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scarisd3ad · 3 days

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Jump then fall | Steve Harrington x reader

Chapter one - everything has changed

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Summary - after 7 years of being split apart from your childhood friend Steve you return to hawkins after your younger sisters tragic death, and parents messy divorce. But the Steve you came back to isn’t the same Steve you left behind.

"Steve!" Steve was surrounded by two of his new friends, Tommy and his girlfriend Carol, as I skipped up to him. They were both in 8th grade like Steve. carol looked me up and down as I stood in front of the trio. Steve had an annoyed look on his face from the moment I opened my mouth. Ever since he became friends with Tommy and Carol, it seemed as if I was just another inconvenience for Steve. "What?" the words are harsh as they come out of his mouth, almost like he was stabbing me right in the heart. But despite the achy feeling in my chest, I continued to talk. "wanna come over after school? My dad is working, so he won-"

"God, you are so annoying," Steve scoffs, which makes my brow furrow together in confusion. Steve has been a sweet boy ever since the moment I met him in kindergarten, but the moment he entered the 8th grade it was like a switch flipped inside of him. He no longer cared about his mother or his real friends he only care about popularity, girls, and being an absolute asshole to everyone around him. "Wh-what?" the words come out quiet and meek, the confusion still setting in as my eyes flicked from him to Tommy and then to Carol. Both his friends chuckled, probably because of the tears pooling in my eyes. "I said, you are fucking annoying! can't you go find someone else to cling onto?"

It seemed like time had stopped. Everyone around us stared, some laughed, and some whispered. Was I sent into a parallel universe because this wasn't the Steve I had grown to know? My chest heaved as I blinked back tears. "I-I'm sorry I thought-I thought-" I couldn't get the words out fast enough because Steve was shouting again before I could finish my sentence. "What that I was, your friend? I only hung out with you 'cause I felt bad that your sister died" This wasn't about Sara. He didn't need to bring her up. He knew it was a sore subject. The wound was still fresh. He knew it was still fresh. This felt like he was sticking a knife into that barely healed wound.

I want to punch him; I want to tackle him down to the ground and kill him just because he brought up my sister. "Your mom didn't even like you, so why should I? She dodged a bullet, leaving you." Maybe it was my mind making it up, but it felt like everyone around me was cackling at his words, at my tears, at my fists clenching and unclenching themselves. it hurt, it hurt so bad because I trusted him. I thought he was my best friend, but he wasn't. he was an evil lying bitch.

Before he can say anything else, I'm running away. I ran out of the school and to the group of telephones that stood outside against the school. I immediately punched in my father's work number as heavy sobs racked through my body. The phone rang a good three times before the secretary, Flo, answered the call.

"Hello, this is Hawkins police station. My name is Flo. How may I help you?" Flo was an older lady with dark hair and big, round glasses that sat on the brim of her nose. I sniffled before wiping my eyes. "He-hey Flo, can I talk to my dad?" I asked. Flo must've not noticed I was crying because she instantly transferred me to my father. The phone rang once before my dad answered, "Yeah what ya need?" Dad asks, "Da-daddy can you-you come get me?" I asked through sobs. I could almost hear the confusion in his voice as he asked, "What's wrong? What happened?" I don't answer due to the sobs that continue to erupt from my body. My brain was asking the same question repeatedly. Why would he do that to me? I thought we were friends. "I-I-please Dad," he grumbles quietly, "alright I'll be there in a few minutes."

I stood on the sidewalk with my arms wrapped around my body, waiting. Tears were still streaming down my cheeks when my dad's blazer pulled up beside me. I quickly get into the car, throwing my backpack in the back seat, and slamming the door shut before curling up in a ball, leaning my head against the glass. My father didn't immediately begin driving, instead deciding to interrogate me. "What happened? Did someone say something to you?"

"Steve," I whispered as more tears fell down my cheek. "Wh-what'd he do?" he asked, brows curling into a furrow. Dad knew Steve as a sweet boy, not someone who could ever hurt me. "He-he said...said I was annoying a-a-and that I was clingy." I said through sobs "And he-he said he was only my friend because he fe-felt bad because Sara die-died, that, m-mom didn't like me so why should he, a-and that she do-dodged a bullet leaving." His blood was boiling, I could tell. His face turned red, and he clenched his fists. Before I could even ask him what he was doing, he was already out of the car and halfway towards the front door.

I wasn't a total nerd or loser. I was just normal, but I wasn't a Heather or a Carol. I was just me. I wasn't even the attractive type of normal person like Nancy Wheeler. I was just average. I was standing at my locker waiting for my friend Stephanie. We always met up at my locker before walking to English. Steph was popular. Sometimes I ask myself how I scored a friend like her. She was beautiful and kind. Everybody liked her and everybody had a reason why. The boys liked her because she was pretty, and the girls liked her because she was kinder than the other popular girls. Her curly hair bounced as she sauntered up to me. Her lips formed in a sweet smile as her hands pressed against her hips.

Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and a green bow was placed in her hair to match her green cheerleading uniform. "You coming to the game tonight?" she asked as she leaned her body against the locker next to me. "Maybe I Dunno. I have a lot of homework tonight," I whisper. I'm momentarily distracted by Steve walking by with his arm around his new plaything, Lisa Franklin, a cheerleader like Steph, but unlike Steph, Lisa was an absolute bitch. Despite the hurtful things Steve Harrington said to me, my crush on him never completely disappeared. Sometimes it felt like it was hidden away, but it was always there, simmering beneath the surface.

Whenever I saw him walk by or heard him speak in any of our shared classes, my heart would skip a beat and my feelings for him would come flooding back. It was frustrating and confusing, but I couldn't help the way I felt. I feel two arms wrapping around my body, drawing my attention away from Steve. I glance over and see that it's Shawn Peterson. My relationship with Shawn is a bit complicated. We do things that most people in a romantic relationship do, but we don't use labels because he 'doesn't like labels'.

Shawn's a football player who's popular enough to be kind of friends with Steve. His hair is a dark, chocolate brown that falls in natural waves, framing a face that is both masculine and handsome. But it's his stunning brown eyes that steal the show, sparkling with an intensity that could make any girl weak in the knees. "So, you coming tonight?" he asks as he presses a kiss to my neck. I shrug my shoulders. "Maybe still Dunno though," I whisper. He groans as he presses a kiss just below my ear. "c'mon my parents aren't home tonight; we can go to mine afterward," I hum as I turn so I'm facing him. If I go, I have to tell my dad I'm at Steph's house and if I do that, I have the risk of him calling her parents to verify.

despite the risks, I smile up at him and whisper, "yeah okay sure."

I sat on the bleachers watching as Steph cheered. my hands were buried deep into my pockets as I zoned out. No matter how much I loved Steph and Shawn, I'll always find high school football games a little boring. I didn't understand football and no matter how many times Shawn tried explaining it to me, I always left the conversation a little more confused than I was before. I feel someone sit down beside me, but I don't care enough to look to see who it is.

"hey," an all too familiar voice whispers. That makes me look up because I haven't heard that voice talking to me in years. Steve Harrington sat next to me, dressed in the same outfit he had been wearing at school earlier that day. I couldn't stop my heart from beating a mile a minute, and my hands beginning to shake. I can't tell if I'm nervous because I'm scared or because I have feelings for him. "What?" I mutter back, my voice a little harsher than I expected. Despite the fact he had been so mean to me back in 7th grade, I never wanted to be mean back. I couldn't get myself to do it.

"You here for Shawn?" Steve asks, his left hand tapping away at the metal bench. I nod replying "Yup" he hums as he nods awkwardly "Sooo...is he your y'know boyfriend?" I shrug "It's complicated..." he nods, a quiet hum coming from his lips. Why did he want to talk now? He hasn't talked to me in 3 years, but now randomly he wants to talk like nothing ever happened, like he never whispered to his friends when I walked by or spread rumors about me. "Why are you talking to me?" I ask brows curling in confusion as I stare up at him.

"wh-oh I-I just wanted to talk," he mutters back. he didn't want to talk for years before this, so why'd he want to talk now? After everything he's done to me, why now? I'm silent as I search his face for any signs that he's messing with me. But there's nothing, not a smirk, or some type of glint in his eyes, just brows furrowed together in confusion. I decided to look around to see if any of his friends were nearby snickering to themselves, but still, I didn't see any of them.

"wh-what are you looking for?" he asks. I quickly pivot my body towards him again. "Are you fucking with me again Steve?" he lets out a shocked little gasp before hurling into saying "No, no I'm not I just thought we could talk y'know since we haven't in a while" That infuriates me because he knows damn well why we aren't talking. "You know why we haven't talked in a while," I mutter as I scoot away from him. "c'mon y/n that was so long ago," he says, elongating the 'o' at the end of ago. I scoff rolling my eyes. "Yeah fuck you," I say as I scoot away from him a little more. He sighs defeated before asking, "How's your dad?" I shrug, muttering a quiet "fine," he nods awkwardly "You still live in the same house?" I shake my head. "No, moved a few years back."

We sit awkwardly, both of us not speaking as the football team comes running out on the field. Most of the people around us roar in applause and shouts of excitement, including Steve. he stands to his feet clapping before cupping his hands together in front of his mouth and shouting "Yeahhh Shawn!!" I cringe a little inside. Steve, like every other popular guy and athlete at the school, were filled with so much school spirit it made me physically cringe. he sat back down looking at me, as I stared at my feet trying to hold back laughter. "What?" a smile cracks to his lips as I let out a few quiet giggles. "Nothing...nothing" he laughs, and for a few quick minutes our old dynamic came back.

"Seriously? C'mon, what?" cover my mouth with my hand as I continue to laugh. I shake my head, refusing to say anything as our laughter dies down. And just like that, we were back to two estranged friends who hadn't held a conversation for more than 2 minutes for the past 3 years, almost. "y'know your dad punched me that day?" I look up at him, brows furrowing as I whisper a quiet "What?"

"He punched me when I was in eighth grade. " It all comes back, my father storming into the school after admitting to him what Steve had said to me. "good" I wouldn't normally expect my father, a grown man, to punch a 13-year-old, but in that instance, I don't blame him. If I was him and a guy like Steve had told my daughter the things Steve had told to me, I would've done more than just punched him. Steve laughs almost as if he was agreeing with me "Yeah...I was an asshole" I roll my eyes, was? Steve Harrington was still an asshole. "still" I say correcting him. Now it's his turn to ask "What?" I roll my eyes yet again as I say, "You're still an asshole", he frowns as he nods slowly "Yeah...I guess" At least he could admit it.

Once the game ended, I bid Steve a quiet goodbye and went to the parking lot. I wait by Shawn's car for about 10 minutes until I see Shawn walking towards it, duffle bag swung over his shoulder, and hair damp. Steve walked next to him, both chatting about who knows what. Shawn drops his bag onto the hood of his car before scooping me up into a kiss.

Returning his kiss, I wrap my arms around his neck. I try to enjoy the kiss, but unfortunately, I can't because I can practically feel Steve's glare. I pull away, eyes meeting with Steve's. His brows are knitted together in an angry, or jealous type of furrow, and his arms are crossed over his chest. "You did so good out there," I say, pretending like I wasn't zoning out every 10 seconds. "mhm" Shawn hums before pressing his lips back against mine.

Steve clears his throat, making Shawn and I pull apart yet again. "well I'm gonna go. "See ya later, dude... um, nice talking to you again, y/n," Steve says before he starts walking towards his BMW, that was parked a few cars down.

The drive to Shawn's house is short and quiet. The only noise present is the low hum of the radio, and our breathing. When we get into his room, his hands are almost immediately all over my body. His lips touch mine, and his hands slide up and down the sides of my body before deciding to rest comfortably against my hips. The room is already somehow hot, and we're both out of breath when the sound of the phone (which sat on his nightstand) begins to ring.

BRINGGGG, BRINGGGG, BRINGGGG.

The sound of the phones rings is shrill and cuts through the quiet house like a knife. Shawn groans before pulling away from me. He crawls up his bed before answering the phone. Leaning against the headboard, he says, "Hello?"" in a very annoyed tone. "Oh, hey dude...no you weren't interrupting anything." the last bit drips in sarcasm as he says it.

"Yeah...yeah she's here, what'dya need?" I know he's talking about me because no one else is here, but I don't have a clue about who he's talking to. His brows furrow in confusion as the muffled sound of the other person talking comes out of the receiver. Then he scoffs as he shakes his head. "No, I'm not gonna do that sorry Steve." Steve? Why would Steve be asking about me? "Dude, you can't just ask me to do that" Shawn's eyes flick over to me before he whispers "I've gotta go alright? yeah, yeah, see you later." Shawn says before hanging up the phone.

"What was that about?" I ask. He hums quietly before hesitantly saying "Um...he just wanted to ask me if he could copy my homework" My brows furrow. There's no way Shawn would have made a big deal out of copying homework. They always copied each other work, so there was no way that's what Steve had asked. There was no world in which Shawn would have answered like that to needing to copy his homework.

As I press my hands into the soft cushion of Shawn's mattress, I sigh and whisper, "I should go... my dad's gonna be pissed if he finds out I stayed out late." Shawn nods before asking "Need a ride?" I nod, pushing myself up off the mattress and to my feet. "Yeah, but drop me off a few miles out. Don't need my dad knowing you're there."

A few years back, after my father's divorce was settled, and I was adjusted in school, my father sold our old family house. Claiming there were too many bad memories there, then he promptly moved us out to a cabin in the woods, much to 12-year-old Me's dismay. The cabin had supposedly been my grandfather's. his father, aka my grandfather, skipped out on the 'wondrous' opportunity to live in the shithole, so it had been abandoned for years since my great-grandfather died. It's a shitty log cabin, two beds and one bath that sat in the middle of the woods.

I hate being at that place alone. The doors creek, and the trees around it whistle with every gust of wind. I swear I'm going to be murdered one day in it and it'll be all Dad's fault for moving us out there. I didn't know why he couldn't have just moved us into some moderately shitty apartment or even keep us at the old house.

Shawn's car slowly drives down a dirt road in the middle of the woods. His high beams shining ahead of us to make sure there wasn't some animal (or person) in our way. About halfway towards my house, Shawn stops the car. From there, it would be about a 10-minute walk up to the house. "I can walk you up there if you want me to," he says, his voice quiet as if he thought my father would somehow hear him all the way out here. "No, I'm fine...but thanks anyway. See you on Monday," I say as I push open the car door. I sling my bag over my shoulder as I begin the walk towards my house. Shawn waits until I'm out of sight from his car to turn around and it's the 5-minute drive back to the main road.

I arrive at my bedroom window. I don't even notice my dad stood leaned up against the door frame until I'm fully inside my room. I'm left staring at my father, who has his arms crossed over his chest, angrily glaring at me. "WHERE THE HELL WHERE YOU?" my mouth gaped open as I began to say something but decided it was better not to. "GO ON TELL ME WHERE THE FUCK YOU WHERE" I let out a groan as I matched my father cross my arms over my chest "I was at the football game," I say with an eye-roll as I toss my backpack on my bed.

He scoffs "THE FOOTBALL GAME ENDED AT 8:30 SO TELL ME WHERE THE FUCK YOU'VE BEEN FOR THE LAST 2 HOURS!" his voice echoes through my room as I begin to talk, "God you're being so dramatic. A few friends and I went to Shawn's to celebrate after the game." his face is red, and his fists clench and unclench before he begins to shout again. "YEAH, WE'LL SINCE YOU DONT KNOW HOW TO FUCKING PICK UP A PHONE AND TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE I DON'T WANT YOU OUT OF THIS HOUSE FOR THE NEXT TWO DAYS!" my eyes widen as I shout "What! that's not fair! I'm babysitting this weekend!"

"well, you're going to call whoever you're babysitting for this weekend and tell them that you can't make it anymore, and I don't want you using this phone this weekend either," he says as he goes to unplug the phone from the wall. I let out a loud dramatic "ugh!" which is then followed by me shouting "I hate you!"

As he walks out of the room he says, "Yeah well I fucking hate you too" I dramatically sit down on my bed before shouting again "You're such a fucking asshole!" he turns brows furrowing as he says, "What did you just call me", I'm not scared of him, I never have. He thinks I am, but I never will. "I said you're a fucking asshole," I repeat as my arms cross over my chest. He scoffs as he says, "I'll show you how much of an asshole I can be" before slamming my bedroom door behind him.

I sit on my bed, arms crossed like a bratty toddler as tears pricked in my eyes. it wasn't fair. I've gotten home late a handful of times and he never gotten angry any of those times, why did he always pick and choose when he wanted to blow up? I wonder what it would be like right now if I was still in New York with my mother. would she be blowing up on me right now too? would she be cool about things like this? or was she strict? but I guess I'll never know because she gave up on me and our family.

I feel bad after fighting with him, I always feel bad. I know deep down he loves me; he just doesn't really know how to show it anymore. I crave that fatherly love that gets rationed out from time to time. I think that's why we fight so much; I crave the affection; he doesn't know how to show it. when he's not working, he sits on his chair, or in his bedroom practically in a catatonic state staring at the tv or a wall, we eat dinner in our separate rooms we don't talk unless we're screaming at each other, or I've got my head laid in his lap as I profusely apologize for what had happened. we're both traumatized i know that we both lost so much, but he should at least try. he knows I don't have any other parental figures in my life, and he still chooses to be distant and cold.

