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bloodyserratus · 6 months

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intrusive thoughts

pairing: choso x fem!reader word count: 5.8k synopsis: yuji's getting married and you and choso are best man and woman. it's not your wedding though, so why do your hands keep ending up on each other? themes/warnings: SMUT! mdni, plot tho i was a smidge lazy about it, masturbation, piv intercourse, nipple play, nipple piercings!choso, sub-ish!choso, switchy reader, friends to lovers.

a/n: oof. i feel like this is a bit rushed, but he caught me on an ovulation week ig. would love to know what you think!

“YN!!”

Yuji’s familiar voice shouts your name before you can even reach the host stand. You smiled apologetically to the hostess before making your way towards him.

“Yu-ji, Yu-ji!” you hop excitedly towards the young man until you can wrap him up in a tight hug. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! Thank you for inviting me to dinner.”

“Of course!” Yuji beamed back at you.

You glanced at the table and were surprised to see how many place settings there were. You seemed to have been the first to arrive and you wondered who all he had invited. The seats filled with Yuji’s friends one by one. Megumi and Nobara were familiar names and it was nice to finally match a face to them. You watched Yuji with curiosity, noticing that he seemed to be buzzing with a sort of unusual energy. Nerves, maybe, but you’d never known Yuji to be a particularly nervous person.

A shadow fell over you as you watched Yuji converse excitedly with his coworkers. You glanced up and did a double take when you realized it was Yuji’s older brother, Choso, standing over you.

“Oh shit,” you chuckled, squinting up at him. “Something big’s going on, huh?”

It had been many a year since Yuji had summoned both you and Choso together. Not because you didn’t get along or anything, but because your lives had simply taken you in different paths. Your work had moved you an hour from the city and so occasions where all three of you were together had grown increasingly rare.

Choso took the empty seat across from you and watched as your eyes flitted to his younger brother with suspicion. He was surprised at the sense of familiarity and comfort he felt seeing you, despite it having been probably two to three years.

Choso wondered how your parents were. You’d grown up as neighbors and your parents had welcomed Choso and Yuji as practically their own. While other adults whispered nasty things about their absentee parents, yours had shared nothing but care and kindness.

“Ay ay!” Yuji stood up suddenly, lifting a glass ceremoniously. “Thank you everyone for coming! I know it’s tough to get a big group like this together typically, so I appreciate you all making the time today.”

“As you can probably guess…I have an announcement to make,” Yuji continued, “So let's just get that out of the way.”

The woman next to him stood up and placed her hand in his.

“Yuko and I are engaged!” Yuji announced loudly.

You gasped, jaw dropping. Your eyes darted to Choso, filled with excitement. You'd met Yuko once when she and Yuji had first started dating. Granted it had been years, but time really flies! You looked on happily as the group tittered and got their questions answered.

When had this happened? Had they set a date? Would it be destination or local?

“Did you know?” you kicked Choso under the table.

“I knew he'd been planning,” he answered calmly.

“I can't believe it,” you pressed your palms to your cheeks. “I remember when they just started dating.”

“You don't get back here nearly enough,” Choso commented behind a sip of water.

“I know,” your face creased with guilt and your cheeks heated up.

Choso smiled. You still couldn't seem to tell when he was just teasing you.

“What do you think? This is a big deal,” you asked.

“Yuko’s a great girl. I think they make a lot of sense together.”

“That's great. If Yuji’s happy, I'm happy,” you grinned.

Choso nodded. He couldn't agree more. His eyes softened at the corners as he watched you. You were watching Yuji with such a fond expression.

You looked on as Yuko, Yuji, and his friends chatted excitedly. You were older and not quite a part of the friend group, so it was easy to sit back and observe. It was sweet to see the way that Yuji folded Yuko seamlessly in with his friends. They were clearly a tight knit group.

“What’s up with you these days?” Choso interrupted your quiet observations.

“Not too much, to be honest. Working at the same company. Switched roles, but mostly things are the same. You?”

“You know me. Sucking blood from kids,” he shrugged.

“Can you-?” you rolled your eyes so far back into your head that all he saw were the whites. “Must you say it like that?”

Choso was a phlebotomist at the children’s hospital. A perfect respectable career, but the way he chose to describe it was still the weirdest ever. Still it paid well and the schedule was reasonable. Choso was still giggling to himself when Yuko and Yuji appeared at your side.

“YN?” Yuji approached.

“Yeah?” you turned to the two with a smile.

“I-I…I have a favor to ask,” Yuko looked at you nervously.

“What is it?”

“Um…I don’t have much family left. I-, um. Would you be willing to help me with the wedding planning?”

“Oh!” your eyes widened as you processed the ask. “Yuko, of course! I’m so honored you asked! Thank you!”

“Thank you so much!” Yuko grabbed your hands excitedly and Yuji let out a sigh of relief.

Choso watched as you and Yuko exchanged phone numbers and made plans to meet up. He wondered if you still had the same phone number.

Your phone lit up with a message as you pulled into your apartment’s parking lot. The contact was saved as a string of emojis, so you didn’t immediately recall who it was.

[⛓️👿♟️]: ‘is this still your #?”

[yn]: ‘who is this?’

[⛓️👿♟️]: ‘...rude’

[yn]: ‘????’

[⛓️👿♟️]: ‘it’s choso’

[yn]: ‘ohhhhhhhhhh! i must’ve saved you as these emojis ages ago. my bad!’

[⛓️👿♟️]: ‘what are my emojis?? 👀’

[yn]: ‘⛓️👿♟️’

[⛓️👿♟️]: ‘plz change those. 😑’

[yn]: ‘LOL don’t judge! those are from high school’

[yn:] ‘updated!’

[💉🩸]: ‘👀’

[yn]: ‘💉🩸’

[💉🩸]: ‘🥹 please’

[yn]: ‘not taking constructive criticism. good night’

[💉🩸]: ‘so mean’

You laughed, slipping your phone back into your pocket and gathering your things. You thought as you took the elevator upstairs. Once upon a time, you, Choso, and Yuji had been much closer. You’d been neighbors since you’d been born, but you hadn’t grown close until late middle school. Choso’s mother had fallen ill and then after her passing, their father, Ken, faded into absenteeism. Your parents had been unable to do anything other than welcome them in as their own. Afternoon’s and evenings were quickly filled with Choso and Yuji and the three of you became a reliable trio.

It was nice to see Choso. He had a few more years on him and it suited him.

…

You might have regretted saying yes to Yuko’s favor.

Not that you would've made a different decision, but more like you would've bought a wheelchair so that you could make Choso and Yuji push you around. Because of your limited availability, weekends had been packed with venue tours, dress fittings, and even a color analysis appointment for the four of you to help Yuko and Yuji decide on a color scheme. Nearly four hours just to learn that dark jewel tones suited you and Choso best.

You exhaled sharply, trying to keep up with Choso’s long strides. Today was maid of honor’s dress and best man’s tux trying day.

“Wait up. I got little legs!” you joked, tugging on Choso’s sweatshirt.

“Oh, sorry,” he chuckled goodnaturedly. “Was lost in thought.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you teased, reaching up to tap him gently on the forehead.

Choso’s brow furrowed imperceptibly and he blinked down at you. He felt somehow flustered at your teasing.

“Come on!” you grabbed his hand absentmindedly and tugged him into the dress store.

“Hello!” the front desk attendant greeted you. “YN?”

“Yes! We made an appointment for nine thirty?”

“Welcome welcome! My name is May, let me show you to the fitting room,” she gestured to follow her. “We already received some notes from Yuko that we are going for jewel tones, so we’ve pulled out a handful of styles and colors to try and point us in viable directions.”

“Great!” you smiled, dropping your bag onto the couch before moving to the fitting room.

“And mister boyfriend or husband?” May turned to address Choso, “May I get you anything to drink?”

“Who?” Choso looked around. “Me?”

“Yes,” May smiled patiently.

“Water would be fine,” he answered. He must’ve misheard her.

“I’ll be right back!” she clapped her hands together sharply.

“Ooh, I love this color, but not the style,” you thought aloud as you emerged from the fitting room.

Choso agreed. As he had learned from the color analysis class, this color brought out a certain glow in your face.

You did a quick 360 for him before retreating back into the fitting room. May returned with water before you came back out with the second dress on. This one was much more suited to your shape, but the sleeves left something to be desired. A series of dresses were tried and shown to May and Choso before you tried one on that really dropped your jaw.

“You okay in there?” Choso’s deep voice checked in on you as you admired yourself.

“Yeah, I’ll be right out!” you called back, checking out the back one more time before opening the door.

“Wow…,” May’s hands came to cover her mouth with delight.

Shit. Choso sat up straight.

“I love this one,” you smiled at both May and Choso.

He nodded.

“That’s the one?” May asked kindly. “There’s absolutely no rush, so don’t feel shy about trying more on.”

“Ah, I suppose I should try a few more on, huh?” you nodded before spinning one more time in front of the trifold mirrors. This one would be hard to beat.

“Oh! I forgot! Are we taking pictures to send to the bride and groom? Or do we have full creative control today?”

“Ah shit!” you burst back out of the fitting room, holding the unzipped dress up to your chest. “We do need to take photos for Yuko. Choso, can you?” you looked toward him.

“Oh, yes, hold on,” Choso stood.

May helped to zip you back up while he searched through his pockets for his phone. He crouched back down a bit to center you in the frame and you gave him a bright smile, posing slightly. He gave you a curt nod when he was satisfied. This process repeated itself several times until you had about seven viable dress options and Choso had a veritable deck of photos in his phone for Yuko.

Then it was Choso’s turn.

“Phew! I’m glad to be back in my leggings,” you chuckled, flopping down on the couch.

“Wow, you are broad!” May remarked as she took Choso’s shoulder measurements.

Choso flushed at her comment as she moved expeditiously to his waist and then inseam.

“Are you even real?” she joked noting his shoulder to waist ratio. “Built like a Dorito chip.”

You snorted at this comment. May was kind of out of pocket and you loved it. You covered your mouth to try and hide your giggles. Choso had always been easy to fluster and apparently that hadn’t changed. Pink spread across the scrunch in his nose and crept up the tips of his ears. Despite his somewhat intimidating appearance, he was honestly adorable.

“Stop,” he whined while May pulled suits for him.

“Sorry, but that was funny,” you smiled apologetically at him, straightening your face.

“I’m not built like a Dorito!” he insisted.

“You kind of are though,” your eyes roved over him.

“You really are,” May echoed as she came back into the room with a handful of suits. “I’m gonna tell you now, we’ll need to tailor these. So I fitted to your shoulders and then we’ll pin the waist to get a sense of things now.”

Choso nodded, accepting the stack from May and retreating into the fitting room.

“So how long have you two been together?” May asked as you waited for him to emerge.

“Hm?” you looked up from your phone, “How long have we known each other? Since forever, I guess. We were neighbors growing up.”

“Ah, so you started dating more recently?”

You spat out your water.

“What?!” you looked at her with alarm. “We’re not-, what gave you that idea?”

“No?” May raised an eyebrow, giving it more serious thought. “You two look good together. It’s a vibe, I don’t know!”

Choso stepped out of the dressing room at this moment, eyebrows raised at the conversation he’d walked into.

“Oh!” your eyes widened, giving him a once over. He’d stepped out in a black suit with a deep purple dress shirt and black bow tie.

“What do you think?” he looked at you expectantly.

“You look good, man,” you nodded. “That color lady was right. Amethysty purple looks good on you too.”

“How’s the fit?” May asked, stepping towards him. “Do you have a comfortable range of motion in the arms? That’s usually the key point for suits.”

Choso moved his arms around, rotating fully above his head a few times and swinging his arms forward and backwards a few times. You couldn’t help but notice the way the shirt strained at his chest as he did so, buttons looking as if they might pop at any moment.

“It looks tight,” you couldn’t help but comment.

“It is a little,” Choso nodded, “Can we go up one size, May?”

“Sure thing!” May nodded, leaving again to grab more options.

“What do you think?” you asked behind him, watching his reflection in the mirror. “Do you want to go black suit and color dress shirt? Or do want to go color suit and black dress shirt?”

“I don’t know,” Choso shrugged, meeting your gaze in the mirror as he started to undo buttons. “I’ll try both, but I don’t really care either way. You tell me if you have a strong preference.”

“Okay,” you nodded, eyes glued to his fingers making quick work of the row of buttons.

“Whoo! Free show!” May remarked when she walked back in, quickly noting Choso’s now half exposed chest. “Here’s round two.”

“Thanks,” Choso chuckled bashfully. He was getting more accustomed to May’s bright personality.

May made a show of fanning herself as he stepped back into the fitting room. You laughed.

“I’m gonna try on the purple suit this time,” Choso called over the door.

“Sure!” you nodded.

“Okay, definitely not this,” he shook his head as he stepped out.

You had to agree. The large swath of purple was somehow…Wonkian. With a quick nod from May, Choso retreated once again, this time emerging with the black suit and purple shirt again.

“How’s that feel for sizing?”

“Good, but loose around the waist.”

“Ah yes, but that’s easily addressed,” May nodded, stepping behind him to pull darts into the shirt expertly. Like magic, the silhouette of the shirt tucked into a neat V.

“Come hold this please, YN?” she jerked her head at you. “I need to grab my safety pins.”

You nodded and grabbed the sections of fabric from May.

“This looks good,” you popped your head out from around him to remark.

Choso nodded. Your knuckles rested against the small of his back as you looked up at him. His skin prickled in a way that wasn't totally unpleasant.

“How was work this week?” you asked with a smile.

“Good,” he nodded. “Pretty busy but we were actually fully staffed, for once. You?”

“Not too bad! I'm between projects right now, so it was a fairly quiet week.”

“How is Yuji feeling about the wedding? Overwhelmed at all?”

“He seems fine,” Choso smiled.

You chuckled. That was typical, you supposed.

“Yuko seems a little overwhelmed sometimes.”

“I think so,” you nodded. “I get a panic text from her every so often. It's not too bad, just a lot of things to think about.”

Choso’s eyebrows furrowed.

“I'll talk to Yuji. If Yuko is feeling overwhelmed, he should step in and help.”

You looked at Choso with interest. Characteristically reliable.

“Found the pins!” May burst back in. “Sorry it took so long!”

“No problem,” you and Choso answered in unison.

You allowed May to pin the fabric of his shirt and Choso found himself missing your closeness when you stepped back.

“What do we think?”

“Good,” Choso nodded, tugging the suit jacket into place. “Is this color close enough to your dress?” he glanced at you.

“Oh yes, I think so,” May nodded, pulling the final dress selection out to compare.

“Then I think I'm all good,” he nodded surely.

You sent the pictures of Choso’s suit to Yuko as he changed back into his crew neck sweater and cargo pants. That was the Choso you were used to.

“Should we eat?” he smiled crookedly at you, reaching a hand out to pull you up.

“Sure!”

“I know a place,” he nodded, so you followed his lead.

…

You beamed at Choso excitedly. Cake tasting day!

“Excited?” he crossed his arms and cocked his head at you.

“Very! It's cake day!” you grinned goofily up at him.

“That it is,” he chuckled, glancing around for Yuji and Yuko. “I wonder where they are.”

“Will you call them? I'll go check in for the appointment at least.”

Choso nodded and you split up.

“Hello!” you greeted the front desk as you stepped in the door. “We have a ten-thirty appointment, but our bride and groom seem to be running a bit late.”

“Not to worry,” the receptionist smiled kindly at you.

“What's the word?” you asked Choso when he stepped inside.

“How do I, uh,” Choso flushed across the cheeks. “They're young and in love…and lost track of time. So they are going to be quite late. They think thirty minutes.”

“Oh dear,” your eyes widened and you looked towards the receptionist apologetically. “What should we do? I assume you're booked out quite a ways.”

“Yes,” she nodded regretfully. “If the two of you would like to proceed with the tasting and take notes for the bride and groom, I would recommend that as the best way to proceed.”

“Yes, that makes sense,” Choso nodded, “I am terribly sorry about this.”

“That's quite alright!” she smiled generously, “You’d be surprised that that's not the first time that's happened.”

You exchanged a surprised glance with Choso.

“Personally I’d love to be late because I was getting my back blown out instead of my usual reason, which is just poor planning.”

“Hah!” you let out a loud laugh at her remark, “Same, friend. While I am very happy for the bride and groom, all this wedding stuff is making me feel so single.”

Choso’s eyebrows raised with surprise.

“Hello my beautiful bride and groom!” a chef entered the room enthusiastically.

“Oh no, we're not,” you waved your hands at him.

“The bride and groom are running late so we will be taking notes for them,” Choso added.

“Ah, I see. Well when you are ready for your own wedding I hope you come back to see us!”

You and Choso both nodded goodnaturedly which seemed to satisfy the man, so he proceeded with cake samples. Yuko and Yuji had already decided on shape and tiers, so all you needed to do was provide input on flavors. You were grateful that the bakery had provided templates to take notes on because there seemed to be no end to the flavors you were shown.

“I think I hate cake now,” you mumbled to Choso at the end of it.

“Agreed. If I don't eat cake again until the wedding, I'd be just fine.”

You smiled at him.

“Oh you have some cake,” he gestured to his own mouth.

“Oh!” you licked your lips again and reached for a napkin.

“Here, let me,” Choso moved to brush the smudge off himself.

You didn't know what happened and neither did he, but at the end of the day Choso’s thumb slid into your mouth and your tongue had wrapped itself readily around it. Wide eyes met and you made a noise of confusion. Muffled by his large thumb, it sounded more akin to a moan.

Choso’s heart stopped for a moment. He was panicking but also frozen, staring at your lips pursed around his digit. Your mouth was wet and warm and he felt strongly that this was something that should have remained unknown to him. Then the friction of your tongue against the pad of his fingertip sent a jolt of adrenaline through him.

“Shit, I-,” he finally unfroze and pulled his hand back. “I didn't mean-.”

“Me neither,” you shook your head furiously. You were still hot with embarrassment when the receptionist came in to tie things up with you.

Awkward silence lingered over you when you and Choso left. Your goodbye was short and thoughts of his fingers plagued your mind as you drove back home.

…

Choso turned onto his stomach again. He couldn't sleep. Couldn't do much after what had happened today. Not because it was something he felt you couldn't recover from.

No, it was the want. It had settled in the pit of his stomach like a heavy weight and ignoring it wasn't helping at all.

“Fuck,” he huffed, hips grinding into the mattress. The friction was a welcome relief from the pulsating throb he’d been doing his best to ignore.

“Oh,” he exhaled sharply as he picked up the pace. He dragged his length across the soft, microfiber sheets and pictured your cheeks hollowing as you sucked around him.

He let out a ragged whine and flipped onto his back again. It wasn't enough. He propped himself up on his pillows and reached into his waistband. He cupped himself and reached for his phone. He flipped to the pictures of you saved there and zoomed in on your face. Whatever guilt he had was quickly pushed away to make room for his wild arousal. He wrapped his long fingers around himself and pumped his hips up into his fist

“YN,” your name fell from his lips repeatedly as he thrust up into his fist. His brow knotted and sweat beaded on his nose as he sought some form of relief.

…

You stared into the dark void of your room as you traced the shape of your lips. Memories of earlier replayed in your mind. The sensation of Choso’s thumb sliding across your lower lip. The friction of the pad pressing against your tongue. The wet ‘pop’ that sounded when he’d pulled back, panicked. You groaned, turning on your side and pressing your thighs together. Sadly it did not settle the throbbing, but it did offer some minor relief.

“Ah fuck it,” you sighed, reaching into the top draw of your nightstand. You fished around for your trusty, purple vibrator and settled into the pillows so you could get this out of your system.

You did your best not to think of Choso. Well…you made an attempt.

But as soon as you closed your eyes, your mind flooded with images of Choso. Over you, supporting himself with his muscular arms as his eyes bored into. Under you, whimpering and moaning prettily, his face flushed from sensation. Kissing your neck from behind as his hands squeezed your hips.

You squeaked as the vibrator buzzed to live and you trailed it along your inner thighs. You wondered briefly how Choso might react to it being used on him and you gushed at the thought. He was so expressive…it would be so fun to just ruin him.

“Shit!?” you gasped, eyes opening as an orgasm rolled through you unexpectedly. You blinked in surprise. It usually took you much longer than that.

You contemplated for a moment while you still had post-orgasmic clarity. As someone who didn’t tend towards topping, it was surprising to feel so attracted and aroused by the idea of doing so to Choso. The idea of pressing your fingers in his mouth quickly pushed the clarity away. Imagining his soft, wet pants through your wet, slick fingers instead sent you straight down the path of unbridled madness instead.

…

“Hey!” you smiled when you saw Choso’s tall figure round the corner.

“Hey,” he smiled lazily. “Ready?”

“Yep,” you nodded, pretending as if you hadn’t spent several nights out of the last week fantasizing about this man.

You stepped into the bridal store with him. It was time for the tailored fittings. May handed you your respective garments and you both stepped into separate fitting rooms. The tailored dress fit like a glove. You smiled with delight as you spun around, getting a sense of the back.

“I love it!” you grinned at May when you stepped out. Her face lit up with delight, giving you a once over.

“You look amazing, holy shit!” she remarked.

Choso’s ears pricked, listening to you and May titter excitedly about the dress. He couldn’t wait to see you. He hurried about tucking the dress shirt into his pants and then tugging on the jacket before he stepped out to join you.

“Oh,” you breathed softly when you saw him.

He looked incredible. The suit really emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The dark purple color contrasted nicely against his skin and emphasized his eyes.

“This looks great,” you murmured, stepping forward to run your hands over the lapels. The material looked so soft.

“Ssh!” Choso jerked as if he’d been hit and you pulled back quickly.

“What?” you asked, eyebrows creased with worry.

“No, sorry,” he smiled apologetically at you. “It just took me by surprise. You grazed my piercings.”

“Piercings?” you cocked your head, staring at his chest with confusion. Heat crept up your neck and cheeks as you realized…where the piercings were.

Choso looked away, blushing too, at your realization.

“Sorry, I didn’t know,” you blinked up at him. “Can I-, um,” your hands reached out of their own accord. What the fuck were you even asking?!

“Oh, uh…,” Choso blinked. His brain wasn’t fully functioning but he knew he wanted your hands on him again. “Yeah,” he swallowed loudly.

You stepped towards him, unable to meet his eyes. You slipped your hands under his lapels and slid them across his chest. Your fingers splayed and traced over his ribcage, his toned torso, and up to his pecs. You could feel the way his chest expanded and contracted with each breath.

Choso watched you as your hands roamed. You wouldn’t look at him, but your hands explored him greedily. His breaths were shallow as your fingertips searched out his piercings. An exhale hitched in his throat when they finally met. Your fingertips were gentle as they traced the beads. He bit back a moan as your fingertips brushed against his nipples, feeling the flesh around the bar, through the fabric of his shirt. It was difficult to ignore the way he was straining against his slacks.

“Choso,” you exhaled breathlessly and looked up at him. His face was red and his brow was scrunched up.

“I-, oh?” May walked in, pausing suddenly at your proximity.

“Ah, hi May!” you turned quickly to face her.

“Hello! How are we doing in here?” she asked, eyes flitting between you and Choso slowly.

“Good,” you nodded.

“Everything fits well?”

“Yes,” Choso nodded. He was eager to wrap this up so that he could discuss what had just occurred with you.

“Wonderful!” May smiled. “Well then you can get changed back into your street clothes. Yuko requested that we hold onto the entire party’s dresses and suits until the day of the event, so they will be here.”

“Sounds good,” you nodded.

You ducked back into the dressing room and tried to get a grip. What the hell had you been thinking? You needed to eat some grass. You shook your head as you changed back into your casual clothes. You waited for a moment or two, but then wondered if he had left already. Shrugging, you supposed that you didn’t need to wait for him and so stepped outside.

“Hey,” he scared the living daylights out of you as you walked by, checking messages on your phone.

“Shit, hey,” you hissed at him with surprise.

“Should we talk?” he looked down at you, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“We should,” you nodded, “But I’m nervous.”

“What for?” he asked with a soft smile.

You supposed that was a good question. This was Choso after all.

“I just,” you huffed, “Not sure I have an explanation.”

Choso stepped forward, bringing himself toe to toe with you. He lowered his face to yours before he spoke again.

“You like me?”

You contemplated for a moment before relenting. Of course you did.

“Yes,” you met his gaze, lips nearly grazing his now.

“Would you like to act on it?”

You didn’t have to think too hard about this one.

“Yes,” you nodded.

Choso grinned and placed his hands around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He lowered his lips against yours and kissed you enthusiastically.

“I’ll be honest. You got me fired up in there,” he chuckled against your lips. “But I don’t need to go fast if you’re not ready.”

“It’s okay,” you smiled against his lips. Choso was so respectful. “You got me bad.”

“Did you drive?” he asked.

You shook your head.

“Want to come to mine?” he suggested.

You nodded and he led you to his car.

Your bodies were a jumble after he managed to unlock his door. You kissed along his jaw, down his neck, and nipped at his collarbone as he backed you towards his bedroom. You let your hands roam freely this time, tracing the flexing lines of his muscles eagerly. What the hell was he hiding under there?

As if he’d read your mind, Choso leaned back for a moment and pulled his shirt off over his head. Your mouth fell open with surprise. Your eyes traced from his face, over his shoulders, down the sides of his torso, and landed on the dusting of hair below his belly button.

“What the fuck?” you brought your hands to your mouth. “You look like that?!” you nearly shouted at him.

“What?” he shrugged, having the audacity to be shy.

“Lay down, please,” you insisted, grabbing him and pushing him onto the bed. A body like that really did deserve to be worshiped.

You held yourself up over him and pressed a soft kiss against his chest. Choso beamed at you before you blazed a trail down his torso. You placed kisses across his jaw, down his neck, and into his collarbone. You bit gently on his full pec and paused just before his nipple.

“Is it okay?” you looked pointedly at him.

“Yes!” he nodded furiously. He was aching for you.

“Hm!” you hummed with delight and lowered your mouth to him. Your tongue rolled over the piercing, savoring the new sensation.

Choso squeezed his eyes shut as you tongued his sensitive nipple. Sweat was beading up on his nose and brow as you, knowingly or not, tortured him, pulling loud and strangled moans out of him. His large hands found purchase on your hips where you straddled him and he bucked up desperately against you, needing some sort of friction or relief.

You shivered slightly when you unlatched your mouth. It was surprising how much the sounds of Choso’s moans spurred you on.

“You. Are. So. Gorgeous.” you spoke as you placed more kisses against his serratus, lats, and abs. You nuzzled your nose against his happy trail as you pulled his sweatpants down over his hips.

Choso groaned when you grasped him at the base. You kissed your way up the underside before swallowing him into your wet, warm mouth. He was big. Your lips stretched around his girth as you sucked up and down his veiny length.

“Enough,” you were surprised when he pulled you off of him. “I need to be inside of you,” he explained.

You nodded, making quick work of your clothes. You climbed back on top of him and he positioned himself against your wet lips, spreading you apart with his fat head. You rested your forearms on his shoulders as you worked your hips, coating the dark head of his cock with your juices.

“Shitttt,” Choso groaned, deep and throaty as you teased him. “Please, I need more,” he begged.

“Yes,” you answered him simply and lowered yourself onto him completely. You moaned contentedly as he stretched you out.

