frowns when Yuuji waves him off.

“No! These annoying brats were bothering Junpei, and Fushiguro took care of them!”

“Whaddya mean, ‘took care of them’? He’s seven.” Sukuna replies disbelievingly. “Not some, like, old war hero-veteran.”

“So am I!”

“Yeah, exactly. You better not be beating people up, either.”

“But you beat people up.”

“Right. Because I’m a grown-up.”

Suguru appears slightly troubled at this particular thread of logic, but thinks better of voicing his concerns. “…Right. Megumi is good to go, then?”

Ms. Nitta lifts her eyes to the ceiling, apparently quantifying the emotional turmoil of having to listen to their side conversations against that of explaining to a livid parent that the child who beat up their own (rightfully, but they wouldn’t hear that) was running free without consequence. Eventually, she settles on the latter of the two evils.

“You all can be free to leave if you promise that this won’t happen again? I’d rather avoid any more trouble, and-“

The unpleasant screech of shoes against linoleum cuts her off, and they all look with interest at the young girl standing resolutely in front of the classroom door, her shoulders heaving with the effort expended on her run over. She blows a bothersome strand of brown, chin-length hair out of her face and opens her mouth to make a resounding declaration to the room that leaves little room for argument.

“Fushiguro didn’t do anything! He’s not even that strong! I bet I could beat him up.”

“If you notice any bullying in the future, just talk to me, okay, Megumi? You can’t cancel out violence with violence, can you?”

Ms. Nitta smiles, patting him gently on the head and confirming Satoru’s suspicions that resisting the gravitational pull of that porcupine hair is next to impossible.

“No, ma’am.” Megumi mutters, embarrassed. Despite his grouchy insistence that his friends didn’t need to show up for him and he would have been fine just dealing with the consequences of his actions all on his own, Satoru can tell from the lingering softness in his gaze that he’s grateful to them for stepping in.

The brief walk back to Megumi’s house passes mostly in silence. They wave him off at the entrance to his house, and he returns the gesture half-heartedly, offering them a rare smile before stepping inside and quietly shutting the door behind himself. Satoru grins to himself, warmth enveloping his body at the small act.

It goes without question that they've grown attached to Megumi in the few months they've known him - it would have been hard not to, really. He's the kind of person whose kind nature melts right through the ice around his words, his occasional moments of naivety made to feel even more precious against the dark, impenetrable backdrop of his mind.

Satoru was never so fond of children, in all honesty; as a teenager, he thought them annoying, a sentiment heightened by the resentment that welled up within him whenever he caught a glimpse of a clearly well-loved child laughing in the arms of a parent, pant knees grass-stained and clothes streaked with dirt. How could their parents still want to hold them when they looked such a mess? What had they done to elicit such affection? And what had he done wrong not to?

Satoru had always wondered if the reason that he remembered his childhood as being so lonely in spite of how many people starred in it was his ungratefulness. Maybe it really wasn't so bad. Maybe he was just a brat. There was always food on the table, after all. He was always taken care of - sometimes to the point of feeling suffocated by it. So why couldn't he stand to speak to his parents, even now?

Children brought up uncomfortable feelings. He preferred to avoid them.

But Megumi was tolerable. Not because of his independence, necessarily, but because of his goodness. It was clear that he didn't have it easy. But it was also clear that his struggles weren't rooted in some misdeed he'd committed.

How could he look at this seven-year-old child and blame him for the situation he was in? How could he even think for a second that it might be his fault?

He couldn't.

And if he couldn't do it to Megumi, he couldn't do it to himself.

So, at his most selfish, he enjoyed being around Megumi because it healed something inside him.

And somewhere along the way, it dissolved into the kind of warm affection he never thought he could feel for what was supposed to be some random kid.

Such emotional vulnerability frightened him, though, especially because theirs was a bond that seemed so precarious; each unpleasant reminder that he wasn't really theirs brought a pang to his chest. They had no real connection to him, no matter how Satoru might have tried to pretend, and no matter that his teacher now believed they were his parents. He had his own life that didn't involve them, and if he decided that he didn't want them to be part of it, that it had been fun while it lasted, but he had better things to do now, then that was it.

He would rather not consider that such an event might come to fruition. And it probably won't.

That's right- Suguru won't be so rash. He won't let his mind be clouded by emotion.

Suguru will tell him he's being ridiculous.

Satoru locks eyes with the only other person who might be able to understand the mess of emotions swirling in his chest, and immediately senses that he’s following an identical train of thought. So when Suguru speaks up, his voice soft, he isn’t particularly surprised.

“You think it’ll always be like this?”

