#IVE LOOKED AT LOVE FROM BOTH SIDES NOW!! FROM GIVE AND TAKE AND STILL SOMEHOW!!

[hourgloss]

top 1 craziest thing i've ever seen in my life

#IM NOT OKAY!!! #that's both a quote and a reference to my current mental state. #IVE LOOKED AT LOVE FROM BOTH SIDES NOW!! FROM GIVE AND TAKE AND STILL SOMEHOW!! #ITS LOVES ILLUSIONS I RECALL!! I REALLY DON'T KNOW LOVE AT ALL!! #guys. hello. hey can anyone hear me #house md

[declareqenius]

all the ashes in my wake

summary: part two of "some would sing and some would scream". wanda and natasha have several heated conversations while they wait for you to wake up. it's been days and both of them miss hearing your voice, and they know the last thing you would want to see is them fighting, but wanda can't help tearing into natasha for everything that happened. natasha's guilt eats away at her.

warnings: mentions of the violence in pt 1, coma

a/n: guys i really just wanted to get this one out. i haven't read through it/edited it so any mistakes are... well, mistakes. but hey! we get wanda in this one! i feel like i could have gone a little darker as far as wandanat are concerned, but we do what we can! i hope you enjoy!

The infirmary room is cold and sterile and a heaviness settles over the exhausted woman. Wanda keeps hold of your hand as if letting it go means that you'll slip away for good. She's careful of the IV stuck in the back of your hand giving you fluids. In a way, it serves as a reminder that blood still flows through your veins and your heart still beats, and that even though your bright smile and musical laugh don't fill the room, you're still alive.

Wanda brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. She doesn't know how many times she has done that in the past three days, but the gesture comforts her. Tucking your hair behind your ear so she can see your beautiful face better and looking into your sparkling eyes is one of her favorite things to do. Your gaze holds so much love and adoration and it always makes her wish she would never have to live without it.

Your eyes are closed now.

Wanda hates every second of it.

Bruce said that even if you don't respond that you can still hear everything. Wanda trusts that he's telling the truth and it wasn't something he said just to make her feel better.

So she talks to you. About anything and everything she can think of. Your favorite TV show that is on the air right now or the book that you recommended and she finally read. How much she loves you and how she can't wait for you to wake up. How sorry she is that she wasn't there sooner. She makes promises that she intends to uphold. Ones about revenge and torture and everything you would hate and tell her not to worry about were you conscious. Wanda smiles at the thought. She won't listen, though. The Celestials hurt her family. Hurt the love of her life. She can't let that go unanswered for.

Right now, though, you are her priority.

The door handle clicks and Wanda doesn't need to look up. She knows it's Natasha coming back from telling Steve and Yelena what happened. Can feel the exhaustion and guilt dripping from her without having to so much as glance in her direction.

"Wands-"

"I don't want to talk to you right now, Natalia. Sit."

Wanda nods to the unoccupied chair on the other side of the bed without taking her eyes off of you. She's being harsh and she knows it. Natasha was there with you. Right by your side. Made to watch as the leader of their enemies hurt you in the most sloppily calculated way. She was powerless against Najma and Wanda knows this, but all rationality left her when she burst into the cell and laid eyes on your bleeding body, slumped over, barely an ounce of life in you, and her anger nearly consumed her.

She almost leveled the entire block.

The only thing that stopped her was Natasha, carrying you in her arms, reminding her that time was scarce.

So yes, perhaps she is being too harsh with her wife, but somehow you had become their entire lives. Their reason for being. Neither of them would know what to do without you, and they came very close to losing you under Natasha's watch.

They will be okay eventually. They survived many fights and many arguments before you came along.

Tears form in Wanda's eyes.

"Yelena is wondering when she'll be able to see Y/N." Natasha's voice breaks the silence. It's rough and scratchy.

"After she wakes up."

Four words and Wanda can feel how they form on her tongue. Her Sokovian accent is thick with her anger and distress despite the words being spoken soft and firm.

"Wanda," Natasha starts to protest but the finality in her wife's tone makes her go quite.

"Nat."

It's then that Wanda decides to look up at Natasha. Decides to let her wife see her and every emotion that makes its way onto her face and every thought that swirls around in her mind.

Natasha pauses for a moment, taken aback by everything she sees her wife going through. The made-up scenarios. The what-ifs. She knows because she went through every last one of them when she was in that cell with you. To see the same thoughts cluttering Wanda's mind, well, it only makes her guilt worse.

She clears her throat, "Yelena is her best friend."

It comes out as more of a fact than an argument.

At that, Wanda turns her attention back to you, "I don't want anyone except for us and Bruce to see her like this. They don't need to."

"They want to know that she's okay, Wands."

"Tell them that she is. That she will be. That's all they need to know for right now. They need to focus on getting the jump on Najma and the Celestials. Our focus is Y/N. I think our family is capable enough to come up with a plan by themselves, don't you?"

Wanda's calmness is starting to make Natasha uncomfortable and she shifts in her chair. She refuses to touch you, though, afraid of what might happen if she did. Would your body crumble under her fingertips? If you were conscious would your body recoil at her touch? For letting you get hurt. For not protecting you like she should have.

Suddenly streams of tears silently make their way down Natasha's cheeks.

"I'm sorry I let this happen."

Wanda's eyes meet hers again and Natasha feels like she can breathe a little easier. It isn't perfect and she guesses it won't be perfect for a long time, but time will help. The fear will linger within both of them because Natasha knows Wanda almost as well as she knows herself, and she knows that neither of them will be letting you out of their sight for a while after you wake up. Until Najma is taken care of, at least.

Wanda tilts her head as she tries to get a better read on Natasha without using her powers. Even if they would help in the moment she has rules for herself: never on Natasha and never on you.

"They caught you off guard. It is a hard position to be in, radnaja."

Darling. The pet name helps Natasha relax a little more, but her hands stay folded in her lap.

"We needed- I needed to protect her better. We promised to keep her safe and I couldn't do that, Wands. I failed her and I disappointed you and... and what if she decides to leave when she wakes up? I would be the reason we came so close to losing her... and then to actually lose her? I don't know if we could survive it."

"Nat... Y/N loves us with everything she is. Just as we love her. I need you to be confident in that."

Natasha wants to scoff but instead she fidgets with her hands, "Confident? In what, Wanda? That she'll wake up and we'll pretend everything is fine and that we're not the reason she almost fucking died?! That the two people she loves most in the world couldn't protect her like they promised they would? I was powerless Wanda! I couldn't stop them! I-" Natasha's tears flow freely and although the tension in the room is building, she feels safe enough to let herself go in the presence of her wife, "I couldn't save her!"

"Natalia Romanova-Maximoff!" Wanda stands for the first time in hours but she does not drop your hand. It's the only thing grounding her right now. "This is not entirely your fault, radnaja. Maybe if you would have kicked and punched more when they took you then we would be in a different position. Maybe if you had given Najma the answers she was looking for then Y/N wouldn't have been injured as badly as she is but these are all what-ifs, Natasha! What if I had been there with her instead? What if I had been with both of you that night? What if I would have gotten to you sooner? What if she had died!"

Finally, the question that has been on both of their minds since Bruce had walked into the meeting room with your blood all over his neatly ironed button up and jeans- he didn't have time to even think about putting his lab coat on- and told them that you would eventually be okay.

"I have been asking myself that question every day for the past three days," Wanda finishes, salt on her tongue, nose red, and her scarlet hoodie stained with tears.

Natasha cannot find it within herself to tell her wife the new information Bruce gave her in the meeting. While he operated and stitched until he could barely stand any longer; you flatlined once. Your heart decided to give up for a minute and Natasha hasn't had the proper amount of time to process something like that, but the time would never come for Wanda to be able to process the reality of such a thing.

Both women stare down at you with puffy eyes and red noses. You are the most precious thing in the world to them. They hate seeing you so lifeless, and the only wave of hope keeping them afloat is your steady breaths.

The fight has left both of them, but an air of tension remains. They are nowhere near finished with their conversation. With taking their frustrations out. Hopefully they'll have everything figured out before you wake up. Natasha knows how much you hate playing peacemaker when they actually have fights and really get going at each other, but she also knows that her wife can hold a grudge.

She doesn't think Wanda will actually hold a grudge after you wake up, but for now her anger and grief towards Natasha are the only things emotionally anchoring her to reality.

"I miss her, Wands," Natasha sniffs and wipes the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Me too, Natalia. Me too."

They sit in silence for a minute, taking everything in. There are no windows in the room and during the day that means zero sunlight. You always say that time in the sun is one of the most important parts of your daily routine, and it always helps you cool down when you're stressed out or in a bad mood.

Natasha is the first to break the silence, speaking directly to you.

"You are going to hate this room so much when you wake up, detka," she muses with the smallest smile.

Wanda only glances at her before turning her attention back to you and sitting down in her chair, trapped in her mind just as Natasha is, but not all hope is lost and for that, the older woman is grateful.

"Believe it or not, she was the calm one. During everything."

"Natasha."

Her name is said softly although there is still a warning behind it, but she needs this and she believes that Wanda does too. Even if she doesn't know it yet.

"Please, Wanda."

Wanda just sighs and nods, never taking her eyes off of you.

"Najma had me struggling within ten minutes. Begged her to take me instead and to let Y/N go. I don't know why I thought it would work, but I think I just wanted Y/N to know that even if I couldn't get us out of there in that moment... I was trying. I would keep trying."

Natasha's voice is still scratchy as her exhaustion slowly catches up with her.

"Y/N was so firm with me. She said not to tell Najma anything and she meant it. I don't think I've ever heard her be that direct before, but she left no room for argument. She knew what the information would do to the family because she... she sees us as her family, Wands." The redhead sniffs and wipes at her eyes when her tears return, making a prominent trail down her cheeks.

"We are all she has left and she means the world to us! And... and I let her down so much. So, so much, Wanda. She stayed so calm! She did so good! She talked to Najma. She had a conversation with the woman who had a knife to her cheek!" Natasha's laugh is reserved, but her features are shock-ridden and amazed, bordering on flabbergasted and anxiety-filled.

Wanda finally looks up at her wife. Natasha is starting to spiral and there is no way to stop it other than just letting her get it all out, so the Sokovian keeps listening to and watching her wife. The recount of events is told with animated hand gestures and tears gliding down Natasha's cheeks, and Wanda's heart clenches.

"We were doing so well. She was doing so well. Then, Najma stabbed her and my heart dropped. I thought it was over. I thought we had lost her for good." The hand gestures come to an abrupt halt and the tension in the room is once again palpable, but not so much as before.

Natasha looks down at you with pleading eyes, "Please forgive me, malyshka," she drops to both knees and finally takes your hand in hers and whispers, "please."

She kisses the back of your hand delicately and you can feel each tear drop as they land in the exact spot she kissed. There is no need to wonder why your girlfriend is crying. You remember everything.

Your eyes slowly blink open to see Natasha's own eyes closed and Wanda staring at her wife with a thoughtful expression. The love they have for each other makes you want to smile, but the urge to reassure your sobbing mob boss girlfriend wins.

"I..." talking hurts but you need to say the words. Natasha needs to know! "Forgive... you. Always... Natty."

#wandanat x reader #some would sing and some would scream #some of you might be mad about the ending #HOWEVER #nat needed that so badly guys #reader will play peacemaker eventually i promise

[martiansodas-blog]

Talk me through it

• Joel Miller x reader

• Summary: Your sexual experiences were never a priority for your partners. They never even cared for you when it was over. When your friend Joel finds out, he wants to be the one to change that.

• Contents: Smut, age gap, friends to lovers, huge praise kink, aftercare, fluff.

• Authors note: My first fic in a few years… would love your feedback! ☺️ I take requests babies.

Your body in Jackson but your mind a million miles away, you were daydreaming about a man two decades your senior.

What did his hands feel like after a hard day of work? Coarse and dry most likely.

But we’re they gentle when they came in contact with someone else? When they were taking off someone’s clothes…

Snap out of it

He’s simply a regular at the bar. An acquaintance. And even that was pushing it. The only people he truly softened for was Ellie and Tommy.

You gaze at the clock : one hour left. The last hour is always the longest. Most customers had filtered out and you were cleaning with your coworker Amanda.

“How did your date go?” You asked

“Didn’t know if he was my type at first, but after he ate me out I decided he was.”

You tried to chuckle with her but your body cringed.

“You enjoy that?” You asked embarrassed.

It seemed like everyone liked it but you. Was there something wrong with you? Dumbfounded Amanda looked back at you.

“You don’t?”

“I don’t know, receiving head is just…boring. It’s not painful, it’s not exciting, it’s just meh. I’d rather move on to the main event, ya know?”

Her expression didn’t change.

“What are you talking about!? Receiving is practically the only thing that makes being born female worth it.” You both laughed as you stood on your tip toes to put a glass away.

Your words made Joel’s whole body stiff.

One night with me. One night with me and I’ll give you the head you deserve. Stupid boys your age don’t know how to pleasure a woman.

He couldn’t say that tho, especially not in public. Hell go for something calmer.

“Maybe you just haven’t been with an experienced enough person.”

You jolt around in shock. You had no idea until now he was in the bar, let alone listening to your conversation.

“Um, yeah, maybe. It’s not a big deal for me.”

You shrugged the topic off and quickly turned around making yourself busy. You went beat red knowing the most attractive man in town heard about your sex life, or lack thereof.

It’s a big deal for me, you’re torturing me here.

Joel decided he shouldn’t say anything else and risk making you uncomfortable, it wasn’t his intention. Without saying another word he headed home.

“Maybe he’s right, maybe you should have a night with someone older.” Amanda said in a suggestive voice. When you laughed this time it was out of awkwardness.

“Good one, I don’t think so. Im not one for one night stands. Plus, in a commune this size, Ive had a good look around and haven’t been attracted to any guys.”

Lie.

You and Joel were on good terms. You don’t use the word ‘friends’ because Joel isn’t really friends with anyone. At least he wouldn’t say that. He doesn’t let his walls go down enough for that. But he does care about his inner circle and that’s obvious.

You could tell you were one of the people he softened for. Mainly it was Tommy and Ellie, but somehow you always managed sneak your way in there. Most of the reason being you were giving him drinks.

Your affection for him was one sided, but it didn’t matter. He was never going to find out. Your crush just gave you something to look forward to during work.

• • •

It’s an hour before closing and Joel had yet to come in. Odd. Maybe he was under the weather today.

Pulling you from your thoughts was the bell of the door opening.

Speak of the devil

“Hey! Was wondering when you’d show up.”

He smiled at you. Thats rare. He liked a little too much that you wanted to see him. He wanted to see you too, he just still not good at expressing his emotions and letting people in.

“Whiskey?” You assumed.

“Actually, I was thinking of not drinking here tonight.”

The smirk on his face showed that he had a plan but you couldn’t figure out what in the world it was.

Why would he come to a bar if he wasn’t going to drink?

“How about I be the bartender for once. I hope that’s not forward of me to ask, but would you like to come by my place after your shift? If you’re too tired I understand-“

“Yes that sounds great, yes.” You could hear your smile in your voice.

“Alright then, peach. You know which house is mine. See ya then.” He got up and walked away.

Peach. He’d never called you that before.

Yes, you did know which house Joel lived in, but you’ve never been in it. You wondered what kind of decorations he hung up. Did it smell like him? You could barely stand still the remainder of your shift.

You have to put away your school girl crush.

• • •

As soon as it hit the hour you threw off your apron and went into the bathroom to freshen up.

You wished makeup survived the apocalypse, just a little to make your eyes pop.

What are you doing? He’s not your boyfriend.

You really must stop letting your mind wander. You ran your fingers through your hair and tried to get the smell of spilt beer off you. You don’t know what to expect. You’ve never hung out with Joel like this.

A few minutes later you’re knocking on his door. Nearly vibrating with nerves.

He opens it and

God

There’s that enchanting smile again.

It’s contagious. For a few seconds you two just gaze at each other with grins.

“Hey” you said shyly

“Glad you came, come on in.”

He opened the door as far as it went and you stepped in.

Definitely Joel Millers place.

Not much decorations, but his presence is here. Things Ellie has made for him hung around the living room. Things that survived of his from before the apocalypse. It felt homey. It felt safe.

He led the two of you into the living room. When your legs hit the couch you let out a sigh.

There were already two cold beers and glasses of water on the coffee table in front of you. Normally you don’t like to drink because you’re around it almost everyday and the smell gets annoying. But with Joel it seemed fun.

You both picked up your bottles and instead of making small talk or clinking the drinks together, you just nodded at each other and sipped.

Oh wow, this was actually kind of good. Where did he get this from? You groaned as it warmed your body.

“Haven’t been able to rest that much today. Work was busy. This is nice, Miller.”

He shifted closer to you. Closer than a acquaintance would normally sit. Not that you’re offended, you almost feel flattered. Joel speaks in actions.

“As long as you don’t go tellin people I’m nice.” He joked

“I like nice Joel.” Your voice wasn’t light anymore. “I hope I get to see more of him.”

You knew once those words came out of your mouth that they pushed a boundary. It’s a miracle anyone in this type of world is nice. It’s not an expectation you have anymore.

Your sentence didn’t seem to bother him, though. He stared at you for a few beats. He scooted once again until your knees touched. You’d never been this close to him, it was making your face get hot.

You both seem to have fallen into a comfortable silence, studying each other. There are details on his face you’ve never seen before. He pulled off facial hair like no other. His beard a mix of white, gray and brown.

You don’t know how long it stayed like this, but when you looked up at him to feel out the situation, he wasn’t looking back at you.

He was looking at your lips. You assumed they were dry or you had something on them. Instinctively you licked them.

“Don’t do that to me.” He whispered.

Your heart stopped.

“What?”

Instead of answering he put his hands on each side of your face. You made eye contact and thought you must be dreaming.

I’ve had dreams of him before, this must be another one.

But no. You can smell the drink he had and feel his big hands.

“Do you trust me?” He asked. You didn’t need time to think.

“Yes.”

In milliseconds your lips touched.

If this is a dream I never want to wake up.

The kiss starts gentle. Feather light. Sweet. Your noses bumping into each other. Not at all what you expected from Joel Miller.

You press your face into his to make the kiss more intense, but he puts his hands on your shoulders to keep you where he can be tender.

You pull away. Both taking a moment to process.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asks.

You can’t help but laugh because who wouldn’t want him. Especially after that kiss.

“I’ve been wanting you for so long.”

He breaks out into the biggest smile you’ve seen. Any nerves or unfamiliarity between you two is gone.

“Com’ere”

Now you’re both giggling and hugging. So happy that feelings have been confessed.

Your head nuzzled into his neck gave the perfect opportunity to whisper in his ear.

“You’re not going to break me. I want you to kiss me like I’m not delicate.”

Something snapped in him.

Maybe it was your warm breath on his ear, maybe it was that you were close enough to straddling him but not there yet. Maybe it’s because he thinks you’re the most beautiful woman in town, no, on earth.

He grabs your face with more force this time. Kissing you aggressively. You enjoyed how his fingers dug into your jaw. You gasped and he took the opportunity to introduce his tongue to yours.

He grabbed your legs and settled you over him. It was obvious he was strong but goddamn. He lifted a fully grown woman like it was nothing. It made a fire start in your lower belly.

“I need you. I need you right here on this couch.”

You didn’t respond. Too drunk on him already. You knew once his cock touched you there’d be no thoughts left in your brain.

He chuckled at your state, snapping his fingers to get your attention.

“Sweetheart are you with me?”

“Yeah sorry, I just can’t believe I’m doing this with you. You’ve already made me feel better than any guys I’ve been on dates with and-” your words got muffled by you taking off your shirt. You went braless today.

Now Joel was the speechless one. Staring at your chest. Running his hands up and down your sides.

She isn’t real. She can’t be.

“You’re so … beautiful. Now I really can’t wait, darlin.”

With the same urgency as before he picks you up and laid you out on the couch. Kissing your stomach, not giving you time to process.

He continues kissing down your body while unbuttoning your jeans. He rips them off along with your underwear in one motion.

Jesus, fuck.

“You’re already dripping for me, aren’t you babe?”

“Yes, it’s all for you.”

He lets out a noise that can best be described as feral.

“But, um, you don’t have to do that. It’s not a big deal to me.”

The man looked up at your from between your thighs.

“Will you let me have a taste? If you say stop, I’ll stop.”

“…Okay.”

“Mmm, let me show you how a real man makes you feel.”

All apprehension and doubts you had floated away. Joel licked up both sides of your folds slowly, and you swore you could cum right then.

Your core fluttered around nothing. You needed it again and again and again. He was taking his time with you. Mapping your body out. His tongue making sure to know every inch of you.

The deeper his tongue went, the more your body relaxed. You don’t think it has ever relaxed this much.

The house filled with sinful noises. Your moans, him lapping against you, the couch cousins being gripped.

When he groaned it sent vibrations through your whole body, pushing you closer to the edge.

He went back to licking you from bottom to top. Flattening his tongue as much as possible. Leaving a kiss on your clit before going to the other side.

I love it when he does that. God.

He started to pick up his pace. Inserting his tongue as deep as it goes. Eating you out like a starved man. And he was. You were his new favorite meal. He’s perfectly fine with not getting laid tonight and doing this instead.

“Fuck please- ohh-”

He loves that he can make you sound like that. It makes his cock beg to get out of his pants.

“Joel,” you whimpered out, grabbing his hair.

“I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me. You’re the sweetest fuckin thing.”

His words were sweet but his tone was filthy. It made your back arch. He knew you were close. He kicked it up a notch and inserted a finger in you.

You gasped at the size and feel. You could finally clench around something and your body was so happy.

“Fuck it feels so good! I’m close.”

I know you are

“You’re doing so good.”

He added a finger and moved them in a come hither motion.

You were done for. His calloused hands bringing you to release. He kept pumping in and out of you, getting all he could of your liquid. When he saw you regaining your breathing he removed his hand.

Laying there for a few minutes with half lidded eyes, you felt like you were on drugs. You were trying to find your composure but your body wouldn’t stop tingling.

The man who just gave you your best orgasm crawls up and appears in your view.

“Hey there sweetheart.”

He has the biggest smirk on his face, arms on either side of you. You don’t care. You’d give everything up if it meant you’d get more of his talent in your future.

“That was incredible.” You exhale

“For me, too.”

