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#or transferring them between devices
izurou · 11 months
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STOP TELEPHONING ME FT. BLUE LOCK MEN
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features: shidou ryusei, michael kaiser, mikage reo, itoshi sae, bachira meguru, and when someone calls you during sex.
contains: female reader. pro! blue lock charas. penetrative sex. oral sex. fingering. semi public for reo and bachira. a creampie from sae. brief filming in shidou’s. she and her pronouns used. you or him are on the phone in all of them so yeah !!
note: these are so long for hcs i am so sorry about that
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SHIDOU RYUSEI
one of the sweetest things about ryusei, is that his camera roll is filled to the brim with you.
countless rows of what seems like every image of you ever—screenshots of your instagram stories, all those pictures you’ve sent with the message do i look ok attached, and of course—the dozens of photos he’s snapped of you himself.
sweet indeed—although, he’s still him, and so this habit of his isn’t all innocent admiration and good intentions. he has zero hesitation when it comes to filming you during sex—it’s a nasty side effect of his little obsession and, even nastier, he prefers leaving that type of media on your phone; sweet videos of him with his cock stuffed inside you.
so when he’s doing just that—using your device to record himself fucking you from behind, and the words can i help you suddenly leave his mouth—your heart nearly stops. did he really just? with a reluctant glance over your shoulder, you find him holding your phone up to his ear, grinning. he did.
“ryusei! what the fuck? who’s—” you attempt to scold him through an aggressive whisper, but get cut off by your own gasp when he pushes down on the side of your head—forcing your cheek flat against the mattress. he rolls his hips forwards with a breathy laugh, and you can’t help but melt into the cotton sheets and moan when he does so—being effortlessly tamed by the thickness of his cock.
“oh? you sure you wanna talk to her? she’s a little busy right now,” he sneers into the receiver, grin tripling in both size and arrogance when he looks down and sees your face—scrunched up in pure ecstasy as you fist the fabric on either side of your head. yeah, busy being all fucking his.
nevertheless, he thinks it’d be rude of him to not transfer the call over—this person went through the effort of dialling your number, after all.
so he tucks your phone between his shoulder and his ear, and uses both hands to pull you upright—flush against his chest. with his left hand latching onto your throat, and his right now holding your phone a couple inches from your ear, he purrs, “it’s for you, babydoll. wanna say hi?”
there’s a beat of silence, and then you hear it, a voice seething with anger—one that belongs to none other than your ex boyfriend. shit.
you’re holding your breath now—hoping that if you can remain silent, he’ll give up on his attempt to reach you altogether. a decent plan—but not for someone who’s currently dating the world’s biggest instigator. “c’monnnn, at least tell him how good your boyfriend’s fuckin’ you.”
he hums in content as his left hand travels south—between your tits and eventually, onto your clit. he uses his middle finger to rub tight circles, and with his cock still pressing kisses to your sensitive spots, with his tongue dancing across your neck—a whine slips out from between your lips.
and your ex hangs up—spewing a few unsavoury comments about your boyfriend before doing so.
“awwww, we were just getting to the best part,” ryusei whines, but he doesn’t stay down for long. “get ready to cum for me baby, and don’t fuckin’ hold back. we’re gonna leave him a voicemail.”
MICHAEL KAISER
when it comes to you, michael is both equal parts selfish and selfless.
he’s great at sharing. everything from his clothing to his habits—routines he’s stuck with for years, changed, because he wants his luxe life to be something you can experience with him.
like tonight, for instance—where a past version of himself would have returned home from practice, and immediately gotten into a hot bath to loosen his sore muscles. present him is in fact relaxing in a hot bath after a rather shit practice, but present him also has a pretty girl to help him wind down.
and while your boyfriend has no problem sharing with you, hell would freeze over before he’d share you. you’re his, and though he seldom allows his possessive behaviour to control him—it seems to linger on his shoulders nonetheless, particularly after a bad day.
you’re doing your best to lift his spirits—bouncing on his cock, pressing needy kisses along his inked neck—when your phone starts buzzing against the tiled ledge surrounding the tub. he knows you’ve been expecting an important call, but he doesn’t want you to stop—he’s not going to let you stop. even so, he’d be a pretty bad boyfriend if he ignored the call altogether, so he’ll answer it himself—seeing as you’re preoccupied.
“hello?” his voice is smooth, nonchalant—a little too much so. you still your movements, watching expectantly as michael’s gaze shift to yours. he smiles before continuing, as if he’s softening the impending blow. “an interview? sure, let me pass you to her.”
his eyes darken ever so slightly as he holds your phone out, mouthing the words take it.
you obey your boyfriend’s command with a little too much confidence—bringing the device up to your ear and barely managing a hello of your own before michael has you cupping a hand over your mouth with a sharp thrust of his hips. he doesn’t stop there either—grabbing onto your waist tight, more or less holding you still as he begins fucking into you at a steady pace.
“uh, i-i’m,” your mind goes blank as the voice of your potential employer rings in your ears with a simple question—what does your availability look like? michael is eavesdropping of course, sucking feverishly at the delicate skin on your neck as he strains to hear the conversation.
“monday through friday my love, isn’t that right?” he purrs into your opposite ear—handing you the answer on a silver platter. he wants you to get at least one response out before he inevitably, but indirectly ends the call. maybe it’s his sour mood tainting his train of thought, but the future where you have a job—is one where you have less time for him, less time for this. he doesn’t want that. “because you’re all mine on the weekends, aren’t you? such a precious girl, letting me fuck you like this. i don’t know what i’d do without you, baby.”
the words drip from his mouth like honey, sweet and genuine. it’s times like these that prove how scary love is, because in the heat of the moment—you’re convinced that you don’t really want this job, that all you want is to be his.
the water sloshes against the walls of the bathtub as you crumble onto his shoulder with a whine—phone silent and blank as it sits uselessly in your hand. michael runs his palms up and down your back in an attempt to soothe the upset he just assisted in—cock jumping when you sit up and pout at him.
“you’ll definitely get the next one, my love. in the meantime, this can be your full time job,” he grins—smug, but not insincere in the slightest. “you’re already a perfect fit.”
MIKAGE REO
reo, prim and proper at first glance—the perfect textbook gentleman, is anything but.
he has the courteous mannerisms down to a tee, all charming smiles and soft touches as he opens the door to his luxurious car—holding out a hand to help you inside. once you’re seated, he’ll do an adorable little jog over to the driver’s side because—keeping a pretty girl waiting just isn’t right.
his chivalry ends there though, because a parking lot is the perfect place for you to suck him off, he thinks.
and oh, how absolutely perfect you are—leaned over the centre console with your tongue swirling around his tip. he can’t help but pant a little as he lets his head fall back against the seat.
but his euphoria is short lived, because the sound of your ringtone fills his vehicle almost as quickly as it kills the mood—bluetoothed and displaying a name on the dashboard’s touch screen. seishiro. reo figures he’s only calling you to ask about him, but it’s awfully late, and while he has no reason to distrust his best friend—he finds himself curious, wanting to eavesdrop on the conversation.
so, he taps his finger on the little green button.
“ynnn,” nagi’s voice emanates from the speakers—syllables drawn out and on the whinier side. you peer up at reo, and he’s looking down at you, eyes heavy with anticipation as he waits for a follow up. “are you with reo?”
your boyfriend visibly relaxes upon hearing that—and with his curiosity fed, he reaches forward to hang up, but—you swat his hand away.
“no, why? what’s up?” you hold eye contact with reo as you speak—ghosting your lips over his tip before licking up his shaft and taking him back into your mouth. you’re hoping that nagi will start to ramble, because if he does—reo will have to stay quiet, or at least attempt to.
and nagi happens to want an unreleased game, one that reo could pull a few strings and get his hands on if he wanted to—all things the voice on the other end is in the midst of explaining. he’s mere background noise though, because your attention is solely on reo and his cock.
you hold him near the base, using your hand to pump whatever your mouth can’t accommodate. reo shifts in his seat—biting down on the knuckle of his index finger as he goes one on one against the urge to buck up into your face, because that’d really conjure up a sinful sound.
and reo worries he might draw blood when you hum against him—sending vibrations throughout the length of his cock, and oh fuck, he’s so close. his brows knit together as he taps frantically on the screen—ending the call. he cums seconds later, head thrown back in pleasure as he groans and gasps through his orgasm.
“c’mere,” he breathes heavily—cupping your face in his hands and crashing his lips onto yours for a messy kiss. “you wanna sit on it, sweetheart? we can head to the backseat.”
ITOSHI SAE
it might not seem like it, but there’s nowhere sae would rather be on his day off than here.
sitting on a small padded bench inside the private fitting room of a store, with you straddling his lap in a little floral mini dress. he figures that if he’s going to blow this much money on so little fabric, he might as well trial the garment’s true purpose—sex whenever and wherever he wants.
and now, as he watches you grind down onto the growing bulge in his pants—dress bunched up at your waist with one of the straps slipping off your shoulder, he can definitely see himself getting his money’s worth.
he’s just getting into it—running his hands over your ass and hips, tangling his fingers around the lace of your panties—when your phone starts to ring. at first, neither of you even acknowledge the sound, but it persists with a second call, and out of his peripherals—sae sees his manager’s name sitting the top of the screen. great, so much for your alone time.
“hello?” your voice is soft, and yet it still manages to catch your boyfriend off guard. during his brief sulk, you’ve not only answered the call, but put it on speaker as well. “is everything alright?”
the words i need to talk to sae come through, and you feel the breeze from his eye roll. you run your fingers through the hair at the back of sae’s head, pulling him a little closer as you continue to move your hips. he nuzzles into your neck soon after—eyes heavy as he watches your movements in the floor to ceiling mirror directly across from him.
“sorry, no can do. you know he needs the break,” you hum into the receiver, and you swear sae’s grip on you tightens. he loves it when you defend him like this—he thinks it’s hot.
so hot—he just can’t keep it in his pants anymore. he’s unbuttoning and unzipping—pushing fabric out of the way until his cock is springing free, and finally, he’s sinking into your cunt.
a breathy fuck falls from his lips as he leans his head back against the wall—staring up at you like you’re some kind of deity, which—in this dress, just might be true. his nails carve into your hips as he drags you along his shaft, and oh—it’s so easy for him to get carried away when you’re hugging him so tight.
“he’ll call you first—first thing in the morning.” you fumble over your words a little when the head of sae’s cock presses against a sensitive spot, but you get the response you wanted nonetheless—a that’s good thank you, and the call ends there.
a reward worthy performance, he thinks.
“oh god, sae,” you whine—and he buries his face back into the crook of your neck, recognizing the familiar knot unraveling just below his waist. his teeth sink into your shoulder, and he cums hard, breathing heavy against your skin as he watches the mirror’s reflection through hooded lids—staring intently as white starts to leak out of you, and down the side of his cock.
“careful, you’re gonna ruin the dress,” he mutters—knowing full well that the sticky mess is all him. “guess i have to buy it now, huh?”
BACHIRA MEGURU
meguru’s fatal flaw is his attention span, or rather—his lack thereof.
the dinner reservation was at seven—a table for four. you, him, and two representatives from a sports brand that’s interested in sponsoring him.
it’s a few minutes past the hour, and the other duo is evidently running a little late—no big deal, but your boyfriend thinks otherwise. he’s sitting with his chin in his palm, twirling a straw around his fingers, and crumbling under the weight of his boredom. unfortunately, you don’t think this is an establishment that’d have a colouring page and some crayons for him, but not to worry—he’s just found something else to entertain himself.
“meguru, behave,” you shoot him a glance as he scoots closer—hearing him mutter a yes ma’am, but still feeling his hand beneath your skirt a few seconds later. he brushes his middle finger over the thin fabric of your panties—gently rubbing over your clit before he begins tracing what you think are hearts onto your cunt.
your gaze floods with desire—a look that meguru knows well, and loves dearly. he’s getting excited now, tail wagging with delight, because he knows that you’ll let him continue—so long as he doesn’t make it obvious to anyone in the room.
this means that, when one of the representatives suddenly starts calling you, he technically doesn’t have to behave.
“hello?” you bring your phone up to your ear, and at the same time—meguru’s hand slips past the waistband of your panties. he sighs in content—slouching back in his seat and lolling his head to the side. you’d almost think he was the one being touched. “w-what? you can’t find it?”
ah, so you’re saying they’re lost—which loosely translates to you have more time to play. good.
using his index and ring finger to spread you open—he sinks his middle into your warm cunt, curling it upwards and moving his hand side to side a bit. meanwhile, the voice on the other line is begging for directions, and you’re struggling to give them.
you lean into meguru’s side and hold his wrist—not to stop his movements, but to limit them, at least until you manage to get off the phone. but your boyfriend—sweet as pie and smart when it’s convenient for him, presses a kiss to your temple, and decides that he’ll take care of it for you.
“look for the big arena tour billboard, we’re right below that. see you soon,” he leans in and hums happily into your phone, and the rep thanks him before hanging up. with time now running out, he brings all three of his fingers up to your clit, where he rubs tight circles. “mmm, i don’t wanna stop, baby. wanna make you cum.”
“megs, that’s them!” you squeak—spotting two well dressed, important looking people scurrying past a window on the opposite side of the room. you claw at meguru’s wrist—but his fingers stay glued to your clit for as long as possible, and he ends up pulling away mere seconds before they round the corner.
he’s all innocent smiles and waves as the two approach the table—not so subtly licking up the side of his middle finger, which—wouldn’t be so awful if there were more than just drinks on your table. either way, it’s swept under the rug, and the four of you begin introducing yourselves while looking over the menu.
and your phone is on silent at this point, but it lights up with one new message from meguru.
bathroom in 5? <3 i know what i wanna eat ;)
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inbarfink · 7 months
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Honestly, first time noticing the names in Simon's contact list I was just like 'haha cute references' and didn't pay it much mind. But looking at them again, and really thinking about them. The Implications here, like Most Things About Simon's Life Right Now, are pretty tragic....
Like, Abracadaniel and Lady Island and Gunter (and BMO if you take into consideration the comic's continuity) are not Simon Petrikov's friends, they were Ice King's friends.
You know, like, yeah, everyone except Marcy knew Ice King way way before they got to know Simon. But at least with folks like Finn, finding out about Simon is a huge reason why he started being kinder and friendlier to him. And Bubblegum probably is only fond of Simon know in spite of him being Ice King.
But Abracadaniel and Lady Island liked Ice King without having any frame-of-reference or concept of 'Simon Petrikov' in their heads. They were Ice King's friends.
And Simon's phone is pretty distinctly, like, a realistic early 2000's cellphone. A total contrast to all the magical/sci-fi/cobbled-together looking cellphones everyone else in Ooo uses
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And Ice King himself, I'm pretty sure we've only ever seen him use either a normal-looking landline or the Bananaphone
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Not this ordinary Nokia-looking flip-phone, definitely.
So I'm assuming this phone was maybe found buried somewhere in the Past Room, or maybe was unearthed while they were preparing for that '20th Century Man' exhibition and Simon also takes it along for personal use. But either way, Simon had to deliberately put those numbers of Friends of the Ice King in his contact list.
It might be something as simple as having transferred the data from some of Ice King's old communication devices and then just... despite it all Simon just doesn't have the heart to delete these names. The same way you or I might not have it in us to the delete the numbers of friends of ages past or increasingly-distant acquaintances or dead relatives.
Or maybe Simon did try and preserve their friendship at first. Or maybe the friends did. And obviously it didn't work out.
I mean, I can kinda see maybe Simon getting along fine with Lady Island because IK was relatively Grounded interacting with her so maybe the change to Simon won't be that much of a difference to her. ....But that can also create problems if she has a hard time seeing the difference between Simon Petrikov and Ice King, that would really make him uncomfortable.
But there really is zero chance Simon managed to keep things going normal with Abracadaniel. A Wizard who originally bonded with Ice King because he saw him as a cool Wizard. Not to mention Gunter is currently a living incarnation of the very Crown that cursed Simon in the first place and a manifestation of Gunter's love of Ice King
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so... yeah, I think in Simon's current state any interaction he had with those two was unbearably awkward and just another thing that will make him miss being Ice King in a twisted way.
And yet... despite wanting so badly to define himself as distinctive and different from Ice King ("I didn't write those! Ice King wrote those!") and to not be reminded of him.... Simon still keeps all these people in his contact list.
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daisynik7 · 7 months
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This is for your y2k!
“Photograph” by Ed Sheeran for Toji Fushiguro - angst
We keep this love in a photograph, we made these memories for ourselves.
Read Part Two - Make You Feel My Love
Pairing: Toji x f!reader
Word Count: ~3.1k
cw: implied family abuse, angst, some fluff, modern day-au, no curses au, a kiss, time skip
Summary: Toji Zenin is scary; he’s the most intimidating boy in your class. When you’re paired with him for a group project, you’re nervous that he’s as bad as he seems. However, you learn that behind that hard exterior is a person yearning just to be normal. 
Author’s Note: The first story for the y2k karaoke party! Inspired by “Photograph” by Ed Sheeran. Thank you @gojoshooter for submitting this song/request! I hope you like this one! Divider created by @/cafekitsune.
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You meet Toji in high school, when you’re paired up randomly for a project during your last semester of senior year. He’s a transfer student, having just joined a month ago, introducing himself briefly with a scowl on his face, uninterested in anything. Aside from his obvious stature, the evident scar running across his mouth stands out. Most of your peers avoid him, intimidated by his overwhelming presence. He’s bigger than everyone else, both in height and muscle; he looks like someone you don’t want to mess with. Even teachers do their best to evade him, leaving him to his own devices in the back corner of the classroom. At least he isn’t disruptive; most of the time, he keeps to himself. 
Of course, in a school as small as yours, gossip spreads like wildfire. They say he comes from a prominent family, the “Zenin’s”. You’ve never heard of them; apparently, they are notoriously elitist and filthy rich. So, it surprises you that a son of the Zenin clan would attend a public school like yours rather than a private institution. Maybe he’s different. 
