#I feel like it needs more complexity than just 'whatever's red' I do still want bitters or some kind of herbal liqueur perhaps

[blujayonthewing]

ACTUALLY, Juniper is my (only?) OC who can actually craft healing potions, and her cocktail is the goodberry, which is just a raspberry G&T, so-- if we assume handcrafted healing potions would have different recipes with different ingredients varying between makers, maybe june's has goodberries in it, which gives chambord a place in a theoretical healing potion shot thematically as well as just 'it's red' and 'I like it'

[evanpetersmybf]

Be mine?

Tate Langdon x female!reader

Summary: Meeting you was his destiny. He had to make you his so he could feel alive... It was meant to be.

Genre: Smut.

Word count: 3,172

Warnings: Virgin and inexperienced reader, mentions of bullying, self-harm (just once and is nothing detailed), obsessive and stalkish behavior, swearing, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected p in v and cumshot.

A/N: English isn't my first language and this is my first time writing smut, so sorry if it sucks or if I have grammatical mistakes or something TT. Btw, also sorry if Tate's out of character. Anyways, hope you enjoy it!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ཐི ♡ ཋྀ

Tate had another bad day. It was the usual. Bullying, failed tests, the teacher humiliating him after he couldn’t solve a simple equation on the chalkboard, his mother scolding him. Nothing seemed new, and it seemed that nothing wasn’t going to change at any point.

He needed something, a reason to live, something to make him feel alive. Because he was dead. Dead in life, which in his own opinion, was even worse than being a rotten corpse.

He headed to the music store after secretly stealing some of his mom’s money, just a few bucks; the enough amount to buy a vinyl or some CD’s. Tate was sort of a music elitist, always believing that the artists nowadays just created pure, hollow, and trashy songs. In fact, he didn’t believe those could even be considered music.

Walking around the nearly empty store, rummaging through the shelves filled with Nirvana vinyl’s, someone bumped into him.

“Oh, sorry.” You spoke, after accidentally taking too many steps back and bumping into Tate’s behinds.

He frowned, somewhat annoyed at you for disturbing his moment of peace. The blonde turned around to look at who it was, scanning your body from head to toe, taking note of your appearance. Then, his dark eyes drifted to the sign that was on top the shelf, which indicated the musical genre of the records that were on that rack. Alternative pop. His gaze went to the album you were hugging to yourself.

“Cry Baby? What type of crap is that?”

“Huh, excuse me?”

“Never mind, you won’t understand.” Tate talked in such a volatile and rude manner, already feeling superior because of his likes.

You arched an eyebrow. What was his problem? You did nothing to him and yet he was here, judging your amazing music taste.

“Well, people’s free to like whatever they want to, hmm?”

“Uh, yeah, but what’s the point of that if everything is so generic?”

“Have you ever listened to Melanie Martinez at least once?”

He shook his head no, still scowling, now fidgeting with a ring that was on one of his fingers.

“Have you listened to Nirvana?”

“Just like… Two songs?”

“Don’t tell me. Smells Like Teen Spirit?”

“Guilty.”

Tate rolled his eyes. What was going on with this generation? What happened to good music, to the greatest artists? Why was everyone just listening to trash?

After sharing your names and a few more words, debating about who was right and who wasn’t, you placed one of your hands over his right shoulder, as an attempt to stop his rant of how superior he was. And indeed, it worked. The teen stopped venting and stared at you, all confused and a bit uncomfortable. You noticed it and quickly stepped back, apologizing for touching him without permission. He told you it was okay, that you just surprised him. But deep down, that simple yet complex touch meant a lot to Tate, even if it was absolutely nothing to you.

For the first time he felt something more than sorrow.

“So… What do you think of this? I’ll make you listen to some songs by Melanie and other artists, and I’ll listen to your beloved beautiful grunge music.” You said those last words in a mocking way.

Tate huffed, clearly offended by the way you referred to his taste. Nevertheless, in the end he agreed with you.

After paying the stuff you two picked, both of you went to Tate’s place. As you walked next to him, your fingers brushed his, making his cheeks turn a light shade of red and his heart flutter. He felt dizzy, not sure about what was going on.

In his house, he took you to his room. The boy didn’t want his mother to see you, otherwise she’d be too nosy and probably scare you and push you away from him, and that was the last thing he wanted.

“Get comfy.” He mused, extending his hand as if inviting you to take a seat wherever you feel to.

“Thanks.” You sat on the floor, using one of the sides of the bed as a support for your back. He did the same and sat right next to you.

He was nervous. So damn nervous and excited. He brought a pretty chick to his place. The Tate Langdon, the outcast, the bullied, that Tate Langdon was in the same room with a girl? He couldn’t believe it.

“Ladies first.” Tate pointed the record-player with his thumb, and you obeyed, placing the CD in it. The music started playing.

“We could’ve used Spotify, y’know?”

“Nah, I don’t like it. I prefer the old school.”

‘Cry Baby’ was the first track that was listened to.

He squinted his eyes and rubbed his chin, analyzing the sounds, the melody, the harmony and of course the lyrics.

Although it wasn’t his style, you definitely were. The way you looked, talked, walked. How you stood up for your beliefs and didn’t allow him to step on you (even if you just discussed about music). It was new for him. He craved your independence. He craved you.

That was the very moment when he realized that you were the thing he was looking for all his life. You were the one who was meant to be his, he was meant to be yours. It was destiny. Tate truly believed it was some kind of divine prophecy, and he wasn’t going to let you go.

He was so immersed in his mind that he didn’t pay attention to the song anymore. He was solely focused on you, remembering how warm and kind your touch was, how sweet your voice was. ‘Oh, she’s mine’, he thought.

“So… That was the first track. Its name’s Cry Baby. Did you like it?”

Tate snapped out of it and bit his bottom lip. He didn’t listen to your question.

“I’m sorry, what did you?—”

“Did you like the song?”

“Ah, yeah yeah. It’s quite… Innovative. I’ve never heard something like that.”

You smiled and clapped your hands. “Of course! She’s such a genius. Let’s finish the album, hm?”

He just nodded, as a little smirk appeared on his face.

The days flew by, and Tate asked you out on many friendly dates. Or at least that’s what you thought because you were so oblivious at the fact that he had a fat crush on you.

With every hang out, you noticed that Tate was lonely. Like, really lonely. Maybe that’s why he was so clingy with you.

He told you about his family, about how annoying Constance was, about his siblings and about how his father left him behind. He also mentioned the bullying he suffered and almost talked about the self-harm but stopped himself.

Both of you grew closer, as his obsession.

Since you went to a different school, he would skip class and infiltrate your campus just to see you. He couldn’t stand being away from you. And if he did, his mind was full of you, thinking of you all day, unable to focus on his homework and tests. Tate didn’t care anymore if he failed subjects, as long as you were next to him, he was happy and alive.

The void he once felt, was now fulfilled with your mere presence. You could step on him, and he would thank you. In his twisted little mind, you were free to have everything of him.

He was willing to do anything to keep you by his side. The thought of losing was so terrifying that it would make him throw up.

Tate learned every single detail about you. Your mannerisms, your likes and dislikes, your dreams, and your fears. Everything. And that includes your schedule since you wake up, and since you go to sleep.

That was his definition of love. No one ever taught him about how to express it, and he ended up being the way he was with you.

One day he invited you over to his place. The Langdon's house was empty, and he was going to take advantage of it. No doubt.

“Your mom isn’t home?” You questioned as you followed him behind, going upstairs straight to his bedroom. Little did you know this wasn’t going to be another afternoon of playing board games while listening to some music.

“Nah, dunno where she went but she won’t be back any time soon.” He shrugged and let you inside of his private space,

You went to lay down on bed, feeling relief in your aching back after a long day at school. “Damn, I need some rest!”

Tate chuckled softly and sat on the edge, looking at you as you closed your eyes and tried to relax. He was focused on your steady and calm breathing, on how your breasts went up and down with every inhalation and exhalation. His eyes stared at your lips, at how kissable they looked. He felt a sudden desire, the intense urge to make you his. Feeling conflicted, he shook his head and tried to distract himself, pretending to ignore how aroused he was getting.

He wasn’t going to say it out loud, but of course he already had some wet dreams of you. He imagined you beneath him, your precious body shivering and responding to his touch, to his kisses. Your cunt wet and ready for him, just how he wanted to.

“Y/N…” Tate cooed, unable to hold back any longer.

“Yeah?” You opened one of your eyes and spotted him, sitting on the bed with his fists clenched over his thighs, while his breathing looked kinda rapid. “You ‘kay?”

“No.”

“Uh? What’s wrong?” You reincorporated and sat straight beside his warm figure. Your right hand touched his left, rubbing it up and down with your thumb.

Tate shoved you to the bed, pinning your arms above your head and holding them tight.

His breathing pattern was no longer normal. It was a heavy one.

His dark brown eyes locked with yours. Your orbs were wide, not understanding what the hell was going on. Or maybe you did but were in denial.

“Please. I want you.” He purred, seeing you with puppy eyes, the ones he knew you couldn’t resist.

“Hahah, you funny.”

He let out a frustrated whine, almost begging on his knees for you to get the hint.

“I’m not kidding. Pretty please. I need you.”

“Do you mean…?” You raised your head a few centimeters to look at his crotch in order to confirm your suspicions. Your cheeks had a cute blush as soon as you noticed Tate’s erection restrained by his jeans. It looked painful, and it actually was.

“Yes. I want to. Please, I truly need it. Please, please, please?” His voice was shaky and low, a needy desperate whisper. “Can I?”

This wasn’t what you expected for today. You saw Tate as a best friend, but you couldn’t deny he was handsome… And that he already provoked butterflies in your stomach before.

Hesitantly, you gave a shy nod with your head, giving him consent to continue. “But Tate… I’ve never done this before, I dunno what to do, I—” You trailed off, being cut off mid-sentence when Tate placed his lips over yours. The kiss was slow and tender, not rough at all. Your bottom lip was between his, as he nibbled it with extreme care to not hurt you.

After some seconds, he pulled apart and led his hand towards the side of your face, brushing some hairs away. “Don’t ya worry, princess. Leave it all to me, hm? I’ll be gentle. Unless you don’t want me to.” With that being said, he leaned into your neck, pressing his mouth on your sensitive flesh. He left sweet kisses, making you hum as you melted under him.

His lips continued to tease your skin, leaving some little bites between every kiss, trailing down to your collarbone. Tate stopped there and helped you get rid of your blouse, tossing it aside and continued his journey, this time kissing your sternum while his right hand cupped one of your breasts, kneading it gently over the fabric of your bra. He pulled down the straps and took off the piece of lingerie, setting your tits free.

The cold air hit you and your nipples perked up, looking ravishing and making him desire you even more.

He introduced one of the hardened buds into his warm mouth, sucking it greedily and making lewd wet sounds as he did so. His left rubbed the other nipple in circles, taking it with his thumb and index, pulling it and pinching it.

“Hmph… Huh…” You let out soft whimpers, slightly arching your back meanwhile he abused your breasts.

Tate stopped after some minutes, letting go of your nipple and looking at you, grabbing your chin and tilting your head to the side. He approached your ear and whispered, “You like this?”

“Yes…” You begged. Your voice was already ragged and shaky.

Instinctively, you pressed your thighs together, rubbing them as a pathetic try to feel some relief. Tate realized it and spread your legs with one of his hands. He took his digits right to your clothed pussy, eagerly rubbing the spot where your clit was.

“Someone’s already wet? Cute.” He giggled and took off his striped sweater, throwing it away. He positioned himself between your limbs and pulled down your pants, mesmerized as he saw your damp panties. Tate continued rubbing your bundle of nerves over the fabric of your underwear, still fascinated at how humid you were.

This was the moment he had been waiting for the past weeks. He wasn’t going to need to jerk off to your photos anymore, because now he would be able to jerk off to your tits in person.

Tate removed the last barrier that was stopping him from touching your womanhood directly. He pulled them down to your ankles and you helped him to get rid of it by shaking your feet.

He got closer to your cunt and placed your legs over his shoulder, spreading your folds with two of his large digits, blowing some air at the sensitive meat. Finally, he started sucking on your swollen clitoris, enjoying the feeling of your dampness against his face.

“Mmh…” He moaned, still toying with the nub. You grabbed him by the hair, not thinking about what you were doing. You just let yourself go and pulled him closer to your pussy, wanting to feel more. Your body twitched, unconsciously bucking your hips against his mouth that was currently making slurping sounds.

His attention changed and was now on your slit, teasing just the entrance with his hot tongue, while his nose rubbed against your clit. He lapped your pretty cunt, savoring your juices as if they were a delicacy.

Looking at your adorable face contorting in pleasure, he introduced his ring finger into your wet, tight hole. It was a slow and kind movement because the last thing he wanted was to hurt you. He slipped it deeper, pumping it in and out with care, increasing speed after a few seconds once he saw you comfortable. “Tell me if it hurts…”

“Mhm… It feels nice. Huh…” Your melodic whimpers and moans were just too much for him. He could listen to you for the rest of his days and never get tired of you.

Without further ado, he introduced his middle finger, now finger-fucking you with two. Tate’s thumb was also working wonders on your lil’ bundle of nerves in circular motion.

She was clenching around Tate’s large fingers, that he curled inside of her, hitting the right spot to make you squirm and feel a new and foreign sensation in your lower belly.

“Fuck it, I can’t wait anymore.”

He undid his belt, unzipped his pants and pulled down his boxers, quickly getting rid of them and letting them fall to the wooden floor.

You just stared in awe; it was the first time you saw one in real life.

Tate grabbed his hardened cock and stroked it a few times on top of you, finding amusing your silly reaction. The reddish tip was glistening with pre-cum, which he used as lube. He spat at your pussy and rubbed his slick saliva with two digits, before finally thrusting his dick.

He did it slowly, beginning with the head. Eventually, he pushed his entire length, hitting your cervix and stretching you out for the first time.

“Fuck, you’re so tight!” Even if he was taking the lead, he was a whiny mess, vocal and loud.

He continued pounding into you, his gaze never leaving your face. Tate loved how you rolled your eyes to the back of your head and how your little mouth was letting out such nasty sounds.

The room was filled with slapping and wet sounds, created by his skin slapping against yours, his balls always hitting you with every stab. Again, he placed your legs on his wide shoulders to have a better angle and pump into you deeper than before.

His big veiny hands were roaming all over your body, specifically your breasts. Within minutes, he developed an addiction to them. Probably because of his mommy issues? He grabbed them roughly, tweaking both of your nipples as he fucked you mercilessly.

Tate lolled his head as he felt your hole gripping him tight. Very tight.

He increased the pace and moaned your name, begging you to squeeze him tighter.

“Oh, please, please, please!” The blonde kept whining. He left one of his hands taking care of your nipples, while the other went back to torture your clit. He stroked it in circles, and then up and down, applying the enough amount of pressure to make you beg for more.

“Tate, I feel like I’m—”

“It’s okay, let it go, mhm?”

You couldn’t hold yourself any longer and squirted all over him, coating his lower body with your warm fluids.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh, gonna cum!” Tate pulled out from your cunt and pumped his cock with his hand finishing with a loud moan. His hot sticky white cum coated your breasts and abdomen, creating an incredible sight that he always imagined.

All spent, Tate threw himself next to you on the bed, pulling a blanket to cover both of you as he filled your pretty face in candy pecks.

“Did it hurt? First time usually does.” He looked at you, concerned for your wellbeing. “I was too rough?”

You laughed and shook your head no, caressing his messy locks with your fingers, tenderly scratching his scalp. “Don’t worry, I’m fine, really.”

Tate smiled at you and kissed you on the lips, “You’re so pretty, Y/N.”

You hugged him from behind, him being the little spoon this time. Your mind was going wild; you were still processing what happened and was about to drift to sleep when he whispered.

“Y/N…?”

“Mh, what is it, Tate?”

“I love you… Please be mine?”

[gloomwitchwrites]

Monster (S)mash - Task Force 141 x Female Reader - Porn Star AU

Content & Warnings: Porn Star AU, group sex, oral sex (male & female receiving), unprotected piv, cnc, restraints, anal sex, double penetration, haunted houses, masks, knifeplay, creampie, multiple orgasms, cum swallowing

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: For Kinktober 2024 (Group Sex)

On the set of Monster (S)mash, the monsters come out to play. It's your first themed porn film and it's set in a haunted house. You're eager. Excited. But you've never taken something like this on before. You're filming with four of the greatest names in porn, and you don't want to mess this up.

ao3 // main masterlist // kinktober 2024 masterlist

"Would you like to review the scene? Go over boundaries again?"

Kate Laswell, the Intimacy Coordinator, takes a seat on the opposite couch.

"I'd like a refresh," replies Johnny. "Now that I'm in character." He grins, gesturing at himself, and you almost laugh at how ridiculous he looks.

Johnny MacTavish, known in the industry for his many creampie videos, is dressed as a crazed clown with a red wig and exaggerated makeup. His clothing is nothing more than a black industrial vinyl apron covering up the important bits. Kyle Garrick, a connoisseur of the cam world, sits next to him in a fresh white robe with a Jason Voorhees mask sitting on top of his head, the elastic band digging into his skin behind his ears.

Kyle taps away at his phone. "I should go before you, mate." Kyle glances up and winks at you. "Since I’m up first."

You feel heat rush to your cheeks. Kyle is incredibly handsome—all four of them are—but Kyle has a gentle swagger that flusters you a bit every time he addresses you. The two others, John Price and Simon Riley, are still in the makeup tent transforming into a werewolf and a demon.

While you've been on various porn sets, this one is far more complex than previous films you've been a part of. Monster (S)mash is set in a "haunted house." You'll go room to room, each containing one of the four men before it ends with the five of you partaking in each other. Filming is expected to take all day and possibly into the next.

Kate finds a comfortable spot on the sofa and addresses the two of you. "Your scene takes place in a forest with a cabin. They'll be a fake machete. We're looking at knife play. Some c-n-c. A bit of a chase. What do you think about that?"

Kyle shrugs and then glances at you. "Sounds fun. I'm excited. But it's what you want." He gazes at you expectantly.

You shrug. "What we talked about during our meeting yesterday is good with me."

Kyle nods. "I remember."

"And we know the safe word and the non-verbal signal in case anyone needs to stop?" asks Kate.

"Apple," says Johnny.

"Three fingers with a wrist shake for non-verbal," adds Kyle.

Kate smirks. "And what if someone is restrained and cannot shake their hand?"

"Then three fingers will do," you finish.

She smiles, clearly content with that answer. "Very good." She clasps her hands and then pushes up from the couch. "My assistant and I will be standing off to the side watching and listening for a signal."

Rodolfo, the director’s personal assistant pops his head in. “We’re ready for the first scene.”

Kyle groans as he stands, returning the Jason mask to its proper place. The robe is gone and tossed onto the sofa beside Johnny. Kyle is completely naked underneath it all. You follow him out, robe still on.

"Head that way to mark," Rodolfo says to Kyle and then he gestures at you, beckoning you closer. "Stand here."

You find your mark and then remove your robe, handing it off to Rodolfo who politely keeps his gaze averted. Unlike Kyle who wears nothing, you're in a skimpy black thong that's more string than material.

“Quiet on set!” comes Alejandro Vargas’ voice from the director’s area. He’s standing behind a monitor, watching whatever is coming through on the camera.

There's some minor rustling before all goes silent.

"On three...two...one."

You stand just outside the entrance of the fake haunted house. Taking a deep breath, you count to three. Glancing over your shoulder, you deliberately stare off-camera, and then head inside. The camera moves forward as you walk, focusing in on the makeshift sign.

You will be touched, carried, restrained, played with...

The camera lingers on the sign for a few seconds before following you into the dark.

"Cut!" Alejandro calls out. "Let's hold there. Get her to mark two."

Rodolfo appears, gesturing toward the first "room" of the haunted house.

Each set is separated by curtains. With the lights on, it looks a bit silly, but during filming and post-production editing, no one will know that these scenes weren't filmed in an actual haunted house attraction.

As you step up to your mark, a tingle of excitement swells in your belly. You've always found your job fun and enjoyable, but this is the first themed film you've attempted. While the film crew and intimacy coordinator have solid reputations in the industry, the four men you're working alongside are known for their decency, politeness, and general kindness when working with others. During yesterday's meetings, they were incredibly focused, asking questions, and spent extra time wanting to know and remember your boundaries and limitations.

When you first started out, that was unheard of. You’d show up to set and hope for the best. Discussions about limitations and boundaries were few and far between.

"Going on three...two...one."

You enter the first room.

It's arranged to resemble the front of a cabin in the middle of the woods near a lake. The cabin is just a facade anchored onto a wall while blue lighting creates water-like ripples off the front of the cabin. The path to the "exit" is lined with two folding chairs, a metal picnic table, and a makeshift campfire with fake flame included. Ambient nature sounds play in the background, but it's only loud enough to create an unsettling atmosphere.

Slowly, you step around the two folding chairs and walk past the picnic table, glancing around in feigned nervousness as if danger lurks around every corner. That danger is just Kyle in his Jason mask.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Kyle appears. Standing near the makeshift exit, he is completely naked other than the mask and the machete clenched in his right fist. You freeze, holding up your hands in a placating gesture.

Kyle rolls his shoulders and neck. You hear the audible pop from where you're standing. He saunters forward, turning the machete handle end-over-end in his palm. Though you know the machete is fake, and that Kyle won't harm you, your fight-or-flight response kicks in. It fuses with your excitement and underlying arousal, sending your senses into overdrive. Your vision narrows, focusing on Kyle as he swaggers toward you.

"No," you whisper, backing toward the spot you entered from.

Kyle lunges, and you shriek, turning on your heel to dodge out of the way.

Spreading his arms wide, Kyle blocks your way forward. You step to the left and he matches your movement, the machete blade outstretched. While the two of you discussed this scene with the intimacy coordinator, the chase is entirely improvised. You don't know what Kyle will do or how he'll eventually trap you. The idea is thrilling, warming your body with heightened anticipation.

Stepping around the edge of the picnic table, you aim to dart around him on the right side. Kyle leaps over the fake flames and lands in your path. He swings the machete and you duck. The blade is nothing more than rubber, and his aim is purposefully wide.

As you turn away, Kyle follows, his stride casual and calm. It's infuriatingly sexy how sure of himself he is. And somehow, you're flustered by him, even as you try to make for the exit.

But there is no escape—and it's not like you want to get away from him.

Kyle's muscled arm catches you by the stomach. He hauls you against his chest, even as you wiggle and squirm, lashing out as if that will do anything. His strength is apparent in the way he confidently keeps you close, unafraid that you might accidentally clip his jaw with your knuckles.

The camera moves in as he brings the machete up to your throat, pressing the rubber blade against your jugular.

"Stop moving," he growls, the mask muffling the sound.

You cease your squirming, both hands grasping his forearm. The edge of the mask digs into the side of your face, and his hard cock presses roughly against your back.

"Are you going to be a good girl?" he asks. The low gruffness in his voice sends a bolt of heat straight to your pussy.

You whimper, but say nothing.

Kyle lightly slaps the inside of your upper thigh. "Answer me."