Choso gripped your hips, helping as you bounced up and down his shaft. His eyes glazed over watching his cock disappear repeatedly into your juicy cunt and his hands gripped you so hard that they might bruise. He tugged you down over and over again, ramming himself into you deep and hard.

“Choso, baby,” you gasped, hands in his hair now for support as he fucked you. “I’m close. I’m so close, baby.”

Choso grinned at 'baby' and nodded, keeping the pace as your orgasm crashed through you. He found himself marveling at how gorgeous you looked as you came apart, bouncing on his cock for him.

“You good?” he asked as you recovered, still lodged deep inside of you.

“Really good,” you smiled at him, skin glowing with sweat. An idea popped into your head suddenly. “What are the chances you have a vibrator?” you asked coyly.

“Why?” he regarded you with suspicion.

“No reason,” you giggled, tracing his nipples with your fingertips gently. You were rewarded by a twitch of his cock, which was all the confirmation you needed.

“I don’t have one, sadly,” he shook his head, shuddering as you continued in little semicircles over his nipples. Your hips followed shortly, grinding against him and Choso’s breathing developed into ragged whimpers and moans.

“That’s okay,” you lapped at his other nipple with your tongue as his face got redder and redder.

“Fuckkk,” he cursed, high pitched and desperate as he grew somehow harder inside of you.

You increased speed slightly, circles tighter and faster against his pert nipples as you bounced on top of him. Choso buried his face into your neck before letting out a loud groan. He held you down on him, releasing deep inside with a few heavy twitches.

“Next time, come to mine,” you smiled mischievously at him. “I do have a vibrator.”

Choso let out a genuine chuckle before pulling you into his chest in a warm hug.

“Deal.”

#choso smut #choso x reader #choso fanfic #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fanfic #choso imagine #jjk imagine #choso fluff #serrated writing

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mooishbeam · 7 months

Text

『♡』 General’s Day Off

♡ featuring: jing yuan x f!reader

♡ summary: the general has been stressed as of late. a day of relaxation is what he needs. wc: 2.8k+

♡ cw/tw: non-sexual nudity, fluff!

notes: whew I've been waiting to do some jing yuan fluff for a while my lil smoochie. the next one is gonna be so long oof but I can't wait. art by ArtRobiins on twitter :) <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

The dozing general hadn’t had a moment of peace since Phantylia’s invasion. The Xianzhou Luofu was still recovering from betrayal, and its people were on edge ever since. Jing Yuan wouldn’t admit his weaknesses, but the welfare of his people weighed on his consciousness greatly. It bled through his ghostly skin and sinking eyebags stretching at the tired corners. The threat of another disruption loomed, and so he obsessively prepared for the untold attack. He busied himself with preventative measures, documents upon documents stacked on his desk. Yanqing had never seen him behave so adamantly, so sure of some eventual calamity. Though his demeanor reflected that of a lazy, carefree man, his heavy heart and soul bore the curse of immense grief. He needed to portray a headstrong and unwavering strength, otherwise the reality of his situation would be too apparent to the Luofu. His close friends were lost to the unpredictable winding ties of fate; he couldn’t stand to mourn another. Especially with you around.

If you and Yanqing weren’t by his side, he would be undoubtedly consumed by sorrow. Your warm smile on the mild sunrise planted a blossoming light in that dimming core. Patience was a virtue when it came to his stubbornness; you could tell he was unwell, but whenever you voiced your concerns, he aimed to ease your worries with fleeting promises of rest. He would sooner die than see tears in your eyes at his affliction. Bailu was overseeing his recovery, until he proclaimed a sudden influx of health, and steadied his posture as if it was as spry as before. Yanqing attempted to keep him in her care, but he was forced to watch Jing Yuan push himself beyond inherent limitations.

Mornings on the Luofu are always quiet. It gets hectic during the afternoon, so you take the opportunity to do some calming activities. Jing Yuan was already gone before you woke; he hadn’t been getting much sleep lately. You stir the dark bitter substance in your cup and stare out at the endless blue, pondering how you fell in love with such an obdurate man. That is, before you glimpse his half naked body dreaming, shadowed by the snowy curls spilling down his back in your memory. You can’t help but smile.

You receive a knock at the door, and rush to answer it. These days, news about Jing Yuan and another injury shaded your mind. You open the door, and it’s Yanqing, at attention as if he’s facing the general.

“Good morning, ma’am, I have something to report” he says, straight and dutiful. You giggle at his professionalism, and a tinge of pink grazes his ears. “It is a good morning. You know you don’t have to be so formal with me, Yanqing.” He drops the soldier-like pose and sighs with a slouch. “I know, ma’am. But I really need to talk to you.” You invite him to come inside, and you both sit at the dining table quietly. You notice him shifting uncomfortably in the chair, a far stare in his contemplation.

“Did you eat? I can make something.” He cuts back to reality from the broken silence. “Ah! No thank you, I ate already” he stammers. You offer your most welcoming smile. “What would you like to discuss, Yanqing?”

“It’s...about General Jing. I’m really worried about him. He spends a lot of time working now. I’ve tried to get him to relax once and a while but he’s always up and out the door. I can’t get in contact with him for hours. And he’s so tired! Sometimes when I look over his shoulder, the things he’s writing are nonsense!” You allow him to continue, it seems that Yanqing became more relieved with honesty for each grievance he admitted to. “He struggles to hide it, but I see him grab his side in pain whenever he stands...I don’t know what to do. So, I wanted to tell you.” Your head is propped by your hand, taking in all the information you suspected was occurring. Perhaps you should’ve strapped him to a hospital bed for eternity. You click your tongue in annoyance, Jing Yuan is truly a gorgeous handful.

“I knew it.”

“Oh, you did?”

“A sneaky suspicion, I guess.”

“I can’t get through to him.” You let out a dejected chuckle. “Me neither. He’s really the worst, stressing us out like this.” Yanqing subconsciously nods his head, fumbling with his thumbs. “I never thought you’d help me go against the general” you tease.

“N-no! I’m just trying to help him recover, is all!” he splutters, waving his hands over his face. “I’m kidding. I know you care about him. I do, too. I love him more than anything in this universe.”

Your mind replays every kind gesture; the fresh bouquet of flowers he got you every few days, sharing unending stories that kept you awake at night while you both gazed at the stars, his tendency to be horrible at games that weren’t chess, and the warm hug enveloping you just as you dozed off in his arms. You endured to be strong for him up until this point, but bittersweet longing pierces your thoughts. The truth spills down your cheeks.

“Oh no, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. If you’re willing to help, could you do me a favor?” you whisper, wiping the persistent staining tears. Yanqing stands at attention as if he’s accepted a life-or-death mission. “Of course.”

“Please make sure his schedule is clear tomorrow.”

You aren’t sure if your plan will convince him to stay home, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. Unfortunately, he didn’t come home as you expected. You slept intermittently. By the time you woke, the sun was just rising, casting a rose-colored gradient across the sky. Still nowhere to be found.

Click. The door creaks open. Jing Yuan stealthily moves his hand behind it and tiptoes past the welcome mat. The screech makes him pause briefly, before sliding against the wall to get past the snitching door. Right as he closes it, he whips around, only to see your figure swaddled in a quilt waiting for him on the couch. Too tired to react, he flashes a weak smirk, and sets his scroll on the table. His shirt is wrinkled and turned a dirty beige, most likely from fighting, with the collar undone. Truthfully, he was elated to see you after hardly being home for weeks. You made the blood and bruising worth it—it ensured your life and protection.

“Oh? What’s this?” You make grabbing motions with both hands, reaching out to him from your spot. “You ordered a general?” he jests. You unfold the plush quilt and beckon him to your embrace. “Mhm. Come here, honey.” Be it lack of sleep or resolve, your body looks too comfortable in this moment, and he falls to temptation. Kicking off his boots, he quickly strides towards you and dives in your arms. He’s extremely heavy, nearly twice your size and probably the fluffiest weighted blanket you’ve ever felt. He melts in your hold. The buckles from his waist prickle your soft flesh, but the vibration of his breath soothing in your ear makes you forget. You rub the firm muscle of his back with one hand, it’s taut and anxious. You untie the red bow and tangle your other hand through the puffs of marshmallows between your fingers.

“Your delivery is here” he mumbles.

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for it for sooo long.”

“My apologies. I got caught up at work.”

“I’m sure.” You pull his hair back to gaze at his jagged features, those dark ringed orbs filled with amber. “Do you want me to have a heart attack wondering when you’ll come home?”

“If that were to happen, I’d jump in the coffin right after you, my dear.” You pinch his nose, and he laughs. “However, I must return soon.” His voice sounds flat, defeated. You go back to stroking his hair. “No. You have the day off.”

“Really? And who arranged that?”

“Yanqing. He told me about your...reluctance to relax.” Jing Yuan half rolls his eyes, but never moves to leave your warmth. “That boy, he’s nervous over nothing.” You poke his side to test the pain and watch him instantly wince. He sighs deeply at your irritated expression.

“(Y/N), I can’t just stop over a feeble injury.”

“You took a spear in the chest, and nearly died. I wouldn't call that a feeble injury.”

“The Luofu needs me.”

“I need you.” He surveys your upset expression. Did he ever stop to consider your feelings, how despondent he’d made you from reckless habits? He deemed himself fortunate that you chose to stay. He gently pecks your temple.

“You’re right. I won’t go anywhere.” Your face lights up, and you wrap your legs around him tighter. “Good, you’ll enjoy yourself. I have something planned.”

You start preparing your plan, arranging the master bathroom to a calming variety of aromatic trimmings and sheer drapes hanging just above the tub. Jing Yuan didn’t know what constitutes a spa day, and so you briefly described it as a “day of relaxation”. You didn’t want to ruin the whole surprise. When you get back to the living room, you have a pen and paper with scribbles on it.

“Mr. Yuan?” you say, pretending that his name is somewhere on the unwritten list. He grins and plays along. “Are you here for the spa package?”

“Yes, I am. I didn’t know the receptionist was so breathtaking” he teases. He always knew how to fluster you. You do some fake calculations and nod to yourself, ignoring the hands wandering on your body. “For everything your total comes out to…3 kisses.”

Jing Yuan cradles your face with calloused hands. “Hmm, that's quite expensive, but I think I can manage.” Pressing a soft kiss to your awaiting lips that lasts too long between breaths. It feels desperate, like you’ll float away if he lets you go. You part for air and place your finger over his mouth. “Payment accepted. Right this way.” He kisses your finger, and you guide him to the bathroom. You nudge him inside, and immediately the aroma of vanilla and perfumed petals escapes from the steaming shower. It was spotless and arranged similar to an exotic getaway. “Please undress and get comfortable. I’ll join you inside shortly.” He nods and starts undressing. You gather everything you need and head inside.

He’s sitting on a stool under the rainfall showerhead, scrubbing down his body. The water bounces off his admittedly neglected hair, and he turns so that the heat doesn’t creep into his wound. You hadn’t realized showering was painful for him. You follow him into the shower. “May I?” you ask, motioning for the semi wet loofa in his hand.

“Be my guest.” His knees support his elbows, and you kneel behind him to massage mild soap into the sudsing loofa. His scars are much more apparent now, healed but carved roughly on the war-torn muscle. You delicately lather the product across and down his mole dotted back, gingerly kisses littering his shoulder blades. You spread the soap to his sternum and stomach, and you feel his tense form caving to your touch. Jing couldn’t recall receiving affection of this caliber, and so it was nice to be pampered, to feel you closer than he’d ever imagined. It was as if you two were the only people existing in this moment, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

After he’s properly washed, you expose his skin to the dew and allow it to run down his back, making sure to block the scar from further distress. You stand and grab the shampoo bottle, squirting an ample glob in your palm. You plop it onto his scalp, and begin working it through his thick mane. Your nails massaging and manipulating the sensitive skin makes him nearly drool. It’s as though you’re shaping his brain, and hums of approval rumble up your hands. He leans back on your stomach and enjoys your digits frothing substance. You almost see a ghostly tail wagging violently at each caress. When you pull his bangs back to wipe his hairline, you gaze at his face, a content smile prodding the crinkling corners of his mouth. “Are you falling asleep?” you whisper, washing away the soap from his forehead and roots. He groans in response and snuggles his head under your breasts. The sounds of serene rain beading the floor echoes in the humid foggy space, and the sweet scent of citrus conditioner crowds your nose. You squeeze out the remaining water. His eyes ajar from infinite slumber once your hands leave his cleansed scalp. You turn off the shower and escort him to the tub. An iridescent blue sparkling liquid stills in the marble stone, complete with botanical flora bobbing aimlessly.

“There’s more? You’re spoiling me.” He soaks in the room temperature tub, unwinding above bath salt gradually dissolving. You undoubtedly added a concerning amount of eucalyptus and lavender to the water, hoping it would miraculously restore him instantly. Positioning the stool behind him, you pull his hair back with a headband and start to mix a face mask in a small wooden bowl. His head lays in your lap, watching you diligently combine cream with medicinal powders and clay. You brush the blend over his face and neck, cool to the touch.

“Feels nice.” he breathes. “Doesn’t it? It’s made with-” you go on a passionate tangent about the ingredients included, he simply stares at you, the twinkle in your eyes while you trace his cheekbones. What did I do to deserve someone so kind and selfless, constantly seeking out my well-being and nurture-

“Are you even listening?” you accuse. He snaps out of the trance, and nods unconvincingly.

“I was.”

“What did I say then?”

“Mm, something something, your beautiful eyes and lips, I want to kiss them.” he drawls. You grunt disapprovingly, and place thin slices of cucumbers over his eyes. “No looking until it's over.” He pouts like an unruly child. You snicker and scoop a chunky clump of brown sugar scrub between your palms, rubbing together to coax warmth. Kneading the grains along his robust biceps and torso in wide circles, you’re sure you heard snoring at some point. Your hands unrolled a dull ache, and you wanted to stop, but his chest heaving deeply in relaxation pushed you to continue. You ladle water over the sugar and face mask, rubbing it dispersed. With a pristine face, you pat serum and moisturizer into the skin and admire the glowing haleness slowly returning. He sits up, freeing his eyes and gazes at you.

“How do you feel?”

“I always feel good whenever you’re around, my love” he flirts. You huff and drain the water. “You should dry off. I’m gonna give you a massage.” He steps out the tub to dry but attempts to follow you out of the room. You turn and he’s right behind you, his massive presence covering your silhouette. “Jing, I’m getting stuff ready. Can you wait here?” He says nothing and embraces your nude figure, nuzzled in your hair. You grab his arms, prying room to look up at his hiding face. You’re shocked to see tears brimming in his eyes threatening to overturn. You wipe them as they fall; somehow, he’s still grinning. He couldn’t register why he was crying yet. “Are you okay-”

“I missed you greatly.” he murmurs. You kiss his nose and pillow his shaking arms and legs. Dispelling the fears and insecurities that strangle him to a gasp. It’s easier to breathe. "I missed you, too.” He picks you up bridal style, and you yelp.

“Wait, but the massage” you contest. He walks to the bedroom, swaying you without a care in sight. “That won’t be necessary. I just want to hold you.” He lays you on your back and climbs over you. Despite all the space on your king sized bed, he intertwines your bareness with the velvety sheets, and locks you in his arms. His cuddles are cushiony and pure, cocooned like a life-sized teddy bear. You had numerous things planned today—you'd make him dinner, cater to him, watch a movie—now that you’re snuggled cozily, you couldn’t envision leaving this bed. “I didn’t get-” you yawn lengthily “-everything done.”

“You've done more than enough. It’s time I take care of you.” He kisses your forehead, and your eyelids feel dense as they ultimately come to a close. He wished your eyes would remain open, he wanted to stare into them for as long as possible. “Truly, thank you, (Y/N). I needed this.”

He listens to your soft breathing, your heartbeat pounding methodically against his. “I love you. So much” you say in trailing hushed tones before drifting to a distant dream. Maybe you’d dream about him, somewhere on a different planet with your children, spending forever together. For now, things are just as they were before.

“I love you more.”

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x y/n #hsr x reader #hsr x you

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janeyseymour · 2 months

Text

Love Thy Neighbor- pt 3

Summary: Melissa comes over for a 'thank you' dinner. Things happen. A short, sweet chapter before things get a little wild.

Part 1. Part 2

WC: ~1.6k

After your interview, you head home, change into something more suitable to spend your day in. You pour over the information that Ava had given you while preparing a special dessert for you and Melissa to share before deciding that you should probably start your delivering for the day. Before you go anywhere, you head to the liquor store and pick up what Melissa revealed to be her favorite bottle of wine, along with some champagne to celebrate the fact that you were no longer unemployed.

When you see that it’s about time to start heading over to Abbott to pick Ellie up, you head in the direction of the school. You wait for a bit before the front doors open, and your little girl is once again hand in hand with Melissa. It absolutely warms your heart.

“Momma!” Ellie shouts and waves in your direction. You make your way up the steps to get to her and the redheaded teacher that has taken a liking to your daughter.

“Hey there, sweet girl,” you crouch down and pull her into a hug. She wraps her arm around you, squealing with delight. “How was school today, little one?”

“So good!” she giggles. “I love Mrs. Howard. She lets me go with her to the secret lounge to give Miss Me- Miss Sch… Miss Sch…” she fumbles through Melissa’s last name, and she looks up to Melissa for guidance.

“Schemmenti,” the teacher chuckles.

“-a snuggle!” Ellie finishes.

You glance up at the redhead who still has Ellie’s hand in her own with a smile. “That’s so good to hear, sweetness. I’m glad you like school.”

“It’s the bestest!” your daughter chirps. She lets go of you to raise her arms in a silent request to be picked up by Melissa. She obliges. “I love you, Miss…”

“Miss Mel is fine,” the teacher smiles and squeezes your daughter gently.

You raise a brow in curiosity.

“I told the kiddo I can be Miss Mel at home or when it’s just the two of us, but at school in front of everyone else, I have to be Miss Schemmenti,” she explains. You nod along- that makes sense.

“Alright, love bug,” you tickle Ellie. She squirms and giggles in Melissa’s arms. “I think it’s time we head home so you can play and Momma can start making dinner… so it’s ready when Miss Melissa comes over.”

The woman in question brightens at that, and she nods. “I’ll be over once I get my things settled.”

You have dinner going by the time there’s a knock on your door, and Ellie is up and running to it before you even have to ask her.

“Who is it?” she singsongs.

“Melissa!” the redhead calls through the door, and you can hear the little girl whip open the door before you hear a soft ‘oof’ coming from Melissa as Ellie no doubt tackles her in a hug.

“You act like you didn’t see me a couple hours ago,” the teacher, and your new coworker, teases as she picks Ellie up and walks with her into the kitchen.

“Hey,” you smile as you continue to chop up some vegetables for the salad you’re making. You point to the two glasses of wine you already have poured.

“Hey, yourself,” Melissa laughs as she sees Ellie on the table and lifts the glass to her lips. “How was your interview?”

“As if you don’t already know,” you roll your eyes playfully. Melissa feigns confusion. “I walked in and Ava threw my resume in the trash because someone already told her about me and that she would be a fool not to hire me.”

“Wonder who that could’ve been,” the redhead grins. “Congratulations.”

“So, I will officially be a third grade teacher starting on Monday. They said I’ll be working closely with the teacher who already has these kids-”

“Me,” the woman reveals. “You’ll be working closely with me.”

“i thought you said you were a second grade teacher?” you furrow your brows.

“I’ve been teaching two grades for a year and a half now,” she sighs. “But I have more second than third.”

You furrow your brow. “That can’t be effective.”

“I’m a damn good teacher, so I make it work,” she shrugs. “But now we got you, so I’m sure we’ll be better off.”

You blush. “I hope so. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

“Momma’s the bestest teacher in the whole world!” your daughter giggles. “She helps me read all the time!”

Dinner is set out on the table a bit later, and you and Melissa are raising your glasses, clinking them together gently.

“I wanna cheers!” Ellie proclaims as she holds her cup of milk up. “Cheers!”

The two of you let out small laughs and do as the little one wishes. And then you’re diving into dinner.

“Dang, Y/N,” Melissa says through a mouthful. “I thought I was a good cook. Do you do it all?”

You blush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You teach, you cook, you clean, you raise an adorable little girl-” Ellie grins at that. “And I saw the guitar and ukulele in your living room, so I know you play. Jesus, what do you not do?”

“Crotchet,” you deadpan.

The redhead lets out a laugh. “Well, I can always teach you how to do that.”

Dinner is cleaned up, Melissa absolutely insisting to help you (and because Melissa is helping, so does Ellie) before the three of you settle on the couch.

Your daughter watches Bluey, content to curl up in the redhead’s lap, while you and your new coworker discuss work and what you should expect. She tells you who you need to watch out for, who is a helper, and what students are at risk. You’re immensely grateful that she is able to tell you as much as she can about each kid, and you write notes in the binder you had put together for the class.

“For the first week or so, we’re going to transition you in… so you’ll split time between getting your room ready and observing the way that I handle the third graders,” Melissa tells you. “During preps, we’ll work together to make sure that the curriculum is working out for you and that you know what all you need… but, and I don’t usually offer this, if you need help outside of school all you have to do is holler across the hall.”

“I appreciate it,” you lay a gentle hand over hers. “Thank you, Mel.”

“It’s my Miss Mel time, Momma,” Ellie playfully scowls at you as she moves your hand back into your own lap.

“Yeah, Y/N,” Melissa teases you. “It’s my Ellie and Mel time.”

You rolls your eyes playfully before sighing. “A few more minutes, but then little miss has to start getting ready for bed.”

“Can you read me my story again?!” Ellie whips around and asks your neighbor. Melissa chuckles but nods before looking to you for approval.

After a few more minutes, you tell your daughter to start getting ready for bed, and she does happily.

“Miss Melissa and I will be in in a few minutes,” you promise her gently. She grins and gives you two thumbs ups.

When Ellie is out of sight, you look to her. “Stay after she goes to bed? I have a surprise.”

She nods, but she looks suspicious.

No sooner is Ellie bouncing out of her room, her stuffed rabbit in her arms and bellowing, “Momma! Miss Mel! I’m ready for my bedtime story!”

The two of you chuckle at your antics, and you scoop your daughter into your arms, tickling her as you take her back to the bedroom.

The little girl picks a book from her bookshelf before handing it to Melissa and climbing into her lap.

“After the story, I’ll lay down,” she tells you when you raise an eyebrow at her not getting under her blankets. You decide you’ll let it slide for tonight.

Melissa reads this story before hugging Ellie tightly. “Goodnight, little one.”

“Goodnight, Miss Mel,” the six year old chirps. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You tuck Ellie in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before flicking off the light.

You and your friend head out, leaving the door open just slightly. You lead her back into the kitchen and pull out the tiramisu you had made earlier, along with the bottle of champagne you had bought to celebrate your new job.

Melissa looks impressed as you put the dessert onto two plates and pop the bottle. You raise your glass in a toast, to which she mirrors your actions, before sipping the bubbly. She takes a bite of your creation, and her eyes light up.

“You like it?”

“Hun, this is… incredible. Better than my Nonna’s, but don’t ever let her hear that,” the redhead smiles as she takes another bite.

You smile, eyes warm, before leading her to the couch. You turn off the Australian show before settling on another program. The two of you eat your dessert together.

After a bit, you take the now cleared plates and set them on the coffee table before folding your legs underneath of you, relaxing into the cushions of the couch. She leans back with you, and her shoulder bumps with your own.

You blush, looking at her and seeing the way that she’s looking at you with such a tenderness. Her green eyes sparkling in the dim light of your living room.

Before you know what’s happening… her lips are on your own.

#melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary

290 notes · View notes

fazedlight · 5 months

Text

“IT’S OKAY, SPIKE!” Kara shouted, flying alongside the panicked dragon. “Easy, easy boy- OOF.”

An unwitting thrash of the dragon’s tail sideswept Kara in the air, causing her to tumble as he continued to rip ahead.

“Supergirl,” came Lena’s voice in her ear. “Are you still there?”

“Yep,” Kara said, halting her fall to the Earth, surging back up into the sky and heading again towards the dragon. “Have you figured out why he’s upset yet?”

“We detected a disruption in spacetime. If he freaked out during Crisis last year, he may be sensitive to-”

“Another crisis?!” Kara said, nearly caught up to the dragon.

“Unlikely, Brainy is investigating the cause.”

Kara didn’t respond as she finally flanked Spike’s side, shouting words at him in an attempt to soothe - not that it was working all that well.

“Have you tried beef jerky?” came an amused voice behind her.

Kara startled, rotating in the air to see another figure, flying just a few yards away. In the dark sky, she could make out a… woman, a white supersuit, a red cape, short-cropped light hair. It was mid-turn that Kara realized there was a small bag hurling in her direction. Kara instinctively reached out to grab it, seeing Original Beef Jerky on the label.

“Who are you?” Kara shouted, glancing back up.

“You don’t recognize me?” the stranger smirked.

“Should I?”

“My name,” the blonde said, “Is Kara Zor-L.”

-----------

It didn’t take long for Spike to calm down after that. A couple of bites of jerky, and the dragon amiably landed on the ground, seeming to physically shake off his nerves before shrinking back down into a peaceful iguana. Alana was relieved to have her pet back.

Kara eyed the new blonde warily, but this other Kara didn’t seem concerned. “I’ve been dealing with a brainwashed Legion member,” the other woman explained. “He threw me out of my universe. I need to get back there.”

“So the multiverse is back,” Lena said over comms, listening on to Kara’s conversation with… Kara. “Bring her to the Tower, Brainy and I can try to help her.”

Kara looked up. “Alright… Kara,” she said awkwardly-

“My Earth name is Karen,” the blonde responded.

Kara nodded. Thank Rao, this’ll be less confusing. “Alright, Karen. Let’s get you back to the team.”

-----------

“So you’re… Power Girl,” Lena said, eyeing the much older kryptonian. “And you were able to grow up on Krypton?”

“It’s a long story,” Karen said with a shrug. “When do you think you’ll be able to send me back to my Earth?”

“Just a few hours,” Lena said. “Brainy’s making some equipment modifications.”

“Looking forward to getting home,” Karen said. “Cat will be annoyed.”

“Wow,” Kara said with a laugh. “Different timelines, but somehow we both work for Cat Grant.”

Karen tilted her head towards Kara as her brow crinkled - Lena couldn’t help but think of how strangely familiar her expression was. “I suppose she would be a little old for you,” Karen mulled.

“Old?” Kara asked.

Karen smirked. “Cat is my wife.”

“Oh,” Kara squeaked, as Lena's heart skipped a beat.

-----------

“That’s not suspicious to the press at all?” Lena said. “You and Cat living on opposite sides of the country?”

Conversation had wandered - from Karen’s Starrware Labs and her development of environmental nanobot technology, to her superhero antics as Power Girl, to her marriage. Lena hadn’t missed how Kara’s cheeks turned bright pink with the mention of Karen’s love life, and how she took every excuse to duck out of the room to check on Brainy’s progress.

But now Kara was back, and pacing, and nervous - and somehow that only seemed to amuse Karen.

“We’re good at privacy,” Karen said. “Though I’m opening a branch of Starrware Labs in National City, so soon this’ll be less of a pain in the ass anyway. It’ll be nice to be able to attend Carter’s baseball games without suspicion.”

“Carter?” Lena asked. “I guess Cat was previously married on your Earth, too.”

“The media went nuts when we started dating,” Karen smirked. “America’s Power Bisexuals. Ironic headlines, considering they don’t know I’m Power Girl.”