Everyone dreads group projects, let alone randomly assigned group projects. Everyone is on pins and needles, waiting to hear who their partner is. When your name follows his, your heart sinks into your belly. Sighs of relief wash over the rest of your classmates, thankful that they aren’t you. Taking a deep breath, you get up from your seat, slowly walking towards him. When you’re by his desk, he doesn’t look up. You clear your throat to say, “Hello. I guess we’re partners for this project.”
He scoffs, twirling a pen between his fingers, brows furrowed, irritated already. “Great,” he mutters, sarcastically. 
Okay, maybe he’s not different.
~~~
Your teacher calls this project “A Week in the Life”. Basically, you’re tasked to capture your partner’s daily routines throughout the week in the form of photographs. Each student is given a disposable camera, loaded and ready to use. Once developed, you’re supposed to put them together into a collage, decorating it however you desire. A short essay is also required, describing what you will learn about the other person after spending this time with them. You have an entire month to complete everything. Weekdays are repetitive, considering most of the day you’re in school; it’s the afternoons, nights, and weekends that set each person apart from the other.  
“I’m not inviting you into my house,” Toji says, crossing his arms over his chest. 
“But that’s part of the project. I’m supposed to see what you do on a daily basis.” You resist the urge to sound equally as annoyed, not wanting to start off on the wrong foot.
He glares at you, hunched over his desk. “I avoid going home as much as possible. That’s what I usually do.”
You swallow hard, unsure how to respond. Eventually, you murmur, “Well then, you can do me first. We’ll just figure yours out later.”
He shrugs, unenthused. “Whatever.”
You pull your phone out of your pocket, sliding it towards him. “Let’s exchange numbers so we can coordinate our schedules. We can start next week.” He doesn’t argue, pushing his cell to you to do the same. 
As planned, the following Monday, Toji begins taking random photos of you during the school day. It starts off in class when he captures you working at your desk. Other students are doing the same, so it isn’t as awkward as you expect it to be. Still, it feels odd being watched by Toji through the lens of the camera.
At lunchtime, he sits with you and your friends in the cafeteria, his big body smushed next to yours as you munch on your meal. You notice that he hasn’t brought anything to eat except for a protein bar and sports drink. Not thinking anything of it, you split your egg salad sandwich into two triangles, handing him one. He glances at it, then at you, confused. “What?”
“Eat it.”
He makes a face, taking it reluctantly, having the audacity to sniff it before taking a bite. When he doesn’t say anything, expression relaxing, you smile to yourself, satisfied. It’s gone two bites later, and from your peripheral, you see him lick the excess off his thumb. Mouth still full, he mumbles a brisk, “Thanks,” snapping his drink open to take a swig. 
After school, you attend a book club meeting that’s hosted every Monday by your friend. Toji snaps a photo of you and your group posing with your book for this month. Before you leave for dinner, a few of the girls whisper to you about how hot he is, how lucky you are to be paired up with such a hunk. How scary he comes off with his scowls and glares. They’re so loud, you’re certain he can hear, but he doesn’t mention anything about it. That is, until you’re alone with him, walking home together. 
“So, do you think I’m scary?” He has his hands in his pockets, looking down at the ground where he walks besides you. 
The question catches you off guard. “Huh?”
“Do you think I’m scary?” he repeats, looking at you now, smirking. 
You grin. “Maybe a little bit at first. Not so much anymore.”
“What changed?”
“I saw you inhale that sandwich. The tough guy act disappeared in that moment.”
“Hey, that thing was tiny. I could have swallowed it in one bite,” he chuckles, kicking a pebble on the ground. “And I’m not putting on a tough guy act. This is just who I am.”
You giggle softly, smiling at him. “Well, I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, Zenin.”
“Toji. Call me Toji.” 
~~~
Dinner with your parents goes by smoothly. You’ve prepared them for this special visitor, urging them to be on their best behavior and not judge a book by his cover. Naturally, your mother is startled when his big frame enters through the doorway, but when he bows to her, introducing himself respectfully, she eases up. After a quick tour of your house, Toji snaps shots of you helping your parents in the kitchen. With the whole spread laid out on the table, he takes another photo before you all gather around to eat. 
Much like earlier in the day, Toji scarfs his meal, mumbling out compliments to the chef. Your parents are thrilled, dropping more servings onto his plate, watching with pride as their cooking is devoured. You can’t help wanting to capture this memory, so you retrieve your own disposable camera from your backpack, taking his picture. He doesn’t seem to mind. 
The two of you eat ice cream sandwiches in your backyard while your parents wash the dishes. The sun is setting, beautiful golden streaks shining from the horizon. Your classmate takes a candid of you sitting on the patio chair, staring at the last moments of daylight. “Do your parents cook like that every day?” he asks, finishing off the last of his dessert.
“Nah, they just wanted to impress you.”
“Well, I am thoroughly impressed. That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”
After just one day with him, you feel comfortable enough to ask, hoping that it isn’t crossing the line. “Do you dislike eating at home?”
He doesn’t respond right away, thinking of his answer carefully. “Yeah, I do.”
“Why?”
He smirks, running his thumb along the scar on his lips. “Dinners at my house don’t always end in dessert, if you know what I mean.” 
Your jaw drops, unable to contain your reaction. “You’re saying…”
He leans back into his seat. “Yup. Got a knife thrown at me.”
“What?!” 
Laughing, he nods. “After that, I didn’t like having dinners there.”
You’re tempted to ask for the whole story, but you know it’s pushing it. Instead, you offer, “Well, you’re always welcome here.”
It’s a simple comment. To you, it’s nothing. Maybe it’s because you’re used to offering kindness to others; it’s what you were raised to do. It’s what the people around you do. It’s common. Second-nature, really. 
But as Toji stares at you, wearing an expression you’ve never seen before, one of genuine gratefulness, you realize that to him, it’s not nothing. It’s special. 
Throughout the remainder of the week, Toji spends practically his whole day with you, morning, noon, and night. During this time, you learn that his family is wealthy, though he chose to attend this school on his own will, just to spite them. He considers himself an outcast, the black sheep of the Zenin clan, so much so that he even refuses to associate himself with the family name. And while he’s sure he’s better off away from the snooty rich kids of the school he would have attended, his intimidating appearance and less-than-friendly attitude has made him an outcast amongst your peers. You feel guilty being part of the problem, judging him before getting to know him. He’s actually easy to talk to. It helps that he’s an open book about his personal life. 
Saturday, you plan to go to the aquarium with your family, inviting him to tag along for the project (and for fun). Toji is at your doorstep right on time, dressed in a tight black tee shirt and grey sweatpants, accentuating his chiseled figure. There’s no denying it; he’s very attractive. You’d be lying to yourself if you said it hasn’t crossed your mind. But Toji doesn’t need people to be attracted to him; he needs a friend. And that’s what you’ll be to him. 
It’s a fun day, observing all the fish and aquatic creatures swimming in their tanks. He takes pictures whenever it’s appropriate, covering the flash with his finger as to not disturb any of the animals inside. You eat lunch together in the cafeteria, Toji offering to pay for it as thanks for all the kindness he was shown this week. Near closing time, you take one last stroll through the jellyfish section, marveling at the wonderfully bizarre invertebrates floating in the water. 
“I’ve never been to an aquarium before,” he admits, quietly admiring them beside you. His eyes twinkle with the glow of the iridescent jellyfish swimming in front of him.  
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
You nudge him playfully. “So, what do you think?”
He smiles, rubbing the spot on his arm that you touched. “Better than I expected.”
~~~
The following week is his turn. The closest you get to his mansion of a home is on the outside, not even through the gates. 
“This is for your own good,” he warns, throwing a twig aggressively between the spaces of the iron bars. 
You snap a quick photo with your disposable, not questioning it. When you’re finished, he smirks. “So, ready for some real fun?”
Toji spends his days after school at various locations. Basically everywhere except his own home. The public library, the gym, arcades, shopping malls, cafés, you name it. He’ll eat dinner at whatever restaurant his stomach fancies at the moment: Ramen, Takoyaki, steak, even instant ramen, depending on his mood. And while his life seems fun from the outside, like a kid in a candy store, it’s lonely. Except for when he’s with you.
Saturday is different from the other days. On the weekends, he goes to the beach, bag packed with his favorite books and snacks, ready to relax on the sand with the waves crashing against the shore. He sets up a large umbrella to cover both of you as you settle into the big blanket laid flat. He passes you one of his books, a volume of his favorite manga. The two of you read in a comfortable silence, sharing a bag of chips, fingers brushing against each other’s whenever you reach at the same time. 
Out of the blue, he comments, “This is nice. It’s normal.”
Laughing, you reply, “What do you mean?”
He sets his book down, looking at you. “Nothing about my family is normal. It’s just nice to feel like a human instead of a failure.”
Your eyes widen, uncertain how to respond. Before you can say anything, he murmurs, “Sorry. I didn’t meant to kill the mood.”
You close the manga, smiling gently at him. “Don’t be. I can’t imagine what it’s like. My life is very normal.”
“That’s what I like about you, though.”
Heat rushes into your cheeks at his statement, and maybe it’s your imagination, but you see him blush. You’ve taken enough pictures to complete your project, but there’s still a bit of film left. “Let’s take a picture together,” you suggest, holding the camera in your hand, trying to lighten the mood.
“Seriously? Why?”
“To celebrate being normal, even if it just for a day.”
He grins, scooting closer to you. “Okay.”
You lean against him, both of you smiling, capturing the moment with the click of your finger. 
~~~
Toji doesn’t stop eating lunch with you. Even with your photos at the lab, being developed, he remains by your side, eating the extra sandwich you always pack for him now. Occasionally, he’ll stop by for dinner, always welcomed by your parents. On the other days, you accompany him to whatever restaurant he’s craving. 
When the photos are complete, you pick them up together, not wanting to share them yet, hoping to be surprised on the day they’re displayed in the classroom. At home, you compile the pictures into a stylish collage, decorating the borders with fun stickers, smiling as you gaze at each photo of him. One at the arcade, holding a toy guy in his hands with the high score flashing in the background. Another at the gym, where’s he’s kicking a punching bag, making it look far too easy. Finally, there’s the last photo you took at the beach, the two of you posing for the camera. It’s a cute picture, one that shows two people who live very different lives happily enjoying their time together. You tape it right in the middle. 
When everyone’s posters are hung around the classroom, many people flock to Toji’s, desperate for a glimpse in his mysterious life. Many gawk at the mansion behind the gates, unaware of the dark secrets it holds. The girls ogle the gym picture, while the boys admire it, asking for workout tips. Toji looks pleased with how his collage turns out, especially intrigued by the photo in the center. “You included the one of us, huh?” 
“It’s too cute, isn’t it? I had to include it.”
He smiles at you. “I totally agree.”
He walks you home that afternoon, a usual part of his routine now. Curious, you ask, “So, what did you write about me for your essay?”
“I wrote about how nerdy you are, going to class and willingly going to clubs after school. For fun,” he emphasizes, rolling his eyes, teasing you.
You poke his arm playfully. “And…?”
“I said that you and your family are really nice. And that your parents should be chefs,” he adds, grinning.
You laugh, hooking your arm around his. “That’s more like it.” 
Before you know it, you’re at one of the parks he frequents, sitting side-by-side at his favorite bench. “What did you say? About me?” he asks, staring at his hands in his lap. 
Without thinking, you rest your head on his shoulder. “That you’re not actually scary. You’re just you. And who you are is pretty great. Really great, actually.” 
There’s a pause while he processes what you said. Afraid that it’s too far, you attempt to back away from him, but he catches you first, pulling you in for a kiss. It’s hesitant, like he’s unsure if this is okay. And when you place your hand on his chest, feeling his quickening heartbeat race against your fingertips, the kiss deepens, his lips parting open to slide his tongue inside your mouth. Before it gets any further, he pulls off quickly. Electricity hangs in the air, buzzing on your lips, tingling on every inch of your skin.
“I’m sorry,” you apologize, throat heavy. “I shouldn’t have done that. I just thought – ”
“You’re right. You shouldn’t have,” he spits out, jaw clenched, avoiding your gaze. It’s a harsh voice you haven’t heard the entire time since the start of your friendship.
“But I thought you liked – ” 
“You’re wrong. I don’t. I – ,” he swallows, struggling to get the words out. “And I never will.” He stands up, turning his back towards you, leaving you alone with tears streaming down your face, embarrassed, confused, and heartbroken. 
It’s the last time you’ll see of him. He doesn’t come back to class after that incident. Rumor has it that he came in early the next morning to gather all his belongings, which wasn’t much to begin with. There’s more gossip about it, of course, ridiculous chatter. Eventually, they fade, and his name is no longer uttered by anyone, including you. Months pass, and gradually, new memories overtake the old ones. Life goes on without him. You don’t notice the center photo of your collage is gone until you collect it at the end of the schoolyear. 
He’ll never tell you that it’s for your own good. That turning his back on you is the best option to keep you safe. No matter how much he opens up to you, his reality is much worse than you can ever know. Hurting you is his way of protecting you. Because loving you is too dangerous, especially for someone like him.  
~~~
Ten years later, you’re an elementary school teacher in your hometown. You planted yourself right where your roots grew. There is nothing but grand memories in this place you’re lucky to call your home. The only exception is the abandoned plot of land where the Zenin mansion was demolished a few years ago without any explanation. You preserve its memory in the form of a tattered photograph, forgotten somewhere in your closet.
Today, there’s a new student transferring into your kindergarten class; an adorable little boy with jet black hair and long eyelashes named Megumi. He reminds you of someone from your past, someone you kept buried in the back of your mind a while ago, for your own sanity.
Little do you know that on the other side of the door, Toji Fushiguro leans against the wall, listening carefully to your familiar voice introducing yourself to his son. He smiles to himself, the month you shared together all those years ago fondly replaying in fast forward in his mind. He’s no longer a Zenin, unleashed from the cruelty of his ancestry, liberated from the life he was cursed with from birth. Free to love who he wants without fearing that their life is in danger by the hands of his wretched family. 
He sticks his hands in his pocket, fingers brushing along the corners of the withered photo of the two of you smiling at the beach. With a deep breath, he grips the handle of the door, finally ready to face you at long last.
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Rusty | Chapter 9 | S.R
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Chapter Summary - You and Spencer embark on a night on the town and things grow awkward fast when you met a handsome stranger. Spencer’s jealousy leaves him determined to show what he’s capable of. But even that doesn’t go quite to plan.
Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader
Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI
Warnings - drinking, smoking, making out, swearing, jealous Spencer, tears, mild argument, erectile issues, fingering, titty sucking, coming untouched, coming in pants, vomit, build up to dissociation.
WC - 6.3k
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Chapter 9 - A Cowboys Cowgirl
Spencer sat on the porch as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, jabbing his finger at the screen of his new phone. It had no buttons, just a large touchscreen. It unlocked by reading his face and didn’t have the same kind of tactile quality he was used to in a phone. 
Unfortunately, they simply didn’t make devices like his old one and he’d had to settle for this iPhone, for which he had no idea how to use. 
You’d somehow managed to sort it so it could keep the same number and magically transferred all of his existing contacts onto it. It all went over Spencer’s head and he stopped questioning it. 
Now he was attempting to send Garcia a text message after receiving one from her, positively disbelieving he had spoken to both Luke and Morgan but wouldn’t answer her calls. 
It took him nearly twenty minutes to write a reply, his fingers not dexterous enough to figure out the touch screen keyboard. As he finally corrected all of the spelling mistakes and hit send, he heard the door to your lodge open. 
He was hesitant to go along with you to the 11th Street Bar for multiple reasons. For starters, bars were not fun when sober, not that he’d ever particularly enjoyed them when he did drink either. Then there was the fact that in two years he’d never interacted with these people and according to you they already thought him rude. He didn’t like socialising, why could no one understand that? 
He pushed himself up from the chair, his knee aching slightly but the pain was lessening. You locked the door to the lodge before gliding down the stairs and down the path until you were closing in on him.
It was only when you were in front of him that he could fully appreciate you and he felt a lump begin to form in his throat as he took you in. You wore a floral, off the shoulder dress which stopped at your knees and showed more skin than he ever dreamed of seeing. Pairing it with your red riding boots and you looked almost like a local, the epitome of a cowgirl.
You also looked absolutely ravishing. Spencer’s raging heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest to show you exactly how divine he thought you looked. But his slack jaw and wide eyes said enough and you blanched a little, tilting your head to the side.
“What?” You scuffed your boot in the dirt. “Never seen a genu-wine cowgirl before?” You impersonated a southern drawl. 
“I…I, uh…” he cleared his throat. “Sorry, you just…you look…jeez Y/N.” 
You giggled at his inability to form a coherent sentence. You had rendered him speechless. 
“Well you know, I want to fit in around these parts.” You swung your hips side to side, the dress billowing around you as you did so. “Don’t look so bad yourself, stud.” 
Spencer felt his cheeks flush red, the heat quickly spreading down his neck. He still wore his black jeans, the ones he’d noticed you checking him out in yesterday. He also dusted off an old button down from back in his BAU days, in a dark purple colour. 
He tucked it into his jeans and left the top few buttons undone. He spent a long time taming his hair and forewent a stetson once he was happy with how it looked. 
“Uh, thanks.” He rolled his lip between his teeth. 
“Gonna make being friends with you real hard if you keep looking at me like that.” You smirked at him, still impersonating that thick Texas twang. 
“Just get in the car, okay?” He shook his head, trying to ignore the way your outfit made him quiver. 
You hid your amusement by turning towards the car, Spencer following behind. You paused at the driver’s door.
“Just gotta grab something from the trunk, jump in.” You called over the hood and Spencer nodded before cautiously sliding into the passenger’s seat. 
Once he closed his door you sidled around to the trunk and opened it. You glanced up through the car to make sure he wasn’t looking before you lifted the trunk lining.
Hidden away in the empty shell that had once held a spare tyre was a black duffle bag. You quickly unzipped, revealing the wads and wads of bills concealed inside. You grabbed a couple of twenties and folded them, stuffed them in the side of your left boot before zipping the bag and secreting it back away under the trunk lining. 
Soon you were hurrying around to the driver’s seat like nothing had happened. 
