#all while trying to be evasive

[fruitless-vain]

The way sham went from appeasement, my ears are down, I’m not looking at you, I’m not a threat, dude no need to be so intense, im chill

To I will cut you if I fucking need to back the fuck off

To you good mum? I good mum?

[rafeslvbug]

maybank!reader on rafe’s yacht…

you were wrapped in a beach towel that rafe had laid over your shoulders after a dive into the sea, something he’d tried to warn you against with a, “baby, boats are made so you can go on the sea without getting wet.”

crossed legged on the cushioned seats of the yacht, you sat, soaking in the warmth on your dripping skin while you had a bowl of strawberries in your lap. you felt the cushions sink underneath you from the weight of rafe as he laid down next to you, him casually slipping an arm under the towel and around your waist, fingers resting above the waistband of your bikini.

turning towards him, you plucked a strawberry from the bowl, holding it out to his mouth. “what you tryna feed me, now?” he chuckles, glancing down at the strawberry through his sunglasses.

“yeah, do you want it?” you ask, sticking it out further, so it nearly touches his lips. lifting his head off the pillows, he bites into the red fruit, some of the juice dripping down his lips and onto the tips of your fingers. it hardly makes much of a difference to you, though, your fingers are already covered in the pink juice, strawberry leaves stuck to them - what’s one more?

rafe curses under his breath, moving his hand to try and get the liquid spilling down his chin. “ah fuck, did i get it?”

you laugh, grinning down at him as you shake your head, “no, d’you want me to get it for you?” your question is masquerading as genuine, while your intentions are anything but, messy fingers only covering his face in more of the juice. catching on, he starts to try and move his head back, only for you to chase his evasive movements.

“i’m good– baby, i’m good!” he laughs, throwing his head back, trying to get it away from your attack of strawberries.

“no no you have some more ray, i’m just tryna get it off!” you giggle, moving closer until he eventually has you pulled onto him, chest to chest, and your hand fully resting on his cheek.

he almost doesn’t care about how his face is smeared with strawberries, your sticky hand resting on his cheek, grounding yourself as he pulls you into a kiss. grinning through lazy laps of your mouths, his arm still firmly around your waist, towel having slipped off during the fit of laughter.

“you’ve gotta clean me up, y’know?” he murmurs through the kiss, while you just shush him with a finger pressed to his lips, before slipping back in.

-

“rafe can i drive the boat?”

he nearly shoots his head up, looking down at you with slight bewilderment from where you’re laying on his bare chest. “…you wanna drive the boat?”

nodding, you explain, “jj never lets me drive dad’s boat, i swear i won’t crash it!” planting your hands on his chest, pouting up at him with those eyes he’s never been able to resist, rafe nods. besides, anything to be your favourite (over jj).

…

your back is pressed up against his chest while he stands behind you, hands wrapped over yours on the wheel. “alright then, baby, see all you gotta do is steer it a little to the left..” he hums, guiding your hands in the right direction.

the whole time you have the largest smile on your face, beaming with an intensity enough to blind even the sun. tentatively, rafe releases your hands, only giving gentle advice from behind you, his fingers now lingering on your waist. “am i doing it rafe?” you grin, looking over your shoulder at him.

“yeah, pretty girl, you are..” he smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to the side of your head. “a little to the right though baby,” he comments, so you turned the wheel in that direction and lead the boat away from another oncoming one.

“see, absolute natural..you can drive my boat from now on, nevermind ‘bout your dad’s.” it was the type of reassurance rafe’d always give you - don’t worry about your dad, he’d always be there.

-

rafe tied the boat to the port, securing the knot while you tugged his quarter-zip over your head and accepted his help in stepping off onto the boardwalk. arm slung over your shoulders, he and you walked up the planks to tannyhill, rafe spending the entire time engaging in hushed conversation with you, sweet nothings whispered in your ear.

but before you could get to his house, jj and pope were walking back from a drop off they did for heyward, and jj was never going to let you hang out with rafe for too long.

“alright cupcake! you and kook king over there have had too much fun doing god knows what, come on home!” jj calls out to you, hands cupping around his mouth as if to amplify his voice for the hard of hearing condition you always faked to get away from him and his orders.

“jj–” you start to protest, not missing how rafe’s arm tightens around your shoulders.

“no arguments, get over here!”

you glance apologetically up at rafe before murmuring, “sorry..gotta go. today was fun though.”

“yeah? we can do it again, tomorrow?” rafe suggests, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

“tomorrow sounds good,” you smile, tiptoeing to press a kiss to his lips, which he’s quick to return. you don’t even look to see the no doubt repulsed look on jj and pope’s face, keeping your head down as you reluctantly walk away from rafe.

“such a buzzkill jj,” you grumble, brushing past your brother, hugging rafe’s zip up closer to your skin.

“you went on his boat?” is all jj has to ask, marching up behind you, unable to hide the disgust in his voice even if he and rafe are being civil, whatever that means to them.

“he lets me drive it, unlike someone” you quip, earning an exasperated sigh from jj, which makes you break into a grin.

“jesus, i’ll let you drive the boat if it keeps you off his.”

-

(yap : i can’t even tell you how happy this combo makes me - i’ll take every request for them in the world.)

[pansexualkiba]

You're now a boss battle!

You already know what the hell is going on. You're sitting around in a DUNGEON, probably feeling yourself, probably making life rough for the guys around you, probably just genuinely being a good dude. When UH OH! Some team of HOOLIGANS and RAPSCALLIONS are here to fuck your shit up!

NOT IF YOU CAN HELP IT!

Of course you're powerful, you're a BOSS BATTLE. But every boss battle needs some sort of gimmick! You need a STATUS EFFECT!

NOW SPIN THE WHEEL TO DETERMINE THIS STATUS.

Share this with your friends. And enemies. I don't mind which.

Edit: UNLESS STATED YOU ARE CASTING THESE ON THE OPPONENT. I'm not sure HOW we have this confusion but HEY

Edit2: Now that it's done, here's a full list under the cut!

First, a glossary of STATS:

HP and MP are what comprise a person's BEING! HP are your HIT POINTS, the AMOUNT OF CUMULATIVE DAMAGE you can take before falling in battle. MP fuels SPECIAL ABILITIES, like MAGIC and THROWING YOUR SWORD LIKE A BOOMERANG. If you run out, you can't USE THEM. Additionally, different skills cost different levels of MP (You can't expect DEATH METAL to be as cheap as SHADE!), so keep that in mind as well!

STRENGTH and MAGIC determine the power of PHYSICAL and MAGICAL attacks, of course! DEFENSE and MIND determine how well you resist damage of their respective kinds! EVERYONE HAS DIFFERENT LEVELS OF EACH! Generally, being really good in MAGIC and MIND makes you kind of FRAIL, and VICE-VERSA! It's why people generally travel in PARTIES, to COVER EACH OTHER!

EVASION and ACCURACY are two sides of the same coin: HOW WELL AN ATTACK WILL HIT. As a rule, powerful abilities tend towards low accuracy, so either BUFFING YOUR ACCURACY or DEBUFFING OPPONENT EVASION will mitigate that. Likewise, BUFFING YOUR EVASION or DEBUFFING OPPONENT ACCURACY will let you dodge otherwise-sure hits. Generally, high accuracy will cancel out high evasion, and vice-versa.

Finally, ELEMENTAL RESISTANCES. There are several magical elements, including FIRE, ICE, POISON, and DARK. Having a RESISTANCE will mitigate the RESPECTIVE DAMAGE. Allegedly, if your resistance reaches ABOVE 100%, you can HEAL INSTEAD.

A BUFF and a DEBUFF affect the ABOVE STATS. Buffs INCREASE said stats, and debuffs DECREASE the same. BOTH are TEMPORARY! They DECAY over time, and GO AWAY when the battle's over!

That's the tutorial done. Here's the AILMENTS! One could call them STATUS EFFECTS, from the way they AFFECT the STATUS... But I won't. (Note: unless stated otherwise, Ailments are TEMPORARY; they will EVENTUALLY GO AWAY)

STAT DEBUFFS

PLAGUE: MAX HP is HALVED! In visual terms, this means that the affected goes from a maximum of, say, 600 HP to 300 HP! When this is healed, MAX HP returns to normal, but CURRENT HP REMAINS THE SAME!

HEX: MAX MP is HALVED! In visual terms, this means the affected goes from, say, 100 MP to 50 MP! This WILL lock some people out of their more POWERFUL ABILITIES, sooooo...

WEAKEN: Reduces STRENGTH and MAGIC! This also continues INCREMENTALLY - DECAY will pause until WEAKEN wears off! GET WEAK.

TIRED: Reduces DEFENSE and MIND! Like Weaken, this is INCREMENTAL, and these debuffs WILL NOT DECAY until Tired wears off! GET TIRED.

BLIND: ACCURACY IS HALVED! Better use attacks that DON'T MISS, or HIT EVERYTHING!

JINX: REVERSES ACTUVE BUFFS INTO DEBUFFS! This does not turn debuffs into buffs! Furthermore, while Jinxed, ALL FURTHER BUFFS WILL INVERT!

UNLUCKY: The afflicted will have WORSE LUCK! Their attacks will miss more, they'll get hit by inaccurate attacks, they'll land LESS CRITICAL HITS, and they'll be MORE SUSCEPTIBLE to AILMENTS!

STAT BUFFS (Try to target yourself)

SHIELD: While your SHIELDS ARE UP, you take HALF DAMAGE FROM ATTACKS! Simple and easy to understand!

HASTE: On your NEXT TURN, you get an EXTRA ACTION!

INVINCIBLE: YOU TAKE NO DAMAGE!

MORALE: While this is active, you CANNOT fall below 1 HP! This makes you EFFECTIVELY IMMUNE to DOOM and DEATH!

BRAVE: You are now IMMUNE to Critical Hits! Additionally, your Crit Chance is now DOUBLED!

IMMUNE: You are UNAFFECTED by other AILMENTS!

CUTE: You CANNOT BE TARGETED FOR ATTACKS! This remains up even if you're the LAST ONE STANDING! Of course, you'll still get hit by COLLATERAL DAMAGE from MULTI-TARGET MOVES...

REFLECT: For any damage you take, INFLICT HALF OF THAT ON THE OPPONENT!

VAMPIRE: DRAIN HP from the opponent with EVERY ATTACK! You will gain HALF of the damage you give as HP!

LEECH: DRAIN MP from the opponent with EVERY ATTACK! You will gain ONE THIRD of the damage you give as MP, while DEPLETING THEIRS!

REGEN: HEAL HP EVERY TURN!

LUCKY: Your luck IMPROVES! Better chances to hit, evade, and crit! Secondary effects have a GREATER CHANCE of occuring!

DAMAGE OVER TIME! Each is effectively the same thing, so I'll only point out their ELEMENT and any SPECIAL PROPERTIES.

BURN: FIRE

DROWN: WATER

SALT: EARTH

SHOCK: THUNDER

FROST: ICE

POISON: POISON

MIASMA: DARK

BLIGHT: LIGHT

BLEED: No element. Damage INCREASES EACH TURN. Can be healed with any healing spell.

DESPAIR: Drains MP instead of HP.

BEES: A swarm of bees. Scales off of DEFENSE, so it's actually rather weak. To make up for this, they will SWARM THE WHOLE PARTY until EVERYONE IS BEING DAMAGED OVER TIME.

WEAKNESSES. These make you MORE WEAK to a GIVEN ELEMENT. As their main difference is as such, I will mainly denote DIFFERENCES.

DRY: FIRE. Can be cured with a WATER SPELL.

WET: ICE and THUNDER. Can be cured with a FIRE SPELL.

HEAVY: EARTH. Makes you resist WIND.

LIGHT: WIND. Makes you resist EARTH.

WOUND: POISON. Can be cured with any healing spell.

PANIC: DARK

SCORN: LIGHT

UNDEAD: If the afflicted would be HEALED, they instead TAKE DAMAGE INSTEAD. This effectively makes one WEAK TO HEALING MAGIC.

SKIP A TURN. Forced inaction.

SICK. Sometimes, you'll SNEEZE, aborting your turn ENTIRELY. Can be cured with HEALING MAGIC, but UNLUCKY makes it into PLAGUE.

DANCE: You're dancing TOO MUCH to take your turn, but your EVASION is buffed.

BERSERK: You skip your turn in favor of a REGULAR ATTACK, but your STRENGTH is boosted.

HAPPY: A regular TURN SKIP. If a HAPPY opponent is defeated, you get EXTRA MONEY.

STUN: JUST A TURN SKIP. NO FRILLS OR BELLS. THE STANDARD.

SLEEP: INDEFINITE TURN SKIPS. Can be aborted early by being HIT.

HUNGRY: SKIP TURN in favor of consuming something from the inventory.

MISCELLANEOUS

TARGET: ALL ATTACKS WILL HIT THE AFFLICTED. This overrides CUTE.

IGNITE: In a set amount of turns, the afflicted will BLOW UP, doing HEAVY FIRE damage to themself and lesser FIRE damage to their party. Can be cured with a WATER attack.

DOOM: In a set amount of turns, DIE. Skips the countdown under UNLUCKY. Countered ENTIRELY by MORALE. Overrides INVINCIBLE.

DEATH: DIE. Similar interactions to MORALE and INVINCIBLE as with DOOM.

LOCK: The PREVIOUS ACTION must be REPEATED until this wears off.

CONFUSE: CANNOT use the PREVIOUS ACTION until this wears off. Was mistakenly labeled as PANIC.

BAT: Turn into a BAT. HP is reduced to 1, and the opponent cannot use skills or items.

STAGGER: The NEXT hit is a GUARANTEED CRIT. Combine with BRAVE and LUCKY for CRITx3 COMBO!

SILENCE: CANNOT USE ABILITIES.

DRUNK: DO RANDOM THINGS.

CHARM: The opponent will TURN ON THEIR PARTY. If they're the only one left and STILL CHARMED, they will ATTACK THEMSELF.

STONE: The AFFLICTED is now a STONE STATUE. Their next hit will SHATTER THEM, KILLING THEM INSTANTLY. STONE can STILL BE CURED BEFORE THEN, of course, and REVIVE is a spell.

CURSE: On the next turn, turns into ANY of these AILMENTS at RANDOM. LET'S GO GAMBLING.

And, of course,

AURA: The HYPE MOMENTS Ailment. If one person has AURA, it will INSTANTLY SPREAD to EVERYONE. EACH TURN, ALL STATS WILL INCREASE. This INCLUDES HP AND MP. AURA is PERMANENT. THE BATTLE WILL BE LEGENDARY.

[thebubblesareevil]

Hunted

Dc x dp prompt

Clockwork can see every potential timeline and does his best to ensure the best possible future

That future required Danyal Al Ghul to become Danny Phantom.

So after Thalia had her twins, one of them vanished without a trace, no matter how the league searched, he was nowhere to be found.

Talia made sure Damian had the best of everything, made sure he was forged into the deadliest of warriors so no one could ever take him away from her.

But she never stopped searching.

When Danny left amity to go to college, he figured his biggest concern would be avoiding the ghosts of Gotham, not being hunted every night by a crazy ninja woman.

All he wanted to do was get his engineering degree and build spaceships!

He didn’t know what this lady wanted, but he sure as hell wasn’t gonna let it stop him.

Things finally came to a head when he was avoiding the ninja and ran into some rich kid. The boy sneered at him and told him to watch where he was going while his friend was freaking out.

“Will you shit up drake?! Shouldn’t you be in a board meeting right now?” He scowled.

Danny rolled his eyes as he tried to pick up his stuff and get away from the crazy lady hunting him.

“What the hell Damian?!? This guy is basically your clone and that’s how you react?”

Danny sneered, “are you joking? We look nothing alike!” He said, rolling his eyes. He saw the ninja lady approaching on the left. “Tch. Now I’m gonna be late for class, thanks.” He huffed and raced in the opposite direction of the ninja.

—-

Damian glared at his brother, “honestly drake, have all those concussions finally caught up to you?”

Tim just looked between him and the boy rapidly making his way across the campus in shock “Are you-“

“Damian!” Came the familiar voice of his mother “which way did he go?!?” She asked, frantically looking around.

“Who?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at his mother.

She froze when her eyes landed on the boy that just ran into him. “Your brother!” She rushed after the boy “I won’t lose him again!”

She said, leaving behind a shocked Damian and Tim as she vanished.

——

Somehow, Danny hadn’t expected things to get worse.

He should have known better.

Things ALWAYS got worse.

So now he was sneaking into his apartment at 2 am, trying to avoid not only the ninja lady, but also the entire bat clan!

When he finally made it back to his apartment he froze before his hand touched the door, sensing another person in his temporary haunt and sighing.

This was the third apartment in 2 weeks.

He turned around and vanished down the hall, leaving his key and a note in the leasing office.

He really wanted a nap.

——-

“Was it really necessary to not tell the young Phantom about his true origins?” Pandora asked clockwork as they watched him search for a new apartment.

“You are free to tell him any time you wish.” He said with a grin.

The watched as Spoiler face planted as she tried to tackle Danny before he walked through a wall. Searching frantically when she couldn’t find her quarry before stubbing her toe when she decided to vent her frustrations.

Pandora cleared her throat, “well…I don’t see the harm in the young king getting some extra evasion practice in.”

Clockwork smirked, holding out a bowl of glowing popcorn to the giantess. “Popcorn?”

[cybertron-after-dark]

Average transformers g1 episode:

Megatron is attempting to black out the entire sky across a hundred mile radius and funnel all the sunlight into one, concentrated solar death ray to target a heavy duty solar panel he's having soundwave and the cassetticons build in order to convert it to energon. Then he plans to hit the autobot base with the death ray just for funsies. Starscream plans to push Megatron directly into the death ray, also just for funsies.

Optimus sends Wheeljack and Spike to deal with it, along with two bots you're pretty sure have not been in this show before this point, but you're kind of past asking how many of these fuckers were on the ark offscreen when it crashed. One of them has the worst fake Canadian accent you have ever heard, and the other's name sounds inexplicably dirty.

Starscream tries to get Megatron to stand in the spot he told Skywarp and Ramjet to direct the death ray, but is interrupted when Rumble asks why Starscream stuck him with extra work (a task Megatron assigned specifically to Starscream). This vexes Megatron. The autobots show up and try to figure out what the point of the blacked out sky is while Starscream attempts to talk his way out of it. Then the death ray goes off two feet away from Megatron, which only pisses him off further.

The Canadian bot yells "AH BINARY-BEAVERS!!" because the death ray caught him off guard and completely gives away the bots' position. Soundwave immediately fires on them. Gratuitous robot violence ensues. Spike is generally useless and tries chucking rocks at Rumble. Megatron is too busy trying to almost-murder Starscream to bother with the autobots and just lets Soundwave handle it.

Probably-an-innuendo-name-bot is luckily a flier and takes the chance to see what's blocking the sun now that their cover's blown anyway. He gets up there and the seekers are sticking tinfoil on the clouds to make the tops reflective. The writers are really just hoping you don't think too hard about it.

Skywarp starts firing on dirty-name and calls him a nerd. Dirty-name takes evasive action. Skywarp runs out of ammo and starts just chucking tin foil at him. Dirty-name calls him dumb and says his processor is made of spare toaster parts. Then he crash lands and canada-bot asks if dirty-name's wings are spare toaster parts as well. Wheeljack yells that they'll all be spare toaster parts if they don't focus on the decepticons. The death ray goes off again and barely misses the autobots. Wheeljack corrects himself to Melted spare toaster parts.

Dirty-name gives Wheeljack the rundown on the tinfoil clouds so he can figure out a way to get rid of them while Canada-bot fights Soundwave and the cassettes in the background. Spike is kind of helping too sort of almost. Those rocks hes chucking sure are damaging. Ravage gets straight up drop kicked. It cuts back to Wheeljack whipping up a good old fashioned Device™️.

Starscream flies up past the tinfoil barrier while Megatron shoots at him. All the holes he's shooting in the blackout barrier are just making more, slightly shittier death rays and the main one is losing concentration. One of them hits Megatron right in the optic and he keels over with an over the top screech. Starscream descends, breaking another hole in the tinfoil to see a golden opportunity.

"MEGATRON HAS BEEN BLINDED!!! I, STARSCREAM AM NOW YOUR LEADER!!!"

Wheeljack finishes his Device™️: A grenade that makes tinfoil entirely invisible, thus rendering the whole weapon unusable. The writers are hungover, please do not think about it too hard. Pretty please. Dirty-name doesn't know if he can throw it into one of the holes in the barrier on his own since he can't fly in robot mode and he cant throw in altmode. Spike offers to get on his back and throw it in for him if he can get close enough. And he's just SO good at throwing things. The other two agree he's their best shot, they're so happy spike is around, couldn't do it without him.

Starscream is hovering in the air as he gives his Decepticon Leader Acceptance Speech he's prepared for this very occasion, golden light streaming in from the him-shaped hole in the barrier. Dirty-name and spike zip past him and spike makes the best goddamn throw of his life. Before starscream can properly question the Fucking Audacity of these autobots interrupting him while he's trying to have a moment, the invisible explosion goes off that the animators are just happy they don't have to put that much effort into drawing. Starscream gets knocked out of the air and crashes directly onto Megatron. This vexes Megatron.

Sky's normal again. Don't worry that there's still tinfoil there, don't even fuckin worry about it dude. Spike and Dirty-name touch back down. Round of applause for spike for throwing super good. Wheeljack comments that he's just happy it blew up the way it was supposed to. Cue uncomfortably long laughing. Megatron manages to roll starscream off him and calls for a retreat.

Back at the decepticon base, Megatron has an eyepatch and is skulking. Starscream yaps about how it makes him look like a proper tyrant, brooding and battle scarred, and, dare he say, darkly handsome? This vexes Megatron.

[deikshen]

Shen Qingqiu may know a lot about PIDW, monsters, the plot and papapa plot devices, but, traditional ancient music? Are they seriously going to ask him to learn all those old songs in addition to trying to save his ass from a horrible death?

So, in guqin classes with his students, Shen Qingqiu decides that it is not bad to teach them adaptations of modern music. Nothing crazy. Popular stuff, something classic Queen like exaggerations. He doesn't sing in English, but the music has this magnetic thing that can make a few of his disciples hum along, and it feels like they know the lyrics. Shen Qingqiu enjoys it very much.

Luo Binghe is the only one who actually hears him sing it. With English lyrics included. Of course, Luo Binghe has no idea what it means, but that doesn't mean he can't imitate it! So he's singing softly while washing some robes, enjoying Shizun's musical gift to him, when he hears someone stumble.

