#''isn't the second option really fucked up?'' is it any more fucked up than him explicitly realizing he treats other people like

[agnesandhilda]

you really can't lose no matter what you interpret the mystery beverage kaiser is drinking in his supervillain monologue scenes as. if it's not alcohol then he's a child acting out the image of adulthood and adult power and if it is alcohol then he's, uh. becoming his father

[superhoeva]

bouncer!logan spotting you at a halloween party he's working the door for. it's annoyingly cute how you fumble about when you find out that the there's a door fee and you have no cash.

he lets you squirm for a bit, enjoying the troubled expression on your face before the pinch of your eyebrows forces a sigh from him.

"okay look," the man starts, arms crossing as he motions for you to lean in. thinking for less than a second, you follow the direction, not catching the way logan drags a hard stare across you and your skimpy costume. "'m really not supposed to be doing anything like this. but one, i don't give a fuck. two, you're cute enough to break a few rules for."

with his jaw clenching at the way you can't hide your pleased grin, logan continues.

"gonna let you in for free, but you're gonna have'ta owe me a little somethin' in return."

an eager nod from you has logan biting his tongue. his hand reaches to rub at he growing hair of his beard, pretending to consider his options. finally, he speaks, purposefully lowering his voice so you have to shift even closer.

"use this pretty face and get me a couple'a free drinks? since you don't have any cash and all..."

"okay," you nod again, teeth grazing the corner of your bottom lip. "what do you have a taste for?"

logan's skin heats at your question, shoving the first answer that comes to the very back of his mind.

"nothing too sweet." he's got to save that craving for the possibility of tasting you. "just beer. nothing special."

you're a wizard. logan's certain of it after you bring him the fourth bottle of beer, this time with a glass of something for yourself.

"jesus," logan huffs. "you're wringing 'em dry in there, pretty."

you shrug at the man, slinking atop the stool he brought to keep his back from aching during his downtime. he can feel your eyes on him as he chugs down half the bottle, staring at the bobbing of his adam's apple as he drinks.

lowering the bottle, logan swallows and turns to you. your gaze flicks to the side of him, pretending like you weren't just oogling the shit out of him and how tight the black v-neck he's sporting is.

logan takes the thick silence as a chance to really look at you. take in your costume of black spandex shorts, blue crop top, and empty thigh holsters.

"lara croft," logan finally figures it out, and you grin a little over the rim of your glass. "...you wear her well."

another smile from you and logan nearly squeezes the bottle so hard it breaks. a tiny laugh from you breaks another round of heated silence.

"i miss somethin'?"

"no," you promise him. "it's just... i've spent more time out here than in there. even after you let me in for free."

logan sniffs, meeting your eyes in his lean across from you.

"don't worry, ms. croft. i definitely don't mind."

after that, you end up staying with him for the rest of the night. leaving you his seat, logan standing all broad and strong whenever someone enters, letting you hold the cash he collects from each patron. he sends a wink your way every time he turns to hand out the money but nearly growls out at anyone that asks about you.

"keep movin', bub," logan warns the latest inquirer who lets his eyes linger a little too long for your liking. the guy isn't smart enough to heed the first warning, going as far as ignoring logan to lean in your direction.

"come find me later, yeah?"

you don't get a chance to answer. logan's got him by the back of the neck, shoving him out into the cool fall air of tonight's evening without a second thought. dusting off his hand, logan ignores the man's whines about the cash he wants back, and turns to find you blinking at him with a squirm.

he steps to where you now stand with his eyes hooded, slicking out one of the tens from your grasp. neither of you says a word as logan folds the bill, and encircles his arms around you. your breath hitches at the hand logan plants on one of your asscheeks. he glides the money into your back pocket, biting his lip.

"my shift ends in an hour. i can show you an actual party worth your time if you're up for it..."

warm and dazed, you nod. logan grins a little, squeezing the flesh under his hand before returning to his post of strong, crossed arms and back turned to you while he faces the door.

logan grins again, this time wider, at the way he can feel your gaze burning a hole into his ass.

[dyaz-stories]

casual (1) || gojo satoru x reader

chapter 1: i like the way you kiss me

synopsis: Getting recruited for a double position as a teacher for Jujutsu High in Tokyo and a strategist, tasked with assigning missions to sorcerers in the region is the perfect situation for you. It pays well, it's well regarded, and it's as safe as possible — by sorcerer standards, anyway.

There is one problem though, and his name is Gojo Satoru. The one who's supposed to collaborate with you and answer to you.

The one you can't keep your hands off...

word count: 9.5k

genre: 18+, friends with benefits to lovers, coworkers to lovers, canon divergence, smut, emotional slow burn but they fuck like rabbits

warnings/tags (chapter): fem!reader (she/her pronouns, reader is afab), takes place ~5 years before jjk0, teacher!reader, sorcerer!reader, canon-typical violence, mild angst, smut (semi-public sex, fingering [fem receiving], vaginal sex, sorta dom!gojo, corruption kink if you squint), mentioned slut shaming (not the sexy kind), gojo satoru is a little shit

A/N: This is quite the Behemoth of a first chapter, I'm sorry to say. I love really long chapters, but I can only hope you all do too and this isn't too intimidating! This is a fic I've had in mind for ages and finally got around to start an outline for and actually write it. There are actually a couple of drabbles here and there on my blog for this couple already, happening at various points of their relationship.

I really hope you will enjoy this first chapter!

‘Make use of Satoru Gojo however you see fit.’

Such are the first words spoken to you by the higher-ups, at the end of an exhausting recruitment process. You nod sharply at the instruction.

“Duly noted.”

Truth be told, you don’t see why they need to specify it. You had assumed that went without saying from the very beginning.

The job offer had, at first glance, been for a strategist who would work directly under the higher-ups for the region of Tokyo. Devising teams, advising the council, and assigning missions were supposed to be the main tasks you would have to fulfill.

‘Supposed’ because, when you were one of only three candidates left, the higher-ups had revealed that there was, in fact, a second role you would be expected to perform. One that you had not imagined would be available for decades.

A new teaching position at the Tokyo Jujutsu High School was opening up, though you couldn’t understand why for the life of you. You had no connection to the establishment yourself, having left Japan as a child and trained abroad your whole life, never returning for more than a couple of months at a time, yet you knew, as did the entirety of the sorcerer world, that Satoru Gojo had been appointed there less than a year before. Well, rumor had it that he had appointed himself, and you had to wonder if that was why they were keen to have a more… traditional teacher by his side, since firing him was an option.

In that case, your lack of ties to Satoru Gojo, Masamichi Yaga and to the Jujutsu Headquarters could explain why your name ended up being the last one on the ballot. You were the best placed to be an independent monitor.

The distorted voice keeps going, bringing you back to the present.

“Unless stated otherwise, always send him to battle first.”

You school your face so you do not let any emotion appear, though the statement surprises you. You have to assume that they don’t mean for any mission you receive, because that would be catastrophically ineffective. Then again, sending him on Grade 1 missions, if he is available, makes some sense.

“Report to us if you encounter difficulties with him,” the voice adds before falling silent without elaborating.

You understand, from the finality of their tone, that you have been dismissed, and bow your head, your movements polite and sober.

“Thank you for the trust you are placing in me. I will not disappoint you.”

“We know you won’t,” another sepulchral voice answers.

In the dark, candle-lit room, it sounds sinister enough to chill you to the bone. You wait just a second longer, in case something needs to be added, before turning on your heels and walking away. No one calls you back, and you’re more relieved about leaving the room than you would like to admit.

Outside, the summer sun is high and bright. You tilt your head backwards and close your eyes to let its rays warm your face. It will take a while before the cold instilled in you in that meeting room dissipates.

You’re expected in Jujutsu Tech by the end of August. Being a teacher there is as close to the ideal position as it gets, for a sorcerer. The pay is excellent, the risks minimal, and it commends great respect from the society at large. You have no doubt that, had the offer been for that position in the first place, numerous sorcerers far more qualified for teaching than you are would have thrown their hats in the ring. You wouldn’t have made it past the first interview.

You got lucky. Just this once, you’re going in the right direction.

You inhale deeply. For the first time in a long time, you no longer envision your life as an endless successions of missions, countries, and houses that never become homes.

For the first time in the long time, you think you have a future.

There is a spring in your step when you make your way down the stairs, away from this freezing place and the ghouls that haunt it.

Behind you, the Headquarters; ahead, Jujutsu Tech.

Masamichi Yaga is a cautious man. His handshake is warm and firm when he greets you, and though his voice is calm and steady as he guides you through the hallways of Jujutsu Tech, he remains evasive. He provides all the information you might need, answers any question you have when you ask them without missing a beat, and yet you can tell he is guarded, keeping you at arm’s length.

You cannot determine why that is with certainty, though you have a handful of hypotheses. It could just be that he isn’t used to the presence of strangers. Dealing with a total stranger is a rarity within sorcerer society, even more so in Japan. You doubt that he would know anyone who could talk about you, let alone vouch for you. You understand why that would make you a suspicious character.

Another option is that you were forced onto him as a member of his staff by the higher-ups, though you haven’t heard anything about that. With you being a complete outsider, he would not have any valid reason to outright reject your presence, not when his only teacher is frequently gone for days at a time, but that would not mean that he’d be pleased with it — or view you as trustworthy, for that matter.

The third possibility, of course, is that he just finds you off-putting.

‘Cold’, that’s how you are often described by the people around you. You don’t do it intentionally, but you also cannot pinpoint what it is that you do ‘wrong’. Something about your tone, your expressions, or lack thereof, your cold eyes, the way your mouth naturally curves downwards.

That and, of course, the trail of bad omens that you bring with you everywhere you go.

These don’t tend to be active problems when it comes to sorcerers. With normal humans, now, it’s a different story. Oh, there are exceptions, who find that this all makes you intriguing, but it typically makes it hard to build actual connections with other people. You wouldn’t normally care, but in a situation where you have to collaborate with others, you could see that becoming an issue.

You had seen that coming, of course — it wasn’t like it was new information to you. As a result, you had made sure to be on your very best behavior from the moment you’d stepped foot within Jujutsu Tech grounds. You had nodded with interest, you had reminded yourself to smile, you had asked all the right questions, and yet you could feel that you had not once managed to turn yourself into a likeable person.

Ah, well. Not being likeable would not stop you from doing your job right.

“I’ll introduce you to the rest of teaching staff,” Yaga announces, his voice deep, as he reaches a new door. His hand is hovering over the doorknob when he stills, turning to look at you. “Are you ready for this just now? They were both students here, but I assume this can all be overwhelming for a newbie.”

That is a kind sentiment.

“I’m okay.” Then, because answering in monosyllables is not what likeable people are supposed to do, you add: “I read the files available to familiarize myself with the school grounds before coming here.”

His eyebrows jump up behind his glasses, but it’s followed by a hearty chuckle.

“You’ve come prepared.” He nods, appreciative. “Good. It will be nice to have someone who takes their job seriously around here.”

You don’t have the time to question the sentence before he opens the door.

The room is small and reeks of cigarette smoke. In the middle of it, a desk, and behind it, sprawled on an elegant black chair, a white-haired man that you recognize at first glance. You let your eyes slide over him. You wouldn’t want to look too, um, curious, just yet.

The brown-haired woman with the long white coat who is perched on a window sill, doing her very best to look inconspicuous, is the one responsible for the smell. You identify her as Shoko Ieiri, school doctor and reverse cursed technique prodigy. Next to you, Yaga sighs.

“Shoko,” he protests with a paternal disapproval, “I thought you’d quit smoking?”

“I did,” she answers, staring at him, her eyes dark and tired, “and then I had to regrow a lung. Do you have any idea how much of a pain it is to regrow internal organs?”

A light laugh comes from the man in the middle of the room, and you consider that this gives you permission to look at him without coming off like you’re gawking.

He has his feet propped up on the desk, and he’s using them to push himself backwards in a precarious balance. White hair spills on the dark leather, long arms hang on both sides of the chair, and he hasn’t bothered to so much as glance in your direction so far — or at least, you don’t think he has, because white bandages are wrapped around his head, covering his eyes.

Even without being able to spot their signature blue, you know who he is. There isn’t one sorcerer in Japan, nor in the whole world, who doesn’t know his name.

Satoru Gojo, in the flesh.

“Maybe if you hadn’t cheated your way through medical school, it would be easier, don’t ya think?” he asks Ieiri with fond familiarity.

“Don’t—” Yaga takes two steps into the room, kicks the legs from underneath the chair. “—sit at my desk, Satoru.”

Effortlessly, Gojo jumps off the chair before it hits the floor and lands on his feet, facing Yaga. He is just as tall as the Principal, and from the wide grin on his face, it’s obvious that he is thrilled to have gotten a rise out of him.

“Then get me my own office already, what are you waiting for?”

“We’ll see which one of you gets an office first,” Yaga sniffs, and it doesn’t sound like Gojo is at the top of his list. “First, there is someone you need to meet.”

Ieiri has been observing you since you’ve walked into the room, not looking away when you had met her eyes. Yaga’s words have Gojo finally directing his attention to you, though, and something in the room shifts. You can’t see them, yet you know his eyes are on you, dissecting you and your cursed energy, collecting every possible bit of information on you. He walks past Yaga, burying his hands in his pockets as he approaches you. He has an easy smile placated on his lips, but you know when you’re being judged.

Behind him, both Ieiri and Yaga are still, tense. Yaga’s jaw is set, and Ieiri fiddles with a pack of cigarettes in her pocket, clearly itching for a new one. Ah, so this is the real test.

You don’t back off, staying rooted in your spot. He towers over you easily, and you have to tilt your head back just to look at him. You’d heard he was a handsome man, but you hadn’t expected it to be so obvious, even with the bandages on. He studies you, sharp jaw clenching, before the dazzling smile returns.

“Right! You’re the substitute teacher, aren’t you?”

His voice is light and airy, the previous tension completely absent from it. You blink.

“She will be teaching instead of you when you’re away on missions,” Yaga intervenes, “but that doesn’t make her a substitute. C’mon, Satoru, we’ve had this conversation already.”

On that last sentence, his voice turns into a threatening rumble.

“Sure, sure,” Gojo dismisses him without looking back, “and you’re the one who will be giving me missions as well, right?”

He keeps his tone cheerful, makes it sound like he’s just trying to have a conversation, but there is an edge in his voice, a bite. You cannot tell what he is trying to achieve with the question, though, or why he is being hostile, so you choose not to engage.

“Indeed,” you answer, bowing your head politely. “It is an honor to be meeting you all.” You make quick work of giving your name and briefly mentioning that you hadn’t grown up in Japan.

You’re met with silence, Gojo’s lips pressed together as he tries to read you. You do your very best not to give him anything to sink his teeth into.

“Your family’s known for their precognition, aren’t they?” Ieiri asks from the other side of the room.

“Foresight, yes”, you reply. Your answer is rehearsed, polished. Your family has somewhat of a reputation within the sorcerer world, but fortune tellers are a dime a dozen, even among non-sorcerers, and the results vary greatly — it’s not an ability that inspires trust, even for a legitimate sorcerer like you. You don’t wish to reveal too much of yourself just yet. “I look forward to working with you.”

A smile finally forms on her lips.

“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I won’t be seeing too much of you. Would be a shame if I had to patch you up. If you want to go out drinking though, just let me know. I know all the best bars in the city!”

“She does, and she’s banned from half of them,” Gojo chimes in. Now that his focus is back on her, his tone is softer; teasing, still, but no longer harsh. “She could use an actual designated driver instead of exploiting her kouhais though, don’t you think, Shoko?”

She laughs at that, sincerely, her eyes creasing.

“Fuck you, Gojo,” she answers fondly.

“I apologize for these two,” Yaga says, wincing at the coarse language. “We’re very happy to have you here. I’m sure it will do the kids some good, having someone serious to take after.”

“Hurtful,” Gojo protests, pouting. “They’re good kids,” he adds, directing his attention back to you. He sounds proud now, no trace of his earlier defiance left. “They’ll be great soon. They just need a little push to get there.”

At that, you nod.

“Of course. I’ll do my very best to help them on that path.”

There is a second, between the moment when you finish speaking and the moment when a wide smile splits his face. In that second, his lips part, and you feel his eyes plunge into you, digging into the very core of your being. He doesn’t look pleased. No, he is sizing you up, and you doubt you measure up to his expectations as well as you should. You’re the only one facing him, though, and when he smiles, just a little too late, it all vanishes like it never happened.

“Good to hear! As long as that’s the case, I’m sure everything will go smoothly.”

It’s said differently, but it’s as threatening as the higher-ups’ last words to you. Still, behind Gojo, Yaga heaves a relieved sigh and exchanges a look with Ieiri that tells you just how worried he’d been about your arrival. To him, it looks like the situation is resolved.

“Why don’t we all go and get a drink together to welcome you properly, if we’re done here?” he asks, walking over and slapping Gojo in the back.

“Sounds good to me,” Ieiri hums.

“As long as we go somewhere with good desserts, I’m in,” Gojo declares, intertwining his fingers at the back  his head.

“You better be, Satoru,” Yaga grumbles, “you’re paying.”

“Not sure the Gojo clan has enough money for your appetite,” he sighs dramatically, “but I mean, I can try.” Then, eyeing you, “You coming or what?”

“Of course,” you say, swallowing around the unexpected knot in your throat. “Thank you for having me.”

You follow them cautiously, keeping quiet as the banter continues, hands held behind your back, observing. You had not expected to feel welcome here. You could have done without Gojo’s strange hostility, but with your track record, you had expected far worse.

“Let me know if Satoru makes your life harder, alright? I’ll talk some sense into him,” Ieiri tells you, placing a cigarette between her lips.

“And I’ll beat it into him if I have to,” Yaga adds, snatching it from Ieiri’s mouth and crumpling it between his fingers.

“I’d love to see you try,” Gojo grins.

“Noted,” you answer, “but I’m sure everything will be fine.”

This last part is a lie. Even as he’s joking around with everyone, you know he is still observing you, courtesy of the Six Eyes, watching your every move, waiting to find a fault somewhere so he can figure out what to do with you. You can’t blame him. You will be the one sending him into action, after all, even if the higher-ups would review missions assigned to grade 1 sorcerers and special grade sorcerers. Of course he’d need some time to figure out whether or not you’re trustworthy.

Not that his opinion on the subject matters to you. You’re not the type of person who needs other to like you. You don’t even need him to trust you. All he has to do is let you do your job.

Everything else is futile.

It is no surprise that the first few weeks at your job are slow. The end of summer and the beginning of fall are always quiet periods for sorcerers, and as a result, you don’t have many missions to hand out just yet. The few, low-level ones available in Tokyo are systematically claimed by Gojo before you can look into them, as training for his students.

“Kids gotta learn somehow, right?” he tells you with a grin the first time it happens.

He’s just waltzed into your classroom and he’s leaning over the desk, elbow conveniently resting on the mission files. You try not to think about how brazenly handsome he is right now, even when he is openly provoking you. You stare at his bandages, right where his eyes must be. He may be smiling at you, but there is no sincerity behind it, no joy, and that wasn’t really a question.

You shrug.

“Alright.”

The smile falters.

“Yeah? That’s alright with you?”

“Certainly. If you think these are good exercises for them, and if you plan on being there to supervise them, I don’t see any issue with it. Just return the files if there are any they can’t clear, and I’ll transfer them to the appropriate person.”

He tilts his head. Watching. Assessing.

“You should join us!” he exclaims cheerfully, smile back in its place, clapping his hands together. “The more, the merrier, isn’t that right?”

Oookay. He is testing you. The infuriating part of that is, you have no idea what he is testing you for, what he wants you to display — or fail to display. Trying to see if you’re good enough of a teacher? You have nothing to prove here, certainly not to someone who has been on the job for such a short time. Then again, you don’t see any harm in humoring him.

“No problem. Just let me know when you intend to take care of them, and I’ll be there.”

His smile widens, but you’re not sure if it means you’ve succeeded or failed his test.

“Good,” he hums. “I’ll be taking that, then.”

In one swift movement, he retrieves the files from your desk, and he walks away with them before you can say anything.

You roll your eyes — this whole song and dance are so unnecessary — but you don’t see any reason to stop him, so you just watch him leave. You catch him stopping in the doorway, turning back to look at you. The smile is still dancing on his face, all edge and teeth.

“You’re not what I expected.”

You stare at him just a moment longer, brow furrowing, before he vanishes and you’re left with nothing to look at.

‘Not what he expected’. You turn the sentence over in your mind a couple of times, trying to conjure up an image, a personality that would fit better for the role you’re supposed to play, but nothing comes up. You have two roles: teaching the future generation of sorcerers, and assigning missions. If doing one task can facilitate the other, there is no reason not to do it — and you find it even harder to comprehend why he wouldn’t have expected you to do just that.

You shake your head, willing his words out of your mind. You’ve never felt the need to meet anyone’s expectations, so why should you start now?

Taking kids to a cemetery for a mission seems in poor taste, but that’s not what you tell Gojo when he announces it as his first choice.

“The mission is for a number of grade four curses and a couple grade three,” you state instead, “but considering the spot, it’s likely more powerful ones went unnoticed. Are you sure that’s appropriate for first-years?”

“Well,” he answers, hands casually in his pockets, towering over you with all his height, “it will be good to see how adaptable they are and their abilities in the face of danger. Plus, they’ll have two guardian angels looking after them, won’t they?”

There’s that toothy smile again.

You still don’t know what it means.

“As long as you’re here, it will be fine, I guess” is what you end up answering him with a shrug.

This time, he doesn’t say anything as he leaves, doesn’t stop to look at you.

You suspect that you said exactly what he was expecting from you.

Contrary to popular belief, cemeteries don’t typically harbor powerful curses. The smaller ones are numerous, born out of loss and grief, but the bodies of non-sorcerers don’t take the pain they endured with them in the grave. They leave it all over their houses, leaking through the walls and ceilings, seeping through the cracks in the floor, cursing their loved ones.

Cemeteries remain clean.

The exception to that rule is a notable one. In any place where cursed energy accumulates for long enough, there is a risk for it to congregate to the point where strong curses can emerge. This slow growth means they learn to better hide themselves, and it makes them harder to spot and eliminate. In an ideal world, there would be a sorcerer expedition every other decade to ensure nothing big can develop, but sorcerer numbers being what they are, that is impossible to ensure. There is also a high likelihood that it would be useless anyway, a waste of time and resources, far too much firepower for the bunch of fly heads sorcerers would find.