“You’re bi,” Lena asked curiously, noting again how Kara seemed flushed.

Karen shrugged. “Bi, pan, whatever. Sexuality in Krypton’s society was considered fluid.”

“What?” Kara said, confusion overriding her new shyness. “That sounds like Daxam, not Krypton.”

“What’s Daxam?” Karen asked.

Kara stared at Karen for a moment. “I’m… going to check on Brainy again,” she said, making her way out the room.

Lena curiously watched after her, before turning back to Karen - who seemed to be far too amused at what was transpiring. Lena shifted in her seat, another curiosity coming to mind. “What’s my life like on your Earth?”

Karen shrugged. “You’re a powerhouse. Married to another tech genius, some Jack guy. It’s rumored you’re in an open relationship, you spend a lot of time with the Obsidian CEO.”

“Oh,” Lena said.

“Is something going on between you two?” Karen asked Lena, gesturing at where Kara went through to the door.

“No.”

“Do you want something to be going on?”

Lena was going to rebuff, the words of course not ready to fall from her lips. But something stopped her. Maybe the familiar crinkle in the stranger’s brow, maybe the fact that the blonde was imminently about to leave the universe entirely. “I don’t think that’s a possibility,” Lena said regretfully.

“Why not?”

Lena shrugged. “Kara’s straight in this world.”

“Are you sure?” Karen said, her eyes seeming to dance with the almost familiar smile, last observed when Kara convinced Lena to buy an entire tub of ice cream. Lena couldn’t help but laugh, as much as the reality of the situation made her heart ache.

But before she could formulate a response, they could hear the patter of footsteps coming back. “It’s ready,” Kara said, nodding in Karen’s direction. “Brainy says you can go home.”

-----------

Karen departed for her Earth - and normalcy resumed, as Lena and Kara crashed on Lena’s couch, consuming their late dinner from Chinese takeout containers.

Lena looked over at the blonde, who seemed… still unusually quiet, seemingly pensive. “Is it odd?” Lena asked gently. “Hearing about a different Krypton?”

“Yeah,” Kara said, pulling her legs up onto the couch. “It makes me wonder…”

“Wonder?”

“She’s just… very confident,” Kara murmured, staring down at her chopsticks.

“She’s older,” Lena shrugged. “Seen more.”

“I think even if I were a decade or two older, Cat would still eat me alive,” Kara smiled.

“Maybe,” Lena laughed.

A pause. “We’re… similar in other ways,” Kara said softly.

“Oh?” Lena said, her heart skipping a beat.

Kara shifted awkwardly, finally glancing up at Lena. “I overheard something she said. Her talking about you and Jack. And… Andrea.”

“It wasn’t that surprising,” Lena replied slowly, her heart pattering as she realized that Kara might be… trying to assess the situation. Which gave her the bravery to be a bit more forthcoming. “Andrea and I were together in high school.”

“Oh,” Kara said. And for a moment, silence fell again.

“Lena-” “Kara-”

The two looked up, each noting that the other had a blush crawling across her face, each feeling the vibration of possibility flowing between them. “Could we…” Kara started. “Could we be more?”

“If you want us to be,” Lena said, a small smile growing on her face.

Kara’s eyes widened, before a grin crossed her own face. “I’d like that,” she said.

-----------

A month later, a small portal temporarily opened up in Karen Starr’s office. She didn’t notice at the time - she was far too busy making out with her wife - but she did find the note left behind:

“You were right. Thank you. - LL”

#Power Girl comes for a visit #flexing my comics knowledge while also completely making stuff up #I don't know why I wrote this #✨experimental writing✨#supercorp #supercorp ficlet #fazedlight #mel writes ficlets

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girlboypersonthingy · 4 days

Note

i’ve never really asked before but i just read all of your sally face stuff and BFBSVAVAX so i was thinking….

(preferably afab) reader coming home tired and needy, walking in sal and their shared room sighing as they rip off their work shirt and stare at sal who’s practicing a new song. waiting for him to put his guitar aside they fall dramatically into his lap and start COVERING his mask in kisses, stopping suddenly to ask for a real kiss:3

just some fluffy stuff pls it’s been a LONGGGG few weeks:D

A D O R A B L E ! ! ! This week has def been a ‘I want to come home to Sal and collapse in his arms’ type of week for me like oof 😔…I’m sorry this took me a while to get to, I hope you’re alright. Hopefully you’re doing better by now and if not, plz feel free to message me and we can chat 🖤 thanks for requesting and enjoy!

Notes: fem!reader, this is really fucking silly I’m so sorry…

TW: a bit suggestive, lots of swearing, making out, spit/drool, boobs lol 18+ only!!!

Sal x reader- Hard Day 🌙

(Imagine Sal practicing this song while you read this 🖤)

“Fuuuuuuckkkk…” You groan loudly as you drag your feet through the doorway of the house, stomping loudly on each step of the stairs. As you near the door way of your bedroom, you see the light is on, the music is loud and you can hear Sal playing his guitar along to it, occasionally hitting the wrong note. As you step across the threshold of the room, you let loose a big breath of air as you slouch over a bit, catching Sal’s attention for a moment.

“Hey babe!” He shouts over the music while continuing with his playing. He was sat up on the corner of the bed, guitar in his lap, slouched over with his prosthetic still on. You couldn’t help but watch his fingers on the strings for a moment, black painted nails moving oh so smooth but still making little mistakes. “Hi…I’m so tired.” You say but it falls on deaf ears. Sal is just so close to nailing this one part of the song, he’s been trying for two and half hours now and he’s too close to quit.

Disappointed and a bit annoyed, you quickly shed your shirt and continue giving Sal a cranky but needy glare, only covered by a bra up top. “Sal!!!” You finally shout, making Sal look up, making his hands freeze for a moment. He quickly leans over to turn the music off, his blue hair swaying over his shoulders as he moves. “I’m sorry…uh hey…babe. You okay?” Just by the tone of his voice, the way he’s hesitating and stopping to lick his dry lips under his mask, you can tell he’s equally flustered and excited by your lack of clothes.

“No…I’m not…” You pout for a moment, sighing as you rub your aching temples. He sets his guitar aside and puts one hand out towards you, offering it as a comforting gesture. You gladly accept, grabbing his hand then quickly approaching him and sitting in his lap. “This week…was the fucking worst!” You cry out dramatically, turning to the side so he can hold you bridal style. “I just wanna stay home with you all day, every day.” Sal chuckles softly, one arm tucked up under your knees, the other cradling your back while his hand ruffles the hair on the nape of your neck. “Me too, babe. Me too…” He replies before he gently nuzzles his prosthetic up against your face, making kissy noises under it.

After enough of his cuddly kisses, you decided to return the favor, covering his mask in kisses. You pepper kisses everywhere, all over his prosthetic very quick and soft. Until finally, you pause and place a long kiss on the lips of his prosthetic, humming as a smile grows on your lips. “You know what would really make me feel better…?” You really drag out the words, using your best flirty voice as your finger traces the side of his mask. “What?” He quickly clears his throat, your faces only inches apart. His rapid breathing echos inside his prosthetic as his hand slides up to fully cradle your head.

“Kiss me for real…please?” Your flirty tone turns to a very soft, comforting type of tone, smiling up at him as you watch him blink down at you. There’s a pause, he hesitates for a moment before gulping nervously. Although you’ve seen his face many times before, mouth to mouth kisses were hard to come by with Sal. With a shaky hand, he grabs your own hand and guides it to the back of his head, gesturing for you to unclip his prosthetic for him. He was far too nervous to do it himself, he figured he’d let you set the pace.

To his surprise, you’re pretty quick with the buckles and the mask falls into your lap within seconds. Immediately, your lips meet, Sal uses that hand on the back of your head to push you into him further. As your arms snake around his neck, hugging him close to your nearly bare chest, his other hand is gently kneading your hip as you move your lips against his. The kiss began to rapidly pick up pace, his tongue occasionally licking along your bottom lip.

It was always a delightful shock when your lips or tongue would meet his teeth accidentally where they peek through his cheek and the corner of his mouth, now was no exception. Any time this happens, Sal usually shies away and assumes it grosses you out, especially when he knows he’s probably drooling. Expecting this would happen, you move one hand to the back of his head, matching the grasp he has on you to keep him engaged in the kiss.

A low moan comes from him as he deepens the kiss along with you, tilting his head and running his tongue along your own. Suddenly, clumsily, Sal grabs ahold of your legs and slowly lays back on the bed, pulling you along with him, trying to keep his lips on yours. He fails at this, your lips parting for a moment, him awkwardly shifting under you until he pulls you up closer to his bright red and slightly sweaty face. You can’t help but laugh, not at him, he’s just too cute when he gets like this,

A chuckle rumbles from his chest as he holds you closer, squeezing you tightly against him as he places a final kiss on your nose. “Are you feeling better?” He quickly leans back in for a few more tender lip kisses, smiling brightly as he pulls back. “Yes, sooooo much better. You know what would really make me happy though, Sally?” Your hands run slowly through his long, blue hair as he hums in response. “Hm?”

“Let’s do all of that again…but in a nice hot shower~”

Cue Sal getting a gruesome bloody nose as he glances down at your barely covered chest and thinks about having a shower with you. 🥴🖤

#sally face fanfic #sally face fanfiction #sal sally face #sally face sal #sally x reader #sal x reader #sal fisher #sally fisher #sally face #sally face x reader #sal fisher x you #sal fisher x reader #sal fisher smut #sally face fluff #sally face fandom

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angry-geese · 9 months

Text

Cardinal Copia x Reader

Warnings: not osha compliant//nsfw. fluff and smut; oral (cunnilingus), overstimulation, afab reader. use of petnames (ex. my love)

synopsis: copia and the reader decide to spend a morning in :) i just wanted an excuse to write smut tbh

word count: 3.5k

Rain from the previous night has carried well into this morning, and shows little signs of stopping. Dawn is bleak and gray as it crests upon the horizon. In your state—stuck between the waking world, and sleep—you reach out for him, finding the bed beside you cold. The little villa Copia calls home lies empty, save for you, and the constant tick tick tick of the clock on the wall.

Despite his absence, you’re in no rush to get up. On a Saturday morning, there’s little more to do than basic chores, or lazing around the house. Maybe you’ll catch up on some reading, or perhaps some leftover paperwork—Sister Imperator seems to love her paperwork. Perhaps you could start with the sweeping, or dishes, but both tasks sound especially dull. Staying in bed sounds like a preferable option.

Outside, the incoming storm has rendered the sky dark, and the cobblestone path shiny. Fat droplets of water race down the window pane, spilling into the rocks below. Clouds are low enough that the tops of trees are obscured. Somewhere, not too far off, the abbey’s bells ring out, signaling the hour. Nine O’Clock. Various siblings will be gathering for mass soon; an optional ritual which only the most devoted—or those with nothing better to do—will attend. Copia will most likely be there. Certainly Sister Imperator will be.

When the door to the bedroom finally cracks open, the most movement you’ve made is that of rolling onto your side. The bed dips under his weight as he sits. A hand smooths over your hair, tucking a stray lock behind your ear.

It’s about that point in which you roll over to face him. Copia’s red cassock is replaced with a much more casual button down, and trousers. Black, although some red stitching is visible as he rolls up his sleeve. A nice touch.

“I didn't mean to wake you,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

“You didn't.” You say. “I’ve been awake.”

The yawn that leaves you seems to say otherwise. You scoot back a bit on the bed, and he sits, tugging his pillow away from the headboard. Copia sighs, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. He doesn't seem to quite know what to do with his hands as they switch between laying limply at his sides, and fiddling with the top-most button of his shirt.

You reach out to him, and he takes your hand, only to be pulled back to bed by you. A soft “oof” leaves him as his head hits the pillow, mere inches from yours.

“You’re back early today,” you say, “was there no meeting?”

“Terzo was terribly late,” he says, “and Sister had other important matters to attend to.”

“So you skipped work? How scandalous…” you say flatly.

Copia makes a show of rolling his eyes, though a small smile tugs at his lips. “Says the one still in bed. Isn’t it nearly ten?”

“Does our dark lord not revel in sloth?” You ask.

In reality, you have kitchen duty this week, and you’re dreading it greatly.

In theory, you could use your position so close to someone in the upper clergy to your favor. Little things like job assignments, roommates, special meals. Names could be swapped, tabled tipped in your odds. You know better than to do such a thing. Sister Imperator’s ire isn't something you want to earn, and she is aware of most things in the abbey.

Copia must not find it within himself to argue with you. And though his eyes are closed, you know very well he’s awake. You move closer to him, seeking the warmth of another body. He accepts you openly, allowing you into the space directly against him. You lean forward to kiss him—just a quick peck on the cheek. Copia catches you on your way back, pulling you in for a proper kiss. The taste of coffee lingers on his lips.

“Is there any left?” You ask. “Coffee, I mean.”

When his eyes open, a look of guilt is visible within them. “I’ll make more.” He says.

And though you wish to stay in bed just a little while longer, you trail after Copia. The hallway leads directly into a small, but cozy living room. Shelves are stacked floor to ceiling with books, some old, some new. More wood goes into the fire, and the kettle is set on the stove to boil. The remnants of last night’s tea remain on the coffee table, aside half-read books, and video game controllers. You make yourself comfortable on the couch, shifting pillows and blankets to make room for yourself. Copia settles onto the couch beside you not long after, fishing the TV remote out from between two pillows. At this hour of the morning, nothing interesting is going to be on cable; shopping channels and reruns of game shows are the only programs available.

“What a dreary morning,” you comment, resting your head in your hands.

“I like the rain.” Copia says.

It was his timidness, and devotion to his work that first caught your attention; the passing glances in the hall, the looks that lasted slightly longer than they should have. By all accounts—his upbringing, his way of life—Copia should be a different kind of man. Sleazy. Lecherous. Rough around the edges. Someone who takes more than he needs, and does so greedily. But behind his strange exterior lies a timid, sweet man. A strange tenderness is behind each of his actions.

You never would have realized it if it weren't for Terzo’s scheming nature. Maybe one day you should thank him.

This rare, quiet moment is interrupted by the whistling of the kettle. Copia hops up to attend it, returning later with two mugs. Before, you never were much of a fan of coffee, but countless late nights and early mornings in the clergy gave you a new appreciation for it.

“How do you take yours?” Copia asks, although he already knows the answer.

“Sugar and cream if you have it,” you say.

He does.

Maybe a minute passes before he returns to the living room, carrying a mug in each hand. He settles back onto the couch, and when the opportunity to sprawl out presents itself, you take it, laying your legs across his lap. One of his hands trails along the curve of your leg. The other finds the remote, mindlessly flipping through channels. Copia eventually settles on a cooking show, although neither of you are paying attention to it.

Moments like this are fleeting—something to be savored—and that adds to your reluctance to get up. His hand ghosts up the side of your calf in slow, repetitive motions. Soothing. The pads of his fingers are rough, but gentle. Copia’s attention turns from the TV, back to you. The corners of his lips twitch upwards in the slightest hint of a smile.

“What?” You ask quietly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Who knew one little librarian would corrupt me so much,” he says.

That earns an eye roll, and a quiet laugh from you. “Me? Really?” You say.

“I used to be a pious man,” he says, “deeply devoted to my work and…”

“And I showed you there was more to life than work.” You say, and he nods.

What is the fun of the clergy if you can't relish in life’s luxuries? Much of your life was spent burying your own needs for the sake of others. Once you found a place you belong, and could truly, freely exist, you had years to make up for. A life to live freely and love fully.

Of course, Copia was born into this life. Perhaps he doesn't know the difference.

You tuck your legs back under you, leaning against his shoulder. Copia is quick to make room for you, looping an arm around your waist. His gaze falls to the bare curve of your legs. Nothing too scandalous. At least, not more scandalous than being found barely-clothed in his bed. Yet if you ask him, he’ll say something about appreciating the view regardless.

It’s a dangerous game you are playing, tangling your limbs with a member of the upper clergy. The various cardinals and papa’s are no stranger to casual relations. Casual sex, and one night stands come with the position. People love shiny, new things. They love to feel in power if only for a night. But to form a long term relationship—let alone one with the son of Sister Imperator—would be to put a target on one’s back. Not a great idea if you wish to fly under the radar.

Copia is not papa, and you will not be his prime mover.

This time, when he kisses you, there’s more of a need behind it. A set of warm hands find your cheeks—then your hair—pulling you impossibly close. The cardinal is typically a patient man, but today brings a strange desperation.

You can't help but wonder just what happened in the meeting this morning. Did Terzo say something to him?

When he pulls away, a line of saliva connects your lips to his. Warmth blooms in your chest, spreading out into your extremities. You pray he can't pick up on your racing heart. Probably not from such a distance, but the feeling of it beating within your chest is too much to ignore.

“Sister Imperator is less than pleased with how distracted I have been from my work,” he says.

So it was Imperator then?

“Was it not you that first distracted me from my work?” You ask, a coy smile spreading across your lips. “If my memory is correct, it was you who instigated that night at the library…”

If anyone is to blame for this, then it is Terzo. Without him, your little crush on the cardinal would have gone nowhere.

Copia separates himself from you just enough to slide off the couch, coming to rest upon his knees. “And who would I be to resist such sweet sin?” He asks.

Was it not the forbidden fruit that tastes most sweet?

He sits on his knees before you like a man bowed in prayer. Truly blasphemous. Your legs part just enough to give him room to settle between them. Copia moves slowly, achingly slowly. It’s not in his nature to be so direct; he’s testing the waters, waiting for you to make the first move.ands trail up your thighs before coming to rest on your hips, pushing up the hem of your—his—shirt. A small hum of approval leaves him as he realizes you have nothing on underneath.

A set of mismatched eyes meet yours, clouded with lust. His shoulders are hunched forwards slightly, head tilted down, gaze trained on you. An expectant look. From here, the once powerful cardinal looks vulnerable now.

If he ever asks, you’ll say you didn't plan this. Really, you didn't, but one has to be a little scheming to last within the clergy.

“What is it, Copia?”

He swallows hard. Your eyes follow his adam's apple as it bobs in his throat. “My love, I wish to taste you,” he says, voice low. “May I?”

“You may.”

He hooks his arms around your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch—that draws a small gasp from you. Now, your legs hang mostly off the couch, coming to rest on his shoulders. Copia’s stubble is rough against your skin as he presses his lips against it, trailing kisses up your thigh. Three on the left, one on the right. Achingly slow. You don't think his movements are meant to be so—you truly think he’s trying to pace himself—but they all feel teasing in nature.

You wish for nothing more than to lean down and kiss him. To hold him gently in the same way he holds you. His tongue traces up your slit once before you can no longer contain yourself, and pull him close, hands guiding him by his hair. From him comes a small, muffled noise of approval.

Copia is a man who claims he is not skilled with his tongue, although that couldn't be further from the truth. He’s no stranger to your taste, your feel, the subtle movements of your body. He laps and sucks like a man starved for weeks, finally presented with a meal. A tongue devoted in total worship, for such reverence can only be that: worship. Moans spill past your lips and you do nothing to stop them. There’s no reason to be quiet in here, nobody is around to hear you. They only seem to make him more eager to please.

You’re reminded of a sermon from a few nights ago. Terzo led it. He would soon become intoxicated, but not before bestowing the crowd with a few words of wisdom:

Our pain, our pleasure…

One finger presses into you. Then another. Curling and pumping into you. The leg that’s no longer supported by his shoulder hangs loosely at your slide.

We devote ourselves to Him…

Sister Imperator looked about ready to strangle him once he started bringing up female orgasms. Maybe he had a point. Maybe Terzo was just alluding to what was going to happen at the afterparty.

The nails on Copia’s free hand dig into your skin. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to leave little crescent shaped marks. It’s enough to bring your attention back to him, and his mismatched eyes.

A low noise rumbles up from his chest as your grip tightens on his hair. Your own release comes upon you sooner than intended. Copia seems to notice it before you do, continuing to lap at your poor, sensitive clit. You can only writhe helplessly before him as he works you up to—and through—your release. Even then, he is unrelenting, continuing to work you over with his tongue; a mix of lust, pride, and gluttony in their most primal forms.

When Copia does finally pull away, his chin glistens in the low light of the room. You’ve done quite a good job at messing up his hair. It sticks out at strange angles now, and is only slightly fixed when he runs a hand through it. Something in Italian spills past his lips, although you can’t tell if it’s a prayer, or a curse. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, moving to sit beside you on the couch.

Once your shirt comes off, you’re left bare before him, nipples stiffening when exposed to open air. Copia takes you in greedlily, admiring the curves of your body. The angles. The softness of it—you—all. His reverence is a form of worship in its own right. He must be painfully hard now—the bulge in his trousers is a telltale sign of that. Copia palms himself through them, before you lean in to take charge, straddling his lap. Off comes his shirt, a task that takes both of you to complete, your hands fumbling for buttons in unison. His neatly tailored slacks are the next to go, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. Your discarded clothes go into a pile on the floor, tossed aside carelessly.

If the circumstances were any different, you’d go through the effort of finding a condom. Today you don't, though, it’s not for a lack of abundance. You wish to feel him in his entirety; limbs tangled, bodies becoming one. Like a pair of horny newlyweds, you’re all over each other. The first kiss he gives you is soft—gentle—but grows more needy as your hands brush across his erection. He lifts his hips just enough for you to tug down his boxers, freeing his hardened cock. Copia must be painfully hard now, yet he still tries to contain himself.

Copia leans back just enough for you to straddle his lap, and you do so, with your thighs on either side of his. The redness on his cheeks has now spread to his chest, and the tips of his ears. His breathing has evened out now. His lips find your neck, but not in a kiss—no, he’s savoring your closeness. His hands find your hips, and yours find his chest, guiding you as you lower yourself onto his hardened cock. There’s a slight sting as you do so—a stretch—although it’s the kind of pain that inevitably feels good. The two of you just fit together so perfectly, you can't help but think.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, combined with a mix of gasps, and moans. Copia’s hands wander up and down the length of your body, finding your hips, thighs, breasts, but never resting in one spot for very long. Your arms wrap around his neck, wrapping around them as you try to find purchase against his body. The couch creaks in protest underneath the two of you. Quiet, nonsensical words of praise spill past his lips, only muffled further when his face is shoved against your breasts. Copia doesn't seem to mind.

“Beautiful—” he huffs, “you’re so beautiful.”

You’d say it back if you could form any words. And he truly is; skin flushed, and slightly shiny with sweat. The veins in his hands are more prominent now—you’ve always had a thing for his hands. The feeling of them around your neck, or down your body. Gloved or not. Taking one of his hands in yours, you bring it to your lips, wrapping them around his pointer and middle finger. He still tastes of you.

Copia’s breath catches in his throat—the muscles in his thighs tense—all telltale signs that he’s going to cum. His nails dig into your hips hard enough to leave little crescent shaped indents. Maybe they’ll bruise. Maybe not. And when he finally cums, he cums hard, spilling into your unprotected womb.

Your second orgasm isn't far off, and you’re still oversensitive from the first. You’re content to chase your own release, grinding down against him. Copia helps you along with his thumb, toying messily with the bundle of nerves. Broken strands of sentences spill through you, and Copia seems to take that as high praise of his work. It comes upon you all at once, like a wave rolling over you, pulling you under and spitting you out wrong. Your thighs are a mess of his cum, and your own. The couch is certainly a mess.

Once again, you feel his stubble against your neck as he presses a kiss to it. Then your cheek, then your forehead. A hand smooths over your hair as your head falls into the crook of his neck.

It’s another moment before you remove yourself from him. If you had any say in the matter, you’d stay like this for the rest of the day. Copia guides you onto the cushion beside him, taking a moment to admire his work; the red nail marks, flushed skin, and cum seeping down your thighs.

“Eh, sorry my love,” he says, and you assume he’s referring to the mess.

“It’s okay,” you say, “it’s not my couch anyway.”

Copia groans as he stands, heading for the kitchen. When he returns, he has a washcloth in his hands. Patting the inner part of your thigh, he motions for you to lay back. Copia takes great care to clean your thighs, dragging the cloth across them. The damn cloth is slightly cold against your skin, although the chill feels nice. An ache has settled into your hips from the events of the morning. Nothing that some ibuprofen won't fix.

“Maybe we should do that in Terzo’s office,” you say, and you swear you feel him twitch beside you, “teach him to miss a meeting…”

“Unfortunately, I think this is something that happens in his office often,” Copia sats, “not much work gets done in there regardless.”

That draws a small laugh from you. You can believe it. You’ve never been to one yourself, but you’ve heard stories of the afterparties Terzo throws. Calling them extravagant is putting it lightly.

Sleepy, and sated, you curl up in the space beside him, and the arm of the couch. The warmth of his body, combined with the smell of his cologne threaten to lull you to sleep. Your body seems to associate him with safety, and as such, staying awake becomes a challenge. You sip from your now-cold coffee, turning your attention back to the TV. Outside, the rain grows heavier, tapping against the windowpane. Fog leaves the outside world in a hazy, dreamlike state. You know at some point in time you’ll have to get up and begin your daily chores. For now, you’re content to stay by Copia’s side.

“I guess the rain isn't so bad,” you say.

“Is that so?” He asks.

A small hum leaves you—a nonverbal confirmation. Maybe the rain isn't so bad. Maybe it was Copia who taught you to like it.

#not osha compliant #cardinal copia x reader #copia x reader #totally forgot to post this here last night #whoops lol #cross posted on ao3 #editing this somehow took longer than writing it #if i do end up writing more for ghost then ill probably make a masterlist but for now ill jsut link this in my pinned post

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alexandra-emerson · 2 months

Text

Some Thoughts

(For readers horrified by what’s been going on in fandom who want to help)

Twats

I’m sad that some authors have been pulling their works from AO3, though I totally get it. But I’m not going to add to the “don’t sell fanfics” commentary much. I’m working with a lawyer to get mine taken down from Etsy, and it sucks, but I think this is an opportunity to talk about the fandom community as a whole. Specifically, what you can do to keep it alive and healthy.

I think it’s easy to sit at home, read about this illegal fanbinding drama with interest, run to AO3 to mass download your favorite fics, pat yourself on the back for not buying or selling fics illegally or not adding them to Goodreads, then move on with your life. But I would argue this passive attitude is just as harmful to the community, in some ways.

The Criticism Ratio

You all have probably heard that you’re supposed to deliver compliments and criticism with a ratio of 5:1. This is because negative comments stick in our heads more, so even if you were balancing the good and bad, or giving twice as many good comments as bad ones, the bad ones carry so much weight, they still seem to be winning.

With writing, I would argue this ratio is probably more like 10:1. Because it’s so personal. And most of us are so new to it. And it’s so much freaking work. I timed it once, and one chapter typically takes me 12 hours to write. That doesn’t include editing, or the hours my beta puts into editing. Then, to float all that work out into the world and get negativity back … oof, it makes embarking on the next 12 hours, and the next and the next VERY difficult.

My Experience

I’ve been an author of some popular fics in both the Harmony and Dramione spaces. On the Harmony side, I’ve dealt with personalized attacks, not just against my stories but against me as a person. And when that was going down, there weren’t a ton of fans speaking up on my behalf. I got a lot of DMs telling me those bullies were just the “loud minority” but from my point of view, with my supporters sounding like crickets, they felt like a majority.

