#this took...2 years...and it still looks weird o<-<< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[stanstits]

My entry for Bottom Stan Week day 2: Knots. Might go back and edit this one and cross-post to AO3 at some point.

Synopsis: Set in a universe where the government agents actually died during the events of Scary-Oke and Stan's plan for the portal went off without a hitch, what happens when Ford returns behaving... Oddly?

Pairing: Ford Pines/Stan Pines

Rating: E

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, light noncon, dubcon, body horror elements, feral behavior, nsfw, and (ofc) incest. Also not edited like at all so apologies in advance for any errors lol.

Enjoy!

Btw if you've been following me for a little while, I mentioned this plot line a while back in a post. Excited that I finally fleshed it out!

30 years. Stan could hardly believe after 30 long, arduous years and almost giving up hope numerous times he was finally staring at a countdown clock that had mere minutes left. 

He was nervous, of course. He had no idea what would happen when that portal reopened. Stan had spent far too many nights lying awake thinking of worst-case scenarios and, of course, now he was somewhat concerned about the “end of the world” or whatever. But if it was such a big deal, Ford wouldn’t have written the warnings in invisible ink where he might never have found them, right? Right. 

Regardless, he had made sure to treat the kids extra nice that day, just in case. Hell, he’d almost told them a thousand times. At least some of it. He just… couldn’t bring himself to go through with it. Something about their stupid adorable faces made him want to not disappoint them. He knew it was inevitable, but at least for now he could stay their slightly-okay Grunkle. Until everything changed.

His eyes fixed on the clock. 

He knew in his bones that Ford was still alive. He had to be. Stan would know if he wasn’t. But what if he wasn’t? Or what if he was seriously injured? He’d been in there, enduring who even knew what, for 30 years. Anything could have happened to him. 

Stan knew, logically, that he probably couldn’t have rescued him any sooner, but that didn’t make him feel any better about how long it had taken. That didn’t stop him from being haunted by “should haves” and “what ifs.” 

He took a deep breath. He had to believe that everything would be okay. He would deal with whatever version of Ford came out of that portal–because Ford would be coming out of that portal. There was nothing he was more sure of in this universe.

The world around him began to levitate once again, he suspected for the final time, and his stomach clenched. Even from well behind the safety line, Stan began to float in the air. There was a horrible, terrifying moment where the world was washed in blue light and he thought maybe Sixer was right. Maybe turning on the portal for a second time would result in total global annihilation. 

He still couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

Stan crashed back to the ground with a grunt as a figure stepped through the portal. 

Despite the layers and the goggles and the weird sci-fi sideburns, Stanley would recognize his twin anywhere. 

As the figure stepped forward, Stan stood and rushed forward.

“Brother!” His arms were spread wide for an embrace as he raced to Ford’s side. Who knew if Ford would need support or first aid?

Ford’s arms came up to remove the goggles and fabric from his face, and Stan was suddenly struck by how… good he looked.

He wasn’t frail or injured or emaciated or even as out of shape as Stan. His hair wasn’t even as grey as Stan’s for goodness sake. He looked like he’d spent the past 30 years at some kind of fitness resort. 

Despite the sudden, strange insecurity rushing through him, Stan still continued forward, needing his brother’s touch after so long apart. He needed to prove to himself that this was real.

As they finally met, Ford’s arms wound tightly around him and his nose buried into Stan’s throat. Stan could hear him inhale deeply. Was he… sniffing him?

“Mine,” Ford mumbled, nearly inaudibly, into his neck. 

“What?” Surely he’d misheard the muffled words.

Stan moved as if to lean away, but Ford’s arms held him tight. “Mine.”

Ford's teeth latched onto the base of his neck, piercing through the skin with startling ease. “Ow! What the fuck?” Stan's first instinct was to pull away, but the arms gripping around his torso prevented that. As he struggled in his brother's arms, he suddenly became aware of something even more alarming. Ford was hard. 

Stan felt lightheaded–from blood loss or the sheer insanity of the situation, he wasn't sure. At the same time, he could feel Ford subtly humping against his leg.

“F-ford?” Stan spoke with all the hesitancy of someone who currently had his long-lost brother biting his neck and humping his thigh. 

“Stan,” Ford answered, finally prying his teeth from Stan's neck with a hum. “My Stan.”

“Uh… okay. I think something might be wrong.” 

He glanced down at the hand gripping his arm. Six fingers. This was definitely Ford, not that it wasn't already obvious by the mostly identical but frustratingly more handsome face staring back at him. 

Okay, other possibilities: Ford had been drugged. His pupils were certainly blown wide enough for that to have been the case. His movements had been smooth, though, and his speech hadn’t been slurred. He definitely didn’t seem tired. 