I sigh arms falling to my sides, pressing against my soft mattress. sometimes in the spur of the moment I wish he had died, and I know he thinks the same about me. I always feel bad afterwards though. even though I live with him, I don't know my father at all, he's a stranger to me. the only time we feel like father and daughter is when he's bossing me around. it's absolutely bazar that I feel the same way about my father that I do my absent mother. it's actually like they're both absent in their own ways, dad emotionally, and mom physically. he totally gave up after sara died, I mourn my father in the same way i mourn my dead sister. I just want the old him back, the dad who chased us around the park, and took us out for ice cream, the dad who never even thought to yell at me even if i had stollen a car.

I just want him back.

Taglist

@sheisjoeschateau @nothankyou138 @gleefulleve @luluw-20 @skrzydlak @halflifejess @natalie-flo @castleallherown

#fanfics #x reader #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #fem!reader #joe keery #steve harrington #steve harrington x female!reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things season one

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mahitosmalnourishedmanhood · 2 days

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Something Domestic Pt.2 18+

Summary: Her entire life, Kimiko had been convinced she was crazy. By her parents, her sister, doctors, everybody. So, she’s thankful to meet someone who assures her, her hallucinations aren’t just her mind messing with her. Too bad the messenger is a curse.

Tw: smut smut smut it got dirty quick (since this was meant to be the first chapter but i figured giving some of kimiko’s backstory first would be better) Mahito is his own warning, author is only halfway into season 1 so any conflicting details will be edited at a later date, mc can see curses and doesnt know wtf they are, idle transfiguration on Mahito during sex, stitches licking, neck biting, fear play (fantasy), dubcon I think? (kimiko is intoxicated and mahito has no idea what sex is), hair pulling, maybe ooc, creampie

Word Count: 1.7k

Part One

The two had introduced themselves, and talked for a bit before Kimiko began leading Mahito to her apartment. She isn’t entirely sure how exactly she managed to convince a stranger to come home with her, but she knows better than to question a good thing. She is fairly anxious, and his gaze doesn’t make things any better, and he knows as much, almost as though he’s trying to frighten her. She glances at Mahito occasionally as she fidgets with her nails. He can sense her fear, and it makes him feel delighted, especially considering how she’s ignoring it and her instincts for the sake of getting him home. He still isn’t exactly sure what she has planned for when they get there, though he doesn’t mind, either way he’ll learn a bit more about humans and then use idle transfiguration on her. Simple.

“You are quite nervous. Any particular reason?” He asks, stepping a bit closer and putting an arm around her waist, a slight shiver creeping up her spine at the touch. He is a bit tempted to use his idle transfiguration on her now, but she is interesting, if a little weird, enough to wait a little bit more before trying to do so.

“Oh— I just haven’t brought anybody home for a hookup before, much less a complete stranger.” Kimiko explains, her face bright pink and her muscles slightly tense under his touch, though she didn’t mind enough to move his hand.

Mahito does look confused at the term hookup, but knows he’ll find out what it is once they got to where she was leading him. He keeps his eyes on her, and can tell she knows something is wrong, but she doesn’t try to move away or get him to leave, so he assumes she doesn’t know what he is exactly.

Soon, they reach her apartment and she steps in front of her door and unlocks it, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as Mahito stands directly behind her, close enough that he’s breathing down her neck. She steps inside with him, and once he is inside he’s caught a little off guard by her suddenly tossing her arms over his shoulders and pressing her lips to his. He knows only a little about these kinds of behaviors, only enough to know she isn’t trying to attack him in any way. He’s unsure what to do with his hands at first, but soon he just puts them on her waist as she presses her chest to his and carefully walks him backwards until he hits the couch.

He lets out a little grunt as she pushes him down onto the cushions and climbs into his lap, straddling his hips. She then pulls back from the kiss, her pupils blown wide, nearly consuming the blue of her eyes. “I’m sorry— I probably um- should’ve asked first.” He looks at her a little funny before he puts his hands on the sides of her jaw.

He feels the urge to change the shape of her soul again, but is distracted by a new feeling pooling in his stomach and between his legs. This he has never experienced before, though he welcomes the feeling with open arms. He pulls her forward by the jaw and presses his lips to hers again in an almost desperate manner. She runs a hand through his hair and lightly nips his bottom lip, hearing him make a small noise of surprise in response.

Her tongue slips into his mouth, and she uses her free hand to sneak under his shirt and feel over his chest. He slightly arches his back, leaning into the feeling of her warm hand touching his icy skin. She feels his tongue push past her lips, further into her mouth to an abnormal point, his tongue flicking against the back of her throat and making her gag for a moment. He realizes that might alert her to the fact he’s not a human, but surprisingly she doesn’t seem to notice it. If she does notice, she doesn’t care enough to dwell on it. He’s unsure if he’s thankful about that or not. He wonders if she’d still be the one leading if she knew he was a curse. He imagines her squirming and shivering under him with the knowledge he could kill her with a couple of words, and it makes him that much more aroused and needy.

Mahito puts his hands on her waist and squeezes as she pulls back from the kiss enough so she can properly start to undress him, slightly panting as she strips him of his top. She stops for a moment, and stares at the stitches across his neck before leaning down and trailing her tongue over them. She’s a little clumsy, but Mahito thankfully has no way of knowing as he tilts his head back instinctively and uses a hand to push her face further against his neck. She mouths over the stitches for a moment longer before leaving bites across his neck and starting to undo his pants. He mirrors her motions from a moment prior, removing her shirt and tossing it aside, staring blankly at her chest for a moment. She had something else under her shirt? Tedious.

He moves to get her skirt off, deciding to let her deal with the rest. She soon stands up and removes her undergarments before tugging his pants down to below his knees. She looks down at him for a moment, seeming to be thinking about something or other before she settles in his lap again, his dick pressing firm against her thigh. It feels warmer than the rest of him, but still fairly cold. Mahito is nearly convinced he’s going to melt as their skin meets. He presses further against her until he’s pressing the side of his face against her chest.

He feels one of her arms snake around his head, likely to support herself and stay balanced while her other hand wraps around his shaft. Only a moment passes before she’s slowly sinking down on him and he’s suddenly overwhelmed with her warmth, though it still feels like it’s not nearly enough, nothing compared to what he believes lies ahead. He lets out a small sigh into her skin, his hands resting on her hips as she moves them slowly. It feels like agony, and he only gives her a second before he’s experimentally moving her hips for her, his large fingers digging into her hips hard enough for bruises to show the next morning.

Kimiko runs a hair through Mahito’s hair, and curiously tugs on one of his ponytails, forcing his head back until he has no choice but to stare up at her. She gives him a little grin, and the sight makes him throb inside of her. She leans her head down and rests her forehead against his, shutting her eyes as she rocks her hips in the fast pace he’s chosen for them. She adds a bit more force into it, and lets out low moans, close enough that Mahito can feel her breath fanning across his face with every sound she makes for him. He keeps staring at her, and again mirrors her actions, moving his hips up into hers, and he feels excitement rush through his body at the bolt of pleasure the action brings. One hand slides up Kimiko’s back, pressing on her spine just hard enough to get her to arch it for him, seeming to get him even deeper than before.

“Oh, this has to be the best night of my life.” She tells him softly, almost quiet enough that he doesn’t catch it at first. Almost. Mahito can hear a buzzing suddenly, but he pays no mind to it, simply just continuing to thrust up into the pretty little human on his lap. He sprouts another arm, his third hand forcing her hand from his hair and making its way into her own. He tugs her hair like she had done to him, only now it’s to force her head down, rather than up.

“Yeah? Mind telling me why that is, hm?” Mahito grins as he thrusts into what seems to be a particularly sensitive spot for her, as both of her hands reach for his shoulders and she lets out a noise louder than before. He hits that spot again, and again, wanting to continue to draw those pretty sounds from her, even if it means she likely won’t answer his question. He’d rather listen to this anyway. She still does her best to answer, but ultimately crumbles, holding onto his shoulder as her thighs tense and tremble.

Mahito is suddenly all too aware of the growing heat in the pit of his stomach, and he leans back against the couch, fucking up into her with far more force now as the tension in his stomach feels like it’s about to snap. “Oh, I feel like I’m going to burst.” He practically whimpers to her as he leans in to kiss her again, and she merely nods in agreement, her own orgasm only seconds away. He can’t focus on anything aside from how impossibly warm he feels and the bliss coursing through his veins as the pressure in him finally bursts. He stills, and Kimiko rocks her hips into him desperately, the feeling of him filling her up sending her straight over the edge. She grows nearly impossibly tight around him before she leans into his chest, staying still while they both take a moment to come down from their highs.

After a few moments, Kimiko gets up, not wanting to get that intimate with her new friend by snuggling with him during a mere one night stand. She tugs on her underwear and her shirt, looking at Mahito in her half dressed state. “My bathroom is the first door on the left in the hallway, if you want to shower. I am going to go lay down though, my legs feel like jelly.” Kimiko sighs with a small giggle. “My bedroom is straight down the hallway if you want to stay the night, or you can sleep out here, either works.” And with that, she leaves Mahito to himself as she goes to lay down for the night.

#jujutsu kaisen #mahito #jjk #mahito/oc #mahito x oc #oc x mahito #jjk oc #smut #jjk smut #mahito smut #idk how to tag

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boredzillenial · 3 days

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Sir’s Surprise

Poe is off on a mission but has just the thing to fill his pet’s needs

Themes: Dom!Poe, gn!reader, use of honorifics (Commander, Sir ; little porg, pet, honey), voice kink (I tried lol), anal

A.N.: we’re not gonna talk about how long it took me to scroll to find this request or how long it took me to do it lol I’m catching up i swear 🫥

“Please-” they whined “how long is this mission supposed to last…”

“As long as it takes, you know that my little porg.” Poe’s voice teased over the comm.

Their face grew hot “Stop calling me that - those things are so annoying.” Their voice broke on the final word setting embarrassment through their veins. Despite the several parsecs that laid between Poe’s position and theirs he still knew how to work their nerves.

Poe tsked “You think you can catch an attitude when I’m off on a mission? Guess you won’t get your surprise.” He chuckled.

“What?” Their body went stone still. For as strict as Poe could be, he was a fantastic gift-giver.

“Shame too - it would’ve helped with some of this neediness.” He cooed “would’ve filled your needs pretty well I think.”

Heart pounding in their ears they leapt up and began to tear through the shared bunk space. Checking in drawers and under the mattress, with Poe’s laughter echoing from the comm. “You’re not gonna find it.” His singsong tone set their nerves on edge.

Their body begged for some sort of release from the pent up desire. “Come on Poe -”, desperation shifted to frustration.

The comm went deadly silent, “What did you call me?” His voice was icily calm.

“I-I mean Commander. I’m s-“ their blundered apology was cut short with the sound of something opening in the corner of the cramped space.

“You want it so bad?” His voice clipped, they turned to see a secret compartment now open in the wall, “Take it.”

They shifted and peaked into the compartment, laying eyes on the surprise. “S-sir did you…”

“But your gonna take all of it.” Poe’s timbre was stern, with that unmistakable heated tone.

They picked up the heft of the silicone surprise and looked over it with wide eyes. The bulbous tip, the sleek shaft etched with veins down the sides, ending with a flared base and suction cup. The accuracy had them dumbstruck. “S-sir I don’t -“

“You’re lucky I’m not there right now - or I’d stuff that in your throat for talking back.” His voice went icy “And I’d stuff myself in that tight little ass for good measure.”

They froze, body shivered in anticipation now that they could hold him, at least a version of him. “In fact, you’ll need to practice before I’m back.” Poe’s tone shifted with a lilt “suck it, do it well enough for me to hear.”

They brought the tip of the cool silicone to their face, taking a test lick. That ache deep inside them fired at the touch of the tip pressing past their lips.

Slurping and sucking sounds filled the tight space as they got to work. Almost mindless in their ministrations as they took it deeper and deeper. “That’s it, you love my cock filling that wet little mouth don’t you.” Poe growled.

They touched themselves in time with the slide of his girth between their lips, eliciting a broken groan. “Touching yourself already sweetheart?” His sultry tone sent the ache into something primal. “Good, you got it nice and slick?”

They pulled the toy out with a pop “yes sir.” They huffed.

“Good pet. You know where I want it next.” He pressed, they knew exactly where he wanted it. “Go to my chair.”

They adjusted the toy on the nearby desk chair. Fastening the suction cup firmly and taking a moment to admire it glistening, beckoning them closer.

“Lube is where it always is.” Poe’s voice jolted them out of their momentary pause. They scrambled a bit through the usual drawer and popped the tube open. Soft squelching sounded as they covered it from tip to base.

“Talk to me pet.” He cooed.

“I-it’s ready.” They said as they slowly straddled the chair. Cold silicone chilled further with the lube lightly tapped their rear.

“So are you, now, have a seat. Nice and slow.” He encouraged.

They notched the bulbous tip against the tight ring of muscle, a soft gasp escaped as the head made its way in.

“Good, good job.” Poe cooed softly “You sound so cute when the tip pops in.” His voice grew closer to a groan.

“How’d you-“

“Honey, I know the sounds you make to every inch of me.” He chuckled.

Their heart hammered in their chest at his laugh and the stretch of him. Another inch had them gripping onto the back of the chair for dear life. They lifted for a moment of relief before shifting deeper down onto it, a shaky groan passed their lips. “F-fuck.”

Their legs shook a moment, knees threatened to buckle from the pleasure as they sunk further. Their groan twisted to a whimper when his voice growled over the comm “Ugh those sweet little sounds. You’ve got me so hard… Half way there honey you’re doing great.”

“S-sir I don’t think I can -“

“Yes you can-“ his throaty command cut their protest short “touch yourself, you can do it, go all the way.”

They started slowly, stroking and caressing. Between Poe’s praise and their own hand their body relaxed, allowing his replicated girth to ease all the in until they hit the flared base.

“I - I did it.” Their mixture of huffs and groans filled the tight space. “F-feels so g-good sir.” They slowly lifted and sank, a low fire building in their belly. Every nerve felt alight with the stretch of it.

The mixture of noises from the lube, the toy, the creaking chair and Poe’s whimpering pet sent his mind spinning. “You’re taking me so well honey I know it. Shit you sound so good.” Mechanical clicking and whirring sounded over the comm, “I’m cutting my mission short, you stay right there.”

“W-what?” They groaned, another lift up and slow slide down pushed them closer to release.

“I’m only a couple parsecs away. I can’t stay away from you like this.” His tone turned to something hungry, deep.

They sat down fully to give their legs a rest and whimpered at the feel of him deep inside them, “H-how long.” They huffed.

“Not long.” Poe clipped, “stay right where you are, you need to be ready for what I have in store for you.”

————————

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ominoose @romana-after-dark @lunar-ghoulie @flowercrownonapegion @howellatme @mooksmouse @ahookedheroespureheart @beezusvreeland @auntiegigi @moonkxight-blog @faretheeoscar @queerponcho @for-a-longlongtime @silvernight-m

#poe dameron #poe dameron fic #poe dameron smut #poe dameron x gn!reader #poe Dameron Star Wars #oscar isaac characters #Oscar Isaac brainrot #poe dameron fanfiction #poe Dameron fanfic

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honeykaes · 11 hours

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heartbroken ghost

thoma x reader II 3.5k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with fem pronouns, switch!reader, switch!thoma, office au, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, hate sex?, blowjob, handjob, riding, use of alcohol, reader isn’t a good person, unedited

synopsis: everyone at the office seems to love thoma. He’s helpful, kind and dedicated to everyone…except for you

Thoma seemed to be beloved in the office. Working for the Kamisato conglomerate as an assistant, he was always helping out the people on his floor. He would bring in sandwiches, stay late helping people catch up with their work, and even buy a round of drinks for everyone once the day finally ended at the izakaya next door.

There was nothing but good things your coworkers would say about him. Everyone always found themselves smiling, whenever he would be brought up in conversation.

Yet, it seemed whenever the two of you were alone he wanted nothing to do with you. Heavy quietness, avoiding eye contact, furrowed brows—he held you at a distance and you had no idea why.

Finally, one day after work, gulping beers down at the izakaya, it seemed all your coworkers trickled out until it was just you and him. Your cheeks felt hot looking down at the froth of the beer smeared across the bottom of your mug, pouting as you finally finished your nth drink of the night.

You lifted your eyes up to see Thoma staring at you. Part of you was shocked he decided to stay, instead of paying the bill and leaving silently like he usually does.

His green eyes were hazed in a cloud of drunkenness, leaning his soft cheek against his palm as his arm leaned on the table. His eyebrows were furrowed, cheeks flushed as the alcohol in his system pumped through his veins.

