#their equally maniacal grins

[dailydccomics]

Green Arrow and the Speedys Green Arrow vol 3 #47

[sh4nksslvt]

Yolo! Can I request for luffy x immortal! Reader? Reader is unable to die, each and every injury will heal after readers heart stops beating, bringing them back to life shortly afterwards. But Luffy didn't know of readers devil fruit, and felt a range of emotions seeing readers lifeless body, only to find out that they came back to life later on.

The ending is entirely up to you! I just want to know on how this scenario will play out, and thank you for your amazing works!

ohh thats intersting, hope u like this!

Can't Keep a Good Pirate Down

Luffy discovers his immortal lover’s devil fruit power the hard way when a chaotic island brawl leaves them temporarily dead, sparking hilarity and heartfelt moments.

luffy X fem!reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, slight angst, sfw, chaos, hurt/comfort, near death(?)lol, ooc(?) a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe and akward word count: 1.7k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The Thousand Sunny bobbed gently at the dock of a vibrant, chaotic island called Fiesta Isle, where the air smelled of roasted meat, gunpowder, and questionable decisions. The island was a pirate’s paradise—street markets overflowing with food, shady merchants peddling “authentic” treasure maps, and brawls breaking out every ten minutes. Naturally, the Straw Hat Pirates fit right in. Luffy had declared it “the best island ever” within five minutes of docking, mostly because he’d spotted a stall selling grilled squid skewers as big as his arm.

You, the immortal wielder of the Yomigaeri-Yomigaeri no Mi, were having the time of your life. Your devil fruit power was a bizarre one: no matter how grievous the injury, you’d heal completely after your heart stopped, reviving shortly after. It was a secret you’d kept from most of the crew, not out of mistrust but because you hadn’t found the right moment to explain, “Hey, I die sometimes, but it’s cool, I get better.” You’d been Luffy’s partner for months, drawn to his infectious energy and unshakable heart, but even he didn’t know about your power. Today, you figured, was as good a day as any to keep enjoying the chaos without spilling the beans.

The crew had scattered across Fiesta Isle for their usual shenanigans. Zoro was napping in an alley, Sanji was flirting with a fruit vendor, Nami was haggling over a suspiciously cheap ruby, and Usopp was regaling a crowd with tales of his “8,000 followers.” You and Luffy, meanwhile, were in the thick of a street festival, where a brawl had erupted over who got the last meat skewer. Luffy, predictably, was at the center of it, laughing like a maniac as he dodged punches and flung pirates into fruit stalls.

“C’mon, Y/N!” Luffy called, his grin wide as he stretched his arm to yank you into the fray. “This is fun!”

You laughed, ducking a flying bottle. “You’re gonna owe me a new shirt if this gets ripped, captain!” Your sword flashed as you parried a drunk pirate’s cutlass, sending him stumbling into a pile of melons. The crowd roared, half cheering, half throwing punches. It was pure, glorious chaos, and you loved every second of it.

Until, of course, things went sideways.

A hulking pirate with a mace the size of a small cow charged through the crowd, aiming for Luffy. You saw it coming and, without thinking, shoved Luffy out of the way. “Look out—!” The mace connected with your chest, sending you flying through a stall of questionable seafood. Wood splintered, shrimp went airborne, and you hit the ground hard, ribs definitely not in the right shape anymore.

“[Y/N]!” Luffy’s voice cut through the din, equal parts shock and fury. He spun, his eyes blazing, and launched himself at the mace-wielding pirate. “Gomu Gomu no Pistol!” His fist stretched, slamming the guy into a nearby tavern wall, which promptly collapsed. The crowd scattered, screaming, as Luffy skidded to your side.

You were sprawled in the wreckage, eyes closed, blood trickling from your mouth. Your heart had stopped—standard procedure for your devil fruit. You’d be back in a minute, good as new, but Luffy didn’t know that. To him, you looked… dead.

“Y/N?” Luffy’s voice cracked as he dropped to his knees, shaking your shoulders. “Hey, c’mon, get up! You’re tougher than that!” His hands hovered over you, unsure, his usual confidence shattered. The festival noise faded as the crew started converging, drawn by the commotion.

Sanji arrived first, cigarette nearly falling from his lips. “What the hell happened?!” He glared at the unconscious mace guy, then at you, his face paling. “Oh no, no, no—Y/N-chan?!”

Zoro jogged over, katanas half-drawn. “She’s not moving. Luffy, what—”

“She’s fine!” Luffy snapped, but his voice wobbled. He shook you harder, his straw hat slipping back. “She’s gotta be fine! Y/N, wake up!” His eyes were wide, searching your face for any sign of life. The sight of you—motionless, bloodied—hit him like a cannonball. He’d seen plenty of fights, plenty of injuries, but this was different. This was you.

Nami skidded to a stop, her hand over her mouth. “Is she…?”

“Don’t say it!” Luffy shouted, his voice raw. “She’s not—!” He froze, his hands trembling. For the first time in forever, Monkey D. Luffy looked scared.

Usopp, panting from running, clutched his slingshot. “We need Chopper! Where’s Chopper?!”

“Chopper’s on the ship!” Robin said, appearing with her calm but concerned demeanor. Her arms bloomed around you, gently checking for a pulse. “Luffy, she—”

Before Robin could finish, your body twitched. A faint glow pulsed under your skin, your devil fruit kicking in. Your ribs snapped back into place, your wounds sealed, and your heart gave a dramatic thump. Your eyes flew open, and you gasped, sitting up like you’d just woken from a nap.

“Ow,” you groaned, rubbing your chest. “That guy hits like a damn Sea King.”

The crew stared, jaws dropped. Luffy blinked, his face a mix of shock, relief, and utter confusion. “Y/N?! You’re… you’re alive?!”

You grinned, brushing shrimp guts off your shoulder. “Yeah, sorry about that. Forgot to mention—I can’t die. Yomigaeri-Yomigaeri no Mi. Kinda my thing.”

Luffy gaped, then grabbed you in a bone-crushing hug, nearly sending you back to the ground. “You idiot! You scared me!” His voice was muffled against your shoulder, but the relief in it was palpable. “I thought you were gone!”

You laughed, patting his back. “Takes more than a mace to keep me down, captain. You okay?”

“Me?!” Luffy pulled back, his eyes comically wide. “You were dead! Dead! And now you’re not! What the heck?!”

Sanji lit a new cigarette, still shaken. “You could’ve warned us, you know. I almost had a heart attack.”

Zoro snorted, sheathing his swords. “Tch. Should’ve known. No one that reckless dies easy.”

Nami smacked your arm, then winced, realizing you’d just “died.” “Don’t do that again! Do you know how much I was planning to charge Luffy for your funeral?!”

“Funeral?!” you and Luffy said in unison, then burst out laughing.

Robin chuckled, her arms retracting. “A fascinating devil fruit. You’ll have to tell us more, Y/N.”

Usopp, still clutching his slingshot, pointed accusingly. “You can’t just die and come back like it’s nothing! That’s not normal! Even for us!”

Before you could respond, the mace-wielding pirate groaned, stirring in the rubble. Luffy’s grin turned feral. “Oh, you’re awake? Good.” He cracked his knuckles. “Nobody hits my Y/N and gets away with it!”

You grabbed his arm, laughing. “Lu, chill! I’m fine, see? Let’s not start another brawl… yet.”

He pouted but relented, crossing his arms. “Fine. But you’re explaining this fruit thing. Right now.”

Back on the Thousand Sunny, the crew gathered in the galley, where Sanji whipped up a feast to “celebrate Y/N-chan not being dead.” The table was piled with meat, rice, and questionable cocktails, and the mood was a mix of chaotic relief and nosy curiosity. You sat next to Luffy, who kept sneaking glances at you like you might keel over again.

“So,” you started, holding a skewer, “my devil fruit makes me immortal. Sorta. Any injury, no matter how bad, heals when my heart stops. Then I come back, good as new. Downside? It hurts like hell every time.”

Chopper, who’d finally joined the party, gasped, his medical brain in overdrive. “That’s incredible! But also terrifying! What about your organs? Your brain? Do you age?!”

You shrugged. “Dunno. Haven’t aged much since I ate it ten years ago. Organs seem fine. Brain’s… questionable, but that’s just me.”

Luffy, munching on a chicken leg, frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me? I was freaking out!”

You ruffled his hat, grinning. “Didn’t wanna worry you. Plus, it’s not like I die every day. Usually, I dodge the big hits.”

“Usually?!” Nami shrieked. “You mean this has happened before?!”

“Uh… maybe a few times,” you admitted, scratching your neck. “There was that cannonball incident in Alabasta, and the time I fell off a cliff in Skypiea—”

“You WHAT?!” Luffy and Chopper yelled, while Zoro choked on his sake.

Robin smiled serenely. “You fit right in with this crew.”

Sanji slid a plate of desserts your way, still a bit pale. “If you die again, at least do it after dinner. I’m not wasting good food on a corpse.”

You laughed, grabbing a pastry. “Deal. But no promises.”

Luffy slung an arm around you, his grin back in full force. “You’re so cool, Y/N! SHISHISHI! Immortal! That’s awesome! But no more dying, okay? I don’t like it.”

You leaned into him, warmth spreading through you. “No promises, captain. But I’ll try to keep the dramatic deaths to a minimum.”

Usopp leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Wait, wait, wait. Have you ever used this to prank people? Like, pretend to die and then pop up like, ‘Boo!’?”

You smirked. “Oh, yeah. Scared a whole Marine base once. They thought I was a ghost. Ran screaming.”

The crew erupted in laughter, Usopp slamming the table. “We gotta try that! Luffy, let’s fake Y/N’s death next island!”

“No way!” Luffy said, hugging you tighter. “She’s not dying again, even for a prank!”

“Aw, c’mon,” you teased, poking his cheek. “It’d be hilarious. Imagine their faces!”

Luffy pouted, then grinned. “Okay, maybe. But only if I get to punch the Marines after.”

“Deal,” you said, sealing it with a kiss on his cheek. He blushed, then laughed, pulling you into his lap. The crew groaned, but their smiles said they were used to your antics.

Later, as the party wound down, you and Luffy sat on the Sunny’s figurehead, the night sky glittering above Fiesta Isle. The festival lights twinkled below, and the crew’s laughter echoed from the galley. Luffy’s arms were wrapped around you, his chin on your shoulder.

“I really thought I lost you,” he said quietly, the rare serious tone making your heart ache. “It sucked.”

You turned, cupping his face. “I’m sorry, Lu. I didn’t mean to scare you. But I’m here, okay? And I’m not going anywhere. Not for real.”

He nodded, his eyes searching yours. “Good. ‘Cause you’re my Y/N. And I can't be a pirate king without you. And… y’know, other stuff.”

You laughed, kissing him softly. “Other stuff, huh? Like eating all your meat?”

He gasped, mock-offended. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me, captain.”

He tackled you, both of you collapsing in a giggling heap. The Thousand Sunny rocked gently, the island’s chaos a distant hum. You were immortal, sure, but moments like this—with Luffy’s laughter, the crew’s warmth, and the promise of adventure—made you feel truly alive.

[atyourmerci]

Ethical dilemma

Therapist!ellie (read part 2 here)

CW: smut, MDNI, dom!ellie, bratsub!reader, sexual tension is fuckin palpable, blindfold, hypnosis, walked through orgasm, talks of masturbation, mutual pining but there’s laws oh no!, no y/n, no pdor

A/N: I fear this is so self-indulgent I will not be elaborating

X

“Highly unethical,” the auburn haired woman gives a small laugh, standing from her seat to walk you out as she always did. You’d asked about the details of the girl you see in her waiting room after you every Thursday. Dr. Williams was not privy to your sexual endeavors that came from her own hands…well her office for this manner.

She was a good therapist, best you’d ever had truly. Sure she understood all the lesbian lingo, formalities and functions that didn’t need to be gaysplaned to an unfortunate witness. But it felt as if she truly understood you, had a true knack to play out your actions before you ever thought of them. It was her job to fix your fuckups, not predict them.

She felt it, when you changed. How much thicker the air got, how she could slice it with her knife. The way your body expanded in her chair shifted, opening your chest for sight. Your gaze started to only focus on her, directed, pointed even, letting your lips open. When you started drawling out moments of your sexual endeavors down to every touch, how you tried to read her as she read you. You tried to make her crack, see any sense of appeal, to which she responded akin to a brick fucking wall.

Hell she knew your ‘new hookup’ was a sham, you were just dying to plead to her how unsatisfied ‘she’ left you. She knew the person you were, she knew you best after all, didn’t she now? You’d never stay, and she clocked it.

But she played your game, nodding along, letting you babble about all the times you had to finish yourself off afterwards.

She’d let herself have that, the pleasure of thought, the images of your panting breath, dry fingers, and cracked lips. In another life she’d agree to help you out, fix your ache. But Ellie was an ethical woman, level-headed, and morally sound, this was not her circus to corral.

She’d just remind you to focus on yourself, in whatever form that came.

‘Tell me to fuck myself’ you’d pray in your mind, begging for a mere innuendo from her, anything to use for later. You wished she’d talk you through it, and she would, in another life.

The entire time you’re rambling on she’d think of the ways she would walk you through it, praising you for how good you were doing, how beautiful you looked messy and broken down just for her. But a respected woman has limitations, rules, structures built exiling that from her will, “is there a reason you keep going back to her? Even though you don’t feel satisfied?”

“I need it,” you remark frankly, desire white hot that ate away at your skin like a bad infection.

“You need sex?” Ellie questions, her eyes forming into a squint as her head cocks. She cant seem to write this down, engulfed by your blatant admission.

“Don’t we all doctor…don’t you?” came out utterly direct, shifting your weight to your forearms that now rested on your thighs that allowed your blouse to reveal the peaks of your breasts. Maybe you were trying to intimidate her, and maybe it worked.

“This isn’t about me,” she said, but not what she thought, and you clocked it. The way her teeth drew in her bottom lip, the furrow of her brows, busying her gaze down to her blank paper. Never mustering up a reason to record your sessions, what was she to say? Lines blurring to an extent that shouldn’t allow you to still be here.

“But isn’t it?” you dart back, a grin easing up your lips, equally as maniacal as it was sensual. A pleading request for her to sink her teeth into, to rip the flesh from bone.

She should have asked you to never return, refer you to another doctor. Suddenly so aware of her surroundings, breaking herself from your delusions, “thats time, I’ll walk you out,” but she couldn’t, giving you a pitied smile, standing from her chair.

-

“Id like to try something new today,” Ellie says, an air of hesitancy rings through your ears.

“You going to reveal the skeletons in your closet Doctor?” You say in a teasing manner, crossing your legs in your usual spot, but Ellie remained standing.

A glimmer of a smirk forming on her lips, “have you heard of hypnotherapy?”

“First a doctor, now a magician what a pay drop,” you snide.

“Do you trust me?”

She had you lie on her couch, uncharted territory, too spacious for comfort, for rules and barriers, “now close your eyes for me,” Ellie remarks, seated on top of the coffee table, inches from the couch.

“what if I cant keep them closed, will I fuck up the juju?” you say peeping at her with one eye.

“I have a bandana-“ knowing you’ll cut in with your sexual advances she cuts off your process, “-for hypnosis, would you like that?”

You tie the black cloth around your eyes, cutting off the essential sense, suddenly so aware of your body. Feeling the tips of your fingers, the race of your heart, beating the blood to your veins.

“Tell me what you see,” the doctor pries, watching your open mouth, the way it releases at her words. The steady rise and fall of your chest, the control she had over your undirected weight.

“its just me.”

“Where are you?”

“I- I don’t know, it’s white everywhere,” Your senses so heightened, feeling the breath as it escapes your throat.

“What are you feeling,” Ellie says palming her hands, eager to break you down. The desire the scale the walls of your mind.

“Frustrated,” your breath beginning to shorten, that eery feeling creeping back into your bones.

“what else?”

“it hurts- hurts so bad” the burning to be satiated, body still yet so charged.

“Whats making it hurt?” Ellie could help, ease your killing wounds. Would she, or would she watch as you wilt like a flower in the beating sun?

“I cant fix it, it wont stop,” you pant out, sweat dripping down the valley of your chest.

“Are you touching yourself?” she leaps, walking the tight rope as a foot slips.

“yes-yes,” your mouth agape, fists balling into a white grip at your sides.

“You need to finish, don’t you?” she revels in your pain, the unstilted need.

“I need you,” you corrupt, breaking the thin layer of morals that stood between you and your desires.

“Im there with you, aren’t I always?” she taunts, voiding herself of her principles. Allowing herself to play into her horrors, you were merely a symbol of prey.

“Please-“ you breathe out, on the cusp of release at the expense of her mercy. Blood running hot as your cunt pulses untouched.

Bringing her mouth to the edge of your face, you feel her breathe through your body, breaking through your flesh.

Ever so softly, “let me satisfy you.”

[suguru-getos]

jjk men as the type of yanderes:

characters included: gojo, geto, yuta, megumi, sukuna

gojo satoru:

yandere tendency: manipulative, overpowered, soft.

gojo satoru is the type of yandere who will be fine with most of your antics. his little baby trying so hard to annoy him? how absolutely adorable of her. the thing is, he also knows he is too powerful for you and that subjecting you to that power is going to have consequences. he's always kind, nice, happy-go-lucky around you. he tries to take the subtle route, ask you out for dates and stuff but he lacks patience. he has so much love to offer he can't wait for you to reciprocate. he would eventually just kidnap you. however you get everything you want and need. he wouldn't even take your phone away, just don't talk to men and don't even… dare. to talk. about. leaving him. that triggers him. the only time he has been truly, unforgiving and blinding hot with his rage was when you fled away from the gojo estate. you saw him dancing around in the sky, floating with a maniacal grin as you tried to hide amongst the flooded trees in the estate where he just chanted. "no matter where you go, I will find you always, come out on your own and you won't see daddy's punishments." he meant it, and you didn't have the guts to disobey him. like a squeaky, meek rat, you came out from under one of the trees, satoru in front of you looking down with gritted jaw. "haven't I given you enough?" his hold on your jaw is firm as he picks you up, tosses you over his shoulder and walks back to the estate. his coldness is difficult to handle since he's always simping around you, but let's say you needed to re-assure him that you wouldn't leave by giving him your first kiss. he doesn't really do forcing but you'd much rather have the old satoru back. this one has trust issues and this one knows how to manipulate you. "you know one of these days you'd make me so angry I kill everyone you hold dear princess. it wouldn't be something I would want to do… but I- i- just lose control." scary, nice, and ever so kind and manipulative>

geto suguru:

yandere tendency: hot and cold, gaslighting, extremely loving.

suguru is simple and patient. as long as you are in front of his eyes he does not mind anything at all. however, there are times when his carefully twisted smile turns into a frown whenever you disobey him. suguru is good to you when you are good to him. if you do not listen to him then there are punishments for everything. maybe you wouldn't get to talk to your friends for a week. "you don’t deserve me being so kind when all you do is hurt me." suguru knows how to bend you to his will, when you get rebellious over it and ex: stop eating food, he does not have any problem forcing food down your throat by keeping one of his curses latched to your body. what else can you do? vomit it out?? out of sheer spite?? suguru geto has a solution for everything. if you do so, he's going to pretend he's surrendering, hold you in his arms and be so kind as if he's so guilty for making 'you' act up. if only he'd been good enough yeah? then you wouldn't be so rebellious. he's going to be so good, show his true devotion to you. aw? why're you crying? he's just trying to make you cum! over and over and over! hey! it’s just body worship. don't squirm away angel… at the end of it you're a sobbing, overstimulated mess and bent down to his will. suguru can make punishments sexual because he's delusional enough to think that giving you painful pleasure is not equal to hurting you. he would give you so much aftercare though, call you perfect, call you a champion for dealing with it, give you body massages, if you really don't bend to his will… he's manipulative enough to kneel down and stain your thighs with his tears as he leans his head on your thigh and mumbles how sorry he truly feels.

yuta okkutsu:

yandere tendency: too nice, forgiving, delusional.

yuta knows being couped up like this does not feel nice. he calls you his little hummingbird. because you sound so adorable begging and screaming to be freed. if only he could do that. "the world outside is really bad baby, I'm sure you don't know that and I'm so glad you don't. I will make sure you wouldn't know anything about it as well." he has you on his lap, forcing a hug and tearing up whenever you resist. his heart gets instantly broken when you resist his affections though. that… makes him extremely dramatic. why would you do that to him? hasn't he been nice? yuta would never willingly, knowingly hurt you. never… but accidents happen okay? especially when someone loves you so much, then the betrayal also brings the worst emotions there is. he would 'accidentally' break your wrist by holding you too tight when you're squirming away, would accidentally cause you dizzy spells by kissing you too hard. you're just so delectable and so easily broken how can someone like him keep steady? after the accidents happen yuta changes, he almost goes… distant. as if he does not trust himself around you. around his precious little baby… until it re-starts all over again. however, he does have a stern belief that you love him too. you're just too shy to accept. his beautiful, shy little thing.

fushiguro megumi:

yandere tendency: stern, disciplining, in-control

fushiguro is no stranger to the twisted feeling that brims within the depths of his heart whenever he sees you. but he also knows that it would be futile to expect you to feel the same. he knows he needs to earn it. but god- when you love someone else already? why did you have to do that? can't you really see you were meant for him? the logical part him tries to overpower the illogical, love-sick version and fantasy of you taking his cock and belly full with his kids but falls in vain. megumi really is sorry… when he strangles your partner to death in front of you. he really does not want you to see it, but then how else will he show you what he is capable of? what he can do if you do not listen to him? he lets you take your space after and grieve in his bedroom, which is now your shared bedroom. the first few weeks, you're too terrified of him to not listen to him. however… he doesn't even touch you. you just have a few set of rules. eat on time, sleep on time, come to him for anything and forget about everything except him. he would sit beside you and run his hands through your hair, soothing you through the breakdowns. "I will tolerate this for as long as you need, but do know… that man is dead for a reason. no person in love with you is allowed to live. except me." megumi is almost unhinged with his feelings and there would be repercussions. for example: you said you would rather die than love him? how can you say that? have you seen the future? no right? then how could you say that? nothing breaks a brat better than some spanking. the humiliation intermingled with the pain is sure to set you straight. and yes- it does. at the end of it, you're too bent to his will, seeking comfort from him as you cry out against his chest and he softly coos sweet nothings against your ear.

ryomen sukuna:

yandere tendency: sadistic, lethal, manipulative, selfish

half of the time, sukuna does not acknowledge that he has fallen for a human. you're torn with the king of curses fighting with his own self, and still keeping you close. sukuna does not show affection normally. he is the master of evil, the pure reincarnation of all the negativity. at first he would keep you with him. his true form is too big and too scary for you to retaliate either. you just need to be a puppet. he hates and loves it how you are so teeny tiny compared to him. a feeble little human, his little lamb. he often threatens you with pure violence. he would rip a finger out and heal you with reversed curse techniques since he does not like his masterpiece broken. rules are simple: you do what sukuna sama desires and what sukuna sama wants. otherwise- you suffer the punishments. there are times where he had been cruel enough to eat your past relationships in front of you, alive, the sound of gnawing at flesh as he consumes them while the high adrenaline keeping them alive is your worst nightmare. you are allowed to throw up, it is a gory sight of course. but then you must apologize for being filthy in front of your master by sitting on both his cocks. very unhinged, the scariest yandere in the jjk-verse imo.