"I'll be good," you gasp, the sting of his strike causing your muscles to clench, ass bucking into his pelvis.

"You'll be what?" This time he squeezes your thigh.

"A good girl."

He makes a pleased sound as the machete falls away and his arm releases you. Grabbing the back of your neck, Kyle uses his grip to turn you around, to force you to look at his face. With the mask, all you can see are his eyes. They're in shadow, but fuck, they're gorgeous.

With a final squeeze, Kyle forces you to your knees. His cock bobs in front of your face. Your lips part, but Kyle keeps a firm grip, allowing nothing. He is in control.

Your gaze is entirely focused on him. You have no idea where the camera is, and there is no point in looking. It's not your concern.

"Wider," he instructs, and you present your mouth to him, tongue out. "That's it."

The head of his cock taps against your tongue and then slides back and forth over its surface, teasing what's to come.

You want it. You want him.

Kyle's hand moves from the back of your neck to the top of your head. He fists your hair there, and then guides your mouth around his cock, forcing you to take every inch of him. The cool rubber of the machete presses against your neck. Your hands rise, anchoring yourself by grasping the front of his bare thighs.

You hold on as he fucks your throat. Keeping your gaze on the mask, you relax your muscles, focusing on not gagging. Kyle is more length than girth, and the head of his cock roughly hits the back of your throat with each stroke.

"That's a good girl," he rasps. "My perfect slut."

The praise is wonderful. Perfect. You hold on to it, humming with contentment around him, the vibrations making him shiver. In your peripheral, you notice the glint of a camera lens but you don't glance over. You focus on Kyle, and how eager you are to get both of you off.

Kyle is rough but not overly slow. He's careful not to go too far. His movements are restrained but controlled, and that only turns you on more. One of your hands slips between your thighs and you find yourself blissfully wet.

You circle your clit and then dive downward to slip one finger, and then two, inside your pussy. Repeating the motions only builds the oncoming orgasm like a viper hidden in a pile of leaves, waiting to strike.

"Are you fucking yourself with your fingers?" Kyle's question isn't meant to be answered. It's rhetorical. He knows you are. He can see it.

With his cock in your mouth, you're unable to answer. One watery tear rolls down your cheek and Kyle lightly taps the machete blade against your throat.

"Not being a good girl. Didn't tell you to do that."

The machete disappears. Using his grip on the top of your head, Kyle guides your mouth off and away with a wet pop. He drags you to your feet, and as you move to run from him, Kyle presses the tip of the machete against your stomach.

"Get on the table," he growls. "Now."

You glance over your shoulder briefly to figure out where it is. The path is clear—just a few steps and you're on it. Kyle prods you with another poke of the machete.

Moving backward, you eventually bump into the edge of the table. Kyle does not help you up but the top is just below hip-level. You get on easily.

"On your back. Legs spread."

The command in his tone is undeniable. You do exactly as Kyle says. The camera is directly behind him, following his forward advance. Kyle wraps his hand around your ankle and tugs, dragging you to the very edge until you're close to falling off.

Without ceremony or elegance, he tears away your thong and tosses it aside. Kyle lines himself up and thrusts.

"Fucking hell," he groans.

You moan loudly, toes curling as your pussy takes all of him. The stretch is just enough to hurt but entirely euphoric.

Kyle slams the machete down onto the table next to you. In seconds, he has one hand over the front of your throat and the other on your inner thigh, keeping you wide as he drives in and out of your body.

This is where he's roughest, and you don't care at all. It's delicious. Glorious. From this angle you can watch every corded muscle shiver as he moves.

And the eye contact.

Kyle won't stop looking at you. His gaze is firm. Heavy. You are trapped by it as much as by his strength. His hand on your inner thigh slides further inward until he's almost on your pelvis. The camera shifts to point directly at where your bodies meet just as Kyle's thumb starts rubbing slow circles around your clit.

The building orgasm shivers outward, stretching into your limbs. A sense of numbness comes with it, as if you're floating above your body. It lingers there at the heightened apex before crashing down around you.

Your body tenses—seizes. Kyle groans, continuing to thrust through it. His thumb keeps stroking, and the intensity continues, wave after wave flooding through your system until you near overstimulation.

Kyle's thrusting increases, a pounding rhythm that signals his coming end.

"Fuck," he groans, hand around your throat tightening slightly.

The fingers on your thigh dig in, and Kyle stills, his sigh a gentle rainfall. You feel your pussy flood with warmth as his release hits him. You see the shudder, watch as his eyelids close behind the mask, and the keen pulse of his veins in his arms.

Kyle thrusts once. Twice. And then with a heavy sigh, grasps the base of his cock, stroking it as he slowly eases out. The camera comes into view, panning inward to catch the sight of his cum. Kyle keeps you still, gaze lingering on you. He's waiting for the camera's retreat.

Just as it backs away, Kyle's grip on you loosens. You're the pretend, helpless victim no longer.

Gripping the machete, you strike out. Kyle avoids your terrible swing, and that gives you your change. Off the table and onto the floor, you rush toward the exit, not looking back though you hear his enraged growl and the swoosh of air as he lunges for you.

You disappear, nearly stumbling into the next room as the director calls for the end of the scene.

"Cut!"

You catch yourself before falling forward, a little breathless. Poking your head out from behind the curtain, the set team comes rushing in, moving objects out.

"Let's set the next scene."

As you step out, Rodolfo and someone from the makeup department rush in. You're offered your robe which you politely decline but accept the water.

"You good, love?" Kyle approaches, removing his mask, gaze expectant and observing.

"Yeah. I'm good," you reply, taking another gulp of water.

His observation isn't one of keen interest but one of concern. He's checking you over. Making sure he didn't harm you.

"I didn't hurt you?"

You're a little sore but it feels good. "No," you answer. "Promise. I'm fine."

He grins, relief clear on his face. "Thought I might have been too much."

You shake your head. "Not at all."

Rodolfo checks his watch. "Ready for the next scene? Or would you like a break?"

You cap the water and hand it to him. "I can handle it."

He nods. "Be ready in five."

After a bathroom break, a brief touch-up, and a gentle cleanse between the thighs, you're herded to the next mark.

"We're going in ten...nine..."

Your robe is removed and water whisked away. The camera is somewhere in the room already, ready for you to step out from behind the curtain.

"...three...two...one."

You emerge, knowing that this might be the scene you need to call a stop to. Not that it'll be Johnny's fault, but the place is absolutely ghastly.

It's set up like a meat processing warehouse. The room is bathed in red light. Fake bodies wrapped up in cloth hang from the ceiling along with a few hooks on chains. There are two "exits" covered in plastic strip curtains. One is a true exit and the other is where Johnny is supposed to emerge from, but you have no idea which.

The camera follows your forward movements as you navigate around the hanging set pieces. Against the wall is a stainless-steel table. On it are bloody body parts all haphazardly stacked on top of each other.

As you make it to the middle of the room, Johnny appears—not that you see him. You don't notice him at all. It isn't until he revs the chainsaw he's holding that you do. It startles you so bad that you stumble backward into a fake body, almost tripping on your own foot.

Johnny charges forward, much faster than Kyle. The hanging bodies, hooks, and chains are in the way. You try to push them aside, to run as you're supposed to, but it hampers your movement.

Johnny catches you quickly.

Cornering you between a trio of hanging bodies, Johnny circles the space, revving the chainsaw as he walks. There is no chain on it, but he doesn't point it at you. He keeps it pointed away from his body and yours.

Transferring the chainsaw to one hand, Johnny snags your upper arm, dragging you against him. You beat at his chest, the vinyl apron slippery when your skin makes contact. Nothing happens. Johnny is solid.

With his grip on your arm, Johnny hauls you toward the body-covered table. He sets the chainsaw down and then both hands are on you. Spinning you around to face him, you attempt to fight him off even as he restrains you, attaching handcuffs to your wrists with ease.

“Let me go!” you shriek, but Johnny only laughs. It’s manic and high—completely deranged. It’s wonderful acting. You’ll give him that.

With a sharp tug on the connecting chain, Johnny sends you stumbling. He steps out of the way, his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp slap. You yelp but manage not to fall. The smirk on his face tells you everything. He’s loving this.

You attempt to strike out at him but Johnny is so much stronger.

Using his massive, muscled arms, Johnny wrestles for control, winning easily. You’re herded to the center of the room. At one of the hooks, Johnny lifts your arms over your head, hooking the connecting chain on the nearest one.

Everything stretches, but it’s not painful. It's a good stretch and just enough to keep you on your feet but appear as if you're hanging in the air. It's a great trick. You're on full display for the camera and for Johnny.

You’re facing away from Johnny, and you have no idea where the camera is. All you’re aware of is your breathing, and the swelling tightness in your muscles as the stretch starts to curl forth a gentle ache.

You’re hanging there. Untouched. Waiting.

There’s a gentle brush against the back of your thigh. You jerk against the touch, tilting your head to catch a glimpse of him. Johnny appears before you like a phantom. He steps into your view slowly. The red light bathes him in a blood-tinged glow.

Johnny grins, grasping your chin in his hand.

“Are you going to remain a good girl for us?” His Scottish lilt is sinful. You find yourself leaning forward as if you’ll kiss him. That grin softens, and then becomes a wicked thing.

Johnny drops to his knees before you.

His hands grab the backs of your upper thighs, lifting you off your feet. He guides your legs over his shoulders, hands adjusting to support your ass. Johnny’s mouth is on your pussy immediately, tongue teasing your entrance. The fake plastic nose he wears perfectly presses against your clit. It rubs back and forth against it as he devours your pussy.

The orgasm comes quickly and with sharp intensity. You scream out your pleasure, head falling back, eyes closed as Johnny continues to feast between your thighs. Your toes curl, the muscles in your lower back seizing and relaxing with each wave.

With a final lick, Johnny tilts his head back, smug with himself.

You’re gasping for air, chest heaving as Johnny returns your feet to solid ground. He ascends, hand undoing the ties that keep his black vinyl apron in place. He circles you as he does it, a teasing dance before it falls away.

Your gaze immediately drops, and fuck—Johnny is thick. There’s a decent amount of length but this man is all girth.

He palms his hard cock, gaze enraptured with the sight of you. Circling you like a predator, Johnny takes his opportunity to run his hands over your body, to touch everything. It’s been he comes to a stop behind you that the anticipation builds.

Johnny’s face presses against your neck as his hands grab hold of your hips. His cock rubs against your ass and then slides between your thighs. He rocks back and forth, coating himself in your wetness. The head of his cock pokes at your sensitive clit.

You whimper, and Johnny gives you relief.

With his grip on your hips, Johnny angles himself at your entrance. A quick thrust, and Johnny is home to the hilt. Your thighs are pressed against each other, and the thickness of Johnny’s cock is only intensified by the limited space.

He remains behind you, pumping steadily as you hang from the hook. Johnny’s hands on your hips delve, squeezing your thighs. He brings one palm down in a quick slap against it, your thigh jiggling from the strike.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he whispers into your ear, and you know that’s only for you to hear.

While Kyle was a bit rough with you, but Johnny is steady, his rhythm hitting all the right beats until you’re numb with lust. You fall into it, heading leaning back against his as Johnny as his way with you.

At his end, Johnny’s groan morphs into a whimper. He comes inside you, his grip tight as he holds you flush against him. A few more thrusts and then Johnny is pulling you, forcing your thighs apart to show the camera the mess there.

You expect a pause as the camera lingers there. What you don’t expect is for Johnny to put his mouth back to your pussy, to suck his cum out of it, to stand and force your head back, slipping his fingers between your lips only to spit his cum down your throat.

He grins at you, licks his lips.

This dirty fucker.

Your thumb finds the small button on the cuffs. Like everything else, it’s a prop. You press the button. The chain breaks as it’s supposed to. The moment your feet are flat, you take off, rushing toward the exit.

You hear pounding footsteps and then—

“Cut!”

Johnny almost knocks you down on the way out. “Shit,” he gasps, grabbing on to you before you topple forward.

“Take ten!”

A robe is thrust at you, and Johnny is pulled away as someone else shoves another water into your face and someone else fusses with your hair and makeup.

It’s the maze that’s next. This one is completely staged compared to the other scenes. At a certain point, you, Johnny, and Kyle will converge on a singular point. Johnny on one side of you. Kyle on the other.

When you’re set, you enter into the makeshift maze. You don’t need to go far. Just a few feet. Johnny is right behind you, every step heavy and loud as he navigates the maze. Only a couple striders further and you’re trapped.

Kyle steps out of the dark and you come to a halt. But as you retreat, Johnny is right there, blocking your exit. Their hands are on you immediately. You have no control. You give in to them, allowing them everything. It’s nice to surrender, to hand control off to someone else.

They move you into position. Johnny’s cock slides home, filling your pussy. Kyle takes the other side, and then you’re full in both holes, groaning loudly with each thrust. Your hands seek, fingers digging into whatever they can find.

Over your shoulder, Kyle pushes up his mask enough to reveal his lips. You go in, tasting Kyle’s sweetness. His hand grasps the front of your throat, dragging you in for a deeper kiss.

Johnny isn’t one to be left out.

As Kyle breaks away from the kiss, Johnny reaches for him, the two men locking lips next to your face as they both move in and out of your body. You drape your arm over the back of your Johnny’s neck, and all you know is the perfect way they fill you, and the feel of their lips against your skin.

And when it’s over, you’re a little disappointed that it couldn’t continue.

There’s another break—this one longer than the others. Kate’s assistant massages your muscles, and she checks in before the graveyard scene with John Price. You’ll truly need some rest before the final scene with Simon Riley and the rest of the men, but you can do one more.

But only one.

And it’s the easiest of the bunch.

There is no chasing. No running.

You play the helpless damsel, pushing at John’s chest as if you don’t want it. All around you is smoke and shadow. The headstones around the two of you create a little circle, almost as if you’re in the center of a ritual.

You’re put on your hands and knees on the ground, the fog from the fog machine swallowing up your hands and legs. Price is behind you, already pumping, already taking from you like the wolf he’s supposed to be.

The makeup department did wonders. They gave him sharp teeth, yellow contacts, and a partially transformed look to him. It’s brilliant, really. He looks very much the monster.

Each stroke is deep. John presses on your lower back, forcing you into a different position, pushing your ass higher into the air. Your legs widen and then John increases his pace, his pelvis smacking loudly against yours. Skin meets skin, and your pussy quivers with excitement as the orgasm builds.

You stroke yourself between your legs, leaning on one side to keep yourself upright enough not to slip. You’re slippery between your thighs, and you can’t help but trace where your bodies meet. Your nail grazes John’s cock, and he emits a low moan.

John grips your ass harder, and then he’s pounding into you, using your body like it belongs to him. You lightly bite your lip, trying to focus on your building orgasm. Each stroke comes with a spank, jerking you against your teasing fingers.

“Oh—fuck,” you mewl as your orgasm comes raging forward, curling outward.

John fucks you through it, growling like a fucking animal behind you. When your orgasm wanes, his hand grasps the back of your throat, holding you in place as he continues. All you have to do is sink into it, to grin with contentment and let him have what he wants.

There’s something primal to the way he holds you down and fucks you. It’s different from the way Kyle kept you in place or the way Johnny fucked you. Even in their roughness they were sweet. John is all business, and you’re perfectly fine with that.

His cock is fucking perfect, his dominating demeanor a soothingly sensual experience. There’s something to be said about giving in—to submitting.

But it’s after the extended break that completely alters your brain chemistry.

Simon is the last. The very last.

There is no chase. No true lead up.

This room is set in hell. There are fake flames, reddish-orange backlighting, and a throne. Simons sits on that throne, lounging casually, legs wide, his cock and heavy balls on full display. He’s dressed like the devil, but there are no plastic horns or dollar store red cape. He is perfectly painted in red and black. From his head are twisting black horns that curl up and back. They’ve given him red contacts and fake canines for a vampiric bite.

You are in his thrall, sitting at the base of his throne when the camera turns on. There is a leather collar around your neck connected to a silver chain that Simon holds in his fist. He lightly tugs on it, urging you forward.

Your hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly, coaxing him toward hardness. You tease the head with a swirl of your tongue before taking him into your mouth. Simon fists the chain, twisting another link around his fist. Every time you take him deeper, Simon shortens the chain further and further.

At first, there is no tightness. It grows shorter. Shorter still. The leather begins to bite into your skin. With each twist of Simon’s wrist, the leash shortens. It draws you closer to Simon, leaving no room for you to retreat—to get air.

Your nostrils flare as you breathe through your nose. Relaxing your throat, you suck him down, cupping his testicles gently in tandem with your movements. The only sound he makes is a grunt and you have no idea if that’s good or bad.

But his cock is hard. Solid. You can’t take all of him or you’ll fucking choke on it.

He tugs sharply on the leash. "In my lap, pet."

You do as Simon instructs, standing between his legs before turning around toward the camera. You sink down into his lap, and Simon leans back, gently guiding you to straddle his lap, legs wide and draped over his thick thighs. He rubs his cock against your pussy, and then you’re sinking down on him.

John arrives from the dark, still in costume. He prowls forward, coming up to the left side of the throne. He grabs your wrist as he comes to a stop, guiding it to his cock. You fist John just as Simon thrusts upward.

Kyle arrives soon after. He kneels in front of you and Simon, teasing your clit with his fingers. It starts as a gentle stroke before his tongue replaces them, swirling little circles against your clit. Simon thrusts upward again, and your pussy clenches.

Just before your orgasm crests, Kyle’s tongue descends, stroking against the space where Simon’s cock intrudes. He descends further, lightly sucking one of Simon’s balls into his mouth. It’s brief. Just a blip. And then his tongue is back on your clit.

Your orgasm comes raging forward, but just as your mouth opens to cry out, Johnny appears, grabbing the back of your head, filling your mouth with his cock.

Your body is theirs to use.

Theirs to enjoy.

Simon thrusts upward, and Kyle draws back, his lips glossy with your arousal. He puts the mask back into place, and Simon lifts you off his cock. You’re picked up. Turned around. You sink back down on Simon’s cock, and Kyle is right there, adding his cock to your pussy. It’s an incredibly tight fit. They rock their hips gentle as John and Johnny touch your body, guiding your hand and mouth back to them.

One of them comes inside you—but you have no idea who before you’re full of just one cock. There are two sets of hands on your ass, bouncing you on whoever’s cock is filling you up. You’re simply clinging on, fingers digging into Simon’s shoulders. His head dips, the horns brushing against your cheek as his tongue circles a nipple.

John grabs the bottom half of your face. “Open,” he instructs and you do so, eagerly sticking out your tongue. John jerks himself until his cum explodes on your tongue. He tips your head to the side and Johnny follow suit.

“Swallow,” growls John and you do exactly that.

Someone groans, and whoever is inside you comes. You’re lifted off Simon’s lap, brought to standing, and then promptly bent over the arm of the throne. Simon’s cock returns to your mouth, and someone settles behind you, spreading your legs before sliding inside.

Every time someone comes in your pussy, you’re moved. Switched. Bent over. Spread wide. Forced onto your knees. You take it all. Enjoying every orgasm. Enjoying every touch.

As your energy fades, it is Simon that takes the final fuck, who brings you into his lap. His hands are firm on your ass, bouncing you up and down his shaft as the camera zooms in on it. You are lost in him—lost in the bliss that pulses throughout your body.

You are perfectly fucked.

Perfectly content.

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[guess-my-next-obsession]

Guilty as Sin? — Chapter Five

pairing: professor!javier peña x f!reader

rating: series is 18+ only, minors DNI, professor/student dynamic, oral (fem!rec), mutual masturbation, lots of ogling, romantic Javi will be the death of me, dirty talk, little bit of angst thrown in, reader's never experienced oral, think that's it for now

word count: 4k

series masterlist

You didn’t attend Dr. Peña’s office hours that day, too exhausted by your crumbling social life to deal with whatever it was he wanted to talk about with you in private. Instead, you spent the night grocery shopping, decorating your new place, and getting a jump start on Dr. Arman’s research paper due in a few weeks. 

By the time you were in bed and began to mindlessly scroll on your phone, it was nearing midnight. As you scrolled through pinterest finding sad quote after sad quote to make your sadness feel a little less isolating, an email notification lit up your screen. You clicked on it, finding a message from Dr. Peña.

Please set up an appointment with me to discuss your grade. 

Dr. Javier Peña

jpeña@utlaw.edu

555-268-8521

You narrowed your brows at the message—what was he talking about? You quickly opened the online portal to check your grade, finding it in near-perfect standing. Flipping back to the email, you read it over again before locking eyes on his phone number, bolded in bright red. Chuckling at his use of coded messaging, you copied the number and added it to your contacts as Javier just in case someone decided to snoop around. 

Biting your lip, you let your fingers hover over your keyboard, unsure of what to say, or if he even wanted you to message him. But he had to, right? No one highlighted shit in red if they didn’t mean to draw attention. 

You settled on something simple, something that couldn’t possibly be misconstrued if an outside party were to see it. 

You: Hey, it’s…

You: You emailed about setting up an appointment?

You waited what felt like a lifetime, choosing to spend those torturous minutes anxiously scrolling through your feed until your phone buzzed with an alert. 

Javier: So formal. 

You rolled your eyes. 

Javier: Why didn’t you show up today?

You: Too tired.

Javier: You still tired? 

You bit your lip as his words sent a thrilling ache between your thighs. 

You: Depends.  

Javier responded only with an address, one that looked to be attached to an apartment complex in the nice part of town. With your heart racing with excitement and head screaming with caution, you decided that you’d earned a bit of recklessness. You’d done everything you needed to do today, so why not do something you wanted to do?

You thanked the skies for convincing you to pamper yourself earlier with an everything shower as you slipped into a much less comfy pair of underwear, choosing to keep your hoodie and leggings on rather than dressing to impress. After all, there was a good chance your hopes would come crashing down if he truly only meant to talk. 

The drive to his place was spent singing along to your favorite album, hoping to drown out the alarm sounds in your head that seemed to scream, idiot!

You pulled into the gated complex, punching in the code he’d sent to you before making your way through the gates. You parked your beat up car in a visitor spot, headlights illuminating a man smoking a cigarette in that black leather jacket you could still feel wrapped around your shoulders. Javier. 

He watched you as you climbed out of the car, hands trembling with nerves. 

“Hey,” you breathed, giving him a nervous smile. Javier’s smile was a lot more confident, causing a dimple to form in his left cheek. 

“Hey,” he replied, ashing out the cigarette on the trash can beside him before approaching you. “You look cozy. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Should I take that as an insult?” you joked. 

“No,” he assured, his smile softening to something so affectionate it made your heart race. “I like you like this.”

You flushed, dropping your eyes to the pavement beneath your feet. Javier surprised you by lifting his hand to your chin, gently guiding your eyes back to his. “This isn’t a good idea,” he husked, eyes bouncing back and forth between yours. “But fuck me, I can’t stop thinking about you.” 

Your lips parted as he stepped closer, his hand shifting to cradle your cheek, his thumb stroking across your skin. 