(Quick note to my Harmony readers: No I’m never writing Harmony again, get over it, and stop following me to every work I write next to ask me when I’m writing Harmony again. You had your chance to support me, and you fucking missed the boat.)

On the Dramione side, the public spaces are more moderated (thank God) so I’m less likely to stumble upon downright bullying. But this space is overwhelming in how BIG it is and how much conversation goes on about my fics. I always feel like the last to know when there’s some big Tik-Tok boom happening with one of my stories, when a story gets added to Goodreads, when there’s a reddit thread discussing the flaws in ‘Timeless’, when it gets posted for sale on Etsy, when someone popular binds it. It’s very hard to keep up with this giant fandom and it’s too much to handle at times. Which means if people don't send us things directly, we don't see it.

I also get this thing in Dramione that I didn’t get as much in Harmony where people act afraid or embarrassed to reach out to me. They’ll say things like, “I’m so sorry to bother you…” or “I’m sure you hear this all the time, and I know you don’t need to hear it from me too, but your works are great…” I think in Dramione people assume because it’s so big, other people are taking care of things, but that’s not the case. There is a lot of activity, for sure, but not much of that is making it back to the author.

My Ask

So anyway, think about the role you play in fandom. Are you contributing to the compliment bank, or the criticism one? (Remember, abstentions go with the majority. And in this case, every negative experience holds x10 weight).

Good things can be as simple as sending a quick note like, “Just letting you know I thought about your story today” or “Here’s another kudos because I just reread this gem!” It can be correcting a negative comment or review you see out in the wild, so that if the author ever stumbles across it, they see that their people are out there, sticking up for them. Ten people can instantly negate a bad comment with ten positive ones. Then if the author ever finds it, no harm done.

We all know the bad things that harm fandom, so there’s no need for me to rehash them here. But don’t forget that the passive things can be just as harmful. Things like: Rating a fanfic on Goodreads, because it’s already there, and you really want it to count towards your goal. Downloading a story, loving it, and never letting the author know. Reading rude comments online, complimenting yourself for not being that mean, then scrolling to the next thing.

My challenge to fandom is this: Let’s fill that compliment and support bucket so full that when an author does encounter a negative experience with one of their fanfics, they have a giant, fluffy pillow of endless love to fall back on. Let’s make those rare moments of nastiness truly feel like a minority to our creators. It’s not a ton of work. Our fandom is so flipping large, it just takes a tiny comment from each person to keep our community feeling like a fun, positive place to play.

#fanfic writing #dramione fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #hp fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #dramione fan fiction #dramonie

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writingonleaves · 5 months

Text

will you take a moment? promise me this (that you'll stand by me forever) - the blue au

universe: the blue au (clementine sandoval x hughes brothers x nico hischier)

warnings: swearing, mentions of death, more sadness than i intended originally, mentions of covid during one particular part, so so much fluff!!

title + based on: "long live" by taylor swift, "i'll always remember you" by hannah montana, "ribs" by lorde, "vienna" by billy joel, "home" by edward sharpe & the magnetic zeros and "a letter to my younger self" by ambar lucid. title from "long live"

word count: 14k

author's note: graduation / draft moments that technically take place before the first installment. though you should read the first part for context if you haven't yet! romance who? we ride and die with found family. i def made myself cry a few times writing this. happy american thanksgiving to all those who celebrate. hold your family and loved ones close. hope you all enjoy and please let me know what you think <3

2018 - dallas, texas

i wish you love, i wish you luck

for you, the world just opens up

- “i’ll always remember you” by hannah montana

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Dallas. The time is currently 12:26 p.m. and the current temperature outside is a very toasty 91 degrees Fahrenheit.”

Clementine tunes out after that. 91 degrees? She’s gonna die when she gets out of the airport.

As soon as she exits the plane, she follows the signs to the baggage claim, waiting for her luggage that isn’t only for this next week, but is for the entire summer as well before she returns to UCLA in the fall. After the draft, she’s heading back to Massachusetts to work in a clinic for the summer.

Fuck, she just had her last final three days ago. She feels like it never stops. Sometimes she wishes it would.

But she shakes her head to herself, watching as her bag comes closer. None of that now. She’s about to celebrate one of her favorite people making their dream come true. She smiles to herself as she wheels her suitcase and adjusts the straps of her backpack, not quite running but pretty close to it as she walks through the arrivals terminal of Dallas Fort Worth International Airport.

“Clementine!” She whips her head over to see Ellen’s unmistakable blonde hair and wide smile, waving enthusiastically. Next to her is Maeve, her own mother with a more subdued smile, her carry-on suitcase beside her. They had scheduled their flights so that they’d land around the same time. To Clementine’s absolute delight, she sees Jack and Luke right before Luke comes flying at her.

“Oof,” she groans as Luke hugs her tightly, burying his head into her shoulder. “God. You need to stop growing.”

“Never,” he mutters into her neck before letting go with a bright smile. “Hi Clemmy!”

She grins back. “Hi Lukey. I’ve missed you.”

“My turn!” She laughs as Jack shoves his brother aside and sways her around. He messed up her hair before pulling away. “I’m so pumped you’re here.”

“Me too, Jackson.” Both moms finally get to where they are and she hugs Ellen before hugging her own mother. “When did you land?”

“About an hour ago.”

Clementine cringes. “Yeah, we were delayed back at LAX. Sorry.”

Ellen waves her apology away as they start heading out of the airport, Jack grabbing her suitcase and Luke grabbing Maeve’s. “No worries. We’re just excited you both are here.”

“El, we wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Maeve says. And her mom’s right, Clementine thinks. Quinn’s getting drafted into the NHL. She can’t remember a time when this wasn’t his dream.

“How have you been? How’s college?” Jack asks. “I feel like I haven’t talked to you in forever.”

“We literally all FaceTimed last week,” Luke says while avoiding Jack’s slap.

“It’s not the same,” Jack whines. Clementine rolls her eyes at his tone, but he kinda has a point. FaceTimes and texts are never the same as their in-person debriefs, which have become fewer and more in-depth since all four of them are in different-ish places now (though Jack and Luke technically still live under the same roof and Quinn isn’t that far).

Clementine feels a pang in her heart, knowing that the amount of debriefs will only get fewer and fewer as the years go on.

“College is good,” she automatically squints against the sun the second they get outside. “Same old, same old. Didn’t fail any classes somehow, which is always a win.”

Ellen snorts. “Honey, you’re literally the smartest girl I know. I don’t think failing is in your vocabulary.”

“No, literally.” Luke adds.

“Aw, not true. Thank you, but not true. And this weekend isn’t about me.” Clementine whips out her arm in front of Jack’s front so that he doesn’t get run over by a car. “I didn’t expect to see you two until dinner.”

Jack shrugs. “We were gonna tag along with Dad, but we already did to some of his stuff yesterday and it was so boring.”

Clementine snorts. “Well, he’s technically kind of working this weekend, no?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it would be that boring,” Jack says.

“You two better get used to it then,” she swings an arm around both Jack and Luke’s shoulders. “Especially you, Jacky. This is gonna be you next year.”

Jack groans, but Clementine knows he secretly loves it. “Ugh. Don’t remind me. You’re gonna be here, right?”

“Where?”

“Next year. At the draft.”

“What? Of course I will.” How dare he think differently? “And whenever Luke’s is. You guys are silly for thinking otherwise.”

“But what if you’re too busy saving lives?”

“It doesn't matter where I am. I’ll be there,” Clementine promises, as they all climb into the car.

“Clem’s right, boys.” Maeve says, turning around from the passenger seat as Ellen starts the engine. “You can’t get rid of us that easily.” Luke responds by putting his chin on Maeve’s shoulder as she reaches up to tap his cheek fondly. “Have you all gotten the chance to see Quinn much?”

“Here and there,” Ellen says. “Media and last minute meetings with teams have been keeping him busy though.”

Clementine has naturally always known more about the hockey world than the average person purely from her circumstances, but within the last month or so — mostly when she’s been procrastinating on studying for final exams — she’s been poking around online to see people’s pre-draft predictions. Obviously, she knows they’re just speculations, but she wanted to get an idea of what the general world has been thinking of Quinn. She thinks he’s the best at everything, but she’s aware she’s incredibly biased.

She hasn’t really talked to Quinn, or the other two, about it, knowing that it’s all they’ve been thinking or hearing about and there’s no use adding onto the noise. But Clementine wants to be prepared. From her research, people have Quinn going to places from Arizona to Vancouver to Ottawa. She’s seen Detroit a good amount. One or two said New York or Chicago.

But at the end of the day, truly, it doesn't matter. For her at least. He’s getting drafted into the National Hockey League and Clementine brought two waterproof mascaras to prepare.

“God, El.” Maeve puts a hand on her best friend’s shoulder. “You must be so proud.”

“It’s definitely a big week,” Ellen says. Jack puts his head on Clementine’s shoulder because she somehow ended up in the middle seat. But she doesn’t shove him off like she usually would.

Every time she sees these boys — this family — again, she feels more grateful to have them.

“Thanks for picking us up,” Clementine says. “You really didn’t have to.”

“Oh, it was nothing.” Ellen says. “Now tell us about college, honey. Only one more year to go! Well, of undergrad at least.”

…..

Later that night, they’re about to go inside a nice restaurant for dinner when Clementine squeals, launching herself at Quinn. She feels his laughter as she squeezes tight and she holds on longer than normal.

“Hey Clem,” he says.

She pulls back and smiles, before hugging him again. “Hi Q.”

“It’s so good to see you,” he says, as Clementine lets go to let him hug Maeve, who sways him. Clementine thinks she sees her mother’s eyes water.

Clementine turns to beam at Jim. “Hi Jimmy!”

“Hey sunshine,” he says with a laugh, hugging her and kissing her on the cheek. “Glad you and your mom made it.”

“Of course.” They all file into the restaurant and take their seats. She sits inbetween Quinn and Ellen with Jack directly across from her. She narrows her eyes when he kicks her foot and purposefully avoids her eye contact.

She turns to Quinn with a wide smile. “Look at you. You’re such a star.”

Quinn laughs nervously. “What are you talking about?”

“We’re here. In Dallas. To watch you get drafted. This is a big deal!”

“Are you gonna cry?” Luke teases.

Clementine snorts. “Of course I am. Stupid question, Lukey. I’m gonna be crying all weekend.” She wraps an arm around Quinn and leans in for a side hug. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to come to see you play at Michigan this year. I’ll try my best next season.”

“What?” Quinn asks, genuinely confused. “It’s okay. I-I didn’t expect you to. You’re busy at school.”

She shrugs, thanking the waitress for pouring out her glass of water before turning back to Quinn. “I want to, though. Jack and Luke and even Trevor keep texting me that I need to come to one.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Quinn says. And Clementine knows he means it too, the sweet boy. “I’m serious. You already stream the games and that’s completely unnecessary.”

“Sorry I want to support my best friend slash brother.”

Quinn pouts, “Well now I feel like an asshole.”

Clementine just smirks as everyone looks over the menu.

Dinner is simply wonderful. The food is yummy but the company is even better, as she finds herself laughing loudly at all of Ellen’s classic stories and Maeve bouncing off of her old friend seamlessly. Clementine just giggles under her breath as she watches Jim sit there in amusement and sometimes exasperation, ordering a second beer before their main courses even come. The boys are the boys, lively as ever and filled with love. The feeling of anticipation and excitement in the air has Clementine just putting her chin on her hand, observing the love around her.

Her father would’ve loved this.

As if he knows that she’s about to go too deep in her thoughts, Luke pulls on her ponytail. She shoots him a look as she’s swallowing her bite of gnocchi. “What?”

He beams. “Nothing.”

She rolls her eyes, but smiles nonetheless. Luke will always be her baby, but it’s moments like this when she realizes that he’s growing up so fast. As Quinn laughs at something his dad said and she watches Luke’s eyes drift towards him, she bites her lip. Soon enough, it’ll be Luke in his oldest brother’s shoes seeing what team will draft him.

She blinks as a hand waves in front of her. “Earth to Clee,” Jack says.

“What’s up?”

Jack gives her a hopeful look. “Can I try some of your pasta?”

“Cut me a piece of your steak and then we’ll talk.”

…..

The next few days, Clementine and her mom explore Dallas. Ellen, Jack and Luke join them when they can, Jim comes on the rare time that he doesn’t have meetings and Quinn is just too busy to join at all. Clementine’s surprised Ellen, Jack and Luke are even tagging along with them. But she welcomes it.

Until Jack is nudging her way too close to the edge of the sidewalk and she stumbles. Luke just laughs and both Ellen and Maeve don’t see it because they’re walking up ahead. Assholes.

The day of the draft comes quickly, and her and her mom are staying in the same hotel the Hughes family is. They get ready right after lunch, as Maeve and Clementine take charge of being the communication liaison for the rest of the Hughes family who’s here on this special day to let Ellen and Jim handle what they need to. Ever since the day Ellen introduced Maeve to her family, Maeve’s become one of them. Clementine smiles as she watches Geegs, Ellen’s mom, and her mom hug, opening her own arms happily when it’s her turn.

“Hi Sweetie.”

“Hi Geegs,” she lets the older woman place her hands on her cheeks.

“You look more like your father the older you get. Beautiful.”

Clementine swallows as she reaches up to squeeze her pseudo-grandma’s wrists, before turning to greet the various other family members. Most of them she knows, some she doesn’t. Many she hasn’t seen since she went to college.

She volunteers to wait downstairs for everyone to come while her mom makes a few trips to and from the hotel room where Ellen, Jim, Quinn, Jack and Luke are. Once she’s 99% sure everyone is at the hotel, she makes the trip up to the room herself. In the elevator mirror, she glances at her outfit. A blush pink wrap dress with white heeled sandals. She’s decided to keep her hair down, a hair elastic around her wrist that will no doubt be used the second she steps outside into the Dallas heat. Earrings that Ellen gave her for her 18th birthday are dangling from her ears.

And of course, the three friendship bracelets tied around her left wrist. They don’t match any part of her outfit, but it doesn’t matter. She rubs over them with her right thumb as the elevator door opens.

When she knocks on the door, it’s swung open immediately by one of their many cousins. Emily, who can’t be more than five years old, immediately wraps her arms around Clementine’s legs.

Clementine laughs, maneuvering carefully so that she can shut the door behind her before bending down to fully hug the girl. “Hi Em.”

“Hi Clee!”

“How are you?” Clementine stands back up. “You look so pretty.”

“Thank you,” Emily reaches out to tug at Clementine’s hand and she obliges. “Everyone’s been looking for you.”

“Really?” Clementine asks skeptically as she follows the young girl down the short hallway.

“Well, maybe just me.” They come to a stop and there’s a big call of her name echoed throughout the room. Clementine smiles bashfully. The Hughes extended family has always been nice to her, but this isn’t her day. She eyes the camera out of the corner of her eye and blinks.

Sometimes she forgets that the three boys she calls her brothers have outside attention on them. Which is dumb, because duh. But she forgets they’re not just… Quinny, Jacky and Lukey.

Though today, out of all days, nothing will let her forget. She thinks she’s okay with that.

The sound of Luke calling out her name puts her a bit more at ease. “I was starting to think you got lost.” She rolls her eyes, ignoring him as she gets pulled into hugs.

She eventually stops in front of her mother, who just raises an eyebrow and lowers her voice. “You have the cufflinks?”

She nods, blindly reaching into her purse and feeling around for her small gift for Quinn. “Yeah. I’ll give it to him when he starts getting dressed.”

Jim, who overhears the exchange between mother and daughter, eyes them suspiciously. “Cufflinks? Mae, you already got him-”

“Not from me,” Maeve sings with a mischievous smile. “Technically, this one is all Clem.” Jim rolls his eyes as Clementine smiles innocently, before she gets pulled into a conversation with Lara, one of the aunts.

She notices immediately when Quinn is ducking into the attached bedroom to change and quickly scurries in his direction. She stops in the doorway, watching as Quinn starts unzipping the garment bag that’s holding the suit that Maeve gifted him for this very day. “You have a second?” Clementine says.

Quinn turns around quickly with a small smile. “Of course.” Clementine walks in and reaches into the outside pocket, taking out the small black pouch. Immediately, Quinn is shaking his head. “Clem, no.”

“You don’t even know what it is!”

“I don’t have to. Clem, the fact that you’re here and I’m wearing a suit your mom made me. That’s enough. That’s more than enough.”

Clementine pouts, “It’s never enough. Open it.” With a skeptical look, he carefully takes the pouch for her hands and opens it. He gently lays the cufflinks out on the palm of his hand. They’re silver, a Q and an H written out in cursive on each. “It’s nothing too crazy, but-”

“It’s perfect,” Quinn breathes out. He closes his fest and looks up, pulling Clementine into a very tight hug. “Thank you so much.”

She can feel herself starting to tear up. Dammit. “I’m so…god, I don’t know.”

He pulls away and laughs. “You’re already crying?”

“I’m trying not to,” she whines, watching as he puts the cufflinks back into the pouch and places them on a nearby table. She clears her throat. “I’ll let you get ready.”

She smiles at him one last time before turning around to walk out of the room. “Clem?” He says.

She whips her head back around. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

She swallows and puts a hand up. “Don’t,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. He laughs and she laughs with him. “I love you too, Quinny. So much.”

He nods and she leaves the room and enters the other bedroom. Immediately, she’s met with Jack. He takes one look at her watery eyes and cackles. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Jack’s eyes widen as he clasps his watch around his wrist. “Little ears!”

“You’re a big boy. You can handle it.” She sits down on the edge of the bed across from him, eyeing his formal attire. Only his blazer is missing. She softens. “You look great.”

Jack beams. “Thanks, Clee! You do too.”

“You think?” She says playfully, smoothing down her dress.

“Yes,” he says genuinely, causing her to look at him. “You look beautiful.”

She just smiles, making grabby hands at him. Jack obliges, collapsing into her for a tight hug that has a tear falling down Clementine’s face. A few other ones slip out as Luke walks in and immediately wraps himself around the two.

The ride to the arena is quick, Maeve in charge of driving her daughter, Aunt Lara, Uncle Rich and Emily. Once they’re parked, Maeve sees a text from Ellen saying that that the Hughes family who were riding on the bus also just got there and asks if she and Clementine can meet them for a second before they all go their separate ways — the Hughes family to their spots and the others to the designed family and friends area on the other side of the arena. Maeve furrows her eyebrows, muttering about what her old friend could possibly want, but obliges.

Clementine hears the crowd before she sees them, knowing that Quinn is somewhere in the thrall. Before Clementine and Maeve can be confused about where they go, they see Ellen waving them over.

“What’s up? Did you forget something?” Maeve asks.

Ellen shakes her head with a smile. Suspicious. “No. Come on. They just opened the doors.”

“What?” Maeve and Clementine ask in unison as they follow Ellen.

“Surprise! You two are sitting with us.”

“El-”

“Nope,” Ellen glares at Maeve. “No arguments. Quinn wanted you both with him when his name gets called, and it’s his day, so what he says goes.”

Clementine snorts. Dirty move pulling that. But she knows Ellen knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Are you sure?” Clementine asks softly.

Ellen pulls her into a side hug as they walk into the building together. “Of course, honey. You’re family. You know that.”

The only three people who are actually in their seats when the three of them go up to their row are Jack, Luke and Geegs, who all just smile and direct them both to their designated seats — Clementine inbetween Jack and Geegs while Maeve is inbetween Ellen and Jim. Maeve sits on the other side of Geegs, the seat momentarily open and Ellen immediately leaves because she’s getting signaled to do media.

Thank god that she doesn’t have to do that, Clementine thinks. She thinks she’d rather die.

Clementina takes her seat and narrows her eyes playfully at Jack and Luke. “You little secret keepers.”

Luke laughs as Jack smirks. “Good to see you again.”

“Yeah,” she breathes out, looking around and taking in her surroundings for the first time. “This is bananas.”

“Pretty cool, isn’t it?” Luke says. And yeah, it is cool. And wonderful. But also scary? And Clementine’s not the one being drafted.

Clementine sees Quinn and the Tkachuk brothers coming up to where they are. She’s only met Brady and Matthew a handful of times, but everytime has been as lovely as the last. Brady is immediately occupied by Jack and Luke so Clementine turns to Matthew, standing up and giving him a quick hug.

“Hey Clementine. Long time no see,” Matthew says into her ear.

Clementine chuckles. “Hi Matty. It’s good to see you.”

“You look beautiful. Most stunning woman in the room.”

She rolls her eyes. Fucking charmer. “The flirting didn’t work when we were 17. It’s not gonna work when we’re 20.”

Matthew pouts playfully. “At least I tried.” He smiles genuinely. “You excited? It’s a big day.”

“Yeah. It’s quite something.” They both look at Quinn and Brady and she nudges Matthew. “Big day for you guys too. I bet your parents are excited.”

“Yeah, they are. I’m sure you’ll see them later. Last I heard you were in college?”

“I am. Just finished my junior year at UCLA. One more to go.”

Matthew whistles. “Damn. You still wanna be a doctor?”

“That’s the plan.”

He shakes his head with a smirk. “Smartest Hughes by far.” She just shoves his shoulder playfully.

“Clem!” Brady interrupts them by corralling her into a hug, causing Matthew to almost fall.

Clementine giggles. “Hey Brady. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Brady beams. Clementine finds him absolutely endearing.

“Whatever team calls your name is lucky to have you.” Brady just keeps smiling and it’s so damn infectious.

Ellen and Jim return and Brady and Matthew take that as a signal that they should head back to their seats. Clementine smiles as the boys all exchange hugs — Quinn and Brady’s lasting longer than all the others — and settles back into her seat. Geegs offers her a bottle of water and Clementine thanks her with a grin.

“I’m nervous,” she mutters to Geegs, so the boys can’t hear and make fun of her.

“Me too, sweetie.” She says, patting her leg in such a grandmotherly way that makes Clementine miss her own. She catches Clementine looking down the row at Jack, Luke and Quinn, in that order and takes her hand to squeeze it. “They’re always gonna need you, you know?”

She whips her head back, Geegs with a light smile on her face. “What do you mean?” Clementine asks.

“It doesn’t matter what team all three of them will eventually get drafted to, they’re always gonna need their big sister.”

Immediately, Clementine shakes her head, trying not to fucking cry at an event that has nothing to do with her. “They’ve been doing just fine on their own.”

“Sweetie.” Geegs just says, looking at her with that look.

And Clementine realizes the last time she saw that look, three years ago, a day before she was on a flight to LA, her father dying nine months prior but it feeling like yesterday. She had broken down in her childhood bedroom in Toronto, where everyone was downstairs about to have a farewell dinner to send her off. Geegs had seen her first before getting Maeve and Ellen, and then the three women were just holding Clementine and letting her cry. She had gone on a ramble about leaving home and going to LA and how she misses her dad and how her brothers are going to be so far away and are gonna forget about her. It was a lot for her at that time and the three most important women in her life helped her through it.

She just leans her head on Geegs’s shoulder, before placing a kiss on her cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too, sweet girl.”

Geegs is about to say more before Jack starts incessantly tapping on Clementine’s shoulder. She rolls her eyes but catches Geegs’s knowing look before turning. “What?” Jack pouts at the snap in her tone and Clementine sighs. “Oh don’t give me that.”

“Why not? It works everytime.”

“What’s up?”

He just nudges her shoulder. “Just, I don’t know, wanna make sure you’re good.”

Clementine smiles, leaning her head on his shoulder as he rests his arm around the back of her seat. “I’m perfect.”

“You sure?”

She bites her lip. “Yeah. I just, I don’t know, not trying to bring down the mood but, I wish Dad was here, you know? He would’ve loved all this.”

Jack swallows and she feels him lean his head atop of hers. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “I was thinking that this morning, when we were all at the hotel and everything. I wish he was here too.”

She sneaks a look at Quinn, who’s chatting with his mom. “He would’ve been so proud.”

Jack hums. “Love you, Clee.”

It’s the second time she’s heard that from someone in the Hughes family in two minutes, but it still makes her emotional all the same. “Love you too, Jacky.” She breathes out and tries to gather herself. “God, can we get this show on the road? I’m getting antsy.”

Jack snorts. “Already? It’s gonna be a long night for you then.”

She narrows her eyes. “Careful. If you want me to sneak you a sip of alcohol later, you have to be nice to me.”

Jack huffs. “I can’t wait until the day I’m legal. The drinking age being 19 here is ruining my vibe.”

“Got a couple more years until that, buddy.” And then the arena lights start dimming and a tribute for the Humboldt Broncos tragedy starts.

It begins.

When Quinn’s name gets called seventh overall to the Vancouver Canucks, Clementine jumps out of her seat and immediately starts crying as she watches him hug his brothers, before hugging her tightly.

“I’m so proud of you, Q.” She mutters into his shoulder.

“Thanks, Clem.”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” And she lets go to let him hug his grandmother.

Clementine catches Ellen’s gaze right after Quinn hugs his mother and they share a watery smile, as she watches Maeve squeeze Quinn and kiss him on the cheek. As she watches him go down the stairs and give Brady a hug — she cheered extra loud when Ottawa called his name out earlier — she takes a deep shaky breath but laughs when Luke urges her to take Quinn’s seat. She sits down and squeezes Ellen’s hand, before Ellen kisses her on the cheek.

Clementine is so overwhelmed and proud and excited for what’s to come, while also being very emotional about how much hard work it took for Quinn to get here. She’s had a front seat on seeing him grow up and it’s been the most incredible ride.

Later, when they finally all meet up with Quinn again at one of the suites in the arena, she’s about half a vodka cranberry in and just watches all his admirers greet him, the Canucks jersey and hat adorning him nicely. When he finally comes up to her, she beams.

Quinn laughs as he hugs her, “Already starting to drink?”

“It’s a big day,” she says, pulling away to look him up and down. “Holy shit, dude.”

“Careful. I’m mic’ed up.”

She rolls her eyes. “They can bleep that out. I’m so happy for you. How you feeling?”

“Good, good.” That’s all the words they exchange before other family members rightfully step in to offer their congratulations.

She knows it won’t fully sink in until later, probably when he makes his NHL debut. But what a special day that will live in Clementine’s memory forever.

(It’s not until they’re transferring the celebration to a nearby restaurant / bar does Clementine remember. She literally stops in her tracks, and Quinn, who’s walking beside her and was talking about all the media stuff he had to do, looks at her, confused.

“Everything good?” He asks.

Clementine digs into her purse to pull out an envelope. “Yeah. I just almost forgot.”

He takes the envelope, still confused. “What’s this?”

“It’s from Dad.” Quinn blinks at the familiar scribble of his name. “I’ve been keeping it safe this whole time.”

“Fuck, Clem. I-what’s in it?”

She shrugs. “Whatever he wanted to say to you during this moment. I got one when I graduated high school. I’m almost certain your parents probably got theirs today or will eventually from my mom.” She smiles sadly as Quinn sniffs, still staring at the envelope. “Read it later,” she urges softly. “It’ll still be there tomorrow.”

Quinn nods, putting it inside his suit jacket as they continue walking. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.” He pauses for a few seconds before hugging Clementine the tightest he’s hugged her today. “Thank you.”

“I’m just the messenger,” Clementine says, but she hugs him back. “I know he’s so proud of you, wherever he is.”

Quinn just nods into her shoulder and Clementine feels like they’re kids again)

2019 - los angeles, california

you’re the only friend i need

sharing beds like little kids

and laughing till our ribs get tired

but that will never be enough

- “ribs” by lorde

Clementine’s trying to stifle a yawn as the speeches start. At least they got over the majority of the speeches yesterday during all-university commencement.

