#His Dark Materals

[lightningmcqueeniloveyou]

Sometimes my day is going fine then I think about the theory for Mater's tall tales series where everything Mater said was real and Lightning didnt remember it because in the first tale, where Mater did the stunt thing by the cliff, Lightning did fall down the cliff and kinda died and Doc had to rebuild him completely so now he has holes in his memories.

#it was a suuuuuper far fetch theory ngl #like wattttt #i mean i guess Mater's tales could be real since the end of each eps is kinda trying to hint that #but like #the angst potentials #trigger warning tho #Doc seeing his son's dead body and having to rebuild him? #Mater being the one who some what directly caused this #Mater having to tell Doc? #my God how will Sally react? #was the town in on it too? did they all act as normal as a once dead Lightning just walk around in the town? #suuuuper dark and heavy im sorry ya'll #but the angst scratches my brain ngl

[chuluoyi]

fear

- gojo satoru x reader

his best friend’s defection is still a hard topic for him to swallow, and it leads into an unexpected argument that spurs you to leave, only to unlock a new fear in him when you get into an unfortunate accident afterwards.

genre/warnings: angst, gojo being mean, one scene with a worried nanami *wink*, injured reader, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end

notes: *sigh* my coping mechanism is still gojo’s past arc, which is why this piece takes place on that timeline. just a little context: reader is in the same class with nanami & haibara and was in the same mission that took haibara's life. this is probably the longest oneshot i've written so far sooo… enjoy! :)

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

A year and a half had passed since Suguru embarked on his path as a curse user. In that one year and a half, Satoru had finished his last year at Jujutsu High, and now was in the halls of his alma mater, speaking to the newly appointed headmaster who was none other than his teacher.

"You're applying to become a teacher?" Yaga asked again with a frown. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. Granted, he was his most troublesome pupil. "Why, Satoru?"

"If I said it's because I want to train young sorcerers to be strong, would you believe me?"

That was not a lie. It was actually 50% of his main reasons anyway. The other 50% was to repent what he missed with Suguru when he chose his dark path—his contempt with the current system of this jujutsu world.

"I would," Yaga responded gruffly. To him, Satoru was irritating, but he also knew that he was also extremely capable, and thus everything he did wasn't just out of nowhere. "But you still have to submit your applications. We can't make an exception even if you come from a prestigious clan."

"That's fine with me," he grinned. "Thanks, sensei."

On summer days, he'd get reminded of Suguru and silly things they had done together. Eating shaved ice, cycling together, driving either you, Shoko or Nanami mad. Satoru missed those days, it hadn't been the same ever since. Not knowing if his best friend was alright—if he was still alive at all—was exhausting.

Sometimes, he felt like he was the only one who was affected by his departure, the only one who stayed right where Suguru left him. Shoko didn't seem ruffled, if anything she just went to more bars and pachinko parlors as of late. Nanami was always a recluse, he never disclosed his feelings. You mourned him, but it was clear that most part of you would always be more focused on Haibara's death.

Satoru understood that he couldn't force anyone to feel what he felt, and he had no right to. But sometimes, he just wanted someone to connect with at his level. Someone to get him just like Suguru did.

And so when he got back to his condo that night—just right next to the one he rented for Megumi and Tsumiki, since he had moved out of his dorm—to find his girlfriend there with a big smile and a tray of cupcakes, unaware of everything and anything, he merely scoffed to himself.

"Satoru, you're back," you acknowledged, beaming like the sunshine you were. "I just baked these for the kids. Do you want some?"

Usually he'd smother you, throw some pickup lines here and there and say yes, but today, he just felt drained. "No." And with that, he stalked away to the bathroom, not glancing back at you.

It was wrong. But tonight he just wanted some peace and quiet, and so keeping his silence seemed to be the best choice as he didn't want to start a pointless argument with you. But you weren’t anything but observant, and definitely noticed that something was amiss with him.

"Are you... alright?" You approached him warily after he came out of the bathroom with wet hair. "Where were you today?"

"Just somewhere," he replied curtly. Afterwards he turned on the hairdryer, drowning the whole place with the noise even as you stood behind him with a visible question mark.

But you were still there after he dried his hair. "Is something bothering you?" you asked with a tilt of your head, concerned. By all means, you mean well. You just wanted to know if he could use your help at all.

When you pulled that expression, he couldn't help feeling annoyed, like he wanted you to take a hint, but you just didn't. "If you know, then just shut it."

It was probably the first time since the two of you got together that Satoru actually said something harsh. But you still tried to be reasonable though, bless you.

"Satoru, I don't know what got into your nerves like this, but I think sleeping through it might help. Have a rest."

"Why are you talking as if you know it?" he snapped, finally turning to you with his cold gaze. "You might not know anything, so don't be a know-it-all. Just mind your own business."

Now you were frustrated with his reply. "Once again, I don't know what happened to you. But if you're taking it out on me because I'm the closest you have—"

"Who said that?" Satoru didn't know where he got all this venom from. It was just at the forefront of his mind and he just got the urge to spew it. "You're considering yourself closest to me? Where did you get that big head from?"

You were aghast, and you blinked a few times to get your bearings. "Let me guess, it's about Geto-san, isn't it? Or the higher ups. Either of that must be what causing you to blindly place your anger on me."

"So what if it was? It isn't like you'll understand anyway."

"Satoru," you started, trying to even your breathing. "What happened to Geto-san isn't your fault. I've been telling you this. It can't be helped—"

"Can't be helped?" he jeered. "Do you know why it has come to this?" his tone took a dangerous edge as he stepped closer. He reached for you, grasping your wrist.

"Maybe because I was too blind back then. If it weren't for you—if only I didn't spend that much time on you, maybe he would still be here."

Did he just say that? Did he just imply that he had regretted the two of you getting together?

You felt your lower lip start to tremble and something seemed to obscure and blur your vision, making it hard to see him clearly. "You... don't mean that."

"Really?" the corner of his lips curled into a disparaging smile. "You never know. Before you know it, this can be over already. After all, I could have anyone out there that I want. Maybe someone less nosey than—”

That did it. You wrenched your arm out of his grip violently, as your first tear fell. His smirk vanished too, replaced with a total stillness to cover his sudden panic that was followed by a sudden sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach.

"You selfish, self-obsessed jerk," you hissed through watery eyes. He was taken aback, even amidst your anger and possible fear of him, your still managed to throw daggers at him. "Fine. You have it. I'll see myself out."

Satoru never wanted you to leave. Honestly, he would've made you stay. But he wasn't in the right state of mind and it was too late to take back what he said. He didn't want to mess this up even further.

You left the cupcakes, even throwing it away just to spite him. Driven by pain and humiliation, you choked back your sob and didn't spare a glance at him as you shut the door.

Peace and quiet. There he had it, he thought as he clenched his fists, at the cost of everything else.

Leaving that condo, every step you took felt like needles piercing your shattered heart. You wiped your tears roughly. No, you refused to cry over such asshole. He made it clear, didn't he? Whatever it was that you two shared, it was at the cost of his best friend leaving him. So now the blame was on you.

If you were thinking clearly, you would've understood that his words were likely a result of his own pent-up pain and frustration that he had kept to himself for some while. But you had no patience for that or even pinpoint what you felt right now—anger, disappointment or dread, or perhaps all three. You just felt wrongly accused.

Your feet brought you back to your dorm in the school. Now it wasn't as bustling as it once were. After Satoru and Shoko's graduation, you didn't really get close to anyone. There was Ichiji, but he treated you more like a mentor rather than a classmate.

As you sank into the comforts of your bed, You replayed the events, trying to find where it went wrong—and found nothing. After all, you had already said all that could be said. It wasn't just him who lost Geto, but you, Shoko and Nanami did too, but it was more convenient for Satoru to blame everyone else rather than trying to understand that they too shared this pain.

Nevertheless, you were disappointed. You didn't expect half of what he spouted, and it got you doubting everything you had.

"You've royally fucked up."

Satoru exhaled, glaring at Shoko through the corner of his eyes. "Yeah, maybe."

The reverse cursed technique user threw him a blank stare, taking in everything from his disheveled hair to his wrinkled trousers. "Gojo, as much as I can’t care less about your sorry ass, I'm saying this not out of concern for you, but rather for Y/N. You are an asshole."

The puff of smoke she blew expanded to create a cloud-like shape. "Yaga-sensei was our teacher. His student is now a mass murderer and wanted dead. Can you even imagine how he feels? And I can't believe I'm saying this—but weren't there three of us?"

A week had gone by and instead of doing the right thing like trying to get into your good graces, Satoru was in Shoko's infirmary in the headquarters instead. He didn't exactly know what he was looking for by going here. Maybe some lingering taste of his happier student days, and Shoko was the only one remaining.

Three of us, huh... she was right. That was precisely why he came here after all.

"You're just sulking because it seems no one cares about your best friend being the best there is. But have you thought about how our juniors also lost Haibara? Right in front of their eyes? Haibara was our friend too."

He was wrong, of course he was. Satoru realized that now. But it felt wrong to ask for your forgiveness now, not to mention the disrupting thought he had—should he let you go for good altogether?

The phone suddenly rang with such fervor that made Shoko utter a swear word. She was on call duty for the rescue team today, and it was supposedly a peaceful day until Satoru decided to barge in to become her company. "Hello? Ichiji? What—speak clearly, I can't hear you."

She switched it to loudspeaker. "...iri-san! Ieiri-san—h-help—please—"

It was noisy, and blaring at the same time, and Ichiji was... Sobbing? Choking? His voice was terribly muffled and—

"L/N-san!" he cried, and Satoru remembered at that moment that you should be in a mission with Ichiji, he remembered you telling him before.

"Hic—s-she fell... hic—she fell! B-blood! She i-is bleeding so much! I-Ieiri-san—hic—s-send help! Please!"

"Hey, stay awake. Breathe. Just breathe."

Everything hurt. Most notably, your head. You could hardly think straight when all you felt was blinding pain and how your breaths came in short wheezes. 

Your vision was blurry. The numbness had started to set in and chills ran up and down your spine. You couldn't make out who in front of you was. Was it Ichiji, who went with you in this mission? The only thing that glared was blue.

"You can't sleep, you hear me?" the voice was commanding, willing you to do his bidding. It was familiar, but usually his tone of voice was much lighter, happier.

Satoru.

But why was he here? He wasn't in this mission. It was supposed to be a mission for you and Ichiji.

You remembered getting the cursed spirit after manifesting your domain expansion, until in its last ditch attempt, it went after Ichiji. You had no choice—even when your cursed energy had burned out, you still shoved him away at the cost of being flung from the top of a building.

Not again. Not after Haibara. You’d gladly pay the price if it meant you didn't have to see anyone die in front of you again.

"I..." You managed to croak out—breathing hurt, and you felt your hands being grasped tightly.

"Hey, just breathe. Y/N. Look at me.” Through your blurry haze, you focused on that cold blue, and you saw him. Satoru's sharp eyes, pursed lips and frown. He's really here.

Satoru always said that if there was a cursed spirit apocalypse, then Ichiji would be the first to die. You used to scold him for that, but now as you a laid here possibly dying in your own pool of blood, you found it to be true.

Yet at the same time you knew that with him here, Ichiji must be safe already, and it gave you reassurance so great even when you were on the verge of dying. "I... can't..."

"Yes, you can. Just look at me," he firmly rebuked, his voice came out in a hiss. For all the time you had been with him, you had never heard him so forceful. "If you close your eyes now, I won't forgive you. So please, just hang in there."

It was a struggle to take in any air and darkness encroached on your vision as your consciousness began slipping away.

And everything faded to nothingness.

Satoru honestly thought he had no fears. His worst fear had fully realized after all—Suguru going away into the darkness. What more could he possibly fear?

But when he heard Ichiji's distress call for rescue team, about how you fell from a rooftop of a building and unconscious, he realized that it was a fear he didn't know existed. His mind got disoriented and he teleported to the scene on impulse. He just had to see it for himself. With their petty argument still lacking closure, he felt even worse.

And the sight before him gave him so much fright he never thought was possible.

It was a mistake, he should have brought Shoko along.

You had laid there like a broken doll, your eyes dimmed, and not been able to breathe. He desperately tried to keep you awake, his presence beside you, yet it didn't seem to matter. He watched helplessly as you passed out in his arms.

Satoru felt nothing. The panic that had set in was suddenly gone as your limp body slumped against him, replaced by incessant ringing in his ears and tremor wracking his nervous system. It wasn't long until the rescue team came to retrieve you and even then he still felt numb. He rejected the idea that you might possibly die on him.

That went on until Shoko, who assisted in the emergency treatment, came out of the surgery, sweat on her forehead.

"It's even worse than the aftermath of the guardian deity mission last year," Shoko explained with a grim expression. "Her brain has sustained damage and it affects everything. It may take her quite a while before she can go back to the field."

When she said that, Satoru felt terror washed over him again. You almost died—was all he perceived.

The two of you had no contact for a week just because of his ego. He could still recall that day with vivid clarity, feeling a burning ache in his chest. If someone were to ask him what heartbreak was like, now he certainly would he able the to tell them the two instances in which he experienced them. What he felt now mirrored the same stinging sensation he had felt when Suguru left him.

He visited you when he was allowed to, and you were still unconscious, with many machines connected to your body. It was a sight he still couldn’t bring himself to get used to. He had seen you injured before, but never seen you in your own pool of blood, so this made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Stupid," he whispered, gently rubbing your forehead. His eyes remained fixated on you as you rested, his insides still churning with emotions. "You're not weak, and you're not hopeless." Once upon a time, Satoru might have thought of you as weak, but now he knew better.

"So why you always pick the worst decision?" The more he thought this could've been avoided, the more irked he was. The thought that he could have done something to prevent it intensified the sting of guilt, and he continued to punish himself with it.

And the more he dwelled on the idea that he had hurt you prior to this, the tighter his breath became.

But that was who you were. Self-sacrificing to a fault. And he loved you for that. There was no way of him letting you go now.

It astonished even himself—that he was capable of this love thing. At first it was an attraction, but now that you had been going on for more than a year, it felt like it was no longer a silly infatuation after all.

"Hurry and wake up, will you?" Satoru gently brushed your hair aside, his eyes fixed on you. He didn't know it even as his gut twisted, his frown deepened and his touch quivered, that he was worried sick. "I have a lot to make up for."

And he left you with a tender brush of his lips against your forehead.

Nanami Kento was the first person you saw when you awoke from coma.

You struggled to regain your senses, still feeling absolutely broken. The dull throb on the back of your head was still there, and as if you had found yourself trapped in a fog, you were only able to move sluggishly.

"You're awake?" his gruff voice greeted, laced with concern. In his hand were a bucket of fresh flowers and fruits basket, which he soon placed at the table next to your bed.

It was unexpected, because ever since the tragedy that costed Haibara's life, the two of you had been drifting apart.

You nodded, and let out a hum in response—all you could manage at the moment.

"Thank God." Nanami sounded relieved as he pinched the bridge between his eyes, and you were moved that he had shown this degree of concern.

Your remaining classmate, who suffered the burden of Haibara's life just like you. He was always quiet or brooding somewhere, hiding his own feelings.

You felt tears pricking the corner of your eyes. The fact that he visited you meant that he hadn't decided to cut you out of his life yet.

"Gojo-san is out today, but he'll be back by afternoon," he said, mistranslating your tears as some sort of a want to have your annoying—ex?—boyfriend at your side.

The two of you were still not on talking terms, weren’t you?

You so badly wanted to say thank you to him—and tell him that no, you weren't looking for Satoru—but it came out hoarse and barely above a whisper.

"Huh?" Nanami then realized what you were trying to say, and a faint smile graced his lips. "Just... get well soon, L/N. Have a good rest."

Just before you drifted back to sleep, you could hear him sigh and mutter, "Hello, Gojo-san? L/N has awakened. Just letting you know is all.”

You weren't sure how much time had passed when you woke up the second time, but the curtains were already drawn and only darkness came from the window. Your body felt lighter, but you still felt like a mess and and couldn't help but groan in discomfort.

Satoru was there, he perked up at the noise you made. And you realized that it was the first time in about a week that he faced you after that disasterous almost-breakup.

He walked up to you, his expression was more hopeful than you had ever seen him before, like a kid whose wish had been granted. He slowly shifted to sit beside you.

