#i barely have favorites. and then over here i have a favorite and they only show up in two episodes_ and in one they're only there for -

[pin-k-ink]

OFF THE RECORD ⋆✦⋆ gojo satoru

synopsis ➸ you know gojo too well to believe he’s here for a quick fuck. he’s here for a favor—one you have no intention of granting. too bad he’s never been good at taking no for an answer.

tags ➸ implied former student/teacher relationship, slight age gap, friends with benefits, possessive behavior, mild dom/sub themes, power play, manipulation, daddy kink, mild objectification, dirty talking, semi-public/public sex, mention of past sexual encounters, implied blackmail (it’s really not as bad as you think)

wc ➸ 10.9k

The steamy tendrils still clung to your skin as you stepped out of the shower, toweling off with a contented sigh. Mornings like this—quiet, peaceful routines before diving headfirst into the chaotic world of jujutsu—were increasingly rare these days. So you tried to savor each precious moment while it lasted.

With the towel secured around your body, you padded toward the bedroom to get dressed for yet another long day at headquarters. However, the second you stepped over the threshold, the hairs along your nape instantly prickled upright. A presence. An unmistakable shift in the air currents that could only mean—

"Well, good morning, gorgeous! Sleep well?"

You barely stifled the startled yelp as Gojo Satoru's cheerful baritone seemed to resonate from directly behind you. Whirling around, sure enough, there he was—all towering height, shredded muscle, and bright eyes glinting with clear amusement. How someone so powerful could also be so utterly shameless sometimes, you'd never know.

Doing your best to ignore the heat flooding your cheeks, you planted your hands on your hips in a stern facsimile of composure. "Satoru...what an unexpected surprise. Here I thought teachers were supposed to set good examples about respecting boundaries, not traipsing into former students' homes unannounced."

Rather than appear even remotely chagrined, Gojo simply chuckled and leaned back against your kitchen counter as if he owned the place. You watched in mild annoyance as his gaze slowly trailed up and down your towel-clad figure with undisguised appreciation.

"Hey now, no need for such icy formalities between us old friends," he chided, the barest hints of a smirk tugging at those infuriatingly full lips. "Besides, when have I ever cared about doing what's expected of me, hm? That's like...95% of my appeal, babe."

Rolling your eyes, you huffed out a resigned sigh and crossed the room to your closet, firmly squelching the instincts that urged you to yank the towel higher and more securely over your body. Gojo had seen—and thoroughly enjoyed—far more of you than this in the past. No sense getting flustered over his blazing regard now.

"Right, so does this impromptu visit have an actual purpose?" You shot him a pointed look over your shoulder as you fished out a crisp blouse and trousers to wear to HQ. "Or are you just being a pain as usual and raiding my fridge for a sugar fix again?"

You heard Gojo's low snort of amusement before his heavy footfalls sounded, clearly bringing him closer despite your protestations. "What can I say? Your kitchen is better stocked with sweets than most convenience stores. I can't help craving a little nibble now and then..."

The sultry undercurrent in his tone triggered a fresh blaze of heat along your nape. You could practically feel the smoldering weight of Gojo's stare boring into your ass as you bent to rifle through your bottom dresser drawer.

"But you're onto something with that other theory as well," he continued in a lower, more contemplative register. All traces of levity seemed to evaporate as his presence loomed larger behind you. "I did actually come to ask a favor of my very favorite former pupil. An important one that I wouldn't bother you about if the stakes weren't so high."

Curiosity and trepidation warred within your chest at the unexpected gravity clouding Gojo's usually buoyant candor. You instinctively straightened, clutching your clothes to your chest as you slowly turned to face him once more.

And just like that, the heated tension seemed to ratchet up several palpable notches as your eyes met and held in the claustrophobic space. Gojo's sculptured features had taken on a severe, intense edge—all sharp angles and tightly leashed power that instantly siphoned the breath from your lungs.

Suddenly, his earlier "playful" flirting and teasing manner seemed less like an act and more like a fragile facade barely containing his true tempestuous nature. You swallowed hard against the liquid lick of thrilling trepidation skating down your spine as Gojo maintained that weighty, piercing stare for several moments longer.

"...Is everything okay?" You finally managed in a hushed murmur, scarcely recognizing your own voice under the abrupt spell of Gojo's domineering energy. "What could possibly have you riled up enough to ditch the flippant act?"

Rather than immediately answering, Gojo closed the remaining distance between you with two long, purposeful strides. You had to crane your head back slightly to maintain eye contact as his powerful silhouette utterly consumed your space—the scalding brand of his body heat and crisp, masculine scent enveloping you from all sides.

"Believe me, kitten...if I came here for anything even remotely fun or pleasure-oriented, you wouldn't need to ask," he rumbled at last, voice pitched low enough to instill a full-body shiver along your nerves.

One of Gojo's large hands came up, and you froze as the rough pads of his knuckles grazed a feather-light caress along the line of your jaw. His thumb swiped over the seam of your lower lip in an utterly artless, possessive sweep—smoldering gaze following the motion with incendiary focus.

"I'd already have that smart mouth wrapped around my cock doing something far more useful than talking..."

Despite the crudity of his words, you couldn't quite stifle the punched-out whimper that slipped free at the graphic implication. Gojo's pupils blew fractionally wider in answer, tongue darting out to lave his lower lip as if tasting the charged undercurrents now rippling between you.

"Lucky for you, this is actually about business," he continued in that same resonant timbre that seemed to spark straight between your thighs each time his rich cadence washed over you. "The kind of serious business that even a lazy pervert like me can't afford...distractions for at the moment, got it?"

You managed a jerky nod, too disoriented by the heady spiral of desire cloying at your senses to do much else. Gojo's expression seemed to tighten further—a muscle feathering in his chiseled jaw as if steeling himself for whatever came next as he stepped back a bit.

"Itadori Yuji is scheduled for execution..." The blunt statement punched out like a missile deployment, brutally shredding the increasingly rapacious atmosphere between you. "And one way or another, I need that sentence postponed before it's too late."

You immediately shook your head, mouth set in a grim line. "Postponing Itadori Yuji's execution? That's not going to happen, Satoru."

His brows pinched slightly at your blunt refusal. "This is serious, kitten. That kid is instrumental to—"

"Don't you think I know how serious this is?" you cut him off, firming your voice into an authoritative tone. "I work directly under the higher-ups, remember? I'm well aware of the situation with Sukuna’s vessel and the potential ramifications of his continued existence."

Squaring your shoulders, you leveled Gojo with an unwavering stare. "My answer is final. Bringing this to the elders would be pointless at best, and could potentially jeopardize my position if they see it as insubordination. I'm not sacrificing everything I've worked for just because you showed up and gave me those stupid puppy dog eyes."

Rather than back down, Gojo simply regarded you with a contemplative tilt of his head—bright gaze assessing as if turning over your words from every possible angle. You could practically see the gears turning behind those piercing blue irises as he recalibrated his approach.

"Okay, let's table the business side of things for now," he said at last, tone losing some of its previous urgency. Straightening his body, Gojo prowled a step closer—effectively reclaiming the charged atmosphere from earlier. "Maybe you just need some...persuading to see reason."

You refused to be baited so easily, keeping your expression coolly neutral even as his scalding presence flooded your personal space once more. "I'm not some hormonal teenager letting her heart sway business decisions anymore, Satoru. Those games won't work."

Gojo hummed softly in response, head cocking as his lips curved into a slow, molten smirk. "We'll see about that..."

Without warning, his hands clamped down on your hips, thumbs digging in with delicious friction as he hauled you flush against the solid wall of his torso. You couldn't withhold the tiny gasp that punched free at the sudden, searing contact—every ridge and cording muscle of Gojo's powerful physique branding itself against your towel-clad frame.

"Does this position feel...familiar to you at all, gorgeous?" he murmured in a honeyed rasp right against the whorl of your ear. His nose trailed a path along your jaw as he dipped to mouth steamy, lingering kisses down the fragrant column of your throat. "Maybe sparks a few memories of the last time you found yourself pinned underneath me...crying out for more the whole night through?"

A shudder rippled down your spine at the crude allusion to your long-ago graduation celebration with Gojo. You remembered that encounter vividly—every slick rasp of skin against skin, the sweltering tangle of limbs, the exquisite ache of being split open on his thick cock over and over until the entire room reeked of your joined passion.

Gojo merely chuckled at your flustered squirming, nosing aside the collar of your towel to lave a heated path along your collarbone. "Mmm...that's right. There were points that night where I had my cock buried so fuckin' deep in this perfect pussy of yours that you could taste it on the back of your tongue with every breath."

You bit back a shuddering whimper at the crude imagery, willpower rapidly crumbling beneath his carnal onslaught. Despite your best efforts, the memories he so skillfully stoked were stoking liquid tendrils of arousal thrumming to life between your thighs. Gojo's grin stretched wider as you unconsciously arched into his scorching frame.

"Always did love ruining you on my dick that first time," he rumbled with blatant gratification against your heated skin. "Watching those gorgeous eyes glaze over while I split you open again and again until you passed out..."

Abruptly, Gojo detached his mouth from the thundering pulse at your jugular with one final lingering sweep of his sinful tongue. Smirking down at your glazed, panting expression, he tucked an errant lock of hair behind your ear.

"But hey...while fun memories are nice, I'd rather make some new ones together after work," he said, suddenly all casual nonchalance once more as he meandered towards the door. "I'll pick you up from HQ when your shift is over and we can...discuss this Itadori thing some more in private. That sound good to you, babe?"

You blinked rapidly, trying to reassemble your scattered thoughts as the searing proximity of Gojo's presence withdrew—leaving you bereft and utterly unbalanced by the shift.

"Don't worry your pretty head over giving me an answer," Gojo called over his shoulder as he palmed the doorknob. "I already know you'll say yes when I remind you again how much that tight little pussy loves being split open on my—"

The door snapped shut with a hollow thud, cutting off the rest of his filthy promise. Though the last rakish wink he slanted your way before departing was more than enough to sear the implication deep into your psyche.

Sinking heavily back against the wall, you fought to regain your equilibrium—limbs quaking and breath escaping in ragged pants that did nothing to dissuade the rising tide of feverish arousal still gripping your core. Gojo had utterly unraveled you into a breathless, squirming mess from just a few suggestive caresses and searing endearments.

And despite your best efforts, you got the gnawing suspicion he'd made up his mind to thoroughly capitalize on—and ruthlessly extend—that molten state when you inevitably saw him again tonight.

The long hours crept by at an agonizing pace as you tried to focus on your duties at headquarters. But the memory of Gojo's heated presence that morning, his crude allusions to your long-ago passionate tryst, made it utterly impossible to concentrate.

You vividly recalled the way his powerful frame had caged you against the wall, face nuzzling along your flushed throat as that rich, smoky timbre painted filthy promises about thoroughly splitting you open again soon. Just the phantom whisper of Gojo's searing lips tracing your thundering pulse was enough to catalyze wild tremors of molten arousal deep in your core.

Each time you shifted in your seat or bent over the piles of paperwork, you could've sworn a delirious ache throbbed between your thighs—muscles fluttering with unbearable emptiness. Like they instinctively yearned to be stretched taut around the thick, punishing girth of Gojo's cock once more, just like that rapturous night of your graduation celebration.

The explicit images and flashes of sensation made concentrating an exercise in futility. Only your rigid adherence to professionalism and composure prevented you from squirming like an utter harlot right there in front of your subordinates.

By the time the evening hours finally rolled around, you felt strung as taut as a high wire—electrified nerves screaming for any sort of reprieve from Gojo's lingering psychic imprint. So you hastily packed your bags and paperwork, determined to slip out before he had a chance to accost you again.

However, the second you passed through the main entrance gates, a powerful hand shot out to clamp around your bicep in an authoritative grip. You barely contained the strangled gasp as Gojo's sheer masculine presence enveloped you, dragging you into the shadowed seclusion of a nearby alcove.

The cool stone bit into your back as he firmly levered your wrists overhead, utterly pinning you in place with his hulking silhouette. Gojo's piercing blue eyes glinted in the dim light, scorching a path down your disheveled figure with undisguised intent.

"Leaving so soon?" The deep, resonant timbre of his voice washed over you in smoky tendrils, already catalyzing a fresh blaze of arousal in your veins. "And here I was looking forward to picking up where we left off earlier..."

To emphasize his point, Gojo surged forward until every inch of his powerful frame molded against yours in a delicious, searing brand. You whimpered softly as his weight pinned you fully, feeling the unmistakable rigid line of his erection notching against your lower belly.

Gojo ducked his head with a low rumble of approval, searing lips and tongue mapping a scorching path along the fragrant hollow of your throat. You instinctively tilted your head aside to grant him better access, shuddering helplessly as he indulged in long, openmouthed draughts of your scent and flushed skin.

"F-Fuck...Satoru, not here!" The words emerged in a reedy, breathless whine against your better judgment as his wicked mouth found that sensitive bundle of nerves just below your ear. You writhed beneath the slow torment with increasing desperation. "Anyone could catch us...this is crazy!"

Rather than immediately address your token protests, Gojo merely chuckled—the warm puffs of his amusement ghosting deliciously along your tingling nerves as he mouthed a stinging graze against your racing pulse. One of his large, calloused palms slid down to engulf your hip in a possessive squeeze, already kneading and grinding you in a slow simmer of friction.

"You say that like you've never been desperate enough to beg me to fuck you right here in these hallways before..." The low, sensually-charged growl shivered your bones down to the marrow. Gojo finally pulled back enough to cage your dazed features fully within his piercing stare—lips curved in a lascivious smirk of fond reminiscence. "Multiple times, if I'm recalling correctly."

Heat flared through your cheeks as the graphic imagery took shape against your fraying resistance—lurid memories of breathless encounters where the thrill of potentially being caught by patrolling sentries only fueled the delirious flames higher. You swallowed hard against the thickness now cloying your throat, squirming in feeble denial.

Gojo's smirk deepened into something utterly sinful as he drank in your expression with clear relish. "Do you need me to refresh your memory about the last time you had me backed into a supply closet?" he rasped, leaning in until the blistering brand of his body seared you from chest to hip once more. "How hard you came when I finally pulled those thighs apart and licked straight through your soaked—"

"Enough!" you gasped out before he could fully unleash the damning words. You renewed your efforts at wriggling free in earnest, well aware your weakening restraint wouldn't last against Gojo's relentless carnal onslaught. "I-I...maybe we should actually go somewhere more appropriate first. Dinner, maybe?"

Despite your sudden meek suggestion, you couldn't quite mask the desperation laced through the plaintive request. Gojo's eyes seemed to glitter brighter at the shift in your demeanor, clearly scenting weakness in the offing as he allowed his grip to relax somewhat.

"Dinner first, huh?" He pursed those full lips into an exaggerated pout of contemplation before relenting with a dramatic sigh. "Well, I suppose that's only fair since I'm the one working up an appetite here..."

With one last blistering look that robbed you of breath entirely, Gojo stepped back and pivoted on his heel to swagger away down the narrow thoroughfare like a man supremely assured of victory. You could only sag back against the alcove wall, chest heaving with exertion as the towering remnants of arousal slowly ebbed.

However, there remained little doubt in your overwrought psyche that this temporary reprieve from your joining was little more than the universe's taunting cruelty. You'd awoken Gojo's darkest, most lascivious appetites earlier that morning.

And if the way he slanted one final look over his powerful shoulder—bright irises already blown wide and jaw clenching subtly around what had to be punishing levels of restraint—then the true feasting was only just about to begin in earnest. With your achingly empty body as the main course.

The opulent restaurant oozed sophistication from every polished surface and perfectly-starched linen. The sommelier's formal bow and crisp recitation of the evening's premier wine offerings seemed utterly wasted on the two of you.

You eyed Gojo over the rim of your glass, the dry Cabernet doing little to dull the lingering tension still thrumming between your joined frames. As always, he looked utterly nonplussed about the lavish indulgences surrounding you—crisp white dress shirt straining across his muscular torso and sharp jawline rasped by the beginnings of late evening stubble. Like a predator eternally at ease, regardless of situation.

Gojo's piercing gaze roamed over you with the same slow, assessing intensity one might reserve for an exquisite delicacy awaiting consumption. You tried not to squirm under that molten scrutiny, clearing your throat pointedly.

"I'm assuming there was some purpose behind corralling me into this place," you remarked in your best professional tone. "Beyond getting me liquored up for some inappropriate table exhibition, that is."

Rather than rebuff your dig, Gojo simply angled his head in a catlike tilt—lips curling into a devilish smirk that telegraphed his carnal interest crystal clear. Leaning further back in his chair, he allowed one broad palm to splay suggestively over the crisp linen covering his lap, fingertips drumming out an idle staccato.

"Well now, I certainly wouldn't say no to having those gorgeous lips wrapped around something else for a change." His deep timbre emerged laced with sin and smoky insinuation. "You always did look like an utter vision stuffed under these fancy tabletops sucking me off..."

Heat blossomed across your cheeks despite your best efforts at composure. You knocked back another bracing swallow of wine, struggling not to dwell on the searing flashes his words evoked—memories of delirious encounters where Gojo had hauled you under secluded tables to properly appreciate your skills with relentless, undisguised gratification.

Swallowing thickly, you gripped your fork with slightly more force than necessary."I'd ask if you're always this disgracefully crass and lascivious in public these days...but then I remembered who I'm talking to," you said dryly. "So in the interest of not causing a scene, why don't we get to the point of this little ambush?"

One brow arched infinitesimally as Gojo cocked his head further, clearly drinking in your prim and vaguely irritated state with evident relish. "You seem awfully anxious to rush right to business," he murmured, fingertips continuing their idle rhythm against the tablecloth. "Where's that simmering self-restraint and haughty composure I remember enjoying unraveling piece...by...delicious...piece so thoroughly back in the day?"

You opened your mouth to fire back a scathing retort, only for Gojo to cut you off with a low, lush rumble. "Unless you've simply decided being insatiably thirsty for this cock is more your speed these days..."

With that quiet taunt, his free hand disappeared beneath the pristine linen swathe in a heavy, meaningful descent. You swallowed convulsively as his fingertips slid along the unmistakable ridge of his thick cock straining against the unforgiving fabric of his slacks. Every knuckle undulated in a deliberate, stroking glide that tightened your throat like a vise around trapped breaths and unspoken pleas.

"Can practically already taste how soaked you're getting beneath those prim layers just from the thought alone..." Gojo continued in a molten rasp heavy with undisguised gratification. "Imagining that filthy little mouth stretched wide around my girth again, glazing yourself in my cum right here in front of god and all these polite company..."

A tiny, reedy sound slipped unbidden from your constricted chest despite your best efforts at locking it down. Gojo's lascivious smirk turned rapacious as he correctly scented the spike of liquid want now cloying the humid space between you.

"So what do you say, gorgeous?" He pitched his timbre slightly lower, allowing each gravelled syllable to curl around your senses with lashes of pure elemental sin. "Going to be a good little famished cocksleeve and give me a hand under the table before we get down to—"

You cut across his brazen soliloquy with a forceful rap of your fork against the tabletop. Pulling yourself together, you fixed Gojo with a severe glower that finally seemed to give him pause.

"If you can't conduct yourself with any semblance of decorum befitting your station, then I'm through entertaining these adolescent displays," you bit out in a hushed tone edged with adamant warning. "I'm not some wide-eyed underling fresh off the training fields anymore, Satoru. I have higher standing and responsibility than you seem to grasp."

Silence stretched between you for a weighted beat—Gojo's heated gaze flickering over you with renewed focus you couldn't quite decipher. When he finally spoke again, there was a note of uncharacteristic control underpinning his typically buoyant candor. Clearly, he'd grasped the need to change tactics once more.

"You're absolutely right," he said after a prolonged pause. "Part of me forgets just how much you've grown and ascended the ranks over the years." One side of his mouth curved higher in a lopsided ghost of his usual smirk. "Clearly earned the elders' respect and esteem far beyond that of a simple 'secretary' as I put it earlier."

Before you could retort, Gojo pressed onwards—hand sliding almost absently back into view to wrap around the stem of his wine flute. "Which is exactly why your assistance is pivotal to turning the tide regarding Yuji's current...perilous circumstances."

There was a grim finality in his words that snapped you back to the seriousness of the moment like a sobering slap to the face. You shifted fractionally taller in your seat, expression hardening as Gojo continued in low, adamant tones.

"Whether you're fully aware or care to admit it right now, that kid is destined to be pivotal for the upcoming events on the horizon," he rumbled with quiet conviction. "Leaving him to get executed off the books tomorrow morning would be tantamount to losing our most powerful asset before the real battles even begin."

Swirling his wine idly, Gojo paused to take an unhurried pull directly from the bottle before continuing. "Which is why I'm going to need to call in more than a few favors getting his sentence postponed tonight. Starting with you, of course..."

There was a new current of steely focus glinting in his gaze as it bored into you with ruthless intensity. For several protracted beats, you simply held each other's stares—gauging the lengths and motivations rumbling beneath the surface beyond petty physical exploits.

Finally, you pursed your lips and shook your head in a solemn negation. "I'm sorry, but I can't overstep protocol and abuse my influence with the elders like that," you stated, quietly adamant. "Not even for you, Satoru. The ramifications could unravel everything I've worked decades to attain if word got out I went rogue."

Rather than exploding in his usual flashes of arrogance or wounded pride, Gojo merely raked you with a glower of narrowed, simmering intent. His next words emerged more pointed and resonating than any innuendo or filthy endearment preceding it.

"Are you sure about that stance?" he intoned darkly. "Because if memory serves, there are a few distinct...indiscretions we've engaged in that could certainly be construed as 'unraveling' by the elders' view, wouldn't you agree?"

The waiter's polished footsteps faded as he departed to fetch their entrees, leaving you and Gojo in a weighted silence. You could practically taste the undercurrent of tension simmering in the air between you both.

Sipping his wine slowly, Gojo dragged his incandescent stare over your features with undisguised intensity. "I'm serious about this," he stated in a low, firm rumble that brooked no further evasion. "We're talking everything from inappropriate use of jujutsu techniques to conduct we both know crosses so many lines..."

He trailed off meaningfully, leaving the implications to hang heavy as his tongue slicked over his lower lip. You swallowed hard against the rising heat prickling across your cheeks and neck.

"Like that night in the east gardens behind the training halls," Gojo continued, voice dropping into a deeper, more intimate register that curled straight between your thighs. "Where I pinned you down in the grass and ate you out until you came all over my face. And then I fucked you so hard, you nearly passed out before we got caught."

Despite yourself, a tremulous shiver raked through your nerves as the visceral flashes assaulted your mind's eye—the frantic rasp of his calloused palms roaming and kneading, the slick motions of his tongue probing and savoring parts of you meant for far more intimate settings.

Gojo noticed your reaction with a dark chuckle, clearly satisfied he'd reeled you back in completely. "Or what about the time you wrapped those pretty lips around my cock in the maintenance closet and let me rail your throat until you choked on my load? How many rules was just that one encounter bending, hm?"

The directness of his words scorched through you with dizzying potency, making you flush and squirm. You parted your lips on a shaky exhale, determined to regain some semblance of control.

But Gojo smirked knowingly and pressed his verbal advantage in a low, filthy rumble. "Face it, I've got enough material on you ruining me with that greedy little mouth and pussy all over campus to get you defrocked hard." His hooded azure gaze practically seared into your core. "And yet you really wanna risk me airing all those dirty details to the elders? Leaving Itadori's fate to chance like that?"

Your mouth felt suddenly dry as you wrestled with the undeniable truth behind his taunting words. For several fraught beats, the frustration and righteous indignation warred with your embedded sense of duty to the cause. Finally, you released a shuddery breath and lifted your chin.

"I'll...see what I can do about swaying things in your favor," you muttered in a low, slightly strained tone. "No promises, but I'll try discussing options with the higher-ups."

Rather than seem appeased, Gojo's expression only hardened further—carved features settling into a granite mask of tenacious stubbornness and smoldering impatience. "'Not good enough, kitten," he rumbled, forearms tensing atop the table. "This mission is too fucking important for halfhearted measures. I need you to outright insist on a stay of execution being granted, got it? No more stammering 'I'll try' bullshit that lets them sidestep."

His unyielding stare pinned you with the intensity of a physical force, raising your hackles slightly despite your attempt at diplomacy. Still, looking into those blazing blue embers, you got the distinct impression that you'd sooner achieve moving a mountain with vocal commands than sway Gojo on this matter. That steely resolve would accept nothing less than complete victory in postponing Itadori's fate.

Just as you began resigning yourself to digging in for another round of heated back-and-forth across the fancy tablecloth, the arrival of the main courses mercifully broke the combative spell between you. Gojo seemed to settle back imperceptibly as the waiter swept in—that scorching intensity banking down to a more companionable smolder for the time being.

Still, you recognized the temporary reprieve for what it was as you tucked into your meal with far less gusto than anticipated. Despite his best efforts to gloss over the previous tension with idle banter and lighter conversational tones, it remained silently understood that the evening's main purpose still hung unresolved and delicate between you until matters were final.

So it was with an undercurrent of somber expectation that you finally settled the check and rose to follow Gojo from the opulent dining hall at evening's end. A subtle snap of his fingers triggered a curiously disorienting sensation of compression and vertigo—only to release you blinking in surprise mere heartbeats later, finding yourself suddenly standing in the familiar living quarters you called home.

"I'd say you're handling that little trick with far more aplomb these days," Gojo remarked with a lopsided grin, clearly drinking in your adjustment to his impromptu teleportation with amusement. "Remember when I first started zipping you around like that? Pretty sure you heaved your guts all over those ugly penny loafers you used to wear back in the day."

Huffing out a noise of semi-fond exasperation, you aimed a swat at his sculpted arm without malice. "Yes, well I suppose youth and naivety breed certain...overzealous behaviors, don't they?" you retorted before immediately sobering once more. "Like making reckless judgment calls that imperil an entire system..."

Gojo's expression remained impassive, giving no outward indication whether your choice of words struck any particular chord with him. However, you caught the faintest glimmer flickering behind those incandescent blue irises - the barest hint that perhaps you'd underestimated just how much gravitas your dissenting opinion potentially held with the higher-ups.

After all, you were Gojo Satoru's first and most distinguished pupil back when he initially ascended to teaching status, weren't you? Not only that, but your judicious control and prime mastery of your innate techniques embodied many of the fundamental philosophies and fighting styles the old guard so staunchly valued. On numerous occasions, your skills had been cited as quintessential examples to uphold for future generations...

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard as the weighty truth of your potential sway with leadership gradually bobbed to the surface of your consciousness like drift debris after a storm. This entire evening, Gojo might have simply been maneuvering to forcibly realign your perspective on leveraging the hidden influence you apparently wielded without ever fully grasping it.

To truly comprehend the magnitude of the gambit he intended to play using your standing as the key gambit.

Before you could properly parse that sobering epiphany, however, Gojo had already closed what little distance remained between your frames with purposeful strides. The blistering heat of his body all but blanketed yours as he leaned in with that familiar aura of prowling, casual intensity that always made your breath stall.

"So..." he murmured, voice pitching into a lower register that seemed to slither straight down your spine. "Does that mean you're gonna be a good girl and invite me inside so we can continue this intriguing conversation in more...comfortable accommodations?"

Gojo punctuated the brazen implication by cocking one arm against the doorframe, effectively caging you between the cool wood and the searing, masculine planes of his torso and hips. You were abruptly overwhelmed by the reality of his proximity - each subtly shifting ripple of sinew and musculature utterly inescapable from this range.

That distinctly virile, elemental musk that always set your senses clamoring was back in full force as well. You swallowed hard, nostrils flaring fractionally as the delirious essence of Gojo's body heat and clean, faintly spiced perspiration flooded your olfactory receptors. Despite your most ardent efforts, you felt your lids grow heavy and mouth part unconsciously as liquid frissons of pure, burgeoning temptation licked through your veins.

Just like that, with a few deftly aimed strokes, Gojo had reeled you back to the precipice of helpless surrender once more. Still, you summoned the dregs of your stern resolve and planted your palms squarely against his chest, levering back an inch to preserve some semblance of boundaries.

"Subtle as ever, I see," you managed in a tone you hoped came across more dryly exasperated than outright breathless. "I should've guessed the moment we arrived you'd be angling to make yourself at home uninvited."

One brow arched higher, though you didn't miss the slight crinkling at the corners of Gojo's stupidly pretty eyes betraying his hushed amusement. "Oof, someone has their defenses wound just a tad tightly if they think I require permission these days," he shot back with a wry rumble.

Before you could summon a retort, that leonine physique surged forward in a slow, sensual undulation—once again pinning you fully against the unyielding wooden slab with the scorching brand of his larger frame. Gojo's free hand drifted down to palm the generous curve of your hip with sinful insistence, hips canting forward until there could be no mistaking the ridge of his erection notching against your lower belly.

"Better question might be..." His voice dropped several delirious octaves into those sandpaper-rough timbres that seemed to sizzle straight through your nerve endings. "Why even bother pretending at token protests when we both know how this little dance is gonna end...?"

Those incandescent azure irises flickered down to where his fingertips were already stroking teasing swirls against the exposed strip of skin between your top and waistband, silently daring you to rebuff such an implicit capitulation.

"So why delay the inevitable any longer, gorgeous?" Gojo rumbled against your lips, voice dropping into that gravelly timbre designed to liquefy your restraint. "Let's get down to stripping off all these formalities once and for—"

"You haven't even kissed me yet today," you blurted out, cutting across his heated soliloquy.

Gojo's pale brows pinched infinitesimally as the words seemed to momentarily stall his single-minded determination. You could practically see the gears turning behind those hooded azure irises as he processed your statement—likely running back through every provocative encounter and instance of attempted seduction throughout the evening.

When his piercing stare finally snapped back to yours, there was the faintest glimmer of sheepish realization burning there. "...Huh. You're right," he remarked in a slightly lower, more subdued tone. "Here I've been working overtime to rile you up, and I haven't even had the balls to properly lay one on you yet."

You tried not to visibly preen under the gratifying acknowledgment, but couldn't quite suppress the tiny quirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. Sensing a rare window of opportunity, you shifted your weight more fully against the solid contours of Gojo's frame, allowing your fingers to trail upwards in delicate spirals.

"Well?" You arched one brow in playful challenge, throat bobbing on a swallow as your digits mapped higher along the tendons of his powerful neck. "Are you going to actually follow through, or am I going to have to take the initiative here?"

For one heated beat, Gojo simply held your pointed stare in taut suspension—the atmosphere between you both seeming to atomize down into charged ionization particles awaiting the slightest catalyst to detonate. Then, his lips curved higher in a lopsided smirk you'd come to recognize as pure, unrepentant recklessness sublimating into physical form.

"You're going to have to come and get it, gorgeous," he rumbled, the raspy undercurrents sending delicious frissons shivering along your nerves. "Show me just how badly you've been starving for a real taste all evening."

His dexterous fingers slid up to cup the line of your jaw, thumb sweeping suggestively across your lower lip in a searing caress. You struggled not to whimper at the electrifying friction as Gojo leaned further into your personal space.

However, rather than ducking his head the final few scant inches to seal his mouth hungrily over yours, the insufferable tease merely arched backward—body undulating in a slow, sinuous retreat until he towered over you at his full impressive stature. The tip of his tongue darted out to lave his lower lip in clear relish, eyes glinting with wicked invitation as he silently dared you to make good on rising to his heated gauntlet.

A thrill of excitement and determination lanced through your chest as you instantly grasped the game afoot. With purposeful, unhurried movements, you allowed your palms to splay across the granite warmth of his abdomen before slowly, teasingly tracking higher in a worshiping glide. Every rippling corde and sinewy groove of his musculature became briefly profiled as you glided your touch upwards - mapping the scorching acreage in ardent appreciation.

Gojo watched your journey with blown pupils and ragged breaths, torso visibly expanding with each shuddering inhalation he dragged against his impressive restraint. You didn't miss the flex and bunching of his arms and shoulders as you passed over his pectorals, clearly fighting not to haul you bodily against him right then and simply crush your pliant frames back into mutual rapture.

But still, he remained steadfast and motionless—a living marble statue gloriously chiseled from pure virile perfection, awaiting your reverent indulgences with a banked smolder burning behind his hooded stare.

Finally, your fingertips dusted across the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones, body arching and straining upwards in your single-minded pursuit of that elusive, smug mouth you craved with mounting desperation. Try as you might to extend yourself onto the balls of your feet and go fully up on tiptoes, Gojo maintained a scant whisper of distance—always hovering just out of your reach with an expression of blatant masculine gratification at your squirming efforts.

A huff of breathy frustration nearly slipped free at the persistent denial, only to be silenced by the way Gojo instinctively dipped lower as if to grant your wish...only to arc back with a low, filthy chuckle that reverberated against your now-thundering pulse. It was as much a sensual dance of control and restraint as a taunt or test of wills at this juncture—simply savoring the delirious friction generated as your pliant, questing form sought to twine and pull him down into decadent oblivion, inch by maddening inch.

"Easy there, kitten..." he rasped in a low, smoky cadence designed to further short-circuit your resolve. "Why don't you try dropping to those pretty knees for me? Might give you better leverage and angles to play with in reaching those tempting lips that have been tormenting that insatiable appetite of yours..."

You answered with a full-body shudder and a needy keen spilling free from your very marrow—all thoughts of recalcitrance and willpower now thoroughly banished beneath the inescapable gravity well of Gojo's hypnotic presence and unholy temptations.

You whined out loud, an unguarded noise of pure pleading desire that seemed to momentarily crack through your usually reserved demeanor. "Satoru...please, wanna kiss you so badly."

The raw, plaintive tone of your entreaty hung in the air between you, heavy with naked yearning in a way that gave even Gojo pause. His brilliant eyes seemed to smolder brighter for an instant, no doubt dredging up fond recollections of past occasions where he'd so thoroughly unraveled your ironclad poise and reduced you to this state.

Rather than pounce on your vulnerability or tease further, however, Gojo's expression softened ever so slightly. One broad palm cradled the back of your skull as he ducked in closer, guiding your trembling frame until your brows nearly brushed.

"Since you asked so nicely..." he murmured, deep timbre emerging somewhere between a graveled purr and heated rumble.

You barely managed a shuddering inhalation before Gojo sealed his mouth over yours in a searing brand of possession. The initial clash of lips and tongue was something closer to an elemental force than a mere intimate exchange—not at all gentle, but rife with pent-up longing and ravenous need finally given free rein.

Your fingers instinctively knotted in the soft fabric of his shirt as Gojo laid an utterly thorough claim upon your senses. He swallowed each desperate little noise and whimper that punched free as if savoring the most delectable of delicacies. One thick forearm banded around your lower back to anchor you fully against his solid frame as he deepened the devouring cadence with relentless intensity.

A husky growl of clear approval and gratification rumbled against your slick, swollen mouth as Gojo momentarily allowed a scant parting for air. "Fuck...I'd almost forgotten how greedy and eager this talented little tongue can get," he grated with clear relish.

You could only pant and squirm fitfully in answer, thoughts scattered like dandelion seeds on a breeze. Gojo simply chuckled richly—the timbre vibrating straight through your very cells in a way that somehow untethered your feet from the ground entirely.

The next thing you clearly registered were his powerful arms banding beneath the backs of your thighs to haul you securely against his body in one smooth, easy motion. Your startled yelp melted into a tremulous sigh as the bunching plains of his torso and abdomen braced your arched spine in a sublime full-body embrace.

"Don't go passing out on me before the real fun starts," Gojo husked against the thundering pulse at your nape, even as his long strides carried you across the threshold of your apartment. "I've got plans for putting that gifted mouth to far better uses than just kissing..."

With your legs now locked around his narrow hips, you could feel every delicious ridge and twitch of his growing erection grinding against your dampening heat through the flimsy barriers separating you. A piteous whine slipped free as the swaying rhythm of his determined gait threatened to unravel you down to your very foundation.

"That's it, let me hear just how desperate I've got you aching to taste me properly again," Gojo growled against the whorl of your ear, each guttural rasp sparking fresh convulsions of need between your thighs. "Been waiting all fucking day to unwrap this gorgeous little prize and savor you inch...by...inch."

Gojo punctuated the lascivious promise by swiveling to carefully lay you out amidst the rumpled linens and cushions—each flickering shadow casting his chiseled features into harsh relief. No more levity or evasion glossed his expression, only the stark severity and zero-compromises focus of a predator fully engaged.

Rather than pounce on you immediately, however, Gojo seemed to pause and simply drink in the sight of your breathless, disheveled state with smoldering intent. His bright eyes roamed over every inch of your upturned features and the generous curves left tantalizingly displayed by your askew clothing.

"Goddamn..." he rumbled in a deep timbre thick with undisguised yearning. "Look at you splayed out for me, practically begging to get worked over already."

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away from the pure masculine intensity blazing in his stare. There was an undercurrent of restrained hunger there that made your pulse thunder—heady and distinctly feral even as Gojo slowly prowled over your prone body.

Rather than immediately claim you in a reckless flurry of lust, his calloused palms mapped your sides in a languid, purposeful glide all the way up to your rib cage. You arched instinctively into his maddening caresses, whimpering softly in anticipation.

"Easy there, baby..." Gojo murmured in a low rasp against the whorl of your ear. His nose trailed along the thrumming tendons of your neck, clearly savoring the scent of your desire. "You act like it's been months since this pretty pussy has been spread out and stuffed full. And after all the time I spent working you into this gorgeous, wrecked state..."

You squirmed fitfully beneath his unyielding weight, needy whines spilling past your parted lips as Gojo continued leisurely nuzzling and nipping along your jawline and throat. Despite the unhurried leisure of his attentions, you were rapidly spiraling into molten delirium between his hoarse endearments and the tantalizing friction where your bodies met.

"What, so impatient you can't even let me take a second to savor this?" Gojo husked out in a gravel-rough rasp that made you shiver. "I had to spend all damn day thinking about bending you over the second we were alone...so you'll excuse me if I take things slow now that I've got you all wound up and drenched for it."

Emphasizing his point, Gojo slotted one thick, muscular thigh between your parted legs, rocking forward in a slow grind that dragged the solid length of his cock against your molten entrance through the thin barrier separating you. You cried out sharply at the delicious friction, back bowing as frantic nails scoured tracks down his flexing shoulder blades in desperation.

"Yeah...that's it, squirm and moan for me like a good girl," Gojo growled in clear approval, tongue laving a wet path along the fragrant hollow of your throat. "Keep making those filthy sounds and just MAYBE I'll finally give you what you've been gagging for all night."

You could only whimper raggedly in compliance as his mouth moved lower, searing a path from collarbone to the generous swell of your breasts. His large hands cradled and kneaded the soft flesh with relish before tugging the stretchy fabric aside to bare one nipple to the calloused heat of his lips and tongue.

"That's right...let Daddy get his fill and reacquaint himself with every lush goddamn inch," Gojo growled around the rosy peak, sending lightning bolts of sensation zinging straight to your molten core. "Been thinking about sucking and biting these perfect tits all over again ever since you walked into that restaurant looking like a goddamn meal..."

Despite his crude admission, there was an undercurrent of clear reverence and tender devotion laced through his ragged cadences now. Gojo laved and nuzzled at your breasts with all the ardent indulgence of a penitent savoring their last meal before execution. His hooded azure gaze seemed to blaze brighter with each piteous keen and arch you offered up in answer to his lavishing.

Just as you felt yourself ascending the spiraling crescendo toward mindless bliss under his skilled attentions, Gojo abruptly detached from your saturated nipple with a low noise of harsh restraint. You whined plaintively, eyes glassy as your hands reflexively fisted in the front of his shirt—silently pleading for him to resume lapping away at the fiery deprivation swiftly devouring you inside out.

"Easy, baby..." he rasped through gritted teeth, clearly suppressing his own spiraling ardor through sheer force of iron will. "I didn't wait this long to absolutely wreck you just to blow it all on some half-assed foreplay."

Slanting his mouth over yours in another scorching, possessive claim, Gojo cradled your overwrought features between those rough, calloused palms with surprising tenderness.

His thumb smoothed along your cheekbone as the kiss gradually shifted into a slow, sensual undulation.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against the seam of your lips. "Let Daddy hear you ask for it nice and loud."

The command emerged as a gravelly whisper, though his blazing stare held an unmistakable glint of command. Still, the blatant carnal hunger etched into his expression made you feel positively giddy and invincible as your fingertips trailed along the corded lines of his powerful throat.

"I want you inside me, Sensei," you pleaded, voice pitching into a breathy whine. "Please, I need to feel you filling me up again."

Gojo groaned, clearly relishing the shameless admission and the way your thighs clenched reflexively around his hips. You could feel the rigid contours of his cock twitching eagerly against your slickened folds through the layers separating you.

"Fuck, the mouth on you," he rasped, nipping lightly at the underside of your jaw. "You know what it does to me when you call me that."

"Good," you purred, allowing your fingers to trail higher until they carded through the silky soft strands of his hair. "Now, are you going to stop stalling and show me how much better you are at playing teacher in bed?"

Your bold retort earned a snarl of pure male approval, though the sound quickly tapered into a groan as you deliberately canted your hips to drag the seeping damp of your panties against his throbbing erection. Gojo's fingers instinctively curled tighter around your neck, pinning you into place as he bucked and rolled his pelvis forward to reciprocate the delicious friction.

"Alright then, smartass..." he rasped, pupils blown nearly black with ravenous need as he stared down at your upturned, flushed face. "If that's how you wanna play it, I'm gonna make damn sure you're thoroughly re-educated on who exactly holds the reins here."

Without further ado, his hands drifted down to tug insistently at your waistband, practically shredding the flimsy fabric in his haste to free you from the rest of your clothing. You shivered at the way the cool evening air instantly pebbled across your newly exposed skin, though any instinctive modesty was quickly chased away by the hungry stare drinking in your naked form.

Gojo's expression shifted into a predatory leer, the sight sending another jolt of electric anticipation shooting through your already-jangling nerve endings. "That's better," he rumbled, broad palm skating a path up your inner thigh with unhurried reverence. "Nothing should be allowed to hide such a perfect view of my favorite fucking dessert."

You bit back a whimper at the possessive timbres lacing his gravel-rough voice, thighs twitching restlessly as Gojo's touch continued mapping higher. Finally, his questing fingertips slid into the sticky slick coating your swollen folds, dragging the copious evidence of your desire back to where your clit throbbed with need.

"Oh, look at that..." Gojo practically cooed, the filthy delight and awe laced through his voice sending a fresh rush of warmth spilling out against his dexterous ministrations. "Daddy's been neglecting his baby girl, and she's absolutely soaking wet already. How long has my gorgeous kitten been aching like this, hmm?"

The words emerged somewhere between a teasing croon and a gravelly growl, and you could only shudder and keen as Gojo continued rubbing maddening circles over your hypersensitive bud. The friction was already pushing you rapidly to the edge, and judging by the way Gojo's hooded gaze flickered up to watch your rapture, he could tell as much.

"Ah-ah...no cumming until you beg Daddy to fuck you properly," he rasped, even as his index and ring fingers dipped shallowly into your fluttering channel—teasing and stretching the seeping velvet heat in a way that made you sob out loud. "Don't make me have to punish you for being so naughty, kitten. You know I can keep you on the edge all night if I need to."

Your spine bowed and back arched as you writhed and thrashed beneath his touch, a litany of breathy whimpers and pleas falling from your kiss-swollen lips. "Please, please, Daddy, don't tease me," you begged shamelessly, the words nearly slurring together with raw need. "I'll be a good girl, I swear. Please, please just fuck me..."

Gojo's gaze sharpened with clear gratification as you entreated his mercy, and he finally eased off on the merciless friction between your thighs. Your lungs burned with the force of gulping down ragged lungfuls of air, but you were given scant reprieve before his hands gripped and lifted your thighs, effortlessly hauling you closer and spreading them wide.

"There's my good girl," he murmured, the raw timbre of his voice sending delicious frissons shivering across your fever-warm skin. "Such a sweet little angel when you finally submit."

With one more brief nip at the delicate flesh of your inner thigh, Gojo began working the fly of his trousers open, finally freeing his massive erection. He stroked and pumped his straining shaft a few times for good measure, eyes raking across your splayed, naked form with clear relish.

"Look at how pretty this tight little pussy is, dripping all over my fingers and cock just begging to get filled," he grunted, lining the bulbous crown against your quivering entrance and rubbing it back and forth through the sticky arousal saturating your folds.

A pitiful keen slipped past your parted lips at the taunting pressure, and you could feel a fresh gush of slickness welling up in response to his crass praise. Gojo smirked at the telltale reaction, one calloused palm sliding down to part the plush folds of your pussy even further.

"Goddamn, look how wet and greedy this is for me," he rumbled in a low tone thick with pure male satisfaction. "Bet you were fantasizing about having Daddy's cock stuffing this pretty cunt the whole time we were sitting there in that restaurant. Isn't that right, kitten?"

Your brain was barely capable of stringing together a coherent thought, much less a snarky comeback, but somehow the words slipped free despite the mindless delirium clouding your head. "Y-you were the one who wouldn't stop teasing," you moaned, squirming fitfully against the delicious pressure poised at your molten core. "Can't say I wasn't tempted to drag you into the bathroom and suck you off..."

The words dissolved into a keening cry as Gojo abruptly slammed into the hilt, filling you to the brim and beyond in one brutal, unyielding stroke. Your legs reflexively locked around his hips and lower back as he immediately began pounding into your clenching walls, each powerful thrust punching the breath from your lungs.

"Is that so, sweetheart?" Gojo gritted out, hissing through clenched teeth as the clutching vice of your inner walls seemed to squeeze the very life from his engorged shaft. "You were just planning on being a dirty little tease the whole time we were at dinner? What a fucking minx..."

Gojo punctuated the statement by angling your hips upward to drill even deeper, each merciless thrust nudging the sensitive spot at the very end of your channel until the pressure sent stars exploding behind your eyelids. The only sounds that could emerge were a series of broken mewls and wordless whines, utterly incapable of doing anything but lay there and take the exquisite torment of his unrelenting, devastating pace.

"Yeah, that's it, let me feel just how desperately you've been needing this," he snarled, large hands gripping your waist as his pelvis hammered a merciless rhythm against your overstimulated sex. "Soak this fucking cock like a good little kitten. Don't hold back on me, baby. Show me how much you missed Daddy's cock and I might let you cum."

You could barely process the filth spilling free from his mouth at this point, each syllable dissolving into an electric buzz as his ruthless assault stoked the pressure mounting inside you. It was a familiar, heady rush of sensation—a coiling tension that seemed to grow tighter and more unbearable with every punishing roll of Gojo's hips against yours.

He was driving you toward a cliff's edge without pause or quarter, and the sheer force of his intensity was dizzying. Yet, despite the frantic, almost savage cadence, you could feel the subtle shift in his grip and angle as Gojo's gaze bored into your face. Even in the midst of his own delirium, the sheer focus and attentiveness in his stare was intoxicating.

"F-fuck, I'm so close," you gasped out, feeling your core spasming and clutching against the rigid pistoning length impaling you. You feebly reached out, desperate for any kind of anchor amidst the relentless tidal wave of sensation threatening to pull you under. "Satoru...please, want you to kiss me again."

Without missing a beat, Gojo's hands shifted, scooping you up until you were practically cradled in his lap. Your legs reflexively locked around his hips and midsection, ankles hooking together as his thrusts never paused. The new position left your torso arching up toward his chest, and Gojo quickly took advantage, slanting his mouth over yours with renewed hunger.

Each slide and curl of his tongue seemed perfectly in time with the driving roll of his hips, and the added closeness was swiftly becoming too much. You were hurtling toward the edge of the abyss, and this time, Gojo seemed intent on taking you down with him.

"My perfect girl, taking my cock like such a good little slut," he gritted out, one hand tangling in your hair while the other braced your back, keeping your bodies fused together. "Been dreaming about this tight cunt for fucking days, and it's even better than I remember. Now be a good kitten and soak Daddy's cock for me."

You could feel yourself tumbling over the precipice even before Gojo's hand snaked down to thumb your clit, and the dual assault was all it took to send you reeling into blinding euphoria. Your climax hit like a freight train, ripping through you with an almost painful intensity that left your toes curling and vision blurring.

Gojo continued thrusting his full length in a rapid-fire tempo, hissing out a strangled groan as the spasms of your inner walls finally dragged him into the depths of oblivion alongside you. Your limbs felt like jelly, and you were grateful for his grip holding you steady as the waves of rapture subsided.

He didn't release you, though, not right away. Rather, Gojo simply held you in his arms, his cheek pressed to the side of your head and the slow rise and fall of his chest syncing with yours. The two of you remained silent for a long moment, simply breathing together as the room gradually stopped spinning around you.

Eventually, Gojo pulled back enough to cup your jaw and slant his mouth over yours in another gentle, exploratory kiss. It was nothing like the devouring claims and searing conquests that had preceded it, and the tenderness in the simple press of lips left you feeling utterly weightless.

When Gojo finally withdrew, the smirk curling his lips was positively self-satisfied. "I'd say that’s enough foreplay, wouldn't you, baby?"

You could only huff a soft laugh in response, shaking your head as the residual tremors of bliss faded. "You consider thatforeplay?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, was I too gentle?" he retorted, feigning a look of innocent confusion. "Maybe we should try round two, then. I'll give you a chance to demonstrate what you meant about sucking me off."

The words emerged in a low, silky murmur as his large hands gripped and squeezed the supple curves of your ass, eliciting a soft squeal from you. You smacked at his broad chest ineffectually, unable to fight the grin tugging at your own mouth.

"You're incorrigible."

"That's not a no," Gojo pointed out, his smug expression practically radiating his unrepentant satisfaction. "And if you keep acting all cute and sassy, I can't promise I'll be able to resist the urge to bend you over and remind you exactly who's in charge."

Your stomach fluttered at the casual, nonchalant admission. It was an undeniable thrill knowing just how badly Gojo craved this—craved you. The thought alone was enough to send a fresh wave of warmth flooding through your veins.

"Maybe I'm not opposed to the idea," you murmured, biting down on your lower lip as you glanced up through your lashes.

The look was clearly too much for Gojo's self-control. His eyes darkened with fresh desire, and his grip shifted to lift and turn you so that you were sprawled facedown across the rumpled cushions.

"Well, in that case," he growled, the heat and weight of his body blanketing yours as his hips pressed flush to the swell of your backside. "Let's see just how filthy this mouth is, shall we?"

The room seemed to exist in its own hushed, velvety cocoon of tranquility - a stark contrast to the ferocious passion that had consumed every inch mere moments ago. You lay draped languidly across Gojo's powerful frame with your cheek pillowed on the rises and valleys of his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat reverberated through your lashes in a soothing cadence.

One of your hands traced idle, featherlight patterns over the expanse of his toned abdomen - mapping the ridges and grooves so recently sheened and flexing under your ardent worshiping. Gojo remained equally at peace beneath your sprawled embrace, those brilliant azure irises at half-mast while he reclined with one arm crooked behind his head.

Despite the palpable aura of repletion surrounding you both, a new undercurrent began to gradually assert itself in the weighted stillness. You felt compelled to disturb the quietude to address what this entire evening had truly culminated towards - the deal quietly brokered between heated sheets and joined bodies.

"I'll contact the elders first thing," you murmured, the words seeming to slip free before your mind fully grasped their implication. "About postponing Itadori Yuji's case, like you wanted."

Gojo's chest expanded minutely on a slow inhale, but otherwise his statuesque form remained comfortably inert as your words hung in the air between you. After several beats, you felt the subtle weight of his stare alighting on your upturned features.

"Yeah?" His resonant timbre emerged in a low, stripped rasp - sounding as thoroughly unraveled as the rest of his carefully compartmentalized composure. "They'll actually listen to your stance on something so high-stakes?"

You allowed your own eyes to slip shut in a protracted blink, thoughts rapidly trying to align and process how to even begin verbalizing the sheer revelations that had bloomed open tonight about your place within the jujutsu hierarchy.

"I didn't fully grasp it at first," you admitted, voice coming out slightly roughened from earlier exertions. "But now I'm starting to understand the actual leverage my positioning and reputation has afforded without me even noticing."

Rather than respond directly, the only sound came from a protracted exhalation through Gojo's nose - seeming to signal his grasp of the situation finally mapping out as well. You hoped he also understood just how monumental a gambit he'd set into motion by hammering the truth home in his uniquely heated approach tonight. Not to induce guilt, per se...but perhaps a smidgeon more humility about the harrowing stakes being juggled.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Gojo abruptly shifted his weight until you were rolled over onto your back - his solid bulk carefully blanketing yours without pressure. When your gazes met and locked, you felt that simmering connection arc back into incandescence once more between your joined frames.

"You continue underestimating yourself," he murmured in a timbre now rendered warm gravel thanks to its gravelly softness. He cupped the side of your jaw, thumb tracing the bow of your lips in a barely-there caress that spoke to so much more than surface motions. "Which is exactly why I'm never going to stop knocking some sense into that stubborn head of yours..."

With that throaty declaration, Gojo dipped his chiseled features lower until your foreheads brushed - noses scanting along one another in an electrifying gossamer graze. The intimacy of the motion seemed to steal your very breath straight from your lungs as he carried on in a husked rasp.

"So thank you. For listening to reason and actually wielding your power for once when it really mattered..."

Unable to resist the unspoken pull between your joined gravities any longer, you surged up to seal Gojo's mouth in a slow, simmering clash of satin flesh and indulgent possession. All the unvoiced sentiments and roiling tides of turbulence hovered for a suspended eternity within that singular nexus point before gradually dispersing into peaceful becalm once more.

Eventually Gojo broke away with the barest hint of a crooked smile tugging at those stupidly perfect lips, clearly satisfied with your acquiescence for the time being. The two of you simply basked in silence for a while longer, relishing in this well-earned moment of bonded lassitude.

That is, until the first stirrings of Gojo's impish irreverence inevitably bubbled back up in the form of his rich baritone laced with none-too-subtle swagger:

"So...I take it this means I get to thoroughly ruin you again before breakfast? No more insufferable teasing about you not putting out until your higher-up buddies get their precious signatures?"

You scoffed out a long-suffering sound of semi-amused exasperation, already anticipating the thick cloud of smug virility about to descend. Sure enough, Gojo's chest puffed with unrepentant satisfaction as he slung one heavy arm around your waist and lightly squeezed.

"That's what I thought. Face it kitten, that pretty pussy has officially been drafted into service under my uncompromising authority until further notice..."

He punctuated the lewd declaration by slanting his mouth over yours in a deliriously thorough deluge of hunger and virility, effectively stealing your very breath for a second rapturous cycle before exhaustion could dare creep back in.

And as your joined frames spiraled back into the delirious vortex of blissful dissipation once more, you couldn't help hazarding one last, bemused thought: somehow, you got the distinct impression Gojo would be exercising his latest "authority" over you with particularly unrestrained enthusiasm this time around.

[eiightysixbaby]

eat your heart out

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

in which eddie masters valentine’s day through the art of eating pussy

cw: 18+ ONLY — SMUT oral (f receiving)

a/n: an early valentine from me to all of u. mwah mwah hope u enjoy ❤️

Eddie Munson doesn't really know what to do when it comes to Valentine's Day.

It's not like he's an idiot; he understands that typically a romantic dinner or a bouquet of flowers and some chocolates are the perfect show of appreciation and affection.

But those things are typically reserved for your girlfriend, and you're not his girlfriend.

But you're also, like, not not his girlfriend.

Eddie doesn't really know what you are, and that's the issue. It started off with you guys just hooking up. Late nights in his van parked behind the school or in a dark part of some neighborhood. Quickies in the bathroom during a break in Hellfire sessions. But it's slowly started to morph into... something else? Eddie isn't one hundred percent sure, but he's noticed that you come over more often, and you don't just want to jump his bones and leave.

Sometimes you guys don't even fuck anymore. Sometimes you invite him over just to watch movies, or he'll ask you to go for a drive with him. You hold his hand under the table when you go out to Benny's diner with the friend group, and Steve keeps waggling his eyebrows at him suggestively every time he catches you two sitting extremely close to each other. Which just makes Eddie blush like a loser.

And, every time you two are about to part ways, you look like you really want to kiss him before he goes.

And sure, you guys have kissed before. He's not about to hook up with you without at least kissing you stupid first. But this is different. You've been looking at him like you just want to kiss him, with nothing to come afterwards.

It all makes him sweat if he thinks about it for too long.

So for now, in the midst of his anxious unwillingness to ask you the horrifying 'What are we?', he's simply decided to show his appreciation for you on Valentine's Day with the one thing he's certain you'll love. He can deal with his feelings and stuff, later.

Your hand fists its way into his hair, fingers gripping his unruly curls like they're the only thing still tethering you to earth. His knees press into the worn carpeting of the trailer, his mouth latched to your cunt while his hands keep the fabric of your skirt rucked up at your waist.

You’re standing with your back pressed against the kitchen counter, your sneakers still on. He barely gave you a moment to settle yourself upon arrival before he was on you like a bad rash.

What can he say? When it all comes down to it, he’s a simple man, and you’re his favorite meal.

“Eddie,” you sigh, tilting your head back in bliss.

His tongue swipes its way through your folds before finding your clit and sucking on it. He can feel your body tremble, your knees nearly buckling with the overwhelming sense of pleasure.

His big brown eyes chance a glance up at you, at the exact moment you’re looking down at him. Your lips part in a moan, his tongue flicking rapidly at your clit, though he’s not sure if it’s that or the eye contact that forced the sound from you.

He’s guessing the latter, because something in your gaze feels different. The entire moment feels different.

Before, being intimate with you felt reckless, hot. Now it’s like he’s spilling every word he hasn’t said to you into the space between your thighs, hoping you’ll read his secret code. Hoping desperately that he’s not seeing this wrong, that you actually do like him as much as he realizes he likes you.

He needs to chill before he whispers an I love you right here on his knees.

He breaks your gaze after a moment or two, letting his eyes fall closed once more. He can taste how wet you are, he’s lapping up your arousal with every swipe of his tongue, and he honestly would kind of be okay with dying right here. His face is completely buried in you, nose bumping your clit, tongue on a mission to be as deep inside of you as possible.

You let your hips buck, nearly grinding on his face as he licks and sucks and bites, his ringed fingers squeezing the meat of your ass now.

“Eddie, ohmygod,” you cry, your white knuckle grip on the countertop keeping you from collapsing.

“What is it, baby?” he asks sweetly, kitten licking your sensitive bud before taking it between his lips and sucking.

That’s another thing, he’s started calling you all of these pet names lately. And the more he does it, the more he finds he doesn’t want to stop. He might actually be physically incapable of stopping.

“Feels so good, I—” you gasp at the sudden intrusion of two of his fingers. “I fucking love you,” you rasp out, your body reaching its peak at the exact moment the words escape you.

Eddie’s eyes shoot up to look at you, going impossibly wide. Yet he doesn’t stop what he’s doing, he brings you fully through your high until you’re shaking all over. Your words did nothing but spur him on, more determined than ever to bring you crashing down around him.

Only once you’ve come down do you seem to process what you said, and for a minute all you can do is stare at each other.

“Eddie, I—” you scramble, but he’s quicker.

“No. Don’t backtrack. Don’t do that,” he says, still on his knees before you. Still tasting you on his lips, still feeling you beneath his fingertips.

He rises to his feet, hooking a finger under your chin. You’re giving him that look again. The one that makes it seem like you want to kiss him more than you want to breathe.

And so he gives in. Lips smashing to yours, in a completely different context than any of the times before. He hopes you can feel everything he feels just through this kiss. Hopes he’s getting his point across.

The way you pull him flush up against you to deepen the kiss gives him the idea that his point was received.

Eddie Munson is great at this whole Valentine’s Day thing.

[notjustjavierpena]

Applied Physics

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Long awaited smutty piece with a planned sequel. I hope you enjoy, ya filthy animal 💅🎀💖

Summary: It’s the 60s, you’re three weeks behind on a deadline, and your professor, Doctor Reed Richards, makes you face the consequences. 

Pairing: Reed Richards x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: College student/teacher relationship, science talk, Reed has powers, dub con, spanking, dom/sub dynamics, implied dacryphilia, dirty talking, sub drop, aftercare, stern Reed 🥵

Word count: 5.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62948440/chapters/161199763

Applied Physics

Dr. Reed N. Richards always wears a tweed jacket with elbow patches that show off his broad shoulders and give him an irresistible swagger. He teaches physics at your college part-time - when he is not out saving the world - and he is equally terrifying as he is warm, a combination of traits that you have learned can actually coexist but only after meeting him. 

You have been wanting him since he walked into the classroom that morning many months ago, carrying a black leather binder seemingly filled with little to nothing since everything appears to be stored in his brain. 

He has standards, you find, and traditional ways of doing things that somehow emphasize his love for the delicacy of science. For instance, he only grades papers with a fountain pen and therefore expects every assignment to be handwritten instead of done on a typewriter which is tedious and difficult for those who don’t possess a steady hand. The scary part of him comes out when he says he simply won’t grade the papers that aren’t turned in as he wants them to be. The warm part shows itself when he later makes a self-deprecating joke about knocking over whiskey during his grading. 

The idea of the paper smelling like his cologne or even, if you are lucky, has a stain of his favorite liquor, makes you hand in each assignment whilst the ink is still drying on the paper. Perhaps you will be the first one to receive notes and feedback from him if you turn in your work before its deadline.

You imagine him hunched over a desk, pen barely able to fit in his rough hand. He wears something casual, maybe even has taken off that jacket, scratching his beard and sipping his drink whilst smiling to himself as he reads words that come from your mind. Your mind makes him smile to himself, makes him single you out from the rest of your class because you are special and he knows this. It’s the image you imagine the first time you come whilst thinking about him, shower head between your thighs and legs against the tiled wall in the shared bathroom at the boarding house you reside in. 

When you do finally get your first essay back from him, you read all the comments in the margins during your lunch. You lick a drop of juice from an apple away from your lower lip as your eyes skim over a scribbled good or well done, trying to find an excuse to read more into the way he looks at you when you talk during class. You made him laugh once, that must mean something, right? He clearly has your sense of humor, the same ways of applying theory and reasoning. 

You know that it is hardly rational what you are doing, projecting all these things onto him when, in reality, you only know of him what you have seen during his lectures and office hours. Yet you have found yourself noticing the way he smiles faintly when you correct one of your fellow students during group work, and it has spurred you on to become even more insufferable to your classmates only to get his attention. His approval too, if you are lucky. 

Yet despite all this, here you are with an assignment running three weeks late, your procrastination having reached its limits and your excuses to your professor wearing thin. It’s a challenging state to be in when you’re so used to ranking your popularity with Dr. Richards higher than everyone else on this course. Sure, his attention is nice when it is rooted in praise but you don’t know if the kind that will follow this lecture, the deadline you’d agreed upon for your paper being yesterday, is the kind that will satisfy something in you like the small smiles have. 

You keep bouncing your leg beneath your desk as you wait for Dr. Richards to enter the lecture hall with that cool aura about him and let the fast-paced lecture begin. If anyone sees you, they will recognize it as an itching to suck up to him once more but in reality, it is the first time you’ve been in the room with a nervous tic. 

“Good afternoon, everyone,” he greets as he finally arrives and you find yourself jolting with nerves at the fact that he is finally here and inevitable doom is just around the corner. It doesn’t make it better that his brown eyes sweep over the crowd in a hurry until he spots you, his gaze full of concentration until he gains eye contact with you for less than a second. You sit up straighter at the way he measures you and the subconscious movement of your leg stills completely. Frustratingly, the man keeps talking as if nothing happened. 

After several attempts to regain your composure, you realize that you have completely missed his introduction to today’s lecture and while trying to ignore the thrill that is simmering beneath your anxiety, you scramble to start taking notes. It’s not to show him that you can go back to being his favorite student but rather a necessity to keep yourself from being three weeks further behind.

You power through the lecture even with your fuzzy mind, scribbling things down and making sure to appreciate the privilege it is to be taught by one of the greatest minds to ever live. This is even if he, multiple times, falls into the usual pattern of diving headfirst into multi-layered explanations of different phenomena and concepts, droning on as if none of you and the rest of your classmates exist to him anymore. 

You pretend to keep up when he does this but even you must admit that he loses you. However, you know for a fact that it is not out of disinterest that you stop listening but rather your mind focusing on something else when his words become too difficult to follow. Instead, you end up mapping out the length of his gorgeous neck, the beauty spot where his collar ends. It is enough to leave your mouth dry, but not enough to drag your mind off the scolding you’ll get soon.

When the lecture comes to an end, you have psyched yourself enough to stupidly get up and try to follow the rest of the students out. They trickle out hurriedly though and you find yourself at the back of the school of people heading for the door. 

“Hold it right there,” Reed’s voice travels through the room and hits you right in the back, making you falter in your step. Your last name rolls off his tongue with the same kind of confidence and composure that you’d tried to conjure up just an hour ago. 

“Sir, I was just—“ you rest your hand on the doorknob to signal that you are leaving but you know already that you have lost the fight to exit the room. 

You hear it before you see it; the faint and strange rustling of fabric as something wooshes closer. Suddenly, your teacher’s stretched-out arm moves past you like you have seen it do on television and then his hand attached to said arm splays flat on the door. He closes it with a soft click while you hold your breath. 

Slowly, it retracts back to normal and you follow it with your eyes by glancing over your shoulder. Time stands still for a moment at the sight because while Reed Richards has stretched his body multiple times in the past, without much thought behind it and much to his students' shock, he never puts anyone in the position to experience it firsthand. 

“Sir, I—“

“Come here,” he says quietly. 

You grab the strap of your bag tightly and make your way to the desk where he sits. You decide to beat him to his reprimand, talking even if your voice shakes at his disapproving stare, “I’m sorry I missed this week’s deadline.”

“This week? Try the last three,” he calmly corrects you, “You have done your research on force, impact, and energy transfer in non-elastic collisions, have you not?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you’ve still not turned anything in? Why?”

“I've been overwhelmed with coursework and–” You trail off when he raises a brow. He is still sitting down but even so, you feel like you are shrinking underneath his authority. You find it hard to believe that anything out your mouth right now will be taken seriously when you have let him down three times already but you try to reassure him anyway, “It won’t happen again, I promise,”

“No, it won’t,” he agrees as he pushes himself to stand. He drags the chair away from the table as if he thinks it is in his way, “You’re brighter than most, so I don’t believe I need to remind you what happens if you keep slacking.”

“No, sir, I’m aware.”

“I mean, we’ve already moved way past force dynamics and energy exchange on this year’s curriculum, so you’re wasting my time,” he goes on with an annoyed sigh that tells you he has better things to do, “What am I supposed to do with you?”

“I don’t know, sir,” you stare at the flooring.

“Come closer,” he orders calmly. He lets his gaze flick down to your hand clutching your bag of books, “Take out your book on core concepts.”

You follow his eyes and pull out the right book before gently letting the strap of your bag slide off your shoulder until the bag hits the floor with a soft thud. Something tells you that you’re not leaving anytime soon.

“Place it on the desk and find the pages on Newton’s Laws,” he continues and your heart slams against your ribs at the thought of an impromptu pop quiz instead of a handed-in paper. Yes, you know these pages but in the presence of him, you’re not so sure. 

Behind you, Reed has shrugged off his jacket while you were flipping through the book. He folds it neatly and hangs it over the back of the chair he was displeased with a moment ago, making sure not to crease the fabric. Then he reaches for the sleeves of the white shirt that he is wearing and rolls them up to his elbows, revealing the slightly visible veins of his forearms. Your head swims and you subtly press your thighs together, images of what you’d like him to do to you flooding your mind.

“Bend over,” he says suddenly, murmuring it almost as if he knows he shouldn’t have said it. 

Your eyes widen and you glance in the door’s direction. There are so many people on the outside of this room right now but the chances of someone walking in are slim since lectures are rarely started at this hour of the afternoon, “I don’t understand?”

“You don’t have to understand anything. I want you to put your palms on either side of the book and bend over,” he elaborates and clearly notices your hesitation, the direction of your eyes. His arm stretches out in front of you again, snaking its way past the rows of chairs until it reaches the door once more. He locks it, the soft click of it mixing with your unsteady breathing, and then he pulls down the curtain in the window at the top. 

When the arm smoothly retracts once more, you naturally think it will stop at his side but instead, you feel his palm on the back of your neck. His other hand joins to lay on the small of your back and then he pushes down gently to maneuver you into the position that he wants. 

You exhale shakily as you place your hands on the desk, feeling the smooth wood underneath your fingertips as a way to ground yourself in a moment so electric. Your body is way ahead of you, reacting to the anticipation of his next move by making a dull ache settle right between your legs. Your clit throbs, your walls flutter. 

“Your paper was supposed to use Newton’s Laws as a foundation, let me make sure you know them properly,” Reed says simply while removing his hand from your lower back. His other hand, the one on the back of your neck, slips down your spine to take the previous one’s spot, leaving fire in its wake, “Recite them.”

You swallow thickly, “Newton’s First Law states that a body at rest—”

Smack. 

A loud gasp leaves you at the surprise of Reed’s free hand coming down on your backside, heat spreading out underneath the fabric of your skirt where it has struck you. Your head whips around to stare at him in disbelief at what he has just done, your mouth hanging open in shock.

“Eyes on the book,” he commands sternly, curling his fingers slightly into the hem of your shirt, “Go on. Newton’s First Law.”

You count three whole breaths before you will yourself to face forward again, looking down at the text in front of you and trying to regain your ability to read. You swallow the lump in your throat, the letters jumbled on the page, “Uhh…”

“Concentrate,” he adds and gives you another blow, one that makes you jolt forward on the desk and send the book almost over the edge. You frantically reach for it, noticing the way your heart leaps into your throat when you consider what would have happened if it had fallen off. 

You drag the book back down and try to act cool but your voice tells on you as you start to read out loud, “A-a body at rest stays at rest, and a body in motion stays in motion—”

He spanks you again and elicits another gasp but you seem to have expected it since you don’t go flying forward. This is even if his palm leaves behind a much more painful sting this time and makes your toes curl in your shoes. 

“Until…” He sounds impatient. 

You act immediately like a dog who is learning about action and consequences, “Until acted upon by an external force.”

“Good girl,” he praises and you don’t know why the softness of his voice makes you tear up. His broad palm traces over the spot that is warming up already and you make a show out of sighing with content. 

However, the soothing touch is short-lived and you start struggling just slightly as Reed’s hand descends until he can grab the hem of your pencil skirt and roughly tug it up. He settles it just above the plumpness of your ass, swatting you to make you focus and stop squirming. 

“I’m not going to fuck you so stop moving around,” he scolds and surprises you with yet another smack. It feels different now that each slap is skin-on-skin contact, sounds different too as the noise echoes through the empty lecture hall. You whine in slight disappointment, even if you have inappropriately imagined his cock in you during circumstances so different so many times. 

“Second Law,” he murmurs, occupied briefly by the bruise forming on your cheek and scraping his nails across it. 

“W-what?” You let out a whimper, your thighs pressing together to soothe your pulsing clit. In theory, you know what he has said but it just isn’t registering since your mind is occupied by you knowing exactly what you will be doing back home if he won’t touch you. In fact, a thrill goes through you at the thought of another blow to recall in your bed with your hand stuffed into your underwear.

“Newton’s Second Law,” he repeats with a smaller swat following. You suck in a breath to calm yourself. 

“Newton’s Second Law states that the net force on an object is equal to its mass times its acceleration,” you say somewhat confidently, a sense of calm settling over you as you finally feel like you are getting a handle on the situation. 

“Apply it to the situation you’re in right now,” he tests you. You feel your face grow hot and hesitation seizes you for a second. It takes a moment too long for him and a much sharper smack lands right on the jiggliest part of your ass, the sharpness of the pain making you moan for the first time and the noise of the blow bouncing off the walls. You almost even swear in your professor’s presence, and you would have if it weren’t for the way tears in your eyes take off the edge.

“You’ll get one more if you don’t open your mouth soon,” he adds. You’re just about to speak, about to follow orders, when he takes a step closer and presses his cock into your hip. You freeze at the size of him, a sound that can only be described as pathetic leaving you. Reed huffs out a chuckle and smacks you once more albeit slightly less maliciously.

“Y–you’re applying a force to me. Your hand is the mass and the acceleration is essentially the swing of your arm. The shorter the time and the greater the velocity of the impact, the bigger the force I feel,” you try not to hiccup through the whole explanation but the words take a longer time to come to you and your backside is hypersensitive, warm, and sore. Your pulse rings in your ears too, and you swear you can almost taste the adrenaline in your mouth from how it is coursing through your body. It might just be salt from your tears though which you realize will simply give you an excuse as to why you stayed behind after class. If you really try, you might be able to conjure up an act of a student who got some terrible feedback.

“Still with me?” You hear him ask, feel him soothe your burning flesh. You wonder if his palm is imprinted on your cheek.

“Yes, sir,” you mumble with a sniffle, your palms sticking to the desk from how clammy they have become. 

“Speak up,” he corrects you and his palm leaves you long enough for you to start anticipating another strike. No hands on your body makes it harder to abstain from feeling his hard cock resting against your hip, the heaviness of it making you even wetter and oh God, aching to be filled.

“Yes, sir,” you enunciate without coming off as bratty. The next strike doesn’t come and relief washes over you, allowing you to relish in the cool air brushing your tingling and bruised skin.

“Last but not least. Newton’s Third Law?” 

“F-for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,” you say and rest your forehead on the book that has absorbed a few teardrops, He doesn't give you praise or a soothing touch. It bewilders you, makes you question if your scatterbrained state has accidentally made you say something that is wrong. You go quiet except for your rapid breathing as you go over your answer in your head but nothing comes to mi–

The sudden smack instantly makes you realize where you went wrong, landing across the exact spot that’s already stinging and causing you to hiss and whine through your teeth. Quickly, you scramble to relate Newton to what Reed is doing to you, “If… if you strike me, my body exerts a force back on your hand.”

“Mhm, good,” he hums while your head swims, “And I bet you’re feeling that force right now.”

“It hurts,” you whimper feebly and turn your head to the side. Yes, it’s the truth but your body can’t tell if it’s supposed to register this as pain or pleasure, the sensations overlapping intensely.

“That’s part of the lesson,” Reed’s hand returns in a gentle touch, his large palm settling carefully over the same spot he has just mercilessly spanked, “Why does it hurt?”

You wish he’d move his hand down between your legs and make you come when he realizes how soaked-through your panties are, “B-because when you spank me your hand transfers kinetic energy into my skin. The force and the friction cause heat to build. The tissues and blood vessels react, and it—”

“Gives you that glow. Precisely,” he finishes your sentence and curls his hand around your hip firmly. He sounds enthralled by his work, “And I respond with arousal, meaning it makes me so goddamn hard. Now, hold still. These last three are for the three missed deadlines.”

You know he means business when his finger slips underneath the waistband of your panties. He pulls them down just enough to settle them underneath the globes of your ass without exposing your needy cunt, the elastic of them digging slightly into sore skin. His other hand lifts and you brace yourself even if you know that any human can suffer through even uncontrollable pain if they know there’s an end to it. 

The first of three strikes lands right on the curve of your backside, harder than any of the several ones before it and making your entire body seize up. He isn’t playing around this time, your skin immediately blooming with newfound heat and fiery pain. It makes you moan out loud and squeeze your eyes shut until fireworks go off behind your eyelids.

“Count,” he says calmly. 

“O-one,” you manage to say in a voice that makes it sound like an apology instead. 

The second one makes it feel like there’s a clap of thunder going through your bones. You jolt forward on the desk enough to finally send the damn book flying off the edge to the floor. Reed tightens his grip on your hip to steady you, dragging you back to him again as if to remind you that despite everything he’s got you. 

“Two,” you say shakily, “I’m sorry, Professor Richards.”

He rubs the spot to soothe your burning flesh and by now, a part of you wants to crawl into his lap and be held. He coos softly at you and gently squeezes the roundness of your ass, making you bite down on your bottom lip and exhale a needy whine through your nose. 

“No need to bring me apologies,” he tells you, “We’ll see if you’ve learned your lesson. Last one.”

He lets you wait for the final smack, but when his hand lands on your skin, a sharp cry rips from your throat. Tears start flowing freely from your eyes now - even if you’re still not fully crying as emotions have not caught up with you yet - but it’s not solely from the pain, but also from the swirl of adrenaline and arousal that tightens below your belly button. You wonder if you should reach up to wipe your eyes but you can’t make yourself let go of the desk underneath you, clutching it in an iron grip because of how wobbly your legs are.

“Three,” you hiccup as Reed loosens his grip on you. You feel the ache of your behind with every heartbeat and want to sob now that it is over. You’re hyper-aware of what is happening in your body which is the adrenaline starting to crash, and the emotions, coming in like a wave, are just about to overwhelm you when—

“Sit up on the desk for me,” Reed says gently. 

“But the book,” you glance toward the textbook that you sent flying not long ago. It is a silly thing to cling onto but there’s an emotional wavering in your voice as you say it which Reed seems to catch onto. 

“Leave it,” he murmurs, an order but not like the previous ones, “Sit. I need to make sure you’re alright.”

The task seems impossible. You barely manage to push yourself fully upright, your shaking legs nearly not able to hold you up, and when you turn around to lift yourself onto the desk, you feel the edge dig into your sore behind in a way that forces a hiss out of you. A tear that you have no control over rolls slowly down your cheek.

“Easy,” Reed is beside you, catching onto your motive when you get ready to jump up onto the surface in a hurry due to his earlier lack of patience. He has previously had a hovering hand nearby but now, he grabs a hold of you to still you, “Do it carefully.”

When you’re finally perched on the desk, you’re not sure if the calming cool sensation of the wood beneath your thighs outweighs the pressure against your smarting skin. What you are sure of though is the storm of emotions inside your chest, a raging one made up of an overwhelming mix of new pain, embarrassment, and vulnerability, all of which makes your heart feel too big for your rib cage. 

“I’m okay,” you lie but you hear yourself and know it isn’t very convincing. He gives you a raised eyebrow. 

“Seems like you’re experiencing what is known as a drop. Come on, deep breaths,” he guides you gently when he spots the way your bottom lip wobbles, “If you have to cry, let it out. No one’s going to see you.”

From his words, you realize that your breathing has become unsteady and hitched in very little time. Your shoulders shake and your chest has a ball of unleashed feelings in it that nearly makes you feel sick. It unravels when the tears that you hoped would subside resurface at the permission to let them flow. You feel them brimming at the corners of your eyes. 

“I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing,” you say shakily when they finally spill over even if the tension in your torso slowly ebbs away as you let go. 

“You’re alright. Just breathe for me,” he says softly. He brings his hands to your thighs and rubs them in an attempt to soothe and ground you, “Slow and steady in through the nose and out the mouth. Right now, you don’t have to do anything but calm down, and then I can take a look at you.”

The room around you seems distant as you try to breathe more steadily but you’re lightheaded, feeling almost as if you’re wrapped in a woolen, fuzzy blanket that blocks everything out besides him. You aren’t sure if it is the adrenaline crash anymore or the way that your whole body is so tightly wound for pleasure that won’t come but you crave his touch, crave him taking care of you.

“You’re okay,” he says over and over, drowning out the static in your ears, “No more crying, sweet angel. I’d rather not see you leave here like this.”

The nickname makes you snap out of it. Angel? Did he just call you an angel? Your tears go on hold when you continuously blink up at him from your seat on the desk, pawing at his chest without knowing what to do with all your longing. He makes you feel all the things you have felt since you met him all at once now, a dizzying flurry of thoughts and feelings. 

“That’s better,” he smiles genuinely for the first time and you melt right then and there. He looks so damn handsome when he does it that you go ridiculously doe-eyed at the sight. 

“Thank you,” you mumble while playing with the buttons on his white shirt. The butterflies in your belly have nearly made the pulsing ache of your backside disappear. 

“Stand up,” he says and removes your hands from his chest which you probably make a much bigger deal out of than him, “I need to take a look at you.” 

You stand on wobbly legs. Slowly and carefully, he skims his fingers over the inflamed skin and notes out loud that it is warm. It’s not a soothing caress for the sake of tenderness, but rather a deliberate check-in to take note of how much damage he’s done. He works methodically, like a man who daily works with scientific research and experiments, going over each part of you while humming at his discoveries. 

“Right. Cool compress when you get home for the swelling, ten-fifteen minutes on and off. Frozen peas will do,” he instructs in the exact same tone as when he gives out science homework, “The skin is still intact but you’ll be sore if you don’t treat yourself with a little kindness. Lotion if it is too much to bear and loose clothing. Not a pencil skirt like this one, we clear?” 

You nod with the hint of a pout.

“And,” he adds and grabs lightly at your chin, his tone suddenly playful, “Try not to miss any more deadlines.”

It’s a joke, you realize, something to lighten the atmosphere in the lecture hall and you barely register it from the way his fingers hold your head in place. Despite your watery eyes and racing heartbeat, you huff out a little laugh.

“There we go,” he coos at the sound of your chuckle, “Not so gloomy anymore.”

With gentle hands, he reaches just below your hips to pull your underwear up over the curve of your ass again, careful not to let the waistband tug at the sensitive skin. He does the same with your skirt, tugging the hem down over your thighs until you look decent once more. 

Your lips part slightly as your eyes slide up to look at his face, feeling dumbstruck by his brown intelligent eyes and his aquiline nose straight out of the statues from Ancient Rome. You admire the column of his neck, the mentioned beauty mark just above his collar, and the dip that you want to kiss. 

After a moment, you realize that you have gone quiet and when you look back at his eyes, you are dizzyingly meeting his suddenly intense gaze. It is as if he has calculated that you are back with him, lingering with desire albeit still a little shaken by your tears. His eyes are burning into yours and you can feel the restraint behind them. It is as if you can sense the electricity in the air, the warmth that prickles in your cheeks, and the heat that radiates from him. 

Without a word, he reaches to tuck your shirt into your skirt until it hugs your figure tightly, a fashion choice different from how you had arrived in his classroom earlier. The dominance of styling your clothes as he prefers it makes you press your thighs together, the dull ache returning between your legs. 

“I’ve noticed, seen it all. That’s why I did it,” he says cryptically as he stuffs your shirt down at the back, fingertips brushing the dip of your spine until heat racks up it. 

“Noticed what?” You ask foolishly but had you stopped to think, you would have figured it out already. 

“All the energy you’ve put into getting me to notice you and getting my undivided attention. Congratulations, you’ve finally got it,” he clarifies and lets both his hands rest on the small of your back for the briefest of moments. When he lets go of you, you follow his touch by leaning in to close the distance with a kiss. 

He places a hand on your chest, holding you back just when you are pressing the ghost of a kiss to his lips. He has given you so much by now. Why not this? A ball of frustration settles in your chest and comes out as a little whine of impatience, “Why can’t we?”

He doesn’t pull away, simply speaks less than an inch from your face so you can feel his breath on your mouth, “Because you need to learn restraint, sweet angel. I can’t have you missing your deadlines three weeks in a row - or at all really - due to some little crush.”

You want to defend yourself, say that it has nothing to do with him but deep down, you know it would be a lie straight to his face. So instead, you swallow thickly, “I want you. I’ve wanted you since I saw you.”

“And you will have me,” he kisses you so softly that you want to sink to your knees, “Just not until I say so, and certainly not before you’ve been a good girl and turned in that paper.”

“Sir,” you try one last time.

“I’ll teach you to be patient, to have restraint,” he tells you and makes you realize your attempt was to no avail, “Whether you like it or not.”

You give in, buzzing with the need for more, “I can turn my paper in on Monday. Would that suffice?” 

“I’ll hold you to that, but no late nights and last-minute scrambling. If I find you’ve rushed through it…” he lets the sentence drift off, letting your imagination figure out the consequence, “And it best be your best work yet.”

“Yes, sir,” you reluctantly pull back when nothing seems to work, “Whatever you want.”

“Hand it to me during office hours before class,” he instructs to which you nod.

“But what now?” You ask with a tiny impatient noise, letting him know just how much you’ve got against his reluctance to touch you. 

His hand flexes by his side, “Now you go home. You lock your door and you touch that pretty thing between your thighs just how you like it most. I want you to come for me until you’re hoarse. Three times for three weeks but no more than that, not until we see each other again.”

It is Wednesday and you won’t see him until Monday. How on Earth are you going to survive on only three orgasms after this? Your mind races with protests but you don’t get to voice your concern about the limit he has set because he has already stepped back to pick up his jacket from his desk chair. 

You decide to circle the table to pick up your book and stuff it into your bag. Behind you, Reed’s eyes are definitely on you as you lean forward with a hand on the desk. He is fixing the cuffs of his sleeves and putting on his tweed jacket, trying to come off as if letting you have a private moment to compose yourself.

“Monday,” he reminds you when you stand upright again. His arm stretches out between the rows of chairs and tables once more so he can unlock the door for you. 

“Yes, sir,” you answer obediently. 

You swing your bag over your shoulder and then you leave.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[wendyyyyyyyy]

"Jealous of himself"

Pairing : I.N x fe! reader (established relationship)

Synopsis : You were fangirling over his magazine photoshoot shots only for him to ridiculously get jealous of himself because you were not paying attention to the real him.

Warning : Just pure fluff. No warning at all.

Enjoy!

........

Jeongin was sitting right next to you. Right there.

And yet, you weren’t paying him a single ounce of attention.

No, because in your hands was a magazine—a magazine that contained his latest photoshoot, and you were currently losing your mind over it.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, clutching the magazine dramatically. “Who allowed this?! This should be illegal!”

Jeongin glanced at you, completely confused. “Uh… what should be illegal?”

You ignored him, flipping to the next page. “This entire photoshoot! Are you serious?! How do you even exist looking like this?”

He blinked. “Babe, I’m… literally sitting right next to you?”

You held up the magazine in front of his face. “No, because look at this! Are you seeing what I’m seeing? The jawline? The smirk? The eyebrows? WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT?”

Jeongin scoffed, pulling the magazine down so he could see your face. “I gave me the right? Because, you know, that’s me?”

You ignored him again, flipping to another page. “Oh my god, you’re actually unreal. This belongs in an art museum. No—he belongs in an art museum.”

A beat of silence.

Then Jeongin squinted at you. “…Did you just refer to me as if I’m a different person?”

You waved him off, eyes still glued to the pictures. “Magazine Jeongin just hits different.”

Jeongin let out an incredulous laugh. “I—EXCUSE ME?”

You kept flipping pages, completely entranced. Meanwhile, Jeongin sat there, watching you in absolute disbelief, arms crossed, lips slightly parted like you had just personally offended him.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m sitting RIGHT HERE, but somehow I’m getting ignored in favor of… me?”

You hummed, barely registering his words. “Ugh, I just love him so much.”

Jeongin gasped. “OH, SO YOU LOVE HIM?”

You finally looked up, blinking at him. “Uh… yeah?”

His jaw dropped. “THE HIM IN THE MAGAZINE?!”

You had to press your lips together to keep from laughing. “I mean… look at him. He’s—”

“Nope.” Jeongin stood up dramatically, shaking his head. “I refuse. I REFUSE to be jealous of MYSELF.”

You finally lost it, bursting into laughter so hard you almost dropped the magazine. “Jeongin, babe, are you seriously mad right now?”

“Yes!” he huffed, crossing his arms. “Because my own girlfriend is simping for a printed version of me while ignoring the real me sitting right next to her! This is actual insanity.”

You wiped away tears from laughing so hard. “Oh, baby, are you pouting right now?”

“I am not pouting.” He was definitely pouting. His cheeks were puffed out slightly, lips pursed, eyes narrowed at you like you had personally betrayed him.

“Aw, my baby’s jealous,” you teased, setting the magazine down and reaching for him.

Jeongin took a step back, dodging your hands. “No. Go cuddle your precious magazine Jeongin.”

You gasped dramatically. “You don’t want my love anymore?”

“I do, but apparently I have competition,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “And the worst part? The competition is ME.”

That sent you into another fit of laughter. “Do you hear how ridiculous you sound?”

He huffed, still acting offended, but you could see the corners of his lips twitching. He was trying so hard not to laugh, but his own jealousy was just too funny to stay mad.

Deciding to push his buttons further, you sighed dreamily. “Honestly… I think I should frame this.” You picked up the magazine again, flipping to your favorite picture of him. “Maybe put it on my nightstand so I can look at him every night before I sleep.”

“Oh, that’s it,” Jeongin groaned, snatching the magazine right out of your hands.

“HEY—”

“You’ve lost magazine privileges,” he announced, holding it above his head where you couldn’t reach.

You whined, trying to grab it back. “Give it back!”

“Nope. You can have me instead.”

You paused, blinking at him. “Wait… so you want me to simp over you in real life?”

He smirked, tucking the magazine under his arm. “Obviously. If you’re gonna drool over me, at least let me see it in person.”

You rolled your eyes, finally giving in and wrapping your arms around his waist. “You’re so dumb.”

“And yet, you love me,” he sang, letting the magazine drop onto the couch so he could pull you closer.

“Unfortunately.”

He gasped. “Unfortunately? Wow. Maybe I should let magazine Jeongin have you then—”

You shut him up with a kiss, effectively wiping the smirk off his face. When you pulled away, he was looking at you, slightly dazed, but with the biggest grin.

“Okay, fine. Real-life Jeongin wins.” you teased, poking his cheek. “Now, go get my magazine.”

“Absolutely not.”

And just like that, your ridiculous boyfriend won the dumbest battle of jealousy in history.

......

Happy belated birthday to our maknae on top 🎂

[starzify]

ready — sam winchester

pairing stanford!sam winchester x fem!reader

warnings smut | handjob | sam is inexperienced | dom/sub undertones

SPN MASTERLIST

Sam had been your tutor for months, patiently guiding you through your college coursework. In return, you started tutoring him in something he’d never had the chance to learn—something he’d barely even let himself think about.

It started as a joke, a passing tease about his inexperience, but the way he fumbled for a response—how his ears burned red, how he couldn’t meet your eyes—told you the truth. Sam Winchester, all six-foot-something of him, had never been touched. Never felt a hand trace his skin with intent. Never been taught how to lose himself in someone else’s warmth.

And maybe, just maybe, you were going to be the one to change that.

You look at the time and notice that you only have a couple of minutes before he arrives so you decided to take a quick shower.

In the middle of turning off the water, the sound of a knock hit your ears. You grabbed the white towel and dried your body, quickly moisturizing your skin before hurrying to the door.

Leaving your hair wet, you went to open the door. Standing tall at the door frame was Sam Winchester, a bag over his shoulder and your laptop safely in his grasp.

He finally met your eyes and realized that you were only in a towel as he cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were busy.”

"Come in, just give me a few seconds to change.” You let him in, allowing him to sit on your bed.

You quickly grabbed some pyjamas and shut the bathroom door, dropping the towel to the floor to change.

When you exited the bathroom, you threw the towel in the hamper beside the door. You found him looking over to the stack of books you’ve chosen for him to read.

"I realized that reading is more of your thing, so I found some really good books I've already read for you to read. Why watch porn when you can just read it?" You go over and pick two steamy ones out and hand them to him.

He turned the book to read the description in the back, when his eyes slightly widened, you knew that you picked out the perfect books.

"Here, I read one and you read the other. Alright?" You took one of the books from his hand, leaving him with your favourite one.

"I think you'd like this one more" You sat on the chair near your desk, opening opening book.

You would often peek up at him to see him turn a page and Sam’s eyes never left the pages once. A cherry-like blush crept its way to his face and his lips opened a little bit before closing it, finally noticing that his mouth was open.

You let him continue reading for another thirty minutes, but you hadn't read a single word since you opened the book. You were too busy watching his innocent eyes read such dirty words.

You shut my book, moving in front of him. You used your index finger to lift his chin and admire his flushed face.

"It's a little hot in here, let me help"

You unbuttoned the first three buttons of his shirt, showing the silver chain around his neck "Better?"

He sat up a little bit more with a nod, fixing his posture and that's when you slowly glanced down at the hard-on in his slacks.

"My favorite part of the book is.." You run your hand up to his thigh, barely touching the side of his groin.

"When she slowly undresses herself and doesn't let him touch only watch as she touches herself and moans his name" You play with the collar of his shirt before going back to place your hand on his thigh.

"Or when she doesn't touch him until he begs her too" His hands fall to his sides.

"Is that what you want? Do you want me to touch you, Sam? I need you to use your words or I won't know what you want" He gulps, biting his lower lip as your hand only slowly creeps its way close to his covered dick before moving away back to his thigh.

"Y/N…please.. can you touch me?" You almost moan just by the desperation in his voice as you begin to unbuckle his belt, running your hand over his bulge before taking him out of his slacks.

You sucked in a harsh breath at the sight of his cock. He was big. So fucking big and perfect. "I-Is this alright?" You switched your eyes to him, almost like he wanted to hide himself away because you had been staring for far too long. 

"It's perfect, so damn perfect" Sam relaxed a little bit but that didn't stop him from blushing harder.

"I wonder, would you like it if I ran my tongue along here?" You use your index finger to run up the base of his dick, letting his mouth fall open with a nod.

"Or if I were to take you all the way down my throat?" You squeeze the head of his dick, making him release a moan that could make anyone wet.

He followed your gaze when your got down on my knees, the strap of your flimsy shirt sliding down your shoulder which caused him to take a peek at your boobs. You pushed out your breasts even more, causing his entire face to go red.

"Do you fantasize about them? How soft they would feel in your hand, massaging them? Or having them wrapped around your dick while I look at you with such innocent eyes until you cum?" You softly asked, stroking him with an occasional twist of your hand.

“Or how good they'd look in your mouth?" You wanted... no. You needed to touch yourself but this was about him.

"Oh my.." You watched his chest heave up and down, your nipples pushed against the fabric of your thin shirt.

"I bet you would love to feel my lips around you, sucking and letting my tongue tease over your tip. The feeling of coming over my tits or deep down my throat, I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you, love?" He quickly nods his head and you don't think he's realized he's admitted to it.

“You're so hard, Sam. You’re doing so good for me right now.” his hips bucked up, his muscles bulging in his shirt which allowed you to make a mental note that he likes to be praised.

“Y/N... I'm— I-I.. oh please keep going" His words became a complete mess as he grew closer, throbbing in your hand.

"Cum for me, Sam. Let me make you feel good." You sped up the pace of your hand, making sure to run my thumb over the tip before using his pre-cum as lubricant to squeeze the base of him.

Sam bit down on his lip but you tapped on his thigh to make him stop his actions. "I want to hear you, baby." he never looked away. Even when you thought he would, he didn't.

With each twist of your hand, you knew only one thing would set him off completely. Almost as if he knew something was coming, your eyes shined with a devious glint.

You placed a peck to the tip of him which set him off, making him bundle your bedsheets with a grip that made his veins nearly pop. You placed another one on the base of his dick, the second kiss making him lean his head back on his shoulders and his thighs tense on both sides of you.

You were pressing your thighs together painfully to where your knees dug into the wooden floor, watching him unravel in your hand.

The pain was worth the sight.

His shaggy bangs were now slightly wet due to sweat, sticking to his forehead. The v-neck of his shirt further showed a few sweat droplets running down his chest that you so wanted to see.

When he finally calmed down, he stayed silent. You got up from the floor and wiped your hand with napkin and disposed of it in the trash can before going over to him and leaning towards his ear.

"Maybe next time, I'll let you fuck my mouth" You pressed your lips a little below his ear, feeling his hands clutch the sheets again.

“I-I can't handle it when you say things like that" he admitted as you fixed his shirt for him.

"Why do you think I say them?" Your faces were close. One more inch closer and your lips would have touched.

"Because I know how hard it makes you" You let him fix himself and his pants. You pick up the books that had fallen to the floor.

"Take them with you" you give him both books. "I can't help but notice that you've taken a liking to read dirty literature" He places the books in his bag.

You walk over to the door to open it for him before stopping and peering up at him.

"Think of me when you try to study." You step up to his height a little bit and kiss his cheek.

tags: @ultravi0lence14 @titsout4jackles @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @deanangel @beausling @deanswidow @figthoughts @dulcescorderitas @florchids @sunsbaby @sunsettsam @deansbeer @soldiersgirl @h8aaz

cassie chats: YUMMY IN MY TUMMY

[be4chywritez]

loathing? | luke hughes

luke hughes x fem!reader

rec: so luke gives bfb vibes so hard for some reason please write something like best friend's brother or like enemies to lovers

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

Jack’s apartment felt like a second home to you at this point. You were always here, whether Jack invited you over or you just let yourself in. It wasn’t your fault his couch was more comfortable than yours, and besides, his fridge was always stocked with your favorite snacks.

Unfortunately, Jack’s apartment came with an unwanted addition—Luke Hughes.

Luke was the embodiment of an annoying little brother, except he wasn’t your brother, which made it worse. Every time you were over, he was there, too, sulking, chirping, or generally making your life difficult.

It started with little things. He’d steal your snacks, change the channel when you were watching something, or conveniently take the last bottle of water from the fridge. Once, you caught him wearing one of your hoodies just to piss you off. The rivalry was childish, petty, and utterly exhausting.

Then came the pranks. You swapped his protein powder with flour. He replaced your chapstick with hot sauce. Jack refused to take sides, claiming you were both equally insufferable.

One afternoon, after Luke had hidden your shoes before you had to leave, you retaliated by locking him out on the balcony in the middle of winter. Jack had to let him back in after twenty minutes, and Luke had vowed revenge ever since.

And now, it had come to this.

“Move, you’re on my side of the couch.”

You looked up from your phone, arching a perfectly sculpted brow as Luke stood over you, arms crossed. His stupid, messy hair was damp from his post-practice shower, and he was still in sweatpants and a hoodie, looking as effortlessly good as ever—not that you’d ever admit it.

“Your side?” You scoffed, stretching out even further. Your legs, bare thanks to the tiny shorts you wore, draped over the cushions as you made yourself comfortable. “Last I checked, this couch belongs to Jack.”

Luke exhaled sharply, clearly already at his limit with you today. “Yeah, and Jack’s not here, which means I get priority seating.”

“That’s not how it works, Hughes.” You gave him a slow, taunting smile. “You snooze, you lose. Go sit in the chair like a good little rookie.”

Luke rolled his eyes, but instead of arguing further, he did the worst possible thing—he sat down. Right on top of you.

“Luke!” You shrieked, shoving at his solid frame, but he didn’t budge.

“You wouldn’t move, so now I’m sitting.” His smirk was infuriating.

“You’re crushing me, you absolute menace.” You wriggled under him, but it only made him press down more, laughing at your struggle.

“Not my fault you take up the whole couch.”

“Not my fault you have no concept of personal space.”

“Oh, please. You love the attention.”

That made you pause, and Luke must have noticed the slight falter in your expression because his grin widened. You shoved at his chest, hard enough that he finally moved off you, but the damage was done. You were flustered, and he knew it.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” you muttered, sitting up and crossing your arms.

“Right back at you, princess.”

The nickname, as condescending as it was, sent a jolt through you. Maybe it was the way his voice dropped slightly when he said it, or maybe it was the way he was looking at you now—like he was daring you to snap back.

And snap, you did.

One second, you were shoving at his shoulder. The next, his hands were on your waist, and your lips crashed together. It was messy, desperate, all of the pent-up frustration spilling over into something way hotter than either of you had planned. His hands gripped your hips like he’d been waiting for this, and when you bit down on his lower lip, he groaned against your mouth.

Your fingers curled in his hoodie, tugging him closer, and he gladly followed, pressing you back against the couch as his mouth moved against yours, demanding and hungry. The fire between you had finally found its outlet, and there was no stopping it now.

The air between you was thick with something unspoken when you finally broke apart, both of you breathing heavily. Luke’s forehead rested against yours for a fleeting moment before he pulled back, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.

“Didn’t see that coming, did you?” he teased, his voice lower now, rougher.

You rolled your eyes, even as your pulse hammered. “Shut up.”

He grinned but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers with a confidence that sent another shiver down your spine.

“C’mon,” he murmured, tugging you up from the couch. “Before Jack gets back.”

A thrill shot through you as you followed him down the hallway, your stomach twisting in anticipation. This was dangerous, reckless—but you weren’t stopping now.

Not when sneaking off with Luke Hughes had suddenly become the most exciting thing you’d done all night.

The near-misses started piling up after that night. A stolen kiss in the kitchen while Jack was in the other room. Luke slipping his hand under the table at dinner, brushing against your thigh as you tried to keep a straight face. One night, Jack almost walked in on you tangled up in Luke’s bed, forcing you to dive under the covers while Luke casually pretended to be scrolling on his phone.

It was thrilling. Addictive. But eventually, the excitement started to wear thin, especially for Luke.

One night, after slipping out of Jack’s apartment and into Luke’s room again, he hesitated before pulling you close. There was something different in his touch, something hesitant.

“This isn’t just—physical for you, is it?” he finally asked, voice low but vulnerable in a way you’d never heard before.

You blinked at him, thrown off by the sudden shift. “What?”

Luke exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “I just—sometimes it feels like that’s all we are. And I don’t want that.”

You studied him, heart clenching at the uncertainty in his eyes. “Luke, I wouldn’t be sneaking around for just anyone. This is more. I want more. I thought you knew that.”

His jaw tensed. “I want more too. I just didn’t know if you felt the same.”

You reached out, threading your fingers through his. “You’re not just a hookup to me, Luke. You never were.”

His shoulders sagged in relief, and he pulled you in, pressing his forehead to yours. “Good. Because I think I’m falling for you.”

You swallowed, emotions thick in your throat. “Then fall, Hughes. I’ve already fallen.”

Jack found out in the most Jack way possible—by walking in on you and Luke curled up together on the couch.

He froze in the doorway, blinking as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Are you—kidding me?”

Luke groaned, dropping his head back. “Well, that could’ve gone better.”

Jack pointed a finger between the two of you. “How long?”

You hesitated. “Uh… a while?”

Jack groaned. “You two are the worst.”

But there was no real anger in his voice—just exasperation. And when Luke laced his fingers through yours, squeezing lightly, you knew it was all worth it.

[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

You break down into tears and tell them: "It’s been so long since I’ve felt this happy, I think I just got overwhelmed. You make me happy.” 

Heartslabyul dorm (here) ; Savanaclaw dorm; Octavinelle dorm; Scarabia dorm; Pomefiore Dorm; Ignihyde Dorm; Diasomnia Dorm

Cater Diamond – The bar is on the floor. That’s his first thought when he sees you tearing up over just being able to lean on his shoulder while you both look at funny little cat videos, the hand that was petting your hair almost clenching at the roots instead. You’ve never been this happy around Cay-Cay. But Cater? Cater made you happy, just by...being him.  

He sets his phone down, pulling you closer to his side and gives a small kiss on the temple as he pets your hair again. You don’t say anything as you feel a wet spot on the crown of your head, and if he stays tucked into your side whispering little nothings into your hair, nobody has to know but the two of you.  

“You make me happy too.” he breathes, barely audible. He doesn’t know if he wanted you to hear it or not. 

Trey Clover – It’s not fair, he thinks, watching your shoulder’s hitch, not with joy, but with tears. It’s not fair that things have to be so difficult all the damn time, especially for you. It’s not your fault that this world hit you like a freight train. But how you have persevered, how you adjust and shift with the heat because you have no choice. He understands. He hates that you have to do it too.  

The donuts for breakfast are quickly forgotten, his hands coming around you to squeeze tight and rub your back.  

“They won’t be so fleeting one day,” he whispers over the sound of the radio playing in the back, “One day it will be the sadness that surprises you. I don’t know when, but I know it will.”  

Ace Trappola – His hands hesitate, not sure what to do. It was just a regular movie night, cracking jokes at the bad effects when he sees your lips get tight, fat water drops dripping down your cheek as you try and wipe them away.  

“Prefect, if it takes this little, either the bar is in hell or there’s stuff you aren’t telling us.”  

He pulls you into his side, laying the both of you down and letting the stupid movie play in the back while he cracks the worst dad jokes his family has ever told him, eventually poking at your sides until you start laughing again. He understands, of course him and Deuce understand better than most, they’ve been with you since day freaking one, but he knows dwelling on it doesn’t help.  

If he has to keep you smiling, he’ll use every card in the deck to make sure of it.  

Deuce Spade – The only person Deuce has ever made happy in his entire life is his Mom, and even that was something he fucked up for a minute. He can’t believe that he was the one to make you feel like this, so overwhelmed with joy that you start crying.  

The pan sizzles as he clicks the burner off, moving the eggs off the heat. He doesn’t even remember what joke he made, something to do with eggs and chickens, and you doubled over in laughter until it wasn’t.  

Forceful as ever, he yanks you together, holding on to the moment as tightly as he is to you. If you don’t see the pinpricks of tears in his own eyes, it’s probably for the better.  

“I’m not good with words, but I’m here.” He says, cradling your face to look into your eyes. “I am here.”  

Riddle Rosehearts – Kneeling in the hedgehog pen wasn’t how he pictured this going when he invited you to help with their feeding time, and he wasn’t lying when he said it was easier with two. The hedgehogs were less likely to make a break for it if there was a second set of eyes.  

He was simply telling you about them, Angel being his favorite, when he hears the quiet sniffle. He understands a little, even as he cradles your face to wipe the tears away. The hedgehogs in  your lap snuffle at you both, and you laugh again at Houdini’s tumble from your lap to Riddle’s.  

“It takes time,” he whispers, “And I know that you are afraid that you’ll lose this feeling again.” He certainly was, eventually just cradling your face, “but I know that you’ll find it again, as long as you keep trying. Just...do what you’ve taught me.”  

He gives you a few extra minutes simply letting the little creatures roll between the two of you, and is mentally rearranging the feeding roster to include you. And if you happen to stay into dinner and evening tea, well, you are over here all the time anyway. It’s just...it is polite but it’s what he wants too.  

[mellosdrawings]

Saw your thoughts on twst polycule ships and got intrigued by your favorites. Could you recommend me fics featuring those?

I wish I was exaggerating...

Disclaimer, you won't actually find much fic recs in my long rant :'D Sorry.

There's actually barely any (if any at all) fics about the polycule ships I mentioned in that post.

For the OB/Housewarden polycule (including or not Yuu), you'll mainly find them in textposts on Tumblr rather than actual fics. To my knowledge, there are only two fics about them (that I haven't read yet).

For the third and second year polycules, same shit. No fics whatsoever. I've only ever heard about them in brainstorming with friends or in textposts.

First year polycule already has more fics! Personally I've been scouring the fanarts more than the tags though. I said it in an old post, I care less about the first years than the others years ^^'

For a teachers polycule, you will find variations (Crowley/Crewel/Sam/Vargas or Crowley/Crewel/Trein or Crowley/Crewel/Sam) but to my knowledge there isn't any for the full polycule (y'all are so mean to Trein and Vargas lmao)

For Yuu/everyone, most of the fics I found were more series of one shots of Yuu with one or two partners rather than a big polycule. I don't really have much to give you here.

(Though as a slight tangent: there is the series Twisted Tales that has various polycules/ships. Be mindful, there are some ships that won't suit everybody, the author likes to make it clear the morality in Twisted Wonderland is vastly different from our own world. Personally I found it interesting to think about.)

For littler polycules:

-you have precisely one (1) fic about the Depression Trio. I like it pretty much.

-for the N2 squad there's just @aria-faye's STYX rewrite and my own fic.

-Azul/Leech probably has the most fics out of all the polycules. But I... don't really read much about it :') I like the fanarts though.

-there's only one (1) fic about the Savanaclaw-to-Pomefiore pipeline (Rook/Leona/Vil) and it wasn't to my taste, but who knows. Maybe you'll like.

-five fics about Azul/Jamil/Idia. They're all pretty cute honestly, I like the vibes.

-one (1) fic about Rook/Vil/Jamil, and I love it a lot but aihdjsbdid V I'm still not over that ending!!!

-couldn't find any of the retainers ship (Ruggie/Jamil/Sebek/Silver)

-and the only one who's ever written the Manipulation gang (Jade/Jamil/Ruggie) is @the-fab-fox in his series, with this fic being the one focused on them.

Can't really think of more polycules rn.

Anyway, all that to say: there are fanarts and textposts, but definitely not enough polycule fics so I invite y'all writers to try your hands at it if it interests you!

Also if anybody has poly fics to rec please put them in the comments I'm starving!

[acmeangel]

♡ For my Valentine's Week Event! ♡ SFW fluffy!!! ♡ Modern!Levi x Reader ♡ Short one shot, fluffy ♡ Summary: It's your first Valentine's Day with Levi—what does he do? (I built this around one of my headcanons from here!)

"This is fucking ridiculous," Levi muttered under his breath as he navigated the uncharacteristically disastrous war zone that was his kitchen. As he held up the recipe, leaving flour-coated finger prints on it, his eyes scanned over the same step repeatedly, his brow cinched with exasperation.

"What the hell does it mean to cream butter?" he griped, turning the paper over, as if it magically would have new instructions on it. "Who in their right mind would assume everyone knows what that means?"

He set his hands down on the counter, sighing with frustration, as he took in the sights of his attempt to make sugar cookies—your favorite—though he'd internally drawn the line at heart-shaped cookie cutters. It was Valentine's Day, the first one you'd be spending together.

While you'd reassured him repeatedly that you weren't expecting him to do anything, that you'd be more than happy to just spend a night in together, he saw the way your eyes sparkled when you saw the pink and red Valentine's Day window displays at every store you passed by. He was determined not to mess this up—he felt lucky that he'd even been able to win you over in the first place, given his lack of "game" as Erwin had called it.

Levi was never one for grand gestures—and that wasn't about to change on a whim—so he'd decided on baking your favorite treat, making you dinner, and giving you flowers. For him, this was considered over-the-top.

What Levi hadn't expected was how goddamned complicated it was to make sugar cookies. He'd barely managed to create something that resembled dough, when he checked the time and realized that you'd be arriving soon.

"Shit," he mumbled, his kitchen still in disarray, and dinner not even started. At least, he thought, I managed to get the flowers. He'd picked up a bouquet of your favorite flowers earlier that day, which sat on the kitchen table, away from the disaster zone.

Before he could reconsider his plan or come up with a backup, he heard the sound of your key in the lock to the front door (he'd only just recently given you your own key). Moments later, you appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, stopping in your tracks as you took in the sight.

You started laughing—you couldn't help it.

"Levi," you said, a smile beaming on your face, "what in the world is going on in here?"

His expression turned classically grumpy, the tips of his ears turning red with embarrassment.

"They make these recipes impossible to follow," he said, defensively, holding up the recipe for you to see. "I couldn't explain to you what half of this is telling me to do."

You laughed again, stepping further into the kitchen, dodging the messes that were surely driving Levi to his breaking point.

"Let me see that," you said, an amused smile on your face as you took the paper from him, scanning over it briefly. "Sugar cookies, hm?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, his eyes studying your expression, "I wanted to make them for you. I know you like them."

Your expression softened as you put down the recipe and looked at him, your hand reaching up to gently brush away a smudge of flour from his forehead.

"Levi," you said, your voice soft and filled with affection for this man who was really trying his best to make you happy, "you didn't have to do all this. But, I appreciate it. Really."

One of the corners of his lips tugged into a half-smile. "I didn't fuck up entirely. I got you flowers." He nodded toward the table where the bouquet was waiting for you.

"Mmm, I can see that," your voice dipped just above a whisper. "Thank you, Levi."

You leaned in, your lips meeting his for a soft, flour-coated kiss.

"This recipe really isn't that complicated, though," you added, a loving tease. "I'll show you later, and then I'll let you go to town cleaning this kitchen."

"Ah," he said, his arm sliding down to wrap around your waist and draw you in closer, "you know just what I want."

You giggled, your arms slinging behind his neck. "That's because I love you, Levi."

"Love you, too," he replied, a faint raise to his eyebrow as he added, "But next year, I'm taking you out, instead."

♡ Participate in my Valentine’s Week Event! Rules are here.

♡ Requested by anonymous

♡ Masterlist

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 25 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇druses screentime

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

With that, he hauled her out of the tent, ignoring their grumbling as he made his way through the ruined camp. The warprize stayed silent, her expression carefully blank, but Acrisios could feel the tension in her body. She was waiting for an opportunity to run. He tightened his grip. Not happening. When they finally reached Telemachus’ tent, Acrisios shoved her inside.

Telemachus sat at a makeshift war table, fingers pressed against his temple. He looked up, his eyes tired, his face gaunt from stress and sleepless nights. He barely spared the woman a glance before sighing. “Tell me you have good news,” he muttered.

“Oh, better than good,” Acrisios said, smirking as he pushed the warprize forward. “Our little captive here just confessed that she let herself get kidnapped so she could rat us out.” Telemachus’ expression darkened. His gaze flickered to the woman, who swallowed but held firm.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “We’ve lost more than half our men because of that ambush.” His voice was low, simmering with restrained anger. “We’re outnumbered, our supplies are running low, and now we’ve lost Florus—the only person who could actually keep us fed and stitched together.” The warprize flinched but didn’t say a word.

Acrisios tilted his head. “So, what are we doing with her?” Telemachus was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, his expression shifted—his lips curling into something that almost looked like amusement.

“We’re using her plan,” he said simply.

Acrisios blinked. “Come again?”

Telemachus finally looked up at him, his blue eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “She snuck in under the guise of a warprize. We’re going to do the same thing.”

Acrisios’ brow furrowed. “You seriously think one of us can pass as a warprize?”

Telemachus smirked. “Not just anyone.” He leaned forward. “Druses.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Acrisios snorted.

Telemachus raised a brow. “Something funny?”

Acrisios wheezed, pressing a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. “You—you want Druses, Druses, the guy who literally tore through soldiers like a rabid dog, to dress up as a Greek warprize and sneak into the Skiaphian camps?”

Telemachus leaned back, entirely unbothered. “He has the most feminine features of all of us.”

Acrisios was dying, barely holding back his laughter. “Oh my gods, you’re serious.”

Telemachus’ smirk widened. “Deadly.”

Acrisios lost it, doubling over, his laughter shaking his entire frame. “You better pray Enyo doesn’t smite you for this—she’s gonna be pissed when she sees her favorite little bloodhound dressed like a woman.”

Telemachus rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the amused twitch of his lips. “Druses will manage. And if he gets caught, well…” His smirk turned sharp. “Let’s just say they won’t be keeping him in chains for long.”

Acrisios was still wiping tears from his eyes when Telemachus stood. “Go find Druses,” he ordered. “Tell him we have a new mission.”

“Oh, I cannot wait to see his face,” Acrisios said, grinning as he turned toward the exit. This war was hell. But at least, for now, there was some entertainment.

——

The sun had barely crested the horizon when the entire camp was jolted awake by the sound of furious yelling.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!”

Druses’ voice boomed through the camp, loud enough to rattle the sparse equipment still scattered across the ruins. Soldiers peeked out of their tents, bleary eyed and confused, as Druses stormed through the center of camp, his long black hair wild, his purple eyes blazing with outrage. “This is insulting,” he raged, gesturing wildly with a bundle of fabric clutched in one hand. “You think I’m going to—what—paint my face and prance around like some delicate little maiden?”

Cassander, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, leaned against a post with a bemused grin. “I mean, you’ve already got the hair for it.”

Druses whipped around, pointing a threatening finger at him. “Say that again, Cassander. I dare you.”

Eurymachus was struggling to keep a straight face. “Come on, Druses,” he teased, arms crossed. “You’ve got those long lashes, soft skin—really, you’ll make a beautiful warprize.”

“Fuck you,” Druses spat, throwing the bundle of clothes onto the ground. “This is undignified! Insulting! I am not dressing up like some trophy just because—”

Acrisios, barely suppressing his laughter, stepped forward, clapping a hand on Druses’ shoulder. “It’s not about the looks, Druses,” he said, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. “It’s about strategy.”

“Strategy?” Druses echoed, eyes narrowing. “You mean humiliation.” He shoved Acrisios’ hand off, glaring daggers at anyone who dared to snicker. “I’m a warrior—a killer. Not some—some—bait.”

Telemachus, leaning casually against a stack of crates, finally spoke up. “We need someone who can infiltrate their camp without raising suspicion. You’re the best fighter we have—and the only one who could realistically pass as…” He trailed off, lips twitching. “A warprize.”

Druses’ glare could have set the whole camp ablaze. “You can’t be serious,” he seethed. “You want me to doll up, chain myself, and parade into the Skiaphian camp like some helpless captive?”

Acrisios, failing to hide his grin, shrugged. “Think of it as—uh—method acting.”

Druses growled, his fists clenching at his sides. “I swear, if any of you so much as comment on this, I’ll slit your throats in your sleep.”

Cassander leaned toward Eurymachus, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Do you think he’ll wear lipstick?” Druses lunged, nearly knocking Cassander over before Acrisios pulled him back, laughing.

“Relax, Druses,” Acrisios said, grinning wide. “Just imagine the looks on their faces when you break free and start tearing through their ranks.”

Druses huffed, crossing his arms. “This better work,” he muttered darkly. “Because if it doesn’t, I’m taking all of you down with me.”

Telemachus smirked, arms crossed over his chest. “Oh, it’ll work. You’ll make sure of it.” Druses glared, but there was no denying the dark excitement that flickered behind his eyes. This was humiliating, yes—but if it got him closer to the enemy, closer to vengeance, closer to tearing them apart from the inside…

Maybe he’d wear the damn dress after all.

——

Druses was seething.

Standing in his dimly lit tent, he yanked the delicate fabric over his head with all the aggression of a soldier sharpening a blade. The sheer material brushed against his skin like an insult, and the metal cuffs around his wrists—meant to mimic the restraints of a proper warprize—felt wrong.

“If any of them say a single word,” he muttered under his breath, violently fastening a golden sash around his waist, “I’m gutting them.”

He was just about to pull his long black hair into something remotely presentable when a chill ran down his spine. A presence—familiar, electric, chaotic, swept through the tent like a rush of battle drums.

Druses froze.

A low, delighted chuckle echoed through the space.

“Well, well, well.”

His entire body tensed. Slowly, he turned his head. There, lounging casually on his cot, was Enyo. The war goddess herself,, her piercing eyes gleaming with amusement as she took in the sight before her.

And then—

She cackled.

Druses’ eye twitched. “Oh, this is rich,” Enyo wheezed, clutching her stomach as she rocked back in laughter. “My champion, my ruthless, bloodthirsty little war dog—dressed up like a fragile maiden, guess I’d have to call you Enyo’s damsel!”

Druses clenched his fists, his face burning hotter than a battlefield at noon. “Shut up.”

Enyo only laughed harder. “Look at you!” she gasped between fits of mirth. “All dolled up like a proper damsel. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were preparing for a wedding instead of war.”

Druses gritted his teeth. “It’s a disguise.”

“A disguise?” Enyo wiped at her eyes, still grinning. “Druses, you look like you’re about to be gifted to some warlord.”

Druses’ entire body stiffened. “That’s the point.”

Enyo smirked, resting her chin in her palm. “So you’re telling me,” she purred, “that you’re willingly walking into an enemy camp, dressed like that, pretending to be some helpless little warprize?”

Druses swallowed down the urge to strangle something. “Yes.”

Enyo let out a long, exaggerated sigh, shaking her head. “What a fall from grace,” she said dramatically. “One moment, you’re slaughtering men by the dozens. The next, you’re playing dress-up.”

Druses glared. “Do you have a point?”

Enyo’s smirk widened. “I just came to check on you, darling. But this?” She gestured at him—the flowing fabric, the painted lips, the utter humiliation draped across his face. “This is the best entertainment I’ve had in centuries.”

Druses exhaled sharply through his nose. “I hate you.”

Enyo beamed. “Oh, I love you, my little princess butcher.” She leaned in, voice dripping with amusement. “Now, go out there and make me proud, won’t you, damsel?”

Druses’ grip on his belt nearly snapped the fabric in half. By the time Enyo disappeared, still chuckling to herself, Druses was left standing in the middle of his tent, fists clenched, face burning, and very much considering throwing himself into the nearest fire.

This was humiliating.

And worst of all?

She wasn’t wrong.

—— Antinous strode through the camp with his usual air of confidence, stretching his sore shoulders after the morning’s brutal training session. The place was still in shambles from the ambush, but that didn’t mean there weren’t sights to appreciate amidst the chaos.

That’s when he saw her.

Or at least, he thought it was a her.

Standing a few paces away, a figure draped in soft, flowing fabric stood near one of the tents, their long, wavy black hair cascading down their back in a way that caught the dimming sunlight just right. Their form—small-waisted, hips accentuated by the golden sash tied snugly around them—looked enticingly feminine.

Antinous smirked to himself. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, his usual cocky attitude kicking in. Without a second thought, he sauntered up behind them, let out a sharp whistle, and brought his palm down in a playful, solid smack against their ass.

The moment his hand made contact, he knew something was wrong. The muscles under his palm were too firm. The reaction—too fast. Because instead of a surprised giggle or a scandalized gasp, the figure went rigid. And then, very slowly, they turned around.

Antinous’ smirk froze.

Druses’ face was a picture of murderous rage. His striking purple eyes burned with the fury of a thousand battlefields, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like he was seconds away from biting something clean off. The delicate makeup dusted across his features only served to make his expression look even more terrifying.

Antinous blinked. Then blinked again.

“Oh, shit.”

Druses’ nostrils flared, his entire body shaking with barely contained wrath. Antinous, to his credit, only took a step back—not because he was scared, but because he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he finally said, grinning ear to ear. “Druses?”

“I am going to gut you like a fucking pig,” Druses snarled, fists tightening at his sides. Antinous, instead of apologizing like a normal person, laughed.

A deep, genuine laugh. “Oh, this is too good,” he wheezed, leaning against a tent post for support. “No wonder they picked you for the job.”

Druses took a threatening step forward, and Antinous put his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, hey—no need for violence, princess.” Druses lunged.

Antinous barely dodged the punch that came hurtling toward his face, still laughing as he backed away. “Alright, alright! I’ll stop!” Druses didn’t stop. Because he was out for blood.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4|frOgg3r @permanently-nothere

@eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches

@sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa@doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @tsmaruchan @xo-cuteplosion-xo

@galaxygurIll @pjopinkk @h0ne4bee

@minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @yuvany @i-liketoast

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 22

Hey guys!! We are back with the next chapter of the lovely fic! Just two more chapters to go! Can you believe it?

In this one we have two of my *favorite moments in this fic as Dustin and Mike get to have their own special days just like the others.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21

~

Steve was kept busy over the next couple of weeks hauling the kids around to the connections Chrissy had set up for them. Max skating with Steve C., Will at the Children’s Museum, Erica and her horses, Ellie at a fashion show in Indy. Dustin and Mike were talking about the concert for weeks.

Steve had felt bad that Mike and Dustin hadn’t had their own experiences when he stumbled on the perfect solution.

He picked up Dustin from school.

Dustin slid into the front seat of Steve’s Sunbird. “Ma said you were planning to take me somewhere?”

“Yep!” Steve said, popping the P. “I found this thing in the newspaper today talking about it and I knew it would be right up your alley.”

Dustin cocked his head to the side, considering that. “But, I’m guessing that you’re not going to tell me. Just like you did with Lucas?”

“Ding, ding, ding!” Steve said brightly. “You win! Of course I’m not telling you jack, dude. It wouldn’t be much of surprise if I did.”

He crossed his arms and pouted. “Ma wouldn’t tell me anything either. Only that I would love it.”

“I honestly don’t know why you don’t like surprises,” Steve said, shaking his head as they hit the freeway. “As long they’re not jump scares or surprise parties, surprises are meant to be fun.”

Dustin slumped even further in the seat. “My dad was on his way to surprise me at school to take me out for ice cream because I had won some award in science and he had a heart attack. He didn’t even make it the hospital before he was gone.”

Steve pulled over to the shoulder and turned off the car. “I’m sorry, Dusty. I didn’t know that, but your mom should have. Do you really want me to tell where we’re going? Because I will.”

Dustin opened his mouth to answer but closed it with a frown as he really thought about it. “No. But I’m going to be grumpy about it anyway.”

Steve let out a small chuckle and got them back on the road.

Soon enough they were pulling into a large convention center with huge banner declaring it to The Aerospace and Exploration Expo with special guest speaker: Buzz Aldrin.

Dustin had stopped halfway out of the car to stare at the sign in wonder. He turned to Steve slowly as Steve got out of the car and slammed his door.

“Holy shit,” Dustin breathed. “Buzz Aldrin. Do you know who that is?”

Steve rolled his eyes as he walked around the car. “Do I know who one of the two men who landed on the moon is? No.”

Dustin rolled his eyes back at him. “Come on, everyone knows Neil Armstrong, but not everyone knows Buzz Aldrin.”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a huff. “Someone should ask Michael Collins how he feels about that.”

Dustin’s jaw dropped and then he hurried to catch up to Steve. “Holy shit! How did you know who that is?”

Steve just kept walking to the Will Call, not bothering to answer the question. He was old enough to remember watching the moon landing on the TV with his parents. Barely, but he did. It was his earliest memory; sitting on his mom’s lap as Neil Armstrong stepped onto the lunar surface. Every kid was fascinated by the whole thing and he was no exception.

“Welcome,” the teller said with that false cheer perfected by every teenage forced to work these types of jobs.

“Yeah, hi,” Steve said, putting on the charm. “I have two VIP tickets to the Expo. Under Harrington, Steve.”

She pulled it up on her computer. “Yes, I see it here. May I see your ID please?”

Steve handed over the ID and within moments, he had his ID and passes in hand. He handed one to Dustin.

“You ready for this?” he asked with the biggest smile on his face.

Dustin grinned back. “Hell yeah!”

They walked through the all the exhibits, stopped and talked to the different sellers, and even geeked out at the NASA booth. They tried space food and liked the ice cream, not so much anything else. But they had fun trying it.

Then it was time for the main event and because Steve had bought VIP tickets they were let in a half hour early so they were able to nab a couple of the best seats in the auditorium. Beside him, Dustin vibrated with excitement.

Then Buzz stepped out on that stage and the audience erupted into cheers. He waved at the crowd with a huge smile on his face.

The talk he gave was electric and exciting, filling both of their heads with new information. Dustin was shocked to learn that the earliest astronauts weren’t scientists, but test pilots. Jockies. Steve learned about the lucky vest the mission control commander had.

By the time they left the convention center both boys were talking a mile a minute about everything they saw. Dustin had even gotten an autograph from Buzz.

“Thanks for doing this for me,” Dustin said as they pulled up to his house. “You didn’t have to. I loved the private concert with Corroded Coffin. Like how many kids can say that they’ve been to one, you know?”

Steve smiled at him. “I know, but I wanted to do something special for you and Mike, too. Mike’s a little harder to find that moment for, you know?”

Dustin pursed his lips as he thought for a moment. “A day with Eddie. Just him and Eddie.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Like Mike really looks up to Eddie,” Dustin explained. “Why don’t they hang out for a day? Eddie can show him his guitars, how he writes his songs, taking him to all his favorite places in Hawkins. It’ll be like one of those contests where the person gets to spend the day with the band.”

Steve rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Would Mike want to hang out with the whole band or just Eddie do you think?”

Dustin’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit, dude. The whole band for sure. He would completely flip out.”

Steve grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Dustin gave him a hug and gathered up all of his loot to go inside.

~

“Thanks for agreeing to this,” Steve said, standing really close to Eddie as they waited for Casey to come back with Steve’s car. “You didn’t have to.”

“Nah,” Eddie said with that dimpled grin. “You were right about Dustin and Mike needing to experience something fun on their own just like everyone else did. And this has got to be the easiest one.”

“Chrissy said that the guys are already at the studio waiting for you both,” Steve murmured, “so call her when you get there and she’ll send over food.”

Eddie tucked a loose hair behind Steve’s ear. “Roger that, little Canary. Are you sure you don’t want to come with?”

Steve shook his head. “I think he’s still bitter about me briefly dating his older sister before I realized I was gay. Like I was supposed to figure out that shit before I dated her or whatever. So I would rather this just be the band and him so he can’t say I was in the way or whatever.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie said softly. “But I’m still happy to do this for him, for you.”

Steve looked up at him through his lashes and his breath caught in his throat. Eddie was so close. Steve ran his tongue slowly over his lips to wet them, his mouth suddenly dry.

Then the roar of the Sunbird and its slowing to stop made them aware of their surroundings. Steve was forced to take a step back.

“I’ll see you soon,” he murmured. “When I get back with Mike.”

Eddie pursed his lips to hide the grin that was threatening to break free. “Yep!”

Steve got into his car and Casey leaned into the open window. “I’ll tell you what, Harrington. You ask Eddie out and I’ll ask out Abby. Deal?”

He stuck out his hand.

Steve looked back at the broad smile that had slipped through Eddie’s facade then back at Casey. He shook his hand. “Deal.”

Casey stepped back and tapped the hood of the car to say he was far enough out of the way. Steve pulled out of the parking lot leaving Casey standing across the driveway from Eddie.

Eddie crossed his arms and wagged his eyebrows. “Best get to it, big boy. Abby’s awaiting.”

Casey nodded once and as he walked past Eddie he slammed the ridiculous hat into Eddie’s chest.

“Hold that for me,” he said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Eddie burst out laughing.

~

Mike was sitting on his porch, his arms crossed over his chest when Steve rolled up to the Wheeler house.

“You do realize that your face is going to freeze that way some day, right?” he said, getting out of the car.

“My mom told me to get out of the house because I was bothering her.”

Steve walked up to him and leaned over so that they were eye to eye. “She wouldn’t tell you what we were doing today, huh?”

Mike nodded.

“Well,” Steve said a smile slowly drawing in on his face, “I’d tell ya, but then I’d hafta kill ya.”

Mike huffed, a small smile fighting its way to his lips. “Yeah, come on. Let’s get this over with.”

Steve burst out laughing. He shook his head and led the way to the car.

“I have to admit,” Mike said as he slid into the passenger seat, “this car is pretty sick, dude.”

“I miss my Bimmer,” Steve said as he pulled away from the curb, “but I can’t deny what an absolute beauty this car is.”

“Why?” Mike asked with a sneer. “They’re both rich people cars, what’s the difference?”

“Difference, Michael,” Steve said sarcastically, “is that I picked out the BMW. She was my first car and I chose her. All the features even down to the color of the seats. But I also realize that everyone in town knows that’s my car. Most people think I’ve left town because it hasn’t been seen in awhile. So I deal with it.”

Mike nodded appreciatively. “I can get that. This is something someone chose for you, while the Bimmer is something you chose for yourself.”

“Right in one.”

They pulled into an abandoned parking lot and Steve got out. When Mike didn’t he tapped on the roof.

“Come on,” he huffed. “Get out. You’re going to want to see this.”

Mike reluctantly got out of the car, just in time to see a sleek, black Jaguar XJS pull into the lot. It slid to a stop in the parking space in front of Steve’s Sunbird.

“Am I being kidnapped?” Mike asked, his eyes wide with worry.

“Only if he doesn’t return you to your mother before your bed time,” Steve said with a giggle and shake of his head.

Then out stepped Eddie Munson in tight leather pants, combat boots, and ripped Megadeath t-shirt under his black leather jacket.

“He’s all yours,” Steve told Eddie. “Karen said not too late, but that he doesn’t have a curfew.”

Mike stared at Eddie and then at Steve, mouth wide open. “What is happening right now?”

“Hey, Mikey!” Eddie said cheerfully. “You see, Steve got to thinkin’ that since you and Dusty didn’t get to have your own experiences like the rest of your friends, so he decided that he would do something special for each of you. Dusty got NASA and Buzz Aldrin, and you get a day with me and the Corroded Coffin boys.”

Mike pinched himself and then pulled out a piece of paper from his back pocket. “Nope. Not dreaming. Holy shit.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “What was with the paper? I know about the pinching to see if you’d wake up, but the paper is new.”

“According to Harry Houdini if you can read something clearly, you can’t be dreaming,” Mike explained with a half shrug. “Because in dreams the words are blurry and obscured.”

“Huh,” Eddie said. “Neat.”

“You two have fun!” Steve said with a grin.

Mike’s head whipped around so fast. “You aren’t coming with?”

Steve pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Nope. This is all you and the band. Don’t run them ragged too much. They’re old now.”

“Hey!” Eddie protested. “I’m not even thirty yet, asshole!”

He burst out laughing and then gave him a dorky little finger wave, before slipping back into the Sunbird.

Eddie rubbed his hands together gleefully. “You ready for this Mike Wheeler?”

Mike grinned back. “Hell yeah!”

~

*The part with Michael Collins and Mike getting kidnapped.

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @wheneverfeasible @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss @blondie1006

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @themoonagainstmers @cryptid-system @maya-custodios-dionach

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

5- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

6- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

7- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt @just-a-tiny-void

8- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

9- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @sadisticaltarts @steddieislife

10- @fearieshadow @kultiras @thesecondfate @tartarusknight @genderless-spoon

[yourlittlegoblin]

{A Stellaron Hunter's Love} Blade x Reader

Hey guys so I'm back at school rn and like its the middle of class lol. Anyways I have both SFW and NSFW Blade headcannons here. NSFW is under the cut. Anyways I hope you enjoy these headcannons! Also feel free to catch me up on the HRS lore since even though I have HRS I haven't played in a long time and I also need to update the game (Guys forgive me for being a mobile player but I only have 1 PC that my entire family uses so I have Genshin but barely enough space to play it TwT) Also reader is either GN!Reader or F!Reader.

SFW Headcannons:

He absolutely adores you theres no doubt about that

He gets really possessive of you, wrapping an arm around your waist whenever you talk to a guy or silently glares at them until they leave you two alone

He only knows how to do a simple ponytail but is willing to learn more hairstyles so that he has an excuse to play with your hair

He loves holding you because sometimes he has nightmares about you leaving him, and holding you makes him feel reassured

You didn't hear this from me but hes also a sucker for when he wakes up from a nightmare and when you wake up as a result he does feel guilty and apologies but when you half-awake tell him its alright and hold him he just melts into your chest

Hearing your heartbeat calms him down and by the time he falls asleep his heartbeat mimics your heartbeat's pace

He also loves it when you play with his hair and goes slightly feral when you use your nails to massage his scalp

He also gets really cuddly when hes sleepy. Like really really cuddly. His arms will gorilla grip you as he desperately holds you close in bed during the early morning

Sometimes when he sees you stressed over work at home he will make a small nest out of blankets and pillows, brews your favorite beverage or buys it, picks you up, throws you into the nest, gives you your drink, joins you, sits behind you, pulls you into his lap, wrap the blankets around you and plays your favorite show or movie

When you're cooking he likes wrapping his arms around you, and if you're humming a familiar tune he will also join you as he holds you and occasionally passes you things you ask for

NSFW Headcannons:

If you couldn't tell from the headcannons above he really loves it when he can touch and feel you so when you're having sex with him for the first time it will usually be positions where hes close to you or is able to have a lot of skin to skin contact with you

Loves seeing your face contort and moan in pleasure when he fucks you senseless or sensual. Seeing you in pleasure turns him on more and might even grant him stamina for one more round

When hes in the mood he likes teasing you no matter the setting, he will nip at your neck and ears or when he acts all gentlemanly in public he will sneak in a quick kiss to your inner wrist

Referring back to the first point about the first time, when you two get really intimate he likes going slow with you and includes lots of foreplay. Kissing down your wrist up your shoulder and neck to kiss you, caresses your torso and the sides of your waist as he does so, then pulls back only to start kissing up your leg from your ankle

Idk why but I feel like Blade gives off this vibe that hes always slightly in the mood like- idk how to describe it. Hes always down when you are and is always down when you're not, but if hes not really in the mood but you are he still keeps you satisfied by finger fucking you or by having you sit on his face.

Similar to what I said in my SFW headcanons where he goes feral when you scratch his scalp with your nails- I can assure you if you dig or better yet scratch this man's back he will go feral and obliterate that pus—

He will mix in both degrading and praise when he fucks you. The degrading helps him get off that steam and stress from work and the praise lets you know that even if you do get degraded he loves you dearly and its all in the heat of the moment. However, if you do request to lean more into the other or just be straight up degrading or praising then he is more than willing to oblige

He will spank that ass until it glows red like a traffic light. But if you ask he will be gentler or just not do it at all

Your needs and wants in bed come first above all else. Like to him sex is a really intimate and vulnerable thing that involves the most sensitive body parts on both the female and male anatomy, so he always is sure to take care of you and make sure you're comfortable

His aftercare is amazing. Still inside you, caresses and praises your body telling you how good you were and how you took him in so well. Then he washes you up after giving you a quick cuddle. If you want he will give you a bath but if its one of those days where you guys go for over 2hrs then he WILL give you a bath whether you like it or not. His aftercare game is on point. Will cuddle you lots after getting you slightly dressed (He makes you wear his shirt and boxers)

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #04 死

† forest rendezvous †

"They say the most dangerous predators are the ones that make you feel safe before they strike. But watching him calculate each shot with deadly precision, you realize there might be something even more dangerous - the ones who warn you exactly what they are, and still make you want to stay."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 6k

rating: mature

content: forced proximity, piggyback, sniping, ominous threats, badmouthing, hinting at deeper wounds

☠ author's note ☠

A/N: Oh wow, apparently I even had author's notes saved in my drafts when I started writing this back in 2020? Past!me had *thoughts* and present!me is just here like (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

So I'm basically taking those written thoughts and rechanneling them through my 2025 brain. And let me tell you, the cognitive dissonance is REAL. Like past!me was all "but it's a slow burn!" and current!me is just cackling in the corner because honey... you have no idea what's coming ｡･ﾟﾟ*(>д

I really debated on whether to include the piggyback scene or not. Had the whole thing pictured out a LONG time ago (we're talking pre-pandemic long, yes I am ancient, no I don't want to talk about it), but wasn't sure if I should add it here... you know, being a slow burn and all that jazz. But I think it works? They're both so against it that it's basically negative development at this point lmao.

Also, FORCED PROXIMITY MY BELOVEDS. If you think I'm not going to milk every single trope in existence, you clearly don't know me well enough yet. Just wait until we get to- *gets tackled by the spoiler police*

As always, thank you for reading! Your comments give me life and serotonin, which I desperately need because my caffeine addiction can only do so much. Stay tuned! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧​​​​​​​

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

"Shit—"

The word slips out as you struggle to your feet, using Jeon's hand like some kind of reluctant lifeline.

That's when your ankle decides to remind you exactly how badly you messed up trying to ambush him earlier. The adrenaline's wearing off, leaving behind nothing but raw, throbbing pain that makes you want to scream. Or cry. Maybe both.

"I think I twisted my ankle."

Jeon drops your hand like it's burning him, his expression morphing into pure exasperation. 

"You must be kidding me." 

"Yeah, because I love pretending to be injured during paintball." The pain makes your words sharper than intended. "It's my favorite hobby, actually."

He presses his hand against his face and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. His expression shifts from annoyed to something more complex—like a storm trying to decide which direction to blow.

The silence stretches between you, thick and uncomfortable. You lean against the rock, trying to take weight off your ankle, but it just keeps t̶h̶r̶o̶b̶b̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶b̶i̶t̶c̶h̶ hurting worse with each passing second.

Finally, Jeon clicks his tongue and strides over to you. Then he just... turns around. Stands there. Like you're supposed to know what that means.

When you don't move, he adds, "Hop on," in a voice that somehow manages to sound both annoyed and urgent at the same time. 

Like he's throwing commands to a dog.

You stare at his back, brain struggling to process what's happening. This is Jeon—Mr. Ice Prince himself—offering you a piggyback ride. The same guy who can barely stand being in the same room as you most days.

He glances over his shoulder, dark eyes meeting yours. "I said, hop on. We don't have all day."

"No way." Pride makes you lift your chin despite the pain. "I'm not getting a piggyback from you. I'll just... wait here."

His patience visibly snaps. He turns to face you fully. "You can't walk, and you'll be a liability." The words come out sharp and cold. "If someone from his team finds you, you're out. And now, you're on my team."

"What do you mean I'm on your team?"

"You ask too many questions." He bites the inside of his cheek, clearly t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶'̶r̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶n̶o̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ done with your attitude. "Were you or were you not with my team when shit went down?"

"What does that have to do with—"

"It's an improvisation game. It's V's thing, stealth. Remember?" His voice cuts through yours like a knife. "Whoever's with me when V strikes is on my team. Same goes for him. It's really not that complicated."

He takes a deep breath, face muscles shifting to something more controlled. When he looks at you again, he seems determined. 

"I'm not losing to V, especially not because of you. So either hop on," the gentleness in his voice has an edge that makes you tense, "or I'll pull rank and make it an order."

Your blood boils at that. The audacity of this man, threatening to pull rank just because you don't want to get a piggyback ride like some kid. But he's right, and that just pisses you off more. Your ankle's screaming, and you're basically a sitting duck out here.

Fuck. 

You hobble closer, swallowing your pride along with a string of curses. The warmth oozing off his body envelops you swiftly, making your heart do weird things in your chest.

Getting on his back is awkward and t̶h̶o̶r̶o̶u̶g̶h̶l̶y̶ ̶h̶u̶m̶i̶l̶i̶a̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ uncomfortable, but he lifts you like you weigh nothing. His body is all lean muscle under your hands, which is just... t̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶g̶o̶n̶e̶ not something you need to think about right now. You kind of want to knee him in the ribs, just because you can.

You don't, though. Your ankle's already betrayed you once tonight—no need to make things worse.

He starts moving with careful, measured steps. Neither of you speaks. If he's as annoyed as you are about this whole situation, he doesn't show it anymore. His focus is entirely on the game now, eyes scanning the darkness, body tense and ready. Like a storm gathering strength.

And that just pisses you off more. Here you are, swallowing your pride with every step he takes, while he acts like carrying you is just another mission parameter to execute. The quiet forest floor suddenly seems way more appealing than being trapped in his personal weather system.

His breathing is steady, a rhythm that somehow makes the tension worse. Because yeah, he's helping you, but it feels like being rescued by a particularly moody thundercloud. The fact that you need him right now doesn't make you like him any better—it just makes everything more complicated.

Your eyes are dragged to the edges of his tattoos where they disappear under his shirt. Each one probably has a story, but good luck getting those out of Mr. Storm-and-Silence here. 

Still, you're curious. 

Are they about pain? Strength? Or maybe he just likes sitting through hours of needles because he's t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶k̶i̶n̶d̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶m̶a̶s̶o̶c̶h̶i̶s̶t̶ that dedicated to his aesthetic.

The silence starts to feel heavy, pressing down like gathering clouds. All you can see is his back, and the closeness makes your skin buzz like it's charged with static.

"So where exactly are we going?" You break the silence because honestly, anything's better than drowning in his suffocating presence.

"Paintball weapon cache."

"Wait, what?" You can't keep the disbelief out of your voice. "I thought we were getting my ankle checked out—"

"This is a simulation." He cuts off. "V's games are unpredictable, but they mirror real scenarios. We adapt. We deal."

There's something under that icy tone—a competitiveness that makes you think this is more than just training to him. Your fingers twitch against his shoulders, and you try not to think about the muscle shifting under your hands.

"You do this often?" You find yourself asking, curiosity winning over irritation.

"Unfortunately." The word carries a gust of dry humor. "V likes his... creative training methods. Paintball, surprise drills, mock raids. He's impulsive, but effective."

"Sounds... fun?" The word tastes weird in your mouth.

"If you enjoy being perpetually ambushed." His dry tone makes your lips twitch despite yourself.

You fall quiet, thinking about these two forces of nature—Jeon's storms and V's thorny garden. Different kinds of dangerous, but both leaving destruction in their wake (duh, they're assassins?). One's all calculated precision, the other pure chaos—yet somehow they both keep the gang's deadliest division running. 

"So what's the plan now?" You try to keep your voice neutral. If you're stuck being his human backpack, might as well try to be useful.

"We arm ourselves." His voice gains a strategizing color. "It's not about having the most firepower. Real situations never go according to plan."

Something about his tone piques your curiosity even further. "Has he always been like this? V? With the whole paintball ambush thing?"

Jeon lets out a sound that's caught between amusement and irritation. "Yeah. You never know what to expect with that psycho. There was this one time when he—"

He cuts himself off abruptly. You can feel how his muscles tense against your legs, probably kicking himself for almost sharing something personal.

"When he what?" You can't help pushing. The rare glimpse behind his walls is too tempting to ignore.

"Never mind." His voice goes flat, that familiar coldness sliding back into place.

The silence stretches again, pregnant with all the things he won't say. It's strange, catching these tiny cracks in his perfect ice-prince facade. Makes you wonder what other stories he's keeping locked away.

As you move deeper into the forest, his competitive side starts showing through. He explains the rules like he's briefing for a real mission, all strategy and tactics.

"...And the objective?" You ask, trying to piece it all together.

"Last team standing wins." His voice rumbles through his back against your chest. "Or take out the opposing leader—me or V."

"Makes sense." You nod, hyper-aware of how his voice ricochets through you. "But why so intense? It's just paintball, right?"

The question slips out before you can stop it. But really—all this drama over some colored paint?

"It's never just a game." The edge in his voice could cut glass. "In our world, everything's a test. A challenge. We're constantly proving ourselves. You should know that by now."

His words sink in slowly. You do know—every day in this place feels like walking a tightrope, being watched, measured, judged. Even something as simple as paintball becomes another arena to prove your worth.

"This is exhausting," you mutter, and you actually mean it. The weight of constant training, constant proving yourself—it gets old fast.

"It is." Something in Jeon's voice makes you wish you could see his face. There's a pause, then: "But it's necessary. Keeps us sharp. Survival of the fittest and all that shit."

The bitterness in those last words catches you off guard. It's weird hearing him talk like this—like maybe he's not totally sold on the whole 'constant competition' thing either. The thought of Jeon having doubts about anything feels like finding a dent in what you thought was solid concrete.

He continues moving through the forest like he was born here, feet finding paths you can barely see in the dark. The trees loom overhead, their leaves whispering secrets you can't quite catch. Soon, you are opening your mouth again before your brain can stop you.

"How'd you end up here?"

His stride breaks—just for a second, but you feel it. The air grows heavy again, pressing down on your shoulders. 

"Circumstances. Choices." The words come out clipped, that familiar wall slamming back into place. "Same as anyone else."

You can practically taste the story he's not telling. Something dark and messy that turned him into this walking hurricane of a person. But pushing would be stupid, and contrary to popular belief, you're not that dumb.

"Right." You let it drop, focusing instead on how the moonlight catches on his silver chain when he moves.

Jeon picks up speed, and the trees seem to close in around you both. It seems to be a sign you are approaching your destination.

"So once we get the guns, what's the plan?" You try to break the weird tension that's settled between you.

"Find high ground," he says, voice low and focused. "Somewhere we can see everything but stay hidden. Sniping's all about patience and precision."

"And you think there's actually a spot like that around here?" You can't keep the skepticism from your voice. You've done your fair share of surveillance—good vantage points are rare as hell in this forest.

He just grunts, confident as ever. "I know this place like the back of my hand." He actually lifts one hand to prove his point, the moonlight catching on his rings. 

It shouldn't be as hot as it is. 

Silence falls again and the trees grow closer together, moonlight filtering through in weird patterns that make everything look kind of surreal. The darkness feels heavy, like it's trying to remind you both that you're not exactly on a fun camping trip here.

You watch him scan the forest ahead, all focus and precision. It hits you that this is his element—the quiet, the calculation, the waiting game.

"You really think this'll work against V's team?" The doubt slips into your voice before you can stop it.

"It's not about what works against them." He sounds almost philosophical, which is... different. "It's about playing to our strengths."

He pauses to lick his lip ring—a habit you're starting to notice—before adding: "Plus, I'm Chief of Tactical Assassinations for a reason. Best sniper in Kkangpae. Best in South Korea."

"Best in the whole country? For real?" You hate how interested you sound.

"Probably." His shoulders lift in a small shrug that makes you bounce slightly.

"Right." You roll your eyes. "Got any proof of that?"

"I do." The response comes quick, matter-of-fact. "They're all dead though."

A snort escapes before you can stop it. 

Shit. 

Okay. That may have been actually funny. But you're definitely not laughing at his jokes. He might have a sense of humor hiding under all that ice, but he's still an ass.

Jeon slows down as you reach what looks like the world's most underwhelming hideout—just a tiny hut tucked between the trees. His muscles go tense against your legs, like he's preparing for trouble. The way he lowers you to the ground is weirdly gentle for someone who usually acts like basic human contact might give him hives.

Your ankle screams in protest when you put weight on it, making you wobble slightly. Something flickers across Jeon's face—t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶m̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶n̶c̶e̶r̶n̶ probably just annoyance at having to babysit you.

"You good?" 

The question catches you off guard. Since when does the ice prince care if you're okay?

You manage a nod, not trusting yourself to speak without letting out some embarrassing noise of pain. He turns toward the hut but pauses, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

"Tell me if you see movement." His voice drops to barely above a whisper. "Any movement."

Then he's gone, slipping into the darkness of the hut. You hear him moving around inside, probably doing some super-professional sniper inventory check or whatever the hell he does.

When he emerges, he's carrying two paintball rifles like they weigh nothing. You try really hard not to notice how the moonlight catches on his arm muscles as he moves, or how smoothly he closes the door with just a flick of his wrist.

He hands you one of the rifles, dark eyes scanning the forest with the kind of focus that reminds you why he's chief of his division. Then he just... crouches down again, waiting for you to climb back on.

The sight of him effortlessly holding a rifle while offering you a piggyback makes something in your chest twist. How dare he make this look so easy? How dare he be this capable and t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ this insufferable at the same time?

You sigh, swallowing your pride along with several choice words about the universe's sick sense of humor, and climb back onto his back. His body is warm against yours and you hate that you notice. You hate even more that he's not even breaking a sweat carrying both you and the gear.

Stupid attractive jerk with his stupid perfect aim and his stupid strength. The least he could do is be ugly, but no—he had to look like that while being the most irritating person you've ever met.

Jeon stands like your weight is nothing—because of course he does. He adjusts the rifle with practiced ease, and you try really hard not to notice how effortlessly he handles both you and a weapon. It's t̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶b̶r̶a̶i̶n̶ ̶a̶c̶t̶i̶v̶a̶t̶e̶d̶ annoying how good he is at literally everything.

His movements fall into a steady rhythm as he walks, and you find yourself swaying slightly with each step. It's weird being this close to someone you can barely stand. The guy who's usually a walking natural disaster is suddenly all careful precision, like the calm before a storm.

The hill stretches up ahead, moonlight painting everything in silver and shadow. Somewhere in the distance, paintball guns are still going off. Sounds like V's twisted little game is still in full swing for everyone else who isn't stuck playing piggyback with their nemesis.

You watch the forest ahead, trying to focus on anything except how warm Jeon is against the cool night air. He moves through the undergrowth like he was born for this. The higher you climb, the slower he moves, until finally he stops altogether.

Without a word—because god forbid he actually communicate like a normal person—he crouches slightly. Your cue to get off this incredibly awkward ride.

"Here." His voice is barely above a whisper as he helps you down with surprising care. 

You scan the area, taking in the elevated position and clear view of the forest below. It's perfect for sniping, which makes sense given who picked it. But something about being this exposed makes your skin crawl.

"This is way too exposed." Your instincts are screaming at you to find better cover. The entire forest floor is visible from up here, which means you're visible too. "We need something more concealed."

Jeon turns his head just enough to catch your eye in the moonlight. "Trust me."

Two simple words, but they hit different.

Trust isn't something that comes easy in this life. Especially not between you and Mr. Hurricane himself. 

Yet here he is, asking for it like it's that simple.

You weigh your options, torn between your screaming survival instincts and his calm certainty. Finally, you give him a reluctant nod. What choice do you really have?

You can't help watching as Jeon sets up his position. The way he moves is t̶o̶o̶ ̶g̶r̶a̶c̶e̶f̶u̶l̶ irritatingly efficient, precise and purposeful. His eyes scan the terrain with a focus that makes your mouth inexplicably dry. 

Because it's weird seeing him like this. The usual cold, intimidating chief is gone, replaced by someone who moves with quiet, deadly grace. Every shift of his body as he positions the rifle speaks of years of practice, of countless nights spent perfecting each tiny movement.

The hurricane that usually swirls around him has settled into something different—a gentle breeze that makes your skin tingle. It's... weird. 

Almost peaceful.

You can't help studying him while he's focused like this. The way his dark eyes track every movement below, how his brow furrows just slightly when he's thinking. His silver piercings catch the moonlight when he shifts, and you find yourself leaning closer. 

Just to see better, obviously. For tactical reasons.

Movement near the cache catches your attention. Jeon goes completely still beside you, the kind of stillness that reminds you he's literally the best sniper in South Korea. You lean in further, trying to see what he's seeing, and suddenly realize how close you are. Your shoulder brushes his, but neither of you moves away. You're both too focused on the target below, who's digging through supplies like they've got all the time in the world.

"Wait for it..." His voice is barely a whisper, warm breath ghosting past your ear. His finger hovers over the trigger with the patience of someone who knows exactly what they're doing.

The poor soul at the cache has no idea what's coming. The air feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

Then—bang.

The shot is perfect because of course it is. A splash of neon paint blooms on the target's back like some abstract art piece. They jump about a foot in the air, spinning around wildly.

"Dammit, Jeon!" The shout echoes through the trees. There's only one person who could make a shot that clean from such distance.

You bite your lip to keep from laughing. Even Jeon's mouth twitches at the corner—the closest thing to a smile you've ever seen from him. For a split second, a gentle breeze wraps around you both like a shared secret.

You nearly jump out of your skin when Jeon's eyes suddenly meet yours. For a heartbeat, maybe two, neither of you moves.

It's... t̶o̶o̶ ̶m̶u̶c̶h̶ weird. The way his dark eyes seem to see right through you, how his hurricane wraps around you like you're in the eye of the storm. Too close. You're close enough to count his stupidly long eyelashes, to see the tiny scar on his cheek catch moonlight.

Then reality crashes back in. Jeon shifts away so fast you'd think you burned him, putting blessed distance between you. The barriers slam back into place—he's your superior, you're just some annoying ensign he got stuck babysitting during paintball. That's all this is.

You lean back too, trying to ignore the way your heart's still doing gymnastics in your chest. It's unsettling, this weird moment of... something. Not respect, definitely not that, but maybe a reluctant acknowledgment that there's more to him than just being an ice-cold asshole. The way he handled that shot, the focus in his eyes, the subtle pride in his posture—it's t̶h̶e̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶t̶e̶s̶t̶ annoyingly impressive.

Jeon's already back in sniper mode, all business again like nothing happened. But the air feels different now. Like the air has picked up speed, swirling with renewed intensity as if trying to blow away whatever just passed between you.

You watch him work, wondering when exactly you started noticing things like how his jaw clenches when he's concentrating, or how his fingers move with such precise grace on the trigger.

You tell yourself the shiver down your spine is just from the cold night air.

"I should leave." The words come out low, almost like he's talking to himself. He stands up, towering over you, a dark silhouette against the forest green. "Won't take long for them to tell V where I am."

"What, you scared?" The question slips out before you can stop it. 

Since when does the great Jeon run from a fight? Especially with V?

"No." It's instant, defensive. His tone is laced with something like irritation. "With V, you play his game. I just landed a shot. He'll know exactly where I am the second he gets here." A pause. "That's why you're staying."

"I see." You answer automatically. Then your brain catches up.

Wait.

"Hold up—I'm what now?" The words come out sharp. "So I'm just bait?"

"Yeah?" He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, like he can't fathom why you're even asking. "You'll draw him out."

"Didn't you literally just give me that whole speech about 'making do' and 'real situations'?" Your voice rises with each word. "And now you're using your teammate as bait? Real nice. Guess I was right—you are a hypocrite."

"Sometimes sacrifices are necessary." His voice is cool, professional. "Plus, between us..."

He looks at you then, really looks, and something in your chest goes tight. Those dark eyes of his catch moonlight like black ice, beautiful and deadly. His stupidly long lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and when he blinks, it feels deliberate. Like he's giving you time to process what comes next.

"You're the expendable one. Here, and in real life."

"Fuck off." The words come out sharp and mean, exactly how you want them.

His eyebrow arches, silver beads catching moonlight like a warning. "Watch your tone."

You can feel the hurricane bearing down on you again. It sneaks through the cracks in your attire, scratching at the outer layer of your skin. It is oppressive, suffocating. Engulfs your whole being almost instantly, almost as if to blow you off balance.

"So you're really doing this?" Your voice cracks a little, caught between rage and something that feels too much like hurt. "Just leaving me here as bait?"

He doesn't even blink. Those dark eyes of his are cold and distant now, like you're just another variable in one of his calculations.

"It's strategic, not personal."

"Strategic." You let out a laugh that's more like a snarl. The thought of being nothing but a disposable piece in his game makes your blood boil. Being used by anyone would piss you off, but being used by Jeon? That's a special kind of infuriating.

He takes a step back from you now, creating physical distance as if he was uncomfortable. Maybe, somewhere under all that ice, he actually feels bad about this. But t̶h̶a̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶w̶i̶s̶h̶f̶u̶l̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ you're probably just seeing what you want to see.

"Stay low and keep quiet." His voice goes all authoritative again, his standoffish nature coming right back. "If V knows it's a trap, we lose our advantage."

You cross your arms, watching Jeon's figure fade into the shadows. Every cell in your body screams to call him out, to demand better than being left as bait, but...

What leverage do you have? The answer hits like a slap: absolutely none.

He moves like a ghost between the trees, that hurricane of his dissipating until you're left alone with nothing but forest sounds for company. His words echo in your head, each syllable of "expendable" burning like acid.

You try to shift position, searching for some way to sit that doesn't make your ankle scream or your pride hurt worse. Hard to do when you're officially demoted to bait in this stupid paintball game. 

Stupid Jeon. How can he turn even mock battles into some grand strategic play? 

Your jaw clenches. At least real bait doesn't have to deal with the indignity of knowing it's bait.

The forest is too quiet now, like it's holding its breath. You try to focus, to be the good little decoy he wants, but between your throbbing ankle and the rage simmering under your skin, concentration's a lost cause. Your thoughts spin like leaves in a storm, each one circling back to how much you want to punch that perfect face of his.

Then—something changes.

It's subtle. Just the slightest shift in the air, barely enough to stir the leaves. But every instinct you have lights up like a warning flare. You freeze, hardly daring to breathe as you strain to locate whatever's setting off your internal alarms.

That's when you feel it—thorny vines wrapping around your lungs, making each breath sharp and dangerous. V materializes from the darkness like he was born from it, moving with the kind of liquid grace that reminds you why he's chief of stealth. Before you can blink, cold metal presses against your neck—his paintball gun, a very pointed reminder of how screwed you are.

The speed of it leaves you breathless. Or maybe that's his thorny rose aura, squeezing tighter with each passing second. His mastery of stealth isn't just reputation—it's terrifying reality.

"Shh, shh, shh." His breath ghosts over your ear, playful and deadly all at once.

You hadn't planned on screaming, but the way his aura constricts around you makes you reconsider.

"Where's Jeon?" V's voice is barely above a whisper, but something in it makes your blood run cold.

You hesitate. Part of you wants to sell Jeon out—serves him right for using you as bait. But something in V's tone makes you think carefully about your next words. This might be a game to everyone else, but V... V plays different.

"He left me," you manage, voice tight. "Twisted my ankle."

The laugh that follows sounds wrong, like broken glass wrapped in velvet. His thorny vines squeeze tighter.

"Typical Jeon." The way he says it drips poison. "Once a traitor, always a traitor." There's history there, old wounds still bleeding. "Abandoning a teammate? That's cold, even for him."

The paintball gun stays pressed against your neck. Except... is it really loaded with paint? Your stomach drops as you realize you have no way of knowing. Not with V. Not when he's got that edge to his voice that makes you think maybe this stopped being a game the moment he spotted you.

Every instinct screams at you to run, but you're trapped between fight or flight, knowing either choice could end badly.

"He's not here then?" V sounds almost disappointed, like a kid whose favorite toy got taken away. "Pity. I was hoping for a proper reunion."

The gun against your neck suddenly feels a lot more real. You're not the target—you're just the bait. Again. Except this time, it's not just your pride at stake.

"Should've expected as much..." His laugh raises goosebumps on your skin. "No loyalty in that one, hmm? Makes you wonder what he'd do in a real bind. Leave you to rot, probably."

You stay quiet, letting V's poison drip. Each word feels calculated, like he's trying to infect you with his hatred for Jeon. His vines constrict tighter around your lungs with every syllable, and you can't help wondering what made these two hate each other so viciously.

"That's Jeon for you." The words drip with disgust, but V's smirking like this is all some twisted game. "Self-serving. Cold. Doesn't care who he steps on to get what he wants."

The way he's focused on his little villain monologue gives you an opening. Adrenaline floods your system as you make your move—one hard stomp on his foot. His yelp of surprise is almost satisfying.

You shove the paintball gun away from your neck, twisting out of his grip. For one glorious second, you think you might actually get away.

Then reality hits. Literally.

V moves like water, flowing around your escape attempt like he knew exactly what you'd do. Before you can blink, you're eating dirt, his weight pinning you down. The gun barrel presses cold against your forehead, and you realize just how badly you miscalculated.

"Not bad, dear." His grin makes your skin crawl. "But not good enough."

You're pinned, his weight heavy and his presence suffocating. His thorns dig deeper with each breath, and you can almost feel them cutting through your skin. 

You're trapped, completely at his mercy, but damned if you'll let him see you scared.

He leans in close. "Let me give you a piece of advice." His whisper raises goosebumps on your neck. "Watch your back around Jeon. He's more dangerous than you think."

The warning in his voice sounds too personal, too raw to be just another mind game. Like maybe he's speaking from experience.

"Oh, I'm counting on it." The words come out steadier than you feel with V's weight pinning you down. You manage to keep your voice even despite the lack of oxygen making it to your brain.

Something flickers across his face—confusion, maybe suspicion. Those stealth instincts of his finally catching up, but too late.

SPLAT.

Paint explodes across V's back in a neon burst. His whole body goes rigid against yours, muscles freezing mid-squeeze. The look of pure disbelief on his face almost makes this whole night worth it.

When he turns to look over his shoulder, you already know what he'll see. Jeon emerges from the shadows like he was born from them, rifle balanced casually in those tattooed hands. Even playing paintball in the middle of the night, he somehow manages to look t̶o̶o̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶ irritatingly put-together.

He runs his fingers through dark hair, pushing it back from his face in a way that's probably supposed to look casual but comes off more like a shampoo commercial. The silver in his piercings catches moonlight, and honestly? It's just rude how he makes everything look so effortless. Like being unfairly attractive is just another one of his many talents.

V's weight disappears as he stands, and suddenly his whole demeanor shifts. The deadly predator from moments ago vanishes, replaced by that familiar chaos-loving trickster. His laugh rings through the trees as he claps, adorned with delight instead of danger.

"Bravo, Jeon!" V calls out theatrically into the forest shadows where Jeon now stands revealed. "Always hiding in the shadows like the snake you are."

Jeon's face is blank, but there's something razor-sharp in the way he moves

"Far better than always playing the fool to hide your incompetence, if you ask me." Jeon retorts sharply, ice crystallizing each syllable.

"Incompetence?" V's laugh has an ugly edge to it. "That's rich, coming from you. Can't even follow basic gang rules, but here you are, talking shit."

Something flickers across Jeon's face—too quick to catch, but his expression grows darker, more intense. Seems like V knows exactly where to stick the knife.

"A gang built on backstabbing might want to rethink its rules." Jeon's voice could freeze hell over. It's like the winds around him whip faster now.

"See, that's your problem." V tilts his head, a mischievous, lazy grin spreading all over his lips. "When I stab someone in the back, at least I don't cry about it after."

The smile he gives Jeon is pure venom—like he's referencing something that happened between them, something that left scars.

"Right." Jeon practically spits the word. "You only get emotional when you're the one getting fucked over."

They stare each other down, and you feel thorny vines trying to pierce through howling wind and rain. Finally, Jeon looks away first, shaking his head like he's trying to dislodge memories he'd rather forget.

Jeon's eyes find yours, and it's not concern you see there—more like he's doing some kind of damage assessment without having to actually ask if you're okay.

You don't give him the satisfaction of a response. He left you as bait, remember? Used you like some expendable pawn in his little game with V.

But something annoying nags at the back of your mind. 

Because he did come back. 

The moment breaks when Jeon looks away, that weird tension snapping like a rubber band. His typhoon-self settles back into its usual pattern as he stands there radiating smug victory. The paint splattered across V's back is proof enough of who won this round.

"That's it then. This round goes to me." He says it like he's commenting on the weather, not like he just outmaneuvered the most dangerous man in Kkangpae.

There's something almost boring about how he announces his win—no gloating, no pride, just checking another box on whatever mental list he keeps in that pretty head of his.

His eyes flick back to you. "Time to get you to the infirmary—"

"Let's not pretend you've suddenly gone soft, Jeon." V cuts him off, setting down his gun with this little head tilt that somehow manages to be both playful and threatening. 

"Oh, please." The disdain in Jeon's voice is too evident. "She just needs to get her ankle checked, and it's not like she can walk there."

V steps closer, moonlight painting him silver. There's something otherworldly about him now—like some fairy tale creature that lures people into trouble with a smile.

"I'll take her to medical myself." His voice drips honey-sweet mockery. "Sounds more fun than whatever boring escort you had planned."

You watch Jeon consider this, weighing something in his head. After what feels like forever, he just... shrugs. Like he couldn't care less what happens to you.

"Sure." His voice is pure ice. "She's your problem now."

Then he just... walks away. No backward glance, no hint that he gives a single shit about leaving you with someone who literally had a gun to your head five minutes ago. The winds that seem to surround him dissipate with each step he takes, leaving you feeling weirdly hollow.

V turns to you with that signature grin of his—the one that's equal parts charming and concerning. He offers his hand with exaggerated gallantry, like some twisted prince charming.

He then scoops you up, bridal style of course because that's V for you, and you can't help but notice he's stronger than he looks. The transition from ground to air is smooth despite your resistance, but what choice do you have? Crawl to the castle?

Your eyes find Jeon one last time as V starts walking. Something in your chest twists when you realize he's not even looking back. You hate that you wanted him to fight this, to show something about handing you over to V. Your twisted ankle is his fault, after all.

But his face might as well be carved from stone. If he feels anything about this situation, he's buried it so deep even his hurricane can't dig it up.

next | index

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[papabirdurskeks]

Precursor Fashion Pt. 4 is finally done!

(Parts 1 , 2, and 3 can be found here, here and here)

This time I focused more on the adults rather than the children as they will have their own post for later! But here we are, mostly focusing on the Golden Age and Post Traveler Era as these two tend to have the more subtle differences and such! Each pictures have a bit of info in regard to these styles and color choices as well but there is more under the read more!

Starting with the highest of Ranks, The Bajari and Nitanyo: -The Bajari's colors are of a deep green blue, in resemblance of the First Mother and Bajari as it was his favorite color. This is usually the color of all royals within the family, especially direct relatives of the Bajari. Their clothing is almost always the same with each successor that takes on the roll, mirroring the very first Bajari with a few minor changes to personal preferences. Heavy use of precious stones and silvers indicate the importance of rank as well as indicating the wealth they have.

-The Nitanyo (Co-Ruler) is given the colors of deep purple. These are the only individuals who wear this color within Precursor society and rank. This color signifies the status of co-rulership as well as devotion and loyalty to the Bajari (their spouse). Their clothing isn't nearly as elaborate as the Bajari's but signifies the same form of status of royalty given when the bond was formed in marriage. Their clothing also stays the same with each successor that takes on the role with minor changes in details. They bear the same heavy use of silvers and precious stones, but not quite as much as their spouse.

Nitayno's aid the Bajari in leading the people while also giving the most advice and counsel in terms of decisions. Should the Bajari be unable to rule and take a leave of absence, the Nitanyo takes over until they are able to do so.

Next is the remainder of the Royal family (direct family of the Bajari):

-Much like the Bajari they too wear the same deep green blue colors as their ruler to show they are both of the royal bloodline but also direct family members of said individual. Their clothing is just as elaborate as it is intricate and put together, resembling their status among the people while also distinguishing their ranks from the Bajari themselves. They were the same precious stones and silvers and are almost covered entirely from head to toe with barely much of their faces showing.

Members of this part of the family are often involved in political ties through marriages and other important sects delving into the Military, Religion, Economy, and Medicine.

Next rank is the direct family of the Nitanyo:

-These members of the family are easily distinguished by the red coloring assigned to them. These are individuals who are of direct family ties with the Nitanyo and are often involved as politicians and ambassadors when it comes to political work.

Though not considered as true royals, they do gain some of the benefits the status by being able to wear high amounts of silvers and a few of the precious stones reserved mostly for the royal family. However, the use of these precious stones is very minor during the Post-Traveler Era. Headcovers usually seen in the latter as well as in the Golden Age there wasn't much of a use for them in terms of protection. But with times changing and dangers becoming more present, the use of headcovers have come back into style to avoid any sorts of damage to their tendrils. However, some of them do style a portion of their tendrils to leave out as a stylistic choice.

Next rank comes the Nobility class:

-These individuals are marked by their blue colors in their clothing and fancy clothing. While elaborate and heavy robes are worn, how they are styled is entirely dependent on the individual. They utilize a lot of silver for jewelry to further distinguish their ranks from the common folks. Precious stones were once a standard sign of their wealth back in the Golden Age Era but now it has defaulted to silvers as such stones are no longer in use for this rank due to their rarity. However, even some do not use them as it is entirely on personal preference. Headcovers were also optional during the Golden Age but soon fell into favor into the Post-Traveler Era for both decorative means and protection.

These individuals are often found working in smaller roles of politics as aids and archivists while others busy themselves with architect roles, business ownership, manufacturing, maintaining shipping and trade routes, navigation, teaching, medicine, and military.

And lastly the rank of the common folk:

-Here, these individuals do not have a specific color assigned to them. Instead, they wear the uniform colors of blacks and grays with a variety of decorative robes that are simple but beautifully crafted from person to person. While they do wear jewelry, it is not as heavily used or bothered with. Instead, most of them tend to use it only for a decorative means if they so wish to. Headcovers tend to be optional between the Eras but are more favored in the Post Traveler Era for protection purposes. Their clothing is often used to accommodate their work to make it less of a hassle to move around.

These individuals are often those who work within hard labor jobs such as construction, maintenance of heavy machinery and construction, sanitation, farming and gathering, travel maintenance, some teaching and medicine, and care taking.

Another few parts will come for some other roles and such, but much later! Hope you all like these silly headcanons ^^

[grimesve1l]

When Rafe met Barry's cousin from the mainland

Summary: Barry and Rafe gets a suprise visit from Barry's favorite cousin

Warnings: Drug use, swearing, mentions of weapons, and a lil suggestiveness?

Rafe and Barry were discussing prices and doing lines when they heard a car pull in Barry's drive way. "You expecting someone?" Rafe asks. "Nah, I don't know who the hell just pulled up but ima find out." Barry goes outside while Rafe waits. "Well shit you could've at least told me you were coming." Rafe hears Barry tell the stranger.

"I didn't wanna ruin the suprise" he hears a female voice reply. Barry comes back inside with a girl he didn't recognize following after him. "Y/n this is Rafe, Rafe my favorite cousin, Y/n." Barry says introducing the two. "Sup" Rafe says barely looking up from the line he was making. He takes a hundred dollar bill and snorts the line before turning to look at Y/n.

"Damn Barry if I knew you were hanging out with cute frat boys I would've dressed more like a sorority chick." Y/n says sitting next to Rafe. "What do you know about sororities. Your ass didn't even go to college." Barry responds. "Neither did you asshole" Y/n retorts. She turns to Rafe and asks "So what are doing with my cousin cause this doesn't really look like your scene?"

"Just uh business." Rafe replies "Oh business. Okay." Y/n replies while nodding. "Well you two have got yourselves another partner." she says putting her hand on Rafes shoulder. "Wait what?" he replies. "Oh nah." Barry butts in "Look you can stay here with me all you want but you're not getting involved with this shit." he says motioning to the coke, money and guns lying around the room.

"Why the hell not? It's not like I wasn't involved with this kinda stuff back home." Y/n replies. " That's back on the mainland. Here you're gonna get your shit straight alright. You're not gonna be like me." "What I am gonna do then." Aye country club won't you just complaining about how the cart girls at the country club can't do their job right?" Barry asks Rafe. "Yeah always mixing up the wrong drinks and shit." Rafe replies.

"Perfect looks like you have a job" Barry says pointing to Y/n "and you have a new cart girl" pointing toward Rafe. "A country club seriously?" Y/n asks. "I don't know why your complaining guys like Rafe secretly love your whole weird poor girl vibe i'm sure you'll make bank." Barry points out. "Whatever" Y/n replies while sitting back on the couch. Barry's phone begins to ring. " I gotta take this. Don't do nothing stupid while i'm gone." he says while leaving room.

"So Rafe you gonna show me around your country club?" Y/n asks pulling her legs up on to the couch and turning to face him. "Maybe." he replies. "Maybe? What you scared to take a girl like me up there around all your preppy friends?" she jokes as she lights up a cigarette. "Nah but if you want you could come to a party i'm having tomorrow. See what kinda people will be at the country club."

"Is this your way of asking me to come over to your place?" she asks while blowing out her lips. "I guess so." he replies while laughing and putting his hands behind his head. Like this Y/n could see how big Rafes biceps were. She leaned over to touch one "I look forward to it then." She says looking him in the eyes while giving him a mischievous smile. He looks up at her and smirks "Yea?" "Yea." she replies while leaning in closer.

Right before their lips could touch Barry came back. "Aye man what did I just say?" Rafe jumps as Y/n sits back in her spot. "Seriously Barry?" Y/n groans. "What do you mean "seriously" y'all were about hookup up on my couch!" "I was only gonna make out with him geez Barry. I'll remember that when you bring a girl back here." Y/n says standing up. "Whatever i'm tired. Ima go to bed" she says.

"But first gimme your phone" she says to Rafe. He does so instantly and she puts her number in with the contact "y/n<3". "Call me alright?" "Yeah" Rafe replies. "Okay goodnight boys" she says as she disappears down the hall. "Man why didn't you tell me about her sooner?" Rafe asks once he knows Y/n can't hear. "For this exact reason. She's already got you pussy whipped and y'all ain't even kissed yet." Rafe just sat back in the couch with a smile wondering what would happen the next time they saw each other.

A/n: i think i'm gonna make this into a series cuz i'm already thinking about where else i can take this so hope y'all enjoyed cuz there's fs gonna be more!!

[rvmanoffbarnes]

Steal my girl || (Eddie Munson x reader x Bob Floyd) Crossover.

Summary: It was impossible not to fall for the charms of the sweet and kind Y/N. Eddie and Bob knew that very well. And they would do anything to win her heart.

《tags: fluff, angst, Bob being a sweetheart, Eddie being an idiot, physical fight》

This is dedidacted to @hahahafucku 🌟💌

As soon as I read the idea you asked me for, I got excited and had to start writing it right away. Joseph and Lewis are my favorites, and it would be interesting to see them interact in a movie or project.....maybe Avengers: Doomsday???

So here you go.... i hope you like it!!!

The bar was packed that Friday night. Y/N went from one place to another to take people's drink orders, then clean the bar table and repeat this process. Over and over again. It was exhausted, but she needed the money to pay the rent for the place she called home.

The sound of people talking was camouflaged by the band that was playing on the bar's small stage. Corrored Coffin. They used to play on the weekends and a lot of people went to see them. Y/N stayed out of it, since the job required that her attention be on the clients and that no fights form between them. However, as soon as she met Eddie Munson, she had to divide her attention so she could see him play from time to time.

Y/N looks up from the bar and notices how Eddie plays the guitar with dedication and seems to enjoy it every time. She smiles as soon as she notices how Eddie searches the audience for someone's gaze, and when he finds it he winks, causing the girl who was ordering the glasses to let out a giggle. It was unbelievable how Eddie managed to make the girl feel shy with just one look.

He was so carefree but that didn't mean he didn't take things seriously. His outgoing personality and confidence made the girl feel attracted. Well, that and Eddie's flirting with her.

The first time Eddie came to the bar, they hadn't met. He was so worried about not forgetting the chords that he barely had time to see the girl who was attentively observing the group. Also, after the performance some girls offered him a drink, and like a gentleman, Eddie couldn't say no. After that night, it became a habit for him to play at the bar, have a few drinks, flirt with some girls—and on some occasions, have more fun with them than he should—and go home smiling from ear to ear.

It wasn't until one night when a client got in over his head with the girl who always treated everyone with respect and sweetness, that he found himself in the position to intervene. Eddie didn't hesitate to hit the man who disrespected Y/N on the chin. He knew it could damage his reputation with the bar boss who had offered him and his band the job. But as soon as he looked at her tender smile, it was all worth it.

From that day on, Eddie never left her side. And as the days passed, he fell for the girl's charms. Eddie knew he couldn't hurt her, she was so perfect and he was so.... Eddie. So he only flirted with her as friends and didn't cross the line, even though inside he was dying to call her his girlfriend.

While the band thanked the audience for their good reception at the bar, Y/N was in charge of preparing drinks for the members.

"Thank you very much for listening to us tonight" Eddie thanks into the microphone "We promise it won't be the last time. Good night"

The people applaud and Eddie begins to put the guitar aside, then jumps off the stage and walks among the bodies receiving congratulations until he reaches the bar, where the girl is waiting for him.

"How's my number one fan doing?" Eddie sits on the little stool. He smiles sideways and his flirtatious expression appears in seconds when he is in front of her.

Y/N smiles and hands him his drink.

"Very good. Especially now that I have your attention; every fan's desire," she jokes, letting out a giggle. Eddie likes that sound of hers.

"Obviously you get special treatment" Eddie says grabbing the glass of beer.

She raises an eyebrow at the game between them. "Oh yeah?"

"Of course. I have to say it so you can keep giving me and the boys free beers," he jokes and she playfully slaps his arm.

"Get a room," says Gareth, reaching next to the curly-haired man.

“Hello Gareth,” Y/N greets, handing him her glass.

"Y/N. Will you guys just fucking admit that you're secretly dating?" Eddie hits the back of his head.

"More respect. There is a lady present" Y/N shakes her head in amusement, but feeling shy all of the sudden. The question lingers in the air.

Jeff arrives at the bar and she hands him her glass, to which he thanks her.

"You guys are incredible," she mentions. She walks away from the bar and Eddie frowns slightly.

"Where are you going?" He follows her with his eyes like a lost puppy.

"I have to serve the table over there" she points and Eddie realizes that it is the flight pilots' table "But i'm going to finish my shift after this table. I'll be back"

He takes her hand before she continues and she looks at him.

"Promise?"

"I promise, Munson."

Don't misunderstand him. There was nothing wrong with Y/N ​​doing her job. Not at all.

But he knew who was at that table.

The boy with glasses who seemed to get nervous every time Y/N approached the table, while his friends teased him until the tips of his ears turned red. Eddie frowned slightly as he stood erect as the girl—his girl in his imagination—came with a smile to serve them. To the boy who always clumsily tried to conquer her as best he could, although he always became a sea of ​​nerves. The boy who always offered to help her clean the tables when she was about to close. The boy who kept looking at her as if she were hanging the stars in the sky.... Eddie agreed with him on that.

That boy's name was Bob Floyd.

Bob was nervous.

It was the fifth time he had come this month and he had never managed to keep up the conversation with Y/N. His nerves got the best of him as the girl smiled at him when asking for her order, although by now she already knew it by heart: peanuts and a beer. His friends made fun of sweet Bob who could barely keep his gaze on her for more than 5 seconds. He was already tired of being a spectator of her beauty and charm, so tonight he would try to make a move.

He would ask her how her night was.

Jake is the first to elbow his arm to alert Bob of her arrival at their table. He stands up straight and a sideways smile spreads across his face, adjusting his glasses.

"Hey guys. How have you been?" she asks with a smile.

The boys knew about Bob's crush on the girl, so they never tried to flirt with her out of respect for him. Maybe the first time they came to the bar they made comments to the girl that made her blush, but seeing Bob's frozen state when he saw the girl, they decided to stop. They had never seen him that way, despite his innate shyness with girls. This time was different for him.

“Hey Y/N, did you miss us?” Bradley asks with an amused tone.

She nods her head, humoring him.

"The place doesn't feel the same without you here" she jokes.

"Ow, she misses us. We need to come more often," Jake mentions. He turns to look at Bob who is trying to work up the courage to finally talk to him. The blonde decides to help him "Right, Bob?"

Bob feels in the spotlight, so he shakes his head to affirm it.

"Yeah, yeah. We should come back here more often. Absolutely," he says hurriedly. She smiles tenderly at him "Hello Y/N."

"Hi, Bob"

The others look at each other and shake their heads. Bradley motions to leave them alone.

"Oh, look the pool table is free" he starts to stand up.

"Oh, come on. I haven't played a game in a while," Phoenix points out.

Bob becomes alarmed suddenly.

"Y/N, do you mind if we play while you bring us drinks? I'm sure Bob can help you and chat with you for a bit," Jake mentions, winking at the one who turns red.

"It's okay. No problem," she says and then looks at Bob. "You don't have to help me, I can bring them in a moment. It's my job after all."

Bob swallows and shakes his head, immediately getting up from his seat.

"I would love to be with you," he widens his eyes at the error of his words. "I mean... I would love to be with you... to help you with the drinks. Yeah, that..."

Y/N laughs and bites her cheek seeing how he gets. "I would love for you to help me. Come with me".

He follows her like his life depends on it. Y/N stops at the bar and begins to prepare the glasses with Bob watching her from across the counter. Eddie is just a few steps away from them, carefully observing the scene before his eyes.

“How was your night, Y/N?” he dares to ask.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. The good thing is that I haven't come across any idiots who want to take advantage or any liquid of strange origin that I have to clean up," she jokes with the last bit. Bob laughs with her.

"If someone is bothering you... I can take care of them" Bob says adjusting his glasses.

"I know, Bobby. I'm counting on you for it," she admits.

Y/N was confused by those little actions Bob did for her. She thought the boy in the uniform and brown hair was handsome and sweet. She could see how difficult it was for him to leave his comfort zone, but she still found him charming. Sometimes the girl was confused by his presence, but at the end of the day she always thought back to the boy with the unruly curls a couple of meters near them. Eddie Munson. Y/N was trying to stay out of the situation, because she was suspecting that Bob might have feelings for her. She didn't want to cause him any confusion or wrong idea that could hurt him, if she wasn't already clear with her own feelings for both boys.

“Y/N?” Bob asks her.

She looks up as she finishes with the glasses.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Bob. What's up?"

Before he can ask the question, a guy vomits on the ground a few feet away from them. Y/N makes a face and excuses herself to him to go clean up the mess, but not before telling him that the beers are ready for him and his group of friends. Bob sighs and begins to take the beer mugs as best he can.

"Hey" Bob turns to see a boy with curly hair come to his side. He adjusts his glasses.

"Hey"

"Is your name Bob?" He nods.

"Yes. And you are...?"

"Someone asking you what your intentions are with Y/N." Bob frowns and is surprised by the boy's behavior.

He had seen him a couple of times playing with his band and talking to Y/N.

"Sorry. I don't understand you," Bob tells him.

Eddie just laughs and raises his hands.

"I'm just asking, buddy," he mentions, "Y/N is my friend and I don't want anyone to hurt her. That's all."

Bob is not intimidated by him and clears his throat. "The last thing I want is to hurt her," Bob finishes before leaving with his beer mugs.

Eddie watches him leave, an uncomfortable feeling invading his being.

Y/N finishes her shift and prepares to join Eddie. She had promised him that she would return to him as soon as her shift was over. She applies lip balm and fixes her hair a little, hoping he'll make a move to let her know if he feels the same way. Some clue or indication that would help her understand that. She felt the tension between them, but she didn't want to get crazy ideas if it didn't turn out to be what she thought it was.

In the books she used to read, it always turned out that the boy flirtatiously teasing the girl was because he felt things. Y/N wanted to check it out that night. When she came out of the bathroom, she looked for Eddie. She smiled to herself as she approached the boy in the leather jacket, but seeing him chatting with a girl and as he held her waist with his arm, the girl stopped a few steps away from him.

Y/N puts her lips in a straight line and doesn't know whether or not to touch his shoulder to let him know she's ready. Eddie senses her presence and turns his body, but without letting go of the girl from his waist.

"Oh, hello. Everything okay?" Eddie asks almost nonchalantly. Y/N nods her head and smiles shyly.

"Yes, I just wanted to let you know that my shift is over" she explains, playing with her fingers.

Eddie opens his eyes feigning surprise.

"Oh, right. You see we were going to get together when you finished" he says and Y/N glances sideways at the girl who caresses the boy's disheveled hair "Would you mind letting me cancel it? I just met Rachel and we're enjoying it"

"Rebeca" the girl corrects.

"Rebeca" Eddie clarifies "I'm sorry"

Y/N feels a weight on her heart and tries to camouflage it with a small, heartless laugh. Eddie looks different, like he's not himself, which leaves the girl confused.

"Um... yeah, totally" Y/N feels her voice break for a moment.

"I'll leave you to continue having fun. See you around, Eddie." She turns on her heel and walks away from both of them as quickly as possible. Eddie notices how her gaze falls and he hates himself for it.

That stupid jealousy he felt made him do stupid things.

On the other hand, Y/N walks past the pilots' table, being watched by most of them, especially Bob. Who never took his eyes off her and witnessed how the girl who frequently invaded her thoughts was hurt by the boy with whom he had exchanged words a few moments ago. The boy with glasses clenches his jaw and rushes to follow the girl of his dreams.

Y/N leaves the bar and takes a deep breath as she walks away from the noise. She doesn't want anyone to see her cry, the mere fact of crying in public embarrasses her, so she goes to an area where the light can't find her. Except, Bob catches up with her.

“Y/N” Bob says as the girl turns her back to him. She hurries to dry her tears and lets out a small laugh, without turning around.

"Bob, what are you doing here?" she asks.

"Y/N. Look at me" he asks her.

"I'm fine, it's just that... the conditioning was almost on maximum and it gave me a cold" she lies.

“Y/N,” he says, his tone more firm.

She swallows and slowly turns around to look at him. Bob frowns slightly when he sees her in that state, he doesn't like it.

"I'm fine," she lies.

Bob shakes his head and hugs her in his arms. She lets herself be hugged and cries. She hides her face in the boy's chest and tries to prevent her tears from wetting his uniform. Bob strokes her hair in a gentle movement, while his other hand hugs her from behind. He didn't expect his night and his attempt to get closer to her to end like this. He had never seen her cry, and he hated that she did. Especially since a curly boy turns out to be the cause of it.

"I'm here. Cry all you need to cry, darling" he rocks her in his arms.

"But I'll wet your uniform," she laughs lightly.

He imitates her, but he doesn't really care.

"It's the least I could care about right now," he pulls away from her and cups her cheek, wiping away the trail of her tears with his thumb.

She sniffles and lowers her gaze. Bob lifts her chin and combs a strand of hair that falls across her forehead.

"You still look pretty" She smiles slightly. Their moment is interrupted by a boy's voice. Eddie Munson.

"Leave her. Now" Bob turns around and puts Y/N behind his body.

Suddenly, his companions and the members of Eddie's band chase him. Eddie stands at the height of the brunette blonde and tenses his jaw.

"You should go. She doesn't need any more trouble from you," Bob says firmly.

"Guys..." Y/N tries to say.

"I see what you're doing. You're trying to play the hero so she can finally see you through different eyes." Eddie scoffs. "Face it, Bob. That's not going to happen while I'm here."

Bob laughs unamusedly. His companions try to stop him, but he does not allow himself to be intimidated. Not now.

"Yeah, right. Meanwhile you give her false hope and flirt with another girl, leaving her crying." Bob intervenes. "You should focus on what you do instead. Because, honestly, you'll only hurt her."

Eddie can't take it anymore and throws the first blow. Bob receives it, but does not stop and fights back. Y/N tries to separate them with the help of the others.

"Guys, stop it!" The girl exclaims.

Jeff and Gareth take it upon themselves to separate Eddie and arrest him. Jake holds Bob so that the fight does not continue and does not escalate, while the girl proceeds to intertwine their fingers to make him stop. Y/N feels guilty and all she wants to do is run away from there. Eddie's breathing is labored by the adrenaline of the moment and his gaze falls to Bob and Y/N's intertwined hands. He feels his chest tighten and looks back at Y/N, who looks at him with disappointment.

“Y/N, I…” Eddie begins.

She shakes her head.

"Save it, Eddie. I can't go on with this," he admits, and feels the verbal vomit coming.

"I don't want you to get hurt," Eddie says.

She lets out a humorless laugh. "But you can do it, right?" She fights back

"It's my problem if I get hurt. I'm a grown woman and if I screw up, fine, I learn from it."

"Don't screw it up with him, then," Eddie admits. He wants to confess what he feels, but that little voice in his head prevents him from doing so.

She shakes her head, puzzled.

"It's true that we both have that flirting game. But I've always given you to understand that I have feelings for you," she admits and Bob next to her lowers his gaze.

"Unlike you, who confuse me with your dates and the trouble you get into with the girls you meet at the bar." The rest remain silent and not knowing whether to intervene or not. "Yes, maybe I'm attracted to Bob too. But I've always stayed away so in that way i don't hurt him or you."

Y/N lets out a sigh and bites her bottom lip. "I can't stay here," she says and lets go of Bob's hand to walk away from the place. Leaving Eddie deep in thought and Bob trailing behind her.

It's been a week since the incident outside the bar. She talked to her boss to see if she could use her days off and stay out of the bar for a while until she cleared her head. He understood her and accepted her without reproach. Y/N was sitting on the porch of her house looking at the starry night. Her emotions were getting the better of her, so she needed a way to distract herself.

Eddie had called her, texted her, and tried to visit, but she wasn't ready to face him, even though she knew she would have to at some point. Not now.

Suddenly he sees a car approaching and frowns because he can't see who it is. The car stops and the brunette gets out, adjusting his glasses in the process. She gets up and watches as he approaches slowly but surely.

“Hello,” Bob greets.

"Hey," she frowns when she sees him approaching.

"How did you know where I live?"

"Clark"

Her boss gave him the address.

She laughs softly and looks down, holding the blanket over her shoulders.

“Bob, I…”

“Y/N, I like you,” he admits. And before she can answer him, he continues, "I know it's a bad time to tell you after everything that happened, but I needed to confess. I've liked you ever since you helped me clean up the mess I made with the peanuts that night at the bar." She remains silent, waiting for him to continue. "You captivated me when you were the first girl who remembered my name every time I went out with the boys somewhere" he adds "But I fell in love with you when I knew I didn't want to stop seeing you. When every time I asked the boys when we would be back to the bar, because you were the only thing that motivated me to go. Just to see you."

Y/N sighs and smiles while her eyes watered.

"I couldn't keep it to myself anymore, I needed you to know, even though I know now is not a good time" Bob says "I'm not expecting you to feel the same, but if that's the case, only if that's the case... I can wait whatever it takes for me to have the honor of calling you mine."

She bites her lip, feeling her heart race.

"The last thing I want to do is put pressure on you so..." Bob is interrupted by her lips.

Bob can swear he's going to melt when he feels her soft lips on his. He hugs her with his arms around her waist and she clings to his jacket, feeling the blanket fall at her feet. They're suddenly out of breath, so Y/N pulls away with a smile on her face. Bob pouts and chases after her lips, but she stops him.

"I like you too, Bob," she admits. He smiles "I would like to try it with you. But slowly, so we can enjoy every moment of this"

He nods quickly.

"As you wish, darling." She laughs shyly.

Bob purses her lips into a pout. "For now, can we continue kissing for a little while longer, if that's okay?" he says into her lips, closing the distance.

"Of course"

They both kiss while the stars witness the beginning of this love story.

Hey! I hope you enjoyed it.

Honestly, this was one of my favorites one shots so far. I love Lewis as Bob and Joseph as Eddie, so when you ask this request I started writing it right away.

Eddie was a little mean here, but we all know he's a sweetheart.

If you like it, tell me what u think in the comments.

Thank you <3333