She knows her mom, Ellen and Jim are in the crowd somewhere, from the selfie she got from them as she was waiting to walk to her seat. Thankfully it’s not that hot out, especially for LA, otherwise she’d be more restless than she already is in her lace white dress. Having a ceremony outside is kinda nice, actually, especially with the wind brushing around her legs.

She walks on the stage, shakes the dean’s hand, gets her diploma and doesn’t faceplant at all, so she takes that as a win. She cheers for her friends when they walk across, and she’s still trying to wrap her head around the fact that four years have gone by so slowly yet so quickly. It’s been filled with great and tough moments, but she’s grateful despite it all.

They throw their hats up and she embraces her friends, thinking about how they’re all gonna be spread out around the country in just a few months. Clementine’s staying in California, at least, heading to Stanford for medical school in the fall, but it’ll be so different.

But that’s the beauty of it all, right?

After exchanging a few texts with her mom to establish a meeting place, she briskly walks over to the area, eager to see her family. But she stops in her tracks when she sees Quinn, Jack and Luke.

They’re not supposed to be here. She blinks, wondering if she’s imagining it. But she hears Luke scream her name and it’s real. All in various colors of a button up and slacks and they’re fucking here.

“Oh my god,” she says to herself before running over — as fast as she can in these heels — and absolutely crashing into Luke. Her cap falls off but she can’t even care. Jack’s next and hearing his laugh so close to her ear makes her fully start sobbing. By the time Quinn is swaying her side to side and handing her a huge bouquet of flowers “from all three of us,” she’s afraid her eyeliner is ruined.

She quickly hugs her mom, Ellen and Jim, accepting two more smaller bouquets and turns back to the boys. “You guys are not-how are you here?”

“This was the plan all along,” Quinn laughs. “Come on, Clem. We weren’t gonna miss this.”

“B-but you’re supposed to be, I don’t know, somewhere! Jack, you’re supposed to be doing whatever the hell people do a week before their draft. And Luke, I swear you told me you had a tournament.”

Everyone’s laughing at her disbelief. “Just a few white lies here and there,” Jack says with a proud smile. “Quinn’s right. We wouldn’t miss this.”

“Congratulations, Clemmy!” Luke beams and Clementine wants to squeeze his fucking cheeks. “You didn’t trip walking across the stage.”

“And isn’t that a relief,” Jim jokes.

Clementines points at the parents in mock accusation after adjusting her hold on all the flowers and her diploma. “You guys knew about this all along, didn’t you?”

“Of course we did,” Maeve rolls her eyes with a grin. “They’ve been planning this for months. Jack literally said he wouldn’t go to Worlds if it was at the same time as your graduation.”

She whacks him lightly across the back of his head with her diploma. “Stupid.”

“Hey!” Jack whines, rubbing the back of his head.

“Okay, pictures! Before Clem completely cries her makeup off.” Ellen exclaims as they all laugh. Pictures take way too long but Clementine can’t even complain, even when Jack blows raspberries on her and she wants to strangle him.

As they all walk around campus, Clementine giving an unofficial tour, she points out her old residences, where she used to study, where she’s cried, where she’s laughed. This campus means so much to her and houses so many memories that they’re not a part of. She also gets updates since the last time she saw them over her brief winter break. Luke officially committed to the NTDP, Quinn made his debut with the Canucks that she’s still upset she couldn’t make it for, both Quinn and Jack went to the World Championships, not to mention that Jack’s draft is literally in a week.

They’re so interested in hearing about her last semester of college and congratulate her officially on Stanford even though Clementine thinks that’s nothing compared to what they’re accomplishing. She voices that, and Quinn immediately gives her a disapproving look that is kinda funny coming from someone younger than her and Luke rolls his eyes with the bold sass of a 15 year old.

Maybe that’s a good thing, Clementine thinks as Jack starts saying how he always talks to his friends about how his “smart, cool older sister” is gonna be a doctor and go to one of the top schools in the country. They all have their talents and they see each other’s accomplishments as the coolest thing in the world.

She knows not everyone has that kind of support system. She is so blessed that she does, especially today.

She’s surprised even more when she’s told her mom booked a reservation for one of her favorite farm to table places nearby for dinner, and she indulges herself with two glasses of wine, turning a blind eye when Quinn sneaks a sip. She glares when Luke tries though. Quinn’s at least closer to legal age.

As she gets healthily tipsy, giggling at every single thing being said and Quinn subtly filling up her glass of water, a tear slips out again. Luckily, no one notices because she wipes it away very quickly.

Everything’s moving so fast. She wishes it would slow down.

2019 - vancouver, british columbia

slow down, you’re doing fine

you can’t be everything you wanna be before your time

although it’s so romantic on the borderline tonight

- “vienna” by billy joel

Clementine likes to think she’s more prepared this time around. But deep down, she asks herself if she really is.

The vibe leading up to this draft compared to last year has been a bit different. While there was a good amount of focus on Quinn last year, it’s ramped so much higher this time around for Jack. She’s heard all about the hype. The draft of the Americans. The draft where Jack’s projected to go first.

And she really applauds Jack for handling it as well as he has. Clementine turns 22 in two weeks and she doesn’t think she could be as collected as Jack is at 18. But then again, all three brothers have been preparing for something like this their whole lives.

Her and her mother are sitting with the family again with the draftees and this time it’s not a surprise. Maeve once again bought Jack’s suit and Clementine gifted him a watch this morning, and also gave him the letter from Miguel because she vowed to herself that she wouldn’t almost forget like she did for Quinn’s. Jack had just given her the longest hug.

Jack’s been smiles all morning, confidence radiating off his skin. Clementine knows that most of that is genuine — Jack has always worn his fearlessness the most outwardly compared to his brothers. So when he says he isn’t nervous, she believes him.

At least this time she has a clearer idea of where Jack will be. It’s either going to be New Jersey or New York. She, and everyone in the hockey world, would be shocked if he ended up in Chicago.

New Jersey would be extra special. Her dad grew up there. So she hopes all the prediction articles she’s read are correct.

So now here they are. A different country and arena this time around. She’s sitting next to Luke and Geegs and there’s a lot more media that’s paying attention to them. Like right now, where it’s only her and Geegs at their seats because the entire Hughes family is doing media. Being on the bus with them this time around instead of driving to the arena herself, Clementine got more of a look into the behind the scenes stuff before the draft starts. She watched with pride as Jack walked down the carpet, signing autographs and probably charming every single person out there.

As she walked into Rogers Arena, she got more nervous, smoothing down her olive green dress with her sweaty palms. She’s wearing the same white sandals she wore last year because of some sentimental thought she had in her head while figuring out her outfit. Friendship bracelets are on, hair is fully up this time in a high curled ponytail and her head’s all over the place.

But she also is distracted as Jack has wanted to introduce her to everyone. She’s met a lot of the kids in the program at least once, but it’s been awhile and it feels like she’s meeting them again. Everyone except for Alex, who has crashed some of Jack’s FaceTimes with her since he’s lived with the Hughes’ the last two years. Because of that, she’s inadvertently adopted him as another younger brother of sorts. Cole has the widest smile on his face and Clementine just wants to put him in her pocket. Trevor’s laugh is so contagious that Clementine understands why Jack always says him and Trevor are almost the same person.

As she watches all of them together, she feels sad that she’s had to miss out on stuff like this, watching her younger brothers find their friends and their way and her only appearing in the stories the boys tell but not actually being in the stories. But what can she do? She chose to go to California for school. She’s choosing to stay in California for school. All with their full support and encouragement.

That doesn’t mean she can’t be sad that she’s missing things back home. Wherever that is.

She snaps herself out of it though, those pangs of sadness she’s felt throughout the morning. It’s not fair on her emotions that she literally just packed her own stuff up from UCLA a week ago and now is here for one of Jack’s biggest moments. He’s so excited. She doesn’t want to cloud that.

Jack’s ability to be so happy and excited is one of the best things about him.

Once everyone’s back to their seats, she’s bouncing her leg. Without looking, Quinn just puts a hand on her thigh to calm her down and she wonders for the 100th time in the last week when the fuck he got so observant and mature.

(He always has been. Clementine’s just in a state of constant denial lately.)

Jack gets picked first overall to the New Jersey Devils and Clementine, to no one’s surprise, starts crying.

“Let’s go, baby!” He practically screams into her ear as he hugs her.

She laughs through her tears. “Congrats, Jacky. Love you.”

“Love you more, Clee.”

Jack walks down and makes his way onto the stage and Clementine is having the most intense case of deja vu in her life. Maeve hands her a tissue and she knows that some camera is capturing her wiping her eyes carefully. Hopefully the camera captures her whacking Quinn as he makes fun of her as well. She puts her hands over her heart watching Jack shake Gary Bettman’s hand. She can feel her dad’s love and happiness as if he’s here.

And maybe he is, even if not physically. He’s here somewhere.

(Hearing “Coming Home” by Diddy - Dirty Money and Skylar Grey playing as Jack walked down had Clementine wanting to slam her head through a wall. She knows Jack probably didn’t put too much thought into the song, but as she hears Skylar’s voice crooning on about letting the rain wash the pain away and coming home and forgiving mistakes, what else is she supposed to feel?)

She watches one by one as Jack’s friends get drafted with a big smile while enjoying the quiet commentary that Jim is offering. She’s still trying to wrap her head around the fact that Jack will probably be playing in the NHL this year and she still clearly remembers him hiding her shoes when they were younger.

Clementine laughs as Jack launches himself at her when she sees him later, laughs even more when he and his buddies are being stupid and so boy-like that it makes her heart ache. At some point, someone has control of the aux and “The Spins” by Mac Miller starts playing and Clementine feels fond. Quinn appears beside her and she leans into him.

“Is this how you feel all the time when you see us?” He asks.

She breathes out. “Yup.”

“I don’t know how you do it.”

“Me neither, Q.”

He chuckles. “The curse of being an older sibling.”

“You have no fucking idea.”

“The first thought I had when his name was called was that Miguel would’ve screamed.”

She snorts. “Probably true. I gave Jack his letter this morning.”

“I know. I accidentally walked in just as he was finishing reading it.” He pauses suddenly. “Will you come watch when I come to play the Sharks?”

She looks over at the vulnerable look in his eyes. “Of course.” She realizes then where Quinn’s fears are going. Michigan is only an hour and a half away from Jersey by plane, while Vancouver is four hours away by plane. She’s gonna be the closest to him out of the seven of them. “Of course I will, Quinn. Always.”

“Thanks,” Quinn replies, voice a bit rough. She just presses a kiss to his cheek.

…..

The next morning, Clementine’s woken up by a knock on the door. She groans, but the knocks keep happening so she kicks herself off the bed, throws on a UCLA sweatshirt over herself and opens the door. Jack’s standing at the doorway, hair all over the place and t-shirt and shorts wrinkly.

“What the fuck, Jack?” She asks bluntly.

“Sorry.” At least he looks apologetic. “Shit, sorry. I’m just a bit restless.”

“Get in. Quietly. We can talk on the balcony.” Jack gives her a thankful smile as he follows her into the room. They tiptoe past so that Maeve doesn’t wake up, Clementine grabbing her phone along the way.

She groans as he closes the balcony door and she sinks down into one of the seats. “Jack, it’s 8 in the goddamn morning. Did you not see Ellen and I knocking back shots yesterday?”

Jack snorts. “Who didn’t? I’m pretty sure at least 10 people were filming.”

“What can I say? Your family and friends think I’m entertaining.” She yawns. “What’s up, superstar? What’s got your mind racing at this ungodly hour?”

He shrugs and Clementine wants to roll her eyes. But her semi-awake brain reminds her that this is how all three of them, but especially Jack, has always been. When there’s something bothering him, she always gives him time and lets him come to her.

A few minutes of silence, before:

“I’m not in over my head, right?”

“About?”

“Everything.”

Clementine blinks. Frankly, she’s too tired and hungover to be a big sister right now. But she’ll try her best. “Jack Rowden Hughes. Don’t tell me you were just drafted number one in the National Hockey League, which is something that had been predicted for at least two years now, and are telling me you’re in over your head.”

He flinches. “Don’t full name me. It’s too early for that.”

She kicks him in the ribs. “You’re a good player, Jack. Which is honestly probably an understatement. I’ve seen you play since you were literally a child. It’s almost freaky how good you are.”

“But you have to say that.”

“I don’t have to say anything,” Clementine says. “I don’t have the time and energy to be bullshitting people anymore, especially you.”

Jack looks down at his hands. “I guess the expectations have always been there, especially recently. But it’s so much more now and that’s kinda scary, Clee.”

“Everything new is always gonna be scary,” Clementine says softly, the breeze waving with her words. “Always. I don’t care how ready for it you’ve been. I’ve been wanting to be a doctor since I was 16. You think I’m not scared to go to Stanford in the fall?”

He furrows his eyebrows. “B-but you’re so smart. You’re gonna be fine.”

“And you’re so talented. So you’re gonna be fine.” She says pointedly. “Realistically, no one can predict the future. Of course I hope that you and Quinn have a great rookie year and a long, successful career ahead of you. Same with Lukey when it’s his turn. But inevitably, there’s gonna be hard moments. That’s just life. You and I both know that. Hell, we’ve been through that together. Will people talk shit about your hard moments more than mine? Yeah, unfortunately, which I hate and wish I could change. But those people, you need to remember, don’t know you. The people who do know you and who love you whether you have skates on your feet or not? Those are the people you should be listening to. And we all love you and are so, so proud of you, Jacky.”

He scooches his chair over and leans his head on her shoulder. “How do you always know what to say?”

“I think I’ve known you all long enough just to know what to say so that you’ll listen to me.” She plays with his hair, staring out into the harbor the hotel borders. “You got all the time in the world to be who you want to be, Jack. And maybe sometimes that requires being in your head a bit. But you’ll come out okay in the end. You always have.”

She swears she feels a few of his tears drip onto her shirt. “I love you, Clee. I know I say it a lot but I mean it everytime.”

“I know you do.”

“I cried when you got your diploma last week.”

“I know. Luke told me.”

“Traitor,” he says with no heat. He throws his legs over her lap and tucks himself into her. “I-I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she parrots back.

He looks up at her from where he’s tucked his head under her chin and Clementine smiles sadly. He looks so young when he does that. He pouts. “You look sad.”

“I’m not sad.”

He gives her a look. “Clementine Ana Sandoval.”

“Hey. You can’t do that,” she protests weakly. He waits. “I’m not sad, really. It’s just been an emotional week. In a happy way.”

“You can still be emotional in a happy way and be sad.”

She smiles. “I guess you’re right.” She kisses the top of his head. “I am so proud of you, Jack. Truly. I love you so much.”

“I love you the most, Clee. I’m serious.”

She looks at him with a smile, because she knows there’s just no way. He smiles back brightly in the morning light.

His lips quiver and she frowns. “We’re gonna be so far apart now.” He whispers.

“We haven’t lived close to each other in awhile.”

“But it’s gonna be even farther.”

“Like I told Quinn, whenever you come play at San Jose, I’ll be there. I promise.”

“And what if I need you other times?”

“When have you called me and I haven’t picked up? Or haven’t called back within the hour?” Silence from him, because he knows she has a point. “Doesn’t matter how far apart we are. I’ll always be there for you.”

He nods, once to indicate that he heard, twice to inject those words into his veins. He kisses her cheek and she bites her lip. She’ll always love him.

(They end up dozing off. Maeve wakes up and is very confused when she looks to see her daughter’s empty bed. Her gaze shifts to the balcony beyond the glass door and she smiles, watching Clementine and Jack’s chests fall and rise in sync.

Maeve snaps a picture and sends it to Ellen, before getting out of bed to shower. She’ll give them some more time to rest.)

2021 - canton, michigan

laugh until we think we’ll die

barefoot on a summer night

never could be sweeter than with you

- “home” by edward sharpe & the magnetic zeros

The second her mom pulls into the Hughes’s driveway after 13 hours of being in the car, Clementine immediately runs to Ellen, who’s standing by the doorway waiting to greet them.

She breathes in Ellen’s familiar citrus perfume and melts into her arms. A year and a half into the pandemic has felt like 30 years, and Clementine just feels lucky that she can be here. She steps aside to let Maeve and Ellen embrace, getting the luggage from the car.

“Where are Jimmy and the boys?” Maeve asks as they all gather in the kitchen and Ellen starts reheating some lasagna.

“Playing golf. They’ll be back soon.”

All three of them are collectively a bottle of white wine in deep when they hear a call pull into the driveway. Clementine can hear the moment the boys see the Massachusetts license plate because she hears Luke scream “Maeve and Clemmy are here!” and three car doors slamming before they barrel into the house.

Clementine just waves her fingers and giggles. Quinn reaches her first, hugging her and lifting her off the stool as she laughs into his neck. Luke’s next — has he grown even more? — and she places three consecutive kisses on his cheek. Jack’s smile is as bright as ever and she threads one hand in his hair as he spins her around.

Then finally, Jim, who’s been patiently waiting his turn. When she hugs him, she turns her cheek so that it’s against his chest. He places a fatherly kiss in her hair and she feels like a little girl again.

In her wine drunk stage, she happily listens to the boys babble on about whatever, Maeve chiming in from time to time with stories about what it’s like trying to teach ten year olds over Zoom. At one point, Jack spits out a mouthful of beer and Quinn’s grimacing while Clementine grabs a paper towel without missing a beat in her retelling of how she should’ve gotten an A on a final paper she submitted last semester.

(Jack had rolled his eyes, muttering “fucking overachiever” under his breath which Clementine glared at him for. Mr. Number One Pick shouldn’t be talking)

It sucks that Luke won’t be able to get the same draft experience his brothers did, but in a way, it’s a wonderful compromise. He gets to be at home surrounded by his family and friends. Sure, media is still somehow finding their way in because it’s the draft and because he’s a Hughes but it won’t be nearly as much as it has been before.

Clementine finds a bit of comfort in knowing that Luke won’t immediately jump into the NHL like Jack did. Not that she doesn’t want him to. She wants them to get everything they want in life. But Luke is her baby. He’s perpetually eight years old in her mind.

And this isn’t the time to dwell on this, but Jack’s rookie year was so tough on him. She’ll never forget getting a call at 2 am his time, absolutely hyperventilating over the phone. After that, she demanded he call her once every week for at least two months after. Luckily, Quinn had a great rookie year and Jack’s second year was better, but goodness, she needs a bit more time to prepare before she starts getting middle of the night calls from three Hughes brothers involving a world she’s still learning about day by day.

The next week is relaxing and lovely, Clementine having nothing to do for the first time in awhile having taken two weeks off from her summer job at Boston Children’s for this. She lets herself sleep in, takes naps in the backyard and on the boat, moves around slowly in the kitchen to help prepare dinner and cherishes the sounds of Quinn, Jack and Luke’s laughter echoing through the house.

…..

The night before the draft, Clementine feels a bit restless. She tosses aside her blanket and tiptoes downstairs in a Michigan sweatshirt that she’s stolen at some point this week. Wiping her eyes, she quietly opens cabinets and pokes through the pantry, concluding that the Hughes household has all the ingredients she needs to make brown sugar cookies. Luckily, sound doesn’t travel much in this house, she’s learned. Clementine starts to get to work.

By the time she’s waiting for the oven to finish preheating so she can put cookies into the oven, she hears footsteps coming down the stairs. She’s about to open her mouth to apologize but snaps it shut when she sees Quinn, all cozied up in a black t-shirt and gray sweats, hair absolutely all over the place.

He blinks. “Why are you awake?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Quinn scans over the three trays of cookies waiting to go in. “Didn’t both our moms bake a gigantic cake today?”

“Yup.”

He hums. The oven beeps and before she can react, he slides the trays in. As he shuts the oven door, Clementine pours him a glass of water as she sets a timer on her phone.

“Why are you awake at this hour, Quinny?”

Quinn shrugs. “I was up to use the bathroom. Thought I heard something downstairs and wanted to check it out.”

She yawns. “Yeah, sorry.”

“I didn’t know you baked.”

“Newer habit. One of my roommates, Allie, you’ve met Allie over FaceTime, she’s a stress baker. Whenever exam season hit, there were baked goods all over our apartment. Picked up on a thing or two.”

Quinn hums. “What’s Allie up to this summer?”

“She just started her residency in Florida.”

“So she graduated?”

“Yup. Now I’m all alone.” Quinn rolls his eyes because he knows that’s not true. It isn’t. Clementine still has two other roommates as they continue looking for a third.

“I still can’t believe you had time to do med school applications as well as a full course load,” Quinn says. “Like, I know you said that’s kinda normal. But how did you have the time?”

Clementine snickers. “I’m not sure how I did. Pure rage and fumes? ”

“I mean, you’re superwoman. You always have been. But damn. There are really no breaks for you, eh?”

“Coming here is a break.”

“Good,” she ruffles his hair. Quinn sighs. “Can’t believe it’s finally little Lukey’s turn.”

“Yeah. I’ve been having a crisis about it all summer. Makes me feel old.”

“You’re only 24?”

“Exactly,” she deadpans. “Old.”

Quinn rolls his eyes. They both look up as someone else comes down the stairs. Alex, who came in just a few hours ago, rubs his eyes with his fists. “What the fuck are you two doing up awake?”

“Clem’s making cookies.”

Alex blinks. “And you are?”

“Keeping her company.”

Alex just shrugs before sitting down across from her. He nods in thanks when Clementine fills up a glass of water for him. “Haven’t really gotten the chance to catch up with you. How’s Stanford?”

Clementine snickers. “Good. Well, as good as it can be in a pandemic. School’s school. First two years were mostly by the textbooks. Next two will be textbooks and clinicals so I’ll be in the hospital. Hopefully.”

“Clinicals?”

“Like, actually working with patients. Or like, observing in the hospital with a supervisor. The good stuff.”

“Sounds smart,” Alex hums. “How do you feel that all your babies will have been drafted 24 hours from now?”

Fucking asshole. She doesn’t know why Ellen has a soft spot towards Alex when he’s clearly a nuisance. He just laughs at her pout and Quinn shakes his head with a close-lipped smile. “Don’t get her started. It’s 1 a.m.”

Her eyes roll so hard they might as well fall out of her head. “Don’t you have siblings?” He nods. “Are they younger or older?”

“Older. I’m the youngest.”

She huffs and Quinn grins. “That makes sense,” she says. “You don’t get it.”

Alex gets up and pulls Clementine into a quick side hug as he gets more water. “I only got to hear about how you were crying when Quinn and Jack got called. Now I’ll get to see for myself.”

“Careful,” she says wearily. Careful of what, she doesn’t know, but she needs to instill some sort of dominance as the oldest here. Quinn snickers into his sweatshirt.

Her timer beeps a few minutes later and she shuts it off. Quinn ushers her aside while he grabs the trays and sets them on the counter to cool while Clementine digs around for a large tupperware container to store them. Alex just stares at them hungrily and she can’t even be annoyed. She sees that look in all the Hughes brothers’ eyes all the time in the kitchen. And Alex might as well be a Hughes.

Once they each finish a cookie, Clementine shoos them both upstairs as she follows behind them to try and go back to sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day.

…..

The next morning comes quickly. She’s sharing a room and bed with her mother but she’s nowhere to be found. Instead, Clementine gets woken up by Jack jumping on her bed. Thankfully, he avoids anything that could really hurt her, but she still grunts, whacking him in the stomach and shooing him out of the room before beginning to get ready. She can already hear various family and friends coming through the front door downstairs.

She gets dressed in a cream romper she found on sale a month ago and pulls out, of course, the white sandals. She rummages through her backpack to find the letter — the final one she’s in charge of — and quickly debates on when she’ll give it to Luke.

Now, she decides, putting it on the bedside table. Before the cameras turn on. She slips her phone into the pockets of her romper — she’s pumped they even have pockets — and walks down the stairs. Immediately at the front door, she’s met with Emily. She’s nine now and Clementine just goes on her knees and holds her tightly. Clementine then quickly runs into Ellen, who wants to introduce her to some people — some she’s met a handful of times, some she hasn’t met once.

It’s lovely, in a way, knowing that while their lives are so intertwined, there’s always someone new to meet or someone to reunite with. The support system for all of them is so much larger than she could’ve ever dreamed of, as she grins when Sophia, who she last saw at Quinn’s draft, hugs her tight like they just saw each other yesterday. She’s in her second year at Michigan on the lacrosse team and so smiley and lovely.

Once she spots Luke, she taps his shoulder and he excuses himself from talking to one of Jim’s old friends. Luke’s constant smile this whole week has been small but genuine. As his eyes drift down to the envelope in her hands, she sees him swallow.

Clementine hands it over and claps a hand on his shoulder. “Later, yeah? When you have a minute.”

Luke just nods expectantly. Like almost everything in life, his brothers have gotten their letters before him. If Clementine sometimes thinks too much about it, it makes her almost sad that Luke’s always had someone do something before him, whether it’s her or Quinn and Jack. But it’s also a blessing, in a way, she thinks, because in her eyes, Luke is the best out of all of them in pretty much every single way possible because he’s seen how the older three have messed up and can take from that. She knows Quinn and Jack agree.

“Thanks for being here.”

“Of course.” She pulls him into a hug and breathes in. “Is that the cologne I gave you yesterday?”

“Yeah.”

“Cute.” Clementine gives him one last squeeze before pulling away. The house is filling up more and more and she knows her time is limited. “If I don’t catch you before, just remember that I love you, okay? And I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Clemmy.”

“I’ll look at the schedule soon and try to come down to see a game when I can.”

His eyes light up. “Really?”

“Duh. I gotta put all this Michigan merch I have to some use.”

Luke shrugs. “I don’t know-I just figured, you saw Quinn at Michigan and you’ve seen Quinn and Jack in the show. Why would you come to see something you’ve already seen, you know?”

“Because it’s you, Lukey.” She squeezes his arm. “You’re always going to be my baby brother.”

She feels him relax as he folds himself into her arms again.

The day passes by in a blur as Clementine is enjoying catching up with everyone. And there’s a feeling of gratitude in that everyone can gather with each other again after so much isolation in different parts of the continent for so long. She sees Josh for the first time in literal years and happily spends time catching up with him.

For most of the day, she forgets that it’s draft day. She’s just bouncing around, sipping casually on her cider and snacking. The cookies she made the night before are gone very quickly, which makes her laugh to herself.

Once Luke disappears upstairs to get dressed, she finds herself leaning against a doorway, staring out into the living room that’s filled with people but not really looking at anything.

“You okay?”

She turns to see her mom, pearl earrings matching her deep red blouse. Clementine grins. “Yeah. Just zoned out for a minute.”

Maeve lets out a heavy breath. “Last one.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s weird. I always knew he’d get here. All of them. But then it happens. And you think you’re prepared, but you’re not.” Clementine perks up. Her mom doesn’t often get into these types of moods, always the fun-loving, energetic woman. Her dad was more the outwardly perceptive one. Maeve just continues with a small smile. “From the most adorable little boys to incredible young men.”

Clementine laughs. “They’ll always be little to me.”

