#also thanks for sticking with me despite how long its been

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Hello! Can I plz request Alastor x Doe! Reader where he meets Charlie's best friend who's the reader and becomes possessive over her, maybe his instincts tell him to mark the reader as his mate. The reader is a white doe. :)

Yessss i love this idea teehee i maybe got carried away and also i unintentionally made this sort gender neutral and a teeny tiny speck of smut, i hope that’s okay if not it’s at the very end so it’s skipable, hopefully i did your idea justice and hope you enjoy!! thank you so much for this xx

At first sight

PART TWO PART THREE

Word count: 3.5K

Warnings: SMUT 18+, doe reader only describes white ears tail and pink nose rest is ambiguous, possibly corny ahh dialogue, love at first sight kinda trope, angel/hellborn reader, slightly OOC Al y’know smut love, reader cooks, biting & briefly blood, penetrative sex, reader makes deal with al to give themselves to him, swearing, NOT PROOFREAD I think that’s it lmk if i missed anything!!

Charlie ran manically around the hotel, fixing various things and studying the entire building under a microscope to ensure it looked its best. Zipping her way to the lobby, she caught the gaze of Angel Dust, who was in the middle of sucking down a frozen popsicle.

“Be nice today! Look your best, oh oh! No porn on the TV!” Charlie shouted rushed and frazzled as she came up beside Angel to fluff out the couch cushions. Husk watched silently ears zeroed in on the conversation unwillingly, focusing mainly on Angel. “Geez toots, what’s got your feathers in a bunch?”

Angel smiled amused by Charlies odd demeanour. “My best friend since, like, forever is coming here today! To see the hotel!” Charlie exclaimed lurching forward to grip Angels shoulders. Smirking at her Angel continued to suck on the popsicle. “So what, is this broad special or something?”

Charlie leaned back pulling her hands down her face, an exasperated groan crawling out from her throat. “Yes! Her mother was friends with my mom when they first came to hell, her mom ended up falling for a hell spawn and we born around the same time,” Charlie explained ringing her hands while pacing.

“She’s my best friend we grew up together, i’m worried she won’t like what i’m doing here.” Charlie finally confessed with a sigh, her body deflating as she herself came to terms with the fact she was afraid. Vaggie lingering in the background finally approached Charlie sticking her hand out to message her arm comfortingly. “I’m sure it’ll be fine toots! Plus she’s a born sinner! Ain’t no way anything here’s gonna be shocking her.”

Despite her worry she could admit Angel Dust was right, AND you’re her best friend there’s no way you’d be unnecessarily cruel to her dreams, you were always supportive and imaginative along with her. Smiling down at Angel, Charlie then plopped down beside him, resting her hooves after hours of hecticily running around. “You’re right Angel, thank you.” Angel hummed out an arrogant ‘you’re welcome’ while Vaggie circled the couch leaning over the back of it.

“So how long has it been since you’ve seen them?” Vaggie asked poking Charlie’s cheek. Looking away she counted on her fingers before turning to look at Vaggie. “Four years, they stayed with me while I tried getting over the absence of my mom; they live in wrath though and eventually went back.” Clapping her hands Charlie stood from the couch her brief moment of hoof rest over, the three sinners watching as she muttered to herself about everyone being on their best behaviour while walking off, clearly the talk only did a little to hush her nerves.

~

Standing outside the hotel doors your ears twitched at the sounds coming from beyond it, it’s clear as day that Charlie was instructing people to behave, be nice, and- not show you porn? Suddenly the door opened startling you slightly but that quickly wore off when you were greeted by the joyous face of your best friend Charlie. Tugging you into a bear hug, Charlie squealed about how excited she was, you naturally fell into her giving her a warm tight hug right back.

“I am so glad you’re here! I’m so happy to see you!” Charlie exclaimed pulling back and examining you. You hadnt seemed to change much to Charlie, the white tail you had wagged behind you happily, your equally platinum ears relaxed occasionally twitching at the sounds around you, your pink deer like nose that was perfectly contrasted with your skin colour.

It was clear you were half an angel, and Charlie lemented, when you two were younger, that she was jealous you had a more animalisitc appearance in comparison to her, but you reminded her that it didn’t matter because she was still as gorgeous as ever. “I’m so glad to be here! I was starting to think you’d never end up inviting me.” You laugh warmly.

Charlie beckoned you inside linking your arms together, the two of you walked inside. Vaggie was punctuated and ready to great you as you came further into the room. “Hi, I’m Vaggie-“ Vaggie was cut off promptly by Charlie who excitedly pulled her into a bear hug, cheek to cheek. “My girlfriend!” Charlie finished with a shout.

Your ivory tail flicked behind you happily as you grinned. “Holy shit! You’ve got a girlfriend? Damn we really need to catch up! Its so nice to meet you Vaggie.” You smile shaking her hand as she stuck it out, Vaggie only nodded smiling seemingly quite reserved.

After some rushed introduction of those around the room including Husk, Angel, Nifty, and Sir Pentious, Charlie took you to your room to settle in. Closing the door behind the two of you Charlie watched as you laid your suit cases down by the bed, unzipping them and pulling out your clothing. “Sooo,” Charlie trailed hands tucked behind her back as she wandered around the vacant room.

“You remember Alastor right? The radio demon?” Charlie questioned, sounding suspicious. Looking up from your folded laundry you quirked a brow fearing where this might be heading. “Yes… i do.” You say slowly, fixing your posture waiting for her to turn to you, but she seemed rather interested in the wallpaper. “Well… y’know… this hotel takes a lot…. and when i first started…” Charlie trailed off gazing out the open window, stepping towards her you carefully placed a hand on her shoulder.

Looking at you she knew there was no sense in keeping such a prominent part of the reason this hotel was possible secret. “Alastors here, he helped since the start. He hasn’t asked for anything in return and he’s already fought for us!” Charlie spat the words out so fast you barely had time to comprehend. You and her were raised around each other meaning you had the same interactions with many of the princes’, sins, and hellborn, but human overlords were always were more…. well they weren’t used to power and immortality so they often over did it, Alastor was no different from what you were aware of.

“Are you sure having him is a good idea? Does your dad know?” Charlie nodded confirming her dad did know. “Yeah he doesn’t know who Al is, and to be fair none of us did! I promise he’s not that bad. Give him a chance?” You hummed looking away as she looked to you, you didn’t want to upset her by the discomfort that would be evident in your eyes. You didn’t enjoy brawls and fights, and you fear the demon would initiate that.

“Well i suppose i could trust him if you do, but i am skeptical; you’re always seeing the light in demons, even when it’s not there.” You laughed out recalling some things of the past that ended poorly because of a Charlie’s trust in certain sinners. And though at times foolish it was still an admirable trait and you aspired to be as kind hearted as she could be. “Where’s the guy anyways?” You asked after a short moment of pondering.

Charlie shrugged looking as if she was trying to recount the day. “Well he did say he had a meeting with Rosie,” She muttered quietly, although you didn’t know who Rosie was, you didn’t bother questioning it instead you pat Charlie on the shoulder, telling her that you’d like to get some rest, and you’d worry about Alastor later.

And so you spent a bit of time unpacking your things and settling down, you always preferred to be more in touch with the animalistic parts of yourself so your belongings held a lot of earthy aesthetics to them. Sitting on your bed, stripped of the hotels sheets and remade with your own, you opened your laptop and began typing.

You had forgotten about Alastor for the most part but you remember Charlie brining it up as he began his tyranny after his death. Charlie had always been pretty involved with her people, mainly focusing her energy on human sinner so you weren’t surprised that she knew of him, you were however surprised she was so willing to let him in when he massacred her people.

After a few minutes of light research about the demon, you established with how long he was gone perhaps he would be willing to change however you’d keep up your guards just to be sure.

~

Humming to himself Alastor got ready for the day, though he rarely slept he did occasionally get into evening outfits if he was staying in. He fixed his hair, ensuring not a hair was out of place and with a finally dust of his sleeves, he materialized his microphone and trotted his way out of his room.

A new scent hit him the minute he got to the staircase, the reaction was instantaneous, his ears perked, his tail stiffened thank the hellions no one was around to witness his discomfort, because it was evident. Fixing his posture, and his smile, he pretended nothing was up and continued his way downstairs. He greeted Husk as usual, and like usual Husk only grunted at the demon.

Making his way into the kitchen Alastor was stunted in place by the sight in front of him. There you stood deer tail wagging, singing along to music as you mixed a bowl of who knows what together. Alastor observed you quietly as ever, and definitely not checking you out because that would be rude- however your tail was very much distracting.

Clearing his throat the static spitting out behind his voice, you jumped slightly at the sound of him, looking over your shoulder to where he stood at the kitchen entry. The two of you simply stared at each other for a moment, the song in the background seemingly quieter than before, as if the two of you were in your own little zone.

Alastor couldn’t describe the gravitational pull he had toward you, he would’ve been a fool to deny your beauty, but he’d never had issue admitting when a demon or person was beautiful, it didn’t matter to him, so he couldn’t grasp why you seemed to have an immediate effect on him.

You too felt similarly gawking at the sight of him, i mean you’d never seen pictures of him, only art or depictions, which really didn’t do him any good. You were honestly a little embarrassed, you thought he was incredibly handsome, contrary to your beliefs prior to this moment, and you felt a little silly to suddenly feel like going back on your apprehension about him simply because of how attractive he was.

Deciding to finally break the intense yearning gaze the two of you held, Alastor perked up stepping close to you swinging his hand out to shake. “Alastor darling, pleasure to meet you, quite the pleasure.” Going unnoticed by you, Alastor’s voice involuntarily dropped lower, making it come out more sultry than he’d ever done during an introduction. Of course Alastor was aware it wasn’t his normal voice and wondered why the hell he decided to modify his tone to come out as seductive as it did; was it just by nature?

“I’m YN, Charlie’s best friend. I don’t know if you knew i was staying but i am, surprise! Heh,” You say a little nervously sticking out your hand but quickly retracting it, as it was covered in dough. “I’m making bread and breakfast, do you like french toast?” You finish finally gaining the courage to meet his gaze properly.

His eyes were lidded, and he looked down at you only with his eyes keeping his head forward, which made you feel some type of way. He had such a big presence, height aside, that would make anybody on the receiving end of his heated gaze, shrink. “I suppose i wouldn’t mind a little bite to eat, tell me little doe, how do you make such a meal?”

Of course Alastor knew what french toast was, but he’d much prefer to play stupid so he could listen to you speak, and have you look up at him so deliciously. “Well, i’m making some homemade no yeast bread, and then i’m gonna do the egg and frying, normally i mix some cinnamon and honey in, but i might not since i don’t know what you guys like. A lot of people put syrup, but i can’t stand it; too sticky.” You explained mixing all of your ingredients, turning to him you smiled.

“Would you mind greasing the pan for me, please?” Alastor nearly purred at you with how you requested his help he would’ve bent himself backwards if it meant you’d ask him like that again. The way these emotions hit him in the gut; the undeniable feeling of desire he was trying to fight against was incredibly intense and oddly, he liked it. “Of course my dear, whatever you wish, i shall see to.” With the snap of his fingers his hair had been pulled back, suit jacket gone, leaving him in only his white button up, and a pink apron.

Shamessly your eyes roamed his figure watching as he began to grease the pan with his hand. His eyes still lidded and smile relaxed. You enjoyed how he stood tall and relaxed, and it was only now when you caught a peek of his red tail that you realized; “You’re a deer?”

Alastor paused momentarily, eyes lazily difting toward you. He didn’t mind that you saw his tail, and he was a little surprised you lacked to notice he was a deer. “What did you think i was sweetheart?” Alastor exclaimed his entertainment persona peeking through as he did. You peeled your eyes away feeling a little bad for staring at him, instead you focused on placing the bread into the bow greased pan before responding. “Maybe a fox, but to be honest i didn’t think too much about it.”

Alastor hummed in agreement, watching as you placed the bread in to the oven. There weren’t many does Alastor has seen, many bucks but does were more of a rarity. The two of you made breakfast, bantering about things here and there and getting to know one another.

“What’s earth like?” You asked watching him prepare dough for beignets which he insisted you tried as it was a lousiana breakfast staple- but also because he wanted to have you to himself just a bit longer, and show off his cooking skills. “What do you mean dear?” Alastor questioned brows furrowed slightly, but his inquiry came soft with no judgement. “I’m not human, moms an angel, dad was one of the few hell borns that kinda just popped up, we don’t know where he went to though, anyways i’ve never seen the earth.”

Now that, was news to him. He suspected you were something special based off the tugging feeling he had toward you, but being a literal angel wasn’t something he would’ve bet on, but should’ve guessed on. Without a worry in his mind, Alastor happily told you about his home in new orleans, what it was like being a radio host, how in got into voodoo, how he new some cajun french, as well as his mother.

Leaning on the counter head rested on his hand, looking at you dreamily while the beignets fried. “My mother was an angel, she was my biggest supporter at the time, the reason i kept pushing. I have the upmost respect for mothers like mine.” You, as equally lost in the dream like bliss Alastors presence brought you, smiled at his story’s ogling at the man who spoke so highly of his mom. “That’s the sweetest Alastor, I wish i could’ve met the woman who made you into such a gentlemen.” You flirt subtly gently patting his arm.

Alastor hummed a lovesick smile on his face his tail wagging happily behind him as the two of you continued to yap. Tails syncing with the way they swayed unnoticed by you two as you lost yourselves in eachother, also going unnoticed was Charlie giddy as could be, in the background jumping up and down. Slipping away to Vaggie, Charlie gripped her like she was her life line. “YN and Alastor are totally going to get together! Ahh!” Charlie squealed shaking a limp Vaggie back and forth.

~

“Mhm Alastor please please please,” You chant wrapped tightly around the demons waist, as he pressed you up against your dresser. After a full day of being alongside Alastor the tension snapped between you two, although it took a few things to get there. First Angel hitting on you right after breakfast, it made Alastor seethe the symbols and static materializing as he watched Angel hit on you. It made Alastor realize such a sweet doe like you must be marked, can’t have other buck or demon filth thinking they can just put there hands on you.

The second thing that egged him on was when the two of you went for a stroll together, and while in a store witnessed a demon repeatedly harass you while you simply tried to pick out a dress! Alastor apologized for the blood shed, but he professed he needed to obliterate that demon to protect you and that would be the only time he would ever put you in a position to see such things. Which made your heart flutter, you felt the desire to have him protect you, it’s not like you couldn’t do it yourself but it made you weak in the knees to have a demon like Alastor jumped to protect you.

Thrusting into you needily, Alastor growled like a mad man his hand climbing up your body to grab your cheeks gently fixing your gaze up to him. “You’re mine,” Static laced his tone as he hissed out at you, pushing his body flush to yours. Moaning like a whiny porn star, you nodded in your head in a daze. “My mate,” He muttered again breathing deeply as he clenched his teeth.

Reaching your hands up to grab his antlers that sprout, you couldn’t help the way your body shook and the way you lewdly moaned. You felt so electrified and couldn’t contain the pleasure Alastor was making you feel. “Please Al, I love it so good,” You whined against his lips, his smile closed and strained as his lips brushed against yours, your breath tickling him as you whined.

Smashing your lips together Alastor picked up the pace feeling like a wild animal. He wanted you, forever, he wanted you to be his one and only, his only doe. Making himself hornier with the thought of having you all to himself his static crackled loudly as he thought up something mischievous. Pulling back from your heated kiss, you whined begging him to kiss you, touch you and fuck you, smiling at you in your disheveled state, a green huge suddenly engulfed the room.

The two of you lit up like neon as symbolize shined in the background. “Give yourself to me little doe, be my mate for entirety and the world is yours, anything you or your friends want i will give you. I can’t let such a thing like you go, i need you.” Alastor statically said, it sounded quite ominous but you were too horny to pick up on that, you could only pay attention to the need you had between your legs and in your heart. Alastor wanted you to be his forever, linked to you for eternity. Perhaps it was the fact that you were both deer that you two had this simultaneous connection, but regardless you couldn’t care you just wanted him back as much as he wanted you.

Thrusting yourself upward into him, you gripped his hand, while clenching down on him at the same time. “Yes, always i’m yours only; it’s a deal.” You moaned. Growling demonically Alastors green disputes like electricity, escaping this room and flowing through the hotel like wave. Feeling his heart bloom Alastors ears clipped back as he jackhammered into you, the dresser slamming against the wall while you squealed a little giggle bubbling out from how needy he became. That giddiness left as a violent hot mass washed over you, screaming out a moan you clutched Alastor, singing out his name through moans of appreciation as he coaxed you with praises through your orgasm.

It shook your body, and soon after Alastor came to a halt inside you, biting down hard on your neck. You moaned his name, not even feeling pain as he sunk his teeth into you down to the gum. After a few moments of licking up your blood he pulled away gazing into your fucked out eyes. As you were about to tell Alastor that you needed to figure out why you were both so suddenly connected, Charlie bolted in.

“YOU MADE A DEA- FUCK IM SORRY!” Within the span of two seconds Charlie had two separate panic attacks, one because she saw the green deal making light shoot through the hotel while you were alone with Al, and the second right after she closed to door from seeing the two of you intertwined at the hips.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oneshots #alastor hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor smut #alastor x you #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader smut #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel x reader

[writingstoraes]

hello! for the ig imagine, can i request charles with a medical student reader? maybe she's in her final year before residency and even though charles has no clue about medic he still tries to help her with studying. thank you!

patient 🩺

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!medstudent!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: whew being a pre med student ngl this fueled my delusions a lil (jk) anyway i hope u like this, anon 🤍 thank you so much for requesting! i also tried to stick with ig posts since its been so long since i did one thats mostly ig posts hehe

about: supportive charles and his future doctor of a girlfriend!

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, isahernaez, franciscagomes, and 21,991 others

yourusername officially on my last hospital duty before graduation! can't believe i have spent 4 tiring yet meaningful years of medical school, still feels unreal. couldn't have done it without the love and support of the people i hold dear to me 🤍

charles_leclerc So proud of you, amoùr 😘 Je n'ai jamais douté de toi. I never doubted you

yourusername thanks for being my first patient, baby <3

pascale_leclerc Congratulations, dear! We miss you!

carlossainz55 The group finally has a doctor! That means unlimited recklessness 😎

pierregasly Remember how we always wanted to try riding a bike on the roof

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, arthurleclerc, carlossainz55, and 50,223 others

yourusername a seperate appreciation post for the love of my life — who's witnessed all my lowest lows and highest highs. despite his own busy schedule, he still managed to fetch me from uni/hospital, prepare breakfast for me, and even help me study.

i guess i owe you a ton for all the cancelled dates and postponed plans, charles_leclerc? 💋

ps. the second picture is charles asleep on my shoulder after he helped me study three subjects for a major exam that went on for HOURS. i think i underestimated just how much he loves me :)

carlosluvr GOD i need me a charles right now its bad enough my pre med is killing me

hamiltonmerc Charles out here setting standards ridiculously high there really is just one of him huh 🤨

charles_leclerc Would do anything for you and you know that ❤️ (Honestly got to a point where I memorized some of what you were studying)

carlossainz55 Woah there Mr. Doctor?

charles_leclerc I think I can give you an injection now, mate 😄

carlossainz55 No thanks I still love my life

charles_leclerc

liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen, arthurleclerc and 1,445,211 others

charles_leclerc So incredibly lucky to be with someone as intelligent and hardworking as you. I promise to be with you every step of the way in full support and ready to shower you with love ❤️

Kinda afraid of needles but if you need to practice, I'm always available. Wake me up when you need someone to quiz you or make you coffee. I love you even when you're frustrated when you're practicing your sutures.

tagged: yourusername

charlossf23 You're telling me Y/N has Charles and all I got from medical school was anxiety

yourusername still need you when i study for the boards

charles_leclerc Working on the flashcards already, chèrie 😘

supermaxmax THE FLASHCARDS ARE SO REAL

pierregasly Carlos and I are on the roof tell Y/N to bring her medical supplies

yourusername please get down from there

charles_leclerc added to his instagram story!

-------

tagging: @slytherheign

notes: god pre med is hard wish i had someone like charles 😔 i hope you liked this, anon! thank you so much for reading 🤍

#writtenbyrae #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc ig imagine #charles leclerc insta au #charles leclerc social media au #charles leclerc instagram imagine #formula 1 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 insta au #formula 1 social media au #f1 fluff #f1 x reader #f1 x oc #f1 x you #f1 x female reader #f1 fic #formula 1 fic #f1 instagram imagine #f1 instagram au #formula 1 instagram imagine #formula 1 imagine

[tripleyeeet]

WEAVED TOGETHER (SAY IT'S FOREVER)

SUMMARY: After faking your death years ago, Astarion finally finds you in Waterdeep.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,128

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, fingering, orgasm denial, sex used as a manipulation tactic, biting, blood sucking, descriptions of past/current abuse, Ascendent Astarion (feel like I need to tag this just in case), a whole lot of angst.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic gave me so much grief. I really hope my labour translates into something good because man, if it doesn't I might fucking cry. :') Also, fic title is inspired this bop!

MASTERLIST

-

You’ve never been particularly keen on parties. Favouring quite possibly anything above the stuffy insides of a ballroom packed with people, it’s a miracle that you haven’t already left Gale’s side for some air. To take even the shortest of moments to allow yourself some alone time. 

Feeling the fabric of your dress uncomfortably stick to your skin, you can’t help but squirm at the thought of having to stay any later. Considering you’ve been here for a good few hours already, you’re tempted to ask Gale if maybe now’s the time to part ways.

At this point you’ve been well and truly shown off to the entire party, gawked at by countless of his old academic friends, so surely he wouldn’t mind if you up and left now, right?

Before you can think to ask, he’s already wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in for a friendly kiss to the cheek. “I really do appreciate you coming,” he tells you, drunkenly swaying as he speaks, letting out a chuckle as you hold him steady. “I would’ve been terribly embarrassed to show up at such a renowned event without a date.” 

“So you’ve mentioned.” You shoot him a smug look, watching him roll his eyes and take a sip of wine, debating whether or not to take the glass from him, knowing just how much he’s had.

“I mean it, you’ve been nothing short of wonderful to me in my time of need, so thank you.”

Despite the urge to play down his thanks, to remind him of all the things he’s done for you as of late, you merely take it, offering him a quick you’re welcome in return, knowing just how persistent a drunken Gale can get. How the man hardly pauses to breathe in the midst of a conversation —his endless string of words seeming to lose you almost instantly every time. 

Even now, as he begins to go on some long-winded speech about the importance of your friendship, you’re already miles away, longing to drift towards the balcony that rests just across the room, taunting you with its open air and lack of people. 

“Anyways, would you care for another drink? I’m in need of one myself thanks to the hole at the bottom of my glass.” Pulling you back in, Gale lets out a joyous laugh, throwing his head back while you merely shake your head.

“I’m uh, no I’m fine Gale. You go ahead and get that drink. I think I’m going to head outside and get some air.” 

All he does is give you a tight hug before he leaves, stumbling across the marble floors, bumping into various bodies that suddenly get caught up in his inebriated storm, allowing you a moment to yourself. 

You let out a sigh of relief then, turning your attention to your desired spot, gathering up the skirt of your dress so that you can race to its opening, breathing in the scent of fresh air once you step past the threshold.  

Somehow once you’re out there, you notice that there isn’t a body in sight. No couples having late-night trysts in the corner or other lonesome individuals stood painfully reflecting on their night. It’s just you by yourself, walking slowly towards the railing, gripping it tight as you allow your mind to settle. To shut down for just a moment after being on for so long.

It feels like forever since you’ve felt this calm. After years of endless journeys —of fighting and running and, as of late, hiding away— you feel that old sense of ease wash over you. Like the waves of Waterdeep’s coast, they gently lap at your feet, rising and falling with each breath you take, watching from afar the bustling city streets below as they begin to die out for the night. 

It reminds you of home, a bit. Of the nights you used to spend wandering around Baldur’s Gate, your belly full of the cheapest ale and your mind empty of anything other than the prospect of fun. Back then, you were always full of reckless abandon, constantly getting into trouble only to talk your way out of it not long after and unfortunately, you can’t help but begin to miss it all. The life before the war. Before you were taken in the dead of night and forced into a life you never wanted to live. 

Things were simpler then. You didn’t have the scars of clashing swords or the kind of memories that often shook you awake each night, covered in sweat and gasping for air. Devoid of anything truly awful, all you had was the blissful ignorance of a fool. One hellbent on solitude in a world of constant interaction. 