Still, you keep an eye on the three, baby-faced first years, and chew on the inside of your cheek as they start to make their way through the alleys.

You don’t like this.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” Gojo says lightly, next to you. “You’re a grade one sorcerer, aren’t you? There’s nothing more powerful than that here. I’d know it if there was.”

“My evaluation took place in Europe. I don’t know if I would have ranked that high, had I taken it here.”

“Aw, c’mon, if even you think you’re that weak, who’s going to believe you’re strong?”

The sentence surprises a chuckle out of you. A grade two sorcerer is nothing to turn your nose at, but you can’t say you’re shocked that the Satoru Gojo would equate that status to weakness. He is so far off the scale that he would break it altogether if it wasn’t for the convenient, murky ‘special grade’ title.

You look at him, find him already turned in your direction. His lips are parted in surprise. You don’t realize it, but you have somehow managed the feat of getting Gojo’s undivided attention. The Six Eyes are focused on you, dissecting you, taking you in. This is— new. People are predictable. It’s not always a bad thing, though it gets a little boring. You— you keep catching him off guard while doing things that seem completely natural to you.

For once, you’re the one who is smiling, and he’s stunned into silence.

“It doesn’t matter to me, whether or not people think I’m strong. All I care about is—”

Teeth reflected in a pupil. Muscles like lead. A hand raised in defense. Flesh that turns into mist, there one second, gone the next. Clicks like a laugh, coming from behind. ‘Morino Iori — 1954-2010’, splattered with blood. A curse with its head thrown back, an arm coming out of its open mouth, disappearing when it swallows. Tears dripping down from the chin to the ground, barely diluting the puddle of blood that has formed there.

The rest of your sentence is lost when you turn around and take off running.

There is a string of cursed energy pulling you in the right direction, one that found its way to you, one that the cursed technique engraved in your brain knew how to decode. You’re old enough not to question it, not to struggle with the vision, and following it comes as a second nature. Just as you get there, you see Sota rounding the corner slowly, looking around, squinting, searching for something he isn’t finding. Your fingers close around the weapon at your waist, withholding your cursed energy — for now.

To a non-sorcerer, you would appear to be holding nothing but a stick. A sorcerer would know it’s a cursed weapon, though most would not be able to figure out its use.

At least, not until the curse emerges from the fog, only two steps behind Sota. In a flash, you let cursed energy irrigate your weapon, and a blade of sheer energy appears. The stick is now a scythe.

It’s in poor taste, in a cemetery, but you don’t linger on that.

You’re between the boy and the curse before he can turn around. The curse’s abilities must allow it to hide its presence, would allow it to disappear back into nothingness a mere moment after the kill, but you don’t give it the opportunity to do that. The scythe cuts through it like butter, splitting it in two. The two halves haven’t yet hit the ground that you’ve already lowered your weapon, emptying it from cursed energy as soon as you’re done.

“Are you okay?” you ask Sota, turning around to face him as you anchor it back to your waist.

“Um,” he says. He doesn’t look scared, just mildly surprised. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“What happened to seeing his abilities in the face of danger?”

You bite your lip, glancing at Gojo. He is standing atop a headstone, balancing without any struggle and watching the two of you with unmistakable amusement.

“He freezes in the face of danger,” you answer.

Sota’s eyes go wide, and he turns away from you, shaking his head. He isn’t doing it for you, though, but for Gojo.

“That’s not true! I’ve exorcised curses before, you’ve seen me do it!”

He’s desperate to prove himself to his teacher, and something sinks within you. You don’t need a vision to tell you what will happen next.

“The kid’s got a point,” Gojo lets you know. “That precognition thing of yours, how accurate is it?”

There was a time when those words would have sent you reeling back. Even now, when you’re expecting them, you feel the blood withdrawing from your face as he speaks them. But you swallow, school your features. You know better now. Fighting now will only delay the inevitable. Gojo was standing next to you anyway. With the Six Eyes, he must know for certain that you hadn’t activated any sort of cursed technique when you took off running. That alone would be enough to make him suspicious, if he didn’t already doubt you.

Cassandra’s Bargain. Tell the truth, and save only those who believe you.

Unlike others, explaining the workings of your cursed technique doesn’t make it more effective — it makes it useless. If you try to tip the scale in your favor now, you will all pay a high price for it later.

You know what Gojo is implying, about your accuracy. Most people who have foresight see a number of futures. If he suspects you saw one in which Sota died, your actions must make sense to him.

“Enough to keep me safe,” you answer, tight-lipped.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s give the kid a fighting chance from now, what d’ya say?”

That’s not how it works, but it doesn’t matter. At least Sota gets to keep his arm — until next time.

What a waste.

“Of course,” you say with a nod.

You would do it again in a heartbeat if you had to, but you no longer feel threads of cursed energy, threads of fate, pulling you in one direction or the other. Oh, they’re all around you, and you’d know much more if you activated your cursed technique, but you know how it functions. That had to be the worst that could happen. Things should be fine now.

“Start running Sota, you’ve got some catching up to do!”

“Yes, Mr. Gojo, sir!” the kid replies, all but saluting. “I won’t disappoint you.”

Gojo’s laugh at that, as the kid takes off sprinting, couldn’t be more genuine.

You lean against the pristine Morino Iori headstone — it’s disrespectful, and you formulate a silent apology, but all you can do is hope they won’t mind. You’re exhausted, and yet the tension is keeping your body in hypervigilance, refusing to go away.

Gojo approaches you, hands in his pockets. The ghost of his usual smile is dancing on his lips. For once, though, it doesn’t feel mean-spirited.

“We have to save them if they need us,” he says, voice surprisingly soft, “but it’s as least as important that we teach them how to fend for themselves.

“I don’t disagree with that.”

This kind of reasoning just isn’t worth losing an arm over.

Gojo steps closer, leaning towards you, so close his nose is almost touching yours. You suck in a quick breath through your mouth. From up close, it’s much harder to ignore how handsome he is, even without seeing his eyes. You blame your accelerating heart rate on the fact that you’re in a high-stress kind of and you’re particularly pent-up at the moment. If your skin tingles when you feel his breath against it, it’s because of the cold. Must be. Whatever it is, you don’t let it show, and you hate that you’re finding it harder to breathe.

“You’re not what I expected.”

He’s said it before, but his voice is lower now, deeper, vibrating through your body, and something that you recognize all too well twists, deep in your abdomen.

Desire.

You don’t answer. You didn’t know what to say the first time, and you sure as fuck have no clue now — don’t know what he means, don’t know what you’ve done that you weren’t supposed to, don’t know if the interest in his voice betrays the same feelings rushing through you right now. So you glare at him until he laughs, light and airy, and takes a step back.

“If you need me, I’ll be on top of the temple, watching the kids.”

You wait for him to disappear between the tombs, keeping yourself still, too still, probably, to be inconspicuous, and it’s only once you’re sure he’s gone that you let yourself exhale very, very slowly. The urge to laugh at yourself bubbles inside you, because what the fuck is wrong with you? It’s not the right time, not the right place, and not even remotely the right person.

You’re fully aware of all of that, know it in the deepest parts of your soul, and yet your eyes still trail towards the temple. You could imagine that you’re seeing Gojo’s silhouette there, if you didn’t know better.

Except you do. You do.

When you look away, you know full well you’re doing it too pointedly.

You don’t get a chance to involve yourself in the Kyoto Goodwill Event. With the beginning of fall, files are starting to accumulate. Since you’re still getting your bearings in Tokyo and familiarizing yourself with the sorcerers you can send on missions, that is what you dedicate yourself to.

Or, well, that’s what you’re told.

You know that you’re more than capable of doing several things at once without botching any of them. Masamichi Yaga and Satoru Gojo are the ones who disagree. You’re called into Yaga’s office, and Gojo is already there, leaning against the wall behind him. For once, he isn’t wearing the bandages, but rectangular sunglasses. Even from behind them, you see the faint glow of his eyes, and it takes a lot — a lot more than it should — not to stare.

“The students taking part in this year’s event will be exclusively second and third-years. Satoru knows them well.”

“Yeah, and they’ve been training for a that for a while,” Gojo says without missing a beat. Where Yaga is stern and serious, his voice is relaxed and pleasant, lightening the mood without trying to. “The third-years have already won once, so they know what they’ve got to do for a repeat.”

That’s right. Tokyo won last year, under Gojo’s guidance, for the first time since… well, since he stopped competing himself, according to what you’ve heard.

“Satoru had already started putting this year’s strategy together by the time you joined Jujutsu Tech,” Yaga adds, trying his best to sound apologetic. “So there’s no need to concern yourself with that. It’s already well-oiled.”

As far as you’re concerned, the only thing that’s well-oiled here is this routine they’re performing, all for your sake. You click your tongue, not bothering to hide your annoyance, and watch as Yaga’s fingers curl, as Gojo’s chin lifts and the blueish glow focuses on you. There’s politics in the air, you can smell it, with a role you have to play. So they think, at least. Unfortunately, you lack knowledge when it comes to Japanese society, and you cannot quite identify what that role is.

To be fair, you also don’t care for it.

“Was it really necessary to waste all of our times with this charade?”

“I beg your pardon?” Yaga asks in response. His voice thunders dangerously. He’s warning you not to cross a line.

“If you don’t want me involved, you can just say so,” you answer with a shrug. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have missions to assign.”

You don’t wait for him to dismiss you to stand up, rolling your eyes once you have your back turned on them. How bland. You’ve never seen the point of engaging with this kind of theatrics when there are such greater things at play. Having you help the kids come up with a strategy of their own, going over the basics of planning, now that could have been interesting and helpful. It’s not that you doubt Gojo’s abilities in that domain, you don’t, but it is your specialty, and you’ve had to learn to survive with resources that are significantly more limited than his. Instead of doing that, in the name of whatever internal conflict is going on here, the kids have been deprived of that experience.

How boring.

Once the door has closed behind you, Gojo lowers his head, shoulders shaking. Yaga turns around, frowning, only to find him quietly laughing to himself.

“Told you she was a weird one,” he says once he’s caught his breath.

“Maybe,” Yaga mumbles, “but there must be a reason why she was placed here.”

Gojo hums. Outside the office, he follows your cursed energy. It has always been diffuse, fickle, fizzling out around you until it becomes hard to tell where it ends — even for him. Must have something to do with your cursed technique, but he hasn’t seen you use that yet. You go straight to your classroom, where you sit behind your desk to work, like you do every day until it’s late in the night.

Yaga is right, of course. There must be a reason. But you’re at least making it fun for him to figure out.

The Kyoto Goodwill Event does not go over well.

Maybe you should get some petty satisfaction from it, but there is none to be found, just a bitter taste in your mouth. Next to you, Utahime, the Kyoto school teacher, does not look up at the screens provided by Grade 1 sorcerer Mei Mei. She has her eyes on her hands, and she is nervously rubbing her fingers. In fact, while a few outsiders who have come to see the game for their own enjoyment exclaim at the students’ impressive moves, there is only one member of the schools who seems to be enjoying himself, and that is Principal Gakuganji.

Kyoto is methodical in their approach. On an individual level, you suspect that Kyoto is far ahead of them, but as a team, they have come up with the perfect strategy — at least against the Tokyo team. They have done their research, know everything there is to know about their adversaries. Then again, having one member of the Zen’in and one member of the Kamo family on their side, even if neither have access to their families’ historical techniques, must have been quite the help to gather that information.

You don’t see them doing anything revolutionary — if anything, a team such as theirs could have been composed hundreds of years ago — but they have no need for it, not with how brutal they are willing to be, leaving devastation in their wake. They’re prepared, efficient, collected. They’re also quick, having adapted to this modified version of capture the flag, one that involves curses, without hesitation.

Tokyo defends to the best of their abilities. They prove themselves especially capable when it comes to improvising on the spot, which means that Gojo’s teaching works on that front is working, at least. The match ends up closer than Kyoto must have been hoping for, but it doesn’t change the end result.

It’s a resounding victory for Kyoto.

“Well,” Gakuganji is the first to speak as it ends, “that was quite the beautiful display of sportsmanship, don’t you think, Satoru?”

You glance at Gojo, who is sitting next to you. There’s real anger in the way his jaw tenses at the question, but by the time you blink, he’s already relaxed it.

“That was really impressive!” he laughs, throwing his head back and clapping enthusiastically. “They’ve progressed so much since last year, haven’t they? I never imagined they would be able to come this far.”

You press your lips together at the barely veiled insult.

“Indeed, that is what realized potential looks like,” Gakuganji replies, stroking his beard. “Such a shame to see your promising pupils crashing and burning… Although that’s not the first time you’ve seen that happen, is it?”

That is the least charitable way of looking at what happened there, but it is impossible to argue with the facts: Kyoto bested Tokyo. You can’t say you appreciate the way he’s talking about your students, but you don’t think it’s your place to say anything.

Gojo’s smile thins.

“Well, I’ll be looking forward to the individual tournament tomorrow,” Gakuganji adds, standing up. “In the meantime, Yaga, I assume you have planned for accommodations, and all this action has given me quite the appetite.”

He leaves the room with an unmistakably pleased smile, Yaga getting up after him. He gestures at Gojo to join them, and he’s not hiding his scowl when he stands up, unfolding his long limbs slowly. The other sorcerers follow suit, Utahime included, though she is sporting a somber expression too. You’re the only one to linger in the room, in no rush to suffer through more of Gojo and Gakuganji’s quips.

When you do leave, you stop by the infirmary, where you find Ieiri cursing through her teeth as she works on the students. Even though several of them are fully healed, they’re keeping themselves huddled up together, shoulders hanging low, eyes on the ground.

Defeated.

“Professor Gojo has already come by,” one of them informs you without bothering to look at you. “We’re fine. We’ll do better tomorrow.”

“Yes, you will,” you confirm, and you see flashes of hope on their faces, mistaking your confidence for a prophecy. Truth be told, you haven’t seen anything for the next day, but this is often the best way of using the aura that surrounds you. “But you did well today. They saw a weak spot, and they exploited it. As long as you learn from it, there is no shame in this defeat.”

That deflates them, and Ieiri snickers, glancing at you with a grin.

“Quite the pep talk you’re giving here.’

She’s right. You’ve never been good at this.

“You’re all excellent sorcerers, but even you can be defeated by people who are not as good as you, provided they’ve prepared adequately. That is what you need to take away from today. Conversely, you will be able to defeat much stronger adversaries than you, with the right approach.”

Some look thoughtful at your words — most still look just as dejected as they were when you walked in.

“We’ll work on that once this tournament is over. For now, all you need to do is rest. You’ll prevail tomorrow.”

Smiles finally break on their faces, and you take that as your cue to leave, before you can say something that would ruin it again.

You’re in no rush to join the other sorcerers just yet, so you wander through the hallways, intending to go back to the classroom that’s become your refuge in the school. You’re one corner away from it, when the window that leads to the outside slides open, and Satoru Gojo jumps in, right in front of you. It is the second floor, yet you can’t muster surprise.

He shoots you a smirk that knocks the air out of you, but it’s nothing compared to what he does next. He looks back towards the window, looking displeased, and that’s when you notice voices calling for him — Kyoto students and low-level sorcerers. You’re about to look down when he catches you. He wraps a hand around your wrist to pull you away, presses the other on the wall, next to your head, and you freeze. He’s close, and everything you’ve been feeling for weeks at this point comes rushing back in.

“You know what’s a great way of getting people’s attention off you?” he asks, smirk even wider, if possible.

“Wh—”

Then his lips are on yours.

He tastes sweet, you’re surprised to find.

It’s playful, the way he kisses you, a press of his mouth against yours, stolen, daring. It’s also all you need to admit to yourself how badly you’ve been wanting this. That’s why you’re the one who wraps your arms around his neck, kissing him back harder. He lets out a surprised noise into you, maybe a chuckle, but he certainly doesn’t fight it, even if he wasn’t planning on it. In fact, it’s quite the contrary.

He reaches greedily for your hips, pulling you to him and keeping you pressed against his hard chest. When you part your lips, there is not a moment of hesitation on his part before he pushes his tongue in, swirling it against yours. You crane your neck to give him better access to your mouth, all while holding on tight to his neck to lower him towards you. Your back is against the wall, your body arched a way that would be uncomfortable if you weren’t so hot all over, set ablaze by his touch.

When he pushes his thigh between your legs, flexing it so it rubs against you just right, your knees buckle under you. It doesn’t help that, in this position, his semi-hard cock is pressed against your abdomen, and that awakens a very special kind of hunger within you.

There is no softness to the kiss or to the way your bodies move together, just pure lust. Wetness is pooling between your legs already, in anticipation for more, more of him, more of his body, more of his touch. He’s so tall, it’s like he’s everywhere, his scent surrounding you, his body caging you against the wall effortlessly, his mouth demanding more and more of you. You roll your hips against his, trapping his cock between your bodies, and he hisses into you, his grip turning bruising — not that you mind.

“Tease,” he manages to mumble as he takes a quick breath.

There’s no room for any more words before he reattaches his mouth to yours, almost biting into you, and fuck it feels good. His lips are soft, but that must be the only thing that is soft about this kiss. He moves your skirt out of the way, one hand coming to grab your thigh so he can lift it up, and that is when your eyes snap open, some reason coming back to your lust-filled brain at last.

“Wait,” you mumble, “not here.” Your eyes dart around the dark hallway — empty, but far too in the open for your liking. Problem is, your body is aching with how much you want him, and, even if it would be the smart thing to do, you can’t bring yourself to stop now. “Classroom,” you conclude, pulling him with you.

He lets out a breathless laugh, but follows. The second the door is closed, he has you against the wall again, this time with his chest pressed to your back while his lips find your neck, teeth pulling at the skin mercilessly before dragging his tongue on the sensitive area to soothe it. You let out a sigh, but it comes out much louder than you’d intended, almost a moan, and you have to lift a hand up to cover your mouth. He snickers, but doesn’t waste any more time on teasing you.

Instead, he snakes his hand into your skirt, and this time, you don’t stop him. Long fingers move past the hem of your panties to brush against your clit and you jump, biting your lower lip to keep quiet. His lips stretch into a smile on your neck.

“You’re so fucking wet already,” he comments by your ear, rubbing his fingers over your pussy lips, purposefully not entering you.

You groan in frustration, and push your ass against his now rock-hard cock. The low moan he lets out in surprise is delightful to hear.

“As if you’re one to talk,” you reply.

“Is that how you want to play it?”

Before you can answer him, he easily pushes two fingers inside you. They’re long and they fill you so well, you have to focus every fiber of you that’s not lost in pleasure on keeping quiet. Gojo’s free to take his fingers out, then plunge them into you once more, and you can’t help clenching needily around them.

“See,” he says, and oh his low voice, the way it makes his chest vibrate against your back, it all goes straight to your core, making you gush around his fingers some more, “that’s expected of me, ‘cause everyone knows I’m sorcerer society’s problem child. Aren’t you supposed to be the good girl?”

It’s no easy task to think with his fingers pumping in and out of you relentlessly, but even through the haze of pleasure, the words make you frown.

“Says— Ah— Says who?”

He uses the heel of his palm to press against your clit, and you’d conclude that he is actively trying to render you speechless if pleasure wasn’t shooting through you like electricity.

“Hmm, I don’t know, I’d say you’re being pretty good right now, wouldn’t you?”

“Would you— fuck— would you stop talking and just fuck me already?” you still manage to bite out.

He laughs again, delighted and maybe a little fond, but he stills his fingers inside you. You get some time to catch your breath, and use whatever self-control you have left not to try and fuck yourself on his hand.

“You sure?”

“As long as you’re clean, I’m safe,” you say — maybe not your smartest moment, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.

He pulls his fingers out, and you glance at him over your shoulder. He’s still wearing the bandages over his eyes, but his jaw is uncharacteristically taut, and his movements lack their usual fluidity. You grin. Good to see you’re having an effect on him too. It becomes even more obvious when he pulls out his cock, hard and veiny. You’re not surprised by how big he is, and you find yourself licking your lips, clenching around air at the prospect of what’s to come. Shit, you cannot wait to have it inside you, stretching you out.

“I’ve been wanting to mess up that skirt for weeks,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, as he pushes it out of the way and lowers your panties.

“Then what are you waiting for?” you ask with a click of your tongue. He is still talking way more than he should.

The smirk he gives you should concern you. He presses the tip of his cock to your entrance, and then, instead of penetrating you, as you’re frozen in anticipation, slides his length against your pussy lips, sending jolts of pleasure through you, but not giving you what you need right now. You whimper pleadingly, not catching yourself fast enough to keep yourself silent. You worry that he will keep teasing, but it appears he has reached his limits too, because soon he is pushing the tip of his cock inside you, and fuck, it’s even better than you’d imagined.

You hear him grunt behind you as he starts pushing himself inside you at a devilishly slow pace. You expected him to do it all at once, so you turn around once more, ready to throw another quip at him for his relentless teasing, but the words die on your lips when you see his face. His teeth are planted in his lower lip, and his face is contorted in a pleasure that he is clearly trying to reign in, his breathing quick and shallow, his chest heaving. The sight leaves you breathless, so you stay quiet.

“So fucking tight,” he all but whines as he keeps pushing himself inside you.

He bottoms out at last, and he stills for a few seconds, all so you can adjust and not at all because he is going to come too fast if he can’t get used to how warm and welcoming you are around him first. The discreet groans he was letting out turn into a full moan when you move forward, pulling him out of you, then back, sheathing him inside you completely once more. You’d keep moving, but he grips your hips tightly, fingers digging into the flesh, to stop any movement you could make.

It doesn’t last long though, because after that, he starts moving himself, and the pace he sets it merciless. The slapping of skin on skin echoes obscenely in the empty room, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when you can barely think, not when your knees are failing you and his hands on hips are the only thing keeping you standing, not when tiny whimpers keep spilling past your lips, no matter how much you try to keep them in.

“Couldn’t be even just a little patient, hm?” he asks you. It’s undercut by the gasps that interrupt him, the pleasured moans that escape him too.

This time, you don’t find anything to answer. The angle, with you bent over, hands on the wall in a desperate attempt to stay on your feet, makes you feel so, so full that you can’t think straight. Pleasure is coursing through you with each time he hammers into you, and you clench around him helplessly each time he pulls out. He’s fast, relentless, but if the way his moans keep getting more-pitched is any indication, he’s close to reaching his climax. You’re not far yourself, you just— just need— just a little—

One of his hands abandons your hip, and you would stumble forward if he wasn’t holding you so firmly. His free hand finds its way to your clit, and pinches it expertly, just as he snaps his hips into you harder than he has so far, spilling himself inside you. The orgasm hits you like a thousand volts, and your hips jerk back uncontrollably, whole body shaking, as you ride the wave of it on his cock until it ends. Ah, you needed this so badly that, as it recedes, you can only feel content, the pleasure it gave you still tingling in your body.