Oddly enough, there was something sultry about his eyes narrowing at you. Perhaps it was because you noticed the buttons of his white dress shirt popped down, showing a glimpse of his pectoral muscles from the angle he was leaning at. Or the pierced ears you never noticed he had.

You pouted before pushing your mug away. This would be a good time than any to ask him what his deal finally was.

“Thoma, why do you hate my guts?” you asked, fingers strumming on the wooden table. Thoma's eyes slightly widened before he sighed, leaning his head back.

“...Can you leave already? I just want one more drink to myself without your presence here,” he replied. Your eyebrows furrowed, hearing his statement. You clicked your tongue in annoyance, leaning towards him from the other side of the table.

“Not until you explain yourself. You are literally, supernaturally kind to everyone but me. So what’s the deal? Did I piss you off or something? Is it jealousy—”

Thoma scoffed, lips curving into a disbelief smile as he shook his head. His false smile quickly fell again as he pushed away his empty glass and lifted his face away from his palm

“Of you? What do I need to be jealous of you for? There’s nothing that you have that I don’t,” Thoma replied. Your lips curved into a smile, as you leaned closer towards him. You noticed his eyes flicker towards your chest before heading back to your eyes.

You would bet a thousand mora the peak of your cleavage also grabbed his attention.

“Is that right? Then explain yourself, since you do not need to be jealous of me…” you trailed off. You gasped a bit before chuckling to yourself. Thoma grunted.

“What’s so funny?” he asked. You tapped your lip contemplating on telling him.

“A memory just popped into my head. I remember the first day of the office. Instead of you showing me around, Mr. Kamisato did. Were you jealous the boss was showing me more attention than his favorite dog?” you hummed. Thoma furrowed his eyes, getting up from his seat. The mischievous look on your face softened, as you got startled by his sudden movement.

“You don’t remember me do you?” he asked. Your lips curled up about to laugh before Thoma peered at you from the corner of your eye. He was dead serious about this. Yet, his face doesn’t seem familiar.

“...Figures,” Thoma sighed, burying his hands into his slacks. He threw a few bills down on the table before walking off toward the entrance of the bar and leaving. Despite the crowded and rowdy, dull roar of the salarymen and women around you, the only words that kept registering and repeating in your head were his words.

“You don’t remember me do you?”

You don’t recall anyone that resembled Thoma in your life. You tried your best not to think about your life before college, but was he a discarded figure hidden behind the doors of adolescents you never wanted to face again?

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you look down at your empty beer glasses surrounding you. The buzz of alcohol was beginning to dissipate thanks to that conversation.

“I need a drink…” you muttered to yourself, getting up from the now-empty table. You made your way out the door, noticing the rain beginning to dretch the Tokyo skyline. The hard, cold droplets clung onto your clothes and hair, quickly drenching you as you cursed out, covering your head with your arms to try and fail to keep yourself dry.

Dashing off, feet wobbling as you struggled to keep up in your heels, you noticed an alleyway that seemed covered and slipped into it. Just as a sigh of relief would sweep through your lips, you noticed Thoma, leaning against the wall shocked to see your presence once again.

He was completely soaked as well, suit clinging onto his skin. He had taken his ponytail down, showing off how long the back part of his hair was. The most shocking part was the lit cigarette between his lips with a small trail of smoking floating upwards from it.

“Thoma? You smoke?” You asked. Thoma sifted the bud between his lips, rolling his eyes momentarily.

“That’s the first question you ask? How did you find me anyway?” he asked. You furrowed your eyebrows again. This guy really knows how to kill your buzz.

“Obviously I didn’t know it was going to rain. I…didn’t bring an umbrella, so this was the first place I saw as a shelter before I could wait this out and head to the trains once this passed,” you grumbled, crossing your arms.

“Besides, you didn’t answer my question,” you muttered. You were shocked to hear, Thoma chuckled. You had heard him laugh before, passing by him and a group in the hallway but this was the first time he seemed to laugh directly in front of you.

“Bad habit I took up from working as Mr Kamisato’s assistant. We all have vices and he has me pick up cigarettes for him. It was just supposed to be a social thing but when I find myself very stressed, I can’t help but indulge.”

“So I’m guessing I stressed you out from my question?” you grunted. Thoma didn’t reply as his gaze wandered away from you and down on the damp concrete ground.

You sighed once more, heels clicking as you walked beside him, leaning against the wall. The two of you remained quiet for a while, letting the pitter patters of the rain to the talking for you.

“...I knew you back in high school before I moved to Japan,” Thoma murmured, dropping his cigarette on the floor and grinding it softly with his dress shoe.

“I had the biggest crush on you, and it’s like you didn’t see me,” Thoma chuckled to himself, eyes narrowing in embarrassment and disappointment. Your eyes softened as you parted your lips to speak, but he kept talking.

“I’d try to do everything to get your attention, but it’s like you purposefully avoided or ignored me,” Thoma admitted. “I had to move shortly after that, but I vowed the next person I would pursue would never make me feel like that again.”

“...Thoma I—”

Thoma simply raised his hand up.

“I was a dumb 14-year-old. It’s been over 10 years. That crush has long died. We’ve both moved on and grew up, so don’t throw your pity onto me,” Thoma muttered. Your eyebrows furrowed as you scoffed. You pushed yourself off of the wall to directly face him.

“You don’t think I know that?” you barked back. Thoma didn’t reply, just remained quiet and looked at you with a scowl.

“Look Thoma, I don’t think you knew how much I hardly noticed anyone in high school because I assumed everyone thought I was a loser. I didn’t have a lot of friends, all I wanted to do was make it to graduation in one piece. I never thought you or even other boys even thought of me.”

“Well, you don’t have to fear that now because you’re not my type as an adult anyway—” Thoma trailed off, closing his eyes. You narrowed your eyes before leaning in, pressing your chest against his own as he gasped. Your hands pressed themselves on his collar.

“You want to say that again? Because I think you are a dirty liar, Thoma. Don’t think I didn’t see you checking out my tits earlier. You’re not as subtle as you think,” you muttered, lifting your chin up to stare him down directly.

His cheeks were already red from the coldness of his wet clothes before he grunted.

“I-I could say the same thing. You didn’t think I couldn’t feel you’re staring, checking me out!” he stammered back. A grin curled on your face once more.

“Oh? Did your voice just crack? Are you embarrassed to be this close to a woman, hm?” you sarcastically cooed out. Thoma scoffed, narrowing his eyes.

“God, I hate you and the person you’ve become,” he grumbled. His lip slightly quivered, gaze bouncing between your expression and the wall. You quirked your head to the side, leaning towards his ear.

“...So why does it seem like you want to kiss me, huh?” you asked. Thoma clenched his jaw before, suddenly leaning in, capturing your lips for his own. You moaned, feeling your teeth clank against one another from his sudden forcefulness.

His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer to his chest. The sweetness from the beer from earlier coated both of your lips, as your tongues soon dragged between each other. You grabbed onto Thoma’s collar, pulling him in even deeper, heads moving and shifting to try to keep up with one another.

You soon bit down on Thoma’s lip softly, pulling the plush tissue back until letting it go. Your breaths were heavy and visible in the cold air, eyes half-lidded as you continued to stare at one another, realizing what you two had just done.

“(Y/n)—”

“Just shut up and kiss me,” you interrupted as you leaned in to kiss him once more. Thoma had shifted, grabbing your chin with his fingers and lifting it as he moved his other arm to cage you in closer to him. A shaky moan escaped your lips as his lips trailed away from your lips to your neck, peppering the sensitive skin with soft kisses and nibbles.

Finding a suitable spot, he dragged his tongue across it before sucking and nibbling. You clung tighter to Thoma, pressing your thighs together to ease the ache of arousal beginning to burn between your legs. You raised a hand, pressing against his crotch. You could feel his cock pressing against the wet dark slack, shivering as his hips slightly bucked from the sudden sensation.

“N-Not here, We can get arrested if we go further…” Thoma whispered out, capturing your lips once more. Your hand continued to press firmly on his crotch, feeling his member get harder and twitch in excitement.

“M’serious,” he slurred out. “We can both lose our jobs from a scandal of getting caught and lose our visas. M’still not a permanent…citizen…” Thoma muttered as he continued to kiss you. He grabbed your hands, pressing them against the damp brick wall. Your noses pressed against each other, breaths heavy as you fought the urge to kiss him again.

“My apartment is close…we can go there…” he replied. You bit your lip and nodded, as the two of you quickly tried to adjust yourself. Pulling his jacket over your head, the two of you dashed out from the alleyway as he guided you toward his apartment.

Your heart thumped, adrenaline fueling you as the lights of the cars illuminated his face. He seemed like he was smiling. A memory flashed in your head of a kid who sat in the front of the class in high school, smiling at you the same way.

“I guess he is sweet to everyone he meets…” you whispered to yourself.

Finally, Thoma turned away from the main street where you two walked into a very stylish and high-rise apartment complex. He waved to the doorman as he lifted his hat, greeting him back before you two made it to the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, you grabbed onto his collar and kissed him again.

He groaned in the kiss, hands moving up and down across the curves along the wet clothes clinging onto your body before a loud ding was let out, as the door of the elevator opened once more. Thoma breaks the kiss before grabbing your hand and making a way to his apartment. He eagerly digs into his pocket, fumbling with his key before finally nudging it into the keyhole and opening the apartment.

You walked in and grabbed his tie, as walked in after you. As soon as the door closed, you kicked off your shoes and he followed suit before the two of you struggled to get to the bedroom. You two quickly disrobed, letting the wet soggy clothes pile in a puddle on the ground before you push Thoma onto the bed.

His cock is raised high, pulsating every few seconds. You grab ahold of his member, as Thoma sucks a sharp breath in. You press your thumb at his flushed tip, pressing against the slit budding with precum. With a tight grip, you began to pump his cock, watching him bite his lip fighting the urge to moan out your name.

“F-Fuck…” he grunted out. A mischievous smirk fell on your lips as you made his way to your lap as you continued to jerk his cock. You pressed your tongue, letting it swirl along the sensitive tip as his hips jolted in delight.

You let one hand tightly grip his cock right under his tip, while the other continued to pump along the base. Thoma struggled, body shivering from the immense pleasure wafting throughout his body. He lifted his hand to his forehead, looking over at you with one open half-lidded eye. Drool dribbled down his bottom lip.

“H-How are you so g-ood at this?” he stammered out. You kissed his tip before keeping your mouth open as you could feel his cock beginning to twitch more. With a loud moan, thick ropes of cum shot out, finding its way on your tongue, face, and Thoma’s abdomen. His breaths were heavy, and his arms covered his face as he slowly came down from his high.

You swallowed the sticky and salty substance and wiped the remainder that clung onto your face.

“Ah, ah, ah…! Not done with you yet,” you hummed, grabbing onto his cock. You jumped his softening cock, watching it soon rise to full-length once more.

“C-Condom…I should get a—” Thoma whispered, moving his arm away from his face. His cheeks were extremely flushed, looking as if he was in a drunken state of euphoria. You leaned in, kissing him once again as you lifted yourself.

You pressed his tip along your slick opening, your cunt drooling in your own arousal that painted your crotch and dripped along your inner thighs.

“I’m on a pill. Don’t worry,” you cooed. Thoma grunted, lifting his upper body up. You gasped, feeling his hands make way to your hips, sinking you down suddenly on his cock. You covered your mouth, shocked at his forwardness again as he leaned his forehead against your own.

“Y-You know, you were sort of right earlier. I was jealous…” he admitted. You can barely register what he meant, feeling his thrust inside of you. Your hips bounced, meeting his pace. Your head lifting back in pleasure.

“...That day you joined the company and Mr.Kamisato showed you around. I could tell you were trying to flirt with him. I could see how you pressed your chest around him, how you’d try to flirt…it wasn’t fair…!” Thoma grunted, closing his eyes. His hands grabbed onto the mounds of your ass, digging his fingernails into the soft flesh.

The sound of slapping flesh echoed out in the bedroom before Thoma grunted once more. He grabbed onto your chin, lifting your head up to look you in the eye.

“Are you even paying attention?!... How is it you seemed to throw yourself at him but not me!” he groaned. Your chest bounced at his face tempo, hand pressed against your stomach where you could feel him stretching you out with every thrust.

“T-Thoma!” you called out. His eyebrows furrowed as one hand found its way to your clit, pressing against the sensitive mound as you yelp louder.

“I won’t let you forget this…” Thoma moaned, furrowing his eyebrows and capturing your lips. Your hands moved towards his back, nails harpooning against the skin raking downwards. He grunted into the kiss.

Your walls began to flutter, squeezing his cock rutting inside of you, making it more difficult to keep up his pace. As his thumb continued to rub tight circles along your clit, your back soon arched, seeing white.

You scream into the kiss, gripping him tight as you shiver and ride yourself through the euphoric high. Thoma clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to cum inside of you before he sank his cock out of you. Your cunt shivered, missing the presence of being full as he lifted himself up.

Tears pricked your eyes, lips swollen and glossy as your tired eyes looked toward him. He pumped his cock rapidly, hips bucking with every justle before pressing his tip against your open mouth.

“Swallow…every last drop for me please…” he begged. A loud whine escaped himself as he shut his eyes tight, cum shooting out once again. You did your best to swallow every inch of cum that escaped his cock. With a shaky sigh, he tapped his softening cock on your lips once more before lying beside you.

His arms wrapped around you tenderly, as your head leaned against his chest. He had a soft smile on his face, despite his eyes being closed. He was whispering soft praises in your ear.

He was acting like the Thoma, he was with everyone except you despite unknowingly breaking his heart once and bruising it a second time.

His softness was nice. You could imagine that tension when you two would arrive on Monday in the office would be completely gone. You knew he would volunteer to get you lunch like everyone else now. You knew he would offer to work late to help you out.

You knew he’d probably ask you on a real date. You knew he would put his all into making you smile. You knew that.

But you knew he deserved someone who didn’t play with his heart as much as you did.

Thoma walked out of the shower, smiling. He was much happier than usual, a part of him finally soothed and ready to formally move on. Perhaps this was a start to something he always wished to have.

He had gotten up earlier to wash and dry your clothes. He was excited to make breakfast for you too. It had been a while since he had a Western-style breakfast.

As Thoma emerged from the steamy bathroom, covering his lower half with his towel, his smile faltered noticing you weren’t in the bed. Just before he was going to go to the living room, he noticed your things were missing from the chair he set them out on. The clothes he had dried, the purse he found near his apartment door, your phone that fell when you two were kissing and making your way to his bedroom.

He felt his heart sink to his chest, but he wanted to stay positive. He never gave you his personal cellphone number. Maybe you messaged him on Slack with an explanation or something to quell his worries?

Nothing.

You had left without a trace. No goodbye. No closure. No nothing.

It felt like he was a ghost all over again.

“Ha…” Thoma whispered out, tears welling in his eyes as he sat down on the bed silently to himself. Looking up in the mirror, all he could see was his 14-year-old self looking back at him with pity. He can’t help but laugh, finally laying down fully on the bed.

“...I’m still such an idiot.”

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #thoma x reader #thoma smut #thoma imagines #thoma scenarios #thoma angst

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werewolf-cuddles · 2 months

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Here, have a mirror of the final Nightly build of Citra (March 3rd 2024), and the most recent build of Yuzu I could find via the Wayback Machine. (February 28th 2024)

EDIT: On April 27th 2024, Uncle Wario was assassinated by the Nintendo Ninjas. The Yuzu and Citra mirrors will be reuploaded elsewhere soon.

