#ir happens way too many times

[mimir97477906]

today my gf lend me her headphones and it was so good i started crying sobbing shaking in a full classrom because stereolab hit THAT hard

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: A series of (mostly) unrelated one shots, featuring Oliver Aiku somehow getting involved with the love lives of various Blue Lock characters — whether he wants to or not.

Chapter Synopsis: After being yelled at one too many times by their strict Ubers teammate, Oliver Aiku enlists Ikki Niko in helping him get Shoei Barou a girlfriend, hoping beyond hope that that’s enough to get the guy to chill out a bit.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Barou x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 10.8k

Content Warnings: crack fic, barou is also my awkward goat, love at first sight, oliver aiku is such a bitch but he’s funny so it’s kind of okay, reader is kind of an npc in this icl 😓, this is really dumb please don’t judge my writing off of it, everyone is 100% ooc don’t come at me i KNOWWW, split perspectives (it makes sense in the story), everyone gets slandered (mostly by aiku), god bless niko for being chronically online

A/N: there were a decent amt of people who wanted barou’s version plus i felt like writing it so he’s up next!! LMAO it kind of got a bit long just like the sae version and somehow it’s even sillier so…but yeah anyways this is the second entry in “oliver aiku’s guide to getting girls” i hope you all stick around for the rest 🤩‼️

Barou is yelling at them again. Aiku’s not sure what the big deal is this time — so what if Lorenzo spilled spaghetti sauce on the floor? He’s Italian, that’s part of his culture — but if he dares to speak up, Barou will single him out specifically, and then he’ll be treated like a little kid in timeout, which doesn’t sound like an ideal way to spend a Friday night.

It’s the four of them in the doghouse as usual — himself, Niko, Aryu, and Sendou, that is. The most ridiculous thing is that Lorenzo isn’t even there, though he’s the true target of Barou’s rage; unfortunately for his teammates, though, Lorenzo’s off getting his teeth polished or counting his money while cackling or whatever else it is that he does in his free time.

Honestly, none of them are really taking the theatrics seriously. Aryu’s fiddling with the ends of his hair, Niko’s standing there, staring at Barou with large, watery eyes, and Sendou’s glaring back at Barou with his arms folded over his chest. Aiku sighs, because that means an argument between the two is most likely impending, but unfortunately for him, he sighs a bit too loudly, and Barou whips around, jabbing a finger at him.

“What’s so exasperating, huh?” Barou says. “I bet you won’t be sighing when we have an insect infestation because none of you can be bothered to clean up that damn tomato shit that Lorenzo’s obsessed with!”

“It’s marinara,” Niko pipes up meekly. They all look at him with varying degrees of incredulity; he shrugs, adjusting the headphones around his neck self-consciously. “Lorenzo’s trying to teach me how to make it. Supposedly a typical spaghetti sauce has meat and vegetables added, but a good marinara is the base, so — um, anyways.”

Barou’s upper lip is curled into a sneer, and Aiku’s just about to thank Niko for taking the fall and turning Barou’s rage to him when he remembers that that’s markedly not how Barou operates. He’s too meticulous to forget the former recipient of his ire, not so quickly, and indeed, Barou is pointing at them both when he speaks next.

“That stain better be gone the next time I come in this room,” he says. He doesn’t say what will happen if it’s not, but given his authoritative voice and enormous physique, he usually doesn’t have to resort to making threats in order to be obeyed.

“Thank goodness,” Aryu says once Barou has left to complete his evening meditations. “Seems like Barou appreciated our elegant silence, Sendou. We’ve escaped reproach this time.”

“Yup,” Sendou says. Whistling nonchalantly, he sidles out of the room, and with a fluttering wave, Aryu follows suit. Aiku can’t even blame them, considering it’s what he would’ve done if he were in their place.

Glancing at Niko, who is now his greatest friend due to convenience alone, Aiku shakes his head, wondering what choice he made in life that led to his weekend plans amounting to cleaning sauce stains from a carpet with a little boy instead of partying or something.

“You got the bleach?” he asks. Niko nods miserably.

“Yeah, I got it. You’re good with scrubbing?” he says. Aiku’s shoulders cramp preemptively at the mere thought, but he doesn’t protest aloud.

“No other choice, right?” he says. “Off to work we go, then.” 

Your best friend has been begging you for days to try this new restaurant with her, and it’s only now that it’s Friday that you can’t come up with any more excuses to avoid it. The truth is that you don’t really have a reason to refuse her as many times as you have, but the thought of summoning up the wherewithal to get ready and go out for dinner instead of throwing on your pajamas and eating something on the couch with a movie in the background is excruciating. Besides, you know her tastes. She always takes you to insanely fancy locations where anything less than your best will be embarrassing, and the only saving grace is that your outings always end up being insanely cheap, as she refuses to spend more than the bare minimum no matter what.

“You’re serious?” she affirms, standing in front of your closet and sifting through your clothes. You’re sitting on your bed, legs crossed and your laptop on your lap as you try to finish up the essay you have due Monday before getting ready. “You’ll really go with me?”

“I just told you I would, didn’t I?” you say. “I wouldn’t let you go through my closet if I wasn’t being serious. Actually, I wouldn’t have let you into my house at all.”

“Your parents would’ve opened the door for me,” she says dismissively. “They love me.”

It’s true, they do love her as much if not more than they love you, so you have no rebuttal. She grins at you, tossing a shirt in your general direction. It hits the back of your laptop, landing in a heap on the floor, and you’re too busy to pick it up, so you just leave it there, too lost in thought to care. Just the conclusion, if I can finish that then I can do something fun without anything on my mind—

“Hurry up and get ready! We want to get a table, don’t we?” she says. It’s a pair of pants she flings your way this time, and her aim is far more superior, for they smack into your face, temporarily blinding you.

“If you don’t let me finish this essay, I won’t go with you,” you say, and she knows you mean it literally, so she immediately pretends to zip her lips, saluting at you.

“Finish away!” 

“Barou’s totally got a stick up his ass, don’t you think?” Aiku says after thirty minutes have passed and the stain is no smaller than before. 

“I don’t think I’d phrase it like that,” Niko says, pouring another cup of bleach on the carpet. Neither of them really know much about cleaning, so this is the best they’ve got, even though Aiku’s pretty sure Barou would pass out if he saw their method. “But yeah, he can be kind of uptight at times.”

“He’s pretty nice otherwise, though,” Aiku says thoughtfully. “It’s kind of a shame. I bet if he loosened up a bit, he’d be a downright enjoyable teammate. Besides the cleaning and all, he’s a cool guy.”

“I do like training with him,” Niko says. “When he’s not yelling at us, it’s fun. Following his regimen has made me a lot stronger.”

“Agreed,” Aiku says. That’s the one thing he’ll give Barou — the guy is a master with the training equipment. He’s introduced Aiku to machines he didn’t even know existed. “You know what he needs?”

“What?” Niko says. He’s scrubbing at the floor while Aiku’s sipping on a soda; theoretically, they’re supposed to be switching off, but Niko hasn’t complained yet, so Aiku’s not about to remind him that it’s well beyond time for his turn.

“Some pu—” Aiku cuts himself off when he remembers that he is talking to a child. Niko’s like twelve or something, so maybe phrasing it in that way isn’t the most appropriate thing to do. “—I mean, a beautiful and loving girlfriend.”

Niko tilts his chin up at him, which means he’s probably looking at him; it’s hard to tell with his overgrown bangs falling in his face. Aiku makes a mental note to suggest cutting Niko’s hair during the next team bonding night that Snuffy forces them into.

“I guess having someone like that would make anyone happier, even Barou,” he says.

“That’s what I’m getting at! I bet he’s just constantly stressed out, so he takes it out on us instead of finding a healthy outlet. Maybe dating someone will fix that and give him something to do besides soccer,” Aiku says.

“Is that your secret to always being so calm?” Niko says. Aiku nods.

“The more girls you have, the less you can worry about things like training. You’re too focused on making sure they’re all happy,” Aiku says.

“Woah,” Niko says. “That’s a really great way of looking at things.”

“Right?” Aiku says. “With Barou, though, we might be lucky if we can find even one girl willing to put up with him. He’s a bit of a work in progress, you know?”

“Totally,” Niko says. “What if he yells at her the way he yells at us?”

Aiku has a vision of some poor, innocent girl on the verge of tears as Barou rants about how she didn’t fold her laundry the right way or something. For some reason, she looks kind of like Niko — oh, that’s probably because Barou just yelled at Niko for that exact reason — but the image is enough for him to balk.

“She can come to us for comfort,” Aiku says decisively before once again remembering that Niko probably only popped out of the womb a scant few months prior. He needs to be more careful — this isn’t Sendou, who would’ve made at least ten innuendos even worse than his own by this point. “I mean, me.”

“That’s a good plan,” Niko says. “You’re really good with the whole advising and comforting thing. I bet you’d make her feel better for sure.”

Yeah, I’d make her feel better alright. This time Aiku manages to keep it to himself, only coughing slightly and nodding towards the bottle of bleach as an explanation.

“The only question is where in Blue Lock are we going to find a girl, let alone one willing to date Barou?” Aiku says.

“Well, Bastard München is playing PXG this weekend, and Manshine City is playing Barcha, so we’re technically off,” Niko says. “I think if we ask Snuffy, we can probably have a day out.”

“What if Ego gets mad?” Aiku says, although the idea is sound enough that he’s just jealous he didn’t come up with it himself. Niko hums, giving careful consideration to the notion.

“We can just blame it on Snuffy. What’s Ego going to do, fire him?” he says. 

A grin breaks out on Aiku’s face.

“Niko, kiddo—”

“I’m fifteen.”

“—you’re totally a genius. Let’s go!”

“What about the stain?” Niko says. Aiku glances at the still marinara-colored splotch on the carpet, and then he waves it off dismissively.

“If we can find Snuffy before Barou gets back, then it’s no longer our problem,” he says.

Niko looks unconvinced, but he’s sensible as well as genius-material, so he only follows after Aiku — albeit not without a final worried glance at the section of carpet which still smells suspiciously of tomatoes. 

“So what cuisine does this place have, anyways?” you say. You’ve finally finished and submitted your essay, and now you’re taking a shower. Your best friend has closed the lid of the toilet and is sitting on it while playing on her phone, apparently because she wants to be able to talk to you even while you’re showering, and since you have a curtain you don’t mind.

“No idea,” she says.

“No idea?” you say, squeezing shampoo into your palm. “Why do you want to go, then?”

“My dad’s Facebook friends have been raving about it,” she says. “His ex-boss said that it’s the best value-for-money in the entire city!”

“We’re going to dinner based on recommendations from your dad’s Facebook friends,” you repeat dryly. “Wow.”

“Look, he may have chronically underpaid my dad, but the ex-boss has great taste in food!” your best friend defends. “Apparently they fill up super fast, though, so we have to get there right when they open for dinner, or else we’re out of luck.”

“Is this you subtly trying to pressure me to shower faster?” you say.

“It’s not subtle,” she says. You scoff.

“I hope you know I’ll take even longer now,” you say.

“You better not!” 

Snuffy is obviously confused when the two of them approach him — Aiku’s not sure if it’s the question that has their coach confounded, though, or if it’s the admittedly odd combination that’s approached him.

“You guys want a night out of the facility?” Snuffy checks.

“Yes,” Aiku says.

“And…you want Barou to come?” Snuffy says. That could be another reason for the incredulity — ‘Barou’ and ‘fun’ are two words rarely if ever seen in the same sentence, unless your name is Yoichi Isagi, in which case just being on the same field as Barou is your idea of ‘fun.’ For normal people — i.e. those with names such as Oliver Aiku and Ikki Niko — those concepts don’t generally align, however, so Aiku can’t blame Snuffy for the weird face he’s making.

“Yes,” Niko says.

Snuffy stares at them for a moment longer, and then, to make things even stranger, he chuckles in a way that’s almost fond.

“It’ll be good for him to get out of here for a bit,” he says. “You two are great teammates for thinking of him; I’m sure he’ll appreciate it one day, if not necessarily tonight. Go on, then, and have fun if you’d like.”

Aiku waits for the other shoe to drop, but Snuffy just returns to making a cup of coffee. It’s a little odd, given the later hour, but still, Aiku’s not one to count his blessings, so he motions for Niko to follow him, and with Snuffy’s official permission, the two of them march towards where Barou is probably doing his daily “fuck Yoichi Isagi” affirmations. They have that kind of weird relationship, after all. It’s unnecessarily complicated, but Aiku has observed during his time in Blue Lock that almost every single relationship between the members of the program follows such a mold. He’s given up on trying to figure any of it out, knowing it’s well beyond him.

“Are you ready?” Aiku says when they reached the closed door to the training room. Niko rolls his shoulders.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Niko says. Aiku decides he likes him, and that he should try to spend more time with the pipsqueak. Maybe he can be a mentor figure or a true role model for the younger player. He’d definitely do better at the job than, say, Aryu. Or Lorenzo, which is a more relevant concern, since apparently the two are cooking buddies, as per Niko’s marinara interlude during Barou’s earlier tantrum.

With a grim nod at Niko, Aiku swings open the door. Schooling his expression into a cheery grin, he calls out in a sing-song that really doesn’t spell anything but trouble:

“Oh, Barou!” 

You’ve made your best friend drive, since she’s the one who’s insisted on taking you out, which leaves you to play music and accomplish other such passenger-esque duties. You take full advantage of your freedom to be distracted, shuffling through playlists whenever you’re bored and scrolling through your best friend’s crush-of-the-week’s social media.

“He’s kind of ugly,” you say. She clicks her tongue.

“In a cute way, though, right?” she says. When you’re silent, she gasps. “Right?”

“Uh…” you trail off, zooming in on one of the photos. Something about him is reminiscent of a gerbil, and you can tell he’s short even before you swipe and see him in a photo with one of his friends, barely coming up to his shoulder. “There’s someone out there for everyone, I suppose.”

“That means you think he’s repulsive!” she accuses you.

“Repulsive’s a strong word,” you say. 

“Hideous?” she says.

“I can get behind that,” you say. “He reminds me of Tinkerbell.”

“Like the fairy, or our third grade teacher’s gerbil?” she says.

“The latter,” you say. “I’m glad you remembered her. That wouldn’t have been as funny if you didn’t.”

“I didn’t find it funny regardless,” she says, pulling into the parking lot and slowing the car to a crawl as she hunts for a space to pull in.

“Hm,” you say. “I did.”

“You know what? You’re not allowed to slander him until you find someone better for yourself. Girls in glass houses should not be throwing stones, and considering some of your exes, you’re in no position to talk,” she says.

“Low blow,” you say.

“No response? That’s what I thought,” she says. You scowl.

“Just park the car, you dumbass. 

“What the hell is going on?” Barou says, for probably the third or fourth time. Unfortunately, their attempt at kidnapping him didn’t go as planned, for neither Aiku nor Niko could lift Barou for any length of time, so now they were stuck with a supremely irritated striker following after them as they marched towards where the Blue Lock official parking was. 

Snuffy had given them the keys to his car, so at least they had a ride — if he weren’t such a good coach, Aiku would seriously question the man’s judgment. Niko ushers Barou into the backseat, claiming he already “called shotgun,” and then he dives into the passenger seat beside Aiku, fastening his seatbelt with a serious expression on his delicate face.

“We wanted to have a fun night out!” Aiku says, turning the child lock on so Barou can’t escape before reversing out of the garage.

“Huh?” Barou says. “There’s so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t even know where to begin. Also, why are we in Snuffy’s car?”

“He gave us the keys,” Niko says, like it’s obvious. In all fairness, it kind of is.

“He gave you two the keys,” Barou says. Aiku’s a responsible driver, so he doesn’t glance back at Barou, but he’s pretty sure that if he did, he’d be met with the kind of fearsome glare that made medieval-era peasants believe in the existence of creatures like trolls and dragons.

“Yes, he did,” Aiku says. “Told us to enjoy ourselves while we were at it.”

Barou sighs. “Say I believe that—”

“We’re telling the truth!” Aiku says.

“—uh-huh, sure. Anyways, where are we even going?” he says.

“Oh, I can answer that!” Niko says. “It’s this restaurant that my dad’s obsessed with. He’s been posting all over his Facebook about it. According to him, it’s the best value-for-money in the entire city.”

“At least you two are being frugal,” Barou says with a small ‘hmph.’ “How far is it?”

“Not too far,” Niko says. 

“Just sit back and relax, man! It’s a couple of friends going out for a meal. Totally normal!” Aiku says.

“Friends don’t kidnap one another to hang out,” Barou says.

“We didn’t kidnap you. Are you saying we’re friends, then?” Aiku says.

“I’m saying we’re not. You turned the child lock on, so that basically constitutes an abduction,” Barou says.

“I did that for Niko!” Aiku says, mentally patting himself on the back for the quick thinking.

“What? I’m fifteen, not five!” 

By the time your best friend finds somewhere to park, it’s already dark, and the spot is at the very edge of the lot, so then the two of you have to walk for another five minutes. She’s antsy by this point, but she does an admirable job of hiding it, only picking at her nails behind her back where she thinks you won’t see. 

“It’ll be alright,” you say as you reach the door to the restaurant. “I’m sure they’ll have space for two people, at least. Nowhere can be that busy, right?”

“I hope so,” she says, chewing on her lower lip.

You’re proven wrong almost as soon as you both walk into the establishment. Every single table has people sitting at it, and there’s a small crowd of people in the waiting area. Still, you and your best friend push past to where the hostess is standing. 

“Excuse me,” you say. “How long is the wait?”

“At least an hour,” the hostess says, her face wan.

“An hour?” your best friend says. “There’s nothing you can do?”

Of course, both of you know there isn’t, but it’s still disappointing when the hostess shakes her head regretfully.

“Would you like me to put your names down?” she says.

“Give us a minute,” you say. She nods, and you and your best friend walk a ways away. As soon as you’re out of the hostess’s earshot, you frown. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it would genuinely be this busy.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t expecting it either,” she says, exhaling heavily. “I would’ve been way more serious about being on time if I had.”

“What should we do now? I don’t mind waiting,” you say.

“It’s okay. I’m a little hungry, so we can go somewhere else and come back here another day,” she says.

“Are you sure?” you say.

“Yeah, I am. Let’s go,” she says. 

You’re heading towards the door when a robust voice stops you. At first, neither of you are sure if the speaker is referring to you, but when it becomes obvious he is, you turn around in confusion.

“Where are you guys going?” he says. It’s a man with dark hair and eyes like mismatched marbles, and he’s sitting at a table with two others. There’s a couple of empty seats, and he motions towards them. “We’ve been waiting for you two for forever!”

“Oh, you’re in their party?” the hostess says. You glance at your best friend, who mouths why not? at you, and then you smile at the hostess.

“Yes, we are,” you say.

“You should’ve said so from the start,” she says, shaking her head. “Right this way, please.”

You and your best friend follow after her, both of you more than a little lost at the turn of events, but who are you to turn down the offer? Sure, you don’t know any of the three, but at least this way you two didn’t drive out for no reason, and the restaurant’s crowded enough that if they have nefarious intentions, you should be able to get help relatively quickly.

As you sit down and the hostess offers you menus, you can’t help but glance at the three boys, wondering what exactly it is they want from you. Is this some elaborate scam? An effort to get you to pay for their dinner? You can’t tell. They’re unreadable, and all you can do is hope that the meal still goes as well as you had originally planned — otherwise, you’ll be really mad that you’re not at home instead. 

When Niko had first suggested calling ahead to make reservations, Aiku had privately considered him to be a nerd, and one of the idiotic variety, no less. A lethal combo. But outwardly he had nodded along and told him to go right ahead, mostly because it seemed like the kind of thing Barou would appreciate. Now, though, he’s glad that Niko had that kind of foresight, because the place is completely packed.

“Where’s the rest of your party?” the hostess says when they walk in and give her Barou’s name. Aiku doesn’t really know why Niko made reservations under Barou’s name, nor what the hostess means by the ‘rest of their party’, but she’s pretty, so he gives her a charming smile. She’s working now, so he can’t exactly push Barou towards her, but if he’s talking about himself…

She blushes and ducks her head, although the moment is ruined by Niko speaking up. 

“What do you mean, the rest of our party?” he says.

“You made a reservation for five, didn’t you?” she says, leading them to the table. Aiku exchanges looks with Barou, mostly because the two of them tower over the others, so it’s convenient, but Barou seems as confused as Aiku is. Both of them clearly heard Niko making the reservation for only three people, so how in the world had the hostess written down five?

“Uh,” Niko says, and then for some reason he’s turning towards Aiku for help? Aiku’s kind of distracted, though, both with celebrating the moment he just had with Barou and with discerning the color of lipstick the hostess is wearing (red or pink?), so when she directs her question to him, he admittedly panics a bit.

“Will the rest of them be arriving later?” she says.

“Yes,” Aiku says. Coral! That’s the shade he was looking for.

“No worries,” the hostess says. “Although you might want to tell them to hurry up, just in case.”

“Wait, what—?” Aiku begins, but she’s already dropping menus in front of them and racing off to take care of the next group of customers.

“You fucking donkey,” Barou said. “Who else is coming to this?”

“Nobody that I know of,” Niko says. “I only made a reservation for three. She must’ve gotten confused and written down five or something like that, but why’d you go along with it, Aiku?”

“Um,” Aiku says.

“What unparalleled eloquence,” Barou says. 

Aiku’s mind is racing. Firstly, he’s accidentally confused this poor hostess into expecting two more people, and secondly, how are he and Niko supposed to set Barou up with a girl in this kind of situation? The food may be great, but the ambiance isn’t exactly what they’re looking for.

Somehow, these two lines of thought get muddled into one solution, the catalyst of which is when he sees two girls heading towards the door, obviously disheartened by the long wait time for those idiots who didn’t make reservations.

Wait. If those two are girls, and two plus three is five, then Barou might just end this night no longer single!

Another quick recovery by Oliver Aiku. He’s getting better and better by the minute. 

“Hi,” the man who called you over says. “I’m Oliver Aiku.”

“Hi,” you say. The five-person table is a circle, and Aiku’s across from you; since it’s your fault that you’re sitting with these random guys instead of by yourselves, you squeeze between your best friend and the more intimidating-looking one, leaving her to be on the right side of the youngest boy in the group. “Y/N L/N.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

“Likewise,” you say.

“I’m Niko,” the younger boy says. He has dark hair falling into a heart-shaped face, and you can’t fully see his eyes, but you think they might be some shade of bluish green. Idly, you wonder how his vision isn’t horrible given how overgrown his bangs are, but he doesn’t seem to be having any problems, so you suppose he must have some kind of method around it. “And that’s Barou.”

“I can introduce myself,” the one at your side snaps. He’s by far the most handsome of the trio, although you’re sure your best friend would disagree — she has bad taste, though, so that’s irrelevant — with a regal face and sharp eyes. His dark hair is spiky and his eyes are a vivid crimson, narrowed with irritation while his mouth tugs into a perfect frown. “My name is Barou.”

“It’s a pleasure, Barou,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says. “Same here.”

More than being a pleasure, it’s a little tense, so you return to reading your menu, not knowing what else to say, hoping someone else says something soon and rescues you from the ensuing silence. 

This is bad. Almost as bad as Japan’s performance in the last U-20 World Cup, which occurred right before Aiku moved up and joined the team. Almost as bad as that stain Lorenzo’s marinara left on the carpet. It’s that level of catastrophic, because clearly, Barou will take a lot more encouragement than originally anticipated. Kicking Niko under the table, Aiku nods meaningfully at Barou, who is also reading his menu, sitting next to the girl who’s doing the same.

It’s the perfect opportunity for small talk. Occasionally, the girl will peek at him over the top of his menu, so she’s clearly not affronted by him — either that, or she’s deathly afraid that Barou will kill her and is making sure he doesn’t do that when she’s distracted. If the latter is the case, well, it’s not entirely unfounded.

Solving the conundrum which has presented itself is even more difficult than their game against PXG was. How is Aiku supposed to flirt with someone for Barou? She’ll just end up liking him, which is rather counterintuitive, given that the end goal is to get Barou a girlfriend. 

If only Barou weren’t so stubborn! Aiku’s put him in the perfect spot, but instead of just reaching out his hand and snatching the opportunity up with both metaphorical hands, he’s sitting there, utterly absorbed by the intricacies of the restaurant’s entrees, which Aiku surmises are no doubt fascinating to people with such sensibilities.

It’s the girl, Y/N, who breaks the silence again. Clearing her throat and setting the menu aside, her eyes dart around the table before settling on Aiku. A natural consequence, given his dashing looks and genial personality, but not the one they’re hoping for at the moment, not in the slightest.

“We don’t know you, right?” she says.

“I don’t think so,” Aiku says. Has he gone out with her before? He’s pretty sure he’d have remembered if he had, but you can never be careful these days.

“Then why’d you invite us to sit with you?” she says.