In what was becoming classic Joel Miller fashion, he presses the gentlest of kisses to your lips, then rests his forehead against yours.

“Did I wear you out?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. I have a lot planned.”

You bite your lip in anticipation.

“Oh yeah, cowboy?”

He liked the nickname.

“Yeah, but I prefer to fuck my pretty lady on my bed.”

With that he stood up and carried you bridal style to his room. It was darker in there with one orange lamp on which made the mood even more sensual. He placed you on his bed and resumed the position he was in before.

“I’m gonna make sure you feel me tomorrow, sweetheart.”

You let out a whimper. Crashing into another kiss.

It was his turn to take off clothes.

You hastily unbuttoned his flannel and threw it across the room. He would laugh at your urgency if he wasn’t just as bad.

You smooth your hand over his new bare skin. Soft with scars. You reached his belt and he pushed your hands away to do it himself. Taking the belt then his jeans off much faster than you could’ve.

You stared at his outline, unable to mask your expression. You can tell he’s big without even seeing it yet. By the smirk on his face, he knows it too. You were really boosting his ego tonight.

“You gonna gawk all night or should I take it out?”

Fuchsia creeping onto your cheeks.

“I don’t think I’ve been with anyone your caliber before.” You say meekly, still looking at his clothed cock.

He bring his face right above yours and tilts your chin so your eyes meet.

“Sweet girl, I’ll be gentle. I’ll start slow for you.”

You’re reassured. You feel safe with him.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

He brings his lips to meet yours once more. Not breaking it while he tugs off his boxers.

Your breath quickens as you get nervous again. He immediately takes notice and strokes your cheek. Caring about you in every touch.

You feel the head of his cock meet your entrance. Your head falls back against the pillows. He takes this as a sign to push in a few inches deeper.

“That’s my girl.”

Your gasps like angels singing. Your legs squeezing around me because you need more.

Joel goes like this for several minutes. Pushing in, letting you adjust, making sure he doesn’t immediately cum, then pushing again.

You needed movement. Unable to control the pleas that left your mouth.

“Joel, fuck me. I can take it. Stretch me out.”

He can’t say no to you. Especially when you’re like this.

He pulls almost completely out of you then slams back in. Going from 0 to 100. His tip touching your cervix.

He was reaching depths of you no man ever had before. You couldn’t help but be loud.

“I know baby, I know. Let it all out.”

His words made you moan even more. You’re so turned on it got caught in your throat. No one had ever talked you through it before. No one had said such dirty things to you while making you feel this good. No one has made you feel as good as you deserved.

“So good. So good for me.”

You were so wet it was seeping out of you and onto the sheets. You’ve had the briefest feel of him and are already addicted. You rolled your hips into him and hooked your legs around his waist. Instantly he groaned at the feeling.

“Just like that baby, there you go.” His low voice registered in your ear. You always admired the sound of his voice but you never thought it’d be praising you. It was a fucking drug.

He kissed you hard on the mouth and it made the little bit of your body you had control over go limp. He took this opportunity to take your hands and pin them together above your head. It turned you on so much, your back began to arch. Anyone within a ten mile radius would be able to hear you.

Joel had to focus to get a complete sentence out because of how tight you were clenched around him.

“You sound so good. I love hearing how I make my girl feel. You’re so spent on my cock, aren’t you?”

You nodded eagerly.

“Of course you are. Never truly been taken care of, have you?

“N-No.” you whimpered.

“Think you can take more of me, sweet thing?” He let your hands go so he could caress your cheek.

You were nervous but you nodded.

“Good girl.” He smirked at you when he said it. He loved how much power he had over you.

He grabs your legs and put them over his shoulder. With intense speed starts fucking you again. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he pulled obscene noises from your mouth.

“Oh god oh god”

“That’s my girl. I love being buried in your perfect cunt.”

Your back was arching, your fists were gripping the sheets and your clit was throbbing. Your orgasm was nearing quickly.

Your moans got higher and closer together as your legs squeezed around him.

“Words baby, use your words.”

“Fuck, I’m close. Oh I’m close, oh Joel please. It feels so fucking good.”

He knew exactly what you needed. He circled your clit with his rough thumb and continued to thrust into you hard.

“Good girl, cum for me. Cum on my cock.”

“Oh god oh god-”

You came harder than you ever have before. Leaving a mess on and beneath you. Your ears have a light ringing in them and you were seeing stars. You couldn’t even register if Joel was still near you until you felt a warm washcloth bringing you back to reality.

You opened your eyes and saw him. Someone you knew now you couldn’t live without.

He delicately rubbed one of your legs with one hand and cleaned you up with the other. Making sure you wouldn’t be uncomfortable if you fell asleep right there, which after that experience, was likely.

His actions are a huge juxtaposition to his reputation. He is not stoic and harsh and self centered. He is caring and affectionate and thoughtful.

You smiled up at him while half asleep.

“Thank you.” You managed to choke out. Your voice was half gone.

“Of course, darlin. It’s only the decent thing to do.”

He tossed the cloth on the floor and placed a soft blanket under where you both came. He’d wash the sheets later.

“No guy I’ve been with has really given me aftercare before…”

For some reason saying that was more venerable than the act you just did with him. Your face feels hot.

“You deserve so much more than what’s been given to you. And I don’t just mean with sex.”

You knew if either of you said much else you’d burst into tears. You made grabby hands at him and the two of you fell into a warm cuddle, touching as much of each others skin as possible.

“Goodnight, cowboy.”

He kisses your forehead.

“Goodnight, peach.”

#joel miller #the last of us #pedro pascal x you #tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #Joel miller fanfic #joel tlou #Joel miller smut #Joel miller fluff #Joel miller friends to lovers #Joel miller praise kink #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic

[theratboyking]

Mine

Pairing: Copia/Reader, Papa Emeritus IV/ Reader

word count: 666 (Let's goooooooo)

Summary: The number of times he had taken you in his office, Primo’s garden, hell, even the kitchen one time was becoming too many times to count. It was starting to get out of hand, but the way he always seemed to make your toes curl as he fucked you stupidly always made you forget how annoyed you were getting from it.

Warnings: This is little pure smut, MDI, Not proofread.

AO3 Link

Masterlist

“Who do you belong to?” Copia’s voice was a low growl. His thrust was relentless, only growing with urgency with each passing moment. All you could do was hold on for dear life as he fucked into you. Each thrust hits that sweet spot that only he seemed to know where it was, leaving you breathless.

Moaning, you let your head fall to the side. Thinking about what led you to this– What you thought was nothing more than a friendly interaction between you and a fellow sibling had somehow led to you being dragged out of the room by Copia. You’ve never seen him so possessive before. Something in him changed since he had become Papa. No one can look at you for longer than a few minutes before Copia’s jealousy takes over. Despite your constant reassurance that you only had eyes for him–his days as the shy cardinal that no one but you seemed to give a glace to still haunted him.

The number of times he had taken you in his office, Primo’s garden, hell, even the kitchen one time was becoming too many times to count. It was starting to get out of hand, but the way he always seemed to make your toes curl as he fucked you stupidly always made you forget how annoyed you were getting from it.

You really couldn't say how many times you’ve cummed by now, and you were pretty sure everyone in the Abbey could hear you both, but fuck, you really couldn't bring yourself to care.

Copia refused to allow you to think of anything else but him.“Eyes on me, cara.” He takes his hand and brings your face so your eyes stare back into his. “Tell me, cara, or else I’ll have to stop.”

“You! Fuck, I’m yours!” You finally manage to get out, not wanting him to stop.

“That’s right. You belong to me.” His pace quickens, if that was even possible. Fucking you stupid. “This pussy belongs to me. No one else can make you feel how I make you feel.”

“Yes, you. All you, papa” He thrusts deeper into you, letting out his own breathless moans.

“Mine. Mine. All mine!”

Each word is followed but a thrust of his hips. Punctuating of each word drives his point home. His hands dug into your hips, sure to leave bruises in the morning. You were so lost in bliss and rapidly approaching orgasm that you didn’t care. Your only focus was on him. Always on him.

“Cum for me, amore mia” His hand touched your sensitive clit, rubbing circles. You cried, overstimulated from all the attention he had been so pleased to give you.

It did not take long for you to fall over the edge. Cumming with a shrill cry as white overtakes your vision. Then, all you could see were stars as he continued to thrust into you, chasing his own rapidly approaching releases.

“giusto, sborrami sul cazzo” It was nothing more than a rumble in his chest.

His release was not far behind. His thrusts lost the rhythm he had created but were no less powerful. It only took a few more for him to cum into you with a cry, his face coming to rest on your neck–biting down hard to show everyone just who you belonged to.

You both stay like that for a moment, desperately trying to catch your breath. Copia lifts his head. Bring his lips to yours for a loving kiss, pulling out of you before resting on your other side.

“Hai fatto così bene amore mio” He whispers into your hair. “I’m sorry if I was a bit rough amore mia.” He pulled away to look down at you.

“You have nothing to apologize for, my love.” You bring yourself so that you’re level with him. “I’ll always be your, my sweet Copia.” Bringing him in for a chiseled kiss. Settling in his arms, wanting to be nowhere else.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #cardinal copia #ghost #ghost band #copia #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa emeritus smut #papa emeritus x reader

[she-likesorchids]

Convalescent: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Summary: You're nervous about an upcoming medical procedure, but Michael is there for you.

Warnings: Hospitals, surgery, anesthesia, and absolute tooth rotting fluff.

Word Count: Just over 1k.

Author's Note: SUPER SELF INDULGENCE HOURS! I have a consultation with a surgeon coming up for a surgical procedure, and I wish I had a Mikey to cuddle me through it, so HERE YA GO.

“What’s on yer mind, love?” Michael asked softly as he sidled up next to you in bed. 

He knew the answer to the question before he even asked, but he wanted to hear it from you. 

“M’just nervous about the operation tomorrow. The surgeon explained everything to me, and I know they’re good, but there’s still a risk involved,” you replied as you set your book down on the nightstand. 

Michael furrowed his brows in concern and inched closer to you on the bed. 

“C’mere, love,” Michael whispered as he opened his arms for you. 

You scooted closer to him so you could rest your head on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you then dipped his head down to kiss the top of your head. He gently rocked you side to side as you started to softly cry, then he cupped your cheek with his hand so he could wipe away the stray tears with his thumb. His gaze softened as he looked at you with pure adoration, wishing he could somehow take the anxiety from you and shoulder it himself. 

“S’gonna be alright, pet. I’m gonna be there with ya before they wheel ya back, I’ll be there when ya wake up, and I’ll be here to help ya recover. Whatever ya need, I’m at yer beck and call. I’ll even give ya a little bell to ring if ya need me.” 

You laughed as you buried your face further into his chest, and a sweet smile crept across Michael’s face. He hugged you closer, and peppered your face with soft kisses, causing you to squeal, which made him smile even wider. 

“Yer whiskers are ticklin’ me, Mikey!” you laughed. That only made him rub his stubble against your face and kiss you even more, making your peals of laughter echo off the bedroom walls. 

He rolled you over on your back and gently pinned you down to the bed, continuing to attack your face with soft kisses. You laughed and squirmed underneath him, and Michael was just content to see you smiling. Eventually, he stopped and pulled you back into his arms so he could hold you, and you gently kissed him on the lips to show him some appreciation. 

“What did I do to deserve ya, Mikey? Yer so good to me.” 

“Aw, love. Ya deserve the world. I just hope I can give it to ya. Now, how about we try and get some sleep? Birdy’s gonna be here early tomorrow to drive us.” 

“Sounds good, Mikey. Can you hold me for a while longer, though?”

“Anythin’ for ya, pet.” 

—----------------------------------------------------

You hated hospitals, but having Mikey and Birdy by your side eased your anxiety a bit. Since Michael still couldn’t drive, and you were being put under anesthesia, Birdy was kind enough to give you a lift to and from the procedure. Once you and Michael got out at the main entrance, he let Birdy know that he would text her once you were out of surgery, and she would make her way back then. 

“Yer in good hands, love. You’ll be just fine, and I’ll see ya in a few hours, alright?” Birdy said as she gave you a big hug. 

“Thanks again, Birdy. See ya in a bit, yeah?” 

“Of course, love. Look after her Mikey, will ya?” 

“I will Birdy, see ya in a bit,” he said as he hugged her goodbye. 

He held your hand as the two of you walked through the automatic doors and into the lobby. The strong smell of disinfectant stung your nose, and you gripped Michael’s hand for dear life as you both walked towards the admissions desk to get checked in. 

Once you were checked in and given a wristband, it didn’t take long for them to call you back to get prepped for your procedure. Michael wasn’t allowed in the room while you undressed and they got your IV started, but as soon as you were in the gown and back in the bed, you demanded they let him in.  He stayed dutifully by your side until the anesthesiologist gave you a dose of Versed, then they wheeled you back for your procedure. They let him walk with you and hold your hand until you arrived at the operating theater, then he kissed your forehead and told you he’d see you soon. 

—------------------------------------------------

You vaguely remembered them telling you to count backwards from 100, but next thing you knew, you awoke to the sound of beeping machines and excruciating pain. As soon as you opened your mouth to groan from the discomfort, Michael shot up out of the chair next to you and hit the call button on your bed. He knelt down by your bed and took your hand in his as he caressed your hand and softly talked you through it. 

“Hey, s’alright love. You did great. I just called the nurse and they’re gonna give ya somethin’ for the pain, yeah?” 

“Oh, Mikey. What a beautiful sight to wake up to,” you slurred as you cupped his cheek with your other hand. 

“Birdy’s on her way. As soon as they’ll let ya, we’re gonna take ya home.” 

You smiled weakly, then a rather chipper nurse pulled back the curtain to come check on you. 

“Well, hello Sleepin’ Beauty! How’s yer pain, dearie?” 

“Uh, ‘bout an 8. Definitely need somethin’ for it. And some water, I’m parched,” you replied. 

“Comin’ right up, luv. The doctor will be in shortly, and ya should be good ta go after that.” 

The nurse disappeared, and Michael kept a hold of your hand as you slowly re-joined the land of the living. That same look of love he gave you last night was on his face again, and you couldn’t help but admire how handsome he looked. 

“Looks good on ya,” you told him. 

“What looks good on me, pet?” 

“Love. Love looks good on ya, Mikey.” 

“Ah, there’s the drugs talkin’,” he laughed. 

“I mean it! Yer so beautiful, Mikey.” 

“So are you, pet.” 

“Really?! Right now?! I look an absolute mess, Mikey!” 

“Not ta me. Yer the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered before kissing your hand. 

“Hope I’m not interruptin’, but I got some water and a pain pill for ya, dearie!” the nurse chirped as she came behind the curtain again. 

You gladly accepted both, and then the doctor finally came in to go over your discharge instructions and send you on your way home. Michael helped you get dressed, and helped you into the wheelchair so an orderly could wheel you out to Birdy’s car where they both helped you get comfortable in the back seat. As much as you tried to assure him you were fine, Michael insisted he ride with you to keep an eye on you. Birdy thought it was adorable how protective he was over you, and she didn’t even care if she looked like a chauffeur driving you home. 

“We’ll be home soon, love,” Michael told you as you rested your head on his shoulder. 

“Hmmmm, sounds good,” you said as you promptly fell asleep on him.

#mandy writes #michael kinsella #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella fanfic #kin rte #kin amc

[geminimoonbeamx]

Reality Bites: Dazed & Confused (1/6)

A/N:  First chapter?! Out now?! How? It feels so surreal to finally be sharing this. Ive held this story to my chest for over a year. If you want to(and I highly suggest you do) go give Beans version a read !@allaboardthereadingrailroad, I still cant believe we did this. 

Warnings: Cursing. Drug use. Heavy Smut at the end of the chapter. Fingering. Penetration. Pet names. Minors, do not interact. 

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Plus Sized Reader. Circa Season Three.

Summary: Sam Goody was the perfect job for the summer; inside the shiny new mall, your best friends a co-worker, and free music? What was not to love. That was until Steve Harrington got a job on ground floor at Scoops and flipped your “perfect summer”upside down. 

Chapter One: Opening Time Down on Fascination Street

You smoke too much weed. 

It’s a sentiment you’ve found yourself reflecting on lots of times. In English class last year when you were so high that you could barely remember the plot of Hamlet. At work, last week at work when a group of beyond annoying freshmen had plowed in; you’d had dozens of records to sort in their wake, and it had all been like a mahjong fever dream. 

You'd never been so high that you couldn't function, your adventures in ganja land were all pretty tame- never leaning into psychedelic darkness or any of that other bad trip shit other people talked about. 

Until last week. 

No. Your brain rejected the memory that desperately tried to peek from behind the curtain of your subconscious.  

No. No. You smoke too much weed. You and Bean were stoned. 

It was a dog. 

A dog that had left a dent the size of a fucking person on your hood. You flinch at the thought. Of both the dog you'd hit, and the damage to your car. 

It was a just a stray dog. Or some assholes runaway….

A dog with no fur. Reptilian, and monstrous. 

You choke on the memory- or maybe that’s the doobie you’d found under your seat. 

When you can string together two breaths; you use the reprieve to reapply lip gloss and wipe your at your eyeliner because priorities. You cant stroll into work looking high, or ugly. Neither were viable options, obviously. 

After desperate gulp of the stale sprite that’s been sitting in the cup holder for days, you’re out of the car. 

Hopefully the floral-y Chloe that you’d drenched yourself in an hour ago somehow manages to mask the skunk smell that you know tends to cling to the woven fabric of your work Polo. 

You pop a piece of gum and slide on a pair of aviators, contingencies.

The parking lot of Star Court is pretty tame- if you consider tame 50 cars deep. Before noon.

Ever since the Mall had opened its doors; they never seemed to close. It had become the place to be, a plethora of never ending activity’s and the residents of Hawkins we’re proverbial deer in the headlights. Or front grills- however you choose to look at it. 

You’re just happy you’d scored a spot that wasn't a hike to the mouth of the food court. 

Your feet phantom ache just thinking about the evening shift you’d worked a couple days ago.

Parking near the east entrance had it’s perks. The lot was always easier(since everyone wanted to hit JC Pennys and the Theater from the main) on this side. 

And if the path happened to take you by a certain Ice Cream parlor, well. That was just an added bonus. 

Making a work uniform look good is a feat. One even you don't think you quite clear. Half of your hair is pulled up high, hours of labor keeping it both straight and voluminous, and the sugar pink gloss you don is sparkly in the fluorescent plaza lights. 

There’s nothing you can do about the uniform making you look like your body shape is Maytag Double Wide, though. 

Your manager is a Nazi who refused to hear any complaints about the heinous sizing of the Polos. It wouldn't really be that expensive to get them tailored. 

Ring corporate, call it a company expense. 

Whatever, it's temporary. After summer…you'll figure that out come August. You wouldn't be stuck working in a Record shop for the rest of your life. Right?- God maybe you really should stop smoking, or like take a tolerance break because when did you get so paranoid? 

Theres one place in the mall that you always get your jollies off; a sugar high and a show is always in store. 

Steve Harrington had been Hawkins High’s superstar. There wasn't a sport he didn't play and you’d witnessed him in all of his various Jersey Glory for the four years of public high school- 

So seeing him dressed in the fluorescent blue and red striped sailor get up that Scoops Ahoy required of him never failed to fuck your brain. 

Aw, how the mighty had fallen. Hard. 

You could barely take him seriously on any given day, but when he was wearing a glorified Dollar Mart Halloween costume? Well, if you cracked up every time you looked at him, who could blame you?

He’s standing at the front of the store, surprisingly not surrounded by either girls or his usual group of 8th graders. Both as odd as the other. 

His arms are crossed over his chest and he seems to be contemplating something. Are there any thoughts in that pretty head other than what hair gel he should buy next? 

When he notices you making your way to the escalator he perks up a bit. 

“Good morning, Y/N” He greets with that grin. That charming grin- the panty dropper, so infamously named. You’d never been on the receiving end of it back in school but now he flashes it at you whenever he gets the chance. 

You have to say, the sailor hat atop his fluffy head kind of dims its power. 

Your traitorous stomach flutters in protests at that statement. 

“Mmm, it’s nearly noon but good morning” Being casually uninterested is definitely harder to accomplish then Cosmo makes it out to be. “You seem totally spaced. Did the Junior Varsity squad decide not to come pay you your weekly visit?” 

Instead of being offended, as usual,  the snark just makes his grin widen. It’s so annoying. 

Steve is unshakeable.

Unbotherable. 

No matter how bitchy you get, how dismissive and annoyed you appear he just takes it all in stride. 

“No, actually that’s scheduled for Wednesday’s, you cheerleaders are always very timely. Guess I gotta thank Coach Ross for those tardy drills” 

“For one; Former cheerleader” you interject feeling a little too exposed by his teasing gaze “two; if it isn’t a lack of Pom poms that has you looking like- that. Then what is it?”

“What is what exactly?” He shoots back, the glint in his eyes telling you that he knew  exactly what you were talking about. 

“You know what, what is” You deadpan, not wanting to play into his game.

“No, please, elaborate”

God. You seriously have to muster every ounce of fucking maturity you have with this guy. It’s always like this when you talk to him. Rapid fire, back and forth. It feels chaotic and borderline childish. 

You take a deep breath and force yourself not audibly groan at him. 

“Steven, Why do you look like someone ran over your dog” you hope it wasn’t you- the other day. In the woods. 

Does Steve even have a dog? Your conversations never last that long. 

He chuckles and quirks his mouth, “I’m fine” 

One manicured eyebrow raises and you push your sunglasses up into your hairline so that you can really assess him. 

He’s kind of a horrible liar. 

You’ve learned during the duration of the warm summery months. During the time that both of you had been employed at Starcourt. He was an itch you couldn’t scratch, a pebble in your shoe and some how some way the two of you always ended up bumping into each other. 

The universe a pinball machine and you a simple sphere, constantly bumping and clashing into Steve’s presence at every turn. It was jarring. And loud. And you hadn’t quite found the angle or velocity that would keep your path Harrington free. 

Eventually you’d get it though. 

“Riiiiight. No seriously what happened? Did another kid puke up their Rocky Road- or worse” you mock gasp before going on “did Sally’s run out of Aquanet?”

“You’re a real dick, you know that” Steve shakes his head- not appearing any less amused. His brown eyes interested. Looking at you in a way that they never had before the summer. 

It still makes you want to retreat. Head for the fort. Red flags, millions of them, might as well cover him from head to toe. 

