#they know that if they had a friendship they would’ve been to powerful

[zeefan9000]

they should’ve been friends

[derekhighwaytf]

Witches and Twinks

MONDAY

The small London restaurant’s dim light flickered against the wine glasses, casting soft Merlot shadows onto George and Adam’s lips, noses, the entirety of their smug, helpless faces. This should have been the perfect pairing.  They were both intellects, with high senses of self and a love for information (ie. control), and though they’d talked for nearly an hour at this point, the conversation felt more like a fencing match than the start of a beautiful new friendship—each word a parry, each retort a thrust. Adam, dressed in his sweater and khakis, leaned back in his chair with a faint smile, his tone sharp but measured for every measure George tried to fling upon him.

“As much as people romanticize magic or ‘karma,’ it’s all just bullish storytelling,” Adam said, swirling the last of his drink. “Yes, Shakespeare and Marlowe write about it, but even they understood that human intellect, not divine intervention, drives our fate. Julius Caesar—perfect example. ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.’ The real power lies in reason and intellect.”

George, dressed more casually in his loose-fitting green shirt, met Adam’s judgey gaze with a bewitchingly bemused smile. “Shakespeare also believed in the supernatural,” he countered. “The witches in Macbeth didn’t rely on logic to mess with the characters. Magic, fate, karma—call it what you may, but it holds an inexplicable force over more than just imagination. You’d be surprised how much control you don’t have.”

Adam chuckled, leaning forward slightly, his confidence more than bordering on just arrogance. “Macbeth? The witches merely represent internal fears and ambition every man or woman has in themselves. You can interpret them as mystical, inexplicable forces if you must, but at the end of the day, it’s Lady Macbeth’s persuasion and greed that destroy her husband. Shakespeare knew that intellect was the ultimate weapon. Magic? That’s just an excuse for weak minds like yourself who can’t handle the complexity of the human condition.”

George’s smile twitched as if he found the power not to turn Adam into the jackass he’d been acting like right then and there. “You academics, always trying to boil everything down to logic. I think you’re missing the point of the supernatural entirely. It’s not always about intellect. There are forces beyond understanding, beyond your understanding,—forces that aren’t impressed by your degrees or how many times you’ve read Troilus and Cressida.”

“An underrated work, if I say so myself.”  Adam’s smirk deepened. “And yes, the mysterious ‘forces beyond understanding.’ Tell me, how do they rank next to a Ph.D. in Shakespeare? I’d be curious to know.”

George tilted his head and took a swig of his drink, his gaze softening in a way that made Adam’s need to seek scholarly validation seem hollow. “You think Shakespeare would’ve agreed with you?”

“I know he would’ve,” Adam replied, superiority painting his tone. “The entire premise of his greatest works is that humanity’s biggest downfall is ignorance, not the supernatural. He’d side with intellect.”

“Or maybe he’d side with me.” George leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “You don’t think Shakespeare had a little magic in him? Maybe even enough to change a man forever?”

Adam’s smile faltered slightly, a small crack in his polished confidence. “What are you getting at?”

George’s just giggled, something dark and knowing flashing behind them. “I’m saying that not everything in this world is logical, Adam. You’re sitting here, lecturing me about Shakespeare, as if your intellect puts you above magic or fate. But I could change your entire world with just a flick of my hand, and all that book knowledge would evaporate into thin air.”

Adam’s gulped, unsure whether to get up and run or call the waiter. “Magic doesn’t exist,” he scoffed. “This isn’t some fantasy. It’s reality. You want to impress me? Show me something real.”

Without hesitation, George raised his hand, a scarred palm outstretched, and without breaking eye contact, he waved it through the suddenly thickened air with an inexplicable grace. The motion was so sudden, almost imperceptible, but Adam’s reaction was immediate. His breath hitched, his confident posture writhing and wilting as his widened eyes fluttered in confusion. The polished veneer of intellectual superiority melted away as something unfamiliar and overpowering gripped him.

Suddenly, Adam found himself folded over the table, unable to look away from George. The irritation he’d felt moments before evaporated, replaced by a deep, floundering passion—something that made his heart race and his chest tighten. His thoughts scrambled, no longer sharp and clear but clouded, fogged by an overwhelming sense of need.

“I…” Adam stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t understand… what were we—?”

George shushed him, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. “You’re not supposed to understand, love. That’s the point.”

Adam’s breath grew shallow, his pulse quickening as his gaze locked onto George, unable to break away. His mind, usually so sharp and critical, was a jumbled mess of scrambled eggs. Everything he knew, everything he prided himself on, suddenly felt distant, irrelevant. All that mattered now was George—his voice, his presence, his timeless beauty.  George was Adam’s everything now.

“You’re…” Adam’s words trailed off as his hand reached across the table, trembling. “You’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met.”  He swallowed his own tongue, choking on his own breath.  “Will you marry me?”

George’s smile widened, a quiet, knowing victory in his eyes. He leaned back, looking under the table, watching as Adam’s brain couldn’t catch up to his…heart.

“And just like that,” George whispered, “all your intellect can’t stop what you feel now, can it?”

Adam blinked, his face flushed with a mix of confusion and something else, something deeper. “No… I… I can’t stop it.” He swallowed hard, his voice small, vulnerable. “I don’t want to.” 

George’s eyes glittered with satisfaction. “Good,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “Now, why don’t we talk about something that really matters back at your place?”

Every part of his intellectual, collected self knew better than to let this menace into his home, but all Adam could do was nod at his newfound love’s commands. And how bad could it be?  All’s well that ends well, right?

Adam fumbled with the keys to his flat, his hands trembling with an erotic urgency he’d never known before. A man of his knowledge and tact would never sleep with a man so quickly, but alas, his once methodical mind, the same one that could cite King Lear on a whim, now reeled only with thoughts of George on his bed—George's lustful eyes, George’s sweet cock, George's very presence seemed to fill every emotional crevice of his being. His usual restraint, his prudent superiority, was gone, replaced by a consuming need to be filled by this cunning, enchanting strange.

They stumbled inside, the door locking shut behind them. “I’ve never…” Adam’s voice cracked, and he shook his head, words failing him. “I don’t know why, but I want you, I need you. Now.”

George’s lips curled into a soft smile, almost pitying. “Not yet, love. You’re tired.”

“No, I—” Adam’s horny existence began to protest, but before he could finish, George raised his hand and with a single flick of the wrist, Adam’s body crashed into a wave of heavy and irresistible drowsiness. His knees buckled slightly, and he stumbled backward onto his bed, the fatigue wrapping itself around him like a thick, suffocating blanket. His eyelids fluttered as the last bit of resistance left him, and in moments, he was fast asleep, still in the preppy clothes that once defined him.

George stepped forward, his eyes brooding as he stood over Adam's sleeping form. His fingers trailed lightly over Adam’s temple, tracing the outline of his brow. “You’ll thank me for this one day,” George murmured, though he knew Adam couldn’t hear. 

With that, George’s expression shifted from amusement to something far more dangerous. He moved to the center of the room, kneeling over, and began reciting words in Old English, his voice low and rhythmic, like a conjurer summoning something deep and ancient.

“This man doth dress in shorts of scanty seam,  

But two inches, nay more, could his cloth bear.  

All trousers, all pants, dare try to redeem,  

Will twist and turn, yet still they'll shorten there.”

As the words slipped out from George’s lips, the change began. Adam’s legs, still clad in his conservative khakis, twitched. The fabric shimmered like glitter, rippling unnaturally, as though it had come alive beneath him. Slowly, the pant legs began to pull and pull, retracting themselves upward inch by inch. The sturdy material warped and shrank, tightening suddenly as it rose. In moments, the khakis had transformed entirely into a pair of short, nay, outrageously short gym shorts—barely two inches of inseam, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

The fabric clung to Adam’s shivering thighs, exposing pale skin that had seemingly never seen the light of day. His knees, his nonexistent calves, everything that had been carefully covered up was now on display, with the hem of the shorts barely reaching the tops of his legs. He lay there, still sleeping, completely oblivious to the transformation.

George’s eyes gleamed as he watched his imagination solidify into reality, their bright, synthetic fabric snug against Adam’s skin. “Much better,” he whispered, stepping closer. But alas, he wasn’t done just yet.

“In tanks of muscled shape, his chest laid bare,  

Neckline to navel, each nipple shall show.  

Armholes so deep, their movement none can spare,  

In every stride, his shirt reveals more woe.”

Another shift rippled through Adam’s sleeping body, this time around his torso. The sweater he’d been wearing—the very picture of propriety—began to distort itself, the fibers unraveling at his collar. The neckline dipped lower, and lower, and lower still, until it stopped just above his flat belly button. The sleeves, too, warped, pulling up and away from his twig-like arms until they were nothing but gaping holes that left his ribcage completely exposed. The fabric thinned as the sleeves disappeared, leaving him in a muscle tank so revealing that his nipples couldn’t help but to peek through with every slight motion.

The soft knit of his sweater had become a thin, athletic material, stretched across his chest and shoulders, barely covering anything. His once modest outfit was now reduced to something shamelessly provocative, his entire upper body on display, his pasty white skin brushing against the air with every breath.

George admired his work, his fingers drumming lightly against his thigh as he took in Adam’s new look. “Perfect,” he murmured. And yet, there was still more to be done.

“In high shoe laced, his socks pulled crisp and white,  

A chain of gold doth glisten 'round his neck,  

Beneath it all, a jock to fit him tight,  

No other cloth for him shall fate select.”

Once again, for the final time tonight, the changes swept through Adam’s cold, lifeless body, this time starting at his feet. His Sperry boat shoes dissolved, giving way to a pair of bright white Nike hi-tops, their thick laces tied into the most perfect bows for the treadmill. The socks that appeared around his ankles pulled up snugly, reaching mid-calf, their crisp whiteness almost blending to the cream of his skin.

Next, the thinnest, most douchiest gold chain materialized itself around his bony neck, resting just above his exposed collarbone. The delicate glint of the necklace caught the light, its subtle flash at odds with the rest of his now athletic ensemble. Finally, the transformation moved beneath his shorts. His boxers melted away, replaced by a tight-fitting jockstrap that cupped him in place, offering minimal coverage and the most maximum exposure, almost as if he were a twink stripper on the Miami shore instead of the next youngest professor at Yale.

George stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Adam, once a picture of scholarly decorum, now lay before him clad in nothing but slutty gym shorts, a muscle tank that exposed far more than Adam would ever desire, hi-top sneakers, a thin gold chain, and the most illuminating jockstrap. It was absurd, provocative—and exactly as George had imagined.

For the final touch, George recited the couplet, his voice soft but firm:

“Forever cursed, his garments shall remain,  

In shorts, in tanks, he'll live his life in vain.”

With those words, the spell was sealed. No matter what Adam touched, no matter how hard he tried, every article of clothing would morph into this same, revealing outfit. George smiled, satisfied, and took a seat in the armchair across from Adam. He watched him for a moment, sleeping so peacefully despite the irreversible change that had just taken place.

But as the night crept on, George allowed himself to sleep too, a smirk still resting on his lips as he lied next to his creation. Tomorrow, when Adam awoke and his spell of infatuation wore off, George knew that’s when the real fun would begin.

TUESDAY

“AHHHH!”  Adam woke up, his heart racing as the morning light shone onto his hungover face. His body felt strange, but his mind was far more disturbed. The events of the previous night seemed fragmented, cloudy—George, the strange pull, the overwhelming desire, none of it made sense. He sat up in his sheets, his eyes darting around the room, his chest heaving.

He looked beside himself and dear God, there he was. George was still asleep, draped casually across the sheets, his face peaceful in the way that seemed entirely at odds with the havoc he’d wreaked. Adam’s stomach turned. I slept with him, Adam thought, his mind spinning like a top. He clenched his fists in the sheets, his face flushed with shame. How had he let this happen? His mind, so methodical and proud, had completely failed him and allowed him to degrade himself for some vampiric twink.

Panic gripped him as he stood from the bed, only to stop mid-step when he realized a breeze he’d never felt before. His legs were bare, his thighs on full display. It was then that he noticed his reflection in the mirror across the room. His mouth fell open in shock. Gone were his conservative khakis and sweater. In their place, he wore nothing but a pair of impossibly short gym shorts, a muscle tank that exposed his chest and nipples, white socks pulled up to his calves, and, what on earth, a jockstrap?  He looked at himself again and thought he looked like a child dressing up in his musclehead uncle’s clothes.

He quickly shuffled to his dresser, desperate to change out of this ridiculous, humiliating outfit before George woke up. He rifled through his drawers and pulled out a pair of khakis and a button-down shirt, but as soon as his fingers touched them, they shimmered and twisted, morphing into the same slutty gym shorts and revealing muscle tank that now clung to his body. Adam's eyes widened in horror. He threw the clothes aside and reached for another pair, only for the same thing to happen. Every single item he touched—his jeans, his sweaters, even a pair of pajamas—all transformed into the same jock-bro ensemble.

“What the fuck?” Adam muttered under his breath, the frustration building. His heart pounded as he rifled through his now everchanging closet, grabbing hangers and tossing clothes aside in a frantic attempt to find something—anything—that wouldn’t transform. But everything he touched met the same fate, shrinking and twisting into the cursed, douchebag outfit.

Behind him, he heard a soft laugh.

George finally awoke, sitting up in bed, arms crossed, a lazy smirk plastered on his face. “Having trouble love?”

Adam spun around, his face flushed with fury. “What the hell is this?” He gestured to his outfit, his voice rising. “What did you do to me?”

George laughed again, softer this time, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “What’s wrong? What happened to the complexity of the human consciousness or whatever bullshit you were spewing last night?”

“Magic?!” Adam’s voice cracked with a mixture of disbelief and anger. “Is that what you’re blaming this on?  You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, but I am, love.”  George stood, casually pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. “Oh, come on. Don’t you like your new look? I think it suits you.” He took a step closer, his smirk growing wider. “And honestly, after all that big talk, I would’ve thought you’d handle a little transformation with more grace.”

Adam clenched his fists, his voice shaking with rage. “This isn’t funny, George! Somehow you’ve made me look like some jock-bro idiot. What the hell am I supposed to do like this? Just tell me what you did!”

But George’s expression darkened. “You still don’t get it, do you?” His voice dropped, the playful tone gone. “You can’t just insult me, mock what I believe, and expect no consequences.” He took another step forward, his brooding eyes locking with Adam’s. “You wanted to prove your intellect was above everything—above magic, above fate. But you’ve proven nothing except how small your mind really is.”

“Small?!” Adam barked. “The only thing small here is you, you psychopathic, egotistical—”

But before Adam could finish, George’s pupils flashed with anger. He raised his hand, the air around him seeming to hum with energy. “Careful what you say next,” George warned. “Or you might not like what comes next.”

Adam’s lips parted, the insult on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated. His pride warred with his common sense, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You’re nothing but a dumb fucking slut."

Suddenly, quiet filled the room as the words escaped Adam’s quivering lip, but once he got himself collected, George’s voice rang out in outrage, calm, yet oh-so commanding.

“This man shall bear a curse of feet most foul,  

With stench of sweat, his socks shall rot and tear.  

His pits shall reek, his skin a pungent scowl,  

Athlete’s rot shall mar each inch laid bare.”

Adam barely had time to register what George had said before a horrifying sensation crept up from his feet. He looked down, his newly acquired hi-tops feeling unnaturally damp. His socks, once crisp and white, were now soaked with sweat and dirt, clinging to his wretched skin. He wrinkled his nose at the sudden, overwhelming odor that wafted up from his shoes. It was rancid—like rotting toe cheese mixed with mildew and and an ocean’s worth of sweat. His feet itched uncontrollably, the skin burning as if something was crawling beneath it.

At the same time, his armpits began to burn and sting. He reached up instinctively, only to pull his hand back in disgust. His armpits were slick with a salty wetness, and the stench hit him like a punch to the gut—thick, sour, and overwhelming. It was as if he hadn’t showered in weeks, months even. His face flushed with embarrassment as the realization set in: his body reeked. His feet, his armpits—every part of him was drenched in sweat and stench, a walking cloud of filth.

“What the—?” Adam staggered back, staring at George in disbelief. “What did you—?”

But George wasn’t finished. He raised his hand again, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction.

“This man shall itch where modesty once laid,  

His bush shall grow, his groin a scratching hell.  

He’ll fight in vain to stop his hands’ parade,  

As arse and crotch demand his touch as well.”

And just like that, a sharp itch exploded itself across Adam’s groin, so intense that he doubled over in shock. His fingers flew to his waistband, instinctively trying to scratch the burning sensation beneath his jockstrap. The itch was so unbearable, spreading across his groin and into his backside, radiating like fire near his hole. No matter how hard he tried to resist, his hands were drawn to the sensation, scratching furiously, desperate for relief.

But there was none. The more he scratched, the worse it got. His fingers dug into the fabric of his shorts, and soon, he was practically clawing at himself, unable to stop. His face flushed red with embarrassment. The itch was maddening, and it didn’t care about decorum or propriety. Weak, he was scratching himself in front of George, his hands running over his crotch and ass, completely helpless against the overwhelming need for relief.

“Stop this,” Adam gasped, his voice shaking as he continued to scratch. “Please, stop.”

But George only smirked, his voice calm as he began the next quatrain.

“Each hour, his body shall release its gas,  

With burps and farts to shake the very air.  

No matter where he goes, no lad or lass  

Will dare endure the odors he’ll declare.”

Before Adam could breath in, his stomach rumbled violently. His eyes widened in horror as his body took over, an enormous belch ripping from his throat, so loud it echoed through the tiny studio. A second later, a foul-smelling fart exploded from him like a cloud, the stink so pungent it nearly knocked him back. 

“No—” Adam gasped, but his body betrayed him again. Another belch, followed by another fart and another burp, and yet another fart. The stench filled the room, thick and nauseating. His face turned crimson as he stumbled back, his hands flying to his mouth as if he could stop the sounds from escaping, but it was no use. Every few seconds, another belch, another fart, the air around him quickly becoming unbreathable.

George watched, amused, as Adam staggered, his eyes wide with humiliation. He raised his hand one last time, his voice soft and final.

“This man of filth, of shame, of rank decay,  

Shall live apart from grace, in filth to stay.”

With that, George turned toward the door, leaving Adam in the haze of his own stench, his body a twisted caricature of everything he once prided himself on. The smell of his own filth lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive, but it was the itching, the relentless belching, and the horrible farts that kept him anchored to the spot. His whole body was a battlefield of sensations he couldn’t control. His intellect, once his greatest weapon, felt utterly useless now.

He staggered toward the bathroom, desperate to scrub away the grime of his new persona. He turned on the shower, hoping the water would wash away the stench and the shame. But as soon as the water hit his body, it did nothing. The sweat, the reek from his armpits and feet, even the itch in his groin—it was all still there, clinging to him like a second skin.

After multiple futile attempts, he stared at his reflection in the fogged mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, his face flushed from scratching and embarrassment. His once carefully maintained hair was now matted with sweat, and his body, encased in the ridiculous bro-ey outfit, made him look more like a lazy frat boy than a Ph.D. candidate.

Adam threw on a hoodie, hoping it might cover up some of the smell, and pulled the hood over his head, trying to obscure himself. He couldn’t just stay home. He had a meeting with his professor that afternoon—he had to go. He had to maintain some semblance of normalcy, even though nothing about this felt normal.

As he left the apartment, he became acutely aware of the looks he was getting from people on the street. Some wrinkled their noses, others shot him a glance before quickly looking away. His footsteps echoed in his ears, punctuated by the sound of another loud fart escaping him, followed by a huge, gut-shaking belch. The smell followed him like a shadow, and the itch in his groin was impossible to ignore. He scratched absentmindedly, wincing as he did, but the relief only lasted a second before the itch came back with renewed intensity.

The closer he got to campus, the more nervous he became. His body wouldn’t stop betraying him—every few steps, another belch, another fart, another desperate scratch of his groin and butt. He could feel the sweat pooling beneath his shirt, the odor rising with it. He pulled his hood tighter over his head, hoping to disappear into himself, but nothing could hide what was happening to him.

By the time he reached his professor’s office, he was a mess of nerves. He stood outside the door, trying to compose himself. You can do this, he thought, even as his body itched and groaned in protest. But the second he stepped inside, the look on his professor’s face told him everything.

“Adam,” Professor Wilson said, his voice hesitant as he looked up from his desk. His nose wrinkled almost immediately, and Adam saw him discreetly glance toward the window as if considering opening it for fresh air. “Are… are you feeling alright?”

Adam swallowed hard. “I—I’m fine,” he lied, but even as the words left his mouth, another loud belch erupted from his throat, followed by the unmistakable sound of another fart. The air around him was thick with the stench, and he could see the professor’s face go pale with disgust.

Professor Wilson stood abruptly. “Perhaps we should reschedule,” he said, clearly trying to hold back his revulsion. “It seems like you’re not… in the best condition today.”

“I can explain—” Adam started, but even as he spoke, his hands betrayed him again, scratching furiously at his groin and rear, the itch unbearable. He tried to stop, tried to keep himself composed, but his body had other ideas. Another belch, another fart, each more embarrassing than the last. The smell in the room was unbearable, and Professor Wilson’s eyes were wide with a mix of pity and horror.

“Adam, I think it’s best if you go home and take care of… whatever this is,” Professor Wilson said, his voice tight with discomfort. “We’ll discuss your dissertation another time.”

Adam’s face burned with shame as he nodded stiffly, his throat too tight to speak. He turned and left the office, another loud fart escaping him as he hurried down the hallway. The students he passed gave him wide-eyed stares, some covering their noses, others whispering and laughing as he stumbled past them. Each new step felt heavier, the weight of the day pressing down on him, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the nightmare his life had become.

By the time he could finally make it back to his apartment, he was utterly defeated. His body reeked, the itch in his groin had only gotten worse, and his belly was constantly churning with the pressure of more belches and farts waiting to erupt. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow. The day had been a disaster—there was no way he could continue like this.

As the evening settled in, Adam lay there, his mind racing even as his body continued to betray him. He had to find George. He had to fix this. There was no other option.

He couldn’t live like this—he couldn’t endure the stares, the laughter, the humiliation. His career, his entire life, was at stake. With each itch, each stench, each belch and fart, he felt his old self slipping further away, and he was terrified of what he would become if this continued.

With a heavy sigh, Adam closed his eyes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would find George and demand that he fix what he’d done. Tomorrow, he would get his life back.

WEDNESDAY

Adam sat desperate against his pillow and his headboard, his phone clutched in his hand, staring down at the screen with a sense of failure. The stench from his armpits, the itching in his groin, the endless belches and farts—everything had become so utterly unbearable. The reflection he caught in the mirror was still that of the cursed gym rat, his outfit vulgar and ridiculous against his scrawny body, the stink so thick it began to cling to the walls of his flat.

He began typing. His fingers trembled slightly as they tapped against the glass, carefully crafting the text to George. His pride screamed against it, but he was out of options. He couldn’t live like this, not anymore.

"Hey George,  

I’ve been thinking a lot…and I just wanted to say how sorry I am. I was so out of line, and I didn’t mean to insult you or dismiss what you believe. I get it now—there are things beyond intellect, beyond control, and…beyond me.  I was wrong, and you were right. There.  I should’ve believed in magic instead of trying to mock it. Please, is there anything I can do to fix this? I don’t want to keep living like this, I just can’t."

He hesitated for a moment before hitting send, his stomach twisting into a knot of hope and dread. Adam tossed the phone onto his bed and laid back, staring at the ceiling as the minutes stretched into hours. Every itch, every foul-smelling fart reminded him of his new reality. He tried to distract himself—cleaning the apartment, watching plays on Youtube, attempting to focus on some new Shakespearean analysis—but nothing worked. The stench hung in the air like a punishment, stuck to him no matter what.