That someone turns out to be Shang Qinghua, the An Ding Peak Lord, who stands up from the ground with wide eyes. Luo Binghe interrupts his song, looking at him in confusion, when Shang-shishu... run at him?!

"Bro" Shang-shishu says, in a casual and unpleasant manner, with an expression on his face that Luo Binghe had never seen before, "What the fuck. What the fuck. Queen? Somebody to love? Are you kidding me? How did you get the Protagonist!?"

... and Shang Qinghua begins to speak.

Luo Binghe is sixteen years old, and at this point in his life, he is intelligent, manipulative, and able to handle the situations around him with cunning. So, he manages to keep a conversation going with Shang Qinghua by repeating strange words that he doesn't understand the meaning of, letting the man talk and say things like, Transmigrator? System? Username? How many years has he been there? How did he get the "Scum Villain" to treat him well? Is he preparing for the "Endless Abyss"? Since apparently, that thing, System, had told him that it was an "inescapable plot"...

Luo Binghe is evasive. He says he's been there since he was a baby, which turns out to be an appropriate answer. Bit by bit, he says he doesn't have many memories, which Shang Qinghua seems to understand? He says that some memories settle when he reaches adulthood? That this happened to him. He was twenty when he was really able to manage "both lives" in one coherent thing.

Luo Binghe listens, humming in all the right places, being elusive and evasive but Shang Qinghua doesn't even seem to suspect anything. He insists that he should prepare for the Endless Abyss and promises to get him some weapons and talismans that he can hide. He tells him that he hopes "His King" won't make such a fuss without so many monsters.

Finally, the evening falls, Shang Qinghua begs him to please keep seeing each other to talk, he is tired of being alone.

Luo Binghe looks at the wet clothes. He finishes washing and leaves with many things on his mind.

Shang Qinghua recognized him as a "Transmigrator", whatever that was, from the song. The song his Shizun had taught him. He had asked him how long he had been here. At first, the question hadn't made much sense, but looking back, recalling Shizun's complete change in temperament and personality... Luo Binghe can get an idea of how long Shizun has been there.

Besides, what was all that about "Protagonist"? Luo Binghe is not an epic hero blessed by the gods, and he doesn't have the abilities to be classified as one. Or does he?

That night, he makes an impeccable dinner. He makes sure to present all of Shizun's favorite foods, favorite tea, and favorite scented candles. A treat for the senses. When he sees his Shizun start eating, he just smiles sweetly before:

"Shizun, this humble disciple has a question about the future."

"Mnh, this Master listens."

"Why must this disciple fall into the Endless Abyss as an inevitable plot? Is there no way the System will allow this disciple to stay with his Shizun, or is this an unavoidable fate because this humble one is the Protagonist?"

The chopsticks fall from Shizun's hand. The expression on his face is one of the deepest horror.

"Binghe, what...?"

And his Shizun looks in all directions. He seems to be searching for something that isn't there. The "System", perhaps? Whatever that is, Binghe has never seen or felt it. And, at that moment, his Shizun doesn't seem to see it either. Or, he sees it, but what he sees seems not to be a response of cosmic horror. What he sees makes his Shizun's countenance turn peaceful. After terror and tension, his shoulders relax.

"First, Binghe has to tell me where he got all that... information" begins his Shizun. Binghe nods quickly; he won't have any problems with exposing Shang-shishu if necessary. He has no loyalty to him, not like he does to his Shizun. "Very good. Binghe, sit next to me and pour us some more tea. This is going to be a long conversation."

And it definitely was.

[spaceshipkat]

okay i really do actually want to write this as a fic, where Buck is pulling back to try to get over Eddie and Eddie fucking loses his mind over it, but i’m feeling a mental block for some reason (i think i don’t quite know where to begin this) so here. have this. enjoy. mwah. <3

okay because i’m thinking. i’m thinking Eddie does give Buck space at first—maybe Buck asks for it when he’s moving out. he doesn’t ask Eddie for help in moving out, though, and maybe Eddie doesn’t even know he is until he gets home and finds Buck is gone. and so he kinda freaks out and calls him (maybe facetimes him, and he doesn’t recognize where Buck is, and he asks but Buck is weirdly evasive) and Buck explains he’s getting out of Eddie’s hair, he just needs some time to himself. Buck sounds off but Eddie is used to Buck eventually coming around bc he always does, so even though it freaks him the fuck out and he doesn’t want Buck gone, he says “okay.”

except of course this time Buck doesn’t repeat the cycle. he’s friendly to Eddie at work, but since Chim is captain that makes Eddie Hen’s partner, and Ravi is Buck’s. so Eddie doesn’t get as much personal time with him on the job, he’s not even always in the rig with him, and Buck turns down hanging out with him only for Eddie to later learn he had Ravi over to his new place to idk help him paint the bathroom and eat pizza. and Eddie Does Not Know how to handle that bc wtf does that mean?! why wouldn’t Buck ask Eddie?!

so of course Eddie shows up at Buck’s new place with Chris the next night, and they hang out and it’s like normal again except Eddie can tell Buck is kinda using Chris as a buffer. he rarely makes eye contact, he said “make yourself at home” but it’s like he didn’t really mean it, because when Eddie gets up to do the dishes, Buck scrambles into the kitchen and says “no, no, i got this, you’re a guest.” which like. what. so the next time they hang out, Eddie goes over without Chris and Buck is acting so off. maybe he’s idk baking or something and just keeping the conversation really surface level, rarely makes eye contact and avoids every opportunity to deepen the conversation. and when Eddie leaves, Buck almost seems relieved.

and it goes on and on and on, for weeks, with Eddie trying desperately to keep Buck close, holding onto him by his fingernails and with white knuckles, until one day Buck ends up injured while Eddie isn’t on shift with him, and Buck’s taken to the hospital, and Eddie isn’t called—because Buck removed Eddie as his emergency contact. Eddie only hears about it because Maddie texts asking if Buck’s blue hoodie is still at Eddie’s house, and if so can Eddie bring it to Buck at the hospital?

so Eddie freaks the fuck out and just. HOVERS over Buck when he’s discharged and goes home to his apartment, not Eddie’s house, and so Eddie cancels all prior plans to take care of him, to the point that Carla ends up staying with Chris one night so Eddie can stay with Buck. and maybe they’re on the couch and Buck is loopy from pain meds so he ends up falling asleep on Eddie’s shoulder and this just makes Eddie’s entire body SING he’s so happy, this feels normal, maybe they can get back to being buckandeddie again, maybe this is what Buck needed, a reminder of why they’re better together

but then the next morning Buck asks Eddie to leave, and doesn’t look at him even once. and Eddie is just. flummoxed. he’s so surprised by this because Buck NEVER asks Eddie to leave. never. not once. so he leaves and tries not to cry in his car like some dumb music video, even if he is listening to Adele and eating a granola bar with chocolate chips in it because it was all he had in the glovebox.

and Eddie needs to let himself fall apart in private, maybe. where he doesn’t think Buck would close his eyes to it. but somehow he instead finds himself on Maddie’s front step, and she welcomes him in and is so grateful bc Chim is busy and Robert Nash Han won’t stop crying so Eddie does his cute dad thing and calms the baby down and Maddie finally asks Eddie why he’s here, and Eddie ends up blurting out everything—it can’t be helped, he’s holding a baby so his heart is all soft but it’s also so broken and he just. feels like he’s losing Buck and he doesn’t understand why

and maybe Maddie doesn’t tell him everything, bc she’s protective of Buck and it should be Buck who tells Eddie everything he feels, but she also knows that Eddie is in love with Buck (even if Eddie doesn’t know it yet) and she wants to help them, so she very carefully tells Eddie that Buck is trying to get over him. and Eddie is flabbergasted. he’s bouncing the baby and staring at Maddie and she can see the cogs spinning in his head because “what?” and also “since when?” and more importantly, ringing like an alarm in the station, “why?” because it hits him he doesn’t want Buck to get over him. he was trying to catch up with Buck, with where he really hoped Buck was re: feelings, but his pace wasn’t right—if he kept going slowly, kept waiting for things to happen on their own, he would lose Buck. hell, he’s already losing Buck. and it feels as terrible as when he lost Chris. a piece of himself went missing. he’s terrified that, this time, he won’t be able to get it back.

so he gives the baby back to Maddie and says he has to go and Maddie just smiles and then Eddie shows back up at Buck’s place, and he knocks, and it takes a second but eventually Buck says through the door “go away” and Eddie thinks he sounds like he’s been crying, his voice is wrecked, and so Eddie says no, he’s not leaving, and Buck tells him he can’t do this right now, and Eddie doesn’t care bc if they don’t do it now it might never happen, it might be too late, and so Eddie starts rambling a confession through the door, super heartfelt and weepy and full of apologies, but suddenly one of Buck’s neighbors appears in the hallway and is like “wtf are you doing i’m calling the cops” and Eddie is scrambling to tell her to chill but she is not happy, so Buck opens the door and drags Eddie inside bc he doesn’t need Eddie getting arrested bc Janice is so uppity (Buck has beef with her, it’s annoying)

and Buck is like “why are you doing this” and Eddie says he realized that if he kept waiting he’d lose Buck, and so he’s tired of waiting. he’s not going to wait anymore. he refuses to lose Buck, not when he wants him so fucking much that it makes him feel insane. and Buck is staring at him bc he really can’t believe this is happening, that Eddie wants him, until eventually Eddie is just like “please can i just fucking kiss you” and Buck can’t speak so he just nods and Eddie grabs his face and crushes their mouths together and kisses him and it’s the best thing Eddie’s ever felt, the best he’s ever felt, he didn’t know kissing could be like this, and he laughs and says “why didn’t you tell me it’d feel like this” and Buck is kinda awkward and says “well sorry i’ve got stubble i’m injured and can’t shave” (what is he injured with? i couldn’t tell you) and Eddie laughs and says no i don’t mean that—it’s you. why didn’t you tell me kissing you would feel like this, which doesn’t actually clarify anything but Eddie doesn’t care to elaborate and so he kisses Buck again

and they stumble back to the couch, and because Buck is injured Eddie is so so careful as he pulls off Buck’s clothes and kisses every inch of exposed skin and it’s driving Buck crazy, how Eddie’s huge hands are pressing into his hips, how he keeps biting his neck and his collarbone and his chest to leave hickeys behind, and they’re both so turned on that by the time Eddie gets his clothes off, too, and climbs onto Buck, pressing him into the couch cushions with all his weight, that Buck suddenly starts to understand what Eddie meant. and he says it back, “why didn’t you tell me it’d feel like this,” and Eddie laughs, shifting to properly straddle Buck and wrap his huge fucking hand around their cocks, and he kisses Buck and says “maybe we were supposed to figure it out together,” and Buck feels like he’s going crazy, because Eddie is above him, around him, kissing him, making sounds into his mouth like he wants Buck, like this is every answer to every question he’s ever asked.

and it’s so so so good and Eddie can’t believe he wasted so much time, can’t believe he almost lost this because he was content with waiting for it to happen organically, for some near death experience to be the reason one of them finally snaps and just kisses the fucking life out of them, and he tells Buck he wants Buck to keep him, he wants to be kept, and he wants to keep Buck. he wants to be buckandeddie again, he wants to be Buck’s emergency contact, he wants them to be so goopy soft mushy gross that everyone groans the instant they so much as hold hands or make eye contact. he wants Buck in his home and his bed and in the rest of his life, and they’re so fucking close, the kiss barely more than lips brushing, breaths gasping, teeth nipping—

and then there’s a knock on the door, and they both stare at each other because what the fuck, who could possibly need them right now. but the knock comes again, and so Eddie scrambles for the first clothes he can find, which happen to be Buck’s, so he’s wearing a hoodie and shorts that are way way too big on him, but it makes Buck stare at Eddie like he’s looking at the rest of his life, too. so Eddie goes to answer the door and it’s Athena bc Janice the uppity neighbor did call the cops, and Eddie has a massive hickey on his neck and sex hair and he’s giggling and blushing and Athena sighs bc she doesn’t get paid enough for this. but she does say she’s happy for them, and tells Buck (she can’t see him but she knows he’s sitting on the couch bc she can hear him giggling, though she doesn’t want to know about what) that he better not be doing anything to injure himself further bc he just got out of the hospital, and Eddie smiles and blushes and says “i’m taking care of him” and Athena says “i’m sure you are” and then she leaves and Eddie shuts the door and Buck is still butt naked on the couch and still hard too and so Eddie throws off his clothes and loves and loves and loves him.

yay :) :) :)

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Cobalt [B. R.]

Bob Reynolds x reader

wc: 6.7k

summary: Bob loves you, but fear keeps him silent. Void's rage haunts your nights, while Sentry's presence stirs painful truths. Between rejection, longing, and a moment of raw intimacy, you both try to navigate a love shaped by trauma, identity, and everything that threatens to tear you apart.

warnings: +18!! mdni, emotional angst, mental illness (dissociative symptoms, trauma), nightmares, choking imagery (non-sexual), rejection, self-loathing, unresolved romantic tension, intimate apology scene, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, overstimulation, crying during sex, aftercare, emotional vulnerability, fear and trust issues during intimacy, mild language.

masterlist part 1 part 2

You woke up with a dry throat and a cold body, as if you'd been holding your breath for hours. No screams. No shadows. But still—like almost every night since that encounter—with the sensation of Void's hands around your neck, the pressure of his rage vibrating in your ribs.

You sat up in bed, trembling. The nightmares were recurring, and each minute of the night you feared that, upon opening your eyes, you’d find yourself again with the darkness suffocating your room.

You hadn’t told anyone about it. And with every passing day, you only felt more and more confused. Sentry had looked for you. Void had tried to kill you. And both lived within the man who was neither one nor the other.

The confusion pierced your chest like an invisible nail. Who were you supposed to listen to? Who were you supposed to protect? And who, among all those fragments, was really Bob?

You wished you could ask him. Look into his eyes and demand an answer. But you were afraid—almost certain—that he wouldn’t be able to give it to you.

You rubbed your arms, as if that would be enough to ease the sensation that you were still marked by that night. Because you were, on the inside. And you knew it.

Even though your friends noticed the change in your behavior, you assured them everything was fine and that all you needed was a bit more rest.

Bob had been more evasive with you than usual. Most likely, he didn’t know about Void’s visit or, otherwise, he would have come to you, spilling apologies over the incident. Or at least said something about it.

So, why was he avoiding you?

His mind was like a tangled ball of yarn. Finding the end was more complicated than you could handle.

Still, you didn’t want to give up without trying. Void, even when he didn’t speak to you, made it his mission to draw out the worst in your friend. The most reliable words would, of course, come from Sentry. After all, he had described himself as everything Bob wanted to be. But he was also unstable, a megalomaniac who believed the world belonged entirely to him.

Bob was the one who had the final word. He was the only one who could offer you a truth in which the extremes of his personality didn’t interfere with protecting their own interests.

That day, you found him on his favorite couch, reading. He did that almost all the time, in any part of the tower, although you’d noticed he took a long time to finish any novel. After a few weeks of observing him methodically, you discovered he suffered from dyslexia. You had never wanted to bring it up, neither to him nor anyone else, because you feared you might embarrass him in some way.

“Hey,” you greeted, trying to sound casual. Then, carefully, you took the book from his hands. That forced him to look at you.

“Can I talk to you?”

Bob blinked a couple of times, as if he hadn’t expected you to speak to him directly.

“Sure,” he murmured. “What’s going on?”

You sat next to him, your back tense and your fingers intertwined on your lap. You took a deep breath. You didn’t know how to start, but you did.

“Sentry…” you murmured suddenly, your voice barely audible. “Has he appeared lately?”

Bob took a while to respond. His eyes wandered to some invisible point in the room.

“No. But… I feel like he’s close. I mean… I’ve felt him, lately.”

You nodded. You already suspected as much.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“It’s just… he talked to me. He came to me one night… not long ago.”

Bob looked at you then, lips slightly parted. Something in his expression tensed, as if even the name unsettled him.

“He did? I… I don’t remember.”

“I figured,” you said, trying to reassure him. “And then Void came. It was different, of course. But both of them… told me things about you.”

He looked down again. He seemed to be holding his breath, like he was trying hard to remember those episodes, but without any success.

You couldn’t imagine what it felt like to live in his mind for a day. You had faced those disturbing visits, but he had to deal with not remembering anything that his different versions did. God, you didn’t even want to tell him what Void had done, or he’d blame himself for the rest of his life.

“Bob, listen,” you began, “I need to know if what they said is true. Because I’m going crazy trying to understand you. And I need to hear it from you.”

His eyes, when he finally looked at you, were full of something you couldn’t tell if it was fear or sadness. Maybe both.

“What… what did they say?” he asked, his voice rough.

You hesitated a second. You knew that once you spoke the words, there’d be no turning back. In any way.

“They told me that you… feel something for me.”

You didn’t need to say anything more for him to understand what you meant.

The silence that followed was thick. You could hear the pounding of your heartbeat. You wet your lips, nervous, but didn’t look away.

Bob closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them slowly.

“You weren’t supposed to know that.”

His reply was barely a whisper, but it was enough.

“So it’s true.”

Your voice wasn’t accusatory. It was more like a sigh, as if something you’d been holding in for weeks had finally found release. He didn’t reply, but the silence said everything.

“Why didn’t you tell me yourself?” you asked, more hurt than angry. “Why let me find out like this?”

Bob leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands hung loosely, fingers fidgeting as if that helped him think.

“Because I wasn’t going to tell you. And they had no right to do that.”

“I’m not here to blame you,” you added, trying to comfort him. “What I want… is to understand. Because between all these fragments, your silences and evasions… I’m getting lost.”

He looked up, and for a second, the sadness in his eyes made you feel like you were the one who had hurt him.

“It’s just… I don’t know where I am either,” he confessed in a whisper. “Not always. Sometimes I think I’m just the space between the two of them.”

“That’s why I want to talk to you,” you said firmly. “To you, Bob. Not to the things that live inside you. Not to the voices, not to the reflections. You.”

Trying to establish a bond of trust, you gently held his hand. He was still looking at you, but with a certain plea in his eyes, begging you to stop the conversation.

He wanted to avoid the situation, but this time, you weren’t going to let him.

“Why did you say you didn’t want me to find out? Are you not sure of what you feel?”

“I am,” he whispered. He almost sounded ashamed. “It’s just that… I can’t give you what you need.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because every time I think about you, about what I feel, Void stirs. And when he stirs, you’re in danger. And I don’t want that for you.”

Suddenly, the memory of those frigid fingers cutting off your breath sent a shiver down your spine. You knew he was right.

But Void had only attacked out of frustration caused by the internal conflict of his host. You thought that maybe satisfying those feelings would calm him.

“What if I don’t care?” you asked, your voice cracking. “I’m here. Despite everything. I’m still here. It hurts me more that you keep repressing what you feel. And you know it hurts you too.”

Bob lifted his head, his expression broken.

You wanted to cut through the silence with something more definitive. Something clear. But words weren’t what you needed to do that.

You leaned in. Just a little.

And then, unable to keep resisting that pressure in your chest, you did it.

You closed the distance and kissed him.

Your lips touched his with trembling softness. It wasn’t an impulsive gesture—it was a plea. An affirmation. Something that said, I still want you, even if I don’t know how.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he pulled away.

His hands moved to your shoulders, and his forehead pressed gently against yours.

“I can’t,” he whispered. His breath still brushed against your lips. “This… this isn’t right.”

You felt your chest break. You pulled back abruptly, standing in a second, humiliation flushed with anger on your cheeks.

“After all this, after what’s happened between us… you’re just saying no?”

“It’s not because of you,” he said with a frown, as if it hurt him too. “It’s because of what might happen to you if I love you too much.”

“And what about what I want? What if I love you? Does that matter?”

“Of course it matters,” he said, pained “That’s exactly why I’m stepping away.”

He straightened in his seat, staring at you with those enormous blue eyes. His words said no, but his entire body begged for closeness.

But now you were the one who stepped back.

The heat in your cheeks wasn’t from shame, but from the dull sting of rejection.

You felt exposed, vulnerable. Cruelly alone.

“I’m giving you the chance to be with me. To be real,” you whispered bitterly. “But if you’d rather keep hiding behind them… fine.”

He exhaled your name, hoping it would help you understand what was truly happening. That you’d understand his reasons and maybe hate him less.

You were about to leave. You wouldn’t even say goodbye. In a last attempt, he stood up to stop you. His hand reached out to hold the tips of your fingers, touching you like you were made of porcelain.

“It’s just… I don’t want to hurt you.”

You held his gaze for a second. Then, without care, you pulled away from his grip. You weren’t sure who it hurt more.

“Again?”

You didn’t look back as you left the room. You didn’t know what you were feeling. If it was pain, or anger, or sadness. You only knew he had left you like that, with everything you felt, trembling in your hands.

The room stayed silent after you left. Bob didn’t move.

His lips were still trembling. The kiss—that brief, heavy instant—hurt more than any blow he’d ever received in his life. Because he knew he hadn’t rejected you out of lack of desire. He had done it out of fear. And fear, in his case, wasn’t an excuse. It was a real warning.

In the days that followed, neither of you said a single word.

You passed each other in the hallways like ghosts trapped in the same house. Sometimes, you lowered your gaze before crossing paths with him. Sometimes it was Bob who turned away, pretending the coffee in his mug required his full attention. Or he simply stopped to stare out the nearest window as if the gray sky had something urgent to say to him.

There were no arguments. No explanations. Just that thick silence that settled between you and refused to lift.

Yelena was the first to notice. She didn’t ask anything directly, but she dropped a few comments out loud that weren’t exactly subtle. Then came John, who frowned every time Bob left the dining room just as you entered, as if the two of you had agreed not to breathe the same air.

Bucky watched you in silence. He noticed the slight tremble in your fingers every time you tried to write a report. Sometimes it looked like he was about to say something… but he stopped himself. You didn’t want anyone to comfort you. Not because you didn’t need it, but because you knew accepting it would be admitting just how much it hurt.

Ava and Alexei, for their part, kept their usual distance, but even they seemed to sense the shift in the atmosphere. In the common room, the air felt heavier, more restrained. Conversations were brief. Meals, tense.

No one said anything. But everyone knew.

Bob, for his part, never stopped punishing himself on the inside. He avoided seeing you not because he wanted to, but because every time he tried, the memory of your voice—cracked, hurt—stabbed at his chest like a splinter.

And the worst part was, Void remembered it too. He brought that scene back to him again and again in dreams, in thought flashes, in cruel whispers that made him feel more miserable than ever.