He shouldn’t look at you like that while calling you a dick. 

He should look at you like that at all. 

“If you must know- a friend of mine is going away for the summer and it just sucks, okay” He finally admits, the genuine disappointment apparent in his tone. 

You open your mouth, to console him. Maybe. Probably. 

What comes out instead is a small snort as puzzle pieces interlock in your head. 

“Wait, you mean Dustin, huh?”

Dustin, your next door neighbor. 

The dorky curly headed thirteen year old boy that seemed to be Steve’s best friend as of late. Steve was at the Henderson’s at least once a week and Dustin and his group of friends were at the Ice Cream shop once a day. 

It was kind of cute, in the very weirdest way. 

“Yeah, so?” Steve’s trying so hard to be nonchalant and you’re trying so hard not to bust out in laughter. “He’s a cool kid- and he was helping me with college essays, get an early jump on next year is the plan”

His ego can spare the lashing, I mean look at him. You’ll berate him later. 

Dustin is a decently cool kid who you knew had gotten teased pretty mercilessly when he was younger for his teeth, or lack there of. You kind of appreciated that Steve was nice to him and didn’t bully him, which for the former jock, was a new theme. 

“He’s going to be gone a month. I’m sure you can learn to live without him- and for your essays they’re really not that hard”

“Oh yeah? You breezed through yours, huh?” Steve looks interested, impressed maybe.

 Or maybe he’s just bored. 

“Yup” you lie. You hadn’t sent one in since before graduation. And even then, procrastination has slammed you sideways. There were no acceptance letters waiting for you.

“Well maybe you could help me with mine? If you had time we could like, meetup. I mean obviously not here. At the mall. Where were both employed-“

How did this guy score the masses of pussy he had, back in high school? 

But most importantly, what was he trying to do here? Hanging out, outside of the walls of the mall? What- like a date? 

No, your brain supplies. He’d never…

And if he did, it would have to be a part of some kind of joke. King Steve would never be caught asking a fat girl out. Que laughter and thrown tomatoes. Tommy H peeking from behind a puller with a camcorder 

“Hard pass” you interject, quick and blunt “But good luck on your essays. See you later, Steve” 

And with a very awkward half wave between the two of you, you’re off- the escalator carrying you up and away from the unwanted scenario. 

If only you had an escalator for all of your issues. 

You’re thinking about that very sentiment later in the day, five hours into your shift and 3/4ths through your sanity.

If you had to clean up after people’s kids one. More. Time. You were going to scream. 

“Who brings kids into a record store anyway” You snark, having to put stacks of cassettes back in their proper home “Not to be a bitch, but I really wish forced sterilization was a thing”

Bean chuckles from her place behind the counter. The store had been pretty on and off- a normal Thursday.

“I’m pretty sure you very much do mean to be a bitch”

“I’m pretty sure those motherfuckers should legally not be allowed to have more children” that family of six had destroyed the whole kids aisle. 

Another thing you protested. Why should we have to have a kids' aisle? You wanted to collect all the He Man TV Soundtack’s and throw them in the dumpster. 

When you’re finished, you meet her behind the counter. It’s technically the two of you guys’ break but we’ll since the store was empty you didn’t see a reason to go navigate the steadily filling mall. 

And Bean? Her head was buried in a book, the top of her dark hair visible as her eyes were plastered to the pages. It wasn’t an uncommon sight. Like at all. Bean was a Bonafide Nerd with a capital N and you kind of loved her for it. 

What was uncommon though was her particular choice of reading material. 

‘The Unidentified and Creatures of the Outer Edge: A Collection of Accounts by Edward J Rupplet’

The title is in bold silver letters. You bite the inside of your lip hard as you gloss over it. 

Grabbing Strawberry Banana Orange Julius she had grabbed you on her lunch run, you plop down on the swivel chair behind the counter. 

“Doing a little light reading?” You inquire as you stir at the thick smoothie with the straw. Voice strong- void of any of the anxiety you feel about her fascination with the subject. 

Or at least you hope it is. 

“Did you know that Indiana’s a hub for unidentifiable activity- that in the last fifteen years there’s been a surge in all kind of sightings around the state but especially around Roane County” she chatters a mile a minute. 

The way she always does when that brain of hers is working faster then her mouth can. 

“No I didn’t know that. Nor did I want to but thanks” 

Bean looks up then “You can’t tell me that you still think we hit a dog” 

“We did”

“The dent on your hood is the size of TV” 

“A Great Dane then” 

….”You know the brain does this thing with trauma, like universally, when an event is too traumatic for us to handle the brain process it through-“ Bean starts, slowly, dark eyes meeting yours over the lip of her book. 

“The stages of Seven Stages of Grief. Yeah, I know”

“Well did you know that Denial is the first one?”

You give your friend a sharp glare. 

“The only thing I’m in denial about is having to fix my fucked up hood. Uncle Elliots making me pay for it all by my self. Its going to be 200 dollars! How bogus is that!”

Bean gives you a look- one that says “I call you out on your bullshit”, without actually calling you out on your bullshit.

And continues to let you play it off. 

As a good friend does. 

Saturday, Summer 1985

You scan the note held to the fridge with a strawberry magnet. 

In the city for the weekend, left money in the office. No take out! 

Fix your car, lovey- or else I’ll let Hop write that ticket.

Kisses, Uncle Eliot

Your surgeon of an Uncle is out of town at least once every couple months. Confrences. Conventions- that’s lost to you. He always comes back from Indianapolis cherry as can be- and with gifts so it like, works. 

The house is too quiet in his absence. It used to bother you, when you were younger, unacclimated. You don’t mind it anymore, being alone. The silence still sucks. But-

Watching TV at a mind numbing decimal will fix that. 

There's a soft chirruping meow as Bowie, your big ragdoll tabby, hops up on the counter beside you.

 “It’s me and you, baby. As usual”  You kiss his wet little pink nose, and scoop him up, ignoring his indignant squawk as you cradle I’m to your chest, holding him like a newborn you trek down the stairs, ready to turn on something soapy. 

It's your own fault that you're doing nothing but rotting away in the house on a perfectly good Saturday night. 

Heather had called, inviting you to some afterhours thing they were doing at the pool. She was totally going to get fired if they got caught and her dad was going to rip her a new one- you reminded her of that fact,

But like, all the lifeguards were going. Which meant Billy would be there, so she had to be, too. Duh. 

Ugh, you would never get the appeal. Billy Hargrove was so microwaved white trash. Half baked Motley Crue- at least Tommy Lee could actually pull off the mullet. You didn't get the hypefest around him. 

“I guess” You try to be supportive, but the level of unimpressed you are is unmaskable.

“You guess? God, what's been up with you lately? This is the last summer before everyone goes off to school! I mean Tracys leaving for ASU in three weeks! This is one of the last times we’ll be able to get the squad together” 

She's so excited for the fall, they all are. All of your friends dispersing like confetti around the country for school.

It makes your stomach churn. 

Heathers words are sharper than she intended for them to be, and even hours later they are echoing heavily around your head. You can't let them go. Because by the end of the summer Tracy will be in Alabama. And Heather off to Pennsylvania. 

Even Bean would be leaving, you comfort yourself with the fact that she’d still technically be in the state but fuck. She’d become something like your best friend since that faithful AP Lit class, and the impending countdown to her departure was ever present. Even if the two of you smoked yourselves silly, as you normally did, it still came up. 

Her leaving. You’re staying. 

And that damn dog! 

Becoming one with the sofa while battling intrusive thoughts is not it.

You need to work through your chores, and honestly, you’d rather deal with shoveling out cat shit then shoveling out the hundreds of dollars that it will take to fix your car. 

Both of which Uncle Elliot was expecting to be done by the time he gets home. 

You’re shuffling down to the end of the driveway, a heavy trash bag swinging to and through as you bop along down the path. After threatening Bowie, emptily of course, that he was going to live in the garage from here on out, with his stinky ass. 

It's hot and sticky; the Indiana summer not loosening its grip anytime soon and the tank top and shorts combo you don does nothing to keep you cool. You love first world amenities, and all you want to do is get back inside before you end up having to take a second shower and or be covered in mosquito bites. 

The night is still, like most are in Hawkins. The stars bright and clear, no clouds in sight. The chance of precipitation slim to none, as the weatherman had cheerfully announced on the night time news report. 

You try not to be scared, because you're a grown woman. Freshly eighteen, but eighteen nonetheless since the end of May. Grownups aren’t scared to walk down their stupidly long drive way. 

Grownups don't get so high that they hallucinate monsters shaped like dogs, and if they do then they're grown up enough to know that it was just a figure of their imagination. 

Why did your street have to be so dark? One of the few streetlamps had gone out in February. And still zilch. Shouldn't the city do something about this? Parks & Recs? The Zoning Committee? 

You're wondering where exactly your tax dollars go as you lift the lid of the pail, swinging the bag-

It all happens in slow motion, but in the flash of an eye:

 There’s a bang from across the street, and well- you’ve been jumpier than usual lately. Unfortunately for you, the curb decides it would like to stomp you. You end up flat on your ass, but not before your kneecap meets rough concrete. 

“Mother fucker” You curse loudly, more confused then anything. Your equilibrium thrown off by the sudden fall. 

“Oh shit- Y/N, are you okay?” The voice is deep and familiar and oh god. Why you? 

What kind of karmic retribution had you been sent on this earth to repay? 

And why couldn't the earth open up and swallow you, right now. Right at this very moment? 

“Steve?”

Is all you can brilliantly come up with as the jean clad figure comes closer, out of the darkness. He’d dropped- is that a fence panel?- by his car, which was parked in front of the Hendersons. 

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you-” His hands are flaying the tiniest bit as he goes to lean down.

“Are you stalking me? What the hell are you doing here?” You cut him off quickly, scooting away a bit, then hissing when your knee stings. Of course youre bleeding, the skinning minimal, but deep enough that crimson rears up. 

“Hey, chill out for a second- I’m not stalking you, I was finishing helping Miss Henderson do some cleaning up in her backyard and- you know what, I actually don't need to explain myself to you. What are you doing out here and why did you just use your driveway as a trampoline?” ugh god, why?  Driveway as a trampoline? You’ll never recover.

You groan and fight the urge to bury your burning face in your hands. He’s just about the last person you’d ever want to see you literally ass down. 

“Y/N? Did you bang your head or something?” 

You're examining your bended knee, and no, it’s not bad at all. A little anti-bacterial and you’ll be fine. You need hydrogen peroxide for your soul right now, an ego cleansing, if you will. 

 “No, just my knee. I’m fine, stop Steve-” You slap his hand away as its extended to you, but he's a persistent little shit and just grabs your forearm instead “I’m fine” 

“Cool. You’re fine. Can you not be difficult for like, a nanosecond and let me help you up so we can see if you really hurt yourself or not?”

“I just fell” You insist, because he’s being dramatic and you don't need him to mother hen you. Like ever. 

“Yeah, and Robbie Cohen broke his ankle just falling during practice last year. Get up and put some weight on it so we can see if you really hurt yourself or not” he still hasn't let go of your arm and you know he would, if you really pressed the issue. 

You should press the issue. 

Instead, you sigh and hold your other hand out. Arms held out in a pathetic grabby motion. 

The bastard has the nerve to chuckle about it. 

You let him pick you up off the ground, and although he’s surprisingly strong, you refuse to allow him to take all of your weight. Absolutely not. 

“Do you even know what a nanosecond is?” you insult him once you're standing, feeling defensive as he assesses your bare leg. 

“Yeah, like a super second, right?” He’s kidding. Maybe? Before he tells you to step down on your right foot, balancing your weight on both legs. You dont scream out in pain, your knee doesn't buckle. Just like you thought, it's just a scrape. Probably not even deep enough to scar, but there is blood dripping slow down your leg. 

“I think you're okay, but you should probably clean it up. I could help, if you need it. I know some gir-people are squeamish when it comes to blood” He catches himself on that girl comment, fumbling through it a bit, but in a weirdly pleasant way. 

“My uncles a surgeon” You deadpan. 

“Oh yeah, uh, I do remember that. My mom, her gallbladder, surgery you know” He nods, biting the inside of his bottom lip as though thinking pensively “I could still help you…if you wanted me to.”

It was a perfectly good Saturday night that you were wasting…

What it wasn’t supposed to include was Steve Harrington but well? 

Universe; pinball machine. You: a tiny sphere at its mercy. 

There’s a few sights you never thought you’d see, 

Steve Harrington man spread on the round, mustard colored couch in your living room is one of them. It's such an odd sight that your eyes almost can't focus on it. 

It’s either that or the glass of  wine you're nursing. 

There hadn't been much cleaning up to do, for your fucking scrape. But Steve had insisted you sit down at the kitchen table and let him play doctor. Neosporin and all, you’d had to will yourself to sit still as he touched you, finger tips grazing over bare skin. 

Its just your knee for fucks sake. Just a knee- you'd repeated like a mantra. Acquaintances touch each others knees all the time. It’s fine. You don't even like Steve. He’s barely even an acquaintance. 

You donned a Care Bear Band-Aid for your troubles, and a glass of wine, or two, for your nerves. 

You’d been raiding Uncle Elliot’s liquor cabinet for years, and as long as you never finished anything off, he was pretty cool about it. You didn't dare touch the top shelf. 

“It’s really 70’s in here, like…a time capsule” Steve observes, his own wine glass mostly empty in his hand. Another refill needed “But not in a bad way”

“Fabulous, right? My uncle still thinks he’s the dancing queen” He sniggers at that, taking another gulp “But he has this weird fear of second stores, so he, uh actually gets new furniture like reupholstered to look older” 

“Ah,” Steve confirms “so it runs in the family” 

“What runs in the family, asshole?” You turn on the couch, criss-cross applesauce, thick thighs on display because fuck it, there was no point in hiding them from him. 

“How particular you are” he makes a broad gesture with his hands. At you. It makes you feel…seen. And you do not like it. 

“What do you mean by that?” You glare, eyes focused in on him, his Adam's apple bobs. 

“Don't get touchy, I just mean you are really picky. Like hair trigger picky” 

“And you know that how? Because were friends?” The laugh you let out is cold, a mimic you’d picked up from Bean “Best friends? Since when? Never.” 

“Bullshit, yeah, we aren’t best friends. But were friendly. We had all the same friends in school, we’ve been running in the same circle since we were thirteen” 

Now you full on laugh because all of that hair spray he uses has to be affecting his brain. Clogged hair particles must lead to like brainwave malfunction. 

“No Steve, we had friends of friends in High School- and any time before that you ran with Tommy H and all those other douche bags. I can assure you, you were not my friend. Like, at all” 

You hate talking about it, acknowledging that there was a period of your life, before you’d learned to adapt, where you’d stuck out like a sore thumb. And where Steve and his friends had made you feel that difference. That distance from everyone else. 

He’d bullied you, simple as that. 

And he knew it. 

It’s why at he couldn’t look you in the eye when the subject was brought up, why he palmed the back of his hot neck awkwardly and fisted the stem of the wine glass way too tight. 

“Look Y/N, when we were kids. It was all so different and-“ 

“It’s fine Harrington, just stop” you snort because as much as you love to see him grovel, you can’t bear to hear him apologize. It literally makes you feel like you’re going to be sick, embarrassment makes your mouth water threateningly. “We’re adults now, it’s water under the bridge”

You do not and will not ever accept his pity, or his apologies. 

“Yeah, right” he mutters as he takes a swig of his wine- and then looks at it and decides to down it all. 

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve been trying to be friends with you all summer. Since I found out you were working at Starcourt, too. It’s nice to have a familiar face around, you know? I don’t- I see the old group, run the rounds. Sometimes. But after I stopped talking to Tommy and we all graduated shit got weird” Steve explains, kind of. In pieces. 

He’s the most obvious puzzle. 

You don’t say anything because you get it. Shit got weird. That phone call with Heather earlier was weird. 

You grab the bottle and top yourself off- Steve let’s you do the same to his glass. 

“Shit has indeed gotten weird” you agree, “King Steve, hanging out with little ol’ me. We must be living in an alternate dimension” 

He half chokes on his drink. “Stranger things have happened” 

“Yeah fucking tell me about it” 

“Keep getting me liquored up and you just might get lucky” He. Is. So. Cheesy. Good god. 

This can’t be the same Steve that caused a full on riot brawl in the girls locker room. 

“How’d you get so much pussy back in school with pick up lines like those?” You’re just on the right side of wine tipsy. The liquor makes you bold, makes you feel sexy and daring. 

 It also makes you want to kiss, but that part you can ignore. 

Steve smiles, obviously entertained “You think I’m trying to pick you up? That’s a little presumptuous of you”

You want to tell him to spell presumptuous. 

“Are you telling me you’re not?” You inquire instead. 

He could say no. It’s a possibility. Maybe you’ve been reading this whole thing completely wrong. Maybe he’s really just been trying to make amends- 

Or maybe he’s been looking down your top for the last half hour. You can’t say you blame him, the low cut coral tank top did make your tits look grade A. 

Steve bites his lips a lot, when he’s nervous. When he’s turned on. Bright and cherry red and distracting. 

“If I say yes are you gonna be a dick to me about it?”

You giggle, roll your eyes and scoot closer, leaning on your arms, your cleavage artfully on full display. “Probably”

“Then no, I’m not trying to pick you up” Steve protests, weakly. His gaze flicking fast between your face and your chest

Oh. He can not be this easy.

“My mistake” you shrug feigning  casual. Well you hope. “I must’ve read the signals wrong” 

You both know that was not the case. 

The room is charged now, the energy thick and electric. Steve’s eyes haven’t left yours, fawn brown and searching. Like he’s trying to find a crack, some way in. 

“You’ve really got this whole hot and cold thing down pat, hmm? On my break the other day you literally slammed your car door in my face-“

“You’re exaggerating”

“And now you’re being kinda slutty for me, Y/L/N” Steve informs you and it should not make your stomach lurch the way it does. 

“I am not!” You protest, hating that word. Hating the way he’d said it. Hating the fact that you really, really want to jump his fucking bones. 

“You are- it’s okay. I dig it. I know you can’t resist the Steve. Most women can’t” the words coupled with the tone on his voice sends you into a fit of laughter.

You can’t stand him, really. He’s so corny. He’s so annoying. 

He is the worst most charming jerk you’ve ever met. The wine just makes it more apparent. 

“For one you date girls not women Steve, shut up. And two, you said it yourself, you’re not trying to pick me up so it doesn’t really mat-“

You see it coming from a mile away. 

All guys get that look, that really intense, almost scary one. 

The one that means one thing. 

Steve doesn’t lean in slow, doesn’t lead you into it at a snail's pace. One second he’s watching your lips move and in the next he’s abruptly covering them with his own.

Stealing the words from your mouth and the air from your lungs.

Your world tilts sideways. 

It would be a bold face lie, to say you’d never imagined kissing Steve. Everyone in Hawkins has had fantasies about kissing Steve Harrington at least once. 

The reality of it felt weightless and far away, down at the bottom of the discarded wine bottle on the coffee table. 

He tastes warm, liquor sharp and flesh sweet, as you suck at his bottom lip.

Steve kisses like he’d played sports, confident of himself. Practiced almost, and yeah you bet he has had practice. Tons of it, His hands aren’t as sure as his mouth though, your body new. Uncharted territory. They hesitantly rest on your leg as he leans over you, inching upwards towards your chubby waist. 

You bite his lip, hard, harder than you meant to when his hands get a little too close to going under your shirt. 

He hisses, pulling away, tongue flicking over his bottom lip “No?” 

“You first” you insist, 

“Yeah?”

Your chest is pounding, blood rising in your ears and making it hard to think. You still know one thing though, you’re not showing him your body, yet. You’re not going to be vulnerable, first. “Yeah”

He just nods, yanking off his gray t-shirt, before leaning back down and kissing you until you’re dizzy, your fingers threaded in his thick hair, his thin hips snug between your thighs. It's humid between the two of you as your hands wander, cling, grope. 

Every breath you take is of Steve and it’s stifling. 

You whine, small and shakily as you pull away- the sound turning into a wet gasp as he kisses your face; nose, cheek, soft jaw and lands on your neck. Fingernails, Barbie pink, dig into his shoulder blades, all bare freckled skin when he mouths the tender skin, his teeth at play in a way that could make your eyes cross.

“Steve” you moan, as his mouth goes for your chest, you tugging at his hair not derailing him from completely ruining your tank top, wet with spit as he suckles on your clothed nipples single mindedly. 

Can he not feel that you guys are about to lose your balance? 

“Steve! Stop for a sec We’re about to fall, jackass” you warn him and he huffs, right into your cleavage before straightening up on his knees, both of you maneuvering for purchase on the couch. The tent in his jeans glaringly apparent. 

“Wanna take this to your room?” He offers and really it’s smart. Your bed would be easier…

That also feels a lot more intimate and you can’t remember what you’d left out in your room. What hidden secrets were just chilling, waiting to be found. 

“MmMhmm, I want to stay right here” you tell him, your hand tracing down his chest in what you think is a distracting manner. Steve nods, obviously game for whatever you’re willing to give.

“Wait” you still him with that same hand when he begins to lean back down. 

He’s so…nice about it. Doesn’t protest when you say wait even though he looks like there’s nothing he wants to do less then stop. He doesn’t make you feel shitty or pressured, at least not in this moment. It’s weird. But you appreciate it. 

You reach down to grab the ends of your top and wiggle yourself out of it, Steve helping when he realizes you’re going to have a little trouble getting it off while underneath him. 

It’s scary, always, letting someone see you. A nervous, semi manic giggle trapped in your throat as he looks you over in the dim yellowish lighting emitting the standing lamp in the corner. You should’ve turned it off. You should get up and turn it the fuck off-

“Damn” he whispers, even though it’s just you two and an empty house. 

The giggle breaks break free, your boobs giving a very gratuitous jiggle that has him making a sound, a throaty one as he buries his head between them. 

“You enjoying yourself, Harrington?”

“Very much” he doesn’t pull up to reply. 

You know the kinds of girls he’s dated- you don’t look like Cheryl or Laurie, and you sure as shit doesn’t look like Nancy Wheeler- but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. If anything he’s having a fucking hay day right now, his mouth and hands digging into your flesh. 

You’re so soft all over, he can’t help but squeeze. 