#yuzu #citra #emulation #piracy #nintendo #fuck nintendo #keep circulating the tapes #but also fuck the yuzu devs while we're at it #from what i hear they brought this on themselves #putting totk compatibility patches behind a paywall #directly profiting from piracy

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unproduciblesmackdown · 10 months

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mused on some thesis about how billions uses Indignity to illustrate that something someone does has failed / gone wrong in one way or another, and how the way this punishment is an Emotional one means that it can't land if the character just doesn't Feel that punished by it, or at least doesn't like attribute the supposed failure to something inherent enough to them to particularly stew on it, see for example people heightening/escalating their efforts to embarass someone if even that person doesn't Seem to sufficiently externally react in embarassment. winston able to truck along while (a) consciously crafting or maintaining some persona, of eternal and irrefutable dignity or whatever else is associated with "merit"/status, isn't much of a priority, when to him his skills speak for themself even though to others this is about their own merit in recognizing independently if winston's skills Happen to have use, and putting him down if he tries to speak to that anyways, and (b) he's also just able to move along from L's handed to him, whether he thinks it was warranted (like that he'll accept it doesn't count if he only thought it but didn't say it) or not (why can't you count to loyalty), when even if this resilience To How Others Treat Him isn't exactly peak realistic, that he thinks of himself in such a way that he doesn't need to be striving for some paramount official status, or think he's defined by never failing or indeed never possibly able to be seen within a "wow undignified / embarassing" framework so long as this winningness is recognized, or so long as anything is anything, is sure feasible enough.

but anyways thought about it like this thesis is just "i am cringe but i am free" like yeah that works

#winston billions #just lifelong recognition that like the [the way they are means they generate comedy] type like peripheral characters are the ones like #yeah of course That's who's relatable; never the like supposedly aspirational and/or peak relatable central/main characters #and that can extend easily enough to the [basically just a running joke] Outlier Single Weirdo Always Just Doing Their Own Thing #like boy we all know people like that huh eyesrollingemoji like yeah. we sure do lol #but also like I Love You any time smthing using comedy is like; look: Everyone is funny & ''weird'' & ''uncool'' & ''doing things wrong''#like yeah they and we are lol #billions is creating what we Get to see or hear of in the first place / what info we get; how a character is shown to us....#and boy it just so happens that the characters who aren't epic enough to be brought further into the center of things #also just so happen to inadvertently or advertently Spontaneously share more info abt themselves for ppl to have negative reactions to #while we may be ''surprised'' that axe sucks b/c huh wasn't he so externally epic seeming???? like on what planet; first of all....#meanwhile winston is not here to be like as ambitious as possible & is more like. sometimes he'll play around; since he's here....#but this joie de vivre spontaneity is never Cool(tm) of him & maybe he'd be Cooler if he was like (scrolling) ''beneath me; beneath me...''#(he would not be lol. he's not allowed; fundamentally! it's not Merit in there or out here. nobody has a Deserved greater Air of Dignity)#(but he's getting to have a bit more fun now and then; he'd be punished for his inherent inferiority anyways. and even if like #basically his continuing to be present; continuing to choose to do shit; unacceptably flies in the face of the theory that someone's #inherent superiority will just Make It So that inferior ppl are shunted out of their way or w/e; means that ppl lash out about that by at #least trying to momentarily take Whatever away from him: positive emotional motivation; space to speak unpunished much less be listened to;#space to guaranteed have a Presence unpunished &/or unignored....like well that's the tradeoff to that versus if he tried going for the #tradeoff of much lower highs on average and maybe slightly higher lows on average. not up to You The Individual to simply ''correctly''#strategize your way out of anyways. e.g. rian has to Choose to treat him with basic respect for his being a person. or someone else has to #Choose to intervene in such a way that lends enough support to winston / thwarts the means with which rian can torment him.)#and in the meantime he apparently can only be peripheral & [funny; little] b/c his Dignity is low stakes. no Arc to ''restore'' it in eithe #anyone else's eyes or much more usually the character's own perception of themself. winston will just be like eh yeah i suck then lol #(when like basically the way He Sucks that ppl give him shit for = his being autistic like ofc he can only roll with / ''accept'' that)#and then he can go whee yippee wahoo & have a blood orange flavored doughnut & ppl can go my god if i were him i'd die #mafee i guess exemplifying this too. Generally able to scuff his foot on the ground like aw gee :( yeah i effed up cringefail style huh #and then move on without it really being much of a whole damn thing. even though it's also Often abt taylor likewise being the one like #[head in hands over mafee fucking up having the collateral or direct damage for them] but they're not here to be fueled by grudges #& ofc this all being Perspective; everyone in billions Is cringefailing lol; but not everyone gets continual [joke at their expense] for it

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flamingpudding · 4 months

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Guys it's just merch

Danny watched with a smile hidden behind his mug of hot cocoa his new family. Originally he was only going to mess with them a little, since he wanted to keep his civilian live he gained with them but at the same time wanted to kind of provoke them to tell him about their night time jobs on their own.

Not like he could just flat out tell them he knew about their vigilantes lifes and that would be embarrassing to explain.

It's not every day that Danny's powers fluked on him, but with the stress of the past months, it happened. Right at a moment, he had to be clumsy and trip over his own feet and accidentally phased through a grandfather's clock, finding a hidden passage. Well at least he learned that way that Batman hadn't placed him with some other rich fruitloop that wasn't his godfather but well... with Batman himself and his family out of mask.

Yeah no, he did not want to explain that and hoped they would do that themselves. But apparently, they took Danny's statement of wanting a normal life a bit too serious.

Which brought him back to his current entertainment in the form of messing with his siblings.

"I don't get what the problem is guys. It's just merch." He chuckled slightly at the face Damian was making. While Jason chose to kick Tim under the table.

"Soooo how much merch on Red Robin do you have with this shirt now?" Dick asked instead with a bright smile, Danny still hadn't figured out how to tell what emotion he hid behind them sometimes.

"I think this is my third shirt of him." Danny mused, placing his cup back on the table and tapping his lip in a thinking motion. "Though I was going to pick up a couple of custom-made jackets of Red Hood and a Nightwing plush later today."

He acted like he did not hear the triumph like hiss of 'yes' from Jason as well as the very upset huff of Damian.

He just grinned at the amusement about how they apparently were competing over how much merch he owned of each of them.

When he found a Robin figure and several Robin pins mysteriously placed on his desk the next morning, he broke out laughing. Yet still just to mess with them gushed about his newly gotten merch to his family while sharing a knowing look with Alfred who knew he was just messing with them.

If there was a surprising amount of Batman merch, suddenly mixed into what he already owned the following week without his knowledge. Well, he wasn't going to complain about free stuff.

But he still would get a good laugh out of their reactions on the day he decided to full on dawn every piece of Batman merge instead of theirs.

#danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #crossover #dcxdp #tim drake #damian wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #the batfam think danny doesn't know about their vigilante lifestyle #and they are determind that it stays that way so Danng can have his normal life #but Danny alrwady found out ia clumsy accident #now he is just messing with them with the use of merch #he is also wondering how long it will take them to crack and come clean #he didnt think they would make it a competition of whos merch he owns the most of #random late night thoughts #late night stress writing

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rithmeres · 9 months

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i don’t think i’ve rewatched atla since becoming a committed pacifist and i just finished what was probably my tenth rewatch and i have never loved aang more. i've seen it so many times but i still came away with a new appreciation for the way the end of the story was handled. aang is the only survivor of a genocide and he is clinging to the last remnants of his culture and religion, and everyone is telling him the only way to save the world is to kill the dictator whose regime is responsible for the genocide, but to do so would abandon the deeply held beliefs of his people. if aang goes against his beliefs and kills ozai, his people's way of life dies completely and sozin wins.

aang knows it would be wrong but he can't see another way out so he prays for an answer, and the universe hears him and the spirits send out the lion turtle, and the creator answers him. and here's the thing that i never put together before today: aang would not have been able to energybend ozai if he had given in and wanted to kill him. the lion turtle tells aang that only the incorruptible can bend another’s energy, or else they will become corrupted themselves. and i think that aang, because of his love for the fire nation as he had once known it, was never corrupted by personal hatred for the fire lord or the fire nation. he was able to expertly hold two conflicting beliefs in harmony better than any adult could, the belief that ozai is a horrible person and the world would be better off without him and that he's still a human being with a life that is sacred.

and i don't think it's a matter of selfishness like some people make it out to be. aang is not some immature little kid who doesn't want to kill because killing is for bad guys. he's an incredibly wise and spiritual person who was shaped by airbender beliefs and upholds airbender beliefs, and he can see beyond the scope of this war. the balance of the world depends on the existence of the four nations, and aang does not just represent the air nomads, he IS the air nomads. he's all that's left.

despite many people’s interpretation of the four past avatars’ advice, none of the past avatars outright tell him to kill ozai. they tell him to be decisive, to bring justice, to be proactive, to be sacrificial. but none of them tells him definitively to kill him. he doesn't disobey or ignore their advice, he follows their ancient wisdom while still staying true to his beliefs. yangchen actually comes the closest to outright telling him to kill ozai (even more than kiyoshi, surprisingly) but what she fails to account for is that aang is not just the avatar, he is the last airbender, and being the last airbender is far greater a burden than being the avatar. no matter what happens, once he dies, there will always be another avatar. but if he is not careful to preserve the airbender way of life, there will be no more airbenders. yangchen could sacrifice her air nomad way of life for the sake of her duty to the world because there were thousands of other air nomads to continue their traditions. aang has no such privilege.

and it's not that he doesn't want to kill, it's that he actually doesn't think he can do it -- both that he won't be able to emotionally bring himself to kili someone, and, prodigy that he is, he doesn't have the raw bending skill to overcome a comet-powered master firebender. and then it turns from 'i don't think i can do it' into ‘i can’t do it.’ and when the avatar state gives him enough power to actually do it, he changes the answer to ‘i won’t do it.’ he overcomes all the combined power of his past lives to say no, i have found another answer and i will remain incorruptible. to kill is to maintain the power struggle of the fire nation and to reject air nomad wisdom and without airbenders the world CANNOT be brought into balance.

the only thing ozai cares about is power, and that's what the entire fight with ozai is about, physically and ideologically, because ozai only sees power in terms of force, fear, threats, and violence. to ozai, aang (and his entire people) are weak and undeserving of life because they are largely pacifists, but he fails to see the magnificent power that the airbenders do hold, spiritual wisdom and mastery of the self and contentment and joy and harmony and a deep understanding of the world that a man like ozai could never obtain. to kill ozai would ratify ozai’s worldview that power as he defines it is the most important pursuit in the world and the only way to assert one's right to be in the world is to be cruel and violent like him. i think to ozai, becoming powerless might be worse than being dead. he wants power, or he wants death, and aang gives him neither. it upends everything he believed in. aang, the avatar, but more importantly, the last airbender, armed by his past lives' power and his people's love and the spirit world's blessing and the lion turtle's omniscience (and toph's mastery of true sight through neutral jing), ends the war 100 years to the day after the air nomad genocide, in the way that his people taught him, with power that goes beyond force and violence, with spiritual wisdom, with an incorruptible soul, with mercy -- mercy that is not weakness, mercy that brings justice.

#they just don't make kids cartoons like they used to!!!!#also zuko said 'love and peace' in his coronation speech. i am squinting at bryan and mike. is that what it think it is #atla #aang #meta

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 2 months

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ask me to leave and i’ll stay forever ; satoru gojo

synopsis; satoru is stubborn; even when plagued by such a high fever, he insists there’s no need to take care of him. thankfully, you’re equally as stubborn.

word count; 10.8k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, implied non-sorcerer!reader, sickfic, reverse comfort, sickening amounts of fluff, lots of petnames, satoru gojo vs the mortifying ordeal of being loved, just a tinyyyy bit of angst if u rlly squint, literally just satoru being pampered for like 10k words straight, he’s cute when he’s sick but still manages to be a lil shit <33, he’s also a huge sap you have been warned!!

a/n; what can i say, im a proud member of the ”satoru gojo needs to be babied relentlessly” club <33 he’s just a little guy!! tagging @catchuuu my beloved for being the sweetest enjoy a healthy dose of sick sleepy satoru <33 i am tagging all toru enjoyers in spirit btw i love u all

you’ve never seen satoru like this before.

head buried into a big pillow, white locks tousled and sticking to his forehead — skin sweaty, hot to the touch, with a flushed face to match. heavy breaths fall from his parted lips, blinking in and out of consciousness, squeezing his eyes shut.

it’s nothing like the joyous, loud, cocky satoru you’re so used to. he’s weak. he’s fatigued.

he’s completely, undoubtedly sick.

”really, baby,” he slurs, raspy and dry. still attempting to raise himself up, arms straining under the weight of his shivering body. ”there’s no need f’ —”

unceremoniously, his limbs give out beneath him, and he tumbles right back down; a meek little wince escaping his throat as his face falls back into the mattress. the sound makes your heart squeeze tightly in your chest.

”ah. that’s…” he tries to speak, a disgruntled hum muffled by the sheets. ”… annoying.”

satoru sounds frustrated. you can tell he’s resisting the urge to close his eyes, a little helpless, unable to even move properly, like a fish out of water. he’s still breathing unevenly, still sweating, still burning up — you can practically feel it, from where you’re standing, crouched down by his bed.

you’ve never, ever seen satoru like this. you’ve seen him sniffling during flu season, wrecked with headaches during rainy season. you’ve seen him vulnerable; not many times, but enough that it matters.

but you’ve never seen him like this.

(and it makes you terribly anxious.)

”satoru, please just —” you croak, gnawing at your bottom lip. trying desperately to swallow the worry in your chest. ”don’t overdo it. please?”

you can hear the anxious little timbre of your own voice, and you can feel the frown tugging at your lips. but you can’t do anything to quell the insistent pitter patter of your heartbeat, the ache that accompanies it. satoru’s lying down, still trying to gather the strength to reassure you, even through the feverish haze clouding his mind.

he looks so small.

this wasn’t what you were expecting to see, today. you were expecting to meet up with satoru, and see his happy little grin, those tiny dimples and freckles that only show themselves in the light of the sun. you were expecting to feel the weight of his hand in yours, as you strolled down to the new crêpe stand he’s been wanting to check out since he first found their instagram account.

you were expecting to see him happy. healthy. a little obnoxious, a little annoying — but hopelessly sweet. all the love you could ever need, molded into a human shape. your little angel.

a sigh slips from your lips. you can’t help it; because satoru is just so stubborn, so closed off, and he can be such an idiot sometimes. you knew something was off the moment he sent you that text, asking you oh so charmingly, apologetically, if you could postpone your date for just an hour or so. you knew something was wrong, but he still wouldn’t let up until you brought out the 🥺 emojis.

and then he told you he was fine. it’s all he ever is, apparently.

my throat’s just a little scratchy, is all. wouldn’t want you to miss out on the voice you love so much, yeah?

give me an hour and i’ll be perfect for you. <3

moron.

he’s curled up in a fetal position, trying to stop himself from shivering, muttering little reassurances under his breath that you can’t make out. wearing ripped jeans and a nice jacket, like he was fully prepared to head out like this — like he genuinely thought an hour, some painkillers and a dream would be enough to chase away a fever this severe. like he was so desperate to see you he was fully willing to take that risk.

moron. moron. he should’ve called you the moment he realized he was sick. instead, you had to coax him into letting you come over, with a flurry of sad and cute emojis you know make him go weak at the knees when they’re coming from you.

and here you are. in satoru’s house, in front of his bed, trying to convince him that he is, in fact, sick.

but he just won’t listen.

”just — gimme a couple minutes, honey?” your boyfriend mumbles, barely coherent, stringing words together haphazardly. awfully dizzy. ”i just need the painkillers to kick in, i promise i —”

”satoru.”

there’s a sad tint to your voice, now. unmistakable. one that satoru notices, even through the feverish, muddy filter over his reality.

and it makes him quiet down.

(he doesn’t want to disappoint you.)

as gently as you can, you settle down on the bed, eyes painfully softened. overflowing with care. towering over him, leaning close — to press your lips against his scorching forehead, brushing away his sweaty bangs with a palpable tenderness. your voice soothing, coming out almost as a low coo. you’re frustrated, and exasperated.

but most of all, you’re worried.

”go back to sleep,” you hum, a gentle command. your hand finds his, cold skin meeting warm, tracing circles over his palm. ”i’ll take care of you.”

”there’s no need,” he mutters, instantaneous. so used to denying kindness.

but he curls an arm around your waist, anyway, tugging you closer; a little needy. like you’re much too far away for his liking. finally beginning to settle down, coaxed into resting by the soft touches your grace him with. it’s only a matter of time.

so you keep your lips against his forehead, cradling his slender fingers in yours, murmuring little whispered reassurances. and before you know it, his lashes have fluttered shut, like a white dove landing on the ground. he still looks so troubled, so meek. you can’t resist the urge to soothe him, hand cupping his face, thumb smoothing over the apple of his cheek. you watch him lean into it, eyes dripping with care. your poor baby.

for a couple precious moments, you allow yourself to indulge in the sight. even like this, he looks a bit like an angel, a painting come to life. like one wrong brushstroke could smudge him.

so you’re delicate, as you trace little hearts into his skin, delicate as you maneuver his body enough to peel the layers of clothing off him — leaving him in only an oversized tee and a pair of briefs. satoru can only whine, softly, so quiet you barely even hear him. so disoriented, on the brink of falling into a deep slumber. some part of him is trying to resist, you’re sure, still agonizing over the date he’s missing out on. as if anything matters more than his health.

but it doesn’t work. he can only let out a tiny groan, hopelessly pliant as you tuck him in, pulling a big blanket over his shoulders. you card through his hair, another soft kiss planted on his sweaty forehead — and your hand stays between his locks until you’re sure he’s asleep. his breathing mellows out, his grip around your waist loosens, seeking comfort from you even in his dreams.

you’d crawl under the blankets with him, but you have work to do.

stealing one final glance at your fever-ridden lover, your heartbeat ricochets. he still looks so meek, all warm and sweaty, shirt sticking to his skin. a frown tugs at your bottom lip.

satoru is always so stubborn, refusing to lean on others for support. you wish he had called you immediately, nagged at you to come baby him. sure, you might’ve sighed in faux exasperation, and teased him a little, but it still would’ve made you feel happy. useful. and you would’ve done it in a heartbeat. maybe, if you just prove that you can take care of him properly, he’ll do it next time.

so you stand up, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead one last time, and make your way towards the kitchen.

satoru’s house is spacious. a little too spacious, enough for at least three people to live in comfortably; nice furniture, an expensive sofa in the living room, a large tv you’re almost certain he only keeps around for white noise. such are the ways of the rich, you suppose. he doesn’t invite you over very often, so you’ve never had the chance to get very affiliated with the space. it’s always the other way around — him, waiting for you on the couch when you get home, chirping out an unconvincing don’t even worry about it, baby! when you ask how he got in without a key. or him, showing up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, filling the sleepy silence with jokes to distract you from the bags under his eyes.