Satoru wants to reply with the kind of incredulity he doesn’t feel; he wants to say that of course it will, that everything will turn out okay, that all of them will stay just like this forever. Instead, he lifts his shoulders in a helpless shrug.

“I don’t know. I hope so.”

They linger on the sidewalk for a second without breaking the silence that now hangs in the air between them, the spring breeze tender against their skin. And then, Suguru clears his throat, straightening up abruptly like he’s just come back to himself.

“We’re loitering.”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Loitering is dumb. What does that even mean?”

He lets out a breath of laughter, and Satoru’s mouth twitches into a grin at the gentle familiarity of the sound, fondness coursing through his chest. Then, a flash of movement in his peripheral vision directs his attention to the entrance of Megumi’s house, where a crack has now emerged in the doorway, and he blinks, wondering if he’s seeing things until a small head pokes through the gap and calls out to them in that characteristically monotonous tone.

“You said Tsumiki can come next time, right?”

It takes a moment for him to process Megumi’s words, but the second he does, a beam spreads over his face. He elbows Suguru in a way that comes off as more excited than smug like he intended, then looks over at him and finds himself unable to drag his eyes away from the wide-eyed relief on his face- even though it’s an expression that is almost certainly mirrored on his own.

When he remembers that he still has yet to respond, Satoru coughs and turns away, lifting a hand to wave at Megumi, and wonders why he feels so unexpectedly sappy when he wasn’t at all worried in the first place.

“As long as it’s not another one of your behavioral conferences, sure.”

He and Suguru exchange a fond look as Megumi rolls his eyes and shuts the door once more.

#jjk #satosugu #crying screaming throwing up #geto suguru #gojo satoru #ao3 fanfic #coffee shop au #fanfiction #alternate universe #archive of our own #jujutsu kaisen au #jujutsu kaisen

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yamada-ryo · 2 months

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Thoughts on Disco Elysium:

Went into the game completely blind other than the obvious "inner speech characterisation" thing and the following

The game calls you a centerist if you don't pick a political stance

Our lucky racist will grant you 3 wishes

Lamby

There's something with this Cuno kid

Drove his own car into the sea

Kim Kimball Kitsuragi

And that's it

Thoughts:

Grabbed the horrific necktie so quick I didn't even do the skill check and was wondering why the tie wasn't speaking to me

I thought the inner monolouge voice was his actual voice. Until the karaoke part.

Loved how the game lets you call yourself Raphael as an option at every point in the game despite multiple characters calling him Harry. I never once made him call himself Harry.

I didn't believe the ex wife thing one bit. Still don't. Genuinely think it's just part of his mind acting up. After all if he forgot everything how can I trust that this one supposed memory of his is real

Didn't drink or use speed at all. Bought one pack of smokes just to set the paint on fire.

Didn't go after any women because I thought he was homosexual by default and was wondering when I could romance Kim (didn't know homosexuality had to be unlocked first)

^also why I didn't buy the ex wife thing one bit. That and half light insisting that I don't pursue the thought

"A major part of being a communist is arguing with other communists"

The part about the game developer being fired from his own company

Died in the chair about 5 times because I didn't know the number above the health bars was the number of heals I had at the time (2) and not an indicator of my maximum health (also 2). Also didn't know how to heal

Bought about 20-25 health pills just to tank the ruby encounter only for her to run away before I used most of it

Lady who bought the pawned gun straight up didn't spawn. Like I could hear the police sirens at the spot where she was supposed to be but there was no one there

I thought Kim would get shot no matter what but apparently not. Raphael got shot in the leg and Kim was hit on the head

Softlocked myself from the ice cream maker machine and had to forget a skill to retry it

Didn't buy any dice or sneakers or speakers

Didn't know it at the time but I learnt indirect modes of taxation and had the +1 shoes on so I was getting 2 real every time I talked to someone and had more money than I ever needed

Gym guy (sunday friend's friend) actually noticed I was wearing the hat I knicked from his room which was cool

There is no way Cunoesse's last name is actually "vittu"

Royalty free alternate universe Karl Marx

Measurehead finally got off the gangway and it turns out you can't even press the button. And the box behind him there all this time only had 1.10 real in it. SAD!

The fact that there even is an option to shoot Cunoesse

Was hoping Kim would wear the matching PISSFAGGOT jacket (he didn't)

Ran about shoeless on the first day. Found the balcony shoe just before debreifing with Kim. Then found the shoe in the starting room.

Thought there would be more to Contact Mike but no Raphael just confuses one poor girl about it

Didn't buy the map until day 3 and didn't figure out how fast travel worked until day 5

Is the expression rigor mortis? Did he have The Expression during all that? Even the gunfight?

