#i’m a crazed maniac

[theladycarpathia]

I've seen too much stuff about Clipboard Buck and Tommy lately to not write this.

His boyfriend on a power trip should not be hot. 

“See,” Chim mutters under his breath, leaning over the rail to watch Buck down below. “I warned you.”

“So you did,” Tommy agrees, keeping his true thoughts to himself. Buck has the clipboard clenched in one hand, pen in the other, and directs a reluctant Hen and Eddie as they perform checks on the ambulance and the ladder. 

“He’s a menace,” Chim continues, with feeling. “He’s a dictator!”

“Uh huh,” Tommy says, watching the furrow in Buck’s forehead as he makes another tick. He gestures furiously towards something in one of the ladder’s compartments and Eddie puts down the jaws to argue back. 

“We keep hiding the clipboards,” Chim says darkly. “I don’t know where he keeps finding them all.”

“Unfortunately for you, I think that’s something they sell at most major retailers,” Tommy quips and rests his arms on the railing. 

He’s worked under power-crazed maniacs. He was in the army, and then he had Captain Gerrard. His own father was one fully for his way or the highway. 

Buck being like this should not be hot. And yet all Tommy can think about is lying naked on the bed while Buck does things to him from a very meticulous and organized list. 

Eddie makes an obscene gesture behind Buck’s back and Tommy smirks. 

“And this is Buck on a regular Tuesday,” Chim says and pops his gum. “Wait until you see Buck in an emergency or organize an event. It’s a good thing you stopped by. You need to know these kinds of things about a person before you get serious.”

“I’m glad to see you too, Chim,” Tommy says, although stopping to chat to Chimney hadn’t been on his agenda for today. He and Buck have had conflicting shifts lately, and they’ve barely seen each other. Texts and a few brief phone calls have been all they’ve had to get them by and Tommy finally had enough of it. Bobby doesn’t mind Tommy swinging by the firehouse and seeing Buck if they’re not on a call. And today is apparently so quiet that Buck has time to do a thorough inspection of the vehicles. 

“Are you?” Chim asks suddenly, twisting towards Tommy with a surprisingly calculating look. “Getting serious?”

Tommy just shrugs. He knows the answer, he’s just not entirely willing to discuss it yet. But it’s been long enough now that they keep toothbrushes and few essentials at each other’s houses, that they have evenings where they sprawl together in front of the TV, just happy to be together. Tommy knows about his sister, the loss of Daniel, the myth of Abby and has even read Taylor Kelly’s book. 

Which he did in bed, reading several segments out loud, much to Buck’s horror and embarrassment. 

“You seem to be,” Chim comments, and down below Hen throws a roll of surgical tape at Buck. “Not that I’m complaining. We like you, Buck likes you, you flew us into a hurricane…”

“I like him too,” Tommy says, because honestly he’s been smitten since Buck came up with that stupid motto back in the helicopter. “Funny to think that Evan and I never met before as he only got to join the 118 because I left.”

“You got there in the end,” Chim says. “I mean this as nicely as possible but you leaving worked out great for me. If you hadn’t left, there wouldn’t have been a space to fill. If Buck hadn’t joined us…”

“Then you would never have met Maddie when she came to LA,” Tommy says, understanding instantly. Funny how something that simple has changed so many lives. He doesn’t regret moving to Harbor, even with the closeness that the 118 has now. He wouldn’t be who he is otherwise, without that space to accept himself. If he didn’t have that, maybe he wouldn’t be the person brave enough to kiss Buck. “I get it.”

“Although,” Chim continues, still watching Buck down below. “We wouldn’t have the Clipboard Dictator if you had stayed…”

“You love it really,” Tommy says, because he knows Chim loves Buck. But then Buck’s eyes swing upwards, towards the first floor and the two of them. 

“Oh shit,” Chimney hisses and then ducks below the railing. It doesn’t work because Buck just shouts “Chim, it’s glass! I can see you!”

“That wasn’t your best idea,” Tommy says and then offers Chimney a hand. “Come on. I’ll go down with you. Maybe I can make the tyrant a little bit sweeter.”

Chimney doesn’t look soothed by this. 

“Hello, Chimney,” Hen says pointedly, sitting on the back of the ambulance. “Nice to see you. How funny you happened to be hiding in the bathroom when Buck gets his clipboard out.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Chimney mutters, eying Buck’s clipboard with apprehension. “Kinard, save me.”

“Evan,” Tommy says, snagging his boyfriend’s free wrist with one hand. “I came by to see you. Maybe we give the workforce a five minute break?”

Buck frowns down at his list. “I wanted to finish this before Bobby was done with his paperwork,” he says before looking suspiciously at his friends. “And if they leave, I don’t think they’ll come back.”

“Damn straight,” Eddie says under his breath. Hen just looks innocent, although Tommy is pretty sure they’re about to see three empty firefighter shaped spaces. 

“Just ten minutes,” Tommy cajoles, stroking the soft part of Buck’s wrist with his thumb. “I haven’t seen you all week.” He drops his voice down for the next part, hoping that Buck is as desperate to see him. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Buck practically throws the clipboard at Eddie. 

“Taking a break!” he says cheerfully, half dragging Tommy behind the engine. “Be back in ten or I will hunt you down.”

“Will he do it with a chainsaw, I wonder?” Hen has time to ask (Tommy feels as though he should follow up on this later), before all three of them vanish. Tommy doesn’t see because he’s pressing his boyfriend up against the gleaming red of the engine and kissing the breath out of him. 

“What can we do in ten minutes?” Buck asks, eyes glittering, running his hands up and down Tommy’s chest. 

“Probably not a lot, as we’re in the open, in a firehouse, during your workday,” Tommy admits begrudgingly. A week is a very long time. Buck’s salacious texts and suggestive selfies haven’t been enough. “But we have time off in two days and I want to spend every second with you.”

“Good,” Buck says and the next few minutes pass very quickly. Buck tastes of coffee and he keeps both hands planted on Tommy’s rear - if he keeps squeezing like that, Tommy is going to have difficulty walking out of here. 

“I think we order takeout and movies and don’t leave the house for twenty-four hours,” Tommy suggests, just as Buck licks the shell of his ear. Fuck. This kid will be the death of him. 

“Fine by me,” Buck says and pulls him in for one last kiss. “But I really should get back to work. Call you when I’m off?”

There’s such obvious suggestion in his voice that want searches in Tommy’s gut almost instantly. He pushes it down and strokes Buck’s rather red jaw. 

“Can’t wait,” he says. “And Evan? Go easy on your friends.”

But the others are waiting for them, standing in a line by the stairs, obvious glee written all over their faces. Eddie is holding Buck’s clipboard and Tommy deftly removes it from his grasp. 

“Why, Mr Buckley,” Hen says, looking them up and down with a smirk. “That’s not a proper use of company time.”

“Ha ha,” Buck says mutinously, and with far more confidence than someone wearing a ridiculous amount of beard burn should have. “We have a lot to do. Where’s the…?”

Tommy hastily recaps the pen and hands it back to Buck, as though nothing is changed. He’d feel bad about it if it was an official document. But as it was Buck’s handwritten list of chores, he thinks the others might get some amusement out of it. 

He kisses Buck on the cheek and waves goodbye, quickly ducking out of the firehouse before Buck notices. 

“Who vandalized my list?” Buck shrieks indignantly and Tommy just skips all the way back to his truck.

[solarmorrigan]

The Phantom Menace (no, not that one)

For the @steddie-spooktober day 28 prompt: Mask Rated: T | Words: 1118 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, modern AU, Eddie Munson is a menace, Eddie Munson is whipped, Steve Harrington is a tease, for the good of everyone present at the Halloween party Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Eddie is a menace.

And a goddamn pain in the ass.

It’s not that Steve doesn’t love him – Eddie is very lucky that Steve does love him, in fact, because Steve would otherwise have lost his patience about half an hour into this shit and ditched him to find his own ride home from the Halloween party.

And Steve had even liked Eddie’s choice of costume at first. He’ll admit that he hadn’t been super into Phantom of the Opera when they’d watched it—a little too theatrical to really be up Steve’s alley—but he’d definitely seen the appeal in Eddie’s Phantom costume.

The waistcoat he’d thrifted had been a hell of a find; it fits him almost perfectly. He’d sewn a cloak that he’d had entirely too much fun twirling around in when he’d finished it. The white half mask had given him an alluring air of mystery, and with his hair tied back? The whole thing had added up to a very attractive picture.

Until the night of the party, when Eddie had decided to be, as previously mentioned, a fucking menace.

He’s been fucking with people all night; nothing mean or destructive (Steve supposes they should all count themselves lucky that Eddie isn’t playing with fire), but irritating as shit. He’s jumping out from around corners and scaring people, he’s stealing things off the snack table and leaving them in weird places, he keeps changing the music from generic Halloween shit to opera (no one is sure how he’s doing this, since access to the Bluetooth speaker is being carefully guarded), he laughs maniacally every time someone expresses annoyance with his tricks, and he’s refusing to stop unless he’s paid 20,000 francs.

Robin offered him a dollar to stop tugging the back of her shirt and running away any time she turns her back to him; he’d argued that the offer was far too low, but had graciously accepted after she’d threatened to smother him with his own cloak.

The most annoying part, however, is that he absolutely refuses to answer to his name. Any time someone snaps out some variation of “Eddie, cut it the fuck out,” he dramatically asks “Eddie? Who is this Eddie? I am The Phantom!” before turning away, flourishing his cloak like Batman as he goes.

“You’re his boyfriend,” Robin insists, leaning up against the counter beside Steve; he’s been hiding in the kitchen for the last half hour, hoping no one will remember that he and Eddie had shown up together, “can’t you make him stop?”

“You think I have literally any control over him?” Steve asks. “He’s like a tornado; you just have to wait him out and hope insurance covers whatever damage he causes.”

Robin snorts. “Okay, but can’t you use, like, your wiles?”

Steve stares at her. “My what?”

“Your wiles. You know, be sexy at him, or whatever.” Robin wiggles her fingers vaguely in Steve’s direction. “That man is weak for you. I’m willing to bet he’ll do anything you ask if you flash your cleavage at him.”

Steve crosses his arms over his chest, hiding the way the shirt of his Indiana Jones costume is halfway unbuttoned, gaping open to reveal a decent (or maybe slightly indecent) amount of skin. “I do not have cleavage.”

“Whatever.” Robin rolls her eyes, then perks up at the sound of Eddie’s crazed chuckling coming close to the kitchen doorway. “Oh! Here he comes! Do it!”

“I’m not going to–”

“Do it,” Robin hisses, tugging on Steve’s arm until he comes away from the counter and giving him a shove in the direction of the doorway just as Eddie comes sweeping through.

Robin skirts around him, pointing two fingers at her eyes and then jabbing a single finger at Eddie, the universal sign for I’m watching you, as she goes by, and Eddie holds his hands up in surrender. She takes a moment to send one more look over her shoulder at Steve before she leaves, and, well – Steve guesses he might as well try it, before someone actually decides to murder Eddie.

“Hey, Phantom,” Steve says, approaching the kitchen island.

Eddie, halfway through ladling punch into a plastic cup, looks up at Steve and grins. “Hello, there.” His voice is deeper than usual, a dramatic affectation for his costume, and any other time, Steve would appreciate the sexy rasp; unfortunately, it’s currently attached to Eddie in full pest mode.

“So,” Steve drawls, leaning his forearms on the island, making sure to angle himself so his shirt falls open just a little bit farther, “I’ve been meaning to ask: I don’t suppose you’ve seen my boyfriend, Eddie, around, have you?”

It takes Eddie a moment to answer, his eyes glued to the span of skin and chest hair Steve’s putting on display. “Eddie?” he finally asks, gaze snapping back up to Steve’s face. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you mean.”

Steve hums, a little, disappointed noise. “That’s too bad,” he says, giving Eddie a bit of a pout. “See, I thought his costume was pretty hot tonight, and I thought maybe we could��� y’know, slip away from everyone else, so I could show him just how much I liked it.”

Eddie swallows. “You don’t say,” he says, voice gone a little faint.

“Mm.” Steve sighs. “But since I can’t find him, and you haven’t seen him, I guess I just won’t–”

“Actually,” Eddie cuts in, almost frantically, “now that you mention it, I think I might have seen him.”

A slow smirk draws across Steve’s face. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nods quickly. “Let me just– I’ll go see if I can find him for you.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Steve says sweetly, leaning a little further onto the island (he does not, whatever Robin says, have cleavage, but if the move pushes his pecs up just a bit more, well – that’s just a bonus).

Eddie turns away, entirely forgetting to flourish his cloak, and ducks out through the kitchen doorway.

He reappears moments later, his white half-mask in hand, one side of his face still a little red and sweaty from where it’s been resting all night.

“Steve!” he exclaims, arms thrown wide. “I haven’t seen you all night! But, uh, someone told me that you’ve been looking for me.”

Steve rolls his eyes, coming around from behind the island; committed to the bit to the bitter end, that’s Eddie.

Somehow, Steve wouldn’t have him any other way.

“Someone was right,” Steve says, hooking a finger beneath Eddie’s bowtie and tugging him closer, leaning in to meet his lips in a deep kiss.

The Phantom doesn’t make an appearance for the rest of the night.

[thisreadswhatever]

Only Mine

find my masterlist here

[description]: jax teller x fem!reader

[wordcount]: 2.4k

[cw]: 18+ only, smut, jealous overprotective Jax, angst, short fight scene (if you can even call it that), car sex, oral f receiving, teasing, unfinished sex

[authors note]: I had this idea floating around for awhile and then this request inspired the rest! thank you!

“I’m sure you say that to all the ladies.” 

You were along the bar, chin in palm, blinking your lashes at the man sitting beside you. He smiled back wryly. He was pretty perfect. Clean cut, slightly muscular, no tats covering him from top to bottom, no bike sitting in the parking lot. He was a little cocky, aware of his good looks, and in all honesty, any other day he’d be the type of guy you’d usually find pretty boring. But for tonight, he’d be a welcome distraction. 

“So you’re really here alone?” the man asked, looking around as he took a sip from the glass in front of him. 

You smiled back, twisting a strand of hair into your fingers as you sipped your beer, “that surprise you?” 

“Someone like you doesn’t come around here often. Can't imagine you haven’t been snatched up yet.” 

Technically, he was right. Jax and you hadn’t spoken in days, and although the mutual silence was a regular occurrence, you somehow always found a way back to each other. It never had been made ‘official’, but it never really needed to be. You both stuck to each other like the end poles of magnets, impossible to keep apart yet impossible to stay together. You and Jax were a burning flame amongst a sea of trees condemned to an endless drought. Your love was toxic and infuriating, and it pained you both how hurtful you could be to one another. Yet for some reason, you always went back. You’d reconnect, one of you would fuck up, and then it was back to square one all over again. 

“Haven’t found the one yet”, you teased. 

He gestured to the bartender with his hand, “can I buy you another beer?” 

You smiled politely back at him, “you can buy me as many as you want.”

You picked up your drink and pulled his hand with your other as you led him to one of the quiet booths settled at the back of the bar. You spent the next hour cosying up to your stranger, soaking in the attention he gave you. He was overly attentive and extremely polite, almost a little too nice for your liking. No roughness on the edges, no fight in him. Just a gentleman through and through. You sat inches from each other, tension building as the drinks continued to appear. 

“Can I kiss you?” The man asked as he leaned in, hovering above your face. It wasn’t often you were asked to be kissed. You stared into his eyes through your long lashes, nodding in approval.

He smiled shyly into your lips as they pressed against his. He was gentle, his hands slowly moving to your waist, never straying further. 

He laid back into the bench, taking a sip from his beer. “You know I never did catch your name.” 

You didn’t want to share anything with this stranger, the anonymity bringing less questions and expectations. 

“Later.” 

You cupped his face in your hand, grazing his jaw with your fingertips as you brought his mouth to yours again.

He was nice, but the longer you spent kissing your gentle stranger, the more you yearned to be in the hands of your depraved biker. Jax was urgent and desperate for you each time you were in his arms. There was a mutual desire that turned you both into crazed maniacs when you were together. It was something you’d searched for every time you were with someone else, because nobody you’d ever come across had given you that same feeling. 

Jax had a way of turning you into the only girl in the world. Until he was fucking the next croweater who threw themselves at him the following day. 

Tonight, you were going to allow yourself to enjoy the gentlemen in front of you. You leaned back into the bench, trying to edge him on top of you as you sunk into the bench against his lips.

You were so entangled in your stranger that you never even noticed him arrive with half of The Club. It wasn’t until you were interrupted by the break in your lips as he was pulling the man off you by his shirt, forcing him to the floor as he was knocked flat on his back. 

“Jax!”

“Dude! What the fu-“ he tried to stand up, but Jax placed his shoe directly on his chest, crushing him to the ground. The man grunted under the weight, failing to pry the shoe off of him. “What the fuck are you doing!?”

“What do you think you’re doing?” He pressed down into the man’s chest harder, restraining himself from crushing his rib cage all together. 

The stranger looked at you with wide eyes, trying to speak through the force compounding his lungs, “she said she was alone!” 

Jax smiled at him as he laid spread out on the dirty bar floor. 

“I don’t give shit what she said. Your time is up, pretty boy.”  

You were ashamed to admit that you thoroughly enjoyed watching Jax furious with envy over you, but you did feel bad for the innocent guy beneath his sneaker. 

“Get the fuck off him, Jax.” 

He glanced up at you, taking a long look at your flushed pink cheeks and swollen lips.

The crowded bar was now zoned in on your table, watching and entertained by the drama unfolding. Chibs, Juice and Bobby guarded the table, ensuring no onlookers got in the way of Jax’s jealous fuelled rage. 

He picked the man up by his collar, pulling him to his feet as he threw him against the wall. Jax gripped at his jaw, lifting his chin to force his eyes towards you at the bench. “I suggest you apologise for bothering my girl.” 

“Jax don’t be ridiculous-“ 

He ignored you, glaring at the man in his grasp, tightening the grip on his collar. 

“I’m sorry, okay!” 

“Not to me, asshole. To her.” 

You rolled your eyes, watching as he tormented the innocent stranger you had set yourself upon.

“I’m sorry I bothered you.” His voice cracked from the hold Jax had on his collar, draining the circulation from his neck.

Jax shoved the man off the wall, releasing him as he was once again flown across the laminate. He stumbled to regain his balance before he started running, bolting for the exit. He disappeared at the speed of light, chuckles from Juice and Chibs echoing through the bar as he ran. 

You stood up from the bench, storming off in anger for the door. 

Jax followed you into the empty, dark car park outside the bar. His hands stuffed into his pockets as he watched you slump against the brick wall, sliding down to sit on the pavement. You put a cigarette to your mouth as you searched for a lighter in your bag. You hadn’t felt tipsy until the air hit you, realising your head was spinning.

He paced over to you, crouching forward with his lighter, igniting the cigarette between your lips. 

“You’re such a prick sometimes, you know that?” 

Jax slid down the wall beside you, his legs bent slightly at the knees as he sighed to himself, lighting his own cigarette. “Not gonna argue with that.” 

He exhaled a large cloud of smoke as he spoke, “but you were basically fucking that guy in an open bar, y/n.” 

“First of all, no I wasn’t.” 

He chuckled, amused by your irritation. 

“And second of all, what the fuck has that got to do with you? You’re the one who decided to get knee deep in Ima last week, again.” 

“I told you I was drunk.” 

“And now I’m drunk too”, you protested.

He shook his head as smoke escaped his lips, fingers twirling the silver lighter in his hands. “That isn’t going to happen again.”

Your head fell back as you groaned at his promise, leaning against the hard brick behind you. “Yeah, ‘cause I haven’t heard that one before.” 

He smiled, nudging your leg with his playfully. “You know I mean it. Doesn’t matter who I’m inside, there's only one face I see.” 

You turned your head towards him, leaning your face on his shoulder. “I’m tired of this, Jax. You and your mommy issues are giving me whiplash.” 

“Yeah, well your baggage ain’t so easy to handle either.” He placed a hand over the back of your head, stroking your hair as he spoke.

You responded with a punch to his knee, swaying his leg. “You can’t just keep beating men up because they’re interested in me. That guy was actually sweet.” 

He threw his cigarette across the pavement before he grasped his hands into your hair, entangling his fingers between the strands. He crushed his lips against yours, his tongue lapping into your mouth. His fingers smoothed against your face, the feeling of his cold rings brushing against your cheek. Your foreheads connected as your eyes closed, resting silently along each other. “I can be sweet too.” 

You chuckled, playfully biting his lip. “You’re a sweet, jealous prick, Teller.”

He pulled into you once more, pecking your lips slowly before escalating into your lips, pulling you on top of him. You straddled him there in the lot, surrounded by empty parked cars in the dead of night. His hands gripped at your waist, pulling your body tighter to him, the feeling of his erection pressing into your jeans. Your hands twisted into his hair, holding his head against yours. He smirked against your lips, trailing his hands lower to your ass, as he secured his hands in your back pockets. He stroked your cheek with his nose, kissing the pink tinted skin.

“I just don’t like sharing what’s mine.” 

Your mouth found his as you raised your eyebrows, mumbling into his lips, “then take what's yours.”

He grinned, lifting you in one swift motion from his lap, standing you up against him. He pulled you across the parking lot as you stumbled drunk, trying to keep up. He led you to your car, opened the back door and pushed you flat against the back seat. 

Jax laid above you, planting himself between your legs. He angled himself between the seats, crushing his mouth against yours. His touch was ravenous, ripping the buttons from your jeans waistband as he pulled the denim from your ass. You giggled as he struggled to get them off entirely between the leather of the flat seat. You lifted yourself up, helping as he removed them. He pulled at your shirt, lifting it higher to expose the skin around your stomach as he leaned into you, gnawing at the skin in short pecks from your navel to your now exposed panties. You grasped at his hair as he claimed you with his warm mouth, suffocating himself into the fabric that covered your mound. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking soaked for me.” He groaned at the taste of your slick pooling into the cotton, pulling your panties to the side. He circled his tongue against your clit, watching you, utterly mesmerised as you whimpered at the sensation. He rolled his thumb against your dripping fold, “this pretty cunt is mine.” 

Vibrations filled your entire being as he nuzzled into your mound, lapping his tongue repeatedly against your slick, his hands lifting your ass to push deeper into you. You tugged at the roots of his blonde hair, drunken moans of his name filling the car park as you struggled to keep quiet. He pulled away, his face glistening from your juices as he smirked at you, caressing his fingers against your pussy. “You want your sweet guy to finish you off?”

Your head fell back at the taunt, “c’mon Jax, don’t- stop-”

He pulled your panties down your ass, exposing your cunt entirely. His tongue stroked you, prodding at your swollen nub, before hesitating again. “Tell me you’re mine.” 

“Fuck, Jax- I’m- yours. I’m only yours.” The words trailed slowly from your gritted teeth, your head swirling from the feeling and the beer. You chased for his mouth, drawing your hips up closer to his face.

“Look at me when you tell me.”

You used all your might to lift your head from the seat, finding his eyes staring into yours, fire blazing within them. You spoke between your sharpened breaths, trying to form a coherent sentence. “I said- I’m yours.”

“I can’t hear you, darlin’. You’re only what?” 

Your head collapsed into the leather seat, cries escaping your lips as you squirmed your hips higher to find his mouth again. “I’m yours- Jax- shit-”

“That’s my pretty girl.” 

He stoked his tongue against your clit, enjoying every moment as you pleaded through your moans for him to take you to your climax. He was revelling in your anguish as he teased at your cunt. He played with your folds again, his fingers caressing the soaking skin. 

“No other man comes near my pussy, isn’t that right?”

You groaned in response, his claim on you sending you further into spiral. “No- no one else.”

His lips reconnected to your cunt, whimpers of desperation pouring from your lips. His fingers finally found your entrance, rewarding you as he slid into your seam, pushing you towards your release. 

He muttered into your mound, “you only cum for me.”

Your body exploded at his instruction, collapsing onto his fingers as they curled against your sweet spot, his mouth soaking in your orgasm. He delighted at your unravelling, his hands travelling your body as he found your breasts, kneading into the soft skin.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Let go for me.” Your thighs shook around his face uncontrollably, squeezing his head into your cunt.

He released his hand from your mound, hovering over you as his lips laid flush against yours. He danced around your mouth, forcing you to taste your slick that covered his tongue. Jax straddled over your hips, holding himself up against the headrest of the seat as his throbbing cock found your entrance. He positioned himself, sliding between the folds, a squeal escaping your throat as he filled you entirely. 

Before he could fuck you senseless, a loud repeated bang was heard against the hood of the car, startling you both.

“Jackie boy! We gotta go!”

Jax collapsed against you, groaning in frustration. If you weren’t so drunk from Jax and the beer, you would’ve been furious. Instead you giggled, amused by the interruption, “Chib’s and his impeccable timing.” He sighed, his head resting against your chest. 

He pulled out from you, as you rushed to put your underwear back in its place. He smirked against your mouth as he kissed you one last time, parting your lips between his, "guess I’ll just have to finish claiming you later.”

read part two here

[myswans0ng]

As Grief Consumes | Chapter Two

synopsis: An overconfident prodigy, a chain-smoking-alcohol-chugging brunette, a self-righteous hypocrite, a stoic unimpressed blonde, an overly enthusiastic boy and then there's you...A suicidal maniac.

ch. summary: Anything that can go wrong will go wrong, it’s Murphy’s law...

contents/warning: MDNI, graphic depictions of violence/mature themes, ANGST, mutual pining, eventual smut/smut, slow burn, multiple love interests, character death/s, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort, humor, established age of characters is 18yo, jjk x oc, curse user!/jujutsu sorcerer!reader, fem!reader

w/c: 6.6K

index: [masterlist] prev. chapter | next chapter

⋅ ───⊱ ii. murphy’s law ⊰───⋅

You could hear the faint murmurs around you and Nanami. Yaga stood at the same place, watching you and your sparring partner prepare. Deciding that the two of you should go first, Yaga wanted to confirm that he was right about your ‘potential’, after all. Now the rest gets the chance to see that too.

You turn to the opposite side, stretching your arms and neck, giving you and Nanami enough distance. You and him are at the center of it all.

“Are you sure about this?” Nanami asked, his hand in his pocket. His face, as impassive as he was earlier.

A mischievous smile curves into your lips as you dart your eyes at him. “Now’s not the time with that chivalry nonsense Nanami,” you said, almost teasingly. “Hell, fight dirty if you have to, otherwise you’re just being… patronizing.”

“I am not being patronizing.” He replied.

“So you’re just an asshole then?”

Nanami frowned, clearly not fond of the trash talk, though you can hardly call it that but you heard a loud chuckle from the sidelines erupted— Gojo’s, unmistakably, prompted him to nod, though he was hesitant. 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

What a dork. You snickered.

The atmosphere fell silent, the heat of the sun felt warmer on your skin. As the seconds go by, you can only hear the wind. It was like a silent ticking before the sound of the buzzer.

His demeanor shifted, and so did yours. Yaga and everyone else kept their eyes on the two of you. 

It started out slowly, Nanami was the first to invade your space, testing your defenses with quick, calculated jabs. You effortlessly moved, dodging with much precision that you’ve learned over the years. Your movements were both fluid and defensive as Nanami continued to aim his fists at you, alternatingly. 

You weren’t looking to strike just yet— only observing, for now.

Your goal wasn’t to win anyway, you just had to show him that you’re just as capable.

You suddenly sensed Nanami’s cursed energy coursing through his arms to his knuckles. The aura gave off a dark bluish color that only sorcerers like you can see. Watching him up the ante made you,

Excited.

Maybe a little too excited because before you saw it coming, his fist with such pinpoint accuracy landed square on to your jaw. 

Your head snapped to the side, your body tumbling back slightly by the sheer force but your feet remained planted on the ground and for a moment, a hush silence fell between you and the crowd.

Kento Nanami just punched you. You realized this and so did he.

Nanami froze. “A-are you alright?” His tone, worrisome.

Cute.

Seconds passed, you feel the rush of adrenaline filling your veins like a drug.

A sweet, sweet drug.

Then he heard it— a soft, almost shrill chuckle escaping your lips. It grew higher, louder, wilder and more…

Unhinged.

The students exchanged uneasy glances as your crazed laughter echoed around the field.

“Is she… okay?” Haibara whispered, his eyes wide.

“Beats me! I’m just here to watch the show.” Shoko answered, her eyes fixated on the two sorcerers, but you definitely piqued her interest, already she was quietly cheering you on.

You taste a familiar metallic tang on your tongue and was that a loose molar?

You can’t help but feel… ecstatic. 

You spit out the blood pooling in your mouth, the crimson fluid splattered on the patch of grass beside you. You continue to laugh.

You wipe the corner of  your mouth with the back of your hand, then you faced the blonde once more. Seeing the fire in his eyes and you wanted nothing more than to fan those flames.

“Not bad Nanami,” You finally spoke, your grin wide, delighted yet unsettling. “I almost felt that one.”

Almost. But that sliver of sensation, the faint ache reverberating from where Nanami’s fist had connected was enough to make your heart race and fuel your blood rage. Years of using your cursed technique to heal countless people had dulled your perception of pain, numbing you to an almost inhumane extent.

His strike burned like a gift. It was a fleeting reminder that you were still alive, still vulnerable. 

This was delicious. You could taste it in your own blood.

Nanami blinked, caught off guard by your reaction. He cautiously took a step back, though his stance became defensive as if awaiting your next move.

“Think ‘ya can do that again?” You asked, almost provokingly. But it sounded more like a welcoming invitation. “If you can hit me harder, I’ll treat ‘ya to lunch! Whadda’ya say?”

Your peers were eager and entertained as they watched Nanami with his perplexed expression. They were also unsure if they should intervene or stay put. Yaga remained unfazed, since the victor was yet to be determined.

Haibara leaned toward Geto and whispered, “She’s kinda terrifying, huh?”

Geto only shrugged, his usual calm demeanor barely masking his curiosity as he watched very closely to yours and Nanami’s movements, as if he’s studying them.

“Have you lost your mind?!” Nanami muttered, his brows furrowing. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

“Maybe…” You shrugged, your smile still plastered across your face. “But if you’re holding back because I’m a girl, that’s even crazier!” 

Nanami didn’t respond. His lips pressed into a thin line. His mind raced as he clenched his fists tighter, his thoughts swirling in chaos, leaving him momentarily stunned.

You seized this opportunity, you closed the distance between you and Nanami, forcing him to block his head but you anticipated this move. You ducked under his guard and you quickly kicked his exposed chest with all of your strength then swiftly spun to attack his head to repay him. 

Your leg hung suspended in mid-air for a brief moment, showcasing your balance and precision. Nanami staggered back, his breath caught at the sudden force and pang on his chest, along with a small sound of a crunch from the bridge of his nose that only he could hear. His expression, between shock and focus as he regained his footing.

A dribble of blood freely dripped from his nostrils and smeared his upper lip.

You winked at him once more, your own blood painting your teeth as you smiled at him. If he smiled back, your smiles could practically be twins.

Nanami didn’t know whether you were taunting him or playing with him. But either way, your actions were bizarre.

The sparring session continued and you took each strike like a fucking champ, almost like you were making Nanami land a hit on you on purpose, you couldn’t care less if it left a bruise. But if anyone asks, you simply won't deny it.

“Nanami! Are you having fun?!” You yelled excitedly, charging towards him, your fist at the ready.

He doesn’t answer, instead he sidesteps so flawlessly, his energy ablaze. You and Nanami were locked in a violent rhythm, the clashing of your strikes against each other almost resembled a dangerous dance.

Hit. 

Then sway.

Dodge.

And sway.

Hit. 

And sway.

Dodge. 

And sway…

HIT.

HIT.

SLAM!

You felt your heart skip a beat. You’ve never felt happier. 

The spectators were watching the two of you with an almost morbid fascination. Their eyes were glued to the exchange, neither of you were backing down.

“If her smile gets any bigger, her face is gonna rip apart.” Gojo comments as he watches, chuckling as if your joy was contagious.

Nanami, despite his composed and focused demeanor, found himself distracted in his own thoughts. Though he was fighting with full force and using his Ratio technique, he couldn’t quite precisely target where your weakness is. 

How could he when you were taking each offensive strike like it was nothing? It felt like he was fighting against a freakishly agile training dummy.

At this rate, if he kept pushing, it was only a matter of time before you ended up seriously hurt.

Your breath and Nanami’s came in sharp bursts, sweat had embraced your back while he was creating partial spots of perspiration on his uniform. Both battered and bruised.

But as the match wore on, you realize something truly gut wrenching.

You became annoyed when you noticed the deliberate restraint in Nanami’s movements. Sure, he was still trying to knock you down, but the energy of his cursed technique was completely reined in. 

When did he stop?

He was fighting you like you were a delicate porcelain doll, not as an opponent. This must be a joke.

What the fuck? You cursed in your head.

“You getting tired?!” You asked him in between the rolling punches. But he doesn’t answer.

Your strikes became sharper, more aggressive, as if to provoke him into giving you his all. To see that blue aura surge through him again. But every counter he offered was measured and cautious. His cursed energy or technique was nowhere to be found.

Oh you jerk! You thought.

Was he teasing you? No, that can’t be it.

Is he tired? But you were just getting to the good part.

This got on your nerves. Wondering why he wasn’t treating this match with the same intensity that he had given it earlier.

“You’re holding back!” You called him out gritting through your teeth, yelling accusingly at him then kicking him once more which he blocked. “Argh! You’re not playing fair!” Your tone carried a sharp edge of frustration, swinging another kick, your square heel stomped on his arm, almost digging into the muscle of his forearm.

Fighting Nanami at his full strength earlier on was the thrill you wanted— craved! You wanted him to be relentless, to be greedy, but this? 

This was not worth the effort. 

You were not worth his respect.

This started to bore you.

You stopped mid fight, stepping back “If you’re not gonna take this seriously, then there’s no point!” 

His slitted eyes watched you with a flicker of confusion on his face. The fire in his irises was gone like a candle in the wind.

“I don’t know what you me—”

“Let’s finish this!”  You declared, cutting him off, your tone frustrated and final.

You and Nanami reset your stances once again, breathing slow as if waiting for the other to deliver the finishing blow.

Nanami took a quick breath as he watched you, your growing resentment palpable. Your pose was firm, but the spark in your eyes had dimmed.

Happiness, short-lived.

He lunged towards you and you didn’t hesitate as you did the same. For a fleeting moment, the air seemed to still, the world narrowing to just the two of you. His eyes catch yours.

Nanami swung his arm, his smite aimed to bring this fight to its conclusion. Although he still repressed his power. He caught a glimpse of your face, the glint in your eyes was now clouded with… sadness? He was distracted for the slightest moment.

He hesitated, as he realized you weren’t dodging or maneuvering his charges with  your usual flexibility, even the intentional feign of your defenses where you would playfully leave an opening for him, just for you to retaliate with so much vigor. He actually sees you pretending to evade, your movements half-hearted and your guard down, almost as if you were letting him win.

Before his blow could land, he shifted his weight. Instead of striking you down, he pushed you back with the flat of his palm, forcing you to the ground but ensuring it wasn’t a damaging hit.

So— gracious of him.

You hated that.

Deeply.

Your back hits the ground, letting out a startled gasp, but your gaze is lost in the sky, watching the clouds disperse just like your excitement.

Nanami stood over you, his expression unreadable. But his chest heaved, and his fists were clenched at his sides. He took a step back, his brows furrowed. He opened his mouth to say something as he watched your defeated frown, but then you hear Yaga sensei declaring Nanami the victor. 

Nanami offers to help you but you swatted his hand away, pushing yourself off the ground on your own. This earned a puzzled look on his face.

You wipe the blades of grass on your uniform then your arms settle at your sides, your hands balled into tight fists. Your nails biting into the fleshy skin of your palms.

To everyone else, you looked like you were acting like a sore loser.

Maybe you were but you didn’t care if you won or lost. You didn’t care if the fight ended with you beaten to a pulp, as long as you knew that you’d fought with everything you had, and that your opponent had done the same. That’s all you wanted—an honest fight, a real fight.

But now you’re just left with this hollow feeling in your chest again.

The rest of your classmates began moving closer, their curious footsteps crunching softly on the soil as they approached the two of you.

“Wow! Nanami! That was so cool!” Haibara exclaimed, congratulating his friend who sheepishly rubbed the back of his head at the compliment.

“You weren’t so bad yourself Kisaragi! Maybe the two of us can spar next time!” Gojo gives you a thumbs up.

“How are you feeling?” You felt Shoko’s hand on the back of your shoulder. 

Before you could answer, Nanami then turns to you, giving you a small smile, as he gestures his hand for you to shake to show his sportsmanship.

“You put up quite a fight.” He said, showing his… humility.

You’re livid.

“You’re so full of it Nanami!” You yelled, glowering at him. Unable to keep yourself calm any longer.

“Heh?” Gojo tilts his head, baffled as he watches your scrunched up face as you waved your finger at the blonde, like you were scolding him. “Is she yelling at Nanami?” He whispered to Geto, his mouth pursed into a loud whisper.

“Huh?” Geto hummed, equally bewildered. Even Yaga sensei’s brow quirked up, unsure whether to intervene or not.

“You think you’re ‘honorable’ just because you held yourself back?! Treating me like I can’t handle whatever it is you throw at me!” 

You shook your head, a dry laugh escaping your lips. “It’s insulting!” You hissed.

Nanami stiffened. He was taken aback by your words that were spilling out of you. 

“I-I didn’t want to hurt you,” He said, almost stammering. Guilt evident in his tone. But it could not be farther from the truth.

LIAR!

“Bullshit!” You retorted. “Don’t give me that crap! You already made up your mind even before the fight started! You already decided I wasn’t even worthy of being your sparring partner, remember?!” 

Nanami’s lips parted as if to argue, but no words came out.

“You only used your curse technique once just for show! Just because Yaga sensei was watching!” You poked his chest almost aggressively, pushing him back slightly. “You’re no better than those soldiers!— than those— t-those sheep!” Your voice cracked, trembling with rage as the words tumbled out.

“Soldiers?” Gojo was now even more confused.

“You didn’t fight me because you saw me as a challenge! You fought me because you had to, and even then, you didn’t respect me enough to try!” You press your finger on Nanami’s chest more harshly, like a parent reprimanding a child. His eyes widened at your blunt accusations.

“SOME CHIVALROUS PRICK YOU ARE!” 

“I—” His mouth opened slightly but still no words came out. His brows furrowed, his tongue caught in his throat. He hasn’t had anyone scream at him like this before, not even his mother.

“NANAMI. KISARAGI.” Yaga sensei’s voice boomed, urging you both to stop arguing. Mostly you.

You took a deep breath, retreating from where Nanami stood. You try to soothe the rage in your heart.

“I already lost this fight even before it started…”

The words hung heavy in the air, his stoic face cracking ever so slightly and was etched with what he can assume was the feeling of guilt or maybe regret? But he was too overwhelmed to tell which is which or what exactly he was feeling at the moment.

What he does know is that he seemed to have upset you and that was clear as day.

Without waiting for his response, you turned on your heel walking away. Yaga nor the rest didn’t stop you. They could practically see the steam coming out of your ears.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

“She’s got a point, ya know,” Shoko said, turning to Nanami who looked stuck in his thoughts, still trying to comprehend what just happened. “That was a little shitty, what you did.” She moved towards the shaded area of the bench, after she had used her Reversed Cursed technique to tend to Nanami’s wounds.

The group was hanging out at their usual spot, which was just one of the benches around the baseball field. They were supposed to bring you there after Yaga’s class like they had initially planned but due to your squabble with Nanami, it changed. Shoko decided it was best to give you space and let you cool off for a bit.

“You all should know by now that I don’t particularly enjoy fighting women.” He defends. His voice was calm but it carried a defensive tone.

Gojo laughs, patting Nanami’s back. “Oyyy Nanamiii, I thought you’d be smarter than this, do you still not get it?”

Nanami grumbled softly, scowling at the blue-eyed sorcerer’s condescending tone.

“Kento,” Geto places his hand on his other shoulder, a seemingly sweet smile on his lips, but equally as condescending. “She wasn’t asking you to fight her ‘cause she’s a woman, she was asking you to fight her as your sparring partner.”

Shoko lit a cigarette with an almost lazy flick of her lighter. “Would you have fought her like that if it were Gojo, or Geto over here? Hell, even Haibara?” Shoko looked at Nanami, her sharp eyes, however, were anything but indifferent.

“You do pack a punch, Kento,” Haibara chuckled nervously as he sat next to him. “I even think Kisaragi can take your punches better than I can, she even seemed to… like it.” 

Nanami suddenly remembers your bloody smile, shining in visceral content. He doesn’t exactly know what to do with that menacing memory.

“It’s not the same.” Nanami muttered, clearing his throat, shaking off that imagery.

Shoko raised an eyebrow, her expression grimaced with mild amusement and disbelief. “Not the same? How so? She’s a sorcerer, just like the rest of us, she’s trained, just like the rest of us, am I missing somethin’?…”

Nanami’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, Shoko thought he was going to argue. But then his shoulders sagged, and he let out a low sigh. Her words dawned on him.

“It seems I have made a mistake.” 

Shoko laughs at her friend’s sudden realization. “Thank god you understand now, I thought those two morons were starting to sound smarter than you!” She teased, gesturing at Gojo and Geto who were pretending to play baseball with non-existent tools.

“I would much rather jump in front of a moving train before that happens.” He retorted.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

You scanned your face as you looked at your reflection in your bathroom mirror. You checked each tooth, even the gums, lingering on the molar that had been loose— now firmly rooted back in place. The bruises and swelling on your cheek and body have now faded. You looked just like how you were before the fight started, as if it never even happened. You had your curse to thank for that. 

Ugh, the fight.

You rolled your eyes, thinking about it again. Shoko texted you a couple of times asking how you were and you replied with the same line— lie every time.

Fine.

Just fine.

It was the middle of the day, the afternoon sun streamed faintly through your window. You still had a few classes you had to attend but the thought of facing Yaga sensei, or anyone for that matter, made you uneasy. After that little outburst, you weren’t sure if you could handle the looks and the tension.

A knock at the door broke your thoughts, it was probably Shoko looking for you. She did say that Yaga had told her that she was responsible for you for today. 

You sighed and turned the knob.

And the day just keeps getting… better.

“Good afternoon Kisaragi.”

You see Nanami standing outside your door. 

“Nope!” You slam the door close with a resounding thud.

No. Nuh uh. You shook your head.

Too soon! You groaned loudly, still clearly upset. Then you hear another knock but you don't answer.

“Wait Kisaragi,” You hear his muffled voice from the other side. “I need to talk to you.”

“No you don’t!” You shouted back. “I’m good! Everything’s great! Thanks for stopping by!” You said dismissively.

Then another knock.

“Kisaragi,” his tone was firmer this time. “I came to apologize.” 

Did you hear that right? 

You opened the door once again. His words piqued your curiosity. This should be good. You thought. 

“Ok I’m listening.” You said, your hand on your hip as you leaned against the door on its side.

 He clears his throat, as if he was preparing this whole speech in his head. 

“First, I would like to apologize if we—”

“No.” You slam the door again.

From the other side of the door, his muffled voice called again, more persistent this time. “Kisaragi, please. I’m trying to talk to—”

“You call that an apology?” You shouted back.

There was a silence before he knocked and tried again.

You opened the door once more.

“I’m sorry if I upset you—”

SLAM.

The door opened and shut so fast it made the hinges creak.

You hear Nanami let out a sigh, then you hear the tap on the door again.

“Yes?” You replied, eyeing him down. Waiting for him to speak.

 “Alright, I phrased that poorly,” he began, followed by a sigh. His patience being tested and slowly wearing thin. “I just wanted to say, if I had off—”

SLAM.

“Dammit!” You hear him curse. “Could you at least let me finish?” The irritation in his tone grew.

“I’m afraid, I cannot answer the door right now, unless this is a medical emergency. Otherwise, please direct your concerns to Mister Masamichi Yaga. Thank you, and have a wonderful day!” You replied, your tone resembling that of an overly cheerful automated response.

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh I’m very serious,” you said, almost teasingly. “You can just leave ya know, I mean I don’t wanna keep standing here  listening to your half-assed apologies too.”

Suddenly you hear the small high pitched chime coming from your phone. Shoko sent you a text.

Shoko: is he at your place?

You: yep.

he’s outside my door.

Shoko: Good.

You: did u know he was coming here?

Shoko: yup

are u being nice 2 him?

You: nope

Shoko: Good.

have fun!

You: thanks

talk to u later

“I’m not used to this,” you hear Nanami admit, his usually stoic expression now tinged with frustration. “I don’t do this often.”

“Clearly.” You retort.

There was a brief moment of silence. You wondered for a second if he was still there but the deep huff on the other side said otherwise.

Then you hear a gentle knock on the door. You turned the knob and faced him once again.

Nanami exhaled heavily, clearly weighing his next words carefully. Finally, he straightened his posture and met your eyes. His face, unreadable but focused.

“I’m sorry.” He said plainly but…. genuine. No other ifs or buts— or excuses came after that.

He was just sorry.

You stared at him, your arms still crossed, letting the words sink in. Slowly, the corners of your lips quirked up into a smirk.

“You’re sorry for what exactly?” You asked him, testing if he really truly meant it.

“I underestimated you, and I let my own narrow-mindedness cloud my judgment. It was… wrong of me. I know that now.” He answered, his tone sincere. “And for that, I’m sorry.”

You nod in approval and smiled at the tall blonde, who was now sheepishly avoiding your gaze. 

“Don’t sweat it!” You assured him. Patting his chest in a friendly manner. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“Wait… Kisaragi,” You pause and look at him. “If you’re not busy, allow me to invite you to lunch… if you don’t have prior plans.” He asked.

“You don’t have to do that. Thank you though.” You tell him.

“I insist,” He interjected. “It’s the least I could do for how… thoughtless I was towards you. Shoko wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if I didn’t.”

“So you’re only saying sorry because she told you to say sorry?” You mockingly interrogate him.

“No! I— It’s not what I meant! I mean—”

“I’m messing with you Nanami!” You laughed, thoroughly amused by his flustered reaction.

“Right.” Nanami cleared his throat, his composure slipping for just a moment. Then his slightly snarky expression returns.

“Shall we?” You beamed at him, closing the door behind you. “It will be your treat right?”

He nodded in response.

“Perfect! I’ll go tell Shoko that you’re buying us lunch!” Before Nanami could say anything, thinking that you knew that he only offered a free meal to you and only you but you were already tapping away the buttons on your phone, texting Shoko.

“I don’t know about you but I’m craving takoyaki!” You said brightly, practically skipping down the hall.

Nanami sighed, falling into step beside you. 

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The warm breeze carried the aroma of street food, mingling with the laughter and chatter of people enjoying the late afternoon. You sat on the picnic table next to Shoko, who had also apparently invited the rest of the group. Now Nanami ended up buying takoyaki for everyone. The face of Nanami in pure aggravation when Gojo and Geto told the poor blonde their orders a short while ago was hilarious. Though he seemed to have no problem buying Haibara’s. Just those two, well mostly Gojo.

Haibara and the rest of the boys walk over to the table with steaming hot takoyaki in different disposable paper trays. Each one was topped differently, from classic bonito flakes to adventurous drizzles of spicy mayo and cheese. The drizzle of sauce and the slightly crispy exterior made your mouth water. The fact that it was free and paid for by Nanami, made it all the more delicious. 

Nanami hands you yours while everyone else settles in their seats.

“Thank you!” You clasped your hands, beaming at Nanami. Nanami handed you your food, his usual stoic expression softening ever so slightly when you thanked him with a bright smile.

You all dug in, laughter and chatter filling the small corner of the outdoor seating area. Haibara was enthusiastically savoring every bite, Shoko leaned back with her banana milk in hand, smirking at his over-the-top reactions, and Gojo was predictably trying to swipe takoyaki off Geto’s tray, who casually smacked his hand away each time.

For a moment, you questioned the normalcy of it all. To just talk, eat and bond with people outside of sorcery or curses. Sure, you were aware of friendships and forming relationships with people you trust, but making things that last— that’s a different story. You knew better than to anchor yourself to people, mostly because you’ve seen how easy it is to just float away, whether it was you or the other. 

But today, seeing as how Shoko and the rest welcomed you openly, no questions asked, you can’t help but feel a little hopeful.

The group lingered for a while longer, finishing off the takoyaki and sharing more laughs before eventually wrapping up. As the night began to settle, you all walked to the nearby bus station. 

The bus was arriving soon, and most of your friends were ready to head home. Nanami approached you, hand in his pocket and the other holding a small bag that looked like it carried something important.

“Do you need someone to walk you home?” he asked, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. 

“Is this still part of your apology?” You asked, half jokingly. A little surprised by his offer.

Nanami glanced away briefly, clearing his throat. “No, it’s not. I just—”

“Nanami,” Geto interrupted smoothly, stepping forward with his hands casually tucked into his pockets. He gave Nanami a small but pointed smile. The whites of his eyes disappeared as he grinned. “You should get on the bus. I can take it from here, she and I are headed the same way anyway.” 

Nanami’s expression shifted slightly, caught off guard. He opened his mouth as if to argue but quickly closed it. “I guess that makes sense. I’ll see you two tomorrow.” He said, nodding slightly at the two of you to bid his goodbye.

The warm streetlights illuminated your little group as you said your goodbyes, the bus pulled away with your friends waving out the windows. Even from a distance, you could see baby powder’s head sticking out like a dog as he yells his farewell to you and Geto.

After waving them off, you turned to find Geto still standing beside you. “Heading back to the school?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. I live close by. I’ll walk with you.”

The night air was cool as the two of you strolled. There was lull between the two of you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You could hear the crickets chirping and the sound of your footsteps on the pavement. This was the first time you and Geto were alone and you found yourself unsure of how— or if you should start a conversation.

“Ieiri seems to like you,” he spoke, breaking the silence. “I heard you call her by her first name, she doesn’t even let us call her that.” Geto chuckled softly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Shoko is easy to get along with,” you admitted. “She’s… calm, I guess we just click.” 

Geto hummed thoughtfully. “Or maybe it’s because you’re not as insufferable as Satoru.”

That earned a light laugh from you, the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding was suddenly loosening.

“You seem to be getting along with everyone pretty well, even with Nanami despite you know.” He added, chuckling lightly.

“What about you,” you asked, glancing over at Geto with a curious smile. “Am I doing okay in your book?” Your tone light and almost teasing, remembering once again the initial interaction between the two of you. 

“You’re tolerable…” Geto replied warmly, teasing back. “I was quite impressed with your sparring session with Nanami, but something caught my attention.”

“Hm?” you said, turning your gaze towards him. His dark hair shifted slightly as he tilted his head, studying you with an expression that was equal parts thoughtful and amused.

“Satoru and I happen to pass by the same spot where Nanami struck you,” he said, his tone laced with a touch of intrigue. “I thought I was just seeing things when you and Nanami were in the middle of a fight, but I swear I saw your blood evaporate after it hit the ground, Satoru confirmed this after you walked away.” 

“And that tooth you spat out, Satoru and I found it but it turned to dust when the wind blew.” He continued on. 

“I see,” you replied nonchalantly. “Are you curious to know why that happens or are you just telling me this because you already know?”

If sorcerers or curse users have one thing in common, it would be the fact that they’re all eagerly curious to know and understand every curse, technique or ability that they come across. Knowledge is power, after all. Though keeping some things to oneself can be a great advantage. 

But It wasn’t like you were hiding anything from him, if he— or anyone for that matter, asked about what you can do, you can answer however you want. What they don’t ask, you won’t mention. Simple as that. 

“I have some theories but nothing too concrete.” He replied, his expression thoughtful. 

“Enlighten me!” You prompted him, smiling faintly. 

“Will you even tell me if I’m right or wrong?” He chuckled softly. 

“Well I won’t know unless you tell me right?”

 “Well, for starters, I think your curse is rooted in some kind of regeneration, unless that tooth is completely gone then that throws my first theory out the window.”

You smirked, amused by his cautious tone. “Go on.”

You watch his eyes gleaming with fascination, this little deduction game seemed fun for him.

“However I’m still a little lost on the evaporating blood, I don’t think I’ve seen that before til’ today.” He said, his fingers pinching his chin, his expression in deep thought.

He looks back at you as if asking to confirm his conjecture.

The corners of your mouth quirking up in approval. “Your theory isn’t far off.”

You walked in silence for a moment before deciding to speak. His gaze shifted to you, patient and attentive. “My blood evaporates because my curse takes it back as cursed energy. Same thing with the tooth. It doesn’t just disappear, it gets absorbed— reused. 

Geto nodded slowly, processing your words. “So, it’s almost like… it recycles it?”

You snorted out a short laugh. “Yeah, I guess you can say that… The molar I lost regrew after my cursed energy took back what it lost. It’s always hoarding energy, one way or another… It doesn’t just heal me— it makes sure nothing is left behind. No blood, no broken bones, nothing.”

Geto’s brow furrowed. “That’s... oddly meticulous. How does that work when you’re healing someone?”

You hesitated, unsure if you should say the next part. You giggled lightly, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “I’ll leave that up to you to figure out Detective Geto!” You winked at him.

He laughed at your gesture and nodded. “Well I still do have some theories in mind, I’ll let you know if I have more evidence to support it.” 

“I’m surprised you even want to indulge yourself in this, didn’t think something like my healing technique would be anything worth discussing.” You said.

Geto’s expression shifted slightly, a glimmer of seriousness replacing the curiosity in his eyes. “It’s not just your technique that intrigues me,” he admitted, his gaze fixed ahead as the two of you walked. “It’s you. I don’t know much about the Kisaragi clan, and I don’t think many people do. All we’ve ever been told is the surface-level stuff Yaga sensei shared with us but beyond that? You’re a stranger.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him fully. “You almost sound like you’re suspicious of me.”

“I guess I am,” he confessed. “It’s hard to trust someone whose family isn’t the most transparent especially when they work closely with the Time Vessel Association.”

You crossed your arms, a faint smirk tugging at your lips despite the weight of his words. “Oh so you did your research Detective Geto! And here I thought we were becoming the best of friends.” You said sarcastically, with a mocking pout.

Geto let out a humorless chuckle. “I don’t know why Yaga sensei thought it was a good idea to bring you or your family involved with Jujutsu High, especially with your ties to… questionable organizations.”

“Questionable?” You tilted your head, your smirk growing wider. “Big words for someone who works for the Jujutsu higher-ups. They’re not exactly paragons of righteousness either, you know.”

“Is that an admission?” He narrows his sharp eyes at you, almost taunting you.

You took a step closer to him, mirroring his vicious gaze. “Whether or not I tell you the truth, you already seem to have made up your mind about me,”

“Tell me Suguru…” you said, almost like you were challenging him. “Do you think you're a good person because you're a Jujutsu sorcerer? Do you get off on kissing their feet?” Your eyes bore through him, your gaze unwavering.

Geto blinked at your question, the faint smirk on his face faltering for a split second before his stoic expression returned.  “I do what I do because it aligns with what I believe,” he said finally. “Good, bad… those lines blur in our world, don’t they? It’s not that hard to see that.”

“You tell me,” you pressed, taking another step closer. “Maybe you’re fighting for what you think is right, but whose definition of ‘right’ is it? Yours, or the people who tell us where to go and what to fight?”

Geto’s gaze darkened, but not with anger—more with contemplation. “And what about you?” he countered. “What are you doing here if you’re not fighting alongside us? Where does the line blur for you?”

You laughed at his question. You shook your head then smiled at him almost maliciously. “Maybe it’s neither, maybe… I’m just bored, maybe I had no choice, maybe Yaga sensei was right and I’m destined for greatness or maybe, just maybe… I’m out to tear this place apart from within, starting with you and our dear friends.”

Geto's expression didn’t falter, though his eyes scanned yours as if he was searching for something— the truth? An answer? Whatever it is, he can’t find it. He can’t read you. He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “If you have no direction, where does your loyalty lie?”

You tilted your head at him, that mischievous glint still lingering in your gaze. “Does it matter, Suguru? You’ve already made it clear you don’t trust me.”

You’ve been saying his first name as if to provoke him or get a rise out of him but like you, he was just as ruthless and… bitchy.

Before he could respond, your phone buzzed in your pocket. Curious, you pulled it out and glanced at the screen. A small, genuine smile tugged at your lips, one that you couldn’t suppress even if you wanted to.

“Something funny?” Geto asked, noticing the change in your demeanor.

You quickly tucked your phone back into your pocket, masking the warmth in your smile with your usual air of nonchalance. “I’ll walk home on my own from here,” you said firmly, your voice steady and final.

Geto blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “You’re really just going to walk away?”

You shrugged, turning on your heel. “Why not? You’ve already decided I’m a stranger, might as well act like one.”

Taking a few more steps, you paused, glancing over your shoulder. “And just so we’re clear, if you follow me, I’ll either kill you or tell Yaga sensei on you, I don’t know, whichever gets you off my back. Your choice.” You shrugged.

Geto remained where he stood, watching as you walked away. His mind churned, caught between curiosity and caution. But decisively, he turns the other way, leaving you be.

You walked for a few more blocks making sure you weren’t followed, disappearing into a dimly lit street as you walked past the school. You feel your phone buzz in your pocket once again but you don’t answer. Though a small knowing grin was plastered across your face.

You replayed the day’s events in your head, from your little quarrel with Nanami to just a moment ago, with your little disagreement with Geto. Those two encounters left a bitter taste in your mouth than you’d care to admit. Two dumb boys, bound by their sense of duty, each trying to make sense of you, to mold you into something that fits their understanding. 

Both equally exhausting. 

Both equally and significantly disappointing.

If there was a man who wouldn't hold back, who wouldn’t question your morals or lack thereof, someone who would probably bite his tongue off first before he spouts some goody goody bullshit. 

You take your phone out from pocket, the screen illuminating his name so vividly.

Toji Zenin

[ comment if you want to be added in the taglist for future updates ]

a/n: omg i was supposed to upload this on feb. 3 which was Suguru's bday but i got so sick, my fever was so high, i could probably boil an egg if i kept it warm under my armpit. im not kidding and it was all because i got my period!!!! i passed out in the bathroom writing this chapter, hope it was worth it. HAPPY (BELATED) FUCKING BIRTHDAY SUGURU GETO!!!! <3

also on ao3: here

taglist: @oneofthesevensins, @yatowmotd @enchantingkitty @allzballz1

© 2025 myswans0ng, my_swansong. All Rights Reserved. Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize.

[xoxopuffsz]

ok this is p specific but i love ur smut and i would like to request a fic where azul is in a relationship w yuu, and during his mating season he sneaks them off to a classroom for a quickie, but idia is watching it through the cameras and jerking off 🙏🙏🙏🙏 PRETTY PLEASE

AN: when I read this I had to stop for a moment and think but I mean YOU SAID PRETTY PLEASE SO SURE 😓 — MINORS DNI, all chars are aged up, f!y/n and well creepy Idia, Azul being an absolute crazed maniac, enjoy!

❤︎ — “Can you hear me? Can you see me?”

Although most people would’ve relatively catched on in the frantic Azul, his urges were something he usually was able to hide pretty well, and of course, who said that at the end of the day his pretty girlfriend wasn’t going to.. help him?

As you carried a dirty tray to the garbage, a small kiss is pressed on your cheek by an alone Azul, who had wondered off when his two eel companions weren’t looking. “My dear, can you.. come with me for a second?” He mumbles in your ear, the single breath of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

it’s not until he locks you in the nearby classroom that he realizes what’s going on, his lips finding yours frantically as his hands unbuckle your belt, practically ripping them off.

“Fuck me,” he whispers “I’m sorry. ‘m sorry I’m being so vulgar my dear but I’m begging you I need some type of release.” He mumbles, kisses making the heat pool in-between your legs as he quickly takes them off.

Although, it’s seemed maybe Azul wasn’t the only one enjoying the experience.

Idia had made a habit of checking and placing cameras all over the school, for his own pleasure of course, to either keep intel of people or maybe see them goof around when his games are getting updated,

But seeing the only girl in NRC getting rammed by her boyfriend, and club mate of his? Now that was gold.

His first impression? Maybe get off the cameras for a while and check if there was anything better to do, but yet he couldn’t help notice the sounds emitting into the cameras speakers, the moans coming from both you and his dear friend Azul, and the way he quickly discarded of his belt to be able to push in his member into your underwear, a quickie, it seemed.

Idia was.. well, turned on to say the least, and no one usually came into his room, so the best thing that came to his mind was to get off of the person he usually got along with and the pretty girl he’d watch from a distance, slender and pale fingers touching his own member to get off, and of course, once the shame sits in his pink hair emitting a pretty light as he lets out a groan, his hoodie covering his own mouth, as he watches you and Azul.

Oh and as for you two, sevens was it good. Azul was always against things like this, he felt is was ‘unprofessional’ and ‘unsanitary’ but oh did it feel good. His hips pressing onto you as the cloth of your pantries rubbed against him, and the way his tip pressed against your sensitive clit, his lips felt so.. so good against yours.

His hands gripped your thighs, tongue tied against yours, and he had the audacity to moan into your mouth, small “s’good” and “need more”s being heard as he finally came into your stomach.

As for the one watching you two, his hand slowly dragged down his tip and girth, pathetic whimpers escaping his mouth as he watched the both of you move, moans entering his ears from his headphones, the delicacy and richness of the audio giving him the impulse to finally cum, getting on his pants.

Until he listens to Azul say,

“You ever feel like we’re being watched?”

— ❤︎ AN: I hope you like it chat it took me like an hour and also my head is killing me 🙁

[cheezeybread]

ahhhhh— those hcs for octavinelle with the teasing s/o are so darn cute! it’s okay if i ask for a scenario like the one from when we first met the twins (when we are looking for students who could be harmed in that game) and floyd is just going to squeeze the s/o but instead of backing away like the heartlsabyul boys, the s/o actually leans in and hug him back with a smile because that’s how people greet each other where they came from? and floyd just stands there like: “wait… you were supposed to run so i could chase ya!”

i’m from a latin country and here we always greet or say bye to each other with hugs/kisses and we are just that clingy lmao

Heck yeah, I gotchu! ^^

Sort of ooc Floyd?? I have a headache rn so it's hard to write XD sorrrrryyyyyyyy

◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈

"Yo, yo, yo, what is UP, little goldfishie!" One of the twins yelled out with a giant smile on his face. It would have been a goofy look on anybody else, but those giant razor-sharp teeth made you think twice- and wait, was that a second pair of teeth deeper in his mouth??

Knowing that the whole group was caught, you all moved to be in the full sight of the twins, Ace and Deuce muttering something amongst themselves about how creepy the two were, while Riddle was attempting to firmly chastise the one who called out to him about using silly nicknames. The stern voice Riddle used was apparently not working on the twin, seeing as how he just kept on with that huge smile, his eyes wide.

"But you're so small and red, how are you not a goldfish?" The twin was saying with a laugh- from what you could overhear from Cater, this one was Floyd, which made the quieter one...Jade, was it?

Grim tugged at your sleeve, pulling you down a little closer to his level as he conspiratorially whispered to you "This guy seems like he's a few cans short of a tuna casserole-"

Unfortunately, his voice brought made Floyd aware of his presence, as the eel jerked his head to the side to stare at the direbeast with a crazed look "A talking cat? Now THAT'S something you don't see every day! Can I squeeze you 'til you pop?"

Grim looked panicked, and hid behind your leg....as if you would be much protection, as a magic-less human. Thanks, so-called buddy. "Uh, no? Stay away from me, weirdo!"

Floyd didn't seem too disappointed, instead turning his attention onto you. Behind his looming form, you could just barely make out his brother talking to the others in the group with a cold look "Ain't you that no-magic shrimp that crashed orientation?" He asked, tilting his head.

"Uh, yep. That's, uhm, that's me," You said, mustering up a smile "Shrimp?"

"That's what you are, ain'tcha?" Floyd cackled like a maniac, closing the distance between you two with one stride of his long legs. His arms reached out menacingly, his hands almost looking like claws as he wrapped his arms around you, picking you up off the ground with no trouble at all "Awwww, lookit, Jade, I got me a little shrimpy!"

Instead of running away, like Grim did, you managed to wiggle your arms out of his grip enough to return the hug- that was what this was, after all? It was almost an instinctual reaction, muscle memory from your own world. Physical contact was normal, expected, even. It was how people showed their love for one another, their respect, and even greeted. That's what Floyd was doing now, wasn't it?

Granted, he was holding you so tight that some of your joints popped, but maybe he was just a little overeager.

"Oh- aw, what?!" The twin cried out, setting you down quickly. He gave you a confused look, an eyebrow raised as he stared you down "You're supposed to wriggle away and run! That's half the fun!"

Now you were confused. Wasn't that a greeting-hug, or was he just someone who liked to chase people down with threats of affection?? You made a mental note to ask one of the Sophmores later.

"I thought you just wanted a hug!" You said out loud, sounding just as confused as he was.

Floyd looked back at Jade to get his reaction, but Jade was too busy making threats to notice. So he turned back around towards you and Grim and frowned "You were supposed to run so I could chase ya!"

"...My bad...?" You said slowly, raising a hand up in a surrendering manner "You want to try again? I'll run this time, I swear."

He thought to himself for a moment before shaking his head "Nah, that takes the fun out of it if you're expecting it. Next time I'll getcha, I will! You just wait and see! You'll be so terrified of getting squeezed till ya pop that you run away screamin'!"

"I'll do my best," You promised.

◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈

[mediumgayitalian]

“Isn’t he dreamy.”

Nico di Angelo stands in the centre of the amphitheater arena, sword drawn, shadows leeching from his frame. Winds swirl dangerously around him, ground trembling with every step. Concentrated terror curls its smokey tendrils into the nostrils of every onlooker.

Lou Ellen levels her best friend with a look. Will is too busy with his chin in his hands, moon-eyed, to notice. He doesn’t so much as flinch when she waves her hand and changed his freckles to glow bright purple, so she leaves them like that out of spite. Sucker.

“…I mean, he did just unseam that automaton nave to chaps, MacBeth-style, and cackled maniacally into the air. So.”

Will sighs. “I know.” The dust of the amphitheatre floor is covered in finger-drawn hearts. Lou Ellen is embarrassed for him. “He’s just so — gods. Look at his smile.”

Lou Ellen does. It’s frightening. He’d taken the flat of a blade straight to the face a few minutes back, making blood stain his teeth and drip out the corner of his mouth.

“And his eyes sparkle. Do you think they’re more…moonstone, or agate?”

Crazed. Lou Ellen thinks his eyes look crazed. The sparkle in question may simply be the reflection of the tip of the dagger that has appeared in his non-sword hand, which appears to be made of sharpened human bone. Lou Ellen wonders, morbidly, what bone it is for about point three seconds before Will sways — genuinely sways! — and says, “And the way he handles that femur! Oh!”

“Dude,” she says, aghast. “Will, man, get ahold of yourself.”

There’s a thunk as her best friend throws himself dramatically upon the ground. His wrist is poised delicately on his forehead, face twisted pitifully. She rolls her eyes hard enough that she actually goes blind for a brief second and falls off the bench in panic. Will seems pleased that she’s joined him on the floor.

“I can’t. He’s too beautiful.”

Lou Ellen cranes up her neck.

“A nine year old just looked at him and cried.”

His sigh is more wistful than dreamy, this time. “He’s gonna be a great dad someday.”

“…Good gods, Solace.”

Will’s voice softens. “I’m gonna marry him, Ellie.” When she looks over, the smile on his face is just plain loving. She follows his eyes and sees Nico panting, training on pause, gesturing wildly with one hand and loosely holding a water bottle in the other. She’s never seen him so animated. The class he’s teaching watches him in a predictable mix of awe and horror, erring on the side of terrified.

Lou Ellen will admit, in the very recesses of her mind (let Will get a bigger head than he already has), that it is a little charming.

A little.

“I know, you goober,” she murmurs, cuffing him on the shoulder. He doesn’t even flinch. “I call dibs on flower girl.”

[edenscollardrawer]

Vengeance - f!Sydney/f!PC/f!Kylar

18+ content warnings & tags: exhibitionism, revenge, graphic violence, knives, bondage, fingering, degradation, humiliation request: "may i request pc/syd? pc realizes kylar’s jealousy is so high that they’re abt to get kidnapped again. instead of relying on bailey, you warn sydney to save you if you disappear. but when she comes to save you, instead of going quietly, she restrains kylar and forces her to watch" - @foxyfexyll 1822 words

A pair of green eyes burned into the side of your head as you carried your tray through the cafeteria, slipping into the seat next to your girlfriend. Kylar’s incessant surveillance had only increased since you broke out of her basement last month. ‘No’ was apparently not a word in her dictionary, as your escape had not deterred her from pursuing you further. 

You consider yourself a pretty resilient girl, but the constant stalking was definitely taking its toll. Sleepless nights had become the norm for you, as you found yourself constantly staring out your bedroom window to ensure your safety. Sydney cast you a sympathetic glance, setting her hand on your knee. 

“Are you alright? You seem really tense today.” Her thumb rubbed gentle circles over your exposed skin, your body relaxing under her touch. 

“I’m.. fine. God, do you see that fucking freak?” Sydney frowns, looking up to follow your gaze. When she sees Kylar, her brows furrow and her grip on your leg tightens. 

“Is she giving you trouble again?” you sighed, looking down at your lap as you played with the hem of your skirt. 

“Yeah… I can’t sleep, I can’t focus… everywhere I look, there she is. I have a really bad feeling, Syd. Something isn’t right.” She bit her lip, staring daggers across the room at the loner. Kylar poked at her food, pretending she couldn’t see the two of you - yet anytime you looked away, you felt those eyes on you again. That creep. 

“I’ve got your back. Promise.” Sydney holds out her pinky finger for you to link, and you oblige.

“If anything happens… If I don’t come to school, If I’m not answering calls - please come looking for me. Okay?” your voice shook as you talked. She nodded firmly, a serious look plastered across her face. You already felt indebted to Bailey after the last time, God knows he guilt tripped you plenty. Disposing of your trash, you made a hasty exit to your history class. It was an absolute blessing that you only had one class with your reclusive stalker.

The rest of your day was uneventful, the school providing some degree of security. As your day came to a close and you walked across the front schoolyard, anxiety consumed you. You felt like a wild rabbit in an open meadow, a hawk circling overhead as you gnaw on a patch of grass. The ever-present feeling of being watched consumed you once again as you began your trek home. 

Walking through the residential alleyways, you slung your backpack over your shoulder and prepared to hop the fence to the back garden. A familiar prick in your neck kept you grounded, and the world quickly faded into darkness. When you came to, you’d landed in the same exact basement you’d grown so familiar with the month prior - your captor standing over you with a crazed grin. 

“M-my love! You’re awake! I’m so glad that we’re finally reunited again…” Her knife trailed down the side of your face with a wistful elegance. You didn’t bother flinching. Sydney would come for you this time, you knew she wouldn’t get away with it. 

“Don’t bother, freak,” you scoffed, glaring up at her with fire in your eyes, “Sydney is coming. You’ll fucking regret this.” Kylar’s gaze widened and a maniacal laugh burst from her throat. 

“S-Sydney?” she smiled, walking closer to you, the tip of her knife digging into the center of your throat, a small trail of blood leaking from the fresh cut. Another guffaw left her small body as she launched herself onto you, knocking the chair down with you. A loud oof came out of you as you smacked down onto the cement floor -  your restrained body still firmly strapped down. She crawled on top of you, hands clenching around your bloody throat. 

“I h-have been so… so k-kind to you. All… All I d-do is love you, and you.. You still choose… Sydney?” your girlfriend’s name falls from her lips with a venomous tone.

You tried to scream, tried to use some clever retort, tried to berate her - but all that came out was a strangled gurgle. Her hands tightened further, your face turning red as the oxygen struggled to reach your head. Kylar’s psychotic grin looked like it reached ear to ear; she stared down at you with rage as you felt your consciousness slowly draining. Just as you felt the light draining from your eyes, an unseen force ripped her off of you. Gasping for air, you lied still for a moment before mustering the strength to look up from your restrained position.

Punch after punch lands against Kylar’s bewildered face as Sydney straddles her chest. She grabbed both of the petite girl’s arms and forced them behind her back, aggressively flipping her over onto her stomach. Kylar squirmed frantically, thrashing and screaming about the unfairness of it all. Your girlfriend ignored the stalker's pleas of injustice - grabbing a nearby rope lying on the concrete and deftly tying her wrists together. She makes sure the knots are secure before dragging her into the corner and propping her up against the wall.

“Y-you can’t do this! W-we’re in love! You can’t tear us apart!” Sydney scoffs, her face contorted in disgust.

“You’re sick, Kylar.” She finally walks over to you, cupping your face tenderly as she unties you from the chair. Once free, she rubs your wrists where the rope had been cutting into your skin. Sydney examines the bruises and blood on your neck, her breathing becoming shaky. 

“You think this is love?” Sydney gestures to the bruises on your neck, forcing Kylar to confront her actions.  “I’ll fucking show you what love looks like.” Everything was happening so fast, you had whiplash. Sydney turned to you, grabbing ahold of your chin. Her lips met yours, tongue quickly slipping into your mouth. Though your eyes were both closed, the sound of Kylar struggling and crying filled the dank room.

“STOP! STOP IT! SHE LOVES ME!” she screamed like she was watching a cold blooded murder unfold in front of her. In a way, she was. The homicide of your non-existent love. Sydney grabbed your hips, pulling you closer. Her touch was gentle, but firm. You could tell she wanted to prove to Kylar that she had no chance. As her thumbs hooked under the hem of your skirt, flipping it up, she pulled away to turn to the struggling stalker. 

“My beloved, do you care about Kylar?” you immediately and frantically shook your head in disagreement. “Do you care if she suffers?” You once again shake your head. She struggles against her bindings and cries harder. Some sick part of you is turned on by the sound of her struggle, the utter anguish in her pleas for mercy. You press your thighs together, feeling the moistness growing there.

Sydney continues, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of your lace panties and pulling them down. She discards them and continues, hands running down your body in a display of intimacy that only serves to make Kylar more frantic. Her fingers dip down into your wetness, and she lets out an exaggerated moan, looking over at the onlooker with a devilish smirk. 

“Oh my God, you’re just soaking wet for me…” She draws her fingers up to her lips, wiping your slick off on her tongue and humming thoughtfully.

“Fucking delicious.” She tucks her dark hair behind her ear. Sydney’s complete control over the whimpering mess in the corner only made you hotter. Her fingers return to their position and she wastes no time flicking them across your clit, swirling around in the motion that drives you crazy. 

She stares Kylar dead in the eyes as your soft whimpers and moans fill the room, tears washing down the small girl’s cheeks. Your girlfriend’s free hand moves up to your breast, kneading and massaging the supple flesh. Every feeling was amplified by the experience of being watched. It felt so fucking good to make her hurt. She deserved every single second of pain, and you relished in the sound of her despair as Sydney’s fingers dipped into your drenched core - pumping in and out as she maintained eye contact with the panicking freak. 

You made sure to make a dramatic show of humping against her hand, moaning loudly and running your hands up and down your body like you were in ecstasy. Kylar sobbed loudly, kicking against the concrete and nearly banging her head against the brick wall. As you looked over and saw her practically begging for death, you felt yourself clenching around Sydney's digits. 

“O-Oh my God, I love you so much, Syd!” you cried loudly, looking over at Kylar with an exaggerated orgasm face. Her hair was even messier than usual, cheeks red and puffy from crying - and you could see a shameful wet patch forming on her exposed panties, her skirt having hiked itself up to her waist during her struggle. As Sydney’s hand retracted from your spent pussy, she rested her forehead against yours.

“I love you more than anything…” she whispered just loud enough for Kylar to hear, planting a passionate kiss against your lips. She ran her hands up your body, admiring your curves - then she turned and walked over to Kylar. 

“Looks like somebody enjoyed the show. You really are pathetic, you know that?” She made a show of pressing her foot to Kylar’s panties - laughing loudly at the panicked moan that left her lips. She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder and walked back over to you.

“Let's get out of here, beloved. She can sit here and think about what she’s done.” Grabbing ahold of her hand, you glance over at the now-motionless lump on the ground. Hesitantly, you walk over to her.

“You ever fucking try something like this again, I will end you.” You spit, looking at your girlfriend for approval before you both make a hasty exit from the basement, leaving Kylar to her own devices. As the two of you descend Danube Street, Sydney stops and looks you up and down.

“You’re okay, right? I should’ve asked before doing… all that.” She smiles sheepishly, biting her bottom lip between her teeth. A giggle falls from your lips, and you reach forward to twirl her cross pendant between your fingers. “You’re my hero, Sydney…” Standing on your toes, you plant a gentle peck on her cheek. The sweet scent of her floral perfume brought you back to reality. The rest of the walk was uneventful, though there was the looming fear of potential consequences hanging overhead. You doubted that worm of a girl would tattle on you - but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be plotting her revenge. It wasn’t really a question of if she would retaliate, but rather, when. Today, you held the power - and that was enough. 

[dekusleftsock]

I thought everyone was exaggerating when people kept bringing up the whole “bakugou says he’s Kacchan bc of kaminari” thing, but they actually believe that… what?

WHAT

Literally how do you guys function

AND THEY CALL ME DELULU???????

It’s such a stretch too. Like “oh yeah he said Kacchan no Bakugou in this movie” ITS NOT EVEN IN THE MANGA HELLO???

The whole reason Kaminari calls Katsuki Kacchan is because he’s making fun of him. It’s poking fun at the fact that Katsuki can’t say anything or get mad at Kaminari because then it would raise the question, “Well why can Midoriya say it?”

He literally side eyes him every time he does it but ultimately doesn’t react because he can’t. He can’t if he wants to keep up the act that he is uninterested in what Izuku represents, who he is.

SO WHY, IN THE EVER LOVING FUCK, WOULD IT BE KAMINARI?

WHO is present in this battle?

WHO is the person that made eye contact with him the second he woke up?

WHO is the one that grabbed his hand immediately upon Katsuki flinging himself towards them??

I don’t think THEY even believe it either, I think it’s just some way to cope and explain away the fact that this moment is inherently romantic.

Because I don’t think he’s making fun of the name Kacchan, I think he’s wearing it proudly. I don’t think it’s a joke at all. It’s a joke in the disbelieving way—the way you act when you’ve made an enormous accomplishment or won some prize, and you just can’t help but act absolutely insane at the fact. Because it’s funny that you’re here, in this situation. It’s hilarious in that disbelieving way.

Because he’s laughing at the truth, he’s been laughing at nothing this ENTIRE CHAPTER.

“Ouch! Haha! I’m so fast!”

“I can’t even stop! Ha! Ouch!”

Note: (I’m not using the official translations because for some reason they lack the maniacal crazed laughter and I’m confused as to why?? I even checked with pikahlua and they specified that there was laughing so…. I’m confused.)

What’s even weirder about this is the fact that afo also says (in pikahlua’s translations) “just who is this brat?!” Instead of “what is wrong with him” which implies less crazed bakugou ness imo. Confused as to why, again.

Because this can’t be happening.

Now, I know it could very well be him teasing afo and calling him dumb, saying basically “you’re too young/old to even know how to pronounce my name, use Kacchan instead like the child you are.” Especially since in the context of names like Katsuki’s, he has that tsu sound that can be hard for children to pronounce. (I’m not 100% on this but I’m pretty sure that the u sound is also meant to be silent since it’s a double consonant. So Katsuki’s name is technically pronounced “Ka-ts-ki”)

BUT IDK I THINK HES JUST FUCKED AND A LITTLE CRAZY RN!

That maniacal laughter at the fact that he’s in pain, the disbelief that he may even surpass Izuku, to me it’s holding a double meaning. The meaning that afo is dumb and needs to be treated like the child he is, and the meaning behind the fact that it’s a name Izuku owns for him. That’s his.

It can be both.

It’s not fucking Kaminari. It was never Kaminari. Even if you don’t read it as the second definition it’s still not about Kaminari.

But it’s also undeniable that it has to do with Izuku some way some how.

I also believe that the western side of the fandom is making an extra big deal out of this because, to us, we don’t really have a proper understanding of what a nickname like Kacchan means in its cultural context.

We can TRY to understand, comparing it to endings with ie or y given to children, and then sometimes going with that nickname into adulthood, but it still has its own distinct cultural context. Because a name like “Gracie” over “Grace” does to an extent sound childish, but I have a feeling that -chan has its own childish feeling. There’s a reason none of Katsuki’s other friends in middle school call him Kacchan, and there’s a reason Kaminari decides to make fun of him for the name in the first place.

I just think it’s important to use our thinking brains before we start yapping about things we don’t quite understand yet :)

Like it’s so unbelievably important to understand that horikoshi won’t tell you what’s happening in his story and why, he’ll show you instead BECAUSE HES A GOOD FUCKING WRITER

If it was about Kaminari, he would have specified, but he didn’t. He showed you that Kacchan is Izuku’s nickname for Katsuki, and he showed you that Katsuki cared more about Izuku than he let on for a long time. Just like he showed you that Izuku pushes down his emotions, showed you that Izuku struggles with projection and anger, showed you that Ochako was the one with this crush and not Izuku, and showed you that the feelings he had about Katsuki were deeper than anyone had realized.

He showed you parallels, he specified the important parallels that you absolutely had to see as a viewer (ex toga and ochako), just as he showed you the ones that were more subtle but still there (ex toga and deku). He showed you the pieces, and that doesn’t make his character’s underdeveloped or unspecified, that’s just how writing fucking works. “Good writing” DOESNT MEAN that you have to be pulled along through your baby steps with your hand held, the fact that you don’t get it is on you. Reading comprehension is a learned skill that has to be practiced over and over again, and that is not the writers job. The writer is only supposed to deliver you their story, and however you decide to misconstrue that story is, and hear me out friends, on you.

So I’m sorry if I’m tired of hearing arguments like “toga is a predator and Horikoshi wrote her to be horny”… she’s supposed to represent love. I’m sorry if the representation he made of love was uncomfortable for you, but maybe that’s the point? Because she’s an outcast? Because she’s supposed to be hard to empathize with, but that we have to empathize in the first place?

Arguments like “Katsuki was referencing a joke about Kaminari bc Kaminari said this in this movie” is just about the largest fucking reach I’ve ever seen. And I know, I know that when bkdk eventually get their implied or canonical ending that people are going to be mad. They’ll blame shippers for pressuring him, or they’ll say he’s a bad writer, or they’ll send him homophobic slurs because “how dare the character I see myself in be gay”. And I’m done with the stupidity and lack of common god damn sense.

So if you are going to be upset by the fact that you’re going to be proven wrong, then I again say, it’s on you.

[hydra00110110]

Returning the Favor

Donna x Reader, 2nd person, Smut Fluff, Angst, Minors DNI, Word Count 1,700ish  

Intimacy is one of the many forms of love that you and Donna share. But her continuous decline of any reciprocation from you has left you concerned about the state of your relationship.

“Donna, why is it that when we make love, you never let me return the favor?” You casually asked while poking at your fruit bowl. As Donna profusely struggled to not spit out her espresso, Angie burst into giggles. “Ooh hee hee! Looks like Dons wasn’t prepared for that one!” Regaining her composure, the dollmaker sharply ordered Angie to eat her waffles, but the doll was hopelessly lost in maniacal giggles. You raised an eyebrow, waiting for your question to be answered. She pursed her lips, with her sole eye drifting to the side. “Let’s take a walk this afternoon, dolcezza. The weather is expected to be pleasant.” Angie’s eyes brightened,“Can I come too?” Donna paused for a moment, hesitant to invite her but hesitant to refuse. To break the tension, you suggested cheerfully, “Angie, I'm sure Donna will be more than happy to have you along if you explore the woods.” “Sure, she is!” scoffed the obstinate doll. “She just wants me away so you two can have SMOOCHIE POOKIE TIME.” As she mocked you both by hugging herself and mouthing “mwahs” (the best a doll could), you came up with a quick fabrication. “While in the yard yesterday, I saw some snakes hunting mice!” You hoped to appeal to the doll’s love for reptiles. Angie stopped her mock-make out. “REALLY?” she exclaimed. “Yeah,” you elaborated, “And I think one of them had yellow spots on it!” “Donna, can I come with you guys to hunt snakes?” Angie pleaded. “Of course you may,” the doll weaver confirmed while mouthing “thank you” for your clever compromise. You knew that it was still too cold outside for snakes, but your clever wits saved everyone’s breakfast time sanity. Hook, line, and sinker.

That afternoon, Donna and you strolled the garden while watching the veiled doll zipping through the shrubs like a squirrel on pixie stix. Holding onto Donna’s arm, you reminded, “Dear, you never did answer my question at breakfast.” “Ah sì, about your curiosity,” she pretended to recall, “It is just a simple preference.”  Her matter-of-fact tone left you with even more questions. You know that you couldn't say no to mutual acts. Also, a sneaking suspicion has creeped on you that perhaps her preference was due to what you could not do. “Is it because you doubt my abilities?” You asked worriedly. Donna turned at you baffled, “What do you mean?” “Don’t lie,” you continued, “I know I’m not as skilled of a lover as you are.” Your fears were getting the best of you as you tried to elaborate, “Donna, I can’t hide it anymore; I feel like that’s what you mean when you don’t let me return the favor.” The dollmaker put her hand on her forehead. “Christ,” she sighed, “Why do you always believe that whenever we have problems, they are because of you?” Pulling away, she growled, “Look, I have my reasons, but they're none of your concern.” With eyes wide in disbelief, you retorted, “So we live together, eat together, have the most passionate sex together, yet I am not supposed to ask about our bedroom behaviors?” She hissed, shooting you an icy glare. “We live together, eat together, make love together, and I don't flood your ears with constant self-doubt!” Knowing that her words were far from the truth, you scoffed, “Oh, you don’t ever pester me with your self-doubts? Of course you do, with those crazed possessive spells of yours!” “Cazzo!” Donna shrieked, who promptly left for the other side of the garden while fuming. If holy water were poured on her, it would sizzle.

For the next fifteen minutes, you wandered within your half of the garden. You wrestled with how you should not have taken Donna’s preference so seriously. But for you, this wasn’t simple as disagreeing with ice cream flavors. No, this was a huge part of your life with her. Donna always provided unrivaled pleasure that you longed to return. However, when you’ve brought it up in the past, she would simply say, “No no, cara mia. There’s no need.” or “Maybe another day.”  Why won’t she let me return the favor? You wondered to yourself. It’s not fair that she shuts me out this way! You returned to how you pushed her over the edge by bringing up her possessiveness. You realized that your jab at her weak spot equally hurt you as well. It didn’t matter who started it first. What mattered was that you allowed your insecurities to say hurtful things to the woman who was your everything.

The waterfall's white noise helped you meditate. You were disheartened at yourself for letting this whole silly argument of Donna’s bedroom preference have serious impacts on your love for each other. You decided to find her and make things right. You knew that she would either accept your remorse or not. Just as you turned around, you felt a tender hand placed cautiously on your shoulder. You saw that it was Donna, who had taken it upon herself to find you first.  “Dolcezza,” she gently started, “I want to apologize for my senseless words.” You blinked in surprise after you spent a quarter of an hour convincing yourself that you were wrong.  “Donna, you have nothing to apologize for.” You assured, “It’s my fault for- “ “No.” she interrupted. “This is my fault completely.” She defended, “You have every right to inquire about our private life. We face the world together.” The humbled dollmaker bit her lip before continuing, “It’s just that I'm scared.” You tilted your head in confusion, “Why? You are an absolute goddess.” A single tear gathered in the corner of the Italian woman’s eye. “I get scared about reciprocation because I don't see myself the way you see me.” “Oh Donna. . .” you compassionately sighed.  She continued, “It’s much easier for me to give than to receive. I never meant to hurt you with my fears. I’m so sorry.” You cupped her face in your hands. Looking into her eye with pure love, you drew her in for a passionate kiss. “You deserve everything, Donna,” you affirmed, “You are worthy of the same love you bless upon me.” She leaned into your arms with a tight embrace. Feeling her tears fall on your back broke your heart. It really wasn’t about you after all. It was those damned voices in her head, blinding her with hideous self-hatred. “I love you, Donna,” you tenderly said, “If you’d rather me not ask you anymore, I will honor your feelings.” She rose to look at you with a swollen red eye.

“I. . . would like to. . .try,” she offered, “to feel what you feel about me.”

She took your hand and placed it on her breast, signaling her readiness. You both sat on the soft grass. You unfastened the round buttons of her blouse and revealed her cream white breasts. Straddling her thigh, you took one of her breasts into your mouth. She let out a soft sigh as you sucked her soft breasts, tracing your tongue over her nipples.

“You are so very beautiful.”

“V-veramente?”

“Completely.”

You slithered down her waist, covering every inch of skin with soft kisses. Upon reaching her dress, you looked up for consent. She nodded with a gulp, allowing you to continue your worship. Lifting her dress, you revealed her delicious thighs. Your mouth was salivating. You gently slid her panties off, marvelling at her entrance that was slick with desire.

“You are truly a goddess, Donna.”

You planted your mouth on her clit, lightly sucking the bulging erect bud.

“Cazzo,” she groaned while gripping the grass around her.

You hummed in content, enhancing her pleasure. You then slipped your index finger inside her dripping hole.

“So nice and wet for me, baby,” you cooed.

As her walls accepted your finger, you inserted your middle finger as well, allowing you to control your administrations even more.  You thrusted your digits deep inside her, curling them in a little spot that sent her spilling incoherent Italian nothings. You sped up your movements while using your thumb to rub her clit.

“Per favore, don’t stop,” she begged between breaths. You felt her stomach muscles contract and her walls tighten around your fingers. But with all her slick, your fingers still slipped out effortlessly. With her groans increasing, Donna propped herself up with one arm while using her free hand to clutch your hair as she braced for her climax. With a final contraction, her hips bucked as you brought her to heaven. Your fingers were drenched as she rode out her orgasm. As you gently brought her back down, you licked your fingers in satisfaction; you were able to return the favor, at last. You topped it off with a gentle kiss on her womanhood. Both of you embraced each other, sighing in shared content.

“How was it, my love?” You asked softly.

“That was amazing,” she replied breathlessly. “I never thought that I could feel this way.”

Holding her close, you stated, “You deserve this, Donna. You are a magnificent woman who is worthy of all forms of love.  I won’t take “no” for an answer, do you understand?”

With her eye sparkling with gratitude, she replied, “Yes, dolcezza. Thank you for showing me this.”

Just then, the both of you heard a high pitched shrill.

“Hey look what I found!”

You both look up to see an exuberant Angie fling a yellow-spotted slithering reptile on top of you.

[beardedmrbean]

A loyal dog and her even more loyal owner were reunited in a Manhattan hospital room Thursday, days after they were viciously attacked by a machete-wielding maniac who chopped off four of the owner’s fingers.

The emotional reunion took place in Rakeem Tayquon Young’s room at Bellevue Hospital, where he is recovering from a 13-hour surgery to reattach the fingers that were sliced off his left hand.

A shirtless Young was relaxing in his hospital bed when he received a visit from a very special guest.

Young’s tail-wagging dog, Chanel, a 3-year-old pit bull, was ecstatic, though she had trouble hopping in the bed with her human.

But once an aide adjusted the bed’s guard rail, the two were able to snuggle and move on from the traumatic time.

“Hi, hi, there you go,” Young cooed as the happy pooch licked his face. “Hi girl. Hi baby.”

Days earlier, the two were anything but happy when they were forced to protect each other from a man with a machete.

What started out as a routine walk along a Bronx street turned into a desperate fight for survival when they crossed paths with a crazed dog walker.

Young said Chanel approached the other dog, whose owner told them to back off.

“He was like, ‘Yo, get your dog. I’m [going to] chop her head off,’” Young said days later. “And then the dude just swung the knife at me for no apparent reason. I remember lifting my hand saying, ‘No! No!’”

As Young raised his hand to shield Chanel’s head from the large blade, the attacker chopped four fingers off his left hand.

Young is left handed.

“He went to hit me a second time, after he cut my hand,” Young. said “He swung for my face. He went to reach for the knife again, and that’s when [Chanel] attacked him.

Only three of the four severed fingers were recovered and reattached by surgeons.

Cops are still trying to find the attacker.

Meanwhile, Young’s mother has launched a GoFundMe site to raise money for Young’s medical bills.

“He will need lots of medical care as well as intense physical therapy, which unfortunately we just won’t be able to afford,” Young’s mother, Kimtreese Young, wrote on the site.

Young won’t have to worry about a therapy dog. He already has that covered.

[corruptsyd]

I know you are a female!Sydney enjoyer, so I would like to add, as a bisexual, that it is just as bad with male Sydney. There are lines that show Sydney has some sadistic tendencies, but there’s many more lines proving Sydney is a masochist. And where is the in-game evidence of Sydney being a dom? Sydney is so submissive leaning that they naturally listen to Sirris, Jordan, the player.

you get me anon… they literally want to be dommed by pc so bad that they’re going to change the game code themselves so that pc can properly dom them LMAO

to me syd is a switch who prefers to be submissive but even when they’re domming pc they aren’t mean…. i don’t understand the fanon portrayal of corrupt syd being as much as a sadist as whitney?they can be a little pushy but are otherwise always respectful of consent. they’re just releasing all of their bottled up and repressed teenage horniness at once ok.

i’m not one to really take canon so seriously and i’m happy to ignore details but when it comes to people depicting corrupt!syd as this crazed sex maniac sadist….. it’s like. Huh. do i need to remind you that this is the sydney that locks themselves up with handcuffs and does the whole “oh nooo i accidentally dropped the key.. hehe i’m so vulnerable… what will you do to me…” bit. like be so fr this is not a dom.

personal headcanon: in the same way that sirris is all about safe sex and sex positivity, i feel like sydney is kind of a nerd about it as well fhdhufwbhd. she’s all about everything being Safe Sane and Consensual and making sure you’re both comfortable. she studies safe impact play and choking and bondage like she’s studying for an exam. best way i can say it is that she’s autistic and kinky lesbian sex is her special interest.

[falsepirit]

anything for you 💣 [junkrat]

content warning: yandere, typical junkrat shenanigans.

You weren’t sure why this was happening. You weren’t sure why you didn’t catch on earlier.

Everywhere you went, catastrophe would follow you. You thought you were merely down on your luck, moving to areas often targeted by criminals. You should’ve realized something was off when acts of arson, murder, and thievery would live in your shadows no matter which country you were in.

This leads you to now: curled up, hiding inside a cardboard box in your bedroom that you never bothered unpacking, knowing you were bound to move once again eventually. You just didn’t think you’d ever meet the reason why you’ve had to keep yourself on the run, keep your name from being tied to crimes you never even dreamt of doing.

“C’mon, love. Won’tcha make it easy for a good bloke like me? I’ve been trying real hard to find you!”

His voice is harsh, strident words roaring through your apartment’s thin walls. You’re not sure what’s worse; the sound of uneven footsteps getting louder or the smell of gunpowder and fumes that’s begun to seep into your room. You feel your eyes well up in tears—you can’t tell if it’s from the smoke or sheer fear of your current predicament.

It’s not long before your door is kicked open, the man stomping into your room and bringing the smell of fire with him. “Come on out already, I’m dyin’ to take a gander at that pretty lil’ face of yours again,” you hear him call out, a crazed giggle following—and when you stay quiet and hidden out of sight, you flinch at the sound of him taking out his frustration on your possessions.

“Please, please, please,” he says. Metal clinks and creaks with each word; you wonder what on earth he’s got on him to be making such mechanical noises. “I’ve gotta see ya again. You've got me all out of sorts n’ you're the pick-me-up I swear I need bad.”

You can hear him cursing, crying out incoherent sentences out of desperation, maybe even insanity. No sane man would follow you across the globe, leaving bomb attacks in his wake.

Thud, thud, thud. The sounds of your belongings being thrown left and right, most likely with intentions of looking for any traces of you still in the room. Then goes the sound of your mirror shattering, your wardrobe’s doors being thrown open, your desk being shoved onto the ground, all the items you left on top coming down with it—

—then, there is nothing.

Your panicked heartbeat thrums in your ears. You can vaguely make out the cracking of fire, the man’s heavy breathing. Swallowing hard, you bundle up into yourself, praying that maybe, just maybe, he would give up on you and leave. Then, you’d pack up the remains of your things, move out of the country again, this time somewhere more rural, more off the map. Maybe if you had initially done that, you wouldn’t be here in the first place.

Oh, who were you kidding? This maniac had killed hundreds, set fire to a plentiful number of neighborhoods just to catch your attention. You have a gut feeling that if you tried escaping to the moon, he’d be there, too, bloodthirsty spree and all.

The thought of it—of him sacrificing so many innocent lives, so many homes just for your sake—makes you sick. The more you think about your neighbors all possibly being dead, the more your composure trembles, barely clinging onto a thread. It was too much. Too much responsibility for things you never asked to happen.

Before you realize it, you let out a terrified sob, tears spilling down your cheeks.

A relieved cackle echoes with the fire crackling. In an almost nauseatingly sweet tone, the man coos: “There you are! Been looking everywhere for you, love. I've nearly torn the whole damn place apart.”

You never asked for this. You never asked to be stuck in this situation. You never asked to be dragged out of the box by your arms, you never asked to be pressed against a lean body that belonged to a ruthless murderer.

You want to struggle and push him away, but all you can manage is a weak-hearted jab to his arm, only to hit metal instead of flesh. The sensation of warm metal leaves you confused, blinking away your tears, finally looking up at the man who’s been terrorizing you for the past few years.

He’s tall. Much taller than you. Where your head only reaches his shirtless chest, he has to look down just to get a good look at you; you’re faced with a blond man with sharp features, soot-stained skin, a wicked grin, and hazel eyes filled with a fondness that leaves you sick to your stomach.

“God, fuck, you’re way prettier up close,” the man says, a little breathless. A gloved hand runs up the spine of your back to hold you closer to him, resting at the nape of your neck. His smile grows wider at the way you shudder at his touch. “Can’t believe I’ve finally got ya in me arms. Pinch me if this is all a dream.”

Oh, how badly you wished this were all a dream. You try to pull your body away from his, but he only brings his body closer, his other hand—a prosthetic, but much more old-fashioned than most prosthetics you were familiar with—coming to rest under your thigh. You wiggle around in his grasp in an attempt to shake off the hand on your thigh, shaking your head in fear when he holds on tighter.

With a sudden heave, you squeak as you’re lifted into the air. On instinct, you wrap your legs around his body and cling onto his neck to keep yourself from falling off; the hand on your neck runs through your hair tenderly, almost like a reward for your cooperation.

The man hushes you while he cradles you against his body. “S’alright, babe, Jamison’s got ya. We’re gonna live happily ever after once I get you back home, you and I. Won’t have ta worry yer pretty lil’ head off now that I’m ‘ere.”

Sniffling, you raise your head to peer over this psychopath’s—no, Jamison’s shoulder. Your breath is caught in your throat when you notice the number of explosives strapped onto his body, a stark contrast to the way his hand comfortingly pets you. Any attempt at thrashing about would result in a bang and your limbs missing.

Your eyes flit across your room, from the rubble of your walls to your ruined furniture, until you manage to find the window.

Breath heavy from panic, you break down at the sight outside your apartment complex: almost every building within a nearby vicinity has smoke coming from it, some barely on the verge of standing and some completely collapsed. Smoke rises from the trail of wreckage left behind by Jamison, with corpses of humans and omnics alike following.

It’s all too surreal. This can’t be what he’s been doing continuously for years, stalking you to every place you’ve moved to—no, it can’t be. You couldn’t believe you were the sole reason for all the deaths and destruction Jamison’s caused just to come and claim you as his. It’s too much to comprehend, too much guilt resting heavy on your shoulders.

You don’t know what to do. You’re not sure what you’re capable of doing to save yourself anymore.

Humming, Jamison pulls the both of you away from the window and out of your bedroom. “I like ya so much love, so fucking much,” he says along the way, but it sounds almost sardonic with the devastation surrounding you. “I really do. I've never felt this hot n’ heavy ‘bout anybody else, swear on me dead body.”

He presses his lips against your neck, teeth grazing over your skin. Terrified, you hide your face against his chest, refusing to look at the horror this man could cause. “Need you to know I adore every part of ya, how lucky of a man ya make me feel with you ‘ere in me arms, fuck, darl, I’d do anything for ya, I need you to know that.”

“You’re probably knackered from all the ruckus, arent’cha? Sorry ‘bout that, I wasn’t lyin’ when I said I was dyin’ to meet ya again,” Jamison continues on. He’s right; you’re too exhausted to even sob anymore. “But we’re all good now! All that’s left is to blow this fuckin’ place to smithereens n’ we’ll be on our way to home sweet home!”

Too overwhelmed, too full of guilt—you let him take you to wherever home sweet home is.

[itshobogizmo]

As of chapter 5, what are the cast's opinions on cross?

Ooo a fun one!

Firstly, I’m not going to do Horror, because I’m actively working on 5.5, which is in Horror’s POV, and will give inside on his opinion so far anyway.

Nightmare: Cross is an overachiever with standards set far to high, but his performance and precision are unmatched.

He needs to kick the lying habit, Nightmare isn’t sure how many he’s actually caught however. He lets the one about sleeping slide, the delicious savory flavors that crept from his subject was addicting.

There’s something about the OVERWRITES he needs to discuss.

Killer: Cross is a stupid little bitch baby who like lying like a dumb liar, he’s lied about all of them to their boss, and Killer thinks it’s stupid.

Also, Nightmare is taking a liking to Cross, and Killers soul squeezes with bitter jealousy. So what if he wasn’t as fast as Cross is when doing tasks, and Cross didn’t have outbreaks at all like he did. So what if Dust got manhandled like nothing while Killer struggled to get the maniac pinned half the time. So what if Dust liked it and is starting to like Cross and not Killer anymore.

And it’s sooooo fucking aggravating when he does his best to get under Cross’s metaphorical skin, and the guy doesn’t even seem to fucking notice. Brushes Killer off, like, he’s nothing.

But this time he did it!!! He got Cross to react.

But it was boring.

With no real enjoyment.

Probably because of the weird look in his eye at the door. Then answered quiet. Killer doesn’t like quiet, quiet is fucking terrible. Why would Cross want to go into it?..

Dust: Cross could throw him any time. Anywhere. Preferably in another fight. But not with this sickly, crazed and depraved version of Cross.

He began silently following the skeleton through the week, both because he had been put on survey duty and because he wanted to make sure Cross was… a safety risk … that’s what he and paps were telling himself anyways.

Fast, focused, intelligent, driven, a god damned powerhouse with incredible reflex’s. That’s what Cross is supposed to be. Not this exhausted angry crazed thing.

There’s that twitch in Cross’s eye, the flicker to the side of Dust’s hoodie and his eye light seems to roam over Dust’s face in a wiggly but precise manner. Following something, all the way back to meet Dust’s stare.

So, much to Killers shock and later displeasure, he let Cross go. Dust knows that look in Cross’s eyes, he knows what Cross was seeing was real. As real as papyrus was to him. He’s going to have to check his own skull over again, just to make sure it wasn’t a new real thing for him to.

No use in letting Cross panic.

He’s kinda hot when he’s mad and crazed. He needs to find out the schedule to see where to admire stalk him for the day.

He wants to fight Cross again, both of their magic out, see who has more power.

[erros429]

Hi - catgirl questionnaire here and I gotta thank you for the answers! If it’s okay I have a few more questions sorry:

Does Blake have a tail?

are there many cat puns about her in the series?

I saw she has human ears and now I’m confused how does she wear head phones or something like that - does she put them on her cat or human ears or both? Does her ears get sensitive?

So what I’ve gathered if she and her GF had a kid it would be a blonde cat?

what is Blake’s actual species? I’ve seen people say people hate whatever she is - why is that?

Does her GF (is her name Yang?) tell lots of puns in general?

ok adding all these asks on one thing. let’s do this thing

1) blake does not have a tail

2) not particularly puns but there are a few jokes here and there (blake liking tuna a little bit more than is normal, yang using a laser pointer on her, her avoiding a dog by climbing a bunch of furniture. then in rwby chibi there’s the whole “cat burglar” segment, blake jumping into a box, etc)

3) i believe she would just wear the headphones on her human ears. arthur lookin ass

4) if she and yang had a kid then yes perhaps it would be a cat. idk if it’d be blonde tho. the genetics in rwby are weird even with the humans because why the hell does ruby not look anything like her father but she’s a carbon copy of her mom 🤨

5) she’s a faunus, which are people with animal traits. they’ve been historically and systematically oppressed and discriminated against. it’s just straight up racism

6) i mean. i think fanon has definitely exaggerated the whole pun thing. she’s said like maybe a solid 3-4 puns total in rwby canon, but she has said quite a few in rwby chibi. i feel like it’s important to note that a lot of yang’s early personality was purposefully one-dimensional so that the viewers would be thrown off when she shows she’s more than meets the eye. a lot of fanon kinda clings to that original impression we got from yang so the pun thing just stuck. the same way everyone sees ruby as a cookie-crazed maniac b/c she ate a bunch of cookies in the first ep lol

7) blake’s not CANONICALLY a stoner but i would not be shocked if it was just casually confirmed LMFAO

8) yea she’s so downbad for yang that she wrote a love song after being away from her for like 24 hours. shoutout volume 8 soundtrack

9) lowkey i prefer the long hair look on her 🫣 but the short hair is important for character arc symbolism reasons

10) according to the comics blake and her mom are actually both great swimmers!

[longtallglasses]

it’s very interesting to me amongst the different fandoms i’ve been a part of in regards to their attitudes toward nsfw fanworks bc with the marauders those teens are always wildin’ - smoking, drinking, sleeping together - if they’re not i would even say it would be out of character for them? wolfstar is messy and horny and so in love, even if in a lot of fics they won’t admit it to each other. in atyd everyone is shagging up a storm, the girls, the boys, it’s still juvenile of course the way they discuss it and go about it. very little communication, feelings are hurt, they don’t know what they’re doing all the time. and it makes sense, they’re teenagers!

i have never once heard of discussion around it being ‘wrong’ to write them this way. that it’s ‘objectifying’ and if you’re thinking about it you must be weird or unnecessarily sexualizing characters. sexualizing characters? they’re already sexualized wdym? they have a sexuality, everyone has a sexuality, whatever the author/artist wants to give them, whether that’s a sex crazed maniac or the most sex repulsed asexual, they Have a Sexuality! even before the exact moment they turn 18, they have a sexuality. it’s just another facet to explore character through, to understand them more fully, and also sometimes for the author to help understand themselves.

i’m sorry age doesn’t matter when it comes to fictional characters. it just doesn’t. they’re not real you can’t hurt them. if someone wants to write through trauma, something ‘wrong’ and ‘problematic’ let them use fictional people. it may seem gross and you don’t have to read it, but its existence does not mean promotion of harmful behavior. it can mean so many different things to that author but it doesn’t equate to that.

i say this bc i myself have written some horrid things. i’ve never posted them, was not in a place where i wanted to, i wrote it all in a period of my life where i was seriously hurting, and writing fucked up horrific things stopped me from hurting Myself. i’ve read some ‘problematic’ fics that made me feel better, hurt me in a good way, reading comments of people who related and appreciated what was being explored.

most people who write about fucked up shit, SA, or some form of trauma porn or whatever it is have probably gone through something similar in their life. the people who read it and seek it out are usually drawn to it for a reason but we don’t need to know why. there is also just curiosity. and being curious doesn’t make you a bad person, it doesn’t mean you ‘like’ it. you may like the power dynamics at play, you may be intrigued by desires different than your own, you may… ANYTHING what you enjoy to read or write speaks to nothing regarding who you are in your day to day life. your morals, your beliefs, or what you want sexually or otherwise. i say this to a younger me, there’s nothing wrong with you!

with all that being said… there is also porn that is just porn. and that’s perfectly fine and good too. people have always written porn about whatever and whoever they want and they always will. if you don’t want it, scroll pass. you won’t be given a gold star for announcing you think it’s gross or wrong, you just look silly. i’m not saying that you must like it too, but attacking the moral character of those who do partake, shows an immaturity and lack of tack when it comes to these subjects. go out in the world and you will discover just how ‘abnormal’ and ‘depraved’ sexual desire can manifest itself as.

as someone who grew up a Very sexually confused person. not knowing i was queer or on the ace spectrum exploring sexuality through fiction was like my saving grace. and those books and those fics that made me feel seen, made me go huh! woah! ooooh my god that’s me! or made me go … wait why do i kinda like that? more often than not they were written by adults. bc they had made it through to the other side so to speak. and as An Adult now i find the traditional adolescent experience very intriguing as i did not have that growing up. the sexual experiences i’ve had now have shown me so starkly that that feeling which accompanies a new experience never really goes away. people are fumbling well into their 20s and 30s. reading the plight of a young person discovering who they are sexually i don’t think will ever not be relatable or make someone reflect. that includes the sweet and innocent as well as the ‘gross’/depraved horniness. it is not necessarily enjoyed on a basis of attraction to these characters, it is enjoyed on a basis of ‘i know this feeling’ or ‘i also do and have yearned for this kind of intimacy’. and if who you are isn’t represented in those stories, oh well damn, looks like i have to write it now. that’s how we have Are you there God, it’s me Margaret and the edge of 17 (the ‘98 and ‘16 iterations), all these stories written by Adults! that make us all sigh in relief and laugh and cry and aaahhh

fiction is fiction, idek what anti-ship means, let people be freaks in peace, fandom spaces are created to have fun in, let’s pls have Fun!!! explore and write and draw and fantasize whatever your heart desires bc there can be no right or wrong, it is just discovery.

if you feel kinship with characters and it feels natural to extend yourself to them, to take them and make them your own, amazing, gorgeous, beautiful. play dress up with them in all the ways you can, do whatever You Want!!