“Take how you feel and multiply that by three hundred and that’s where I’m at as I’ve seen all of you together this week,” Maeve says with a snort. She hooks her chin on Clementine’s shoulder. “Love you, Clementine.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

Soon enough, everyone’s gathered in front of the TV, with a few cameras around and someone on standby who’s gonna do an interview right when Luke’s name gets called. On the couch and chairs at the front, from right to left, are Geegs, Ellen, Quinn, Luke, Jack and Jim. Her and Maeve are standing right behind Jim and Alex and Josh are next to Clementine.

This time, it could be Anaheim or Columbus or Detroit. Maybe San Jose.

Or it could be New Jersey.

She knows Jack has been pretty outwardly casual about it — he knows nothing, he’s just hoping. But she knows Jack. He wants his younger brother with him. And it would be lovely for those two to play on the same team. What are the odds?

(Apparently, pretty good.)

Luke gets drafted to New Jersey fourth overall. The whole house explodes with cheers. She’s never seen Jack so excited. Maeve puts her hands on Jim’s shoulders as Luke is hugging Quinn and Jim turns around, eyes wet. That’s what sets Clementine off crying. When it’s her turn to get a hug from Luke, she rises to her tiptoes and throws her arms around his neck.

“Congrats, Lukey. Proud of you.”

“Thanks, Clemmy. I love you.”

She smacks a kiss on his cheek. “I love you too.” Luke then hugs Maeve, Alex and Josh before continuing down the line.

From there, there’s media to be down and they quickly set up. Most of the family stays in the room as the three boys adjust themselves on the couch, ready to answer some questions. After Geegs gives her a big hug and Luke throws on Jack’s Devils jersey, Clementine bites her lip and suddenly spins on her heel, feeling overwhelmed.

Alex notices, furrowing his eyebrows as he lightly grabs her arm. “You okay?”

Clementine nods with a smile. “Yeah. I’m just gonna get some air.”

Alex just nods. “Okay,” he squeezes her shoulder in a side hug. “Don’t be too long or we’ll all come looking for you.”

“I won’t,” she promises, before quietly slipping out the screen door in the backyard.

She takes a deep breath, wiping her eyes and deciding to take a little walk around the block. She stares out at the sky, currently painted in hues of pink and purple as the sun is starting to set. Michigan is beautiful. She can understand why they all love it. She fiddles with the three friendship bracelets and her vision blurs as she starts lightly crying again.

It’s been a long time coming. All of this always has. But like her mom said, it doesn’t mean she’s ready for it.

After a nice walk, Clementine sits down on the swing in the front yard. She can hear the commotion happening inside the house and in the backyard, but she’s not quite ready to go back in yet. She watches the sun continue setting, thankful that it’s just windy and cool enough to not have the mosquitos attacking her.

Quinn’s in Vancouver. Jack’s in New Jersey. Both of them are looking to stay long term. Luke will be going to Michigan for at least a year. If Clementine’s inkling is right, it’ll be two, just like Quinn did. And then Luke will be in New Jersey. She’s in California for two more years. And then who knows where for residency afterwards. Ellen and Jim are mainly based in Michigan and her mom’s out in Massachusetts.

Will they ever all live close enough to each other again? Will there ever be more than just the holidays, which started already looking different ages ago when the boys started having tournaments at that time of the year? Will there ever be a time where they’re all able to be together for more than two — maybe three if they’re lucky — times a year?

She’s accepted by now that no, they probably will never live near each other again or see each other more than they currently do. But she can hope, right?

Because she’s made a home for herself in a few places now. Massachusetts, where Mom is. California, where she’s been for six years, She hasn’t lived in Toronto for six years now, but that will always be home too.

But home, Clementine realizes, as she hears Quinn’s contagious laughter filter from the house, is this. Home is Quinn’s subtle loyalty and kindness that knows no bounds. Home is Jack’s contagious vivacity and love that envelopes every room. Home is Luke’s steadfast resilience and empathy that pulls everyone in. Home is Ellen’s warm hugs and Jim’s proud eyes. Home is her own mother’s…everything.

Home is the way her father lives in all their memories, even six years after he’s gone. All the people he loved the most. That’s home.

The front door opens. She looks up as Luke walks out and immediately smiles. He looks good in Devils red. “Hey.”

He grins. “Hi. I was looking for you.”

“Just needed some air. Are you done with media and interviews?”

“Yeah,” he slides in next to her. She watches his handle fiddle with the envelope, “Luke” written unmistakingly in Miguel’s handwriting. “I wanted to read this with you.”

Clementine shakes her head. “Nope. I was given very specific instructions. Your-”

“Eyes only,” Luke finishes. “Yeah, yeah. I know. But could you stay here while I read it to myself?”

She softens with a smile. “Of course I can.”

She watches as his shaky hands carefully tear open the envelope, biting her lip as he unfolds the paper. She then purposely looks away as Luke leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes scanning the words. She places a hand on his back, rubbing small circles to let him know that she’s here. Once she hears the sound of him folding the paper, she turns to look at him. His lips are quivering and she corrals him into a hug.

“I wish he was here,” Luke chokes out through tears and Clementine tilts her chin up to the sky to try to hold back her own. “I miss him so much, Clemmy.”

“Me too, Lukey,” she whispers, letting him place his head on her lap. “Me too.”

“It’s so unfair how little time we had with him,” he says and well, Clementine’s fully crying again because yeah, she was 17 when her dad died. But Luke was 11. Not even a teenager. “All I could really think of when I got picked was that Miguel’s from Jersey.”

Clementine smiles. “Yeah.”

“Kinda feels like fate, maybe?”

“Fate sounds good,” she says softly, stroking his cheek with her thumb as she smiles at him. “I really like the sound of that, actually.”

There are footsteps coming closer and Clementine turns behind her to see Quinn with Jack behind him. She gives them a bittersweet smile and nods at them to come sit. Quinn slides in next to her and Jack sits on the other side of Luke.

“You okay, Moose?” Quinn asks softly.

“Yeah,” Luke says in a scratchy voice. “I’ll come back in in a few minutes.”

“Take your time,” Jack says, exchanging a look with Clementine as she starts playing with Luke’s hair. “No rush.”

“Did all your letters make you feel like this?” Luke asks.

“Yup.” Jack snorts.

“Yeah.” Quinn sighs. “It still does.”

“I had to reapply my mascara before my grad party,” Clementine says lightly. All four of them chuckle. She swallows, “I love you guys. So much.”

Quinn kisses her on the cheek as Jack reaches out behind Luke to squeeze her shoulder. “We love you more, Clem.” Quinn mutters.

They stay out on the swing for a little while, just the four of them. Only when the sun sets do they make their way to the backyard to rejoin everyone. Before he gets pulled away again, Clementine holds Luke one last time.

bonus - 2028 - new york city, new york

ya no quiero que llores

the universe is gonna give you muchas flores

quitate ese miedo

you’ll be a lot more, trust me, yo te entiendo

- “a letter to my younger self” ambar lucid

Clementine really didn’t need everyone to be here. It’s only a lunch after all.

But “it’s not like we have anything going on anyways,” Quinn had said, the lunch NYU is throwing to mark the end of people’s residencies taking place at the end of June during the off season. So when NYU said she could bring up to eight guests, she didn’t really have a solid argument.

And here they are now, sitting in a small but beautifully decorated ballroom. Clementine’s wearing a dark purple jumpsuit as she looks around the table. Nico’s to her right, talking happily with Jim on his other side. Then it’s Jack, then Luke, then Quinn, then Ellen and then finally her own mother on Clementine’s left. They’re all dressed up a bit, the guys in button ups and Ellen and Maeve with nice blouses on. It makes Clementine smile.

It’s really not a formal thing. But she’s grateful to have them all here anyways.

“Okay, real talk.” Jack says across the table, grabbing Clementine’s attention. “Your attending physician who stopped by earlier? I would hit.”

Maeve snorts. Ellen sighs and just says his name in disappointment. Jim takes a sip of his beer trying to hide a smile. Quinn and Luke roll their eyes and Nico scoffs.

“Really?” Clementine says dryly.

Jack, like the menace he is, just smirks. “Absolutely. I mean, I know you’re engaged or whatever, but if you weren’t…”

“The person she’s engaged to is right here,” Nico says as Jack cackles.

Clementine rolls her eyes. “Well, Dr. Butterfield is happily married with kids. Sorry to burst your bubble. Though I’m sure Amelie would also not be thrilled.”

Jack waves her off at the mention of his girlfriend. “Amelie would probably agree with me.”

“I don’t know how Amelie deals with you,” Nico shoots back.

“Settle down,” Clementine says in a monotone voice. Even after so many years, Nico and Jack love finding anything to bicker about off the ice. “Let me eat my pasta in peace.”

“Better listen to Clem, boys,” Jim chuckles. “It’s her day.”

“It’s her month,” Luke clarifies, elbowing Jack. “Are you trying to get uninvited to her wedding?”

“Clee would never!” Jack exclaims. Which is true, but Clementine’s glad Luke is backing her up.

“Nico would,” Nico grumbles. Good thing they’re not seated next to each other right now or she’s sure Jack would be smacking him. Which is hilarious, considering Jack is one of Nico’s groomsmen.

Five years. Five years since she walked into Langone for the first time. Five years since she moved into Hoboken with Jack and Luke. She may not live with them anymore, but sometimes, with the amount they’re over her and Nico’s house, it feels like she still does.

Five years of great moments and really, really tough ones. Five years of highlighters in her mouth, pencils twisted in a bun atop of her head, dark under-eye circles after overnight shifts, delirious conversations with her fellow residents and so, so much coffee. And before that, eight years of school, sometimes forgetting what it was all for. But here she is.

Doctor Clementine Sandoval has a nice ring to it.

She’s brought out of her own world when she feels Nico squeeze her thigh lightly. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“You zoned out again.”

She hums lightly. Nico always knows when to bring her back to the present. “Thanks.” He just kisses her temple.

Along with eighteen other new doctors, Clementine’s called up on the stage to receive her certificate. Dr. Butterfield says a few words about her in front of everyone that she thinks are far too kind and she can’t help but laugh when she hears her whole table cheering as her picture’s being taken.

“You have a lot of loud supporters,” Dr. Butterfield jokes as he shakes her hand.

She snickers. “You have no idea.”

“They seem lovely. Keep them close.”

“They are. I will.”

“Enjoy your time off. You deserve it. We’ll see you back at NYU in September.”

Clementine beams. “Thanks Doc. I’m looking forward to it.”

After lunch is over, they go outside and take pictures right by Battery Park, where the lunch was held. Unlike the three brothers, she doesn't complain about the amount of pictures Ellen, Jim and Maeve want to take, just grinning and laughing as Nico pokes her side. They split up to drive back to Nico and Clementine’s in Jersey — Ellen, Jim and Maeve in one car and her, Nico, Quinn, Jack and Luke in the other. Nico is somehow roped into driving and Clementine knows he probably regrets that. You put five 25-31 year olds who see each other simultaneously too little and too much in the same car when there’s an annoying amount of traffic and it’s an interesting ride.

“Someone must be throwing a party,” Clementine comments as they turn onto the cul de sac, cars lining up the curb. She squints at her and Nico’s driveway at two familiar cars. “What are Dougie and Bratter doing here?” Nico just gives her a shrug. The brothers in the back don’t respond either. “What are you guys not telling me?”

“Chill, Clee,” Jack says. “We have no idea what’s going on either. We’ll find out in two seconds anyways.

She almost believes him. Instead, she falls in step with Nico, who locks the car. “What’s going on?” She mutters.

Nico just smiles, hand on her lower back naturally. “It’s all good. Just trust me.”

And the thing is, she does. She trusts Nico with her life.

The second she walks through the door, she jumps as a chorus of “congratulations” echoes through the home. She scans the room quickly. The house is decorated with streamers and balloons, there are food and snacks all over and their home looks so filled.

Maeve, Ellen and Jim beat them here, all looking very proud. Next to them are Quinn, Jack and Luke with big smiles, next to their significant others — Amelie snapping pictures with her camera, Jordyn leaning back into Luke’s chest, and even Grace is here, Quinn’s arm wrapped around her waist that’s starting to show her small, beautiful baby bump. Grace is supposed to be on tour singing in front of a sold-out crowd in Florida right now.

And then there’s Dougie. And Jesper and Nicole and their toddler son. And Timo and Steph. And Erik and Kristen and their kids. And Seamus. And Jonas. And Ethan. And Nate and Dawson and their significant others. And seemingly almost every other Devils player, most present, some past. And then there’s Trevor, Alex and Cole and Clementine feels like she’s 21 again.

Then there’s her family, blood related and not. Her Uncle Thomas and Aunt Mariana — Thomas is Miguel’s younger brother. Her Aunt Aoife, who was in California literally two days ago. Those are the only blood-related family members who live in the US, and they’re all here. Then there’s Lara and John and Emily, who’s somehow 16 now. Other various members of the Hughes extended family who she’s always loved are dispersed around.

And then a smattering of her friends from UCLA, Stanford and NYU, all cheering enthusiastically. The ones who made all those years filled with light even in the darkest crevices.

The house is filled with so many people she loves. As she turns back to look at Nico, she feels overwhelmed. “What’s all this?” She chokes out.

“To celebrate you,” Nico says with a twinkle in his eye.

“His idea, by the way.” Emilia calls out with a grin. Clementine has to laugh. Because of course it is.

“I love you,” she whispers to Nico, pecking him on the lips.

“I love you.” He repeats back. “Now go celebrate with everyone.”

And celebrate with everyone she does. As she does that, she can’t help but steal glances at Nico from wherever she is in the room. Because she’s been blessed with having a wonderful support system — the people currently in this house prove that — but there’s never been anyone quite like Nico who just loves her so wholly and wants to celebrate her all the time.

Later that night, after she bids goodbye and a gracious thank you to Jesper and Nicole, who stayed to help clean up, she lets out a deep breath. It’s just her and her brothers and all the significant others now, Ellen, Jim and Maeve having retired up to bed half an hour ago. She collapses on the couch next to Nico. She stays quiet as she listens to Luke and Grace arguing about something that really reminds Clementine that Grace may be married to Quinn, but Grace met Luke first at a bar in New York years ago and has refused to stop making fun of him since then.

It was just her and the boys for so long. She’s so happy that they’ve all found their own counterparts throughout the years.

“Thank you for today,” she mutters to Nico. “Seriously. It was…thank you.”

“Of course,” Nico says, his thumb going over the ring on her left hand. “You’re so loved, baby. Any chance to remind you of that is worth it to me.” She just leans up to kiss him.

“Ew,” Luke says, ruining the moment. Jordyn slaps him for that one.

Clementine scoffs, “Fuck off. We’re literally getting married next month.”

“Okay and?” Even at 25, Luke is still her annoying little brother. “I know today’s your day and all, but sucking face with my captain is not something I really want to see.”

“Then look away.”

Quinn snorts under his breath. “You guys are impossible.”

“Learn to deal with it, Quinny,” Jack smirks. “You have a child coming soon. If they’re anything like Grace, they’re gonna be fighting you all the time.”

Grace reaches over her husband and shoves Jack. “Watch it, Hughes. Unless you want your backstage pass taken away when you come to my show in two weeks.”

Jack gasps dramatically. “But I haven’t gotten to see you perform in ages!”

“Exactly. So zip it.”

Amelie makes eye contact with Clementine and Nico with an eye roll. “They exhaust me.” And Clementine has to laugh, because they’ve all made the choice to be exhausted by each other.

Soon after, everyone’s tired out from the day’s festivities and starts heading to their respective rooms for the evening. Clementine trails behind everyone, shutting the lights off and making sure the doors are locked.

She’s about to shut the light off in the living room when she stops, catching sight of a photo frame hung on the wall opposite the couch. They don’t have many frames hung up around the house, but the photos they do have hung up are important.

She stares at her father’s face. The picture was taken when Clementine was fifteen. The three of them were about to go to Thomas and Mariana’s wedding, Maeve in a long blue dress, Miguel in a dashing suit with a matching blue tie and Clementine in a glittery pink dress. They’re all smiling at the camera in front of a sunset. It’s one of Clementine’s favorites.

Suddenly, her throat closes up as her father’s voice echoes through her brain. “The universe is gonna give you muchas flores,” he always said. All the flowers, he would say. She thinks he said that on the hospital bed on his last day. She’s long forgiven herself for not remembering every word from that day anymore.

Nico comes from behind and his hands wrap around her shoulders as she grabs his wrists. She then turns her head to the picture right next to it and smiles. It’s of her and Nico almost two years ago on New Year’s Eve, four hours before Nico would get down on one knee and ask her to spend the rest of their lives together. And then lastly, to the right of that picture, a frame with three pictures in one. Her, Quinn, Jack and Luke all during their respective drafts. The same photoset is hanging in their homes as well.

She feels Nico kiss the back of her head and she smiles, before turning and heading to bed, Nico’s arm around her shoulder.

long live the walls we crashed through

i had the time of my life with you

#k writes #hockey fanfiction #hockey fanfic #new jersey devils #vancouver canucks #quinn hughes #jack hughes #luke hughes #nico hischier #the blue au #hockey blurb #nhl fic #nhl #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb

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running2reanimation · 3 months

Text

100

Minutes, days, weeks…

He was seated in the police station. Not under arrest, but being questioned. He was pretty sure he said something stupid along the lines of: “The game ate my son.”

His face was wet and he tasted salt. He wanted his son back. He wanted to go home.

They were talking about sending him to the hospital. He did not want to go to the hospital. He wanted to go home. Surely Gold was there. Waiting. Because this was a prank. A joke. Not a very funny one, he’d have to talk to the boy about that. Pretending to be… gone.

King stood up, “Am I being arrested?”

The cops shook their heads.

“I’m going home then.”

“We’ll be in touch,” A bright blue one said, with a hand on King’s shoulder.

“Sure,” King pulled away.

—

“I’m here to pick up my books,” King said, handing over his slip to the bookseller. The pale green stick smiled and looked over the slip with a nod before ducking under the counter.

“Oof,” She remarked, pulling up the large bundle, “this is a lot of books. Do you need a bag? Are you walking far?”

“Just to my car,” King replied, taking the package from her and walking out.

He sat in the car reading for an hour.

—

King looked at the calendar on the wall. The nineteenth was circled in purple and he didn’t remember circling it, “Purple, why is the nineteenth marked on the calendar?”

“Oh, uh, it’s my birthday, sir,” Purple answered, tying off yet another garbage bag. It felt like the mess King had made was endless.

“Ah, do you have plans? With your friends?” The older stick asked, still wiping down the counter as if it weren’t already spotless.

“Traditional birthday lunch with Sky, but other than that, no,” Purple shrugged, trying to play it cool and indifferent.

“Now you have dinner plans as well,” King smiled and chuckled at Purple’s confusion, “with me.”

“Oh no sir, that won’t be necessary!”

“I insist. Besides, it’s been… a very long time since I’ve made a cake, so you’re partially a test subject. What kind do you like? I was thinking something with ube maybe?”

“Ooh, I’ve never had ube before!” Purple clapped his hands in excitement.

“Ube it is then. If you don’t like it I’ll gladly make you something else later. Sounds like a plan?” Purple nodded while King began plotting in earnest.

Maybe he could try to get a hold of the PC sticks. Though if he were going to invite them over the house cleaning had to be finished. And what was he going to get Purple as a gift? The cake didn’t count, even if Purple insisted it did.

Finally some work he was excited to do.

#alan becker #animation vs minecraft #animator vs animation #avm #ava #avm king orange #ava king orange #avm king mango #avm king #avm purple #king #purple #it’s insomnia season baby and that means more kingdrabbles #I meant to write this when the blog got 100 followers

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oddinary4bts · 11 months

Note

Request!! Could you do 98 on the smut list with namjoon and reader? Maybe he wants to try getting fingered and is a little embarrassed because he’s normally in charge or something? Wherever your inspiration takes you!❤️❤️❤️

Oof this was so hard to write for some reason but I'm very happy I managed to finish it haha my bad if it took a moment before it was ready!

Can I Ask you a Question | knj

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x female reader

☆rating: 18+ (this is smut, minors DNI)

☆genre: unedited smut lmao like literally just smut with barely no plot

☆warnings: unedited, alcohol, a game of Never Have I Ever (mentioned more than anything else), cursing, explicit content: ass fingering, oral sex (male receiving), balls fondling/sucking, jerking off, mentions of oral sex (female receiving), big dick!Namjoon, a little bite lmao, let me know if I'm forgetting something!

☆word count: 2.5k

☆prompt 98: "I never thought I'd hear you say that, fuck, that's hot"

☆The smut prompt is from this list!

☆☆☆☆☆

You’ve been drinking with your boyfriend, Kim Namjoon, and some friends for a moment already. You started during happy hour, at a bar near your boyfriend’s job, but you have decided to keep it going into the night, inviting the group over to your shared apartment.

It’s no wonder someone suggested Never Have I Ever. No wonder it got you all a little too tipsy to even think about what you’re asking. So you’re not surprised when a very clearly drunk Jimin asks, “Never Have I Ever been fingered in the ass”, before bursting out laughing because he has in fact done it.

He drinks, quickly followed by most of the females in the room, including you, and to your surprise Yoongi and Jungkook also drink, though you’re not sure if Jungkook is even listening.

He’s been staring at a blank spot on the ceiling for a while, not even blinking, which tells you that he’s probably in his own little world thinking about gaming or working out.

The game keeps going after that, but you notice that Namjoon seems lost in thought. He doesn’t really drink anymore, which for some reason makes you cut your drinking too, and soon enough your friends notice the switch in the atmosphere and decide to head home, as it’s already getting late anyway.

Namjoon doesn’t move from the couch, only surveys you while you let your friends out, and when you move back to him, he looks up at you with questions in his eyes. You cock an eyebrow, sitting next to him as he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Is something wrong?” you ask. “You’ve been silent.”

He chuckles, and there’s a flash of a dimple before it’s gone. He shrugs, saying, “I’ve got a lot on my mind, I guess”.

You purse your lips, tilting your head to the side as you try to catch his gaze. He’s lowered his head though, and your attempt is unsuccessful. “What’s up? You know you can talk to me.”

He smiles half-heartedly. “I know.”

There’s a silence, and you gently grab his hand, putting it in your lap as you cuddle up to his side. He rests his head on top of yours, and there’s a moment of just you and him breathing in sync, until he finally speaks again.

“Can I…” he trails off, and chuckles awkwardly. “Can I ask you something?”

You don’t move, only humming to indicate that, yes, he can.

“Jimin mentioned something earlier,” he starts before pausing for so long you look up at him. Your eyes meet, and you notice the light flush on his cheeks right away. “When we were playing ‘Never Have I Ever’.”

You nod to tell him to keep going. You’re starting to understand where this is going, but you don’t want to push, especially not when Namjoon clearly looks uncomfortable.

“It’s just got me thinking that we haven’t…” He chuckles, looks away as the blush deepens. “We haven’t experienced all that much.”

Now when he falls silent you know he expects an answer, so you say, “Is there something you want to try?”

He runs a hand on his features, before sitting back in the couch. “Feel comfortable to say no. Like it totally is okay if you don’t want to.”

“Joon,” you tell him, interjecting before he can start rambling.

A dimple appears, and you think even his ears are red by now. Whatever it is that he wants to try is clearly making him feel embarrassed. It’s weird – you’ve never seen Namjoon embarrassed in your presence before, except maybe when he accidentally broke a cup at a café on your first date.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I was thinking… and have been thinking for a while, actually?”

He once again falls silent, so you say, “Yeah?”

“You know when you go down on me?”

You nod.

“Do you think you could finger me at the same time?”

Your gaze widens right as his drops to the floor, and you think you can almost hear his heart beating out of his chest. But you knew from the moment this conversation started that he was going to ask that, so you’re not entirely surprised. On the contrary, there’s just something in the way Namjoon - big, dominant Namjoon - is willing to let you touch him in such an intimate way that makes your blood boil in your veins.

“You’d like that?” you ask, teasingly.

Clearly, he wasn’t expecting it because his eyes shoot back to you, and he hesitates before nodding once.

“You want to know what it feels like when I choke on your dick while my fingers are up your ass?”

His gaze widens even more, and his mouth falls open. He gulps once, then says, “I never thought I’d hear you say that, fuck, that’s hot”.

You smirk before leaning closer to him, until your mouth is so close to him he can feel it when you speak. “I just want to make you feel good.”

Whatever restraint he had on himself goes down the drain in that exact instant, and he grabs your face to pull you into a heated kiss. His lips move against yours hungrily, languidly, and his tongue soon darts to lick at your bottom lip. You let him in, let the taste of him fill your mouth before he sucks on your tongue, and a breathy moan escapes you.

“Fuck,” he breathes against you as he presses wet kisses on your jaw.

You run a hand through his jet-black hair, pulling on it just a little so you can guide his mouth back to yours. You haven’t had enough of him yet, and if he wants you to treat him right, then he’s going to have to treat you right first.

You suck on his bottom lip, teeth teasing it gently, before pulling away. His lips are swollen by your ministrations, glassy by the mix of your saliva and yours. They look delicious, but you move to his neck instead, right as you straddle his lap.

You’re not surprised when you already feel the start of an erection pressing against your clit. You grind on it, capturing his mouth in another kiss that leaves no room for air. His large hands find the meat of your ass, squeezing hard as he makes you grind on him again.

“Joon,” you murmur against his lips as one of his hands reach up to tangle in your hair.

He forces you to turn your head to the side so he can kiss you again, deeper, tongue twirling with yours. Namjoon has always been a great kisser, but the way he kisses you tonight is on a whole different level, as if he was holding back before.

And now that you know he wants you to finger him, you think that maybe he was.

You pull away from the kiss, only because you want to see the effect that you have on him. His lips are even more swollen, parted, and his chest is moving up and down in a quick rhythm as he tries to regain his composure. You smirk, tilting your head to the side.

“You look good like this,” you compliment him, and he bites at his bottom lip.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Now, should we get you out of your pants?”

He smirks, dimples flashing as he nods his head. “Want to feel your pretty lips around my cock.”

You lean closer, not kissing him even though he chases your mouth. He seems taken aback, until you say, “And you want to feel my fingers as they fuck you”.

Now he moans softly, breathily, eyes shutting as he rests his head against the couch. You take that as a cue to go down, kneeling between his legs. You run your hands on his thick thighs, mouth watering at the thought of having him wrapped around your finger like this.

Literally.

He helps you undo his belt, and soon enough you’re pulling his pants and underwear down. His big dick springs free, and it’s like you always forget just how big he is. You know your jaw will hurt, but you’re too far gone to care.

You watch where his cock rests on his stomach, and a drop of precum wets the fabric of his shirt. He clearly doesn’t care, and you grab the base of his dick to hold it up.

“So big,” you purr and he cocks his head to the side awaiting your next move.

You decide to start by sucking him off before you dive into fingering his ass too, so you move closer, blowing on the sensitive tip. His dick jerks in your hand, but you hold it in place as you replace the air with a swipe of your tongue, along a thick vein that runs from bottom to top. He groans, and one of his large hands grab your head to keep you close when you try to sit back on your heels.

“A little excited, are you?” you tease him.

His dark gaze finds yours, and you gulp at the lust that shine behind his pupils. “Just suck me off, baby. No teasing.”

“You don’t like when I’m in control, do you?” You’re being a little shit, because you know it’s usually the other way around. It’s usually Namjoon manhandling you, and you like it. You really do.

There’s just something about thinking of him, all helpless under your ministrations, that's making the devilish part of you win.