It’s a little blurry after that. From the wine and the hormones both. He pulls your shorts and panties off in one go- there goes his jeans. Flesh on flesh, so much friction it feels like it might start throwing sparks. 

You’re shaking, pinned down underneath him with three of his long fingers buried inside of you when you’re able to put words to thought. 

“Condom” you demand, voice going high as his hand pistons between your legs, his finger tips curling in a way that has you both arching towards him and shifting away from him because holy fuck that hurts so good. 

“I don’t- shit, I think I have one in my car. You don’t have any?” His hand stills and you try to catch your breath, wracking your brain for something right now, which is pretty fucking hard with Steve knuckle deep.

You've got nothing. You hadn’t hooked up with anyone since before graduation.

“I don’t…” you whisper, shaking your head, bottom lip pursed.

His fingers slip from you with a squelch that isn’t as sexy when your moans aren’t an octave higher. And he huffs, exaggeratedly, before pecking you and hopping off the couch. 

Its a- sight. Butt naked, dick bobbing. He's such a beanpole, but he’s hand to god hung down to his knee. Biting your cheek you try to determine whether you think that's hot or hilarious. A bit of both. 

“You’re lucky you’re so fucking cute” Steve grumbles as he shimmy’s clumsily into his jeans, and only his jeans. 

“You’re lucky I’m so cute!” You holler after him as he all but jogs up the stairs and out the front door, a man on a mission. 

Its a quick interlude- not even a full two minutes but it gives you enough time to run to the lamp. The shroud of darkness comforting, easing the awkwardness that was steadily building. With Steve out of the house and you left inside, naked, you're really starting to reevaluate things. 

Yanking a throw blanket from the armchair, you wrap yourself in it before plopping back down on the sofa. 

Steve Harrington is outside getting a condom. 

Oh my god, is this real life? 

You wish you could call Bean. 

Your brain’s going a mile a minute as you stare at the dark ceiling when you hear the front door open. 

It’s dark, but not pitch. Your eyes have adjusted enough that you can see him, bare chested a little out of breath because of what must have been a sprint to his BMW. 

“Ow, fuck- Y/N?” Steve stumbles over a piece of furniture with a clatter, not familiar with your home’s lay. 

“Come here before you break something” you urge, reaching out and tugging on him once your fingers link. 

“What, like my head?” His knees hit the couch and he's going for his fly.

“No, something more valuable. Like a vase” it should sound more malicious, on any other given day it would, but right now you just can't muster it. Not when he’s taking off his jeans, not when he's back to hovering over you. How are his eyes more intense in the dark? 

“You okay?” He asks, like he cares. Your chest pulls something tight, an artery block or something. Maybe your uncle was right about eating pizza. 

You nod fast, humming a sound of agreement. 

Steves gently as he pries the throw blanket away from your body “Yeah, you sure? About this?” 

“I’m sure- i-if you are, I mean” fuck, its so uncomfortable. These moments before always are. 

“I'm sure” his voice is so much steadier than yours. Asshole. You yank him down, hard, by the back of the neck. 

Its lips and tongue then, teeth and shivering flesh. The furnace between the two of you cranked back up to a hundred as you perch your knees high around his waist, as he settles back into making you squirm, hooking you on the ends of his fingers, and then quickly switching to fast strokes of your clit until you- oh fuck you’re not going to, are you? 

You come with a shocked whine, your core clenching something piercing and good and holy fuck you can barely believe it. 

Most men can't even find your clit, much less make you come. It’s always a fumbling experience, where you end up getting yourself off for them. The fact that Steve had gotten it, on his own, on the first go? 

This can not be real.

“You good, baby? That feel good?” He mutters in your ear. 

Baby? What is life? Like seriously, what is this?

You feel shaky and out of it now, and if you grab his free hand and make him hold yours, you’ll blame it on the endorphins later. You need a tether. 

 “Y-yeah, fuck, are you going to put on that condom or not?” he thinks its funny, the way you can barley talk but still manage to be a smartass. You think it's annoying, how fondly he's looking at you. 

You have to get that look off of his face, kissing him’s a good of method as any. 

Steve’s still a teenage boy, one who can make you come, but still. Nineteen. He jabs in a little too hard, hits an angle inside of you that makes you gasp with pain, that makes the two of your bodies go into limbo, a hard attempt at figuring out just how you fit together, 

“There?”

“A little to the left, yeah”

“There?” he asks again and you can't stop grinning because maybe he's not good at everything. Maybe King Steve isn't the pussy pleaser everyone thought him to be, 

He gains his bearings then, straightening out and thrusting just right as his hand goes back between your still throbbing legs, tracing where your bodies meet and the almost inhumane sound that tears itself from your throat cant even begin to cover how fucking. Good. It. Feels. So. Good.

You didn’t expect to spend your perfectly good, Saturday night hanging off Steve Harrington's dick. But you can't say you regret it, not when he's moaning your name in your ear.

Come Monday morning, you make your usual trek to work, through the parking lot and the food court.

You don't stop when the neon sign of Scoops Ahoy comes into view. When Steve gives you a hopeful grin from behind the ice cream counter. 

It’s easy to pretend you don't see it and continue on up to Sam’s, the escalator your forever savior. 

You're good at pretending. 

Hope you enjoyed this monster of an intro chapter! Taglist is Open! But please be ready to leave some feedback if you’d like a tag.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x plus #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington imagines

[daisybell17]

Lokius — Taking a walk

Mobius let time pass for a second, taking in the life he had before the TVA. His mind wonders from thought to thought as the sinking feeling of loneliness fills his body, his mind, and his soul.

Turning away from the house, Mobius starts walking down the sidewalk path, observing the vast life around him.

It was so…simple? So…peaceful.

Passing each house that holds stories of people who have brought about love and pain within those walls brings an uncomfortable feeling to Mobius’s heart.

That could have been his life; it was his life at one point.

Then came Loki, and somehow he flipped a god’s world around. A god. So as he takes each step down that path, he can’t help but feel the grief that Loki was gone, that he had changed Mobius life more than he truly realised, yet he was here, walking down a suburban neighbourhood of the life he has no memory of.

Approaching the end of the path sat a tiny park. Mobius approaches the nearest bench, huffing out his breath as his body meets the cold metal. Trees hugged the small park, providing a nice balance of sun and shade. The breeze of the wind was cool, leaving Mobius with a slight shiver every time it hits him.

“But I'm in the trees, I'm in the breeze. My footsteps on the ground." Mobius closes his eyes and lets the nature around him consume this moment in time. What a nice wave of calm this world brings.

On the other side of it all sat Loki, who watched as Mobius rested in the park he led him down to. Showering him with the greenery that earth provides and sending him the breeze of his breath. He cannot intervene, but he can surely provide Mobius with a quaint little place in which they can connect, even if they cannot see each other.

“You'll see my face in every place. But you can't catch me now." Oh, how Mobius wishes Loki was here to share this moment with him. He wants Loki to be here; he hopes that maybe, just maybe, he’ll come. Was this the purpose his life was burdened for? To guide and fall for a god, only for his sacrifice to leave him alone? Yes, it brings about good, but why must he be alone in the end…

Everywhere Mobius looks around this park, he can only think about Loki; he wants Loki to be with him. He sees him in every shadow, and he swears that he can even feel him…but he just can’t see him. It’s like Loki is right behind him, just a footstep away, but it’s impossible to take the next step; they are both torn apart.

“Through wading grass, the months will pass. You'll feel it all around." Loki knows that one day he will watch as his Mobius passes on. The months will turn to years, and the years will become millennia, but there Loki stays, chained for eternity as he watches and grows the timeline.

Mobius spent the rest of that day in the park and the rest of his life always feeling Loki but never seeing him. Mobius feels him all around, in every corner of his life and soul.

God, he'd give anything just to see Loki again.

“I'm here, I'm there, I'm everywhere. But you can't catch me now. No, you can't catch me  now." Both of them know they will never cross paths again. Both understand that their presence can be felt by others, as it transcends any logic of this life. The bond they have crafted was only meant to grow but is now forever paused as greater manners came into play. Loki may hold every timeline in existence, but he projects his presence most onto Mobius’s life…He’s here, he’s there,

Loki is everywhere, but Mobius will never catch his glance or hold him close ever again.

——————————————————————————

(a/n): can you all tell im still not ok haha…ive been sobbing but hopefully y’all like this!!

#loki #loki laufeyson #mcu loki #loki god of mischief #loki marvel #loki series #marvel #loki fic #lokius #loki and mobius #loki x mobius #angst #loki angst #lokius angst #lokius is real #lokius 4lyfe #lokius fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki angst fic #loki loves mobius #loki x mobius angst #loki season 2 finale #loki season 2 #mobius #mobius loves loki #mobius misses loki #mobius m mobius #mobius marvel #loki and mobius are in love #loki and mobius are real

[quodekash]

good morning, friends! im exhausted and only got like four hours of sleep, but at least im (kind of) mentally prepared to revisit the episode, so (you probably know the drill by now), here’s all my commentary and thoughts and stuff from the episode! 

i feel like its important for everyone to know that i made myself an ice tea at 11:30pm because i knew i wouldnt be able to survive the episode alone 

(and dont suggest that the ice tea is the cause of the lack of sleep, if anything it’s the only reason i got to sleep) 

i was very nervous in the beginning cos i was pretty sure photjanee wouldnt be homophobic but also what if she is 

props to her for not asking tinn cos he was visibly nervous/afraid 

and gun told gim and she didnt even say anything at first. she just looked so freaking proud, then hugged him and said “whoever you love, i love” and i love her so much she’s a freaking perfect mother 

PHOTJANEE’S NEURODIVERGENT AND AWESOME HUSBAND who is still nameless IS SITTING NEXT TO HER SO HE’S GONNA SAY SOME HELPFUL AND SUPPORTIVE WORDS 

“were you afraid to hear the answer” im sensing a recurring themeeee (if youve forgotten and somehow havent rewatched the show over and over again, in episode 6 gun kept saying he was afraid to hear the answer of who tinn liked) 

“i think if he’s ready, he’ll tell you himself. give it time. time for tinn and yourself.” I LOVE THIS MAN 

also side note: she’s really pretty 

i smell a sponsorship 

a canon printer sponsorship 

theyre so subtle with their sponsorships 

“by the way, this printer is so convenient, it can be used with any operating system, right?” NICE ONE GEM, REAL SUBTLE, NO ONE WILL KNOW 

TIWPOR TINNGUN DOUBLE DATE STUDY DATE ONCE AGAIN 

AND SOUNDWIN BEHIND THEM (and also yo and pat i guess) 

tinngun are always reminiscent of patpran, but so much throughout this episode it literally felt like i was watching bad buddy 

GUN FINALLY KNOWS THAT TIW KNOWS AND GUN IS LIKE ‘wait did you tell him’ AND TIW JUST GOES 

“do you think this nerd would succeed in getting your love without my help”

AND HE’S SO ICONIC AND HE’S SO RIGHT AND I LOVE HIM SO MUCH OH MY GOSH 

also rip four and tinn’s homosecuality, they have to pretend to date for this music video 

also also WE GET TO SEE FOUR AND HER GIRLFRIEND AGAIN OMG I LOVE THEM 

THEY MAKE ME SO HAPPY 

LOOK AT THEM AND THEIR IN-LOVE-NESS 

cant wait for the homophobia this episode /sarc

“we just have to wait until the dinosaurs are extinct and humans rule the world” TIW LITERALLY JUST SAID WE HAVE TO WAIT FOR ALL THE BOOMERS TO DIE OUT AND THEN GAYS CAN RULE THE WORLD THIS IS FREAKING HILARIOUS 

I CANT EXPLAIN IT, THEIR FACES ARE SO REMINISCENT OF PATPRAN AND MORE SO THAN USUAL 

does- does this count as a first kiss 

that was so sudden 

um

help??? 

theyre so cute tho i love them 

PROM DAY (looking back, how does so much happen in this one day) 

✨gotta love being outed✨

GUN JUST TOLD THE BROSKIS 

and por is, naturally, very excited 

but also somehow very oblivious 

i had a feeling yo knew already 

apparently sound told win ages ago (when? idk man) 

pat having a suspicion about it is actually very surprising 

“you and you, what’s going on? you’ve been weird” 

FINALLY THE SCENE OF THEM HOLDING HANDS AND SHOWING THE GUYS IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS FOR WAY TOO FREAKING LONG 

AND THEY BOTH LOOK SO FREAKING HAPPY 

IM DYING 

i need to ingrain every soundwin scene from this episode into my brain cos there’s so much of it and i want to see it all forever please 

tis raining and theyre under an umbrella and soundwin did it first 

okay so. it sucks that they were outed. and people shouldnt take photos of other people and then post it on social media because they can, cos thats an invasion of privacy and is not cool. 

on the other hand, everyone seems thrilled by it and tinngun aren’t hurt by it happening so i guess its okay 

in general tho people should not do this cos it could go very badly 

but this is a bl drama not real life so its fine 

I SPY WITH MY LITTLE EYE A NEUROSPICY GUY 

they did the happy arms 

and theyre sitting cross-legged on top of a table 

i love you random side character 

PAT AND POR BEING ALL HAPPY AND EXCITED IS HILARIOUS I LOVE THEM 

“no one cares about people’s sexual orientation these days. its a new world. right, pumpkin??” GUI4HERIH4IIGU (note to past me: it gets worse. you’re gonna progressively die even more) 

EW PEOPLE ARE MESSAGING PHOTJANEE SAYING TINN’S GONNA RUIN THE SCHOOL’S REPUTATION AND STUFF 

...what series was it 

did- did you watch bad buddy, photjanee 

did tinn’s parents watch bad buddy 

ive decided they watched bad buddy until proven otherwise 

‘its down to us whether we’re as kind to our son as those in the series’ THIS MAN HAS THE WISEST KINDEST WORDS AND I WANT TO GIVE HIM A BIG HUG 

tiw and tinn are actually really sad about kajorn leaving the student council which is slightly confusing (not cos i hate him, im finding it increasingly difficult to hate him, i just didn’t think tiw and tinn actually liked kajorn) 

‘people are arguing whether it’s guntinn or tinngun’ 

... 

im gonna say it 

i have to say it 

you cant stop me from saying it 

soundwin did it first 

(technically it was satangwinny vs winnysatang but thats not the point) 

there i said it 

hah 

babes she’s known for months 

(but yes absolutely if you’re comfortable telling her and you think you should, go right ahead :] )

i hate this teacher 

i would like to punch him please 

luckily i know, thanks to the preview last episode, that he does, in fact, get punched, so it’s all good 

KAJORN IS IN THE ROOM WHILE GUN IS DISTRESSED 

I REPEAT, JORN IS THERE 

yay tinn is there with gun while he cries 

thank you tinn for existing 

NO 

GO AWAY TEACHER 

DON’T ENTER THE ROOM 

"im sorry, i was just joking around with my friend, i didnt mean to insult you" yeah, okay, well thats only part of the problem. other problems are: a. the fact that you had to say such a horrible thing in order to joke around with your friend. if that's the kind of humour your friend has, that person should not be your friend, unless it's also your humour, in whcih case, that isnt a sincere apology. b. it's not just that you insulted gun. you also insulted an entire community of people, of students, of human beings, who just want to exist and live as people doing what they want to do. you cant say something homophobic and then only apologise because it hurt one person close to you. you say something homophobic, and then you apologise - in a way that you GENUINELY MEAN - and say you had no intention of hurting so many people, including gun. or, alternatively, dont say the homophobic thing in the first place. c) you’re a freaking TEACHER. a TEACHER is there to SUPPORT and CARE for ALL of their students. a TEACHER should not be saying terrible things where ANYONE could overhear. if a TEACHER cannot be supportive for ALL STUDENTS, then they should not be a teacher. (im a huge defender of teachers cos theyre human beings with lives and families and hobbies and theyre more than just the adult human that tells you 2 plus 2 is 4. but i am also a huge defender of students cos theyre human beings and also children and theyre still developing. and i am especially a defender of students and an offender of teachers when the teacher clearly hates children or isnt a good teacher or should not at all be a teacher. so this isnt me hating all teachers, i love teachers, i could talk about how unappreciated they are for hours. but i cannot stand it when a teacher behaves the way this teacher did. i hate it so freaking much.) 

THE TEACHER WAS “SHOCKED” COS GUN IS A “ROCKSTAR” SO THE TEACHER “THOUGHT YOU WERE MANLY” 

THATS NOT AN EXPLANATION NOR IS THAT AN APOLOGY 

GENDER AND SEXUAL IDENTITY ARE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FREAKING THINGS 

AND EVEN THEN, GENDER AND GENDER EXPRESSION ARE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FREAKING THINGS 

LIKING MEN DOESNT MAKE SOMEONE ANY LESS ‘MANLY’ SO STFU AND GET FIRED ALREADY 

FREAKING YES 

GOOD

HELL YES 

KAJORN PUNCHED THE TEACHER BEFORE TINN COULD 

THIS IS EVERYTHING I COULDVE ASKED FOR OR NEEDED 

I LOVE IT SO MUCH 

I LOVE KAJORN SO MUCH 

IM FINALLY ALLOWED TO NOT HATE HIM AND IM VERY GLAD ABOUT IT 

DAMN SOUND 

I MEAN I AGREE BUT WOW I WASNT EXPECTING THAT 

‘i HoPe YoU giVe A fAiR jUdGeMeNt oN tHiS cAsE’ bro its not court 

and absolutely she’ll give fair judgement 

shes freaking awesome and i love her 

also what does probation mean 

“don’t use violence to solve problems. do you understand?” okay, yes, im 100% on board with you, i completely agree, but, hear me out here: homophobia. 

I LOVE PHOTJANEE SO MUCH 

COLD AS ICE SHE GOES “if you’re not satisfied with my judgement, write a complaint. but dont forget to add every detail truthfully” 

SHE’S SO ICONIC 

TRULY A SLAY 

“LET GO OF MY SON. as principal, all i can do is submit a report regarding your behavior to those in authority. but as a mom, MY SON CAN LIKE WHOEVER HE LIKES. STAY OUT OF IT. if i hear anything filthy from you again, your penalty will go far beyond this” I FELT HER ANGER 

I LOVE HER WITH ALL MY SOUL 

SHES FREAKING AWESOME 

and kajorn looks so happy and content 

i love him 

PROM TIME AND THE STIMS ARE STIMMING REAL HARD RN 

WHY AM I CRYING WHILE LISTENING TO YOU’VE GOT MA BACK? THIS ISN’T A SAD SONG 

C O M E   C L O S E R 

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH POR 

OOOOO NEW SONG 

SOUNDWIN CHEEK KISS 

IM LITERALLY CRYING THEYRE SO CUTE 

(note to past me: it’s gonna get worse) 

aww gun’s in the audience singing directly to tinn this is so cute 

GRBRHKBGRIUBJROBUR

I WOULDVE BEEN CONTENT WITH JUST SOUND KISSING WIN BUT IM NOT COMPLAINING 

I AM THE OPPOSITE OF COMPLAINING 

GIREBVIRUB

TINN AND GUN ARE GOING ON THE STAGE TOGETHER HAND IN HAND 

HOW IS THIS SO FREAKING PERFECT 

AND SOUND’S GOT A GUITAR SOLO COS HE’S AWESOME LIKE THAT 

HAPPINESS 

BIG HAPPIES 

MUCH OF THE VERY HAPPINESS 

their hugs always look so comfy 

someone in the audience asked if theyre real and gun said nothing but hashtag #MySchoolPresident and it’s still so funny to me 

its like theyre telling us the watchers 

like USE TEH HASHTAG, PLEASE 

and we’re like WEVE ALREADY BEEN DOING THAT, CALM DOWN 

ew old teachers 

shut up with your judgy faces 

no one cares 

YAY FOR YOUNG PROGRESSIVE TEACHERS WHO DONT CARE WHAT THE BOOMERS THINK 

cos, as tiw said, the boomers will die out soon and then gays can rule the world 

can the episode just end here 

i dont want to go through the emotional turmoil of whats coming 

cos i know its coming 

there’s gonna be a graduation scene 

and im very scared 

my mentally ill butt can never be okay for graduation scenes 

and yet my mentally ill butt keeps consuming media set in the senior year of high school 

DAMN THIS ENDING IS GONNA BE LONG 

31:48 MINUTES 

STRAP IN YOUR SEATBELTS COS WE’RE GONNA BE IN FOR ONE EMOTIONAL ROLLERCOASTER 

NO 

WAIT NO LET THERE BE MORE 

JUST ONE MORE 

OR TWO 

OR AN ENDLESS AMOUNT 

DON’T LET IT BE OVER 

PLEASE 

“its the last day of our high school lives.” ACK SHOOT FREAK FRENCH GUSTAV AND SHOELACES AND TURTLES AND FREAKING SHOOT NOODLES WHAT THE FLIP 

AH SHOOT I FORGOT ABOUT KAJORN BEING A YEAR YOUNGER THAN THEM 

HE HAS TO CARRY ON THEIR LEGACY WITHOUT THEM 

HES FREAKING ALONE 

IDEK IF HE HAS ANY FRIENDS 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

ooo we’re gonna get another pool scene soon 

NO STOP IT WITH THE SIGNED SHIRTS I CANT TAKE IT 

‘no one ever asks if i can sign their shirts :[’ ‘sign my shirt’ 

‘ILL WRITE DOWN WHAT I FEEL THAT IM TOO AFRAID TO SAY’ I FREAKING LOVE THEM 

WAIT 

SHOOT

I KNOW I ASKED FOR IT BUT I DIDNT EXPECT THEM TO ACTUALLY DO IT 

IM IN SHOCK 

LITERALLY CRYING 

WHAT THE FLIP 

HOLY FREAK 

NO WAY 

THIS IS THE END 

THAT’S IT

IM DEAD

GONE

DECEASED

THEY FREAKING KISSED 

RIGHT THEN AND THERE 

PROPERLY KISSING 

BEFORE TINNGUN 

WHAT 

IS THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENING 

OW I PINCHED MYSELF 

I LITERALLY CANT BELIEVE IT 

“i wont let you kiss first you barstool” HOW ARE THEY SO- GJRBGIKRB

BUT ONCE ISNT ENOUGH 

OH NO, THEY HAVE TO KISS AGAIN 

JUST TO MAKE SURE IM DEAD 

THEY ALREADY STABBED ME A COUPLE TIMES 

THEN THEY KISSED AND THEY SLICED ME IN HALF WITH A REALLY COOL SWORD 

AND NOW THEYRE SLICING MY HEAD OFF JUST TO MAKE SURE IM DEAD 

‘STOP TRYING TO LOOK HANDSOME IDIOT BECAUSE ITS MAKING MY HEART SO WEAK’ I CANT WITH THESE TWO 

I LITERALLY CANT EVEN PROCESS THAT THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED 

SURELY IM DREAMING RIGHT NOW

THERES NO WAY THEY ACTUALLY FREAKING KISSED 

AND TIWPOR RIGHT AFTER??? IT’S TOO MUCH POWER 

AWWWWWW NOOK AND YOOOO

BUT POOR PAT IS COMPLETELY LONELY 

PLS LET PAT NOT BE LONELY FOREVER 

THEY BETTER GIVE PAT SOME HAPPINESS 

NO?? THEYRE JUST GONNA CHANGE THE SCENE LIKE THAT??? OKAY THEN???????? 

no but why wasnt tiwporpat an option 

they couldve gone down the polyamory route 

as much as i love poking fun at pat being lonely, i want him to be happy, and tiwporpat makes sense 

(i must also say that patjorn also makes sense and i wouldnt have been mad if they went down the tiwporpat route or the patjorn route. theyre both amazing. but no, they went with pat is lonely forever and its really freaking sad. thanks guys.) 