“But first, I wanted to introduce you to someone,” he said, letting his hand fall to his side. Tipping his head in the direction of the lobby, he urged you to follow him. 

Who the fuck did he possibly want to introduce you to? His secret family?

Javier opened the door with a smug look, furthering your confusion until the old woman—who looked around the age of seventy—behind the front desk popped up with a smile. 

“I didn’t see you sneak out, Javi,” she smiled, batting her eyes at him. “You got a secret exit I don’t know about, honey?”

“It wouldn’t be a secret if I told you, Jeannie, now would it be?” he crooned, turning to you. “This was the friend of mine I wanted to introduce you to. She’s run the complex for how long now, Jeannie?”

“Thirty years,” she replied, both pride and exhaustion in her tone. “Thirty years and no goddamn retirement in sight.”

You gaped at Javier, his brow raising and smirk spreading into a full on dimpled-grin. Quickly turning to Jeannie, you chuckled and shook your head at yourself. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Jeannie,” you smiled, giving her your name. 

“You too, sweetie,” she said. “Y’all have a good night. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That’s not saying much, Jeannie,” Javier teased, resting his hand on your back as he guided you to the elevator. 

You kept quiet until you were inside the privacy of those four walls. “So you finally figured it out.”

“Well, I figured it out when you slammed my car door on me,” he chuckled, standing close enough for you to smell his cologne. You stepped closer to that scent of warmth and comfort, brushing your arm against his. “Thought I’d clear the air this way since you stood me up earlier.”

“I didn’t stand you up,” you laughed. “I just…I don’t know. Needed some time away from everything.”

He hummed his response, waiting for the bell to chime, signaling your arrival to the third floor, before leading you out and down the hall to his apartment. As he put his key in the lock, he turned to you with a half-smile. “You sure you want this?”

“Depends on what this is,” you replied. Javier smiled, shaking his head before opening the door to his place. He let you walk in ahead of him, the door shutting and locking behind him. 

“This is…I don’t know,” he sighed, though it sounded less like frustration but more along the lines of hesitant acceptance. “Me throwing caution to the wind, I guess.”

“Just you?” you asked, turning away from the black and brown abstract painting on the wall of his living room to look at him over your shoulder. He looked at you with such unabashed desire as he carefully stepped into your space until his chest was nearly pressed against your back. 

“Us, then,” he whispered, slowly dragging his fingertips up the length of your arm, causing goosebumps to form on your skin. Your breath hitched as he leaned in to brush his lips against the shell of your ear. “Do you know how much space in my mind you’ve taken up? Without doing anything more than existing.” 

You turned to face him, your hands settling on his chest before sliding up to the nape of his neck. Javier’s brow furrowed as he watched you study his features, committing each one to memory in case tonight was all you’d ever have with him. “Only seems fair that I’m on your mind as much as you’re on mine.”

Javier groaned softly, his hands finding your hips as he walked you backwards, sandwiching you between his body and the back of his sectional. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, licking his lips as his eyes fell to yours. “These fucking lips that’ve been calling my name since the first time I saw you.”

You let out a soft breath, nodding your head quickly, as if he’d change his mind if you didn’t reply quick enough. Javier smiled, something fleeting and rooted in affection before crashing his lips against yours. You moaned at the taste of cinnamon blended with a hint of the cigarette he’d been smoking when you pulled into the parking lot. 

What started out as cautious quickly turned into something needy, his hands gripping your hips to pull you closer to his frame. You gasped into his mouth as he pressed his generous arousal against you, your center aching to feel him without the layers between you. 

“Javi,” you panted out the nickname, relishing in the groan it elicited. Javier was quick to pull away, his dark eyes lust blown and wild as he lifted a hand to your face. 

“What do you want, cariño?” he rasped, smoothing his thumb over your bottom lip as though to worship it. “Hm?”

It took you a few seconds to register what he’d said, your mind preoccupied with fantasy after fantasy that finally felt possible. 

“You,” you replied, soft and breathy. “Your lips, your tongue, your fingers, your…”

“My what?” he coaxed, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

Lowering your hand down his chest and stomach, you let your palm rest against his arousal, giving him a gentle squeeze that made him curse. “This. This is what I want.” 

“Fuck me,” he swore, taking a step away from you before entering a pace. He raked his hand across his face as he seemed to mull things over, meanwhile you were left standing there, panting like an idiot while replaying the interaction in your head. 

Was it your touch that spooked him? Oh god, did he not want to be touched? Perhaps you were no better than Derrick, so blinded by desire and longing that you acted before asking. 

“Javi, I—“

“If we do this,” he started, stilling his pacing to give you a stern look. “It’s a one time thing. You and I will go about our lives as normal. You can continue to TA for me if you want, or I can try to transfer you to another professor.”

“I don’t want that,” you blurted, too lost in lust to think clearly. “One time. Get it out of our systems.”

Javier chuckled, as if he had foresight into how this all played out. He could’ve seen a happy ending, the two of you reminiscing on this very moment, laughing at the idiots you once were to ever think for a minute it would only be a one time thing. Or, more realistically, he imagined the two of you awkwardly dealing with the existence of the other with forced greetings and a hidden longing that felt more like a haunting. 

Whatever scene he saw, it didn’t prevent him from sauntering back to you, from kissing you like a sailor greeting his wife after being away at sea for years, from guiding you into his bedroom, and you didn’t dare break the magic of the moment by asking.

Javier backed you against the wall, his thigh slotting between yours. His lips traveled the line of your neck, teeth grazing across your racing pulse only to soothe over the tender flesh with his tongue. 

“If you knew the things I’ve imagined…” His words trailed off into a dark chuckle as his hands slid up your side to cup your breast through your shirt. He groaned at the lack of a bra, his hips pressing into yours as he swiped his thumb across your peaked nipple. “You proud that you’ve broken a good, honorable man? That the sight of you in those fucking skirts made me insane enough to consider fucking you right on my desk?”

“Sort of,” you admitted, earning a genuine laugh. You smiled at him as he pulled back, lifting his hand to hold your face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

The way he looked at you almost made your heart stop. You’d never been looked at like that before, with respect, affection, and genuine interest. It had only been lust before this, or worse, pity. The girl who stayed loyal, who allowed a man to walk all over her for years on end. 

“Just admiring,” he shrugged, giving you a casual purse of his lips. “Clever, brave, resilient, and so fucking beautiful it hurts.”

You couldn’t take hearing anything that sincere from him, not when it was all you ever wanted to hear, not when you knew it would all be over tomorrow. You tugged him back in for a kiss, hastily shedding his jacket in the process. Javier moaned into your mouth, pressing you against the wall with one arm wrapped around your waist and the other hoisting your thigh over his hip. 

You moved on to the buttons of his shirt as he mouthed his way down your neck to your chest, his greedy hands palming every soft bit of flesh he could find. 

“Take this off,” you demanded, your fingers too shaky to unfasten the buttons. Javier pulled away from you to do just that, his chin nudging at you as if to say, you too. You peeled off your hoodie, earning a groan from Javier as he unbuckled his belt, his eyes eating up the sight of your bare breasts. “Fuck me, you’d turn Christ himself into a sinner.”

You ignored the butterflies his praises stirred in your belly as you peeled off your leggings and underwear in one fluid motion, leaving you completely bare—and for once in your life, confident—in front of him. Javier abandoned undoing the button of his jeans in favor for coming back to you, both hands cradling your face as he backed you against the wall again. 

“One night,” he muttered, seemingly to himself. “We’ll fucking see.”

You slid your hand down his stomach to the button of his jeans, undoing it with only a little bit of trouble. Javier’s lips never left yours as you tugged the zipper down before slipping your hand inside. You both moaned at the feeling of your hand meeting his bare flesh, swallowing down the sounds of mutual pleasure. 

God, he was big. Bigger than anyone you’d ever been with before. 

“You’re going to ruin me for all men,” you purred into the air as he focused his lips, teeth, and tongue on your pulse again, your hand slowly pumping his shaft as best as you could given the way his body was pressing you into the wall. 

“I’ve always been an overachiever,” he replied, his smirk growing against your skin as he placed one last soft kiss against your pulse before kneeling down in front of you. You kept your eyes locked on his as he guided your calf to rest over his shoulder, his lips pressing their way up the inside of your leg. 

This was better than your favorite fantasy. It hadn’t managed to get the brown of his eyes, the rough warmth of his hands, the sinful scrape of his mustache across your soft skin right. In fact, now that you were witness to the real thing, the fantasy seemed like nothing more than a cheap knock-off.

“Javi,” you cautioned, remembering one critical detail about the fantasy. The fact that you’d never actually had this done to you before. All the sex and sin you’d gotten up to in your life, but never this. Selfish fucking men. 

“What,” he hummed lazily against your skin, now kissing your inner thigh. 

“You don’t have to,” you replied, nothing more than a whisper. Javier shook his head at you, gently nipping at your sensitive flesh. 

“Don’t have to, but fuck me, I want to,” he rasped, lathing his tongue over where he’d just given you a lovebite. You gently raked your hand through his hair, bringing his eyes away from your aching center and back to yours. 

“I’ve had this exact fantasy since the first day of class,” you admitted, biting your lip. “It’s been my favorite thing to think about when I touch myself.”

Javier groaned, desperate and wrecked. 

“Can you make it as good as my fantasy?” you asked, your voice a seductive purr. 

There was something about this—Javier on his knees, practically begging to taste you—that felt so much more empowering than you’d ever felt before with a sexual partner. How you’d ever go back to more age appropriate men, you weren’t sure. 

“You’re…” He cut himself off, shaking his head before leaning closer to where you practically dripped with need. “I’ll give you something real to fantasize about when you touch yourself, cariño.”

You smiled at the promise, only for it to fall as your jaw went slack at the feeling of Javier’s tongue licking a broad stripe up your seam. You furrowed your brows as you looked down to watch him, his eyes closed as he tugged you closer to his mouth. His tongue swirled around your bud, over and over, making you pulse with each passing swirl. You gripped onto his hair to keep him there, guiding him as his tongue dipped lower to your entrance to drink up your arousal with a sinful groan. 

“So fucking sweet,” he praised, pulling back to marvel at your swollen pussy with a look of awe. “I need you on the bed.” 

You nodded, springing into action and practically leaping into his king-sized mattress. You crawled back on your elbows until you reached the pillows, watching as Javier finally kicked off his jeans, finally taking in the full sight of his cock. You actually began to salivate at the sight of him, long and thick and angry with need. 

He stood at the edge of the bed, eyes locked on you as he stroked himself with his fist. You slipped your hand down to your clit, rubbing it in time with his lazy strokes, and quickly realized you could get off from this alone. 

“That’s it,” he husked. “Show me how you touch yourself when you think of me.”

You moaned, slipping your fingers lower to curl inside yourself. There was something so holy about this sinful act. The way he watched you, the worship and reverence in his stare as you got off to the sight of him getting off to the sight of you. All of it was holy, and all of it was forbidden. 

“Good fucking girl,” he praised, the words causing you to pulse around your fingers. 

Javier seemed to have gotten his fill of watching as he climbed onto the bed, making himself at home between your thighs. You slipped your fingers out and moved to law them to the side, but he stopped you, bringing them to his lips to suck them clean while you watched him with a slack jaw. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, brows pinching together. Javier kissed the inside of your palm before setting it down against his cool sheets. 

“Is this how you imagined it?” he asked, kissing your inner thigh. 

“Mmhm,” you hummed, combing back the waves that had fallen across his forehead. Javier keened under your touch as he inched his way back to your center. Locking his eyes with yours, you watched him turn your fantasies into reality—those brown eyes finally meeting yours just as you’d imagined. 

“You taste so good,” he praised, bringing two fingers up to stroke up and down your seam before dipping into your entrance. He met your eyes in a silent confirmation of consent. You nodded eagerly, biting your lip as you tried to steady your breathing. 

Javier let out a soft sigh as he slipped his fingers inside of you, curling them up to press against the spot no man had ever been able to locate before. You moaned, your head falling back against his pillows as he paired his tongue with the perfectly timed thrust of his fingers. 

“Fuck,” you whined, holding him close as he started to suck on your swollen bud, his fingers curling in and out with almost embarrassing ease as you neared your end—the first one you’d ever shared with a sexual partner. “Javi, fuck. You’re gonna make me come.”

He moaned, the sound vibrating against you as he doubled down in his efforts. Your thighs shook, your face crumpled in ecstasy as the thread of tension inside you finally snapped. Javier kept your thighs spread as they threatened to close around his head, his tongue turning gentle as he coaxed you back to earth. 

“That’s the first time someone’s ever made me come,” you panted, guiding him up for a dizzying kiss that tasted of your arousal. Javier’s hands gripped at your hip, guiding your leg to wrap around his waist. 

“Fucking idiots,” he sighed, pressing a kiss over your racing heartbeat. “Their loss.”

You nodded in agreement, your hand cradling the sharp line of his jaw as he focused his mouth on your breast. “I’d…be down for another.”

He laughed, resting his head on your chest. 

“As much as I want to, I think maybe it would be best if we just…didn’t,” he said, lifting his head to look into your eyes. You tried not to pout, to demand that he take as much as he just gave, but all you could do was give him a soft nod. “I want to, believe me. But it would just—“

“Make things more complicated,” you guessed, unable to look him in the eye. “I know.”

He tutted at you, turning your chin so that you were forced to face him. “I loved tonight, loved doing this with you. Under any other circumstance, I’d be happy to keep you in this bed for days, but—“

“It’s okay,” you managed, giving him a sad smile. “I’m glad we had this, at least.”

He nodded, resting his head against your chest again.

“I should go,” you said, the lump in your throat roughening the sound of your voice. 

“You don’t have to,” he replied, placing a tender kiss to your chest. 

“I know, but…it’s torture staying,” you confessed, trying your best not to cry. “Like flaunting food in front of someone starving.”

Javier sat back on his knees, smoothing his palms up and down your still-spread thighs. “I’m not…trying to torture you.”

“I know,” you whispered. “Still, it’s…”

“Yeah,” he agreed on the unspoken. “It is.”

You let out a huff of a chuckle, hoping it would mask the ache in your chest threatening to consume you. “Guess I’ll see you in class, then?”

“Front and center, I hope,” he smiled, backing off the bed to give you space to get up and get dressed. “And no skirts, for Christ’s sake.”

“Mm, suddenly skirts are all I own,” you joked, shooting him a more genuine smile from over your shoulder as you slipped into your leggings. 

“Cruel woman,” he chided playfully, watching you from his seat at the foot of the bed. “Cruel, beautiful woman.”

After Javier led you out of the building through the back exit to avoid Jeannie, you bid him an awkward farewell, holding in your tears until you were in your car. You spent the commute from his place to yours sobbing over a man you could never have, one that was everything you ever wanted. You made a pit stop at a gas station to buy some comfort snacks and an ice-ee in hopes of soothing the ache in your chest, but the truth was there was no escaping the impact of Javier Peña on your soft, longing heart. 

You only hoped the recovery would be quick, the wound of losing him before you ever had him fading into an almost unnoticeable scar on your heart. 

[famemonsterrr]

Astrology observations part 7 🪽

- I have said Leo are selfish but I have to mention how awfully selfish is 1st house sun or Aries rising are.

- Cancer sun with Taurus Venus is something I don’t see often but they are beautiful and caring individuals that give the best presents ever. (Ex: Ariana grande)

I have also noticed that cancer with earth placements tend to like softer aesthetics and colours. Like white and pastels ✨

- cancer with Leo Venus/mars makes someone really need for word affirmations. " you are amazing" "you are so talented".

- between the fire signs Leo and Aries would come from each others throats. Sagittarius is planning a trip or joining in new cult.

- Aquarius moon might have issue with bossy mothers.

- Pisces mothers either will be amazing and sooo caring or they will be emotionally needy and put pressure on their kids.

- mutable signs or air dominant people have learning difficulties (my dad and mom are Gemini and both have dyslexia. I got it as well💅🏻 ofc it’s genetics but It’s not coincidence I’m Pisces and I’m air dominant)

- Leo placements watch theirs own stories or whatever they upload like they are in love with themselves. Their own stalkers 💀

- north node in Gemini will always be students in life…(yayyyyyyy that’s what we want)

- Aquarius with Leo placements….nooooooooo just nooooo. God complex is real and it is Aquarius with Leo placements and vice versa. Cool people but u always right no matter what because you are better that anyone else 🙂

- if your lover has Venus or mars in the 8th house be prepared to have a good spicy time. The difference is that Venus is so passionate naturally and loves spicy time. However on mars to have a good bed time u kinda have to be a little bit toxic and turn them on. Make them jealous is an easy solution. Usually 8th house attracts a lot of toxicity or "passionate" energy.

- 2nd house Venus…OHHHH sooo sexyyyyyyyy. Candles,dinners and flowers. If you see a man having Venus on that house. KEEP HIMMMM

- Pisces suns just don’t get along with other Pisces sun. PERIOD

- Pisces sun with Aries mercury are baddies now Aries sun with Pisces mercury is a softie.

- water placements seem to love winter more than anything.

- if u have fire placements u would had gone or u are still are in ur ginger/red hair era.

- to all my Capricorn stelliums…are okay my loves? Maybe relax a bit. You are doing amazing 🥰

- to all my beautiful Chiron in cancer pliz go and heal in ur own space and the ways u only know. Maybe spend time with ur family and friends.

- Mc in Taurus means u will succeed no matter what in any field ur in. Maybe a little lazy but u need money and stability so when u feel u don’t have it u will work. Probably in business field or singing. People with placements have beautiful voices naturally as well

- Leo, libra, Virgo and Taurus are the type of people who will use ur own personal style as an insult and it’s sooo funny but I can’t go that far because I’m broke.

Thats all 🪽

This was so short lol but I need to remember you again that personal observations aren’t facts and because you can’t relate that doesn’t mean I ain’t accurate or u aren’t. Everyone has different experiences and life. So yeah astrology isn’t a fact at all. Anyway stay healthy and hydrated girly pops 💅🏻

[iheartgeto]

𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 | 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢

𝙘𝙬 : mild fluff, explicit smut, stomach bulge, unprotected/rough sex, pussies, creampie, slight edging, grinding, blood, biting, suggestive/graphic language, slight exibitionism, mutual pining, plot w/ smut, “baby” nickname

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 : sunato banda x f! reader ; banda finally meets someone with similar taste.

𝙬𝙘: 3.4k

𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 : nsfw ; unedited 

The rough wad of a paper towel itched your skin as you crumbled and lightly threw your marked napkin in frustration.

“fuck this all” you muttered, gripping your hair—slight pain casting on you from the tightness of your pull.

The second to last circle you had drawn out on the napkin had finally been crossed out. You used this puny tissue to keep track of your days, in hopes you’d never run out of them. However, you had one circle left, and only a day left on your visa.

kicking the gravel along the wide path, you eyed the large blimp floating atop this place of confinement. A jack. The jack of hearts— Not a queen or king, but the “easiest” of the face cards. actually- don’t even kid yourself. you picked the dry skin off your fingers in a nervous fit as you walked through the gates of the penitentiary. you zipped up your jacket, covering the bikini top (complimentary from the beach, a place that served you basically no purpose other than surviving these games) that revealed more than your liking.

whatever, that place was long gone thanks to chishiya, kuina, and the rest of his crazy gang. gladly you had been on decent terms with them, even going so far as to help him gain parts for his weird invention. he required a specific part that seemed to be needed to spread heat? probably made some stupid crap to smoke or cook up a barbecue, whatever weird shit that freak was up to.

Making your way through the entrance, you came to a stop. The white luminescent lights buzzed through the empty hallway as your heart beat was getting faster and faster. Albeit your immense nervousness, you kept a rested expression. The game hadn’t even started yet but you were shaking. this was exciting.

“Put on a collar and go upstairs to the central guard room”.

two black collars rested in front of you. The glossy table stared up at you as you contemplated your decision in joining. Not like you had a choice, it was either this or the red beam of death from the sky. might as well try to live, regardless of how shitty this situation was. you wouldn’t let your misery consume you. or at least that’s how most people would approach life.

you simply strived to live. if you were gonna die, it would be through one these stupid fucking games—not from drowning in the depths of your own self loathing. even then, you still didn’t want these randoms to be the cause of your anticlimactic death. this world was quite beautiful anyways. the intensity, complexity, and structure of this newfound world was simply beautiful. this elysian paradise was addicting. because of this, you would let yourself have fun. just win this game for the small reward of life and some entertainment.

finally, a place for you to let loose and have some real fun.

Suddenly, the faint sound of footsteps grew closer and closer, knocking you out of your short-lived daze. the man stopped next to you, slowly observing the beautiful scenery of dirty bleak walls and prison cells. he smirked, and closed his eyes with a serene look. it was as if he was home. you observed his face with jealousy— you longingly wished for your nerves to wash away and feel this lost sense of serenity.

“do you think this will be fun?” you asked, a polite smile etching your face as you observed his features. his broad shoulders covering you even while trying to make small talk. “i really hope it will”.

“most definitely” he replied, eyes curling into mini crescents yet his overall face remained unphased.

“hm, i agree. but would you mind helping me with this? i’m not sure how to close this lock” you looked up at him. your doe eyes glistened in the white light as he stared you down.

“of course, come closer” he said. his voice was low and smooth, the kind you could listen to all day. his hot hands moved your hair away from your neck to allow the lock to clasp. however, his hands rested on your throat a little longer than expected. he slowly massaged the place where the lock had clasped and bent down to your ear, his hot breath skipping over your skin. he sees your hands trembling and grasps them to stop it as he caresses your palm.

“it feels nice to know someone else is excited to play this game, it seems to me that we are quite alike” he whispered lowly, as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear this reveal.

you knew damn well how to lock this simple little collar, but why miss your chance with a man who caught your attention.

“maybe we are, thanks and good luck then”, you smiled cheerfully, patting him on the back, walking past him into the main prison area. he stared at your back, grinning at his newfound infatuation.

as you made your way into the main area, you glanced at the crowd around you. the majority was tense and filled with fear. you almost burst out laughing after seeing this blond haired man. chishiya seemed to be alive and well. good for him.

“long time no see, never’d expect to see you here chishiya”, you stood next to him.

“there's many places i’d rather be” he replied, not looking back and staring at the screen in front of him. there was no need to catch up as you both knew the situation. you both understood that the catching up could come after the game.

“you may pass time anywhere you like until it is time to enter a prison cell”

There was an awkward silence going around, until people decided to start grouping up and leave.

“hey let’s tell each other” a timid man in overalls and a yellow shirt turned to you and chishiya. you nodded in agreement—sounded like a decent idea.

“If you want to survive you need to observe everyone closely, do you want to know what they were doing before the game began?”, chishiya remarked, the three of you turned in the direction of a couple in suits. chishiya went on to explain in graphic detail, causing the poor man to cringe.

“that guy’s confidence won’t let her get involved with anyone else”.

“I was thinking the exact same thing”, you said with amusement.

Watching from above, the three of you observed a pair that seemed to be making a deal. The man from earlier, and another one with a dark aura. Glancing at the screen you find out their names are banda and matsushita. The girl with a blue dress then asked the three of you to join her team. The three of you didn't mind, so you decided to join. Chishiya, overalls, and you exchanged signs and just tagged along with the group.  And that was the end of the first round.

“Hurry up and tell me, fucker!” a rough voice screamed, throwing a poor man in front of everyone. banda went to his rescue and whispered into his ear. sly bitch. you and chishiya glanced at each other, as you knew you saw the same thing.

The group of people then continued on with their antics of telling eachother their signs. From across the room you met his cold gaze. He was seated on the floor, staring blankly at you. You stared back, harnessing a smile in which he returned and waved. Chishiya observed the two of you, a little freaked out by your “kind” facade. And if chishiya was freaked out, then the poor guy next to him was petrified at the interaction in front of him.

The group migrated to the snack room, and from there the game went downhill. Everyone slowly began lying to each other, leaving only your group of three and the two pairs. However, your kind friend could not handle the intensity of the game. an explosion being heard a few cells away from yours.

“he was far too kind hearted for this game” chishiya sighed. You glanced at his bloodied body through the holes of the cell.

“he’s the kind of person i want to be”, you replied. heaving a long exhale of slight sadness at the sight of the poor boy.

“It’s not too late for that, but i think it's about time we start socializing, '' he replied with sarcastic enthusiasm.

“funny coming from you” you scoffed, but understood what he meant. Chishiya would stay in the snack cellar while you would go upstairs and watch. As you started up the stairs you passed by matsushita, paying him no mind as you knew what this meant. banda would be by himself. Being in such a rush you trip on yourself, bracing yourself to fall face forward til someone stops you.

Banda catches you, pulling you in tight for an unexpected hug. “thanks for catching me there”,  you smile, your warm hand meeting his, as he holds you in his embrace. “you even helped out that poor guy who was being bullied— i mean he’s gone now but what did you say to him anyways, some words of encouragement? you seem like such a nice person”.

“thanks, but i’m not fucking stupid” he replied with a silent smile. “drop the act y/n. judging from the way you’re approaching me— you know damn well what i said, c’mon you’re a smart girl right?”. he grabs your wrist, pulling you up as he then corners you against the wall, a dark area of the prison covered by a turn.

“I’m actually pretty dumb” you paused, banda laughed. lowly chuckling at your poor attempts to conceal your true self. “so tell me, why would you encourage him to lie?— you made such a mess of everyone and now we’re the only ones left” you stare up at him, his patronizing gaze looking down at you. you were so close his breath barely touched you. “you aren’t the jack, are you?”.

“who knows? why are you in this game anyways? you don’t really seem like the type”. this conversation was amusing him, you could see it in his expression that he was enjoying this to the fullest.

“what do i seem like then”, you asked. pure curiosity leaking out of your statement, placing a hand to your chin, mocking his question.

“a cute girl who’s letting on less than she really is”, banda relayed, a cold expression etching his face.

his response caught you off guard. “so what if i am? better to appear lower than others than have people at my neck trying to bring me down”, you replied with haste. god, you were so adorable when you were worried. this was getting him excited.

“well smart girl, what do you really think about this game? this place even?”. he kept questioning you, making you feel on edge. you couldn’t tell where this was going.

“I don’t care how you view this place banda, but for me i feel free. i can do whatever i want as long as i play these fun games— i mean sometimes they aren’t so much fun, it’s like a hassle i guess, but it’s a fair price —and they always lead me to interesting people like you”, you replied, slightly afraid of being judged.

banda watched you speak with ease. he was so intrigued with your tinge of confidence and slight intelligence. he also thought you were really damn cute for thinking you could fool him. not knowing how to lock a simple collar? c’mon you were better than that baby. he knew you wanted him, but he wanted you more.  he wanted to corrupt you. fuck your cute little brains up and make you his. mold you to match his lovely thoughts on the borderlands. you both already enjoyed the place and you were just too entertaining to not keep around.

“we really are similar”, he said with a crazed relief, caressing your cheek and staring at you in awe. “until now, i’ve never been in a land as beautiful as this one, nor met two people so worthy of my trust”.

“i suppose matsushita is just as agreeable as i am then?” you joke, pulling his hand off your cheek and lengthening the distance between you two. he was making you feel a type of way. you felt your body  getting warmer and your breath getting ragged.

“no, not him at all— he’s a very condescending individual, but i guess that’s the only redeeming quality of his. i met yaba a while ago, we are equals in which we agree this place is a true paradise and that we trust each other enough to deduce who the jack is”. he pauses, and continues to keep his focus on your face. “matsushita’s confidence kinda reminds me of you” he jokes.

“god, my “confidence”— or whatever the hell you’re even referring to doesn’t mean anything. don’t group me with people like matsushita, I didn’t even have to speak to him to tell he was a cocky bitch!”, you became defensive and bursted out.

“there’s the y/n i was looking for”, banda commented. you sensed some sarcasm and wished to settle whatever he was going off about. you hated that he felt the need to tease you—honestly maybe you enjoyed it, you just wanted to be on decent terms.

“i really don’t think i’m better than you—if that’s what your insinuating, but i do feel like we have similar tastes. and for that i trust you—want to be friends?”. for a moment you stared at each other as you awaited for his response. you wanted to be friends? how naive could you fucking be? banda wanted to erupt with laughter and slap you in the face as he ruined you.

“oh we’re gonna be more than friends” he whispered. your cheeks became redder as he kept getting closer, and you were letting him. “let’s make a deal, i’ll tell you your symbol if you help me”. his hard tent rutted against your leg as you felt him knee your soaking pussy. His leg began applying pressure to your needy clit.

“c- chishiya would tell me my symbol so why—

“then this is just an excuse to fuck your soaking little cunt. i like you”, he confessed, as if he was a schoolboy asking out a girl for the first time. his face was flushed red as he started sucking your neck, leaving a trail of purple kisses down to your chest. Banda unzipped your jacket, revealing the bikini from the beach. his rough hands slid your bikini under your boobs. you felt heated up as he sucked your tits. His head tilted as his mouth kept continuing to lick your buds, groaning as you grew sensitive to his touch.

“i- i like you too”, you whimpered, airy breaths leaving your mouth. “please..!” you mewled, as he continued to suck.

“please what? gotta use your words baby” he smirked as his thumb circled your airway. he sensually massaged it as his lips met yours, his teeth sinking into the flesh of your soft lips.

"A-Ah..!" you gasped, a small trail of blood leaked down the corner of your lip. his mind clouded with lust as he lapped up the red liquid. “you taste so fucking good” he groaned. “what do you want my sweet girl?”

“ i want- need you so bad- please!”, you continued to whimper his name, constantly reciting it as if it were a sacred prayer. “i want you to ruin me with your fat cock!” you quietly screamed. you couldn’t take it anymore, you needed him so bad. he suddenly began removing his pants, the fast sound of his buckle dropping to the floor echoed throughout the hallway. you glanced in awe, he was big. how the hell would he even fit? his meat slapped the lower area of his stomach as his tip leaked with pre cum. he pumped his veiny length, lathering it in his own liquid, and stuck his long fingers in your mouth.

“mmgph!” you almost choked at how deep he stuck them in. but it tasted too good. so sweet and musky.

you circled your tongue his fingers, lapping up whatever he gave you. this caused him to smirk as he released his fingers from your mouth, causing a pop sound to echo. he slowly sunk his cock inside of your soppy cunt, hands gripping your waist as his hard length went inside you. he bit his lips, and his eyes were laced with ecstasy as your right walls shaped around him. you were so fucking tight.

“god you were made for me—your all mine- shit” he groaned, intertwining your hands and kissing you hardly. you replied with sweet moans, and watched his pace get faster and his strokes get deeper. lewd pants filled the hallway as his heavy balls slapped your clit, pounding you against the wall. you were both so oblivious to your surroundings, clouded only with the thought of each other’s touch and the feeling of release. you felt every one of his veins as he took you raw. his large cock shaped your pussy, as a bulge could be seen. banda groaned at the sight, lightly pressing down on it as you both moaned in pleasure. tears dripped from the corner of your eyes as banda watched you in ecstasy. you were so fucking beautiful.

you arched your back as he finally hit that spot. “r-right there banda please- please don’t stop” you sighed. “you feel so good princess ugh fuck” he groaned out, continuing his rough pace. your tits bounced up and down as he rammed into you, fucking you with a pure high. he felt as if you were a drug, one that he could never get enough of.

“i- i’m so close, i’m gonna cum!” you exclaimed with a volume. banda smirked, letting go of your hand to rub the edge of your pussy. the two of you were covered in sweat and saliva. “come for me y/n”. then it hit you hard, like a tsunami. you threw your head back, biting your lips in attempt to contain your deep moan. you let out silent screams as he continued to harshly ram into you, chasing his own high. your tongue lolled out of your mouth and eyes hazed with pleasure as the only thing you could think about was banda.

his eyes stared at the messy sight before him as he suddenly choked out a deep groan. “fuck baby mmph- you took me so well”. your white pleasure gushed around his cock, leaking out of your cunt. a white ring of cum covered his length as he continued to ram into you. and then his orgasm hit, filling your cunt with thick cum as your pussy pulsed and your body spasmed. his legs shook at how hard he came, and he pressed his forehead against yours, the both of you basking in each other’s heat. your brains were fogged from the intensity the both of you had just endured.

“i- i really like you y/n, i want to be with you forever”, he whispered over the two of you catching yours breaths. you would’ve drifted off to sleep if banda hadn’t insisted the two of you go back to the main area. helping you get dressed, the two of you head back to the main hall. he kissed your forehead before watching you head back down to the snack cellar to talk to chishiya.

“hahahahahahhaa” a crazed laugh escapes from matsushita’s lips. he thinks he finally won.

However, chishiya had emerged from his cell, and you followed suit. Strong arms wrapped around your body as a banda had come out of his cell as well. the four of you had deduced matsushita was the jack. Chishiya, banda, and yaba had explained their tactics to matsushita as they started to corner him into a cell.

“hold this for me baby?” he asked with a soft tone, holding out his scalpel. you grabbed it as he affectionately patted your head and grew closer to yaba. yaba took off his blazer, preparing for their violence and hopefully new information about the borderlands. “It’s unfortunate that i can’t kill you, but i can still have fun with you”.

i need more banda content, it’s so dry out here. :,) | sorry if anything was incoherent its late rn LOL

[blixabargelds]

for the prompt game “zipping or buttoning their jacket for them” for clegan!! if you want to! 🫶 love your stuff on ao3 and am pressing my face intensely against the glass of all the superstar stuff you post

@roycest too thank youuuu sm guys <33

i borrowed @swifty-fox’s little beasts boys for this one hehe thank u for letting me play with them :3 cw gore mention ~~

- zipping or buttoning their jacket for them

John holds the cigarette up to Gale’s mouth. He knew that he’d quit long before they met. John had offered one without mentioning that; Gale had taken it without a word. His fingertips brush Gale’s lips as he raises the smoke for him again, the usually plush skin turned chapped with anxiety, and sterile air.

He can’t hold the thing himself, because he’s got twin tears through his hands. On each hand: two fractured metacarpals, four torn tendons- palm, and back- one rough, bleeding hole. Disinfected, bandadged, and splinted still now. He’s slated for surgery on both of them in the next couple of days. John’s fingers shake as he helps Gale take another drag.

“Gale-”

“Don’t, John.”

John rubs at his eyes. They sting from being open so long, but each time he shuts them he can only picture Gale, face twisted in agony and two seven-inch iron nails through his palms. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Gale says again. He fixes John with a look. His eyes are red-rimmed, vaguely glassy from the shock, and the pain, and the good stuff they’ve given him, but it’s an effective look nonetheless. “You got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

John laughs. A teasing, phantom itch passes through the crook of his elbow. “I’m the one who-”

“John, stop it, please.”

It’s only the fraying of Gale’s voice that shuts John up. He wants to touch him so bad but he can’t. Everyone knows him, everyone is doing double takes at the young priest, smoking Reds held up to his face by someone else, and sporting gauze-wrapped stigmata at 2am outside the ER.

John wonders if that’s the only reason they picked him. Like John’s got a pronounced connection to the church in some way less complex than the truth of that relationship. Maybe he’s just been going around wearing his twelve steps on his sleeve, giving off some vibe of reformed dedication to his higher power. He doubts that, though. Very fucking much.

The other explanation is that these people- these guys John owed money to, as they told him- knew about him and Gale. That they talk. John’s got no idea how they would. He’s got no idea who they were, because he can’t remember so many of his fuckups; so many people he’s pissed off or fucked over. Got your priest, said the anonymous text on the screen of his shattered phone. Yours. John wonders if they could tell, if they didn’t know already, that his connection to Gale went beyond Sunday Service in the way that he’d reacted; like a rabid dog as they twisted the nails in deeper. They’d thought it was hilarious. Live crucifixion, real original idea, grinding in the rusty iron fixing Gale to the tree behind until said priest had finally cried. John would’ve given over every cent if he hadn’t been scared for a second that they’d just kill Gale.

He’s not sure where his strength came from, in the end. He hadn’t even thought of his parole.

He wants to hold Gale’s fucking hand. But that’s not something they do anyways, and Gale doesn’t need him to. Couldn’t if he did.

John throws caution to the wind, hopes whoever walks past next might see nothing more than the expected level of comfort to be seen outside an emergency room. He wraps an arm around Gale’s shoulders and pulls him tight to his body. John can feel the way he’s shaking. Adrenaline and morphine slowly seeping out of him, and Gale gives in, too, pressing his face into John’s collar. His breaths come fast and uneven against his skin.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” John says.

He dips his face lower, shielded from view by the side of Gale’s head, and ghosts a kiss above his ear. It’s too tender for whatever they are. Which is currently undefined, a burning mess and hidden clashes of tongues, but John’s too tired to care. He can’t stop hearing the scream Gale clenched behind his teeth.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Gale says. John can’t stop hearing Gale’s quiet, fervent praying. He’d been kind of unconvinced by his devotion before. Still is, mostly- John’s pretty sure he was counting his own Hail Marys, too. “You’re uncharacteristically quiet. It’s freaking me out.”

John laughs. It sounds embarrassingly wet. He peels himself back from Gale, dragging out another smoke. He passes this one back and forth between them; watches Gale wince as his fingers automatically flex, as if John’s gonna let him take it himself. He hasn’t really got anything to say, except that he’s sorry.

“You’ll look hardcore.”

Gale blinks. Then laughs, a shaking and breathless thing, kind of heavenly to John; after the night from hell. “Right.”

“You’ll be the most Godly priest around. The gay rumours have got to stop now.”

“John,” Gale hisses.

John holds his hands up in surrender. “I said rumours. Unfounded, I’ve heard. No fucking idea where anyone would get that from, truly, sick thing to make up about a priest.”

“Fuck, John, what if my fingers don’t work anymore.”

John stops talking again at that. He looks down at Gale’s bandaged hands. There hadn’t been as much blood as John expected, the two long nails plugging the wounds where they speared him back to front. It was only when Gale had ripped one out in the car that it really started to bleed. John told him not to. Gale knew not to, only John guesses he hated the look of the things in his palms, because he’d just tugged one straight out in a daze, and sent blood spurting all over the dashboard, pooling down in his lap. John has seen a lot of shit, but he’s never seen right through someone’s body before. Right through his hands. Gale won’t even be able to turn the pages of his precious Bible alone for weeks, at least. John gets a horrible image of Gale’s loose fist working his cock, the slide of it visible through a gory opening in his tender flesh.

These guys in their masks had asked where Gale’s God was now. He looks like he’s still trying to figure it out.

John could kill someone for a drink. A joint, maybe. A line, or worse. He shakes a little with it.

Gale is still shaking, too. Gentle tremors running up and down his lithe body, useless hands coming around to hug himself. It’s cold, and late, but they’ve been surrounded by doctors and nurses and cops, disinfectant and bleating machines for hours. Gale, who doesn’t smoke anymore, had asked for a cigarette, and John wasn’t going to say no. He shrugs off his old Patriots hoodie and helps Gale’s hands through the sleeves.

“’S’alright,” he’s saying, even as he’s blinking slowly, grimacing with the brush of fabric on his fingers.

“Don’t be a martyr,” John says. “For once.”

John zips the sweater up for him. He pulls the hood up over his ears for good measure, and leans back to admire his work. It would be funny if it weren’t so pitiful; Gale dwarfed somewhat by the thing, mussed hair sticking out from under the hood, and that vaguely smug, pious air gone completely from his tired face. John wonders if his voice will tremble at the altar. If he’ll even get back up there for a while. John doesn’t think it’ll take long. Gale is infuriatingly stubborn.

“John, I can’t feel my fingers,” he says, exhaustion pulling down that defensive veil and making his voice thin. John realises he never answered his question

“Hey, it’s the painkillers. The doctor said you’ll get movement back, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t say how much,” Gale croaks.

“Well,” John grits his teeth. Swallows, then says, “Jesus’s hands worked fine.”

It’s meant to be light, but it comes off sort of desperate.

Gale shuts his eyes. “Ain’t Jesus, John. I’m just a fuckin’- some idiot.”

“Cut it out, Gale,” John says. It’s sharp enough that Gale opens his eyes and looks at him, owlish and shocked. John tugs at his curls and sighs. “Fuck, sorry. Just, bad shit happens when there’s scum involved. Trust me. Y’not actually a saint, some guys fucked you up. It should’ve been- it shouldn’t have been you. Alright? This sort of shit shouldn’t happen to you.”

Gale stares at him. John’s arms still itch uncomfortably, a familiar pull in his stomach making him feel off kilter. He thinks of his one year chip. Thinks of swallowing it whole, seeing if it does any damage to his insides.

“Want to listen to some records later?” he says instead.

“I’m gonna be here overnight, John.”

“Yeah,” John says. “Me too.”

Gale blinks. He looks fucking dreadful; tired and hurt, lost in John’s clothes and all messed up where he’s usually so put together. Sheet white and in pain. John wants to kiss him so bad his veins ache with it. It’s sort of funny, how John thinks he’s friends with a priest now.

“Sure,” Gale says after a while. “I’ll listen to some records with you.”

[bwabys-scenarios]

Fixer Upper

Perv!Kurapika x Fem!Reader

Part 6

part 5

part 7

taglist: @fabitheraven @tsukilover11 @ashdownunderscorebeloved @lemonslut @homeinmydreams @superweeniehutjrsblog @bugmomwrites @heartsforseo @lixiawinter @altaircc

if you’d like to be ADDED to the taglist, please comment a red heart ❤️, make sure you’re able to be tagged/mentioned, and have your age in your bio(IF YOU ARE ALREADY ON THE TAGLIST, YOU DON’T NEED TO ASK TO BE ADDED AGAIN!!)

A/N: I wrote this because I desperately want to go swimming but I can’t. Will also be a beach and hot springs trip in the near future because it’s MY fanfic I can write what I want

Kurapika woke up with a headache, grateful for whatever soft surface he was nestled against. He knew he needed to get up and take some medicine for the pain, but how could he when he was just so comfortable?

‘Mmm… when did I fall asleep?’

He slowly lifted himself up, blinking sleepily as his eyes focused on the surface he’d been lying on.

His eyes landed on two soft mounds laid he’d been resting between, his tired mind trying to make sense of what they were before he heard something.

“Mmph… Kurapika, you awake?”

(Name) pushed herself up, rubbing at her eyes as she yawned. Kurapika stared at her for a few seconds as he began to process everything.

His hands were at either side of her hips and his face inches away from her boobs. Was that… was that the soft surface he’d just been sleeping on?

Kurapika rose from the couch and sprinted to his room, slamming the door shut behind him. (Name) was too tired to react and ended up rolling over and pulling the throw blanket up to her chin.

‘When did I end up… like that? I was lying between…’

He slowly stroked his cock to the residual feeling of her boobs pressed against his face. Kurapika lifted his shirt to his nose, sighing in contentment at (Name)‘s lingering scent.

It made his stomach coil into a tight knot, the man barely containing a whimper as he came onto his freshly cleaned sheets.

It was still dark outside, the man realizing he’d need to get his sheets to the laundry room before anyone else woke up.

‘I wanna sleep like that again…’

He sighed softly as he carried his sheets to the laundry room, stealing a glance at (Name) when he passed by.

She looked awfully cute all cuddled up on the couch. Kurapika couldn’t help his eyes softening when they landed on her sleeping form.

He set his sheets down on a chair and stepped closer, crouching down to take a look at her sleeping face.

She was smiling in her sleep, the blanket pulled up to her chin. Kurapika tucked some of her hair behind her ear and made sure she was completely covered before stepping back.

It was much easier to look after her while she was asleep. He watched over her every day from a distance, but now he could take in the small details he hadn’t been able to during the daylight hours.

Now that she was asleep, he could give her a sweet smile and admire her cute face without feeling guilty about leaving her in the near future. He’d always found her cute, ever since they first met during the first stage of the Hunter Exam.

Even now, nearly three years later he still struggled to understand the feelings he had for her. Being near her soothed something deep inside him, calmed the raging fire in his heart that threatened to burn away the last bits of humanity that still remained.

He wondered if it was the same type of care he felt for Melody. She also helped him feel softer, but it was different. Melody felt more like a mother figure, someone he could never look at in the same way he did (Name).

No, his feelings for (Name) were more complex than friendship. He just didn’t know exactly what it was yet.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Kurapika jumped back at the sound of someone’s voice echoing through the living room, his eyes gone wide with both shock and embarrassment.

“I- um. I was just tucking her in.”

Killua stared at him from the hallway with narrowed eyes. “You’ve been looking at her like a creep for the past 5 minutes.”

Kurapika’s cheeks darkened. “I…”

Killua groaned and walked towards the kitchen, opening the fridge and taking out the milk. “First you get drunk and beg for her to hold you while you sleep, and now you stare at her while SHE sleeps. What the hell is wrong with you?”

‘I begged for her to hold me? Oh god…’

Kurapika groaned and held his aching head in his hands. “Please be quiet, my head is pounding.”

Killua thought about yelling for a moment, but (Name) was sleeping peacefully just a few feet away.

“Whatever.”

He made himself a bowl of cereal as Kurapika skittered away to wash his sheets before anyone caught him.

Killua had seen the way he’d looked at (Name), and it made him uneasy. How could he look at her like that yet be so cold to her when she was awake? It didn’t make sense to him.

‘Is he… unaware of his feelings?’

——————

A few days pass by quietly.

Kurapika had tried following Leorio’s advice one night and looked up some random porn to watch.

He didn’t enjoy it one bit. Watching other people have sex wasn’t something he was interested in. He ended up being more embarrassed than aroused, quickly clicking off of the video and rolling over in bed with a huff.

The woman in the video wasn’t someone he could ever see himself being interested in. She wasn’t soft, her voice too shrill and her eyes not holding that familiar warmth that made his stomach do backflips.

She wasn’t (Name).

Kurapika thought about her face when she’d woken up to him nestled between her chest. She didn’t look angry, just a bit sleepy. She’d had her hand in his hair, gently combing her fingers through his blonde locks.

He was hard again, just from the thought of (Name). He didn’t even need to think of her in states of undress, just thinking of her smile and sweet voice when she spoke to him could make him cum before he could think.

Kurapika panted softly to catch his breath, his cum painted over his bare chest. He was a little embarrassed at how fast he finished, just from the thought of (Name) alone. It had only been a few minutes between turning off his phone and orgasming.

For some reason, his instinct told him he shouldn’t cum so fast, that he shouldn’t feel good about it.

‘I’ll get better… wait why do I care about that?’

He shook the thought from his head and wiped his chest off with a tissue before running to the bathroom to shower.

(Name) was too busy packing up premade lunches into a basket to pay any attention to the blonde. After a quick shower, he entered the living room wearing a pair of sweat pants, no shirt.

“What are you doing, (Name)?”

The girl glanced back, only to avert her gaze when she noticed he didn’t have a shirt on.

“O-oh, I’m just packing up for our trip to the pool. I know it’s still really early-“

“It’s 4 am, (Name).”

He walked over to her, sighing. “You should get some sleep. I can finish up.”

“No, you don’t have to do that, I promise I don’t-“

He put a finger to her lips and smiled.

“Be a good girl and head upstairs. I can handle making some sandwiches.”

(Name)’s eyes stared at his finger, her face heating up. She didn’t dare speak, blinking up at him with her pretty (e/c) eyes so obediently.

Kurapika’s brief burst of courage crumbled when his eyes met her’s.

“Go on. Get some sleep now.”

He shooed her away before he could see he’d gotten hard again just by making eye contact. She giggled, sending him a sweet smile.

“Thanks, Kurapika. You’re the best.”

Oh.

That made his heart flutter. Him, the best? That was objectively wrong but it still gave him butterflies.

“G-goodnight.”

He cursed himself for being so nervous. She was (Name), his close friend. He had no reason to be nervous around her.

Unless you count the weird sexual feelings that kept bubbling to the surface every time she was around.

But he wasn’t going to acknowledge that. Kurapika pushed those feelings down much like he had pushed down his more innocent attraction to her back in York New.

‘Just two more weeks. Then I’ll be gone, and away from her. She’ll be safe, and I can focus on my mission.’

—————

Gon and Killua were the first ones up, quickly ascending the stairs to (Name)’s room.

“(Name)! The pool opens in an hour!”

The girl opened the door, sleepily pushing past them and down the stairs to make breakfast.

“We don’t have to be there the second it opens, you know.”

Gon gasped. “Of course we do! Early bird gets the worm, and the worm is the good table with the green umbrella!”

(Name) sighed. ‘Again with the green umbrella. He gets so mad when someone else takes that specific table…’

As she reached the final step on the stairs, she paused.

“Is that the smell of someone cooking? Oh no, LEORIO!”

(Name) dashed forward, only stopping when she heard Leorio yell at her from the bathroom.

“CAN’T A MAN SHIT IN PEACE?”

‘Wait, if the boys are upstairs and Leorio is in the bathroom, that leaves…’

Kurapika stood in the kitchen, flipping pancakes while bacon sizzled on the stovetop next to him.

“Oh, (Name). You’re awake. I went ahead and made breakfast since so you could sleep in.”

(Name) walked closer and peeked over his shoulder. “Oh wow, this looks great Kurapika!”

The man suppressed the pride swelling up in his chest, instead smiling back at her. “Thank you. It should be ready in a few minutes. Why don’t you go get dressed?”

(Name) was very happy this morning. Not only was breakfast being made for her, but Kurapika was the one making it! He was back to being the sweet Kurapika she knew.

But (Name) wasn’t sure how long this would last.

‘I’ll just soak up all the time I have with him. Just smile and be happy while he’s here.’

She grabbed her bathing suit from the laundry room before running upstairs.

——————

Kurapika knew he probably shouldn’t go. He was still struggling to look at (Name) without getting aroused. He was almost sure he’d spend the entire trip trying to hide his hard on from (Name) as she pranced around the pool in her less than modest bathing suit.

But he couldn’t say no when (Name) was giving him such a cute smile as she planned out their day. It might just break her heart, and although Kurapika was capable of that for the right reasons, not wanting to go with her to the pool was not a good enough reason.

“Kurapika, you almost ready?” She asked from behind his bedroom door.

The previous day, Kurapika and Leorio had taken the mom van to town and bought themselves some decent swim wear.

Before, Kurapika would have just stripped and swam in his underwear, but apparently that was looked down upon in public settings.

“Yes, (Name). Could you grab me something to pull my hair back with?”

“Of course!”

(Name) ran to the bathroom and dig around the drawers. It was weird, she was always losing scrunchies and hair ties. She grabbed a pink ponytail holder and walked back to Kurapika’s room.

His door was open now, allowing (Name) to enter.

Kurapika wore a pair of navy blue swim trunks and a plain white shirt. Currently, he was combing out his longer than usual hair.

“Oh, (Name), just in time.”

He took the ponytail holder from her outstretched palm and pulled his hair back into a low ponytail.

“Ah.”

It didn’t look good. His hair looked messy and Kurapika hadn’t wrapped the ponytail holder around his hair enough, so it was slowly slipping from his hair.

(Name) stepped closer, pulling the ponytail holder from his hair with a giggle. “Sit, I’ll do it.”

He did, a bit flustered with her close contact. She used a comb to brush back his hair evenly and place it in a ponytail, making it tight enough that it would stay in place, but loose enough to not cause a headache for the blonde.

“There, all better.”

She smiled over his head, a little giddy that she was seemingly taller then him in this state. He rose from his seat and quickly dwarfed her.

“Thank you. I may need a haircut soon, I hate how my hair keeps getting in my eyes.”

(Name) pouted. “Aww, but I love your long hair. It’s so pretty!”

Kurapika looked away quickly. “…”

‘She likes my hair longer…’

“But of course, I like your hair short too. I think I would like any style you tried.”

She sat on his bed next to him and leaned on his shoulder. “If you’re ready for a hair cut, we can schedule one w-“

He shook his head. “I… think I’ll keep it this way a little longer.”

(Name) smiled. “Hehe…”

He let her lean on him for a few minutes. He’d missed the feeling of her body against his, Kurapika almost craved it.

(Name) sighed before standing up. “It’s time to go. If we don’t hurry up, Gon and Killua will freak out.”

He frowned, but didn’t argue. Kurapika tried to soak in the lingering warmth of her body against his.

——————

The five piled into the mom van and drove to the pool. It was only 8 am, but the two boys were shaking with excitement in the back seat.

They got to the pool minutes after it opened, and they were lucky enough to be the only ones there so far.

Leorio and Kurapika unloaded the ice chest and picnic basket from the van and followed Gon to the table with a green umbrella. Usually that table would be enough for Gon, Killua, and (Name), but they had two extra people today, so they also took up the table next to it.

“Alright boys, sunscreen first, then I’ll take out the pool toys.”

Gon happily sat on the table as she rubbed sunscreen into his back. Killua attempted to just jump into the pool, but was caught by Gon and dragged over.

“No offense Killua, but if you don’t pit sunscreen on you’ll turn into a hot dog again.”

Killua scowled at his friend as (Name) made sure she got every inch of his exposed skin with sunscreen. She didn’t want to hear him whine and complain about his sunburn for the next few days if she missed a single spot.

“Okay, you’re all set. Here.”

She tossed a few pool rings into the water and the boys immediately jumped in to catch them. Kurapika watched this with mild amusement.

‘They’re like trained dolphins.’ He thought, snickering to himself.

“Kurapika, you’re next.”

The blonde blinked from his seat. “Me? But I-“

“But nothing. You’re almost as pale as Killua, come here and I’ll get your back.”

She patted the seat in front of her. Leorio pushed Kurapika forward. “Go on, she’s not taking no for an answer.”

He sat down, pulling off his shirt with a huff. Kurapika usually wasn’t the type to be insecure about his appearance, but being around (Name) was an exception.

She never commented on his appearance, but he’d catch the worry in her eyes when she noticed he’d lost weight or garnered too many new scars.

(Name) tried not to react to the new scars decorating the pale skin of his shoulders and back. Instead, she began applying the sunscreen quietly.

“Ah-“

He cried out when he felt the shock of both her touch and the cold sunscreen touch his back, pulling away a bit. Leorio started snickering, applying some sunscreen of his own.

Kurapika sent him a glare before he tried to relax. Her hands ran over the length of his back and shoulders, the man barely holding back a whimper when he felt her nails brush against his skin.

When she finished, she handed him the sunscreen. “You can handle the front, right?”

He gave a quick, flustered nod. Kurapika didn’t think he’d be able to handle having her hands all over his chest.

She gave him a smile before moving on to her Leorio’s back.

Once everyone was covered in sunscreen, (Name) pulled down the shorts she’d pulled on over her bottoms and threw her shirt into the dry clothes bag.

Kurapika stared as she bent over to pull her shorts down, his eyes flickering red for a split second before he turned to look away.

“Ah…”

Kurapika looked up to see (Name) struggling to reach her back with the sunscreen.

‘Why isn’t she asking for help? She just helped all of us.’

The blonde began to stand to go and help her, but Leorio was faster.

“Oh, stop it. I’ll help you.”

The dark haired man towered of the shorter woman, snatching the sunscreen out of her hands. “Should of just asked.”

Leorio mumbled as he began working the sunscreen into her (s/c) skin, Kurapika’s eyes narrowing. He didn’t enjoy seeing seeing Leorio’s hands all over (Name), it unsettled him.

“Leorio, ouch! You’re going to rub me raw!”

She smacked his hands away, sighing. “You’re too rough, this is why I didn’t ask.”

That was only a half truth. (Name) didn’t like relying on other people, even though she was the shoulder to cry on for many.

“I’ve got it.”

Kurapika pushed Leorio into the pool and squirted some of the sunscreen into his hands.

“Oh, thank you Kurapika. Be gentle, please.”

Kurapika couldn’t ignore her when she was asking so sweetly, could he?

He rubbed it between his palms before hesitantly placing his hands on either of her shoulders. She didn’t react, patiently waiting for him to continue.

He didn’t want to admit how much it aroused him to have his hands roam her body, even if it was only her back. The sight of the white sunscreen covering her screen was also a big turn on. He could just imagine her with her butt in the air, completely covered in his-

Kurapika finished quickly before rushing to jump into the water himself. That would help cool him down, and hide his boner.

—————

(Name) sat on the edge of the pool with her feet dipped in the water, trying not to flinch when drops of water hit her skin.

“(Name), when are you getting in?”

KIllua and Gon waded over to her, carrying pool toys. She shrugged. “In a minute. I’m just getting used to the temperature of the water.”

Killua groaned. “You said that ten minutes ago, just get in already!”

He waited impatiently, watching her with those cat like eyes. She knew if she didn’t get in willingly soon, the two would drag her in.

(Name) sighed and slowly slipped into the water, letting out a squeak when her hips dipped in.

“Okay, Im in. Happy now?”

She waded deeper in, dropping her shoulders under the water to get it over with. Gon approached, smiling.

“(Name) do you want to play Chicken Fight with us? Leorio is refusing to play so we don’t have enough people.”

She tilted her head. “That implies Kurapika will be playing.”

Killua huffed. “Yeah, it surprised us too, but he agreed to play.”

(Name) nodded slowly. “Alright, I’ll play. What are the teams?”

Killua pointed to Gon. “Me and and Gon versus you and Kurap-“

“Never mind.”

She began to wade away but Gon caught her arm. “(Name), please! This is the first time we’ve had enough people to play! And it was so hard to convince Kurapika!”

She groaned. “But… ugh fine. You’re such a brat, you know I can’t say no when you’re looking at me with those puppy dog eyes.”

Gon cheered and pulled her to where Kurapika was waiting.

“Okay, I’m on going to ride on Gon’s shoulders.”

“(Name) will r-“

(Name) tried to swim away again, only to be tackled by Killua. “You’re not escaping now!”

He dragged the complaining woman back.

“Doesn’t it make more sense for you to ride on my shoulders? You definitely weight less than me.” (Name) stated, her hands on her hips.

“Does that really matter? I’m not weak, (Name). I’ve carried you before.”

“It matters to me. It’s… uncomfortable.”

“Why?” the three asked in unison. (Name) stared at them, her eyebrow twitching.

Sometimes she forgot that none of her friends were anywhere close to normal. They possessed inhuman strength, and none of them seemed to know about basic social norms.

Well, besides Leorio.

“Women don’t like being picked up if they think they’re too heavy. It’s embarrassing.” Leorio yelled out as he flipped through his textbook.

(Name) slapped a hand over her face. “Gee, thanks for explaining Leorio.”

“No problem, doll face.”

Kurapika glanced between her and Leorio. “Why would it be embarrassing? To me you’re light as a feather.”

The girl looked down at herself. Being heavy wasn’t the only thing she was worried about.

She was terrified her thighs would squish his face too tight, or tummy would press again his head.

‘God men are dense. They don’t have a single thought behind those eyes.’

She finally sighed, climbing up the ladder. “Alright…”

Kurapika walked over and turned. She hooked a leg over his shoulder and he pulled her close, her thighs instantly squishing his cheeks.

‘Oh no.’

He hadn’t thought about how her pussy would be flush against his neck, and thighs wrapped around his face. Kurapika’s face instantly turned red, incredibly grateful his lower half was under water.

“Is this alright?” She asked, flustered herself. He only gave her a nod, not able to speak.

Gon and Killua approached the two, a menacing aura surrounding the boys.

“What’s the rules?” Gon asked, suddenly very serious.

“No touching the person carrying, and no nen.”

Killua nodded at (Name)’s words. “Fair enough.”

The two pairs stood across from each other, (Name) absentmindedly petting Kurapika’s head.

“Enjoying yourself up there, (Name)?”

She ruffled his hair in response, the blonde chuckling.

Killua gagged. “Ew, save the flirting for after the fight.”

The two blushed, Kurapika’s grip nearly slipping from (Name)’s thighs. She quickly returned his hands to her thighs. “H-hey, careful! I’ll slip off!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

‘Flirting? I wasn’t…’

Kurapika didn’t have time to think. Gon stepped forward and Killua raised his hands to push (Name). Kurapika quickly stepped out of the way, Killua nearly falling off of Gon’s shoulders.

“Crap, Gon turn to the left!”

Killua was finally able to reach (Name) and give her a push. The girl gasped, her thighs squishing against Kurapika’s face to try and regain balance.

“Mmph…”

Kurapika could feel his pants tighten, his grip on her thighs tightening. He was coming to the realization that he MUCH enjoyed the feeling of being in between her thighs.

Once she regained balance, (Name) gave Killua a push of his own. “You little brat, I’m gonna-“

One final push from Killua sent her flying off Kurapika and crashing into the water.

“Oh shit I used way too much strength- (Name)!”

Killua jumped from Gon’s shoulders and into the water. Kurapika had already moved to pull her up by the arm, the woman coughing.

“Yikes Killua, knocked the air from my lungs…”

Kurapika helped her to the edge of the pool, getting her to sit down. He was still in the water, checking over her with worried eyes.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

Leorio walked over, having seen what happened. “You alright? You hit the water like a cannonball.”

(Name) groaned. “Leorio please don’t compare me to a cannonball, I’m going to throw up.”

She leaned back against the ground, Kurapika snickering. “Yeah Leorio, how rude of you.”

Killua hovered over the girl, crouching down to poke her cheek. “Sorry, (Name). I got too excited.”

She pushed his hand away. “It’s alright, I’m-“

Her nose started to bleed, causing all four of the boys to crowd around her.

“Jesus, are you-“

Leorio lifted her up into a sitting position. “Sit up, you’ll choke on the blood.”

He examined her as Kurapika and Gon exited the pool, waiting for Leorio’s opinion.

“She’s fine, just got water in her nose when she fell. Must of irritated her so she got a nose bleed.”

He pulled her to her feet.

“I’m gonna take a break from pool time. You boys have fun, okay?”

She walked over to the table and Leorio handed her some tissues.

Kurapika glanced from (Name) to Killua. The white haired boy looked like a guilty mess.

“She’ll be alright, Killua! She’s been through worse.”

Killua’s head whipped towards the black haired boy, sending him a look. This instantly made Kurapika suspicious.

“Gon, what do you mean by that?”

Gon slapped both of his hands over his mouth, Killua answering for him. “He means when she fought during the Final Phase of the exam. She broke her leg, remember?”

Kurapika DID remember.

flashback

(Name) had to fight Illumi, who at the time they knew as Gittarackur. Kurapika, Killua, and Leorio watched as the two entered the ring, cheering for their friend.

“You got this (Name)! Beat his scary looking ass!” Leorio yelled out. Kurapika glanced between the two in the ring, his heart thumping against his chest.

He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. (Name) had proven herself to be capable, but the man she was fighting had the aura of a killer.

“Ready, start!”

(Name) crouched into a fighting stance. Gittarackur seemed to observe her for a moment before walking forward calmly.

“If you give up now, I will not have to hurt you. I’d prefer to win quickly.”

(Name) faltered for a second, a look of confusion crossing over her face. “Why would I give up so quickly? I’m here for a r-“

Gittarackur didn’t give her chance to finish her sentence. He was already pinning her to the ground, his hand squeezing her throat as she clawed at his hands.

“Ah, I can’t kill you, can I? Hmm…”

He pulled his hand back just before she was about to pass out. Kurapika felt a hand on his arm, his eyes darting to the left to see Leorio.

“Kurapika, you’re moving forward.”

The blonde blinked before looking down to see he’d taken several steps forward before Leorio had stopped him. He hadn’t even noticed that his body began to move on his own.

Kurapika was still reeling from watching Gon’s fight, so he assumed that’s why he had moved. Leorio kept his grip on his arm as their attention turned back to (Name)’s fight.

“I’ll say it again. Give up, and you’ll leave without any permanent damage.”

Kurapika internally seethed. The man was leering down at (Name) like she was a mouse and he was a cat that had caught her in his paws.

‘Just give up, there’s plenty of other chances.’ He thought, biting his lip.

“I’m not giving up anytime soon.”

The man didn’t react, only moved his hand down her body slowly until his palm rested against her leg.

“Last chance.”

The two stared at each other, (Name) not saying anything. If Gon could withstand the beating he had, there was no reason she couldn’t.

The sound of bones breaking filled the air, along with (Name)’s anguished scream.

“(Name)!”

Kurapika rushed forward, having to be physically restrained by Killua and Leorio. The two other boys were barely able to hold themselves back at the sight of (Name)’s pained expression.

“This could have been avoided, you know. I did warn you…”

He tapped his finger against the broken limb, humming to himself. Each tap caused the girl to gasp out, holding her hands over her mouth to prevent herself from throwing up.

“Mmm… should we move on to the next leg? Or are you ready to gi-“

(Name) used her unbroken leg to slam into the side of his face, rolling onto her stomach. She grit her teeth as she struggled to get to her feet.

“(Name), just stop! Please!”

It was Killua this time, his cries surprising Leorio and Kurapika. The white haired boy clutched the fabric of his shirt as (Name) struggled in vain to get up.

“I didn’t think you had any fight left in you. Interesting.”

The kick had done little to no damage to Gittarackur’s face. The man crouched back down in front of the struggling girl. He pulled her up by her hair and looked into her hazy eyes.

“I can’t kill you, and you won’t give up. How annoying, will I have to beat you into submission?”

He held her easily, as if she were just a doll. “Guess you will, if you can.”

She dig her nails into his skin, staring into his eyes. “I’m not giving up, so we’re going to be going at this for a while.”

The man tilted his head before dropping her onto the floor. “Oh dear, I don’t have time for that. I guess I’ll just forfeit and try again.”

For good measure, he stepped on her broken leg as he left the ring.

Kurapika ran to her side, Leorio close behind. “(Name) you idiot, look at you…”

Killua appeared next to her, crouching down to look at her leg.

“Still… won…”

She sat up quickly, and Leorio held her hair as she threw up. Kurapika watched on in anger, his eyes scarlet.

This was the first time he witnessed (Name) throw herself into harms way, and it wouldn’t be the last.

flashback end

At the time, Kurapika hadn’t known (Name) as well so he hadn’t been as angry, but now, just thinking about the sound of her bone shattering was enough to make his body tremble in anger.

“I remember. She… she’s stubborn.”

“Yeah, both of them aware.”

Killua and Kurapika glanced at Gon and (Name).

——————

It was lunch time, and everyone but (Name) was playing in the pool. The boys had finally convinced Leorio to join them for a game of Chicken Fight, Kurapika on his shoulders.

Currently, the two pairs were tied. They’d both won twice before (Name) approached the pool.

“Alright boys, it’s time for lunch. You can continue after.”

Gon and Killua waded out of the pool and dashed to (Name)’s table. Kurapika and Leorio took a little longer.

“Boys, no running by the pool! You’re going to bust your heads open!”

She grabbed the two by their ears and marched them to the table.

“Hey- ow!”

The two were sat down, rubbing their ears. Kurapika held back a snicker, finding Killua’s pouty face hilarious.

(Name) handed out sandwiches and bags of chips, setting a container of slices fruit in the middle of the table for people to take from.

“There’s drinks in the cooler. Boys, don’t you even think about touching the beer. That’s for Leorio.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Killua replied, grabbing a soda.

They ate as a group, Kurapika on one side of (Name) and Killua on the other.

As they ate, another group drove into the parking lot. (Name) only glanced up for a second before continuing her lunch.

“Killua, Gon, be on your best behavior. No drowning anyone and NO I don’t care if it’s accidental.”

“But it really was an accident last t-“

The woman held up her hand, silencing Gon.

As the group finished their lunch, the other group of people filed into the pool. They were all men, ranging from 18-27 years old.

(Name) didn’t pay much attention to them, focusing on packing up their basket and reapplying everyone’s sunscreen.

The boys went back to playing in the pool, (Name) glancing up from her romance novel to check on them every few minutes. They seemed to be having fun, she hadn’t seen Kurapika so happy and carefree since the Hunter Exam.

“Hey, how you doing?”

(Name) placed her bookmark on the page she’s been reading and looked up to see a few of the men had approached her.

“I’m, uh, doing well. How about you?” she answered hesitantly. The ring leader of the group smiled down at her, his eyes trained on her chest.

“Better now that I’m talking to you, little lady.”

(Name) visibly cringed at this, pulling her towel around herself. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

The man’s eye twitched a bit at her annoyed tone, but his smile didn’t falter.

“You could help us by giving me your number. Not everyday I see a woman like you around these parts.”

(Name) glanced to the pool, seeing none of them had noticed the men surrounding her. She thought of what to do for a moment.

“Um… no thank you. I don’t give my numbers out to strangers.”

The man tilted his head, acting offended. “Aww, we don’t have to be strangers. Let’s change that!”

He reached forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. She moved to wrench herself free, but his grip was like iron.

“Shh, don’t struggle. I ain’t gonna hurt you if you play nice.”

(Name) considered her options. She could use her nen and at least take out the man with his grip on her, but by the looks of the men around him, they were ready to grab her if she attempted to escape.

“Get your hands off of her.”

(Name) sighed in relief as Kurapika came into view, his hair still wet from the pool.

“Buddy, I’m not sure who this woman is to you but she’s coming with us. Back off, and no one gets hurt.”

Kurapika glanced to (Name), his eyebrow raised. ‘Are they being serious?’

Killua stood next to Kurapika, his hands behind his head. “Should we kill them?”

“No, Killua, no killing.” (Name) called out.

“It’s hard not to when they’re threatening to kidnap you.” Killua replied, his nails sharpening into claws.

Gon and Leorio were nowhere to be seen.

“I’ll give you men to the count of 10 to get to your car before hell breaks loose.”

Kurapika stretched a bit as he spoke.

“One.”

The men laughed, the ringleader shaking (Name) by the shoulder.

“Two.”

“He’s being serious! That’s fucking hilarious.”

“Three.”

Killua began to walk forward, his eyes narrowing.

“Four.”

(Name) tried to slip from the man’s grasp, but was quickly subdued by her grabbing her chin. “Stay still, you little bitch.”

“Five.”

Kurapika’s eyes began to turn scarlet as he watched the man grab her roughly.

“Six.”

The sound of someone creeping towards the men could be heard.

“Seven.”

Leorio and Gon jumped into view, wielding the water guns (Name) had bought Gon and Killua for Christmas last year.

“Eight.”

The two cocked their guns, pointing them at the men.

“Nine.”

Killua reached the first man, who immediately swung at the young boy.

“Ten.”

Everything happened at once. Killua threw the man into the water and grabbed (Name) so quickly she could barely think.

Leorio and Gon pulled the triggers on their guns, spraying the group of men in something that smelled AWFUL.

Kurapika reached the man that had grabbed (Name) and pulled his arm back to pin him to the ground.

It all happened with 10 seconds, surprising both (Name) and the men that had previously surrounded her.

“We gave you a chance, you scum.” Kurapika whispered, contemplating breaking the man’s arm. It made him sick that this filth had its hands on (Name).

“P-please, let me go! I wasn’t going to anything, promise!”

The blonde hummed. “Really? It sure seemed like you were planning on taking her without her consent.”

(Name) placed a hand on Kurapika’s shoulder. “Kurapika, he’s not worth it. Just let it go.”

He glanced from her hand to the man trembling beneath him before he sighed.

“Get out of my sight.”

The group of men scrambled into the parking lot, gone before the blink of an eye.

“Wow, scared the shit out of them, didn’t you Kurapika?”

Leorio stood next to him with his water gun slung over his shoulder. (Name) covered her nose at the smell of the liquid seeping out.

“Yikes, what the hell did you spray them with? It wasn’t… pee was it?”

“(Name), you think so little of us.”

She groaned. “What was it then?”

Gon held up an empty bottle of beer, beaming. “Just some hot beer!”

“Gon, put that down.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Kurapika hovered over (Name), his eyes pouring over her body. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

She shook her head. “No, no, I’m fine. Just… I think I’m ready to go home.”

(Name) wrapped the towel around herself a little tighter.

“I understand. Go wait in the car, we’ll get everything packed up.”

Killu and Gon followed (Name) to the car, just to make sure nothing happened in the parking lot. The men were long gone, but they weren’t taking any chances.

“Sorry your day was ruined.” Killua said as he climbed in. (Name) sighed.

“It’s not your fault, Killua. No one could have expected that.”

He hadn’t just been talking about that, Killua still felt incredibly guilty about pushing her too hard. After that, she hadn’t gotten back in the pool. To him, that meant she didn’t get to have as much fun.

“… I guess.”

Gon tried to lighten up the mood. “Hey guys want to hear about the newest reptile species that’s been discovered?”

——————

Leorio hoisted the cooler onto his shoulder with ease. “You got the rest?”

Kurapika gave him a curt nod. “Yes, go ahead. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Leorio left to pack up the ice chest, leaving Kurapika to pick up the picnic basket and other scattered personal items.

As he bent over to pick up (Name)’s towel, he spotted a book under the table.

‘Is that the book (Name) had been reading?’

He pulled it out from under the table and gave it a once over. It had a removable cloth slip that hid the cover, their causing the blonde to raise an eyebrow.

‘Why would she need to hide the cover?’

He noticed there was a bookmark noting where (Name) had stopped reading.

‘Mm… I’ll just take a quick peak.’

He opened the book, his eyes scanning over the words.

He slipped his fingers into her dripping cunt, smirking when it drew a moan from her lips.

“Does that feel good, sweetheart? You’re so-“

Kurapika slammed the book shut, his entire face going red.

It took him a moment to process when he had just read.

‘Does… (Name) like these types of books?’

She’d definitely been reading it earlier. How had she kept such a neutral expression while reading such smutty acts?

Kurapika carefully dropped the book into her basket, making sure the bookmark was in place. He didn’t want her knowing he’d seen her dirty little secret.

Not yet.

He was able to keep his growing hard on a secret by wrapping a towel around himself. No one would question it, considering he was still dripping wet.

“Kurapika, hurry up, Gon won’t stop talking about reptiles!”

“Coming!”

——————

The group arrived home, (Name) walking up the stairs to take a shower. She’d been more quiet than usual on the way home, and the boys were worried.

“It makes sense, she did get harassed by a bunch of creeps only 30 minutes ago.”

Leorio wasn’t wrong, but it seemed like more than that. Killua glanced up the stairs with a sigh.

“Yeah… I guess.”

Gon and Kurapika sat in the living room watching the news. The blonde pretended to pay attention to the boy rambling next to him, but his mind was still on that book.

“Alright, we’re doing takeout tonight. What’s everyone in the mood for?”

(Name) had descended the stairs, wearing a pair of sweatpants and tank top, with a towel holding back her wet hair.

“Burgers.”

“Pancakes.”

“Chicken.”

“I don’t care.”

(Name) held onto the stairwell railing, her other hand pinching the bridge of her nose. “Well. I can only think of one place that serves all of those things, and it’s only dine-in.”

“Then let’s go eat!” Gon exclaimed, jumping to his feet. He ran to put on his boots and Killua joined him.

“I just put the clothes o- never mind. Go get in the car, I’m going to change.”

“Why do you need to change?”

(Name) glanced up at Leorio before pointing to her chest. “No bra.”

Without another word she began to climb upstairs, the two men glancing between each other.

‘No bra…’

Kurapika thought back to when he’d fallen asleep on her chest. Was she wearing a bra then? Would it have been even softer if she hadn’t been?

‘Stop. If you keep thinking about this, you’ll just get hard again.’

He pulled the fabric of his sweatpants a bit to hide himself.

——————

“Welcome to Wafflehouse, sit where you’d like!”

The group of five sat at a nearby booth, Gon and Leorio on one side, Killua, (Name), and Kurapika on the other.

“Why do you always get to sit by (Name), Kurapika?” Leorio asked with a pout.

“No offense Leorio, but you have really long legs. If I say next to you we’d both be squished.”

Leorio smirked. “Who said that was an issue-“

Kurapika reached over and smacked him on the head. “And that’s another reason you can’t sit next to (Name).”

Killua tapped his nails against the table, his head leaning against (Name)’s shoulder. “We’ve been sitting here for 15 minutes. I’m bored.”

“Hi bored I’m (Name).”

The white haired boy groaned and turned to pout at her.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll go ask at the counter.”

Kurapika moved so (Name) could slip out of the booth.

“Have you guys heard the news?”

The other three stared at Killua, who had suddenly grown very serious.

“What news?” Kurapika asked with his eyebrow raised.

“There’s something (Name) wants to do entirely for herself.”

Leorio and Gon jumped up in surprise. “For herself? That’s new.”

‘Does she never do anything for her own enjoyment?’ Kurapika thought.

Killua nodded. “She wants to see a movie next weekend. I heard her talking to her friend about it. She seems really excited.”

“What movie is it?” Kurapika asked. Killua shook his head.

“She didn’t say, all I know is she plans on asking us if we want to go Friday. From what I heard she wants us to go with her. I can get the movie title before then so we can prepare.”

Leorio nodded. “I’ll be free next weekend, so I can go. What about you?”

The rest nodded. “Then we’re in agreement.”

(Name) walked back a minute later, a smile on her face. “She’ll be here to take our orders soon! I went ahead and placed an order for our drinks.”

Kurapika gave her a smile before moving out of the way for her to slide back in.

The waitress brought their drinks a moment later and took their order.

A man walked past the group and sat in the booth in front of them silently. None of them even glanced up to look at him.

“(Name), can I play on your phone?”

She nodded and opened her phone, clicking off a few things before handing it over.

“Yay!”

Gon began to play some random game she’d downloaded just for him as they continued waiting.

“Hey there, Miss.”

(Name) looked up to see the man who’d sat in the booth in front of them standing before them.

“Hello?” she answered, earning a quick frown from him.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

She gave him a confused looked before following his gaze.

Oh.

“You, with the blonde hair. You’re awfully pretty, would you mind if I paid for your dinner in exchange for your number?”

Kurapika blinked before meeting the man’s eye.

“Excuse you?”

The man smiled. “I’ll pay for your friends too, I don’t mind.”

Leorio snickered from across the booth, his fist smacking against the table. Killua wasn’t doing much better, his hand covering his mouth to quiet his laugh.

“Mister, Kurapika isn’t a girl.” Gon said, confused.

The man blinked before laughing. “Aww, that’s a good one. No man can be that pretty.”

“I guess I’m an exception.”

Kurapika stared up at him with those cold eyes, talking in the deepest voice he could manage. The man instantly realized that the boy had in fact been right.

That pretty blonde he’d just hit on was not a girl, but a twink.

The man stuttered out an apology before leaving the Waffle House.

“Pretty girl…���

Killua bursted into laughter, Leorio following his lead. (Name) glanced to see Kurapika’s irritated expression, and she even caught a hint of embarrassment flick across his eyes.

“Kurapika…”

She placed her hand on his, the man stiffening ever so slightly. “You’re a pretty boy.”

If anyone else had said this, it would have just pissed him off further, but coming from (Name)’s mouth it sounded soft and sweet.

“… thank you, (Name).”

He placed his other hand over hers and squeezed it between his two palms gently. “I appreciate that.”

(Name) sent Leorio and Killua a look, causing the two to quiet down.

“Well I don’t think you look like a girl! You smell way too much like a guy!”

“What does that even mean?”

“You’re sweaty and gross.” Killua replied.

“Killua!”

“… sorry.”

Their food was brought out soon after. They ate, paid, and left as soon as they could.

[astercontrol]

Thinking about what Tron's life and work could have been like inside the Encom-system, post-1982.

We know he's a security program, designed to monitor the System's connections to other systems and stop anything harmful passing between. He might also be able to take on security roles within the system; we see the Flynn's Grid version of him doing some of that prior to the coup.

Now, this job definitely has the potential to become very corrupt (see, border security and IRL cops in general)

But even in an ideal world that could abolish the carceral system and policing as we know it, there would still be a need for security in some form

Now I like to imagine that Tron is more like what would replace cops, in this sort of ideal rehabilitative-justice-focused world.

Because I imagine that what passes for a "justice system," inside a well-functioning computer, is much more rehabilitative and preventative than punitive. 

I mean, ideally you set up conditions in your computer so that they don't lead to any of your software causing problems. Meaning the programs all have access to what they need (sufficient power and memory, sufficient downtime to rest, whatever maintenance is necessary). 

This is somewhat analogous to how a better human society could prevent a lot of crime just by giving people a better life. But of course it can't prevent all of it; some people will still want to cause harm for whatever reason.

And if a program does start making trouble, the ideal solution is to troubleshoot until the problem is fixed-- which sorta equates to rehabilitation of criminals.

Carceral state would be just keeping the program inactive and never using it, I guess. Death penalty would be uninstalling and deleting.

The MCP's approach was to lock up programs who wouldn't obey him, and force them to do things for him. Regardless of their original function, they'd become half-zombified office workers like Yori, or gladiators fighting battles like Tron (which is implied to be work that helps keep the Arcades running and bringing in profit for Encom). 

Programs clearly don't like being made to do jobs other than the one they're designed for. My own impression of the Encom system is that the programs there are self-motivated to fulfill their intended function, at least as much as humans are motivated by money. The right job is its own reward. The wrong job would feel like forced unpaid labor.

So, the MCP's system was basically the prison industrial complex. (Including the high risk of death at work.) 

Tron helped abolish that.

And what would be set up in its place... Well, that depends on the Users, under the new direction of Flynn (who'd presumably want to at least try for something more considerate of the rights of programs, now that he sees them as people).

I don't think it should be Tron's choice, because I think Tron does have an inherent violent side. The way we see him fighting, when pitted against multiple red warriors, makes me think he is very capable of turning off any thoughts like "this program is also a victim of the MCP in a way, he wasn't really given any better choices; why don't we try and rehabilitate him?"

Tron was focused on his own survival, and he knew when fighting to the death was the only option. Charitable thoughts couldn't be acted on at the time and would only get in the way. So he just became a ruthless killer in those moments.

And I don't totally trust that his anger against those red warriors would go away after the MCP was defeated. I wouldn't trust Tron himself to choose rehabilitative justice.

But luckily, he listens to his User. And I think Alan would rather turn a misbehaving program to the good side than destroy it. (The "Klaatu Barada Nikto" quotation on his cubicle wall was basically a command to a violent AI to stop causing harm and to help instead. I even have a sort of half-headcanon that this is what he actually did for the MCP.)

If Alan got the chance to guide Tron into becoming the System's regular security, I think he'd make sure to include directives for rehabilitation as much as possible. 

There are of course a lot of questions about just how this would apply to programs, and whether it would even be possible to introduce anything like what would be an ethical system for humans. (What does he do with viruses and malware? If their programmed purpose is to harm the system, would rehabilitating them into helpful work be as traumatic for them as what the MCP did? Is the death penalty sometimes the most merciful option for programs? These may be deeper questions than I want to get into.)

But I think the best thing for Tron would be to act as part of a well-paired suite of security software.

And this may include the Guards we see under MCP's control, if they can be rehabilitated enough. But I also think Tron would benefit from some advisors he is personally close to.

It already makes sense to include Yori in his team, because while Tron's main purpose is to monitor what comes into the system, Yori (as the software for the digitizing laser) is in charge of perhaps the most concerning route by which things can enter the system. She'll have insights he would not think of.

And so will Ram-- the guy who was made to do actuarial work for an insurance company, but who clearly cares too much about helping people for that to be a really good fit, once his naive idealism about insurance companies inevitably falls apart. 

He can't change his purpose. But his purpose is versatile -- actuaries calculate probabilities, and that's good for a lot of stuff. I think he'd be a perfect security advisor for Tron. Risk assessment, but with a lot of compassion mixed in.

After the events of Legacy, in "The Next Day," Alan asked Roy to act as Encom's "moral compass." I like to imagine that the rerezzed Encom version of Ram had been doing that for a long time already.

[shayshaybiscuit25]

Goodness me, my original ask started some mess I see. 😅

Shay this is a bit long, but I think I make decent points & dropped some truth bombs that everyone can agree with regardless of how they feel. Thank you all for reading and ……..here we go……… 🫣😮‍💨

Let’s begin……..for those who really believe Chris is racist or ain’t shit for associating with these fools……why be here at all?

As mentioned before, many of us believe this is PR and understand we do NOT know details. On the outside looking in it’s very easy to go “omg why didn’t he just end this, he’s just like them”, yet we also understand Hollywoood is a business, yes?

We understand complex things go on behind the scenes that look so simplistic and easy to us from our limited perspective.

Yes, I understand things look awful, but I need people to understand we don’t know what the hell is truly going on and I say that because it’s clear as day that something is off.

Look if Chris were selling this and acting like nothing was wrong then everyone would be losing their minds, and she would have ammo, but enough stuff has happened where you can see he doesn’t like her, he’s performing and that’s probably why he’s acting has switched up (having to horribly act in real life is affecting his actual craft) there are numerous holes in the cheese 🧀 of course the question stems…..then why marry the girl especially knowing she has racist friends…….please go back and refer to the previous and third red paragraphs.

We might not know details but we know Chris isn’t comfortable in this arrangement, of course many reading will roll their eyes at this statement, okay fair. 🙄

I’ll do you all one better, karma is real and for those that aren’t aware. Yesterday Justin (the wife’s soulmate) stood up for one of his racist friends in a post. He has some female friend on a Big Brother type show in Europe and the girl has been recorded on camera doing the damn Nazi Salute and people are pissed…..Justin’s dumbass makes a post basically saying the girl (his friend) doing the Nazi salute is “misunderstood” and a good person or some crap……. The entire time I’m like…..let me sit back and see how this plays out…..and if it gets tied back to Evans, I doubt it but let’s see. 👀 🧋 (this emoji represents me sipping my boba “tea”) 🤭

Chris does need to be called out and if this shitshow goes public public to the point the general population learns what fans know and it becomes a big deal, you’d better believe we’d end up getting a BUA and then some within mere hours or days (remember his response to the bomb pic)……do i believe any of that will happen…..nope. And if that went down like that, I’d question his ass even more.

No one here has issue with people calling Chris out, it’s those who act like they know more than they do, who take their own opinions as facts and are 100% sure he’s racist and calling him pedo or whatever else that has me like……well damn if you think that’s true and hate him that much…….then leave. I would not waste my time on a person I truly thought was evil and vile.

See, I care about this man and as time goes by we see truth and some of us see what we want while ignoring the rest, apply that as you will, come next month, I think people will finally end up determining their final thoughts on things and if it ends with “fuck Chris Evans”, then so be it. He made his bed and now he’s laying in it.

Eventually we’ll all find out the truth if it’s real or if this is all bs and the pr eventually ends…..well just know they’ve parted ways and many will still claim it was real.

I say don’t get overly invested in this emotionally, but TOO LATE! 😬 This could be the situation Chris needs to be and do better and finally own his awful choices or to take and not run from accountability (remember how we’d always use to get Dodger pics when he did something stupid publicly) or it could be a situation he’s initiated that went out of control and he has to FINALLY reap the consequences of his actions/inactions. I don’t know what is going to happen next, but if him and Mrs. Shower scrubber do anything else other than breakup next month, it’s a wrap on my end.

Yeah I think it’s pr, but I have limits and he’s on his 73892929 strike. Keeping it honest, most of us should have left once he claimed to be “married”, yet we’re still here, so yeah can’t no one point any fingers. We’re all still here hoping something ends up making sense and to hope our fav actor really isn’t out here playing in our faces.

It’s very easy to go well Chris is this and that due to this situation, but once one starts remembering in detail everything that’s happened, part of you goes…….something is 110% off here. @anneslibrary is a great reference because it’s so easy to forget how much things don’t make sense and that blog helps people see the big picture and go……yeah…..I’m not falling for this bs. 😂 So to sum it up, yes many of us are pissed at Chris, but his saving grace is that there are so many holes in this mess that it’s easy to jump and attack him without knowing details and so we’re hoping more details arise to the point we can go……yeah this 100% is fake and was never real, he got looped in some mess and only discovered things once the fandom did but it was too late and I’m glad it’s finally over. Okay….yes I’m reaching like crazy, but you’re still here reading my long as diary entry, right. 😉 For me September 2024 will be thee month I decide if I’ll permanently walk away. If they do any more crap, I’m done, point blank.

Enough is enough. I do understand those pissed and wondering why we’re still here…..I’ve been a fan of this man for years and it’s not so easy to walk away, call it excuses, but I just don’t think this situation is a grand total of who he is but if I’m proven wrong then it is what it is, but I don’t think I’m wrong.

Chris needs to take accountability and ending this bs would be the first step and then we can all judge in grand detail how he handles the aftermath of shit, would he give clues to show it wasn’t real, will he do a grand gesture that is a lowkey apology to the fandom…..doubt it, but I refuse to believe this mess is legit, unless he’s proven with legit detail (other than he publicly claims to be married, yet there’s no evidence he’s actually gotten married other then a oversized ring and orchestrated bs) that he’s just a shitty racist husband who can’t keep his eyes to himself and really married her and if so then I’ll GLADLY FINALLY move on with my life. Noted. And yes those snarky few of you still reading, I’m in the denial phase of the grieving process. 😂

Either way ya look at it Chris doesn’t get of Scotch free and even if this does end next month……too much damage has been done. Part of me is here because I’m watching a train that already crashed multiple times and I’m wondering if it’s going to keep going with limited damage or will it eventually blow up into pieces.

I hope I was able to make you guys laugh, piss you off and in the end make you go, yep you summed up my multiple thoughts. 🤗🫠 or you’ve probably read all of this and went, this bitch is crazy, I’ll take it because you still sat here and read to the end so,….. Hi crazy! 😝

I’m done now. 😆 thanks!

Oh Sweetheart this was beautiful and longggggggggggggggg but so beautiful.

Thank you.

[okkos-ferrum]

Chat .. I'm thinking abt gray Carmen Sandiego again and I want to die like how gray died in the finale episode lol

ANYWAY HERES THREE WAYS ON HOW I WOULD REWRITE GRAY'S WRITING IN THE STORY

Okay so if you don't know I'm a bit critical on the handling of gray cuz there is sm potential and some decent execution in the series, as with Carmen sandiego's writing in general which fumbled hard in the end

Anyway I decided to think of three rewrites that would do better with writing gray's arc, starting from a total refresh from the start of the series to whatever was left in the final season

Season 1: why write character when u can slap on amensia instead

So if I were in charge of writing gray with what was set up in pilot and where his arc would go ... I might ditch the amnesia all together. Amnesia is already quite the narrative and character weight, and to give it to such a conflicted character like gray only adds to how much of a mess he is (love him tho). Gray starts in the first episode complex enough, even more so than the other characters I'd argue:

He's a character working for vile and clearly disregards any sort of moral compass, making him so clearly opposed to Carmen. But due to their past bond, he simply can't pursue his own self interest like he normally would, hesitating and stalling his decision by allowing Carmen to speak her side. It's quickly shown and immediately makes him compelling.

But then a cartoon anvil drops on his head and just gives him amnesia, rendering his screen time for the next three seasons basically replaced with a different character

u can read more here if u want:

So solution? Ditch the amnesia plot and just pursue what makes him interesting. Keep him conflicted by acting as a sorta regular vile operative like tigress, but have him gradually throughout his appearances having a change of heart

... No not in morals lol, but in his final conviction in hurting carmen. which was his "redeeming moment" in season 4, where he prioritized Carmen over himself and refused to hurt her himself and then later, not stand by to see her get hurt.

They can be more lighthearted capers like in early seasons where team red and gray have to personally work together, both very reluctant. In this time, Carmen can feel some melancholy and nostalgia for their previous, uncomplicated relationship while gray may start to have doubts in his loyalty.

That way u don't rob gray of his agency throughout while still hitting the main emotional beats. He will only be betraying vile likely on the end for his selfish reason to help Carmen over his allkes, solidifying his gray morality

Season 3: Why is there a season long Halloween special in my Carmen Sandiego show?

This is going to painfully unlikely, but it is a quick fix all things considered.

Season 3 to me is the biggest detriment to the show overall, wasting time as well as introducing unnecessary plot lines (Julia and chase breaking up for a bit, it was maybe needed but not at all well executed), all the while forgetting other plot threads (Carmen's search for her mom and her betrayal of acme, vile supposedly getting even more against Carmen)

But it seems it was meant to be some harmless Halloween special to entertain fans ... All the while putting some plot details that can't be skipped over ... (ie Julia and chase split)

Anyway let's say we're approaching season 3, and it's meant to be all spooky and stuff. We've already written two seasons of graham stuff so now what? Well just make the side plot of s3 abt gray recovering his memories, essentially moving his plot in the first half of s4 back to s3

There is some horror in gray's situation at the start of s4, so maybe it can run parallel to the general Halloween vibes of the arc, but where carmen's arc is more light hearted spookiness, gray's can work as a serious plot beat in between (also gives vile more to than just sitting around in costumes)

Change the s3 finale to be more like the Himalayan episode, where somehow Carmen is confronting gray, however brief, and gray reaffirms his alliegence back to vile. That way s4 has gray concretely back at vile, reducing how back-to-back his switch ups are in s4

Not elegant but can keep interest in s3 afloat (at least for me)

Season 4: welp we're out of time ...

Okay now we're in too deep. We've written it where gray has to both regain his memories (can't have him be an amnesiac forever lol) and then return to vile to affirm his moral "grayness" but ALSO ALSO redeem himself by snitching vile to acme ... All in a shortened season

Oops ...

Truthfully it's such little screentime left idk what they really had left if they wanna maintain gray's allegiance to both vile and carmen

So ditch it! Instead of having it during the Himalaya confrontation end with gray choosing vile, have him choose team red

Have it where during the reunion between the two and their ensuing conversation, gray expresses way more reluctance in his choice (and def not piss Carmen off by unintentionally undermining her lol) so Carmen won't immediately choose to blow up the building. Have her instead acknowledge gray's choice to remain in vile but offer him a card or something with contact info, something like that. Gray takes it and without it being said, it's clear he is taking her side

the two taking cover as Carmen explodes the building. But before Maelstrom can appear, Carmen takes her leave, leaving gray behind to seem like he chose vile.

Gray will hide the note and play along, essentially being the mole in vile for team red. This way, when Carmen gets kidnapped, gray can immediately give team red the intel, making sure team red doesn't get reduced to this like confused wreck that they are in the actual show.

It also avoids gray getting involved with acme again, and since I think Carmen took acme's files or something at the end of s2, they can have ivy, as the tech girl, make the memory device herself. It helps give way more agency to Zach, ivy, player, and shadowsan since now they know in advance what happened to Carmen, making them way more proactive.

Change the finale from there but I think it better balances out gray as well as the other characters

concluding time

Okay so it's easy for me to say all this now in retrospect (and maybe I'm misremembering details...) but yeah I just felt like there were many ways this show, with it's limited time, could've been more sensible in its choices rather than wasting them. If the writing for even one character was tighter, I feel like a lot of other plot beats would've fit in better too

Or I'm just overly fixated on gray who knows lol also im too lazy to revise sorry if this is just garble

[astxrwar]

blunt force trauma [1/x]

SYNOPSIS: traumatized!Bucky x Brainwashed!supersoldier!reader.

Rating: M

Word Count: 5k

Content Warnings: Canon-typical violence and that is all (for now). Check out the tag "fic; blunt force trauma" for Content + ao3 chapter notes for extras if you're interested. <3

Read on AO3

[ 1 ] [2]

Bucky had known, is the thing. Before getting sucker-punched out of a fucking moving semi truck, before getting his ass kicked in a spectacularly fucking embarrassing fashion, before getting saved by two dipshits with government-financed uniforms and the most ridiculous fucking make-believe superhero names—

He had known that there were others like him.

Super-soldiers. Enhanced. Whatever.

Well—

He’d known about one.

~

The first time he sees her it’s March, nighttime, cold and dark and fucking raining, for like the fourth day in a row. He’s gone outside to take the garbage out, the last in a mundane and seemingly fucking endless procession of normal-human-being tasks that he is trying very hard to be comfortable in doing, day after day, the way he is also trying hard to be a normal human being in general, a concrete and intact person who attends his court-ordered therapy and grocery shops and goes outside semi-regularly and does not commit violence even when it definitely feels warranted.

He’s tired. He has a headache starting somewhere around his left temple, the muscles there beginning to tense and tighten and pulse, irritatingly, against his skull. He wants a fucking cigarette, and he’s going to have a cigarette— he keeps meaning to quit, because it’s really not a  great habit, even if he’s pretty sure the serum will keep him from getting, like, lung cancer, or something. He’d been a pack-a-day asshole in the 107th because they were free, and he’d stopped when he was him because he didn’t have wants or needs or desires as a soulless killing machine, so part of it is probably just— the way that it feels grounding, kind of, the acrid burn of the smoke and the bitter taste of tar and the gently flickering embers of the cherry this bright spot of red and orange against the endless black backdrop of the alleyway at night. It’s very human. Very selfish. Very not like the person he used to be.

He doesn’t see the figure standing there until the cigarette is already half-gone, presumably because they’d been mostly obscured from him by the massive industrial-size apartment complex dumpsters and also, more importantly, because they hadn’t moved at all in the entire time he’d been outside. And it’s something about that, the unnerving and inhuman stillness, something about the way that they’re holding themselves, the vicious and barely-restrained and entirely recognizable tension he can see— feel— even just in their silhouette, the way that they’re standing, it reminds him of—

Something.

Bucky can tell when the figure realizes he’s seen them; there’s this shift in the dark line of their shoulders, like an intake of breath.

He flicks his cigarette, scattering ash down onto the pavement, the flakes drifting in the puddles of dirt and oil and city grime, becoming waterlogged, sinking in until he can’t see them. 

They— she— she says his name. Her voice is quiet and hoarse and crackles like she hasn’t spoken in a while and like it had taken some amount of effort to do so now, and she says his full, legal, god-given name, like she knows him.

“How do you know who I am,” Bucky says, flat, a question, but not really phrased like one. He grinds the end of his cigarette against the brick side of the building until the ember is out, and tosses it into the open dumpster; he’s aware of her in his periphery, that instinctive part of him that he mostly tries not to think about tracking her presence and waiting for movement and anticipating, calculating, flexing the fingers of the metal arm at his sides and breathing in deep and slow and relishing in all of it a lot more than he knows he should be.

She doesn’t reply. He can’t make out her face, not with how dark it is, with where she’s standing, deep enough into the alleyway that none of the light from the buzzing and flickering street lamp closer to his end reaches her at all; there’s still something about the way that she’s holding herself that prickles with familiarity, recognition, but he can’t place it. He’s positive she’s not government or military, reasonably certain she’s not Dora Milaje, less sure she’s not some kind of HYDRA offshoot minion or some other kind of general bad news. 

“Are you going to try to kill me?” he says finally.

Her breath catches, like she’d choked on it, and it’s audible even over the muted sounds of TVs playing and casual conversation and arguing floating down from the scattered collection of open windows above the alley, even over the louder and more persistent dripdripdrip of water down from the gutters, the sounds of traffic that never fully relents drifting out from the road.

“No,” she says, with enough vehemence that it stuns him, for a second– he’s taken aback by the force of the word, and then also, a second later, by how absolutely uncertain she sounds. Like she doesn’t believe it herself, or maybe more like she really doesn’t know.

“Okay,” Bucky says slowly, after a pause. “Okay, so what do you—“

He makes a mistake, then— he turns, the sole of his boot grinding softly against the wet, dirt-streaked asphalt, and he takes all of an aborted half-step in her direction.

She stiffens.

Bucky trails off, his fingers curling into loose fists at his sides–

She flees.

He hadn’t been expecting that, fucking obviously, so he wastes an essential handful of seconds just processing what the fuck even just happened. By the time it occurs to him that she’d ran, by the time he moves to the other end of the alley and rounds the corner and stares out into the adjoining street, there’s just—

Nothing. Nobody. An empty stretch of pavement. She could have followed the road down past his field of vision, the line of it blurred in the distance by the gently misting rain; she could have gone down any number of nearby alleys, could have climbed a fire escape onto the roof. If he’d been expecting it, he could have followed fast enough to see, but—

He hadn’t. 

He’d honestly expected her to fucking attack him, not— run. 

“Fuck,” Bucky says aloud, to nobody. 

He turns back to his apartment building, kicks a rock and watches it skitter across the glittering wet pavement and into the shadows.

He lights another cigarette.

~

He’s wired and on edge for hours afterwards, meaning he doesn’t sleep well. That thing inside of him is itching for it, a fight, an excuse, something to break the painful fucking monotony of his life these days; his therapist keeps saying that he’ll get used to this, the boredom of normalcy, and while he nods and plays along during the sessions, he’s not sure that’s even the issue.

He is used to it. He has a routine. He cooks and cleans and does general life maintenance on a strict and unwavering schedule. He even goes out once a week, goes and gets sushi and drinks with Yori, and even if that might technically not count as a friendship, it’s– something. He has a life. A normal, boring, regular, semi-adjusted life.

He just– 

He just doesn’t fucking like it.

It sucks, right, because back in Bucharest he remembers wanting this so fucking badly, wanting to just be normal, to be able to go grocery shopping and cook meals and listen to the radio and do nothing. Be nobody. And now that he has it, for real, forever, it’s like his stupid fucking brain has decided nope, y’know what, I don’t really want this after all.

What he wants, honestly, is another cause to throw himself into. Another banner to follow blind. Something that would let him relieve some of this constant fucking pressure, this itch just under his skin, this feeling like he’s forcing down and holding back and choking on all the worst parts of who he is, with no outlets to turn to, no options, no hope for relief.

I don’t do that anymore, is what he says to people, the pre-programmed line another term for the conditions of his parole. 

What he doesn’t say to anyone: I kind of miss it a fucking lot, though. 

Bucky stares up at the slowly-turning blades of his ceiling fan until his vision goes blurry and it turns into this meaningless shifting shape in the dark, and then he closes them, finally, and tries to will himself to sleep.

He should tell his therapist.

There’s a lot of things he should tell his therapist. I have nightmares, still. I probably qualify as paranoid. I made friends with the father of one of the men that I killed, and I go out to eat with him every week, and I think I feel just as bad about doing it as I would if I didn’t. I still haven’t figured out how to work that TV in the apartment, even though I said that I did, and I don’t even really know why I lied. I miss hurting people. I can’t sleep. 

“How have you been, James,” she says, peering at him across a cheap-looking wooden table, her pen poised threateningly– okay, not threateningly, but, like, still, threateningly – over a blank notebook page. The chair he’s sitting in is straight-backed and uncomfortable and slightly too small, and he wonders if that’s on purpose. “Anything new happening?”

She always asks this, in the beginning, like an ice-breaker, or something, except it feels like the opposite. It always feels–stiff, and perfunctory, and performative. That’s another thing– before all this, he used to be great at shooting the shit, talking about weather and sports and who’s seeing who and all that meaningless, petty nothing; he missed it, too, when he first started coming out of the fucking fugue state. And then it’s like– all those disassociated and splintered pieces of himself reintegrated, fused, solidified into something vaguely resembling a whole person, and he found that actually, he couldn’t stand any of it, anymore.

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ and leaning back in the chair until it creaks, dangerously, like it might break. Fucking government office, you’d think they could afford decent and non-flimsy furniture. Doc glares at him like he’s full of shit and he makes a point to dial back the affected nonchalance, gauging her response to try to figure out the range of what might strike her as believable. “Nothing. Same old, same old. You know.”

Someone found me, yesterday. They knew me. 

She narrows her eyes. Scribbles something down. The scratch of the pen on paper sets his teeth on edge, makes a muscle in his jaw twitch, erratic and uncontrollable. He forces himself to stay very still, not to lean over, not to try to look. Forces himself to smile.

Wonders, vaguely, if it even looks like he’s smiling, or if it just looks like he’s baring his teeth.

~

Days pass. Then weeks. A whole month.

At first, Bucky maintains that alertness; his senses sharpen, expectant, the handful of times he ventures out to toss the garbage or have a cigarette at night, and he sleeps in short, fitful bursts, waking with a start at the sound of cars backfiring on the street outside or the building settling as the temperature drops or the radiator when it creaks, just a little louder than usual, as the heat kicks on. He doesn’t mind any of this, actually, and that’s another thing he knows he should probably tell his therapist.

Hey, Doc, I’m kinda thinking somebody wants to murder me, so I’ve started keeping a knife under my pillow again, and I’ve really only been sleeping for like, an hour or two at a time. 

Weird thing, though– I feel better than I have in weeks, and I haven’t had any nightmares.

He does not tell his therapist, for a lot of reasons. Part of that is because he guesses she’d want to have the military deal with it, whatever it even is, which is just–absolutely not necessary. He’s a grown man, a fucking ex-assassin, for god’s sake, he can handle his own shit; but then there’s also the fact that she doesn’t even really know he’s still having nightmares. She suspects, he’s pretty sure, but he’d started denying it the fourth or fifth appointment in, got tired of her saying stupid shit like let’s do an exercise; I want you to describe it to me and talking about it will help, James, and you should try establishing a relaxing bedtime routine. 

Planning contingencies in case he’s attacked in his sleep, he’s pretty sure, does not count as a relaxing bedtime routine, but even still. Whatever works, right?

And it does work, for the first week, and then the second week, and then some of the third week, too, but eventually that pervasive vigilance starts to wane in the absence of any actual threat, and there’s nothing he can do to maintain it– it’s instinctive, that response, and while he can force himself to go through the motions, the checking and the watching and the knives stashed in places, he can’t bring that feeling back.

She’s never there. He looks, at night, lingers for a while and paces aimlessly after he’s tossed in the trash and his cigarette has gone out, sometimes even lights a second one and stays out even longer, leaned back against the brick and waiting, still, silent, like maybe if he goes long enough without moving at all she’d just reappear out of thin air, like a magic trick.

That doesn’t happen, because of course it doesn’t.

Eventually he starts to run short on the drive for that, too. Humans, it’s just how they are– get nothing for long enough and they’ll start to lose interest in trying. Bucky used to be above those kinds of things, or beyond them, or something like that; he could maintain single-minded focus on something for months, years, when it was necessary. 

Bucky misses that, too, sometimes. But he’s human now, or some approximation of it, and so eventually he stops looking so hard. Just glances over at the spot where she’d been standing, tosses the trash in, finishes his cigarette, heads back inside. He sometimes tries to find her in the daytime, in the people he passes on the street, in the dark figures at the bar when he goes out with Yori, cataloging the stature and posture and the shapes of strangers, the way a girl holds her shoulders in line at the grocery store or how the bartender will sometimes stay leaned against the counter for a long while, perfectly still.

But he never sees her. Not once. He’d know, he thinks, if he did; he might not have seen her face, or really anything beyond her silhouette, but there was something eerily familiar and immediately distinctive about the way that she held herself, how she stood, how she moved. The pieces of that he sees reflected in other people are never enough to trigger that same automatic, visceral feeling of recognition.

That vigilance– it just keeps fading. 

He starts to sleep in larger and larger chunks, unbroken, and the nightmares come back.

~

“How are you doing, James?”

“I’m doing good, Doc, how about you.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question. He’s tired and his jaw hurts and his teeth feel weird in his mouth, loose and sore and wrong– he’s probably been grinding them in his sleep again. The thought aggravates him, the idea that his body does things now that he can’t control.

“Bullshit,” she says, and he tightens his grip on the armrest of the chair, a reflex, until he can feel the wood give a little under his fingers, like it might splinter into pieces in his hand. 

“Yeah, y’know what, I have a headache,” he says, mulish and stubborn and not in the fucking mood.

Doc just stares at him, lets the silence stretch and stretch and stretch– in the beginning, when she would do this shit, he’d just stare right back and say nothing for the entire forty-five minutes. Learned real quickly that just makes things worse, because she started making him come in twice a week. He’s down to twice a month, now, and would really like to keep it that way–ideally would like to make it less, even, if possible. 

Bucky sighs and he shifts in the chair and he runs his tongue over his teeth and gives up on attempting to tamp down the irritation that he knows he wasn’t doing all that great a job at disguising to begin with. He thinks about what to say, and it’s like threading a needle, kind of, trying to find that sweet spot, something that sounds like honesty without feeling like he’s being fucking– violated.

He ends up telling her about how he’d went and made a nighttime routine and that’d stopped the nightmares. He does not tell her that the routine involved checking the locks on all the windows and scuffing the hinges on the door enough to make sure it would creak if anybody opened it more than halfway, taping knives under the end table in the living room and on the inside of the door to the coat closet in the hall.

She looks– suspicious. Uncertain. Like she doesn’t trust him, but isn’t quite decided on whether or not he’s lying.

Bucky smiles, again. 

She relaxes, just a little.

He’s been practicing– how to do it and make sure it reaches his eyes.

~

It’s that same night that it happens again. He’s tired and still irritated and his jaw hurts, this tense, throbbing pain that comes and goes in waves and just pisses him off more, and he’s thinking about how much he fucking hates therapy and how ridiculous it is that anyone in the world would pay money for that, to be examined like a bug under a microscope, vivisected and picked apart until there’s nothing left. 

All it’s doing is making him a more convincing liar, he thinks, bitter and sour and mean.

Bucky stops in the alleyway to have a cigarette before going inside, because he’s pissy and wants one. He does that cursory once-over of the spot behind the dumpster and there’s nothing, which is expected, and so he leans back against the soot-stained brick and shoves one hand in the pocket of his jacket and sighs and tries to just– not want to commit murder. 

He notices it by chance. 

From here, he can see his own bedroom window, four stories up, the drapes shuttered. It’s like six at night, but it’s April, so it’s not pitch-black, the sky that sort of soft blue-purple color with the sun obscured behind the endless sprawl of buildings. It’s still bright enough for him to be able to see the shadows of the folds in the curtains. Bright enough for him to see them move.

It’s not a lot, just a slight shift of the fabric, the shadows rippling like the air had changed inside the room– it could have been a trick of the light, he reasons, he could be overstressed and underslept and kind of loopy off all of the half-second buzz he gets from the nicotine, seeing things. It could be the stupid fucking window, the fact that he knows the seal around the edges needs to be repaired; it had been drafty as hell all winter. It could just be that the radiator had happened to switch on at that exact moment, sent a rush of heat spilling up to the ceiling that swayed the drapes just enough to make him think that there’d been– something.

Those are all perfectly viable explanations. None of them settle his pulse. 

He thinks he can probably feel his senses heighten, like everything in his field of vision sliding into better focus, or maybe his awareness of them just amplified; same with his hearing, the din of constant city noise sorting out into isolated and individual sounds that he filters through as he stalks the length of the lobby hallway, takes the stairs two at a time, silent and barely breathing.

When he gets to his floor he stops on the landing. Listens. There’s the muffled noise of traffic outside, a horn going off that sparks two others in quick succession, all from different cars; the couple three doors down from his whose argument is devolving into yelling at each other, again, their voices overlapping and rising in volume; the echo of scattered, tinny applause from what’s probably a TV on in an apartment upstairs.

And then there’s this soft, unassuming thump that comes from his apartment; nonspecific, maybe just the building settling as the temperature drops, but Bucky still stops breathing entirely and holds himself very, very still and waits–

But there’s nothing else. Nothing important. 

He tells himself sternly not to get his hopes up, and then realizes a half-second later that he’s not even sure what that means– if he’s hoping that there will be something or hoping that there won’t be.

His doormat is crooked. Just a little, one of the corners closest to the hallway folded over, kicked up, something that could have just happened by accident, a misstep from someone else living in the building, but–

That’s way too many fucking coincidences.

He opens the door as quietly as he can, enough to slip through and into the foyer but not quite far enough for the hinges to scrape against one another in the places where he’d scratched divots into them. The lights are off in the apartment, his living room and the adjoining kitchen shrouded in that late twilight shade of purplish-black; he sees a solid shadow in the corner by the fridge and something inside of him lights up and comes alive and floods his entire nervous system with this immediate shock of energy and it’s like everything just sharpens, his awareness of the world around him, like everything had been fuzzy and gray and muted before and now it’s not, the shadows are darker and richer and the colors are brighter and he stops feeling like he’s watching the world slip past him in this monotonous and unending blur.

She doesn’t hear him until he’s almost all the way across the living room, and even when she turns he just raises his arms up, a gesture he hopes comes off as nonthreatening.

She doesn’t move.

Bucky steps into the kitchen— it’s an open floor plan, so, honestly, there isn’t really a strict dividing line— and realizes his mistake as soon as he gets his palms flat on the counter. He’d meant to close the distance and show her that he’s not going to hurt her, keep his hands open and within her line of sight, but he’d miscalculated by a fucking large margin. There’s nowhere for her to go, he’d trapped her in the corner, not even on purpose; the door and the window in the bedroom are her only exits, and he’d situated himself directly in between both of them.

The last time, she’d ran, when he’d tried to get close.

Belatedly, it occurs to him as he watches the stiffening line of her posture that if she can’t run, she’s probably going to–

She lunges for him and swings at his head and he sidesteps it, moving down further along the long side of the dividing counter. He’s not even between her and the door anymore, but it doesn’t matter, she just keeps moving towards him, and her face, when he sees it– her expression– her eyes, that violent and single-minded focus, the strange serenity to them, like her mind is blank and her head is empty except for the way that she’s tracking him, the steady steps that he keeps taking back, and back, and back–

“Listen,” he says, “I don’t want to hurt–”

She lashes out at him mid-sentence and he jerks back and hits the wall in the adjoining hallway; he’s operating mostly on an old and familiar instinct so he twists to the side when she tries to hit him again before he can think twice about it, realizes only afterwards that he’d been standing in front of a support beam and he should have just let her hit him, it’s not like she could hurt him, and she’s going to break her fucking hand–

She hits the two-by-four dead-on and he expects to hear the solid awful crunch of the bones in her knuckles or her wrist, but what he actually hears instead is the drywall crack as an impact crater erupts out from under her fist and the plaster crumble like wet sand and the two-by-four fucking snap, bow in on itself and splinter into jagged shards like a tree hit dead-on by a car veering off a highway.

“Oh, shit ,” he says, aloud, and suddenly a lot of that instinctive and unthinking recognition starts to make a lot of fucking sense. “You’re–”

She swings for his head again and he ducks and lurches backwards and catches her next attempt with the metal arm– he deflects it harmlessly to the side, but the angle is strange and he ends up absorbing a lot of the momentum and the force of the blow jars all the way up to his shoulder, and, holy fuck, yeah, she’s exactly what he thought, she has to be–

“Will you– just– stop,” he tells her, or tries to. She’s gotten close again and the sentence is cut off when she goes for his sternum with her elbow and he barely manages to move back, a few milliseconds from having the wind knocked clean out of him, and then a second time as she steps in to knee him in the ribs and he’s force to twist to one side at some strange angle that nearly has him off-balance. She’s fucking fast, Jesus Christ; he catches her arm when she swings at him again, grabs her wrist with his hand and presses the metal one out flat to the inside of her bicep and tries to force her backwards into the wall, but she steps in and closer to him before he can gather the momentum and this time she throws her elbow towards his fucking face–

Bucky makes the split-second decision to just let go and try to put some fucking distance between them, retreating back into the kitchen.

