#riot games when I catch you

[atelophobia4463]

I hear everyone talking about the different parallels between different characters and their arcs, but one I haven’t seen mentioned is the parallel between Jayce and Silco. Both were young men with dreams to make the world a better, more just place. Both have (had) a “brother” who shared their dream, but as time went on, their causes began to change and differ from each other. Both Jayce and Silco came into positions of leadership and immense power in Piltover and Zaun, and built them both up in terms of wealth and technology. They both had a huge change in character after a traumatic near-death experience that caused them to see the world in a completely new perspective. They both died partially because of their love and devotion to someone, someone who perceived themselves as broken and beyond saving (Viktor and Jinx), but Silco and Jayce didn’t see them that way. They were both people who were creative, innovative dreamers who, by harsh circumstances, were forced to become hardened leaders. Arcane’s writers never cease to amaze me 😭

[monoxology]

So uh,,,

Arcane nation...... how we feeling after today?

[dndumb]

Can you guess what my favorite arcane s2 episode was?🫠🫠🫠

[mofsblog]

Having an interest in league of legends lore is actually the most frustrating thing ever because how are you going to make characters and narratives that are so good and interesting and then do nothing with them

[satorisoup]

EEEEK good morning fwiends and happy sunday !! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و i hope everyone has da most fun filled day today, always remember m’ here to cheer you on !! MWUUUAH !! <3 🍓

[darkvioletwonderland]

WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT ENDING?!

Okay listen. On one end I loved it but at the same time WHAT-

Riot when i catch you RIOT WHEN I CATCH YOU-

[kicksnscribs]

So seeings how ai work still fucks me up at the mere thought of it maybe just maybe i can get over it if i vent my frustrations out on it here?

[froggibus]

Not Done Yet - Wriothesley

Pairing: Wriothesley x f! reader (reader has a pussy + uses fem pronouns)

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: your boyfriend will do anything to keep you from moving to the Overworld

CW: dubcon, breeding, unprotected sex, multiple creampies, overstimulation, fingering, wall sex, dry humping, doggystyle, mating press, lots of dirty talk, praise + degradation, use of ‘good girl’, dom! Wriothesley, semi feral wriothesley , possessiveness, arguing

hello welcome to this episode of kinktober where the Wriothesley brainrot continues. the minute I met this man in game it was just absolutely over for me and I had SO many thoughts of him and ugh. hope you guys like it <3

Kinktober Masterlist

��You want to do what?”

It’s hard not to cower under your boyfriend’s gaze when his eyes have become so chilly. His voice has taken on an angry edge, a ball of electricity forming in your tummy. 

You swallow hard and point your chin. “I want to move.” 

He raises an eyebrow at you, taking a step closer. It’s times like these that you realize how much bigger he is than you, how much more powerful he is than you. The air takes on a bitter cold. 

“Away from here, I mean,” you add, turning your gaze to the dangling chandelier of his office and the warm light it emits. 

“To the Overworld. You want to move to the Overworld and abandon the life you have here.” His voice booms, “you have a home here, y/n. You have me here. And you want to throw it all away so you can work like a dog until the day you die?”

You scoff. “So I can have a real life, Wriothesley. A chance at some normalcy. To get a normal job and have normal food and—and have a family.”

He looks taken aback at your final sentence. The gears in his head turn, slowly processing this. You’ve never talked about having kids before, not with him. Sure, you’re not always the most careful about using protection, but he never thought that would be something that you want. 

He steps forward again, backing you up only inches from the wall. He grabs your chin and forces you to look at him, “you’re not leaving me. You can’t.” 

You shiver, though you’re not sure if it’s from the cold air or from the dark look in his eyes. You stare at him defiantly, though every instinct tells you to look away from him. 

You can see your breath when you speak. “I can and I will.”

Wrong answer. 

In an instant, he has you pinned against the wall, one hand with a bruising grip on your hip, the other snaking around your throat. 

His eyes darken as he smashes his lips against yours. He catches your bottom lip between his teeth, the sudden pain making you gasp. He slips his tongue between your lips and you suck instinctually. 

He slides his hand down from your hip and under your thigh, lifting it up to his side. He thrusts you against the wall, groaning into your mouth. You whine against him, raising your leg higher to give the growing bulge in his pants easier access to your aching core. 

“Why would you ever wanna leave this, hm?”

His words snap you out of your trance, your hands trailing up to his chest to shove him off of you. Heat surges through your body, your head spinning as if the world is rocking beneath you. 

You take a deep breath and gather your bearings. “We’re not done arguing, Wriothesley.”

“I am,” he pushes you against the wall, using his size to his advantage. He presses himself against your back so that you can feel every twitch of his muscles, every rise and fall of his chest. 

His hands go to your hips, fingertips digging into the soft flesh. He grinds himself against you, hard bulge nestling between your legs. 

He digs his teeth into your neck, sharp canines grazing the sensitive skin. He gives a rough, playful thrust, and a moan slips out between your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut, the heat of embarrassment taking over. 

He gently sucks at the spot he just bit. “That’s what I thought,” he says in that familiar, commanding voice—the one he uses to break up prison riots, or convince you to let him chain you to the bed. 

He slips a hand between your legs to cup your throbbing core, feeling the heat overflowing from your pussy. Another whine slips out, your knees shaking in anticipation, threatening to give out. 

He tightens his grip on your hip to hold you still, his other hand furiously rubbing your clit through the fabric of your pants. You arch your back, letting your knees spread apart to give him easier access. He pulls his hand away and smacks your ass, laughing at the soft moan it elicits. 

He wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you back to rub against his cock. You brace yourself against the wall with your hands, leaning forwards with your hand down. He thrusts against you, hard cock grinding against the fabric of his own jeans. 

His other hand slips into the waistband of your pants, trailing down to your soaking panties. He runs a finger along your slit, “god, you’re absolutely dripping.”

You hide your face in your arm against the wall, shaking your head in shame. Wriothesley laughs, pushing his hand into your panties and running it between your lips. You look so cute when you’re writhing beneath him and hiding your face. He can’t wait to see how cute you’ll look when he has your eyes rolling back. 

He rubs steady circles on your clit, your pussy only gushing with more slick as he touches you. You push back against him with every moan, rubbing your ass onto his aching hard on. 

He leans over you, pressing himself against you completely. His lips hover just below your ear, “hm, pretty girl. So nice and wet.”

He dips a finger inside of you, just barely prodding your entrance with the thick tip. Shockwaves rush through you, your hips jutting out with a mind of their own, your pussy clamping down around him. He pushes it in up to the hilt, your gummy walls clamping around his thick finger. 

He curls it inside of you and watches you fall apart around him, a slutty mess just from one of his fingers. He pushes another inside, working you open. Your arms shake against the wall, threatening to give in and make you face plant against it. 

There’s a hot pressure building in your stomach, heating up more and more by the second. Your thighs quiver on either side of his arm, your arms bend inwards, and suddenly you pitch forwards. 

Wriothesley anticipates your fall, keeping his arm tightly around your waist. He holds you up with one arm while finger fucking you with the other. He continues pumping his fingers inside of you, warm juices dripping out of you and coating his knuckles. He can feel you open up around him, the vice grip you had around his digits finally loosening. 

He curls his fingers inside of you one final time, hitting that soft spot within your walls. You cum violently, muscles spasming against your will. Your whole body shudders and you collapse completely into his arms. You keep your eyes closed, trying to regain control of your senses as the waves of your orgasm crash over you. 

When you finally open your eyes, you’re laying on his bed with your clothes off. Wriothesley stands at the end of the bed, also naked and stroking his hard cock. The dark lighting of the bedroom only makes him look more defined, the contours of his abs and arms making you drool. 

He kneels on the bed in front of you, fisting his cock. You find yourself staring at the bulge of his biceps, the contour of his abs, the precum dripping down the tip of his cock. You’re barely aware that he’s propping you up on your knees, running his hands over the swell of your ass. 

He dips a finger into your puffy pussy. You shudder from the sensitivity, your walls fluttering around his finger. 

He squeezes your ass and pulls his finger out. “Hm, I think you’re ready.”

“Ready?” You ask weakly, your face pressed into his pillows. 

He rubs his cock through your folds, collecting all of your slick onto his tip. “Ready for me to fuck you,” he says, lining his tip up with your entrance. “Ready for me to ruin you.”

His words send a chill up your spine, the undertone of his voice something entirely foreign to you. You have no time to ponder what it means before he’s pushing his cock inside of you. 

No matter how many times he fucks you, no matter how long he prepares you for, it’s always a stretch. He’s so big that he fills you completely, the head of his cock pressing against that spot inside of you perfectly. He parts your walls around him, an almost painful stretch. 

He keeps a hand on your hip, using it as leverage as he pulls out and drives himself into you. He keeps a desperate, brutal pace, bottoming out with every thrust. The curve of his cock has him rubbing against your walls, pressing into your g-spot with every shift of his hips. His balls smack against your pussy, shining with your juices. 

His hand digs in hard enough to bruise, the other reaching around to rub your clit. “So tight,” he groans, “ ‘s like your pussy never wants me to leave.”

You whine, bending your back and allowing him a better angle. He slams into you roughly, knocking all of the breath out of your lungs with the impact of his hips against yours. 

His thrusts start to get sloppier, his orgasm building right along with yours. He pulls you up so that your back is flush with his, his cock getting dangerously close to your cervix. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, kissing at your neck, “fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“M-me too!”

He pounds into you at a desperate pace. “G-gonna cum inside you,” he groans. “Gonna fuckin’ cum in you, cum right inside that little womb of yours.”

“Wrio~”

He shoved you forwards. “Gonna breed this pussy, hm? Then you’ll have to stay with me—fuck.”

His cock twitches inside of you as he bottoms out for the last time, holding you flush to his thighs as hot ropes of cum fill you up. He sucks and bites at your neck as he finishes cumming inside of you, letting you fall onto your face against the bed. 

He keeps his cock inside of you, effectively plugging you with his cum. He gives you no time to recover before he’s flipping you into your back, throwing your legs over his shoulders. 

“Wrio—it’s too much!” 

He smirks at you, something feral behind those crystalline eyes. “You’re not going anywhere,” he grunts, thrusting into you. “Not until you’re nice and full.”

You’re surprised that he manages to keep the pace he does, fucking his cum back into you with renewed vigour. He leans over you, giving himself better access to slam into your pussy. You cry out with every thrust, raking your nails down his back.

It’s so sensitive, it’s too much, but fuck, does it feel so good. “T-too deep,” you whine, your own words sounding foreign and far away to you. “Too big.”

He laughs, “but you’re taking it so well, sweetheart. And doesn’t it feel so good?”

You nod, babbling incoherently into his ear. Sweat beads down your temples, tears coat your lashes. Your skin takes on a feverish sheen, but you don’t care. All you care about is the feeling of his cock slamming into you and how his arms flex with every thrust. 

His thrusts start to get sloppy, his pace slowing down to a steady rhythm. He lets himself collapse on top of you, effectively folding you in half. 

“Gonna fill you up,” he groans. “Gonna fucking breed you and keep you nice and full. Make you my little whore and keep you here with me.”

You whine, black spots starting to crowd your vision. His thrusts are slow and deep now, his hips moving into you brutally. 

“You’d like that, hm? You said you wanted a family,” he bottoms out inside of you, his cum flooding your pussy. “I’m just giving you what you asked for.”

The combination of his cum and his cock inside of you has you feeling so full it almost hurts. Your senses have dulled, all of your thoughts of leaving having been fucked away. 

Wriothesley lays on top of you, bowing his head into your shoulder. His dark hair tickles your collar bone, his lips pressing against the flushed skin of your chest. 

“Did so well for me,” he mumbles into your skin, “such a good girl.”

You can only nod, running your fingers through his hair to try and ground yourself. You lay there in silence for a while—just him breathing into your chest and you stroking his hair. 

After a while, he props himself up. That same soft look has returned to his eyes, “you’re not really going to leave, right?”

It’s posed like a question but sounds more like a plea. His cock is still inside of you, more and more cum running out as it’s softened. You still feel dizzy from the overstimulation, but looking at him now, you don’t see how you could possibly leave. 

“No,” you say quietly. “I’m not going to leave.”

[woodlandwrites]

i. mind over matter

aphrodite!reader x luke castellan

pre-tlt, characters 18+, mdni, def going to be a pt.2

warnings: cursing, whole lotta impertinence!

2.7k read - unedited

You have been plagued by flocks of doves and Luke Castellan. So Aphrodite decides to meddle a little a lot in your love life. Who needs memories anyway? Unfortunately, the only person you find comfort in - is the very person you hate.

A/N: first fic in a loooong time - stick with me here. there will be more parts and maybeee some spice? anyways hope you enjoy!

You’d like to think that Aphrodite loved the game of making you miserable. In retrospect, you hated your mother. She was a hard act to follow. 

Don’t jump to conclusions - you loved your cabin. Your brothers and sisters were wonderful - not vain like most campers would say. No, that was not an issue. The problem started with one slender, curly haired, crooked smile boy - Luke Castellan. He was the golden boy of Camp Half-Blood and the bane of your existence. 

Luke was an astonishingly aggravating self-centered egotistical bigot. 

“Why do you hate him so much,” Silena asked one day out of the blue. You both sat in the stands watching Luke teach his swordsmanship class. You pondered her question for a while.

“Because. He confuses me - and aggravates me constantly. I have never met anyone so full of themselves in my entire life. He is Narcissus reborn again. It also does not help that he is a complete jerk,” you nodded as you ate another fresh strawberry. Silena pondered on your words.