Aiku’s in desperate need of an assist, and there’s only one person who’ll reliably send him one. Besides, the kid owes him a favor, so he doesn’t even feel guilty when he makes a face at Niko, as if indicating that he should be the one to answer the query.

“It was Barou’s idea!” Niko says.

“Excuse me?” Barou says.

“What?” Aiku says. 

“Yeah, it was. He felt bad that you guys were going to leave without eating, and we accidentally booked a table for five instead of three, like we originally planned, so he told Aiku to stop you guys before you were gone,” Niko explains.

“Oh, that was very sweet of you!” Y/N says. “Thank you so much. We both really appreciate it.”

Under the table, Aiku gives Niko a thumbs-up. Niko returns the gesture in kind, though neither of them let their true emotions show on their faces, which must be carefully schooled into blankness so that nobody else catches on to their scheming. 

“You’re welcome,” Barou says before freezing as he realizes that he’s somehow fallen for Niko’s lie, despite being there to witness the truth of the events. “Wait, no, it wasn’t—”

“Barou’s super considerate,” Niko continues, cutting Barou’s correction off. Aiku could just about cry. Niko’s a natural-born talent! He could never have predicted the younger boy’s sheer skill at this kind of thing. “Do you watch soccer?”

“Not really,” Y/N says thoughtfully. “I’ve never understood it well enough to become an avid fan, and my father prefers baseball, so it’s not something my family is into. I think it’s really cool, though!”

“Barou plays,” Niko says.

“So do you guys,” Barou says.

“Yeah, but you’re sitting next to her,” Niko says. “And you’re the king, right? Who better than you to explain the sport?”

“She didn’t ask for that,” Barou says, glowering at Niko and Aiku alike. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t mind,” Y/N says, even going so far as to smile at Barou. With a final suspicious glare at the two of them, Barou begins to explain the rules of the game to her, and Aiku takes advantage of his distraction to high-five Niko.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers. “Where’d you learn this shit?”

“I watch a lot of anime,” Niko whispers back. “This is a classic set up for a twelve-episode romance that teaches the viewers about friendship, love, and what it means to grow up.”

“That’s not what I was expecting,” Aiku says after digesting this latest revelation, finding that it makes a surprising amount of sense. “But hey, whatever works!”

“Exactly,” Niko says. “Do you think it’s weird if I order chicken fingers from the children’s menu?”

“Order whatever you want, kid,” Aiku says. “You deserve it. I’ll even pay.”

“Yay!” Niko says. “Chicken fingers it is.”

Aiku doesn’t even mind treating him. If this is successful, then he’ll buy Niko all of the chicken fingers in the world in thanks. 

You’re more than a little grateful that Niko has given you something to talk to Barou about. Your best friend is busy texting her crush, the gerbil-looking one, who has apparently responded to her story, so you would’ve had to sit there in silence until she finished up or someone took pity on your helpless self. In this way, though, it’s much more natural, and even if it really was just an example of Niko feeling bad for you, it didn’t come across as such.

“You really scored a goal against the Japanese U-20 team?” you say after Barou has finished a long-winded explanation on the rules of soccer and some of the highlights of his career in the sport. In truth, you mostly tuned out the more technical details, but you have to admit that some of the things he’s mentioned about himself are rather interesting.

“Yes,” he says. 

“Wow,” you say. “You must be good, then.”

He shrugs in acknowledgement. “I’m good.”

It doesn’t feel like he’s bragging or anything like that. He’s just acknowledging an inevitable truth. He’s good. The way he says it, no one can deny it — not that you would’ve. Based on his build alone, you’d have expected him to have talent as an athlete; the things he’s mentioned have only been confirmation of that initial prediction, rather than blowing your mind in any significant way.

“Hi!” Your waitress’s arrival with a tray full of drinks cuts your conversation with Barou short, which you’re surprised to find you’re a little put-out by, at least until the grumble of your stomach reminds you of why you came to the restaurant in the first place. “Are you all ready to order?”

“I want the chicken fingers,” Niko says.

“The chicken fingers from the twelve and under menu? How old are you?” she says.

“Twelve,” Niko says. You frown, leaning closer to Barou in order to murmur in his ear.

“Is he actually?” 

Barou shakes his head ever so slightly. “No, but if that’s the only way he can get chicken fingers…”

“That’s a fair point,” you say. The waitress seems to share your doubts, but then Aiku flashes her a warm grin.

“My little brother’s heard so much about your entrees, and he can’t wait to try the, er, chicken fingers. Yes. The chicken fingers. He’s been talking about them all week,” he explains.

“Are they—?” you begin.

“They met like a month ago,” Barou says, rolling his eyes. “No relation whatsoever.”

“I see,” you say. You almost have to admire the lengths they’re willing to go to, as well as how natural they are with it. “Huh. I guess if it works, it works.”

“One order of chicken fingers, then!” the waitress says, jotting it down on her notepad, returning Aiku’s grin with her own. He has that kind of enviable charisma that lets him get away with a lot more than he should, and you’re more than a little jealous. “And the rest of you?”

You all give her your orders, and she promises she’ll be back quickly before running back to the kitchen. Once again, you’re left to your own devices, and given that your best friend is still texting that guy, you decide you’ll try and talk to the others at your table.

“Barou told me you guys are all in some program called Blue Lock together,” you say. “What’s that like? It sounded super intense.”

“It is,” Aiku scoffs. “I don’t even know if we’re supposed to be here at the moment.”

“We got permission from our coach,” Niko says. “But the guy who runs the program is kind of…what’s the word?”

“Freaky?” Aiku says.

“That works,” Niko says.

“I didn’t realize we were dining with rebels,” you say. 

“For the record, I was dragged into coming by those two,” Barou says.

“We didn’t actually drag him,” Aiku reassures you. “I mean, we tried, but he’s super heavy.”

“Too much training,” Niko says. “Barou, you should flex for Y/N — I mean, for everyone.”

“Hell no,” Barou says. “In public? Don’t be shameless.”

“So you’ll do it in private, then?” Aiku says. 

“That’s — that’s not what I meant!” Barou sputters. “I won’t do it at all!”

“Y/N, if you get a subscription to Blue Lock TV, then forget about asking Barou to flex. You can just watch him work out. He does it shirtless,” Aiku says. You choke on your water.

“What are you, some kind of salesman?” you say, coughing to dislodge the droplets of liquid scratching at your throat. “Was inviting us to sit with you a kindness or an advertisement?”

“Can’t it be both?” Aiku says.

“No, it cannot, you fucking donkey!” Barou says. “Please ignore him. I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

“You do train without a shirt on, though,” Niko says. “Quite often. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, there’s a lot of shirtless content on Blue Lock TV…Chris Prince stripped at one point, I’m pretty sure, and more than one of the Bastard München boys have had locker room features. I guess PXG is the only team without any fan service, since Barcha has Lavinho as a coach, and we all know how he is.”

“Good for them. You gotta give credit where it’s due,” Aiku says. 

“Agreed,” Niko says. “Hey, Barou, didn’t you take your shirt off after scoring in the game against the U-20s, too? Is it like an established habit or something?”

“Enough about my shirt,” Barou says through gritted teeth.

“Or lack thereof,” Aiku adds. There’s a baleful aura emanating off of Barou, and he doesn’t even need to say anything before Aiku winces like he’s been cowed. “Sorry. The opportunity presented itself.”

“Both of you are on thin ice. First you abducted me, and now you’re going on about this dumbass subject? And that’s not to mention the sauce stain from earlier. I bet neither of you cleaned it up,” Barou says. 

Aiku and Niko both look like they have been caught committing some crime. Barou’s about to snap, it’s very obvious, but you find his friends’ antics to be so amusing that you hesitantly pat him on the shoulder.

“Ah, I think they’re just teasing you. It’s common amongst people who are close to one another! I always make fun of my best friend for her taste in men,” you say.

“And I make fun of yours right back,” your best friend says, not even looking up from her phone. You roll your eyes at this.

“See? It’s really alright,” you say. “At the least, if you’re upset because we’re here, then don’t be. Neither of us mind. I mean, she’s not even paying attention to us. Too busy texting that Meriones unguiculatus of a man she deems crush-worthy.”

“Fuck you,” your best friend says. She ordinarily would have no idea what Meriones unguiculatus means, but given the context, you’re sure she’s figured it out.

“Don’t be mad because I’m right,” you say. “Anyways, like I was saying, it’s all good.”

There’s a strained moment where none of you know what Barou will do, but then he nods, crossing his arms and sticking his nose in the air.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll let it slide, just this once. But the two of you better behave from now on, you got it?”

Aiku and Niko both seem to be so amazed that it’s a wonder they don’t salute at Barou’s barked-out order. Shaking your head and laughing, you decide it might be for the best if you try to talk to Barou yourself and leave his slightly problematic companions out of the conversation.

“So,” you say, to him and only him. “What’s the story behind the sauce stain?” 

“Holy shit,” Aiku says.

“I know,” Niko says.

“She’s a genius. A god. A fucking Barou whisperer,” he says.

“I know,” Niko says.

“What are the odds that we managed to find the exact girl that could put up with his bullshit?” Aiku says.

“Pretty high!” a new voice chimes in. It’s Y/N’s friend; she never introduced herself, and it doesn’t seem like she’s inclined to, but she inconspicuously slides her chair closer to where he and Niko are talking. “You guys are trying to set your friend up with Y/N, huh? Good luck. She only likes ugly dudes.”

“Barou’s…kind of ugly?” Niko tries. Aiku snorts.

“Let’s keep it honest here,” he says. “Anyways, what were you talking about earlier? Barou’s a nutcase. It’s, like, a miracle that Y/N’s managing to have a conversation with him.”

“Maybe he’s like that with you, but to me, he seems to be the type that’s totally respectful to women,” Y/N’s friend says, brandishing her index finger in the air as if she’s making a particularly salient point. “The bigger the muscles, the bigger the heart, isn’t that ”

“Is that a real saying?” Niko says.

“No, I just made it up,” Y/N’s friend says. “But it kind of fits in this instance, don’t you think?”

“You’re not wrong,” Aiku says. “But do you mean to say Barou would be this nice to any girl?”

“It’s not like I know him personally. Shouldn’t you be able to answer that better than me?” Y/N’s friend says.

“There aren’t any girls in Blue Lock,” Niko says. “This is the first time we’ve seen him interact with one, so we actually have no idea.”

“Ah,” she says. “That explains a lot. Anyways, yeah, if I had to guess, he would be.”

“Hm,” Aiku says. This throws a definite wrench in their plans — up until this point, he had been convinced that there were sparks flying between Y/N and Barou, mostly because he had never seen Barou so gentle and quick to calm down in his life. Yet, if Y/N’s friend is telling the truth, and he has no reason to think she isn’t, then this is actually just his true personality.

On the one hand, it’s comforting to know that Barou isn’t constantly on the verge of an aneurysm, and indeed can even be persuaded towards kindness in his day-to-day life. On the other, it doesn’t solve their problem, which is getting him to calm down when he’s interacting with his fellow Ubers teammates.

Aiku comes to a decision relatively quickly. It’s his experience as a captain which lends him that swiftness; on the field, split-second decisions are the only way to go. He’s good at taking information and rapidly synthesizing it to come up with workable solutions, and though this isn’t a soccer match, the stakes are almost just as high.

The facts of the situation are as follows: Y/N does not seem to mind talking to Barou, and given that they’ve been engaged in conversation almost this entire time, the inverse is also likely true. Furthermore, she’s proven able to persuade him not to freak out at himself and Niko when they were pushing his buttons, which is something no one has ever managed before and is somewhat the end goal of the outing. Of course, she apparently only likes ugly guys, and Barou’s far from ugly — as a fellow member of the non-ugly community, Aiku is confident in saying this — but things like that are subjective, so he decides he shouldn’t worry too much about that aspect.

Then there are the theories, namely Y/N’s best friend’s one about how any girl might have a similar effect on Barou. This could be true, or it could also not be, but Aiku only has one data point and a limited amount of time to work with, so despite the likely veracity, he has to set it aside as false for the time being. It’s not like there’s an endless supply of girls just hanging around for him to test out Barou’s reactions with, so in this moment, he’s deeming Y/N L/N as a special case, an outlier, and this can only lead to one conclusion:

Barou is totally into her. 

“Two younger sisters, really?” you say. While your best friend has been talking to Aiku and Niko in hushed tones, you’ve been preoccupied with Barou, who’s proven himself to be nothing like his first impression. You had expected him to be fussy and rude and intimidating, and while the latter adjective certainly still applies, he’s kind instead of spiteful and almost shy instead of brash.

“Yeah,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice, although his face does not shift in the slightest. “They’re much smaller, so I look after them a lot — when I’m home, anyways. Obviously, I haven’t seen them since I’ve been at Blue Lock.”

“How sweet of you,” you say. “I bet your mother appreciates you a lot.”

“I try to help her whenever I can,” he says.

You’re about to internally swoon, but then you stop yourself. So what if he’s athletic, helps his mother, is tall, handsome, kind, muscular, and supposedly good with kids? That doesn’t mean anything. He probably has a girlfriend, anyways, given all of these positive attributes—

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you say, standing up. Your best friend looks over at you in concern, for she knows of your distaste for public restrooms, and then she, too, stands.

“Want me to come?” she says.

“Yes,” you say, striding off without further explanation. As soon as the two of you are far enough from the table, you give her a distressed look. “I need help.”

“What’s up?” she says.

“I think—”

“Are you into Barou?” she asks, cutting you off. You blink at her.

“How did you know?” you say.

“You’ve spent almost the entire time talking only to him. It’s a little obvious,” she says.

“Oh, no,” you say. “He’s definitely caught on, then!”

“It’s not a big deal. According to Aiku and Niko, he’s single, so that’s one thing you don’t have to worry about, and besides, if that’s the case, then he’s fair game, isn’t he? There’s nothing wrong with being interested in someone,” she says. 

“He’s single? How?” you say. “You’re telling me no one’s been interested in him yet? That’s impossible.”

“There is the whole ‘locked away in a facility with zero girls’ aspect to be considered…” she says.

“Well, that’s true,” you say, feeling dumb for having forgotten that. “Do you think he’s interested in me?”

“He’s been talking to you back, right? That’s a good sign, especially since he’s been ignoring his friends to do so,” she says. “There’s a decent chance. If anything, does he seem like the kind of guy that would be mean about rejecting you? You should just ask him for his number when we get back.”

“Me? Ask for his number?” you say.

“I’ve heard girls have high success rates when they approach guys that they’re into. What’s the worst that can happen? Either way, the three of them are heading back to some weird facility after tonight, so we can just leave and never see them again if it’s awkward,” she says.

You mull this over. Nothing she’s saying is wrong, and anyways, it’s been a while since you dated someone. Besides, you’ll probably not meet someone like Barou again for a long, long time, and when you really think about it, you’d rather live with a rejection than a what-if scenario floating around in your mind for the rest of your life.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll do it, but that means you have to dump the gerbil dude and move on.”

“Did that earlier. I couldn’t stop thinking of Tinkerbell the gerbil whenever I saw his profile picture; it totally killed the mood. Thanks a lot,” she says.

“It’s my pleasure,” you say. “Now, let’s go back. I have a number to get!”

“Um, hold on,” she says. “I do actually have to pee, and the bathroom doesn’t seem too dirty.”

You sigh, because now that you’re this pumped up, you don’t want to delay any longer, but you’re not about to abandon her, so you nod towards the door.

“I’ll wait here, then. Be quick!” 

“Well, well, well,” Aiku says. “Who would’ve thought we’d get to see the day?”

“What are you talking about?” Barou says when he notices that both Aiku and Niko are looking at him.

“What aren’t we talking about?” Aiku says. 

“It’s Y/N,” Niko says, defusing the volatile atmosphere rather efficiently. Aiku hands him a French fry off of his plate as a form of praise; accepting it happily, Niko chews and swallows before continuing. “You like her, right?”

“What? No,” Barou says quickly — too quickly, which means the answer is the opposite of what he’s just said. Aiku steeples his fingers together, because he couldn’t have imagined things going any better, and he feels like he’s entitled to a villainous pose or two every now and again. 

“You’ve been talking to her the entire time we’ve been eating, and you didn’t yell at her when she told you to calm down,” Aiku says.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Barou says.

“I guess it’s for the better,” Niko says. “Her friend told us she has a boyfriend.”

Aiku’s about to reprimand him for making things up, but before he can, he sees out of the corner of his eye that the tips of Barou’s ears have turned a surprisingly light and rosy pink, and then he can only shake his head in amazement. Niko’s really fucking good at this. Aiku almost wonders if he should ask the kid for anime recommendations or something.

“Really?” Barou says. 

“Really,” Niko says.

“That’s — I mean, it’s none of my business, so why are you telling me?” Barou says.

“You’re awfully upset if that’s the case,” Aiku points out.

“I’m not upset!” Barou says. “Just…I wasn’t expecting her not to be single, that’s all.”

“Expecting, or hoping?” Aiku says. Barou glares at him but does not respond, which tells Aiku all he needs to know. “It’s okay for you to have a crush on her. She seems nice enough.”

“Yeah,” Niko says. “If you guys get along, then there’s no harm in just asking her out. We’re going back to Blue Lock after dinner anyways, so it’s not like you’ll see her in the future if you don’t want to. Can you live with yourself if you don’t give it a shot?”

“Aren’t you a king?” Aiku urges. “What kind of king doesn’t put his best foot forward at all times?”

“The kind of king that respects other people’s relationships, you chewed up wad of spearmint gum,” Barou says.

“Oh, I was just making that up,” Niko says. “I wanted to see how you’d react. She’s definitely single.”

“You—!”

Aiku and Niko are saved from another one of Barou’s tirades by the arrival of Y/N and her friend. With a final malevolent sneer, Barou continues to talk to Y/N, who seems eager to pick up where they left off. Aiku high-fives Niko under the table.

“You’re a genius, buddy,” he says.

“Does this mean you’ll buy me dessert, too?” Niko says.

“If you’ll share with me, then sure.”

“Deal.” 

“When should I ask him for his number? It’ll be awkward if I do it in front of everyone, I think,” you say.

“Why would it be awkward?” she says. “I’m not about to judge you. I already know you’re going to do it.”

“I was talking about Aiku and Niko,” you say, though you’re specifically referring to Aiku — there’s a sense of naïveté to Niko, so the thought of being so bold in front of him doesn’t make you squeamish, but it’s a difference case with his counterpart. Oliver Aiku has a sort of suaveness to him that makes you feel as though he’s not been rejected once in his life, and that’s more than a little terrifying. What might such a master say about your feeble attempts at flirting? You don’t want to imagine it. The mere beginnings of the thought are preemptively giving you hives, so having the thought fully formed, or heaven forbid the actual event occurring…you shudder at the plethora of side effects you’ll no doubt undergo.

“That’s fair,” she says. “I can distract them, if you want. While we’re getting dessert, I’ll tell Aiku I’m having car trouble and ask if he can take a look. He seems like the kind of guy that would fall for that. I don’t know what to do about Niko, though…”

“He’ll probably go with Aiku, but even if he doesn’t, I think it’ll be fine if it’s just him there,” you say. “He’s pretty harmless.”

“You better not wimp out, then! If I have to embarrass myself by pretending to know nothing about cars, then the least you can do is actually ask for his number,” she says.

“I’ll do it!” you say. She obviously doesn’t believe you, so you pout. “Promise I will.”

“Fine,” she says. 

“Fine,” you say.

“Fine!” she says again. “Just give me a second before we go back, then. I need to think of what kinds of issues my car will be having…” 

“Hey, Aiku,” Y/N’s friend says. The entire table falls silent, including Aiku himself — he’s more than a little confused about what she could want with him. After all, he’s not done anything that would seem like he’s trying to pursue her, so there’s no reason for her to believe he’s interested, and it’s not like they’re close enough for her to be talking to him in specific.

“What’s up?” he says.

“My car is making a weird sound when it starts. I was going to wait to ask my dad when I got home, but if you know anything about cars, could you maybe…?” she says.

Aiku knows nothing about cars, and he’s about to tell her as much, but then Niko of all people is answering. He hasn’t heard the boy talk this much since they met, which means he’s really getting into this.

“Sure, we can both take a look while we wait for dessert to come,” he says. It’s suspicious, because if Aiku knows nothing about cars, then Niko’s understanding has to be in the negatives. The kid doesn’t even have his driver’s license yet, so how would he be of any help? Unless this is another skill he’s picked up from watching anime, in which case it seems like that’s another hobby Aiku needs to take up.

“Thanks,” Y/N’s friend says, clearly relieved. “Y/N, do you mind staying back so no one takes our table?”

“Barou, keep her company,” Niko says. “We don’t want them thinking we’re the dine-and-dash type.”

“It’s okay with me,” Y/N says before Barou can argue, which effectively shuts Barou up. Aiku’s beloved teammate only grunts in agreement, watching the trio out of the corner of his eyes as they scurry out of the restaurant and begin to wander about aimlessly in the parking lot.

“Can you, uh, describe this noise to me?” Aiku says. It’s not like that knowledge will really change much for him, but he thinks that it might be better if he at least pretends to put forth some effort into assisting the girl. After all, it’d be bad for business if he gets flamed as the rude, unhelpful type.

“Huh? Oh, I made that up,” she says.

“As I expected,” Niko says.

“What? Why would you do that?” Aiku says. Then he comes to a realization, and it’s like a bucket of ice water has been poured over his head. “Hold on just a second, I’m not the one looking for—”

“That was a great method of leaving Y/N and Barou alone,” Niko says, cutting Aiku off before he can continue to embarrass himself. “Now they can figure things out between themselves.”

“Right?” Y/N’s friend says. “There’s only so much they can do when we’re all sitting there.”

“Yeah, awesome idea,” Aiku says, relieved to hear that she’s on their side. Girls take their friends’ opinions seriously. If Y/N’s best friend approves of Barou, then that’s a plus in Barou’s favor, and given Barou’s uniqueness, he needs all of the pluses he can get.

“And just so you know, you’re not my type, so don’t take any of this in a weird way. I just want Y/N to be happy,” she continues.

“Duly noted,” Aiku says. 

“Sorry I wasn’t faster in cutting you off,” Niko whispers when Y/N’s friend pulls out her phone and begins to play on it again. Aiku shrugs.

“No worries. Nobody’s perfect,” he says. “Although, honestly? If this night ends up the way we want it to, then I’d say you’re pretty damn close regardless.” 

“I’m really sorry,” Barou says as soon as your best friend, Aiku, and Niko have exited the building. 

“For what?” you say. The crowd is dwindling, for the restaurant is nearing its closing time, but it’s still busy enough that you have to stay close to him in order to be able to hear what he’s saying. Or maybe that’s an excuse you’ve made for yourself; either way, he doesn’t pull back, so you remain in the comfortable space between you both.

“Aiku,” he says. “Also Niko, but mostly Aiku.”

“Why? He’s not done anything too horrible,” you say. “He’s pretty funny. And Niko seems like a nice boy.”

“They have this idea in their mind,” he says. “It’s totally stupid, but that’s why they’re acting like this. They’re not usually quite as idiotic.”

“What do you mean?” you say. You almost want to tell him to hurry up so you can ask for his number before the others come back and your best friend gets upset with you, but you’d rather listen to him talk, and anyways once you ask him for his number there’s a chance things will go wrong, so you want to soak in these last few seconds before that happens.

“I mean, you know,” he says, and then he’s turning a color you never would’ve expected from someone as reputedly tough as him. “Just that they think I like you.”

“Like me?” you say.

“Yeah,” he says. “Like I’m into you or something.”

You had hoped for it, but not seriously considered it — although, the teasing and whatnot do make a little more sense now that he’s added this context to it. If Aiku and Niko think he might be into you…you know you shouldn’t be fanciful, that it’ll eventually lead to disappointment, but you want to. You really want to, so when you next speak it’s tentative but optimistic.

“If you are,” you begin, nervous more than anything, though you’re certain the only cure is getting this over with, “I am, too. Into you, I mean.”

Barou’s lips are still parted as if he’s about to say something, but no words escape him. He just sits there and stares at you, as if you’ve said something profound or shocking or both. Probably both. You giggle, shifting in your seat and adjusting your position, because seeing him like this is endearing as much as it is uncomfortable.

“If you’re not, it’s alright, but my friend told me I should ask you for your number or something, so I don’t have any regrets when we leave,” you say. “She’s right, too. I’d have felt horrible forever if I never said anything.”

He’s still silent. You question if you’ve somehow caused him to malfunction, so you nudge his foot with your own under the table. This does nothing to break him out of his daze, and then you realize he’s probably trying to figure out how to best reject you, so you sigh.

“It’s okay to say no. There’s no expectation on my part. I just wanted to get it out there,” you say.

“No!” he says.