The pawn shop owner is the only character that responds to you having a torch in your hand. Also cool detail where if the cursor is in front of Raphael the torch will shine in the direction of the cursor

Paid 20 real for the motel room first thing in the morning before I realised I had free accomodation for the night at the pier

Not much to say about the harbour since my screen fucking died

#test

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halfrican-heat · 1 year

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Freakum (A. Levinson) (1/2)

SUMMARY: The reader has been seeing Ari Levinson-- her dad's best friend and her ex-boyfriend's uncle-- in secret. Lately, he hasn't been giving her the attention she needs. So, what happens when she cuts ties with her toxic ex and his mysterious uncle entirely? (Part 1/2)

Pairing: Curvy!Reader x DBF!Ari Levinson; Black!Reader x Ari Levinson

Warnings: Mild angst; Cursing; Age-gap (Reader is of legal age); Convoluted relationship; Toxic ex; Allusions to minor character death; AFAB body descriptors; Secret relationship

A/N: Hey, how y'all doing? Y'all good? Enjoy part one to this request I got for DBF!Ari. It's not exactly what I was asked for, but I do hope this suffices. Stay tuned for part two! Also, the time stamps on the phone are WRONG AF, I forgot to fix them. I'll remember for next time lmao. Beta'd by my bestie <3 -Lyv

Song Inspo: Freakum Dress - Beyoncé

Masterlist

With a soft laugh, you set aside your phone. You were sure to get an earful from Tamisha in the car, but until then you were going to finish getting ready. Taking in your appearance, you swiped a pinky-nude across your lips before painting on a pink tinted gloss. Your deep brown liner blended with the softer tones and created a chocolatey contrast to the pink colors on your lips. Smirking, you started to pull your locs into an updo.

You had done a soft beat to your face, accentuating your eyes with deep browns and glittery gold accents. The liner you did was sharp enough to draw blood and you were living for it. Your lashes were sitting almost as well as your tits in the salacious little dress you had chosen for the evening.

You hadn’t worn this particular dress since your freshman year of college. In the four years since then, you had gained a little more weight. When you pulled the dress out, you weren’t even sure it would suit your new body let alone fit. Somehow, though, the little garment surprised you in more ways than one.

Short and backless, the cheetah print dress clung to your curves in the most sinful way possible. Cleavage spilled from the ruched, cowled neckline and the hem curved just below your bottom, accentuating the bounty you carried behind you. The heels you had chosen to compliment the dress did wonders for your legs, making them look as if they went on for miles.

Needless to say, you sex on wheels and ready to wreak havoc.

Your phone vibrated on the counter, probably Tamisha alerting you that she was waiting outside. Ignoring it, you finished tying up your hair and packed a small purse. Moments later, the phone vibrated again in rapid succession. Scoffing quietly, you shook your head at your friend’s persistence and snatched the phone up.

“This bitch,” You mumbled to yourself. “Not her tryna be on time for once.”

Another vibration rang out. You smacked your teeth.

“And then tryna rush me. No, ma’am!”

You prepared to shoot off a text telling your friend to “hold her damn horses” only to freeze at the name floating across your screen. Opening the messages, you bit your lip. A hot flush ran through your body as you weighed your options, uncertain of what to do. Annoyance as well as arousal coursed through you at his sudden interest after he ghosted you for three weeks.

See, Ari Levinson wasn’t exactly a man that could be ignored.

Levinson was a powerhouse in architecture. At the age of twenty-three, he started working for Milton Family Construction in Macon, Georgia. What was once just a family business soon became a fierce competitor in the world of construction. The addition of Levinson to the company’s team not only won them lucrative contracts with big name corporations but ushered in a new era of innovative thinking. Levinson’s ability to conceptualize near impossible blueprints and turn them into reality created various opportunities for the company to grow and expand their reach. It only made sense that when George Milton retired, he placed his company in Levinson’s care-- the first non-family member to inherit Milton Family Construction.

Eventually, Levinson set his sights on expanding the company to other parts of Georgia and surrounding Southern areas. Of course, however, Levinson’s constructional genius had people from all over the world seeking him out to spearhead various projects-- from commercial construction to abstract residential floor plans. By his late twenties, Levinson had become one of the richest men in the country and, now in his early forties, has finally decided to settle into partial retirement.

Yes, Ari Levinson was not a man that could be ignored. But your reasoning for such a thought was drastically different from those of the “construction” kind.