By midday, Adam’s hope had started to wither into nothingness. George wasn’t going to respond. He probably didn’t even care. Maybe this was it—maybe this revolting, humiliating state was his life now. He sighed, dragging his hands through his sweaty hair, glancing toward his phone again. Still nothing. He swallowed the lump in his throat and paced around room, fidgeting with his bro clothes that clung to his now lean body like a cruel joke. 

Bzzzz.

Adam rushed to his phone, his heart thudding against his chest as he unlocked the screen. A message from George appeared, and his breath caught.

“Curses can’t be undone, love.”

Adam’s face flushed with frustration. His jaw clenched as he stared at the words. All of that groveling, all of that begging, and this was the response? He typed furiously, his anger bubbling to the surface, but before he could send anything back, another message appeared.

“But I must admit.  I didn’t think you would actually say that.  Honestly, I really appreciate the apology. Why don’t call it even, huh?  Why don’t I give you a gift?”

Adam blinked at the screen, his anger slowly dissipating into confusion. A gift? What kind of twisted gift could George possibly mean? If it was anything like the last, then he could keep it. But before he could protest, another message filled the screen.

“His arms, like oaks, doth stretch from end to end,  

With strength to lift the world or crush its weight.  

Their power matched with beauty none can fend,  

Two mounds so vast as sunset’s final state.”

As Adam read the words, he felt a sudden warmth spread through his arms. Not again, he thought, but then his eyes darted down in alarm as his previously thin, lanky arms twitched, then bulged. He watched, wide-eyed, as his biceps began to swell, the muscles rippling and bubbling beneath his skin. The skin of his arms grew tight, barely able to contain the massive growth. His once scrawny arms were transforming into huge, muscular limbs—so strong, they looked like they could crush stone with a single flick.

He flexed experimentally, his new muscles hardening themselves like marble. His biceps were enormous, so large they cast a shadow on his bony torso. He stared in disbelief at his own body, feeling an unfamiliar surge of power rush through him.

His phone buzzed again, another text:

“His chest, like breasts of Venus round and great,  

Two orbs of strength that push against the day.  

Each pect’ral it’s own ball upon a beach,  

So full, so firm, none dare to turn away.”

Adam’s gaze shifted down towards his chest, and once again, he felt the same warm, tingling sensation spread across his torso as he began to feel an unnerving top heaviness. His pecs swelled, pushing against the straps of his tank top until the neckline stretched even lower than before. His chest ballooned outward, each pec growing into a massive, rounded mound of muscle, firm and solid beneath his skin. His nipples presented so visibly, his chest now so large it jutted forward, casting a shadow over his barren stomach.

The weight of his new pecs made him feel even more powerful, even more in control. He couldn’t stop staring, watching the way his body filled out, how his once-flat chest had been replaced by two enormous mounds of muscle that jiggled involuntary with every breath. They were so big, so round, they almost looked unnatural—but Adam loved it nonetheless.

Another text…

“His stomach, carved like canyons deep and wide,  

Each groove a trench, each line a valley low.  

His legs, like trunks of ancient oaks abide,  

With strength to stand through storm and sun and snow.”

Adam’s abdomen contracted, the sensation rippling through his core. He watched as the muscles on his stomach began to etch themselves into deep, chiseled grooves. His once-flat belly was now an eight-pack, every ridge and line so pronounced it looked like his abs had been carved out of granite. His waist boxed in, accentuating the sheer mass of his chest above and the powerful definition below.

His legs were next. His thighs bulged beneath his gym shorts, the muscles expanding rapidly, filling out with every second. His calves thickened into pillars of strength, his quads growing into enormous slabs of meat that made his legs look like logs. He was massive now, his entire body transformed into something that looked like it had been sculpted by the god Zeus himself.

The final couplet arrived, and as Adam read the words, he felt the last part of the transformation taking hold:

A man’s man, dominant, in every stride,  

With looks that none, not man nor beast, can hide.”

As Adam gazed into the mirror, his eyes widened in awe. His reflection had changed entirely. He stood there, towering, his body brimming with strength and raw masculinity, as if he’d eaten raw eggs every day of his life since he was ten. His jawline was sharper, his posture more commanding, and the way he looked—it was undeniable. He was an alpha now.  He demanded attention, respect, and desire. The smell, the stink that had once plagued him—it didn’t matter. His overwhelming physicality eclipsed all of it.

Adam grinned, a wave of confidence crashing over him. This was power. This was control. He grabbed a jacket, still feeling the massive stretch of his biceps as he slipped it over his shoulders, and headed out.

At the nearest gay bar, the moment Adam walked in, all eyes were on him. His broad shoulders and massive arms filled out his jacket in ways that left little to the imagination. He could see heads turning, guys sneaking glances at his hulking frame, his thick pecs nearly busting through his shirt. He walked up to the bar, and within seconds, a couple of older men sidled up to him, their eyes wide with interest.

One of them, a trucker looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and the crustiest mustache, leaned in, his voice low. “You’re looking good, boy. Smell like man too.  Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

Adam wrinkled his nose slightly. The man was old, rotund, and ugly.  He could do better, much better. “No thanks, ..sir,” Adam replied coldly, his voice deeper and more commanding than he remembered. The man’s face fell slightly, but Adam didn’t care. He was too busy reveling in the attention, in the way every guy in the bar seemed to be watching him, wanting his body.

As the night wore on, more and more guys approached, trying their luck with him. But none of them were good enough for Adam. He was an alpha now—he could have anyone he wanted, and the more he held out, the more they wanted.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow, he would go see George again.  If George can do this for him.  There’s no telling what else he could get out of the witchy twink.

THURSDAY

Adam took the tube immediately once he awoke and stood in front of George’s door, the weight of his muscular new form making him feel absolutely invincible. His inflated biceps and thick chest on the reflective glass of the door fed his ever growing ego, but deep down, he couldn’t help but shake this nagging doubt. George had done this to him—made him into a walking Marvel superhero, sculpted from stone, pure lust, and raw, unadulterated power. But was it enough? No, Adam wanted more. Needed more.

He knocked, his hairy knuckles bristling past the door handle. The first time he’d sought George, he’d dismissed the supernatural as nonsense. Now, with the power of George’s magic coursing through his sculpted body, Adam was ready to claim yet another piece of it. But this time, he knew he had to play his cards just a tad bit differently.

The door creaked open, and there stood George, his face shifting from surprise to a soft, almost suspicious smile. “Adam,” George purred. “Back so soon?”

Adam leaned against the doorframe, his massive arms bulging as he flexed them just enough to show off the strength George had given him. “Missed me?”

George raised an eyebrow, but his gaze lingered on Adam’s tits, those enormous pecs straining against the thin straps of his bro-ish muscle tank. There was a flicker of something in George’s eyes—desire, interest, maybe even a sliver of actual emotion, something he hadn’t felt in centuries. Adam noticed, and he played into it, taking a step closer, his voice low and smooth.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Adam said, his hand grazing George’s arm. “About I’ve been thinking about just how much I owe you for this body, for… everything.”

George tilted his head, still guarded. “And what exactly do you want this time, Adam?”

“I don’t want anything,” Adam replied, his lips curling into a seductive smile. “Just you.”

He moved closer, his muscular frame dwarfing George’s, his presence overwhelming in the cramped air of the doorway. George hesitated for a moment, but Adam’s hand slipped to the nape of George’s neck, pulling him in with surprising gentleness. Their lips met, slowly melding together, turning into something hotter, far more dangerous. Adam’s thinly veiled cock rubbed against George’s abs as his walls came crumbling down, and for the first time, Adam felt the subtle shift in power—he had George, really had him.

The day blurred into heated moments, their bodies tangled in sheets and sweat. Adam was relentless, his new body a weapon of seduction, and George, for all his magic, succumbed to the raw physicality of it. They moved together with an intensity that neither had expected, sucking, fucking, and by the time they lay spent, George was quiet, staring at Adam with something akin to affection.

Adam, however, was already thinking ahead. He turned to George, still catching his breath. “You’ve got power, George. Magic.”

George giggled with a flush.  “You’re just saying that.”

But Adam turned cold.  “I want more of it.”

George’s face darkened. “What exactly are you asking for, Adam?”

Adam grinned, his arrogance returning now that the heat of the moment had passed. “Whatever gift you think I deserve. You’ve given me all this, how can I doubt your judgment, my sweet baby.  My love.  I’ll leave it up to you. Surprise me.”

George’s expression shifted from curiosity to something more guarded, his eyes narrowing as he watched Adam’s smug face. “Anything I want, huh?”

Adam shrugged, confidence oozing from every pore. “I trust you.”

George sat up, his fingers trailing along Adam’s broad chest as if considering his next move. For a long moment, he said nothing, then with a quiet, deceptive murmur, he recited:

"A man so well endowed, his length shall grow,  

Eight inches, thick as snake in fabric’s cage,  

His buttocks firm, a perch for all to show,  

A bubble round to seat him firm with age."

Adam’s goosebumped body tingled immediately, the familiar warmth of transformation spreading through his lower regions. He let out a low, grunty moan as the sensation deepened, his cock thickening and lengthening under his teeny tiny shorts. Diameter growing as his ass tightened, the muscles swelling into perfect, round bubbles that pushed him slightly upward in the bed. He grinned, looking down at himself, clearly satisfied with George’s work.

“That’s more like it,” Adam murmured, his hands roaming over his newly enhanced assets. The heft of his cock felt incredible, and his ass, firm and plump, made him sit taller, more confidently. “I can’t wait to use this out in SoHo.”  He turned to George, expecting more praise, more lust, but George’s face remained unreadable.

Then, George’s voice darkened, and he continued the sonnet.

"But this thick snake shall rise and never fall,  

In constant stand, no peace, no quiet still.  

His rounded arse shall breathe and stretch at call,  

Each muscle loose, no seat can meet its will."

Adam’s smile faltered, confusion flickering in his eyes. The change happened so quickly—his cock, now a monstrous length, hardened immediately, pushing insistently against the fabric of his gym shorts. It throbbed, always erect, always at attention, with no sense of relief. He shifted uncomfortably as his ass, once firm and perfect, started to feel strangely loose towards the center. It twitched and clenched on its own, the muscles stretching and relaxing without his control, as if it was becoming an underground tunnel.

“Wait, what the—?” Adam stammered, sitting up, his hand moving to adjust his cock, but it wouldn’t soften. His asshole kept opening with a subtle, almost breathing sensation that made him feel unstable, as if he could fit a tube station in there.

George smirked, watching the realization dawn on Adam’s face. “Not quite what you expected, is it?”

Adam’s panic grew as he tried to stand, but the constant, unrelenting erection made every step uncomfortable. His ass moved with a will of its own, making it impossible for him to walk without awkwardly adjusting himself.

“Stop this,” Adam demanded, his voice sharp with fear. “Fix it!”

But George continued, his voice soft, but with a cutting edge:

"For every man he sees and thinks of thus,  

A need shall spark, his body shall obey.  

Two seconds more, his lips will ask with trust,  

And if they say ‘yes,’ he cannot turn away."

Adam’s eyes widened in horror as the words sank in. The change was immediate. His mind, sharp and calculating, suddenly snapped. The second he looked at George, an overwhelming desire flooded him. He took a step forward, his voice trembling.

“George, I—” He swallowed, trying to fight the words that wanted to spill out, but they escaped anyway. “I want you… I need you. Please, let’s do it again.”

George’s smirk faded into something almost pitying as he stepped back, shaking his head. “No.”

Adam blinked, the refusal shocking him, but the need remained. His body trembled with desire, the thought of George sending his blood rushing. He reached out, desperate. “Please, I can’t—”

But George stood firm. “This is what you wanted, Adam. You wanted the magic. Now you’ve got it.”

Adam’s desperation turned into panic, the uncontrollable lust gnawing at him as he realized what had happened. “Please, you have to stop this! I can’t live like this!”

George’s eyes softened, but his voice remained firm. “If you never see me again, I can never curse you again. Plain and simple.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the curse pressing down on him. He had no choice. He nodded stiffly, his voice shaking. “Fine.”

Without another word, he fled the apartment, the constant throbbing in his pants making every step unbearable, as if he were walking with a third leg. His ass twitched, loose and awkward, making him shift with every movement. He tried to keep his eyes down, avoid seeing anyone, avoid thinking about anyone. But as he neared his flat, he saw him—the old, fat man from the bar, the one with the crusty mustache he’d brushed off so easily the night before.

Adam’s eyes locked onto him, and the thought, just two seconds, crossed his mind. The change was instant.

“Hey,” Adam called out, already relieving his itchy erection, his voice unabashed from shame. “You wanna fuck me?”

The man’s eyes widened, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, I do.  Let’s go boy”

Before Adam could stop himself, he moved closer, his body betraying him. They ended up in Adam’s flat, the humiliation sinking deeper as he stripped down, his body moving on its own, giving in to the fat man’s cock. Every moment was pleasure, the curse forcing him to enjoy it all. As the man’s fingers roamed into his hole, Adam’s cock stood painfully erect, his ass twitching and clenching, unable to resist the pleasure.

By the time it was over, Adam lay in bed, the old man’s snores filling the room. He stared at the ceiling, the weight of his actions crushing him. He hated it. He hated the curse, hated George, hated himself. But as he thought back to the encounter, a sickening sense of satisfaction settled in his chest.

Maybe this was who he was now. He’d become the horny, bro-ish slut he’d always railed against.

But hey, at least he still had his wits about him.

“You wanna go again,” he asked the sleeping bear.

He awoke.  “Fuck yeah I do.”

FRIDAY

Adam groaned, his body still humming from the night before, shifting slightly in his bed, the weight of his smelly, bulging muscles pressing against the mattress in ways that felt less and less alien. The stench of sweat and sex clung to the sheets like a cruel reminder, but what gave him the most relief was that the old mustached bear, the fat man who had taken him, or he’d taken in, last night, was gone, leaving Adam with what few shreds of dignity he had left. For but a brief moment, Adam felt a glimmer of his old smart self, something buried deep beneath the layers of this cursed, grotesque transformation.

He brought himself up slowly, running a hand through his cum-soaked, dampened hair, trying to ignore the disgusting aire of musk that followed him everywhere. The night’s events replayed slowly in his mind, and each moment sent waves of heat rolling through him. He was disgusted with himself, yet somehow also satisfied. As much as he wanted to shake off the craziness of last night, something darker tugged within him—or instead, someone.  Someone he couldn't control.

George.

The mere thought of him, that witchy smile, made Adam's heart pump and race. He tried to resist it, clenching his fists as he paced around his tiny studio. No. He wouldn’t give in. Not again. But the more he fought it, the stronger the curse became. His cock twitched in his shorts, eternally hardening more and more, his mind clouded with an overwhelming desire as he let out a massive burp. It was George. He needed George. He needed to see him, fuck him, even if it meant more and more of these horrible, disfiguring changes.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Adam was out the door, heading toward George’s place. His brain screamed at him to turn back, to stop this madness, but his feet kept moving, each step heavier with the weight of inevitability. He arrived at George’s door, his heart pounding so hard it echoed in his ears. Before he could second-guess himself, he knocked.

The door creaked open, and there stood George, the same knowing smile curling on his lips, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Back so soon?” George asked, voice dripping with mockery.

Adam swallowed, his throat tight. His body screamed with need, the throbbing in his pants unbearable. “I… I need to fuck you,” he stammered, the words barely making it out. His muscles tensed, his breath shallow. “Please, George. I just want to stick my-”

“No.” George’s tone was sharp, cold. “I warned you, Adam.”

Adam froze, his heart sinking. Panic flooded his chest. “No, wait, I… I—” He turned to flee, the humiliation too much to bear, but George’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

“You’re not going anywhere,” George said softly, a cruel edge to his voice. With a flick of his hand, Adam’s body locked in place, muscles freezing as though they were held by invisible chains. Adam’s eyes widened in fear as George circled him like a predator, his gaze sweeping up and down Adam’s massive form.

“You could’ve been so wonderful, Adam,” George whispered, his fingers trailing across Adam’s rigid biceps. “If only you weren’t so obsessed with being better than everyone else.” George stopped in front of him, his eyes gleaming. “But don’t worry. I’m going to fix that.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, his giant mind racing with panic. He tried to move, to speak, but nothing worked. He was trapped, helpless, his body at George’s mercy. And then, George began to recite.

“This man, with wit so sharp, shall find it dull,

His tongue to fail at words with length and grace.

In single beats, his speech doth make him full,

No thought can break the barrier of his face.”

Adam’s head buzzed as George’s words sank into his soul. He tried to protest, to say something, anything, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out were simple, one-syllable words, clumsy and slow like the dumbass he used to make fun of, the one he was about to become. “Wh-what… you… do…?” he stammered, struggling through each word. His brain felt like it was being squeezed, cell by cell, every attempt to say something even somewhat intelligent or complex was met with a foggy, impenetrable wall.

“No… more…” he managed, but even that felt like a battle. His tongue stumbled within his mouth, his speech slurring as the magic took further hold. Adam’s face twisted in frustration, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t even think of a word longer than one syllable. His mind was trapped in this humiliating simplicity, a far cry from the sharp intellect he once wielded.

George smiled, watching the struggle unfold with sadistic delight. “You’re already looking more like yourself, love.” He continued, his voice low and melodic.

“A jaw so slack, it barely knows its place,

His mouth hangs wide, flies wander through the door.

With 'duh' his mind reflects upon his face,

A smile so dumb, he trusts each word, what's more.”

As the next words spread themselves throughout the air and landed onto Adam’s face, he felt his jaw slacken into a relaxed position, the muscles in his face going completely limp. His mouth hung open, agape, his lips parting into a dumb, vacant expression. He could feel the cold air tickling his teeth as a small, stupid smile crept onto his face. He tried to close his mouth, to tighten his jaw, but it wouldn’t obey him. No matter how hard he tried, it remained slack, open, like a door left ajar.

Flies buzzed around, and before he knew it, one flitted into his mouth. He barely registered it, too dazed, too numb to even care. His face felt frozen in that idiotic grin, his eyes glazed over. Worse yet, every word George said sounded so… true. Every part of him wanted to believe whatever George told him, his gullibility sinking deep into his bones.

Adam’s mind screamed at him to resist, to hold onto what was left of his pride, but that part of him was fading fast. His lips, still curled in a stupid smile, parted again. “Uh… yeah, right…” he muttered, barely able to form coherent thoughts. His voice sounded thick and dopey, like it belonged to someone else, someone who couldn’t even spell Shakespear.

George’s voice softened, almost tender. “See, isn’t that easier? No more thinking, no more overcomplicating things. Just smile, and trust whatever I, or anyone tells you.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, but his mind couldn’t focus. His thoughts were slipping away, replaced by something far simpler, far more primal.

“His thoughts now cloud with only two desires,

To lift, to bed, these things alone will stay.

His mind a fog, of neither will it tire,

And all else fades, in gym and bed to play.”

With those words, haze descended over Adam’s mind. Thoughts, once sharp and filled with wit, were now muddled, clouded with only two overpowering urges. He wanted to work out. He wanted to fuck. Everything else—his career, his pride, his intellect—faded into the background, meaningless, never to be seen again.

Images of bench presses flashed into his shrinking mind, the sensation of cold iron in his sweaty hands, the strain of his muscles as they bulged and flexed. And then there was sex—hot, mindless sex. His cock throbbed in his shorts, and the desire, the absolute need for physical release overwhelmed him, drowning out any other thought. Working out, fucking, working out, fucking, again and again and again. That was all that mattered now. Nothing else made sense, not like he could comprehend it anyways.

Adam tried to resist, to push through the fog, but alas, it was no use. His mind was too far gone, too consumed by primal urges. He let out a resonant, needy groan, his thoughts too disorganized to form any coherent plan of escape.

George watched with satisfaction as Adam’s transformation neared its end. With a triumphant smile, he delivered the final couplet.

“And now this man goes by initials who,

With knowledge slight, no higher than eight-two.”

As George’s last words took their hold, Adam felt the last remnants of his old self slip away, the final pieces of his mind shattering like glass into a distant oblivion. He wasn’t Adam anymore. He was… AJ. His name was AJ, always had been. That dumb, jockish grin became permanent across his face as his old life rewrote itself. His memories, once filled with scholarships, academic debates, tragedies and comedies, were now replaced by scenes of the gym, of flexing in front of the mirror, of fucking nameless faces in dark, sweaty backrooms.

His chest swelled with pride at the thought of lifting those heavy weights, of feeling the burn in his muscles as he pushed himself harder and harder. His thoughts were no longer burdened by complicated ideas or big words. They were simple, direct. Lift. Fuck. Repeat. That was it.

AJ blinked, his slack jaw hanging open as he stood there in front of George, his once bright mind now dim, sluggish, and focused only on the most basic of desires. His body reeked of fart and musk, his mind a tangled mess of lust and primal urges. His life as Adam, the intellectual, was gone. All that remained was AJ, a dumb, slutty, smelly jock.

George stepped back, admiring his handiwork as AJ smiled dumbly at him, his eyes empty, his brain no longer capable of critical thought. “You look perfect, AJ,” George said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

AJ’s grin widened, his thick tongue lolling slightly as he scratched at his crotch. “Th-thanks… bro,” he slurred, his voice deep and stupid.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” George murmured, tilting AJ’s chin up so their eyes met.

AJ’s smile grew even wider, his lips twitching as he struggled to form words. “Yeah, bro,” he said, his voice slow and thick. “I’m… real good.”

George couldn’t help but laugh. AJ was exactly what he had imagined—empty-headed, obedient, and driven by nothing more than his primal instincts. “You won’t be needing any of those big words anymore, will you, AJ?” George asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

AJ shook his head, his brow furrowing slightly as if even that small movement required a great deal of effort. “Nuh-uh,” he mumbled. “Big words are… uh… too hard.”

“Exactly,” George said, patting AJ’s cheek lightly. “And from now on, you’re going to live a very simple life. No more worrying about being better than anyone else. No more trying to prove how smart you are. You’ll be much happier this way. Just working out, fucking, and doing whatever you’re told.”

AJ nodded slowly, his thick muscles pulling and rippling beneath his skin as he flexed unconsciously. “Yeah, bro,” he agreed, his voice, like his mind, slow. “I like… liftin’... an’ fuckin’...”

“Now, AJ,” George said with command, “I think it’s time you head to the gym. You wouldn’t want to miss leg day, would you?”

AJ’s eyes widened slightly, the thought of working out sending a thrill of excitement through his body. “Leg day,” he repeated. “Yeah, bro. I gotta… lift.”

George smirked, watching diligently at his Frankenstein creation as AJ’s single-minded focus shifted completely to the gym. “That’s right, big guy. Go on, hit the weights, and make sure everyone sees how big and strong you are.”

AJ beamed, his dim-witted grin stretching even wider. “Gotta pump some iron.”  And as AJ disappeared into the distance, George sighed, knowing the man who’d once scoffed at him, at the very idea of magic and fate was now living proof of it’s power, his entire existence rewritten by just a few simple words. George smirked, satisfied once again, and waited for the next asshole to match with him on Hinge.

AJ, meanwhile, wandered toward the gym, his thoughts a jumbled mess of anticipation and primal urges. He could feel the weight of his bulging muscles with every step, the tightness of his tank top stretching across his massive chest. The constant itch in his groin had him adjusting his shorts every few seconds, a fart always ready in the chamber, and his cock already hard at the thought of the next guy he’d meet, or the next weight he’d lift.  He grinned stupidly, flexing his biceps as he prepared for the first set. “Let’s go, bro,” he muttered to himself, his voice thick with excitement. “Time to get swole.”

And with that, AJ’s transformation was complete. The man he had once been—Adam, the intellectual, the scholar—was gone, replaced by a farting, burping, simple-minded, horny, muscle-obsessed jock who lived only for the gym, for sex, and for any task any man asked for.

“Life’s good, bruh.”