“Are you sure this has nothing to do with mom and the whole..argument,” she said in a cautionary tone.

Silena was the only one who knew about you and Aphrodite’s - complicated past. To be fair - she didn’t know the entire truth. The prophecy, the impertinence, all the bullshit. However, she did know that your shoulders seemed to tense every time Aphrodite’s name was mentioned. 

“I mean every time I have talked to him at camp counselor meetings he seems like an alright guy.

Silena - forever the optimist. Sometimes when you looked at her through the corner of your eye she resembled your mother. She had this soft tone and locks of hair that seemed to always catch the wind just right. Yeah, no wonder Luke was nice to her. Selina was extremely beautiful - Beckendorf struck gold. 

“Yeah, I can see right through the façade-” you were cut off by a dove landing next to you. He started pecking at your strawberries mindlessly. Silena stifled a small giggle. 

“It is funny when it isn’t happening to you. The bastards have been following me around for days,” you said annoyed.

You tried scaring the bird away - only for more to return. After a couple minutes an estimated 20 doves flocked around you mimicking every move. 

“Go away!” you screamed - only for the feathered friends to cock their heads in curiosity. By now, the entire arena seemed to convert their attention to you. 

“Hey! I heard if they shit on your head it’ll bring good luck,” Luke echoed watching amused.

He leaned against his sword in a cocky manner. What an asshole - you hated when he did that. The other campers seemed to laugh along. 

“Up yours, Castellan,” you yelled with a face the color of cherries. 

The doves had now increased their army to a solid 50 - all looking to you for a further instruction. Doves had followed you around your entire life - a gift your mother had bestowed to you. The unfortunate part was that they were pretty much the most non obedient monsters on the entire planet. You never had truly understood why they would appear - most of the time it was a random occurrence. Of course - Luke was always there to revel in your misfortune. You still had not forgotten when the doves caused a complete riot last month at dinner - leaving quite a mess for you to clean up. The younger campers were still traumatized. 

That was the thing about doves - they were just like your mother. At first they are nice to look at, almost sweet. That is until they turn into vicious assailants from Tartarus (Silena says you overreact). They also annoy you - another common attribute with your mother. 

“For Gods sake just leave!,” you yelled again, stomping off, bidding Silena goodbye.

You did not want to continue being entertainment for the rest of the campers. The doves seemed to take the hint - maintaining their place in the stands. You were sure there were some week old snacks stuffed between the seats the rotted things could ravish on. Luke chuckled before turning his attention back to his students. 

The sun was setting and soon it would be dinner - but you still sat in bed thinking about what Silena had mentioned early about your mom. Maybe it was your nerves - but you knew a visit soon would be unavoidable. The doves only confirmed your suspicion. It was rare for gods to visit Camp Half-Blood, at least publically. The closest thing the camp had to godliness was Mr. D - what a joke. However, you knew your mother and her constant desire to meddle with your life. 

Dinner went without a hunch - except for the Stoll twins starting a food fight at the Hermes table. You loved quiet nights like these where the summer breeze feels like a warm hug. Silena nudged you - reading her expression you knew she was inquiring about the events from earlier. A shrug sufficed. You were so caught up in laughing with your siblings you failed to notice the yelling from the other side of the pavilion. 

“One of the Ares girls was flirting with Luke after you left today - Charlie and I could not help but laugh. It was so awkward,” Silena mentioned.

 There were a couple of murmured sounds and gawking from your siblings - which was the usual. If there was one thing they loved it was - well - love. However this subject rubbed you the wrong way - maybe it was just Luke’s name being mentioned.

It felt like a suffocating gut punch and it was most likely your mothers doing. If there was anything she loved more it was demigod love - the trials and tribulations - and of course the unfortunate ends. It quite literally made you sick. But why did Luke have to be roped in it and moreover - why did you care? You smiled and nodded - trying to pay attention and not let the thoughts take over. 

“Get these goddamn things off of me!,” a familiar voice yelled in annoyance.

So wrapped up in thought - you failed to care - assuming it was a practical Hephaestus joke with an Ares kid. Selina quickly nudged you pointing towards the Hermes table - for quite an interesting scene. Luke being attacked by a merciless army of doves. 

“Hey Castellan, let them shit on your head - heard it was good luck!,” the words reflected from just a few hours prior.

You couldn’t help but giggle - it was nice not being the receiver of dove aggravated assault (as Beckendorf had termed it). It was also nice not to be the joke for once - everyone laughing at someone else for a change was different. 

“Call the damn things off,” he struggled - yelling your name in the process.

“Why do you automatically assume I am the one who set them off? They just do what they want!” you retorted.

 Silena looked at you - questioning your motives. He struggled even more as the doves thrashed him around - seemling gaining confidence in their blows. They seemed - deadly - more than before. Silena muttered your name.

“You have to try,” Silena persuaded. Reluctantly you obeyed - knowing she was being more serious than she was putting on. 

“Stop!” you yelled sternly to the winged creatures.

Like usual - they did not obey. Unfortunately, they keep going - tearing Luke’s shirt in the process. He held himself quite well against dove assassins  - a fact you did not want to admit to yourself. 

“παύω!” You spoke - pleading that it would end.

It was all your mothers fault. She wanted you to be miserable. She wanted to ruin your night, humiliate you - and to hurt Luke. You weren’t sure why that last part bothered you so much.

 “Φεύγω!” you screamed once more in an earthshaking tone.

The doves dissipated automatically. Like literally - poof - into dust. Again - the entire camp had its eyes on you - what else was new?

“What is wrong with you,” Luke questioned - still astonished at the sheer power of your voice - that very voice that made doves disintegrate. You slowly looked up at his disheveled appearance - he looked worse.

Beautiful. 

You wish that voice in your head would go suck a dick!

“Shows over, enjoy your dessert,” you said bitterly to the crowd taking a bow.

Silena yelled your name but you had already darted towards the woods. You could hear the muttering of the crowd questioning the evening entertainment. You could not seem to care. 

You took a seat in the sand on the beach overlooking the shore. The moonlight seemed to make the water sparkle like diamonds. You felt almost calm here - no one to distract you from your thoughts. Why did his words strike you like a knife? He might as well plant backbiter into your back, it would hurt less. It all led to the proper question - why? Why would the doves attack him anyway? They had never done anything quite so ruthless before - nevertheless to another sole person. 

Then again - it was always about Luke - ever since you got to the infernal camp. He was probably celebrated for his brave victory in the battle of the doves - hoisted up by other campers. You suppose a feast in his honor was in order. 

“You think such unhappy thoughts,” an angelic voice sang from the sea. 

Your attention turned towards a bundle of sea foam. The foam began to sparkle and mangle to take the shape of a woman the closer it got to shore. Soon after your mother - Aphrodite stood before you - in all her glory.

“I thought seafoam was just whale jizz,” you spoke casually. You chucked at yourself that was a good one!

Of - fucking - course. Your mother was behind the entire dove fiasco - you called it. You should start placing bets at this point. 

“Most would be labeled impertinent with that attitude - especially with a God.” 

“I am impertinent.” You shrugged, pulling your knees to your chest. Maybe if you really ignored her she would disappear. 

“I will not disappear yet - we have much to discuss.” 

“Get out of my head.” 

“I heard what occurred tonight at dinner. Shame, doves are very gentle creatures.”

A dove magically appeared in her hands, letting out a soft coo. You cringed. If you saw another dove tonight - you might just roast it and eat it. 

“So that was you?” You asked venomously.

“Well thanks mom! Now the entire camp thinks I tried to kill the golden boy with a league of killer doves. They all think I am absolutely crazy.”

“I did nothing, my child.” You gawked at her - she paused to collect her thoughts.

“However, you might want to look within yourself before you spit accusations that are not true. I merely gave you a gift - how you use it is at your own expense.” She finished. 

“But I don’t control those horrid things - they just show up and do whatever. Why would I even attack Luke with a bunch of wimpy doves?”

That was your mother, having the audacity to say you caused the incident. That it was all your fault. 

“Love, perhaps?” Her eyes seemed to glitter at the thought. 

“No.” Ugh, not this again, you thought.

“Doves are a mere - personification of one’s inner love. That is why I gave you the gift - so your innermost feelings can never be bottled. That does horrid things to one’s complexion.” 

“Well thanks for the shitty gift, mother. Next time maybe a pair of socks will do the trick.” 

“Why do you insist on denying who you are? Denying what you are destined to become? Denying yourself the love of the century?”

“Why love someone if they eventually will die.” It was true. Your father had died when you were young - leaving you an orphan. Your demigod friends you made throughout the years died horrible unspeakable deaths.

“Isn’t that all the more fun?” 

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you? You just love to see me suffer?”

“You’re being rash.” She fired back.

“Rash? Where have you been?” You scoffed at your godly mother.

“Child, I do not write destiny - I only enforce it. I know you more than you would like to admit, sweet dove. And you - are in love with the child of Hermes.”

 Apollo could’ve shot you through the chest - it would have felt better. 

“Mother, you have it mixed up - I do not have any feelings for Luke. You’re just making things up because you are bored and need some excitement. Please go back to Olympus and meddle with someone else’s life,” you stated. You staggered to your feet dusting the sand off. 

Before you could walk away a bolt of pure energy hit you in your spine. You flew to your feet hitting the ground with a hard thud. In a blur your mother was standing proud above your feet - surrounded in a pink aura. 

“Luke Castellan, he will keep you safe - and you will keep him steady.” 

You might have thought to curse at her - but you couldn’t speak - let alone move. She had disappeared from vision leaving only a dove in her wake. The pain - was excruciating - like being electrocuted a million times. Your ears rang terrible tunes as you tried to level yourself - only to fall back down. The world was spinning at an unmeasurable pace. You could hear shrill screaming - or was it yours? You weren’t even sure who you were? Only images of dark curls, broad shoulders, and crooked smiles flashed through your vision. 

A quake of footsteps running towards the shore were felt as you thrashed in the sand. Voices - yelling a name - whose name? You couldn’t recall. All you knew was darkness. 

“Y/N?!” a feminine voice called. You could feel her hands shake your shoulder violently - it felt like knives.

You heard screams - this time knowing it was your shrill cry. You pushed her away with force. You backed away, crawling backwards in desperation. 

Once your vision returned you focused to see a swarm of kids all in orange shirts - staring at you in shock. The girl who touched you - you could only assume was kneeling in the sand in front of you. She seemed to be pleading.

“Stay away, please,” you pleaded with tears streaming from your eyes. You weren’t sure what had happened but you knew you had never felt pain so deeply. 

“Y/N, please you were screaming. We only want to make sure you are okay. We can go to the infirmary and figure it out,” the girl reached out only for you to retreat more. You hyperventilate on your own words. 

“What’s going on?” another voice asked with urgency from beyond the crowd.

Every child seemed to turn their attention to focus on the male figure. Pushing his way through the crowd - he became shocked at the scene before him.

However, you felt as if all the oxygen had left your body - leaving you limp. You felt as if a hand had grabbed your heart and ripped it in two. He was the one - the one you had seen in your visions. 

“Y/N?” he questioned - half concerned, half annoyed. His chocolate eyes seemed to lock ever so easily with yours. He was indeed the most beautiful man you had ever seen - like a carving of marble. Your soul ached. Without a thought - on instinct alone - you ran. He was engulfed in a desperate hug - his shoulder muffled your pitiful cries. 

“Please, you’re the only one who can help.” You could feel the eyes on the two of you - the gasps were hard to ignore. He went stiff in his posture - not sure how to react. Silence fell over the entire shore, only the crashing of waves in the background. 

“Y/N what is going on? Is this some sort of prank?” he asked in disbelief. 

He had never seen you like this - so scared. Some small part of him wanted to scoop you up, hold you tight, and tell you everything would be okay. He wanted to tell you how he would fix all your problems - just so he would never see you cry again. Although these feelings were so suppressed he restrained.

Gods you were beautiful. 

“I- I don’t know who Y/N is. I don’t know anyone. I don’t know me.” 

[crushmeeren]

♡ Master List Link

♡ Bakugou/ Fem Reader/ Kirishima

♡ Everyone involved in this fic is aged up/18+.

♡ Warnings; reader is 6 months pregnant, cursing, pussy eating, blowjobs [ M/F — M/M ], vaginal sex

If you were to describe what it’s like to be six months pregnant with Katsuki’s baby, you would use a few key phrases.

1. — You’re in a perpetual cycle of unease and sporadic body aches.

2. — You’re consistently sweating like a whore in church.

3. — Your belly has been stretched to the point it looks as if a watermelon has been shoved inside.

These occur often, the only difference today is how infuriatingly much your lower back has been smarting. The baby’s weight is really starting to take a toll on you.

So you’ve decided it’s in your best interest to set up camp on the large fuzzy couch in your living room. You’re only wearing soft shorts and a large, worn out Red Riot T-shirt and you’ve stockpiled all the cozy blankets in the near vicinity.

It’d been a few hours since you became a couch potato, aimlessly scrolling through your phone and watching various movies or TV shows.

Katsuki’s been occupied playing some video game in the other room. Loudly enough to wake the dead, you might add. Your ears have been assaulted with his furious yelling on and off for the past couple hours.

He’s repeatedly told Todoroki that he’s the “worst player in existence” and to “fuck off and die.” You sincerely hope Todoroki is ribbing him just as much, but knowing the stoic man, he more than likely isn’t.

And much to your chagrin, Eijirou has been out on patrol all day.

Soft orange and yellow light has begun to cast shadows across the living room as the sun sets. You’re barely paying attention to a Tik Tok when your baby starts to poke and prod roughly at your ribs.