(he likes it when you cling to him in your sleep — he sleeps a lot better that way. that’s what he told you, at least, when you brought him coffee in bed that one time. a little glimmer of honesty.)

he stays over so often he might as well just move in, but you aren’t really sure how to even approach that subject. some part of you fears it’d be too much, too intimate, that he’d pack his bags and run away. bringing all his secrets with him, that soft laughter you’ve grown so fond of. so you figure it’s better to let him make a home out of yours, let him curl up on your couch and snack on the candy you hid in your kitchen cabinets. that’s safe for him.

and now that you’ve seen his home up close — if you can even call it that — you think you’re starting to understand his preference. because it’s spacious, yes, but also empty. save for expensive furniture and fake houseplants, there isn’t anything to indicate that the apartment belongs to him, that he feels comfortable there. like he hasn’t even bothered to make it his. like it’s about to be sold, and you’re just one of the potential buyers, checking the place out. admiring the patterns of the floorboards and the walls.

it doesn’t feel like satoru at all.

his own bedroom was another story, a much more pleasant one. a lot more satoru. filled with little trinkets, key charms and souvenirs and silly figurines. a framed photo of three students by the windowsill, an old uniform hanging by his closet, socks strewn about here and there. a dying houseplant. comic books and movie posters and a ps5 you don’t think he’s touched since he finished spiderman 2. a king sized bed, that makes him look like a spoiled little princess when he’s lying in it, next to a cat plushie you won for him at a fair. knowing he actually sleeps with it kind of makes you want to cry.

there’s this particular scent, too, lingering in the air. mellow, nostalgic, the kind that soothes you with just a whiff; a blend between sunlight, expensive cologne, and something sweet. it clings to all his favorite clothes, to his skin. you’d live in it if you could.

something constricts, inside your chest — like thorny vines strangling your beating heart, pressing down ever so slightly. just thinking about it, about him, about his distressed expression as his head hit the pillow. making your way over to his kitchen, getting yourself affiliated with the space, preparing to make a good soup for his fever. the fridge is almost empty, save for sweets and that one drink you like. the takeout boxes on his kitchen table tells you all you need to know.

it only makes you worry more.

luckily, you were clever enough to buy your own ingredients on the way here. chop, chop, into tiny little pieces. chicken soup should help, shouldn’t it? it’s all you can focus on, all you can hope for. anything is fine; you just want to help him, be of use somehow. he does so much for you.

you just want to give some of it back.

satoru’s loneliness is a subtle thing. flexible, alert, slipping away at the slightest sign of knowing eyes. for someone who’s so often surrounded by people, cracking jokes and laughing louder than anyone else, he doesn’t seem to make any noise when he’s alone. he curls into himself, just a bit, and a kind of reminiscence smooths over the contours of his face.

that’s when you see him. that lonely, lonely guy. resigned to his self-imposed isolation, paradoxically yearning for something more. watching as the cherry trees bloom, like they’ll give him the answers he seeks once they bear fruit.

but the moment you come into view, he smiles. knowing you won’t push it — that you’ll let him take his time. that you’ll let him flee, just a little.

still, you can’t help but wish he’d lean on you a little more. you wish you could chase his loneliness away with a pitchfork, but it’s a fickle creature. you somehow doubt he wants to part with it.

all you can do is love him. love him, love him, and love him some more; until he’s had his fill.

(you’re not sure he ever will. it’s a good thing, a very good thing, because you’re almost certain you’ll never run out.)

and that’s why you’re here. in his ghost of a home, his kitchen, pouring water into a large pot. tender, sprinkling love over every single action, every slice and dice, every piece of chicken and veggies thrown into the boiling water. you try and you try, hoping it’ll reach him.

but before you can make another attempt, something reaches you, instead.

two long arms curl around your waist, suddenly, something warm and soft pressing itself against your back. and you almost flinch, completely caught up in the stirring of the soup, unsure of how much time has passed since you began. it jolts you out of your thoughts.

you know who it is, though. never mind the fact that he’s the only other person in the apartment; you know it’s him by his touch alone, the weight of his arms, that particular scent that surrounds him. like memories of summer.

it’s awfully sweet, the way he clings to you, the soft little blissful sigh that slips from his lips. but before you can feel moved at the domesticity of the gesture, worry clouds your senses. he doesn’t even get the chance to speak.

”satoru —” you place a palm on his forearm, craning your head to look back at him. his forehead rests against your shoulder, and his eyes are closed. he’s still so warm, too warm. ”what are you doing here? you should be resting.”

your boyfriend mumbles something, under his breath, something that your ears can’t quite digest. he shifts, a little, as if getting ready to put on some sort of act — to smile and joke, or laugh and tease you. you can imagine what he’d say if he wasn’t in such a feverish state; he’d hug you from behind, a low purr of what’cha up to? whispered right into your ear. then you’d jolt, and he’d giggle sheepishly, satisfied with the reaction.

but now, all he can do is cough. still leaning against you, gripping onto your midriff a little more desperately than usual. you step away from the stove, turning around, making sure your hands never leave his. looking up at him with concern in your eyes, noticing his little frown.

”c’mon, you need to lie down.” you reach for his cheek, cupping it in your palm, and he practically melts into it. enjoying the chilly sensation to his fever-ridden skin. “the soup’ll be finished soon, okay?”

”… you made,” he tries, syllables falling from his lips haphazardly. ”soup —” a series of coughs. they cut him off, and the worry in your chest only deepens.

“don’t push yourself, okay? you’re really sick, dummy.” satoru pouts, but doesn’t say anything, only clinging to you tighter when you usher him away. “let’s go back to your room, alright?”

but he won’t budge. he’s so sleepy, so sick and delirious, putting all his body weight on you. you try your best not to stumble beneath it.

”honey,” you plead, holding him securely in your embrace. his arms around your waist, your hands on his shoulders. ”work with me, please? just gotta get you back to bed —”

”’s…” he whispers, suddenly, a raspy little thing. scratchy, meek, awfully earnest; you wonder if he’s too sick not to be. ”… too lonely without you.”

a moment passes. your breath hitches pitifully, at the base of your throat.

satoru is hugging you so tightly, as if you could disappear at any moment, slip away if he doesn’t keep you close. he’s holding you as if pleading for comfort, for a touch of safety. as if he needs you. if his meek little admission hadn’t already melted your heart the marrow, that thought certainly would’ve done the job.

taking a moment to collect yourself, you inhale, face surely aflame. satoru just nuzzles into your shoulder, too tired to say anything else, wanting to be close to you. it’s a wonder your knees don’t buckle.

gently, you let your hand trail upwards, palm smoothing down his hair. softly, like he’s a clingy, overgrown cat. ”sorry,” you start, just a little breathless. ”i’ll be with you, okay? won’t leave you alone. i promise.”

there’s an earnesty in your words that you doubt you could ever fake. satoru must hear it too, you think, because he finally begins to work with you. allowing you to stumble towards his bedroom, supporting his weight.

but once you make it to his bed, he still refuses to let go of you.

”toru, gotta go finish that soup. ’n make you some tea.” you rub his back, soothingly, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. shaking his head and emitting a throaty groan, only squeezing you tighter when you try to guide him under the covers. how cruel of him, to act so cute when said soup is most likely boiling over by the stove. ”please, sweetie? it won’t take long. i promise. you can go back to sleep.”

another groggy huff. you’re both still standing by the edge of the bed, and satoru still won’t let you leave. all you can do is sigh, smearing a little kiss against his neck.

he squirms, ever so slightly, and you get an idea.

so you keep pressing little kisses against his skin, knowing just how to make him melt. feeling him relax in your embrace, snuggle into your chest, so pliant that he lets you tuck him in — as long as your lips stay pressed against his jaw. before he can realize what’s happening, you grab hold of the blanket, draping it over him; his half-lidded eyes blinking up at you. you press a final kiss against his forehead, grabbing the cat plushie from the edge of the bed and placing it close enough for satoru to reach if need be.

”i’ll hurry, toru. be a good boy and stay here, alright?”

a teasing lilt sneaks into your voice, coaxed out by how adorable your boyfriend looks like this; baby blue eyes all droopy, snowy hair messy as it falls across the cushion he’s resting on. blinking sluggishly, grunting a little in response.

when you scurry off the bed and make your way towards the door, you glance back at him. he’s still looking in your direction, with half-lidded eyes, and your chest aches. ”i’ll be back soon, baby,” you try to soothe him. “try to sleep.”

this time, you hurry. body working almost on autopilot, images of your boyfriend still tugging at your heartstrings like he’s arranging an orchestra, moving your legs forward. before you know it, you’re walking back, carrying a tray with both your hands. steam wafts up from the hot soup and the warm cup of tea, shaking a little as you walk, a pair of painkillers in your pocket. just in case he needs more. an eager, pulsating joy rushes through your veins — now you can be with him, tend to him, not leave him alone in a room so like him you wish you could stay there forever.

your footsteps are light, almost careful as they cross the threshold. satoru stirs, waiting for you to come to his side, looking like a kicked puppy in his giant bed. he tries to lift himself up, but it looks like it requires an intense amount of focus, like his elbows could buckle any second.

”careful,” you croon, hurrying over, placing the tray on the nightstand. gently pushing him back down on the mattress. he complies almost instantly, too out of it to put up a real fight. staring at you, as if in awe.

to satoru, you appear almost as an angel, a somewhat blurry figure that he recognizes without looking. your very presence is soothing, like a lullaby in human form. with the hazy filter clouding his mind, he can’t even seem to form words correctly — all satoru can focus on is you. your movements, the lilt of your voice, a cold hand dulling the heat of his forehead.

his fever still hasn’t gone down. you try and muster a smile, but you’re sure it must look painfully coated in unease. crouching down, you place your elbows on the bed, your jaw meeting the mattress. you’re at eye level with him, now.

”hey,” you start, low and comforting. you don’t want to be too loud. ”sorry it took so long.”

using what little energy he has left, satoru crosses the distance between you, inching closer and closer. noticing it, you reach a hand out to cup his cheek — lips quick to find his forehead. a barely audible sigh leaves him, and you smile.

”d’you think you can eat?” you whisper, gazing at him fondly. treating him a little like a baby, maybe, but you can’t help it when he’s like this. quiet as a mouse. ”i made soup and tea… sound okay?”

he tries to make a noise. it comes out sounding like a strange blend between a dissatisfied groan and an affirming hum, but he still ends up nodding slightly. you wonder if indulging you is ingrained into his bone structure.

”… okay. think you can sit up, toru?”

once again, your boyfriend only hums — but he does begin to move, trying to hoist himself up, wobbling pitifully. you help, keeping him steady until his spine meets the headboard. slumped against it, he blinks slowly, feverishly.

”thank you.” you press a chaste kiss against his cheek, before reaching for the cup of tea, the scent of chamomile and lavender filling your senses. you blow on it softly. ”here. it should help with your throat, so try to drink a bit, okay? s’ got honey in it.”

silently, he accepts the cup, bringing it to his lips. when he takes a sip, you catch the slightest hint of a grimace on his lips; even with your warning of careful, it’s hot, you think he must have managed to burn his tongue.

satoru keeps his thoughts to himself, not wanting to worry you. but he can’t say bringing himself to drink it is an easy endeavor, with how sweaty it makes him feel, how it forces him to acknowledge how painfully dry his throat is. how he can’t even taste the herbs.

he wants to be good for you, though.

so he gulps it down, slowly, managing to sip almost all of it until you decide to give him a break. compared to this morning, he already feels just a little better, a little less like he’s in a fever dream. you’re sitting by the bedside, so patient, so caring. he can’t take his eyes off you, even now. clearing his throat, attempting to get used to speaking again. ”thanks.”

the mutter sounds strained, but slightly easier on the ears, easier to make out than before. courtesy of the honey, you assume. gosh, you hadn’t realized you’d begun to miss his voice so much.

”no problem,” you hum, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “think you can eat something? or is that too much?”

”’course,” he croaks. there’s a slight sense of liveliness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, but before he can continue, he’s caught off by a small coughing fit. harmless, but sufficient in making you worry.

”no need to force yourself,” you soothe, patting down his head, watching as he quiets down. the tea might’ve given him a temporary energy boost, but you still don’t want him to overdo it. “just relax, satoru.”

he hums, weakly, and you reward him with a light ruffle of his hair. then you direct your attention to the soup on the nightstand, still hot, smelling of vegetable broth and fresh chicken and coriander. you bring the bowl down to your lap, and take a spoonful of the soup, blowing on it like you did with the tea. bringing it towards his lips.

”i dunno if it’ll taste very good,” you admit, scratching absently at the back of your neck. ”but it should help with the fever, at least. i’d be happy if you could eat a bit.”

as his lips make contact with the metal of the spoon, satoru can’t help but let himself be swept away. he still feels a little too hazy, too feverish to really comprehend what’s happening; he feels oddly bare like this, vulnerable, a little afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he doesn’t keep it shut. so he opts to accept the treatment he’s receiving, not putting up a fight or making a fuss. not meeting your expectant eyes.

(he feels a little shy, being spoonfed by you. how very unlike him.)

the soup does feel soothing. he thinks he can even get a sense of the taste, how hard you must’ve worked on it. but more than anything, the way you’re acting is like balm to his soul — looking at him so kindly, treating him so tenderly. offering him spoon after spoon with gentle words of encouragement. being babied in such a way makes him feel so oddly content that he’s almost embarrassed. it should be the other way around.

yet here you are, spoonfeeding him soup that you made yourself, because he’s sick, even though he hates to admit it, and you care about him. he allows the information to linger in the back of his head, for a while, wallowing in the comfort it brings him. fully comprehending it would take too much of a toll on him, in this state.

satoru basks in the intimacy of the situation, and so do you. brushing strands of hair away when they stick to his skin, pressing your lips against his forehead to check his temperature. you keep doing it until satoru’s appetite dwindles.

”alright, that should be fine —” you glance down at the bowl, now roughly half-empty. more than enough, you think. ”uhh… how do you feel?”

”… better,” satoru answers, truthfully, the ghost of a smile on his glossy lips. ”thank you.”

for a second, you only stare, saying nothing. there’s something in satoru’s expression that catches you off guard, something that’s a little hard to identify. is it the way the light reflects off his skin, his pupils? the red, feverish flush of his skin? that flimsy little smile? or is it the honesty in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like he’s trying to convey something he can’t put into words?

as you look at him, take him in, the boy you love so dearly, you can’t help but feel like he just carved open his chest — let you peek inside his ribcage. it’s hard not to feel flustered, in the presence of something so vulnerable.

and he’s thanking you. as if taking care of him is a great burden, a chore, something you’d demand gratitude for. you want to tell him that it’s the bare minimum, the very least of what he deserves. the very least of what you could, should do for him.

you want to tell him that he’s safe, here. that there’s no need to be the strongest, whatever the hell that means, that he can let go of the burdens you know he hides from you. that he can just be your sick, terribly stubborn boyfriend.

”… okay,” is all you breathe out, every other word getting stuck in the back of your throat. ”that’s good.”

satoru’s fingers curl around yours, suddenly, where they lay on your lap. his movements are still a little groggy, disoriented, as he brings your hand up to his lips. they’re warm and soft, especially so in light of his fever. he closes his eyes, white lashes catching the light of the sun, flitting in through the haphazardly closed blinds. your heartbeat stutters.

”… love you,” he mutters. a soft little thing. your eyes don’t leave his face. and your lips part before your brain can instruct them to.

”i love you too,” you blurt out, instantaneous. like you couldn’t bear to keep him waiting, even for a second. ”… satoru.”

he smiles against your skin. he always does, at the sound of those words. you make him feel so terribly, terribly weak, all the time, everyday. you make him feel so human, and he can’t bring himself to think of it as a bad thing anymore.

he’s still cradling your hand when he brings it down to the blanket. ”thanks for coming,” he continues, pushing himself. trying to get the words out while he still has the energy to say them. “you didn’t have to.”

they’re a little clumsy, a little stale on his tongue, but they’re honest. he is thankful — the prospect of being seen like this is discomforting, gruelingly so, but he doesn’t mind nearly as much if it’s you. he’d never tell you, but he did feel just a little lonely, when he woke up this morning. disoriented, enveloped by hot flashes of pain, in a way he’s not used to in the slightest. missing out on your date, too, that he had been looking forward to ever since you decided on a time.

but, as if sensing it, you came to his rescue. the feeling of your lips on his skin was the first sensation he felt, when he woke up for the second time — with you by his side, this time. his guardian angel, carrying the scent of spring with you. a memory of a certain boy, of better times.