Stan’s attention shifted to where Ford still was forcefully grinding his erection into his thigh. Maybe he took an upper.

Stan knew he needed a game plan, but it was getting harder to think. His mind felt cloudy and… why hadn't he pushed Ford away yet?

“Ford.” Stan brought his hands up to his brother's shoulders. “Ford, ya gotta stop.”

“No!” Ford snarled the word out, gripping tighter onto Stan. In a whirlwind of motion, Ford swept Stan up into his arms–how had he gotten so strong?–and moved them to the small cot in the corner of the basement. 

He was placed gently on the cot, with Ford following close behind.

Stan's heart was racing. He could practically feel the blood pumping through his veins. His thoughts were starting to become more and more hazy, slipping like silk through his fingers whenever he tried to grasp onto one. 

“What… what did you do to me? Why can't I think?

Ford made a bizarre rumbling noise, almost like a purr, as he moved his hands to the bottom of Stan's shirt and pulled. 

“Hey!” The shirt was up and over his head before he could process it. Wet heat encircled his left nipple just as he heard the soft thump of fabric hitting the floor. His hands buried in Ford's hair. So soft. All he wanted to do was keep touching that luscious softness. 

Ford gave a hard suck on his nipple and he couldn't help but let out a moan. Why did that feel so good? Wait. Why did that feel so good? 

“Ford,” Stan panted out, “we have to stop.” Stan tried to pull him away, but Ford only latched on harder, drawing out a ragged moan. “Somethin’… somethin’s wrong.” He could no longer recall what, though.

Ford nuzzled into his chest and let out a deep rumble, almost like a purr, that had something within Stan instinctually calming down. 

Why had he been worried? He was with Ford, and Ford would keep him safe. Involuntarily, Stan let out a little chirp noise that he hadn't been aware he could make. He might have been embarrassed about this noise, except it seemed to please Ford immensely. So clearly it was a good noise.

With a final nuzzle at his chest, Ford began to move down his body, kissing and licking at every piece of skin he encountered. Stan's body was buzzing. It felt as though every touch was electric. He was hypersensitive in ways he hadn't been since he was a teenager, stumbling through sex for the first time. By the time Ford reached the line of his boxers, Stan could feel his erection straining and staining the fabric. 

It took him a moment to realize he could also feel something else. The seat of his boxers was unexpectedly, uncomfortably wet.

He squirmed, trying to work out the source, but Ford seemed to misunderstand his movements. 

With a pleased little growl, Ford grabbed at the waistband of his boxers and yanked them down. 

He wasted no time, diving forward and swiping his tongue across the newly-exposed skin of Stan’s cock. 

“Yes,” Ford hummed. “Mine.”

Stan moaned. Heat was overtaking his body. He might've been feverish, because the only words he could manage in response were “yes,” and “need you.”

Obliging, Ford ran his fingers gently along Stan’s perineum until he reached his opening. Stan nearly called out an objection–surely Ford knew better than to go in dry?–when he realized the source of the earlier wetness in his boxers was coming from him. 

Alarm broke through the haze. Stan sat up and watched as Ford ran a finger through the (thankfully, clear) liquid seeping out of him before slowly working it inside of him. 

With relief, Stan groaned and lay back down. He still didn't know what it was, but Ford clearly did and wasn't concerned, so why should he be? Ford would take care of him.

Instead of worrying, he basked in the sensations of his brother's beautiful fingers working him open. Apparently, the heightened sensitivity included this, too. 

All too quickly, Stan could feel himself clenching down around two thick fingers as they brushed against his prostate. When Ford leaned forward, carefully pulling one of his balls into the wet heat of his mouth and rolling it gently with his tongue, Stan finally fell apart. 

“Ford,” he cried, tears springing up in the corners of his eyes as his orgasm washed over him. He felt Ford hum around him in response, and his back arched off the cot involuntarily. 

When Stan came back to himself, Ford was shucking his own clothing hastily. He blinked slowly as he realized that, wow, Ford wasn't scrawny at all anymore. In fact, he had filled out with what was obviously a fair bit of muscle. Stan supposed that made sense with how easily he had lifted him earlier, but it was still odd to see. 

Maybe under any other circumstances, Stan would have felt insecure, but his mind was still happily coated in a fog of arousal despite his recent orgasm, so all he could feel was intrigued. There was so much power in that body. Ford moved with a sense of grace and strength that had the heat returning to Stan with a vengeance. 

As Ford crawled back over top of him, Stan could feel himself whining against his will–desperate and needy in a way that had his body acting on its own. 