[no-onespecial]

The comfort in the darkest times

TRIGGER WARNING

A little summary; Play the audio for better experience, Mind games by Sickick is the song used (AUDIO WARNING) use headphones preferably, other than that, Enjoy <3

Warnings: Smut, MDNI, read at your own risk, talks about DV, virgin reader, alcohol, riding, strap usage, fingering, knee riding, cheating, ABUSE(lemme know if i forgot something)

You and Ellie have been friends ever since you two were little. Like ever since you two could remember. She has been there for you and you have been there for her. You were both almost glued to the hip since you spent so much time together. There was always a nagging feeling inside you that you couldn’t just comprehend. Like something was eating you up but you always brushed it off. It didn’t really matter to you anyways so it was best to leave it alone.

Ever since you started dating your girlfriend, Mandy, things have been different. The first months you two were together, she was amazing, kind, loving…but something changed in her at the four month mark. She started to criticize you, your clothes, actions, the way you talked, everything. At first you brushed it off as just being a little insecure or something like that but it started to get worse. Most of your friends started pushing away from you because of her. Her attitude towards everyone was mean and nasty, but you couldn’t say anything about it. It was like she had complete power over you and you were helpless. She had her eyes on you every second of the day and you couldn’t even do anything about it. Ellie didn’t like her at all but she never said anything about her because she didn’t want to cause a fight between you two. Mandy tried to push Ellie away from you and destroy your friendship with her but she couldn’t. Ellie never wanted to leave you and you didn’t want to leave her. You have known for so long so you weren’t willing to let go of that friendship. You and Ellie kept hanging around even if Mandy didn’t like that. Because she knew that you wouldn’t just drop Ellie and it would’ve been a pointless fight.

Today was a normal day for you. You were just hanging in Ellie’s place, just playing some video games and talking about random stuff. You see a text pop up on your phone's screen and it’s from Mandy.

Ellie sees the texts and she rolls her eyes;

-”What does she want now?” Her voice is filled with annoyance.

-”Just asking me where I am.”

After you and Ellie have finished playing, you go back home. You get inside your shared house with Mandy and before you even know it or can react, she slaps you hard across the face. You move your hand on your cheek. It stung so much. You could feel tears forming in your eyes and when you pulled your hand down, there was a small amount of blood on your hand. Her nails have scratched a small gash on your cheek and all you could do is just stare at her. This was the first time Mandy has raised her hand at you and you didn’t know how to react to it.

After that, things got even worse. She would treat you as a slave, punching back and everytime she kicked you out, you would go to Ellie’s place and she would comfort you. After one of your biggest fights with Mandy, she had hit you multiple times, degraded you, spat on you and kicked you. You were a crying mess on the floor, afraid to move or even let out a sound. You were terrified of her and she knew it. She took great pleasure making your life miserable and you knew that you couldn’t run away from her. She would find you and do something more to you. Those thoughts alone terrified you so much that you decided to just do as she says so she wouldn’t get angry.

Mandy looked at you on the floor, blood dripping down your nose and tears falling down your face;

-”You look pathetic.” Her voice was filled with disgust and rage. You just closed your eyes and waited for her to do something again but she didn’t. Instead, you heard the front door opening and closing. Mandy had left to god knows where. You sat up slowly, holding your side in pain while still crying uncontrollably. The carpet was stained in your tears and blood, looking like a crime scene. You took out your phone and you texted Ellie;

After a while, you hear Ellie ringing the doorbell and you run towards the door. She’s greeted with you, running into her arms in tears. She holds you, stroking your hair before pulling back. She notices the blood on your face and immediately gets panicked look on her face;

-”What happened? What the hell did she do to you? Are you okay?”

You just shake your head and bury your face into her shoulder. She comforts you for a little while before you two walk into the house. After you have explained everything to Ellie, she stays silent for a moment before she gets up and grabs a bottle of tequila. She puts the bottle right in front of you as she sits back down.

-”What’s that for? And where did you get that?” You stare at the bottle in confusion.

-”I bought it yesterday because I thought we could drink it together with Jesse and Dina but it looks like you need it right now.”

She offers the bottle to you, her eyes never leaving yours. You take the bottle, opening the cap slowly and taking a sip of it while keeping eye contact with her. The alcohol burns in your throat, making your eyes water a little. You get the urge to cough but you decide to clear your throat to see if it helps. Ellie takes the bottle from and takes a big sip of it as well.

You two keep drinking and just talking about the whole fight between you and Mandy, unknowingly getting closer and closer to each other. You feel Ellie’s thigh, touching yours and that’s when you realize how close you two are. Ellie leans her face closer to yours, her breath feeling hot on your skin. You glance down at her lips and then back at her eyes. She looks…hot…

That’s something you never expected to think about your best friend but you did. The air gets stuck in your throat as you two keep your eyes locked with each other, your hearts pounding wildly in your chests and your breaths heavy and short. Ellie glances down at your lips and before you even know it, she’s kissing you with so much passion.

You feel her hand moving to the back of your head and the other hand grapes you by your waist. She pulls you into her lap, pushing her tongue inside your mouth, her hand on the back of your head, grabbing onto your hair. You arch your back, wrapping your arms around her neck. Ellie’s hands run down your body, under your shirt. You can feel her cold fingers, lifting your shirt up and it sends shivers down your spine. The alcohol in both of your systems is taking away all the morals you two have and you just let this happen.

It’s bad…cheating on your partner but it still feels so right. Ellie is so gentle with you. She’s moving her hands up your body slowly and gently so that it tickles. You both hear a car pulling outside and you know that if you get caught, there’s hell to pay. You quickly get up from Ellie’s lap,grabbing the bottle of tequila and hiding it behind the couch. You both run inside your closet, closing the door behind you just as Mandy gets inside the house. She’s on the phone and she sounds pissed. You are pressed against Ellie, the closet being tiny but spacious enough for the both of you. You hold your breath and just pray that Mandy doesn't open the closet door and see you there with Ellie.

You feel Ellie’s leg between your legs, slowly rising up until her thigh presses against your cunt. You almost gasp out loud but you manage to cover your mouth. She puts her hands on your hips and starts pressing your body down a little, grinding your cunt against her thigh. Your mind goes completely blank and the only thing you can do is to stay quiet.

She starts moving your hips a bit faster, sending waves of pleasure through you.* Is this how it feels like?* you think to yourself. It feels so good, too good but you know that if you make even a sound, Mandy will hear you. Ellie leans her face towards your neck and whispers in your ear, her breath hitting your neck while she still grinds your body down against her thigh.

-”Don’t let her hear you…” She’s breathless, eager to make you feel good. Mandy walks into your shared bedroom, just a few feet away from where you two are. She’s still on the phone but you can’t even hear what she's saying because you are too focused on not making a sound.

Ellie lowers her leg slowly, causing you to feel sad until you feel her hand, running under your jeans and underwear. Her cold fingers reach your wet cunt, causing you to jolt a little. She moves one hand over your mouth as two fingers enter your wet core. You’re breathless, too scared to make a sound or move as she starts moving her fingers in and out slowly. You grab onto her shoulders as she starts to move her fingers faster. You both look into each other's eyes, yours widened and her narrowed. Ellie doesn’t break eye contact with you, not even for a second. Ellie can feel that you’re close to cumming and she smiles, whispering again softly;

-”Cum on my fingers.”

That sentence was enough for you to get over the edge. Her words linger in your ears as you reach the peak. You can feel your cum, slowly dripping down your thigh. Ellie slowly pulls her fingers out before licking them. She looks you in the eye as she does so and you feel weak in the knees. It’s so wrong but also…Right.

You hear Mandy leaving the room, still on the phone as her voice echoes through the house as she leaves. You breathe out a small sigh of relief but you don’t even have time to think. Ellie is now kissing your neck, nibbling your skin softly. You moan out a breathy, slow moan as you try to push Ellie away;

-”Ellie…W…we can’t…”

-”Not here. Let’s go to my place.” She cuts you off, her voice a little raspy.

At Ellie’s place, you’re laying on her bed, naked and panting like a dog that needs water with Ellie between your legs, eating you out like she’s been starved for months. You grab Ellie’s hair, sounding like pornstars do in the films. Ellie moves her tongue slowly on your cunt, her fingers sliding fast in and out.

-”Just like that baby…say my name…” Her breath hitting your wet core.

-”E…ell….ellie…” You pant, your voice breathy and harsh.

-”Fuck…you taste so good…”

Your grip on her hair gets tighter, the feeling in your stomach getting stronger and stronger. Your clit is swollen, throbbing from the excitement and anticipation. Ellie lifts your legs over her shoulders, digging her tongue deep into your wet, throbbing pussy. Your back arches, hands falling on your sides and gripping the sheets as hard as you can, your knuckles turning white. Her tongue feels so good. The movements giving you extreme amounts of pleasure.

Ellie grabs you by your hips, rocking your body on her mouth as she’s lapping every last bit of your cum in her mouth. As you come down from your high, she kisses your thighs, biting it softly. She slowly gets up, her face red and wet. Ellie lowers your legs as she gets up. You look up to her, your mouth watering and whole body shaking. Ellie gets between your legs, resting your legs on her hips. You glance down, her strap hovering over your lower stomach.

-”E…ellie…I…I have…This is m…my first t…time…”

-”I know. Just take a deep breath and relax your body. I will be gentle. I promise.”

You do as she says and close your eyes. Ellie moves her hip back a little, hovering the tip just right outside your core. She slowly pushes the tip in and stops, giving you time to get used to it. You breathe slowly in and out, preparing yourself for what’s about to come. Ellie pushes her hip forward, pushing the rest of the strap in. A small squeak escapes your lips. The feeling of the strap inside your throbbing pussy is overwhelming. She starts rocking her hips back and front, the strap sliding perfectly. As you get used to the feeling, Ellie starts to speed up more and more.

As she speeds up even more and more, the sounds get louder. You moan out loudly, your voice cracking and breathless.

-”Such a good girl…You’re mine now…” She whispers harshly, her hands gripping your waist tightly.

-”Ellie! I…I…I can’t…” You scream out. You still can feel your cum, falling down onto the sheets. Ellie keeps pumping the strap in and out roughly, making you scream even louder, grip the sheets harder than ever. She wants you to feel good and she’s doing everything to let you know that. She suddenly stops. She pulls the strap out and lays down next to you.

-”Get on top baby.” She commands, her eyes wandering around your body. You slowly get up on top of her, your cunt feeling cold as you hover over her strap. Ellie guides the strap in. She grabs your hips, pushing you down and moving your lower body. The strap hits all the right spots, causing you to scream out her name. You grab onto the headboard of the bed, banging it against the wall while you howl in pleasure.

-”Fuck…You look so good right now…Scream my name love…” She coos as she moves her other hand down. She presses her finger down on your clit, rubbing it to give you more pleasure.

-”She could never make you feel this good. Tell me how much you love this. Tell me that i’m the only one who can do this to you”

-”Y…You’re…you’re the only one El…ellie…I…This…this feels…too good…” You whimper out, rocking your body back and forth. You feel the knot in your stomach getting stronger and stronger as you start to reach your climax.

-”Ellie….Fuck…i’m…i’m about to c…CUM!” The scream that leaves your lips can only be described as the sound that you can only hear in porn films.

-”Good girl…Cum for me…Let it all out doll…”

And at that, you let yourself to let it all out, the climax reaching its peak. Your whole body shakes violently as you collapse on top of her. Ellie strokes your hair softly, soothing you as you come down from your high.

-”You’re such a good girl.” She hums softly in your ear, letting you just lay on top of her and calm down……

Hope you liked this <3

I take requests so lemme know in the comments!

[somereaderinblue]

Warrior!Penelope God Games

After writing Odysseus's Challenge, I was still on a creative high & decided to do this too. NOTE: The swaps between gods were taken from @too-much-flynnolium’s art.

[ARES]

Mother, God Queen, rarely do I ask for favours

Now, I'm kneeling on your floor

With hopes to save a friendship

With one who's a prisoner far from home

Penelope

[HERA]

Divine intervention, so that is your wish?

To untie apprehensions that were placed on that Greek?

You are braving such dangers for a girl full of shame

But if she's worth the risk of going under

Why not make it a game?

Convince each of them that she ought to be released

And I'll release her

[ARES]

Who's them?

[HERA]

Artemis! Hestia!

Dionysus! Athena!

Demeter! Or me

What do you say?

[ARTEMIS]

Sure.

[HESTIA]

Very well.

[DIONYSUS]

Hic!

[ATHENA]

Alright.

[DEMETER]

Interesting.

[ARES]

Bring it.

[ARTEMIS]

You all know I'm a fan of nature and all

So with so many sirens gone

I think Penny's in the wrong

[ARES]

They had planned to do their worst

All she did was reimburse them

Now they'll tread with caution first

To live another day and sing even more verse!

[ARTEMIS]

Good point, release her.

[HESTIA]

Trust is not wasted, it’s forged

Why should I give her my support?

She turned her back on her cohort

[ARES]

Did you forget they failed to listen?

She was betrayed and now imprisoned

But if you make the right decision

She can still have a future with those who miss her!

[HESTIA]

Fine, release her.

[DIONYSUS]

Your little high and mighty Penelope

Claims to love another, but keeps him chained to a broken heart

[ARES]

She was busy fighting

[DIONYSUS]

More like busy spiting the cyclops

Let her feel the pain that the others feel and rot

[ARES]

Wait!

You must reconsider this!

[ATHENA]

Really now, Ares, no new tricks?

[ARES]

Athena!

[ATHENA]

What kind of so-called fighter holds back her power

Just lets her friends get devoured?

She couldn’t fight Scylla, but didn’t even try to outwit her

Hides with naught but a sword to get the job done

Tries to handle things upfront

Dim-witted and weak like her son

[ARES]

Hold your tongue now, her son's my friend!

And tell that drunkard that all kinds of hurts can mend

You want more mind games? Then set her free

To get back to her homestead, she'll make everyone’s brains bleed!

[ATHENA & DIONYSUS]

Then release her.

[DEMETER]

So many talents, so many tales

Give me one good reason why yours should prevail

[ARES]

She's got the hands of a weaver!

[DEMETER]

Dig deeper

[ARES]

She's pretty skilled with words!

[DEMETER]

You can do better than that!

[ARES]

She's very sassy…?

[DEMETER]

Eh

[ARES]

Never once does she give up on her child.

[DEMETER]

Release her.

[ARES]

I’ve played your game and won! Release her.

[HERA]

You dare to defy me? To give me more shame?

No one beats me, no one wins my game!

Marriage, bring her through the wringer

Show her I'm the judgement call

The one who makes the final call!

.

.

.

.

[ATHENA]

Is he dead?

.

.

.

Penelope had told Ares that for mothers, childbirth in itself was a difficult battle and the parenthood that came after a race with no finish line in sight. Personally, Ares would’ve likened it to war. If family had truly been something as linear as a race then surely Hermes would be on their father’s throne by now.

She placed her spawn in his arms. Said spawn miraculously didn’t squirm or squall against his battle-hardened muscles and cold gauntlets. 

“His name is Telemachus.” Far from battle. The irony wasn’t lost on anyone. Then again, considering how eerily squishy the infant was, perhaps the name was fitting.

Ares blinked as tiny fingers gripped his, the pudgy digits unable to full wrap around it. Yet, the grip was strong. No, it was simply alive. He’s bathed in blood so often that he’s forgotten even the tiniest of hearts can still beat.

“Telemachus.”  Penelope and Odysseus smiled. Smiled at him, smiled because of him. They were happy. He was happy.

.

.

.

[ARES]

Let her go…..please

Let her go……

[modawg]

it’s so sad to me that nico like never learned how much percy tried to help him yk

like percy literally rounded up his closest friends after being the only one to find out nico was the son of hades and decided to at least try to give nico a chance to live his life when the kid literally just tried to kill him, his sister just died, and through everything percy knows hates his guts - like he took all that info and decided to make a suicide pack with his closest friends in order to protect nico when giving nico the prophecy would’ve been the most logical and honestly understandable thing to do

like genuinely do ppl realise how EASY it would’ve been to just give the prophecy to nico his ONLY living relative (other than hades) just DIED they could’ve been like “listen you take this prophecy give it 6 years you’ll be dead with your sister and literally everyone else you know and you’ll be a hero for it” instead even though percy has an entire life, people who love and care for him, and a future wife infront of him he takes it upon himself to DIE in 3-4 years how fucking BONKERS is that

he also almost abandons a WHOLE OTHER QUEST putting himself and annabeth in danger just bc dumbass nico is out doing god knows what in the labyrinth and ends up getting caught (he was doing smth i’m being dramatic but still)

could you imagine being percy your going to war (and from your perspective you’re going to die in the next week or so after methodically doing everything in your power to keep this other random kid who you think hates you from suffering that fate) that kid comes up to you with a plan so you trust him just do be stabbed in the back bc that kids father wants him to be the prophecy child even tho you’ve been mentally preparing yourself to die for the past like 3 years?? id jump that kid too if he randomly came into my deep dark prison cell trying to break me out and then shun him after all that

like i read the way nico talks abt percy and he just seems bitter all the time he’s like “psh percy and his fake friendship what a dweeb can’t believe i had a crush on THAT guy🙄” like you’d be dead if it wasn’t for his friendship gay boy

i want like 5 years into the future annabeth is sitting with nico one day and is like “lol yeah i remember that one time percy made us all pinky promise to keep you safe and we all thought he was dumb bc you hated him sm but he really just wanted you to have a good life and now look at you!! :)” and nico to slow turn to her “…what”

like to this day i get that nico was mad at percy for not protecting bianca and bc of his internalized homophobia or whatever but why not hate on the actual people who sent her on that quest rather than a random kid you just met who said he’d try WHICH HE ACTUALLY DID DO and not idk literally any adult figure who sent her into the fire to begin with

i just want nico to realise that percy is simply just a boy who literally wanted nothing to do with any of this and was trying his best to free nico of that same burden sigh (;_;)

like those two are the fattest example of a miscommunication held together by misunderstood betrayal

disclaimer this is obv dramatic and the prophecy definitely doesn’t work like that but like think abt it ok

[sycamoregirlsworld]

Wildflower and Barley- L. Castellan

luke x fem! psyche! reader

“my coffee black, in my bed at 3. you’re too sweet for me.” -hozier

She was too good for him. Luke had realized that since the first day she had come to camp, but he still couldn’t help but want her.

She was impossibly beautiful, inside and out. She was brilliant, and she was a good fighter.

She was one of a kind. Psyche had no other demigod children, and while (Y/n) swore up and down that she inherited no powers from her mother, Luke thought otherwise.

She was intoxicating, she could fill your head with only thoughts of her until you were sure that your soul belonged to her. Everyone wanted her— either as a friend or a lover. Whenever she passed by, heads would turn to follow her.

And that included Luke. For awhile, he was content just being her friend. He couldn’t have her like that—he wasn’t good enough for her— but he was content to just be in her presence.

So he would watch from afar, want building up in him every time she’d smile or even just glance at him.

From an outsiders perspective, you would’ve thought the pair were dating. Luke flirted with her—(Y/n) flirted back too—but to Luke it was just a friendship, she was just being friendly.

And it was staring to drive him crazy—he saw the way girls and guys looked at her—Luke wanted to be the only one who could stare at her like that.

But he wasn’t hers, so it was just a stupid pipe dream.

I mean, she was perfect in his eyes. How could anyone so perfect like someone like him?

While he stayed up at night cursing the gods (more specifically his father) and put on a false show of confidence, she walked around with no worries or doubts following her, only butterflies her mother had undoubtedly sent.

She hadn’t been broken down by the world like he had, so he had decided that he would do anything for her to not be.

(Y/n) told him so many times that he didn’t need to protect her, but he never listened.

Which is how he found himself in the infirmary.

Luke scowled as he looked up at the ceiling, wincing a bit as it pulled at his split lip. (Y/n) was going to be so pissed at him, but he didn’t care.

‘They deserved it.’ He kept repeating to himself as he counted down the seconds until (Y/n) came and ripped him apart.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the door to the infirmary burst open, frantic footsteps following it.

“Luke!” (Y/n)’s worried voice called out as she hurried over to him. “Annabeth told me you were in the infirmary.”

The brown haired boy opened his eyes and smiled at her, patting the spot beside him. “Hey, beautiful.”

(Y/n) frowned at him as she sat down, scanning his bruised face as she anxiously cracked her knuckles. “What happened?” She mumbled. Luke frowned as she tentatively reached out for his face, before hesitating and letting her hand fall back beside her.

“You can touch me, y’know?” He smirked as he grabbed her hand and rested it on his face. “It doesn’t even hurt that bad.”

“Jus’ don’t wanna hurt you..” She averted her gaze, but she kept her hand planted on his cheek.

Luke rolled his eyes fondly as he grabbed her free hand. “I don’t think you could ever hurt me, princess.” His brown eyes twinkled in triumph as she turned her head to glare at him, cheeks burning red.

“Don’t call me that.” She grumbled before pointing a finger at him. “And you’re evading my question! What happened to you!?”

Luke sat up straighter as he smiled bashfully, biting his cheek awkwardly. “Okay, so don’t get mad!”

“That’s an awful way to start this.”

“No— seriously, (Y/n).” He laughed. “Just let me explain.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes at him but shrugged, indicating for him to continue speaking.

“During sword training today, these two Ares boys were talking about you.” Luke sighed. “They were saying gross things— and y’know I couldn’t let them talk about you like that.”

“Man, I don’t know why she hangs around Castellan.” Luke heard one of the Ares boys sigh. His ears perked up at the mention of his name. He crept closer to the two boys, wanting to know what they were saying.

“I could treat her so much better—do her so much better.” The other snorted and winked at his friend. “She looks innocent but I bet she’s hiding some freaky secrets.”

Luke felt his face grow hot in anger as he realized the conversation was about his bestfriend—not to mention that they were talking about how they wanted to fuck her. It made him feel sick.

“Hey guys.” He frowned as he walked up to the boys, his hands grasping onto their shoulders. He could feel one of them tense up as he heard Luke’s voice, and it gave him a sick sense of satisfaction.

He didn’t think he was all that scary, but if he scared these guys enough to back off (Y/n), he would take it.

“Oh— hey, Luke.” One of them swallowed thickly as he turned his head to look at Luke.

His friend on the other hand, didn’t look as scared as he turned towards Luke with his chest puffed out.

“Hey man.” He smirked as he looked Luke up and down. “How’re you doing?”

“I was doing just fine, until I heard you talking about (Y/n) like that.” Luke crossed his arms with a glare.

“Don’t be so jealous, dude.” He scoffed as he ‘playfully’ punched Luke in the shoulder. “Just because she let you fuck doesn’t mean—”

And that was all it took for Luke to pull back his fist and connect it to the boys nose.

(Y/n) stared down at Luke with a small frown as he finished recounting his story. “Luke..” She began.

“I know, I know— you don’t like it when I get in fights.” Luke sighed and looked up at her with soft eyes, silently pleading her to not tell him off this time.

“I really don’t.” She mumbled as pulled on her necklace, it was a nervous habit of hers. “Especially fights about me.”

“Well, I’m your bestfriend.” He shrugged. “If I’m not going to defend you from creeps, what am I good for?”

(Y/n) frowned as she stared down at him, her eyes softening. “It just makes me feel bad when you get hurt because me.”

Luke sat up in the bed and tugged her into a hug. “M’ not getting hurt because of you.” He mumbled into her hair. “And anyways, you know I would do anything for you.”

(Y/n) wrapped her arms around him tightly. “I don’t care what other guys say about me, I’ve got you.” Her voice was muffled by his shirt, and Luke was sure she could feel his heart beating erratically.

‘Did she just… is she saying what I think she is?’ Luke pinched himself, this couldn’t be real.

“Luke?” Her voice pulled him away from his thoughts. She moved away from his chest and looked up at him, her cheeks bashfully red.

“Most guys wouldn’t get into fights over their best friend…” She trailed off, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Luke swallowed as he looked down at her, he could feel his mind clouding with want.