For a while, the sounds of you and Gojo’s panting are all that fill the room. Finally, he pulls his sensitive, softening cock out a you with a hiss, and you ignore the squelching sound it makes. He tucks it back into his pants, and you finally find it in yourself to pull your panties back up, readjusting your skirt. Your hair is messy from the kissing earlier, but apart from that, you’re still rather presentable — you hope.

“Didn’t think you had that in you,” Gojo comments. He’s still catching his breath.

“At what point are you going to admit that you’ve just misjudged me?”

He laughs, but the smirk he shoots you, hands in his pockets, standing a few feet away from you, is proof that the distance between the two of you is back to what it was before. You don’t find yourself minding all that much. This is as good a way as any other to release tension, and you’re more relaxed than you have in weeks. The lightness of his voice tells you the same is true for him. Seems like you both got the same thing out of it, and that’s fine by you, even if it doesn’t bring you any closer.

“Once I know I was wrong,” he says. It sounds ominous, but, well, if he wants to keep clinging to that image he’s made of you, that is his problem. So far, you’d argue that it has rather worked in your favor.

You shrug.

“If you hadn’t felt that way, Tokyo would have won today,” you tell him matter-of-factly.

His smile widens.

“Guess we’ll have to see about that next year, hm?”

“I guess we will.”

Silence grows between the two of you. You normally wouldn’t mind. Now, you feel the need to say something.

“This should stay between us,” you finally manage to say. Sorcerer society can be— harsh, on women, to say the least. The last thing you need is for someone to know you’ve fucked your coworker. You’d be branded as a whore, and while you find this all horribly regressive, you’d still rather not have to deal with the fallout.

Gojo hums in agreement.

“I’m not really the type to want all my business out there either,” he tells you in a surprising display of sincerity. It’s ruined when he smirks and adds, “Next time, I think I should fuck you on your desk.”

You scoff, but you know you both hear your lack of denial loud and clear. You’re not opposed to there being a next time, provided this doesn’t get out. By the look of things, it would be mutually beneficial.

You don’t bother to answer him before you open the door, glancing outside. No one in sight. He would have known if that had been the case, of course, but you’re still relieved. You slip outside unceremoniously — it’s pretty clear you’re done here anyway — and he does nothing to hold you back.

Later, after you’ve taken a quick shower in the facilities available at the high school and you’re sat by Ieiri around the dinner table, Gakuganji can barely hide his smugness.

“Where you have been off to?” he asks Gojo, his tone making it clear just how pleased with himself he is. “Licking your wounds?”

“Something like that,” Gojo answers lightly, and you’re careful to keep your eyes on your food.

The conversation fades into the background. Your thoughts move to the upcoming solo tournament, the next day, to your students, to the missions you have to assign. And then, for the first time in forever, you find yourself distracted by something that isn’t work-related. You welcome the respite it gives you.

On your desk, next time, huh?

You could work with that.

thank you all for reading and getting all the way here! interactions are what keeps me writing, so please comment/reblog/send an ask to feed your author and have my eternal gratitude!

tagging people who expressed interest in the first chapter: @sapphiccloud @saccharine-nectarine @calypsothegoddess @aspiring-bookworm @aerismonia

[steddiealltheway]

Eddie is having a boring summer day.

He could go to the mall if he wanted to, but it's hot outside, and he really doesn't want to deal with people at the moment. Plus, the last time he went, he's pretty sure he saw Steve Harrington in a sailor's uniform that made him feel a certain way. But he's pretty sure he hallucinated that.

He hopes he hallucinated that. Especially the part where he felt attracted to him. Like full-blown, he wanted to set sail on an ocean of flavor with him, or whatever stupid line he had said when he passed by the ice cream parlor.

So, yeah, the mall is not an option for him at the moment. But maybe it'll burn down or something and he'll never have to see Steve's face again.

A knock on his trailer door breaks him out of the slight trance, and Eddie rushes to answer it. He hopes it's not Jeff asking for his-

All thoughts stop when the door swings open and he finds Steve Harrington on the other side. In his sailor's uniform.

What the fuck?

Please be hallucinating.

"Hey," Steve says as if they've talked more than a handful of times over the past few years of passing each other in the hall.

Eddie swallows hard. "What are you doing here?" he asks, trying so hard not to eyefuck Steve.

"I was wondering if you were still selling weed?" Steve says.

Eddie sighs and gestures for him to come inside. Might as well get this over with so he can get closer to screaming into a pillow.

Once Steve is in his trailer, he closes the door behind him and rushes off to his room, grabbing his metal lunch/drug box quickly before looking in the mirror and quickly trying to clean himself up a bit. He stops when he realizes he's doing this for Steve Harrington for Christ's sake.

He opens up the little box and doesn't look at Steve and his damn beautiful hair as he pretends to look for his weed.

He isn't prepared for Steve to say, "I should warn you that I haven't gotten paid yet, so I was wondering if there was any other way I could pay for this?"

Eddie freezes and slowly looks up. There's no way he heard that correctly. Shit, is he dreaming? He does not want another Steve dream. Jeff had made fun of him for weeks after he confessed to it. "I'm sorry, what?"

Steve just shrugs casually. "Like, I could give you my watch until I can pay you properly."

Eddie sets his lunch/drug box down harshly on the counter next to him and runs both hands over his face. "Christ, Steve, that is not what I thought you meant."

"What did you think I meant?" Steve asks.

Eddie drops his hands from his face and raises his eyebrows at Steve, hoping he understands. Steve just tilts his head to the side, looking way too adorable for a damn jock, but Eddie blames the sailor uniform for that.

He sighs and curses under his breath before saying, "I thought you were offering to like..." he trails off and reluctantly gestures to his crotch.

Steve finally catches on to what he's saying as his eyebrows raise and his mouth makes a little 'o' shape. He nods for a second before pausing. "Wait, would that get me weed for free?"

Eddie's eyes widen. There's no way that Steve understood what he just gestured.

But then Steve shrugs and walks closer to him saying, "I won't tell if you don't."

Eddie quickly backs into his counter and hisses out, "There's no way I'm letting you blow me when I haven't even had my first kiss." He immediately regrets the words as soon as he says them. NOT because he just rejected Steve but because he just revealed to him that he's never been kissed before.

God, could this get any more embarrassing?

Steve pauses and looks him over, eyes flickering over his face as if considering... "How much would a first kiss get me?"

Eddie's pretty sure his heart stops. What the hell? "How fucking desperate are you for this weed?" Eddie asks.

"Not that desperate," Steve confesses.

Okay, this is definitely a dream. Eddie is now entirely convinced,

But then, Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair before resting it on his hips. "Sorry, man, it's just... I haven't gotten any action in weeks now, and I have this coworker that reminds me every day about how much that means that I suck. And my favorite kid has gone away to this damn science camp. And my dad is being more of an asshole than usual whenever he comes home, which is honestly not often, but he still somehow makes my life hell. And I'm sorry for unloading this shit onto you right now and for making a move on you. But could you please let me know how I could get some weed without making you uncomfortable?"

Eddie stares at him for a few moments before he reaches into his bag for a half-ounce. He hands the bag to Steve, pressing it into his hand. "Usually twenty bucks, but it's on the house for you." Because shit, he needs it.

Steve stares at it for a few seconds before pocketing it. He doesn't leave though. He just stares at Eddie conflictedly.

"What?" Eddie asks.

"You're sure there's nothing I can do for you?" Steve asks.

Eddie almost thinks it sounds like he wants to do something for him. So he folds his arms and boldly asks, "Why did you offer to kiss me?"

Steve shrugs. "I've heard the rumors that you're um... And I just... I think that you're... cute. For a guy," he rushes to clarify.

Eddie stares at him for a few seconds. Is Steve Harrington... not straight? There's no damn way. He's probably just screwing with him or something. But also... he sees that look in his eyes - the curiosity and fear - that makes him think... maybe he's being genuine.

"Are you fucking with me?" Eddie breathes out.

Steve shakes his head. "No, I wouldn't do that. That's not cool."

Eddie pinches himself hard. Ouch. Not a dream.

"So," Eddie says carefully, "Are you still offering to kiss me in place of paying for the weed?"

"I'll make it worth it," Steve says quickly.

Eddie takes a second to think about it. And really, how the hell can he turn down Steve Harrington in a sailor outfit being his first kiss? He's a weak, weak man. But... it's also sacrificing twenty bucks.

Damn, it's worth it.

"Okay," Eddie breathes out.

Steve smiles and gets closer to him, successfully trapping him back against the counter. His hand comes up to slowly cup Eddie's face, stroking a thumb over his cheek as the other one rests on the counter behind him.

Eddie takes in a deep shakey breath.

Steve's eyes flicker down to his lips and back to his eyes. "I won't do anything you're not comfortable with, so just pinch me if you want out, okay?"

Shit, why do the words make Eddie's brain melt? He hums and nods in response.

Steve leans in slowly but stops right before kissing him to ask, "Can I please kiss you?"

"Fuck yes," Eddie says, grabbing Steve by the tie of the sailor's uniform and pulling him until his lips press against him.

It's like every nerve in Eddie's body is on fire. He lets go of the tie to run his hands over Steve's back, pulling him closer as Steve traces his tongue over the seam of his lips.

Eddie moans, letting him in, tasting mint and a hint of something cherry as Steve deepens the kiss. Eddie makes it his mission to get Steve as close as possible to him, hands moving into his gorgeous hair and tugging him closer, groaning when Steve pulls away and bites his bottom lip only to soothe it with his tongue before moving in again to kiss him.

Eddie gets lost in it all, knowing that no first kiss is supposed to be this fucking good. He groans when Steve's hands move to grip the back of his neck and try to pull him in the same way Eddie is doing to him.

And shit, he cannot get enough of him. But he also cannot breathe.

He breaks the kiss, panting into Steve's mouth, but not feeling bad about it when Steve does the same, sounding equally out of breath.

Steve still presses three more gentle kisses against his mouth before pulling back and mumbling out, "Fuck."

Eddie takes in the boy, flushed red, hair wild, lips a bit puffy and wet, and with pupils blown wide. And he knows the image will forever ruin him.

Steve runs his hand through his hair again - a nervous tick? - as he catches his breath.

Eddie can't help but ask, "Was that... okay?"

Steve's eyes widen in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? That was perfect. And you've never kissed anyone before?"

Eddie shakes his head.

"Shit, man. I guess you're a natural or something."

Eddie flushes red at the compliment.

Steve clears his throat and gestures toward the door. "Well, I've gotta head out. But thank you for this, and for not making fun of the stupid sailor outfit."

Eddie chokes down the words I think it's hot and instead says, "Of course, and if you want a... discount... I'm always available."

Steve nods. "Right." He smiles and moves toward the door.

Eddie follows behind him.

Right before he opens the door, Steve turns around and kisses him again, it surprises Eddie so much that he almost doesn't register Steve slipping something into his front pocket. But as Steve pulls away, he gives him a wink before slipping out the door and making his way to his car.

Eddie watches as Steve gets in and slides his hand into his pocket. He feels something folded up and pulls it out, looking down to find a twenty-dollar bill in his hand meaning...

Steve shoots him a wicked smile before driving away, joyfully bobbing his head along to whatever song is playing on his radio.

Eddie pinches himself one more time to make sure he isn't dreaming.

Ow.

He smiles wide. Maybe Steve will take him up on his "discount" again.

(Thank you @henderdads for suggesting the sailor uniform)

[barleyo]

Consequence.

Adoptive Dad! Enji Todoroki X Fem! Reader (smut)

A/N: nobody asked for this but idc :3 i wrote this as a b-day present for myself!! i luv this old abusive man so bad oh my god!!! nasty old man who tries to be good but fails so miserably :3 old man who is just MEANT to be awful and abusive and gross!! luv it!!! i wanted to do a full on incest fic w him but idk if anybody would be interested >_< just let me know!!

Tags: adoptive-incest (daddy-daughter), age gap (18-50s), p in v, purity, sexual abuse mentions, loss of virginity, allusions to physical abuse, size difference, creampie, gross nasty stuff in general

Wordcount: 1.6k

Once all of his kids had given him a final 'fuck you' and left him on his own, Enji felt the pressure of loneliness crash down on him. Being on top in the hero rankings was worthless to him when he came home to an empty house. Every second he sat alone in his house, he realized that it was simply too big for just one man. It had never been a home, only a house where a fragmented family resided. Only once his kids fled did that realization hit him. 

He needed to fill the space and quick, and more than that, he needed to start over. He wanted to redeem himself somehow. Whole new family for a whole new man. 

But dating was hard at his age, and all the decent women were taken. Only fame-chasing whores were interested in him at this point, and he couldn't blame them. What the hell else did he have to offer? No woman would want to be with a tired, emotionally constipated, divorced, middle-aged man. Nor would any want to have kids with one, especially not at his age. 

Adoption it was. Simple enough. Plenty of kids in the system. Plenty of needy little brats that could benefit from his new-found, new-wave parenting tactics that he read up on in his abundant spare time. 'Don't abuse your kids.' Who would've thought it? Crazy. 'Top ten reasons why your kids won't visit you when you're in the nursing home.' Well, shit. 

He knew he had to go older. He would be absolutely damned if he would take in a toddler, or worse, a tween. He wasn't ready to raise anyone— he needed something already broken in for the most part. 

17? Yeah, that should be fine. He could do that. Old enough to take care of itself for the most part. Another body in the house was what he needed, not another responsibility. A girl? Yeah. Girls were supposed to be easier, right? Girls are sweet and grateful, always considerate and willing to help out. Girls are gentle and tender. 

Just his luck. He got the most clingy girl the foster care system had to offer. It was, at most, a bit irritating for the first few days when you were skittish and nervous around him all the time, but he understood. The problems occurred when you started to get comfortable.

He thought he wanted an affectionate little thing, especially considering the radio silence he received from his biological children, but this was just too much. Wherever he was, you needed to be. All day, all night. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, excluding when he was on patrol. 

Enji knew that adopted kids tended to have abandonment issues, or whatever, but did you have to be such a damn velcro child? It was cute, in a way, the first year or so of your stay with him. He kinda liked it, having some positive attention finally turned his way, but at a certain point it was just too much. 

Like when you turned 18 and decided that sleeping alone was no longer an option. Of course, he gave in. He tried to argue back, but the threat of tears from you was too much for his now mended heart. He was trying to change, damn it. He couldn't possibly not give you everything you ever asked for. 

'Oh, what's that? Sleeping in daddy's bed isn't enough? He has to spoon with you until you fall asleep? Honey, do you really think—? No, no, don't cry. Okay, okay, I'll do it.'

Or when spooning wasn't enough, and you needed to be massaged before falling asleep in Enji's arms, taking up his bed like nobody's business. 

'What's wrong, baby? Daddy's already rubbing your back, what else do you want? Touch you where? Baby— okay, since you said please.'

Every night, his thick fingers ran tight circles over your clit, strong arms holding you tight while you flailed and wriggled against him. You never seemed to get used to his touch. It was just too good. He split you open with his index and middle, curling into the spot you couldn't quite reach on your own. Every night, like clockwork. 

But, of course, you, the mouse who was given a cookie, asked for more. Fingers weren't enough. You needed more from daddy. Sleep didn't come easily enough for you after his skilled touches. You whined for him after every exchange, but he just couldn't give you what you wanted.

Daddy would do almost anything for his baby, anything you asked! Hell, if it made you happy, if it helped to ease the guilt he carried from his older four screw ups, why not? If it helped to mend the hole he created in his own heart, he'd pepper you in every kiss and suck and touch you as much as you wanted him to, but—

he really didn't think he could deflower you. 

The idea was too much, way too much. Kind of hypocritical of him. Finger banging and slurping on his adoptive daughter was well and good enough, but playing a little game of 'just the tip' was a line he didn't know if he could cross. 

It was tempting, and every time he turned you down he felt like a real douchebag, but he didn't trust himself with you. You were so small. He was anything but gentle. He had broken enough of his kids in other ways, he didn't exactly want to add to the score. 

Your cunt was swollen and drooling after your near nightly ritual with Enji. Crawl up into his bed, whine, scratch at him and beg for his sweet touch. You always got what you wanted, except for one thing.

"Why not?" you whined, gripping onto his forearm as he curled his fingers into you from his spot behind you, lazily acting as your big spoon. 

"This is enough." His teeth were gritted softly, trying to hold himself back. "You cum like this just fine."

You let your mouth hang open, shuddering silently at how he seemed to speed up and abuse your g-spot. "Not enough," you were finally able to make out, legs clenching in an attempt to force him to stop. 

Enji huffed, ignoring your whiny excuse. He hated when you locked him out like this, trying to keep your cunt from him like some type of half-assed punishment. Moving your legs back open, spread even further now, he continued fingering you with the same brutal, forceful pace. 

"You're being bratty, baby. I don't appreciate when you act like that," he said simply, looking down at your convulsing body. 

"You always say that," you said, pushing his arm as you tried to squirm away from him to pout. "You don't wanna 'cause you don't love me. Don't wanna get close t'me." 

That was his final straw. He had been holding himself back for your sake, but he could not handle the hurt tone in your voice, even if he knew you were faking just to get him to bite. 

He pulled his fingers out of your hole and pushed them into your mouth, stuffing the digits down your throat. He slipped his girthy cock out of his boxers, jamming the wide tip into your needy warmth. 

"You know that is not true," Enji said, already fucking into you without regard to how you were almost too tight. He'd fix that. Make you fit like a glove soon enough. "I spoil you enough, and you still want more?"

You moaned, sound coming out muffled from his fingers blocking your words. He pulled them out, strings of saliva coating your cheek as he brought his hand back to your clit. 

"Jus' wanna be closer to you 'nd feel you."

He scoffed, pushing down on your clit with too much force, bringing you to the edge of climax already. 

"No, you're a spoiled brat. I give you too much," he said, not meaning a damn word that came from his mouth. "Got used to getting whatever you want, huh? Selfish little pussy taking everything it can get." 

The pure euphoria you get from him being rough with you for once is unmatched. Daddy gave you what you wanted all the time, and you liked it, but he was too gentle with it. Like he was scared to mess up or make a mistake (again). You needed him to correct you, you'd wanted him to fuck some sense into you for so long.

You clenched the silky sheets on the bed, hands trembling while he pounding into you, hips cramming against yours spastically. 

God, he was ashamed. 

Not because he was fucking his daughter, hell, he came this far without problem. He just usually was much better in bed. Your gasps and shaky moans did little to appease him. Any other time, he'd be composed and sophisticated with his strokes, but he was sloppy and needy now. 

His cock kicked inside of you, twitching when he spilled his seed. He was so caught up in his own embarrassment that he hadn't realized how dangerously close he had gotten. 

"Daddy, did you—?"

Your question was interrupted by his hand covering your mouth, unstable thrusts continuing to fill your senses. You couldn't care that he came in you when he made you feel this good.

While your legs shook and your pussy gushed, one thing was made very apparent to both you and Enji:

This was the first time he let himself go and fucked you, but it would definitely not be the last.

[ghost-proofbaby]

mind blown (eddie munson x fem!reader)

summary: when you get a certain achievement while playing baldur's gate 3, it catches your boyfriend's eye.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: slight spoilers for baldur's gate 3 game, TALK OF MONSTER FUCKING/TENTACLES, you literally have the option to fuck a monster in the game and that is the premise for this one-shot. it isn't described in great detail, but is a background bit. and eddie makes fun of you for it. a lot. oral (f receiving, insinuated m receiving at the end). use of nickname "good girl". minors dni.

wc: 3.5k+

a/n: for anyone who was forced to witness me rizz the emperor on my last bg3 stream - consider this my... apology? half the time i was writing this i couldn't take it seriously so please laugh with me.

also, shout out to @hellfire--cult for the best possible divider EVER.

ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: MIND BLOWN! 

You don’t even notice when the notification pops up in the lower left corner of your screen. It’s the smallest of blips, hardly signified by the quiet ding from your Steam account in a pitiful attempt to congratulate you for the monstrous crimes you were currently committing on your screen. 

But hey, you’ve got to experience the entire game, right? 

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself as you click on the second dialogue option, eyes locked on your screen is disbelief in your own actions, “What the fuck.” 

2. Take its tentacle in your hand, invite it in.

You watch in absolute awe as, who would have guessed, your Tav takes the tentacle in their hand, inviting the Mind Flayer in. 

Oh, you’re not seeing Heaven for this. You’re getting kicked straight to Hell, receipts pulled up of this very moment in your lifetime. That time you only cackled when your younger sibling broke their wrist? Fine. That time you let a door slam shut on some random grandma? Forgivable. 

But making your video game character fuck the tentacled-should-be-enemy? No, yeah, you’re heading straight to the flames. 

“Oh. My. God.” 

You really, really, really should have noticed the achievement notification. Should have considered the fact that this was an achievement at all. Should have considered that your achievement would be public. Should have noticed who was currently online, and who would be getting the notification of your sins. 

Should of thought of your boyfriend, in the living room, playing the very same game on your shared gaming laptop that had been reduced to solely allowing the two of you to play Baldur’s Gate 3 at the same time. 

But you’re too entranced by tentacles and embarrassment and shit, is this kind of hot? Is The Emperor kind of hot? to think of any of this until it’s too late.

One moment, you’re leaning far more forward than you had realized, drawn into the screen as your mouth hangs wide open in that continued naivety of disbelief that the game actually allowed this, and the next, two hands are landing on the back of your chair and shaking you out of the trance. 

“Shit!” you can’t help but scream, scrambling wildly to yank off your headset with flailing hands. A few of your knuckles connect with something hard, and you spin quickly to find Eddie standing there with a hand clutched over his nose, “Oh my God, baby, I’m so sor-”

“Are you fucking the mindflayer?” he all but yells, not looking to be in an ounce of pain even as he continues to shield his face where your hand had blatantly smacked him. His eyes catch the screen in the same trance you had just been under before yelling out, “Holy shit, you’re fucking the mindflayer!” 

“It’s not what it looks like-”

“You are literally fucking the space squid right now.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“You’re fucking a glorified piece of sushi right now. You are literally-”

For the second time in the span of what hasn’t even been a full minute, your hand slaps Eddie’s face. This time, it’s more purposeful, slamming your palm right over his mouth before he can continue what you can’t even be sure is teasing. 