Simply put, Ari Levinson was a fox. A silver one at that, with grays in his hair and beard that made you weak in the knees. He had a megawatt smile that dazzled the socks off you and a sexy, rumbling voice that scratched an itch you never knew you had. He spoke with you, took an interest in the things you liked. He lit you up inside in ways you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

And he was your father’s best friend.

The two went way back, to a time before corporate architecture and multi-million dollar constructions companies. Childhood friends who grew up down the street from one another and happened to be in the same classes up until college. It was a tale as old as time. So, as a result, when your father settled down in Savannah to raise his little family, it only made sense for Ari to find himself a permanent home there as well. After all, your father was the only family Ari had left.

Aside from his pain-in-the-ass nephew, Darius. Who was also your ex.

Talk about convoluted, right?

But none of that mattered anyway because, as far as you were concerned, Ari Levinson and his dumbass nephew could burn in hell. One was a narcissistic serial cheater and the other…well. That was entirely too much for you to unpack in one sitting.

So, you decided to put all that shit behind you. All you wanted was to get stupid drunk and post a few thirst traps. No more, no less.

With a sigh, you put your phone in your purse and took one last look in the mirror. Ignoring your vibrating purse, you headed downstairs and paused at the bottom. You took a moment to observe your father. He was resting in his easy chair, watching a football game on the television. Well, more like sleeping through a football game. You smiled fondly, walking over to cover him with the afghan your mama knitted years ago. Your heart clenched painfully at the thought.

He startled a little before relaxing at your presence, humming quietly in acknowledgement.

“Don’t wait up, papa. I’m going out with Tam,” you said softly, kissing his head. “I’ma spend the night at her place.”

“Alright, shug,” He drawled, shifting slightly. “Be careful.”

“You know I will, pa.”

Patting his shoulder gently, you crossed over to the hall closet and grab a stylish jacket to match your outfit and defend against the cool, fall evening. Your father’s voice called out moments later and you felt your back to go ramrod straight at his words.

“By the way, Levinson asked ‘bout you a little while ago.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Your cheeks burned and you prayed your father couldn’t hear the nerves in your voice.

“Yeah. Just checkin’ in. Said he ain’t heard nothin’ ‘bout you in a while. Wondered if you and that boy was still seein’ each other. I tol’ him that sonofabitch nephew o’ his could kick rocks.”

“Bet he got a hoot out of that,” You said awkwardly, shrugging your jacket on.

“Sure did. Laughed his lilly-white ass off.” Your papa replied. “He was just seein’ how we were doing with everything. Ever since, well, anyway. He was just checking in.”

You watched him for a moment as he fiddled with the afghan, his fingers delicately tracing the designs woven into the blanket. Another pang ran through your chest.

“Yeah...that was…that was nice of him,” You replied slowly. “Didn’t have to do that.”

"Yeah, well he was fond of your mother. She always made him feel like part of the family."

Silence hung awkwardly in the air. You shifted uncomfortably, feeling like your skin was being pricked by a thousand needles. Your father stroked the afghan, almost in a daze. You pulled the hem of your dress down self-consciously. He looked over at you, his eyes heavy and seemed to want to speak. Uncertainty flashed in his eyes. He went back to quietly stroking the afghan muttering, “Yep. Good ol’, Levinson.”

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Well, I gotta go! I see Tam’s headlights out the window. Love you, bye!”

Without waiting for a response, you dashed out the front door and into the cold air of the night. Of course, you hadn’t actually seen Tam’s lights through the window. So, you were standing outside waiting for her frequently late ass to show up. You huffed, taking a seat on the porch. That girl couldn’t get nowhere on time-- even if her damn life depended on it.

You pulled out your phone, checking to see if she had texted. Instead, you were greeted to several missed calls from Ari and two from Darius. At that moment, a new message from Ari popped up on your screen. Hesitating briefly, you opened the text.

You smirked at the message. You were riling him up, and when Ari was riled up...well, it always ended up rather interesting for you. Deciding to push your luck, you quickly responded before you could second guess yourself.

There was a brief lull in the conversation. A full minute passed, making you anxious. Then, he finally answered. Scoffing at his reply, you shot back your response.

Then, you turned your phone without a second thought. Pocketing it, you allowed a smug grin to overtake your face. The headlights of Tamisha’s car served as the spotlight for the devious plan taking center stage in your mind. If Ari wanted to ghost you, and come back three weeks later like he owned the place, then two could play that game. The next time you saw Ari, you were going to have him begging on his knees for you.

Little did you know that “next time” would be in a matter of hours.

A/N: It took forever to get these pictures formatted properly. I hope y'all enjoyed. Stay tuned!

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