She was right, most guys wouldn’t beat someone up because they wanted to fuck their bestfriend.

“Maybe.. it’s because I want to be more then your friend.” He breathed out as he leaned his head down. His breath fanned over her face as their noses brushed. He was so close he could taste it, but he’d never taste her without permission.

“Maybe I want you to be more then my friend.” (Y/n) smiled as she moved closer. Her lips brushed against his and it took everything in him not to take her right there.

“Please— kiss me.” His face burned red as he squeezed his eyes shut.

In an instant, (Y/n) had her lips firmly pressed against his. She threaded her fingers through his hair, careful to avoid his injuries, as she tugged him closer.

Luke felt his breath hitch as her lips moved against his in a frantic pace. Gods, he had been wanting this for so long and now he finally had it.

He grabbed her hips and pulled her onto his lap, lips still attached to hers. He could feel himself start to lose his composure as she gasped into his mouth. She was so beautiful, he just wanted her—

“Luke.” (Y/n) pulled away from this kiss and stared down at him, wide eyed and breathless. “We’re in the infirmary.”

“And..?” Luke tilted his head as he squeezed her thighs.

“And you’re hurt!”

Luke smirked and grabbed her chin, bringing her down to him once more.

“Good thing we’re in the infirmary.”

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Put it in your mouth

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember, week 1

Prompts: Make-Up Sex & Pillow Princess

Words: 1,191

Tags: Friends to lovers; Idiots to lovers; Anal Fingering; Oral Sex; Anal Sex; Power Bottom Steve; Service Top Eddie

Notes: Eddie "Foot in Mouth" Munson strikes again. He's putting so many things in his mouth in this one. Get it? (God, I'm hilarious.) 🤭

The sky is turning bright when Eddie crunches to a brake in Steve's driveway. He swings open his door and is halfway up the front porch when he stops.

He shouldn't be here, the nagging voice at the back of his mind says. Between the jitters before the tv gig and interview and everything that happened after, he hasn't slept in close to forty-eight hours. He can't exactly be trusted to make rational decisions, and even if he could, who's saying Steve wants to see him?

Eddie curses, replaying the memory that has been plaguing him the entire way here. He called Steve the second he returned to the hotel, grinning from ear to ear like the idiot that he is.

“Did you watch it?” he blurted the moment the call connected. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. The curt answer could've clued Eddie in, but he was still high on adrenaline and applause, so it didn't. 

“I dunno about you,” he sing-songed, flopping down on the bed and twirling the phone cord. “But I'd say that went pretty fucking fantastic.” 

“Fantastic?” Steve repeated dryly. “Yeah, right. Glad you think so, you fucking asshole.” 

Eddie stopped playing with the cord. 

“Stevie?” he croaked. “What's wrong?” 

Steve laughed. “If you don't know that, you're dumber than I thought.” 

Then he hung up. Eddie was left in his hotel room, staring dumbly at the receiver. When he tried to call back, Steve didn't pick up. 

Eddie wasted the better part of an hour lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. Why was Steve mad at him? Ever since the beginnings of their unlikely, Upside Down forged friendship, he'd been fervently supportive of Eddie’s music. Showing up to his gigs, listening until late into the night while Eddie worked on new songs. Hell, he'd probably been more nervous about this whole thing than Eddie, seeing him off with a lingering hug and a promise to talk to him later. 

It must’ve been something he said at the interview, but what? Eddie scowled as he rehashed every single question and answer.

Where did he get the inspiration for his songs? He’d spouted some bullshit about ostracization and alienation and smalltown conventions, because the truth would’ve meant breaking about a million NDAs. 

Was he excited about the upcoming tour and album? Yes, obviously, he couldn’t wait to see all those different places, play in front of all sorts of people. 

Was there somebody at home rooting for him? A special girl maybe? Nope, nobody, he was happily single and planning on staying that- … wait. 

Eddie shot up from the bed so suddenly he gave himself vertigo, letting out a very loud and very colorful string of swear words. In the room next to his, someone banged on the wall, asking if he had any clue what time it was. Eddie didn't. He also didn't pause to find out. 

Now, a hasty check-out and one speed-limit-defying drive later, he’s staring at Steve’s front door, all previous courage slowly seeping out of him. 

Maybe he got this all wrong. Maybe he's imagining this. He has experience with imagining things - has spent countless nights fantasizing about what it would feel like, touching Steve as more than a friend. The feel of Steve’s lips, the taste of Steve’s skin. Maybe he should leave, come back with a clear head tomorrow, so that they can talk this over like the sensible adults they-

“Shit, Eddie?” 

The door is open, spilling light onto the porch. At the center of it, nail bat in one hand, disheveled hair back-lit in caramel and gold, is Steve. He's in his sleep clothes - checkered boxers and one of Eddie’s old band shirts that he stole months ago. Those pretty eyes are large with surprise, but when Eddie takes a hesitant step towards him, Steve’s expression closes off. 

“I don't believe you,” he mutters, and makes to close the door. Eddie acts on impulse alone, bridging the distance and wedging his foot into the crack. Steve glowers at him. “What the fuck do you want?” 

“You,” Eddie breathes , and closes the gap. 

From one second to the next, all of his doubts evaporate, because this right here? This is all he's ever wanted. They crash into the wall of the foyer, nail bat clattering to the floor, and Eddie spends a glorious few minutes reveling in the heady rush of Steve’s lips on his, Steve's mouth opening for his tongue, Steve’s nails clawing into his back. 

When they part, Steve is deliciously flushed, lips shiny and slightly parted, ragged puffs of breath tickling Eddie’s skin. 

“Want you,” Eddie repeats. “Fuck, Stevie, I've wanted you for so long. I'm such an idiot, I never-” 

“Prove it then,” Steve says. His arms loop around Eddie’s neck, slotting them further together, and Eddie gasps as his cock presses against his thigh - a long, hard weight through the thin fabric of his shorts. “If you want me so much, show me just how desperate you are.” 

*

“More. Deeper. C'mon, or are you tired already?” 

Eddie moans around an aching jaw. He isn't tired, he's in heaven. There's drool running down his chin, his tongue and neck and shoulders are on fire, but Steve is here with him, sprawled against the headboard like a king, spread out for him like a feast. 

Steve fists one hand into the curls at the back of his head, shoving him back down on his cock, and Eddie swallows him down in one greedy gulp, eager to show his devotion. Looking up at Steve through tear-clouded eyes, he pushes his fingers deeper inside, curling them to hit that sweet spot. Steve gasps and clenches around him, eyes fluttering shut, head tipping back to reveal that long neck. The taste of precum floods Eddie’s tongue, salty and delicious, and he moans around the cock lodged in his throat. Lust coils painfully in his stomach, shooting up his spine like red-hot sparks, and his naked cock throbs with it. 

“Please,” he says, pulling off with an obscene, wet sound. Steve looks down at him, brows raised, eyes bright and glassy with arousal. “Please, Stevie, I need-” 

“Huh,” Steve says, and Eddie can tell he's trying to sound unimpressed, even with the way it comes out around a shaky moan. “You think you've earned it?” 

Eddie smiles. 

“Me?” he says. He swirls his tongue around Steve’s leaking tip, reveling in the whine he gets when he pulls his fingers out. “Oh, honey, this isn't about me. This is all about you.” 

He licks and bites his way up Steve's hip bones, his stomach, that glorious chest and neck, drinking in every little gasp, every shuddering breath. 

“All that time you spent waiting for me to finally get it? I think you've earned it. You deserve to be spoiled rotten. You deserve to feel so good. Please, baby, let me make you feel good.”

“Asshole,” Steve says, but this time, it's full of fondness. “You always know what to say, huh?” 

“Not always,” Eddie murmurs against his mouth, greedily swallowing Steve’s moan as he pushes in. “Only when it matters most.” 

More smutty September

[temis-de-leon]

Dateables as Single Fathers

Characters: Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Simeon, gn!kid, Luke and gn!MC

Part 1

Main Masterlist

CW: nothing, I think? Correct me if you feel something should be warned, but I think we're good to go. Just like in the other one, these HCs explain the characters' relationships with their kids and a romantic interest in MC at the end.

.

Diavolo

This one has to be the most difficult situation out of all, considering his political position.

He either had a child outside of marriage, who I think would’ve been considered a bastard, or he had the next heir with his wife, who would’ve eventually become the queen of the Devildom beside him.

No matter the option, each one would have had significant consequences.

Fortunately for his country, he’s too respectful and responsible to fool around and risk the chance of leaving his offspring behind, so political marriage it is.

I already used the ‘mother died in childbirth’ reason for Lucifer’s HCs, but I can’t see any other explanation for Diavolo being a single father. Both of them would be loyal and committed to their partners and Diavolo has the additional duty of keeping a kingdom going.

Now, we could do some AUs that could explain the future queen’s absence, but that isn’t what this post is about, so let’s leave it at that.

In the end, Diavolo is left with a child that is deeply loved and well taken care of.

I think Beautiful Boy by John Lennon would describe their relationship perfectly.

Loving his kid is not his only priority; raising him is also as important. He’s a caring parent, very attentive, protective and stern when necessary.

Diavolo is too aware of their duties as royals and future monarchs but tries not to act on them. Since he is already preparing himself to become king, there’s no need for his kid to lose their freedom and their childhood.

However, as occupied as he is, he tries to put his work on hold each time the child calls for his attention. They drew themselves with him and Barbatos? Okay, let him set these documents aside so he can admire the drawing properly. They saw a cool bug outside? Say no more, he needs a break anyway. They had a nightmare? Maybe they should have a sleepover!

The kid just needs to be careful not to do many of those things in front of Barbatos. Otherwise, the butler would chastise both.

He’s highly proud of them when they dive into a friendship with you; seeing their eagerness and comfortability around your presence as a sign for keeping the student exchange program going.

Still, he finds the need to have a somewhat serious conversation with them about you, your purpose in the Devildom and your status as a human; the imbalance in power and biology that makes you both so different.

As time passes and his own friendship with you deepens, so do his feelings. He isn’t obvious about it, or at least he tries, but his kid inherited his observation skills and soon innocent suggestive comments are trailing behind him everywhere he goes.

The situation amuses him and makes his heart flutter with enthusiasm.

With encouragement like this, how could he not try to pursue you?

Barbatos

I like to think there’s some kind of errand boy roaming around the castle. Not necessarily a boy, but still a child doing a little bit of everything and helping whoever gives an order. They’re quick and cheeky, making the staff cheerier and less stressed about their chores, and Barbatos finds them surprisingly charming.

He doesn’t mind them running between his legs as long as they know when to stop and don’t hinder his work and, unlike the little Ds, that turns out to be what happens.

Barbatos tries not to get attached at first and a long time passes until he can’t deny the affection he feels for the little devil.

When I say long, I mean long.

Decades, even a couple of centuries, unable to ignore the lack of parental presence in the child’s life. They’re always in the castle, going from one point to another, talking to everyone and sticking to no one. The few moments they have to rest are spent with the prince’s butler, talking about their day with breathless excitement.

It’s a nice dynamic that Barbatos enjoys more and more with each passing day, but it isn’t until the rest of the staff informs him of every little thing the kid does that he finally realizes how deep he has fallen into the rabbit hole.

He is a father figure.

Again.

He isn’t complaining, not at all, but it still surprises him.

More time passes until he gathers the courage to ask Lord Diavolo for a room inside the castle for the child to sleep in. His cheeks are warm when he specifies he’d prefer if the room were close to his and the embarrassment only grows when the prince laughs out loud with excitement.

By the time you are introduced as the second human exchange student, everyone treats the kid as Barbatos’s and they even call him ‘father’ when they’re alone. Neither are ashamed of their mutual affection, but they’d rather keep it private.

The child likes to tease you harmlessly, joking around, asking pertinent questions under the disguise of childish innocence and appearing out of nowhere when you least expect it.

They won’t mind if you lightly reprimand them for their constant playful behaviour, that’s what their father does after all, but they’ll quickly love you if you joke back.

Either way, he likes to follow you around and Barbatos instantly notices. It piques his curiosity and warms his heart, but with how highly the child talks about you and how much you captivate him on your own, he starts to wonder if he should’ve pulled the kid away from you since the beginning.

His strong feelings for you are foreign, but not unwelcomed. He’s just too vigilant of all the possible outcomes.

Fortunately for you, for every doubt Barbatos has about these feelings, the child has a dozen reasons to make them stronger.

Solomon

How many wives did King Solomon have again? How many concubines? How many children out of all of those partners?

I’m not saying that any of those children succeeded in achieving immortality like him, I doubt that could’ve happened so early in his life, but outliving human partners doesn’t mean that Solomon chose to refuse to have any more partners at all.

I can see him entering a relationship with someone who has a longer lifespan and, regardless of that arrangement being casual or committed, having a child with them.

Maybe the other parent passed away, maybe they didn’t want to be in a relationship, maybe they tried and failed to stay together… who knows, you can choose your favourite. The conclusion here is that Solomon kept the child and raised them alone.

Feral child vibes, I fear.

As devious as their father and completely oblivious to it, they are too curious for their own good. Exploration and experimentation through trial and error are fairly common practices in the family and the only reason Solomon isn’t worried is because he’s sure nothing wrong will happen as long as he is there.

The kid may appear at the front door of their house with an eldritch horror-looking creature and Solomon would be like: ‘You’re doing amazing, sweetie’.

He knows introducing his child to a human infant is not the best of ideas. They would have to move places constantly due to their slow ageing to not raise suspicion and that would be completely unfair to the kid. They’re allowed to have permanent friends their age, after all, not a playmate turned into a babysitter or faceless companions that would disappear in their memories over time.

So they mostly engage with other immortal beings, like witches, demons and fellow sorcerers.

That saddens Solomon in a way; the human part he passed to his child is slowly dying due to lack of interaction.

This is why the human exchange program Diavolo proposes is so interesting to him.

Not only is he going to meet one of his kind in a world he easily moves around, but his child is also going to get the opportunity to be with another human in an environment they feel comfortable in.

It goes as well as you could expect.

Both of them are curious and eager to meet you, but at the beginning of your friendship it feels more like academic research. You stick to the brothers and their antics and they stick to the angels and their kindness.

If Luke is a Chihuahua, then Solomon’s kid is a thirteen-year-old delirious Yorkie.

As time passes and your friendship develops into something more genuine, Solomon can’t help but feel like he’s finally breathing fresh air after being locked in a cave for years.

His child still explores their surroundings, but there’s a new hope in their actions that he knows doesn’t come from him. It’s true childlike wonder and care towards their subject of study. An appreciation of life only a mortal would express.

You don’t understand how much you changed his child’s life.

And you don’t understand how much he loves you for it.

Simeon

I mean.

Luke.

He already is a single father in canon.

I don’t know how angels are born in the game, but they do grow up. Maybe Luke just spawned and was put under Simeon’s direct care, but there isn’t any mention of other parental figures in Luke’s life back in the Celestial Realm (although that may be due to the game being lazy with lore).

We know Michael is Luke’s hero, but not a father figure, so Simeon as a single father makes total sense.

A single mom who works two jobs and loves her kids and never stops.

Jk, jk…

But for real, though.

Simeon is thoughtful, affectionate, careful with Luke’s emotions and conscious about his need to mature and grow up. He treats him like a child, because that’s what he is, but tries not to infantilize him to not hurt his dignity.

While proud of Luke’s morals and golden heart, Simeon wants to make him see not everything is black and white and he’s allowed to have opinions that can differ from what they’ve been taught.

Some demons are good, some humans are consciously devious and some angels need to reevaluate their priorities.

It is a difficult task since Luke is certainly stubborn, but spending time in the Devildom is the perfect opportunity to prove that point.

Thankfully, your presence only helps Simeon change Luke’s judgemental thoughts. You are patient, easy-going and lighthearted and don’t get too stressed when the young angel refuses to reject his views on demons.

They both enjoy spending time with you because your soul is still kind and free of punishment, but for Simeon is much more than that.

He enjoys being with you because it feels natural and because knowing you feels like the greatest gift he has received in a very long time.

Believe him, Luke’s praises about you have nothing to do with the love he has for you. Those are just an additional bonus.

.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010  @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

[steddieas-shegoes]

🪱 Wiggly Wednesday 🪱

cw: temporary character death (Eddie is alive and well in my heart and in every story I ever write don’t you worry)

steve doesn’t know why he still feels such a deep pull towards the trailer park. he thinks it’s because of max at first, but once max is awake and teasing him like she was never in a coma at all, he realizes that’s not it.

he feels…fluttery. like he can’t sit still, or focus, like he’s floating in the universe. like he’s waiting for something.

but he doesn’t fucking know what.

robin keeps telling him he should consider his feelings for eddie, how maybe the friendship they’d acquired meant a little more than steve initially thought. maybe steve has some internal deep-diving to still do.

but steve did that already. he concluded that he very much would’ve liked to kiss eddie on the lips with tongue. maybe forever.

eventually, he gives in and visits the trailer park. most people moved after everything, and eddie’s trailer is still neglected. his uncle moved closer to the plant as soon as he heard eddie was gone. trying to fix the trailer didn’t feel as important to him without his nephew coming home.

there’s no reason for the way his hands shake and his lips quiver as he walks up the porch steps. there’s no reason for his heart racing as he cracks open the busted front door. and there’s certainly no reason for his dick hardening the moment he catches a scent he recognizes as eddie.

the man is dead, dude. get yourself together.

but as he walks further into the trailer, closer to what was eddie’s bedroom before it got raided by the cops and ruined by people who thought the worst of him, the scent gets stronger. steve’s sweating. his breath catches and he nearly chokes on his own saliva.

eddie’s there.

eddie’s there in his bed.

alive.

and suddenly that pull he’s felt for so long makes sense, and he recognizes it for what it really is: some creepy monster connection.

“it’s about fuckin’ time,” eddie grits out. “i couldn’t leave here until you came.”

“what? how?” steve is so lost, so confused. “what’s happening?”

“what’s happening is that you and i both got some major shit to discuss with your friends. the bats gave us some kinda venom and i can hear every single thought you have.” eddie smirks. “which has definitely helped me pass the time.”

steve blushes because he knows exactly what eddie’s talking about. “you can hear my thoughts? why can’t i hear yours?”

eddie shrugs. “i guess my exposure was more so i have more powers? i dunno. but i love what you were thinking with the rope. that was clever. definitely up for it if you are.”

“can i please have a second to come to terms with you being alive before we start planning out my sexual fantasies?” steve rubs his hands across his face. “i don’t understand how you’re here.”

“probably the venom.”

“you seem way too calm.”

“i’ve had two months to find calm.”

steve looks around the room, sees wrappers on the bedside table and dirty clothes piled in the hamper. most of his personal belongings are still sitting at the police station, but his acoustic guitar and a notebook are sprawled in front of him on his bed.

“you’ve been here for two months? alone?”

“with your thoughts, yes.”

“so you-“

“yep.”

“and when i-“

“uh huh.”

“and you’d want to-“

“most definitely.”

steve nodded, sure of himself for the first time in a long time. “can you leave here now?”

“probably. why? you gonna whisk me away to your castle so we can pleasure each other in the moonlight?” eddie’s teasing grin should annoy steve, but he’s gone too long without it and he thought he’d never get to see it again. “quite sappy, aren’t you?”

“if you promise to never refer to sex as pleasuring each other, i’ll definitely take you back to mine.”

“i’m sorry. would you prefer the term making love?”

“yes, actually.”

eddie’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t tease. “then we should…go…do that.”

steve leans down to kiss the corner of eddie’s mouth, shocking both of them with how quickly and naturally it happens.

“should we bring a blanket to cover you in the backseat? until we figure out what we need to do to keep you safe.”

eddie wraps a blanket around his shoulders and stands up. “lead the way, my liege.”

[coryosmin]

Busy - Coriolanus Snow x Reader

Busy - Coriolanus Snow x Reader, no warnings except definitely ooc Coriolanus Snow lol.

Definitely not proof read

You and Coriolanus have been together for quite some time now. Your relationship began as nothing more than an arranged marriage. You came from a prominent Capitol family with much power within the Capitol. The Plinths thought it would be good for Coriolanus to get a wife the same year he became a Head Gamemaker. It made sense that the two of you would marry simply due to your social class. The first year of marriage was hard.

Coriolanus didn’t care much for you. Nor did you care much for him. It was a marriage for convenience after all. Nothing too significant. You lived together but worked in two different professions. He was a game maker, working directly under Dr. Gaul while you are a historian, learning more about the world that used to exist before Panem. You both rarely talked to one another but always made such a great couple to the public. Parties? You both were all up on each other lovingly.

However, things changed when you came home from work one day to Coriolanus sitting in his pajamas, sniffling and coughing. One look at him and you could tell that he had fallen ill. His cheeks were flushed, and he looked as though he were boiling but shivering at the same time. He had sent the maids home, not wanting to be bothered though which left him to fend for himself for the day. He had moved from his room to the living room, thinking a change in scenery would’ve done him some good. But ultimately, it was just the same issues but in a different room.

You didn’t speak a word to him as you wordlessly brought him a blanket and a pillow. He didn’t say anything either, he wasn’t sure of what to even say through his fever-clouded thoughts. You even took it upon yourself to make him soup, a recipe you had learned from your mother whenever you were sick. It made Coriolanus feel something that he hadn’t felt in a long time– gratefulness. So the next day, when he woke up feeling much better, though not enough to go to work, he sat with you and the two of you began to talk and to get to know each other.

And soon that blossomed a beautiful friendship between the two of you. Coriolanus didn’t want to admit to himself that he felt more for you than he should. He vowed to himself to never marry someone who would make him feel things and he thought he would’ve been safe with you. However, that soon proved to be not the case when he started to genuinely spend time with you. He noticed the glimmer in your eyes as you talked about your new findings. He noticed the crinkles on the side of your mouth as you smiled brightly at him. He would see the pain behind your smile at dinners with your parents as your father would speak down to you about your profession. And eventually, he realized he was screwed.

He came home one night, angry because of some mishap at the lab. And you were there, sitting in the living room in your pajamas, reading a book. It was late, around eleven o’clock. And Coriolanus realized that you had stayed up waiting for him. So, without thinking, he walked up to you and immediately hugged you. And it scared the living shit out of you until you realized it was Coriolanus, and you hugged him back. You realized he was upset and asked him what had happened. And he began to just talk to you about his day, venting to you about the idiots he works with. All you did was listen. You looked at him and listened. And when Coriolanus finished speaking, he just paused, looking at you as you had looked at him intently. Then he kissed you. And boy did he kiss you. It had taken you a moment to realize what was happening but you had kissed him back.

And the rest was history.

And now, here you were, stood in your shared bedroom, looking out the window. It had been three years since you and Coriolanus began an actual relationship within your marriage and it was very happy, despite the bouts of jealousy and possessiveness from Coriolanus. He had just been elected President of Panem a few weeks ago, making you the First Lady. And while you’re ecstatic at him for his accomplishment, you also missed your husband a lot as he spent most of his time in the office.

Coriolanus came home late, looking exhausted as he walked into your guys’ shared bedroom. He saw you standing there, looking out the window. He walked up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he held you close to him. “Hey,” He said softly, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Hi,” You replied, putting your hands on his as he held you from behind.

“It’s almost one in the morning, doll. Why’d you stay up?” Coriolanus spoke softly into his wife’s ear, just holding you.

You leaned into his touch, smiling softly to yourself. “I can’t sleep without you,” you admitted.

Coriolanus couldn’t help but chuckle slightly, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy,” He apologized.

“It’s okay,” You replied, twisting your body to look him in the eyes. “I’ve just missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, doll.” Coriolanus replied, kissing you softly.

You kissed him back just as softly. And after a few minutes, he pulled away, holding you close. “I’m more than happy to be president but I do indeed miss you throughout the day.” Coriolanus sighed, looking at you with soft eyes. “Maybe you could visit me and we can have lunch together?”