Honestly, if it weren’t for the people you’d met along the way you’d be jealous of that life. The one where you were seemingly untouchable, your mind vacant of regret and resentment and—

Before you can continue, you shake those same feelings from your mind, forcing out a heavy breath as you try to maintain the calm. The ocean of waves of Waterdeep pooling between your toes, knowing it’s the only way you’ll move on. If you focus on the positives —if you refuse to look back even for the slightest of moments you’ll forget all about those other lives you lived. All the chapters you spent haphazardly scribbling down, trying desperately to get to this moment.

It seems impossible sometimes, remembering how much shit you had to go through to get here. Not only did you have to survive countless wars involving mind flayers and cultists, but you also had to die to get it. And not die in the metaphorical sense, either. No, you had to literally die —to off yourself in front of countless people and hope to god the Necromancer that you hired actually turned up. 

It was a whole process. One that you refuse to think about as you let out a scoff and raise your hands to your head, pressing two fingers to either temple to relieve yourself of the sudden ache that hits. 

“Remember what we said about thinking,” you remind yourself then, allowing your eyes to slowly roll back, savouring the alleviated pressure your fingers provide.

Repeating the mantra in your head, you rub your skin and hum aloud, standing for a few more minutes as you listen to the sounds of the bustling party behind you. How the music swells into a crescendo of excitement, various strings and woodwinds all playing in time with one another. 

Alongside it, a calming voice echoes over, rising and falling with each passing note that carries through the air to your ears. At first, it’s soft and silky —comforting in a way that wills you to drop your hands and take a few steps towards the entrance of the building, watching as a beautifully freckled bard strums her lute and smiles at the crowd. 

Suddenly intrigued, you move to your previous spot inside the ballroom, spotting a rather awestruck Gale who’s holding onto two glasses of red, staring with widened eyes.

“She’s rather pretty.” You grin wickedly and bump your hip against his, hearing him grunt as he blinks and glances at you. 

“I’m sorry?”

Taking the glass nearest to you, you then use that same hand to motion to the bard that’s begun to erupt in an upbeat chorus, her voice lowering to a wild growl as she kicks up her feet, dancing around the stage with some of the other musicians. “The bard. Fancy a taste?”

He narrows his eyes at you, a grin of his own peeling across his face as he shakes his head. “I think a conversation would suffice. Least, for starters.” 

Biting your bottom lip, you jokingly wrap your arm around his shoulders and shake, pressing your face against his cheek to make obnoxious kissing sounds that leave him laughing and shoving you off. 

“Unhand me, you harlot!” 

“What? Afraid she’ll see?” 

He opens his mouth, almost offended, staring for a moment as you wiggle your brows and take a sip of the wine. “Excuse you, that was my drink.”

“You got yourself two drinks?” You raise your brow.

He scrunches up his face in response before subtly craning his neck towards the other side of the ballroom. “No, it’s for Astarion.” 

Your stomach sinks at the mention of his name, filling you with the kind of dread you’ve only felt one other time in your life. All at once it sends you into a panic. Your chest aching and your throat tightening. Even your hands, once carefully wrapped around the vessel of liquid seemingly shifts to a close, resulting in shattering glass that pokes and prods your skin before it falls to the ground. 

Crying out in surprise, Gale’s previously mischievous expression quickly fades. Replacing it, an air of worry envelopes the both of you. As he reaches for your arm, allowing his hand to carefully slide down to view your newfound injury, you try to swallow and scan the room, picking apart face after face to no avail, wondering if somehow he’s already found you. If perhaps, instead of where Gale assumes he is he’s instead directly behind you, lingering like the creature of the night he is, waiting to strike. 

A shaky breath escapes you then. Peeling away from Gale’s cautious grasp, you take a minute to blink and look him up and down, noticing the growing fear in his eyes. How his lack of understanding only spurs your head to whip behind you, to find more curious eyes staring back. 

“Are you alright?” 

The question comes from a voice you’ve never heard before. So, instead of entertaining it you merely turn back to Gale, suddenly catching an unfortunate glimpse of pale skin and ivory hair quite a ways back. 

Immediately, it strengthens the dread inside, ripping the breath from your lungs as you press a nervous hand to your neck, realizing that somehow it’s already been years since you’ve last seen him. Months and days and hours all collectively bundled together, only to be completely ruined by this one moment.

As you stand there, staring —watching as he does nothing but the same, you feel your mind yelling for you to run. To discard whatever reservations you may have left to push violently through the crowd because, at this rate, it’s the only option left. Having already tried hiding beneath the freezing hands of Death himself, it’s obvious you’ve exhausted all other options. No matter what you do —what you say— nothing will be deemed feasible enough to grant you the escape you so foolishly desire. You’re too vulnerable now, standing there in your ballroom gown, bleeding from your injured hand, trying not to have a full-blown panic attack as he takes that first stride forward. 

Matching his step, you feel your body waver backwards, everything suddenly swirling across your vision as Gale reaches out to grab your arm, asking if you’re okay.

“I’m aware the breakup wasn’t amicable but maybe if you two just talk?” he suggests, his voice bouncing off your ears like a war drum, reminding you that Sufferance is coming. And that he’s dressed in his fanciest suit to mark the occasion, practically gliding through the room with knitted brows and frowning lips, pushing aside everybody who gets in his way. 

“Gale, we —I need to go.”

Suddenly your palm, still filled with glass pushes against his robes, staining the fabric as your blood begins to drip, reminding you of his hunger —of the way he used to feed. How he took and took, ignoring your starvation for something other than submission. Refusing to acknowledge the withering of your soul each day you spent wrapped around his pretty little fingers.  

As he shoves a woman to the ground, you can feel the emptiness within your stomach start to grow at the memory. The shuddering of your limbs driving Gale to look behind him, noticing the wild look in Astarion’s eyes as the crowd begins to part in fear, watching as he bares his teeth. 

It’s a look that makes you instantly flinch. Closing your eyes, your shoulders rise to touch your ears in anticipation. Waiting for the moment to strike, you all but freeze in place, holding your breath as the steps of his boots draw near, reverberating through the air until they suddenly stop.

In fact, everything stops. The sound of him —the sound of the party. All of it falls onto deaf ears, creating a new fear that has you so terrified you merely stand in place until you eventually hear the clapping sound of a hand on someone’s back, followed by the swirling of your head again, forcing your eyes to jolt open. 

“Oh, hello darling, didn’t see you there.”

Once again trying to breathe, you glance between the two men in confusion, watching as they share a lengthy embrace before Astarion’s pushing himself onto you. Gentler than expected, his arms slowly wrap around your shoulders as he does it, pulling you to his chest in a way that feels both frightening and familiar. A mix of home and hell encased around your nervous frame as he lowers his head to yours. 

In response, you reluctantly raise your hands and place them on his back, applying a bit of pressure at the centre as you mutter out a muddled hi, looking to see that the commotion he so violently caused before seems to have evaporated into thin air. 

“You’re awfully far from home, aren’t you?” His voice is barely above a whisper, ghosting against the shell of your ear as you force out a shaky breath.

“So are you.”

“I wonder why that is.”

You hum in response. Using the short moment of silence that’s granted to stare. To watch the way he looks you up and down, the edges of his lips pulling into a smirk of amusement. 

It’s obvious then that he’s thinking of playing tricks. Of taunting and teasing —using all the usual charming tactics before he decides it’s worth it to raise a little hell. 

Because of this, you merely swallow hard and spare Gale a glance, watching him magic away the bloodstain on his robes before looking back towards the stage. 

“How did you find me?”

Astarion reaches for your chin. Taking hold of it with his thumb and forefinger, he then waits patiently for you to share his gaze, looking your face up and down until he can finally see the fear in your eyes. “Does it really matter?” 

It does, but you know he won’t tell you so you move on to another question. “Why are you here then?” 

Immediately he scoffs, the smirk on his face falling for a split second. “Do you really have to ask?” he says, letting his thumb run across the length of your bottom lip. “Obviously, I’ve come to enjoy a spot of red with old friends.”

“Hm.”

“Among other things, of course.” 

“Like?” 

“Reclaiming my dead consort, for one.”

“And two?” 

He shrugs his shoulders as he taps your chin. “Not sure. Depends on how the night goes.” 

You’re not sure what to say then. Growing increasingly lost to the feeling of his hands and voice —remembering all the moments shared when it was just him and you and the power imbalance of ascension hadn’t yet existed— all you can do is pull him in a bit tighter. 

Knowing that Gale is probably growing more curious by the second, you suddenly feel a sense of protection. An urge to get rid of him so that he’s no longer at risk. 

Well aware of the power Astarion now holds within his grasp, you know it’s hardly worth it to try and get him involved anyway, especially considering how much alcohol he’s consumed. The poor man couldn’t be helpful even if he tried, so instead of asking you merely hold on. Tightening your grip as the other parts of you desperately try to rationalize just how much you’ve missed this. How even after years spent fleeing his hold —years of constant moving and hiding and watching your back for signs of his presence— his touch is still the only thing that makes you feel safe.

Which is a fact that makes you sick to your stomach, discovering that, regardless of being able to name a million reasons why you should be fleeing rather than falling, suddenly you’re able to name just as much for why you’d stay. Why you’d more than willingly follow his footsteps if he asked. 

And not because you fear him, no. Despite having just been found out —despite that growing uncertainty of how you’ll inevitably be taken back— it’s as if your mind resets on impact. As he holds you close, speaking in obvious threats to your safety if you don’t listen, you can feel the defiance in you quickly dwindle. Evaporating into thin air as he leans away to give Gale an overly friendly smack to the shoulder. 

“Gale, darling, you wouldn’t mind giving us a bit of privacy would you? Seems we have much to discuss.” 

The hold he has on you tightens as he speaks, reminding you that such a conversation is anything but optional as Gale almost immediately buggers off, drunkenly mumbling something about drinks and fun before Astarion’s whisking you away. 

Leading you through a crowd of bodies, you quickly find your hand gripping his shoulder absentmindedly. All splayed out, your fingers nervously caress the fabric of his doublet, feeling the texture shift beneath your skin, reminding you that he’s here. That’s he’s present and real and not just some illusion conjured up to scare you into coming back. 

“Your entrance back there was…” 

You’re not sure what to say anymore. Not with the underlying rage you can feel radiating off of him. Given the fact that it’s been so long, you’ve almost forgotten how to please him. To make his mind ease into those old spaces of pity where sometimes he’d grant you reprieve amongst the punishment. 

Knowing this, he looks at you with feigned innocence, taunting you with his still raised lip as though he’s having fun despite slowly inching towards the blowout. “Did you like it? I figured, it’s been so long since I’ve last toyed with that little mind of yours, best to give it a proper show.” 

He wipes his thumb across your forehead and watches you frown; your head suddenly darting back only to be ripped forward when that same hand tightens around your throat.

All at once the action leaves you gasping for air. As his thumb presses down on the centre of your neck, applying just enough pressure to pull from you a nervous wheeze as the two of you stop, he can’t help but lower his face to yours. 

“I’d consider yourself lucky that the temperament I showed back there was merely an illusion,” he tells you, pressing his forehead to yours.

Swallowing to no avail, you feel the lump in your throat become pressurized by the growing frustrations in his hand. Prompting you to panic, another airless sound emits from your lips as your eyes begin to dart around, looking at all the curious eyes that seemingly look away the second you make contact. 

You realize then that nobody cares. Whether it’s due to the intimidating presence he exudes or the potential word of mouth of his ascendance circulating the room, you don’t care, knowing it doesn’t really matter anyway. He’s untouchable regardless. A force so unmovable that all you can do is pray that he’s merciless. 

As he grips your throat amongst a sea of avoidant faces, unwavering in his efforts to patronize your past behaviours, you know then that this marks the end of your freedom. That from this moment on his control over you has been reenacted without discussion. 

“Now, are we going to obey and have a nice evening or are we going to do something we might regret?” 

Looking back at him, all you can do is nod, feeling that alleviation slowly come. Granting you the chance to breathe again, you cough quietly and reach for your throat, rubbing the pain away as you watch his previously aggressive demeanour fall into amusement, once again stringing you along. 

At which point you effectively zone out. Still feeling his hand flush against the small of your back, it’s as if suddenly your mind becomes null, avoiding all thoughts as he leads you through the main entry of the ballroom, turning down a seemingly endless stream of corridors until you find yourself face to face with an ornate door. 

Once there, he peels away from your frame and begins to pick the lock, wickedly grinning at you once that familiar click rings out, reminding you of the old him. Of how he was before the ritual, all doe-eyed and excited to experience the world and all its gifts. 

It makes your lip pull between your teeth nervously, seeing him unbend the length of his back to look at you. To smirk in a way that feels so real and him that you almost forget that he’s changed. That, instead of picking the lock to loot the room and make charming little jokes at your expense, he’s doing it so he can get you alone. So that he can do unspeakable things the old Astarion would never think to do.

“Shall we?” 

His voice rings out like a request even though you know deep down it’s a command, secretly telling you to hurry up. So, doing just that, you brush past him without so much as a glance, taking in the endless wall of books that greets you as you enter, opening your mouth in slight awe until the door closes behind you. 

Turning back, you’re then given all but a second before he’s on you. Grabbing you with such violent desperation, a hand snakes around your waist, claiming you like he used to do when you were still devoted to being his. When this idea of free will was nothing more than a passing thought that barely grazed the surface.

Back when he was still yours. 

Immediately, the familiarity of it wreaks havoc on your chest. Your heart, once filled with longing and fear now radiates nothing but need. Demanding that old sensation of flesh brushing against flesh as his other hand takes hold of the base of your neck.

The second you feel it, all thoughts are lost. Every previous reservation you once had melting into nothing against the hot feeling of your mouth pushing against his, prying open both lips to taste his tongue. To remind yourself of what it felt like to be wanted in the simplest sense. 

Deepening the kiss, he moans and somehow pulls you closer, forcing your chests together as he maneuvers you backwards, stumbling over a raised edge of a rug before practically tossing you onto the floor. 

“Years,” he groans then, pulling away to stare down at you with knitted brows and swollen lips, distracting you with that pretty face as he begins to rip the bodice of your dress. “I’ve spent years without this flesh —without this blood.” 

His fingers pry at the fabric, peeling back the only layer you have to hide behind until you’re left exposed from the waist up, anxiously breathing at the sight of his hunger. 

A sight that leaves you helpless beneath his grasp as he quickly leans forward, palming one breast while holding your face with the other. Beneath him, all you’re able to do is take each touch as it comes, savouring the uncharacteristic softness as his thumb brushes against your nipple, teasing it with gentle swipes as he goes in for another kiss.

Similar to his hands, there’s a strange feeling that comes along with it. As he nibbles your bottom lip, choosing to give you control, you know that something’s off. That instead of displaying the softest version of him you’ve felt in years, he should be punishing you with reckless brutality. Taking what’s rightfully his without so much as a thought.

Because of this, you reluctantly pull away, gasping for air as he hovers above you, still stroking your chest and face. 

“Why are you doing this?”

Normally, such a question would result in some sort of punishment. A night of solitary confinement. Perhaps the silent treatment for up to a week. 

Back before you realized just how fucked up everything had gotten he used to isolate you for things as simple as this. Forcing everyone around to ignore your every waking move, he found that loneliness was the key to your obedience. The only way to control whatever reckless thoughts entered your mind. 

So, it’s surprising when he answers —when he lowers his mouth to give your lips one final kiss before flashing that smirk. “What do you mean?” 

You raise your brow and move to sit up, leaning against your elbows as your face contorts in confusion. “Why are you acting like him?”

“You mean me?” 

You open your mouth to respond —to fight against his words, knowing now more than ever that you should. Considering the door’s already open for conversation, you might as well get all your thoughts out while you’re able. Because after this it’s apparent, you’ll be stuck all over again, wasting away at the foot of a God who’s anything but forgiving. 

“You aren’t punishing me.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Why?”

His hand explores your face, swiping across skin that hasn’t felt a single touch since your departure. “There’s always time for punishment —for penance,” he tells you, tracing your features with featherlight strokes that have you begging for more as you push yourself upward. “Now that I have you again, there’s far more important things I want before I subject you to what you deserve.” 

“Which is?” 

He pauses for a while, continuing his ministrations in a way that has you forgetting why you left in the first place. Why, instead of subjecting yourself to the torment of his hand to feel the grace that often coincides, you decided to give it all up. 

“I haven’t quite decided yet.” 

It’s a simple statement, yet it holds far too much weight against your ears. As he speaks, your heart flutters in your chest nervously, reminding you that this thing between you is nothing more than an imbalance. A tipping scale so unevenly distributed that you’ve lost all hope for rebalance. 

Because of this, you don’t fight him when he inevitably leans forward. Nor when he presses a slightly rougher kiss to your lips, biting down with a newfound vigour that splits your lip in half. Feeling the blood pool out, you hardly react when Astarion’s lips begin to suckle the wound, lapping up whatever spills through as he rips away the rest of your clothes, tossing it all aside.

Suddenly cold, you find your arms rising to hold him all over again. Wanting to feel the fabric of his clothes pressing against your bare skin, you grip him tight and groan, relishing in this moment. Enjoying the familiarity of it as something warm blooms across your aching core, fuelling the need for your hips to slightly buck up, making him laugh. 

Light and airy, the sound filters through your mouth like smoke, taking hold of your lungs in a way that leaves you addicted. Wanting to chase that past feeling, your hands swiftly lower to his waist, your fingers tucking themselves under his clothes to touch the texture of his scar —to feel the old him amongst all the new. 

Realizing this, his movements become suddenly erratic. Forcing himself up with a grin, he then begins to quickly trail down your body, pressing his mouth to every exposed bit within his sightline, making sure to glance up at your heavy eyes and parted lips along the way. 

“Mm, still as desperate as ever, my little consort,” he tuts. 

Between the kisses he places to your freshly bruised flesh, he releases another laugh that lingers in your mind, further reminding you of him. Of the man you fell in love with. Of the man who swiftly slips between your thighs with little notice, raising the backs to rest against his shoulders. 

A sound of shock escapes your lips at the new position, craning your neck to watch him latch onto your inner thigh, suckling the plush through such a guttural moan that it forces your jaw to drop.

“Fucking hell,” you mumble then, prompting his lips to curl into a grin before he’s biting your thigh, forcing his teeth through the tender flesh before you can even think to object.

It feels better than you remember. Almost like a hot flash of pleasure before that familiar coldness kicks in, numbing the space that he suckles with haste. As his lips hollow out to drink whatever he can get, you feel his hand slip against your entrance, knuckles grazing the outer folds of your sex just right. 

Bucking your hips again, you feel his movements become one. Each time his tongue licks up, his fingers raise to the top of your cunt, flowing back down in such delicious unison you’re already ready to submit. To surrender yourself to whatever pleasures might await through the pain of your punishment.

So much so that you’re already begging for it. Through gasps that barely hit his ears, your voice whines for more. For more pressure or movement or frankly, whatever the hell he’s willing to give despite how undeserving you are.

“Please, Astarion.”

The moment he hears that little please he’s pulling away, grinning at you with teeth and tongue all covered in your blood. 

“I’m sorry, you want me to please you?”

He gently pushes two fingers into your entrance, curling the ends ever so slightly while keeping them still, watching as you press your lips together, unable to speak.

“To pleasure you?”

Slowly, he angles his head to suck your thigh again, dragging a fresh wave of blood through his hungry lips before shifting towards your cunt and licking a tentative strip directly above his fingers. 

“To taste you, perhaps?”

His voice is low, droning on in that teasing way that has you looking down annoyed, taking in the way he goes back and forth, debating whether or not to relent. To give in to the indulgence, watching you squirm beneath him. Forcing you to stir in your own prolonged pleasure until he all but sits back up, digging his fingers into the holes in your thigh, telling you you’ll get what you deserve once you’ve come back home.

-

@poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo@jjfchk@idiotsatan@bluestuesday@bloopthebat@art-by-greenie@heneralmoon@sukunababe@dreamingaboutyousworld@ranfithegood@haniscrying@liadamerondjarin@the-lake-is-calling@marina-and-the-memes@rookieoftheyear@zraloci-cpr@kaetmo@snickerdoodle-daydream@wowowwild@d1anna@raswiet@conniesbbymama@venus-wrts@demonicthorns@kihten@deadglamsheep@sanscas@spammypasta@leighsartworks216@rose-gold-blue@p1ssmagg0t@hellish-writes@ghostinvenus@otayz@sexysquatch@sleepyeclair@colorful-anxieties@alina-exe@ilana-the-lasagna@lillifer@girlwiththepapatattoo@y2cade@acelin-ginsberg@pinkuranium@catrad0rable@scarletrosesposts@qwnamidala@itsrosebabe@bunnyperi@queenofcarrotflowers-s@tatumadams20@spkyxszn@chlort@f3v3rs@awkwardwookie@joy-the-reader@warm-milk-with-honey-blog@vertigocrime@iyis@wildpiper@pebblethestone@tillywasneverhere@bex-03@kaetmo@revemiya@staticspouse@itzagothamcitysiren@djarinsmixtape@when-the-night-came@epicy0n@bababahannah@sleepyred1703@lotus-99@lofcompass@r4d10h34d5@vampninjaz@itsmekalou@offbrandhand@yikes-buddy@konenichi@rainonarden@oceanbluesixeyes@bodtyworship@maydayitsjay@greasyslimebucket@yeeteth-the-raven@fantasyfairysworld@allexthakatt@flowersaretheshit@morglyne@thespectacularspaceace@cephiss0@use-your-telescope@furblrwurblr@kloverfield@angelofthorr@writervaul-t@starved-kitten@minixluvr@crowley--aziraphale@sapphicwren@alionera-blog@jennithejester@dezedrol@thisisew@saladalpaca@applepiewithbacon@httpbiohazard@aurasyn@nerdoodles@kingpinthedevil@itzkawaiix@domainoflostsouls@silverskylan@uminootome@helpidkwhatimdoingwrong@deadlyinfernos@blackbirdswhispers@sarahskywalker-amadala@writingmysanity@f3v3rs@jayjones03@quietlyebbie@optimisticprime3@eyes-for-daze@sunnytalia3@megoshh@maddiedott@cappsikle@mostbeautifulnightmare@lynnlovesloki@simpytheshrimpy69@astarion-archive@smaranshakthi@autistic-deer@shadowfeart@freckled-petals@candied-lavender@hp-art-studio@ghouligan@satelliteapotheosis@waywardwitch-hel@pandimoostuff@mythoughtsofinsanity@ilovelovelylove@oneandonlyizabelle

TAGLIST NOW CLOSED!

#weaved together (say it's forever) #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #ascended astarion #summer writes

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Writing Prompt #8

The day Bruce Wayne knocks on her apartment door Sam knows it's going to be a doozy.

"Mr. Wayne, I really do hope no one saw you," she says, ushering him in. "And for the record, a text ahead of time would be appreciated."

"I parked the car a few streets away," Bruce says, sticking a finger in his heel to peel his polished leather shoes off. Sam raises an eyebrow. "It's a sedan, not a Lamborghini."

"You own a sedan?"

"Taught Dick to drive in it...after he crashed the Lamborghini."

Sam snorts despite herself. The charm Bruce Wayne exhibits would usually rub her the wrong way, too reminiscent of wealthy men that feel comfortable placing a hand on the small of your back at a crowded gala, but Bruce is honest enough about his playacting that she has come to find its insincerity comforting. She's actually sought him out more than once, leading to several annoying headlines that can't seem to decide if she's aiming to date him or one of his eligible sons. None of whom are eligible by the way, as they are a) taken, b) legally dead, c) practically a minor, and d) an actual minor.

Sam's generational wealth is peanuts compared to Wayne Industries, so naturally her parents have been thrilled and rooting for option c.

"I also didn't want Danny to see I'd texted you. Or force you to lie to him."

Sam doesn't quite tense, but it's a near thing. She does slide to the other side of her kitchen island, under the context of finishing prepping her feta fried eggs, laid on a bed of smashed avocado and warm tortilla. She pulls a bottle of crunchy garlic oil out of the fridge and drizzles hot red crisps across the runny yolk. She takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully, not so much as offering him a glass of water.

"You realize, Mr. Wayne, I have no intention of lying to Danny now?"

Bruce sits at the stool on the opposite side of the island. "I understand. And if you want to ask Danny to return home before we continue, I'd understand that as well. I didn't mean to discomfit you--"

"Please do not lie to me now, Mr. Wayne," Sam says, rolling her eyes. "By your own admission you showed up at noon without warning knowing my superhero boyfriend wouldn't be present. If I am discomfited, all the more likely you get your information, right?" Golden yolk runs down her fingers, and she sacrifices it to the napkin rather than lick up her arm in front of her boss, with no small amount of resentment. The yolk is the best part.

"Get to it then," she demands.

Bruce straightens in his stool, chin raising and firming in a jawline she most often sees under a cowl. His eyes attempt to pin her in place, but Sam has stared the Master of Time in the face and demand he reschedule so she is built. different. She takes another bite of egg taco.