“Well, I mean, you didn’t have to be exuberant about it,” you mutter to yourself before smiling. “That’s okay, though! Thank you for listening and talking to me—”

“I mean, yes. No. I don’t know which question I’m supposed to be answering!” he says. “I do like you. That’s what I’m trying to say, but you just said so many things that I didn’t know what to respond to.”

“You like me?” you say. You had never in your wildest fantasies imagined someone like Barou being into you. It was the kind of thing that just didn’t happen, and yet, somehow, it had. Barou liked you. 

“I guess so,” he says. “That’s how Aiku would phrase it, I think. I enjoy talking to you, and you have nice table manners. You kept your hands and surroundings clean, and you didn’t spill anything, which is more than can be said about a lot of people. I really appreciate that kind of trait in a person.”

“Uh, thanks?” you say, because you’ve not really been complimented on your table manners before, but it’s kind of sweet. “Yeah, thanks. I’d compliment you back, but there’s so many things to say that I wouldn’t know where to start…”

“How about with your phone number?” he says. You’re pretty sure that that’s uncharacteristically bold of him, because his eyes widen as soon as he comprehends what he’s said, but he doesn’t take it back. Instead, he waits, his hands folded carefully in his lap as he watches you, probably wondering what you’ll say in response to the request.

Smiling at him, you pull out your phone and open your hand, waiting for him to give you his. 

“You got her number?” Aiku says as they’re driving home. Niko’s in the backseat this time, mostly because he offhandedly mentioned feeling nauseous after eating and Aiku has no interest in getting vomit all over him. “Way to go, man.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Barou says, gazing out of the window mysteriously. “I can’t exactly take her on dates or anything while I’m stuck in Blue Lock.”

“If you get Snuffy’s permission, you could,” Aiku says.

“We probably shouldn’t abuse that,” Niko says. “Otherwise, Ego will come up with some insane punishment for all of us. The guy’s a super-freak. I’m sure he’s got some crazy stuff stored away.”

“Very true,” Aiku says. “Don’t worry too much, though, Barou. If she’s the one, she won’t mind waiting.”

“How can I know if she’s the one when we’ve only met once? You’re delusional,” Barou says.

“It’s pretty simple,” Aiku says. “Do you want her to be?”

The moonlight hits Barou in a particularly elegant way at that moment. Aiku’s suddenly not surprised that Niko’s anime intelligence worked so well — Barou seems straight out of a girlish romance novel or TV show or something along those lines just then.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

“Then that’s that!” Aiku says, pulling into the garage and putting Snuffy’s car in park. “Trust me, there was major chemistry there, so I’m sure she’s of the same opinion.”

“It’ll work out,” Niko agrees. He’s clearly feeling much better now that they’re not in the car, his steps light and bouncy, his lips curving upwards at the corners. “You’re a great guy, Barou. We were talking about it earlier.”

Barou scoffs. “Of course I am.”

“Classic Barou,” Aiku says, throwing his arm around Barou’s shoulder. “So humble.”

“Get off of me,” Barou grumbles, shoving Aiku away, though there’s a marked gentleness to it that tells Aiku their plan worked. He’s excited to see the long-term effects — if only one dinner with Y/N was enough for Barou to relax this much, then the duration of their relationship might be akin to a vacation for the rest of the Ubers.

That night, Aiku and Niko are brushing their teeth in the bathrooms together, since nobody else is up and there’s a certain camaraderie built between them after their adventure.

“We did good today, Niko,” Aiku says after spitting his toothpaste into the sink. 

“Agreed,” Niko says.

The door slams open right after he does, which is horribly ironic timing, because it reveals a furious Barou. He’s already enormous, but his fury causes him to swell until his proportions are vaguely Hulk-like and entirely terrifying. Both Aiku and Niko glance at him in confusion, because he should have no reason to be upset, and then, right before he can start yelling, it hits them like a truck.

“Hey, you donkeys,” Barou hisses. “Did you think you could distract me by taking me to dinner? That stain is still there. Can neither of you do anything for yourselves? I’m going to kill you both, mark my words!”

Aiku groans. Niko face-palms.

Fuck. 

[bridgetotheskyyy]

Kisame; Size Kink

Kinktober Masterlist

a/n: Kisame my beloved!!!!!! 18+ only. Size kink, double penetration, vore-y implications (idk how it happened?? i'm sorry???)

You’d had better missions.

“Well,” Kisame said. “That was eventful.”

He threw away Samehada. Abandoned, it growled, having been denied the promise of a meal. 

“The next one will be better,” You said as much to negate your guilt as to quell his disappointment.

Kisame snorted. Despite the failure the day had been, his reprimands had lacked ire. “As long as I’m entertained, it could never be a complete bust.” He shot you a cheeky side-eye. “But we both know what the problem is.”

Your brows raised. “Enlighten me.”

Kisame’s grin grew more wicked. “I’d rather demonstrate, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Be my guest.”

“Come, then. I’d like a swim.” 

You followed Kisame out by the nearby lake. He dove in unceremoniously, Akatsuki cloak abandoned on the riverside. He swam with expected ease.

And when he emerged, you admired him: Each step sent water dripping from perfect pectorals, biceps flexing as Kisame raised a hand to drag water from his hair. A navy happy trail ran into his trousers. Sunlight dazzled Kisame’s chromatic skin as he approached, his shadow eclipsing yours.

“See?” he said.

You blinked. “What?”

His wicked grin returned, aided in some way by your absentmindedness. “You’re distracted by me.”

“What?” A blush tinted your cheeks. “No, I’m not.”

Kisame’s laugh was just as devious. “You’re a bad liar.” 

“And you flatter yourself too much.”

Kisame’s cackle sounded behind you as you made to leave the riverside.

“So what is it about me you like?”

“I’m not discussing this.”

“You know, you and Itachi are just alike,” he said. “Far too serious for your own good.”

You were silent, acutely aware of Kisame trailing behind you, your footsteps engulfed by his.

“It’s because I’m so much bigger than you, isn’t it?”

“Oh, fuck off!”

But even then you knew you’d never win against someone who enjoyed this sort of verbal foreplay, who got such a sick thrill out of infuriating you, flustering you.

Kisame grabbed your arm and you whipped back to meet his playfully narrowed eyes. “Then, tell me I’m wrong.”

You ignored the comment. Ignored how you had thought of just that many times over, the immense size difference between you and your partner. Kisame towered over you. And if he so desired, he could easily swallow you up in an embrace and devour you. Metaphorically. Literally.

You had problems.

While in your reverie, Kisame had closed the gap between the two of you. Still smiling, he brushed a finger against your cheek when you stubbornly turned your head away.

“Hm?” He was baiting you and you knew it.

You flexed your cheek away to avoid his petting and he snickered, showing sharp incisors. “Like I said: Fuck you.”

“I appreciate an eager woman.”

In a swoop, Kisame had you over his shoulder and was striding toward drier parts of the lakeside. 

“Kisame!” You kicked your legs. “Kis ― I’ll kill you ―”

“I’d love to see you try.”

“I’m serious ― I’ll have your head for this! Kisame!” 

He lowered you on your back. He was over you now, arms pinning you on either side of your head. 

“Enough,” You said.

Kisame feigned disappointment. “Aw, don’t tell me you really don’t want to have fun.” He smirked. “But there are so many fun things I’d like to show you.”

Your cheeks ran red, but you did not push him away.

“Tell me, do you like this.” Kisame leaned down and licked a strip of his tongue against your neck. At your whimper, he chuckled, the sound low in his throat. “The idea of someone so much bigger and stronger lording over you?”

“Bigger’s one thing,” you grumbled. “But stronger ―? Mfm …”

Kisame buried himself in your neck again, thoroughly kissing, licking and sucking ― the unholy trinity ― as one of his hands dallied south, its laid above your head. “I could crush you, you know.” His teeth grazed your skin, threatening to bite. “I could lay myself on top of you and choke you out― your throat wouldn’t even fit in my hand.”

You whimpered again, teeth worrying your bottom lip. You were truly sick, to be turned on by all of this. You knew he never would ― he valued your partnership ― but no lies had been told.

Kisame’s rumbling laugh shuddered your earlobe. “I know what else might not fit …”

He’s such a dick. You arched into him, resistance waning as Kisame’s hand cupped the plump, swelling lips of your cunt through your panties. He’d long since undone your bottoms and worked his way into them, and now two fingers slowly swept against the wet patch sitting between your lips. 

“Fuck …” Your heel bit into one of his legs at the feel of his fingers infiltrating your panties. “Fuck, do it, then. Get me ready for your cock, ngh!”

Kisame cackled. “I don’t think I have enough fingers for that.”

“Oh, shut up! You’re not as funny as you think you ar ― aahha!”

Kisame plunged two fingers inside you. The sudden intrusion stopped your words in their tracks; your eyes widened as his massive digits coaxed your wetness to spill forth. You moaned, bucking your hips forward. 

“Looks like you’re helping me out quite a bit,” he said. “So wet already and I haven’t even ― mm …”

Kisame hadn’t lied; his fingers filled you out so completely; yours never felt like this, never reached so deep. Kisame tapped and dribbled his fingers against the eager spongey surface of your g-spot.

“A ― ahah, oh …!” 

You could be spotted out in the open. Would anyone even see you under the mountain of the man that was Kisame? His giant form would shroud you completely.

“Atta girl,” he said amid your moaning. “Might as well get both holes ready,”

One of Kisame’s fingers had snuck to your ass, tapping the puckered hole. Your eyes were still wide, lips parted as he lifted away from you and sat on his knees.

You throbbed around the fingers still playing in your pussy, enthralled by his admission. 

Your mind whirled as Kisame’s full attention lay on your nether regions, prepping and probing you on both fronts. How big would he be? You could almost feel your walls shuddering in anticipation at how they would be stretched. 

And what did he mean by both holes? How long would he keep you on this riverside, fucking you from every end?

Kisame sent his fingers farther, gouging a surprised moan out of you, your mouth forming a perfect o.

“Kisame, I ― oh …!”

“If you’re making all this noise, you’re clearly not ready for what comes next.” Kisame’s other hand worked on shoving down both his trousers and yours. 

You attempted to rise. Poor mistake: Kisame gripped your throat, forcing you backward into the grass. Your eyes widened, and for a second fear and arousal flooded through you like water through dam at his possibly doing what he imagined seconds ago. But Kisame only shadowed you, bearing his weight, a new, perceptible hardness lodged between your bodies. 

“Look at this,” he ordered, and he lessened his grip on your throat to allow your head to bend forward and see his cock ― cocks.

Bo ― both of them bigger than even you had anticipated.

“Think you can take them both, sweetheart?”

You gaped, mouth watering as Kisame positioned his cocks beside both entrances.

He thrusted inside of you. With a gasp, you clutched at his sides with stiffening legs. His fingers were nothing in comparison to this. The double penetration blindsighted you totally, your mind went blank as he filled you to capacity.

“You ― fucking ― ah ― disappear underneath me,” Kisame said. “Anyone walking by would think I was just ― nrgh ― spearing my cocks into the grass.”

Holy shit. It was true. Kisame’s silhouette, elongated by the eager sun, dwarfed you. You hung on to him as he deepened his thrusts, ragdolling you in the grass, the frantic motions sure to leave burns under your ass and thighs.

Everything, everywhere, overwhelming. That was Kisame. He tauntingly licked the shell of your ear, groaned into your side in a way that signified his nearing end. 

“Such good little holes you’ve got, taking me in so good like this,” Kisame huffed. “Stronger than they look, too.” 

You were not far behind, frantically speared into two holes at once. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head, the friction as excruciating as it was marvelous.

“What do you say, little girl?” he said. ‘How ‘bout I drown you in my come?”

Whether you managed to say yes aloud or not you’d never know, for Kisame plunged his fingers, soaked with your juices, into your mouth, your natural salt invading your tastebuds as he fucked into you. 

The sensory overload was too much; you sucked his fingers into your mouth, sufficiently fucked in all of your holes. And you barely registered the roar he gave as you clenched and came around both of his cocks. Your legs spasmed at Kisame’s side, biting your nails into his forearms. He continued to animalistically rut into you, stimulating your clit with the aimless friction of his hips.

“Ki ―” His name died on your lips as his fingers pressed into your tongue. His mouth brushed against your cheek, shark teeth dangerously close to your flushed skin, as he painted your inner walls white. 

Kisame withdrew everywhere; you were haunted by the sudden emptiness. You attempted to stifle a whimper and failed miserably. Would you ever be so perfectly full again? 

When you came to entirely, still in the midst of catching your breath, Kisame was also still hovering above you with a smile gentler than all the others.

“That was fun,” he said casually.

The light of day was dimmed by his shadow. And, poised beneath him, you were sure you looked vulnerable enough to eat.

[stellarbit]

Pushing Limits

Work Count: 4.2 Pairing: fem!reader x Wrecker NSFW Warnings: Big ole size kink w/ associated pain, piv, poorly proofread Summary: The Bad Batch are sent to train some Jedi, you being amongst them. You and Wrecker can't stop thinkin about each other after you spar.

Having spent your youth in the temple, you developed a disinterest in the temptations of attraction as an adult. It wasn’t that others weren’t attractive to you; on the contrary, you found many beings attractive. Instead, your disinterest stemmed from the warnings of attachment and a lack of clarity on how to enjoy attraction without it.

So, for a short time, you’d experimented with physicalities. They required no emotional attachment, therefore, you saw no reason to not explore. The pleasure of others was a high that quickly became an unnecessary hassle. Partners could make things interesting but they rarely lived up to your expectations. Especially when you could find a more satisfying release on your own.

Training with five exceptionally trained, and exceptionally handsome, men tested that mindset.

The Bad Batch had been assigned a training mission on Coruscant. The Jedi Council requested an elite squad to train fresh Jedi Knights for a month. You were amongst the class and while the opportunity was an exciting one, your attention was hardly in the present.

At first, outside of their talent and appearances, there was nothing that you hadn’t experienced before. Not to mention the fact that clone troopers typically maintained a healthy boundary with their Jedi companions. About a week in, when individual training sessions came into play, you definitely noticed something different.

The first break in your indifference came when one of them, their technician - aptly named Tech, bluntly pointed out a weakness of yours. The comment was not only blunt to the point of tactlessness but also made in front of your fellow Jedi Knights.

"Your defense is sloppy," he observed, literally pointing at you. "You rely too much on your Force abilities. What happens when you're facing an opponent who can resist them?"

You stood still, captured in your final stance in defending against Hunter. You stared Tech down, a twitch ticking your eye as you considered his comment. A clone trooper negating your abilities certainly caught your attention - not in the most positive way. You’d shoved off the comment with more ire than your cohorts were accustomed to and were quick to dismiss yourself when the opportunity came.

Later that same evening you found appreciation for Tech’s observation. Despite receiving consistent praise for your abilities, no one had truly challenged you in recent memory. You prided yourself on maintaining humility, yet it seemed humility alone couldn't shield you from becoming complacent.

Impressed and eager for further challenge, you welcomed the next training session.

The troopers adjusted to instructing without an audience, most likely due to your reaction. Leaving you one on one with two troopers Wrecker and Hunter, one to spare with and the other to observe. 

“Wrecker here even bested General Skywalker once,” Hunter boasted, playfully clapping his brother on the shoulder. “He’s sure to teach you a thing or two.” With that, Hunter stepped back from the ring, gesturing grandly towards his imposing brother.

Facing Wrecker was a new challenge; his sheer size was unlike any opponent you had faced before. Initially, you managed to agilely dance around him, but it wasn't long before he caught you. With a swift pull, he twisted your arm behind you and pressed your back against his chest. Despite your struggles against his overwhelming strength, it all seemed futile until you managed a desperate kick against his ankle.

Even without the help of the Force, your strike was enough to unbalance him, and you both tumbled forward.  Wrecker freed arm and pulled up a knee to soften the blow. Regardless of his efforts he landed on top of you, caging you in and his weight pressing down. He groaned as he collected himself, his body shifting against you. Most noticeably you felt the hard mound of his codpiece grinding against you.

The position you were in registered with you - and the parallels it had to a more intimate variety. For the first time in a long time, heat rushed to your core. As he shifted to regain his bearings, the unintentional contact sent an unexpected rush of warmth through you, drawing a quiet bite to your lip to suppress any involuntary sounds.

“Ugh,” Wrecker shook his head and sat back on his knees. “Sorry about that, but good hit.” You quickly squirmed out from underneath Wrecker, acutely aware of his view of your ass. 

“If you’re going to crush someone,” You hissed as you freed yourself. “Maybe ditch the armor.”

Wrecker glanced down at himself, but smiled sheepishly. “Oh, sorry ‘bout that.”

From across the room, Hunter shook his head. “You need to learn how to get away from someone bigger than you.” He waved a hand between you and his brother. “If all it takes to bring you down is getting caught, you’ll end up dead in no time.”

Your cheeks flushed at the perceived scolding. 

“Hey,” Wrecker leaned over, giving an encouraging shake. “Don’t you worry. That’s what I’m here for.”

The idea of regularly sparring with Wrecker sent another wave of heat through you. You believed in his reassurance, you knew you’d learn quickly enough. It was having to simultaneously learn a lesson in focus that was now daunting you. Although, you though, what’s work without a little fun?

Offering him a rare smile you sighed, “I’m sure you’ll be teaching me a lot.”

Your lessons were daily and scheduled like a training camp. Each member of Clone Force 99 instructed a variety of trainings and your class rotated through them in teams as welll as solo. You took something from each exercise, absorbing as much out of the trainings as possible. Your lessons with Wrecker, however, were always the highlights of your days. 

Not only were his exercises in close combat and strength training personally fun for you, feeling his body against you in any way left you panting in a different way. There was a rush in being turned on by Wrecker without his knowledge. His instruction required his frequent touch as he moved you through maneuvers, while his sparring was aimed at capturing you.

You let him more times than you liked to admit. But Tech had been right, without using the Force to push opponents or jump away you found evading Wrecker challenging. Every time he did get a hold of you it was a struggle to both get free as well as not go limp in his arms. 

Your favorite was his snatching you by the waist and yanking you back against him. It delivered enough force to hide how you pressed back into him. He’d come to training sans armor since your first lesson, but you still felt the cup he wore when he was against you. 

You'd done an excellent job of hiding your perverted intentions until you landed in the same position that got you into this mess.

Wrecker had set you up to be captured again. You nearly ducked out of his reach but he swung his arm with surprising agility and slammed you back against him. As you did the very first time, you kicked a foot into his ankle and knocked him off balance. The two of you tumbled to the ground and, while he did his best to soften the blow, Wrecker weighed down on top of you. With his crotch nestled perfectly into your ass, you mindlessly ground back into him. 

You weren’t able to stop your body, but you caught the whine that threatened to escape you. All you could do was hope he hadn’t felt you as Wrecker gathered himself. The familiar press of his cup to your backside almost made you repeat the same mistake.

"Wrecker," Crosshair interjected from the sidelines, his tone dry. "Get off her; you're crushing her." His words snapped you back to reality, reminding you of the observers. Flustered and embarrassed, you began shoving Wrecker off energetically.

“Although…” An amused air came to Crosshair’s voice. “She might like it.” It was an obvious tease, but your guilty pleasure added unintended weight to it.

If anyone’s enjoying this, Wrecker thought to himself, it was him. A fact he struggled to hide every time he saw you. Wrecker enjoyed seeing you improve, enjoying even more how comfortable you’d become with him in the process.

Weirdly enough, you reminded him of Crosshair in the way you hid a soft side beneath your steely demeanor. The first time smiled at him after, Wrecker thought the planet had stopped spinning. 

Mesh’la, he’d thought for the first time in his life. Something he’d said to others in the throes of pleasure, but seeing you invigorated, panting, and smiling before him - Wrecker realized what the word was truly meant for. 

From that point on, he sought you out in every room, straining for any opportunity to hear your voice. He wasted no chance to approach you, even having wrangled you into sharing a meal or two with his squad. Each night he revisited the feel of you against him, envisioning how you else might feel against him. 

Ditching his armor meant he got a taste of that most times you sparred. Any time he caught you, he did it with enough force you wouldn’t catch him intentionally pressing into you. It was a risky game, but Wrecker couldn’t help himself with you. He wanted you.

So, Wrecker thought, if anyone was enjoying it all - it was him.

“Stow it, Crosshair.” Wrecker bit at his brother, trying to help you to your feet.

“Why so shy, Jedi?” Crosshair snorted, rolling a toothpick to one side of his mouth.

You shook with embarrassment, perceived by them as rage, and snapped, “You’re both insufferable.” 

Wrecker watched you march off, catching the red tint on your ears. He was upset with Crosshair for cutting his time with you short. Moreso he was worried you were upset with him. “I’m going to check on her.”

“Good luck with that,” Crosshair scoffed. “Two credits you come back missing a limb.”

Wrecker only grumbled in response, jogging off to catch up with you. You were at the helm of your quarters when he finally got to you. You stopped, took a deep breath, and turned to him.

“Wrecker, I’m sorry but -”

“Can I come in?” Wrecker took a step closer, his brows pulled together.

You blinked at him, a bit more embarrassment sinking in. Nodding along you silently motioned for him to follow. Once inside Wrecker wasted no time, he immediately started talking.

“You’re upset, I—I know," he started, clasping his hands together nervously.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Wrecker.” You blurted out, his eyes widening. 

Running your fingers through your hair you began a nervous circle around the room. "Every time you touch me, I feel like I can't breathe. When we spar, I’m imagining you—" You stopped abruptly, turning to Wrecker with a pleading look. "Wrecker, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t—"

Wrecker reached out and gently grasped your shoulder, silencing your rambling. “What’re you imaginin’?” he asked softly.

Squeezing your eyes shut you quickly came to terms with telling the truth. On a fast exhale you, you met Wrecker’s eyes and admitted, “When you touch me all I can think about is you being on me and feeling your-”

“You felt that?”

A touch of panic in his voice made you hesitate, but you continued, “-codpiece against me.” His response was a few wide eyed blinks, still processing the nuance. Already prepared for embarrassment you added, “And I imagine it’s not just your armor and it’s all-” you cut yourself short when Wrecker pulled one of your hands towards him.

He pressed your palm against his crotch where a thick, hard member strained against the fabric. You instinctively slid your touch along the length of his bulge. Even through his pants you knew your hand couldn’t even close around him. Pressure twisted between your legs at the thought.

Wrecker winced at the pleasant pressure of your touch. With his eyes squeezed shut he groaned, “It’s not armor. I-I’m sorry, I thought I was hiding it.” The large man made to step back out of your touch but you stepped with him to maintain that connection.

The two of you stood like that for a few heartbeats. You had Wrecker’s full attention and with it you pressed into him, feeling the length of him twitch into your touch. 

“This,” you pressed into him for emphasis. “Is your reaction when we spar?”

Unable to resist the temptation of your touch, he rolled his hips into you. “This happens anytime you’re near me.”

Your mouth went dry at the same time warmth pooled in your core. “So you want me like I want you.”

His eyes finally opened as he searched your face. “You want me?”

Your response was pulling his hand from your shoulder and guiding him into your pants. He followed the suggestion, his two middle fingers slipping over your slit. You could feel how excessively wet you were already. So could he. “Oh you want me, alright.” Wrecker chuckled, his middle finger teasing your entrance. 

This time it was you who couldn’t resist moving. You gyrated your hips enough to get the tip of his finger inside you. Wrecker answered your touch by moving his finger and you cried out as he worked a second digit inside. “I’ve wanted you since the moment you pinned me.” You admitted.

He used his touch to lift you to your tiptoes. “You think you can take me?” It wasn’t a tease, he wasn’t challenging you. This was his asking permission.

“If I can’t,” You pressed your hand harder against his cock. “Then make me.”

“Where?” He asked and you answered with a quick nod in the direction of your bed.

Wrecker slipped his free hand beneath your ass and hauled up you up - two fingers still inside you. Walking to the bed, each of his steps pulled a noise from you as you bounced on his fingers. He plopped you both down on the bed, his back resting against your headboard.

Against your wishes, he removed his fingers from you and let you sit back in his lap.

“If we’re going to do this.” Wrecker gripped your hips and put little space between you “We take it at your pace.”

You didn’t wait for his permission as you started shedding your clothes, setting the tone early. The first to go was your top, your undergarments and all flicking over your head to the floor. Your nipples were already perked and aching for him - much like every other part of you.

“Then what are we waiting for?” You smirked as you started on your bottoms.

Wrecker grinned, a sight that almost made you moan, and sat up in bed. He pulled his top over his head, discarding it with yours. His burly chest was freckled in scars under curled hair. You momentarily dismounted him, wriggling from your bottoms as he did the same. There were only a few hot seconds until you sat naked on your knees next to him and he relaxed back in a similar state.

The trooper looked at you and his hand drifted to his cock. His cock that was even larger than you expected. Two fingers were definitely not enough of a preview for his girth. Wrecker’s fingers wrapped around himself, stroking as he watched you. “So beautiful.” He mumbled.

His words had you crawling over him, pinning his hand in place as you settled on top. Reading your movements, Wrecker met you as you leaned down, catching your lips in a kiss. He twisted his grip on himself, his knuckles grazing your folds, as he moaned into you.

You picked up the pace, frantic to taste as much of him as he could. While you sucked on his lip, Wrecker began positioning you on his cock. He was as desperate to be inside of you as you were for him.

With Wrecker’s help, you hovered over his cock. You were at the full height of your knees in order to line him up with you. Wrecker gave himself one more pump as his precum mixed with your wetness. 

His head was the first real warning of your task at hand. He was larger than you’d ever had and you were in no way ready to take him. An aspect that was making you even wetter. He didn’t slide in easily when you lowered yourself. You both moaned against the strain. “Wrecker.” You moaned into his mouth, a plea in his name.

“I gotcha.” He grasped your hip and kept a hold on his cock. Applying a steady strength, Wrecker pushed you onto his cock. When the flare of his head finally breached you, your back arched. “There we go,” he pressed you with a kiss, “that’s my girl.” 

The head of his cock already had you pushed to the limit, not helped by the fact you were already quivering for him. His size came with a pain you thought might end you and one that eagerly gave way to pleasure

“Wrecker.” You whined, a smile fluttering to your lips. Your hips undulated over him, working more of him inside of you.

A calloused hand slid up your stomach to cup your breast. Wrecker happily groaned as you moved farther down. “You feel so…” the grip you had on him pulled another groan from him. “So good.”

Wrecker supported you as you moved, consumed in watching you work him and the juices dripping down him. Each time you lifted off him, you lowered with a little more force to get more of him inside. Wrecker’s large form writhed beneath you, resisting as hard he could to not thrust up into you - he wanted you to adjust at your own pace. 

As you made a rhythm of burying him deeper inside you, Wrecker watched the shape of his cock bulge through your abdomen. Gently, he pressed a hand beneath your belly button and over the shape. The pressure sent a thrill straight to your clit, nearly undoing Wrecker with what it did to your pussy.

You were so taught around him, Wrecker feared he might literally tear you open. Though, any care he had for that was lost when your smile turned lazy and you leaned forward, arms hanging around his neck.

“Wrecker.” Each syllable came with another desperate thrust as you worked for his last two inches. You were at the limit of what you could do. “I need all of you. Please,” You tightened around him. “Just fucking ruin me.”

The plea had Wrecker rolling his eyes in time with his hips. He firmed up his hold on your hips, tilting your hips to rock his head against your abdominal wall. Wrecker brushed his lips against yours, “I jus’ don’t wanna hurt you.”

You took his bottom lip into your mouth with a gentle suck, then gently bit down until he gasped. “I don’t care.” You mumbled.

Still seated within you, Wrecker swung you onto your back. His hold on your hip suspended you in the air for him. He glanced down at where you two were joined, checking on the last bit of his length you were so hungry for. The contour of his cock already protruded through your stomach, more than anyone had ever taken him before. He really didn’t know if he’d manage the rest, but he wasn’t going to make you ask again. For you, he was determined, he was going to make it fit.

Wrecker drew back before pushing in with his own exploratory thrust. He lowered himself onto you so that he was all you could see, feel, and smell. You were eclipsed by him, hardly even able to angle your legs around him. Saddling a forearm next to your head, Wrecker kept a hand on your hip. “Now breathe, Mesh’la.”

The strange word barely reached you through your aroused fog. “Mesh’la?” You asked on an inhale, anchoring your hands on his shoulders.

He pulled back once more, as you inhaled and thrust himself firmly inside. “Beautiful.” He hummed into your ear. He didn’t stop moving when he bottomed out, he pushed through the strain, making you take him until he felt you give way entirely. You both gasped at the shared sensation. 

Wrecker pressed a kiss to your throat, smiling as he announced, “I’m all in.” Wrecked pressed another kiss to your throat and couldn’t stop grinding as you stretched around him.

You were speechless, only mewling and whining as you squirmed around him. “So full.” Each movement was tinged with pain as Wrecker stretched you completely. A sensation that flared into fervent pleasure the longer he spent inside her.

Wrecker angled your head for you to see what he’d done so far. You softly cried at the sight of a bulge below your belly button. As you watched, Wrecker rolled his hips back and thrust inside allowing you to witness him completely filling you. He hadn’t expected the way you moved in response nor how you began to relax around him.

Mindlessly, you moved yourself over him, pleasuring yourself as you rocked on his cock. Your G-spot was at constant attention as Wrecker pressed inside you.

“Ohh, you like that, don’t you?” He cooed warmly to you, moving his hips side to side against yours. 

Something in you snapped as gripped the back of his neck, forcing his eyes on you, and demanded. “Wrecker, I said, ruin me.” 

Wrecker chuckled eagerly as he obliged, moving against you with increasing speed. He lowered you both to pin you down by the hips. You braced yourself on your elbows as he mercilessly drove into you. He angled your hips just enough that he steadily brushed your clit. 

Pleasure built in you, winding tight every time Wrecker’s hips hit yours. You’d barely begun and already you were at the cusp of release. “Right there, right there, right there.” You chanted, begging with every breath for more. 

With every thrust, more heat hit your core and Wrecker felt the quaking of your core. He smiled and brushed a thumb over your lip before dipping it in past your teeth. Wrecker let you taste him for a moment before saying, “I wanna really fill you up.” Your eyes snapped to his as you smiled around his thumb. “Can I?” He asked desperately.

You eagerly nodded at him, pulling your mouth free to say, “Inside me, please.” 

His hips slammed into yours with all his might and as the first throb of his orgasm hit, you melted around him into your own. The way his cock throbbed pushed you further into delirium. As you adjusted, relaxed, and melted into your pleasure, Wrecker remained engorged and twitching inside you.

You lifted to give him a soft kiss. “That was amazing.” Wrecker hummed in response, something amusing in what you said.

“Oh, I’m not done yet.”

He pulled out of you just long enough to get his hands around you and position you onto your stomach. Wrecker lifted you by your hips, trapped you between his legs, and lined himself up with your pussy. Leaning over you, he guided your hand to sit under your navel. You could feel his cock he rammed into you, his massive size bulging against your hand. 

Wrecker leaned down to croon into your ear, “No one’s ever gonna be able to fill you again.” He started a pace of long, hard thrusts. He emptied and filled you with each thrust, making a mess of his seed already inside you. 

Pressing against the outline of his cock sent more heat to your clit, until a full body shiver wracked you. Your legs began to quiver and you clamped around him. “Wrecker,” You panted, nearly crying from the stimulation. “You’re going to make me-”

“That’s all I want.” He said and thrust into you with short, firm moves, coaxing you to release. “Cum with me, Mesh’la.”

You broke beneath him, contracting and shaking around him and he railed his cum into you. You felt his cum pumping out in thick ropes, felt your belly swell slightly from the sheer amount of his seed, before it leaked out around Wrecker.

You were panting messes by the end of it. Wrecker’s cock finally softened when he lowered you both to lay down on your sides, him still burried inside you. He gave your stomach lazy strokes as he nestled his face to your the crook of your neck.

“You okay?” He whispered.

Taking a moment to respond, you nodded. Thinking a moment longer, you twisted enough to offer him the soft spot below your ear. Wrecker took the silent offering, pressing kisses to your skin as you said softly, “I don’t think I’ll ever be the same after that.” 

A low laugh reverberated from Wrecker’s chest. “That makes two of us.” He lazily rolled his hip into yours. He rubbed his nose into your neck, smiling as he added. “Let me know when your ready for another round.”

[cuubism]

I've written something very silly. Dating apps, texting fic, crack, smut. desire messing with dream. onlyfans creator hob. trans dream. Enjoy.

--

U up?

The notification from an unfamiliar app stared up at Dream from his locked phone screen. He frowned, perplexed. Nobody texted him. Certainly not with such vernacular.

Dream opened the notification. It pulled up the messaging page of a dating app, one he himself had certainly not installed—

Desire. He grit his teeth. Unfortunately, they weren’t nearby to receive his ire.

Dream looked again at U up? on the message interface. He clicked on the profile of the man who’d sent it, a “Kyle” who would not have looked out of place shotgunning a beer at a rager. Of course, Desire had not only gone to great lengths to establish him on this insipid app, but had also spent time matching him with the exact opposite of his type, presumably to cause him never-ending grief and annoyance. As usual.

Dream should probably have just deleted the app. Instead he responded, For?

What he received in response, a few minutes later, was a poorly-lit photograph of Kyle’s penis. Dream pinched his nose between thumb and forefinger with a sigh. He should have known.

I have seen better, he replied, and closed out of the app.

He had been back at his writing for ten minutes or so when his phone buzzed again. He checked the notification.

Brad: you could be MY good boy, kitty cat 😽

Dream gagged, but opened the man’s profile out of perilous, morbid curiosity.

Brad, 28, Hedge Fund Manager, “Looking for something casual on the DL”, likes golf and cryptocurrency— oh, dear. Somehow, Dream doubted this Brad truly wanted Dream to become a part of his life. Nor did Dream want to be his ‘kitty cat’.

He was going to have words with Desire.

You strike me as a man who brings choking into the bedroom without knowing what a safe word is, he wrote. Am I accurate?

I can choke you if you want, baby 😜, wrote Brad. Which may as well have been a yes.

Dream did not think that Brad was the person he wanted that from. Not to mention that his utter lack of kink safety knowledge would probably land Dream in hospital, and there were more interesting ways for that to happen than mediocre sex in a finance associate’s penthouse.

I would prefer to keep my brain cells, he wrote, and closed the app.

Over the next few days, Dream fielded many strange, annoying, and obscene messages from people on this app. He certainly had not “swiped right” on anybody himself, so he could only assumed Desire had done so on his behalf and had now left him to suffer the consequences of “matching.” By all rights, he should have just deleted the app off his phone. But Dream rarely communicated with anyone, certainly not strangers, and there was something a little bit entertaining about seeing what kind of drivel was being thrown his way. Was this how people attempted to court over the internet? Or perhaps Desire had merely “matched” him with the dregs of humanity.

By the end of the week, Dream had received seven “dick pics”, four offers to share one or more of his body parts in exchange for cash, and a request to become a seventy-five year-old man’s “sugar baby.” He was uncertain precisely what that entailed, but he was fairly certain he would not like it.

He had also received a text from Desire that read, enjoying yourself? ;) to which he did not respond.

His meager entertainment expended, Dream was on the verge of finally deleting the app when he received a different message:

Hob: Do you think it’s possible to cheat death by force of will, or are you too busy craving its sweet release to consider it?

Dream frowned, perplexed by the specificity of the message. Finally it occurred to him to actually look at the profile Desire had made. He swiped over to said screen, and sighed in aggravation.

Desire had, at least, chosen flattering photos of him. He supposed if the goal was to have Dream sexually harassed over the internet, this would have been a requirement. The photos definitely suggested something other than “serious, committed relationship”, but they weren’t terrible, at least.

As for the text—well, Dream finally understood where some of the more unhinged messages he had received had come from. He read through the given prompts, and Desire’s answers to them:

Dating me is like: You found a stray cat and brought it home and fed it and you were going to take it to the animal shelter but now it won't leave. It’s pretty cute if a bit mangy but it won’t stop biting your hand and mewing pathetically. The sex is pretty good tho.

“Pretty good.” Desire had written all this and couldn’t even manage to make Dream sound like a satisfying hookup. Typical.

He read on:

I’ll fall for you if: You tell me I’m a good boy 😳

Things were falling into place in Dream’s mind now.

Hob’s strange message seemed to arise from the main part of Dream’s profile, where Desire had listed his “religion” as “worshipping l’appel du vide.” An interesting element for this “Hob” to focus on. Dream did not think it was typical for messages on these apps to open with a discussion of death.

He switched back over to the messaging page of the app, and replied: I consider death often. As to your query, it depends: are you thinking of death as an entity one could escape, or a force like gravity? Or perhaps a place one must go?

Hmm, Hob responded, good question. I think it’s like a state. But a state of nothingness. See, if I thought it was a *place*, might be willing to go, see something new and all. But what’s the point of nothingness?

Nothingness is its own satisfaction, wrote Dream. It seemed peaceful, to him. Quiet. The lack of need for satisfaction in the first place.

But you won’t be there, so you won’t get to experience it, said Hob.

Precisely.

Huh. The void really is calling to you. You don’t like experience, then?

Is that innuendo? Dream asked.

Could be. If it is, do I get to be part of the toxic codependent relationship that ends horribly for everyone?

Another reference to Desire’s profile choices. What Dream was apparently “looking for in a relationship.”

That depends on the quality of your experience, he wrote.

I’ve received good reviews, said Hob.

You’ve yet to call me “kitten,” so I suppose I must concur on that front, replied Dream.

You started that one, little stray cat, said Hob.

Technically Desire had started it, but Dream had to grudgingly admit that his profile did invite such comments.

Having a smashing time in your dm’s, then? Hob continued.

I have received several unsolicited pictures of genitalia, wrote Dream.

Oh yeah? said Hob. Anything good?

Random strangers’ genitals did not interest Dream. There was a reason he did not watch porn. Mediocre at best, Dream said.

There was a long pause, and Dream hastily added, Do not send me a picture of your dick as comparison.

My dick is already all over the internet, you don’t need to get it here 😛, said Hob.

Dream blinked several times at his phone screen, as if to clear away a fog before a message that might make more sense.

What, he wrote.

Before Hob could reply, it occurred to Dream that perhaps he should actually look at Hob’s own profile. He had gotten too caught up in the strange conversation to remember to do so.

He opened it and— froze.

Dream had already deduced that Desire had intentionally matched him with whoever they thought Dream would be least interested in. He could see why they had thought the same of Hob, primarily because he was very different from Dream. In the past, Dream had tended to have flings with people who were rather like him, in some respects. “Tortured artists,” Death would say.

This was not Hob. For one, unlike Dream’s pouty and morose profile photo, Hob was actually smiling in the first picture on his page. And what a smile.

He was handsome, too. At least, Dream thought so. Handsome in a homey, comfortable way, the type of handsome that suggested really good hugs, and coffee in the mornings, and someone to come home to. Dream scrolled through more photos, and caught the spark of mischief in his eyes that belied his easy nature. This best matched the way Hob spoke in his messages, he thought.

It was not so much that Hob was his usual type, and more that Desire had unintentionally uncovered a type Dream had not known he had. He swallowed hard. Scrolled back up to read the details of Hob’s bio, in search of answers to the strangeness of Hob’s response.

Ah. His profession was listed as “OnlyFans creator.” That would explain it. He supposed he could track down Hob’s profile on said app. Dream was historically not very interested in porn, however. But he was finding himself interested in Hob.

He moved back to the messaging page, and wrote, before Hob could question why Dream was confused about information that was clearly stated in his profile, Ah. I see. I’m afraid I don’t watch porn.

That a moral stance? Bcuz I get enough of that already, trust me.

Personal taste, said Dream.

Prefer to get it in person, eh? said Hob.

Yes.

You’d do numbers on OnlyFans just fyi, Hob wrote. If u ever wanted more cash. Or does Poetry & Malaise pay better than I thought?

Dream’s “career,” according to Desire.

He supposed Hob's comment was flattering, in a way. Is that your own bias, Hob? Or your considered opinion as a professional?

Both ;), said Hob.

If that is your situation, then why are you on this app, dare I ask? Most people I have encountered seem to just be interested in sex but I doubt you are suffering from a dearth of it.

What, porn stars can’t want to get married? :(

Dream could imagine his pout. It was surprisingly endearing.

THAT is why you are here?

Sure, be judgmental about it, mister “I want to get consumed.” Or was that about vore and I misread it as metaphorical?

Dream spluttered, though Hob was not physically present to see it. Indeed, Desire had written that Dream wanted “someone he could consume and be consumed by in turn,” which was surprisingly accurate considering its intention had been to mess with him.

It is not VORE, he wrote. Then followed it up with, I have frequently been accused of being intense, possessive, and overbearing.

Well then we have that in common, Hob replied. By the way, sex for work is not the same as sex with someone you really care about. Or would you feel emotionally fulfilled after fucking your colleagues?

I don’t have colleagues, said Dream.

Right, right. Poetry and malaise.

And have you achieved much emotionally fulfilling sex from this app?

No :(, said Hob.

You are too handsome for that to be the case, wrote Dream, and realized what he had said a moment after he’d hit send.

He panicked internally until Hob replied, And here I thought I was just annoying you 🥰.

I might be having a crisis over your photos myself, Hob added, but let’s not discuss it or I’ll embarrass myself.

We could discuss it in a different venue, Dream wrote, heart in his throat. I am interested also in hearing your plans to thwart death. Perhaps over drinks?

Thought you’d never ask :)

So they set a time.

--

Drinks turned quickly into tumbling into Hob’s flat turned quickly into Hob pushing Dream up against the door and kissing him senseless turned quickly into falling into Hob’s bed. Dream was feeling quite happy about his decision to go on a date with this weird, death-obsessed OnlyFans creator. He had been right about Hob giving good hugs, he had learned that when Hob had greeted him at the bar. He had also learned that Hob really knew how to use his tongue.

“Fuck, Dream,” Hob said, looking up at him, lips wet. He had his hands wrapped around Dream’s thighs and his face between Dream’s legs, and yes, Dream was feeling very satisfied with his decision, indeed. He might even have to send Desire a gift basket. “You taste so good.”

“Your mouth is ungodly,” said Dream, tipping his head back against the pillow with a groan as Hob continued teasing him with that mouth, swiping his tongue through Dream’s folds and sucking on his clit.

“Converted you to a new religion? You’re done with the void, then?”

Dream twisted his hands in Hob’s hair, holding on tight, thighs trembling, heartbeat racing in his throat. “Perhaps.”

“Is Dream your real name, by the way?” Hob asked, pushing one finger into Dream, and then quickly two, as Dream moaned and clenched down on him. “I kind of thought it was fake.”

“No,” said Dream, though it came out as another moan. “It is real.”

“Fascinating.” And he went back to torturing Dream with his mouth, fucking him deep on his fingers, until Dream was squirming and writhing under him, trying to get away from Hob’s relentlessness even as he wanted to throw himself into its fire. He felt hot, feverish, taut all over, Hob’s hands were so good, and his mouth—

“Hob,” he whined, “please.”

Hob paused, looked up at him, lips and nose wet with Dream’s fluids. Then grinned cheekily. “Yes, kitten?”

And why did something that had sounded so revolting coming from anonymous strangers only make Dream laugh when Hob said it? He laughed, a horrible, choking laugh, and Hob laughed too, incredulously. Dream could not remember ever laughing during sex, it had always been a torrid and serious affair. But Hob was so charming and handsome and Dream wanted to kiss him.

“Come,” he commanded, drawing Hob up towards him by his hair, and Hob went, and Dream brought their lips together. Hob’s mouth was slick and tasted of Dream. It was heady.

Dream wrapped a leg around his waist and pulled him closer until their bodies were pressed together, and Hob ground his cock between Dream’s legs, between his folds and against his clit. He didn’t try to actually fuck Dream, though, which Dream figured was Hob’s professional good sense considering they hadn’t discussed birth control or anything in that vein in their haste. He imagined what might have happened if he had instead gone home with Brad of the un-negotiated choking kink, and laughed despite himself.

“What are you laughing at?” asked Hob, lifting his head to look at him. He really was so appealing, with his dark eyes, hair falling long over his forehead, his voice that was much more honey-warm than Dream could have imagined over text.

“I was thinking of the catastrophe that would have resulted had I slept with one of the questionable individuals I’ve encountered on that app, and my good fortune in finding you instead.”

Hob smiled, and kissed him, a proper first date type kiss, sweet and kind. Then he said, dragging his hand through Dream’s hair, tugging on it, “Don’t think about anyone else.” He kissed Dream’s jaw, then down his neck, nipping at his skin.

Dream dug his nails into Hob’s back, into his strong shoulders as Hob ground against him. He wished Hob was fucking him. His cock felt so good even just moving between Dream’s legs, and the weight of his body over Dream’s was so grounding. Next time, maybe.

He shivered as Hob moved faster over him, claimed his mouth with a hard kiss. “Come on me,” Dream urged, pulling Hob in tighter again with his leg wrapped around his waist. He reached between them and got his hand around Hob, and Hob groaned.

“Dream—”

Dream pulled him off in time with Hob’s own thrusts, and soon felt Hob’s hips stuttering, his grip tightening in Dream’s hair. He came over Dream’s hand and stomach, breathing hard against Dream’s throat. But he didn’t pause very long to recover himself, instead slipping three fingers back into Dream, making Dream arch against him with a shout.

“Hob!”

Hob worked him mercilessly until Dream was clenching around him with a gasp, body shaking as his orgasm ramped back up and hit him, fast and hard. Hob grinned against his throat as Dream panted, then gently pulled his fingers free and raised his head to look Dream in the eye as he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean of Dream’s spend. Fucking. Hell. And this man couldn’t find someone to marry him?

Hob kissed him again, and again it was sweet, and firm, like his hugs. Dream kissed him back, petting Hob’s hair. Pleased with the position he’d found himself in. Pleased with Hob.

“Good?” Hob asked, stroking a hand up and down his side.

“Very,” Dream sighed.

“Good,” said Hob. “For me, too.”

He kissed Dream’s cheek, and then went and got a soft wet cloth to clean them both up, and even brought Dream a glass of water. Truly Dream’s good fortune was unparalleled on this day.

Hob slipped back into bed beside him, and Dream laid on his side, head pillowed on his arm, gazing at him. Tucked an errant strand of Hob’s hair behind his ear. Ran his fingers over the stubble on Hob’s cheek. He really was quite handsome, especially mussed from sex, in the low bedroom light. Perhaps Dream was going to have to find his OnlyFans. Just so he could… take this home with him.

“You really are even prettier in person,” Hob murmured, studying him. “Although I don’t think the rest of your profile was really doing you justice.”

“That is because my sibling initially created it to annoy me,” Dream admitted. “However, I think I am the one who’s come out on top in the end.”

“That does explain some things,” Hob said with a chuckle. He took Dream’s hand and kissed his fingertips, met his eyes again. “I promise I won’t break your heart. If you stay.”

My BFF’s take on why you should date me, Desire’s profile fills had read: With luck you can be the next person to break his heart <3

Once again, it had not been entirely inaccurate. But perhaps it would be this time.

“I think I am inclined to,” he said quietly, and Hob smiled, that warm, endearing smile.

So Dream did stay that night, cuddled up in Hob’s arms. Feeling all warm inside, even when Hob had fallen asleep, and Dream was still awake, lying beside him. He often had a hard time sleeping, but he didn’t mind so much, right now. Hob was pleasant to cuddle up to, even if Dream couldn’t sleep. Hob was pleasant all around, in fact. Dream tended to fall fast and hard and he could already feel it hovering over him like a cresting wave. Fortunately, Hob didn’t seem inclined to be any more casual about him than Dream was feeling about him.

Dream thought he could get used to this.

With Hob’s arm still wrapped around his waist, Dream swiped his phone off the nightstand and opened his text thread with Desire, which still had enjoying yourself? ;) as the last message, as yet not responded to.

Having made Desire wait for several days already, Dream wrote, with a little smile, I think I am going to get married, and turned off his phone.

[tiredfox64]

Okay, imagine that Johnny arrives at the Wu Shi Academy and meets reader, but they treat him in a very cold way and whenever he tries to talk to them, they avoid him. But it turns out that the reader is actually a big fan of Johnny (to the point they have a pet with his name 😭) and is very, very, very shy.

Hope my request isn't so silly 🙏

A Silly Little Crush

Prior notes: If this was considered silly I would be considered crazy. They would have put me in the loony bin a long time ago.

Pairing: Johnny Cage (MK1) x Gn reader

Warnings ‼️: I like the birds

Johnny has made many enemies just by being famous. They’re just jealous of his fame, skills, and looks. And also because he could be an occasional dick but that’s irrelevant.

What he doesn’t understand is how he gained your ire without you saying a word to him. Ever since he came to the Wu Shi academy you have been acting colder than a glacier. He’s tried talking to you on multiple occasions but you wouldn’t say a peep. You would turn away from him with your arms crossed and your eyes closed like you were trying to block him out.

You were someone who helped out the monks. Brought food, helped cook, attended to the gardens, keep the place in tip-top shape. You were very welcoming to the champions, except to Johnny. The first time you saw him you froze up, blinking slowly like a frog. Before he could even place his hand out to shake your hand you walked away from him. It confused everyone. Your demeanor switched so quickly. Maybe you just had a moment. A hormonal shift or mood swing. It happens to the best of us. He’ll catch you on another day.

Day after day came yet you avoided him like the plague. There was always a distance between you two. Any time he would make an effort to talk to you, you would give him a side eye and not say a word. He could make a joke and you wouldn’t laugh. He would criticize someone’s fighting style and you wouldn’t agree. The only other reaction he could get out of you was when you tried to prevent a smile. You would chew the inside of your cheek to prevent any and all reactions. If it got too much for you then you would walk away.

Forget trying to make you interested in his conversations. He would intentionally talk loudly to get your attention if you were nearby. No matter what, you kept doing your task without a break in your stride. You kept sweeping the leaves off the path or hanging up the towels they use after training to dry. It got so annoying that Kenshi had to yell at Johnny to tone down his volume already.

“Why won’t they pay attention to me? What did I do?” Johnny complained.

“Can you really not accept that some people don’t like you? Leave them be already. You’re probably giving them more reasons to hate you.” Kenshi was so over it.

Johnny sighed in defeat. He had to face the music. He’s never gonna get your attention or even admiration. He never had a chance. Maybe he is just a dick.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

The end of the day was the best time for you. Your work was done and you get to relax. But you also get the chance to let yourself be you. You quickly open your bedroom door, slip in, and lock the door.

“Woo, I’m back, Johnny.” You said in a cheerful tone.

Your severe macaw, whom you so lovingly named Johnny Cage, came flying at you before landing on your hand. You booped his beak as your strolled over to your bed.

“I got so many pictures of Johnny today. Let me show you.”

You open up your camera to show dozens upon dozens of photos you took of Johnny when he wasn’t looking. Some when he was training, some when he was eating, and some when he had his back turned towards you. In those instances, you would take a selfie with him in the background. You were always worried he would turn around while you were positioning yourself into the frame but you were lucky every time. He never caught on, and he hopefully never will.

If he found out you might actually die.

You’re happy to have him at a distance and be sneaky with your secret love for Johnny. You will appreciate every poster that he signed that your friends gifted you. You’re fine with watching his movies on your own. You’ll love him at a distance. It’s all you can do considering you’re worried about actually interacting with him.

You wish you could though. It’s hard for you. The reason you froze up the first time was because you were in such shock. You never imagined you would meet your favorite actor ever. But there he was standing in front of you. Not just that but he would be in close proximity for months! Freaking months! You walked away so you could tell all your friends what just happened, saying it in a whispering scream.

Every time Johnny came up to talk to you, you practically wanted to jump into his arms and shout how he was your favorite. Yell and shout about how he was an amazing actor and that every one of his movies is your favorite. But that’s not who you are. Speaking up is hard for you and even making an attempt to talk to Johnny felt like pulling a trigger. You wanted to laugh at his jokes but you were scared about embarrassing yourself. You don’t even have a weird laugh.

That’s enough beating yourself up for the night. You need your rest. You put your macaw on his perch and got yourself ready for bed. You laid in bed with your phone in your hand, scrolling through your album of Johnny photos. You start to succumb to your exhaustion and pass out soon after.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

Hm, Johnny hasn’t seen you yet today. Usually you were up and helping to make breakfast for everyone. You were nowhere in sight. Strange.

What’s even stranger is when he was served his breakfast, his oatmeal didn’t have the usual smiley face made from fresh cut fruit. That threw everyone off.

“Woah, who did you piss off? Looks like someone didn’t feel like making you happy this morning.” Kung Lao pointed out.

This was unusual. First, you’re not around, now he doesn’t even get a pleasant breakfast. This just sucks. Johnny started to hear some of the monks talk about not seeing you this morning either. They found it strange since you are always up and running.

Johnny needed to get to the bottom of this. He played a detective on TV he can play a detective in real life. After breakfast he started looking around for your room. He asked some of the other monks where your bedroom was and they pointed him in the right direction. When he got to your room he began knocking, quietly at first before getting louder. The noise ended up spooking your macaw who started squawking like crazy. He woke you up with his loud bird mouth. You groaned as you sat up and looked down at your phone. By the gods, it was ten in the morning! You overslept! Now who will put a smiley face on Johnny’s breakfast?!

The door creaked open when Johnny began to open it. He had no clue what was up but when he looked inside he was shocked. Posters of his movies on your walls, autographs that were on your tableside, and magazines with him on the cover that were scattered all over the floor. This was…unexpected. Your macaw went flying towards Johnny, perching himself on his shoulder. This surprised Johnny but what was even more surprising was when your macaw placed his beak against Johnny’s forehead and made a kissing sound. You don’t know how he learned to do that. Maybe he learned to do that from watching you kissing your photos of Johnny. Oh what a mystery.

You were frozen in place once again. You didn’t know how to explain yourself. I don’t think anyone would know what to do. The only explanation that was reasonable was that…omg you do like him. You’ve liked him the whole time.

Johnny’s face went from a confused and surprised expression to one of pure joy. He was ecstatic to see all the merch you have of his. You even had posters of his box office failures! He’s not proud of them but to see you had them up showed how huge of a fan you are.

“You sly dog. You’ve liked me the whole time! You really made me think you hated me.” He felt so silly thinking anyone could hate him. You clearly don’t.

At that moment a message popped up on your phone, showing a picture of Johnny as your background. You both looked down and when you looked back up at him he had this mischievous smirk on his face. A phone hides many secrets. He wants to explore more of those secrets.

“Oh, what do we have in there? I bet you have some pictures of me.” He teased.

Yeah there were some…dozens of pictures in your phone that he does NOT need to know about. You snatched your phone away before he could get his hands on it. So that’s how you want to play, huh? Johnny doesn’t mind getting the answers the hard way. He crept towards you which made you leap out of bed. The chase was on. He started bolting for you, laughing at this amazing discovery he had made. You were running past all the monks and the other champions with Johnny hot on your trail. It was chaos at the academy with you and Johnny playing a game of cat and mouse and your macaw squawking like crazy from the madness. One of the monks yelled something in annoyance.

“Please silence Johnny already. We have discussed his squawking problem.”

“And you named your bird after me?! This is so awesome!”

Johnny seems pretty pumped about this new discovery. The remaining months he has to stay at the academy are gonna be a blast. It will be a blast for you but will also be an embarrassing torment.

After notes: I'm sorry if this isn't correct. I feel like I made this too obsessive or stalkerish. I did find the idea cute though. For some reason Johnny reminds me of Squakabilly from Pokémon (the green one to be more specific) so that's why I made the pet a macaw. I should lie down now. Adiós!

[dogwithrabies]

【★】 gn reader but described as afab, kinda mean scara, reader is a masochist lol

【☆】 ignoring the fact that i disappeared for like 8 months, hi, new thingy (reup)

word count: 4.3k

There’s no coming back from those offices. Everyone knows that, it’s like an open secret between the ranks of the fatui.

One gets called in for a “little chat” and then just disappears, there are no deserters allowed in an organization like this. Too many secrets.

The lower ranking soldiers always gossip about whoever the next one is gonna be, it keeps everyone on edge, just one measly mistake in front of a general, or worse, a harbinger and it’s over. It doesn’t help that other privates will often turn on eachother, reporting their comrade’s mistakes to get on their supervisor’s good side, in a sense, the fatui has eyes everywhere.

Your days of walking on eggshells are long over, thank the Tstaritsa, but it doesn’t mean you’re completely safe either. Being a general yourself, you’ve been faced with many hard decisions, sometimes covering up the mistakes of a soldier, sending back touched up reports hoping no supervisor will notice any discrepancy.

“Your empathy will come back to bite you in the ass”.

It’s a sentence the Balladeer threw your way once, it wasn't advice out of the goodness of his (non-existent) heart. Matter of fact, he didn’t even spare you a glance before walking past you, on his way to scold another soldier. How stupid, he must've thought, sharing your already scarce meal with a tiny bird that sought refuge under the shadow of your feet.

But you just can’t help it. In your early days you could only pray someone spared you the same kindness you give out now.

But that was a long time ago. You went on many other expeditions in the Balladeer’s team, somehow always managing not to fess up and prove yourself worthy of your role. It was a noteworthy achievement, after all his bad temper was notorious to anyone who spent even a few minutes in his presence.

The Balladeer does not go out of his way to compliment anyone, flattery is not his style. Just the absence of any reprimand is more than enough to tell you you’re doing good.

However, that does not stop you from wasting time fantasizing about such scenarios.

“You’re doing good.” What a dream it would be to hear that. “You’re being good.”

But the image you have of him in your mind is a far-fetched, rose-tinted version of the one in front of you now. You’re not as stupid as to warp his essence into anything even remotely kind. You know of his temperament, sometimes you’d even go as far as to think he’s not even human.

During an expedition, he slapped a soldier once. It was late in the evening and some soldiers decided to let out some steam with a few drinks. It just so happened that one of them got a little too… feisty.

But the Balladeer did not let go of his face. He just kind of stared at the red mark his hand left, squishing the fat of his cheeks in some weird torturous ritual, moving the skin around to admire the shape of the coagulated blood under his skin. He was so close he could feel the shaky breaths of the poor guy fanning on his face.

He relented only once he was satisfied. He enjoys the fear in people’s faces. No, fear is just an expression, it’s the pure terror that spreads in someone’s whole body that excites him.

He can tell the exact moment when someone switches from being scared to dreading losing their life.

It’s something you’ve seen several times yourself, never hesitate, to end someone’s life. Hesitation makes you waver, staring at someone’s eyes makes you acknowledge that they’re scared, they’re human.

He never wavers. Hm. He’s either incredibly cruel… or just above your kind? You take a mental note of that.

The first thought excites you, that tiny familiar buzzing feeling running down your spine.

It’s so unfair.

No, that’s not right, you quickly shake that thought off. Who would ever dream of being at the receiving end of the Balladeer’s ire?

It’s not the first time you find yourself spiraling that same line of thought. But he’s just so pretty.

You suppose that in order to make it out alive of his squadron one needs to grow tough skin, tolerating his humiliation tactics and aggressions. You just never thought you’d develop a liking to that.

How the mighty have fallen. You used to be so respectable.

You can’t even begin to picture his disgusted expression if he found out that deep down, a part of you hoped he would lay his hand on you.

Or if he knew how many sleepless nights you spent rubbing your thighs together, trying to get rid of a heat that just wouldn’t go away.

Or, additionally, if he knew that the first thing you did in your new private (perks of being promoted) room was to disregard your clothes and immediately push your fingers in your aching needy cunt. Thinking of him.

How absolutely shameful. You wonder if your stay in the fatui awakened something in you. Or maybe you were always like this.

But you’re always so composed. And your fatui mask covers any blushing on your face;

No one would be able to detect your attraction to him based on your behavior.

After all, it was very common to hear creaking sounds at night. That’s just what happens when you force young adults in a shared room together. People just turn the other way. Ignore the sound and go to sleep.

You feel yourself getting warmer at the sight of him walking towards your squadron.

It’s another of those annoying training sessions, you don’t have to participate, just surveil the cadets. It doesn’t fall within your assignments, it’s your Lord Balladeer’s job, but he so kindly sacked you his responsibilities. After all, he’s above watching insignificant men stumble in knee high snow.

But you’re just so distracted.

He’s sitting on a chair with a tiny table in front of him, quickly skimming through huge piles of paper. The huge fur of his coat shields his face from your view (a shame, he looks so cute when concentrating), but he’s not covering anything else. His tiny shorts slightly hike up his legs as he shifts to put one leg over the other, revealing even more skin.

Just how is he not getting cold?

You huff, your breath crystalizing in front of you, forming a tiny mist as if proving your point.

It’s freezing. And he’s out there with his usual attire. Not that you’re complaining, you always had a thing for his legs. Always looking at the way they crease and shift on his thighs every time he crouches to look at something. You always watch him with such an intense gaze.

It’s not weird. It is your job to ensure his safety after all.

Not that he needs it. You’ve seen him in combat, not many enemies survive after the first shock of electro.

It’s scary. It’s exciting.

He also uses it to correct small mistakes. He’s shocked you once after you almost tripped while serving him tea.

It was tiny and barely audible but your finger spasmed in an uncomfortable position, and then it was over.

He let out a humorous hum at your shocked expression, then quickly dismissed you.

You spent the rest of the day thinking about that small encounter.

Thinking about all the other ways he could use his shocks on you. Maybe they could simulate the effects of a vibrator (just a slightly painful one). You’re not allowed to bring anything with you when you join the fatui. And using your hands or humping your pillow always leaves you yearning for more.

So lost in thought. You didn’t even notice the way he was staring at you, an unreadable expression on his face. Not anger, not disappointment, something more akin to… disbelief.

He knew you would cover up your underling’s mistakes sometimes, he couldn’t be bothered to call you out on that. But to let so many incompetent cadets trip on the same wall, face-planting on the snow and mud without even taking note of that? Right in front of him?

Were you hoping he was too busy with his papers to not notice that, or are not even paying attention?

Your tendency to sometimes space out is something he was very aware of. But you never actively slacked off on your tasks. This is new, not unexpected but new. You were bound to disappoint him, after all, it is in your nature as a human. He needs to stop this before it becomes a habit and gets in the way of his work.

He quickly calls some other general to take your place. You barely register when he calls your name. His voice makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up in shivers.

“Come.” He firmly says before walking off the training grounds.

You hesitate for a second, your eyes focusing back on the view in front of you. Your lord wants a word with you? Just how deep in thought were you to not even notice him staring holes in your back? It can’t be any good.

You follow after him, catching up with him and watching the back of his coat sway with each step.

The inside of the palace is just as cold as the outside. The only relief a fatuus gets is the mercy of being shielded from the icy winds. It’s only when you set foot inside his office that you finally let yourself breathe.

The whole walk to his private office is full of agonizing spiraling thoughts. Surely this isn’t one of those “little chats”, right? The soldiers guarding the door don’t even spare the two of you a glance, their masks covering your expression, but you’re sure they pity you in some way.

The Balladeer is not known for his kindness, but even through his hate filled vision of humanity, he knows the intrinsic need of every being for validation. Not that he’s going to give them any, he has no interest in building any amicable relations in this organization, lest it serves him to reach his goals the future. But it would also be very troublesome to replace even more of his subordinates. Were he in an altered mood he would’ve just electrocuted on the spot.

Recognizing when one of his useless soldiers actually has a shred of potential is not something he’s very keen on doing, but the alternative is to put up with more incompetent fools, and that’s not on his agenda.

He sits on his chair, moving papers around on his desk. You watch him as he smacks his lips and lets out a silent huff as he finally rearranges the papers to his liking.

You’re shacking, he attributes it to the cold. Humans have always been so much weaker and more vulnerable than him. His skin is cold, glacially cold, but it’s not a feeling he registers.

Even his coat is just for show.

Your cheeks are red, but it’s (at least partially) not from the cold. Now that his coat is off you get a full view of his face. His dashing red liner perfectly contours his eyes, giving them a sharp intense look. He begins talking to you, his voice is calm and smooth, at least he’s not mad at you.

It’s about your zoning off.

It’s not something you do on purpose, but it’s just so hard to focus when you're so damn horny.

Frankly, you’re more surprised he didn’t just slap you on the spot, not that you would’ve minded. Maybe your Lord is showing you his mercy? The thought of him showing you any form of kindness makes heat slowly creep up your face. The cold slowly leaves your body as warmth replaces it, the overwhelming feeling leaving you to fiddle with the hem of your clothing.

“My deepest apologies, it will never happen again, my Lord”.

This is to be expected, addressing him with the right honorifics and apologizing is the correct (and preferred) outcome. He blinks slowly, at least he saved himself a migraine.

What he doesn’t expect is to not see you when he opens his eyes. He didn’t dismiss you. He gets up from his chair but stops when he finally spots you, on your knees with your forehead touching the ground.

“I want to make it up to you, my Lord”, you say, still not moving from your position.

This. This he likes. Usually, he’s the one forcing his subordinates to kneel in front of him, and not in a kind way either. Pressing their face on whatever unfortunate surface they were standing on, purposefully applying more pressure than needed, hoping his boots would leave a heavy mark on their face. Sometimes they would do it out of their own volition, but it doesn’t stem from an urgent need to show him their worship, it was out of fear.

“Hm.” He makes his way to the couch on the side of his desk and sits crosslegged. “Come here,”

But he interrupts you before you can push yourself on your feet- “No, stay like that.

It takes you a second to process that he wants you to crawl your way to him. You awkwardly move your body, trying not to trip on your own coat before settling in front of him.

He puts his hand on your cheeks, lightly squishing them before raising his fingers and taking your mask off, leaving your expression bare before him. It’s no different than any other fatuus mask, but he slowly examines it regardless.

“Go on, show me your devotion, (Name),” he says, shifting so his knees are on each side

Just the fact that he knows your name makes you shudder. You’re not sure of what exactly he wants from you, but you’re already in a bizarre enough situation, so you decide to follow your instincts.

You slowly wrap your hand around his boot, raising it until you can comfortably lower your face, letting your lips come in contact with it. His eyes widen for a moment, as you continue rubbing your face on the side of his boot. Their surface is clean, that bit of snow remaining gets smothered on your skin, melting away.

“Hah”, moving to other boot, you repeat the same motion “At least you know where you belong.”

His voice has a layer of malice to it, like he’s elated by this outcome. Your hand comes in contact with his skin, it’s so cold, like touching freshly piled snow. Opting to rub his legs in a meek attempt at warming them up, you press your lips to his knee, savoring the moment.

Any other person would feel humiliated in this situation, worshipping at your Lord’s feet, but this, it’s like a dream come true to you. Being so close to the object of your attraction makes your head go spinning. It feels unreal just being able to lay your hands on them. You shouldn't press your luck. but it’s so tempting to just reach over and grope him all over.

He would probably kill you.

Maybe.

Perhaps if you’re slow and methodical about it you can manage to get a tiny bit closer to his thighs. Masking your need as devotion.

You place your lips just above his knee, your hands moving under it, rubbing at the soft skin. He’s also curious about how far you’re willing to push yourself. He’s no fool, he knows you’re scared of crossing a line you’re not even aware of. He could be kind and point you in the right direction, but watching you struggle to restrain yourself while mindlessly mouthing at his skin is a show too good to pass on.

Eventually, he widens his legs, just enough to allow you to sit deeper in between them. This new position allows you to reach further. It stuns you for a moment, hesitantly putting your hands on his thighs, looking at his face for any sign of vexation. When you don’t find any, you deem it safe to push further, lowering your face to latch your mouth on the exposed skin. Leaving a slightly wet trail everywhere you go.

He’s let you get this far, and if the way he moves his legs giving you even more access is any indicator of his enjoyment, it encourages you to try your luck.

Your hand slips under his shorts, slowly pushing them up. You lock eyes, and for a second you fear you’ve overstayed your welcome, luckily that’s not the case.

“No markings.” His hand now rests on your head, slowly moving your hair out of your face.

Would it even be possible to leave marks? His skin shows no imperfections and it’s so smooth it makes you want to lose yourself in it. But it also feels… tougher? While rubbing it with your hands, it felt robust, like if you sunk your teeth in it it wouldn’t break even the upper layer. Maybe just leave a mark. A sign you were there.

But now is not the time to get lost in your imagination. Not when the real deal is in front of you, inviting you to have your fill.

You pinch lightly at the flesh of his inner thighs, you’re so close to his crotch, if it wasn’t for that piece of armor around his waist, the side of your face would be squished in it.

“Enough teasing,” He says, and almost as if he was reading your mind, he rids himself of the armor and other superfluous frills attached to it. “Get to work.”

Now that nothing is blocking your view, you can see the bulge that formed under all those clothing.

The sight makes you drool, as you immediately reach a hand to slightly squeeze it. Your eagerness amuses him, but he’s grown impatient. His grip on your hair is much tighter now, dragging your face until it’s directly flush with his clothed erection.

“You better not waste my time” His tone is harsh and firm, and it just makes the heat between your legs worse. When his grip relents, you push yourself away just enough to pull down his shorts. He shifts his hips up, aiding you in sliding them off.

Now that his erection is free, it bounces slightly as your breath fans over it. The tip is a cute shade of pink, beads of precum leaking from it. But he doesn’t give you the time to admire it any longer, grabbing himself from the hilt to slap it on your face a few times. The sound of skin slapping against skin is the only audible thing in the room. It makes your head spin. To think you’d have the privilege of being the one he unleashes his sexual frustrations on.

He pulls your head up, tapping his dick on your lips. You open your mouth, letting him rest his tip on it, and your lips wrap around him, tasting him.

Were it any other situation, you’d take your time in savoring this moment, slowly sliding your tongue around his girth, letting his desire grow. But this is different, like if your performance doesn’t satisfy him he might just kill you on the spot.

And the thought shouldn’t turn you on, for a second the thought of biting him just to piss him off crosses your mind. What a way to go that would be.

Alas, not wanting to keep him waiting, you make an effort to take as much of him as you can, until your nose is flush with his pelvis.

He lets out a satisfied sigh and that slight expression of annoyance leaves his face, your mouth is warm and wet, and the movement of you swallowing around sends shivers down his spine.

“That’s it,” his grip on your hair tightens, holding you in place. “That’s good.”

The mere hint of him praising you makes you shudder, you’re so soaked your underwear is sticking to your cunt. You want to thank him, but speaking with him in your mouth proves to be difficult, it comes out as an unintelligible hum, whether he understood you or not he seems to appreciate the vibration of your throat.

He pulls your head back, urging you to start moving, seemingly done with just enjoying your throat. You drag yourself back until his tip is once again resting on your tongue, and then push it all back in, as far as you can go. You manage to work up a steady rhythm, one that leaves small moans escape from his mouth. They’re breathy, but every time you manage to wring one out of him is like a win to you. Each little noise of his spurs you on further. One of your hands reaches up to grab the rest of him, moving up and down in synch with your mouth, while the other reaches down and inside your uniform pants, rubbing at your clit.

“F-fuck… You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Your eyes trail up to look at his, his flushed face looking back at you.

“Me using your mouth turns you on.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, and to put more emphasis on it he shifts his legs until one of them is resting between your own.

“You’re doing a good job… I guess I should reward you.”

He shoves his boot up, as if kicking your hand away. He wants you to…. oh.

Complacently, you shift lower until your full weight is resting on him, the absence of your fingers replaced by him. It takes you a moment to adjust to this new position, but once you get back on your rhythm you resume your ministrations on him, while slowly grinding on his leg.

His other hand reaches your head, threading your hair before settling a firm grip next to the other, you’re given a moment of reprise before he shoves his hips forward, roughly, holding you in place.

His thrusts are fast and merciless, each one reaching deeper inside your throat. You close your eyes, trying not to gag when he reaches a bit too deep, not that you have the ability to complain, all you can do is try your best to accommodate him as he uses you to get off. Your hips start moving a bit faster too, the thought of you being a mere means to an end in his eyes is turning you on more than you’d like. And he notices.

His cock throbs in your mouth and he lets out a breathy laugh, “So pathetic. Humping my leg like a dog in heat.”

You open your eyes for a moment to look at him. He’s grinning at you, looking at you as if you were something truly beneath him, pushing his hips in rougher as if to accentuate that. The sounds of saliva and cum smacking around your lips are so obscenely loud, you’d have half a mind to almost be embarrassed by it, but there’s a knot tightening in your stomach, and it grows tighter and tighter with every thrust of your hips. It doesn’t help that with every thrust his leg moves slightly up against you, coaxing you into an orgasm.

Your hands clamp on his thighs, hard, the shuddering of your hips slowing down as you unwind on him. You let out withered moans, barely audible but still sending pleasurable vibrations up his length.

You’re straight up drooling around him at this point, saliva sliding down your chin and on his balls. He’s sounding a bit breathier above you, and you can feel him twitching with more vigor inside your throat. Your body limp on his makes it easier to thrust deeper.

He pushes in as far as your throat allows him and stills there. You’re prepared to feel him coming down your throat, but he pushes your head back suddenly, so far back his dick slides off your mouth with a wet pop.

He’s stroking himself above you for a moment until there’s a brief pause, interrupted by a breathless curse as he finishes on the top of your lips, riddling your face with his come.

He sags back down on the couch, basking in the aftermath of his orgasm with you still in between his legs. His chest heaves up and down, catching his breath, but his moment of peace is short lived as he speaks up.

“I guess you did prove yourself,” he says as he slowly tucks himself back in his pants. You squint up at him. You don’t move from your position, still sitting even as he removes his leg from underneath you, breathing slowly and deeply now that his dick occupying your airways.

When you come to your senses you start searching around with your gaze for a tissue or even some rag to clean yourself up, you’re truly in an unpresentable state. Your hair is messily pulled out of its ties, strands flying everywhere and some glued to your face. Your face… Awkwardly, you wipe your lips, trying to at least dry up the saliva but there’s nothing you can do to hide the very evident cum sticking on… everything else. You can’t just walk out in this state- you do have a reputation to uphold. And rumors travel fast- by the end of the day every cadet would know of the shameful state you left the Balladeer’s office in, and it wouldn’t take long for them to put two and two together-

“Oh. This belongs to you.” He says holding your mask, seemingly noticing your inner monologue. “You’ll be needing it out there.” He adds as he puts it back on your face, squishing that bit of cum on your cheeks.

“You can go now. I’ll call you again when I need your… assistance.”

[eccentricallygothic]

Pairing: Gryffindor!Steve Rogers | Slytherin!Reader.

Warning(s): Rough p-in-v, d/s dynamics, unprotected sex, doggy style, name calling, spanking, hate sex vibes, daddy kink, degradation, hair pulling, meanie Steve but we love it, allusion to choking.  

What happens when a dominant Gryffindor and a relatively submissive Slytherin come together?

While the answer could be one of many things and could range from one extreme to the other, brutal sex qualifies as a fact.

And as Y/n was being obliterated into one of the heavy wooden desks of Classroom 3C, she would agree.

Her chin was propped against the table as she was forced to stare ahead, arms locked together on the small of her back and being held in place by the primary subject of all her ire and well guised fancy as he pounded his cock balls deep into her hot cavern with each thrust. 

The Slytherin's teeth chattered against the wand of her Gryffindor owner, having been ordered to keep it there until he was done venting his frustration out on her weeping pussy that clenched every time their skins collided into contact. 

It was Steve's way of getting her to keep her brat mouth shut during a lesson in discipline, as he liked to call it. And it was also a convenient excuse to get her in even more trouble if the wand fell out of her mouth regardless of the reason.

The girl's nostrils were flared, cheeks flushed and eyes teary as she struggled to breathe normal, the welts that her lover had left on her delicate swells with his wand that possessed an unforgiving sturdiness to it pressing against the cold wood she was bent over, the sound of squelches of flesh violating flesh and squeaking of skin sliding over the desktop loud in the large room.

"Such a sly little slut, aren't you, baby?" Steve grunted as he connected his palm to one of her nether cheeks harshly. "Using those pretty little tits to distract her Daddy" now he snatched a handful of her hair in his hand and pulled until her body curved backwards and lifted off the desk. "Just so inherently wicked, aren't we?" His voice was a snarl.

Competition was competition.

Y/n refused to lose a game of Quidditch just because her lover was among the competitors. 

It was not her fault if Steve -much typical to his house, if she did say so- was too weak to resist and look away. 

But apparently, the Gryffindor captain did not share the Slytherin seeker's thoughts on the matter. 

The girl wanted to shoot back an insult, she really did. But the wand between her teeth and memories of what happened when she let it fall during these sessions forced her to keep her words to herself and the wand in place.

"That's right, keep that bratty little cocksucker quiet" letting go of her hair to allow her to collapse back over the desk, Steve felt sweat broke out on his temples when he felt his high nearing, aware that his lover was close as well due to how her slit was expanding to greedily accommodate him for the cumulation of as much pleasure as possible.

"Dirty fuckin' girl, flaunting that ass all over the field for everyone to see" Y/n's eyes fluttered close as he gave two spanks to each of her cheeks in delayed succession, hitting her spongy bundle of sensitive nerves with each thrust. "Is that a common practice in your silly little house, huh baby? Acting like cockstarved little whores?" Her toes curled and eyes clenched shut as her orgasm vibrated through her being, the intensity causing vertigo in her ears and hypothermia within her feet that dangled above the ground due to her position under him. 

The tension in the Slytherin's chest grew now, and then it was too much to bear. Arching her back to withstand the force of her strong orgasm, Y/n let herself get carried away by the powerful orgasm and– alas! 

Steve's wand rolled out from between her teeth and slipped past her lips, landing on the flat desktop with devastatingly heavy clicks as it bounced in its place. 

"Cumming without my permission and letting the wand fall…" Steve tutted as he thrusted into her harder, yanking her up by the hold he had on her arms. "Oh, baby. What am I going to do with you?" He whispered in her ear as he wrapped his free hand around her throat once she was up and trembling against his chest.

MASTERLIST

.

As a Slytherin who has a bittersweet relationship with Steve, smash.

[azsazz]

Better Men Have Hit Their Knees and Bigger Men Have Died

Cassian x Reader

Summary: They say all is fair in love and war.

Warnings: Smut, hate-fucking.

Word Count: 5,313

Notes: I've said it once and I'll say it again. I think I'm in love with this Cassian.

_________________________________________

“I’ll wrestle you to your fucking knees if you don’t do it yourself.” Cassian’s ire slides up your spine like a blade straight from the forge, “So why don’t you save us both the time and get down.”

Your glare does nothing to deter the path of his lust-filled gaze, drinking in your revealing dress, the onyx ink adorning your bare skin from bargains made throughout your years, the sweep of coal around your eyes, covering only the most intimate parts of you.

Except for the one buried deep within your soul, your innermost feelings, he’s attuned to. All because of that damned mating bond.

You cannot stand the male looking down at you. That spark in his eyes, the demands from those lips, curled into a cruel smile at the flare of anger he feels from you, all sharp teeth and drunk on lust. His stare is just as cutting, and you can hardly tell if he hates the silvery silk you’re cloaked in, like moonlight dripping off your skin, or if the dislike is simply directed at your entire being.

Either way, you don’t have time. The both of you are supposed to be joining the others in Rhysand’s office for a final walkthrough of the plan before heading into the Hewn City for the night, one full of debauchery and putting on a show for the citizens that think you’re nothing more than a crony for a single-minded High Lord.

But Cassian had caught you in the hallway and forced you back into your room, cock hard and demanding you get on your knees for him. It was a thing that you don’t remember having started, as the both of you held a strong dislike towards each other for years, since Rhysand had brought you in to give a fresh stance on warfare. But lust had licked up your spine at his actions nonetheless. Damn that unaccepted bond purring in your chest, reacting to him in every way, betraying you to your core.

Rhysand didn’t think that Cassian would react with such abhorrence to the presence of another well trained general, especially a female. It wasn’t like he had brought you in to replace the warlord, although, from hearing some of his strategies, you thought you might’ve been brought in to do exactly that.

You size him up, as you always do, and his hazel eyes flicker at the challenge. Sparring with him always ended with both of you torn and bloody, neither of you willing to submit to the other. It carried on into the bedroom as well, fighting for control in the throes of lust, your unmated bonds thrumming in your chests, always reaching out for one another. 

And yet neither of you had denied it, though the threat always lingered, both of you teetering on the edge of declining the other when irritated too much. But that itch was constant, never fulfilled, urging you to react.

You open your mouth to snap back at him, a nasty retort on the tip of your tongue, but he’s quick – hundreds of years of Illyrian training under his belt had made him so. He grips your chin roughly, the bite of his fingers pressing into the hinge of your jaw makes your cunt clench, even as you glare up at him.

“Nuh-uh,” he scolds, like he knows exactly what you had planned on spewing. The fucking smirk on his face tells you that the only thing you’ll be spitting on is his cock, whenever he demands it. The steely, commanding look in his eyes makes a shiver crawl up your spine and your fists curl into the smooth fabric of your dress. “No talking.”

And Mother, do you want to speak just to piss him off. You know what will happen if you do, you’ve tried it on many occasions, testing his limits, because there was no way in hell that you were going to take his demands as easily as one of his mediocrely trained soldiers, not when the both of you so openly disliked each other.

But you’re already running late. You need to be downstairs soon for the briefing and if you open your mouth now he won’t let you cum. So instead, you bite your tongue to the brink of splitting it open, and sink to your knees before Cassian.

His cock twitches in his pants and he nearly groans at the sight of you, the harsh glare you’re sending up at him, your chin trapped in his hold. If he presses just a little firmer those pretty pink lips will pop right open for him–

Cassian works his belt loose with one hand, the other holding onto you like a vice. You don’t move, don’t dare to help him with his leathers. You so achingly want to watch his cock spring from confinement when he shoves them over the cutting muscles of his hips, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

You settle for watching it from the corner of your eyes, so close that his cock nearly hits you in the face. 

You can feel the warmth radiating from his massive length and your mouth waters, remembering the last time you’d had that heavy heat between your lips. You swear he was Cauldron blessed.

He’s ready as ever, precum beading at the tip as he strokes himself once, twice, pressing the head of his cock against your mouth, smearing the milky bead across your lips. You take a deep inhale of the heady scent of him, but it only spikes your arousal. Cassian’s cock twitches at the  barely there feeling, an unconscious reaction to the mating bond festering beneath his skin.

You force nonchalance and hatred with every fiber of your being, staring up at him in defiance. Later, you will get your revenge, riding him until the sun wakes and not letting him cum until he forces you into the mattress and uses you like you’re nothing but a whore. You can picture the way his large hands will manhandle you, folding you into tight shapes for him as he pounds into your cunt with fervor, like a drowning man, spewing vitriol like they’re confessions of love.

A raised eyebrow, your way of asking, ‘Any more demands? Or can we get this started?’

Cassian’s grin turns feral, his fingers pinching open your jaw while his free hand coils your hair around into a tight fist.

“No gagging, sweetheart.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You’re eager to play tonight, riled from the time spent with Cassian’s cock in your mouth, stretching your throat wide enough to take his entire length, your hair pulled into his large fist as he shoved your head closer to his body until your nose met the coarse hairs above his cock.

He held you there and you reveled in the burn. There was nothing gentle about him having full control of you, and the lick of lust you’d let slip between the two of you only made his free hand slide down, clamping at your soft neck where he could feel himself, your throat bulging around his girth. 

If you had more time he would have stripped you bare and lifted your cunt to his mouth to devour the wetness dripping from your folds. He was perhaps the most excited down there, and it was the only time where you’d let him dominate you, drawing orgasm after orgasm from you until your thighs quaked, breathing so ragged you couldn’t argue with him, hands holding so tightly to his hair he thought you might rip it clean from his scalp. 

He’d cum so far down your throat you could hardly feel the hot spurts as he released. You’d shoved at his hips in desperation, wanting to taste his familiar musk. By the end of it you’d had spit and cum dripping from your chin to the milky skin between your breasts the moonlit silk of your dress left bare.

You wanted to bathe in it, wear it proud like any battle scar, but you shoved those thoughts so deeply inside of you where his prying bond wasn’t able to reach. Instead, you sent him the ice cold hatred you felt anytime someone compared his strategies to yours. You honed in on that feeling and held on tight.

At least the material of your dress hadn’t been stained, and you’d made a valiant attempt at fixing your hair before you showed up to the meeting room with your comrades.

If any of them noticed anything off about you, they knew better than to speak.

Now, you’re prowling the large ballroom after having received a nod from your High Lord to lure and pry for information by any means necessary. Cassian preferred brute force and Azriel tended to seek information with his blades, while you used a different approach, one that might even work better than bloodshed and torture.

There’s nothing more threatening to a male than a female’s body.

The music playing throughout the hall is sensual in itself, the fast-paced sounds flowing throughout the room in a lustful wave. The sultry female voice harmonizes perfectly with her male counterpart, and the song sounds like it’s own mixture of lewd moans and words, the air hot and serenading the partygoers like sirens.

You’ve wanted nothing more than to press your body up against someone’s, and after having downed a few glasses of wine, that is exactly what you plan on doing.

Your eyes catch on a tall male then, your first victim. Rhysand had briefed you and the other members of the Inner Circle on him, Rhodes. His body is lean with muscle, skin a pretty pale blue that would draw the eye of anyone in the room. His caramel gaze scans the room as he speaks to a fellow warrior, an empty rock glass hanging lazily at his side. He has a strong nose and matching scars mirrored across both cheeks that somehow only exaggerates his rugged beauty. He’s one of Beron’s highest appointed commanders, and even you cannot deny his gorgeous features.

Slinking through the crowd to him is easy, and drawing him away from the male before him easier, drawing him deep into the crowd of writhing bodies with the promise of entertainment on your curved lips.

Oh, these generals of war and how they like to play.

Dancers clear from your path with scowls, some spitting insults at you as you drag their general through the hall with a grin, like you’ve won a luxurious prize. You don’t flinch or cringe away from them, only smile and swing your hand with the commanders to emphasize and flaunt what you’ve got.

You find a spot in the middle of the floor, where Rhysand and Feyre can both see you from the dais, where everyone has the perfect view of you and your prey, the scalding flash locking your spine in place tells you so.

You ignore the feeling, not letting your act falter as you spin to a stop before him. The blue-skinned fae doesn’t stop with you though, his large stride eats the last step separating you, forcing all of the air between you to rush away until his body is flush against yours. You have his full attention.

A playful smirk graces your lips as you stare up at him, fingers already reaching up, grazing across his dark tunic to wrap around his neck. His hands slide around your waist, gentlemanly for now. It’s a pleasing surprise, knowing how the males of the Hewn City actually are.

You find yourself falling into an easy rhythm with Rhodes, and your swaying quickly turns to writhing, grinding against him as his hands pull you desperately into his body at the command of the sinful music. You nearly lose your motive when you meet his butterscotch eyes, drinking in every movement you make. 

You can feel his interest against your hip.

Rhodes curls downwards, so tall that you wonder if his spine hurts just a little, as he dips down to meet your gaze more fully, a question in his eyes.

“You think you can have me?” you purr, a wicked smile gracing your lips as you trail a metallic dipped fingernail down the exposed blue of his chest. The effects of the wine have you buzzing, but you know better than to give and not receive payment for your efforts. “You know that there’s always a price to pay, don’t you, Rhodes?”

His burned buttery eyes flash with irritation and his grip on your hips tighten, a clear sign of his frustration. You can see the battle behind his heated gaze, how badly he wants you, what information he’s willing to give you in exchange for a taste.

The thunderous music peaks, crashing into a crescendo that makes you shiver as a second body closes in on you from behind, pressing flush against you. Your bond purrs in your chest but it could be the buzz from the wine as you arch backwards into the warmth, grinding into him as your head tilts back to lean against the wall of a male who’s trapped you between him and Rhodes, eyes shut in bliss and mouth open in a pleasured exhale.

The male behind you dips his head toward your ear and you can’t help but to tilt your head, leaning it against his temple as he speaks.

He chuckles, and Cassian’s breathy and hot words send shivers up your spine. “Oh, you’ll fuck anything, won’t you, sweetheart?”

At the sound of his voice your heart stops and your eyes snap open, locking directly on Rhodes’, who’s now looking down at you like you’re some sort of festering wound. He releases your hips immediately and he slinks back into the crowd on a jarring note from the violin, chin tilted high and glaring down at anyone who looks his way. Even he knows better than to fuck with one of the High Lords companions.

The shock must still be on your face when you turn around because Cassian’s shit-eating grin only widens before he’s taking your wrist in a firm grip and leading you from the dancefloor.

You want to refuse, but the bond in your chest is aching at you not to, to follow him even though you’re angrier than the Mother. He’s ruined your entire scheme.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you spit once he’s dragged you from the party, putting a room between you and the debauchery that’s happening in the ballroom, music softening through the closed door.

Cassian spins on his heel, shoving you right up into the wooden frame. It’s too dark to read the look on his face but his eyes glimmer in the night and his wings pull up high. You can make out the shapes of his claws forming a taunting halo above his head.

His hands are everywhere all at once, pulling at the ties of your dress to release it from your body that’s already curving into his eager touch. The darkness chills your skin as the fabric melts to the ground and your breath is a gasp as Cassian’s mouth sucks harshly at the skin of your throat, quickly working his way downward, your heartbeat pounding in time with the drums of the notes in the other room.

“Don’t you want to be my good girl?” He taunts and you hiss, pulling at his hair from where you were threading the silky strands through your fingers.

“Fuck you,” you spit.

“No,” he growls, low in your ear. You let slip a strained moan as you feel the heat of his cock meet your dripping cunt before sliding in easily, one fell swoop that shoves all of the emotions you’ve buried deep inside of you to the surface. “Fuck you.”

You cry out in pleasure, clinging to him like you never want to let him go. Your legs wind around his waist and he presses your body into the door as he fucks into you, his fingers covering the spots where Rhodes had been holding you in the ballroom, replacing the commanders touch with his own.

The bond aches in your chest at your close proximity to your counterpart. Your other half, equals in every way yet you can’t stand each other. You can’t stand his stupid hair that fits perfectly between your fingers, his hazel gaze that’s always staring at you with malice. You hate the smirk he directs your way and how you can’t seem to ever get those lips off of your mind, how you dream about him as much as you work with him–

No. You need to shut that train of thought down immediately, but it’s so difficult when his cock commands them from you, pushing them to the surface with each thrust, you moan out his name instead.

“That’s right,” he says against your mouth, “Scream for me, sweetheart.”

And you do.

It’s the only thing you can do besides let your innermost feelings spill from your lips. You know that you shouldn’t feel this way, know that he loathes you, but you can’t help it. You were made to be his, to want him completely.

Your nails rake down his back, so awfully close to the base of his wings it has him shuddering a growling, nipping harshly at your lip as he untangles your hands from around him. You whimper at the loss when he pins them above your head in one hand, the other supporting you, the muscles of his arm bulging with the effort.

Head falling back on your shoulders, your thighs quake where they’re clasped around Cassian’s waist. You can feel the perspiration against your forehead as he presses his against your own, glaring down at you because he wants to watch you as he ruins you, makes a mess of you for everyone else tonight.

Your chest heaves against his, a battle all its own as your heart beats a booming rhythm. Your skin sticks to his and you gasp when he shifts, plunging into you from a different angle.

You cum on his cock but Cassian’s not finished with you. He bites at your shoulder when he feels you tense around him, revels in the noises you make, uncaring if anyone else hears. It is the Hewn City, afterall.

“Give me another,” he demands, picking up his pace, pressing into your further. You can hardly breathe with his body against yours and you think you’ve heard the wood of the door begin splitting open from how harshly he’s fucking you into it.

Your legs go limp around him but he has one thing on his mind, releasing your arms in favor of latching onto your legs to hold you up. You mewl at the relentless way that he’s fucking into you, the long draw of your orgasm quickly building into another as his cock hits the spot inside of you like he’s known it all along.

You have no choice but to follow his demand, cumming around him again with a keen as he follows, releasing into you, his breathing ragged.

He leans against you for a moment as he collects his bearings and before you have the chance to revel in the way his body molds perfectly to yours he’s dropping you to your feet and tucking himself away.

“Clean yourself up, you look like a mess.”

His words clang in your chest like a death knoll, harsh and unrelenting. You should have known it to be true, neither of you ever stayed a minute longer in each other’s presence once you’d finished, but this…this stings.

Cassian leaves you in the darkened room by yourself while he slips away, headed towards the dining room where dinner is about to be served.

You sit for a long moment, his cum dripping down your thighs as you bury unwanted emotions away. Your dress is a disheveled mess and your lips are bruised with his kisses, skin dotted purple from his touch. 

You knew that the Mother was cruel, but not like this. Because you’re mated to the male you loathe, even if he has ruined you for every other body in Prythian.

You fist the silky material of your dress as your anger seeps in.

No. You will not let him humiliate you this time. You’re the one he stopped in the hall. You’re the one he dragged away from Rhodes. You’re the one who made him cum again and again. 

You’re not letting Cassian have this one.

It takes you two times to stand because of how bad your legs are trembling. Your thighs are sore from how hard Cassian fucked you and you can feel every place he touched as you shove your skirts down to cover your slick legs. You hadn’t bothered to wipe him from you. No, you want them all to know who treats you like this.

You stalk towards the dining room, building your confidence brick by brick with each clack of your heels. Spine straightening, chin tilting upward, mouth pressed into a firm line.

Let them see the tear in your dress, the mess of your hair, the smear of your lipstick halfway across your cheek. Let them smell the cum dripping down your thighs. Show them how much of a brute through and through Cassian is. 

Fuck him.

As you near, you hear the heavy scrape of a chair against the floor. It’s an urgent sound, like someone’s realized they’ve forgotten their weapon in another room. Just as you’re about to turn the corner to enter the dining room Cassian appears, wrapping a firm arm around your waist and hoisting you over his shoulder in such a swift move it takes your mind a moment to catch up. The talon of his wing nearly tears your forehead open and you make a noise of frustration in retaliation.

“Hey,” you shout, pounding at his back. His grip is tight, unrelenting and your fists don’t seem to have any effect on the hard cording of his back. “Put me down!”

“No,” he growls in response, stalking away from the dinner guests.

But you’re not giving up, you never have.

Cassian lets you slip from his shoulder but he’s quick to pin you against the wall, as far from the dinner his body would allow before the need to be buried inside of you again becomes unbearable.

“I’m hungry,” you say, acting aloof as ever. 

Cassian grins wolfishly, “I’ll give you something to put in your mouth then, how about that?”

You don’t have a chance to respond because he’s dipping down, lips capturing yours in a feral kiss that’s more teeth than lips.

Your body reacts instinctually. You’re clawing at his clothes, but he no longer seems to care if buttons pop from the ridiculous shirt Rhys had forced him into, if the fabric snags against his wings in your haste to rid him of it. It’s like you can’t control yourself, something deep inside of you needing to be filled by him always.

He spins you around and you plant your hands against the wall to brace yourself. Rucking your dress up on your hips, Cassian is quick to tug his trousers off once more. And while you’d come here with the intention of giving him a piece of your mind, your body clearly has other thoughts, your mating bond thrashing around in the cage it’s being locked in.

“Don’t be fucking greedy now,” he grunts as you arch into him, shoving your cunt back to take him more fully. His hands are steel on your hips, the pads of his fingers digging roughly into your skin, halting your movements. “Already ready for round two?”

You bite your lip so hard you nearly draw blood as you try to stifle the whimper crawling up your throat. Gods, you need more, you need his broad chest pinning you to the wall, you need to feel the roughness of the partition imprinted into your cheek as he tries to shove you through it while he fucks into you harder, unable to control himself, giving into that primal urge that you’re feeling as well, the bond trying to claw it’s way from your body and into his–

“You’ll get as much as I give you,” his snarl is paired with a shifting of his hips, not forward, but back. It sends a flash of anger through you and you’re shaking in his grasp, you’re sure he can feel it beneath his hold on you. You can feel the head of his cock pulling out and you squeeze your eyes shut, clenching around him desperately, like it might just keep him there.

Cold air rushes through your lungs as he retreats. If you were a better female you wouldn’t beg, but the warmth of his pulsing cock withdrawing from your cunt is like losing a limb. You can feel your heart rate pick up in panic as his tip halts right inside of your entrance, any slight movement from you will send him sliding out completely.

You gasp desperately, and it sounds like a plea of pain while he holds you on the end of this hot cock.

“Fuck you like you love me, Cassian,” you beg, body shaking with the effort it takes to keep still for him. You don’t even realize what you’ve said until the air shifts in the aftermath.

Cassian’s hold on your hips turns to steel and his spine straightens. The bond in his chest roars and his vision goes white. He nearly loses the grip he has on himself, the wall he’d so carefully built between the two of you, and your confession has him wanting to bury his cock so deeply into you it’ll break you in half, so that he’s embedded into your body, your soul, forever.

“Tell me again,” he commands, but it’s not a warcry signaling the beginning of battle. No, it’s something else, much softer. It makes you whimper.

But you refuse. You will not repeat the words that had slipped from your mouth as if someone else had taken control of your body, as if your mating bond had grown a voice and forced it from you on its own. The words that had been shoved so deeply within yourself that they hardly even sound like you.

Cassian’s demeanor changes at your lack of response, fisting your hair in his grasp. He forces you into the wall with his elbow to your spine and pulls your hair tight. Your neck cranes and your back bows in his hold. He leans in close, breath hot in your ear as he growls. “Tell. Me. Again.”

“Please,” you gasp. Please don’t make me repeat myself. Please don’t stop fucking me. Please don’t hate me–

“No, that’s not it,” he scolds, but his tone takes on a slightly softer tone. His movements are agonizingly slow, sliding deep into like he hasn’t left in the middle of dinner to fuck you against the wall not even twenty feet away. Your entire body shudders in reaction to the long stroke, and tears burn your eyes when he nearly pulls all the way out of you again. “Tell me, sweetheart. I didn’t hear you.”

“Don’t,” you choke, a stubborn tear rolling hot down your cheek. You squeeze your eyes tight so he doesn’t see, “You’re being cruel, Cassian.”

“I think you’re the one being cruel, sweetheart,” he counters lowly. “Taunting me with your words, touching other males, teasing me with this perfect pussy.” His last words are accentuated by two sharp thrusts that make your cunt convulse and a weak moan escape your lips. “So I think you’ll be repeating exactly what you said a moment ago when I ask you.”

How can such harsh words make you feel like this? Cassian’s been nothing but rude to you since you’d arrived and yet he makes you feel like no other has. And if this is how you feel when he’s discourteous, you imagine how you’d feel if he actually had feelings…

Cauldron fucking spare me.

You work to swallow, refusing to meet his gaze as you speak, voice trembling. “I said…fuck me like you love me.”

The air is sucked from your body at the admission, his body, from the room. He’s so silent that if his warmth at your back and the head of his cock weren’t torturing you, you wouldn’t even know he was here at all.

“Look at me,” Cassian asks, and his voice is soft, so tender that it makes you flinch.

You refuse. You can’t force yourself to look at him. Not when he’s going to glare at you and make fun of you–

“Sweetheart,” he coos, tracing a gentle thumb across your cheek. “Please.”

And you do.

You don’t even know who you’re looking at. Cassian’s hazel eyes have gone soft, big and wide and staring at you like he doesn’t recognize you either. His bond strokes against your heart like his fingers do your spine, his grip in your hair slackening as his brash fingertips melt into a caress.

“I do love you, sweetheart,” he admits, and a part of you so desperately wants to believe that he’s lying. That his sappy glance will morph into one of condescending and taunting, but you can see it in his eyes that he’s being nothing but honest.

That feeling in your chest tells you so, too.

But you can’t help the insecurities that whimper out of you. “You do?”

He releases a shaky chuckle and he relaxes like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. You gasp as he pulls out of you completely but he’s spinning you around and drawing you into his body, pressing his lips against yours in a searing kiss that doesn’t burn with lust but with love.

“Gods, yes,” he pants, pressing his forehead against yours. “I don’t know when it changed. Reckon I’ve always loved you, I think.”

Your heart soars at his words, mating bond singing in your chest. You can’t help but to grin up at him, brushing a loose strand of hair from his face, admiring his own look of awe.

“I think I’ve always loved you too, Cassian,” you sigh. Unable to help yourself you press up onto the tips of your toes, pecking him on the lips once, and then again. 

The war between you is over.

Almost, because the string in your chest coiling and twining with his is the last thing keeping you apart. 

Cassian must feel it too because he’s groaning like a dying male, leaning into you exaggeratedly. It makes you giggle and his heart soar.

“If I eat you out does that count as completing the bond, sweetheart? Need you to be mine right now.”

You laugh, burrowing your head into his chest. “Cassian, there is a dinner table right on the other side of this wall.”

He pulls away from you, face hard. The smile slips from your lips but his look isn’t one of anger, but primal protection.

“I’m not letting any of those fuckers see you like this.”

You cross your arms over your chest and raise your eyebrow in challenge. “Like what?”

That familiar razor-sharp smirk graces his lips, making your heart flutter in your chest. He reaches down to where your dress is torn and bunched up from your promiscuous activities, dragging two long fingers through your wetness and cum from minutes earlier. 

You shudder as he draws his fingers away, into his mouth, answer enough.

“Well, then you better get me out of here quickly,” you purr, wrapping your hand around his still stiff cock. He grunts softly and his pupils dilate. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

[thevoidstaredback]

Tales of Conquest, Warnings of Fools:

Letters Between Brothers

Damian,   Jan. 8, 2012

Is that sarcasm I’m reading? A joke? Gasp! I didn’t know you were capable, ahki! It’s a New Year’s miracle! I bet father and your siblings are very proud of you. A shame that I wasn’t the one to teach you. Sigh.

Are you hinting that you want me to come meet you again in person? You and father and your siblings? I’m flattered, but I don’t think I’m ready to risk getting back on the League’s radar more than I already have by contacting you. I’m happy you want me to come meet everyone, but I don’t think I’m ready for that. I’m the more sociable of the two of us, but meeting that many people at once, or even spread across a short period of time, is a lot, even for me. I’m content to follow along from the middle of the country for now, though I might take you up on that invite in the future.

From what I understand, the IRS is scared of the Drs. Fenton. I’m not sure exactly why, but they are. So Jazz, by association with her parents, will most probably be extended the same courtesy. Honestly, I would officially take on the Fenton name if it meant I wouldn’t have to pay taxes. I’m not going to, though. I’m not prepared for the identity crisis that that would give me, so I’ll stick to just using their name as an extra for now.

Sam will kill you if you call her by her full name, so just call her Sam or Manson (her last name). Having said that, she isn’t too bad. Her and Tucker (you can call him Foley or Tucker) don’t get along very well. She’s an ‘ultra-recyclo-vegetarian’ which basically means she won’t eat anything that ever had a face. Though, I’m trying to get her to tone it down a bit. She’s a bit in-your-face about it sometimes. Tucker’s the exact opposite. He has a goal to eat nothing but meat for the rest of his life and is less intense about it, but he’s still a little in-your-face at times. They’re a handful, but they’re good people. Just don’t let them get started about their food habits. They’ve argued for days about the topic. I’m just waiting for the day that they start an actual physical fight over it. I’ll just sit back and watch when that happens. I imagine it’ll be quite entertaining.

What kind of dagger do you want? How big? What materials? Any colors or designs you want painted or engraved? What color do you want the sheath?

Again with the invitation to meet up? I’ll hold you to celebrate those with me. Maybe you could get father and your siblings in on it, too! And Alfred! I think he’d have fun.

I wasn’t calling you a name, smartass, it’s a term of endearment. Like a nickname. Welcome to the modern world, loser, where context counts for everything. /j means joking. Other things you’ll see a lot are normally explained through the context or tone of the conversation or how they’re said. You’ll get there eventually, ahki!

ليبقى نصل سيف�� حادًا يا أخي

Danny Fenton

***

A week. It had been an entire week and Damian hadn’t responded. That’s okay, though! Danny knows that life happens and that Damian isn’t always going to be able to respond right away. Besides, it’s not like they had a set schedule or anything. He probably hasn’t answered because something more important came up, like a case.

But what if he hates him? Danny didn’t think he’d be able to continue living if that was the case. Sure, he’d thought for a while that Damian hated him, but that had been before he told his brother he’s still alive! Damian could totally hate him and it hurt because now he’s actually alive to be hated!

It could’ve been the Shadows. He hoped it wasn’t the Shadows. He’d rather have Damian hate him than have the Shadows involved in any way. Did Mother know he was still alive? Did Grandfather know? He shuddered to think about it.

Danny jumped when his bedroom door slammed open. “Dann-o!” His dad’s voice rang loudly in the small room. “You’re mother and I would like your help down in the lab with something.”

Shaking off his paranoia for now, Danny followed his dad out of his room. “What do you guys need help with?” It wasn’t like he was a genius like them or anything. He didn’t understand a lick of their research. Does that make them geniuses or crazy? He’s gonna say ‘yes’, but none of those are a really big vote of confidence.

“Well,” Jack said, “You’re the weapons expert in the house, so we’d like your help with some blueprints for some.”

“Why are you guys making blueprints?” he wondered, “You’re researchers, not scientists. Even if you’re cleared for experimentation, weapons aren’t a part of your funding, as small as that might be. Besides, there’s nothing to use them on or against.”

“For now.”

“What?”

“‘For now’. There’s nothing to use the weapons against for now.”

They were at the basement door in the kitchen now. “What do you mean?”

Jack opened the door and led the way down. “Once we get the portal up and running, who knows what’ll come through!”

“He’s right, sweetie,” Maddie called from the lab. Where did that bottom door go? “Anything could come through the portal, so we’ll need ways to defend ourselves and others.”

“So why build it, then?” Danny asked, not stepping into the lab, “If it could be so dangerous, why build it in our basement and not in a government facility? Why even build it at all?”

“And give our life’s work over to people who’d misuse it all or sell it just to make money they don’t need?” Maddie scoffed, “No. We’re much better off having it here where we can monitor it closely.” She pulled a HAZMAT suit from a side room - how the hell had that gotten there? That’s not in the house’s blueprints! - directly across from the door. “Come put this one, sweetie, and we can get started.”

He glared at the rubber suit he’d been handed. It was plain, mostly white, with black accents. Black knee-high boots and elbow gloves accompanied it. Reluctantly, he put it on over his clothes. There was no way he was letting the thing touch more of his skin than was strictly necessary. He sighed quietly to himself and stepped into the finished lab, which was now covered in metal wall panels and linoleum floor tiles. “What did you have in mind?”

Jack pushed some papers to the side, absolutely demolishing Jazz’s hard work at attempting to keep their parents’ space organized, and pointed to a list. “Guns.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “Guns?”

“Guns.”

“...Just guns?”

“To start out with,” Maddie explained, “Something long-ranged until we know exactly what we’re dealing with. Then, we’ll move onto bigger, more effective weaponry.”

Another sigh, this time louder and more obvious. “I don’t think this is a good idea. If-” he stressed the two letter word heavily, “-the portal does work, and if something comes through, wouldn’t it be better to show that we’re not hostile? Shoving a gun in something’s face is a great way of saying ‘We’re a threat that you need to defend yourself from!’.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jack shook his head, “The only thing coming out of that portal are ghosts, and ghosts aren’t sentient. Everyone knows that.”

That was a horrible way of thinking that would only ever lead to problems. “What do you mean?”

Maddie smiled at him, her voice and expression doing nothing to hide the fact that she was acting like she was explaining physics to a toddler. “You see, sweetie, ghosts are the leftover imprint of human emotions onto ectoplasm; The final fleeting thoughts in their last moments of life.”

“Shouldn’t that make you want to leave them alone, then? Let them keep a peaceful afterlife?” The Shadows had never been huge believers in the afterlife, but Danny had learned about the various ones after leaving, and he had latched onto that belief with an iron grip. He needed to know that he would be punished for what he did in life. He needed to know that those he cared about would not cease existing after they died. “I can’t imagine they’d be very happy about someone encroaching on their eternity.” Eternity was a long time.

Jack frowned. “You’re not getting it, sweetie,” Maddie said kindly, though he could see the frustration in her eyes at having to elaborate. “Ghosts can’t think or feel for themselves. Whatever their last thought was when they died was their final thought for eternity.”

“But you just said that their final imprint-”

“-is all they know.” Jack said, his tone stern. “Ghosts are in their own little world. They can’t think, they can’t feel, they can’t see anything outside of their final moments. They’re not sentient or sapient.”

“But-!”

“Danny,” Maddie cut him off, “We’re the leading experts in this field. We know what we’re talking about.” She ruffled his hair. “Just trust us, okay?”

Not in a million years. Not anymore. “Okay.”

“Great!” Jack was back to grinning. “Here’s what I was thinking: The Fenton Blaster-”

*

It’s been exactly three days under a month with no response. Does Damian not want to talk to him? Did he do something- say something wrong? Maybe he should send another letter. But what if he comes off as clingy? He wouldn’t want that. But, what if this is Damian’s way of seeing what he’ll do if he suddenly disappears? What if he had disappeared?! What if Grandfather and Mother learned that Danny was back and went after Damian because he knew and didn’t tell them?!

He shook his head harshly. “Don’t be stupid, Danny. If Damian had disappeared, then the news would’ve been all over it within the first week.” He paused. “Even if father has an excuse prepared.” And he would, if he was even half as paranoid as Mother said he was.

One more letter, he decided after much deliberation. One more letter and the ball would be in Damian’s court. It couldn’t hurt too bad to check in. If nothing came, he’d wait for any kind of news or clue before jumping to the worst possible outcome. That wasn’t going to stop him from being prepared, though.

His paranoia was only getting worse by the day. Every day without any sign of Damian was another day of Danny watching over his shoulder for even a twitch that didn’t belong to his own shadow. Every noise that he couldn’t see people make, every double take that anyone did, had him reaching for a weapon. Was paranoia a hereditary trait?

He’d taken to carrying his knives on him again. He’d never left the house without one on him, but now he made sure to carry at least three; one in each sleeve, and one in his boot. He also started wearing clothes similar to what he wore before ‘dying’. He made sure the changes were subtle enough that no one would point them out the next day, but it would only be a matter of time before someone noticed. By then, though, he’d’ve established this as his new style. That meant, however, that he would be stuck with it for a while. He didn’t find himself minding too much. It was comfortable, easy, safe.

“Danny!” Tucker greeted as he sat his tray down on the table in front of him, “Jazz says you’re moping.”

Danny scowled lightly at himself, upset that even Tucker had made him startle. “Jazz doesn’t know anything.”

“Something about your penpal not writing you back?” Sam ignored him and sat diagonally to both boys, completing the triangle around the circle table.

“Since when do you have a penpal?”

“Since when can you actually write?”

“Since when do either of you even know?”

“We just told you,” Sam said before taking a bite of her school-made salad, cringing slightly at the taste.

Tucker was chewing as he said, “Jazz told us yesterday.”

Danny’s nose scrunched up. “Don’t talk and chew.” he scolded.

“Don’t chew with your mouth open!” Sam gagged.

Tucker swallowed what was in his mouth, ignoring both of them. “Why’re you so upset anyway? It’s not like you actually knew this person! You guys exchanged, what, six letters totally?”

Danny nudged a piece of stale pasta around his plate with his fork. “I do know the person I’ve been sending letters to.”

“What?” Tucker asked.

“What!” Sam demanded.

“He’s a…friend from Before.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Even in his confusion, Tucker was still eating. “You remember the time before you were adopted? I thought you had amne-something!”

“It’s ‘amnesia’, Tuck,” Sam corrected, “And what did I just say?”

Danny cut her off before she could scold their friend. “I’m still a foster kid, Tuck. And, yeah, I remember. I never forgot, actually. Everyone assumed amnesia, and I didn’t find it important to correct them.”

“But they could’ve helped you find your family!” Sam pointed her fork at him.

He cringed and stabbed a few pieces of the school-made pasta. “Don’t you think I would’ve gone back if it were safe?” Maybe not the best wording. Smooth, Danny.

It was quiet for a moment. “What do you mean?” Her voice was small. Way too small to be Sam.

Danny didn’t answer her, instead deciding to eat the tasteless food. How could he tell them about Before? Telling Jazz was one thing, because he’d always known that he would tell her, but telling these two was a completely different matter!

He didn’t want them to get hurt. Knowing would make them look for answers where there were none. Not knowing would have the same effect, but at least they wouldn’t know where to look. Besides, the secret is to save their lives.

There was another, quieter, part of him that said he didn’t want to share his brother. That part is a liar that sounds too much like Grandfather for him to actually listen to it.

He finished forcing down what the school called food, put his fork down, and sighed. “Where I was born wasn’t the safest,” he explained quietly, “There were a lot of people on the compound that didn’t get along with each other,” An extreme understatement. “So there was a lot of fighting.” And death, and people going missing, et cetera. “I saw an opportunity to get out of there-” Not really, it was all an accident, but they didn’t need to know that. “-so I left.” Technically, he was kidnapped, but he went willingly. Either way, he left and has no plans to ever return.

“Dude..” Tucker’s voice was quiet, his plate cleared and his fork held in his hand. There was pity in his eyes, a lot of it. Danny hated it, so he looked back down at the table.

Sam’s own fork was slammed down onto the table as gently as she could manage at the moment, which was not at all; The metal utensil bounced. “And you ended up with the Fentons?”

The Drs. Fenton were infamous around Amity Park, just as they were to scientists around the country. ‘Crazy’ was a word that was frequently used with them. ‘Inane’ was another one. Danny would have to disagree with Sam’s evaluation, though. They were neglectful, sure, but they weren’t dangerous. The Shadows were dangerous, Mother was dangerous, Grandfather was dangerous. The Drs. Fenton were not. Not when compared to where he’d been born or who he was raised by. Living with the Fentons was a mercy.

He made to say as much, to tell his friends that Jack and Maddie Fenton were like kicked puppies compared to his Mother, but he was cut off.

Dash Baxter, the biggest guy in elementary school, had a vendetta against Danny for some reason. Along with Dash was his best friend Kwan. Kwan never really did anything other than stand by and watch, so Danny was neutral about him. Dash, on the other hand, was as big an asshole as a sixth grader could be.

“That’s our table, dweeb.” Dash scowled.

Danny heaved a sigh. “It’s literally not. We’ve been sitting here since the third grade.”

“Yeah?” Dash tried to make himself look bigger, “Well I’m tellin’ ya to move it.”

He didn’t have the energy for this. Standing, he picked up his tray, made an exaggerated ‘there ya go!’ motion, and walked away. Tucker and Sam were quick to join him, leaving Dash and Kwan at the corner table.

“What a jerk.” Sam said, dumping her tray.

Tucker nodded, putting his on the counter to be taken and washed. “Yeah.”

“Just leave ‘im, guys,” Danny sighed, “It’s not like he’s got anything better to do. Besides, better me than someone else.”

“Better you?” Sam scoffed, “Better no one. Why doesn’t the school do anything? Have you reported him?”

“And get labeled a tattle?” Tucker squeaked, “Don’t do it, man. That kinda name sticks with ya.”

Danny snorted. They had no idea what being labeled a tattle could do to someone, especially in the real world. “Don’t worry. Besides, I can actually handle myself in a fight if it ever gets to that point. He can’t say anything to me that would actually affect me.” It was true. Grandfather and Mother had been the only ones that were ever able to tear him apart with words alone.

Obviously unhappy with the two boys but not willing to try and change their minds, Sam walked a step ahead of them. “You two are so stupid.”

“Aww,” Tucker fake whined, the smile on his face betraying him, “You looove us!”

“Ew!” she pushed him away from her shoulder, “Cooties!”

Danny laughed with his friends, chasing each other out of the building and across the playground, unintentionally starting the biggest game of The Floor is Lava of the school year.

***

Damian,   Feb. 5, 2012

You haven’t answered my last letter. There have been no League assassins anywhere near me, so I feel it safe to assume there was no interception, nor have you been taken or compromised.

Was it something I said? I’m sorry, if that’s the case. Please, are you at least safe? There’s been nothing in the news, so I don’t think you’ve left Gotham. Are you in danger? Do you need me to come help? It’s been a while, but I can still win any fight you need me to.

ابق بأمان يا أخي

Danny Fenton

***

Danny closed the mailbox and pointed the little red flag up. “There,” he muttered to himself, “Can’t turn back now.”

He heaved a heavy sigh, staring at the white mailbox. If nothing came up in the news, then he’d assume that Damian didn’t want to talk to him, and he’d leave him alone. He wouldn’t go so far as to cut off all contact points yet, but that was still a potential response. If Damian made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with Danny, then he’d isolate himself from him. But only if Damian made it clear.

Standing in front of his house, the world felt both so much bigger and so much smaller than it ever had before. He’d lost his brother before, found a new family, and then reconnected with his brother. He’d been happier than he’d ever been before, and now it felt like everything was falling apart again.

Damian wasn’t answering him, Jack and Maddie had been in the lab more and more now, and Jazz was burying herself in her studies. He didn’t know what to do. Was there anything he could do? He’s just a kid! He’s a civilian child whose entire life is falling apart and he can’t do anything about it because he’s “Powerless!” When had he sat down?

Punching the dirt and grass of his house’s front lawn was doing nothing but hurting his hands. That didn’t matter, though, because he couldn’t feel it. He felt numb and empty and angry and sad all at once. Numb that Damian wasn’t responding, angry that his parents were more involved in their work than with their kids’ lives, sad that Jazz was having to grow up parenting herself and him, and empty because there was nothing he could do about any of it.

After what was probably both way too long and way too short a time, Danny stood and made his way inside. He could hear his parents in the illegal lab, building the guns according to the blueprints he’d made them, probably cutting out all the safety features he insisted there be. Jazz was in her room either reading a parenting book or studying to skip a grade or two.

He flopped into the couch and turned on the TV, absentmindedly flipping through the channels. He felt detached- There! He stopped on a national channel that was covering a story in Gotham, New Jersey. Maybe he’d find some news about father or Damian or one of the others?

“-ites mourn the loss of Gotham’s very own Prince, Bruce Wayne. Earlier today, his eldest son, Richard Grayson-Wayne, announced that Bruce went missing just under a month ago.”

No.

“The family has been and will continue to work with private investigators to find Mr. Wayne, but the local police force is not so optimistic.”

This-this-

“Authorities encourage everyone to reach out if they have any information on the whereabouts and/or wellbeing of Gotham’s White Knight. Richard Grayson-Wayne, now acting as the head of the Wayne Family, has agreed to pay any ransom demanded. As of this time, no such demands have been made.”

Suddenly, Danny was watching from somewhere else. He was detached, not in control of his body. He wasn’t close to father, not in the slightest, but Damian-

Damian.

Oh, gods. No wonder he wasn’t responding! Father’s gone missing and all Danny has been doing was stewing in his own self pity!

The letter. He had to send a different one.

As quick as he could, Danny bolted from his seat and to the front door, ripping it open just in time to see the mail truck turn the corner. The little red flag on the mailbox was pushed back down.

“Fuck.” He had to do something. He had to contact Damian! His brother needs him!

Danny rushed up the stairs and to his room, making a mess as he pulled paper from drawers and scattered pencils across the floor.

“-ther news, according to Mr. Wayne’s will, the actions of which are being taken in case of the worst possible outcome, has appointed Timothy Drake-Wayne as the CEO of Wayne Enterprises.”

***

Damian,   Feb. 6, 2012

I swear that I had no idea father was missing! Do you need help? I can start looking here in Illinois. I can search all of the Midwest if you need me to! What do you want me to do? I can’t do anything unless you tell me what you need. Please.

أخبرني ما الذي تحتاجه Danyal

Translation 1 - Arabic: Keep your blade sharp, brother

Translation 2 - Arabic: Stay safe, brother

Translation 3 - Arabic: Tell me what you need, brother

Part 3 Part 5

[midnightsunnyday]

Thinking a bit about Mammon and what we know of him canonically, his behavior, values, principles, and conduct, and how they seem entirely different from what we know of his fanon interpretation.

Canon Mammon is…well, let’s just call a spade a spade, he’s a clown. The certified Butt-Monkey of the brothers, if something bad is going to happen, nine times out of ten, it’s going to happen to him. Dude is a truffle pig for trouble and for the most part, loves to sniff it out and roll in it.

Have the fans explain it, and Mammon is a saint who's never done anything wrong in his life ever, yet story-wise, Mammon’s downfalls and shortcomings are usually due to his own dubious inclinations, though to be fair, are a consequence of him being the literal physical manifestation of one of humanity’s sins: greed. We see this through his gambling habits, his tendency to engage in shady deals or practices, his lying, and his cheating, but what really gains him the ire of most of his siblings and others is his tendency to steal and sell any and everything he assumes may bring him a profit, regardless if the item is sentimental or not.

Needless to say, Mammon isn’t the most respected of his brothers, and they remind him of it every chance they get, specifically with the words “scumbag,” ‘moron,” “idiot,” “money-obsessed moron,” etc. Mammon even suffers for his actions physically, with Lucifer finding little issue in stringing him up and leaving him there to rot for a while.

There’s also the fact that in the first season of the OG game, like most of the brothers, Mammon is kind of an asshole. Your typical Tsundere archetype, his personality is initially brash and not too keen on learning of his forced role as a human attendant, constantly insulting the MC while bemoaning his position all the while, a position he almost fails in upholding more than once when the MC’s life is threatened.

Yet because this is an otome game, Mammon eventually begins to have feelings for the MC as soon as the fourth lesson, and that whole being your “first” thing holds a lot of weight to Mammon, so much so that he’ll bring it up repeatedly. He becomes a bit more clingy, vying for the MC’s attention, to the point where personal space is but a mere myth to this man.

For you see, beyond his salty attitude is a man with a huge heart. Canon Mammon is competent and capable of showing a surprising amount of wisdom, intelligence, strength, and kindness when he puts his mind to it (the man admits himself to being sensitive, after all).

Despite his shortcomings, there’s a reason Lucifer entrusted Mammon with the MC, as out of all of his siblings, he is the only character capable of keeping his “bloodlust” in check. And despite his flakiness at times, Lucifer relies heavily on Mammon to complete certain tasks, to the point where he’s accused of showing favoritism towards the secondborn. Speaking of which, that second-born title also includes his power level, having the ability to clearly fight and defend himself, yet choosing to either run or hide from altercations, if possible. It’s rare for him to get angry or fight back, which is why it’s so scary when he does.

More importantly, Mammon is completely and utterly in love with the MC. This is true for all the brothers, but Mammon is the most consistent, a constant in his character that never changes and is the main drive to his appeal imo. Unlike the other brothers, who seem to have interests and relationships outside of the MC, Mammon’s focus is single-targeted, and it’s one of the many reasons why he’s the most popular character in the game. There are no limitations to his affections. No scary or overly complicated parts to his character. We are his “first,” and that’s a comfortable place to be because regardless of what we do or how we look, Mammon isn’t one to give up and will literally fight, yell, and cry his way into your heart, whether you choose someone else or not.

However, you wouldn’t be able to tell this with Fanon Mammon, a soggy wad of therapy session tissues. He is an absolutely miserable wreck of a man. A traumatized, suicidal-inclined, helpless dude in need of a serious hug. A prone character to hurt/comfort fics, he's the trauma dumpster for the fans who like to project, which would be fine if it weren’t for the fact that these traits are sometimes treated as actual aspects of Mammon’s canon character. Fanon Mammon is essentially boiled down to his most pathetic traits, woobifying him. In fics where the brothers are present, such as Lucifer and Asmodeus, expect them to be written OOC to make Mammon appear even worse. In essense, Fanon Mammon not only has his complexity completely taken away, but takes away the complexity of everyone else around him in the process.

I'm not certain why this happens to Mammon more than other characters. Maybe because of his "kick the dog" status in canon, which causes people to sympathize with him more. And if you're someone who can relate to a lot of Mammon’s shortcomings, then that probably adds to his "woobie" nature.

And this isn't to say you can never go beyond canon and write Mammon any other way, yet it's like I've stated before, there's your headcanon and there's canon. You can think what you want, write what you want, yet something doesn't become a fact just because you want it to be/are emotional about it. And you also don't get the right to attack people for it.

Anyway, these are just things I've noticed about his fanon vs canon that I personally don't like, though opinions are always appreciated.

[mobbu-min]

☆ bragging rights ☆

(ft the first years)

a/n I couldn't find the request where they wanted the first years, but here it is! Ortho is strictly platonic!

tw cursing

want more? eat up bestie! ☆,☆

Ace + Grim <3

⋆ Grim’s like, ‘No. Please, Great Sevens, no…’ He wants anyone but him. Grim wouldn’t mind if it was one of the Leech Brothers, or hell even, that weird ass bowl cut kid that tried to light everything on fire. Just anyone but Ace! He can’t! Just imagining Ace’s cocky ass grin sends Grim into a fit of rage. Really considers all his life decisions.

⋆ Ehm, can you please speak a little louder? Ace didn’t hear that. Ace squeals like a high school girl who just got asked to prom. Considers this his greatest accomplishment tbh. You’re the hottest thing since sliced bread and Ace is the super cool, incredibly good looking super mage. Like it’s a no brainer. A match made in heaven. Of course you’re going to be bragging about him. Who wouldn’t? (please, never stop. Ace literally cried tears of joy)

Deuce + Grim <3

⋆ Honestly, Grim’s okay with this one. Sure Deuce is a little airheaded, but Grim likes him a lot more than Ace! (that’s a lie, he loves both of them equally, just too stubborn to admit it) And he knows that Deuce will treat you right. Though, Grim doesn't know much more arguing he can take from the flustered idiot one and jealous idiot two. 

⋆ So so happy. He calls his mom immediately after, (i mean, he’s been calling his mom about you since the day you met) Deuce has really tried to be better, to be the type of guy that you wouldn’t hesitate to call yours and knowing that he made it makes him want to explode (in a good way ofc) He wants to cry, jump up and down, take you by your waist and give you a big ol’ smooch. There’s so many things he wants to do, so many things he wants to make you feel, because Deuce is so in love it’s embarrassing really. (Ace gags while also mourning the fact that it’s not him, jealous bastard)

Jack + Grim <3

⋆ Grim is a little on the fence about this one. Jacks a great guy, don’t get him wrong, but Grim doesn’t want to spend his mornings, afternoons and nights working out. Well, on second thought, the image of Grim sporting a rocking six pack kinda gets him to rethink….No, no…he does not want to give up his tuna! Jack will have to pry his box of tuna from his cold dead paws before he lets that happen. 

⋆ His tail does a little waggy once he hears you bragging. Like how can he not? He already talks about you a whole bunch. I mean if you count him always going ‘C’mon, even the prefect could do better!’ or ‘you might be even more airheaded then the Prefect…” then yeah, Jack’s doing a lot of bragging. He’s loyal by heart, but also emotionally constipated, so you’re going to have to look for the hidden meanings behind his brash words. Because it’s there! You just have to look hard and be patient!

⋆ Or you can just look behind your wolfy friend and stare at that ass- I mean, that tail! Yeah, tail! Because it’s betraying how he feels. So thank you tail! (and thank that ass, because it’s thiccc!)

Epel + Grim <3

⋆ Grim is honestly okay with this one. Epel and him are on good terms. So it doesn’t bother him all that much. Really there's nothing else to say other than, Grim is just happy that you’re happy.

⋆ YEEHAW BITCHES!!!!!HE WINS!!!!! Epel is alive and dying at the same time. He’s calling his meemaw, peepaw and all that jazz, because guess what? He’s not bitchless anymore! Yes! Take that Vil, you pompous jerk! And you too Rook, you frenchie! And most importantly, fuck you Ace! He beat you and now you look like a fool! HAHDHHAHA

⋆ Okay, but after Epel gets over his high, he’s face down on his apple plushies practically crying because he’s so happy. 

Ortho + Grim <3

⋆ Second son? SECOND SON? NAH! GRIM’S IS YOUR ONLY SON! He literally gets so offended that you're talking about Ortho more than him. Every little ounce of affection or praise directed towards you little robotic buddy is greeted with an irritated huff and eye roll from Grim. Like did you forget that Grim’s been with you since forever? Grim truly see’s Ortho as a rival/threat, because unlike the other boys who you continuously thrist over, you’re so sweet and kind to Ortho and treat him like he was your kid/brother. It really gets Grim’s gears going. He just wants you to know that he is not above fighting a child, robotic or not, he’s going down.

⋆ Oh, Ortho’s over the moon. The person he sees as a second sibling loves him so much! It makes him so happy. Literally, he thinks he’s dreaming (can he dream?). And omg, this just fuels Ortho to get Idia to confess to you, so you’re all like an actual family. You and Idia can be the parents and Ortho and Grim can be your kids! Ortho has already taken to treating Grim like a little brother, constantly patting his head and giving him treats (which does soothes Grim’s dislike to him by a lot, at this point you think Grim likes Ortho more than you) Ortho does ask if you four could all take a christmas photo together (or whatever the equivalent to christmas is in their world) and he sends it to every one of his friends with really fancy blue and pink glitter gel pen font that says ‘From the Shrouds!’. Sure he knows you aren’t actually a family yet, but he’s sure he can do a little convincing and bam! The wedding is bound to happen! 

Please just do as he says! Let this boy be happy T0T

Sebek + Grim <3

⋆ There’s dead silence from Grim. Like you do realize that you have no insurance right? How the heck are you supposed to pay for hearing aids for the both of you? He doesn’t get it. What’s the appeal? Did you hit your head that hard? Grim’s judging and he’s judging hard. But overall, Grim surprisingly feels bad. All he can think of is that one lyric you scream out every now then by that Rana le Del, um… What was it again? The Other Woman~ and that’s you. He just shakes his head because he knows you can do better. 

⋆ Sebek is a blushing mess. He’s on two ends of the spectrum, one being incredibly smug and two, wanting to scream the ears off anyone in the ten mile radius of him. There is no inbetween because he’s not a chill guy. When Sebek wants something he puts 110 percent into it. And that's what he does for you. You know what name becomes a frequent occurrence in his vocabulary? Yeah, it’s your name. There’s not a sentence that he says that does include you and Malleus in it. Yeah, he is making and joining every club that there is about you and yes, that is a shrine dedicated to you right next to his Malleus shrine. And no, you cannot stop him. 

[greekceltic]

Jacky has a haunted arm. It started as a roleplay thing that I didn't think I would make canon, but I probably will. The situations it creates are fun. Anyway, for our amusement she can use it to touch ghosts so she scared hers. (Art doesn't quite match the writing). You can read the roleplay clip under the read more or on toyhouse.

GreekCeltic-

Junior was where she left him. He glanced at her. Same face. Same bags under his eyes and blushless pallor. What did that bandit say?

  When eyes meet, the soul has made love?

Yeah he was wrong.

Junior turned back around and she wondered how far she could walk before he was compelled to join her. She felt a little bad for not asking, but the feeling had no stay power. His wants and needs took a backseat to hers and she had found a way to make herself okay with that.

He could talk. It was within his power to ask her to put him in someone else’s care any time he wanted. After being left in the woods she could understand why he wouldn't want to be parked on Vlinder's hearth- in the same forest -but there were other people in their group who would travel. All basically good people.

Picking her was self sabotage.

Idiot.

She walked all the way in and shut the door behind her. The wind feathered a few rug ends but didn't bother with him.

  Maybe he's like AI and can't defy me, she wondered. Like bullshit television. She had never made the leap that it could be worse. Jacky felt that she was babysitting and had exactly as much authority as a teenager over a nine year old. In the end, not very much at all. She kept waiting for his tantrum, wanting it because after all that had happened it would make sense, even be healthy, but it never came.

She stumbled back toward the fur mat she had grown to hate since she woke up and stared down at it, too tired to sleep. There was such a thing. Jacky swayed weakly near it and turned away.

She looked at him again and ground her bottom jaw.

  Dummy should be begging to leave.

She hated the way he idled against the wall like a toy soldier waiting for something to do. That was the kind of thing that got ice put down your shorts at sleep overs. The idea of that made her spine prickle in a bad way, but it made her think. Jacky tilted back and lidded her eyes. She reached for one of the support pillars and rested her weight on it, two feet closer to him.   I could do it. She moved her feet, taking care not to scuff them on the floor. She didn't have to worry about the boards creaking. If they didn't notice Vlinder they weren't going to notice her. There were no more pillars between them, but she thought she'd make it. She tried, and on the way thought about how many nights he'd spent right there in a different room. Waiting or staring, as engaged as a coat put away on a hanger. He didn't even breathe loudly because he didn't breathe anymore.   DO something! The last few feet ended with her wobbling behind him, alarmingly silent, but not very steady. She reflexively tried to grab his shirt to pull it back with her good hand, but it went right through. Jacky didn't stop to wonder if he'd noticed that. She stuck her *cold* hand out like a senile old woman with a fork. It went up his shirt and flattened on the part where his back sank in. It worked when she slapped him. No reason to think it wouldn't work now. Themascura--

The target of her ire had no idea.   None.   He was peacefully existing in a corner, appreciating the window. It was nice to have a different view. He liked trees. Not enough to have been okay with just their company for a few millennia, but enough to be okay staring at them for a few days.   It was pretty out there. There were squirrels. And birds! Not many of those in the city. The cats had mostly eaten them all-   Jacky was about to learn a whole lot of things in quick succession. One, she could in fact scare the shit out of a ghost. Two, despite being dead ghosts did in fact have startle responses. Three, when she was touching a ghost with her ghost hand apparently walls became interactable- because he slapped the window/wall with his belly when he jumped and it made a sound.   A beautiful hollow sound, like when you thumped a watermelon.   He left a foggy mark on the window when he hopped back. He was still hopping when he turned around, trying to shake the ice cube out of his shirt. His spine was still flickering when he got all the way turned- visible through his shirt and his front and almost as far as his shoulders. The look he gave her was universal. The sibling glance of- I WAS MINDING MY BUSINESS.   Here you are, starting some shit. He stuck a hand straight out for her face, confident it would go through, but also confident it would mess with her already wonky balance and depth perception. Time for you to take a time out on the floor. You pushed your luck to far today anyway.

GreekCeltic-- His reaction was Christmas. She wasn't sure what to make of his spine. Jacky looked at her hand and wondered if it had cannibalized him somehow. A week ago she had dumped all the extra stuff into Christoph's leg. That had been a surprise. Christoph was alive, there was no way to know it wouldn't do the opposite and suck Junior up like a straw, like it had Virgil's magic.   Oough, there was a mental image she did not enjoy. When she touched Christoph she went with a gut feeling that turned out to be right. Here too she decided to go with a gut feeling-- that it was fine. "Oh excuse me did I interrupt your vacant staring?" Jacky's hand was still up, she dropped it and raised her other one, rubbing her arm furiously like she was trying to warm it up. Cold fire appeared and walked toward her elbow. "Gonna do it again." She spread the fire to her good hand but she never got to try it. He threw his at her face- IN her face -and she spilled in stages. Mostly in slow, wobbly, backwards walking motions that ended up near the bed. She fell against the edge. She had been put to bed. OBNOXIOUS. Jacky leaned into her sprawled arm and chose to be happy he showed some life. She didn't think she could get up without crawling on all fours and that wouldn't be preferable. She was also tired. It was possible she had never been so tired in her life. She crawled over the edge and fell into the divot like a kitten into a laundry basket. She slept all of the night and most of the next day. The only time she got up was to wash. She made a point of it so history wouldn't have to repeat itself. Who knows how many rag baths she got during the week. One was too many. Two would have been life ending. Her hair was close to dry when she went back to sleep. She tried to make it longer, but felt harassed that she was not alone. Dreams had been hard to remember the first week, but they were piling up now. She didn't know if she was remembering things or adding fantasies to what she did. All she knew was she couldn't be her own witness. With each waking she was a little more confused and a little more convinced she shouldn't have gone back for the brooch. It could have waited. At the time the idea of leaving Junior out there to believe no one was coming was too much and it was too much now, but was it worth it?   The elf was back when she got up, laying beside her with his arm folded behind his head.   Him again. Jacky looked at him a minute, but decided she didn't really care. She didn't know why. It should have embarrassed her but it was like sleeping with a big white dog. She got the feeling he thought of her as a cat. She looked across the room and saw Herman on his back against the wall, also asleep. Some kind of spell had fallen over this house. She and Junior were exempt. She grabbed her poncho and went out the front door. The moonlit air was bright and icy. She wasn't wearing her shoes but she didn't expect to go far and wanted the snow to bite her feet a little. It felt good even when it stung. When she got to the gate she put her hand on it and flipped up the latch (too complicated for a dead guy, apparently), but never pushed it forward. It would have been easy, but the idea of the gate held fast. There was a bigger obstacle here than a physical one. I shouldn't, Jacky thought. More like I can't. She'd been thinking about this a lot and the conclusion she came to was damned if I do, damned if I don't.

[midnight-bay-if]

Hey!!🤗🤗

So, what would ROs do if suddenly someone arrived and started yelling at them, saying stupid things or something like that. But when they are about to do something, Mc steps in and defends the ROs.

(Heeyy!!)

S: S is typically the problem solver, and more often than not, they're stepping in to defend Taj after a "impolite" comment or a blunt remark. So, when a particularly belligerent person turns on them, they're equipped with a sharp comment they hope will be enough to put the situation to bed.

But then, you jump in. You place yourself in the firing line, and S is in awe. With no fear, you're shouting back at the stranger. Still, their instinct doesn't go away, and S readies themselves to pull you away.

"You're braver than most, MC, but please do not put yourself in harm's way on my behalf. I can suffer a million cutting words to keep you safe."

Rain: Rain has extensive experience keeping the peace, but rarely is a person's temper directed at them. Rain's training kicks in as they desperately try to placate the individual, but when their ire doesn't wane, they begin to panic. Then, you're there, standing between them and the person, making yourself look as big as possible as you fervently defend their honour.

Rain could kiss you. "You're a warrior, MC, and I'm awed by your strength."

Taj: Taj is used to being the hot head. They've suffered enough of S's lectures because of it. So, when someone gets in their face, they're getting right back in theirs. So, it takes them by surprise when you step between them and their current nuisance. But don't expect to be in the fight alone for long. Suddenly, they're riffing off your energy as you work together to put down the person's stupidity.

You work surprisingly well together when your goals are aligned.

Once you've successfully demoralised the individual in question, there's an awkward moment of silence. Until... "Erm... you didn't have to do that, but... thanks, I guess."

You can't help but tease them. "Wow, I'm impressed, Taj. You finally learned basic manners."

"Fuck you. I'm never saying it again." Then, together, you laugh.

N: N learned to dismiss the thoughts and opinions of angry people a long time ago. How many times have they pointedly ignored an angry tirade? In their youth, if someone gave them a long list of things they absolutely shouldn't be doing, you better believe they would do every single one of them.

So, the person screaming in their face might as well be a chihuahua; N has faced their parent's anger undaunted after all. This... this is nothing. Yet, suddenly, it becomes much more interesting when you jump into their fray, attempting to defend their honour. They can't believe it. They don't deserve it. Still, they want to remember it.

"You're a vision, my dear. A demon with a knight in shining armour. What has the world come to, hm? It's so sugary it makes me want to do something naughty."

Umbra: Umbra is stubborn; there's no denying it. Try to get past them at your own peril because there's no way they're going to let the MC stand between them and danger. That's Umbra's job. You're much too precious, much too important, far more important than them. They would never forgive themselves if something happened to you for the sake of them.

"Please, MC, I'm nobody. Their words can't hurt me. Their disdain doesn't touch me. I can take the brunt of it all. Baring your bruises for you is what keeps me alive."

[merlinmarvelandother-oneshots]

Hello, good morning/afternoon/night.

(this was written with a translator, in case there are spelling errors)

First of all I want to tell you that I adore everything you write and the way you do it.

And second, could I place an order?

I'm still learning how to use Tumblr, so I don't know how to do several things and I don't know if I'm writing this where I should.

I hope it doesn't bother you ir make you feel Uncomfortable!!

Lately I have had some situations in which a...family member...in an indirect and at the same time direct way has told me that I am...overweight/fat...and that has made me feel bad, so only if you want, could you make some headcanon about how Undertale, Underswap, Underfell and Horrortale would react to me believing that.

(I mean, they would deny it and say nice things or they would laugh and make fun of me for it and highlight having a double chin and a belly and stuff like that...)

But of course, if you don't want, of course it's not necessary or if it seems like there are too many characters, you can remove them or if you want ignore this and I'll understand.

Thank you for taking the time to read this!

anon, i’m so sorry this happened to you <3 it’s unfair and nobody should have to go through that.

readers gender isn’t specified, but i use “beautiful” and “gorgeous”

Undertale, Underfell, underswap, and horrortale skelebros reacting to a reader who has been fat-shamed

Undertale:

Sans:

-his brow bones would furrow

-“wait a minute, who said that?”

-he’d nod when you tell him

-“listen, they’re wrong. you’re beautiful as you are. now, i don’t want you starting any diets or anything if they would just make you unhappy, because i’ve heard plenty of stories about them being terrible. your family members just plain wrong. ‘kay?”

-he’d hug you if you were still upset

-from then on, he would tell you how gorgeous you were more often

papyrus:

-he would be even more upset than you were, honestly

-someone would DARE say such nasty things about HIS s/o / friend??

-he would storm to their house, knock on the door, and that man WOULD. NOT. BUDGE. until your family member listened to him.

-he would be harsh but obviously be nice about it

underfell:

Sans:

-why do you give a fuck???

-he’s honestly so confused

-like, his brother told him the same thing (which also confused him, seeing as he is a SKELETON) and he just?? didn’t care??

-he tells you to stop giving a fuck

-that’s it

-“why do you give a shit about what they say? their opinions are ass. you look great”

papyrus:

-he doesn’t look up from his book when you say that

-“mm. you could stand to lose a few pounds, i guess”

-(you don’t think he quite realized how hurtful that is)

-if you tell him he’d ask why

-he thinks he’s genuinely looking out for your best interests.

underswap:

sans:

-“they told you WHAT!?”

-he would be FUMING with anger

-but, he would calm himself down enough to reassure you

-he would tell you that you look amazing, and you shouldn’t start a diet that you wouldn’t enjoy just to conform to their standards of beautiful or healthy.

-he would talk to the family member afterwards, angrier than he would normally like to be when resolving a conflict

-you never hear those words from your family member again, trust me

papyrus:

-“fuck ‘em”

-you appear slightly offended that he would say something like that about your family member, so he elaborates

-“they want to police you on how traditionally beautiful or healthy you are. you were happy before that, but now their words have upset you, for something that didn’t need said in the first place. so, fuck ‘em. that’s an asshole move”

-he would not argue this with you

horrortale:

Sans:

-hes so fucking confused

-where he’s from, food is a scarcity, and your family’s bitching about “too much?”

-he contacts your family member, whether that be finding their address from your address book or by finding their phone number on your phone, and gives him a piece of his mind.

-he would rant for HOURS if he could, or if he could keep his train of thought for that long, about how lucky they are for having food in the first place.

-afterwards he would encourage you about how beautiful you are, and how wrong your family member is

papyrus:

-he would look at you with concern

-overweight?

-he won’t pretend to be an expert on human weight, but even if you are “overweight,” that’s a good thing! it means you have access to food!

-that’s SO special to him.

-he would tell you that no matter what your family member thought, you were BEAUTIFUL

-he would be happy to talk to your family member if you wanted him to

[tethered-heartstrings]

Something i could never understand is...why do people want Jack to die???

Jack is an obstacle plenty of times and is sort of flippant about Will's state of mind in the beginning, but in all fairness he was trying to stop a MURDERER and I could see how he would value saving lives over Will's health. (Not saying it was right of him, but I get it. And Alana does rightfully chew him out to a point.)

Its clear he just assumes that Will not wanting to be involved im the mass murders is a natrual response to seeing all of that stuff, Jack has no idea that Will and Hannibal are having murder husband fantasy dates until the later seasons. Which in all fairness, he has a right to be concerned about lol

People villainize Jack for a lot of reasons, and only want to see the bad in him. People hate him because he's a cop (okay, so is Will, and everyone else on the team for that matter but only seems to apply to Jack?), because he didn't take care of Will's mental instability/deterioration (as if Will isn't a grown man who should/could stand up for himself and admit to Jack when he isn't doing well), because he was "too dumb to see Will was Very Obviously Ill" (as if we the audience don't get special privileges on what happens behind closed doors and Jack is just supposed to read minds), because he was a criminal investigator "too dumb to not see it was Hannibal all along" (as if Hannibal didn't manipulate literally everyone in his vicinity to make himself look normal and stable and safe and trustworthy), because he "doesn't care about Will" (as if this wasn't literal manipulation Hannibal whispered to Will during his mental breakdown to drive a wedge between him and Jack), because he isn't perfect and he isn't allowed to be flawed, and tbh a big factor of it is racism. and many more reasons.

Of course Jack has flaws, that's what being a human being is. Everyone on the show has faults, but people focus and amplify only the characters they don't like. Hannibal, and to be honest Will also, are literally right there in the same frame and are horrible people, who have done so much worse than Jack. But people don't want to be critical of their faves. Hannibal fans often also have like, main character specific lens so only their favorites are talked about highly and everyone else is dragged through the mud (Jack, Alana, even Abigail) and are not allowed to be seen as a multifaceted character. (admittedly, the women on the show are very poorly written which can contribute to this for the female characters of the show but I digress)

Jack genuinely wants to do something good, he wants to save lives, and he wants to so badly he can get horseblinders on and focus too much on the end goal and not on the path itself. That isn't evil though. He does care about Will, and in a very dad-like way he wants what is best for him but it isn't entirely through Will's lens ir his best interest. He trusted that Will would talk to him, and Will didn't. Like sure he hinted the job wasn't good for him and it was affecting him but that isn't specifically saying "hey Jack, I have headaches that won't go away, I can't sleep, I am sleepwalking, I am losing time, I am scared. Help me." Yeah, looking at horribly mutilated bodies all day isn't good for anyone. He tried to get Will genuine help, by setting him up with a well-renowned psychiatrist per someone else's recommendation. He tried, but Hannibal didn't do his job. He lied to Jack saying Will was fine, rubberstamped him sane. What is Jack supposed to do? Call him a liar? A well respected professional in the field? Be real. And to your point, again, Will never said how bad he actually was, so it makes sense Jack is doing his job and prioritizing saving lives.

Jack also didn't want to believe Will was guilty. The evidence was piled so high against him they eclipsed the sun. Jack is smart, his entire job is finding evidence to lead to a conclusion. He can't just suddenly turn a blind eye because it's Will. Jack was willing to risk his career to help him, a career that took decades and immense hard work to achieve. He then trusted Will and Will betrayed him. He wanted to trust in him until the very end. People get mad at Jack for not trusting Will but then call him dumb for trusting him later like lol what the fuck do you want?

Jack also knows when he messed up. He lives with the guilt of Miriam going missing forever, he knows he fucked up and makes it a point not to make that mistake again. He isn't careless. He cares for the people he works with. You could see it in his face how devastated he was when Beverly died, when Will was arrested. Even thinking about Miriam. There is a tenderness in him being the one to take off Will's mask and straight jacket, as an act of humanizing Will and saying "I trust you".

Jack is also a good husband who loved his wife. Yes, his job kept him away from home a lot, but Bella isn't dumb and she knew what his job entailed. He took care of her as best as he could. He wanted to do anything to support her after her cancer diagnosis, he was always in her corner. Of course he wanted her to do chemotherapy, of course he didn't want her to die. He didn't want to lose the love of his life and traverse the world alone, his most trusted and longtime support system gone. He broke the law to smoke weed with her and join her, and be a part of her care and comfort. And in the end, he did the hardest thing by letting her go so she wasn't in pain anymore. It wasn't passive, it wasn't that she died and he just watched. He pushed the plunger to give her peace. He is a human being capable of compassion and love and care.

People forget we have the audience view, so we see Hannibal being manipulative and murdering, and we see Will wake up from nightmares covered in sweat and sleepwalking. But the characters in the show aren't us! They only see what is in front of them or told to them. And they act like if they weren't in the same shoes they wouldn't do the exact same stuff.

To put it shortly, Jack is a complex and flawed character, as is literally everyone on the show and people in real life. He genuinely tries his best and wants to do good things in the world. He is sooo far from the worst character on the show (I argue he might be the most morally stable and centered) but is made out to be the worst person ever, when he isn't. He doesn't deserve to die, and he doesn't deserve to be murdered. He deserves a nice, peaceful, retirement (or vacation, not sure he could stay away tbh especially now that Bella has died) and to be left the fuck alone.