[sillysowa]

IF YOU STOP NOW, I SWEAR I'LL KILL YOU

Pairing: Satoru Gojo X Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut with plot, fluff and light angst snuck into the end

Word Count: 8.2K

Warnings: Inappropriate use of a cursed technique, bondage with Gojo's blindfold, semi-public sex(?), oral (fem receiving), penetrative sex, reader tastes their own cum

Synopsis: You've known Gojo since high school, and he's always enjoyed getting on your nerves, so of course he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to train you now that you're both teachers at Jujutsu High. How can he keep his composure when you show him your cursed technique? The one that allows him to feel everything he does to you? You feel too good to quit, not like Satoru could dream of stopping anyway

Reblogs are sooo appreciated!!<3

-

Your spine slammed against the hard floor for what you hoped would be the last time that night, and the groan that tore from your throat made your haughty counterpart laugh. You gave in and went limp, but Gojo kept up, his strong arms locked onto your frame to keep you restrained, to train you the best he could. Recently, you had been incredibly eager to learn, and Satoru was equally as keen to teach you because he just loved your spunk. It was nice to have someone he went to high school with come back into his life, even though you were a lot more of a bitch in training than he remembered. However, he allowed all your sass because he couldn’t let you go out in the world saying you’ve learned from 'the one and only, the best, Satoru Gojo!' only to perform in any way that didn’t meet his standards, so he trained you, even when it disrupted his sleep. 

“You giving up, sweetheart?” Gojo sneered, staring down at you with his captivating blue eyes that you could’ve sworn were glowing in the low light. You didn’t like to look too hard, worried his six eyes ability might have some side-effect on you, but he seems to relish in this subtlety. Your body language tells him more than your words ever do. He shifts his head to maintain eye contact and his hair falls loosely around his eyes. You on the other hand attempt to hide your face against your own neck. 

“No.” You huff, blowing your hair out of your eyes with an exhale as your hands are currently out of commission, Gojo’s strong grip securing them down. he cracks a cocky smile at your body language, eyeing you up and down while he keeps your wrists crossed and pinned at your torso, both of your legs under one of his. You may say you haven’t given up, but your resolve is cracking. When you started hours ago, you were calm, and collected, and you could keep up with Gojo well enough, but now? Something shifted, and you seemed…nervous. 

Satoru Gojo was pretty sure he knew exactly what had made you so hot and bothered. He suspected it had something to do with the lingering touches throughout the night — when he had clasped both of your hands behind your back and bent you over his knee, when you pinned him down with your legs spread on either side of his waist, and probably most of all when he pulled your hair so you couldn’t escape him, putting you in the position you were currently in.

“Really? Sure looks like you are — wanna show me, or are you all bark and no bite?” Gojo grins, and when he does this, he’s close enough for you to see the amused squint of one of his eyes when he tilts his head to emphasize his point. It’s sheer maniacal joy at the expense of his precious shadow. You blink and suddenly he’s standing a good six feet away from you, and you’re lying on the floor like an idiot, starting to massage your wrists as you stand. 

You let the silence linger for a moment while you readjust your casual attire that’s starting to stick to your skin, and Gojo watches intently, his posture wide and taking up space in the small room.

“Why don’t you quit talking and find out?” You rasp out and anyone who walked by would assume you hadn’t spoken in weeks based on the gravelly delivery of your words, but no one would be walking by as it was just the two of you who were crazy enough to train at this hour. 

Gojo’s face lit up in delight, and he stepped closer, “Are you taunting me? That's exciting.” You saw him for only a moment and had no time to react before your hands were held tightly behind your back and his large frame was pressing hard against your back, his warm breath fanning over your neck and making your hair prick up. 

“You've got this, come on.” This time, Gojo’s not trying to provoke you, instead he aims to teach and encourage you — however, when sparring with someone like him, any motivation feels like mockery. 

You twisted against him and pulled his arm over your back, flipping him over you, but he grabbed onto your arm in the fall and brought you down with him. You’re face to face once more, those wild blue eyes squinted in a smile like this is just mere child’s play. You know what needs to happen, what Gojo’s been expecting this entire time. 

You clap your hands together, fingers interlocking in patterns only you know,

“Mirror technique: reflective chamber.”

And a visible wave of cursed energy flows over Gojo, blue rippling waves cascading down his form. Now, anything Gojo deals to you, he deals to himself also. For a moment, you both just huff and glare at each other, trying to catch your breaths through the summer night’s air. He scoffs and then laughs, but it’s a little different than the others of the night. Gojo’s laughing in excitement,

“Oh!” His tone fluctuates mockingly, “Don’t know if I should be congratulating you for finally figuring this out or if I should be worried! What do you think, hm? Should I be scared?-“

“I think you should quit this mind game you keep playing, I know what you’re trying to do — now come at me.” You sneer. Typically, you’re not this brash with Gojo, but the combination of the lack of sleep and his antics is starting to wear on your moral compass. Besides, you know he can handle it, having put up with your attitude throughout highschool. Satoru has always made it his goal to crack your shell and get a feel of your soft side, and he couldn't think of a better opportunity than these intimate late nights together,  

���If you wish.” Gojo smirks, eyeing you with fake concern before coming at you and landing a kick to your ankles that sweeps you right off your feet. You both know you let it happen out of sheer curiosity, and you barely notice the pain because you’re carefully watching Gojo’s expression as you fall, praying to see a change. You catch on quickly and grunt as your tailbone hits the floor,

“What the hell?” You groan, realizing that Gojo’s infinity prevents your technique from having any effects on him,

“Gojo, make this a real fucking fight, and stop using your infinity shit!” You hiss at the man who’s standing above you now, and when you go to grab at his ankle your whole body stills from his technique. You struggle and he watches with amusement before he deactivates it to watch you fall forward like a fool tugging on a rubber band, wounding themselves from the released elastic.

“Ah, alright, alright, I’ll humor you. but just this once, ‘kay?” Satoru’s silk voice comes from behind you as you pant on all fours, turning to face him as he slowly walks closer. 

You’re a little taken aback at the sight of Gojo dropping to his knees in front of you. It’s slow and cautious, unlike anything he’s done in your training, and you feel your whole face starting to burn as he puts his hands up defensively while coming closer — with anger or embarrassment you’re not quite sure, but it makes you feel like a lab rat rather than a human being, especially with the way his height cages you in,

“Gojo-“

“Ah-ah-ah! You wanted to practice your technique, correct? well,” He moves until your knees are at his chest, and even though his infinity isn’t activated, you feel as though you can’t move. 

“Let’s practice…” Satoru looks down at your arms that you’re using to prop yourself up, and you don’t follow his gaze, instead, you’re distracted by his long eyelashes and the small amounts of sweat that cling to his face, and how this close, for this long, you can smell him, and fuck, he smells sweet. Delicious even — you feel like you could take a bite out of him. Amid your thinking, you’re cut off by a slender finger tracing down your arm and forcing you to meet his gaze at the point of contact,

Gojo hums, one hand up to his chin, fingers gently rubbing and eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and his other hand steadily traces up and down your forearm, his ocean eyes watch as your skin pricks up and reacts to the touch, his skin following soon after.

“Hmm…it’s faint, but I can feel it too.” He gently hums. His demeanor is so relaxed it’s almost got you in a trance, lost in the moment completely. The wind whistles through the trees, the moon glows into the room through the open door, and your mentor, Satoru Gojo, is practically on top of you just tracing your skin.

You feel a sudden sharp pinch on your wrist, and you suck in a quick breath, tugging away from Gojo before his hand seizes you in place, long fingers grappling onto you.

Gojo’s own eyes twitch momentarily from the small sting, but he cracks a grin, 

“So sensitive — that was nothing!” Satoru taunts you, but there isn’t much malice behind it. You watch him with steady eyes, looking down at the small red mark that he now gently runs his thumb over. What an absurd place to be in. You have no idea how you got here and you have no training that’s prepared you for what’s happening right now.

What the hell is going through his mind?

Frankly, Satoru couldn’t answer that question himself. One moment you’re sparring and the next, you’re catching your breath under him while he plays with your reflective technique. He felt this rush in his blood, but he wasn’t sure if it was from your power or his own wild feelings. All he knew was that he wanted to touch you, and this ability of yours made things just so much more exciting. To touch you, and to feel not just his touch mirrored on his skin, but also the way your body reacts to it is something he can’t imagine not indulging in. 

Gojo looks up at you, and his heart forgets its function when he sees you’re already looking at him. It’s almost painful, feeling not only the jump of his own nerves but yours too, and he lets out a small groan from the feeling, 

“This is quite the technique you’ve got…” Gojo thinks aloud, swallowing his arousal and trying to keep calm and collected. This situation makes him feel like a horny teenager again; Gojo’s barely even touched you and yet he can’t ignore the twitching in his pants. He can’t handle the confused look you’re giving him, either. Who knew all he had to do was manhandle you and touch your bare skin to flip your switch? You’re suddenly so shy, and visibly nervous, but above all, he can sense a strong, carnal, need, just burning you up — can feel it every time you get chills or butterflies, and he wants to laugh at how frequently that is.

It’s a heightened sense of being alive that Satoru has never experienced, and he can’t risk messing up.

Not now.

He huffs, running a hand through his hair and letting a laugh out to try and alleviate some of the tension he built up. You look up at him, and he holds eye contact as his hands abandon your arm to slide up your ankles and onto the backs of your knees, a shiver racing up your spine from it. Gojo tilts his head and catches his lower lip in his teeth as he presses, spreading your legs. The movement makes you realize how sweaty you’ve become, the chill but humid breeze gently rushing in to cool your sweat to your skin and rouse the tall man’s hair. He looks like a cat of sorts, eyes fixed wide as he analyzes your reactions, and your body feels like it’s on fire under his cruel gaze. You struggle for words in the silent moment, but at last, they come to you,

“You don’t look so good, Satoru…I’m starting to think you’re the one who was all bark and no bi-“ You don’t get to finish your bratty sentence, instead, a small gasp leaves you and your hands rush to meet the back of Gojo’s neck after he moved his grip to your waist to gain the leverage to grind his throbbing dick against the heat in between your legs.

Oh. 

Oh, fuck.

Your clit throbs under your now tight pants, and that feeling, the dangerous one Gojo’s giving to you, affects him as well. Satoru’s cock jumps, and when it’s up against your cunt like this you’re both forced to crave the feeling again. 

Gojo looks down at you and he nearly cums in his pants at the sight. Your eyes are locked on his, your hair is sticking to your sweaty skin, your breaths are flowing quickly, quiet little moans and hums, and your loose shirt has exposed your gorgeous neck. Satoru finds that he can’t look away — that spot, that untouched area, it’s beckoning him. 

Satoru’s head moves before his eyes do to make eye contact with you as one of his hands comes to the back of your head, cradling it in his large palm, while his other hand trails up your arm, and his fingers intertwine with yours. He feels the pulsing heartbeat sensation of your arousal and he’s doing everything in his power to not fuck you like a rabid animal.  

“Gojo…” Your voice centers him, and his eyes focus on you, 

“Are we really doing this?” You whisper like you’re completely innocent, yet your legs wrap around his back, pulling him impossibly closer. Satoru’s eyes go wide, capturing you like a prisoner of his gaze, and when he looks down at you he can feel the thrashing of your heart against your rib cage. He considers your position, and he knows you both understand that this position isn’t…appropriate for two jujutsu sorcerers. If he keeps touching you like this, your dynamic will be forever changed. 

“Only if it’s what you want…do you want this?“ Satoru asks you with a tilt of his head, and with the way his neon eyes glow under the shadows of his hair, you can’t imagine a single soul who would deny themselves of this euphoria,

You nod, but that isn’t enough for him. Gojo starts to pull away,

“Words.”

“Yes!” You whisper-yell frantically, your hands chasing after him and finding themselves taking purchase around his head — one slipped into his silky hair and the other rested at the base of his neck, gently bouncing from his pulse,

“I need you,” You groan, “And if you stop now I swear I’ll kill you.” You punctuate every syllable, hammering in that you meant it, and the words hit Gojo square in his face, they sweep their way through his blood, and they stroke his dick just the way he likes it. 

“…Fuck…” Gojo moans. He was going to make sure you remembered those words. 

In that instant, his eyes lock onto your neck again, and he dips down to indulge in you. You catch the moment his eyelids flutter closed and then…then you feel him. 

Satoru’s nose and lips brush messily against your skin as he breathes you in, groaning against your neck and the sensation of it, fuck, the sensation makes your back arch off of the ground. His hair tickles, and his teeth ghost over your skin, tempting you just as much as he tempts himself,

“Fuck, you like this, huh? I can feel everything…the sensation’s grown from dull to just searing.” Gojo whines and the gravel in his voice makes you clench up down there, his warm breath on your neck causing the throbbing in your clit, which you now know he feels.

“Everything?” You whisper against his hair.

“Everything.” He grinds against you, and he finally sinks his teeth into your sweet skin. The moan that tears from your throat makes his eyes roll into the back of his head. One of his hands cradles the back of your head and holds it firmly, and the other meets your raised lower back, slipping under your shirt to grip at your skin. He can feel the impression of his bites against his own neck, and it’s irresistibly overwhelming.

You feel like you’re on cloud nine. Your eyes fight to stay open and your hips buck absentmindedly as Satoru’s tongue laps across the side of your neck. He’s humming and moaning in satisfaction, and it’s so perverse you could cry. He’s sucking and biting all over your neck, and the thought of having discolored marks in the shape of Satoru Gojo’s desire all over you in a matter of hours has you seeing stars. The groans he lets out right into your ear have you grinding against him hard, and he wants to give you some satisfaction, so Satoru moves one of his legs right in between yours, his thigh right up against your clit, and oh, god.

“Ah! Gojo!” You cry out, and he softly sinks his teeth into your neck, almost growling, 

“Satoru,” he whispers against your ear with his lips grazing your skin so gently,

“Call me Satoru when I touch you like this, doll.” He purrs, leaving one more wet kiss against your skin before pulling away from your neck to admire his work. You, sprawled out and needy with wet skin and soon-to-be hickeys,

“Wow. You look an absolute mess.” He smiles, and rubs his knuckles over the many bite marks he left,

“You’re one to talk…” You whine, squinting from the way your nerves are reacting to his every touch,

“You’re covered too.” You reach out and Satoru humors you for a moment, watching you with cautious eyes in preparation for whatever moves you may have up your sleeve when your hand dips down to the bottom of his loose black shirt, starting to tug on it. He catches your hand in one of his and reacts quicker than you could ever dream of, tearing your shirt down the middle with his free hand as a wide smile coats his face. The gasp that leaves you is too loud and too erotic for comfort, and Gojo presses his palm over your lips with his eyes blown wide,

“Shhh, shhh! You wouldn’t want someone to come in and see you like this now, would you? Stay quiet, you little brat.” He spits the name out to get under your skin, and he eats up your facial expression.

Oh, you could just hit him, but you’re more concerned with the way your nipples are hardening right now. It’s not cold enough for them to perk up from the air, and you and Gojo both know that, explaining his smugness. 

“How hard are they to be poking through your bra like this?” He rubs his chin in mock concern, and his harsh gaze is seemingly making them grow even tenser. 

You bring your hands up to cover yourself and Satoru moves them.

“I had no idea I got you that hot and bothered!” He lies through a shit-eating-grin and pulls his blindfold out from his sweatpants pockets, and the unspoken acknowledgment of what he plans to use it for makes your heart drop, and Gojo feels it all — fuck does that stroke his ego,

“Shit baby, I’m learning so much about you right now — correct me if I’m wrong, but your body’s telling me you just love being controlled like this.” Satoru brings the smooth slip up to your face, dragging it over your cheek and feeling the burn of your heated face against his knuckles,

“The element of surprise gets you so wet-“

“God!” you whine dangerously loud and slap the blindfold from his hands, flinging it above your head.

“You’re dragging this out on purpose! just-just, fuck me please…” Your voice trails off and your sentence becomes nearly unintelligible at the end, clouded by your pride. the only reason he heard you was because he was close enough to practically breathe your words in, but you didn’t have to know that,

“Didn’t catch that baby, wanna repeat yourself?”

“Like hell, you didn’t-”

“Honest, babe! Repeat it for me.”

“…Fuck me.” You whisper.

“Hm?” He leans in even closer,

You just couldn’t believe you were begging for Satoru Gojo’s dick against the floor of a lamp-lit training room in the middle of the night. This was doomed from the start.

“Fuck me.” You grit out, tensing against your restraints.

“Begging looks so good on you, y’know,” Gojo whispers, lips ghosting over your own,

“Shut up, Toru.”

“Why don't you make me?”

And finally, you get to taste that cocky bitch against your tongue. Your lips meet, and you skip the formalities, mixing spit and groaning into each other’s mouths in the most uncouth manner. You’re fucking frenching Satoru and it’s so much better than you could’ve ever imagined. He’s noisy, whining against you and grinding his dick down as if it’ll somehow slip in. There’s a million bratty things you could say, but the power dynamic of someone overpowering you like this is a guilty pleasure you’re willing to indulge in because Satoru Gojo makes you feel so fucking good. His lips work well with yours, and you start to feel as though he’s trying to eat you alive. He deepens the kiss, causing your eyes to roll behind your closed eyelids. Your eyelids flutter open for a moment, and the sight you’re met with looks crafted by divine hands.

Gojo’s beautiful blue eyes bore into yours and hold you prisoner. Your breath hitches, and he roughly grabs your hands, sliding them up above your head and pinning them with one of his much larger ones, all while holding eye contact. What a fucking man.

He breaks the kiss with a grunt and the blindfold has made its way back into his hands. Gojo goes to work on your wrists with the silk, fastening the knot in a matter of seconds while panting over you. Your heart rate is so high Gojo looks down at you with genuine concern, a large hand holding your shoulder,

“Too much?”

You gulp with your back arched and your mouth glossy from the previous events. You know you can’t lie to him in this position,

“No…” You mewl after forcing yourself to spit out the embarrassing acknowledgment that you’re enjoying being tied up. 