The fluttering sensation makes you squirm and sit up ram-rod straight. The sudden movement sends a bright flash of pain radiating throughout your lower back and it punches the breath from your lungs. The partially frantic instinct to call out to the blonde for help leaves your mouth before you can think twice.

“Kastukiiiii,” you whine for him loudly, a pleading lilt to your tone. You shift your weight, making sure to keep your feet perched on the large ottoman in front of you. You wait momentarily but only silence greets you.

“Katsuki!” You shout, mildly irritated. Your eyes widen and you inhale sharply when a tiny foot kicks you. You place a hand there and rub apologetically. Apparently she does not want you to yell. You roll your eyes and think that your daughter is certainly going to have Katsuki’s bad attitude.

“Baby, I heard you! I’m coming — just a second!” Katsuki snaps. You huff, cheeks puffing and burning when your temper flares a bit in response. You breathe deeply, resting both hands on your swollen stomach as the tiny feet continue to try and burst out of your skin like a scene from Alien.

Katsuki’s soft footsteps signal his approach and he rounds the corner into your living room leisurely. He comes to a stop next to your legs and your brows furrow when you gaze up at him with a slight pout. He arches one eyebrow in return and folds his arms over his chest, pointedly saying nothing.

“Kat, baby daddy, can you do the thing please? My back is killing me.”

Despite your discomfort you can’t help but appreciate his slender frame. His black sweats hang low on his hips and he’s fucking shirtless. He rolls his eyes when he catches you but wears a smug smirk nonetheless.

“Can your dramatic ass wait five minutes while I finish this round of my game? I’m obliterating Icy Hot.” His grin turns a bit feral and he cocks hip to one side, resting a hand there.

You protest accordingly and push your lower lip out.

“That’s too long! Can you do it later? Your baby needs you.” Over exaggerating your movements, you flop back against the couch and run your hands over your baby bump and stare up at him through your lashes. Katsuki snorts.

“It’s five minutes sweetheart. C’mon, Todoroki fucking sucks at this game,” Katsuki says with amusement, absently running a hand through his fluffy spikes of hair.

You press a hand to your forehead as if you might faint.

“You’re the reason I’m like this! The least you can do is help out your pregnant wife.”

“Oi!” He lets out a bark of laughter. “It takes two people to fuck and make a baby, I’m not the only guilty party. Why isn’t Eijirou gettin’ any fuckin’ blame for this huh? He was there too!”

Katsuki complains but it’s with considerable ease that he bends to your whim, shoving the ottoman closer and motioning for you to scoot up so he can get behind you on the couch.

“He’s not home right now,” you mutter childishly, heeding his instructions. The blonde crawls on to the cushions, maneuvering until he slots into the space between you and the backrest. He lets a thigh bracket you on each side and tugs you back into his chest, replying just as petulantly.

“Maybe you should’ve let Ei get you pregnant first then.”

“Oh god,” you start to whine. “Fuck baby, wanna see you swollen with my baby so bad. Blah blah — I’m Katsuki and I’m a giant fucking hypocrite,” you mock in a high pitched, horrific imitation of his voice.

To be fair he did whine those things to you and Eijirou in bed multiple times before you all finally agreed to it. Katsuki sputters behind you and pinches your thigh in retaliation.

“You’re such a fucking terror! I should make you wait until Eijirou gets home,” he growls, pathetic attempt at a threat making you giggle.

His palms are warm when he slips them under your shirt and places them on the underside of your belly, fingers spread. Katsuki delicately presses upwards and you deflate, melting into his chest. The immediate relief of pressure on your lower back makes you moan.

“Yeah, but we both know you won’t,” you reply smugly, hands coming to rest on his. He hums, electing not to respond with words because he knows he’s wrapped around your finger.

Katsuki can deny it all he pleases, but the man loves holding your belly. He’s struck with awe each time he’s lucky enough to feel his daughter kicking. He kisses the back of your head, relaxing into the couch for the time being.

You both turn your attention to the movie you had playing earlier and your eyelids start to flutter. Your chest is gooey and warm, you’re basically a fresh baked chocolate chip cookie in his arms.

Katsuki gets invested in one scene in particular, making snarky comments about the graphics and your daughter apparently recognizes her daddy’s voice, because suddenly she’s playing kick ball again.

Directly into Katsuki’s hands.

“Holy shit!” The blonde jolts, freezing temporarily before pressing the pads of his fingertips into the same spot, attempting to coax her into kicking him again. His heart thumps hard on your back, the heat from his chest bleeding through your shirt.

“She’s been really active today, but she must’ve heard her daddy talking. I think she likes your voice Kat.” You smile softly, adjusting your weight to get more comfortable. “I hope she does the same when Ei gets home, he was sad last time he missed it.” You tip your head back on Katsuki’s shoulder, twisting your neck to get a peak at his face.

“She’s fucking fiesty,” he says with no small amount of pride. She’ll respond to Ei, she loves him.” A tender smile softens his sharp features and your chest cracks with overflowing adoration. Surging forward you brush your lips over his jaw and Katsuki makes a quiet noise of surprise.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. You hum contentedly and Katsuki goes back to holding up your belly.

A familiar vibration pattern breaks the atmosphere and buzzes near your leg. You pick up your phone, taking note that it’s a message from Eijirou and your face lights up.

“Ei messaged that he’s gonna be home soon,” you tell Katsuki eagerly. You can’t help the excitement fluttering in your belly when you think about getting to see the red head soon.

“Bout damn time, my arms are gonna fall off,” he teases, tickling the smooth skin of your belly with calloused thumbs and you laugh.

“Alright dickwad get out from behind me.” Katsuki pokes your ribs in retaliation, ripping a squeal from you and you wiggle in his grip. “You’re lucky I can’t get up quickly right now! I’d kick your ass, you shitty excuse for a bomb!”

Katsuki halts his movements and gasps dramatically in fake offense, squeezing his arms around your shoulders.

“Shitty excuse for a bomb??” He asks incredulously, accidentally chuckling at the end of his sentence. You nod once and he hugs you tight, planting several chaste kisses on your cheek. You laugh delightedly and turn your head briefly to snag his plush lips with your own.

The sound of your front door opening gets you to break apart, both turning your heads to see Eijirou waltz in. The smile he wears is as vibrant as the sun, all his razor edged teeth on display.

“Aww! What a sweet sight to come home too!” Eijirou chirps, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “So cute! All three of my babies snuggling on the couch together,” he coos and strides closer until he’s right by your side.

Eijirou’s dressed in street clothes. He’s got on dark gray sweats, a red tee and a white bandana tied around his head. Per usual, his arms may bust out of the shirt he’s wearing but it’s unbearably hot.

“Get lost on the way home red?” Katsuki taunts. The blonde lets go of your shoulders as you strain to get out of his hold. Katsuki gently pushes you to sit up straight with a supporting hand between your shoulder blades. Eijirou rolls his eyes playfully and shoves the ottoman out of the way to make space for himself between your legs.

“No, I’m actually home earlier than I thought I would be,” he replies, dropping to kneel in front of you. Katsuki takes the opportunity to slip out from behind you and sit next to you instead. You use a lot of willpower to keep a straight face when you speak next.

“Thank God, because apparently Katsuki isn’t strong enough to hold our 5lb baby without his arms falling off.”

You can make out the sound of Katsuki’s teeth grinding together as Eijirou’s bright laughter dances in the air. You’re poking the bear but it’s a breeze to rile up the blonde.

“Is that so?” Eijirou asks, eyes twinkling as he pretends to appear thoughtful when he turns to Katsuki.

“I can hold a fucking five pound baby!” Katsuki snarls harmlessly, yet he throws his hands up in the air. You choke on the swell of laughter that builds in your throat. Eijirou snickers and pushes the red riot T-shirt you’re wearing up to expose your baby bump.

“I know Kat, just teasing,” you placate, sending him your sweetest smile. Eijirou splays his hands on the sides of your belly and you tangle your fingers in his hair.

The blonde scowls but he can’t keep it up for long before he breaks, scoffing with a smile threatening to take over his lips.

“How’s she been today?” Eijirou questions you then, nuzzling his nose over the top of your belly.

“She’s a spitfire.” Katsuki’s chest puffs out a bit.

“So just like her daddy then?” Eijirou teases, brushing his lips over your belly in a sweet kiss. Katsuki’s smirks.

“Hell yeah she is.”

“She’s been moving a lot today Ei, Kat’s just happy she kicked the shit out of him earlier,” you explain, scratching the red head’s scalp. Eijirou hums, tracing the pattern of a heart into your stomach with his thumbs.

“Hi feisty girl, papa Ei is home,” he purrs. “I heard you were trying to kick box with your daddy today. You’re gonna be just like him,” he whispers, the affection effortlessly falling off his tongue. The red head’s eyes flutter closed, resting his forehead against you.

You jerk in surprise when Eijirou’s head suddenly shoots up, narrowly avoiding head butting the shit out of you. He stares at your belly with bright eyes. Your baby just kicked where his forehead had been. He looks up, gaze tracking between you and Katsuki with stars in his eyes as he vibrates with excitement.

“Did you feel that baby? Oh my god! Kat, she heard me!” The red head yells, almost tripping over his words. His cheeks are dusted with a pale pink and your own twinge from smiling so wide. You tug on the soft strands of his hair you have tangled between your fingers.

“Dammit Eijirou,” Katsuki chimes in, crossing his arms. “Stop being so-,” he pauses, looking for the right words. “So fucking cute!” You laugh when the blonde curls his lip, the man’s flushed to the tips of his cute pink ears. A sly expression immediately takes over Eijirou’s face.

He slips your shirt back down and you free his hair from your grip. You meet him halfway when he leans up to give you a chaste kiss.

The red head shuffles on his knees until he’s between Katsuki’s thighs. He leans in, locking his arms around the blonde’s waist and wiggling his eyebrows up at him. Katsuki’s eyes narrow but he places his elbows on Eijirou’s shoulders.

Your toes curl into the plush rug below when the red head smoothes his hands up and down Katsuki’s sides, a shiver wracking through the blonde before Eijirou squishes his face into the others’s chest and hugs him tight.

“Eijirou.” The name spills out of Katsuki breathlessly.

“You’re so sweet Katsuki. I think you’re cute too,” he says, words muffled by a bare chest. Heat crawls up your neck when the blonde tugs Eijirou close and mumbles “I love you,” under his breath. Seeing them like this sets your nerves alight, even with something as simple as hugging.

The moment is picturesque until a pang of hunger rolls around inside you. Placing a hand on the underside of your belly, you worry at your bottom lip. You don’t want to break up the tender scene, but it seems your daughter is hungry.

“I hate to burst the bubble, but our daughter is starving,” you say gently, grinning when they part. Eijirou kisses Katsuki sweetly, making a loud smooching sound when he pulls away. Katsuki makes a disgusted noise and pushes playfully at the red head’s shoulder when they both rise from their spots. “Will you make something Kat?” You ask hopefully.

“I swear you and Eijirou are like bottomless fucking pits,” he grumbles, turning and padding to the kitchen.

He’s not fooling anyone, you all know he loves cooking for you. Especially now that your daughter is almost here. He expresses his love through his food and you all reap the rewards.

You share a smile with Eijirou and the large man flops down onto the couch, trying not to jostle you.

“Thanks Kat!” You call at his retreating back and he throws a hand up over his shoulder in response.

“Sooo, can I hold your belly now?” Eijirou asks impatiently. He doesn’t wait for you answer, maneuvering until he’s lying on the armrest, legs splayed open wide for you.

“You don’t have to ask me twice. She definitely has been missing her papa.” You grab your discarded blanket from the couch, sliding back into his embrace. You pull your blanket up to your chest, covering you both and Eijirou teases his fingers underneath your shirt.

“I love your shirt, pretty girl,” he whispers sweet like honey in your ear, gingerly touch his lips to your throat. The combination sends a warm tingle down your spine. He yanks a tiny shocked moan from you when he bites your shoulder and lifts your belly simultaneously.

“Jesus Eijirou,” you breathe, weaving your fingers together. The simmering warmth pooling in your belly is becoming difficult to ignore. “Are you trying to fuck me on the couch?” You shift back and a half hard cock greets you. Fuck, you’d be a damn liar if you said that didn’t turn you on. His light exhale tickles your neck.

“Maybe,” he says coyly, hitching his hips upwards to rub his cock over your lower back. You pinch his thigh and he groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I can’t help it,” Eijirou whines, continuing to lift your belly. “You’re so sweet and so warm like this, I want you.”

“After we eat Ei, I promise. Kat will be up for it,” you murmur, trailing your fingers over his forearm. Eijirou sighs but reluctantly he agrees.

After you ate, it took no time at all for the blonde to usher you and Eijirou into the bedroom.

Since then you’ve been stripped bare, elbows supporting your weight on the short wooden headboard behind you. They ache a bit where the sharp edge digs into the inner joint of it.

Katsuki’s head is caged between your thighs, knees sinking into the memory foam mattress below. His scratchy stubble tickles your skin while he buries his face in your pussy, head shifting from side to side.

You’ve opted to sit reverse cowgirl on his face so you’re privy to the front row view of Eijirou swallowing down Katsuki’s cock like he’s starving.

“Fffuck Kat,” you whine, rolling your hips and gliding your pussy over his plush lips. Katsuki moans, snaking his arms around your thighs and yanking you further down so he can dip the tip of his tongue inside you.

Your head tilts towards the ceiling, eyes fluttering and fingers curling into fists as Kastuki pushes his tongue to your clit, swirling it restlessly. The background is filled with the lewd schlick noise of Eijirou sucking cock.