"Hey, welcome back." His voice was soft. It was a change of pace for him, as you were used to seeing him all loud and silly.

Now your voice no longer sounds like a lead. "Hey."

"How are you feeling?" he asked and you took a moment to look at him. He was smiling, but exhaustion reached his bright eyes, dimming them. "You know, with the whole you passing out and almost dying thing?"

His words were almost humorous as he spoke, like he didn't know what else to say except try to lighten the mood, but there was also a strain on his tone, like he was holding back.

"I'm quite fine now, I suppose..." You still felt the lingering pain and dizziness as you slowly sat up. Satoru reached out to steady you—and you realized how his fingers trembled when they made contact with your body—as his brows furrowed with worry when you winced.

"You don't look like it though." His voice dropped and the humor was gone, replaced by this haunted look. You blinked. It was probably the first time you had seem him this ruffled.

He immediately pulled you into a hug, cradling your head to his neck gently, as if to protect and shield you from the world altogether. Exhaling heavily, he leaned on you. "You scared me, you know that?"

You wondered out loud if you really had that hold over him. "Did I?"

"You can't do that to me, you hear?" Satoru stroked your hair, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck. His voice quivered. “Don't ever do that again.”

He pulled you tighter against him, but still careful not to crush you.

You let out a snicker, letting go of everything you felt during this horrible week. "Heh, afraid to lose me, huh?"

"Shut up,” he grumbled. “What were you thinking anyway? How did you calculate that freefalling is better than letting that cursed spirit attack Ichiji?”

"He was defenseless. He could die, you know that."

"And you also can," he quipped, upset, pulling away enough to look you squarely in the eyes, his eyes devoid of any expression, yet filled with a raging wave that you could only interpret as undiluted concern.

The emphasis in his tone made you recoil and feel guilty. If you were in his shoes, you probably would've said the same thing and so you had nothing to say to that.

But the more pressing agenda in the list was the unspoken silent treatment the two of you saw fit to use against each other for the last few days. Satoru was the one who decided to address it first.

"About that night..." he faltered, looking away. "I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry."

Satoru always had trouble processing emotions. This time too. He must've a hard time dealing with the anxiety caused by the possibility of him losing you for good, no matter how much he tried to be unaware of it.

"..." You wanted to respond, to make him understand your point, but somehow right now you were just too weary. And he sensed your reluctance. So you blurted the first thing that gnawed at your mind.

“You said you could have any other women out there—”

"No, really—" he started to panic, and it was blatantly too, which surprised you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Us. I don't regret anything. I’m not breaking up with you. Being with you is the happiest I've been ever since Suguru left."

“That's...” you blinked, before letting out a small sigh. “Okay. Fine then. Let's just put it behind us for now.”

“I—” he almost wheezed, his bright blue eyes were overtaken with sheer urgency to explain how wrong everything had been that night. “You must know that I didn’t mean any of it. And that I hate hurting you the way I did. I won’t—”

"Satoru, I understand," you let out another sigh, fidgeting with your fingers. "Sometimes when I’m reminded of Haibara, I also get sad. I don't want to presume but I think I know how you feel. Just next time, maybe," you shifted your gaze on him, seeing how you had his attention fully. Gojo Satoru, the strongest now, was looking at you as if you had his fate in your hands. "Just tell me if you need space and I would have understood."

"Yeah, okay, sure," he responded immediately, relieved, before a lopsided grin appeared on his face, turning him back into your dork slash boyfriend. "So, am I forgiven now?"

"A thank you would be nice."

In the end, he chuckled, seemingly resigned. "You should sleep more."

He positioned himself into bed next to you, and you let him pull you into his chest again. You could feel how his taut back started to relax upon the contact. He pressed his lips on your forehead in a fleeting kiss.

"Promise me you won't pull that stunt again.”

You smirked. "I can't. What if Ichiji—"

"Then just let him die."

You swatted his arm playfully, pressing your head to his chest as he continued to run his fingers on your hair. He cushioned you carefully, and you felt the tension in him slowly melt away with each breath you took. In your mind, you figured he needed this closeness more than you did, if anything, for the sake of his sanity.

“I love you,” he whispered by your ear, kissing it lightly.

“Mmhm.”

As you felt Satoru's calming presence, it helped ease you into slumber. You soon found yourself in a deep sleep, comfortably held in his embrace.

Epilogue

Ichiji gulped as Satoru stared him down, sizing him up as if he was the most despicable creature on this planet.

Okay, he might be. He was a coward, all he could do was trembling in the face of evil. But he had come in peace, even bringing fruits as an offering! He felt bad too that he was the partial cause for you to be this injured.

He was used to Satoru terrorizing him—calling him names, slapping him, and whatnot—and he could take it. Just this time, he really looked like he could murder him on the spot if he wanted to. A small part of Ichiji mourned that you were his girlfriend, because that pretty much sealed his fate that Gojo Satoru could indeed murder him on the spot because he had a valid enough reason to.

"You are—"

"No! I'm sorry, Gojo-san! I'm sorry for my incompetence!"

"Hah?"

If he was mildly irked before, now Satoru was visibly irritated.

"You're not cut out to be a jujutsu sorcerer," he started. "You're useless. You just get in the way most of the time."

Ichiji kept his head down. No, no. He can't cry!

"Get your driving license or I'll slap the shit out of you."

"Oh?" and before he knew it, Satoru had stalked away, leaving him in the dust. How rude! But...

Get a driver license? Quit the jujutsu work?

Hey, that sounds like something I can do!

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru angst #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jjk fluff #hurt/comfort #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk gojo #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk x you #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #nanami kento #jjk gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru imagines #gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

[the-agent-of-blight]

it's your turn to answer 46 now

daniel Jackson from Stargate SG-1 i gotta say like technically he started as a movie character so im counting it. I understand him he loves cultures he loves learning so much he's such a nerd and he cares about meaning of life type stuff and he like cares about his friends and likes to try and help them in their times of need. just like me fr fr

#omnipotent-darkness #also lowkey wanna go to his alma mater for higher education #it looks so pretty

[rachel-614]

Okay, let me tell you a story:

Once upon a time, there was a prose translation of the Pearl Poet’s Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. It was wonderfully charming and lyrical and perfect for use in a high school, and so a clever English teacher (as one did in the 70s) made a scan of the book for her students, saved it as a pdf, and printed copies off for her students every year. In true teacher tradition, she shared the file with her colleagues, and so for many years the students of the high school all studied Sir Gawain and the Green Knight from the same (very badly scanned) version of this wonderful prose translation.

In time, a new teacher became head of the English Department, and while he agreed that the prose translation was very wonderful he felt that the quality of the scan was much less so. Also in true teacher tradition, he then spent hours typing up the scan into a word processor, with a few typos here and there and a few places where he was genuinely just guessing wildly at what the scan actually said. This completed word document was much cleaner and easier for the students to read, and so of course he shared it with his colleagues, including his very new wide-eyed faculty member who was teaching British Literature for the first time (this was me).

As teachers sometimes do, he moved on for greener (ie, better paying) pastures, leaving behind the word document, but not the original pdf scan. This of course meant that as I was attempting to verify whether a weird word was a typo or a genuine artifact of the original translation, I had no other version to compare it to. Being a good card-holding gen zillenial I of course turned to google, making good use of the super secret plagiarism-checking teacher technique “Quotation Marks”, with an astonishing result:

By which I mean literally one result.

For my purposes, this was precisely what I needed: a very clean and crisp scan that allowed me to make corrections to my typed edition: a happily ever after, amen.

But beware, for deep within my soul a terrible Monster was stirring. Bane of procrastinators everywhere, my Curiosity had found a likely looking rabbit hole. See, this wonderfully clear and crisp scan was lacking in two rather important pieces of identifying information: the title of the book from which the scan was taken, and the name of the translator. The only identifying features were the section title “Precursors” (and no, that is not the title of the book, believe me I looked) and this little leaf-like motif by the page numbers:

(Remember the leaf. This will be important later.)

We shall not dwell at length on the hours of internet research that ensued—how the sun slowly dipped behind the horizon, grading abandoned in shadows half-lit by the the blue glow of the computer screen—how google search after search racked up, until an email warning of “unusual activity on your account” flashed into momentary existence before being consigned immediately and with some prejudice to the digital void—how one third of the way through a “comprehensive but not exhaustive” list of Sir Gawain translators despair crept in until I was left in utter darkness, screen black and eyes staring dully at the wall.

Above all, let us not admit to the fact that such an afternoon occurred not once, not twice, but three times.

Suffice to say, many hours had been spent in fruitless pursuit before a new thought crept in: if this book was so mysterious, so obscure as to defeat the modern search engine, perhaps the answer lay not in the technologies of today, but the wisdom of the past. Fingers trembling, I pulled up the last blast email that had been sent to current and former faculty and staff, and began to compose an email to the timeless and indomitable woman who had taught English to me when I was a student, and who had, after nearly fifty years, retired from teaching just before I returned to my alma mater.

After staring at the email for approximately five or so minutes, I winced, pressed send, and let my plea sail out into the void. I cannot adequately describe for you the instinctive reverence I possess towards this teacher; suffice to say that Ms English was and is a woman of remarkable character, as much a legend as an institution as a woman of flesh and blood whose enduring influence inspired countless students. There is not a student taught by Ms. English who does not have a story to tell about her, and her decline in her last years of teaching and eventual retirement in the face of COVID was the end of an era. She still remembers me, and every couple months one of her contemporaries and dear friends who still works as a guidance counsellor stops me in the hall to tell me that Ms. English says hello and that she is thrilled that I am teaching here—thrilled that I am teaching honors students—thrilled that I am now teaching the AP students. “Tell her I said hello back,” I always say, and smile.

Ms. English is a legend, and one does not expect legends to respond to you immediately. Who knows when a woman of her generation would next think to check her email? Who knows if she would remember?

The day after I sent the email I got this response:

My friends, I was shaken. I was stunned. Imagine asking God a question and he turns to you and says, “Hold on one moment, let me check with my predecessor.”

The idea that even Ms. English had inherited this mysterious translation had never even occurred to me as a possibility, not when Ms. English had been a faculty member since the early days of the school. How wonderful, I thought to myself. What a great thing, that this translation is so obscure and mysterious that it defeats even Ms. English.

A few days later, Ms. English emailed me again:

(I had, in fact searched through both the English office and the Annex—a dark, weirdly shaped concrete storage area containing a great deal of dust and many aging copies of various books—a few days prior. I had no luck, sadly.)

At last, though, I had a title and a description! I returned to my internet search, only to find to my dismay that there was no book that exactly matched the title. I found THE BRITISH TRADITION: POETRY, PROSE, AND DRAMA (which was not black and the table of contents I found did not include Sir Gawain) and THE ENGLISH TRADITION, a super early edition of the Prentice Hall textbooks we use today, which did have a black cover but there were absolutely zero images I could find of the table of contents or the interior and so I had no way of determining if it was the correct book short of laying out an unfortunate amount of cold hard cash for a potential dead end.

So I sighed, and relinquished my dreams of solving the mystery. Perhaps someday 30 years from now, I thought, I’ll be wandering through one of those mysterious bookshops filled with out of print books and I’ll pick up a book and there will be the translation, found out last!

So I sighed, and told the whole story to my colleagues for a laugh. I sent screenshots of Ms. English’s emails to my siblings who were also taught by her. I told the story to my Dad over dinner as my Great Adventure of the Week.

…my friends. I come by my rabbit-hole curiosity honestly, but my Dad is of a different generation of computer literacy and knows a few Deep Secrets that I have never learned. He asked me the title that Ms. English gave me, pulled up some mysterious catalogue site, and within ten minutes found a title card. There are apparently two copies available in libraries worldwide, one in Philadelphia and the other in British Columbia. I said, “sure, Dad,” and went upstairs. He texted me a link. Rolling my eyes, I opened it and looked at the description.

Huh, I thought. Four volumes, just like Ms. English said. I wonder…

Armed with a slightly different title and a publisher, I looked up “The English Tradition: Fiction macmillan” and the first entry is an eBay sale that had picture of the interior and LO AND BEHOLD:

THE LEAF. LOOK AT THE LEAF.

My dad found it! He found the book!!

Except for one teensy tiny problem which is that the cover of the book is uh a very bright green and not at all black like Ms. English said. Alas, it was a case of mistaken identity, because The English Tradition: Poetry does have a black cover, although it is the fiction volume which contains Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

And so having found the book at last, I have decided to purchase it for the sum of $8, that ever after the origins of this translation may once more be known.

In this year of 2022 this adventure took place, as this post bears witness, the end, amen.

(Edit: See here for part 2!)

#sir gawain and the green knight #translations #internet research #english literature #teaching things #dads are the best #long post #story telling #I STILL don’t know the name of the translator but I WILL find out #obscure books

[whatsnewalycat]

I Know

(Second Part to Bunny)

Summary: It didn't take you long to figure out that your new co-worker, Javier Peña, is a former client from your days working a phone sex line. But does he know who you are?

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 5.3k+

Content / Warnings: professor javi, former phone sex operator reader, professor reader, co-workers, seduction, yearning, dirty talk, smut, smoking, swearing, drinking

Notes: Hi, pals. LOOK I TOLD YOU I WOULD DO A SECOND PART TO THIS!!! True to my word, baby. Hope you like it.

There’s such camaraderie in a cigarette. 

At the social hour after New Faculty Orientation, smokers gather on the sidewalk outside the University of Texas San Antonio’s John Peace Library. Liquor-fueled mouths babble on, letting off thick plumes of exhaust into the cloudless sky. Blue ribbons of smoke dance off the ashy orange tips of cigarettes between puffs. 

All these academics broken off from the crowded meeting hall into bite-sized chunks, generally determined by field of study, familiarizing themselves with the colleagues they’ll come to rely on. Within this horde, you ask yourself: Who will have a lighter when I can’t find mine? Who will commiserate with me over a smoke when I have my first work-related breakdown? Facilitate those necessary micro-therapy sessions that get me through the hardest days? 

Dr. Natalie King, whose poison of choice is menthol flavored, chatters on about her excitement to be working at her alma mater—a proud Roadrunner, through and through, eventually asking, “Where did you work before this?” 

“This is my first job out of my doctoral program.” 

It’s mostly the truth. You take a drag off your cigarette, then blow a chimney stack out the corner of your mouth. 

“Oh, straight into academia, huh?” she smirks, and when you grin, she comments, “Brave girl. Well, if you ever have any questions about the clinical side of things, feel free to reach out to me. Lord knows us gals have to stick together in such a male-driven field.”

A flash of light catches your eye, the glare of sun off the library door opening. An attractive, dark-haired, mustachioed man steps out into the bright, buzzing Texas sun. He slides on a pair of yellow-tinted aviators and pats his shirt pockets, fishing out a little white and red box. He plucks a cigarette from the pack and meanders up to your two-person sample study in women’s psychology, asking Natalie, “Got a light?” 

She nods and starts digging through the purse hanging off her shoulder while the man shifts his weight to one leg and pushes the cigarette between his plush lips. He takes a cursory glance around at the other smokers as Natalie curses under her breath.  

“I got it,” you pull a lighter from the pocket of your slacks and hand it to him. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs around the filter and lights the tip, inhaling until it’s a glowing ember, then gives it back to you. 

“Dr. Natalie King,” your companion introduces herself, sticking her hand out to him. 

He gives it a firm shake and says, “Javier Peña,” then turns to you and holds out his hand. 

You take it and tell him your name through an exhale of thick smoke, meeting his dark eyes through the sunglasses. He holds your gaze for a moment, then steps back and brings the hand to his hip, jerking his head towards the library, “What’re you two in for?”

Natalie answers that you’re both Doctors of Psychology, then goes on to explain which classes she’ll be teaching when the 2002 Fall Semester begins next week. 

While she does this, you tilt your head at him, trailing your eyes along the sharp edges of him. The steep slope of his nose, the squared off corners of his jaw, the defined muscles of his neck. He holds himself like there’s a restless energy burning beneath his skin, shifting his weight from leg to leg, eyes working over his surroundings. On guard. 

There’s something about him that piques your interest. His voice, warm and deep and smooth, unearths nostalgia from deep within your gut. You mentally sift through acquaintances, friends of friends you might have met at a party, people from your hometown, et cetera, trying to figure out how you know him. It’s strange because you think you would remember meeting someone so handsome. 

Your eyes flick to his left hand. No wedding ring. A shiny silver wristwatch catches your attention, though, when it jiggles a little. You glance up, find his eyes locked to yours, and don’t look away until Natalie asks him what he’s teaching. 

He pinches the cigarette between his lips and takes a long drag, exhaling words warped by smoke, “Criminal Justice.” 

“I see,” Natalie drops her spent torch on the ground and grinds it into the sidewalk with the toe of her brown loafer, then crosses her arms, “What were you doing before this?”

“Not much the past few years,” he cocks an eyebrow and shrugs, “Helping my dad out on his ranch down in Laredo, but I was DEA before that.”

“Oh wow, ok.”

You frown, “What did you say your name was again?”

He flicks his gaze to yours and answers, “Javier Peña.”

Recognition punches you in the gut. Your face gets all hot and you drop your eyes to the sidewalk, “Oh, ok. Well. Great to meet you, Javi.” 

You stomp your cigarette out, turning to Natalie with a sigh, “Should we go back inside?”

“Sure.”

Don’t look don’t look don’t look—fuck. 

Your eyes betray you. They snap to his. Those dark eyes, studying you with precision, narrowing just enough to twist your stomach in a knot. 

Natalie starts towards the library doors, and you trail behind her, ignoring the burn of his stare following you inside. 

—

Throughout the next couple weeks, when your paths cross, his gaze lingers. 

Sometimes you don’t even notice he’s there until your brain’s ancient hardwiring sends out a primal pulse of warning, making your nerves to crackle. During workshops and interdepartmental meetings. While walking the halls. In the faculty parking lot. And, of course, on your smoke breaks. 

You wonder what information he obtains in those small moments before your heart thuds and face flushes, urging you to put as much space between yourself and his meticulous gaze as possible. 

Each instance summons the ghost of his voice as you walk away, greeting you with a cool, “How’s Bunny doing tonight?” 

Asking you, “Can you do something for me, sweetheart?” 

Asking, “Are you touching yourself? Let me hear it.”

It forces you to revisit the evolution of your intimacy, how the two of you gradually went from “It’s nice hearing your voice,” to, “I thought about you all week,” to, “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too. Don’t suppose you make house calls, do you, Bunny?”

These memories start to bleed into your thoughts with alarming frequency. 

You think about him when you brush your teeth in the morning. When you go to sleep at night. Every free moment in between. When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you wonder, “Does he think I’m attractive?” Then scold yourself for giving a shit. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you lie to yourself, “He wasn’t talking to me, he was talking to Bunny.”

—

Only a few students and staff roam the campus at this time of day, when overnight dew still clings to the blades of grass hidden from the sun. This particular spot, a tucked-away path between the Biosciences Building and a parking garage, usually only has one visitor each morning: you. 

Every once in a while, the hum of a car engine sounds from behind the big oak tree you’re propped up against, followed by the slam of a car door, then the echoey shuffle of shoes against concrete as whoever makes their way to wherever. 

Mostly, though, it’s peaceful. 

You raise the 22-ounce styrofoam cup of watered-down gas station coffee to your mouth and pause, gauging the heat of the steam that brushes your lips. Too hot. Lowering the cup to your lap, you spot a robin a few yards away. It hops across some damp grass, tilting its head this way and that; its keen, beady eyes scan for movement below the earth’s surface. 

A deep breath expands your lungs and your eyes drift closed. You concentrate on the cool ground beneath your legs. The oak tree holding your body upright. Your head rolls back against it, like you’re trying to soak up some of its fortitude for the day ahead of you. 

The dry scuff of footsteps on the cement sidewalk tugs at the edge of this meditation. They come to a stop nearby, then you hear a familiar timbre ask, “Mind if I join you?” 

Your eyes snap open, spine straightening as you squint towards the source: Javier Peña. 

Heat trickles through your body as you survey him. The navy blue fabric of his fitted suit stretches across his broad shoulders in a way that’s really not fair. Sunlight douses him in brightness, and his dark eyes seem to glow in the warmth. He shifts his weight to one leg and plants a hand on his hip, glancing around before he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and plugs one into his mouth, then holds the pack out to you. An offering. 

Against your better judgment, you nod in approval. 

A little smirk makes the dangling cigarette bob between his lips. He saunters over to where you’re seated, visibly relieved when the shade of the oak tree falls over his body. With a quiet grunt, he sits down next to you, unbuttoning his suit jacket, resting his back against the sturdy tree. 

Again, he holds the red and white pack of cigarettes out to you. You take one, murmuring, “Thanks,” as you shove the filter between your lips and light it. 

He does the same and takes a sharp inhale, exhaling blue smoke, “Nice spot you got here. Quiet.” 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, heart thumping loud and hot behind your ears, “How are your first few weeks going?” 

“Fine,” he shrugs and flicks ash from the tip of his cigarette, “Pretty different from what I’ve been doing these past few years.”  

“Right, on the farm?” you inquire, purposely getting the vernacular wrong to throw him off your trail. 

He doesn’t correct you, just nods, “Although, some of these kids are stubborn as cattle.” 

You laugh at this, “It’s been an adjustment, huh?” 

He hums in accord, and you can feel his eyes on your profile, studying you. 

Your insides twitch. Skin tingles. You take a drag off your cigarette, then say, “Yeah, same here. I’m straight out of school, so it’s pretty surreal being on this side of the fence.” 

“I bet,” he murmurs, “Wha’d you do for work?” 

“Customer service, call center stuff.” 

You’re not sure why you didn’t just make something up. Say you did manual labor or clerical work or something. 

Maybe it’s because you know how earnest he is, and any potential lie would feel like poison in your throat. Maybe it’s because the space between you feels electric and sacred. 

Maybe there’s a small part of you that wants him to figure it out. 

“How’d you like that?” he asks as he blows a cloud of smoke away. 

“Well,” you sigh, looking down at the coffee cup pinched between your legs, avoiding his gaze, “I liked it, actually. I talked to a lot of different people. It was interesting. Plus, the paycheck was nice.” 

Again, he hums in acknowledgement, then chuckles, “Hopefully this gig pays better.” 

“Yeah,” you snort, “A lot better. It was fun while it lasted, but this… this is my purpose, you know?” 

You glance over at him now, and his eyes lock to yours. The intensity of his stare inspires tiny flutters from deep within your core. Right when you start to ask yourself, “Does he—?” Javier nods, “I know.”

These two words give you a head rush. Your mouth gapes, and his gaze flicks to the open space between your lips. It lingers there for a beat too long before he looks away and takes one last drag off his cigarette. He crushes its glowing orange cherry into the earth and murmurs, “I better get going.”

“Oh—yeah, ok,” you frown, following his form as he rises to his feet and brushes grass from the seat of his pants, “It was nice talking to you.” 

Javier smirks down at you, those devastatingly warm brown eyes softening when he asks, “See you around?”

“Sure thing,” you smile. 

He stares at you for a moment, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, then turns and leaves the way he came. 

—

Later that night, your office phone rings. 

You pick it up and pinch the receiver between your ear and shoulder, “Hello?”

“What’s up, Doc?”

A knot twists in your belly. Your eyes flick to your closed office door, then to the lecture notes scrawled on index cards all spread across your desk. 

“Hi, who am I speaking to?” 

Like you don’t know. Like the rich notes of his voice don’t instantly send shivers down your spine. 

“Javier Peña,” he answers. In the background, there’s a clink, followed by the slosh of liquid pouring into a glass. 

Nostalgia hums thick beneath your skin. Hundreds of conversations flash through your head and shimmer between your legs. You lick your lips and ask, “What can I help you with, Professor Peña?”

“Just wanted to hear your voice again like this,” he murmurs, then clarifies, “Over the phone, I mean. I missed it.” 

A few things happen in quick succession within the confines of your body. 

First, your heart swells. You curl the cord of your phone around your index finger and smile. He missed it. He missed you. 

Then, an odd feeling dims your brightness. Like you’re naked in front of a crowded room. Exposed. You sit up straight and whip your head around the empty room. 

Finally, the peacekeeper inside you tells you to calm the fuck down. This doesn’t definitively prove he knows. Maybe he’s confused you for someone else. Or maybe he’s playing a joke on you. 

It’s fine. 

A wet swallow sounds on the other end, then he continues, “I didn’t know you’d be so attractive in person, though… Bunny.”

Shit. 

Electricity floods your veins and short-circuits your brain. 

“I—I don’t know what you mean,” you let out an exasperated chuckle and push your chair out behind you. The coiled cord of your phone works as a leash as you pace the width of your desk, “Professor Peña, I’m not sure who you think I am—”

“Don’t do that, sweetheart. Don’t bullshit me,” he purrs, his voice sure and steady, “I know.” 

Shock steals your tongue. Your eyes clamp shut. Chest aches. Hands tingle. You take a deep, shaky breath and try to harden your tone, “Know what, exactly?”

Javier ignores your denial, just says, “Come over.”

“Javi—” you start to protest, destroying all pretense as you stare up at the ceiling. 

He doesn’t say anything. The line is silent as he waits for a better response. 

Eventually, you ask, “Why?” 

“Why what?” 

“Why are you doing this—What do you want?” you drop your voice to a whisper, “Look, if you’re trying to blackmail me—”

“Blackmail you?” he scoffs, “Do you really think I’d do that?” 

You scoff, “Well, I don’t know—”

“I promise it’s not like that, sweetheart. I’d just like to have a drink with you in private, so we can… talk.” 

“Now who’s bullshitting?” 

The speaker crackles with an airy chuckle, “You got me there.” 

“So… what do you want with me, Javi?” 

You hear the metallic flick of a lighter. A sharp inhale. His words are fuzzy with smoke when he asks, “Haven’t you wondered what it would be like?” 

Heat flickers deep inside you. You imagine his hands gripping your body. His mouth hot on your skin. You lean against your desk and shrug, “It doesn’t matter.” 

“That’s not an answer.”  

You don’t trust yourself to say anything. 

He takes a drag off his cigarette, then says, “All that talk about what we would do if we were together. How well you’d take me. What that sweet little cunt would feel like wrapped around—”

“Javi, it was a job,” you whine. It holds little conviction. 

He’s quiet. The low, airy hiss of his lungs drawing smoke. Then, “Are you saying it wasn’t real?”

Heat rises to your face. You open your mouth to lie, but you breathe the truth instead, “No.”

“Then come over.”

You bite your lip, looking down at your lecture notes with indecision. 

“Please.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you concede, “What’s your address?”

—

Javier’s one-bedroom apartment is small and tidy. The stark white walls are void of decoration, but the tasteful home furnishings, all wood and bronze and leather, tell you this choice is less “sad bachelor pad” than it is “I want my fucking deposit back.” 

What was intended to be a dining room area has been made into a home office. A large chestnut bookcase lines one wall, displaying various textbooks and whodunit novels alongside family photos. A matching chestnut desk butts up against the adjacent wall. Stacks of papers and notebooks, most aptly described as an “organized mess,” sit atop the deep wood finish. 

You lean on the kitchen counter opposite him and watch him pour room-temperature whiskey into two low tumbler glasses. Each nerve ending in your body buzzes with anticipation. You try to think of things to say, small talk to make, but it all seems flat. Disingenuous. The words all die on your tongue. 

This doesn’t seem to bother him, though. 

He slides a glass across the counter, then rests his elbows on the surface, eyes flicking around your face as you take a sip. 

“What?” you chuckle after swallowing the burning liquid. 

He shrugs, “You’re just… much more beautiful than I expected.” 

“Oh yeah?” you smirk, meeting his eyes, “What were you expecting?”

He licks his lips and smiles, this big, brilliant, sly smile, “Real answer?”

Fuck, he’s handsome. 

“Always,” you grin in return, batting your eyelashes at him as you lean closer onto the counter. 

“I imagined you so many different ways, and none of them seemed right,” he confesses, face falling into a frown, “I expected disappointment.”

“Oh,” you wince and nod, dragging the tip of your finger along the rim of your glass, “Well… are you disappointed?”

“No,” he tells you firmly. Your eyes snap to his, and he asks, “Are you?”

“No,” you breathe, searching his face. 

A hum sounds from his throat. The air between you is thick and magnetic. It clings to your skin and makes you shiver. 

“Tell me something, sweetheart,” he coos, his vocal cords catching an edge, “No bullshit, alright?”

Your heart gallops. You swallow hard and nod for him to continue. 

“Do you want to fuck me?”

Everything seems to tilt. Marionette strings pull your spine taut. Your tongue traces your lips before you take a swig from your drink. You can’t look at him, but feel his gaze burning your face.  

The counter creaks as he pushes off it. He works his way around it, slowly, deliberately, each step amplifying across your tingling skin, until he’s inches away, hovering there. Heat radiates from his body and pulses between your legs. 

Javier purrs your name. 

You look over at him and meet those warm, dark eyes, all hooded with want. They drop to your mouth and seem to study your lips. It’s like something tightens around your lungs and squeezes every ounce of air from them. 

“I, um…” 

It comes out barely a whisper. 

His throat rumbles in response. He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, making you shiver, and says, “Look at you, so shy all of a sudden.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He nods in acknowledgment, but he scoots closer. Drags the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip. A shudder racks your body and you whimper. 

“I didn’t ask you if it’s a good idea, I asked if you want to fuck me,” he murmurs, hot gaze flicking between your eyes and mouth. He slides his hand against your abdomen. It stays there as he steps behind you, pulling you into the heat of his chest, “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, though, would you?” 

“Javi—”

His lips press a damp spot into your shoulder, the warm tips of his fingers slipping under the fabric of your shirt, drawing soft circles on your bare skin, and he hums, “Hmm?”

You gasp as his touch ripples deeper, jolting your insides, making your eyelids flutter, “We really shouldn’t.”

But you reach back and place your palm on the nape of his neck, gently coaxing him to continue. He leaves a trail of slow, heated kisses to your thudding pulse. The wet velvet of his tongue rolls against you. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe, threading his hair through your fingers, pulling him closer. 

A pleased rumble sounds from deep inside him. His lips form a seal, sucking the tender skin of your neck. You moan at the wave of pleasure that gushes down your spine. 

The hand at your navel slides over the zipper of your pants, following the curve between your legs, applying firm, flush pressure. He holds it there while dragging his tongue up your neck, then catches your earlobe in his teeth and tugs. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, and he releases. 

“Come on, sweetheart, say it.”

You let your head fall back on his shoulder and roll your hips against his hand. He draws it away and mutters in your ear, “All that dirty talk over the phone, now you can’t use your words?” 

“Fuck me,” you whisper, pushing back into the bulge in his jeans, grinding into him. 

He sucks in air through his teeth and grazes your cheek with his nose, “What’s that?” 

You chuckle and drag a finger along his jawline, “You heard me.” 

“Maybe I wanna hear it again.”

“Oh yeah?” you twist around to face him, hooking your hands at the back of his neck. 

He drinks you in with this lustful gaze that settles on your lips and nods, then takes a step closer, backing you against the counter, pressing his body into yours. 

“Is that what you want?” you drop your voice to a sultry whisper and tilt your head, “You want me to tell you how wet my pussy is for you? How it’s begging to be filled by you?” 

A groan escapes his chest and you grin. 

“That’s it, isn’t it, baby?” 

“It is.” 

Your teeth catch your bottom lip for a moment and you shrug, “Do you wanna feel how bad I want you?”

He nods. 

“Go ahead, baby.” 

Javi searches your face as a hand slips under the waistband of your pants, then under your panties. A thick finger slides between your lips, down the gooey middle of you, and he rasps, “Holy fuck.”

You gasp at the gentle way his touch explores you, moving up and down your folds, spreading your heat. 

“That feels good,” you breathe, looking up through your lashes to meet his eyes. 

He rubs your clit in soft, concentric motions, holding your gaze, his mouth gaping open when you whimper and nod in approval. Each flick of his wrist accumulates hot and sticky and alive at your core, prodding your pulse, warming your skin. Quiet gasps fall from your lips. Your eyelids flutter and you rake your fingers through his hair. 

“Do you like that?” he asks, all rough edges, “Like the way I touch you, baby?”

“Yes,” you whine, “I love the way you play with my pussy, Javi, feels so fucking goood, oh my god—”

His lips crush into yours. You clamber closer, kissing him back, heated and needy, both of you making all these throaty, desperate noises as your mouths meet again and again, licking, tugging, kissing. His touch between your legs quickens, your entire body starts to sweat and tremble as pleasure twists inside you. 

You’re overcome with this aching need for more. 

“Javi—please,” you beg between kisses, hooking a finger under his belt, “I want you.” 

His throat rumbles. He captures your lips in another kiss before grabbing your hand and leading you to his bedroom. 

When he flips on the light switch, it reveals a few cluttered surfaces and a four-post bed. You pull your shirt off over your head and shuffle out of your pants as you absorb everything. The suit jackets hanging on the corners of his dresser’s vanity mirror. A stack of mystery novels on his nightstand. The white comforter, rumpled like he tried to make his bed but he’s not very good at it. 

So much proof that this person who only existed as a voice in your life for so long is flesh and blood. 

It’s surreal. 

“Did you ever think something like this would happen?” 

You turn to see Javier unbuttoning his shirt, gaze drifting along your body. His pants lay in a pile beside him. An amused smile spreads across your face when you notice his cock standing at attention. He shucks the shirt off his shoulders as you step towards him and slide your palms up his smooth chest. 

“What, that I’d fuck a client?” 

Javier nods. His hands land on your waist and he guides you back towards his bed, planting a few languid kisses on your jawline, mustache tickling your skin. 

“No,” you chuckle, “I had a very strict no meeting policy… as you know.” 

The backs of your legs butt up against the bed. You land on the bed with a soft bounce and crawl backwards to allow him space to follow. He does, running his hands along the curves of your body, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your neck, your collarbone, your sternum. 

As you tell him, “You were my favorite, though,” he reaches around your back, unhooks your bra, and tosses it aside. 

“Was I?” 

His heated palms slide up your ribcage, over the slope of your breasts, and he squeezes them. You gasp, eyebrows threading together, and nod. He drags his tongue across your nipple, then closes his lips around it and sucks. A burst of pleasure soaks your insides, sharpening when his teeth catch the bud and grind down. 

“Ffffuck,” you whine, meeting his eyes as he moves to the other nipple, licking, sucking, biting. Every motion drips hot down the middle of you. 

“Do you like playing with my tits?” you coo while combing your fingers through his hair, making it stick up every which way, “You do, don’t you, baby?” 

His eyelids flutter and he moans, nodding, then opens his mouth wider and takes more, hollowing out his cheeks as he sucks. 

Your head falls back with a moan, “So fucking good, yes—”

Javi comes off you with a pop and rolls your nipples between his fingers, “So hot.” 

You watch him work his way up your body, leaving kisses on your sternum, your collar bone, your cheek, your lips. Your hands slip around his shoulders and you arch your back into him, wrapping your legs around him, soaking up the warmth of his skin, your lips and tongues meeting again and again, exchanging soft moans, hips grinding his cock between your bodies. 

“I need you,” he says, eyes all wild and black, “Fuck, I need you—”

“Take me.” 

He steals another kiss from your lips before sitting up to pull off your underwear. While tossing them aside, he drinks you in, sliding one heated palm up and down the curves of your body, purring, “Look at you. Fucking perfect.” 

You whimper at his praise, at his reverent touch making your nerve endings buzz. He strokes your clit with his thumb, mouth hanging open as your whole body shivers and writhes in reaction. 

“So sensitive, mi conejita,” he murmurs, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance, “Do you want it?” 

“Yes,” you nod, arching your hips, “I need it—I need to feel you inside me, Javi, please.” 

A noise surfaces from deep in his chest, then he breathes, “Fuck, say it again.” 

You thread your eyebrows together and bat your lashes at him, shifting your voice into the lusty, airy tone you know gets him going, “I need to feel you inside me, Javi. Need your cock to fill me, make me whole—”

“Fuck,” he groans, hips rocking forward just enough to breach you. A jolt of pleasure shoots up your spine and you moan. 

“Do you want more, baby?” 

You lick your lips and nod frantically as he works your clit faster, the tip of him teasing you. Pressure builds in your chest and pulls your muscles taut. You roll your hips and try to get more of him, more movement, following the heat pounding through your veins. 

“Need more of my cock, baby, that’s what you need?” 

“I need more of your cock,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering at the growing fire deep in your belly, “Please please please, Javi, plea—”

“You’re gonna come for me just like this, aren’t you?” his voice only amplifies the feeling, making your heart race, and then he rasps, “Fuck, baby, do it, let me feel you, let it go.” 

You do. 

It overtakes you, flooding you with pleasure, your whole body shaking from the force while Javi strums your clit fast and hard, cooing, “That’s it, mi conejita, that’s it, come for me baby. Doesn’t that feel good?” 

You whimper and nod, unable to form words until your orgasm peters out and leaves you panting, staring up at him. He meets your gaze. His cock pulses inside you. 

Seeing him like this, his hair all disheveled, skin dewy with sweat, dark eyes fiery and enamored…

“Come here,” you sit up on your elbow and bring a hand to his chin, coaxing him closer. He follows you down to the bed and kisses you with force, a groan vibrating on your tongue as you drag it against his. 

He starts to roll his hips, filling you more and more with each thrust, the thick length of him electrifying your walls. 

His lips don’t leave yours. Neither of you pull back to murmur filth to the other. The only noise in the room comes from your humid bodies pressing together, from whines and moans traded through panting breaths as you renew the kiss again and again. 

You push back against his thrusts, digging your fingers into the broad expanse of his shoulders, losing yourself in the feel of him stretching you, the heat of his skin clinging to you, his mouth against yours. 

Pleasure builds, hot and demanding, between your bodies. He fucks you faster, pumping into you at a frenzied pace that makes you gasp and nod, pulling you higher and higher. His hand grips your jaw and he stares down at you, searching your face, his puffy lips forming an ‘o’ as he watches your face contort. 

Neither of you seem in control of the noises escaping you. They’re frantic and breathy and sharp. 

At once, it’s like you’re sucked up into a vacuum. All the air evacuates your body and your muscles clench. The noises stop when you reach the crest of the wave, and when ecstasy crashes down, you let out a choked sob, convulsing around him. He groans, low and guttural, hips stuttering as he captures your lips in his and spills inside you. 

A few languid kisses pass back and forth before he rolls off you. You follow the persuasion of his arm curling around your shoulders and tuck yourself into his side. He holds you here like this for a while, staring up at his ceiling while your breathing returns to normal, and eventually he asks, “Why was I your favorite?” 

You shrug and watch your fingertips draw swirls into his chest, “You wanted me to be me, not your idea of me.” 

He hums, grazing his thumb against your shoulder, then says, “I think that’s true for both of us.” 

“Yeah?” you shift to meet his eyes. 

He nods, dropping his gaze to your mouth. You draw closer to kiss him, slow and soft, and when your lips part, he murmurs, “Mi conejita.” 

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x you #javier peña x ofc #javier peña narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character

[angelltheninth]

Please Say, Please

Pairing: James "Bucky" Barnes x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, edging, fingering, begging, overstimulation, cunnilingus, no touching (for Reader), control, dom!Bucky

Word count: 1k

A/N: Written for the Seven Deadly Sins collab hosted by @nickfowlerrr. The virtue I chose is "patience".

Bucky smiled while he undressed you, both with his hands and his eyes at once, but of course you were much more excited about the hands part. "Am I a Christmas gift? Why are you being so careful?" You took maters into your own hands and unhooked your bra, but he was the one who fully removed it from your breasts. "I think you like me more like this."

"I like any kind of way." He kissed right above your collarbone while his hands traveled the underside of your breasts, hot and cold at the same time. You weren't nearly as patient as he wanted you to be, running your hands through his hair and guiding his mouth to your left nipple, which he took into his mouth almost immediately.

You hooked your fingers on his belt and pulled him close, taking him with you onto the bed. From there your hands unzipped his pants, your eyes hungerly running down his abs, to the faint happy trail leading to what you needed most right now. His cock was already hard, tenting his boxers, warm under your palm, twitching at your touch, at each stroke. You wanted to lick him so badly, take him in your mouth and just-

"Stop." Bucky managed to say, his voice strained and growly, eyes closing. "Keep those pretty hands to yourself ma'am." He grabbed them both with his right hand, leaving the left to rub from one nipple to the next. "Tonight is all about you. That means you just lay there, and let me do the work." A statement neither you or his dick seemed to agree with. "I'll make it all worth your while. I promise." His lips moved lower down your stomach, "All I ask for is for you to be patient."

"You're not making it easy." There was already a dark stain forming on your underwear from his kisses.

"That is the idea love." You could feel the stubble pressing into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tickling you, "Let's take these off shall we, see what kind of state I've got you in." He pressed his middle fingers past the sides of your panties and pulled them down your legs, blue eyes locked on your newly naked pussy. "Oh. So wet already. Seems I was right, you have a lot to learn about patience."

With that much wetness his metal finger slipped in quite easily, the cold making you hiss when it entered your warm walls. It was okay, it was always cold at first, but just a few minutes of this and he'll be warmed up for you. At least the finger going in and out of your pussy will, the one on your clit, his thumb, would remain cold. Then there was his warm breath, teasing you.

He made room for himself between your legs, it was easy when he had you so compliant. You tried your best to listen to what he said, keep his hands to yourself, but it wasn't an easy task when his tongue licked a long, slow stripe from his finger to your clit and sucked on it.

"Mm, I can see you sweetheart. Hands at your sides, or I stop this immediately." You hated how easily he could make you listen. No other threats were needed other than that but you... you had to hold onto something. Thinking quickly you grabbed onto the headboard, your wrist one across the other as if your hands were tied. In a way there were, "Good girl. There's my good girl. I knew you'd listen if I just," Bucky placed a long, sucking kiss onto your clit, making starts dance in front of your face, "gave you a little bit of incentive."

"Bucky, I need... need... cock... your..." You were still struggling to find your words but Bucky didn't halt, he kept pushing his finger in and out, watching your pussy flutter around it. You didn't know when he kicked his boxers off, probably while your vision was still blurry but now that his cock was out you knew it wouldn't be long before it was inside you where it should have been long ago.

"Need what? You could be polite and ask." Ask how when every noise that leaves your mouth is a wonton moan. "Please, let me hear you ask for it. You've been patient, now I want you to do this one last thing: ask for my cock."

"Please Bucky, please give me your cock. I've been good, I've been so good for you." Your patience, as fragile as it was when you started was almost at an end. Lucky for you Bucky was quick to reward it before he could see how disobedient and desperate for him you actually were.

His cock pushed inside of you quickly, he just as needy as you but much more in control of himself, his thrusts even and deep, quickly finding a pace that suited him best. Both his hands pressed down on your hips, there would be no movement from you until he says so, no finishing for you until he says so. You were at his mercy, the mercy of his hands and his cock, making you a pathetic sobbing, whining mess.

While you wouldn't disobey hum it was hard not to, especially when his thumb was back on your sensitive, swollen clit. You whimpered loud as your cunt clenched around him, inching closer to your orgasm despite your best efforts to hold out for him.

"Hold out just a bit longer darling. I need to make sure you've learned. If it takes all night, I'll make sure you learn a thorough lesson in patience." Bucky growled, his cock on the edge of release, edging both of you, giving you as much control over him as he had of you.

As they say: patience is a virtue. But right now to you, to both of you, it was nothing short of a deadly sin.

#bucky barns x reader #bucky smut #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #marvel x reader #marvel smut #marvel imagine #marvel fanfic #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #mcu fanfic #mcu smut #bucky barnes x you #marvel x you #mcu x you #bucky barnes smut #marvel x female reader #mcu x female reader #bucky x female reader

[multifandommilfs]

Plan No Longer

Pairing: Addison Montgomery x reader

Wc: 1305

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Thanking @walshies for the side pics, they are my main inspiration :D

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You were planning. You told yourself you were ready, but your heart was still planning, causing your fingers to toy perpetually with the little velvet ring box in your coat. 

 

Addison was just beside you as the waves lapped at the beach, the horizon moulding into one with the sky, dark and vast, they stretched out beyond your eyes could fathom, unpredictable. 

 

You felt the silky texture beneath your fingertips, your heart beating raggedly in your chest. Addison let out a content noise resembling a purr as she sank into the beach chair, her left hand, fingers ringless and bare, folded easily with yours like a thousand times before. You wondered if she would still look at you the same way tonight, after you asked her the most important question of your life.

 

Your mind whirred back to when she first held your hand, though you couldn't quite remember anything except for the feeling of warmth running through your veins. Your chase for the memory led you back to when you first met her.

 

Unpredictable was when you met Addison. 

 

It was a busy day at Seattle Grace Hospital, people were rolling in on stretchers, and the bus-car accident was to blame. You knocked your way through multitudes of nurses and doctors, breath in your throat. Your pager was incessant. It's pace felt faster even with every stretch your legs made to the OR for your unscheduled neurosurgery.

 

Your feet trampled down the flight of stairs, not bothering to take the stretcher-packed elevators. "Page Addison Montgomery!" Was the first thing you heard at the scrub station.

 

"Sorry?!" You hollered, and Derek whipped his head towards you so harshly that you were afraid his brain-deep hands might hit something important. "Page Addison Montgomery! The patient is pregnant, and she's haemorrhaging! Page her! " 

 

"Page her yourself, Shepherd! I've never worked with pediatrics!" You rushed over, perspiration already forming on your forehead as you took over his position and requested O blood bags when the ECG monitor began to hasten evidently. 

 

"She's going into V-Fib L/n! Administer-" 

 

"Shepherd, call that paediatrician now!" Your voice rose, forcing him to relent his role. "CPR, oxygen, charge up the defibrillator. "You delegated the job to nurses as you started to control the haemorrhage. 

 

It felt like forever before the said paediatrician finally barged into the OR, panting and tired. She immediately captured your line of sight as she put up all the necessary lines and monitored the baby as if she were only working on muscle memory, as if you weren't doing the same right now, watching her and suturing, letting the needle glide through the skin from right to left.

 

With the Dura mater sutured closed, you moved onto the scalp. The race in your heart was for a completely different reason, and it may or may not have to do with the utterly stunning woman before you.

 

"How's the mother's progress?" The new voice made your heart swoon and your eyes flicker upward to catch her blazing red hair. No matter, the forceps in your hands remained steadfast, just like how you were trained to have your head clear and precise during panic. Your eyes averted back to your hands. Her eyes were a ladened weight on you.

 

"I've stopped the bleeding and her BP is steady."You notified her of what you knew, though you weren't sure if another v-fib might trigger due to her pregnancy.

 

"But?" Her question made you scrutinize her before she shrugged. "I know that mildly concerned tone, I've used it myself." She gave you a smile, proud of herself for analysing you.

 

You let out an impressed scoff and told her what you assumed would happen as she listened more intently than any doctor you've ever met, her teeth baring slightly to take in her lower lip. You glanced away as you finished closing the patient up, hurrying to scrub out as fast as possible because the woman in front of you was causing a wreck in your previously tranquil train of thoughts.

 

She had a skip in her steps when she met you at the scrub station. Turning on the faucet, she spoke, "I'm aware you don't know who I am." You focused on washing the soap off your arms. "That's charming, am I supposed to?" 

 

Her brows raised a touch at your sarcasm before the realisation hit her."No! No, no! That's totally not what I meant. I-I'm not egotistical or narcissistic or whatever you think I am now—I mean I kind of am, all surgeons are, but like- " She stopped mid-sentence, mentally kicking herself for being an awkward, stuttering mess. "I only wanted to make small talk or... whatever." 

 

You dried off your arms, leaning against the sink as you surveyed her. She looked away, a tint of blush rising up her cheeks. You smiled, yielding to your wants. "Would that whatever be something like...a date?" 

 

Her gaze whipped over to you, red high on her cheekbones. She wrung her hands and untied her surgical cap, freeing her hair over her shoulders in an elegant shake of her head. "If you want it to be." 

 

You inched closer, lips pursing in faux contemplation. "I don't think I want it." Her smile faltered.

 

"I think I'll need it to be a date." You gushed before she could turn away, or worse, apologise. 

 

Her eyes sparkled genuinely. "Addison Montgomery." 

 

The next four months were history.

 

Until right now. Right now, you hold the future in your hands. And you didn't know whether to be excited or nervous about it.

 

You coughed, trying to unlodge the hesitation in your throat, which garnered Addison's attention. "Are you cold?" She asked, but she was already slipping off her sweater to drape it around your frame. 

 

Just like that, there was no more hesitation, no more blue-screen in your heart. You took a full moment to register it—your heart was actually ready after weeks of reluctance at how much detail she noticed about you.

 

"Y/n, are you-" 

 

"Willyoumarryme?" The words just tumbled past your lips without prior warning. 

 

"What?" 

 

"Marry me. Marry me." You scrambled, clumsily to your feet, still grasping her hand. "I know there's no fancy lights, no candlelit dinner but- that's my everyday with you; you are my fancy lights, you are my candlelit dinner, you are- you are everything I could possibly have-" 

 

"I-" she stammered, tears pooling in her irises. For a moment, your lower lip trembled when it faced the possibility of rejection. Perhaps she wasn't ready, just like Yang and you were Burke, too fast. Your heart sank and sank and sank, falling so deep into the pits of your stomach that you let your tears coat your vision. 

It took a while moment and you thought you lost at life.

 

Then her signature smile ran across her lips and stayed there, tears slipped from her crinkled eyes. "You're asking me to marry you." A statement you nodded fervently to, and your heart was already soaring seeing her happiness. "You're asking me to marry you!" High-pitched, she laughed, like bells ringing, and launched herself to you, toppling the both of you right into the sand. 

 

Your laughter trailed hers until your chest hurt, so you just gripped her tightly, everything you have, needed and wanted, all in one handful. "I'm asking you to marry me." You let out an amazed breath, not quite believing yourself for being so lucky.

"We're married," she breathed, looking at you in wonder. "I'm married to you." It was a feeling that was all too surreal at the same time that something clicked perfectly in her life.

 

The ring, a merely a symbol of marriage, was forgotten. The truth of it was that you were already wearing your marriage on your hearts.

 

#addison montgomery #addison montgomery x reader #addison montgomery fluff #greys anatomy #greys anatomy fic

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crushed 15

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, manipulation, cheating, sleazy behaviour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your next door neighbours hook up, bringing to surface deep-seated feelings.

Characters: Colin Shea, Jonathan Pine

Note: Please scream at me!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like my dog loves belly rubs (that’s a lot). Take care. 💖

After an early morning phone call, your mother insists on coming to town for lunch. You couldn't bear to tell her everything over the phone and frankly, you don't know how much you should tell her. You remember in high school when you were sent home after Kelly Harris dumped mud in your lap, your mother was more irritated to have you home than empathetic. 

You watch through the peephole before you sneak out. You haven't slept but you can't be sure Colin hasn't returned. There's enough noise in the building that it's hard to discern who's coming or going. 

When you do emerge, you flit quickly to the first floor and dip out, looking over your shoulder for either Colin or his vengeful girlfriend. You get through the lobby without trouble but you're not in the clear. Surely the day holds nothing but trouble, regardless of where it comes from.

You check the time as you wait for the cab. You refer to the text your mother sent before she set out and give the driver the name of the restaurant. You've never been there before and you're certain it's well out of your price range. Another debt for the tally.

This is the last thing you ever wanted. It makes all this drama seem all the more ridiculous. You’re a grown woman and this is what you’ve come to. Back to square one.

You approach the restaurant doors and enter with a sheepish grin. You don’t know that you own anything that wouldn’t be underdressed for this bougie brunch locale. Once more, you look at your phone. Crap, she’s there first. That means you're late even if you agreed on nine.

The hostess shows you to the table where your mother waits. She has her compact out as she touches up her mauve lipstick. She doesn’t acknowledge you or the hostess as you sit. She snaps shut the mirror and sips from her stemmed glass of orange juice.

“About time,” she drawls, “oh, and nice to hear from you after all these months.”

Her eyes finally deign to land on you. You gulp. You should’ve taken the chance of talking to your father but ultimately you know it’s not up to him.

“You’ve been so busy with Geri’s wedding–”

“Don’t try to guilt me for your neglect,” she warns, “you should be happy for your sister. Her fiance is a charming man. You’ve met Colton, haven’t you?”

“Once or twice,” you grumble. Family get togethers weren’t exactly your favourite memories. “I’ve been waiting on my invite–”

“Invite? You’re a bridesmaid. Geri sent out that email months ago. Is this why you weren’t at the fitting?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t get an email.”

“You’re wrong. Certainly, you must be. You and the rest of the girls are bridesmaids. You have to be. And it might be good for you to be involved in a wedding at least once,” she tuts. You don’t miss the jibe. Yeah, not like you have much hope of walking down the aisle.

“I’ll… I’ll call Geri and clear things up,” you say, “how are the others?”

“Well, Maeve is graduating this year. Always exciting. She’s thinking of joining Audrey at her alma mater. And Livia is somewhere in Spain again.”

“Ah, yeah, she sent me some pictures,” you say.

“And you? What are you up to?” She challenges. She’s not genuinely curious.

“Well,” you take a breath, pausing as a server comes to ask what you’d like to drink. You get the same as your mother and peruse the menu.

“Well…” your mother prompts.

“Yeah, um, I…” you shake your head, you can’t even look at her, “I am on leave from work so… not much.”

“Leave? What does that mean?” She hisses.

You feel your eyes tinge. You look at her. Why is she so different to you? Your other sisters can spill all their worries and whims but you, it’s always judgment. You can never do anything right.

“Uh, I thought maybe it might be a good time to–”

“Ah, pardon,” you’re interrupted before you can sputter out the revelation of another failure. You cringe as you recognise Jonathan’s silky lilt. Why? How? Do you even dare questioning fate anymore? “I just, I had to say hello.”

You force a smile and look at him, trying not to falter in front of your mother’s all-seeing gaze. She sits up, and lets out a hum of surprise as she sees Johnathan. Her lashes give a telling flick.

“Hello?” She utters quizzically.

“This must be one of your sisters,” he says as he runs his hand up the sleek lapel of his blue jacket, “very pleased to finally meet you.”

“Sister? Oh, do not flatter me. I am her mother, Eugenia,” she introduces herself with a smug smirk, “and how do you know each other?”

“Uh, oh,” you stutter and send Jonathan a desperate look. Do you tell her you’re his disgraced former employee? Or maybe just business acquaintance. She’s going to know eventually, that’s why you’re here. “Jonathan is–”

“Jonathan Pine,” he introduces himself, “honoured to finally meet you.” He looks at you, arching a brow before turning his attention back to his mother, “you both must be so excited for your elder daughter’s upcoming nuptials?”

“British?” She intones with intrigue.

“You’ve caught me out,” he grins, “your daughter’s been rather helpful in getting me acquainted with this country. Very lovely…” he peeks at you again, “hardly as lovely as her. You’ve raised a rather endearing daughter.”

“You…” she blinks in confusion, sending you another flabbergasted peek, “you and my daughter…” she lets the suggestion hang. Jonathan does too as he gives you an option; come clean or take the bait.

“I was waiting to introduce you at the wedding,” you blurt out, “I… it’s new.” You say, each word jarring as the lies piece themselves together on your tongue, “and I thought,” you look at Jonathan pointedly, “he was out of town.”

“Business trip was canceled, rescheduled to a business breakfast,” he slithers, “I’m meeting Gerry soon,” he checks his watch, “but I will be sure to tell the hostess to put your bill with mine.”

“Oh–” you squeak.

“Oh my,” your mother trills, “you are too kind. That is…” she gapes at you openly, “you… you’re with my daughter. Her?”

He chuckles lightly, “why wouldn’t I be with such a beautiful woman?”

“I didn’t mean– I don’t– I’m very surprised,” she exclaims shrilly, “she never mentioned, but then again, she’s always been so private. So shy. And you seem like such a lovely man.”

“I like to think so, but please, she is not the lucky one,” he preens and steps towards you. He places his hand on your shoulder and bends, grazing his lips across your cheek, “go with it,” he whispers. 

You turn your head just as his lips aim for yours. He kisses you and the air leaves the room. Your chest ties tight and your entire body tingles. Oh, wow. You’re too swept up in the sensation of his unexpected kiss that you can’t remember why you were so off-kilter a moment ago.

“Now let me not interrupt further. A mother-daughter reunion,” he puts his hand to his chest, “how sweet.”

He backs away and dips his chin. He turns on his heel and crosses the restaurant as you stare after him. The server approaches and sets your drink in front of you. You drink it in the silence of your mother’s disbelief.

“Well, you’ve done finely,” she says in a stunted cadence, “I… he’s so handsome. And tall. And blond!”

“Mom,” you plead as you nearly choke on the orange juice.

“Well. Even you must realise he’s very… dashing as they’d say in his home country,” she flutters her lashes dreamily, “oh, yes, you must bring him to the wedding. He’ll look wonderful in the photos.”

You wet your lips with your tongue and nod. You look down at the table, still buzzing as your lips warm up. You can’t stop thinking about that kiss. It nips away at the anger that kept you up all night, but hardly solves your anxiety.

You can’t tell your mother you expect to be evicted in the next month or that you lost your job. So what now? How do you untangle the knot that only grows bigger and bigger?

💗

For once, your time with your mom is less than torturous. She keeps her barbs dull enough to leave you only bruised. Her mood is a touch above neutral, which for you, is an accomplishment. You’re content but not entirely at ease. You have a lot to figure out.

You bid her goodbye just outside the patio seating and wave to her as she unlocks her luxury car. You watch until you see her get in and let out a sigh. Shit. Not only do you have Jonathan to worry about, but you don’t expect Colin to be AWOL much longer.

So what do you do? Go home and face the music or call Jonathan and try not to melt into a puddle of embarrassment. It was a nice favour of him to pretend but you don’t want to assume anything. High hopes and stupid girlish fantasies got you into all this.

As you walk along the curb, a short toot draws you to a stop. You turn as the whir of a car window steals your attention and you face the familiar car. Jonathan leans over the passenger seat to see you.

“You’re not going to run away again, are you?” He asks.

You twist your heel into the pavement and bend down. You furrow your brows as that big question needles between them. You can’t lie anymore, you can’t just wait for the truth to come out, you just have to ask.

“How did you know I was here?”

His brows lift and his eyes roll to the side. He gives a guilty grin, “I hope you don’t… misinterpret it but I… staked out your building.”

“What?” You puff out.

“Yes, I know, it sounds very bad. And I won’t claim it was entirely sane but I wanted to see the police take him away after I filed the report. To be sure you were safe and then… I sat stuck in my own head. Wanting to run up those stairs and knock on your door but also terrified you wouldn’t answer,” he shrugs, “and I followed you because I worried you might run into him, but that’s only half the reason…”

You swallow and step closer, “Jonathan, what are you doing?”

“Being crazy,” he lowers his eyes bashfully, “I know, you don’t need two madmen after you.”

You shake your head and reach for the handle. You open the door and get in. He sits back, watching you as you move your purse into your lap. You stare at the dashboard.

“What is going on?” You turn your head and look into his beautiful blue eyes, “what is this?”

“I don’t…” he begins.

“You’re my boss.”

“I was.”

“I never should’ve dragged you into this–”

“I’m so happy you did,” he murmurs.

“Jonathan, please,” you beg, “it’s not right–”

“You quit,” he insists, “so what isn’t right?”

You pout and sit back, turning straight and looking up at the upholstered ceiling of the car. You don’t know what to say. No, you don’t know how to say it. Except…

“I’m stupid.”

“What?” He scoffs.

“I’m stupid because… I’m scared and lost. And I can’t make you follow me through that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Feelings don’t just go, they just get complicated,” you explain, parsing through the stirring in your gut, “I hate Colin, I’m scared to hell of him, but I still… feel some of those things I felt.”

“Oh, but darling,” he reaches over and rests his hand above your shoulder, “I know feelings don’t just go. Mine certainly won’t.”

“Feelings? For me? Are you sure it’s not pity?”

“I only pity myself for how deeply I’ve fallen,” he breathes as you sense him leaning in, “the first day I saw you, I knew. I’ve never been much of a romantic but I have to confess something.”

“What?” You shy away, sensing how close he is.

“I knew how to use the coffee machine,” he admits, “I just needed an excuse.”

“You… did?” You look at him. He’s so much closer than you thought.

“Oh yes, if you hadn’t helped with the machine, I would’ve failed miserably in front of you at making copies. And if that didn’t work, well, I suppose I’d just have to make a mistake in my numbers,” he purrs, “you would’ve helped me, wouldn’t you?”

You quiver out a breath. You want to collapse into him, you want to let him make you forget everything but him, and yet, you’re so afraid. You’re afraid to believe that this could ever be real for you.

He doesn’t let your fear win. His lips are on yours again and that’s all you need. Nothing is left but that moment, the feeling of his mouth on yours, how his hand comes up to frame your jaw and cradle your cheek, his other creeping behind your head as he clings to you desperately. You can’t help by latching onto his collar, diving into his need.

You don’t stop until you're dizzy and breathless. He pulls back, hovering before you, thumb tracing your cheek bone as his other hand tickles your neck. His eyes search you, admire you, you’ve never been looked at like that.

“May I drive you home?” He asks softly, nuzzling your nose with his.

#colin shea #jonathan pine #dark colin shea #dark!colin shea #colin shea x reader #jonathan pine x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #series #what's your number #crushed #the night manager

[in-class-daydreams]

Dress Code

Pairing: Auror!Sebastian Sallow x Unspeakable!Fem!Reader (no Y/N) Synopsis. Basically a girlboss married to Sebastian simulator. You and Sebastian received a call from your daughter's school and neither of your are happy about it. On the plus side, Sebastian so loves watching your protective side come out. A/N: I churned this out in one sitting, no I didn't proofread. Also I'm not British so suspend your disbelief if you find inaccuracies about the school system. TW: Sexualization of a minor (alluded to)

The clacking of Sebastian’s dress shoes echoed off the walls of the empty corridor. He listened carefully. All was quiet. Good. His wife hadn’t arrived yet.

He tugged at his dark green tie to loosen it. Despite how sharp he looked in his black three-piece suit with a chain and cape over one shoulder, had he not been at work at the Ministry of Magic when he received the owl, he wouldn't have dressed up for his daughter’s blasted school at all. Sebastian was counting the days before he could send his sweet Eliza to Hogwarts next year.

The Headmaster’s office was at the end of the hall. This school was much more dreary than Hogwarts to the point where it seemed like a prison. It wasn’t the first time he second-guessed his and his wife’s decision not to call in a favor to secure a Hogwarts enrollment early. His wife was worried having an auror and an Unspeakable as parents would make them insufferable if they overused their influence. Considering that their parenting wouldn’t reach as far as Hogwarts, Sebastian relented, even though he was hard-pressed to entrust his baby girl anywhere other than his alma mater.

Sebastian made to knock as he usually did, but remembered himself and rapped lightly on the door. His wife always chastised him for banging on doors like the law enforcement. He argued that it was a force of habit and she denied him kisses for two whole hours. Never again. The door opened to reveal a stout man a head shorter than Sebastian with a beard and tweed coat.

“Mr. Sallow!” The auror reluctantly shook the Headmaster’s hand. “It is an honor, sir. Would you like some tea, sir?”

Sebastian denied the tea, but exchanged half-assed pleasantries for the sake of his daughter, who was sitting in a stiff-backed chair against the wall. He kneeled to eye level in front of her.

“There you are, sweetheart,” he cooed, weak to her big brown eyes looking up at him.

“I’m sorry you got called from work, daddy.” Eliza looked teary. “I know you had important auror things today.”

His heart clenched. “There’s nothing in the magical world more important than you, darling.” He looked down in confusion. “Why are you wearing those?”

Instead of her plaid blue skirt Sebastian cried upon seeing the first time - first time fathers, right? - she had on loose, ratty gray trousers held up by a brown belt that looked even older than Sebastian himself.

When Eliza looked down in shame, he straightened up and addressed the Headmaster.

“Explain.”

The Headmaster straightened to his full height and placed his hands on his protruding stomach.

“Well, Mr. Sallow, your daughter has just received her third uniform violation in as many months. It is time we addressed it,” he said.

Sebastian raised a skeptical eyebrow. “What’s wrong with her uniform?”

Taking a sip of his tea, the Headmaster said, “It is much too short. Several of her teachers have made comments.”

“Ah.” Sebastian crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Then we’ll just have to wait.”