OH TINNGUN POOL SCENE 

POOL SCENE NUMBER... IDEK AT THIS POINT 

they should kiss btw 

GUN WROTE #MYSCHOOLPRESIDENT ON TINN’S SHIRT AND TINN WROTE ‘APPROVED BY THE SCHOOL PRESIDENT’ ON GUN’S SHIRT AND ITS SO FREAKING PERFECT 

IT COMES FULL CIRCLE SO BEAUTIFULLY 

THEY LITERALLY COULDNT HAVE WRITTEN ANYTHING GREATER 

I FREAKING LOVE THIS SHOW 

tinngun still have not kissed 

NO PLS I CANT TAKE IT WITH THE HEARTFELT SPEECHES 

HOW DO YOU CRY SILENTLY 

NO THEYRE PLAYING ONE LAST SONG TOGETHER 

STUFF YOU 

I LITERALLY DONT KNOW IF IVE EVER CRIED HARDER THAN I DID WHILE WATCHING THAT FREAKING FINAL SONG 

tinn’s father is so neurodivergent i love him 

OMG GUN IS ACTUALLY SITTING AT THEIR TABLE AND HAVING A MEAL WITH THEM 

IT’S NOT IMAGINARY GUN 

IT’S REAL GUN 

THIS IS CRAZY 

PFFFFFFT TINN’S DAD HELPED HIM WRITE THE SONG FOR GUN 

THAT’S FREAKING HILARIOUS 

OH MY GOSH THEYRE ABOUT TO KISS- 

darn you gun and your bloody hand in the way 

too many times 

this has happened far too many times 

just kiss 

please

YES 

GOOD 

EXCELLENT 

but also soundwin did it first 

ANYWAY THAT WAS PERFECT 

OH MY GOSH 

IM NOT OKAY 

(the funniest thing about me constantly saying ‘im dying’ or ‘im dead’ is that my fitbit hasnt been able to pick up on my heartrate for literally hours. like, since i started watching the episode. it just stopped working. and if your heart isnt beating, you’re quite literally dead.) 

final thoughts / main takeaways from that episode (and therefore the whole show) 

tinngun are very cute 

tinngun are patpran variants (we already knew this but still) 

tiwpor havent been dating the whole time but there was definite crushing for a very long time 

pat is sad and lonely and pls let there be tiwporpat or patjorn at some point in the future 

we need a sequel please and thank you 

soundwin are freaking perfect 

this show is perfection 

im mentally ill 

that teacher sucks 

tinn’s dad is neurodivergent and i love him 

photjanee is amazing and awesome and i love her 

gim is the greatest mother and i love her 

i love all of these characters way too much  and, last but not least, 

soundwin did it first. 

#my school president final ep #my school president episode 12 #my school president ep 12 #my school president #my school president the series #soundwin #winsound #tinngun #tiwpor #tiwporpat #tiwpat #patpor #patjorn #msp jorn #msp kajorn #tiwsonpor #satangwinny #winnysatang #markford #geminifourth #prom theepakon #nookyo #captain passatorn #aun napat #satang kittiphop #winny thanawin #mark pakin #ford arun #gemini norawit #fourth nattawat

[corvidamned]

FIVE SONGS for your muse.

i. Love Me Dead - Ludo: She moves through moonbeams slowly. She knows just how to hold me. And when her edges soften, Her body is my coffin. I know she drains me slowly. She wears me down to bones in bed. Must be the sign on my head, That says, oh Love me dead! Love me dead!

ii. This Is Not An Exit - Duncan Sheik: Maybe this schism, is just a symptom, Of late capitalism. A Savior's died and risen, Of worlds that wouldn't listen, To their own collapse. Even if this story, Is overwrought and gory, It's not a fable, it's not an allegory. No cautionary tale, no memento mori. Or a vague perhaps.

iii. I Would Die 4 U - Prince: I'm not a woman, I'm not a man. I am something that you'll never understand. I'll never beat you, I'll never lie. And if you're evil, I'll forgive you by and by. 'Cause you, I would die for you, yeah. Darlin', if you want me to, you, I would die for you. I'm not your lover, I'm not your friend. I am something that you'll never comprehend. No need to worry, no need to cry. I'm your Messiah and you're the reason why.

iv. Shake the Disease - Depeche Mode: Some people have to be permanently together, Lovers devoted to each other forever. Now I've got things to do, and I've said before, That I know you have too. When I'm not there, In spirit I'll be there. Here is a plea from my heart to you, Nobody knows me as well as you do. You know how hard it is for me to shake the disease, That takes hold of my tongue in situations like these. Understand me.

v. As It Was - Hozier: And in a few days, I would be there, love. Whatever here that's left of me is yours just as it was. Just as it was, baby. Before the otherness came. And I knew its name. The love, the dark, the light, the flame. The eyes at the heights of my baby. Let's hope at the fight of my baby. The lights were as bright as my baby, But your love was unmoved. And tell me if somehow, some of it remained. How long you would wait for me? How long I've been away? The shape that I'm in now, is shaping the doorway. Make your good love known to me. Just tell me about your day. Just as it was, baby. Before the otherness came. And I knew its name. The drugs, the dark, the light, the shame.

FIVE TWELVE QUOTES for your muse.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before ―  Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven Strength does not make one capable of rule; it makes one capable of service. ― Brandon Sanderson, The Way of Kings You cannot have both. In war you must always choose sides. One or the other. Silver or black. Human or demon. If you try to be a bridge laid down between them, they will tear you in half. ― Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless I look down at my body and think, No. I will not abandon you. Not yet, not again, not like the rest of them. ― Ashe Vernon, from “For Anyone Who’s Listening,” Not a Girl Part of heroism is being able to see the future and still remain standing. If you don't believe in God or Fate, you still must believe in narrative. ― Richard Siken, Four Proofs “I’ve been trying to go home my whole life—” — Chelsea Dingman, “Psychogeography” “Break often - not like porcelain, but like waves.” — Scherezade Siobhan First love's all right, as far as it goes. Last love, that's what I'm interested in. ― The Edge of Love, 2008 Understand, there are two pains. Pains that try to rob you of your essence and burn you to the ground, and pains that will transform you and give you wings. ― Helaena Moon

If you are so committed to being perfectly lawful that you cannot see the value of breaking a law to defend yourself or others, you’re not good, you’re obedient. ― tumblr user cenkrett “As the image of myself becomes sharper in my brain and more precious, I feel less afraid that someone else will erase me by denying me love.” ― Jenny Slate there's a misconception that grief only happens when we lose people. this is not true. we can grieve circumstances, relationships, missed opportunities. in fact, sometimes when you find yourself plagued with waves of emotion from sadness to melancholy you may be grieving yourself. the version of yourself that you might have been if things had been different, or if only you had said something, or if someone had stood up for you. ― tumblr user blooooom

Tagged by: @manufactoredxbyxdesign @fiercehearts Tagging: @prettytm @gviral @blood-on-my-coat @dcwnthercbbithcle @mxlevolence @red-hemlock @umbrellamedic @stxsis @qu-tipie

#muse #music #modus operandi #i love quotes so much

[slusheeduck]

For Want Of A Wish

[I][II][III]

IV. Revel

As they passed through the crossing, they were immediately enrobed in the golden sunlight that seemed to drip through the trees. They both had a moment of wonder, before Astarion remembered himself and dove for the nearest shade. He pressed his back against a tree, brows creasing as he realized he was stuck.

“Gods, I forget how beautiful it…Love?” Falerin broke from his reverie, looking around until he found where Astarion had tucked himself away. He stepped around, still bathed in sunlight—the deep red of his hair was brightened in the light, with streaks of silver threaded through, as he tilted his head to look at him. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know if you recall this, dearheart, but I am, in fact, a vampire,” Astarion hissed. “Or did you think we only went out at night for fun once the Absolute business was over?”

Falerin blinked, and his eyes widened. “Oh, oh! Oh, you think…this isn’t real.”

“I beg your fucking pardon.”

Falerin shook his head, then waved around them. “All of…this. It’s not real sunlight. I mean, I suppose it is, but it doesn’t work like ours. It’s always like this.” He wrinkled his nose, trying to think of the best way to explain it. “Here, let me show you.” He held out his hand for Astarion’s.

Astarion looked down at it, then back up at him. “Did you ever learn cure wounds?” he asked dryly.

“No, but we won’t need it. Just trust me.”

Astarion frowned, weighing his options, before he finally gave a sigh and set his hand in Falerin’s. “If I burn…”

“You won’t.” Slowly, Falerin pulled Astarion’s hand forward, into the sunlight. Astarion grimaced and shut his eyes, waiting for the burn he knew all too well. But it…never came—there wasn’t even so much as a prickle. He opened his eyes, staring at his pale skin, bright and unmarked in the sunlight. He blinked, releasing Falerin’s hand to hold it up.

“Gods. You were right,” he said, voice soft. The longer his hand stayed in the sun, the more he realized that it did feel…different than what he remembered from three years ago. It wasn’t warm, or cold, or…anything, really. Somehow, it felt more like an artificer’s lamp—effective, but inorganic. But even so, it was more sunlight than he’d dared to hope for in years, so he was hardly going to complain.

He stepped out into the sunlight, glancing over to catch Falerin staring at him. He returned the stare with his own curious look. “What?”

To his surprise, Fal’s face split into a grin. “I’d forgotten how beautiful you look in the daylight,” he said, voice soft and odd eyes bright. “It suits you.” He laughed. “All the more reason to get that Wish.”

Astarion gave his own little smile, mouth staying firmly shut. Best not spoil anything by blurting his plan now. He looked around them, now able to properly take in their surroundings. “Is this the Court?”

“Mm? Oh, no, no, the Court’s a way off. Well, probably. It…moves.” Fal picked his way back out to the little road, Astarion close behind.

“What do you mean ‘it moves’?” the vampire asked, any wonder suddenly evaporating.

“Well, her Court never stays in one place. I assume it’s still close by—it hasn’t been very long since I was here, in their time, but…” Fal shrugged, having the audacity to look unbothered. “Someone will be able to point us there.”

Astarion stood still, staring hard at Falerin. He finally looked away, taking a very deep breath as he brought his hands together. “So. You’re telling me, darling, dearheart, beloved, light of my life, Falerin Glais, that your plan for the two of us, is to wander around an entirely different realm until someone is nice enough to give directions to a fey court that could be on the other side of the Feywild for all we know?” His voice had steadily risen through the last half of the sentence, breaking on “Feywild,” but even so, Falerin didn’t look any less confident. In fact, he smiled as he reached for Astarion’s hand.

“Look,” he said, voice quiet as he wrapped both warm hands around Astarion’s, “it’s like I said. This place is…it was my home for a long time. I know how it works, and I know how to get us where we need to go. And…” He tilted his head back and forth. “My patron is…she has a lot of sway here. One look at this…” He tapped just beneath his violet eye. “…and I guarantee every fey will know exactly where we’re going. Trust me?” Falerin bit his lip, looking over Astarion’s face, then nodded back behind him. “Portal’s still open. We can still leave.”

Astarion’s mouth stayed in a hard line, and he glanced back over his shoulder. The portal was indeed still open, a perfect circle of mundane darkness amidst the impossible vibrance of the Feywild. It was tempting, scurrying back to the shadows and hoping for an easier way to fix things. But if he’d clawed his way this far after two hundred years, he wasn’t about to get back to it now. He took a breath, then looked back to Falerin.

“Well, I’ve trusted you this far, mad as you are,” he finally said. “Suppose I can manage a bit farther.”

Fal gave him a wide smile, squeezing his hand before he let go to turn and start walking. “I actually think you’ll like it here, once we get to the Court. Obviously I don’t think we should move in or anything, but…well, you can already see, it’s unlike anywhere else.”

Astarion looked overhead. Despite the golden light filtering down to them, there didn’t seem to be a source for the light. It just...was. No shadows either, now that he was looking—granted, he couldn’t go by his own. But each leaf of the trees around them were perfectly lit, creating an odd lack of depth in the world around them. Beautiful, yes, but…not quite right. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

“Ah! Hang on, before we go any farther, here.” Falerin suddenly stopped, reaching up to grab two of the perfectly lit leaves from an overhead branch. He held one out to Astarion. “Here, you’ll want this.”

Astarion took it, looking it over. “What, is it…currency here?” He grinned as he spun it between his fingers. “Trading leaves and dewdrops for…” He looked up just in time to see Falerin shove the whole leaf in his mouth. “…couldn’t wait thirty seconds before being an absolute weirdo, could you, love?”

Falerin nodded at him as he chewed. “Go on, eat yours.”

“You know, I’m really regretting what I just said about trusting you. I think I’ll pass.”

Falerin shook his head as he swallowed. “No, no, it’s…it’s essential. I promise it is. You know fairy food, how it’s enchanted?” As Astarion nodded, he continued, “Well, it is. But the first thing you eat here makes you immune to future enchantments. Most people, of course, have the cakes or wine or whatever, and they get enchanted. But if you have a leaf, stick, flower—you know, anything recognizable that’s from here specifically, you’ll be able to have whatever you want without any issue.”

Astarion stared at him, then back down at his leaf. “Well, then, isn’t it lucky I don’t have to eat? And that includes leaves.” He tucked it in one of his many hidden pockets, then waved his hand. “I’ll just drink from…” He paused. “Do…do the things here have blood?”

Falerin thought for a moment, squinting hard at the ground. “I…they must. They must. I mean, I’ve never seen for myself, but they’re…” He trailed off. “Well, it might not even be an issue!” He started walking again. “When I came before, my illness, my aging, all of that seemed to stop. I don’t recall being particularly hungry or thirsty, really, so…it may be a non-issue, especially since you drank from me last night. And everything should be paused for me now, so you’ll be able to drink from me again if you need.”

“Mm.” That did…not sound like a solid plan, but it wasn’t like Astarion had anything better to offer. He took a couple quick steps to catch up to Falerin, looping his arm through his again—this realm was getting increasingly strange, just listening to Fal talk about it, and a bit of grounding never hurt anyone. They kept an easy pace; there was no real rush, after all, and the…day? night? was young, and there seemed to be no threats ahead.

After a while, Astarion glanced to Falerin. “So how did you get here the first time?”

“Crossroad, same one we came through.”

“Yes, yes, but…what did you do? You know, like the flute playing.” Astarion paused. “How did you show your heart?”

Falerin’s mouth twitched up into a little smile. “I sang.”

Astarion snorted before he could stop himself, and he quickly covered his mouth. “Sorry. I’m sorry, love. I just…I’ve heard you sing, and it’s…” He tried to think of the kindest way to put it. “I can think of many other strengths that would suit you better.”

Falerin let out a soft little laugh. “I’m terrible, you can say it.”

“Zel’s yowling for breakfast is more melodic, darling, I’m sorry.”

Falerin nodded, staying quiet for a moment as he stared down at the road. “I didn’t used to be,” he said quietly, but he left it there.

Astarion watched him for a moment as they walked, trying to decipher the odd, almost wistful look on his face. But ultimately, he also left it there. He sighed, tilting his head to rest against Fal’s as they walked.

“If you had to do that song and dance again, no pun intended, I think you’d really impress the Guardian with your lacework.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm. You know Adrina, the dragonborn who commissioned a wedding dress that I begged for your help on? She adored the lace. Thought it was the best part.”

“You’re flattering me.”

“I’m not! Please, like I would ever voluntarily say something outshone my embroidery.” Astarion paused. “Which, for the record, my embroidery on that dress was also stunning.”

Falerin laughed, and Astarion relaxed. There, a bit of normalcy in a terribly strange place—that made things much better. And, from experience, a bit of laughter always made the vast, overwhelming first steps of a journey that much easier to take.

~

While there seemed to be no sun, the daylight began giving way to twilight, gold shifting to pinks and blues as they traveled on. Like the last time Fal had been here, the path had been pleasant thus far, with no threats lingering close by. Astarion had even lost a bit of his natural wariness, and they chatted as if they were walking down to the night market.

Eventually, though, it was clear they would have to make camp. Falerin sighed as he set down his pack. He’d hoped they’d find someone before now, but it looked like it was just them. He sat down on a rock, brow furrowing as he thought. “It certainly is interesting here,” Astarion said, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back. “I hardly feel like we’ve walked much at all. Of course, now that I say that out loud, I’m worried that we’ve hardly made any progress.” He looked behind him, searching for the portal; it was nowhere to be found. He gave a pleased little huff, then looked back to Falerin. “Are you doing all right, darling?”

“Mm? Oh, yes. Not as well as I did with the tadpole, but I’m all right.” Falerin leaned forward, mouth pressed against his hand as he thought. “We may have to go off the path tomorrow. I thought we’d find someone by now—I’ll admit, it has me a little worried that we’re farther off than I thought…but that doesn’t make sense.”

“Darling, when has any part of our adventures made sense?” Astarion asked, digging out his sleeping roll. “We fought a giant brain with a squid-faced hero of old as an ally…or, well, whatever it was doing. A sparsely populated wood is far from abnormal.” He unrolled the mat, then looked off into the wood, squinting. “Oh, hello.”

Falerin followed his gaze. “What?”

“We may not be alone after all. I spy a light.” Astarion leaned down and pointed through the trees. Sure enough, a golden glow filtered through the leaves against the darkening surroundings. Falerin got up to move closer to Astarion, tilting his head curiously as he listened. From where they crouched, the tinkling sound of laughter was carried by the soft breeze, along with the heady smell of flowers and something sweet that was nearly familiar, but not quite.

He bit his lip, tugging it to the side as he studied the shifting shadows and laughter. He glanced at Astarion, who tilted his head.

“Should we go?” the vampire whispered. “Do you think it’s safe?”

“It’s definitely Court fairies, though I’m not sure with who,” Falerin whispered back. “But I’d wager Spring Court—that’s where my patron’s from.” He tilted his head back and forth, then looked at Astarion and shrugged. “It’s either trying our luck with them, or wandering around tomorrow. I’d say we should try.”

Astarion nodded, silently moving back to gather up his bedroll. He didn’t say anything, but the unspoken I’m trusting you hung heavy between them. Once he’d gathered his things and brought Falerin’s pack over, they quietly made their way toward the light.

They found a clearing not far into the forest, and that’s where the laughter and light was coming from. The two of them slipped around the trees to get a better look. There were two fey—wispy, pale things, feminine in appearance with long tendrils of white hair, frothy shifts that looked as though they were woven from the morning mist, and large silver eyes that sparked with something much more wild than anything in mortal eyes. They’d arranged a picnic, it looked like, with delicate little cakes, sandwiches, and other dainty foods that certainly wouldn’t be seen at a standard Neverwinter tea. Each fey had a goblet in their hands, with wine so sweet Falerin and Astarion could smell it from where they hid. The two laughed at some untold joke, but one suddenly stopped, starry eyes wide.

“Oh, oh, Fionnula,” she whispered, reaching to grasp the other fey’s arm. “I think we have company.” She gasped, excited. “Mortal company, even.”

“Mortal company? Oh, Fiadh, how exciting!” Fionnula hopped up to her feet, so lightly she looked as though she floated upward. “Come on out, mortals! Oh, we won’t hurt you—and you must know we can’t lie!”

Fiadh got up as well, flittering around the camp. As she came near where Astarion and Falerin crouched, Fal caught sight of Astarion’s hand starting to go for his knife. He reached over to grab his wrist, shaking his head. Before he could say anything, though, one of the fey popped her head out from between the trees, sending a bright smile at them.

“Fionnula, I found them!” she called, then reached for Falerin’s hands. Her grip was surprisingly strong, and she pulled him up to his feet without much effort. “Oh, you mustn’t spend the night there, silly! Come, join our revel! It’s a small one, but still plenty of fun!”

“Don’t touch me,” Falerin heard Astarion snap as Fionnula came over to pull him into the clearing. He tensed, worried he might have offended her, but she merely laughed.

“Oh, no need for that, mortal!” she trilled, practically dancing him to the little set-up. “We’re kin, you know! I can tell by your lovely ears and your pretty face—you’ve fey-blood in you!”

“This one does, too, though much, much less—his ears aren’t nearly so lovely.” Fiadh’s fingers traced curiously over Falerin’s ear, and she tilted her head as she looked at his face. The hand found its way to his violet eye, delicate fingers pushing his lids open to look it over. “Ohh, I know who you belong to,” she said with a knowing smile as she released him.

Despite the manhandling, Falerin perked up. “You do? Can you tell me where her Court’s moved to, then?”

“Oh, yes yes yes, but not until you’ve reveled with us!” She looked back in alarm as Fionnula let out a little shriek of laughter, not unlike a child who’d been startled by something. Falerin just caught sight of her pushing up Astarion’s lips, and she danced back quickly as he snapped his teeth at her instinctively.

“Fiadh, Fiadh, come here! This one…oh, he’s so cold, and his teeth are so sharp!”

Fiadh fluttered her way over to Astarion, reaching out to grab his hand despite his best efforts to back away. “Oh, he is! He’s so frightfully cold. Do you need warming, kin?”

“I don’t need anything,” Astarion hissed at her, trying to tug his arm back.