Katsuki moves his lips from side to side over your clit before once again licking firm strokes and your head snaps back up with a gasp.

You’re starting to squirm, heat pooling in your cheeks as he works you closer to the edge. A prickle of warmth pulses through your pelvis when you lock eyes with Eijirou.

No man should look so pretty with a dick in their mouth. His cheeks are candy apple red and his lips are stretched tight around Katsuki. He seems quite comfortable, snugly fit between the blonde’s thighs and meeting Katsuki thrust for shallow thrust while the blonde leisurely fucks his mouth.

Eijirou sends a wink your way and you’re gawking at him when Katsuki sucks harshly on your clit, wrenching your attention back to his mouth. A let out a yelp and your thighs twitch when he does it once more, demanding your focus stay on him.

Try as you might you’re torn between Katsuki’s warm tongue working you over and the indecent sight of Eijirou.

You’re impatient and desperate to change positions before someone cums too quickly and so you plead for the attention of the man underneath you.

“Katsuki,” you moan, fingers circling his wrists. “Wanna switch baby, please.” He drags his teeth delicately over your clit and your breath stutters in your chest. Katsuki unwinds himself from your legs, pushing against your ass instead of tugging on you and you lift your hips from his face.

Eijirou pulls off with a pop, Katsuki’s thick cock slapping against his lower belly. The red head sits up on his knees, gripping the base of his own neglected desire and pushes back the messy strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

Katsuki slips out from under you, sitting between the two of you so you’re able to sit comfortably on your calves.

“Whaddaya want pretty girl? Ei and I will give you whatever you need,” Katsuki purrs, half a smirk tugging at his lips. The red head makes a noise of agreement and waits patiently for your answer. A flush creeps up your neck under the weight of their gaze and you absentmindedly rest a hand on your belly.

“I think I want Ei to position us however he wants. Ya know, since he’s been trying to get us in bed ever since he got home.” You grin playfully at Eijirou when he makes a noise of protest, a pink blush dusting over his cheekbones. Katsuki snickers nearby.

“Oh,” Eijirou breathes, grinning sheepishly and rubbing a hand over his forearm. “Well, I mean — yeah. Yes, totally I can do that.”

Katsuki snorts, waving a vague hand in front of himself when Eijirou takes too long to respond.

“Well? You goin’ to fuckin’ move us around or not?” Katsuki asks rudely. Eijirou ignores him, rolling his jaw a couple times before biting into his bottom lip. You punch Katsuki in the shoulder and give him a pointed look but he just rolls his eyes.

“Okay baby, c’mere please,” he requests warmly, reaching a hand out to you. You comply, gripping his fingers as he helps you shuffle forward on your knees. Once you get to him, he helps you twist until your back faces the edge of the bed.

He holds both hands, slowly reclining you until you’re flat on your back and your head dangles off the edge of the mattress. Your heart rate spikes when you’re slightly suffocated by your baby bump, but it’s comfortable enough for what you’re sure Eijirou has in mind.

“Okay Katsuki, go stand near her head. I want watch you fuck her throat while I’m inside her,” he commands shyly, flush traveling down his chest as he traps the tip of his tongue between his teeth. He takes his place between your spread thighs. Katsuki starts to heft himself off the bed, closing the distance between you with a few steps.

“Didn’t feel like gettin’ your ass torn up today Eijirou?” Katsuki’s grins with his teeth, cockiness seeping from him.

“Shut up,” Eijirou mumbles, helping you bend your knees and plant your feet. You try to stifle your laughter with a hand over your mouth but it spills out of you despite your best effort.

To be fair, Eijirou does melt into a drooling fucked out mess in the sheets every time he bottoms for the other man.

Katsuki comes to a standstill just in front of your head, reaching down to cradle the back of your skull and force you to look up at him. His flushed cock grazes your cheek and you suck your bottom lip behind your teeth when you finally make eye contact.

“You okay with this sweetheart?” Katsuki’s gaze is intense, the thumb of his free hand swiping over your brow bone. Your throat clicks when you swallow and you nod, fighting the urge to shift your head and kiss his shaft.

“I’ll be fine Kat, if it’s too much I’ll tap your thigh twice.” You reach backwards and secure your arms around the backs of his legs for emphasis.

“So fuckin’ pretty and smart baby girl,” Katsuki coos, voice a rumble in his throat and his praise makes your blood sing. He grips the base of his cock and shifts forward to rub his head over your lips. Your tongue darts out involuntarily to taste him and a salty tang bursts across your taste buds.

“Ei!” You gasp, startling when the red head’s thumb presses into your swollen clit, circling it slowly. You start to squirm and sink your nails into Katsuki’s thighs as your eyes squeeze shut. “C’mon Ei, stop teasing and fuck me.” Eijirou giggles.

“Okay okay. You’re so needy tonight, I love it,” Eijirou gushes. The blunt head of his cock pokes at your clit before sliding down, a steady pressure against your lips before he pushes inside. You cry out sharply, hanging onto Katsuki for dear life while Eijirou’s thick cock stretches you to the max.

“Fuck yeah, that’s it. That tight little pussy loves Eijirou, doesn’t she?” Katsuki says breathlessly, moaning softly as he strokes his cock. “He’s so big, isn’t he baby? Feels good huh?”

You can only nod, jaw going slack and eyes rolling back when Eijirou bottoms out with a choked off moan. Pleasure blisters through you when he draws his hips back and thrusts forward roughly.

“Oh my god. You’re a dream baby,” Eijirou whines, settling one hand on your knee and the other on your baby bump. Your vision is obscured by Katsuki’s thighs but Eijirou’s praise burns in your brain.

“Jesus Christ,” Katsuki snarls, tapping your cheek twice. “Open up for me princess.” Your lips part obediently and Katsuki braces a knee of the bed, the other leg standing firm. His groin tightens in anticipation at the sight of you flushed and pliant.

He squeezes one of your tits and tilts his hips down to guide his cock inside and he glides smoothly along your soft pallet. You close your lips and suck tentatively until he jerks forward and smacks the back of your throat, breath catching in his chest.

Eijirou starts to pick up the pace, the obscenity in front of him spurring on his own desire and he hits your g-spot with scary precision. Your resulting moan is muffled by the cock in your mouth as Katsuki fucks your throat and Eijirou begins babbling encouragingly.

“Oh — shit, right there yeah baby? Feels too good, I can’t believe how tight you are. You’re gorgeous like this sweetheart, you love when I tell you how pretty you are don’t you?”

His voice is fuzzy to your ears, the prominent ache in your jaw coming to the forefront. Katsuki’s paying attention, however and taunts him even if the sweet words make his cock twitch.

“God Ei, you just can’t stop yappin’ can you?”

Eijirou whines pitifully, rolling his hips a bit more leisurely to savor the pleasure.

“I can’t help it.”

“Fuck — I’m, it’s gonna make me cum. You want me to cum for you princess?” Katsuki pulls his cock free and you gulp down air, coughing and sputtering briefly.

“Yeah, yeah. Kat c’mon,” you croak, fingers tingling as you bring them up to fist the blanket below you. Eijirou’s moving at a snail’s pace now, stilling inside you to watch the show.

Katsuki runs with it, hooking his thumb along the teeth of your bottom jaw and prying it open. His cock is shoved to the back of your throat and past the unforgiving ring of muscle there. The sensation makes your throat tickle with the urge to cough.

He stays in place long enough for your pulse to thunder before exhaling shakily and dragging himself out of your mouth. He jerks his cock until he’s cumming with a cry and streaking your chest and belly with his release.

It’s still for a moment once he relaxes. The air is warm from all the movement and the only sounds are of the three of you catching your breath before Eijirou laughs incredulously.

“That was hot.” Eijirou is beaming as he slides his still completely stiff cock from your pussy and you protest half heartedly, the other two snickering. Katsuki locks eyes with you, his cheeks rose petal pink and sweat trails down his temple.

“You good?”

You nod as Eijirou grips your ankles and pulls you bodily onto the bed, your neck tingling when the blood rushes from your head.

“More than good. I do want to switch positions though, the baby is suffocating me like this,” you joke. Eijirou pats your thighs encouragingly and smiles vibrantly.

“Sure thing! You want Kat to hold you baby?”

“Please.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes playfully and shimmies up the bed to the headboard. He pauses near Eijirou, planting a kiss to his lips and turning to settle in his new place. Katsuki tilts his head and smirks coyly at you.

“Move your ass pillow princess.” He bends his knees and digs his heels into the mattress. You ignore Katsuki for the moment and take Eijirou’s offered hand. He helps you rise to your knees and shuffle until you can twist and recline against Katsuki’s chest.

He’s covered in sweat, but he’s so warm and a sense of comfort spreads through your limbs. You glance down at yourself and notice you’re still covered in Katsuki’s cum, nose scrunching in disgust but not bothering to wipe it away yet.

Katsuki runs his hands up and down your upper arms and tenderly wraps them around your shoulders, resting his temple on yours. You brace your hands on his knees and then Eijirou is there taking up your attention.

He inches forward and sits on his calves, snugly fitting between your thighs and he lifts his eyebrows in question. You hum softly and encourage him forward with a tug to his wrist.

He pushes at the delicate skin over your inner thighs to coax you open for him. You do so without hesitation and instantly Eijirou’s steadying himself and slipping back into you with a smooth glide.

“Eijirou,” you moan between your teeth, head tipping backwards onto Katsuki’s shoulder. You clench around him and he whimpers, pitching forward and resting his hands on your belly. Katsuki leers from behind you, muttering like the devil on your shoulder.

“Thought you were big and strong Ei. You can make her little pussy cum can’t you, red riot?”

Eijirou’s brows knit together and he nods vigorously, picking up a steady rhythm that you can feel in your toes. You bite the tip of your tongue and dig your nails into Katsuki’s knees.

“Y — Yeah, I’ll make her feel so good, I’ll make her cum Katsuki.”

Katsuki grins wolfishly.

“Good boy Eijirou.”

Your husband wears a dumbstruck expression, cherry red eyes falling shut and breathy moans mixing with yours as he snaps his hips briskly.

“E-Eijirou! Just like that, please don’t stop, I’m gonna cum!”

He obeys and the volume of your pleas rise and your voice cracks when Eijirou’s movements become the slightest bit harsher. The red head splays his large palms even wider over your belly and uses the angle to his advantage, pressing upwards with each thrust.

Katsuki squeezes your shoulders and whispers sweet nothings in your ear, nosing at your cheek while your climax swells rapidly behind your belly button.

“Doing so well baby, you take him like a fuckin’ champ,” Katsuki says huskily. “Looks like Ei’s gonna fuck another baby into you, isn’t that right?”

Eijirou absently replies with a whiny mhmm, eyes glued to where his cock disappears inside you. You stare at Eijirou’s flushed face, his lids heavy and jaw hanging open in concentration and then the knot in your pelvis is unraveling.

You inhale sharply, thighs tensing and your own mouth opens in a silent scream as your pussy flutters before clenching tightly on the cock splitting you open.

Eijirou groans, placing his forehead on yours and works you through it like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

After a few brain melting seconds your muscles loosen, a low moan creeping its way out of your throat.

“Fuck baby,” Eijirou pants, cock twitching. “Love it when you cum on my cock like that, I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“Give it to me Ei, I’ve got you baby.”

With that, and a few filthy words from Katsuki, Eijirou is shoving his dick all the way inside you to the root. The curly black hair at his base brushes your clit and he’s cumming.

He gasps your name, hands shifting to white knuckle your shoulders as you frame his face with your palms. His cock kicks inside you a few times before he’s melting onto you, listening to your whispered words of praise as his chest heaves.

You all stay still for a brief moment as the post sex haze falls over you and Eijirou decides then to gingerly slip out of your pussy, shifting to lay down beside you like a starfish instead.

There’s a gentle pressure on your back and you lean forward so Katsuki can slide out from behind you. You take his place, pillows supporting your lower back and feeling icky from all the cum on you and inside you.

“Someone please get me a towel.”

Eijirou laughs but Katsuki just hands you a a discarded T-shirt, nose scrunching up.

“Here.”

You take it gratefully, wiping off the drying cum from your belly and handing it to Eijirou. He helps clean any place you can’t reach before balling it up and tossing it like a basketball into the dirty laundry basket. He misses. Katsuki glares at him and points in that direction, lip curling.

“You’re picking that shit up.”

You snicker and Eijirou grins good-naturedly, teasing the blonde until Katsuki’s teeth are grinding together.

Eventually you’re able to convince Katsuki to cook you both more food. He complains about it vehemently but ultimately pulls shorts on and stomps out of the room and to the kitchen.

You smile with amusement and gaze softly at Eijirou as he tugs on old sweats.

“Ya know he’s gonna blow a hole in the wall if you keep messing with him,” you say, awkwardly climbing off the bed and accepting the shorts and shirt Eijirou places in your hands.

“He just makes it too easy to rile him up.”

You can’t help but agree with that, grinning when Eijirou laces your fingers together and leads you to the kitchen.

The three of you relax together for the rest of the evening, both men taking turns reading to your baby and fawning over your belly.

You’re on your toes with anticipation to see how they behave when she’s here. You’re certain they’ll be amazing fathers.

Then, in a couple years, you’ll let Eijirou get you pregnant. You smile softly to yourself, because you’re one hundred percent sure your back will ache carrying his giant baby.

[formosusiniquis]

When Mike Wheeler, red faced and still faintly tear stained, asks him how he knew he liked both Steve doesn’t know how to tell him it was his sister.