(satoru thinks you’re nostalgia personified. he likes to imagine that you met as children, underneath a cherry tree somewhere, but he knows it’s not true. there’s no way he wouldn’t remember you.)

you smile. pleased, at his show of vulnerability, small as it may be. ”i wanted to,” you assure him. equally honest, equally full of double meanings and hidden messages that neither of you need to uncover to understand. ”… i care about you. of course i’d come.”

a light, raspy chuckle; that’s all satoru manages to vocalize. his mind is stuffed, and there’s an ache in his chest, longing to be filled. it’s been there for a while now. but somehow, you seem to fill it up, slowly but surely, almost effortlessly — with every sound you make, every slight movement, every flicker of an expression on your face. everything seems so effortlessly perfect, in his eyes.

the words leave his lips before his mind can think the thought to reel them back in.

”what did i do to deserve you…?”

you blink. a moment passes.

then your eyes soften, considerably so, crumbling at the corners like the cookies satoru loves so much. he’s looking at you, eyes soft in a similar sense, layered over with adoration. you think the love inside your chest might crawl out of your throat and eat him alive.

you give him a chuckle of your own, quivering slightly. terribly fond. this time, you’re the one who drags his hand up to meet your lips; kissing his knuckle softly. his breath hitches.

”i’m the one who should be saying that to you,” you grin, a little weakly. and you mean it. you don’t think you’ve ever meant anything more.

it’s so honest that it strikes a cord right down his heart, more heat than the fever can account for rushing to his cheeks. satoru hopes you don’t notice it. all he can do is squeeze your fingers, lightly, not trusting his voice not to break. silence lingers, and you only gaze at him softly.

”… do you want anything else?” you finally ask, with a tilt of your head. still so eager to assist, racking your brain to come up with anything else to do for him. ”i’ll get it for you, no matter what it is.”

and, truthfully, satoru thinks you’ve done more than enough. more than he could ever make up for. but he’s always been greedy, and there’s one thing, only one thing, one thing he can’t help but ask for. something he craves more than anything. he can’t help but indulge himself, indulge in his selfishness, in the need to feel your skin against his.

so he stretches his arms out, and looks at you with a distinctly needy glint in his eyes. his fingers move in a grabby motion, almost unconsciously, and he might’ve been embarrassed if he wasn’t still so feverish. all he wants is to keep you close, to make the hollowness inside his chest dissipate. you always make that lonely feeling go away.

needless to say, you heed his request. almost instantly, your heart pumping in a steady rhythm, with this visceral desire to keep him close, to protect him. and who are you to resist, when he’s asking you for it himself?

you waste no time crawling beneath the covers, situating yourself right next to your lover. only then do you finally, finally, reach your arms out to pull him close; so close you feel the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart. his cheek meets the softness of your chest, snuggling closer, and you card a hand through his soft locks. his arms reach around your midriff, a perfect puzzle piece, and he releases an audible sigh — deep and satisfied. in his tired, clingy state, he subconsciously throws a leg over yours, trapping you further.

you wouldn’t have it any other way.

finally, satoru can fall asleep. with the fever still clouding his senses, and your nimble fingers smoothing along his scalp, the occasional kiss to his head as he listens to your soft heartbeat, he’s drifted off before either of you know it. melting into you, into your warm embrace, cheek squished against your chest. tiny little breaths fall from his lips, and you feel like you’re cradling the whole world in your arms.

you’re relieved. making yourself comfortable on your back, with satoru sleeping soundly on top of you, hoping he’ll feel better when he wakes up. careful, even with your breathing, intent on letting him sleep. knowing he doesn’t get nearly as much rest as he should, most days.

before long, even you succumb to the cozy atmosphere, gradually dozing off. satoru is always warm, even more so now, and his weight is comforting.

stifling a yawn, you tug him a little bit closer, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. you could use a day of catching up on lost sleep, too.

when you wake up, you’re acutely aware of something poking your cheek.

it’s a ticklish sensation, sort of irritating, and it rouses you from your cozy slumber. disgruntled, so cruelly ripped away from your sweet dreams — satoru was in it, you think. you feel robbed.

still, you can’t be too mad. not when the real deal is right in front of you, eyes crinkled and full of warmth, a teasing smile on his lips. he’s still snuggled into your chest, all cozy and cute, as you lay on your back, propped up by a myriad of fluffy pillows. he looks up at you adoringly.

”well hello there,” he purrs, shooting a giddy little grin your way. still poking your cheek. ”wakey-wakey, sunshine!”

a series of blinks. you stir a little further, the sleepy haze of your brain beginning to slip off, slowly but surely. it takes a couple of seconds for you to remember why you’re here, what happened before you fell asleep.

”… hey,” you greet, at last, stifling a yawn and squeezing your eyes shut. stretching lazily, like a sleepy cat. ”how do you feel…?”

”i’m perfect. better than perfect, actually,” satoru chirps, a little cheeky, hoisting himself up so that he’s hovering above you. a hint of mischief in those pretty eyes. ”you’re a good nurse, y’know?”

you huff out a chuckle. as always, his actions reveal more than his words — you could tell he felt a lot better the moment you saw his smile, heard how he formed his words. “alright, that’s good,” you hum, exhaling softly. ”how long was i asleep? what time is it?”

”i woke up just now, too,” satoru lies, albeit a small one. he did wake up recently, only to spend what he thinks must’ve been at least fifteen minutes staring at you until he physically couldn’t take it anymore. he had to hear your voice, see your smile. it’s a personal record for him; usually he spends less time admiring your peaceful expression, far too eager to speak to you.

”it’s pretty late,” he continues, another small lie. pleased with himself. ”way too late for you to go back, actually. how about you spend the night?”

another blink, your eyelids heavy and droopy as they open and close. then you’re reaching for your phone on the nightstand, and checking the time. a smile is quick to bloom on your lips, teasing and bubbly, as you tilt your head to meet his gaze.

”it’s only four, satoru.”

”way, way too late,” he only reaffirms, flopping down on top of you again, keeping you from leaving. ”god knows what kinda creeps are out there at this hour — much too unsafe. i’m just looking out for you, baby.”

”of course,” you indulge him, a sly little roll of your eyes that makes him pout. ”you know i was planning on staying over anyway, right?”

”well, of course! i wouldn’t expect anything less from my favorite nurse.”

his eyes betray his words, gleaming with a sudden colour of excitement, all glitter and relief. a joy that clogs up his throat like seafoam, and spills out from his lips. you look down at him, for a second, unable to resist the temptation — reaching for his forehead with the back of your hand.

it’s significantly less scalding, now.

you let out a sigh, laced with relief, one you didn’t know you’d been holding in. ”it really has gone down,” you hum, stretching the sleep from your limbs again. “that’s good.”

satoru huffs. ”i said i was perfect, right? don’t you trust me, my sweet lover?”

”i never know with you,” you give him a huff of your own, exasperated. fond. “you said you were just fine this morning, too.”

”i was!” he whines. piling up lie after lie. “i totally could’ve made it to that date, you know. i got worse because you had no faith in my abilities.”

”right. of course.” you shoot him a lopsided grin. ”you just don’t wanna admit the fever beat your ass, huh?”

”see? no faith.” a chuckle slips from your lips, and satoru has to bite back a smile. ”unbelievable. i fought that fever off just for you, and here you are, laughing at me.”

”oh? i thought it was thanks to my top notch nursing skills?”

”well, that too! but it was mostly me.”

a sigh. “whatever you say.” then you’re smiling, once more, unable to help yourself. eyes crinkled at the edges, soft around the corners. ”i’m just glad you’re better. i was worried.”

satoru pouts, again, but you can tell he acknowledges it — your earnest concern. this is how you love, the both of you, through words that never say it all and actions that say the words your mouths can’t fit. decoding the meaning of it all in silent gestures, glints in your eyes. little truth games.

”you really thought a lil’ fever was gonna be enough to keep me down?” he shakes his head once, then twice. and you know that what he means to say is i never want you to worry. “c’mon, now, baby.”

another lighthearted roll of your eyes. ”yeah, yeah, yeah. my sincerest apologies, my strong, stubborn, totally-not-sick boyfriend.”

”don’t you mean your strong, perfect, beautiful, clever, flawless, totally-not-sick boyfriend?”

”don’t think i didn’t notice you sneaking the stubborn out of there.”

”hehe.”

a silent moment passes, something tender filling up the space between your words. satoru’s weight is still so comforting, like a big blanket, his arms enveloping you as he breathes in your scent. you’re so happy that he’s acting insufferable again.

”alright, my honeybee,” he suddenly chirps, breaking the silence, hoisting himself up. ”time to go. we can still get those crêpes if we hurry.”

you blink. once, then twice.

”… satoru.”

”yeah? what’s up?”

you give him an unimpressed look, gazing up at him, towering over you like he fully thought you’d be alright with letting him leave. ”you’re… not going out today,” you deadpan. “you know that, right?”

this time, he’s the one who blinks. once, then twice.

”huh? why not?”

”uh, because you’re sick, maybe?”

”what?” satoru pretends to be shocked, offended, as if he can’t believe you’d even suggest something so outrageous. ”i’m all better, though!”

you raise an eyebrow, thoroughly displeased. all better? ”your fever isn’t gone, satoru. it’s just not horrible anymore. you’ll get yourself even more sick if you go out now.”

”i won’t! seriously!” he insists, looking down at you with a sorry attempt at puppy dog eyes. ”i feel good enough to run a marathon!”

”you’re not doing that either,” you mutter. then a sigh, exasperated. you can’t let this charade go on for too long. ”come on, satoru — don’t be so stubborn. we can go there another time.”

”but —”

”besides, didn’t you say i have to spend the night because it’s too late to go outside? remember the creeps?” there’s amusement in your voice, a light smile on your lips. ”what if they get us?”

”well, they obviously won’t get you while i’m there,” he huffs. ”what, you don’t think i can protect you properly? you’re hurting me, angel.”

you bite back an incredulous laugh. god, he’s stubborn. you’re so in love with him you just barely restrain the urge to pull him in for a kiss.

”sa-to-ru,” you coo, dragging each syllable out, sending a shiver down his spine. ”we’re not going outside. end of discussion.”

”why not, though?” he continues to pout, still refusing to give in. resorting to cheap guilt-tripping. ”don’t you wanna go on a date with me? you don’t want to see me happy, is that it?”

you only sigh, thoroughly exasperated, reaching up to cup his cheek nonetheless. he nuzzles into it. ”you’re such a baby.”

”your baby.”

another sigh, to mask your adoration. at this rate, the back and forth will never end, so you scramble for solutions.

“can’t we just have our date here?” you suggest, after some contemplation. ”i bought some ice cream on my way here. we could watch a movie, or something. isn’t that enough?”

satoru’s eyes bore into yours. contemplative, as he lets the silence linger, gears turning inside his mind. he wants to go outside with you, wants to hold your hand and hear you hum happily as you bite into your crêpe; wants to steal a bite when you’re not looking.

but it is a tempting offer. you could eat ice cream, and binge a bunch of movies, and he could rest his head in your lap. coax you into playing with his hair.

(he’s maybe, just maybe, a little bit tired, too.)

so, finally, he sighs — softly. in resignation.

”… well, i guess that’s fine,” he pouts, allowing himself to fall back into your embrace. his voice is muffled, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. ”i wanted crêpes, though…”

”i’ll get you your crepes,” you assure him, relieved to have reached a compromise. ”i can go buy ’em myself and come back. then we —”

”no, no, no!” satoru suddenly interjects. whining, tugging you closer. ”you’re not going anywhere. not without me!”

a sigh, just as adoring as it is fatigued. ”then i’ll… order crêpes, or something. or we’ll eat ice cream today and then crêpes when you’re better. does that sound okay?”

satoru is silent, for a while.

”… okay,” he hums. ”that’s fine.”

”haah. okay, good —”

”however!”

you give him a look, a silent what now? that has him smiling. shuffling a little, in your embrace, planting his jaw on top of your chest and gazing up at you with a grin. ”instead of the crêpes, i want a kiss.”

you blink. exasperated, as an amused chuckle follows. ”so convoluted. you can just ask, you know?” you don’t give him time to answer, eager to appease the pouty man. ”whatever.”

leaning in, you press a chaste kiss to his cheek. sweet and soft. to your surprise, he’s still pouting when you pull away. ”i meant on the lips,” he explains, as if it was obvious.

a tilt of your head.

”… but you’re sick.”

”so?” satoru just pouts, expression practically etched into his face at this point. ”you won’t kiss me anymore? just cause i’ve got a tiny, miniscule fever?” he huffs, turning his head to the right and shutting his eyes. ”if you don’t love me anymore, you can just say that.”

another sigh leaves your lips. he’s so ridiculous. you can’t really deny him, though.

”… fine. it’s your fault if i get sick, though.”

in the blink of an eye, he’s perked right back up. wagging his non-existent tail, closing his eyes and waiting for you to try again. silly.

but you relent. his lips are only slightly warmer than usual, and you choose to see it as the good sign it is, proof that his fever truly is starting to dissipate. you feel satoru relax, melting into the kiss, but before it can drag out too long you’ve pulled away. ”— there. happy now?”

”for now,” he quips, equally teasing. he’s cute, though. a little kiss or two is a small price to pay for the spark of joy in his iris, even if it ends with you sick on your deathbed in a couple of days.

”that’ll do,” you grin, hoisting yourself up with your elbows, carrying satoru with you, his jaw still on your chest. ”wanna go eat some ice cream, mr unreasonable?”

you don’t really need an answer. of course satoru wants ice cream. you’ve never seen him turn down anything sweet — and, lo and behold, he perks up again, getting into a sitting position. like an excited puppy.

”got it,” you chuckle, stopping to think for a moment. “there’s soup left, too. but maybe you’d rather order something? it turned out kinda so-so.”

satoru gapes. ”you kidding? that was the best soup i’ve ever had!”

his exclamation makes you roll your eyes, words so coated in confidence that you almost want to believe him. ”satoru. you don’t have to lie.”

”i’m not!”

”you couldn’t even taste it.”

”i could, i could!” he stubbornly whines. ”i tasted all your love. every single drop!”

you give him a look. he only grins at you, a little teasing, a little giddy. you can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed; averting your gaze with a sharp scoff, trying to appear unbothered. ”yeah? and how did my love taste?”

satoru leans forward. it’s sudden, and you blink, instinctively leaning back in turn. he’s wearing a signature smirk when he stops moving, close enough that you feel his breath on your skin. hot.

”delicious,” he purrs, glancing down at your lips. blue eyes gleaming with mirth. ”best thing i’ve ever had.”

you know he’s just trying to fluster you, so you try to fight against it, but it doesn’t work nearly as well as you’d like — crumbling under his gaze, averting your own with a quiet huff. and he lets you off the hook, satisfied with your embarrassed expression. pulling back slightly, letting you breathe.

as swiftly as you can, you regain your composure. clearing your throat. ”well, you can have more of it later, then,” you make a move to get off the bed. ”let’s go eat ice cream.”

after being caged in by satoru for so long, your limbs are a little stiff, caught under the weight of his boundless love. when your feet hit the soft flooring, you stretch them out, watching satoru follow your lead. still clad in that sweaty shirt.

”you should probably get a change of clothes,” you suggest, exhaling as your muscles loosen up. ”you’ve been wearing that shirt all day.”

”oh? is that an excuse to see me out of it, sweetheart?” satoru grins, fresh mischief gleaming in his eyes. ”you know you can always just ask.”

you huff out a sardonic breath. ”yeah, yeah, whatever. throw on a hoodie or something, weirdo.” you stifle a giggle when he makes an offended noise behind you. “and some pants.”

”you don’t like the underwear?” he looks towards the corner of the room, studying himself in the mirror. “this is an expensive brand, you know?”

”you’re the only person on planet earth who’d give a fuck about underwear brands,” you scoff, a little snarky. ”just — put some comfortable clothes on, okay? i’ll go get the ice cream ready.”

”wait!” he exclaims, attaching himself to you, curling his arms around your bicep. “you’re not allowed to go anywhere without me, remember?”

“… okay, okay. hurry up and get changed, then.”

sitting back down on the bed, while satoru walks towards the closet, you scroll through your phone — refusing to meet his expectant stare. he wants you to look over, you’re well aware, just so he can tease you for trying to sneak a peek. but you’re not falling for it this time.

when he’s done, he’s wearing a comfy hoodie and some sweatpants. it’s a good look on him, casual and cozy. awfully cute. he wastes no time in attaching himself to you, again, an arm linked with yours as you travel to the kitchen; grabbing the pints of ice cream from the freezer, a couple snack bags from the drawers, before plopping down on the couch.

satoru maneuvers you into his lap, and you don’t put up a fight, leaning into him as your back meets his chest. he keeps you locked in place, arms around your waist, planting his jaw on the top of your head. and he relaxes, comforted by your smaller body pressed up against his. holding you so close satisfies a certain protective itch in his brain, never failing to calm him down. a safe haven, of sorts.

you watch the movie and eat the snacks, chattering away, letting the silence linger every now and then. after a while, satoru gets a slight headache, resting his head in your lap and whining for you to soothe him. you do so without any teasing; you’re much too soft for him. and he’s still sick, even if he’s doing better. you couldn’t resist him even if you tried.

so you opt to indulge him.