And you’re missing the entire scene. Thank God for learning to quicksave as a reflex, you suppose. 

“Eddie, I swear to God, do not speak another word when I drop my hand,” you threaten, no real violence behind your words as he glowers at you. You can see all that mischief swirling behind the look he gives you, every possible bad idea to ever exist in this Universe manifesting in those big brown eyes as they stare widely into yours. “Do you understand?”

He nods. Your mistake for trusting him, you suppose. 

The moment your hand has dropped from him, it reveals that giddy smile, dimples screaming for your instant regret before he even opens his mouth to say, “Play it again.” 

“Excuse me?”

“Go ahead,” he waves towards the screen where the scene is beginning to wrap up, your current companions interrupting the moment in horror. If you had still been entranced, you would have been an absolute mess. But all your focus had been stolen away to the boy towering over you, “Reload the save. Replay the scene for me.” 

Your brows furrow as you cross your arms, shaking your head, “No.”

“No?”

“No,” you repeat yourself more firmly, leaning into your stubbornness, “I am not replaying the scene for you after you just made fun of me for partaking in it.”

Eddie wastes no time pouting as he throws himself down onto the bed nearby, looking at you with unimaginably forced disappointment, “Come on. You’re no fun.” 

You hate how cute he looks right now. Bottom lip jutted out for dramatic effect, legs splayed out to straddle the corner of the bed. He leans back on his arms, torso elongating as you watch him take every steady and expectant breath. He looks determined. 

Unlucky for him, you’re just as stoic in your decision.

“C’mon,” he whines softly, changing his approach when he realizes the cocky exterior isn’t chipping away at that set look on your face, no faltering in your decision to ignore his request, “Please? We both know that I’m not going to be fucking the squid, so this is my only chance to see the-”

“He’s not a squid,” you groan, starting to turn your chair to face the screen again and continue your gameplay, “Might I remind you just how hot my guardian was prior to the whole tentacle reveal? You can’t even blame me for succumbing to this, you know.” 

His lips press together tightly, biting back a grin.

“Your guardian was very hot. But, pray tell, baby, why did you choose to fuck the tentacled version?” You’re not having this conversation. You blatantly refuse to, picking your headphones back up and beginning to slip them over your ears when Eddie’s hand shoots out to stop you, “Wait. I have an idea.” 

“I’m not reloading the save so you can see the scene, Eddie-”

“What if…. I technically don’t watch the scene?” 

You halt all movement willingly, headphones still hovering in midair even as Eddie takes his hand away. “What do you mean?” 

He leans forward, elbows digging into his thighs, sly smile shimmering on his lips as he finally abandons the god-forsaken pout. He’s radiating pride as he simply asks, “Wanna have your mind blown in real life?” 

Your entire body flushes with heat, starting to actually get embarrassed that Eddie wasn’t letting this go. 

“With God as my witness, if you do not stop making fun of me for this, I will kick you out of this room and lock the door.” 

“I’m not making fun of you,” he says slowly, inching off of the bed, dropping to his knees on the carpet of your shared bedroom, “Not in the slightest, sweetheart. I’m making you an offer.” 

You eye him cautiously as he slowly makes his way closer to you. When he’s nearly tucked under your desk, you’re quick to bring your knees up, still terribly weary and unsure of where he’s going with this. 

“What do you mean then, having my mind blown in real life?”

Eddie’s smile has gone downright salacious as he easily fits himself under the desk that holds your computer, situating himself perfectly so that if you were to drop your legs back down, he’d be kneeling prettily between your knees. 

“Reload the scene. And drop your legs, yeah?” 

He says it so casually, nonchalance dripping from his tone as if he’s just asked you to pass him salt or inquired about the weather rather than the actual request he was insinuating. It has your knees pressing more tightly together, your chin dropping on top of them as you stare down at him in the cramped space. 

“Are you… are you seriously suggesting what I think you’re suggesting right now?” you question, each word falling from your mouth slowly. 

It had been a while since either of you had really gotten your hands on one another. Not on purpose, of course. The two of you had simply fallen victim to the immersive game, spending most of your free time either playing your individual campaigns or joining one another on a multiplayer one. Afternoons melted away from gameplay, and the two of you were usually already to the point of exhaustion once you’d end up in bed together. There had been a certain lack of affectionate touches, suggestive squeezes of your thighs and faux-innocent kisses of the neck. And neither had noticed, minds equally preoccupied on thoughts of pixelated characters and harrowing journeys over a screen. 

You can’t remember the last time either of you outright suggested sex. 

“Deathly serious,” you can see the shine of his teeth as he flashes them in the dark space. You continue to hesitate until he quickly adds on, “Only if you want to, of course. If not, I can always fuck off and leave you to Squidwar-”

“I want to,” you interrupt, ignoring the new nickname for the Mind Flayer that he had started to taunt you with. You carefully let your feet slip off your chair, avoiding knocking him in the face with your ankles. He aids you, a careful hand running from the back of your knee and down your calf as he guides your legs to rest on his shoulders. The fact that you had started gaming without pants was suddenly very helpful. 

“Good girl,” it’s sort of ridiculous, the way his words cut right to your core, nearly making you let out a small gasp. Your body is suddenly very aware of just how long the accidental bout of celibacy had been, “A few rules before we begin. You’re going to reload the scene, and really watch it this time. Headphones and all, got it?” 

He places a chaste kiss to your inner thigh, and this time, you can’t bite back your little gasp. It only elicits a chuckle from him as you eagerly nod. You could care less about the game at this point, but you can’t seem to find the words to tell him this. 

“If you stop focusing on the scene, I stop eating this pretty little pussy.” 

If you weren’t so light-headed from the way his breath hits your clothed core currently, you’d probably see just how ridiculous this entire scenario was. It was downright laughable. Even a little shameful, honestly. By no means was it the weirdest situation that you and Eddie had turned into a game of sex, but it was certainly up there. 

God, you were in love with a fucking weirdo. And it made you just as weird, if not weirder, as he was. 

He gently slaps at your knee, forcing your attention to focus back on him, “Got it?” 

“Got it,” you manage to choke out just as his hands begin to trail up to your hips, playing with the lace of your panties teasingly. 

You lift yourself ever so slightly off the chair as he slips your underwear off, bringing the fabric down agonizingly slow. He has to shuffle plenty, guiding your limbs around just to finally remove the garment, but you hardly pay attention to all that awkwardness. Your Tav is still on the screen, awaiting instruction just as you were. 

When Eddie finally has your panties off, knees back to hanging on his shoulders, you can hear him let out a soft groan at the sight of you. 

“Fuck,” he sighs gently, leaning his cheek against your knee ever so slightly, “The tentacles really do it for you, huh? Already fucking soaking-”

“Shut up about the tentacles,” you groan out, throwing your hand back in exasperation, “For the love of God, please shut up about the-”

“Ah, ah,” he tsks, pulling farther away from you, “Might I remind you the whole point of this is all those tentacles on your screen right now, baby? Maybe I should have you hook up your speakers instead of your headphones just to make sure I can hear the entire scene.” 

You’d honestly forgotten about the scene at this point. It was the least intriguing part of your evening now. 

When you stay quiet, biting your lip to avoid making anymore smart ass remarks that would only prolong what you desperately wanted, desperately needed, he finally takes it as his cue. 

That damn grin, dimples and all, look up at you with all the ill intent in the world as he gestures for you to slip on your headphones. You do it immediately, and just before you’ve fully engulfed your ears with them, Eddie says, “Now, please do the honors, and hit F8 for me, doll.” 

Immediately, the only noise you can hear is the ambience from the game. One swift punch of your F8 key pauses it entirely, sudden music replacing it as the reload screen appears on the computer. Eddie waits, staring up at you for a few moments, probably having memorized just how long these damn reloads take from how much the two of you save scum in the game (Ironic, given during your first playthroughs, he’d scolded you endlessly for save scumming rather than just trusting the dice and letting it all play out.) 

After a few beats of stillness, you can see the scene prepared and ready for you to begin to click the options again to initiate the scene in your peripheral. Your eyes are still locked on Eddie’s, though. 

He makes no move to move any closer to you, though, still smirking before he finally mouths ‘watch the game’. 

It’s only once you do as you’ve been told that he has his mouth on you. 

He starts slowly as you distract yourself with the screen, peppering kisses along your knees and inner thighs, working his way towards your pussy. Teasing you, taunting you, dangling what he knows you want so badly that it aches and has you spasming around absolutely nothing. It takes more effort than you could care to admit to focus your vision on the dialogue options, and even more to remember which one is going to initiate the goddamned scene. 

When your shaking hand reaches for the mouse and finally clicks the correct option (thank God), his mouth finally hovers over your slick folds. 

Whatever the Emperor says falls on ringing ears. Subtitles are useless, the words blurring together on the screen when his tongue takes its first stride across your core. 

Your knuckles are paling from how tightly you grip your poor mouse, and you almost consider what you would do if this situation leads to you breaking such a vital piece of the shared gaming setup, but Eddie’s mouth is quick to distract you. You feel the vibrations of the hums falling from his lips just as they trail to wrap around your clit, forming suction as he gives one harsh suck that has your mouth falling open in a silent gasp. Your eyes can barely manage to stay open as you blindly click for the next dialogue option being presented.

Kiss the tentacle and hope that it’s an erogenous appendage. 

Not quite the same path you’d taken before, but it’ll get the job done. Especially when Eddie’s fingers are digging into the flesh of your thighs even harsher, pressing himself even harder against you as his tongue dances over your sensitive bundle of nerves. Kitten licks, but every single one sends a bolt of electricity up your spine. 

The sound that comes from the Emperor in the game doesn’t matter to you, completely overridden by the audible groan you can just barely catch from Eddie as your headphones begin to slip off. 

Was that… a good sound? 

You hadn’t noticed you’d breathily recited the words you read across the scene until movement below the desk catches your eye, and Eddie is nodding into your cunt more eagerly than the character on the screen could ever be capable of. 

It’s the type of eagerness that has you whimpering, the kind of enthusiasm that guides one of your hands away from the keyboard and down to tangle into the roots of Eddie’s curls. 

He’s going to be the death of you. 

His grip tightens until he’s tugging your hips hard enough to bring you further slumped down in your seat, letting your thighs cradle either side of his head. His nose bumping your sensitive clit as his tongue circles teasing against your entrance. Once, twice – and then it dives in, pushing you to arch your back, a soft cry leaving you as you yank at his hair. 

With a heaving chest, you find yourself reciting another line of words from the screen despite making no move to click any options, “Do it again. Please, God- do it again.” 

He lifts to look at you at that, smiling wide with glistening lips and chin alike, “God? Oh, you’re making me blush, babe.” 

“Eddie-” you start, but a smack on your thigh from one of his ringed hands effectively shuts you up. 

“Play the game, and I’ll do it again.” 

Your hand smacks against the mouse, and you must click the right option, the exact command you’d just demanded of Eddie, because the scene continues on. 

You’re not watching the screen. Not consistently. Your eyes can’t stop flickering down to your boy, to his dark eyes shining up at you as he keeps his face buried between your thighs, the only thing giving away his current grin being the slightest crinkle beside those eyes. 

The entire sequence from before is simply playing out, just as before, but your mind stays on the feeling of Eddie’s tongue on you. When he releases one of your thighs and brings his fingers into the mix, stretching you out far more fully than his tongue had, you’re preening beneath his touch. Gasps, moans, whimpers, sobs – they all fall from your lip as he knows just how to work you. All the right touches to bring your neglected body to the precipice, practically worshiping you on his knees as the brightness of the screen exposes your face to him. Eyes tightly screwed shut, mouth wide open, lips swollen from poor attempts to keep your noises down through biting them. 

It only encourages him further. Only has him forgetting entirely about the game as well, the only goal on his mind being making you cum on his tongue. 

And you do. 

In hot waves, broken calls of his name, both hands tugging mercilessly on his hair. Your thighs are squeezing his cheeks tightly as you clench down on his fingers. 

Somewhere between all the whispers of his name, numerous squeaks of please falling from your mouth, he slows down. He gives you a chance to bask in the after-warmth of it all, your entire body buzzing as you catch your breath. You truly, genuinely hadn’t expected to cum that quickly. But it had been a while, and if anyone knew your body well enough to get you off in record speed, it was the man currently still seated on sore knees with a winning grin on his face. 

“Your headphones aren’t even on anymore, you cheater,” he teases, sounding just as out of breath as you felt. 

You detangle your fingers from his hair, retracting your hands just far enough for one of them to flip him off, “Shut up.” 

Your eyes are still closed, head leaning back almost painfully as the headphones cut into your neck. If you could live in this moment forever, you probably would. 

He presses forward, placing a quick peck to your sensitive core that makes your legs try to squeeze together instinctually, “Make me.” 

At those two words, you finally open your eyes, slowly lolling your head towards him, eyes narrowing at the challenge. 

“Get off the floor and onto the bed, and I will.” 

You don’t have to tell him twice. 

The entire process somehow manages to remind you just how ridiculous the situation was. Watching Eddie clamber clumsily out from beneath your desk, cheekily flashing you the set of panties he’d taken off of you that he shoves into his pocket. Eyes glued on him as he flops himself down onto your shared bed, still looking far too proud of himself. 

Your heart swells as you look at the absolute idiot, knowing he was yours. 

“Well?” he asks expectantly, raising his eyebrows as he shimmies his shoulders jokingly, “You gonna make me or not, sweetheart?” 

You’re quick to start to jump out of your chair, just eager to be close to him again, deciding the game could wait until tomorrow. Just as you do, however, Eddie puts up a hand, biting back an even wider smile.

“I’m only reminding you because I won’t hear the end of it otherwise,” he drawls, slowly pointing a finger back towards the desk, “Don’t forget to press F5.”

You roll your eyes, but you do as he says. 

It works. It’ll save you time next time you reload the game – allowing you to skip the entire encounter, considering the way you’ve discovered there are far more fun ways to have your mind blown. 

Now, however, it was Eddie’s turn.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

@thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck

@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

@mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog

@vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp

@princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

(please let me know if the tagging worked!!)

[kooqitas]

— middle finger ★ with: myg!

#pairings: stranger!myg X reader

#synopsis: just a stranger fingering you in the middle of the club

#tags: strangers, fingering, public sex, a little bit of degradation because u know... my history

🌸 . . nsfw, +18 | 

to be honest, i don't like this story, but after starting it's so bad to archive it :(

and as i always say: english isn't my first language, so be patient :)

────────────────── ୭ ──────────────────ㅤ

you felt the middle finger brushing in your underwear.

honestly? you even know how things happened

the last five hours have been weird. you break up with your boyfriend, cried a lot, stopped crying, and cried again, like, maybe you are on an angst fanfiction. 

isn't like you really love your boyfriend, because you don't, and you know that.

but does anyone want to be a kick in the ass? of course, not! 

so, after crying, you put on your best dress, put on your best make-up and go to the club. just for fun, you even know what club, just need a club. 

you drink, dance, talk with strangers, and everything is ok.

except for the guy who looks at you like a predator. 

he is pretty, really pretty, but you don't wanna anyone, not now, isn’t in your plane kiss someone tonight…

but happened… 

yoongi came close to you in a sneaky way, but now he had his hand firmly on your waist, while his middle finger brushed the middle of your legs.

the touches don’t happen suddenly, you dance, talk, drink, god he is hot! and after everything, his fingers… you know

‘’can i?’’ he asked, still brushing your finger on you.

‘’but, if someone see…’’

“that’s the joke, sweetheart!”

the deep voice makes you feel things (more than that you have feeling), you never do this before, like, oh my god a stranger is fingering you at a ballad? everyone can see you

‘’if you don’t, that’s okay! just a ideia’’ and his middle finger brushed again, you get more and more excited.

‘’can we go to the bathroom…’’

‘’but isn’t funny on the bathroom, if we go there, who will see you cumming on my fingers, doll?’’

you didn’t give a answer, not a verbal answer, you just ride on his finger, making yoongi smile and kiss you neck 

‘’i promise that i will be fast, ok? give me two minutes and i make you feel good’’

and you agree

he puts your underwear aside, and slides his fingers between your core.

you moaned, and he smiled.

he puts one finger, without any warning, and when you finally breath he puts the second.

yoongi is faster, making you bite your lips, training to not moan so loud, but he doesn't care, he wants everyone to see what you are doing.

''you're a mess, god! can you handle my dick opening your pussy?''

it hadn't even been a minute since you were there, and you could feel the orgasm approaching.

he said dirty things in your ear, how wet you are now, how tight, hot, how much he wanted put his dick on your little pussy.

you look for some guys close to you, a little group with five boys, everyone looks for the way that yoongi is fingering you. 

‘’you have fans now, everyone see my finger fucking your cunt, you need cum for him, baby, don’t be a bad whore, i know you can cum only with this’’

he’s right, you would cum.

and he noticed, so put the third finger…

‘’t-too m-much…’’ you scream, trying stop the hand who fucked you without any delicacy.

‘’you can, baby, just cum on me, come on’’

his thumb goin on your clit, and this is enough…

you cum on his fingers, shaking all your body while you scream and close your legs. 

yoongi laughed, putting his fingers on his mouth and sucking everything, every liquid of you.

‘’good girl, so good to me…’’ 

he gives you a kiss, your panties still thrown to the side

‘’now, you have two options, baby: i'll finish you off here in front of everyone, and let everyone record what a stupid cockslut you are, or i'll eat you in my house, where i’lll only stop fucking you when i can't take it anymore’’

[facioleeknow]

The art of pleasure ch.8

Company ° I.N.

When one girl in your class makes fun of you for being a virgin at a party, you are left distraught. It's only natural that you decide to whine about it to your best friend, Bang Chan; but he does more than lending a shoulder to cry on, he comes up with a solution. He and his 7 friends will help you and teach you all about the pleasure of the flesh. What could go wrong?

Genre: College AU, SMUT 18+ ONLY Wc: 2k+

TW: aftercare, threesome, consent is behind the scenes they are really into it and it's all consensual, pussy slapping, name calling, mean jeongin, oral (m rec), throat fucking, cumshots,creampie, let me know if I missed anything

AN: thank you for following and reading this series, I hope you all liked it! Please do leave feedback <3

The moments after your activities with Seungmin were a blur in your mind. Everything mixed together and nonsensical. You only remembered the world's softer tissue wiping away at your skin, Seungmin talking to the owner of the karaoke rooms and then his car. When you came to, you were safely tucked into bed with your clothes still on. Seungmin laid at your side on top of the bed, completely ruptured by something on his phone. His right hand slowly massaged your scalp.

“Minnie?” your voice was rough and hoarse.

Seungmin whipped his head so fast that for a moment he saw double. His phone flew to the other side of the room and in a second he was crowding you.

“How are you feeling? Everything okay?” His hand had moved from your hair to your face and was now drawing circles on your warm cheek. You just hummed and nodded, your limbs were so heavy and tired.

“Did you particularly like or dislike something?” 

“I liked that we could get caught but I wanted more of your attention,” you pouted. If it had been any other moment in any other state of mind you would've been embarrassed but now you were just so content and tired that you didn't care.

“My attention was already on you, puppy, but if you want more I shall give you more,” he smiled and beamed at you. With a few stretches and pulls he got under the covers as well and promptly took you in his arms. It was weird with both of you fully clothed but you were grateful for the warmth that was seeping into you.

“Why didn't you take off my clothes?”

“You didn't give me permission, I can't take your clothes off without permission.”

Your heart warmed, he was a golden boy. Truly the perfect boyfriend anyone could have.

“I’ve always thought you were pretty, would you like to go out?” Seungmin had showed you his soft side once again and you couldn't help but be ecstatic about it.

“I was about to ask you, I was just thinking you were one of the nicest guys I've ever met.”

Seungmin hummed. His soft petal pink lips came in contact with your skin and fireworks erupted underneath it. Your head turned swiftly and you pressed a sweet and chaste kiss to his lips.

Ping. Ping.

Your phone interrupted your lovesick moment and you almost wanted to throw it away. 

“I put your phone on the nightstand, you should answer it,”  Seungmin spurred you on, his hands around you loosened.

Unknown number:

Hey noona, it's Innie, when are you free? I thought we could go to a cafe before our lesson. Just you and I :)

Chrispy boy <3:

Baby, how was the lesson with seungmin? We should talk about the next one, I remember you had some doubts

“It's Chan hyung, isn't it? He really likes you.” 

You offered him an apologetic look, you had to go.

“Go, you can make it up to me on our date,” Seungmin pressed another feather light kiss on your cheek as goodbye and then walked you to his door after you had collected your things. The short walk from Seungmin's room to Chan's seemed even shorter that day. Knocking wasn't even an option at this point in your relationship, so you just swung the door open. Chan was laying in the bed, only in his boxers, typing something on his phone.

“Baby,” he beamed, “ I was about to text you again, come here.” You didn't even hesitate for a second before throwing yourself in his arms; you didn't care that your clothes would get wrinkly, you needed that Bang-hug.

“It went well with Seungmin.”

“Just well? Nothing else?” 

“Yeah, I'm honestly just a bit worried about the next lesson, Chan. A threesome is a lot.” 

“You don't have to do it if you don't want to,” his grip tightened on you and he squeezed you against his chest.

“It's not that I don't want to but I need to be sure about that other person. Do I know him? Does Innie know him? I just need to know,” you were clearly frustrated.

“What if that other person was me? Would you do it?”

You pushed yourself away from his chest to look him in the eyes.

“Are you serious?” Chan just nodded.

A threesome with your college best friend who had always treated you like you were royalty and a cute junior with dimples, a killer smile and a charming personality. That sounded like something out of your deepest fantasies.

“Okay, let's do it.”

Jeongin had insisted you two had a date alone, no Chan, just you two. ‘Its because hyung makes everything awkward,’ he had said in front of him but you hardly believed him. Chan wasn't awkward at all in front of girls, he was flirty and charming. 

A cup placed in front of you snapped you out of your thoughts. 

“Thank you, Innie. This place is really nice.” 

The cafe was spectacular, you had never seen a place with such a balance of chic and cozy and the beverages looked delicious as did the food.

“I came here with Seungmin hyung once, I wanted to take you here. Alone.” 

So that was why Jeongin didn't want Chan around, he wanted to go on a date. With you. The thought made your head spin a little, he was one of the hottest freshmen on campus and he wanted you? Luck must have been really on your side.

“You wanted to come here with me? Why?” 