“You see? Oh, but look at his teeth. Do you think he’s dead? I think he’s dead!” Fionnula said in a half-whisper.

“He can’t be dead. He’s far too handsome. He looks like us!”

“Oh, he does, he does. But the eyes are all wrong.”

“The eyes are all wrong. Oh, but maybe the rest of him’s all right.” Fiadh’s hands traveled to Astarion’s collar, trying to work the stays, while Fionnula set to his shoulders. Astarion had frozen up, eyes wide and teeth still bared—no magic, not that Falerin could see, but rather indecision on whether he was going to go somewhere a million realms away or bite off one of the fey’s hands.

Well, Falerin wouldn’t let either of those happen. It was time to intervene.

“Fionnula, Fiadh,” he said brightly, getting their attention back on him as he stepped forward. “My beloved there is certainly flattered by your attention, but…well, he’s not familiar with this realm, and you may be overstepping a bit. We’re not mad, of course, but…it can read as a bit rude.”

The word “rude” sent a visible shiver through both fey as they gasped, and they simultaneously stepped back from Astarion. There was the barest bit of relaxing in the stiff line of his shoulders and the set of his jaw—crisis averted.

“Oh, we didn’t mean to be rude,” Fionnula said.

“You’re just so pretty, we couldn’t help it!” Fiadh added, anxiously combing her fingers through her hair.

“I hear that more often than you’d think,” Astarion said weakly. He took a breath, composing himself. “But th—” He caught sight of Falerin firmly shaking his head. “…I’m grateful that you’ve given me a bit of space.”

There was a time, not too long ago, when Astarion had to be coached through saying thank you. This was a bit of a pleasant reminder of how far he’d come, really—not that Falerin would say anything about that.

“Oh, but we’re terrible hosts. Terrible hosts! Let’s make it better.” Fionnula took Astarion’s hand again, but only to guide him over to the set up. Fiadh beckoned Falerin over to join them, which he did. “We’ve brought such lovely things with us, and we’re all too glad to share.”

From thin air, it seemed, two glasses of wine materialized in Fiadh’s hands, and she pushed one each into Astarion and Falerin’s palms. “Here, do drink this. We’ll have a lovely time together.”

There was the too-sweet smell—fairy wine. Even if it had been a while since Falerin had seen it, he could remember the effects all too well. The haziness, the looseness…drinking fairy wine was an essential part of a revel, and while Falerin couldn’t remember most of what happened when he’d drunk it, he could always remember waking the next morning, sick and sore and untangling himself from whatever fey had wanted to play the night before.

But he’d warned Astarion, at least. So if they could play off not drinking it, they could… He glanced over as he caught a flash of silver, and he blanched as he watched Astarion, still stiff and wary, take a bracing sip, likely in an attempt to shake off the unwanted touches. The sip became a gulp, then two gulps—the whole glass was drained before Falerin could so much as say a word.

Oh shit.

Fionnula and Fiadh, however, seemed delighted. “There, look at him drink! Oh, we really must be kin. Shall we give you some more, pretty cold boy?”

“No,” Falerin said firmly, moving closer to Astarion. “I…I’m sorry. Your revel is lovely. But we have a meeting with…” He trailed off as he felt the entire weight of Astarion flop against him, breath catching as a hand, still clever even with the fairy wine, traced along his inner thigh.

“You…” Astarion slurred out, tilting his head up against Fal’s shoulder to look up at him from under his lashes. “…are so beautiful. Have I told you that lately, my love?” He tilted his head up, pointy chin resting on the half-drow’s shoulder. “Kiss me. Please kiss me. I think I may just die if you don’t.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Falerin muttered.

“Oh, no! Oh, kiss him, please!” Fionnula pleaded.

“Yes, he’s asked ever-so-nicely!” Fiadh added.

“Ever-so-nicely,” Astarion echoed with a hazy grin.

Falerin grimaced, but he finally leaned in for a quick peck. Astarion, though, had other plans; his hand buried in Falerin’s hair, and he expertly shifted them to press the length of their bodies together as he deepened the kiss, tongue tracing Fal’s full lips as he did. Falerin’s eyes widened, and he abruptly pulled his head back to gasp in a breath.

“This…this was lovely,” he said, voice shaking slightly as he tried to disentangle himself from Astarion, whose hands were wandering over his neck, his cheek, his chest. “But we really must be going.” He got up to his feet, hoisting Astarion up with him—it was a strain, with how close he was to being dead weight, but he got him up and balanced after a few false starts. He heard Fionnula and Fiadh giggle from their seats, but he ignored them—Astarion, from the look of it, wasn’t even aware they were there.

His cold hand clumsily went back to Falerin’s hair, combing his fingers through it. “Why did you cut your hair?” he mumbled, heavy-lidded eyes traveling, half-focused, over his face. “I loved your hair when it was long. But I still love you. Gods, do I love you.” Astarion lurched forward, this time catching Falerin’s lip with his blunt front teeth. His hand traveled over his cheek, down his neck and dipping below his collar, while his free arm stayed looped tightly around his waist. “Fuck me,” he mumbled into Falerin’s mouth.

“Astarion…” Falerin’s throat bobbed against Astarion’s exploring hand.

“I mean it. Fuck me. Gods, I want you to so badly.” He lurched forward, tongue teasing at Fal’s earlobe before he whispered, “And I know you want to, too.” He laughed against Falerin’s neck, breathy and soft as his cold lips smeared kisses along it. “You allllways do. Even when you pretend you don’t. I can tell, darling.”

Falerin finally set his hands on Astarion’s shoulders, pushing him back to look at him with wide eyes. The vampire was relaxed, possibly the most relaxed Falerin had ever seen him, and the tilt in his head and spark in his eyes suggested that, yes, he really did want to sleep with Falerin. His tongue pushed against his lower lip, his body shifted forward, his hands tried to flutter to land anywhere on Falerin—he didn’t just want to sleep with Falerin, he was gagging for it.

And, despite Falerin knowing that this was wholly because of the wine, it was…thrilling, seeing Astarion like this. Wanton and pliant and obvious, in a way he’d never been before now. With how worked up he was, Falerin could do whatever he wanted with him, and he’d thank him for doing so.

What a heady power that was. Heady and…familiar. The promise alone seemed to seep into his bones, and it puppeted him as he reached his hand out. His thumb grazed over the elf’s smooth cheek, and Astarion pushed against it with a shuddery little breath, as if he could find relief from Fal’s touch alone.

“Astarion,” Falerin purred out, and it felt new on his tongue, no matter that he’d said his name thousands of times before. He let the taste linger, eyes tugging up the elf’s body like they were being guided. There was a bright flare behind his right eye, similar to when he’d watched Barger and Astarion perform for the Guardian. Amusement far beyond what he’d ever felt, but with something more this time…want.

The pretty thing in front of him would do anything he asked, he knew. And he would not let that chance go to waste.

But before he could lean forward, something odd happened. His sight in his right eye changed. With the left—the mundane eye—his gaze was still fixed on Astarion, but with his fey eye, he was somewhere new, catching a glimpse of a beautiful room filled with greenery and light.

It was just for a moment, but that was enough to pull him out of…whatever that had been. Oh, gods, what had he been about to do? He gasped, stepping back despite Astarion’s protest. That…was that…him? But no, it couldn’t have been. He’d always wanted to protect Astarion, to be different than all the others that had just taken.

At some point, it seemed like Fionnula and Fiadh had gone, and their spread of treats along with them. Falerin looked over the now-empty copse, then let out a breath. But he only had a moment before two hands, cold and clever and impatient, found their way to his body, tracing the line of his neck and following the curve of his arse before both slid down to meet between his thighs.

“Astarion,” Falerin’s voice came out high-pitched and whispery this time, hips lifting before he could stop himself. He melted as cold lips found his neck again, fangs just teasing his skin. “As-Astar—love, you’re not in your right mind.”

“When am I ever?” Astarion purred back. His tongue traced the jut of Falerin’s Adam’s apple. “Come on, darling, I need you.”

Falerin shut his eyes with a shuddering little breath as his trousers loosened, hands weakly going to Astarion’s wrists once he’d untied his stays. “You…” He was interrupted as he caught Astarion’s lips, kissing him hungrily before he pulled back. “You’re making it very hard to say no, you know.”

“Then…say…yes.” Astarion pressed himself up against Falerin, bodies interlocking perfectly against each other, and he let out a shuddering sigh against his mouth. “Please, dearheart.”

Falerin only had so much willpower. The little he had left he used to push Astarion back, just enough to look at him. He swallowed, face flushed and hair mussed and loosened trousers tenting. “Okay,” he finally said in a rush of air. “Okay. But…but let me…I want you to enjoy this.”

Before Astarion could get a word in, Falerin sank down to his knees. His hands weren’t as quick or clever, but they were well-practiced as he found the ties of the other man’s trousers. He didn’t waste time with teasing or goading, though he was careful as he pulled Astarion free; given how riled up he was, Fal was fairly certain one wrong touch might finish him right there.

He looked up at him, odd eyes glinting in the half-light. Astarion’s gaze had been barely focused up to this point, but now his red eyes were direct and bright as he slid his fingers into Falerin’s cropped hair—there were no stars in the twilight sky overhead, but Falerin could practically see them glinting in the vampire’s gaze. He gave a smile, taking a moment to press a warm kiss to the tip before he took him in his mouth.

Astarion, as a rule, was relatively reserved whenever they had sex. No doubt it was a holdover from centuries in the flophouse; no matter who you were or what you were doing, no one wanted to hear their neighbors fucking through the walls. He teased and melted and purred out praise, but always quietly.

Except for now. As Falerin’s head bobbed, tongue teasing the underside of his cock and lavishing attention on its head, he was loud. A breathless jumble of Elvish and Common echoed against the trees, a cacophony of “IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou” falling from his tongue. It was all terribly earnest, not a hint of performance in it, and it, admittedly, was really doing things for Fal. He kept his pace, one hand firmly grasping Astarion’s hip while the other reached down to palm himself for some relief as he worked.

Not that it took long at all. Astarion’s verbal torrent stopped suddenly, and his grip on Falerin’s hair grew painfully tight. After one moment of stillness, he let out a shuddering exhale as he curled around Falerin, finish spilling cold and fast down the half-drow’s throat. Falerin didn’t dare move as Astarion shook through his finish, reaching up only to keep a steady grip on him as he came down. Once the hands in his hair loosened, Fal carefully pulled off of him, giving his mouth a quick wipe before he looked up at Astarion—just in time to catch him as he collapsed in a boneless heap on top of him, bringing them both down onto the grass.

For a moment, they simply laid there. Astarion was too far gone to catch his breath—a learned behavior rather than a natural one at this point—and Falerin kissed the top of his curly head before letting his own fall back with a sigh.

“All right?” he finally asked as Astarion stirred after a moment of stillness. He lifted his head, haziness from the wine still evident but eyes just as bright as they’d been not long before. He gave a smile—bright and unhindered—and he gave the dreamiest of sighs as he looked over his face.

“Never better.” He grinned as he pulled himself up, pulling Falerin into another kiss. “But, my darling love, I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

~

Morning in the Feywild was a misty thing, damp and fresh without the chill that you’d find in the real world, so to speak. The golden light was diffused, making the world paler and softer than the bright summer light the two of them had walked into the day before. Really, as far as mornings went, you couldn’t ask for a prettier start to the day.

Not that Astarion noticed, given that he felt like utter shit. Between the fairy wine and the veritable marathon of sex he and Falerin had had the night before, he’d slept—actually slept, which he’d only done a handful of times in nearly two-and-a-half centuries—soundly enough, but waking had greeted him with the worst hangover he’d possibly ever had. Everything ached, he felt sick to his stomach, and having honed hearing and smell really was not helping with either.

At some point, they’d gotten their sleeping rolls out, and Astarion sank deeper into his, trying to blot out the light. The light touch to his shoulder resulted in an exhausted—but no less embarrassing—actual hiss.

“Sorry, sorry.” Falerin’s voice was very soft, no doubt trying to mitigate the sensory overload that was a hungover vampire. “Just checking on you. How do you feel?”

“If you really loved me, you’d stake me now.”

“Can’t. I don’t want to carry your pack.” Fal’s hand found Astarion’s back through the blanket, and he gave it a gentle rub. “I’m sorry about last night. I should have warned you about the wine.”

“You should have.”

Falerin stayed quiet for a moment, hand still working a soothing path up and down his back. “I’m…sorry I didn’t say no.”

Even in his haze of misery, Astarion’s brows drew together at that. With a tremendous show of strength that really deserved a medal of some sort, he turned over, mussed curls and red eyes poking over the edge of his sleeping roll. “You’re sorry about the sex?”

Fal’s face, already drawn, grimaced even harder. “I just…you weren’t in your right mind, and I know I did try to say no but I…I should have…it wasn’t…I don’t want you to think that I…” He looked down as Astarion’s hand snaked out to wrap around his forearm.

“Falerin, dearheart. If there is anyone that I feel comfortable having…completely addled fairy wine-induced sex with, it’s you. You don’t need to apologize for that.” His cheeks lifted, showing the smile hidden beneath the covers. “I don’t remember much, but I do remember having fun.” Once Falerin’s frown lessened, he groaned and sank back down into the bedroll. “What you do need to apologize for is allowing us to get up to all that in the fucking grass. I feel like I need three baths.”

“Might have to wait on that front, though there must be a river nearby.” Falerin sighed. “And we didn’t get any directions after all that.” He shook his head. “But we shouldn’t dally too long. Let’s get dressed.”

Astarion groaned again. “Okay, no stake. But my rapier’s not far off; if you’re quick enough, I bet you could behead—”

“No, Astarion.”

“Horrible. Wretched. Cruel. I don’t think you love me at all.”

Despite his complaints and trying not to think about the fact he knew he looked like death warmed over, Astarion did finally crawl out from the bedroll and started getting dressed. He’d just pulled his trousers on when he paused, head tilting as he heard something. He looked over to Falerin, waiting for the half-drow to pull on his tunic before he pressed a finger to his mouth. He crept over to the edge of the copse, listening.

“We were just having a bit of fun! Neither of them are hurt!”

Oh, that sounded like…Fiona or Fiddle or whatever the two fey from last night were named. Astarion frowned, leaning in a bit more.

“It was just a little revel. We didn’t even ask their names.” There was the other one.

“Even so, you both should have known better. If anything happened, she’s going to be furious—you know how badly she wants mortals sent her way.” That was a different voice. It was melodic and smooth—definitely masculine and very pleasing on the ear. “If they’re hurt…”

“They’re not!”

“They were sleeping when we checked on them!”

“Hush.”

As the footsteps drew closer, Astarion went back to Falerin’s side. “Company coming,” he said, digging out his rapier from the jumble of discarded armor. “Get a spell ready.”

“What?” Falerin’s head whipped around to look at Astarion, but before he could do anything, the male voice rang out into the clearing.

“Good morning, sleepyheads! Heard you had quite the welcome to our neck of the woods.”

The two fey from last night stepped into the copse, looking suitably chastised as they flanked another one. Like the voice suggested, this one was male, and he was beautiful. He was thin and willowy, standing just a touch taller than Astarion. Red hair spilled over his shoulders like ink, smooth and shiny in the morning light; his face had the telltale sharp and pointed features of the fey, with a pretty heart-shaped mouth and almond-shaped, golden eyes not unlike a fox. He glanced over Astarion first, chuckling as he held up his hands.

“I mean no harm,” the fey said, giving him a charming, slightly lopsided smile—a show of imperfection, clearly. “I just wanted to…”

“Amory?”

The fey stopped as Falerin spoke, and his head darted over to look at the half-drow. He blinked a few times, hands dropping and face going slack in surprise. “Falerin?”

Fal suddenly smiled, and he took a step forward to greet him. Amory, though, was quicker; in two swift steps, he’d gotten right up to Falerin, and he immediately pulled him into a deep, deep kiss.

Astarion stared, too dumbfounded and far too hungover to even think of how to properly react to seeing a fey shove his tongue down his partner’s throat. Finally, after far too long a kiss, he cleared his throat. Amory pulled away, and he gave Astarion a grin.

“Sorry, where are my manners? Shall I kiss you too?”

As Astarion bristled at that, Fal quickly patted Amory’s chest, disengaging from him. “What are you doing here? I thought you went off to the Court of Hearts.”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” Amory’s attention was back on Falerin, and he ruffled his hands through the warlock’s hair. “And how are you so old? Look at all this gray hair—and don’t think I don’t see the wrinkles around your mouth. Oberon’s sack, you mortals really do age like mayflies, don’t you?”

Falerin laughed, a hand going to push off Amory’s with an easy familiarity that made something uncomfortable twist in Astarion. It had been a while since he’d felt jealous, truth be told, but it flared hot and furious just as it had years ago, at a much more bearish target.

“Is anyone going to explain what’s happening?” he snapped, then pointed his blade at Amory. “Falerin, who is this?”

Fal blinked. “Oh! Oh, yes, of course, sorry.” He gestured to Amory, who looked over Astarion with no small amount of amusement. “This is Amory. He’s a leanan sidhe, from the Prince of Hearts’ Court.”

“I’m a gloaming fey, before you ask,” Amory added easily. “Not with the Seelie or Unseelie, though typically I prefer the former.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed, blade still in place. “Well, that’s all well and good. Now how in the hells do you know Falerin?”

There was something wicked in Amory’s smile at the question, and he grinned before lightly batting the rapier away. “Oh, I thought that was obvious.” He draped his arms around Fal’s neck, pressing their cheeks together. “Should I tell him? I’ll tell him.”

“Tell me what?” Astarion said through his teeth, which only made Amory’s smirk widen.

“Well, I’m Falerin’s lover, of course.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x tav #feywild #nsft #There's lemon in here #This is so long and I am so tired but I did it

[empty-masks]

Book Four, Chapter Three

CW: Strong Language, Sexual References, Graphic Violence, Fantasy Bigotry, Smoking, Alcohol Use, Light Body Horror

Jules sips his cup of blood, stale and tasting of IV bag. Though it wouldn’t be enough to fix him up immediately, keeping himself juiced would be imperative to a speedy recovery if he and Lucille plan to get back on the road. He had gotten all his bones set and splinted, his cuts stitched shut, and his eyes checked for any concussions. All they had to do now was wait for the magic to happen. Which would take up to a week for him to walk, not run, without a cane. He sets down the cup, and adjusts himself in bed.

    “Hey, thanks again,” he says.

“Don’t mention it,” Lucille grumbles. She sits on a rickety old chair, nursing her own cup of something with both hands. There are bags under her eyes from having spent the night keeping Jules stable.

“I’m sorry for this.”

She looks up at him. “For what?”

He motions to his body. “This. Having to do something stupid to save us, ‘cause I fucked up.” He also motions to her. “And for that. You look terrible, Lucille.”

For a moment she looks as though she wants to argue with him, but with a tired sigh, she just replies, “It happens.”

“They happened ‘cause I was an idiot. I didn’t think ahead, I didn’t consider the you factor, and it got us both burnt.”

“Don’t tell me you had anything to do with that monster.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the gang thing. You know, the mafia I didn’t tell you about?”

“That barely matters to this,” she says, motioning to him, “right now. That thing did this to you, not the gang.”

The Vampire frowns. “I know, but you were mad at me earlier for it, and we wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t fucked up in the first place. I want to make amends. Somehow.” He looks at her, all sad eyes and untamed facial hair. “For real.”

She looks back at him, eyebrow raised and cup of joe in hand. “You’re out of commission, Jules. What can you do?”

“I can quit the Carnevale,” he replies. “They don’t let people quit.”

“Then I’ll leave. Stop taking calls, stop doing their work.”

“Really?”

“Leslie will want me dead, but if it means being honest from here on out to my partner? I’ll leave today, I don’t give a fuck.”

“Really.”

“Really really,” Jules says, grabbing his cup of blood. “When I can visit to break the news, anyways.”   

“Which will be?”

He begins to sit up in bed. “Let’s see.”

She stands up from her chair, and quickly moves to his side. “I get your point,” she chuckles. “But don’t fuck around like that, you’re still too screwed up. Idiot.”

“I’m serious! You think I’m not committed, Lucille?”

“Committed to getting yourself hurt.”

“To this,” he motions to her with his cup. “And to this,” he motions to himself, before finishing the rest in a single swig. “Because I don’t think there’s anything I love more than us. Maybe I was taking it for granted, but mashing my bones to paste and hurting my friend has taught me better.”

Lucille finds herself struggling to respond for a moment. Never, not once in their entire partnership, have they ever had a heart-to-heart about the nature of their job. Appreciation was always in the form of banter, gifts, medical care. Money. It was easy for her to grow a little cold toward him, because in her head, she had also taken him for granted in a way. He would always be around, and so, it was impossible to imagine what it’d be like without him. But now that he’s in this state, having nearly turned himself to jelly to save them both, she realizes just how mortal he is. And how mortal she’d be without him. She sets her cup down, then leans over the bed to hug him.

“I’m sorry too, Jules.”

He accepts the hug lightly with his good arm, not particularly sure what to think, seeing as how she has a maw on her stomach. “Uh, for?”

“Being a dick and not understanding what this meant.”

“This being?”

She pulls away from the hug, and motions to the both of them. “This, prick.”

“Oh!” The Vampire beams. “That means a lot, pal.”

Lucille walks back over to her seat, and wipes her eyes free of any errant tears.

“I know.”

“Wait, are you crying?” he asks, leaning forward in bed.

She shakes her head no— but as she does so, she also leans forward in her seat, and holds her eyes with one hand. “Aww, Lucille! It’s okay!”

It takes her a while to recompose herself, as the last time she’d cried was during the funeral of one of her closest enemies— the kind that gives you purpose in the same way a good friend does. And when the waterworks start to flow, it’s difficult to get them to stop if the pipes haven’t been used in a while. Jules finds himself comforting her to the best his body can muster, even if it means that she has to kneel next to the bed so that he can put his non-splinted arm around her.

Eventually, she looks up at the ceiling, gives herself a good slap, and dries up her eyes with her sleeve. “God, that was embarrassing,” Lucille says with a sniff.

“My lips are sealed,” he responds. “No shame from me. Most people do it all the time.”

“We’re not most people.”

“You’re right on that front.”

She stands up, shaking out her legs. “Well. I gave Piper a ring while you were out.”

Jules bunches up his face in light disgust, “Piper? Why her?”