He remains silent, clenching his jaw, though it immediately loosens as you wrap your lips around the head of his dick, sucking once. Your tongue twirls around him, and you taste his salty precum. You never once look away from his eyes, not even when you start going down, taking as much of him as you can.

Which is not a lot, and you’re reduced to stroking the part that doesn’t fit in your mouth with your hand. Namjoon still moans appreciatively, especially as you pull away to spit in your hand so you can lubricate his dick from bottom to top. As you do so, you suck on one of his balls, teasing the sensitive organ with your teeth. Lightly, not hard enough to hurt at all, but just enough for Namjoon to throw you a warning glance before you pull away, smirking.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he says, and he puts your hair in a makeshift ponytail so he can watch you as you finally start sucking on his dick, properly this time.

You wait until he is a sensitive mess for your free hand to move between his legs. You fondle with his balls for a time, until he pulls you away from his dick, breathing raggedly.

“Fucking do what you’re supposed to do, pretty. I don’t want to have to wait all night.”

You turn your head to kiss his thigh, before biting into it, hard. “You have to learn how to be patient, baby. I just want to make you feel good.”

He wets his lips, dragon eyes boring into yours, before nodding once. “Then do it. Fuck.”

The power trip that this is giving you is enough for you to be soaking through your panties, and at this point you’re pretty sure you’re soaking through your pants too.

You make a good show of spitting on your fingers, watching as it rolls along the digits. Namjoon watches too, even though you’re still stroking his dick slowly.

“You think you’re ready?”

He goes completely silent as your hand goes back between his legs, this time heading lower than his balls. He instinctively spreads his legs wider. You rub circles on his perineum for a few seconds, lips wrapping around his cock again, and he moans when you take him all the way in, choking around his fat tip.

“Baby,” he grunts.

You watch him with his head thrown back, sharp jaw on display, and that’s when you finally reach lower to find the tight circle of muscles around his asshole. He groans, and it makes you moan around his dick. You pull away enough to breathe, and then you suck on his tip, tongue playing with his slit as you finally push a finger in his ass.

It’s foreign. You’ve never done that before in your entire life, but when Namjoon moans again, a higher-pitched sound than usual, you figure this will work. You push all the way in before pulling all the way out. You play with the muscle ring again, bobbing your head up and down before you finally push in again, arching your finger to rub what you hope is his prostate.

Namjoon’s dick goes infinitely hard in your mouth, and he starts cursing as you time your head and your finger. You take that as a cue that he likes it. Wickedly, you push another finger in, and Namjoon moans your name, before adding so many curses you think he might actually not be doing okay.

You make to pull out, and that’s when he starts begging, “Baby, please don’t stop. I’m gonna –“ a moan interrupts – “I’m gonna come. So fucking hard. Please.”

So you keep going, sucking on his dick harder, fucking your fingers into him relentlessly until his hips snap up, right as his dick twitches in your mouth as he releases his load. He grunts and curses, holding your head into place.

You’re surprised he came so fast. He rarely comes when you suck his dick – not because you aren’t good, but because he’s so big it’s hard to please him with your mouth. You still swallow everything, ever so the good girl when it comes to him, and you milk his orgasm out of him, making sure to carry him throughout his entire high.

You only stop when his dick starts going soft in your mouth, sitting back on your heels as you still finger him lazily. You shortly stop that too, watching him breathe in and out as he tries to calm down, but you’re not sure it’s working.

Especially not when he says, “Holy shit, what the fuck was that?”

You chuckle, licking your lips clean. “That felt good.”

He nods, and he finally looks down at you, flashing a dimpled smile at you. “Baby, that was so fucking good. We’re going to have to do it again.”

You bite your lip, holding in a smile as you tilt your head to the side.

“Tonight?”

He smirks, but shakes his head no. “Nah, for now I just want to treat my girl good.”

Needless to say, you don’t hesitate before lying down on the couch so he can eat you out.

168 notes · View notes

sorcerersseestars · 11 months

Text

his eyes, your ears [part iv]

series masterlist

Gojo Satoru x reader

summary: There was a time when you called him best friend, but those days escaped you long ago. There’s no way he’s alive – right? With the depth of his betrayal still lingering in your heart and mind, what would his reappearance spell for your life?

pairing: gojo satoru x gn! reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort

fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

warnings: cursing, lowkey a little mental torture, TW! s*xual a*sault (forced kiss), violence!!, one instance of vomiting (sry), immoral and creepy Geto, reader is kinda anxious nonstop (like writer like reader?), some details are non-canon (a/n 2.0 at end explains), also it’s slow for the first half but picks up I promise, I think I made Geto sound British???, also I made Hanami act like a mom kinda 💀 uh…im going to call it comic relief?

word count: 6.7k. oof.

a/n: I am literally SO SORRY that this has been sitting in my drafts for so long but… life happens! Along those lines – I wrote 1/2 of this in September and 1/2 of it in May, so it might be a bit disjointed sorryyy hehe

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“Then you’ll have to live with disappointment,” He flashes you an all-too-pleased-with-himself smile. “Becaaause it’s totally permanently in your phone now.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, right. As if I wouldn’t be able to delete a contact.”

He has a devilish smirk on his face, but his voice is annoyingly innocent and cheerful. “Go ahead, try!”

You gasp. “Gojo! Did you jailbreak my new phone?!”

“Uh, uh! That not what my contact reads as!” He snatches your phone from your hands, and points a large finger to the tiny name on your screen. “It’s ‘My Beloved Best Friend Satoru’!”

“Satoru,” You say dangerously. “Erase this or I’ll erase you from existence.”

He chuckles. “Oh, I’d love to see you try. You’re cute when you try to beat me.”

Your mouth opens and closes as you try to find words, and you try to ignore the heat on your cheeks. “S-Satoru! You asshole, give me my phone back!”

He holds it high above your head, a wide smile lingering on his face. He’s having way too much fun with this. You jump, trying to swat it out of his hand, but to no avail.

“Why did you even do this?” You grumble, sighing. “What, is it ‘how many ways can I torture (Y/N) in the span of a few hours’ day?”

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re weak, remember? You gotta have me on speed dial if you want to survive in this line of work.”

First, your eyes widen at his blunt statement. Then you sigh again, this time a bit sadly. “Wow, you have so much faith in me…thanks.”

“You never know what’s out there,” Gojo says. “If you ever have any trouble, call me.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “Is this a prank? I thought you hated ‘helping the weak’.”

“I’m serious, (Y/N),” He says firmly. “I’ll always pick up. Abuse the privilege, whatever, I don’t care. Just don’t die.”

Your head snaps towards him, mouth hanging open with shock. “Satoru, what…? I’m not going to…”

You fall silent. There’s no guarantee of that.

He steps closer to you, closer than what you’d consider friendly. Your heart skips a beat.

“Just do it, okay? I’ll always be on the other end.”

Always, huh? But now…

Ring, ring, ring. You bite your lip, pressing your phone hard against your ear, as if his voice will appear if you wish it enough. Ring, ring, ring.

“Please…” You whisper. “Come on, come on.”

Your breath hitches as the distinctive timbre of Satoru’s voice fills your ear, but your shoulders fall almost immediately.

“Hey, sorry I’ve missed your call! If you close your eyes, recite my name five times, and spin around twice, I might get back to ya! No exceptions – not even–”

You sigh and hang up before you’re put through to voice mail. It’s not like he’ll listen to it, anyway.

He’s been avoiding you. You haven’t seen him for days – six, to be exact. It’s been five days since Shoko deemed you well enough to recover at home, despite the worryingly slow rate that your cursed energy has been returning. You were released with the promise you wouldn’t exert yourself and absolutely would not use any cursed energy. All the while, you had childishly held two crossed fingers behind your back – your promise was as empty as you felt.

You should have expected this; this shouldn’t hurt so much. Gojo is the strongest sorcerer the world has seen for hundreds of years. He never runs from his foes – he doesn’t need to. When it comes to facing emotions, however, he is all but mighty. Whenever his emotions run high, overflowing until they begin to leak out into broad daylight, he turns tail and practically erases himself from existence. It’s nearly impossible to find him – he mysteriously leaves no trace, even for an experienced tracker like you.

You left Shoko with an empty smile and promise, and Gojo has done just the same. Despite him swearing that he’d be back to see you, Gojo is nowhere to be found. You’ve dropped by at the school multiple times, even asking his students if they knew of his whereabouts, but nobody has been able to give you an answer.

He’s been dodging your calls, letting it ring until his chirpy voicemail message mocks you. The text messages you leave go unread, unopened.

When you hopelessly reopen your chat with him, you can’t help but bite yoru nails as you stare at the wall of blue on your screen. Message after message – unfinished thoughts, apologies, words full of urgency and desperation – are left by trembling hands bloodied by your own worry.

‘I’m the strongest,’ He always says, so why does fear spike in your veins at the thought of Geto finding him?

Even though his own arrogant words ring through your head, you can’t quell the anxiety that threatens to wreak havoc over your fragile state. You’re worried, so worried, and it bleeds into the rest of your life: you’re all over the place, constantly forgetting appointments and important items, you are inexplicably tense, your breathing is constantly shallow and quick; you’re barely holding yourself together.

A few days ago, you had your meeting with Yaga, alone, which went just as horribly as you could have imagined, but you were thankfully spared contact with the higher-ups due to your condition.

But you’re almost all better now – at least physically. That’s why you’re back again, ready for another round of manipulation and abuse.

You’re out of it, so out of it. Your eyes are glazed over, and nothing they say registers in your mind. Even when you try to focus on the words leaving their mouths, your brain filters it all back into mindless noise.

There’s a sequence of very familiar syllables: ah, your name is being shouted. You look up with empty eyes, blinking slowly.

“Useless sorcerer, answer me, now!” Gakuganji roars. “You are testing our patience, and I’ve just about run out of it. Can you track him, or not?”

You breathe in shakily, and let out a weak, clueless, “What?”

“Track him, or they’re dead,” He spits. “Track Geto Suguru. Find him. We won’t wait long. If you haven’t reported back in a week, your parents won’t be able to enjoy their retirement any longer.”

Some of the other council members shift uncomfortably at his bluntness, but you barely even flinch.

You’re so tired of it all. You almost wish you had encouraged Gojo to just off them once and for all.

“Okay,” You mumble softly, lacking the energy to project your voice. “I can do it. I will track Geto Suguru.”

You drag yourself out without acknowledging them, without any show of respect, but the thought of caring is lost on you. Your apathy leaves a trail of displeased whispers, but you don’t even notice.

You speed-dial his number again and again and again, and are returned with nothing but the taunt of his cheerfully recorded memo.

When you finally look away from his contact info burning your retinas, your gaze is trained on the clear sky. It shouldn’t be so vivid, shouldn’t be so beautiful – today should be overcast and rainy. You can’t help but frown, but your eyes remain on the heavens.

Then you’re granted a sight that usually coaxes a smile out of you no matter how you feel: a particularly large gust of wind lays out a collection of reddening autumn leaves against the azure sky. They swirl and dance in the breeze, hovering in your field of vision for a few more moments before they are whipped away.

It’s a sign of the changing of seasons – it has always been one of your favorite times of the year, especially during your years at Tokyo Jujutsu High. The rapid approach of the holidays and the time spent training with your classmates in the chilly air has always enlivened you.

Today, this sight drives fat tears to roll down your cheeks. It just serves to remind you of the juxtaposition between those blissful times and these turbulent times: the weight of Geto’s betrayal, his subsequent death, his impossible revival.

You turn your head to the side, eyes tracking the leaves as they dance into the distance.

“So I’m really doing this then,” You whisper to yourself. “Yeah, guess I am. You’re not here to stop me…”

They’re far from Tokyo, much further than they were before. That much is obvious from the start, when you first scour for their residuals. After a disappointing first try by Jujutsu High - you shouldn’t expected much, anyway - you decide to return to their last known location: the forest you nearly were obliterated in. You dread returning there, but you have little choice unless you want to do a whole lot of guesswork.

You drive yourself there. Usually, you would be accompanied by your usual driver Ijichi, but the thought of asking him didn’t even cross your mind. In the eyes of the Jujutsu world, this is a suicide mission. You’re well aware of that: so why involve anyway else unnecessarily, risking innocent lives?

You’re grateful for the calming scenery that blurs by: miles and miles of inhabited land, solely occupied by woodland’s creatures. Hardly any curses are present in the countryside, as there are no humans to feed off of. Those special grades you faced were certainly the exception.

You pull over to the edge of the forest once you sense a steady stream of cursed energy. The residual energy is at least a week old - just around the time of your unfortunate encounter with them. You close your eyes and carefully sift through all of the cursed energy signatures left behind, immediately identifying Hanami’s and Jogo’s faint residuals. There’s one stronger energy, and very familiar: Satoru’s cursed energy.

His cursed energy is so easy to pick out, no matter where you are. It’s so bright and lively, practically humming under your fingers every time you sense it, almost as if it were your own.

But there’s a shadow – his energy shadows another. You concentrate, sensing an underlying current of a more recent energy. Your eyes fly open, startled by your discovery. It is much fresher than the others: the residuals are only a few days old.

Its signature is both unknown and yet alarmingly familiar. It’s dark, so dark. Its energy chokes you, holds you hostage with the way it starts to stick to you and steal your courage with its oppressiveness. You’ve never felt an energy quite like this, yet it feels all too familiar.

You begin to shake, the reality sinking in. “Geto…. Just what have you become?”

You shakily clamber back into the driver’s seat, firmly gripping the steering wheel with sweaty hands. Geto was here. Geto knows that you and Satoru were in the same vicinity as Jogo and Hanami. There’s absolutely no way he doesn’t know — you carelessly hadn’t wiped your residuals or even tried to cover your tracks.

You step on the gas. You keep your cursed energy flowing as you speed down the road, revealing a murky trail of residuals to follow. His cursed energy is so distinctly foul that you can pick it out from the rest with little effort. It’s overwhelming and makes you nauseous. Cursed with a twist of familiarity – a sickening combination.

Your mind begins to race. Is this how Gojo felt back then? No, it must have been so much worse, tracking one of your soulmates down with the intent to…to kill. And now you’re being forced to track him down again, just so the higher-ups can order Gojo to repeat history, just so your best friends will be forced to fight until one is–

You jerk the steering wheel over, making for a rough pull-over job. You throw yourself out of the car as quickly as possible before retching your stomach’s contents out onto the dark pavement.

The old wounds in your heart flare up; you clutch your chest desperately.

You are not strong enough to protect your parents - but are you strong enough to survive the alternative, the reality you and Gojo can’t help but deny?

“I have to,” You whisper to yourself. “I have to do this. I have no power in this world, I’m not the strongest…so this is all I can do.”

And so you are off again, this time unwavering from the course you’re set on.

By the time you reach Kyoto, an untimely five hours of panicked driving later, their residuals are so apparent that you hardly have to try. It’s almost as if they’re luring you in, the most sensitive tracker known in the Jujutsu world; why else would they leave behind such obvious traces of their cursed energy?

You ignore your instincts that scream for you to turn back, and instead continue into the outskirts of the most outer part of the residential areas – the residuals lead you far from the city itself.

As you venture further into the countryside, your stomach begins to clench. The residuals are much stronger now, but not alarmingly so. They should still be miles and miles out, perhaps 40 or 50 – there should be enough distance to not alert them of your presence. However, as a precaution, you stretch your hearing beyond the range of any normal human. You still feel unsettled, even with the extra layer of protection.

This is dumb. This is a terrible idea. Yet, you keep your foot firmly on the gas pedal.

You are suddenly flooded with an overwhelming wave of noise. Your brain barely has a second to process what your ears pick up: the roar of an object hurtling towards your car. You swerve to the roadside, and you’re barely fast enough: the driver’s side door is nearly scraped off, and it begins to smolder.

It shouldn’t be possible. They shouldn’t be here. Not again.

Running on pure adrenaline, you rip your seatbelt off and throw yourself to the passenger’s side door, seeking an escape from the next impending strike. Your hearing is more sensitive from your frenzied state, and you hear the next meteor much earlier this time. You rely on your hearing, on your hearing only: it will tell you where to dodge.

You climb out of the car, wheezing on smoke and fumes, and take off running. You gasp at the sound of the next meteor closing in on you and quickly dive away, throwing yourself to the ground and covering your head with your hands. The explosion is so intense that even after reducing your hearing, you feel the shock reverberate through your body and overpower any other sensation you feel.

After the ringing in your ears lets up for a moment, you finally feel the aftermath of the blast: shards of heated rock are embedded in your side, scorching your skin. There’s no time to even think about it: you’re up and running away from the voices that soon enter your hearing.

“You imbecile! Do you always have to do the opposite of what you’ve been ordered?” The grating tones of Hanami enter your ears as he hisses at Jogo. “He said captured alive! Or would you rather face his wrath?”

Captured? So they had been expecting your arrival; it was a trap all along.

“Relax, I haven’t even made a scratch yet!” Jogo shouts back.

“You’re embarrassing yourself in many ways,” Hanami scoffs. “If your intention was to kill, I will begin to further doubt your abilities. I already had to rescue you from that sorcerer, or has your pea-brain already forgotten that failure after it fell off of your body?”

“Shut up already,” Jogo growls. “I got it, okay?”

You truly don’t know what to do. Your last encounter made it very clear that you are solely a tracker with limited offensive ability. Hell, you didn’t even try last time because you knew it be to utterly pointless – the result would turn out no better if you tried now. Two special grades against a Grade 1 sorcerer with Grade 2 offensive abilities? You don’t stand a chance in that regard.

They’re in too close of proximity to disguise your presence – cutting off your cursed energy would be pointless. There’s only one other trick up your sleeve to increase your chances of surviving if they do decide to attack again.

You feel their cursed energies so much more clearly – when you steal a glance behind yourself, you can faintly see them in the distance. Not good.

Jogo suddenly barks out a laugh. “Boss never said we couldn’t rough anybody up though, did he? Got you there, dumbass! Don’t try to stop me!”

Really not good.

There’s a sudden spike in cursed energy – and that energy is heading straight for you. You try to dodge, but your reaction is too late. You feel the heat even before the impact, and you decide you definitely need to utilize your other ability. It’s not perfect, nor is it a full-fledged technique yet, but you have little choice but to use it now.

You concentrate all your energy into the side that will take the hit, and imagine an impenetrable wall. You think of Gojo’s Infinity: the space that can never crossed, no matter how much force is exerted. You don’t have the ability to manipulate space like Gojo, but your shield imitates his impenetrability.

Jogo’s fiery body slams into your side. Your breath is instantly knocked out of you, and the searing pain returns. Your shield absorbs the brunt of the strike, but you’re still knocked back at least thirty feet. You tumble into the undergrowth, your back squarely hitting a tree in your path.

You can’t stop the howl that escapes your lungs, and the ragged breathing that follows.

“They tried to stop it! It wasn’t even a fraction of my power and they couldn’t stop it! And you’re telling me that Gojo Satoru is interested in them?” Jogo howls in laughter. “How pathetic!”

At your next blink, Jogo has materialized in front of you. You weakly stagger to the side, wanting to get away but knowing you can’t deep down. They’re just toying with you – if they decided to get rid of you, they’d be able to almost instantly.

Jogo shouts loudly, “So weak it makes me sick! You can only run away, huh? Boss is right – creatures like you are disgusting.”

He rushes forward again, and you rush to encase yourself in your imperfect shield. To your surprise, you are not struck down: instead, you’re…in his arms??

“Hanami! Since you won’t let me have anymore fun, I guess we should go back,” Jogo yells across the clearing to the other Special Grade.

A burst of petals flies past your eyes; Hanami emerges from a newly-grown patch of flowers. They don’t say anything, but they approach Jogo and stand right over his shoulder. Jogo eyes Hanami suspiciously.

“Why are you hovering over me?” Jogo grumbles. “Stay away, tree hugger.”

“It’s almost as if he knew you were going to pull this,” Hanami huffs. “There’s a reason I’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

“They’re alive, that was the only request. Did Boss put you up to that ‘good guy’ act, huh? Agh, such arrogant scum! Thinks he can tell me what to do?”

Despite your shield, Jogo’s heat begins to affect you. You cough violently, and when you glance at your hands you see rivulets of red.

“Yes, I think that’s accurate, considering you call him ‘Boss’. Now, hand them over before they go up in flames.”

Jogo grunts unhappily, but complies. You’re transferred to the rough bark limbs of the tree cursed spirit. Hanami sighs at the sight of your angry red burns, eyeing Jogo, “Such a barbaric curse…destructive to all life and environment.”

“HAH! You-!” Jogo guffaws. “I’ve see you uproot your own forests! Environmentally friendly my ass! Shut your trap.”

You wince from his loudness.

“So obnoxious, isn’t he? Well, you’re the lucky one here - you get to take a nap,” Hanami says. “Rest well before your…‘meeting’.”

Your pulse quickens at the expression on the curse’s face: a demented sort of excitement. There’s a sweet floral smell that falls over you, and then you begin to grow sleepy. Your eyelids start to flutter as you try to fight it – but you are eventually pulled deep into a dreamless sleep.

You are roused from your sleep by the touch of another. A hand on your forehead – a comforting presence. It’s warm, and familiar. You’re about to smile widely and look deep into his crystal eyes, but when your bleary eyes begin to focus, your heart stops.

There’s an easy, gentle smile on his face. His dark eyes shine brightly, but your own can’t help but drift to the obvious surgical scar running across his entire forehead.

Your reflexes kick in: you smack his hand away, rejecting the unwanted touch, and fall into a defensive stance. He lets out a hum of amusement, but otherwise does not react.

“My old friend,” Geto Suguru coos. “How wonderful it is to see you again. Never thought I’d be able to – what a gift your presence is, my dear.”

It’s then that you realize that you’re shaking; your chattering teeth render you unable to let any words out.

“Did Jogo and Hanami rough you up again? How rude of them,” He sighs. “But don’t be scared, it’s just your old friend Suguru.”

He stops to let his eyes roam over your hunched form. A sickening smirk spreads across his face – sickening because it’s just like the sweet smiles he used to give you.

“You know, you really are the best tracker around. I have to say, I’m quite impressed. Too bad I know all your little tricks, though. Did you like the surprise I set up especially for you?” He smirks. “It’s hard to catch such a talented tracker as you off guard, but I think I managed quite well. You didn’t detect a thing, did you? They were supposed to be much further away, I know…it’s fascinating, isn’t it, the feats you can achieve through sorcery?”

You only stare at him in horror.

“No? Well, I know at least Jogo enjoyed it,” He says with a soft laugh, but his next words cause icy chills to run down your spine. “But I think I enjoyed it the most. The look on your face…was perfect.”

Your stomach turns at his words. His gaze is even worse: there’s a hungry, disturbing glint to them. Your eyes flit from his sharp onyx eyes to his traditional wear: his inky yukata and gilded kasaya are elegant and beautiful, but emanate darkness.

“Forgot what I looked like? It has been a while, hasn’t it?” Geto smiles. His smile is soft and almost sweet, but out of place; its familiarity makes your stomach churn.

“You shouldn’t be here,” You finally speak, voice quiet and cracking. “You shouldn’t exist.”

“That’s a bit harsh, doll. I’m not the only one who doesn’t belong in this world,” He says, lip curled in disgust. “Monkeys roam the earth. That’s more of a disgrace than my existence…I hope you’d agree.”

You only manage to gasp out, “How are you even here?”

His eyes meet yours, crinkling in a dark sort of amusement. “You’d love to know, wouldn’t you? There’s a price to pay for that knowledge, doll.”

“You’d…Geto would never hurt me,” You whimper. “Never.”

Geto just smiles. “I wouldn’t? Maybe not.”

His piercing eyes seem to see stare right through you. “But what about my best friend?”

You freeze.

“Is that such an uncomfortable thought?” He chuckles a little too lightly. “Never thought about it even once? Not even after he killed me?”

He tuts at you, clicking his tongue. “Sweetheart, I knew you were blinded by him, but never to this degree. How low you have fallen…”

He moves closer. Your breath is trapped in your lungs and you can’t move.

“One toe out of line and you might end up like me. Don’t you see?” He shakes his head.

Hot anger flashes through you, and your tongue lashes out before you can think. “One toe out of line? No. No. You committed genocide. You murdered your entire family in the name of it. For what? A delusional dream?”

He sighs. “Of course. So brainwashed…you’re practically a monkey. How disappointing. You don’t get it, do you? I was apparently his everything, and look how I ended up.”

“You’re not Geto!” You cry out. “You can’t be.”

He laughs softly, but his gaze is razor-sharp. “Are you sure these aren’t Geto’s thoughts?”

You bite your lip in nervous thought. “Ge- you…why am I here?”

He ignores your question as he begins to circle you like a hawk, eyes sharp and hungry. “You know, you’re not quite what I imagined you to be.”

You take a few tentative steps back, trying to subtly increase the distance between you and the living corpse in front of you, but he strides over to your side when he notices.

“I’m just so curious,” He says, eyes raking over your figure. “You really are (Y/N), aren’t you? Fits the descriptions…”

The blood drains from your face. You back away from his seeking hands that threaten to touch you, to investigate you.

“There’s a disgusting amount of papers with your name written all over them – I don’t think Hanami would have liked me much before. Such a waste of stationery,” He says, his twisted smirk pulling shivers down your spine. “Why was I so fixated on you? You don’t look like anything special. Don’t tell me…I actually fell for someone as plain as you?”

“What?” You breathe out, eyes wide, mouth parted in surprise. “Geto, you…he…it wasn’t like that.”

“And you didn’t even know,” He coos in faux pity. “How cruel to find out in this way. Seems like you have only ever focused on my former equal. You only pay attention to the strongest – how shallow. What did I ever see in you?”

“I- that’s not-“ You try to form a sentence, deny it, say it’s not true because it truly isn’t, but your tongue and vocal chords won’t cooperate with you.

“When confronted with the truth, humans get tongue tied,” He smiles, voice dripping with mockery. “How precious. What a good little monkey you are – so unbearably typical, so exemplary of your species.”

“Stop,” You gasp out.

“What, sweets? Can’t handle the truth?”

“Don’t call me that,” You try to say with conviction, but it leaves you weakly and softly, almost a plea.

“What, you only like it when he calls you that?” He says with a dark chuckle. “How pathetic. How much has you brainwashed you into thinking he acutally wants anything to do with you? Gojo doesn’t like to get attached. And even when he does–”

He leans forward, invading your space, pressing up too closely to your body. “–sometimes you still end up dead.”

“Stop,” You beg. “Get away from me. You’re-you’re scaring me, Suguru.”

“Am I?” He smirks. “Oh, I’m sorry. I know what to do to make you forgive me, though. Used to work on Shoko, too.”

“No, stop!” You cry, ragged breaths leaving you. “This isn’t you, stop, please, stop!”

“You’re right,” He smiles wickedly, eyes dark. “It’s not.”

His lips meet yours. It burns your skin, but not pleasantly – it’s all wrong, and it hurts. You shove him away with as much force as you can, leaving him stumbling back a few paces. He laughs. He laughs.

“Wow, I’m impressed,” He chuckles, amused. “You’re stronger than you used to be. Maybe you actually live up to being Grade 1 now, huh?”

“Who are you?!” You cry out. “Why did you bring me here?”

“I’m Geto Suguru,” He says with a crazed smile. “Is it that hard to believe when my body was never retrieved?”