He was cute, unbelievably so. His ears and cheeks were completely red and his gaze was on his mug.

“I think you're nice and pretty, and I’ve wanted to go out with you for a while.”

His sudden confession left you flabbergasted. THE Yang Jeongin wanted to go out with you.

“You don't have to answer right now, noona, take your time.”

“You're so cute Innie, thank you,” you got up from your chair and leaned across the table. Your lips pressed a light kiss on Jeongin’s cheek. You were so close now, you could feel his breath on you and heard him gulp loudly. His face was almost buried in your tits, you chose a low cut shirt for the occasion and you didn't care that he could see everything you had to offer, you wanted him to see. 

I.N. stood abruptly and grabbed your wrist, with a sharp tug you were at his side.

“We've talked enough, noona, let's go.”

Jeongin's thumb swiped at your folds for what felt like the thousandth time. As soon as he had gotten you in Chan's room, he had removed your clothes hastily and pushed you back into Chan's arms. Your legs had been opened roughly and a pair of arms, a pair that you knew very very well had circled your middle to keep you in place. Jeongin had taken his place between them, a scowl on his pretty face. 

Jeongin's thumb caught on your clit and your back arched, finally glad for some real stimulation but retreated as soon as it appeared. 

“Are you a whore, noona?” 

All you could do in response was pant and wriggle in Chan's grasp. The boys were both fully naked and you could feel Chan's cock against your backside and see Jeongin's drooling precum and looking painfully hard. You wanted to put your mouth around him and suck until his soul came out of it. At the thought a few drops of sleek dropped on the covers beneath you.

“Our baby has a mouth on him doesn't he?” Chan’s voice was supposed to be comforting compared to Jeongin's harshness but the contrast made you drip even more.

A sharp slap was delivered to your pussy.

“Answer me.” Jeongin was completely different in and outside of the bedroom, now you knew why girls came out of his room with shaky legs and a bewildered look in their eyes.

“N-no, I'm not,” you managed to stutter out. 

“C'mon Innie, I'm sure she only wanted to show you, not the others,” Chan argued. His thumb slowly circled your flushed cheek and you leaned into his touch with a whimper.

“Shut her up, hyung, and you whore don't you dare cum.” Chan's lips were on yours in an instant, it was an awkward position, your neck would hurt like hell after, but just the thought of Chan's plush doll lips made everything better. Your best friend was an exceptional kisser, he wasn't rushed but not too slow either and he poured just enough passion into it. As ruptured as you were, you didn't notice Jeongin gathering your wetness on his fingers and then slamming them into you. Your back arched off Chan's chest so much that he had to wrap his arms tighter and pull you towards him again. Little whimpers and moans came out of you, the pleasure was so intense after all that teasing that you couldn't even lift your head up from Chan's shoulder.

“I said shut her up, hyung,” Jeongin spoke nonchalantly like he wasn't pistoning his fingers into your g spot and abusing your already sensitive pussy. If he had kept that up, it would've taken you mere seconds to cum.

“No, I wanna hear her,” Jeongin tsked at his answer but didn't say anything; yes everybody was whipped for the baby and let him get away with murder but that didn't mean that he didn't have to respect the eldest authority. Chan lowered his head to the shell of your ear and whispered: “ keep up the pretty noises, baby.”

“Channie, I'm close,” your voice and your legs shaky. Jeongin pulled his fingers out and stuck them in your mouth.

“Mh, best I’ve ever had.” Your face felt like you caught on fire. Baby bread was nasty.

“Hyung put her down with her head dangling from the edge, I want to fuck her mouth.”

Chan's muscly arms picked you up and threw you down on the bed, your thighs slicked at the show of strength. With your head upside down, you could see and feel Jeongin's presence above you even more intensely than before.

“Open up,” his tip prodded your lips and without a second thought you opened. He was big, longer than Changbin but less thick, you didn't doubt you could take him. At the first roll of his hips, a tear rolled down your face. Your eyes focused on his heavy balls slapping on your forehead, you wanted those in your mouth too. Jeongin's continued fucking your face with fluid and deep thrusts, his face was thrown back and scrunched up. He was pretty, really pretty. 

Suddenly you felt something breach your entrance and soon Chan's tick and long cock was entering you.

“Hey baby, I'm sorry, I'm so worked up, I have to make you cum quickly,” his breath fanned over your collarbone and he pressed a soft kiss on your skin before he sent you back on Jeongin's cock with a sharp, quick thrust. His thumb pushed on your clit and relentlessly circled the poor swollen bud.

“Fuck, you're so wet baby,” Chan paired his words with another few heavy thrusts. His pace was frantic and almost animalistic, you wouldn't mind coming back to him after the whole ordeal to let him take his time with you.

Your attention snapped to the other boy when he squished your face in his hand, forcing you to open up your mouth.

“I wanna cum on your tits,” his voice was strained and sexy and so was his face. Jeongin pulled out of your wet and warm mouth and started quickly jerking his cock until white ropes of cum were cascading all over your chest. In the meantime Chan was still pounding into you with brute force. Your breath was erratic, your hands fisted your sheets; your orgasm was imminent but you didn't want all that to end.

“It's okay baby, let it go, I'm right behind you,” Chan leaned to once again kiss your skin, not caring if his friend's cum was staining his lips. The extremely erotic sight sent you barreling over the edge, your pussy gushed and pulsed around him. You felt your body go lax and you didn't even notice when Chan came inside you with the most sensual moan of all. When you came back to the land of the living, Jeongin was laying on your chest, fast asleep; his cute cheek completely squished. You cooed at the sight, baby bread was back being a baby.

“Are you okay, baby?” Chan sat next to you, his eyes, completely focused on your face, were sparkling as you had hung the moon and the stars personally. You just hummed in approval, there wasn't any energy in you left for more.

“You know what I was thinking, Channie? I wouldn't mind letting you take your time with me. Next time that is.”

Chris showed you that beautiful dimpled smile that he only reserved for a certain group of people.

“I wouldn't mind that either, I'm buying you food before tho, you're gonna need energy for what I'll do to you.”

@kflixnet

[immoralkombat]

feeling(s)

Kenshi has been blind for maybe an hour or two.

Johnny looks over at him with sympathy. He's not sure what he could possibly do or say to make things seem any less bleak for him. The man was just trying to get his family's heirloom back and now, after months of training and dedication, one of his five senses is gone permanently through no fault of his own. If Johnny were in Kenshi's position, he's sure he'd be feeling just as desolate, if not more so.

Kung Lao is sitting in the far corner, talking to Baraka. He seems genuinely fascinated by Tarkat as a disease. Were Johnny not in the same situation as them, he would find that particular conversation topic a bit morbid. Right now, it's really all they have to talk about. They've already exhausted all the small talk options you normally go through when first meeting someone. They might as well start talking about the disease that'll eventually kill Baraka.

The salve on the cloth seems to have worked a little, because at least Kenshi isn't moaning in pain every few seconds anymore. Not that it makes things significantly more cheerful, but it does help the atmosphere a bit.

Johnny taps on his knees as he sits, eyes darting between looking at Kung Lao and Kenshi. He's kind of in between where the two have sat themselves, a visual and metaphorical median between the two ways one could possibly react to getting imprisoned by a sorcerer that's almost 100% going to kill you. (To be fair, there isn't much that connects the points of "casually talking about a stranger's terminal illness with them as though you're both standing by the office water cooler talking about whatever hit TV show is airing these days" and "rocking back in forth in the corner about how a different terminally ill stranger took your eyes and you have nothing left in this world." Johnny supposes the best middle point is "looking anxiously between your two co-workers and not saying anything because Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you supposed to say in this situation besides aforementioned terminal illness.")

He really wishes that Kenshi still had his eyes, because every time he looked at Johnny, it always seemed to make everything feel okay.

Johnny thinks for a second and then scoots closer to Kenshi. It's only once he accidentally bumps up against Kenshi's foot and scares the living shit out of everyone in the cell that he realizes he probably should've given an audible cue that he was going to be approaching the newly blind guy.

After Kenshi's done having a mini panic attack over the sudden Hollywood A-lister jumpscare he's gotten, Johnny looks at him and asks, quietly, "Do you want to hold Sento for a bit?"

Kenshi turns to face him and even underneath the newly christened blindfold, Johnny can tell that Kenshi is looking at him with the most surprised and reverent eyes in the universe. The kind of look that you'd get and say "fuck this stupid sword, I'd pay $3 million just to get this guy to look at me like that again."

Kenshi's mouth opens as though he's going to say something, but it shuts again before any words or sounds can come out. He opts to nod in response and Johnny takes the scabbard from off his back, holds it in his hands gently and passes it to Kenshi. Their fingertips graze one another, a way to indicate that the blind man is in the right spot. The touch sends crackles of electricity through Johnny and he wonders if Kenshi feels them too.

It's like the tattoos on Kenshi's hands are swirling around him, colors dancing in front of his eyes. It's more beautiful than any lame fucking Disney movie ever could be.

The yakuza's voice is hoarse as he says "Thanks." It's so small that Johnny can almost see it breaking in the air. He wants to put his hand on Kenshi's and tell him that things will be okay, that he's going to pay for a sight companion, any kind of corrective surgeries he wants, whatever it takes. He wants to tell him that he's still just as strong and fierce and goddamn handsome now as he was before. He wants to kiss him so fucking badly it makes his entire being ache.

He settles for saying "You're welcome," and then sitting next to Kenshi in silence.

He watches the way that he holds Sento in his hands, feels every single nick in the scabbard, every single imperfection. It's the first time in Johnny's life that he's ever wanted to be a sword and, if he keeps hanging out with Kenshi after this, (which he hopes he can), it almost certainly won't be the last.

Johnny wishes that Mileena had taken Kenshi's tear ducts with her after she'd stabbed his eyes out, because the short sad sobs that wrack through his body are almost too much to bear witness to. When he cries, it moves through his entire being. It sends a shockwave from his gut upward, makes him lurch his shoulders forward and hug himself.

"H-Hey, what's wrong?" Johnny asks. He knows it's a stupid fucking question, obviously everyone knows what's wrong, most of all the guy it happened to. But it's all he can think to ask as he watches Kenshi continue to awkwardly jerk alongside his cries.

Kenshi's head turns to face Johnny. From beyond the thin red cloth that covers his eye sockets, Johnny can feel them boring into him.

"Cage, could I touch you? I want to remember what your face looks like."

If Johnny were operating on his full mental capacity, he would probably explode at this question. He would become the fireworks they popped last night at the banquet over their heads as they feasted. He would be attached to one end of a fuse with Li Mei holding the other end, readying herself to spark it and send him to the stratosphere.

"Y-Yeah, of course you can, Ken-doll. Just make sure not to damage the goods - people pay good money for this mug to show up on their big screens."

The smugness in his voice would normally earn him a "tch" or a groan, (or an eye roll), from Kenshi. Hearing him chuckle under his breath makes his heart soar.

He turns his face toward him and waits, but no touch comes. His eyes close, he anticipates the electricity to come back... and instead he hears Kenshi clearing his throat awkwardly.

Johnny opens his eyes and finds that Kenshi's still got his hands on Sento. He tries not to be jealous of the sword again, but as with any other time he's tried not to be jealous of someone or something that has what he wants, he fails miserably.

"Could you get closer, Cage?"

"Not the first time I'm hearing that question, won't be the last. How close you need me, handsome?"

The words come out before he can even process them. Jesus Christ, is he really that much of a disaster that he can just openly call a guy he's been crushing on for at least a month handsome without even thinking about it? He's a fucking mess. His wife left him and now he doesn't know how to act. She was gonna be the only person he'd ever be able to trick into loving him and now she was gone.

"I'm going to turn, and I suggest you do the same. I want to be facing you. You can sit with your legs touching mine if it helps."

Great, now Kenshi has a colorful blindfold that also serves as a perfect swatch for the shade of red Johnny's face turns every time the man says something that's totally fucking normal for two people that are acquainted with one another.

Johnny does as he's told, because if there's one thing he's good at, it's taking directions. (Ignoring literally every single major motion picture he's ever been in, every statement he's ever made to the press after consulting his legal teams and public consultants, and generally living life up until this point.)

His knees knock against Kenshi's and it takes him aback for a second, how giddy and childish the butterflies he feels in his stomach are. Getting to know Kenshi was so simple. He wishes he had just taken a second and been less of a dickwad back when they'd first met, because maybe then it'd be easier for him to grow a pair of cajones and tell Kenshi that he doesn't spend a single night without thinking about how much he wants to trace the tattoos on his hands and arms. Maybe if he had just given Sento over, it'd be easier to admit that the low rumble of Kenshi's voice does something to stir up the pool of heat in his stomach that he thought had been long since gone after getting married to Cristal. Maybe if he hadn't tied Kenshi to one of his kitchen chairs, it'd be easier to ask him if kissing washed-up celebrities was something he'd be interested in doing.

"I'll put my hand out, you lean forward to match it."

Kenshi's palm is extended and it takes every ounce of willpower in Johnny's aching body to not press his lips against it. He leans forward until his cheek is lightly touching the yakuza's hand.

He must be hearing things, because he swears he hears Kenshi's breath hitch when they make contact for the first time. Nah, surely not. Must've been the wind.

If Kenshi's senses are heightened because of the loss of his vision, then Johnny's senses are heightened because of the gain of his touch. He purses his lips together to stop from letting out some sort of obscene sound as he feels Kenshi's hand slowly smooth over his cheek. He thanks whatever fucked up Gods exist other than Liu Kang that he finally got on that moisturizing routine that he learned off of TikTok three months ago.

As Kenshi's hand slowly feels out every angle and curve of Johnny's face, his thoughts rush a mile a minute. He wonders if he should've done a closer shave today - maybe his stubble is gonna be too sharp and it'll hurt Kenshi and leave him with little cuts or rug burn on his pretty perfect wrap-around-my-throat-please hands. He wonders if his nose is too big. He wonders if he maybe should've invested in hair plugs after that one weird SNL dropout made a comment about his weird square hairline back when he guest starred on the Comedy Central roast of Megan Fox. He wonders if his eyes are too small or too large or too close together or too far apart. He wonders if he should smile so Kenshi can feel his dimples.

"Yep, it all feels just like how I remember it. Although the stubble has gotten a little longer."

That is certainly not the answer he was expecting to hear.

His voice is small, barely there, as he chokes out his question. "You remember what I look like?"

Kenshi nods. "I do."

Johnny goes to open his mouth to ask, "Then why did you ask to touch it if you already knew?"

But then Kenshi's fingers are on his lips, tracing them with the reverence he'd have holding Sento, and for a moment, Johnny finally thinks he's better than that stupid fucking sword. His smile has the same curves, the same edges. The only difference is that Kenshi can't accidentally hurt himself this way. (He can, however, accidentally hurt Johnny. But even that would be better than the alternative, he thinks.)

Kenshi's thumb is on his bottom lip, the rest of his hand now holding Johnny's chin. If he tilts it up even one degree, Johnny thinks it'll be over for him, that he'll be kissing Kenshi before he can even think to stop himself. He'd always had poor impulse control - why else would he have spent $3 million on a fucking sword to hang up in his living room?

"These are the same, too. I'm glad you weren't hurt in the fight, Cage."

Johnny feels so fucking overwhelmed. He wants to ask so many things. First of all, what does "these are the same, too" mean? Second, why does he care about the guy who bought his fucking family heirloom and refuses to give it back? Third, why does he insist on calling him Cage like one day he won't end up calling him Johnny and breaking his heart? Fourth, what in the goddamn fuck does he mean about Johnny's fucking lips being the goddamn motherfucking same?!

Johnny decides to play it up like he always does. "Well, 'course. Gotta keep my pretty mouth. It's what makes the big bucks. I wouldn't be the same without it."

Kenshi smirks, and thank Liu Kang's weird god siblings that he's blind right now, because Johnny is beet red, mouth agape, with his eyebrows raised (and he's fairly certain that something else also rises).

"That's true. You would not be the same without that infamous mouth." Kenshi accents the compliment(?) with a playful slap to Johnny's cheek, and then his hand is withdrawn entirely, leaving an empty ghost where he should still be holding Johnny's face in his hands.

He bites back the urge to immediately ask if Kenshi wants to know just how infamous the mouth is, and settles for clearing his throat and moving back to sitting against the wall next to Kenshi.

He looks over at him after he's gotten calmed down. His heart is still jackhammering against his ribs, but as long as Kenshi can't feel his pulse, he doesn't have to know. Kenshi seems to sense Johnny's eyes on him because he turns to face him, red blindfold all that stands between the gaping holes where Kenshi's eyes used to be and Johnny's gaze full of adoration.

The yakuza grabs Sento from his lap and hands it back to Johnny.

"Thank you. I appreciate you letting me hold it. And I appreciate your help in grounding me back to reality."

Johnny nods, taking Sento back and putting it where it so wrongfully deserves to be, strapped against Johnny's sore fucking back.

"No problem. Lemme know whenever you get the urge to feel out what an Adonis looks like, I'm happy to oblige." His comment is a means to an end. He plays up the egoism to ignore the shock that courses through him as Kenshi's fingertips touch his one last time.

He resolves then and there to give Sento back as soon as they escape from here, and they will escape.

This cannot be the last time he feels Kenshi's hands on him.

Baraka whispers, about as well as he can without lips or an inside voice, "Do they not realize how much they yearn for one another?"

Kung Lao shakes his head, putting a hand on Baraka's shoulder and immediately regretting it once he feels a spike tear into his palm. "They've just gotta be stupid about it for a bit longer. They'll figure it out."

"Surely their pining has to cause some sort of agony for you as well, does it not, Earthrealmer?" Baraka looks genuinely confused, or as close to it as he can get from what Kung Lao can tell.

Kung Lao hangs his head, sighing languidly. "Of course it does. But what else am I gonna do about it? Tell them? They're not gonna believe me. Trust me, they've got to figure it out on their own time, or they never will."

And as he sees Johnny's hand inch closer to Kenshi's, finally overlapping the tattoos and interlocking their fingers, Kung Lao thinks that maybe the agony won't last much longer.

[a-kaash-me-outside]

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭

♡ sure, he has a girlfriend, but she just isn't you ♡ (aka how hq men would react to you asking them how their gf would feel about what you're doing rn)

♡ featuring: ᴀᴋᴀᴀsʜɪ, ᴀᴛsᴜᴍᴜ, ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ, ᴛsᴜᴋɪsʜɪᴍᴀ cheating, nsfw mdni, afab reader she/her pronouns, individual tags for each~

♡ i will write a part two to this if people want it (send me an ask with a name and i'll do it, really, i swear), and maybe even if they don't because i'm obsessed with this concept fr. ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

♡ the song that inspired this entire thing (xxx) ♡ wrote this same vibe w atsumu but its a whole fic (xxx)

♡ akaashi ♡ 1 day // guilty fucking, just can't help himself

“f-fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this,” he tells you, voice not nearly are strong as you’re sure he means it to be. he pushes his hips forward again, sliding his cock slowly inside of you, thumb spreading your lips apart so that he can watch himself disappear inch by inch.

he’s nearly crumbling in front of you, fucking in and out of you, one word punctuating each thrust. “we… shouldn’t…. be… doing…. this….” his voice is just as shaky as his forearms bracing you.

his forehead falls against your shoulder, moaning into your soft skin. he presses kisses wherever he can reach, trailing up your collarbones to the sensitive areas of your neck and the underside of your jaw.

akaashi is really not the type of guy to cheat on his girlfriend, he swears. but he just couldn’t help himself. when the opportunity presented itself, he really had no other option.

not when you looked like that, sitting so pretty on his couch when she wouldn’t be back for the entire weekend. not when you smiled like that when he pushed your hair out of your face. not when he could convince himself that it really meant nothing. it couldn’t have, not when he’s thinking about her so much.

and then he kisses you, warm and breathy and sweet enough to give you a toothache. not a fucked out, gasping for air, desperate to touch you just to touch something, but one that gives you butterflies and makes you feel closer than his skin on yours

lips pressed against yours, meticulously thrusting into you so he can savor every second. he can barely breathe.

when he finally pulls away, looks you in the eyes, gaze confident and unwavering, and you let it slip past your slightly parted lips. “how would your girlfriend feel about it?”

it’s quiet and low, softer than the sounds of his moans or the obscene smack of his hips against the inside of your thighs. you watch the blush spread, up his chest and neck to the highs of his cheekbones, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter for a moment, speaking confidently now, but no less indulgent.

“she wont find out.”

♡ atsumu ♡ 8 months // little bit toxic ngl, blatant disregard for their partner

the first few times that you and atsumu slept together, there was remorse on both ends. over time, though, it just started getting easier to justify and to excuse. the two of you melded perfectly and the more nights you spent together, the better it got.

neither of you have felt bad about it in awhile.

“fuck me any softer and i’ll mistake you for my boyfriend or something,” you huff.

in fact, you both horribly go as far as to teasing each other at your own partner’s unknowing expense. you wrap your arms around atsumu’s neck, pulling him down until you’re able to press your nose into his shoulder, breathing softly against it.

“hey, no talking about your boyfriend. you know i get jealous,” he says, dragging his teeth against your collarbone cautiously so as not to make a mark. he doesn’t bring any attention to how his pace picks up, fucking into you faster as the insides of your thighs start to sting.

"yea?" you say, rolling your hips in time with his thrusts, "and what about your girlfriend?"

the scoff that erupts from his chest nor the thought of his girlfriend disrupt his rhythm. "you're the one that brought her up. what about her?" he asks, placing soft kisses against your chest where he can reach.

you shake your head, arm leaving his neck to cup his face in your hand, pull his eyes to yours, "not good enough."

he knows what you're looking for, can see it in the devilishly sweet smile on your face as your eyes scan his features. he almost wishes that his reason for hesitancy wasn't what it was. the pauses, the insufficient answers, he knows they aren't in the name or regret or guilt, they're just to tease you, to keep you waiting for the answer he knows you want. "she’s not here, we don’t have to worry about her," atsumu teases, leaning forward to kiss your lips this time.

you turn your head at the last second, let his gentle kiss press against your jaw instead as you repeat yourself, "not good enough."

he sighs, faux and dramatic, reaches his fingers over to nudge your face back towards him once more. when he leans down again, his tender grasp on your chin begs you to stay put. you lean up towards him as much as you can to meet his kiss. when he pulls away, his forehead is still pressed against yours, sentence is murmured against your lips, "well, it’s no competition, really, between the two of you."

"yea?" you ask again, core fluttering, tightening as your walls grip him desperately. "only one of us has your heart, right, tsumu?"

"fuck," he says, hips stuttering as he nods, "fuck, that's right, baby."

♡ bokuto ♡ 2 weeks // super desperate, only somewhat guilty

“god, when do i get to see you again?” he asks, all teeth and tongue and desperate, throaty pleas against your chest. his hands are just as frantic as his facial expression, roaming over every part of you without rooting once.

he isn’t even inside of you yet, and he's already looking forward to next time.

it was supposed to just be a one night thing, you and him. and if it was one night out, complete mistake, he could’ve explained it with alcohol or a lapse in judgement. but that was 2 weeks ago.

because no one told him how much he’d be craving you every single fucking night after that. no one told him how much he'd remember your touch and the weight of the backs of your thighs on his hips and how pretty you sounded and how soft your skin was and how fucking tight you were.

no one told him that he'd need to see you 5 times in those two weeks, like you were his new obsession that would quickly turn into a bad habit.

you’ve kept quiet about it, the fact that you knew he had a girlfriend in the first place. you've honestly just been enjoying yourself, skating around the topic or deliberately avoiding it, fearful that if you mention it he’ll run.

you don't really know where it comes from. truthfully, it just slips out because it's on your mind, because he asks you as if it's not on his mind at all, "how does your girlfriend feel about it?"

he stops for a second, movements ceasing, facial expression thoughtful, only constant his chest rising and falling at the same pace as before. you're convinced, all at once, that your fun is over, that tonight won't go as planned, maybe you should've at least waited until you were finished.

his response is softer, more contemplative than the desperation fueled plea before, "how do you feel about it?"

you can't help but laugh, eyebrows furrowed, "i- i mean? fine, yeah, i don't," you take a deep breath, mentally flinching at how horrible it is before it even comes out of your mouth, "i don't really care. i'm having a good time."

his hands are back on your body, assured and quick, leaning down to place kisses against your chest and shoulders once again. "good, so when can i see you again?"

♡ tsukishima ♡ 4 months // tsukishima is an asshole, toxic and blamey, degrading almost, hot

“stay just like that,” he orders, arms crossed over one another, each of his hands on your opposite hips as he holds you still. no hand to guide his throbbing cock, he lets it slip between your lips a few times, missing your sloppy, drenched hole, grinding against your puffy lips. it feels like he’s almost missing on purpose, just loving the feeling of his length dragging across your messy pussy.

when he pushes inside of you, he does so slowly but forcefully, rolls his hips and thrusts his cock as deep as it’ll fucking go.

“fuck, you’re so goddamn tight, perfect for my cock,” he mutters aimlessly. you’re half convinced it’s just instinct, no purpose other than he couldn’t not let the words slip.

“how would your girlfriend feel about that?”

he is so ready with a comeback, it almost feels like he’s been waiting for this for your entire affair. you’ve never brought up his girlfriend before. too timid to say it aloud or afraid it would result in him leaving, it didn’t really matter.

over the last couple months, you’ve grown to know tsukishima pretty well, have learned to roll with the punches and throw a few right back at him and he’s so focused now, not too much attention on you, or at least not in that way, and as much as you want to chalk it up to an accident or slip of the tongue, you both know how deliberate it is

“aren't you just as much to blame as i am?” he retorts, not slowing or missing a beat, digging his fingers into your hips harsher, pulling you onto his cock harsher.

you open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off.

“i think it’s pretty much your fault, actually, looking like that and expecting me not to want you on the spot,” tsukishima mutters, can barely get it out with his smile turning into a smirk.

he wraps his fingers around your shoulder, other hand around your forearm and guides you up towards him, back pressed against his chest, head craned to the side so you can see the devilish look in his eyes. uses gravity and your weight and the small thrusts upwards to fuck you like this and your protest is mashed between whimpers and affirming moans.

“not-” huff “not my fault,” you gasp, pushing off of the bed in time with his movements until only the tip is inside of you and then falling completely seated onto his thick cock. “she’s not my girlfriend,” you reason.

there’s still no hesitation, fingers clenched onto your jaw to force eye contact as he speaks, “but you know about her, right? doesn’t that make you just as bad as me?” he grunts as he buries himself inside of you, teeth sinking into your shoulder. “maybe worse.”

it hits you softly and then all at once, this guilt. and then he starts fucking you harder, changes positions, moves both of your bodies until his weight is on your back, your chest pressed into the mattress as he fucks into you, hand around your throat and waist holding you tightly in place. it’s harder. and it’s faster. and it’s better than you’ve ever been fucked before, even than the other times you’ve been fucked by tsukishima. you’re clenching around him, stomach tense, and breath bare.

and then it’s gone again. you don’t even remember her name.

[weebsinstash]

hi! I cannot understand Val’s personality at all, and you’re my favorite writer for him, so I was wondering if you could tell me how he’d react in a situation where his darling is being harassed at a bar he’s not at? Like darling obviously has a tracker on their phone and they know it, but they also can’t leave the bar because that risks them getting kidnapped

maybe Val has already started calling them and leaving voicemails because they no showed, so you know that if you don’t call him and have an immediate reason for not responding you’ll probably be in for a very painful night, so you tell whoever is harassing you that you need to go into the bathroom, and it’s very obvious that they followed you but aren’t in the bathroom, so you just take out your phone and finally answer one of Val’s calls, and you make it obvious your crying, but you also hold the phone away from you so it doesn’t seem like you want Val to know your crying.

after that I’m kinda stuck on how he’d react, but if you’d rather not add to this it’s fine, this was part me wanting a response and part me wanting to tell someone my ideas

If it makes you feel better I also find Val's personality to be levels of inconsistent however I kinda interpret it being inconsistent because he's um an extremely emotional person and also an alcoholic addict and he's constantly pinballing between "oooo this will make me money" to "oh you've pissed me off PERSONALLY therefore I will rain fire upon you", like we have several instances of Valentino potentially sabotaging his business for kicks and Vox has had to reign him back in, and he still gives Angel actual fucking black eyes even when there's still filming, he doesn't even care about not leaving marks since everything will heal eventually

I feeeeeeeel like... it really depends on how his darling grovels to him and explains what is happening. You ditched him, you're out at a bar, you were ignoring his calls, and now you're telling him you're with another man. An abusive man would usually automatically assume "oh you're in a bar? Fucking slut trying to find other men, this is what you fucking get" but since we're having, you know. The Yandere Talk, I feeeeeel like.... it goes one of a few ways

One is he's absolutely pissed in general, at you, at the guy, just misfiring rage and snapping. You're bawling ti try and explain your situation and he snaps he can barely understand you because he can't regulate his anger and, it isn't INHERENTLY being mad at you, he's mad he can't understand you, but he's horrible at communicating that, so he shows up to rescue you and (unintentionally) has you trembling in fear of him because he's speaking to you like "where the fuck are you hurt?! Show me? Ugh, this bruise is huge, it's so fucking ugly, UGH-" and he's like not blaming you but is being so terrifying about it that, you're pretty convinced you'll be hit by him at any moment and maybe it would be you FLINCHING HARD at a sudden movement of his for him to, finally take a second to begrudgingly take a few deep breaths and his tone finally softens and he can stop freaking you out even more than you already are

Option 2 I see is that you answer the phone when he's in the 'love' of the love and the hate he switches between, so you catch him in the middle of one of his "baby you know I care so much about you, it just makes me a little wild when you leave me waiting" sort of voicemails. You finally pick up and you get this slightly catty "ohhhhh, look who it is,you remembered how to answer your phone! I missed you" and the second he can tell you're crying, you're just like, hearing all this stuff in the background and he sounds like he's been drinking but when is he ever NOT drinking "awwww, baby no, that's terrible! *heels clicking wayyy to fast for him to not be literally power walking his stiletto ass somewhere* I'm sure Daddy will be able to get everything sorted out *car door slams* and I'll show this lowlife fucking freak exactly what he deserves *moves the phone away from his mouth to HOLLER at his driver to 'get a fucking move on or I'll fucking kill you'* so don't you worry, ok baby? ❤️ make sure you stay on the phone with me, mhm? *click click click of him loading bullets into a magazine* so what's this motherfucker look like, he's uglier than me, right--"

And then I guess another unique outcome would be uh. You pick up the phone and he's just instantly shouting screaming fuming at you so much that he's like screaming for a few solid minutes before he's finally like "are you even gonna say anything you dumb whore?!" and that's when he finally hears your voice but it's not even your voice, it's your breathing, like you can barely even get any air out, like you're having a panic attack, you can barely even raise the volume of your voice above a whisper and your voice just keeps cracking and shaking, "v val" and like, the very first SYLLABLE out of your mouth he knows something is BIG WRONG because you sound TERRIFIED and you can barely even speak, "some-someone's outside the bathroom.... he says he'll hurt me... I don't know what to do....!" and like that's it. It takes Val from 100 to 0 real fast. He goes from "if you're not on your way home in five fucking minutes-" to "what did you just say" and he's completely quiet as you're like struggling to speak, "i-i'm in-in a stall, but he's... OUTSIDE.... WAITING..." and you just sob with a hand over your mouth but he can still hear it and he's already on his way

Do you think Val knows how to fight and I mean like BRAWL. Valentino's still on the phone with you and he can barely even hear you and he suddenly hears the man's voice, he's come INTO the bathroom now, he's OUTSIDE your stall, antagonizing you, scaring you, grabbing the top of the door and shaking it like it's nothing. You're SCREAMING because you're in A FUCKING STALL and he could either rip the hinges off or just like COME UNDER OR OVER and then you're done for so you're like TERRIFIED WAILING I mean shrieking like a murder victim because oh god oh god oh god you're gonna double die--- and you just hear the door to the bathroom get kicked open and the guy is just like RIPPED away from your stall and CHAOS follows. You hear all these thudding, smashing, crashing, breaking sounds and when you finally hear nothing but Val's voice telling you to come out he's just standing there covered in blood and the dude is on the floor with his face an unrecognizable SLUDGE because Val grabbed him by the back of the neck and slammed his face into the edge of the sink until it was knocking teeth out of his mouth. Valentino is over here, reaching for you looking like that scene from The Witch of Mercury

Except unlike in Mercury you're like, only temporarily in stunned silence before you're like, RUSHING to be held by him because you're just scared and bawling and he SAVED YOU and you're so happy you didnt get hurt. Like the duality of him touching you to comfort you but probably getting blood on you maybe even ALL OVER YOU because he's just touching you that much and you're clinging to him that much

I feel like there are times where Val may intentionally NOT save you to use it as some sort of punishment/lesson to manipulate you with later but I feel like the ways in which he would knowingly allow his darling to be hurt are nuanced and contextual. He'd pay a guy to mug you and rough you up to teach you a lesson about leaving the studio on your own, or set up a fake kidnapping, but you come back into the studio ACTUALLY hurt? Stabbed, limping, whatever? He's furious. No one gets to hurt you. Everyone in this entire fucking circle of Hell should know who you belong to by this point and if they're hurting you, they're disrespecting HIM

..... and also you're his cute widdle baby and he doesn't want his boo getting hurt, at least not in a non fun non sexy way 🥺❤️ see sweetie, this is exactly why you should listen to him at all times and never argue with him on anything ❤️

[brucewaynehater101]

How the Bats argue against Jason's murder in fics

Now, Jason's murders vary in fics on a spectrum. There's murderous killing even common goons up to only those folks who are repeat, violent offenders that are not able to be contained/do their time (whether due to a corrupt system or them escaping).

We are gonna chat about the second one [in simple terms, Jason being particular and only killing the really evil bastards].

Side note, this is neither arguing for or against Jason's methods. This addresses how Jason may relinquish killing in fics in a more realistic manner than simply because he was told to or he wants to make amends

I've seen the Bats arguing shit like:

"Murder is wrong"

"This is not how we operate"

"We are not judge, jury, and executioner"

"This makes you a villain/evil/a murderer"

These arguments, frankly, are shit. This should not convince Jason to stop. Red Hood is killing from a logical-based moral standpoint (by neutralizing the threat permanently, he is saving inevitable future victims). Jason believes his option is frowned upon, but ultimately the right path. It's a "I'm doing what's necessary even if it damns me" mindset.

Arguing it's wrong will simply make him scoff or laugh. He knows the Bats don't like it, and he know they find it morally reprehensible. He still finds his actions to be necessary.

Jason isn't a child that needs to be told "right" and "wrong." He simply has a different moral code. Instead, these arguments in a fic serve as a reflection on the Bat that makes those statements.

This is not a diss to anyone's religion, but a similar comparison is to folks who base their moral code on holy texts and then try to tell other people what's "right" or "wrong" based on what their scripture says. If the other person doesn't have the same religion, you simply can not make moral arguments based on texts they don't believe in... Cause that writing has no weight to them. You would need to argue why something is "wrong" without resorting to: because [] says so.

By only declaring it as wrong, all that Bat is doing is showcasing their inability to communicate/be morally flexible. They are showing an unwillingness to acknowledge Jason's points or try to engage in counterpoints to convince him. These arguments usually predate the Bats trying to force Jason to stop killing instead of allowing him to make the choice for himself.

That is a perfectly fantastic fic idea to explore, but this wouldn't persuade Jason to change his ways. In fact, it may make him dig his heels into his methods more.

For arguments to sway Jason's opinion on how to pursue justice:

There is no oversight for Jason's murders

Cops enforce with killing (regardless of how you feel about the truth of this statement, Jason would hate this comparison)

Killing takes away chances for reformation

The threat of death causes false confessions/fear-based responses

Unclear standards on killing leads to innocents fearing Red Hood and not feeling safe

Escalation can occur (especially in fucking Gotham) when people feel their lives are threatened

Killing takes a mental strain and is thus harmful to Jason

Death is permanent and they can't suffer

There is no remedy for human error if they are dead

I'm sure there's more, but these are starting points to stop Jason's murders or ween him off of it [such as requiring Babs or Tim or Dick or Steph or the Outlaws or fucking Alfred to double check Jason's work before the execution].

Once again, I am not claiming any of these reasons are "correct" or that Jason's way is "incorrect." This is how a certain dynamic may be influenced by various conversation paths

[ohtobeleah]

Secret Sacrifices // Jake Seresin

Chapter Three: [The Grocery Affirmation]

Summary: When Sunday rolls around, Jake is chuffed to run into a ‘Damsel’ on his running route.

Warnings: Mentions of death, mentions of depression, anxiety, panic attacks. Mild romance. Angst/Whump.

Word Count: 3.3k

Author Note: EEPPPP I’m back queens!! The serotonin is doing the lords work. Really want to try and stick to a regular posting scene if I can get the routine in place. Been thinking about this one for a while now.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

There’s a saying that goes around hospitals that reads a little something like this. Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. But there’s understandable doubt that the person who coined the saying ever went through a major surgery or trauma. 

Or maybe they didn’t mean physical pain. Perhaps they meant the other kind, the worst kind. Maybe they meant the kind of searing, seething, boiling pain that tells you you’re a failure as a mother and a fraud of a wife. 

Suffering is optional……That person didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about. It's all-consuming. The day-to-day struggle of living through hell all the while those who you loved unconditionally, were taken away in such horrific and volatile circumstances. The ever-burning pressure of survivor's guilt, the searing pain of grief, and the utter turmoil of failure all adds up. 

Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. Yeah right. Suffering isn't optional, it was forced upon you in a split-second that changed the course of your life as you knew it…..and wanted it to be. 

Your deep and meaningful with Bob sat heavily inside your chest. Could you trust him? Was it fair to burden him with such a huge secret? Did you put him in danger by letting him in? Would he tell anyone? But as you opened the boot of your car and sighed at the haphazardly thrown-in grocery bags, a small sense of normality took the space of the pressing questions inside your mind. 

The groceries were heavier than normal, either you were getting weaker or you had just decided to purchase more impulse buys than normal. The paper bag handles were surely going to cut off the circulation in your arms as you were adamant to one trip this. From the undercover carport, up the three flights of stairs, down the hall and to the right, that's where your hideaway was. You'd say home, but home is where the heart is. Your heart was ripped from your chest when you watched your son’s life drain from his eyes. Your heart was shattered into a million pieces when you watched helplessly as your husband bled out in your arms. 

So no, no this wasn't a home for you, but it would have to do. 

Unbeknownst to you, Jake Seresin was en route, enjoying a rather peaceful run. Golden tan skin covered with a thin shine of sweat. The perfect combination for any workout. At a pace that matched A Man To Make Me Sweat, Jake made his way down the footpath that ran the expanse of the side street he knew your apartment complex to be on. 

Was the particular route Jake decided to take this morning one intertwined with the hope he would run into you? That's a question for another time. But when you came into view? Jake smiled to himself knowing that the other route passed Bradley’s condo wouldn't have been as eventful. Nor would it have such a beautiful view. 

The sight of you wrestling with a million groceries and effortlessly trying to convince yourself that you were fine, was a sight Jake could watch all morning. His stride started to slow but his heart rate kept rising. The thought of you, the sight of you, the idea of you being his and only his. Jake had never been the kind to want to settle down. He’d never been the man who committed to one person or one relationship. He was a free-floating spirit that enjoyed the company of others. But when he first saw you, first spoke to you, heard that laugh of yours, saw that beautiful smile, listened to your hypnotic voice, he knew he was fucked from the get-go.

On approach, Jake slowed right down to a walk. His eyes never left your silhouette as he reached into his pocket for his phone. Deciding to pause his music rather than just turn it down. Jake could have stayed like this forever, he could have watched you all day. But when he watched as the bottom of one of the paper bags blew out, sending groceries of all kinds across the drive and pathway, he knew he had to make himself known. 

“You need a hand?” Jake had never seen you look so scared in the time he’d known you as you turned around with wide eyes and a look of intense panic plastered across your face. He swore the tone he’d used had been one laced with a lighthearted approach. “Woah, didn’t mean to scare you half to death Brewer.” Jake followed up as he approached with caution, holding his hands up by his head to show surrender and peace.

“Jesus, you scared the hell out of me Seresin,” The adrenal glands, also known as suprarenal glands, are small, triangular-shaped glands located on top of both kidneys. Adrenal glands produce hormones that help regulate your metabolism, immune system, blood pressure, response to stress and in this particular instance, respond to one Jake ‘Hangman’ Sererin scaring whatever soul you had left from your being. 

In your fright, you had let go of more of the grocery bags you had been trying to gather up. Groceries were strewn across the driveway and subsequent footpath. Cans of chickpeas and packets of beef jerky littered the concrete as you held your left hand over your heart to make sure it wasn’t about to leap out of your chest. 

“Fucking idiot, don’t scare people like that, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

Jake chuckled to himself as a grin stretched itself across his smug face. Only you could call him an idiot in a scathing rage of fear and his mind would wander to marriage and children and dying together after a long and happy life together. Only you could provoke those once thought unattainable desires. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to give you a coronary,” Jake replied softly as he reached down to collect a few of your lost items. “Just saw you struggling a little and thought I’d stop and help a damsel in distress.” 

“Jake, have I ever given off damsel in distress vibes to you before?” It wasn't the fact that you weren't a damsel. Hell if someone, if anyone had been around when you and your family were being hunted, you would have run into the arms of the nearest bystander. But it was the fact you couldn't get close to Jake. You knew his intentions, you knew his feelings towards you were something more than just platonic. And the worst part of it all was you knew your feelings were also more than something you could pretend didn't exist. Right person, wrong time. 

“Not exactly, no,” Jake replied as he handed you a rogue can of chickpeas. 

“So why on God's green earth do you constantly feel the need to play my saving grace?” The proximity in which you and Jake stood was something bordering a breach of personal space. He stood so close that you could see the small beads of sweat dripping down his chest. Slowing as they caught on the fine chest hairs that littered the expanse of his tanned and muscular self. “And clearly you need more shirts if you feel like running around the neighbourhood topless is appropriate.” 

Jake chuckled at the unimpressed nature of his attire, but he knew deep down, deep deep down, you were looking. 

“One, I have plenty of shirts, and two, any excuse to talk to you is a good enough excuse for me, Brewer.” The very thought of Jake going about his day finding any excuse under the sun to talk to you nearly had you forgetting how to breathe. But it was a fleeting thought, you couldn’t go there. He didn't even know your real name. He wasn't your dead husband. Maybe all these mixed feelings were purely birthed from a desire to not feel so alone. 

As you took the can of chickpeas from Jake's hand, you shut him down with a kind-natured jab. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Don't I know it.” Jake replied with a wink and a smile that could light up the entire night's sky on its darkest of nights before bending over to collect more rouge groceries. Your eyebrow raised in question and concern. What the hell was he doing? 

“What are you doing?” The question was out before you knew what you were saying. It was probably pretty self-explanatory. But your brain wasn't computing Jake's actions. 

“What does it look like I'm doing?” Jake answered with a chuckle. “I'm helping you with your groceries.” You stood there in silence as you watched Jake collect the groceries, wondering what you did to deserve such kindness. 

“I said I didn't need help.” You reminded Jake of the conversation you just had. It had seemed to slip his mind. In one ear and out the other. Attention deficit disorder. 

“No,” Jake stood tall, still sweating from his run. Glistening in the mid-morning sun. “You said you weren't a damsel, that didn’t imply I wasn't a gentleman raised by a woman who’d kick my ass if I didn't stay to help you.” 

“You’re a gentleman?” You had never known another version of Jake Seresin than what he had shown you. To everyone else, he was an arrogant, self-obsessed, egomaniacal who didn’t play well with other aviators who cared more about his abs than he did his friends. He was Hangman. 

But to you? He was simply Jake. Bagman. 

“Only for you.” Jake pressed his lips together in a fine line as he smiled. Your eyes caught Jakes in the morning light, golden and warm as dew drops disappeared from blades of grass and birds sang. The way he looked at you, the way Jake paid way too much attention, the way his eyes trailed down from your eyes to your lips as your fingers touched his. You saw him leaning in, you saw the distance getting smaller and smaller. For a split second, for a small fragment of time, you weren’t going to stop him. 

The silence that lingered wasn’t awkward, but it was intense. The unintentional sexual tension got the better of you as you stepped back and let out a rather large sigh. You had to break the moment, you couldn’t let Jake kiss you. If he kissed you now, you wouldn’t be able to keep a friendly distance. It broke the enchantment as Jake cleared his throat and stepped away. 

“Thanks–” 

“Anytime.” Jake, forever the gentleman, continued to help you collect your groceries and followed you back to your apartment in passive silence. Neither awkward or volatile. It was just peaceful, enjoying the company of one another. 

“You know when I asked what we were doing today I didn’t have unpacking groceries in mind.” Jake teased as he looked around your home, still holding as many broken bags of groceries as he could. “Nice place you’ve got here Brewer.” Jake, for as many times as he’d gotten to the front door of your humble abode, from all the times he’d taken you home or picked you up, he’d never crossed the threshold until this very moment. 

“I told you that I was doing a Sunday reset.” You raised your brow at him as you placed some bags down on the kitchen island, letting out a dramatic sigh. “I didn’t finish till early this morning, Bob actually stayed back and helped me get the last of the stragglers out.” You explained as Jake looked around your home from where he stood across from you at the kitchen bench. 

“Do you uh–” Jake asked softly as he caught the sight of a single photograph hanging by the hallway. A little boy sitting on your lap, dark hair, darkish skin, deep brown eyes, smiling ear to ear. It looked like you were tickling his side to get the very reaction captured in the image. “Need any help today?” Who was that little boy? Did you have a son? A nephew? 

You could tell by Jake's tone that he had seen something he wasn't technically supposed to see, but you weren't sure what it had been. 

“I should be good, not that I don’t enjoy your company, it's just I need some alone time,” You saw the questions swirling in Jake's eyes, but before he could ask any of them you followed up. “You know, because I spend so much of my time at the Hard Deck if I don’t take this time to focus on me, I can’t focus on you guys.” 

“Right, well I best be getting back to it then.” Jake pressed his lips together as he thought about what his next move was going to be. He had one of two options here. The first being he could walk away right this second without embarrassing himself. He could say goodbye and try to forget about to picture he’d seen of you with the small smiling child. The second and probably the most erratic choice was to lean in and kiss the lips that Jake had thought about late at night and first daylight for the last few months. He could hold your cheeks between his palms and rub the heat across your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. He could feel your tongue dance with his in the moment where time would stand completely still–allowing Jake to feel for once in his life, fulfilled. 

“Yeah–” You replied as you moved a little closer to where Jake stood, moving to usher him back to the front door. “I’m sorry that my attempt to one trip it from the car interrupted–- “ What you weren’t expecting in the middle of your apology was to feel Jake’s lips on yours. The feeling took your breath away. For a fleeting moment, you gave into temptation and closed your eyes. You melted into the physical sensation of another human’s lips on yours. You craved this feeling, one of complete silence in the echoing caves of grief. You allowed yourself to feel the tender touch of Jake’s gentle lips melting with yours as you deepened the kiss. Moving along as Jake pressed your back into the cupboard behind you. His hand fell to your waist as you cupped at his cheeks. Desperately trying to feel every inch of Jake that you could before your mind was to overthrow your heart’s deepest desire for love and admiration. 

“Brewer–” Jake sighed into your mouth as his tongue danced with yours. His hands squeezed at your hips, adoring every curve. Jake could stay in this moment forever if you let him. But as you began to trail your hands down the expanse of Jake’s exposed torso, your brain broke from its restraints with a rude awakening. 

“This is what you get for being a noise fucking bitch!” 

The flash was blinding as the image of the smallest man who ever lived yelled out as he was being placed in the back of the police car. The man who killed your family. 

“Stop!” You gasped as you pushed at Jake’s chest. The look of uncertainty immediately plastered itself across his flushed face. His heartbrokenly beautifully forbidden face. 

“You alright?” Jake questioned with concern as his wide eyes scanned your face for signs of anything wrong. “Did I do something?” He was worried he’d crossed the line, you’d told him so many times you weren't interested. That he was reading into whatever this was, wrong. But he never really listened. He thought the chase was a part of whatever the two of you were becoming. 

“No,” You reassured Jake as you tried to contain the panic rising in your chest. “No it's not that you did anything,” You tried to explain as Jake's eyes softened. “It’s just, I’m–I’m not ready for this.” 

“Is there even a ‘this?” Jake asked as he stepped forward once again. Pushing the boundaries almost immediately. “Just spell it out to me simply, yes or no Brewer.” 

The silence as Jake tucked some of your hair behind your ear was deafening and all-consuming. Your eyes never left his as you tried to find the right answer. The moral answer. The safest and clearly the right choice. No, the answer was no. Nothing was going on between you, you weren't ready for whatever came next. You weren't ready to move on. You weren't ready to expose someone, let alone Jake, to what could possibly be death for just the idea of knowing you. It was a hard no with a capital N and a full stop. One word. Just one. 

“Yes–” *Fuck* “But I just need time, I'm not ready for–” You were trying so hard to find the right words as small tears welled in your water line. “I need to sort a few things out before I can do this, if you don't mind just going real slow, like slower than this?” 

You saw the cogs turning in Jake's mind as a smile ear to ear took over his face. 

“I'll do whatever you want me to, just say the words.” Knowing that you really just wanted the day to yourself, Jake tried his best to effortlessly and as seamlessly as possible, tiptoe his way back to the first choice he had. “I uh–I hope you have a good reset.” 

You could tell Jake really wanted to stay, you could tell he was hanging out for you to change your mind. But you weren't about to, if anything you needed Jake out of your home before he saw anything else he wasn't supposed to see or do anything else you knew you weren't supposed to be doing. No matter how good it felt. 

“I hope the run doesn’t involve any more damsels,” You chuckled softly as you nudged Jake with your shoulder. “Guess you finally did earn the nickname ‘Bagman’ after all,” You chuckled again as Jake did too, nodding along in agreement. “Thanks again for helping me with my groceries, Seresin, I really appreciate it.” 

“Anytime–” Jake cooed as he smiled, heading back towards the front door with you. “See you for beer o’clock tomorrow?” 

“Oh, I'll be there.” You replied as you held the front door open for Jake. watching as he headed on down the hall and out of site. As soon as Jake was gone you shut the door tight, making sure it was locked but the three separate safety measures you had in place, before turning and sliding your back down the door until you hit the ground. “Oh my–” 

You couldn’t stop yourself from panicking as you curled your knees tight into your chest. Jake seresin, in your fucking house. KISSING YOU. What the fuck were you doing? You couldn't let your feelings get the better of you. You had a son to avenge, a husband to get justice for. It was bad enough that you'd slipped up and let Bob in on your situation, but you were clearly allowing Jake to get too close. 

As you tried to calm yourself down from the panic, your phone rang softly in the distance. Back up on the kitchen bench, your phone displayed a name you never liked hearing from. It was mandatory though, the check-ins, the updates, the constant “We’re making progress but can't tell you anything more than that.” 

As you peeled yourself from the floor you saw the name. The dreaded contact that made your heart drop every single time. With every call the memories that haunted you grew more and more real. The veil between reality and memory blurs to the point you aren’t sure what’s real and what’s the past. It all hurts the same though, internal suffering. The name that kept bringing it all back, time and time again. Year after year. Never allowing old wounds to heal. 

Roger. 

Suffering is optional……That person didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

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[serxinns]

I GOT AN IMAGINE JUST HEAR ME OUT

Ok, so you know this post? Made by @lets-get-kraken-boys I wanted to make an image of another reason why readers went to the big 3 for comfort and help HEAR ME OUT

So imagine one day you weren't in a good mood and didn't wanna deal with your classmates today but their overbearing behavior towards you was just making it worse

"C'mon y/n just one more game!" Mina said while pulling your arm rather strong "Mina I said no please leave me alone I don't feel like it "But it'll be so much fun!" Hakagure said while pulling your arm you "I said NO" you yelled pulling away from hakagures grip harshly and walked away the 2 girls stood there in shock and hurt a bit are u ok? were you hurt!

"Y/n why aren't you coming to eat dinner with us is everything OK?" You groaned just wanting to be left alone and eat in your room but were interrupted by your class rep iida knocking on the door every second you didn't respond "Yes iida I'm fine I just wanted to eat alone" you said not wanting to sound annoyed to make iida leave "but all your friends are worried and want you to be there even Mina and hakagure said you were in a bad mood so-" "I'm fine iida you can go now I don't want to eat dinner with you, especially with all of you today goodbye"

Iida was shocked at your behavior and response you were usually the one who never gets angry or upset which made him more nervous than before he had to go in there and help you out! "No y/n there's Cleary something wrong! You can talk to me ill listen" Iida began banging on your door which made you more overwhelmed and pissed so without any hesitation "I DONT NEED HELP LEAVE ME ALONE YOURE MAKING IT WORSE" You threw a heavy book at the door which surprise Iida as he backed up, defeated he went slowly went back to the dinner table the class looked at him confused and ask how were you doing but he didn't answer just looked down

You just got back from the convenience store to get some snacks Lucky for you they got your favorite snack and brand all at a cheap price with a drink in hand but unfortunately for you, there were some of your classmates were in the common room and it and even worse it was bakugo and his gang watching a movie you quietly tried to sneak pass with all your might trying not to make a sound, it was all going smoothly until bakugo saw your shadow figure "Oi! Fuckface!" You mentally cursed at yourself you just had to encounter the person you didn't wanna deal with today, the infamous Bakugo Katsuki.

"what do you want im not really In the mood to deal with your Bullshit" At the moment you just keep walking ignoring him for the best but it wasn't the best option for Bakugo "Oi don't ignore me!" He was now off the couch "Bakubro that isn't very manly" Kirishima sternly said while but Bakugo scoff "Fuck off shifty hair, hey why aren't you joining us for a movie what are you scared?" He said teasingly like he was trying to taut you "Bakugo I'm not in the mood for your Bullshit today so please just leave me alone" You once again turned away and began to walk to your dorm until a strong hand grabbed you and yanked you

"Ha!? What do you mean you're not in the mood jeez are you ready to cry or something because of my comments why are you even trying to be a hero if your feelings get hurt so easily!?" Now he was pushing it, your hand was gripping the plastic bags Hard now shaking... tears threatening to swell up "Bakugo that's enough! You're making it worse! it's okay sweetie" Mina said hugging you even tho you tried to push her off but she kept insisting trying to hold on to you to the point it was suffocating was rather discomforting

"Aw, now you need an alien to hug you, wow you're really that weak I can already see the tears haha! If your gonna be a hero your gonna have to suck it u-" "SHUT UP"

*thud*

You breathe heavily seeing your blonde classmate, butt on the floor, stunned holding his bloody nose but you weren't done you tackle him, pinned his arms down with your legs, and decided to punch him repeatedly "YOU THINK *thud* YOUR SO BETTER THEN ME *thud* ALWAYS TOSSING ME AROUND LIKE SOME STUPID TOY *thud* MAKING COMMENTS ABOUT HOW I LOOK *thud* ABOUT HOW I FIGHT *thud* ABOUT...ANYTHING* WHY *Thud* CANT*thud* YOU *thud* JUST *thud* LEAVE *thud* ME *thud* ALONE!! *thud* bakugo's face was already caked with blood and bruises and a black eye

Bakugo tried to pry you off telling you to stop but his face was so beaten up and his throat hurt from your punching it hurt for him to try, but you made her his arms were pinned, and all the anger, the frustration the memories the everything that happens to your life plus adrenaline was making you keep going

every single one of your classmates was screaming panicking, confused and begging to calm down, Kirishima tried to pull you off telling you thats enough but you used your quirk making him crash to the wall a bit causing a dent and him having a bloody nose, everyone watched in horror, shocked some even amused the girls mostly hakagure, Mina, and momo cried and begged desperately for you to stop they didn't want you to get more house arrest days or worse expelled, Iida managed to get out of his shocked and pry you off of him

It should've made Bakugo angry at you and PISSED even cause the great Bakugo katsuki was getting beaten by an "extra" like you but it strangely made him giddy...? Was he more determined to be the big bad wolf or Was he enjoying you berating and beating the absolute shit out of him, proving to everyone how insecure and stupid he was for underestimating you?

When Iida Finally pried you off of Bakugo you stood up ready to say even more stuff to him but you froze in shock, fear, and confusion a passed-out blonde caked with blood and bruises all over his face red and purplish spots forming on his cheeks his nose oozing out blood like a waterfall but fortunately no teeth have been knocked out you looked at your work in horror you slowly raised your hand shuddering seeing that it was full of bruises and blood and your clothes covered in blood his blood

Every classmate was looking at you it wasn't in hate nor disgust but pity, worry, and scared as much as they were worried about Bakugo they were worried about you more, Iida slowly tried to come to you to talk to you or to at least comfort you "y/n... I" before he could speak you ran pushing past your classmates not caring if they fell, Iida stood there in disbelief while Kirishima and Denki carefully grabbed bakugo by the shoulder escorting him to recovery girl

while the rest of your classmates were still in shock they wanted to go find you!! they do if they all talked about it nicely and you behave and force Bakugo to apologize then everything is ok!! They banged on your dorm room but you weren't there they searched all around the school the bathrooms, the halls everywhere but you weren't there!! where could their darling be!?

You crouched down in an empty hallway and managed to get some of your snacks you held the snack in hand still bloodied, you slowly took a bite out of it while a big glob of tears was finally released you were crying now like a fool, like you didn't just beat the shit out of your classmate, just when you were about to take another bite and just mope alone 3 familiar voices made you lift your head they ran up to you worriedly when they saw your bloody clothes and knuckles

The big 3 crouching down to your level Neijire on one side rubbing your back Tamaki giving you a handkerchief to blow your nose and dry your eyes and Mirio couching down at your level rubbing your shoulders giving you a smile

" What's wrong lovebug why all the tears," Neijire said looking sympathetic

[caeunot]

johnnie x reader

new years angst (18+)

PSA: the johnnie i'm going to write about is the fictional version we all have in our minds, we truly don't know how he actually is and it's good to make a balance to avoid any uneasy or parasocial feelings when writing about a real person.

it had been a very long night for everyone, new years party's obviously only actually get started at 12 so the night only truly ends early hours of the morning. johnnie was fast asleep on his bed, the sheets unmade as he lay on top in the full clothes from night before. as he lifted his head he felt all the drinking all the smoking all the talking from the night before rush straight to his head, like a heavy boulder he has to now carry for the next 12 hours. this isn't anything new to him but that doesn't make it any more fun to deal with.

he gets up and looks at himself in his mirror, scrunching his face as he notices how he still had his makeup on, though completely different from the way it had spread all across his face messily from lying on it. he turns on the tap and splashes himself with the cold water, waking him up but also somehow making his migraine worse.

as he starts getting changed into something comfortable he starts remembering the events from the night before, as if in pieces he has to puzzle together.

one thing that remains the most prominent in his memory is the countdown for midnight, he was excited. he had a plan. he wore his best outfit and put contour and primer on his face to make that days makeup extra fancy(he never really does that). he had been anticipating this moment the whole night, his eyes darted around looking for something specific. he squeezed past a few people pushing one slightly too hard making him have to awkwardly apologize which he hated doing. but at that moment it didn't phase him and neither did the flashing lights and the aggressive music playing a bit too loudly in the background. his mind was focused on one thing only. you

his plan was that at the moment it hit 12 he would kiss you, in his mind he decided this would be the best option since if you weren't into it he could pull it off saying it was a friend thing. he was absolutely too nervous to actually just ask you out since he personally feels you are quite out of his league. he hoped this would spark something between the two of you. so that he no longer has to look away when you laugh at his jokes because of the prominent blush that would always come up on his pale skin, or the way he had to hide his enthusiasm when you were around. he was absolutely infatuated with you.

who did you think zombie was about?

but as he finally caught his eye on you with seconds to spare he started jogging towards you but as he was about to approach you, you turn to jake cupping his face and leaning in for a deep kiss. he saw the way you smiled as jake held onto your waist. the way your kiss lasted longer than the others around the room. suddenly he jolted out of his mind as he hears a knock on his bathroom door.

fuck. he thinks to himself as he puts his hand sloppily through his hair in attempt to neaten it. "yes?" he says, still sounding half asleep.

"can I talk to you" you say, wait. you say? johnnie is confused. you don't live here, he just shares this place with jake..

fuck

he bites his lip before answering, "yeah uh just- just gimmie a min I just got up". " oh ok no problem! I'll be in the living room, take your time alright?" you say, he waits for your foot steps to sound lighter before he leans against the door and slides down to the floor, hands in his hair he curses. curses how he could so easily give someone his heart and so easily let them tear it apart, even without them knowing they did. love was fucked and he was tired and his migraine was getting worse and he just wanted everything to disappear, but as much as he would love to lock himself in the bathroom forever he was also curious what you had to say to him.

around 10 minutes later he emerges from the bathroom still rubbing his towel around his wet hair from his shower, he walks into the living room to see you scrolling on your phone and his heart immediately starts aching. before you noticed he was there he took full advantage of being able to admire you, you had no makeup on which johnnie had never seen before, but god you might look even better without it.

he admired the way your hair was slightly messed up and the way you were still in the clothes from the night before, that tight black dress that has a low v neck showing off your breasts which he realized he was obsessed with, even in a normal setting you made it work.

"so what's up?" he asks sitting down next to you on the couch. "wait first before anything can i ask you a massive favour..", "hit me" he says with a half smile, "well as u can see im still sorta in my dress from last night uh.. i maybe slept over here last night and my place is pretty far and i have a splitting headache, would it be cool if i stay at your guys place tonight too?"

"oh sure no problem we don't mind! but what about your clothes? im guessing u didn't pack any extra in that handbag of yours." you shuffle in your seat feeling a lil embarrassed, "that's my second favour.. could i borrow some of yours? well uhm not yours specifically but your the only one awake at the moment and i dont wana wake poor jake"

johnnie got a bit red imagining you in his clothes, but nonetheless lent you one of his hoodies and sweats which fit you perfectly. as you were getting changed he couldn't help when his mind slipped to the fact you never wore a bra with that dress, meaning you would be wearing one of his hoodies completely bra-less which turned him on much more than he would have hoped for, especially since the two of you agreed to go get something to eat after you get changed.

the car ride was very silent and it was freaking johnnie out a little, once you two have ordered your food and are started waiting you decide to break the silence, "if im being real, i got wayy too blasted last night like i honestly don't even remember talking to you.. at one point i wasn't even sure if you were there, but saying that i barely remember anyone i spoke to haha". johnnie lets out a small laugh, "dont worry abt not seeing me, im not a party guy i always end up lurking in the shadows like a vampire instead of making conversation." you turn your head to the window looking out at the sun as it melts like honey into the blue sky as it sets.

the two of you ended up eating in the car because you guys were so hungry. as you guys made it back inside the house you see jake facetiming someone on his phone, you sneak up behind him and shove him a little while going "BAH", which made him jump like a cartoon character. "fuck you y/n im on a call" "not my fault your a scaredy cat", "dude that's just wrong im braver than u and johnnie combined okay" you guys laugh and jake takes his call to his room, leaving you and johnnie alone again.

"i like how he didn't ask why im still here" you ask slumping onto the nearest couch. "i think you scared him too much that he stopped thinking for a sec" he said plonking himself next to you.

"you down to watch a movie?" you ask, "sure sounds good! i mean what else is there to do anyways". "perfect ill choose kay!! since im the guest i get privileges heh", "whatever makes u happy miss y/n" he says giving a genuine smile which made your heart race slightly.

the movie dragged on for johnnie, not that it was a bad movie but for the fact that he couldn't stop thinking about how close you guys sat next to each other, plus the way you were still wearing his clothes and how absolutely gorgeous you looked in them. all of a sudden you turned towards johnnie as he was staring at you by accident, the two of you sat there in silence for a little before you broke it

"uh johnnie can i be honest with you", "sure y/n, what's up". "well let me get straight to the point, by the time it hit new years.. did you see who i kissed?" johnnie tilted his head in confusion, "you kissed jake.. don't you remember?". "honestly i don't remember anything past 11pm.. when i said i was blasted i really meant blasted. well the reason im asking is because there was someone specific i wanted to kiss"

"oh really? and who was that". "it uhm was you"

johnnie felt his face start heating up and without thinking he immediately pulled your face in for a deep kiss, "johnnie.." you whisper as the kiss ended, his hands still on your face and the two of you close enough to where you could see all the pores on face and feel his cool breath against your lips.

he doesn't respond, even the kiss took him off guard and he initiated it! he realized that you reciprocated his kiss and that gave him enough motivation to lean in for another, this one was more sloppy and more intense. you two wanted each other badly and it was visible, as some tongue was slipped you climbed on top of johnnie and felt his bulge already from his thin pants. that turned you on even more and you accidentally let out a small moan.

you started to feel johnnies hands gently hold your waist from under the hoodie, you started to get a tingly feeling as he gently graced his hands higher and higher till he reached your boobs, he let out a small whimper as he gripped and played your breasts. you take your hands from his neck and instead use them to take off the hoodie itself giving him a full view of your boobs now making him gasp mid kiss.

you start grinding on him gently while taking his shirt off, once its off you slowly get off of him and pull down his pants, "are you sure?" he said shakily as he sat more forward on the couch preparing for what's coming, "you don't know how long I've wanted to do this, yes baby i'm sure" you say which made him go even redder and before you get on your knees you see him biting down an excited smile.

as you pull his boxers down you take your hand and gently rub it back and forth before taking your tongue and starting right at the base, giving a mix of wet kisses and licks as you slowly go higher and higher. when you finally get to the tip you hear a small whimper and you feel the top of your hair being grabbed desperately, you slowly put the tip fully inside your mouth moving it gently back and forth and going faster and faster deeper and deeper making his member twitch inside of his mouth and as you start hearing him moan deeply you realize he has already hit his climax and ends up finishing inside your mouth. when he was done you take your mouth off with a plop and immediately go back up to johnnies absolutely flustered face, you have never seen him look so submissive.

without hesitation you kiss him with his cum still inside your mouth, making a mess as it spills onto both of your chests.

johnnie sighs in delight "fuck y/n how did you do that" -when he knew exactly how :)

❣

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

two | chapter list

Finding out you're a princess isn't half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can't seem to stop flirting with you.

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au (sort of), all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance james isn't flirty this chapter i lied but he will be <3

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Sirius Black smells like winter. The deep fragrance of cranberries, pomegranate, maybe cinnamon. You aren't certain, and if he weren't currently an inch from your face, you'd ask him what it is. 

"You poor thing," he murmurs, dabbing very, very gently against the bruised skin of your cheek.

"It's not–" You hiss at sudden pressure. He immediately recedes. "It's not so bad,” you say weakly.

"I've half a mind to rag him around and take up the mantle myself." 

"I'd love to see that," Remus says.  

"I'd look good in the uniform, right?" 

James doesn't look happy at their joking but he's been nothing less than a grovelling puppy since last night, and he breaks his silence to say, "You don't have to wear any make-up if it's going to hurt." 