“Of course, it isn’t.” He chuckles, throwing his head back and raking his fingers through his hair,

“I mean, cantle to me when your pussy’s throbbing against my thigh.” He feels your burning embarrassment before seeing your attempt to make a smart-mouthed quip back at him and he beats you to it,

“It’s weird, I can feel the tension of being bound around my wrists, but unlike you, I can still move! It seems I’ve found a flaw in your technique, baby. Now, back to these…” Satoru looks below, eyes drifting to your chest to see your sports bra holding your breasts tight to your chest. There’s a valley of sweat gradually cooling in the breeze on your chest, and Gojo’s patience runs thin at the idea of what’s underneath.

“There’s…there’s no clasp…” You mumble, looking up at Gojo with what he can only describe as pleading eyes, begging him to do something about it. Who would he be if he didn’t oblige?

He grips the top of the bra and tears it down the middle like it’s a piece of lined paper. You gasp and Gojo looks at your face with pure shock,

“Please don’t tell me you’ll morn that thing — that may be the cheapest bra I’ve ever laid my eyes on!”

You scoff,

“What the hell? Do you think I was going to wear lingerie to spar with you?” You spit out from pure self-consciousness, and Gojo’s face lights up,

“Oh quit your whining. I’ll buy you a new one, yeah? Maybe a few, as long as I get to take them off you later.” After getting the satisfaction of your bashful face, Satoru returns his attention to your now naked chest and feels his saliva pooling. 

He simply takes it in for a moment, leaving you wildly nervous. Does he like them? After a while, he uses his left hand to palm your right breast, kneading it, squeezing it, and brushing his thumb over your nipple just to feel the way it lights your nerves up. It’s so fascinating to him how sensitive your smaller body is, and how he would have never known if it wasn’t for tonight. The way making eye contact with him stalls your heartbeats, the way his breath against your ear can make an entire side of your body burn alive with a tingling sensation, and now, his cold fingers against your warm chest and the way its effects spread through your entire nervous system — it’s art.

Gojo knows you’d never admit how good it feels, and even if you did it would never paint the picture as clearly as him just feeling it like this. 

He looks up at you through sex-crazed, half-lidded eyes, and his words drag with lust,

“I need you to keep very quiet, okay? Can you do that for me, baby?” He whispers. Gojo’s left hand continues to palm one of your tits, while his other hand reaches to play with your hair and holds your head to maintain eye contact.

“Y-Yes, yes.” The words come out strangled from the sensations, and you barely register what’s been asked of you, only knowing you don’t want any of this to stop and you’ll do whatever he wants.

Suddenly, his fingers clamp down on your nipple, squeezing for a quick second before sweet release. 

“Ah! Ahh, fuck!” You choke, writhing and groaning. Who knew Satoru Gojo was such a fucking sadist? And, god, who knew you were such a masochist? Though the sensation confused him biologically, Gojo could somehow feel you getting wetter and wetter down there. You were so sensitive he questioned if you were a virgin,

“Fuck, how long has it been since anyone’s seen you this way, pretty girl? Has anyone ever?” He teases, flicking your nipple, and deciding he shouldn’t neglect your left tit for much longer, divvying up his attention with both of his hands. Now, he leans down and captures one in his mouth and you swear you could cum in that very instant. His warm, soft, tongue laps at your nipple like a cat drinks milk, and he looks up at you the entire time. 

“Satoru, o-oh my god, Toru, please!” Your voice cracks in arousal and your head spins from the pleasure. He moans against your skin, and when he feels the vibrations of it, and the sensation of being tasted like this mirrored on his skin, he thanks his lucky stars for your technique. Satoru’s cock throbs painfully, cramped in his sweatpants as he kneels on top of you like this, but he’ll deal with it later. Through his daze, Gojo suddenly becomes aware you’re calling for him,

“—Satoru!”

He pops off of your nipple, 

“Yeah, baby?”

“I want you to eat me…please, Toru, I can’t take it anymore...wanna see your pretty face down there.” You pleaded through pained whispers. The words would have embarrassed you if you hadn’t been working up the courage to externalize them for so long. Now all they did was make you impossibly hornier, and Gojo could tell. 

You didn’t have to ask him twice. 

He shifted down, and the sight of him so close to your pussy made you overthink your request, but the need was too strong for you to be self-conscious now. The view made your knees spread further, making space for the man — Satoru, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer the world has known, on his knees just dying to get his mouth on your cunt. You could’ve sworn he was drooling. His hands worked like lighting on your sweatpants before he slipped his fingers under the waistband of your pants and underwear before he looked up at you, making eye contact while yanking them down agonizingly slowly. As he breathes out his nose, the hot air fans over your sweat-slicked skin. 

You kick gently to aid him in removing your clothes, and now you’re fully naked for him. It felt a little unfair that he was seeing you so vulnerable, and the most you had seen all night was a glimpse of his chest down his shirt as he tied your hands together. 

“F-fuck…” 

Satoru’s cursing brings you back to reality, and you can’t help it when you instinctively close your legs. He rushes forward,

“No, no, none of that. Let me see you.” Gojo’s hands rest on your knees and he rubs his thumbs over your skin. You clench your teeth in apprehension, worried he might not like what he sees, but you decide you’ve already come this far, and you can’t get in your own way any longer, so you oblige and slowly spread your legs open for him. 

It’s hypnotic, Satoru thinks, the way your body just beckons him and he craves you like a moth to a flame. His large hands grip your waist and crawl up your back, lifting you and making you let out a small yelp. Satoru’s large hands grip you, and with his sheer strength alone he pulls you up so you’re sitting on top of him and he’s laying back, your bound hands resting right over your cunt. You felt so exposed, but the position was new and exciting. And then it dawned on you,

“W-wait-“

Satoru looks up at you innocently, his hands kneading your hips. The way his hair falls around his face, exposing his forehead, the crazed look in his eyes, and the way his hands twitch atop your skin — you try to etch it into your memory forever. 

“Trust me, yeah?” And then Gojo moves.

He brings you to his mouth and presses a hot, open-mouthed, kiss to your closed lower lips. You let out a shaky breath, watching him. With your hands bound, you struggle to keep yourself upright, when you decide to tangle your hands in his hair and hold on. The groan he releases shocks you, and it goes straight to your twitching clit. Gojo uses his large hands to spread your legs and almost immediately buries his face against your pussy. You watch as his eyes roll into the back of his head, and the warm wetness of his saliva, paired with his stiff and skilled tongue has you melting,

“Hah- ah- ohh, fuck! Toru, Toru…” you moan and cry, hips bucking against his face. Every time you do so, your clit smashes against his nose, and you chase the feeling he’s so eagerly giving you. gojo eats you like he’s gone rabid, sucking you like a hard candy. His hands find their way to your ass, holding you steady while he makes out with your cunt, slurping in the most obscene ways — it’s enough to make you question if your face is on fire. You look outside for a brief moment and remember that if anyone just happened to be awake at the moment, you’d surely both be in trouble beyond your comprehension. The thought has you tensing up, and Gojo feels it too. He murmurs against your pussy,

“Hey, eyes on me.” 

Without a second wasted, you look back down, and the face you’re met with has you on the very brink of orgasm. Gojo’s eyebrows are pinched together in a needy way, and he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, eating you alive. You grind against him, slotted against his face like a puzzle piece. His sinful tongue laps at your clit with precision, and just like that Satoru knows he’s got you in checkmate. He sucks hard, moaning the way you like, and due to your technique, Gojo knows you’re close. In the next breath,

“Wh-what the fuck? Why did you stop?”

Satoru’s removed his face from your pussy, and strings of saliva connect it to his open mouth. His expression makes it look like he’s the one who just got eaten out, reminding you that he’s feeling everything you’re feeling right now.

“You were about to cum, right? I’ve never felt like that before, it was this swelling that just gradually got more and more intense — you didn’t cum, but you were so close.” 

“Yes, I was…I was right there, so why did you stop?” You sneer through clenched teeth, using your leverage in Gojo’s hair to pull his head back, causing him to hiss and moan from the pain. 

Your heart freezes over from the wild glint in his eyes.

“Oh, you brat.” He grins,

Gojo holds eye contact while he reaches up, tearing the blindfold around your wrist in half and detangling your hands from his hair. He aids you to the floor as he gets up, keeping you on your knees,

“Why?” He refrains, standing in front of you, 

You watch in awe as he slips his black shirt off of his head, jaw going slack while you behold the sight of his chiseled form. You barely have the time to process him as his pants follow suit, and his dick, which looks unbearably hard, springs up once freed from its confines. Satoru’s hand wraps around the base, giving slow but rough strokes with his head thrown back. He looks down at you through white lashes,

“Because I want to feel you cum like that when it’s on my dick.” 

As he finishes his sentence, his tip spurts a little precum, and you flinch as it lands on your face, he moves too quickly for you to react, and before you know it, Gojo’s pulling you onto back with a firm grip around your ankle, before flipping you onto your stomach. You moan loudly, and Gojo’s hand comes up to your lips, palm pressing down as he pulls your back smoothly against his chest, positioning you like a rag doll.

“Shit, you just love being manhandled. I never would’ve guessed all this perversion from my mouthiest shadow. You just want to be used like a fuck toy, hm?” Gojo whispers in your ear, hand moving from your mouth to your neck,

You pant, eyes fluttering in need, desperately seeking his touch with your arching and moans,

“I guess the cat’s out the bag” You grunt, smaller hands reaching up to rest on top of his large fingers that rest around your throat. 

“Put it in, god damnit, I can’t wait much longer.” You drag out your words in desperation.

“Alright, alright,” He whispers, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. You feel his tip slide up and down your slit, and he slaps it against you a few times before lining it up. He whispers after a shaky breath,

“Try to stay quiet for me, baby.” 

A long, broken mewl tears from your throat as he slides his dick in up to the base. You struggle to keep quiet more than you thought you would, and Gojo’s hand tightens around your throat. However, you’re not the only one struggling,

“F-fuck, fuck-” Gojo almost cries the string of curses in your ear, and you remember what he’s feeling. Your mouth waters at the realization that Satoru is simultaneously feeling his dick inside you, and himself. Gojo’s eyebrows twitch and his knees weaken, but he keeps his composure,

“How you feeling, Toru?”

You both whine as he fucks up into you slowly, trying to test the feeling. He thrusts with purpose, and each time he bottoms out you see stars. So this is what Gojo’s cock feels like. He laughs cooly, clearing his throat,

“I had a feeling my dick was the best one out there, but now I’m positive.” And Satoru thrusts back in harder, making you jump and yelp. He groans into your ear, and you’d clap back if you weren’t busy wailing from the sudden increase in speed and depth of his thrusts, the sound of wet skin slapping making your ears run hot,

“Ah! Ah! I can’t! I’m- ngh!- I can’t!” You tremble in your mentor’s hold, flailing from the pleasure and the impact of his body against yours. 

“Yeah, you can. Shit, fuck!- take it, take it all.”

His dick is hammering in and out of you and building up a sudden unfamiliar pressure,

“Satoru-“

“I know, I know, doll.” His voice cracks as he moans, “This greedy pussy’s just too sensitive, gonna squirt already. You’re gonna give me all of it, right baby? Can you be good and do that for me?” The hand around your neck trails up and pulls your hair back, Satoru’s lips now against your neck as he fucks you like an animal and his voice tilts hypnotically, echoing in your skull,

“Yeah, I know you can, dirty girl. Come on, cum for me.”

It doesn’t take much long after Gojo’s lewd speech for you to soak his dick. His speed keeps up, causing an endless flow of warm squirt that trails down his thighs and yours and drips onto the cold floor. You moan like you can’t breathe, and for a prolonged amount of time, you genuinely can’t. The initial feeling of squirting so much and so soon has you just about astral projecting, and Gojo’s struggling to keep himself from doubling over from the amplified pleasure. 

“Fuck, baby, look at the mess you’ve made.” 

One of Satoru’s toned arms wraps around your middle to support you as the other arm extends to the puddle below, coating his fingers and examining them in the lamp-light. 

You frown at the unashamed perversion of it, watching his hand right in front of your face. 

“Open up,” Demands Satoru, and you’re not sure why, but you do — almost no hesitation.

He laughs, and it gently shakes your body along with his,

“Atta girl! Oh, you’re so damn obedient like this, and all for me. You naughty girl, so dirty.“ He rasps, all kinds of amused with this unusual behavior from you. He slips his middle and index fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself. You swirl your tongue around his uncomfortably long fingers, eyes rolling back and sweaty skin sticking to his as you both breathe heavily. 

Gojo removes his fingers from your mouth before maneuvering you with a large palm on your lower back. He presses you down, your cheek against the floor and your ass in the air with an arm crossed over your back, held in place by his hand. He had you completely powerless, and the feeling in your gut from the revelation made you feel like a whore. His whore.

“Fuck, this pussy just loves me — mmh- sucking me in so fucking good.” Gojo dirty talks, his hips ramming against your ass like a machine as the sounds of sex bounce off of the walls. He was right about that; you were seemingly dripping for him non-stop. There was truly no need for lube when your partner was this good at turning you on. You had never acted this slutty a day in your life. The arch, the deep and guttural moans, the way you lean back to meet him with each thrust, it was deplorable, but somehow Gojo brought it out of you without a second thought,

“She does, doesn't she? I need to hear you say it, babe.” Gojos hands rest on both of your cheeks, pulling you against him and sheathing himself fully inside you for deeper thrusts. You cry out and quickly bite your lip to conceal it, shuddering breaths coming out of your nose,

“Y-yes…yes…loves you!” All you can do is pant through quick responses. You can’t keep up with him. How could he possibly have this much stamina after sparring with you for hours? It’s non-stop — the drag of his long, hard, dick in your soaking cunt, pulsing inside you and filling you up so deliciously.

Gojo can’t bite back his smile, and he can’t keep his eyes off of you. You; cocky, mouthy, bratty, little you, bent over taking his dick and just savoring every inch. He fucks you harder, if that was even possible, and opts to no longer silence you in favor of etching your every moan into his memory. They’re so fluid. Sometimes you whimper, and it’s high pitched, and it’s sickeningly submissive. Others are more hoarse, and pained, similar to the noises you made when you were sparring earlier. He loves every single sound.

“These filthy moans of yours are- ngh, so perfect, baby. Ah- I-I want more, need more.” Satoru pleads breathily, pulling out to hastily pick you up into his arms. Though he moves quickly, his grip on you is like a vice, never dreaming of dropping you. Still, you’re startled, holding onto him for dear life with your chin against his shoulder. He backs you up against the wall, right by the open door. 

You slam against it, hot and heavy, and the low-lidded look your mentor gives you has you gasping in need, your hands holding him roughly. Satoru doesn’t wait, instantly he meshes his lips against yours, groaning into you and he holds delirious eye contact while he slips himself back inside. You both feel the way your body reacts from the relief of Gojo’s length, moment while your eyes roll into the back of your heads. He breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against yours, the rhythm of his thrusts knocking you up, and down, and up, and down. The pleasure is too much, all-consuming, and overwhelming. It’s no surprise that you start to lose your strength to hold on, Gojo finding himself holding you to keep up his pace,

“F-fuck don’t tell me you’re- ngh- too weak already? You poor, pathetic, baby.” Satoru coos, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth hung for the endless stream of moans he can’t hold back,

“My cock feels that good, huh?” He rams into you faster, holding your waist and keeping you spread wide to take every inch. You gasp, and your nails claw at his back. Satoru grunts like the masochist he is from the feeling,

“Oh-oh my god, oh my god, oh my god- Ah!- Faster, faster, Satoru, faster!” The pace he’s set is unreal, and your hands can’t find purchase anywhere. You drag them down his back until it’s raw, slam them against the wall behind you, and at last, you dig them into his soft hair. His dick hits every tingling nerve inside you, and every time you’re able to make eye contact with him he’s already staring you down like prey, making your insides clench. 

“Satoru, m’gonna cum!” An airy yelp follows your warning, and Gojo smiles sinisterly, his pace unrelenting,

“I know, can feel it.” And he’s telling the truth. As you’ve gradually gotten closer, your technique has become stronger and stronger, nearly giving Gojo a hard time staying on his feet. With each thrust he feels your every nerve alive with need, begging him, screaming out to him, don’t stop.

He stills like a bullet train suddenly slamming to a stop. You snap out of your daze, looking at him with agony and hanging on to whatever explanation he has for you,

“Say my name.” 

Your head lolls back as a bratty groan rips from your throat. 

“Huh?” 

Gojo seizes your chin, making you face him. His eyes are blown wide with lust and he looks like he’s run a marathon from the sheer pain and struggle smeared all over his face. He thrusts his hips up into you, pushing you up the wall. The pressure inside your cunt makes you wince and your eyes roll back,

“F-fuck!”

“Say my name.”

“…Satoru.” 

He pulls out completely and slams deep inside, eyes trained on your pretty face to watch you come apart. You’re such a good pet for him, learning so quickly,

“Good girl, now was that so hard?” Gojo huffs in degrading annoyance. When you think this little game is over, he groans,

“Again.”

“Satoru- Agh!-“ 

“Don’t stop doll, who’s fucking you like this?” His thrusts pick back up,

“You, Satoru! S- Ah!- Satoru! Satoru!” You wail as he pounds you to a pulp against the wall. 

Gojo feels his dick pulsing inside you, his blood rushing like a stampede inside him. 

“Damn right.” He moans, grabbing your waist and suspending your limp body in the air to fuck you like you weigh nothing. You gasp and claw at him, and he nods feverishly, 

“Toru!”

“I know- hah- I know, doll. Come on, cum for me.” 

It’s like jumping off a cliff into the ocean or watching fireworks burst, or finishing a race. Your whole body buzzes with the fluttering feeling of the orgasm Satoru Gojo grants you so generously, and you gasp for a spare breath in the warm air that sticks to itself. Your whole body tingles like static, and your muscles tense as you come down. You’ve almost forgotten about the sight outside your eyelids, opening your eyes to watch Gojo come undone. 

He moans weakly, and it’s enough to make your clit twitch. His thrusts grow desperate and needy, and his grip on you tightens. Satoru’s dick feels warm and alive inside you, and your chest fills with racing butterflies as he suddenly pulls you close, arms encircling you when he cums deep inside. His body is pressed right up against yours, his dick fully inside you just filling you up, and his heart beats hard enough for you to feel it against your chest. It’s desperate, and it’s intimate. His breaths fan over your shoulder and he gulps, hands sliding over your sweaty skin to pull out and gently set you down. You can’t sit up, flopping down and curling in on yourself, breathing hard and heavy with your cheek pressed against the floor. 

“Hold on, sweetheart, hold on.” He rasps. Satoru retrieves his shirt from the floor and walks over to you, spreading your legs and wiping at the release that costs your inner thighs. He presses a soft kiss to your inner thing that makes you suck in a breath and shiver, your hands seeking him out. You must have finally turned off your technique, too worn out to keep it up, because he could no longer feel your nerves. Gojo knew it wouldn’t be long for him to miss that intimacy. 

“Come here,” He hums in that deep melodic voice that makes you melt, and he holds your wrists to pull you closer. The feeling of his large hand cupping your head and holding you against his bare skin had your breaths evening out in no time, and you felt yourself slipping into a vulnerable place you’d never have pictured showing Satoru.

“You did so, so, so, good, baby.” He slurs his words,

“Nice to see all that endurance training’s paid off.” 

“I’m tired.” You murmur almost inaudibly, your words muffled from exhaustion. 

“I bet you are. Let’s go to bed, come on.” Gojo chuckles softly, bracing you against him as he stands, holding you to his strong and bare chest.

The glow of the moon vanishes outside your closed eyes and before you can think too hard about it you feel your head hit a soft silk pillowcase on Gojo’s bed. He holds a black shirt in his hand, lifting your arms to slip it over your head and scooping you up gently to pull it down your back. He’s so attentive you worry you’re dreaming, but you could never even dream of one’s touch feeling this heavenly. While slipping in and out of consciousness, you missed the part when he dressed himself lightly and crawled into his bed, keeping his distance from you.

As a child ponders their next move when a deer stills in their path, you hesitate to act in this silent moment where Satoru shares his bed with you but denies you the view of his face.

You stare at the dark outline of his back as he breathes slowly, his white hair falling gracefully against his pillow, and your heart aches in your chest. Eventually, you whisper and reach out to ghost your fingertips over his back,

“Satoru?” 

And he turns to face you, humming. His blue eyes are swirling in thought and he looks like he’s hung on your every word. But you have nothing to say to him, only reaching for his hand and pulling him close, slotting yourself against him without a care for what it means. Satoru feels an invisible weight lift from his shoulders and wonders if you’ve freed him from some curse. As he looks down at you, he sighs and nuzzles his chin atop your head, allowing himself this moment. 

Satoru decides to hold you tonight.

-

[jd-loves-fiction]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥

🌑 Just a little something while I get used to writing for HSR :)

⚠️: fingering, afab!reader, dirty talk (as dirty as the synesthesia beacon will allow lol), teasing Boothil

“You’d best be quiet or everyone’s going to know what a naughty little lady you are.” Boothill rumbles, razor sharp teeth just shy of the delicate skin of your lobe. Had you been anyone else, his statement might’ve sounded strange, but you’re used to his unusual way of speaking by now – what he meant to say is perfectly clear to you.

Though his low warning is spoken with anything but actual concern regarding the possibility of the two of you being discovered, all he wants is to tease you further, as if the vibrating metal finger on your clit wasn't enough already. Surely, this man aims to kill you.

“I– Boothill…” His name comes out as little more than air, but he hears it loud and clear, and it sends a phantom shiver down his metal spine, widening his smirk into a maniacal grin. Oh, how he loves to toy with you – so responsive, so pliant.

His delight in your reactions almost makes up for the fact that he can not feel you; the feverish warmth of your soft skin, the minute twitching, the goosebumps and the thin veil of sweat gathering over every inch of you. The upsetting thought of all he’s missing almost takes him, if not for a sudden breathless moan that escapes your tightly pressed lips from Boothill unknowingly pressing his finger closer to your clit. The sound is far too sweet to be ignored and so serves well to make him forget his depressing thoughts, “Look at ya, I’ve only started using my fingers and you’re already shaking.”

The slow, low drawl of his tone, does not help your predicament, nails sliding over his metallic body, seeking purchase and finding none, leaving only trails of sweat as they pass over him, “D-Don’t tease…” you plead sweetly.

“Huh? Well, why not? You seem to be enjoying it plenty.” He replies, sneaking a finger down to your entrance as you attempt to speak, to no avail – only pitiful whimpers pass your lips.

You deem the cowboy too slow for your tastes, reaching down to grasp his wrist in order to move it forward, succeeding in shoving his finger into you up to the first knuckle, pulling a blissful sigh from deep within your chest. It feels as if your bones turn to goo inside your body, melting against the wall, head falling to Boothill’s shoulder.

“Aww, look at ya, so needy.” He whispers with equal parts amusement and affection, letting you pull him along as you wish just to see the lovely look of relief on your face once his fingers enter you completely. 

A sudden inexplicable urge makes him bite lightly at your warm cheek, just holding it for a moment, knowing the damage he could cause by biting too hard. You look up at him through a pleasurable haze to see an expression of pure fondness, before he’s kissing you, sloppy and desperate.

“So cute, baby…”

[aventurineswife]

Crossing blades with Argenti. It looks like a terrifying fight where either side could be defeated by a singular blow. They've been going at it for ages now, and onlookers get worried for each side. Turns out its just a friendly sparing match between reader and Argenti...they just got too into it and probably started in the middle of some street...and maybe they 'accidently' get arrested. (Totally platonic besties)

A Symphony of Swords

Summary: Argenti and you engage in an intense, all-out sparring match in the middle of a bustling city street. What starts as a friendly contest of skill soon escalates into a near-disastrous duel, drawing the attention of the local authorities. In the end, you both end up in a holding cell, laughing at your accidental misadventure while plotting your way out. It’s all in a day’s work for two best friends who’ve gotten a little too into their friendly rivalry.

Tags: Argenti x Reader, Platonic, Friendly Sparring, Humor, Lighthearted, Action, Mischief.

Warnings: Mild violence (combat in the form of a sparring match), Minor destruction of property (?), Arrest (but in a lighthearted, non-serious manner).

The clang of metal against metal rang through the streets, echoing off the stone walls of the city square. Sparks flew with each clash, scattering like fireflies in the twilight. Onlookers had long since stopped their evening strolls, their attention caught by the two figures locked in a battle so fierce it seemed one wrong move would spell the end.

Argenti, the paragon knight of Beauty, fought with grace and precision, his blade an extension of his will. Every strike he delivered was poetry in motion, a testament to his dedication. His eyes, shimmering, shone with exhilaration.

You, on the other hand, were holding your ground with equal intensity, your own weapon moving in sync with his, countering and attacking with the same fervor. The fight had started as a simple spar—just a test of skills between trusted companions—but somewhere along the way, it had escalated into an all-out battle.

"Your form is impeccable today," Argenti praised between strikes, parrying your latest attack with a flourish.

"You’re just saying that because I haven’t hit you yet," you shot back, sidestepping and aiming a swift counterstrike toward his exposed side. He barely managed to block it in time, a grin tugging at his lips.

The gathered crowd murmured amongst themselves. Some whispered in worry, others watched in awe. The spectacle had drawn far too much attention, but neither of you seemed to notice—or care. The rush of combat had taken over, each of you pushing the other to their limits, relishing in the challenge.

A particularly strong blow from Argenti sent you skidding back, your boots dragging against the stone pavement. You steadied yourself, shaking out your wrists. "Alright, alright. That one hurt."

"Shall we call it a draw, then?" Argenti asked, though his stance remained poised for another attack.

"You wish," you scoffed, lunging forward once more.

Before your blades could meet again, a sudden voice cut through the tension.

"That’s enough!"

A group of city guards stormed onto the scene, weapons drawn, their expressions a mix of exasperation and frustration. The crowd quickly dispersed, whispering about how this was bound to happen.

You and Argenti froze, both of you still in mid-motion, blades inches from each other’s throats. You slowly lowered your weapon, glancing at the guards with an innocent smile. "Oh. Hey there."

One of the guards pinched the bridge of his nose. "We’ve had multiple reports about two maniacs dueling in the middle of the street. Again."

Argenti, ever the knight, cleared his throat and sheathed his blade. "Ah. My apologies. We were merely engaged in a sparring session. It was not our intention to cause alarm."

"You’re literally blocking half the marketplace," another guard deadpanned, gesturing to the overturned carts and scattered wares from when you two had, perhaps, been a bit too enthusiastic.

You glanced at Argenti. He looked at you.

Simultaneously, you both turned on your heels and took off running.

"HEY! GET BACK HERE!"

The chase didn’t last long—knights of Beauty were formidable warriors, but even they couldn’t outrun a squad of determined city guards. Before long, you and Argenti found yourselves seated side by side in a holding cell, your weapons confiscated for “public safety reasons.”

Argenti sighed, leaning back against the cold stone wall. "A most unfortunate turn of events."

You snorted. "Oh, come on. You can’t say that wasn’t fun."

He cast you a sideways glance, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. "Perhaps a little."

A moment of silence stretched between you before you both burst into laughter.

"Think we can convince them this was all a misunderstanding?" you asked after a moment.

Argenti considered it. "Perhaps if we appeal to their sense of justice and artistry."

You gave him a deadpan look. "Or we could bribe them with free sparring lessons."

He hummed thoughtfully. "A most unconventional approach… but worth attempting."

And thus, another day in your chaotic rivalry with Argenti came to an eventful close.

[stupidlittlespirit]

Rating: SFW Type: Drabble, part of the Maid to Be au Tags: Gen, first meetings, Stan Pines Word count: 3279

For an ask I received a little while ago: 'Obviously their relationship is very much platonic in MTB but I'd love to hear your thoughts on Stan's first/overall impression of Reader' so here it is! Title from the song of the same name on the Maniac OST. You can find it here on ao3 as well. If you're inclined, please show it some love!

Stan is a man of opportunity. He seizes each and every one with both hands and no matter how much they squirm, he’s never been one to let them slip through his fingers. 

Which is why, the first time he meets you, he’s quick to snatch up the one you present. 

From where he lounges in his porch chair, Stan watches you relinquish your goods to the children, careful to warn them of the weight of each bag and ensure they have a tight enough hold of each one before you let them go. He watches Dipper give you a curt, shy nod and listens to Mabel’s sing-songy thanks, and he notes the way you smile at both of them with equal sincerity. 

“We got dinner!” Mabel tells him triumphantly as she clambers up the steps of the porch with her brother at her back. “Well, we got help getting dinner, but we got it!” 

Stan tears his eyes from you to grace his great niece with a warm grin. “That’s great, sweetie,” he says. “How ‘bout you put those bags inside before you throw all that out for the birds, eh?” His words aren’t unkind. They’re a truthful request wrapped in a gentle tease; the kid is full of enthusiasm but Stan’ll be damned if she isn’t slapdash with everything else. He’d rather not have to send them both back to the store because Mabel has tipped fifty bucks worth of produce all over the porch. Again. 

Mabel nods quickly and after she’s given you a little wave goodbye (and you’ve returned it), she hauls her brother inside after her. 

Then it’s just Stan and the stranger. 

He’s told the kids about talking to people they don’t know. Discouraged it. One of them listens more than the other. It’s clear that today, however, neither of them have paid much heed to his wise old words. They’ve brought home another waif and stray, unannounced. 

The cautious, defensive guard that Stan has spent so many decades crafting hikes back up the moment you’re alone with him. His eyes flick up and down your form, assessing every inch automatically. He’s never seen you before. Well, that’s not true. Stan thinks he can recall seeing you in passing. Gravity Falls is a small town and it’s hard to not come into contact with everyone and their mother in a place this intimate, but that doesn’t mean he knows you. Years alone on the road have made Stan hardened to the presence of the unknown and he feels himself slip easily into that Fort Knox attitude with you. 

You cut an unimpressive figure standing on the lawn of his house: your now-empty arms are folded across your chest and a look of mild discomfort colours your features. Your clothes are un-ironed, borderline dishevelled, and there are dark circles under your eyes. You seem as though you hadn’t expected to come across anyone capable of holding a conversation above the level of the two boisterous fourteen year olds you’d accompanied home and now that you’re faced with the prospect of it, you’d be happier allowing Mabel to run you over to her heart’s content rather than engage. There’s a mildly nervous near apprehensive edge to you that Stan recognises well. It seems that he isn’t the only one who’s feeling guarded. 

When Stan only continues to stare, you clear your throat awkwardly and shift from foot to foot on the spot. “You must be their great uncle, right?” you ask, shoving your hands in the pockets of your jacket. 

Your fingers play with something unseen in their depths and momentarily, Stan’s heart stutters. It’s incredibly unlikely you’re carrying anything that might do him harm, but he’s always cautious. Force of well learned habit.

When nothing appears, Stan grunts and sucks his teeth. “What’s it to ya?” 

You shrug one shoulder, oblivious to his surveillance. “Well, they were telling me about you on the journey over here and I just figured….”

“Figured right,” says Stan, purposely obtuse. “They didn’t break nothin’ of yours, did they?”  His eyes flick up and down you again, searching for any sign of a potential cost liability. The last thing he wants is to hold a reasonably polite conversation with you if you’re only going to wind up costing him an arm and a leg in civil court because the twins have gotten handsy with a random person’s prized possessions without permission yet again.

“Well, they mowed me down with their trolley,” you say lightly. 

Stan swears under his breath and rolls his eyes, but you smile. It isn’t the reaction he expects and it gives him pause. People are usually much more upfront about their ire and for all your edginess, you don’t seem to be upset at all.

“It’s fine,” you tell him, shaking your head. “They didn’t do any lasting damage so…. No harm done.” 

“Right,” mutters Stan, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. “Right. So, what? You wanna try and get some cash outta me before you sue us for assault?” 

A tiny crease erupts between your brows as you frown up at him, honest confusion written all over your face. “Why would I sue two teenagers for being…. teenagers?” you ask. 

Not buying it, Stan gives you a stony look. 

You return it, owlish yet unflinching. 

He attempts to dial the severity up a notch, both in the hopes of intimidating you into fucking off and to see if you can be intimidated in the first place. Most potential problems can. But you don’t take up either option. You just stare right back at him, bewildered. 

“So, what d’you want then?” Stan asks after a moment, when it’s clear you’re not going to turn into a pile of ash under his hot glare. He’s quite pleased that you don’t. It’s no fun when people give in immediately. “A reward for helping ‘em? ‘Cause you ain’t gettin’ one.” 

Your look of confusion grows. “No, I just…. I wanted to help. They were struggling so I figured they could use a hand.”

Abruptly, the gears in Stan’s head begin to whir. He isn’t an idiot. He knows that sending two children out to grocery store isn’t going to rank up there as one of his smartest ideas, but his back is utterly fucked at the moment and if he’s being honest, there’s no way on god’s green earth that he’s summoning the wherewithal to do it all himself anyway. It isn’t as though Sixer is going to find the time, either. Where Ford makes up for Stan’s physical limitations, he lacks the focus outside of his own bubble to apply his efforts more liberally and that fish is dead in the water. There’s little point in even asking. 

What Stan needs is a do-gooder. Someone who will do it for him. Someone who can’t help but help. Someone…. like you. Anyone who willingly bothers to take on chores that don’t involve them in the first place can probably be bartered into taking on more, and that is exactly the kind of person Stan can find good use for: A good natured sucker. 

Still, he’s wary of roping strangers into his life, of allowing them around the kids and his brother. You can never be too careful these days and this family is more delicate than most. He isn’t in the habit of holding the door wide open and letting any old person nose around in his business. Life has taught him better than that. You could be anyone for all Stan knows: a government agent in plain clothes. A shapeshifting monster looking for its opportunity to live a normal human life. A deal making deity in cheap walking boots. 

“You local?” Stan asks, although he’s reasonably sure of the answer. Anyone passing through the Falls is a tourist and you certainly don’t look like a tourist.

Automatically, you go to shake your head before you seem to catch yourself, as though you think better of it. “Yes,” you say, though it’s not particularly confident. 

“You lyin’ to me?” Stan presses immediately, a tiny red flag springing up in his mind. 

A little taken aback, you shake your head with more fervour this time. “No, no, I…. I’m just new here. I don’t know if I quite graduate as ‘local’, is all.”

Stan grunts again, eyes narrowing. 

At his cool hesitancy, you offer: “I’ve only been here a few weeks. I’m kind of, uh, between places right now but Susan, the lady from the diner, she says there’s some guy she knows who’ll lend me his cabin to stay in as of next week, so…. I guess I will be local, then.” 

You smile and even at this distance, Stan can see it’s strained. Uncomfortable, either about the topic of yourself or your situation. 

Between places. Stan’s heard that before, too. From his own mouth nonetheless. That explains the downtrodden look, at least. 

He’s not one to judge. Well, he is one to judge because he’s doing it right now, however he’s well travelled enough to know that things don’t always go smoothly for people and circumstances don’t make the individual. Things happen. There could be a million and one reasons why you’re down on your luck right now; you could be a highly wanted criminal on the lam from the law or you could be skipping town for more insidious reasons, but Stan keeps his ear to the ground on those types of matters. Though he might not be in the game anymore, he has an eye for it and he can’t recall anyone fitting your description running around in those underworld rumours….

Stan decides to chance it. Maybe he’s gone soft in his old age or maybe it’s a bleeding hearts united kind of thing. He’s never liked to examine those sentimental feelings too closely. More than anything, he tells himself, he does it because he’s seizing the opportunity, making the most of a schmuck, and nothing more. He needs a dogsbody and you’re the most available person he’s come across thus far. 

You’ll do. 

He’ll have to test that you’re made of the right stuff to run with them, of course. Make sure you’re sound to be around and that you’re not easily scared off by a little weirdness. It’s unlikely you’d be in this town if you were, but still…. You’re a new face and he has to be sure. He’ll throw you in at the deep end, make it seem like an easy score and then do a little investigating of his own; he can glean much better information on your background once your guard is lowered and he can keep you at arms length the whole time he does it, too. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

After a few long moments of calculating silence, Stan sits up straight with a grunt of effort. He leans forward, balancing his elbows on his knees, his gold chain glinting in the sun as it swings back and forth, and he nods once. Decisively. 

“You lookin’ for work, kid?” he asks, eyes never leaving yours. 

“I’m not a kid,” is your sharp reply, and it makes Stan’s lip twitch in a smirk. “....And technically, I suppose so.” 

“‘Technically’?” Stan echoes, brow arched. 

“Uh, yeah,” you say, sounding a little unsure. “I’m employed at the diner right now, that’s how I know Susan, but I….” Your words die on your tongue and for the first time since your arrival, your gaze drops away from him. It lowers to the ground for a half second, distant and slightly forlorn, and then you’re rolling your shoulders, setting your jaw, and you’re back to that strange forced confidence again. “I’m open to other options.” 

There’s more to the story than that. Stan can tell. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter after all and there’s something in the way you hold yourself that suggests an undercurrent of unspoken implication. Usually, avoidance like that would arouse his suspicion but for some reason, Stan can’t sense malice behind your evasiveness. Your presence lacks malevolence. It could be a ruse, obviously, but Stan considers himself to be pretty good at sniffing things like that out first try and you? You just don’t fit that assessment. 

Privately, he wonders what you’re hiding.

Stan huffs a laugh under his breath and hauls himself to his feet, groaning again. He hears and feels his knees crack (and he’s fairly certain you do too, judging by the wince of pity you offer him), and he shuffles over a step or two until he can lean up against one of nearby support beams that hold up the veranda’s overhanging roof. He presses his shoulder against it and sighs. 

“I got a bad back,” he announces after another moment of mutual silence. 

You stare at him expectantly but Stan doesn’t say anything further. 

He wants to see what your reaction will be. Stan needs a chump; someone overflowing with pity. He’s perfectly capable of going to the store himself when he’s allowed his joints to rest for a few days but you don’t know that and he’s not about to tell you so. He needs you to put the pieces of the puzzle together incorrectly yourself, to build a picture of him that isn’t strictly true, so that he can make use of you without  you ever really realising that he’s stringing you along a bit. He’s not completely taking advantage of you, though. He’s no monster. But he is lazy and he really doesn’t want to go to the fucking supermarket any more than he as to, and if you’re willing to do it for a little bit of (underpaid) cash in hand then, well, everyone wins, right? 

The exact breed of sympathy he’s counting on flickers across your face and you open your mouth: “Oh, I’m sorry, that’s-”

Bingo. 

“I need someone to take care of stuff around the house every now and then,” Stan says, interrupting you the moment you begin to speak. He’s being difficult on purpose; it’s all part of his masterful test. “Can’t be runnin’ around like I used to and these kids ain’t got a clue how to run a ship.” Stan gestures over his shoulder towards the closed front door that the kids had bolted through earlier. “I swear, if I have to choke down another pint of Mabel Juice instead of a decent coffee in the mornin’, I’m gonna lose it.” 

Stan suppresses a shiver and it’s clear from the look on your face that while you’ve no idea what he’s talking about, you’re doing your best to be polite about it. 

“If you’re lookin’ to make some extra cash, I could do with some help here and there,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. “Grocery shopping. Cleanin’ the gutters. Yard work. That kinda thing. Interested?” 

You are. There’s an undeniable light that blooms behind your eyes, one that he is very familiar with himself: The light of opportunity. Working at the diner can’t pay all that well and you strike him as reasonably enterprising. It’s probably not particularly stimulating to work with the likes of Susan every day, either, serving some of the weirdos in this fucking town. He almost feels bad for you. Almost. 

Stan watches with great interest as you tilt your head and the look in your eyes turns sharp. Prudish, even. He’s caught your interest.

“How much are you offering?” you ask, not impolitely. 

Cool as ever, Stan shrugs one big shoulder again. “How much you makin’ at Greasy’s?” 

Again, you pause. Your body language shifts minutely: your shoulders lower and then rise almost imperceptibly, like you’re pinning them back to make yourself look more authoritative than you really feel, and your chin juts out a tiny bit. You’re zhuzhing yourself up. 

“Fifteen bucks an hour,” you lie. 

Stan almost chokes on his dentures. He should be pissed off at your gall yet frankly, it’s a little bit endearing and he isn’t really certain as to why. 

“Oh yeah?” he scoffs, giving you a blatantly disbelieving look. “You join a union or somethin’?” 

You mirror one of his own cool headed shrugs back at him. “I’m good at my job,” you say confidently. “They pay what I’m worth, plus tips.” 

It’s a total lie. Susan pays $7.95 an hour. Stanley knows because he’d asked once when one of their old waitresses put her parts on because he’d refused to pay gratuity (“Here’s a tip for you, toots: Fight for better pay and don’t expect the customers to make it up for you….”). Technically, Susan is still paying above the legal minimum. Although it’s not a bad wage, all things considered, it’s not great either. Not enough to get you on your feet if things are as difficult as Stan suspects they might be. You’ll be open to making any extra money you can and he’s willing to play on that to his benefit. 

“Seven,” Stan offers. 

Your nose twitches in annoyance but you do well to save face in spite of being rumbled instantly. “Twelve,” you counter immediately. 

Huh, Stan thinks, a little taken aback. It takes balls to barter, especially with a man you barely know who is purposefully being unfriendly to you. The bravery makes him feel momentarily generous, and so he says: “Ten.” 

“Come on, man,” you say, wilting with exasperation. “I’ve got to feed myself too, y’know? Eleven seventy five.” 

Stan smirks. “Ten fifty.”

You huff, and he can tell you’re resisting the urge to either roll your eyes or flip him the bird. Quite admirably, you do neither.  “Eleven, on the dot,” you say instead. 

It’s more than Stan wants to pay, but it isn’t terrible. His brother is the breadwinner and he’s the one who’ll technically be paying for it anyway; they’ve been discussing the possibility of hiring some help with the house’s upkeep for a little while now so it’s no skin off Stan’s nose if your assistance falls on the marginally dearer end of the scale. Stan just enjoys the game of haggling for old time’s sake. 

“Done,” says Stan after a few seconds of dramatic consideration, extending a hand out for you to shake.

Your brows raise momentarily and it’s clear that you hadn’t expected to get him to agree, but you school your expression quickly and give him a haughty nod, as though that had been your plan all along. It reminds him of his brother. 

Cautiously, he watches you assess him before you come closer. It’s not subtle and Stan isn’t offended; it’s smart to be careful and even though you’ve just dropped two kids off at his doorstep, you’re equally as in the dark about him as he is to you. It’s sensible, if anything. 

After a few seconds of hesitation, you drag your feet up the few steps to the porch and you take Stan’s big palm in your own. Your handshake turns out to be firm, much firmer than he’d been expecting, if a little sweaty. The shake is strong and confident in spite of your gentle nervousness, and quite without meaning to, Stan chalks another notch into the ‘pro’ side of the mental chart he’s keeping on you in his head. 

“So, kid, what’s your name?....” 

I hope that's okay! As I said, I've been building up more of Reader's backstory recently and felt this worked better in a little drabble form rather than me just explaining things. Also, it would be of great help if you could reblog this too because it won't get much motion otherwise….

[desparaic]

To Hearken that Dreadful Silence - Muzan X Reader

Short drabble, somewhat of a sequel to "To Kill My Melody" but can be read as a standalone. Reincarnation AU.

Read To Kill My Melody here

TW: Angst, self-unalive, death, canon divergent where Muzan wins

You have lost.

The demon slayer corps have lost.

Here you were, legs trembling from exhaustion and endless injuries, knees and tip of sword digging into the bloodied dirt, all before the fully awakened demon king, his body spasming, dark blood coursing visibly through his veins, as he relish the newfound power of conquering the sun after eating the younger Kamado sibling.

You couldn't take your eyes off him. Not because you don't want to— rather that if you do, you'll have to face countless bodies of your comrades scattered around you. You still vividly remember the head of the water hashira, who you considered as your friend once upon a time, flying across your sight. The last time you've seen Sanemi, and that Kamado boy, they were missing limbs, and losing blood on parts that shouldn't be hit or punctured at all.

All you could hear was silence.

You're the only one left alive.

Someone? Anyone? Please, even just a groan of pain, a shallow breath— anything to indicate you're not the only one alive.

But as you hear the grotesque shifting of that…— that monster's body, adapting to the newly acquired power—

All you could hear was despair.

"Finally... Finally..."

... That monster finally spoke up, grinning and reveling in the moment. A ray of orange came out from the sky, bringing light. Then another. That used to bring you hope, relief, knowing that the fight would finally be over but—

"Aahh... To conquer the light of the sun... To walk in the day once again...!"

That hope is long gone.

He laughs. Laughs maniacally. Laughs so much it made your ears bleed. How dare he. How dare he stand tall and proud among the corpses of your comrades, of your allies. How dare he laugh at your misery. The mere sight of him, the mere sound of his breathing disgusts you.

And yet you can't take your eyes off him.

You've failed. Your sword cannot take his life, your only hope was the sun to burn him alive, but now that he has conquered it, he truly has become immortal.

His piercing red eyes turned to you, a foreign emotion swimming within.

"My love, oh my love, how I've waited for you to come back to me..."

He walked toward you, arms wide open as if he was awaiting a hug from you, "Finally... I have everything I have been waiting for, been looking for. I have achieved immortality and perfection..."

He stops at a distance away.

"and I finally have you by my side again."

Nausea builds up your throat. How dare he. How dare he even look at your way— how dare he utter even a single word right at you. He deserved to die in the worst way, boiled alive in acid, have his limbs torn to shreds—

In your blinding anger, you failed to register the hand resting on your cheek.

"So long I have waited for you to come back to me... I knew you wouldn't leave me all alone forever..."

What is he even talking about.

"Of course... You'll come back to me. You always do. You love me, after all."

Why is he lying. Why does he act as if he knows you.

"I'm sorry, (Y/n). I was a fool not to give you the love you deserved."

How does he know your name.

"But now we can finally be together forever. I can give you my blood! We will be equal!"

Why is he still talking to you. Stop talking, stop breathing. Just drop dead, die, die, die—

Wait— is he touching you?

Finally, you notice the ever-freezing, yet burning, touch on your cheek. You smacked it away, daring to challenge the devil of death before you with that bold act.

Yet, he remained unfazed, though his smile dropped, "I understand this may seem confusing. You don't remember, do you? That's fine. Once I share my blood with you, I'll make you remember with my memories. Perhaps I can even dig into your brain to stimulate it, maybe then it will uncover the memories of your past life— our shared life."

You jumped back, while slashing your sword across his abdomen. But of course, that is but a mere scratch, perhaps even less, to him. Even before you finished your attack, it had already healed.

There's truly no hope for you.

"Come now. It'll only be a while. It will hurt, that I cannot deny, but it is for the better," he stated, slowly walking toward you.

No. No. Whatever he was spewing about— that past life or whatnot— you don't care. All you care about is not falling into the hands of this monster. It's clear to you now he won't kill you, but rather to keep you by his side for whatever sick reasons he has.

That, you argue, is worse than death.

Perhaps, in another life, you would avenge your comrades, you would inflict every pain, every suffering that the monster has caused back to him. In another life.

But for now…

With no hesitation, with firm resolve, you smiled. A venomous, bitter smile— one that is alien to Muzan, so much so that he froze.

What a horrible expression painted on a canva he knew to be so innocent and beautiful long ago.

"I hope life gives you far worse torture than death, Kibutsuji Muzan. I will make sure your wish for immortality becomes your curse."

And with that, with the last of your strength as a hashira, you sliced your sword through your neck.

And for some reason, death sounds like a familiar tune to you.

[konoha-forbidden-scrolls]

Please feed us Kankuro fans… something… anything 😭 but really if you have any hcs to share about him or any of the side characters it would be awesome! I’m so happy there’s a new Naruto blog ❤️

You'll find I have a deep, abiding love for side characters! I hope you enjoy this mishmash of domestic and romantic headcanons for Kankuro! (Also I don't know if that's a real screencap but it's adorable.)

Characters: Kankuro

Contents: gn!reader, Kankuro being a menace

Kankuro

Of the three Sand siblings, Kankuro is probably the one who gets overlooked the most. Between a former bloodthirsty, insomno-maniac-turned-hot-Kazekage and Temari, Kankuro just fades into the background a little more. Classic middle child syndrome.

But there's a lot more to this guy than some funky face paint and a few puppets. Let's unpack.

First of all, Kankuro actually makes a pretty damn good boyfriend. He can be a little rough around the edges like a lot of Sand shinobi, but over time things wear smooth and easy as the well-oiled joints of his favourite puppets.

When you first meet him, he veers between cocky and uncertain in equal measures because of the aforementioned middle child syndrome, but as he gets older and more comfortable around you, he becomes more grounded, more confident.

Yes, he does still talk to his puppets, especially when he's mending them. You'll approach his workshop to tell him dinner's ready and he's in there, yapping away to some marionnette like he's a doctor and it's his patient. He used to get embarrassed when you first caught him at it, but now he just laughs it off. A twitch of his finger and some chakra strings and the puppet shrugs at you.

"This guy's a great listener," Kankuro jokes. "Sometimes all a guy needs is a block of wood to clear his head."

"Yeah, to the back of the skull maybe," Temari retorts when you tell her later. "I told that idiot to stop babying those things or he'd never get any friends."

He's got a few annoying habits. While his workshop is always clean and organised, his projects at home are messier and usually left somewhere inconvenient, like the kitchen table when you're about to sit down for dinner, or behind the couch cushions, ready to jab your ass when you flop down after a mission.

He takes ages to apply his face paint in the morning, hogging the bathroom mirror because he refuses to use a dressing table/vanity, and when that stuff spatters it is a bitch to clean. Sure, the smudge-proof, sweat-proof, waterproof stuff is great for Kankuro in the field, but when its crusted around the sink? Not so much. House rule: Kankuro has to scrub it off.

He likes to use puppet parts to prank you—think finding Karasu hiding behind the shower curtain, or opening the fridge to find a disembodied wooden hand flipping you off next to the tomatoes. Kankuro's wearing the biggest shit-eating grin when you jump, until you threatened his mechanical menaces with the woodchipper.

"Aww, c'mon, babe! Not Karasu! He's family!"

"Babe" is his #1 pet name for you. He gets really self-conscious if he tries to use anything more sentimental and quickly reverts back to the tried and true.

Call him "pookie" in front of Gaara and Temari to mess with him. He goes red under his face paint and sputters, trying to explain to them that you've never called him that before.

Temari smirks. "Whatever you say, pookie."

Kankuro looks in your eyes and he just knows this is payback for hiding a disembodied puppet head in the laundry basket.

The best gifts for Kankuro, outside of bigger occasions like his birthdays, are usually consumables for his puppet making: nails, screws, sandpaper, wood polish, paints, etc. These things can run out fast, and when you show up with exactly what he was about to run out of, he feels seen. Like you've been paying enough attention to his supplies and you care enough to get it for him without asking.

Speaking of puppet supplies, wood is at a bit of a premium in Suna. The time you came back from a mission and unsealed a scroll full of rare wood from the Land of Tea, he almost hyperventilated. Dude was running his hands over the wood chunks, holding up to the light, cooing over them like they were his firstborn.

Speaking of hands, Kankuro's are quite big, with even more callouses than the average shinobi. Those skilled hands of his are good for kneading the tension out of your muscles, popping your spine as easily as if you were a puppet. Fair warning, his hands almost always migrate down to your ass for a sly grope.

If he's feeling lazy and needs something from across the room, he'll absolutely use chakra strings to snag it and yoink it over to him.

Yes, this includes you.

AO3 | Other Blogs: Bungo Stray Dogs | BNHA | Bleach | JJK

[niallerspayno]

Troublemaker (Liam Payne x reader) - Fic Request

Masterlist

Anonymous request: Can you do a Liam one. I have no preference on the context of the fic, I just want something to read since I miss him a lot

You're the sixth member of One Direction, known for your mischievous streak and playful banter, especially when teaming up with Louis to cause chaos. It’s everything Liam, the ever-responsible "Daddy Direction," claims to dread—but maybe it’s exactly what he’s been dreaming of. After all, opposites have a way of attracting in the most unexpected ways.

Tags: Liam x reader, slight angst, fluff at the end, kinda enemies/friends to lovers

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

...

You dart down the narrow backstage hallway, laughing so hard your stomach aches. “You’ll never catch me, Lou!” you shout over your shoulder, your voice echoing against the walls. Louis is hot on your heels, equally breathless but determined, the kind of grin that spells trouble plastered across his face.

“Tag, you’re it!” he yells, lunging and narrowly missing your arm as you twist around a corner.

It’s chaos, pure and simple, but that’s nothing new for you and Louis. From the moment you became the sixth member of One Direction, you two have been inseparable partners in mischief. You’re the spark to his fire, the chaos to his carefully planned pranks. It drives Liam absolutely mad.

Speaking of Liam—

“Will you two stop it already?” His exasperated voice cuts through the commotion like a school teacher trying to control a class of rowdy kids. He’s standing near the catering table, arms crossed, jaw tight. His “Daddy Directioner” energy is in full swing, but you can tell he’s trying not to blow up entirely. There’s a show to put on in less than an hour, and the two of you are treating it like recess.

Niall is doubled over in laughter, barely managing to sip his tea. “This is the best pre-show entertainment ever,” he wheezes, while Harry leans against the wall, egging Louis on with shouts of, “Go on, mate, you’ve got her this time!”

Zayn, cool as ever, leans back in his chair with a smirk, his eyes flicking between you and Louis like he’s watching a live-action sitcom.

“Liam, you should join in,” you tease, shooting him a cheeky grin as you duck behind a rack of costumes. You don’t miss the way his jaw tightens even further. “Might loosen you up a bit.”

“Some of us have responsibilities,” he snaps, stalking toward you. “Unlike certain people who seem determined to injure themselves before we’ve even stepped on stage.”

Louis appears out of nowhere, lunging again and narrowly missing you. “Come on, Liam, live a little!” he calls out, dodging around a stagehand who’s clearly given up on questioning your antics.

“Absolutely not,” Liam replies, his tone firm. But the faintest hint of a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, and you know you’ve got him exactly where you want him.

This is your life—touring with the five boys who’ve become your family, bringing chaos wherever you go, and somehow always dragging Liam along for the ride.

Louis slides to a stop next to you, both of you breathless but grinning like maniacs. “She’s too quick for you, Liam!” he teases, resting his hands on his knees. “Face it, mate, you’ve got no chance.”

Liam’s glare sharpens as he adjusts his hat—his signature hat. “I wouldn’t have to chase anyone if you two could just act like adults for once.”

You gasp, feigning offense. “Act like adults? Where’s the fun in that?”

Niall, perched on the arm of a nearby couch, nearly chokes on his tea from laughing so hard. “Liam, mate, just give up now. You’re never gonna win.”

Harry, sprawled out on the couch like royalty, smirks. “I dunno, I think he’s got a shot if he actually tries. Though…” His eyes flick to you and Louis, full of amusement. “They’re on fire today.”

Zayn chuckles quietly from his chair, watching the chaos unfold like a front-row spectator at his favorite show.

You lean toward Louis, speaking just loud enough for Liam to hear. “Hey, Lou. You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Louis’s grin turns downright wicked. “Oh, definitely.”

“Don’t even start,” Liam warns, already stepping back like he knows what’s coming.

Too late. You spring forward, making a grab for Liam’s hat. He’s quick, ducking out of your reach, but Louis darts in from the side and plucks it clean off his head.

“Got it!” Louis shouts, holding the hat high like a trophy as he takes off running.

“Louis!” Liam roars, chasing after him.

You laugh, cutting around Liam to intercept. Louis tosses the hat to you mid-run, and you catch it with ease, holding it above your head as you twirl away from Liam’s grasp. “Come and get it, Payno!” you tease, dancing just out of reach.

“Give it back!” Liam’s tone is firm, but the faint smile tugging at his lips gives him away. He’s trying to stay mad, but you know he secretly loves the chaos—at least a little bit.

“Not a chance,” you call, dodging behind Niall, who nearly spills his tea again.

“Careful, Liam!” Harry shouts, his laughter ringing out. “You might actually break a sweat before the show starts!”

Liam lunges for you again, but you’re too quick, darting around a stack of equipment cases. Just when you think you’re safe, a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back against a solid chest.

“Gotcha,” Liam murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.

Your laugh catches in your throat as you glance up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the triumphant glint in his eyes. “Well, this is a nice surprise,” you say, tilting your head with a teasing smile.

“Hand it over,” he demands, his grip firm but not unpleasant.

“Or what?” you challenge, your tone dripping with mock innocence. “You gonna keep holding me like this? Because I don’t mind.”

You feel him stiffen slightly, his cheeks turning pink as he tries to maintain his stern demeanor. “Don’t test me,” he mutters, though his voice wavers just enough to betray him.

Louis, watching from a safe distance, bursts into laughter. “Liam, you’re supposed to scare her, not flirt back!”

“I’m not flirting!” Liam snaps, his arms still securely around you.

You laugh, leaning back against him. “No, but you’re definitely blushing.”

That earns a chorus of laughter from the rest of the boys, and Liam groans, finally releasing you. He snatches the hat out of your hand, jamming it back onto his head with a huff.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters, glaring at you as you flash him a triumphant grin.

“But you love it,” you reply, your voice light and teasing.

Liam doesn’t answer, but the slight curve of his lips as he turns away is all the confirmation you need.

…

The crowd is electric, thousands of fans screaming as the lights dim for the next song. You stand near Louis on stage, buzzing with energy, your mic in hand as you wave to the audience.

Beside you, Louis nudges your shoulder, leaning close so only you can hear. “What do you reckon? Should we shake things up a bit?”

You glance at him, a mischievous smile creeping across your face. “Always.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Liam on the other side of the stage, chatting with Harry as he adjusts his mic stand. His focus is elsewhere, which is exactly what you need.

Louis crouches down and grabs two water bottles from the edge of the stage, handing one to you. “You ready?” he asks, barely able to contain his laughter.

“Born ready,” you reply, uncapping the bottle.

The timing is perfect. Just as Liam takes a step toward center stage, you and Louis simultaneously aim and squeeze, sending streams of water straight at him.

The crowd erupts in cheers and laughter as Liam freezes in shock, water dripping from his hair and down his shirt. He stares at you both, wide-eyed, before holding up a hand to stop the music.

“Really?” he says into his mic, his tone caught between disbelief and amusement. “During the show?”

You shrug innocently, holding the water bottle behind your back. “Couldn’t resist,” you say, batting your lashes.

Louis, of course, doubles down. “You looked like you needed cooling off, mate!”

Liam shakes his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Alright, you asked for it.” He bends down, grabbing his own water bottle.

Before you can react, he retaliates, squeezing a jet of water straight at you. You yelp, dodging behind Louis, who immediately uses you as a human shield.

“Traitor!” you shout, laughing as Liam continues his attack.

“Serves you right!” Liam calls back, aiming another stream of water that narrowly misses you.

Harry and Niall are no help at all, both doubled over with laughter on the other side of the stage. “This is the best show ever!” Niall manages to choke out.

Zayn, cool and collected as always, steps back to avoid the chaos entirely, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Leave me out of it.”

Dodging another spray, you duck behind an equipment case, only for Liam to corner you, his water bottle raised and a triumphant grin on his face. “Nowhere to run,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You tilt your head, deliberately stepping closer until the water bottle is inches from your chest. “Oh no, Liam,” you purr, your voice playful. “What ever will I do? Guess I’m at your mercy now.”

His confident smile falters for just a second, and you swear you see a faint blush creep up his neck. “Don’t think you can sweet-talk your way out of this,” he says, though his voice wavers slightly.

You smirk, taking another step forward, and suddenly his bottle is no longer pointed at you but at the floor. “Sweet-talk? Me? Never.”

“Give her what she deserves, Liam!” Louis yells from across the stage, breaking the moment.

Liam blinks, clearly remembering the crowd, and his grin returns. “Alright, fine,” he says, and before you can react, he squeezes the bottle, soaking you from head to toe.

The crowd erupts in laughter and cheers as you stand there, water dripping down your face. You push your hair back dramatically, blinking at him. “Guess I had that coming,” you say, biting your lip as you hold his gaze.

“Definitely,” he replies, his voice softer now.

When you step closer, you hear the audience collectively lose their minds. Reaching out, you grab the brim of his hat and yank it off his head. “You missed a spot,” you tease, swiping the hat across your dripping hair before plopping it onto your own head.

Liam’s jaw drops, and the boys are no help, laughing harder than ever. “Give me that back!” he says, but there’s no real force in his voice.

“You want it?” you ask, taking a few slow steps backward. “Come and get it, Payne.”

The crowd is screaming now as Liam closes the distance between you in a few long strides. Before you know it, he’s wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you clear off the ground.

“Gotcha again,” he murmurs into your ear, his breath warm and teasing.

You laugh, squirming in his grasp. “This feels a little personal for a hat,” you quip, leaning your head back so you can see his face.

“It’s not just a hat,” he replies, his voice dropping slightly. “It’s my hat.”

You smirk. “And I wear it better.”

For a moment, you swear he forgets the crowd, his eyes locked on yours. The spell only breaks when Louis sprays you both with another jet of water, shouting, “Oi, lovebirds, this is a group effort!”

The laughter starts up again, and Liam finally sets you down, shaking his head with a laugh. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, but there’s no hiding the grin on his face—or the way he’s still looking at you as you slip his hat back onto his head with a wink.

…

The bus hums quietly as it rolls down the dark highway, the post-show adrenaline finally beginning to fade. You’re sprawled out on the couch, legs draped over Louis’s lap as he flicks through his phone, laughing at memes. Harry’s lying upside down in a recliner, his hair hanging toward the floor, while Niall plucks at his guitar, softly strumming the tune of a familiar melody. Zayn’s tucked in a corner with his sketchpad, headphones on but one earbud hanging loose, still listening to the group’s banter.

And then there’s Liam—perched across from you in one of the booths, arms crossed, his hat slightly askew from all the chaos earlier. He’s watching you with that same mix of exasperation and amusement he always has, his gaze lingering just long enough for you to notice.

Finally, he leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Alright,” he says, his voice cutting through the comfortable chatter. “I’ve got to ask—why do you act like that?”

The room quiets slightly, all eyes turning to you. You raise a brow, feigning innocence. “Like what?”

“You know what I mean,” he replies, his tone light but genuinely curious. “The pranks, the teasing, the constant chaos—what’s the deal? Are you trying to drive me insane?”

Louis snorts. “It’s a full-time job, mate.”

“I’m serious!” Liam insists, though he’s smiling now. “You’re relentless. Why?”

You shrug, sitting up and resting your chin on your hand. “Honestly? Because it’s fun.”

Liam groans, but you cut him off before he can respond. “No, really. Think about it—how many people get to do what we’re doing right now? Touring the world, performing for thousands of fans, living the dream? It’s insane.”

You gesture around the bus, your smile softening. “We’ve got the opportunity of a lifetime, Liam. Why not make the most of it? Why not have fun while we’re at it?”

Harry hums in agreement from his upside-down position. “She’s got a point.”

“And I like seeing you all riled up,” you add with a smirk, locking eyes with Liam. “You’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

The group erupts in laughter, Louis clapping his hands together. “I’ve been saying that for years!”

Liam groans again, but the faint blush creeping up his neck betrays him. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“Impossibly charming,” you correct, leaning back with a grin.

“She’s not wrong,” Niall chimes in, strumming a playful chord on his guitar.

Zayn finally looks up from his sketchpad, a faint smirk on his lips. “She’s definitely got you figured out, mate.”

“Yeah, she does,” Harry agrees, flipping upright in his chair. “What I want to know is, why do you let her get to you so much?”

That earns a round of teasing “oohs” from the group, and Liam sighs, running a hand down his face. “I don’t let her get to me.”

“You totally do,” Louis says, grinning. “It’s like watching a rom-com in real life.”

“More like a sitcom,” Niall adds, laughing.

Liam looks at you then, his gaze softer now. “You’re not gonna stop, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you reply, your voice low enough that the others barely hear. “But admit it—you’d miss it if I did.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just holds your gaze like he’s trying to figure you out. Then, finally, he sighs and leans back in his seat, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’re lucky I’m a patient man.”

“And you’re lucky I make life interesting,” you shoot back, your grin widening.

The group dissolves into laughter again, and the conversation shifts to lighter topics. But as the night wears on, you catch Liam sneaking glances at you, that same unreadable expression in his eyes. Maybe he’s finally starting to understand why you do what you do—or maybe he’s realizing he doesn’t mind it as much as he pretends to.

…

The next day’s rehearsal starts out relatively normal, but as usual, normal doesn’t last long when you’re around.

You and Louis, of course, are up to your usual tricks, looking for ways to make the most of your time backstage while the rest of the band is getting ready. You spot a cart full of stage props and equipment, just begging for some creative intervention.

Louis catches your eye and grins. “What do you reckon? Time to have a little fun?”

You laugh, already knowing what he’s thinking. “Absolutely.”

Within minutes, you’ve hijacked the cart, grabbing a few random props—a feather duster, a fake mustache, and a plastic horn—and begin marching around like a pair of lunatics, causing a ruckus. You sneak up on Harry, who’s sitting on the couch, earphones in, oblivious to the chaos brewing.

With one swift motion, you sneak the mustache over his face. He pulls it off, confused, but by that point, you’ve moved on to spraying Niall’s guitar with some random glitter you found in one of the boxes.

The group starts to take notice, but Liam’s the last one to figure it out. You see him across the room, still in his own world, checking his phone, blissfully unaware.

You lock eyes with Louis and give a wicked grin. “It’s time.”

You both sprint across the room, sidling up behind Liam before either he or the others have a chance to react.

Louis, ever the troublemaker, snatches Liam’s phone from his hand and tosses it to you, while you immediately start scanning through his texts.

“What are you doing?” Liam demands, his voice rising in mock horror.

“Just making sure you’re not texting anyone you shouldn’t be,” you tease, winking at him as you skim through his messages.

Liam’s face goes red. “Give it back, you little menace.”

“Oh, come on,” you laugh, holding the phone up high to tease him. “Not even a little bit curious about who you’ve been talking to, Liam?”

He jumps to his feet, reaching for his phone, but you just dance out of reach, holding it over your head like it’s some prize you’re unwilling to relinquish.

“You really want it back?” you ask, batting your lashes. “Make me.”

The others are watching, some of them laughing, others shaking their heads at the chaos you and Louis always manage to create. But Liam’s patience is wearing thin.

Before you can react, Liam moves with lightning speed, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward him. You stumble into his chest, and before you know it, his other arm is around your waist, holding you in place as he leans down, his face inches from yours.

“Alright, that’s it,” he says softly, his voice low and surprisingly serious. “Give. Me. The. Phone.”

You smirk, all flirty charm. “Make me.”

Without warning, Liam bends down and nips at your ear, sending a jolt of surprise through you. “Give. It. Back.”

The sudden proximity sends a wave of heat through you, and for a moment, you forget about the phone, forgetting everything except the way his breath brushes against your skin. You giggle, breathlessly, trying to pull away, but his hold is firm.

“Liam,” you tease, squirming in his arms. “This is unfair.”

“Nothing about this is fair,” he replies, his voice taking on that familiar teasing tone you’re starting to enjoy more than you care to admit.

Finally, you relent, handing the phone back to him with a playful pout. “You’re no fun.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Liam’s smile is small, but there’s something in his eyes as he looks at you that makes your heart skip a beat. “You’ve got to stop this, you know that?”

You grin, leaning in a little closer. “Stop having fun? Not a chance.”

Louis calls out from the other side of the room, breaking the moment. “Oi, are you two done flirting, or are we getting on with this rehearsal?”

Liam rolls his eyes, letting you go and moving back to his position on stage, still shaking his head with a small smile on his lips.

As you slip into your place alongside the others, you can’t help but sneak a glance at Liam, his focus now back on the setlist. But something feels different—like that unspoken tension between you is building more and more every day.

…

The night’s tour stop is in a city you’ve all been to a hundred times before, but this time, things are different. The hotel’s cozy, nothing too extravagant, but as always, the chaos of touring catches up to everyone. The band’s been laughing and messing around all day, the usual energy never quite fading.

But now, it’s time to get some rest, and the hotel room arrangement is… less than ideal.

“Alright,” Louis says, holding up his keycard with a grin. “I dibs Harry.”

Harry rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest, already heading toward the door.

Niall, barely able to suppress his smile, turns to Zayn. “I’m cool with sharing, mate.”

Zayn gives him a half-nod, half-shrug, and that’s that. They head off to their room, leaving you standing with Liam.

For a brief moment, you both look at each other. The realization hits you at the same time.

“Well, guess it’s us,” you say, trying to keep your voice casual, though the thought of being alone with Liam makes your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected.

Liam seems to hesitate before nodding. “Guess so.”

The two of you walk to your room, and it’s quiet, the tension thick in the air. You’ve been causing chaos for so long that the idea of being stuck with Liam—alone—feels different.

The room’s small, but you’ve seen worse. There’s one bed, and both of you pause at the sight of it.

“You’re not gonna make me sleep on the floor, are you?” you joke, trying to ease the tension.

Liam’s eyes flick to the bed, then back to you, his face impassive. “I’m not making you do anything,” he mutters, almost under his breath, and you can’t help but notice the edge to his tone.

The silence stretches out longer than either of you expected, and you decide to break it. “What’s with you, Liam?”

He looks at you, a frown creasing his brow. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been acting differently today,” you say, sitting on the bed, your tone lighter but still probing. “You’re… distant. You weren’t even messing around during rehearsal like you usually do.”

Liam exhales sharply and sits down beside you. “I guess I just don’t get it, sometimes.”

You raise an eyebrow, still watching him closely. “Don’t get what?”

He looks over at you, his expression suddenly more serious. “You. I don’t get how you can just… act like everything’s a joke. The pranks, the flirting, all of it. You’re always on the go, never slowing down, never thinking about what’s coming next.”

Your smile fades, and you sit up straighter. “You think I’m reckless?”

Liam runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe. Sometimes. I just… I worry about you.”

You blink in surprise. “Worry about me?”

“Yeah,” he continues, his voice quiet but steady. “You throw yourself into everything without a second thought, and I can’t help but think one of these days you’re gonna end up in trouble—really in trouble. And I won’t be there to stop it.”

You stare at him for a moment, surprised by his vulnerability, by the genuine concern behind his words. It’s not what you expected from him at all.

“I don’t need saving, Liam,” you finally say, your voice soft but firm. “I know what I’m doing.”

He looks at you, and there’s a long pause before he speaks again. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I know I don’t always show it, but I care. You’re… you’re a part of this band, part of my family. I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

You feel something twist in your chest at his words, a flutter of something you can’t quite explain. It’s not just the concern in his eyes, but the unspoken care that’s always been there, even when he’s trying to keep you in line.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you say, a little more quietly this time. “I know how to have fun, but I’m not stupid.”

Liam looks at you for a long moment, his gaze softening. “I just don’t want to see you fall, that’s all.”

You smile, this time more gently than before. “I won’t fall, Liam. Not if you’re around to catch me.”

For a moment, there’s a silence between you two that feels different. It’s not awkward, not heavy—it’s almost like you’re both seeing each other in a new light, understanding one another a little better than before.

Liam glances away, clearing his throat. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

You laugh, but it’s quieter, softer than usual. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He meets your eyes again, and for a split second, it feels like there’s more being said than either of you can put into words. But then, as always, the moment breaks, and Liam leans back with a sigh.

“Alright, enough of the deep talk. I’m going to bed,” he mutters, lying down on the opposite side of the bed, clearly still trying to maintain some semblance of order.

You smile to yourself, feeling the soft shift in the air. Maybe this forced proximity wasn’t so bad after all.

…

You wake up slowly, the soft morning light filtering through the thin curtains. The first thing you notice is warmth—a solid, steady warmth pressed against your back. Your head is nestled on someone’s chest, and their arm is draped snugly around your waist.

It takes you a moment to realize who it is, but the steady rise and fall of their breathing, combined with the faint scent of Liam’s cologne, gives it away.

Your eyes snap open. Oh.

You try to turn your head slightly, and sure enough, there’s Liam, still fast asleep, his face relaxed in a way you rarely see when he’s awake. His hair’s a little mussed, and his hand… is very securely around your waist.

For a moment, you consider shifting away, but then he stirs. His arm tightens slightly before he blinks awake, his eyes bleary with sleep as they meet yours.

You can practically see the realization hit him like a freight train. His eyes widen, and he pulls his arm back as if he’s been burned, sitting up so fast he nearly tumbles off the bed.

“Uh—morning,” he says, his voice rough from sleep, his cheeks quickly turning crimson.

You sit up as well, leaning on one elbow and giving him your best teasing grin. “Morning, snuggle bug.”

Liam groans, running a hand down his face. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, come on,” you say, sitting up fully and stretching. “Admit it—you liked it.”

“I didn’t,” he says quickly, a little too quickly, avoiding your gaze.

You smirk, leaning in slightly. “You sure about that? You were holding on pretty tight.”

Liam’s blush deepens, and he mutters something under his breath that you can’t quite catch.

Before you can tease him further, the door bursts open, and Louis strides in, his grin widening as he takes in the scene.

“Well, well, well,” Louis says, leaning against the doorframe. “Look who’s all cozy this morning.”

“Louis—” Liam starts, but Louis cuts him off with a dramatic gasp.

“Were you two… cuddling?” Louis’s eyes dart between the two of you, the gleeful expression on his face making it clear he’s not letting this go anytime soon.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Liam insists, his tone defensive, though the blush creeping up his neck tells a different story.

“Sure it’s not,” Louis says, smirking. “Sleeping with the enemy now, are we?”

You laugh, unbothered, and throw an arm around Liam’s shoulders. “Don’t be jealous, Lou. There’s plenty of me to go around.”

Liam shrugs your arm off, still looking mortified. “Louis, seriously, it wasn’t—”

“Oh, don’t explain yourself to me,” Louis interrupts, already backing out of the room. “I’m just the messenger. Wait till the others hear about this.”

“Louis!” Liam calls after him, but it’s no use. The door slams shut, leaving the two of you alone again.

You glance at Liam, who’s now burying his face in his hands. “Well, that’s one way to start the morning.”

“This is a nightmare,” he mutters, his voice muffled.

You grin, nudging his arm. “Relax, Liam. It’s not the end of the world. Besides…” You lower your voice, leaning in just enough to make him look at you. “I didn’t mind.”

His eyes meet yours, and for a second, you think you catch something—something soft, something real. But then he shakes his head, standing up quickly and heading for his bag.

“Let’s just get ready for breakfast,” he says, his back to you.

You watch him for a moment, your smile lingering as you get up to follow. Maybe you pushed him a little too far, but you can’t help but notice the way his ears are still red as he rummages through his things.

And if you’re being honest? You didn’t mind it, either.

…

The teasing starts before breakfast.

You’re barely halfway through your toast when Niall pipes up. “So, how’d you two sleep last night?” he asks, his voice innocent but his grin anything but.

Harry snickers into his coffee. “Yeah, Liam, you looked so well-rested this morning.”

Louis, of course, takes it a step further. “Can’t blame him! Snuggling with her would tire anyone out. She’s like an octopus—arms everywhere.”

You laugh, unbothered, as you pop a piece of bacon in your mouth. “Jealous, Lou? Don’t worry; you’ll get your turn.”

The table erupts into laughter, even Zayn cracking a rare smile. But Liam just sits there, his face buried in his hands, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, “This is my nightmare.”

The teasing doesn’t let up during rehearsals, either. Every time you and Liam so much as glance at each other, Louis makes some exaggerated comment about “chemistry” or “true love,” and Niall keeps humming wedding march music under his breath.

You take it all in stride, laughing along and even throwing in a few playful winks in Liam’s direction, but he’s visibly flustered, avoiding eye contact with you and muttering under his breath every chance he gets.

Eventually, the rehearsal breaks for a moment, and you take the chance to grab some water. As you’re about to head back to the stage, you catch sight of Liam standing with Zayn and Harry in the corner. Their voices are low, but there’s something about Liam’s posture—his arms crossed, his head down—that makes you pause.

You shouldn’t eavesdrop. You know that. But curiosity gets the better of you.

“I just don’t know what to do, mate,” Liam’s voice drifts over, quiet and uncertain. “She’s… she’s everything. Always has been. But what if—what if it’s all just an act?”

Harry’s voice comes next, soft and encouraging. “You mean the flirting?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, sighing. “I mean, she’s like that with everyone, isn’t she? Always teasing, always joking. What if it doesn’t mean anything? What if I tell her how I feel, and she laughs it off? Or worse, pushes me away?”

Zayn chimes in, his voice calm and steady. “You’ll never know unless you tell her. But, Liam, man, I don’t think it’s an act. The way she looks at you? That’s not just flirting. That’s something real.”

Liam doesn’t respond right away, and the silence feels heavy.

“I’ve been in love with her for years,” he finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t lose her. I’d rather keep her at arm’s length than risk losing her completely.”

Your heart twists at his words. For all your teasing and chaos, you never imagined Liam felt this way. And the way he talks about you—with so much care, so much fear—makes your chest ache.

You step back quietly, slipping away before they notice you. Your mind is racing, but one thing is clear: this changes everything.

…

It’s been a week since you overheard Liam’s heart-to-heart with Zayn and Harry, and it’s like a switch has flipped.

You’ve always known Liam as the responsible one—the one who fusses over everyone, makes sure the schedules are followed, and keeps chaos to a minimum. But now you’re noticing the little things he does just for you.

He always checks if you’ve eaten before rehearsals, even when he doesn’t ask the others. He hands you his hoodie when the green room is too cold, no hesitation, even if he’s left shivering in a T-shirt. When Louis dragged you into a pillow fight last night, it was Liam who stopped you both—not because he was annoyed, but because you’d almost knocked over a lamp.

He doesn’t just care. He cares about you.

You’ve spent the last week watching him more closely, testing the theory. And every time he softens in your direction, every time his voice gentles when he talks to you, your chest tightens a little more.

But, true to form, you bury the feelings under a smirk and a wink. You’d rather tease him than admit how much those little gestures mean to you.

Which is exactly what leads to today’s trouble.

You and Louis are in full chaos mode—again. It started harmlessly enough, with Louis daring you to balance as many unopened water bottles on your arms as you could. When that got boring, he upped the ante: “Bet you can’t juggle them!”

That was a disaster, obviously, but now you’ve moved on to Louis’s latest bright idea: seeing who can climb higher on the scaffolding at the back of the stage.

“Careful up there!” Harry calls from below, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“Don’t worry about us, Harold!” Louis shouts back, grinning as he grabs hold of a higher bar. “We’re professionals.”

You roll your eyes, laughing as you climb after him. The adrenaline rush is half the fun, though you know Liam’s probably going to kill you both when he finds out.

“Come on, slowpoke!” Louis taunts, glancing down at you.

“Keep talking, Tomlinson,” you shoot back, pulling yourself up another rung. “I’ll pass you in no time.”

But the next step you take feels off. The metal bar under your foot shifts slightly, and before you can react, it slips completely. Your heart lurches as your grip loosens, and you feel yourself falling.

The world tilts, and then everything stops with a painful thud as you land on the stage floor below.

The air is knocked out of your lungs, and for a moment, all you can do is lie there, stunned. You hear shouts—Louis’s panicked voice, Niall’s gasp—but it’s Liam’s footsteps you hear first, pounding across the stage like he’s sprinting for his life.

“Are you okay?!” he demands, dropping to his knees beside you. His hands hover over you, like he wants to touch but doesn’t know where it’s safe.

“I’m fine,” you croak, though the sharp pain in your ankle tells a different story.

“You’re not fine,” he snaps, his tone harsher than you’ve ever heard it. But his hands are gentle as he carefully checks your ankle, his jaw tightening when you wince.

The others gather around, their faces a mix of worry and guilt. Louis looks the most shaken, his usual grin replaced with a pale, wide-eyed stare.

“Liam, I didn’t think—” Louis starts, but Liam cuts him off.

“Not now, Louis,” he says firmly. “Go get the medic.”

Louis nods and takes off, leaving Liam to focus on you.

“You could’ve broken something,” he mutters, his voice trembling slightly.

You manage a weak smile. “Guess I’m not as professional as I thought.”

“Don’t joke about this,” he says, finally meeting your eyes. There’s something raw in his expression—fear, anger, and something deeper you can’t quite name. “You scared me.”

And just like that, the teasing is gone. For the first time, you’re not thinking about how to make him blush or stammer. All you can think about is how much he cares—and how much you’ve been trying to ignore how much you care, too.

…

The medic confirms it’s just a sprained ankle, but you’re pretty sure Liam would’ve reacted the same if you’d broken every bone in your body.

“You need to keep weight off it for a while,” the medic says. “Ice it, elevate it, and try to rest.”

“Rest,” Liam repeats, nodding like it’s a direct order from the Queen herself. “Got it. She’ll rest.”

The medic gives him an odd look, then glances at you. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, wincing as Liam adjusts the pillow under your leg for the hundredth time.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks immediately, his brow furrowing.

“Not as much as your fussing,” you tease, though the warmth in your voice takes the sting out of it.

Before he can argue, the rest of the boys file into the green room. Louis is first, looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

“Love,” he starts, his hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think—well, clearly, I didn’t think.”

“You’re right about that,” Liam mutters, not looking up from adjusting the ice pack on your ankle.

Louis shoots him a look but doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he crouches down beside the chair you’re sitting in, his blue eyes earnest. “Seriously, though. You okay?”

“I’m fine, Lou,” you say, reaching out to pat his arm. “Just a sprain. You’ll have to find someone else to climb scaffolding with for a while, though.”

“Never again,” he says quickly, his voice more serious than you’re used to hearing. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Before you can respond, Harry, Niall, and Zayn crowd around.

“You sure you’re okay?” Harry asks, his usual smirk replaced with genuine concern.

“Yeah,” Niall adds, his brows knit together. “We should’ve said something when we saw you two up there.”

“I wasn’t even sure it was safe,” Zayn admits quietly, crossing his arms. “I should’ve spoken up.”

“Guys, it’s not your fault,” you insist, trying to reassure them. “Really, I’m fine—”

“She’s fine,” Liam interrupts, his tone clipped as he straightens up and crosses his arms. “But it could’ve been worse. She needs rest and no more stunts like this.”

The boys exchange a look, their worry giving way to something lighter.

“Wow,” Harry says, cocking his head. “Look at you, Liam. Our own personal Florence Nightingale.”

“More like a bodyguard,” Niall quips. “Her very overprotective bodyguard.”

Louis perks up at that, his guilty expression replaced with a grin. “Or her boyfriend. The overprotective kind.”

“I’m not—” Liam starts, but he’s already blushing, his hands flying up in exasperation.

“You kind of are,” Zayn says with a small smirk.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to carry her to the bus later,” Harry adds.

The teasing breaks the tension, and you can’t help but laugh, despite the throbbing in your ankle.

“Maybe I’ll let him,” you say, shooting Liam a wink. “Could be fun.”

Liam groans, rubbing a hand over his face, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile.

…

The tour bus hums quietly as it barrels down the highway, the usual chaos subdued by exhaustion. The boys are scattered throughout the bus—Niall and Zayn are already passed out in their bunks, while Harry and Louis are huddled in the back lounge, their laughter faint through the door.

You’re sitting on the couch near the front, your injured ankle propped up on a pillow. The pain has dulled to a manageable ache, but Liam is still hovering nearby, pretending to scroll through his phone while he steals glances at you every other second.

“Liam,” you finally say, breaking the silence.

He looks up immediately, his expression unreadable. “Yeah?”

“You can stop watching me like I’m about to spontaneously combust,” you tease lightly, patting the cushion beside you. “Sit down before you wear a hole in the floor.”

He hesitates, then crosses the small space to sit beside you. Close, but not close enough.

“I just… wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he says, his voice soft. “After today.”

“I’m fine,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time, though this time your tone lacks its usual teasing edge. “Really, Liam. You don’t have to worry so much.”

“I can’t help it,” he admits, his gaze dropping to his hands. “When you fell… I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

The vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you just stare at him.

“You care about me,” you say quietly, testing the waters.

He lets out a soft, almost nervous laugh. “Of course I do. You’re… you’re one of my best friends.”

It’s not enough. Not anymore.

“Liam,” you say, your voice firmer now. “I’m tired of pretending.”

He looks at you, his brow furrowing. “Pretending?”

You shift closer, your heart pounding. “Pretending that I don’t notice how much you care. That I don’t notice all the little things you do for me. That I don’t feel the same way.”

His eyes widen, and for a second, you think you might’ve broken him.

“I’m saying,” you continue, your voice softer now, “that I like you, Liam. A lot. More than I probably should.”

The silence stretches between you, thick and charged.

“You…” He trails off, his voice barely a whisper. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say, your lips twitching into a small smile. “You think I’d risk saying it if I didn’t?”

He stares at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure out if this is real. Then, suddenly, he’s leaning in, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

The kiss is tentative at first, like he’s still testing the waters. But when you respond, tangling your fingers in his shirt to pull him closer, all that hesitation melts away.

It’s soft and slow and perfect—everything you never knew you needed.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest against each other, both of you breathless but smiling.

“I’ve wanted to do that for years,” he admits, his voice low and full of wonder.

You grin, brushing your nose against his. “Well, it’s about time.”

He laughs, the sound warm and full of relief, and when he kisses you again, you think maybe—just maybe—you could get used to this.

…

The bus is quiet now, the hum of the engine the only sound as you carefully maneuver into Liam’s bunk. Your sprained ankle makes it awkward, but Liam is already there, helping you settle in like it’s second nature.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, his hands gentle as they guide your leg onto a stack of pillows he’s somehow managed to fit into the cramped space. “I can sleep on the couch if you need more room.”

You shake your head, tugging at his arm until he climbs in beside you. “Liam, the couch is lumpy, and you’d be up every five minutes checking on me anyway. Just stay.”

He hesitates for a moment before settling in, his body warm and solid beside yours. It’s a tight fit, but neither of you seems to mind.

“Comfortable?” he asks softly, his voice low in the dim light.

“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning into him. “More than you’d think.”

For a while, you just lay there, the silence between you comfortable and heavy with unspoken words.

“I meant what I said earlier,” you whisper finally, breaking the quiet.

Liam shifts to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “About what?”

“About liking you. About not wanting to pretend anymore.”

His breath hitches, and he looks away for a moment, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he admits, his voice so soft you almost miss it.

Your heart stutters, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him.

“Years?” you echo, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his gaze still fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “I thought… I thought it was just your thing, you know? The flirting, the teasing. I didn’t think you’d ever see me the way I see you.”

“Liam,” you say, reaching out to take his hand. “It was never just an act. Not with you.”

His eyes snap to yours, wide and vulnerable.

“I was scared,” you admit, your fingers tightening around his. “Scared that if I let myself feel this way, I’d ruin everything. But I couldn’t stop. You’re… you’re the calm to my storm, Liam. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He exhales sharply, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as his lips find yours in a kiss that’s equal parts relief and adoration.

When you pull back, you rest your forehead against his, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt.

“I feel like I’m finally home,” you whisper, and you feel him smile against your skin.

“You are,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “And you always will be.”

The night passes in a blur of quiet laughter, whispered confessions, and soft kisses, the small space of the bunk feeling like its own little world. For the first time in a long time, everything feels right.

…

The morning light filters weakly through the tour bus windows, the soft rumble of the engine lulling you into a half-asleep haze. You’re vaguely aware of the warm, steady rise and fall of Liam’s chest beneath your cheek, his arm wrapped securely around your waist.

It’s peaceful—perfect, even—until the curtain to the bunk jerks open with a dramatic whoosh.

“Well, well, well,” comes Louis’ unmistakable voice, dripping with amusement. “What do we have here?”

You blink against the sudden light, trying to sit up, but Liam’s arm tightens around you instinctively.

“Louis,” Liam groans, his voice still thick with sleep. “Close the curtain.”

“Oh, no,” Louis says, grinning like he’s just hit the jackpot. “This is gold. Lads, come here!”

Before you can protest, Harry, Niall, and Zayn appear behind him, their expressions ranging from amused to downright smug.

“Finally,” Harry says, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall.

“About time,” Niall adds, his grin wide.

Zayn just shakes his head with a small smirk. “Didn’t think it’d take you this long, mate.”

Liam groans again, burying his face in his hand. “Can we not do this right now?”

“Oh, we’re absolutely doing this right now,” Louis declares, hopping up onto the bunk across from yours so he’s at eye level. “I mean, come on. You two? Sharing a bunk? Snuggled up like lovebirds? This is a historic moment.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Good morning to you too, Louis.”

“Morning, love,” he says, though his grin falters slightly. “Guess this means I’ve lost my partner-in-crime, huh?”

The teasing tone is there, but so is the hint of something softer—something almost wistful.

“Oh, Lou,” you say, reaching out to pat his knee. “You’ll never lose me. Who else would come up with brilliant plans to drive Liam insane?”

“Excuse me?” Liam cuts in, his brows shooting up.

“See? You’ve still got me,” you continue, ignoring Liam’s glare. “And now we’ve got a whole new dynamic to work with.”

Louis brightens immediately, his grin returning full force. “You know, you’re absolutely right. This could be even better.”

Liam groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Why do I feel like I’m going to regret this?”

“Because you will,” Harry says, clapping him on the shoulder with a laugh.

“Don’t worry, Liam,” Niall says, clearly enjoying himself. “At least now she’ll have someone to keep her in check.”

“Doubtful,” Zayn mutters, but the smirk on his face says he’s not entirely opposed to the idea.

The boys eventually wander off, their laughter fading as they head toward the back of the bus. Louis lingers a moment longer, his grin softening into something more genuine.

“Happy for you, love,” he says quietly, giving you a wink before hopping down and disappearing after the others.

When the curtain finally falls shut, you turn to Liam, who’s still shaking his head.

“You’ve just made my life ten times harder,” he mutters, though the fondness in his voice betrays him.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” you say, leaning up to kiss him softly.

He sighs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “No. I wouldn’t.”

...

Part 2

[that-one-writer-on-that-site]

YANDERE BURNING SPICE X READER HCS

probably ooc (out of character) but I wrote this on a whim without much thought at 3am, sooooo [1.6k words]

Burning Spice Cookie is a man known for his lust for violence and contempt towards pretty much everyone he sets his eyes on

He shows no sympathy towards anyone and could (and does) harm anyone without so much as a single ounce of guilt

So it was definitely a surprise when, seemingly out of nowhere, you appeared at his side

You were complete opposites

You were a kind soul that doesn't want to harm anyone, one that feels immense guilt if you do

So it definitely wasn't a surprise when everyone realized you weren't by his side willingly

No one isn't really sure how it happened, multiple rumors and guesses have been made by everyone, including his own soldiers and generals

But the real story is honestly quite.. strange

You always stood for your view, and even though Burning Spice was definitely more powerful than you, you didn't lose your bite

When his soldiers threw you in down on your knees in front of him, you didn't stay down

No, you stood back up, looked him straight in the eye and stated “I don't kneel to the kinds of you.”

He was baffled, then he burst out laughing

He's known to hate being bored, it's the worst thing that can happen to him, really

But you never ceased to interest him further

He first kept you by his side just to see you snap and try to attack him

But soon it turned into something more

Even when you grew tired and slowly became more quiet, his eyes never faltered

He didn't see you as someone lower than him, someone he can kill and forget mere seconds later

He didn't want to lose this strange feeling

He never realized that his actions were out of love, he is a bit inexperienced in that area

You noticed right away and constantly tried to reject any gifts, affection, praise or anything alike

Speaking of which, all of those happened often.

He'd present you with words that comment on your bravery and spite

He towered over you, grinning like a maniac. “You've got quite the flame, Y/N.” He leaned on the hilt of his axe, staring down at you with a look you can only describe as obsessive interest mixed with something evil. His head cocked to the side and his eyes dimmed. “How have I not noticed you before?”

Finally when he gets slapped with the reality of falling in love, his multiple love languages quadruple in intensity

He was ideally trying to win you over, but it was really only scaring you further

He wouldn't back down though, you not accepting his offers only tells him that he's not trying hard enough

So you have to either get the hint and accept whatever overbearing gift he's pushing into your hands or expect an even grander one the next day

Unfortunately, accepting his gift = accepting his marriage offer, so, whoopsie

Overall he's really affectionate to the point where it's embarrassing,

You're the only one that he sees as an equal, everyone else is a low life that doesn't deserve your attention

This possessiveness does lead to isolation to some degree

But he's not dumb, he knows you're against his entire life so of course if he cannot be by your side he'd have someone trusted with you, someone like Nutmeg Tiger Cookie

She's nice to you and does try to comfort you into just accepting your fate, which doesn't really work in the end

He also just wouldn't be able to get you out of his head, constantly thinking of how you're doing and where you are

It might also lead to paranoia on his side in the most weirdest of times

You sit in the gardens, the shade of the umbrella covering you from the blazing sun above you. Three soldiers sit a bit farther away under a patio, where you commanded them to watch you. You did truly feel bad about them having to always stand foot or so behind you while you're out in the gardens in the hottest days of the summer, not allowed to sit beside you because someone is a bit too possessive.. You don't want them to pass out due to heatstroke, so you just chose a bench that's close enough to somewhere your guards can take some shade as well close enough.

You take a deep breath in and exhale, just enjoying the peace with your eyes closed… Till you all of a sudden feel big hands grasp at your shoulders and jolt you back to reality. “My dear?! Are you alright?!”

After a bit of back and forth, you realized that he was worried that you didn't finish your lunch… Son of a bitch literally interrupted some quiet because you left a few pieces of food on the plate… as if he doesn't already spoil you with goods and sweets beforehand

Burning Spice Cookie dresses you in the most finest of cloths that would not only match your worth but also make it quite clear you're with him

He would roll his eyes and cross his arms at the mere notion of you wearing your own clothes, saying “But how are people supposed to know you're with me?” Or “I don't get how you prefer your old clothes against the silk I've gotten you.”

But maybeeee if you play around with his hair and braid it or smth then maybe just maybe he'll maybe let you like maybe wear your own choice of clothes… maybe… as long as there is something that makes it clear you're not someone anyone can mess with… and he's around you

If you get frustrated and start shouting and punching, honestly, he'd just let you

He'd take every punch (not like it really does much sorrryyy) and welcome every word

He'd let you scream for as long as your lungs can, not interrupting and responding if you want him to

He’d apologize, try to calm you, but won’t touch you or come too close to not anger you or scare you even more

But in the end, he won't change

He'll still be overbearing, obsessive and possessive

He'll still keep you away from your friends and family

He just can't get himself to loosen his hold

Anywho

He does NOT play around with your life

God forbid you say “I'm gonna kill myself” because you're gonna go through hell

And he'll go through the 5 stages of grief (except acceptance, he'd rather himself die than let you be harmed)

He'll take it very seriously

You're going to have to somehow snap him out of his little panic mode as well as physically stop him from hauling you into your shared room to explain to him your joke

He will listen and try to understand this so called joke and in the end will calm down

Just begs you to never say something like that ever please

But still gets more apprehensive with handing you sharp objects or literally anything that could harm you

Also, if his bed is pushed up against a wall he'd be that type of guy to have a huge bed that can fit your entire family tree and their pets’s third removed cousins but would still cuddle up with you pressed against the wall

He feigns innocence and says that it's just a habit he has of sleeping near the wall

But in reality it's calculated in a way where it's harder for you to flee because you'd have to climb over him to get out

And also if someone bursts into the room with the intention of attacking, you won't be the first thing they harm (wowwee what a gentleman)

He is so chill about murder that it makes you triple-take every single time

He once killed someone who tried to help you escape an enemy in front of you thinking that this act of affection would make you believe that he can protect you no matter what

It did make you believe it, but it also made you much more scared of him than usual

He noticed your unusual behavior and got the hint, now opting to just drag whoever it is he's attacking away from you and chopping their head off there

Unless there just isn't anywhere to put you or the opponent, in that case he'd press you against his chest and kill them behind you

You didn't see it, yes, but you sure as hell heard it

He'd try his best to comfort you and show you that he can be gentle, that while he is known as The Great Destroyer, he wouldn't dream of ever harming you

But to be fair he has had his fair share of thoughts about some of that stuff

If you continuously run away, he'd think to himself “Why don't I just break their legs, that'll make it harder for them to run.”

Or, “I should just chain them to their bed, that way there's no escaping anymore.”

Those are just thoughts though, he'd never tell you of them. But don't test his patience.

He’d always want to be around you, no matter what or where you are

He wants to see you smile and laugh, talk or simply just walk

You’d think being around you would slowly diminish his ever growing need

But it does quite the opposite

He only yearns for more, only wants more

His obsession spreads further through his mind, and soon all of his kills and victories are made in your name

[cosycryptid]

Cold, Shiny, Hard Plastic - Part 1

Steve starts being mean, but only to those who deserve it.  Also on AO3 [here]

It isn’t long after Nancy breaks Steve’s heart that he realises his words can deliver just as hard a hit as the nail ridden bat he always keeps somewhere nearby.

His class are in gym playing basketball, or they’re trying to, anyway. Billy Hargrove is out sick and Tommy Hagan seems to have taken it upon himself to perform his best rendition. It’s infuriating that the idiot a) is holding up the entire game with this crap and b) does not have what Billy does when it comes to commanding a room. His taunting is mild at best and mind-numbingly pathetic at worst. Steve’s lost count of the number of times he’s rolled his eyes and sighed at him in the past half an hour, and the rest of their peers are clearly starting to get pissed at the constant hold ups too.

“Will you stop being a fucking idiot and play the game already?” Steve eventually asks, caving to the irritation bubbling up inside him. His patience is stretched so thin it’s close to breaking point and he’s not entirely sure what’s going to happen when it gets there, but he feels like he’s right on the precipice of a significant shift.

“What’s the matter, Stevie boy?” Tommy asks with an ugly smirk that Steve wants nothing more than to wipe off his equally ugly face. “Got your panties in a twist because Nancy Wheeler doesn’t love you and would rather fuck that weirdo freak Jonathan Byers?” He pouts at Steve in a condescending manner.

Something snaps in Steve, tense anger bubbling to the surface in a way that takes hold of his body like he’s been possessed. He stands a little straighter, a hand going to his hip as he keeps hold of the ball with the other. Tommy seems to pick up on the sudden change in Steve’s demeanor as he shrinks back ever so slightly when Steve levels him with a nasty look.

“You know, Tommy. It must really sting to always be second in command, always the bridesmaid, never the bride.” Steve sneers. “Maybe if you pulled your tongue out of the current reigning's asshole long enough to develop a personality, you wouldn’t be so insignificant that you have to be someone else’s lapdog just for people to remember who you are. Now either be a dear and play the damn game or fuck off to the bench where you belong, waiting for your moment in the spotlight but never quite getting it.”

“F-fuck you,” Tommy responds weakly. “You’re a washed-up loser, Steve.”

“Hmmm, maybe,” Steve nods. “But at least I’m not destined for a lifetime of kissing ass for a spec of recognition. Don’t be too sad about it though, Tommy, it’s not your fault. Some people will just never have what it takes, especially if what it takes is talent, looks or likeability.” He gives Tommy his best fake smile and a little wave of his fingers. “Goodbye now, Tommy. Enjoy the taste of Hargrove’s hairy, crusty, unwashed asshole.”

Tommy storms off, slamming the door to the gym shut behind him with a resounding bang. The entire room has fallen silent, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Several of the people who’d chosen to sit out on the bleachers are staring at him, open mouthed. One of them, Steve thinks his name was Munson or something, is hiding a delighted grin behind a lock of hair he’s dragged in front of his face with his ring adorned fingers. The rest of the class is looking at him like he just grew another head.

And Steve? Steve feels powerful, and for once it doesn’t come from following unwritten illogical social laws to try and be the best at fitting in. It comes from letting his emotions loose and taking egotistical maniacs down a few dozen pegs.

“Well, are we going to finish the game or not?” he asks with a smile as he tosses the ball to one of the other guys in his class. The game resumes with less distractions this time, but Steve still feels people glancing in his direction every so often as if they’re still trying to process what happened.

The next day at lunch Steve notices Billy, flanked by Tommy and some other lackeys, threatening some freshmen and knocking over their lunch trays. For a second all he sees in his head is the four young boys in Nancy’s brother’s friendship group. The ones who survived hell the year before and were probably worth a thousand of Billy and his flock of loyal sheep.

That same quiet confidence fueled by anger starts to take hold of Steve again. He looks at Billy through fresh eyes, noting that the guy is basically just charisma, hair, a crappy personality and nothing else. Is this how people have been perceiving Steve all this time? He should probably fix that soon. But to start with he quickly gathers and purchases two new trays of lunch, crossing the cafeteria to place them in front of the kids who just lost theirs. They look up at him like he’s their new god and thank him profusely but he tells them not to mention it.

Billy’s moved on to torment another table of unsuspecting freshmen. He catches sight of Steve picking up the spilled trays and food and watches him carry them over to an appreciative lunch lady, his eyes narrowing. He only decides to make his move once Steve has settled into a seat with his own lunch.

“Heard you were being a bitch in gym yesterday, Steve,” Billy drawls loudly, announcing his presence. He’s wearing his signature casual smirk that looks like he’s aware of an embarrassing secret and is just waiting for the chance to blackmail you with it. It would be more off putting if it wasn’t for the fact that it looks so strained and doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

Steve laughs as he realisies just how desperately all of these guys are trying to appear like they’re untouchable and nothing bothers them, it would be hilarious if it didn’t have half the student body convinced that they were the people to be feared. It wouldn’t be staying that way for long if Steve had anything to say about it. The barest hint of a falter in Billy’s smile is to Steve what a drop of blood in the ocean is to a shark.

“That’s the bitch, Hargrove. Put some respect on it,” Steve replies casually, pushing his half empty tray aside and standing from his seat to face Billy head on. “Thanks for holding my crown for me while I was having a breather, but I’ll be taking that back now.”

“Is that so?” Billy says, an eyebrow raised in amusement as he rises to Steve’s challenge. “And how are you going to do that when no one’s afraid of you and no one wants to sleep with you?”

“Now we both know that second one is just straight up not true, but it’s cute how much you need to rely on other people to get anywhere,” Steve grins, patting Billy on the cheek boldly. “What would you be without your victims? A nobody and disappointment to your parents I’m guessing.” Billy flinches at that last line and Steve latches onto the reaction.

“Oh, did I strike a nerve?” Steve taunts. “Is Billy a big bad bully because he’s following in daddy's footsteps?”

“Shut the fuck up before I break your pretty face, Harrington,” Billy warns him, but it comes out too loud, like Steve’s getting under his skin for once instead of the other way around. It gives Steve a small thrill to see him so affected. People around them have noticed that Billy appears unnerved and begun to listen in.

“Aw you think my face is pretty, Billy?” Steve asks sarcastically. “I’m flattered, really, but unfortunately people with hair that has the texture of straw on the ends aren’t my type.”

To Steve’s amusement, Billy feels the ends of his hair self-consciously. He catches Steve’s reaction and scowls. “You might wanna stop fucking talking if you know what’s good for you,” he advises. “We both know you wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight against me.”

Billy’s secretly drowning, Steve’s been there, and he knows what it feels and looks like. However, if Billy’s being an asshole and taking it out on others who don’t deserve it, Steve isn’t going to take any pity on him. Plenty of people at Hawkins High School were secretly drowning, but they weren’t making people miserable and trying to drown everyone else with them.

“Is that all you’ve got? Your fists?” Steve asks. “No offense Billy, but no one’s ever been considered a great leader just because they punch real good. Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

“If you ask me, it’s a bit weird that you just admitted to looking at me. You queer or something, King Steven?” Billy asks, trying his best to hang on to some semblance of the upper hand. It falls flat.

“Nice to see you’re giving me my rightful title back, just like I asked,” Steve smirks, Billy looks caught off guard that Steve completely brushes past the queer remark without letting it affect him. “But what I see is a scared little boy trying desperately to inflict pain on other people because he wants that same power and control his dad seems to be able to get from treating everyone around him like dirt. Your act may have everyone else convinced but it’s so obvious.

“It’s obvious from your attempt at facial hair, and that expression you walk around with that’s supposed to be threatening but is closer to constipation. You’re trying so hard to be a big scary grown up but we can all see through it. Oh, and newsflash, your dad is also a scared little boy controlling people through fear because he has absolutely nothing else going for him. Might want to think on that one because right now that person you despise so much is you in about twenty years or so.”

“How was that?” Steve asks. “Were my feet planted enough for you?”

Billy’s staring at him in a state of shock, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying and failing to come up with a response, and his eyes have a telling watery shine to them. Steve brushes past his shoulder, making his way toward the exit.

Along the way he catches sight of that boy from gym class again sitting at the head of one of the tables, only this time he’s staring at Steve in awe and squeezing the life out of a juice box, completely unaware of the orange juice flooding both his lunch and the table. Because Steve finds it kind of cute, he sends a warm smile in the guy's direction and gives a little wave of his fingers. The other guy returns the gesture, his rings glinting in the sun that shines in through the windows. His face doesn’t change from its dazed expression, but he does crush the juice box further.

Steve smiles to himself as he leaves the lunch hall in a state of complete disarray.

He’s going to love every minute of becoming an absolute fucking monster, he can already tell.

Part 2

[borkunlimited]

Luke & Kieran's Bakery Attack(s) - 3

Running around the N109 zone takes energy and what is the best way to deal with that? Buying pastries and paying for them later, of course! (They are not stealing if you plan to pay.) Yet, that is only half the fun because what they really come for in that little bakery is that cute sheep hybrid who holds a grudge on them till kingdom come. A Sheep Hybrid! Reader x Wolf Hybrid! Luke & Kieran Tags: Luke x Reader, Kieran x Reader, Fluff, Banter, Predator/Prey Chapter Summary: In which Luke and Kieran brings you to see their greatest prank yet. Author's Note: Finally getting back to this! AO3 Attack Count: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 This is a side story of Take Your Time, Miss Deer (Dragon Hybrid! Sylus x Deer Hybrid! Reader)

Attack # 3: Two Jackets Plus 1

“What is this supposed to be?”

“A sheep.”

“Your sheep sucks, Luke,” you pointed out, looking at the video you took of him drawing something in the air using one of the sparklers they brought with them on the rooftop of the building currently under construction all three of you are standing right now.

It was a school night.

You shouldn’t be here but they both said they are about to give the N109 zone an unforgettable night (“Sheepie, it’s going to be so grand!”, that’s what they kept telling you when you followed them out of your bedroom window.)

“Your wolf isn’t any better,” Kieran commented, showing you his phone and he snickered when you slapped his arm.

“It isn’t a wolf, it’s a cat.”

“Oh so here we are drawing your likeness and you did someone else’s?”

“That’s the cat you dump in our bakery, dumbass.”

Technically, they didn’t dump the cat the boss set aside during a shootout near the miss’ tailor shop.

“The correct phrase is leaving Mr. Orange under your temporary care,” Luke said, his arm wrapped around your shoulders while he took a video of his brother doing another attempt of drawing a sheep using a sparkler which is beginning to look more like a cloud.

“You guys could have at least dropped a bag of cat food at home,” you mumbled, pulling their jackets closer to you.

Their jackets because when you complained you were cold, both of them were quick to drape theirs and even when you need just one, it is clear that they won’t take no for an answer.

It isn’t so bad having two, especially when you are just wearing a thin cardigan and pajamas underneath.

“We can just go shopping with you for Mr. Orange,” Kieran shrugged, midway on trying to create another sheep using his sparkler and sure, you are fine with that but they are basically driving you broke (A parfait costs too much these days and it didn’t help you cover for their tab back at the bakery!) so you replied:

“We split the bill.”

“Damn, we are actually going to be the one paying, cream puff, but if you insist-”, Luke said playfully then he laughed when you shake his arm, the last seconds of the video most likely blurry.

“No, no, you handle the finances, I do the services.”

“Don’t know, marshmallow, doesn’t sound like equality to me.”

“You’re a piece of shit, Luke.”

“That’s not how you talk to your financers, sheepie,” Kieran replied, poking your cheek and making you huff in the process before he held your wrist, leading you to sit on one of the crate boxes nearby.

Aside from the sparklers and snacks they have brought with them, nothing gave away what exactly they are planning to show you that all of you should be here, sneaking inside a private property that Mr. Sylus probably owns.

“We love it when the boss gives us this kind of assignment,” Luke laughed, borderline maniacally, and you swear if you aren’t friends with them, you would have run away as far as possible ("What if they eat you up?", your older brother's words echoed inside your head but you still hang out with Luke and Kieran.)

“We’ll let you do the honors,” Kieran grinned beneath his mask, handing you a remote and he pointed at the red button, “Press it for a surprise.”

“If you dragged me here to just glitter bomb me again we will no longer be friends.”

They know it was just playful banter and yet-

-Their grins falter slightly at your words even when you are completely oblivious, your attention towards the item.

(They don’t get cold easily but suddenly, the night breeze has a certain bite on their skin.)

“What? That’s so lame. We don’t repeat pranks,” Luke huffed, his chuckle slightly strained as he sat at your right, “Now scoot over.”

“We’re professionals,” Kieran quickly added, and the small fear that ran up their spines quickly disappeared in favor of getting as close as possible to you, his shoulders touching yours just like his brother’s, “So hit the button, sheepie, we don’t have all night.”

Their tails wagging this hard means whatever they want you to see, it is thoroughly planned out (Get pranked by them multiple times and you will know the gravity of their prank based on their tails alone.)

Fine, since you are already here.

Nothing happened at first when you pushed the button and you were about to throw it straight to either of their faces (Doesn’t matter who gets hit.) until the entire dark surroundings lit up.

The night sky of the N109 zone is filled with colorful lights going in different directions and when you think that’s it, it is followed by a series of fireworks forming a sheep.

No wonder why they wanted to brag it off to someone.

“Boss said to set them on fire after what the owners of the warehouses did outside Miss Deer’s shop.”

“Of course we could have just done arson and called it a day but you gotta send a message, you know?”

The fire from the two warehouses continues to flicker and the sound of fireworks continue to boom followed by the alarms of nearby cars going off and you swear it will reach your small community where all the prey hybrids are now sleeping. 

(‘It’s those damn kids again,’ your elderly neighbor’s voice suddenly springing inside your head, complete with his face peering from his upstairs window every time he shouts at Luke and Kieran already running away.)

“You guys outdone yourself with this one.”

Perhaps they are rubbing off on you, not when there is literally a crime happening in front of you and the perpetrators are sitting on both of your sides but then again, this is the N109 zone.

This is just your usual explosion, a little over the top, but yeah.

“You finally said something nice for once, sheepie,” Luke grinned, poking your right cheek.

“We can’t believe it would take fireworks for you to say that. You really do have high standards, cream puff,” Kieran added, poking your left cheek.

(Which is understandable. Girls like you deserve the best after all.)

Good thing you are busy rolling your eyes at them as you snack on the chips they brought along that you didn’t notice how hard their tails are wagging just by that compliment alone.

Maybe they’ll ask the boss if he has other buildings he wants to blow up when they get back.

────────────────────

Using the front door to your home that also serves as your family’s bakery is a foreign concept to Luke and Kieran.

The boss wants them to get something sweet for Miss Deer? They’ll just go via the back door, much easier that way and they get extra especially when your parents are there 

(“Oh, it’s your friends again!”, your mama will exclaim and your papa is already setting a bag of treats for them as well on the go.)

Your older brother is keeping a lookout for them? That dumb dog doesn’t know they can climb their way inside your home via the attic window.

(“Look at marshmallow during her kindergarten graduation!”, Luke snickered, opening one of the old photo albums stacked in one pile followed by the sound of the camera from Kieran’s phone going off.)

They want to remind you they are still alive and breathing? A wall run, a few jumps on the ledges, and a quick push of your bedroom window would do the trick. 

(Of course, they only do that when they know you are in your room or they know you are on your way up. “Don’t you guys have your own room back at Mr. Sylus’ house?”, you grumbled and they snickered, telling you their room doesn’t have an angry sheep in it.)

It was close to midnight when the three of you got back, the two of them helping you step inside your room through your window with Kieran telling you it wouldn’t be too bad if you break your leg if you fall down. (“That means we get to hang out more,” he explained and you huffed, “Right. At my own expense.”)

You immediately collapse on top of your bed, sinking on top of the cold blankets, cool enough on your skin that you may not be able to wake up with the ten alarms you have set that have a 5 minute interval.

“Why are you guys still here?”, you mumbled against your pillow, pulling your stuffed blue heeler plushie near you. “I still have school tomorrow.”

Your small bed creaked slightly, their weights pressing down and honestly, they are yet to figure out how exactly you know they are staring but they will eventually. The answer must lie to one of the books about prey hybrids that the boss reads every now and then.

“Our jackets, madame.”

“It is cold, our dear holiest sheep, so if you will be so kind to return them-”

Kieran didn’t finish his sentence, not when you already threw in their faces their jackets.

Even when they both look and sound identical at a quick glance, there are still subtle differences that usually only the two of them know.

One of them is how their clothes fit.

One would be quick to assume that they share the same size in clothes but their uniforms that the boss had tailored fit for them have a one and a half inch margin of difference.

Still, it isn’t much but Luke always complains if he wears Kieran’s by accident.

Yet, two becomes three because you always-

-You always get who owns which.

“You know we can loan them out to you,” Luke snickered, putting on his jacket, his brother mirroring his action.

“No thanks, you smell weird, Luke,” you grumbled, pulling the blankets over your head, a signal that you really do need to sleep or else you will be in that state where you think you are awake for the class but already doing an astral projection.

(Hopefully, you can sneak a few minutes of nap time on the way to school when riding the train.)

“Hey, take that back!”

“I told you to shower.”

“I did! Don’t ruin my rep to her, idiot!”

“Spraying deodorant doesn’t count-”

“Please, I just want to sleep,” you moaned against your pillow, your voice breaking their one of many disagreements and of course, Luke just had to appeal to your good graces by acting like a kicked wolf pup (It doesn’t work but 99% of every person who use this tactic quit before they win big.)

“I guess no good night kiss-”

Kieran was quick to cover his brother’s mouth with his hand, getting a hint that any more banter tonight and they will not be in your good side for quite awhile.

“Right, night, cream puff,” Kieran said and he let out a sigh of relief when you nodded under your blanket, too tired to argue with his brother’s unique tricks as they made their way out and onto the night.

“Maybe I am the one who was born first.”

“I heard that, dumbass!”

Every now and then, the younger twin forgets that the older one can also hear his thoughts and as the high of seeing you finally subside with every step they take further, further from your home, from the quiet neighborhood of this small community of prey hybrids, until the only image running in their minds is the reflection of fireworks of various colors on your eyes, Luke finally spoke.

“Did I really smell that bad today?”

“We both have good sniffers. Use yours.”

Luke doesn’t have to see the grin behind Kieran’s mask to know his twin is counting this as a victory in this playful competition for you even when they agreed to share.

Luke - 0

Kieran - 1

“I am going to beat his ass then we’ll be even.”

“Not if I beat yours first, Luke.”

Every now and then, the older twin forgets that the younger can hear his thoughts too.

────────────────────

Author's Note: I have always wanted to write a coming of age fic because I snort media like Skip and Loafer as if they will be removed from the internet tomorrow.

AO3

Attack Count: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

[retrosabers]

𝐏𝐔𝐒𝐇 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐒.

eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: sometimes you and eddie’s banter can take a bit of a turn

warnings: allusions to smut, swearing

word count: 1.3k

a/n: this is a very small little something to ease myself back into writing. let me know if you would be interested in a second part! :)

“cut the shit munson.” you spit from your place at the other end of the drama room. “you don’t intimidate me.”

eddie laughs, a cynical sound that rumbles from deep within his chest. the boy smirks, and you have to fight the urge to jump across the table and smack him.

“oh really?” he leans back in his throne, spreading his legs wide. “then why are you standing all the way over there?”

you roll your eyes, poking your tongue into your cheek. his arrogance was unyielding, and it seemed especially true when he was in his element like this. eddie was always one for theatrics, even more so after a session of his beloved dungeons and dragons.

it was so irritating.

eddie cocks his head to the side, eyeing you in a condescending way. with a narrowing gaze, you slowly saunter over to his seat, eyes never leaving his. the smirk on his face intensifies. like he had you right where he wanted.

there’s always been a cat and mouse game between you and eddie. a competition to see who could push each other’s buttons the most. your friends nagged you both about the tension that so obviously lingered in the air, but you could never tell if it was from a growing dislike, or just the opposite.

whether eddie was a thorn in your side or the apple of your eye, you would never give him the satisfaction of letting him win. ever. especially in this moment.

the boy props his foot against the edge of the table, and pushes it back. the squeaking sound startles your ears, and eddie can’t help but be amused at the way you flinch. you gracefully slip past him and lean against the table’s edge. you’re situated right between his legs with a sharpness in your eyes that makes his head spin.

“i don’t have all night eddie.” you say with a bit more venom than intended. it was a long and stressful day, and you had been running around campus like a maniac looking for your chemistry notes only to find out the biggest pain in your ass had stolen them after first period.

“relax princess,” he reassures with mock concern. the pet name sets your skin ablaze and he takes note of the way your fists curl around the table’s edge when he says it. “got it right here.”

he reaches behind him for the worn out red notebook.

you scoff. “funny how you would steal my notes for the one class you and i both know you’re not gonna pass.”

he dramatically places his hands over his heart, your notebook pressed against the logo of his hellfire shirt.

“ouch. you’re killing me over here.”

“a girl can dream,” you quip back, lunging to grab your notes so you can just go home. of course, he’s quicker than you, and tosses the journal back onto the table right as you swing foward.

you lose your balance and quickly brace yourself on the arms of the throne. you glance up and find the darkest of chocolate brown eyes boring into yours. your breath hitches in your throat involuntarily, causing eddie to break out a shit eating grin.

“so you do dream about me.” he replies with a cockiness that’s surprising even for him. you’re close enough that you can smell the faint aroma of tobacco on his breath and you can really see the length of his lashes. god, why was eddie munson so pretty? the realization makes your stomach flutter, churning with a feeling that’s never been associated with him before.

but then you remember that it’s eddie, and eddie’s only trying to see you cave before he does. you’re the only person he can rile up like nobody’s business and the feeling is more than mutual. you’ve got each other in equally vulnerable positions; it’s just a matter of who’s facade is going to crack first.

“you’re right.” you admit, your voice far more sheepish than he’s ever heard. it’s bordering submissive, something eddie’s not sure anyone has ever seen from you before. the notion goes straight to his crotch.

the corner of his mouth twitches. it eggs you on.

“i dream about you a lot.” your voice is barely above a whisper as you lean in even closer, palms planted firmly on either side of eddie. a cage of sorts that he’s seemingly fine with being trapped in.

you notice the way he’s fully leaning back now, removing his arms from beside yours to tuck them behind his head. it gives you a peak of some of his other tattoos, and a new angle of his biceps that will likely be the subject of your thoughts for the rest of the day.

“oh yeah?” he asks, voice an octave lower than before. “tell me about it.”

you tug your bottom lip between your teeth and eddie has to fight the urge to close the gap. your lips are nearly touching, hot breath fanning over each other’s cheeks as you feign innocence.

“we’re always in bed.” you continue, eyes flicking over eddie’s form. you can see the way he’s breathing a little faster, and you can definitely see the tent forming in his jeans. you look back up at his eyes and his pupils are nearly black.

you boldly dance your fingers up his torso. “sometimes you’re on top, sometimes i am.”

eddie prays you miss the way his cock twitches at the thought. he doesn’t want to imagine the ridicule he would face if your friends found out. it’s exactly what you’re aiming for.

in an effort to get his mojo back, he gently cups your jaw, tracing the outline of your cupid’s bow with his thumb. he moves it down to pull back your bottom lip, watching with intent eyes as the plush flesh snaps back into place.

heat pools between your legs, threatening to put a crack in your plan that’s very clearly working. but god, there’s such a satisfaction at watching eddie be wrapped around your finger, so entranced by whatever your next move is. you’ve gotta keep the upper hand.

“the best part though” you tease with a wicked grin, ghosting your lips over his.

eddie hums. he raises his brows defiantly, like he’s daring you to confess that you’ve been thinking about him the way he thinks about you. he doesn’t care if this is some stupid fucking back and forth. he wants to hear you say it.

when your hand trails back down and brushes over his crotch, he nearly loses it. you lean in beside his ear, offering a low sultry whisper. the boy’s eyes flutter shut, preparing for whatever’s coming next.

“is when i get to stick a pillow over your face.”

his eyes shoot back open in an instant.

you look like the cat who caught the canary. a devious, cheshire-like smile on your face as you slowly back away from him with your notebook in hand.

“smooth,” he deadpans, folding his arms over his chest in an attempt to distract from the now very obvious boner he has.

“sorry, sweetheart,” you mock him, returning to your original place at the other end of the room. “i’ve gotta fly.”

in a bold move, he asks, “does this mean i should swipe your stuff more often?”

your bravado falters for a moment at his question. then, it returns tenfold.

“you’re gonna have to find out.”

you saunter out of the drama room with a teasing salute, picking up your bag from it’s place by the door. eddie, flustered yet scorned, laughs out into the empty room. the sound reverberates off the walls and the empty soda cans still scattered on the table.

two can play at this game. you may have won this round, but there was plenty more coming .

he was so going to get you back.

thanks for reading! <3

[pankowcrumbs]

Watergun X Rudy Pankow (Requested)

MasterList

Outerbanks and Cast Masterlist

The set of Outer Banks was unusually quiet that afternoon. We were all supposed to be filming a tense, dramatic scene by the marsh, but somehow, none of us could keep a straight face. The reason? Rudy Pankow.

It all started when Chase’s phone buzzed in the middle of rehearsals. Then Madison’s, then mine, and then one after another, every cast member's phone lit up with the same notification.

"Who’s blowing up the group chat now?" I muttered, unlocking my phone. As soon as I saw the message, I groaned—equal parts amused and exasperated.

It was a photo. Rudy, holding a water gun, grinning like a maniac. The caption read: Time to play: ‘Who Wants to Get Absolutely Soaked?’ The only rule? You can’t run faster than me.

"Is he serious right now?" Madison asked, glancing up from her phone with wide eyes.

"Oh, he’s definitely serious," JD chimed in, already halfway out of his seat, scanning the surrounding area. "And we’re the targets."

Chase rubbed his temples, though I could tell he was holding back a laugh. "We’ve got to shoot this scene. Where even is he?"

As if on cue, a loud squelch came from somewhere behind the trailers, followed by Rudy’s unmistakable voice yelling, "Y/N! I know you’re out there! You can’t hide forever!"

"Why does he always drag me into these things?" I muttered, already on high alert.

"Because you’re the most fun to chase," Madison teased, but her smirk quickly turned into a gasp as a jet of water shot past her, narrowly missing her shoulder.

"Right, that’s it," Chase declared, standing up and brushing his hands off. "We’re finding him. Everyone spread out. He can’t soak all of us."

"That’s ambitious," JD said, grabbing a towel from the props table, "but sure, let’s go with that."

We fanned out across the set, ducking behind trees, peeking around trailers, and tiptoeing through the underbrush like we were in some sort of spy movie. The tension was real, even if the stakes were ridiculous. Every now and then, we’d hear the psst of the water gun, followed by Rudy’s cackling as someone got hit.

"Gotcha!" Rudy’s voice rang out, and I heard Madison shriek. A second later, she came sprinting around the corner, her hair dripping wet.

"I hate him!" she shouted, but the grin on her face said otherwise.

I crouched behind a bush, clutching a prop paddle like it was going to protect me from the inevitable. My heart was racing, and I knew it was only a matter of time before—

"SURPRISE!" Rudy jumped out of nowhere, aiming the water gun straight at me.

"Rudy, no!" I shouted, trying to shield myself, but it was too late. A cold stream of water hit me square in the face.

As I stood there, dripping wet and glaring at him, Rudy doubled over laughing, the water gun dangling from his hand. "Worth it," he gasped between chuckles.

"You’re the worst," I said, but I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped me.

"Come on, admit it," he said, slinging an arm around my soggy shoulder. "You love it."

"Not as much as I’m going to love getting revenge," I shot back.

And with that, the battle was officially on.