“What do you want from me?” You snarl, growing angry. “You’ve just been toying with me, you bastard. Trying to play all these mind games on me, leaving your dirty work to your underlings. None of it feels substantial enough to kidnap me.”

A cackle escapes Geto, “You’re right, it isn’t. By yourself, you aren’t of any interest to me. Just a memento of the past – I don’t have any use for you.”

He continues with a smirk, “I have to say though, your reactions have piqued my interest slightly. Jogo seems to feel the same way. Perhaps if you could be our little monkey for entertainment - it might keep Jogo out of trouble elsewhere.”

Reduced to entertainment.

“You’re sick,” You say, shaking your head.

“Hardly. It’s only natural treatment for someone so unimportant. Should I be frank?” He asks, touching his chin to mock contemplation. “You are here solely as means of luring him out.”

You break out in a cold sweat. It was as you suspected and feared: you are only bait. Bait for the strongest.

“He won’t come,” You declare. “This is pointless.”

“Do you take me as an idiot monkey?” Geto frowns. “You’re not the only one who can read residuals. He came last time, and he will come this time.”

“He doesn’t know,” You hiss. “He won’t come. He doesn’t want to see me right now.”

Geto only smiles. “He’ll come.”

His confidence scares you. Even though it would be very unlikely Gojo is even aware that you’re away on a mission, doubt still swirls in your gut. You don’t want him to walk into this trap – who knows what Geto has planned?

While you mull over your thoughts, Geto grows impatient.

“This is quite dull. Let’s test your strength, First Grader,” He smirks. “Maybe they’ll pass you to Special Grade if you can land a single hit.”

Suddenly, your breath is stolen from you. You double over in pain, caught off guard by the assault to your stomach. It was only a kick, but it was the hardest you’ve been hit in your entire life by another sorcerer.

“Silly me, I’ve forgotten my manners,” Geto says drily. “When harkening back to our school days, I must ask if you’re ready before we spar.

But don’t forget, the enemy won’t wait for you. Didn’t we learn that?”

Satoru’s words. He would often preemptively attack before the sparring session officially began, and he would always recite those exact words. You feel sick.

You don’t respond, knowing it would take away from your focus. Instead, you concentrate on pouring your cursed energy into your hearing technique.

He begins his initial assault: he’s extremely agile, and his punches and kicks seem to come out of thin air. You anticipate his attacks with your highly developed sense of hearing, listening for each twitch of his muscles and the roar of his appendages slashing through the air. Essentially, you read his moves before he has finished them. Your body can’t always keep up with your hearing enough to avoid him, though, but the blows are lessened by your half-developed shielding.

You haven’t attempted a single hit of your own – all your energy has gone into avoiding each of his potent attacks. Every time you see an opening, your chance is ruined by another attack of his.

After a few minutes of religiously defending, your senses slow. You can hear everything, but you can’t physically keep up with him. You begin to take hit after hit after hit – until you’re forced to retreat several paces back. Blood drips from your nose, spilling into your mouth and filling your mouth with the metallic tang of iron. It tastes of defeat and cowardice.

“Are you sure you’re not a monkey?” Geto roars in laughter. “To call you a sorcerer is sacrilegious at best. How disappointing you are. Haven’t improved an ounce since our days together, have you? Other than that half-baked excuse of a technique - trying to imitate the strongest, perhaps?”

You ignore his taunts, using the time to draw out two small daggers from your sleeves. You fare better with bows, but the twin blades are better than nothing.

“What cute little pocket knives,” Geto jeers. “They look sharp.”

“Want to find out?” You growl.

He scoffs. “I’d like to see you try.”

It is a dance that never ends – you are held captive by the need to defend yourself, not able to stop without the fear of further injury. You are slowly giving up hope when time seems to slow down. Your breath hitches as you spot what you need desperately: an opening. You zero in on the opening, thrusting your right hand into the open space. A spurt of red splashes your hand – your aim was true.

You step back immediately, parrying his retaliating blow with your other blade. More droplets spill over you, a shower of red that makes you nauseous.

You’re breathing hard. You haven’t fought with a sorcerer – or even a curse – for a long time, and it’s taking more of your strength than you anticipated.

Geto doubles over, which fills you with confusion. There’s no way those two nicks did any substantial damage, so why is he hunched over in pain?

And then you hear it. Laughter. Crazed laughter erupts from him in waves. When he looks up at you, the fear in the pit of your stomach intensifies. He’s not hurt – he’s pissed off. Very.

“I have to admit, you exceeded my expectations. But that’s not saying much when I expected nothing from a dirty monkey like you,” He spits. “What a brat.”

“If I recall correctly, you were the one who wanted to spar like old times,” You glare, grip tightening on your daggers. “It was only per your suggestion.”

“Your insolence boils my blood…how does he care for someone like you?! How did I?!” He roars. “You are nothing!”

He rushes forward faster than you can register and knocks you to the ground. You instinctively roll out of the way and are still nearly stomped on. You try to stand up, or even just sit up, but can’t. You begin to panic – you feel frozen in place, unable to even turn your head.

“Now you can’t run away,” He growls. “Should I make it a little unbearable? You deserve it.”

You feel a great pressure forcing your body into the ground. It’s excruciating; you feel as if your bones are grinding together and all your muscles are compressed. You can’t bite back the cry that erupts from your throat.

“Now you really feel the gravity of the situation,” He says with a demented smile. “You know, maybe I don’t need you anyway. He can just come to retrieve your body. Can’t make the same mistake twice, after all. Leaving a body to rot is a vulnerability. I could fix that for him, too…leave a puddle where you used to stand? If I crush you long enough, perhaps…”

“Fuck you,” You manage to get out. “You’ll never win. You’ll never beat Satoru.”

You fall flat on your face, coughing, as you are released from his technique. You try to push yourself up, but you only manage to a kneeling position. Not that it matters anyway, not when you are grabbed by your throat and hoisted in the air.

“Do you always make so many mistakes?” He hisses. “It’s like you want me to kill you.”

You couldn’t respond even if you wanted to with how hard he’s clutching your trachea. You have no idea when you dropped your blades, but they’re not in your hands now, so you have to resort to pitifully clawing at his grip with your bare hands.

Your vision begins to blur and darken as you asphyxiate. Howls of laughter ring in your ears, getting quieter and then louder as your hearing fades in and out.

Is this how it will end? No, it can’t, you can’t let it. You can’t leave yourself to die at the hands of Geto Suguru. You can’t die at the hands of your former friend, and be found by your other best friend. You can’t do that to him.

You claw harder, more desperately, even though you feel yourself weakening. It’s futile – his grip won’t even loosen at your efforts.

You have to use your weaker technique. If you do it perfectly, it might propel him from your body, giving you a chance to escape. Escape to where, you don’t know, but you need to try. You don’t have any chance otherwise.

With a burst of strength you didn’t know you had, you focus all of your cursed energy into the skin that is touching Geto. Your close your eyes, visualizing the perfect invisible wall that encases Gojo – no flaws, no gaps, no way to get past – and then you release your energy.

There’s a loud smack that resonates through the air, and then you crumple to the ground. When you look up, you can see a hard shell jutting between you and Geto, effectively shielding you. Geto is clutching his arm, which is now red and swollen.

You actually did it. It was a perfect use of your technique.

“You are frustrating, but no matter. I have other methods at my disposal. Didn’t think I’d have to pull this on you, but you seem to be begging for your demise, so I might as well use it,” He grits his teeth, and holds one arm out, his forearm curling up.

A ball of black energy appears at his fist. It is nebulous and shifts as it grows bigger. It begins to glow as time passes, as it amasses more energy. You have no idea what that is, but you highly doubt your shield will be able to block it. As you think about your options, your shield begins to fade away – you are nearly out of cursed energy. You are wide-eyed as you watch the last sections of your shield dissipate to nothing.

Entirely defenseless, you heave yourself to a standing position and try to stumble away. You fall to one knee in agony – Jogo and Geto have taken a toll on you.

You look over to see the ball of darkness leave Geto’s fingers. You are frozen, knowing you can do nothing, but also knowing you will die if you do nothing.

It approaches, and you close your eyes. Hopefully it will completely destroy you in a single instant, so it won’t be torturous. At least you won’t be in pain for long.

It’s going to hit you. And then you suppose it does. You feel weightless, like you weigh nothing. Perhaps your body has been destroyed, and this is how your brain is processing the absence of your nerve endings.

But if you are not here anymore, why does the wind whip through your ears?

You were mistaken. You don’t just feel weightless, you are weightless.

When you open your eyes, tears spill out at the sight in front of you. Tousled white hair, a blindfold tucked over his eyes, rigid determination showing through his features.

“I didn’t know this is where we were holding the school reunion. Class of ‘007, except Geto went all rogue and didn’t end up graduating. What a failure!”

His words are playful, and he’s smiling, but somehow his tone doesn’t match. It’s serious and dark, not at all jocular. He seems to be making an effort to keep up his lighthearted persona, but his true feelings can’t help but bleed out.

“Ah, you finally showed up,” Geto cackles. “It’s not good to have a weakness. I was about to do you a favor.”

Gojo laughs bitterly, “Don’t you know? Strength comes from weaknesses. Not that you would understand.”

“In any case…” He looks down at you. “I won’t let you take away my strongest weakness.”

next part

a/n 2.0: Okay so, idk how it 100% is in the manga bc I haven’t read it, but basically this ‘Geto’ (*cough* Kenjaku) has thoughts that are Kenjaku but with some of Geto’s memories ?? .. sorry if that’s non canon heehee

Bonus!!: Also I’ve been learning some Japanese so here is Gojo’ name spelled out: ごじょさとる。This is more for my own enjoyment 🫣 but here you go lol

tag list: @thenyxsky, @whitehairedtwink, @screwyou3

also thank you @zoyatoshi for your such sweet reblogs 🥹🥹 literally inspired me to finish this chapter up after 6+ months !!

#gojo satoru x reader #reader needs a hug #gojo satoru needs a hug #geto suguru #Jujutsu Kaisen #jjk angst #angst/comfort #hurt/comfort #geto suguru needs a hug but he’s not getting one

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krirebr · 4 months

Note

So, one year at Christmas -when I was working this really shit job- I had to work over the holidays- straight through. Didn’t have the time off to travel to my family to celebrate and it was really lonely. Which babe is going to help me get in the holiday spirit and what would be their go to ways to cheer me up?! 🥺

Oof, I've definitely had working holidays before. They really suck. This would have made it a lot better:

A Merry Little Christmas

Pairing: Jake Jensen x GN!Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff and feels

You stepped into the blistering cold to realize that it was snowing. Ugh. Maybe another year you’d be able to appreciate the perfect snowglobe effect the weather was currently giving to Christmas Eve, but not this year, when you’d not only had to work, but you’d had to work late. You were so tired and now you’d have to walk through all this to the bus stop and wait for the bus that was probably running late. You didn’t even want to think about the fact that you’d just be back here tomorrow to do it all over again on Christmas Day, instead of at home with your family, hours away.

You started to make your way down the sidewalk when you heard someone call your name. You turned towards the parking lot, where you saw Jake, standing in front of his beat-up car, waving at you. He was wearing a little Santa hat and his nose was pink from the cold.

“What are you doing here?” you asked when you got close enough. “I thought you’d gone to your sister’s?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well, I changed my mind. I couldn’t leave you all by yourself. Not on Christmas.” Despite all your best efforts to remain cool, you started to cry. “Hey, hey, no,” he said quickly, as he pulled you into his arms. “What’s wrong? What’d I do?”

“No, nothing, you didn’t do anything wrong!” you cried into his shoulder and then pushed yourself back, just a little so that you could look at him. “I’m sorry, I'm just so tired. And this is really nice. You’re really nice.” You hadn’t even been together that long, just a few months. Certainly not long enough for him to sacrifice his plans for you.

He smiled at you, big and genuine. “Come on, let’s go back to my place. I’ve stocked my kitchen with lots of hot chocolate and I’ve got Christmas movies all queued up. And your family’s gonna gather so you can Facetime them. Then in the morning, I’ll drive you back here and pick you up when you’re done so we can have Christmas dinner together. I’m gonna make us a big, fancy meal.”

The “I love you,” just slipped right through your lips. You stopped and stared at him, a little horrified. You hadn’t said that to each other yet. But standing there, in the snow, looking at his red nose and his dumb, little hat. You knew that you did. How could you not?

His smile, somehow, got even bigger. “I love you too,” he said. “I’ve been dying to say it for weeks, but I didn’t want to freak you out.” He kissed you, sweet and tender, and despite how cold it was, you felt a warm glow spread through you. He pulled back and rested his cold nose against yours. “Merry Christmas.”

Tag lists are open

@stargazingfangirl18@drabblewithfrannybarnes @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera

#krismas party #ask kris #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x you #jake jensen #the losers (2010)#ce characters #chris evans fanfiction #drabble #kris wrote something #drabblewithfrannybarnes #christmas fic

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ezlebe · 1 year

Note

prompt: either of them mistakenly & flippantly says “love u bye” out of habit b4 hanging up the phone (i’ve done this b4 when talking to a random old lady) & chaos ensues

“– and the time slot cannot be changed, but you can give her the contact to Ubon to buy another one,” Tom says, emphasizing the last words, making it easy to tell he’s probably gesturing in that little pinch. “You get all that?”

“Yeah, I… yeah, I can do it,” Greg says, flipping through the day planner with a peek at the corners. He pauses at the sight of a fluorescent orange sticky with a relieved sigh.

“Seriously, do I hear the paper planner?” Tom says, voice pitching bright with mocking amusement. “How old are you – seventy-five?”

“I got it, Tom,” Greg says, again, fully flipping open the planner.

“Good,” Tom says, voice fading on the other end of the line. “Shit. Kerry. I got to go. Bye-bye!”

Greg nods absently, tugging the note out of the edge of the planner, so it peeks through the pages. “Ye-yeah, bye. Love you.”

Tom sputters across the line. “What?”

“What?” Greg echoes, then his own words catch up, and he hurriedly hangs up the phone with a slip of his thumb across the screen. He stares at it in his hand, as his heart thuds, face flashing cold, then hot, as a tingle rushes in a wave across his skin down to his fingertips. He stiffly loosens his grip on the planner to cover his face, bending across his knees.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck, fuck.

Greg is at least is relieved to be out on assignment, as it were; he can’t get cornered in his office with heckles when he’s out here in California. He could, in theory, not even go back… but Tom would come looking, if it came to that, probably? It’s not a real option, either way. He might, at most, push it back a day or two.

It’s especially fucked because Greg has been like so fucking careful, too. He doesn’t touch too much, he’s pretty sure, and he hardly starts up anything himself. He’s been like a total… bro, or whatever, since stumbling into finding out Tom is less conflicted on the rules of it’s-not-gay-if-it’s-a-devil’s-three-way than anything else they could do. He’s like pretty sure, though, Tom has some idea that Greg… prefers him to be there for like completion’s sake? But also that he thinks Greg just gets nervous.

Tom’s always telling him not to get too nervous…

Fuck. Greg is thinking about that now, somehow even less appropriate for his upcoming meeting. It’s a thought that does calm him down in a way, Tom's low voice in his ear, which is nice... though, when taken apart and isolated, it’s just as much of a problem.

Greg looks up with a start at a bell at the opposite end of the hall, straightening his back, as a woman in a bright white power suit exits the nearby elevator. He stands when she closes in on the seating area, and knows he has to bury all this for the next hour, at least, because this is the hard ass ad exec who Tom has had him doing background on the last two days.

“Mr Hirsch?” She says, pasting in on bright, toothy smile while sticking out her hand. “I’m Crista Ball. Welcome to NoHo.”

“Nice to meet you,” Greg says, then clears his throat, forcibly brightening his voice while reaching out to take Crista’s hand. “Call me Greg.”

“Hey,” Tom says, looking up, as Greg enters his office. “Good flight?”

“Um… cramped,” Greg says, as he looks toward the window and the grey sky framing the skyscrapers, and realizes he’s having a little trouble remembering the actual flight. It must have been boring. “Not that, like… eventful, I guess, which makes it good?”

“No news is good news,” Tom says, standing up from his desk with an exaggerated oof. He walks around it, the fingers of one hand lingering on the desk, while the other sweeps out in a gesture toward the floor outside the hall with an upturned palm. “Unless you work here, obviously.”

Greg huffs with an assenting lift of his shoulder. He shifts his bag behind him, when Tom gets close, opening his arms to reciprocate Tom folding him into a loose hug.

“But hey,” Tom says, quietly, turning his head to the side with a press of lips under Greg’s ear. “Welcome back, baby.”

Greg tightens his fingers in Tom’s shirt, trying to pull him closer, but the shirt slips from his grasp. He looks down, furrowing his brow as he realizes Tom’s actually only in a white tee, worn thin and loose around the collarbones. He exhales a low mumble of confusion, looking at Tom, “Did you wear this to the office?”

Tom raises an eyebrow, from where he stands in the middle of his penthouse bedroom. “The office?”

Greg looks over his shoulder at the door, a dark, narrow hall beyond it. “I – I mean –?”

Tom leans in Greg’s face with a smirk and a with a pair of tuts, hands settling wide along Greg’s pelvis. “We couldn’t do this at the office.”

Greg shakes his head to agree, but he’s… He’s still having trouble really holding on. It’s like the fabric and Tom are no more solid than sand.

“Got you all to myself,” Tom continues, wagging his brows, having no trouble on his part for tugging at Greg’s belt. “No one else in the way. Just like I like it.”

“Yo-you do?” Greg asks, hearing his voice lift in a fluster.

Tom laughs under his breath, leaning in, sliding both hands up Greg’s torso, his chest, then curving across his lower jaw. He stares for a few beats, then his mouth curves into an ugly sneer. “No.”

“Shit,” Greg croaks, blinking at the creased pillow under his head. He’s not in New York, at all; he never even got on the plane. He maybe on purpose let his meeting run long, asked the car to take a detour for dinner, and then had them take him back to the hotel once it was solidly two hours after the flight.

He turns over into the pillow with a groan, entertaining the idea of suffocating himself against the cotton and fiber. He slowly continues to roll entirely to the opposite side that he woke up on, grimacing at the way his feet miss against the edge of the mattress, and determinedly counts various light across the city while trying to forget the dream. He feels winded, and too hot, like he’s been out in a run, or something, though the only thing racing is his mind.

It was just a dream. Greg like really doesn’t even… care, because it – It would be sort of a pointless, painful waste of energy. The way it is just is how it is, and he has known that for months.

He’s known since he awkwardly tried to remind Tom he had a lot of life ahead of him, only to get too tipsy, go a little too far, and be drawn into some loosely-labeled fun. It had actually only been a little awkward, at first, until it got very awkward when Tom admitted that he’d partly done it because of Shiv, as he was apparently carrying some kind of bizarre spite that he hadn’t really explained. He then joked it made him disgusting, because he was still married to her, but it felt heavily implied that also was because Greg was Greg, and they were disgusting together.

It gets harder to remember why that’s really so bad every time the situation repeats itself. It doesn’t recur exactly like the first time, but they’ll get just as drunk, and Tom will become especially evocative, settling on a wall or a lounger like it’s a throne, and throw an arm around Greg, squeezing his hip, his ribs, his thighs, and tugging his clothes, while he tells him in sly detail how they might sweet talk someone that Greg’s really only been looking at just to keep from looking at Tom. And then never, ever talk about it. It’s like they both become different people, entirely separate from who they are when they’re sober in daylight.

Greg thinks that he might actually hate drunk-Greg, who is so desperate, though not as much as he hates drunk-Tom, who treats Greg with the possessiveness and condescension of an especially posable doll. Truthfully, though, nothing can really top the hate for how much he still keeps going along knowing it leads exactly nowhere. It leads nowhere, except here, laying in the dark and wishing he had never told Tom that a woman at the bar was looking at them those months ago. He’s a bigger liar than he’s ever been, and the real truth is that he’s always been too good at faking it. His parents must be so proud, all considered.

The train of thought is jarringly interrupted by a sharp thwack hitting the door. Then another. And Greg reaches out to tap the lamp, squinting towards it, and then back to the door. He stumbles up, once he fully grasps it’s knocking, and that it’s getting louder by the second.

“Just a – One, uh – one moment, please,” he says, clearing his throat, and he nearly falls across the table alongside the suite sofa. He fumbles at the door, thankful that it makes the knocking stop, and slowly peeks out a narrow crack.

He quickly opens the door wider, squinting blearily down at Tom, who’s standing in the harsh light of the hotel hallway. He’s in shirtsleeves with a wrinkled jacket over his arm, has sunglasses on his head, and he… He didn’t even wait a day to fly out. He didn’t even wait half a day – is he tracking Greg, in a very literal sense?

“You skipped out on your flight,” Tom says, rather than any sort of greeting. He shoves past Greg, though the door and scratching at his brow while moving across the suite. “Very mature.”

“It was a-a meeting conflict issue, I didn’t – ” Greg shakes his head once with a hard swallow. “It like wasn’t a deliberate skipping.”

“Uh-huh,” Tom says, now scrubbing a hand entirely across his face. He settles in front of the window, chin resting on a fist. “Whatever you say.”

Greg lifts his hands slowly across his elbows, squeezing into the joints.

“Look, bud, it was just a little faux pas, you –”

“Can we not – ” Greg inhales tight, as the words rasp from his throat, “Not talk about it?”

Tom peeks over his shoulder, mouth flattening, as his eyes gradually narrow over a count of seconds. He clicks his tongue, as he looks back toward the city outside the window.

Greg has gone through a lot of… phases when it comes to Tom, all shifting blends of attracted, and agitated, and attached, and ambivalent, and altogether it’s the most keyed-up he’s felt about anyone. He doesn’t like getting forced into thinking directly about it, and he especially doesn’t want Tom thinking about it.

Mostly.

A tiny, impetuous part of Greg wishes that he would just say something.

Tom turns around entirely, dropping his hands with a shake that goes through to his fingertips. He steps in closer, making some face that’s probably condescending, but too shadowed against the dim bedside lamp to really tell. “Your call.”

Greg agrees with a hard swallow and a jerky drop of his chin.

Tom stands silently for another beat, then abruptly leans up to slip a hand around Greg, tugging him into one-armed slap on the back. “Hey, buck up.”

Greg suddenly can't help the way his shoulders immediately roll forward and hunch, his hands pushing weakly at the loose wrinkles of Tom’s shirt. It feels too much like the dream, of something under his hands and with soft whispered affection, only now it’s solid, and he literally chokes at the thought, breath trapped at the back of his throat.

Tom goes markedly still for a pair of tense beats, then exhales lengthy and low between them. “Okay,” he murmurs, palm settling warm and heavy across the back of Greg’s head. “Okay.”

Greg gradually presses his face entirely across Tom’s shoulder. “I’m like…” He says, voice barely above a murmur. “Tired, Tom.”

Tom is quiet for a few long seconds, then gives a jerky nod against the side of Greg’s head. “It’s… It is the ass of dawn.”

“Yeah, um – wh-why are you here?” Greg asks, and maybe that’s not what he meant, but it is a little more crazy. He’s aware enough that, between the traffic and the air time, Tom must have gotten a flight at like the minute Greg didn’t step off his own, so it’s almost 7AM for both of them, only Tom probably hasn’t had any sleep. “I was like scheduled for tomorrow?”

“Doesn’t really matter,” Tom says, rubbing his thumb hard and distracting into the curve of Greg’s scalp.

“It does, though,” Greg insists, grudgingly pulling back, forcing himself to release Tom’s shirt from his stiff grip. He looks down into what he can see of Tom’s face, but it’s just the slope of his nose and the upturn of his lashes, too shadowed to read. “You have like stuff to do.”

“I was… concerned,” Tom says, briefly wringing his hands, then again dropping them to his sides in loose fists. “That you may have overcorrected in some way.”

Greg shakes his head, as he rubs deep into one of his eyes with the heel of a hand. He can’t really guess what that could mean, and decides not to try – he overcorrected? He didn’t take a six hour red-eye.

“Can I, like… just go back to bed?” he mutters, into the curve of his own palm, attempting not to look directly at Tom while his stomach threatens to tighten in upset. “If we apparently don’t have anything to talk about?”

Tom exhales a harsh, predictably irked breath that’s close to a scoff.

“I know you… uh, you have trouble sleeping a lot, anyway?” Greg says, carefully, as he manages to pull away entirely from Tom to take a few steps toward the bed on what feel like lead feet. He had piled the more… decorative pillows on the side he wasn’t using, but now he starts to move them toward the sofa. “But you need like a couple hours, Tom.”

Tom makes a soft, pitchy noise, entirely unfamiliar, so somewhat worrying.

Greg looks back, and it’s easier to see Tom’s face from this angle of the lamp; he’s got his sunglasses in his hands, flipping at the arms, and is staring at the pillows like he’s never seen one. Greg realizes with a discomforting yank under his sternum that he’s assuming way too much, Tom probably wants and should get his own room, and that’s even in some way why they’re both even standing here, as he squeezes at the last pillow he’s got in his hand.

Tom drops the sunglasses with a clack to the coffee table. “You know… how much I hate to admit when you’ve got a point.”

Greg manages a nod, as he swallows thickly, throwing that last pillow to the pile. He wets his lips, as he turns his head back down at the bed, anxiously listening to Tom undress behind him. He hears the clatter of a belt joining the sunglasses, then a thunk that’s probably a watch, while heat flares unbidden across his nape and the backs of his ears.

He tries to seem unbothered, as he tucks himself away best he can back under the too-thin blanket while keeping his breath in even, conscious counts. He stays stiffly on his side, listening to a pad of footsteps around the bed, then feels Tom slip in beside with a barely there displacement of the mattress and the bedclothes. He does peek open his eyes for a split second, catching that Tom is entirely down to his boxers, and his undershirt nowhere to be seen.

Tom unceremoniously leans over Greg, across the mattress, and it takes both forever and a split second to realize he’s tapping the light. It goes brighter, then brighter, prompting grumbles, until finally the room is dark. He doesn’t actually move away, once he’s finished, but stays pressed close to Greg on his side, too, settling his reaching arm lightly across Greg’s shoulder with an unintelligible murmur under his breath.

Greg carefully rests his nose into the hollow of Tom’s shoulder, warm and solid, inhaling against the bare skin. He tries but can’t think of a time they’ve just laid together. He’s then struck unwelcomingly with the memory of the Tom in the dream, pretending at being fond, before sharply becoming mocking; it makes Greg turn his head away, trying to pretend he didn’t do anything at all, even though he knows the dream was less real than anything else – particularly, how Tom is in bed with him, and just him, even if it’s only because he’s such a… a control freak that he’ll take a whole cross-country flight.

They lay there for a long while, until the principal concern keeping Greg awake is the low buzz of the fridge in the kitchenette. He’s less hyper aware of Tom, mostly comfortable, exhaustion bringing him near to dozing across the arm under his chin.

Tom abruptly exhales a loud, shuddering breath, breaking the quiet, as his chest deflates against Greg. “You, too.”

Greg peeks open his eyes, glancing up the bed, then hurriedly squeezes them shut.

“That’s what I should’ve said,” Tom continues, in a voice barely above a murmur.

#tomgreg #sort of a S4E1 speculation so there's not any actual solid spoilers but there is talk of encounters with nameless women #nameless because none actually appear not because greg never remembers their names to be clear #could in a super loose sense count toward another prompt i have with jealous greg but this is more melancholic than active jealous so

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