You smiled at Coriolanus. “I think that would be lovely,” you replied, kissing his nose. “And once a week, at the very least, you should come home early and have dinner with me.”

Coriolanus smiled, nodding his head. “I will ensure that we can have dinner together at least once a week.” He kissed your lips, looking at you adoringly.

“That’s all I ask, love.” You replied.

[rotten-dogs]

Hii can I also req a bully bada smut??😫 🙏 I love ur works!!

From Time

cw: general bullying, characters in the grey area, dubious consent wise (power difference) girl cock, umm squirting

an: sure thx 4 the rq this is short and sweet hopefully

The loud sound of lockers slamming pressed mind numbingly against your ears. The chatter from other students became muddled against every other noise in the vicinity. The sound of someone’s shoes squeaking, a backpack unzipping, a teacher yelling to tell off a student running down the hall.

Everything combined made an already hostile day ten times worse. You could feel your brain slowly draining itself of personality, of you. Water dripped from your hair and stained the sleeves of your clothes but nobody noticed. Nobody ever had. The skin around your wrists was inflamed and the length of your skirt covered the mass-ly blue bruises that seemed to be permanently etched into your skin. Everything was blurry, and only one thing remained on your mind in a constant.

Bada Lee.

Ever since grade school she had made it her personal mission to plaster her personal vendetta against you across her whole being. It started out petty, a few sarcastic comments that only the petulant mind of an eight year old could come up with. Stealing your things, holding them above your head.

By middle school it had shifted, but only slightly. A few shoulder checks in the hallway, a little academic intimidation, rumors. Oh the rumors.

By high school it had gotten more physical. It seemed her hate for you only grew, shoving you into lockers, punching your stomach until you were gasping for air behind the school and like today—holding you down while she poured water over your face on a constant. You didn’t know why she did it, you steered clear of her and yet it’s like that wasn’t enough. Like you had burrowed a section out in her brain and now she blames you specifically for that. It’s your fault that she can’t stop thinking about hurting you.

The reality is she made your life a living hell and sometimes you wondered if that’s all it would be. You’d never even been friends with the girl and yet she destroyed your concept of friendships. Anyone you’d gotten close to she easily consumed from you as well. It was easy for her, she was charming and stunning to everyone else. A guiding light. A campus crush that you touch yourself after hours to. Not that you would.

You pull your arms around yourself, attempting to fall inside yourself and avoid the curious eyes drifting your way as you make your way to class. It hardly works, it’s all you can think about as you push your way through what feels like an endless sea of people.

So suddenly you feel a hand wrap around your wrist. That hand tugs, hard on your arm and suddenly you’re being pulled through the stuffy hall; your guiding light expertly weaving through the bustle of your peers.

You don’t have to look up, you know that grip. Felt it many times. Your heart dies a little in your chest at the thought. Just this morning, Bada had grabbed you by the back of your head and told you to sit; wait.

You did, obediently, shaking in fearful anticipation as she came up behind you. You could feel her presence—looming over you before an intense feeling of cold and wet washed over you. You could’ve sworn you felt your body go into shock.

The sound of Bada laughing cruelly behind you filled your ears and you slipped trying to stand up, your body suddenly shaking violently as the cold morning air hit your wet frame. All Bada offered you was, “You looked hot.” Before she turned on her heel and walked the other way.

You thought that would’ve been the end of it today and you were clearly a fool. She tugged you to the far end of the school, the crowd having dissipated into a few stragglers until there was no one around at all.

“Bada.”

You tried, wincing as the grip only tightened on your arm. She pulled you into an empty classroom, slamming the door behind her. The action made her grip on your wrist loosen and you pulled it away into your own chest, rubbing the skin there with your other hand.

“Bada..” You’re searching for words but nothing seems to stick and she’s looking at you with nothing short of hatred in her eyes. It makes you feel small. She takes a step forward, and you take a step back.

“Did you think I was done?” She raises her eyebrow, expectant of an answer and you turn your head, finding the floor beside you to be all the more interesting. A mistake. Her hand finds itself under your chin easily, pushing it up to look at her. “You know it’s disrespectful to turn away from someone.” Her eyes trail away and the quiet anger is written all over her face. You’ve been here before. You know everything about Bada, and she knows everything about you.

“Sit on that desk.” She juts her chin towards it, letting go of yours and you start to shake your head. “Not h-“ the loud sound of a slap reverberates off the walls and you blink in registry. Red is creeping onto your face from where the sting of her slap imprinted itself on you. You lack shock at her doing it, but rather at how quickly it had happened. “I’m not asking again.” And damn, if that isn’t a threat.

You nod, more to yourself than to her and make your way towards the desk she had pointed out to you, letting your thighs touch the base of it before lifting yourself to sit atop it, feet dangling.

She smiles, a rare occurrence, as she walks towards you. “See? Was that so hard, hm?” She pushes your hair back from your shoulders and slides her hand down suggestively from your neck down to the first button on your blouse. Her fingers are tender, such a contrast to her personality as she unbuttons your top, pulls it down your shoulders. Her grin is toothy, big lips pulled open predatorily as she leans in, leaves a kiss against your shoulder once, before bringing a trail up your neck and to the base of your ear.

You inhale deeply at her actions, eyes closing as you feel a familiar throb make itself known between your legs. Legs that she seems to take an interest in suddenly. Her hands rub over your thighs, rubbing her thumbs into your taut skin there which garners a groan from you. She seems to like that, chuckling breathily to herself before spreading your legs further apart. Embarrassment seeps in and you glance at the door. Locked or not, anyone could walk by.

You feel her breath fan against your neck before she puts her lips to your ear, “You gonna just take it today?” She bites her lip, a hand snaking down your front and ghosting over your core. “Or have I not stretched you enough these days?” And despite the inaccuracy she’s suggesting about the female anatomy; you meet her eyes, they’re gleaming with something only she understands. A look only she knows, something glassy and wide eyed. Beggar.

“Oh…” She smiles, biting back a laugh as she takes it in, “Filthy.” Is what she offers as you two come to some sort of silent understanding.

Then she’s pulling your skirt up, looping her fingers down your panties and pulling them down; but not all the way. No, she wouldn’t bother with that. It all happens so quickly, barely any time passes before she’s pulling herself out of her trousers, precum dripping from her tip.

Her teeth bite at the inside of her cheek as she lines herself up. If she were decent she might ask if you were ready, give you some kind of warning. But she isn’t, so she doesn’t. Just pushes the tip inside, her eyes locking with yours as she does. She watches as your mouth falls open, holding the eye contact as your face quivers with the pain.

She keeps pushing in, forcing her way inside your walls as they try to keep up, relaxing despite the pain. It feels like you’re being torn open, her size massive to the unprepared state you’re in. She’s still holding your gaze as your eyes tear up, a broken moan slipping from your lips. “Bada.” You whine and she smiles, “Shhh.” Is what she offers.

Your arms fly up to wrap around her shoulders as she bottoms out, your eyes forcing themselves closed and a shudder wracking through your body while you try to adjust. She’s no help though, wasting no time before she pulls out to the hilt and slams herself inside again. Which in turn, causes you to scream out, legs flailing on either side of her with the force of it. You bite around her shoulder, trying to quiet yourself as your field of vision becomes slick with tears.

Bada sets out on a pace, finding it quickly. And it’s not kind, her hips fucking against you at a dangerous pace. You stretch around her with each thrust, your body bouncing against the table while you try to hold onto her shoulders for dear life. “Look at you taking it. Speechless?” She mocks, her words breathy as you clench around her and whine in response.

“Can always count on you. My little slut.” Her hands slide down to hold your waist and you cry out, a tear sliding down your face as she pushes you away from her shoulders, sends you back to lay against the desk.

She lifts your hips off the desk, angling her hips upwards before fucking inside of you with a new fervor, fucking into you like you’re a fleshlight. “My little toy. Look at you. Can barely handle it yet you’re moaning for more.” And she’s right, your hands are clenched into fists while your mouth hangs agape, moaning loudly, any thoughts of anyone walking having become uncared for by you. Bada’s name falls from your lips endlessly and your body goes stiff.

“Please.” Is what you offer, “Please please please.” Your back arches even further off the desk and she pulls you further onto her, the sound of your skin against each other filling the space. You can’t help but groan, tears sliding down your face as she speeds up. “There you go baby, that’s it.”

“Taking it so well I knew you could.”

You whine at the praise and shake your head, “I can’t…I can’t..” you can barely think, your hand coming up to try and push Bada’s hands off your hips and that well, she doesn’t like that at all.

Suddenly, her hand is around your throat and her face comes back into your field of view as she fucks inside of you at a new pace. “You can.” She says and you shake your head again, sniffling in between your stolen moans, “You can.” She says again, her voice raspy and darker than it was moments before, her hips snapping up against you.

You can barely breathe, your hand coming up to hold where she has your neck in her grip, “Wait..” you whine out but she doesn’t, barely even slows down before you’re coming all over her cock, a scream falling from your lips. Your hips shake and splutter around her and your head falls back as far as it can, your whole vision goes dark for a moment and you register her letting you go when your back hits the desk again.

It’s quiet, and you can feel her shallowly fucking inside you still, her eyes staring directly down at where you’re swallowing her up. You’re dazed, and a little confused as you try to blink up at her. Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth and you’re unable to speak so she does it for you. That grin still plays on her lips when she meets your gaze again,

“You fucking squirted.”

[bayfuzzball7050]

My favourite jjba character(s) from each part bc I know it will be more appreciated here than in a Reddit thread

I’ll use this header from now on to yap

Phantom Blood: Speedwagon. Regardless if it’s a whole meme in the community, o genuinely think it’s very brave of him to follow along in an adventure where everyone has powers but he doesn’t. He just raw dog’s every supernatural event and tries his best to be useful. It’s a noble thing.

Battle Tendency: Definitely Caesar Zeppeli. A much more complex and interesting character than his predecessor (William Zeppeli, I mean). I loved his design, personality and charisma regardless if I couldn’t resonate at all with his backstory. I also really enjoyed his rivalry/friendship with Joseph. I’ve always loved the smart/snarky guy x himbo dynamic!

Stardust Crusaders: I love kakyoin with all my heart and soul and I will never shut up about it. I resonated deeply with him since I know personally what it is like to be alone. I like how Araki portrayed his loneliness in a ‘im different than everyone I know’ way where he couldn’t relate to people the way others that. That childhood monologue— god! It hit so, so close to home. I couldn’t help but cry when the scene came up. That is when I realized how much the crusaders mattered to him. A bunch of people ‘like him’ and it’s such a sacred feeling when you’ve been feeling ‘off’ all your life. I also like that he’s always giving little fun facts he’s a bit like yapdollar

Diamond Is Unbreakable: Okuyasu. No question needed. Unlike his brother, Okuyasu is a very kind soul that has never killed anyone (at least on screen) even when he has endured so much abuse from his brother and father alike, something that would ‘justify it’ if he did became an evil character. He stopped looking for a way to kill his father because he can see the good in people and ‘accept them for who they are’. I can’t help but feel a deep sympathy for him. He had taken what his brother had told him about being better off dead so personally to the point where his first question after being healed by Josuke was (paraphrasing bc I don’t remember well) was something like “why did you save me when it would’ve been easier to let me die?”. Josuke came just in time to make him realize how much he actually mattered so he could evolve into the little goofball we all know and love.

Golden Wind: Giorno. I think most people who call him a ‘boring’ or ‘plain’ character often seem to forget that, of course, Giorno will not be a charismatic, sociable, talkative, — joseph — kind of guy. He was severely emotionally and physically neglected in his childhood to the point where showing emotions became useless since he knew he’d be left shaking in his craddle. From this emotional neglect, he started looking up at a gangster as some sort of parental figure. Someone who showed him basic human decency. Later, we get to see his ingenuity in battle. But I think one of the reasons he was so clever in life or death situations was because he has been in a ‘fight or flight’ mode since a very young age. He isn’t even ‘bottling up’ his emotions, he had repressed them deeply inside his brain to survive.

Stone Ocean: The main three. But mainly Foo Fighters bc they’re so silly >_< and I can’t begin to imagine how marvellous it has to be to, one day, become a sentient being

Steel Ball Run: I can’t quite decide between Gyro and Johnny tbh. Johnny is a character who had been always pampered with his ‘rich life’ and was then shocked with the fact that once you’re not useful, or worse, become inconvenient for people, they stop caring about you. I often think about how bad his father was with him, not only rubbing Nicholas’ death all over his face rather often, the whole “God, you took the wrong son” page or just how he never went by to visit him when he had just gotten crippled. It was just plain cruel. Also when they followed Hot Pants to a church and Johnny had to relive some of his most traumatic life experiences again and still try to win. It was one of the best arcs in sbr imo.

Gyro, on another note, wasn’t a son of a wealthy family but had to carry the weight of generations and generations of knowledge on top of the family profession on his shoulders, having to execute a child. He’s also a silly goofball with his jokes that make little to no sense and him trying to explain the spin to johnny in life or death situations always has me cackling up ngl.

Jojolion: I haven’t started to read JOJOLION, but from what I’ve seen, Gappy seems to be a silly goofball who lacks direction and I love that in a man. Also that he’s a 2 x 1 combo, literally.

Jojolands: I haven’t read jojolands either, but good lord they sold me Dragona and Paco when I heard ‘transgender’ and ‘laburantes’. Plus everyone from the Jodio team also seems to be lacking direction and being a pinch silly

[hbyrde36]

Honey, You're Familiar

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild Hozier Project

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

WC limit: 3000 | Song prompt: From Eden by Hozier

Rating: G | WC: 2998 | also on ao3

Steve and Eddie had been best friends since The Beginning. 

From the moment angels were blinked into existence, in a flurry of wide powerful wings and otherworldly beauty, they were inseparable, happy, right up until God made something new. 

Humans.

Curious creatures with souls and hearts capable of a full spectrum of emotions, given the one thing angels had been denied. 

Free will. 

Eddie hated them. Part of their job as angels was to watch over these new creations, but the more they watched, the more withdrawn Eddie became. 

He claimed God favored them, these beings who hardly knew of divine existence and whose lifespans were so short they barely mattered in the grand scheme of things. Steve disagreed, arguing that God didn’t play favorites, and surely, even if They did, the angels who’d been gifted with power and immortality were the preferred children. 

They debated about it– a lot, until friendly arguments turned into shouting matches. 

Was this anger?

This unpleasant thing that served no purpose except to make Eddie fly away from him in a huff. Was it sorrow that made his friend’s eyes shimmer, his lips turn down in that awful way? 

Eddie was changing, and Steve didn’t know what to do. He much preferred the days when they could laugh and smile together. It always left him feeling warm inside.

“You envy them.” Steve accused one day when Eddie was especially prickly. “Why? Is it not enough to be as you are and live here in Heaven with God? With me?”

“No! It’s not enough!” 

Eddie’s hands wound into his own hair and pulled, as if he’d tear it out from the root. “Why do they get the freedom to form such relationships? Why do they get to have it, and I don’t?!”

Steve tilted his head, perplexed. “To have what?”

“Love!”

“But, you do.” Steve said, still not understanding. “God loves us, and we love Them.”

Eddie sighed mournfully, all the fight draining out of him at once. “It’s not their love I ache for, Steve.”

It was no surprise when Eddie sided with Lucifer in the war and consequently fell from Heaven. Steve was there when it happened, forced to bear witness to the first and greatest loss he’d ever known. 

He was… sad, when Eddie was gone. 

Steve tried to pretend otherwise, but whenever he was alone and he thought of how he would never see his friend again, his eyes leaked and he would feel a terrible pain in his chest. 

Was he broken? 

He hadn’t thought angels were capable of such sentiments, but that couldn’t be true. Eddie’d had these things, feelings. They were what led him on his doomed path.

It was possible, it just wasn’t allowed.

He did his best to go on as before. It was difficult, nearly impossible sometimes, but it all became easier when a new flock of angels was made to replace their numbers, and Robin came barreling into his life. 

Part of him wanted to resist, to keep the space next to him forever empty, preserving the memory of who’d been there before, but he’d been alone for so long. 

Robin grew on him, and they quickly became close. While she could never replace Eddie, their friendship went a long way in filling the hole losing him had left behind. 

They complimented each other well. Where Steve was quiet and contemplative these days, Robin talked almost constantly. Not one to sit in silence, she always preferred to fill it. 

Just like Eddie. 

They were quite alike actually, Eddie and Robin. Steve couldn't help thinking that if they’d ever met they would’ve become fast friends, or killed one another. 

Things were ok for a while, Steve managed, until he was sent to Earth for the first time. He begged Robin to come along, nervous to walk amongst the humans when he’d only ever watched from afar, but she wasn’t allowed. 

Guardian angel for a day. An easy job, mostly watching and waiting, ensuring his charge remained safe. In all likelihood, he wouldn’t even be needed. 

The human in question was a kind older man, who ran a small coffee counter in a park, in a city Steve couldn't remember the name of. He ordered a drink and took a seat, doing his best to go unnoticed.

He observed much over the course of the day. Joyous reunions and somber goodbyes. First kisses and last kisses, and not one but two chance meetings where sparks flew. It was a magical thing to see someone find their soulmate. 

Steve returned to Heaven with a heavy heart. 

It'd been a very long time since their last conversation, but he could still hear Eddie’s voice… how resigned it had sounded, how devastated, when he’d looked at him and said “It’s not their love I ache for.” 

Finally, he got it. Eddie had loved him. 

Steve loved Eddie too, though he hadn’t realized it back then, so caught up in what they were supposed to be. He’d witnessed it up close now, love. Recognized it and the power it held, even as it made the wielder feel powerless. 

It was agony. 

Unable to hold it in anymore, he told Robin. 

It was probably the most words he’d ever said to her at once. He didn’t mention Eddie’s name, or admit whether the object of his desire was angel or otherwise. He didn’t want to rebel, but he couldn’t continue on as if nothing had changed. Couldn’t live the lie anymore. He was supposed to love only God, and it simply wasn’t true. 

Robin said he should talk to God, convinced that They had grown softer since the fall. Steve wasn’t so sure about that but he trusted her, and had little choice.

Thankfully, she’d been right. God was understanding, in Their way, and not wishing to see Steve so unhappy decided to gift him– a chance.   

He didn’t know what it meant, and that was as ominous as it was thrilling. It had felt a little too easy, in the end. All he knew was he was bound for earth, and as he prepared for the journey he could only wonder what the catch would be.

Steve woke up feeling like he’d been having the strangest dream. He couldn't recall the details apart from a beautiful boy’s face framed in soft dark curls, but wasn’t that always the way? 

He hopped out of bed with a spring in his step. It was a big day, the grand opening of his and Robin’s new coffee shop and he couldn't wait to greet their first customers.

Eddie cut ties with Lucifer shortly after the fall, uninterested in trading one leader demanding blind faith and allegiance for another. 

He was still a demon, technically, as were all who fell, but although he hated humans, he had no desire to harm them. 

He wasn’t evil, he was angry. 

At them, at God, even Steve, but mostly at himself. 

He’d let his feelings overtake his sense, and in his effort to fight for more he’d somehow wound up with less, only managing to get himself banished– sent as far away from the one he loved as it was possible to be. 

Eddie didn’t spend much time on Earth, still too bitter. He wasn’t exactly welcome in Hell either, but over the years had found his fair share of quiet corners to inhabit. 

He kept in touch with some others who’d also refused to follow Lucifer as he made the transition from fallen angel to Devil. Gareth, Jeff, and Grant. They became friends, of a sort. Kept an eye on eachother, gave warnings of trouble on the horizon, and a heads up about other interesting goings-on.

Which was how Eddie found out about the first time Steve set foot on earth. 

He’d gotten rip-roaring drunk once, on a rare night where all the boys were together in one place, and spilled his guts about Steve.They teased him a little, but only in good fun. They’d had their own motivations for taking up the cause and agreed love was as good a reason as any.

When Gareth came by to say an angel had been spotted in Central Park who bared a striking resemblance to his Steve, Eddie panicked. He’d been existing as if he’d never see the angel again, because he’d honestly thought he wouldn’t, and spent many long years pushing it all down, pretending he didn’t care anymore because it was the only way he could function.

Suddenly it all came rushing back to the surface, his heart becoming a gaping wound, open to the world all over again. 

He wanted to go to him, of course he did, but it’d been eons since they last spoke. Would Steve want to see him? Would he care? Even if he did, what would it matter? 

It would change nothing.

Deciding it would be more painful to see him now and lose him all over again than to never see him at all, Eddie buried his head in the sand. By the time it hit him that regardless of the pain he’d regret not going forever, it was too late. Steve was gone, nothing but an empty cup of coffee on a table to prove he’d been there at all. 

When fate conspired only days later to give Eddie a second chance, he knew he couldn’t waste it.

He’d gotten an address from Jeff and had to huff a laugh when he spotted the place. A cute little indie coffee shop. Was Steve the fucking coffee fairy now or something?

The front of the cafe was a wall of windows, and Eddie’s heart skipped a beat as he spotted Steve through the glass. He froze with his hand on the door, unsure if he was ready to face whatever was about to happen. 

Steve stood behind the counter next to a girl with a mischievous smile, laughing raucously at something she’d said. His eyes shone bright, and he was as beautiful as Eddie remembered– though he did miss the way his wings had framed his body. A pity angels weren't allowed to use them down here. 

Just when Eddie was building his resolve to finally go inside, Steve turned and their eyes met. The angel’s smile fell, mouth twisting into a curious expression, a wrinkle forming between his brows. 

He’d been prepared for a number of reactions, for Steve to be happy to see him, or angry and hating him, but he was wholly unprepared for Steve to look at him like that– as if he didn’t know him at all.

Eddie fled.

He didn’t run far, taking refuge in an alleyway across from the shop, well-versed in hiding in the shadows by now. 

He watched for days, unable to leave while Steve was near, but just as unable to approach him again.

In the evenings he would follow Steve home, never knowing where the girl went. Robin, as her name tag said. One second she'd be there and the next, poof, but Steve always walked to a small apartment where he’d spend the night hours alone before leaving again early the next morning.

What was he doing?

Who was his charge? 

Eddie had assumed it was Robin but the more he observed the more convinced he became that she was an angel too. 

None of it made sense. 

It all came to a head one night when he was lurking in his spot waiting for Steve to walk by, and found himself getting bodily thrown into a brick wall. A figure stepped into him, her small hand strong and firm around his throat, skin glowing ever-so-slightly with heavenly power.

Eddie raised his hands in the universal gesture for, I come in peace, and finally Robin let him go.

“What do you want, Demon?”

“I prefer Eddie, actually.”

She smirked, raising a single eyebrow. “Eddie the demon? What, you didn't want to come up with some fancy new name like all your buddies?”

They weren’t his buddies, not the demons she was referring too anyway, but she wasn't likely to believe that.

“Never been one for conformity, I guess.” Eddie grinned, stifling a laugh.

Understatement.

“Seriously, why are you watching him? What are you planning?”

“Nothing, just… looking in on an old friend. I swear.”

“Sure, you and Steve used to be friends. I’m supposed to believe you're not here to ruin his chance, attacking an old ally turned enemy now that he’s vulnerable?”

“What do you mean?”

She narrowed her eyes, considering him carefully.

“You actually don’t know, do you?” She backed away, looking him up and down. “You came to the door that first day, but never came inside. Why?”

“The way he looked, I… don’t think he remembered me.”

She snorted a laugh. 

Which Eddie did not appreciate. “Jeez, way to kick a guy when he’s down.”

“Sorry.” She said, not sorry at all. “Look, it’s nothing personal. He doesn’t remember anything. He’s human now.”

“What?! Why?”

Robin shrugged. “He wanted more. He loved another before God and They took mercy on him, sent him here for a chance at a different life.”

“Who?” Eddie gasped, reeling.

“Who, what?”