”baby, i think my fever’s going up again…” satoru pouts, gazing up at you through fluttering lashes. ”can you check?”

you smile, with a raise of your eyebrow. ”this is the fifth time you’ve asked me to check your temperature, toru.”

”just wanna make sure,” he whines. “please?”

with an exaggerated sigh, you lean down, lips once again meeting his forehead — humming against his skin. nope, his temperature hasn’t gone up. just like it hadn’t gone up the last time you checked, or the time before that.

”you’re good.”

”oh, thank god,” he exhales. ”are you sure? like, a hundred percent sure? maybe you should check again. just in case.”

”satoru,” you coo, a teasing lilt on the tip of your tongue. ”you can just ask me if you want a kiss.”

”a kiss? scandalous. i just wanna make sure my condition doesn’t worsen.”

he’s grinning, and you’re rolling your eyes, and both of you know damn well you’re going to indulge him anyway. he sighs in satisfaction when he feels your soft lips on his heated skin.

”hmm…” you narrow your eyes, thoughtfully, before looking down at him with a teasing smile. ”nope. definitely still the same temperature.”

”you sure?”

”a hundred percent.”

”hmm. okay, got it.” he rolls over, burying his face in your stomach. wrapping his limbs around your midriff. “that’s good. just wanted to check, you know?”

”of course.”

”might need you to check again soon. just to be safe,” he chirps, biting back a soft grin. you don’t bother hiding yours.

”got it, got it,” you coo, fingers carding through his messy hair. “anything for my sick baby.”

satoru releases a soft breath, bordering on a giggle. you can’t help but let your smile grow wider, heart brimming with affection. you let it clog up your chest until the movie’s almost over, and you simply can’t help yourself anymore.

”your room is very like you.”

it’s sudden, breaking the peaceful silence, making satoru stir. you’re both starting to get sleepy again. but he blinks up at you, studying your expression before parting his lips.

”… oh? how so?”

“well…” you stop to think. humming, absently fidgeting with a lock of your boyfriend’s hair. ”when i first walked in, i thought the whole house felt kind of empty, you know?”

satoru hums. unsure of where the conversation is going, maybe just a little intrigued. he mostly just likes listening to you talk.

”but then i went into your room, and — it just felt very you. kinda messy, and stuff, but cozy. and a little sentimental.” satoru looks up at you, admiring that certain soft glimmer in your eyes. you meet his stare with a smile. ”maybe it doesn’t make sense? i guess i’ve just been thinking about it.”

he closes his eyes.

there’s something soft in your tone, something silky and simple, and he can tell you’re being sincere. it’s something he likes about you — that willingness to be soft, almost pridefully so, to bare yourself even if you aren’t sure that he’ll return the favour. he likes to think it’s rubbing off on him, slowly but surely; he doesn’t think he’s quite as bad as before. telling you about things that are dear to him isn’t something that scares him, anymore. and even when you see him vulnerable, sick and delirious in bed, he isn’t afraid that you’ll use it against him.

you’re a comfort; his safe haven. a place to rest his weary head. maybe you always have been, even before he really got to know you.

”i like your place more,” he finally admits, lighthearted in its weight. your gaze flits down, but his is still lingering on the tv, not really paying attention to it. ”it feels very… you.”

a smile crawls up to rest against your lips. playing along, your hands finding solace in between his fluffy locks. ”how so?”

and satoru smiles. eyes sparkling with something mellow, like a soda pop cracked open on a boiling summer day. he shifts a little, just to gaze up at you again. ”it’s… homely. warm,” his smile only grows. “and awfully sentimental.”

he lifts a hand up, to touch your cheek. tender, as his thumb smooths against your skin. it’s warm, beneath his touch, heating up with every word he speaks. satoru’s love feels a little like the sun, when it spills out this fervently, like it could burn you into cinders — you think you’d be happy to lie in the ashes. he’s smiling at you, like sunshine, like little dusty specks of light. and he exhales.

”i wouldn’t mind staying there forever.”

the expression on his face is a lovely one. you take a moment to simply bask in it, desperate to etch it into your memory. you don’t think you could forget it even if you tried. how fondly the light of the room embraces him, that soft grin he’s shooting your way, only vaguely teasing. and his eyes, the gateways to his soul, so sincere you can’t look away.

you love this man with your whole chest. you knew before, you’ve known for a long time, but each day you fall in love all over again. it’s all you can think as you look at him, all snug and safe and happy in your lap.

you don’t realize you’ve been staring at him silently until he chuckles, pulling you out of your sentimental stupor. it only flusters you further.

”you’re cute,” satoru croons, still cradling your cheek. tender, soft fingertips against your heated skin. all you manage is a meek little furrow of your brows, but that only makes him chuckle again.

”… you can.”

he blinks. still smiling.

”stay forever, i mean.”

you can’t look at him, when you say it. the words are barely above a whisper, and you aren’t sure if they’re conscious or not. it’d be nice to say they just slipped out, but they feel somewhat deliberate, all the same. you know you mean them, either way. it’s the one thing you’re sure of.

this time, satoru is the one who can do nothing but stare, his expression unreadable. you try not to let your gaze wander to his face, his eyes; but through the peripheral of your vision, you feel like you catch a particular kind of sadness reflected in them. or maybe it’s something closer to yearning, longing. something like that.

”… well,” he finally hums, voice so low you barely pick up on it. ”maybe i will, then.”

you reach something.

you catch a glimpse of it, at least, for just a second or two. something warm and bare, something simple and incomprehensible at the same time. an emotion so strong it leaves you reeling, yet still so light. it’s there and then it isn’t, just out of reach, and you think that if you could only find the courage to curl your fingers around his, then —

a laugh track plays from the tv, snapping you both out of your thoughts.

(the moment passes before you can fully understand it, fully comprehend it. maybe some part of you already has.)

…

satoru chuckles, reaching for another ball of mochi and popping it into his mouth. ”this movie’s awful, huh?”

”yeah,” you’re quick to agree, maybe a little too quick. grinning weakly. ”it’s good in a so bad it’s good kinda way, though.”

he hums in absentminded agreement, still chewing on the soft treat. keeping his gaze steady on the screen, the flicker of emotional scenes he hasn’t been keeping track of, barely resisting the urge to look up at you again. but his heart already feels a little too mushy for his liking — he’s not sure he could take it.

satoru doesn’t get sick often.

his immune system is strong, there’s no denying that. but more than anything, he simply can’t afford to be sick. there are people who need him, people who depend on him, and the idea of being in such a defenseless state — stuck in bed while the world continues to spin, unattended — makes him feel so anxious he could throw up. even sleeping makes him feel a little skittish, sometimes, though he’s gotten a lot better since he started falling asleep with you in his arms.

it’s funny, he thinks. before you, being sick wasn’t something that really existed in his world. if he felt a little under the weather he would simply puff out his chest and down a painkiller or two, waving it off with a flick of his wrist; no biggie, really. he’s satoru gojo, after all, and the world needs his eyes on it.

but then you came along. you came to his rescue, spring in your pockets, and you took care of him, with what he knows to be love. genuine, earnest concern for his wellbeing. his happiness.

yeah — it’s funny, for sure. satoru never thought he’d ever enjoy being sick.

yet here he is, head in your lap, feeling you run your fingers through his hair. kissing his forehead whenever he whines, indulging his little convoluted ploys. bringing him soup, when he gets hungry again, soup you made yourself. he wasn’t kidding when he said he tasted your love through it; it was all he could taste, with his numbed out senses, all he could feel.

you’re so good to him. there’s nothing he would trade for these moments with you, absolutely nothing. he’s glad you came over, after all. glad you’re so stubborn, and oh so caring. satoru can’t help but smile, heart almost stuffed to the brim with gratitude — what could he possibly do with this immense love in his chest?

”i love you so much,” he blurts out, practically beaming. now you’re in his lap, again, and he takes the opportunity to smear openmouthed kisses against your neck. delighting in the little squeak you try to muffle.

”where did that come from?” you blink, squirming a little in his embrace. a movie is still playing on the tv screen, one better than the last — your attention was fixed on it before satoru broke the silence.

”just felt like saying it!” he only chirps, grinning ear to ear. ”i love you. you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he murmurs, earnestly, lips against your skin. ”my whole world.”

for a moment, you wonder if the fever is making him delirious. then again, this is pretty standard for satoru; always eager to fluster you, to shower you with love until you’re pushing him away. it’s overwhelming, but you’ve never minded. this is how you measure his love — little gaps between too much and never enough.

”… you’re not gonna say it back?” comes a whine, right by your ear. now he’s nibbling at your neck, little beast that he is, pouting because you let the silence linger for too long. he’s being such a baby about it. but you still rush to reassure him, echoing his words in earnest.

”i love you too, satoru,” you smile, slightly exasperated. craning your neck so that your lips can meet his jaw, and satoru grins, giddy at the attention. ”my whole universe.”

satoru lets out a happy little noise, almost a giggle, sleepy and pleased. his arms squeeze you just a little tighter, like you could never be close enough, even when he’s got you in his lap like this. if he could, he’d keep you there all the time. attached at the hip, close as can be.

even with a ruined date, even after worrying you, he feels well and truly satisfied. because you're here, and you’re watching a good movie, and you’re gonna stay over tonight. when it gets dark out, he’ll get to fall asleep cuddled up beside you, hold you in his arms and feel you nuzzle into his chest. then he’ll pepper your face with kisses to wake you up, and you’ll grumble all sweetly, and he’ll carry you to the kitchen despite your grumpy protests. you’ll eat breakfast together, chatting and enjoying the way the sunlight flickers around the room like a happy cat. maybe he can even make you breakfast himself, to thank you for today.

if the fever’s gone by then, you’ll probably let him outside. then you can go get those crêpes, and maybe go to a park, or to the movie theatre, or a fun arcade, before heading back to your apartment to relax. and then he’ll stay over. the day after, too. and the day after that.

living together with you wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks. it wouldn’t be bad at all, actually.

the thought has been on his mind for a while, now. getting to fall asleep with you every night, eat breakfast with you every morning, see more of your footprints in his life… satoru can’t think of anything he’d like more. maybe he’ll start hinting at it, slowly but surely. if he can lure you into broaching the subject, that would be ideal — but if he has to, he doesn’t mind doing it himself. you’re worth the emotional toll.

you curl into your boyfriend a little further, his jaw now resting cheekily on the top of your head, large palms underneath your shirt and rubbing circles into your bare skin. you have no idea what he’s thinking, no idea about his plans, and he thinks that’s for the best. he knows you’ll indulge him, at the end of the day.

maybe he’ll just ask you, tomorrow. if you say no, he can just blame it on the fever making him delirious.

#save me sick soft sweet sappy satoru….. save me……..#he means the wholeeee universe to me :’3 i love this specific toru sm !! i really do think he’s a lonely sweetie at heart :((#i wrote this fic a LONG time ago but i polished it a bunch so hopefully it doesnt feel rusty !!#i scrambled to come up w a title in time but i think this one kinda slaps idk … im severely sleepy rn so it might. Not be. though 😭😭#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x y/n

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seungcheorry · 9 days

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"oh- no, he's working. just let him be";

"woozi hyung is busy~";

"ya, don't go in there! he wanted to be alone while creating";

those are the most common things to hear from the members as a new comeback approach. woozi, as their main producer, is always so busy and so focused on creating that the members themselves tend not to mess with him, only dragging him out to eat and take a shower. he doesn't speak to anyone, he always asks to be left alone.

but that doesn't apply to you.

soonyoung has this little grin on his face as he sees you walking into woozi's studio, knowing damn well his friend could never kick you out.

and woozi doesn't kick you out. actually, he welcomes you with open arms (and tired eyes), asking how your day has been (and yawning while you talk). he's tired, he's worried about the deadlines and line distributions, but he feels at ease when you sit right beside him and place a hand on his chest.

"did you eat?", you ask.

"soonyoung just brought me some homemade meal from his mom", woozi says, staring at you.

"then you should nap".

"i don't want to", he shakes his head. "just let me be with you for a while, talk to you".

you hum, caressing his chest. he takes your hand, his lips curled into an "i'm in love" type of smile. woozi kisses your fingers before turning back to his software, telling you to check out what he has been working on.

woozi doesn't leave his studio to go home, but he's glad that you bring home to him.

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ramshacklefey · 1 year

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It's amazing to me just how good the Mormon church has been at hiding just how bad they really are from public view. Even the shit that gets spread around is the relatively harmless bullshit. They had a crazy prophet with magic glasses. They believe in god-mandated polygyny. They think everyone who is good enough will get their very own planet after the world ends. They wear magic underpants. Mormon men are all paladins.

Here's one of the ones you hear less often:

See, like many other Christian sects, the Mormons really do believe that the existence of Christ obviates the existence of Judaism. Judaism was just a placeholder until the "real" church could be established by Jesus.

And the Mormons in particular believe, dead ass, that the entire inheritance of Israel has been given to them, because the Jews failed to recognize the Messiah when he was on Earth. They really do. They have this whole system where people are given a "divine revelation" about which of the Tribes of Israel they're a member of (don't worry, they decided that most people belong to the two tribes that are willing to "adopt" people. Only the most specialest boys and girls are members of the original ten).

Let's sum up so far. The Mormons believe that they are the people of Israel, chosen and protected by God. If Jews want to get back in on that party, they can always repent and convert to Mormonism, the one true church to which God gave all the rights and blessings that were originally bestowed on Abraham's house.

But it doesn't stop there!

The Mormons also believe, in all seriousness, that all Indigenous peoples of the Americas are descended from a small group of Jewish people who left just before the fall of Jerusalem (~600 bc iirc). Their entire weird-ass extra bible is a chronicle of those people's history in [unspecific part of America]. At the very beginning of the book, two brothers in the original family turn away from god, so they and all their descendants are cursed with dark skin, so that the good Nephites (who remain "white and delightsome") will always be able to tell themselves apart from the wicked Lamanites.

So, you've got supposedly Jewish people running around the Americas. And the "good" ones are white, and the "bad" ones are brown. Then, ofc, Jesus comes to visit them (I guess supposedly that's part of what he was doing during his dirt nap? Or possibly after he left again, it's not clear), and they all convert to Christianity, which they think is clearly the natural evolution of Judaism. Well, at the end of the book, all of them become wicked, in a kind of weird pseudo-apocalyptic series of events. They are all cursed with dark skin, until such time as they repent for their ancestors sins and return to the gospel.

But of course, Mormons being the good and kind people they are, they want everyone to receive the blessings of God and be brought into the houses of Israel etc etc. And it isn't the fault of those poor little Indigenous children that their distant ancestors turned away from God and became wicked.

So what's the natural answer? Well, Mormons are real big on missionary work, as we all know. But apparently that wasn't enough in this case.

Because the Mormon church has been one of the big players in abducting as many Indigenous children as possible, in order to indoctrinate them into being good Mormons, so that they can turn white again and be blessed. My mother remembers hearing talks about this in the 70s and 80s. The church literally had a "Lamanite Adoption Program," where families in the church were encouraged to get as many Indigenous children as possible away from their families and not let them be reunited until they were fully assimilated and ready to go back and proselytize about how wonderful the church is.

The church leadership literally talked about how wonderful it was to see these children becoming whiter. Actually whiter. Like, saying that when they finally saw them with their families again, it was beautiful how much paler they were.

I'm pretty sure this program has been officially ended, but it doesn't take a genius to speculate about who might be behind the curtains on the movement in the western US to gut the ICWA....

So yeah. Next time someone tries to tell you that the Mormons are just harmless weirdos, please remember that they're an antisemitic cult that advocates for the forced assimilation of Indigenous children to help them escape the cursed brown skin of their ancestors.

#cw mormonism #mormons #exmo #and this is still barely scratching the surface of how fucked up that organization is

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getodrools · 2 months

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warnings. yan! true form sukuna, implied non/dub con: ( forced marriage and pregnancy ), kidnapping.

All of them looked at you.

You recognized those faces. And you tried to hide from them behind the mighty stature built of an abundance of muscles and cursed energy…

But, all of those familiar faces contorted differently, some not knowing how to react; some gaped wide as others felt pity when you were shoved in front of the king by those large hands you grew to loathe.

That cruel and selfish thing held a wide wry smirk as your body — so frail, yet heavy with a large bump wobbled embarrassingly and tired ahead… You couldn't bear to lift your crown to confront them, too mortified. Yet, they couldn't see that attempt, you only looked too weak to try in their eyes…

You felt it in your heart, deep down they had a sense — they knew what was going to happen soon as he left with you.

As much as they forever wished for your safety and honored your valor of vengeance, carrying on your name as the savior when Sukuna swore he'd seize havoc if he got what he wanted — to marry you and earn an heir, he'd settle with leaving all merciful. Leaving behind the chaos he caused and settling far from their territory with the only promise of you.