Before Nancy Wheeler it had only been boys. Before Nancy Wheeler Steve had been sure he was gay and knew well enough to keep it to himself; dating around enough to earn himself a protective reputation. Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been Marcus Summers, from the baseball team, during freshman year. Steve had gone to every game, and had been forced to make up excuses about schoolwork and his other commitments when asked why he hadn’t tried out for himself. Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been Tommy Hagan. The summer between seventh and eighth grade had been very kind to Tommy, he was sunkissed and boy next door sweet, Steve had wanted to hold his hand and count the freckles across the bridge of his nose. 

Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been his first love, a boy who only visited one summer, the year Steve turned ten. His name had changed every time they hung out but he’d favored E’s. Eli, Emmett, Elliott, Eric, Excalibur, Excelsior, and once for about an hour Wayne. His hair brushed his chin in pretty brown curls and his big brown eyes were always bright with excitement. He always got storm off mad when any of the other boys they’d played with that summer said he was acting like a girl, E would run off to the woods and Steve would always follow. E always came up with the best games anyway, he didn’t like playing soccer or HORSE or anything else with rules that couldn’t be bent; he preferred imagination games where they were knights or wizards. He didn’t laugh when Steve said he always liked playing house, but never wanted to be the dad because why would he want to be someone who never wanted to spend any time with his kids. E who, while insisting on being called Samwise all day, was his first kiss.

Cause he knows what Mike wants to hear. He’s seen the way Mike and Will have danced around each other since the last portal closed. He’s heard the things Mike has said to and about Will. He’s heard all about the week that Will was in the Upside Down. He’s heard all about the summer of ‘85. He’s heard all about the final off again that seems to officially mark the end of Mike and El romantically. He knows that Mike wants him to say that he’d never even thought about boys before he met Eddie. That there’s just something special about Eddie that makes him want to give up his lady killing ways. That Eddie was different. That it was okay that he was having these scary new thoughts, maybe Will was just an exception.

And Steve doesn’t know how to have that conversation. When he realized he liked both it was a relief, that maybe he could have something normal and wouldn't have to spend his life lying or hiding. 

But Eddie was different. Eddie was special. Eddie was probably it for Steve which is scary in a different way that he’s not ready to touch yet -- not when it’s only been three months.

There’s never been another girl since Nancy Wheeler, not really

There will never be another boy after Eddie Munson.

So he tries to help, as best he can. It’s easier with Eddie there, not quite dozing against his shoulder -- the kid’s emergencies always seem to come so late at night these days. “When I was ten, there was a boy whose name kept changing who decided prince charming should get to kiss his faithful knight. And when I was sixteen, your sister-”

Mike’s goodwill diminishes quickly as his sister gets introduced to the conversation.

“Stevie,” Eddie says. It’s not an admonishment for bringing up Nancy. It’s awestruck and watery. “You remember that?”

“Of course I remember the first boy I ever loved," that word catches up with him a second later. Remember. 

Cause there's Eddie with his riot of brown curls and his Bambi eyes. Eddie, who has explained why soft feminine words chafe against his skin leaving him itchy and anxious. Eddie, who has an Uncle in Hawkins. Eddie who moved to town the summer before he entered high school with a buzzed head and his mother's last name. Eddie who finally settled into an E he liked best.

"Wheeler, here's a tip from me to you," Eddie says, his advice is always better received than Steve's anyway, "if you have to ask you probably already know."

"Straight people don't really spend much time wondering if they aren't really straight," Steve agrees.

They don't rush Mike out the door, a crisis is a crisis and even in the wake of new discoveries Mike deserves to be heard out. Deserves a chance to cry and rage and feel those emotions someplace safe from his Reaganite father -- just as much as Will deserves to have someone who knows what they want come to him, deserves better than experimentation.

They cross the bridge from late into early by the time Mike sets off. The sun is creeping up over the horizon and Mike looks solid, certain; the dawn hints at the man he is growing up to be. Though every instinct of Steve's begs him to drive the kid home, Eddie's soft hand lingering at his hip holds him fast. They wave instead, encouraging Mike to go home and to bed before he does anything; knowing his front bike tire is already pointed toward the Byers-Hopper place.

"The first boy you ever loved, huh, Stevie?" Eddie teases before the door has even managed to click shut.

"And the last, I'm hoping, if I play my cards right."

"You were always pretty good at that. You were the only person that summer who called me by my name, except Wayne."

"It was your name." He knows that's too simple. Knows how hard Eddie has had it, continues to have it. But that summer it had been that simple, Eddie trying on names like shirts each one fitting until they didn't. "For what it's worth, I like Eddie a lot more than Excalibur."

"Oh fuck off, I was going through a fantasy knight phase. Which I know you remember."

"Right a phase, and how much longer is this fantasy 'phase' going to last?"

They're the kind of tired that makes you feel drunk, when Eddie tackles Steve and sends them both to the floor and to giggles. Eddie might not have been his bi awakening, but Steve is pretty fine with him being his everything else.

[dndumb]

NO BECAUSE WHAT DO YOU MEAN HIS GIRLFRIEND IS DEAD HE IS ALONE AND WE DON’T EVEN KNOW IF HIS TREE IS OKAY OR NOT?????????

[littlejuicebox]

Drunken nights.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader/Tav Summary/Setting: You've just arrived in BG; this follows the standard romance plot for Astarion after the Shadowlands. Rating/Warnings: PG / all fluff / very mild in game spoilers Word Count: 1600+ Notes: Shadowheart gives me major bi panic. Tried to keep this GN but please let me know if you see something! I loved the ending to @leighsartworks216 post here and I uno-reversed it. :)

-----

You are dancing atop a table. Well, really, you are grinding atop a table. You hold a mug of beer in one hand and the curve of Shadowheart’s hip in the other as the two of you move your bodies in a drunken haze to some drum-heavy tune the band is playing. Everything is fuzzy — your vision, your tongue, the fur on the edges of your jacket as it brushes into the cleric while you two dance to the beat. The bar is in an inebriated riot; several members of your blurry audience are shouting in a cacophony you can barely understand over the music.

“Come on, kiss already!”

“Take your clothes off!”

For a moment you consider ripping your shirt over your head and exposing your chest to the feral crowd. But then Astarion is at the edge of the table, gently grasping the wrists of both you and your dance partner. He gives each of you a little tug, beckoning you both off the table, catalyzing an uproar of boos and jeering. An apple is thrown at the vampire’s head, which he deftly dodges before turning to glare daggers at the offender. Halsin stood from the bar and made his way towards the rogue after that, hoping to avoid further violence. The looming threat of the druid’s large frame caused the crowd’s rage to fizzle out; the tavern’s patrons quickly turned to look for other forms of entertainment.

“Well, would you just look at the time? I do believe the free show is over and you’re both thoroughly drunk. You two had better be off to bed.”

Shadowheart is a flurry of giggles as she steps off the table, practically crumpling to the floor. Halsin narrowly catches her by the back of her shirt, steadying her with one hand. “What, Astarion? You jealous? Didn’t want me to kiss your lover and steal them away from you for the night?”

Your face is tucked into his neck as you drunkenly cling to the rogue, the stability of his frame the only thing keeping you from nearly melting into a pile of bones like the cleric had moments ago. Your breath is tickling against the elf’s ear, causing the pink flush of the pointed pinna to rise.

Astarion chuckles good-naturedly, “Far be it from me to keep my lover from their appetites, Shadowheart. And I’m sure you’re more Tav’s type now, what with the new hair color you have going on, but I’m quite certain neither of you would actually be interested in putting on such a show for the entire tavern… if either of you could be trusted with your current judgment, that is. Let’s circle back tomorrow morning, when everyone is sober.”

Shadowheart takes a step toward Astarion, fully intending to goad him with another quip, but she loses her balance once more and slides to the ground. Halsin is forced to scoop her over his shoulder. A slew of garbled protests comes out of the cleric’s mouth, and the mountain man’s brow crinkles in confusion as he tries to interpret the gibberish. Finally, the druid shakes his head and sighs, turning to the silver-haired elf before gesturing with an open palm. “Lead the way, my friend.”

Astarion grabs you by the waist to guide your clumsy footing as all four of you head upstairs and to the rooms located above the tavern. The vampire rapidly knocks on the first door, which swings open to reveal an irritated Lae’zel.

“Here’s a present for you, darling.” Astarion greets in a sarcastic sing-song voice as Halsin enters the room and plops Shadowheart onto the bed. Lae’zel hisses a “tch” as she slams the door shut upon the druid’s exit. You see Karlach lounging on the floor and greet her with a drunken wave as the entryway shuts. All of you hear something clatter to the ground, followed by Karlach’s muffled laughter and Lae’zel’s complaints on the other side of the wall.

“You’re welcome!” Your lover calls through the closed door before Halsin bids you both a good night in the hallway with a small chuckle. The wild man looks like he wants to say something more while staring at the two of you, but he blinks the thought away before meandering down to the fair end of the hall towards the room he’s sharing with Gale.

Your room is next door to the three female fighters. You and Astarion made the decision to sleep in separate rooms for now, after your talk at Moonrise Towers. Everyone had been so happy to make it out of the Shadowlands and into the city that day; you’d even successfully charmed the inn owner into offering you a heavy discount on the only private room left available for the night.

Earlier, you’d taken a delicious soak in the well-appointed bedchamber’s clawfoot tub while Astarion read beside you. You’d invited him to join the luxurious bath — there was plenty of room for two — but he’d gently refused the offer, opting instead for a quick shower in the room he’d shared with Wyll while you dressed.

Now, Astarion looks through your pockets, patting you down to find anything you’ve stowed away on your person. All he discovers is a few gold coins and your trusty dagger. “Darling, where on earth is your room key?”

“I ‘unno. Had it downstairs… prolly lost it.” You murmur, now practically hugging the wall to keep yourself up. You can’t help but think how cute the vampire is when he’s flustered.

“You can’t be serious, Tav.” He deadpans, pinching the bridge of his nose. The rogue heaves a frustrated sigh as you stare at him with glassy eyes and nod.

“As a heart attack… hey, you can’t actually have one of those can you?”

“Sit.” He commands, ignoring your tangent and forcing you into the plush chaise bench pressed along the wall across from your bedroom door.

“Yes, sir.” You respond with an uncoordinated salute, half sitting, half laying on the chaise. Your fingers dance across the velvet, the texture of the fabric absolutely mesmerizing you.

Astarion pulls out his lockpicking tools and sets to work, opening the door with a few rattles of the lock and flicks of the wrist. He quickly hoists you out of the chaise and pulls you into the room, where he begins to strip off your clothing, careful to avoid grazing his hands against your skin. “If you’re potentially going to vomit, my sweet, best to make sure you don’t end up doing it on the nicest things you currently own.”

The vampire unceremoniously tosses your clothes into the armchair nestled in the corner of the room and then pulls back the covers of the queen bed, shoving your unbalanced frame onto the mattress. “Now get some rest.”

“Will you tuck me in?” You’re on your back, limbs starfished out. You think Astarion looks so pretty in the moonlight; you love the way it’s dappling the side of his face and shooting shiny streaks through his silver hair.

The elf stares at you; his white eyebrows furrow as he scrunches his nose. You can tell the rogue is annoyed, but you don’t care. All you can think about is how pretty he is, even when he’s annoyed. You adore the little crinkle between his eyebrows.

“Seriously, Tav?”

You nod slowly. A smile creeps across your face, and the dopey-eyed expression you can’t think to conceal in your drunken state wins him over.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, darling.” The rogue huffs, rolling his eyes in performed annoyance. But truthfully, he was just as enamored by you and the way your beautiful eyes glimmered in the moonlight as you stared at him with unabashed adoration. He’d almost kissed you right there, but he didn’t trust himself to perform such an act while in a potentially triggering situation. He’d spent far too many nights in far too many taverns with far too many drunks for him to feel truly at ease here. Instead, the vampire deftly tucks the blankets around you, wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth. “There. Happy?”

“Mhmm.” You agree with a nod, already feeling yourself drifting toward sleep as Astarion situates himself on the other side of you. You’d been wrapped in the large, fluffy comforter provided by the inn; the vampire covered himself in your lighter, personal blanket before rolling on his side to stare at you.

“You’re not going to your room?” You ask with a yawn, sneaking your hand out from the cocoon to find the elf’s fingers and coil yours around his.

“And leave you here alone, absolutely sloshed and unable to adequately defend yourself, in a private room, with a key that is probably lost somewhere in the same tavern full of patrons that were asking you to take your clothes off minutes ago? I think not.”

“Mm… my knight in shining armor.”

“More like… rogue with glinting dagger.”

“Mm… my rogue…”

You yawn again. Your eyelids are so heavy, but you want to keep them open to admire the vampire for just a while longer. You try to fight off the pull of sleep, but you’re too inebriated and so so tired. The journey to get here took all day on foot and everything felt unbelievably warm and cozy; the bed seemed like a cloud in comparison to the hard earth you’d been resting on for weeks. You are unable to finish the rest of the phrase as your lids flutter closed for the final time that night, stitched shut by the long curls of your interlaced lashes.

“Your rogue.” Astarion agrees in a soft murmur, lifting the hand that you’d snaked out of the blanket toward his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your callused knuckles. The elf watches you for a few minutes longer, a small, adoring smile crossing his face. He knew then, in the quiet of that random tavern, with your angelic face covered in the beautiful glow of moonlight, that he loved you. If only he had the courage to say it.

[formerarcanefan]

RIOT GAMES WHEN I CATCH YOU-

WE COULD'VE HAD IT ALL AND THEY BLEW IT

[silentscrying]

🏀 buzzer beater | chapter TWELVE.

nba!gojo x manager!reader

summary: you thought you'd gotten rid of arrogant NBA star satoru gojo when he left the curses after your first year in basketball management. but when your contract is up three years later, you find yourself working with him once again as the manager for the sorcerers. as you navigate playoff season alongside long-time friend ieiri shoko and the sorcerers' insufferable star player, you start to realize his sudden departure from the curses may not have been what it seemed, and maybe gojo isn't exactly the person (or player) you thought he was, either.

warnings: language, implied sexual content, playing dirty, not how basketball administration works, so many italics, the LAST CHAPTER! || sfw. 6.6k words.

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

It comes out louder than you’re intending, but still goes unheard in the overwhelming noise of the stadium. Game two of the championship series is in full swing. Satoru throws his hands out, arguing with the ref, both of them talking over each other, and then Kento pulls Satoru away and says something else to the official. Ever the diplomat.

Mahito smirks, everything about the way he holds himself self-righteous and arrogant. Your nails dig into your palm and leave crescent-shaped imprints as the team falls into position for the free throws. What a stupid fucking call. And it’s not even the first questionable choice the ref’s made this game. Mei Mei looks all smug across the court, and it’s making your bones shake with anger.

Geto steps up with an unnervingly calm expression, bouncing the ball once with a resounding thump before taking the shot he shouldn’t have gotten in the first place. Swish.

If Sukuna was still here, he’d be rioting, but he only made it halfway through the second quarter before getting escorted out because “OH, YOU THINK YOU’RE HOT SHIT, YOU PONYTAILED PRICK, DON’T YOU?” and “WHAT ARE YOU COMPENSATING FOR WITH THAT NUMBER ONE ON YOUR JERSEY, PATCHWORK PRINCESS, HUH?”

Shigemo and Mahito definitely heard, and you swear Shigemo tripped a little.

You don’t disagree with Yuji’s uncle, really. You were honestly a little sad to see him leave.

In his place, you’ve picked up a steady stream of cussing under your breath, and beside you Nobara looks almost impressed by it.

Geto does that infuriating little half-smile and nails the second free throw, and you have to turn away, pace a few steps back and forth to collect yourself as the ball launches back into play. It’s third quarter and you’re losing, 64-79. Fuck. Fuck.

Ieiri’s hand comes down on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks, and you raise your head to meet her eyes. She doesn’t say anything, not calm down or stand still or there’s still time to turn it around. She just looks at you like she knows, because she always knows—knows it wasn’t a fair call, knows the stakes are high, knows the tension is squeezing the blood out of your heart and the air out of your lungs like a vice.

She nods. I get it. I’m with you. You nod back.

You walk back to the sideline, fists balled at your side, and you watch. Satoru turns around, raking a frustrated hand through his hair, dislodging his headband. He turns around and you catch his eye, offering him a small smile. You hope it doesn’t look as strained as it feels.

Even from here, you can see some of the tension ease from his shoulders. He cracks a half-smile back.

At the start of the fourth, you’re 75-83, the headset around your neck instead of over your ears—you can’t listen, don’t want to know what the odds are, don’t need to hear the commentators’ pessimism on top of your own.

It’s only eight points. They can do this.

At some point, the Curses sub Dagon on, and after a while he and Yuji are getting a little too physical—or Dagon is, while Yuji tries fruitlessly to not get obliterated. He’s just trying to get open for Satoru, but Dagon is practically on top of him. He’s playing dirty in a way that reminds you of Hanami. At this rate, Yuji’s going to end up on the ground.

“Fucking call something,” Nobara practically growls, eyes narrowed on the ref, who either doesn’t see or just doesn’t care.

Satoru, ball in hand, locks eyes on Dagon as he clings doggedly to Yuji’s side, backing up into him, sticking out an ankle in hopes of tripping him. Only Jogo stands between Satoru and the basket. Jogo swipes a massive hand at the ball and Satoru reaches out and just—fucking catches it.

He palms the ball in his left hand and uses his right to intercept Jogo’s fingers as they reach out, stopping him in midair, a flagrant foul, and the ref blows the whistle, calling the play. Jogo goes still and just stares at Satoru's hand around his, shocked. Yuji stumbles back as Dagon finally lets up.

“Holy shit,” Ieiri murmurs beside you.

“He did that on purpose?” Nobara says, but it’s not really a question. Satoru just fucking fouled Jogo to stop play before Dagon could hurt Yuji. You pull one side of the headphones up to your ear to hear the call.

“And that’s a personal foul by number six, Satoru Gojo, against San Diego guard Jogo.”

Megumi storms over to Dagon and shouts something sharp and fast that you can’t hear, and Yuji puts a hand on his shoulder and turns him away. Kento says something to the ref and it must finally hit home, because the ref mutters something to Dagon before the free throw, and after that he doesn’t try to pull anything shitty over on Yuji again.

Maybe it’ll be fine, you think as you hit the halfway point of the last quarter. The Sorcerers have already won once. They can do it again.

And then they lose.

The Sorcerers, they fucking lose. And as the stadium erupts in cheers and the Curses subs swarm center court, you’re suddenly worried that somehow the first time was a fluke—after all, the Curses are first seed, aren’t they? They’re supposed to win. They’re projected to.

No. It wasn’t a fluke. You know your team, you have faith in your team. They can turn this around, they have to. They’ve defied the odds before, and they’ll do it again.

This doesn’t mean anything.

On the jet, Satoru buries his head in the crook of your neck and you let him, playing with his long, slim fingers in your lap. When you land, he doesn’t go home, and you spend the night trading kisses and reassurances on the couch, against the wall, possibly atop the kitchen counter, and then your bed, and you fall asleep beside him thinking, It’s not too late. There is still every chance the Sorcerers can take this title home.

And even if they don’t, you think, listening to Satoru’s steady breathing in your ear, there are more important things.

—

The week passes in a blur of basketball, training, travel, late nights with Satoru and stolen kisses in offices and cars and bedrooms. The ref from the last game racked up such an outrage online that by the third game of the series—this time on your home court—you’ve got a new official entirely, one who has a great track record with the league. Hiromi Higuruma is actually fair, and things start to run more smoothly.

If someone asked you for a play-by-play of the two home games, you couldn’t give them one, just a vivid recollection of a few scenes, compiled in the back of your mind like a highlight reel.

Satoru and Geto facing off for the tip-off, eyes narrowed and bodies tense, nearly colliding as they both stretch for the ball.

Megumi coming off a dunk and breathlessly grinning at Tsumiki in the stands.

Satoru turning around at the last second to block Jogo like an instinct, like he has eyes on the back of his head.

The Sorcerers winning game three.

Higuruma fouling Mahito when he snags Yuji’s shirt in his hands, and Yuji nailing the free throw like it’s nothing.

Shigemo leering at Kento, only for Kento to pass the ball right around him, straight through the long, blond ponytail. Ino palming the pass and lobbing the ball into the net from the three-point line.

The Sorcerers winning game four.

All the built-up, coiling anticipation has you losing sleep, the knowledge that if you can hang on to this lead, just win one more, it’ll be over, you’ll have won.

The night the Sorcerers win the fourth game, you’re putting away laundry, listening to Mitski and humming to yourself. And then the music fades out and you frown, thinking your phone is just tripping out—until it segues into your ringtone and an unknown number lights up the screen.

You have no idea what to expect from this. The last time you answered an unknown number, you ended up talking to Takada.

“Hello, is this Sorcerers management?”

Definitely not Takada.

“Uh, yes. How can I help you?”

“Well, hey, glad I caught you! This is Yuki Tsukomo with the WNBA.”

Your breath stalls in your throat, fingers tightening around your phone. Yuki Tsukomo. The fucking commissioner of the WNBA. What the fuck?

You knew her in college, briefly, in a peripheral sense—her fifth year was your first, and she played for your university’s rival school. You crossed paths a number of times, but not in any way that would have been significant to Yuki.

Now, though, she’s a household name, a massive WNBA star in her own right before she retired and rose up the corporate ranks. She’s amazing. She’s an idol. And she’s on the phone with you right now.

“So, I’m calling about a career opportunity. I know this is a bit unorthodox, and if you’re interested I will certainly redirect you to our HR manager, but I wanted to speak with you personally. Is now a good time?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, sinking down onto your couch, trying to keep your voice even. “Yeah, now’s great.” Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

“Wonderful!” Yuki says. “Alright. So we have a vacancy this upcoming season for a conference coordinator. It’s a fairly big role, but I understand you’ve had a great deal of success in NBA management over the last few seasons. Your name comes highly recommended. And, I mean, I remember your work ethic back in college.”

The first thing that sticks is that Yuki actually remembers you. You’re astounded. You were so sure she’d have no idea.

The second thing hits a moment later, taking a second to process. Career opportunity. Upcoming season. Conference coordinator. Conference coordinator.

Where the NBA is divided into six divisions, the WNBA has only its two conferences, six teams in each. Coordinating a conference would entail, essentially, managing half of the WNBA.

“I appreciate that,” you manage, and feel your eyes widening the more Yuki lays out the details of the position.

The pay is actually higher. Right now, you’re just managing one team. This, though—this would be monumental for you.

Relief floods your entire body when she says Eastern. You could stay here. You wouldn’t have to move. The WNBA operates on a different schedule than the NBA—you’d be able to maintain a relationship with the Sorcerers, travel during the WNBA season.

You could do this—you could have both.

“Just think about it,” Yuki says brightly, wrapping up the call. “I know it’s a bit out of the blue, and you’re busy with the championships right now. I know this is a tight deadline, but if you could get back to me before the end of the season, that would be fantastic—the vacancy was a bit unexpected and we’re trying to get a jump on things.”

“Yeah, absolutely, I—I’ll think about it. Thank you, Yuki. So much.”

“Absolutely,” she replies. “Thanks for taking the time to speak with me. You have a good one!”

The line goes dead before you can reply. “You too,” you say to the open air, falling back onto your couch, boneless. Holy. Shit.

You only give yourself a minute before you open up your phone again.

“Toru,” you say, when he picks up on the first ring. “Can you come over?”

Fuck your laundry. It can wait.

—

He wants you to take it.

“This is fucking amazing!” he shouts, sweeping you into a hug, your feet off the floor. “Oh my god! This is so cool. My girlfriend is so fucking cool.”

“Toru,” you laugh as he sets you down. “I didn’t say yes yet. I just—”

“Hey,” he interrupts, pulling you over to the couch, sitting down beside you. He pulls one knee onto the cushions, angling himself toward you, and takes both of your hands in his. “Do you remember that night in the gym?”

You snort. “No, Satoru, I don’t remember the first night we f—”

“Not what I meant, but yes, that was wonderful, let’s do it again,” he says. “Listen. I asked you, if you got a better job offer right now, if you would leave.”

Oh. You remember. Define better, you said. Better might mean a pay raise, an admin opportunity, a move back into the women’s basketball sphere.

Not for another team, you told him. You wouldn’t leave the Sorcerers for the Curses, or for some other group of players on another coast. But for higher-level management, something with the league—isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?

“Don’t let us hold you back,” he says gently. “That’s the last thing I ever want to do to you.”

You look at him, sitting here in your apartment, looking like he belongs. Hair like silk under your fingers, eyes the color of oversaturated photos of a summer sky.

You realized a lot of things in the gym that night.

One was that you won’t leave behind what you love.

Another was that you still have higher aspirations, places you want to be, things you want to change.

And taking this job, saying yes? It’s not leaving.

Satoru will still sit on your couch and hold your hands and look at you like you’re the world. And then you’ll go watch him kick ass on the court, and you’ll go to dinner with him and Megumi and Tsumiki and Yuji, and you’ll spend the rest of your time investing in women’s basketball, that thing that’s had so much of your heart for so, so long.

But you can’t—you won’t—leave this team with just anyone.

“It has to be the right person,” you finally say, squeezing his hands. “I’m not saying yes unless I know you’re in actual, really good hands.”

“Well, I really don’t think anyone’s gonna use their hands quite like—”

You glare at him and he shuts up, biting back his laughter. He nods, releases one of your hands to push a strand of hair out of your face. “Then let’s find the right person,” he says.

An hour later, you’re both sprawled out in the living room with computers and phones and papers and a thousand tabs up, scrolling through pages of Google search results, scanning old rosters, throwing out names of a few standout NBA and WNBA managers, debating whether they’d leave their own teams for the Sorcerers.

And it hits you all at once, as you scroll through your contacts. You think about the small forward who was a freshman your senior year of college. She was a business management major, a great player, but you could tell she didn’t want to go pro, not like that.

“Oh,” you breathe, feeling like this answer’s been right in front of you the whole damn time. “Yes.”

Satoru perks up beside you, nudging you with an elbow. “Yeah?”

You look at him and feel the grin spreading across your face, hope sparking in your chest.

You should give her a call, you think.

But Satoru has already sat up, and he’s pulling you toward him with a devilish grin on his face. He shoves the papers and laptops out of the way and pushes you down with a hand on your shoulder, straddling you on the floor, white hair hanging down around his face like a curtain blocking out the rest of the world. It’s just you, and him, and his breath on your lips—

Yeah. The call can wait.

“You are,” he says, tracing the line of your jaw with one hand, “the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” The blood rushes to your cheeks unbidden, and you pull him down to press his lips to yours before he can comment on your blush.

“Not so bad yourself,” you breathe against his neck, and he takes your wrist and holds it above your head, kissing a line down your collarbone.

You have no recollection of getting to your bedroom, shoving the just-folded laundry off your duvet. All you know is Satoru’s fingers at the hem of your shirt, your eyes fluttering closed at the feel of his mouth on yours, wishing you never had to come up for air, thinking maybe you don’t need to. Maybe you and Satoru can just breathe each other’s air forever, and you never have to let him go.

—

“And I'm sorry to throw this on you during championships, and I know that if—”

“I’m happy for you.”

“What?” You blink at Yaga, sitting across from you in his office with his fingers steepled on the desk. His collection of little crochet animals lines the windowsill behind him, a procession of colorful little creatures that feels wholly disparate from his dark clothes, his serious eyes, his broad-shouldered and imposing stature.

You thought this conversation would be harder. You were ready to lay it all out, to thank him for making this the best place you’ve ever worked, to apologize for hanging him out to dry, to tell him that this way he won’t have to deal with any complications that might arise from you and Satoru being together. You talked it over with yourself in the bathroom mirror and in the shower and before you fell asleep, like a final presentation in a class you needed to graduate.

As a conference coordinator, the WNBA will pay you almost 20% more than you make right now. You’ll be running the whole Eastern division. It’s everything you wanted when you first started in sports management. It’s everything you want now—you won’t have to move, you won’t be traveling during NBA season, you can have everything you’ve built here and everything you’ve been working toward all at once and it feels too goddamn good to be true.

“Look,” Yaga says, leaning back in his seat. “You have been instrumental to this team. And I would love to have you here. We all would. But you deserve to go where you want with this career. And if the WNBA is where your heart is, I know for a fact every guy in that locker room would back you.”

And you realize, abruptly, that Yaga was never going to be a real roadblock. That speech you rehearsed wasn’t for him; it was for you.

Yaga is happy for you, in that calm, unbothered way of his, and Kusakabe will be too. You’re suddenly kind of emotional about it, their unwavering acceptance, the encouragement, the truth in Yaga's words. That this team would—will—back you. Even if you tell them you have to pass your position on to someone else.

“I haven’t accepted yet,” you clarify quickly. “I just—there’s a lot of things to think over. But I didn’t want to leave you in the dark, in case… I mean. I love it here. I do. This is just… a big opportunity, I think.”

“Well. If you do choose to take the job, and you have a recommendation for me,” he says, “I would be very inclined to listen.”

Satoru thinks you should take it. Kasumi practically begged you. And you did make that call—you do know someone who could step into your place, someone who would love this team the way you do.

“Yeah,” you tell him, letting the tension melt out of you with the word. “Her name’s Riko. Riko Amanai.”

—

The series goes on, and you push the offer to the back of your mind, heading out to San Diego in hopes of taking home the title. You stand between Ieiri and Nobara, Charles Bernard and Rika Orimoto talking rapid-fire in your ears.

They become background noise as the game launches into motion—not a good start. Geto wins the tip-off. Satoru misses a free throw. Mahito fouls Kento so hard that Ieiri has to pull him off court to check for a concussion. (He’s clear, but he has to sit out for a moment to get his bearings, and you want to punch someone. Preferably Mahito.)

You lose.

The team's mood tonight is a few shades darker, yours saved only by an influx of photos of the dogs from Tsumiki back home.

tsumiki: [4 Image Attachments] tsumiki: [1 Movie Attachment] tsumiki: cuddle mode!!

Satoru steals your phone and sends her a .5 selfie of him wrapped around you in the hotel bed.

you: CUDDLE MODE

Still, the loss is a blow to the ego, and now the Sorcerers are three to the Curses' two. But there’s hope. The next match is a home game, and you could win it and take the series in six games.

Back at Jujutsu Arena, Naoya Zenin (you wonder what the relation is to Maki as she commentates dryly in your headset) pounds two three-pointers in the first four minutes. Takaba makes two free throws, and Geto just will not give Satoru a breath of air. Every time one of them scores, so does the other. It’s a brutal back-and-forth and you abruptly feel like you’re watching a tennis match instead of a basketball game.

Jogo and Mahito couldn’t be more different as guards—Jogo as a point guard is hulking and stands like a wall between the forwards and the basket, but Mahito as a shooting guard never stays still, launching himself around the court with all the abandon of a fucking trapeze artist, anything it takes to knock the ball from Yuji and Megumi’s hands.

Game six is a tight call, but the Curses win by two and cement the tie. It’s running the full seven-game series, the first one the Sorcerers have had since mid-season. The final game in San Diego will decide everything.

You spend the night before the flight at Satoru’s place, all the pent-up frustration and aggression and nerves spilling out in kisses and gasps and his hands in your hair and your lips on his neck, and when you both collapse into bed a few hours too late for a reasonable amount of sleep, you wonder if tonight was more of a workout than a basketball game ever was.

The Sorcerers reach game seven 3-3 and angry. It’s the most stressed you’ve been in what feels like forever.

“We’re gonna win,” Ino says as he paces the common space of the visitors’ locker area. He’s trying to be entirely unbothered, but he can barely stand still. You can’t help but crack a smile, though, as he enlists Yuji and the two of them bounce around trying to hype up the rest of the team, to ease the tension. It seems to work—Satoru laughs, and Megumi is trying to bite back his own smile as Yuji’s arms flail around wildly in an unprepared, spur-of-the-moment pep talk. Ino’s encouragement even seems to get to Kento.

“Let’s put this rivalry to fucking sleep,” Hakari says with a sharp-edged smirk. “Beat ‘em on their own floor.”

“Stay sharp,” Kusakabe demands. “Stay alert, stay calm. Fast on your feet, strategic with your passes.” He glances at Yaga to see if the head coach has anything to contribute.

He shrugs. “End of the season, boys. You walk out of here winners or you walk out of here with a fire under your ass to do better next season.” He crosses his arms, the fingers of his left hand drumming on his right arm. “Let’s try not to set any fires.”

Junpei laughs nervously. Making it all the way to championships in your first season must be a whole different kind of stress. You hadn’t even considered it until now.

Toge wraps an arm around him and ruffles his hair in some kind of half-noogie that is very sibling, or maybe just very boy. Yuta grins, and then everyone looks to Kento, waiting for the captain’s final orders.

“Do what you always do,” he says, looking at each of the guys in turn. “Stay open. Communicate. Weigh the risks. Seventy percent smart—”

“Thirty percent ballsy,” Ino finishes. Not Kento’s word—he usually opts for chance or risk. But the smallest twitch at the corner of Kento’s lips tells you he’s optimistic, despite everything. He nods at Ino.

“Right,” he says finally. “Let’s play some damn good basketball.”

The guys break into a chorus of cheers and Nobara laughs beside you as she films it. Nothing fails to get a rise out of the team like Kento dropping a swear word.

Before the team files out to the court, Satoru grabs you and pulls you into a kiss, heated, bruising, full of nervous energy.

“Score one for me, Six,” you say, and he grins before disappearing down the hall. Ieiri and Nobara start after them and look at you expectantly. But there’s something you need to do.

It’s the last day of the season, regardless of what happens. There’s no more pushing this back. You need to call Yuki back with an answer.

You hold up your hand, waving your phone for them to see. “I’ll catch up.”

—

The double doors leading into the gym are like a huge, metal sound barrier. The moment you open one of them even a crack, the noise comes flooding through, anxious and excited and face-painted fans spilling into the aisles, waving signs and jerseys and those stupid foam hands.

You tuck your phone into your pocket as the door slams behind you, and Nobara immediately catches your eye and grins. She points up into the visiting section.

For a moment you aren’t sure you’re seeing correctly—it’s weird to see them in colors that aren’t their own—but the woman at the end of the row, purple-streaked hair pulled back into a bow, leaves no room for doubt. The Samurai are here. All of them.

Akari waves at you, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and yanks on Utahime’s sleeve until she notices and grins at you, too.

“Ready for this?” Ieiri asks, her med bag ready at her feet—just in case—and you shake your head.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

“Well,” Nobara says, taking her place between you and Ieiri, “we don’t have much of a choice.”

Twelve minutes feels shorter than it ever has. The first quarter passes in a blur, with Satoru winning the tip-off and both teams scoring well into the twenties within nine minutes flat. The visiting section is louder than it’s ever been, giving the home fans a run for their money—likely because of the Samurai, you think. Todo is hollering like it’s his last day on earth, and Haibara is as invested in this game as any one of his own.

Yaga lets Yuta and Toge on in the second quarter to work their magic, and they don’t disappoint, passing and scoring seamlessly before the Curses can ever hope to pick up on their silent signals.

Satoru is playing harder than you’ve ever seen him play. He’s lightning-quick, all reflexes and instinct, but Geto matches him in speed and strength and skill and strategy and god, it’s like they’re mirrors of each other. Halfway through the second, Hakari goes on to give Satoru a break, and the Heat follow suit with Ryu Ishigori.

You, Nobara, and Ieiri have given up saying anything, all of your attention on the court, rapt. At the start of the third, Kusakabe gives Junpei a long look, considering.

This right here is the highest the stakes can get. Nobody is expecting a rookie to come onto the court and score against a number one seed in the last game of the NBA season.

Maybe that’s why they do it.

Junpei is fresh off the bench, full of energy, and he’s small. He’s fast. He’s exactly what the Sorcerers need to get past Jogo and Mahito, while all of Geto’s attention is focused on Satoru.

The Curses make exactly the mistake they’re supposed to: they don’t take Junpei as a serious threat until it’s too late, and he’s already racked up the score by a solid nine points.

He comes off before the end of the third, after the Curses have caught on and ganged up on him on defense, but he’s grinning and exhausted and happy. You can’t help but catch his smile, let his enthusiasm send sparks of hope through you, too, as Ino goes back on in his place.

“They never stop underestimating,” Nobara muses, looking across the court at a tense Mei Mei.

“Good,” Ieiri says.

For the whole of the fourth quarter, the difference in score is never more than four. Back and forth, back and forth, squeaking shoes and high-pitched whistles and shouts and cheers and boos and the thudthudthud of the ball on the court, or maybe that’s just the noise your heart is making as it tries to break out of your ribcage.

They break the hundreds with a minute left in the game.

98-100, Curses.

You don’t know the last time you breathed.

101-100, Sorcerers.

Every muscle in your body is tense.

103-100, Sorcerers.

You feel detached from your own body, your own breathing loud in your ears.

103-103.

Geto has the ball and Satoru sprints, crossing the court to him in a few long strides, coming face-to-face with the man he’s known since they were teenagers in a high school gymnasium.

Geto’s dribbling, running, and then Satoru stretches out a hand and snags the ball in the blink of an eye and pivots on one foot, his whole body leaning in the direction of the basket, half-court.

Two seconds left on the clock.

There’s no way, someone in the stands is shouting. You want to tell them to shut up. You don’t have time.

You don’t know if it’s an accident, if it’s malicious, if Geto is really just trying to snatch the ball from Satoru’s hand—but you watch with your heart jumping into your throat as his fingers brush Satoru’s headband, dislodging it, pulling it down over his eyes. Like a blindfold.

He can’t see.

One second.

Satoru winds his arm back and throws the ball, blind, right over Geto’s outstretched arm, headband still covering both eyes. He wrenches it off in a flurry of movement and stumbles back, following the arc of the ball as Geto’s head turns to do the same—

Half a second.

Please, you pray to whatever fucking basketball god might be paying attention. You’re too scared to blink. .439 seconds. Time has never felt this slow, the whole of the stadium holding a collective, shocked breath. Orange numbers in your periphery, moving so rapidly you can’t keep up. .004, .003, .002, .001—

And then the world explodes.

“AN AMAZING BUZZER BEATER BY SATORU ‘SIX-EYES’ GOJO! ASTOUNDING SHOT, BLINDFOLDED, WELL PAST THE THREE-POINT LINE—”

“106-103 IN THE SORCERERS' FAVOR! ONE HAND, DID YOU SEE THAT, CHARLES? ONE HAND!”

You rip off the headset, maybe drop it to the floor, you’re not even sure, because the ball went through the net right as the buzzer sounded, and the screams are so deafening you can barely see, and Nobara is shaking you and Ieiri’s jaw is hanging open and the Sorcerers fucking won the NBA title.

Satoru’s surprised gaze finds you from across the court. He’s beaming, drunk on shock and skill and victory, and you are too, and maybe a little drunk on him.

Your feet are moving before you realize they are, pounding across the court like you’re the one playing, and then he’s sweeping you into his arms, his lips on yours, and you’re laughing into each other, and you don’t even care that he’s a sweaty mess because he made it and you beat them, you beat Geto and Mahito and Shigemo and Mei Mei and you won.

Yuji grabs you and Satoru both and drags you into the swarm. You catch Kento’s eye, and he nods at you, blond hair mussed and messy, and it might be the least put-together you’ve ever seen him with his playing goggles knocked half-off his face by the force of Ino’s hug, and he’s full-on smiling.

Megumi launches himself at Yuji and hugs him and it’s the most affection you’ve ever seen him show in public, and Nobara’s filming but not even looking at the screen as she jumps around, hooting and hollering and practically tripping over Junpei’s feet. Yuta has Toge on his shoulders and Hakari is suddenly standing next to Kirara, his secret-not-secret WNBA girlfriend—you didn’t even know she was here—and then the Samurai are jumping out of the stands and there are so many people and life could not get any better than this.

This was your home court, once. You feel like, somehow, you’ve taken part of it back.

“WHAT DID I TELL YOU? THAT’S MY FUCKING NEPHEW!”

You whip around to find Sukuna in the front row, and your jaw drops not because he’s here and yelling and cussing but because oh my god, did he make it the whole game without getting kicked out?

Two security guys abruptly look at each other in alarm and start picking their way through the crowd toward him. Never mind. You’re fairly certain he already got kicked out and somehow just… got back in.

Ieiri yanks you into a hug, then makes a disgusted expression at Satoru when he tries to do the same to her. “You are so sweaty!” she shouts over the din, and he gets that shit-eating grin on his face and runs after her, throwing her over his shoulder despite her protests. You’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe.

—

When the celebration dies down and your cheeks hurt from smiling, the teams line up and shake hands, one by one like a bunch of high schoolers forced to mutter half-hearted good games to the assholes from the other side of town.

Satoru and Geto are the last ones in both lines. And you expect them to brush past each other, not stay in one another’s orbit for a second longer than they have to, but—their interaction is lasting a bit longer than it’s supposed to. Their lips are moving, words you can’t make out. You’re honestly surprised they’re shaking hands at all.

But neither of them seem tense. To your surprise, Satoru barks out a laugh—just once, like he’s surprised by it himself. Geto looks down at his feet, smiling, and when they part ways, it’s with a clap on the back. Like old friends, maybe—or at least, not like enemies.

Interesting.

As your boyfriend—your NBA champion boyfriend—makes his way back to you, your fingers twist in the fabric of the jersey you’re wearing, GOJO printed along the back in blocky white letters.

You raise a brow when he’s within range, looking pointedly between him and the cluster of the other team.

He shakes his head, a little disbelieving, hair falling into his face with his headband slack around his neck. “He, uh. He said good game. But I think it might have also been an apology?” Satoru says, looking a little puzzled. “And… I did too?”

“Good game is… an apology?”

“It just—the way he said it. I don’t know how to explain it. But there’s something there.” Satoru shrugs. “We both could have handled a lot of things better. I’m… I don’t know that we’ll ever go back to the way things were. But he said we don’t need to worry about Mei Mei’s scheming anymore, either.”

Skeptical, you ask, “He can actually talk Mei Mei down?”

Satoru shrugs. “I’m not sure, honestly. But I think she might respect you a little bit for how much she didn’t manage to pull one over on you this season.”

It’s like she knows you’re talking about her. She turns to look at you across the court just as you look at her, and when your eyes meet, the smallest smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. Just for a second, and then she turns away.

But it’s enough for you. Enough for you to believe that things between the Sorcerers and the Curses—between Satoru and Suguru—might change for the better.

You find yourself thinking about shifting dynamics, the way the environment of the team will already be different next season—it always is, you suppose. Nothing in the NBA ever stays still for long. It’s not trading season, but there have been rumblings about Choso Kamo being traded to the Sorcerers. You can only imagine the havoc he and Yuji will create together on the court.

But you’re thinking about that, and you’re thinking about Riko, and you’re thinking about the WNBA and you and Satoru and all the ways this is going to work. You know it.

He must see it in your eyes, because he doesn’t ask what you’re thinking about. He just says, “It’s not a pay cut, and even if it was, you could take it.” He grins, ruffling your hair. “Your boyfriend is super rich, you know.”

“Hah, hah.” You swat his hand away from your hair, but lace your fingers through his, pulling him down toward you for a kiss. “Toru?”

“Mm.”

“I took it.”

Yuki was ecstatic when you called before the game, chattering about emails and paperwork and HR and meetings before cutting herself off and telling you to go enjoy the game. “I’m not a betting girl, but if I was,” she said, “I think things are looking good on your end of the court.”

“Oh my god.” Satoru’s smile could power whole galaxies. “Oh my god. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you,” you say back. “You just won the damn NBA Championship.” But he just smiles at you like the title means nothing to him, not when you’re standing right in front of him. “You know it means I won’t be traveling with you all the time. You’ll see me less.”

“And we’ll make it work,” he says without hesitation. “Because A, I made you a key to my place.” You blink, every word on your tongue suddenly falling away.

“You—what?”

He grins. “And B,” he says, tugging you closer, his voice getting softer as he leans down to whisper in the shell of your ear. “I love you.”

The world around you is still. You’re still, except for the slow, steady smile spreading across your lips. “I have loved you for a long time,” he tells you, “and I don’t plan on stopping.”

“Presumptuous,” you say eventually, and kiss him again. When you pull back he’s grinning, and so are you. “I love you, Toru.”

And the warmth in his eyes lights up the stadium more than the floodlights, more than the scoreboard, more than the camera flashes.

You thought the most electric you’d ever feel would be on the court, dunking, or on the sidelines, watching the ball soar through the air and slip through the net with a swish right as the buzzer went off. But you were wrong on both counts.

The most electric you’ve ever felt, the most yourself you’ve ever felt, is now, is here, is with Satoru Gojo and his hands around your waist and his lips against your lips and his heart beating against yours.

You’re just as proud of him as he is of you, and something deep in you knows this is what love is supposed to be, even footing on a basketball court, love and respect and pride in equal measure, bright eyes and warm hands and the feeling of the whole future at your fingertips.

Today, you watched the man you love score a one-handed three-pointer from half-court with a blindfold over his eyes. Score one for me, Six.

“Was that last one for me?” you ask, grinning up at him. “Some buzzer beater.”

“Oh, yeah.” The smirk his lips curl into makes you want to take the words back, wipe them away before Satoru can say whatever bullshit is on the tip of his tongue, but it’s too late.

“You can beat my—”

“Satoru!”

FIN.

directory. || prev.

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro

a/n: THE END!!! crazy. never written a tumblr fic before. or a jjk fic. or a x reader fic in general. it absolutely was not supposed to get this long, but oops! wild stuff. sad to see it end, but i’ve got something in the works for my man ino!! if there’s anything about the buzzer beater universe you want me to expand on/things you would like to know, flood the asks and i’ll answer. thanks for reading, friends :)

[wobblesthecowgirl]

I'm No O’Driscoll!

Chapter One: Rescue Mission

Tags: Arthur Morgan x Femreader, enemies to lovers, O'Driscoll reader, game plot, Arthur doesn't have tuberculosis, eventual smut, age difference, 18+, mild gore

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: This is my first rdr2 ff! This is also my first time posting ff on tumblr so I hope it's set up nicely! I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading! I hope to make this a long series.

Chapter Two

Despite being a part of the gang, Y/n hated the O’Driscoll’s. Except for Kieran Duffy, who acted like her brother, like her partner in crime. Which was how she found herself in Horseshoe Overlook after following the Van Der Linde Gang.

She used her binoculars to get a better look. It was nighttime, so the only light she had was the moon and the warm glow of the campfire. She pinpointed Kieran, who was sitting on the grass with his hands tied behind a tree. He looked malnourished and weak. The anger upon seeing his sorry state only worsened for the woman, as she sat to think of a plan. She groaned in annoyance. This wasn’t what she usually did. I’m a sniper, she thought to herself, not a stealthy hero.

There were too many people around for her to use her actual skills, so her best bet was to sneak behind the tree and cut him loose without cause a scene. Shoving her binoculars in her satchel and making her way over with her knife in hand, she was able to get to the tree.

“Kieran!” Y/n whisper shouted, causing the poor man to jump out of his skin. He turned his head around, and his eyes widened when he saw who it was.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?”

“Getting you, dumbass.” She already started cutting at the rope, which was too thick for her knife.

“Leave me! This gang is real scary.” He pleaded, “If they catch you, you’ll end up like me…or worse!”

She ignored his pleas for her to abandon him and focused on getting the rope loose. She was halfway there, the rope almost freeing him, when she got caught.

“Hey!” The voice was low and gruff. Y/n snapped her head up to see a tall, broad man with a beaten cowboy hat on, pointing a pistol right at her. She moved away from the tree slowly, but before she could make a run for it, he shot her in the thigh. She instantly fell to the ground, screaming in agony as she held the wound in hopes to stop the bleeding. The fabric of her jeans didn’t help ease the pain as it was now sticking to her wound.

The man ran towards her, pulling her up harshly and propping her up against the tree next to Kieran, who was calling out to her, as she was tied up. He was right, she was now in the exact same position he was in. 

The man who shot her was glaring as others from the gang showed up. 

“Dutch!” The man called out for the ringleader, who jogged over.

“What is it, Arthur?” 

The man she now knew as Arthur gestured at her sorry state before replying, “We have another O’Driscoll, I caught her trying to free our friend Kieran.” 

Everyone was staring at her whimpering state. Her hair was messy from the journey over, her black button up top had been untucked from her jeans, her satchel and belt were barely intact, and her wound was only getting worse. 

“Well now, she doesn’t seem like that much of a threat!” Dutch chuckled, earning a glare from Y/n.

“You shot me!” She hissed at Arthur, who seemed surprised by her feisty nature despite bleeding out; she knew it was a risky move, especially as she was becoming lightheaded. 

Arthur pointed at her, his eyebrows furrowed, “Of course I did. You snuck onto our camp, trying to free our prisoner!” He then turned to a woman with black hair in a messy bun.

“Abigail, will you please tend to her wound. Can’t interrogate her if she dies on us.” 

Abigail nodded her head as he thanked her, and she soon returned with medical supplies. Everyone kept a close eye on her, hatred in their eyes. An older man with a grey hair spoke up to Dutch, “Are you sure it’s wise to have another O’Driscoll on camp? Having too many may cause a riot.” 

“I think this is a great opportunity!” The gang’s leader said, “She came all this way for him, so they must care for one another. We can use that against them when getting the information we need on Colm.” 

Y/n’s eyes were going fuzzy, and Kieran’s cries were starting to sound far away. Abigail made her way over with the med kit; she seemed to be talking to the wounded O’Driscoll but was ignored as she began to pass out. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

When she awoke again, the sunlight blinded her, and every inch of her body ached. Her arms were cramped, her neck snore, but the biggest pain was her thigh, which felt like it had been beaten and set on fire. She looked down to see the wound had been disinfected and sewn up, and the fabric had been cut a little to get to it, leaving her thigh exposed. 

“Y/n! You’re awake! Oh, I was so worried!” Kieran’s voice caught her attention, who sighed with relief; he was stood up, most likely to stretch his legs. 

“I’m sorry.” Were her first words to him, she stretched her legs out in front of her and winced as a sharp stabbing pain went up her leg. 

“No, I’m sorry. It’s my fault you got shot, and now you’re a hostage too.” He also apologised, a sympathetic look on his face which matched that of a kicked puppy.

“Hey, don’t go crying now.” She warned him, rolling her eyes like she always did. He nodded his head but looked away, probably to go against her request. However, her attention was diverted to the very man who shot her, as he strode over to her. 

“You’re awake.” He stated, standing in front of her, making her look up at him from her seating position. He must’ve been at least six two and built like a brick house. Either way, she wasn’t winning a physical fight against him any time soon. 

“I appear to be.” She stated, deciding to be cocky. If she was going to die, she wanted to die with her dignity and sarcasm. He clicked his tongue, clearly not impressed with her quick remark. 

“I wouldn’t get smart if I were you. Someone in your position can’t afford to be arrogant.” He folded his arms as she scoffed, shaking her head.

“My position? You mean shot in the leg and tied up? If anything, I think this calls for sarcastic remarks towards the very man who put me in this predicament.” 

“I hope you talk this much when I ask you about Colm.” He sighed, rubbing is eyes and placing one hand on his hip. She went quiet, realising being shot and tied up were probably the start of a long, antagonising death. 

“Well don’t get quiet now.” Arthur snapped, but she looked away from him, receiving a small groan from the older man. 

“We can start of easy.” He began, “What’s your name?” 

Still facing away from him, she replied, “Why should you get the honours of knowing that?” 

“I can see that wasn’t an easy question.” The irritation was laced in his words as she refused to cooperate. She looked up at him again, who had an impatient look on his face. It seemed he wasn’t going to leave till she answered.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” She mocked, the same irritation in her words. He shot me, why should I make this easy for him?

“Are you a child?” He scoffed, his eyes narrowing but still answered her, “Arthur. Arthur Morgan.”

She hummed after hearing his name, and then fell silent. The wind picked up, causing Y/n’s hair to get messier, and creating goosebumps along her skin. The man sighed before walking towards Kieran who instantly cowered. Her once bored attitude was no more, now she was on high alert.

“Look,” Arthur began, “I ain’t gonna hit you, I don’t hit ladies. But I do hit men, and you clearly care for this one. If you don’t start talking, he’s gonna get hurt, and you don’t want him to get hurt, do you?” 

She watched as Arthur swung his leg back and kicked her friend hard on the shin, causing him to crouch down in pain and wriggle his bound wrists. 

“Alright! It’s Y/n L/n! You asshole!” She spat at him, trying to get the man away from Kieran. Arthur smirked and made his way back over to the woman. Oh, how I would love to smack that smug look off his face. 

“There we go, that’s much better. Well Miss L/n, you wanna tell me where Colm O’Driscoll is hiding?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t care to share that type of information with me.”

“Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing a word she said. All she could do was nod her head, not bothering to develop her answer further. Arthur shrugged his shoulders, “Suit yourself. The longer you put off telling us, the longer you go without food.” He stated before turning around and walking off back to his tent, leaving Y/n to glare daggers at his back.

“This is real bad. I’ve gone days without food, I can’t take it much longer.” Kieran made sure Arthur was gone before her conversed with her. She tried moving her leg again, but the pain was unbearable.

 

“Just you wait Kieran. We are going to get out of here, and I’ll make sure I snipe that man right between his eyes. Whatever you do, don’t tell them anything. We won’t be able to go back, we’d be hung for selling Colm out.” 

Kieran rested the back of his head against the tree, looking dead ahead.

“I don’t think I want to go back.”

“We don’t have a choice,” She exhaled, “We would be hunted down if we tried to be lone wolves. We are bound to the O’Driscoll gang till we die. Let’s just make sure our death is merciful.” 

With that, the two captives fell silent, watching the rest of the campers go about their day: eating, doing chores, and laughing with one another as the days ticked on.