“Who did he love enough to leave Heaven for?”

“What do you care?!” She sneered, throwing her hands up. “Y’know what? Don’t answer that, It doesn’t matter. Not even I know who it is, and I'm his best friend.”

Best friend.

Eddie deflated. Had Steve replaced him so easily?

Robin plowed ahead, either unknowing or uncaring of the pain she was inflicting. “I know your kind. You’re bad news. If you really were friends before, if you ever cared about him, you’ll leave him alone.”

Eddie tried to go back to his life, such as it was. He wandered the underworld aimlessly, plagued by thoughts of Steve.

Was it Eddie… that he loved?

Was he okay? Was he happy? Was he safe? He was so vulnerable now– to sickness, and injury. Shit, humans dropped dead from heart attacks all the time!

Eddie could deal with it before, knowing he was out there somewhere, even if they couldn’t be together. But now… now Steve would grow old and die one day, and he couldn’t take that.

The idea of living forever in a world where Steve no longer existed was intolerable.

He went to Lucifer.

It was a long shot, he knew. He’d abandoned his de facto leader long ago, but back in the war Lucifer had been fond of him and Eddie hoped against hope that their history would help his case now. 

The former angel all but laughed in his face. He held no such power, not that he would ever grant Eddie’s wish if he did. 

“What a waste that would be,” the Devil had said, still holding out hope that someday Eddie would break and join him. 

Desperate, he returned to the coffee shop, taking up his old post, and waited for Robin to confront him.

As she stalked angrily into the alley, he hurried to explain. 

“I know what you’re going to say, but hear me out. I love him, Robin, always have. That’s why I fell. I was outraged at being denied this thing that humans were given freely to take for granted.” 

She pursed her lips. 

“You don’t believe me.”

Robin sighed heavily. “I can’t believe I'm saying this, but I do, actually.”

“Really?”

She pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket and handed it to him.

Eddie unfolded it with shaking hands, a perfect sketch of his face.

“I found this, along with several others. Apparently he’s been drawing them for weeks. Somehow, deep down, he remembers you.”

Tears poured down his face as he continued to stare at the proof of Steve’s feelings for him.

“Why did you come back here?” She asked.

“To beg you to take a request to God, plead my case… please.” 

“What for?”

“To make me human too.”

“Are you sure? If They agree to it you’ll be just like him, vulnerable, with no memory of who you were.”

“I know. I’ll just have to trust that we’ll find each other again.”

Eddie woke up feeling like he’d been having the strangest dream. He didn’t have time to dwell on it though, rent was due soon and he still hadn’t found a job.

He set out for the corner store to pick up a newspaper and found himself drawn to an adorable little coffee shop along the way with a help wanted sign out front. He knew the prices at a place like that were well out of his budget, but one look at the beautiful man behind the counter was enough to have him thinking– screw the budget. 

Besides, it couldn’t hurt to put in an application, even if he had no experience as a barista.

The man looked up as Eddie entered the empty shop, and their eyes met. There was something familiar about him. The man paled, eyes going wide. It was a curious reaction, but Steve, as his nametag read, shook it off quickly and forced a smile. 

“Good Morning, what can I get you?”

Gorgeous and the voice of an angel? Eddie was half in love already. 

He ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, a drip coffee, which Steve poured with shaking hands, cursing as a little of the hot liquid sloshed over the cup’s side, burning him. 

“You okay?”

Steve turned, offering his first real smile, laughing at himself as he shook his head.

Without a word he reached into his apron pocket and pulled out a small sketchbook, sliding it across the counter. “This is going to sound crazy, but I think I've been dreaming about you.”

Steve showed him then, page after page filled with drawings of Eddie's face. 

Eddie’s stomach flipped, suddenly realizing why Steve had looked so familiar. “I think I've been dreaming about you, too.”

As always, all my love and thanks to @penny00dreadful beloved friend and beta.

Also to @hitlikehammers and @theheadlessphilosopher for listening to me talk about this and reading it through as I attempted to parse this down from 3400 words to it's current form.

Some tags of those I recall expressing interest or i think might like this? (sorry if i miss anyone or if you didn't want to be tagged!): @griefabyss69 @pearynice @eriquin @cranberrymoons @momotonescreaming @kikidoesfanfic @brbsoulnomming @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium @hellion-child @dreamwatch @mentallyundone @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @vegasol

[just-jordie-things]

[part one] trouble - takuma ino

word count: 7.5k warnings: swearing, canon typical violence (reader gets stabbed) summary: (y/n) only wants one thing- to be a grade one sorcerer- and she knows that forming friendships is the last thing that's going to get her that title. so why does takuma ino insist on trying to get close to her? contents: enemies/rivals to lovers semi-slowburn, gojo!reader

part one: "got so much to lose" ___

Being assigned a mentor that she idolized for a good portion of her life, (y/n) couldn’t have been happier the day she got the news.  She was certain that with her powerful cursed technique and his guidance she could be promoted to a Grade One Sorcerer in no time.

More than anything, all she’d ever wanted in life was to be a strong jujutsu sorcerer.  Being the strongest wasn’t exactly an available position, seeing as her brother had taken the title before she was even born.  Just because they got along well didn’t mean she couldn’t be bitter about it.  Surpassing Satoru may have been impossible.  But she’d give sorcery her everything in order to get as close as possible- until only his infinity kept her from taking the title.

The only thing that could’ve possibly thrown a wrench in her plans would’ve been having to divide Nanami’s attention with another sorcerer.  Which shouldn’t have been a problem.

And then there was Takuma Ino.

Bright eyed, quick witted, smart ass, Takuma Ino.

(y/n) had Nanami’s guidance to herself for one glorious week before he showed up and stole half of his time and attention all for himself.  She didn’t believe there could be a person more selfish than her brother, but Takuma was a close second.  Going to the higher ups himself to ask for Nanami to bestow him the honor of Grade One because of a childish adoration for him made (y/n’s) stomach twist the day he joined them.

She’d never met him before that day, never even knew of him or his cursed technique, but as strong as he allegedly might have been, she knew right off the bat there wasn’t a chance she could get along with him.  Not when he swooped in and stole her mentor.

On the other hand, Takuma Ino couldn’t take a hint.  Days turned into weeks and he had yet to break the ice with her in between assignments and training.  At first he didn’t think much of it, it only made sense for the other half of the Gojo siblings to be a little more closed off than her extroverted older brother.  So when every invitation to after-work drinks or questions about her personal life got brushed off or ignored completely, Ino tried to let it go.  Surely with time they would get closer, right? They were both working under Nanami together, so at some point time had to play a hand in things.

Or so he thought.

Weeks turned into nearly three months, and his positive attitude started to dim with hopelessness.  Even then, he’d made an effort with her.  This time though, rather than try to casually get closer, he addressed his thoughts exactly.

“Gojo, wait up,” 

He caught her one night after finishing up some paperwork later than usual.  The pair had gotten a bit caught up with a Grade One Curse that put them through a few more setbacks than usual, thus an extra lengthy report having to be completed before the end of the day.

To his surprise, she’d whirled around on the front steps of the school as soon as he called for her, completely frozen in place, and staring at his approaching figure with an expression he didn’t know how to read.

“Hey, weird question,” He started with an awkward smile, his hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck with his nervous energy.  She didn’t say anything, just watched him fumble before her, tracking the nervous movements.  “But did I do something to upset you? We’ve just been working together for a while, and it sort of feels like you don’t like me” 

(y/n) blinks at him, remaining silent for just long enough to make his discomfort spike.

“Is that all?” She asks, furrowing her brow slightly at him.

“Wh- I mean, yeah, I guess,” He stammers over his answer, not quite understanding the question.  “It’s just… you never want to grab a coffee or talk much, and we’re gonna be working together for a while longer so-” 

“I don’t think so,” She shakes her head, her expression unwavering, and her tone just even enough to keep him from picking up on the animosity behind it.  “I think that our little partnership here will be over soon enough.  Once I’m promoted,” 

Ino doesn’t quite react to that, opening and closing his mouth once and then twice as he tries to figure out what he’s supposed to respond with.  (y/n) always carried a strong aura of confidence when on assignments, she was sure of herself when it came to the action and the tracking.  Even her reports were concise but held a perfect attention to detail.  But her confidence in herself now felt off somehow, definitely different from what he was used to.

“Does that answer your question?” She asks, waiting patiently a few steps below him.

A knot forms between his brows as he shakes his head back at her, slowly and unsurely.

“Gojo, I just want us to get to know each other bett-” 

“Well for starters, don’t call me by my family name.  I hate it.  Just call me (y/n),” She interrupts him, annoyance beginning to shine through in her voice.  “There, now you know something.  Happy now?” 

Ino can only stand before her in shock, never having had a conversation that wasn’t related to an assignment that lasted this long, and this certainly wasn’t the direction he wanted it to go.  But nothing could have prepared him for this.

“I mean, why do you even need me to like you? Isn’t Nanami’s approval enough?” The sudden question catches him completely off guard, and all Ino can do is stand in place and hear her out.  “Isn’t that your whole thing?” She adds with a scoff.  “Isn’t that why you’re here? Because you just had to have him as your mentor?” 

He was barely following the root cause of her aggravation, but she couldn’t possibly have been jealous, could she? It’s not like much changed, she wasn’t missing out on assignments or extra training time because he’d requested to work with Nanami.  So Ino was led to believe that the only possible source of distaste for him had to have been personal.

“Truth is, Takuma, I don’t care about drinks, and I don’t care about getting to know you,” She deadpans, completely unresponsive to the way the words clearly hurt his feelings with the way his face falls and his shoulders slump.  “My only goal here is to be promoted to Grade One, and I’ve known Nanami long enough to know he is the fastest route to that, you understand, right?” 

No, he doesn’t understand.  He understands the surface level of her goal, it was something he could relate to, hence why he believed they’d make an even better team if they strengthened their bond.  However, Ino couldn’t wrap his mind around the coldness that was her driving force of achieving that goal.

“I want that too,” He tells her honestly.  “I thought that make us better partners” 

“We’re not partners,”

The words are harsh, but her tone keeps that same annoying steady level, and it’s hard for him to be irritated with her when all he really feels is hurt and confusion.

“And it’s silly to try and make friends in this line of work.  You should be grateful enough to have a colleague” 

That was the end of the conversation.  Ino vaguely remembers a short wave of her hand when she left him on those steps and made her way home, but it wasn’t as clear of an image as the rest of their exchange.  In a twisted way, he had gotten what he wanted.  He learned a little more about Gojo (y/n).  He learned that she was a cold, uncaring woman that didn’t live for anything except being the strongest she could be.  Even if it meant shutting good things out of her life, apparently. ___

From that day on, Ino never tried to get close to her again.  He was as polite and cordial as was necessary, but there was an obvious shift in the way he treated her.  Even Nanami noticed in the first week after their talk on the stairs.  Ino was usually a chatterbox, so it would be impossible to not notice when he shut up.  

It took a good month or two before the older sorcerer felt a need to address it, and when he did, it certainly caught (y/n) by surprise.

She’d been sorting through hers and Ino’s reports of an assignment they’d gone on, debriefing Nanami on it while he nursed his second coffee of the day.  So when he cut off her explanation of when she’d applied her cursed technique to deliver the final blow and exorcize the thing, she looked startled.

“What happened with you and Ino, anyways?” 

Her lips remained parted, having been interrupted mid sentence, but she’s completely still for a few seconds as she processes the unexpected question.

“Nothing?” She replies with a tone of cluelessness.  “You know I don’t like to be interrupted” 

“My apologies,” Nanami says with a short chuckle that tells her he didn’t care much for her preferences.  “But something happened, he’s been acting differently, don’t you think?” 

She narrows her eyes slightly, sensing the thinly veiled attempts at prying.  Nanami was never one to get involved in interpersonal relationships, so he must have had good reason for asking her about this now, but she couldn’t dream of what could possibly be so intriguing to him.

“Yeah,” She shrugs in mock defeat.  “He takes it personally that I don’t want to get drinks every single night after work or something,” She tries to brush it off.  “You know that’s not my thing.  Anyways, back to this report-” 

“Seems like you were a little harsher than that,” Nanami interrupts again, setting his mug down to fold his hands together over his desk.  “Don’t you think?” 

(y/n) sighs, and finally drops the stack of papers on his desk.

“This is ridiculous,” She huffs as she stares at him with a bored look.  “It’s not like it’s affecting his performance, so what does it even matter?” 

“You’ve been burying yourself again” Is all Nanami replies with.

(y/n) clenches her jaw.  The downside of having a mentor that knew her so well meant that he could read her better than most people.  He simply sits and waits with all the patience in the world for her to say something, also knowing that she was just dying for him to move their attention back to the report.

When he doesn’t, (y/n) rolls her eyes.

“Okay, with everything going on with…” She trails off, not wanting to say Geto’s name out of habit.  She’d spent so long walking on eggshells around the subject that even now, without Satoru present, she finds her throat closing up before her mouth could even form the shape of his name.  “If this parade of his is really happening, then you and I both know that Satoru will finally have to kill him” 

Her words are still blunt, even without saying his name.

Nanami remains still, but she can tell his neutral expression is beginning to crack.

“I just don’t want to lose my focus.  I need… I need to be prepared for anything” She tells him surely.

Nanami’s known (y/n) since she was eleven years old.  Which is long enough for him to understand the complicated relationship she had with her brother.  While she loved him and respected him greatly, it was no secret that she felt inadequate in comparison.  Back then, at least, she wasn’t as good at hiding her feelings.  These days she was practically an olympic athlete at burying any emotions that weren’t helpful in getting her the Grade One promotion.

“You are prepared,” He tells her, not a bone in his body believing otherwise.  “But don’t push people away.  Especially not ones trying to be your ally, (y/n)” 

At the drop of a pin her expression was stoic again as she shook her head nonchalantly.

“Thanks for the advice, but truthfully, I don’t need an ally,” She tells him confidently.  “I only need a mentor” 

When she leaves his office, Nanami sighs in defeat.  He waits a few extra minutes before getting started on his reports for the day, too sidetracked wondering just how involved he was going to have to get himself to make his juniors get along better. ___

The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons was as gruesome and traumatic as it was expected to be.  As ready as (y/n) was in her station in Shinjuku, she couldn’t help the spike in her heart rate as the reality of the situation really set in.

For once, her carefully crafted expression began to tear away.  And even Ino could see the anxiety behind her eyes.  He’d known that there was a history between Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru, but he wasn’t sure how close (y/n) might have been to all of it, or how involved with Geto she might have been seeing as he’d been her brother’s closest friend.

He could see the way she tightened her grip on the glowing blue double sided axe that had been one of her favorite weapons to conjure up with her cursed energy, and he knew that if she was on edge, then tonight really would be more of a challenge than they were used to.  Because he’d never seen such behavior from her before.

Ino considered saying something to her, something encouraging, like Nanami would say, but he struggled to find the right words, and before he could muster up the courage to wing it, Satoru was teleporting before the two of them, and Ino wouldn’t dare speak over the strongest sorcerer.  Not when he was her brother.

(y/n) doesn’t look relieved by his sudden presence, even when he grins and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“About time for a fight we can have side by side, heh?” He asks, looking all too eager despite what’s bound to come.

Ino watches as her grip flexes and relaxes, before she lowers her weapon to her side, and then it disappears completely.  She tilts her chin up at her brother, her stare cold the longer she holds it.

Seeing them so close to one another, Ino realizes the Gojo siblings really don’t resemble one another.  (y/n’s) significantly shorter than him, and most of her features don’t mirror her brother’s.  The lack of stark white hair being the most noticeable difference between them.  He realizes that if they weren’t known by their status, then standing side by side people wouldn’t even assume they were related.

“I hope you’ve prepared yourself, Satoru,” She tells him, and she’s not necessarily loud, but even from a few feet away, Ino can hear the sharpness in her tone.

Even with that cold demeanor, there’s an underlying guilt in her words.  He could almost mistake it for sadness.

“Because I have” She adds, quieter this time.  The implication in her words is too heavy to be spoken any louder than a whisper.  She keeps her stare on the white bandages, knowing that Satoru could see and feel every intent behind her eyes.

He doesn’t respond.  Simply nods his head and warps away again.

It takes her a few moments to recollect herself before she’s conjuring up her axe again, her cursed energy buzzing in the air like static electricity as the weapon is created in her hands seemingly out of nothing.

To Ino’s surprise, she speaks to him first.

“If he doesn’t kill him, I might have to,” She says, not looking at him at first.  Her eyes focused on her weapon.  Then, she lifts her head and turns to meet his eyes.

The way he’s staring at her now makes her blood run cold, and she has to fight the way a chill tries to shiver down her spine.  His stare is wide eyed, and she can’t tell if he’s alarmed by her words or if it was pure concern written all over his face, but it was out of character for him to look anything besides excited, or hopeful.  How he looks at her now is the way a child looks at roadkill on the side of the road.  She doesn’t like it one bit.

“I don’t know if he’ll show here, or in Kyoto,” She continued despite the growing lump in her throat.  “But this… this has to end.  Tonight” 

She means every word, there’s no doubt in Ino’s mind that she intends to follow through on this promise.  So there’s nothing for him to do except nod in understanding.

“I trust your judgment,” He says, and the way her eyes widen slightly doesn’t go unnoticed by him.  “I’ll help you” 

Not knowing what to say, (y/n) shuts her mouth and gives him a small nod of acknowledgement.  Her instincts nagged at her to keep him far, far away from Geto Suguru.  He wasn’t your average curse user, he was cunning, and it wouldn’t surprise her if he didn’t already have ulterior motives planned for tonight.  Deep down, she had a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to raise a hand to her brother, but no one else was safe.

Satoru’s infinity always had a special layer that protected him from his one and only.  It didn’t extend to protect anyone else but him.  Hence her haste in putting an end to this cult of his.

With oncoming curses running rampant in the streets of Tokyo, there was no time to stand around and explain herself to Ino any more than she already had.  Even if she wanted to grab him by the elbow and make sure he stayed out of her way, he was already taking off after the first curse headed their way.

(y/n) had fought side by side with Ino for months now, and while she’d never admit it out loud, they did compliment each other well on assignments.  It was like all the time they spent training and taking on missions together subconsciously taught them to work in perfect synchronicity with one another.

If Ino faked left, she was following without second thought to throw off the alleged Grade Two, the axe made of her cursed energy lodging into the side of it’s large jugular with one heavy swing.  Spurts of purple liquid oozed out, staining both her weapon and her uniform, but the fresh blood was no bother to her as she used her momentum to swing downwards, dragging her axe along with her until the gash under it’s throat was lethal.  Just as she landed on the ground again, the beast crumpled to it’s death before dusting away as though it never existed.

No words needed to be exchanged as they took on the next curse, and the next, and the next.  Neither of them had ever dealt with an army of curses, and the more they exorcized the more difficult it was to keep their energy up, but neither would dare show it.

“Why did Nanami have to go to Kyoto!?” Ino groaned as he sent his fist through the face of a weaker curse, killing it on the spot.  

(y/n) scowled at the stains on her prized cursed weapon, flicking the head of the axe towards the ground to rid the majority of the blood.

“I wanted him to see that!” Ino continued to complain as he jogged to catch up with her, the pair eyeing the remaining curses on the street.

“Exorcize this huge one and I’ll vouch to him for you” (y/n) calls out, and Ino’s face splits into a beam as they both break into a sprint towards the eight legged curse trying to climb up a building.

“You’d do that?” He asks excitedly.  

She can’t help but roll her eyes, but a slight smile begins to play on her lips at the prospect of getting one step closer to the curse users allied with Geto.  Once they cleared enough of these curses, that is.  Her and Ino were more than capable of exorcizing a few measly curses, that much she was confident of.

With Ino’s mask over his face and (y/n’s) axe morphing into a kusarigama, they were on the curse in seconds.  She swung the chain wide, latching the blade into the nape of it’s neck and effectively having herself pulled off the ground as soon as it tried to scurry away.

She’s laughing as she swings through the air, her tight grip on the handle of her weapon the only thing keeping her from falling the twenty feet the curse had already pulled her.  Ino could almost laugh as well at the pure joy she clearly felt when it came to exorcizing curses.  For a moment, she almost reminded him of Satoru.  The crazed look in her eye, the uncharacteristic grin that nearly split her face in half, it was almost startling to see her so… feral.

But he can’t deny it excited him.  Her confidence in the field always boosted his own ego.  With their shared conviction, the massive arachnid-like curse was taken down and exorcized in near record time.

Heaving for breath and still grinning like a maniac, (y/n) was taking off again as soon as they hit the ground.  It took Ino a moment to catch up, trying to calculate which threat she was headed towards next.

“There’s a couple just a block ahead,” She called back to him just as he was gaining on her.  He pulls his mask up to uncover his face.  “We should split up to take them both, and then we go after him” 

Ino follows the direction of her finger as she points up to a curse user currently eyeing the fight happening between Satoru and Miguel.  He’s distanced enough that he’s almost hidden from the two, but it’s easy to tell that his prying eyes are focused on the hopes that Satoru would lose.

He’s a peculiar looking man, with long blonde hair and no shirt to show off the heart shaped pasties he had glued to his chest.  Ino couldn’t hide his peculiar expression as he eyed him from a distance.

Before he could comment on the odd appearance, a woman appeared beside him.  Ino’s quick to grab (y/n’s) attention again, but she’s already noticed the second curse user’s arrival.  Her jaw clenches.

“We need to hurry through these curses,” She warns.  “Who knows how long it takes until-” 

She’s interrupted mid thought, the sound of a flying object whizzing through the air right between the two.  The pair skid to a stop, watching with wide eyes as a swordstaff pierces into a park bench just to their left, after barely missing the both of them.

(y/n) clicks her tongue in annoyance, but doesn’t hesitate to grab the weapon by it’s hilt and pull it clean out of the metal bench effortlessly, eyes scanning the direction it had come from to launch it back.

“(y/n), the curses-” 

“You go after them,” She cuts Ino off before he could convince her to move forward with their original plan.  “I’ll be right behind you” 

He hesitates in place, hands twitching at his sides with uncertainty.  It aggravates her, the way he lingers, clearly worried.

“I don’t need your backup, Takuma,” She snaps at him.  “Now go!” 

He lingers for half a second longer, but from the sharp glare she sends him, he knows he’ll cause more harm than good if he sticks around.  So he gives her a nod of approval before he’s taking off again, his mask going back over his face before he reaches the curse.

Takuma Ino prided himself on his ability to trust his instincts.  Especially when it came to assignments.  Making snap decisions in less than a second could be the difference between life and death, and so far, he’d gambled correctly.  So he should have known that it wasn’t right to leave (y/n) to hunt down a curse user on her own.  He should have listened to the pestering voice in the back of his head and stood his ground, even if it would irritate her and go against her wishes, he should’ve trusted his own morality more.

After exorcizing both curses with only a little assistance from his Auspicious Beasts, he never would have imagined crossing paths with (y/n) again when she’s wriggling around on the ground surrounded by a pool of her own blood.  He doesn’t think he’s ever run faster in his life than he did in that moment.

The blade of a swordstaff is lodged between her shoulder blade and collarbone, so deep it went clean through, and at first glance he’s certain it’s pinning her to the concrete.  The wooden pole of the weapon was snapped and laying beside her in the blood, splintered on one end where she’d clearly broken it off.

“Holy shit,” He’s gasping as he falls to his knees, not caring about the blood staining the front of his pants as he worriedly assesses the situation.  “What happened? Did they get away? Did you kill them?” 

She groans in response, eyes fluttering behind closed eyelids as she tries not to think about the white hot pain coursing through her body.

“I roughed ‘er up,” her voice is strained as she tries to explain herself.  Ino almost tells her to forget it, but his curiosity got the better of him in the hopes that whoever did this was taken care of  “But Mei Mei got her” 

“And left you!?” 