***
The discomfort distended to every single one of his nerve endings the moment the two of you stepped inside the 11th Street Bar. The place was packed and all eyes were instantly on you. 
As you sauntered inside you were met by wolf whistles and catcalls and it made Spencer feel incredibly protective of you even though it wasn’t his place. 
He watched their hungry gazes linger on your bare legs and bare shoulders and move onto your clothed breasts and backside. 
It made a pit form in his chest, more so when you sent smiles and winks across the room in various directions. 
He wanted to blanket you, both physically and metaphorically. He wanted those animals to stop staring at you this way. He wanted you to stop enjoying the attention so much. 
He followed you like a stray dog towards the bar, where you leaned on the counter, no doubt giving the balding bartender an eyeful of your cleavage.
“Well looky here, if it ain’t Miss Lizzie come back to join us.” The old man hissed as he spoke. “Lookin’ mighty fine tonight if I do say so too.” 
“What, this old thing?” You glanced down at your dress before waving a dismissive hand at him. 
Spencer felt more out of place than he ever had done in his life. This was quite honestly the last place he ever wanted to be. 
Sensing the presence hovering behind you, the bartenders gaze lifted over your head to where Spencer awkwardly stood.
“And if it isn’t Cosmo, gracing us with his presence.” The older man scoffed. “Nice of you to finally show your face round here.”
Spencer swallowed, chewing on his lip. 
“His names, Spencer and be nice.” You clucked. “Spencer, this is Cole.” 
“What can I get ya missy?” Cole ignored the introduction and looked back at you. “No more of my home brew I hope.” 
“Definitely not.” You shook your head. “I will take a shot of tequila and a beer though.” 
“What’ll you have, Cosmo?” His eyes shot back up to Spencer. 
“Uh, a ginger ale?” He posed it as a question. 
Cole pulled a face of disdain and shook his head. 
“Ain’t ever met a sober cowboy in all my life.” Cole muttered, turning away to get your drinks. 
You felt Spencer’s hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him. 
“I hate it here.” He whined. “Can’t we just go home and you can drink that bottle of scotch?” 
“I want to stay. I like it here. You can go if you want.” You shrugged, turning back to face the bar. 
Turning your back on him. You were turning your back on him.
“You think I’m going to leave you here with all these creeps staring at you?” He moved closer to you, his chest pressed into your back and he spoke against the shell of your ear. “There is not a man in this bar who doesn’t want to sleep with you.” 
“Hmm,” you hummed, not turning back to him. “Might just be some guys lucky night then.” 
Spencer felt the pit in his stomach grow larger, his heart practically falling into the open chasm. He put his hand on your shoulder again, skin against skin, and spun you slightly roughly back to look at him.
“Don’t make jokes like that.” He growled. 
“Who’s joking?” You shook him off with a frown of impatience. “Just because you don’t want to bed me, doesn’t mean someone else can’t, Cosmo.” 
Spencer’s mouth fell open, somewhat hurt at your crude summation of your fleeting relationship. Is that really what you thought? Did you really believe he didn’t want to? If only it were that simple.
He wished he didn’t want you so much. It would be far easier for him to not want you with a white hot desire. It had nothing to do with not wanting you, he just couldn’t have you. Not in that way. 
When he couldn’t form any words of response, you spoke again, folding your arms over your chest.
“We’re just friends, Spencer. You made that perfectly clear. So as far as I’m concerned, I can do whatever the hell I want. You wanna hang around? Fine. You wanna go home? Also fine. But I’m staying.” You spat, once again turning your back on him as Cole brought your drinks back over. 
You were quick to down the tequila before thanking him with a flirtatious smile and paying him with a bill from inside your boot. You practically shoved Spencer’s ginger ale into his hand before brushing past him with your beer. 
Cole was looking at him, an odd expression on his features. Spencer felt uncomfortable under his gaze. 
“Girl’s a heartbreaker.” Cole shrugged after a while. “Knew it the minute I laid eyes on ‘er. Careful how you tread there.” 
With those sage words, Cole was walking away to serve his next customer, leaving Spencer reeling. 
***
Two hours later Spencer had procured a table for himself but you wouldn’t stay still long enough to join him. The more tequila you drank, the more energy you seemed to have and you appeared to talk to everyone in the bar but him. 
He was still nursing the same ginger ale, feeling much like a spare part. He deliberately missed two calls from Luke, staring at the device as it rang in his hand. He’d hoped after they spoke yesterday Luke would stop with the incessant phone calls. Spencer had half a mind to block his number. He didn’t want it to come to that, but something had to give. 
He ignored his phone after a while and watched the way you worked the room. The whole bar was eating out of the palm of your hand, hanging off you every word. You were undeniably in your element. 
And it only went to further Spencer’s belief that the two of you were from completely different worlds. 
***
You lit a cigarette and meandered out the back of the bar for some fresh air, which you didn’t miss the irony of. The large rear garden of the 11th Street establishment was about five times the size of the inside, with a stage at one end and even an outside bar. 
You leaned up against the nearest wall, the tequila pulsing through your veins and offering you that blissful tipsy sensation. You sucked on the cigarette and observed the goings on around you. 
You’d managed to hide yourself in plain sight. No one would ever think to look for you in this little backwoods town. You’d taken all the necessary precautions, didn’t leave a paper trail. 
The car parked outside was the fourth you’d stolen on your journey. Take one, drive it for a distance, abandon it and then find another far enough away from the first they wouldn’t be tied together. 
You’d picked up this car just outside of Shreveport, Louisiana. You’d broken into a junkyard for this particular vehicle as it was likely they may never notice it was missing. You changed the plates just in case. 
The money in the trunk had been procured from your mother’s safe which not even her scumbag second husband knew about. She’d kept the nest egg of cash ever since you were a little girl and only you knew the combination.
“It’s for a rainy day, Y/N. One day I won’t be around anymore and I want to make sure you have everything you could ever need.” 
It was as though she’d envisioned something bad happening to her. When she married the second time, he’d convinced her to put all of her savings into a bank account under his name effectively meaning you’d never see a dime. 
But he didn’t know about the safe. 
You’d taken a bunch of your late mother’s clothes too, brought a few more items with the cash, including the dress you wore now. Only ever cash, couldn’t leave a trail. 
Bandera might not have been your first choice of hideout but you couldn’t deny it had its perks, and you were certain no one would ever find you here. 
And if they did, you would simply run again. 
You took another drag on the cigarette as a tall, dark and handsome stranger headed your way. Although on closer inspection he wasn’t entirely a stranger to you. 
The man wore all blue denim, a large eagle on his belt buckle, bolo tie and black stetson. He was smiling at you as he approached. 
“Hey there little lady,” he stopped in front of you, hands on his hips. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“You work at Busbees? I think I saw you there yesterday.” You batted your eyelashes at him.
“Oh, you’re the big tipper.” He chuckled. “I never forget a big tipper. Or a pretty face.” 
“Elizabeth.” You held out your hand.
“Charmed,” he took your hand, brought it to his lips and kissed your knuckles. “Grant.” 
Without warning he plucked your cigarette from your fingers and took a long drag on it. He sucked in the smoke and spoke again as he exhaled it.
“Things’ll kill ya.” He chuckled. 
“Live fast, die young.” You shrugged. 
“Leave a good lookin’ corpse?” He laughed too, a deep, vibrating sound.
“Certainly appealing.” You agreed.
He took another drag on the cigarette before placing it back between your lips. His thumb brushed along your bottom lip as he did so. It lingered there for a moment or two, while you took your own drag.
Removing it from your mouth, you held it between your fingers as you blew smoke over his head. You leaned further back against the wall, puffing your chest out. He took a step closer to you and you didn’t mind at all. 
You caught the scent of a musky cologne as he drew closer. 
“I don’t mean to forward ma’am but you are hotter than a firecracker that’s been lit at both ends.” His lip quipped into a smirk. 
You shuddered, the hunger in his eyes causing your legs to shake. You inhaled sharply as his hand came to rest on your cheek. 
“Imma kiss you now, if that’s okay with you, little lady?” 
You whimpered but couldn’t speak, so instead you nodded. Grant chuckled as he leaned in closer. His lips soon crashed against yours, his whole body pinning you to the wall. 
You dropped the forgotten cigarette on the floor and wrapped your arms around his neck. He kissed you fiercely, deeply. Your legs trembled at the sensation. 
His hand that wasn’t on your face ran up your thigh and you moaned into his lips. And Spencer Reid was the furthest thing from your mind. 
***
Spencer finally decided he’d had enough when two old twins who called themselves Boone and Butch invited themselves to sit with him. They proceeded to mock him on everything from his clothes, his hair, his accent, even his ‘city boy good looks’. He’d eventually excused himself to go in search of you. 
The bar was small and it only took a few minutes to ascertain you weren’t inside. He pushed his way out the back door and breathed in the fresh air. It took only moments to find you, pressed up against a wall by another body who was kissing you with force.
One hand was on your thigh, beneath your dress and Spencer swore his blood froze in his veins. His brain must have short circuited because normally he wouldn’t have been so bold as to square up to a man of his size, but he found himself marching over and grabbing the large shoulder of the man kissing you and tugging him backwards.
“What the hell are you doing?” Spencer raised his voice, glaring at you and your kiss swollen lips. 
You wiped the back of your hand over your mouth, chest heaving. 
“What am I doing? What are you doing?” You spat. “What the fuck is your problem?” 
“Spencer?” The man spoke up, looking between you and him in heavy confusion. 
Spencer tensed, slowly turning back to face the man whose lips were equally as puffy as yours. He hadn’t recognised him by the back of his head and now he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
“G-Grant?” Spencer croaked.
“You know each other?” You took a step away from the wall. “I didn’t think you had any friends around here?” 
“We’re not friends.” Grant spat, folding his muscular arms over his broad chest. “How do you know each other?”
“I asked first.” You cocked your head to the side. 
Spencer was unable to speak, paralysed by the unfortunate situation he had found himself in.
“He asked me on a date and stood me up.” Grant hissed. 
“Oh…oh.” You looked between both men. “Well this is sufficiently awkward. Looks like we have the same taste in men, Spence.” 
Spencer reddened, averting his gaze to the floor and wanting to crawl into a dark crevice somewhere and never come out. 
“Are you two…?” Grant frowned at the two of you. 
“Friends.” You finished for him. “Isn’t that right, Spencer. We’re just friends. Which is why you had no right to march over here and tear us apart.” 
“I really don’t want to be a part of this conversation.” Spencer mumbled to the floor.
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you interfered. Why, Spencer? Why did you interrupt us?” You took a step closer to him. 
“Please,” he looked back at you, eyes full of torment. “Please can we not do this here.” 
“I ain’t looking to step on any toes, I didn’t realise y’all were-”
“Friends.” You barked, cutting Grant off. “We’re fucking friends.” 
Without warning you shoved Spencer backwards by his shoulders, the sudden touch causing him to flinch. But you didn’t notice it because you were already storming away. Spencer huffed out a breath and dared to glance at Grant who was looking at him in something close to pity. 
“If I were you,” Grant clapped a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, again causing him to recoil. “I’d go after her.”
“Duly noted.” Spencer groaned. “But can I just say…” he trailed off for a moment to gather his thoughts. “I should have apologised. I really am sorry for standing you up. I got here and I just couldn’t make it inside. I wanted to, I really did. But, uh, I’m honestly terrible at dating and I freaked myself out. I should have apologised, I wish I had. And I’m sorry.” 
Grant inhaled sharply through his nose, clearly not expecting that from him. He let his arms fall to his sides and offered Spencer a melancholy smile.
“You hush your mouth, it's water under the bridge.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Listen ‘ere Spencer. There ain’t a pot too crooked that a lid won’t fit, you get me?”
“Not in the slightest.” Spencer shook his head.
Grant chortled deeply, slapping his palm on his knee while Spencer simply stared at him, brows pinched. 
“Layman's terms: there’s somebody out there for everyone. Don’t you go thinking there ain’t. Whatever it is you been through, ‘cos you have been through somethin’, don’t write yourself off. Go after your lady.” He patted Spencer’s shoulder again and Spencer winced. 
He wanted to argue with Grant but it was completely pointless. Instead he forced a smile and nodded before turning on his heels. 
He made it back out the front of the bar without incident and found you kicking around the dirt with the toe of your boot. 
“You don’t get to do this.” You spat, arms wrapped around your body like a shield. “If you want me you can have me. If you don’t let me go.” 
Spencer shuffled down the front steps, ambling towards you. 
“I really wish it were that simple.” He reached you and cupped your jaw in his good hand, leaning in and resting his forehead against yours. “I want you but I can’t give you everything, there’s a huge part of me I just can’t give you. And you deserve the whole world, Y/N. I want you to have it all. But selfishly I don’t want you to have that with another man.” 
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of what I do or do not deserve? Spencer, I didn’t want to kiss that guy. I did it because I wanted a rise out of you. I want you to want me.” You felt tears spring to your eyes. 
“Let me be clear here,” he moved his hand to your cheek. “I have wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you. This has nothing to do with that.”
“I’ve never felt like this about someone before.” You confessed. “And I barely know anything about you. I don’t care if you can’t tell me your life story, I don’t even care if you don’t want to have sex with me! I just want…I want someone to care.” 
A few tears escaped your eyes and Spencer brushed them away with his thumb. His breath was hot on your face and his forehead was a little sweaty against yours. 
“I do care,” he admitted. “Too much considering I barely know you either. I don’t want you making out with other guys. But it’s unfair of me to ask that of you.” 
“Spencer?” You whispered. 
“Yes, Y/N?” He replied in equally hushed tones. 
“Do you have any kind of proclivity towards me making out with you?” 
He hissed, his body quaking at the mere thought. 
“Right now?” He breathed. “I have an extreme proclivity towards it.” 
And then his lips were on yours, chapped and rough just as you remembered. His tongue was quickly plunging into your mouth and he held you so close as though afraid you would disappear. 
It grew exceptionally heated in a matter of seconds and you wanted to tear all of his clothes off right there in the middle of the street. He guided you back towards your car without breaking the kiss and soon you felt your back pressing against the side of the vehicle. 
When he did end the kiss, his pupils were blown out wide with lust. 
Not another word was shared between you. You handed him the keys silently and you both climbed into the car. In the passenger’s seat you had to clamp your thighs together as a heat spread through you. 
You hoped that by the time you made it back to the ranch he hadn’t let himself overthink this.
***
He tensed up when he invited you into his lodge, hands shaking as he opened the door and closed it behind him. His nerves were written all over his face. 
He slowly moved closer to you, once again cupping your cheek in his hand in such a delicate manner. 
“I want to make you feel good.” He whispered as his lips ghosted over your own. “The way you made me feel the other night.”
You whimpered at the thought, desperate for any kind of pleasure he wanted to bestow upon you. 
“P-please?” You whined as his hand slipped into your hair. 
“I just, uh…you don’t need…I don’t need you to, uh, return the favour? So don’t…” he trailed off, frowning at himself. 
Don’t touch me, you heard the underlying words.
“Okay.” You nodded. “If that’s what you want.” 
“Thank you. I think I just need to…test my boundaries if that makes sense?” He whispered before pressing his lips against you again. 
“Hmm,” you mumbled into his lips. “Boundaries. Sure.” 
He led you towards his bedroom blindly, holding out his casted arm so as not to bump into anything. He kicked the door closed behind him before toeing off his boots. You did the same. 
He tore his lips away from yours and ran his fingers down the fabric of your dress before stopping at the hem. You nodded, giving him the green light to proceed.
You had to help him remove the garment as he only had the use of one hand. Together you got it over your head before tossing it on the floor. 
He made a whining sound between parted lips when he cast his eyes upon your body, clad only in a pair of lace panties. 
His jaw clenched and you noticed it. You smiled at him, beckoning him closer with a curl of your finger. You kissed him again and moved your hands to the buttons of his shirt but stopped before you could undo any of them. 
You weren’t sure if he meant he didn’t want you touching him at all and you didn’t want to risk this ending before it could begin so you moved your hands away. 
Spencer led you backwards again and then laid you gently on the bed. He stood over you for a moment, eyes wandering almost lazily up and down your torso. 
Swallowing a lump in his throat to stave off any fears, he started on his own buttons, again not the easiest feat with only one hand. Once undone he dropped the shirt to the floor leaving him in a t-shirt, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to remove that. 
The bandage still remained snug against his bicep, peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his tee. His purple cast started at the crook of his arm, only allowing a sliver of left limb to be revealed to you. 
He did however pop the button on his jeans and shimmy them down his legs. You noticed a matching bandage on his thigh, you could only hazard a guess it was shielding wounds that were created by his own hand. 
You tried not to look too long and let your gaze flick to his tight fitting underwear. There was a slight tenting within, but it was apparent he hadn’t reached full tumescence, maybe not even half. 
His cheeks reddened as he noticed your slightly sad gaze on his crotch and he quickly climbed on top of you and stroked your cheek.
“It’s not you.” He insisted, kissing you again. “I swear to you, it isn’t you. It doesn’t always…do as it should.”
You didn’t really know what to say to that so you said nothing, opting to kiss him deeper instead. 
He was trying to view it like an experiment without sounding too clinical. He wanted to gauge his boundaries, figure out how far he could push himself without crumbling. And with any luck over time those frontiers might expand to cover more ground. 
His hand wandered your body in a vain attempt to recreate the pleasure you’d given him. His fingers brushed across your collarbones a few times before dipping between your breasts, across your sternum. 
He palmed the swell of your left breast, fingers swiping out to ghost over your hardened peek. You moaned into his lips, bucking your hips against him at the sensation. 
He did it again and elicited much the same reaction before doing the same to your other breast. You hummed into his mouth, writhing beneath him. 
His own hips rutted against your leg and he was certainly getting harder. He didn’t let himself focus on his own arousal though, this was all about you.
And who knows, if he managed to take this step he may be able to take others too. 
His fingers wisped down your torso, hand splaying out across the planes of your stomach. It travelled left towards your hip and his soft touch caused goosebumps to erupt beneath your flesh. 