“Shh,” Ford soothed, kissing softly at the spot on his neck he bit earlier. “My Stan.” 

Ford reached down and took himself in hand, rubbing the head of his cock back and forth against Stan's entrance. Stan nearly screamed at the teasing, but before he could verbalize an objection, Ford finally slid inside. 

Both of them let out loud groans at the sensation. Stan's hands fisted into the sheets as that overwhelming fullness settled into his body. 

“Ford,” Stan moaned. “Please.” 

That was all it took. With a growl, Ford began thrusting into him wildly, the head of his cock grazing against Stan's prostate and sending sparks shooting up his spine. Already, he could feel himself careening towards the edge once again, and from the frantic nature of Ford's thrusts he could assume he wasn't far behind.

“Mine.” Stan wasn't sure what had possessed him to say it, but it felt right. Ford was his. And he was Ford's. They belonged to each other, and he needed to make sure it was known. “Mine.”

“Yes,” Ford hissed, thrusting hard and deep into Stan. “Stan. Mate.” 

Stan could feel a strange tugging sensation at his rim, as if it was getting harder and harder for Ford to pull out. Whatever it was, it felt weirdly incredible, stretching him and causing Ford to press snugly against his prostate with each powerful thrust. 

They were almost there. Ford pulled out with a sharp tug, then dove back in and whatever it was, that weird fullness that felt so unbelievably good, swelled up and locked them into place. Stan was pretty sure his brain whited out. 

Stan felt himself lean forward and sink his teeth into the base of his brother's throat, ripping a moan and an orgasm out of Ford simultaneously. The feeling of Ford’s dick twitching and pulsing inside of him–filling him up in every possible way–took Stan with him over that edge. 

Pleasure consumed him. Stan clung to Ford desperately, making the kind of noises he might have normally been ashamed of, as he rode out the waves of his intense orgasm with his brother. 

When it finally stopped, and Stan began to come down from his high, he was both glad and mortified to realize that the haze surrounding his brain had finally cleared. 

What on earth was that?

“...Ford?”

Ford stiffened above him. He cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“Are you… you?”

Awkwardly, he responded, “Who else would I be?”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Good to know you haven't changed that much.” Stan moved to pull away but found himself halted by a familiar sensation. “Are you still inside me?”

“Ah,” he sounded immeasurably embarrassed. “Yes.”

“Well get out!”

“I'm afraid I can't.” Ford turned his face away. “The knot has yet to go down.”

Stan blinked at him. “There's nothing about this that I understand.” He carefully turned so he was looking at Ford. “But it sounds like ya got some time to explain?”

Ford smiled cautiously. “Yes. I suppose I do.”

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting 

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself 

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼 

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer. 

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was. 

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal. 

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough  testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far. 

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.” 

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft. 

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji. 

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin. 

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more? 

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any  7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story. 

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was. 

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad. 

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it. 

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.” 

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them. 

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood. 

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m 

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly. 

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you. 

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething 

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up. 

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of  1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them. 

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena. 

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games. 

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast. 

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up. 

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them. 

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet. 

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off. 

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight. 

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time 

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue. 

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath. 

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm. 

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet. 

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time 

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you? 

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it. 

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty. 

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to. 

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue. 

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you. 

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.” 

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough. 

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad. 

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you. 

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable. 

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest. 

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.   

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him. 

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking. 

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

.

.

.

[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

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[takumiraine]

Once Upon A Time Chapter 2

<prev> <next>

So Danny? 100% has PTSD. I do have a vague plan for this. And most of the next chap written. The Fentons may or may not be terrible parents. You’ll have to wait and see. I do have plans to break everyone’s hearts at least once. Anyways. This is considered my like…. Audience test before Ao3. Things may change. As a reminder all I know about dc is from fandom and wiki and everything I remember about dp is prob poorly remembered.

—

Once upon a time, there had been a young boy who was happy. Once upon a time, there was a young boy who had dreams and a future. Once upon a time, there was a boy who had been alive in every sense of the word. Once upon a time, everything shattered. Once upon a time, there was a man who was filled with anger. Once upon a time, there was a man just as alive as he was dead. Once upon a time, there was a man who was haunted and hunted.

As the stabbed kid shuffled off, leaving Jason baffled, he grabbed the guy who he had slammed into the wall. His head was bleeding but his breathing was steady and Jason huffed. He knew he definitely cracked the guy’s skull, but he had survived worse.

“O, what do we know on this guy?” He asked the woman in his ear. Oracle’s answer would determine whether he took the guy in to the ER or let him roll the dice of fate.

“Rap sheet about a mile long. Pretty basic stuff. Armed robbery, possession with intent, B&Es, assault and battery, the usual.”

Jason shrugged then and dropped the guy against the wall. Rolling the dice it was. He turned away, looking towards where the kid disappeared around the corner “and what about the guy he was mugging?”

“That’s where it gets weird.” Oracle’s typing was coming through loud and clear. “It’s hard to get a clear picture of him. He has some sort of distortion on the feed. Everything else comes out clear but…. He’s a mess of pixels. Voice too. Scrambled. It’ll take time.”

“Think he’s a meta?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, considering he got knifed and just…. Walked off with it. Wonder what his issue with B is though.”

“Couldn’t tell you. Think it might be time to update my armor if I’m being lumped in with people B and the bird brains have pissed off.” Jason took an evidence kit out of his pocket and swiped at the blood on his chest. Old habits and all. “Got a sample of the kid’s blood though.”

“Good thinking. Wonder if he’s in any databases. I’ve got a cleaned up picture now. Enough that it’s pinging in GU’s database. Dan Nightingale, Mechanical engineering major. It says he’s 19, it’s his freshman year and he’s in like every remedial class he can take, high school transcripts are mediocre at best. No other information about him really. Rogue in the making that one.” Oracle reported. Jason groaned, grapneling up to the rooftops to follow where the kid went off to.

“Someone should keep an eye on him. Ugh. This’ll be a conversation for B and the birds won’t it? Kid won’t like having a bunch of birds following him.” Jason flicked through the different visual modes on his visor, finding…. Cold moving through one of the apartment buildings. It was human shaped, but where he expected to find heat…. “Weird…. You seeing this?”

“Very weird,” Barbara agreed, tapping into his visor’s feed. “And hey, you could just…. Not tell him. You wanted a Lit degree right? Go to class, befriend him. Do some recon.” Jason knew Babs always walked the fine line between what Bruce needed to know about the rest of them and what she had to keep secret to keep helping them. He didn’t envy her position. Jason still wanted Bruce to hurt sometimes. Not as much as he used to, something about the sins of the father and all that. He just wanted Bruce to be aware that everything he had ever hoped for his boy to be was… out of both of their reaches forever.

“That sounds annoying.” He was 23. He didn’t have any interest in taking on a degree on top of his full time crime fighting and criminal empire running jobs.

“Yeah, but what other choice do you have? It’s go back to school, tell B, or wait for him to become a rogue.”

“I hate you sometimes.” He muttered, unsure of what made him suddenly so interested in that angry guy.

“Feeling’s mutual Hood,” She replied with what was definitely a fond tone. He grimaced.

—-

In the apartment, Danny was less than thrilled. That was his favorite shirt! Now not only was it covered in blood, it had a huge hole in it. His core still thrummed with the urge to fight, but he tamped it down. Slowly, as he pulled the knife out, he sealed the wound with a layer of ice, pulling his shirt off and throwing it into the bathroom sink. The knife was dropped into the kitchen sink. His keys and phone in his bedroom on the battered nightstand next to the bed.

He returned to the bathroom and turned the water on cold. He let it spray full blast before working on scrubbing the blood from his shirt. He looked up to eye himself critically in the mirror before noticing the waistband of his jeans were saturated with blood too. Damn it. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his pants off, throwing them into the now overfilled sink. The bathtub would probably be a better choice. Turning off the sink and turning on the tub Danny picked up the sopping clothes and dropped them with a wet thump into the basin of the tub. Carefully he lowered himself onto the floor, wincing at the way pain clawed through him.

He would need to actually eat food to heal from this at any reasonable speed. He thought of the two dollars he had, then the emergency stash of….he racked his brain to remember how much of the emergency cash he was left with once he got to Gotham…right. Twenty bucks…. That was all he had in the wall.

He missed the days when Sam would just throw money at him whenever his parents forgot to do things like pay rent or put food in the fridge.

As if agreeing his stomach rumbled loudly, demanding actual food to sate the expense of energy healing his injury would take. He thought about calling Sam. Seeing if she could arrange a prepaid card for him. He knew she would in a heartbeat.

Even cut off from family money she seemed to be doing better than he was. Wracking his brain, Danny thought she was working in Bludhaven as some sort of personal assistant. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion that came from sustaining a human body on nothing but ecto or if he had been too distracted in the moment to pay proper attention, but he couldn’t remember if that was right. Getting the blood out of his clothes he wiped at the remaining blood on his body, getting most of it off. He grabbed the clothes and turned off the water.