And still, he did nothing to fix it. And neither did you. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you didn’t know how to get close to him without falling apart in front of him.

Until one day, the mission came.

Yelena was the one who showed up that morning in the training room, the electronic briefing still in her hands. Her gaze went straight to you.

“We need to move. There’s an operation underway. They need you, Bucky, and me.”

Bucky, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, simply nodded. He was already informed. His eyes found yours briefly, as if assessing your reaction, but you said nothing.

You didn’t ask where the mission was, or how long it would take. You didn’t ask if anyone else was going. You didn’t ask if Bob knew.

You didn’t need to know. And you didn’t want to.

You returned to your room in silence, packed your gear with the efficiency of someone who prefers movement over thinking, and when the time came…

You left without looking for him. You didn’t knock on his door, didn’t meet his gaze, didn’t leave a note or a text message. Bob didn’t come looking for you either.

The mission dragged on for a week and a half, a time during which you didn’t establish any communication with him at all. John would sometimes ask how things were going. Even Ava had written to tell you to be careful, but there was no sign of Reynolds.

And it wasn’t due to lack of opportunity, because more than once you caught notifications with his name lighting up on Yelena’s screen. You weren’t angry about it, it just made you think things were more than clear.

“Spit it out,” exclaimed Bucky, the night before you returned to New York. “What’s going on between you and Bob?”

“What do you mean, what’s going on?” you muttered defensively.

The three of you were drinking a beer on the balcony of your hotel room when he brought it up.

“Don’t even try to pretend, you’re not good at it. Something’s going on between you two and we all know it.”

“Did you guys fight?”

“I imagine he already told you.”

“No,” murmured Yelena. She sounded sincere. “He hasn’t said a single word. He avoids the topic every time I bring it up. Even by text.”

A tired sigh left your lips, like someone who knows the battle is already lost. At first you gave short, vague answers. Something like saying you’d just disagreed, that it wasn’t anything serious. Neither of them believed you and, in the end, you had to tell them everything. Sentry’s visit, Void’s harassment, the conversation you had with Bob and how it ended in rejection from his side. You even told them about the kiss.

“So that’s why he’s avoiding me and I’m avoiding him. Though I don’t even care anymore.”

A ridiculous lie. The distance hurt more than they could imagine.

Bucky and Yelena exchanged a knowing glance that made you wonder if they had already discussed the topic. Maybe your friends back home were staging a similar intervention with Bob. Who knows.

“You two need to fix that.”

“What else do you want me to do?” you murmured, defensive again. “He doesn’t want to see me. He doesn’t want to be with me. I think he made that pretty clear.”

“No, I mean…” your friend began. When she couldn’t find the words, she fell silent. “You’re right, it’s a mess.”

“We can’t even look each other in the eye, goddamn it,” you sobbed. You’d spent all those days suffering in silence, and saying it aloud made it hurt even more. “And I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Bucky comforted you. An unexpected empathy tinted his voice. “It’s hard to love someone when you have a mental illness. And for someone like him, it must feel nearly impossible.”

“But that’s not my fault. I gave him a chance, I… told him I was willing to try.”

Your voice cracked at the end. It wasn’t a reproach. It was the wounded confession of someone who felt discarded without knowing why.

Bucky lowered his gaze to the bottle in his hands, as if he were looking for answers in the glass. Then he said slowly:

“I know. And he knows too, believe me. But sometimes… when you’re broken, love isn’t enough. Not even when it’s right in front of you, not even when you want it with everything in you.” He shrugged. “I say that from experience.”

Yelena, who had remained silent, handed you another beer without you asking. Then she leaned her elbow on the railing and sighed.

“You can’t fix it on your own. You can’t love someone enough to heal them. That’s not fair to you… or to him.”

“But I can stay with him,” you said quietly. The words came out without thinking. “I don’t want to save him. I just… I just want him to know he’s not alone.”

“And what about you?” Yelena asked gently, without judgment. “Are you okay with all this? Do you know how much you can carry before you break too?”

That made you fall silent. Because deep down, you didn’t know. You felt like you were walking barefoot on a tightrope, with the storm shaking you from every direction.

“I know it hurts,” Bucky said, calmer this time. “And I know it angers you that he can’t accept something as simple as your affection. But it’s not for lack of love. He’s not rejecting you because he doesn’t care. It’s because he hates himself. And when that happens... the fear of hurting someone paralyzes you.”

“So what do I do then?” you murmured. “Do I just wait? Do I let him go?”

“That’s not something we can decide for you,” Yelena said. “But you can think about what you need. What’s good for you. Because being there for someone in pain doesn’t mean swallowing your own.”

Bucky nodded.

“You can be there for him… without forgetting yourself.”

Silence fell for a moment. Not the awkward kind, but the one that happens when the truth knocks the air out of you.

“He loves you,” Bucky added finally. “And not because Sentry or Void say so. I know because, ever since you came along, he fights harder against himself. He resists more. He wants to be better. We can all see it, just like we could all tell something’s off between you two now.”

You didn’t know when the tears started streaming down your face. Your friends had been through too much; you knew they wouldn’t judge you for sobbing a little, but you still felt ashamed.

Yelena hugged you. Bucky placed a hand on your shoulder, as if that could make the atmosphere feel a little less heavy.

The next day, the return to the Tower was quiet.

The helicopter landed gently, and no one said much as the luggage was unloaded. The sunset was already beginning, since the whole morning had been consumed by paperwork and meetings with Valentina to give a full report.

Bucky was the first to say goodbye with a slight gesture. Yelena touched your arm, as if with that simple contact she was reminding you of what you’d talked about the night before. No more words were necessary.

You didn’t say anything either. You just nodded and walked toward the main hallway.

You didn’t look for anyone. You didn’t ask about Bob and you didn’t wait for him.

You took the elevator up without looking back.

Each floor that passed was another stab to the stomach.

And when you finally entered your room, the silence that greeted you was deafening.

You dropped your bag beside the bed and went straight to the bathroom.

The running water quickly filled the room with steam, and you let the hot stream fall over you without moving much.

As if that could wash off the past days, or somehow prepare you for whatever was going to happen now that you were back.

But it wasn’t that simple.

You dried off slowly, with the sluggish movements of someone who doesn’t know if they’re exhausted or just resigned.

You put on your sleepwear—cotton shorts, a loose T-shirt—and let your damp hair fall over your shoulders as you stepped out of the bathroom.

Then you heard the soft knock on the door.

You froze for a second.

Another knock, more insistent this time.

You didn’t want to open it. You didn’t want to face anyone yet.

But something—maybe a sharp twinge of intuition, or that inevitable instinct of knowing it was him—made you walk toward it.

When you opened the door, he was there.

Standing still, eyes lowered, shoulders tense. He didn’t look like he’d slept much. Maybe not at all since you left.

Your eyes met for a second.

“Can I come in?” he asked, his voice rough. He sounded like he had rehearsed the line a thousand times.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t say yes, but you didn’t say no either. You just stepped aside.

You held your breath the entire time he walked into your room, until the soft click of the door closing behind him. You stayed still, watching him with a neutral expression. And even though you were still mad at him, you could feel your heart pounding erratically — not from anger, but something else entirely.

Bob got straight to the point.

“I didn’t come to bother you. I just… I couldn’t leave it like that. Not after how you left, or what I said.”

You didn’t reply. Part of your silence came from the fear that words might only make things worse. The other part was because you wanted to hear how much he was willing to say.

“I know I fucked it up. But it wasn’t because I didn’t love you,” he exhaled, swallowing hard. He took a step closer. “It’s because I love you so much it terrifies me to ruin you with it.”

“You don’t get to use that as an excuse. What you did hurt. Pushing me away like that… without even giving me a real explanation.”

“There’s no way to explain it without sounding like a coward.”

“Well, I have nothing left to say to you,” you said softly, but not kindly. “I already said everything. And you made a decision — for both of us.”

The sound of his knees hitting the floor was quiet, but it hit you like a slap.

“I’m not here to convince you of anything,” he murmured. “I just want to say I’m sorry. For how I spoke to you. For pulling away. For making you think you weren’t enough… when the truth is, you’re the only good thing in me.”

Your lips tightened. Your heart was pounding so violently in your chest it felt like it didn’t know whether to protect itself or open again.

“Why are you doing this now?” you asked, your voice more fragile than you would’ve liked.

Bob looked up. He looked younger. More broken. Like he was begging you to let him stay — not just in the room, but in your life.

“Because I can’t let you believe I don’t love you,” he said plainly.

His words froze you.

“Then why…?”

“Because I thought leaving was the only way to protect you from me,” he cut in. “Because I’m scared. Because Void doesn’t go away… and when you touch me, when you look at me… I disappear too. I become someone I don’t recognize. And that scares him. It unsettles him.”

The silence between you was thick. Your fingers lowered hesitantly, brushing his. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know if the pain could go away… but you knew he wasn’t lying. That he was shattered. And that all of his fear didn’t come from indifference, but from love — love misunderstood.

He leaned in closer, placing his hands gently on your knees. The touch was warm, almost reverent. He was trembling. You didn’t know if it was from what he felt or what he feared.

“But I’m here now. Because if I’ve already hurt you, if I already failed you… the only thing left is to beg you to let me try and make it right.”

Bob looked down, and for a moment all he did was breathe unevenly. Then he rested his forehead on your knees, like he needed that contact just to keep from falling apart. His warmth seeped through the fabric of your clothes. And slowly, he pressed a kiss there. Just one. Like he wasn’t sure if he had the right.

You didn’t move. But you didn’t encourage him either. The silence between you was an invisible barrier: thin, but sharp.

Bob lifted his gaze slightly, his eyes damp.

“I’m not trying to fix everything. I just… I want you to know how sorry I am. And how much I think of you. Every damn night.”

“I think about you too,” you whispered, barely audible. “All the time. And I don’t know if that’s good… or if it’s part of the problem.”

He nodded, visibly hurt.

His mouth kept tracing trembling kisses on your skin. First your knees, then higher, up your exposed thigh. The contact wasn’t urgent, wasn’t demanding. It was almost devotional.

And still, you felt panic creeping up the base of your neck.

“Bob…” you whispered, tense. “What… what are you doing?”

He stopped instantly. His lips still brushed your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not lifting his gaze. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“You’re not scaring me. It’s just… I don’t know what this is.”

Your hands came down to touch his shoulders, trying to calm the trembling in your own emotions. Your body was split: one part needed him with a physical and emotional urgency you’d never felt before. The other… still carried the fear, the humiliation, the anger. The rejection.

“I’m confused,” you confessed “Everything’s been so weird between us. I don’t know if I can handle it.”

Bob nodded again. He didn’t push. He didn’t justify. He just lifted his head and looked you in the eyes. And there you saw it: the weight of everything he hadn’t said, everything he had buried, was breaking him.

“Please…” he said, voice hoarse and raw with shame, “just let me make you feel good. Not to fix it. Not because I think it erases what I did. Just so you remember how it feels to be touched by someone who loves you. Even if it’s just for tonight.”

Your chest tightened. No one had ever spoken to you like that. Not like your pleasure could be an act of redemption. Not like your pain could be held gently.

“You don’t have to do this,” you murmured, softer now.

Bob shook his head.

“It’s not that I have to. I want to. Because I can’t stop thinking about the way you looked at me that day… about how you walked away. I don’t want you to feel like that. Not because of me.”

Then he lowered his eyes again. Didn’t move closer. Didn’t rush. Just waited. And you stayed there, holding his hands.

Your breathing grew unstable. You weren’t sure if you were going to cry or kiss him. There was something so devastatingly honest in his plea that it felt impossible to say no.

Bob met your gaze, his voice low but steady:

“I promise I’ll be slow... gentle. I’m not Sentry or Void. I’m just me. And I want this to be just for you.”

You hesitated, the uncertainty still heavy in your chest, but eventually, you whispered:

“Okay.”

He nodded with a small smile, as if your trust was the most valuable gift he could ever receive. When you let go of his shoulders, he leaned forward, scattering light kisses on your thighs, planting his palms firmly on your hips.

No man had ever apologized to you on his knees before. And none had followed it with a touch like that. The whole situation overwhelmed you.

Within seconds, his hands traced your curves to your waist, slipping under your loose old shirt. The feel of his warm fingers against your cool skin made you tremble. Your pulse pounded in your temples.

The room felt too quiet for the storm rising in your chest. Your legs started to give way.

It was just a faint tremble — but enough. The kind of unsteadiness you only notice once it's too late. The anticipation, the weight of emotion, the memory of everything he was and had been to you: an abyss. You didn’t fall. Bob caught you instantly, hands gripping you with desperate reflexes.

“Got you?” he whispered, his breath against your forehead.

He did. He had you.

But more than your body, what he held in that moment was the invisible crack between the two of you. One that, if it had opened a little wider, might never have closed.

A shaky laugh escaped your chest. Not out of humor, but out of vertigo. Out of absurdity, fear, tension. And he took it as a breath of relief. His lips found yours with a clumsy tenderness that stung. It wasn’t comfort or apology anymore. It was need.

He kissed you with caged hunger, hands firm on your back like you might vanish if he let go. You kissed him back, sinking into him like maybe you’d find answers there. The wall behind you caught your momentum, and he cornered you without aggression — only urgency. His body trembled just like yours.

His hands didn’t rush. They circled your waist like he was trying to map where he’d broken you. He went lower, leaving a trail of breath on your skin. He didn’t break eye contact until the last second, silently asking for permission.

And when he dropped back to his knees, it wasn’t a grand gesture. It was the posture of a man who knew his place, in that moment, was there: at your feet, ready to honor every part of you like you were the only real thing he had left in the world.

His lips found your skin. He didn’t speak — he didn’t need to. When his hands reached the waistband of your shorts, they paused. He looked up.

“Can I?” he asked, voice rougher than ever.

You nodded, barely, your gaze still locked on his — a bundle of nerves. Bob closed his eyes and rested his forehead against your stomach for a moment, like gathering strength.

He removed your clothes with deft care. The air hit your skin and you almost moaned when his hand planted on your thigh to part them.

“If you need me to stop, just say so, okay?” he whispered.

Then he started.

Your legs, barely steady, locked him in place as if the heat of your body could hold him together too. And as it all unfolded, your thoughts turned into a whirlwind of sensations — fear, tenderness, gratitude, and hunger for something that had been contained for far too long.

His tongue began slowly, as if wanting to explore you first. You let out a choked sigh when he licked up the wetness already gathered there. You were so ready for him, so eager, that he swallowed hard, visibly shaken.

It was in that moment that Bob realized just how much he needed you.

Sentry knew it perfectly — he could have ruined you completely if he wanted to. But for the blue-eyed boy, this kind of desire for you was something entirely new.

What devastated him the most was that it didn’t feel purely physical.

It was intimate. Emotional. It was Bob giving you the only thing he still believed he could offer without breaking you. And you gave in. Because you needed him just as much.

At some point your sighs turned into gasps. And then, into desperate moans. With each sound spilling from your throat, Bob felt more compelled to quicken the pace, to deepen the strokes of his tongue. You didn’t know if it was his first time doing this, but God, he was good.

He was intense, like Sentry. Possessive, like Void. And at the same time, careful and attentive — like himself.

“Bob… fuck… I…” you gasped, trembling.

He, thinking he’d done something wrong, tried to lift his head. But your hand flew to his hair and tugged, forcing him right back into place. The moan that escaped him was pathetic and hot at once.

“Don’t stop. Please.”

Your pleading voice was music to his ears. Instantly, one of his hands gripped your ass firmly, and the other lifted your leg, placing it over his shoulder.

He didn’t just eat you out. He devoured you.

It was getting harder to stay upright ��� if it hadn’t been for the wall behind you and his hands holding you to the real world, you would’ve collapsed.

You could feel everything about him. His lips, his tongue, his nose rubbing against your clit. You didn’t even know if he was breathing, and frankly, you didn’t care.

It was overwhelming. The heat surged from your cunt all the way to the top of your head.

You were sweaty and dizzy, writhing against him like your life depended on it.

It didn’t take long before you came, hard and intense, all over his face.

You felt him swallow your orgasm completely, like the fountain of youth might be between your legs.

But he didn’t stop there. Soon, two of his fingers joined in, while his mouth devoted its attention to your most sensitive spot.

You begged him to stop, tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let you.

It wasn’t a plea born from discomfort, but from sheer overload.

You were drowning in pleasure, overstimulated to the point you thought you couldn’t take it. But Bob knew you could.

He kept going until a sharp cry escaped your throat and your whole body tensed, your legs squeezing his sides as you tried to push him away.

It was a devastating spasm — an uncontrollable tremor that tore you wide open.

A warm, liquid release, as unexpected as it was unstoppable.

You collapsed onto him, boneless, speechless.

And for a moment, the only thing that existed was the sound of your shattered breaths — him trying to recover the air he had denied himself, and you gasping like all the oxygen in New York still wasn’t enough.

You were still shaking when he rose, breathing unevenly, his face flushed from effort.

Bob didn’t speak at first. He just stayed in front of you with his hands open, as if afraid to touch you without permission.

You looked at him with parted lips, chest rising and falling slowly, and then — without thinking — you leaned forward and kissed him.

It was more of an impulse than a decision: a mix of gratitude, tenderness, a need to reconnect from another place, to offer something in return.

Your fingers reached for the hem of his shirt. You wanted to take him to bed, to give back a bit of what he had just given you, as if balance could be restored that way.

But when you kissed him, he kissed you back with sweetness… and a hesitation you didn’t miss.

“No,” he murmured against your lips, his fingers caressing your cheek. “I don’t need anything.”

You blinked, confused, a little hurt.

“But I want to…”

“This was for you,” he replied, his voice lower, warmer. “I’m the one apologizing here.”

Before you could insist, he stepped back slightly and swallowed hard.

He wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Sorry… I need to go to the bathroom for a second.”

He got up awkwardly, avoiding your gaze, but you still caught the small damp spot on his pants before he turned away to enter your bathroom.

A wave of heat flushed your face. You said nothing.

You just watched him disappear and slowly let yourself fall onto the bed, your body still aching from pleasure.

When he came back, Bob had rinsed his face and his hair was slightly wet, like he’d needed more than water to calm himself down.

He found you lying on your side, wrapped in a sheet, your legs curled up on the mattress.

Your eyes met his, vulnerable.

“Can you… help me?”

You didn’t need to say more.

He came closer without asking anything, grabbed a towel he’d found nearby, and cleaned you up with reverent gentleness, as if afraid to hurt you.

There were no words — just his steady hands sliding respectfully over your skin.

“Stay,” you said, barely audible. “Just… to sleep.”

Bob hesitated for a second, as if that request was even more intimate than everything before. But he nodded and climbed into bed with you, leaving a bit of space between your bodies.

He lay on his side, facing you, blue eyes fixed on your face, reading you in silence. The dim light softened his features.

You looked at each other for a while, not wanting to break the stillness.

“Do you still love me?” he asked, barely a whisper.

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation, just as softly.

Bob looked away, like he didn’t know what to do with that answer. It was a small movement, but you noticed the tremble in his chin. You leaned in slightly and raised a hand, gently caressing his face. He didn’t flinch. He closed his eyes under your touch, like he needed it more than he wanted to admit.

And then, you saw a tear slide down his cheek. Then another. You said nothing. You just wiped it with your thumb, slowly, trying to touch his pain into something less real.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice tight. “For everything.”

You shook your head softly. And without thinking, you leaned in. Not a kiss on the lips — something more delicate.

You pressed your nose to his and rubbed side to side, barely breathing. A butterfly kiss, nasal and unhurried.

Bob froze at first, surprised. Then he closed his eyes and returned the gesture, brushing his nose against yours with trembling tenderness.

It was more than any other touch you’d shared. More than skin. It was a truce.

“Do you think we can still be friends… after this?”

The question was fragile, but not afraid. It was an acknowledgment that a new line had been drawn between you, one that couldn’t be erased so easily. You nodded, not moving away from his face.

“I promise,” you said.

Silence settled like a blanket. After a moment, you slowly turned over, giving him your back. Not as rejection, but as trust. As rest. Your hand reached for his beneath the sheets, lacing your fingers with his, squeezing gently. Like a silent promise: nothing has to break.

Bob moved closer without a sound, wrapping you in his arms with a delicacy that made you hold your breath. He held you like that, spooning you, as if he still feared you might vanish. You let him shield you with his body, his chest brushing your back, his warm breath against the curve of your neck.

And there, entangled in the quiet, the two of you fell asleep. Not like people who had solved everything, but like people who, at least for tonight, had decided not to give up.

taglist (tysm!! ily): @littlemsbumblebee @qardasngan @p34ch-tr33 @theoraekenslover @lifeisafreakshow @weponxwrites @articel1967 @mooniesthings @bmyva1entine @lynnieluvsu @96jnie @smok3dpaprika @msun1c0rn @rainymountaindays @yallgotkik @dalu-grantkylo @itzmeme @fourthusername-me

[sistertotheknowitall]

Some Guy on Fear Gas (can apparently turn invisible)

Masterpost

“Danny was supposed to be in class today.”

There was a round of sighs in the coms. See Danny didn’t react in the same manner as the rest of the population when exposed to fear toxin (or in general, but they were mostly used to that). See Danny didn’t scream, he didn’t cry, he didn’t get violent. He got unnervingly paranoid.

He got so unnervingly paranoid about being watched, specifically by the government if the muttered and whispered words were to be believed. His eyes tracked nothing while he slowly moved around invisible people. It wasn't like dealing with someone in an active hallucination experiencing a psychotic break. It was like dealing with someone in a paranoid delusion. He wouldn't let any of the bats near him and often took off, disappearing into the chaos.

Four months into seeing this kid everywhere and their suspicions were confirmed when he literally disappeared after the second time being poisoned.

Danny was a meta and he was afraid.

That’s not the reason for the exasperation felt by this family though. It was what always happened after. The first time he ignored every vigilantly when they tried to bring it up. After the second time he attempted to avoid everyone, extended family included.

(He had asked Kate if she was also Batman’s kid. “More like their aunt.” “Oh okay so it really is a family business. Like that show Unnatural. You don't happen to have also lost your parents at a relatively young age and now go on to fight a dark presence in their honor, do you?.” Kate had stared passively at him, the others had warned her. “….. okay… are you more of a Zuko honor type?”)

However, it was like the universe conspired against Danny. Even Bruce agreed that there had to be some god or being doing this (nothing is ever a coincidence). They kinda felt bad for him. He was very obviously trying to avoid them and he was either really bad at being evasive or a deity was laugh at him. Once he had thrown himself behind a lamp pole smaller than himself and closed his eyes to avoid Stephanie.