He doesn’t mean to shout, but knowing she was left here to struggle and suffer through her injury makes his blood boil.  Had he been there, he wouldn’t have left her side, not once.  Fight as she might against it, they were partners, and that’s just what they would do.

“It’s fine,” She grits the words out through her teeth, not wanting to dwell on the unnecessary details right now.  “Takuma, I need you to pull this blade out” 

“What? You know I can’t, the bleeding-” 

“I can’t try and activate the Reverse Cursed Technique if it’s still in me,” She snaps at him, but her tone isn’t harsh.  It’s worse.  It’s desperate.  

She opens her eyes then, despite them being full of tears she looks up at him with nothing short of pleading written across her face.

“I can’t take it out myself,” She gasps through a strained cough, a thin trail of blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.  Ino watches in horror as it glides down to her jaw.  “You have to” 

“I won’t,” He’s the one to snap back at her now, ignoring the look in her eyes as he tries to assess just how trapped she is against the ground.  If he could at least get her off the street, he could get her back to Shoko, and she could perform her Reverse Cursed Technique.  “You haven’t even mastered it, there’s no telling if you’d be successful or not” He reminds her, making her grimace back at him.

“I would” She mutters back defiantly.

Ino doesn’t say anything as he carefully shuffles around her wounded shoulder, prodding at the blade to test how anchored it is to the ground.  She hisses in pain, her eyes squeezing shut again as she tries to clench her jaw to bear it.  She won’t tell him it hurts, and he doesn’t expect her to, but it’s too tall of a task to try and hide it.

“Take a deep breath,” He instructs, wrapping his hand around the broken hilt still attached to the blade.  “I’m gonna pull it out of the ground-” 

“No, take it out out” She barks back at him.

“If I do that you’ll bleed to death, you’re not thinking straight,” He grumbles.  “I can’t get you to Shoko if you’re impaled to the ground-” 

“You’re not taking me to Shoko!” She shrieks now, desperate to have him listen to her.  “I’m staying here” 

“You’ll die” 

His voice is eerily steady, but he knows if he raises it back at her she’ll only retaliate, and if she pushed him away he doesn’t think he’d ever forgive himself for whatever fate held in store for her.

(y/n’s) silent for a moment, teary, angry eyes locked on his as she weakly shuffled her legs about, as if there was any possibility of kicking herself away from him.  She’s a goner, and somewhere underneath the complicated layers of her carefully constructed personality, she knows that.

He holds her stare, hoping that his fear is written all over him, and he seems at least somewhat calm and collected in this moment of pure panic.  She neither protests nor approves of what he does next, but he knows she won’t.

So he takes matters into his own hands. ___

Jujutsu Tech won’t ever look the way it did when she was attending it as a student.  It will never look the way it did before Christmas Eve of 2017.

Then again, after that day just under a month ago, things will never be the same, either.  So maybe it’s fitting that it doesn’t look the same.

It’s too cold to stand around outside, but she can’t help but sneak out of the infirmary while Shoko’s distracted by a pack of cigarettes.  Weeks of being holed up in a stuffy room underneath the too-bright UV lights that flickered every twenty-six seconds were starting to drive her crazy.  Shoko didn’t want her pushing herself too much while her stitches were still healing what her Reverse Cursed Technique couldn’t- she’d claimed (y/n) was lucky to keep her arm- but as soon as she saw an opening to get herself out of the infirmary for the day, (y/n) took it.

At least she wasn’t still stuck in the scratchy paper they called a hospital gown.  But the pants and tank top from her uniform did little to keep her warm.  With all the bandages wrapped around her left shoulder and a part of her bicep, she couldn’t comfortably add any more layers.  But she’d happily choose goosebumps and shivers over sitting in that room for another minute.

Her own breath puffed out in front of her as she stared out at the destruction caused to the once beautiful grounds of Jujutsu Tech.  A small price to pay to finally have Geto Suguru dead, she supposed.

The thought was bitter enough to make her gnaw on the inside of her cheek.  In all the years since he’d defected, she’d wanted her brother to step up and own his title as the strongest and put an end to the terror his once closest friend had caused.  Never did she think about how things would feel once it was over with.

Hazy memories of being reluctantly babysat by the two were now tainted with an uncomfortable aura.  She hoped they didn’t cross her mind too often.

“There you are,” 

She doesn’t flinch when a quiet voice calls to her, despite not calling her by name, she knows Ino could only be addressing her as he steps out of the building and joins her at the top of the steps. 

“Shoko’s looking for you,” He tells her.  “She’s pissed, by the way” 

(y/n) doesn’t say anything in response.  She doesn't even give him a hum.  After passing out from the pain of her injuries, she couldn’t remember what happened, but she knew enough to know she hadn’t forgiven him.

Ino had tried to stop by her room in the infirmary to visit and see how her recovery was going.  The first time he came by was too early, and she hadn’t woken up yet.  The second time was a few days later, and she’d been awake enough to tell him she didn’t want to see him.  The third time he tried to come by, Shoko asked him not to go in and bother her.

He sighs now, sticking his cold hands in his pockets as a chilly breeze passes through.

“You can be be mad if you want, but you should know I’m not going to apologize for saving your life”

His words are sudden, and so blunt she could almost laugh, if she wasn’t holding onto such a large grudge.

“Saving my life,” She repeats his words with a scoff.  “Is that what you think you did?” 

Ino furrows his brows at her, but she doesn’t even spare him a glance.  He presses his fingernails into his palms in his pockets, trying to contain his aggravation.  It wasn’t right to let her get under his skin when she was still healing.  Physically and mentally.

“Seems like it to me,” He replies, eyeing her up and down.  She’s trembling in the cold, likely because there wasn’t a single layer protecting her arms from the January weather.  That paired with the bandages and her unusually messy hair, she almost looked pitiful.  “Since you’re standing here, alive and all” 

She turns to him then, and he’s expecting that sharp glare of disapproval, but he’s met with the same blank expression she’d worn all day.  Her eyes flicker over his determined features before she speaks again.

“I told you what I had to do.  And you said you trusted my judgment,” She reminds him, her voice quiet but not quite a whisper.  “And then you completely disregarded everything I said” 

“You might not know this, but I don’t exactly report to you,” Ino says with a humorless chuckle.  “What I did had nothing to do with keeping you from your backup plan.  And even so, Gojo seemed to manage just fine without you,” 

That had her eyebrow twitching, the first miniscule sign that he was getting under her skin.  He clenched his jaw before continuing.

“Maybe if for once you’d accept a little help we could’ve figured out-” 

“Don’t ever compare me to my brother again,” She cuts him off, louder this time, her voice strained with the rage hidden beneath her cold exterior.  “And don’t use me for your self righteous bullshit.  I don’t need to be paired up with a buddy to complete assignments.  I didn’t need you then, and I don’t need you now” 

His shoulders shake when he scoffs back at her, shaking his head and turning to leave.

“I’m still not apologizing,” He says as he walks away from her.  He doesn’t turn back, but he doesn’t have to in order to know her eyes are staring daggers at the back of his head.  “But I’m not putting up with your bullshit anymore.  If you want to work alone and die alone, so be it” 

He’s back inside before she can even properly react to his statement.  In all of her time knowing him, even after she’d shot down his advances at being friends months ago, she’d never seen him give the cold shoulder.

With a huff, she lowers herself to sit at the top step, wincing only slightly as she struggles to only use her right side for balance.  Yet worse than the mild pain throbbing from her shoulder and down her bicep, her chest ached.

In that hollow, dull pain that doesn’t go away even while she’s telling herself it was ridiculous to feel that way.  The more Takuma Ino removed himself from her life, the less of a workload was left on her shoulders.  After months of working to shut him out and push him away, it seemed he was finally taking the damn hint.

With the hand that wasn’t sore enough to raise to her head, she pushed the greasy tangled locks of hair back from her face and pressed her forehead into her palm, shutting her eyes as she sighed through that hollow feeling.

She’d finally succeeded in getting him to leave her alone, and she felt terrible about it.

So when Shoko finally found her and practically dragged her freezing body back to the infirmary, she let her.  She didn’t fight or protest once.  It was actually alarming to Shoko to have her comply and follow her wordlessly through the corridors. ___

It wasn’t long after being back on the field that (y/n) was healthy and back to her old self again.  Physically, anyways.  The scar  on either side of her shoulder would stay with her for the rest of her life.  And for those who really knew her, knew that things had taken a turn for the worse.

Nanami watched as day in and day out she stuck to a rigid routine.  Train, exorcize, report, train, and then home.  He’d tried to reach out, tried his damn best to lessen her workload or get her to see that this schedule of hers wasn’t doing her any favors.  But every attempt to help her was met with an excuse or a glare for trying.

He thought he was doing her a favor by talking to Satoru.

She’s on her way to the train when her phone buzzes in her pocket, and if it had been anyone else’s name on the screen, (y/n) would have ignored it.  But ignoring Satoru came with a consequence she didn’t have the time for.

“What is it?” 

“That’s no way to greet your big bro!” Satoru’s far too cheery for how gloomy of a day it was outside.  She sighed, tucking her phone between her cheek and her good shoulder as she neared the station.  “I was just checkin’ in.  You haven’t come by in a while” 

“Been busy.  Besides, I don’t like your place” 

“What’s not to like?” 

“Your furniture is obnoxious and it’s too white.  It’s weird” She lets out a short chuckle at the way he gasps dramatically.

“Whatever.  In all seriousness, you’ve been working a lot more.  Just want to make sure you’re… taking it easy” 

“Taking it easy?” 

“Yeah, y’know.  After Chirtmas Eve I just want to make sure you’re-” 

“I’m fine, Satoru.  Is that the only reason you called? To make sure I’m not pushing myself too hard?” 

“Woah, (y/n/n), I wasn’t trying to-” 

“Forget it, ‘toru.  What do you know about working for anything, anyways?” She huffs in annoyance.  Satoru’s silent on the other end for a minute, and she instantly regrets biting at him like that.  “I didn’t mean- I’m sorry, okay? I’m just…” 

“You’re overworking yourself,” Satoru says, his voice dropping it’s usual happy-go-lucky tone that gets on her nerves so much.  “I understand, (y/n/n).  I’ll just have to tell Nanami that a team outing is due!” 

At that her eyes widen, and she’s quick to snatch her phone in her hand again, her gip tight as she practically snarls into the speaker.

“Absolutely not, Satoru, that’s the last thing-” 

“I’m texting him right now” 

“Don’t you dare-!” 

“Aaaand done!” He cheers.  “When was the last time you had a proper break, hm?” 

“Satoru I swear-” 

“I can tell from how angry you are.  Like a feral cat, yeesh,” She can tell he’s rolling his eyes as he speaks, and she hates that it makes her roll hers, too.  “Don’t worry, this is just what you need!” 

“How would you know?” She snaps, but there’s no bite to her bark and he knows it.  

“You’ll have fun.  Make Nanami and that Auspicious Beasts kid buy your drinks” 

“Takuma,” She corrects him bitterly, glaring off at an innocent map of the train schedules.  “And neither one of them are exactly happy with me right now.  Not that you’d know that! You just like to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong-!” 

The bystanders patiently awaiting for their train awkwardly began to shuffle away from the girl in the strange black getup yelling into her phone without a care in the world, as though she’d forgotten she was even in public.  She hadn’t, and she was sure that if Satoru was here, they would’ve understood her aggravation.

“Who could possibly not be happy with you?” Satoru remarks with a sharp cackle of a laugh.  She grimaced, but found some relief in seeing her train finally arrive at the station.  “He’s only one person, how’d you manage to not get along with him?” He asks, like the nosy gossip he was.  She could hear the sound of plastic crinkling and would bet money he was eating sweets as he indulged in the topic.  “Seemed like a pretty chill dude to me” 

“He is he’s just-” She huffs, not knowing the right thing to say as she stepped onto the train and found a decent spot to sit, away from most other people so she could continue her phone call as privately as possible.  “He’s nosy.  Like you” 

“I’m nosy because I care? I’ll take it,” Satoru replies, sounding like there was clearly a piece of taffy in his mouth.  “That means you don’t like him?” 

“I didn’t say that,” (y/n) sighs, leaning her head against the window, watching the crowds of non-sorcerers go about their lives.  “He’s just… he’s too much, that’s really it” She shrugs at the lame answer.

Satoru thinks it’s lame too, and she can tell by the way he scoffs.

“What does that even mean? He tries to take over assignments or somethin’?” 

“No… no he’s fair.  The workload is always equal…” She explains, before her brows furrowed together.  “If anything I’m the one that takes over too much” 

“So you’re the problem? Shocker” 

“Fuck off” 

“Then what’s such a bother about him?” Satoru ignores her cruelty with ease.  He’d been doing it for years.  “Or is this that thing where the girl hates the guy but for no good reason, and she really just has a crush on him-?” 

“It’s most definitely not that,” (y/n) cuts him off, her voice so low she nearly growls at him.  “And that’s not even a real thing” 

“Well, sure it is,” He replied with a giggle.  “There’s more steps to it in the real world.  Usually she resents him for some silly reason, realizes he’s actually a pretty decent guy but can’t admit it once she’s stuck to her stand-offish attitude, then starts to fall for him more and more once she’s decided she can’t have him,” Satoru explained everything he’d learned from romantic comedies like he’d taken a class on crush behavior.  “He is pretty cute.  You sure you don’t like him-?”

“Can you act your age for once?” 

“That was textbook deflection-” 

“I’m not deflecting, I’m just not in the mood to explain the annoyance I have for interpersonal work relationships.  Why can’t everyone be like Nanami? We clock in, we beat up some curses, and we clock out.  Is that so hard?” 

“No,” Satoru replies.  “But it’s boring” 

“That’s how I like it” 

“And that’s why you haven’t made friends at work.  What’re you so worried about anyways? You used to have friends in school” 

“That was school.  This is my life’s work.  I don’t need distractions,” She deadpans.  “You’re distracting enough.  And I can’t get rid of you” 

“Sure can’t!” Satoru cheers.  “But you’re no fun at all.  You really need to loosen up.  Nothin’ wrong with making friends.  Since when did you get all gloomy?” 

(y/n’s) quiet for a moment, noticing a loose string on the side of her uniform pants and letting herself get distracted by it instead.  She pinches the small thread and tugs at it gently, not enough to pluck it out or unravel it, but just enough to pull it taut.

It was a complicated answer that wasn’t going to do her any favors and she knew it.  If she sat here and told Satoru exactly why she had no interest in getting close with her fellow sorcerers, he’d only be hurt.  And then he’d try to fix it and talk her out of it, which he was already unknowingly doing.

It was just better this way.  It had to be, because it was the only way she knew how.

“Don’t you ever think it’s… it’s harder to get closer to people in this line of work?” She asks, testing the waters just a bit to gauge his reaction.  

Satoru hums, thinking over her question for a solid minute.  A lump forms in her throat that’s difficult to swallow down as she awaits his response.  SHe starts to wonder if she’d let herself be too vulnerable, even if it was her brother.

“Sometimes,” He finally says, his voice quiet, and serious in that way that could be chilling when it comes to Satoru.  “But I think it’d be pitiful not to try, don’t you?” 

She nods, despite him not being able to see her.  He must understand that she was taking his words to heart, because he’s quiet on the line with her as well.

“One night out,” She says after a minute of silence passes.  Satoru laughs through the speaker.  “And if it sucks, I’m making you pick me up, alright?” “It won’t suck,” He assures her.  “And deal”

[smjjms]

I’ve loved reading all the incredible think-pieces many other Polin fans have made, dissecting why the ship is arguably the most popular out of the whole show, that I just thought to share my own 2-cents.

I know that many of us romanticise an intense love sustained by the type of passion that’s the kind to sweep you off your feet. The kind where you meet someone and you just know — in one way or another — they’re going to change your life, inexplicably.

And that’s okay! We’re pessimistic beings, after all, so to meet someone who inspires THAT much emotion in us — what else can we possibly do but to love, and to love hard?

But here’s what I think; there is an understated (and, for me, substantially more powerful) beauty in a love that stems from individuals who know you — the REAL you, without all the bullshit farcical fronts that you put on.

Because imagine the strength of a romantic love you might receive from the same person who already knows what you look like when you cry, and you’re snot-faced and pink-spotted from all your tears.

Imagine how much more joyful it could be, to let go and be carefree, because that same person already knows how unattractive you look like when you’re doubled-over and trying to catch your breath, and your belly aches with from how hard you laugh.

Imagine how freeing it is, to be unafraid and vulnerable around someone whose trust they’ve already worked to build with you, simply by helping to shoulder your burdens, unasked. All because you matter to them.

And, thinking about this now, how many of us who had been friends-but-could-have-been-more wished we gathered the courage to step beyond the safety of friendship and, like Colin, ask?

How many of us spent years longing and yearning, like Penelope, trying our damnedest to cover up our true feelings, because we’d rather have them as a friend than to potentially ruin the relationship?

I think that for most of us who have been in the same boat as them, Polin represents the happy ending we wished we could’ve gotten (I could probably say the same for any ship in the friends-to-lovers trope, but I digress).

I also think that’s probably why Polin’s relationship is the most relatable out of all the tropes in the show — because we see ourselves in both Colin AND Penelope.

They are the culmination of everything that we wished would’ve happened for ourselves or what we wished we could’ve done.

Every aspect of our what-ifs is mirrored in each of them, and yes, I suppose it could be projection to a certain extent, but ultimately — if the characters are this deeply loved by so many people, across all different backgrounds, does it not just mean:

Their flaws, and their traits; they’re endearing to us BECAUSE they ARE us?

[chan-gbinsimp]

swinging | kakashi hatake x male reader

A new member of Konoha opened up an art shop in the village. Coincidentally, he managed to open Kakashi's heart up to parts of himself that he didn't know existed at the same time.

requested

word count: 6.4k (damn!)

reblogs and comments are always appreciated:)

a/n: it has been a while, hasn't it? I'd say I normally don't take this long for fics, but it turns out my writing speed and the flow of my creative juices has decreased substantially since the last time I did it consistently. the length of this one doesn't help either (I got really carried away><). either way, I hope it was worth the wait! and I'll be trying to get out the rest of the requests at a faster rate, now that I have a little more time on my hands.

another little note for the story! "geijutsuka-sama" is essentially "mr. artist!" or at least that what I hope it is. finally, enjoy!

It’s no secret that Kakashi had a reputation as a loner around Konoha. 

As much as the man was highly revered by many, he was an enigma, and most people simply gave up on trying to understand him. He was powerful, he was reliable (when he needed to be), and he was a loner. Simple as that. 

It’s due to this simple fact, however, that whispers were shared between the old ladies in the village over tea, students during break time, and shinobi during quiet moments on missions. The whispers started from a handful of observant people, and multiplied as time went on, blanketing the entire village in the sound like cicadas do trees on a warm summer’s night. 

It wasn’t easy to decipher the original meaning of the whispers, as each stream of sound differed in word choice and subtle meaning. Some claimed of a passionate night between two lovers, while others did of a newly blossomed friendship.

Funnily enough, the truth behind the whispers was rather simple.  

It was that Kakashi was fucked. 

Utterly, irrevocably fucked. 

The man himself realized this one night as he laid in bed, reviewing the events of the day. That night was a particularly mind blowing one, as it was the one in which he realized that he had a crush on you. 

________

It all started when you opened your shop. 

Kakashi had gotten back from a fairly simple mission, and decided to go on a walk for no particular reason. Guy had decided to do the same, and the two ended up walking together. The walk coincidentally happened on the same night that you were finishing up the preparations to open your art shop. You’d cleaned up the fresh canvas you called a rusty hut, and painted it until it was filled with artworks on display and ready to be sold. On the counters there were paintings, pottery, wood carvings, jewelry, and even some of your own writings. 

Guy, being the social Mothra that he is, heard of the new development and wanted to check it out asap. Unluckily for Kakashi, who was rather antisocial in comparison to his walking partner, he was dragged along to see the shop. 

It was late evening, when most street vendors and shops had closed, and bars began taking their place. The streets were silent, except for a handful of drunken men, and illuminated only by a few lamps and the brightness of the full moon. The air was crisp with cold, which Kakashi would’ve been appreciating, had he been allowed to enjoy it alone.

Yet there he was, approaching a small hut that was rather secluded, and would’ve hardly been visible had the street been as busy as it was during midday. It was a clearly old building, with the wood of the supports splintering and roof having the appearance of one that wouldn’t survive a single stormy night, but it was cleaned up nicely. The wood was newly painted, windows replaced, plants draped over the walls in a way that made it seem like the building was growing them. The main shop seemed to be inside the hut, but there was a section outside with tables that displayed a few of the artworks. 

Kakashi just about finished taking in the building, when Guy’s voice snapped him out of his haze. 

“Hello there! How are you this fine evening, sir?” He exclaimed in a tone that was far too energetic for such a dark and quiet night. Luckily, you didn’t seem to mind.

Kakashi watched as you came out from behind the hut, wearing an apron and disheveled. Strands of your hair stuck out in various directions, some of it clumped together by what appeared to be paint and clay, and your hands and clothes were covered in dust and various art supplies. You said something back to Guy, but Kakashi hardly noticed because he was too busy looking at your face.

He’s… smiling. He’s smiling?

As much as he loved the man, Kakashi couldn’t handle Guy’s eccentricity at times. You, however, seemed overjoyed to be greeted by a stranger in the middle of the night. In fact, it was like your face glowed in the moonlight, and your hair was illuminated by the lamp near your head. Like a halo, he thought absentmindedly. 

He didn’t notice you were talking to him, until Guy lightly jabbed his side. 

He blinked. 

“Oh, you’re talking to me.” He didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t heard what you’d said, what you and Guy were talking about, and what the appropriate response was. More than anything, he was a bit embarrassed at being caught looking at you so intently. Luckily, you said something for him.

“I know I’m not half bad, but I don’t look that good covered in all this dirt, do I?” 

Maybe unluckily, actually. 

Kakashi felt his face heat up more than it did when he read the most erotic of the Icha-Icha novels, and his brain short-circuited just a bit.

“Ah– that’s uh… My apologies for staring. I didn’t mean anything by it— not to say that you’re unattractive in any way, of course! You’re a very attractive man! I just wasn’t staring with any particular intention, is all.” Kakashi chose to stop before he said anything more embarrassing, if that were even possible. 

Guy was staring at him with an incredulous expression that would’ve made Kakashi tease him, had it not been directed at his foolishness. The same couldn’t be said for you.

“I get it! Guess I shouldn’t have assumed you swung that way, yeah?” You chuckled halfheartedly, looking substantially less happy than prior to when Kakashi spoke. He internally berated himself, but your words couldn’t help but make him think. 

Yeah, I don’t swing that way. Do I swing that way? I guess I haven’t really thought about it. I’ve never really thought about it for women either, but I just knew. Surely, if I were attracted to men too, I would’ve noticed by now as well. Then again, how can I know for sure?

Getting caught up in his thoughts, Kakashi forgot to respond, and you opted for a change in topic.

“Anyways, I think I’m done setting up! If you gentlemen don’t mind, could we continue this conversation tomorrow? I’d like to sleep early before opening day” you suggested more than said, clearly not wanting to come across as rude, but neither Guy nor Kakashi minded much.

“Well, of course! I’m sure you’ll be overwhelmed with customers tomorrow! In fact, I’ll guarantee it by being your personal walking advertisement!” Guy made sure to end with an exaggerated wink, although Kakashi was sure his words were nothing but. 

The rest of the interaction was a blur, and before Kakashi knew it, he was sitting on his favorite tree, basking in the glow of the full moon, and contemplating the burning question in the back of his mind. Although many women had made advances, which he rejected more often than not, never had a man. You were the first to imply anything beyond friendship, and the copy nin wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. The only thing he was sure of was that his face felt a little bit hotter each time that scene played back in his mind. 

________

Kakashi was exhausted. 

