#extra spite please

[letmeliedown]

constantly say sprite as "spite" to my bf because it remains the funniest thing ever to me and i know they won't make me stop

[cashmere-caveman]

ur last reblog, the "i am asking you to endure it" one. hwi to seonho in that one scene u know. THAT scene. also maybe seonho when hwi was sent to war. maybe a thesis of their entire relationship with each other actually. i am sick and insane can u tell

(⬇️context for this ask in case anyones wondering )

so true anon this IS their entire relationship thesis actually.... seon-ho asking hwi to endure the war bc he cannot see him dead. hwi in liaodong asking seon-ho to endure the guilt bc he cannot see him dead. hwi in nam manor asking seon-ho to endure his blood on his hands bc even if he plans to die himself he cannot see seon-ho dead. seon-ho in -

[gojosprettyprincess]

Hide n Fuck!!?

Synopsis - A quick game of hide n seek quickly turns into a nasty game of hide n fuck with your step-brother Megumi

Warning! - Prone bone, stepcest, they fuck in the attic, degradation, praising, spiting, dirty talk, creampie, choking, breeding kink, Reader is 19 n Megumi is 21, They aren’t blood related. They got caught :0, they may be some grammar errors!! Please do not interact if this isn’t your cup of tea!! MDNI!! Oh he is Toji’s son alright.

Kinktober List ԅ(°Д°ԅ)

A/n - I’m so horny

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

You didn’t think the day would come where you get to relive a cherishable childhood memory of playing one of your favorite games of all time. Playing a game of hide and seek with Megumi and his cousins—a game you never thought you’d play again considering the fact that you were 19 and what people would describe as "too grown" to be playing childish games like that but fortunately, some of Megumi’s family from his dad's side came over for a small family reunion so that’s what led to the evocation.

You sighed in disappointment after finding a well concealed spot to hide in the crowded attic—behind some large boxes in the corner that has been collecting dust for probably years now, just to be raided by Megumi, who joined you.

It was a pretty clandestine hiding spot but now the chances of getting caught has increased even more because it’s been proven to you throughout the years in your childhood that you’ve played the game that you're most likely to get caught quicker if someone else was hiding with you.

But soon enough all those apprehension flew right past your head once you were being fucked hard into oblivion by Megumi— he’s basically mounting you, his larger frame almost crushing your back as you lay on your stomach. Your ass arching up a bit to accommodate the amelioration of the angle. His curved dick sliding in and out of your gushing cunt with ease every time he humps himself into you. His pelvis slapping against the fat of your ass so lewdly, causing the flesh to jiggle like jello against him. Literally, all that could be heard were his loud breathing and occasional groans, your pathetic moaning and babbling a bunch of god knows what, along with the constant sounds of his meaty balls thwacking against your puffy clit—that’s practically wet and dripping with slick. It was actually so fucking nasty how wet you were, coating and drooling all over his cock with your aroused slick as your snugged pussy enveloped his mean cock.

“Fuck you hear how soaked she is for me? Such a little slut. You don’t care what the situation is, you just wanna get your little hole stuffed and fucked like a horny bitch, is that right?” his deep voice rasped against your ear, it was pretty hilarious to you that he was saying that when he was the one groping you from behind and kissing your neck while rubbing his hard bulge into your ass with your skirt hauled up just seconds after he joined you—basically the one to initiate what was happening in the first place. You weren’t even surprised though, Megumi always had a thing for sneaky fucking—An exhibition freak.

You moaned out like brainless slut, placing one of your hands on Megumi’s right hand, which is balled up into a fist to ground himself at the sides of your head. He was so close to you that you could smell the delicious scent of his cologne—sweet and minty, wafting straight into your nostrils, making your mind hazy.

“Gumiii” you whined, feeling your brains getting fucked out that you're just babbling nonsense at the point. “Hmm? What is it baby” he moved his head closer to yours, licking a long stripe on the side of your neck that sent shivers down your spine. "We need to ngh—Hur-ry, or we’ll get cccaught!” You yelped suddenly, biting your lips when you felt two of his lengthy fingers toying with your nipple, tugging and pinching the hard bud.

“Oh yeah? Then I guess you’ll just have to be a good girl f’me and be extra fucking quiet or would you rather let everyone see and hear you getting fucked dumb and stupid by your stepbrother’s cock?” His deep voice whispered in your ear, a tiny smirk plastered on the corner of his face that immediately made your pussy clenched even harder around his girth, Your jaw dropped as his cockhead kissed your cervix, making your eyes roll back in your head. It’s like every time he fucked his cock deeper and deeper into you, your mind goes clumsy and you turn into a brainless zombie.

There’s no way any one couldn’t hear the loud thumping noises and loud moans coming from the attic—there’s no way fucking way but by the way Megumi was being an arrogant lil shit and stretching your little pussy open with his cock so brutally to accommodate his size like this, making you moan uncontrollable as if he wants someone to hear and get caught, he doesn’t seem to give a shit.

“Fuckk wish I could suck on those pretty tits” he murmured as he fondled with your breast, groping and squeezing the soft flesh as you shiver slightly because of his cold hands. He quickly lets go and wraps his big hand over your throat, angling your head to look up at him, a dark glint beaming in his eye with a tiny smirk as he eyed your fucked out face. He watched as your face distorted in pleasure, his thick cock twitching in your pussy knowing that he was the reason for that. You opened your mouth, acquitting a loud pornographic moan, Megumi used that as a perfect opportunity to corrugate his lips, a loud “pff” sound ringing in your ears as you felt a thick substance hitting your tongue. “Swallow it now” he ordered nonchalantly, dark blue eyes piercing into your soul. You did as you were told and swallowed his spit, opening your mouth after to prove it to him.

“Mmm That’s a gooddd girl, fuckk this pussy s’good, imagine if I blow my load inside this pretty cunt and fill you up, bet you’d like that yeah? Wanna give your mom and Toji some snotty little grandkids?” He babbles maniacally in your ear as you go stupid, feeling your orgasm approaching.

He noticed. Hand enthralling harder around your neck as he buckled his hips against you roughly, pulling his thick cock out of you just to bully it right back into your tight hole faster knocking loud whimpers out of you. He quickly lets go of your neck, his hand snaking its way to your sticky clit, using three fingers to sloppily rub circles on it without any type of rhythm, if you weren’t fucked so dumb right now you might’ve actually had a chance to recognize the messy spelling of his name rubbing onto your clit. “Fuckkk—look at this greedy little pussy squeezing my cock like this, you gonna cum? You really gonna make a mess on your step-brothers dick? Fuck you’re suchhh a little slut, baby. He laughed while moaning, feeling your pussy milking his cock for his own release. Fuck he really is considering fucking a baby into you at this point, your pussy was driving him crazy. His eyes rolled to the back of his head so pathetically as you screamed his name, feeling your hole spasming around his length as you squirted on his cock and all over the floor. Wet squelching noises achoing against the thin wooden walls as he fucked the liquid out of you, steams of your pussy juice heaving everywhere.

“Shitt you squirted??Oh fuckfuckfuck, What a dirty bitch” he gritted his teeth, almost losing his mind. Oh he’s trying his best to hold onto the small amount of sanity he has left as his cock molds your hole perfectly, his thick girth sliding into your pussy painfully fast because of your wetness. His mean tip grazing against your g-spot perfectly that it made your toes curl. You can feel literally feel how much his cock was twitching and beating against your fluttery walls, His eyes screwed shut as he emptied his balls into your messy pussy, cum overflowing and pooling everywhere as he shot ropes of his seed into your womb.

“Holy fuckkk yeah you’re definitely hah—carrying my kid, woman” he groaned loudly, stilling himself inside of you for a bit to catch his breathe before picking himself up from your back to rest himself on the back of your thighs, his eyes fixated on the mess between your thighs. He bit his lips, slowly slipping his cock out of you as he watched as your mixed cum leaks out of you. You whined lowly feeling so stuffed full yet so empty at the same time without Megumi’s cock. You body fully collapsed on the floor, you were so fucked out you couldn’t even process anything as he slowly spread your cheeks, getting a better view of your ruined hole before slapping his dick on your cunt, he let it a low “fuck” as your juices splattered on him.

“Such a messy bitch” he muttered with low grunt, Slapping his soaked cock on your cheeks.

“Best little step-sister aren’t ya?” He smirks. About to open his mouth to speak again before the attic door flew open, causing the two of you to jolt unexpectedly—both eyes shooting open toward the source.

“GOT YAA-“ Yuji’s eyes quickly widen, mouth visibly dropped at the lewd scene in front of him. A horrific expression plastered on his face. Oh boy.

[bonefall]

Profoundly disappointed in so many of these comments downplaying Bumble as "just a cat," as though it makes the choice of the human writers to gruesomely torment a domestic abuse survivor for the sake of male arcs less misogynistic. I expected better of people who care about media analysis and harmful tropes.

So I won't do that to Alex. She's a worthy opponent and the originator of the term "fridging." She existed only to serve Green Lantern's arc and has sparked a wide discussion on misogyny in media. That's meaningful and important. Do not take a single word of my argument as dismissing how badly Alex was treated.

Everything that happens to Bumble is in a popular series for young readers.

Warrior Cats is aimed at a tween audience; Yet, the downplaying or dismissal of domestic abuse, mockery of weight and "usefulness", and constant, graphic torment and slaughter of female characters is notorious in these books... and Bumble is one of the GREATEST examples of it.

She seeks asylum with her only friend, Turtle Tail, after fleeing physical assault from Tom, a man who had beaten them both. Turtle's new husband Gray Wing immediately seethes at seeing this battered woman because she's a fat foreigner who "stole his wife away" last winter (after treating her like shit), even balking at Bumble's request for safety because "her abuse has drained her confidence which would make her useless"

This is treated as a WISE thing, Gray Wing's defining character trait. Being "wise."

She is then publicly mocked by a crowd of cats, where she's interrogated with questions like, "What did you do to make him so mad?" and "Can't you just purr at your humans?" and "Why are you so fat?" before two cats interject, tell Bumble how disgusting and useless she is, and then push her away as she screams that she'll never forgive Turtle Tail for letting her be dragged back to Tom the Wifebeater.

This is treated as an unreasonable thing for Bumble to be mad at. That her only friend happily watched her be sent back to a man who is beating her bloody.

Bumble then spends weeks starving to death in the woods, alone, because she won't return to Tom. Clear Sky, a murderous tyrant who had already slaughtered a random native woman (Misty) to steal her territory, finds Bumble on his territory and...

Well.

Gray Wing and his cats learn of the murder of Misty because he left her brutalized corpse unburied, and come to look for her orphaned children. They find Bumble, slowly bleeding to death through many "slits down her belly and sides." A death of a thousand cuts. .

Clear Sky then appears, and Gray Wing begs him to explain what happened because this story is about Clear Sky actually being a good person all along. He then makes up a FANTASTIC lie on the spot that he just "cuffed her ear" and she passed out, so he left, and then a fox mauled her, so he came back, and then he left again just before they showed up, and now he's back for the third time. Gray Wing buys it immediately, praising how cool and amazing his brother is. You are meant to take this seriously.

Meanwhile, Bumble dies, and her death is treated as inevitable because she was too fat and useless to live. Gray Wing even gets another little dig in about how much he doesn't like the domestic abuse victim.

What matters about Bumble isn't that she spent the last days of her life in terrified agony. She "never could have lived out here" and her "tragic but unavoidable" death CHANGES THE WAY THAT GRAY WING'S CATS FEEL ABOUT HIS BROTHER, unfairly blamed for this SECOND murder of a woman he absolutely did. Because killing one woman for her land would have been fine!

(I have an in-depth post about these scenes if you'd like more context)

Later in the book Gray Wing even comforts Turtle Tail, assuring her that there's nothing they could have done and also his brother totally isn't responsible for killing TWO women.

(Clear Sky's woman-related body count ends in the main series with 2 fridged wives, 1 fridged platonic female ally, and 3 women killed in cold blood. He also regularly hits women who talk back to him, but not men. Turtle Tail also dies to make Gray Wing sad.)

Every single male character who had a hand in Bumble's mistreatment, from Tom the Wifebeater who tortured her and Turtle, to Clear Sky who beats her to death and blames her for being too weak to stay conscious through his physical assault, and beloved fandom favorite Gray Wing who allows her to get dragged back to her abuser out of jealousy that she was friends with his wife... is venerated and celebrated by these books.

Clear Sky in particular is said to have "not changed that much" after his sudden "redemption" in the next book because it turns out he only killed women because "he was scared." He continues to be violent, abusive, and manipulative, and he kills 3 more women and his first and only male victim (because by killing a husband it would indirectly hurt a woman). This blatant misogyny is never addressed.

Gray Wing's actions aren't seen as a problem at all, in fact he's allegedly "wise." All the characters in canon fall over themselves to note how wise and good he is.

ALL of them go to cat heaven. Even Tom the Wifebeater who according to authorial statements, now has a fleet of angel kitties "teaching him how to be nice" because he has a redemption death.

Did Bumble go to heaven? Who knows. The writers don't give a shit. Her last "appearance" is Tom the Wifebeater finding and disrespecting her grave, a fight breaking out where he "smothers Turtle Tail with his fat body" so Gray Wing can jump in and save her.

Not only is Bumble's life treated as lesser because she is a fat woman, but ALL female characters in Dawn of the Clans are treated as unreasonable, expendable objects. A combined SEVEN women are killed just to advance the stories of Clear Sky and Gray Wing-- SO MANY die that the writers are suddenly introduce random women from nowhere to breed with the male characters, to "reward" them with biological children.

So, PLEASE, VOTE BUMBLE, the worst victim of her canon's misogyny in the book series notorious for radioactive levels of it.

PROPAGANDA

BUMBLE (WARRIOR CATS) (CW: Domestic Abuse)

1.) Back with another Warriors submission, I bet you’ll be getting a lot from other people too LMAO. Bumble is a kittypet (housecat) who befriends the male protagonist Gray Wing’s girlfriend, Turtle Tail, and lets her stay in her house. This gets Gray Wing all pissy because he’s controlling of Turtle Tail and shares most of the wild/clan cat’s proclivity for looking down upon kittypets. Turtle Tail gets pregnant by another kittypet, Tom, who tries to control her by hiding the fact that humans take away kittens after they’re born. Eventually Bumble comes clean about it so Turtle Tail returns to the forest. Some time later, Bumble is found in the forest seeking refuge because Tom has been physically abusing her, scratching her where the humans can’t see. So, she’s CANONICALLY ACKNOWLEDGED as a domestic abuse victim (unlike Squirrelflight who meets all the textbook signs but the narrative and authors deny it). How do you think our good guy protagonists, i.e. Gray Wing “The Wise” and Turtle Tail, respond to an abuse victim seeking refuge? They tell Bumble to go home, thinking to themselves that she’s fat and soft and therefore would be useless in their group. Bumble stands up for herself and asks to speak with the leaders of the group. One of them asks if Bumble could just get along with Tom better (bro???) and when Bumble says it’s not within her control, the leader suggests being nicer to the humans instead. Another rival leader butts in and verbally abuses Bumble again by ripping into how fat and lazy and useless she would be. Despite Turtle Tail having been friends with Bumble and Bumble had helped her through her own hard times, to Gray Wing’s approval Turtle Tail chooses not to intervene as Bumble is forcibly escorted back to her abuser. But that’s not all. Later Bumble is found in the forest maimed and dying, and it seems likely that Gray Wing’s brother Clear Sky, a male with a long history of violence, is the culprit. Rather than mourn the dying innocent cat, Gray Wing’s primary concern is how other cats might be mean to Clear Sky if they think he’s a murderer, and reassures himself that refusing to help Bumble in her time of need was still the right decision.

2.) I have no idea how she managed to be written so horrifically from an abuse victim and woman (/she-cat I guess) standpoint but here we are. Okay so my memory is a bit fuzzy but basically Bumble was a character in Dawn of the Clans and a close friend to Turtle Tail, a major character, as well as a character who lived close to Tom, an abusive dickhead of a cat. Bumble was largely depicted as just a really sweet cat. Turtle Tail was very briefly the mate of Turtle Tail, but once she got pregnant, he became super violent towards both her and our gal Bumble. Tom actively hid the fact that, once her kits were old enough, Turtle Tail’s kits would probably be taken from her, and made Bumble keep quiet about this too, but Bumble eventually told Turtle Tail the truth, Turtle Tail left and Tom became extremely violent towards Bumble because of this, and was extremely abusive towards her. Eventually, Bumble ran away from him to where Turtle Tail and co were and begged to stay, since the wilderness as a whole was genuinely more safe than being around Tom was. Naturally, this meant kitty xenophobia from cats who had only arrived in that area recently, because everybody was insistent than, since she was a kittypet/house cat, things wouldn’t work out, and even her friend Turtle Tail denied her on this, insisted she was too soft to live in the wild and only sent her towards a cat Bumble wanted to convince because she was absolutely certain she’d be denied. Also our good old protagonist Gray Wing got to spend this scene being all upset about this soft cat wanting to join them to escape an abuser and was all bitter about the fact that Turtle Tail lived with her for a short period of time, and he also got to have a sweet romantic moment with Turtle Tail after denying an abuse victim an escape from her abuser. Also as much as I like Tall Shadow usually she sucked ass in the following scene because she was essentially telling Bumble to go find a way to make peace with Tom as if she was not the one being abused (Bumble pointed out that Tom was the one who would need to make peace for it to happen, not her) and that she should just make life better by going back to being a housecat and being spoiled despite the fact that she was actively at risk with her owners because of Tom. Then she leaves after being threatened by several cats there and is called soft on the way out. The next time she appears she is literally dying, and her death is just a plot device to create a stupid little mystery which is solved in a very stupid way. Also her abuser does continue to be a shithead and for some reason is fully permitted to kidnap his own children but he also gets a heroic death and the only reason I will not rant more about him is because this is too long already. Long story short Bumble deserves the world and everybody who decided not to let her escape her abuser just because they thought she was soft sucks

3.) Is nice to the group of starving, feral wild cats that left the mountains so their friends and family could have more food to eat and befriends one of them to the point of opening her home to her after she leaves the group because the guy she likes is too dumb to notice she likes him and keeps falling for his brother’s love interests.

Unfortunately, because Bumble is a house cat who lives in a house with people and not a Wild and Free cat, this is a grave and horrible crime (luring a wild cat into the safety and comforts of domesticity) and is villainized for the rest of the arc, including for things wildly out of her control

I.E.

Her owners taking in an aggressive male cat that bullies and abuses the two female cats already living there

When Bumble’s friend leaves and goes back to the wild cats, Bumble leaves her home (as the abuse as has gotten worse) to see if she could either get help or have her friend return so the abuse isn’t as bad again)

Bumble eventually dies in the wild because the feral cats all hate her for ‘stealing’ their friend and tricking her into becoming a kittypet for awhile and refuse to help Bumble adjust to wild life or even teaching her how to hunt.

They are littl e to no hard feelings at her death beyond ‘good riddance’ but the aggressive tomcat that chased her out of her home is later regarded with good feelings and regret at such a ‘good, heroic cat’ passing when he dies despite him literally never doing a good or kind thing in his life and actually causing trouble for the wild cats right before dying

ALEX DEWITT (DC COMICS)

1.) The term “fridging” is literally based on Alex and what happened to her. She was killed off violently by a bad guy trying to get at her boyfriend only a couple issues after she was introduced (making it obvious they only brought her in to kill her off for shock value). Her death did very little to the narrative other than hurt her boyfriend Kyle and was done in an exceedingly horrifying and violent way. (Bad guy came to the door with flowers and threatening note, broke in and attacked her, choking her to death, before [off panel] chopping her body up and sticking it in the refrigerator as a “surprise” for her boyfriend. This obviously is really fucked up and she deserves better and should win this actually (a vote for Alex is a vote for all fridging victims [in spirit])

2.) It doesn’t get much worse than being the character whose death originated the “fridging” trope. In Green Lantern Vol. 3 #54, Kyle Rayner comes home to find that Alexandra, his girlfriend, has been killed by the villain Major Force and stuffed into the refrigerator.

Alexandra DeWitt is the character whose misogynistic treatment coined the term where a character, usually female, is killed off purely to make the main character, usually male, feel bad. Even if there are other characters who have been subjected to similar levels of misogyny, Alexandra DeWitt’s treatment has been essentially immortalized.

3.) I know she’s not going to win but shout out to my home girl, literally the trope namer for women shoved in fridges. All anyone ever knows about her is that she was Kyle’s girlfriend and got murdered for his character development, even though she had plenty of potential to be her own character.

[justaholeinmysoul]

Maybe parents fuck you up and still it's not an excuse to be an ass to your children maybe your parents fuck you up and you can over correct with your kids but you can also learn how to be better bc you KNOW better

[ellecdc]

Hello, I absolutely love your work. I was just wondering if you could do something with animagus!reader x poly!wolfstar...? If not, that's totally okay. Have a good day 💓

I can never say no to wolfstar <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader who is an animagus [1.2k words]

CW: Remus chiding reader [lovingly] for not sleeping enough, Sirius having everything under control, fluff

“Hey Pads.” Remus let out with a sigh as he entered their dorm room, immediately loosening his school tie and dropping his bookbag onto his bed.

“Hey Moons.” Sirius returned quickly as he flipped the page in his book; sitting with his back against the headboard of his own bed and curled up in one of Remus’ jumpers.

“Do you know where your girlfriend is?” Remus asked, causing Sirius to snort.

“My girlfriend? When’d she become my girlfriend?”

“She’s your girlfriend when she refuses to eat properly and drink enough water, or get more than three hours of sleep ‘here and there’.” Remus muttered rather petulantly, though it was all for show when he felt his heart traitorously twinge remembering how cute you looked nearly falling asleep over your breakfast this morning.

✧˖°☾

“It’s breakfast dovey, you should be waking up now, not falling asleep.” Remus said to you as he massaged the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

You looked rather sheepish as you tried to shake yourself or your residual sleepiness and brought a fork full of pancakes to your mouth. “Sorry moons… Was up late studying.”

“How late?” Remus had asked with his eyes narrowed, causing you to wince around your bite.

“Erm…what time is it now?”

“Dovey.” 

“I slept for a little bit! Maybe…I don’t know, a few hours?”

“How many is a few?” He deadpanned.

“Three?”

✧˖°☾

He’d not been pleased with you, to say the least. But there was nothing he could do as the day quickly got away from him - between staying late after Herbology to get extra credit helping out Professor Sprout, grabbing something to eat from the kitchens before rushing to the library to tutor the first year Defence Against the Dark Arts students, and finally, his prefect rounds - he was only returning to his own dorm long after the sun had already set.

If he was tired, you must be positively exhausted. 

“Oh, I get it.” Sirius replied with a huff. “When she’s tired and teary, she’s my girlfriend, but when she’s dutifully doted upon, she’s yours?”

“Yeah.” Remus agreed quickly, smiling before moving to peck a kiss to Sirius’ extremely kissable lips. “See? You get it.” 

“Wanker.” Sirius muttered with a smile before puckering his lips for one more, and Remus gave him two. 

“Was she terribly teary?” Remus asked then as he went to shed off his uniform and find himself a jumper that either you or Sirius hadn’t pilfered from his pile yet. 

“Not terribly.” Sirius offered vaguely, causing Remus to make a sympathetic noise.

“But she was teary?” 

Sirius made a noncommittal sound as he continued with his book. “No worse than you after a few too many pepper-up potions in place of, oh, how did you phrase it... eating properly, drinking enough water, and getting more than three hours of sleep here and there?” 

“Prat.” Remus muttered as he tossed his uniform shirt at him, but Sirius - the bastard - caught it without even looking up. “Did you send her off to bed, then?”

“Sure.”

“Sirius.”

“Yes, Moons?” Sirius asked, looking up from his book with an innocent smile that Remus knew to be anything but innocent when coming from one Sirius Orion Black.

“She needs to sleep, Pads.”

“And I can assure you without a shadow of a doubt that she’s currently doing just that.” He responded simply.

“Yeah, how?” 

Sirius simply winked at him before looking back down at his book. “Trade secrets, Moons.”

“Sirius.”

“Oh would you just come over here, then? You sodding git.” 

Remus momentarily considered staying on his side of the dorm room just out of spite for Sirius’ cheek, but his interest positively piqued when Sirius finally placed a bookmark in the book he’d been flipping through and pulled at the collar of his jumper. Remus’ jumper.

“You’re gonna stretch the neck out.” Remus muttered, but dutifully moved across the room to look under Sirius’ Remus’ jumper to see that, laying between the soft fabric of Sirius’ band tee and Remus’ jumper was a small, long-haired calico cat sleeping peacefully with its tail curled protectively around its body and resting gently on its own nose.

Remus made an embarrassing tsking sound at the sweet sight and fought against the urge to shove his hand into the jumper in order to give you some scratches (which would only serve to wake you), opting to press a firm kiss to Sirius’ head instead. 

“See? Told ya I had it all under control.”

“You said no such thing, Sirius.” 

“Well it should always just be assumed, then.” 

Remus shook his head but didn’t bother to argue as he moved to the other side of Sirius’ bed and made himself comfortable. “So much for not being a cat person, hm?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Moons; I love cats.” Sirius responded haughtily.

“Liar.”

“If I didn’t like cats, why would I have one shoved up my shirt, huh?” 

“You don’t like cats, you like her.”

“Correction,” Sirius countered, not unlike one of his snooty little first years during his tutoring session, “I love her.” 

“I do too.” Remus agreed with a beaming smile. “I love you.” 

“Well I should hope so,” Sirius laughed, “I saved you from a category five over-tired meltdown for looking at her sideways when she complained how tired she was.” 

“Did you?”

“Of course not!” Sirius chided with a laugh and swatted him with his now closed book. “I have more tact and grace than you.” 

It was Remus’ turn to snort. “Sure.” 

“The trick was,” Sirius offered conspiratorily, “telling her I was cold, and asking if she’d cuddle me whilst I read.” 

“Devious.”

“Mischevious, some might say.”

With that, a little nose and a set of whiskers poked out from the collar of Sirius’ borrowed jumper to look at Remus expectantly.

“Hey, sweetness.” He offered quietly, holding his hand out which encouraged you to poke out only as far as your neck in order to rub against his fingers; tiny body vibrating with purrs.

Sirius shifted so he was laying on his back, only propped up by the pillows on his bed, and Remus repositioned himself to join him as he laid on his side to watch the two of you.

You left your neck poking out of the jumper, but Remus could see underneath the knitted fabric your little body flatten out again against your boyfriend's chest as you let out a deep, relaxed breath and closed your eyes once more. 

“Good job, Pads.” Remus had whispered a few moments later; watching as your shallow feline breaths evened out rhythmically. He’d been so focused on monitoring your breathing he hadn’t realised Sirius’ had evened out too, and Remus was left to close the curtains to the four poster bed and press a kiss to each of your heads - one human, one feline - before turning out the lights.

[new-revenant]

I had a crack idea of since Danny likes to do time missions sometimes for Clockwork on one of those missions he ended up meeting an 8-year-old Ra al Ghul who ended up becoming obsessed with the powerful 14-year-old Danny believing him to be like a god since if you saw a glowing floating teenager 500 years ago you would probably think it's a God too

Ever since Ra al Ghul has dedicated himself to being phantoms worshiper seeing him anyone that's connected to him as a God of the Lazarus pits

Danny calls him his creepy stalker that somehow is still alive and Danny's pretty sure it's only because of spite

So two years for Danny he ends up being summoned by the Justice League and being asked to make a a partnership with the Justice League and they asked Danny what he would like in return

Danny pops out a bunch of boxes and it's like can you help me get rid of my stalkerish cult leader named Ra al Ghul Danny uses each box to pull out a piece of evidence of Ra al Ghul just being stalkerish and creepy

Some things in the Box are sacrifices are wrong letters about Danny that Ross have been doing into the Lazarus pits at Danny has been getting heck Ra al Ghul has even found someone named Tim Drake that looks like him and Danny's incredibly worried about poor guy because of Ra al Ghul

Danny's rent including being worried about Talia, Dusan, and Damien since they were named after Danny's family Friends he accidentally mentioned to Ra al Ghul back then

To the Justice League especially the Batfam members are they are just watching this definite God like being be like just stop Ra al Ghul from stalking me and I'll be able to help you whenever you need me to help

Crack, crack, crack, crack! Aight time to actually read this

omg that’s hilarious, I love it. I love when gods or god-like beings are like “please help me this guy is freaking me out” to just some other guys. I’d image that once he learns that Ra is messing with Batfam as well, before he would ever get summoned by the JL, he would definitely try to warn them of Ra’s weirdness(that they likely are already aware of, but Danny want to make extra sure they are safe). If anyone asks why Danny isn’t just dealing with Ra himself, it’s because he feels bad. That Ra al Ghul guy just seems so sad, and lonely, and pathetic, worshiping this random ghost teen(in Danny’s mind). Danny just needs help with letting Ra down easily that no, he’s not a god, he (probably) just the king/prince of ghosts and is also just friend with a time god(clockwork). Just go worship that guy instead.

[in-class-daydreams]

Imagine how thick the tension is between ex-husband Geto and you, his hot, rich nepo baby ex with whom he went from enemies to lovers and now back to enemies.

"You're demoting my student?!" Suguru asks in disbelief.

You're seated in his Tokyo Jujutsu High office on the other side of the desk. Legs folded, nails perfectly manicured, pantsuit custom-made - you are the very picture of post-divorce vengeance.

There was no hiding the extra moment his stare fixed on you when you'd walked in.

"No, babe, I'm not. The higher ups are," you reply and your ex's eye twitches. He hated being called pet names he deemed 'juvenile' even while you were together, preferring more elegance like 'my love' or 'darling' or 'sweetheart.' Of course, now you call him babe to spite him.

"You're shitting me," he says.

You shrug and sort of feel bad for the young sorcerer getting demoted, but not that bad. "What do you want me to do, Suguru? Your little pet project has needed to get bailed out of her last three missions. Maybe go have a talk with her, find out what's her damage, and then we could be back in business."

Suguru can't exactly argue with the facts. He just gives you a scathing look and signs the paper you need to archive. The moment he finishes the last stroke of his name, he waves you off.

"Go on and finish your other chores your daddy sent you on." And of course, he has to take a jab at you in return. "Sweetheart." His actual nickname for you when you were together. It made you blush back then, and now your face turns red for an entirely different reason.

Rolling your eyes, you snatch up the paperwork, making sure your sleeve rides up when you grab it. On your wrist is a chunky gold bracelet with a half dozen custom charms on it. You made sure to wear something he couldn't help but comment on. His gaze locks onto it, as you predicted.

"That doesn't look like something you'd buy for yourself." Regret briefly flashes across his face once he realizes the opening he just gave you.

"Oh yeah," you say casually and move around the desk to stand in front of him. "That Kamo Clan guy, the one that was a few years ahead of us? He's been sending me little gifts lately. I guess he's finally on the marriage market. But if you like the bracelet so much, here."

You unzip his jacket and slowly run your hand from his collarbone down to his pec. Suguru stares into your soul the whole way down. Even through the fabric of his dress shirt, his skin is hot to the touch. It's summer, and you can just imagine the pretty tan he's sporting underneath. But that's a thought for another time. Now you need him to suffer a bit.

Tucking the bracelet into his shirt pocket, you withdraw your hand and walk towards the door like nothing happened.

"Bye, Suguru!" you cheer with a little finger wiggle.

Your ex-husband, who's desperately trying to blink the dark look out of his eyes, glares at you whilst splayed out in his chair with his jacket wide open.

"I hate you," he says.

You give Suguru a hand heart and leave his office.

First, y'all got pining, self-sacrificial ex-husband Gojo and his formerly feisty ex-wife who still love each other, now please enjoy this sample of ex-husband Geto and his hot, rich nepo baby ex-wife who plays "The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived" on repeat whenever she's about to go see him

[Masterlist]

[gilverrwrites]

More details about Jason reaction having for the first time having a toy put on him ? He definitely wasn’t expecting THAT much of a sensation.

The post in reference for anyone unaware.

(Kinda) subby Jason twice in as many days? Who am I? Will I be getting my sub card revoked for this?

CWs: Swearing, spit, and brief sub-drop.

You’re right, no he fucking wasn’t.

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to be honest but it’s not this, and you’re so damn coy with it, keeping him on edge, teasing that poor 6’2 of raging muscles boy.

When you press the vibrating head of it against the base his whole-body tenses, fighting off the ticklish sensation; all his muscles stiffen, toes curling, balls tight, and his shaft twitches. When he relaxes again, he thinks that’s it. He laughs as you slowly, gently drag it up his length, deliberately lingering on the pronounced veins you know are extra perceptive.

“Ahh.” He can’t help giggling, voice strained and unusually but endearingly boyish as he tells you; “That tickles.”  

You respond with a mischievously cocked brow, and he’s suddenly struck with feelings of dread and excitement. He knows you’re up to something when your fingers lock onto the base of his cock.

The moment he feels the vibrations on his tip, his whole boy involuntarily jerks until he’s gone from confidently splayed atop the bed to suddenly being slouched, legs wide and in the air, head thrown back. He has a death grip on what he hopes isn’t you, otherwise you’ll be bruised in the morning. Right now he’s too overwhelmed to check.

“Fuck.” His throat feels tight as he stammers out a mantra of hoarse curses. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck.”

It just feels so fucking good, the shaking and the way you’re jerking the shaft with your spit-slicked hand. Fuck. He’s throbbing. Fuck. He didn’t know he could even get this hard.

“Does that feel good baby?” You ask.

“Fuck. Yes.” He answers through gritted teeth. “God yes, please don’t stop dontstopdontstop.”

“How about this?”

Suddenly the tempo changes, increases, and his body jolts again. This time though he lets out a wicked spurt of precum that drips down, mixing with your saliva and spiting droplets across the bed in time with the strongest pulses.  

You could watch him like this all day, red-faced and gleaning under a layer of sweat. Every time you make a sudden move or switch up settings his jaw clenches and his eyes shoot to the back of his head. Quite the opposite of the cool and brooding front he puts on the world; for you, he’s open, and soft and whimpering.

Then, not long after you start driving the wand up and down his cock, fast this time, he’s cumming. Rope after rope of it shooting into the air, most of it landing on his hard stomach. Fuck, there’s so much of it, he’s never cum so much in his goddamn life and he’s suddenly feeling sheepish. He knows you've watched him through every whining, toe-curling step, you've already seen his burning cheeks, but he's not used to being on this end of the stick, not used to being the one feeling timid and exposed when it's all over.

Attempting to comfort himself, he conceals his face in the nearest pillow and focuses on breathing until he feels his dick cease its convulsing and the shame begin to wash off of him.

You’re lightly dabbing at his spillage with a tissue when he peeks out at you. You smile back at him all kind and patient when you see him. It makes him feel like an ass for hiding from you. Next time he won’t do that, next time he’ll look you in the eye, he’ll say your name like a prayer and thank you for making him feel so fucking good.

[lookninjas]

You know what I'm gonna miss? I'm gonna miss the weeks being a week long instead of like ten years long. That's what I'm gonna miss.

Anyway, pick a song from a bad description! You do not have to recognize the song you choose. Go from the vibes. Maybe you just need hopeful words from your anti-racist grandpas right now. Maybe you need some emotional support metal, or soothing piano music. Whatever works for you.

At the end of the week I will put all the songs in order, from the song with the fewest number of votes to the song with the highest number of votes. If you would like to hear the playlist, please leave a comment or put it in your reblog, and I will tag you when the playlist is up.

Also, please reblog the poll! It's not much, but it's a minor distraction, and I think we all need a little distraction.

[onsomenewsht]

Helpless to the bass and faded light

About when she bribes you and you dance with her like a filled stadium isn't looking

》 Leah Williamson x Reader

》 words count: +1k

》 she took my arm / I don't know how it happened / we took the floor and she said

You don’t like football.

It’s quite a boring game if you stop to think about it for a moment. Two dozen and counting people running around a ball trying to kick it into a huge net.

Not something you look forward to sit through for almost two hours.

Despite your father’s best efforts, you being his only kid and his only hope to pass down his passion, the sport never managed to interest you long enough to care.

You even found yourself in the stands of your dad’s favourite club’s home more times than you’re able to remember, going beyond yourself and cheering when the other people around you did.

The things you do to make your parents proud.

How you managed to have the English captain wrapped around your finger, regardless of your well-known dislike for her biggest passion and purpose in life, is still a mystery for your families and friends.

“Pretty please, just this one”

“Oh, shut up!”, you hit her arm and push her off you, both still naked.

You can’t believe your girlfriend is actually trying to bribe you with sex, not even waiting for you to fully recover before asking to go to the game.

“No, you ruined the mood”, you state as the blonde tries to kiss you again.

The huge grin of her beautiful face is quite dangerous, she can win you over so easily and you both know it.

Leah rises off the bed to retrieve a warm cloth from the bathroom and a clean shirt from the closet. You accept her attention, she’s always caring when it comes to you, but you’re pretty sure the extra effort has a not-so-subtle second purpose.

“You can’t buy me so easily, Williamson”

She can.

“It’s a really important game, my love”

“For who?”

“For me?”, she tries as she slots herself under your open arm, a grin hidden between your neck and the pillow.

“I barely bear you playing”

“You love watching me play”

“I love you, period”

Leah knows how much you think the sport is boring, going way out of your comfort zone just to cheer her. She feels immensely supported when she finds your big smile in the stands, wrapped in one of her jerseys.

It’s not that difficult for you to sit and admire your girlfriend in her element, focusing more on her movements and attitude than paying attention to the actual game.

What you find quite annoying is enduring Arsenal’s men’s team.

The defender’s fingers on your side are slowly soothing you in a compromising position, too relaxed and smitten to keep denying her anything. You know she doesn’t need much more to lure you into her trap and, unfortunately for you, she’s perfectly aware too.

When the blonde’s lips find the particularly sensitive spot on the base of your neck, you’re doomed.

~

You’re glad your father is already dead or you’d have killed him as you take your seat in the Emirates Stadium, surrounded by the Gunners’ colours. Your girlfriend’s name on your back could be the final nail.

The things you do to make your lover happy.

“You know I love you, right?”

“You better never forget this”, you quip back.

The English captain has been looking forward to this game for weeks now, you couldn’t have been able to turn her down in spite of it all.

She doesn’t need to know though, you didn’t accept to spend one of your date nights watching the North West London derby for free.

“Maybe you will enjoy it at the end”

Nice try, you will not.

“You know, my dad was a West Ham supporter”

“Could have been worse”, she smiles at you, reaching for your hand.

Talking about your father is getting easier as time finally moves forward and your grief keeps changing its shape. Compared to the abyssal black hole it felt like the first year and a half, its progress.

Leah didn’t meet him, crushing in your life a couple of months after his passing, but she managed to find a space in your heart that keeps growing despite all your fears.

They could have hit so well, bonding over their shared passion for the sport and their never-ending determination to make you happy.

You told her some stories about him, mostly memories to make your girlfriend understand how stubborn and passionate he was about the thing he cared about.

The one thing you all have in common.

“Yeah, he used to gift me a West Ham jersey every year on Bobby Moore’s birthday”

Leah’s laugh managed to overcome the buzzing atmosphere of the stadium, making you feel like she was the reason all the people around you were cheering. You sure think so.

“He sounds like an incredible father”

“Football obsession aside, he was good”

When you turn to look at her, the blonde’s eyes are already on you and the smile on her face is enough to warm your heart.

~

The first goal coming within five minutes has you quite engaged in what’s happening on the pitch, you even drag your girlfriend in a kiss as you both rise from your seats to celebrate.

Your commitment declined quite easily after that, more entertained by Leah’s reactions than the actual game. You nod in amusement every time she tries to talk you through one of her analyses, placing a hand on her thigh to stop her from standing up every time the ball is somehow close to the box.

The second half is more eventual, at least that’s what you can understand by the excitement the defender and the people in the stands around you seem to radiate.

You’re not clueless, you’re perfectly aware a five-nil win against Chelsea is quite the result. You care enough to think you can’t wait to go home - Leah is always in the mood for a private celebration when her team triumphs, especially over another London club.

“Can we go now?”, you ask as soon as the referee whistles three times, declaring the end of your and the Blues’ torture.

Leah’s happiness is contagious, so you’re not mad when she drags you in her arms to join her cheers and enthusiastic dance. It takes you less than a second to indulge her, letting the blonde spin you around and matching her excitement.

When she dips you and seals the move with a kiss the laugh that rises out of you is genuine and loud.

At first, neither of you notice the stadium’s camera pointed in your direction, recording your little moment of pure bliss in each other’s arms.

Looking back at it, as all your friends sent you the viral video, you know Leah saw you two on the big screen and went along with her little cocky display of affection and excitement for the victory.

You’re sure your father could be laughing at it too, despite the colors you’re wearing.

fine.

[cottonlemonade]

hii! may i please order a medium pineapple lemonade with extra ice for suna? your work is always so wonderful 🥹🌸

Accidental Confession

word count: 1317 || avg. reading time: 6 mins.

pairing: rival!Suna x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff with some suggestiveness, enemies to lovers

warnings: mdni

request: fluffy-spicy accidental confession with rival Suna

It all started with a meme. If Suna hadn’t taken that picture of you stretching during class and added a little Simba into your hands, you wouldn’t have photoshopped his face onto a mop.

To be fair, his was harmless. Yours was downright rude and so he fell in love immediately.

He followed you around - not as inconspicuously as he might have hoped - to sneak a photo in the most meme worthy moments, flooding his camera roll with dozens and eventually hundreds of snapshots of you. The whole front of a silly little meme war was a great excuse to mask his steadily growing crush and his friends didn’t think anything of it when Suna set a picture of you mid-sneeze as his lock screen. Granted, he himself was still very much in denial about his feelings as well, so it wasn’t that difficult to pretend that he wasn’t bothered when you talked to an upperclassman and laughed loudly at his, undoubtedly, mediocre joke - although Suna did sweep his pencil case off his desk in an attempt to wave Osamu off when he asked if he was okay.

The class groaned when the teacher announced that for the impending field trip they’d be split into teams of two via random lottery. Half the students got assigned a number while the other half drew a little piece of paper from a box held out to them to match with said number. Quiet cheers and not so quiet disappointment could be heard and the teacher called for silence.

Annoyed that he didn’t even get the minuscule chance to work with him, Suna leaned over to Osamu, “Who do you have?” His friend unfolded his paper and turned it over to read.

“5. That’s…”, he craned his neck to check and count, “Y/n, ya?”

“Switch with me.”, Suna said.

“Why? Who do ya have?”

“Don’t care. Come on.”

Osamu frowned and raised an almost disappointed brow.

“What happened to ya, dude? Ya know, yer bein’ real obvious at this point, right?”

Suna rejected the allegations, waited a moment, then simply exchanged his slip of paper with Osamu’s.

“Ya owe me.”, Osamu noted.

“Yeah yeah.”

Meanwhile, you seemed less thrilled about the match and when the bell rang you threw an annoyed look at Suna who gave you a blank stared wave and went to lunch with your friends. He was a very unfortunate long-term crush you had nursed since the beginning of the year and was as handsome as he was annoying. In spite of this, you had a great time complaining about your matched partners over your bentos while enjoying the mellowing summer sun under the shade of a tree.

When the next morning arrived, Suna made sure to be only two minutes late instead of his usual 15, so he could secure the spot next to you on the long drive to Kobe. The class would be headed to the big art museum in the city and as an assignment got a list of 15 art pieces they had to find, like a scavenger hunt. The first team to get a picture from each of their art works would get to choose where to go for lunch.

With a sigh you dropped in the seat next to him, frowning at his sleepy grin. When you only scoffed and looked away, his heart started pounding and he had no idea why. And this wasn‘t a “oh Suna, you‘re just in love, silly“ kinda pounding. No! This was more similar to that one time when he went out for coffee with his friends and instead of admitting that he wanted his favorite - a sickeningly sweet vanilla latte with extra syrup pumps - he ordered an iced Americano with a triple shot because he thought it sounded cool and for hours it had felt as if a tiny panicked bird was trapped in his chest. In short, he concluded, you were not good for his health.

“Alright.”, you said once you turned to him. You stood in the entrance together with the rest of the class, holding the reference paper in hand listing the artwork, “I’ll take the top 8, you take the bottom 7.”

He bit back a comment about how there was nothing “bottom” about him, but one look from you and he was quiet. That icy stare of disdain made him want to do the cooking and the cleaning and ask how your day had been while he finished up the ironing. “Let’s do this.”, he replied and nearly whimpered when you rolled your eyes at him.

With some quick online searching, the artwork was quickly found and the pictures taken. To keep up appearances he snapped a few pics in between of the NPCs in baroque paintings with increasingly weird facial expressions, fully intending to ask, “This you?” the next time he saw you. He could also airdrop them during class and looked forward to receiving a less than flattering emoji or thumbs down.

But now he had a different objective. Excited at the prospect of finally having an excuse to get your number, he jogged through the museum to your previously agreed upon meeting spot, finding you seated and waiting for him on a bench. You were scribbling on a notepad precariously balanced on your knees. He snuck up behind you, leaned in close to your ear and in a low calm voice went, “Boo.”

The yelp you let out had museum goers turn to you and a man with a lanyard, who was guiding a tour, threw an exasperated sigh in your direction.

“You better sleep with one eye open.”, you pressed out through gritted teeth, a deep red tint on your cheeks.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”, he said simply and in one smooth movement sat down next to you.

“So, how do you wanna do this?”, he then asked casually, waiting for you to say the words.

“Just airdrop them to me.”, you frowned.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Luckily his deflated shoulders were masked by his chronically bad posture and he quickly selected the necessary pictures.

Your phone gave a little buzz and you accepted the stack. “That’s all. You’re excused. Go off and do… whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I can stay and help, you know? I skimmed some of the plackets.”

“What great work ethic.”, you deadpanned but moved your notepad closer to him so he could see.

With your other hand you swiped through the photos, double checking if you had everything.

He was too busy catching a whiff of your shampoo to notice you furrowing your brow.

“Uhm, Suna.”

You turned your phone screen to him and the blood drained from his face.

It was a picture of you - of course, what else could it have been. You were absently staring out the window in the classroom, your hair a little messy from a regular day of fending for your life in high school. Your chin rested on your palm and the sun shone beautifully against your face. He knew the picture well, because just last night when he couldn’t sleep, he edited it. Black and white hearts bordered the snapshot, a slightly blurry filter gave it a dreamlike feel. He gagged when he saw just how mushy he must have felt to add words around your head. Pookie. Baddie. Loml. My Bbg.

“What kind of prank is this?”, you asked, suspicion clinging to every syllable.

Suna thought.

Telling you that this picture was born out of post-nut hormones would only lead to a somewhat compromising confession that he fondled and humped his body pillow thinking of you, having no problem at all imagining your so very tempting love handles spilling between his fingers.

“Would you believe me if I told you my dog took my phone?“

You stared at him for a moment, then broke into giggles.

a/n: thank you so much for continuing to participate in my events! I’m so happy when someone comes back for more 🥺 I hope you enjoyed this one! 🌟

And once again thank you to @haikyu-mp4 for letting me surf her brain through the storm ✨

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Cut Deep

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Bad news brings the worst out in Logan. [reader is a mutant who can see emotions]

Characters: Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

Note: since this is my first time writing this character, I'd especially appreciate some extra feedback

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“So, me and Scott just wanted to let everyone know we chose a date!” Jean is ecstatic. You can feel her happiness radiating from her. Despite how often you try to block those vibrations out, hers are so strong, you can’t. “And we’ll send out the invitations soon. Be sure to RSVP! And we know you all can make it because it will be right here at the mansion.” 

She beams as Scott drapes his arm around her shoulders. They are such a cute couple. Perfect. Everyone on the team loves them. Well, everyone except for the one person roiling with black clouds of spite. 

You glance over at Logan as he stews by the door. He stands with his burly arms crossed, his biceps straining in his leather jacket. He glares at the happy couple and curls his lip. Everyone also knows that he has a rotten infatuation with Jean, too. You feel bad for him really. 

He catches you staring before you can tear your eyes away. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. You quickly look away and swallow. You get up and go to Jean and Scott. 

“Congrats, guys,” you smile, “let me know if you need any help with planning.” 

“Thank you. Of course,” Jean smiles as Scott echoes her. 

You make room for another well-wisher and back away, basking in the good energy all around. Well, mostly. You feel Logan steaming still but you refuse to look at him. You know how he gets when he’s upset. You don’t need to be able to see into his mind to know he’s pissed off. 

As the room converges on the happily engaged couple, you opt to leave before the noise can get too much. You’re always a bit more sensitive with the extra effort of trying to block out the sounds that you don’t want to hear. It’s like a buzz on the other side of a wall. If the door cracks open, it will all blast in like a sonic wave. 

You go into the library and reclaim the book you set left carelessly open on a leather armrest. It’s a history of mutants written in the 1700s. A secret tome Professor Xavier collected among his endless search for compatriots, both past and present. 

Some you know from the history taught in schools for non-mutants. Like the queen accused of witchcraft or the countless people executed for the very same. Emperors who’s legacies are chalked up to folktale and superstition over the reality of their beings.  

You sit up as you sense the shift in the air. That greyness seeps in before the door opens. You know who it is already yet you’re surprised to see him enter. Logan scowls as his eyes pinpoint at you. His rage continues to burn hotter and hotter. 

“Oh, hi,” you close the book, “sorry, did you need the library--” 

“I need you to stop tryna poke around in my head,” he growls. 

You flinch as you stand slowly, “I... I don’t do that. Those are the rules. I stay in my own.” 

“I saw you staring,” he accuses. 

“I just looked. I could... feel. That I can’t control,” you explain. “Sorry.” 

“Feel what? Huh? What do you think you know?” 

You clear your throat and shake your head. “Nothing, I don’t know anything.” 

“Damn right, you know shit all, little girl,” he stomps over to you. 

You gulp as you stare back at him. Logan, Wolverine, X-Man. He’s one of the most admired and well-known mutants alive but that’s all you know of him. You’ve seen him hundreds of times in the mansion, but only in passing. He never wanted to talk to you, only Jean. As far as you knew, he didn’t even know you existed. 

“That’s correct,” you agree. 

You peek down at the book in your hand. You should put it back. You sniff but as you go to turn, he rips you back by your upper arm. His grip is steel. You face him and wince as he squeezes enough to make your bones ache. 

“You think I’m what? Some pathetic creature that’s slathering over another guy’s girl?” He barks. 

You shake your head, “nope. No. I wouldn’t... know.” 

“You fucking wouldn’t,” he grits, his fingertips pushing into your tender arm. You let out a squeak. “Me? What about you? Always around. Riding her fucking coat tails. All for what? Cause you can tell when I’m having a bad fucking day. Every day is fucking bad.” 

You stare at him. A vein bulges in his forehead, another in his neck, and he’s slightly red with his fury. You don’t understand why he’s mad at you. Well, people often don’t aim their emotions in the right direction. Often, there’s too much for them to feel and it just spills over.  

Logan’s aura deepens to a thick black. Darker and bolder than anything you’ve ever witnessed. It tendrils around you as you squirm. You clasp onto the book and try to wiggle free as the blood throbs in your arm. 

“Ouch. Please, let me go. I wasn’t meaning to--” 

“You’re never going to be her. You know that? You won’t even be an X-Man. You’re just one of Charles’ pets.” He reaches for the book and rips it from your hand. “He keeps you in your birdcage and you flutter around and read these stupid things.” 

He tosses the book onto the floor and steps closer. You step back and whine. He keeps on until you’re against a shelf. 

“You’ll never be her and I’ll never have her,” he grits out. “So, we’ll compromise.” He grabs your neck and you writhe and whimper. “What do you feel now, huh?” 

A wisp of red tinges the black fog unfurling from his broad shoulders. More anger but something more. Lust. Love is a delicate pink or a pale purple, but lust is a deep and lurid crimson. Mixed with his rage, it is something more. It’s a tainted hue. 

“I can pretend. You should try to do the same.” 

“Please,” you press your hands against his stomach. 

“Don’t try that shit,” he drags his other hand down your arm and puts his knuckles to your side. He lets his claws out just enough to jab you. “You can’t get in my head. Professor made well sure of that.” 

You squeak and shake your head, “I wouldn’t-- Logan, please--” 

“Shut your damn mouth and pull your pants down. I ain’t got all day,” he snarls. 

“What?” You bat your eyes as they glisten. “No, no, what are you--” 

His claws poke you again, easily piercing your shirt and scratching your skin. You lean back into the shelf as you peel your hands away from him. He glowers at you as he releases your neck. He crowds you in as you wait just a moment longer, hoping, wishing he would go. 

You lower your hands cautiously. You drop your gaze, humiliated. You shake as you hook your thumbs under your waistband and push your leggings down. You gulp as your eyes tingle. 

He grabs your shoulder and spins you to face the shelf. You let out an oomph as you catch yourself against the books. He trails up to the back of your neck and pinches. You squeal into a sob. Your disbelief bubbles to horror. You brace the wood as he yanks on your panties. 

“Fucking girl,” he mutters. “Lookin’ at me... what d’ya fucking know?” 

“Logan--” 

“Stop saying my goddamn name.” He shoves your head so it hits a shelf and you groan. Ouch. 

You close your eyes and lean your forehead on the wood. Jean says you need to breathe. Centre yourself. It’s hard when you’re terrified. 

You inhale, taking in his emotion, his anger, even a tinge of that other desire that drives him so slap your ass. He digs in his nails as you babble. You gather the black cloud and blow it out. 

He hisses and recoils as it ripples off of you like fire. He growls and as you go to turn, he sweeps your feet out from under you. You flail as you fall, landing on your elbow so it throbs. You whine and roll onto your stomach. You drag yourself over the floor as he clutches his head and snarls. 

“I told ya not to try anything,” he barks. 

“Please, please, I didn’t do anything.” 

He steps over you and falls to his knees. He straddles you as you claw at the floor, pushing your toes down as you try to escape him. He swats the back of your head so hard your vision blurs. His anger darkness the room and disorients you. 

You’ve never felt anything so intense and you feel everything. Love, joy, pain, grief, confusion... fear. His anger strangles you as he forces your head down to the floor, leaning his weight on his head as he pins you. 

He raises himself on his knees and shifts. You kick out, thrashing your arms. You open and close your hands and clamp shut your eyes. You can do it. Take his anger in-- 

You scream as you’re scalded by the corrupt energy pouring from him. No, it’s too much. You’re not ready. All that training and you’re still weak. 

You murmur at the floor, “no, no, please, no...” 

He traces his hand down your ass and forces his fingers between your thighs. He feels around roughly, scratching your as he flicks along your dry folds. You gulp and heave. Your tears swell in an unstoppable flow. 

You slap your hands on the floor and tense as he prods around, dipping a thick digit into your cunt with a grunt. Your legs distend and you push your toes down. He delves, in, out, deeper, harder, smashing into you. 

He rips his hand away and you whine again. He leans over you, his hand stretching across your skull entirely. You can feel his strength in your neck. He bends, hot breath scalding your scalp with the flames of his wrath. 

You weep as he brings his tip along your flesh and guides it around blindly. He puts more weight onto your head as he stretches you around his tip. You shriek and jut your arm out straight, the edge of the rug curling in your grasp. 

“Help, someone! Help--” 

He grabs your head with both hands and slams it into the floor. The reverberating impact fractures your voice and thoughts. He rams his hips down and impales you around his thick cock. You murmur as spittle leaks from your mouth and tears continue to smear your face. 

He thrusts, holding himself at his limit and well past yours. He grips your skull tighter and tighter with each tilt. He huffs and puffs, growling and groaning as he tears you up from the inside. 

Finally, he releases your head. The metallic shink of his claws cuts through the delirium of physical and mental anguish. The pain in your bones can’t compare to the dagger of his anger piercing through your soul. 

He stabs his claws into the floor on either side of your neck. The adamantium grazes your skin, keeping you still for fear of cutting deeper. You wheeze and go rigid as he rears back and slams down harder and harder. His flesh clasp louder with each cruel descent. 

The black cloud creeps over the floor like heavy fog. It crawls up the walls as a glimmer of red weaves through it. He ruts deeper and deeper, the motion jarring you so that his claws scrape away the skin at your neck. 

He bends over you, curling his shoulders as you feel him tense. He exhales as the blackness covers the ceiling and casts you into shadow. You reach to grasp at his claws, slicing your palms helplessly as you cling on. 

He thrusts until you feel him in your guts. Once, twice, several time with all the hatred he can summon. He growls and trembles as he spills into you, a heat hotter than even his boiling rage.  

Your hands slip from his claws and you spread your bloodied palms on the carpet. You quake in horrified sobs. He buries himself as he lays his entire weight over you limply. He puffs as he dislodged the metal from the floor.  

He hangs his head next to yours and sneers, “it shouldn’t be him, Jean.” 

You hold your breath. You can’t speak or move for fear of reminding him what he’s just done. Or worse, reigniting his assault. 

He groans and slides out, flipping off of you to sit on his ass. He rests his arms on his bent knees and sighs. You watch the black haze dim to a dull grey. He’s still angry but he can contain it. The storm has calmed but it's far from over.

[solarmorrigan]

No one looks like they did in high school forever (be kinda weird if they did, honestly). Changes catch up with everyone sooner or later. For Steve, it seems to have happened sooner.

Personally, Eddie is in favor.

It isn’t that he hadn’t thought Steve looked in good in high school – god knows it isn’t that (Eddie may have thought Steve had been an asshole at the time, but he’d been a pretty one). It’s just that high school had been a time of basketball and swim meets and carefully watching his diet and carefully curating his appearance to match what he’d thought other people would want to see.

The time since graduation has been spent putting on the type of muscle that would better facilitate fighting monsters and keeping a band of misfit children safe (because after three times around, Steve hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to believe that the Upside Down was really gone), being fed by a rotating cast of mothers who appreciate him being there for said misfit children, and in letting himself decide how he thinks he looks good.

The first time Eddie really gets a good look at Steve after he’s left high school, he’s gone from lean muscle and looks a bit closer to the tank that Dustin’s been insisting he is. The first time Eddie sees him in action, he decides he wants to climb Steve like a tree.

Broad shoulders, strong biceps, solid core, thick thighs, that ass—is it objectification if you’re dating the guy and also madly in love with him? Whatever—Eddie is of the opinion that the time since high school has been very kind to Steve, appearance-wise.

He’s startled to realize, then, that Steve does not always share this opinion.

It doesn’t happen often; it’s rare enough that even Robin almost misses it, and Eddie is a big enough person to admit that she’s a more experienced Steve-watcher than he is.

For the most part, Steve is comfortable in his skin; he knows he looks good, he knows Eddie thinks he looks good, he knows what he’s capable of, and he’s pleased with where he is. Some days, though – some days just aren’t good days.

There are times when Eddie will catch Steve lingering in the mirror, frowning over a shirt that used to fall differently, or a pair of shorts that used to fit a little more loosely. He might reach for one of the cookies that Claudia sent them home with after their last dinner over at the Henderson household, before faltering and grabbing an apple instead (or, sometimes, nothing at all). He might wear extra layers, steal one of Eddie’s slightly oversized flannel shirts, go on an extra run, or he might not be in the mood to cuddle up to Eddie in bed (in spite of the fact that Eddie knows how much he loves getting to be the little spoon, even if he still refuses to say it out loud).

Most of these things by themselves don’t really have to mean anything, but somehow, Eddie can always tell when it’s one of those insecure days.

(And if Eddie had ever thought when he was younger that Steve Harrington could feel insecure about the way he looks, about his body, he might have cracked a crass joke about King Steve’s obvious need to overcompensate for something. Now, though, he knows better. Also, he’s a tiny bit more mature than that.)

So when he comes into the living room one afternoon to find Steve practically crammed into the corner of the sofa, curled in on himself just enough to suggest that he’s trying to take up less space, Eddie decides that that will just not do.

Eddie loves Steve’s confidence. He loves the space Steve takes up in his life (metaphorically and literally). He loves Steve, and he sure as hell isn’t about to let him spend the day feeling bad about himself, so he ducks back into the bedroom for the book on his nightstand and then plops down on the other end of the couch.

He reads for a little while and doesn’t really have to worry about getting too distracted from his plan, because he always finds himself tilting towards Steve like a compass to magnetic north, whether he’s actively trying or not. So he reads, and he shuffles around on the couch a bit, and he lists to the side a little, and then he’s finally just close enough to Steve to plausibly ask, “Hey, d’you mind?”

Steve glances up from the magazine he’s been reading, brows furrowed. “Mind what?”

Eddie points to the way Steve’s legs are drawn up almost to his chest. “Stretching your legs out? I wanna lay down.”

And normally, Steve doesn’t hesitate – hell, normally, Eddie doesn’t even need to ask; it’s almost as if he can just tell when Eddie wants to rest his head in his lap and automatically moves to welcome it. Today, though, he rolls his eyes.

“We have pillows on the couch for a reason,” he says, jerking his head towards the throw pillows at the other end of the couch (as if Eddie could forget the throw pillows; they’d spent a goddamn hour at the furniture store staring at the choices and had walked out laughing about how boring and adult and great it felt to be decorating their apartment with fucking throw pillows – but that isn’t the point).

Eddie scoffs. “Why would I settle for a pillow when I could have something way more comfortable?”

“Yeah, there’s no way my lap is better than a pillow,” Steve drawls.

“Baby, your lap is the most comfortable resting place known to man,” Eddie states, so dramatically intoned that it makes Steve laugh, even though Eddie is fairly serious. “Now why would you deny me my favorite place to lay my head?”

Steve rolls his eyes again, but obligingly (if slowly) stretches out his legs and rests his socked feet on the coffee table to make space for Eddie.

“Thank you,” Eddie says primly, before flopping down on the couch and making himself comfortable with his head situated on Steve’s lap, then giving a demonstrative little wiggle to settle in. “Yep, that’s the stuff. Perfect.”

“Man, shut up,” Steve mumbles, turning back to his magazine.

When Eddie glances up to check that he hasn’t gone too far, there’s a bit of a flush high on Steve’s cheeks, but no real displeasure on his face, so he doubles down.

“I will not. Not until you acknowledge the perfection that is your thighs,” Eddie declares, pressing his head further back into Steve’s lap. “Firm, but with just enough give–” he reaches up and pinches the side of Steve’s thigh, smiling innocently when Steve jolts and glares down at him, “always warm. Perfect.”

Steve turns his eyes resolutely back to the magazine he’s got balanced on the arm of the couch. “Not perfect.”

“Well, sure, perfection is subjective, means different things to different people, blah blah blah.” Eddie waves his hand in a vague ‘et cetera’ gesture and accidentally smacks Steve in the arm before he turns his head (and his hair is absolutely going all staticky after being rubbed against the fabric of Steve’s sweatpants, which is going to be a nightmare later, but that’s a problem for future Eddie) and presses a kiss to the spot just above Steve’s knee. “But they’re perfect to me.”

For a moment, Steve is still. Then he shifts slightly in place, and Eddie has the feeling that if he were standing, he’d be shuffling from foot to foot.

“And I have it on pretty good authority that my opinion counts for something,” Eddie goes on. “So if you ask me—which you should—your thighs are one of your best features.”

Finally, Steve glances back down at Eddie. “You think so?” he asks, soft and a little hesitant.

“Absolutely. One of my favorite parts of you, on a rotating basis with every other part of you,” Eddie says, grinning when Steve scoffs, because this time Steve is smiling, too. “What? There are so many good features, I’ve gotta make sure I pay them all equal attention.”

And the thing is, Eddie does know that what got Steve into this mindset in the first place was spending so long seeing himself as valued only for what he can provide physically: a handsome face, a lean figure, a human shield, the Party tank – whatever it is. Most of the time, Eddie makes sure Steve knows what he loves about him as a person, not just about his body. He could gain one hundred pounds, he could lose all muscle mass and be as skinny as a rail, he could look like anything, and it wouldn’t matter, because Eddie loves him.

But that doesn’t mean Steve doesn’t also want a little reassurance now and then that Eddie loves his body, too – which Eddie does, and is happy to provide.

“And today, I’m paying attention to your thighs,” Eddie concludes.

“Stop saying ‘thighs,’ it’s starting to sound like gibberish,” Steve shoots back, but there’s a pleased tilt to the corners of his mouth now.

Eddie hums. “I especially love when you let me lay in your lap. Love having your legs under my head. Or wrapped around my head.” He waves his hand around his face, smirking up at Steve. “Just, in the vicinity of my head, really.”

Steve loses the battle with the laugh he’s been trying to hold in and it overtakes him, shaking with mirth under Eddie while Eddie smiles along with him.

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve says, once he’s gotten his breath back.

“I’m just putting it out there,” Eddie says.

Steve cocks one eyebrow at Eddie and turns back to his magazine with a smirk. “Uh huh. Well, I’m a little busy right now.”

“Oh, sure, me too,” Eddie says easily, bringing his book up over his face as if he’s going to continue reading, even though he isn’t even sure he’s on the right page.

They do settle after that, though, quiet and close and comfortable being draped over and under one another. Steve’s hand finds its way into Eddie’s hair and cards through it absently like he’s petting a cat. Eddie would probably purr like one if he could.

“Love you,” Steve murmurs, glancing down as he flips from one page to the next.

“Love you, too,” Eddie replies, tilting his book away just enough to smile up at Steve.

Maybe later Eddie will get to prove how much he loves Steve’s thighs wrapped around his head. Maybe not. For now, though, he hadn’t been lying – just this is perfect.

[Prompt: Resting your head on your partner's lap]

[arcanarix]

Make That Double, CH 1 - Yandere!SatoSugu X Fem!Reader [AO3]

Summary: Double the trouble, or double the fun? Difficult to say when you're unfortunately roped into the affairs of two powerful shamans who can't leave each other alone, either. Word Count: 6.7K Tags: for this chapter, blow jobs (between stsg)

“What a day…” you sigh, as you slump into one of the stools of your café’s bar. No one ‘s ever said maintaining these types of jobs are easy. You have lost count how many times you’ve been yelled at for accidentally fucking up people’s orders. You try to give yourself a little grace; you’re a newbie here and you’re still adjusting to your new job. It’s just something a little extra to help pay off the tuition while you’re going through graduate school. It’s nothing you can’t handle, and yet…the day’s not over.

You’re already so over it. You hate these kinds of jobs. Everyone does! But they really aren’t kidding about it after all huh? And it’s only been a month or so since you’ve come to this job.

And you still have a pile of assignments waiting to be completed when you get home, too!

Why do you put this on yourself? Aw, yeah, that’s right! You want to instill a little bit more of a disciplined lifestyle because you sorely lack in it. Without a doubt you do if you are already considering quitting cold turkey! Maybe the youth is more privileged these days…

You overhear tidbits of a distant conversation as you wipe down the countertop. You’re already perking up a little. Oh, you recognize the voices of some regulars!

“Mr. Geto! The café is still open!! Can we please get crepes?” you hear an over-excited customer request. She’s a regular here who always seems to be bouncing off the walls from all the sugar ‘Mr. Geto’ must allow her to indulge in—perhaps he’s a little too giving to these girls. In spite of yourself, you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. They’re among the more tolerable customers you serve, and you’re ever grateful for more civilized manners. The bell dings as they enter, and you return to the cash register with a beaming smile as you dab some sweat off of your forehead with a handkerchief.

“Hello, girls! It’s good to see you again,” you greet, before turning to Geto, ignoring the hairs standing on end as he stares down at you with those haunting violet eyes. “Geto, it’s always good to see you.”

He acknowledges you with a low hum, gesturing to the twins. “I’m sure the girls want their typical orders, isn’t that right?”

“Hmmm…” Nanako, the blonde twin, trails off, tapping her chin as she studies the menu hanging over your head, long and hard. “Mimiko, do you want to try something new?”

Nanako turns to the brunet.

“Sure,” she answers, turning to you, her expressionless face setting off some unease in you, but Mimiko is otherwise nice enough. Just seems a bit standoffish, much like Geto does. “What’s new to the menu?”

“Well, the Biscoff crepes have gotten pretty popular,” you suggest as you’re smiling wide, but you can’t help but feel a little intimidated whenever ‘Mr. Geto’ is in within proximity to you. He has a commanding sort of presence, weighing down on everyone around him. The kind that has people whipping their heads around to see if he’s a real big deal. Not only that, but you notice something else amiss in that piercing stare of his—disdain, perhaps? Or perhaps exasperation over his two lively girls who are so fun to have around?

Whatever the case, it’s not like it’s any of your business. You’re just here to do your job and they’re just trying to go about their day.

It’s not like you have anything to go off of about the guy, anyway. What you know most about him is that he’s a bit of a father to these girls.

It's endearing to watch unfold each time they stop by, though.

There has always been a part of you who wonders what has become of their real parents.

“Biscoff sounds delicious right now. I think you’ll like that one, Geto. Biscoff isn’t all that sweet,” Mimiko now turns to him, tone curious yet still drones in monotone. “I know you don’t like it when Nanako tries to shove any of those sweets into your mouth to get you to like them.”

“I don’t mind it,” he replies through a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. You don’t miss his lips twitching in disgust at the prospect. The things he does for these girls, and from what you understand, he’s definitely not the biological father. “I’m just not the one with the sweet tooth. That’s something you both have in common with Satoru.”

The twins exchange a look. That snags your attention. Trouble in paradise for Geto? Is this Satoru person a lover of his or something?

You frown at your own nagging, honestly intrusive questions. Why are you getting so invested in their lives out of nowhere?

Finally the awkward period of silence is broken.

“You keep talking about that guy and you never tell us anything about him,” Nanako pouts, before beaming at you. You return the smile in full force. “But hey! We’ll have the Biscoff ones then! And the usual ones like strawberry, Nutella, ooh….maybe lots and lots of whipped cream with one!”

“Nanako,” Geto chides with a deep scowl. “You’re going to get another terrible stomachache like last time.”

You can’t help but giggle to yourself, ceasing immediately when Geto eyes you curiously. Man, that stare puts the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ to shame.

What a family.

“Quite a handful you have here,” you comment as you ring up the orders. “I’ll have those ready for you along with your usuals. That sound okay?”

“Thank you,” he answers as he whips out his wallet, handing you cash as opposed to card this time. “And yes, believe me—I know. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He smiles down at the twins before patting their heads affectionately. They grin up at him and you’re still smiling yourself at the sight. They do make your day a bit brighter, just seeing them interact with each other.

You feel your heart warming to witness such pure love. You can even go as far as to say it makes standing through terrible customers yelling worth it.

You leave your post for a moment to instruct the chefs what to prep. You ignore the fact that you have picked up on Geto staring through your head; a shiver dances up your spine. That guy is nothing short of terrifying and yet he’s just here to indulge his girls in some of their favorite sweets.

After you present them their orders (and some bonuses on the house, because you just want to be nice), Nanako as per usual samples Geto all of the sweets they ordered before she and Mimiko dig in themselves. He has to admit you’re right—the Biscoff one isn’t as sweet as the other pastries, and he ends up ordering one for himself for once. If not for an excuse for you to swing by their table just to get another good look at you. Mimiko has been raving about your service to them since you started working here, and during one outing, Nanako proposes an interesting (albeit incredibly outrageous) idea.

“Why don’t you ask her out, Geto?” Geto opens his mouth to shut down the idea immediately, but she continues before he can get the chance: “Geto, what are even the chances you get to meet a partner who’s a sorcerer? We understand your position, but we also know you can easily land anyone you want. And we want a Mom!”

Mimiko shakes her head at Nanako’s rambunctious attitude but she is inclined to agree with her.

“And that lady is really nice to us,” Mimiko adds, ever the voice of reason and if she’s siding with Nanako on something? It means it’s something Geto should take a bit more seriously. As much as he loathes the very prospect of entertaining such a foolish plan. “Like sometimes she gives us free samples to try! And pays for our meals! She hasn’t even worked there that long. She seems like an actually nice person and not like the sort of people we encountered back in the sticks.”

“Well, I mean, the folks back in the sticks are pretty simple,” Nanako quips, “She’s from the bigger cities and came from overseas, too, I think. So she’s worldly! So that means she must have a more open mind. Don’t you think so, Geto? I mean, didn’t you come from a family of non-sorcerers? Not all of them were bad, right?”

“My history with my family is complicated,” he remarks, “And not exactly pleasant.” In fact, he can dare admit he was mistreated as poorly as these girls were. “But some family members I suppose aren’t all terrible.”

“So give her a chance, Geto. She’s not a monkey to us!” Nanako begs as her lips curl into that adorable pout. Even Geto can’t ignore that face. “We both really like her. And we don’t like people either! So pretty please, try it for us?”

He can’t refuse their request. No doubt these girls need a mother in their lives. He can’t deny the fact.

While in other circumstances, Geto might scoff at the idea of entertaining the thought of pursuing a non-sorcerer… he has to come to terms with a cold, hard fact: sorcerers as a whole are rare to come by. Nanako’s right. It’s illogical of him to assume that he can pursue a sorcerer partner who can fit the mold of a mother for the twins.

And Manami Suda is out of the question—the twins find her off-putting for a number of reasons, and Geto can’t blame them.

While he doesn’t mind, Suda is more of a kiss your ass kind of woman and lacks true character. Yuki is out of the question, and not just because she’s still affiliated with Jujutsu Tech; if she really wants an answer, she’s simply not his type of woman even if she is a powerful sorcerer. There’s one thing Geto can’t stand more than monkeys and it’s a sorcerer who can’t understand her duty and superiority.

And even he has to agree with Satoru: you have nice assets. You not only are his perfect match (monkey status aside), but the twins are already fond of you. They babble on and on about you. They like how you take an interest in their day, even if that might not mean anything to you. It’s just what you’re trained to do.

No matter the reason, you just appear to be the most logical option out of the limited ones he’s been grappling with since the twins can’t stop bringing up the topic of a mother in their lives. They also don’t fancy the idea of him being lonely, either…

And neither does he. He’s not particularly lonely (what a lie); he and Satoru still meet with each other, and it’s not like Satoru won’t have his fair share of you, either. Geto knows better than to leave him out of his affairs. They have a rule: they share everything. Including lovers.

Satoru does seem keen on knowing more about you, and he’s been kind enough to keep tabs on you for Geto’s sake. It’s all going to fall into place soon enough. Geto doesn’t mind the waiting game; he may have the patience of a saint, but he has the heart and mind of a scheming trickster. It’s why he and Satoru are still a match made in Heaven.

He must tread carefully. He doesn’t want to spook you; no, no, that won’t do.

Watching you shuffle around the café, going about your business as he’s secured in a corner with the girls, without a single care in the world—it’s better than most of those stupid sitcoms the twins force him to sit through and criticize.

Because he’s come to find, everything you do is a work of art, and coming from him, that’s high praise. He doesn’t deliver it so openly, and especially not to a member of a significant chunk to a species he otherwise believes is beneath him…

He’s ripped from his thoughts when he hears the light thud of a mug of piping hot coffee rested on his table. The nutty, aromantic aroma hits his nostrils, calming his nerves. It’s a blend curated by the café itself, unlike any other they claim. It’s all just gimmicky shit they sell to gullible customers, but he doesn’t mind it, if it means getting closer to you.

“You look like you need it,” and lo and behold, it’s you. The woman occupying his thoughts like an illness. You have infested his mind, a swarm of termites burrowing into homes. It’s maddening and yet you are as unsuspecting as ever that you are the cause of his turmoil.

“Thank you,” he grunts in response, moving to pull his wallet out of his back pocket before you stop him.

“We don’t charge for coffee,” you reply with a knowing glint in your eye. “Not to you guys.”

Ah. So you have begun to see him as someone special, huh? Or perhaps you do have a soft spot for the twins. No wonder they like you so much. You make them feel special, loved, cherished—the kind of thing a mother does, being nurturing. Kind.

You absolutely are a perfect specimen; he has to accept that. Sometimes there are exceptions to his forgo all monkeys rule.

“Thank you,” he says again after realizing he’s been staring at you—and notices you shifting in your spot. Discomfort around someone else is never pleasant, and it’s a feeling he knows well considering he has to endure being in the presence of such monkeys all the fucking time. It’s a necessary evil in some cases, like this one, but he’s much better off shoving some of his monkey devotees to keep an eye out. Not only here, but he’s already obtained your address through Satoru. Satoru’s already introduced himself to you—Geto may have overlooked that interaction from the sidelines somewhere—and Satoru knows how to keep himself from being tracked by the higher-ups. Though it’s not like there’s not much the higher-ups can do considering Satoru’s status.

It makes things much easier, indeed. Knowing Satoru is still with him in some cases.

“Right,” you reply, still smiling. It’s practiced. Fake. Appropriate in these environments where it’s a must to perform for customers. He wonders what a genuine smile looks like from you. He’s not even sure if he’s ever seen it before.

You whip around and attend to the few other customers who have populated the café. Since this café closes in an hour or so, there’s not as many. It’s a perfect time for him to investigate you further. He may have implanted some of his curses around this café to keep you in check.

And many other places, like your studio apartment.

It’s good to be thorough in this case.

“Hey Geto.” Ah. His thoughts are interrupted yet again. It’s Mimiko who addresses him. “Isn’t that one of your curses in the kitchen?”

“Yes,” he answers with a nod before resting his chin over intertwined fingers. “You both said you wanted to keep an eye on her, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Nanako butts in, swinging her legs in her chair as she takes a fork full of her strawberry crepe. “It’s a good thing! So she’s safe in case anyone gives her trouble, right? She’s nice. She doesn’t deserve it!”

Geto hums, conceding to that statement. Well, not wholly. He still has yet to learn more about you. His eyes trail after you as you refill a customer’s glass of water, overhearing you question whether they want to order anything else. He perks an eyebrow—how can he get her attention? You already do seem to like the girls enough.

“Do you think you like her, Geto?” Nanako asks, her tone full of hope as her beady eyes follow his gaze to you. “She’d look really good with you too! You really are thinking about it after all, huh?”

“Only because it’s something you two desire so much,” he retaliates with a huff. “Otherwise I wouldn’t even bother.”

“We knooooow,” Nanako replies through a fit of giggles. “We’re just glad you’re finally doing something about your lonely love life!”

Geto scowls deep, frustration etching his features as he rubs his temples. Oh how can he have not seen this coming? These girls are always up to no good and not in the way he would have preferred.

“…Is that what this has been about?” he asks through a sigh.

“Nanako,” Mimiko scoffs, fluffing her hair. “He’s going to reconsider…”

“No, he won’t!” Nanako interjects. “Because he doesn’t back off from his promises!”

Well, even he can’t deny she’s right about that.

He doesn’t want to upset them. They’re lucky he’ll do everything for his girls if it means putting a smile on their face—like massacring an entire village who damned them to Hell.

So he’s going to try.

His gaze flits to you, still wandering around the café and treating the few customers here who arrive close to closing time. You look ready to clock out yourself.

Besides, you do seem…

…He’s caught off guard when you nearly lose grip on a tray you’re holding, letting out a breath in relief on your behalf as you catch yourself before anything tragic happens. You let out a sigh in relief as well before handing the order to another customer.

…pleasant.

Accountable. Nurturing. Kind.

Perfect, he dares to add.

“She seems appropriate,” he decides, relaxing his shoulders. “If she warms up to you more, you should ask her to drop by for a visit.”

“Why us? We can’t do the work for you, Geto,” Mimiko points out, ever the voice of reason. “You have to show some interest. Or have you forgotten how dating works?”

“Oh snap,” Nanako mumbles under her breath in a cheeky manner.

Geto shoots a glare at them both.

“I have half a mind to ground you both,” he grumbles as he idly sips on the coffee you have been kind enough to offer him. He averts his gaze to the window. The sun is beginning to set. The hour is drawing to a close soon. Meaning they should not overstay their welcome here.

He glances at his watch. 4:45PM. Yes, it’s time they take their leftovers and leave.

“Hey,” you swing by their table with a grin. Ah, perfect. “Need to go boxes for these?”

“Yes,” Geto answers, offering you a more practiced smile. He’s one to speak of genuineness yet he can’t bring himself to wear a real smile. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you, really!” you insist, tilting your head slightly. “Customers like you make my life better.”

As you whip around and saunter off to fetch those to go boxes and bags, he’s staring at you in a state of mild shock. When he finally snaps out of his stupor, his gaze flits back to the girls who have knowing grins on their faces, and he groans.

“That’s enough from both of you,” he chastises and maintains a blank expression as you return with the boxes and bags.

“Here you go! Have a great evening!” You wave before you go off to tell other remaining customers that closing time is nearing.

Geto freezes as he stares at you again. He’s stunned. Not only are you accountable, nurturing, and kind, you’re consistent. He likes that in a person, indeed. Sorcerer or not.

“Geto,” Nanako teases in a singsong voice, gathering the food. “Let’s go. You have some important meeting later, ‘member?”

Realization hits--that's right--and he downs the rest of the coffee because he needs the energy.

“Right,” he grunts, sauntering out of the café with them.

Not before sparing you another curious glance, twisting away when you stare back at him.

What a strange family…

It’s that thought that still lingers in your mind as you unlock the door to your studio apartment and step inside, the click of the lock behind you bringing you a sense of ease. You toe your tennis shoes off and toss your bag onto the couch as you shuffle into the quaint living room. You’re set free from the chaos of the café now and you are always comforted by the silence.

Soon you find yourself sprawled across your bed, sinking into the soft feathery mattress. You gaze up at the ceiling as your mind drifts back to the encounter with those twins at work. You remember their names this time—Nanako and Mimiko. And then you can’t forget a presence like Geto’s—calm, almost detached. You want to call him a fish out of water, but that’s not quite the vibe you get from him. Even so, something about him unsettles you to the very core. There’s something… off with his picture, and you can’t wrap your head around what.

You’re frowning, and you try to shake off the unease settling into your soul. It’s not like you haven’t encountered stranger things in your life. You should see him as just any other customer. Another customer who lives to indulge his twin girls who aren’t even his by blood, but that’s not even any of your business. You just can’t help but find that as endearing as you find him unsettling. Because how rare of a find that is—most men don’t even want to take care of their own kin let alone kids that aren’t their own. It’s not like you actually like him or something.

Right?

Another sigh escapes your lips as your muscles begin to relax. You shut your eyes for a moment. You promise yourself an hour of decompressing, setting a mental timer as you glance at your digital clock.

But even as you attempt to shove the moments with them at the café out of your mind, your thoughts keep bouncing back in full force. You have overheard some of their conversations as you worked your ass off in that last hour. You hear about Nanako teasing Geto about you. You do take notice on how they stay a little longer at the café than most customers do. Most of your customers are in and out, not much of the lounging types. You at times catch him staring—calculating, assessing you. His gaze is just as unsettling as everything else about him. You pull the covers up around yourself, as if to ward off that bad omen.

You try to tell yourself that you must be overthinking it all. He’s probably just thinking about the girls and getting lost in thought just like you do. That’s all. Yet the logic doesn’t quite add up in your mind, nor does it quell the fluttering in your heart.

That hour of decompression feels more like seconds to you as your alarm blares on your phone, which you switch off. It’s time to shift gears and bury yourself in schoolwork. You set a hard limit for 11PM because you need proper rest. You sit up, stretching your arms over your head before you hop out and fetch your bookbag, settling your textbooks and notebooks on your desk. Switching on your lamp. You find some comfort in the routine. It makes you feel like you really are working toward something better for yourself.

You flip through one of your larger textbooks for your heftier readings. Definitely not as bad as you expect—just a chapter or two to burn through. Some written assignments to complete that aren’t due until later in the week. Nothing terrible at all, and certainly nothing you can’t handle.

All you’re taking this semester is two or so classes. That’s the recommended work load for a graduate student anyway. Nothing unmanageable for you at all even with some part time work. Right? You try to keep some kind of balance. You aren’t going to let the work at the café and the coursework bog you down and you have been doing just fine thus far.

You can totally handle this.

As you pull out your laptop to begin typing the first few sentences of one of your assignments, you still can’t shake off the feeling of that unease. Something that you feel like you’re missing—and it of course involves that strange family.

Your mind flashes with the memory of the twins’ giggling faces and the way Geto’s eys follow you around the café.

There’s no way. You shake your head. Don’t entertain the idea.

But why does he even keep coming back? You can’t believe you’re asking that question as your fingers hover over the keyboard. Is it really just for those twin girls?

Why does he keep drifting back into your thoughts? Ever present, nagging. You try to focus on your task at hand. You have deadlines to meet. You can’t allow any room for distractions right now.

You ignore the sudden draft in your room, shivering as goosebumps rise on your arms. Blissfully unaware of the curse spirit latching onto your door, keeping watch.

“You seem really into this girl,” Satoru muses out loud, reclining on the couch with his legs splayed across it as if the world and all its trivial concerns don’t even touch him. His fingers swipe through the pictures he’s taken of you on his smart phone—moments when you were completely unaware of his hypersensitive Six Eyes tracking your every move. The grin on his face is mischievous, the kind that promises trouble’s brewing. “Not like I blame you, though—she’s really hot. And if your girls don’t seem threatened or scared of her, that must mean something, right?”

Geto’s eyes narrow into slits as he observes Satoru from his spot across the room, his arms folded over his chest. He lounges in a wooden rocking chair positioned by the window, where the rays of the setting sun streak across the floor, coating him in a warm, amber light. The soft glow plays on his sharp features, making him appear more and more like a God on his throne. Geto doesn’t answer immediately, allowing the silence hang between them as he contemplates the situation while gazing out in the window.

“Do you think you can handle the idea of another in our lives, Satoru?” the curse user finally asks, tone low. There’s a strange hint of softness to his tone, a contrast to his usual indifference he strives to hold. His fingers tap against the window pane absently, the subtle rhythm betraying the inner workings of his mind.

Never one to hang onto serious conversations, a lazy grin spreads across Satoru’s face, and he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as his sharp blue eyes lock on Geto’s violet ones.

“Of course I can! What kind of guy do you think I am? I mean, I like her too! She’s definitely our type.” He laughs, though the tone is a little off.

“Not to mention—” He flicks to a picture on his phone, pinching the screen to zoom in before turning it toward Geto. “Just look at those boobs! I bet you’re thinking of suckin’ on them until they're bruised all over, right?”

Geto’s jaw slackens, a faint blush colors his pale complexion.. He shifts in his spot, less from the vulgarity of Satoru’s comment since that’s practically second nature for him, but from the raw truth behind those words. His eyes flit to the image, ignoring the heat rushing to his groin before his gaze flits back to the setting sun outside.

“Satoru…” Geto begins, his tone laden in warning, but there’s no true bite to his words.

“Hey, hey, I’m just saying~!” Satoru teases, his grin ever present as light laughter bubbles up from his chest. He stretches his arms over his head, his shock white hair catching the dying sunlight and making it sparkle like the twinkling stars. His playful tone still lingers, though there’s a hint of curiosity in his words—always a hidden agenda with that guy. They’re alike in that way. “You’ve always been a boob guy, right?”

Geto drags out a long sigh, the drumming of his fingers ceasing for a moment.

“Sure,” he mutters in a snippy tone, more to entertain Satoru’s comment than actually conceding to the fact. Even if it is true, there’s far more to it than that which he’s struggling to accept. The truth is more complicated than it needs to be. You do have perfect assets Geto will gladly take advantage of when the time comes. But you’re more than just a pretty face and a body…a sentiment that unsettles him far more than he ever cares to admit to anyone, least of all to Satoru.

Satoru, still laughing heartedly to the point his shoulders shook with mirth, rests his phone on the arm of the couch as he leans back into it again, draping one arm over the larger back of the couch.

“So why her, anyway?” he asks as his tone softens a bit, that teasing tone melding into one more laden with genuine curiosity and sincerity—a side to him only Geto gets to see. His eyes now flicker with another rare moment of seriousness. “She’s not a sorcerer. Isn’t hating people who aren’t sorcerers your whole thing?”

Geto’s expression hardens. At this point the gentle warmth of the sunset fades, and the shift of the lighting mirrors the shift in his demeanor. His posture stiffens and he doesn’t respond right away, allowing the question to hang in the air as he ponders over what to say. His gaze flits down to his feet, as if in the middle of choosing an appropriate response.

“The girls insist I should find someone,” he replies through a sigh, his voice a bit distant and wistful. His words seem detached from the deeper conflict seeping into his bones like red wine. “And you know as well as me that the odds of me finding a sorcerer as a partner are slim.”

Satoru quirks an eyebrow at that, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He sinks further into the couch, his gaze still fixed on Geto. Geto flashes him a reassuring smile.

“You aside, of course,” he adds.

“Hey, I’m the only option you have,” Satoru interjects with a playful wink, his arrogance bouncing back as quickly as it deflated for a split second—very easy to miss if you don’t know him as well as Geto did. He straightens his posture, counting on his fingers as he tries to remember all of the lady sorcerers he knows well. “Of course, there’s also Utahime and Shoko, but I don’t think that’ll work, all things considered.”

Geto finds himself chuckling at the notion in spite of himself. Even the corners of his lips quirk up ever slightly. What a rare break in his stoic mask.

“No doubt about that,” he concedes with a hum.

Satoru adjusts his posture again, sitting up straighter as those brilliant sky blue eyes of him glimmer with mischief.

“Well, it’s good that you’re opening yourself up to the possibility,” he goes on, as his voice drops to a smoother, predatory tone. His fingers drum against his knees as he assesses the situation. “And I like that I get to have a taste of that ass whenever I want, too!” The grin he sports now is wolfish, devilish more than playful and light. “The lady isn’t nearly as nice to me as she is to you and it’s pissing me off a little. I think I may punish her for that when you finally court her.”

Geto flits his gaze back to Satoru, the amusement in his violet eyes fading entirely.

“Satoru,” he chides, his voice edging toward menacing this time.

But Satoru brushes him off with a laugh, unbothered as ever by Geto’s sudden shift in tone—the fucking brat.

“Chill out, Suguru!” He waves his hand in a dismissive manner before cocking his head, his expression melding into something softer again. “But seriously, though—why her? I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

Geto takes another deep breath, before exhaling slowly as he brushes his fingers through his long, luscious locks that he works so hard to maintain. As his gaze drifts back to the window, it’s not the scenery which holds his attention. Not that he’s even paid much attention to it—the view in Satoru’s penthouse isn’t something he’s not used to at this point. He sees it all the time. It’s you. You infiltrate his thoughts like an ambush. You are so kind to he girls. You don’t appear to even flinch at his presence, not that you know a damn thing about him. He finds you’re tolerable, much unlike the other monkeys running the circus out there.

And that sentiment, too, is unsettling.

“The girls are fond of her,” he admits quietly, it seems that’s reason enough for him. “She’s so warm around them.”

Satoru finds himself nodding along to Geto’s words, shrugging. “Yeah, I guess I get it. She does seem like someone who can help you.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Geto retaliates with a frown. Satoru raises his hand in mock defeat.

“I’m just saying you need someone to help you get some frustration out! That’s all,” he insists, “And other things. You kind of keep shit all bottled up all the time. Even with me!”

Silence stretches over them another time. The sky has faded into twilight. Satoru shuffles around to switch on some of those fancy ambiance lamps he keeps in different corners of the room before moving over to the small bar in another far corner, fetching a bottle of sake and two glasses and returning to the couch.

Geto rises from his seat, waltzing over to join Satoru on the couch as he pours them both some of that expensive sake.

“We’ll make some arrangements soon,” he announces, raising the glass to his lips.

“Just hurry the fuck up, dude,” Satoru mirrors his motion, hiding the smirk tugging at his lips behind his glass. “I’m starting to get real impatient, you know. I’m dying to find out how she might feel squirming on my cock.”

The curse user casts him a sidelong glance, with an unreadable expression. His mind flashes back to you, your smile, your ready hands as you attend to the girls. Sure, you have no idea who—or what—he is or what he is capable of, both he and Satoru. You have no idea that he’s been following you since you began working there for a myriad of reasons beyond mere curiosity. It isn’t just about him this time. The girls desire you as well. Satoru desires you as well.

Geto whacks him on the shoulder with his free hand.

“What?” he snaps, appalled, his sunglasses moving out of place from the sudden blow.

“Don’t be so crass,” he replies as he sips idly on the sake. “Save that for me tonight.”

Satoru snorts in response, wrapping an arm around Geto’s shoulder as he downs his glass of sake in one go.

“Besides,” Geto goes on, placing his half-full glass onto the low table. “You know how things can get when you pick on the weak too much.”

Satoru perks an eyebrow as his lips twitch into another smirk. “Seriously? Since when have you given a damn about that all over again? Then again, you’ve always been a little too righteous.”

Geto doesn’t have a straight answer for that. Something flickers in his gaze—something even Satoru Gojo knows better than to challenge. Geto is a patient, careful man, but he knows there are consequences to things like this. Treading into far more unconventional grounds.

“It’s something we need to ease her into,” he finalizes with a hum.

It’s not often Geto is concerned for the wellbeing of anyone who isn’t a sorcerer. It’s kind of…shocking. Satoru doesn’t know what to make of this change in his friend, however subtle.

“Come on,” Satoru sighs, resting a palm on his forehead. “She can take whatever we give her. She’s probably a lot stronger than she looks. Besides, why do you care so much all of a sudden?”

Geto grumbles, “I’m not so sure how much of ‘us’ she can handle, Satoru.”

“She can handle everything we want her to—no matter what we do to her! Sheesh. Stop worrying so much!” Satoru assures him with a pat on his shoulder. “Come on, Suguru! You’ll make the moves when the time is right. Besides, she’s kind of already ours, right? Not like anyone can interfere when the two strongest sorcerers have someone like her all to themselves, right?”

“Right,” he replies with a smirk. “It’s unlikely anything will interfere.”

Satoru beams. “There he is! There’s the Suguru I know—mphf!”

He’s interrupted with Geto’s lips plunging onto his; Geto’s arms resting on his hips. Satoru melts into the kiss—one thing that hasn’t changed is that Geto will always be his weakness. He will always bend to his will no matter what.

Geto pins Satoru’s body to the couch with his, kissing down his neck. Satoru purrs, rolling his hips into Suguru’s and smirking a bit when the other man hisses.

“Behave,” he chides as his lips slide down to Satoru’s pelvis, where he presses a kiss to the growing bulge there. Satoru inhales sharply, his hands flying down to grip Suguru’s hair.

“Be good,” he chides again with a string of chuckles as he unzips Satoru’s pants with his teeth.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he whines, tossing his head back as Geto removes his cock, stroking it gingerly as he peppers kisses around the tip.

“We need to make this quick, Satoru, or the girls will wonder where I’ve been.”

With that, he engulfs his cock in one languid motion and Satoru chokes on a gasp, fingers clawing at Geto’s hair.

“Please hurry up and fuck me!” he begs through another whimper, his eyes pleading. The other man can’t help but coo at the pathetic sight. Geto hushes him as he bobs his head, slurping on his length. He takes him entirely; his mouth resting at the base of his cock.

He moves back to the tip, swirling his tongue at the pre leaking from it.

Gojo’s flushed state is absolutely adorable.

At some point Geto yanks Gojo’s pants and boxers entirely off. Such pesky clothes, always making things more difficult than what is necessary.

“The only way you’re coming tonight is if you’re inside me, Satoru,” he growls, grasping the base of his cock as he plants kisses all around it. “I know you can hold it for me, can’t you?”

Gojo manages a nod before another moan escapes his lips. So he’s not the one bottoming tonight then?

Guess Suguru is in one of those moods…just needs to forgo reality for a bit.

Satoru’s eyes clench shut as Geto engulfs his cock entirely again.

This is going to be a long night…

After you finish typing up an assignment, you glance at the clock. It’s only 9PM, so that gives you enough time to spare for a little self-care. You let out a deep sigh as you feel some tension lift from your shoulders, slouching back in your chair.

Student life can get a little lonely. The job at the bakery helps in the sense that you’re around people a little bit more. But you haven’t made much of an effort to make any real connections.

Looks like it’s another solo night with me bouncing on my vibrator or something… you think, glancing at the drawer at your side table.

Shrugging, you slink out of your chair and pad to the restroom, yanking off the robe hanging on the door.

You really hate to admit it, but you can’t logic your way out of desiring companionship yourself.

That’s something for you to cry about in the shower now.

[rezwrites]

hello love, can you please write Rio Vidal x fem witch reader, where they are together on the first trial, and y/n gets hallucinations about something traumatic and Rio is immediately there to comfort her?

Of course!

Warnings: hurt/comfort, poisoned wine, hallucinations of almost burning at the stake

Racing against the clock everybody searches the house trying to find the ingredients for the antidote. Rio and you were tasked to find guts of a eusocial insect for the potion.

Wandering around the house looking for clues, a sudden fog shrouded you, Rio suddenly no where to be found. A familiar white door appeared behind you, faint yelling coming from the other side. You hesitantly opened the door, to townsfolk facing you with torches and weapons.

“No, no, not again,” You panicked, powerless as they dragged you to the pyre in the middle of the towns square. Tears cascading down your cheeks as you were tied to the stake by thick rope. A few men threw extra kindling on the pyre, spitting at your shoes and hurling insults towards you before they turned away.

“Burn in hell, you devil.” Those words stung deeply all over again. Many people branded you as a monster, despite you using your gifts to help people constantly. In spite of all the hatred and anger you received you never once turned your back on those in need.

Before the mayor lit the pyre, you hear Rio’s voice calling to you. Hyperventilating as Rio came into your view. “Hey, hey. Deep breaths, follow my breathing,” She runs her hands down your shoulders, pulling you close. She held you tight as you breathed in time with her, gradually calming down.

“I got you, you’re safe now. You’ll always be safe in my arms.” You ease yourself upon hearing those words. Chuckling at the fact that she still says that line as sweetly as she did that day she saved you from the stake, all those centuries ago. You give her forearm a gentle squeeze, signaling to her that you're alright now.

“I found the guts. Let’s get back to Jen so we can finish the antidote.” She guided you back to the kitchen a hand on your lower back, keeping you close.