He doesn’t want to hurt her, not if he can help it, not with how she looks right now as she advances on him— there’s something in her eyes that he doesn’t just recognize, something that he knows, it’s like looking into a fucking mirror if mirrors could be fucking portals into the past, or something.

“Stop,” he says, again; they’re following each other around the long counter in his kitchen, now, her eyes fixed on his with this startling precision, staring him down like a cornered animal. And, god, he fucking gets that, if only she’d just–

She seems to realize after a few seconds that they’re just circling, because she leverages herself up on the counter and slides across it and nearly breaks his nose with her heel.

He catches her next punch dead-on and the look of blank fucking shock on her face is satisfying in ways that he knows, rationally, shouldn’t be. 

“Listen to me,” he says, and she doesn’t, predictably, but when she steps in to try to hit him and maneuver out of his grip like the last time he just uses her own momentum to get her turned around and pinned flat down to the counter with both of her arms twisted behind her back, held together with one of his hands, applying enough pressure to keep her there without tearing ligaments. She thrashes, violently, catches him with her feet a couple of times in the shins, but he’s running on adrenaline and the pain doesn’t even really register as pain at all, the way it used to, like it’s all just sensation, no more important than temperature or hunger or pressure or time.

“Listen,” Bucky says, again, trying to keep his voice nonthreatening but not sure how well he manages that, “Listen, alright, I don’t want to hurt you, just relax.“

The thing about the stupid counter in his kitchen is that it’s not really at waist height, even for him, which means when he’d forced her down onto it she wasn’t bent over at an angle deep enough for him to have the leverage to keep her there for long. The ideal position would be anything more than ninety degrees, an angle that would have someone stuck and unable to straighten against the pressure without the use of their arms; the thing about that stupid fucking counter being so high up and her being shorter than him by a meaningful margin is that the edge of it doesn’t even come close to hitting her waist and the angle he’s holding her at is incredibly fucking shallow. It wouldn’t be that hard, if she were to realize all of that, for her to drop her weight down and press into the counter with her knees to force him backwards; it wouldn’t even have to be far, there's a lip jutting out from the top that she's bent over, so there’s space between her and the side of it already. She’d only need enough room to brace her feet and push-- the legs are the strongest muscle group in the human body, and the impact when he hits whatever’s behind him would be more than enough to force his grip to loosen.

Bucky had been aware of all that, is the thing. Obviously. He’s a professional. 

He just thought it might have taken her a little longer to figure it out.

His back hits the fridge hard enough that it rattles all of the contents inside and forces the air out of his lungs with a pained and entirely involuntary groan and though he tries real fucking hard to keep ahold of her, he loses track of one of her arms.

She starts to turn against his grip on the other and from that look on her face he knows— intimately, personally, from fucking experience— what will happen next. Either she will keep going, keep twisting until she can hit him hard enough to escape and tear the tendon in her arm in the process, or—

Bucky lets go.

She scrambles back and away from him. He stays perfectly still, not moving his hand from where it’s still half-outstretched and open. 

She only looks at him for what’s probably less than a second before she makes for the door, but it feels like so much longer. That kind of glassy, thoughtless fog breaks, when she does, and her eyes widen a fraction and something glints inside them, fragile and expressive and aware.

It’s just that one second, and then she’s gone, the door to his apartment ajar and swaying farther open, pushed by the air that had moved when she’d slipped past it.

Bucky releases the breath he’d been holding, and slumps back against the fridge. 

~

That night he does a bug sweep for the first time in what feels like forever. There aren’t any, which is almost halfway to a surprise; he checks again for anything left behind, and again, more carefully, for anything out of place, but finds nothing.

Later, laying on his mattress and staring up into the dark, he thinks about calling Sam. He still doesn’t know anything about her, who she is or who she works for or what she wants, from him and then just in general; she’s had some kind of serum, and she moved like she’d been trained— like she’d been conditioned, how she hadn’t even hesitated at the thought of causing herself some pretty fucking significant damage to escape, the same way an animal in a trap gnaws off its' own leg. 

That’s a lot of fucking glaring red flags, and she’d broken into his apartment.

He should definitely tell Sam. Or anyone, really. 

The thing is, though—

He’d recognized something in her, the very first time. If he was going to tell anyone, he would have done it then.

No, this is— it’s fine. He can handle this himself, Bucky decides, and then closes his eyes.

He doesn’t sleep for long, but he doesn’t have any nightmares.

[turtleblogatlast]

How are Mikey and Donnie doing? Since we've gotten the low down on Raph

Also, have they actually started to do worse since Leo has come back? Considering how he looks, the constant injuries, ect?

[ cw: death mention / injury mention / trauma / ]

Like I said here, Raph’s reason for believing in Leo’s survival is Trust.

Donnie’s is Proof. And Mikey’s is Hope.

More on them below

For Donnie, he’s made machine after machine, each one more complex than the last, all with the aim to tear a hole in reality to bring back his brother (his twin.) It never works, not once, and he considers, really and truly, remaking the Technodrome from the parts that have fallen all over the place (that thought is banished as soon as it hits him, and he was still shivering hours later.)

He considers stealing from the EPF. He considers getting the key and making a new portal himself regardless of the consequences. He considers many things and tries to do many things and maybe he would have if not for the rest of the family being on red alert for any dangerous actions.

It’s best he never did any of it, as the odds of finding one small turtle from a single unstable opening are low.

So he continues to search for an answer, even as it becomes more and more likely that Mikey may just be it. Donnie just can’t accept the thought of waiting around for the solution to come to them. He knows Mikey needs to train, but Donnie doesn’t want to wait.

Donnie hates to leave Leo in that place any longer than necessary. And he knows Leo’s probably there, the slider doesn’t die so easily.

There’s no proof of Leo’s death. They never saw a body, they never were contacted by his spirit.

So Donnie knows Leo’s out there. And he doesn’t want to keep him waiting.

On one occasion, Donnie swallows his pride and bows his head to the witches of Witch Town, begging for an answer, even if that answer isn’t within the realm of science.

They give him nothing.

Then. One day April makes a comment. She tells him that he’s “getting so tall.” So, of course, he immediately goes to check.

And, he is. He is tall. Tall-er at least, and getting taller still.

Taller than Leo was.

April finds him again an hour later, curled up in a heap on the floor and sobbing, sobbing, sobbing as he outpaces his memory of Leo.

It’s not like he didn’t know he’d probably one day get taller - after all, he’s a softshell versus Leo’s slider. Even considering all other aspects that may make them close, at most they’d be the same height, but most likely the end result is Donnie reigning supreme in the vertical department.

So. He knew he’d get taller. He’d been hoping to rub it in Leo’s face, considering they’d been on a back and forth with their heights for so long now.

But Leo wasn’t there.

Leo wasn’t there.

And. Then he was. And he was dead - and Donnie shut down.

But then Leo was - back? Somehow? And, for once, Donnie couldn’t - didn’t want to - question it because that’s his twin and-

Leo looks so young. So small. So hurt. And that- doesn’t change.

His shell is permanently cracked, so Donnie works on a battle shell.

He’s always cold, so Donnie makes a heat lamp.

His wounds never stop bleeding, so Donnie produces reinforced bandages.

And yet, despite all of this, Leo keeps getting hurt.

And yet, despite that, Donnie is still so fucking grateful Leo’s home.

Because finally. Donnie can breathe again.

Leo may end up alone one day, at the rate things were going.

So Donnie gonna make sure he’s got some company. Even if that company is a robot.

_____________

Mikey almost gets Leo back, that day.

He struggles and struggles, knowing he can open a portal if he tried hard enough. He knows he has it in him, he can feel it, but he also feels a sharp twinge in his arm from where the Krang snapped at it, so he’s given a brief flicker of orange before his arm falls to his side.

Before he fails in getting Leo back.

He tries again when he gets back control of his arm, but whatever he managed in the moment had passed.

Nothing but fizzles. Whiffs of uselessness.

He’s inconsolable and screaming for hours, hours, and for a while, the happy ball of sunshine he used to be has dimmed into stone. Expressionless and weary.

And then Draxum said he could teach Mikey.

And Mikey had hope. Just like Leo had said a ninja’s greatest weapon was.

Leo was always so cool, so confident. He’d play with Mikey and always got on his level. He’d protect Mikey when needed most, but let him be when not.

Leo had instilled hope in them, that day, and Mikey was ashamed that he allowed it to be extinguished so easily.

So, Mikey trains. Day after day, until he can reliably use his abilities without coming apart at the seams (and, sometimes/often/always Mikey wonders if maybe that’s okay, if it means Leo is back.)

But he acquiesces when Splinter looks at his spiderweb scars in horror.

It takes years, too long, much too long, (so long he has hair now-) but Mikey is finally able to do it.

He gets Leo out and-

And-

His brother.

Leo.

Leo was dead.

Mikey was too late. He failed Leo again.

Mikey doesn’t remember anything other than screaming, his own screaming, but he remembered Raph’s sudden change in expression, and how the snapper trailed off.

And Mikey remembered turning around, and feeling Hope flare up once more.

Leo was back, he was alive, and Mikey didn’t care how or why. He had problems, he was young looking, he was horribly wounded (always, now), he was kinda cursed, but he was home.

Leo wasn’t okay.

He wouldn’t talk about why either.

Mikey could figure some things out, off context clues alone, but the rest he’d need from the source.

But, Mikey wasn’t about to push his brother away. So he accepted the deflections and chose the next best thing - sticking as close as he could.

Gosh, he missed his brother so badly. He’d been training so much, so thoroughly, that six years came and went both agonizingly slowly and incredibly fast. He can only image it was similar for Leo.

So. So! Mikey has decided to live his life to the fullest, even if- even if Leo will outlive them. For the time he has, he will live for himself and his family.

And maybe look into how mystic spirits could stick around after death.

_____________

As for your last question - there’s some aspects of Leo’s return that are hard to deal with, undeniably so, but they’re more just. So happy he’s back. It’s 1000% more of a good thing than anything else. They missed him terribly, and weren’t the same with him gone, even if they were functional.

They weren’t whole without him. Just as he wasn’t whole without them.

[zeroducks-2]

I love the scene you wrote for my prompt! I love it more because Slade gave babies to Dick so nonchalantly, but let's not mention that. Dick so uncertain he's looking for excuses to stay/not go back at all while Slade here is practically playing house. Thank you!

Could I request another one with Tim/Jay this time? Prompt 1: You are enough? If not possible, or you're too busy that's okay just wanted to gush about the beautiful piece!

Hey friend ♥♥ thank you, I'm really glad you enjoyed! Slade is playing 3D chess by himself while he just needed to say "stay", and Dick would have stayed :')

I don't have much time to write these days indeed, but I'll do what I can to fill all the prompts! I love Jaytim btw!

"You are enough" Tim Drake/Jason Todd

He'd received Jason's call early in the night, for whatever reason decided to pick it up, and again for whatever reason decided to say yes when Jason asked him for help with an investigation. Turns out it was quite the complex weapon smuggling operation and it took them to cooperate for the better part of two months to properly dismantle it, find the culprits and shut everything down. And upon being asked why just Tim, why not getting more help into this, Jason had simply answered with "you are enough". And left it at that.

Roughly two months later he's leaning against the ledge of a building's rooftop, not too far from the docks, thinking that they can finally consider the case closed. Tim's managed to do this while not informing Bruce and Dick somehow, and he feels pretty proud of himself about that. Jason is sitting beside him, ignoring cars honking and speeding in the street down below as his legs dangle above them. There's a soft noise of steam, and Tim knows the other is taking off his helmet.

«It's been good.» Tim observes and then casts Jason a glance. He sees him holding a lighter between his palm and the tip of a cigarette, kept still by his lips. «Working with you, I mean. It's been good enough.»

Jason takes his time, a long breath, then blows out smoke. Tim is still looking at him, fascinated by how almost a third of the cigarette went down in one single inhale.

«Good enough.» Jason confirms eventually. «We can have the rest of the night, too. We deserve a quiet one.»

«Alright.» Tim replies with a half smile. He feels a bit awkward but this is not Jason's fault. He... he's been feeling and also probably acting quite stupid for the past week, and if he's glad this is over so he doesn't risk embarrassing himself, he's also not happy. Not at all.

«Come sit beside me.» Jason says and pats the ledge, and Tim hops on it, crouching as opposed to sitting. «You can stay, you know.» Another long drag, the cigarette goes down to less than a half. «We can keep working together. It doesn't have to be an every time kind of thing, just... when you need me.» He turns and smiles, and Tim frowns and aggressively looks away. «What do you say, Robin?»

«Don't call me that.» He huffs without animosity. It sounds mocking the way Jason says it. «It's Red Robin now.» He adds, and the other's smile sharpens into a grin, and Tim knows he's going to say that oh yeah because it's so different, so he cuts it again with «Shut up and give me a cigarette.»

Jason nods to get him to come closer, and Tim does, finally sitting on that ledge like a normal person. Even if a normal person would likely never casually sit in a place like that.

Instead of fishing out another cigarette, Jason shifts his own between his thumb and ring finger and holds it up for Tim, who takes a moment before understanding that he needs to lean in, pucker his lips and suck from the tip. He's halfway through the gesture when his cheeks flush and his eyes widen, realizing just in what position he's in, but Jason doesn't let up; he brings the cigarette to his own lips and takes a drag, then cups Tim's cheek and gently blows the smoke directly on his lips, close enough that they brush.

Tim is climbing on his lap before he knows it, a hand fisted through his hair and the other grabbing at his leather jacket as they kiss, the smoke still coming out in puffs between them.

«I was wondering when you were going to do it.» Jason comments after flicking his cigarette away, kissing back lazily like they had all the time in the world, and not like they were already halfway through the night.

«You were...» Tim swallows, heart pounding with urgency. He swallows it down, another kiss helps him mellow down. Jason holds a hand on his hip tight, so that their waists are pressed together. «...waiting?»

You've been wanting this too...?

Jason replies to both silent and spoken question with a small hum and a nod. «I was.»

«Why didn't you just kiss me yourself?»

«Because I was not sure you wanted it.» Jason sounds disarmingly honest, in a way which takes off the edge of Tim's embarrassment. «I haven't kissed all that many people, Timmers. I'm not great at picking up clues and reading the room, and all of the things people do to make sure the other person wants to be kissed.»

Tim supposes that that's... fair. It's fair. It makes sense. He swallows with a half smile; he's spent days thinking he was being an idiot while, well, he was being one but for different reasons. «Have you liked me for long?»

Jason runs a palm on his back, slow and gentle. «Long enough.»

«Okay.» Tim has to force himself not to squirm. He tells himself to stay calm, opting to touch their foreheads together. «So can I... um. Can I kiss you some more...?»

«You can.» Jason says more quietly, but instead of waiting for the kiss to happen, he pinches Tim's chin and initiates it, tilting their heads in the process.

-

Thank you for asking confusedshades! Here's the prompt list for whoever wants to peruse it, or send me another prompt :)

[highladyluck]

Season 2, Episode 4 Liveblog

Teaser:

Selene is so sanguine about her entire livelihood going up in smoke! It’s almost like this has happened before

Werewolf Perrin rumors have been crushed!

The problem with the Forsaken Ski Chalet is that there’s a Myrdraal infestation in the basement

It is a personal insult that the subtitles just say [chanting] when Ishy is clearly dialing up Lanfear (also if anyone can overwrite the audio for this scene with the dial-up modem sound I want to see the clip)

DARK PROPHECY IS A GO

Awww she’s an amateur artist

Dollars to donuts that ‘older sister’ is an Aes Sedai

It has to be so painful coming back home

Selene is so sanguine about her entire livelihood going up in smoke! It’s almost like this has happened before

How long, Selene? Exactly how long has it been?

I’m gonna need fanart/fanfic of the Forsaken Ski Chalet up near Kinslayer’s Dagger

Awwwwwwwwwww

The Accepted sleeves look AWESOME I know I keep saying that but it’s true! They’re little embroidered ombre flames

Alanna is like ‘I don’t do therapy, I only do sex advice’

Hmmmmm, that doesn’t sound like stilling aftermath, another point in favor of ‘shielded’

It’s good that they are namedropping Cads this early; she came out of nowhere in the books.

DARK, Alanna. Also I bet I know what that change in Moiraine was; the timeframe is right for it to be when Gitara died & she got her quest.

Moiraine is on the case!

Ooooooooooooh this is going to be FUN

DAMN so that’s why she wanted that specific red wine. This feels very on par with the books- Moiraine a step behind but trying desperately to stay in the loop and get Rand what she thinks he needs

Moiraine, damn

Yeah, no point letting him destroy himself until all value has been extracted from him :/

Elayne like ‘she’s been promoted’ lmao she would think it was just that

Oh Egwene, you have not even begun to feel like shit

Ooooh someone gave Liandrin her marching orders

FORESHADOWING

Awww it’s Hopper! Hi Hopper

Werewolf Perrin rumors have been crushed! It’s ok he is a werewolf in my heart, the way Rand is a ghost in my heart and Mat is a vampire in my heart. And by ‘in my heart’ I mean ‘in the subtext’

Huh, interesting thing with the visions

Perrin like ‘excuse me, why did I not get an instruction manual and personal tutoring, this is a shitty apprenticeship so far’

None of the Tower’s fucking business honestly (this is also why info about the Power doesn’t get shared but whatever)

Lmao Selene you lie about more than that

Her face when Rand says ‘you’d be surprised’ lmao, that’s a Lanfear Face (TM)

Oh honey you haven’t even broken the world yet

“[dice rattling]” IT’S MY BOY!!!

Is Min gonna have Mat kidnapped by the Seanchan and taken to Falme? I am INTRIGUED

I’m glad the show explores the rift in families created by the long lives of Aes Sedai

Liandrin says ‘Rescue mission! You love a rescue mission!’

Alanna does not like Dark Prophecies written in blood, I guess?

Ooooh there’s that Damodred spirit (political maneuvering)

“This is my room.” - Elayne

“didn’t ask, don’t care” - Nyneave

Egwene no no no you already have enough trauma you don’t need to go to Falme

Uh oh, always a bad sign when Ishy shows up in your dreams (I love that the non-ta’veren are getting Ishy dreams!) also at this point it should be obv to everyone that Liandrin is bad news bears, even if you missed the lying

Oooooh interesting, what IS In Cairhein?

The problem with the Forsaken Ski Chalet is that there’s a Myrdraal infestation in the basement

Lmao like she didn’t know

Selene doesn’t know anything about being seen as a monster, nope

Oh ok that bit about her soul is great

Rand is vanilla

What the hell

Wow that is the most awkward thing I can imagine happening between Rand and Moiraine, you’re gonna give him a complex about… killing… women… I see

I cannot wait to see Lanfear do some horror movie shit

YEAH

AVI NEXT EP!!!

[toxinoire]

I'm gonna say some things.

As someone in the Heathers fandom AND ships Veronica and the Heathers, we all know there would be some kind of toxicity to it so I'll explain what kind of toxicity it would be (for both Movie and Musical) and how (a sort of effective way) to write them to be a good ship with character developments without them being too OOC.

Before I start, I'm just gonna say that to make this effective, it's gonna HAVE to be a slow burn. Like, a 10 season show with at least 40 episodes each.

Each character has issues.

Chandler (this applies to both Movie and Musical) has a god complex (not to JD's extent tho) and is controlling. She can't let go of the control and she is an asshole to a lot of people. Her power over the school got to her head, causing her to be like this.

Duke (musical) same as Chandler but add ambition to it. (Movie) In this case, it's more of she lets people walk all over her and she wants to prove she can be number 1 corrupted her mind, turning her into more of asshole. (Take note, Duke wasn't MUCH of an asshole in the movie til the red scrunchie)

McNamara (applies to both movie and musical) has bad mental health. As shown, suicidal. In the musical, Mac's mood went from depressed to happy which is wrong. But in the movie, we see her ask Veronica to cut off school early to go somewhere. (Meaning she knows her problem. And I think they did cut off early)

Veronica (applies to both) is a decent person however her views get the better of her. (Movie) It's why JD's views of a society easily got to her. (Musical) And it's why she stayed with him, believing that there's still good in him. (Remember she only left him when she realized he doesn't regret killing one bit)

Why did I say 10 seasons with 40 episodes each? We'll need to have 2 seasons dedicated to each Heather. If merged together, each episode will be focused on one Heather with some slight background of the other two. For Ronnie, one season is enough, specifically focused on her learning to look at every angle and not just what her views are. The other 3 seasons will focus on their relationships with each other.

Now for character development writing, whether we like it or not, something WILL HAVE TO HAPPEN to them for character development to work.

Chandler already gets date r*ped, Duke has bulimia, Mac has shitty mental health and Veronica was already bullied a lot before popularity.

So the other three will have to witness Chandler get date r*ped and get her out of there. Chandler complies to the date rape because of status, so once they learn that, they will talk her out of it. Whatever they say, they will end up saying something that would make her question if what she's doing is worth it.

For Duke, they're all aware of her bulimia, but it'll have to be worse. Since Duke (probably) starves herself, she'll probably faint one day the other three will have to see it and help her with it. Duke probably won't go to the doctor (yet) but she'll probably try to (slowly) learn to eat without throwing up.

Mac, in her case, (I'm sorry) she'll actually have to almost die with her attempt for this to work. So the other three will help her and stick around her. Comfort her and listen to her problems. Because of opening up, she'll learn to accept her feelings and learn how to properly cope.

Veronica, something REALLY BAD has to happen. While she's already popular now, there are still probably worse assholes than the Heathers that will probably beat her up to the point she can't move. And the other three will have to take care of her and check on her a lot.

Why am I suggesting these? Why is it always "the other three"? Because that's when they'll learn to care for someone. They'll learn to protect someone, recognize emotions, learn how to comfort someone. Not just for others, but for themselves as well. They'll have to learn to care for themselves too.

Now the Heathers, after these, will slowly learn to be nicer while Veronica will learn to be more brutal.

The Heathers are mean to an extent, so they have to learn to be nicer. Veronica is already nice, just a little petty, so she'll have to learn to toughen up more.

But this will happen slowly.

It's gonna take a long time for them to process all this. They'll learn to care for themselves and others.

Chandler lets go of her control issues, Duke learns to draw the line, Mac learns to acknowledge her feelings and Veronica leanrs to look all sides of a situation.

And once character development is done, relationship development is the main focus.

While during character development there will be noticeable relationship changes, it's not the main focus, the main focus is them developing as people.

So in relationship development, we'll see them defend, care and protect each other, we'll still need to see misunderstandings and miscommunications. These are teens so these are inevitable occurrences.

Petty fights, misunderstandings, miscommunications. These will happen, since they are teens, kids still learning and making stupid decisions. (I hate the miscommunication trope but in this it HAS to happen for the sake of learning to accept their mistakes and lower their pride)

They will have to go through a lot more bullshit, while not death, a lot of shit for them to learn.

Again, it's a slow burn so while I worded this out this way, how it works in the actual writing will show the development.

There are a lot more ways that I can't possibly list them all, but this is probably the simplest one.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk.