#piss is kinda. at that place when it's not really acceptable to be into it culturally

[socialantleredrabbit]

nari I would like you to kindly clarify for me which liquid of the human body is worse to be into than piss

fucking uhhhh... spinal fluid?

-katya

i would classify vomit as a liquid, honestly. i think it's worse than piss

[yuwuta]

YUUTA OKKOTSU’S DECLASSIFIED JUJUTSU TECH SURVIVAL GUIDE (AN APPETITE HAUNTING THE HEART)

❝i know this tastes too good to be healthy. the more it melts, the sweeter it gets, so take my heart out because i need all of you.

*this is yuuta okkotsu’s fool-reviewed plan for navigating all things curses, sorcery, and love. 

pairings. okkotsu/reader

content, warnings. canon-adjacent, reader has a cursed technique, friends to lovers, smut (uhh... no triggers i think? other than implied virginity loss on yuuta’s part), mentions of violence/curses, possessive/intrusive thoughts... he starts of kinda sweet and weird and then just gets... weirder and worse lol, so mostly yuuta being... yuuta <2

notes. jujustu tech is a college not a highschool, yes i brought naruto in this, i believe in sasuke slander only from a place of pure love, real sasuke ridicule will not be accepted xoxo

word count. 12k i told you i could yap about him all day

playing. candy/baekhyun, untouched/the veronicas, cream soda/exo, lacy/olivia rodrigo, pure honey/beyoncé

#1 — Do NOT touch Maki Zenin’s tools (but if you do, the cute girl who hangs around Inumaki might help to patch you up).

Yuuta hadn’t meant to piss off Maki. He was trying to be helpful, but Yuuta learned the hard way today: do not touch Maki’s cursed tools, at all, for any reason whatsoever. He intended to hand it back to her, but she was prompt in assuming that was part of an attack, snatching it from under his grasp and giving him a jab on the wrist with the dull end of the stick. If the beatdown he’d endured during training put Yuuta on his deathbed, then that hit was the final nail in the coffin.  

The crack! sound of his bones made everyone pause their sparring, and Gojo winced the loudest, “Ouch! That one had to hurt, kid!” It was also Gojo who gathered everyone to stand around and look down at him clutching his wrist in pain, before making the executive decision to appoint you as Yuuta’s caretaker.  

“This is definitely something you can handle!” he cheered, patting the top of your head, “Take our dearest Yuuta to the infirmary and patch him up, please and thank you! With the way Maki’s been kicking him into the ground, those cuts are sure to get infected sooner rather than later. The two of you can join us for dinner when you’re finished!”  

Yuuta tried to refute, on the grounds of “No—no! I—ouch—this really isn’t worth using any kind of cursed energy over!” Which was quickly met with a mischievous raised eyebrow from his teacher, “Oh? Are you insinuating that my precious student doesn’t have the skill to fix a simple fracture?” That prompted Yuuta to spill a flurry of apologies, none of which were coherent, and ended up with him trailing behind you sheepishly to the infirmary with a broken wrist, several bleeding wounds, and probably early heart failure.  

Now, Yuuta sits with his feet dangling off of the edge of the examination chair, shivering from the chilliness of the room, and all of his nerve endings rattling at the realization that this is the first time that he’s been alone in a room with you since you’ve met. He winces, first at the sting of disinfectant into his wound, and then internally—mostly out of embarrassment—because his outward reaction made you pause your actions to question if he’s okay.  

Okay is relative, he thinks. In the grand scheme of things, he’s okay. Concerning his current injuries, he’ll be okay eventually. Concerning this… whatever this is he feels for you… maybe not so okay.  

“Sorry,” he stutters, too loud for the atmosphere and proximity of your bodies to each other, and, so, he winces again, cheeks staining red to match his embarrassment, as if he or you needed any confirmation of it. He doesn’t mean to be a difficult patient, but he has an adversity surrounding hospitals and medical care, and that alcohol really does burn, and you’re really close to his face, and—and you giggle a little, but Yuuta hears a chorus, instead; warm, spring-like, with violins and a piano and cellos strumming in perfect harmony, and the buzz of bees and butterfly wings flapping the melody.  

“You apologize a lot,” you tell him, a kind smile on your lips. You step forward, just a bit, as you peel off the band-aid adhesive and gently press it over the bridge of Yuuta’s nose. It’s Hello Kitty themed. It makes him want to scream.  

“Yeah, uh—sorry about that!” Yuuta apologizes, once again too loudly. He scratches at the back of his neck with his left hand, and his eyes go wide after a few beats, “No, wait—I didn’t mean to apologize again. I just... I, uh... thank you. That’s what I wanted to say. For helping me, you have my sincerest thank you.” 

Yuuta dips his head to bow, and when he raises it again, you’re blinking at him owlishly, and he thinks he’s really done it now. You must think he’s a freak, if you didn’t already. He thinks you’re gonna tell him off for being pathetic and a weakling, but instead you laugh again—that precious sound that pauses Yuuta’s world for the better.  

“You’re awfully formal. There’s no need for that, or to thank me. We’re friends, afterall,” you reassure him, “Even if Gojo did force you to be my practice dummy.” 

It’s his turn to reassure you, his uninjured hand moving from his neck to shake frantically in front of him, “It’s completely okay,” he does his best to give you a smile as warm as the one you give him. It probably doesn’t work, but he tries anyway—he’s always been an awkward smiler, too wide-mouthed and toothy, “You can do whatever you want to me, I trust you.”  

Your face seems almost solemn at his declaration, and the panic instantly kicks in again. Yuuta scrambles when his words play back in his head, “I’m sorry, was that weird? I meant that I trust your judgment. You can, uh, fix me up however you best see fit—or just leave it! I’m sure it’ll heal on—”

“You’re awfully self-sacrificing, too,” you cut him off with a laugh, your usual warm nature clicking back. Yuuta shrugs, feeble; you smile wider, “I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. I keep staring, and I’m sorry to have made you uncomfortable.” 

“Not at all! You don’t... make me uncomfortable, I mean. You could never,” Yuuta rushes, curling back into himself after his outburst, “You... it always feels really nice when you’re around. I can’t explain it, but everything is calmer.”

Your eyes flutter across his face, before you turn away from him, “I can tell it makes you nervous—I can hear the changes in your heartbeat,” you tell him, opening the cabinet to return the alcohol to its rightful place. You must also be able to hear his thoughts, chiming in just as Yuuta continues to wonder if his heartbeat is really that loud, “It’s part of my technique. I don’t mean to intrude on your heart.” 

Is it an intrusion if Yuuta left room for you? If he wanted you to be there? Was it crazy to think that he’d give you his heart to hold and trust you to take care of it, even though you’d only met a few months ago? Maybe it would be easier if he let you squeeze tight enough to put him out of his misery already.

Luckily, you keep talking before he can say something stupid like that out-loud again. 

“It’s just that... you remind me of somebody that I used to know. You’re kind like him, and you both share a well-intentioned recklessness, too. I see so much of him in you that it’s hard not to stare sometimes,” you admit, turning back to face him, and gingerly taking his wrist between your hands. When your hands start to glow, Yuuta can feel it—your reversed cursed technique is warm on the surface, but chilly underneath, like a heated blanket on top of perfectly cool sheets. 

“I don’t mean to say that you’re just a replacement,” you continue, slowly rotating your hands over his injury. It stings a little, then soothes, “I’m just still in awe of how nice it feels being around you. It feels strangely—” 

“Familiar,” Yuuta interjects, “I understand. You feel that way, too. I think... that’s what I meant before.” He understands your words perfectly because you remind him of someone precious to him, too; someone he used to and still loves alot. “You—it makes me happy, that’s why I seem so nervous.”

It seems as though you understand him, too. His heart sings, and you can probably hear it, but Yuuta doesn’t quite mind so much now. What he feels for you is consuming, maybe concerning, but knowing that you know what it’s like to love like him brings him an odd sense of comfort. Maybe he should be jealous that you’ve had someone to love that much before, but he’s not exactly in a position to talk. What matters is that you can hear him and feel him—his heart and his love and his sad and his happy, and it doesn’t push you away. 

It makes him want to burst. He owes you a thank you for putting something so precious in his life. He owes you an apology, for ever doubting that you couldn’t handle his symptoms. He should have realized that you can handle his love.

“You feel really warm, too,” he blushes, scratching at the back of his neck with his free hand, “And, uh, not just because you’re holding my hand.” 

The twinkle in your eyes turns into confusion, then surprise when you look down to see that the hand below his wrist had moved to rest underneath his palm instead. His wrist was well healed by now, and you’d been, effectively, massaging his skin and muscles with your technique for the latter duration of your conversation without realizing it. 

Yuuta couldn’t tell when it went from healing to hand holding, but he’s not complaining—and he doesn’t think he could have stopped it either. Another quality to your technique that he couldn’t understand was how your energy felt sticky, flowed like honey; how it managed to run into broken crevices and bruised dents with a mind of its own. Even if he’d wanted to pull his hand away—and he didn’t, he absolutely did not—he wouldn’t have gotten far from you. He never wanted to be. 

“You already have calluses on your palm,” you note, dispelling your healing energy, holding onto Yuuta’s hand only by want now, “You train hard. You’ll catch up to Maki and Toge, quickly, but not if you don’t take care of yourself.” 

Yuuta almost chokes when you rotate your wrist so that your fingers are aligned. Your hand is so much softer than his, warmer than his, and maybe he’s idealistic, but your fingers seem to slot perfectly between his when you curl them. 

“I’m not always going to be around to fix you up,” you warn him, “So don’t go around pissing Maki off too much, alright?” 

Yuuta can feel the heat from your body flow through him. From his palm, up his arm, down into his chest, and everywhere else. It doesn’t feel real. You’re holding his hand, you’re smiling at him, you’re right there and you’re so bright and beautiful, so Yuuta doesn’t know why his thoughts are so gray and dangerous; you wouldn’t hurt him, and he doesn’t want to hurt you, so why can’t he stop thinking about keeping you like this—of stitching your hands together forever to keep you by his side, or letting this heat consume and burn you both. 

Yuuta shakes his head to wiggle those thoughts away, but to you it seems like he’s saying no to staying off of Maki’s radar. When he realizes it, he nods too reverently to make up for it; surely looking like an idiot, and then to top it off, he squeaks, “I—yes, ma’am!” 

Another foolish outburst on his end, perhaps, but it makes you giggle, fills the room with springtime for a moment, so to Yuuta, it was worth it. “Good,” you nod, release his hand and beckon him off of the chair, “Come on, we should go eat before Panda takes all the good sides for himself.” 

Yuuta follows you back to the dorms with his stomach already full of love, love, love. He loves you, and you can hear, and see, and feel exactly what you do to him, and you don’t run. Yuuta thinks maybe you should, even though he doesn’t want you to. Surely you know what he did to Rika when he loved her. 

Rika seems to like you, actually, if the humming of her voice in his head as he takes his seat at the table next to you is any indication. He can vaguely make out some of her words as you pass him the dumplings—warm, kind, loyal. He agrees. Pretty, too. No disagreement there. 

In such a short amount of time, you’ve shifted Yuuta’s ethos for life. He wanted to die to be with the person he loved before, and never quite understood why Rika would stop him, why she would want him to suffer in this life alone; but maybe this is what Rika was always trying to tell him; that his love was not lost and buried with her, but flowing towards you, his heart, a beacon for you to locate. 

You’d mentioned that he reminded you of someone you knew before, that you couldn’t see anymore. Yuuta doesn’t know what happened to your person before he came along; he can only hope that you’ll allow him and his heart to be a vessel for your love someday, too. He won’t disappoint you. He won’t let you let go of him. 

It shouldn’t be hard. You already have his heart in your hands. 

#2 — Gojo is more than a teacher. He is also the school event planner, once ranked Diamond in Overwatch, and is the only person blacklisted from any and all kitchens on campus. He also gives pretty good (sometimes questionable?) advice. His eyes are kind of scary.  

You’re there when he and Toge are nearly decimated by the Grade 1 curse in the abandoned market. He still doesn’t understand much about sorcery at this point, so seeing people like you and Toge in action is awe-inspiring to say the least. Yuuta knows that Toge is nothing short of amazing, but he can’t help but to be drawn into you, you, you—your energy, your fighting style, the seemingly never-ending applications of your technique. Cursed energy in and of itself is still a foreign concept to him, so perhaps it’s that seeing you use the reverse of it so effortlessly is even more novel to him. 

He can hear Rika strumming in the back of his mind, an indistinct itch and hum that sounds vaguely like laughter at his self-justification. He chooses to ignore her. 

After, while he’s still buzzing with the tingly warm sensation of your technique after you’d patched him up, Gojo finds him, and Yuuta, unable to keep up a façade, pours all his anxious, worried, inquisitive feelings about his mission on the table. 

“The way that (_____) can heal wounds... is that something I can learn?” Yuuta questions his teacher, eyes tired but genuine and earnest.  

And Gojo, all knowing and absolutely singing at the implications, smiles so wide he’s certain his newest student could see the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, even through the dark tint of his glasses. “Maybe.”  

He goes on, leaning back into the old loveseat, one leg crossed over his other knee, “You’ll probably be able to learn to heal yourself with reversed cursed technique, but using it to heal others is difficult and rare. Shoko and (_____) are the only people I know who can do it.”

“Is… did she get to learn it because she’s a Grade 1?” He remembers Maki explaining the ranking system for Jujutsu sorcerers. You and Toge were ranked the highest in the class, and amongst the other Kyoto students; it would make sense that you two have learned more applications of your techniques due to your higher placements.

Gojo chuckles, much to Yuuta’s confusion. “That’s not quite how it works—and if it were, then you’d already know because you’re a Special Grade. You don’t unlock new lessons as you move up, you move up because of how well you’ve learned to control and apply your own cursed technique.”

Right. That makes sense. Except Yuuta knows that his classification of Special Grade is a bit of a cheat because he can’t control or apply his cursed energy half as well as any of his classmates. He has Rika to thank for his immediate promotion, not himself or his own skills.

“In any case, if you do learn it, you’ll never be able to execute it like her, that’s for certain. Reversed cursed technique is complicated to learn and nearly impossible to teach. It’s one of those things you truly have to figure out for yourself when the timing is right—I only got it when I was on the brink of death. It’s 100% effective on the person doing it, but only 50% effective when applied to other people by the user,” Gojo says, “Except for (_____). She was born with reversed cursed energy, which is why she has an almost 100% output on herself and others, so she’s extra special. ”

Yuuta frowns. He never expected to do anything half as well as you, but knowing there’s only half a chance that he could, literally, only ever meet you half-way is frustrating. You can save him time and time and time again, as you already have, and all he can do is be a wound for you to stitch back together. 

It must be difficult for you. A similar thought had crossed his mind when he first met Shoko-san, feeling bad for her having to carry the burden of healing others, knowing that she could never receive the same treatment in return. It’s worse for you, though, to be an angel amongst the men on this Earth—it’s not fair that you can give so much to help, and nobody can do the same for you. Yuuta wants to give something to you, he wants to devote himself to you, so at the very least, you have that. If he can’t give you anything else, he can give you himself.

Gojo laughs at Yuuta’s silence, kicking his legs up on the coffee table. “That’s hard for you to hear, huh? Ha! You truly are a lover, not a fighter, Yuuta.”

Yuuta blinks at him. “I, uh... thank you?” He says, even though he’s not so certain that those two things are discernable.  

“Right now, the best thing for you to do is focus on controlling Rika and your cursed energy. That way, (_____) can also focus on fighting, and not healing, when you’re on missions together. The stronger you are, the less she’ll have to clean up after you,” Gojo advises.

He puts his feet back on the floor and uses the leverage to lean over, a bit too close for Yuuta’s comfort. “The only thing you can do for her is to learn to help yourself.”

Yuuta’s eyes go wide. He wants to—he wants to help you, wants to help himself, wants to help others, too. There’s a selfish twang for a moment, the thought of not needing you anymore tugging at his heart, but Rika reminds him that he’ll still want you. 

Then an even scarier thought crosses his mind. “What happens if I don’t learn to control this? What happens if I curse her instead?”

Yuuta trembles at the thought, breathing and heartbeat erratic, his sensei moving back a bit. Rika is there again, reassuring him that he never hurt her, that his love never hurts, that the only person he’s ever truly harmed is himself by isolation of his own feelings. Trust her, Rika demands, she can handle this.

You can. Can you? You have, so far. You don’t run, you don’t push, you give, and give, and give to him; Rika was kind and playful and took and took and took Yuuta’s loneliness and sickness in stride and he still cursed her, seemingly for all eternity. He wants to love and be loved, but not if it means hurting you—isn’t it bad enough that he’s already inept at healing your wounds? Why should he risk giving you more?

“Yuuta,” Gojo calls him out of his thoughts, “I’m disappointed.” 

That truly breaks Yuuta’s cyclical monologue. “I—disappointed?” 

Gojo ticks his tongue, shakes his head and points a finger in accusation, “You should know your fellow classmates better by now. (_____) is not that weak or scared,” he chastises, “You’re so worried about cursing her that you haven’t realized that she is the only person so far to have effectively used her curse on you.”

Yuuta pauses, eyes wet with the awful realization that Gojo was right. You have already cursed him; your technique has already gotten past the barrier of his curse. You’ve cursed him. He never stopped to think that it was possible, worried only about himself. How selfish—he shares Gojo’s disappointment in himself. 

He’s spent so much time loathing his jealous mind and decaying heart that he hasn’t opened his eyes to see you that you’ve found him. You can poison anything he does, and make the antidote with equal ease; how stupidly naive of Yuuta to think that he could be the one to diagnose or treat you better than you could him, or yourself. 

“I’m sorry, sensei,” Yuuta dips his head, and also spares you an internal apology, “I understand better, now.”

“Is that so?” Gojo muses, leaning back into the sofa. His eyes scan Yuuta’s when his head is raised again, that knowing grin creeping back up on his lips. “Well, if you still want to know more about reversed curse technique, or want help learning it, it’s not an entirely lost cause. I’m definitely not the person for this lesson, but, you know who is?” 

Yuuta feels a sense of whiplash from the change in Gojo’s demeanor. Confusion clouds his mind again, and he shrugs, “Um... Shoko-sensei?” 

Gojo makes a loud buzzer noise, complete with crossing his arms in front of his chest in a big ‘X.’ Yuuta frowns again. Is that where Toge learned to do that? 

“Wrong! I’m talking about (_____), obviously!” Gojo claps his hands together, before lowering his glasses to wiggle his eyebrows, “Tutoring is a textbook way to get some alone time, kiddo. You want to spend more time with her outside of class and missions, right?”

“I want to spend all my time with her,” Yuuta confesses, mindlessly. And foolishly, he soon realizes, when he sees that Gojo’s grin has tripled; and he’s quick to flash his hands to correct himself, “No—not like that—not in a creepy way! I just... I want to get to know her better, like you said.”

Yuuta’s awkward chuckles fill the space, and he can feel his insides burning from his cheeks all the way down to his hands. Would he ever be able to think coherently or tactfully when it came to you? 

“So, uh... I... it’s okay if I ask her about this stuff, too?” 

“Some sorcerers don’t like talking about their cursed techniques. But (_____) might not mind. You won’t know until you try.” 

Yuuta nods shallowly. Try. He can do that—if not for himself, then for you; he can try for you. All you need from him is to accept your course of treatment; to love you is to let you curse him, completely. 

“I’m a firm believer that all’s fair in love and war,” Gojo stands, stretching into Yuuta’s space to ruffle his hair. He leans down further, giving him a glimpse of his glowing eyes before sparing him a wink, “So, be a little greedy, and give it your best shot.”

#3 — Social media is the most twisted curse out there. It makes you feel so close, yet is a stark reminder of just how far you are from the person on the other end of the screen. 

Yuuta has never considered himself good with technology. Even before Rika’s incident, he often felt ostracized by his peers because he didn’t have the same interest in or experience with games and cartoons. He had no reason to have a computer or a phone until enrolling at Jujutsu Tech, and there was an evident learning curve in navigating the devices. Toge often snickered watching Yuuta use his smartphone with the dexterity of a senior citizen. 

He only barely set up Instagram and TikTok accounts with Toge’s help, but he doesn’t really get the idea of followers—why would people who don’t know him want to follow him? Why would he follow them? He doesn’t know many memes or jokes and even after seeing them, he doesn’t think many are all that funny, but he laughs anyway. 

He doesn’t have much time to perfect his social media and meme skills, anyway. He’s dedicated to training and gaining mission experience—which pays off when Geto declares war on the school by the end of the year. Yuuta remembers how you returned his phone to him the next day, a few cracks and black, dark spots on the screen, giggling that you’d found it in the rubble, but that even your reverse cursed technique couldn’t fix its scars. 

He thinks he gets the hang of it in the end—the basics of communication and the appeal behind connection with others through it—even going so far as to trade selfies with Gojo sometimes, who always seemed happy to receive them, no matter how much post-exorcism curse gunk Yuuta was covered in. 

He also frequently exchanges texts with you. He much prefers to see you in person, but when you’re stuck for long hours in the ER, or away from campus on your own missions, Yuuta has grown fond of receiving your messages. He always attempts to read them in your voice and imagine your facial expressions to match those of the emojis you send. He hasn’t quite gotten the hang of those yet, doesn’t understand what Toge means when he says that not all smiley faces are created equally, so to save himself the trouble, and potential embarrassment, he’s opted to use emoticons instead. Which, if you asked him, has been working out in his favor, seeing as you call them cute. 

Yuuta also uses the safety of his phone screen to implement some of Gojo’s advice; picking your brain about curses, sorcery, and healing via text message for just long enough for you to say it’s easier to explain in person to come to him and teach him in your spare time. Soon these study sessions turn into texts asking to hang out outside of class and missions and work, and Yuuta couldn’t be more elated. The screen he once scorned at seemed to be his one-way ticket to being able to talk to his favorite person constantly. 

But Yuuta never thought it would become his only means of communication with you. He’s devastated when you break the news to him, over half-finished oolong tea and nervous finger-twiddling. 

“You’re leaving?” He echoes, hoping he doesn’t sound too much like a heartbroken child, even though that’s exactly how he feels. 

It’s quiet outside of the tea shop where you two sit, nearing seven in the evening; only the soft sounds of other customers conversing behind you two inside, distant cars on the main street, and the sound of Yuuta’s heart beating frantically.  

“Not leaving leaving,” you clarify, pausing your finger twirling to place one of your hands over Yuuta’s on the table, “I’m still studying, but I’m being sent abroad for a bit.” 

He should be focused on the fact that you’re touching his hand—Yuuta should be happy! Rika still cheers for you in his mind, but her voice is quieter now—but Yuuta can’t. He’s focused on everything else, spiraling about the implications of your words. You’re leaving... going away from him when things are going so well. 

Yuuta was so happy when you taught him the reversed curse technique, even happier when he realized he did have the ability to heal others, knowing it also meant having the ability to help you relieve some of your burdens. That didn’t mean that he didn’t still want to give himself to you, he would if you’d have him—but now he wouldn’t have the chance.  

“I haven’t told anyone else yet—Gojo only told me this morning,” you mumble, “I’m going to miss you all a lot, but we can still text every day! I don’t know how long the time difference will be, but we can FaceTime.” 

It’s not lost on Yuuta that he is the first person that you’ve told about this. It’s another thing to be happy about, another little victory he never thought he’d achieve, but it’s still overpowered by the dread of you leaving him. 

He blinks, placing his other hand atop yours, sandwiching them between his, “How long?” Yuuta can’t read the expression on your face, but you don’t pull your hand away. He’s glad. He didn’t think when he’d done it, but the lack of rejection feels good—your touch always feels good, reverse cursed energy or not. 

“I’m… not sure—a few months at least, maybe until the end of the year,” you admit, squeezing his hand, “There are some cursed objects and scrolls they want me to help recover, and Gojo says I get to work with another Special Grade sorcerer, too.” 

His hands feel so good, so warm, but everything else about Yuuta feels cold, icy with dread and fear. You’re going away for a long time, and he won’t get to see you or hear you laugh or feel your warmth while you’re gone. His sunny days are going away, and Yuuta honestly doesn’t know how many more overcast skies and rain clouds he can take.

And it’s selfish, he knows. He should be happy for you—you were chosen for this mission, for this training; you’re getting the chance to use your skills to help others, and train even further. So, why couldn’t he be happy for you? Why could he only feel a pit in his stomach about the thought of you leaving and meeting some other Special Grade who’s rightfully deserving of their title? Not only had he lost the thing that brought him to you in the first place, but you’re about to find another replacement. Sure, with or without Rika’s curse, Yuuta had become so much stronger, but what’s it worth if he couldn’t keep you by his side?

“Tsukumo is supposed to be really cool, but you’ll always be my favorite Special Grade, Yuuta,” you taunt with a smile. 

Yuuta’s eyes go wide and watery with wobbly lips and flushed cheeked and sweaty palms to match. Favorite. Favorite, favorite, favorite. The word spoken in your voice rings in his head like a beautiful chime, the tones washing over him and erasing all his fear and doubt and insecurity. 

You had called Yuuta your favorite. Sure, he’s still upset when he and the other first-years drop you off at the airport too weeks later, he still cries the first night you’re gone, still nearly breaks his knee trying to jump for his phone the first time that you call; but it’s okay because Yuuta is living off of the temporary high of being your favorite. 

And also, because, in the end, your separation seems to have been inevitable. Not a month after everyone bids you farewell from Jujutsu Tech, Gojo tells him that he’s next on the docket to be sent abroad. He’s happy for a split second, thinking that he might get sent off to Europe where you’re still working with Tsukumo, but then Yuuta learns his true fate: studying under the tutelage of Miguel in Kenya; equal parts away from his classmates in Tokyo, and from you in Barcelona. 

Whoever said distance makes the heart grow fonder was a liar and a bitch, because the favorite boy honeymoon comes to an end when Yuuta settles into his new room and makes his first call to you from Nairobi. The feeling and reality of being alone, and even further away from you finally hits him. Still, he relishes in the sound of your voice; fantasizes that when you reach for your phone to show him your new things, it’s you reaching for his hand; dreams of you laying next to him when you fall asleep on the call, and desperately wishes that he could touch you, hold you, kiss you. 

He really wants to kiss you. He thinks he’s probably always wanted to kiss you, from the very moment his feelings for you started to grow; even if he couldn’t discern them at first, he knows now—Yuuta knows that he misses you like he’s never missed anyone before. The grief of losing part of Rika, and then losing his proximity to you merely weeks apart is finally catching up to him, and it’s morphing into a yearning that tugs on his heartstrings and rattles his brain. 

He knows that the rate of growth of his feelings for you hasn’t been steady, but he blames you for that. You’re the reason he loves you so much, the reason he can’t sleep at night, the reason he learns how to bring Rika back—because he thinks of you, you, you, and how he lost Rika once, and he’d be a fool to lose you twice.

Yuuta thinks it’s no coincidence that your cursed technique has the ability to alter him in mind and body. You have so much ownership over him and you probably don’t even know that Yuuta has spent every single moment of his life living and breathing for you since you’ve met. 

And you take his breath away yet again, when he gets to see you in Germany. Miguel is taking him to Switzerland on a classified mission, and you and Tsukumo are on your way to Austria, and by some great miracle, your layovers align. When he sees you waving to him down the long corridor in the airport, it feels like a scene straight out of his dreams. Yuuta spares no time trying to look cool or nonchalant; making a beeline to you, desperate to feel your touch after so long. 

He’s breathless in those ten minutes that you’re reunited. Everything is too short, but he does his best to live in it all. He speaks a mile a minute, cramming in anything he hadn’t already revealed to you in your many late-night FaceTimes, and swallowing everything you tell him. He wants to believe that he’d made the best of what little time he had with you, but the truth is he didn’t. Because while you were smiling and hugging and telling him that you missed him, all Yuuta really wanted to do was kiss you—and if he were a smarter man, a better man, he would have. 

He thinks, for a split second, that you might have wanted to kiss him too—when you rock back on your heels after saying good-bye, hesitating for just a moment, almost expectantly, before your eyes flutter away. He’ll never know, because he never asked, he never tried, he never said—only whispered, pathetically, to himself as he watches the silhouette of you and Tsukomo before you disappear for boarding, that he loves you. 

He almost believes that you hear it when you turn over your shoulder after his quiet confession. Would it have been better that way—if he kissed you, or confessed in the heat of the moment—or would it be taking advantage of an otherwise beautiful moment? Yuuta will never know, and the what if tantalizes him.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and opens the thread of your messages. He starts typing, then stops. Backspace. Start typing. Pause. Read, re-read. Delete. Groan. 

What’s the point? He can’t kiss you through the screen, and he’ll be damned if the first time he tells you that he’s in love with you is via phone call. He slumps his shoulders, and Miguel gives him a pity pat on the back. Yuuta goes to lock his phone when he sees the gray thought bubbles pop up below your last message and his entire body goes rigid in anticipation. 

[received] 03:27 PM — [attachment: 1 image] — you should keep a closer eye on your things yuuta — i miss you already (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤ 

Yuuta’s heart stops when he sees the picture of you in your seat, wearing his white uniform jacket. He doesn’t know when you snuck it away from him, but that doesn’t matter—like anything else, he would have willingly given it to you, and then some. It looks much better on you anyway, and Yuuta pinches his eyes shut for a brief moment, to swallow down the thoughts threatening to swarm his mind of you in his arms, in other clothes, in his bed. 

He opens his eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets the warm, gooey feeling settle into his veins, and moves his fingers to type. 

[sent] 03:38 PM — keep it, you can have anything of mine you want — i miss you more (๑′ ᴗ ‵๑)♥

You heart his messages and let him know you’re taking off soon, and putting your phone on airplane mode until you land. He’s not so confident to send a picture in return, unless you ask for it. Maybe you will, when you’re in Austria. He’ll have to work on his selfies.

He takes another once over the picture you sent, committing the idea of you in his clothes to memory. He knows the messages won’t delete themselves, but he takes a screenshot for safekeeping anyway. Maybe phones aren’t so bad, afterall. 

#4 — Do not kill Itadori Yuuji. Under any circumstances. Even if some days you really feel like it. Also, sign up for a Crunchyroll subscription. 

Yuuta can confidently say that his training abroad was both the most difficult and fulfilling thing he’s ever experienced. He believes that the change he’s endured is mostly good—he’s physically stronger, emotionally wiser, and overall more confident in himself and his cursed technique. One year ago, he would have been content with dying, but now he has more than enough reasons to keep living. He has people who care about him, and who would miss him if he were gone; and he’s got someone he would miss a whole bunch, too, should anything happen to them.  

By miss Yuuta means that he might burn down a small town, might level a city, might flip the entire world on its axis if something were to happen to you. In his defense, he’d go to extremes for most of his friends—but for you, there’s truly nothing he wouldn’t risk.  

He figured that out in his time abroad, too; came to terms with the fact that he’s selfish with his love. He loves too much, too hard, too close, and he isn’t very willing to share. He doesn’t see it as a bad thing, anymore, either—Yuuta knows now that the way he loves makes him who he is, and right now, he has the confidence to say that he likes that person, and that he loves you, undoubtedly. 

So, forgive him if there’s a cloud of negative energy the size of a coach bus looming over him at the moment, because since you’ve returned to campus, Itadori Yuuji has been slobbering over you like a lovesick puppy.  

Because apparently, you happen to know Itadori Yuuji—as in, since you were four and he was three, all the way up until your senior year of highschool, when you were scouted by Gojo, who, believes that you coming home from your study abroad trip would be the perfect time to reunite two best friends who hadn’t seen or heard from each other for the better part of two years—all while keeping this little reunion a secret from everybody, including you and Itadori.

A surprise, it certainly is, when the first time that Yuuta and the other second-years see you in months is on the dingy couch in the common room, under a cuddle pile of the first-years. Nobara’s arms wrapped around your left arm, body slumped against your side, Megumi’s long limbs stretching over Itadori’s torso, leaving the palm of his hand resting on your thigh. Far too close for Yuuta’s comfort. The only saving grace is that the jacket he loaned you is also spread across your lap, offering another layer between your body and his palm. And then there’s Itadori Yuuji, squished right between you and Megumi, with his head on your shoulder, his arms around your waist, and your free arm slung around his neck. 

Yuuta should have been relishing in the fact that you were finally home, but all his focus is drawn to the way your position allows Itadori to cuddle right into you, to the way your arm is around his shoulder and your cheek pressed against the top of his head. You two might as well have been in your own little world, and Yuuta hates it. And, as if that’s not enough, the realization that he was not the first person to hug you or welcome you home clicks, and his anger bubbles deeper.  

Next comes dread, that creeps in slowly when you and the first-years wake up, and you and Itadori go on and on and on about how surprised you were to see each other at the airport, how Itadori just assumed that when Gojo said he’d assigned them to “pick up something super special,” that he was messing with them, how you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of your precious, precious kouhai that you’d missed so dearly.

Childhood best friends brought back together through sorcery. Yuuta’s seen that one before, and he didn’t like the ending.

You and Itadori mend the gap in your friendship like two years of no contact was nothing, falling into a pattern that’s so easy and familiar, that it’s painful for Yuuta to watch. The assumption that you’d died, and the knowledge that Yuuji had actually died only served to strengthen your vows to protect each other in the name of your friendship from here on out.  

Yuuta considers putting his own sword through his chest if it means you’ll swear your devotion to him. If he died, would you cry for him? Would you pray over his grave and beg for him to come back to you?—or would you find comfort in those who kept living, find solace in a friend who came back for you and can still hold you in his arms? 

“Tsuna tsuna,” he hears from his left, followed by a mischievous giggle. Toge’s taunting is hardly enough to pull Yuuta out of his cloud of rage, but the blunt end of Maki’s staff is.  

“Will you stop pining so damn hard?” she sneers, whipping the staff back to her side and placing a hand on her hip, “Not only is it pathetic, it’s gonna attract curses like flies to honey.”  

“Why am I the only one getting hit?” He turns to his right to motion to Megumi, who seems to be brooding just as hard. Megumi respects you, but it was easy to see that he was reaching his limit on sharing his recently revived lover with someone else. Maki huffs, “Because he doesn’t have a literal cloud of darkness looming around him.”  

Yuuta sighs, doing his best to reign in his feelings, but it’s pointless once he hears your laughter across the field—light and airy and sunshiney and all because of Itadori Yuuji. 

What were you two talking about? If Itadori were out of the way, would you pledge yourself to Yuuta? Did he ever hold a space comparable to Itadori in your heart—would you let him?

A broken chord strikes Yuuta’s heart when he realizes that Itadori is the person you told him about last year; the person you missed so much, and you never thought you’d be able to see again; the person that Yuuta reminded you of; the person he was happy and eager to be for you. And now, in knowing Itadori, Yuuta thinks that his willingness was beautifully naive—to think that he could compare to someone like this. Itadori is light, where Yuuta is dark; he sees the best in people, where Yuuta manages to come off on the wrong foot always; he perseveres in faith and determination, where Yuuta is fueled by an anxious desire to prove, prove, prove himself to be worth something to anybody. 

He can see how easy it is to love Itadori. It’s easy to cling to faith, to believe in something higher than yourself, to know that someone above can pull you up. Yuuta cannot compete where he cannot compare; he’s a shadow that engulfs you, takes you away from light, a dream that’s hard to wake up from. He could never be bright to you; his best attempt would probably drive you and him too close to the sun, martyred for love in burning flames.

Still, even in all his jealousy, Yuuta comes to the even more sobering realization that making Itadori disappear wouldn’t fix his problems. You told him he wasn’t Itadori’s replacement, but maybe that’s because he could never be him; maybe he doesn’t have to be. Yuuji could never be him, and he could never be Yuuji, but whether Yuuta likes it or not, he and Itadori are two sides of the same coin; and as such, Yuuta has, begrudgingly, grown to feel the same sense of responsibility over the younger boy that you do.

So, even though he never expected that they would both be at the mercy of your hand at the same time in this lifetime, he absolutely cannot kill Itadori Yuuji. Not only would it make you sad, but it would probably make Yuuta even sadder in the end, somehow. What a bother. 

He’s about to get up—to leave, maybe go over there, he doesn’t know yet—but he stops when he hears a calm buzzing by his ear. Yuuta blinks, slowly, shoulders relaxing unconsciously, allowing the larger than normal honey-bee to land on him. He recognizes it as one of your shikigami—and even if he hadn’t, that familiar, cooling sensation that washes over him would have let him know—so, gently, he lifts a hand across his torso, allowing it to crawl onto his finger, and strum its tune.

Yuuta can feel a few more, hear them humming around him, and he closes his eyes, lets the small group of bees flutter around him and all that looming jealousy dissipates from his body. 

Faintly, past the calm hum of the small swarm, Yuuta can hear the call of Yuuji’s voice, petulant, “Aw, no fair. Fushiguro, I want calming shikigami, too! Can you bring out the bunnies? Please.” 

Beside him, Toge and Maki seem bemused by his newly calmed state, then amused when Megumi sighs, stands, and reluctantly pulls his hands together before a couple dozen white rabbits flood the field and hop onto Yuuji. 

The buzzing grows softer, and then quiet. Briefly, Yuuta feels a bee land on his cheek, before it flies away, leaving the smell of fresh pollen in his wake, and when he blinks his eyes open again, you’re there, in front of him with a smile sweeter than anything he’s ever known. 

“Hope they didn’t scare you,” you muse, waving a finger before the last bee hovering around you disappears, “You seemed upset, everything alright?” 

He’s about to open his mouth to say something, anything, when he’s cut off by Itadori Yuuji once again, with one bunny on either shoulder, and three more cradled in his arms. “Hey, doesn’t (_____) totally remind you guys of Sakura!”  

Maki scoffs, albeit with amusement, as she points her staff at Yuuji’s hair. “If anyone bears resemblance to Sakura, it’s you, Itadori.”  

Yuuji actually makes an attempt to look at his own hair before chuckling. Yuuta flashes a look to Megumi, who looks equal parts exasperated and enchanted. Yuuta doesn’t get the reference, and when Inumaki starts making gestures about how Yuuji is like some Naruto guy and Yuuji screams about how Megumi resembles a Shikamaru, he becomes too afraid to ask.  

You seemed charmed at the end of the discussion, when everybody fundamentally agrees that you’re the Sakura of the group. Yuuta is far less charmed by these comparisons (and it has nothing to do with the fact that he didn’t get one). He doubts that this Sakura person can do what you can do, doubts that Sakura is even worthy enough to be compared to you, whoever she may be. 

And maybe Yuuta goes back to his room to watch several compilation videos about ships in Naruto later that day, but nobody has to know that. From what he’s gathered, Sakura is pretty cool, and even though Yuuji bears the most physical resemblance to her, he can see why everyone agrees that your healing abilities compare well to hers. Yuuta thinks you’re better, and he’s still holding out hope that there’s some other character equivalent for you that Itadori didn’t think of, that Yuuta can, just to prove that he knows you better. He doesn’t fight any comparisons between Gojo and Kakashi, though. That one honestly freaked him out a little. 

If it turns out that you’re Sakura, then he should hope to be Sasuke, but Yuuta thinks this dude is kind of a dick. From the 47 minutes of scattered Naruto content that he’s consumed, he actually much prefers the dynamic between Sakura and Naruto, even if that does equate to Itadori Yuuji having a crush on you, at least you’re out of his league and chasing after somebody else. 

Still, he thinks Sakura would be upset if Naruto actually died, or worse, if Sasuke actually killed him—never mind the fact that apparently he tried to kill her? Yuuta would never do that, but Sakura still seems to like Sasuke after all of that... in any case, Itadori Yuuji must live, and Yuuta must accept his fate as Sasuke reborn. 

Though, to Yuuta’s understanding so far, Sasuke and Naruto are destined to duke it out and if only one of them has to survive, then maybe it’s not so bad to be this guy. Yuuta doesn’t know how it ends between them, but he thinks he could take on Itadori Yuuji if he had to. He won’t because he’s your friend, and Yuuta’s friend now, too, but if Itadori or the curse inside of him acts up, then Yuuta can at least rest assured he can put a stop to it. That’s not something he could have guaranteed a year ago, but now, he can. 

Yuuta sighs, finally locking his phone and shoving his head under his blanket. He’s been knee deep in analyses about Sakura ships for the past two and a half hours now, and he’ll admit Sasuke is growing on him, but not much. His only saving grace seems to be that Sakura is madly, unconditionally in love with him; Yuuta wouldn’t mind having that kind of devotion from you. He turns to lay on his back, staring up at the blank ceiling and wonders: if it came down to saving only one of them, would Sakura pick Naruto or Sasuke... would you choose the boy who’s loved and looked up to you since you were kids, or the boy who sacrificed everything in hopes of gaining enough strength so that what happened to him never happens to anyone else. 

Maybe they answer that in the series, Yuuta reasons. 720 episodes, at 20 minutes per episode... if he devotes about half-a-day to watching Naruto, then he can breeze through it in a little over two weeks, maybe sooner if he uses his weekends efficiently. That’s plausible, and by the end of it, Yuuta is certain that he’ll have the answers he needs—and even if it doesn’t, then at least, he’ll have one more thing to talk to you about.

In the end, Sakura picks Sasuke, Naruto marries somebody else, and Yuuta understands that the two were never opposites, but complements, and that Itadori Yuuji-shaped pit in his stomach dissipates. Still, about three weeks later at breakfast he makes the argument that if anything you’re more akin to Tsunade, minus the gambling addiction, and that gets him rave reactions from everyone, including you, who is more than happy to show him your new slug shikigami as a means of commemorating your new Naruto kin. 

Believe that, Itadori. 

#5 — None of this matters if you don’t kiss her. You have to kiss the girl—or she’ll get mad enough to the point where she’ll kiss you.

The following month comes your indictment into the Semi-Special Grade hall of responsibility. Yuuta vaguely recalls Gojo’s lecture on how people don’t really get promoted to Special Grade—it’s classification you’re born or cursed with, like himself, or Yuuji, or Tsukumo—but, you, of course, defy all odds and expand everything Yuuta knows. Nobody is surprised—Yuuta thinks everyone was among the similar thought that you were undoubtedly unique amongst your classmates, in a way that was different from him or Yuuji. Being born with a body that generates reversed cursed energy instead of cursed energy is deserving of Special Grade status if you asked him; he doesn’t know what pushed the higher-ups into finally acknowledging your skill, but he knows it’s well-past due. And while he’s happy you’re getting recognition for your efforts, Yuuta would never wish to saddle you with half of the shit the higher-ups put him through. 

They better hope that Yuuta doesn’t find out that they’re plotting anything with you, lest they meet the end of his sword.

Part of your promotion entails a dual-degree program that will have you starting medical school next fall. Yuuta almost cries at the thought of you being sent away again, until you tell him that Gojo managed to pull a few strings this time—to fund everything and keep you in Tokyo. 

And even though you’re not licensed to treat civilians yet, you’re already more than experienced with taking care of and healing your fellow sorcerers, which lends Shoko’s promotional gift to be a shiny new office, right across from hers. Yuuta is the first person you invite inside, and he brings you a photo of you, him, Maki, and Toge from last year—honestly, probably the only photo the four of you have together—to christen your desk, and a plaque with your name on it for the door, that he may or may not have fantasized about it reading with your first name and his last name on it instead.

To no surprise, your office becomes a safe haven of sorts. Yuuta would define any time or place with you as a safe haven, but there’s something special about this place. Maybe Yuuta is still leaping from this being the second time you’ve chosen him. He’s the first person to see your office, the first person to sit at your chair, your first official patient when he stubs his toe against the corner of your desk (where he left the first decorative object). Maybe it’s a little far to say that this place has him all over it as much as it does you, but Yuuta likes the sound of that. 

When he comes back from gruesome missions, he’s invited to let himself in, no matter how much blood he’s covered in, and you’ll be there to take care of him. It’s not different than before—not different than even last year when he’d waddled in your shadow to the room across the hall and sat down with heart palpitations while you fixed his wrist—but something about this feels special. It holds a different weight than hanging out in your dorm or cooking together in the kitchen; this office is yours, the things you say and do to him here are confidential, the yearning for and almost-kisses you almost have are for you and him alone; within these four walls, you’re free to curse him completely. 

So, he’s understandably upset when your office becomes a cozy corner for the other students as well. Maki likes to take refuge inside to study alone, Panda and Toge have been caught on more than one occasion attempting to wrap gauze around each other like zombies, Megumi uses your supplies and basic first-aid lessons to prepare small kits for him and the other first-years, hell, even Gojo has been found asleep in your office on more than one occasion. He gets why people are drawn to you like a magnet, why you’re comforting, and welcoming, and a source of warmth for them, but that doesn’t mean that Yuuta likes to share you. It’s much harder to almost-kiss you this way. 

He must have pouted loud enough about it, because shortly after, instead of inviting Yuuta to your office for lunch, you ask him to meet you on the field. Not one to question you, he obeys, and soon, instead he’s met with an entirely new safe haven, sitting criss-cross inside your domain with all your shikigami slithering and fluttering and buzzing about him. A butterfly lands on his nose, and Yuuta’s nose crinkles. You lean in to let it crawl on your finger instead, and don’t lean too far back when you slowly begin to explain to him the intricacies of your domain and how it all comes together. 

It’s amazing, surely. Yuuta listens as best he can, but it’s hard when there’s a halo of butterflies around you, and a symphony of bees buzzing in his ear, and a slug kissing at his hand, and a snake coiling around his body and gently massaging his muscles, and your voice sound so soft and warm, and you look so pretty and, and, and he wants to kiss you again. 

He wants to kiss you really badly. He wonders if that’s part of your domain—honestly, he’d wondered if that magnetic, honey-like attraction he has to you is in any part influenced by your healing nature—wonders if the confines of your space exacerbates the flow of blood to his heart and his cheeks and his—

“Are you listening?” you question, that glowing, addictive smile on your face, “You know I can make the snake bite, the bees sting.” 

God, Yuuta wants to kiss you. He wants to live in the spring garden of your love forever, and ever, and roll around in the grass and drink honey with you, and kiss you and kiss you and kiss you. You could keep him here forever, he’d be perfectly content with living his days wrapped up in your curse. 

Yuuta shakes his head to snap out of his daydream, disrupting a few butterflies in the process. “I—sorry,” he apologies, “I’m listening now.”

You hum, folding your legs underneath your knees and sitting before him. Yuuta’s certain he looks slightly ridiculous, covered head to toe in animals and small insects and burning underneath your gaze—wasn’t this domain supposed to help people feel better? Is there no cure for lovesickness that you can use on him—or, at the very least, embarrassment?

“I asked you why you won’t kiss me.” 

Yuuta knows that if he weren’t in your domain right now, he would have fallen to a sudden death. “I—I, um,” words, Yuuta, words; a bee lands on his cheek, he takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry.” 

That doesn’t seem like the right answer, judging by the twist of your lips. Of course it’s not—because it’s a lie, and you know it, and you know he knows that you know it. How could he be sorry for wanting you, for spending every last waking moment breathing for you, hoping that you’ll end his laborious breaths and pour air into him yourself?

“You know, I brought you in here to make sure that you wouldn’t run or pass out on me,” you confess, reaching out your hand towards him; the tip of your finger barely grazes his cheek as you allow the bee to crawl onto you, “I worry about your heart more than I should.” 

You flick your finger gently, allowing the bee to flutter freely and your eyes to focus back on Yuuta’s, “Right now, in this domain, it’s mine to control. To stop, to beat.” It’s yours outside of here, too; to fix, to break. He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows. “Why won’t you let me have it, Yuuta?” 

Yuuta gasps, and despite his surprise, despite his extreme lovesickness, despite his dark desires, his heartbeat remains steady, his body remains perfectly tempered and cool, his voice resonates clearly—all because of you. 

“You’ve always had it,” he confesses, “Always. From the moment I met you.” 

He can’t read your expression. He’s suddenly hyper aware of the power struggle here; domain aside, you can hear everything about him, sense the slightest physiological change in him, alter any one of his bodily functions at your whim and Yuuta doesn’t know what goes on in you. Would it be wrong to confess that he likes it; that this feels like you having him, that he likes knowing you can take him? 

“I thought so, maybe,” you enlighten him, “Last year with all the calls and texts,” you lean over and set free a butterfly from his shoulder, “And then in the airport,” then guiding the snake to coil around your arm and around your torso, “And then I thought maybe you’d have said something when you were jealous of Yuuji,” this time your hand touches him, a feather-light touch to his elbow, “But you didn’t, and I was beginning to wonder if I was hearing your heart beat for someone else, instead.” 

Yuuta grabs at your hand erratically, “No—no. Never.” 

He’s senselessly in love with you, and if it weren’t for your healing hands, Yuuta’s certain his ribs would have cracked from the pressure of his happy heart by now; but then again, maybe he should ask you to let it break—let that fracture serve as an entry point for you and yours, to prove to you that it beats for you and you alone. 

“So then what is with you? You have a habit of giving girls your heart and not kissing them, or asking them out—is it always straight to marriage with you?” 

It’s torture hearing that word fall from your lips. He doesn’t have time to even begin to process it. Yuuta’s eyes flicker to the smile on your lips, the slight tilt of your head. He says something he shouldn’t, “Would you be opposed to that?” 

“I’d like a kiss first,” you tease, “Would you give me one?” 

And how could he ever deny you anything. There, with a harmony of beautiful insects and warm sunlight, Yuuta finally, finally, takes the last move forward to kiss you. It’s everything he wants and exactly as he’d imagined—he can feel the rush in his bones, the want in his stomach, the love against his skin when you fall into him. 

It’s one kiss, and another, and then Yuuta can feel your tongue against his, greedily falling into the rush of you. He’s everywhere, hands on your neck, lips on yours, body stradling yours when he carefully leans you backwards; Yuuta has you, and you have him, and he won’t let this moment go to waste. He pulls away for a moment, only a moment, to take in your kiss-swollen lips and commit this vision to memory. He’ll have to take another visual photograph outside of your domain, when your bodies are free to breathe erratically and equilibrium is broken so you and truly, truly, feel all of Yuuta’s love in earnest. 

He wonders if it’s the effect of your domain that prevents his nerves from running haywire when you take off his shirt, when you let him take off your pants, when you have your hands on his chest and his on your hips. It must be. Yuuta knows for certain that otherwise, he’d be a blushing mess of fumbling limbs and stuttering words. 

Still, Yuuta thinks, domain or no domain, he wouldn’t let this moment pass him. It’s not nerves when his hand brushes over your clothed clit and he hears you moan—even if it had been, that would have been the antidote to his poison. Lust, pressure, possession wash over him in excruciating waves. He wants more. He wants you. 

Impatience when he adds pressure with his hand, bliss when you buck your hips to add more of your own, greedily grinding against his fingers. Yuuta kisses you again, swallows your moans and feeds you his own when slips his hand past the barrier of your underwear, and he feels your warm, wet cunt against his fingertips for the first time, and when he pushes two fingers into your heat, he thinks he could cum right then and there, from this alone. 

“Yu—Yuuta, more,” you plead. Your hand on his neck, fingernails scraping into his skin that should leave a mark. They probably won’t. He’ll be sure that next time they stick. 

And Yuuta, unable to deny you anything, obeys. He curls his fingers inside of you, thrusting gently at first, and then with more confidence—and warning, when he hears you snarl about not teasing. Ironic, he thinks, as he watches your lips fall open, since you’ve had him strung along since day one. 

“I wanna—wanna cum with you inside,” you moan, a sound that Yuuta promises to commit to memory. Later, when his brain is working better, and the coil in his stomach isn’t so tight, and you’re not clenching around his fingers. 

You’re greedy, and Yuuta’s never realized it. You suck him in and still want more, and you must know that he’ll give it to you. It should serve as a warning, you have the high-ground to take him any which way you want—for a fool, for granted, for yourself, for nobody else; so what does it say about him that it only spurs his arousal, that it makes him impossibly hard and he can feel himself leaking from the thought of it. 

“I want that, too,” he reassures you, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, because you’re perfect for him, “But I want this first. Give me this first, please. Please.” 

He thinks you might cry. The rational part of him knows you can regulate it, that you probably won’t; the sick part of him wants to see it, wants to know what it takes to make you lose control. 

You call his name like a prayer, once, twice, and on the third time, Yuuta can feel it as much as he can hear it. He can feel the moment that your walls clench, and your eyes screw shut, and your body convulses around him. You’re beautiful, irreverent, and Yuuta thinks that being responsible for this is the greatest achievement of his life. 

He wears your orgasm with pride, raking over you as you blink your eyes open to him again. You’re lucid too quickly, he really is going to have to take the time to enjoy this somewhere less controlled later, eagerly wrapping your hand around his wrist and forcing them to his mouth. Yuuta groans when he tastes you on his tongue, nothing short of euphoric, and he’s sure to taste every last drop. 

You smile, and then laugh—an almost inaudibly giggle that has Yuuta smiling back reflexively. Like always, he follows your every move and succumbs to all your whims when you lean up to kiss him, and then coax off his pants and underwear, and line the tip of his dick up with your slit and pull him in, again, by the neck to bite at his ear, “Come on, Yuuta. Give it to me.” 

An order, a promise, a plea—Yuuta vows to fulfill them all, determined and spell-bound when he sinks into you. He can only imagine what it feels like for you, but for him it’s warm, wet, soft, snug, sticky—like honey, like a bee drawn to sweetness. It’s good, too good, Yuuta doesn’t know how to last when you feel this good. 

He can feel you everywhere, around his dick, your hands on his back, your breath on his cheek, your skin against his. He feels stuck to you, stuck in you, mind, body, and soul as one, unable to differentiate him from you, from you, from you. 

“Fuck,” Yuuta stares, carefully swiping a thumb over your browbone, conscious but not in command on how deep he’s thrusting into you, “You’re so—fuck, I love you.” He wants to hear you say it back, he needs to, he has to. He can feel it again, stomach in knots, and nerves on fire, and skin sticky, and Yuuta has to know—“Please, please. Do you love me, too?” 

You stutter, only from the rock of his hips into yours, reaching for his face and cradling it between healing hands, “Of course I love you, Yuuta.” His mouth opens, wobbly, and tears flow over his eyes—briefly, Yuuta thinks that it’s cruel that you’d let him cry; that you have command over every function in his body and that you’d let him cry, but he can’t bring himself to be upset. He’d probably have cried regardless, because hearing you say that you love him is a rush comparable only to burning tightness in his gut right now. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling his lips to yours when you finally let go together. Yuuta can feel you tight around him, when he cums; and an unfiltered harmony of moans and skin on skin when he lays on top of you, sinks into you. Your hands don’t leave his hair, and Yuuta finds bliss in your affection, in being in your arms, in being yours. 

He doesn’t know how long you two stay like that, he doesn’t know if physical time passes in your domain, but it doesn’t matter. He’d stay here forever with you, let you use the full extent of your prowess to eat his heart out as sustenance, bleed for you to quench your thirst. He’d be everything you need and more; he’ll make sure that he’s all you want when it’s done and over. 

[joelscruff]

keep it squeaky (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

a/n the way this just kinda happened and idk how to explain any of it. if it's not your thing pls move along!! but if it is your thing...enjoy. bear with me, it was written in about 30 minutes. summary: joel miller has a problem, and it's his daughter's new best friend. or, alternatively, joel listens to you pee while he's in the shower. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age gap (you're in your 20s, joel is in his 50s), piss kink (????) i honestly don't know if this classifies as actual piss kink. he can hear you pee (and then watches you). you're on the toilet. idk if i can get any more clear than that, jerking off in the shower, joel having dirty thoughts cause he's a dirty old man, imaginary creampie, imaginary tummy bulge word count: 1.8k

You've been teasing him. You love teasing him.

It's been a long, grueling week of teasing.

But you and Sarah finally head back to college tomorrow, and he can't thank his lucky stars enough. He'd thought it'd be nice having her back here, even nicer that she decided to bring a friend along.

How wrong he'd been.

You're, for lack of a better word, persistent. Very persistent. And he's flattered, don't get him wrong, he's extremely flattered; beyond awestruck that someone as young and beautiful as you would have any interest in an old man like him. It had taken a few days for him to actually even accept what was happening; the flirty comments, the seductive glances, the little touches here and there. He'd thought he was making it up, that maybe you were just a touchy-feely kinda person, a lover of intimacy with everyone.

Until you'd been on the couch together on the third night. You'd leaned over to grab something - the remote, your drink, he can't even remember now - and you'd purposely made sure to brush your knee against his bulge. You'd kept it there for a few seconds, rubbed it gently, and then with a wink you'd grabbed whatever you'd been reaching for and settled in next to him again. Sarah, on the opposite side of you, hadn't noticed a thing.

But he had. And he'd noticed everything else you were doing after that. Nudging your foot against his ankle under the kitchen table, brushing past a little too closely in the kitchen so that your breasts pushed against his back, wiped crumbs of dessert from his mouth with your thumb and then sucked it into your own with a wide-eyed and flirtatious expression.

Not to mention the shit you wore - when you'd first arrived you'd been in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, nothing unusual. But after that first day of meeting him you'd suddenly switched to dresses exclusively. Short little things that barely covered the tops of your thighs, frilly material that bunched up in the back whenever you bent over.

He's now seen the plump shape of your ass and those delicate little panties you wear way too many times to count.

But he can't. He cannot act on the desire he feels for you, even though you're quietly begging for it. You're his daughter's best friend, not to mention he's three times your age. Only a dirty old man would even consider reciprocating the things you've done to him this week.

It's just one more day, he tells himself. Just one more day and she's gone.

It's on that final day that he finds himself where he usually does on a Saturday morning - in the shower. He's humming along to a tune he can't place and scrubbing body wash along his arms when he suddenly hears a knock at the door, light and almost shy. He freezes, raises an eyebrow.

"Mr. Miller?" he hears your voice on the other side, "Can I come in? I have to pee."

His eyes go wide; is she serious? She can't wait a few minutes for him to finish?

"I'll be out in a few," he calls back, trying to ignore the speed at which his heart is suddenly pounding.

"I don't think I can wait, I really have to go," you reply almost immediately, voice edged with a desperation he can't tell is real or fake. He lets out a low groan, hand coming up to pinch the space between his eyebrows as he figures out what to do.

Before he can decide he hears the squeak of the bathroom door, opening just a little bit. Fuck.

He could yell at you. He could tell you to leave him alone, to give him privacy. He'd have every right. Even Sarah would back him up.

But then he hears your little voice again, soft and eager.

"I'll be quick, I promise."

He brings his hand to his mouth, bites at the flesh on the back of it and shakes his head underneath the stream of water. This is a bad idea. This is a very bad idea.

"Okay," he manages to say, voice husky and muffled against his skin.

He hears you close the door behind yourself, hears the soft footsteps of your bare feet against the tile. He wonders what you're wearing; if you're still in your pajamas - those cute little pink shorts and that tiny white bralette - or if you're already dressed. What if you're wearing another one of those little dresses?

His cock, which only a moment ago lay soft against his inner thigh, starts to harden.

"M'sorry, I really had to go," he hears you say sweetly from the other side of the shower curtain, "And you guys only have the one bathroom, so..."

"It's okay," he replies, voice almost pained, "It's okay, I don't mind."

And he hates that it's the truth.

He doesn't hear you sit down on the toilet over the sound of flowing water, isn't sure whether you've already started or you're still waiting for him to say something else. He clears his throat awkwardly, willing himself not to look down at his growing erection.

"Y'good there?"

"Yeah, sometimes it just takes me a minute when I'm around someone else."

Then why the fuck couldn't you just wait? He wants to ask, desperation and arousal clawing at his thoughts as he leans his head back against the shower wall. He brings his hands up and covers his eyes, wills you to just do what you need to do and get out.

His cock bobs against his stomach.

And then he hears it - it's different than the shower, less heavy. More light, delicate. An almost melodic sound that echoes against the bathroom walls, overwhelms his senses to the point where it's suddenly all he can hear. It flows out of you slowly at first, then steadily.

Oh fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

You're doing this on purpose. He fucking knows you are. He knows you're dragging it out, taking your time, knows that you're probably hoping he'll take a peek at you as you do it.

And fuck, he hates that you're right.

He removes his hands from his face and brings one down to finger the shower curtain quietly, pulling it the tiniest bit so he can see past it. He feels like such a fucking pervert, the dirtiest old man that ever existed, and yet the throbbing in his now fully hard cock and the sound of you pissing inches away is telling him that he needs to look.

So he does. And there you are.

You are wearing one of your dresses, pink and tiny and perfect. Your pretty little panties are around your ankles and you've got your dress bunched up over your thighs, almost up to your chest. He can see so much of you, so much that's been hidden only just out of sight all week. The tops of your thighs, round and soft, the perfect pouch of your belly that peeks out under where you're holding the material of your dress. And there...just barely in view... he can see the smallest hint of your pussy.

He stares. And he listens.

You must know he's watching you, but you don't let on. You stare straight ahead, holding your dress high above your tummy and pushing out the remainder of your release with a dazed little smile on your face.

He wonders if your clit is throbbing. He wonders if it's poking out while you sit there, wonders what colour it is and how it would feel beneath his fingertip. He hears that beautiful twinkling sound and imagines what your pussy must look like as it relieves itself, wonders if it's pulsing, wonders what your little holes must be doing under there, just out of his eyesight.

With barely any thought he begins to stroke his cock with his free hand, mouth popping open as he pulls and pushes and continues to watch you - the prettiest little thing he's seen in way too long - in such a vulnerable state. He knows you're almost done, knows you can't make it last forever - even though you both want it to.

He tilts his head a bit, brows furrowed, eyes dark. He stares at your tummy and imagines the outline of his cock poking through from the other side. Would your little hole take all of him? Would it fit? Would you beg for it?

If you don't leave in the next minute he's going to fuck you.

And just as that thought crosses his mind, your pretty little stream dies out. The sound of the shower centers his world again and disappointment floods his body. Don't go. Don't leave yet. Show me that soft little pussy, please.

Much to his chagrin you carefully pull yourself up from the toilet. He watches as you flush, watches as you turn away from the shower to slowly bend over, reaching for your panties. His jaw goes slack, fist still pumping his cock as you do just what he was wishing. He can see your folds, see the little drips of liquid still clinging to your outer lips, can almost see the hint of your little clit peeking out.

He comes almost immediately, white heat gurgling onto his fist and down into the drain below as he stares at that perfect little seam, wet and dripping and begging to be fucked. He wishes he was filling it up, wishes he was painting your insides and making you squeal, holding you close with his balls pressed firm against that perfect ass.

You pull up your panties slowly, making a bit of a show of it before you're suddenly standing straight. You start to turn around, back toward the shower, and at that he lets go of the curtain and allows it to fall back into place, concealing him - and his now softening cock - from your view.

He listens as you turn on the tap, doesn't mind that the water goes a bit cold as you do - anything to get some clarity.

"I'm done now, sorry about that," he hears you say over the sound of water hitting the tiles, "I just really had to go."

"Th-that's okay," he manages to get out, voice strained and practically wrecked, "Whatever you need, sweetheart."

"You're so nice," you reply, and he can hear that you're smiling, "Enjoy your shower, Mr. Miller."

--

That evening, he calls for you while you and Sarah are watching a movie downstairs. Jumping at the chance to be alone with him, of course you tell Sarah not to pause it, tell her to keep watching because you've "seen it before" and you "won't be long".

It's almost like you know.

You know that when you find him upstairs he'll be standing in the bathroom, know that he'll pull you inside and close the door behind you.

"You forgot to wipe, sweetheart. Lemme show you."

[euovennia]

headcanons for simon being the mom/dad friend to reader and her just eating that shit up? like yeah, that giant intimidating guy wearing a skull mask is my best friend. he’s really cute right? (he is)

anon your brain is huge and i love it, thank you for such a gorgeous request! just want you to know that your second request will be up sometime soon, i just wanted to split them! thank you again for requesting, i hope you enjoy <3

pt. 2

fair warning to anyone reading, this is my first time writing headcanons (more like a short story with bullet points because my oh my i got carried away) so please don't shoot! anyway, i've got some ideas rolling around in my head so just jump into it:

let's get one thing straight

becoming friends with a man like simon is not an easy task

while you may be somewhat quick consider him a friend because you're both skilled enough to have made to the 141, it takes a lot longer for him to also consider you a friend

the process of getting him to this point is an arduous journey and some people (probably gaz and rudy bc i can see these two being equally terrified of this man) will not hesitate to tell you to cut your losses and leave him alone

i reckon simon is the type to verbally tell you this himself

and maybe for a bit you do leave him alone

but then one day you see him sitting alone in the commons area with what you deem to be the saddest plate of dinner ever and you just crack

cue you sliding into the seat in front of him with your tupperware full of homecooked food you'd stashed away the night before

naturally he gets frustrated and a maybe a lil annoyed so he goes to leave

but then you slide your tupperware of food over to him and his movements just kinda stop as he stares at you with his typical ghost stare

think 👁️👁️

he'll push the container back toward you causing you to push it back toward him

it becomes an almost vicious cycle before he finally snaps and spits out something like, "what's your fuckin' problem?"

to most he's a scary man with an even scarier voice so that would've been where most people drew the line (let's face it though, most people probably wouldn't have sat with him in the first place)

but all you can focus on is the piss poor excuse of a meal he'd retrieved from the mess hall so you just push it back toward him one final time with a simple, "eat."

he'll narrow his eyes and straighten his posture in an attempt to scare you off but when that doesn't work he'll tell you something along the lines of, "i'm spitting it out if it's shite"

he does not spit it out

from that day on, you'll seek him out with two tupperware containers filled with whatever you'd cooked up the night before and offer it to him

the first few times he's hesitant to accept simply because he doesn't wanna get used to the unusually kind gesture but it eventually gets to a point where he just stops getting a plate from the mess hall and instead waits around for you to feed him

these small dinners you share make it nearly impossible for simon to avoid your talking

he almost debates getting up and leaving a few times but then he remembers he'd be eating soggy meat and vegetables if it weren't for you so he decides to entertain it

and to the surprise of absolutely no one he eventually starts warming up to you, even throwing in a few comments and sarcastic quips of his own

and after a long while of having these dinners with you, he decides he likes it – he likes hearing you talk, whether it be about how you and gaz hid price's hat somewhere on base and blamed it on soap or what the latest celebrity gossip is

so what does he do?

he tries to block you out

it doesn't work because you're a stubborn little shit and refuse to let him fall back into his bubble of solitude and self pity

and he eventually realizes this so he just kinda accepts it after a while (more like a week)

and the two of you become quite chummy

well

as chummy as one can be with a person as closed off as ghost

instead you always being the one to seek him out come dinner time, he'll be the one to start finding you

it's a surprise

a delightful one

but still a surprise

his short, clipped responses will morph into longer, more thought out ones as your friendship continues to develop and you can't help but notice just how smart he really is

despite his everything that's happened to him in the past, he's actually quite in tune with the emotions of other people; his observational skills are off the charts

so you'll eventually start asking him for advice on anything and everything, even if it's not something that pertains directly to you because his wisdom outside the battle field is something to truly behold

it's amazing what can be solved without heavy loads of artillery and violence!

anyway

simon quickly becomes very used to this dynamic

you two having dinner, talking about everything and nothing all at once and while he may never verbalize it, he truly does appreciate it

he'd convinced himself long ago that his life was just cursed and that the people he loved and held closest to him were always destined for terrible things so he just closed himself off

he put on the mask and became ghost whereas simon was kept tucked away in a place no one even bothered to try and discover

but then you stumbled your way into his heart with your homemade food and endless chatter and he can't help but indulge himself

maybe having a friend isn't all that bad

and so the dinners/mini therapy sessions continue

until one day you don't show up

while he is a bit disappointed, simon decides to let it go because you've had dinner with him for god knows how long now

you probably just wanted a day to yourself and he understands that so he doesn't pry

even when he barely force himself to finish the sludge smacked onto his plate from the mess hall – how was he so comfortable eating that for so long?

but you don't show up the next day

or the next

and by the fourth day simon is just downright angry

and a little sad and worried

but mostly angry

who do you think you are to waltz in his life, make yourself cozy in his extremely tight knit circle, and then just leave him high and dry with no goodbye? (wow that rhymed)

if you're gonna ditch him like this then he's gonna make sure you sit through the awkward pain of saying it to his face

he spends an embarrassing amount of time looking for you before he even thinks to check your room

he walks up to your door, fully prepared to slam that door open and confront you

but then he hears you fall into a particularly nasty coughing fit paired with a muffled groan of agony and suddenly it just clicks

you got yourself sick

tempted as he is to simply walk away, he knows deep in his heart he can't do that to you

which is why you open up your door to see ghost awkwardly standing there with a tray of hot soup, water, and some medicine

you nearly cry in your haze of sickness

you'd spend the past four days miserably rotting away in your bed and to suddenly have simon by your side offering you soup and medicine? it was almost too much

ever since that day there had been a gradual shift in your friendship

it started with you two coordinating who would bring dinner on which days

but then it turned into simon being the one to bring dinner nearly everyday

which then evolved into him finding you throughout the day and offering small snacks and drinks

but he's a busy man and he can't do this every day so he'll settle for sending a simple message of, "you doing ok?"

and most times you say yes

but on the off chance you say no he'll take a few minutes to message you back and forth until you feel at least a little better (no this is not achieved by him sending you bad dad jokes, he would never do such a thing!)

but eventually the man just gets so tired of constantly going around base trying to find you that he'll simply just start to linger around you whenever he's free

gruff words of assurance and friendly pats on the shoulder become a staple for the masked man

when the team becomes privy to the newly formed friendship between the two of you, it's almost scary

like

imagine this 6'4 beefy mountain of a man hanging around someone half his size just chilling

i reached the character block limit how awkward anyway

it's odd and you know it is so you'll play into it

like that time you loudly asked ghost to grab the blanket from your room while you two were sitting on the couch in the common area while the rest of the team filed in

and him immediately going to grab it while the team are completely gobsmacked when he promptly returns with your blanket in hand

cue soap asking ghost the same thing a few days later and only receiving a glare in return along with a stern, "i'm not your maid, johnny."

then he just walks away leaving soap to feel like an idiot

it becomes apparent very quickly that simon has a favorite and that favorite is you

especially when he's the one to sweep you up into a quick hug with a quick pat on your head after the team completes yet another mission

you make it a point to squeeze onto simon just a tad tighter when you see soap looking over in complete bewilderment

seriously, how did you tame the legendary ghost?

and honestly?

you're not quite sure yourself

you just soak it in because you'd be a fool not to

maybe one day you'll ask him yourself

maybe you won't

doesn't matter either way because at the end of the day you're the only one who can proudly call ghost your best friend

even if he doesn't refer to you as the same

he totally does he just never says it out loud because he's secretly terrified you don't feel the same

regardless

you two are very much attached at the hip

what with you constantly getting yourself into trouble all around base and ghost not wanting you piss off the wrong person

he is very much your guard dog and you make it everyone's problem

soap went too hard on you during your sparring session? ghost is already glaring at him

gaz won't stop bugging you when you're actually trying to get your work done? ghost is pushing him out the door

price is about to lecture you for something gaz and soap framed you for? ghost is quick to rat them out

it's sweet really, the friendship you have

it warms your heart thinking about it

and it warms his too

even if he won't admit it

he's just grateful you didn't give up on him even when he wanted you to

because he's found that, sometimes, it's nice to have a friend

and he's glad it's you

:)

[lilac-5ky]

Holed Up (Husband!Toji x Fem!Reader)

mini kinktober tribute: stuck in a wall/hole

plot: you should've known that asking Toji to help you out of a hole would lead him inside another—or that time you got stuck in the dog house and he bailed on you for KFC.

tags: MDNI, stuck in a wall/hole, pet play (kinda), breeding, doggy style, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), spanking, pet names (bitch, baby), established relationship, crack plot, unsolicited kfc orders, i promise toji loves reader, he's just joking guys.

wc: 2.2k

Masterlist | Kinktober Masterlist | AO3

“Whatcha doing?”

Sarcasm rolls from your husband’s tongue as he stares down at you. Back arched, knees bent, and head encased by wooden planks. Not the most flattering position to be found in, especially with how the light autumn breeze blows at your dress and parts its layers, opening a window to the pink panties of your choice.

His question feels excessive. He knows exactly what you are doing. It was only this morning that you asked him to dig poor ol’ Mister Stinky’s remains from the dog house and he claimed he’d rather buy his son a replacement. No arguing there, but should Megumi see what became of his favored stuffed animal—fuzzy entrails gutted out of the frog’s shredded belly in a path initiating from his bedroom—he’ll be having nightmares for weeks to come.

Besides, you doubt synthetic is the kind of fiber your vet prescribed for your puppy's diet.

“What you should’ve done instead.” You finally spit out, contempt over what Toji’s long fingers could’ve accomplished without him needing to stick half his body into a hole like your, admittedly, dumbass self did.

“For thirty minutes straight? Damn, seems I overestimated ya.”

Even though your view of him is limited to a pair of overworn black slippers, you can vividly picture his scarred lips pulling over his teeth in another of his complacent smirks that scream I told you so.

“Don’t have anything better to do than time me?”

“Nah,” Toji drawls. “Grew tired of waiting on ya, so I thought I’d come see how it’s going.”

“It’s going great!” You lie through your teeth. Anyone with a functioning pair of eyes could see how non-great this is going. “Anything else you need?”

“Well it is noon.” He points out.

“And?”

“And my darling wife’s out ‘ere, rolling in the mud when she should be having lunch with me.”

A snort flares in your nostrils. He is unbelievable.

“What a cute way of letting me know you’re hungry, Toji. You know, if you’d actually helped, I would’ve had the time to set the table and give Mister Stinky a proper burial, but I can’t do both at the same time, can I?”

“Mhm, so how ‘bout we help each other?” He suggests, undeterred. “I get your ass out, and you cook us somethin’ tasty real quick.”

“Wh-who said I was stuck? I can get out whenever I want.”

“Really, huh? What keeps ya from getting out this instant, then?”

“I don’t want to.” You answer wryly. “I like it here. It’s quiet, and I could use some time for myself.”

“In the dog house.” His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. He’s not buying an ounce of what you’re selling. “C’mon, don’t be stubborn. You’ll end up reeking of dung if ya stay here a minute longer. Lemme give ya a hand.”

You know that accepting his help comes at the exorbitant price of utter humiliation, but he’s got a point. Last night’s downpour emanates strongly from the saturated wood, a dizzying smell that turns overwhelming when combined with the strong odor of what you sincerely hope is not piss. Your knees are on the verge of collapsing, and there’s more dirt in your nails than if you dug a grave barehanded. Right now, a day in the bathtub seems like a panacea for your every issue.

Almost.

Kissing your teeth, you resign with a long-drawn sigh that’s barely audible over the rumble in your stomach. You shouldn’t have skipped breakfast.

A moment passes before you hear the crunch of leaves as they rustle beneath his feet; see a second pair of knees take place between your own. Then it’s two hands gripping at your hips, and eventually, a face—your husband’s handsome face that beams with a smug smile and eyes of mischief.

“Lookin’ good, sweetheart.” He greets, though you doubt he sees your face with all the hair that’s curtaining over your eyes while you hang upside down.

“What are you doing, Toji?” You recycle his question in an aggravated tone that fizzles out the second you feel his thumb press against your panties and tug the fabric to the side.

“Nothin’. Just curbing my hunger.” His finger teasingly glides across your nether lips and lands at your clit, while a palm large enough to envelope both your ass and cunt kneads at the tender flesh he’s offered. “Fridge’s empty, so.”

“This isn’t funny!”

“‘m not laughing, but c’mon. You hafta admit it’s pretty damn funny.” Warm air wafts from Toji’s mouth as he inches closer to your thighs. “Y’always whine when I fuck you from behind, but now? Look at you. Bent on all four like a real bitch.”

“T-Toji!”

Your breath hitches in your throat as he slides two fingers in your hole, languidly scissoring them in and out until there’s enough slick to lather your clit with. He circles around the nub while his fingers prod deeper inside, the icy touch of his wedding band clashing with the heat that sparks through your body when he bottoms out. A smothered moan gains echo as it bounces off the walls and into his ears.

“Such a well-trained pup,” Toji praises, retrieving his palm to lick his fingers. “Might win yourself a collar at this rate.”

You bite back your tongue before it can react to his backhanded comment, reminding yourself that you’re still outside, right where your neighbors can peek over the white picket fence for a quick hello and catch you slutting yourself out on your husband’s fingers.

“Can’t we continue this inside? Mrs. Honda is right next door, and M-Megumi—” You stutter when his palm returns to your body, its twin joining in spreading your cheeks further apart.

“Kid’s at school for another hour,” Toji mumbles, his hot tongue parting your folds with a long stroke that has your knees buckling. “So fuckin’ good,” he groans, his nose buried between your two holes while he lazily laps at your juices. “That sweet cunt is the reason why I married ya.”

You keen to his touch, hips bucking into his mouth, and walls clenching for more. “Only reason?”

“Nah. Consider that tight little ass as the second.”

His fingers burrow into the supple skin to squeeze at it, only lifting to deliver playful smacks that cause your ass to jiggle against his face. He growls into your pussy, mouthing all sorts of filth that gets drowned by your moans. It feels so good when he eats you out—it always does—but the probability of being caught in such a compromising position adds to the excitement.

The hand that’s trapped with you inside your pet’s house scratches at the wood, while the other rakes at the soil for grounding. Your orgasm creeps up on you, turning your vision blurry and tinting the darkness of space with colored specks. You are so close; all he needs to do is keep swirling at your clit, swallowing the entire bundle of nerves in his mouth, and sucking hard until—

“Ah, right.” He stops, words slurring from the threads of saliva that link his mouth with your cunt. “You said ya wanted time with yourself.”

Anger washes over you in place of the orgasm you were robbed of, the pleasurable fireworks traded for the obnoxious red alarm that goes off in your brain. “Toji, I swear to God, if you don’t fuck me right fucking now, the only lunch you’ll be seeing is KFC buckets for the rest of your life!”

A low chuckle falls flat from his lips. “Three. I love that snappy mouth ‘f yours.”

In an attempt to meet his eyes, you duck between your legs. Your hair mops the floor as you watch him pull down his pants and boxers, the last thing you see before blood shoots up in your head being the hard cock that dangles out of reach. The heat in your stomach stirs at the sight, anticipation building rapidly when you feel him run the reddened tip between your puffy folds.

“Sure you don’t want it here?” Toji taps his cock against your ass hole and your entire body jolts in response, a loud Toji amusing rather than deterring him. “A’right, a’right! Gotcha the first time.”

His profound dream of burying himself nine inches deep into your ass crumbles as he aligns his cock with the entrance of your pussy. You brace yourself, patiently awaiting that initial sting that never goes away; no matter how many times he fucks you or how diligently he preps you, the thickness of his girth always threatens to split you in half.

But now he’s stalling, a complacent smile sitting on his lips while he contemplates your silence. “Bet you’re red as a beet in there, aren’t ya?”

He plunges himself inside before you are given the chance to either prove or disprove him, a silent scream punched from your throat as his cock rams straight into your g-spot. He huffs a deep breath, barely keeping a groan bottled, when he feels your walls tighten around him. It’s suffocating. Wet, and tight—a little similar to what being stuck in that small space feels like for you, but infinitely more pleasurable for him.

"Mm, such a sloppy little cunt. Got yourself stuck in there for this, didn't ya?"

His fingers latch onto your hips, bruising you as his nails dig meanly into your skin. He drags his cock halfway out of your cunt only to snap his hips back in, picking up a pace that ramps up over time. His quick thrusts fuck you further into that hole, your tits bouncing and slapping against the hard wooden planks while your dress rides higher to expose your back.

Toji bends your body into an arch, a heavy palm situated on your stomach until you’re able to hold the position on your own.

“Like it when your husband fucks ya like a bitch?” He grunts, catching the hand that’s squirming on the grass beside him and twisting it behind your back. “Pounded in broad daylight f'everyone to see how dumb you get over my dick, huh?"

Your whimpers don’t go unnoticed by him. He laughs at the high pitch your voice has assumed, babbling his name an incomprehensible amount of times that exceeds the frequency with which his swollen cock head kisses your pulsing core. You can't think enough to reply, and you can't bring yourself to ask him to stop.

He smacks your ass loud enough for you to whine, alerting every last neighbor in the block to what is happening in their quaint suburban neighborhood. “Answer me.”

“Yes, Toji—fuck, love how big it feels.” Your thoughts stem from your pussy without being filtered by your brain. All your body knows is how badly it needs to be pushed over the edge, disregarding the scornful looks you’ll definitely be receiving at the next neighborhood watch assembly.

“That’s not what I asked.” Toji smacks your ass again, softer this time—or so it feels because of your numbing skin. “I asked, Who owns this pussy, mm?”

“That’s not what you asked at all!” Your talking back earns you a third spank. You realize you’ve got no agency of your own.

“Won’t ask again. Who. Owns. This. Pussy?” He punctuates each word with a thrust sharper than the one before, his cock twitching when he hears you screaming your answer at the top of your lungs.

“You do, T-Toji. My pussy is yours—ngh!”

“And who’s bitch are you, baby?”

“Your bitch!” You answer willingly, your mind clouded, and your logic dulled. “Fuck, Toji, you know I’m all yours.”

“Damn right, y’are.” He hums in response, hunching over your body to rub tight circles around your clit, jerking the nub up and down, round and round.

You’re almost there, and when he asks you whether you wanna be bred like one, the tension in your gut finally snaps, eyes involuntary crossing as white waves of pleasure overtake you.

He fucks you through your high at an animalistic pace, the thought of filling your belly with a baby that’s half his and half yours flooding his brain before your answer registers, his cum spilling deep within your pussy with a few sloppy pumps that squelch to the sound of your mixed fluids.

His moans mingle with yours, the rough sound of his voice raising goosebumps from where he kisses your back to the resounding ringing in your ears. He wraps his arms around you almost tenderly, peppering your back with kisses that almost convince you he’ll finally pull you out of that miserable hell hole but that’s not his intention. It never was.

A final smack meets with your ass right before he rolls his pants back up and walks toward the house, undisturbed by the screams that follow close on his trail.

“You said you’d get me out of here!” Your fist hits the ground, finges clenching around a tuft of grass blades that you violently root out.

“And you said you can get out whenever ya want. That you needed time for yourself, ‘member?”

“I didn’t mean that!” You object, your tone too squeaky to be taken seriously. “Toji, you’d better help me or else—”

“Or else what? KFC until I die?” He snorts. “Relax, I’ll come back before Megumi gets ‘ere.” You hear his phone buzzing as he—presumably—punches something in his search bar. Hot wings don’t sound too bad; he whispers for himself to hear, speaking up only when he asks you if you want him to order you a twister wrap or something before he closes his order.

a/n: the episode excited me too much, apologies. i was gonna post this later asdfghjkl but toji is back and we cum.

[bloatedandalone04]

The Kind of Girl You Take Home - Part 3

➪the one where bradley can’t get enough of you after making things official.

Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, unprotected sex, pda, swearing, fingering, oral (f receiving), hair pulling, pain kink, sex tape (kinda), dirty talk to the max, small breeding kink, age gap, bradley is even more whipped for you, here is a part 3 no one asked for mwah

Word Count: 8.2k | Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ | Thank you for 3.7k followers :')

“It’s not too late to turn back around and apologize for ditching them later, you know,” Bradley said as he parked the Bronco in the beach parking lot. “I’m sure they won’t miss us if we were to leave right now.”

You roll your eyes and unbuckle your seatbelt. “Not a chance,” you reply and lean over the center console so you can grip his shoulders. “You’re leaving for two months soon, everyone wants to see you before your deployment.”

Bradley sighed but quickly lightened up when you leaned further in and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. When you pulled away far too soon for his liking, he placed his hands on either side of your face and guided you back into another, much longer kiss. He groaned as he deepened it, one hand sliding down to grip your waist through your thin tank top. “Come on, baby, let’s just go home,” he nearly begged and you laughed as you pulled away from him. 

“No, Bradley,” you say and place your palm flat against his mouth when he tries to kiss you again. “A few hours with your friends won’t kill you, then after that we’ll leave.” 

“We’ll stay for two hours, max,” he told you as he opened the door and took your hand in his when you met him around the front of the Bronco. “Then I’m taking you home.”

“Bradley,” you warned as he led you down towards the sand. 

“What? We’ll see them later at the Hard Deck, anyway,” he waved off your eye roll as he pulled you along with him. “They don’t need to take away any more of my alone time with you today.”

You shake your head and hold back a smile as you finally make it down to the beach. As soon as your feet touched the sand you were lifted off the ground and spun around. Your hand slipped from Bradley’s and you grip Jake’s shoulders as he embraces you, laughing as he wraps his arms around your middle. “Hey, sweetheart,” he grinned up at you. “Missed you.”

He sets you down and winks up at your boyfriend when Bradley gives him an unimpressed look. “You saw me a few days ago,” you pointed out and Jake just shrugged. 

“I used to see you a lot more than that,” he responded as he backed away from you. “I can’t believe Rooster stole you from me twice now.”

“Seresin,” Bradley muttered as he pulled you back into his side. 

“Bradshaw,” the blond said back before grinning at you again and walking towards the group of aviators that were further down the beach. 

The two men still weren’t on the best terms after the quick bar brawl that occurred at the Hard Deck a mere three months ago. Sure, they spoke to each other while at work, but outside of work they avoided each other even more than before. They were somewhat friends back when Jake introduced you to Bradley, and had grown a bit close during the five months you two were unofficially together, but after Bradley fucked it up with you, Jake had completely shut down any chance of a proper friendship forming between the two of them. 

It was unfortunate, as you and Jake are very close and now it was no secret that you and Bradley were head over heels for each other. Bradley wanted to try and mend the broken friendship between him and Jake just for you to be reassured that the two most important men in your life weren’t at each other’s throats whenever you aren’t around, but Jake never gave him the time of day. 

Three months of that and it really pissed Bradley off, enough to the point where he stopped trying and now just accepted that the brief encounters he had with the other aviator at work and at the Hard Deck would be all that would happen between them. 

“Fucking Hangman,” he muttered as he glared at Jake’s retreating form through his aviators. He was dreading this next deployment, simply because Jake will be there with him, and because he’ll be away from you.

“Hey,” you scold as you deliver a gentle nudge to his ribs with your elbow. He caught it in his hand and pulled your body back to his, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. Your words die on your tongue when he tugs you forward until your chest is pressed right up against his and your hands slide upwards to grip his biceps. 

“God, I wanna take you home so badly right now,” he mumbled against your mouth before kissing you again. 

“Hey, Rooster! Give the poor girl a break, man, and get over here. We’re just about to start another round of dogfight football,” Fanboy called out from his spot near the water. 

You pull away with a teasing smirk, patting him on his chest as you back away. “Ooh, sounds fun,” 

Bradley’s hands fall from their place on your hips and he bites down on his lip as you walk towards where Nat is sitting. He watches as you bend down and place your towel next to hers, not even giving him a second glance as you fall into a conversation with her. 

“Bradshaw, let’s go, man, she’ll still be there after the game,” Payback yells over the chatter of the group. 

Both you and Nat smirk at Bradley and he curses under his breath as he pulls off his white tee and tosses it at you. You catch it with a surprised laugh and stuff it into the tote bag you brought.

Bradley joins in on the game and ends up covered in sand and had initiated more than one dogpile during the thirty minutes he participated in. You chatted with Nat the whole time, but you couldn’t really be blamed for not being able to take your eyes off your extremely attractive and fit boyfriend. 

You had to refrain from moaning at the sight of him when you were right next to his best friend, and that was a hard task in itself. Bradley caught your eye every once in a while and sent you a smirk every time. The urge to not jump on him in the middle of the game was even harder to resist. 

When the sun loomed higher in the sky and heated up the whole beach, you decided to rid yourself of your tank top and jean shorts. After shoving them in your bag as well you settle back down against your towel just as you hear Fanboy yell, “Come on, Bradshaw, we were winning! Where are you even going?” 

That made you look up and watch as Bradley begins to splash water on himself to wash away the sand from his body. You bite your lip harshly as you take in his wet skin and heat up from both the sun and the way Nat laughs from her spot next to you. 

Once he is decently cleaned from both the sand and sweat, Bradley walks right past the group of guys and heads in your direction. “Alright, we lost Rooster,” Fanboy announced as he turned back towards the others. “Round three? Phoenix, you want in on this one?”

Nat sprung up instantly and took Bradley’s place, slapping him on the shoulder as she passed him. “Nice job at keeping your hands to yourself for over five minutes, Bradley,” she joked and he barely gave her an eye roll before he was towering over you and blocking the sun from your eyes. 

You gaze up at him with a teasing smile. “Oh, hey,” you greet. “All done with the game?”

He grunts and moves so he’s sitting next to you on the towel. “Yeah,”

“That’s too bad,” you pout as you move over to make more room for him, but he just slides closer to you. “I was enjoying the free entertainment.”

“You’re the reason it ended early,” he said and you scoffed. 

“As if,” you laughed. “You were busy beating Jake and Coyote and then the next second you’re quitting and walking towards me.”

He gives you a pointed look before raking his eyes up and down your body in an obvious nod as to why he stopped the game early. “Because you look like this,” 

You glanced down at your red two piece and shrugged. “You’ve seen me in less than this, Bradley,” 

“I know,” he rasped, moving even closer to you until his cold side was pressed to yours. You weren’t sure what caused you to shiver, his cool skin or the fact that he couldn’t seem to stay away from you today. “But you look so hot right now. It’s making me jealous that the rest of the guys get to see you like this.”

“God, you’re clingy,” you complain in a lighthearted tone and push him away from you, but it might as well have been a light tap as he barely moved an inch. 

“I told you that you’d become sick of me,” he smirked. “Just living up to my end of the deal.”

Before you could reply with a smart remark, he was closing the distance and kissing you hard. His aviators pressed uncomfortably against your nose and you pulled away and tugged them off his face before kissing him again.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he muttered as he kissed you deeply. 

When he tries to pull you onto his lap you pull away and push at his shoulders. “No, you’re cold,” 

“Then come in the water with me,” he suggested with a boyish grin. 

“You’re wearing those in the water?” You nodded at his denim shorts as he stood up and held his hand out to you. 

“Yeah, why not?” He asked as he pulled you to your feet. You placed his aviators over your own eyes as you looked up at him, lacing your fingers with his. “Would you rather me wear nothing at all?”

“Always,” you answer right away and he just smirks at you. “Let me get in at my own pace, Bradley.”

He hummed as he led you towards the water, and his lack of reply had you raising a brow. 

“I’m serious,” when he glanced down at you and didn’t bother hiding his look of mischief, you stopped walking and begin to pull on his hand. “Don’t bother.”

But you were kidding yourself if you thought your strength could match his. Within seconds he had picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, making you yell out as you caught his aviators before they fell from your face. 

“Bradley! Stop!” You nearly scream as he makes his way towards the water. “Please!”

Your pleads fell on deaf ears as he carried you closer to the water and the others were no help as they watched with grins at your misfortune. Even Jake wore a small smirk as Bradley grabbed his aviators from your hand and dropped them onto the sand without a care in the world. “They won’t help you, sweet girl,” Bradley said in a mocking tone.

“Bradley, I swear-” but you weren’t able to finish your warning before he was in the water with you still over his shoulder. You squeal loudly when you feel the cold splashes against your bare skin, and you briefly wonder how he was able to walk into the small waves as if they weren’t cold at all. “Oh, my God! Bradley.”

You were still pleading with him to stop, even as he was at waist level with the water. A few seconds later he was throwing your body into the cold water and you were met with his grinning face when you resurfaced. 

Glaring up at him, you shiver instantly as you stand in front of him. “Stupid ass,” you mutter and splash him when he just laughed loudly at your insult. 

He caught your hand when you went to splash him again and pulled your body against his. Instead of immediately pulling away from him you wrap your arms around his waist as his body is still somehow warm, even in the water. 

You cling onto his warmth as the water splashes around your bodies, his heated skin soothing yours. 

The others went back to the game after watching you get helplessly thrown into the water, so it just felt like you and Bradley at the moment. “I’m sorry,” he murmured in your ear as he held you. “But now you look even hotter.”

You shake your head and nuzzle closer to him. “Whatever helps you sleep at night,” 

“You help me sleep at night,” he replied and you smiled up at him. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through the next two months without you.”

“At least you’ll have Jake,” you offer and laugh at the emotionless look he gave you. “We’re swapping best friends for this one. Nat and I already have so many girl days planned, we’ll hardly realize you’re not here.”

Bradley scoffed. “Yeah, right,” he says. “You’ll know I’m gone when you’re trying to get yourself off without me there to do it for you.”

You gasp and look around as if you and he weren’t surrounded by water and way more than a couple of meters away from the shore. “You can’t say that to me,” you whine quietly. “Especially not in public.”

“You started it, sweet girl,” he shrugged as he gripped your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist under the water. 

You throw your arms around his neck and press a soft kiss to his lips. “I will think about you every second of every day until you come home,” you tell him and hug him a bit tighter. “I won’t be able to sleep without you, either.”

He smiled at you and kissed you again, lifting one hand from your hip to caress the side of your face. “Good to know you still want me,” 

“I will always want you,” you promise and press a kiss to his cheek and then another one to the skin just below his ear. “Tell you what, we’ll stay another hour here and then you can take me home and let me show you just how much I’ll miss you.”

Bradley pretty much spent the next hour in the water, even well after you made your way back to the shore. Your words, of course, went right through him and caused him to become hard, even in freezing cold water. 

You willingly went with him when he finally got out and pulled you along the trail back to the Bronco after a brief goodbye to everyone else. 

The whole ride back home he had his left hand tightly gripping the steering wheel while his right one touched every part of you that it could. You were both so needy for each other and it was evident by the way he barely had the car in park before he was tugging you inside and pushing you up against the closed front door. 

His lips captured yours in a searing kiss as his hands gripped the backs of your thighs. He lifted you up as if you weighed nothing at all and pressed you harder against the wood, his bare chest pressed to your semi covered one. You had both passed on the idea of putting your shirts back on and left them in your bag that was still in his backseat. You had only managed to slip your shorts back on by the time he had pulled you up from the towel and led you back to the Bronco, but even those you had failed to zip up and button as Bradley was far too impatient. 

He pulled you away from the door and carried you down the hall to his room. It was a trip he had made countless times before, and he seriously couldn’t believe he had almost let you slip away because of his commitment issues. 

When he made the short walk to his bedroom by himself not too long ago after he returned home from his deployment, he felt so bad about himself and hated how he treated you. He hated not seeing your things in there and he hated sleeping alone, even if it was just for one night and he was drunk. 

To think that it was no longer just his bedroom, but one he shared with you… the thought had his head swirling with need for you. Taking you to bed just felt so much better now, and while he would never forgive himself for how he acted towards you, he couldn’t be more grateful for the outcome of it all. 

His shorts were still damp as he pressed his body against yours after laying you down in the middle of the bed. You didn’t care as he pressed kisses all along your shoulders and neck. “Bradley,” you moaned. 

“I’m going to miss that sound,” he rasped as he sucked a mark onto the base of your throat. “Gonna miss you so much.” 

He would probably miss you more than last time, seeing as he wasn’t sure if he had a chance with you after what he did. Now that he knew you would be here when he got back, he knew he would miss you twice as much. Especially since he would be returning to a home filled with both yours and his things. 

“Just come back to me,” you whispered as he trailed kisses down your chest until his lips were pressed against the skin above your shorts. “That’s all I ask of you, Bradley.”

“You know I can’t promise you that, baby,” he murmured as he pulled the denim down your legs and dropped them to the floor. You whine softly, both from the feeling of his kisses on your inner thighs and from his words you knew were honest and true. You couldn’t ask him to promise to always come home, and you understood that, but it didn’t make it any easier. “But I can promise to always give it my all and to do everything I can to get back to you. I’ll do that every time. I always will.”

He tugs your red bikini bottoms down and drops them to the floor as well before you’re pulling him back up by his biceps. “Then that’s more than enough for me,” you promise and kiss him deeply. One of his hands slips down and his middle finger begins to gently rub circles onto your clit, making you moan against his mouth and pull him closer. “I love you so much, Bradley.”

His middle and index fingers run up and down your folds before slowly slipping inside. “I love you, sweet girl,” he murmurs and presses a kiss to the love bite he had given you on your neck. “I always have.” 

Bradley kisses all over your chest and nudges your nipples through the thin fabric of your bikini top with his nose. You whine quietly at the feeling and run your hands through his hair, bucking your hips up in time with the gentle thrusts of his hand. 

“I always will,” he continues and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. 

“Bradley,” you gasp when he uses his free hand to push up your flimsy top in order to wrap his lips around your hardening peaks. You take it upon yourself to arch your back and reach around to pull the string of the top, tossing it onto the growing pile of clothes on the floor. 

With your body completely bare, Bradley grunts deeply as he gently tugs on your nipple with his teeth, taking in the way your hands moved to cling to his biceps. 

You were beyond soaked for him at this point and it could be heard with every fuck of his hand, and the sound only spurred him on. He still couldn’t believe that he had managed to get you back and that you still want him as much as he wants you. 

His mouth travels downwards again and places kisses to various parts of your body before settling on your clit. You moan loudly and tug on his hair as his lips suck gently on your nerves in time with the movement of his hand. He curls his fingers inside you and the small pinch has you clenching tightly around him, your walls sucking his digits even deeper. 

“Feels good?” He asks, knowing damn well that he was skilled with his mouth and fingers. 

You still give in, though. “Fuck yes, Bradley, feels so good,” 

He smirks against you before speeding up the pace of his hand and fucking his fingers into you. Keeping his mouth on your core, Bradley tilts his head back a bit and you knew right away what he was trying to get you to do without him needing to say it. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair and tug a bit harder than before, feeling him hum in appreciation against your clit. “That’s it, baby,” he praised and kissed your inner thighs. “You know me so well, huh?”

“You’re mine,” was all you managed to get out, and the prideful grin he gave you had your legs trying to squeeze shut around his head. 

“That’s right, sweet girl,” he agreed and leaned back down to your throbbing clit. “Now come on my fingers.”

“Fuck, I want to so bad,” you whine, out of breath from the pressure that was steadily building deep within you. “Want you to make me come.”

“I’ll get you off, baby,” he promised, smirking up at you. “Like I always do.”

“God,” you gasp as the coil snaps a bit unexpectedly. You had been turned on since he took his shirt off at the beach all those hours ago, so it wasn’t too much of a surprise that you didn’t last very long. “Fuck, Bradley, fuck.” 

He kissed the skin of your stomach as he slowly fucked you through your high, breathy praises leaving his lips as he stared up at you. “Good girl,” he murmured, placing an open mouthed kiss to your ribcage before hovering back over you. “My good fucking girl.”

You moan against his mouth when he kisses you hard, his mustache pricking the skin above your upper lip in the best way. “Bradley, please,” you beg against his lips. “Please, fuck me. I need it.”

He groaned loudly and pulled away so he could unzip his shorts. He practically throws them to the floor before he’s back on top of you, his mouth kissing all over your collarbones and shoulders. “I need it, too,” he confessed, settling in between your legs and teasing your wet folds with his tip. “I need you all the time. Gonna think about you every fucking second I’m gone.”

You whimper at both his promise and the sensitivity that shot through you at the feeling of his dick grazing your swollen clit. 

Your lips were puffy as his met them in a searing kiss before slipping inside you with a sharp thrust. Moaning against his mouth, you wrap your legs tightly around him and grip either side of his face in an attempt to get him impossibly closer to you.

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” he grunts, fucking into you at a steady pace. “Still so tight for me, no matter how many times I fuck you.”

Your eyes blur for a second as you take in his words, and as your walls take him in general. “All for you,” you weakly murmur. 

“All for me,” he repeated, rocking his hips against yours at a bruising pace. “All mine.”

He pressed his lips to the base of your throat and sucked another mark there, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to cover it up before heading over to the Hard Deck in a couple hours. 

Even though damn near everyone knew that you were his, Bradley still loved seeing the physical proof of it. 

Your needy whines spurred him on and made him want to please you in every single way he could. He kissed all over your shoulders and reached one hand down to grip your thigh as he wrapped your leg tighter around him. “I wanna stay here with you forever,” he rasped. “Just like this.”

“You can,” you manage to say as he fucked into you so good. “I’ll be here when you come back, Bradley. Always. I’m yours.”

Bradley grunted deeply, hiking your leg up higher. “You always know just what to say to me, sweet girl,” he commented as he slowed down a bit to prolong this as much as he could.

Yeah, you and he would need to get ready to go to the Hard Deck soon, but he would put a night like this with you over getting drunk with his friends anyday. 

He wasn’t in a rush, wasn’t fucking you quick and hard to ensure you weren’t late arriving to the bar like always. He was taking his time, loving on you in all the ways he would miss out on for the next two months after this. 

Your walls noisily suck him in deeper, your previous orgasm providing him with all he needed to fuck into you hard and slow. Bradley’s eyes trail downwards, skimming past the two hickeys on your throat so he can watch the way he disappeared in you. “Fuck, look at that,” he said, more to himself. “Taking me so well, aren’t you?”

You moan and arch your back a bit, scraping your nails down his biceps.

He grunted at the sting. “There you go, baby,” he praised, cursing under his breath when he felt you clench down tightly around him. “Fucking claw me, give me something to remember you by for the next two months.” 

“Bradley,” you cry out, wrapping your arms around him and digging your nails into the skin of his back.

He grinned at you, nudging your nose with his. “You were made for me,” he muttered, bracing both of his forearms on either side of your head. “Just for me.”

“Just for you,” you agreed breathlessly.

Bradley groaned at how submissive and responsive you always got when he fucked you like this. With each drag of him against your tight walls you were slowly losing yourself to the blinding pleasure that came with being filled so well. “I need more than just your scratches,” he concluded, watching the way his dick became more coated with your wetness each time he pulled out of you. “You should let me take a picture.”

You whimpered, leaning up to kiss along his neck. “Do it,” you encouraged his sinful idea with a teasing smirk. 

He pulled away from your body with a deep groan as he reached for his phone. Keeping himself still buried within you, he points the camera downwards until it’s focused on your wet core. 

He only was able to take one photo before you were giving him another idea. “Take a video, Bradley,” you purred, pushing on his shoulders. “Record how good you fuck me.”

Bradley exhaled harshly through his nose as he moved so he’s kneeling on the bed, your thighs spread wide and revealing your sopping entrance. He places one hand on your hip as he sits back and hits record, giving your drenched heat a slow fuck of his hips. 

His fingers dig into your skin as he begins to thrust into you again, his eyes fixated on the screen of his phone as it captured the dirty act in top tier quality. “Look how wet you are, baby,” he comments as both you and him glisten as the lights reflect off your wetness. “Feel it?”

“Yes,” you answer and reach a hand out to wrap around the wrist of his that wasn’t holding the phone. “Feels so good, Bradley.”

He grunts as he gives another quick thrust, looking away from the camera and at the way your breasts bounced from the rough movement. “Say my name again,” he demands in his deep voice. 

You moan as you comply, “Bradley,”

“Again, baby,” he requests, nearly dropping the phone when you tighten around him once more. “Who’s fucking you so good right now?” 

“You,” you practically cry out. “You, Bradley.”

He moves his hand from your hip so his thumb can rub against your throbbing and sensitive clit, watching as your whole body shudders. “That’s right, sweet girl,” he muttered and couldn’t wait to watch this video once he stopped recording it. He knew he would be watching it on a nightly basis once he was stuck on that damn carrier for eight weeks. 

“Bradley,” you gasped and reached for him. “Touch me, please.”

At the sound of your begs, he doesn’t bother stopping the recording when he drops his phone onto the bed next to you. He hovers over you and starts fucking into you harder than before, knowing that it wouldn’t be visible in the video, but your sweet sounds would definitely be heard. He could handle having to picture your body in his mind as long as he got to hear the sounds you only made for him. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bury your hands in his hair. “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” you warned in a highpitched voice. 

“I want it,” he nearly begs as he holds himself above you by his elbows. “Want you to come all over me, wanna feel it.”

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out and pull harshly on his hair as you come. “Fuck.”

Bradley locked his jaw as he held back his own orgasm, still roughly fucking into you as you try to come down from your high. “Good girl,” he said sweetly and your head spun as you weakly reached for his phone. 

You grab it and angle it so the camera is capturing the image of him continuing to rock into you. You whimper at the sensitivity and open your legs wider so the video can really capture just how drenched you are for him. 

Bradley groaned loudly as he leaned down to kiss you. You kiss him back and take your eyes off the screen, now blindly recording him as he fucked you hard and deep. “Come for me, Bradley. Inside me,” you requested in a quiet voice when you pulled away. “Knock me up on camera.”

You were on the pill, but your words still went right through him. He gave a few more deep thrusts before he was spilling into you, his seed reaching the deepest part of you. 

He let out a throaty groan as he moved back so you can record the way his come spilled out of you when he pulled out. He took the phone from you so he could get a better angle, then nearly dropped it again when you reached down to swipe your finger through the mess. His phone followed your hand as you lifted it back up to your mouth and sucked the digit clean, giving the camera a sheepish smile afterwards. 

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped as he finally stopped the recording and dropped his phone back down onto the bed. “I don’t think I’ll be able to watch that when I know the real thing is waiting for me at home.”

You shrug and sit up, placing a kiss to his chest. “It will get you by while you’re away,” you murmur and lick a stripe up his neck. “I want you to think of me when you touch yourself.”

“There’s no one else I could ever think about,” he swore, wrapping his arm around your waist as you suck a mark on his shoulder. “Especially not after that.”

You grinned and leaned further up so you could kiss him. He deepens it by reaching up to angle your head for better access to your mouth. “We need to get ready,” you inform him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as you crawl off the bed and wander into the bathroom. 

Bradley sighs deeply, running a hand through his messy hair as he picks up his phone. He debates on whether or not he should play the video now, just to see if it came out alright, but he knew it would just make him hard again, and he actually did want to see Nat before he left for two months. 

He ends up getting off the bed and dressing himself in jeans and a Hawaiian button up as he waits for you to emerge from the bathroom. When you do, he holds out one of his old tees to you. “Wear this tonight,” he suggests and you take it from him. 

“What,” you laugh as you slip the shirt over your head. “The two hickeys you gave me aren’t enough to show that I’m taken? I have to wear your clothes now?” You were just teasing as you both knew how much you loved wearing his shirts. 

“No,” he answered as he pulled you close to him. “I just like the way you look in my clothes.”

Truthfully, he wanted to erase the last time you wore his shirt to the Hard Deck. That was the last good night he spent with you before shattering your heart and nearly ruining everything you and he had. He wanted to replace that night with an even better one.

“Hm, okay,” you hum, leaning up to kiss him quickly before moving away to finish getting dressed. 

-

“There you are!” Nat called as she watched you and Bradley enter the Hard Deck hand in hand. “Took you guys long enough.”

Bradley smirked as he thought about why you and he were late again. “We were a bit busy,” he said and loved how the physical proof of what made you late was in a file on his phone that was in his pocket. 

“I don’t even want to know,” she cringed and began walking back towards the pool table. “Rooster, come over here and get your ass kicked in the next round.”

Bradley rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss to your temple before standing on the opposite end of the table with Nat across from him. “That’s your specialty, not mine,” he grinned and looked over at you.

You smile and gesture towards the bar. “You want a beer?”

“Just one,” he answers and watches as you begin to make your way through the crowd of aviators. 

He was getting flashbacks to the last night he spent with you before his latest deployment, and he wanted to take you back home and promise you that he wasn’t going to make that same mistake again. 

“Jeez, Bradshaw, you can’t keep your eyes off her for more than a second, huh? It’s your turn,” Nat broke him out of his trance by poking him with the tip of her pool cue. “She’s wearing your shirt, I see.” She adds when he finally gets into position and lined up his shot. 

“You’re very observant, Nat,” he mumbled as he sank one of the solid colored balls. 

“I’m just saying,” she held her hands up as she walked around the table. “You seem happier this time around. I guess that comes with finally making things official.”

Bradley couldn’t stop the grin from forming on his face as he glanced over at you. Your arms were braced against the top of the bar as you waited for Penny to pour the beers, and you had a small smile on your lips as you stared at the floor. “I’m so in love with her, Nat,”

His best friend nudged his side with her elbow. “I know you are,” she said as he stood up and placed the cue against the table before beginning to make his way over to you. “Hey, that doesn’t mean you can just ditch our game! I was winning.”

But Bradley was already towering over you and taking one of the beers from your hand when you turned around. You jump slightly, nearly spilling your own beer as you look up at him. “I was going to bring that over to you,”

He takes a sip from the glass and shrugs, wrapping you up in his free arm and pulling you into his side. “It had been too long,”

“I was literally gone for less than a minute,”

“That just proves my point,” he replied as he pulled you towards the pool table. “I should be spending every second with you until tomorrow morning. Deployment rules.”

You scoffed. “You just made that up,”

He winked at you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “I won’t tell if you won’t,”

“Never,” you say and nuzzle closer to him. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

Bradley presses his lips to the top of your head as Nat gets into position at the opposite end of the pool table. “I’m going to miss you, too, sweet girl. Every single day,” he swore. “The next two months are going to be so lonely without you.”

You lift a brow and give him a teasing smirk. “They better be,”

“You two are seriously so cute, I might actually throw up,” Nat muttered as she set down her pool cue. “So on that note, I’m going to get a drink. I’ll see you later, Bradshaw. Don’t get on that carrier without saying goodbye to me. I mean it.”

She pointed her finger at Bradley, who laughed and gave her a thumbs up. “Wouldn’t dream of it,”

You and Bradley stayed for about an hour after that before he caved and took you back home, where he spent the rest of the night loving you in every way possible and already trying to make up for lost time.

-

The next morning, after saying a quick goodbye to Nat, you and Bradley were off to the shipping dock once more. 

It was hard to believe that the last time you were here with him was when you had given your heart to him and he had given it right back to you after damn near shattering it completely. 

How he managed to get you back after that, he’ll never know. 

It was clear that Bradley was also having a hard time standing on the dock and it was obvious that he, too, was thinking back to that awful day that almost cost him you forever. 

He dropped his bag and turned to you when he was a few feet away from the ramp, his hands instantly finding their home on your hips. Yours come up to rest on his chest as you try to compose yourself as best as you could manage. “This is it, pretty girl,” he mumbled as he pulled your body close to his. 

You nod and wrap your arms around his middle. “I love you, Bradley,” you whisper, unsure if he even heard you as countless other people sent off their loved ones around you. 

He did, though. “I love you more,” he said back and kissed the top of your head, lingering there for a few seconds so he could inhale the sweet scent of your conditioner. When he pulled away, he was met with the sight of your teary eyes. “It’s okay, baby. We can handle two months.”

You shake your head and look up at him. “It’s not that,” you murmur, blinking away the tears as best as you could. “I was just thinking about the last time we were on this dock. Feels like it was yesterday.”

Bradley’s heart broke a bit at your words and he wanted to take you into his arms again, but refrained from doing so as he thought about his next move. His pocket felt heavy, even though the object was as light as a coin, and his heart quickly began to beat a bit faster. 

His face heated up as he took one hand off your waist in order to rummage around in his pocket. “It’s not like last time,” he promised as his fingers felt the cool metal. 

“I know, but still,” you trail off, furrowing your brows as he continues to feel around in his pocket. 

“It’s not like last time,” he repeated in a breathy tone as he pulled his hand free. “Because you didn’t have this last time.” He held up a ring that reflected in the rising sunlight, the small object making your mouth part in a silent gasp.

“Bradley,” 

“I’m sorry,” he said as he got down on one knee right there on the dock. He didn’t care about the many people rushing around him as he focused his full attention onto you. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

Your eyes fill with tears once more as he takes your left hand in his. “Bradley,” you say again, at a loss for words as he held the ring between his thumb and index finger. 

“I love you, and I love that you’re the one I get to come home to,” he says, him being the one to wear his heart on his sleeve this time around. “I hope I can return to you as your fiancé, if you’ll say yes.”

Your eyes widen and tears freely fall as you bend down to grab either side of his face. “Are you kidding me?” You ask with a laugh and kiss him hard. “Of course I’ll say yes. I’m saying yes.”

Bradley’s arms were around you in seconds as he stood back up to his full height, taking you up with him and lifting you off the ground slightly. Neither of you paid any attention to the smiling strangers around you as they witnessed your acceptance of the ring, your lips pressing together in a salty kiss. “Yeah?” He asked when he pulled away but kept you close to him. 

“Yes,” you confirm and he took it upon himself to slide the pretty ring onto your finger. “God, I love you so much.” You say and jump up, wrapping your legs around his waist and kissing him again. 

He kissed you back as if this was his last time doing so, his arms caging your body tight against his. “I love you,” he says back, kissing you a couple more times as he sees people beginning to board the carrier next to him. “I gotta go, baby. But I’m coming back to you. I’m coming back to my fiancée.”

“Stop,” you whine against his mouth. “How am I supposed to let you leave now?”

He grinned and peppered kisses all over your face. “Just know I’m going to be thinking about you every single second,” he swore as he set you back down. 

You nod and grab his bag. “Be careful,” you beg as you hand it to him.

“Always,” he said as he took his bag and pressed a final kiss to your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you,”

-

“No fucking way,” Jake muttered as he threw his bag onto his bunk. “You gotta be kidding me.”

Bradley rolled his eyes from his place on his bed. “Cheer up, Hangman,”

Jake rolled his eyes as he sat down and ruffled his pillow. “How the fuck did we end up as bunkmates,” he muttered under his breath. “I was fine with being deployed with you, but not sleeping in the same room as you.”

Bradley wanted to bite back with some witty remark, but held off as he thought about you and how close you are to the guy beside him. For some reason you adored this guy, and he would just have to accept that Jake Seresin would always be in his life as long as he was in yours, and he planned on being with you for the rest of his days.

He already missed you so much. If he really concentrated and closed his eyes, he was sure he’d still be able to smell the vanilla perfume you wore whenever you left the house.

The same house he now shared with you, officially.  

Man, is he whipped.

It hadn’t even been half an hour and he already craved you beyond words. The video you and he made weighed heavily in his pocket, and he was tempted to watch it now. You got him hard without even being in the same room as him, and he knew he wouldn’t last long when he got the chance to watch the video, but having Jake share the same room as him was definitely a mood killer. 

He just hoped he would get the chance to be alone for at least a small portion of this deployment. 

Bradley debated on whether or not he should just leave the room and only come back when it was time for bed, but he also knew he was going to have to face Jake at some point. 

“This is getting old,” he said as he looked over at Jake. “Why are you still so pissed off with me?”

Jake sat up a bit straighter. “I said it before. Just because Y/n forgave you doesn’t mean I will,” he answered. “You weren’t there, man. She was….messed up. You fucked her up, Bradshaw. It was hard to see her like that and know it was partly my fault since I’m the one who brought you into her life.”

Bradley sat up from his lying position and faced his bunkmate. “I know I fucked up, alright? I know. I thought about it every single day while I was gone. It killed me to know that I made her feel like she wasn’t enough and that I wasn’t there to tell her that I didn’t mean it,” he rasped, his mind going back to how rude he was to you that day. He was such an ass, and you truly didn’t deserve any of it, much like how he simply didn’t deserve you. That never changed. “If I’m being honest, I’m glad she had you after how I left things. Even if you are a prick sometimes.”

“Wow, Bradshaw,” Jake said sarcastically. “And here I thought we were having a moment.”

Bradley grunted in response, unsure of how you put up with this literal child. He thought about what to say next, knowing he didn’t want the next eight weeks to be tense and awkward between the two men. Without thinking too much more, he says, “I asked her to marry me,”

That had Jake’s eyes widening. “Damn, Bradshaw, you don’t waste any time, do you?” He asked as he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. After a few more seconds he asked, “What did she say?”

Bradley smiled at the memory of you jumping on him in front of everyone on that dock and how he helped erase the previous experience, successfully replacing it with a better one. He wished he had thought to take a picture of you wearing the ring, just so he could have something sweet to look at after all the dirty photos, but he also knew there will be time for that later. “She said yes,” 

Jake blew out a huff of breath, nodding afterwards. “That’s great, man,” he didn’t sound too thrilled, but he also didn’t sound too pissed. A quiet grunt of disbelief left him before he said, “Just don’t hurt her again.”

He then moved to lay back on his bed, pushing his bag and letting it land on the floor. “Jake,” Bradley said, his voice more serious than it had been the night they got into that altercation. “I won’t hurt her ever again. I can promise both you and her that. You still don’t give a shit about me, and that’s fine, but we both love her, so we need to learn how to get along. This is my attempt.”

Jake huffed, a bit annoyed at the fact that he knew Bradley was right. “Yeah, I guess so,” he muttered, reaching behind him and resting his head on his hands. “For some reason she seems to actually love you, so I guess she’s about as smart as your dumb ass.”

Bradley laughed, a genuine sound that had Jake holding back a small smile of his own. “Thanks,” he said under his breath. “I mean it, Hangman. I won’t fuck it up again. She’s it for me.”

Jake looked over at him and studied his face for a while, noting just how serious he was. He lets out a sigh before saying, “Alright, man. Stick to that promise and give me a warning when you need the room to yourself for a few hours and we might actually survive the next two months,” he says, continuing when Bradley just laughed, “I’m serious. I’d rather not walk in on you jerking off to whatever sick thought is going through your head.”

Bradley reached into his pocket. “Don’t worry, I won’t be thinking about that kind of thing too much,” he says, holding his phone up and smirking. “That’s what this is for, so I don’t have to think about it.”

Jake looked confused for a second before he clued in to the fact that he was insinuating that you had given Bradley plenty of viewing material. He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he tried to fight off a grin. “Fuck, this is going to be a long deployment,”

[sukunasbow]

sick, bellamy blake.

summary: in which you take care of bellamy blake when he catches the virus spreading around the camp!

warnings: fem!reader, kane’s daughter!reader, kinda ‘enemies’ to lovers, mentions of blood and puking, doesn’t exactly follow the original scene from the show, some use of (y/n), and not proof read so grammar but be really trash atm since i wrote this at like five in the morning!

notes: this is lowkey bad and i don’t know if anyone still reads the 100 works but enjoy to anyone who likes this!

“Clarke!” Jasper yells, running towards the drop ship, catching your attention. “What? She’s resting, I’m taking over.” You walk towards the doorway, pulling down the old shirt you have wrapped around your neck to cover your face, wondering what’s wrong now.

Murphy brought back some virus from the grounders, quickly spreading it to almost everyone at the camp. Due to this, you’ve spent the entirety of the night walking around the ship, cleaning up the bloody faces of the people around you and giving clean water to them after Clarke caught the virus and could no longer take over.

As you reach the doorway, your eyes widen when you see Jasper standing next to three boys. One of the boys is being held up by the other two. “Bellamy?” You immediately run towards the boys when you realize who it is, “Jasper, stay outside, you can’t get sick.” You instruct, stopping him from getting any closer to his sick friend. “Come on, help me make space!” You yell, leading the boys towards a dirty cot in the drop ship. “Here, thanks.” You tell them, the boys carefully lying him down before quickly leaving the room full of sick teenagers.

“Bell?!” Octavia rushed towards her brother, who you quickly turn on his side as he starts throwing up blood. “Oh my god.” You squint, somehow still not used to the sight of bloody vomit. As much as you hate the stubborn and self appointed ‘leader,’ you felt awful seeing his current state. “I got this.” Octavia places a hand on your shoulder, letting you know she wants to take care of her brother and have some space, “Call me if you need me.” You nod.

“Hey, get some rest, let me take over now.” You whisper, kneeling down next to Octavia and her sleeping brother. “Are you sure?” She bites her lip, clearly struggling to stay awake. “Yes, go sleep.” You smile. Octavia gives in and accepts your offer, going to sleep near Clarke, still close enough incase anything happens while she’s resting.

Moments later, your eyebrows raised at the sound of Bellamy moving around. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” You breathe out, trying to be as gentle as you can, awkwardly touching his arm. He opens his eyes even more, squinting to make sure it’s you.

“Oh. I thought you hated me, huh? Yet you’re taking care of me?” Somehow while he’s going through a deadly virus, he still manages to piss you off and be arrogant. “Would you rather me just let you choke on your own blood?” You scoff. He lets out a raspy laugh, coughing up some blood in the process. “Ew.” You fake gag when you notice some of the blood splatter on your shoes, still trying to remain lighthearted. “Shut up.” He huffs. “Let me help, sit up a bit.” You mumble, taking the shirt you previously were using as protection and dipping it into a clean bucket of water, then moving closer to Bellamy. “You need to stay away, stop.” He pushes you away, only now noticing the lack of face covering you have on. “It’s fine.” You move back to where you were, carefully grabbing his face, running your thumb over his cheekbones as you gently dab the wet cloth on his face. The dried blood slowly washes off of his face.

“There he is.” You place the cloth down beside him. “I can finally see your smug face.” You joke, earning an eye roll from him. “All better.” You hum. A small smile appears on your face as his eyes start fluttering shut. Although you’re supposed to be against him and his shit leading skills, you still feel a part of you melting at the closeness between you and him. “Okay, you can go back to sleep.” You laugh at Bellamy’s attempt to stay sitting up and awake. “Wait, no, I should-” He starts, you quickly stopping him from moving. “Bellamy.” You whisper, “Please, just let yourself relax.” You tone is soft and gentle, something that surprises both of you, even more the man, his eyes softening. He feels his own heart melt, which also surprises him.

As he goes back to lying down, he watches as you carefully walk away, weaving around the drop ship, avoiding the other people that are lying down. He catches himself almost smile. Now, he realizes he might feel something opposite of ‘hatred’ towards you, the stubborn daughter of Marcus Kane that always disagrees with him, who he’s supposed to be against.

[elsa-fogen]

what do you think about the fact that al likes doodling?

i have a head canon that he has some sort of scrapbook or sketchbook full of little doodles of things going on at the hotel and just in his life, I feel like he would draw really stick-figureish (is that a word?) but I read a fic that depicted it as the same art style as an Invader-Zim obsessed scene girl and I could not stop cackling.

I also feel like he would either guard it with his life from everyone (exception to Rosie, of course) or just not bother to tell anyone and one day they just find him doodling schoolgirl style, kicking his legs in the air, LMAO NEW THOUGHT WHAT IF CHARLIE OR LUCIFER FOUND IT

OH! OH! Now that you mentioned it - i LOVE that about him! I just absolutely ADORE little thing he made for the add in the first episode. And i love this fact because 1) he's the first character i like that likes to draw canonically (okay maybe also toothless from httyd?) 2) Me and Alastor share so many similarities, and even drawing???? This just makes me love him even more (i'm sure we would hate each other irl tho AHAHHAHAHA or maybe not, idk)

SO, SINCE ME AND AL ARE SO SIMILAR, I'M GONNA PROJECT ON HIM MY DRAWING HABITS >:3c Forgive me this one, i usualy don't do that, i usualy project characters on myself haha

He DOES have sketchbooks just to draw, and they are ORGANISED. He's numbers every sketchbook and counts every drawing in them since the first one. He also has two numbers for each page - through one sketchbook and through them all. He has over 300 of sketchbooks by now (I have less, only 56). They are stashed somewhere in a very safe place.

Every sketchbook has a date of first and last drawing. Also amount of drawings. It looks like: NOTEBOOK 253 (number of sketchbook, also he doesn't call them sketchbooks) 03.06.1978-05.07.1978 (dates while it was active) 119 (amount of drawings) 29961-30080 (which numbers of drawings are in this sketchbook) He would cound something else, but he's just too busy to spend time on it. He can remember something thinking about what he was drawing in that period and vice versa

He used to draw at overlords meetings, pissing off Carmila and everyone else, because it looked like he hadn't listened to them, so Carmila banned drawing at overlords meetings (Alastor is still angry about it)

But he doesn't progress too much - most of his progress was made through first 10-20 sketchbooks, now he only has slight style changes sometimes when he feels like it

Tho he's really proud of his current skill and used to think that he's literally the best (used to get angry when reminded that it's not true) (now he kinda knows, but still likes his own drawings, doesn't accept criticism and doesn't try to purposely improve)

He likes showing his drawings to people, he knows and if he does, you have to say that it's literally So Cool, show enthusiasm turning pages and say that everything is just amazing. If you don't, he'll be OFFENDED. He also can leave a sketchbook opened on a page with a drawing he likes the most, and it's like a sign "NOTICE THAT I'M DRAWING AND SAY THAT YOU LIKE IT"

If he considers you a friend (well not like Rosie, but at least like Charlie), he'll be showing you his drawings regularly (and you have to be enthusiastic about it!!!!!!) He has showed it to Charlie, but somehow her enthusiasm is... too much. She's too patronising about it. He also shows his things to Husk, he knows that Husk is annoyed and doesn't give a shit, and he just enjoys his annoyance. He also shows his drawings to Niffty and she gives him Just Right amount and vibe of enthusiasm. (He sometimes draws something for her fanfiction if he likes something enough and enjoys Niffty's reaction (she explodes from happiness)). BUT!!!!! He never shows anything to Mimzy. Because she's like, person from the real life, and he feels like she would laugh at it. To Rosie he shows only things he considers his best and her opinion is the most important to him. He can even forgive her criticism (wouldn't take it tho) (she never critisizes him and absolutely ADORES his drawings). Angel kinda likes his drawings, but isn't enthusiastic about them enough

He doesn't take requests (Angel tried "draw me like one of your french girls" shit, Alastor never did (also his ass did not get the reference and he was like "i dont??? have??? any french girls????")) (Vox also tried to make Alastor draw something for him, Alastor was just "that's interesting, i'll think about it" and never thought of it again)

SOME OF HIS DRWINGS TURNED OUT TO BE PROPHECIES but he notices that only when something happens and then he goes back to his old sketchbooks and accidentally finds it. They are just coincidenses tho, but it's fun and Alastor makes a big deal from it and screams to Rosie like "I PREDICTED THAT SHIT 27 YEARS AGO" when finds out. (it's how i predicted many plot points from SU and literally TOH hunter's possession before the show even was a thing JHJDFJHFGJFDHKH i wonder if i predicted something from Hazbin, i need to look through my sketchbooks now)

If you dare to mess with his drawings and vandalise them... oh... you better pray to whatever god you belive in to make your sufferings be enough to redeem your sins and go to heven.

[boldlygoingtohell]

In a weird way, as a Jew, I can kinda take Normal Antisemitism™️.

I mean, I understand where right-wing racists are coming from when it comes to their antisemitism. At the end of the day, theirs just comes from fear, replacement theory, etc… It’s easily identifiable. 2+2=4. Yea its shitty, but I see how they got from A to B and it’s a straight line.

But left-wing antisemitism?? Like, how does that happen? I thought the left was about supporting minority groups, encouraging them to speak and be heard. But all I’m seeing from leftists these days (I myself being super fucking liberal, left, etc…) is just waves and waves of antisemitism. And yes it has to do with Israel, but these people are incapable of criticizing the Israeli government without going “all Jews are responsible!” in the process. It's infuriating.

Are all the the world’s Jews, millions of which live OUTSIDE of Israel, now responsible for Israel’s actions? I'M a stupid American! I’ve never even BEEN to Israel, much less know the intricate details of a geo-political conflict whose complexities go willfully unlearned by armchair activists in favor of yelling in all caps for 140 characters.

But what really gets me, and I mean REALLY get me about the whole situation, is the hypocrisy.

Remember how awful it was when we saw waves of Islamophobic hate crimes after 9/11, American Muslims with no ties to al-Qaeda being targeted for the faith those terrorists claimed to represent?

Or do you remember standing against the wave of anti-Asian hate crimes that was spurned on by COVID falsehoods? The “China virus” as Trump so eloquently put it? You remember being pissed about that, not blaming Asian Americans but standing with them against hate?

And hell, I’ve heard there has been a rash of Islamophobic attacks again because of the Israeli-Gaza conflict. That’s fucking awful, and I will stand against that bull shit because it does not belong here, end of story.

But now there are also antisemitic attacks, hate crimes, being perpetrated around the world. And who are the perpetrators now? The left that stood against everything else. There's no widespread ally-ship for Jews like me. There's no sweeping social media campaign, no catchy hashtag, no ice bucket challenge.

Why am I allowed to be condemned for what a country on the other side of the world is doing, when I have nothing to do with it? Why can I have the finger pointed at me when I don’t want the fighting in the first place? Why must Jews be allowed to be the target of this ire when it's already been decided that other ethnicities/religions don't deserve it either?

Now, I am PROUD to be Jewish; it is my culture, in my heritage, in my literal blood. It is in my genetics, my bones, my spoken language, it is in the holidays I celebrate, the philosophies I live by.

But it is also in the generational trauma of my mother insisting I have a passport as a young child, not because we were traveling, but in case we had to flee. It is in her inherent distrust of the government; a card-carrying Democrat all her life, she would always remind me, "if you don't think the government can't turn on you, you're kidding yourself." It is her constant reminders that as a Jew, our assimilation is conditional, our acceptance is political. I felt these, but never as strongly as she did. Not until now.

I am third generation American, and yet I feel like an outsider in the only country I have ever known. People who I thought understood, who were my friends, who marched with me against the injustices of the world, are now calling after Jews to answer for Israel's actions.

I say I don't want the violence to persist and I'm told that I'm, "one of the good ones". I'm told hurt Israelis don't deserve sympathy because, "all Jews are rich anyway, right? Who cares." I tell them my fears about the rising antisemitism and wearing my star of david necklace out. I'm told, "it doesn't matter, you're white anyway."

For the first time in my life, the racists aren't just some crazy KKK members. They're not just Nazis marching around with beer bellies and ill fitting helmets. It's not just some screeching street preacher who claims I'm going to hell after he caught the glint off my star of david necklace. If needs be, I can kick and punch my way out of those. They're just idiots. Isolated, concentrated incidents. It'd be a good story to tell at a bar the next day though a gap-toothed smile and a sling on my shoulder.

But now, both sides are coming after me and my people. Now, it's not just idiots who have all of their views backwards; it's people I thought I could trust to have my back, to go down swinging with me against those Nazis. Right. Left. It's everywhere. There's no escape.

It's coming from all sides. It's coming from social media platforms, from dinners with friends, from posters on street lamps.

I live in one of the safest, most Jewish neighborhoods in America, and for the first time in my life I am truly scared.

[sashaisready]

This Must Be The Place: Chapter 6 - Nothing's wrong

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Nothing specific, I don’t think? Bucky still being a dick. But what else is new?

I think you guys are going to find this satisfying hehehehe.

You marched back to the bar with your head held high, refusing to allow yourself to look over at Amber and Bucky and tie yourself up in knots any longer. You checked the time on your phone and placed it on the bar shelf behind you, almost closing. You’d finish up, then when you got home you’d think about if you really want to stay in this job.

“Gonna do last call, Tom, then I’ll cash out and if you could start cleaning up”.

“Got it, boss” he replied happily.

You smiled back. You absolutely weren’t his boss, but he was sweet.

You rang the bell for last call and announced it loudly to the bar. A few of the plant guys came rushing over to order their last beers. Tom handled that while you served a couple of other dawdlers.

A tall man in a baseball cap appeared suddenly, grinning as he brandished a $20 bill.

“For you,” he said softly. “For putting up with our annoying, drunk asses all night”.

You chuckled, accepting the tip as you looked at him properly. You’d seen him earlier with the other plant guys but not really paid much attention as your focus was on the obscene number of drinks his friends kept ordering.

He was…kinda cute. A scruff of almost reddish-brown hair under his cap. Big green eyes. A dusting of stubble across his chin and jaw. Not quite as big as Bucky, but broad and sturdy.

“Ah well thank-you so much...you guys kept me busy…and I got a bunch of tips, so I guess I can’t complain,” you told him cheerily as you folded the bill and put it in your pocket. “Plus, you’ve all been well behaved, despite how much you’ve knocked back”.

“Well…this bar has the most bouncers we’ve ever seen,” he joked, thumbing the air in the direction of the MC.

You laughed. “True…that does make my job a little easier”.

“I’m sure being super cute helps too,” he grinned as he leaned in. Then his face immediately crumpled. “Oh…my god. I’m sorry. So, so lame. It sounded so smooth in my head…”

You giggled shyly, charmed by his embarrassment. “No…no it was sweet. Thanks…”

You felt yourself blushing a little, heat rushing to your cheeks as you were caught off guard by this interaction. Your previous anger melting away. You felt lighter suddenly.

“I’m Peter. Peter Quill. Hey”.

You beamed back and offered your own name as you shook the hand he’d extended to you.

You both looked at one another for a moment, your smile stretching as you allowed yourself to bathe in his attention.

“It’s last call man, you orderin’?” came a surly voice from behind Peter.

Bucky suddenly had appeared at the bar, his eyes flitting between you both.

“Uh…no, I’m good for tonight, thanks. Was just tipping your very helpful bartender before I head out”.

You smiled back at him, ignoring the heat of Bucky’s gaze on you.

“Yes…thank-you. Very much appreciated, Peter,” you responded.

You both turned to look at Bucky who seems to blanch as you use Peter’s name, but he makes no effort to move. He looked…pissed off? Riled up? His fists were clenched at his sides, his mouth a thin straight line. You weren’t sure why he was suddenly hanging around here like a bad smell, especially as he had been indisposed all evening.

Wait…is Bucky…?

Peter looked back at you, then awkwardly at Bucky, then back to you again. “Could I…uh…”

Realisation hit you like a freight train.

Oh god. He is…

…He’s jealous.

Bucky is jealous.

Peter looked at Bucky once more who remained still, watching Peter carefully. Peter seemed to accept that he had an awkward audience of one and looked back at you again before clearing his throat.

“Maybe…uh…I could get your number and we could…y’know…go out some time?”

Your face lit up and you ignored the almost imperceptible sound of the puff of air Bucky huffed out of his noise.

 “Uh…sure. Great”.

You grabbed a napkin from the holder on the bar and a pen from your pocket and scribbled down your number, practically nauseous with the dual feeling of getting a date with a cute guy and Bucky bearing witness to it. You smiled at Peter as you pushed the napkin across the bar with your fingers.

He picked it up like it was a precious artefact, holding it close to his face as he inspected it.

“Wow…right amount of numbers and everything,” he joked.

You giggled back bashfully. “Yep…I promise it’s real and not the number of a pizza place or something…”

“Honestly? I’d be impressed you had the the number for the pizza place memorised even if it did mean I was rejected…”

You both laughed and he carefully folded up the napkin and put it in his pocket. At the same time, a bunch of his group had started to down the dregs of their drinks and drift towards the exit. One nudged him on the arm as he passed, mumbling something about ‘Rocket’ being designated driver. Whatever the hell that means.

“Well…better get going. I’ll uh…see ya” he smiled.

You nodded and smiled in return as he turned and headed out. Once he’d left, you kept your eyes down and picked up a washcloth, rhythmically dabbing at the sticky drink residue on the bar surface. You could feel Bucky still looming over you, but he hadn’t said anything. You sprayed some cleaning fluid and continued.

“You’re still on the clock you know,” he muttered.

“Oh...Am I not working right now?” you asked ingenuously as you kept your eyes down on your busywork. You knew your tone was pushing it, but frankly, so was he.

“You are now…but you weren’t…then”.

The emphasis on ‘then’ was loaded and it was clear what 'then' exactly he was referring to.

“Well…I’m sorry you lost those three minutes,” you answered sharply, turning to look at him. You narrowed your eyes at his stoic frown. “How about I stay an extra three minutes after my shift…and we call it even?”

He glared back at you, knowing he didn’t have a leg to stand on and so was unable to say anything back. He'd never been strict about you chatting to customers or taking short breaks before, so he couldn't suddenly start now.

“I need to speak to you anyway,” you continued calmly as you resumed your cleaning. “About this job”.

You looked back up at him and swore you saw a flash of panic in his eyes, but it was gone so fast you couldn’t be sure.

Suddenly Amber bounded up to the bar, oblivious to the strange tension between the two of you. You suppressed an eye roll and went back to your washcloth.

“Bucky…the girls have asked if there’s an after party tonight?” she asked coyly, draping herself over him like a scarf.

Your phone vibrated loudly on the bar shelf behind you, causing both you and Bucky to glance over at it. He couldn’t fully see from his vantage point, but you watched as Wanda’s name flashed up on the screen. She was texting you, not a super keen Peter on his way home.

But Bucky didn’t know that…

“Don’t worry, boss,” you told him sweetly. “I won’t pick that up until I’m off the clock”.

His nose wrinkled and for a split second he looked like a wounded puppy. If he wasn’t such an asshole you might have felt sorry for him.

“James?” Amber whined. “Party?”

You looked at him incredulously, an eyebrow cocked. His real name was James?!

He was the least Jamesy James you’d ever met.

“Nope, not tonight” he sternly replied to her, but his eyes stayed on you.

“Tell Sam you need a ride, Ambs. I gotta do some work stuff”.

And with that, he stormed off to the back office.

Amber pouted as she watched him go, then looked back at you. “What’s up with him?”

You shrugged. “Beats me”.

She sighed and flopped down onto a bar stool, then began rifling through the napkins and straws, causing a small pile of them to spill out onto the bar. Great, thanks Amber. You hadn’t just refilled those or anything.

“He talks about you, you know” she told you softly as she looked down at an errant straw, perfectly manicured fingers wrapping around it.

You nearly spluttered laughing in shock. “Me?” you asked her.

Never in a million years did you expect her to say that.

“Mmm…” she purred as she put the straw in her mouth, chewing on it thoughtfully. Ugh, she really was pretty.

“Like he says you’re good at your job and stuff. But also that you’re funny. And smart. And stuff like that”.

You tilted your head as you looked at her, the wind taken out of your sails from the sheer shock of what she was telling you.

“Huh…” you responded as you try to downplay your sudden interest. “Well…that’s nice of him, I guess”.

“Ya…” she nodded.

“Amber…?” you asked.

She looked up at you and smiled.

“Is he really called James?”

She giggled. “Ya. He’s like...James Buchanan. Buchanan is his middle name. So, they all call him Bucky. He only lets certain people call him James. Special privileges”.

“I see,” you nodded. “Like you, huh?”

She sighed, pouting sadly. “Mmm…but…I dunno how ‘special’ I really am these days”.

Before you could ask what she meant, she changed the subject suddenly.

“Saw you talking to that guy from the plant. He was cute”. She grinned at you.

You found yourself laughing at the sudden tone shift and the excited glee on her face. Maybe she wasn’t so bad.

“Yeah…he is,” you nodded. “I haven’t really been on the dating scene for a while though. Not sure if I remember how…”

You weren’t sure why you told her that…

She just giggled. “Oh…shut up. Look at you. You’re a total hottie. You’ll be great”.

You felt your cheeks flush, but before you could say anything else she stood up from the bar stool and called out across the bar.

“Saaaammy. I need a ride!”

“I got you, baby girl!” he called back.

She grinned at you as she sauntered off. “Well…good luck with cute guy”.

You watched her go, slightly shell shocked by the whole exchange.

Huh. That was…a lot.

*

Steve told you he’d lock up so after cleaning up and cashing out, you bid Tom and the MC farewell and headed out to the parking lot. You hadn’t seen Bucky…James…since his dramatic exit. But you couldn’t help but mull over what Amber had told you. What did she mean, ‘he talks about you’? What does he say exactly? How does he say it? What did she mean when she said she didn’t feel special these days? Did she know about your kiss?

And Bucky was clearly jealous of Peter, right? He wasn’t subtle about it. But he had ignored you all evening until that happened. Maybe it was just territorial bullshit rather than anything deeper.

Speaking of Peter…why were you even thinking about Bucky? You now had this sweet, funny guy on the cards who was upfront about his interest in you…unlike Bucky.

…So why couldn’t you just focus on him?

You sighed. You shouldn’t be getting involved with any man right now. It all had an expiration date anyway. You were here to sort the house and that was that. Granny would tease you for allowing yourself to get distracted, just like always.

As you approached your car, you nearly jumped out of your skin as you realised there was a dark figure leaning against the bonnet.

“Bucky! Jesus fuckin’ Christ…” you scolded as you placed a hand on your chest. “You scared the shit out of me”.

He stopped leaning, standing back up to his full height.

“We need to talk, Sugar” he said bluntly.

[glitterincandles]

smiling friends playing minecraft ; ☆

glep

is the one who thought of the idea in the first place #socialmediamanager

brought it up to mr. boss as a "team bonding activity" LOL

in charge of their minecraft server and mediates any conflict that happens within it

the ultimate gamer actually a gamer GOD

is in the game 24/7, they never stop the grind

definitely the first one to find diamonds

yo glep the typa guy to have his whole house and storage decked out by the first day

has an automatic farm for everything (cobblestone, iron, gunpowder, slime, etc) like u name it they have it for some reason

he doesn't let everyone use them for free though

he makes the others "pay" (read: do something embarrassing, run an errand for him, give him iron or something) to get access to any of his automatic farms of their choosing for a whole day

they can negotiate w them tho

like if one of them comes up to him and they have something that he doesn't find valuable then they DO have a chance to convince him of its value but otherwise it won't work lol

in fact he'll be quite offended

like u think that red dye is enough to get access to my automatic iron farm?! HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA

undeniably the most powerful person in the server

his minecraft skin is definitely either one of those meme skins with an oddly realistic face on the torso or a skin that looks like some sort of lizard dragon monster thing

mr. boss

honestly barely knew what minecraft was before glep brought it up

he did assume it was some kind of game when he hears the word

like any other video game, he had to be introduced to it by the ppl around him

despite him approving of the game, he's barely ever joins the server

^^^^ he's more into rhythm games and fps

has no clue whats going on in the server tbh

he just gets bits and pieces based off of what others say to him or around him

because of that he tries to join the server more often but he really really can't get ahold of minecraft in general bc he gets bored very easily and needs outside stimuli

is the type to log into a server he hasn't touched in a hot second and be upset that everyone else is so far ahead

he always spawns in the middle of nowhere every time bc he hasn't made or slept in a bed yet

^^^ because he usually leaves the server within 5 minutes which isn't long enough for the day-night minecraft cycle to commence (minecraft days are 10 minutes long)

when he logs on while its nighttime in the server he literally BREAKS into allan's house (much to his dismay) and forgets to patch any hole he left in his walls or windows

he hits/kills everyone else in minecraft for fun

literally just logs in to cause chaos then leave

^^^ everyone is thankful that he doesn't have access to tnt yet

definitely uses the alex minecraft skin

allan red

he took a while to accept that they have a minecraft world together

he found it kinda obnoxious (he joined the server anyway)

determined to have the best house in the game

if he had to take any role, he would be the builder

the first thing he did when he logged in was start building a house... like wood enters his inventory, he just makes a fuckin axe then uses the rest of the wood to build his house ;w;

he's actually pretty good at it since he already is very detail-oriented and shit so he can definitely make a fire house

when it comes to mining or combat tho he's so shit

^^^ glep helps in this aspect LOL

only went to the nether for glowstone and it pissed charlie off once

bc theyre already pretty close, glep is more lenient on him and is usually on his side when it comes to any conflict that occurs in the server

not only does he put a lot of effort into his houses, he also puts a lot of effort into the outside of his houses

he just be building shit

built a whole mansion for his minecraft dog once (just bc)

every time he dies in minecraft he's like "ok that means its time for me to log off"

surprisingly has a very healthy balance of play time. he plays just enough to get very far in the game and keep up with everything and ALSO keep his real life stabilized and normal

he has a creative minecraft world outside of the server that he tries redstone in to get lights in his normal minecraft house to work without it looking too bulky and ugly

^^^ he also uses it to make booby traps for anyone entering his house without permission

^^^^ they never fucking work on mr. boss

he made his minecraft skin himself and its just him if he were yassified

charlie dompler

oh god fucking finally was probably what ran through his mind when he heard the news

he probably joked about it once to pim and was surprised that it actually came true

this guy is second to glep when it comes to gaming

like srsly bro probably has a gaming setup and/or is saving up for one

he was the second to join the minecraft server (second to glep again)

he is the opposite of allan; he hates building and only ever mines or fights mobs

in fact he made his whole minecraft hideout in the side of a cave and it only has like. one crafting table, six fucking furnaces, and like 10 chests full of random drops and bulllshit, then his singular bed in the middle of the room with a big path leading down to a random ass cave

looking at his minecraft hideout would make a minecraft builder CRY their eyes out its worse than u think

would often vc with pim and play with him on the server

spends a concerning amount of time on minecraft bc he always has something to do on it, he just gives himself random side quests

despite the disorganization of his minecraft home he's actually more organized in minecraft than in real life believe it or not

he probably hasn't touched grass since he joined the minecraft server

him and glep duel it out sometimes for fun, or they do like fighting challenges with each other like who can kill the most zombies without dying

extremely attached to a wolf he tamed when he first joined the server

he watched minecraft gaming youtubers and bc of that he enchants everything he owns bc those were his favorite episodes

his minecraft skin is some sort of character from one of his interests, like mr. frog or a random salty's mascot bc he finds it funny

pim pimling

his poor cheap office laptop can barely run minecraft omfg

when he boots minecraft up, it'd lag so hard and the fans in his laptop would go crazy, then after five minutes minecraft runs "as normal"... like it's playable but not to ppl who are used to 250 fps

^^^ it happens every fucking time he doesn't know how to fix it

he's ok with it though he's like ok give it a sec this happens all the time ^w^

^^^^ was the last person to join the server bc of this

sings a song while he's doing a minecraft chore, like in the silly halloween special episode when he was singing picking up twigs! picking up twigs! that'll be him while getting wood or something similar

he's real careful about how long he plays bc he doesn't want his laptop to overheat

his combat skills r pretty good bc of his experience playing gwimbly's games when he was younger

his favorite thing is definitely farming though

he's at a constant dilemma of using bones for either bone meal or taming another wolf to add to his mini army

^^^ the mini army is only making his lag worse charlie Really doesn't understand

settled down in a village in one of those empty houses and fight to protect them from any raid that occurs

talks aloud to minecraft villagers as if they can hear him

his village house is filled with many animals actually

he is charmed by baby zombies and baby villagers

^^^ he adopted a baby villager in minecraft once

^^^^ she died in a freak accident during a raid

^^^^^ pim was heartbroken for days

he does a lot of side quests with charlie for fun

like charlie, his minecraft skin is a character from one of his interests,, most likely gwimbly or a character from that game

[ro-is-struggling]

Halo, I would like to request james potter × slytherin!reader with this lyrics “Just because it won't come easily // Doesn't mean we shouldn't try” (Easily by Bruno Major) when you're a pureblood prince/princess, and you and james are secretly in love. But of course, there have plenty of problems along this journey. But in the end, you guys end up together. Massive angst in the beginning and fluff in the end. Thanks!

Hi beautiful💜 Thank you so much for participating in the celebration!! I'm sorry it took me so long to get to your request, but better late than never, I guess. This one came to me so quick I'm kinda pissed it took me so long to sit down and write it. No kidding, I wrote it in like 2 days wich is really fast for my overthinker ass lol I hope that you like it 💕

Easily || James Potter x Slytherin!Reader

Summary: Your social status and the expectations of your parents don't allow you to date someone like James, so you keep your relationship a secret. However, when he decides he can't go through with the act anymore, you find the courage to stand up to your family.

Warnings: angst, secret relationship, fluff, fem!reader, slytherin!reader

English is not my first language

Word count: 4000

This fic is part of my 600 followers celeration

James watched you from his place at the Gryffindor table, sad eyes glued to your figure. You were with him again, chatting over breakfast as if you were best friends. James knew the boy's true intentions, the whole school did, but he could do nothing but stare with hatred at the way he 'accidentally' touched your arm.

There was nothing he wanted more than to run up to you, take you in his arms and kiss you in front of the whole Slytherin table so that everyone would know that you were his. But he knew he couldn't. The only thing that making your relationship public would do for you was bring you more pain and suffering. Your parents were very strict, pureblood wizard royalty who looked down on most of the wizarding community. They had a well-planned future for you, with everything and a partner included, and James was far from that ideal. He knew that you hated it, that you felt trapped in a life you didn't want and that you loved him above all else. That was the only thing that kept him sane when he had to see you sucking up to that slytherin boy your parents adored, knowing that you were only really you when you were with him. But lately it was getting hard for him.

It was hard for him to live on stolen moments, sneaking around the castle just so he could be with you for a little while. It was hard to pretend to be indifferent when he saw you walking through the corridors, holding hands with that guy like you really liked him. It was hard to love you in secret, knowing that your relationship was disapproved of by everyone you knew. James wanted to shout from the rooftops about how much he loved you and how happy he was with you, but he couldn't do more than whisper to his pillow every night about how much he wanted to be with you.

He had been wondering lately if all the pain was really worth it. He loved you, but that wasn't enough to help him bear the weight on his chest anymore. He wondered what was the point of holding on to something that hurt him so much for just a few minutes of happiness. You had no possible future, at least not a happy one. Maybe it was better to end things before it got any harder. Maybe the heartbreak of having to let you go now would save him a lot of pain in the future. Maybe it was time to face reality, put aside his desires and accept that his love was nothing more than a forbidden dream.

Doubts were going around in his mind at all times, not leaving him a second of peace for himself. At least that was until you appeared, your smile emerging in the darkness of the hallway as you ran into his arms. And as he held you close, all questions were silenced by the intense love he felt for you, heart beating hard against yours. All you had to do was kiss him and he fell, surrendered to the softness of your lips, loving the way you whispered his name and told him how much you missed him. 

For a moment, everything was right again. You were with him, where you belonged, and the world seemed to be a better place. It was a fantasy, a fictional world you created every time you snuck out at night to see each other, but it was your world at last. A bubble of happiness, away from the sad reality outside. There were no parents or social mandates, no expectations or hatreds to separate you, just you, James and the love you had for each other.

He allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy, losing himself in the softness of your lips and the warmth that your delicate touch awakened in his skin. But then he felt it. That guy’s perfume lingered on your skin, like a constant reminder that you weren't his —not really, not like James wanted you to be-and that you never would be.

"Wait, stop!" He murmured against your lips, lightly pushing your shoulders away from him. 

"What's wrong?" you frowned at him, confused by his sudden rejection. Did you do something wrong?

James looked at you for a moment, but remained silent, watching the concern in your eyes as he wondered if he really was about to voice his concerns. You tried to approach him again, stepping forward and placing a hand on his chest. But to your surprise he pulled back, giving your hand a light squeeze before removing it from his body. Then he let out a long sigh, closing his eyes for a moment as he prepared himself for what he was about to do.

"This... w-we... I can't do this anymore." James struggled to say, unsure of what were the right words to communicate what he was feeling.

"What do you mean?" You spoke cautiously, hoping he didn't mean what you thought he was getting at. 

"I can't keep hiding us, our love, what I feel for you... It's too hard, I can't do it anymore." Your eyes glistened with accumulated tears and James felt his heart break into a thousand pieces once again. He hated to be the cause of your pain, but he had to be honest with you. The situation surpassed you and the love you had for each other was no longer enough, not for him at least.

"I know it's hard, it always has been. But we can get through this, James. I know we can." You reached out once more and this time he didn't reject your touch. You cradled his cheek with your hand and he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. "I love you, Jamie."

"I love you too, but I'm afraid that's not enough. Not anymore." 

When James opened his eyes, you saw tears in them. He was hurting as much as you were, so why was he doing this? From the very beginning you two knew that your relationship would not be easy. You warned him countless times, rejecting his advances over and over again to protect him. He had assured you that he didn't care, that he would put up with anything to be with you. His insistence was the only thing that persuaded you to accept his advances, thinking that he would really support you and fight for your love. But now that seemed to be nothing more than empty promises.

"So you're just going to give up?" You asked, taking a few steps back as your sadness mixed with anger. James was supposed to be different, that's why you had opened your heart to him. "Just because it won't come easily doesn't mean we shouldn't try."

"But we did try and it's not working." James sighed, leaning against the wall with slumped shoulders. "I can't keep seeing you with him. I can't keep pretending that it doesn't kill me to see him being all over you, thinking that you're his. I can't stand to see the indifference in your eyes every time we're in public. It hurts too much."

“Do you think that it doesn’t hurt me?” 

Your voice broke. Tears rolled down your cheeks, unable to hold them back a second longer. James felt even worse. Every fiber in his body was screaming at him to run and hug you, to hold you close to him and never let you go. But he held back. This was a difficult but necessary conversation. He could no longer ignore his own pain —or yours.

"Do you think I like to be with him?" you continued, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. "Do you think I like ignoring you all day? You're the only good thing in my life, James."

"Then why do we keep hurting each other?" James said, almost whispering. There was a clear sadness in his voice that made the knot in your throat tighten. "Love is not supposed to hurt this much."

Your gaze softened as you noticed in his eyes just how deep James' pain was. A fresh wave of tears rolled down your eyes as you realized your mistake. All this time you had been asking so much of him, thinking he would be okay because you were. Your life was hell, but it all got better if you could just get five minutes alone with him. He was what made your days tolerable, he was the one who put a smile on your lips. James was the light at the end of the tunnel, a ray of hope for your future. But he didn't have your life, so your relationship probably didn't mean the same to you as it did to him.

James had wonderful parents who adored him and supported him in everything. He had friends who loved him and whom he could confide in. He wasn't lonely like you, he didn't need to cling to your love to feel a little happiness. He was happy with or without you because he had the freedom to make whatever he wanted with his life. Hiding and having to lie about his feelings probably hurt him more than it hurt you because James didn't have much to gain in your relationship. You were the one that would lose everything if he wasn't by your side. The suffering you were putting him through probably wasn't worth it to him, not in the same way it was to you.

You had been selfish. All this time you had thought only of yourself, how happy you were when James wrapped you in his arms, how easy it was to get out of bed in the morning knowing that at night you could be with him. James gave you a purpose, a glimmer of hope of escaping the perfectly planned future your parents had planned for you. But you offered him nothing but animosity and suffering that was only rewarded with a couple of hours of intimacy and happiness a day —if you were lucky. All this time you had been hurting him more than you knew, ignoring his pain for your happiness. And realizing that made you feel horribly bad about yourself.

"Maybe you're right." You spoke after a long silence. "Maybe it's better to stop this before it goes too far. We both knew it was just a dumb fantasy anyways." You let out a bitter chuckle, wiping away your tears as you took a step closer to James. "I'm sorry for dragging you into this. I never wanted to hurt you, James."

"I don't regret our relationship, we were just trying to make it work. And I don't regret my love for you, I... I just can't do this anymore."

"I love you," you murmured, reaching out to caress her cheek once more. You gave him a smile —trying to pretend you weren't falling apart on the inside—, but it quickly turned into a sad pout. "And that's why I have to let you go. I can't keep hurting you like this. I'm sorry, James. I truly am."

He rested his hand on yours, keeping you from removing it from his cheek. If this was your goodbye, James wanted to enjoy your touch at least for a little while longer, to remember the softness of your hands and the warmth of your skin against his body. He knew that what he would miss the most were your kisses and the sound of your laughter, but he had to get used to it. This was for the best.

"I love you too."

You shared a kiss, one last goodbye kiss. Your lips moved slowly over James', trying to drag out the moment as long as possible. You were going to miss his kisses, the taste of his mouth and the way his lips molded to yours, as if they had been specially created to fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. 

You didn't want the moment to end. You didn't want to face the cruel reality that would come as soon as he parted. You wanted to get lost in the sweet taste of his lips and make a refuge out of his warm embrace. But that was impossible. You had lost your chance with him and now you had nothing left to do but watch him go. It broke your heart, but it hurt more to know that it was your love that caused him pain. Hopefully James could heal now, forget about you, find someone who could make him happy. And you... that didn't matter. What mattered to you was that he was happy.

Two weeks.

Only two weeks had passed and you were totally miserable without James by your side.

You were used to the pain of seeing him walk through the halls without being able to even give him a smile, but it had never felt like this. This time it was much more intense, visceral. A tug at your heart that paralyzed you every time you saw him laughing with another girl. It was the pain of knowing that his heart no longer belonged to you. The pain of his absence, of the lack of his soft touches and gentle words of love whispered in furtive encounters. You missed him and, no matter how hard you tried, it was impossible to hide it.

All your 'friends' knew something was wrong with you, but they didn't care enough to do anything about it. They would make a few teasing comments when they noticed your absence in a group conversation or ask you curiously what it was that you were staring at with such intensity —unaware that your eyes were fixed on James—, but nothing more than that. You were essentially a ghost, a shell of your former self. You moved about the castle and went about your routine as usual, but there was no real emotion behind the fake smile you forced yourself to put on in front of the others. Nothing made sense after losing James. 

You had given up on life completely. You had no more energy or motivation to keep fighting anymore, it was too hard. Maybe it was time for you to accept your fate, just like all the women in your family had done. Maybe you had to give up and face the cruel reality: you were not meant to be happy. It made sense, the one time you had pursued your own happiness, away from your parents' wishes, you ended up hurting the only person who had ever truly loved you.

James deserved someone so much better than you. He deserved to be with someone without having to hide, someone who didn't have to think twice before holding his hand or kissing him in public. He deserved someone who wasn't afraid to say he loved him and show it in front of a room full of people. And as much as it hurt, that wasn't you, so you had to give up and let him go. You had to accept that maybe the fact that things didn't go so easily for you was a sign, a message from destiny telling you that you shouldn't be together. 

It was the best thing for both of you, you knew that, but that didn't make things any easier. It hurt you to see James talking to Lily, flirting with her in a not-so-subtle way when you were only a couple of feet away. You knew that the best thing for him was to find someone else who could make him happy, but seeing him do exactly that broke your heart.

Why couldn't you be the one for him? Why couldn't you enjoy your love in public like everyone else? Why couldn't you hold his hand as you walked down the halls or kiss him without fearing what others would say? Why couldn't you be happy with him?

You realized then what a big mistake you were making.

You could do all those things with James. The only thing that was really holding you back was your family and the opinions of a bunch of people you didn't care about in the slightest. You were letting them influence you, believing the story that you couldn't be happy unless you followed the path they wanted you to follow. You were giving up your power, your autonomy and your future as your parents expected. You were letting them break your spirit and get away with it by giving up so easily.

Maybe that negative voice in your mind was right and James deserved better, but so did you. You deserved to be happy and have the chance to explore and discover your own destiny. And right now that happiness, that path you wanted to follow, included having James by your side. So you got up from your seat at the Slytherin table —ignoring the looks of confusion from your study group— and ran in search of that destiny.

Finding James wasn't difficult, he was chatting with his friends in the courtyard under the shade of a tree. Lily was with them, but you tried not to let that affect you, taking a deep breath before approaching them. The closer you got, the more you felt the stares of everyone around you. You were the Slytherin princess and everyone was well aware of your parents' position on blood purity. They also knew the opposite position of James, Sirius and most of the Gryffindors. There was no reason for you to be approaching them, so people couldn't take their eyes off you, mumbling under their breath as they watched you walk by.

But you didn't let that get to you. You were determined not to let it bother you ever again. People could talk all they wanted, your parents could get angry and your Slytherin friends could isolate you, none of that mattered to you anymore. All you cared about was James.

"Can we talk?" You cleared your throat both as a way to get noticed as well as to make sure your voice sounded loud and clear. 

Everyone looked at you with wide eyes full of surprise, not understanding what it was that someone like you could want to discuss with one of them. Knowing that James hadn't even told Sirius, who was like his brother, about you gave you a bittersweet feeling. On the one hand, it was nice that he had been so willing to keep your secret that he hadn't even mentioned it to his best friend. On the other hand, it made you feel bad to know how alone he had been in all this, and made you wonder if maybe there weren't other reasons why he hadn't told his friends. Maybe he was also afraid of them finding out he was in love with you. Maybe his friends hated you and wouldn't accept James going out with you. Maybe...

"Here?" James spoke, interrupting your thoughts. He looked around, noticing the many eyes glued to your back. "Are you sure?" he insisted, and you nodded. There was not going to be any more sneaking around.

James walked a couple of steps beside you, seeking to get a distance from his friends so that you could have a private conversation. However, when he tried to take advantage of a tree to hide from the prying eyes of the other Hogwarts students, you stopped him, opting to remain in plain sight. 

"What are you doing?" He said and you didn't have to ask him what he meant to understand that he was confused by your attitude. The rules had always been clear, no one could see you together because it would raise suspicions and could reach your parents' ears. So he wondered why you were suddenly approaching him to talk to him in a public space.

"I don't care if they see us together!" You spat without hesitation, deciding it was best to get straight to the point. "Not anymore."

"What?" The surprise was clear in James's expression —eyes widening and lips trembling as he spoke. He definitely wasn't expecting you to say that.

"I've been thinking a lot these past few days and I realized how wrong I was. I put you through so much, made you sacrifice everything for me and the moment you told me you had enough I just gave up."

"Y/n, it's okay, I-" He tried to say, but you interrupted him, taking a step towards him and taking one of his hands. James' eyes rested on your intertwined fingers for a moment, before returning to your face.

"Let me finish, this is important." you told him and he simply nodded. "It wasn't fair, the way I treated you. I isolated you and hurted you just because I was scared of my family, of what they might do to me. I made you sacrifice everything for me and when it was my time to do the same I just let you go instead... and that was wrong of me, and I'm here to make it right."

"Y/n, what are you saying?" James asked cautiously, waiting to hear from your own lips what he believed was what you were referring to —that which he had been waiting to hear since the day your relationship had ended.

"I'm saying that I'm sorry. I'm saying that I love you and that I want to fight for us if that still is what you want."

"A-are y-you sure?" It wasn't that James wasn't happy to hear you say that. It was literally a dream come true for him. But he didn't want to force you to do something you would later regret. He hadn't broken up with you to manipulate you, he had done it because he really needed a break. He didn't expect his decision to change your mind, even though he really wanted to. There was nothing in the world James wanted more than to be able to make his love public, but at the same time he didn't want to hurt you. And he knew that your relationship would only bring you trouble.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life." you told him with a smile that made all his doubts and built up sadness disappear. "I want to be with you, Jamie. You are my happiness, and if my parents can't see that...well, that's their problem, not mine."

James smiled, taking a step toward you to close the distance between you. He reached out his hand with the intention of caressing your cheek, but stopped halfway, his eyes looking over your shoulder at the people watching you curiously. At his hesitation, you took his hand in yours and brought it up to your cheek, closing your eyes for a moment as you enjoyed feeling the warmth of his skin against yours once again.

"Can... can I kiss you?" James muttered, his voice an almost inaudible whisper. His eyes were focused on your lips, admiring them with need. He knew it would be best for you to go slowly, but he missed your lips so much that he couldn't contain the need to kiss them again.

"Please."

James looked into your eyes one last time before closing the distance between you, bringing your lips together in a long awaited kiss. It was quick, his lips moving delicately over yours, but no less intense for that. It was just what you both needed at that moment, to feel each other's love, which remained as strong as the day you said goodbye. 

Neither of you cared about the looks of the others around you as you pulled away from the kiss. You were too happy for that. All you had to do was look into James' warm eyes and all your worries disappeared. You knew things wouldn't be easy and that you'd probably be hearing your parents' scolding in no time, but you were ready to face it. You could face anything if James promised to stay by your side.

[gay4abby]

TW: sh — If you’re not comfortable with this no worries but I was wondering if you would write a Jordan li x fem reader fic where they are kinda rivals (like reader is a total academic overachiever and just gets on Jordan’s nerves) but then Jordan finds her in the bathroom or somewhere after/while she self harmed/cut herself and realizes that they have to stop being an asshole for a second and help her and just the realization that they don’t know everything that goes on in people’s lives.

Been Something More …

warnings, huge self harm warning, angst, anger outbursts, attempted sexual assault. pairings, jordan li x reader. requests r open, it takes me a minute to get thru them tho so i do value ur patience ‹𝟥 hope u enjoyyyy

12:15pm

If there’s one thing you know you absolutely love doing is pissing off Jordan Li. Number one at something was instilled in you since birth, it didn’t convenience Jordan in anyway. The rush of being better at something too good of a drug they could give up coke. Jordan was the one you always have to one up, the one where if they’re good at welding you have to be fantastic at it. Where Jordan’s ranking is number three, yours is number two. Essentially you guys are always neck and neck with each other and it irritates Jordan to no end. There hasn’t been a day at God U where they felt like they were on top because you were always there to kick them down a notch.

It wasn’t always like this, though. When you and Jordan first met, you were both wide eyed freshmen’s that were hoping to get into crime fighting school, get under Brink’s good graces and possibly make it to the 7. You had that dream, but you always felt like you weren’t enough for it. No one needed to know that though, not even Jordan. Little did you know Jordan felt the same way. Anyone who had the same aspirations as you had to know their place. General requirement classes were on every freshman’s time table and you found yourself in the same class as the timid teen.

They barely spoke a word to you as you sat next to each other. You noticed their fingers pulling at one another underneath the table, but had the straightest face to anyone who can see. It was applaudable, but you tried not to make it shown that you were watching them. Jordan carried an air of confidence, your body tense, mouth tightly shut. Unnoticed by Jordan. It was a wonder how you guys are the way you are today, constantly fighting and bickering when just freshmen year you didn’t think you could outshine someone like Jordan. The yearn of a hollow heart where it once was filled with a brief friendship from you and Jordan, you really don’t know where it went wrong.

You passed out flyers, enthusiastic energy blooming from you as you engaged with the students who passed by the courtyard of the fourth quad on campus. The housing system always confused you when you first started out, your understanding of it coming from a rival. You felt his eyes bore into you, your smiling almost fading, the lull feeling of wanting to crawl away somewhere and die was welcomed. As much of a front you put up, it always felt demeaning when Jordan would turn their nose down on you.

You used to yearn for them to look at you lovingly only for it to be squashed like a child’s dream of being a mythical creature. “Vote for ____ for Student Council President! Justice is an action that deserves traction. Wouldn’t you want your voice to be heard?”

“Yeah, your future president will make sure all your needs are met. A vote for them is a vote for universal accessibility!” Your choice for your team was all your best friends idea and by the outcome of those accepting pins and proudly placing them on their attire, you knew you were in good hands. Almost all of the flyers that were in your hand were tossed out on to the floor, the aggressiveness of the impact alerting you of who it was. Your own attitude began bubbling underneath the surface, turning your body with a strained smile on your glossed lips. Jordan’s smug look made you breathe heavily, free hand fist curling slowly as you pulled it behind your back.

Seeing them was one thing, knowing they were another one of the candidates was another.

They were the last thing you wanted to see, but going to God U, being amongst the top five, it was fucking inevitable. “Watch where you’re going, I would hate it if someone would to hurt that pretty face,” it was malicious. Like inkling on a threat and it had you wondering if they were serious or not because it was always hard to tell with Jordan. Your jaw clenched, the strain sending a beaming pain through your temples. Your nail dug into your palm. You’re sure it drew blood. “There’s nothing as insulting than being called pretty by you.” You spit back, the grind in your teeth at the last part causing Jordan’s smirk to turn in size that even you wondered how it didn’t fall off his face.

How you wished you could sear it off their face for it to never appear again. “You’re so fucking funny,” Jordan bit, long legs carrying them away from you as they walk backwards, giving you the bird before turning back around. How did it even come to this? At one point you genuinely thought that you both could be good friends, the kind that makes it out of university and grow meaningful connections outside of yourselves that brings you closer together. You thought a lot of things about Jordan. You never thought you’d end up hating their guts.

The lot of you continued handing out flyers as your best friend kept a watchful eye on you from behind the table. It was unsettling succumbing to the thought of surrender, but for your sake, your best friend knew not to stir anything up when it came to Jordan, no matter how much she wanted to. Besides it wasn’t her place to say anything, she knew how you were and to cause anything to ruffle the waters was the last thing she wanted to do.

20:05 (8:05pm)

“So, the last of the flyers were passed out at the courtyard. Since the elections tonight we don’t need to make anymore. We have enough hanging on the bulletins around campus, so, we’re all set!” Everyone cheered as you all were gathered around in the small space that was reserved for the campaign meeting. The people on your team put in so much work — you almost felt like you were slaving them, but with reassurance from them that they volunteered to do this, you weren’t forcing them to do anything.

They knew you were the perfect candidate for president. And you were reminded of it constantly.

“I appreciate every single one of you for putting in all the hard work to make this campaign possible for me. I really couldn’t have done it without any of you,” it was so sincere that you teetering on crying almost. Waterlines slowly filling up. Prior to your life before Godlkin University, it wasn’t something you were automatically proud of; the sheer thought of a full house feeling vacant wasn’t something you can easily tell someone.

They’d think you’re being ungrateful, for gods sake.

You drowned out most of what everyone was saying. That dreadful feeling creeping slowly, wrapping around you like it wanted to cocoon you into a blanket of worry and self doubt. This was typical, especially in a moment of an achievement that you couldn’t imagine for yourself. You knew you were a shoo in for the win, but it didn’t matter how much you were sure, how high your confidence in the moment was; the one thing you knew for sure was the voice in the back of your mind. Way deep to the very crevice of your brain telling you something is going to go wrong. And when it’s right you never respond to it very well.

20:59 (8:59pm)

Everyone stood around their computers and tablets, monitoring the gradual progress of the ballots. You were nervous of course, but you knew. You knew you were going to win, you knew that you were going to be able to give a voice to those that didn’t have the same advantages most funded students did at this school. And you weren’t going to fuck it up for absolutely no one.

It was yours for the taking and you worked so hard for something you never had the opportunity to do in grade school. Only a couple more seconds before the lot of you found out it was you — there was a sudden high pitched sound that drowned out the countdown to the announcement, clammy hands touched your heated skin. Your throat felt tight, your smile tight and frozen as you tried to breathe. Everything was moving slow, you didn’t realise your name was being called until you were shook to reality. “Hey, it’s alright. It was a bust, but you were runner up if they’d–”

“I don’t need your backhanded pity,” you snapped, the expression on your face made her whimper and cower back as you took a strained breath. Your heart dropped way past your stomach, it was completely out of your body before they finished saying that wretched, nonsensical pest’s name. They were invading parts of your life that you were…fine with letting go, but the one thing you were looking forward to, knew that would be yours no matter what was stripped from you like clothes.

You felt like you were in a dream where you were in front of everyone in just your underwear. It was unraveling your mind to the point where you would do absolutely anything to be buried six feet under. “Let’s let loose and forget about tonight, huh? There’s a rager being hosted by Lambda Phi Epsilon…what better way to blow off some steam than to blow an actual steamer?” Layla’s voice pulled you back to reality. You turned your head in surprise weighing the option in your head. Gilmore Girls definitely was not a hot fuck. “If you can get me alone with Luke, I’ll make sure you have a years supply of Nature Valley granola bars.”

Layla squealed pulling you along and out of the dorm to get the both of you ready for an unforgettable night.

22:30 (10:30pm)

On campus parties aren’t something you frequented to for pass time. Mainly because you didn’t care for that. Partially because you knew you’d see Jordan there and their face alone can ruin an entire week for you. But tonight? Tonight you weren’t going to allow anything or anyone to ruin your night of fun. Carefree, brute fun without any sort of supervision. You earned it, you deserve it. Layla was nowhere to be found, failure on her end to hook you up with Golden Boy. But that’s okay since you were nursing your eighth…ninth drink? You kind of lost count after the round of shots Elliot brought over for everyone standing around the island.

The room was divided into twos, doubles of everything showing up in your vision but you couldn’t care less. The only thing that mattered was getting another drink in your system to make it all blur into one. You stumbled around in the kitchen, grabbing a red solo cup and stumbling again towards the keg. Your unawareness of eyes following you left you open for any random party goer to warp you into their grasp. “Whoops! So…rry!” Your giggles filled the air as you dropped to your knees after almost knocking over a passerby while trying to regain balance again. You were pumping the keg trying to get the beverage through, unsuccessfully pouring any beer into your cup.

“Aw, don’t pout. Look I got you.” A smooth voice rang through your ears before you even register it. You looked up a dazed expression on your features, moving over a bit to give him some room. The stranger grabbed your cup, pumping the keg until it spewed out more beer into your cup, your hands coming together to aggressively clap at the revelation. “You did it! How’d you do that?” Your words slurred as his hand grabbed you underneath your armpit to help you stand up and to give you your drink. You held on to him, he was broad and tough to the touch; you couldn’t even remember the last time you felt up a guy.

His hands slyly made its way around your hips, pulling you close to him as he practically carried you away from the scene in the kitchen. Everyone around you was unaware of the two of you, drunk or high off their asses. You were unaware of the situation at hand too, you had no idea who this guy was, but because you were unsuccessful in bedding Golden Boy — despite him having a girlfriend. You’d admit you were even willing to do a little home wrecking if meant getting destroyed by his golden dick.

But the one you were practically hanging off of would have to do. The red solo cup barely made it to your lips before it was pushed out of your hand, a whine escaping you as you carried up the stairs of the overflowing frat house. “My drink…we have to get another!” The guy could barely hear you, nodding along anyway as he continued to drag you up the stairs. You were growing antsy due to the alcohol in your system slowly fading away, but the haziness was still there. “It’s alright I’ll get you another one soon, baby.”

It was fleeting, the way he said it, like he just wanted you to shut up. You didn’t take it this way, though. You could barely understand what was going on around you. A cheer was heard from downstairs, but it soon became muffled as you heard a door shut. The clink sound rebounded on deaf ears. “This isn’t where are – the drinks aren’t… Where…” It was slurred. The guy had you leaning against a wall, hands roaming around the region below your stomach. You hummed, head lolling off to the side.

Everything around you was muffled, the guy talking to you, the music outside the room, the sudden banging on the door that the guy tried to ignore. “We’re busy!” He yelled before going back to you, how’d you get to the bed? You were motionless underneath him and he didn’t seem to care at all. You didn’t hear anything until you came back to reality to the commotion unfolding in front of you. “You don’t see they’re wasted out of their mind? What the fuck, dude?” The guy was shoved back into the nightstand, the lamp toppling over. Your eyes connected with Jordan’s tall stature, the aggressiveness of his push causing the guy to grow red in the face.

“Fuck you, man! They were practically jumping my bones, they wanted it!”

He didn’t even get the chance to stand up straight enough before Jordan landed a clean one on his cheek. With the way his body swung to the side, he was going to be out cold for a week. Fury wouldn’t be able to describe the feeling gorging from within you, “What the fuck, Jordan! You asshole, you’re such an asshole!”

“I’m the asshole? Sorry for fucking saving you from getting raped by the fraternity fiend! Do you realise who you were just with?” You scoffed as you tried to push him back, but being unable to due to his rigid form. “You had no right! I wanted to him to fuck me!”

“Right, so then you can go cry about it and tell everyone who will listen just how fucked your life is! ‘Oh poor ol’ ____, I was taken advantage off while I was drunk off my ass. Why does bad things always happen to me? Why am I such a fuck up that nothing can ever go right?’” Your heart couldn’t even drop from your chest because it was gone the minute it was announced that Jordan won the elections. You felt like eating yourself alive the way a snake does when depressed. You wanted to be nonexistent in a world that was never in your favour. So, Jordan was right. To you, he was right.

“You took everything from me, you know that? I just wanted this one thing and you took that too.” It was barely even a whisper, you shoved your shoulder against Jordan’s as you stumbled your way out of the room. “Where the fuck are you going? You’re not going home by yourself.”

“Of course I’m fucking not! Contrary to popular belief, I can come to a party responsibly and have a buddy when leaving!” You didn’t even give Jordan another chance to stop you before you slammed the door close, making haste to text your sober buddy to meet you outside. One fuck up after the other and you couldn’t even have a night of reprieve to drown your sorrows in liqueur for losing. This was the worst night of your entire life.

03:45am

Sobering up after the unfortunate events that occurred at the party made you pity yourself. Although Jordan was right, having them as your saviour left a horrid taste in your mouth. It was all hitting you at once. Sitting in your dorm room in the dark could do that to you. Streaks of tears stained your cheeks. You’ve been sitting in the same spot your sober buddy had put you in for three hours. Makeup still caked on your face but it was old looking now, the crying didn’t help it stay intact either, what a shock. The only way you were going to get rid of this feeling was a shower. And not just any typical shower.

The communal showers should be vacant during this time of night. Everyone either studying, partying or sleeping. You mustered up enough energy after crying for three hours straight to get up, strip yourself of your party clothes, grab your shower caddy and head off to the showers. You breathed a sigh relief after seeing no one was in here and you didn’t hear anything so you were in the clear making quick work of turning the shower on. You took the stall further down, away from the entrance so you could have some privacy.

It wasn’t something you were proud of doing, but it was something you knew that you needed to do to let yourself know that no matter what, the pain will always be there to comfort you. To mask what dreadful emotion you’re feeling so you can forget what it feels like. Fortunately for you, the showers had benches in them, it wasn’t hard for you to cut yourself because you were not about to sit on those communal shower floors. One slice and you hissed, the blood pouring from the open wound. You didn’t care to have the blood swirl from underneath the curtain because no one was there.

Or so you thought.

“Hey…uh…is everything okay in there?” You silently jumped at the voice that rang through the vacant occupied washroom. And it wasn’t just anyone’s voice. The soft, almost velvety tone would have comforted you at a time where you thought you were both friends. Now it just sends an unusual chill up your spine. “I see the blood. Are you okay?” They continued, hearing them move closer to the curtain. You couldn’t stay silent because they already knew someone was in here, plus the goddamn shower was on! “Everything’s fine, just, go away.”

Jordan called your name and it sounded concerned. Moving closer to the curtain, their delicate hand grabbed on to it, hesitating a little, “I’m going to open this, okay?” It made you jump up slightly, slipping on your foot and blood to collide with the floor. Jordan didn’t wait for an answer before opening the curtain to find you wet, naked and covered in your own blood. There was at least four cuts running down your inner thigh. The worry on Jordan’s face caused your heart to clench and you hurried to cover yourself with what little you had.

“What the fuck! Are you okay? Fuck,” she leaned down, the towel that was over her shoulder long discarded as they reached out to tug you up from your underarms. You didn’t have the energy to fight back, but that’s what losing blood tends to do to you. Jordan shut the water off after getting wet through their pyjamas. They sat you down with care on to the bench examining your thighs. You weren’t sure why they were making such a fuss over it, the both of you hating each other like your life depended on it.

“Why? What the fuck?” She looked at you with her big brown eyes and what shocked you the most was it wasn’t filled with the usually flaming hatred that you always saw. You couldn’t hold it in anymore and tears streamed down your cheeks once more. You let yourself go, the impact of the hit against the wall causing a pain to run through your skull. “Ow…”

“Come on, get up.” After reaching for your towel and securing it around you, she lifted you up from the bench and used all her strength in her female form to lug you out of the washroom.

04:27am

You didn’t expect to ever be in Jordan’s dorm room, let alone on their bed, naked, and getting patched up by Jordan! After you guys had fell off, anything remotely close to friendly activities seemed out of the ballpark for you and her. Literally impossible to be in the same room together. Who knew self harming was going to be the thing that brought you both back together?

It was silent for the rest of the time she spent covering up your wounds. You know for sure she saw the other healed over one’s, just littered across your thighs. You couldn’t read their face as they taped over the gauze, moving back to put away the first aid kit. The silence was killing you, you never realised just how much tension you both held until you were alone with them. The clattering of the kit being stored away was the only sound that rang through the room.

You can hear a pin drop if you so pleased.

You were still on their bed, wrapped in a towel and shivering slightly. Jordan took note of this and walked back to their closet to pull out a sweater and some sweats. Upon noticing, you jumped from the bed immediately stating that you should go. “I’m not leaving you alone just so you can hurt yourself again. You’re staying here for the night. Until I know you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Any sane person would be able to tell you that,” Jordan said sternly. You both were in a state off now, eyebrows furrowing. Jordan had enough before they threw you the clothes, which you reluctantly caught. “Put them on. Now.” Without any further argument, you stripped yourself of the towel and slid the clothes on. They were warm and it smelled like her, too. You can’t remember the last time you even hugged Jordan. Wearing their clothes made you realise how much you missed them.

You sniffed as you fix the hem of the sweater. It was a little big on you, the sleeves covering your hands making them look like paws. Jordan hid their smile before walking over to her mini fridge to bring out a bottle of water and gummy bears. “Here.” You accepted, no questions asked. Silence rang through again. The only sound this time was the crackling of the plastic bag and your swallowing as you sat on the floor, Jordan in their desk chair. It was eating away at Jordan to ask why. She couldn’t imagine you feeling that way about yourself so much so to cut yourself.

She always saw you as someone who was resilient, didn’t back down. Never took no as an answer when it came to getting what you want. Jordan saw you as someone they always admired to be. Which made them realise that everyone has their own silent battles going on and that they should be kinder even if it is to a stranger. Even if it is towards you. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘How could you do this? Your life is perfect!’” Perfect came out of your mouth like it was a bad tasting pasta. “I never thought that.”

“You’re lying. I know you do.” You couldn’t stop the tears from falling again and Jordan rushed over to sit beside you on the floor. The haribo wrapper was crushed in your fist as you tried to hold the tears back. It all came rushing out like word vomit, “You were my friend. You were the first person I connected with on campus. I came to this school with high hopes, but I didn’t come here thinking I was going to make an enemy out of someone I admire so much.

“You had no idea how much I looked up to you. How much I wanted to be apart of something I knew you were going to be apart of someday. You had it all. And I just wanted to be…I wanted us to be a paired equal,” you took a second to breathe which made Jordan cut in. “You didn’t use the past tense in admire…does that mean…”

“You fucking asshole. That’s your take away? How much I admired you?” Jordan stuttered a bit before answering you.

“No, that’s not. Fuck. No, I’m sorry. I mean. I admire you too and you don’t even realise.” That confused you. Jordan Li, ranking at number two on the charts, admires you? Someone who could never outmatch an opponent like Jordan admires you? And don’t even get me started on the fact that admire is in present tense, not past. “I’ve always thought you one of a kind. Someone my parents would love more than their own child. Granted I have other siblings, but they don’t count. You’re another Supe with incredibly unique powers. I couldn’t imagine going against someone like you.”

“So what’s with all the animosity for the past three years, Jordan?”

“I thought you hated me.”

“I didn’t! I thought you hated me!” You exclaimed into the otherwise quiet room. It was baffling to find out that it was just a case of fucking miscommunication. And come to think of it, there wasn’t a significant event that happened between the two of you to cause such strife in your friendship. Jordan realised she needed to make amends. “Well, I didn’t. At least not all the time. And what I said earlier, it was uncalled for. It’s never your fault, I hope you know that.”

You nodded, “I know, but you were right. I probably would’ve just whined about it when I could’ve just said no.”

“No, don’t do that. You were intoxicated, barely in your right mind. It’s all his fault. Not yours,” you felt her hand slide into yours as she said this, squeezing it gently those wide brown eyes wouldn’t leave you for a second. “Can I also ask…”

“It’s something I’ve always done. Even before I came to God U. Growing up in a household like mine you find other ways to make yourself forget the on going torment from your parents,” you whispered, squeezing her hand back. You leaned over placing your head on her shoulder and she automatically wrapped her arm around you to pull you closer. “I’m sorry for not being there,” Jordan whispered, as if they said it any louder it would ruin the quiet moment the both of you have going on. “I’m sorry for not being there, either.”

“Promise me something?”

You nodded in agreement, “We will always have each other no matter what, who or when. I don’t want you to be a stranger again.”

“I promise.”

[wroteclassicaly]

maybe I'm late to kink hour but cmon Gator has a spit kink

Oooh, he probably has so many kinks he’s never been able to try, tbh. But we’ll focus on this one for now ;)

Warnings: Spit, spit kink, & language. Kinda smutty, but no actual smut?

It starts off with normal banter and moves quicker than anticipated. You’ve been annoying Gator in the office all day, even following him outside to bitch. No one else got involved with helping him at home, not really. So you’d rode in the patrol car to his place, pissed and bitching about the cold and the snow (despite being used to it), and why he can’t get someone else who will tolerate him.

“People are busy, s’ why they aren’t around. You know that.”

“Probably one of the reasons, is because of that nasty fucking thing.” You sneer, criticizing with a gloved hand towards his gross flavored vape.

His accentuated jawline tightens, freckles bouncing with the movement of his skin as it stretches across the bone. A cloud of vapor expands into winter’s frost, polluting the air with an acidic fruit scent. You make a gagging noise, egging him on when you see how pissed he’s getting. You don’t realize, that in the midst of enjoying his unease, he loses his temper and reacts. With a quick movement of hair gel gleaming under the winter sun - his calculated movements catch when your mouth opens next to mimic him.

His lips part and he leans, spitting a wad directly into your mouth. You’re appalled at first, shocked, literally choking on - not your own saliva, but his. And it tastes exactly like the item he inhales one more hit off of, before blowing it into your face.

Are your eyes watering? Ears ringing? Blood rushing? Yes, but not because of sadness, anxiety, or anger. No, it’s a buried emotion of what you’ve gambled on since you’ve known him, and among the bodily exchange - a realization. You liked it. You feel claimed, rather than mocked.

“That taste good, babydoll? You’re lucky I wasn’t chewin’.” His boots crunch in the snow as he attempts to walk away, but you reach out and grab his leather clad arm, squeezing.

You aren’t sure what you attempted to accomplish? A half assed remark, a berating lashing? As Gator turns and receives your physical message, he raises a brow, bordering on amused, annoyed, and ready to fight. But what he sees isn’t what he’d expect in a million years. You don’t spit, you swallow - straight down, your pupils expanding rapidly, eyes darting towards his mouth, still wet with projectile.

He’s got power. All the power here in this moment, but more importantly — you accepted what he gave and then you imprinted on him, the mold of keys to open previously locked doors between the two of you. His fingers reach out and dig the class ring (similar to his own, that he keeps put away) from beneath your blouse, that’s visible through your partially zipped coat. He tugs you closer, his frame smelling of cologne, copious amounts of hair product, and that damn vape. It’s overwhelming and you can’t focus, not even to answer him.

“You really liked that, didn’t you?”

You avoid his gaze.

“Come on now, darlin’. You afraid to look at me again? Because I don’t know if you were there with me a minute ago, but you were eyein’ my mouth like it was a sugar coated carnival prize.”

Still nothing. He wants more. He needs more.

That crafted nose nuzzles its way behind your ear, hot air on your neck that travels straight to your nipples and curls your toes as they sit in your boots. His voice is a low whisper, a damned rasp.

“You know what else I could spit on?”

// Eat me paragraph //

[simpforboys]

can u do xavier and reader being enemies/rivals and theyre roommates and they have like a heated fight but when theyre sleeping reader gets cold so they wake up xavier for cuddles and xavier confesses to reader and maybe some making out 🧎‍♀️

not so bad after all

xavier thorpe x fem!reader

summary: when your rival and enemy xavier thorpe stands up for you, it leads to an argument. and maybe a few confessions.

warnings: swearing, fluff ending, some angst, enemies/rivals to lovers, sexual comments/harassment

combining this request with this!!!

this is kinda cliché but its cute so idc!

when rowan left nevermore academy, principal weems approached you with a room change.

you, who had put in a room change request a few weeks ago, immediately accepted it.

unfortunately you didn’t know your new roommate was going to be xavier thorpe.

xavier thorpe. he had been your academic rival and turned enemy ever since your first year.

he purposely pissed you off and it annoyed you like crazy. his dumb art, smarts, face.

he drove you nuts.

you guys have been roommates for about two months now. there was always a fight every day and it would result in you closing off the make-shift wall you created.

but for now, you sat on the outskirts of nevermore. there was a little grassy area you liked to hang out on, a nice blanket to protect your skin from the cold grass.

laying on your stomach with your feet in the air, you flipped the pages of your book. the place was quiet enough for you to read and get some fresh air, you claimed it was your “get away.”

unfortunately, since it was kinda secluded, that also meant some unwanted company from time to time.

“what’s up, y/n?”

you turned your head and looked up to see a boy named greg. he was around 5’10, short blond hair, with an oval face.

he loved making you uncomfortable, worse than xavier. it didn’t help that his friends were jackasses too and only egged greg on.

“the hell do you want, greg?”

“what’s a pretty mouth like yours talking like that for?”

“go fuck off.”

greg and his friends began to circle your little blanket. you quickly stood up as the four boys stared at you, like animals looking at their prey hungrily.

“now now, y/n. that’s not really nice, is it?” greg’s crooked teeth smirked at you and it made you nauseous.

“can you just leave me alone?”

“no can do. see, you have something i want.”

“i can’t imagine i have anything you would want, you fucking egg head.”

your anger was starting to get the best of you, and you can tell greg was getting heated the way his pale face went red.

when greg grabbed your wrists harshly, you immediately knew you were in trouble.

but before you could fight back, a tall figure pushed greg onto the grass. you looked at who the boy was in complete shock.

xavier thorpe.

“stay the fuck away from her, understand me?”

greg got up and scurried away along with his friends.

“the hell are you doing out here, y/n?”

xavier’s hair was half up half down, a frustrated expression on his sharp features.

“none of your fucking business, xavier.”

“you made it my business by being stupid. there’s plenty of other places in nevermore.”

“so then what are you doing out here, asshole?”

xavier stared at you.

“just- just don’t hang out in this area anymore, okay? it’s where the assholes hang out.”

you rolled your eyes, grabbing your blanket and book. you quickly walked away and felt xavier’s eyes on you.

➽─────────────────❥

that night, you were curled up in your bed trying to find warmth. the freezing jericho air crept through xavier’s window and it was making you freezing.

you hadn’t spoken to xavier since the argument. he appeared to be sleeping over in his twin bed.

you were shivering with your two blankets, pj pants, and sweater. for some reason, you couldn’t keep warm.

your teeth began chattering when you checked the time on your phone. 2:14am.

without thinking, you walked over to xavier’s bed and gently opened the blanket.

he was sleeping in lamb pajama bottoms and a grey shirt, his hair unkept and messy on the pillow.

you quietly got in his bed and immediately you were engulfed by the body heat.

it felt amazing to finally have some sense of warmth. when xavier’s legs accidentally met yours, it felt like a shock of electricity went off and you jolted in bed.

xavier woke up to your jolt and jumped.

“what are you doing over here?”

he groggily asked.

“it’s fucking freezing and you’re warm. shut up and go back to bed.”

surprisingly, xavier complied and you soon heard little snores coming from his mouth.

maybe it was the way he seemed so at peace while he slept, maybe it was the way his long hair was so gracefully placed on his pillow, or maybe it was the way you were staring at his face that was illuminated in the moonlight.

feelings began to erupt in you, feelings that were kept deep down inside you. but, you tried to ignore it and turned over, closing your eyes and softly drifted off.

➽─────────────────❥

unfortunately, you didn’t sleep long. you woke up an hour and a half later to xavier nearly pushing you off the bed.

“stop moving, asshole.”

“you’re in my bed, y/n.”

you didn’t even realize the way xavier began to hold you in his half-asleep stature.

you would be lying if you said it didn’t feel nice. “xavier, you’re cuddling me.”

“can you just shut up and go to sleep?”

his voice was soft and you could tell he wasn’t being mean. you hesitantly laid your head on his chest, hearing the way his heart beat began to speed up.

“am i making you nervous, xavier?” you whispered out, not fully expecting an answer.

“of course i’m nervous, a pretty girl is in my bed.” he mumbled back to you.

xavier could feel your smile against him and he moved his hand to gently scratch the back of your head, trying to get you to fall asleep.

“you know… as much as you like to believe i purposely piss you off, you’re wrong completely.”

you gently lifted your head. your eyes made direct contact with xavier’s, the moon reflecting off the blueish-green color.

“then why do you always gotta be better than me?”

“i’m not better than you, y/n. i do it so i can talk to you.”

“is that why you came out of nowhere earlier?”

“i was coming back from my art shed and saw those dickheads harassing you. i helped you out.”

“what, are you in love with me or something?” you joked, trying to ease the tone in his voice.

“i think so.”

his answer was so nonchalant you almost didn’t hear it correctly.

“huh-“

you went to question him, but xavier gently grabbed your chin and pulled you in for a kiss.

his lips were soft, gentle, and warm. he didn’t force you to stay, and you easily could have pulled back if you wanted. but you didn’t.

you didn’t want to be away from him.

xavier held you against him as you kissed him like your life depended on it.

after a few minutes of plain making out, xavier pulled away from you. his eyes were big and full of admiration.

“let’s get some sleep, yeah?”

you nodded, sleep overcoming your body as you laid back on his chest. he began to rub your back and you closed your eyes.

“you’re not so bad after all, xavier.” you tiredly joked.

he laughed, the vibration against your head making butterflies erupt into your stomach.

“goodnight, y/n.”

“goodnight, xavier.”

[enihk-writes]

Question, are you okay with writing about yandere? Bcs if yes, I genuinely need ur thoughts on CM as one :3

So, I've been reading the novel (ngl, the manhwa's pace is concerning) and I have begun to notice how determined and obsessive of a person he can be—per se in helping the sect to grow, killing the demon cult members, etc. How loyal and faithful he is—to the sect and his sahyung, specifically. How easily attached is he to the right person—like with the new mount hua sect, the gang ofc. And many more, JUST, like, I had the realization how much potential he has as a yandere and it got me tweaking (ofc, I do not mean to downplay CM's character just like that, he is an amazing guy with flaws, and charm, pls don't come at me)

If not, then please ignore this ask, thank you for listening to my rant <333

(!!) this is a reader self-insert discussion

nah because you got me tweaking as well like this guy has the ingredients to be a classic yandere,, i think everyone's favourite hc is that jang ilso is an extremely possessive yandere and cm is kinda like that except that he's got more "social awareness" courtesy to chung mun which makes him reel in his unsavoury behaviours...

i imagine that he's always been very protective over what he deemed as his — his family, his home, his friends and if there were anything that came along to threaten that normalcy, he would never just stand by to let it happen.

which might have lead to him being so casually cruel with the ones he deem as the "outsider" or the ones who would not help his people. i.e. the demonic cult, the sapa, the other sects and organisations that watched mount hua fall...

when a man who's already this obsessive on the daily towards his platonic relationships, can you imagine how it's going to be like when he falls in love with someone???

in my canon, cm and tb definitely fell for each other like idk abt yall but their old man yaoi was so real to me.... and cm stuck by tb's side alot even though cm never really confirmed nor denied his feelings for tb, because he kept thinking that they still had so much time left until they didn't...

(x reader) content beyond this point

in his 2nd life, he went about determined to never fall in love with anyone ever again but when he does inevitably fall for someone new, cm decided that he won't make the same mistake twice. he doesn't waste his time and lets you know right then that he likes you. whether or not you accept his confession doesn't matter — he would still treat you the same like everyone else. except that i think that he's going to be so much harder on you compared to the rest during training.

his logic here is:

train you to be the strongest you can be > higher chance of survival > can stay by his side for a much longer time

he won't be kind, he won't coddle you either and it's to the point where if you and him were together, you'd begin to wonder if he even likes you at all.

the one time you asked him to take it easy on you, that you were almost at your limit for the day... and he said no... and it pissed you off so much that all the frustration piling up quietly within your heart poured out through tears and you asked if he's ever loved you.

cm is stunned, but only for a moment before he says that he does; so stop being ridiculous and pull yourself together.

none of that soothed you so you ask him why he's so mean to you? and cm finally snapped, you're not making sense to him — he thinks that what he's doing is the best thing he could do for you, and if you can't keep up, maybe you should quit being a disciple and just live as a civilian. and because you can't fight anymore he should move you in with him. you two could play house as much as you wanted in a place that only he knew about, under his watchful eye you would never get hurt and you both would get what you both want... is this the life you are asking him to give you?

what were you supposed to say to that? if that was his way of showing his love for you, then it wasn't the type of love you'd want. you had to get away somehow... but we're talking about one of the strongest swordsman in the jiangshu... how were you?

you tried, to your credit, like a fish in a net — but cm is smart, he figures out what you need and always strives to fulfill them all, that way you can't say you're leaving him because he can't give you what you want.

in the end, you'll be so tired out that you let him do whatever he desires, much to cm's delight. the experience had taught him how to be more considerate towards his lover, and he thanks you with unwanted kisses in a show of unfiltered affection.

finally... finally you were going to stay here with him for good.