#but like......when the enemy is THIS fucking powerful

[themagicmusicman]

quick context: character im doing is sh��; she is the girlfriend of angu, one of the main characters in neim’s worldbuilding project, kunirn. shå uses she/her, angu uses she/ her, kik (angu’s close friend/basically brother at this point lmao) uses he/xey 👍

1. i reckon she’s usually too busy beating people up to have other hobbies but like. does cooking count as crafting? she crafts. food lmao

2. this bitch might be trans but she wears the manliest man cologne lmfao like. whatever the kunirn equivalent of something tobacco, sandalwood and orange would smell like. man shite /fem

3. fuck yeah!!! that’s basically the main thing she does besides being gay and fighting people

4. mmmm not really, unless her and angu are baking together for the sillies (kik sometimes joins in too)

5. yeah!! she has the Ǎtrothang mark on her right shoulder (shown at the bottom of the post) as well as loads of others hjehekr

6. probably kik (angu’s friend n basically non blood brother) bcs xey seem like they would work the best under pressure and know first aid. all that shit yknow [update. neim told me that kik is canonically good at patching people up so i was right!]

7. bitch isnt scared of anything except her parents, and thats fairly normal i think. guys thats normal. right. ri-

8. yeah she probably has the weirdest collections of shit. stuff like bones, eyeballs, that kinda thing

9. she usually tries to just wait it out and continue whatever she’s doing, but when it gets so bad she can’t, she just leeches to angu until it goes away

10. not standing up to her parents’ bullshit :[

11. ehhhh probably not anything. canon but she seems like the kind of person who would

12. oh yeah shå has amazing style /gen this bitch dresses like the most butch lesbian. also she’s just hot lmao (evidence at tje bottom)

13. not in the slightest lmao

14. absolutely. it took her close to a year to open up to angu about her parent bs so. yeah just a bit

15. she’s just a silly lil guy. the sillies! silly and tiny and definitely doesnt have a really dark/horny sense of humour!

16. nope and nope :D

17. basically never. she stands by what she believes at doesnt bend for anyone

18. easier to become her enemy than her friend :3

19. you have to be pretty awesome she has trust issues lmao

20. meh not really seeing as her life in Ǎtrothang was. pretty traumatising

21. friends. friends for sure

22. never

23. n/a shes immortal /j (in other words doesnt think about dying ever)

24. most people are her enemies :3👍

25. uh morning routine, wake up and get on with the day. evening routine, go to bed and toss n turn until she eventually falls asleep

26. she’s her own hero (aka has no heroes (except maybe kik or angu but thats just her being gay lmao))

27. i mean. her meeting angu was pretty much a chance encounter and that changed her life drastically so!

28. # idontthinkgamingexistslmao

29. i’d want to be but she would scare me 😔

30. she doesn’t want to be famous. the less people who know her, the better

31. i would probably give her some sort of silly telepathic powers, she’d want invisibility

32. being afab (she doesnt mind the dick but she occasionally gets dysphoria thinking that she’s a Fake Woman because she has not biological booba (she is the most womanly woman i know))

33. oh yeah. i think angu, shå and kik would play silly ttrpgs the same way i play dnd with neim and my irl mates

34. terribly. she hides it well, but inside she’s struggling :[[[

35. in charge of her own destiny. fuck the dead gods she’s deciding her fate

36. yes and uh. for legal reasons no /hj

37. she doesn’t really like the gods, n chooses to just kinda. do her own thing lmao (same as angu but less Loud About It /lh)

38. she doesn’t dream (me core)

39. definitely!!! that sounds fun as shit!

40. she would be able to pull it out first try because shes a big strong jerboa. speaking of pulling ou-

41. she hates making mistakes so doesn’t learn from them as much as. promise herself not to make the same mistake again

42. yeh! she speaks mainly speaks rurleki (surprisingly. the language of rurlek) but also speaks atro from living in atrothang

43. fairly well, except mentally. afterwards she’ll freak out but she’s usually fine in the moment

44. only angu, not even kik i dont think

45. wing it gdejdbksbdkf

46. for sure, she probably lies quite a lot lmao

47. she would for quite a few people, ofc including angu and kik

48. in a heartbeat. revenge quest time babyyy!

49. nah she knows the difference. big difference (this is a threat 👍)

50. shes a trans lesbian jerboa!!!!! what is there to not love!!!!!!!!!

@neim-batteries-not-included haiiiiii :3

You've Got Questions and I've Got Answers OC Edition

Do they have any crafting hobbies?

Do they wear perfume/cologne? If so what scents do they prefer?

Do they enjoy cooking?

Do they enjoy baking?

Do they have any tattoos? If so what are they and do they have any special meaning?

If they were badly injured, and for whatever reason couldn't go to a hospital, who would they go to for help?

Do they have any unusual fears?

Do they collect anything? If so what and why?

When they're sick what do they do to feel better?

Do they have any regrets?

Do they have any addictions?

Do they have any sense of style? Regardless of the answer do they believe they have a sense of style?

Do they enjoy poetry?

Do they have a hard time opening up to people?

What kind of sense of humor do they have? Or do they have one at all?

Do they have or want kids?

How easily would they be convinced to do something that goes against their morals?

How easy is it to become their enemy?

How easy is it to become their friend?

Do they have a strong connection to their culture?

What is more important to them, friends or family?

Would they ever betray someone for money?

How would they want to die?

Do they have any enemies?

Do they have a daily/nightly routine?

Have they met any of their heroes? Did they regret it?

Has a chance encounter ever had an unexpected effect on them?

Are they a #gamer?

If they were real would you be friends with them?

If they had the chance to be famous would they take it? If they are famous would they rather they weren't?

What superpower would you choose for them and what would they choose for themselves? If they have one would they choose something else?

If they could change one thing about themselves what would it be?

Do they play ttrpgs? If so what kind of characters do they play? Or are they more likely to GM?

How well do they deal with grief?

Do they believe in fate or do they believe they are in charge of their own destiny?

Would they ever kill someone? Have they already?

Are they religious? If so do they have a strong sense of faith, are they uncertain, or are they somewhere in between?

What are their dreams like? Do they have any recurring dreams/nightmares?

Would they ever crash a wedding?

If they found a sword in a stone would they try to pull it out? How would they react to being able to pull it out or not?

Do they learn from their mistakes?

Can they speak multiple languages? If yes which all do they speak and why?

Can they handle stressful situations?

Who, if anyone, would they trust with their deepest secrets?

Do they plan in advance or just wing it?

Would they lie to get out of trouble?

Would they lie to get someone else out of trouble? Even if they would have to take that someone else's place?

How likely are they to go on a quest for revenge?

Do they have trouble keeping their enemies and their friends straight?

What is your favorite thing about them?

I love these so I figured I'd make one of my own! Just be sure that if you reblog this ask one or two of these to the person you reblogged from (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

[curtins]

GREEDY — gojo satoru minors dni

prologue. → pretty, prodigal, and teasing. how far can you push your former teacher before he snaps? gojo's about this 🤏 close from releasing a hollow purple on the world.

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. màstúrbation (m.) and rough sèx, creaḿpie. some angst/doubt. angsty love confession before gojo póunds reader into the mattress. incorrect use of reversed curse technique. arguments and stuff. description of injuries. def mean!gojo a bit and he's got vampire tendencies.

reader is of legal age (implied to be 19-20) and gojo is 28 so age gap!romance. obsessed!gojo and popular girl!reader trope. gojo is absolutely a mess in this, and reader is described as wearing short skirts, and wearing makeup.

rather questionable ethics and dynamics (teacher/former student) but rest assured its clear that his feelings are pretty recent. reader has him twirled and whipped around her fingers. reader is also def a baddie and ambiguously bi.

word count. 8.7k words im mad actually. this was meant to be headcanons song inspiration. greedy — tate mcrae

a/n. this is was gonna be from reader's pov but i thought it would be more fun from gojo's 🙂‍↔️

mp3. i see you eyeing me down, but you'll never know much past my name. or how i'm running this room, but i'm still half your age. yeah, you're looking at me like i'm some sweet escape 😛

gojo satoru was not a weak man, no. he knew that he was an anomaly of nature, an unstoppable power that could reduce enemies to dust and make entire clans crumble with nothing more than a flick of his wrists.

so how was it, that when it came to you, his resolve was paper-thin?

every time your open gaze met his, every time you brushed past him, every time your presence filled the space around his infinity, gojo felt something inside him unravel. his breath would be caught in his chest, leaving his pulse to quicken and suddenly, all that strength and control would slip through his fingers.

gojo cursed himself for this, you see. he had never been one to lose control, but he was not quite sure when his entire body has started to betray him.

but no, fuck that, and he did his utter best to run his focus back onto the lesson at hand. unfortunately, the lesson at hand was with you. standing in front of him, arms slightly raised, palms out, and raising your brow as boredom passed over your face.

gojo cleared his throat, "your stance is good, but your cursed energy is all over the place. focus, breathe. centre yourself is what i'm saying," he instructed, but the words felt hollow as they passed through his lips.

unfairly, you're weren't the problem. he was. and now this was getting ridiculous. you had graduated not two, three years past? it would have been a disservice to still call you his student, but even as a mentee, you were still under his tutelage. and as recent as this immature infatuation was, this felt wrong.

but now you were frowning, starting to waver and the sharp, staccato tap of your heeled boot punctuated the wooden floor, click, click!

gojo looked to the sky, briefly, if to pray for patience and a calm of some sorts. he stepped forwards towards you, placing a hand on your waist to guide you into a better stance, and trying to ignore the way your skin felt warm underneath his fingers.

focus.

"don't let your body twist like that when you utilise your own cursed energy. keep it straight, balanced," he muttered, adjusting your posture slightly, hand on your spine — the heel of his palm pressing into a dent. a deity from the sky must have struck him with a cursed arrow, for his whole body was on fire.

because there you were, standing right in front of him, so close that gojo could feel the soft heat of your breath, the faint scent of a sweet perfume wafting off your skin, vanilla?

"you're not focused," gojo grimaced, though he wasn't sure if the rebuke was at himself, or at you — whose eyes widened briefly, and gojo tried not to recognise the curiosity and challenge that flashed across your face.

look at how she's staring at me. and gojo felt utterly ridiculous, and exposed, she knows. but instead of pulling away, you shifted ever so slightly towards him, your body arching as the barest brush of your breasts against his forearm had heat pulling through his body.

would you taste as sweet as you smelt? would you lean more into him if he asked?

he cleared his throat, "okay. relax, not every stance or position works for an individual. perhaps, you'll be able to focus better like this," and with his hand still on your waist, he pulled you into a swift spin. one that left your back pressed against the hard planes of the chest, and you facing the other wall.

you hummed, this time not in the way he wanted. your lips were lightly parted, and there was that soft sheen of gloss catching the light, making your lips look impossibly soft. gojo caught himself staring, wandering what it would be like to press his own mouth to yours, and whether you would squeal or moan.

still, if there was anything that gojo was good at, it was deflecting like a champ, "i think you're distracted," he laughed, low and amused, "is something making you lose focus?"

you tilted your head, and gojo didn't miss (nor did his heart or groin) that your gaze flickered to his mouth for the briefest second before meeting his eyes again, feigning innocence, "don't tell me you're underestimating me, sensei. because i'd hate to think you can't keep up?"

gojo bit back a grin at the obvious bait, "careful," brushing strands of white hair that had fallen into his face away, "if you get too cocky, you tend to miss danger. you start to ignore things that should be noticed."

your voice dropped to a droll whisper, eyes glinting, "you think i don't notice things? i'm aware of plenty."

gojo forced himself to focus, to ignore the way that your lashes flutter with unshakable composure. trying to regain control, or some semblance of mind, he started counting each individual lash painted dark with mascara, lingering on the outermost curls that framed your sharp eyes.

after a beat, he forced himself to break eye contact, "alright," he said, stepping back with a casual shrug that he hoped conveyed just how nonchalant he was, "we’ll call it a day here and continue training tomorrow."

"backing out already?" you teased, leaning in just a little, making him tense at the closeness.

gojo chuckled, feigning nonchalance. "for your sake. you may be powerful, but you have to pace yourself."

you shrugged, nodding, "i'm going out anyway this evening," you said, hopping back a step before bending down to gather your things. gojo politely averted his gaze, his heart hammering from your previous proximity, and desperately hoping to avoid a...reaction, that would be quite inconvenient, as wide and loose as his martial pants were. like a fuckin' school boy with a crush. gross.

but as you slung your pastel bag over your shoulder and straightened up, he couldn't help a quick glance, catching the small, coy glimmer in your eyes as you turned to leave.

gojo sighed, pulling up his blindfold once more, "have fun," he half-heartedly offered, but you were already out the door.

the corridors were now empty, the clang of metal and chatter now silent, replaced with a quiet hum of the air conditioning. gojo wiped his face with the towel wrapped around his neck, the damp fabric clinging to his skin and the muscles in his arms and chest still warm from the intensity of training. his arms and chest glistened, the muscles warm and taut as he stretched, rolling his shoulders back with a low groan. exhaustion settled into him like a weight, each movement of his tired, bare torso slow and deliberate.

"oh, you're still here, sensei?"

gojo's eyes snapped open, drawn to the sound of your inquisitive voice. you stood in the doorway, framed by the dim light from the hallway, and he immediately felt a rush of heat flood his chest.

well, fuck, now his mouth was dry. clearly, your previous iteration of 'going out' was a bit more glamorous than you had led on, and he was certain his wandering eyes betrayed him as it flickered over your figure. it took a titan's strength to keep his eyes from trailing down your long legs, the way your dress hugged the swell of your chest, or over your glistening neck. there was a faint shimmer, a glitter of some sort? it coated your skin, and gojo wanted to lick it off with his tongue.

what? no. who said that?

he swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his composure.

you scowled at his reaction, clearly mistaking his silence for distaste. "what? i did say i was going somewhere," you retorted, your tone sharp but amused. "i’m more than allowed to leave the campus grounds.”

"of course,” he replied, voice outstandingly steady but his mind still trailing after every curve, every detail that made you look...well...dangerous in the best way, "don't let me stop you. who's the lucky guy?"

you arched a brow, folding your arms over your chest, and now, gojo really did have to look away and pretend that he was busy with retying a dark piece of cloth over his eyes, "who said it was a guy?"

gojo thickly swallowed, wondering if he'd just made a colossal blunder with no return, "that's not what i meant." the words 'my bad' stuck in his throat as you laughed and sighed.

"joking, sorry. it's a guy, this time." now you were fiddling with your long nails, with a satisfying clack as they ran across each other.

"i hope he shows you a great time then," he offered, half-hearted, blasé.

you took a step into the room, and gojo didn't even need six eyes to know that your eyes were raking over his chest, "i'm sure he will," all sweetness and sugar, "i've been training so hard, i deserve it, don't i?"

the words hit him harder than he expected, and he had to remind himself — she's not yours, satoru. but that didn't stop the gruff irritation bubbling up.

"a real man should be taking you out on a date like this,” he said, his voice a bit too rough for his liking. "not some guy who’s probably just looking for a good time."

you scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes. "are you saying that there's someone else out there who can do a better job?" your tone was playful, but there was a challenge in it — an edge that made his heart skip once more, "sadly, there just aren't many who've handled me well."

he ignored your immature, faux pout, and ran a hand through damp, icy hair — ignoring how his temper flared, rearing its ugly head.

was this all on purpose? to toy with him?

"you want to be handled, sweetheart?" gojo's voice dropped a little lower, indulging your teasing, "i've seen you lose focus easily, you could easily break."

your lips creased up, painted a tempting shade of dried-blood red (what the fuck was wrong with him? was he now just a horny vampire?) as you purred, "i'd need some help testing out that theory." your expression was open just enough for him to see the tiniest flicker of something in your eyes — something that told him you were enjoying this far more than you should.

an invitation of sorts, he wondered. did you want him to move? to make a move? it wasn’t a secret that you had always been a popular student practically a legend, rumours swirling around you like wildfire — whispers of broken hearts and sweetened smiles that could captivate anyone in your path. he had never paid attention of course, gossip always ran wild among students and he discouraged such whispers of who-did-what, for a grade 1 curse would never indulge such behaviour before they would get torn to shreds.

and even now, long after graduation as you worked around your old alma mater, men and women — everyone swooned at the chance to speak with you, and yet, here you were, playing this dangerous game with him.

gojo scowled, trying to push past the desire building inside him, the urge to have you underneath him, right on this mat in the training room. "well, don’t hang around too long," he said, his tone sharp as a blade. "i’m sure your date is waiting. go have a good time."

invitation declined. the morally right thing to do. right?

he didn’t need to look to see the small sneer that curled at the corner of your lips, or the way it turned into a fleeting expression of annoyance. he could hear the click of your heels echo down the hallway as you sashayed out.

what the everlasting fuck was wrong with him?

lo and behold, the great gojo satoru often found himself alone in his own private rooms. for 'the strongest' rarely had time to accommodate some other forms of company.

and frankly, he had no desire to do so now regardless. not when the echoes of your clicking heels still reverberated in his mind. the silence that echoed around him was heavy, suffocating and he was sure he looked erratic.

gojo ran a hand over his face, trying to shake the thought of you. but it was useless. his body was still on fire, the heat of jealousy smouldering in his chest, coiling in his gut like something alive, something dangerous. he had walked to the nearest chair and collapsed into it, his legs splayed wide apart as his shoulders slumped under the soft, amber glow of the setting sun that streamed through the windows. the sorcerer let his head fall back against the chair, eyes closed.

how absolutely ridiculous, he thought, running his fingers through his tousled hair. no, he just couldn't stop it. couldn't stop thinking about how badly he wanted you. wanted you to want him too. and now, with the way you’d left, with that knowing smile on your lips, all he could imagine was the man you were with now, the man who’d be holding the door open for you, who’d be pulling out your chair, whoever the hell he was.

maybe even a casual, non-sorcerer. some random guy that you had indulged because he was no threat. but he wouldn't be able to touch you, not in the way that you demanded. the man would laugh at your jokes, brush his hand against yours, but wouldn't be able to let a real smile bubble from your lips like satoru could.

and what would that man do next?

would he try to take you back to his place? some small poorly-lit apartment where he'd try to kiss you, to claim your lips without even pulling away for air. would you kiss him back, curling into his frame?

before gojo's even registered what he's doing, his own hand has found his hard cock. despite the tattle of assistance, and dreamy-eyed mongers, pleasure is rare for him. relief, even less so. his schedule just doesn't allow it, and so he oft find himself chasing some distant contentment like this, alone in his rooms.

but he squeezes at the wide hilt, at his base, pulling his hands up, upwards as his brows furrow under blindfold, and he tugs the offending fabric off, away from him, as laden balls smack against his wrist.

maybe the man would then trail his lips down your neck, maybe he'd try to slowly sink his teeth into delicate flesh, leaving blooming purple marks that wouldn't fade, not when gojo saw you tomorrow.

he's running his curled hand up towards the fat mushroom tip, almost glowing pink with heat and pre-cum that's leaving his hand slicked with faint moisture, "shit, that's it."

then what? he can imagine your teasing smile as you decide to take your pleasure as you see fit. how you'd suddenly push this faceless man off, and move so you're straddling him, letting his hands wander around the curve of your hips, digging into plush flesh.

now he's starting to pant, open-mouthed, "ah - fuck! wish i had you here, right here." gojo must be a madman, breathing out to the empty, open air.

but in his mind's eye, you're reaching behind your back to undo the zipper on your outstandingly tight dress, giving the faceless man a coy smile as you push the fabric of your dress down, letting your plentiful tits spill out and against the man's chest.

his wrist is moving faster now, and there's a cramp starting to build up as he pistons his hand over his stretched shaft, and one arm is thrown over his face — the soft hairs on his thick forearm tickling his face as he tries not to gasp or whine too loudly, but he's bucking his ups now, pretending that it's not his hand that he's spilling into, but your tight cunt. and later, he shudders and tenses up, with apologies whispered into the air, "look, look - shit, i'm sorry - i'm sorry. couldn't help it, fuck." and gojo's bitten his lips so hard that he's certain he's drawn blood, vibrant red blooming on pale, creamy skin.

and a lamp had exploded as he came. damn, he'd have to replace that.

you don't deserve someone like him, no. not when he's sitting here, absolutely filthy with thick, white seed entirely over his tense abdominal muscles and stiff hand. not when he's trying to catch his breath after imagining how snug your pussy would feel around him, and how you'd beg for him to give it to you harder.

you didn't deserve someone so messed up with guilt, with mistakes, with the kind of weight that made him too much for anyone, let alone someone like you. didn't you deserve better than a tortured man who couldn't control himself, better than an overzealous mentor who was supposed to keep his distance, to do what was right.

but that didn’t stop his thoughts from swirling, as he separated damp, thick thighs from the smooth surface of the chair, reaching for a tissue. he couldn’t help it. and it made him feel like a damn fool.

the meeting room buzzed with tension, voices rising in sharp, clipped exchanges — some angry, some demanding and others clueless and questioning. gojo had woken up in a foul mood that morning, with some ill-gotten storm brewing beneath his chest. perhaps it was the thoughts of you that lingered from the night before, a gnawing jealously that left him feeling too tight in the stiffness of the uniform dress pants.

but he had forced himself to be dragged through this meeting, plastering a snarky light-hearted grin over his face as he leaned against the wall, letting the higher-ups argue themselves into oblivion.

amidst the storm of words, gojo's focus was nowhere near the mission being discussed. no, his attention was fixated entirely on you. you stood at the far end of the table, eyes flashing with ire as you tore into some pompous old fool who’d dared question your power. the others in the room shifted uncomfortably, deferring to you, as they often did, despite your youth. you had that rare combination of presence and bite that made people recoil back when you sunk your teeth into them, and this was not a knot gojo was interested in unraveling.

kojiro, one of the bumbling administrators, had turned his babbling attention to gojo, "you're still planning to face that curse head-on, gojo-san?" the poor man is wringing his hands at gojo's flat look (made all the more unreadable through a blindfold, satoru would wager), "don't you think it would be well - unwise? instead of expending your time and energy on one cursed spirit, you could handle five lesser ones. efficiency, you see."

gojo's gaze briefly flickers back to you, standing with your arms crossed as one hand fiddles with the end of your braid as your petal-pink lips scowl at some other official with words that don't fit his stature. your other hands keeps reaching around your neck, adjusting a plaid scarf over and over, like you're desparate to hide something under the fabric . well, fuck that.

"i'm aware of the risks," gojo turns his attention back to the matter, "but no one here has time for hesitation. if the curse is special grade, don't you at least think that delaying with lead to more destruction?"

"is it really the cursed spirit you’re worried about, takumi-san?" you asked, your voice low, the kind of voice that could make someone forget their own name.

gojo's gaze snapped to you from under the blindfold, but you weren’t looking at him, not even speaking at him. instead, you were locking eyes with one of the other sorcerers — takumi, a grade two with a shaggy mop of golden hair, one who had been a student alongside you and hardly subtle in his admiration for you.

gojo tries to hide a scoff at how takumi's eyes are wandering over you, ignoring the newpapers that have been flattened on the meeting table, with bold inked letters reading doom-portents such as 'unexplained explosion, 4 dead and 12 injured."

time and place, man.

"you don't think i can handle this mission. if you're worried about me, just say so," takumi's now leaning into you, even as gojo tries to train his ear on kojiro's economic-obsessed babble instead.

gojo can see your eyes flicker to the dastardly newspapers as well, clearly curling your lips at the dour news and takami's disastrous attempt at getting his hands under your skirt. but he also knows that sharp glint in your eyes, the one when you toy with those around you, to pull them in without ever committing to anything. clearly, you've decided to indulge this game.

"takumi," and you draw out the younger man's name, "shouldn't you bring more strength to the table? of course, i'm worried about a friend getting hurt. but even if you were stronger, or the strongest, a special grade curse could do some real damage."

and your eyes have flicked right towards gojo, raking over his frame leaning against the pale cream walls. he's glad for the blindfold, so you can't see how he scowls and furrows his thin brows at you, at your blatant hopes for a reaction from him. were you so unobservant that you did not know how much you bothered him?

the pointed sharpness in your words made takumi pause, and for just a moment, gojo could see the man’s grin falter. it was clear that you weren’t impressed by his attention, you had no need for his slimy attempts.

there was no mistake about it — this wasn’t just a flirtation. this was a game you played, and gojo was not only aware of it; he was caught in it. he tries not to feel irrationally angry, fuck, so much of his life revolves around his work, his job and now he can't even do that properly without feeling like you're using your long nails to dangle something in front of him, wanting to snap his teeth out and snatch it.

so you wanted him to see this. you wanted to claim that you could unravel the strongest sorcerer from the heavens to the earth below, to make him lose his composure. gojo feels as if there is crackling ozone in the air, and wonders dimly if the weather forecast predicted a rain storm for later today.

takumi, sensing the shift, finally backed off with a huff, but not before giving all around him a lingering look, as if it was their fault that you weren't interested.

"enough distractions," kojiro's interjected, raking a finger through a beard streaked with gray, and he's shooting a pointed look at you, snapping rose-pink gum, and takumi, shuffling with his hands in his pockets. "we're here to discuss the mission, not flirt." and then, he's off mumbling something about how this was why he hated having younger sorcerers join the meeting rooms.

his ire only grew. gojo stood with his back against the wall, outside the meeting room, once everyone had left with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. you stood in front of him, your eyes flashing with anger, your chest rising and falling with each sharp breath.

"absolutely not," gojo stood his ground firmly, "no-one will let you go on this mission."

you stomped on the floor, once as your heels snapped an echo, "they will if you say so."

gojo stuffs his hands in his pockets, "who said that i would also allow you?"

you scoffed, folding your arms across your chest, mimicking his previous stance but with a clear defiance in your posture. "and why the hell not? i'm more than capable of handling it. it's my fucking choice, and how can extra help hurt?"

"enough!" gojo snapped, feeling a tense pain in between his eyes, "it's too dangerous. and you're too young -"

"too young!" you've interrupted him, "i'm not some helpless child, sensei. i'm a grade 1 sorcerer! one of the best, i don't need to be treated like i can't handle a mission."

"grade 1. not special-grade."

his eyes narrowed, his jaw tight. gojo could see the fury in your eyes, but there was something else there, something deeper, a vulnerability that he had seen before in students, some desire to prove themselves and be heaped with praise. he knew you were good, better than most — hell, better than many of the adults he’d seen. but this cursed spirit was unlike anything you’d faced before. and yet, here you were, challenging him, pushing him, daring him to stop you.

"you don’t get it," he muttered, the words slipping from his mouth before he could stop them. "you think you’re invincible, but you’re not. you're too reckless."

"reckless!" now you had taken a step towards him, narrowing the space between you both. your eyes were fierce now, but there was something else in them — a spark of hurt that made his chest tighten, and gojo began to wander where this would start spiral. "i’m not reckless. i know exactly what i’m doing. the only reckless thing here is you thinking you have the right to control my every move."

"i'm the one in charge here," he said, his voice hoarse, the words coming out sharper than he intended. "and i'm telling you now, you’re not going. you’re not ready for this. don't involve the higher-ups in this."

you were so close now, just inches apart. his eyes flicked to your lips, with the arch of a blooming flower kissed by the sun, for a brief moment, and then back up to your face, where anger and frustration mixed with something else — a challenge.

"maybe that’s the problem," you said, your voice quieter now, but still holding an edge. "you think i'm still some child who needs you to tell me what to do. maybe you just don’t want me to outshine you."

the words are ridiculous, and he can see by the mild quiver as your throat bobs that you don't mean what you say. it takes a rare type of courage to tell the first person in four hundred years to be born with limitless and six eyes, that he could be outshined. but satoru doesn't say a word to rebuke your obvious and false bait.

your body is so close now that gojo could feel the heat of your skin, your breath brushing against his. he could smell the faint sweetness of vanilla again in the air mingled with fresh, crisp apples, could see the subtle shine of your lip gloss catching the light. it was a testament to his spirit, he thinks, that he did not lean in straight away and touch his mouth to yours in this scenario that certainly did not warrant it.

"you want me to stop you that badly?" he hissed, his voice a mix of frustration and something darker, that had not yet snapped. "is that what this is? a game? a way for you to get my attention? to see how far you can push me before i do snap?"

now he's got your tongue, and your expression has flickered for a brief moment before schooling into an impassive mask, and gojo briefly wanders if he's crossed an awful line and misinterpreted everything. if they're gonna stick a white dunce hat on his head and parade him through the streets of outer tokyo for being an assuming fool.

but then you've stepped even closer, your breath coming faster, the weight of your chest almost pressed against his, and gojo doesn't move and he's briefly aware that he's let his infinity down.

"partly, you know it's not just about you though. i do want to go on this mission, but -" you tilt your head and look right up at him, and the older man's head starts to reel from the fact that he was right all along, "i do want to see how far you can go before you snap."

his heart pounded, and for a moment, everything went still. all the tension, all the heat, the anger, and the desire — everything seemed to converge in the space between you. gojo's hand twitched, aching to touch you, but he held himself back, his muscles straining with the effort.

"stop,” he rasped, barely able to get the word out. "you don’t know what you’re doing, or what you're asking for."

he's never felt quite like this before, breathless as if the air has been punched out of his lungs. all gojo could think was how much he wanted to pull you closer, to kiss you until there was nothing left between you.

but he couldn’t.

he puts his hands on your shoulders, fingers digging into the expensive fabric of your top, and gently pushes you away.

"my decision is final. don't make this harder than this, you're forbidden from the mission."

how sick and twisted, that you've fled with embarrassed tears pricking at your eyes, and he's stuck with a raging erection.

well, he had seen worse. but it didn't make this curse any less vicious. it was ancient, he could presume, and maddening. its cursed energy was warping the night air like a violent storm. but again, not the worst thing that he had encountered in his twenty-eight years, and with the right timing, he'd been able to calculate every strike and counter.

but then he saw you.

at first, he thought it was a blur — a trick of the light. but then, there you were, standing at the edge of the pavement, your figure framed by the chaotic crackle of cursed energy. fuck your stubborn nature.

this is not what is meant to happen. gojo's heart has skipped a beat, and he's not sure what he's more furious with. you, for defying his concern for your safety. or himself, for getting so distracted in. a battle.

"what the fuck is wrong with you?"

yes, he knows you're good. good enough to move with precision against a special-grade curse, your stance instantly and suspiciously better than the other day in the training rooms. it's only through his six eyes that gojo has been able to keep a track of your movements as your jujutsu is able to dodge the creature's brutal force.

impressive. but reckless.

and that never lasts.

you had moved to cast your own cursed technique, but the curse was intelligent enough to anticipate it. with a sudden lash of its tail, the creature swung its power straight at you, knocking you off balance. you stumbled, your footing lost, and before you could react, a flash of dark energy slicing across your shoulder.

a scream had torn from your lips as you fell to the ground, blood spurting from the deep cut.

and briefly, just for a flicker of time, gojo sees a dark-haired man in violet robes leaning against a brick wall, with his shoulder torn off, 'at least curse me one last time.'

blood rushing in his ears, before he even realised it, he was on top of you, his body hovering over yours, his jujutsu flaring as he shoved the cursed spirit back with a brutal force that made the earth tremble, an exorcism that will not take long. he kneeled beside you, his breath ragged, eyes locked on the wound on your shoulder. the blood was already soaking your clothes, darkening the fabric as you winced, your breath shallow and unsteady.

"you —” gojo isn't sure if his hand isn't shaking from how irate he is, "what the hell were you thinking? fuck, don't move."

your eyes were unfocused for a moment, but when they snapped to him, there was defiance there — even in this moment (get a grip!), as you gritted your teeth against the pain.

"save it, it's fine," you spat, your voice weak but vexed, "that bitch is still there."

"what did i tell you! what did i say would happen?" he cursed under his breath, focusing his reversed cursed technique as he tried to heal you, but the moment felt like an eternity as bright red blood moved too fast for him to seize it.

an assassin's blade in his throat, his arteries giving way and bubbling out and up.

now you don't answer, your eyes fluttering closed for a brief second. gojo's gaze darted to the cursed spirit, which was now advancing again, enraged by the interruption.

it won’t touch you again.

he stood, pulling you away from him, your body slumping slightly out of his arms. he could feel the heat of your blood soaking through his sleeve, but he had no time to dwell on it. the curse roared in fury, and gojo's infinity flared up around him again, a shield of pure energy blocking its path.

"stay down,” he growled, and all he received was a weak, "fuck, you think that's funny?"

it's only later when he's pulling you back up, that he realises that his reversed cursed energy has done enough to stem the bleeding, but not enough to leave you unharmed as your breath is shallow, your face taking on a more sickly pallor.

"don’t you ever — ever —do that again," he snarled, his voice raw and he wonders when something (or someone) has ever undone him so much. but the anger in his voice doesn't carry to his touch as he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek, tracing the lines of your jaw.

the sterile walls of your room did nothing to soften the tension in gojo's chest as he stood by your bed, his eyes tracing the curve of your sullen form beneath the sheets. your shoulder was bandaged, with red seeping slowly through the white strips.

"you really are unbelievable," he snapped, his voice sharp as he paced around the room, every step heavy with frustration. "i told you it was too dangerous. i told you not to fucking go."

you lay there, your eyes half-closed, as though you weren’t even listening, but the twitching frown on your lips is sign enough that you're not as sorry. his fingers flexed at his sides, itching to do something — anything — to release the tension building in him.

"are you even listening to me?" he know he sounds bitter, over-reactionary, angry as he moved towards the edge of your bed.

you blinked slowly, your gaze still infuriatingly calm, "i'm fine, now. save the lecture."

he doesn't want to start sputtering so he settles for crossing his arms over his chest, but your voice breaks the silence again.

"you know i want to be a special grade sorcerer, right?"

gojo only looks down, not wanting to indulge an excuse and he studies the tight grip of his knuckles on his slender fingers, "well, i don't know why. the pay isn't that good." it's a weak attempt at a joke, but you're smiling.

"i was told i could only become one if i was the one to exorcise that special grade."

"by who? the higher-ups?" and you nod, wincing as you do.

what a fucking surprise. the way that the jujutsu world works is no surprise to gojo by now, having been surrounded by it his entire life. but the harshness of their reality still shocks him, old and doddering officials who cling to their silk robes are prone to sending out younger sorcerers (those who are still green, barely out of school) to do their dirty work for them, and the cemetery outside of jujutsu tech is ever growing.

he ground his teeth together, his chest tightening as he stared down at you. the bandages, the damp skin, the stillness of your body — it made him want to tear something apart. "fine! if they were giving you a hard time, why didn't you just come to me then?" he repeated harshly.

"would you go ask someone to help you, for something like this? if you were asked to prove yourself?"

gojo runs his tongue behind his teeth, "i'm the strongest, princess. i don't need to ask for help."

you groan, turning your head away from him, but a faint smile dances upon your lips.

he inhales sharply, his fingers digging into the edge of the bed. "you think this is a joke?"

"all four limbs are attached and i'm living and breathing. okay, so fine. my bad. i won't do it again. will you stop snapping at me now, at everything -" and gojo wonders if there's really some hurt colouring your voice, "what's going on?"

the words slip out, rough and unrestrained. "what’s going on is that you’re driving me insane. you act like this doesn’t matter, like i can just stand by and let you throw yourself into danger like it’s nothing — like you don’t matter — but you do. you do matter."

his chest was heaving now, his hands shaking as he reached out and grabbed your wrist. his thumb brushed over your pulse, the tiny fluttering beneath your skin driving him wild. "i can’t — i can’t just stand there and watch you get hurt," he continued, his voice hoarse. "you don’t get to do whatever you want without consequences, damn it. you don’t get to make me feel this way, and then pretend like it doesn’t matter."

for a moment, there was silence. gojo's pulse was hammering in his ears, his body coiled with the intensity of everything he was trying to say. everything he was trying not to say. everything he wanted to act upon.

and then, with a slow, almost lazy smile, you turned towards him, "i didn't know the great gojo satoru was like this. who would have thought?"

his breath hitched in his throat. gojo wanted to say something, to snap at you again, to maintain that distance — but the truth was that the distance between the two of you had disappeared these past few weeks. his chest tightened, his hands trembling as they slid to your face, fingers tracing the line of your jaw, and he relished how your facade almost cracked and you lightly shivered.

at least, he hoped you were shivering because of his touch. and not, like, a fever building up from your injuries.

fuck it.

and then, before he could stop himself, gojo was leaning down, his lips crashing into yours with all the force he could muster, desparate and hungry and that frustration and fear that he had been holding onto. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you towards him with a force that made your breath catch, as you responded with a soft gasp.

had he misstepped? no, for you kissed him back, tentatively at first, as if you were testing the waters, but then building up to a sudden urgency that mirrored his own. your hands slid to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pushed yourself closer to him, before crying out.

"ah! fuck, my shoulder."

small beads of blood surfaced where your collarbone met your shoulder, each one glistening like tiny rubies against your warm skin. they gathered slowly, delicate droplets that clung to you before tracing faint, uneven lines downward. the red stood out, vivid and fresh, dotting your skin in a stark, almost mesmorising gojo as they welled up and began to trick in thin, crimson trails.

"stay still," gojo rasped, his voice low and rough as he leaned in, pressing closer. his mouth met the fresh blood pooling on your skin, tongue tracing over the small rivulets that had seeped from beneath the bandage.

he lingered, almost savouring the taste, his eyes darkening as the sharp tang of iron lingered on his tongue, smacking his lips slightly as he drew back, gaze fixed intently on you, on your heavy breathing as he stole away another kiss from you.

gojo's lips left yours briefly, his breath ragged as he stared down at you, his eyes wild underneath the blindfold, gasping as your nails reached up to hook the fabric down so his hair loosened, falling around his face.

you were staring back at him, breathless and wide-eyed, and in that moment, gojo knew — he couldn’t stay away from you. no matter how much he tried.

your lips were soft, so soft, but there was fire behind the way you kissed him back, your hands landing on his chest, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. he groaned, deep in his throat, and his fingers threaded into your hair, pulling you closer.

his mouth moved urgently over yours as he shifted to stand beside the bed, his body hovering over you, every muscle tense, straining with the desire that he had tried so hard to ignore. gojo just couldn't think about anything else.

and your lips broke apart only briefly, and you let out a soft laugh, that damn, dangerous laugh of yours. "you're greedy, you know that."

his chest heaved, and his heart pounded in his ears, and blood was now pounding to his nether regions. he wasn’t sure if it was the previous anger or the ache between his ribs, but he couldn’t stop himself as he threaded his fingers through your soft hair, "i am greedy. greedy for you. only you - mmph! shit!"

you had run your long, painted nails (with the little painted charms on the end) down his neck before pressing them, hard enough to cause a sharp sting.

"you wanted to put me through hell," he whispered harshly, and his lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, "until i realised i liked it. until i realised i wanted you, all of you."

his hands moved down to your waist, squeezing gently as his lips found the tender spot beneath your ear, trailing kisses there, letting his teeth sink in, to see small bruises appear. gojo's breath was ragged as he fought to keep control, and something deeper inside of him roared with the need to claim you completely.

"you’re mine," he growled against your skin, the words hot and possessive. "i don't care what happens. you’re mine now."

you tilted your head, still smiling, but this time there was something different in your eyes — something that burned with the same intensity. "if i'm yours, what are you going to do about it? hmm, satoru?"

and that final thread, that last remnant of honour that he had been nurturing and holding onto, snapped.

"is this what you want, princess?" he draws out the nickname, letting it roll off his tongue, as you suddenly inhale sharply. his hands are all over you now, large hands exploring and kneading at your torso, and before he can even let you blink, they're under your top.

he's pressing his hot mouth to your sternum, wet and open-mouthed, and he wonders what sort of effect you have on him. what force in the world leave him panting like this, desparate as his hands find their way behind your back, to unclip whatever's holding your tits in place — just so he can reach back and run his palms over your hard nipples, flicking them and rolling them in between his fingers.

and faintly, in the back of his mind, he's aware that his reversed cursed technique must be working overtime, because suddenly you're rolling forward into him with no care in the world for your previously injured shoulder, as your own hands trail down the front of body, right over his bulge.

but he slaps your hand away, pressing you flat against the mattress, "fuck, not yet. you think i'm just going to let you get away with all this," and as you mewl a soft yes, followed by a please, he rolls his eyes, "wait. behave and i'll give you what you want."

and then, softer, "need to make sure you're ready first."

his arms are caging both sides of your head, and he's got one hand on the headboard (although, you will marvel at the burnt imprint that he's left, later) and the other is tearing your top off, just so he can lean down and let his canines press into the soft fat of your chest, so he can slip a pointed nipple into his mouth and tug it, ever so gently.

but gojo needs to continue lower, and his hand squeezes at the waistband of your short skirt, snapping the elastic twice as you heave your bare chest, "please, please, satoru!"

it's heaven down here for him, and gojo's dizzy at how outstandingly wet you are, with just a single swipe of his fingers in the soft, damp fabric of your underwear.

your clear, sticky arousal clung to his fingers, stretching in thin, glistening threads as he spread your thighs apart, knocking your knees to either side so he could slot himself in between them. your slick shimmered slightly under the light, translucent and tacky and he just couldn't help himself, bringing them up to his mouth to slowly taste.

"shit, princess. you taste so good, can't believe this is what i've been missing out on."

he's playing an instrument, he thinks. gliding his fingers along sodden folds, twirling his index finger past a thick wad of skin and pressing right over your clit in hot, tight circles that have you bucking your hips, "hnngh, right - ah, right there 'toru!"

'toru.

as a reward, he plunges his middle finger straight into your gaping heat, your tight wall of ringed muscles that had been fluttering in light pulses for his attention. fuck, he almost reaches his own climax by feeling how you squirm and writhe, moan and mewl as he starts pushing his finger in, and then out.

in, and then out. in, once more. and out, again. and then, another finger.

his fingers sank into your soft, damp pussy — which yielded easily enough with a soft pssh! as the digits pressed in. gojo pulled his hand back out from your thighs, enjoying the tight resistance and suction as your cunt has resisted being empty once more, leaving a cool moistness on his skin.

but now your hands gently cup his face, and he isn't sure how to not crumble with how you look at him, eyes wide and glossy, "wan' more, want your cock, 'toru."

now, gojo feels as though he's truly ascended, gone onto some higher plane of existence. because how can he resist when your hands are weakly pawing at his belt, at his waistband and he's letting you pull his thick shaft out.

it's hot, and already weeping angry tears of pre-cum, and he just loves how your eyes widen at the sheer size and girth.

"yeah, princess was sooo brave earlier, wasn't she? wanted my cock, ah! shit - did she?" and he's letting the wide tip lay heavy against your clit, knocking it once, and then twice, through your heavenly folds.

you've reached a leg up, and around his waist, pulling him closer and gojo has to pierce his lip with his teeth to not let out a gutteral groan from his cock sliding through the your folds, "i don't - don't care, i really don't fucking care if it's too big. just put it in now, m' so wet, i'm wet enough."

your babble is endearing, and he marvels at how easily he has you cock-drunk without even being in you right now. he jostles further, until the tip is right at your flittering entrance, pressing forward and slipping through the heated, slick gummy texture in a way that has the strongest's head spinning.

"easy, princess. oh fuck, you're too tight. way too tight, i'm gonna -" and gojo inhales, steadying himself, as the wet heat enveloped him as he moved, each slide through the soft walls of your pussy leaving him acutely aware of every inch, the warmth coating him further until your slick was dampening the white, stray hairs of his groin.

he pulls your lips close again, one hand coming up to gently cradle your head, and his fingers weaving slowly through your hair.

"you're so deep in me, 'toru! so - hnngh," and your words are cut off by a staccato thrust of his hips, and your teeth clack around a moan that gojo gladly swallows.

"hey, i'm right here. i've got you, yeah? got you so good, just hold onto me."

and he keeps a steady pace, plunging into molten silk, with a sensation so intense and so enveloping that it left him breathless, with a rush of heat that made his head spin.

he's toying with your tits, pressing his face into the shadow that lies between your mounds, and gojo's certain that he could die a happy man like this, exactly like this.

he realises that the faint laugh is coming from him, so distant is he in his pussy-drunk reverie, that he realises he must look and sound like a madman, "pretty pussy is so tight, so fucking tight. haah, i think i'm gonna have to fill you up, gorgeous?" and he must be blathering, "want me to fill you up? shit- want me to stuff... ah! stuff you so full of cum that we just hafta stay in this bed all day then?"

he had his fingers now moving in circles over your throbbing clit, exerting a gentle pressure that had you so beautifully keening and bucking your hips up, jolting right into his pelvis. and gojo bit back as a groan as his heavy balls started to smack, and smack! over and over again, right onto your dampened skin.

"she must be close right, pretty little pussy must be almost tired now," and gojo's now slapping your clit, lifting three fingers up and bringing them down with enough force to not harm you, but make you jolt, "she. must. be. so. close." and each word is punctuated by the slippery spank of his fingers bouncing right off your mound.

"makes me want to have you - you and her," and gojo's revelling in the slick of your pussy, now throwing his head back without shame.

and when your walls start to flutter, when you start writhing in his grasp, pressed right against his chest with your legs knocked back as far as they reach on other side of his broad frame, he feels himself unravel. feels the rhythmic quake of your tight cunt literally milk him dry, letting pools of thick, white seed plug within you, and he almost shakes and tears up himself, at the idea of claiming you like this.

later, he has you resting against his chest and the knot in his chest, that nasty plague that sent him afoul has disappeared, and gojo feels as though he's about to start purring, from the feeling of your nails trailing little shapes over his skin (little hearts, perhaps?) and how soft your hair feels under his own hands. he can't resist himself from pressing his lips softly to your forehead, "happy?"

you laugh, a genuine, soft sound that erupts from your chest as you press your bare body into him, "you have no idea."

[allpiesforourown]

I need sy to go ape shit!! And this goes for all of his interactions: sy!sqq or disciple!sy or npc!sy. I need him to stop caring about his decorum and let out his inner gremlin. I need him to fight dirty. I need him to curse like a sailor. I need him to insult people like there is no tomorrow. Immoral master? Fuck being immortal master I need him to start biting people!! I think usually he would be too thin-paced to behave this way but I bet that when powered with spite he can do literally anything. I need him to be covered in blood and dirt and maybe some nasty monster gunk. He would look so hot

SOOO TRUE ... and lowkey why cumplane friendship is so special because Shang qinghua is the only person who sees shen yuan like that. Shen yuan doesn't bother acting upright around him (he doesn't need to act aloof around the man who writes shit porn, he's automatically more respectable no matter what he does!)

Shen yuan: *foaming at the mouth and ripping apart an enemy with his bare hands*

Airplane: ah that's the peerless cucumber I know

[hextechmadelesbians]

Caitlyns path to destruction is really intresting in how it shows how people get pushed in to extremist thinking via grief and fear.

Historically speaking, the way fascist movements gain followers is by preying on those who have suffered recent tragedy or trauma (often as a result to social injustices or soical unrest) and basically use it to create a common false enemy. They take complex problems and emotions and say "all your problems can go away if we just get rid of those guys." This is particularly effective against dominate social groups who have almost always already been socially conditioned to think lesser of marginalised groups, whether or not they consciously realize it or not.

Caitlyn was learning the inherit injustices done by piltover and was trying to fix things by using her connections to the council. And even then when everything went to shit cause of jinx she still defended the people of Zaun. She even admitted to jayce that she understands why people are so quick to hate them all cause she was starting to feel that way, and at that point she was able to acknowledge and address it.

But then the attack at the memorial seems to confirm those negeative beliefs. For as much as caitlyn was sympathetic to the zaunites she seems to have had this idea that if you get rid of silco and jinx then suddenly all their problems will dissappear. But with an attack that had nothing to do with either of them, and with her preexsisting implicit bias, shes left with no one to blame but the collective.

Theres also the whole thing regarding the whole "i had the shot" issue. Caitlyn feels personally responsible for her mothers death because she didn't take out Jinx when she had the chance, all because Vi asked her not to. This mixed with her implicit bias becoming exceedingly more explicit, makes for a dangerous concoction for someone very open for extremist messaging.

(Sidenote: This isnt the first we've seen this in the show, back in act 3 Jayce did something very similar with the whole "you didnt tell me they were from the undercity" "im from the undercity" conversation with viktor)

This is also the thing that causes her to ultimately betray Vi, because once again she stopped her from taking the shot that she believes would of solved everything. Not only that but while Vi isnt necessarily wrong by comparing Caitlyn's actions to Jinx, saying it that way outloud was not the correct move qnd i think its what ultimately led Caitlyn to hitting her. Comparing Caitlyn to the person who murdered her mother, regardless of how true it is, was never gonna get a level headed response. Mixed with her growing fear of Zaunites now effecting how she sees Vi, it was inevitable she was going to do something impulsive shes gonna regret.

Cutting ties with Vi is also in itself going to bite her later because Vi was both her only remaining emotional rock and the one whos willing to openly criticise her. Vi will tell Caitlyn when she thinks shes wrong or doing something stupid which helps keep Caitlyn grounded. With her gone theres not really anyone who she trusts to stop her from doing something apprehensive.

This has all primed her to be the perfect target for Ambessa Maddarda, because shes emotionally impulsive enough to take rash action and vulnerable enough to manipulate, She now has access to the most powerful vassel she could hope to get (especially since Mel told her to fuck off). Ambessa has the power to manipulate the situation to make Caitlyn feel more and more justified in her paranoia of Zaunites and Ambessa can act like a yes man to all her worst impulses. Shes already fed into Caitlyns sense of personal responsibility for the council blowing up, immediately telling her that her mother will be avenged.

If im honest im not sure how Caitlyn is gonna come back from this one, i absolutely think shes gonna back out sooner than later much like jayce did. (Honestly she parallels S1 Jayce a lot which is why its kind of surprising to see people react to her going down this route with so much more vitriol than with Jayce.) Its definitely going happen but the question is if Ambessa will ever coerce her into staying in the hot seat or if she'll straight up try to kill her.

Either way this is going to be an extremely entertaining train wreck to watch.

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

How To Plant Snapdragons | 14

Task Force 141, Keegan & Konig x Female Criminal!Reader

Previous Chapter / Masterlist

You and the team tore through the night and storm, fighting off the savage waves of the sea. The wind slammed on your faces as though ready to tear your flesh apart and scatter it across the water.

Ghost conversed with Graves on the comms and the boat swerved to the left towards the ship, whereas the one Johnny was on with Alejandro and Graves continued forward.

You didn't want to leave Soap alone, but for a better strategy to take over the ship and rig, spreading man power was necessary.

The boat slowed and Rodolfo shot a hook skyward and managed to get it stuck onto the railings of the ship in a second. You climbed onto the rope and immediately spotted Ghost slashing throats and blasting holes through heads on his way.

And fucking hell, you would never get enough of hot, confident men who got the strength and skills to back it up.

You slid down the floor, assisted by the water causing it to become slippery, and fired at a couple of people. You stood up and cursed, losing your balance as the ship tipped over to the right. Ahead, a container swerved to your path causing your heart to leap to your throat as you made a run to the side and shrieked when the ship tipped to where you were going, making the container follow your track.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” You sprinted to the other side and screamed when you spotted another container going your way just as you slipped. “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK—”

Something slammed against the container and your eyes widened when you realized it was Ghost, holding it back before the ship tilted to the side again. By the second you back up on your foot, you were heaved up in the air and thrown in a room, before another container slammed at the entrance, trapping you inside with the Lt.

“Good lord, I almost became a pancake,” you sighed in relief and looked up at Ghost. “Thank you, sir.”

God, you just wanted to jump on him and pepper him with kisses and let yourself be manhandled the way he wanted.

He looked down on you, reaching down a hand which you took and steadied yourself up. “Ya good?”

“Yeah.” You forced out a soft laugh. “I think the containers have something against me cuz two of them came at me at the same time.” You watched him gaze down on you, but not on your face, and so, you followed the direction of his eyes. “Oh.” You quickly pulled your hand back and wrapped it around your rifle instead. “Sorry.”

“Be careful,” he commanded, but it sounded more of a reminder. “Let's go.”

You nodded in agreement and rushed back out, minding the way where the ship would incline and the direction where the containers would move.

“Snapdragon.”

You turned to Ghost, who wasn't looking at you, but you knew it was him who called. He didn't say anything after, so you didn't bother uttering a word and focused on taking down the rest of the cartel.

“Shampoo.”

You grumbled. “Alright, what is it?”

“What did the Shampoo say to the hairbrush?”

“God, not Shampoo puns,” you begged, shaking your head, but it didn't stop him.

“Let’s comb-ine forces and make this hair-mazing,” he said in a flat tone, but you could hear a stifled cough from him. “Why did the shampoo get in trouble at school?”

You snorted. “Go on.”

“It kept on skipping conditioning class.” He slashed a man’s throat and pushed the person off the ship.

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, slick.”

He turned to you, swiping the blood off his skull, which easily came off due to the rain. “Like the conditioner?”

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. “Get outta here.”

“Negative. You can’t condition the enemies on your own.”

“Stoooop,” you whined, removing the pin from a grenade and throwing it ahead.

“You called ‘Snapdragon’, eh?” He grabbed your arm and pulled you away from a container. “Suits you, since you snap at everything and you've got us drag on to your antics.”

“Please.” At this point, you wanted to cry. No one had ever attacked you with so many puns in a row.

“Please what?”

“. . . Sir.”

“Good.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA—

You never wanted to fuck someone in the rain, in a tilting ship, between crates and containers, above dead corpses, till you drown, till he became like the skull on his balaclava until now.

Was it the puns? Sure, okay, it did add points. Being funny was always a plus point. But heck, the guy didn't even need to talk much and he could still be hot. Because, your honor, how could a guy not be hot after stopping a fucking container to save your slippery ass?

You waved a finger at the lieutenant. “Don't call me that, sir. I might jump onto you.”

Then, Graves’ voice came from the comms, interrupting your little, spontaneous date with Ghost (which was definitely one-sided). “Shadow 0-1 to Ghost!”

You stepped before him to guard him in case there were more enemies left as Ghost tapped on his device. “Ghost to Shadow, how copy?”

“The controls . . . that ship!” Graves yelled, the connection a bit patchy due to the weather, but he repeated his words, making it clearer. “Soap and I are on the way there!”

“Rog. We'll clear the way till you get here,” Ghost answered back through the comms and nodded at you to follow him.

You clicked your tongue. “Just when I thought we're clear and having fun.”

“We can continue that later,” he said in a low voice.

You might as well break your neck as you snapped your head in his way as quickly as lightning. What was that supposed to mean? What the fuck? Did you hear him right? Was it flirting? Eh, Ghost? Eh. No way. But, what if?

You looked around for the rest of the team and spotted Rodolfo and some Shadows closing in to your spot. You gestured at him and the rest of the men to catch up with you and Ghost.

Then, you felt a rumble as something seemed to have hit the ship from the side, and from your peripheral, you saw Soap and Graves' boat flying up into the ship. You gaped at their ridiculous sight and landing.

You had seen Keegan drive a truck over dozens of people and through a wall, love him for that, but this was on another level.

“Are you two trying to be in a circus?” you exclaimed and approached them, eyeing for any sign of injuries on their bodies.

“I like the SAS,” Soap grunted as he got off. You reached out a hand to him which he took and helped him steady himself on the swaying ship.

“Nothing is greater than being a PMC.” Graves ran his hand down his face, swiping the rainwater off.

You shook your head at their answers, but didn't further say any words to them and guided them towards the entry of the building where Ghost stood by with Rodolfo. Without hesitation, Graves stuck bombs on the metal door and all of you backed away as it exploded and waited for the smoke to clear. Once it did, Graves kicked down the door, leading the way inside.

A narrow hallway welcomed you, forcing the group to step in one by one, but even though Graves wasn't a 141 member, he was swift to bring down enemies and clear the way.

Sure is a CEO of mercenaries, you thought as he and Soap found the controls in a room up the stairs, quickly tapping in to intercept the fire of the missile. And in all honesty, you would have liked him if he wasn't Shepherd's lapdog.

But sooner or later, you would have him wrapped around your finger like a string, and use it to fucking strangle the general.

“Shit, we can't disarm it!” Graves exclaimed, slamming the tablet down the table.

You peered over the device and squinted your eyes at a familiar logo. “That fucking bitch,” you said under your breath as Graves’ talked with Shepherd and shoved the man aside. “Move.” You snatched the tablet from the table.

“What are you doing?” Graves questioned, clutching the tablet as well, but you kept your grip firm.

“I know—”

Shepherd talked over you. “We don't need your bullshit right now, woman. The clock is ticking!”

You stared at the tablet for a moment, confirming the design of the logo, and huffed, letting it go. “Fine. You won't give those controls to one of its developers, your loss.”

Soap put a hand on your shoulder. “What do ya mean by that?”

“One of its developers?” Ghost echoed.

“What are you insinuating?” Shepherd asked, his voice lowering into a threatening tone.

“No bullshit, yeah?.” You moved away from the controls, walking towards the entryway of the room. “Then, I say I couldn't care less about that missile launching. And I couldn't careless if you lock me up again and torture me for months, because by the end of the day, it will be your loss.”

“I would certainly want to go back to those days, Snapdragon,” Shepherd claimed in a mocking tone. “Get onto it, Shadow.”

“On it, standby,” Graves replied, motioning at Soap to join him on the controls. Soap shot a glance at you before standing next to him and began working on the controls. Meanwhile, Ghost ordered Alejandro, his men and the rest of the Shadows to get out of the oil rig.

With a few hits on the controls, the missile flew upward and just as fast, it dove to the structure, but your attention was quickly taken as the ship tilted and you felt a tap on your shoe.

You gazed down and stared at the corpse next to your feet, the sole of your boots tainted in a puddle of blood, oozing out from his head, where the bullet went through. And thoughts once again began to erupt in your head.

As you continued to look at the hole on the man’s head and the puddle of blood that reflected your gaze, you wanted to put your finger through where the bullet landed and see if it fits.

Slowly the man’s eyes fluttered open, staring back into you, black as the void, as though wanting to swallow you whole. You felt a lump at your throat, blocking off any words from rolling out of your tongue and all you could hear was the deafening drums of your heart, and distant screams, begs . . . cries.

You tried to avert your eyes, but you couldn't. The man’s gaze kept you imprisoned, frozen in nothing but darkness. Yet you could feel their hands crawling up on your like thousands of ants on your skin until they stopped at your throat, gripping tight, digging their nails onto your skin.

It hurts. Make it stop.

Blood rushed down from your throat, mixing with the void.

Make it stop!

Make it—

“Stop!”

You were welcomed with a shade of brown so deep it reminded you of the woods, that perhaps getting lost into them instead was a salvation. The surroundings were cold like the gentle caress of the droplets of rain from the leaves on your cheek. The tug was a patient and gentle guide to which you were sure there was safety, where your eyes settled on a man with a face hidden behind the remains of a corpse.

“Bloody hell!” Simon exclaimed, tilting your head up to take a look at your neck, where blood began to spill from reddened and swollen scratches. His eyes shifted to your hands on his, your nails appeared to have tints of red.

“Yeh alright, Bonnie?” Soap asked, reaching out a hand as he stood by your side, but didn't touch you.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

Ghost, then, tilted your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Five things you can see.”

“H-huh?” Your voice came out trembling, a bit taken aback by his words.

“Five things you can see,” he repeated.

“Uh . . .” You scanned the place. “Windows, computers, the sea . . .” You glanced at the Scot and settled back to him. “Soap and you.”

“Good. Four things you can hear.”

“The ocean, the rain, you and . . . Soap.”

“Okay, three things you can touch.”

“Your gloves, your hands, and Soap’s.” Just as you said that, Johnny placed his hand on your cheek and smiled softly at you.

“Two things you can smell,” Ghost demanded.

You leaned on Soap’s touch, eyes falling halfway close. “Rust and the ocean.”

“Last, one thing you can taste.”

You shook your head. “Don't know.”

Ghost nodded. “Good enough, do you feel at least a bit better?”

“Yeah,” you heaved out a loud sigh.

“Your neck isn't,” Soap remarked, shaking his head. “You suddenly got quiet, you didn't seem to hear us, and you began clawing on the throat mic till you bled. Ghost had it removed already but . . .”

You reached up your free hand to your neck, but Ghost grabbed it, stopping you.

“Touching it furthermore might cause an infection,” he said, swiping the blood from your fingertips with his gloves. “We'll take care of it later.”

“What about Graves?” You scanned the room once again, you didn't notice it earlier but the Shadow himself was nowhere to be found.

“He went out first, he was talking to Shepherd,” Soap explained and tugged down on your collar, to keep it away somehow from your scratches. He eyed the redness and the clotting blood.

Maybe, you weren't so invincible after all, that sometimes the human inside you breaks out of the shell where you were locked in as a weapon as Shepherd and Graves stated.

Maybe, you weren't exactly what he had concluded. But he wasn't one to talk.

Soap was a man who hid bodies behind closets. A man who washed the dirt and blood he had spilled.

“Come here, love,” he gently wrapped his hand around your nape.

Perhaps, he had gone crazy, because he wanted to clean up a mess, not from his brothers-in-arms nor the enemies, but someone who seemed to have been bathing on it for long.

His lips crashed onto yours as you turned to him, eyes going wide whereas his was shut close. He licked over your lips and you parted them open, closing your eyes as he took over your mouth. His tongue swirled with yours, eliciting a groan from you. But it soon ended, with him pulling away, leaving a string of saliva between you.

He smirked, running his thumb over your lower lip. “What do you taste now?”

Once again, you were rendered speechless as your face burned red.

“That's two,” Ghost claimed, making you warmer than before, as it dawned on you that he heard your moan. “That's fucking two, right in front of me.”

“And yet, you kept on holding her hands.” Johnny looked down at your hands within Ghost’s grasp, and you closed your eyes, pursing your lips. “Say it, Lt. You also like—ow!”

“Could you guys move?” You asked, pushing Soap inside the vehicle, making him scoot more towards the Lt. on which your superiors both grumbled.

 You shut the door close with a loud thud and Rodolfo shot a quick glance at the mirror, making sure you were settled before he drove off.

You peered over the window, letting the wind trash your hair and the rain kiss your skin. Others might find it suffocating, but you find comfort in the harshness it brought, and perhaps, you had become so comfortable that you only realized the vehicle had come to a stop at the entryway of Alejandro's base.

Your eyes narrowed at the unusual number of Shadows stationed at the gate and pulled yourself back in the transport, only to swing the door open. You jumped out and quickly joined Alejandro's side before Graves.

“What is this?” Alejandro motioned a hand at the Shadows, who were all lining up behind Graves.

You began counting the heads.

“Step away from the gate,” Graves commanded, making you frown.

“Hold up,” you stepped in front of Alejandro. “This is the Colonel's base.”

“Alejandro's soldiers have been relieved from this operation,” he said, tilting his chin up high and looking down at you with a half-lidded gaze. “This is under General Shepherd's order.”

“That bullshit came from him?” Soap questioned, taking the Colonel's other side.

Alejandro grabbed your shoulder, gently pushing you aside and stepping forward. “I don't take orders from you,” he glowered at the American.

You glanced over your shoulder and found a couple of Shadows behind and in front of Ghost. Then, you looked ahead and squinted your eyes at the Shadow who put his hand next to his ear and with the movements behind his balaclava, you realized he was talking to someone.

You reached for your knife.

“General Shepherd has sent his regards . . .” Graves trailed off and let go of his gun, letting it fall by his side. “Is what he told me to say, but I've got better things to do than this shi—”

“Get down!” With a swift hand, you aimed at the Shadow who raised their gun, while shoving Graves aside. You threw the knife, taking down the man, but all of them had started to shoot. “This is why I told you to fucking know your Shadows! They're hired by Shep—argh!” You staggered back as a bullet pierced through your shoulder.

Alejandro rushed forward, but a Shadow shot at his arm and hammered his head with the bottom of their gun.

You dove down behind the vehicle, grimacing at the sudden pain. Just as you were about to grab Graves, a bullet whistled past. “Graves! Alejandro!”

From your peripheral, Ghost slit a Shadow’s throat open and turned, launching the same knife at another one's neck.

At the same time, Graves had been shot at his shoulder and his men—now his own enemies quickly tied his wrist.

No, you didn't have time to worry about them. Your mission now was to keep the 141 safe. You fished out a folding knife from under your boot and swung your leg to the side as a Shadow rushed past. He fell with a thud and you plunged the blade on his neck and pulled, ripping it open.

You flinched as you heard a loud grunt. Ahead of you, Soap fell on his back, blood gushing out of his bicep.

“Fuck, fuck,” you chanted under your breath and you noticed the lieutenant dropping down on his knees.

“Soap, get out of here!” Ghost yelled from under the car.

“I’m not—”

“Just go!” You yelled over the Sergeant and breathed out as you heard his grunts and footsteps moving.

“Get him!” A Shadow demanded and you threw your resort of weapon at him, perfectly piercing through his neck.

“Ghost.” You crawled towards him. “Go, I'll distract them.”

“That's dangerous,” he glowered at you.

“Not more than me,” you pulled out the phone you got from one of Valeria’s men and stashed it under his vest. “Go.”

He nodded and patted your head. “Be safe.”

You rolled out from under the car.

“Get the woman! Shepherd needs her back!”

You sighed in relief, snatching a gun from the Shadow Ghost had taken down. Now, you can act freely as you can.

You grinned and shot up to your feet. “And you shall know why Shepherd needs me.”

But before you could fire, smoke veiled your surroundings and pained shouts echoed ahead of you. You squinted to make out what was happening.

At that moment, from the cover of darkness and the shroud of fumes, a man with a gaze as cold and piercing as a blade emerged. Like a breeze, he swept you off your feet fleeing from the scene, and as rare as the rain in a drought, he graced you with a voice you would quaff down like a man starved.

“Not more than I need you.”

Like how a single flower in the desert sought a droplet of water.

As though the heavens were crying on your behalf from the wheels of emotions you had felt tonight, rain poured down stridently, and akin to drowning, you choked out his name.

“Keegan.”

The one and only, Keegan P. Russ is on the stage! Now we only wait for our king. Also, we will be adding Price on the boat based on the votes on the prev. chap.

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own

Taglist: @yyiikes , @the-faceless-bride , @cassiecasluciluce , @annoyingstrawberryballoon @unicorngirly1, @thriving-n-jiving, @squidalapobre, @tallicaside @eustassh

[alipeeps]

Episode 24

Welp, he did what they suggested. He went to see for himself.

I've said it before but it bears repeating - this kid is SUCH a good actor!

Jesus fucking christ, Wen Zongyu is the worst.

He took a grieving child and:

manipulated him into spying against his friends and poisoning one of them:

intended from the start to use his body as a vessel for a demon;

fucking poisoned him so that he would be able to control said demon once it was in his body!!

Oooh but your little demon trapping cage didn't work on our boy Li Lun?

So... could it actually end up now that Li Lun and the gang will band together against Wen Zongyu? The enemy of my enemy and all that?

Can't Zhao Yuanzhou use his healing ability on him?

Oh SHIT, the sword being broken affects/damages the person connected to it?

So they NEED that second sword!! Anybody else remember that it was explicitly mentioned that TWO cloud light swords were forged? Anyone?!!

And that confirms that the reason the sword cracked this time is because of the malicious qi - every other time Zhu Yan has been stabbed with the sword, he has been in control of his qi.

However... doesn't that mean that the plan/back up plan to kill Zhu Yan if he is out of control is doomed to failure, because the uncontrolled qi will crack the sword?

OUCH

Ying Lei is so fucking under-rated... they play him for comedy so much of the time but he has genuinely been the one coming up with a lot of the solutions for things. He found how to purify the Yao Water. He worked out that Bai Jiu's blood could revive the Divine Wood. And he's thought to ask the other mountain gods about ways to save both Zhuo Yichen and Bai Jiu. He is best boy!!

Uhhhh... yeah... sliiiight problem there...

Okay so we have a way to keep him going a bit longer... while you find the second sword, right? Right?!

Good on you Pei Sijing.

He is the best!!

Oh damn, he survived.

And Wen Zongyu has the gall to act pleased about it - as if he wasn't callously offering his position to Pei Sijing a matter of days ago.

"Thank you for your treatment"

"Better than I was before"

Did... did Wen Zongyu use his fucking experimental treatments on him? Is he a hybrid now?

"According to the spy" What spy? Just a generic spy keeping an eye on things... or is there another traitor in their midst?

Oh dang, that's fucked up your plans eh? Bummer. Sucks to be you.

Oh wow, that is freaky. It's Bai Jiu... but he's dressed and hair-styled Li Lun-style.

Ohhh that doesn't sound good...

Oh dang, his brother didn't have the right Bingyi blood to awaken the sword?!

But... but didn't we see it glowing in his (dead) hand when Zhu Yan wiped out the Demon Hunting Bureau? Or was that just the sword reacting to Zhu Yan's presence?

Ahhhh was it Zhu Yan they were going after? Probably... how many Great Demons are there after all?

Yup, it was, and the sword glowed in response to Zhu Yan's presence.

No wonder Zhuo Yichen didn't know how to use the cloud light sword properly... I'd thought it was because his dad and brother had died before they had chance to teach him... but they never could have taught him because they didn't have the power to awaken it and use it to its full potential...

Oh SHIT and he finds out about his brother's death by someone bringing him the damn sword?!! Wrapped in a blood-stained cloth. Like... harsh, dude?!!

And he dedicated his life to becoming strong enough to awaken the sword, to honor his brother...

I'm not crying, you're crying!!

His tears awakened it?

Goddamn the music in this show is just perfect...

Oh shit.

OH SHIT!

Wtf's going on with the fish pond?

Wtf is this, that's been hiding in the fish pond all this time?!

Of course it is. And of course it's been at the bottom of the fish pond for fucking generations. Where else would you keep it?!

Oh it can repair everything can it?

WHY do they just fucking stand there and let it happen?!!

Oh Zhu Yan did react! Hallelujah!

He sure did.

Did what? You are in this situation because of your own actions! It was literally YOUR plan to break the baize token, get unsealed, and then take over Bai Jiu's body because you knew your own body would burn up!

Okay wtf why did the stone suddenly break?

Can this show please stop giving us a teensy glimpse of hope and then ripping it away from us again?!!

Honestly the stone's a bit shit if all it takes to crumble it is the merest touch of demonic energy?

And what the fuck is this now? There was blood at the centre of the stone? Is it the famous Bingyi blood?

And it's gone zooming into Zhuo Yichen? Whose eyes have gone blue like in the flashbacks to his ancestor?

Oh damn... did I hear that right? The demon Ying Long agreed to die at Bingyi's hand... for the greater good?

OH WHAT?!!!

Ying Lei be like:

Ahhh my poor precious baby mountain god! He's too too good!

Way to be a downer, Zhu Yan.

So it wasn't Bingyi blood? It was demon blood? Unless...?

Because Ying Long sacrificed himself to save the world. Sound familiar, anyone?

Ho hoooooo! Yes indeedy, Zhuo Yichen's ancestor was also a demon... and the famous Bingyi blood is - demon blood! (So I guess maybe it was Bingyi blood inside the stone after all?)

And members of Zhuo Yichen's family were only strong enough to activate the cloud light sword if they had enough demon Bingyi bloodline in them, I guess? And Zhuo Yichen does... which is probably also why he kept dreaming about turning into a demon, I am guessing?

Ohhhhh and we finally get an explanation of how come Zhuo Yichen let Ao Yin get away if he wasn't being controlled by Li Lun!!

He wasn't controlled... he was shocked (mind you, why on earth he would believe a demon's word on that, enough to be shocked to a standstill by it and let them escape?)

So the Great Demon Bingyi was turned human...

And he lived in seclusion... and his descendants...

SO... he wasn't all THAT secluded then eh? 😂

It allows them to choose? So he gets to choose if he remains human or becomes demon? But what do you want to bet he will end up in a situation where becoming demon is the only option to save everyone, so he'll do it?

Oh mind you, no, doesn't sound like there is any choice...

Oh holy shit, is there ANY good news for us, Zhu Yan?!!

So now Zhuo Yichen is condemned to death on 2 fronts - the broken sword AND the Bingyi demon blood.

How the fuck are Chongwu spies able to so easily sneak right into the core of Demon Hunting Bureau to eavesdrop? Do you people have ANY fucking security at all?

You said it girl!

Well DUH, of course he's bloody disappeared while you idiots were chitchatting!!

Oh dang...

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah 😭😭

Aww bless her, she has understood the meaning behind his words...

Oh shit!

AAaaaahhhh! You end it THERE?!!

[steddieunderdogfics]

For the no UD weekend: We shut 'em up and then we shut 'em down by greatunironic. Fantastic Steddie Big Bang fic set in the SoCal street racing scene

we shut ‘em up, and then we shut ‘em down by greatunironic

@greatunironic

Rating: Explicit

41,153 words, 3/3 chapters

Archive Warning: Creator chose not to use

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Street Racing, Enemies to Lovers, (Or Rather: Rivals to Lovers), Rivals With Benefits, Mutual Pining, Mutual Pining Even While Boning, Misunderstandings, (This Is A greatunironic Joint After All), Fast Cars, dumb boys, Car Chase, Injury, Service Top Eddie Munson, Beefcake Babygirl Steve Hours, Brat Steve Harrington, Shades of Power Bottom Steve Harrington, Hand Jobs, Frottage, Car Sex, Hand Kink, Spit Kink, Panty Kink, Feminization, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Injured Sex, Anal Sex

Summary

Eddie Munson is a mechanic at his uncle’s sunny SoCal garage during the day; at night, he’s one of the most highly sought after mechanics for the street racing community as they race for pink slips, cash, and glory. He works on all the winningest cars, makes a killing in his bets and cuts with the racers for his work, and is generally just a top dog in this underworld scene — until some new hotshot out of Miami shows up, allegedly tight with racing legend Joyce Byers (or maybe that ex-cop squeeze of hers), and starts sniping wins from Eddie’s guys. He wants to hate him, and the suped up, hot pink Honda S2000 he rolled in on; it’s just too bad that he’s also just Eddie’s type: pretty, mean, and lethal behind the wheel. He’s desperate to keep his wits about him and to keep this grudge going, but it’s fucking near impossible when it seems like him and Harrington can’t keep their hands off each other whenever they end up in the same darkened clubs to save their lives. And it’s maybe even worse than just a shitty crush, because, all the while, someone is causing trouble for the whole racing community when a trio of white Honda Civics start robbing eighteen wheelers of their cargo, bringing the heat down on all of them...

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is No Upside Down AUs.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[starlightsuffered]

The Whimper of a King

Info - arranged marriage, medieval punishment, smut, needy Hal, making sure partner is satisfied, jealousy, oral (female receiving), soft Hal, wanting to be pregnant, squirting, not cleaning up after squirting, unprotected sex, dry humping, Hal obsessed with cunnilingus, wanting a baby

"He let a Man be killed under his watch, and didn't report it. Two days in the stocks is generous," I said fiercely to the wife of the famous Tavern owner. She was upset with my husband's ruling.

"But, he didn't-"

"You heard the Queen!" Hal roared. "Leave us immediately!"

"Your majesty, should we send in the next peasant?" Asked a knight.

"No, I must speak to my wife for a moment," he said, standing up stiffly and grabbing my hand.

"We are rather behind," said another one.

"Am I not king?" He demanded.

"Of course."

He pulled me along, and I knew what he wanted. He pushed me in a unused room right off the throne room.

"Take care of me," he whimpered as he kissed down my throat.

"Hal," I chuckled, I knew it'd been my display of power that had overtaken him.

"I can't help it," he whined, and I chuckled. I tentatively kissed his lips. He didn't let the kiss be simple. He held my face in his hands, pressing his crotch against me, and even through our thick layers I felt his hard on. His kiss was wild, his tongue making it wet and sloppy.

"You've already had me twice today my King, I have also serviced your cock with my mouth, you need more already? The sun is barely halfway across the sky," I giggled.

"Such a woman as you had never existed, of course I need you again. That display of power was gripping."

"Oh alright my love, who can deny a king?" I asked. He began to strip me immediately.

"I must have your seamstress make your dresses easier to remove," he growled. "I need instant and constant access to your body."

The words washed me in chills. He soon had me naked before him. I never felt more powerful than when he took in my bare form. He didn't even bother with his clothes before pushing me down on an ornate couch. I'd talked to his previous lovers, who were always jealous of me. Through this conversation I'd learned my king had been selfish once. He had never eaten them the way he had me. However, with me, he was addicted to mu juices. He had once requested for his birthday he be allowed to taste me for as long as he pleased. I'd come so many times I couldn't count, and he'd still gone on into the night. The next day his jaw had been swollen, and he could only have liquids, but he hadn't minded in the least.

"I must feast, the finest wine doesn't taste as delicious," he whimpered. He attached himself to my pussy, laving at my wet membranous walls. He sucked at my second pair of lips. I was arching into his talented mouth.

"My husband, you do this like no other," I sighed. He shot up.

"Others have had their mouths on your cunt?" He asked. He didn't judge me, he simply got jealous easily.

"I'm sorry, I swear, Oh!" I had tried to calm him but he'd grabbed handfuls of my ass and brought his mouth to my pussy hungrily. There was no stopping him as he ravaged me. I fell over the edge, my orgasm making me shake and moan, and yet he didn't stop.

"Hal, h Hal, fuck, your mouth and tongue. They're heaven sent, I'm going to come again," I praised him. He hummed inside me, his tongue darting and tracing. Soon I came again, and I felt myself release in a more powerful way than I ever had. When my eyes opened I saw that his face was covered in slick.

"Has any man," he growled as he ripped off his pants. "Even made you do that?"

"No man, no being, not even me," I swore as he entered me. I cherished that I was the only one who would ever hear the King whimper. Not even his enemies would hear this. Only I would hear the noise bred of pure unfiltered desperation.

"I'm not wiping my face, let my people see how my wife has deemed to bless me," he said, and a coil inside me tightened at the idea.

"King Hal, you own me, I am only yours, you need never fret," I promised.

"I need you, I need you, I need you," he chanted, eyes soft and adoring, and for my eyes only.

"You make me feel so good," I told him, unbuttoning his shirt. I desperately needed to touch the velvety softness of his pale torso. Soon his chest was bare. I lifted myself up to lick it.

"You are the only person who makes me weak," he confessed in a near whisper.

"I love that," I sighed.

"I do make you feel pleased don't I? Not just sexually? You are happily wed to me?" He asked. He always needed this reassurance, even more so because we'd been arranged, but the attraction had been instant.

"Of course, and Hal, I want a child please, soon?"

"Oh, yes my love!" He said excitedly, his hips picking up their pace. Genuine excitement graced his features. "I hope they look exactly like you, oh, I'm going to cum my love."

He was painting my insides white as I arched into him, scratching down his back as I too came undone. My walls squeezed him harshly.

"You did come didn't you?" He asked anxiously.

"Of course, I always do," I smiled at him.

"Let me know if you ever don't, that take precedent over many things," he said sternly.

I nodded and kissed him lazily. He didn't lie, he didn't wipe down his face. I knew the guards could smell the arousal, and I knew he didn't care.

[dilf-docs]

hii i just read ur eddie x young reader. And i LOVE ITTTT

Can u please do something similar but with young neighbor reader? Where the reader moves in an apartment beside eddie . They meet each one day and they hit it off? (nsfw )

(Ignore this if u don’t like the idea or u can change it)

Knockin' On Heaven's Door

eddie brock x younger fem!reader

summary: you're what people call a ray of sunshine, probably the most likeable person in the planet. so why is this hot idiot next door so mean to you?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (you know this blog lives by its name), smut, sunshine!reader x grumpy! eddie (cause his ass just got dumped lol), enemies to lovers (one-sided), kinda mean!eddie, porn with little to no plot, power goes out so they get freaky in the dark, use of pet names, p. in v. (unprotected) (use protection guys pls!!! unlike this dumbasses fucking raw in the dark), oral (m. receiving), creampie, no venom :(

word count: 4,069 words (it's almost midnight again, me thinks I've forever messed up my sleep schedule cause ain't no way inspo only grows as per my eyebags lol)

side note: got my first request on tumblr!! (insert scarlett johanson dancing in marriage story gif). i love looove the neighbours trope so much (hey! if i had a hot older neighbour i would be doing the most to interact with them, bet); hope this lives up to ur expectations even if i tweaked a few things! also, this happens after eddie gets dumped by anne and moves out of the house lol so he's angry, moppy, horny and dry. what if i make this a series tho, would you like that? requests are open!

You're what people call a ray of sunshine. Ever since you managed to talk, all that comes out of you is happiness: the first sound to come out of your mouth was a laugh, your first word was smile, you have Love as your second name, you made friends on real time record, the profession you chose was that of a patissier and the first ink to grace your skin was a little heart tattoo.

Okay, maybe you've made it your whole personality to be likeable. So what? It's not your fault you light up every place you go, that people love you effortlesly and that life seems to smile your way.

It's the way the cookie crumbles, a fitting phrase for a pastry chef like you. Your friends often joked about it: you, a sweet person, baking little sweet goods to make other's lives sweeter.

And you loved it: your life, your job, your family, friends, cat and little apartment in San Francisco.

There was just one thing missing: because no matter how sweet you made other's peoples worlds by existing, no one was there to make it for you.

Alright, you had enough love and just loved love for the sake of it. Sometimes, a tidbit of romance through your screen or through the couple-d lives of your friends sufficed such desire, but its a lie to say you haven't dreamed of your own.

So when Johanna, the girl who lives across you, comes rushing with the newest gossip: "hot new neighbour moving next door!", there's something that tells you it might be time.

"You have to see him" she emphasizes, "a total eye candy"

That ignites the curiosity inside you, and after some weeks hearing through your walls grunts next door and a constant shuffle of things originally packed in boxes, you find yourself knocking on his door, tray of cookies in your hands.

Yes, you did bake them for him. After all, your chocolate chip cookies are a killer! People do lines to get them at your aunt's cafeteria, just to taste the warm soft dough, the chocolate melting on their mouths. You do this for every other new neighbour that comes around, it's just how you are! But the cookie choice is totally intentional though.

The door flinges open, and for the very first time in years, you find yourself at loss for words; speechless.

The stranger before you is a face you'll never forget. Handsome, of course, but there is something alluring in his beauty, one you can't exactly name, but comes along in a pair of thick lips, brown warm eyes and ink sprinkled across strong arms. Your heart hammers in your chest, and it takes all in you to not drop the tray in your chest right here and now.

"Hey!" you find your voice again. Clearing your throat, you proceed. "You're our new neighbour, right? I'm y/n, I live next door. Thought you'd like something sweet to eat after all that effort" you push the tray to the front, "I made this myself!"

He just stares back, blinking. You think he may be confused by your random act, but it's quite normal to do so with newbies. You love welcoming acts!

The awkward stiffness he radiates doesn't deter you away, though. "This are for you" you insist, "or just take one, if you don't want them all..."

"I hate chocolate" he finally says, with such a scowl on his face, you'd think you killed his entire family.

Oh! He hates chocolate? Who hates chocolate?!

You suddenly feel small and stupid. Without much else to say, you don't know how to proceed. You have your way with words, but no one has ever rejected you in the cold open before. It's left you baffled.

Then, a light bulb goes on in your head.

"Wait, I know you!" he quirks an eyebrow. "You're that reporter from TV, Eddie Brock" you gush, "I love helping others, but what you do is amazing... you're, like on other level, giving a voice to those who don't have one"

You admired him; he was someone who was brave and cared.

"Not anymore" and then the door slams in your face.

It takes you a while to process there, standing in the eerie silence of the empty hall, that Eddie Brock may be the very first person in the world who doesn't like you.

In the end, you'd given the batch of cookies to the homeless people living around your building. Even if it made you feel good, the pang in your chest didn't go away. You simply couldn't forget about the incident (because of pride and embarrasment in equal parts), plus, the fact that he lived next door and you couldn't go on about your day without hearing him pace around his apartment, made the task of forgetting about it difficult.

So in the following days you've avoided him, which has been pretty easy so far, since he barely leaves his apartment and you're busy with work and stuff.

It's friday night, and with the next week's groceries in hand, you take the elevator. The door's about to close when it opens again. You can't believe it: after successfuly evading him for five days, Eddie Brock is trapped with you inside the reduced space; you shouldn't been lazy and taken the stairs instead.

"'Night" he mutters, and you swear you've gone deaf because you barely hear so. You don't know what to do, so you just stand there, clutching your tote bag a little too hard. It could be an accident: he's too drunk out of his mind and doesn't know it's you.

It's not like he's been so nice, but after his asshole-ish move last time you saw each other, you don't expect basic courtesy towards you either.

You get a whiff of his scent, mixed with traces of whiskey. It's unfair how intoxicating it feels―how it's got you wanting more of what isn't yours.

God knows it's been long enough since you've wanted a man this bad.

It's not until the elevator dings again that you realize you've been holding your breath the entire time.

"Bye, pretty"

He casually exits out into your same floor never looking back, without realizing the effect his words have on you, hope slowly making its way through the creaks of your open heart.

Okay, maybe it's your fault for raising such high stakes based on two words and a silly little drunk interaction. Maybe you deserve it: because you've become a bit obsessed with the fact that Eddie hates you, but after yesterday, you've already traced a truce in your mind.

Even Johanna has told you to be cool about it. "It's time someone didn't like you" she joked, but you didn't find it funny. She insisted not to it's not important, but to you it is! How can he not like you? Maybe if he had a valid reason, you'd stop insisting, despite the let down. But he doesn't have one! And you've been nothing but kind! You may think too much about it because it doesn't make any damn sense.

You're loosing your mind and your friend just laughs.

The only reason you haven't talked to him again, is because work load has catched up to you.

But now you're here, out on the street, and the first person you see is him: on top of his bike, ready to go out.

"Nice!" you chirp. It may not be a top brand, but the black vehicle is as cool as its owner: the leather jacket, worn out jeans and beat up look is an insane combination that may or may not have you drooling.

"Huh?" he looks back at you, and you swear your cheeks reddened in embarrasment at his deadpan expresion.

"Nice bike, I mean" you nervously laugh, fiddling with a loose string of your sweater. "I love seeing them, but I don't think I'll ever ride one. I get scared too easily, you know?"

He puts his helmet on, "Alright"

Not even a thanks or an attempt of a small talk; what an idiot. Didn't he talk to you last time? Called you pretty? Why is he acting so curt right now?

"Hey, what is your pro-"

Your question doesn't get to be finished, because the engine roars and he's out of there, leaving you confused inside a cloud of smoke, the trail leaving with your last sparks of hope.

It's one of those nights where you just want to lay down and let sleep take control of your body. As soon as you get in your comfy pajamas and sink in the mattress, a noise erupts through the air. Startled, you raise on your feet, the slumber long gone.

Fuck. This hasn't been your week, has it?

The noise comes from outside, and you know who it is: the guy who lives in the corner, right next to the window; he who brings too many women home and plays his guitar a little too loud. It's late an he isn't getting the memo, clearly.

You swing your door open, ready to give him a piece of mind (and perhaps dump your accumulated stress from the week), until you realize you aren't the only one outside on the hall. It's Eddie, and he looks just as pissed as you do.

"Can't sleep?" he asks in a mocking tone, all while avoiding your eyes, rather focused on the common enemy's door.

"What do you think?" you reply, equaling his tone.

You both agree in silence, walking to his door. After some knocking, the guy opens his door: less thrilled when he sees Eddie and more complaint when he sees you.

"Sure, sweetheart. I'll keep it down" and winks. The nerve of this guy. Even Eddie is frowning, surely annoyed at his lack of etiquette. "You can knock anytime, noise or not".

The door closes, but it's Brock who did it, not guitar guy. You're too tired to ask, and after picking what's left of your dignity around him, you decide it's best to walk back to your apartment.

"You know what's funny?" you stop your tracks, laughing, but it's devoid of amusement, "I lost my sleep".

He just stares back, and you're tired of the way conversations have to run by your side, for the very first time. You keep on walking, but as soon as your hand touches your doorknob, he speaks up:

"Goodnight" a small truce, you think. But you're not falling this time.

So you do the right think: walk inside without saying a word, and just like him, never looking back.

You wake up agitated in the middle of the night. It's raining: not just a normal rain but a huge storm. You look over at your alarm, noticing its characteristically red numbers are as pitch black as the sky above you. It's also thundering, and God, do you hate noises and thunder.

You jump again at another one cutting through the sky, and decide it's for the best to just stay awake until it's time to wake up. According to your phone, you have about three hours until morning rises. That's enough time to watch a movie or two. Even to pet your cat, which is laying next to your bed, clearly unbothered―unlike his owner.

But there's a problem: when you try to turn the switch, no lights go on. Your incredulous laugh ecos in the room.

Not only a storm, but also a fucking black out.

Scare slowly creeps up, and the shivers you feel are definitely not only because of the temperature drop.

So you grab your phone and head out, without clearly thinking and obviously in panic, because the first thing you do is knock on your neighbour's door.

Eddie's.

"Oh!" it takes a while for him to answer his door, but when he does, his phone's flashlight burns your eyes. "Sorry" he apologizes, and you don't know if it's for that or the fact he didn't answer; maybe for everything too, "didn't hear the knocking with all the thunder".

You say it's fine, that you're just checking to see if you're not the only one without light.

He flicks a nearby switch to no avail, "I'm afraid everyone in the whole building too"

Eddie probably notices your frightened state, the way you shiver like a lost puppy, and feels sorry.

"Wanna come inside?" he offers, hands inside his grey sweater's pockets.

For the very first time since you met him, he looks at you, but really looks at you: eyes roaming over your body, an all too familiar feeling painted across his brown orbs.

You realize a bit late what you're wearing: a teensy short and top, a set of pajamas that happens to be your most comfortable. Favorite too. Appropiate for this emergency meeting? Maybe not.

"You want me to?" you asked, confused. "I thought you hated me"

The only sound across the hall is the droplets of rain outside, some tapping in the window next to you and his apartment.

He looks rather embarrased, "I don't".

"Then you're just an idiot" you counter back, and he doesn't fight you about it.

"Fair" he says, "I can make some coffee?"

Maybe he's pretty convincing or you're a people pleaser, but as soon as he proposes, you're caving in just like that.

"Fine, but you better let me bring my cat"

Truth is, Muffin plays hard to get, but now he's resting in Eddie's lap―purring, as you two sip quietly on your coffee. Traitor.

"I used to have a cat" he says, cutting through the silence.

"Oh!" you leave your mug on his table, next to the candle; the only source of light in the room, "didn't think of you as a cat person".

"Tecnically, it belongs to my fiancée. Sorry, ex-fiancée" he makes a pause, "bet that cat doesn't miss me".

"I didn't know you had a, uh-" you're not sure how to proceed, so you trail off. Muffin jumps from Eddie's lap to the kitchen, lost in the dark.

"Yeah, I had a fiancée, cat, house, and job. Then I lost everything" he dry chuckles, humorlessly, "guess that's why I'm so bitter"

"I'm sorry" you say on the most sincere tone you can muster. Eddie wonders how can you be so kind and forgiving, especially after he's been nothing but an asshole to you.

"Doesn't mean I should've been mean for no reason. You didn't deserve it" he apologizes, embarrased. "Not an excuse, but it's been real bad days"

The candlelight is so flickering, you don't know if he's seen your eyes, but by the way he gulps, you think he did.

"Maybe... I could offer a helping hand"

Why had you said that? Are you insane? You barely know the guy, who, by the way, had been a jackass to you like, five minutes ago. But he's hot! And you love to help!

Jesus, talk about dignity and boundaries.

"Y-you would?" he stammers, but the way his hand travels to your lap reveals nothing but security.

He's not asking if you've gone insane or what exactly you mean by that: he's just asking if you would do it.

Would you help?

"Don't you know, Eddie?" your voice drops a sultry octave, "I love to help".

You lean close enough for him to smell the cinammon scent of your skin. Soon, he's leaning too, playing along even against his better judgment. It's too soon, but he's so drawn into you and can't resist it no more; ever since he met you.

His cock twitches in his pants, "help me, then"

It happens too fast, one second you're sipping on your coffee, looking like the most warm and softhearted person in the world and now you're on your knees, deep into his carpet, tugging at his belt with your teeth, a hunger he hasn't seen before in your eyes and filthy needy mouth.

Sex with Anne was sweet and normal. Vainilla. You smell like it too, but there's a difference: you're a pretty sweet little thing with the appetite of a siren.

Using your hands, you remove the leather your teeth had beggin with, moving them to tug his ripped jeans down, pulling the zipper too in the process. You keep using your mouth, now to get rid of his boxers, where the outline is tight over his cock. Eddie finds himself so aroused to the point he feels hot, even if there's a storm outside and the candle barely provides warmth.

"You sure have a mouth" he mumbles in ecstasy, drunk in the sight of your glimmering lips, coated in saliva. He's dripping too: everywhere.

His cock bounces out, almost hitting you in the face.

"Look at you" you coo, "already dripping for me. What a pretty cock you've got, Mr. Brock"

Fuck, he's going to hell after this. But you can't corrupt what's already corrupted.

"Then you better show me what you mean"

You lick the tip, already leaking with precum. He tenses momentarily, and then stiffle a moan when you take his balls into your mouth, a similar sound coming from you. You suck lightly at them, running your tongue along the sensitive skin.

His hips buckle into your face, and you have to chuckle at the fact it's probably the first time he's ever has his dick sucked this good.

"Don't stop" he huffs.

You obey, tongue tracing along the underside of his cock until you're back at his tip. Eddie's still inside his drunk haze when he feels you taking all of him inside your mouth in one single movement.

"Fuck-!" he chokes out, the thunder outside shutting the vulgar sounds coming out of his plush lips. "Think you can take more?"

His large hand touches the back of your head and pushes it forward with force. His cock presses deeper into your throat, tip hitting the back of it. You feel yourself gag, but the wet spot that's starting to form in your panties says otherwise.

He twists your hair tightly, holding you in place as he fucks your throat with his cock. You feel tears, and Eddie thinks he's never had a prettier sight than you: glossy eyes, looking up to him as you take all his cock.

"I know you can, baby" he presses, "help me like you said you would, yeah?"

His fat cock is blocking your air supply, but the subtle motivation and praise in his eyes is enough to keep you going, thought your throat ends up bulging from the size of his cock, stretching out to accommodate his size.

You said you would help, right? And even if you always do it for the altruist reward, something about being used in such a vulgar and rough way has your chest and panties feeling warm.

Brock groans, body sweating and muscles tense. He yanks you up by your hair, chasing the orgasm like an animal, every movement feeling almost primal.

"Stay there" he feels it coming, "don't move".

You gurgle something, spit rushing down your chin and dripping onto your chest.

It's almost over, sweetheart" his eyes roll back, head resting on the coach he'd barely used until now, where he's fucking you in the mouth, "I knew that filthy mouth of yours could take me"

You open your mouth wider, anticipating. Tension releases: and he's pounding out his orgasm in your throat, hips banging into your face. You swallow it all, even if you can't taste it. He pulls out, a string of spit connecting his tip with your lips.

"Thanks for the helping hand" his voice comes out rough; tired, "you do know how to help those in need"

You wipe your chin with your hand, "I suppose"

There's some silence afterwards, and now Eddie is cursing he doesn't know what else to say.

"Power is still out" he speaks, "we've got some hours left until the sun rises again"

"So what's your idea?" you giggle, "tell scary stories in the dark?"

You both laugh, but you stop and deadpan. "Please don't, I get scared very easily" and you pout those pretty lips of yours out. How can you be such an adorable but greedy girl? It's hard to believe you're the same person.

"Not that" he swallows thickly. Why is he doing this? Was a blowjob (a fantastic blowjob, by the way) by a young insatiable thing like you enough to make him go mad, "I want to help you too".

Before you protest, he's pulling you and sealing your lips with a hot kiss. His tongue slips into your mouth, playing with it. He pulls out, biting your lower lip.

"Eddie" you whine, "b-bed, now"

He's supposed to be older and smarter, so why is his resolve melting away this quickly? Following your orders immediately, your back bouncing on the soft mattress of his bed. As soon as you lay, his lips trail kisses down your throat.

"God, you smell so good" you giggle, "bet this pussy will taste as sweet, huh?"

His cold fingertips grace the fabric of your tiny shorts and the touch gives you goosebumps, "look at you" he tugs your panties, nudging at your cunt. "So soaked... is this for me, baby?"

"Yes, Eddie" the way you say his name is enough to make even the strongest man fold, his dick jolting in response. "Take it"

Both of you remove your clothes in such a hurry, you hope you haven't damaged your favorite pair of pajamas.

"Let me see her" he demands, so you spread your legs, revealing your dripping pussy.

When you kiss again, the underlying carnal desire is mutual, saliva connecting in a silver thread as you both gasp for aire. Your hands wander across his chest, fingers playing with his tensing muscles.

"I promise to reward her, okay?" he lines his cock up with your entrance, the fat tip nudging against you, sticky with precum.

You're desperate with anticipation, practically begging, "please do".

He pushes inside you fully, balls slaping against your sticky clit hard. He’s so deep, pushing against your cervix and stretching you out with each thrust, making even the task of breathing painful and laborious.

Brock feels like he's ruined you, yet you look rather content. You've been used to giving; your kindness of a caretaker nature. You're used to giving your all and not receiving, so with every new thrust against you, his hips slamming, you know you'll never feel this pleasure again with anyone else, the delicious sense hitting you in waves that make you feel dizzy. So, in a way, he has ruined you.

"That desperate for me to fill you?" there's no answer, but the sound of rain and skin clapping against skin.

"Yes, give it to me” you sob, "Eddie, please!"

"Focus on taking it" he guides you. It may make him a pervert, but he isn't changing the sheets any time soon; they'll be covered in you and he'll smell them everytime he gets inside them. "I'm gonna cum"

You moan, lightly tugging at the strands of damp hazel hair. He chokes out a husky groan, heat pooling on his stomach.

Eddie's dick twitches inside you, cum filling your eager insides with the biggest load you’ve ever felt. Your pussy clenches, spasming, wrapping tighter around his length in a needy way, your high coming almost at the same time.

Both your breathes come out in ragged pants. He nuzzles against your neck, skins equally damped.

"Fuck"

As soon as those words leave his mouth, the light comes off. You should go now, as this is the reason you stayed, but none of you make the move to leave.

"Stay?" he pleads, "It's still raining outside"

How can you say no to those brown puppy eyes? Does he think he can fuck you this good and then make you leave.

"Alright" you swear he smiles, and it's the prettiest smile you've seen in your life. Could you fall this easily in love? "But turn off the lights: I have work tomorrow and need some sleep"

"Whatever you say, baby" he nips at your lower lip, "you know I love to help"

[committingwarcr1mes]

unpopular opinion: i really love caitlyn in her military dictator era

i started to love her in a REAL WAY just right now. i won't be one of those who's like "i only love season 1 caitlyn" or "i miss the old cait so i'm gonna be delulu and tryina find smth good deep inside her" FUCK NO. her arc is a masterpiece and we really needed children of propaganda to be portraited as they REALLY are. cait is kinda like azula at this point, she was raised in a noble powerful family with idea of people of zaun being an enemy, unworthy, inferior. though at the beginning she had that idealistic hope for different people being different, etc, the result of propaganda is that all those piltover ideas went deep inside her and took root. two shocking events (her mother's death, the attack in 2x01) were enough for this hope to die and everything evil put into her for all these years to grow up and reveal. that is how propaganda works. she had a direct confirmation (not the only one actually) of everything she was told about zaun, so what was she supposed to do? irl people rarely can keep kindness and tolerance and whatever in their hearts after they survived some kind of traumatizing shit.

cait's anger on jinx is justified. like i know that jinx is also understandable here, piltover is guilty for her parents' death and cait is an enforcer which equals evil diabolical creature in her mind, but some people forget that they BOTH watch it from their own perspectives only. cait thought of herself as someone who actually cares of innocent people and wants to bring peace, she didn't mean to hurt jinx on a personal level, and yet jinx kidnapped her, almost got killed and then exploded the council so there her mother died. the problem is that cait put her anger on jinx to the whole zaun, and this is, AGAIN, how propaganda works.

cruel, harmful intentions now will get stronger and stronger in her. for me the scene where isha protected jinx by standing between her and vi and cait still wanted to shot jinx is exponential. vi was like "she's a child" and cait was "i was gonna hit JINX", but actually every shooter, no matter how skillfull they are, knows that there is always a chance to miss. cait knew it, she knew she could kill an INNOCENT child, and yet she was ready to risk. so there was a moment when her idealism died and the results of propaganda start blooming. further will be worse. and this is amazing.

though i'm totally on zaun's side, caitlyn's character development is so realistic, so magnificent, and i'm just in love. she's so well written character at this point, and i hope she won't get a redemption arc or smth like that, it will ruin her, so let her die as a dictator if you need to, but not try to fix my villainous wife 🖤

military dictator aesthetic fits her so well btw

[birbfeeder2artisticboogaloo]

OH COME ON!!!!

how can the stupid governor STILL be alive??? has he got fucking PLOT ARMOUR???? he's like!!! supernaturally powerful, it's ridiculous!!! he can shoot perfectly when he JUST lost an eye??? he can survive being mobbed by zombies??? even if he DID miraculously survive then, surely they would have slowed him down as he had to stop and kill them ALL!!!

come the fuck ON. there's ridiculous and then there's THIS fecker. GOD somebody PLEASE just kill this man. just. stab him in the face or something. i do not even CARE who does it. somebody pls put him out of my misery ;A;

[vaguely-concerned]

sophia seeing cailan's body hanging there when they go back to ostagar, and suddenly all she can see even through the rot and the ruin is just how much he looked like alistair...... :'(

a mental image that totally will not haunt her through alistair's many years on the throne as rebellions and assassination attemps come and go. doesn't send her unhinged and unwise even a little

[hella1975]

i cannot stand the aot fandom this is not a new take at all they are universally intolerable but oh my dayssss u are FORBIDDEN from making ANY take about the show it's actually insane to watch. 'aot is perfect' no show is perfect. 'tell me you didnt get the show 😂🫵' people have different opinions/interpretations about things. 'eren is a good guy they could never make me hate him' i think there's actually 4 seasons and two movies explicitely using him as a tool to show that no one is 'good' or 'evil' they are only trying to survive. hello. the fandom r all so far up aot's ass that they actually discredit its writing in the process and it would be laughable if it wasn't so frustrating

[kyouka-supremacy]

//

[happyk44]

Jason staring at his father with wide electric blue eyes. "I was made to uphold the ideals of justice. To defeat my enemies and maintain law and order."

"Yes," his father says. "That is exactly what your purpose is."

"Okay," Jason says. He stares unblinkingly for a few more moments.

Then he draws his sword.

[oozeandgoo-art]