"I was not aiming for you to feel threatened, and moreover, I doubt you could be."

Except a smart person should always feel threatened by a threat, no matter their capability of handling one. It keeps them alive.

"Can you tell me how I'm not like all the other girls after lunch? You'll spoil my appetite."

Bruce clears his throat. "I'll get to the point--"

"Thank you."

"--Danny has been exhibiting paranormal behaviors beyond his baseline. We welcome all biologies; human, alien, and paranormal alike, but I have observed actions unlike what he had previously established as his, for lack of a better word, 'normal'

"I want to make sure he is not experiencing any unwelcome outside influence. Or, if this is merely a facet of his evolution, I'd like to know if this is something we or his family should be monitoring."

Sam has been an eco-consultant with Wayne Industries and unofficially, the Batfamily, for half a year now and this is the most she's ever heard the man speak in one sitting.

"Wow," she says. "How long have you been rehearsing that one?"

"A while." Bruce grunts, voice finally taking that final drop into Batman's gravelly rasp. "I see you're not surprised by any of this."

"No, not really," Sam says. She pours him a tall glass of lemon water from the pitcher, freshly sliced that morning, and he takes a polite sip.

"So what can you tell me?"

"Probably a lot. And Danny would probably prefer that I do, knowing him, the big baby," Sam sighs. "Listen Mr. Wayne, I can appreciate that you came here from a place of caution rather than intrusion. And if Danny was undergoing something negative or from an 'unwelcome outside influence' that would be the right call, and I, albeit begrudgingly, encourage you to do so in the future."

"But he's not."

"He's not," Sam confirms. "And in fact, I think he could really use someone to talk to about it. Outside of his family."

"I see..." Bruce says, shifting.

"If you want to tag team this one with one of the higher EQ players, such as Superman, I give you permission." Sam does not think she's imagining that slight sag of relief.

"Thank you," Bruce says, sliding off the stool. "I don't suppose you have material we could consult...?"

"Actually yes, I happen to have a pamphlet right here. 'So your ghostly body is changing, and how.'"

"You're being more sarcastic than usual."

"You interrupted my lunch, Mr. Wayne."

#sam: #bruce: #bruce: so i was thinking brainwashing- #sam: ghost puberty #bruce: frick #sam give-my-boyfriend-the-talk manson #at some point when danny went from teen hero to the eldritch being of our fanfic dreams he had to start experiencing the “becoming” #i imagine that was actually pretty terrifying #his whole family calling it ghost puberty is probably actually really kind and appreciated #hey i'm starting to forget to breathe and sometimes i want to bite things #aw honey it's ok your body is chaaanging #you're teeeething #baby's first feral chomp #sometimes i hear the universe it is a symphony i cannot explain but if i listen too long i fear it shall sweep me away forever #let's get you some airpods with the latest paramore album #that helping? #yes actually ty #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #batman #sam manson #danny fenton #danny phantom #my writing

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

Preludes and Nocturnes - Part 3

Paring: Rafe Cameron x InnocentPogue!Reader

Summary: Rafe discovers your hidden talent and now he has seen it, you have his full attention.

PART 1 / PART 2

Warnings:  18+ Smut. Darkish!Rafe. Virgin!Reader. Romance, Angst, Dub-Con, Oral (w receiving) hand job (m receiving). Not Proof-Read so mistakes are my own.

Word Count: 6K

Author Note: Sorry it's taken me long to update we've had a death in the family and it's been a lot to deal with. Writing was the last thing on my mind at the moment. I'm just putting part 3 out there but once things are settled I'll write part 4. I'd like to think there'll be more parts than 4 because the story is now starting to pick up. But it depends on how well this part does. 🧡❤️🧡

Also, I changed part 2 slightly so it may be worth re-reading before reading part 3. 🧡

For those who asked to be tagged. Thank you so much for reading and sticking with the story.  Much love and take care. ❤️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

Curled up on the sofa beneath a cozy blanket, you slowly blinked open your eyes, adjusting to the room's muted glow. Rafe's voice, a deep murmur, sliced through the quiet ambiance. He was sitting on the edge of an armchair, his phone held to his ear while his other hand absentmindedly glided over his buzzcut.

"Why are they stalling?" his voice barely above a whisper was undeniably firm.

"And their counteroffer? No. Not for a piece of that size. They're well aware of its rarity, right? The clarity? They stand to gain at least 40% profit once it's resold. They know it. I know it. Ninety, and that's me being generous." His fingers stilled their exploration, and his thumb wandered down to his bottom lip, hinting at the storm just beneath the surface. "No, it's non-negotiable. Look, I'm trying to be nice here, alright? But if they keep fucking around with the number, they'll soon find out I’m not so accommodating after all. No more games. I'm done with their shit—Ninety. Final offer."

Your heart pounded, every beat magnifying the gravity of Rafe's words. This was clearly far more than just ninety dollars; it hinted at an intricate web of dealings far beyond your understanding. While whispers of his dubious associations had always floated around town, hearing Rafe speak with such authority was jarring. The sheer force he wielded and the unmistakable power resonating in every syllable revealed that he wasn't just a small player in whatever this game was. He was at its very epicenter, a dominant force controlling the strings. And as this realization washed over you, a sinking sensation set in: you barely knew him at all.

"Now, about that other forty. I want it. Today." He let the words hang for a moment, his tone colder "You keeping office hours now? What the fuck do you mean 'after six'?" His voice tightened with irritation. "Nah, I don't want to hear that shit." he spat. "It's either you have it or you don't, and you should have it since you had one job yesterday; to collect."

Despite trying to stay unnoticed, your numbing arm forced you to shift slightly on the couch, catching Rafe's discerning eye. Rafe's penetrating gaze bore into you, suspending the world in a split second. Amidst the pitter-patter of raindrops against the windows, the weight of the silence pressed in until Rafe finally looked away. "I'll be there in an hour," he murmured, his voice suddenly calmer. "I have some things to take care of first."

As he disconnected the call, you swallowed.

"Is everything okay?" You asked, your voice trembled as you propped yourself up on an elbow.

Rafe approached, confidence exuding with each step. "Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about," he reassured, leaning in for a gentle kiss on your lips.

"How long was I out?"

"About an hour, give or take," Rafe responded, his thumb brushed away a stray eyelash from your cheek. The simple, tender gesture contrasted starkly with the side of him you had just heard on the phone.

You hesitated, your curiosity getting the better of you. "Did you manage to get much done while I was asleep?" Hoping for some insight into his earlier phone conversation.

Rafe's smirk held many layers. "Yeah, handled some business, made a few calls, and I might've watched you a little...."

"Watched me? You mean you just sat there and watched me sleep?"

He moved closer, his warm breath brushing against your skin. "Not often do I see you so… relaxed around me. So yeah, I indulged a little." He murmured, pressing his lips to your cheek. "Besides, I like knowing I can make you feel good. Make you cum til you pass out. It’s up there with watching you squirt,” he grinned.

The change in topic, from shady dealings to fevered intimacy, was a dizzying experience, and you found yourself taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

"Listen," he suddenly said, leaning back to look you in the eye. “I have some business I need to wrap up. I could also do with a shower and a change of clothes." His gaze slipped down to his attire; he had changed back into his shirt, now less damp but very wrinkled. “What's your plan for dinner?

"Dinner?" You tried to keep up, the rapid change in topics leaving your thoughts scrambled. “Uh... Leftovers, I guess.”

“Wanna come over? Eat at mine instead?”

The invitation caught you off guard. The unexpectedness of it made you feel like you were navigating through a dense fog, with every step bringing a new, unanticipated revelation. But you nodded, despite the uncertainty coiling within.

Rafe's expression softened, picking up on your hesitation. He leaned in, his lips brushed against your ear. “You do know what this means, right? You'll have to deal with my company a bit longer. Think you can handle that without making a run for it?"

You tried to muster a playful retort, but his lips captured yours before you could speak, a deep, overwhelming kiss that made you weak.

Pulling back, he smiled, "I'll pick you up around six, yeah?"

“Okay.” Your voice was but a whisper.

As he moved toward the exit, the shadow of his phone call loomed over your thoughts. Only when you heard his truck roar to life did you finally exhale, sinking deeper into the sofa. Your mind was a whirl with questions you didn't know how to begin to ask, let alone answer.

By the time the clock struck 6, you were already fresh from a shower and dressed in jeans paired with a simple white vest top and an oversized cardigan. Right on cue, the low hum of Rafe's truck resonated outside, its headlights casting a gentle glow on your porch. After ensuring you had your phone and keys, you gave yourself a quick glance in the mirror and then headed out to meet him.

Suave as ever, Rafe leaned across his truck to push the door open for you. Offering his hand for support, he helped you up into the seat. A warm smile naturally bloomed on your face, and with a soft "Hey," you acknowledged his chivalry.

"Hey," he echoed, the familiar gravelly timbre warm and inviting. Without another word, he leaned in, capturing your lips with a kiss. As you pulled away for a breath, your gaze wandered over him, taking in every detail. He smelt amazing, something rich and woodsy, while the crisp black shirt and jeans he wore accentuated his toned physique. It gave him that distinct, effortless style he carried so naturally — the very essence of a kook.

As you settled beside him, a wave of self-consciousness washed over you. It wasn't a lack of confidence in your appearance—Rafe had always been vocal about how beautiful he found you. He had a candid manner of complimenting, and today's earlier affectionate proclamations were just another testament to his feelings. Yet, a nagging voice inside you questioned why someone as polished and affluent as Rafe would be into someone like you when he could easily have anyone from his own elite circle.

As the journey began, the ambiance in the truck was tranquil, but underlined by a tension you couldn't ignore. Rafe seemed to be miles away, his eyes barely leaving the road ahead and memories of his earlier phone conversation played on repeat in your head. Could his aloofness be about the business deal you overheard? Did something go wrong? The only breaks in the silence were his occasional clearing of his throat or sniff, causing you to swallow hard and stare out of your passenger window to calm your nerves.

When you exited the vehicle at Tannyhill a rush of nostalgia hit, interwoven with memories that weren’t as endearing. It was weird being there now for pleasure rather than work and at the behest of Rafe not Rose. Possibly sensing your hesitation, Rafe gently grasped your hand, leading you toward the entrance. As he swung the front door open, an overwhelming quiet enveloped the surroundings.

"Is Rose and Mr. C around?" you asked, noting the dimly illuminated hallway that stretched toward the kitchen and beyond.

"Nah, they're in the Bahamas. Business trip. They'll be there for a while." Rafe replied, his voice echoing in the quiet expanse of the house.

"What about Wheezie?"

"She's with them.”

"And Sarah?"

Rafe's face twitched slightly. "Don't know, don't care. Haven't seen her in, what, three weeks? She could be in a ditch for all I care—" His gaze met yours, "I'm kidding," he smiled. Yet, a flicker of something shadowy behind his eyes made you think otherwise.

"So, it's just the two of us tonight?" you asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

Rafe gave a nonchalant shrug, "Looks like it."

Entering the kitchen, your eyes flitted to the island, noticing several neatly stacked pizza boxes. "Planning a feast or what?"

His grin broadened, revealing the playful side you always adored. "Thought you'd be hungry after your day. Vegan, pepperoni, or drowned in cheese. Take your pick."

Laughing, you approached, your finger tracing the edge of the closest box. "Always one step ahead, aren't you?"

Rafe pulled you closer, warmth radiating from him. "Well, yeah. Gotta keep my girl happy and fed,” his voice husky as he leaned in for a kiss.

After devouring slice after slice and transitioning from the kitchen to the cozy ambiance of the living room, you and Rafe settled in, surrounded by plush cushions and the soft glow of the floor lamps. As conversations ebbed and flowed Rafe's gaze followed yours, landing on the Steinway.

"Do you want to play something?" Rafe asked lips curling into a small smile.

"Oh no you don't.” you said with a shake of your head. “I'm not falling for that, again.”

Rafe leaned in, his grin widening. "What do you mean?" he prodded, matching your playful tone.

"Every time I play, we end up..." You left the sentence hanging, heat creeping up your neck.

Rafe leaned in closer, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "We end up doing what?" he asked with faux innocence.

You gave him a knowing look, your eyes saying everything that words didn't need to. Really, Rafe?

"I like when you play." he said slowly with a shrug.

"I know you do... a little too much," you replied, your voice laced with humor and a touch of fond exasperation.

“Alright, don’t play.” He said with a sly smile as he patted the space beside him on the sofa. You found yourself irresistibly drawn to him, nestling close, the comfort of his warmth enveloping you.

Lost in a dance of gentle touches and lingering glances, Rafe pulled you closer. With each soft, deliberate kiss, the world outside faded away. His fingers toyed with the collar of your cardigan, his middle finger hooking the fabric, gently sliding it off your shoulder, as he peppered your skin with soft kisses.

"I think... yeah, this is the least clothing I've seen you in, not including earlier today," he murmured against your skin. "I like it. I like being able to have access to you."

As he spoke, his fingers ventured under the back of your vest, soft digits skimming upwards past your bra strap to your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His affectionate kisses stirred a profound desire within you, compelling you to cradle his face and initiate a fevered kiss of your own, a blend of lips and intertwining tongues.

"Stay," he murmured, his words a gentle plea brushing against the corner of your lips. "Stay with me," he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours.

"Tonight?" you questioned quietly, a hint of uncertainty tinging your voice.

"Tonight, tomorrow, as long as you like," he shrugged, his tone revealing a deep yearning. His candidness took you aback, causing your heart to flutter.

"I have a class in the morning," you responded, your hesitation evident.

"Of course, you'd have class on a Saturday. Who takes a class on a Saturday?"

"It's for extra credit," you playfully huffed.

"I'm sure it is, freak.” Rafe remarked with an amused smile as he bit down on your shoulder. You hissed in response to the sudden, sharp pain. He immediately soothed the area with his tongue, a slow and sensual gesture that had you pressing your thighs together.

"What time?" he murmured against your skin.

"Hm?" you managed to reply, your mind struggling to focus.

"What time is your class?" he repeated, his lips still dangerously close to your neck.

"Ten," you answered, regaining some semblance of coherence.

"Okay," Rafe said, his voice low and husky as he made plans. "I’ll drive you home, you grab your stuff, and then I'll take you to class…" His words trailed off as his lips grazed the soft skin of your neck once more. He paused, pulling back slightly to search your face, his gaze filled with understanding. "But it's not just about your class, is it?" There was a knowing look in his eyes, a hint that he comprehended some of your apprehension, even though it remained unspoken.

"Don't…" you began as you licked your lips. "Don't you think we might be moving a bit fast?" you whispered. The pace of things had taken a sharp turn; just yesterday, you were literally hiding from him, and today, not only had you let him finger you into a coma you now found yourself wrapped around him like a scarf, his hand exploring beneath your clothes like he owned you. It was only natural to worry that things were progressing way too rapidly, burning too brightly, and possibly destined to fizzle out just as quickly as it had started.

"Nah, I don't." Rafe drawled as his nose brushed against your shoulder, inhaling your scent. “If we were moving fast, I would have fucked you a long time ago.”

You jerked your head away, staring at him with wide eyes while Rafe smiled, clearly enjoying your worried expression.

"What?" you asked softly.

“Oh yeah.” Rafe nodded, “In fact, I would have fucked you quite a few times by now, in every position I could think of.” he said nonchalantly. A deep chuckle escaped him as he relished your deer-in-the-headlights expression. “But I also get that all of this is new for you, so..." his fingers traced your jaw. "We’ll take it slow. Until I can't hold back any longer."

"Rafe!" you breathed, and he threw his head back with a hearty laugh.

"I'm kidding," he laughed, his eyes sweeping over your features like a tender caress. "I'm kidding."

"So if I stay over..." you began, shifting nervously in his embrace. "We’re not..."

"Nah, we won't," he assured, understanding your apprehension. “But I can't promise to keep my hands or mouth off of you. It’s only fair, right? After all the stress you’ve put me through.” He murmured. 

“Stress! I give you stress-”

“So much fucking stress” You could feel the smile on his lips as he pressed them against your cheek, and you wondered if he could tell you were blushing. “Stay,” he said again, his tone resolute, treating it as the final word on the matter.

"Alright... I'll stay."

As the night wore on, the comforting cadence of your conversation intertwined with the weight of the day, gradually lulling you into a drowsy state. Feeling your eyelids grow heavy, Rafe kissed your temple softly. "Come on," he whispered, wrapping his fingers around yours and leading you up the winding stairs to his room.

Stepping into Rafe's bedroom for the first time, you were taken aback. The space was pristine, a stark contrast to the wild, chaotic tales of mayhem that accompanied him. Everything had its place, from the perfectly aligned books on his desk to the immaculately ironed shirts in his open closet.

Rummaging through his belongings for a brief moment, he emerged with an old jersey and a pair of shorts. "Here, try these” he suggested, handing them to you.

"In just one day, we've exchanged a lot of clothes” you said with a soft chuckle.

Rafe's eyes danced with mischief. "Well, if you want, I'm happy for us to ditch the clothes altogether."

Rolling your eyes playfully, you retorted, "Keep dreaming, Cameron."

His response was accompanied by a sly, teasing grin, "Oh, I already have." As he began to methodically unbutton his shirt, his captivating eyes held yours in a magnetic pull. Although you had already seen him shirtless. Tonight, the ambiance carried a different weight. There was an intimacy in the air that made your cheeks flush, causing you to divert your gaze to the wooden floor.

"I'll just… uh, freshen up before bed," you stammered, trying to find an escape from the mounting tension.

"Sure," he said, pointing towards a door on the side. "Bathroom's right there. There's a pack of toothbrush heads in the cabinet; help yourself."

"Thanks," you replied with a grateful smile, seizing the opportunity to step out just as the sound of his belt buckle being opened reached your ears.

In the dimly lit bathroom, you sank to the edge of the tub, your hand pressing hard into the porcelain, feeling its cold, smooth surface beneath your fingertips.

Sharing a bed with Rafe wasn’t just a simple act of two people sleeping side-by-side. It symbolized a budding intimacy, a fragile trust slowly unfurling between the two of you. And yet, the weight of his weird phone call pressed heavily on your chest. Could you really trust someone whose life seemed tangled in webs of secrets, lurking just beneath the surface? Could you willingly let yourself be drawn into his world, knowing full well it could be dangerous?

Biting your lip, you pushed those turbulent thoughts to the back of your mind, you changed into the clothes he had lent you and brushed your teeth. After a lingering glance in the mirror, searching for some kind of assurance, and taking a deep, steadying breath, you braced yourself for the night ahead and headed back to the bedroom.

Rafe was already cozied up in bed, the soft light from his phone casting a glow on his face. He had changed into a pyjama pants his chest bare.

"I haven't even left the room for two minutes and you're already sliding into some girl's DMs?" you teased.

As Rafe met your gaze, warmth filled his eyes as he admired your appearance, clearly liking the way you looked in his clothes. “The only DMs I'd ever slide into are yours, but I've already got the real thing." he casually remarked, his voice carrying a hint of affection.

You couldn't help but laugh, your nose scrunching up at his comment. "Damn, that's some next-level cheesiness. You're quite the cheeseball, you know that?" you teased.

A mischievous twinkle sparkled in his eyes. "Only 'cause you're a sucker for cheesy romantic gestures. That shit gets you wet." he replied with a small smirk.

Mouth agape you looked at him flabbergasted only for Rafe to downright smile his pearly white teeth on full display.

“Rafe! You really can't go five minutes without turning something sweet into something, just--" You playfully tossed a pillow at him which he caught. Pulling you to him Rafe planted a quick kiss to your lips before heading to the bathroom.

With Rafe momentarily out of sight, you took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The reality of sharing a bed with him was nerve-wracking. Sliding beneath the soft covers, you felt the smooth sheets against your skin, their coolness momentarily providing a reprieve from the weight of your racing thoughts.

The bed, although large and spacious, suddenly felt like a confining space. Each moment of hesitation, every heartbeat, every fleeting memory of your past interactions echoed loudly in the silence of the room. Sharing a bed with someone was always an intimate act, but with Rafe, the stakes felt higher. It was more than just physical proximity; it was about letting him into the vulnerable spaces you had never shared with anyone including your heart.

As you laid there in the soft glow of his side lamp, you tried to focus on the present. You reminded yourself that Rafe said you'll take it slow. Tonight was about simply connecting, not necessarily about taking a step further.

The bathroom door opened, and you saw Rafe's silhouette framed by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. He approached the bed, his movements careful, perhaps sensing your apprehension.

"Everything okay?" he asked softly.

You took a deep breath, "Yeah, just...thinking."

Rafe sat down beside you, his hand gently caressing your arm. "If you're not comfortable, we can figure something else out."

You shook your head, mustering a small smile. "No, it's not that. It's just as you said... It's all new. But I want to be here. With you."

Rafe leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Alright we'll take it one step at a time, yeah?"

With that assurance, you snuggled closer to him, feeling the warmth and security of his embrace. "One step at a time" you repeated softly.

As your eyes flutter open, the silhouette before you takes shape, dominating your field of vision. Gradually, your gaze adjusts, revealing the familiar features of Rafe as you shake off the remnants of a deep dream. The surroundings come into focus bit by bit. The early hour is apparent; it's so early that the outside remains cloaked in darkness, illuminated by a luminous full moon.

You had drifted to sleep cradled in Rafe's embrace but now he's beside you. His touch is a gentle caress, his thumb tracing the smooth curve of your jaw. He regards you openly, his gaze intense enough to cause warmth to spread across your skin, prompting you to look away. You wondered how long he had been staring at you... touching you...

"What time is it?" Your voice is a soft murmur, barely breaking the tranquility of the moment.

"Four thirty"

"Can't sleep?" you asked softly.

Rafe shook his head no. "Can't sleep, either huh?" he asked his words tender.

You manage a small smile, "I think I'm just not used to sleeping in someone else's bed."

Rafe nodded in understanding. "Maybe I can help with that, hmm? It worked pretty well last time.” Gently Rafe turned your face towards him and leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. Your heart flutters as his kiss lingers, his tongue delicately exploring yours.

Sheets thrown back, your jersey inches upwards, as Rafe moves on top of you, his lips creating a scorching trail down your neck and further south. Each feather-light kiss ignites a tingle, intensifying as his tongue meets your nipple. His lips move lower, soft kisses meet your sternum while his fingers brush the edge of your shorts and underwear, prompting your hands to instinctively stop him.

"We won't go all the way," he promises in a voice thick with longing while lust blown eyes stare up at you. “I just want a taste. One little taste. I deserve it, for being patient.” His lips linger around your navel, and you grant him a hesitant nod. Gently, he removed your shorts and underwear, leaving you vulnerable and exposed.

Despite your urge to shield yourself, Rafe, ever-so-gently, parts your legs, positioning himself in the intimate space between. His lips graze your hip, making your skin flutter. "Ever had a guy go down on you before?" His voice is an alluring mix of curiosity and yearning.

With a deep breath and a gentle shake of your head, you whispered “No”

Rafe smiles at your answer, his lips brushing your skin again. "So many firsts," he murmurs seductively.

His attention returns between your thighs, teasing and exploring, with soft kisses leading to your mound. His head drops lower and he slowly swipes his tongue over your clit. The sensation is a mix of ticklish delight and sinful pleasure prompting a soft gasp from your lips.

Rafe licks you slowly, teasingly, humming in approval with every wet swipe of his tongue. The swirl of his tongue between your folds begins to overwhelm you, and you try to pull away only for Rafe to firmly yank you back, his grasp keeping you anchored to him and your legs spread.

His tongue stops its gentle caressing and probes deeper, his lips nestling against your sex while his tongue hungrily delves within.

“Ooh—” you whimpered, tremors shooting throughout your body with each stroke of his tongue. His enthusiasm grows as he drinks in your reactions, his own moans blending with yours in a symphony of pleasure.

“Too much- too much- ah-” you squirm when his tongue began to flick at your clit.

Pulling away from your wet centre Rafe licked and sucked on your inner thigh. “No- you’re fine.” Rafe commanded, his determined gaze pinning you in place. “You’re fine. Just relax...”

He guides your hand to his buzzcut and as your fingers move hesitantly over his head, he returned to lapping skilfully at your pussy.

“Oh, my god, Rafe-" you whimper, your fingers scratching at his scalp as you buck underneath him.

Wrapping his arms around your legs, Rafe continued to lick your wet centre until you’re shuddering. He pulls his head back slightly. You could see his mouth shiny with your arousal, a smile curling his lips.

“Fuck, you taste sweet. Like honey.” his voice is like gravel, raw with pent desire. “Nah, sweeter than honey...” He muses. His fingers part your soaked pussy lips exposing your swollen clit and his tongue lovingly suckles it while his fingers tease around the entrance of your tight hole.

“Ohmygod, ohplease…"

"Yeah? This what you want? Want me to finger your sweet little cunt?” he chuckled teasingly.

"Please… please…” you beg, until finally he sinks his middle finger in you. You let out a cry as he slowly worked his finger back and forth within you, stoking your walls and coaxing your orgasm to the surface.

The feel of his tongue lashing at your clit, his finger twisting deliciously, along with the unrelenting focus of his gaze, hunger blazing in his eyes, has you moaning in abandon.

Your back involuntarily bows off the bed, a strangled cry leaving your lips as your fingers curled the back of his head.

It’s glorious when you cum.

A kaleidoscope of colour appears behind your closed eyes, created by the vibrations of Rafe groaning in approval and the succulent swirl of his lips and tongue.

Rafe removed his finger and his tongue quickly replaced it, delving deep into your creaming pussy. His nose pressed against your clit as he noisily slurped and lapped at you. The explicit, wet sounds of him devouring your pussy so raw and unashamed create a beautiful symphony that fills the room.

“Holy shit ha—“ you gasped with a smile. Sudden, swipes at your clit with his tongue had you oversensitive, your hips twitching with aftershocks.

Your eyes open, landing on Rafe still positioned between your thighs. With a tenderness that belies the moment's raw passion, he places soft wet kisses on your inner thighs, grounding you in the present. The weight of what has transpired gradually dawns on you – the unexpected progression from kissing to oral, something you hadn't anticipated, let alone think you'd enjoy as much as you did washes over you.

Before you can overthink, you lean in, initiating a passionate kiss, fueled by a desperate hunger intensified by the taste of yourself on his lips.

Rafe's fervor shows no signs of waning. He pushes you back against the pillows and then crawls over you, his desire unmistakable. Bracing himself near your head, he slowly lowers his pajama pants, causing your eyes to widen as you gaze downward.

He's big.

Big, long and thick.

Suddenly, his cockiness and confidence makes perfect sense. All that big dick energy. Naturally, you find yourself yearning to feel his raw power. Want to feel him thrusting inside you. Yet amidst this desire, a sudden thought emerges—a fear that you might not be able to handle all of him. You might not be able to please him fully when the time comes.

Rafe takes your hand in his, guiding it along his already weeping cock, and you feel him tense up and take a sharp breath as your fingers make contact. Encouraged by this reaction, your other hand wanders over his body, feeling the hardness of his abdomen. Both hands now explore him with curiosity and hesitation.

"Like this…" he murmurs. With his hand over your own, holding his cock, Rafe sets a pace which brings forth soft moans from his lips. He moves his hand away to watch you carry on without him, completely entranced by the sight before him.

Clear pearls of pre-cum bead at the tip as an indication of how turned on he is by your touch. Rafe leans in to kiss you passionately while taking your hand once again and leading it up to his sensitive tip.

“Right. Here," he breathes into your mouth as he tells you to focus there. Your fingers instinctively curl tightly around the mushroom tip, fisting it as you become more confident, eliciting groans from Rafe's lips.

His hand moves from your fingers, finding its way to your throat. It curls around your neck in a possessive grip, while his lips reconnect with yours. His moans escalate in intensity, his desire palpable, and his voice becomes choppy. 'Keep going... keep going... just like that, baby. Just like that..."

Closely following his gestures and facial expressions. Your gaze remains fixated on his captivating face, magnetized by the range of emotions playing across it — the awe knitting in his brows, the quickening pace of his breath, and the roped corded muscles of his neck as his body became rigid.

"Fuck....” He releases a long sigh, color creeping up his chest, throat, and cheeks. “Long strokes- long strokes…” He commands his voice cracking. You obey, your hand stroking his length from root to tip. Your fingers glide easily, lubricated by his pre-cum.

Rafe's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he muttered something inaudible, but soon they found yours again.

"I want to fuck you so bad. I’m tryin to be patient. I’m tryin, but god I want to fuck you… I need to fuck you...” His voice trailed off into a desperate whimper, deep from the very core of him. His hips swayed to the rhythm of your hand as he fucked into it, each thrust quickening in pace.

"How?" you find yourself whispering in awe, astounded by the shift in power between you. You've heard him bark orders, so full of confidence and dominance, yet here he was wrecked and vulnerable. You would be lying if you said you didn't relish your newfound power. "How would you do it, Rafe? How would you fuck me?"

Rafe stared into your eyes, cock twitching in your grasp.

"I want to watch you ride my dick... watch you scream while you squirt all over it..." His confession hangs heavy in the air as he bares all before you.

"What else, Rafe? What else do you want?" you whisper, your fingers gently circling your clit while your other hand worked his cock.

"I wanna fuck your mouth. Want to fill your soft, pretty mouth with my cum. Watch you swallow it." His fingers softly brush against your lips, his middle and index finger pressed at its entrance. Entranced, you twirl your tongue around his digits before greedily sucking them into your mouth. Rafe utters a throaty groan before removing his fingers, his lips crashing onto yours in a crude kiss.

"What else?" you moaned, rubbing your clit and stroking his cock faster.

"Want to fuck your ass," he whispered through gritted teeth. "Have you on all fours while I make you fucking take it.”

"Oh god, Rafe-" you whimpered, eyes wide with shock. You’ve never had a guy talk about doing sexual things to you let alone anything so vulgar. And yet- you could feel your orgasm on the brink of flooding your senses just from his words.

“I want to fuck and fill every part of you and I know you’ll let me. I know you will. I know you will…” Rafe repeated softly, confidently, "Do you know why? Hm? Why you'll take whatever I choose to give you? Why you'll let me fuck you however I want?” He whispered his eyes boring into your own. “Because you're hungry for this just as much as I am. You want me. Just as much as I want you.”

His dark words sent you spiraling into a chaotic climax. Crying out in pleasure, waves of euphoria washed over you, causing your hips to involuntarily jerk and thrust up off the bed.

In harmony with your climax, Rafe reached his own. Droplets of his thick white cum painted your bare stomach and thighs. His body trembled with pleasure, his breathing stuttered, while his throbbing cock continued to pulse in your grasp.

His moans, raw and desperate, are tinged with a clear sense of relief. It's the relief that comes from finally having his pleasure reciprocated by you, even if only through the gentle touch of your hands, and the utter bliss that this brings.

Breathless Rafe collapses back against the pillows, his trembling hand found yours once more, and together you slowed the rhythm of your stroking, savoring the final drops of pleasure from his spent cock.

Exhausted but utterly content, Rafe closes his eyes for a moment. When they open again, his dilated blue pupils are fixated on you. He cracks a satisfied grin.

He doesn't take his gaze away as you observe your hand. It's covered in his cum, an indicator of his pent up desire for you. Without uttering a word, your hand moves towards your lips, and curiously, your tongue tentatively darts out, brushing against your fingertips.

The taste is unlike anything you've ever experienced before, earthy and slightly salty and yet uniquely him. You moan as your tongue continues its exploration, carefully cleaning each digit.

"Fuckkk..." Rafe groans before pulling you in for a desperate kiss.

The gentle morning light filtered through the curtains, illuminating your face and the figure beside you in a soft, dappled glow. But the tranquility was abruptly interrupted by a glance at the time on your phone.

You were late.

Terribly late.

For someone who valued being on time, the day was already spiraling out of control. Scrambling into your jeans, you noticed Rafe stirring, his sleepy eyes meeting the clock, then your frenzied actions. Silently, with a steadiness you envied, he started dressing.

Your vest and cardigan from the previous night lay draped over a chair. Snatching them up, you slipped them on in a rush.

Rafe's offer to drive you to class was a godsend. Ten minutes later, freshened up and emerging from his bedroom, you expressed your gratitude with a beaming smile. As you walked past him, Rafe playfully swatted your butt, eyes twinkling with mischief. You let out a playful yelp, your laughter blending with his soft chuckle as you admonished him, promising to get him back later.

At your house, you grabbed your bag, textbook and notes in a flurry. You considered changing outfits but ditched the idea after another anxious glance at the time. It was only a two-hour class anyway and wasn’t worth the additional stress.  As you darted to his truck, a realization hit – your dad was coming home today. Another night at Rafe's was certainly out of the question. 

During the drive, you explained the situation to Rafe, expecting, perhaps even bracing for, a hint of disappointment. But instead, he simply nodded. Now, as the silence stretched between you, you were wrestling with the idea of revisiting the words he'd uttered last night. But decided it wasn't worth mentioning. They were merely fantasies after all—desperate things said in the heat of the moment, just to intensify the experience... Right?

As he pulled up in front of your building he leaned in to kiss you. You cut it short with an apologetic smile promising to call him later.

No sooner had you settled into your seat than your phone vibrated. It was a message from Rafe.

"Friend's having a party tomorrow night. Think your dad would be cool with it?"

A pause ensued as you deliberated, finally responding. "Should be. But I don't have anything to wear. Is it a bonfire type of thing?"

His reply was swift. "Don't worry about it. Shopping later. My treat."

A surge of conflicting emotions threatened to spill over as you absorbed his words, your fingers quivering slightly over the screen. "Rafe that's too generous. I can't."

But his resolution was clear even in text. "Why? You're with me. Right?"

You paused, chewing on your lip. It wasn’t lost on you what his words meant. What they implied. "Yes. But are you sure?"

He sent back a single word, filled with resolve: "Always."

—————————————————————————————

Thank you for reading. I hope you've enjoyed it. Thanks for liking, commenting and reblogging. 🧡🧡🧡 Part 4 coming soon

MASTERLIST

#18+ read #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #rafe outer banks #rafe smut #dark!rafe cameron #dirtytomatoedwrites #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #rafe imagine #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x pogue!reader

[yanderes-galore]

Ugh, Panther I don't know what exact time you'll be getting this ask but as if now it is not the 2nd in my time zone. But I don't have any time tomorrow so I hope its okay to send something earlier. If not, please feel free to ignore!

I just need *sucks in breath and clenched fist* Yandere Gojo from JJK with the prompts 14. , 34. and possibly 35.

with someone who has sorcerer powers but has grown outside of the jujutsu society? They fight because they genuinely wanna help people and Gojo introduced them to the school to be a teacher too - in hopes to get another strong ally but uh oh he got obsessed. Like, he does not want to lose you like he lost Geto and maybe you'll grow to understand him too. so imo the prompts work well. Can either be platonic or romantic I think he can be both!

Thank you!

Sure, friend! I hope this is to your taste :) I really hope he isn't too OOC or anything. There was no plot structure here 😮‍💨... I just followed the direction my mind guided me.

He's a subtle yandere here Ig.

Yandere! Satoru Gojo Prompts 14, 34, 35

"It's too dangerous in the world. You need me, you should know that!"

"No one else understands me except you!"

"Don't push me away, dear... I only want to be closer to you!"

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Fear of attachment/loss, Trauma implied, Clingy behavior, Overprotective behavior, Controlling behavior, Soft yandere, Threats near the end, Dubious companionship/relationship.

It had been a long while since Gojo had found someone he could relate to in some way. The companionship wasn't quite what Gojo had with Geto long before... but it was close. You were strong... yet so isolated from the rest.

A familiar feeling to him.

Gojo could tell you were a strong Sorcerer when you entered the school for a job. As expected... Gojo wanted to test you to see if you were right for the job. By the end of your examination... you were approved.

Leaving Gojo curious and excited.

In Gojo's eyes, strong allies were important in the field. It's what he strives to find and teach. Strength has always been important to protect the weak.

Gojo at first hated how interested he was in you. Yet you were so mysterious... according to you, you never went to Jujutsu High to learn your craft. Which leaves Gojo baffled on your strength.

You aren't stronger than him, far from it, but you are certainly strong and full of potential. During your job, Gojo often checked in with you. Many students never really saw Gojo away from you for long.

He was always playful and laid-back with you. Safe to say you both get along well as teachers. Perhaps even too well...

Gojo realizes he's too attached when the worry starts to settle deep within him.

The bond you share reminds him a lot of Geto. Too much, actually. Such a thought makes him pained.

Gojo's concern grows, even as he offers to train you. You're a teacher skilled in your craft. Gojo really shouldn't be worried.

But... are you handling the new environment well? You seemed like you lived an isolated lifestyle. Does the city bother you?

Gojo despises the worries he has. All leftover emotions from when he was a teen. He... just can't help himself, however.

You always care so much for others. As a teacher and Jujutsu Sorcerer, you end up sacrificing whatever you can to see students and friends safe. It's honorable...

But Gojo doesn't wish to lose another he's close to... not when he finally feels he has someone who gets him.

Such behavior makes Gojo stick around more often. To the point you even begin to wish he left you alone. Despite being a strong Sorcerer similar to him, Gojo also seemed to treat you like you couldn't defend yourself.

You didn't respect him babying you... it was an insult to your skills.

"Don't push me away, dear... I only want to be closer to you!" Gojo whines, a frown on his face as you sit in your empty classroom. You snort, amused that he acts like a child while treating you like one. You have no idea what's gotten into your friend and ally as of late.

"Gojo, I don't wish to speak with you." You state in a stern tone.

"Why?" Gojo replies, walking over to lean on your desk. He's as casual as ever it seems.

"You've been awfully... suffocating." You admit bluntly. "I am an adult who can handle themselves."

"... not in this world." Gojo sighs, gaze never once leaving yours behind his glasses. He notices your unamused look and straightens his posture.

"It's too dangerous in the world. You need me, you should know that." Gojo frowns. "The city has way more curses running around than where you came from."

"I can handle them." You retort.

"And if you can't?" Gojo responds, staring you down. Something about his staring unnerves you. You're silent, Gojo oddly going back to smiling after you stop arguing.

"I'm the strongest, you should really just let me take care of things for you. It would be much... safer." Gojo's tone is oddly relieved and gleeful.

"... Gojo... you can't be there for me all the time." You try to reason.

"Says who?" Gojo frowns. "No one else understands me except you! Am I just supposed to sit back and lose you?"

His words and lack of composure surprise you. Gojo's quick to fix his sudden outburst, however, sitting beside you and holding your hand. It's an action of comfort...

But you can tell there's a pained expression in his usually playful eyes.

"... just listen to me, okay?" Gojo whispers, looking back at you as his grip tightens. "You'll be safe if you just... keep me close."

"Gojo-" You try to speak, but Gojo covers your mouth.

"I don't care how strong you are... I'm stronger. If you don't let me protect you..."

Gojo's grin turns... unsettling. A twisted show of teeth that makes it look like he'll snap. You swore he even chuckled. Your heart beats faster when he leans closer.

"I may just have to keep you all to myself no matter the cost... that way you'd be safe and I can't lose you. How's that sound?"

#yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere satoru gojo #yandere gojo

[lightwing-s]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐒

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢 ; 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭

pairing: jason todd x fem! reader

summary: a helping hand turns an enemy into a friend for one single night of truce. one single night that ends up redefining their entire relationship, the start of where everything is about to change.

rating: 18+ (MDNI)

word count: 6,4k warnings: mentions of heavy drinking, sex, p in v, oral (female receiving), fingering, language, size kink, breast play, male dominance, jason's sex stimulated superiority complex

a/n: the fact this was supposed to be way longer scared me of how many chapters i might need to end this series lol. and i tried making it possible to read without the context of the series for those who just want to read a nice smut lol. also, thank you for all the support thus far, it has been incredible seeing so many people invested in this story and wanting to see its development. thank you thank you thank you for supporting this silly writer's dream. ♡♡♡

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! ♡

links: previous ; next ; series masterlist ; general masterlist

Thanks, man. Have a good night. Shutting the door closed behind him, Jason thanked the driver before he watched his Uber ride drive his car away, turning the corner and leaving the street he was left on. The night was cold and dark, the faint lighting of the streetlamp doing nothing to provide him a clear view of his ambiance, instead, all was gloom.

 Standing on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building, he let out a deep, long sigh. It was late, really late, past 1am the last time he checked, and the weight of the alcohol in his system begged him to find his way to bed. But the soft, barely audible, breaths of the lady behind him reminded Jason he still had a task ahead: getting you to his apartment.

As a strong wind blew past him, he zipped his jacket up, protecting himself from the unusually chilly night, for this time of the year at least, and turned on his heels to find you resting against the stony wall of the old structure, eyes narrowly managing to remain open. You felt the weather as much as he did, hugging yourself to acquire some type of warmth despite your inappropriate attire.

Carefully, he approached your sleepy frame and guided you inside, a hand placed on your back the entire walk up the stairs. Jason’s building was old, but well maintained.  Meaning, it looked decent for all the decades it’d been through, but didn’t have an elevator casting on whoever lived on the last floor (Jason) the curse to climb all the way up every single day.

Already struggling due to the alcohol and tiredness, halfway through your journey you let out a moan without realizing. Your pace grew slower, and you lacked the effort to simply lift your legs and place your foot on the next step.

“Come on, love. We’re getting closer.” Jason said, pausing right behind you. He had to hold his laugh as you turned back to face him, eyes watery and lips sticking out in a pout.

“Why didn’t we use the elevator? Do you hate me?” you cried.

“Not everyone has daddy’s money to afford an apartment with an elevator,” he joked, but your response caught him by surprise, as your face crunched into a sort of angry expression mixed with a tint of sadness.

“I’m not… I…” you tried to mumble out, but failed countless times. “My feet hurt!”

Sighing deeply once more, he pushed you up by your waist, hands placed safely around you but alway mindful of its position. As you reached the next floor, you thanked your slow mind tonight for not allowing a scream to leave your mouth when Jason grabbed your legs and lifted you up so he could carry you to his apartment.

You had to say, it should’ve surprised you that he carried you with what seemed like a total lack of effort on his part, like you weighed nothing. However, you knew him. You knew he spent countless hours training at the gym, to the point you often wondered if he didn’t live there as well. That he’d often pass you carrying up to eight different weight plates in one single trip to use in his next exercise.

It did surprise you he could carry you. It surprised you he actually did it.

On his arm, the sweet coconut smell reached your nose, and you had to hold yourself from feeling sick. The alcohol was doing its job on you, and gosh you hated it. Tiredness taking over, you rested your head on his shoulder and fought against yourself to keep your eyes open.

“How much do you lift?” you mumbled a question, poking the bicep within your reach. You felt his breath hit your skin as he let out a soft chuckle.

“A lot more than you weight.” he stated, and continued his climb silently until you two were inside his deliciously warm and scrupulously tidy apartment. “Come,” he called after you when your feet were back on the ground. You followed him through the darkened living room until he opened a door and turned the light on in his bedroom. “You can sleep here, I’ll take the sofa.”

Your polite and sober side wanted to complain, to offer to sleep on the sofa instead, but your drunk and seriously exhausted one just wanted to throw yourself on the bed. Accepting the drunk side’s victory, you sat down with a noise and laid on his bed, eyes closing soon after, but being forced to open as you felt the mattress sink right beside you.

Struggling to lift your head, you found Jason bent down to catch your feet, loosening the laces of your converse and helping you take them off. “Thank you,” you whispered, eyes closed as you sat up again and started to unhook your bra from beneath your shirt.

Jason got nervous, eyes quickly shifting from you to the floor, not knowing what to do. Pulling your bra off through one of your sleeves, he took it as his key to leave you alone before you could start stripping off your pants too. Standing up, he reached the bedroom door just as you were climbing under the duvet, head laying on the pillow with eyes already closed. 

He knew that, in your state, it wouldn’t be long before you were in deep slumber. So, turning off the lights, peeking at you one last time, he closed the door behind him. Careful to not make any noise. Careful not to wake you up. Unaware of the smile gracing his lips.

It’d been well over an hour since you had fallen asleep. The darkness still loomed outside, but the dim lighting of Jason’s side table lamp illuminated his living room, casting a shadow upon his body.

Jason couldn’t fall asleep, for some reason. He had tried lying down and forcing his eyes closed, had tried listening to whale sounds, rain sounds, brown, blue, black, white, purple noises. Nothing. Nothing seemed to put him to bed, not even his half drunk state.

So, feeling exhausted, he stood up from the sofa and went to the small kitchen to make himself some tea, hoping it would help him give in to sleep. He tried to be quiet, mindful of his guest still sleeping in his bed, filled his red mug with the tea and returned to the sofa, sitting beside his also sleeping kitten, whose snores were too loud for a beast of his size. 

The drink was warm, and the taste pleased him just enough. He immediately felt more relaxed, letting the warmth fill his entire body, as he laid back onto the sofa and he could really feel like he was starting to rest.

On the other hand, you woke up confused. It was dark, and the pillows were comfortable, but they didn’t smell like your soap, nor did you find your childhood plush toy just within reach on your bed. Suddenly sober, you almost jumped off the bed before the memories started flooding your mind.

Shit. You definitely weren’t home, and this home certainly wasn’t from someone you wished it was. Slowly, you remembered Jason helping you take your shoes off, remembered him helping you up the infinite stairs of his building. And gosh, you remembered his damned smirk while he flirted with you.

You were pissed. P-i-s-s-e-d. Pissed. Why did you do that, Yn? Why did you end up here? Where the fuck did Nessie go to and why didn’t you go home?

In the darkness, you felt your feet touch the cold wooden tiles and you had to bring them back up quickly, not expecting the chilly night weather, but soon remembering how cold you’d felt just before coming to his apartment. 

Your bare legs were feeling it too, and you struggled to find your pair of jeans. It wasn’t anywhere, goddamn it. There was no way you’d go out in only your shirt. You had to find something, and remembering you were in a 6 foot tall monster, you knew he ought to have something around. 

Blindly skirmishing through the room, you felt the soft cotton fabric of what seemed to be a hoodie and put it on. It fit largely on you, the hem falling on the middle of your thighs, and the strong smell of perfume lingering from it.

With light footsteps, you got to the door. Twisting the handle with care, you heard the cracking sound of the door as you opened it, exposing the dimly lit living room. Jason heard the same cracking sound you did, his head jolting back so fast he felt the muscles on his neck aching. 

There you were, hidden behind the door, a string of light illuminating your shape. You still looked sleepy, your cheeks puffed, and the minimum makeup you wore looked smashed on your face. But then, his eyes fell on your body, how your legs were bare and you somehow wore his favorite red hoodie.

Wow. Just, wow!

“Hey” he greeted, waving awkwardly in your direction. You only offered him a shy, toothless smile, eyes scanning the room and landing everywhere but him. “Did I wake you?” he asked, voice tinged by worry.

“No,” you shook your head, meeting his eyes for a brief while. His stare gave you goosebumps, and you returned your eyes to the floor, the tiling giving you more comfort. “I just… woke up.”

An awkward silence fell before you, neither brave enough to look at the other. The air was warm, you didn’t know if it was a sudden weather change or if it was the lingering tension between you two.

“I,” you started, and he immediately looked at you. “I think I’m gonna head home.” you announce, trying to return to the safety of his bedroom.

“No way,” he denied. “It’s almost 4am, Yn. There’s no way I’m letting you out this late. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

Sighing, you accepted defeat without even trying to counter argue, aware his decision was well intended, and you too didn’t feel like facing the gloomy and dangerous streets of Gotham at this hour of the night. So, you just nodded, looking back into the room without moving your feet.

“Can I give you something?” he then questioned. “I mean. Do you want anything? Food, water?” Like clockwork, your stomach roared, making your cheeks go red and a smirk to appear on Jason’s face. “I don’t have much in my pantry, but I can make you a sandwich.”

Standing up, he walked to the kitchen once again, mug in hand being left on the sink. He seemed to move around the small area seamlessly, his bigger size never slowing him down. He opened cabinets, taking out of it a couple of dishes and a bag with a long and crusty baguette. Slicing the bread in half and then open, he set it on the plates, spreading butter on top and fishing for the other ingredients from various parts of the kitchen.

“I’m not a chef, you know,” Jason told you while he fished for the cheese, the ham, the vegetables and something else from the fridge. In normal human arms, they’d probably have fallen due the lack of space, but they all seemed to fit in pretty well in his much larger ones. “But I do enjoy cooking sometimes.”

His whole energy levels seemed to rise, and a sparkle tingled in his eyes. He seems to really enjoy it, you thought, watching the scene unfold from the same spot under the doorframe you were not even two minutes before. He was swift, picking things up and down , left and right, with ease and started constructing a delicious looking late night meal.

With watchful steps, you walked closer, something in you wanting to watch him in action from up close. Too enticed by the way he moved, the way he meticulously cut the tomatoes, a green vegetable, that you didn’t recognize due to your total lack of cooking skills, and the garlic before shoving them on a blender. The noise that proceeded, a disturbance of the silence that reigned on the night, but when it ceased, the smell that spread across the room seemed all worth it.

Continuing his craft, he was swift, picking things up and down with ease, spreading butter on the bread, adding cheese, sliced turkey from the smell of it, and the tomatoes. He grilled it on a pan he had started to heat while he assembled your snacks, and shortly after, placed a plate with the sandwich in front of you on the kitchen island.

“I didn’t know if you liked pesto, so I left it here for you to dip in if you want.” he stated, placing a small bowl with the green sauce he’d blended together earlier.

“Wow,” was all you could manage to say, the sandwich’s look worthy of those pins you’d constantly save on Pintrest but never make it yourself. Picking it up with one hand, you wanted to try it first on its own, your stomach getting louder, apparently aware you were just about to fill it and getting anxious over the masterpiece crafted just before your eyes. “Hmmm,” you hummed loudly, closing your eyes and enjoying the taste, your mouth already watering for one more bite.

You heard Jason’s breathy laugh, and your attention was instantly brought back to him. Supported by his elbows on the marble island, he sat beside you, his side profile a beautiful view from where you stood. He had a smirk on his lips, not smug or annoying or flirtatious like he usually had, but a lighthearted and fun one. One that didn’t drive you insane.

Looking at him, though, side by side with you, after making you a sandwich at almost 4am in the morning, you felt a lump on your throat you could not explain or justify. It was something no one had ever done for you and for some reason you wanted to cry. But you wouldn’t, instead, opting to do the sanest thing anyone could do in your position.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, his eyes darting to yours and his eyebrows doing their annoying move and lifting up in question. “For everything. Tonight, especially, but at the hospital too. You were really kind and you didn’t have to do either of those things. So, thank you, really.”

A smile you could not decipher clouded his lips, and his eyes shone with a glint of mischievousness you could not mistake. “Say it again?” he joked, and you had to roll your eyes.

“Jerk.”

“Sounds more like you,” he sneered, finally taking a bite out of his sandwich. He dipped it in the sauce, taking another bite, and you took your time admiring his jaw clenching as he chewed. “But you don’t need to thank me. I hurt you that day and it was the polite thing to do. And I couldn’t just leave you drunk at the party, it didn’t seem right.”

“Why not?” you questioned. “There were many other drunk girls at the party.”

“Yeah, but none of them looked like they didn’t belong there,” he stated, soon regretting letting those words out of his lips. He knew it’d bring out more questions, and he didn’t want to spend his night explaining how you would linger in his head on a daily basis.

“Why not?” If Jason wasn’t so tired, he’d notice you’d felt insulted.

“I don’t mean today,” he said, playing with the sauce with his sandwich. “You were having fun today, but I’ve seen you before…”

“Why?” you insisted impatiently.

“Because people go to parties for either or two things: to have fun with their friends or to find a hookup,” he lifted two of his long fingers to you. “That day, you were clearly alone. You stood to the side all night, not talking to anyone, almost barking at whoever came closer. Option one impossible. And you also weren’t exposing too much skin to fit into the other.”

“I was having fun tonight!” you tried to argue.

“Yeah, but your friend had disappeared. And you were too drunk. I couldn’t leave you there, alone to the wolves,” he concluded, staring deep into your eyes. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if I did.”

He seemed honest. And nice. Actually nice, like, he looked like a decent person, not the one you villainized in your thoughts every day. He was nice, a sweetheart, and a great cook if his sandwich was any indication of what else he could do in a kitchen. It wasn’t supposed to, but it only made you madder at him. You wanted to punch his face while also giving him a kiss. Stop it, Yn, don’t go that far.

You were quiet, not knowing what else to say. Jason decided on not speaking too, buried in his own thoughts, afraid he’d let too much out. Finishing your food, you dipped the bread into the pesto when the intrusive thoughts came over, and for once, you let them win.

“No…” Jason gasped when he felt the cold sauce on his cheek. You let out a good chuckle, looking at the green stain on his face. Your masterpiece. But Jason was competitive, he wouldn’t let you win. So, he dipped his own bread in the sauce and tried to do the same as you, but you held his arms to stop him before he could stain yet another one of your shirts. His in this case.

It took all your strength to keep his arms away, your laughter, louder than it had been in a long while, making the job much more difficult. “Jason,” you screamed when he got too close for your liking, but you managed to hold his hand and, to his surprise, took one bite of his weapon.

You really couldn’t stop laughing. Tears formed in your eyes from it, and all Jason could do was shake his head and finish the last bite of his sandwich you’d left for him. He felt good seeing you smile again, laughing even, and he just confirmed it was now one of his favorite sounds. It wasn’t polished, it was loud, fun. Everything you usually weren’t, but proof you could be sometimes, if only you’d allow yourself to let loose.

He waited till you calmed down, taking deep breaths to steady it. Then, you stretched your arms to grab a towel opposite of you on the islands, cleaning your hands before looking back at him. “Here,” you called.

His heart stopped. Your hands going for his chin and pulling his face closer to yours, cleaning the pesto stain you’d left on his cheek. Jason had never seen you from this close, every detail exposed to him. The way you sucked in your cheeks in concentration, as you cleaned his face, your soft touch barely brushing his skin, aware not to give him any type of skin irritation.

From this close, he could get a better glimpse of your lips. How they were plumb from you biting on it, how reddish they were, how soft they looked. He watched them as the tip of your smile briefly lifted up. And then, watched your tongue leaving them wet.

You were aware of closeness too. But you had committed to cleaning the stain, you couldn’t show him any weakness now. Pulling away slowly, you noticed his eyes lingering on your lips, setting your stomach in a spiral. He bit his lips, lifting his eyes to look at yours through his lashes, and your heart nearly stopped. Your breath hitched, and you had to look away.

“Hmm,” you started, avoiding his gaze and himself entirely. “I think I’ll go back to bed, it’s late.”

Something inside Jason dropped, and he felt a weight in his chest. You stood up quickly, and walked back into the bedroom without looking back. Fuck, he wanted to scream, but he had to contain himself. So, he stood up, set the plates on the sink and made his way back to the sofa. The tightness in his jeans making it uncomfortable to walk.

Resting against the door as you closed it, you let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding. Your heart raced, wanting to break free from your chest, and you felt the warmth rising from within you. Your legs trembled a little, and your mind flew to things you did not wish to think of right now.

You couldn’t give in. You couldn’t. Jason meant trouble, and trouble meant bad things. You couldn’t let yourself fall for it again. You couldn’t invite trouble in, even if it looked as pleasing as he did. He was nice to you tonight because he was polite, but you knew his type well and knew it never ended well. He was just like the others, he’s not perfect, stop it!

A knock on the door broke you from your thoughts, and as if caught doing something bad, you were quick to react to opening it.

“Can I just get some clothes?” Jason asked, heading poking inside. “I just don’t want to sleep in the same clothes from the party.”

Giving him space, you allowed him in. He gave you a weak smile as he pass you, going in the direction of his closet. He indeed was wearing the same outfit from earlier, jeans, and a white shirt you could notice had some green stains on it. Karma.

“I’ve noticed you found my hoodie,” he pointed out while fishing for his pajamas, making your cheeks burn red. You went to apologize, but he was quicker to continue. “You can keep it, if it makes you comfortable.”

He turned back to face you, and you offered him a smile in gratitude. Suddenly mindful of your exposed legs, you tried to hide it with your hands, but you noticed how it only got his attention in that direction. He was about to leave when something made him stop.

“I need a blanket,” he said, running back to the closet. “Just a minute.”Jason was tall, but he seemingly was part of the crew who would hide their blankets on the tallest shelves, so tall that even he couldn’t reach properly. He stretched his arms up, the heels of his feet not touching the floor, and his shirt lifted up just a little. A treat for a very tired Yn to enjoy.

From your position, you caught a sight of his stomach up to his belly button. The toned muscles on the base of his abs made a perfect V shape, pointing downwards to a place you avoided imagining. A few of his tattoos peeked in and out of view as he moved, decorating his skin in drawings you could hardly identify. The thin line of hair going down the cherry on top of this tempting monstrosity.

Through his white t-shirt, you spotted the silhouette of his  back muscles. Well defined, well designed, strong enough to carry two of you up the stairs, and wide enough making it the perfect canvas to be painted by your nails.

You knew your mind was traveling through a very dangerous territory. You knew where it was going. You knew the consequences, yet you wanted it. You wanted the danger, you wanted the consequence. Just this once. Just this once you wanted the bad, the naughty, the dangerous. You wanted Jason. You wanted him. You wanted him.

Fuck, you wanted to scream. Run at him, kiss him. Kiss up the hair line on his stomach, up his abs, his chest. Damn it!

You didn’t notice him moving, wishing you a good night, walking to the door. You didn’t notice any of it. Didn’t notice his intoxicating smell leaving the room, because you knew your mind could make it up pretty quickly. Filling your nose with his inexistent scent. His shadow looming around you, with you at all times.

“Yn,” he broke you from your thoughts. He was worried. You stood still before the bed, not moving since he walked past you, not even your eyes following him along, or moving somewhere else. He’d called you before, but you hadn’t noticed. “Are you alright?”

He’d walked back in, closer to you. Approaching you worriedly, your breathing heavy, eyes now lingering on him. He couldn’t decipher them. They were darker, darker than he’d ever seen them. They hid something, something he couldn’t figure out.

“Yeah,” you breathed out a reply. “I’m fine,” you confirmed, arm extending to touch his chest. Jason’s breath got caught on his throat, and when he looked back at you, he found your eyes, and finally could decipher them. “I’m really fine.”

Sliding your hands from his chest up to his neck, you brought him closer, slamming your lips against his. A shiver climbed up your spine as you felt his tongue immediately sliding inside your mouth, and yours soon fought with him for dominance.

You couldn’t explain it. It just fit. He kissed you hungrily, like he’d been wanting it for long, and you replied with the same ferociousness, wanting him closer, more and more. You fingers tugged at the little hairs at the nape of his neck, and he moaned inside your mouth, the vibration reverberating through your entire body.

His hands roamed your skin. Squeezing your ass, caressing your back from underneath his hoodie. The feeling of his hands around you waking the little hairs on your body wherever they touched, leaving behind a burning sensation, a need for more of his touch all over body.

Stumbling, you two took a few footsteps backwards, feeling the ends of the bed hit your calves. He carefully lowered you on top of it, not breaking your kiss until you were left out of breath. When you two finally broke apart, he took the opportunity to pull his shirt over his head, exposing you to the tattoos you’d had a hard time identifying earlier.

An angel falling graced his left ribs, while something was written underneath his right boob. Overwall, you couldn’t count how many were there, you just knew they made him sexier and your cunt ache harder for him. Lifting yourself up a little, you pulled him back to you by the hem of his jeans, your mouths meeting soon after, afraid that if you had too much time to think about it, your mind would force you to stop whatever the hell this was.

On top of you, lips glued to yours, Jason started grinding his crotch against your clothed core, feeling his hardness through the harsh fabric of his jeans and only eliciting your arousal. Trapping your legs around his waist, you bent your back so you could reach him further, grinding yourself against him in a clothed love making session.

You wanted more. You need more. Desperately wanting him in. It was a wild, primal feeling you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in ages. Or ever at all. You needed him, like you needed air. You needed his tongue all over you, not just on your lips or occasionally traveling to your neck.

His hands slid underneath your shirt, and he broke the kiss to ask you for permission to take it off. His eyes looked at you with a mix of lust and something else, something softer. With a nod, he swiftly had both your shirt and his hoodie thrown off somewhere in his bedroom. 

You didn’t want to waste more time, sliding your underwear off too as soon as your breasts were freed, finding yourself fully exposed to the guy that just a few hours ago you would rather find dead than in his bed. 

Seeing you rush your underwear off, Jason had to stop and admire. Admire your body and all your curves. Your bare chest, your hard nipples, a sight Jason wanted pictured in his mind forever.

He wanted to remember how your excitement dripped off your thighs, its smell reaching his nose, intoxicating him. Driving him crazier for you than he already was. He really wanted to rip his pants off and fuck you right then and there. Slam his dick into you until he had you screaming out his name for the whole neighborhood to hear. But he also wanted to devour you little by little, taste every corner of your skin.

Pulling you closer from under the knee, he spread you open and fell on top of you again, resuming the action on your lips before moving his kisses down your neck and to your chest. He made sure to leave marks wherever he’d go. He made sure to bite, to suck on your skin until little red and purple stains decorated you instead of your shirt.

His hand, once holding tightly at your waist, found its way down too. Sliding to your arousal, he felt his fingers drench wet as they reached your soaked pussy. Finding you like that, so wet from just his kisses and touches, boosted his ego, giving him extra confidence he could do to you whatever he wanted.

Pushing one finger into you, he felt your body jolt up. He laughed against your skin as his mouth finally found its way to your breasts. He fucked you with one finger while sucking harshly at your nipples. You moaned loud, already feeling a tightness forming on your belly, that sweet but painful sensation you hadn’t felt in a while.

When he pushed another finger inside of you, speeding up his movements in and out while his thumb managed to somehow rub at your clit till it ached, it didn’t take long for you to see black spots in your sight. It did take long for your back to arch up, a muffled scream leaving your lung.

Nibbling at your nipple still, Jason took your moans and screams as motivation. He laughed as you came as if you were just a prey he was playing with, mocking your petite, fragile frame underneath him. Slapping your cunt, he moved his mouth to quickly play with your neglected boob before his tongue drew a line from between your breasts to the entrance to your core.

You could already feel your breath leaving your lungs, your mind half numb from your orgasm and tiredness. His breath hit your folds, as he pecked his way down to your entrance, licking from your ass to your clit, as you had to put a hand over your mouth to stop your screams.

Like a thirsty dog, Jason licked you up and down between your lower lips. His whole mouth stuffed on your vagina, enjoying your sweet taste filling his taste buds. You squirmed from the sensasion, so much he had to pin you down with his strong arms. You tried to push his head away, tug on his hair, anything to make him stop, already aching down there. But it also felt good, and you could feel another orgasm growing inside you.

However, he removed his face from your cunt as soon as he felt you were about to come. He was enjoying torturing you, making you weak to his touch. He wasn’t going to give in much easier, but he also needed to feel you. Feel you around him, sucking him dry till he himself was left just a moaning mess.

Fumbling with the button and zipper of his pants, he managed them down his legs, pulling with them his boxers, letting his hard penis hit against his stomach. You let out a gasp when you saw his erection, already knowing it was going to hurt but be so worth it. He was thick, probably the size of your hands around it, and just long enough.

Jason looked around, trying to remember where he’d last put his condoms on, before your voice void his mind of any coherent thought.

“Fuck me, Jason,” you begged, hands reach to touch his dick. “Please, fuck me.”

“Fuuuck,” he let out a loud and prolonged groan, forgetting everything and placing himself at your entrance. He pushed the tip in, getting a painful moan out of you. You were tight, but he was going to make himself fit. 

Collecting your juices, he rubbed it along his shaft, pressing himself in ever so slowly. As he entered, you molded yourself perfectly around him, taking him in entirely eventually. He let you adjust, allowing you to get used to his size. Lowering down, he pulled you into another kiss. This time, deeper, slower, hotter.

He started with slow thrusts, moving out entirely before placing himself back in. You moaned and your body jumped every time he moved. His low groans on your ear making you wetter, and his speed started to pick up. 

The sound of skin hitting skin getting louder, filling the room along the strong smell of your sinful act. The bed creaked and hit against the wall along with Jason’s thrusts. He started to gain more and more speed, taking one of your legs and placing it on his shoulder.

He modded as the action gave him more access to your cunt, speed going so fast your boobs bounced up and down vigorously. With the spare had the wasn’t holding your leg up, he reached for your clit and your moans only got louder, screaming Jason’s name like a fucking prayer. Begging for release.

He’d sobered up from the party a long time ago, but he was getting drunk on the sight of your glistening skin, coated in sweat, screaming his name as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Not rolling out of anger, or annoyance. But because he was making you feel so fucking good you couldn’t control yourself anymore.

Jason felt like a king. Total control over you as you felt your mind go numb, drunk on his cock, drunk on the sensation he was giving you. He moved his hips harshly, slamming against your wet core like a MMA fighter fights his opponent. He felt the growing knot on his abdomen, speeding his thumb’s movements, wanting you to cum along with him.

A few more thrusts had you screaming so loud Jason had to put his hands over your mouth to shut you up, afraid his neighbors wouldn’t enjoy your fucked up symphony. He felt your release hitting his cock and he too released inside of you, feeling your walls clenching around him, milking his ball dry of any cum he had to offer.

The room was now filled with groans and heavy breaths. The air was thick and warm, and the smell of sex sticking to every corner. He pulled out, watching you juices mixed up and dripping off your pussy. Sticking a finger inside, he took some of you mixed orgasm and put it on his tongue. He didn’t lick it, instead just placing it there before lowering himself to give you a kiss, making sure you two got to taste your second late night snack together.

When you pulled away, begging for air, he had his forehead rested on yours. His eyes were closed, and his hair stuck to your forehead from sweat. Something you’d seen many times at the gym, now got a completely new meaning to you. One you enjoyed a lot more, seeing and making it happen.

You too closed your eyes, tiredness weighing your lashes down, as you barely missed Jason’s body falling beside you. You also missed his arms wrapping around your waist, and his face snuggling into your neck. Soon falling into slumber, a delicious ache on your core, as the dream world quickly took over you.

It wasn’t until hours later that the bright sun beams hit your eyes, or the loud noises of Gotham’s traffic found your ears. Eyes taking too long to open, as you woke up more tired than usual. Your body ached in pain, every muscle seemingly sore, but you didn’t remember going to the gym yesterday.

You only remembered you had to work and ended up getting drunk at a party. You remembered getting mad at your parents and deciding you had to release all your anger doing something they’d despise. You remembered your gym enemy taking you home. To his or mine? You wondered, eyes finally opening to the unknown bedroom.

Fuck. Looking behind you, you found Jason’s body spread on the same bed you now laid, and you quickly became aware of your own lack of an outfit. No, no, no. You went too far. You were just supposed to get drunk at a party, not fuck a stranger, Yn. Not fuck fucking Jason!

Carefully removing the duvet off of you, you slipped out of bed and fished for your clothes around his bedroom. Your shirt was tangled on his hoodie you had worn last night, and your panties were thrown on the other side of it. Your bra rested on the bedside table on Jason’s side of the bed, while your jeans were perfectly folded on top of a chair.

You tried to be quiet, to put your clothes back on without making any noise. But your own constant shits and fucks didn’t help your case, and as you buttoned your jeans you heard shuffling on the bed. Jason rubbed his eyes, trying to understand what was going on. “Yn? What are you…”

“THIS IS FUCKED UP!” you screamed, his eyes jolting open at your reaction. “We shouldn’t have done this, Jason.”

“Woah, I didn’t do it alone.” he replied, feeling annoyed at the tone you’d been treating this interaction with.

“We shouldn’t. We…” you wanted to cry, pissed off you’d let yourself sleep with him of all people. Taking your shoes, you rushed out of the room, wanting all of this to be just a silly little memory of a silly little moment when you had lost control.

Opening the door to the living room, you stepped on something that bit your leg in return, a loud hiss forcing your eyes to the black kitten clutched to your leg. Shaking the cat off of you, you proceeded with your run of shame.

“Yn!” Jason screamed after you, but your feet never ceased, and you ran down the stairs. Eyes only jumping up to find him as he stood by the door. The towel you’d cleaned his cheeks with hardly managing to hide his groin. The last sight you got of him haunting you for the days that followed. His sad eyes, frown and pressed closed lips a memory from his heartbreak.

.

.

tag list: @igotanidea ; @erochuu ; @jasontoddslover ; @killxz ; @kysrion ; @loonymoonystuff ; @munimunni ; @novs9011 ; @starcrossedtrek ; @sttrawberries ; @vanillaattack ; @veryfabday ; @vissavin ; @willieoo

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#jason todd au #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #jason todd x yn #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagines #jason todd blurb #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x female!reader

[irisintheafterglow]

Just Wanna Keep Calling Your Name (gojo x you)

summary: you check on megumi and yuuji before they begin their mission to find tengen and unseal the honored one.

wc: 1.8k

cw/tags: angst/comfort with hopeful ending, swearing, mentions of eating and food, just sad separated found family things

note: part 3/4 of my "i don't wanna live forever" little series. yeah writing this made me so sad i just wanna tell them it'll be okay and this shit hasn't even been ANIMATED yet

likes/reblogs/feedback is appreciated <3

In any other circumstance, he’d be pushing you away in exaggerated melodrama because of how tightly you’re constricting him. He’d gently wiggle from your grip, saying something about you embarrassing him or that he wasn’t a kid who needed hugs anymore. You’d frown a little bit, staring at him in disappointment until he huffed in surrender and squeezed you even tighter. After a few moments, Satoru would inevitably come over and create a “Megumi-sandwich,” wrapping his lanky arms around both of your bodies and pressing a kiss to your cheek. Sometimes, Yuuji would catch wind of the affection and race over, tackling all three of you to the ground until you were in one familial heap. Satoru would take your hands and help you off the floor just to pull you to his lips. Yuuji would coo fondly at the show of affection while Megumi made a gagging gesture with his finger. In any other circumstance, it would be a perfectly normal hug. 

But, these were not normal circumstances. 

Because they weren’t normal circumstances, you weren’t able to utter a word before Megumi’s arms were shakily wound around your body, hiding his face in your shoulder and trembling. You catch Yuuji’s ashamed gaze from inside Megumi’s dorm and reach out your hand, which he takes and pulls both you and Megs closer to him. As much as you like to remind yourself that they’re capable of holding their own as sorcerers, you couldn’t ignore the reality that the Shibuya incident was not something that seasoned sorcerers should have experienced, much less two teenagers. With Panda, Inumaki, and Nobara in grave condition and Nanami soulless in the morgue downstairs, you were truly the only family the two boys had left. You never allow your mind to drift to Satoru. 

“Eat, Megs. Please.” You set the bowl of ginger chicken in front of him, his favorite ever since he was little. You silently thanked past you for putting frozen containers of ginger chicken and spaghetti in the teacher’s lounge freezer, which you picked up on your way to check on the boys. The picture in front of you was tragically familiar–Megumi on his bed with a bowl of ginger chicken and his stuffed wolf in his lap. You couldn’t guess the last time the two ate, but it must have been quite a long time from how quickly Yuuji scarfed down the first bowl of spaghetti. The second tub of spaghetti is still warm, thankfully, and you slide the bowl over to him in understanding. Megumi, on the other hand, simply stared off into space, the enticing steam of the food unable to pierce his broken exterior. “I’m gonna take the wolf back if you don’t eat.” His eyes are dark and dangerous when they flick up to you, the same look he gave you for the past however many years you’d been using that threat. Despite its age, you’re surprised to find that it still works as he finally takes a bite of food. “Thank you.”

“When’s the last time you ate?” 

“This morning. I had breakfast with Shoko.” You also tried one of her cigarettes again and hated them just as much as the first time. She’d poured a few shots for you before work to make it up to you.

“Coffee doesn’t count as breakfast,” Megumi deadpans and your first impulse is to laugh. But, you can’t stop the memory that breaks loose and it slams into you like a freight train. 

He was giving you that odd look again, something between the lines of skeptical and adoration. You stick your tongue out at him in defiance and his hand finds yours from the driver’s seat of the car. It was an early morning mission and you argued that you deserved a treat after dragging him out of bed. To Ijichi’s annoyance, Satoru stops at a grocery store, running in to grab you a muffin and scolding you for not having enough fuel for the day. He kissed you so fervently when he returned to the car, like you were going to disappear in his absence. He said he could taste the coffee on your lips and that you didn’t make it right; when you looked at him with an offended expression, he shrugged and said he made you the best coffee. You’d never admit it, but he was right. 

“I-I had a muffin, too.” Despite your best efforts, your voice still comes out as a choke and Megumi’s face falls guiltily. He knows exactly what his words had accidentally triggered. “I split it with Shoko.” You take his hand while he avoids your eyes, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles reassuringly. “Eat, Megs. It’s okay.” 

“Did the higher-ups really confine you to the school?” Yuuji asks after he’s finished the second tub of spaghetti. “I heard…some things about you and it made me nervous.”

You hum in assent. “Well, I’m still alive. There’s no way I’d let them kill me before checking on you two.” The words are meant to be reassuring but aren't received that way as their heads both snap to look at you in alarm. “Yeah, no point in lying. We talked about it, before everything happened. I know he didn’t say anything about it because he didn’t want to worry you, but we discussed what would happen in his…absence.” 

“Have they sent anyone yet?” Megumi’s voice is low and threatening but you knew the warning wasn’t directed toward you. 

“No, but I also know they haven’t sent anyone after Yuuji either, right?” They nod but still eye you warily. You give them a weak smile in an attempt to ease their worries. “So, that means the brass is still such a shit-show that they can’t dispatch sorcerers to apprehend Satoru’s associates. We have time, but not a lot of it.” 

“We have a plan. Or, at least, the beginnings of one. To get him back,” Yuuji says carefully, each word delicate like you were a grenade on the verge of exploding. Your walls go up immediately, shutting down to prevent the storm of emotions that welled up at the optimistic hope in his words. “We’re going to unseal him.” The sentence goes in one ear and out of the other; you can tell by their expressions that your eyes have gone empty and blank. It wasn’t anything against them. You just couldn’t handle thinking about him too much, lest you truly break down. 

“Okay. Try your best.” Your smile is pained and forced, but you still nod in weak encouragement. Megumi’s eyebrows suddenly furrow in thought, like he’d remembered something important. “What is it, Megs?”

“Who is Toji?”

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Satoru, Satoru please. Satoru, please look at me,” your voice cracks into broken cries while your hands frantically shake his shoulders, willing him to wake up. “Baby, I need you to look at me, please. Satoru, please, baby. Please, I can’t–” You can’t breathe. The words are getting caught in your throat and staying there. Every inhale tastes like blood and every exhale emphasizes your boyfriend’s lack of a pulse. “I can’t get to Suguru, Satoru. I can’t get to Suguru and he needs you. I need you. I need you, please. Please, wake up.” The tiniest bit of movement catches your eye and you stare in amazement at his hand, drenched in a pool of his own blood, twitching and violently blazing Cursed Energy. “There you are, baby. Come back to me.” 

“He was a sorcerer from the Zenin clan. Why do you ask?” 

“Was?” Megumi echoes, and it’s your turn to mirror his confused expression. “Like, he’s dead?”

“Yeah, he’s been dead for over a decade. Again, why do you ask?”

“There was a guy that Naobito called ‘Toji’ in Shibuya with us. He had no Cursed Energy but was stronger than the special-grades we were fighting.” Dread drops into your stomach like a dead weight. Fushiguro Toji coming back from the dead was the last fucking thing you needed. 

“Is the man still alive?”

“No, and that’s what I’m curious about. He asked me what my last name was and then killed himself when I said ‘Fushiguro.’ He could have killed me, but he didn’t. I just want to know if I have any kind of connection to that man.” 

“I see.” You felt guilty for lying to the boy’s face, but you also recognized that it was Satoru’s decision alone if he wanted to tell Megumi about his family history. “I’m not sure, then. I’m sorry.” He nods, face taut in suppressed disappointment and you rush to change the subject. You could feel time passing too quickly, the instinctual feeling that they had to keep moving hanging over your head. “I read about your fight with Awasaka in the report. Thank you for taking care of each other and taking care of yourselves.” You didn’t mean to strike a nerve, but your chest aches when they simultaneously dart their faces away, contorting in quiet agony. 

“He killed thousands using my body,” Yuuji hisses, squeezing his eyes closed to shut out the memory. “I don’t deserve gratitude for my survival–”

“Stop. Don’t tell me that I can’t be grateful you survived,” you state firmly and you feel emotions start to well up in your eyes again for the first time in hours. All three of you have tears quietly streaming down your cheeks; you have no more energy for the hiccuping and gasping-type of sobs that wracked your body days earlier. “You’re alive to keep fighting, so please recognize that as important.” 

“Would you ever marry me, Satoru?”

He looks at you like you’d just suggested cliff diving into sharp rocks. “Of course. Once all this shit is sorted out with Sukuna and I reform Jujutsu Society, we’ll have a rager wedding.”

You scoff in disbelief. “You want to have a rager wedding?”

“Was that not what you had in mind?”

“Mmm…no. I was thinking something small, you know, with Yuuji and Megs and Nanami and Shoko and the rest of your students. Save your strobe lights and fog machines for the bachelor party.” You both know damn well Nanami would never set foot in a club with Satoru, but it was still a funny image for the mind. 

“You want to involve my students in our wedding?”

“I thought that was self-explanatory. You care about them, I care about you, so I automatically care about them. Whatever you would do for your students, I would too.”

“I’d pull down the planets for you, you know.”

“Just the planets? You must not love me that much tonight.” His eyes shine in the moonlight as he rubs his nose against yours. “Break up with me now and put me out of my misery.”

“You underestimate my abilities, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. I’d pull down every planet in the entire universe for you if you asked, not just the ones in this solar system.”

“There’s my sappy Satoru.”

“I’m yours forever.”

“Do your best, okay?” You say before Megumi and Yuuji leave to find Master Tengen, leaving you alone in Megumi’s dorm. Reaching over for his stuffed wolf, you summon a portal and store it in your domain for safe-keeping. You’d give it to him when you were all together again, your boys and your boyfriend. 

I’m yours forever.

#jjk x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojo jjk #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo x y/n #jjk angst #jjk hurt/comfort

[canmom]

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere, 000-012

Or, what if that mural was the heart of a web serial.

I'm reading The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere, thanks largely to the enthusiasm of @azdoine and @lukore on my dash over the last few months.

This is absolutely not gonna be a liveblog in the level of detail of the great Umineko liveblog project. Rather I'm gonna be aiming at something like the comics comints series or those occasional posts on anime. Or indeed what I wrote about Worth The Candle last year. I must create a robot whose purpose is to watch to see if I start writing detailed plot summaries and hit me with a stick labelled 'remember you have a job now'.

That outta the way, let's talk flower!

No, not that flower!

I will start with an anecdote. When I was at university, I ended up attending a talk by court alchemist senescence researcher Aubrey de Grey, who at that time did not yet have a 'sexual harassment allegations' section on his Wikipedia page. The main thing that struck me at the time was his rather spectacularly long beard. But I did listen to his talk about ending aging.

de Grey's schtick is that he, like many people in the transhumanist milieu, believes that medical technology is on the cusp of being able to prevent aging sufficiently well to prolong human lifespans more or less indefinitely. He believes that the different processes of aging can be understood in terms of various forms of accumulating cellular 'damage', and that these will begin to be addressed within present human lifespans, buying time for further advancements - so that (paraphrasing from memory) 'the first immortals have already been born'. He has some pretty graphs to demonstrate this point.

At that talk, one of the audience members asked de Grey the (in my view) very obvious question about whether access to this technology would be distributed unevenly, creating in effect an immortal ruling class. de Grey scoffed at this, saying he always gets this question, and basically he didn't think it would be a big deal. I forget his exact words, but he seemed to assume the tech would trickle down sooner or later, and this was no reason not to pursue it.

I'm sure de Grey is just as tired of being reminded of how unbalanced access to medical technology is in our current world, or the differences in average life expectancy between countries.

So, I was very strongly reminded of de Grey as The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere laid out its major thematic concerns and characters. I was also put in mind of many online arguments in the transhumanist milieu about whether it would be a good thing, in principle, to end death.

In particular, of course, comes to mind transhumanist Nick Bostrom's short story The Fable of the Dragon-Tyrant, in which death is likened to a huge dragon that demands to be fed trains full of humans every day. In the story, humanity's scientists secretly build a giant gun to kill the dragon. Naturally, despite all the doubters and naysayers who foolishly feel obliged to justify the existence of the dragon, the gun works. Bostrom's imagery is incredibly heavy-handed (particularly the trains à la Auschwitz), but just in case you didn't get it, he also spells out the moral explicit at the end: basically, every day not spent putting resources to abolishing death is adding up more and more bodies to the pile of people who don't get to be immortal.

So far, Flower seems to be shaping up to be a critical intervention into that milieu, with a much more grounded view of death and a much stronger model of society - admittedly not a high bar but it's going good so far!

At the time of writing this commentary, I have read the prologue and first two six-chapter arcs, namely Mankind's Shining Future (1-6) and Pilgrimage to the Deep (7-12).

the general shape of things

We are introduced - from the perspective of sardonic, introverted Su, who is going to be the protagonist of our time loop - to a group of brilliant young medical wizards, who have just been invited to visit the headquarters of a secret society whose mission is precisely to abolish death. Su's grandfather was some kind of controversial luminary who was expelled this organisation, and he also did something to her, which is giving her some kind of ulterior motive to find her way into this society.

We know pretty much from the outset that this is a time loop scenario: Su has been explicitly given the opportunity to replay the scenario in the hopes of find an alternative outcome, by some kind of presently mysterious parties. This first part is the 'control' loop, i.e. probably more or less how things went down 'originally'.

I believe Umineko is an explicit inspiration for this story, and the influence is pretty evident. But parallels with the Locked Tomb series, especially Gideon the Ninth, are also quite noticeable. @lukore spoke of it as the STEM to Locked Tomb's humanities, and I can already kinda see it, although we haven't got into the real meat of the scenario yet. This story began serialisation four years ago, making the two works roughly contemporary. The latest chapter was published in the last couple of weeks - no idea if I've arrived just in time for the ending!

Stylistically, it's generally pretty heavy on dialogue and long asides. The characters are a bunch of mega nerds who love to have big philosophical and political discussions, but their dynamics are well enough realised and their dynamics clear enough that it can double up as naturalistic characterisation. So far, the discussions have been interesting to read.

Below I'm going to make some notes and comments on various elements of the setting and story. In a followup post (because it got too long) I'm going to talk a lot about entropy. Perhaps you will find this interesting!

the world

The first few chapters are dedicated pretty hard to exposition. We find ourselves in a distant-future setting - one in which it seems reality has totally collapsed and then been rebuilt using magic, creating a somewhat oddball universe which lacks things like the element iron, and also electromagnetism. This seems like it would have pretty severe implications for just about everything!

However, the 'ironworkers' have, after producing a series of trial and error 'lower planes' that didn't quite get it right, landed on a fairly close approximation of how things used to be on the old world. Though by 'fairly close approximation' I mean like... it's a bowl-shaped world and the sun and stars are artificial lanterns. But still, there are humans, and they seem to work more or less like we're used to humans working, apart from the whole 'magic' thing.

So, an alt-physics setting. Praise Aealacreatrananda, I love that shit.

While electromagnetism might be out, the more abstract physical principles like thermodynamics still apply, and the humans of this universe have managed to find analogues to a number of things in our world. Instead of computers, they have 'logic engines' which run on magic. Horses seem to have made it in, so we get delightful blends of historical and futuristic concepts like a self-driving computer-controlled horse-drawn carriage taxi.

The biggest difference is of course that in this setting, magic - more on that in a bit - has solved most medical problems and humans routinely live to around 500. The setting is ostensibly a semi-post-scarcity one, although a form of money exists in 'luxury debt', which can be exchanged for things like taxi rides, café food and trips on the space elevator.

Politically, we are told that the world has enjoyed a few hundred years of general peace, broken in living memory by a revolution which put an end to a regime of magical secrecy. There are lots of countries, and an alliance overseeing them.

There's a few other oddities in this world. Something called a 'prosognostic event' can happen if you see someone who has the same face as you, and whatever this is, it's bad enough news that everyone is constantly reminded to veil their faces in public and there's some kind of infant 'distinction treatment' to mitigate the risk. Given that, in the regular world, nothing particularly bad would happen if you ran into a long-lost identical twin, it suggest there is probably something a little fucky about how humans work in this world!

There's evidently a fair bit of effort put into the worldbuilding of fictional countries and historical periods. The important elements seem to be roughly along the lines of:

our world is currently in what they call the 'old kingdoms' period, which is poorly remembered;

next up comes an 'imperial' period of high transhumanist shenanigans in which society was ruled by 'gerontocrats' who got exclusive access to the longevity treatment, but this all somehow led to a huge disaster which destroyed og earth;

the survivors built the Mimikos where humanity currently lives using magic and created some kind of huge iron spike that holds the universe together; there was subsequently a 'fundamentalist' period in which a strict cutoff point was put on human lifespans and a lot of the wackier magic was banned;

now we're onto a new era of openness following a small revolution, while the major political structures remain largely intact.

Writing a far-future setting is hard, because trying to deal with the weight of history without the story getting bogged down with worldbuilding details is a fiddly line to walk. The Dying Earth series of Jack Vance might be a relevant point of comparison. Vance leaves the historical details vague - there are endless old kingdoms and strange artefacts and micro-societies for Cugel and co. to stumble on. Far more important than the specifics of history is establishing the vibe of a world that's seen an unimaginable amount of events layered on top of each other and is honestly a bit tired.

Flower makes things a bit more concrete and generally manages to make this work decently well. I do appreciate the asides where Su talks about, for example, the different architectural styles that layer up to make a place, or the way a technique has been refined. It establishes both that Su is the kind of person to notice this sort of thing, and also helps the world feel lived-in.

the names

The story doesn't do a lot with language. The story is written in English, and the narration will occasionally make reference to how things are phrased (e.g. how divination predates the suffix -mancy). We can probably make the standard assumption that this is all translated from $future_language, with the notional translator making a suitable substitution of whatever linguistic forms exist in that language.

The characters are named in a variety of languages. Our main character's full name is Utsushikome of Fusai. We're told that this is "an old name from Kutuy, and means something like 'mysterious child'" - so Kutuyan is one of the languages spoken in this world. It's blatantly got the same phonotactics as Japanese, and indeed if I search up 'Utsushikome', I find an obscure historical figure called Utsushikome-no-Mikoto, wife of the Emperor Kōgen; she has no article on English Wikipedia, but she does have a brief one on Japanese wiki. Just as Su says about Kutuyan, 'Utsushikome' is written 欝色謎 in Japanese, but it relies on archaic readings of those characters and wouldn't read that way in modern Japanese. We could perhaps assume a good old translation convention is in effect where Kutuyan is replaced with Japanese.

A lot of characters have Greek names, as do various setting elements. One exception is Kamrusepa, or Kam, who is named for an ancient goddess of medicine worshipped by the Hittites and Luwians. I know basically fuck all about Hittites and Luwians but it's a cool little nod to mythology, and it won't be the only one!

I'll run down a list of characters and my comments about them in a bit. But many are named after gods or other mythological figures.

the magic

Most of the divergences come from magic existing. Certain humans are 'arcanists', who are able to use the 'Power', which is a magic system with a highly computational flavour. Thanks to Su's expositional asides, we know that an incantation is something like a short program written in cuneiform with the ability to gather information, perform maths, and manipulate particles. An example we are given is a spell called "entropy-denying", which is the following string of cuneiform:

"…(𒌍𒌷𒀭)(𒌍𒁁𒀭)𒅥𒌈𒆜𒈣𒂠, 𒋢𒀀𒅆𒌫𒃶,𒈬𒊹."

We're told that spells always start with phrases ending in 𒀭, and end in 𒊹. Beyond that, I'm not sure how far the author has actually worked out the syntax of this magic system - probably not in too much detail! Seems like the kind of thing it's better to leave vague, but also she seems like kind of nerd who would (positive). It's conceptually a reasonable magic system for a world where more or less realistic physics applies.

The use of unusual scripts for a magic system isn't that unusual - the old European occultists who wrote the [Lesser] Key of Solomon loved to write on their magic circles in Hebrew, and in modern times we could mention Yoko Taro's signature use of the Celestial Alphabet for example - but the specific use of cuneiform here seems like it might be a little more significant, because a little later in the story the characters encounter a mural depicting The Epic of Gilgamesh, which of course was recorded on cuneiform tablets. Remains to be seen exactly what these allusions will mean!

The magic system is divided into various disciplines defined by the different ways they approach doing magic, with the disciplines breaking down broadly along the same lines as the modern scientific disciplines. For example, our protagonist is a thanatomancer ("necromancer" having become unfashionable), which is the discipline dealing with death; she's specifically an entropic thanatomancer, distinguished by their framework viewing death as the cessation of processes.

Magic relies on an energy that they refer to as 'eris' (unknown relation to the Greek goddess of strife and discord). We are told that eris must be carefully apportioned across the elements of a spell or shit blows up, that it can be stored, and it accumulates gradually enough that you don't want to be wasteful with it, but so far given little information about where it comes from.

Magic in this story generally seems to act as a kind of 'sufficiently advanced technology'. It's very rules-based, and used for a lot of mundane ends like operating computers or transport. Advancement in magic is something like a combination of basic research and software development. But the thing that makes it a magic system and not merely alt-physics is that it's at least a little bit personal: it must be invoked by an individual, and only certain people can operate the magic. We're told a little about how wizards are privileged in some societies, indoctrinated in social utility in others, and expected to be inconspicuous in the present setting. It's not clear yet if you need some kind of special innate capacity to do the magic, or if it's just a matter of skill issue.

With one exception, our main characters are a gaggle of wizards, and exceptionally skilled students at that. They're at an elite institution, carrying high expectations, even if they are themselves fairly dismissive of the pomp and ceremony. They have grandiose plans: Kamrusepa in particular is the main voice of the 'death should be abolished' current.

the cast

We're entering a cloistered environment with high political stakes hanging off of it. Even if I hadn't already heard it described as a murder mystery, it would feel like someone will probably be murdered at some point, so lets round up our future suspects.

Su (Utsushikome) is our protagonist and first-person POV. She's telling this story in the first past tense, with a style calling to mind verbal narration; she'll occasionally allude to future events so we know for sure narrator!Su knows more than present!Su. She's got a sardonic streak and she likes long depressing antijokes, especially if the punchline is suicide. She will happily tell us she's a liar - so maybe her narration isn't entirely reliable, huh.

Su is more than a little judgemental; she doesn't particularly like a lot of her classmates, or people in general, and generally the first thing she'll tell you about a character is how well she gets on with them. She introduces the theme of 'wow death sucks' in the first paragraph, but she is, at least at this point, pessimistic that anyone will manage to do anything about it for good.

Her magical specialisation is entropic thanatomancy, roughly making processes go again after they working coherently.

Her name is a reference to an obscure Japanese empress, as discussed above.

Ran is Su's bestie from the same home country. She is generally pretty on the level. She likes romance novels and she is pretty sharp at analysing them. She will cheerfully team up with Su to do a bit or bait someone else when an argument gets going.

Her magical specialisation is Divination, which is sort of a more fundamental layer of magic, about gathering information by any means. In medicine it's super advanced diagnostics.

Her name is too short to pin down to a specific allusion. Could be one of a couple of disciple of Confucius such as Ran Geng, or a Norse goddess of the sea.

Kam (Kamrusepa) is the de facto class prez and spotlight lover. She's hardcore ideological, the story's main voice of the de Grey/Bostrom death-abolishing concept so far - I think she straight up calls someone a 'deathist' at some point. She loves to tell everyone what she thinks about everything, and getting the last word.

Her magical specialisation is Chronomancy, so time magic. It's described as secretive and byzantine, but also it can do stuff like (locally?) rewind time for about five minutes. No doubt it has something to do with the time loop.

As mentioned above, she's named after a fairly obscure ancient deity of healing and magic.

Theo (Theodoros) is a fairly minor character. He's scatterbrained and easily flustered, he has a similar background to our protagonist, and he's not great with people. His name is shared with a number of ancient Greek figures, so it's hard to narrow it down to one allusion. I don't think his magic school has been mentioned.

Ptolema is a cheery outgoing one, someone who Su dismisses as an airhead. And she is at least easy to bait into saying something ill-considered. Her specialisation is applying magic to surgery. As a character, she tends to act as a bit of a foil to the others. Bit of a valley girl thing going on.

'Ptolema' is presumably a feminised version of the renowned Greek philosopher Ptolemy.

Seth is the jock to Ptolema's prep, and our goth protag Su doesn't particularly like him either. ...lol maybe that's too flippant, I may be misapplying these US high school stereotypes. To be a little more precise then, he's pretty casual in demeanour, flirty, likes to play the clown. He specialises in Assistive Biomancy, which revolves around accelerating natural healing processes.

Seth is named for either the Egyptian god (domain: deserts, violence and foreigners) or an Abrahamic figure, the third son of Adam and Eve granted by God after the whole Caim killing Abel thing.

Ophelia is someone Su describes as 'traditionally feminine' - soft-spoken, demure etc. (Gender in this world appears to be constructed along broadly similar lines to ours). Indeed we get a fairly extended description of her appearance. Her specialisation is Alienist Biomancy, which means introducing foreign elements to healing (not entirely sure how that differs from the Golemancy mentioned later).

Ophelia is of course a major character in Shakespeare's Hamlet, best known for going mad and dying in a river.

Fang is the only nonbinary member of the class, noted as the most academically successful. They're not on the expedition, but the characters discuss them a little in their absence, so maybe they'll show up later. It seems like they have a bit of a rebellious streak. Their magical specialisation is not mentioned.

Fang is a regular ol' English word, but I gave it a search all the same and found there's an ancient Chinese alchemist of that name. She is the oldest recorded woman to do an alchemy in China, said to know how to turn mercury into silver.

Lilith is the teenaged prodigy in computers logic engines, and Mehit is her mother who accompanies her on the trip. They've got a big Maria and Rosa (of Umineko) dynamic going on, with Mehit constantly scolding Lilith and trying to get her to obey social norms, though in contrast to Maria, Lilith is a lot more standoffish and condescending to the rest of the gang. Lilith specialises in 'Golemancy', which means basically medical robotics - prosthetic limbs and such. She spends most of her time fiddling with her phone logic engine, and will generally tell anyone who talks to her that they're an idiot. Sort of a zoomer stereotype.

Lilith is named for the Abrahamic figure, the disobedient first wife of Adam who was banished and, according to some Jewish traditions, subsequently became a demon who attacks women at night. There may be some connection between Lilith and the lioness-headed Mesopotamian chimeric monster Lamashtu, which I mention because Mehit is an Egyptian and Nubian lion goddess.

'Golemancy' is probably playing on the popular fantasy idea of a 'golem' as a kind of magic robot, but given the Jewish allusion in Lilith's name here, I do wonder a little bit if it's going to touch on the Jewish stories of the Golem which inspired it - a protective figure with a specific religious dimension.

There are some other characters but they're not part of the main party on their way to the function, so I won't say much about them just yet. Also it's entirely possible I went and forgot an entire classmate or something, big whoops if so.

the events

In true Umineko tradition, the beginning of the story narrates in great detail how the protagonists make their way to the place where the plot is going to happen.

To be fair, there's a lot of groundwork to be laid here, and the characters' discussions do a lot to lay out the concerns of the story and sketch out the setting, not to mention establish the major character relations. A murder mystery takes a certain amount of setup after all! There's plenty of sci-fi colour to be had in the 'aetherbridge', which is a kind of space elevator that lifts you up to a high altitude teleporter network. (It's technically not teleportation but 'transposition', since teleportation magic also exists in the story, with different restrictions! But close enough for government work.)

They go to a huge space citadel, which is kind of a transport hub; some cloak and dagger shit happens to hide the route they must take to the mysterious secret organisation. They find a strange room with a missing floor and a mural of the Epic of Gilgamesh, albeit modified to render it cyclic. What does it meeaaaan?

The idea of a secret society of rationalists is one that dates back to the dawn of ratfic, in HPMOR. It was kinda dumb then, but it works a lot better here, where we're approaching the wizard circle from outside. The phrase 'Great Work' has already been dropped. I love that kind of alchemical shit so I'm well into finding out what these wizards are plotting.

the dying

A lot of the discussions revolve around the mechanics of death. Essentially the big problem for living forever is information decay. Simple cancers can be thwarted fairly easily with the magic techniques available, but more subtle genetic slippages start to emerge after the first few hundred years; later, after roughly the 500 year mark, a form of dementia becomes inevitable. It's this dementia in particular that the characters set their sights on curing.

One thing that is interesting to me is that, contra a lot of fantasy that deals with necromancy (notably the Locked Tomb series), there appears to be no notion of a soul in this world whatsoever. The body is all that there is. Indeed, despite all the occult allusions in the character names, there is very little in the way of religion for that matter. Even the 'fundamentalism' is about an idea of human biological continuity that shouldn't be messed with too much.

Su distinguishes three schools of thought on death, namely 'traditional', 'transformative' and 'entropic'. The 'traditional' form attempts to restore limited function - classic skeleton shit. 'Transformative' sees death as a process and uses dead tissues together with living in healing. Su's 'entropic' school broadens this 'process' view to consider death as any kind of loss of order - a flame going out as much as an organism dying. At the outset of the story, Su has discovered a 'negentropic' means to restore life to an organism, which she considers promising, even if for now it only works for fifteen minutes.

This is an interesting perspective, but the devil is in the details. Because processes such as life or flames, necessarily, result in a continuous increase in the thermodynamic entropy of the universe. And yet this idea of death-as-loss-of-order does make a kind of sense, at a certain level of abstraction.

Elaborating on this got rather too long for this post, and I think it can stand alone, so I'm going to extract it to a followup post.

the comments

As is probably evident by the length of this post, I am very intrigued by The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere. The setting is compelling, and it seems like it's got the willingness to bite at the chewy questions it raises instead of acting like it has all the answers, which is I think one of the most crucial elements for this kind of scifi. I like how unabashed it is at having its characters straight-up debate shit.

Of course, this all depends where they go with it. There's so many ways it could be headed at this point. I hear where it's going is 'dark yuri' and 'Umineko-inspired murder mystery', so that should be really juicy fun, but I do end up wondering what space that will leave to address the core theme it's laid out in these first few chapters.

Overall, if this and Worth the Candle are what modern ratfic is like, the genre is honestly in pretty good shape! Of course, I am reading very selectively. But this is scratching the itch of 'the thing I want out of science fiction', so I'm excited to see where the next 133 chapters will take me.

Though all that said, I ended up writing this post all day instead of reading any other chapters or working, so I may need to rein it in a bit.

#fiction #web serials #the flower that bloomed nowhere #tftbn #sff

[enchxanting]

our love is god [ethan landry]

read part 2 here || all parts

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

warnings: nothing yet but this fic is heathers-inspired, so be warned for the future.

author's note: hi guys, long time lurker first time poster. this is my first time WRITING fic so feel free to leave any critique. also i don't know if i did the cut right lol i have a lot planned and hope you like!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Diary,

I should’ve never let Mindy convince me to start this operation. 

Sure, it’s nice to have a steady cash flow, but nothing is more aggravating than everyone and their mother asking for doctor’s notes, report cards, prescriptions, and absence notes when I’m just trying to make it to fourth-period math. When I was ten, I expected to use my Nancy-Drew-inspired skills to unearth hidden staircases or find whistling statues, not help someone’s checked-out mom get a Xanax. 

Yet I forged three (3) permission slips today. Why? Because, next to mysteries, I love the sweet smell of cash in the morning. Yesterday, I added $150 to the rainy day fund. Hopefully, when the weather’s right, I'll be inspired to buy a car and ditch Woodsboro. This town is fucked, alright. Just ask Chad, Mindy, Sam, or–

“Tara! Jesus Christ!” I rub my leg where her sneaker connected. “What’s your damage?”

“Are you done, Shakespeare? You said you’d get lunch with me like, fifteen minutes ago.”

Tara isn’t so great with patience. But, again, I am not so great at keeping track of time. “Yeah, whatever,” I say. “Let’s go see what they’ve cooked up for us today.”

I follow her through the winding path of tables, chairs, and teenage bodies. As we go, I collect bills from outstretched hands and replace them with papers of varying sizes. Tara turns to smirk at me. “What was the event this time?”

“Oh, you know. It’s report card season, and this school is not known for its stellar GPAs.”

“We just have you to thank for keeping it floating below a 3.0,” she teases. “Tell me, Y/N. Does all that extra brainpower of yours get used up matching the way people dot their i’s and cross their t’s?”

I roll my eyes at her. “Sure, Tara. Let’s just get some lunch. I’m seriously starving.”

We grab trays and join the line, aimlessly chattering about the day. Tara’s been my friend since the beginning of the year when I was the only new kid in a town struck by tragedy. We were the only new buyers in Woodsboro over the summer. The rest are still empty, the memory of last year’s Ghostface attacks having driven out long-time residents.

What’s surprising, though, is that the so-called “Woodsboro Four” are still here. Sure, Sam, Tara, Mindy, and Chad mostly stick together, but despite the terrible tragedy that they witnessed, they let me and Annika, Mindy’s current girlfriend, into their lives. I could never measure up to that. I’m just glad they want to be my friend.

I’m taken out of my musings on friendship when I feel someone’s eyes on my back. Without turning around, I recite my usual speech. “$5 for report cards, $10 for prescriptions and absence notes, and an extra $5 for rush fees.”

“Woah, um, tempting, but I’m not looking for any forgery.”

Confused, I turn around to put a face to an unfamiliar voice. The guy’s tall, almost as tall as Chad, with curly brown hair and brown eyes that widen when I meet them. “Sorry, I was just going to get my lunch, but you dropped some cash back here.”

For some reason, my voice is not working. All I can do is look up at him, suddenly captivated by how shy he seems to be. When I pause for a few moments too long, Tara reaches around and takes the money from his hand. “Uh, thanks. I’m sure my friend here appreciates it. Usually she’s more talkative.”

“Oh, god, yeah, sorry,” I finally get out, stumbling over my words. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Suddenly, I think he remembers to be bashful and walks away without another word.

When he’s gone, Tara laughs. “God, Y/N, drool much? I’ve never seen you like that before.”

I flush red. “Whatever, Tara, you’re the worst.” I give her a playful shove and walk off to buy my lunch. I hand the money to the cashier, but all I can think about are those big, brown eyes, and I know I’m fucked.

#ethan landry #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x reader #scream 6 #scream 2023 #jack champion #heathers #heathers au #high school au #ethan landry fanfiction

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Summary: Sipping from the other's drink

Pairing: Jonathan Levy x Reader

Warnings: author makes certain claims about academia that may or may not be true and are entirely biased because of her own experience with it (and a huge thanks to @pennyserenade for reading this over for me)

Word Count: 2.3k

Jonathan’s brought you to a summer mixer at the Department Head’s family home, designed to maintain connections through the faculty during the slow months of the summer as well as create new ones with the incoming graduate students to the department. 

A newly-minted associate professor for the fall term, Jonathan at least doesn’t have to worry about students of his own. 

Really, he’s only here for the drinks. 

Academics’ pockets, though they don’t usually run deep, are quite generous when it comes to their alcohol, perhaps a sort of defence mechanism when it comes to dealing with the stress of their way of life. 

Everyone, however, seems to be at ease. It’s a late afternoon sort of function in order to encourage them to drink as much as they would like without feeling guilty about it, and loosened from the heavy burden of tweeds and thick wools, the faculty are clad instead in linen, cool and airy. 

Tongues are loose, smiles are quick to be given. People have forgotten the relentless competition they’re usually in when it comes to funding, to office space, to good class slots. 

All in all, he thinks that today has been a good day to introduce you to the people he’s going to passive aggressively work with for the rest of his life. 

He gazes across the room and finds the blue of your shirt, sticking out like a sore thumb in a sea of neutrals and whites. You’re talking to one of the faculty spouses, nodding your head and laughing. There’s a glass of pink lemonade in your hands, your hair falls around you as if you’re holding a secret within your chest. 

Jonathan yearns for you to be by your side again, to smell the perfume he bought for your six-month anniversary, the one you always spray into the crook of your neck because that’s always where he likes to press his face whenever he’s deep in thought. 

As if on cue, the conversation dies down and you drift back to his side. 

He marvels at how easily you’ve managed to fit yourself into this new crowd, how you laugh as the department fart tells you some lame joke that he’s probably told millions of others before you. You brush it off with grace and ease, I’ll talk to you soon, alright? 

It had taken him almost five years before he’d mastered that skill. The gentle brush off that made the other feel like you were doing them a favour. 

He loves you, that much he knows for sure. 

After the storm cloud of Mira and the past twenty years of his life had passed, he’d met you. As simple as that, as if the universe was only waiting for him before they let him hold onto the rest of his life like a delicate crystal glass. 

“Hi,” you come up close to him and Jonathan can smell your perfume and the strawberries on your breath. He wonders if he’ll be able to taste your drink if he kisses you long enough. 

He also wonders, as an addendum, how quickly he would lose his position if he did that. Despite all the shouting the university did about being progressive and open-minded, the tenured faculty members were still dreadfully hard-headed, old-fashioned. 

Jonathan supposes that he was too. Maybe he still is, simply by nature of his daily proximity to him on the same floor of the social sciences building, crumbling at the seams since the last of its renovations in the seventies. 

“Hi,” he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in close to him. There’s a glass of whiskey in his other hand that he doesn’t care much for anymore now that you’re here. He kisses the side of your head, brushes away some of your hair from your temple, “Enjoying yourself?” 

You giggle, it rings out like a fairybell. You lean up close to him and murmur in his ear, “You work with some very strange people.” 

He can’t help but laugh at that, turning his head to meet your sparkling eyes. “Yeah, I suppose I do.” 

“Very strange,” you muse again, looking out across the room. “And I thought you were the strange one.” 

That hits him in a funny way he wasn’t planning on it doing. He remembers once in high school his cross country running coach said she’d stepped, wearing thick-soled hiking shoes, on a pebble the wrong way and ended up having to go to physio for six months. 

He supposes he feels a little like that pulled muscle. 

He hums, tries to push down the blow you’d struck at him without realising it. 

“Strange?” 

“Mmhm,” your fingers drift around his waist and rest on top of his tummy, the one Ava had pointed out the other day in passing. “Strange, yeah. You got the whole, mysterious, hot, brooding professor thing going for you.” 

“And that’s strange to you?” 

You shrug. Jonathan feels the heat of your gaze against his face and he doesn’t feel like turning to meet it. Instead, he favours the sharp burn of whiskey. He ended up with a glass in his hand because some snot-nose had offered to pour him a drink and he’d been too much of a pushover and too concerned about what other people thought of him to say he preferred a red wine. 

You’re never like that. 

You were never like him; either because that’s who you were at your core, or because you’d manage to escape the way academia chipped away at one’s soul, until there was an empty, arthritis-ridden husk of a person by the time they reached tenure. 

Opposites did attract, he supposes. 

You were different from him. You weren’t afraid to drink the pink lemonade that had been left out for the few kids running around in the back garden, you weren’t afraid to call him weird if that’s what you thought of him. 

Jonathan wonders why it took you so long to say it to him. 

He’s about to try and pry the answer out of you when someone else approaches the two of you together. A newly-tenured professor whom Jonathan never really did get along with, particularly when he was working his post-doctorate and the guy had picked up an obnoxious habit of hanging around the kitchen coffee-maker and smacking his gum as loud as he could. 

There couldn’t have been anyone worse that could have showed up at the time. 

“Jonathan!” 

Something inside him curls into himself at the thought, and as if you could feel it, your arm wraps around him a little tighter. 

The man’s trying to make some small talk, the bare bones of it before he surely starts to boast of himself and his students and the latest hotshot fund he got because of his new tenure. 

“Hi,” you smile at him sweetly and make a green little sprout of something bad shoot up inside his stomach, a bitter taste lingering at the back of his throat. You introduce yourself as Jonathan’s partner and are just about to move to go away when he speaks up again, cutting you short. 

“I liked Mina more, Levy,” he grins and shows off his teeth like a predator. Against the off-white of his linen suit, they look even whiter, standing out like a sign against his tanned skin. “Shame you two had to end it the way you did.” 

Jonathan tries to remind himself that he doesn’t know how things ended with Mira. That it’s just another poke at him and his life to get a rise out of him. 

You smile at the guy again, there’s a sharper edge to it. His prickly rose. “Well, if you’ll excuse us.” 

Then you’re guiding him away from the stuffy room and towards a bench against the side of the house. There’s a full view of the backyard, the sloping apple tree and whispering aspens all around, the toddlers playing tag in shrill shrieks. 

He sits down with a low exhale, you follow beside him, slouching and shucking off your shoes. “Christ,” you mutter under your breath. 

It’s probably the most genuine thing he’s heard all afternoon and he can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “Yeah, sorry.” 

“You deal with that everyday?” It sounds like you’re pitying him. He wonders if that’s ever what Mira thought of him whenever he took her to these events. If she ever raised her eyebrows in surprise at each precise way you had to deal with everyone in the department. 

He swallows back his thoughts and nods, “More or less.” 

“Jonathan,” you shift and face him again. Still, he can’t bear to look at you anymore. Strange and Mira have started to float around his head like a crib mobile. “I…and you…” the rest of your words are lost to your breath as you turn around again, swearing quietly before reaching for his drink and taking a sip. 

He likes how your lips were on the same place where his was.  

The alcohol burns your throat and you grimace at him, “I didn’t know you liked whiskey.” 

“I don’t.” 

“Huh,” you seemed to have heard something stitched and laced into his words that he hadn’t noticed he’d put there in the first place. 

You weren’t much of a drinker. Yet another thing that Jonathan noticed when he started dating you. At New Years’ you had some champagne, small sips whenever you clinked glasses with the people around you before you’d pass your flute onto him to finish. 

Now that he thinks about it, that may have been your first sip of whiskey ever. 

Quite early on, once he’d taken you out on your fifth date and it was shaping out to be something serious like a marble statue carving, Jonathan had cracked open his ribs and showed you the bleeding insides of him. 

You’d taken some steps together quickly, probably too quickly if it meant that he doesn’t know now if you’ve ever had spirits before. 

That had been another thing he’d noticed when he’d started dating again, seriously and for real this time. Twenty years with a person leads to a tremendous collection of trivial information that he’s not sure he’ll ever fully be rid of again. 

It was strange to sit across from someone at dinner and not know how they took their coffee, what side of the bed they liked to sleep on, what order they unloaded the dishwasher and if they had a dishwasher anyways because the renting market is growing out of control. 

“Did you like it?” he asks suddenly, hoping to catch onto a trivial fact of yours, like collecting baseball cards or butterflies with a net. 

“Hm? Oh,” you look down at the whiskey glass and shake your head, handing it back to him. “Not really my thing.” 

Something still nags at him. Maybe it was a mistake bringing you here. You’re the only sober one out of all the guests. Even the host himself is growing rosy and red. It didn’t really look good to see that all your partner’s coworkers were borderline alcoholics, that they dealt with a tremendous amount of repressed trauma and stress and didn’t seek any help for it because of the size of their egos. 

Right then and there he vows to do better for you. He throws the rest of his drink out onto the garden, sets the glass down on the wooden bench with a heavy thud of well made crystal. 

“Do you really think me strange?” he asks you suddenly. Finally, after a long while, he meets your eye. 

“I…well,” you shrug and take in a slow breath. “Yeah, in certain ways. I think I do.” 

“I see.” 

Your words imbed themselves into his skin like shrapnel. 

“But…I don’t have a PhD, I can’t really…” you let out a breath and look out at the garden and the children playing. “Besides, I haven’t been divorced…I haven’t been in your shoes.” 

“I trust your opinion of me.” 

“It’s not that I think you’re strange necessarily,” you gesture back to the house and the rattle of chatter that keeps growing louder with each drink getting poured. “I…this is all very new to me. And I’m trying to understand what it’s like for you.” 

Jonathan starts to smile, “And how’s that going?” 

“Not very well,” you laugh and run your thumb against the rim of your glass. “I just drank whiskey for the first time.” 

He starts to laugh as well, and wrapping his arm around you, he pulls you into the side of his body. His other hand comes and takes your lemonade from your hands, sipping from it as well. 

It tastes like his childhood and hot summer evenings spent with his mother and his aunt, listening to gossip he shouldn’t have been listening to as their nimble fingers worked away with their knitting needles. 

“Do you wanna go home now?” 

“You still need to show face,” you muse quietly, tracing the outer seam of his pants with your finger. “They’re probably already starting to wonder where you’ve gone off to, and it’s going to hurt their frail little egos.” 

He barks out a laugh, and kisses the crown of your head, “God, I love you.” 

“I do too,” he hears the smile in your voice and it goes straight into his chest, wraps a couple pieces of his heart together and puts them back into place. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll entertain myself.” 

Jonathan kisses you this time, properly, the way he wanted to. Your fingers run through his beard and trace his jawline all the way around his ears and back down. 

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here. Summer Drabbles here.

#jonathan levy #jonathan levy x reader #jonathan levy x you #jonathan levy x y/n #jonathan levy x female!reader #jonathan levy fluff #jonathan levy angst #jonathan levy fanfiction #jonathan levy fanfic #jonathan levy fic #jonathan levy x f!reader #jonathan levy imagine #scenes from a marriage fanfiction #scenes from a marriage #scenes from a marriage imagine #scenes from a marriage fic #oscar isaac

[meowsgirldrawing]

Small idea for my Fellow Sebastian Lovers! Hear me out!!

So we all know that Sebastian from Stardew is the famous emo marriage option, a very popular one at that if media doesn't fail me.

So during the time him and the farmer are starting to get to know each other, like see each other more, hang out more, all that fun definitely platonic pinning stuff

Its all nice and sweet, like Sebastian is starting to get somewhat comfortable, not a whole lot, but definitely better than before.

So much so that hes seen sometimes lingering just a little longer outside or inside when he leaves his room, kinda hoping to catch at least a glimpse of the farmer.

Doing little actions like these while he doesn't even realize it!

But someone does 👀

Not only Abigail and Sam- Not only the other two of the ASS squad- The two who share knowing smirks and small nudge nudges all while Sebastian is too busy talking with the Farmer infront of them.

More like stuttering and flustering about-

Who am I talking about?

Maru? Ehhh, not exactly.

The frogs? Yes but also no-

Demetrious?...HAHAHHAAHA-

No.

Robin? Nohoho- Oh wait, your right!

HIS OWN MOTHER-

Robin, the beloved only Carpenter of this amazing town!

She notices after witnessing Sebastian cross by the hall, taking a tad bit longer glance at the door before leaving. Multiple times!

Shes like "Hm. Is he waiting for someone? One of his little buddies?"

But she never says anything cause she thinks its probably nothing, y'know?

Until one day it occurs-

Sebastian stays long enough for the farmer to waltz in, at the right time, at the right place.

Instantly she notices a change-

Sebastian sticks near the doorway, waiting for the Farmer to finish their order for a new addition to the farm, and once their finished, he greets them.

Robin stays near the counter, counting through whatever blue prints for the commission, but keeps glancing up.

We just love mothers, dont we?

Her jaw nearly hangs when Sebastian gets offered a crystal but gets a bit flustered at it, taking the gift with such gentle hands as he thanks the Farmer.

He ducked his head a little, gave a small chuckle, and grateful nod- all while giving the Farmer all his attention without an inch of seeming like he wanted to be or hide somewhere else.

She knows. She immediately knows.

But she doesnt say a word-

Not to Sebastian at least-

She does tell Demetrious a bit of it, the more she notices.

What can you say? The woman, who thought her son just wasn't interested in just about anyone or anything besides his room and computer stuff, finally sees her little man find someone he's clearly interested in.

Demetrious is all like "Thats great, honey :)"

....We know you were just thinking of your work, Demetrious, you dont gotta lie. 💀

Anyway! Robin feels satisfied, knowing her Sebby will probably-

Wrong, she knows that man will never confess on his own terms.

She starts planning like its the Egg Festival and she got put in charge of hiding all the eggs- aka, the clues for Sebby to figure out

First- Find out if the Farmer likes him back!

Shes not just gonna do it if she knows theres a chance the Farmer will reject Sebastian. If that were the case, she would let Sebby handle it the way he feels is just.

The next times the Farmer comes around, she asks subtle questions.

"How's the Farm doing? It doesnt feel too lonely, does it?"

"I seen you met my son, Sebastian! Hes treating you good, I hope!"

"Do you like my son-" (Robin no-)

Little stuff like that until eventually- she gets her answer. The one shes been hoping for!

The Farmer, despite their usually calm persona, turns a wee bit heated at the cheeks, scratching their neck and giggling/chuckling nervously while answering yes, Sebastian is a good guy!

HOOK LINE SINKER-

Boys, we got em.

Robin-

Now Robin can do what mothers do best, interfere

(Mom, if you are ever reading this cause whatver reason, I love you and promise that isnt the truth-") what I said, y'know, like a liar.

Now that we think about, Robin probably cant do too much in the position shes in. She doesnt want to overwhelm her son, nor does she want to accidentally scare the Farmer away. Hmmm.

Maru, the beautiful genius comes in with, "What if you sent Sebastian to help the farmer ?"

So she does.

Anytime she can, Robin asks Sebastian if he can either go drop off something or help the Farmer bring something into the shop, or plain and simple like "Sebby, I need you to run this fish down to the Farmer."

"Why do (they) need a fish? Cant they just get some-"

"Go talk to your crush already-"

"MOM-"

He does so.

She doesnt just do that, whenever they're at the Saloon, she'll ask Sebastian and the Farmer to help her bring drinks to their table even if they arent sitting with them.

Maru even pitches in sometimes with asking Sebastian if he can ask the Farmer to bring her something for one her experiments/robots.

Anything and every chance is given directly to Sebastian to talk to the farmer when hes free.

And it pays off- On calls Sebastian takes for Robin from the Farmer, Robin can hear him laughing a bit with them after getting their order in.

Maru catches them jokingly nudging each other as they walk to the table with drinks.

And Sebastian seems to take a good bit longer to come home even though they have a shortcut to the Farmer just a little higher up the mountain.

Even Demetrious commented about one time seeing Sebastian snuffing out his smoke as the Farmer immediately came into view, and quickly striking up a conversation as they were walking through.

The girls were giddy with excitement and Demetrious was.....there.

Listen, I dont hate him but he isnt exactly my favorite either-

Then it came!

The day the Farmer walked into the shop, grasping a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a Tear Drop in the other.

Robin had to hide the large and practically beaming grin on her face with a handbook of what you guessed? Carpentry, infront of her.

Maru noticed the Farmer walking past with a handful wave and waved back so fast and so giddy like.

When the Farmer came from the basement, you could tell no one can wipe the smile cemented onto their face. The items were gone and they were basically skipping in their walk out.

And that ladies, gents, and nonbinary boos, is how Robin (noname), Pelican Town's only Carpenter earned her rightful spot upfront for her son and new in-laws wedding in the future.

And you can just imagine the look on Sebastian's face when he realized how his mother had a hand in getting him and his now S.O. together HAHA💜💜

#oc x canon #oc inserts #stardew farmer #stardew valley #stardew sebastian #stardew fanfic #stardew valley sebastian #Maybe x reader #x reader #Idea time #sebastian headcanons #stardew headcanon #stardew robin #stardew demetrius #stardew maru

[agent-barnes40]

Clara Oswald Platonic Imagine request please where reader is Neurodivergent and has a love for history, but was made to be ashamed of it when young despite Clara sticking up for them, and Clara being happy for them when they are able to talk all the time about the interest when travelling with the doctor? Sorry it’s so long

Thank you so much for the request! I took the liberty of choosing Capaldi!Doctor as the doctor in this. I should mention also, I am neurodivergent myself and have a life long fascination with The Romanov's, so I get it.

The Doctor picks their companion's with pride and care and so when Clara suddenly drags you onto his ship, he's all hands wavy and gesturing at you.

"Doctor!" Clara's voice is stern and The Time Lord fully stops in his tracks.

Your watching the two while rocking back and forth on your feet. "I can go, Clars, really."

Clara turns to look at you. "No, you will not. Doctor, you need to apologize."

"Really, you should be the one apologizing. You're the one bringing someone completely new onto the TARDIS." The Doctor is saying, gesturing a hand out towards you.

Your eyes widen and you look at him, although you barely make eye contact. "I can pay, just like I have for tours and all that. I just wanna see Alexander Palace in its prime, that's all."

The Doctor swiftly turns to look at Clara, the hand pointed out towards you waving as he begins to talk. "Oh, so now your using as a tourist service, Clara?"

Clara swiftly grabs his arm, turning him in a circle and marching him towards the stairs toward the upper part of the console room. Her voice is lowered, but you know from the look on her face she is lecturing him just like she does her students. The Doctor, every once in awhile, turned to look at you, before nodding. "Alexander Palace, right?"

It was the best day of your life, being able to sit and explore the palace at the end of Tsarist Russia.

The Doctor was eager to listen to you info dump all about the palace and the information about it, and he fed you little bits of information that you didn't know while softly correcting you on information you had wrong.

Clara and him didn't expect you to become a staple in the TARDIS after that.

The next couple of months were filled with just history trips and The Doctor and Clara making sure you weren't interrupted whenever you'd just stop and stare at the people or paintings.

Clara sat next to you, the two of you sitting on the floor of the TARDIS next to the door, as you just stared up at the construction of the Eiffel Tower. "So, how does it feel?"

"Amazing. These have been the best months of my life. I can never thank you and The Doctor enough." You whispered, watching the men move about.

"You don't have to thank us at all. I know how much this means to you." Clara said, watching you for a minute before looking out at the construction herself.

"I'll have to get The Doctor something." You whispered, continuing to watch.

"You don't have to get me anything. It's good enough to see someone appreciating Earth's history. I should take you to The Titanic." The Doctor says, swiftly moving to join the two of you on the floor.

"I'd rather not die in 1912, thanks." You said absently.

"He'd get us off the ship before, right Doctor?"

"Of course, duty of care." The Doctor said, watching you.

The two try to keep you out of the process of events surrounding places.

You three had been there for the beheading of Anne Boleyn, you had been in fact quietly singing "Don't Lose Your Head" during it all under your breath.

The two enjoyed your little info dumps about situations and locations and people as you travelled through time.

The two never ever put you down about your little quirks or when you'd stim excitedly over an event (you excitedly flappy handed when you three "accidentally" ran into someone you had excitedly read about as a kid)

The three of you were apart of The Ides of March, and you and Clara had joined in on the stabbing of Julius Caesar.

#doctor who x reader #Clara Oswald & Reader #platonic!reader #Cade Writes for Doctor Who

[whatsnewalycat]

wake & bake

pairing: dieter bravo x ofc louella

Summary: You have a virtual smoke session with your new friend and secret crush, Dieter Bravo.

Rating: Mature (see warnings)

Content Tags/Warnings: video chat, smoking weed & getting high, swearing, fluff, flirting, pet names, attempts at jokes, primal scream, crush

Word Count: 2.1k+

Notes: Hi there! This takes place in the Psychomanteum storyline between chapters 2 & 3. I think it can be read as a one shot with the context that’s given but idk. You do need to know is that Louella/Lua, our OFC and second person POV, bakes and sells edibles, bc I don’t think that’s super clear in the text. Ok thanks have a great day 🖤✨

You settle into the middle of your bed, crossing your legs as you glance around and take inventory. 

Lighter. Joint. Ashtray. Water bottle. Laptop. 

Your emerald green curtains billow and rustle when a crisp spring breeze rolls through the bedroom. The air carries the latent, earthy scent of decay and new growth from the park across the street. A shiver weaves its way up your back, so you pull the throw blanket draped around your waist up onto your shoulders like a cape. 

Despite the chill, your hands are hot pads. You press one palm to your cheek and grimace at how fast it heats you. It’s stupid to be so nervous about this. He’s just a person. 

Just a really amusing, really sweet, stupidly handsome person. 

That also happens to be famous. Which is a fact you can’t dwell on for too long before it starts to make you queasy. So, for the purposes of this conversation, you decide to omit it from your brain. 

Just a guy. 

You take a deep breath and wipe your sweaty palms on your pants, then click Join Meeting. 

A few moments go by before Dieter’s face pops up on the screen. He looks like he just crawled out of bed. His face is all puffy from sleep and his chestnut curls are sticking up every which way.

Upon seeing him, your heart starts thudding in your throat. 

He mumbles some kind of greeting while rubbing one eye and yawning, then pulls the camera back to wave at you, revealing that he’s shirtless. The video blurs and shifts like he’s en route, and you see bits and pieces of what you assume is his house in the background. 

“Good morning, sunshine!” you call, waving to the camera, probably a little too enthusiastic. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” he croaks out, voice all groggy, “Sorry, just woke up, give me a sec.”

He sets the phone down on a flat surface, giving you a view of his ceiling as he pours a cup of coffee. 

“I’ll give you all the secs you need,” you tease, and immediately cringe at yourself. But you hear a robust laugh echo through, what you assume is, his kitchen. A proud smile stretches across your face. 

“That was good,” he grins as he picks the phone up and tucks a joint behind his ear, then grabs a steaming coffee cup. The background starts moving again as he walks through the house, “How’re you doing today, doll?”

“Busy,” you fiddle with the joint, twirling its paper tip to a point, “I’ve been up since like 3:00.”

“Pretty sure that’s when I went to sleep,” he tells you with a little chuckle, “S’pose it’s like… stoner Christmas, huh? Big day in the biz.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty nuts,” you laugh, then shrug, “Keeps the lights on, though, so I’m not complaining. Parker is gonna come over in a bit and help me with the orders going out this afternoon.”

“Oh, Parker, what a guy,” Dieter smiles, opening a sliding glass door that drenches him in sunlight.

“He’s the best,” you smirk, then look up at the laptop screen and sigh, “What’re your plans for today?”

“Eh,” he shrugs, then groans as he sits down in a white patio couch, “Little of this, little of that. Gonna meet up with some people later and go to a party.” 

“Fun,” you say, trying to picture the kind of LA parties he frequents. Your imagination makes them out to be glamorous and wild. Expensive champagne, models, celebrities, drugs galore. After looking around your small bedroom, you blow a raspberry, then ask, “Well, shall we?” 

Dieter hums and plucks the joint out from behind his ear. He closes his lips around the cardboard tip, talking around it, “We shall.” 

You follow his lead, holding your joint between your lips, then raise a lighter to the business end, pulling a few quick puffs before you toss the lighter aside. Thick, skunky smoke expands your lungs. You exhale towards the window and cough a little as THC dissipates through your body, making you feel light and buoyant. 

“What’re the parties like out there?” you ask, taking another long drag. The pot starts to smooth your nervous edges and mellow you out. 

He grunts and pulls a pair of sunglasses over his eyes, then shrugs, “Bullshit. Buncha phonies trying to one up each other.” 

“Ok, Holden Caulfield,” you snort, and it earns a howl of laughter from him that makes you smile. 

“No, but really,” he takes a drag off his joint and holds the smoke captive as he tells you, “I don’t find people like you and Parker out here,” he exhales fully, coughing a little, “Or anywhere, really. That party was the most fun I’ve had in years.” 

“Bullshit,” you laugh. 

“Seriously!” He grins and clambers up in his seat, leaning forward, “I’ve done acid so many goddamn times at so many parties. And it’s always a big group of people talking over each other, trying so hard to be profound, or have a fuckin’, uhhh, spiritual experience or whatever,” he waves his hands about as he talks, pausing to take a hit. Smoke muffles his voice when he tells you, “But they’re all so fucking soulless and shallow, I can’t stand it. I usually either end up leaving to trip alone or take other shit to make it more tolerable.”

You giggle nervously, “That sounds… I dunno, like a bad fucking time, man.”

He chuckles, then murmurs, “Anyway,” sitting back in his seat, “What’s, uhhh… what’s your scene, what kind of parties do you usually go to?” 

“Uhhhhh,” you croak as you think about this, then frown at the ceiling as you take a hit off your joint and exhale, “I guess I really don’t? I go to bars more than parties, I guess, but I usually just go there to get laid.”

He smiles wide and brings a palm to his chest, “A girl after my own heart.” 

You giggle as heat creeps through your body, up your neck, “I mean, I can drink and smoke at home. But dick? I have to outsource dick—”

Dieter’s laughter is all you can hear. He leans forward and pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.

“Pussy, too, but dick is much easier to find,” you tell him in a joking way, even though it’s not a joke, “It’s just not the same alone, you know? 

“That’s absolutely true,” he chuckles, wiping his eyes as his laughter dies down, “I like you, you’re funny.”

“Hey, I like you too,” you beam, tilting your head to the side. It’s quiet for a moment as you study each other’s face through the screen conduit. You take another drag off your joint, averting your gaze to the window, then blow a thick plume of smoke towards it. 

“I have a question,” you tell him, flicking your eyes back to the screen. 

“What?” he tucks a hand under his head and lays out on his outdoor couch. 

“Do you ever have these urges to do something crazy? And, like, wonder how people around you would react?” 

“Like what?”

“Like,” you toss your head back and forth, “Like what would you do if I just took my clothes off right now, or—“

“I would die of joy, can we try that one?” he grins. 

“No,” you snort, then cover your face as it starts to heat, “It was just an example!”

“Uh huh. You came up with it really fast,” he observes, then takes a drag from his joint. 

“And you responded to it really fast,” you counter, raising an eyebrow, crushing the orange cherry of your joint into the ashtray on your knee. 

“Obviously,” Dieter scoffs and shrugs, “I would love to see you naked.” 

Your whole head is a heat lamp and your face hurts from smiling. You lick your lips and smirk, “I am very flattered. But, hear me out—”

“We both take our clothes off,” he suggests, his shoulders shaking with stifled laughter, “That’s such a good idea!”

“I am going to murder you, Dee,” you laugh, covering your face. 

“Ok, no seriously, go ahead,” he snickers, glancing over to extinguish his spent joint in an off-screen ashtray.

You sigh and pause for a beat before confessing, “I wanna scream. Like, as loud as I can.”

He smirks and opens his mouth, tilting his head to the side. 

Before he can quip a sexual innuendo and fluster you further, you explain, “I’ve felt it in my chest for so long. The scream, I mean. Like it’s just sitting in there begging to be let out. Do you know what I’m talking about? Do you ever feel like that?”

The devilish smirk on his lips falters. He nods, “Yeah, I have.”

“I want to let it out, but I’m always so scared of what my neighbors will think,” you tell him, searching his face hundreds of miles away, “And sometimes I think, what if I just said fuck it and did it? Just screamed as loud and long as I could? What would happen?”

“Well, fuck it, let’s do it,” he decides, and the camera jostles as he rises to his feet, “Let’s fuckin’ scream our little hearts out, huh? See what happens.”

You smile, “Really?”

“Fuck yeah, come on,” he says, “You gotta stand, though, really let it out.” 

“Ok,” you laugh and set your ashtray aside, then roll off your bed, pulling your laptop to the edge so he can see you standing at your window, “Ready?”

“Alright, on three,” he calls, and you wriggle your body around, trying to psych yourself up, shaking your hands out as he counts, “1, 2, 3–“

You inhale until your lungs ache, then let it out. 

The red, hot feeling of disquiet that has been restless inside your chest for months scrapes against your vocal chords, burning your throat. 

While you’re doing this, you hear Dieter through the laptop speakers, screaming in unison with you, unrestrained, primal. 

You bend over to fully expunge this guttural, animalistic noise from your body. You scream until your face is filled with blood and your heartbeat pounds in your ears. Until your throat is throbbing and your voice is hoarse. Until your lungs are empty and nothing else comes out. 

Then you turn around to the laptop, searching Dieter’s flushed face. You’re both smiling wide and wild, chests heaving. 

“That was fucking awesome,” he tells you, chuckling and shaking his head, “You did great.”

“So did you,” you grin, “Good job screaming.” 

A frantic knock sounds on your door. 

“Oh shit,” you cover your face and giggle, looking up towards the noise, “Someone’s knocking.”

“Probably making sure you’re alive,” you hear Dieter say as you carry the laptop into the kitchen. You set it on the countertop before opening the door. 

“Hi,” you answer breathlessly to the wide eyes of your next door neighbor, “I’m fine.” 

“Oh—ok, I was just making sure—”

“Yeah, I just—you know, you ever just feel like screaming?” you try to explain. 

She shakes her head and stammers, “Um, no. But—but you’re ok, right?”

“I’m perfect, it felt really good,” you tell her, and you can hear Dieter’s laughter over the laptop, “Thank you for checking on me, though. I appreciate it.” 

“Sure,” she nods, then starts to walk away, glancing back over her shoulder as she goes.

You close the door and lock it, then burst out in giggles as you go back to the laptop, seeing Dieter smiling from ear-to-ear. 

He tells you, “That was adorable.”

“That was my neighbor thinking I’ve fully fucking lost my mind,” you snort, then glance up at the the clock on your oven, “Fuck, I have to get back to work.” 

He gives you a thumbs down and jeers, “Boooooo!”

The thought of him not wanting this call to end yet makes your insides twist. You roll your eyes playfully, “It’s been lovely smoking and screaming with you.”

“Waking and baking with you has been a delight, Lua, we should do it again soon,” he smiles, running a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah?” you beam, licking your lips before asking, “Do you mean that?”

“Obviously,” he scoffs, and you’re sort of glad you can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses when his voice softens and he tells you, “Really, Lua. I’d love to do this again. I’m not just saying that.”

“Ok,” you grin like a fool and nod, “I would love to do this again, too.” 

“I’ll let you get to it. Tell Parker I said hi give him a bit ole smooch for me, will ya?” 

“I will,” you wave,” Bye, Dee.”

He kisses his hand and presses it to the camera, then says, “Talk to you soon, doll.” 

#psychomanteum #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fluff #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic

[eddiesguitarskills]

When We Were Young

Part 3

Ex Eddie Munson X reader

Other parts 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Intro: 5 years have past since you packed up and left behind Hawkins. Well not all of it, as the people you met there are still a huge part of your life. But it's been 5 years since you had set a foot in the small town, 5 years since you left him. And now after all that time you were back.

Warning: angst, language, mentions of suicide, miscarriages, self harm, mental health. Use of y/n. Slow burn. Arguments. Mentions of break ups. Female identity reader.

Bold parts are flashbacks

Word count: 2.2k

A/n: please only read if you are in a good place, I wouldn't want this story to trigger or hurt anyone. I'm sorry this part it short but I didn't want to add loads in when it felt like a good place to end this part. Also there will be happy moments coming soon, it's just super slow burn. Let me know if you wanna be tagged in the next part, thank you for reading

Not prove read.

Despite the panic attack you had after Eddie left, you still went downstairs and pretended to be fine. Everyone was so excited to see you, you didn’t want to ruin that. You couldn't let them see how broken you felt. You had to be okay. You couldn't make them worry about you again, especially Steve. So you smiled and laughed, pretending your hands weren’t hurting from your nails digging into the palms.

After a long night, you went to your new house, you couldn’t make it to the bedroom with how emotionally exhausted you felt. So tired, that you couldn’t even make sounds as you silently sobbed on the sofa until you eventually fell asleep.

You woke up with the promise today would be a better day, last night you just slipped into your old self. You were better now. No stupid ex could ruin your progress. You needed to get some groceries for the house so at least you had something to distract your mind for a little while.

As you drove in your new red Ford (well it was a used ford from a couple of years) to the grocery store you expected everything to look different, but to your surprise, it was the same. The florist with the pink lettering on the window spelling out its name Haley’s, the paint had slightly started to peel but it was still there. The 50% off at the clothing boutique. Even the graffiti that was on the side of the market was still there, from four years ago. The town was stuck in a time warp, maybe it wouldn’t take as much time to adjust.

Grabbing a shopping cart you slowly walk down the isles not sticking to the list you wrote at home. Picking up all sorts of snacks. You had missed American cuisine. Your cart was getting full. I guess it’s true what they said about how you shouldn't come shopping on an empty stomach. The cart was old and rusty, meaning the fuller the cart got the harder to steer it was. The wheels screeched and lagged every time a new item was added. You turned the corner to enter another aisle when the left wheel furthest away from you decided to jam, ramming you into a customer's cart.

“I am so sorry” you look up at the old man wearing a cap. Maybe it wasn’t your ex you were a magnet too, maybe it was just the Munson’s. He frowned at you. Okay so maybe not everything was the same. Wayne was known for being grumpy to others but you only knew him as a sweetheart he was never anything but kind to you. You had never seen him look at you like this. There was a disappointment hidden beneath his eyes, that you, unfortunately, didn’t miss. “For what? Bumping into my cart or breaking my son’s heart?” You don’t know what you expected him to say. But maybe silence would have been better. The words stung you.

His son was the one to break your heart, not the other way around. Sure it might have hurt him when you left, but how were you supposed to feel when he didn’t give you a choice? And the only way of having part of him was taken away from you.

“Do you want me to be your little housewife and have food on the table ready for when you get back from your big successful job?". You stared in disbelief despite the thoughts building like a storm in your head. “Is that what you think?” He hated when you used that voice. The one where it sounded like you were about to break.

It made him hate himself more than he already did. Maybe this is why he was treating you this way. Seeing if you take his bait, to see if you thought he was as worthless as he felt. He didn’t want to hear that voice in his head, he didn’t want to see the disappointment on your face right now, he just needed something to numb it all. So he turned away from you in search of a blunt, a pill, powder, anything.

His turning away from you, caused the storm to break loose, this was the end and he wasn’t even kind enough to break up with you in words. “Fuck you” you whispered and left. You got in your car. Driving as far as you could from him. You could see just enough to get as far as the Family Video which wasn’t a long way from the trailer park before your tears completely cover your eyes sight. You pulled up not wanting to risk anyone’s life. breathing heavily, panic intensifying. In comprehensive words being screamed from your mouth. Cursing out to the universe, Eddie and apologising to the life in your stomach.

God how you wanted to curse his nephew out and tell Wayne the whole truth. But as Eddie said you were nothing so why did it matter anymore? You did hate how you had never said goodbye to the man who took you into his family so easily. Making sure you were always welcome. Making sure your favourite snacks were in his home despite not having the money and living paycheck to paycheck. So you just said “I’m sorry Wayne” he didn’t need to know that it was an apology to him, not his nephew.

His face didn’t change, you guess this was the Wayne Munson everyone talked about, the cold-hearted, scary guy. You had never been on the receiving end of this version of him but it was frightening. So you looked down, scared if you look up for a second more you would cry. “That kid already had a hard enough life, he didn’t need you promising him a better one and then being like the rest of them. You messed him up so bad that he’s only now just starting to smile again. So if you plan on staying don’t you dare hurt him again”. With that threat he left. You wanted to leave the store than to wallow, but you stood in fear not wanting to cross paths with a Munson again. “Are you okay ma’am?” a shop clerk addresses you. You nod “I’m fine thank you.”

Thankfully you wouldn’t cross paths with another Munson today as Wayne had gone to work and the younger Munson was still in bed hungover. Deciding not to come into work today, he might as well have gone in with how many times Sarah had called, asking how to do things, that she should know how to do. Hearing the constant rings and her voice was giving the boy a headache. Eddie didn’t realise she was only doing this to make sure he was okay, it wasn’t like him to call in sick. After plumping his pillow and changing positions back and forth, he found a comfortable spot and started to close his eyes.

The phone rang again, and he groaned. Picking it up now pissed. “Come on Sarah you called 10 minutes ago, you’re a floor manager you should be better than this. Use some instinct, I shouldn’t have to hold your hand through this”. A male’s chuckle made him realise that it wasn’t his employee on the phone. He knew that laugh anywhere and right now he would have preferred to hear from Sarah 20 more times if it meant not talking to Harrington. “You seem like such a lovely boss” Steve joked, hoping to gauge Eddie’s mood. When he didn’t laugh back or make a snide remark, when he was met with silence. He realise how pissed Eddie was, he was never the quiet type.

Steve sighed “look I know I should have given you a heads up, trust me I was going to. I just got so excited about having her back that I didn’t think-“. Eddie rolled his eyes cutting in “yeah you didn’t think”. Steve ignore the rise Eddie was trying to cause and continued. “I was going to tell you, I just didn’t expect you there, not that I didn’t want to see you. I just didn’t know Dustin invited you. I hoped the first time you met again would go better, I didn't plan for it to go like that”. If the men were in the same room, Eddie might have hit the boy, even if he didn’t mean it. With the rage he was feeling. “Better? Do you really think we could ever get along, After what she did?”.

"shut it Munson" Oh, it was definitely a good job they weren't in the same room. Steve didn’t snap anymore. He tried not to raise his voice because he hated how it made him feel like his father. But he would not have Eddie speak about you like that. Especially with what he did. He had come so far with Eddie, after the first couple of months of the incident he couldn't even look at him. But after time he forgave and tried to understand the boy. But he never forgot. How could he forget?

Steve was blinded by the headlight pouring into the shop window. After a long 12-hour shift he was super tired and didn’t need this. He left the shop storming over to the car, about to tell the jerk off. Until he came closer and realised it was your car. He walked over quicker, wondering what you were up to. Were you trying to be funny, by annoying him? He supposed this is what best friends did. He grabbed open your door, trying to scare you. To get his own back. However, as soon as the door opened, he saw you hysterically crying, clutching your stomach. He got down to his knees in front of you, rubbing your arms. “It hurts so much”.

He wanted to cry looking at you like this, you were always the strong one. The anchor in his life. No matter how scared or how much of a dick he was, you brought him back to earth. You were never like this. You squeezed your eyes in pain, holding your stomach tighter. This was worse than the pain he felt when Nancy left, worse than anything with the upside down. This was the most heartbreaking thing he had ever seen. But he had to be as strong for you as you had been for him. So he sniffed back up the tears. “What hurts y/n?”. You pull his hand from your arm to your stomach. “It hurts Steve”. He couldn't be sure, he hoped it was just stomach pain and not... God, he hoped it wasn't that. All he knew is that he needed to take you to the hospital. “Can you move?”

Eddie wasn't used to this version of Steve, even when they weren't friends Steve hadn't spoken to him like this. At that moment he realised that if there was a choice Steve would always pick you, and maybe all his friends would always pick you. Why was he the only that hated you? At that moment he felt more alone than he had in years. It made him scared, he couldn't be abandoned again. He felt like a child scared of his dad, feeling like he disappointed him. With how quickly Steve was to turn his back on him he wondered if everyone else felt the same. Was he just a place holder until you came back?

You had left, he had stuck around. Sat with his friends while they cried. Make them laugh on bad days. Trained Dustin to be a Dm. Went to hospital appointments with friends. Stayed awake talking them down from nightmares. All while suffering from his own traumas. He never complained because that's what friends do. Especially when they had gone through what they had. You left everyone, and now you could just come back, and everyone would love you. What do you know about hard?

“She got to leave, it couldn't have been that bad.” Steve growled through the phone “you don’t know shit Munson” he slammed the phone down. Eddie was all alone, well not completely, he had his thoughts. He was now wishing for Sarah to call. He felt like he was being smothered by thoughts, what did Steve mean? Eddie might have been mean that night to you, but surely it wasn't enough to qualify this sort of response. How had you had a hard life? Had something happened? Was he missing something? He shook his head. No, he hated you, he needs to keep it this way. He picked up the phone and rang Sarah, as soon as he heard her voice he spoke. “Come over after work”. He slammed the phone down. He needed to forget, Sarah could help with that even if it was only a couple of hours.

A couple of hours before the thoughts would come back and he was swarmed by curiosity, pain and loneliness.

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[trulybetty]

dec' x 04 - scarf

Prompt: scarf Pairing: jack daniels x reader Word Count: 643 Warnings: I think jack comes with his own warnings doesn't he? nothing going on here except a very loose use of today's prompt! these are characters from a wip that hasn't even seen the light of day, let alone been finished - talk about working backwards 😆 Summary: let's get this out there, I know nothing about Kentucky except that my favourite Backstreet Boy when I was younger is from there - but I Googled until I couldn't Google anymore to confirm it does snow there! So, on with the story, it's a trip into town, which requires the use of the ranch's old truck. AO3: Linked

x. masterlist

The morning sun cast a low, pale light over the ranch, reflecting off the snow-dusted fields as you stepped outside, the crisp coolness of a Kentucky winter morning nipping at your cheeks. Jack was waiting for you, leaning against the barn door with a lazy grin on his face, his breath misting in the chilly air, his gaze fixed on the old Chevy truck parked nearby, its edges lined with a fine layer of frost.

“I suppose they don't have trucks like this in the city,” he drawled, the teasing lilt in his voice muffled somewhat by his thick scarf.

You arched an eyebrow at him, wrapping your coat tighter around you. “You know, the city has trucks too, right? They're not exclusive to the country—even in the winter.”

His chuckle was a warm rumble in the cold, mixing with the muted chirping of winter-hardy birds. He sauntered over to the truck, his boots leaving prints in the light dusting of snow on the gravel drive. “But they're all sleek and heated,” he pointed out, resting a gloved hand on the hood of the truck, the blue paint chipped and dulled, a contrast with the white of the snow.

“And?” You tilted your head, the frosty air turning your breath into clouds.

His eyes twinkled with amusement, “This here is a manual sugar—with no heated seats.”

You feigned a gasp as you clutched at your chest, “I do declare,” you said with a dramatic impression of a southern accent, “whatever will I do?” you followed him to the truck, a wide smile spreading across your face.

He gave you a long, considering look, then shook his head with a sheepish grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You sure you can drive it, Mouse?”

You blinked at him, then burst into laughter, “Mouse?” you managed to gasp out between chuckles, your breath forming puffs of mist.

He shrugged, “You're our city mouse, aren't you?”

You took a deep breath, your chest heaving in the heavy coat, trying to quell your laugh. “I’d take that ridiculous nickname you gave me over Mouse. Also, you know, my actual name works just as well?”

“I know.” His voice was quiet, the words hanging in the air between you, the mention of the city a reminder that your time at the ranch was temporary with the lawyers meeting at the end of the month.

A moment of silence settled between you as you both took in the truck, the ranch, and the snow-capped day stretching out before you.

Jack moved to the passenger door, opening it with a gesture for you to get inside that sent a small cascade of snowflakes to the ground. 

You shook your head, smiling despite the chill, “Are you getting in?” you asked.

Jack's eyebrows shot up, his surprise visible even with his hat pulled down low. “You don't want me to drive?”

You smirked, the keys jingling like ice in your hand. “Get in the truck, Jack.” The challenge was clear in your tone, even as your breath fogged the air.

As you both climbed in, the old leather seats creaking and stiff from the cold, you felt a surge of anticipation. Your brother, twelve years older than you, had insisted on you learning how to drive stick, and you couldn’t have been more thankful for it despite all your protests so many years ago. You slid the key into the ignition and with a satisfying roar, the truck came to life, the engine's heat slowly battling the frost on the windshield. Jack glanced over at you with a mix of surprise and respect as you shifted the truck into gear with ease.

With a final smirk in his direction, you pulled out of the driveway, the truck's tires crunching over the snow, ready to tackle the winter roads into town.

#december x 500 #agent whiskey #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x female reader #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels fanfic