(It was very awkward. He could turn invisible and knew they knew so why…..? She had politely continued past so not to embarrass the poor guy further. Cause this was embarrassing and they both knew it.)

Finally it was Duke who pulled them all out of limbo. He had come across Danny on the roof of another bank. A lesser known capital union closer to crime ally this time.

Danny hadn’t been avoiding Duke in the same manner as everyone else. He still stopped to give Duke food but he never spoke and he ran after. Duke thought it would be weird to chase him but it was also weird to turn around, have an orange shoved into his hands then watch his friend run away.

However, this time Danny didn’t run as Duke approached so Duke sat next to him. Pulling out a granola bar, he handed it to Danny, “that’s why you feed me all the time right? Cause you know how many calories we need as metas.”

Danny had laughed, “no actually, that was a bit that morphed into a habit. I just thought it was funny.”

“….what.”

“Don’t get me wrong, now that we’re friends I am more than happy to feed you but yeah. The first candy bar was a thank you and then the second time I thought ‘I have fruit.’”

“….. wow… okay.” There went his plan of empathizing. They sat in silence as Duke tried to reorganize his thoughts.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you all.” Duke turned his head to face Danny, who kept his eyes forward, “you know no one cares that you’re a meta.” “Obviously. It wasn’t the invisibility that I was upset about," Danny said.

“The muttering. The paranoia.” Danny grimaced and didn’t say anything.

“You don’t have to tell us till you’re ready, man. Just let us know if you need help. Please, are you safe?”

Danny nodded and Duke nodded back and they had both continued to sit. When they parted ways Danny handed Duke a small bag of chips.

Danny had apologized everyone one at a time even though they had heard it from Duke. Danny never explained nor did he want to talk about his it. His power of invisibility was also a subject off limits. All of them were worried but they didn’t want to force him to talk about it. They had to trust that he would one day feel comfortable doing so with any or all of them. (Still, it was hard seeing their friend so paranoid that he flinched back from them. )

Post Six

[castielthinkr]

BE MY BABY

bob reynolds x fem!reader cw thunderbolts* new avengers spoilers, inspired by prompt 7 of this post, bob is an anxious mess, reader implied to be on the younger side of the team

bob reynolds has been avoiding you.

at first you thought he might have just been having some sort of anxious episode, avoiding the whole team, but you catch him sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with yelena, and know it's just you.

it hurts, in a way. the two of you had been close since the whole void incident, and not having him by your side is beginning to get to you. your heart hurts every time you see him - or, rather, don't see him.

things come to a head when you get cornered by bucky of all people. he’s noticed that things are tense, that you’re withdrawing into yourself.

“talk to me,” he says, sitting next to you out of nowhere. “talk to you?” “something’s wrong. talk to me.” you sigh. no matter how much you try to deflect, you know he won’t give up. you’ve seen the same thing happen with yelena (and john, of all people).

“bob’s avoiding me,” you mutter. “i know,” bucky says. you furrow your brows. “you know?” “it’s not exactly hard to see.” you sigh. again. “i don’t know what to do.” "i can't really help you, kiddo," he says, his voice a little quieter. almost guilty. you bristle at the nickname but don't try to correct him. he never lets up. "i know. s'okay."

except, it's not okay. now that bucky knows, yelena somehow knows, and john knows, and ava, and alexei, and pretty soon it's gotten back to bob that you're well aware that he's avoiding you and that you're upset about it and you're both freaking out.

he comes to you, one day, practically vibrating with anxious energy. you don't even realise he's there at first, having become accustomed to his evasion tactics. he notices.

he clears his throat, and you look up from where you're reading in a corner. in one of his usual spots, he realises. "i'm, uh... i'm sorry." you blink. sorry? "what?" "i'm sorry," he repeats. "yeah, no, i heard you. just... what?" bob sighs a little, fidgeting with his hands. "i'm sorry for avoiding you. it was immature."

you stay quiet for a moment, your brain needing to catch up. weeks of silence, and now this?

"okay... why did you do it?" you ask, not sure whether you actually want the answer. "it's stupid. you don't— you probably don't want to know—“ "bob." "yes?" "just tell me," you say, your voice a little softer now.

he sighs, squeezing his hands together and rubbing them against each other every which way. he murmurs something, and you don't quite catch it. he knows. he clears his throat again and speaks up.

"i have... feelings for you," he says quickly, almost quick enough that you don't catch it. "you... what?" you ask, not sure whether you heard him right. "i have feelings for you. like, romantic feelings. and i thought that avoiding you would make them go away but it hasn't--" "why did you want to make them go away?"

his head snaps up, nervous eyes meeting yours. "what?" "why did you want to make them go away?" you repeat, gentler this time. "'cause, i mean... i just thought..." "you thought i wouldn't feel the same?" you ask. he nods.

"okay, just... stop, for a second. stop everything," you instruct. he does. "i find it so insanely stupid that you think for one second that i'm not completely and utterly head over heels for your oblivious ass."

that makes him pause. "you... what? head over heels?" "yes!" you say, a little exasperated. "i have been since you appeared out of nowhere in that incinerator." "oh," he says quietly, "wow."

he sits next to you, rather ungracefully hitting the floor with a small oof. the two of you sit in silence for a while, revelling in your new discoveries.

"so," he says after a long moment of quiet, "completely and utterly head over heels, huh?" you swat his arm. "shut up. but yes." he leans his head on your shoulder, and your cheek comes to rest on the top of his head. "what does this mean?" he asks quietly, that nervous energy back in his voice again. "whatever you want it to mean. but i want something with you."

he lifts his head. "i want to do this right. take you out, and stuff. i know it might be hard with this... life we lead... but i want to try." "okay," you smile, "yeah. that sounds... that sounds really nice."

it only takes him three days to take you on a date. it's awkward, but it's so quintessentially bob that you don't mind.

bucky gets a full rundown from the two of you - separately - and groans, but internally, he's happy for you both, happy that someone in your little ragtag team is finding some enjoyment in life. finally.

[punkkture]

we all know simon just lovesss taking pervy pics of you

dead dove warning: mdni please, lil bit of ddlg, gross simon who is a total sleaze for pussy word count - 1k

— who doesn't love a nasty and disgusting simon? the type of man to keep your face buried into the pillow so he could grab some quick pictures of your ass spread out for him and that pretty pussy just wrapped around him.

and you know what he's doing . . . he's not even shameful enough to try and really hide it from you. there's been numerous amounts of times of you catching him just sitting on the couch and swiping through the countless amounts of pornographic photos.

"baby . . . look at how big your ass looks like this," he chuckles a little coldly, turning the phone for you to take a glance. always met with a red face that is whining at him to delete it. he knew you secretly liked it.

you liked the idea of him away on deployment, just mindlessly jerking off to photos and videos of you. his private quarters on base filled with with stifled groans and your sweet whimpers coming from his phone.

— this time however, he was flat out asking. getting a couple drinks in you first so you'd be more accepting of how you felt deep down. he knew you were just as gross as he was. despite your coy mannerisms.

he's got you on the bed, your knees dipping the fluffy duvet while he stood next to the bed. his warm palms on your face and getting you to lock those hazy and blurred out eyes onto him. his own lips matching your giddy smile.

"wanna do somethin' special for me?" he purrs. of course you nod, giggling drunkly at him. "yeah?" he muses while leaning down and giving a sloppy kiss to your smile.

simon pats your cheek and pulls away, grabbing his phone and the second you saw him get it out, you knew what he wanted. a playful laugh leaving your puffy lips as you got comfy on the bed.

his little minx was feeling so playful tonight . . .

"c'mon baby . . lemme see those pretty tits," he smiled while standing at the edge of the bed, gently pulling at your top. coaxing you to take it off for him. his praises were just too good of an opportunity to miss out on. the melodic ‘good girl’ and ‘such a pretty little body’ were flowing from his mouth.

and when you take your sleep shirt off, an evasive smile formed on his face.

"look at you honey . . . made for the camera, huh?"

sounds of playful giggles and bashful whimpers kissed the walls in the bedroom. the lurid praises continued to pour out of his mouth as he was shamelessly taking photos of you stripping and naked.

the late night glow of warm lights plucked around his room were only serving to accentuate your curves and sweet smile. it could've made him purr.

simons knees dipped onto the bed as he crawled up behind you - running his big hand down your curved spine, pushing you into doggy and making sure you stayed there. his other still holding the phone and ensuring it caught everything. he couldn't stand the idea of leaving you in another couple days, to be gone for who knows how long this time . . . he had to make sure this little film counted.

the lens on his phone was focused on your pretty little holes he was spreading your ass open to get to. pulling his fingers away to messily spit on them, heavy fingertips coated in drool, pressing against the tight hole and dipping straight in.

his face was cocky, a canny smirk gracing his lips when he heard your little mewls of bliss. "oh good girl honey . . . sweet, good, girl for daddy."

nothing felt better to you than a cloudy mind and simon's big fingers filling up the spot he loved to be nestled in. sticky fluid was nearly seeping out around him, little drops of it soaking the bed.

and oh nothing felt better to him than the gentle squeezes your pussy twitched to let him know you wanted more. his phone still hovering over the sight. a thick glob of spit making its way onto your ass. thankful you were drunk enough for that action to not ruin the surprise.

pulling his pointer finger out only to ease it into your ass, moving his middle finger to now fill the empty spot he just left. finger-fucking both of your holes almost lazily.

that sweet gasp he was waiting for was the best thing to grace his ears all night. the haziness in your head blurring out anything besides the feeling of being stuffed. and you wanted more. pushing your hips back and rocking into his fingers.

"look at that . . puttin' on a show for the camera, aint ya?"

— or how could you forget about the time he was plowing his thick cock into you in an absolutely primal way. the smell of sticky skin and sweaty bodies were clogging up the room.

simon couldn't help but smile when he watched the fat of your ass smush back against his toned pelvis. wet and sloppy sounds filled up the walls and he knew you must've felt embarrassed. but he knew how to make it better, he always did.

besides the feeling of his heavy and dense cock splitting you open, his hands did wonders to make you feel special. running down your back or squeezing your thighs and ass. his skin was so warm.

the tenderness of it being ripped away when he grabbed a thick handful of your hair, pulling your face to meet with his phone.

"say cheese."

it was always too much when he did this. slurring out his name in protest for him to stop. but he knew you just loved it. the way you're squeezing even tighter around him was clear enough.

he never was a fan of your coy objections. pulling tighter and shoving his cock in deeper, his tone the slightest bit frustrated, "don't be like that, baby, just wanna remember the look on your face when I make you feel good."

ೃ࿔* tag list: @vanillarosekiss @simonskitty @cu456 @silverwoodlynx @mlthree @vint4geroses @ktmjoslin @darlingchanse @xangelbnnyx @tslmvn @jgissle12 @asherscove @bunty-girl @diorpar @sky-robin @ldrtypeofgirl @mentalhorror @teranya @chawitea @all-by-myself98 @jinx53 @alfiestreacle @frazzledfawn @chris444evr @iamtoriasworld @annierosesposts @dude1634 @happysmappy @itgetsdarksometimes35 @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @slut-lmao @theyluvlaur @figthoughts @pinkthxt @hobiebrownenthusiast @h0lydrag0ns

[sakuravalenp]

The Dance Academy isn't a gang- DC X DP Prompt

Inspired by this prompt

Clockwork suggests to Danny, who's been the king of the infinite realms for 6 years now, that he should take sometime off in a mortal realm. He doesn't feel like going back to his own dimension (you choose the reason), so Clockwork suggest another dimension where he thinks Danny might have fun.

Danny investigates the dimension, and finds it is a dimension where some humans, who are called meta-humans, develop powers, mostly during their childhood. Danny knows how tiring and alienating it is to grow with powers that one have to hide. He wishes to give this kids a safe space to experiment with their powers, but not as a weapon, just as part of themself.

He chooses to create a dance academy, because dancing is something in which you use your body and express yourself. It would be an excellent way to encourage this kids to use their powers while enjoying themself. He decides to open the dance academy in Gotham, were it seems metas may feel more pressure to keep themself hidden. With his ability to see and feel the differences in soul it's easy to identify metas, so he starts scouting kids for the academy.

Of course convincing the kids that it's just a a dance academy that wants to create a save space for metas, instead is of a trafficking ring, is difficult. But once he gets the first couple kids in, slowly more come too.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Bruce is worried about the new possible meta gang that it's forming on Gotham, and sends Duke undercover.

It's hasn't been long since Duke joined the bats, and this is his first official undercover mission. He's excited at the start, feeling proud that he's been trusted with an independent job, but then he finds out that the "gang" it's just a dance academy. He's a little disappointed, thinking that this job is more of a probation thing than anything, since there isn't anything suspicious.

The bats tell him to stay in the dance academy, because maybe the dance thing is just a cover up and they'll reveal their real motives when he's actually accepted in the group. And Duke takes it as them wanting him to have a meta support system. See? He's learning to understand how the bats show love to each other!

Duke finds himself enjoying being in a dance group. It's a lot of fun. Danny it's fantastic, he has a lot of powers and isn't scare to show them. Which makes everyone in the group feel so much safer to use their own.

Danny encourages them to integrate their powers in their dance. It's freeing. Their powers are treated as a normal part of them, and not as this exotic ability that has to be controlled. It's such a safe space that all of them have gotten used to using their powers for day to day stuff when in the dance studio. It all feels so casual because no one bats an eye to it. There's no talk about how they should try to do things "normally," or limit their use of their power.

Danny: "Why would you? That's your normal, and this place is safe for you to just be you."

Duke realizes a bit late that the bats were actually suspicious of the group, and that his placement there wasn't really a probation. He's glad to know he was actually trusted with a job, but, he had really thought that every time they had asked about his day with the group was because they were interested in how he was doing. That they were showing love and interest in him in that evasive ways the bats did, and it kinda suck to know it wasn't the case. It also meant that he had to confront their family in their clear meta-discrimination.

"Would you have been so suspicious if it wasn't a meta group? No. Other than them all being metas there wasn't anything off. No proof of fights, no proof of robberies, no proof of trafficking, nothing.

There's no proof of anything other than a group of teens dancing, and you know that because you checked it out before sending me.

Like, I don't blame you for checking it, I'm not naive, but you were so sure it was a gang, just because they were metas. That's fucked up guys."

[pucksandpower]

Racing Hearts

Lando Norris x cardiopulmonary technician!Reader

Summary: you’ve had a way of making Lando’s heart race since the moment he met you

You glance down at your clipboard as your next patient walks into the exercise physiology lab. “Lando Norris?” You ask, looking up with a smile.

The young British man grins back at you. “That’s me!”

“Excellent! I’m Y/N, I’ll be your technician today. We’re just going to do a simple cardiopulmonary exercise test to get some baseline numbers before the start of the season.”

Lando nods, looking around the lab curiously. “No problem, happy to be poked and prodded in the name of science and fast cars.”

You laugh as you gesture for him to take a seat. “Don’t worry, I promise to be gentle,” you joke. “I’m just going to put some electrodes on your chest to monitor your heart rate, then we’ll get you on the treadmill for the test.”

“Sounds good,” Lando says, settling onto the exam table.

You start placing the sticky electrode pads across his chest and ribs, trying not to blush at his shirtless state. Formula 1 drivers really are fit underneath those racing suits.

“So how’s preseason training going?” You ask conversationally as you work. “Think McLaren has a chance this year?”

Lando grins. “I’m feeling good! Me and the team have been putting in a lot of hard work over the winter. I’m definitely aiming higher than 6th in the championship.”

You smile as you finish placing the electrodes and motion for him to stand. “That’s the spirit. Alright, hop up on the treadmill and we’ll get you moving.”

Lando steps up onto the machine and you start it up slowly, increasing the speed in measured increments. “I’ll take you up to a brisk jog, then we’ll keep you there for about 10 minutes while I monitor your heart rate, breathing, and oxygen levels,” you explain.

“Sounds gucci,” Lando replies with a thumbs up, his breath starting to quicken as the treadmill pace increases.

You make sure the electrode leads are secure, then step back to observe the incoming data on the computer screen. Lando’s lean legs stride smoothly along the treadmill belt as you keep a close watch on his vitals, making notes on your clipboard. After a few minutes, you frown slightly at the heart rate readout. It seems unusually elevated for an elite athlete like Lando, even at this moderate jogging pace.

“How are you feeling Lando?” You call out. “Everything okay?”

“All … good,” he huffs out, face flushed from the exertion.

You hesitate, glancing between him and the concerning heart rate values on the screen. “It’s just that your heart rate is a bit higher than I would expect,” you say slowly. “Are you feeling any chest pain or tightness?”

Lando shakes his head. “No, no, nothing like that. I feel fine!” He insists breathlessly.

You bite your lip, still frowning. “Your heart rate is quite high though, over 85% of estimated max. For an experienced athlete I would expect values closer to 70-80% at this pace.”

“Oh … yeah, maybe it’s a bit high,” Lando acknowledges, starting to breathe harder. “But don’t worry about me, I’m fit as a fiddle!”

You reach over to slow the treadmill slightly. “Let’s bring the pace down a bit. I’m concerned about these heart rate readings. We should really have you checked out by a cardiologist before the season starts.”

Lando grabs the front handrails, shaking his head stubbornly. “No, no that’s not necessary, really! I’m fine, just maybe didn’t warm up enough.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Lando, as your technician I have to advise getting this looked at. Your heart rate is elevated beyond normal parameters.”

Lando chews his lip, glancing away evasively. “Um, well … maybe there’s a reason for that.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “What do you mean? Like a medical condition you haven’t told me about?”

“No, no nothing like that!” Lando says quickly. He mumbles something under his breath you can’t quite make out over the whir of the treadmill.

“Sorry, what was that?” You ask, leaning closer. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“Oh, uh … it was nothing,” Lando mutters, face reddening further.

You stop the treadmill completely so you can hear him better, folding your arms over your clipboard. “Lando, if there’s something I should know that’s affecting your test results, you need to tell me. As your technician, I really think we should get your heart looked at just to be safe.”

Lando locks eyes with you for a moment, hesitation written across his features. He mumbles again under his breath, so quietly you can’t discern the words.

You hold his gaze firmly. “One more time, please. It’s really important that I understand what’s going on so I can interpret these results accurately.”

Lando breaks eye contact, looking down at his feet. He kicks lightly at the motionless treadmill belt, before finally whispering. “It’s you, alright?”

You blink in surprise. “Me? What do you mean?”

Lando glances up at you briefly, his face now tomato-red. “You’re … the reason my heart rate is high,” he mumbles.

You stare at him in confusion. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

Lando groans, covering his face with his hands. “Because … I really fancy you, okay?” He admits, the words muffled into his palms. “You’re just … totally gorgeous and sweet and it makes me nervous and … my heart rate goes mad around pretty girls I like.”

Your eyes widen in understanding, feeling your own cheeks flush bright pink. “Oh! Oh ...”

Lando peeks out at you between splayed fingers. “Yeah, so that’s why it’s high. Not because I have some underlying heart condition.” He gives you a sheepish smile. “Just because my technician is really fit.”

You let out an awkward laugh, suddenly feeling shy. “Wow, uh … I’m flattered, Lando. I didn’t realize ...”

Lando drops his hands from his face, looking at you earnestly. “Sorry, is that weird? I know we just met and you’re doing your job.” He fidgets with the electrode wires across his chest. “Don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

You smile warmly back at him, feeling butterflies in your own stomach. “Don’t be silly. It’s not weird at all. Honestly, I, uh … also think you’re really cute,” you admit with bashful grin.

Lando’s eyes light up. “Yeah?” A wide, delighted smile spreads across his face.

You nod, laughing softly. “Yeah, I may have been trying not to blush myself with you shirtless here in my lab.”

“Well I’m certainly not complaining about the view either,” Lando says cheekily.

You smack his arm playfully. “I’m being professional here!”

“And doing a great job,” Lando says, smile softening. “But maybe once we’re done with all this boring medical stuff … we could get dinner? If you want?” He looks at you hopefully.

Your heart flutters with excitement. “I’d really like that.” You smile at each other giddily for a moment before you clear your throat. “But first, we really should finish your assessment properly.”

Lando laughs, nodding. “Of course, you’re the boss!”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Alright, hop back on the treadmill. And this time just focus on your breathing and try not to make eyes at the pretty technician,” you tease.

“No promises there,” Lando quips with a grin as he steps back onto the belt.

You just smile and shake your head as you start up the machine once more, unable to keep your own heart rate from quickening in anticipation of what promises to be a very special dinner date after the test is complete.

***

Several Months Later

You glance down nervously at your paddock pass as you make your way through the crowded paddock. As an unofficial member of Lando’s training team now, you have full access to the exclusive behind-the-scenes world of Formula 1. But despite months of dating the British driver, the glamorous circus still feels surreal.

Dodging golf carts and important looking people with headsets, you head for the McLaren garage. Lando had told you to meet him there before the start of the race. Your heart flutters, as it always does at the thought of seeing him again.

“Y/N!” Lando greets you brightly as you enter the garage. Engine roars echo around you as mechanics make final tweaks to the cars before wheeling them to the grid.

“Good luck today!” You tell Lando, leaning up on your toes to kiss him sweetly.

“With you here, how can I lose?” He grins down at you. His energy is infectious.

You chat together as the cars are lined up on the starting grid, Lando bouncing excitedly in his race suit. You squeeze his gloved hand. “Be safe out there.”

“Always am, love.” He winks before pulling on his helmet and climbing into the cockpit.

You make your way back to the McLaren hospitality suite to watch the start of the race. Your heart pounds as the lights go out and the F1 cars launch forward in a roar of engines. Lando makes a clean getaway, slotting into P5 heading into the first turn.

The race unfolds smoothly, Lando maintaining his position in the top five. You watch tensely on the monitors, hands clenched.

But on lap 38, disaster strikes. Heading into a fast sweeper, the Red Bull of Sergio Perez attempts a risky overtake maneuver on Lando’s inside. They collide in a shower of carbon fiber and a plume of smoke.

You gasp sharply as Lando’s car spins off into the gravel trap, coming to rest against the barrier at an abrupt stop. The McLaren crew monitor the radio channels anxiously.

“Lando, are you okay mate?” His engineer asks urgently.

“Yeh … I’m okay ...” Lando’s labored voice comes back. “Bit winded but I’m alright.”

You breathe a deep sigh of relief along with the crew. The medical car is quickly dispatched to the scene. Lando climbs unsteadily from the battered car, sitting down in the gravel trap as he awaits assistance.

Your adrenaline surging, you take off from the garage the moment you see Lando is out of the car safely. Jogging through the paddock, you make your way swiftly to the medical center.

As you rush in, Lando is just being helped onto an examination table by two medics. He’s dusty and sweaty, his hair sticking up at all angles from where he pulled off his helmet. But otherwise he seems intact.

“Lando!” You hurry over, emotions welling up at seeing him battered but in one piece.

“Y/N, hey ...” Lando greets you with a weary but reassuring smile. He reaches for your hand which you clutch tightly.

One medic cuts away the top of Lando’s racing suit, placing electrodes on his chest to monitor his heart rhythm. You hover anxiously as they check him over.

“Heart rate is quite elevated,” the doctor frowns as he reads the monitor. He glances between you and Lando with concern. “Any chest pain or tightness?”

Lando huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. He looks up at you, his green eyes glinting. “Nah, doc. She’s the reason for the fast heartbeat.”

You feel your cheeks flush as Lando grins. The medic looks confused.

“See, ever since Y/N came into my life, she’s made my heart race a mile a minute,” Lando explains cheekily.

You smack his arm but can’t help laughing too. Trust Lando to still be flirting from a hospital bed.

“Ah, young love,” the doctor chuckles. “Well, your heart may beat for her, but let’s still do a full check to be safe.”

Lando nods agreeably, though his gaze stays fixed on you. He winces slightly as they palpate his ribs and abdomen, checking for injuries.

You cling to his hand, emotionally drained from the scare but overwhelmed with relief that he seems okay. Lando keeps stealing glances at you through the examination.

Finally the doctor steps back. “All done. Amazingly, you’ve escaped with just some bruising. No breaks or internal injuries. You were lucky today.”

The medic packs up his equipment. “Get some rest and ice those sore spots. But overall good news. No reason you can’t race in two weeks’ time.”

“Phew, that’s a relief!” Lando says. He thanks the doctors as you help him down from the table.

Arm wrapped supportively around him, you make your slow way out of the medical center towards the McLaren motorhome.

“Thank you for being here,” Lando murmurs, leaning his head on your shoulder as you walk.

You kiss his dusty hair. “I’m just glad you’re okay. You scared me to death out there!”

“I know, sorry about that, love. It happened so fast.” He lifts his head to look at you sincerely. “But I’m alright. Just grateful to have you by my side.”

You stop, turning to face him fully. Reaching up, you caress his cheek gently. “I’ll always be right here by your side.”

Lando’s eyes shine. “Is it cheesy to say you make my heart race in the best way?”

Laughing softly, you pull him into a tender kiss. For this brief moment, nothing else matters but the two of you.

Lando sighs contentedly when you eventually pull back. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

You squeeze his hand, smiling up at him. “The feeling’s mutual. Now let’s get you rested up. I want my favorite driver back to full fitness ASAP.”

With his arm wrapped warmly around your shoulders, you’re reminded that no matter what challenges life brings, your hearts will keep racing together as one.

***

It’s a quiet night and you and Lando are cuddling in bed together after a long day. Lando’s arms are wrapped securely around you, your head resting comfortably on his chest. His fingers idly trace delicate patterns along your back as you lay pressed close, breathing in sync.

Though it’s late, you can tell Lando’s mind is still wide awake, trailing far from the coziness of your shared bed. His pensive silence prompts you to prop yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him with a curious smile.

“Penny for your thoughts, love?”

Lando blinks up at you before giving a small, distracted smile. “Oh, it’s nothing really ...”

You raise a knowing eyebrow. “Lando, I can always tell when something’s on your mind.” You brush a lock of hair back from his forehead tenderly. “Talk to me?”

Lando chews his lip, eyes darting away evasively. Finally he lets out a long breath, arms tightening around your waist. “I guess … I’ve just been thinking about when I picked you up earlier today.”

You think back to the afternoon when Lando swung by your lab after work like usual. “What about it?”

“Well, when I pulled up out front, I saw one of your patients leaving the exercise center,” Lando explains. His brow furrows slightly. “Some tall, muscular bloke in running shorts.”

“Oh, that was probably Brandon — he’s a sprinter I had in for VO2 max testing,” you reply casually before pausing. “Wait … you’re not jealous, are you?”

“No! No, of course not,” Lando says quickly. But the way his eyes shift away makes you think otherwise.

You frown slightly, snuggling closer against his chest. “Lando, you know you have absolutely no reason to be jealous. I only have eyes for you,” you murmur reassuringly.

Lando sighs, arms tightening around your back. “I know, I know. It’s stupid ...” He trails off, looking conflicted.

You lay a comforting hand along his jaw. “Talk to me, love. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Lando meets your earnest gaze, emotions swirling in his eyes. “I just … I wonder sometimes why you picked me, you know? You meet guys like that every day. And I’m just ...” he shrugs self-consciously.

Your heart squeezes at the vulnerable admission. You tenderly stroke Lando’s cheek. “Hey … you listen to me. You’re the only one I want. All those other athletes are just patients to me. But you ...” You smile down at him adoringly. “You’re the one who makes my heart race with just a look. The one I want to spend all my time with. The one I love with my entire heart.”

The corner of Lando’s mouth lifts in a faint, tentative smile at your words. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely,” you whisper fervently. Leaning down, you capture his lips in a sweet, loving kiss. “You’re my once in a lifetime, Lando. My soulmate. Meeting you was destiny.”

Lando’s arms wrap tightly around you again, the last of the tension fading from his frame. “I’m sorry I got all insecure like that. I know I’m being silly.” He presses an apologetic kiss to your hair. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You nuzzle your face lovingly against his neck. “You were just yourself — that funny, charming, incredible guy I fell for the moment we met.” You lift your head to meet his eyes again. “I never stood a chance. My heart was yours from the start.”

A smile breaks across Lando’s face at last. “I really am the luckiest bloke in the world, aren’t I?”

“Damn right you are,” you say teasingly, making him laugh. Your expression softens. “But truly, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. My heart only races for you. It always will.”

Lando’s eyes gleam with renewed confidence and adoration as he rolls you both over so he’s hovering above you. “Well in that case, what do you say we get your heart racing again?” He murmurs playfully, brushing his nose against yours.

You grin up at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I’d say you’re on.”

Lando’s smile widens as he dips his head to meet your lips in a passionate kiss. Your pulse immediately quickens at his touch, heart thrumming as you arch up into him.

When Lando finally pulls back for air, his eyes are dancing. “Yep, definitely racing,” he laughs breathlessly, lifting your hand to his lips to kiss your pulse point.

You shake your head in amusement, heart overflowing with love for this man. “You’re the only one for me. Today, tomorrow, and always.”

Lando’s smile softens to something tender and reverent. “And you’re my once in a lifetime, Y/N.” He brushes his thumb along your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper. And as his lips find yours again, you let yourself get lost in his kiss, your racing hearts beating as one.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.9 words you've been wanting to hear

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 9/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 15.6k (WHY DO THEY KEEP GETTING LONGER)

a/n. HELLO MY DEAR KICKOFF READERS IVE MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH i am soooo sorry for the wait on this one. this chapter felt very vulnerable to write for some reason lmfao, but i really hope it was worth the wait :''') see you at the bottom!! if there are typos or some things don't make sense i'm so sorry i literally gave up on proofreading this i just ended up raw-doggin it and then posting it

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

an additional author's note. hellooo ellie here. there are some additional warnings/tags for this chapter, i added them to the tags above, so if you know you have any sort of triggers, please refer to them before reading! but if you don't have any and don't want to be spoiled ab anything then you can keep reading lol. thank youu <33

--

The restaurant address that Kai sent you was just a ten minute taxi ride away, save for the five minutes you spent trying to evasively maneuver through the hotel lobby in order to avoid running into people you’re not too keen on seeing right now, a list that stacks up to just one person at this moment.

It’s a Korean barbecue place, it’s been ages since you’ve been to one, probably since they’re way too expensive for any sort of outing you could afford these days, but the crisp sizzling sounds of the grills and the savory air has your mouth watering in a way that makes you indifferent to the cost. Anything to get this churning feeling out of your stomach. 

It’s instantly brought to your attention that Hana’s tipsy off of Soju because she’s slid out of the booth the second you emerge to the tablestide, and she’s onto her feet to pull you into a hug. You hug her back.

“I’m ssssoooooooo glad you’re—hic—here,” she says, voice sounding loud near your ear, but her embrace is surprisingly calming to you.

Her face appears flushed when you pull away, and you give her a smile and a kind hold of her elbow. “I’m happy to be here, sorry for coming late, I just decided I wanted to have dinner with you all.”

Minato is pulling on Hana’s arm to get her to sit down, which she finally agrees to, and you glance to the left side of the table where Kai sat, meticulously turning over pieces of meat on the grill. His eyes are on you, and the seat next to him is empty.

“You look nice,” he says, eyes falling to your lap under the table once you’ve taken a seat next to him.

Your eyes fall to your lap as well. “Oh. Thanks. I wasn’t really trying to look any sort of way, though.” Just faded jeans with a few rips & holes you made yourself, way back in high school when that sort of thing was trendy.

“I know,” he says, smirk heard perfectly through his words, “I like that.”

You ignore him, a fleeting thought passing through your head of how annoyingly forward men are to women they’ve met within a day, just something you’ve noticed recently, and then you’re accepting the glass of Soju that Minato’s poured for you. Quick to tip it back, you feel a burn on your tongue that’s just enough to distract.

“Today’s game was pretty interesting,” Minato speaks up, picking up a few pieces off the grill with his chop sticks and placing them on Hana’s plate first before taking some for himself. You find the gesture sweet. “The first half was intense.”

Hana nods enthusiastically, elbows rested on the tabletop as she waves her hands around in the air. “Uh huh, uh huh, the boys kicked the ball like whoosh. Goes all over the place! Can’t get a—hic—can’t get a single shot. No, I mean me, I can’t get a camera shot. Not them, they can get the shots of goals. The goals of shots? Huh.”

“Alright, you’ve had enough,” Minato grumbles as he drags the glass of Soju that she was nursing away from her. 

Kai lets out a laugh beside you, his knee bumping against yours under the table. “I’ve watched so many of these soccer games for this job, and I’ve still got no damn clue what the rules are.”

You blink down at your empty plate for a second before grabbing the silver chopsticks laid neatly on your napkin, and taking some food from the center of the table. “Really? I’ve only been to a couple, and I feel like I get the gist of it.” Maybe it’s because you had a personal interest, though.

Kai lets out a low whistle next to you. “Okay, you’re a smartass then.”

You give him a sidewards glance. “Maybe you’re just dumb?” 

Your own words startle you a bit. Minato lets a laugh out, but under his breath, while Hana does absolutely nothing to conceal hers. Kai’s eyes just widen. You bite down on a carrot stick.

“Hey, hey, hey, y/n,” Hana chirps, tapping at your wrist, “do you know any of the soccer players? Utahime said you doooo.”

You swallow slowly to buy yourself time, but give a preliminary shake of your head before answering, “no, not really.” You catch a whiff of the cologne on your wrist when you lift your glass to your lips.

“Oh,” she sulks her shoulders and then sinks down into the booth again, her head falling onto Minato’s shoulder. The man stiffens a bit and then there’s a content smile playing at his lips. A hint of a smile develops on your face too at the sight when you put two and two together. What an adorable little crush. It makes you feel sick.

Kai pours you some more Soju the second you drink down the last of it in your glass, and you nod to him as a thanks. “Pretty sure most of my photos from the first half are fucked,” he says, dragging the opening of the bottle against the rim of your glass before pulling it away, “didn’t realize until way later that my aperture was way off.”

You bring the glass to your lips, inhaling before taking a sip. You’re about to speak up about that when Minato beats you to it.

“Are you serious?” he asks, disappointed, like they’re suddenly talking business now. “I better see some good shots. Your side was where most of the action took place. Like that through-pass, tight behind the defensive line, from Nanami Kento to Gojo Satoru before he sunk it a couple mins before the half ended.”

You choke a little on your Soju at the mention of Gojo’s name, and then all three of them are looking at you. You wave a hand in front of your face. “Sorry.” 

Kai grumbles something under his breath and then stuffs a piece of pork belly into his mouth. “Yeah, whatever, man. I’m pretty sure I got some good ones. Don’t worry.”

Dinner goes on like that, where you count the number of times Kai thinks that someone saying something funny across the table is an excuse to press his thigh against yours, but at least the cute way that Hana and Minato seem to inch closer to one another all night is enough to put you at some sort of bitter ease. But that unsettling feeling in your stomach from a couple of hours ago still lingers.

The four of you stand outside the restaurant, heels rocking back and forth in the cold as you all take up the last chance to debrief the day, and then Minato’s glancing at his watch.

“Alright, it’s probably time to head back. We can all share a ride to the hotel, it’s cheaper that way,” Minato says. Hana’s clinging to his sleeve.

“Oh, uh, I was going to stay here. There’s a cool camera shop around the corner. I was gonna check it out,” Kai says, pointing over his shoulder before glancing at you. “Wanna come? I saw they’ve got used film cameras.”

You twiddle with the hotel key card in your pocket. It’s cheap plastic, could break easily with just the right amount of pressure. Like your resolve right now. “Sure.”

He smiles at you.

“Alright, well I need to get this one back to her room,” Minato says with a sigh, pointing to Hana, “so I’ll see you all at the next game?”

You and Kai nod at him and then watch as he walks away with Hana on his arm towards the curb, pulling his phone out to call for a ride.

“Where’s this camera shop at?” you ask Kai once the silence between the two of you stretches out a little too long. 

“It really is just around the corner,” he says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He starts walking down the row of miscellaneous shops and establishments under dim street lighting, and you follow after him before the two of you circle to the adjacent end. A tiny shop in the distance catches your eye. The LED sign above the storefront was blinking sporadically, and read 17th St Camera & Rentals, except half the letters were extinct of any light. Next to it was a 24/7 liquor store.

It’s only when you walk right up to it that you realize the sign dangling behind the glass door that says closed.

“Oh. Bummer,” Kai comments in a flat tone. “I swear it was open before I got to the restaurant.”

You sigh, pulling your phone out to glance at the time. “Yeah, at 8pm? It’s past 10 now.”

He looks at you and taps the camera case still hung at his neck. “That’s fine. I’ve still got a camera to show you, anyways.”

You blink your eyes at him, suddenly feeling a bit exhausted and then glance over your shoulder at the curb of the street to see if Minato & Hana were still there waiting for a ride. You don’t see them anymore. 

A distraction. Wasn’t that what you wanted?

“Yeah, show me.”

Kai seems to know the area better than you, since he walks down the haphazardly lain sheets of concrete across the ground with more confidence than a tourist would. The thought occurs to you that maybe the newsletter photographers have eaten here before during their time in Kyoto.

“What made you start working with the newsletter?” you ask, glancing at him as the two of you walk down further, into what seems like a neighborhood.

He shrugs. “First job I could find out of college. I had a lot of freelance experience, so I’m assuming that’s why they hired me.” He nudges your arm with his elbow. “What about you?”

“I’ve known Utahime for a while. She was impressed with my work.”

“Ahh, connections,” he muses, “smart. That’ll get you far as an artist.”

He suddenly stops walking and peers off to the right, into a darkness that you can’t really make anything out of until you’ve spent a few seconds staring too. He walks in that direction, the loud echoing stomps of his boots on concrete no longer audible once he crosses the threshold onto grass, and you follow behind to what seems like a deserted children’s park. You wish there were more trees in the city. There are a lot here in the countryside, and it makes you homesick for something you’re not even sure of.

A gust of wind brushes through, rattling the set of swings hung on rusty chains. The wood chips underneath your feet feel stale, with no snap to them at all as you follow Kai through the playhouses set up in connected fashion. There are two picnic benches, one looks like it’s been freshly painted with faux effort to improve its image in the line of sight of the street, while the other has red paint peeled back to reveal bronze underneath the moonlight, neglected and tucked behind a few trees. The latter is what he chooses.

He slides into the bench, and he shakes his head when he sees you try to take a seat on the other side before patting at the seat beside him. “It’d be easier for you to take a look at my side.”

He has a point, so you sit next to him instead. Although at this point in the night, you were feigning interest. He zips his camera bag open and you take a better look at the lens. There’s no way it was as cheap as he told you it was.

“There’s no way this was as cheap as you told me it was,” you say.

He laughs, pulling the camera out and handing it to you. “Yeah, maybe the guy cut me a deal since I’ve bought from him before.”

You’re smart enough to put the strap around your neck, even though you’re only holding it a few inches above the table, because a camera like this deserves the care and respect. The material is minimalist and sleek, and it’s heavy in your hands. You click the shutter button, screen coming to life with a few mechanic chirps. “Woah. Is it LCD or OLED?”

“LCD.”

“That’s nice,” you say, “paying for the OLED just seems silly to me.”

“I concur, Canon. Color accuracy is king.”

He shuffles to pull something out of his pocket while you continue to inspect the camera in your hands, and you see him fidget with said thing over the table in the corner of your eye. The flick of something and the light of something makes you turn your head to face him, and he’s pinching the end of a joint to his mouth, lighting the other end.

He gives you a glance when you stare for too long, inhaling from it before pulling it from his mouth. “What?” You can see the smoke leave his mouth in the chill of the air.

“Is that why you chose the secluded bench?”

“I did? Didn’t even notice.”

You blink at him, and he places his elbow on the table to lean closer to you. 

“Do you mind it?” he asks.

“No, not really.”

“Wanna smoke with me?” Two fingers pinching the origin of smoke tilt towards you. “This is my good weed, though, so, I charge by the drag.”

“That’s ridiculous, and no thanks. It doesn’t suit me.”

He lets out a laugh, releasing whatever tension he was building in your space, and the smell of weed is nauseating, but at least it's a new sensation to you.

“You’ve gotta be the only film major on the planet that doesn’t smoke weed. How do you manage?” he asks, the orange flicker of his joint being the only color you can distinctly see under the similarly flickering street lights. 

Your finger traces the rim of the camera lens and is careful to not smudge the glass. “I think I manage just fine.”

“Yeah. With delusion,” he says, coughing, scattering smoke into the air this time instead of a clean blow.

You turn a bit in your seat to face him more, placing the camera down. “You’re extremely blunt.”

His eyebrow raises in amusement and you close your eyes with annoyance at the pun. You brush it off.

“I mean, seriously, I get you’re probably just looking out for me, I guess. I appreciate that. But do you really think my dreams of becoming a filmmaker are that far-fetched?” you ask. There’s a crack to your voice at the end that you didn’t like.

He sighs, setting his wrist down on the table. There’s a long pause where he thinks about what to say. Probably the most you’ve seen him consider what words leave his mouth next. “I was in the same shoes as you, y/n. A couple years ago. I, too, had big dreams of making movies. I was going to apply to film grad school as well, although you’re shooting higher than I was at the time. There’s no way I would’ve gotten into UTokyo’s.” He tilts his head to the side a few times while looking straight off ahead. “I sent scripts in everywhere. To every fucking production company, creative agency, you name it. Never got a callback, not even once. While all my fellow grads were landing decent, respectable jobs.” He brings the joint to his mouth again, but he doesn’t inhale, just bitterly bites it. “I could’ve went on like that, but,” his brow furrows, “I’ve seen my peers torture themselves for years for those dreams of theirs. I swore I wouldn’t be one of them. Because they’re all delusional fucks.” He finally glances at you. “Are you one, too?”

Your shoulders drop a little and your lips purse. “I don’t know yet. It’s too early to say.” 

“It’s never too early to say, if the outcome is all the same,” he tells you. 

You consider his words for a moment. It’s the easy way out. You should consider yourself lucky. Everyone wants a reason, a sign, to turn away from the one thing they’re scared to think about. And here he was, giving that to you on a silver platter.

But if what you wanted was really all that fragile, then it means there’s nothing to show for any of it. For all the effort it took you to get here, and all the effort you’re still willing to give. 

“I’ll keep going until I fail,” you say, “or until I succeed.” It’s not really something you say for him, but for yourself.

He juts his bottom lip out and raises his eyebrows, slowly nodding his head, like he’s impressed by you. But his posture remains lax. “I mean, you’re working this job. You’ve got some sort of plan, at least. It’s not like I’m your parent to tell you what to do and what not to do.” He finally takes another drag, eyebrows pinching together at the same time his fingers pinch close to the burn of his joint to pull it away. “What’s that one saying? You can take a horse to the water, but you can’t make it drink.”

“Wow. You don’t sound a day older than sixty-five.”

He smirks at you. “You’ve got a lot of attitude, Canon. Where does it come from?”

You sink a little in your seat, turning away from him to look down at your hands that were still messing with the features of his camera. “My annoying feelings lately.”

“Feelings about what?”

You consider telling the truth. But you don’t. “My car is in repair and I’m not sure I can afford to pay for the bill, since things keep coming up with it.” It was the thing at the top of your mind at the moment though, for some reason, so partially truthful.

He laughs. “Yeah, cars have a way of doing that when you’re finally getting caught up on bills.”

“At what point does spontaneously picking up random, obscure jobs go from omg I’m so excited to have this opportunity to I just need the money?” you ask.

“You mean you’re not already at that point yet?” he says with a scoff. “Soon, then.”

You sigh.

“Y’know I used to work at this lousy cinema a few miles away from Central,” he tells you, hand tapping the table with a rhythm that makes no sense. “Busted my ass working minimum wage on night shifts because I thought I’d catch a big break in conversation with a director, as if Martin Fucking Scorcese would choose to host his opening night at a random Edwards in Tokyo.” His tapping on the table stops. “Tell me that isn��t pathetic as hell.”

“That’s pathetic as hell.”

“The things you’ll do for money,” he says with a sigh. He sounds detached, like it’s really just a message for you.

You lick your lips, skin feeling dry from the wind that occasionally brushes by, and when you glance at Kai again, there’s a grit to his jaw.

“Should’ve been born as one of those damn college athletes,” he grumbles, sucking in fast through the joint that was close to withering away. “Those fuckers don’t pay tuition.”

The harsh colors of the soccer team’s color-coded practice schedule on your phone are visible when you blink, as well as the exhaustion under Gojo’s eyes in the warm lighting of the hotel lobby earlier tonight. “They work hard.”

He looks at you. “I work hard, too.”

Your shoulders tense. “I’m sure.”

“You work hard as well.” Just to include you.

“Yeah.”

“I mean, you can’t tell me that it’s fair.”

Your mind wanders to some of the people you’ve met on that team, who have been nice to you. You think of Gojo, and the memory of him makes you wish you were with him right now. Despite everything.

“I guess it’s not fair,” is all you say, a tactic to diffuse the conversation, one that you’ve had to use twice with him today. The sound of the swing chains clinking together from the wind in the distance runs a chill down your spine.

You feel heavy in your chest, and you glance at the joint pinched in between Kai’s fingers. He’s not keeping an eye on it, so it’s easy to steal, and you bring it to your lips before sucking in. You instantly let out a few coughs. He’s looking at you with surprise. And you’re still in desperate need of that distraction you’ve been craving.

“How long does it take for it to kick in?” you ask, coughing again and pressing a hand to your chest.

“Super long when you can barely stomach a single drag.”

You try again. He watches you. You swear you feel a buzz this time, and you hand the joint back to him. You feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Good,” you tell him, “really good.”

“That’s gotta be placebo, Canon.”

“No, really,” you sigh it. Even if it was, maybe your mind was just blessing you with a single moment of reprieve. “I feel…really good,” you say with your head in a haze. “Best I’ve…” you don’t know why you have to blink back tears, “best I’ve felt this whole week.”

Kai’s silent next to you. You look over at him, and he’s got a scrutinizing expression on his face. His eyes are glazed. “You seeing anyone right now, Canon?”

It’s the savory question you know has been on the tip of his tongue. Ignorantly asked, as if you would’ve been sitting here with him right now in the dead of night if the answer was yes. 

“No.”

He’s leaning towards you, and you’re dazed and also sleepy. His face is close now, there’s an urge to giggle, which means there’s no way this is all just placebo, and when his lips dip towards yours, you’re conscious enough to push him away by a weakly fisted hand pressed to his collarbone.

“Oh. I. Um,” you stutter.

“What?” he asks, eyebrow raised, still close to you.

“No. No thanks.” Because it felt wrong. 

He fully pulls away from you, and runs a hand through his hair, a deep sigh leaving him. “Alright.”

You’re breathing faster now, surroundings feeling vague, like you’re in sweltering heat but the air only bites cold.

You stand up suddenly. “I…I want to go back.”

“Go back where?”

“To the hotel. To my room.” You pause. “I mean, by myself. Not with you. We can share a ride, though.”

He stands up too, hands reaching for you, gripping the straps of his camera still hung around your neck and he pulls it off to place it back into the case. You feel like you’ve lost favor with him somehow. “Okay. Sure.” 

“But not with you.” You felt the need to clarify again.

“I get it, Canon. It’s fine.”

—

“Maybe you just need to fuck him aggressively without mercy.”

“I beg your finest pardon?”

You’re sitting in a booth inside this streetside KFC with Mina sitting across the table, waving a fry around in the air, and with Nobara next to you as she tries to open a packet of ketchup with her teeth. The hangout the three of you have been hyping up all week, just to be sat in the same place you always go to. You were about to take a bite out of your sandwich, but you set it back down on your tray.

Mina points the fry at you and shrugs. “I’m saying. Maybe you’re having such a hard time getting over Gojo because you got so close to fucking him in that bathroom, but you didn’t, and now you’re in, like, this constant state of edging.” She bites down on the fry. “The clit knows what the heart doesn’t.”

“Your theories never fail to amaze me,” you mumble, sinking further into the booth. 

“Perhaps it’ll take the edge off.” Mina sucks through the straw of her Diet coke. Nobara finally succeeds in opening her packet of ketchup.

“I doubt it. Besides, I technically already gave him an invitation to,” you say, fingers rubbing at your eye with a swipe as you wince from the memory, “and he rejected me, so, still swimming in the self hatred from that one.”

Mina hums. “There’s no way he’s not foaming at the mouth for it, y/n. Men never let a meal they were craving go unfinished,” she states, dramatically stabbing a chicken nugget with a fork.

“What kind of pigs do you guys associate yourselves with?” Nobara asks. She’s a lesbian, by the way.

“I raise another question. Why are we talking about this in a public restaurant?” you offer.

“Listen, babes,” Mina continues, like your words fall on deaf ears because she’s got some point to make, “it’ll either poof. Make your feelings go away like the drop of a hat because you find out he’s a bad lay. Or it’ll be so good that you realize you’re never getting over him and you’ll be thinking of his dick instead of your husband’s on your wedding night.”

“We’re. In. A. Public. Restaurant.”

Mina steals a biscuit from your tray. “If it ends up being the first outcome, then the whole thing was my idea. If it’s the second…then just know that Nobara has steered you wrong.”

“Why the hell do you have to drag me into this?” Nobara asks.

You’re about to take a bite from your sandwich again when you’re interrupted by the buzzing of your phone in your purse. You pull it out and glance at the caller ID, then let out a sigh.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” you mumble, slipping out of the booth and towards the restaurant’s exit, pushing the tense door open with a gust of fresh air brushed through you.

“Hello?” It’s the car repair man. “Really? I thought you said it was fixed.” Apparently something else came up. “Okay…how much longer will it be in repair?” Much longer than you had thought. “And how much will it cost?” Much more expensive than you had thought. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, really, I feel as though every time I’m on the line with you all, I have to wait longer to get my car back, and the bill just racks up higher.” They’re trying their best. “I know. Is it necessary to fix in order to drive, though?” State laws require it. “Okay…thanks for the update.” And then you hang up without another word, and with all the frustration in the world.

You head back inside and grumble about your car woes to Mina and Nobara, who try their best to respond with interest.

“Why can’t your insurance cover it?” Mina asks.

“Apparently they can’t claim it’s because of those rocks I drove over,” you sigh, “since it looks like it’s been a problem for longer than that.”

“Can you afford it?” Nobara asks.

“Not really,” you say. “I’ll just have to postpone having my car for a bit.”

You sigh with a glance out the window of this fine dining establishment, into the blue skies just beyond, head drowning out the voices of Mina and Nobara as they continue to grill you about all sorts of questions that you don’t have the energy to answer right now. You had another student loan payment to make once you got home today, and just the thought of it makes your heart drop a little. And you realize you just can’t afford to be picky about your financial situation anymore.

—

“Thanks for helping me out with this,” you say, footsteps over familiar grassy hills as you head towards the UTokyo’s practice field, your digital Canon EOS hanging from your neck. 

“Sure,” Kai says as he keeps pace next to you, “why the sudden mission, though?”

You’re gazing off straight ahead, a nervous pit in your stomach since it’s been a while since you’ve walked across this landscape towards the field. 

“I just feel like I need to diversify my income somehow,” you sigh, the buzzwords leaving a bitter taste in your mouth as you say them but it was the reality of your situation, “to make ends meet. When you mentioned freelance work during our conversation last week, it made me think it’s time for me to pick that up too.”

Kai hums. “Yeah, it’s a good plan. I’ll try to show you what I know.”

Once you’ve made it to the top of that hill, the one that oversees the field, your eyes instantly scan the field for familiar silhouettes, and your breath catches in your throat when you spot Gojo passively kicking a ball back and forth between one of his teammates for warm-ups.

It’s the second time you’ve seen him since that argument the two of you had in the hotel lobby, the first being at the post-game conference in which you did everything in your power to swiftly avoid him, and you plan on keeping that up. There’s also an urge to run away, but you’re starting to realize that’s not much of an option anymore.

“Honestly, you don’t really need to worry too much about shutter speed with freelance like you do for shooting sports,” Kai is mumbling next to you as he messes with the settings on his camera, the two of you making your way down the hill towards the field, and you’re not really listening because your eyes are on Gojo, who’s yelling something across the field to his teammates with a look of concentration on his face.

“Uh huh, I see,” you say. You see Kai glance at you in his periphery.

“You again!” you hear a familiar harsh voice call out, and you turn on your heel to face Coach Yaga who’s standing a few feet away in his custom UTokyo tracksuit with his arms crossed against his chest. “Why are you on my field?”

You hold your breath for a second. “Hi, Coach Yaga, so sorry, but I’m just here to take some more photos.”

He lets out one of his hmphs, unrelenting. “You’re a distraction. Get off my field.”

“D-Distraction?”

“Coach!” Suddenly, Geto’s in your line of sight as he emerges with a light jog up to your side. “You should really be nicer to our photographers, they give us a lot of publicity for our games. And publicity means funding.”

Coach Yaga narrows his eyes. “I need all my players focused right now. Even during practice.” He gives you a disapproving glance and you’re still confused, but also weirdly angered.

“Excuse me, Coach Yaga, but last time I checked, this field is technically open for all students. And I’m a student,” you say to him, crossing your arms across your chest now. “So, I can be here if I want.”

You have no idea if that’s true at all, but sometimes you’ve just gotta fake it ‘til you make it.

Coach Yaga grumbles something and then waves his hands in the air. “Fine! I’ve no bandwidth to argue about this anymore! Just don’t distract my players.”

You’re shocked that it worked, and Geto nudges you with an elbow to correct your expression so that Coach Yaga doesn’t catch on to the bullshit you just spewed. 

“Are you here to take some photos?” Geto asks, facing you. He’s got his hands on his hips, breathing slightly fast, some of his hair falling onto his forehead. 

“Yeah, I am, just for practice though. I’m here with—” you glance at Kai, who’s standing with his fists shoved into his pockets, “Kai. He’s also with the newsletter.”

There’s a moment where Geto studies the two of you for a second before speaking. “I know,” he says, extending his hand out for Kai to shake, which he does, “I think I’ve seen you around. Not sure if we’ve formally met, but it’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, likewise.” Kai’s hand is then shoved back into his pocket.

You feel awkward suddenly, and then quickly say something to Geto about how he should probably get back to practice, which he agrees to, and then you’re standing at the chalk sideline with Kai as he shows you the ins and outs about digital photography.

“Have you tried shooting in burst mode?” he asks, switching the feature on your camera and then handing it back to you. You sling the strap around your neck.

“Hm…” you start, pointing your camera across the expanse of the field to multiple areas. The trees off into the distance, the goal posts, Coach Yaga’s yapping Pomeranian. “Not really…” The grass beneath your feet, the sky above your head, and then blurrily focused before settling on Gojo who stood in the distance straight ahead.

You see through your viewfinder that he’s caught sight of you too, a look of surprise on his face seen only by the level of zoom, and you glance up from the screen to make eye contact with him in reality. He’s fully staring at you, and you can barely see the way his expression relaxes from that one of athletic concentration to something wistful and strange that you’ve had a hard time reading lately.

“Canon? Are you even listening?”

“Huh?” you snap out of it and look at Kai. “Sorry. Could you repeat that?” You quickly glance toward Gojo again, and his line of sight points towards Kai now.

“I was asking if you’ve tried panning before,” he says, reaching for your camera, pulling it towards him, but the strap around your neck means you’re pulled closer to him too. 

“Satoru!” Coach Yaga yells in the distance. “Eyes on the ball!” 

“Just got to set your camera to manual mode first,” Kai mutters, confusion in his voice. “Where the fuck is it?” He’s turning your camera in his hands, which only has you stumbling with another small step towards him, your chest pressed flush to his arm, and he looks down at you for a brief second with a smirk on his face.

You hear the sound of a ball being kicked on the field, followed by the shout of one of the players.

“Ah, here, found it,” Kai says, handing your camera back to you, and just as you’re about to say thanks and you hold your camera up, you’re hit straight in the face by a flying object and fall backwards onto the grass with a painful thud.

What the fuck?

Where are you?

Who are you?

Okay, that’s dramatic, it wasn’t that bad.

There’s shouting in the distance as you hold your head with a groan, eyes shut tight with images of your life flashing behind your eyelids, and when you open your eyes again from where you’re sat up on the grass, you’re surrounded by soccer players.

Gojo’s suddenly in your line of sight, knelt down beside you and he’s holding your shoulders, trying to get you to look at him but you’re still blinking away the stars you’re seeing. “Fuck, y/n, are you okay?” he asks, and you register the concern on his face.

“Dude,” one of his teammates kicks the heel of his cleat, “where the fuck were you looking? It was clear as day I was tryna pass to you.”

Gojo grumbles something to him, his brow furrowed, and he’s lowering his head to try to make eye-level contact with you but you’re still holding your head with a wince.

“Oh shit,” Kai comments, “she’s bleeding.”

You pull your hand from your face to glance down at the wetness that you feel, and bright red color stains the tips of your fingers.

The next thing you register is Gojo picking you up off the hard grassy ground into his arms, and starts carrying you away down the field.

“W-What the hell are you doing?” you ask, his pacing across the grass is fast and you have to wrap your arms around his neck to keep from getting dizzy.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says, voice strained in his throat, and you’ve never seen him look so worried before. 

“The hospital?! Please don’t, I don’t have health insurance right now.” His face is so close and you’re distracted from the pain of your headache.

“You’re bleeding on the face, I’m taking you whether you like it or not,” he grumbles.

You dig your nails into his shoulder through the nylon of his shirt, and he hisses from the pain before stopping in his tracks. “I don’t need to go to the hospital, Satoru, I just need a fucking bandaid.”

“You could have a concussion.”

“A concussion?!” You kick your feet for him to let you down but his grip on you only tightens. “You’re being ridiculous. Let me go, or I’ll bite you.”

He scoffs at that and continues walking forward. “You’re gonna bite me? That’s the most threatening thing you could come up with?”

“I’m being so dead serious, Gojo Satoru. No hospital.”

He grumbles something under his breath at your use of his full government name, and then says “fine” but he’s still walking down the grass until his cleats begin to tap on concrete, and then on what sounds like tile as he carries you into a building a few yards from the field.

He seats you on a cold counter, your hand gripping the faucet of a sink, and you finally take a comprehensive look at your surroundings. light blue, faint scent of chlorine in the air

“Is this…a locker room? The men's locker room?”

He sighs, bending his knees a bit to look at your face closely. You flinch when his hand reaches out, and he pauses, but you relax slightly and then he rubs his thumb over your cheek. You feel the smear of a droplet of blood. “Yes. I need running water.” He turns the faucet of the sink on to run his thumb under.

“For what?” you ask. His thumb is running over your cheek again.

“To take care of this cut.” He disappears behind a tile wall for a moment. You can hear metal clanking, probably of a locker opening and closing, and he re-emerges with a first-aid kit.

You slide your butt across the counter to the edge, about to hop off and make a run for it when he grabs your hips and puts you back into place. “Don’t even think about it,” he grumbles. He leans forward, grips you strongly, and you see that he’s still breathing heavily from practice, strands of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and you can practically taste the salt on his neck. 

You press your shin to the front of his thigh, desperate to put some space between the two of you. “I don’t wanna be in here. Men are scary.”

“Well I can’t take you into the women’s locker room,” he says, ripping the packet of an antiseptic wipe open with his teeth, “I’d get registered as a sex offender.”

You attempt at an escape again, and he’s quick to get his hands on you to stop it.

“Quit manhandling me, or I’ll scream,” you threaten through gritted teeth, because you’re still mad at him. For everything.

“Go ahead,” he says, using his knee to spread your legs apart, then finds a place to stand between your thighs to get closer to you. “I’ve got a lot of ways I could shut you up.”

You blink at him, breath catching in your throat, and the expression on his face tells you he’s not interested in dealing with your stubbornness anymore.

“Just hold still,” he grumbles, placing the packet down on your thigh and then stepping off to the side to wash his hands under the sink.

“What exactly happened?” you ask, watching him dry his hands off with a few paper towels. One moment, Kai was trying to explain good digital photography to you, and the next you were dizzy from being knocked back onto the ground.

“You got hit by a soccer ball.”

“I know, but how?” You remember your camera hit your face from the impact too, and now you’re worried about it.

“I…wasn’t paying attention when my teammate passed it,” he admits with a sigh, finding his place in front of you again, the knuckles of his clean hand brushing across your cheek, caressing. Your expression softens slightly. He uses a hand spread across the small of your back to push you forward to him, then he gently passes the wipe over your wound.

“Oh okay so, you failed to protect me from a flying soccer ball.” 

He pulls his hand from you to read the lettering on the back of the packet. “I’m patching you up now, aren’t I?” he says, annoyed. “…oh fuck, I was supposed to go in with water first.”

“So glad to be in such good hands right now.” 

He gives you a pointed look, but you ignore it and turn your torso to see your reflection in the mirror for the first time. You had a small wound on your cheek, right over the bone, with some bleeding and it’s wider than it is deep. But when you look at Gojo again, who’s putting some ointment onto a Q-tip now, the look of guilt and worry on his face makes you feel satisfied for some reason, and you wanted to make it worse.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, brow furrowed, applying the cold gel to your cheek.

“Mhm. A lot.” Not really, no.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he sighs, head dipping towards you slightly to get a better look, “can you feel this?”

“Ahh, yeah. Ouch. So much.” Barely.

His other hand is placed flat on the counter next to where you’re sitting, and you allow it when his thumb starts to run soothing circles over your hip.

“Hmm…” you start, wide eyes looking up at him as he seems to lean closer and closer to you with every word that leaves your lips, “I really wonder if it’ll leave a scar.”

He looks tortured. His hand that was maneuvering the Q-tip in his hands drops to the counter now, and he brings his other one to your face, cupping your cheek. His eyes dart from the wound, thumb pressing at the plush of your cheek, and this time, it hurts a little so you wince. His expression is tense, some sort of inner turmoil you could read across his forehead, and then his jaw hardens.

“Who was that guy you were talking to earlier?”

You blink a few, then tilt your head slightly. You feel like you’re on a game show, where there’s four options and only one right answer. New boytoy, gay best friend, fuck buddy, or— “He’s my coworker.”

“That’s it?”

“Mhm.”

“Has he tried anything funny with you?” 

You almost roll your eyes. “No, dad, he hasn’t.”

“Woah. Say that again but make it daddy.”

“Hey just a quick question for you. Where do you get the audacity?”

His bent index finger finds a place under your chin, tilting your head up so you’re forced to look at him. “It’s your fault, really. I can’t help it sometimes,” he says, voice lower now. You’re squirming a little, wanting to push him away but his lips get close to your cheek, brushing near your wound, like he wants to make it all better somehow. “I really am sorry,” he whispers, near your ear. There’s a whimper you have to stifle in your throat. He pulls aways just enough to where he can look into your eyes. “A cut…” he starts, thumb now passing over your bottom lip, “on your pretty face.” He sighs. You shouldn’t, but when he prods, you tuck his thumb under your front teeth and your tongue presses slightly against the padded skin of it. He looks like he’s being driven to insanity, and his other hand has no shame at all in pulling you towards him, to seat you at the edge of the counter, and you miss the texture of his thumb on your tongue when he pulls it from your mouth. But it’s so he can dip his head down to kiss you instead.

Of course the sensation of his lips on yours only lasts for a second, because the universe really fucking hates (or loves?) you, so the loud clanking of a metal water bottle against tile interrupts with harsh reverberation throughout the locker room walls, and he pulls away from you when you jump at the sound.

You both turn your heads towards the origin, located at the curved end of the entryway hall, and one of Gojo’s teammates is standing there with his duffle bag slung around his neck and hanging heavily to his thigh, his water bottle clutched in his hand. He blinks at the two of you.

Oh. It’s the one you kissed at that party a few weeks ago.

“What—…Why is there a—” his teammate starts, panicked, turning his head to double check the sign on the locker room wall as if he’s hallucinating, and when his eyes land on you again, they widen with recognition. His gaze shifts, and his chin tips down at the sight of Gojo’s irritated side eye from where he was still all up in your personal space. “…you know what. Nevermind.”

His teammate’s eyes are on you again, and you give him a shy little wave, just a fluttering of your fingers in the air paired with a small smile, legs swinging back and forth under the counter. He lets out an amused scoff from the entryway, lifting his hand to return the gesture, some cheeky grin on his face as he then scratches the back of his head before turning on his heel to leave the locker room, out of sight. You let out a sigh, hand dropping to your lap, and you don’t need to look at Gojo to tell that he’s staring at you with disbelief.

“What the fuck was that—”

“You,” you interrupt him, finger jabbing at the center of his chest, “have seriously got a lot of fucking nerve,” you hop off the counter, “to not only allow a soccer ball to sock me in the face,” he’s taking a step back with every harsh jab of your finger, “but to also hold me hostage in a mens’ locker room,” his back is pressed up against cold tile wall now while he just looks down at you with wide eyes and something akin to fear, “and then, oh my god, the audacity to kiss me?”

“I—”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” you yell, which shuts him up. “You really are just a fucking player.”

He’s stiff, not wanting to catch a punishment from you right now.

“But it doesn’t matter,” you grumble, still drilling your finger into his ribcage with the intent to cause pain. You didn’t need to be this close, but his body is warm, probably due to the blood pumping from practice, and it feels nice to be pressed up against. “Because I don’t have feelings for you anymore, so just fucking get over yourself.” It was a lie if you’ve ever told one, but you wanted to believe it so much that it could come off as the truth.

His eyes narrow down at you, eyebrows flattening. “You don’t have feelings for me anymore?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

You roll your eyes. “Why? Because you want me to keep suffering?”

He grabs your hips, then makes a motion that is evident of his desire to pull you flush to him, but he stops himself. There’s a moment where he just takes a few deep breaths and looks at you with a hardened expression, then a split second where his eyes fall to that little cut on your cheek, and every single feature of his face softens, and then he lets you go.

You take a small step back, breathing heavily of your own, and you feel the ghost sensation of his fingertips wrapped around your hips. It makes you feel dizzy, and your thoughts are a mess. 

He sighs. “Sorry. For the soccer ball, and this locker room. But I’m not really sorry for kissing you, and if that makes me a jerk, then so be it.”

Your heart is beating fast. “You are a jerk, Satoru,” you say. He doesn’t like you, he doesn’t want you. A mantra played over and over in your head that you’ve started to hear it at night. “A real fucking jerk.” And you leave him standing there in a way that feels like the hundredth time.

—

2:34pm kaito (work): yo

2:34pm kaito (work): i had my guy look at your camera

2:35pm kaito (work): it’s pretty fucked up

2:37pm you: :( oh okay isee. does he have an estimate for the fix? the lens is okay though right?

2:39pm kaito (work): yeah lens is fine, you should really count your blessings on that. 

2:40pm kaito (work): but nah, fix would be around the same as the cost of it, so you’re better off getting a new one

2:42pm you: i don’t have thousands of yen laying around unfortunately. my car bill has sucked me dry

2:44pm kaito (work): well let me check with him. maybe he can hook you up with a good deal on a used one

2:45pm kaito (work): i got a 50% off on one of my canon cameras i bought from him a few years back. maybe he’s still got some like that

2:46pm you: yes could you check with him please? thanks so much, really

2:48pm kaito (work): sure. although i think the guy that kicked the ball to your face should be paying for your camera replacement

2:51pm you: they were just practicing. it’s their field

2:56pm kaito (work): alright. btw, you free tonight?

You blink at your phone screen from where you were sprawled across your bed. Before you have a chance to type out a response, your phone lights up with a phone call from kaito (work). You accept the call.

“Oh, hi,” you say.

“Hey, are you free tonight?”

“Oh uhh, I was just about to check my schedule.” You shake your head at your inability to come up with an excuse on the spot.

“Okay,” he says on the other line. You hear the sounds of cars honking in the distance. “Well let me know. I just left my camera guy’s shop, and he was telling me about how one of his friends does visuals for a short-film director, and that the director is looking for an assistant.” Kai grumbles something about someone he walked past being rude. “I think the director’s agency is Verve Films, so.”

You sit up in bed, eyes wide at the mention of the name. “Oh, oh wow. That’s insane.”

“Yup,” he says, “anyways, apparently the director is busy as fuck, so he left the hiring process up to my camera guy’s friend. I told him I knew someone that might be interested. Are you?”

You take a deep breath in and out. “Yeah, I am. Most of my experience on my resume lines up with short-film, so I’d be able to—”

“Alright great,” he interrupts, “so we can hold the interview tonight.”

“We?” you ask.

“Well yeah, me, my camera guy, the hiring guy. Maybe go for drinks or something.”

Your brow furrows. “That hardly sounds like an interview.”

Kai sighs. “Well, it’s not an interview for a desk job or something. It’s more of like—well, like building connections. I know you know all about that, since Utahime got you the newsletter job.”

Well, yes. She put a word in for you, which helped get the interview, but you still went against qualified applicants. “I guess.”

“It’ll be like that. Most opportunities you’ll get if you still want to pursue filmmaking are going to be like that,” he tells you, “if it feels informal, it means you’re doing it right. You might not think so now because you’re still in school, where they practically serve opportunities to students on platters, but it’s going to be different in the real world.”

You lay your head back onto the pillow, feeling like you’re receiving a lecture you didn’t ask for, and your first instinct is to pretend that you know better than he does. But when you think about all the stress recently, all of the not knowing, and the unsure, you question if you should start leaning into the advice of the people around you, and start to accept this career path for what it’s known to be. Unruly, unconventional, and a lot of times, unfair. 

“I see. Well, can I think about it? Tonight is too soon, I’d need time to research the director, put a portfolio together, and also do some interview prep,” you say, pulling your phone from your ear to glance at the time.

“Well, tonight’s the only night that works since their team’s shooting abroad for the weekend and they leave tomorrow morning,” he says.

You purse your lips together.

“But also,” Kai says, “it’s the nice thing to do, y’know, since my camera guy is taking the time to look at your camera for free, you could at least help his friend out. By the way, he just texted me, he does have some used Canons available at discount.”

You close your eyes for a second, just trying to process this conversation right now. Kai was speaking too fast, hardly enough time for you to even think.

“So do you want to do the interview tonight?”

“Yes, sure. Okay. Just— just send me the details. I’ll be there,” you say.

“Alright cool, will do.” 

You say bye, and then he hangs up.

A few hours pass by, where you spend some time putting together a flash drive of a couple of your best short films you’ve worked on in the past with other directors, as well as a portfolio of some recently developed film photography. The last thing to do was grab your emergency stash of print outs of your resume, and then you stuff it all into a folder before glancing at the mirror to take in your reflection. It felt extremely weird to show up to a job interview in something as casual as what you were wearing right now, but Kai insisted to not wear anything business. But at least you opted for jeans that don’t have any DIY holes in them.

Your face is glued to the navigation on your phone screen the second you get out of the taxi, and you walk down the bustling nightlife streets of Tokyo to get to this bar that Kai sent you the address of. But just as you’re about to turn the corner to your destination down the bar strip, you bump into someone’s chest due to lack of paying any proper attention.

“Ah— I’m so sorry,” you say, your grip on your phone tightening when you realize it was about to get knocked out of your hand, and then you look up to see a familiar face.

“Oh!” Geto exclaims from where he’s standing right in front of you, “You’re everywhere, y/n. What are you doing here?”

You open your mouth to speak, hesitate for a second, and then continue. “I’m here to…get drinks with some of my friends.”

He gives you a smile. “That’s nice. I am too.” He points over his shoulder to behind him. “Nanami got into his MBA program earlier this week, so, Satoru, Choso and I are buying him a few rounds. Or possibly a million. The plan is to incapacitate him as punishment for giving up on playing in the national league with us.”

You humor him with a laugh. “That’s sweet. Or not? Well anyway, tell him I said congrats.” Your heart starts to beat a little faster, because from the direction Geto came from, it meant Gojo was likely just around the corner somewhere. “Where are you heading to now?”

“We’re bar hopping, and I think I forgot my phone at the last one we went to over there,” he says, pointing across the street. “So I’m going to go look for it.” 

“Oh alright,” you say. “Good luck with that. I’m going to go find my, uh, my friends.”

Geto tilts his head at you and had a slightly more serious expression on his face, glancing at the folder in your hands. “Thanks. And stay safe.” 

You nod at him and then walk past him to round the corner onto the street that had groups of people loitering in front of restaurants, bars and all sorts of establishments as they wait in the cold to get inside or be seated. You recognize the name on one of the signs hanging as the one Kai sent you in his message, and when you’re a few feet away from it, you spot Kai. He’s wearing his typical street photographer wear, with a red flannel over a gray shirt and pants that are possibly a size too big for him, but that’s likely the style he was going for. He’s standing with two other people.

“Hey,” you greet Kai first, who has a pleasant look on his expression before he greets you back and gestures to the two people he was with.

“Yo, this is Junichi, my camera guy,” he says. “Don’t bother shaking his hand, he’s a germaphobe. Gotta keep ‘em clean for the electronics.”

“Oh,” you say. Junichi is a big man, broad shoulders and thick muscles. His neck is almost as thick as his bicep, and he has no hair on his head. His arms are crossed. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for taking a look at my camera.”

He nods at you in acknowledgment. “Sure thing. Pretty Boy here says you want to buy one of my used Canons. I don’t refurbish them, so you’d better know how.”

Kai sighs, nudging Junichi a little with a fist. “Relax, dude, we can talk about that later. Also, stop calling me that.”

Your eyes flicker to the right, where another man stood, who you assume was Junichi’s friend and this Verve Films director’s visual effects specialist. He’s similar in stature to Kai, with that casual artist look, and he has a scuffle of facial hair littering his jaw in less of an intentional fashion but rather a five-o-clock shadow fashion. You vaguely register the scent of weed, familiar to the one that lingers in the photo lab on campus after class hours. He reaches his hand out to you first.

“Hi, I’m Ren. I work in visual effects for director Akira Ko at Verve.”

Your eyes widen as you shake his hand.  “That’s amazing. I’ve studied a lot of his contemporary works, I’d love to learn more about his process.”

Ren lets a fast exhale out through his nose. “Yeah, you’ll learn a lot under him.” He pauses to shove his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Most of his assistants always do.”

“We’ve been waiting for too damn long,” Kai interjects before you could ask any questions about the assistant position, and he glances at his watch, “and there’s still a lot of people ahead of us.”

You glance around to the small groups of people gathered in front of this bar on a lively Friday night, eyes jumping from one area to the next, until a familiar silhouette catches your eye.

You see Gojo standing with Nanami and Choso a few strides away, near the lamppost. He’s mostly turned away from you, Nanami nudging his arm annoyed at something he said, and the sound of his laughter in the air makes your heart feel like it’s at stray. Like that was where you were supposed to be right now, not here.

You watch him from the distance as he sighs, shrugging his shoulders up and down slightly before crossing his arms when Choso gestures towards the entrance of the bar, and so he looks in that direction too. He’s frowning slightly and he brushes some of the hair fallen over his forehead away from his eyes, in that boyish way that makes your heart skip a beat, and you know he’s just doing it to see a little bit better, but it makes you want to cry. 

Geto walks up to them and rejoins their little circle, and holds his phone up in the air, and then there’s the melody of their voices bouncing off one another’s again. Geto rests his elbow up onto Gojo’s shoulder, leaning in a bit closer to tell him something, and when Gojo hears it, you see his entire body tense before his wide eyes are searching his surroundings, until those eyes land on you.

Your breath catches, and you hold his eye contact for only a moment before you look away, because it almost felt like too much to bear.

“What’s that folder in your hand?” Ren asks you, and you turn completely to face him so you can’t see Gojo in your periphery at all anymore.

“I just brought some of my work, for your—er, I guess Mr. Ko’s—reference if he’d like to see it after today’s…interview,” you say. “There’s a flashdrive, too.”

Ren has an amused look on his face and he shoves Kai’s shoulder with his palm. “Dude, you didn’t tell her?”

Kai shakes his head. “Tell her what?”

“Ohh, I see how it is,” Ren muses.

“What?” Kai asks, starting to sound annoyed.

Ren tips his chin up slightly to study Kai’s face, and then his look of amusement dissipates into one of understanding. “Nothing.”

“Tell me what?” you prod.

“Just that you didn’t really need to bring all of that with you,” he says. “Sorry for the trouble.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine, but if you could still give it to him—”

“I’m surprised Kai suggested someone when I asked if he knew anyone,” Junichi jumps in, “I’m used to him grumbling on and on about how shit the work is in filmmaking. Would’ve thought he’d convinced you to look the other way by now.”

You blink at the gruff man, then look at Kai, and he’s just staring down at the dirt of his shoes. “Well, we had a conversation about it. But I’m pretty set on what I want to do,” you say.

Kai lets out a scoff. “Yeah, I don’t really know how else to warn you about the shit show you’re in for, but if you want to be in debt to grad school for the next couple decades of your life, then it’s up to you.”

“Hey, jackass, try to be a bit nicer,” Ren speaks up. “She’s got some goals. Big fuckin’ deal.” He turns to you. “Although, he’s got a point sweetheart, school’s not going to get you anywhere in this industry.”

You frown. “A lot of directors I look up to went through graduate schooling. Most, I would say. I don’t understand where this rhetoric is coming from.”

“It’s coming from real people with real experience,” Ren says, and you dislike the way he takes a step closer to you to reiterate his point, “honestly, you should save yourself some time and give up on applying. It’s not worth it.”

“I’ve already put my application together,” you say, brow furrowing slightly, “I’ve asked professors for my references, spent the past four years working on my profile—” 

“But working under a director, I mean really getting to work under one, beats all of that. Which is why you’re here, right?” Ren asks, but it’s not curious, it’s testing.

You feel a sheen of sweat build at your forehead, even in this cold, and you clench your hand into a fist once, twice, thrice. You’re breathing fast, and the three sets of eyes that are staring so scrutinizingly into your soul right now have you faltering, like if they took another step forward, tried to intrude what you thought you knew one more time, you’d fall backwards over the cliff.

Suddenly, a hand wraps around your upper arm, and when you turn your head to the left, you see Gojo standing there.

“Hey,” he says to you, sparing one single sidewards glare towards Kai, who immediately averts the eye contact, before Gojo’s eyes are on you again, “can I talk to you for a second?”

You look at the three men in your circle, who suddenly adopt skittish body postures, and Gojo doesn’t really wait longer than a few seconds before he’s pulling you away from them over towards the edge of the curb towards the street.

“What?” you ask once he lets go of your arm.

“What are you doing here with those guys?” he asks.

“I’m—…why does it matter to you?” you ask.

“It matters to me because of the fucking absurd conversation I just overheard,” he says, “now answer me.”

His tone annoys you, and you cross your arms. “Are you eavesdropping?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says, taking a step forward to you, “who are those guys, and why are you here with them?”

You blink at him, furrowed brows relaxing slightly as you drop your crossed arms to your side, and you stare straight ahead at the blankness of the white t-shirt he’s wearing, as your mind runs blank to his question. Why were you here with them? Was it because you had no other plans? Was it because the opportunity sounded too good to be true, and you just had to see for yourself? Was it because you’ve been unable to sleep at night from all the stress, the financial worries, the rejection, and you just want to finally feel like you’ve done one good thing for yourself? To feel like you’re at least making one step in the right direction, no matter the cost?

“I’m here for a job interview,” you say to him. Your tone is flat, and you feel numb.

“A job interview?” he asks, with just about as much incredulity you would’ve expected to hear from him at that answer, “At a bar? How does that make any sense?”

“It…” you start, “sounded fine.”

“It sounds shady as fuck.”

“This doesn’t concern you, okay? I’m—…I’m just trying to make my goals work for me, Satoru, and I really don’t expect you to understand.”

“Why wouldn’t I understand?” he asks. There’s confusion in his voice, and maybe even a little bit of hurt.

“Because you can’t even understand how unfair and painful it is for me that you keep—” you have to purse your lips together briefly to fight back the knot in your throat, “…that you keep interfering with my life everywhere I go.”

His expression softens, and he silently stands in front of you for a moment. His eyes dart across your face, and then he reaches out to grab your hand. “Listen, if you still want to get drinks tonight, then just get drinks with us. But don’t hang out with those guys. They’re bad news, especially the dude with the flannel, and I don’t think you’re in a good place right now to see that.”

Your eyes see white fury at that, and you all but snap. Because the irony of this whole situation, is that you’re not in a good place right now because of him. Because of all the pain that he’s put you through, for promising to stay away but then always being near, for saying he doesn’t want you but then acting like he does. 

“You know what I think, Satoru?” you ask through gritted teeth, yanking your hand from his grasp.

He’s looking at you, studying. “What?”

You take a step forward, threateningly, and he takes a step back so that he steps off the curb and onto the road, and you’re at eye-level with him now. “I think that you’re jealous,” you say, eyes glaring daggers into his.

He blinks at you, almost dumbfounded for a moment before he says “what?”

“You’re just fucking jealous that I seem to be moving on after you rejected me, because for some weird reason, you think it’s okay to not want me, and yet not want me to be with anyone else,” you say, practically hissing the words. “You don’t like seeing me with any guys other than you? You don’t want to believe me when I say that I’m over you? You’re not sorry for kissing me? Even after knowing,” you take a pause to breathe, because you feel like you can’t, “even after knowing that I like you,” eyes blinking fast because you don’t want him to see you cry right now, “you know that I like you so fucking much, and that it’s hurtful, and that it’s wrong— and even after all of that, you act the same, and still won’t promise me any commitment of your own.”

He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t read, but you’ve lost all interest in trying to understand it anymore.

“You don’t want me hanging out with them?” you repeat after him, “I’m not listening to that. Because it’s possessive. And it’s wrong.”

At the mention of them, Gojo clenches his jaw. “That has nothing to do with you and me, right now. What they’re trying to convince you of doesn’t make any sense, and it won’t help you achieve your dreams either, y/n.”

“You don’t know anything about my dreams, Satoru,” you say, just to hurt him. But you think about the sincere expression on his face the first time you met him when you told him that you wanted his help with your assignment. You think about the playful nudge of his elbow that night he stayed with you on the curb, and told you that you just had to try to put yourself out there, because you couldn’t accomplish anything without facing your fears. You think about how he’s always the first to like every single one of the slideshows you post of your pictures on Instagram. You think about the adoration in his eyes, reflected off the moonlight through the hotel window, when you told him about a little cottage on the countryside, one you’ve always wanted, and those eyes told you that he was really rooting for you. “You don’t know. Because you—” there’s an echo of words in your head. Someone else’s words, not yours, “Because you’re a college athlete. And—” you let out an exhale, “and you don’t pay tuition.”

His brow furrows. There’s a beat of silence as his confusion settles in. “What?”

“You were born blessed with talent, and you’re popular, and people adore you, and you don’t have to worry about internships, or jumping from job to job just to make something of yourself,” you say, picturing your life in your head along with all the strife, “or about all of the sinking debt, and the worry, and the— and the car repair bills,” you say, almost with a scoff, eyes sheening with tears, like you’re losing your mind, “all of the fucking car repair bills.” Your chest is heaving as you shake your head. “Because you’re set for life as long as you kick a fucking ball.” 

His lips purse together, like he can tell there’s more on your tongue to say, more hurtful words, and he wants to hear you say them. And so you do.

“You’ve never had to suffer or worry about a single thing in your life. So don’t pretend like you understand what I’m trying to do here tonight,” you say, inflection signing off on the end, to tell him that you’re done. 

He stands in front of you, practically motionless except for the slow movement of his chest as he breathes. His expression, tense and hurt, softens slowly, and you see him digging his nails into the skin of his palms through fidgeting clenched fists at his sides. And then he relaxes them, too.

“Does that make you feel better?” he asks.

His question confuses you, and for some reason, regret washes over you. “What?”

“Does thinking of me that way—…does it make you feel better about all of this? Between us?”

You’re breathing fast, eyebrows pinching upwards to look at him, and the defeated expression on his face makes your heart ache. He’s waiting for an answer, and so you give him one. “Yes.”

He glances down at the ground for a moment, then at your collarbone, before meeting your gaze again. “I’m sorry. For everything. And I—” the words catch in his throat briefly, “I’ll try to leave you alone tonight.”

His use of the word try doesn’t escape you, but you give him a furtive nod, and he studies your face for a few moments before he steps back up onto the curb and walks past you. You watch him walk all the way, no longer with that confidence or conviction you’re so used to seeing in him, as he steps back into his circle, to Geto’s side. Geto gives a small glance over his shoulder to look at you with discerning eyes before looking at Gojo again, and then he’s turned away from you. 

Heavy feet drag you back to Kai, Ren, and Junichi, and you feel feverish. They mention something about the table being ready, and you nod. The bar is rustic, with more tables than barspace, and the four of you are seated and then presented with a small food menu. You’re seated next to Kai, Ren is right across from you, and Junichi is to his right. You watch a waitress usher Nanami, Choso, Geto and Gojo to one of the tables as well, two away from yours, and you forcefully blur your vision so you don’t have to catch sight of the expression on Gojo’s face.

“So,” Ren speaks up as his eyes peruse the food menu and Junichi waves the waitress over to order a round of sake, “tell me more about your experience, sweetheart.”

You blink at him, eyes feeling heavy, heart feeling heavy. “I’d prefer it if you called me by my name.”

Ren lets out a coo, and you briefly glance at Kai who’s shaking his head with a sigh. “My bad, y/n. Your experience?”

Your hands play with the folder sitting in your lap. “I started writing screenplays for small-scale directors when I was a freshman, and was greenlit on a couple into my sophomore year. One of the films I worked on, I had directing credits for, and it was nominated for best screenplay at Etoile Film Festival the year following.”

Ren swallows slightly, shifting in his chair and pushing his shoulders back, like he’s trying to establish himself now. Kai is clenching a fist on the surface of the table.

Ren clears his throat before speaking again. “Wow, okay, so you’ve actually got some serious shit going on.” His voice is a faux octave deeper. “What do you know about being a good assistant? Ever worked in customer service? Secretary?”

“Oh, I mean I have worked in customer service, but I wasn’t done sharing about my experience—” you try to say but Junichi cuts you off.

“First round’s on me,” he declares, “for bringing her out here.” He tips his chin to you and then sends Kai a glance.

A waitress brings by a bottle of sake, and Junichi begins pouring drinks into the glasses, then slides them across the table. Kai gives Ren a pointed look. 

“Don’t get too wasted,” Kai says to him as he brings his glass to his lips, “you start running that mouth of yours a little too much when you do.”

Ren grins at him and immediately knocks down the glass Junichi barely finished pouring from him in one go, and the gruff man beside him is grumbling. “Whatever you say.”

Something had been bothering you since you came here. “Wait,” you say, pointing between Kai and Ren, “do you two know each other already? Because,” you turn to look at Kai, “on the phone earlier, you sounded like you didn’t.”

Kai’s eyebrows raise in surprise, as though he’s discovered you have some skill for foresight. You glance at Ren, and he gives Kai a puzzled look.

“Uh, yeah. I’ve known Kai for years,” he says, “we go way back. We went to highschool together.”

Kai shifts a little in his chair. “Sorry. Probably forgot to mention it.”

You glance down at the glass of sake in front of you, and the way it twinkles under the lighting of the bar. You slowly bring it to your mouth, taking a small sip, and the way it coats your tongue is less than pleasing. 

“Can you tell me more about the assistant position?” you ask Ren, who’s emptied out the bottle of sake and waving someone over to order more. He already has a slightly flush to his face.

“Yeah, yeah, will do,” he says, “but first, let me tell you about what I do in visuals.”

Another round of sake is dropped by, and then another, followed by another, as Ren continues to ramble on and on about what he does for work, and how it’s entirely integral to the final piece of the film, although you’ve never really had a terrible level of appreciation for visual effects in short-film craft, since it’s hardly much work. But you wouldn’t say that, you just continue to nurse your one glass of sake as the three men surrounding you knock back more and more, and there’s slurs to their speeches now.

“Sooo, I’m so sorry, sweetheart—I mean y/n, for cuttin’ you off earlier,” he says, “but what was that experience you wanted to talk to me about?” Ren asks from across the table, and his eyes are all traveling over you.

“I…” you start, “well, I started to work with one of my professors last year, she’s a two-time Cannes Film Festival winner, and she let me under her wing for one of her projects last year.”

“Who is she? Oh wait, nevermind, probably wouldn’t have heard of her anyways,” Ren says, but when you fail to laugh, he waves his hand in the air. “Joking, joking. What’s her name?”

“Naoko. Naoko Ogigami.”

“Oh shit. I have heard of her,” Ren says, followed by a shallow hiccup. Junichi shrugs his shoulders, and when you look at Kai, he’s nodding slowly and toying with the rim of his glass with a finger.

“Yes. Well, anyways—” you start up again, before Kai sets his glass of sake down particularly loud.

“This is all bullshit. Really. I told you, filmmaking is a waste of time. Just focus on your photography, and your freelance or whatnot,” Kai says, grit to his jaw, face looking red with possibly something other than just a tipsiness. 

Ren lets out a laugh. “Fuckin’ Kai. What a pessimist. Don’t listen to him, sweetheart,” he says, slurred, and you furrow your brow at him with a glare, “sorry. Don’t listen to him. Trust me, you’ll learn a lot under Mr. Ko. He’s a suuuper nice guy.”

“What’s the compensation?” you ask. It’s a brazen question, one you’d never ask so soon in a formal interview process, but this table was hardly anything formal.

“Real good. Mmm I think like…5200 yen an hour, and then also, you get your foot in the door.”

“Oh,” you sit up a little in your chair. It was higher than most entry-level anything for undergraduates or even new grads. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he drawls when he sees you’re more interested. “Good stuff. Kai used to pick these kinds of jobs up, too, back in his college days. I remember. Although, he’s hardly Mr. Ko’s type, so I doubt he’d be any good for this one.”

Your head snaps to Ren again at his words, face tensing. 

“Tell her about what a job like this—hic—entails,” Ren says as he extends his glass out for Junichi to pour him another.

Kai glances at Ren once, and you watch him grind his teeth for a moment, and then there’s a hint of a smirk on his face.

“Oh. Y’know, clerical work. Stuff like printing scripts out,” Kai starts, Junichi filling up his glass and then he raises it into the air to watch the liquid swish around, “grabbing him coffee. Making sure his trailer is stocked.”

“Blowing him in said trailer,” Ren says. It’s something quiet, under his breath with a small laugh, where you could barely hear it across the table. But you heard it nonetheless. And your heart sinks to the core of the earth.

“Excuse me?” you say. The benefit of doubt sitting on your shoulder, watching in disbelief as well.

“He’s joking,” Kai says, quickly, “runnin’ his mouth.”

“Oh fuck off, Kai,” Ren says, throwing his hands up in the air, “don’t act like that’s not why you brought her here.”

Your head slowly turns to Kai, who can’t meet your gaze. Your eyes flicker to Junichi, who looks amused. 

Ren leans over the table, elbows resting on top, to look you straight in the eyes. He’s got a sleazy smile, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath, and he dips his tone down low enough to where you can hardly hear it over the sounds surrounding you in the bar. “That’s how you’ll make it in this industry, sweetheart. Whether you like it or not, you’ll be working under those directors until you make it.”

You stand up so fast that your chair falls behind you, hand raised in the air, and you swiftly slap the man across from you so hard across the cheek that it leaves his skin even more red than the flush from before, and your palm is stinging. 

There’s gasps all around the bar, hushed voices, eyes on you, but you don’t care. There’s not a single thing in the world you care more about right now than the anger swelled in your chest.

Ren holds his cheek, surprised, blinking like a pathetic animal. He almost looks like he’s about to cry, and you let out a scoff at the sight.

You turn to face Kai, whose eyes are wide and he’s staring up at you. Your fists are clenched at your side.

“Is this why you brought me here tonight?” you ask. Your voice is trembling, anxiety at the wake, the white anger spotting your vision. But there’s also pain. So much pain, and you’re just so fed up with all of it. “Because your belittling, condescending words weren’t enough to tear my hopes apart, so you had to humiliate me in front of your friends instead?”

Kai holds his hand up. “Woah, Canon, relax. He was just joking—…” Kai glances at Ren, who’s still holding his cheek and biting down on his lip, and then his gaze hardens. “Y’know what? It’s about fucking time you get this wake-up call, y/n. I’ve been trying to do the nice thing to steer you in the right direction, and the least you could—”

“Steer me in the right fucking direction?!” you’re yelling now, registering the way your voice echoes in the bar. “You know what I think this is all about, Kai?” You grit your teeth, “You’re a sick, stupid, sexist fuck who didn’t have the balls to go after what he wanted. So miserably pathetic that you’ve got no other fucking business than to pull people down to your level.”

Kai pinches his eyebrows together, hand on the table clenching into a fist. 

You lean down closer, an exasperated scoff leaving your lips. “Why don’t you go be his assistant instead? Since I’m sure you’re good at taking it up the ass.”

Kai’s eyes twitch, “you fucking—”

You grab his glass off the table and throw the alcohol into his face, eliciting another round of noises around the bar, and his mouth falls agape in shock before he gets up out of his chair, hand reaching out to grab for you. You close your eyes shut with a flinch to expect pain. Any sort of pain. But you don’t feel anything at all.

When you open your eyes, you see Gojo standing to your left, veins of his arm tense with the tight grip he has on Kai’s forearm, and you can see he’s practically shaking with rage. He steps in front of you, guarding, and you can’t see the expression on his face, but the fear in Kai’s eyes is enough to say it all.

“That’s enough,” he says, the clench of his jaw evident through the strain in his voice, “try to put your hands on her again, and I’ll split your fucking face in half.”

You can see Kai’s breathing pick up from where you’re peering over Gojo’s shoulder, and then Gojo shoves him backwards right as Choso kicks the fallen chair to his feet so he trips over it backwards then hits the ground with a loud and indignant thud.

Gojo’s hovering over Kai, his hands shoved in his pockets as he glares down at him, while Geto and Nanami put space between you and the other two men at your table. You feel a searing flush to your cheeks. You’re breathing fast, the peering eyes all around you are scrutinizing, looking at you with surprise, confusion, shock, and pity. Your mind is racing, and you wonder what your parents would think of all this. What your friends would think of all of this. What the people who support you would think of the fucked up situation you’ve found yourself in, and the humiliation courses so deep through your veins that you just want to run away and hide. The ground could swallow you whole right now, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

You take one step back, then another, before you turn on your heel to rush out the door into the night, and you barely register that it’s raining. You can feel your heart thumping fast in your chest and in your head, that familiar knot in your throat twisting tight as you walk fast down the street and ignore Gojo’s call of your name from behind you.

You don’t want to see anyone right now. You don’t want to be seen by anyone right now. Especially Gojo, of all people, because he was right about everything, and the fact that you had shut him down about it, and the way that you had shut him down about it makes your head numb and your breathing pick up fast.

“y/n,” you hear him call out from behind you, his pace is getting faster and so you’re resorting to longer strides as well, puddles of water splashing under your feet with every step, “just wait—”

“I’m seriously,” you start, and the tears begin to fall, “I’m seriously so, so, so, so, so fucking embarassed right now,” you gasp out the words with no air left in your lungs to breathe as you continue to run away from him, “so please, just leave me alone.”

You can picture it all in your head. Something like I told you so from his lips, because after what you’ve been put through tonight, you just want to assume the worst in people.

But just as you round the corner into an alley, feeling lost with the sight of a dead end, you feel a hand wrap around your arm and then you’re being pulled into an embrace.

Your eyes are blinking with tears streaming, your face buried in a chest that is warm, with a heart beating so fast that it’s keeping time with your own, and the fragrance that surrounds you is so painfully him that it makes you sob even more.

Strong arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and Gojo rests his chin at the top of your head. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, and you can feel the rumble of his voice, “I just needed to stop you from running.”

Your arms are weakly raised, an outline over his torso but not yet grabbing on, until you hesitantly do. And when you hold onto him, it’s so tight and strong, and you realize that after everything between the two of you, it’s the first time you’ve been wrapped in his arms.

“I feel so stupid,” you start, already hating the words because you want to be stronger right now, but you can’t.

“You’re not stupid,” he quickly corrects you, “those guys are fucking insecure losers. You’re just trying your best. You always have, for as long as I’ve known you, and it’s something you should be proud of yourself for.”

You don’t know what to say to him, you just cling to the damp fabric of his shirt in the rain.  

“Things are going to work out for you, no matter what, because I know you’ve got what it takes and you’re willing to work hard for it,” he says, his chin nuzzling so you’re tucked into him even further, “and if things don’t work out, that’s okay, you’re strong and you’ll always get back up. And I want to be there to help you through everything.”

You pull your face from his chest to stare up at him, droplets of rain falling to your face and making you flinch occasionally. “I’m confused.”

His hand comes up to cup your face, swiping at a tear on your cheek, or maybe it was rain. “I thought that—” he starts, his thumb briefly running over the small cut still healing on your cheek, his brow furrowing, “I thought that I’d be okay with watching your life from afar, through cropped pictures on a screen,” he says, a chill running through you, “but I can’t. It’s killing me. And I’m really sorry that it took me this long to tell you this, but I like you so much and I really want to be with you.”

Your eyes widen at his words, and you don’t know how to feel. You push your face into his chest again. His thumb runs circles at your side through the dampness of your shirt.

“There are a lot of reasons I didn’t feel like I could date you, or show up for you,” he says, “but the pain of not getting to be with you, of not getting to hold you, and just share my life with you is way worse than whatever reasons I kept trying to convince myself of.”

You nod slowly, because there was a part of you deep inside that knew that all along. 

His grip on you relaxes slightly and you take that as a request from him for you to look up at him, so you do. “I know I’ve put you through a lot of pain, and I’m really not a perfect person, but if there’s room in your heart to forgive me, I promise you that I’ll do everything I can to make you feel happy and cared for.”

Your eyes study his face for sincerity. They’re words you’ve been wanting to hear, words you could’ve pictured in your head, but the adoration in his eyes makes you realize you never could’ve imagined the true sweetness of those words when they’re said from him.

You press your cheek to his chest again. You’re not crying anymore. “I’m sorry for what I said to you earlier. About kicking a soccer ball, and having it easy,” you bite down on your lip, because now there’s tears in your eyes again, “I didn’t mean it.” You sniffle a little, “I know you work hard. And it was a really mean thing to say.”

He sighs, holding you flush to himself. His cheek presses against the top of your head. “That’s okay, you don’t have to apologize for that.”

“But I do.”

There was no grudge at all. There was nothing withdrawn from you, nothing taken away as punishment. He just held onto you, exactly as you are, and you felt so safe in every second you spent in his arms.

You look up at him again. His hair is damp, strands clinging to his face in all the places they usually fall over, droplets of rain falling from his fringe onto your face and he does everything he can to wipe them away. “It’s too late,” you tell him, and he immediately knows what you’re referring to.

He just holds you closer. “I know.”

“I don’t have feelings for you anymore,” you say through a sniffle.

He knows you’re lying, and that you say it just out of spite, but he holds your head to his chest. “I know.”

“You’ll have to beg and grovel, and even then, I might not like you ever again,” you say, gripping so tightly onto his shirt for purchase, your voice sounding muffled as you breathe in the scent of him. “That’s your punishment.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. A firm press of his lips, lasting as he takes a few deep breaths. And then he kisses the same spot again, staying still in that position as he repeats himself.

“I know.”

--

a/n. phewww thank you for reading, i swear, this chapter felt like a goddamn war to write. my emotions were all over the damn place, i think cause i wrote from a place of bitter experience lol. i dedicate this chap to my lovely friend she’s a film major (she inspired me to create this story) and i srs wouldn’t be able to write kickoff without her 😭💕 dear M♥︎, i thought of you sm while writing this chapter, i can only hope i’ve captured even the slightest bit of the understanding i will always aim to have of you, and that you feel seen. i’m incredibly proud of you, always rooting for you, so often thinking of you, and terribly missing you so much rn (plsssssss visit meee😩💔 ) dedicated w sm love 💕 -bitchasshoe this chapter is also dedicated to anyone who’s going through a hard times n maybe just trying to figure themselves out :”) i am so proud of you, you should be so proud of yourself, there’s still so much to live and learn, and i hope the universe blesses you w everything you’ve ever wanted!! big thank u to my lovely m00t @quinnyundertow she pulled me out of my writers block for this chapter and also beta read a lot of it for me there’s only three chapters left for kickoff (i’m gonna cry just thinking ab it :”)) which doesnt sound like a lot but there’s still a lot i’ve got planned 😭 i’m just noticing that i very poorly planned the second half of this series. chapters 1-6 combined have less words than chapters 7-9 combined 😅✨ sooooo i may increase the chapters from 12 to 14 by splitting them up to make it easier on me, or just stick to the plan and come out with long chapters like the last two. idk. i’ll figure it out. thank u to everyone for reading i love you all dearly 😭💕 i’ll see you in the next one!!

➸ take me to chapter ten!

➸ wrote some kickoff headcanons here

--

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @therealestpussyeater @lost-resonance @hojoslutoru @foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @bsdicinindirdim @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @btszn @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @drthymby @ninitoru @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @horisdope @sykostyles @aquaberrydolphin @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @purplehallow11 @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @bxddiebloss @chwesuh-imnida @mo0nforme @viware @still-fking-single @megumisthirdog @gintokhi @karvokr @cierocanteat @imjustaweirdnerd @ronniebird @bloopsstuff @mwtsxri @witchbybirth @tetsuski @fffinskye @gh0ulkz @beabadobeee @mandysfanfics @erencvlt @laviefantasie @sukunamylovexoxo @girlkissersco @itzjuliana @yell0wdreams @1dimas7 @strayedjeno @mo0nforme @yungbloode @sullybrothersmate @oaooaoaoaoa @swagangelllamawolf @banenemilk @inniesblog

(hope i didn't miss anyone thank u all sm!!)

[sweet-as-an-angel]

MW Reaction to You Taking the BDSM Test

Warnings: Implied Smut, MW Characters Being Down Bad & Feral, Mean! MW, Rough! MW, Dominant! MW, Submissive! MW, Teasing, Petnames, Profanity, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except You.

Ghost

His laugh is gruff from over your shoulder. A glower, if you listen closely enough. His hands, rough and calloused with the weight of his atrocities, clamp down on your shoulders. He squeezes them. Tight. Tighter.

“You don’t need a test to find out what you’re into, Love.”

He stands closer. From your position on the couch, you can feel something hard pressing between your shoulder blades. He rolls against you, his grip tightening. You whimper, wince, and he lets go a hum.

His hands drop from your shoulders to the front of your shirt. There, he grips the seam and rips it open. You jump, gasping, the buttons flying off into god-knows where — corners of the room, pinging off furniture.

His hands are on your chest, kneading, needing. He’s rough. He needs you now — he can’t even stop to remember to be gentle.

“I can do that,” he lowers his lips to your ear. His breath is hot.

“And more.”

König

König had sat with you while you took the test, curious to see what you’d choose — what your heart truly desired.

Of course, despite how close the two of you were, you did try to retain what little of your dignity you could by choosing answers that didn’t make you look insane. Or nymphomanic.

Little did you know that König could see right through you, his lips stretching into a smile whenever he saw your fingers itching to choose the highest values for kinks he absolutely knew you had (whether you were aware of his knowing or not).

When the test was over and you got your results, you thought you’d walked it. “See?” You showed your results to König. “Told you I wasn’t into anything—“ you searched for the term he’d used. “Extreme.”

“Oh, Maus,” König said, almost growling. Purring, perhaps. His eyes were narrowed, feline. “We both know that’s not true.”

König took your phone and placed it somewhere out of your reach. Frozen with anticipation, you gave no fight as König took you by your shoulders and laid you down, pressing you into the floor. He brought his thighs over you, caged you beneath him. His hands either side of your head, he smiled.

“You needn’t be evasive with me, Darling.” His hips dipped down. Something hard pressed against your abdomen. König’s eye twitched. ”Now then, let’s see how many of your answers were true, shall we?”

Soap

Johnny looks at you with what you could only construe as confidence. A challenge. You could feel the sly remark creeping up his throat as you tried to explain away the results of your test, trying not to paint yourself as someone whose answers suited them a little too well.

“Oh aye, Bonnie — I believe you,” came Johnny. With all the genuity in the world. “I just don’t think you do.”

When you gave him a queer look, his smile grew.

“What I’m sayin’ is you know there’s more to sex than that test’ll have you believe.”

Johnny shifted closer to you, eye-level with you. His hand came up to your chin, taking it between his fingers. He held you there.

“And I’d be more than happy to show ya what you’re missing out on.”

Valeria

“Looks like mi Cariño’s had a little too much screen time.”

She’s on you before you can even escape to your lock screen, a viper-strike hand plucking your phone from your grip and throwing it over Valeria’s shoulder. It cracks, somewhere, but her frame is all you can see as she pushes you to the floor.

“Seems like you’ve forgotten your place,” she grunts as she forces you to the ground, watching you fall flat on your backside. The carpet is enough to cushion your fall, but there isn’t a material in the known universe that can withstand the fire in Valeria’s eyes.

“Seems to me that you need to be reminded what you like.” Valeria bites her lip, coming to stand over you. Her shadow roves over you, almost as if to grope you, feel you.

She brings her boot onto your chest. Keeps you down.

“And where you like it.”

Price

“So you think I’m vanilla, Hm?” Price’s voice carried a weight you were not unfamiliar with, but the way in which he spoke suggested something unknown. His ankle sat atop his knee, arms crossed over his chest.

You’d gotten him to take the BDSM Test — “For science!” you’d told him. And, to nobody’s surprise, John’s results had come back relatively tame. Yours, however, were a different story.

John leaned back in his chair, his cigar lying in the ashtray, embers fading.

“Why don’t you come over here,” John said, voice low. He spread his legs, patted the expanse of his covered thigh. His eyes glinted with all the light of a black mirror.

“And teach this old dog some new tricks.”

Horangi

Hong-jin had seen your results by accident and had decided that teasing you about it would provide him with enough of a distraction to stop himself from salivating at the possibilities they opened.

Sure, it started off tame. The odd comment here and there about you seeming to be ‘tied up’ with whatever task you were doing, that you were doing such a good job of completing your work, etc.

Anything to get you hot under the collar.

And, luckily for Hong-jin, it worked. You came to him, frustrated and very much in need of relief.

Hong-Jin hummed, putting you on his lap. He ground his thigh between your legs, calling you his “Good little pet — behaving so well for me.”

His eyes almost seem to glimmer as he tells you how much he should reward you for being able to hold out for so long. Something to the tune of an oddly specific interest you knew you’d never told him. But that’s alright; your scores told him everything he needed to know.

Alejandro

He was NOT expecting the answers you got on your BDSM test. And you weren’t fully prepared for what you found on his.

Yes, Alejandro leans towards taking the dominant role in bed. Sure, not all the time, but enough that one look at the two of you could definitively conclude which of you wore the pants in bed.

Which, until tonight, neither of you had questioned.

“You know, Corazón,” came Alejandro. He sat beside you, not looking away from the TV. “It couldn’t hurt to…test some of our weaker areas.”

You looked at him, eyebrow raised. Then, it clicked.

“Oh,” you said, leaning closer, smiling. Knowing. Alejandro looked down at you. You could see him biting back a wide grin.

That night was spent with Alejandro bottoming while you went to town making him cry, whimper and beg for more.

Rodolfo

You’d assumed that Rodolfo’s results would be, at most, rather banal. In spite of his military background, he was gentle — loving — when it was just you, him and the late hours of the night.

So, when you saw his results and discovered that, oh you’re kind of depraved, actually (in a loving, non-judgemental way; you just weren’t expecting how much his results told you he was into), you wanted to test Rudy’s limits.

A whole day of teasing, complete with a healthy side of blue-balling, had, eventually, caused Rudy to grab you and drag you into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it. He threw you to the bed, his strength masked by his lamb-like disposition.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said. He stood over you, arms crossed over his chest. “And I know why you’re doing it. You’re trying to make me cave — trying to get me to ruin you.”

You couldn’t have put it better yourself. But he could. He approached you, came down to your level, crawling over the bed. You backed up until you hit the headboard (for the first of many times, you suspected), and Rudy, with a dark glint in his eye, gripped the headboard behind you, trapping you.

“Trust me, Amour,” he said, bringing his face level with yours, his voice low.  “With the way you’re acting, you’ll be lucky if there’s anything left of you to ruin by the time I’m done with you.”

Graves

Bless your cotton socks — you’d forgotten to close the tab on Graves’ phone that had your results splashed across it. Hence, Phillip was having a good old laugh about it now in the confines of his office. Though, the longer he studied your results, the stronger the throbbing between his legs became.

Of course, he sought you out. And of course, he made now secret of your faux pas. And, of course, you tried to explain it away. ‘I took it for fun’, ‘It was for a laugh’, ‘I didn’t t think you’d find it—‘

“Ah, there we go. The truth, coveted as it is,” said Graves, smiling from ear to ear. He stepped over the threshold of your bedroom, backing you up against the edge of the bed. He kicked the door shut behind him. No escape.

“Now,” he drawled, approaching you. “You’re gonna show me exactly what you’re into, where you like it,” He stood chest-to-chest with you now, watching you lose your balance as you fell back onto the bed. He all but pounced on you, taking your wrists and pressing them into the mattress.

His eyes were ablaze with a lustful vengeance as he pressed down on you. Into you.

“Or I’m gonna fuck it outta ya.”

Gaz

“Didn’t know you were into…” Gaz squinted, looking over your results from over your shoulder. He went quiet.

“Oh…” From the corner of your eye, you saw his face turn pink. Then red. He cleared his throat and took a step back.

“Y-yes, well— uh— that’s a very…colourful scorecard you have there!”

Smiling, a hint of mirth in your eyes, you turned to him. You could see he was nursing a rather pressing, growing problem, and you sought to relieve him of it.

“How about you come and help me make it a bit more colourful, hm?”

At that, Gaz’s eyes widened. His tongue tied as he tried to form words — a word — anything !

Your smile grew. So did Gaz. “Oh, come on, Gaz! Big military man like you scared of a little fun?”

Let’s just say, Gaz also found himself taking the test shortly after you’d ruined him.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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[always-coffee]

WV Libraries Are Under Attack: How to Help

News came out yesterday that West Virginia House passed House Bill 4654. This would remove “bona fide schools, public libraries, and museums from the list of exemptions from criminal liability relating to distribution and display to a minor of obscene matter. …”

Potentially criminalizing librarians is bad, and it’s straight out of the fascist playbook. “Opponents of the bill said that while the bill does not ban books, the bill would have unintended consequences for public and school libraries, resulting in increases in challenges to even classic books and attempts to criminally charge librarians over books not pornographic in nature, but books that include descriptions of sex. They also said it could result in improper criminal charges against library staff,” Steven Allen Adams writes.

So, the question is: now what? What do we do? Where do we go from here?

If you live in West Virginia, call you state senate reps. You can find them listed here.

It’s okay to keep your message short:

“Hi, I’m [full name] calling from [ZIP code], and I’m a constituent of [Senator Name]. I am calling to voice my opposition to Bill 4654, because this is a dangerous step toward book banning. It could potentially harm librarians and libraries, which is incredibly wrong. Do not back this dangerous bill.

You can also ask how many people have called to voice their opposition to this bill. This may annoy the person on the phone, but they technically have to answer you. They may be evasive anyway. But you can either give them your contact information and tell them you’d like a call back or you can call back again later and ask for the tally.

The thing is, people rarely call in. A handful of calls is considered a lot, and the best thing you can do right now is make yourself a nuisance. Good trouble, etc.

Only call if you live in West Virginia, because they do not count calls from those outside their constituency. I am obviously not an expert, but if you have additional questions, ask them and I’ll try to help. I learned way more about how politics work during the last presidency than I thought humanly possible.

Additional resources: