#i did not take any of those claims seriously before but i take them even less seriously now after what happened to Zerum and NoLongerNull | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inkedtae · 2 months ago

Text

between roar and whisper ⇾ bgc. [M]

⎡ Your passion for him toggles between a roar and whisper. He’s not satisfied until your eyes roll. ⎤

⌁ pairing; slytherin!chan x gryffindor!reader (f.)

⌁ genre; hogwarts au, pwp, e2l, some angst, smut, 18+

⌁ word count; 9.4k

⌁ summary; the princess of gryffindor has no business lurking around the dungeons, other than to destroy the demon of slytherin that is… or so she thought…

⌁ warnings; mentions and brief depictions of an abusive relationship, mentions of alcohol, dom!chan, brat!reader (reader is thicc), infidelity, sir kink, size kink, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, rough sex, bondage, humiliation, overstimulation, degradation, dirty talk, clit worship, fingering, choking, light rimming, squirting, gagging, spanking, tit slapping, cum play, spit play, anal play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

» prefer ao3? keep reading here

» a huge thanks to jen ( @itaeewon ) for making this amazing banner for me, and my amazing beta-readers, who i owe a million hugs to for making this fic readable, jen ( @anobodyslove ), stardust ( @skzdust ), and nephele ( @jisungchan )

⟶ please note that, despite still attending Hogwarts, all characters are of consenting age

Lumos.

The tip of your sycamore wand glows against the dungeon walls. It smells of murky roses and still saltwater. Your face scrunches in disgust as the bitter notions settle upon your tongue. You resist the urge to gag, walking down the long corridor. You duck under hanging cobwebs and try to ignore the scurry of rats along the edge of the stone floors.

Did he guide you down hidden tunnels as some sick joke?

“Meet me by the prefect’s lavatories around midnight,” he’d said, tonguing his cheek and raking his gaze over your frame.“We’ll discuss a truce then.”

You’re not interested in a truce. You just need to obtain proof of his misconduct and abuse of power. After tonight, the Headmistress will think twice about dismissing your accusations of cheating and bribery. Maybe, she’ll stop turning away your owls as well. You’re not certain you can stomach the humiliation of receiving another returned letter in the middle of the crowded common room.

It all ends tonight.

The lying, the cheating, the complete disregard for anyone but himself— you’re tired of it. You just want to experience one day without students nagging you in the common room or great hall or even during class about his destructive behaviour. Despite telling the students countless times to approach the prefects and head-pupils, the responsibility always gets tossed back to you. The prefects claim they can’t risk their positions by making serious accusations against a fellow member of their staff.

“You’re the only one with a credible enough reputation to be taken seriously,” Nayeon, the head-girl, once told you.

You might just scream at the next person who says that to you.

The end of the corridor presents a ladder. As you are about to take hold of the wood, a black, fury insect makes itself known. You slightly squeal at the sight, jump back.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you mutter before flicking your wand to magically shake the spider, and any other crawling critters, off. Begrudgingly, you begin your ascent up the ladder.

Alohomora.

The latch unlocks. You grunt, pushing open the door. It falls onto the floor with a loud thump. You freeze, shoulders to your ears, hoping no one has heard. When only silence replies, you climb through with a soft grunt. Kicking the door shut, you brush off your clothes and resist the urge to shudder at the thought of one of those bugs finding themselves on you.

“You can just take those off,” a deep voice says, tone dripping in arrogance.“You won’t need them in here.”

Moonlight seeps through stain-glass windows, cascading upon an all too handsome face. However, the room is primarily illuminated by a warm glow of candles levitating above. Under the orangish flicker of the lights, he sits in a grand foam-topped bath. His wet hair is slicked back, eyes dancing with mischief as he tilts his head to observe you. You swallow thickly at the sight of his bare chest and those strong arms, leaning back against the rim of the porcelain green tub.

Vermilion vanilla and smoked sandalwood saturate the room, emerging from bubbles that float out of the foam and burst around you. The sweet taste is on the tip of your tongue. Intoxicating your senses, the scent ripples into your subconscious, unravelling a memory from Potions class weeks ago.

Professor Hylithe purposely paired Gryffindors with Slytherins, forcing you to sit by him despite your many protests.

He flashed that same smirk, cocked that same brow and teased, “I won’t bite,” only to lean in and whisper, “unless you ask nicely.”

The moment he inched closer that musky vanilla scent invaded your senses. Your eyes watered; breath almost hitched as you held it. Still, you didn’t want to exhale it too soon, wishing to inject it into your bloodstream.

The same urge tugs at your senses now, electrifying your nerves with a desire to lean into his masculine scent of comfort and stability.

“Don’t be shy,” he goads, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You roll your eyes. “Get your ass out here, Bahng.”

“I'd rather bang in here.”

You can tell by the smirk playing on his lips he’s proud of himself. You fight off a chuckle, sucking in your cheeks.

“You picked now to bathe?” you ask as you climb up the steps of the bath.

He shrugs, averting his gaze to twirl his fingers between the bubbles. “It’s hard to find the time when I’m constantly being summoned to the Headmistress’s office.”

So, she has been getting your owls. You try to mask your relief, crossing your arms over your chest. His attention lingers on the gesture. You knew there was an ulterior motive to his sudden talks of peace. If you continue to expose his impropriety, he might be revoked of his prefect privileges.

“Maybe if you stopped being an ass and started following the rules, instead of bending them for your cockroach friends and girls you’d like to bed, you would be able to fit whatever you want in your schedule.”

He smirks. “Am I sensing a hint of jealousy?”

You mock his smile. “I have a boyfriend.”

Rolling his shoulders back, he breathes a humourless chuckle. “Right, what was his name again? Jake?”

“Jim.”

“Whatever,” he hisses. “Hell of a quidditch player.”

You tentatively nod.

“Heard he has a tendency to be a beater off the field as well.”

Shifting your weight, you shake your head. “Are you unfamiliar with the concept of a rumour, Bahng?”

“That’s not exactly denial, is it?”

Lips dry, you take a moment to lick them and swallow thickly.

No one understands Jim— no one tries to, anyway. He’s thoughtful when it counts and nearly always caring. He’s just protective of those he cherishes. He allows you permission to hang out with your friends because he wants to ensure that you’ll be safe no matter where you are. And you like it when your boyfriend has input on your clothes. You’re so used to wearing a uniform, sometimes you forget how a proper woman is supposed to dress— that’s what Jim tells you. He is always here to remind you because he cares. He made that very clear himself.

Yes, maybe sometimes he becomes so passionate he cannot think straight, but it’s not intentional. He’s filled with so many emotions, it’s hard to contain them all at once. Besides, he always makes it up to you, showering you with cuddles, kisses, and your favourite chocolate frogs. He’s completely capable of being a gentleman.

“He just has a temper,” you reply, voice quavering. You clear your throat before adding, “I’ve heard that you do as well. Aren’t you dubbed the Demon of Slytherin?”

A smile tugs on his full lips at the mention of the title. “Not with the people I care about,” he clarifies.

“Well, look at that,” you tease. “I didn’t think you cared about anyone other than yourself.”

He thumbs the corner of his mouth, tongue poking against his bottom lip. “Come in and I’ll enlighten you a bit more.”

You raise an unimpressed brow. “We’re here for peace-talks,” you remind.

“And I’m not talking until you get in here.”

He can’t be serious.

You scoff, glaring. That usual smirk is nowhere to be seen. He maintains your gaze, expressionless. The only movement is the constant clenching and unclenching of his jaw as he waits.

“I can look away if you’d like,” he taunts, the lightest impression of a smile on his lips.

He really isn’t serious, you realise. He’s only toying with you, mocking your known tendencies to be a straight-edged, highly academic student. He thinks you’re some prudent angel who condemns all excitement and never dares to laugh out loud in public.

Gritting your teeth, you grab onto the hem of your sweater and pull it over your head. The way his brows shoot up only fuels your defiance. With every button you undo, his jaw loosens a bit more. You watch his throat bob at the sight of your satin pink bra and hear his breath hitch when you pull it off.

His dazed gaze follows your hands around the zipper of your short, pleated skirt. A part of you wishes you had matched your panties with your bra solely for the sake of consistency, but the baby-blue cotton will have to do.

He roams his eyes over your curves as you flick off your shoes and socks before meeting yours once more. You gather your hair, inhaling and exhaling slowly under his careful watch, and tie it back into a sloppy but tight bun. Big, brown, and once boastful, his eyes now swim with notions of marvelled intrigue.

As you take a step into the bath, you notice he neatly folded his clothes on the edge of the tub, flicking your attention between him and his precious clothes. Then, you hold his gaze, plaster your sweetest smile, and push them into the water.

He raises his brows, about to object when you say, “That’s for being a pompous ass.”

He tries to hide his smile with a bite of his lip.

Your knees wobble as you continue to wade through water and foam. Perhaps it’s the warmth of the bath, or the cover of bubbles, but the reality of the situation has finally dawned on you. Shedding your garments one by one, you have stripped your inhibitions in front of the most cunning douchebag you’ve ever been blessed to meet. What if he tells his friends? What if he embellishes the events and turns you into a conquest?

What if Jim finds out?

“What happens here stays between us,” he suddenly announces, as if reading your mind. “Not even the ghosts will know.”

“How can I be sure?”

“I’m not uncivilised, princess,” he smirks. “I have my honour.”

You pause, waiting for the glint in his eyes that often follows the delivery of his vicious jokes. Instead, sincerity swirls in those brown eyes. You wonder if perhaps you’re a fool because you believe him.

You take a seat to his left, maintaining a more-than-respectable distance. Collecting extra clusters of bubbles, you arrange them before your full chest. You’ve made your point, you tell yourself. And he’s seen far more than Jim ever has— both must never know.

“I can’t hear you from there.”

“You can hear me just fine.”

“What?”

You lean your head back with an exasperated sigh. “Merlin give me strength,” you mutter before inching a bit closer.

He tsks, beckoning you towards him with a curl of his fingers.

You comply, drawing nearer and nearer. When he continues to summon you closer, even at an arm’s length away, you lightly splash him.

“This is close enough,” you spit.

From the way he smiles, you realise he was trying to see how close he could get you. Jaw tight, you shake your head.

“Can you be serious for two minutes?” you ask, voice sharp. “We shouldn’t even be up this late. We have a Transfigurations quiz tomorrow.”

Confusion furrows his brows. “No, we don’t.”

You try not to smile at the way he speaks, accent thickest when he’s perplexed.

“Every second Thursday at nine, we get a pop quiz on the last two chapters,” you explain. “If you paid attention to anyone but yourself, you’d know that.”

“I don’t think anyone but you knows that,” he replies through a chuckle.

He can see the pride flash in your eyes, spreading onto your lips through a little smile— you know he can. He mirrors the expression, and you expected it to be another instance of mockery. However, upon the absence of that mischievous glint in his eye, you’re inclined to believe that he might actually mean it.

Is he proud of you for being so observant, so keen?

You hold your breath as he reaches over to move a strand of hair from your face. He tucks it behind your ear, then gently traces your jaw. You gulp a nervous lump down your throat.

Holding your chin between the edge of his finger and thumb, he quietly asks, “You want to be serious?”

You slowly nod.

“Tell me why the Princess of Gryffindor is dating a leach.”

“Why do you care?”

“Satisfy my curiosity.”

Why is the thought of satisfying him not completely revolting?

He’s a liar, a charming hustler. He has, somehow, slithered his way into everyone’s good graces, always getting what he wants, when he wants it. He gives absolutely no thought to the regulations either, sneaking his way around every rule and blaming it all on your fellow Gryffindors. It’s infuriating. You’re much more witty, much quicker than him. You’re a better quidditch player too, and, if he hadn’t manipulated Madame Hooch into making him the star-player of the season, you would have easily secured that title.

So, why, after all the trouble he has caused you, does the mere mention of his satisfaction exhilarate you?

You move to release yourself from his touch, but he holds you tighter, forcing you to maintain eye contact. Clenching your jaw, you inhale sharply through your nostrils. Your eyes narrow.

He flickers his attention to your scowl, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

You exhale carefully, cautious not to press your mouth against his touch. “Some say being with Jim makes me the princess,” you confess.

He tongues his cheek.

“You don’t agree?”

“When I look at you, all I see is royalty,” he softly says, voice steady and deep. “And I can assure you that has nothing to do with him.”

“I’ve known him forever,” you try again.

He arches a brow. “You’ve known him for a little over a year,” he corrects. “You’ve known me forever.”

He’s right; you really have known him forever. The memory of him on the train on your very first day of school, sitting in the compartment across from yours, resurfaces.

He was just some snot-nosed thirteen year old, supervising his loud friends as they arm wrestled. He caught you staring and winked.

You gagged in disgust.

He’s a flirt, you remind yourself. And you mustn’t forget that there’s a catch to this line of questioning.

You tear yourself out of his grasp, hardening your gaze. “You’re not going to worm your way out of this conversation, Bahng. Tell me what it’s going to take.”

He settles back against the tub, rolling his shoulders. “What’s the point? You’ll never do it.”

You pause, attention flitting down to where the foam gathers by his waist.

Is he… big, you can’t help wondering.

The dark chuckle tumbling from his full lips reminds you of your annoyance. Gulping, you muster your most disgusted sneer and glare at him.

He’s shameless.

“You sicken me,” you spit.

That little chuckle manifests into a full, deep laugh. His pretty eyes twinkle with mischief as he tongues his cheek.“You’re so dirty,” he teasingly chastises.

You don’t mean to shiver, but he shoots you a suggestive look and suddenly you feel hot.

“All you have to do is ask me nicely.”

Brows knitted, you scoff. “I’ve asked you hundreds of times.”

“You’ve demanded,” he corrects. “Besides, I didn’t like your tone.”

You could smack him right now. You could push a wave of water in his face, disorienting him for a moment so he doesn’t see your hand wind back, and hit him upside the head. Clenching your fist, jaw tight, you fight against the urge.

A jeering smirk tugs on the corner of his lips. He’s reaping all too much amusement from your misery.

Inhaling deeply, you swallow your pride and begin, “I was wond—”

“Sir.”

“What?”

“Start with ‘Sir’.”

You scoff.

“You want me to stop, right?” he asks, voice dripping with condescension.

You’ve never been more thankful for the amount of foam floating amongst you. Your thighs press together tightly at his tone, almost quivering under the water’s surface. You don’t think you’d be able to walk away so haughty and moral if he could see just how much his charm could potentially sway you.

“Sir,” you pointedly add, “I was wondering if you would please find it in your poor little excuse of a heart to stop terrorising my housemates?”

He hisses, squinting and tilting his head. “I’m detecting sarcasm.”

“I’m detecting bullshit.”

A look of mocked condemnation colours his face. “Now, now, princess. Didn’t I tell you to ask nicely?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Everyone calls you that.”

“Not like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I belong to you.”

What an interesting reality that would be— calling someone like him your boyfriend. Walking with him to class, letting him hold your books, or play with your hair, or adore the outfits you pick out and practise flying together. The images conjure themselves so clearly in your brain, you could’ve sworn they were memories. Even holding his hand would make your legs weak.

All wicked notions of mockery fade within a blink. There’s a crease between his brows and his eyes narrow, but they are not full of taunting amusement nor unruly mischief. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think they’re full of pity.

“You’re not property to possess,” he affirms, tone disparaging as if the thought is unnatural. “You’re an idol of worship.”

“How blasphemous,” you joke, playing along.

He does not laugh. Sucking in his cheeks, brows furrowed and head shaking, he redirects his gaze to the bubbles in front of him. You watch his jaw flex, throat bob. Even the candles, floating above, dim and cast shadows over his handsome face.

“I’ll see what I can do about keeping Gryffindors out of trouble,” he suddenly concedes, shifting his arms off the edge of the tub for the first time. They disappear under water as he continues, “You’re going to have to warn them against bothering Slytherins though.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

What is that voice?

Usually light, laced with arrogance and mischief, his voice floats like a sweet melody, only to land sharper than a blade. Now it is plagued with melancholia. Slow, raspy, he almost sounds defeated, like he’s given up.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing.”

Your face folds into confusion. Tilting your head, you let out a breathy chuckle. “I have known you forever, Bahng. And I know that you are a man of very pretty words, the prettiest sometimes.”

He casts you a sidelong glance, quirking a brow as a smile hovers over his lips.

You ignore his giant ego and continue, “One word answers are not in your arsenal, unless they’re lethal.”

“Your point?”

“Something is bothering you.”

“Why do you even care?” He sighs, finally meeting your gaze.

You resist a smirk. “Satisfy my curiosity?”

Conceit has no place on his face. A soft smile settles, caressing his features with genuine astonishment. Perhaps it wasn’t what you said, tossing his words back at him. But rather how you said it. Uncertain, perhaps even slightly cheeky, you posed it as a question. Your right shoulder came up to your cheek, and voice slightly pitched.

He lets out a chuckle. Parting his lips, you think he might finally express himself. He shakes his head, looking down instead.

“All this because you promised not to trouble me anymore?”

He shuts his eyes, bites his lip. You hear him inhale sharply, watch him release his lip to glide his tongue over his teeth. His jaw tenses then he meets your gaze. Cold, annoyed, he regards you with scrutiny.

“When have you ever been in trouble because of me?” he asks, voice so level, it makes you tremble. “When your friends were called to the Headmistress’s office two weeks ago, were you asked to join them?”

How the hell does he know about that? The Headmistress reassured Jim and the rest of your friends that the professor who witnessed the drunken broom-rides around the courtyard would not share it with the other pupils. She gave them a month’s worth of detention and praised you for not partaking in their shenanigans.

“Who do you think was on duty that night?” he questions. “Who do you think sent you that signal from the astronomy tower? Who do you think convinced the Headmistress that you were safely tucked in bed, unaware of the fact that your little leach stole your broom?”

The blood drains from your face.

“Do you even know what that toad said when the Headmistress questioned your involvement?”

You shake your head.

“He told her that it was your idea. That you were the one who smuggled the alcohol from some secret passage you found near Honeydukes. He told her that you were the one that woke him up and begged him to come out with you. He cried.” His voice simmers with fury, quiet and steady, as he draws nearer. You press your back against the tub. “He babbled like a baby and dragged your character through the mud.”

You crank your head back to maintain eye contact. You’re careful not to take a full breath, hoping your breasts don’t brush against his chest. However, you swear the tips of your hardened nipples still graze his skin. The possible contact fogs your brain. You blink to force yourself to remain focused, trying to register his words, the implication of betrayal they reveal.

“But he told me—”

“He’s a fucking liar,” he seethes. His gaze bounces around your face, as if suddenly aware of your proximity. Attention lingering on your lips, he confesses, “I’ve shattered reputations to keep you out of trouble. So I have to ask, ____, when have you ever gotten in trouble because of me?”

You part your lips to mention the onslaught of complaints you receive daily due to his insolence, but it all seems meaningless now. Why would someone known as the Demon of Slytherin shatter reputations for you? He doesn’t seem very sentimental, yet he lied for your sake.

Going for a late night fly in the courtyard really was your idea. You had too much coffee one night, trying to stay up long enough to finish your report on the history of alchemy due the next morning. Having finished your scroll earlier than you thought, still buzzing with energy, you suggested a broom race to your friends.

Jim heard you talking about it the next morning, and scolded you for being so thoughtless. He woke you up that night, ordering you and your roommates to get out of bed and join his friends for a race. Your roommates eventually brushed him off, but his grasp on your arm left no room for refusal.

You were made aware of the alcohol, or rather its influence, when you witnessed Monroe fly face-first into the side of the castle.

“I’m going to bed,” you said. You dismounted to hurry inside when Jim caught hold of your robes.

“We’re not done,” he sneered, pulling you towards him. You held your breath, knowing it wouldn’t end well if you reacted to the stench of whisky seeping from his mouth. “Did you leave your little friends out here when you flew with them?”

A bright green flare suddenly shot up from the astronomy tower. Jim loosened his grip to marvel at the sight with his friends.

You took the opportunity to slip away, rushing back to your dorm.

Blinking out of your memories, you watch as he pulls himself away, returning to his previous place in the tub. He sits back against the porcelain, wet arms resting on the edge.

You bite your lip at the sight of his glistening muscles. You’re not sure when he got so big, coming back to school a couple of years ago with broad shoulders and a buff chest.

Leaning his head back, he shuts his eyes and mutters, “Towels are by the steps.”

It’s time to go.

So why can’t you move?

Your legs tremble, wrinkled fingers twisting in your lap. Stand up, you tell yourself. Stand up, dry off, get dressed and leave the way you came.

Why would he lie for you, you can’t stop wondering. Why would he warn you before sending professors to detain your disorderly friends? Wouldn’t he gain more by diminishing your credibility?

This must be one of his games. He’s agreed to a house truce, but perhaps he merely wants to channel his deviant tendencies onto you.

You study his features at the thought. Though his eyes are closed, head still titled back against the edge, his jaw is tight. He grinds his teeth like he’s trying to swallow profanities. You shift your attention to his hands, large and vein-laced. His knuckles are white from how tightly he clenches them.

Could he perhaps be— No! The Demon of Slytherin would find that laughable. Of course, he’s not interested in you. It’s all a game. It must be.

“Why aren’t you leaving?”

You lick your lips. “Why did you lie for me?”

The candles flicker.

“You know why.”

“I really don’t.”

He tongues his cheek. You bite back a shameful moan.

“It’s the same reason why you refuse to say my name.”

You gulp. “Bahng,” you reply only for him to chuckle.

He peeks a sidelong glance at you before laughing some more and shutting his eyes. “You’re cute when you’re in denial.”

“Are you capable of giving me a straight answer?”

“Yes.”

You roll your eyes. He’s really going to make you say it. How did he even know you’ve been avoiding it? Has he been eavesdropping on your conversations with your friends? It’s not as though it means anything serious anyway. You just can’t get used to his name on your tongue. You’ve uttered it once in the Great Hall to one of your friends and hatefully realised that you in fact like how it sounds.

However, that cannot mean that you like him. It just means that you might be inclined to tolerate him as a classmate, or perhaps even an occasional friend. He’s not entirely horrible. He’s never late. He’s never raised his voice at his friends, and you are all too aware of how loud they can be. He has an easy smile. He’s clever. He’s athletic. He would be a dedicated, determined, devoted boyfri—.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

He sits up, rolling his neck. “You’re pretty slow for one of the top students of your year,” he taunts.

You should be insulted, absolutely disgusted that Bahng, the cunning Demon of Slytherin, has a crush on you. You should swear at him, splash him in the face with the foamy water and storm out just as you should have when he asked you to call him ‘sir.’

However, you find that your heart beats faster, breath already ragged. You find that you inch closer, flitting your gaze between his eyes and lips. You find that you do not want to hurl your dinner nor any other insults you usually have locked and loaded when you see him in the halls.

Panic surges through you at the realisation that maybe… maybe you might like him too.

“I have a boyfriend!” you suddenly announce, though you’re not quite sure who you’re trying to remind.

His voice is tempered, gaze knowing as he replies, “I’m not forcing you to stay, princess.”

I have a boyfriend.

“And if I do?” you ask as he scans your features. “Would you tell him?”

I have a boy.

“No one will know,” he repeats.

I have a friend?

“Promise?”

I have… I have…

“I vow to you my honour and dignity.”

You reach for him, finding that he is already moving towards you. Lips latch. A whirlwind of wonder circles from the pit of your stomach, flooding your chest with desire. Febrile, fierce, the force seers his name into your flesh, pumps his breath through your lungs.

Ch-ris, Ch-ris, Ch-ris, your heart beats.

Your tongue fails to keep up with his, swirling and twirling to eventually give into his guidance. You just need him closer, grappling onto his large shoulders. Arching your back, you shove your chest against his.

His hands find their place on your waist. He hugs you against him, his hammering heart beating as one with your own. It’s so natural, so quick, the way your bodies find a rhythm, congruently propelling excitement.

And then it slips, distinct amongst the shared panting, “Chris.”

You feel his hands slide down to your thighs and tighten their grip. Letting out a little squeal, you clutch onto his shoulders as he swiftly lifts you atop the thick edge of the tub.

Chris stands between your legs. A little voice is screaming at you to push him away, but you find yourself leaning back, further spreading yourself for him.

It seems to be all the confirmation he needs to advance. His hands trail up along your thick thighs. He gropes at the flesh, watching your brows furrow and lips quiver. His thumb presses against your clit.

Your legs tremble, water rippling where your feet still dangle beneath the surface.

Chris smirks. He circles the bundle of nerves, eyeing your features as they succumb to the gentle pleasure. Licking your lips, you resist the urge to buckle your hips into his hand, body tensing.

“Yeah,” he coos, rubbing your thigh. “You like that, princess?”

Before you can reply, he dives his head between your legs. His lips latch around your clit, sucking harshly. Your breath hitches, stifling your moans in the base of your throat.

His tongue presses between your folds. The warm, wet sensation itself triggers a whiny moan, but the growl that rumbles from the deep crevices of his chest has you gripping onto his head.

Chris is famished. He laps at your clenching hole, slurping on your desire with vigorous determination. He wraps his arms around the undersides of your full thighs and feasts. He shakes his head with a deep groan. You knew you liked that big nose of his for a reason, moaning loudly as he nuzzles against your clit.

Hips roll into lips. You tremble. His grip tightens as his tongue pushes through. Fingers tangled in his hair, you gasp a moan and pathetically move your body against his face.

Chris pins you in place. He has a pace set, a steady in-and-out rhythm, that does not require any assistance.

It’s brutal.

Fast and rough, he tongues your gushing pussy, further smothering his nose against your bundle of nerves. The ongoing groans he emits do not ease the intensity of his passion, vibrating against your sex.

“Fu-ck,” you choke out, squirming over his tongue.

You think he might drown in you but then he replaces his tongue with rougher fingers. Your arousal glistens over his chin and cheeks under the wavering candlelight. Ardent eyes hold your desperate ones. You have trouble focusing on the emotion flooding his gaze as his fingers curl within you.

You’ve felt your high growing for a while, but have not been so distressed by its presence before this moment. You grip onto the edge, eyes fluttering shut as your hips rush up to meet his fingers.

Chris darkly chuckles. “No, no, no, no, open your eyes, princess,” he coaxes, pace becoming more aggressive. “Look at how well you fuck my fingers.”

Your lip quivers as you focus your attention downward. Your body has a mind of its own, rolling desperately up to his hand. It’s pitiful, really— the avidity, the urgency, the willingness you display at the mere curl of his fingers, pressing the most perfect spot over and over. You haven’t even been able to find it while trying to pleasure yourself. And the couple of times you’ve allowed Jim to attempt to fuck you, you were more eager to finish than to begin.

A weak moan escapes you as you meet Chris’s cocky gaze. You never want this end, shameless in your realisation. You never want him to leave, never want to stop gawking at his handsome features as his fingers unravel your worries.

“C-can,” you start, pussy clenching tightly around his digits. “Can I pl-ease c-cum, sir?”

His eyes darken. Jaw tight, he wraps a hand around your throat.

You meant to gasp, but an embarrassingly erotic moan tears through his hold instead. It spurs him on, his pace becoming unmanageable. The bath around him thrashes from the force of his strong arm.

His fist tightens around your neck. Your needy moans shatter.

“Cum on my fingers, pretty girl,” he whispers.

You must confess that you might have cum whether or not he gave you permission, the urge undeniable. Undone in mere seconds, you throw your head back. Your body quakes, hole clenching sporadically as you gush and gush. Your hips eventually still. Your legs tremble as your orgasm shudders through you. For a second, you feel the room spin. Blood rushes up to your head, disorienting your senses.

“That’s a good girl,” he purrs.

If you’ve been so good, why hasn’t he stopped? His fingers, while slowing down, still maintain a steady force. His hand still grips around your throat, choking all your high pitched whines as your orgasm washes over you.

“C-Chris?” you shakily ask once you sit up again.

A sparkle of sinister satisfaction winks in his gaze.

You swallow thickly, hips shifting to escape the ongoing pleasure. “Chris,” You firmly repeat before releasing the edge of the tub and gripping onto his wrist. “Chris, please.”

Your efforts are useless, his force much stronger than yours.

“Don’t you wanna cum?”

“I d-id,” you whine. “I c-came, sir, please.”

A pleased growl rumbles from his chest at the title.

Pride sprouts in your stomach, or perhaps it’s another orgasm? It gathers around your clit. You furrow your brows at the sensation, pussy now clenching around his fingers tighter than before. Your release usually knots and twists under your stomach, threatening to gush between the sporadic tensing.

You think you might need to urinate this time, however. The thought rushes blood to your cheeks.

“Chris,” you try to warn.

Tongue licking the corner of his mouth, Chris raises a knowing brow. He smiles devilishly.

Does he know? Does he care?

You don’t have time to find out, letting go of his wrist to grab back onto the edge. Your hips freeze, body rigid as another wave of pleasure overwhelms you. Moans trickle out through sobs, the blissful gratification becoming all too much.

Hand shifting from your throat to your waist, Chris holds you steady and pulls out his fingers to a spray of your orgasm. He does not recoil at the splash, but further coaxes it as his fingers rush flat over your clit.

Your body does not feel like your own, overridden with galvanising pleasure. Senses lost, you don’t realise the damage you’re on the verge of causing. Writhing, a pitched, loud scream splits through the swashing of the bath and splatter of your release from the depths of your lungs. Perhaps your vision is foggy, but you swear you catch the stain-glass windows tremor.

Chris ceases his harsh ministrations. He’s stifling his laughter as he pulls you back into the bath. His hand clamps over your mouth— your whines even louder at the sudden halt of satisfaction.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he soothes as you crank your neck back to look up at him.

Though, mind still hazy, you cannot help wondering if he likes the image of you beneath him or if this is simply the best position to silence you.

Why not both, you can almost hear him reply.

Chris must see some sort of dialogue in your eyes because he narrows his own. “Do you want to get caught? Is that why you screamed?” He removes his hand from your mouth, only to trace it with his thumb. “You want your precious house to see this— see me between your legs?”

You cannot help your smirk, quirking your brow. “You do look good there.”

“Yeah?” he asks, breath fanning over your lips.

When you nod, he smiles, the curve of his lips so devastatingly beautiful you wonder how on Earth you ever denied him for so long.

“As good as you’d look gagged?”

You furrow your brows, about to question him when you feel it. Wet silk slithers along your arm, looping around your bicep and up your shoulder. Green and silver, you watch as his tie travels around your neck, slightly tightening— teasing.

When you meet Chris’s gaze once more, you find they glow with rapturous lust. How long has he thought about this, about you? Does he spend his nights with the image of you at his mercy, mouth bound? Does he crave it when you sass him?

You part your lips to accommodate the tie, holding his gaze. As it loops into a tight knot behind your head, Chris tenderly takes your hands and guides them to your back. The same cool, wet sensation of silk begins to bind your wrists. It must be your Gryffindor tie. The irony is not lost on you. You felt bound by your house to see him and now he has bound you by your house to fuck you. It’s clever, admirable— already more stimulating than attempting to cum at the clueless hands of your boyfriend.

“Do you trust me?” he asks again. It’s like he cannot believe it himself.

“Foolishly,” you tease between the gag.

He smirks, caressing your chin.

“Completely,” you add. Whatever playfulness once twinkled in your eyes, fades into seriousness. “Undoubtedly.”

That’s enough, your pride warns.

“Desperately.”

You’re a fool. A pitiful, needy fool. So vacant of true connection, you’d chase anyone willing to offer you a mere moment of grace and attention. Who is the Demon of Slytherin besides some snake that cons his way through the school, for you to trust him so reverently?

The man who shatters reputations for you, a little voice revels.

Chris secures his fist around your throat again. He applies little to no pressure while pressing a soft kiss to your chin. You can smell your arousal on his face. Though you want to, you cannot deny the shameless quiver of your lower lip.

“Do you trust him like this?”

You should feel cold, recoiling in remorse and disgrace. You should blink yourself out of the trace Chris has lulled you into and demand he unbinds you. You should thrash and scream until someone ultimately hears and rescues you, declaring him a savage beast. You should remember your boyfriend’s name, even recall what he looks like.

Peering up at Chris, all you see is him, all you can bother to chant is his name. Like a broken record, it loops, sliding between thoughts. The only person etched in your soul is Chris.

“Who?” you ask in response to his question.

Chris bites back a smirk.

In a motion so swift you’ve missed it, Chris bends you over the edge of the tub. His hands station at your hips to pull your backside above the water’s surface. He laughs, the sound so sweet and pure you cannot help joining, because you already arch your back, perking your ass up high for him. His hands circle the surface fondly.

For a second, you believe that Chris is your boyfriend and you two do this sort of thing all the time.

And then his tongue returns. Pulling your cheeks apart, Chris dives between, tonguing your tiniest hole. Round and round, teasing a possible penetration, his tongue dances as you clench. Words fail you as only breathless moans sound, fraught and hiccupped. He abandons his ministrations for a split second to slurp on your resurfacing arousal.

“You taste like heaven wrapped in sin,” he mumbles against your folds.

A wavering moan replies through the gag.

You hear the water thrash rhythmically as Chris drags his tongue up from your sensitive pussy to your asshole. Again and again, he moves slow, steady like he wants to savour every last drop you have to offer.

“P-please,” you whimper.

Chris pulls away to gather saliva and spit it back onto you. Face smothered between your cheeks, he hisses,“Please what?”

A broken moan trails in response, body trembling from the aggressive vibrations of his words.

Between kisses on your clenching hole, he questions,“What do you want?”

You can’t take much more of this, toe curling as he continues to plant wet kisses, teasing you. “F-Fuck me,” you plead, holding back desperate sobs. “Please, please, pl-please, fuck me, sir!”

A pleased hum resonates against your hole. Your legs tremble.

Chris detaches himself from your rear. Waves lap around you as he stands to his full height. He pushes up your cheeks, pushing you further over the edge of the tub. His tip pokes at your dripping hole.

Excitement buzzes through your veins, knees wobbling. You fist your hands and hold your breath.

“Do you want my cock, princess?” Chris breathlessly asks, voice husky.

You hurriedly nod.

A hard smack lands on your left cheek. Jolting, a loud shriek escapes you. You try to turn back your head to glare at him, but Chris pulls your hips up again, forcing you back into your bent position.

“Use your words.”

“Yes!” you beech, swallowing profanities. “Yes, yes, yes!”

He rubs the stinging surface, lowly groaning his approval in two simple words: Good girl.

Your knees give out. Chris holds your hips firmly, like he anticipated the reaction. “That’s why you always try to behave, right?” He asks, and you swear you can hear that knowing smirk plastered on his lips. “You like being praised.”

Before you can question how he can possibly know that, his tip breaches.

Your mouth hangs open, but your voice crumbles in the base of your throat, breath stunted in your lungs.

Chris squeezes himself between your walls, imprinting his fingers onto the fat of your hips. “Fuck,” he purrs.

You’re relieved to hear he is just as broken as you are, finding your voice again. You weren’t sure you’d be able to face him tomorrow knowing you melted for him while he remained perfectly composed. Releasing soft, quiet moans, you spare a look back at him.

His head tilts back, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly, but then he straightens it to look back down. His face scrunches in pleasure watching his cock slowly shove into you. He wants to catch every second of it, lifting the fat of your ass to see himself bottom out inside you. He quietly hisses, grabbing handfuls of your cheeks.

Your eyes meet and you expect his to convey the same surprise yours do, having been caught witnessing something…. intimate. Instead, arrogance twinkles and he shoots you a wink.

“You’re insufferable,” you sneer.

He smirks, thrusting in reply.

Your self-righteous glare falters into teary pleasure.

His expression remains unchanged, however, as if he knew one manoeuvre of his hips would be enough to silence you. Reaching for the knot behind your head, Chris forces your head forward. You moan at the rough flick of his wrist, voice peaking as he yanks on the tied gag like he’s reining a horse.

The smack of skin on skin, the splash of the bath around you, even the full-chested growls Chris roars, cannot overtake the whiny, broken moans you release. Every thrust coaxes a louder sound, tearing through your throat as you try desperately to keep it down. He’s just so fast, so big, you cannot contain yourself, pushing yourself back into him.

His free hand slips into your bounded fists. The delicacy of his touch in the midsts of such rough rutting, cradles your heart. He holds your hands firmly and for a second, you forget where you are. It’s just you and Chris and the floating bubbles now infused with vanilla, sandalwood and your blended arousal. On the threshold of something real, you tighten the clasp of your fingers around his hand.

Is Chris looking for reassurance or is the gesture enough to tip him over the edge?

His thrusts snap into a force so strong, you’re certain he would have toppled you over the lip of the tub had he not been holding you so firmly. Vigorous, deliberate, his hips pound into you, rubbing against your clenching walls.

Your legs shake and shoulders ache from the strain of having them fixed in a certain position for much too long. Still, you need more, more—

“More!” you cry, and you hope he can understand you through the gag.

Water splashes out of the tub in great waves as Chris increases his speed. Though the cacophonous melody of your desires fills the room, you swear you hear him whisper, “Whatever you want, princess.”

Eyes rolling, drool dribbling down your chin, you almost fall limp on the edge. Your toes curl, body shakes from the onslaught of pleasure as he thrust, thrust, thrusts into you. You cannot keep still if your sanity depended on it, cannot keep quiet either. You half expect another prefect to barge in or a ghost to emerge and investigate the sounds of your shared pleasure.

You cannot endure it anymore, cannot endure him. Clenching tightly, you meet his movements with eager force. Your moans jump an octave in pitch. His name pours from your quivering lips like a desperate prayer.

His cock twitches.

And all at once, ecstasy arrests your bones. Muscles tense, walls sporadically clench, your orgasm ripples through your aching body. Blood rushes to your head. The high fogs your mind, muffles your hearing and you lay limp over the thick edge of the tub as Chris unloads his desire deep in you.

Nearly half the bath water is all over the floor and you catch his reflection within the spill. His hungry brown eyes are locked on your worn body, on the way your full frame jiggles with the intense impact of his thrusts. Another rope of cum shoots within you at the sight of your voluptuous backside. Chris gropes each cheek, biting his lip.

You wiggle back into him and a little smile tugs on the corners of his plump lips. He hums soft growls, tilting his head to gage the best possible angle to view your rear. He traces gentle circles over the surface of your cheeks before trailing his touch up along your spine and you don’t realise you’re trembling until his fingers brush back down.

While your voice is high-pitched, whimpering between heavy breaths, Chris’s voice drops an octave as he shushes you. The low rumbles resonate within your bones, tenderly soothing you.

The knots around your wrists and head, loosen. Your house ties fall as he pulls out of you. A whine escapes, but Chris is ready. He continues to softly shush you, pulling you up and onto his chest. He wraps his arms around your waist, engulfing you in his warmth.

“You’re okay,” he whispers. He turns to sit again, seating you between his legs. “I got you.”

You tell yourself that you just need to catch your breath. Once you stop panting, and your mind stops whirling, you will untangle yourself from him, threaten to destroy him if he utters this to anyone, and leave. You just need the world to stop spinning.

Only, Chris’s arms are so strong and secure. And with the heat he radiates, the tenor of his deep voice, the brush of his panting breath against the crook of your neck, you cannot bring yourself to fight it. Your body is spent, muscles aching and bones brittle from the rush of pleasure that you still feel fuelling your needy nerves.

More than that though, you can feel your mixed arousal between your legs. And you don’t hate it. You try— you want to hate it. But, it feels so right. It feels like this is how you should be spending every night, this is where his arousal belongs: on your body.

Chris presses a soft kiss against your shoulder.

Your eyes flutter open and you meet his gaze.

“Are you hurt?”

It has just occurred to you that no one else has ever held you this close after any sort of intimate moment. You’ve given your boyfriend, whose name still evades you, everything you have. You’ve gotten on your knees for him, swallowed his loads, pretended to gag on him, and reassured him that he was not quick at all and it was perfectly normal to release within the first few thrusts. You sacrificed your own pleasure multiple times and still, no one has coddled you the way Chris does now, let alone asked you if you’ve been hurt.

Tears sting your eyes. You blink them away, avert your gaze to the remaining clusters of foam and bubbles.

“What hurts?”

His voice is so soft, so delicate, you find it hard to fight off your tears.

You shake your head, not trusting your voice.

Chris shifts to try to meet your gaze. He rubs his hands along your biceps, brows knitted in concern. “Tell me where it hurts,” he practically begs.

“Nothing hurts,” you whisper.

He stiffens, hands pausing mid-stroke.

You chance a glance over your shoulder.

Despair gleams in his eyes. He sets his jaw and swallows thickly before asking, “Do you regret this?”

“No,” you reply before you can even really process the question. Your next words simply tumble out of you. “I couldn’t regret this if I tried.”

Hope twinkles in his gaze, dimming the gloom that once clouded it. He caresses your chin and smirks.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head,” you tease.

He tongues his cheek. “Tell me why you’re upset then. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Chewing on your lip, you wonder if you should be honest. You know he likes you now, but you cannot help wondering if he is simply attracted sexually to you or if this really means something to him. And if it is just sexual attraction, will you be able to weather his rejection?

You inhale deeply. He has seen every part of you, heard every drop of desperation in your voice. It might be merely sexual, but there is still a certain level of intimacy within that as well. And if he is taking the time to soothe you and check in with you after such vigorous devotion, then it must mean something, right?

“No one…” you trail, unsure how to word it.

Chris brushes your loose strands out of your face. His patience stirs something foreign in the pit of your stomach. It’s warm and whole and welcoming— Happiness.

“I never get aftercare,” you breathlessly confess. “I was beginning to think I don’t deserve it.”

You swear you see anger flash in his eyes before sadness settles. “You don’t deserve to be treated like anything less than royalty,” he says, deep voice caressing your heart. “I will destroy anyone who thinks differently.”

You kiss him, soft and slow. He quietly hums in against your lips.

Pulling back slightly, you whisper, “Then, I’ll always be your princess.”

The Great Hall bustles with chatty students gossiping, fighting over food, or rough-housing. The bright morning sun shines through the grand windows as the smell of breakfast lures you in behind your roommates.

You rub your eyes and suppress a yawn.

“Come on,” Fiona says, tugging on your robes.

You shuffle after her, adjusting your tie. It still smells of vanilla and sandalwood, drawing memories of last night to the forefront of your mind. It’s not like you can ever forget what happened. If the smell of your tie did not invoke any memories, the ache of your muscles or lingering wetness in the apex of your thighs would do the trick.

An arm wraps around your waist. You stiffen when you turn to find Jim smirking down at you.

“Morn—” you begin, attempting to brush off his touch.

His grip tightens. You suppress a hiss, knowing any indication of pain will only set him off.

“You didn’t wait for me.” His lips are curled in a boyish smile, but his eyes simmer with annoyance.

You try to push his hand away again, but he only seems to squeeze your side harder. “I woke up late,” you explain before adding, “Please let go.”

“You woke up late,” he repeats with a dry chuckle. “You seem to have enough time to shower. I can smell your vanilla soap.”

In the corner of your eye, you find Minho, one of Chris’s Slytherin friends, halt mid-step as the mention of vanilla scents. He turns to look between you, Jim, and Chris, who sits a few paces away and is burning a hole through Jim’s skull. A knowing look flashes in his eyes and he smirks at you.

Jim catches him staring, furrowing his brows. “Fuck off, snake,” he quietly hisses.

Minho glares at him.

You take the distraction as an opportunity to slip away. Jim is already one step ahead of you, tugging you back into his chest with a pointed tug of your robe. You stumble back with a quiet yelp.

Minho, brows knotted, sets his jaw. “I think she wants you to let her go.”

“I think I told you to fuck off.”

“I think we’re over.”

Jim snaps his attention back to you. “What?”

You put all your strength into ripping yourself out of his grasp. “We’re,” you start, tugging your robe out of his fists, “done.”

“What do you mean?”

“We. are. not. dat-ing. an-y. more.”

The Great Hall falls silent— or perhaps it’s been quiet for some time. You are not sure and frankly, you couldn’t care less. All you want is to be as far away from Jim and his sweaty, red face as you possibly can.

“You— Don’t fucking speak to me like that,” he seethes, advancing towards you.

Chris stands between you and Jim. You don’t remember hearing his footsteps but here he is, towering over Jim. Minho and Changbin, a fellow Gryffindor, stand on either side of him.

You are suddenly all too aware of the quiet murmurs echoing around the Hall. In the corner of your eye, you catch your roommates nervously staring, confusion and concern crumpling their faces.

“Sit down,” Chris orders.

Jim sneers, but that anger of his soon falters as Minho and Changbin take a step forward.

“What is the meaning of this?” Headmistress McGonagall asks, emerging from the back door by the staff table. She hurries down the middle aisle, clutching onto her dress, a look of pure condemnation on her face.

Chris turns to the Headmistress with a charming smile. Minho and Changbin quietly slip back into their seats as Chris explains, “I was just reminding Mr Prewett that profanities are not tolerated at Hogwarts, Headmistress. You know how forgetful he could be.”

McGonagall narrows her gaze at Chris. She then looks at Jim and finally at you. Her attention bounces between you and Chris a couple more times before asking, “Is that so?”

You nod along with Chris.

Jim clenches his jaw.

“Well, I never thought I would see the day that Ms ____ would agree with Mr Bahng,” she announces, staring at the two of you a moment longer. She hums then finally turns to Jim. “Mr Prewett, please report to my office after breakfast.”

And with that, she waves the students back to their meal and returns to the staff table.

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding.

“You’re going to regret this,” Jim mutters. “No one is going to treat you the way I do.”

You shoot him a humourless smirk. “Good.”

Chris stifles a laugh.

The sight of his playful eyes and plump lips have you suppressing your own smile. You shake off the flutter of your gut and find your place beside Fiona at the table.

“What the hell is going on with you and Bahng?” she asks as you fill your plate.

“You ever notice how Jim would always give me a plate with less food than anyone at this table and then rush me out of the Hall before I can go for seconds?”

Fiona stiffens.

“I didn’t either,” you confess, scooping another heaping spoonful of scrambled eggs. “I think Chris did though.”

Her green eyes drift back to where Chris sits. A little chuckle escapes her as she turns back to her food and shakes her head. “I think McGonagall was onto something,” she laughs.

“What do you mean?”

“I just never thought I would see the day that the Princess of Gryffindor would rule over the Demon of Slytherin.”

You can’t help but smirk, a rush of warmth blooming in your chest.“I suppose there is a balance between a roar and whisper after all.”

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work.

#chantober 2024 #mirohsaurorasociety #bang chan smut #bang chan fanfic #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #chan x reader #bang chan x reader #stray kids x reader

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pandas-pandemonium · 5 months ago

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The Aftermath

A continuation from The Opportunist. Requested by a lovely anon!

Summary: The Blue Lock boys don't take the news of you officially dating Nagi very well. Featuring Isagi, Bachira, Kunigami and Reo

"[Name]'s dating Nagi?" Isagi nearly dropped his bottle in shock when Bachira relayed the news to him. Since when did that lazy ass sink his teeth into you? 'Was he too careless?' Isagi wondered. He thought this whole time Nagi wouldn't be as big of a threat as the more aggressive students in this academy. Plus, he was so certain he was making good progress in worming his way into your life! Hell, your mother adored him!

"I saw them with my own two eyes. They were all lovey dovey and Nagi refused to let go of them. They even gave him a kiss before class... willingly. Such a joke, huh?" Bachira chuckled, twirling a pen in his hand. Isagi instinctively recognised it as the one you had lost the other week.

"You're not mad?" Isagi asked. Bachira hummed as his eyes remained focussed on the pen, flipping it up and as he catches it in his palm, it snaps.

"Of course I am."

*****

Kunigami's world felt like it was crashing down. He hadn't felt such despair since he enrolled in Ego Jinpachi's Special Program. You. You. You were his light while he was stuck in that hell and when he came out, hoping to see you again, he was smacked in the face with the sight of Nagi's lips on yours.

He couldn't help but stare at the scene unfolding in front of him. He had heard the rumours that were floating around, but to have it confirmed? Kunigami felt sick. Eventually, he managed to pick himself up, but not before looking once more, only to meet Nagi's piercing gaze.

When Kunigami left the area, that despair he felt in him boiled and fizzled, until it transformed into a burning rage.

How dare he? How dare that shithead claim your body for himself, when it should have been him?!

Perhaps those special lessons were worth the pain after all. With his new physique and new abilities, Kunigami was going to get you back. He'll make sure of that.

*****

It had been a week since Nagi and you became an official couple. Initially you wanted to hide that fact in fear of what the others would say, or do. But Nagi seemed to have no regard for their opinions whatsoever; forcing kisses down your throat any time he saw someone you recognised pass by. You could still feel the dread in your stomach when you saw Kunigami's familiar orange locks disappear in a flash.

Now however, you had another problem. It was about time though, for Reo to confront Nagi. And as you watched the scene unfold in front of you, you could only pray that no one got seriously hurt.

"Nagi. The hell is this?" Reo asked, his purple eyes boring straight into Nagi's skull.

Nagi stared blankly at Reo, one arm draped around your body, something that you had to grow accustomed to over the last couple of days since Nagi forced you to be his romantic partner. "You've got to be more specific on what 'this' is, Reo," he answered, his tone still the same bored one he always spoke with. You could see Reo's eye twitch.

"Why the hell is [Name] dating you?" Reo was barely keeping it together. When you glanced down, you could see how tightly he was clenching his fists. You wouldn't be surprised if it left a mark.

"'cause I asked them out, duh?" Nagi responded. In contrast to Reo's frazzled and antsy disposition, Nagi was exceedingly calm. If anything, he just seemed bothered, like Reo was asking a dumb question.

"That's not what I mean! I mean- how the hell did you get them to even like you enough to date you?" Reo sounded like he could barely even squeeze those words out without screaming.

Nagi glanced over to you and then back to Reo, then up at the ceiling as he tapped his free hand against his chin. "Good timing?"

Suddenly, you were released from Nagi's grip and all you heard was a thud and Nagi on the ground; Reo's arm was out, his hand in a fist and raw from the punch he just landed.

"Don't give me that shit, Nagi. We had a deal!" Reo's eyes were wide, his pupils dilated as he seethed with anger.

Nagi didn't even seem bothered as he picked himself up and dusted himself off. "And now we don't. I rather like having [Name] to myself, personally."

Nagi soon found himself yanked by his collar by Reo. "We. All. Do. Bastard." Reo snarled in Nagi's face. "I made that deal in the first place because I thought we were friends. Partners even!" Reo was yelling at this point. "If you're not going to keep the end of our agreement, I'm stealing [Name] from you."

For the first time since their argument started, you saw Nagi's expression change. With one hand, he yanked Reo back by his collar as well, his eyes wide and blank. "Then try it, I dare you, Mr. Standard." Once he said those words, he released Reo's collar and shoved him back, sending him stumbling for a moment.

Without even sparing a second glance, Nagi grabbed your wrist and began to walk off. "Let's go, [Nickname]. My mood's been ruined..."

#yandere blue lock #yandere bllk #yandere x reader #yandere blue lock x reader #yandere nagi x reader #yandere reo #yandere kunigami #yandere isagi #yandere bachira #yandere male x reader

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prettyboykatsuki · 3 months ago

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brocon | a. oliver

✮ tags ; afab + fem!reader, unrequited love (from reader but not to oliver), presence of honorfics (nii-san mostly), incest (incestual roleplay and one sided incestual affection lol), oliver is not the older brother but he wishes he was, Too Casual About Incest in this one, oral (m!recieving), mentions of cervix fucking + deepthroating, cream pies, casual sex, 18+

✮ wc ; 2.5k

✮ a/n ; im reading too many doujinshis. everyday i become a little more insane. i miss you all. i also hate this guy.

c. consider this like a prelude by the way. im definitely going to expand on this universe rip.

also im dead fucking tired so tenses are all over the place. im gonna skip class tomorrow i think lol

✮ synopsis ; oliver is not put off by your brother complex. he probably should be.

Oliver isn’t very meddlesome.

He’s a captain, but that’s as far as he’s ever willing to extend himself when it comes to getting deeply involved with other people. He loves soccer, loves strikers, etc. Annoying shit is tolerable if it’s for the love of the game.

So in terms of his willingness to interfere, it starts and stops at soccer.

The same is not true for relationships. Never has been really. He isn’t sure if he’s always been like that. He got his heart broken in high school, before his career took off and get much time to think about what he wanted after.

He’ll never claim to be paragon of morality. Whether or not he’s pre-disposed for it, he’s been around the block and doesn’t take anything too seriously. A lot of what he’s down for just depends on where he’s at and he stands to gain.

But, he’s always been straightforward about it so whatever.

From experience, he prefers dating women with a lot to lose - career driven types. Long term, they’re the easiest to break up with because they rarely chase after him and have little desire for the spotlight. He likes cute, innocent types too, for different reasons - but it can get messy easily so he has to be off season to fuck them or date. His type in men depends on what he’s feeling. He likes getting topped by quiet, stoic men and likes topping slutty pretty boys.

Case and point, Olivers type is whoever wants to fuck him and he wants to fuck too. It’s not complicated and isn’t defined by any particular thing. When it comes to appearance and personality - well he’s fine with whatever. He’s not really interested in being exclusive. He likes to have fun and like freely, or something like that.

His only real criteria for sex and partnership are: discreet, sane, want to fuck him.

You fit one of those parameters for sure. You’re very discreet.

But while you and Oliver are sleeping together, it’s not him you actually want.

Oliver met you a few months back. You were by yourself in the bar of a nice motel and dressed to the nines, crying alone over a drink. The game plan was simple. He would chat you up, console you, and bring you to bed. You both get to feel good, and you get to forget for a while.

An attempted act of kindness and sincerity.

He did just that too. Slid up next to you easy, bought you a drink. You were mostly sober - told him you had to drive early the next day. Alcohol was just to soothe your broken heart. You broke down after that. Red-rimmed watery eyes, barely keeping it together - it didn’t take much effort for Oliver to get you to open up. Apparently someone you loved had just got married. You even gave a speech for the wedding. Sobbed a little about how you’re happy he’s happy but you’re devastated.

Oliver offered you a shoulder to cry on. Whispered in your ear real sweet about licking each others wounds for the night. How he’d be happy to help you forget. You went back to your hotel with little fuss. And he’s a half decent bastard after all, so he didn’t go too hard on you during the sex. Gave you boyfriend treatment as a consolation prize for your efforts. Foreheads pressed together, arms around his shoulders, lots of kissing and making eye contact.

That kind of sex is fun sometimes, at least when it’s not very serious.

You had great compatibility in bed. Some post coital pillow talk also revealed that your mutual interests meshed pretty well - so you decided to see each other again for the purposes of fucking. Oliver needs a reliable partner who won’t try to ruin his career and you need a shoulder to lean on and forget about your true love.

It was working out well for him really. And like he said, he’s not really the type to pry into other peoples affairs.

For better or for worse though, having frequent sex with someone usually gets you acquainted with random aspects of their life. The friends parts of friends with benefits usually means you’re seeing some part of them you didn’t sign up for.

It took three months of sleeping with you, around the 8th time you met up for sex, for him to realize who your unrequited love actually was.

He thought it might’ve been someone off limits from the way you spoke about it. Though you tended to avoid the subject altogether.

Had he known he was going to get involved with a girl that has the worst brother complex he’s ever seen, he would’ve reconsidered seeing you again.

Maybe. Or maybe not.

Truthfully, Oliver is less bothered by brocon thing than he thought he’d be. He hadn’t realized because of anything you told him. Just that once, you were laying on his chest when you got a call in the middle of the night from your older brother.

You’re not the sweet type, to put it bluntly. Oliver would categorize you as the working professional sort with a lot to lose - high spec and calculating. Aside from the night he met you, he’d never seen you act in a way he would consider needy or childish - even after sex. Or ever, really - even when something happens that might garner that response.

Seeing the way your eyes lit up, the way your whole demeanor changed as you spoke with him on the phone. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. He didn’t have plans to confront you about it at the time. It wasn’t really his business, or at least that’s what he told himself.

At a certain point though, he felt like he couldn’t dance around it.

He brought it up on a whim one night. Regretted it because he liked your current relationship and didn’t want it to end, but he felt it had to be done.

He doesn’t know what exactly he was expecting, if anything at all. He thought you’d cuss him out or something. Tell him to fuck off and mind his business. Tell him to not be gross, maybe.

But he didn’t expect tears, nor did he expect the childish sadness that came along with the mere mention of you beloved nii-san.

That had made him wanna pry.

It wasn’t hard to get you to open up about it. Frankly, he didn’t actually give a shit about the incest part, so you felt safe enough to tell him when he asked. Your older brother was basically your whole life. You’re half siblings, abandoned by the same parent. You had a rough upbringing but your older brother took care of you and sacrificed a lot. You realized you were in love with him in middle school and kept it in since. He’s about four years older than you and his wife is a very gentle person.

Oliver isn’t concerned about the details. He’s nosy - so he asks but he wouldn’t’ve forced you if you didn’t want to talk about it. But it seems like you really did, since you were happy to tell him anything on your mind.

You were…different after that. After he knew, you relaxed considerably. He didn’t think of you as guarded until you stopped being that way and started acting more… docile.

Oliver doesn’t mind that change either, which is shocking for him. Usually you’re far off but after you cum, you soften up and act kind of… cute.

You’re a little clingier, and generally speaking - sweeter to him when you’re guard is down. It’s not like you’re doing it on purpose. You never ask Oliver to treat you any softer or get demanding with him. And there’s never an instance where he has to worry about if that’ll change because as nice as you are to him, it’s clear as day that no one in the world will ever surpass your affection for your older brother.

(Once, after sex, Oliver asks you what you like about about your older brother. The question comes as a shock to you both, but mostly to him because he isn’t sure why he thinks to ask. You’re happy enough to answer it though. According to you, he’s perfect.

He’s kind and thoughtful, gentle and doting, tall, strong and handsome. You’ve got little hearts in your eyes when you say all this. You add towards the end that part of the reason you sleep with Oliver is because they’re so different you can forget all about it.

He laughs at that, but he isn’t sure how sincere it is.)

As time goes by, Oliver never gets totally used to the change. As soon as you get a call or text from your beloved nii-san, you perk up like all the life has been breathed back into you. He hears you talk sometimes and it’s clear that your brother also probably has a bit of a sister complex.

You’re more open around Oliver sure - but it pales in comparison to when you get a call from him. How could a person be so different? He assumes the answer is love, but he can’t wrap his head around it having that much impact on your character.

Oliver tries not to think about it.

You’ve continued sleeping together out of habit and as time went by - you started to hang out for no real reason. It’s remained casual. You never want anything from him except dick and sometimes attention, but its clear that it isn’t from the one sided hope of becoming his girlfriend. And he knows almost too well that you don’t care for him in a special way because he knows what that looks like on you - and every kindness you’ve shown him is just who you are.

It’s not like Oliver isn’t keenly aware of all of that.

But it doesn’t stick until he offers up roleplaying with you on a whim.

He suggests it to fuck with you really. And maybe because he’s a little irritated by it. He wants to upset you a little, petty as it is. See how you react. He was expecting you to get pissed off, maybe even cuss him out a little over being a jerk.

That is not the reaction he receives. Instead you flush all over. Your hands fist on your knees and you get shy over just the prospect. He’s had you bent in every position known to man but he’s never seen you more embarrassed then the very idea of uttering the name nii-san in relation to sex.

You do have a moment of sobriety after the fact, hit him with your pillow and tell him not to be a dick.

But then, he can’t let it go. So he grabs you by the wrist and says it’s fine. It’s what he’s here for isn’t he? Always has been.

Only seeing it does it start to really click.

It’s the most intense sex you’ve ever had , and it doesn’t feel profoundly fucked up until you take his dick into your mouth. Hearts in your eyes while he strokes your hair, swallowing his cock - nuzzling it, kissing, it and being so devoted he doesn’t know if he’s the most unlucky man alive or the least.

You’re always a sight for sore eyes when you’re hoping to please him somehow. You’re a little haughty in bed in a way he’s into—

But fuck, it’s different when you’re doing it for your big brother. He’s never seen you so horny in his life. Touching yourself so desperately while you’re deepthroating his length, eyes rolling back into your skull as you swallow him all the down to the base. Moaning into it even as you gag and hiccup and spit.. Drool clinging to your lips, stretched all the way to the corners - wetness sliding down the curve of your neck and chest. Your face flush, damp tears clinging to your lashes while he strokes his thumb against your cheek and tells you the same few words over and over.

Nii-san’s so proud of you. You’re being so good for your me. Over and over, reinforcing it again and again. Hearing the words and just thinking of it seem to be enough for you.

It’s about the same when he does finally fucks you. Oliver gets into it at the end. Puts you in a full nelson and fucks you stupid, the head of his cock battering into you and demanding to be let in. You feel good split apart on his dick - pussy stretched so tight it barely fits him.

You always do your best to take him, but he sees what the affection does to you. You get so horny that you spread your legs without being fucked open on his fingers first. Your body is responsive to it. He almost feels bad for your brother, not getting to know what it feels like. Oliver is only playing pretending but your cunt squeezes his dick so tight, holds onto him like it doesn’t want to let go. It’s not even the real thing yet your body is keen on milking him. Built and bred like it was made for your older brother to fuck.

He’ll never get the chance too. Oliver relishes in it more than he can be honest about.

Once he’s inside, you tell Oliver in a lust drunk haze that nii-san can have whatever he wants. That’s when he knows you’re running on nothing but lust. And by then, he is too. You whimper when he moves - say yes when he hisses that he’s gonna fuck you deep enough to flood your cervix. Nod desperately when he offers to fuck your cervix open too.

It’s nothing but filthy bullshit but the words come out easier as his cock keeps slipping out of you from how wet you are over the thought alone.

It finally settles in when when you’ve nearly fucked yourself unconscious. Riding his cock with your tshirt pulled up over your tits, eyes closed and legs wobbling - saying it over and over. Begging for your brother who you love so dearly while you fuck on him with all the strength in your hips.

Seeing that makes him realize that he’s not a stand-in.

Only because it’s an impossible outcome in the first place.

It’s the first time he cums inside of you, and the first time you cry after sex. Oliver holds you afterwards. You whisper a thank you so sincere to him afterwards he loses his fucking mind, all soft and watery and needy. Don’t protest when he pulls you into a bath or holds you.

You stay with him through the night and he realizes right about then that he’s completely and utterly fucked.

It’s his karma, he assumes. Wanting a girl who has a severe brother complex is Oliver’s own special hell - hand crafted to make him feel as fucked up as possible.

But damn does he want you bad anyway.

#tw oliver aiku #oliver x reader #bluelock x reader #oliver smut #bluelock smut #incest cw #im delirious as fuck sdkjhsjdflmkj #writing tag #me when i post this in the middle of the night and disappear HEKSDJKSD

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lets-try-some-writing · 4 months ago

Note

I woke up and chose angsty violence on everyone.

What if Optimus survived the events of Predacon Rising? Sometime after everyone left, he crawled up from the Well but was no longer the same person he was. Housing the Allspark inside himself had destroyed his mind than just the Matrix of Leadership and what's left is a very feral bot that looks like Optimus.

No one finds out until reports from refugees come in about a strange Cybertronian running amuck in the wastes that attacks anyone who gets too close. Optimus' former team would absolutely be split on what to do about him. Leave him alone in nature under protection, try to snap him out of it or put their once leader down?

They can't ignore the problem as someone will recognize Optimus at some point.

You. You my good individual are evil. I adore your twisted little mind (affectionate).

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

There were... reports. Quite a few of them in fact.

Each and every one of them claimed that there was a feral mech living out in the wastes, the land that was formerly Iacon's great forest before the war razed it to the ground. No one knew what to think of it, but then they saw the pictures. And those pictures changed everything.

"Ratchet, he can't seriously still be alive? Can he?" Bumblebee's voice was filled with disbelief as Ratchet looked over the image projected on the holodisk. The rest of the table seemed to share Bumblebee's thoughts as they watched. It was a quick series of pictures put on a slideshow. They were grainy, but the blue and red was unmistakable. The exposed Matrix even more so.

"It seems that we were wrong to label Prime as out for the count." Bulkhead added his two shanix, earning him a murmur of agreement from an equally uncertain Wheeljack.

"If he's feral, do you think we can bring back?" Arcee spoke up as well, earning a series of comments from the team. Bumblebee seemed hopeful, as did Smokescreen. Even Ultra Magnus seemed marginally interested in a potential plan to help Optimus if he really was out there.

Ratchet was not so optimistic.

"I will go and assess the situation personally. For all we know, it might not be him. We can't get our hopes up." Standing up, Ratchet collected the holodisk with a purposefully blank expression. The team regarded him with various expression of surprise, but they didn't stop him.

Good. They didn't need to see what was going to come next.

"Ratchet, if it is him, you'll let us know." Ultra Magnus put a servo on his shoulder, a knowing expression plastered all over the Commander's face. Ratchet gave no confirmation, instead tightening his grip on the holodisk as he made his way out.

Ratchet couldn't explain it, but when he saw the photo, he couldn't help the feeling of wrongness that filled his very spark. The team wouldn't understand. They hadn't known Orion. All they saw was their Prime's face. They didn't see the vacancy in his optics or the way he hunched in the picture like he was struggling just to stand. The mech they once knew was not himself. He was hardly alive.

Ratchet refused to let his friend's legacy be destroyed by a cruel twist of fate.

"I'm sorry." He murmured into the early morning light as he gathered his things quietly, taking great care with his most important tool as he began the trip out into the wastes. It was not a long trip, not terribly so at any rate. A few joors into his journey, he found himself wandering the wastes in silence, his optics set on any crevice where the husk of his friend could have possibly been hiding. He didn't bother calling out. It was a useless endeavor.

One joor. Two joors. And then, he found what he was looking for.

"Hello, Orion. Its been a while, hasn't it?" A lanky figure pulled itself out of a small cave. Cycled down optics met his, curiosity registering somewhere in their empty stare. Ratchet didn't dare move as the husk pulled itself out of its hiding place, its helm tilted ever so slightly in confusion, or perhaps interest.

"I had hoped that you'd made it out alright. But I don't think that's the case." His words were faint as the husk finally stood. It was thin, gangly from what was likely months of less than sufficient energon. Its armor was cracked and broken, the jetpack that Optimus had once enjoyed now all but ripped off. The husk's face was covered in gashes and marks, the rest of its frame not much better. It looked... pitiful. But above all else, the shining Matrix in its chassis made Ratchet frown.

"No normal mech should be able to survive these wounds." He practically whispered as he took a step forward, holding out a servo in a friendly manner. The husk froze, almost looking ready to scuttle back into its hiding place. But Ratchet remained firm, standing still and speaking quietly.

"That thing... it won't let you die, will it?" He received no verbal answer, but the glowing white of the husk's optics told him everything he needed to know.

White was the color of divinity, but also of sickness. A mech with white optics was said to be doomed to die. Ratchet was not normally a mech to care about superstitions. But that one... he could get behind.

"It must hurt." He couldn't disguise the faint shakiness of his voice as the husk finally inched closer, looming over Ratchet with height that had once been comforting. The husk's optics cycled down and then went wide. A wide and almost sparkling like smile spread across its face as it dropped to all fours, crawling nearer on just about Ratchet's level.

It hesitated a moment, and then pressed its face up against Ratchet's servo like a hound would. Ratchet almost winced, but seeing the husk's genuine affection, he couldn't bring himself to do anything more than sigh and run his free servo along the crest of its helm. So similar to his Prime, and yet so very different.

"The others want to bring you home. They want to fix you." The husk's engine rumbled in delight, pleased as Ratchet caressed broken finials with light touches. The husk looked so very happy as it came closer, seating itself at Ratchet's pedes to lean into every place his digits touched. So unlike Optimus. This thing was a mere echo, a sad and painful echo.

"I don't think you want to be fixed, if that is even possible." His venting hitched as he cupped the husk's face, sensing the animalistic instinct in it. The husk didn't fight back as Ratchet pressed the crest of his helm to the husk's, enjoying the momentary interaction.

"I wanted to hope... I wanted to think that maybe you'd evaded death yet again." He could feel coolant threatening to gather in his optics as he quietly reached to his satchel, pulling out an injector. The yellow liquid within glowed faintly in the dying light of the evening, but Ratchet paid it little mind as he memorized the faint sounds of the husk's engine and the giddy smile upon its face. It hadn't even noticed Ratchet's tool.

"I prayed for your return. But I think that may have been a mistake." Blazing white optics gazed up at him, innocent and yet vacant. It hurt more than it should have.

Why? Why did it have to look so alive and yet so dead?

"Perhaps it would have been kinder if death had finally taken you." Pressing a kiss to the husk's helm crest, Ratchet enjoyed the warmth of a living, venting mech for a moment longer. His spark spun in agony, but now was not the time to stop. This... this was a mercy.

"Rest Orion. Return to Codexa, to Alpha Trion. Go to those who love you... and know that one cycle I will join you there." In one swift motion, Ratchet dug the injector into the husk's neck. Its optics blew wide, its vocalizer spitting static as it stared up at him in sheer terror.

"Shh... it's alright. It will be over soon." The husk went limp, falling into Ratchet's arms. He knelt quietly, letting it rest against his chassis as its frame began to seize. The Matrix flared, sending shocks through the husk to try and keep it active. The husk wailed in response, its shattered vocalizer producing pained cries that could have caused the dead to quake. Ratchet held firm, keeping the husk held against him as the Matrix's shocks ran their course, eventually ceasing.

"I'll tell the others you were dead upon my arrival. Don't worry. They won't see you like this... I promise." The husk spasmed a moment longer, its optics momentarily returning to a bright and healthy blue. For a half klik, Ratchet could have sworn he saw understanding in those optics.

And gratitude.

"I'm sorry, Old Friend." The term of endearment slipped past his derma before he could stop it. In response, Optimus smiled and then fell still, his optics going dark and his frame losing all life.

Ratchet held what remained of his oldest friend for a long while, not speaking or moving.

It was done.

Now Optimus could rest.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #alternate universe #optimus prime #ratchet #team prime #angst #the matrix of leadership #enjoy suckers #this was fun to conjure up

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goldsainz · 1 year ago

Text

GUESS WHO’S BACK? — one shot.

pairing: daniel ricciardo x reader

MASTERLIST.

NOTE: first of i wanna say that this is not meant to diminish the treatment nyck got bc it is undoubtedly shitty (helmut marko you will pay for your crimes), i am just happy one of my fav drivers is back. this is eminem!daughter!reader an idea @lorarri let me use, all the lyrics and song she came up with are fantastic, i couldn’t have made this without them, so thank you lola!!!!

liked by danielricciardo, eminem and 3,082,719 others

yourusername i am so excited to announce my newest album “BADGER BEWARE”!! this project has been in the making for quite some time, it has the help of people i am very close with. and inspirations behind a lot of impacting moments in my life. which is why i am so happy that it is finally here and you can all enjoy it july 13th

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ynfan1 oh this is so about daniel

ynfan2 NEW MUSIC FINALLY😭😭

danielricciardo 💛💛💛

liked by yourusername and 96,053 others

⤷ danielfan1 acting as if the album isn’t gonna be dedicated to him

icespice gonna be bomb 🔥

scottyjames31 Claiming track 3 right now

⤷ danielricciardo No, it’s already claimed. Pick another.

ynfan3 july 13th cannot come any sooner

danielfan2 i hope y/n knows that she just sent me into cardiac arrest

danielfan3 MONZA MASH??? YOU’RE TELLING ME SHE MADE A SONG FOR HIS WIN IN MONZA

ynfan4 thank you eminem for the blessing that is y/n🙏

liked by charles_leclerc, bellahadid and 3,950,416 others

yourusername “BADGER BEWARE” is out now in all streaming platforms! i wanna take a moment to thank all the people who made this album possible, to the man who inspired this project and sat with me until sunrise writing down lyrics, to my friends who participated and helped me push through, but especially to all my fans who waited patiently for me to release my music in my own time. have fun and pls don’t take what i talk about too seriously (or do 😉)

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danielricciardo I would sit until sunrise every day with you

⤷ yourusername love the sentiment but you were asleep 90% of the time

⤷ danielricciardo But I was still there!

ynfan21 RED WINGS IS WILD

ynfan22 album of the year!!!

danielfan21 oh so this is a diss track to mclaren…

redbullracing Our playlist has been updated!

liked by yourusername and 107,368 others

ynfan23 when we needed her most she appeared🙏

ynfan24 damn she did not hold back

danielfan22 DANIEL AND Y/N BEST COUPLE ON THE GRID

“Show-stopping” is the expression Y/N wants to convey each time she sits down and starts to write her songs. It is a “big word”, as she puts it, but there is no other word that would fit the feeling she hopes to transmit through her music.

“I started writing “BADGER BEWARE” back in 2021, I think around august, and by the end of that year I had written 3 songs. I stopped writing because I thought of either scrapping the whole project or making a 4-5 song EP. Obviously that didn’t end up happening because now there are 10 songs, 1 intro and 1 outro. All those songs hold a different place in my heart and while they all form part of the genre of Rap, they’re heartfelt in their own special way.”

Rap is a genre Y/N is all too familiar with. With her father being Eminem, an icon to the genre and the 2000s — even now. She says that the choice is not arbitrary, that there is an influence she cannot deny, but chooses to embrace it rather than push it away.

She dedicated the album to her boyfriend of 3 years, Daniel Ricciardo, who was the initial inspiration behind it. “Danny listened to me rant about my ideas for hours, sat in different studios with me and suggested different things that made the whole experience different than anything I’d ever done before. He also introduced me to — now one of my good friends — Charles Leclerc, who plays piano and is the one that composed the music for both the intro and outro.”

When asked about her favourite songs she picked a couple because “there is no way I could choose just one”. There is an evident passion to her craft when it comes to Y/N, something not everyone in her field possesses quite as well as she does.

��HONEY, RED WINGS and SUMMER SMILE are probably my top 3. They were all written at such drastically different points of my life, about things that have practically nothing to do with each other but that are tied by a little string. Some people think I pick my singles because they’re my favourite, which is true because all my songs are my favourites! But most of all I pick them because they’re the ones that I felt most comfortable publicising, all the other songs in the album are like a little secret between my fandom and me.

“There are also songs which are more personal. MONZA MASH, for example, it’s a very hyper song but it still is about an event that was very emotional. TEARS OF THE SUN, is also an obvious one. My songs are about something, and if it makes you feel anything at all then I did my job right.”

CLICK HERE TO READ MORE!

liked by tayrussell, saweetie and 2,785,046 others

yourusername 2 THE MAX MV IS HERE!! i heard it was a fan favourite and had to deliver… there is no way to express my gratitude to you all for the support the album has gotten, so i guess this is my way!

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ynfan31 MY FAV SONG YES

⤷ danielfan31 “i turn up the heat to the max and watch them bitches squirm” ATE THAT SHIT UPPP

ynfan32 y/n mathers?? MORE LIKE Y/N MOTHER

danielricciardo She’s wearing red, next question!

⤷ yourusername LMAO??

⤷ maxverstappen1 Let him be, he’s a bit jet-lagged

ynfan33 literally fell down the stairs bc of this announcement

danielfan32 forget daniel… I WANT HER

ynfan34 as a y/n fan i am more than amazed at the amount of content we’re getting😭

ynfan35 it suddenly got real hot

⤷ ynfan36 we call that “the y/n effect”

ynfan37 LITERALLY RUN ME OVER!!!!!!

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improbable-outset · 22 days ago

Text

📄 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦

Kenji Sato x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐔𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨��𝐧𝐭: 5.7k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Coach’s daughter AU, Fluff, lots of shameless flirting, teasing, secret relationship

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Over coffee and conversation, Ken finds solace in a café, far from the chaos of the baseball stadium.

Ken had never felt his heart gallop this intensely before. Not even during his rise to stardom with the Dodgers back in LA could compare to the thrill and anticipation coursing through him right now.

This was more personal— unpredictable in a way that no game or spotlight could prepare him for. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t chasing a title.

It was a moment with someone special that made everything else feel secondary.

Tucked away in a quiet street of Tokyo’s lesser known district, the glow of the neon signs reflected off slick pavements as he watched you navigate the path, weaving between parked bikes and stray vending machines.

The faint hum of the distant train was the only sound that filled the night’s silence.

“Ken!” your voice rang through the empty streets, bright and familiar. As you drew closer, Ken couldn’t help but notice how the muted lights reflected in your glossy eyes, giving them an otherworldly sparkle.

He didn’t say anything until you were close enough for you to hear him without yelling.

“You made it…” His lips curled into a smile, meeting your gaze with a tender look. “Did you get enough rest? You look a bit tired.”

“Barely,” you confessed, a playful tilt painted on your lips. “I’ve been counting down the minutes until I can see you again.”

Ken was used to fans clamoring for a moment of his time, expressing their excitement to see him. But something about the eagerness in your voice and the slight bounce in your step sent a flutter through him.

He glanced around, checking that the streets were still empty before reaching out to cradle your cheek.

“You’re so clingy.” he teased, still holding his grin.

“I would’ve kissed you right now if we weren’t in public.” you shot back with a small smirk.

Ken leaned closer until his face was eye level to yours, his voice dropped to a heated whisper

“I wouldn’t complain if you did.”

The impulse to close the distance simmered under his skin, but the risk of being seen was enough to keep him rooted.

“But I also don’t want an angry mob of your dad’s supporters coming after me after catching us in a compromising position.”

Your smile faltered, replaced by a shadow of worry. “Right…my dad. I don’t want anybody from the press finding out either.”

“Yeah, the press…” Ken’s expression hardened, his tone turning bitter.

The media always lurked, threatening to expose what little happiness he could claim. He wished he didn’t have to sneak around like this.

He envied those who could show affection openly, like some of his teammates who left games with their families in tow. The normalcy forever felt out of reach for Ken.

“Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like…” he murmured, eyes drifting past the dim glow of the distant lights. “If we dated openly, without worrying about your father, or the fans, or the media.”

Ken rarely admitted these things, but seeing how you aligned with his unspoken thoughts made it easier to voice his fragile feelings— especially about your relationship.

“What could the fans do anyway? It’s not like they could control your life.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ken said with a hint of edge. “There are some intense fans out there that take their idols' personal lives way too seriously.”

Ken didn’t want to think too deeply about a situation blowing out of proportion. If rumours began, he knew all too well how quickly fans would start prying on your life, looking for any reason to judge.

Even the slightest flaw could unleash a tornado of online harassment. He didn’t want to bring that sort of trouble into your life.

His jaws clenched, a grimace flashing across his features before he shook the thought away.

“I’m more worried about dad. If he ever found out about us…I can’t even imagine how he’d react. Especially after that latest press conference. He came home moping,” you said, the last words trailed into a tired groan.

“I know, I could’ve handled it better.” Ken chuckled, before it was shadowed by guilt as he remembered his altercation with Coach Shimura. “I hate when the press digs for gossip.”

A low rumble of an approaching car snapped him out of his thoughts. Its headlights illuminated the empty street, casting fleeting shadows over the both of you, before disappearing down the narrow road.

You take a hold of Ken’s hand and gently tug him forward. “Come on, let’s head inside.”

You slip into a small, dimly lit cafe— a hidden gem that seemed to be empty from the outside view. It’s secluded places like this that makes your relationship feel safe, untouched by the eyes of the world.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries enveloped him, a silent call of the rare moment of peace you shared.

The cafe itself was modest in size, with wooden chairs and tables neatly arranged beneath the dim ambiance lighting.

There were a few patrons scattered here and there— a couple sharing a quiet intimate conversation near the window at the high table, and a few students hunched over textbooks.

Sparse decorations adorned the walls: faded vintage poster advertising sodas and sweet treats with its vibrant colours faded over time.

At the centre of each table sat a miniature cherry blossom tree, the soft pink petals contrasted against the dark wood.

Together, you crossed the cafe's interior, where a lone worker was wiping down the countertops. The glass display case in front of you showcased an array of cakes and pastries, though the selection was limited at this hour.

“You gonna order anything?” you asked, eyes scanning over the hanging menu above the counter.

“Yeah…a latte and maybe a cake, too,” Ken paused, gaze flickering over the cake display before shifting back to you. “You want anything?”

“I’ll probably get a bowl of anmitsu,” you mused, turning to meet his eyes. “What kind of cake will you be getting?”

Ken hums in thought for a moment, leaning in closer to the display. Rows of desserts were neatly arranged.

Fluffy cake rolls on the tile shelf with their swirls of cream peaking our— flavours ranged from strawberry to matcha. Slices of chiffon cakes in pastal colours on the middle shelf. And finally, tiny containers of pudding at the bottom.

“Not sure yet,” he murmured, his mind wandering over the cake display. His smile took a slight wicked edge as he added. “Maybe a cake I can feed you a bite of…”

The image of him holding out a spoonful to you flashed through his mind, followed by your lips closing around it. His imagination reeled, and he caught himself chewing his lower lip, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

Just as his thoughts threaten to wander further, your voice pulls him back to the present.

“Their chiffon cakes are always good.” you said, gesturing towards the pastel cakes.

“Yeah?” Ken followed your gaze to the neatly placed cakes. “But they’re crumbly. I’ll get cake all over your face.”

“It’ll be worth it though.” you teased.

Ken chuckled, glancing at the display again and taking another moment to look at the options again. His eyes shifted to the pastries with their delicious golden crust glistening under the light.

“Maybe I should get something messy, then,” he leaned in close to your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper again. “Like…one of those cream puffs with the sweet, sticky filling. I could lick it off your lips.”

Your eyes widened, and you let out an exaggerated gasp, swatting his chest. “Shhh! You can’t say that out here.”

“Why not?” he grinned, voice lacing with his smugness. “No one’s paying attention to us.”

Despite your playful scolding, Ken’s chest swelled with satisfaction and his ego soared.

He was aware that he shouldn’t push things too far, especially in public, but seeing how flustered you were and your stunned expression was too irresistible not to enjoy.

“Still…what if someone was eavesdropping on us.” you said, a hint of caution in your voice as your eyes darted briefly towards the other patrons.

“Then they’ll just hear me flirting. Harmless isn’t it? Doesn’t matter if they know how badly I want to taste the cream puff from your lips.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“What? I can’t tell my girlfriend how badly I want to kiss her?”

“Hmph, just order already.” You crossed your arms with mock indignation.

“Alright I’ll order for us, you go and find us a seat.”

His eyes followed your form as you weaved through the tables, your movement unhurried but purposeful. You found a table in the corner of the cafe that offered both privacy and a clear line of sight to the entrance.

Ken couldn’t help but hold his gaze at you with the cafe’s lighting cast a warm glow over your features.

Dragging his focus back to the task at hand, Ken stepped up to the counter and placed the order— a latte and a slice of cake for himself and a bowl of anmitsu for you.

Ken watched as steam erupted with a high-pitch hiss from the milk frother, the aromatic scent of the coffee mixed with the faint sweetness from the pastries.

The barista poured the milk into the latte cup with grace and precision, creating a delicate foam on top. Besides her, another worker arranged your anmitsu, layering the sweet toppings before placing it alongside with a spoon.

When the tray was finally ready, Ken paid and carefully carried it across the room. The clinking sound of ceramic cups and murmurs of the patrons accompanied his steps.

Setting the tray down on the table with a small smile on his lips, he slid into the seat across from you, feeling the soft cushioned chair beneath him.

Your eyes swept over the content of the tray before landing on the cream puff besides the latte. Your brow arched in disbelief. “Oh my God, you actually got it.”

“I did. Why? Did you think I wouldn’t? You thought I was bluffing?”

“Well, yeah. You’re always bluffing.”

The corner of his lips curled into a smirk at your surprise. Ken pushed your amnitsu closer to you before claiming his own plate. A faint whiff of the dessert’s sweet and rich scent rose to his nose, stirring his anticipation.

Picking up the fork, he scooped a bit of the cream cake and popped it in his mouth. He deliberately closed his eyes and let out an exaggerated, drawn-out moan of pleasure at the taste.

Even with his eyes shut, he could feel your gaze burning into him. He even took it a step further and started licking the cream off his lips.

When he opened his eyes, he found you pulling a face and he couldn’t help but give you a cheeky grin. “It’s delicious, by the way…”

“Hmm, it does look good.”

“Come on…you’ve been staring at it long enough. Have a bite.”

Ken took another spoon full of the dessert before holding it out to you. The moment you leaned in to reach for the spoon, he felt his heart spike and his senses on high alert— taking in every single detail of your action.

His eyes never left your mouth as they parted and closed delicately around the fork. He felt the fork grow lighter as you took the bite.

His focus stayed on your tongue flicking across your upper lip to catch the traces of cream and powdered sugar.

Witnessing it happen in real time was far more tantalising than his imagination— the sight was intoxicating.

He swallowed thickly, forcibly pushing the heat stirring in his chest.

A heat pooled in his gut, seeing you chew on the cake thoughtfully, completely oblivious to the effect you were having on him.

Ken inhaled sharply, trying to ground himself as he reached for a napkin. His hands trembled more than usual as he leaned forward and dapped the corner of your mouth to wipe away the cream you’d missed.

But instead of pulling back after, his thumb lingered, brushing over your lower lip— the same lips he had kissed feverishly in the past. The contact was light and featherlight but enough to make his stomach flip.

You froze under his touch, meeting his gaze. Your lips parted slightly to speak.

“Light and fluffy…”

“Mhm…” Ken hummed, completely distracted. Though he wasn’t sure if he was thinking about the cream puff you just had or the softness of your lips.

“Do you wanna try mine?”

Ken blinked rapidly, snapping out of his trance. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away from your lips, the warmth of your skin fading too quickly.

But his attention turned to your bowl of anmitsu, taking in the vibrant layers of fruit, glossy jelly cubes, and the soft mochi balls.

“Sure…looks delicious.”

Taking the spoon you offered, scooped a piece of mochi and fruit from the bowl.

The fruits were cool and refreshing in his mouth, and blended with the mochi which gave a pleasantly chewy texture.

He handed the spoon back to you, still chewing on the mochi. You pushed the fruit and the mochi around in the bowl with the spoon meticulously.

“They put a lot of mochi in this.” you commented.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised.”

You reached for the brown sugar syrup that came with your anmitsu and poured it over the bowl. “Try it now.”

Ken scooped another bite, now coated in the syrup. The sugary bursts mixed with the fruits tang, and he let out a low hum of approval at the sweetness. “Hm…it does taste better.”

“Too sweet?”

“It’s already sweet enough, though I think you’re sweeter.”

“Corny.” you said, dragging out the word to emphasise your disapproval, though the faint smile on your lips betrayed you.

Ken chuckled at your reaction, he knew you were only disguising the effect his words were having on you.

He propped his elbow on the table, leaning his chin against his palm with his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

“It’s only corny because you get flustered every time. Did you see your face earlier? When I was talking about the cream puffs?”

You only rolled your eyes at his words, a grin forming on your lips now. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“So, you’re only putting up with me because I’m cute?”

“And maybe because you’re a star player and super rich and whatever.” you replied, twirling the spoon through the anmitsu and waving your hands dismissively.

Ken tilts his head, the back and forth banter bringing a warmth in his chest. Being with you like this— relaxed and unguarded— was a relief in ways he rarely allowed himself to think about.

Having conversations like this with you felt refreshing knowing he would tease and you’ll do it right back.

He tapped his finger against his chin in a mock pensiveness before responding back. “Right, so you’re telling me it's my money and status you’re after, not my dazzling personality or good looks?”

“Oh, that too, I guess.”

“Is that how it’s gonna be, princess? Pretending you don’t secretly like me for more than my money or looks.”

“And what if I said yes?”

“Well,” he said in mock contemplation. “I’d have to work extra hard to win you over. Though I’d say that I'm pretty confident I have a head start.”

“I think you might need to focus on getting on dad’s good side first.”

Something struck inside him at your words— like a whiplash. The mention of your father always hit differently, a reminder of the uneasy dynamic that lingered between them. Ken let out a short sigh, his chest tightening.

It was still a sore spot for him that Shimura initially disapproved of him and his less-than-stellar past behind— though it wasn’t unexpected.

Despite everything Ken had accomplished back in LA— leaving his troubles behind and earning his respect in the field— it seemed his reputation preceded him.

Shimura, along with his teammates, had always treated him like the brash American kid trying to catch up, even though he came back to Japan to prove him among his own people.

With you, however, it was the opposite. You didn’t see him as an outsider or just another player in your dads team. You made him feel like he belonged.

That contrast made moments like these jarring, as if he was living two different lives— one as your boyfriend, and the other as a player constantly trying to win over your father.

Ken’s tone shifted quickly to be more serious, exposing his vulnerability in his words.

“Yeah…I’m trying, princess. It’s just, I don’t want to screw things up and risk not being able to see you again like this.”

Ken took a sip from his latte, the beverage now lukewarm against his tongue, but his mind was elsewhere and far from the cozy warmth of the cafe.

He knew he shouldn’t be dwelling on the ‘what-ifs,’ not when he was on a date with you. But as he sat there, he couldn’t ignore the nagging thoughts that pulled him under. How different would his life be if things had turned out another way?

What if his mother had never taken him to LA? If he’d stayed in Japan, would Shimura still look at him with the faint edge of distrust?

Would he see him different— one who wasn’t marked by a childhood spent feeling like an outcast in a foreign country?

Ken’s jaws clenched. He had spent most of his life in America, trying to fit into a culture that didn’t quite know what to do with him. The bullying had been relentless, the teasing cutting deep in ways he hadn’t fully healed from, leaving the scar of isolation.

Friendships were distant at best. Romantic relationships were practically nonexistent. For a long time, he felt like no one truly saw him.

Even the rise to stardom with the Dodgers hadn’t changed that much. Sure, people admired him, celebrated with him— but it still felt hollow and fragile.

None of it felt real, not like this. Not like you.

He glanced at you across the table, your head down as you inspected your dessert in front of you. If he’d never returned to Japan, he wouldn’t be sitting here right now, sharing this quiet, intimate moment with the only person who truly sees him.

Still, a bitter reminder lingered in the back of his mind. Would he have risen to stardom at all if he hadn’t gone to LA? Despite how brutal it was, the isolation and struggles had shaped him— it made him resilient-driven.

Without those years of grit and loneliness , would he have had the means to lead the Giants to victory? Would he have been ready to take his father’s Ultraman duties when the time came?

Ken sighed again, finishing off the last bite of his cream puff before taking another sip of his latte. It really was strange, the way life worked.

The very things that had made him feel out of place— his complicated family history, his American upbringing, the expectation of following his father’s footsteps— had somehow led him here, with you.

However, the weight of those ‘what-ifs’ still pressed onto his chest. His life with you— a fragile happiness— was precarious. He couldn’t shake the fear that one wrong move could send it all crashing down.

Being caught in the act by your father. It made his throat constrict with anxiety. He already knew that Shimura didn’t trust him. What if that made him believe that he wasn’t good enough for you? That he couldn’t take care of you the way you deserve?

He took another sip from his latte, though it did little to sooth the knot in his chest.

“You know,” you began, not looking up from your bowl as you stirred the syrup into the anmitsu, “being with you makes it easier to forget about everything else.” you said, not looking up from your bowl as you spoke.

Your words caught him off guard, but the tension in his shoulders started to melt. His stunned expression softened, replaced by something gentler.

“Yeah…that’s part of why I like you so much. You make me forget about everything.” His cheeks flushed slightly how openly heartfelt he was now as the words left his mouth, but he didn’t shy away from their weight. “It’s like…you make me want to be a better man.”

He reached out and let his fingers skim across the back of your hand— a subtle touch that carried all his unspoken emotions that he struggled to articulate.

You paused, looking up at him. “I don’t think I can imagine your struggles…especially considering your money and fame overshadow all of that.”

“Everyone thinks that it's easy.” Ken’s lips quivered into a humourless smile. “Being a player admired by thousands. I guess some parts of it are great. But there’s still a lot of stress and pressure.”

He glanced down at the flakes of his cream puff on the empty plate with his thoughts flickering like the steam rising from his latte.

Expectation pulled at him from every corner of Ken’s life— like a massive tree, sprawling yet burdened.

The roots that ran deep were from his fathers influence. They were planted firmly in the soil of his childhood and enchtranched his upbringing and identity.

The roots were unshakable, just like his fathers legacy of being Ultraman— something he was expected to fulfill.

No matter how far he had gone, across the Pacific to LA, he’d never truly escape those roots. Even now they wound tighter around him, tethered to the ground he was expected to nurture.

Then there was the bark— the protective layer. That was Coach Shimura and his teammates. It shielded him from the eternal storms, but it wasn’t invincible. It still demanded so much from the tree itself.

Shimura’s expectations weren’t harsh, but they were heavy and carried their own weight. The bark was strong and steady, but sometimes, it felt like it was tightening. As if holding the tree too firmly in place.

But it was the branch of the tree that weighed him down the most— the fans and the public image. They reached far and wide, growing outwardly. Branches were supposed to flourish.

But how were they expected to grow if you don’t cater to its needs. That’s what it felt like for Ken.

One wrong move; one bad game, and they could snap off. Every game felt like a performance of those branches, trying to keep those intact, making sure they don’t fall under pressure.

But no matter how strong they appeared, Ken knew how easily they could break.

And then there were the leaves, fragile and fleeting— the opinion of the critics, the headlines of papers, the ever-shifting opinions on social media.

Leaves changed with the seasons. One day could be lush and green, full of praises and admiration. The next, they withered and fell, leaving the tree bare and exposed. Their praises were temporary and their critics were choppy.

Though the leaves were less permanent, they still needed care and their loss could hurt the tree entirely. However, Ken couldn’t stop the seasons from changing or the wind from blowing.

Ken swallowed thickly, his eyes glued to the table as his train of thoughts spiraled further. Being that tree sometimes felt like he was stretching thin, trying to meet the demands of every root, branch and leaf.

And then there was you.

You weren’t a part of that endless tree. Not another branch to hold up, nor another leaf to nourish. At least, not yet. But the fear gnawed at him, dark and persistent, whispering at the edges of his mind.

What if you have expectations too?

You hadn’t said much or demanded anything, but it was only natural, wasn’t it? Relationships are always built on unspoken agreements of needs, hopes, and desires.

What kind of boyfriend did you want him to be? What were you looking for in him? Would he ever be enough?

It wasn’t that he doubted your feelings for him. It was the pressure he felt to be the person that you deserved.

To always be charming, supportive, attentive. To make time for you despite his demanding career.

For so much of his life, he had been judged by the outside world— his performance, his persona, his wins, and his losses. The thought of being seen by you that way made his throat tighten.

What if one day, you grew tired of him or wasn’t getting what you wanted from him and left? The thought alone of the empty space you would leave behind broke his heart and made his mouth dry.

It was worse than losing a game, worse than headlines calling him a failure.

Even with the lighthearted conversation and teasing you just shared earlier, his doubts were almost impossible to shrug off.

His mind were a battlefield of his insecurities and worries, but the warmth of your hands that pulled him out of his dark thoughts startled him.

You brought his hand and gently kissed over his knuckles. “Even if things do turn out bad for you, I’ll still think you’re incredible.”

The affectionate gesture unravelled him, nearly spinning him off his axis from being flustered— his mind momentarily going blank.

It wasn’t just the kiss— it was the conviction in your voice. The quiet, unwavering way you said it.

He let out a quiet sigh, his eyes half-lidded as he leaned a little closer to you. The warmth of your kiss still lingered on his hand.

“You always know how to make me feel better.” he murmured, his voice carrying a sincerity he rarely let show.

“You’ll still have all of me, even if you mess up. And I know you’ll do the same.” You brow arched as you added, “Right?”

Ken tilted his head, an amused smirk played on his lips at your remark at the end. The tension in his chest was replaced by fond amusement.

“Of course I will. You think I’d trade you in for someone else?” his voice lowered, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made his next words feel like a vow. “I'm not letting you go princess…not for anything.”

At that moment, the weight of the world seemed distant, as if the noise of expectations and pressure had diluted to a low hum.

He was so focused on looking at you, Ken didn’t notice you sneaking your hands across the table to reach for his coffee mug until you announced it.

“I’m taking a sip from your coffee.” you said, already snatching the cup.

Ken blinked, catching up to the present. “Hey…that’s mine.”

“I don’t have anything to wash down the mochi.”

“Hmm, can’t say no to that.”

Your face scrunched slightly in distaste after you took a sip. “You don’t put sugar in coffee?”

Ken shook his head and chuckled at the face you made. “No…I like the bitterness of the coffee. It’s more enjoyable that way.”

“I suppose the cream puff makes up for the sweetness.”

“No cream puffs for you any time soon if you keep stealing my drinks.”

“I don’t want anymore anyways,” you huffed in feigned offends. “Too bitter.”

“Awh what’s wrong? Can’t handle the taste of something that’s not over-sugared.”

“It’s not that…how do you drink that raw with no sugar?” your nose scrunched in mock indignation.

“I’m just used to it, I like the stronger taste of my coffee.” he glanced down at his coffee mug before looking back at you. “How could you drink something that’s so sweet?”

“It won’t be too sweet. The sugar just cancels out the bitterness.” you said, matter-of-factly.

Ken only rolled his eyes, responding with an exaggerated sweet tone. “Sure, princess. It’s not too sweet…just enough to make it a sugary drink instead of actually having a coffee taste.”

You pushed the mug back to him, waving off his dramatics. It was almost cathartic how the conversation could go from heartfelt and tender to teasing and flirting, like a flip of a switch.

With you, it always felt right, like stepping into the sun after being caught in the rain.

Ken shook his head at your dismissal, lifting the mug to take another sip of the latte. He didn’t mind the bitterness, especially if it meant sharing more moments with you.

Your eyes flickered past him, freezing on something near the cafe entrance.

“Crap.” you muttered.

Ken’s brow furrowed before turning to see where you were looking. Blood rushed in his ear the moment he spotted his teammates walking through the door.

Their presence wasn't loud or disruptive, but rather casual as they made their way towards the counter. The familiar jerseys and laughter sent a jolt of panic through him and a look of slight trepidation crossed his face.

“Crap…” he echoed your words, quickly turning back to you. “I think that’s our queue to leave.”

What were the odds? The cafe was in a quiet area, far from the usual hotspots, and yet here they were. His shoulders stiffened as he scanned the room, trying to gauge if anyone had spotted you.

Ken stood up first, his chair scraped softly against the floor. They weren’t looking in your direction but it was only a matter of time if you both stayed there any longer.

His voice lowered in your ear. “Come on.”

His hands found your wrist, lightly gripping it as he guided you towards the door without being noticed.

“They haven’t seen us, yet.” you said, glancing nervously at the group.

“Let’s not give them the chance.” His voice was barely audible, and his grip on your wrist tightened as you both made it to the door.

The air in the cafe felt heavier with every step. Ken’s pulse quickened and he resisted the urge to look over his shoulder.

The brass of the door handle was cool against Ken’s palm as he pushed it open. The cool breeze brushed against his face, a welcome contrast to the tension that had knotted inside.

The cafe, once a warm refuge that provided comfort, now felt like a minefield— every glance a potential threat.

Ken scanned the area of anybody potentially following you both. The buzz of distant traffic and the rustle leaves were the only signs that greeted you. Once he was satisfied, he let out a loud sigh of relief.

“So, where to now?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“We should probably get off this street and go somewhere else more quiet…and private.”

Ken turned down the corner, his strides confident but unhurried. The two of you emerged into an empty car park bathed in the dim, orange glow of streetlights.

Everything else felt insignificant now, far from the predicament from the cafe or the traffic beyond. Ken led the way toward the far corner, where a sleek bike rested— its polished surface gleaming under the lights.

“Is that your bike?” you gasped, taking in the sigh that was in front of you.

“Yeah, that’s my ride.” The pride was evident in his voice and his expression, seeing the look on your face.

“It’s beautiful.” The genuine awe in your voice sent a ripple through him.

He didn’t say anything, only gave the bike a fond pat before throwing his leg over it and settling into the seat.

“You up for a quick cruise?”

“You sure?”

“Of course. Have you ever been on one?”

“No….” you admitted sheepishly, your eyes darted to the floor out of shyness. He felt a hint of his male ego spike at that, his eyes roaming at your figure.

“Well,” he said, shifting forward on the seat to give you room. “I guess I’ll be your first ride, then. Hop on— I’ll take care of you.”

You hesitated for a moment, your hands brushing against the cool leather of the seat.

“Have you ever had a woman ride behind you before?” you asked. Ken didn’t miss the flicker of doubt in your voice

His hands tightened on the handlebar, looking back at you. It wasn’t the question that threw him off but the way you asked it.

He recognised the insecurity, the way it slipped out almost against your own will. And it hit him harder than expected.

The idea that you might think he was the type to collect fleeting connections and one night stands stung.

“Of course not.” His voice was steady, stripped of its usual tease. “You’re the only one I’d ever want to give a ride to.

You let out a small, nervous laugh at that. “I guess I’ll be your first, too.”

Ken chuckled, patting the seat behind him. “Damn right you will be.”

He wouldn’t admit it, but making you feel secure in this moment felt more important than anything else.

Ken’s joyrides were something sacred— his personal retreat from the noise and chaos. The familiar rumble of the engine had always been his companion, a constant source of solace.

It wasn’t something shared with anyone. Ever.

But now, as you stood next to the leather seat, it struck him how different this felt. Letting you into this part of his life was like cracking open a private door, one he’d never let anybody step into.

The thrill of it sent a flutter through him, both exhilarating and unnerving.

You finally took your seat behind him, and the shift in weight sent a wave of awareness through him. He swallowed hard when it suddenly hit him how close you were behind him.

Then your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and he felt his nerves spike. The heat of your fingertips grazed his abdomen sent little sparks of electricity through his body.

It wasn’t fear he was feeling but an intensity he wasn’t prepared for.

He let out a shallow breath as he felt your body pressed even closer. The sight of you behind him in the side mirror was enough to draw in a quick breath.

With a flick of the kill switch, the bike roared to life beneath him. The vibration and the sound broke the stillness, carrying you both out of the car park and into the Tokyo streets at an incredible speed.

The neon glow of the city painted streaks of light across the dark streets, and the hum of the traffic blurred in the background.

It was just you and him with the quiet rhythm of your trust that kept him grounded.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @despacito-uwu16 @roserfz27

#★— ayrus writes #coach’s daughter ☆#ultraman fanfic #ultraman: rising #ultraman rising #ultraman #kenji sato x y/n #kenji sato x you #kenji sato x reader #kenji x reader #kenji sato #ken sato x reader #ultraman ken #ken sato #ken sato x y/n #ken sato x you #ken sato ultraman

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twst-drabbles · 10 months ago

Text

Floyd 10

Summary: Sometimes when Crowley irritates you, you like to throw Floyd right at him.

(Really like the thought of slinging this eel around like a ferret.)

Ever since Crowley installed a number of automatic systems that basically did his chores for him, he's been coming over more and more often out of sheer boredom. He pops over in your house unannounced, hogs your television when you want to use it, and has even taken over a lot of your chores just as you were in the mood to do them.

And right now, he's watering your berry bushes like he didn't take the hose from your hand.

"Neglecting your berry bushes like this, how awful!" Crowley complained loudly like you weren't right there in your backyard, splashing your feet about with Floyd chasing after your toes. "But, because I am very kind, I shall do it for you at almost no cost!"

You pinched Floyd between your ankles and threw him to the end of the pond. He flailed and squealed as he went sailing.

You yelled back, "No Crowley, you're not watching your shows on my TV! And I'm not making you snacks!"

He has his own television! And you know he can make his own snacks! You've seen him on a cooking show once at 1 AM! He knows this stuff! He doesn't need you to do any of this. And besides, when he gets too into whatever drama he got himself into, he whoops and hollers just as you're about to enter the realm of sleep.

Seriously, you already have issues with sleeping at a consistent time and this bird-brained man is not making things better for you. You have things to do! Pets to take care of and entertain when their solo enrichment wasn't enough.

"Oh come on," Crowley scoffed in that way that never fails to irritates you. That specific scoff like you're some silly kid that's claiming things for themselves because they haven't digested the concept of sharing. "Don't tell me you have forgotten basic manners. You haven't been an adult for that long and already you don't want to show appreciation for all these things I'm doing for you."

"I don't need you to do shit for me, Old Crow," your whisper came out as a hiss.

Crowley was struck by nickname he probably thought was dead on your tongue. "Old-!"

"What I need from you," you smiled and dunked your entire arm into the pond. You grabbed Floyd just as he was about to nip at your calves. "Is for you to get a hobby!"

And like a rocket being launched, you threw Floyd directly to the back of Crowley's head. You may have thrown this eel one too many times. His posture was perfectly straight, arms sticking right out like he's one of those superheroes in a cartoon, and his face was perfectly pensive as though you're sending him off on a mission.

You didn't really mean for him to land perfectly on the back of Crowley's head. You just wanted Floyd to get, like, around his back but oh well. Too late now.

Floyd gripped his teeth and claws into Crowley's hair just as he tipped forward at the new weight.

"What in-" Then, Floyd slipped his tail under Crowley's collar, then whipped it around with no mercy! "Mmmah!"

"Ah, Floyd's slime wiping attack," you noted with a chuckle. You've been victim of that move a few times before. You're pretty sure it's not any sort of territory marking so much as he wants to gross people out. "I am not sorry."

Seriously, just because he's bored, Crowley thinks he can annoy you and not face any of your antics. If he wants to spend time with you so much, he should at least call or text ahead. Or go hang out with literally anyone else in this neighborhood. There's not a single person here that doesn't know him by name.

"Get him off!" Crowley sprinted right past you, trying to grab Floyd but his poor hands are covered in slime, "Get him off!"

"Hmm," you splashed around the pond some more. "Nah."

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #drabble #octavinelle #floyd #floyd leech #house pet au #reader insert

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raaorqtpbpdy · 11 months ago

Text

This Sure as Hell Never Happened on Scooby-Doo

While investigating a fairly routine haunting in a Michigan hotel, Sam and Dean come face to face with a creature unlike any they've faced before. [Takes place around mid season 1 for SPN, and at a non-specific point in the DP timeline]

Written for @crossoverdanuary Week, Day 7: Supernatural | Veil

First off, congrats to Supernatural for finally making the main prompt list after two years of being an honorable mention lol. I had a lot of trouble coming up with an idea for this one for some reason, so it ended up being kind of generic. This is, however, the first time I've ever written the Full Hazmat AU, which was pretty exciting.

AO3 Link

[Warning for minor violence, and references to suicide throughout]

As a general rule, hunters steered clear of Amity Park, although the reason why varied from one to another.

Some believed all the so-called supernatural occurrences there were just a hoax, like Bigfoot, so there was no point wasting valuable time and energy looking into them. Others swore up and down that, hoax or not, there was something about that town that made you see things. Impossible things. Things that made even the most experienced hunters pause. Some simply believed that Amity Park could take care of itself. Outside interference would only cause more problems than it would solve.

Then there were those who believed that Amity Park, that the very town itself, didn't want them there. That hunters were just not welcome.

The town was infamous in the hunter community. Grizzled, plaid-wearing men would talk about it at roadhouses and truck-stop diners. They'd warn other people away, tell them not to even drive through it on their way to somewhere else. There was nothing in that town worth dying for, and they took care of their own. Hunters weren't needed, they weren't wanted, and they'd just do better if they stayed away.

Every once in a while though, Amity Park's unique brand of freaky bled out of that isolated town. And when it did, then it became the hunters' problem. Unfortunately, more often than not, they wouldn't know it until it was too late.

Sam and Dean were investigating a supposedly haunted hotel. Staff and guests they'd spoken to had all reported blinking lights, cold spots, scratching in the walls. The staff seemed content to blame it on the owner's unwillingness to spend money to fix or update anything. The guests, on the other hand, not so much.

Those who stayed overnight reported horrible nightmares about bleeding out from their wrists. Some of them even claimed to have seen things, although they couldn't seem to agree on what they saw. A few saw a woman, covered in blood from slit writs, and crying, who vanished in the blink of an eye. But another claimed to have seen a small figure in a partially melted hazmat suit.

"Could there be more than one?" Sam asked when they'd returned to their own room in the hotel.

It was more expensive than the crappy motels they usually stayed it, but it was more convenient, and it gave them an excuse to wander around if they were actually staying there.

"Maybe, but... I don't know. If someone committed suicide in the hotel, it makes sense that their spirit would linger," Dean said. "I just can't think of any reason why there would be a ghost in a hazmat suit. Can you?"

"If the building used to be some kind of lab or research facility, it's possible," Sam said, "But this hotel was established back in the late thirties, and even if there was a research facility here before the hotel, the hazmat suit he described was much more modern than they would have worn back then."

Dean scoffed as he plopped down on his bed.

"Of course, leave it to my nerd brother to know what hazmat suits looked like in the thirties," Dean mocked. "Seriously though, that second ghost just doesn't make any kind of sense."

"We'll know more once we find info about anyone whose died in this hotel," Sam said. "This place has been in business for almost seventy years, I'm sure we'll have plenty to wade through."

"It could have been that guy was just making up a story," Dean said. "We've got three people claiming they saw a woman who disappeared, but only one mentioned the hazmat suit. Maybe he was messing with us."

"He seemed pretty shaken up about it," Sam said. "I didn't think he was lying."

"I didn't either, but...." Dean shook his head thoughtfully. "Something about that story just doesn't sit right. And you know what else? That redheaded girl who got all defensive when we started acting questions. Something doesn't sit right about her, either. She acted like she was responsible, or trying to protect the person who was. Except we already know this is a haunting. We know there's at least one ghost, so why did she act like that?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "Could be she was trying to hide something else."

"Maybe...."

"Come on," Sam said. "Let's start by combing through local death records at the library."

"You go ahead," Dean told him. "I wanna talk to that girl's parents, see if they know anything. I'm starting to think there might be more to this case than just a standard haunting."

"Fine. We'll meet back here later."

—

"So, what'd you find?" Dean asked when his brother got back to their room.

"Okay, so get this," Sam began. "There have been several deaths in this hotel. A couple of heart attacks, a couple of accidents. One guy fell out his window, which caused the hotel to seal all the windows on the upper floors shut so they couldn't be opened. There have also been three suicides since the hotel's founding.

"A World War 2 vet shot himself in the head in December of 1945, just a few months after the war ended; A girl OD'ed in 1963, leaving a note about how the state of the world had made her unwilling to live in it; and lastly, a woman in 1992 slit her wrists in room 201 after her husband divorced her, blaming her for the murder of their only son."

"Sounds like we've ID'ed our first ghost," Dean noted. "We got a name?"

"Jennifer Bishop," Sam said. "She was accused of murdering her son, but never convicted because they never actually found the body, only a whole lot of blood they identified with DNA testing. She defended her innocence until her death, but the police never actually investigated anyone else for her son's disappearance and presumed death. Once she offed herself, they just closed the case."

"Another gold standard of police incompetence," Dean said. "Did you find out where she was buried?"

"Her family was catholic, but since she committed suicide, they couldn't bury her in their family plot at their church. Instead, she was buried in a public cemetery, Lincoln Memorial Park... but it's in her hometown: Petoskey, Michigan. She was only here for the trial."

"Great, so we gotta drive all night to get to friggin' Petoskey," Dean moaned. "Awesome. This is why hotel ghosts suck. Did you find any leads on hazmat suit?"

"Nothing. What about you?" Sam asked. "Get anything useful interviewing that red-headed girl's parents?"

"Nah," Dean said, shaking his head. "Remember those hellhoundslair dorks?"

Sam nodded.

"That's what they were like," he continued. "Overenthusiastic, but incompetent. She probably realized we were asking about ghosts and was nervous they'd overhear. While I was talking to them she reminded them they'd promised not to hunt any ghosts while their family was on vacation. They didn't seem too happy about that, but they at least stopped insisting they'd help me 'catch that slippery specter', so that was something, I guess.

"I did learn she has a younger brother, though. I didn't get to talk to him, but when I was leaving, I overheard the two kids talking, and he said something like, 'there's not enough of her there to talk to', and 'there's not a whole lot left of her at all," Dean finished. "Not sure what that was all about, but it seemed like they were trying to keep it on the down-low, especially from their parents."

"You think it could be related?" Sam asked.

"As far as I know, the brother never promised not to hunt ghosts," Dean replied with a shrug. "That and a gut feeling are pretty much all I have to base it on, though."

"Well, we know who our suicide is, at least," Sam said. "One of us should go take care of Jennifer Bishop while the other stays here in case she starts causing anymore trouble, or in case the hazmat ghost shows up again, if its even real."

"Why don't you take the salt-and-burn this time," Dean suggested.

Sam froze and looked at his brother, completely shocked. "You... want me to take your car and drive two hundred miles away... by myself?"

"And if you bring her back with so much as a scratch on her, I'll make you wish you were never born," Dean said. "But I feel like there's something at this hotel that I'm missing, and I'm gonna stick around until I figure it out."

"It's really bugging you, huh?" Sam noted. "Alright, well... it's a three hour drive, so I'd better get going."

"Yeah, and don't forget to fill up the tank on your way back."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said as he walked out the door.

They'd already brought some weapons from the trunk into the hotel room, so Dean wouldn't be unarmed if he ran into one of the ghosts.

He did some quick math in his head. The ghost, or ghosts, probably wouldn't show up until it was night. Sam had a six-hour round trip, plus a good hour to dig up old Jennifer, probably longer, since he wouldn't have help. It was early afternoon now. 1:18 pm, a glance at the clock told him, so he could expect Sam back around nine-ish, give or take an hour. Sunset was around seven.

Jennifer would be gone well before nightfall... but that other ghost... if it even existed, they didn't have a single lead on it.

Dean headed down to the lobby.

He'd noticed them yesterday, a group of older ladies with a basket of yarn in the middle of them, chatting up a storm. He and Sam hadn't spoken to them yesterday, but now that Sam was gone, it was time for Dean to dial up a very particular type of charm that Sam would tease him for mercilessly if he ever saw it. He stood nearby, waiting for his moment.

"I swear," one lady said. "I turned up my thermostat four times last night. I had it cranked all the way up to ninety, and I could hear the radiator groaning like anything, but my room was still freezing."

"Did you phone the concierge?" another lady said.

"I tried, but they just apologized and said it's an old hotel," replied the first. "Didn't even offer to send a handyman, or move me to a different room or anything. Anyway, that's why started coming down here during the day. I just can't stand it."

That was his chance. "You too?" he asked her. "Which room are you in?"

"I'm in 201, why?"

Bingo. 201. The same room as their suicide victim.

"Well, it got to a point where I got my tools outta my car and just fixed the darn radiator myself," Dean lied. "I could take a look at yours too, if you'd like."

"Would you?" she asked, sounding beyond relieved. "Oh, thank you so much. It's gotten so bad I can hardly sleep at night, so that would be a real godsend if you would do that. You're such a lamb."

"Oh, it's no problem, ma'am," Dean said, taking an empty seat nearby. "The name's Dean, by the way."

"I'm Millie," the woman said. "And these are my friends, Cathy and Debbie. We're in town for a big doll convention. We're collectors, you know. And Debbie even makes dolls herself out of felt."

"I do, and I've gotten pretty damn good at it, if I say so myself," Debbie said. "I even made a felt baby doll for my granddaughter's birthday a few months back and she was over the moon."

Upon closer inspection, all three of the ladies seemed to be knitting or crocheting very small clothes, presumably for dolls. Hopefully he could redirect the topic of conversation back to ghosts soon, because Dean didn't know Jack about dolls.

"What about you?" asked the third woman, Cathy. "What brings you to Lansing? I assume you don't live here, or you wouldn't be staying at a hotel."

"I'm here on business," he replied, silently thanking god that she'd changed the topic for him.

"What kind of business?" Millie asked. "You said you can fix a radiator, are you some kind of technician, or construction worker?"

"Actually... I'm a private investigator," he lied.

"Oooh, exciting!" Cathy said. "What are you investigating?"

"I'm afraid I can't share the details... but maybe you ladies could help me," he said. "Have any of you seen anything strange while you've been staying here?"

"I saw a man dancing near the park who could clasp his hands behind his back and pull them all the way in front of him," Debbie said. "That was pretty strange. I gave him a dollar."

"I was thinking more like in the hotel," Dean said. "Maybe like... a figure in a hazmat suit?"

Millie gasped, and Dean fixed his gaze on her.

"You have?"

"Well... you see, I have sleep paralysis," she said. "Last night, I had only managed to fall asleep for an hour or two because it was so cold, but then I woke up in the middle of the night because my room suddenly got even colder, but I couldn't move, of course. It takes me a while to be able to move after I wake up.

"And then I saw, like you said, someone wearing a hazmat suit, a black one with white gloves. They were small, like they weren't fully grown, and they were glowing," Millie explained. "Their suit was damaged, partly melted, it looked like. I'd never seen something like that before, but I just figured it had to be a sleep paralysis hallucination, and maybe it partly was, but do you think it could have been real? That someone broke into my room last night?"

"How frightening," Debbie said with a shiver.

"Maybe," Dean said. "Maybe not. I'm not really sure yet." He paused, consideringly. That was two people now who saw the hazmat suit, and this one saw it in the same room where the other ghost had died. "Did it say anything to you? Or do anything that you saw?"

"I couldn't really turn my head, but they seemed like they were looking for something, didn't seem to find it though. Nothing was missing from my room when I finally got up, at least," Millie said. "They didn't say anything, and only looked at me for a moment. Oh! But they might've been muttering something. Not sure what it was, though."

"Thanks, that's a lot of help," Dean said. "If you think of anything else, let me know?"

"Do you think I'm in danger?" Millie asked. "Should I request a room change after all?"

"If that would make you feel safer," Dean said. "I'm not sure it's as cut and dry as a break-in... but maybe you should just stay in one of your friend's rooms for a night."

"You can stay in my room tonight, Millie," Cathy volunteered.

He stayed for a little while, chatting with them. It wasn't something he wanted getting out, but old ladies always loved him for some reason. He even managed to get Cathy's key-lime pie recipe, which the other two swore up and down was absolutely to die for. Who knew when the next time he'd have a kitchen to try it out would be, but he'd make sure to write it down next chance he got, just in case.

It wasn't until he saw that red-haired teenage girl and a short, black-haired boy who was presumably her brother walk through the lobby that he excused himself to follow after them, claiming they were persons of interest in his case.

"If you didn't find anything, how did you even know it was the right room?" the sister was asking when Dean got close enough to hear.

He was trying hard not to be noticed while he tailed them, but as quietly as they were talking, he had to stick closer than he would have liked.

"That was where her presence was the strongest," the brother answered. "I just don't know how I'm supposed to help her when she's not strong enough to speak, and we're leaving tomorrow, so tonight is my last chance."

Could he be a psychic of some kind? Maybe a medium?

He turned around abruptly, and Dean barely had time to make it look like he was examining a shop's window display of... glass baubles and nick-knacks. Oh, yeah, he definitely seemed like the type to be interested in those. Hopefully they wouldn't question it.

"Is he staying at our hotel?" the brother whispered.

"Yeah," the sister confirmed, "and he was asking about cold spots and flickering lights, too. You think he knows something?"

"I think I'd rather stay away from him," replied the brother. "He could be the dangerous type."

After that, it seemed like the kids were deliberately trying to shake him, and it wasn't long before they did, almost as if they'd simply vanished into thin air.

Dean gave up searching and returned to the hotel. He found Millie in the lobby and asked if she'd let him into her room to fix the radiator, even brought the few tools that he'd had in his room to make the story more convincing.

"Even if you don't stay in here tonight, I figure I can at least do the hotel a favor," he said.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," she said. "Don't you go snooping around in my underwear drawer," she teased, and he laughed along with her until she closed the door behind her and headed back downstairs to her knitting.

Any evidence that there had been a suicide in this room had been long since erased. It was cold, just as Millie said it was, but there didn't appear to be any problem with the radiator. One of the tools he'd brought along was an iron crowbar, and he gripped it tightly.

"Jennifer, you in here?" he called out.

The time was 5:06, meaning Sam was probably digging up her grave right now.

He got no response.

"Jennifer?" he called again. "Jennifer Bishop?"

Nothing.... he was pretty sure that kid had been saying she wasn't a very powerful ghost, maybe that was why she hadn't done much. She hadn't actually killed or even hurt anyone beyond a couple of nightmares and a cold room. Maybe she couldn't show herself during the day.

The Winchester brothers had only stopped here because they happened to be so close by when Sam read an article that claimed guests at this hotel had seen apparitions, and experienced horrible nightmares about a woman slitting their wrists. But the nightmares weren't actually killing anybody. Normally, they wouldn't have even bothered, but they were only a few miles away, and nothing else was close by.

Dean opened his mouth to call out one more time, but before he could, there was a flash of light and a distant-sounding screen, and he watched as the ghost of Jennifer Bishop appeared and almost instantaneously disappeared.

One down. One to go.

And wow was this room suddenly sweltering. Millie wasn't kidding about turning her thermostat up to ninety. Dean adjusted it to a much more reasonable 74°F, and left to go tell Millie he'd fixed her radiator.

After she was done thanking him, he headed up to his room and called Sam.

"Dean?" Sam said. "I took care of Jennifer Bishop."

"I know, I saw her burn up," Dean replied. "Nicely done. Anyway, I got some new info about our second ghost."

"Yeah? Let's hear it."

"The lady staying in the room where Jennifer offed herself said she saw a glowing figure in a hazmat suit in her room, thought it was a sleep paralysis thing until I brought it up. She said it seemed like it was looking for something, but it didn't seem to find anything."

"So we have a second witness for our hazmat ghost," Sam said. "And the description lined up?"

"Exactly," Dean confirmed. "I also have a new theory about those siblings, the red-headed girl and her brother. I think the brother might be a psychic, and was looking for a way to help Jennifer pass on peacefully, except she wasn't a strong enough spirit for him to connect with. Not sure how or even if this ties into the hazmat ghost at all."

"Still no clues about who it could be?" Sam asked.

"Nada," Dean said. "I did confirm that there was no lab or any kind of scientific facility at this site before the hotel was built. According to the hotel manager, before it was a hotel, it was a movie theater that went out of business during the great depression and got torn down, and before that, it was live-theater, but I'm pretty sure that was before hazmat suits were even invented. Before that, nothing. Just an empty lot."

"So maybe we're looking for someone who died somewhere else and their spirit was brought to the hotel connected to a cursed object," Sam suggested. "Have you seen anything in the hotel that looks like it might have come from a lab? Or belong to some kind of scientist?"

"If it was something that belonged to them, then it could be anything," Dean pointed out in exasperation. "A chair, or a painting, or a vase? I'm not gonna be able to find it unless I know what it is."

"You'd better start looking into any deaths in the area that might have been related to radioactive materials then," Sam said. "Any kind of death that might have occurred while the deceased was wearing a hazmat suit."

"Yeah, something that would have burned right through it," Dean said. "According to our descriptions, the suit is partially melted."

"You got this Dean?" I still have two and a half hours of driving to go.

"Yeah, I got it," Dean replied.

He did not got it. He got nothing. He stayed at the library until it closed at eight and didn't find a single death that fit the description. He got back to the hotel around the same time Sam did.

"Did you fill the tank?" he asked immediately.

"Yes, Dean, I filled the tank," Sam replied, rolling his eyes. "Did you identify our hazmat?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah, I couldn't find squat. It's like this ghost is..."

"A ghost?" Sam finished for him, raising an eyebrow.

Dean scowled. That had been what he was about to say, but he knew it sounded stupid, that's why he'd stopped.

"Yeah."

Sam shook his head as they went back up to their room.

—

The brothers were still puzzling out what to do about their second ghost, Dean cleaning his guns while Sam poured over their dad's journal, when they heard a muffled gasp from above them. Floating there on the ceiling was a figure in a hazmat suit, its faint glow barely visible in the light of the room.

For an instant, none of them moved. Then, acting quickly, Dean grabbed the crowbar that was next to him on the bed and flung it at the figure on the ceiling.

Rather than passing right through, causing the hazmat ghost to dissipate, the crowbar made contact with a clang, hitting it right on the head and knocking it to the floor between the two beds.

"Quick, salt, Sammy!" Dean shouted, rather than gape at the seemingly unconscious 'ghost' on their floor.

He tried to grab the hazmat-wearing figure, and to his surprise, it worked. He dragged it into the armchair in their room while Sam laid a ring of salt around it.

"Do you actually think this'll work, Dean?" Sam asked. "I mean, it doesn't seem like any ghost I've ever seen. Iron is supposed to repel ghosts, not actually hit them. I'm pretty sure this is something else."

"Iron hurt it—"

"Being hit in the head with a crowbar hurt it," Sam pointed out. "Based on that, it could be human for all we know."

"It was on the ceiling, Sam," Dean said flatly, grabbing the iron chains from under the bed and wrapping them around their captive. "And this don't look like Spider-Man to me."

"Well it doesn't look like a ghost, either," Sam insisted.

"So, what, you think this is some kind of Scooby-Doo situation?" Dean asked. "We'll pull off the mask and it turns out it's just some shady real-estate developer who wanted to get the hotel closed down so they could turn it into a theme park? Let's try it then."

Dean grabbed the hood of the hazmat suit and tore it off.

They both gasped at what they saw.

Whoever it was, he looked young, maybe 13 or 14. His hair was as white as sheet and floated on an imaginary breeze. His face was dark. Lightning-bolt scars criss-crossed it all the way down to the neck until they disappeared under the suit's collar. His skin appeared to be badly burned, flaking off in ashes which vanished before they hit the ground.

He groaned as he started to come back to consciousness, and when he opened his eyes, they were a solid, eerie green, glowing so brightly they almost hurt to look at, even in the well-lit room.

"Still think he's human?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam shook his head, wide-eyed and dumbstruck.

"This sure as hell never happened on Scooby-Doo."

"Ugh," the mysterious boy groaned again, blinking and shaking his head like he was trying to get his bearings. "Did you seriously throw a crowbar at my head?" he demanded after a moment. "What the hell, dude?!"

"What are you?" Sam demanded. "A demon?"

"I'm a ghost, what the hell does it look like?" the boy replied.

"You don't look like any ghost we've ever seen," Dean said.

"Let me guess, you're more used to shades like the other ghost that was floating around this hotel, right?" the kid guessed. "She seems to have left the building though. You two got any idea why?"

"We took care of her," Dean replied. "Sam dug her up and salted and burned her bones. And if you really are a ghost, then we can do the same to you."

"You... you straight up ended her?" he asked. "Just like that? You didn't even give her the chance to move on? Ancients, what the hell!"

"She had the chance to move on when she died, and she didn't take it," Dean said. "Instead she terrorized people, so we showed up to stop her."

"She gave a few people nightmares! Everyone has nightmares sometimes! You didn't have to destroy her!"

"What's it to you, did you know her?" Sam asked. "She a friend of yours?"

"Well... no, but I was trying to?" the boy replied. "She was too weak to capture, and I didn't want to destroy her by trying to fight, so I was trying to learn more about her and help her move on."

"If you're a ghost, why don't you move on?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, what's keeping you around?" Dean echoed the sentiment more harshly.

"The same thing preventing you from salting and burning my bones," came the reply. The so-called ghost did not elaborate.

"And what would that be?" Dean finally asked.

"I guess you could say I'm not dead enough yet."

"So you're not a ghost, then," Sam said.

"I am," said the boy. "I'm not a shade, like that woman you ended. I'm what a ghost is like when we actually have enough power to be a whole person and not just a shadow of our former self. I'm a ghost like you've never encountered before."

"Whatever you are, we're gonna get rid of you," Dean jeered.

"Why?" asked the boy. "I haven't hurt anyone. All I did was try to help another ghost pass peacefully through the veil. Don't you hunters have any sort of moral code?"

"So, what?" Sam asked. "You're proposing we just let you go?"

"Fat chance," Dean scoffed.

"Not exactly," the ghost replied with a smirk. "More like I'm telling you not to feel to guilty when I escape." Then the ghost stood up, iron chains falling right off him. "Iron is more difficult to pass through without destabilizing, but not too much of a challenge for ghosts like me. Sorry, but this will be the last time we see each other."

With that, he pulled his hood back on, obscuring his face once more, so the only thing visible was the glow of his eyes behind the black lenses of his mask. Then he flew right up through the ceiling.

The Winchesters tried to find him. They searched the hotel top to bottom, probably looking half-mad, but he was gone. He'd simply vanished without a trace. And they never did see him again.

#dp #danny phantom #spn #dp x spn #superphantom #dp crossover #crossover #sam winchester #dean winchester #danny fenton #jazz fenton #fic #things i wrote #crossover danuary week 2024 #crossover danuary week #suicide ment #full hazmat au

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fakescenariosbeforesleepblog · 10 months ago

Text

Eye in the sky.

141 member reader(codename: eagle)x könig

You're the medic of your team, you never worked with KorTac before and you weren't prepared for it or for the blue eyed Colonel.

If you like it, give a ♥️ for a second part.

Warning: mentions of blood, injuries, grammatical/ spelling errors, long story. 📢 Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Pt.2

The meeting today is not going well, you've been listening to the boys complaining over and over again.

- KorTac? No, we can do this on our own.

- it's not a suggestion Ghost, I don't like the idea either but Laswell insisted.

- But Sir, those are fuckin animals!

- Yeah I don't like their techniques... Eagle, what do you think?

The four men are looking at you, expectantly, you're in your own thoughts, just waiting for your orders.

- Huh?

- What do you think Doc? Are you okay with the idea of working with KorTac?

Soap wasn't happy but like you he would do what Price and Laswell order.

- I don't mind, I mean we will play our part and they will play theirs, no?

- Indeed, eagle is right, we will arrive together, we'll clean the path for them and then... They will do what we're not allowed to do.

- Which is?

You're not new to this but you seriously don't understand why everyone is so bothered by this situation.

- Common eagle! Don't pretend you don't know.

Gaz is irritated by your silly question but you really need to understand what is going on.

- what? I seriously don't get it.

- They will torture to obtain the information we need, we're not allowed to use the same methods they usually use.

Ghost said it as if it was nothing, but now you get why they're not ok with the news.

Someone knocked on the door, Interrupting your meeting, Price opened while all of you were still talking in whispers.

- Guys, lemme introduce the members of KorTac that will be working with us. Horangi, Roze and König.

Roze and Horangi look strong but König looks like a giant bear, is taller than ghost.

- This is the 141, Ghost, Soap, Gaz and our medic, Eagle, we were already talking about how will we work.

You're still amazed by König's height, you don't even pay attention to what they're talking about, you're observing carefully, his arms are long and muscular, his legs, those thighs could explode anybody's head, his blue eyes...

- Eagle? Are you with us?

- ah? Oh fuck, Yes, I'm... Sorry Captain.

- I was saying there's a small change of plans, you will be working with König and his team.

Fuck, everybody noticed you were literally staring at him, you're blushing, focus, focus!.

- Yes, captain.

- Did you heard what will you do?

- Ah...

- Eagle is my best sniper and medic, sometimes looks like lives in the clouds but I can assure you there won't be problems during the mission.

- I hope so, I don't like to be a babysitter, Roze and Horangi, they're really good at any task (...)

A babysitter? Who does this tall man think he is? You looked at your friends, they're returning the annoyed glance at you.

- I understand, then that's how we will be working, Colonel, I'll give you the details about when we'll start.

The reunion finished, you started to walk to your room when Gaz appeared at your side with his silly malicious smirk.

- I saw that.

- What?

- You were looking at the masked giant, to be honest everybody noticed it.

- Oh god! I was just looking at how tall he is, did you saw him? It's massive, I will need to take like the double amount of everything just in case he's injured or something.

Gaz continued making fun of you, you felt seriously embarrassed you tried to do your usual tasks and pretend nothing happened then disappeared until it was dinner time.

You were looking for the table where usually you and the team sit, there they are, with Roze and Horangi, where's the giant? You look around just to see him sitting alone just with an apple and a protein bar, before you could even notice you're already in front of him.

- Ja? Can I help you?

He's not being rude but also not very kind, he's looking at you with a bothered look.

- Ah... No, well, I was wondering why are you here, everybody is eating together, over there.

- I like to be alone.

- oh okay, sorry...

You turned back and walked to the usual table, you discovered Roze and Horangi are more social, talking a little bit more than their colonel.

- Horangi, may I ask you something?

- go ahead.

- Your colonel... Is he always like that?

Horangi looked at König's direction, he stayed in silence for a moment then sigh and redirect his look to you.

- I shouldn't say this but he has social anxiety. That's why he always sits away, excuse me, I'll go to check on him.

He stood up and left, Roze interrupted your thoughts.

- They're good friends, don't worry. They're always together, well Doc, I hope your captain says the truth about you, take good care of us tomorrow.

She gave you a pat on the back and left, you continued the conversation with your team, keeping an eye on Horangi and König, then everybody went to sleep.

The morning arrived quickly, you're checking if you already have all you could possibly need. You're checking your gun, knifes, belt, you don't want problems with the KorTac guys. Ghost appeared behind you.

- Ready?

- Fuck! Ghost, you scared me. Yes, just wanted to check once more.

- You'll be alright Eagle... Just... Take care of you when you're with them, alright?

- Is Ghost worried about me?

You tried to joke with him but he was talking really serious.

- I'm serious, we don't know them, we don't know if they have other plans or something.

- Yes, Lt.

The trip on the plane was calmed, everybody reviewed the plan, it was simple, You and König will be in high ground, as snipers, while the rest eliminates enemies that are not visible for you, Roze and Horangi will be searching for information and the target, once they found him, You and König will join them, you will wait until they finish to obtain information, give medical attention to the target because Laswell needs him alive.

You and König started to walk to the highest ground you could find, you're just following König In silence until he decided to speak.

- Why Eagle?

- What?

- Why that codename? Eagle?

- Ah well, my father is a huge fan of that old band... The Alan Parsons project, do you know it?

- I don't think so.

- do you know that song... « I'm the eye in the sky, looking at you I can read your mind...»?

- nein

- Oh well, it's a good song, my dad sang it for me when I was afraid or anxious. When I joined the army I sang or hummed it all the time and everywhere, eventually everybody knew me for that and started to call me eagle because you know, the song and I'm a good sniper, I like it, it's a reminder that my dad still walks at my side, even if he's no longer here.

You looked at him and to your surprise he was observing you, too focused on your story, his eyes are blue and his look is soft, then he looked somewhere else.

- Good story. Umm I think this is a good place, what do you think?

- Sure, it gives us a good view of the place.

The radios interrupted the conversation. «Eagle, König, Are you ready?»

- Yes Cap, you have eyes in the sky.

You and könig started to shoot and it became a competition to see who would shoot down more targets. You started to laugh and so he did.

- Ha! And they said I couldn't be a sniper.

- God! You're a good sniper König, you're hard to beat.

- Danke, you're good too.

And there it is that look he gave you before, soft blue eyes but once more something interrupted you.

«König, we found him, bring the Doc, were waiting for you, he refuses to talk» «Do your magic Colonel!!» Horangi and Roze were on the radio.

He Stood up and offered you his hand to help you to stand up, you started to trot quickly, In silence, you noticed how tense he was, you arrived at the location, Ghost and Soap were waiting for you outside, König got inside the house, you were ready to follow but Ghost stopped you.

- What? I'll go with them, no? Where's Gaz and Price?

- You will wait here until they say you're allowed to go there.

You looked at both of them in confusion, soap simply nodded at you.

- trust us, eagle, you don't want to see that. The cap and Gaz will join us soon, they're blocking the communication in the zone.

A few minutes later you started to hear someone screaming «Please!! Please, I beg you to stop...» then silence again, you're worried but you know soap and ghost were right, maybe it's better to not see what is going on there. Almost an hour later Roze came out. «It's your turn Doc» before you could give a step inside the house she warned you «I have to say... it's not a nice view» she went back inside and you followed her, the smell of blood became stronger with every step you gave, before you got inside the room, you could hear some laughs, you opened the door just to find König cleaning his hands, while Horangi was cleaning a knife, next to them was a man, in a chair, he's unconscious but breathing, blood is everywhere, certainly Roze wasn't lying, it wasn't nice, but you made your best to look normal.

You kneeled down in front of the man, started to look for a serious injury that needed to be attended before some other, his face is hard to recognize, is bloody, puffy, purple, fresh cuts still bleeding, his fingers are broken and don't have nails anymore, there's deep cuts on his thighs, broken ribs, nose broken, you can bet he is deaf and toothless now, his ears are bleeding too, it's a mess, you don't know where to start.

Horangi decided to let you work, he left, there's only you and König, you can feel his eyes fixed on you.

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sublimecatgalaxy · 2 years ago

Note

JJ Maybank smut with best friends to lovers? Maybe they get super high and they get into mischief?

UM YES LMAO

"You ever think about banging John B or Pope?" JJ's question makes me choke, the smoke in my lungs quickly expelled- wasted- in an attempt to snap my head to look at JJ, who has a shit eating grin on his face.

"JJ, what?" I squeak, watching him shrug simply as he rests against the back of the drivers seat in the van. I look around, searching for any sign of our friends but there's no movement in John B's shack, just dead silence.

"I'm just asking a question!" JJ whisper yells, holding his hands up in surrender as he blows weed into the air between us. My cheeks warm, hands reaching up to scratch at the back of my neck and I see that JJ's eyes bloodshot and his pupils are blown.

"It's a stupid question." I mutter, taking a hit from my own joint, falling back onto the floor with a groan. JJ watches me with a teasing look as I stretch out on the floor of the van, his eyes flicking down to where my shirt rides up.

"Seriously? You've got no imagination." He chastises with a click of his tongue, head shaking disappointedly at me.

"Shut up!" Smacking him upside the head, he screeches, rolling away from me with a loud laugh. "I have an imagination, they just don't occupy it."

"Lame." He snorts.

"Why lame? Do you think about Kie in that way? Sarah?" I dig but he just pauses, eyes flickering up to the ceiling as he thinks.

"Well-" He laughs, running his fingers through his unruly hair. "I've known Kie since the start of puberty so that's a given."

"You've known me since puberty." His eyes widen briefly at my implication, throat clearing loudly as he sits up abruptly.

"Yeah? And?" He squeaks. "Are you asking me if I've had indecent thoughts about you? Gasp!" He asks and I immediately shake my head, trying to recover from the obvious grave I've dug myself but when a smile cracks across his face, I know he's just messing with me. Thank god. "You act like such a prude sometimes." He shakes his head, peeking past me and up at the Chateau.

"I'm not a prude." I huff, brows furrowed as JJ moves to lay down beside me, nimble fingers holding a joint to my lips. I take his invitation without hesitation, lips wrapping around the tip.

"You lost your virginity to a band geek." He snorts as I take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before blowing it directly into his eyes, his blue orbs snapping shut as curses fly from his lips.

"He was kind of cute." I defend but I know I'm lying through my teeth, remembering the scrawny boy from junior year. He was nice enough and he was very excited to be given an opportunity to even touch a girl, let alone have sex with one.

But yeah, he could've been better looking and he could've lasted a bit longer.

"Uh, no. He wasn't- I'm cute, he's like totally fugly, dude." JJ laughs, forcing the 'cutest' smile he can muster. Reaching out, I pinch his cheeks with a giggle.

"Fine, he wasn't the cutest but..." I trail off, toying with the strings of JJ's hoodie that I wear, tying them and untying them. JJ's brows furrow as he rolls onto his side, propping his head up with the palm of his hand.

"But?"

"I don't know, he was a good kisser. Gentle." I huff, head drooping to the side so I can look up at JJ who just scoffs with a cringed smile.

"Ugh yuck- gentle, how absolutely boring." I know that he means that and that he's not just teasing me- he's always been pretty adamant that 'vanilla sex invites nothing but divorce' or so he claims. He took shots and Pope and Kie when they first got together, urging them to spice up their bedroom life and he did the same to John B and Sarah but there was no helping those two.

"Okay, well at least I'm not a man-whore." He gasps at my attempted insult, feigning offense as he falls onto his back, gripping his chest.

"Ouch! Man-whore- no. I like to call myself femininely inclined." He boasts proudly, sending me a wink that makes my stomach flip.

"More like horizontally reclined."

"And vertically." He whoops, reaching behind to pat himself on the back. A few beats go by, JJ biting at his lip as he looks over at me, looking as if he wants to ask me something. Before I can tell him to spit it out, he speaks. "So you've only had sex with that one guy?"

"Sex- yeah, just the one guy." I nod sternly, biting back a smirk. "I've done other things." I offer vaguely, watching a shocked expression pass across his handsome face, his cheeks blushing gently at the thought.

"Really? I'm your best friend- you gotta indulge me here." He implores breathlessly, scooting ever so close to me.

"You don't tell me all about your sex-capades. How is this fair?"

"What do you wanna know? I'm an open book, cupcake." I grin, clasping my fists under my chin as I look at him, eyes flickering back and forth between his deep blue hues.

"I don't know, uh, ever gone down on a girl?" I ask the first question that pops into my head but it makes him freeze, giddy, proud smile fading as his head drops to rest against the carpet.

"Fuck." He mutters into the carpet.

"What?" I ask, pulling my knees to my chest, facing him.

"No." He sighs, head tilting so his cheek presses into the floor, squished cheeks forcing his lips into a cute pout. His cheeks are red and there's a boyish smile on his lips and for a second, I wonder if he's actually embarrassed. Or flustered?

"You haven't?" His head shakes, pout only deepening as his eyes shut.

"No, but it's like a fucking dream of mine." His voice is deeper than it was moments ago- gravely and tense too- and it causes a shiver to shoot down my spine.

"Seriously?" I ask, breathless and flustered at the thought of him imagining pleasing a girl and having it be on the top of his bucket list. Most guys, I can assume, would rather have something way filthier done to them, but the thought of JJ wanting to do nothing but give is mind blowing.

"Yeah, yeah- I get it. Girls hate going down on a guy but, I don't know dude." He cuts himself off with a groan, running a hand down his face as he returns to staring at the ceiling, biting at his lip. "Has a guy ever gone down on you?" He asks but looks shocked that the words actually leave his lips, blue eyes widening briefly.

"Yeah but it was really fucking bad." I giggle, breaking some of the tension in the small space, an intrigued grin spreading across JJ's lips.

"Why?"

"Didn't know where the clit was- wasn't even in the right place." He bursts out laughing almost immediately, kicking his legs and clapping his hands like a child. I've never told him this before, mostly because I didn't want him to make fun of me but it almost seems like he's making fun with me.

"Guys act like it's hard to miss." JJ snorts and shakes his head in deep disapproval. "Not that hard- and that's coming from a guy who failed human anatomy."

"Cuz guys don't actually take the time to look. Like a simple google search could show you the whole entire pathway of female anatomy. They either think the clit is a magic button or they don't care." I whine, rubbing my hands down my face in frustration just at the memory. "You guys are so easy- you cum and it's not that big of an achievement on our part." I chuckle and I watch JJ groan and adjust himself, rolling back onto his stomach.

"Jesus." He whispers, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and I begin to pick up on what's going on.

"What?" I ask through a prolonged sigh, biting nervously at my lip as JJ reaches down to actually adjust himself. "JJ! Seriously, are you hard?" I giggle, sitting up, spine straight as a board as he whines and hides his face in his hands.

"Please don't make fun of me, I'll cum." His words make me laugh even harder, my chest aching from the giggles that don't seem to stop and he reaches out to smack my bare thigh.

"You started this!" I point at him with an incredulous look, lighting another blunt and holding it to my lips. I take an extra strong hit, closing my eyes to try to wash out all of the inappropriate thoughts filling my mind but they don't seem to go anywhere.

"I need more weed, please and thank you." JJ tries to reach out to take the joint from me but I hold it away from him with raised, teasing brows.

"Nope, it's mine now." I shrug, taking another hit.

"You like to see me suffer? You masochist." He tuts, biceps straining as he lifts himself up onto his arms beside me, head just inches away from my thighs.

"You've got no clue." The words leave me faster than I can control and I almost immediately slap a hand over my mouth.

"I..." He trails off, silencing consuming the empty space around us. I can hear my heartbeat rumbling in my ears and I suddenly feel so exposed under JJ's heated gaze. "This is getting weird." He mutters, throat dry and words come out more ragged than he intended and he clears his throat awkwardly.

"Yeah, weird." I mutter but before I can add anything more, he interrupts my thought process with a shocking question.

"Can I go down on you-"

"JJ!"

"What?!" "It would be a mutual experience." He promises but I pause, jaw slacking and lips parting as words completely and utterly escape me. There's no thoughts in my head, no words on the tip of my tongue, just JJ and the stupid image he's put in my head of him between my thighs.

"I just- wouldn't that be weird?" I ask, actually considering it for a moment, wondering if I could finally have the opportunity to learn why and how JJ gets so many women to get into bed with him.

"Not for me." He shakes his head viciously, chin tilting upwards so he can give me the cutest pair of pleading puppy eyes, lip pouting out as I shove him. "Dude, you're stupid hot."

"No I'm not." I scoff.

"Uh huh, you are." He promises, hand slipping under my thigh so can he lower himself beneath it, slipping effortlessly between my thighs as he rests my leg across his shoulder. I flush at the new position, completely and utterly at his mercy as I swallow roughly, watching him rest his cheek against my bare skin. "C'mon, when was the last time you actually came like really came where you didn't have to do it yourself."

"Never." I respond immediately, throwing caution out the window.

"Fuck, you're killing me here." He whines, tongue slipping out to wet his lips, the eager look in his eyes only growing. "C'mon, let me make you cum- please let me make you cum." All of the air pulls from my lungs, the dumb look on my face only worsening as I try to process his words in real time but I feel like I'm so far away from here.

Maybe it's the weed or maybe it's the way JJ's fingers are inching towards the waistband of my spandex shorts, toying with the edge of it.

"I'll do anything- you want music, I can do that- weed, fuck where's the weed-" He's suddenly scrambling around, knocking things over as he looks for the blunt that I discarded and he doesn't let up until he hears me call out his name. "Show me." He whispers, pressing a shameless kiss to my thigh, a small breathy sigh escaping me at the gentle feeling. "Please."

"You're my best friend, JJ." My words have no weight to them as he motions towards my pants and I give him a firm nod, allowing him to start to pull them down, kissing newly exposed skin with every inch revealed.

"So, let your best friend show you how good he is with his tongue, huh?" I moan freely, reaching up to shove my hands in my face as he discards my shorts but he doesn't look just yet, not daring to break eye contact with me. "Just- here, give me your hand." I do what he says and he helps me slip my fingers into his unruly hair, urging me to give it a simple tug. "Better?" He asks, tugging me further down onto the floor by my hips as he nestles between my legs.

"This is so awkward." I mutter, not bothering to let go of his hair while his lips skim against the sensitive skin of my navel, teasing me with every breath he breathes.

"Just relax. Not like I'm gonna judge you or anything." He promises and I finally look down at him and the look in his eyes is all it takes for me to relax into him a bit, seeing the devotion and the adoration lining his blue eyes.

"You're the king of judgment." I giggle breathlessly.

"Just close your eyes or something." He reaches up to run his fingers teasingly across my face, pulling a snort from me. "Also, maybe be quiet since they're sleeping like twenty feet away." He clicks his tongue towards the house and I nod, legs shaking beside his head as he urges me to bend my knees.

"This is so fucked up." I mutter.

"Are you gonna talk through this whole thing-"

"Do something and maybe I'll shut my mouth." He chuckles against my hip, nipping it playfully as I squeal, giving his hair a firm tug as he moans.

"Yes ma'am." He takes a tentative deep breath before giving in, tongue flattening against my slit as a trying taste, a quiet hum escaping him and he chuckles. "Mmm, you taste salty." He coos, dragging the tip of his pointed tongue up the length of my core just before circling around my clit and I tug on his hair.

"Please don't make me self conscious right now." I chuckle, whole body flushing and trembling under his touch. He wraps his arms firmly around my thighs, holding me to him so he can dive right back in, lapping like he's been deprived of touching me- tasting me.

"Not trying to, I didn't say it was a bad thing." He mutters before freeing one of his hands from holding me, slipping his fingers into his mouth before skimming them along my entrance, watching my every move and motion for any sort of disapproval. When I give him no sign, he slowly slips his fingers into me, moaning loudly as my spine arches up into him. My hand flies from his hair to the ground, fisting the carpet as I use my other hand to muffle my squeals. "Fuck, you are all I'm gonna be craving from now on. Fuck weed, fuck beer." He sounds so sure as he watches his fingers disappear and reappear, carefully curling upwards in a skillful maneuver and I feel it, the uptick of pleasure, the electricity shooting down my legs.

"JJ-"

"What is my form of dirty talk not working for you, sweetheart?" He teases, tongue flattening and moving in quick motions- side to side- against my clit and my head thumps against the floor, hair probably all over the place by now.

"No it is, and I'll cum too quick if you keep talking." I giggle breathlessly, again reaching down to thread my fingers through his hair to ground myself.

"Shut it, you love to hear me talk."

"I do." I admit bashfully, wanting nothing but to let him keep talking but another part of me wants to just shrivel up and die out of embarrassment, wondering how we're going to come back from this- how are we supposed to talk this out? Tell our friends?

"Do you realize how long I've wanted this? Fucking years." JJ's confession eases some of the questions I have running through my head and I don't feel like my heart aches as much as it did before,

"JJ, I-"

"Yeah? You wanted me too?" He asks, hiking my legs further up onto his shoulder as his fingers pick up pace, thrusting in and out of me at an unholy speed, his brows furrowed in concentration.

"Yes, want you so bad." I squirm under his grasp, core tightening around him with ever thrust and it almost makes me want to scream how his fingers just aren't enough.

I want more.

"You've got me. I'm trapped between your thighs, no better position for a man to be in to care for his woman." He grins, sucking my clit between his lips and my jaw drops in a silent moan, lips trembling in pleasure and I feel a lawyer of sweat drench me.

"Your woman?" I ask, propping myself up onto my elbows to look down at him, gasping violently as I chase my high but there's apart of me that can't move on from what he said. His woman?

"Yeah, mine." He growls, blue hues glancing up at me and the look in his eyes is enough to make me cum; pupils blown to high hell and he's looking at me like a predator gazes at a prey.

"Fuck, all yours- I'm gonna cum." Before I can though, he slips his fingers from me, pulling back with a wicked grin and I whine loudly, feeling tears prick at the corner of my eyes.

"Not yet."

"Why?" I whimper and I know I sound pathetic and I wouldn't deny it but I can't find a fuck to give right now as he so close to me but choosing to be so far.

"Cuz I like to make you squirm. This is payback for making fun of my hard-on." He winks, not breaking eye contact as he licks at my clit, not taking his time, not waiting but going full force into trying to make me cum and make me cum hard.

"Wasn't making fun of you. I liked it." I admit, running my hands down my face as I suck in a breath of air. "I want you so bad, JJ." The tears in my eyes finally crack, rolling down my cheeks and he's quick to bat them away from his free hand, other hand brushing across my clit in wide swoops.

"Yeah?"

"I'm cumming- shit." It hits me like a ton of bricks, my body tensing and then trembling against him and I writhe around in his grasp, trying to wiggle away from him but he doesn't let me, just lowers his tongue to my core and tastes me once more.

"Fu-uck." JJ moans, reaching down between him and the floor to adjust himself, palming himself too not so subtly. "Holy fuck, Y/n." He mutters, resting his chin against my thigh as I chuckle, biting my lip and throwing an arm over my eyes.

"Now I'm embarrassed." I mutter and JJ's on it in a minute, handing me his sweatshirt so I can slip it on over my naked body.

"Here- goddamnit." He huffs, running a hand through his hair as he gazes at me, pussy drunk and stoned. I hug myself in his sweatshirt with a coy smile, biting at the corner of my lip before surging forward, pressing my lips to his. "Woah." He mutters into the kiss, hand hesitantly reaching up to cup my cheek.

"All yours, yeah?" I ask, lingering near his lips as I press another few pecks to his lips and he chuckles under his breath.

"All mine."

#jj #jj x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #the outerbanks #the outerbanks fic

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optimisticmosquito · 7 months ago

Text

Imagine a liujiu AU where LQG returns from the dead to save SJ from the water prison:

SJ has been placed in the water prison to be tortured by LBH. The whole trial had been a disaster, but that wasn't particularly surprising. A deep part within him still stung from how none of his martial siblings had even been there to try and defend him.

No one is coming for him, that was simply a fact. LBH had removed his legs a few day earlier and had him write that cursed blood letter, but the joke is on him. YQY wont come back for him. Not after he told him not to return. He had set the man free, there was no reason for him to associate with trash like SJ any longer.

He hears steps come closer, most likely LBH coming back to gloat at him, and maybe to torture him some more. Perhaps he was going to remove SJs arms next.

Looking up he becomes momentarily stunned. He must be hallucinating, maybe the pain and loneliness of his acid filled cave has finally driven him to insanity.

In front of him is a man that should be long dead, the Bai Zhan war god, Liu Qingge. The man he was unable to save in those caves so many years ago.

But is it really him? SJ doesnt think he's ever seen LQG wear that expression towards him. Or, maybe once, during his last moments.

It's a pained and devastated expression. It is compassionate, something that would have made SJ bristle when the brute was still alive. It was many, many words left unsaid.

"Am I dead?" SJ asks with a hoarse throat.

"No." LQG answers bluntly.

Death hasn't changed the man, it is maddeningly amusing in a way. SJ lets out an huff "Then why are you here?".

"I'm here to take you back home" LQG answers with all the seriousness of his old living self.

Against his will, SJ feels his lip wobble, "I have no home, I brought this on myself." .

"Maybe you did." LQG says, "but you did not kill me. I won't let them use my death to falsely imprison you."

Ah, of course. SJ manages a wry smile "So you are here to defend your honor then?".

"No," comes the immediate answer. LQG bends down and hesitates a moment before he places his hand on the side of SJs head. His thumb hovering uncertainly above the skin under his removed eye, before softly brushing the dried blood from cheek.

He swallowed thickly, voice filled with emotions SJ couldn't even pretend he understood. "You tried to save me, more than once. You were never a lazy young master, despite everything I accused you of. And you never went down to the brothels to.. to do that.".

How could he know all that?

LQG took a deep breath, closing his eyes to gather himself. "It seems like I've always misunderstood you shixiong, let me make it up to you now."

SJ must truly have gone insane, question is, what part of his demented mind wanted LQG of all people to see the truth of him?

"Do whatever you want" he answers with apathy. None of this was real anyways, he'll probably wake up in a moment to an empty cell. The memory of LQG will have left him as easily as everyone else have.

Closing his eyes, he thinks he hears a soft "I'm so sorry" before exhaustion claims him. He should get some rest before that beast shows himself again.

Next that follows is LQG taking SJ out of water prison. LBH tries to stop them but YQY gets in his way him. LBH knows he can't beat him in direct combat, that's why he wanted to lure him into the trap in the first place. Seething with rage, he has to let them leave with his shizun.

At CQM, LQG meets up with the rest of their martial siblings, who are understandably shocked to see him. After extensive testing for possession, even taking out Hong Jing, they finally believe he has returned to the living. He talks with the other peak lords, telling them how SJ never tried to kill him in the lingxi caves.

Rather, it was LQG who almost killled him in a fit of deviation induced madness. LQG tells them how he had momentarily regained his sanity and saw how badly he had hurt SJ, who was begging him to come back to himself. And who didn't look far away from a deviation of his own.

He had known at that moment he'd end up killing the man if he slipped back under. So he did the only thing he could, he stopped himself from doing something unforgivable.

After all, the mountain losing only one peak lord was better than losing two. And even with their complicated history, LQG did not want to hurt SJ.

LQG then explains how he had spent many years as a ghost. Watching how SJ was accused of his murder, and how his little sister had suffered by the loss. Seeing how his death had deepened the cracks between the peak lords.

He saw the trial where SJ was accused of many things, including his death. He saw the demon torture SJ and take his legs.

At that moment of utter helplessness, he had been approached by an entity calling itself the System. It asked him if he had any regrets he wanted to mend, and what he was willing to do to return back to life. He accepted the deal and woke up shortly thereafter.

That was how he arrived at QDP at the same moment YQY went outside, eyes wild with desparation and fear.

YQY told him about SQQ and about the box and the blood letter LBH had sent him. Together they were able to form a plan to get him back.

LMY had been so shocked upon seeing him again, and upon hearing all that she had thought of her shibo was wrong, that she didn't refuse him when he asked her to take him to SQQ.

All the while YQY, instead of rushing in head first, asked for an official meeting between himself and LBH to distract the other man. Something he had barely managed without drawing his sword and killing the demon.

LQG and YQY manages to convince the other peak lords to agree to protect SJ. LQG then helps SJ recover, helps him get prostheses and to train up his strenght again.

He also helps SJ bridge the chasm between himself and the other peak lords. And makes sure they become a (somewhat) united front against the new demon emperor.

He constantly tells SJ he will not allow LBH to get his hands on him again. And slowly the former rivalry grows into something else as they learn to know and trust each other.

LBH on the other hand becomes increasingly desperate in his attempts to get SJ back into his claws. But with SQQ, YQY and LQG all protecting the sect, not even LBH can do anything against them.

#anyone who wants to adopt this is free to do so #just tell me if you do bc I also want to read this #my list of ideas is to long for this to ever see the light of day as a fic lmao #scum villian self saving system #svsss #the water prison #shen jiu #liu qingge #liujiu

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bluemoonsunrise · 18 days ago

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Demons and Savages

pairing: tsu’tey and human!avatar driver (fem presenting)

content warnings: graphic language, alien vs human differences, the RDA sucks, fuck u miles quaritch, tension you could cut with a knife, enemies to lovers. (also, i don’t like to capitalize sentences on tumbler :3)

word count: …idk :D (roughly edited sry)

pov: 2nd person so you can add yourself in. for writing/plot purposes, your character is named eris ramsey. i’ll use the name sparingly but i can’t take myself seriously writing y/n— so please just work with me here. i promise it’ll be worth it. (i hope)

< previous chapter

———🌌———

SUMMARY: earth was dying and your sister was, too, but cancer killed her faster than humans were killing earth. when she passed, she not only left behind an empty apartment full of memories but a billion dollar avatar without a driver. in a desperate attempt to not waste that money, the program she had spent the last five years preparing to join recruited you— her twin. of course, you agreed. there was nothing left on earth for you. there was nothing left on earth for anyone— that’s why people like your sister were sent off to pandora.

when your sister had spoken of pandora, it seemed like a dream.

the RDA promised it would be like a safari adventure.

truth was that pandora is beautiful. beautiful and unlike anything else across the whole of the universe. it is breathtaking— and that’s because what chases you through the forest hunts with the intent to kill; so you best run like hell even if your lungs are on fire. beasts and monsters of all kinds lurk out of sight waiting for the right moment to kill you dead— but none are as dangerous as him.

the blue shadow with the bow.

chapter four

— weak hands —

“if i want to get us any closer to peace, i’ll need to put in a lot of work.” you said as you logged the events of your day. you could hardly keep your eyes open. for a rest day, you felt more worn down than you did on days you spent entirely in the forest. “if i want to gain back trust the omatikaya once placed in the avatar program, i have to pass two tests.”

“tsu’tey says it will take months for me to even think about passing the first test. in order to complete iknimaya and claim an ikran, i have to be strong. i have to have a fighting spirit. a strong heart, he says. i have to learn the ways of warriors. it is no easy challenge— but an ikran would kill me otherwise.”

“he told me that he doesn’t doubt my heart.” you said softly. you looked at yourself on the screen and covered your cheeks with your hands as you saw color rise into them. “he just doubts that i’ll be able to pin down the damn thing before it kills me.”

“i think that’s all for today. lots to be done. tomorrow i start archery. fun, huh? i hope. really, i do…alright. see ya.” you reached out and clicked the recording off.

you had no energy to eat. you had no energy to do anything at all. when you climbed into your bunk, you fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. it was hard for you to sleep most nights— but exhaustion made it easy for you now. it reached out its arms and enveloped you in its warm embrace.

you dreamed of the riverbed and the stars. you dreamed of the bugs that floated by. you dreamed of the way the water sounded sloshing against the shore of the riverside.

you dreamed of him, too.

you dreamed of running with him through the grass. the way he chased you. you could almost feel your chest burn as you ran and ran and ran. even in your dreams, he caught you. he tangled you in his arms and lifted you off your feet.

you didn’t hesitate to kiss him.

you had wanted to kiss him today. it was an insufferable itch that you wanted to gnaw at with your teeth— but you couldn’t.

when you woke in the morning to the usual alarm set for all those in the avatar program, you could not have been more frustrated. you buried your face into the pillow and groaned into it.

you didn’t want to dream about him.

you didn’t want to think about him the way you always did. he was supposed to be your mentor. a teacher. a guide. not someone you dreamed about kissing.

you didn’t want to face him.

after the hot springs, you two returned to home tree as if nothing happened. he got you food and you sat with others in the clan and listened to their stories. you listened to their songs. tsu’tey told stories of his own. he did not sing alongside the others but the faint smile on his lips showed his contentment.

and that was it.

all day, you rested in the livelihood of home tree with him. eating. talking. laughing. introducing yourself to those who dared to approach you. those who let you join their circles. you helped string beads and craft twine. mundane, small things that you enjoyed more than you thought you would. while most of the conversations were held in navi, you were able to pick out bits and pieces.

it wasn’t until after dinner when you made your nightly walk with him to your hammock that what had happened between the two of you weighed on you. he didn’t say goodnight. he didn’t spare you a glance. he hit you with his shoulder as he passed and hissed under his breath.

you did not want to see him— but he was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes in your hammock.

“get up. now.” tsu’tey said. his tone was sharp. lethal. there was no patience to be found in him.

you did your best to get up quickly. your head spun with the daze of shifting. he grabbed your arm to steady you— but he dragged you down the center column of home tree without any warning.

“agh— dude.” you muttered as you tried to pull your arm free. “stop it.”

“walk.” he said, pushing you in front of him.

you didn’t fight against him. it would do you no good. once you were out of home tree, you shrugged him off. thankfully, he went willingly. without a word, he flicked his head towards the direhorses waiting.

you approached mitsia with gentle hands. she pressed her snout against your face as you said hello. reaching up, you formed tsaheylu with her and swung yourself up onto her back. with a soft pat to her neck, you urged her to follow behind tsu’tey.

he moved with purpose today and mitsia ran fast to keep up with him.

you rode into the thick of the forest. you had to duck low onto mitsia’s back as to not get snagged in the low hanging vines. all sorts of sounds resonated in your ears. the rush of wind. the chirping of pandoran birds. squeaking and squawking. thundering hooves. snapping sticks.

when tsu’tey finally came to a stop, it was by a pond. he hopped off his direhorses back and clicked his tongue as a thank you. when you slid off mitsia’s back, you thanked her with a soft kiss to her face.

you felt bitter as you met his eyes.

what he had told you yesterday lingered in your mind. mitsia was yours. maybe not like how an ikran could be, sure, but you were certain that she would come only to you if you called.

“good girl.” you whispered as you patted her neck.

“come here.” tsu’tey said, his tail flicking behind him like a feral cat.

you parted with your direhorse and sighed as you stood in front of him. you expected him to start with a lesson on archery. he carried two bows on his back. instead, he grabbed your hands and scoffed at them.

“you have weak hands. small fingers. they will bleed.”

you ripped your hands out of his grasp. “you don’t know shit. they won’t bleed.”

“they will.” he said, snatching your arm. he tapped his fingers against your bicep. “no muscle. children have more strength than you. i bet you would not be able to pull yourself up whilst climbing a tree.”

“would you cut the shit?” you pulled your arm out of his grasp and scowled at him. “you’re pissing me off.”

“you will fail today at archery. many times. just as you failed at riding pali. you are weak. you will have troubling drawing back the arrow. i doubt you can aim.” tsu’tey said.

“but you will learn.”

your mouth closed. the anger in your expression lessened as you watched him pull one of the bows off from around his shoulder. it was simple. dark wood. strong string. it was heavy— but not as heavy as his. not as well-crafted and expertly designed. not at pretty.

“first rule of bow,” tsu’tey said as he stood up straight. “you must be like tree. tall. strong. always strong in your belly. for everything. be strong in your belly.”

you mimicked him. standing up straight and tensing your core, you held yourself in the same tall posture. you matched his breath. over and over again, you told yourself what to do like a mantra: keep tense but don’t suffocate. don’t suffocate. breathe. in and out. in and out.

tsu’tey lifted the bow and assumed a shooting stance. no arrow was drawn, but he pulled back the string. you could see the tension in his belly. you could see the firm stance he held in his shoulders. more importantly, his legs. like two pillars on the ground, he appeared unmovable.

he appeared strong.

and you knew he was.

“when you draw back the bow, you must use two fingers. always two fingers. it is how you keep the arrow aligned. draw back is hard when you start. bows are strong and they fight against you. that is why arrows shoot so far.” tsu’tey said as he lowered his bow.

“you try.”

you took a sharp breath and tightened your core. you did your best to mimic the stance he held. before you could even drawn by the bow, he was all over you. he spread your legs further apart with his own. he smacked you on the hip and you were quick to place tension there. a grunt of approval was all you earned. he did the same to your shoulders and you were quick to straighten up.

“that is proper position.” tsu’tey said. he tapped your stomach lightly. “firm. strong. it is good. it is powerful. keep this habit of strong core and you will learn the posture fast. it will be as easy and natural as swinging up onto his the back of pali.”

“right,” you said softly.

“now draw back the bow.” he said.

you hooked two fingers around the string and pulled. your lips thinned and your brows knitted together as you pulled harder. and harder. the bow seemed unwilling to bend and you were quick to let the string go.

“bad. again.” tsu’tey said with an impatient flick of his head. “you did not even try.”

“i did try. the bow feels like it’ll break if i pull at it anymore.” you said with a small huff.

tsu’tey hooked his bow over his shoulder. he snatched yours from your hand and you could only watch as he pulled an arrow from his quiver, loaded the bow, and shot it.

it stuck straight into the dirt, the calling card swaying in the breeze.

“it did not break.” tsu’tey said, handing it back to you. “you are not strong enough to break it because you are not even strong enough to draw it back.”

you felt your chest burn. you took the bow back without another word. ignoring the way his constant belittling was beginning to hurt, you did your best to draw the bow back. you kept your core tight, your posture tall, and your breath even. you pulled back as hard as you could. at a certain point, the resistance gave way and allowed you to pull back fully.

“yes.” tsu’tey said, cupping your elbow. “now hold this position.”

“it’s hard,” you whispered, your fingers gripping the bow with all your might.

“hold this position until i say so or i will make you run to home tree and back.” tsu’tey said.

you had to grit your teeth. you kept your stance locked. you kept your core tight and yourself tall— but your breathing soon gave way. the bow was large. it was heavy. the string was thick and harsh against your callous-less fingers. soon enough, you were shaking.

squeezing your eyes shut, you fought not to let the string pull your arm down. the seconds felt like hours and the minutes felt like days. unless it hadn’t been minutes. you had no idea. everything was moving too slow and with each moment that passed, the odds stacked against you. your bicep was burning. your core was cramping. your hands were beginning to sweat. your breaths came in small gasps.

“release.”

you let the string fly from your finger tips and the bow snapped into shape. if an arrow had been loaded, you wondered how far it would’ve gone.

“resolve is something i don’t have to teach you. that was good enough for now.” tsu’tey said with a small nod. “strength can always be built. willpower cannot. it takes a strong heart to have discipline.”

“and i have a strong heart?” you asked even though you already knew his answer.

“yes,” tsu’tey said even when you didn’t think he would. he looked over the whole of you. his eyes lingered on your mouth. “you have a very strong heart. it is why eywa smiles upon you when i do not.”

“why are you being so rude?” you asked. you turned to face him and shook your head. “seriously. why? did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something?”

your phrasing confused him but he did not attempt to understand. “because you have angered me.”

“i’ve angered you? how?” you asked.

tsu’tey hissed and waved his hand. “no. just be quiet. be quiet and do the one thing i taught you. practice your stance so that you do not make a fool of yourself when you attempt to shoot an arrow.”

“if you’re going to be a dick to me then no.” you tossed the bow at him.

he caught it and his eyes widened in a terrible, terrible way. fury. the disrespect of your action could’ve turned him red. he grasped the air beside your head — as if he wanted to crush you in the palm of his hand — and bared his teeth.

“get out of my sight, demon.” he murmured through his teeth. “we are done. if you are going to act like that, you can sing songs until you lose your voice.”

“no,” you said. suddenly frustrated, you reached to grab the bow back. “i’ll do it. just give it to me.”

“no,” he held it away from you. “you have caused disrespect. you will try again when i tell you. today you will remain weak and unskilled.”

“i’m not weak. stop calling me that.” you whispered with your breath tight in your throat.

tsu’tey laughed at you. “if you tried to show that you were strong today, you showed wrong. your heart is not aligned with your body. and i don’t know if you have a mind at all.”

you shoved him.

tsu’tey stumbled back. he scowled at you, his face pinching in anger as he tilted his head. soundlessly, he warned you not to do that again.

you shoved him again.

he smacked you upside the head. hard. really hard.

“ugh!” you complained, caressing the back of your head. “you are such a fucking jackass!”

“i don’t know what that means, demon, but you are that, too.” tsu’tey hissed.

“it means you are the worst person i’ve ever met! you are mean and cold and cruel! you’re a jerk to me all the time! it’s like you’re allergic to being nice!” you exclaimed all at once. the words just came rushing out with no thought to if he would understand them at all.

“because i don’t like you,” tsu’tey said through his teeth. he glared down at you and stuck his finger in your face. “you and your people are a curse on this land. you are a sickness.”

you laughed at him. “then why did you want to fuck me so bad?”

tsu’tey’s fiery resolve seemed to falter. staring down at you, his ears pinned. he sighed under his breath and looked away. “great mother grant me patience.”

“you won’t even deny it?” you shook you head at him and laughed again. you knew you were rubbing dirt into wounds. you should’ve been careful considering he could’ve done the same to you. “is that why you’re so mad at me? because you want to fuck me?”

he wouldn’t look at you. like a bull, he huffed out of his nose. his face twitched. his tail flicked sharp and fast. frustration had never looked so good on someone. he was a master at it.

“i’m the weak one?” you tutted you tongue and whispered, “some warrior you are if you can’t fight against desire.”

tsu’tey grabbed you by your face. squishing your cheeks between his fingers, he hissed at you. “you never shut your mouth.”

“you don’t even realize what you do to me. you fault me for my poor judgment when you’re the one covering my eyes.” tsu’tey said.

“m’not— doin’ an’thng.” you tried to say between your squished lips as you struggled to free your face from his grasp.

“you are. you don’t even know it because you are a demon in the skin of my people. you rubbed your scent on me at the river. you started a chase game. you asked me about mating. your body was crying in the hot spring.”

“you look at me with those eyes…”

tsu’tey’s grip on your face lessened. his hand clasped around your throat lightly and your hand still flew to his wrist. you couldn’t draw breath. not because he held you too tight but because you forgot how to.

“i— i don’t do it on purpose.” you whispered helplessly.

“i know,” tsu’tey murmured as he ran his thumb along your throat. “which is why i hate you even more. you have no control over your instincts. you have no control over your body. your mind fails you, demon.”

“and my body is failing my mind because of it.”

staring at him, the look in his eyes made your knees weak. he was staring at your mouth. his fingers flexed around your throat. as your eyes met, you stepped forward and tried to kiss him.

“do not…” tsu’tey murmured, glaring at you between the inches that separated you.

you raised your hand up to his face. as your fingers brushed against his cheek, he flinched. his ears pinned. he could’ve hissed at you— but his expression turned warm as you glided your thumb across his lips. his pupils dilated.

“can i have the bow back?” you asked in a whisper. “i’m sorry for throwing it at you.”

rationality seemed to comeback to him. he let go of your throat, his fingertips grazing the beads of your top. your eyes never left each other. he handed you the bow and you took it— or tried to. he didn’t let it go, either. the longer you stared at each other, the more convinced you were that he would kiss you.

you wanted him to.

a sharp yip sliced through the hair and something hit the ground. tsu’tey pushed the bow at you and turned. looking over his shoulder, you saw her. she’d jumped down from the trees above. her bow was in her hand, a magnificent piece of woodwork. her tail flicked as she met your gaze.

neytiri.

“oel ngati kameie,” tsu’tey said, gesturing the act.

neytiri returned the gesture. when her eyes fell upon you again, you signed i see you. she dipped her head the smallest bit and gave a lazy wave of her hand. you couldn’t be offended. that was more than tsu’tey usually gave you.

the pair conversed in navi. they spoke too fast for you to understand. they spoke low, too, as if tsu’tey knew you would be able to understand them if you tried hard enough. some pieces you picked out.

forest.

nantang.

moron.

demon.

they were talking about you. you rolled your eyes and scoffed under your breath. was tsu’tey informing her of how bad your posture was? how weak you were? or was he trying to convince her that you weren’t anything at all.

had she seen you two…

your stomach knotted and you felt sick. if she had seen you two touching and…oh, lord in heaven. you were dead meat. dead. dead before you could be reborn.

tsu’tey whistled and the direhorse returned to the archery clearing. mitsia came to your side and brushed her face against your shoulder. you turned to look at tsu’tey. he mounted his direhorse and pulled neytiri up after him.

“we return to home tree now. quickly, demon.”

you mounted your direhorse and were quick to follow after him and neytiri. one of her arms were hooked around his waist. you had no time to feel jealous because all you felt was sick. had she seen you both? would you be placed in front of the olo’eyktan and the tsahik and scolded? worse, would you be banished? executed?

you could hardly walk straight as you entered home tree. when you arrived, people were in uproar. tsu’tey was quick to come to your side and grab you by the back of your arm. you looked up at him but he did not meet your gaze and you weaved your way through the crowd of people gathered by the meeting circle.

“mawey!” the tsahik said, raising her hands high into the air.

silence followed— all but one voice. as you and tsu’tey broke through the crowd of people, you saw him. for a moment, you recoiled at the sight of tactical jeans and an RDA issued shirts on a blue figure.

regretfully, it took you a moment to recall that face of his in his avatar body.

“jake!” you exclaimed, your pupils blowing wide and your ears perking.

tsu’tey hissed as you pulled your arm free from his grasp. you didn’t care. not about anything else. you nearly tackled him to the floor as you threw your arms around him. jake caught you, stumbling to keep you both upright. a near cry slipped passed your lips to see a familiar face.

to see a true friend.

“holy shit, eris.” jake breathed as his arms tightened around your waist. it had taken him a moment to register your blue face, too.

“what the hell are you doing here?” you asked as you pulled away. when you met his eyes, you saw the scratches and the bruises on his face. you lifted your hand to his jaw and gasped softly. “jesus, jake, are you okay?”

“they really should’ve put us through ground training. i may know my way around a gun and hand-to-hand combat, but that’s all useless out here in these woods. i nearly got torn to pieces by a pack of these ugly ass wolf-things trying to keep norm and grace safe. norm got hurt and so i did the only thing i could which was distract them and run.”

“thankfully that blue valkyrie over there found me.” jake said with a glance toward neytiri. his brows raised and he smiled at you. “her and a group of hunters. they saved my ass.”

before you could say anything else, the tsahik approached. she raised her hand and instinctively you stepped away from jake. you bowed your head. jake stiffened as the tsahik grabbed him by his chin and examined the cuts on his face.

“you know him.” the tsahik stated a fact and she glanced at you.

“yes. he’s in my program. we work for grace augustine.” you said.

“nice to meet you,” jake said with a polite tilt of his head.

tsu’tey stepped forward, speaking words that jumbled in your ears. you picked out what you could. what was important.

how many demons!

you clenched your teeth. you knew exactly what he was asking. how many of you would come here? your arrival had been an accident. a pure chance of fate. was jake’s run-in with the nantang the same? or was it planned?

from his volatile expression alone, tsu’tey seemed to think you were now being planted here.

“you.” tsu’tey hissed as he grabbed you by the back of your neck. “walk.”

“hey, woah, woah, woah.” jake pulled his face away from mo’at and turned. he stuck his arm out, hitting tsu’tey in the chest. “you best take your hands off her right now or we’re gonna have a fuckin’ problem.”

tsu’tey bared his teeth.

“jake,” you whispered his name and guided his hand back towards his side. “it’s fine…”

before jake could say anything else, tsu’tey pushed you along. you tried your best to shrug him off but he wouldn’t let you go. his grip was tight. too tight. tighter than it had ever been as he guided you up the center column of home tree.

“ow!” you hissed as he shoved you into his hut by the back of or your neck.

“sit.” he demanded, pointing to the floor.

you were quick to drop down. you watched as he paced. you could see the thoughts running through his mind. you tensed as he crouched down in front of you. staring into his eyes, you’d never been afraid of him. never truly.

you were now.

“who is that man?” tsu’tey asked in a lower, calmer voice than you expected.

“jake sully,” you said. you wracked your brain for anything else remotely useful. “he…he’s new to the avatar program like me. he is a marine.”

“marine?” tsu’tey asked.

“warrior.” you said.

tsu’tey seemed to scowl. he rolled his eyes and shook his head. “demon warrior ends up here? by chance? tell me truthfully and i’ll reward you with not killing you…has this man been sent here?”

“no,” you said. the word jumped from your throat. all you could do was shake your head. you were trying to convince yourself more than you were trying to convince him him. “i— i mean…i don’t think so.”

“but he could have been?” tsu’tey asked.

“not by grace…”

your heart sank. grace would’ve never sent anyone to infiltrate the omatikaya— but quaritch would.

he could.

he already had…

jake was a marine just like him. it was too easy. it was too perfect— and it was a real possibility.

had you not given the colonel enough information? did you not have the skills to give him the kind of information he needed to know? did he tangle jake into this because jake could find out exactly what it is that he wanted to know?

how the hell to kill tsu’tey.

you stared into tsu’tey’s eyes and you both knew there was only one way to get answers.

“i need you to return to your body and find out what you can about how he ended up here. if his story matches with grace’s…maybe eywa has a a twisted sense of humor after all.” tsu’tey looked past you and spoke in a whisper, “if this demon warrior has been sent to spy, it wouldn’t be the first time your people have sent someone here to do such a thing.”

your stomach dropped. you knew all too well the kind of spies they sent to infringe on the na’vi. you knew, too, the kind of man who devised such a thing.

maybe jake really had been planted here…

“okay.” you exhaled a soft breath and placed your hand on you belly where the anxious pit sat. “alright…but if i go back now i won’t be able to come back until tomorrow.”

tsu’tey leaned in close and placed his hand on your tummy. your eyes fell closed as he dragged his lips across your forehead. the pain in your belly melted away like ice cream on a hot day. you exhaled the breath you held trapped in your throat.

“na’vi warriors are brave.” tsu’tey looked down at you and tilted his head. “are you brave?”

are you a na’vi?

that was the question he did not ask.

where do your loyalties lie, eris?

“hang tight, okay? i’ll be back as soon as i can.” you said softly, your breath all tangled in your chest.

“i don’t know what ‘hang tight’ is but i will know relief once i see you again.” tsu’tey said.

heat flooded your cheeks and your ears perked. your tail swayed and you knew your pupils were as wide as the moon you’d never see again. slowly, you dipped your head and signed, i see you.

tsu’tey dipped his head the slightest bit.

he could see you, too, even if he was stubborn.

“go.” he ordered with a stern wave of his hand.

and off you went.

— 🌌 —

each time you returned to your body, you grew to hate the lab lights even more. you pushed yourself out of your link-pod. a group of specialists were surrounding jake’s pod. his face was displayed on the screen beside it. grace was smoking a cigarette with a look of utter defeat plastered on her face.

how many idiots was she going to lose?

two.

because there were only two people stupid enough to get lost— you and jake.

“you’re back early,” grace said as you made your way over.

“what’s going on?” you asked through the dryness in your mouth. whether it was because you hadn’t had water since this morning or the fact that you were anxious, you couldn’t tell.

“the marine got himself lost and separated.” grace sighed. she put out her cigarette on the top of jake’s pod and shook her head.

“how?” you asked even though you already knew.

well, you knew what jake told you.

but was jake’s story the real story?

“we were out on an excursion gathering samples. tree roots so that i could test my new hypothesis on the almost neural-like connection the trees have to each other. we stumbled too close to a viperwolf den and it was like the seventh circle of hell opened up on us.” grace said.

she looked up at the screen displaying jake’s face and rolled her eyes. “for as hard as he is to work with in the lab, tactically he’s a blessing. our trigger-happy marine sprung straight into actions and kept norm from getting his face torn off.”

“the funny thing is,” grace tapped jake’s pod and looked down at you. “he didn’t even shoot a single bullet. he used himself as bait and angered the pack. he was gone into the trees. norm’s avatar suffered some nasty injuries. i couldn’t wait to bring him back and so we had to leave jake.”

“i’m just hoping the poor bastard is somewhere safe.” grace said with her lips pressed into a thin line.

“jake is in home tree.”

grace’s brows drew together and her lips parted— but no words came out. not a sound.

you’d never seen grace speechless before.

the cogs turned in her mind and she nodded once. “and you were sent back because there’s no way in hell you didn’t recognize him. i’m sure that did not bode well with your teacher, huh?”

you shook your head. “no, ma’am. tsu’tey is now questioning whether or not we’re being planted in home tree to…to spy on them…”

it was difficult for you to say.

grace pursed her lips and placed her hands on her hips. she inhaled a long, slow breath. when she let it out, all the tension she held went with it.

“well, i can’t really blame a skeptic for being skeptical, can i?” grace ran her hand through her short ginger hair. whatever she was thinking, it made you even more nervous when she stared at the red button that would pull jake from his link-pod.

“what?” you asked. the silence was nearly killing you.

“tsu’tey and i share a similar fear. if selfridge finds out one of the marine mutts is now in home tree, he’s going to tell the colonel. if the colonel knows, he’ll use jake to his advantage— and the last thing i need is for miles fucking quaritch to get his hands anywhere near my program.”

“we need to go.” grace said. she looked down and you and seemed to hesitate. “pack whatever you need. we won’t be back here for a while.”

your brows drew together and you shook your head. “what? where are we going?”

“we’re going full blue.” grace turned and sucked in a tight breath. she cursed inaudibly. “sorry about this jake.”

grace slammed her hand on the red button.

a swarm of people rushed over and grace was quick to open the hatch. you saw her begin to shine a light into jake’s eyes before the two of them were swallowed up by white coats. slowly, you turned away. you had to pack.

grace was sending the team incognito to try and sway the iron grip miles quaritch would hold on jake if he found out where jake’s avatar was.

grace was worried about the wrong avatar driver.

because you were about to become the colonels spy in both bodies.