The Headmaster eyed him warily. “Whatever for, Mr. Sallow?” Typically, Sebastian would take full advantage of his height and aura to put the man in his place, but there was a much more fitting punishment on its way and much more severe.

“My wife will be here momentarily,” he said.

“What would you call your wife for?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Because we’re a partnership. If you had to ask, I feel sorry for the poor woman that had to marry you.”

“Well, I never–!”

Their conversation was interrupted by a light knock on the door. Grabbing the handle, Sebastian cast the Headmaster a sideways look.

“Endeavor not to disrespect my wife. She is not the submissive housewife you seem to be imagining.”

He opened the door and in you strode, clad in an elegant dark green velvet pantsuit. Sebastian smiled to himself, happy that you let him convince you to match colors with him while buying work clothes. The way the slacks hugged your legs was just a bonus.

“Headmaster,” you said sharply, taking his hand. Then you turned and crouched in front of your daughter as Sebastian had.

“What’s going on, my love?” you asked. The two of you shared the same curve of your lips, but nothing more. Of course you’d carry a child for nine months only to have her pop out a splitting image of your husband.

The Headmaster cleared his throat. “Miss Sallow’s–”

“Hup-up-up,” you tutted, “I was speaking to my daughter. You’d do well not to interrupt.”

His face reddened at being spoken to in such a way, and by a woman, no less. Sebastian, on the other hand, was beside himself. His heart swelled with love the way it did when you first handed him his ass in a duel all those years ago.

“Go on, it’s alright,” you told her.

With some reluctance, Eliza replied, “My skirt is too short.”

You stiffened and momentarily met Sebastian’s gaze through the corner of your eye. “That’s nonsense, your father and I know the uniform regulations by heart.”

Eliza shook her head. “My teachers have said it’s distracting.”

“What’s distracting, love?”

“Me. My skirt.”

You wiped your hands on your slacks and cupped your daughter’s cheek. With a reassuring smile, you straightened and turned to Sebastian, who looked a mix of incensed and amused.

“Don’t overdo it,” he told you.

“Now’s as good a time as ever,” you argued.

“Don’t,” he urged. “Think of the paperwork.”

You cupped his face and planted a chaste kiss on his lips. Then he held out a hand towards Eliza.

“Come, now. Mum will take care of this,” he said.

Eliza eagerly hopped out of her chair and took her father’s hand. He led her out into the hallway and shut the door behind them.

“Is mother going to kill the Headmaster?” she asked innocently.

Sebastian laughed. “No, love, dead men can’t send a message.”

“What does that mean?”

Sebastian cringed and cupped his hands over her ears, as if that would somehow protect her. Hopefully you didn’t hear that.

“Never mind that. Mum will be out soon and we’ll go home and make dinner together,” he assured her.

“What about work?” Eliza asked.

“I have the feeling she and I will be taking a half-day.”

Inside the Headmaster’s office, you tapped a heeled foot. Hogwarts was quite the progressive school considering what was going on outside it in your time. Still, you were always caught by surprise when such archaic ways of thinking cropped up. Though you supposed this wasn’t the first upset of this nature and such indiscretions would continue long after you were gone.

You crossed your arms.

“My daughter’s skirt is well-within regulations. According to your handbook, the hem must be touching the knee at all times while standing and cannot rise above a quarter inch above the knee while sitting. Her hem touches her knee even while sitting. Seeing as you have eyes and I assume you know your own handbook, I’d like an explanation as to why you interrupted my workday over this.”

The Headmaster sputtered under the coldness in your tone.

“Mrs. Sallow–”

“No.”

“Ma’am, teachers have been making complaints about how inappropriate Eliza looks in her uniform. I’m sure you can see that she looks rather improper at times. It is distracting.”

You blinked.

“I see. Which teachers have called her distracting?”

The Headmaster seemed to interpret your question as his opportunity to throw some credibility behind his words. He rattled off the different teachers and the subjects they taught. There was a single woman, but you were unsurprised to hear ‘Mister’ this and ‘Mister’ that.

“They can vouch for what I’ve said, and I would call them to my office if need be,” he smiled like he won. Like him calling for backup could do anything against you.

“Please do.” You nodded calmly. “It will be good to match a face to a name during the investigations.”

The Headmaster paled. “Investigations?”

Your stern gaze met with his shifting, nervous eyes.

“But of course,” you said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “My auror husband and I simply cannot allow men who would be distracted by a ten year old girl to work at a school. That won’t do at all.”

The Headmaster stumbled around his desk in his haste to approach you.

“Now, now! That is quite the conclusion you’ve come to, Mrs. Sal– Ma’am. Our faculty has simply observed that Eliza’s body has developed in such a way that–”

You put a hand up to stop him. “I see. A young woman’s body changes the slightest bit and suddenly grown men are unable to contain themselves.”

“That’s not what I–!”

Turning to take your leave, you call over your shoulder, “I hope you have other skills, Headmaster, for you’ll never work in education again. Consider my daughter disenrolled.”

You step out into the hall and are greeted by your husband and child. Eliza looked nervous while Sebastian was trying to hide a smile.

You lean down to ask your daughter, “Do you have all your things?” She nodded. “Everything? You won’t be coming back here.” She nodded again.

“Good.”

Sebastian placed his hand on the small of your back, took Eliza’s hand, and guided you both to the exit. He leaned over and spoke in hushed tones.

“All settled? Finished tormenting him?” he asked.

“My love, I haven’t even begun to torment him,” you replied.

He kissed your temple. “You are absolutely terrifying.”

“I am.”

“I’m desperately in love with you.”

“You are.”

---

A/N: Sebastian's auror outfit is inspired by a fanart I saw by @notashree on TikTok, and it looks like she has an instagram @itsashree.

Also, the line where The Headmaster tries to call you 'Mrs. Sallow' had a different response, but it's a spoiler for a different fic I'm writing, so I changed it. Yeehaw.

#aya being dramatic #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy imagines #sebastian sallow x reader

[moniescove]

Imagine

Once again Jaehyun sat alone on the small cherry wood chair, arms leaned atop the matching table. It never was to his taste, he was more into modern design rather than the mid century interior that currently adorned his dimly lit apartment. The singular lamp hanging above dauntingly bright admist the emptyness around him, shining through the wine bottle reflecting crystal like shimmers onto the table top. He never had it in him to change anything around the house. It was all he had left of you. The same cherry wood set he detested now became one of his prized possessions.

He knew you weren't coming back, you made sure of it in the way you left. Making sure to completely erase him from your life, whether it was as simple as deleting all the photos within your camera roll that shared memories with a smiling Jaehyun or as big as moving out and blocking him from any way he could contact you. You never wanted to see him again and he knew that. Despite it all, he just couldn't wipe the traces of you from his life no mater how much he wished he could. It was all his fault anyway. He had to suffer. That was the only way he felt the weight of his actions could be forgiven.

Jaehyun knew how much he affected you, how all the dismissals only broke you down more. He had to let you go but he couldn't. You're relationship was simply all a fantasy, Jaehyun knew that, you knew that, but neither of you could face the reality. How a fool he was to simply stand around as you slowly crumbled in front of his eyes. How he simply feigned ignorance, not having the patience and love you needed in your darkest times.

He knew you were more than his pervious relationships, he knew a cloud followed you closely casting a shadow onto you diming your light, but you were just the girl of his dreams, at least when you weren't driven by the pain within you. Jaehyun could've never imagined the reality of being in love with a girl like you. He didn't know how to handle it so even when you would cry out to him, he simply averted his gaze.

Always leaving you to wonder when he would finally have the time to listen to you, love even the worst parts of you to the full extent you craved. Everyday hoping Jaehyun could finally prove you wrong after nights of anguish, Jaehyun begging you to stay, telling you he would change, telling you he loved you. Leaving you with a glint of hope, excitement for the possibility of the futures you would share. If only he really did know how to love you as deeply as he wanted to.

The toxic cycle only continued and you had to put an end to it. You finally had enough. Not a single false promise that fell from his lips enough to keep you from slipping away.

So now, he can only sit alone within the darkness of what was once a bright home filled with love, or at least what he wanted to remember as love. He was sure if you met now he would finally have the emotional maturity to love you and care for you the way you deserved, but now that is only just a fantasy.

"Another year spent loving just you, __" Jaehyun said as the fireworks bursted across the sky, shining through his windows celebrating a new year arriving.

#[Jaehyun!] #jaehyun angst #nct jaehyun #jaehyun #jung jaehyun #nct angst #nct #nct 127 angst #nct drabbles #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fanfic #nct 127 #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun drabble #nctzen #kpop angst #jaehyun imagines

[orderforbrian]

cut footage from MAG159

[Start ID: A redrawn image of the Lightning McQueen and Mater "I want you" meme with Jon and Martin from the Magnus Archives. Martin is a mixed Polish/Korean man with dark wavy hair that has a streak of grey in his bangs. He has glasses, a light beard, and a beauty mark on his left chin. He is wearing a blue striped sweater. Jon is a Persian man with dark curly hair and a full beard, both with streaks of grey. He has intense green eyes and is wearing a striped mauve shirt underneath a green jacket. Both of them are surrounded by clouds of fog against a grey background.

1st panel: Martin smiles at Jon, stating in large meme text, "Wow Jon, I'm so glad to be freed from the Lonely".

2nd panel: Jon states in large meme text, "I want you."

3rd panel: Martin looks on in complete shock and disorientation, but is also blushing.

End ID.]

#god......this was funny to make #tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jmart #order up! art tag

[lovelywritinglady]

Hi I've been reading a lot of your fan fic for a while and one I would just like to say they're great and awesome. But two I was hoping to ask you if you could make this into this fan fiction

where it's swap Audible and Tengen Uzi is a Upper moon that is secretly dating a hashira (male reader if possible)

Thank you so much! I’m glad you like my content!💜

Demons Love

Demon Uzui Tengen x male!Reader

In which reader and Uzui are dating and no one knows…

Fluff, Wholesome themes, mentions of blood, slight violence.

Your pov

‘Dammit Uzui! You gotta keep a lower profile.” I barked at my boyfriend. As the two of us stood in a dark alleyway.

“I know I’m sorry, I just can’t help it. You’re so flashy and strong.” Tengen replied with a wide fanged smile on his face.

“Thank you, but as you know, no one can know that your my love and I’m yours. A gay relationship is already taboo, but a hashira and a upper moon is much more taboo.” I reminded him.

“I personally don’t care.” He shrugged leaning in and stealing a kiss on my lips.

I melted into his kiss. Allowing him to hold me close to him as he shoved his tongue into my mouth. I then moaned pulling him closer. Despite him being a demon, he sure was attractive. From his fuchsia eyes to, his fanged teeth, bulging muscles, and pale skin. He was like a god.

Tengen then pulled away letting me breathe. A massive blush graced my features as he looked at me with hunger in his eyes. I could tell that he wanted me, but this just wasn’t the time as we were in the middle of a battle. A battle that I had to fake considering I didn’t kill my love.

“God you’re handsome.” Uzui complimented still holding my bloodied face.

“I know I am and so are you.” I flirted back as I wiped some dirt off his gorgeous face.

“You know, you didn’t have to go so hard back there. I think those kids know you’re strong.” He teased.

“I know, but I need to make them believe that we actually hate each other.” I responded in a no duh tone.

“Fine, wanna go back?” He asked in a annoyed and saddened tone.

“I guess so, just kiss me first.” I demanded as I captured him in another heated kiss feeling slightly sad that we couldn’t continue…

Our battle together destroyed an entire town and all the whole neither of us were really trying. Uzui has a tendency to try and show off even though I’m fully aware of how strong and flashy he is. We pretended that he got away and was too scared of daylight to continue any longer. This exact scenario has happened only a few times, but I’m concerned that someone will catch on. But I really don’t care. As long as I have him I will fake fight as much as possible to keep him. And I know he’ll do the same, even though he’s a blood thirsty human eating demon.

Thank you so much for reading💜 And thanks to the person who requested this fic! Also, sorry I made it so short my writing bug hasn’t been super strong lately.

Please feel free to like, comment, request, and reblog.

Click here to see what I’ll write for and HERE for my mater list.

•I do NOT own any characters except y/n•

-L.W.L

#demon slayer fanfic #tengen uzui x reader #uzui x reader #uzuitengen #kimetsu no yaiba uzui #kny uzui #uzui tengen x reader #tengen uzui x you #uzui tengen #tengen uzui #tengen uzui x male reader #demon slayer fics #demon slayer uzui #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer x male reader #gay #male hashira #uzui tengen x male reader #uzui Tengen x male hashira #demon uzui Tengen x male hashira #requested fic. #requested uzui Tengen fic #fluff #angst #demon slayer #tengen x reader #uzui tengen x y/n #uzui tengen x you #tengen fluff

[reii-naa]

okay i do want to voice out my opinion in.. well certain fics

i get it, it's called FANFICITON for a reason, but of course there has to be limitations because at this point i feel like i dont want to be a part of any community again

i do hope you know what "dark content" actual is. yes, its dark, but dark is way different than full on disgust. i do think incest doesn't belong to "dark content", because you're having sex with your biological family. that's gross and surely other siblings/bio family members wouldn't want to have sex with someone they're related to

even if it's traumatic/ptsd related, lets not romanticize that at the very least. its a really serious situation we shouldn't be putting in our writing just for the sake of attention and pleasing others.

obviously seeing smut fics of your favorite character isn't a nice thing to see. any fandom, like majority or even all people in a fandom wouldn't and cant handle incest. like- any sane person would never handle that honestly

ive read the aventurine incest fic with his sister and least to say, i wasn't pleased a bit because im sure aventurine wouldn't do that, and im sure others agree too.

me, along with some others (majority of aventurine fans id say) wouldn't want to see gross works about the character/s (doesnt limit to aventurine) because it genuinely upsets us due to how someone decided to treat a character in such a negative scenario society perceives, because i know some others view these characters as their comfort character.

this also gives the writing part of the fandom a bad light and we obviously dont want to get caught up in that bad light.

i saw the author say that they're disgusted by their brother, yet wrote this fic about brother!aventurine wanting to get his siter pregnant with their child...

i kind of admire the courage of this person to post this fic thinking it was okay for like- majority of people. i know its a mater of preference of smut fics, but i honeslty think liking incest related fics isn't something to enjoy especially when its someone you're close with.

some might defend, saying that others (specifically irl people) enjoy getting r#p#d or having sex with their family members, but id like to say that's a different case and lets not add it to our writings that will be shared to others. perhaps the reason why people enjoy these stuff is because that's how they were raised when they were young, and young and developing brains of kids are easy to brainwash and inflict trauma, even teens, heck adults too

if you think we're just sensitive, we're not because i wouldn't want my parents or sibling to just suddenly want a baby inside of me, id call the police ASAP

at this point ill just play a game without even looking at the community/fandom to spare myself a bit of my sanity and please read the entire thing and hopefully get my point

#aventurine smut #honkai star rail #hsr

[curiositydooropened]

Power's Out

My hand slipped this morning. This is for @sweetsweetjellybean because her power's out and she deserves it.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Wordcount: 1442

Warnings: making out, Eddie Munson is a cock-block

Navigation • Masterlist

---

Third day of Spring and you were wrapped under a comforter and three quilts. Your feet were shoved into wool socks and tucked under you for warmth. Your poor fingers only escaped the blankets to earn you a sip of water or to turn the page on the steamy novel you’d been reading.

Luckily Snowmageddon provided ample lighting when your windows were open, sun cascading in rays off the snow.

You snuggled in tighter, brow furrowed at the main character bickering with her love interest, when you were startled by a knock at the front door.

You glanced down at the tangle you’d trapped yourself in, and then back up at the door when the wrap of knuckles grew more frantic.

“Alright,” you heaved yourself from the couch. “I’m coming.”

You slouched to the door, wearing the comforter like monk’s robes. Peering through the peephole, you found a set of broad shoulders and a mess of dark hair.

The door opened with a burst of frigid air, and Steve grinned, holding up a to- go box. His legs bounced from the cold, canvas tennis shoes dipped dark wet from the snow. “Pizza delivery.”

You stepped aside to let him in, a familiar grumble matching the flip in your stomach when you saw who had arrived.

The pizza smelled amazing, and most importantly warm.

“Power’s on about two miles from here.” Steve explained, stripping out of his shoes and jacket before carrying your lunch to the kitchen to serve on plates.

“Lucky bastards.” You grumbled, peeling a cheesy slice from the grease- stained box before he had a chance to dirty another plate. He offered you one and you waved it away, taking a large moan-inducing bite.

Steve tucked his head, and you noticed the reddening of his ears as a smile split his features. “That good, huh?”

“So fucking good,” you nodded, mouth full.

His smile was shy, sweet, and he leaned against the counter across from you, ankles crossed. “I’m glad.”

He looked tall like this, in your kitchen, long limbed. His hands dwarfed the pizza slice as he careful dipped his head forward for a bite. You hadn’t remembered him looking so... big the last time he was here.

Well, that’s a lie.

You felt your face warm, tucking into another bite, forcing your eyes away from his hands and the curve of his throat as he swallowed.

The last time he’d been here, you’d had power, though you hadn’t used it. Stumbling in from a St. Paddy’s celebration, with matching top hats and shamrocks painted over your tits on your T-shirt. Steve nearly tripped backing over your couch, and you crawled on top of him to pull a Kelly green sweater over his head. He tasted of whisky and beef, and he moaned into your mouth as his large hands palmed beneath shamrocks and tangled themselves into your hair.

You coughed to clear your throat, too big of a bite taking up space in your cheek like a chipmunk.

“Cups?” Steve gestured at a cupboard near the sink.

You nodded, mopped grease from the corner of your mouth and wiped crumbs on the leg of your pajama pants.

You blinked and glanced down at your attire. You were an adult woman, and why you owned a pair of pajama pants with cows jumping over the moon, you’d never know. But you made a mental note to burn them after this. At least your hoodie qualified your alma mater.

Steve filled two glasses from the sink and offered you one before taking a large gulp from his own.

Without the buzz from the refrigerator, the house was painfully silent. So much so that your ears began to ring as you sipped your water and washed down the rest of your slice.

Steve set his glass on the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. His ankles uncrossed so he could slide a socked foot to yours. “So other than a power outage, how’ve you been?”

“Good, yeah, good.” You stammered, but your face reflected the smile growing on his.

“Good.”

He’d rested closer to you, just a step away, and if you were brave enough, you’d cross the little linoleum tile and curl your hand around his tricep.

You cleared your throat again, smiled. “How about you?”

He grinned at that, uncrossed his arms. They were longer than yours, and he was brave enough to loop gentle fingers around your wrists. “I’ve been really good.” His thumbs brushed circles into your forearms, and he tugged you ever- so-closer.

“That’s good,” you replied, a little breathless.

He hummed, face tilting to just meet yours. His amber eyes begged for permission, and one large hand came to meet your throat. His thumb continued its ministrations on your job. “I’m even better now.”

You hummed in agreement, falling into the warmth of him, sturdy and propped against the counter. The comforter fell from your shoulders, and a shiver wracked through you at the whoosh of cold air it offered.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you all week.” He confessed, thumb and forefinger idling at the earring in your ear lobe.

You leaned into his touch, fingers grasping at the forest green sweater covering a broad chest. “So kiss me then.”

His lips were softer than you remembered, the frantic removal of clothing the weekend before only allowed room for teeth and tongues and moans. Now was less frantic, sweeter, the press of his mouth to yours as one hand tucked around your waist to hold you even closer. God, he was blissfully warm.

When he pulled away, you found yourself not wanting it to end, and you chased his lips until his muffled moan entered your mouth. Then, you were like jelly, pliable under his fingertips.

A sturdy hand tangled into the hair at the base of your neck, and he opened your mouth with his tongue. His other hand pressed you tighter between his thighs, against the bulge in his jeans.

“This okay?” He breathed, but you caught his lips again in your response. You trailed one hand down his chest to meet the tent of his pants.

He moaned louder into your mouth, tugging at your hair to expose your throat to him. He curled over you, pressing sweet, damp kisses to your pulse points, fist balling around the fabric of your hoodie.

Your free hand found his hair.

“We should slow down,” Steve’s voice was strained, rough against your sternum, but he made no move to stop. “Want to take you on a date.”

“You can after.”

You gasped as he adjusted, wedging his thigh between your legs and rolling your hips against the rough denim. You murmured his name and coaxed his mouth back to yours.

Warm hands found bare skin beneath your sweatshirt. They fanned the expanse of your back and rib cage, held you tight, safe.

He kissed you slow and sweet, like he had, releasing your lower lip with a pop to stare down at you. He was smiling, pupils blown. His hair stuck up at odd angles.

“I’m serious.” He said, and the tenderness of his gaze made you squirm. You fought to wipe the grin off your own cheeks.

“Me too.”

Then came the pounding at the front door.

Steve released you, both of you clutching at the countertop in surprise.

You held one finger in apology, frowned, and crossed the living room for the front door.

When you leaned forward to look out the peep hole, the pounding started again, followed by a familiar voice. “It’s fucking cold out here, will you just let me in?!”

You glanced back at Steve, who waited patiently by the kitchen with a large frown furrowing his brow.

With a sigh, you opened the door to find Eddie Munson with a large to-go bag of Chinese food. His nose and cheeks were red from the cold, and he lumbered past you without saying hello, a waft of black leather and snow.

“Did you know the power’s on like two miles from here?” He unwrapped the scarf from his neck and toed out of heavy leather boots.

You coughed and scratched at the back of your neck as you watched the exchange between house guests when Eddie finally looked up to find Steve waiting in the kitchen, arms crossed over his broad chest.

Eddie’s lips quirked up into that wolfish grin, shaking damp hair from his eyes. “Well, I’ll be dammed, Harrington. Isn’t this a surprise?”

With a sigh, you closed the front door and rested your forehead against the frigid metal. This was going to be a long day.

---

Hope your power comes back and you have a better day, Jelly, my dear xoxoxo

#steve harrington fic #eddie munson fic #amanda's gifts for friends #amanda's faves

[namazunomegami]

Into the Void

Pairing: Geto Suguru x gn!reader

Synopsis: Geto is so succumbed to his ideals that you have no choice but to run. But the hunt for you is more than a simple chase. It's resurrection. It's repentance. Just like in the parable of the lost sheep.

CW: canon compliant, established relationship, predator/prey, injuries, blood, toxic dynamics, heavy religious symbolism, emotional distress, dissociation, tiny bit of hurt/comfort, yandere behavior, Geto is a manipulative ass how surprising

WC: 5.2k whoops

Credits: my dear @notveryrussian for proofreading but tbh I should start calling you my editor from now on lmao. I'm glad you enjoyed my sneak peeks so much 💕

Song rec: since I can't control myself, I picked 3 songs by Nine Inch Nails that gives the perfect vibes to the story. For the exposition, I recommend Heresy, mostly because the lyrics resonates with the reader's thoughts about Geto. For the escape/chase part, I picked Eraser for the creepy vibes and reader's slowly deterioriating sanity. For the closing part, I picked A warm place because it's a comforting yet a bit gloomy track

A/N: Saying that this idea possessed me is an understatement. Initially I only wanted to put effort into the whole chase scene but obviously I started to add lore into the whole thing. And since they grew on me and I simply love their dynamic, a part 2 is on the way yaaay.

Minors shall not interact unless they wanna get punched.

And a usual warning for dark content. I wanted to keep it mild but I couldn't. Maybe I'm a lil bit too skilled when it comes to writing about fear.

It’s all too painful to think that maybe running away with Geto wasn’t the best idea.

Of course you loved him, you loved the twins too and the makeshift family you created, it really healed some of the wounds you received in the past. But you wished it would’ve stayed that way. Living together, somewhere far away, isolated, in peace. Have a fresh start, build a nest for the four of you and fill it up with love.

But he had other plans.

There were a lot of improvements in the initial phase of your plans. Building community, uniting the herd. You enjoyed some reverence from the followers too. Eventually the initial number of breakthroughs began to stagnate, despite all the effort. It became routine, like you were being dragged through the same day for years and years without end. When you were faced with even more setbacks, you started to realize that you basically never left the temple and it soon began to feel like a cage. Golden and holy. It was draining to see people lose their sense of individuality and how he became their only source of validation. It was torment. Living life as an idol of worship tucked into a forgotten corner of a church. Praised like a twisted Gothic Madonna with a blue cloth over your head, but in reality you weep, you’re their Mater Dolorosa, with swords piercing your sorrowful heart.

The most devastating thing about realizing you’re not fit to run a cult, is the fact that you lack the most understated yet important aspect of it: believing in the agenda you want to spread. How could you guide all those helpless, simple-minded sheep while questioning whether your destination is real or not? Maybe that Canaan has nothing to do with milk and honey, instead it’s just a pile of rubble.

You soon got tired of it all. His drive, his goal, all too impossible to achieve. Maybe he knew he could never make it happen, but it consumed him regardless. You’ve lost the most cherished parts of him to his hatred, his deeply repressed rage against any injustices he had to deal with after the infamous Star Plasma incident.

You weren’t sure about your feelings towards Geto anymore. Were you afraid of him? Angry at him? Bitter? Disappointed? Worried? It all turned into mush, a grotesque, black liquid as the thin walls of the temple slowly made you feel like they were closing in on you. You had no idea how much time you had, until your unresolved feelings will taint the whole place.

You always circled back to the worst possible action to protect your soft, aching heart… When you thought that nothing will change for the better, you wanted to run away. You wanted to hide. The ambivalence of your feelings towards him weighed on your heart and conscience, like a thousand stones. You loved him, yet you loathed what has become of him. Despite that you trusted him with the map of your soul, made it through all the highs and lows of your relationship so far, all the deep abysses of pain and suffering.

Maybe you should run, just for the sake of it. To test how it will make you feel. Will it make you feel freed? At ease? Will it lift the weights on your chest? Will this sense of incoming doom vanish?

Maybe you should find Gojo. He wouldn’t condemn you, but he would be disappointed. If you set your judgement and resentment to aside, he’s the only one who can talk with the higher ups to scratch your name off the list of curse users who are on death row.

How much time did you need to forge your plan? Not even a single minute. It was only natural for you to memorize everybody’s routine, how to distinguish the sound of their steps, to pick a timeframe when nobody is lurking around the halls. The first (and probably last) time you were glad those who have hurt you gave you a skill, besides the ability to harness cursed energy of course. They made you stealthy, alert, observant.

And when Geto left you to cater to his followers, you decided to put your plan into action.

Your body is strung tight with the tension of waiting, agitation making you feel as if you were unraveling at the seams - but something deep inside of your mind pleaded for you to stay. Agony and anxiety were plaguing you until you’ve found enough courage to get up and sneak out. Now, you had the chance to show off everything you’ve learned: sliding the doors shut so slowly that they don’t make a noise, walking down the corridors with socked feet, carefully putting the middle parts of your feet on the floor, instead of your heels, easily avoiding those parts that creak.

Sometimes, when he was immersed in his thoughts, he was amused by how faint your steps sounded.

An involuntary instinct warns you. It’s trying to convince you that he can see you through the eyes of bodhisattvas residing in the thangka paintings decorating the walls. You almost give up your quest as you glance at the depiction of Vajrabhairava. In all its anger, with its six faces and twelve limbs. A dreadful beast that defies death itself.

You don’t want to do this to him, do you?

You look away from the painting, focusing on getting your shoes on and climbing out through the window. As you’re squatting on the windowpane, you can see all of Tokyo stretched out beneath you. You’re a little bit annoyed that all temples are built on a mountain. A long way to go, but you can never know when this place will turn into a funeral pyre.

It’s a little bit too easy. There’s no sign of surveillance curses nearby, you only need to slide down on the wet tiles, jump up high, land in the mud and let yourself be swallowed by the darkness of the forest. You specifically picked your least conspicuous clothes to blend into your surroundings perfectly. And the cold and murky night will let you go safely. The leaves will conceal your tracks.

So many things are working in your favor tonight.

You know there’s no need to rush. You can only draw attention to yourself if you are running around, creating noise and disturbing the wildlife. You don’t even use a flashlight, you have to get used to the darkness, the full Moon will guide you with all her dazzling light. And after that, Tokyo will do the same, with its crowded streets and all its places to hide.

There’s a weird kind of tranquility in your heart. How the cold prickles your skin, the moisture in the air, the faint noise of the creatures dwelling under the leaves, up in the trees, singing, chirping, crawling. The scent of wet soil, the gentle caress of the wind…

Now, you feel free.

As you walk deeper and deeper into the woods, you feel lighter, you feel like you could fly away, like you could dance all the way towards your destination. You’re thinking about actually doing that, as if you got possessed by a strange spirit…

But the uneven, slippery ground makes you fall right into the mud. You squirmed a little, trying to get hold of a tree trunk and then…

Silence, dead silence.

Your heart sinks deep in your chest.

You know what it means. When nature falls silent. There’s…

There’s a threat nearby.

A primal instinct tells you to run.

There’s no way, there’s no fucking way that he already noticed you were gone.

Twigs whip at your skin as you’re running mindlessly. Wherever you end up, it will be fine, as long as you can enter the outskirts of the city. The cold night air stings your throat, your heaving breath leaves your mouth in puffy clouds. You feel the urge to cough, deep from your bone-dry lungs.

The ground beneath you turns soft and steep. You lose your poise, stumbling and rolling all the way down until you fall from a high clod of rain-washed soil. Your body collides with a cold, wet, yet incredibly hard and flat surface, fraying the skin on your palm and face. Your back and shoulders will be bruised by tomorrow, painting your body with black and blue spots. The pain ripples through your entire being, paralyzing you for a couple of moments.

As you slowly gathered your battered self from the ground with a grunt, you realize you landed on a road. It’s a good sign, you’re not so far from civilization. But instead of following the road, cutting through the forest is the wiser decision.

Your relief is short-lived, just like a may fly.

A sinister feeling takes hold on you. It makes you freeze, squeezing your insides. Like you’re sitting in the jaw of an eldritch beast. You slowly turn back to the direction of your fall.

The lights are flickering.

You grab on the guardrail for dear life. You try to fill your lungs with shaky breaths, your heart desperately beating against your ribcage. Your trembling knees barely keep you upright, yet nothing can make you move. You have been found, you’re defeated, there’s no point in running away from him. The injuries, the already forming bruises will only deplete your strength.

How could you fight him? You’re aware that if he wanted to, he could break your bones and twist your body at the joints with an arm behind his back.

How could you outrun him? He’s capable of summonning a swarm of curses before you even take a step.

How could you make war with him?

Three of the lamp lights were already out, you stared into the darkness, the boundless abyss right before your eyes. You can’t even force yourself to blink.

And when the lights came back on, he was just standing there. Without breaking a sweat. Your pulse feels non-existent.

What infuriated you even more was that he wasn’t wearing his gojo-kesa. The motherfucker even gave you a head start by changing into something comfortable before he came to fetch you. Or simply he noticed your absence later than you expected.

Whatever, both is bad news for you.

He doesn’t utter a single word, he merely walks towards you. Slowly cornering you. Feasting on the terror on your face. Meanwhile you can’t unravel what could possibly be going on in his mind. The only thing you notice is that those violet sparks in his eyes are so sharp they could cut yours out of their sockets.

Should you give up? Should you beg for forgiveness?

But then, an idea blooms inside your mind.

You don’t hide your fear, you let your body tremble freely, fingers desperately clinging onto the metal, with your shoulders hunched to protect your neck and your wide, frightened eyes stare back at him. Letting him believe that you won’t fight back. That he can take you back to the temple and throw you back into your cage.

And when his foot hits the bisector, you jump. Right into the nothingness behind your back.

You fall on leaves and broken twigs again. You roll and roll with such speed you can’t comprehend the growing distance. Not even having an idea of how far you’re from him. Small rocks, branches, hardened roots of trees, bones all cut, scratch and pierce you. But you endure it, you’ll undergo any torture if it meant you’ll be freed. Your only hope is that the adrenaline will deal with the pain.

Suddenly, you violently crash into a tree, the ridged texture imprints deeply into your stomach. Acid bursts from your throat. Your diaphragm didn’t avoid the hit either, breathing is not unlike Sisyphean task as you try to get your shaking limbs to stand. Your mind is disturbed by the lack of air and your desperate attempts at getting yourself together. You’re wheezing like a dog. You must look pathetic, you think.

It takes almost all of your mental strength to calm down and slowly breathe through your nose, your lungs finally opening. But Geto won’t let you recover, you hear the fallen leaves getting crushed under his feet. You take a few sharp, ragged breaths, like it’s the last drag of a cigarette before the train comes and then, you move.

You hide behind a thick pine tree, palms covering your mouth and nose. The lack of oxygen is just another frustrating hindrance to your successful escape plan. Dizziness fills your head like a thick fog and sucks the strength out of your shins, needing to lean against the trunk to keep yourself standing. You try to conceal your cursed energy with all your might. A tracker who’s untraceable is a useful pawn in the hands of the higher ups, this skill made you a cherished student back in the day. Back when everything was so… no, it’s only the nostalgia making you wistful, it wasn’t any better.

The rustling gets quieter, you wait until the sound eventually dies. An almost muted sigh of relief leaves your lips in a thick cloud, dancing in the cold air.

From the corner of your eye, a floating form cuts through the pale moonlight.

Looking closely at its shape, you realize what kind of curse it is. The beetle looking one that attacks instantly once it senses movement. You can’t believe it, you’re going to -

The curse drags itself into your aura, scanning your form that is fused with the pine. Every muscle is tensed, you’re stiff as a board, you suppress every reflex in your eye and empty chest. You’re just like a statue, a corpse, showing no signs of life. Only an agonizing scream echoes inside your skull. A scream that puts mental breakdowns to shame.

It’s like an eternity until the curse finally disappears from your sight.

You definitely look exhausted, your body is limp and heavy like lead. But you must keep going at all costs, even if you have no idea how many curses are sent after you. You walk around the mountain instead of going down like he’d expect it.

Slowly yet surely, you calm yourself down. You know that you’re still in his grasp, but you still have a chance to outsmart him. You go deeper and deeper, you’re near the heart of the forest now. The moonlight barely crawls through the leaves, it’s easier to navigate according to what you hear rather than to what you see. The surroundings are growing eerie, you ache for light and warmth. And the longing sucks a bit of spirit out of you.

Before you can start questioning yourself, the sound of running water fills your ears.

A narrow, yet fast running stream plowed through the forest. Though you were unsure of staying close to the stream, going through it and getting to the other side sounds like a smart idea. As you take a reluctant step, you realize the water is ice cold. And when you dive into it further, enduring the strong current, it’s not as shallow as you believed. You’re submerged all the way up to your thighs. At its deepest point, the stream hugs your waist. The cold makes your movements slow and rigid, your teeth clang together in a frenzy. The bottom is filled with smooth, flat pebbles, they make it easy to - 

You slip on the rounded, polished stones and fall into the stream. The freezing temperature makes your skin shrink, it prickles you like a thousand needles. Scared, you crawl around the bottom, trying to get a hold of something and emerge back to the surface. A sharp, burning pain wakes in your palm, tears streaming down your cheeks. You try to swallow your scream, but it wants to burst from your lungs, you grunt and whimper until you can bite down on your sweatshirt, letting the material muffle your shout. Your gaze fixates on your hand and even in the darkness of the night, you see blood oozing from the deep cut, from your own torn flesh. The urge to retch is strong.

You palm is plunged back into the cool water, in hope of easing the pain.

He calls out your name right behind you.

You crawl out of the water, running from him, just as before. It doesn't matter how many times you trip, fall, stumble. It doesn’t matter how your fresh wounds end up in the mud, you don’t have it in you care about the pain or the looming threat of an infection. You hear him trying to reason with you. You must come back home, you’re injured, you’re bleeding. He must take care of you.

Why are you running? Where could you go? Who’s going to help you recover?

No, you mustn’t let your determination crumble. But oh… it sounds so easy. Giving in to your hopelessness.

An evergreen bush becomes your shelter to collect yourself and check on your wound, which is aching from all the dirt and is still bleeding. Water is dripping from your hair, your clothes are soaked, makes it easier for the cold night air to bite into you, to shake the whole length of your body. Your fingers are hardly moving and have no strength in them. The adrenaline is starting to wear off. You feel alone, small, and vulnerable. You’re freezing, scarred and aching. All the things you see in the dark twist into creepy, threatening forms. Everything that surrounds you is suddenly dangerous. As a lonely spider crawls within your field of vision, you flinch. The world around you is evil and everything is after your flesh.

And the only person who can save you is the one you’re running away from.

What are you going to do now? Fight, flight, or freeze? Which instinct is going to win this time? Because comprehensible thoughts won’t work on you. Every little layer of a fully-fledged human with a conscience has been stripped from you. You left them scattered everywhere in the woods. You’re nothing more than a primordial shell of a being.

Ceremonial horns wake in the distance, soon followed by howling. They let the dogs out to hunt you down. Poor, little hare. Your own stupidity has woken up the beast.

Who is like unto the beast?

You defeat the paralyzing dread and decide on flight. You dash out from the bushes, but - Oh… your eye. Your soft doe eye. There’s something in it. And your tears have an oddly metallic taste on your tongue.

And power was given him over all kindreds, and tongues, and nations.

You wish you could see yourself from the outside, but you’re probably nowhere near as majestic as you think you are. Right now you feel like you’re the fastest, stealthiest creature who’s ever lived, even if your muscles are almost torn, weak, and tensed. This is the last crumb of your strength, this is your all.

And all that dwell upon the earth shall worship him.

You don’t dare to look back. You know he’s there. He’s so close, he’s orbiting around you like a moon does with its planet. As if all of this is a dance. A hunt is a dance with a coital rhythm. And mother nature is the audience to your deadly waltz.

And he doeth great wonders, so that he maketh fire come down from heaven on the earth in the sight of men.

He takes your hand in his. Gentle and kind. To not scare you any further. You snap like an electric current under his touch, but you break free and zigzag between the trees.

He grabs your waist. Forcefully. It scares you this time. You escape from his embrace before he can swallow you whole. But he might have bit your throat during the process, you feel something trailing down your collarbones. You hear your bones crack.

It was all a mistake. You are a mistake. But mistakes can be forgiven, right? He has forgiven you so many times, you can’t even think of a number.

You slide down on a slope, leaves stick to your clothes, and you drop onto a thick trunk of a fallen oak. Tensive pain ripples in your side. You should stand up and run, but you can’t move. You won’t move. What’s wrong with you? What kind of prey gives the fight up before its last breath? But you think about your frozen limbs, the pain in your palm, your back, your shoulder blades, everywhere. You think about home… you want to go home or be left here to die. But the thought of dying here, alone, makes your heart palpitate rapidly, like there’s not enough air to fill your lungs. Your breathing becomes desperate, panicked even. Your chest hurts, your ribcage is ready to break apart by your racing heartbeat. You press your palms against your head, clawing into your hair. Every little morsel of you is bursting into a tremor. The connection between your mind, your body and the world cease to exist. And that lovely, unlimited stretch of space inside your consciousness is shaken, it’s in utter chaos. Breaking into tiny little pieces, like glass, like porcelain. Tears and plucks like paper and fabric. Shrieks and wails, rejecting the only thing that makes all creatures on this plane of existence agitated over their own mortality.

You’re doomed.

Unconsciously, your limbs curl into the very same position you took when you saw the world for the first time, protecting your belly and face, making you seem small. Geto knows you only do that when you fear what might happen to you, despite being unaware of the kind of terror your brain had subjected you to. That’s why he approaches you slowly, making no sudden movements as he picks you up gently, like one would lift a porcelain figure from the ground. When you open your eyes, he had already settled you into his lap as the manta ray curse lifts the two of you up to mount the skies.

You have no idea if he hunted you down or saved you from your own demise.

What a defiant, ungrateful creature you are, you think. You tried so viciously to run away from your burden, and now you feel safe with him again, you dare clinging to him, you dare seek his warmth. The contradicting thoughts and desires torture you on the way back. There’s only one faint voice inside your head that’s capable of calming you down, able to keep your sanity intact…

You’re the lost sheep, and he’s the shepherd who searched all over the world to find you. And he’ll bring you back to the flock, and he’ll love you more than the rest of them.

Your false god. Your fallacious savior. Will he forgive you if you repent on your knees? Until they get bloody and bruised?

Back at the temple, he refuses to let you take even a step on your own. You weren’t born to run, to soil your soles with the ground that filthy monkeys walk on. You’re meant to be worshipped, to claim the whole world as yours beneath dainty, soft feet.

The warm lamplight and the comfort of your shared room helps you unwind. To shift back into a much more civilized, humanlike state. And as you practically glue yourself to the heater, you notice more dirt, more cuts, more blood marring your flesh than you expected.

When you take off your grimy sweatshirt, shoes, and socks, Geto is towering over you. There’s nothing imposing about him, he looks rather troubled as he sighs.

“What do I do with you?”

You roll your eyes. Oh, the good old rhetorical question. He has no idea if he should treat your wounds first, bathe you or break your leg just like the Gospel says.

“Come, let me take a look at your hand.”

You see your reflection in the mirror, and you’re horrified. Your right eye is bloodshot, a deep cut is splitting through your lower lip. You’re drenched in mud, already dried on your face along with some patches of wine dark blood. Together they seal the scraped skin on your cheek, makes your hair stick together into thick strands, accessorized with pine leaves and other remains from your little hike. You’re blistered and torn, you can barely recognize yourself.

It's pleasant to rinse your hands with warm water at the sink, but the sight makes your stomach twist. That nasty wound is too deep, it has to be sewn shut. A shiver races down on your spine when you see the first aid kit. He soaks a fresh gauze pad with wound solution and guides it towards the gaping cut with a pair of tweezers. The sting is horrible, the burning sensation rivals acid being poured straight into your flesh, it makes you grunt and hiss. He gives you a moment to breathe and collect yourself then he continues, despite your whimpers and twitching, tensed fingers. But the pain pales in comparison to when he swipes a new, clean pad inside your wound, cleaning it of all the filth. A pathetic cry erupts from your throat.

“Stop.” you sob, pulling your hand away to hug it close to your chest. You’re too distressed to realize that the temporary discomfort is necessary. But maybe this whole act is nothing but another one of his silly little games.

He places a finger under your eye, close to your lashes and collects your tears. The sight of you crying is somehow not worth of savoring to him. Before any little drop of your sorrow and regret can roll down your cheek like diamonds, he smears them, as if they could make your misery vanish. Well, they can’t. It frustrates you that you can’t let your feelings manifest because he’s ready to devour them just like his curses.

He doesn’t care that your face is caked in dirt, blood and tears, he lifts your chin up to kiss you. Deeply. You’re not reprimanded for not kissing him back.

You were right, he’s definitely toying with you. He makes it hurt before he soothes the ache. He creates a connection in your mind. Like you’re the dog of Pavlov, slowly conditioned to associate him with anything that makes the human heart fill with delight.

The tiles attract your attention much more than watching how the curved needle dives into your skin, how the thread closes the wound proficiently. Your features soften for a moment. Shoko would be so proud of him... Not for the reason he got so good at it though. He learnt to treat his wounds for the sole purpose of not letting a non-sorcerer doctor ever touch him.

He’s crazy. Vile. Petty. And delusional. It drives you crazy too.

But when your stitched hand is wrapped up in bandages, you seriously think about thanking him for putting up with you. For not being angry at you.

“Maybe this will make you reconsider your actions next time.” he remarks in a flat tone, concealing what’s going on in his mind.

You keep your gratitude to yourself.

But it’s not an easy task when he continues spoiling you, with so much care that it rivals motherly love. How he rinses all the grime out of your hair, how he gives you a moment of peace in a tub filled with plain, warm water, no bubbles or scented oils to irritate your scarred, sensitive skin. He dries you, brushes your hair and fills the whole bedroom with the calming notes of lavender and cedarwood coming from the incense burners. But he’s just so fixated on your injuries… every scratch, every surface level cut is thoroughly sanitized. It’s still humiliating, even when you’re the one sitting comfortably on the bed and he’s kneeling on the floor.

You’re afraid the extra pampering will twist your reasoning and resolve. That’s all part of the mind games he plays. You know he’ll go out on his way to prove that the world outside is cruel, that this is the only place where you’re safe, loved. In his proximity, under his hand.

And somewhere, deep down, you admit that he’s close to convincing you.

It makes you mad, you want to tear him to shreds, you want to weep for him just like Mary did under the cross. There’s still care, there’s still love under all those layers of burning hatred. What remains is twisted though, but it is there.

After you’re patched up, he glances up at you, thumb brushing your lip right next to that nasty cut. His other hand is resting where your thigh and knee meet. It’s a sign, a warning.

“Was it worth it, little lamb?” his tone is soothing and playful. So close to being outright mockery.

You reflect in silence, averting your gaze from him. All those scars and discolored skin, your disturbed mind, and the ache in your bones - you realize that your stupid little plan was futile. Totally unnecessary, it’s no achievement you can be proud of. At least if you’re not as masochistic as to pride yourself on your injuries. But the fact that he can recognize the parallels coats your answer with bile.

“No.”

Because you know that you can be so much more… There’re unlimited possibilities to a repented non-believer. And now you know that being his doubting Thomas has no benefits.

Maybe you did lose your faith in him, like the lamb in that story, to eventually realize how much you need him and vice versa. But you’re not satisfied with being a lost sheep. You just haven’t decided on your role in his Gospel yet. This is your call, you don’t know exactly which part of him calls out to you, but you’re satisfied with either of them. Whether it’s a prophet, a messiah, a beast, or the devil itself. The fallen Morningstar who used to be the favorite.

This can be your true Genesis.

“Go on, break my leg if you want to. There’s meaning in that, at least.” you dare echo his last words to Gojo, clean and low.

And your bones remain whole.

You’re relieved. Though you’re sick of his maneuvers with your mind, you’re aware their purpose is not to hurt you or punish you. These aching limbs of yours go limp as he crawls into bed next to you. The arm you were scared of coils around your waist. Viciously tight, much like a snake. The snake that corrupted Eve in the garden. The one that made her sin, got her cast out of paradise, the one that turned her whole world upside down. And maybe Eve did fall in love with the serpent, the worst creature that God had ever created. But even though he caused the fall of mankind, the serpent freed you from the clutches of a jealous, ungrateful god who denied knowledge from his own creations. Now you have the passion to rebel, to prove your creator wrong, to avenge his mistreatment. Give in to the temptation of your snake, believe his honeyed words, accept the fruit for a second time. Because you still remember the taste, oh so sweet and luscious. And with all the power he wields, you can win back your lost Eden or re-build it on earth, the home you’re both yearning for. It’s a promise between the two of you, silent, because words are not needed, only closure.

Something warm blooms inside your chest. Yes, that’s it! You can finally feel it now…

The very first ounce of belief.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #getou suguru x reader #jjk x reader #suguru geto x reader #idk why but geto is very downward spiral coded to me #fun fact the title is another song by nin lmao #and i dont delibaretely write him as a yandere but somehow i finish a fic and reread an then... whoops he's yandere #geto suguru x reader #meesa writes

[cdragons]

What are your ideas for dark/toxic!Felix with ex!reader? That sounds super interesting

WARNING: DARK TOPICS (sexual harassment), DO NOT ENGAGE IF YOU DONT FEEL COMFORTABLE READING

So reader is Felix’s ex and she left England during her secondary school years (UK middle and high school). Her parents are very good friends with James and Elspeth. Her and Felix’s relationship was very unhealthy. She didn’t want to cause trouble for her family, while Felix was basically the boy you couldn’t touch. He did some stuff that she wasn’t comfortable with and without her knowledge, and for the sake of not wanting to upset anyone, I won’t reveal it. But the only way she could leave Felix is when Farleigh helped her.

Now, she’s back in Oxford. Her parents’ Alma mater. She’s enrolled under her mother’s name, and she befriends a very bookishly snarky but kind glasses wearing human calculator in one of her classes.

Keep in mind, the way I interpreted Saltburn is that I took Oliver’s POV and telling of his time there with a grain of salt. Because the film is told in his perspective from his story to Elspeth, I found it to be extremely biased and likely not reliable.

I try write Felix in a more realistic perspective and point of view. This is a dude who is completely reliant and dependent on his parents’ money. He partied all the time, and partook in drugs and alcohol. He’s portrayed as a decent guy from Oliver, but I don’t think he’d be like that in real life. But that’s just my two cents in it tho!

#saltburn fic #saltburn x reader #dark!felix Catton x reader #felix catton x reader #michael gavey x reader #Saltburn ask #anon ask #ask answered