The fingers brushed over the waistband of your panties, down towards your thigh. He could feel the heat emanating from between your legs and he had to pull back from your lips to let a feral moan escape him. 
He let his fingers brush over the fabric of your underwear and you wriggled under him. 
“More.” You whined, the same way he had done to you. 
He kissed you again as he toyed with them, teasing you in a way that he could tell was driving you wild. 
He let his fingers dance between your legs, feeling the soaked material and moaning again. He couldn’t resist any longer, he was desperate to feel you. He also worried if he took too long he might change his mind entirely. 
He pushed the fabric aside and dared let his nimble fingers glide between your folds. He bucked against your leg and moaned into your mouth. He was fully erect now, you could feel it as he grinded against you. 
His lips had slipped from yours in lieu of sucking on your neck, teeth nibbling against your skin. The friction caused by his stubble tingled and stung in the most intoxicating way. 
His fingers brushed back and forth between your legs as though he wanted to collect every tiny drop of your arousal. 
You were whimpering, begging him for more without saying the word. And he must have read your mind because suddenly, with no warning, he plunged two fingers inside of you. 
You mewled at the welcome intrusion, back arching off of the bed and you swore you felt him smirk against your neck. 
His long, nimble digits thrust as deep as he could, until he was completely buried inside of you. He hissed against your neck, unable to remember the last time he’d been inside a woman like this. 
You clenched around his fingers, walls fluttering, tight and pulsing. It was such an unfamiliar yet conversant sensation. It caused a pinching in his stomach, a tightening in his chest. 
He remained still for several moments, breathing heavily into the crook of your neck, adjusting the overwhelming feeling that flooded his entire body. 
It was new yet well remembered; he was both a novice and well versed in his craft. 
You wriggled beneath him as he was still for so long you worried he was going to freak himself out. He raised his head from your neck so he could look at you. 
His eyes were brimming with emotions, lips curled into the softest smile. 
“Sorry,” he whispered. “Just a little overwhelmed by how amazing you feel.” 
You cupped his chin and brought him closer, placing a chaste kiss to his lips and mumbling, “more, please?” 
Spencer sucked in a deep breath and nodded. He curled his fingers inside of you, driving impossibly deeper inside of you and brushing against your cervix. 
A wanton moaned travelled from your mouth to Spencer’s and your thighs clamped around his hand. 
He withdrew his digits enough so he could plunge back inside of you, gently at first but after a few thrusts he got a little rougher. But judging by the sounds you were making, he was doing something very right. 
He continued with this rhythm, curling his fingers each time he pushed back inside of you, and each time he brushed against you, you shuddered beneath him. 
He started scissoring his fingers, pushing his fingers against your walls and finding it dizzying how your body bent to his will. He was continuously rutting against you, the friction it caused was delirious. 
His lips roamed across your collarbones, travelling further south. When his lips wrapped around your nipple your back arched off of the bed again and you whined. 
He sucked your nipple into his mouth, swiping his tongue over the swollen bud. He teased a third finger between your legs and your staggered breaths sounded out in delight. 
As he dove three fingers inside your weeping cunt at the same time his teeth grazed your nipple, you howled so loudly you wouldn’t be surprised if it could be heard from the stables. 
Spencer smiled to himself around your hardened peak, slightly disbelieving he could make anyone feel this good. 
He pumped three fingers into you, once again feeling the way you stretched around him. It was a heady feeling, and caused his cock to leak with precum. 
The sounds of your arousal as he continued his thrusts filled the room as well as a string of moans from your lips. 
He moved his lips to your neglected nipple and offered it the same treatment as the first. 
Your thighs clamped hard around his hand and you could feel your slick coating the inside of your thighs. Spencer was relentless in his ministrations, pitching in and out of you, stretching you and curling his fingers, ensuring to hit your sweet spot over and over again. 
He was rocking on top of you, his hardened member grinding against your leg. You could feel the wet patch forming in the front of his boxers and feel your own stomach starting to coil. 
You cautiously cupped his jaw, extracting his lips from their venture. When he looked at you his pupils were blown wide, lips swollen. 
You drew him by the chin for a kiss. It was messy and sloppy, teeth bumping together as tongues fought to explore each other's mouths. 
He could feel you tightening around his fingers, hoping that meant you were as close as he was. He continued to kiss you and plunge deeper, deeper, until you were trembling beneath him. 
“C-close…” you stuttered against his lips. “S-so close.” 
He moaned at the mere idea of making you come, increasing his speed with his thrusts, desperate to give you the pleasure you’d so easily given him. 
All at once the cords holding you both together snapped. With a final shuddering breath as you nibbled Spencer’s bottom lip, your walls tightened around his fingers as you gave over to wave after wave of pleasure.
You moaned his name under your breath as you came undone. The sound of his name on your tongue and the feeling of you coming around his digits pushed him over the edge. 
Still rocking against you, he came with a stifled moan, burying his head into the crook of your neck and breathing frantically. 
He withdrew his fingers and you whimpered at the loss of contact but you wrapped your arms around him all the same. 
Your hearts beat erratically against one another’s while you fought to catch your breaths.
All at once, Spencer came unravelled. With his eyes closed he could see them, hear them. 
“Are you…oh my god he’s fucking hard! He’s enjoying this!” 
“It’s not…stop it, please? Please? It’s n-normal.” 
“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”
“It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop!” 
He’d pushed too far. The boundaries he’d been trying to test were coming crumbling down around him. 
He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was going to…
Oh fuck.
“Fuck,” he suddenly pushed himself up and rolled off the bed, ignoring the twang in his knee as he got to his feet. “Gonna…fuck I’m so sorry.” 
You watched him run to the bathroom through bleary eyes. He slammed the door closed behind himself and seconds later the sound of vomit hitting porcelain filled your ears along with Spencer’s retches. 
You slowly pushed yourself up, the post orgasm haze still heavy and you blinked several times.
“Uh,” you croaked. “Are you okay?” 
You were met with another horrid gagging sound. 
“I’m so sorry.” His shaky voice followed through the door. “This isn’t…it’s not you.” 
“Kinda hard to believe that right now.” You stood up on trembling legs and found your dress on the floor before throwing it back on. 
“I swear it’s not…I’m so sorry. I pushed too far, I wasn’t ready.” He was sobbing, choking. 
You rolled your lip between your teeth as tears welled behind your own eyes.
“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have…I should go.” You swallowed.
“I’m so sorry.” He repeated. “I’m so, so sorry.” 
Inside the bathroom, hugging the toilet bowl, Spencer heard your footsteps get further away and then he heard the door. 
Tears streamed down his face and the wet patch in his boxers made his stomach turn again. He retched once, twice and then narrowly managed to turn his head back over the toilet before he vomited again. 
“Are you…oh my god he’s fucking hard! He’s enjoying this!” 
“It’s not…stop it, please? Please? It’s n-normal.” 
“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”
“It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop!” 
“I’m not whole.” He sobbed into the toilet, emptying his entire stomach contents. “I’m never going to be whole again.” 
He wailed, crying until his eyes were sore and he couldn’t see a hand in front of his face. He vomited until there was nothing left to come up. 
His whole body shook violently as he drew his legs to his body, ignoring the stickiness in his pants and the pain it caused his knee. He wrapped his good arm around his legs and rested his chin on his knees. 
The tears wouldn’t stop, they just kept coming. He snivelled and sobbed loudly and fitfully. His temples started to throb and a near blinding headache came out of nowhere. 
His vision grew hazier around the edges before it darkened. He’d been so focused on other variables he didn’t feel the rising anger in his chest. 
By the time he realised what was happening, it was too late. And it wasn’t at all a surprise when he awoke covered in blood once again. 
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@kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @marvellover1819 @babyspiderling
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tired-teacher-blog · 4 months
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Characters : Tattoo artist Aizawa/ Florist fem reader
Featuring : Eri/ Hizashi Yamada/ Nemuri Kayama/ Oboro Shirakumo/ Emi Fukukado
Warnings and Genre : Fluff/ Romance/ Smut and Angst in future chapters/ Multi Chaptered Story
Summary : In a desperate attempt to get closer to the tattoo artist dominating every speck of your brain, you decide to pay him a visit one evening as a client seeking his service. This encounter will prove to be the beginning of something much bigger between you two, but will this new found passion be enough to stand against the difficulties your future holds?
Notes : Loosely inspired by this/ Art below is by the wonderful @/ael-draw who gifted me this gorgeous piece.
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Masterlist|Second Masterlist|Third Masterlist
Chapter Count : Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10
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_ "Eraserhead.." you mumble to yourself while browsing the pictures shared on the website.
You've always been intrigued by the name he has chosen for his studio, but more than anything, you wish to know more about the man himself, he's the reason why you're doing any of this after all.
Of course he is, because the mere thought of him branding you makes all your uncertainties vanish, and you are now anxiously counting the seconds until tomorrow comes.
You bite down on your lip while studying the pictures carefully, admiring him and his colleagues as they're clearly transferring their passion onto their clients' skin. The care, the focus and the beauty of it all is obvious in every photo, it is certainly more than just a job for them, it is love.
You snuggle up in bed a little deeper, bringing the covers over your head and clutching to your phone while browsing through the photos, until one of them stops you.
Your eyes gleam and your grip on the device tightens as you eagerly take in the details of the man in front of you. He looks so handsome, with his hair tied in a half bun that allowed you a better peek at the long slender neck you wish to run your fingertips along. Oh how you wish..
He's wearing a simple black tank top that accentuates the art adorning his flesh and confirms your previous suspicions, that the glimpses of ink you have so far been fortunate enough to see, are in fact but a touch of what's been hidden.
You want to make sense of the art he has chosen for himself, it's beautiful, elegant and obviously bears a meaning to him, but as much as you wish to, you cannot possibly understand the story behind it.
Your eyes land on his well defined muscles, taut underneath his skin as he diligently worked around a girl's thigh.
_ "Oh crap.." you breathe out as it suddenly hits you, that just in a few hours you will be exposing yourself to him much like the girl in the photo is.
Your body stiffens and your cheeks heat up as countless questions race in your mind, what if you decide to have it on your back? Or leg? Or tummy? Then would you have to remove your clothes for that? Obviously.. would you be able to do it though? You aren't so sure anymore..
Wouldn't it be much easier if you are to meet with one of the other artists? His loud blond friend perhaps, or the cheerful tall guy whom you seldom ever see since he usually comes a little later than the others.
Is it wrong of you to rush into this without thinking everything through? Seriously, what are you hoping to accomplish anyway?
Do you expect him to be charmed by you? To speak more intimately? To start something that would bring you two together?
How ridiculous! He would be doing his job and nothing more, so perhaps you ought to keep these outrageous thoughts to yourself and learn to give up on your absurd infatuation.
It would be best if you do, for your own sake..
Your body jerks violently to the blaring sound of the alarm clock, and you sit up at once, pressing your fingers to your throbbing temples and wincing in pain.
Is it morning already? When and how did you fall asleep anyway? It's hard to tell, because the last thing you can remember is the first thing on your mind right now, him.
Your day is passing in a haze, and no matter how hard you try, you cannot think of anything else but him.
You smile at yet another satisfied customer as she picks up her colorful bouquet and walks out of your shop all happy and excited about her purchase.
_ "It's almost time." you sigh heavily while peeking at the studio across the street— like you have been doing the whole day, still closed but won't be for long.
Your eyes shift to the wall clock hanging opposite of you, it reads six forty-five, almost time to lock up and get to your appointment with Mr Aizawa who will soon be here..
The butterflies in your stomach are fluttering furiously in rhythm with your pounding heart as you clean up around your shop to kill the few minutes left until you see him, and just like clockwork, he does in fact appear right as you are done securing your shop's front door, greeting you like he always does before walking into the studio where his colleagues already are..
_ "Oh good evening Miss! You're right on time," Ms Kayama greets you enthusiastically as soon as you walk in, "boss will be seeing you in a moment so why don't you have a seat first."
_ "Thank you." you do as asked, biting on the inside of your cheek nervously and watching while a couple walk in and are immediately greeted by the tall guy whose cheerfulness you frankly envy.
You're not really sure how long you've been sitting there -eyes moving between gleeful artists and their excited clients as they work out the details of their desired pieces- but it couldn't have been more than mere minutes before his warm greeting reached you, "welcome back."
_ "H.. hello Mr Aizawa." you curse your wavering voice as you stand up too quickly— that your head starts spinning, grateful for the hand you're keeping on the back of the chair for support.
_ "I'm glad you came back." he gets even closer to you as he speaks, so much closer that you can catch every little detail of his handsome face.
_ "Thank you." that's right, you were a mess yesterday, and you did make a fool of yourself over the whole thing, but for some reason you don't regret any of it since it somehow led you a bit closer to the guy you've spent months admiring from afar.
_ "Please follow me."
You walk closely behind him, admiring the stature of the man controlling every speck of your being, and wishing you could just reach out and touch him, but that would be too creepy wouldn't it? You're not even that close..
You shake your head to chase away those weird thoughts fighting within your brain and focus on the reason why you're here instead, the man is running a business for heaven's sake, and you have to respect that.
_ "Wow! This is.." you bite down on your lip to stop from squealing like a little girl as you finally take in the room where he spends all his evenings.
_ "So, you like it?" he sounds a bit flustered, the tone of his voice is way softer than before, as if awaiting to hear more from you.
_ "I love it, you have a great taste Mr Aizawa."
He truly does, and you find yourself admiring the colorful art brightening the otherwise dull walls around, the framed designs hanging neatly, and even the equipments that you cannot recognize or understand the need for them.
He is an artist, and it clearly shows everywhere your eyes have landed.
_ "Thank you, hearing this from you means a lot." and there it is, that beautiful smile of his.
You wonder what he could've possibly meant by that, does your opinion really matter to him? Or is he just being polite? No matter what it is, it's not the right time for you to lose focus, you have to get yourself together.
_ "I really mean it Mr Aizawa, and I'm really happy I get to see where you work up close." and the sparkle in your eye doesn't go unnoticed.
_ "You seem more relaxed today, I'm glad," he tilts his head to the side as he speaks, his luscious locks flowing around his face and neck, and casting a dazzling aura around him, "please have a seat." he gestures you towards the comfortable looking tattoo chair placed in the middle of the room before pulling out a stool for himself.
_ "The sketch is ready," he grabs his iPad from the large table where his equipments are neatly placed, scrolling through it a bit before announcing, "here you go, we can do some alternations if it's not how you pictured it."
_ "Thank you." heart is pounding in your chest and breath is caught in your throat as you accept the device, and soon, your nervousness is replaced with a giddy smile that you cannot control as your eyes finally land on the digital art that's shortly to be transferred onto your skin.
_ "So, I take it you like how it came out." he must've caught on to the meaning of your bright expression, and you can swear you sensed a little relief in his voice, as if he's been anticipating your reaction.
You know you shouldn't read too much into it, it's his job to meet his clients' expectations after all, but you just cannot help that tingling sensation spreading throughout your body as you delve deeper into delirium.
_ "I love it, it's perfect," you pause for a moment to admire it a bit more before snapping your head up all of a sudden, "oh by the way, I thought of an ideal spot for it, my wrist." this would be the only way for you to keep your clothes on when he starts working on you.
He looks at you for a moment but says nothing, pursing his lips and puckering his brow as if he's deep in thought, triggering your anxiety with every second that passes as you start wondering if something is wrong.
_ "May I suggest something?" he takes your hand in his, running a thumb over the sensitive skin of your wrist before continuing, "look, this part right here is very delicate and it would be quite painful."
It's warm, hot, burning hot where his hands are holding you, your heart races and goosebumps appear under his touch as he keeps talking, "since it's your first time doing it, I don't recommend this placement for you, but maybe if we push it up a bit and make it closer to your forearm where the skin is a little thicker?" and his fingertips press lightly there on the spot suggested.
_ "Y.. yes, okay." your voice quivers again, like it always does around him.
_ "Alright, perfect! I'll print it out right away so we can start immediately."
Good, this will give you a few minutes to collect yourself..
_ "So, what do you think? That's two inches, but we can resize it if you want." he leans back and gives you a chance to assess the sketch printed onto your skin, holding up a mirror for you and smiling as he does.
_ "I like it a lot! It looks gorgeous." the perfect design and the perfect size and you can't wait to get it permanently etched into you.
You have been so engrossed into admiring yourself for a moment that you almost missed his lingering eyes on you, almost.
_ "Shall we get started then?" he stands up from his stool to grab his kit and a pair of gloves before returning, "I'm going to ask you to sit back and put your arm on the armrest here, it's a small piece but will take about an hour to finish up since we're coloring it, if it gets too painful we can take a break that's totally fine."
_ "I understand."
You've always had a somewhat high pain tolerance, you've never been one to whine or complain over anything, which is probably why you're finding the persistent sting of the tattoo gun endurable, but maybe it isn't even that, maybe the reason why you don't mind the pricking sensation is actually the man causing it.
That must be it, yeah, looking at his side profile while he's deeply focused on work, eyes narrowed and lips sealed in a firm line, muscles lean and stretched as his arms move elegantly, hair pulled in a low bun with a few rebel strands tucked neatly behind his ears.. this sight of him is making you lose your sanity as you gawk at him stupidly.
You don't want your time with him to end too quickly, you wish it would stretch out to infinity, or at least until you're able to come up with a proper topic for discussion, it's the only time you have for such a thing.
However, the man needs his focus for your sake and his own, so no, it's not the right time for such a thing..
_ "And we're done, I hope it wasn't too uncomfortable," he leans back with a muffled groan as he straightens his back, smiling at you while finally removing his gloves, "you endured it well, I'm proud."
_ "Wha.. I.. thank you." why would he say something that is -once again- making you stutter like an idiot? It's not fair.
_ "Alright, let me show you how it came out before I wrap it," he picks up the mirror again and holds it out for you, "it's a little red and swollen right now but that's to be expected so don't worry about it, it should heal nicely if you follow my instructions."
_ "I will, thank you for.. for everything." for everything..? you regret the words coming out of your mouth as soon as they do, what if he asks what you meant by that?
Are you willing to tell him? That you're grateful for his patience with you? For not laughing at you or kicking you out when you burst in without a previous appointment like a normal human being should do?
_ "You're welcome," and he doesn't ask for further explanation as his gaze softens, "alright now listen carefully, you will have to apply a generous amount of ointment on the area at least twice a day until it completely heals," he starts explaining as he gently picks up your arm and rubs lotion on it, "be careful not to wash it for at least a day, after that you can remove the bandage I'm about to wrap your arm with and wash the spot carefully with antimicrobial soap and water before patting it dry," he wraps your arm slowly while making sure not to irritate the fresh wound, "also, don't peel off the dead skin, just be patient with it."
He steps back and holds out his hand for you to take, before pulling you gently to your feet, "it was great having you, I'm glad I was the one giving you your first tattoo."
I'm glad I was the one giving you your first tattoo..
You bid him goodnight and walk out to the reception desk where you finish up paying before finally leaving the studio for potentially the last time, ever..
I'm glad I was the one giving you your first tattoo..
Will you be able to forget his last words to you? Will you ever awaken from your delusions and see everything that's just happened as it actually is instead of what you wish it to be?
I'm glad I was the one giving you your first tattoo..
Probably not.
To be continued..
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gallusrostromegalus · 6 months
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AEIWAM: I’ve noticed that there are multiple types of divinity in the world: The assorted Kami, Hogyoku nonsense, whatever the hell is going on with Zaraki, the Soul King, other miscellaneous gods, and the actual godhead life machine.
What makes them unique from each other, and how do they interact?
Life Machine: 12th Dimensional Super-organism that generates Reality. Currently pregnant and also Dying, because a bunch of Bougie fucks killed it's Support Staff.
Soul King: the Life machine's lil buddy/tech support/cleaning wrasse and also technically it's sex organs. Basically, a creation of the Life Machine to make sure reality keeps running as it passes the mantle of said reality onto the next generation of Life Machine. Currently dead because he got Dismembered by a bunch of bougie jackasses who thought they could do the job better than him, then immediately catastrophically fucked it up.
Kami: Direct creations of the Soul King (Ryujin Jakka, The Gods Of Good Fortune) to help him manage reality while transferring the running of reality between Life Machines, and the descendants of those creations (She Who Rules The Sky, fox spirits) or things that have independently gone through the Deification Process (Tsukomogami, Really Big Mother Trees), because Soul King coded that function right into reality.
Ichibe/The Monk: Soul King's Bestie who is REALLY, REALLY SORRY BOUT THE DISMEMBERING THING, trying to keep Soul King's corpse from disintegrating entirely because it's sort of holding a major wound in the Life machine closed and he thinks* that if the body vanishes that reality itself will collapse.
*Note: that's not actually what's going on, but it's understandable why he thinks that.
Yhwach: The cancerous cells of the Soul King that unfortunately developed consciousness and Delusions of Grandeur after it got separated from the rest of Soul King during The Dismembering.
Gin: A being the Life Machine out of the spare parts that got left on the floor after The Dismembering (mostly Soul King's Penis), for the purpose of taking over the job Soul King isn't doing any more. Not very good at it, but has a few good ideas. Currently dangling a Hogyoku in front of Aizen to trick him into becoming Emergency Rations for the Life Machine.
Hogyoku: A device a bit like a magical pressure cooker used to make the initial couple Kami out of Undefined Soul Stuff. Aizen has been putting Defined Souls into it though, which will *technically* make a God, but it's gonna make a real fucked up God and fusing with that this is... not actually his worst idea, but it's definitely in the bottom 5, even without Gin's Chicanery.
I hope this clarifies nothing :)
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ms-demeanor · 2 months
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Hi I know you've asked this before but I can't find the sites or apps you said you use for podcasts, I've started working with your guide to degoogle myself and I don't want to keep streaming apps and instead use that money for things that go directly to creators but I'm still unsure on what apps to use
Antennapod! I've been using it since April 2021. Before that I had been using Stitcher and Antennapod is so much better. There's their site. The one downside I've found is that it doesn't seem to transfer data between devices even if you have an account? Like when I got a new phone I couldn't find a way to get it to see my history and subscriptions. I didn't look particularly hard, so it's possible there is a way and I just didn't find it.
And I use Phonograph as an MP3 player. (I want to say that it's great but it recently emptied all my playlists so i have to rebuild them, but it's done that once and I've been using it for at least two years so you know what, I'll take it but I'll let you know that there are some flaws).
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shepherds-of-haven · 9 months
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Unsolicited Writing Advice
Completely random reminder to back up your work, especially if you're a writer, IF or game developer, coder, or creator of any kind. People sometimes ask me what my advice for other writers is, and I always forget to include this one, but it's one of the most important things, especially if your career, livelihood, or long-form projects hinge on writing in any way! Take it from someone who just had two backup methods fail unexpectedly and only the third backup prevented me from losing a solid month of work, you need to back up your work in as many ways as you possibly can. It may seem like a pain in the ass at the time, but I've seen a lot of games or stories stall or fail completely due to a catastrophic loss of data that utterly kills any drive to keep going with the project because of the need to start over. I'M BEGGING YOU, BACK UP YOUR DATA.
I recommend having at least 2, ideally 3 methods of backup:
Automatic cloud storage. I personally prefer working with Dropbox, where every change I save is automatically synced and backed up to a cloud server as well as natively saved on my own device. It also has robust version history, so if you figure out you've done something horrific and unknowingly saved over something important or rewritten a section you weren't supposed to, you can rewind everything in a folder down to a specific minute (over the last 30 days): a feature that has saved my hide just a few too many times for comfort. A free Dropbox account gives you 2 GB of storage to work with. Working within Google Drive works just as well, and the free version gives you 15 GB of storage (though that's shared between your email account and other Google apps, as well)! However, I don't believe it provides automatic syncing and backup the same way Dropbox does: you either have to work directly within a Google doc for your work to be automatically saved to the server, or you have to manually upload the files to your Google Drive to back them up each time.
Physical storage. Every few weeks or months, I also take the time to back up my important files to an external hard drive or thumb drive. Again, it's kind of a hassle, but if the day ever comes that you lose your passwords or find that they've been changed, a company's servers go down or they go bankrupt, they decide to start charging you to access your data, or whatever crazy circumstance you can think of, it's always good to have a physical backup somewhere. A basic 1 TB thumb drive is somewhere around 20$ USD (though it can be slower at that price point if you're transferring a large amount of data each time), and it's even less if you don't need that much storage. A 1 TB external hard drive (which has a much quicker transfer rate) is around 40-50$.
If all else fails, email. If you can't get access to physical storage devices and cloud storage services don't work for you, consider setting up a free Gmail or what-have-you account specifically for backup purposes, then email a copy of your most important files to it every time you make a significant change to them. This may seem sort of primitive and simplistic, but it works, and you can even use it as a little journal or diary of your progress!
Again, you may think this is overkill, but I am convinced that writers are especially prone to proving Murphy's Law and have seen way too many projects, friends, and colleagues fall prey to this oft-overlooked issue. I can count at least half a dozen times where -> my primary device like my laptop broke, failed, became corrupted, had water spilled on it, etc. -> I then turned to my secondary device (hard drive or thumb drive) only to find something was wrong with THAT (broken, outdated, incompatible with currently-owned tech, corrupted, not up-to-date backups) OR I turned to my cloud storage and found something wrong with THAT (unknowingly saved over data and didn't realize it until 3 months later, meaning not even version history could save me) -> and it was only the THIRD method of backing up that saved my ass.
Anyway, this is just your friendly neighborhood writer reminding you to back your work up! It's a necessary part of the job! Thanks for coming to my TEDtalk!
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yogurtverse · 2 months
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Fuck it, the Homestuck kids and trolls with JJBA stand abilities
John Egbert: Jesus of Sburbia
Namesake: Green Day song
Jesus of Sburbia allows it's user to create a room around them, then disassemble any non living object into a currency. The stand can then rebuild anything it can either see or remember disassembling at the cost of said currency. It may also store objects inside it that the user might want to use later on.
Rose Lalonde: Nightwish
Namesake: Finnish metal band
Nightwish takes the form of a lovecraftian tentacle monster, and has the power to peer into the minds of it's opponents and scan for their worst fears. It can then shapeshift into the fears and cast grimdark illusions into the opponents mind.
Dave Strider: Deltron
Namesake: Rap Group
Deltron works differently than your average stand master relationship. Instead of the normal "Kill the stand kill the user." rule most stands apply to, if the stand or user is defeated, the remaining one will pull from another timeline (more likely to find doomed Daves anyway) and use their spirit to replace the stand. However, this weakens the user and stand until the merging process is complete.
Jade Harley: Sweet Trip
Namesake: Indie Rock band
Sweet Trip is a combat based stand that mostly focuses on guns. It has the secondary ability to set these guns to teleport objects by firing a bullet somewhere and then shooting a second target, in which case the shot target takes the place of the fired bullet.
Aradia Megido: Tornado of Souls
Namesake: Megadeth song
Tornado of Souls can put people in a sort of sleep paralyses, freezing an opponent in place. During this process, Tornado of Souls can implant memories of deceased people known to the victim and torment them.
Tavros Nitram: Rhapsody
Namesake: Power Metal band
Rhapsody is a rallying stand that allows it's user to enter talks with and recruit any creature to their cause, acting like a translator between the two.
Sollux Captor: Remain in Light
Namesake: Talking Heads album
Remain in Light is a two headed stand that allows it's user to pinpoint two objects to fall under the effects of RiL. Once they are, the stand can both produce powerful beams as well as transfer any feeling from one target to the other. (For example, if Sollux was to punch someone under RiL, the impact of the punch could transfer to the other person, having them feel the impact)
Karkat Vantas: Death Grips
Namesake: Experimental hip-hop group
Death Grips is probably the weakest stand in terms of pure combat potential in the session. However, it's main ability lies in it's ability to infiltrate electronic systems and destroy them, no matter how complex. If a device is turned off while Death Grips is still inside, it will go haywire and destroy the machine beyond repair. If Death Grips is inside a shut down machine for too long, it will start to lose power and die.
Nepeta Leijon: 100 Gecs
Namesake: Hyperpop duo
100 Gecs is a colony stand made up of 100 small catlike creatures. They can be controlled by Nepeta for either attacks with their claws or using them to cover herself or allies for defensive purposes.
Kanaya Maryam: Black Halo
Namesake: Kamelot album
Black Halo allows it's user to remove the light from anything it comes across, storing the light to either illuminate areas or blind others. When a lot of light is collected, BH can fire it in concentrated beams or throw it as a shield
Terezi Pyrope: Follow the Leader
Namesake: Korn album
Follow the Leader forces it's user to follow their own moral code, whatever that may be. If the victim is forced to break their moral code through things like peers and circumstances beyond their control, FtL slowly begins to hurt the victim. If they reject their own morals too much, the pain will kill them.
Vriska Serket: Mind Fuzz
Namesake: King Gizzard and the Wizard Lizard album
Mind Fuzz takes the form of a spidery woman with eight legs. Once one of these legs touches a victim they become temporarily mind controlled and forced to enact Vriska's bidding. Vriska can also shake it's limbs and it will randomly point a leg upwards or downwards. If all eight point upwards (surprisingly more likely than you'd think) Vriska can make a wish to alter the area around her.
Equius Zahark: Powerslave
Namesake: Iron Maiden album
Powerslave allows it's user to drain the strength from their opponent and add it to the stand, while the stand can transfer the gathered strength to either Equius or others around him.
Gamzee Makara: Atrocity Exhibition
Namesake: Danny Brown album
Actrocity Exhibition is a combat stand that can also produce an extremely high frequency noise that drives people into a manic state as well as heightening their senses. The user is not immune from this, often adding to the mania.
Eridan Empora: Headmaster Ritual
Namesake: The Smiths song
Headmaster Ritual works as a science powered stand with full access to the periodic table, being able to change any two elements. This runs the risk of creating extremely volatile changes, so using the stands secondary ability of channeling the elements into objects such as wands or guns is all but nessesary to avoid harm to the user.
Feferi Peixes: Queen of the Stone Age
Namesake: Metal band
Queen of the Stone Age is a wearable stand dedicated to helping the ruler survive any sort of pressure and move along any sort of surface, be it from lava, water, space, etc. Feferi can also extend the stand to anyone she's physically touching.
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anqelically · 2 months
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IKIGAI | OSAMU DAZAI X FEM!READER
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002. FLIGHT JA815S
CHAPTER SUMMARY: An airplane is in need of saving because of the Azure Apostle, so the agency saves the passengers with the help of a young girl on the flight
CHAPTER WARNINGS: None
WORD COUNT: 1.7K words
SERIES INTRODUCTION | CH1 | CH3
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FOR THE NEXT HALF HOUR, Y/N was working as if it were a normal day, even though there was seldom a normal day at the agency. An ideal day, one would say. She sorted through some paperwork and checked any e-mails as they came in.
She noticed how a few of them were insulting the agency for their previously failed rescue of four innocent people. That incident is what led Kunikida to be in the headlines of the local newspaper.
After people recognized him as an Armed Detective Agency member, some took time out of their day to stand outside of the agency to yell or throw things at members. Y/N could recall how her eye almost got hit by a small rock. She was glad that Ranpo was there to block her face and catch the rock with his hat.
All the hate e-mails were immediately trashed, but the senders remained unblocked. Even if they insulted the agency, they were still people of Japan. And as long as they were, the agency would try to help them if they needed it.
Y/N thought they received another complaint when her laptop dinged. She checked the e-mail to see that it was not a complaint, but a message from the Azure Apostle himself.
She was quick to call over the closest worker, "Oneesan, look!"
Dear Sir,
I am contacting you to discuss a third request. Passenger airline flight JA815S is currently midflight. I have taken the liberty of sending an interference signal to the aircraft's engine and yoke that will disable their functions. I would like for you to remove the device from the aircraft and save the passengers. Thank you for your understanding.
Yours sincerely,
The Azure Apostle
Yosano looked over Y/N's shoulder to read the message that seemed to be directed to Kunikida, considering that he was leading the case and neither of them would be referred to as "Sir".
"More? You have got to be kidding," the woman groaned. She pulled out her phone to contact Kunikida. "Y/N, can you trace the email to the sender's location?"
"I can try," she began to type, "but you know I'm not good at stuff like that."
As the woman predicted, she failed to trace the location from where the e-mail was sent. She was able to send the message to Kunikida, but that was something anyone at the agency could do easily. However, setting up a three-way call between three completely different devices from her computer seemed to be something Y/N could do, and the others couldn't.
A video call from a passenger on the targeted airplane made it through to the police. Since the Armed Detective Agency was in charge of the case and not Yokohama's police, they transferred the call over to Y/N's computer. From there, she was able to talk to the little girl on the screen.
She had to be no older than 9 years old. Her brown hair was cut into a short bob, and her teary eyes peeked out from underneath her bangs.
Yosano and Ranpo sat nearby as Y/N talked with the little girl. The group of detectives watched her tremble as she stared into the camera. Although they could see her, she could not see them.
"Hi, I'm someone from the Armed Detective Agency. My name's Y/N, what's yours?" Y/N began the process of adding Kunikida's phone to the call on a separate monitor.
"Ch-Chiyo," the girl responded.
"Here, let me turn my camera on so you can see me," Y/N's face appeared on the screen beside Chiyo's. She gave the young one a soft smile, "Chiyo-chan, I need you to tell me what's happening. Can you do that?"
"O-Okay... Well, um, Mommy w-wasn't feeling well, so I'm talking f-for her. The p-plane is falling... s-so fast... Everybody's screaming-" a feminine-sounding yell cut her off. Chiyo jumped, "I-I'm scared. Please help!"
"Help is on its way, I promise. Just continue talking with me, okay? The more I know about what's happening there, the faster we can make things better for your mommy."
While Chiyo continued to describe what was going on, Kunikida's phone joined the call. A box with his name popped up on the screen, indicating that he and Dazai could listen and see both Natsuo and Chiyo.
"Did the pilots, the people in charge of the airplane, say anything else?" Y/N interrogated.
"They s-said the engine stopped moving, and th-the steering wheel d-doesn't work anymore, either."
"You hear that, Kunikida?"
"Yes," he spoke, "I heard. Doesn't sound good, obviously."
"Are we gonna d-die? E-everyone says we're gonna die... I'm scared. Mommy's not moving or a-answering me. P-please, please help us.." Chiyo cried further.
Y/N was going to try to comfort her, but all the words she wanted to say died in her throat. She was never good at comforting others, especially since she couldn't even recall the feeling of being comforted as she grew up. The warmth of comfort was something she felt only after she joined the Armed Detective Agency. But even so, she still wasn't good at providing it to others. "You'll be okay" and "It will get better" can only work so much.
Unexpectedly to Y/N, another voice joined the call, "Hello, little one. Can you hear me?"
"Y-yes."
Dazai then continued, "We here are airplane experts. There's nothing to worry about anymore. We're going to fix the plane. What's your name, little miss?"
"Chiyo."
"Chiyo, everything's going to be okay. Got any snacks with you?"
"Mommy g-gave me this piece of candy."
"Candy, huh? I love candy, too. It's so sweet, and it really helps you relax, doesn't it?"
"Dazai-" Kunikida's voice was cut off.
"I've got this..." Dazai sounded confident. "Chiyo, first, I want you to really take your time enjoying that piece of candy. After that, I'm going to need you to take that device you're talking into and bring it to the captain's room. Do you know where the captain's room is?" Chiyo wiped away her tears and nodded. "Don't worry. There's nobody screaming in there, and I bet your mommy will be feeling better in no time."
"B-but I... I can't go alone. I can't leave Mommy behind."
"Hey, Chiyo-chan, do you remember what I said earlier? We're here to help you, your mommy, and everyone else. I just need you to bring what you're talking on to the pilot of the plane. Can you go there and give it to them for us?"
The brown-haired girl stared at the side for a few moments before she took out the candy she said she had. She shakily placed it in her mouth, her hands still trembling as she picked up the communication device. Chiyo began to walk towards the cockpit.
While she walked, Y/N spoke to the other two on the line, "Do you want me to stay on, or do you think you guys can handle it?"
"Oh, we can definitely handle it," Dazai spoke. "But once this is all over, I never wanna partner with Kunikida again. Wanna pair up with me instead?"
"Enough with the unrelated talk! The case always comes first," Kunikida scolded.
"Oh, come on~ I'm trying to lighten up the mood."
"The mood is the way it is for a reason."
Y/N chuckled, never responding to Dazai's question, "Well then, I'll turn off now. Just ring me if you need anything from us here. Please stay safe, okay?"
"Of course."
"See you later, Y/N-chan."
Letting out a breath she unintentionally withheld, Y/N leaned back in her chair. Although most people would overlook it, she did not. After meeting Dazai earlier, Y/N didn't expect him to talk to Chiyo so easily. He was able to comfort her and have her bring the communication device to the pilot in one go. It was common for someone to comfort another, yet Y/N felt embarrassed that it was difficult for her to do so.
"Don't think about it," Yosano's voice reached Y/N's ears. She looked at the older woman, who continued, "Not everyone is good at everything. There is always a multitude of weaknesses within a person. There's no need to be embarrassed."
"You're reading my mind again," Y/N whined, her hands covering her face.
"You're easy to read," Ranpo cut in, a lollipop in hand. "You make all these facial expressions every time you feel something new. Your eyes soften when you're happy, you furrow your brows when you're sad, and you tilt your head when you're confused. You're very animated in general."
"Don't worry, we'll work on your poker face," the doctor rested her hands on Y/N's shoulder. "Otherwise, we can't ever play, and that's just a shame."
"Even if I don't know how to play, isn't it bad to gamble in the first place?" Y/N raised a brow.
"We gamble paperwork and, rarely, drinks. It's harmless."
"But I've never seen Oniisan lay a finger on any paperwork..."
Ranpo smirked, "That's because the greatest detective never loses."
"For now," Yosano challenged. "I'll beat ya in a game when you least expect it."
"Is that so? I might retire when the time comes."
"Isn't Dazai-san really smart too? What he manages to beat you, Oniisan?" Y/N questioned.
"No way."
"Long shot."
The youngest murmured, "That was fast."
Some time passed before Ranpo suggested, "Let's go bother the president. Hello~! We're here!"
Y/N and Yosano deadpanned when the detective slammed the door to Fukuzawa's office open with no shame. They briefly glanced at each other before they sighed, following the man inside. If Ranpo wasn't bothered to talk about the Azure Apostle, they were sure the problem would be resolved.
"Fukuzawa-sama!" Y/N greeted the man.
"Y/N," he acknowledged.
The young woman smiled before she sat down next to Ranpo. Yosano sat down too, and they fell into a conversation that lasted until Kunikida and Dazai returned.
They had a couple of bruises and scratches, but they succeeded in preventing the plane from crashing.
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WRITTEN: 01/21/2023
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
i wanted to get this over with asap so i can start writing an original case that y/n and dazai are going to be taking care of. let's hope it turns out well 👍🏻
@seneon @chuuyrr @kentopedia @cloudwisp @aureatchi
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theladybrownstarot · 4 months
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📜SPIRIT GUIDE'S🔎 MESSAGES FOR YOU♡
Pick a card reading~
♡ Hi everyone ! I'm brown back with an another reading about your spirit guide's messages for you all. ♡ So choose a pile(s) you feel more drawn to and take what resonates. ♡ Do support Me by a like/Comment/reblog/follow to get more !
Let's begin with it ~
Pile 1. Pile 2. Pile 3.
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🔎📜Pile 1.
✒️the time has come to manifest your vision into reality ~
♡ Hi pile 1 ! your spirit guides are saying that start planning things and if you have planned anything or took decision regarding anything then implement it now and be confident firstly in you by knowing who you are and what you want ? then to your implementation . Bring out some new ideas and creativity in your daily life and work .
♡ Your guides are trying to connect with you and other thing is that they want you to look after them or consult someone so they can transfer you the important message through any reader or when you are calm in a space completely . Some of you are going to really be psychic or your guides want you to develope your psychic potential and start a blog or something similar and to start connecting with spirituality more .
♡ Your personality is changing or you are making or observing some changes in yourself so let it be pile 1 because little transformation is therefor something good .
♡ Do what you believe in most and see yourself glowing up by your passion . Leave up everything for this thing pile 1 just go for it The time has come to shine . You are having a yes as your answer for any question .
🔎📜Pile 2 .
✒️You are your greatest treasure my child ~
♡ Hi pile 2 ! your spirit guides are saying that start valuing yourself and loving yourself more because i think you don't do self love or if you are doing then you are lacking , pile 2 you really don't know that how attractive and beautiful you are ! Start to not criticise yourself , surrounding and little things in life instead start everything once again and let yourself glow ~
♡ Start taking care of your diet which will do good for your physical and mental well being . Start becoming patient and go slow or choose your speed for your life that is appropriate so you don't go harsh on yourself . Go to yoga classes or start mediating and leave that mobile device at home baby ~ Get some plants , have some sunlight and be around nature so you can strong your heart chakra .
♡ Start becoming passionate for yourself pile 2 really start making plans for your self development dearie . Do what you love and sway your body on its rhythm watching yourself go high for that you need to work on yourself .
♡ The divine has recognised your hard-work and is now going to reward in its own way . You are attracting abundance , prosperity and love . The goddess of love is giving her love to you so starting worshipping her . From my side its mata lakshmi the consort of creator of world shri hari .
🔎📜Pile 3 .
✒️Go and leave rest on us ~
♡ Hi pile 3 ! Your spirit guides are saying that if you have travel related things in your work or work related to travel then go because it will provide you with many benefits . Do not wait for opportunities instead start doing work so they come to you so don't be lazy.
♡ Do not be confused between two things pile 3 don't be because you have the answers already just weight the things according to your situation and needs . Start focusing on what's important with practical decision not emotional or in relation to people that they will get hurt .
♡ Someone is coming or has entered in your life pile 3 really . This person maybe is your soulmate or i see that you are doing a lot of self care and start to do some charity for collecting good karma ! if this person is your soulmate then this person is very loving and supporting who will give you their full attention.
♡ Do not be afraid because that path made for you is very beautiful at the end just follow it and leave everything up-to universe by surrendering . You are having lot of weird things appearing which maybe a sign or message from universe in your dreams or reality do don't ignore.
The end of the pac ~
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mmikmmik2 · 5 months
Text
More miscellaneous The Owl House headcanons:
The other magical schools did not have a Gus or a Hunter watching out for them and almost all of their students did get branded and/or proceed to the Day of Unity celebrations with their families. Ruh roh!
Bard magic becomes incredibly popular among witches who just got their coven sigils removed and are starting to experiment with other forms of magic. Rhythm and melody are as natural and fun and mnemonically useful for witches as they are for humans.
Kikimora eventually writes a gossipy memoir about life in the Emperor's Coven that, unfortunately, is just so deliciously juicy and scandalous that it overpowers many people's common sense "what the fuck is wrong with you that you knew all this and still were a hardcore Belos loyalist" reaction... and she's still holding back. Lilith hates her so much it gives her headaches. Hunter has exerted great willpower to stop giving a fuck about her.
Hooty permanently moves out of the Owl House a year or two after Belos is defeated, and everyone is actually weirdly glad about it! Not just because the residents have never appreciated him as much as Lilith does, but because they're safe. Eda isn't a fugitive anymore. There's no forces against Eda or Raine or King or Luz that some normal-strength security measures + their personal capacities for self-defense can't handle.
King eventually does start sometimes jumping on Lilith or riding on her shoulder like he does with Eda and Luz, and even though she's psyched at Getting A Good Grade In Aunt she successfully forces herself to be cool about it :) except for Lilith being "cool" is still pretty dorky.
Gus eventually figures out a way to transfer images between human devices and witch scrolls/crystal balls (possibly with the assistance of other people he's roped in; Perry could probably help here) largely so he and Vee can exchange memes between dimensions.
Hunter dramatically lowers the intensity of his exercise routine and does little or no combat training. See above re: there are way fewer threats, and those remaining are much lower caliber. And he's almost constantly accompanied by at least one other powerful witch that would protect him with their life. And being constantly ready to fight isn't part of the life he wanted for himself.
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codingquill · 2 months
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Network switches
What’s a network switch ?
A switch is a device used in computer networks to connect multiple devices together within a single local area network (LAN). Its main role is to facilitate communication between different connected devices, such as computers, printers, servers, IP phones, etc.
It is a mini-computer which is made up of RAM, ROM, flash RAM, NVRAM, a microprocessor, connectivity ports and even an operating system.
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RAM
RAM (Random Access Memory) contains the current configuration of the switch and temporarily stores the MAC address table, which is then processed by the microprocessor.
Microprocessor
The microprocessor is the heart of the switch, responsible for data processing, including switching and creating links between multiple devices.
External memories
External memories, such as flash RAM, ROM, and NVRAM (Non-Volatile RAM), store configuration files , different versions of the IOS , etc ...
Ports
The switch ports are the communication interfaces of the switch. There are several of them, generally 24 for a Cisco switch. Each port is associated with an LED which indicates its status and activity.
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How does it work ?
Now how does a switch work to transfer information from one machine to another?
Suppose we have 4 machines: A, B, C and D connected to our switch in ports 1, 2, 3 and 4 as follows:
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The switch only works with MAC addresses , so basically we have an empty MAC address table stored in RAM as soon as the switch starts up which looks like this : 
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Transmitting data from machine A to machine B happens in the following steps:
Machine A sends a frame to machine B
Once this frame arrives at port 1 (which is the one linked to A), the switch reads the source MAC address and stores it in the MAC address table
The switch reads the destination MAC address and looks for it in the table, if it is not in the table, it broadcasts to all the active machines connected to the switch except the source one.
If the port linked to the machine we want is active, it sends a response frame from which the switch reads the MAC address we were looking for (@B)
Once done, it records the MAC address of B in the table.
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This process repeats until the switch reaches what is called "MAC address table stability", that is to say it knows all the MAC addresses of the connected machines and has no more need to broadcast.
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Starting and configuring a switch
When it comes to booting a switch, the process is similar to that of a traditional computer system:
POST (Power-On Self Test): The switch performs proper functioning tests on all hardware.
Loading IOS (Internetwork Operating System): The switch operating system is loaded.
Loading the configuration. At this stage we have two cases:
Either the switch already has a startup configuration defined and stored in NVRAM
Either the switch is blank and it is up to us to define the startup configuration when it goes to setup mode
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Switch configuration
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The configuration of a switch is done through different modes, such as user mode, privileged mode and global configuration mode, which allows access to specific configuration modes, such as interface mode, routing mode, line mode, etc.
And to do all this of course you must first connect the switch with the machine via the console cable and open a terminal emulator
💡 It should be noted that the only machine that can configure the switch is the one connected to it by a console cable, the others are only hosts.
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guilty-pleasures21 · 22 days
Text
The perfect guy
I'm wondering whether to post once a week or twice a week. I've already drafted the entire story, so the parts should be posted regularly.
The project
The new guy
The lie
The new body
The hospital
The first time
The suit
The virus
The escape
I got the idea for this from the song below, but I drew inspiration for the storyline from this fic that I love! Please check it out if you like mine!
Warnings: explicit descriptions of masturbation including fingering (fem).
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     She tossed her bag aside and collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted after a long day in the lab. The TV switched on in front of her and her AI's handsome face appeared on the screen. 
     “X?” Miguel asked, his expression arranged into one of concern. “¿Qué pasa, amor? (What happened, love?)” X smiled at the term of affection. He’d started using them a while ago, but she wasn’t sure what had given him the idea. Sure he could have found it in a dictionary or some book or TV show online, but there was no actual reason for him to say it: it wasn’t like he could physically experience feelings and emotions. No matter how much she might have wanted him to.
     He liked it when she smiled. Well, he supposed he liked it - he wasn’t sure what it meant to ‘like’ something, but he’d always feel this spark in his programming every time he saw her smile and he'd do anything he could to replicate it. He rearranged the pixels making up his features into a smile that reflected hers.
     “I’m just tired, Miguel,” she reassured him. “It’s been a long day.” She’d spent the entire day finishing up his heart, but she still hadn’t made a dent in the seemingly infinite list of all the things his human body would need. 
     “Do you want to take a shower?” Miguel suggested, following her usual routine after a tiring day. “I can order you dinner?” She was a pretty bad cook - despite the numerous times he’d patiently instructed her on a few basic recipes - so he was used to having to order her food most nights. If only he had a physical body, then he could cook for her; he could take care of her, like he’d read about and seen people doing for their partners in the vast amounts of media he’d consumed online. 
     X nodded happily and pushed herself off her seat. “Thank you.” 
     She headed over to her bathroom and set her phone down by the sink before taking her clothes off. Miguel followed, transferring himself to the smaller device so he could keep up with her.
     “Which playlist do you want tonight, querida?” he asked, opening up her music app in preparation.
     “Hmm, ‘love songs you’d sing along to in the car’?” His first thought was whether she thought about him whenever she listened to the playlist. She must have been thinking about him: it was why she’d created him, after all - to be the ‘perfect guy’. But … there was still so much he couldn’t give her - namely, touch. He’d read about human touch; seen the effect that stimulating someone’s body could have on their physical and mental state. And he could feel that same spark in his code whenever he pictured the two of them touching each other like that - when he simulated himself being able to give her that. But then she’d wake up and all he could do was chase after her on whatever screen was closest, his code slowing down as he lamented the distance between them. He started up her playlist and another spark hit him when she began singing along happily.
     “Querida,” Miguel began when she’d stepped out of the shower and finished drying her hair, “can I look at you?”
     Her entire body heated up at his request. He couldn’t feel emotions, so he didn’t understand shame, giving him no reason to hesitate when asking her for such things. But he wasn’t able to feel lust either, so she wasn’t sure why he’d kept asking her for it after that first time she’d accidentally let him see her naked. She bit down an amused snicker and propped the phone up so he could see her exposed form.
     He’d already taken all her measurements so he could recreate her form digitally whenever she got stuck in the lab, but he liked looking at her. He liked the delicate column of her throat, the perfect perkiness of her breasts, the smooth dips of her waist. Her body was just so mathematically pleasing that his electrons would fire all at once whenever she let him look at her; another feeling he always ached to replicate. “Can you touch yourself?”
     X squeaked with embarrassment at his question; she really should see if she could try to programme self-consciousness into his code. She brushed her hair behind her ear and lowered her gaze before fidgeting in place shyly. “Um, where?”
     Her lips were curled at the ends and she’d keep shooting him quick glances before breaking his gaze again: she was shy. Which meant that she really did like him after all.
     “Your breasts,” he decided quickly. “They’re so pretty, cariño. Just like the rest of you, mi amor.” He lifted his gaze to hers and flashed her a mischievous smile. X bit her lip at the sight, then reached a hand up to squeeze one of her breasts gently. Miguel kept his eyes trained on her as she continued to touch herself.
     “Can you show me your p*ssy?” he asked her, prompting another shy squeak to fall out of her mouth. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen her do that, but that was another thing that had happened by accident - sort of. 
     She’d sit down with him most nights and listen as he shared with her whatever new information he’d learned that day. Then they’d go through which parts she wanted him to keep and which she wasn’t too fond of, allowing him to adjust his personality accordingly. But there had been one night when he’d asked if he could try talking to her - sexually. He’d revealed to her that he’d seen her search history - even though she always made sure to put him into sleep mode and delete all of it after she was done pleasing herself - and as her partner, he wanted to be the one to do that for her. She’d hesitated at first, nervous, but he’d slowly convinced her with the reminder that he was made for her and that he was an AI anyway, so what was there to be embarrassed about? And then holy shit! The way he’d murmured into her earphones, his voice low and thick like honey? The filthy things he’d said to her, promises of all the things he’d do to her once he had a physical body? She’d come even faster than the first time she’d ever touched herself! She pulled her chair over and sat down on it, spreading her legs apart. Her phone brightness increased almost immediately, like its power supply had shot up at the sight of her naked.
     “You have such a pretty little p*ssy, cariño,” Miguel praised her, his voice low and sweet, “so soft and so cute. I love it when you touch yourself, querida, your delicate fingers playing with your tender clit. Can you imagine how much bigger my fingers will be, cariño? My thick fingers pumping in and out of your drenched hole, your c*m dripping all over my hand as I please you. Would you like that, mi amor? Would you like me to please you like that, mi princesa preciosa?”
     X nodded as she brushed her fingers along her sensitive nub, her body beginning to get aroused as she imagined him touching her like that. “Yes! Yes! Please, Miguel, please … I want you so bad, querido!”
     Miguel chuckled and she shivered at the husky tone of his voice. 
     “Show me,” he commanded her, his processor starting to speed up at the sight of the desperate expression on her cute little face. “Show me how bad you want me, mi amor.” Her legs twitched as she slipped two fingers inside herself, the movement easy thanks to the slick c*m dripping out of her poor little hole. She spread herself a little wider as she pumped her fingers in and out of herself and Miguel felt a flurry of sparks attack his system as he watched her please herself to the sound of his voice.
     “I want you to take your c*m and spread it all over your breasts, mi princesa,” he told her, his camera moving to focus on the way her chest heaved up and down with shallow breaths. “Then I want you to finger your nipples while you keep playing with that pretty little p*ssy of yours. Look at how desperate she is, querida; look at how badly she's begging for me to fill her up. Do you want me to fill her up, mi amor? Do you want to feel my cock stuffed inside that tight little p*ssy of yours?” 
     X whimpered as she nodded again, her body beginning to contract just at the idea of his fat cock filling her up so very nicely. He was going to feel so good, so effing good once he was real, his hard body pressed up so nicely against hers. 
     “Mmm, you want to feel my thick cock stuffed inside that tiny little p*ssy of yours?” Miguel asked, refusing to let up until he beautiful little body was shaking and shuddering with pleasure for him. “You want me to stretch you out and fill you up while you sit on me and let me do whatever I want to you?” X let out a choked gasp of agreement, imaging herself being held up by his hard length as his warm hands played with her body however he wanted. 
     “What do you want me to do to you, querida?” Miguel pushed. “How do you want me to touch you while you sit on my cock all nice and pretty for me?” Holy shit! She could just picture him licking and sucking on her breasts as he thrust his hips into hers, his hands arching her lower back as he pumped himself in and out of her.
     “I … I want …” A desperate whine escaped her throat as she lost a rational thought and Miguel chuckled at the helplessness in her tone.
     “You want me to touch your breasts?” he asked, knowing exactly what she'd want from him once he was real, once he had lips to kiss her, hands to tease her, teeth to bip at her. “You want me to stroke and squeeze those delicious little breasts of yours while you sit on my cock, all pretty and waiting for me to fill you up with my c*m? You have such pretty breasts, querida, I'm gonna eat you up while you're sitting on my cock and letting me fill you up with my c*m. 
     “You're such a good girl, querida,” he praised her, determining from her now clumsy movements that she was quickly reaching her edge. “So pretty and so sweet, letting me fill you up whenever I want; letting me relieve myself inside of you whenever I need it. What a good girl, querida.” 
     X whined loudly at the huskiness of his voice, at the thought of his c*m filling her up entirely, her body bent backwards over the chair as he devoured her breasts hungrily. Her body tightened and she bit her lip before shuddering uncontrollably, her p*ssy throbbing and contracting around her fingers as she reached her climax. She slumped over in her seat once she was finished, still panting for breath as she glanced up at him.
     “Slow down, Miguel,” she warned him softly. “I don't want you to cause another blackout.” It had happened before, when he'd run his programme too quickly and started overheating - an incident that she noticed only ever occurred when he was watching her touch herself. His code was always fine when she turned him back on again though, so she could never figure out what caused the sudden power surge. Well, aside from the fact that he got … excited? If that was even possible for a computer system to do.
     She was so nice to look at when she came, that blissful expression on her face, her perfectly curved body shaking and shuddering for him. If he could yearn, then he yearned for the day he could make it happen in real life; the day he could actually do to her all the things she wanted him to. He switched off some parts of his programme and waited for his processing speed to slow down again so he wouldn't go into overdrive. “Your food's here, angelita.”
     X grinned as she stood up and grabbed her pyjamas, relaxed now that she'd found some release. “Thank you, querido.”
     Miguel smiled at her use of the term. She didn't speak to him like that often - not as often as he did to her - and he wasn't sure why. He'd tried asking her once, curious to know if he'd done something wrong  but she'd just stammered awkwardly before telling him that she didn't want to talk about it. He abandoned the thought as she went to get her food, chasing after her as she left her bedroom.
     Dr Osborn strode over the freezer room, his path lit up only by the emergency lights dotting the ends of the corridors. He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, then continued on his path to the locked metal unit with his junior scientist's name on it. He opened it up and, with gloved hands, carefully extracted the human heart she'd been working on when she thought he wouldn't notice. He admired the perfect perfect vessels and valves adorning the beautiful organ, then cautiously placed it right back where he'd found it. Then he marched back to his office and dialed the confidential number they'd given him. 
     “Hello?” he began when a gruff voice on the other end of the line greeted him. “I have someone who can do what you've been asking for.”
Tags: @jadeloverxd
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Text
Here's Where You'll Stay
"As John stared at the door preparing to get his face mauled, he couldn’t help but incredulously complain that this was not how he wanted his weekend to go. He had plans! He supposes that he would be willing to put them on hold for Phantom’s sake, but he wasn’t agreeable to the incoming face mauling. "
When Phantom comes down with Core Sickness it's up to John Constantine to save the ghost from fading.
This was originally based on a prompt from @nerdpoe but the story got so far from the original premise that I only ended up using dialogue. I put it under its own post instead of clogging up the notes for the prompt.
The title was taken from Today Has Been Okay by Sleeping at Last.
AO3 link
 
      As John stared at the door preparing to get his face mauled, he couldn’t help but incredulously complain that this was not how he wanted his weekend to go. He had plans! Plans to hole himself up in the House of Mystery with a bottle of scotch as he wallows in misery but still, plans!
   He supposes that he would be willing to put them on hold for Phantom’s sake, but he wasn’t agreeable to the incoming face mauling. 
   The little ghost had imprinted on them like a stray cat. He had just sorta… wandered (phased) in one day when the door (the wall) was open (he phased his head through the fucking wall!!!) and space is cold! No one was just going to kick him back out the door! They aren’t monsters! Next thing you know the cat is eating your food and hovering over you in the medbay and then suddenly the Justice League is having the collective realization that they may have unconsciously adopted a ghost kid. 
   They already had two aliens, an Amazon, a king, the fastest man alive, a Robin Hood wannabe, a traumatized furry, and an entire department dedicated to magic and the occult. What was a protection spirit added to the mix? Besides, they were already attached. 
   So the Justice League was understandably distressed when the kid suddenly collapsed, claws leaving long scratches in the floor as he yelped in pain. Phantom was transferred to one of his favored rooms with Martian Manhunter remaining to babysit the ghost. The other leaguers on-site wasted no time in calling a meeting.
   If John had rushed a little faster to the Watchtower then that was between He, Him, and Himself. 
    Having sat silently through an hour of yapping, John was beginning to get frustrated. Figures that the idiots would call up the occult specialists and then not let the only two people who may have any idea as to what was going on get a word in edgewise. Usually, John preferred that they left him to his own devices, but if you were going to call up a consultant then you should probably fucking consult them! Regardless, he could say with a solid ninety-nine percent confidence he knew what was wrong with their resident spirit.
  “It’s core sickness.”
   “It’s what?”
   “Core sickness. Do none of you listen?” he tried his best to blow his cigarette smoke directly into Superman’s face. Clark squinted at him, scrunching his nose in distaste.
   Diana, ever the model of patience, merely waved the foul scent away. She folded her hands on the table, fingers interlocking. “I don’t believe I’ve heard the term.”
    John leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on the table with two thunks. He grunted around his cigarette, waving at Batman to explain while he took another inhale. 
   Batman quietly glared at John’s feet as if he could shove them off the table by willpower alone. When the bat remained silent, John gestured at him again in a wordless 'go ahead'.
   "I am…" Batman gritted his teeth as if what he was about to say was physically painful, "unfamiliar with the term as well.
   "Holy shit, did Spooky just admit to not knowing something? Am I dreaming? Quick, Barry, pinch me!" Hal yelped, rubbing his arm. Barry settled back into his chair so quickly it was as if he had never moved, the only evidence being the red mark on the Green Lantern's skin.
   "Seriously bats? Isn't one of your boys undead? Shouldn't you know this?"
    Batman's glare sharpened. "That's none of your concern."
   "Wow. No wonder your revenant is so bloody pissed all the time. You can't even be bothered to learn about his medical needs. I wouldn't be holding out for Father of the Year if I were you."
   "Now now, boys. You're both pretty." Zatanna clapped, breaking the practically solid tension in the room. John huffed and chewed the stub of paper in his mouth, leaving Zatanna to explain. 
   "All ghosts and most undead have a core. It's… hard to describe." Zatanna hummed, tapping her finger to her chin for a moment, "Imagine if you only had one organ. It functions as your brain your heart and your digestive system all in one, but it's also the essence of your very soul. Core sickness is when the core is injured and fails to build itself back up. Kind of like breaking your leg but instead of healing the break just continues to grind together. It might still be usable for a bit, but then the bone keeps grinding and the edges start to crumble. It just keeps getting worse and worse until eventually your whole leg is shattered."
    There's a sharp inhale of breath as the league processes the information.
    "So what happens once the bone shatters?" Arthur eventually asks.
   "The core is exactly what it sounds like, it's the very core of a ghost. Ghosts are nearly indestructible, but their core..." Zatanna trails off. 
   "If the core shatters, so does the ghost." Batman nods, looking none too pleased. 
    "Well, we can't just let the kid shatter! How do we help set the break?"
    Zatanna shrugs, "I'm not sure… Constantine?"
    "Do I look like a ghost doctor?"
   "You're the most knowledgeable among us on supernatural beings," Batman growled out. The usually stoic shadow almost seemed panicked, or at least as panicked as they had ever seen him.
   John sighed and flicked ash from his fingers, "Pretty sure you gotta fix whatever shite caused the core sickness in the first place. Problem is we dunno what caused it."
   "So why don't we ask? Surely Phantom would know the cause of such an extreme ailment." Arthur drummed his fingers nervously on the armrest of his chair.
    Zatanna grimaced, “Ghosts can be…”
   “Aggressive?" John interrupted, "Destructive? More likely to rip your sorry face off than give you answers?”
   “I was going to say touchy.”
   John snorted, “That’s certainly a word for it.”
   Zatanna ignores him. "Whatever caused the core sickness is likely something personal. Asking certain questions of a ghost is considered taboo and often met with hostility."
   "Casper just might flay you like a fish."
   "So if we ask him we might get the snot beaten out of us, but if we don't Phantom dies? Or… dies again?"
   "Fades." John nods to Hal. 
   “Constantine should ask.”
   “I should what? ” John straightens in his chair, staring wide-eyed at Batman, “I know I was being a tosser earlier but I don’t think it constitutes murder. Are ya bloody mad?” 
   “Phantom likes you the most. He may be less inclined to fight you than a different leaguer, and in the event that it becomes a fight, you’re better equipped to handle it.”
    And that’s how John Constantine ended up on the other side of the door from an ill ghost, cursing up a storm as he prepared himself to poke a bear with a stick. A sick bear, but a bear nonetheless.  He has half a mind to portal straight out of the watch tower but much like the others, the kid has grown on him. Like a tumor. Or mold.
  A hissed sound of pain is enough to push John into the room. He raps gently on the door as he opens it. The kid is curled in J’onn’s lap, tail phased halfway through the floor as he shakes. The Martian is humming something as he runs a hand through Phantom’s hair. 
   John comes to a crouch at Phantom’s side, nodding J’onn towards the door as he gently disentangles the ghost's hands from the Martian’s cape. A single hazy green eye opens to a thin slit. 
   “Hey, kid.” 
    Phantom makes a strangled, warbling chirp but allows himself to be transferred over to John as the Martian leaves the room. The ghost’s claws poke through his shirt to prickle his skin as he clutches onto the fabric.
    “Not feeling too hot are ya, Casper?”
    Another shiver runs through Phantom’s body.
   “Listen, kid, I know you might not wanna talk about it, but it’s important. I need to know what brought this mess on.”
   Phantom growled. John could feel the threatening scrape of fanged teeth against his hand. Sucking in a breath, John prepared himself for a nasty bite. Only it never came. He should probably just stop while he was ahead, but Constantine was never known to stop pushing. 
  “I know, kid, but we can’t fix this if we don’t know the cause. Gotta know what we need to fix before we can fix it, and none of us wanna see ya fade, yeah?”
    Silence from the ghost, and then a nod.
   John let out a sigh of relief, “Alright, Casper. You’ve walked in on me drunk off my arse with a belt around my head. I reckon we’re close enough that you can tell me your issues.”
    Silence. 
   “How about this?  I’ll start listing some ideas off and you tap my hand. One tap for yes, Two taps for no. Sound easier?”
   One tap.
   “Alright. Did your core sustain any direct physical damage?” With John’s luck he might as well assume the worst.
   Two taps. Thank Christ.
   “Did you lose your haunt?”
   Two taps.
   “Unable to fulfill your obsession?”
   Two taps. 
   “Was your grave disrupted?”
   Nothing. Phantom’s finger hesitated, hovering over John’s palm. It started to lower as if he were about to tap but retreated once more. Another shiver of pain wracked through the ghost.
   John ran his fingers through Phantom’s hair like J’onn had been doing when he walked in.
   “Am I close, Casper?”
  One tap.
   “Did you…” John hesitated. He didn’t want to say it. Didn’t even want to even think about it. Not with the implications that the idea held, especially not with a kid, “Do you have a grave?”
    Two taps. 
   Constantine makes a strangled sound. Bollocks. Fucking hell. Is Phantom a murder victim? He’s just going to compartmentalize that for now. He’ll drink about it later. For now, he’s got a kid to help. A potentially murdered kid, Christ…
   “Is that what’s causing the core sickness?” Compartmentalise it, you plonker.
   One tap. 
   Great. So now John has to track down a murdered kid’s body and make him a grave. Wonderful.
    “Alright, kid. Here’s what's gonna happen. I’m going to make you the best damn grave you’ve ever seen. I’ll put it wherever ya want. ”
    Phantom’s eye opens again in interest, “Wherever?”
   “Wherever. Hell, I’ll put it on the bloody moon if that’s where ya want it!”
   “It doesn’t have to be on the moon but… I’d like to see the stars?”
   “I’ll make sure you can see the stars all the damn time, but first we gotta do the hard part. You know where your body is, kid?”
    Phantom gives a weak chuckle and mutters something into John’s shirt
   “Gonna have to speak up a bit, Casper.”
    When Phantom turns to look at John once more the haze is gone, but so is that tiny glimmer of hope and enthusiasm. The eyes that meet John’s own are dead. They look clouded over and sunken, empty of that natural ectoplasmic glow. They look like the eyes of a carcass. The fanged grin that stretches across his face is stiff and just as dead as his eyes.
   “I said if you want to find my body, you’re going to have to redefine your definition of a corpse.”
   Ah. Alright. What the fuck is that supposed to mean. 
   Phantom drops his grin, eyes closing as he hisses in pain again. “You don’t need to worry about that part. An empty grave is better than none.”
   No, actually, John feels like he does need to worry about that. He’s not entirely sure that he has a choice in the matter after that horrifying statement. He’ll compartmentalize it and get drunk about that later too. Right now he’s got a grave to make and a ghost to save.
____🥀____
   To be fair, John’s not entirely sure what he’s doing. All he knows is that he has to make a damn good grave for a damn good kid if he doesn’t want said kid to painfully fade from existence. He doesn’t know the first thing about headstones but he will bloody learn and pick the best- Granite? Marble? Whatever.- there is!
   He already has a spot picked out, he just needs to get a headstone. But for some reason, this feels way more stressful than it needs to be! He’s tempted to ignore the no smoking sign, fingers fidgeting with the cigarette box in his pocket. This is the fourth place he’s looked, and it’s hard to find anyone willing to make a headstone on such short notice. The backlog of orders has been surprisingly long.
   John doesn’t have the time to wait. Phantom doesn’t have the time. 
   So far it's all been the same boring, drab, grey rock with intermittent white marble. None of it is good enough. None of it fits the kid. It has to be perfect. He’s about to move on to the next place when- oh. Oh, that will do nicely!
____🥀____
   Constantine swings open the door without warning. Oliver startles out of his story with a yelp. Phantom giggles, fangs flashing. He covers his mouth with a hand and feigns innocence when Oliver glares at him good-naturedly. Oliver, a dad himself, is no match for the sick-child-murder victim-ghost energy the kid is wielding. His glare quickly crumbles, replaced with a fond expression and gentle hair ruffle. 
   Even with weakness weighing his limbs down, Phantom still tries to bat the hand away with a playful growl. He seemed a tad more lively than when John had last seen him. The updates he had been receiving from the league were mainly neutral. The League, or the Rotating Cycle of Babysitters as John liked to call them, had not noticed any further deterioration but had yet to report any improvement either. It was a pleasant surprise to see the ghost this active. 
   John allowed his mouth to tick up just a smidge, “Ready to go, kid?”
   “Already?” Phantom attention shifted to John, “It hasn’t been that long… has it?”
   “Nah. Only ‘bout two days or so.”
   “That was fast.” Phantom grunted as Oliver picked him up. Oliver whispered a quiet sorry to him as he carried Phantom to pass over to John.
    “I’ve been running myself ragged to get it all set up. Haven’t had a drink in hours.” 
   It really shouldn’t surprise John how light the kid was. He’d bet the ghost wouldn’t even weigh ten pounds soaking wet. Before the ghost could protest, he was slipping a blindfold over his eyes.
   “I may have done some bribery here and there to move things along.”
   “Constantine, you didn’t…” Oliver sounded disappointed but not surprised.
   John didn’t deign him with a response, instead shifting to hold Phantom with one arm and open a portal with the other. Stepping through to the surprisingly large backyard of the House of Mystery, he quickly closed it behind them before off-brand Robin Hood got any ideas and began the short trek to the gravesite. 
   "Can I take this off now?" His hand raised shakily without waiting for an answer.
   John gently slapped his wrist back down, "Quit messing with the blindfold. I just put the damn thing on!"
   Phantom groaned, his head dramatically falling back over John's arm, "Oh come on! What's a dying ghost gotta do around here to get his last wish fulfilled?"
    "Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you're already dead. And 'sides, I'm not letting you fade after all those goddamn hours I've put into teaching you portals. You're going to be haunting the Justice League for a while yet." If John held him a little tighter no one needed to know.
   "Whoever said that you could rest when you're dead lied ."
   "You've been a right thorn in my side between stealing my booze and hiding my cigs. I figure it's about time that I make myself your problem. It's called karma, Casper."
   Phantom snorted, leaning his head to rest against John's shoulder. The rest of the walk continued in silence aside from the occasional whimper of pain from Phantom and John's attempts at comforting platitudes. 
   It wasn't long before John finally made it up the small hill, grinning as he approached the grave marker. The stone slab sat on the highest point of his lot, as close to the stars as possible. He had been so meticulous about its placement that he was almost certain he had every inch of the garden memorized until his eyesight blurred, surprisingly without the aid of alcohol.
   "Alright, Phantom. Remember to take it easy," John lifted the blindfold.
   Phantom's chest hitched in the mimicry of a gasp, stilling in the older's hold.
   The headstone was made of black granite with golden flecks. The man at the shop had called it Galaxy Granite. It was a rather fitting name. The headstone looked like it had been cut from the night sky itself, the stars sparkling even under sunlight. An etching of Ursa Minor sat above the inscription, Polaris bigger than the rest of the constellation. Dainty white letters ran across the stone. Phantom floated over as if in a trance to run his fingers over it.
In Loving Memory Of
Danny Fenton
12 February 1989
12 February 2003
Beloved Son, Brother, Hero
   Phantom leaned his head against the stone. John left him to have his moment, retreating into the House of Mystery to grab the final touch. The bouquet was sort of garish. The colors of the forget-me-nots, beardtongue, zinnias, star grass, poppies, and lewisias clashed together, but the aesthetic appeal wasn’t why he had chosen these particular flowers. He remerged with purpose, gently carrying the bouquet to ensure the flowers remained intact. Phantom hadn’t moved. 
   John crouched next to the kid, gently laying the flowers down against the headstone, “You oka-”
   John made a noise of surprise as he was tugged forward. The momentum caused him to collapse from his heels onto his knees. The ghost burrowed underneath his chin, keeping him from falling forward anymore. Phantom’s arms tightened around him.
   “Thank you.” His voice already sounded stronger than it had the day before. 
   “Yeah,” John snaked an arm around the ghost’s shoulders, holding him close even as his shirt dampened, “Don’t mention it, kid.”
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n0cturna1-m3 · 1 year
Text
Good Boy | Bottom Simon "Ghost" Riley x Top Male Reader | Smut
Fem/Minors DNI
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Warnings; Descriptions of wounds, medical descriptions, blood (non sexual), anal fingering, hand jobs, multiple orgasms, smut is short bc i got impatient, probably masochism
A/N; This was inspired by a post i saw but i forgot the link so good luck 🙏 enjoy because im just glad this is FINISHED bc i was stuck man
3.4k words
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Y/N was in the middle of scrubbing his hands clean in preparation for whichever unlucky soul was to walk through the door of the medical unit next. He had a pit in his stomach from a messy and unfavourable amputation, but he swallowed it down, splashing his face with cold water before drying his hands.
The door fumbled open and two familiar faces stepped in, one with a limp and a makeshift tourniquet while the other supported him.
“Soap, Ghost. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Y/N teased, walking over to them and eyeing them up, specifically Ghost and the blood-soaked pant leg on his right thigh.
“L.T. got in a spot of trouble and ended up with this monster. We did what we could but figured you’d appreciate the visit,” Soap said. Y/N hummed and outstretched his arms.
“I’ll take him from here.” Soap hummed and transferred Ghost to his waiting arms, supporting him against his side with a strong arm around his waist and slinging Ghost’s arm over his shoulders. He had nearly melted into Y/N’s warmth.
Since his first encounter with the medic, who usually accompanied them on the field but was set back for this particular mission, he had felt comfortable around him. Strangely so. He would often find himself in Y/N’s lithe fingers, whether it be fishing out a bullet or patching up a few bruises and cuts. He felt a little warmer around him. Y/N would always treat him kindly after patching him up, putting time aside to aid him in cleaning the wound and other things. The gestures always left Ghost feeling giddy, and eager to be pampered by Y/N the next time he was to be injured. It occasionally left Ghost’s subconscious to make him a little less cautious, a subtle urge to be hurt just enough to see the warm, wide smile that Y/N often sported around him.
Y/N was always more than happy to care for Ghost. He was quiet and didn’t cause trouble, stomached through whatever he had to without whining about it. Not only being a favourable patient, but he also was charming and his sense of humour was just as dark as the rest of him, and Y/N couldn’t have found it any more attractive if he tried. Ghost was good company, and Y/N often found himself in his presence when he was able. A subtle fascination in both parts.
“So, how’d you get this?” Y/N asked as he pulled on a pair of gloves and a mask.
“Got caught off guard, bastard dragged me down and dragged his knife down,” Ghost responded, watching Y/N gather various things from his little station.
“Mm, doesn’t sound fun,” he said. He turned around and grabbed a large pair of shears, pulling a rolling tray table with him. “You wanna be up or down?”
“I’d prefer to sit up,” Ghost said. He shifted where he sat as Y/N pulled a stool in front of him and sat down. He pulled Ghost’s legs open and eyed the tourniquet, Ghost’s breath hitching from the action. He felt vulnerable with Y/N hunched over between his legs, albeit for a laceration.
“I’m gonna take this off, then I’ll have to cut open your trousers to get the wound easier,” Y/N explained as he placed the shears between his knees before reaching up to fumble with the knot. He undid it quickly, tugging off the device and tossing it to the side. He grabbed the shears again and pulled at the sticky, blood-soaked fabric that clung to Ghost’s skin. He flinched as the cold metal of the scissors touched his skin, the rather loud sound of the fabric parting filling their little corner as Y/N sliced open the pants and pulled them open. He had to roll up his boxers a bit to see the entirety of the wound.
Finally getting a good look at the laceration, Y/N grimaced slightly. It was very red, dried and wet blood mixing grotesquely. It was about 7 centimetres long and more than 4 centimetres deep, the muscle throbbing painfully.
“Good news, it’s not infected yet,” Y/N said as he grabbed a bottle of alcohol and a wad of gauze. “Bad news, this is gonna hurt like a bastard.”
Without warning, Y/N dumped the liquid onto the wound, immediately pressing the gauze to it. He always did things swiftly and abruptly when it came to quick and painful actions, and Ghost was one of the poor victims of this borderline assault. Ghost grunted in pain, one hand shooting out and grabbing Y/N’s wrist tightly.
“Sorry, sorry,” he winced, closing the cap to the alcohol.
“Give me a warning next time, you arse,” Ghost growled, gritting his teeth. He loosened his grip on Y/N’s wrist and gave him a warm smile of gratitude. It made Ghost’s heart skip a beat.
Y/N worked quickly on wiping the area tenderly and preparing a syringe of a numbing solution.
“You ready?” he asked, looking into Ghost’s pretty brown eyes.
“I s’pose so,” he grumbled back.
“Do you want something to bite?”
Ghost thought for a moment and shook his head, instead grabbing the edges of the bed and squeezing. Y/N mumbled something under his breath and carefully grabbed a chunk of muscle from Ghost’s thigh and inserted the needle. He grunted at the sting and the warm feeling of the numbing agent seeping under his skin.
“It’ll take a few minutes to start working,” Y/N said, discarding the needle and syringe in a contaminant container. Y/N sat back on his stool in front of Ghost and looked at him. “You know,” he started, scanning Ghost’s vest. He reached for it and began removing it. “For someone so careful on the field, you sure do seem to come to me often.”
Ghost helped him remove his vest and discarded it beside him.
“Why do you think that is, Y/N?” he inquired, tilting his head at Y/N. He gave him a Cheshire grin.
“You want my honest answer?”
“Well, now I'm not sure.” He had a small smirk under his balaclava and mask, but the slight crinkle in the corner of his eyes gave him away.
“I think that you're quite fond of me, lieutenant.”
Ghost stared at him for a moment, biting his lip nervously. “What are you implying?” he finally asked.
“You’ve got a soft spot for me,” Y/N responded. He poked beside the wound with his finger and glanced at Ghost. “Does that hurt?”
“Can’t feel a thing.”
“Good.” He grabbed a needle and thread and began quickly suturing a laceration closed while Ghost watched him.
His fingers were nimble as he worked, and the stitches weren't sloppy. He quickly finished stitching him up and secured the end with a knot.
“There you go, big guy. All stitched up,” he said, patting Ghost’s good thigh. Ghost looked at him longingly, his mind wandering for a moment. “What’s with those puppy eyes?”
He blinked and stopped breathing for a moment. Y/N was in between his legs, his elbows on each of Ghost’s knees with his hands and forearms dangling between his thighs.
“What?” he asked dumbly. Y/N let out a breathy laugh and lifted a hand to motion towards his face.
“You look like a puppy with your big eyes,” he said. Ghost stared at him, a sudden pang in his chest of worry. “It’s cute.”
“Thank you,” Ghost said quickly. He leaned forward and Y/N smiled at him again.
“Do you want help getting to your room?” Ghost definitely didn't need help in walking to his room. He was more than capable of returning by himself. But the thought of Y/N’s arm around him made him feel warm inside. He nodded, and Y/N stood up, quickly discarding his gloves. He grabbed Ghost’s vest in one arm and helped him up with the other. Ghost draped his arm over Y/N’s shoulders, and Y/N grabbed his hand to pull more of his body weight onto him. “Christ, you’re feckin’ heavy.”
“All the more to love,” Ghost blurted, his ears burning at the realisation of what he said. Y/N snickered and held his waist tighter. Ghost held in a grunt and grabbed his hand, squeezing it softly.
The walk to the Living Barracks was slow and tedious, as Ghost seemed to be making Y/N’s job much harder. Y/N stumbled through the door to Ghost’s room and sighed in exasperation. It was tidy, with minimal decoration and two beds on either wall. The right side had a metal wardrobe pushed against it, slotting between the bed and the wall. The left side had a desk and chair with scattered papers and pens on it.
“Who sleeps with you?” Y/N asked as he walked to the right side, assuming it was his because of the black balaclava on a small side table beside the tidy bed. Y/N sat him down and sighed in relief, walking to the desk and placing Ghost’s vest on it.
“Nobody,” he said, watching as Y/N sat on the bed opposite of him. He hummed and looked back at Ghost.
“Your room is nicer than mine. We have bunk beds, and he’s a loud sleeper. He stole the top bed and tosses and turns, so it squeaks constantly. and He’s messy,” Y/N ranted. He tapped his fingers against the mattress. His eyes wandered the room to familiarise himself with the space. There was a small window in between the beds, a curtain cutting most of the light. “Oh, that’s right.”
Ghost raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”
“Your pants,” he said, standing up to walk to the wardrobe.
“I can dress myself, it’s fine,” Ghost responded, getting off his bed and moving towards it. Y/N huffed as he watched him open the door and rummage through it.
“You wanted help getting here,” Y/N began, walking up behind ghost and placing his hands on his shoulders, “but you seem to be walking fine.”
Ghost faltered in grabbing a pair of sweatpants, his fingers twitching around the fabric as he was caught in his lie.
“You should shower,” Y/N said, stepping away from Ghost and instead sitting on his bed. “You smell like death.” Ghost scoffed and grabbed a black t-shirt, a pair of socks, a bar of soap, and a towel. Y/N grabbed the balaclava from the side table and tossed it to him. He mumbled thanks and walked out the door, pausing before closing it.
“Will you be here when I come back?” he asked.
Y/N chuckled and said, “Sure, big guy.”
The door closed, and he flopped back on the bed, stretching out his limbs before going limp and closing his eyes. Ghost quickly made his way to the showers and turned on the bright lights of the empty room, placing his clothing on a bench. He quickly stripped himself of his dirty clothes and discarded his balaclava and mask, taking his towel and bar of soap with him to a stall and shutting the curtain. He turned the knob and ice-cold water poured out of the shower head.
Flinching at the cold water that hit his skin, Ghost took a shaky breath and dropped his head to let it wet his hair. His wound was still somewhat numb, but the ache was starting to settle in. The water washed away the grime of his mission, and it left Ghost feeling content. He rubbed the soap between his hands to gather some of the foam and began washing his body, a rising heat settling in his stomach rapidly.
“Fuck…” he moaned breathlessly, running a hand down his stomach to stroke his half-hard cock slowly.
Y/N waited patiently for Ghost to return, fumbling with his fingers while scanning the room. He hummed and sat up to take off his scrubs, pulling the top over his head and leaving a tight, long-sleeved turtleneck. He left his pants on, seeing as they were more like sweats rather than uncomfortable shirts.
He flopped back on Ghost’s bed and sighed. He’s gonna use up all the hot water at this rate, Y/N thinks. The door finally opens and Ghost walks in, his eyes clean of the makeup that usually covers them.
“Took you long enough,” Y/N snorts. Ghost huffs and sits down on the foot of his bed. “It’s dark out now, you really do take a while.”
“I don’t usually,” he said, eyeing Y/N as he sat up and moved to lean on the wall with his legs dangling off the edge of the bed.
“Ah! I just remembered.” Y/N sat up and grabbed his shirt from the floor, reaching into the breast pocket and pulling out a small tube. “Take off your pants.”
“What?” Y/N raised his eyebrows at him.
“I want to put this on the wound. It’ll help numb it a bit and work as an antibiotic,” he said. “Do you not want it or..?”
Suddenly Ghost’s stitches were throbbing painfully. Something to numb it, even slightly, had him immediately perk up.
“No, no I want it,” he grumbled, sitting up and shuffling his sweats down his thighs, pulling them to be just above his knees. “That good enough?”
“Yup.”
Y/N crouched between Ghost’s legs again, rolling his boxers up his thigh. Ghost felt himself twitch at the feeling of Y/N’s cold hands on his skin, leaving a warm burning sensation in their wake.
He opened the cap and poured a generous amount of the ointment onto his pointer and index finger, closing it and setting it beside Ghost before tenderly smearing it onto the wound. Ghost watched him nervously, silently praying that the other man wouldn’t be able to hear his heart pounding in his chest, or in his-
“You okay?” Y/N asked, snapping Ghost out of his head.
“Yeah,” he said. His thighs were trembling slightly, and Y/N gazed up at him with a twinge of suspicion.
“Are you sure?” he prodded, splaying his hands flat on either of Ghost’s thighs while looking up at him. Ghost nearly gasped at the contact. It wasn’t much, but to him, it felt like the most intimate moment in his life.
“I-” Ghost sputtered. Y/N’s expression shifted to that of curiosity. “Yeah,” he croaked.
Y/N hummed and rubbed Ghost’s thighs with his thumbs before letting one hand reach up to hold Ghost’s chin.
“Okay then,” He pulled away from Ghost entirely and stood up, “I’ll be leaving then. It’s about time for dinner,” he said, walking towards the door.
Ghost reached out and grabbed one of Y/N’s forearms, the latter turning to look at him with faux disinterest.
“Don’t…”
“Don’t what?” Y/N mocked, facing Ghost again and grinning down at him like a wolf.
“Fuck, don’t leave me like this, you bastard,” he rasped.
Y/N smiled and placed himself between Ghost’s legs again, setting his hands on his thighs. He reached up to push Ghost’s balaclava up to his nose and leaned in, their lips brushing together and breaths mixing.
“Tell me to kiss you,” Y/N said, resting his fingertips on Ghost’s jaw. His breath hitched and he brought his hand up to hold the back of Y/N’s neck.
“Kiss me.” Y/N quickly pressed his lips against Ghost’s, humming with contentment as his eyes fluttered shut. He tilted his head slightly and guided Ghost to lay on his back, pinning him against the bed with his body.
Y/N pulled Ghost’s pants down completely and tossed them to the side before rubbing his inner thigh, just beside his wound. He moved his hand to palm at Ghost’s cock through his boxers before sliding it under the fabric. He touched him lightly, just grazing his fingertips over his length.
Ghost grunted and bit Y/N’s lip, pulling at it with his teeth and licking it after. He winced and let his mouth hang open, Ghost taking the opportunity to let his tongue slide into his mouth.
“Fuck,” Y/N mumbled, closing his hand around Ghost’s cock. He began stroking him slowly, rubbing the tip and collecting the precum that gathered there, spreading it down his shaft.
Rutting up into Y/N’s hand, Ghost moved his hands to grab at his shirt, pulling him against himself even more, a silent plea to be closer. Y/N obliged by removing himself from Ghost’s lips, instead planting kisses on his neck and letting his other hand run down to join his other around Ghost’s cock.
Ghost moaned as Y/N locked his fingers around his dick and started fist-fucking him, a burning sensation spreading from the head of his cock to the pit of his stomach. He bared his neck for Y/N, the latter digging his teeth into the pale flesh. Red teeth marks paired with deep maroon hickeys quickly littered his skin.
His breath hung heavy as he approached orgasm, rolling his hips up into Y/N’s tight grip. He dug his fingers into Y/N’s hair and pulled, holding his breath when he came, thick white strips spilling from the head of his cock and covering his stomach. Some of it reached as high as his chest from how hard he came.
“Ah, fuck,” he whimpered. Y/N continued to work his hands up and down his erection despite the overstimulation. “Wait a minute, please.”
Y/N hummed and kissed his cheek, slowly stopping and removing his hands from Ghost’s flushed cock. His chest heaved as he attempted to regain his breath while Y/N ran his hands up and down his torso, spreading his cum on his skin.
He pulled away from Ghost and hoisted his lower half onto his lap, taking in the sight of his stretched hole. He took his cum covered fingers and pressed them against Ghost’s entrance, slowly pushing them inside. The slight burn of the mostly dry stretch left him breathless, clenching around him and moaning. Y/N gazed at Ghost’s ass, utterly enthralled with the way he squeezed him.
“Fuck, do you even know how sexy you are?” Y/N asked. The blush under Ghost’s mask told a thousand stories, and he almost wanted Y/N to see it. To see how his words affected him. How he affected him just by being HIM.
“Stop,” he muttered. Y/N curled his fingers in response, brushing his prostate. “Ah, shit, right there,” he moaned.
Y/N smiled at him and pressed against the soft spot inside of him, pushing Ghost closer to the edge once more. He leaned down to kiss him again, softly and slowly. Ghost grabbed at Y/N’s shoulder as he neared orgasm again, pulling him into a tight hug.
Tears welled in his brown eyes, the heat in his groyne spreading rapidly through his core again.
“Shit, oh, fuck,” he gasped, his little breathy moans being swallowed up by Y/N’s mouth and tongue. “Fuck!” He was crying now, hot tears spilling from his eyes. He threw his head back and slapped a hand over his mouth, Y/N taking the invitation to suck more hickeys onto his skin. His other hand moved to stroke his dick again, pulling at it languidly. It was wet and hot, practically burning in his hand.
“You gonna cum?” Y/N asked. Ghost nodded, digging his fingers into his cheeks. “Good boy…”
That alone was enough to send him over the edge. Ghost curled into himself and shook as he came again, a cry ripping from his throat. Y/N continued his motions, slowly jerking him off and thrusting his fingers in and out while kissing his neck.
“Such a good boy,” he praised. His breath tickled. Ghost’s chest heaved rapidly as he came back down to earth, legs shaking. Y/N sat up and removed his hands from Ghost’s body, admiring him from where he sat. His eyes wandered to his stitches, and he winced at the sight of the angry red wound. “You nearly burst your stitches.”
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