“I thought we could use a little assistance. Since you’re all fucked up, and all.”

“Piper…” his voice trails off.

“Yeah. I had to leave a message, though. Hopefully she gets it. I know it's a few days drive up from Shepherd HQ,” she says, sitting back down in her chair.

“She knows about the quarry, right? About how we’ve got no idea where they’re at?”

“Everyone in that company knows. I figured we’re out of the game, but I didn’t want to stay here. Not where the Carnevale can keep on our asses.”

“So you called her, a Shepherd Gemstone foreman, to take us to Pickman’s Hope. AKA, the only place in the valley where she can’t go.”

“She won’t want to stay. What’s there for her? Those bounties never stay put anyway. She’ll be on their trail.”

“Good point,” Jules says, not entirely believing himself.

==============================================================

    Piper’s lips purse as she runs her fingers over a fabric that she would have feared to tear mere weeks ago, her fingertips gliding across the soft, handwoven dress. It’s blue, and about the right size for the girl. All things considered it might be enough to smooth over their talk, given some time.

She’d already gotten something for the boy. Luckily, while many of the shops in Fusillade had been more or less decimated by whatever hell had come calling, the one toy shop had not. She’s standing in the middle of it now, still feeling over the dress. The work that goes into making dresses for dolls can also go into making dresses for girls, and much the same for the clothes of the good soldier toys and much of boys’ clothing. Besides, if you’re buying toys for kids, you might as well undercut the obvious front shop’s rates for children’s clothing.

She brings the dress to the owner of the shop, a frazzled looking old bird in a bandanna and a simple overall dress, and places down the dress before setting a wooden pop pistol— the sort with the cork on a string you place in the barrel before pulling some mechanism to make it ‘pop’ and, as such, shoot— atop it.

“Got kids?” The old woman squawks, beak clacking and black feathers ruffling.

“I do now.”

“Ah, okay. Want these packaged and labeled?”

“It’d be appreciated. Pistol’s for Tanner, the dress is for… It’s for…” Her eyes are trailing after someone just outside the window, a human woman with brown hair and an unbearably boring style of dress. “Brie?”

“Tanner and Brie, gotcha.”

“No, Tanner and Madrone, actually. There’s somebody outside—”

The toymaker nods. “Tanner and Madrone, got it.” And with that, she’s crossing out the already written “BRIE” on the packaging, placing some entirely opaque tape over it, and writing “MADRONE.”

Piper doesn’t need to head outside to cut off the investigator, because she actually walks inside, notebook in one hand and a well used pen in the other. “You,” she says, clicking her pen in anticipation of noteworthy material. “You are one of the foremen from the Smokestone location down beyond Kiln. Piper, yes? I remember you.”

“That situation’s a little complicated at the moment.” Piper, smiling, places a small wad of cash in front of the toymaker and is given a bag with her two packages inside. “And you’re Brie. I remember you plenty, too. Surprised to find you here of all places, considering as you’re playing lackey for that parasite Hickory. It safe to assume those runaways have come through? They what did all this?”

Brie shakes her head, then walks over to the owner of the shop, with whom she begins asking basic questions, if anything had been destroyed and the like. Meanwhile, Piper goes and stands outside, opting instead to wait for the end of that incredibly boring bit of work on the insurance department’s end so that she could continue prodding Brie for information. Jules and Lucille can wait a little longer for this.

A few minutes later Brie’s exiting, eyes trained on her notebook, and Piper falls into step alongside her. “You didn’t give me an answer on the whole thing going on around here, B. So, it wasn’t the runaways?”

“No, Ms. Piper, it was not.”

“Huh. Weird, so far, utter destruction has followed in their path. What the hell happened, then? Looks like somebody tried to grill the town.”

Brie frowns, but taps her notebook with her pen. “I am still processing it myself, but there’s quite a lot to catalogue at the moment.”

The two come to a halt at an intersection, or at least a crossroad that could generally be considered the dirt expy of one. The fires were put out a long, long while ago, so now all that’s left is for the wood and stone to crumble or be rebuilt. In some of them folks are working on patching up what’s there, in others there are tough looking types with hammers clearing away the ruin to make room for something new. Either way, Fusillade’s quick to recover.

Brie gestures around with her pen. “It is all necessary to write down because, technically, it has happened in part due to Shepherd Gemstone. If not entirely due to Shepherd Gemstone, because a great deal of it has been destroyed by one of their own employees.” She stops, then squints at the coat Piper’s wearing.

“How unfortunate. Well, I’m sure that Ms. Hickory’ll be real happy to hear about how this investigative endeavor of yours has gone from finding murderous runaways to letting her know how much all of these people are owed by the company because of some wild arsonist. Bless your heart, I could never do this sorta thing myself.” Piper laughs, looking around. “Yeah, damage control just seems like a good way to get walked all over, since it looks to be all about you tallying up the shit other people get done while your work gets away from you.”

Piper slings the bags over her shoulder and begins walking back toward her car, adjusting the weight of the presents against her back as her tail sways and curls against the ground behind her. “That’s why I’ve decided to move branches, I’m done with mining— and write that down for your stupid little report, too. I couldn’t be the culprit, I was a bit too busy getting a position in acquisitions down at HQ whenever this happened.”

Brie clears her throat. “I do not need evidence as to who did it. The identity of the perpetrator is not an unknown factor here, Ms. Piper, as it is none other than Blondie… Whose coat you appear to be wearing.”

Piper lets out a rattling laugh as she turns around to face the woman, fangs bared by her grin. “Good one, B, good one. And here I thought you didn’t know how to tell any jokes— right, corpses stand back up and start setting fires.” She pantomimes wiping a tear from one eye, then laughs again. “Don’t be disrespectful of the dead. Back at HQ they were pretty sure he’d bit it trying to save a local party of concerned civilians from that nasty Wyrm they had flying around. Bless the fool’s heart, he went out a hero.”

“Corpses actually can do that, as I learned earlier, under the right circumstances. Have you heard of a Notus before?”

Piper shrugs. “I dunno, daddy once told me about ‘em as a reason not to play with fire. Never met one, pretty sure they’re fake.”

Meat clears their throat as they approach, and Piper has neither the time or the restraint to keep herself from making a face at the sight of them as they walk over to Brie, saying, “I’m getting tired.”

“No you are not,” Brie replies, “I remember that you do not actually get tired like someone still living.”

“Okay, I’m getting tired of this. We should be heading out to Pickman’s Hope to go kick that wolf’s ass.” Their jaw clacks as they shut it hard, and then both their and Brie’s heads turn toward Piper.

She’s smiling now, at least. Not on the inside, but she’s smiling outwardly. “Real nice to meet you, uh, guy.”

“Meat.”

Piper’s smile twitches, threatening to fall. “Yeah, I said that, nice to meet you.”

“No, my name’s Meat and I’m not a guy.”

Brie turns to look toward Meat. “I thought you were still undecided?”

They shrug. “I’ve settled into it again. I think I was like this before the fire anyways. Memories are still fuzzy, though. Who was your pal?”

“Was?” Brie turns to look toward Piper again— and she’s not there. “Oh. I had questions for her.”

Meat rubs the top of their skull. “And you didn’t answer mine. You got a girlfriend you aren’t telling us about?”

“One, I would not date her if she were the last eligible bachelorette on the planet. Two, not one either of you two would know; she lives north of Honeysett.”

“The blonde woman in the tac-jacket or your girlfriend?”

“My girlfriend, Meat. The blonde woman in the tactical coat is not my girlfriend and she does not live north of Honeysett. That woman is or was a foreman at the same site that I met Roxanne at, the one where she got attacked by Blondie. The big wolf monster?” Brie clicks her pen rhythmically, following the tune of their footsteps.

“You didn’t mention anything about a girlfriend, Ms. Brie,” comes a new old voice, who falls into step beside the other two. Roxanne grins. “Color me impressed, dear. Enough about the dog we’re hunting though, you should catch us up to speed about why you were conversing with that Shepherd employee.”

==============================================================

    Piper gently places the presents into the trunk of the car just beside the Quilting Club box before locking said trunk and settling into the driver’s seat again. An entire second of silence passes after she’s shut the door when she begins screaming and throwing her fists against the dashboard.

It’s a harsh, visceral sound escaping her throat that rolls into a high hiss as claws begin to poke dangerously at the tips of her gloves’ fingers, warning her to stop her tantrum before she ruins her clothes with an unwilling transformation. It gets bad enough that she can feel her hate dripping from her fangs in a literal, liquid form, and the soft sound of a single droplet of venom touching her coat is enough to force her to calm back down.

She grips the wheel as though she could wring its neck as the changes subside again, and after a moment she leans out the window to spit the remaining venom out into the dirt. This is a problem, she realizes. This is most definitely a problem.

He’s supposed to be dead. He’s supposed to be dead because if he isn’t, then a lot of things are going to pretty quickly go from being great to being problems too. The car’s one thing, the weapon, the job, the wife, everything’s about to go sideways at best. What was it that the square had said, though?

He’s a Notus. Stupid old stories about corpses coming back to life and lighting things on fire. Right, of course, okay— she can work with this.

That means she’s at least keeping the job. If he died, as one needs to in order to become a Notus, then from a contract standpoint his is null, he’d have to be reinstated by top brass and the amount of time that’d take would give her at least a week to figure out how to kill him again. As for Janet, the problem’s less with Janet and more with Blondie.

“She traded in for the new model,” she says to herself. “Not going to ditch me for a flaming corpse. Okay. Okay.” She rolls her shoulders, snaps her jaws, looks herself over in the mirror. No tears this time. She’s getting better.

Another name added to the list. Jules, Lucille, and now Blondie. She can handle them.

Time to go pick up those two numbskulls and hope they can at least act competently enough to lead her to the five before that awkward weirdo and her corpse.

==============================================================

A steady stream of cash has always flowed through the center of Pickman’s Hope. Before the Shepherd Gemstone takeover, the mining and spelunking business gave the town sufficient funds to build up its city centre into something great— one with multi-level, affordable apartment buildings, an outdoor venue for performers to earn a little extra cash, and a bustling plaza where traveling vendors could come to peddle whatever wares they might be selling. The money traveled up and down the streets, too, with especially successful shops decorating their roads and the neighboring buildings to match what they were selling.

Gutter’s Glade, as it was known, was never large enough to become a city, and it never seemed to want to be. Outside the town center, buildings were mostly residential and built with local materials, each one a labour of love for the inhabitant in question. Construction was done around trees of particular size and age, and the shade was much appreciated on those warmer autumn days.

But, while the money did not stop flowing while Shepherd Gemstone was in control, the people certainly did. Shops that once thrived were forced to shut down, as their product was now in corporate hands. Certain roads in the town center became desolate as shopfronts, carts, and residential buildings were abandoned outright. The surrounding residences began the slow strangling process of being taken over by nature once again, since there were no longer folks to help balance things out. Sure, the cash was still there, product was being moved out of the hills at an incredible rate— but only drops of it went to the town.

Nowadays, the town of Pickman’s Hope, in all its autumnal glory, is in the process of waking up from its dormancy. The money is back in the hands of the people, and reconstruction has begun. Those abandoned streets have been cleaned and fixed, buildings being repurposed and sold to those wanting to start their own businesses. The venue in the center of town occasionally gets a band or a play again, which many of the citizens mark their calendars for. And while their population isn’t what it used to be, the sense of neighborly love more than makes up for the distance between homes. It may be a shadow of what it once was, but Pickman’s Hope is recovering steadily, and it wears its history like a badge of honour.

After driving around town for a minute, Olive and Cherry eventually walk into the Mechanic’s Guild Storefront. The only door they can find is a sheet of corrugated metal controlled by a chain— and though it’s marked as “ENTRANCE” in big, welded letters, it can be hard to tell whether it’s a door for cars or a door for people, with these places.

    Once inside, Cherry realizes very quickly that this place is a trap designed to keep him there for as long as humanly possible. The building itself is an old storehouse, which means that they’ll have a surplus of the parts he wants, and it’ll have been stacked all the way to the roof. Parts of all kinds; performance pieces from the manufacturers in the Great Bayou across the Dividends, legally-questionable parts from New Bird, the new racing capital of the world. Custom parts too; Cherry could tell by the sound of saws, soldering irons, flying sparks, and metallic hissing echoing through the building. It smells intensely like grease, motor oil, biofuel, and ozone. To him, like his favourite version of home.

It’s a trap that pertained directly toward his main interest, no, his fixation (he fondly remembers his fathers having to pull him away from his car to have a talk about getting a real job), and it’s almost too much for him to take in again.

While Cherry stands there ogling, Olive waves a feathered hand in front of his face. “Yoohoo, Cherry. You gonna answer me or what?”   

He blinks. “Oh, sorry. What, uh, was the question again?”

“Are you sure they sell bio at these places? Looks like they just keep metal bits on the shelves.”

“It’s illegal to stock it in a customer self-serve section,” Cherry replies, “since it’s so dangerous. Well, most of the time it’ll be illegal. I’ve been told it’s illegal, but I don’t know who could stop them if they did anyways. They probably keep it behind the desk, though. Don’t worry.”

“Oh. It burn easy?”

“Very. It’s genius, really. I’ve seen high-quality bio combust when someone stomped on a puddle of it in the asphalt.”

“Oh,” Olive rubs her head. “Yeah, I’d see why they’d put it in the back, then.”

“Makes sense, right? Now,” he starts, explicitly moving away from the front counter. “Before we do that, I’ve got something I wanna look for. I bet a town like this would have it stocked, but I don’t wanna be the guy who walks up to the counter asking for something before looking, you know?”

The Owl raises an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah. What’re you lookin’ for?”

    Earlier in the day, after they had arrived at Pickman’s Hope and parked the truck, Cherry was getting into learning how it was put together. And boy, was it a glorious patch-job. Hardly anything was stock anymore, and anything that was had been recently replaced. Some very, very big replacements, too. Nearly brand-new stock transmission, which explained how butter-smooth it felt shifting gears. The suspension was the oldest thing in it, and though it was Blizzard Blitz-brand, which was known for its good dirt-and-stone performance, it had seen a little too much love over the years and could use a nice retirement. Cherry made a mental note at the time to mention to Judith that he’d found the reason why some bumps in the road felt worse than others.

But, one of the most enticing things Cherry found while exploring was the presence of a compartment, accessible by the driver’s side of the interior, which looked as though it would perfectly cradle a can of nitrous oxide. Now, while he had never gotten the chance to use the stuff himself, since it was banned at many of the meets he would attend for its tendency to send racers flying off the tracks and into trees, just the thought of being able to use the boost juice was far too tempting to let up. There was a brand he had in mind, too—

“Look for the word ‘Pounder,’ Olive,” Cherry says, as they come to a section in Isle 6.

Her face scrunches up. “Pounder?”

“The name’s a little weird, I know. Trust me.”

The Owl turns the name over in her head one more time, then gets to browsing the shelves. Momentarily, of course, since the shelves are quite big and any given selection of nitrous oxide canisters is bound to be small. She picks up one of the metal canisters, painted off-white and labeled with a sticker. “Pounder Nitrous,” it says, underneath a stylized icon of a tall canister between two tires. “Lasts longer than any other brand, or your money back!”

“Why the cock an’ balls?” she chuckles.

“I think it has something to do with the owner’s name. Maybe they figured it’d be funny to lean into it. Or something. Maybe,” Cherry replies, scouring his section of the shelf.

“It is pretty funny.”

“Wait, did you find some?”

“Yep.”

The Mechanic whips around, beaming. “Holy shit, great! That’s really good, wow!”

“You still haven’t told me what it’s for.”

“You stick it in your car and it makes it go faster. C’mon, we’ve gotta get to checkout!”

“Next you’re gonna tell me the paint job could make it go faster. Cock and balls makes it quicker?” she asks, genuinely confused.

“No, no! It’s just a branding thing, the stuff gets gassed into the engine and it makes it burn fuel quicker, making the car go faster!”

“How in the world’s that work?”

“I’ll show you if you want, but later! When we’re back with the others!”

“If you say so, Cherry.”

    They approach an empty front counter to the sound of an angle grinder around the corner. And despite there being a bell for them to ring for that exact scenario, it takes a couple before someone pokes their welding masked-head out, slaps their greasy gloves onto a table, and begins to jog over.

“Sorry about that, folks! What can I do ya’ for?” the employee says, slicking back a sweaty head of black hair.

Cherry hesitates for a moment despite his excitement, as the man behind the counter has turned out to be far more attractive than he was prepared to deal with. He’s taller than both him and Olive, clocking in around 6’2”. He’s toned underneath his work shirt and apron. And his face, though hardened and pocked with scars from flying sparks, is young and sharp, with a cheekbone-jawline combo you could cut gemstones with. If one were to guess, he wasn’t Spawned, rather the baby of a Basic Human and some sort of Orc. And to Cherry, he might’ve been even more attractive than the nitrous in his hands. Maybe.

In the silence that broke between the three of them, Olive clears her throat to break Cherry’s trance.

“Yeah, uh, sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “We’re buying this. And a few gallons of bio, too.”

“Sounds good!” the clerk responds, cracking the Mechanic a smile. “Ahh, the ol’ can of cock and balls,” he comments upon seeing the canister.

“That’s what I said!” Olive chimes in.

“We usually don’t get people lookin’ for this stuff. You got something that can take it?”

Cherry nods. “Uh, yeah. We kinda, uh, stumbled into a truck. Has all these mods, bought it from a guy down in Fusillade. Turned out to have nitrous compatibility built in, who would’ve guessed.”

“You might wanna consider installing some handlebars in the back then, if you’re plannin’ on using it for transport!,” the clerk laughs. “Wouldn’t want your pals flying out when you hit the gas!”

Olive laughs as well— but Cherry, in his anxiety, just smiles and nods.

After punching a few numbers into the cash register, the clerk holds up a finger. “I’ll be right back with your bio. Don’t go anywhere, ok?”

Olive grunts as she adjusts the jug of bio they’d bought on her shoulder.

“So,” she starts, “you liked what you saw?”

“Yeah,” Cherry responds, holding his arms out to the sky. “God, I missed this.”

“The cock an’ balls an’ the hot clerks? Or the clouds?”

“The former. I missed it so much.”

“Hah!” she squawks more than laughs. “There’s no way that you got around thanks to cars. No way.”

“You’re right, I didn’t. But there’s something about them that just… attracts hot people. You know?”

“I always thought that people who’d work on cars’d be all gross. Workin’ with all that grime an’ grease all the time.”

“That’s the look, though,” he replies. “It’s great, right?”

She motions to her feathers. “You think I’d wanna get down with someone all nasty like that? Have you seen what happens to birds who get muddy, Cherry?”

“Fair point. It’s not for everyone.” He turns to her, pointing a finger as they walk. “But it’s hard to see why not! You saw that guy, right?”

“I did.”

“And you didn’t feel some butterflies?”

“No sir.”

Cherry squints.

“Nope!” Olive replies, throwing up her free arm. “I didn’t find him attractive, Cherry.”

“You’re not screwing with me?”

“You were the only one wantin’ to hop his nitrous in the room, buddy.”

“Okay. Fine, okay,” he says, giving up. “The cock and balls jokes end once we’re at the car, okay?”

She squawks again, nearly dropping the jug of biofuel. “No promises!”

Chapter End.

==============================================================

[ Table of Contents ]

Blondie & The Smokestone March is © 2020-2022 Empty Mask. All Rights Reserved.

#empty-mask #b&tsm #writing #oc #fantasy #adventure #serialized fiction #b&tsm-cherry #b&tsm-olive #b&tsm-piper #b&tsm-brie #b&tsm-roxanne #b&tsm-meat #b&tsm-jules #b&tsm-lucille

[xavier-best]

Solem et Stellas

Originally written as part of a year 10 EOY English exam. Edited 8 days later, after receiving feedback, to post here.

*Original prose short story*

  Ivy was Australian. The outback country, the arid wasteland, a continent whose dryness is second only to the barren white of Antarctica. Ivy was an Australian. But as she stepped out into the ancient spanning, rust-red desert, she felt more homesick than ever. 

  “Keep up, Ives!” Her pa called from his place five metres in front of her. The indomitable spring in his step didn’t seem to notice the furious sun beating down on them from above, seemingly determined to turn them both to ash.    “You slow down and I’ll keep up!” she called back, but he bounded on a few metres further and turned, with a grin on his face- “what was that? Couldn’t hear you! Come on Ives, we're not far now!” Ivy rolled her eyes and quickened her pace, to the delight of the already large sweat pools in the armpit of her once purple, now mostly red shirt. ‘We’re not far now’ was something of a favourite phrase for her pa, as he had echoed the sentiment many times as of yet.

  Ivy was a city girl. She liked being a city girl; her pa had grown up in the outback and liked talking about it. “You have it lucky Ivy- you don’t have to worry about snakes!” Or “spiders!” Or “getting fresh water!” Or “Melanoma at the age of 12 because the damned sun is jealous of earth-folk for not building cities on it instead!” or what have you. Him and Ivy lived in St Kilda, four minutes and sixteen seconds of walking away from a day well spent at the beach. Well spent for Ivy, that is. Pa never cared much for the beach. Ivy found herself longing for one such day as she made it to her pa’s side, relaxing the speedwalk she had adopted to catch up. The beach had sun, but not like this; it was gentle, soft, welcoming. The sun here was oppressive. And at the beach, you could always hop into the water to cool off. Instead, they just kept walking, her pa occasionally pointing out a lizard or interesting rock. The dust piled up on her shirt. 

  The desert wasn’t red anymore. As the sun hid its face behind the proud horizon, tired from a long day of glaring at Ivy, the landscape began to shift. As her and her pa settled down to sleep, she felt a chill cut through the arid blanket they had been wrapped in all day. The sand now settled into a cool brown and blue, and Ivy sat herself down and chewed on some trail mix. It was just her and her pa, for the most part. They faced the world together, an agreement they had made long ago.    She hadn’t been a small child when her other dad left, as the trope so often went. She was lucky enough to spend her first sixteen years as a team of three; but looking back she had realised that her dad had treated Pa like trash- she missed him, but understood that nobody would be better for him staying. She still saw him sometimes, always with some new man or woman he’d 'picked up' last week. It always went the same. He says hi, she says hi, he gives her her Christmas present- which is, invariably, a poster of a show she had told him about the last time they’d spoken- she gives him a card she’d made on the train there, she eats lunch with him and his partner of the month, takes the train back home, and spends her day with Pa. She tolerated Dad. She loved Pa.  And Pa loved her. He didn’t really ‘get’ Ivy, and they both understood this. He gave her space, she gave him socks for his birthday and her Sunday nights for watching the footy, and they both cooked each other the worst meals known to the human race. 