It wasn’t a difficult mission by any means. At least, not in comparison to the ones Kakashi’s been on in the past, but it left him uncharacteristically worn down as he dragged himself through the village gates. It was already late enough for the sky to be glittering with stars, and for the typically hot air to have simmered down to a refreshing breeze. Kakashi took in a deep breath of the cooling air. 

He was contemplating what to make for dinner, if anything, when he heard a soft humming coming from somewhere. Under it was the soft sound of a knife slicing through wood. Kakashi recognized it immediately. 

Now, at this point, Kakashi had gotten substantially closer to you over the months you’d been a shop owner in Konoha. The aforementioned whispers were a result of the sudden development of him having a new friend, after all. 

The issue with this development, however, was that Kakashi wasn’t quite sure what to do with you. 

How long had you sat there, carving away?

He got closer to the now familiar hut and watched as you sat on a log disguised as a chair in front of the store next to a growing pile of wood shavings. You hunched over a palm sized piece of wood in one hand with a knife in the other, bottom lip caught between your teeth in concentration. The light from the lamp next to you was flickering, evidently having been lit for quite some time. 

Better question, how long had Kakashi stood there, leaning on a lamppost and watching you?

By the time the copy nin realized he was developing a dazed grin, you’d finally looked up from your artwork and noticed him. 

“Kakashi-san! Back from your mission, I see” you smiled and invited him over with a wave, scooting over on your log in case he wanted to sit. 

He accepted the invitation and sat on the now empty space, desperately trying to ignore the way his face flushed when his knees and shoulders brushed against yours. Gods, what were you doing to him?

You sat in silence for a moment, Kakashi content with watching you whittle away, and you being content with sitting in his company. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to lean his head against your shoulder.

“Is that a dog?” Kakashi finally spoke up once you’d gotten far enough along in your project for it to have taken refined form. 

“It is!” You replied, turning your head to look at the shinobi. You noticed him gazing at the little dog, and held it out closer to him. 

“You can hold it, if you’d like.”

Kakashi felt himself tense, albeit accidentally. 

“You trust me with it?” He reached out for carving as he spoke, but in a way that felt as though he were holding himself back.

“Of course! We’re friends, aren’t we?” 

When the comment did nothing to bring his hand closer, you took his hand into yours and rotated it so his palm faced skyward and placed the figure in his hand. If your touch lingered for a moment more than necessary, nobody commented on it. Kakashi simply couldn’t — not with the way the touch felt like a shock of electricity running up his arm and through his body.

“I.. guess we are'' the shinobi mumbled out the response, and he couldn’t explain why the title made his heart clench unpleasantly. Later, he would know that the inexplicable feeling was one of longing, but for now he directed his focus towards the piece of wood in his hands. He ran his fingers over the grooves you made to mimic the dog’s fur, finding it to be surprisingly smooth, and marveled at the craftsmanship. 

“I could teach you if you wanted, y’know.”

Kakashi merely hummed in the way a question mark in a comic book would sound, encouraging you to continue. 

“It’s just– I’ve caught you watching me work a couple times. I thought you might be interested in learning s’all” you shrugged. 

Kakashi was stunned. He wasn't used to the idea of his hands being used for creation, no. His hands were meant to destroy. To steal. To kill. They brought destruction and pain and death and nothing good came out of his hands. They were stained with blood that would never wash out. 

You watched as his hands stilled on the piece of wood and he stared at his hands, as though he were recalling a memory. The air around you suddenly felt slightly charged, making you feel like you shouldn’t break the spell in fear that the electricity would explode somehow. It was silent save for the sound of crickets, but even they died down to fit the mood. 

Kakashi broke the silence soon enough. 

"I couldn't. I'm… not a very crafty person, you see.” He looked up from his hands and made eye contact with you, but it was as though he were looking somewhere else. Somewhere far away, either in space or time.

Even so, you weren’t one to give up.

"You don't need to be talented to create. Nobody's good at something at the first try.”

That seemed to bring Kakashi back to the present, and he blinked the fog away from his visible eye. He turned his attention back to the little carving, seemingly thinking about your words. You gave him time to think, which Kakashi was eternally grateful for. 

Of course, he’d love to learn from you. He admired your artworks and the passion you put into your crafts endlessly. Watching you work and seeing the process of an ugly lump of wood becoming a gorgeous carving, a blank canvas becoming a breathtaking painting, or a lump of clay becoming an intricate piece of pottery, had undoubtedly become one of his few pastimes. To learn how to do the same — to be there next to you, just like now, talking to you, and spending more quality time with you — sounded like a dream.

But he couldn’t quite shake off the hesitation at allowing himself to indulge in such pleasures. The idea of getting closer to you, as incredible as it was, scared the shinobi. Besides that, trying to imagine himself doing something with a knife besides stabbing and slicing and covering it and himself with blood — it scared him. 

You seemed to notice his internal conflict, and tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. It was such a soft touch Kakashi nearly didn’t notice it in his daze, but it grounded him more than he would've liked to admit. 

“You don’t have to decide anything now, Kakashi-san. Take all the time you need. I’ll be right here by your side, for as long as you accept me to be.”

You smiled at him when he looked up to meet your eyes again, and Kakashi felt the familiar tug in his heart again.

For the first time, Kakashi didn’t ignore the feeling. Even as you gifted him the little dog and he thanked you endlessly for it, even as he walked through the cold streets of Konoha on his way home, and even as he laid alone in the cold bed, covered in cold sheets, did he allow himself to be enveloped in the warmth of the feeling that you elicited deep inside of him. 

And it was that night that he laid in bed, holding the little wooden dog to his chest, that he allowed himself to think. He thought about how your mere presence was enough to make the exhaustion from the day a thousand times more bearable, and what implications it carried for his relationship with you. Or, his desired relationship with you. Would he have felt the same had it been anyone else? His friends? Acquaintances? Students? Does he want to feel the same with anyone else? 

What if, when you handed the carving to him, you didn’t pull your hand away? What if, while he was watching you work, he acted on his impulses and did lay his head on your shoulder? What if, instead of you calling him “Kakashi-san” you called him the pet names he read so often in his novels? Baby? Darling? Sweetheart? My love? 

The result was Kakashi nearly melting into his bed with how heated his face became, and ultimately being forced to concede. 

I have a crush on him. I have real, romantic feelings for him. I want to hold his hand and hug him and maybe even kiss him a little. I want him to put down the honorifics and call me stupid nicknames like baby or sweetheart. Holy shit. 

It was safe to say he got little sleep that night, but the sleep he did get differed from the ones that led to rude awakenings covered in cold sweat. For the first time, his dreams were filled with soft touches and smiles and so much affection that left him wanting more in the morning.

________

Nearly a year had passed since Kakashi realized his feelings for you, and he hadn’t made much progress. He did manage to get you to drop the honorifics, so he’s been upgraded to “Kakashi” status, but that was about it. Not that he’s complaining, of course. How could he possibly complain about his relationship with you when you let him into your personal friend circle?

Is what he would have said had it not been for Iruka Umino. 

Now, he had nothing against the teacher. He was good at his job — great, even — and Kakashi could even say he had a positive opinion of the man due to how much he looked out for Naruto during his childhood.

That was before he noticed your closeness with him. 

Kakashi didn’t get jealous often. He liked to think he was a master at keeping a level head and observing all relationships and situations with an objective eye (pun intended), but it appears that his ability to do so took a quick trip out the window when it came to you. 

He’d make time out of his week to spend time with you, whether it was after a mission, lesson, training, or getting groceries, and it quickly became one of his favorite times of the week. Unfortunately, there were moments when said times went sour. 

He noticed you started getting closer to the teacher after he stopped by your shop one day, and more often than not, you were talking to him while working on something. It wasn’t a bother the first few times, but it became a problem when you said you couldn’t talk or have a drink because you were busy. With Iruka. At your shop. On the log that Kakashi was supposed to be sitting on. 

Today was one of those days. Having successfully convinced Naruto, Sakura, and Sasuke to train without him, he had the day free, and wanted to spend it with you. He hopped over to your shop over rooftops, but stopped on the building across from yours when he noticed you were with Iruka again. 

Rather than jumping in and trying to make small talk with you, as he usually does, he watched how the two of you interacted from behind a copy of Icha-Icha. Iruka was sitting next to you on a separate log — something Kakashi appreciated much more than he would’ve liked to admit — while you were busy at work creating a pile of wood shavings at your feet. You would stop once in a while to show him what you were working on, and continue when the teacher nodded in what appeared to be approval. The copy nin frowned when he made your shoulder brushed after he made you laugh, and you playfully hit his shoulder.

Then, the atmosphere changed. Became more charged. Your body deflated and your wrists went limp, letting go of the wood and knife, and Iruka took your hands into his. He shifted his position until he was able to meet your eyes, and even from a distance was Kakashi able to make out the furrow in your brow. Kakashi watched with a careful eye as Iruka leaned in, and you leaned in, and your hands stayed connected, and something was surely about to happen, when—

“Kakashi-sensei! What’re you looking at?” 

His vision was filled with a blur of orange, pink, and dark blue, and suddenly Kakashi knew how it felt when Naruto tried so desperately to get a glimpse of his face. 

“Wha– hey! I thought you guys were training!” 

The three stood in front of him, and the entire group had shared knowing looks painted on their faces. Even Sasuke replaced his typical brooding expression with a slightly smug one. 

“Why were you looking at geijutsuka-sama like that? Hm? Hmm? Hmmmmm??” Naruto dragged out the hum while wiggling his eyebrows until Sakura rolled her eyes and hit him to stop. 

“We know you like him, Kakashi-sensei” Sakura had her hands on her hips, looking extremely proud of her deduction. 

“What are you guys on about? I don’t like anyone.” 

“Liars get stitches, sensei!” 

“It’s ‘snitches get stitches,’ idiot.”

“Potato, potahto, either way he’s totally lying! You totally like geijutsuka-sama, we all know it!”

“That’s right! Why won’t you just admit it?”

“I’m not admitting anything because there’s nothing to admit. I don’t have romantic feelings for anyone.” 

Naruto and Sakura stilled. They then shared a look that consisted of waggling eyebrows and eyerolls, and ended in mutual stoic expressions. 

“I guess that’s a shame, then” Sakura began, crossing her arms.

“Yeah, ‘cause we all know that he likes you a ton too!” Naruto picked up, crossing his arms also. 

“Even you could figure it out, it’s so obvious” Sasuke finished with an eye roll.

Kakashi blinked. 

He what? No, that couldn’t be. He’s clearly already in a relationship with Iruka. I can’t believe them, they’re just kids. Don’t get your hopes up. You’re just friends. 

“He does?” 

Hopeful. Undoubtedly, he sounded hopeful.

The moment the words escaped his lips, he regretted it. Naruto’s grin morphed into the largest smile he’d ever smiled, Sakura’s smugness seemed to only intensify, and Sasuke’s additional eye roll told Kakashi everything he needed to know. 

Gods, they know.

Kakashi pocketed Icha-Icha and sighed. He could feel his face go hot. 

“Fine. I do… have feelings. For him.”

The effect was immediate.

“Then you should confess! Let’s do it now! He’s right over there, and he’s about to close his shop too, it’s the perfect time!” Sakura tugged on Kakashi’s hand and pointed at you, who was still with Iruka. 

You weren’t holding hands with him anymore, and you were smiling. A stark contrast to the gloomy atmosphere from the last time he saw you. You were using sandpaper now, indicating that your project was coming to an end. Iruka said something. You laughed. You shone.

Kakashi’s heart retracted into itself. 

“Calm down and look at them.”

It was as though his voice were a kunai slicing through the air. The students went silent and opted for listening, turning to take in the sight of you with their old teacher. 

“They’re clearly in a relationship. I couldn’t, also shouldn’t, intrude on it with my own feelings.” 

There was a moment of silence, rare for the group, until–

“You really are blind.”

Sasuke’s voice pierced through the silence, making Kakashi’s visible brow lift. 

“Isn’t taking in your surroundings one of the most basic things a ninja should do? Look at what he’s making. It’s Pakkun. Something related to you, sensei. What could it be if not a gift for you?” Sasuke turned to face Kakashi, rolling his eyes once more. 

“Stop jumping to conclusions and ask him directly. I’m getting tired of you pining after him and these idiots making me care about it.” He nods his head towards Naruto and Sakura, both of whom looked ready to push a mountain in protest. 

“Are we done here? I’d like to do something valuable with my time.”

Another moment of silence. The back and forth between speaking and thinking was akin to the blinking of fireflies in the night, or the on and off buzzing of cicadas, but the entire group could sense that it was over. 

A nod was all it took. The group left Kakashi alone to go god knows where (likely to spy on Kakashi during his attempt to confess), and Kakashi willed his heart to stop attempting to escape the jail cell of his ribcage. 

He took a moment to observe you once more. The shop was evidently closed now, with the only light being a lamp sitting on the table next to where you stood. You were sweeping up leftover wood shavings from earlier, humming along to something only Kakashi could hear if he strained his ears. Your movements were fluid — graceful, even, with muscles moving in a way that only could with years of practice with this particular action. 

He couldn’t help but think you were beautiful.

He took a deep breath, steeled his will once more, and jumped down from the rooftop.

“Evening.” 

With that simple greeting, you ceased your humming and looked up from the shavings on the ground. Your lips were turned up in a smile, and Kakashi felt a blossom of warmth bloom in his chest at the sight. 

“Kakashi! I thought you weren’t coming by today.” You set the broom against the front door and stepped closer to the shinobi. Kakashi opted for leaning against one of the wooden supports next to him. 

“I wanted to come earlier, but I didn’t want to disturb you and your boyfriend.” He lifted his eyebrow and watched for your reaction. Your eyebrows furrowed and your head tilted. 

Confusion! That’s good… right?

“I’m not sure who you’re referring to, but I don’t have a partner.” 

“Not even Iruka?” 

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow. 

“Iruka-san? Why would you bring him up?”

It was Kakashi’s turn to be utterly flabbergasted. 

“You don’t see it?”

You simply shook your head in response. 

“He’s been here nearly every day for weeks, and you always seem brighter when you’re around him. You’re always smiling and laughing at — what does he say that makes you so happy, anyway? Not only that, but I’ve seen you holding hands with him multiple times!” 

“Are those all the requirements of being a couple?” 

“Sorry?”

“Spending time together nearly every day, smiling and laughing together, holding hands — are those the requirements of being a couple?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say requirements, but they’re very romantic things to do. Most people who do them are probably together, aren’t they?”

“I guess that means we’re only one step away from probably being a couple, then?”

At that, Kakashi choked on air. Not his most graceful moment, but he believed his reaction was justified. As he settled down from his coughing fit, you seemed entirely unphased at the implication of your words, simply standing in front of him with your arms crossed and a slight smirk on your face. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I’m glad you asked, Kakashi! Let’s think for a moment, shall we?” You took a few sweeping steps to get even closer to him. You stepped closer and closer until Kakashi had nowhere to go between the wooden pillar and your body. His back straightened. 

“Who else, besides Iruka-san, comes by the shop nearly every day?” You lighty jabbed a finger at Kakashi’s chest with a soft thud. The impact felt equivalent to a fly landing on his arm with all the protection his vest provided, but the heat that spread from the point of impact outwards was equivalent to the eruption of a volcano. 

“And who else, besides Iruka-san, do I laugh and smile with every time I’m near him?” You jabbed him once more, sending another shot of lava through the ninja’s veins. 

“W-well, that’s different! I mean—”

“Who else, Kakashi?”

With your finger putting pressure on his chest, and the heat under his skin creating pressure on his brain, Kakashi was helpless to the truth, toppling out of his lips like a wingless bird attempting to take flight. 

“Me.”

Similarly to the volcano that erupted under his skin, the grin on your face was instantaneous, and made Kakashi a little more immune to the chill of the night air. Then, you huffed and pulled away from the puddle of blush disguised as the copy nin, turning away. 

“With your logic, the only thing we’d need to do to date is hold hands.” You made your way over to the table where the lamp sat, still facing away from Kakashi. He thanked every god in every religion that you weren’t looking at him. It gave him a moment of respite, so he could become his calm and collected self once more (ignoring the fact that he hadn’t been calm nor collected near you in months). 

“Anyways, I have a present for you!” 

Lo and behold, Sasuke was right. 

When you’d turned, your arm was outstretched, and in it was a wood carving of Pakkun that just covered the surface of your palm. He looked as grumpy as he did in real life, just without the disapproving grunts. It was, frankly, adorable. 

“You made this for me?” He tentatively reached out for the carving, unsure if he was allowed to touch it or not. When you nodded and encouraged him to accept it with a nudge of your hand, he finally allowed himself to accept it.

It was smooth and soft, likely a result of the sandpapering he saw earlier, and the grooves meant to imitate the look of fur were dull enough to eliminate any risk of being hurt. The time he introduced you to Pakkun and the other ninken made a lot more sense as he took in the detailing on the clothes and his facial expression. You’d had a sketchbook and pencil out the entire time, although you paid equal attention to it and the dogs. You must’ve sketched them out and used it as reference for the carving.

That was months ago. 

“Have you been planning this since you first met the ninken?” Kakashi finally looked up from the little piece of wood at you. You, who now sat on the table, leaning back onto your arms, looking proud of yourself. 

“No, actually,” your voice floated in the air, as though you didn’t want to break the fragile glass that was the atmosphere. “The sketches I did then were just because I wanted to draw them. The idea to carve Pakkun came from Iruka-san about a month ago.” At that, Kakashi’s eyes widened. 

“Iruka?”

You nodded and chuckled, enjoying the confusion on Kakashi’s face. 

“I heard about your birthday from Guy. I wanted to give you something, but also wanted to surprise you, and Iruka-san offered to help,” you explained with a cheshire grin.

“I didn’t realize you’d get so jealous.” 

“I was not—!”

“I can see right through that skin-tight mask of yours, Kakashi, you’re so obviously jealous!” 

“That—”

Kakashi sighed in defeat. After his accusation from earlier, he couldn’t possibly hide his true emotions for longer. He returned his gaze to the little wooden figure in his hands, running a thumb over each and every groove. Funnily enough, it was him that felt like a puppy at the moment. One that was denied a walk, or his favorite treat. 

This confession was not going in the direction he planned. 

Apparently, his disappointment was far more evident in his expression than he’d thought. You hopped down from the table and stepped in front of Kakashi, lightly placing a hand on the side of his face and lifting it. Your grin took on the form of a soft smile, and there was something in your eyes that made Kakashi feel safe. You were safe. To him, you were like the lamp on the table — a light in the darkness, repelling the cold with your comforting warmth. 

How could he possibly confess in a way that would put these feelings to justice? How could he possibly handle the rejection? 

“Could you… sit down, for a sec? I want to tell you something.” 

You looked confused, but complied anyway. You sat on the table and Kakashi brought the log closer to the table to sit in front of you. The height difference made it so Kakashi’s face was level with your chin — perfect for avoiding eye contact in case this went badly. 

Kakashi took one last moment of silence to gather himself. To lasso all the furiously flying thoughts and nerves in his body into a functional state, just for a few minutes. You waited patiently, although the silence did nothing to soothe the nerves now beginning to bubble under your skin. 

“Do you remember what you said to me the first time we met?” He looked up to make eye contact with you, a new determination set in his iris. Goosebumps formed on your arms at the intensity. 

“I… flirted with you, if I remember correctly.” You hummed in thought and looked away for a moment. “I noticed you looking at me, so I thought flirting was the right move,” you looked back at Kakashi, trying to fight the slight embarrassment at the memory. 

“It wasn’t, because you don’t swing that way.” 

Kakashi coughed, the sound echoing awkwardly in the silent night.

“You’re right. I don’t swing that way.” Kakashi fidgeted with the Pakkun carving slightly, already getting used to its presence. He would remember your friendship by it, if you decided to end it after hearing his confession. Strangely, the thought comforted him. It also made his eyes feel like they were being assaulted by a thousand microscopic kunai. 

“At least, that’s what I thought at the time.” 

Your eyes widened. Deciding it was best to get it over with before you came to your own conclusions, Kakashi pressed on. 

“I did a lot of thinking since then, and I’ve come to a lot of realizations about myself — about my sexuality. I couldn’t exactly do much exploring when I was young, considering my life story—” he chuckled humorlessly “—but now, I can. I did, and it’s all thanks to you.”

“Me?” 

Kakashi nodded, laughing an empty laugh once more, “yes, you.” 

“And I know that you won’t feel the same, but—”

It was as though someone were shoving a wad of paper filled with harsh words up his throat. He swallowed thickly to get rid of it, but it only served to embed it deeper into the walls of his throat. He instead tried a deep breath, but that only blew away the dam that held back a stream of tears. He let them fall. 

“What I’m trying to say is, I like you. Romantically.” 

Kakashi couldn’t handle keeping eye contact with you any longer. He ducked his head down and watched the ground, watching the packed dirt turn dark with tears. What would’ve normally been absorbed quickly stayed on the surface of the dirt for quite some time — likely due to the cold, dark atmosphere. 

He opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off by the feeling of your hand on the side of his face. It only sat there for a moment, as though giving Kakashi a moment to adjust to the feeling, before it applied slight pressure to bring his face back to its original position. The ninja could’ve easily resisted, but he felt it in every fiber of his being. He could never resist you. 

When your gazes connected once more, Kakashi was shocked to find that you were smiling. A soft smile — similar to the one you had earlier before the beginning of his confession. A smile of comfort and of understanding. A smile that never failed to envelop the ninja in a blanket of safety. 

You ran your thumb under his eye, wiping a few loose tears away. Even after his cheek was clean of tears, you continued the movement. A silent message. I’m here. You’re safe. 

Kakashi waited for you to make your move. 

You moved your hand down to his shoulder, running it down his arm with a feather-light touch. Kakashi naturally brought his arm up to allow you to continue the movement without needing to bend down. You stopped your hand at his wrist — right before it reached his free hand. He couldn’t help the tug on the corners of his lips. 

You spoke. 

“This is your fifth time here this week, and it’s only Tuesday.” 

You ran your thumb against the inside of his wrist. It tickled slightly, but Kakashi didn’t mind. 

“We never fail to make each other smile and laugh — even though our sense of humor is horrible.” 

As though on cue, Kakashi snorted softly. It was true. The two of you had an entire library full of inside jokes and bad puns that would make all fathers blanch in horror. 

“The only thing we’re missing is…”

You slid your hand down a few more inches, finally landing on Kakashi’s gloved palm. You curled your fingers in between his, and he did the same. Your fingers were cold — likely a result of having worked with your hands outside so late at night — but Kakashi didn’t mind the chill. The heat of the interaction was more than enough to make up for it. 

“There. We’re officially probably a couple.” You finished with a wider smile than when you began. 

Kakashi was at a loss for words. The tears started building up again, but they were different. This time, the paper was covered in good words — words of happiness, contentment, safety, love. This time, the stream flowed freely, because there was no need for the dam. 

“Care to make it officially definitely a couple?” 

With the wad of paper still stuck in his throat, all Kakashi could do was nod and lean up in an attempt to close the gap between your faces. You giggled, but pulled away at the last second. 

“Words, Kashi. I need words.” 

With another deep breath, Kakashi rid himself of the cursed paper and cleared his throat just enough to speak once more. 

“Yes. I want to officially, definitely, 100% be a couple.” Both of you shared a laugh in the middle of his sentence. Another inside joke to add to the library. 

“Good. So do I.” 

And with that, finally, finally, did you lean down to meet Kakashi where he left off. His mask was in the way, but neither Kakashi nor you could find it in yourselves to care. 

The kiss was chaste — hardly more than an extended peck — but it made both streams of tears turn into rivers. Kakashi wrapped his free arm around your waist and pulled you closer into a half hug, tightening his grip around your hand with it. When you gripped his hand tighter in response, he felt it — the everlasting swinging of his heart becoming in sync with yours. And it was at this point that he knew he would never let it swing in another direction ever again.