You remember that very doomsday when he held you with two bloodstained arms — blood of your own comrades who fought with all their might… weak legs dangling in the smokey air as flames erupted from buildings and screams begrudged through the entire city, you remember scraping at the tough skin, seemingly unbreakable, but in hopes he'd release you, you tried unduly before you could end up with no head… But fighting with the last of your might, you swear to this day you could still feel that very cruel squeeze to your sides as he stalked the others with ease, cursing a promise out you had never expected to hear, truthfully.

Almost all warfare seized. They all looked just as disgusted as they do now, just how they were watching the way you shivered when Sukuna’s leather-like tongue lapped over your neck to the whole side of your face as he panted out those very words you toss and turn from every night,

“Take too long to give an answer, I’ll kill another. Or, I will set ablaze to everyone if you don't.”

There was no winning.

Leaving with you far beyond the horizon and years to come, the people you once called family and friends were never to be seen again.

Sukuna wasn't as surprised as they were once they found his concealed empire plagued with cursed energy. He didn't even care, he already got what he wanted and they couldn't do a single thing about it. They knew that very well too.

Especially seeing how you lived now.

They tried to prepare themselves though, knowing his ruthless acts were to be brought upon you once you agreed — you didn't need to, but for the sake of countless lives and for the ones you cherished, you sacrificed yourself, a single life, to him without thought, and now you harbor a dreadful wedlock and bear a child.

Yuji’s face was the worst. He felt disgust and outrage – you poor thing. He couldn't imagine what you've gone through, especially now as you carried a half-being inside of you. Something mixed with the King of curses genes brewing into something undoubtedly revolting, something he couldn't conjecture how you had to submit to such monstrosity to get this far…

Megumi steps back, “Y/n…” You flinch. You haven't heard your name in years, only the title of being Sukuna’s wife dug a deep scar into the tissue of your brain.

Even the other members flinch.

But now, they had their eyes on you for long enough and Sukuna grabs your shoulder to reer you behind him again, right where you belonged.

“Interesting seeing you all.” The king stood tall; a pair of strong arms crossed over his chest as the others waved around smugly.

They knew his strength and didn't want to erase all the disarray you've went through to save them once, so they stepped back, cursing themselves as they did. Crossing boundaries they never thought they'd see, Sukuna knew it would be idiotic for them to waste your life if they dared to overstep it.

They couldn't do that to you.

Waving them off, “She's expected soon,” Ryōmen smacks his lips, keeping his chin up high and all eyes low as if he wasn't already towering over them, “Once that's out, she’ll be busy on the next – as promised.” You shiver, huddling behind the only thing you grew to get used to — so to speak, forced to.

Clinging to his side, you barely peek through his arms to catch their faces once again, but oh, how much you've missed them… Too repentant, weary eyes only tremble at the floor they creaked on, and the further they got, the longing to run alongside them and to be free worsened…

You squeeze your belly.

Shoving your ridden face into his naked back as your husband continued threatening them with your life, you remind yourself this was worth saving them… even if…

… You still needed to give him five more.

PINNED ・ JJK MASTERLIST ・ RYŌMEN SUKUNA

#🌐 𝐿𝒜𝒱𝐼𝐼 𝒲𝑅𝐼𝒯𝐸𝒮!#ᝰ ryomen sukuna!#yandere sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk smut #sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk yandere #tw yandere #tw pregnancy #tw non con #tw forced marriage #tw dub con #tw kidnapping

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halfmoth-halfman · 1 year

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the little things

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Medic!Reader Synopsis: Five times Soap questions the relationship between Ghost and the 141's Medic, and the one time he gets an answer. Word Count: 2.9k Warnings: mentions of blood, mild swearing Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters.

part two. part three. part four.

The first time is purely by accident.

It’s not like he’s trying to eavesdrop; it isn’t his fault the infirmary doors were left wide open, and it doesn’t seem like you and Ghost are trying to be quiet. Price called everyone for a meeting in twenty and, since the infirmary’s on the way, Soap figures he’d swing by and grab you. He’s walking towards the doors, paying attention to nothing in particular, when your unmistakable laugh echoes into the hallway. Soap stumbles slightly, caught off guard by the sudden noise.

Someone’s enjoying themselves, he thinks. He’s almost six steps from the door when you laugh again, this time followed by the deep timbre of a familiar voice that makes Soap stop in his tracks.

Price was the one who had brought you onto the team, but it was supposedly Ghost who had recommended you. “Only medic I ever met who actually knew what they were doing,” he had said. Apparently the two of you had previously worked on multiple missions together, and that was made obvious by the way you two worked flawlessly around each other with an efficiency that could only have been cultivated through a deep trust and years of teamwork.

Soap slowly approaches, all his stealth training coming to the forefront as he leans next to the door and focuses in on what you’re saying.

“It’ll only take a day, two tops. I promise.” Soap can hear the smile in your voice. Glancing at the glass panes of the doors, he can just make out your reflection. You’re standing beside an empty bed, behind an overbed table that’s covered in papers, leaning on your elbows to smile widely up at Ghost as he stands against the wall on the opposite side of the bed looking wholly unimpressed.

“You want me to spend an entire day sitting in the corner and watching you give everyone on base flu shots?”

“No, I’m asking if you’ll sit in the corner and look intimidating while I give everyone on base flu shots. The “look intimidating” part’s important,” you speak matter-of-factly.

“I’ve seen you amputate a man’s leg at the knee mid-combat. You’re telling me you can’t handle a few shots by yourself?”

Soap makes a note to ask about that story later.

“I can handle myself just fine, thank you. It’s everyone else that’s the problem here.” Ghost blinks at you, seemingly not believing you. “I get it, you’re all big, tough guys who face death every day-” Soap sinks his teeth into his cheek to fight back a laugh as you try to lower your voice in a very poor imitation of Ghost, “-but the way some of these guys act, you’d think I was coming at them with some kind of medieval torture device. I just think-” “That’d be a first.”

“-If I had someone that everyone respects, and is a little bit afraid of, sitting nearby then they’d stop with the whining and I can get my job done faster.”

There’s a long pause as you and Ghost stand locked into a staring contest. Soap swears that, for a moment, something like amusement crosses Ghost’s eyes.

“You think people are only a little afraid of me?” Ghost asks, tilting his head ever-so-slightly. You let out a loud, exaggerated scoff, throwing your hands up.

“Fine! Go lurk in a dark corner and scare children, or whatever it is you do, instead of helping me. Just don’t be surprised if I’m suddenly out of painkillers the next time you get shot.” You’re facing away from him, pouting like a child with your arms crossed over your chest. Both Soap and Ghost know you don’t mean it, your flawless reputation is too important to you, but Ghost sighs and nods anyways.

“Just tell me what days-” Ghost is barely done talking when you’re spinning around, nearly knocking the table over.

“Really?”

“Whatever will get you to stop being a brat.” Like water off a duck’s back, the insult runs right off of you as you clap your hands together. “Now, come on. Don’t want to be late to Price’s meeting.” Ghost pushes himself off the wall as you shuffle your scattered papers into organized piles to look through later. Soap leans back, taking a few quiet steps back from the door as you and Ghost start to leave the infirmary.

“Hold on, one sec.” Soap pauses as he hears your hurried footsteps, looking back to your reflection in the glass. Eyes widening, his jaw drops as he watches Ghost let you grab his arm and push yourself up onto your toes to place a quick kiss to the cheekbone of the larger man’s plated skull mask. “Thank you,” you speak softly, taking a couple small steps back.

Soap doesn’t have time to process as you and Ghost step out of the infirmary, immediately spotting him as he stands dumbly in the hallway.

“Hey Soap! You heading to Price’s office, too?” Soap blinks, shaking off the shock and giving you a quick nod.

“Yeah, I was just about to come get the two of you.”

“Let’s go, then,” Ghost says, turning and walking away without waiting for you or Soap. You fall in step behind him almost instantly, waving Soap over. Soap glances between the two of you as he follows. He knew the two of you weren’t strangers. He’d even speculated you might’ve been friends, but he’d never imagined you might’ve been something more. He wants to know more, but also gets the sneaking suspicion that this isn’t something he should be prying into. Ghost has always been a private man.

Either way, he has no time to think on it further as the three of you enter Price’s office.

The second time, he’s in far too much pain and far too tired to really remember if it actually happened.

Despite everything, the mission had been a success, though the cost had almost been too much. Your team of seven has two unconscious, three severely injured, and the rest sporting a variety of bullet grazes and knife wounds. None dead, thanks to your quick thinking and efficient work. It’s late and the team’s holed up in an old safehouse overnight waiting for evac. Soap is sat up against the far wall, watching you with drooping eyes as you flit around the safehouse, tending to everyone’s wounds. He had been fortunate enough to only have a few minor wounds, but the adrenaline of the fight is fading fast and the comedown is hitting hard.

Ghost is on watch and is the last person you check on, at his own insistence and much to your annoyance. He bats you away from any of the minor cuts and bruises, so you pull up a chair next to his and focus on the deep gash running across his right forearm. Through his sleep-hazed gaze, Soap watches you expertly stitch Ghost’s arm. He can hear the two of you mumbling to each other, but doesn’t have the energy to try and decipher your words. Once you’ve finished wrapping Ghost’s arm, you glance around at the others.

You must assume everyone is asleep by the way you deflate, running a tired hand down your face and stretching your neck with a grimace. You scoot your chair closer to Ghost’s, shutting your eyes and letting your head fall against his armored shoulder. To Soap’s surprise and not to yours, Ghost makes no move to push you away, instead shifting so your head’s not at such an awkward angle and settling into his own chair. Soap can feel his curiosity creeping up, but sleep wins out in the end and he passes out not long after.

When he wakes, Ghost is in the same spot, but you’re curled up in a beaten up arm chair across the room still asleep.

When evac finally arrives, everyone is awake, and you and Ghost hardly acknowledge each other as he briefs Price over comms and you help load wounded into the helicopter.

The third time, he’s sneaking through the rain and blood-soaked streets of Las Almas, Ghost guiding him through his ear as he makes his way to the church.

He knows he should’ve seen it coming, but Graves’s betrayal stings nonetheless. Soap pushes the anger down, instead focusing on reaching the rendezvous point so they can escape and rescue Alejandro. The banter helps, but there’s an edge to Ghost’s voice that Soap understands as worry.

They haven’t heard from you since you all were separated.

They both know you can handle yourself, and worrying about it won’t help, so they talk and sort through their situation: what supplies Soap can pick up, how bad tequila tastes, the tactical uses for dog piss. Everything is as fine as it can be while on the run from deadly mercenaries. Until-

“The mask. Take it off.”

“Show my face?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Negative.”

“Are you ugly?”

“Quite the opposite.”

“Can confirm.” Soap nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden sound of your voice.

“Holy hell, where have you been?”

“Aw, you worried about me, Soap?” The teasing tells him you’re not in too much danger, or are at least somewhere you feel safe, but something in your voice feels…off.

“What’s your status?” Ghost cuts in.

“Managed to get out of the village,” you groan through a deep exhale, and give a haggard laugh, “can’t say the same for the Shadows.”

Ghost gives a quiet hum of praise, but all Soap can hear is the strain in your winded voice. “You alright, Doc? You sound-”

“Dings and scrapes, Soap. I’ll be fine. Meet up with you later.”

“Wh-”

“Don’t worry about it, Johnny,” Ghost sighs, “just focus on getting to the church.”

“Right,” Soap mutters. He returns his focus back to the mission at hand, rummaging through the drawers in front of him for rope he can wrap around his extra fan blade.

It hits him just as he spots the reflective shine of a shard of glass on the floor. Can confirm, is what you’d said. Did that mean-

“The Doc’s seen you without the mask.” It comes out as more of a statement than a question.

“Let’s worry about you, Sergeant.”

The fourth time, he lands hard on his feet in the pitch black of Alejandro’s safehouse. Soap has his back turned as Ghost climbs in the window behind him. Luckily for him, as Ghost sees the laser sight aiming right for Soap’s back.

“Don’t move!” Ghost calls out, before launching a knife into the support beam across the room. Soap whirls around to shine his light at the beam just as someone calls out from behind it.

“¿Quién está ahí?”

Before either he or Ghost can answer, someone else stands and walks around to the front, “About time you two showed up!” Your voice is an instant relief as they both relax while you turn back to let Rodolfo know it’s safe to come out.

“Either of you injured?” you ask, eyes scanning over Soap as Ghost hops down from the open window and Rudy returns his knife.

“Nothing major,” Soap assures you, though your eyes linger on the bullet hole in his arm.

“Found this one trying to climb in through the same window,” Rudy explains, nodding towards you.

“I almost had it,” you laugh, leaning to the side to put your weight on the beam. They don’t miss the way you wince, and it doesn’t take long to notice your right leg is a deep red from the knee up.

“Your leg-”

“Looks worse than it is.”

Soap doesn’t believe you, but the subject changes to Graves and he lets it go. The four of you settle around the table as the guys formulate their plan for Alejandro’s prison break. You set your palms atop the table, leaning forward to take as much weight off of your leg as you can so you can focus on the conversation. It doesn’t help much, but it helps enough and soon the plan is concrete enough to take action. While Rudy leads Soap to the weapons locker, you take a seat on a nearby box to check the haphazard bandages you’ve wrapped around your thigh.

“You’re staying here.” Soap glances over as Ghost speaks. You laugh quietly, leaning back on your hands to stare up at the man towering over you.

“Leaving me all by my lonesome?” You sound like you’re complaining, but even from a distance Soap can see the relief in your face. Your teasing does little to soothe the stress radiating from Ghost.

“Just-” Ghost lets out a long sigh before dropping his voice so low, Soap can barely hear his words. “Be careful. Please.” You sit up straight, face suddenly serious as you set a gentle hand on Ghost’s wrist.

“For you? Always.”

“Soap, can you grab the rest of the guns?” Soap snaps back to attention, nodding at Rudy and collecting what guns he can. It takes all of two minutes, and when he turns back, Ghost is sorting through papers and you’ve set to properly bandaging your leg.

By the fifth time something happens, Soap is absolutely sure there’s something between you and the Lieutenant. He notices it everytime the two of you are together: the quiet banter, the dark jokes only the two of you enjoy, the way Ghost always seems to hover near where you’re standing. It isn’t until the 141’s every-so-often night out that his suspicions are confirmed. Gaz and Price stepped away for a round of darts ten minutes ago, and now Soap finds himself sitting alone watching you and Ghost talk at the opposite end of the bar.

“You keep staring like that, and they’re going to notice.” Soap chokes on his drink as Price takes a seat next to him, Gaz snickering as he flops down on Soap’s other side and claps him on the back.

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Soap coughs out, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but the other end of the bar. Price sees straight through his lie, of course.

“Gaz, why don’t you see if the Doc wants to try a hand at darts?”

“Sure thing, boss.” Another clap on the back and Gaz is making his way over to you and Ghost. Soap startles as Price leans close and nudges him in the side with his elbow.

“Keep your eyes on him,” Price whispers, and leans away to sip at his own glass. Soap takes another drink, sneakily glancing up just as Gaz reaches you and Ghost. You smile widely at him, nodding when he gestures towards the darts board. You turn and say something to Ghost before standing from the bar and following after Gaz to the other side of the room. Ghost’s eyes follow you the entire way, never once leaving your form.

“Watches like a hawk, that one,” Price hums, “and I thought he’d be better at subtlety.” Soap turns to his Captain, brows furrowed in confusion.

“You-” Price shushes him, and nods back towards Ghost. Soap looks back, and they watch as Ghost sets down his empty glass, stands, then makes his way over to you and Gaz. He posts up, leaning against the wall closest to you where you can easily smile at him every time one of your throws lands.

“Like a lost puppy,” Price laughs.

“What’s the situation there?” Soap asks, glancing back at Price, but all Price can offer is a lazy shrug.

“Don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s been happening for a long time.”

“Alright, just got a couple papers for you to sign and you should be good to go,” you smile, gently turning Soap’s head to examine the area you’ve just pulled his stitches from.

“Thanks, Doc. ‘Preciate it.” You give a playfully dismissive wave, disappearing behind the dividing curtain.

“I’ll be right back!” you call and Soap nods, more to himself than you. He glances around at his sterile surroundings, eyes bouncing from the white walls to the white floor to the white bedsheets. The overbed table sits just next to him, though this time there’s no mess of papers scattered atop it. Instead, there sits a single file and after twenty seconds of solid boredom, Soap can’t help himself.

Lifting from the bottom corner of the file, Soap nearly drops it as he sees your picture clipped to a pile of papers. He looks behind him, pulling the curtain just enough to peer through. He spots you on the far side of the infirmary, waiting patiently at the printer. Letting the curtain fall, he quickly turns back to your file. He flips it open, picking up the paper with your photo attached. It’s an older picture, maybe from three or four years ago, but your smile is still as wide as ever.

Flipping the picture up reveals almost two entire pages of solid black lines. There’s more redacted information here than Soap has ever seen. Soap skims through what few sentences are available, every so often catching things like SIS and specialty interrogation tactics and a slew of words he never would’ve associated with your cheerful demeanor. He gets to the final page that appears to be a printed copy of the photo and his heart nearly stops as he reads the name written at the bottom and everything clicks together in his head.

Your last name is Riley.

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