  As Ivy finished setting up her little sleeping-bag, she saw Pa standing apart from the little makeshift campsite they had created. Walking over to join him, she customarily tapped him on his left shoulder before pulling up by his right.    “Hey Ivy,” he said, turning to her. Damn. He somehow always managed to get over that trick - once she even tried tapping him on the correct shoulder to throw him off, and he still got it right. “Lovely night, isn’t it?”   “Yeah. Nice and cool for a change.” She had meant to joke with him. He looked at her.   “Look, I... know it’s a bit uncomfortable. We’ll be out of here soon. I just… I needed this” He turned his head away again, back to the horizon. The sun had fully set, and they stood in the light of the very bright lamp in Ivy’s left hand. “We… me and your dad… we didn’t do stuff like this. Well, he did stuff like this. I went with him. He didn’t come with me. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t have.”   “I guess.” Ivy looked at the ground. They didn’t talk about Dad. Pa went back to smiling.   “This is my place, Ivy. Your place is the beach, right? My place is here.” He took in a deep breath and looked around. Ivy kicked herself. She felt awful about having complained all day. She glanced at him.   “I’m glad we’re at your place, Pa. I like it here,” she smiled. Smiling back, he ruffled her hair.   “Yeah, yeah. ‘I like it here, dad!' You don’t have to like it. But I have a feeling that you will,” and he turned off the lamp in Ivy’s hand. 

  The sky, before in its dying breath of orange and dark blue, split open as they looked up in unison. The sky crammed full of an infinite tapestry of tiny lights, all billions of kilometres away. You can see hundreds of stars from St Kilda beach. You can see trillions here.    “Oh… my…” Ivy stared, speechless. She had never seen anything so beautiful. Her pa grinned.    “Good, eh? Your Dad was never much for stars. He always liked the rain. What you reckon?” Pa held a light tone in his voice, but Ivy could see his eyes watering, and his hands were shaking. He smiled a huge, wobbly smile.    “The sun doesn’t get centre stage all the time, Ives. The stars can show their faces when they get the chance.”

And they stood, and stared at the blue and yellow and purple and gold tapestry spanning before them. Ivy wiped her had across her red shirt. Her hand came away coated in dust, and the purple shone in the light.

#writing #creative writing #australia #outback #australian landscape #stars #galaxy

[northeastern-soul]

I have a lot of thoughts and emotions. Thoughts on what I need or want that sometimes get clouded with a million different things. It’s hard navigating everything going on.

I know, and that's understandable. Plus you've had the past few months or more from hell without all this.

I can’t help but feel, I don’t even know the word. Hurt? Maybe.. that I was moved on from you. I let you go, i erased everything that could be cause I believed that it wasn’t going to happen. Then you come back, ready to give your all and then some but .. how is that fair to me - 1. I was ready and you weren’t 2. I finally moved on and accepted things and boom you enter my life and make me second guess everything.

Yeah.. That's hard. It's like what the actual fuck, i was healing and okay and then bam. All this is back, we're back. Part of this was a two way street, we keep coming back because it's real and genuine, but that doesn't translate to easy until there's work put in.

I felt this was with you going back to Quentin with Bellamy. I tore it all down, I made myself move on and heal, and focus on my marriage.. and then Bam you're back.......... and I still still love you and its inescapable.

It's frustrating at time, yeah. That's beyond fair to say, almost like how dare I....or vise Vera, how dare you come back.

the flip side is we come back and it's real, despite anything else we have going on. I failed you, you failed me and then we started working on it and it takes effort, but neither of us can say the effort didn't yield results.

We're not currently working together. we're working against eachother somehow.

I don't believe it is fair.

Its not fair. It's not a thing that can be viewed as fair, love is hard. It wasn't fair to me to do that to you, and it wasn't fair for you to come back after leaving and I was moving on either. BUT it was what we both wanted and fought for because even though there's all this heaviness and hardness at times, it's what we kept choosing and wanting over and over even if we tried to run from it.

It's also not fair to me right now, I recommited on the highest levels I could to help you heal and show you that it is safe and a place where you can slowly unpack that damage, and while offering a place where we can communicate and heal, ive been abused and disrespected and hurt on a similar level.

How am I supposed to move on from that? How am I supposed to heal from that? Im not sure how or when.

Saying healing from this is going to be difficult, is an understatement, you're hurt in a vulnerable and tender way and healing that requires revisiting it like we did that night. Its not easy, and it is your choice if healing is too difficult or not worth it.

It’s hard giving up on someone that you wanted to spend your life with because you’ve been hurt by the one person who you truly wanted and moved on from them. And then for that person to come in and say hi I’m ready for you but you already had life plans with someone else, you were going to make anything work with this person cause like i said, I moved on. I didn’t think anything would change or that we would ever find a way to be together. How is it fair for me to make this decision.. I mean I guess I did the same to you. When these crossroads showed themselves the first time.

Yeah, thats a decision that breaks people, when it came back around this time I did choose you. I realized I was going to lose you, the woman who I stupidly neglected without realizing it, the woman who has been there consistently and always cared and loved me and came back, the truest partner I've ever known, who was genuinely there...

That's why I was so certain with the divorce... That's why I've fought so hard even when your level of commitment didn't match. I looked at everything and realized it's always been you an me, inescapable because we didn't wanna escape even when we told ourselves we did, because regardless of the hurt, we still held value in eachother, even if we could force that value into a mold that looked like supporting eachother from afar.

We keep meeting at these crossroads because we're walking the same direction and the same path together. No one ever said love was easy. But we both know this is real.

You are more committed than I am currently. It’s easier for me to move on from you cause well.. I basically already did it. It’s hard figuring out everything. I just feel like everything is so unfair to me right now. I’m still hurting over it.

I am sorry for your pain. I'm sorry for the pain we've caused eachother. The easy choice is leave it behind and let that scar callous over and become ugly. Its Like getting stitches, it hurts doing the work to mend the wound, for it to heal correctly. It's your heart and your wound, I can only offer the chance to heal, I can't walk it alone for you but I was/maybe am willing to walk it with you.

I am hurt too. This last time caused me a level of pain you haven't given me before...I feel beyond disrespected, I do not trust you, I have serious doubts about alot of things you've told me. Its been so much easier to demonize you in my mind and lie to myself about all this, so I get that hurt, almost cornered feeling .. like how dare you.. and angry and overhwhelmed feeling of how fucking unfair this is.

Yet here I am, still with some sort of investment, hearing you out even when I'm betrayed, a feeling we both know. We can either heal together from openess and communication, or separately from resentment, rage and fear.

[lilyliveredlittlerichboy]

hm ok i know it was ages ago but i still wonder which way my ex is spinning the story tbh. i mean i know some of it?? he is portraying me as abusive and predatory. why? cus i lost my shit with him a bare handful of times? cus i didn't continue to treat him like i worshipped the ground he walked on, after he abandoned me and got married to someone else?

abandonment.

i built my life around him, accommodating him, caring for him. that's on me, yeah. ive learned since to not do that so much. but i was in my early 20s, still very young, when i met him, i didn't have a solid grasp of myself, much less my boundaries; which i could not set or enforce. in fact, a lot of my ex's behaviour was aimed to erode my boundaries. he needed to be included in everything. he needed to have my attention, constantly. if i wasn't giving him attention in the ways he wanted me to, it was always my fault.

so then he took off for a month and during that time left me adrift.

and I've been afraid of changing

cus I've built my life around you,

and then when i tried to be in contact during that month, he shot me down and accused me of guilt tripping him... for doing exactly what he wanted me to do literally the entire rest of the time.

when he got back, it was the perfect storm. he was married, had had a taste of the life he wanted to live. a life that didn't include me, at all, he had made that very clear in his behaviour towards me during that time.

he said he didn't owe me anything.

that was the moment i decided that well, in that case, I didn't owe him anything either.

and the months following that were awful, as he found ways to punish me for this. interspersed with joy the likes of which I'd never felt before - as I decided to come out of my cocoon and move on a little bit myself. as i fell in love with my now feyonce, i, too had a taste of the life i wanted.

and with my ex blaming me, bitching about me loudly where i could (& had to) hear, whining about how he just wasn't a priority to me anymore, somehow i felt disinclined to invite him into my new life, my newfound joy.

it turns out that if you tell someone that you won't be taking their needs into consideration anymore, that you don't owe them anything, they might end up not wanting to make you the number one top priority in their life anymore. huh. fancy that.

he punished me for it relentlessly for about 9 months before finally leaving.

in his side of the story, i had abused him.

had deliberately kept the relationship unequal (even when i actively empowered him to get his own income. even when i encouraged him to have his own life, pursue his now wife, pursue other friendships and relationships).

i had enabled his drug addiction (which he already had when he met me; it was medicine for him you see. if id pushed him to give it up that would have been held against me just as much)

had been violent (once grabbed his arm during an argument. and then when he was married and i found out that his WIFE thought we weren't sharing a bed/room anymore, i told him to get out of my room. i threw his clothes in the hallway once. SO VIOLENT)

I'd insulted his wife by calling her ugly (he called her ugly first and i routinely got punished for disagreeing with him)

i was a nonce (we were both adults when we started dating)

I was disrespectful of his boundaries (his boundaries were "i don't wanna hear about 🐻" and then "you violated my boundaries by not telling me you were going out to see them", his boundaries were "you gotta look after me and help me out even if im being an absolute shithead to you in the process" and "you can't talk to my friend, our mutual housemate" and "you can't rant about this situation on twitter" and "you can't go to see your partner for a park date". yeah)

possibly he's also saying i stole his cat or even cut him off from seeing pictures of him (he left malibu in my care willingly, acknowledging and admitting i was gonna be a better cat parent for him. i never said he couldn't approach me for pics and even now wouldn't shut him out if he asked)

anyway

yeah this post about boundaries got me thinking about him again for some reason. my life is so much brighter without him in it and i regret nothing??? if he wants to see pics of the cat he's more than welcome to ask for them. i would be happy to share. Malibu is so happy these days. a confident, loving, playful little boy. he's in excellent health and loves to chase string and he loves his sister so much. he loves 🐻 so much. he's so happy.

that's my takeaway from this. my cats are happy. they love my partners and they love me. that's all i need. t b h.

#i need a tag for my own rambles #apologies for the rant #still not over this tbh

[avtrbee]

pretty little princess

summary: the two times Satoru saw Tsumiki get sick and his never ending worry

a/n: ive seen so many fics about the parental relationship between gojo and megumi, so i thought how nice would it be to make a fic about gojo and tsumiki :> ive always headcanon-ed them to have an endearing father and spoiled daughter type of relationship since tsumiki gladly accepts gojo’s affection while megumi visibly shudders in disgust (sometimes). enjoy!

if you enjoy this fic, check out my masterlist

The first time Tsumiki got sick, Satoru was two provinces away from Tokyo and somehow that made him feel even worse. He caught the fastest train back, not bothering to stop by a convenience store like he usually did, and instead spent an hour and a half fidgeting in his seat.

This had never happened before. Megumi was the sickly one between the two of them and never Tsumiki. Until now, apparently. Satoru loved the Fushiguro children more than he should.

He just couldn’t help choosing a favorite especially since one was more similar to him in personality. The irony isn’t lost to him- Satoru is worried sick for a child he never wanted to care for. In fact, he wanted to ditch Tsumiki, take Megumi, and go, but the latter made his sister the condition if he wanted to train him. Satoru shortly ended up on your doorstep with two children instead of one.

Despite you swearing you don’t have favorites, it’s obvious you and Megumi prefer each other which Satoru does not mind at all. By default, Tsumiki became his little sidekick in silly snowball fights against you and Megumi, his loyal assistant who would follow him around cafes to rate their cakes. He didn’t know if it started there, or was it because he treated her more gently than he did with other people because she was the only one in his makeshift family who is not immersed in the Jujutsu community, or if it was because both he and Tsumiki grew up faster than they should but somewhere along the way an unspeakable bond formed between him and this little girl.

Now Satoru’s nose is bombarded by the unique sterile scent that all hospitals seem to have as he sits anxiously on a chair in the emergency room after agreeing with you to meet him at the hospital. He doesn’t try to stop his leg from bouncing. He knows he’s acting about all of this backward- his Six Eyes would sense your Cursed Energy first before his actual eyes would, but his gaze has never left the doors, readying himself to stand up every time it opens.

After three minutes that made it seem like an hour, he sees you enter the emergency room carrying Tsumiki in one hand while holding Megumi on the other and Satoru feels his heart drop at the sight of her. His feet carried him to you, long legs making the distance shorter.

Megumi clings to your side and glances up to his sister, then to him in worry. “She fainted during P.E class.”

“Tsumiki!” His voice was quiet but nervousness laced every word. At the sound of his voice, Tsumiki’s previously tightly shut eyes blinked open and at the sight of him she let go of her cling around your neck and opened her arms to him. He felt his arms shaking but Satoru didn’t hesitate to take her.

Tsumiki looked worse than he expected. She was bundled in one of her thicker coats despite it being summer but still felt alarmingly hot in his arms.

“She has a fever,” you explain as Tsumiki shivers at the coolness from the hospital’s air conditioner. “I’ve tried giving her soup but she vomited it out.”

“Okay,” he breathes, lightly bouncing Tsumiki. He retreats back to his seat with Tsumiki snuggled deeply in his chest while a long arm wraps around Megumi. He sits there hugging Toji Fushiguro his children as close as he can while you try to find the doctor.

He doesn’t miss Megumi’s worried glances. “Will she be okay?”

It was a stupid question, one that Satoru would usually make fun of. He hears himself reply that it’s just a fever in his head but he senses Megumi’s worry and Satoru’s feeling completely mirrors his. For a moment, Satoru considers teleporting her to the best hospital he could think of but then he remembers that Tsumiki isn’t like you, Megumi, or him. He doesn’t know how a regular human would react if they would be teleported by him. “Yeah,” Satoru manages. “She’ll be okay.”

Megumi ignores how Satoru seemed to sound like he was convincing himself rather than comforting him but lets it slide.

Satoru finally spots you worriedly walking in his direction with a doctor in tow, and in a few minutes, you are handed a prescription for medicine, along with instructions on how to help Tsumiki break her fever.

When you arrive back home, Satoru sits down on the couch with Tsumiki still in his arms. You’ve sent Megumi to shower and get ready for bed while you approach her with a glass of water and a cup of her medicine. You gently hand her the cup but instead, Tsumiki shrinks farther in Satoru’s shirt.

“I don’t want to,” Tsumiki whines quietly. There were unshed tears in her eyes and somehow Satoru knows that she's struggling to fight her fever because of how painful it has been. “I’ll vomit it all anyway.”

Satoru takes the cup of medicine from you and shakes it in front of her. “But this won’t let you!” He tried to sound as cheery as he could. Tsumiki likes it when he’s happy. He takes an exaggerated sniff. “See? Vanilla flavored. Your favorite!”

Tsumiki sniffles, pouting. She has shed the adult persona she had crafted to survive the world with her brother and is now looking like a child in every right. “It doesn’t smell like vanilla.”

Satoru sees you frown and he knows you are getting more worried as every second passes. He knows you want to convince her somehow, but Satoru knows how to handle Tsumiki the best so you glance up at him nervously.

He shifts the child around so she could face him. “Hey,” his hands brush the hair damp with her sweat away from her forehead. “I know it’s been bad, and you’ve been such a brave girl. This will take the pain away and once it does, we can go anywhere you want. Hm?” Satoru kisses her temple sweetly.

She takes a glance back at you before looking back at him. Satoru gives her a small smile in encouragement and Tsumiki gulps down the thick medicine but not before cringing like she had tasted something foul. Her hands scrambled for the glass of water in your hands to wash down the flavor. “It didn’t taste like vanilla.”

“I know, I’m sorry, princess,” he mutters. Tsumiki throws herself around him, and Satoru’s worry dampens a little at the fact that she drank her medicine.

Tsumiki stays home the next day and you stay with her. Satoru wanted to stay and be with you but his responsibilities as the strongest don’t let him stop for anyone. As he kills the curse he was sent to exorcise, he contemplates murdering the higher-up that assigned him the mission more genuinely than he meant in a long time.

He takes over Tsumiki as he gets home, helping her with light meals and her medicine. As her face scrunches at the distasteful flavor, she announces, “I want to go back to Disneyland.”

By midnight, Tsumiki’s fever broke and Satoru was able to breathe normally for the first time in two days.

The second time Tsumiki got sick, Satoru wasn’t far away like he was. In fact, he was only a few doors away before he heard Megumi scream his name. He rushed to his side only to find the boy hugging his unconscious sister.

“She- she won’t wake up-!”

There was a symbol on Tsumiki’s forehead, and Satoru didn’t need his Six Eyes to know that Tsumiki had been cursed. He felt rage so deep it ran through his body. How dare they curse one of his children? When he brought her to Shoko, she told him the same thing his Six Eyes did; Tsumiki’s curse was a mystery. No one knew what or who caused it, not even the honored Gojo Satoru, but he knew that he would kill the curse if he saw them.

He made sure Tsumiki was confined in the best hospital near the school and visited her regularly with both you and Megumi and promises himself that he’d be there when she finally woke up with a slice of cake from their favorite cafe and four tickets to Disneyland. But soon, his visits became infrequent and Megumi ends up visiting all by himself most of the time because his responsibilities as the strongest don’t let him stop from anyone.

And when Tsumiki finally woke up, she was greeted with no one by her side and only an empty room and pregnant silence to keep her company. Too bad Satoru was already sealed when she did.

#gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #megumi fushiguro #tsumiki fushiguro #very gojo and tsumiki centric #parental megumi x reader #parental tsumiki x reader #gojo and megumi #satoru and megumi #gojo x reader

[haoreo]

✿ 𝐬𝐢𝐦 𝐣𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧 | 𝐥𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥

content: jake x fem!reader, fluff!!, ft. wonyoung from ive <3

word count: 700+

disclaimer: i'm new to writing fanfics (especially oneshots) so please go easy on me. i mean no harm to any of the members, this is purely fictional. would love to hear your thoughts! :>

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

they said that your years in high school would be the best years of your life. meeting new people, trying out new hobbies, and making memories, both good and bad, all around campus.

you were one of the few people in your school that thought high school was pretty okay. you were president of the camera club, maintained good grades, and had a great group of friends. your high school life was smooth-sailing, you could say, not until you’ve crossed paths with him.

sim jaeyun. or jake sim, whatever.

jake, the team captain of your school’s soccer team.

jake, the class clown yet somehow still the teacher’s favorite.

jake, the one who’s crush changes almost every other week.

the jake sim, whose next target seems to be you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“you know what, ___, why don’t you just give him a chance?” wonyoung asked out of nowhere during lunch.

“what and get added to his long list of failed commitments? no thanks,” you replied while angrily poking at your food.

wonyoung shrugged at you, “i don’t know, his looks aren’t bad, and he’s popular, funny, " she listed with her fingers, "plus he’s been at it for three months, which is probably the longest he’s gone for a girl.”

you had to admit, wonyoung was right. he has been trying to get your attention for almost three months now. buying you your favorite snacks, offering to bring your things, and sometimes even waiting for you at the school gates when you finish late at the camera club. (you thought that it was sweet, of course, but you would never admit it)

“well it can't mean anything, right? he’s done the same to-“

you were interrupted by a hand placing a carton of chocolate milk in front of you. your favorite.

“hey, sweetheart.” you rolled your eyes at the nickname. but wonyoung just giggled at your frustration.

jake took a seat next to you with his face only inches away from yours, “are you going to my big game tomorrow morning?”

“it's not like i have a choice, do i?” you begrudgingly reply.

being president of the camera club, you were usually assigned the bigger school events, and that includes all of the soccer team’s games. if your pride wasn’t so high, you would admit to actually enjoying jake’s games. cheering on for your school can feel exhilarating and you’re able to do something you’re great at, photography. the candid shots of the crowd and the players had a different charm to them, and it also didn’t help how jake looked great in every single photo you take of him. in fact, it kind of made him your favorite subject. which is something you'd never say out loud.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it was the big day, and the game was about to start. your schoolmates occupied the bleachers on one side, adorned with face paint of your school colors and holding different banners and posters of all of the players. you were double-checking your camera and all your extra memory cards and batteries when wonyoung nudged your side.

you looked up to see jake jogging to where you and wonyoung were seated.

“hey, sweetheart! let's make a deal,” he grinned at you, “if we win this game, i get to take you on a date.”

your cheeks warmed at his offer, partly out of embarrassment because he said this out loud, but also because maybe his consistent efforts were finally getting to you.

“and what about if you lose, hm?” you managed to reply with the little confidence you had left.

“well lucky for you, princess, you don’t have to worry about that. i’ll make sure we win,” he said with a wink, “is it a deal?”

“deal.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

your whole school roared in excitement when your school’s team officially won the game. and honestly, you were excited too.

students started to file out of the venue but you stayed behind to pack up your things while also viewing some of the shots you took today, zooming into the ones that featured jake.

speaking of, jake walked up to you after bidding goodbye to his teammates, his sports bag thrown over his shoulder.

this time, you were the first to speak up, “you did well out there, jake.” he blushed at your compliment. he got compliments all the time, but it felt different when it came from you.

"i'm sure you took great photos of me as well?" he raised his eyebrows, teasing you. you simply laughed at him, poking fun at how he had to ruin the moment.

“um, but about that date, how’s next friday?” he asked, suddenly getting serious.

“sure, pick me up at 7, hm?” you moved closer to him, “oh and by the way.”

setting aside your pride for a few seconds, you placed your hand on his chest and planted a kiss on his cheek. “congratulations,” you said quietly with a smile.

jake smiled back, knowing he made the right choice to continue choose you, every single day.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

aaaa hope you liked it huhu this was my first oneshot so pretty skerd here

#enhypen #jake sim #sim jaeyun #enhypen oneshot #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fluff #kpop #enha imagines #park sunghoon #lee heeseung #kim sunoo #park jeongseong #yang jungwon #nishimura riki #jake sim x reader #enhypen x reader #jake sim fluff #enhypen au #jake sim au #enhypen jake