"Uh, yes she does. Imagine the headlines otherwise: Lost Princess Bruised Under the Imbecilic Watch of New Bodyguard," Sirius announces, sharing a not-so-private smile with Remus across the coffee table. 

"It doesn't hurt," you say to James. 

You're lying. Being smacked in the face with a door isn't just embarrassing, it really fucking hurts. James' biceps aren't for show, that's for sure. He'd swung open the door and you, having tripped seconds beforehand over the cord of your lamp, had been at the perfect height for it to bounce off the highest point of your cheek. 

"Princess," he says now, as he'd said last night, "I'm so sorry. I can’t believe I made such a huge mistake.”  

You think of his hands under your arms pulling you up into a standing position, and the way he'd tilted your head back. The barking order he'd given Frank to grab something to use as an ice pack, and the warmth of the pad of his thumb as it stroked the soft line of your jaw before you’d squirmed away. Crying all over your handsome bodyguard’s nice hands hadn't been something you'd pictured doing, not 12 hours after meeting him.

"It was a freak accident." You smile, careful not to push up your cheeks lest you invite another round of shooting pains. "Please don't feel bad. It's my fault for being up in the first place. I just couldn't sleep." 

"If you want anything for the pain, let me know," Remus says. 

"He has his own personal, extensive pharmacy," Sirius says. "You should take him up on it. I beg him every time we fly for some of the strong stuff and he never says yes. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity." 

"Let's not start on the co-codamols," James says. 

"I have ibuprofen," Remus placates. 

"I don't need anything, I promise." 

Some ibuprofen would be awesome, but you really don't want James to feel guilty. You want to forget it ever happened, embarrassed by both your idiocy and your tears, but the pain pangs white hot in your cheek.

"You want me to do your lips?" Sirius asks. 

"How do you mean?" 

Sirius pulls a metal palette of lip colours out of his small make up bag and shows them to you. He circles two with a disposable brush. "These would suit you. I wasn't sure about your complexion. Now I know, I'll get you more options when we're back in Genovia." 

"Oh, um…" You shake your head at him apologetically. "I don't know. You should do what you think is best." 

He puts the palette away. "You don't need anything you're unsure of. You don't need any makeup at all, darling, it only enhances what's already there." 

"Decide quickly. We have ten minutes before we leave," James says. "Princess, are you sure this is everything you want to take?" 

He taps your suitcase with the side of his shoe. You nod. 

"You can bring whatever you want. All of your things, if you like." He gestures to your bedroom. "Though we can get you anything you need, and we will, you're welcome to pack everything." 

"In a day, you'll know I'm not your princess. Less stuff to carry," you say. 

"You're so sure," Remus says. 

He speaks without timidity, laid back in your chair with an air of relaxation you wish you could master. He has a small mass market paperback tucked into one pocket of his jacket, the yellowed pages peeking over the hem, and his hand stuffed into the other. His pose doesn't speak of any arrogance. He looks happy to be here, and it puts you at ease. 

"Do I look like a princess?" you ask. You don't mean to put anyone on the spot —you aren't fishing for compliments— so you steamroll your own question. "I just find it strange. Surely I'd know. I would've known before, I mean." 

"Like a princess beacon?" Sirius asks. 

"No, but… I don't know. I think I'd feel it." 

Remus straightens a touch, grinning. "You look like him. The Prince. You have the same nose." 

Remus stands up before you can ask him to explain. James offers to take his bag and he shrugs away from James’ hand with an annoyed huff. 

To your surprise, James only smiles, cooing after him, "You know you love me, Moony." 

"Well," Sirius says, zipping his bag closed and clasping his hands on top of it. "You can always have your things sent for once we're home." 

Home for them. 

Truthfully, deep down, you want to be a princess. Something in you is aching, is ringing, a string plucked, a tuner reverberating. Finally, something is happening to you, even if that something is unbelievable.

You're not used to having people around and this entire process has been hard. Getting hit in the face had sucked. But, to have company? This single hour has been one of the best you've had in a really long time. Sirius is sweeter than you'd thought, sarcastic but kind-handed, and Remus' dry humour has caught you off guard enough to laugh aloud. Even James' grovelling niceties have been shamefully enjoyable. You can't remember the last time you had someone around who wanted to comfort you.

And that's exactly why you're afraid to admit what seems true. You can't be a princess, because if you are, you get to have this for a little while longer, and that would be too good to be true. 

Much, much too good. 

"Alright, let's go. Sirius, you have the keys?" 

Sirius swings his bag into James’ arms. “Am I driving?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

Another member of James’ security team meets you at your front door to help carry the bags downstairs and into the back of an SUV. You’ve never seen one in person. James won’t allow you to help and getting inside while they’re still packing the boot feels spoiled, so you stand at the corner with too many eyes on you. James stands beside you, one hand hovering at your shoulders to shield you, ridiculously, from the hedges, the other held aloft in level with his mouth, his fingers curled around a small radio. He’s enunciating clear, short instructions. He doesn’t sound as severe as you’d pictured someone in his occupation would sound. 

“What’s traffic like?” he asks. The answer buzzes down the line, inaudible to you but obviously understood by James. “Alright, brilliant. We should be on schedule, then. Is everyone on team three ready for action?”

You can make the next answer out. “Yep, they’re waiting. You want them at the front?”

“Please. I want everyone we have, ideally.”

“Isn’t that overkill?” Sirius shouts from the passenger seat of the car, bent over the handbrake to be heard. “All three teams? That’s twelve men. None of my sources hint at any leaks.”

“I’m being over cautious.” James smiles at you, so suddenly you smile back on instinct. “Security on call get paid either way. Might as well make them work for it.”

He ushers you into the back seat, a cushy leather bench fit for three people. Sirius is quick to pop a section behind his chair for you to unveil a drinks fridge. 

“Oh,” you breathe, legs lit and cooled by the light and the chilled air, “cool.”

“You’ll want to drink one before James assesses that they’re poisoned.”

You wince back. “Are they poisoned?”

“Probably not, darling girl. Why don’t we try them and find out?”

Sirius is a mixture of flirtatious and genuine that you can’t wrap your head around. He’s awfully handsome, too, which makes it worse: he’s tanned, his curls soft but shining, and he has the most perfect Roman nose you’ve ever seen. He’s almost as handsome as James. 

“Let me be very clear,” he says, turning in his seat to face you, “I’m not an intelligence agent. I don’t know nearly as much as sweet Jamie about security, but I have a lot of friends in high places and, as far as I’m aware, nobody outside of the British or Genovian government knows what we’re doing here. And nobody has reason to hurt you just yet.” He grins. “It’s James’ job to be paranoid, but that’s all it is.” 

You waver, and his cheerful smile fades. 

He lowers his voice, tone sympathetic. “I can really try one first if you’re worried.”

The driver’s door opens and James climbs in. “Try what?” he asks. He moves through a routine quickly of safety checks like a learning driver would. He rolls up the open window and turns in his seat, gaze flitting between you and Sirius suspiciously. “Everything okay?”

“I think the Princess is a little anxious about leaving the country,” Sirius says. 

“Yeah?” James asks, eyes back to the windshield. He turns the key, and the car warms to life with a low roar. 

“A little.” You nudge the fridge closed with your foot. 

“What was that?” James asks. “Is that a fridge? Do me a favour, don’t drink any of that. I'll get you whatever you want at the airport.”

“She can’t have a bottle of water from the fancy four by four but airport drinks are fine?” Sirius laughs. 

“Spike one fridge’s worth or the entire supply chain?” James asks. 

“What if this assassin is inefficient?”

“Assassin?” you ask. 

James glares at Sirius, their joking suddenly culled. "There are no assassins, Princess. He's being ridiculous." He looks to you with a smile. "You have everything?" 

Your sickly grimace has him giving pause. All fake smiles and dramatics fall away, and in its place is the genuineness you'd been met with last night. 

"Hypothetically," he says, "there are assassins. In reality, there absolutely are not. You're not in any danger, alright? Sirius is the master of badly timed jokes." 

"Okay," you say meekly. 

James nods and you buckle in, sitting back in the comfiest car seat you've ever been privy to as you turn your face to the window. You look up at your building, shrinking as the car starts to move. You drive further and further away, until you turn a corner, and your life is out of view. 

—

James is worried about you. As an acquaintance, he's starting to think you're a worrying person. There isn't a whole lot of spark behind your eyes —you rival Remus for number of tired smiles. 

He wonders why you hadn't packed any of your art supplies. Your room is teeming with them. Even if you're correct and you aren't a Genovian princess after all, there's still a day or more before they can actually confirm it. Factoring in travel time, you won't be home for at least a week. A week without your sketchbooks and paints and pencils. 

As your bodyguard, as a bodyguard, James has always taken concern in his charge's overall health, mental and physical. You don't seem ill, but you do seem unhappy. 

"Are you afraid of flying?" he asks, hoping that will explain your distance. He stands less than half a foot from you. He'll allow you some more space just as soon as you're not in an airport. 

"I'm not sure," you answer. 

Another peculiarity, you're a pathological liar. 

Okay, that's unfair. You aren't pathological. James is an excellent judge of character as his job requires. He's gotten good at profiling a person's motivations. Your motivation is to become the smallest version of yourself that you can be, any possible imposition set aside, such as your plain refusal of painkillers when your cheek can't not hurt.

"Is there something I can do? To help you feel better?" 

"Is that your job?" you ask, voice lilting upward with self-consciousness. 

"Kind of. You know, as soon as your paternity test is recognised, you could ask for just about anything. An assistant, as many assistants and attendants as you want. Your security will most certainly increase, especially when the Palace makes a statement." He notes your widening eyes and backtracks. "It's not really my job, but I wouldn't mind. If you think of anything, let me know." 

You hide your hands in the pockets of your hoodie. You're dressed as he advised, comfortably and nondescript. 

"Do you need anything from me?" you ask. 

He hides his surprise, his eyes doing another lap of the semi-private waiting room he's ushered you into. He takes in business men, officials, and diplomats for the tenth time in half an hour. 

"I don't need anything from you, Princess. Thank you." 

"I don't want to make your job any harder than it is." 

"You haven't." 

"That's not true," you murmur, bruised cheek angled toward the floor and away from view. 

"That was my fault, not yours," James says.

He remembers the heat of your tears running down his index finger. 

"That was my mistake," he reaffirms. 

You don't answer, but James knows it isn't an agreeable silence. Which is fine, he isn't trying to dominate your opinion, would never assume he had the right to police what you're feeling. He wants to reassure you more than he strictly should. 

This might be harder than I thought, he thinks. 

"The flight is near enough three hours. You're sure you don't want anything to take with you? If you're worried about dietary restrictions, there's a salad bar in the Mastercard lounge. I'm sure we can get someone to make you something up." 

"I'm fine… Will you be hungry?" 

He laughs. "You really don't understand the employee-employer dynamic, do you?" he asks, not unkindly. "You don't have to worry about me." 

He's teasing you. He knows he's done a good job when you lift your head. 

"I don't think you can talk about employee-employer dynamics," you say, flicking your eyes down to your cheek's bruise.

“Oh, nice! That was a quick one. We'll make a Genovian of you yet, they're all sarcastic." 

"They? You aren't Genovian?" 

"Do I look Genovian?" he asks, gesturing to his face. You splutter. "I'm messing with you. No, I'm not originally from Genovia, but my heart is hers." 

"You've always lived there?" 

"Since I was two." 

Your expression dims. It takes James a second to connect the dots. 

"There are plenty of people living in Genovia who aren't native. Remus is Welsh, can you tell? His accent hasn't quite survived it." 

"James, you and Remus, and Sirius, you've met before? You all seem familiar." 

"We went to the same boarding school. Well, we actually shared a room. We–" He feels heat washing across his face at his unprofessional phrasing. "We're best mates." 

"And you all get to be together," you say. 

"Yeah, we do. We're lucky. Before this, Remus was working as a royal tutor for the young elites, and Sirius was trying to micromanage Julianna. That's your cousin." 

"The Princess' cousin," you correct. 

"You brought us back together," he says without arguing. "You'll have to forgive me for hoping you are who they say you are." 

"Lily never really explained, how I- I mean, why they think it's me." 

"Well," he says, stepping closer to you still, and lowering his voice, "my assumption is that, because the Prince's passing was a freak accident, they hadn't really planned for a different successor."

"Well, what were they going to do? He'd pass on eventually." 

"I believe there were hopes he'd marry a Duchess." 

"And have a legitimate child." 

"Yes. You are, to the majority, a secret. The Prince would have been seventeen at the time of your conception, which is a royal scandal if I've ever heard one." 

"Seventeen?" you ask. 

"Lily didn't tell you any of this?" 

"Honestly, uh, she might have. I wasn't–” You clear your throat. "Wasn't really listening? I had a pretty bad migraine at the time, and I was tired?”

"You were overwhelmed with finding out that you're a princess." 

"That I might be a princess." 

"Sure. When they told me I might be Prince of Italy, I had the same reaction." 

You wrinkle your nose at him, the most forceful thing you've done in his presence. He laughs a storm, only tamping it down when he remembers he's a  professional. 

Soon, the boys return from their airport traipsing. Remus makes a comment on James' little smile, and he pretends to zip his lips closed when they both spot Sirius' probing glances. James moves your entourage to the aircraft then, not private but almost, and you board into first class seats, two per each side of the aisle and partitioned by a sheet of frosted plexiglass. 

You and James sit together. 

He doesn't subject you to conversation. He's technically working, and so while he relaxes into his seat and stretches out his tired legs, he doesn't completely forgo vigilance. 

You look around in awe for some time. Eyes widened just slightly, lips parted, you sit up and sneak glances at everything you can.

James knocks on the partition. “You want the fan? The heater?" 

"The fan, please,” you say, and he supposes you do look a bit warm around the collar.

He doesn't bother saying of course, or no worries, or no problem. He's a problem solver. If you're going to be under his watch, he's going to make it as easy on you as he can. That means letting you be thankful without shrugging it off. 

Your eyes close quickly. Your eyelashes flutter imperceptibly in the fans slow breeze, and your lips part as you fall into sleep. Last night's disruption had been hard on you no doubt.

James stands and eases sideways down the aisle to check on Remus and Sirius. Remus sits reading, while Sirius leans into his space, a magazine open but unread on his thighs.

"Anything for me to read?" James asks Remus. 

Remus knows exactly what James is up to. If he appreciates or abhors the extra attention is anyone's guess, until he digs through the bag at his feet and pulls out one of his Russian philosophy novels with a smirk. "This or the newspaper." 

James takes the worn paperback with a wry look of defeat and reaches over and across to Sirius head of curls, tugging one cruelly. 

Sirius looks up, but is only irritable when he notices that it had been James, and not his seatmate. 

"What?" Sirius demands. 

"Do you need anything?" 

"No. Quit mothering. And maybe get some rest?" 

"I can't."

"You most certainly can. Swap out with Frank, or Mickey or someone." 

James swaps out with Mickey. Mikkelson, please keep an eye on the entryway. Yes, boss. He returns, finding you weren’t as asleep as he'd thought. You look at him through lashes. You've gone soft, in little regard for your appearance, and he's glad for it. Watching you is like watching a spring stretched tall, and now you've finally snapped into yourself and deflated. 

"You alright?" he murmurs. 

You nod, and he sits, and when he doesn't get up you fall asleep again, like you'd been waiting for him to get back. You sleep for hours through turbulence, Sirius' roaring laughter, Remus' answering chuckles, and the flight attendant who scolds them. James wishes he could do the same, reading a mind-numbing forty pages of Russian literature densely translated and sipping on a glass of coke, the ache of an oncoming headache pinching behind his eyes. 

The hubbub doesn't wake you. The plane lands and you sleep on. 

James whispers your name quietly, louder when you fail to rouse. Finally, he gives in and squeezes your shoulder. Resting heat radiates through the fabric of your hoodie, your hair frizzy where it's rubbed against the seat behind you. 

You wake with a cough. "James?" 

"We're here, Princess, in Genovia." 

"That was," —you yawn, turning to hide your face so he can't see— "fast." 

You look like you might fall asleep again. His heart does an awful little flip, which he dutifully ignores.

"It was hours. You've slept the whole time. A good thing, huh?" He bends down until you're face to face, close enough to share your breath. "That bruise is getting worse. Remus will give you painkillers, and I'm gonna get you an ice pack as soon as we're off the plane." He squeezes your shoulder again. "Up. Come on." 

You nod and rub your eyes, stretching in your seat. He averts his gaze and stands as tall as he can, shoulders hunched to avoid clipping his head. Remus has made no efforts to move yet and Sirius is in the aisle, pulling their bags into his arms. 

"Are you alright, Moony?" James asks. 

Remus has gone ashen. 

"He has a migraine,” Sirius says quietly.

"Can you see okay?" James asks. 

Remus gets blurry, occluded vision when he gets these sudden migraines. He winces, hand over his eyes, and says, "Not really. Can I have your sunglasses?" 

"Yeah," James says, holding in the, of course you can, I'd genuinely die for you, that he wants to add. 

He slides his rucksack off of his shoulder and takes his sunglasses from the front pocket. He taps them into Remus' hand. 

"You'll have to touch up the Princess' bruise for me," Sirius says. 

James startles. "What?" 

"It's easy–" 

"I'll take Remus," James says. 

"You can both go do your jobs, I'll be fine," Remus mutters, flinching at an invisible, biting pain. 

"No," they both deny. 

Remus doubles over. 

"All you have to do is stipple it," Sirius whispers fervently.

"Sirius, I don't know what stippling is." 

"Dots of makeup. She knows what shade we chose. Here, take my bag. There's a clean brush." 

Remus hasn't always let them take care of him. His disabilities have made him the subject of disdain, pity, and misguided attention, which he has never, ever wanted, and he'd mistaken their friendship for lots of things at first. Nowadays, he accepts the help that he needs, help that his friend's are happy to give, and disregards their smothering overkill otherwise. That being said, Remus has always found it easier to accept help from Sirius than James. They all know it and none of them bother saying why that is aloud. James leaves him to it.

James ushers you back into your seat where you'd been standing tentatively in the aisle and presents the little make up bag. He kneels in front of you. 

"I'll get the painkillers," he says, remembering his earlier promise, "Sirius is preoccupied, so you're stuck with me on touch ups." 

"Is it bad?" 

"No. Does it feel bad?" 

Your slow response is telling. "No," you lie, "it's not that bad." You point at one of the colours through the clear case. "I think it was that one." 

"Thank you," he says, murmurs, opening the case. There's a brush tucked inside, and he picks it up clumsily. He is completely out of his depth, but James Potter doesn’t give up, nor baulk in the face of new things.

"Does he have a mirror? I can do it myself, if you want,” you say.

"If he does, he didn't give it to me. I promise not to mess you up too badly, Princess. Put your trust in me,” he teases.

James presses the brush into your chosen colour and pats. The concealer is harder than he'd thought it would be, tough under the brush. It all looks silly in his hands. 

"Lean your head back for me," he says softly. 

You tip your chin up. Your eyes close as he begins. 

He's too careful. The colour doesn't want to transfer. "Sorry," he murmurs, applying pressure. You wince but say nothing to stop him. "Tell me if it hurts too much." 

"It's only a bruise."

"You're allowed to be hurt. And you should be more angry with me." 

"It was an accident." 

"It was my mistake." He watches the bruise blend away under concealer, but the colour doesn't quite match your skin. He tries his best to blend out the edges. "A professional mistake, which means you're more than allowed to be annoyed." 

"I'm starting to think you want me to be mad," you say. You're trying not to move, and so each word is half a whisper. 

"I do. I want you to be furious. It's ten times harder to keep someone safe when they have no self-preservation. And it’s a little concerning. I’m used to immediate revenge." 

He gives up on the brush and uses his pinky finger to smudge out the blocky colour he's left behind. Your skin is scorching under his touch. 

"So if I'm angry with you, that makes your job easier?" 

He hums. "Mh-hmm. Much easier." 

You hold your breath as he finishes up, a gentle patting motion as he was instructed. 

"How some girls do this every day," he mutters. 

"It gets easier." 

"Yeah?" He drags his pinky down your cheek without thinking. "Hopefully this is my last time. It looks fine. Maybe don't stop in direct sunlight." 

He collects all of his things and pulls the makeup bag into his chest, easing his way out into the aisle again. You follow. Everyone else has de-boarded the plane besides a pearly-smiled flight attendant, whose smile grows impossibly wider as they approach. 

"Everything okay today folks?" he asks. "How was your flight?" 

James offers thank-yous and guides you down the length of the plane to the exit. You're quiet from the plane to the steps, his hand ghosting your shoulder, to the tarmac, where your security entourage awaits. Including James there are eight bodyguards. Two stick close, five form a mock perimeter around you. 

"Unfortunately, you might draw attention from the protection detail alone. It's up to you, Princess, but I can hide your face." 

"Is that… dramatic?" 

"It's completely up to you. I don't think it's dramatic. Just depends on how comfortable you are with your face potentially on TV." 

"Can I– Maybe I'll stay close," you say, pulling your hood up. 

"Just prod me if you're uncomfortable." 

He takes you by the elbow and you walk. There aren't any paparazzi waiting outside, and James thinks maybe the news of your arrival has escaped them, and you won't be exposed to the madness that is paps with a story like this one, until he sees Sirius and Remus waiting at the glass doors into the airport with wringing hands.

A crowd of cameras waits inside.

"Can't we go around?" Sirius asks. 

"They have to check our passports, idiot," Remus says.

"You can’t fucking see around them, mate," Sirius says to James. 

James motions for you to stand where you are and crosses the gap to get a better look. Mickey takes his place by your side. 

"Fuck," he hisses, because the crowd is a herd, a sea of Genovian’s waiting to see their new princess, "what the fuck is that? I thought nobody knew we were coming." 

"Should I be worried?" he hears you ask quietly. 

"Mikkelson, give the Princess your sunglasses,” James orders.

"So yes, then," you say. 

James props open the door with his foot. "Princess, you're going first, behind me. They'll expect you in the middle. Hopefully that'll minimise what they can get, we’re going to be quick." He holds out his arm. 

You slot perfectly underneath it. 

"Ready?" he asks. 

You don't look very ready. You nibble your lip and nod anyhow, tucking your face into his front. James walks you forward, into a storm of white flashes and shouting, the precipice of your new life.

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thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter <3 please consider reblogging if you did, I'd love to know what you thought and what you want to see in the next one! and a happy new year !!!!