Slowly, Danny pushed himself to his feet. He had survived worse, multiple times. But pain never seemed to stop being painful. It lanced through his side and he almost fell back to his knees with the way it stole his breath and doubled him over. He wished he could go back to the Zone and just… wait it out. But in order to do that without drawing attention he’d need a portal. The only ones he knew of were either destroyed or…. Compromised.

Maybe he should call Vlad. Danny shook that thought away almost immediately as he realized how silly it was. Vlad spent most of his teen years antagonizing him. Besides the GIW had probably gotten to Vlad too. If he wasn’t captured he would likely be compromised. Memories of Amity Park flooded in before Danny could stop them. Of asking for help. Over and over. Of the GIW storming in and locking everything down. Of Danny frantically telling his parents, only for their eyes to dart to the kitchen before they could stop it. Of the sound of energy. The smell of his flesh burning. Of pain.

Danny forced himself to take a breath. He focused on the wet clothes in his hands. On the tiles beneath his feet. Of the too harsh fluorescents in the bathroom that buzzed. The sounds of the people above him arguing over bills and needing better jobs.

Slowly he banished the memories back where they belonged. He’d… figure it out. He had to. Somehow. For now, sleep. Danny hung up the wet clothes over the shower bar, made sure there was a towel on the floor and shuffled into the bedroom. Double checking that his alarm was set, even though his class wasn’t until early afternoon, he didn’t want to miss it, he slid into his bed and pulled the pile of blankets up over him.

Almost instantly, he was out.

—-

“B,” Jason said in lieu of a proper greeting as he stepped into the Batcave, hood tucked under his arm.

“Jason,” Bruce looked up and turned the surprised expression into something more fond. “To what do I owe the visit?”

Jason leaned against the rock. Foot braced against the wall. “I know semester’s already started, but something came up. How hard would it be to start at GU?”

Bruce stared at him for a long moment and Jason knew it was his way of trying to figure out what buttons to press. Then he tilted his head and turned back to the computer screen. “Not too hard. It is early yet. Anything I should know?”

“Babs was lonely.” It was an out and out lie, but it seemed to soften things in Bruce further, reminding him of the two children that failed him within months of each other.

“Hm.” Bruce was silent at his computer for a long moment. Convinced that was the end of the conversation, Jason tightened his grip on the helmet he had tucked under his arm. “Either way. It is a good choice. Literature?”

The comment and question rankled Jason, the thing from the pit scratching at his carefully contained emotions. Pushing for any crack. Bruce was trying he reminded himself. Too little too late, but trying.

“Yeah. Going in in the morning.”

“Should I call ahead?”

“No. I can handle it. If not I have no business being there.”

“You will do fine.” The ‘you are a Wayne’ was left unspoken.

Jason snorted. “Right. Good talk.”

“Are you staying the night?” An olive branch. Jason wanted to burn it. He tempered the impulse to a spark.

“I have my own place.”

“Your room is still yours when you want it.”

“Yeah. The room of the worst Robin in history. Pass.” Jason turned and walked stiffly back up the steps. Hearing the soft growl of Batman behind him. The start of an argument.

He considered it a victory that he didn’t run into any of his siblings or Alfred on the way out.

[snowysosturn]

The Underdog - Chris Sturniolo

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo x Y/n

Summary: Chris is a rising star in the MLS - talented, charming, and known for being a player, both on and off the pitch. He’s never had a girlfriend, but always had a soft spot for Y/n, the girl who knew him before the fame but never took him seriously. Once their paths cross again, will history repeat itself or start to feel like potential?

It’s Thursday evening, and my apartment smells like takeout with a hint of unserious stress. A pile of open textbooks and empty pizza boxes are scattered across my bedroom floor, all of us pretending to study while slowly drifting into talk of playoffs. That’s what happens when you live in Houston and the Dynamo’s make the final, nothing else really matters for a few days. Not even our looming exams.

We’re all future biology teachers in theory, but tonight? We're just soccer fans, buzzing like the rest of the city.

“Anyone got a spare jersey?” Liv asks, digging through a drawer like one might magically appear.

“Yeah I’ve got one” Tasha says. “You can wear my orange home kit, it says Herrera on the back of it.”

“I’m just excited for the night out after if I’m honest” Liv grins, turning as she closes the drawer. “The city’s gonna be wild whether we win or lose.”

“Oh we’re gonna win!” I say without thinking, leaning back against my beds headboard. “I’ve got a good feeling about it.”

“Oh okay Ms.Manifestation, lets hope you’re right.” Tasha smirks. “So, who do you think’s going to start?”

Liv gives me a look. A slow, smug kind of smirk that makes me want to throw a pillow at her before she even opens her mouth. I know where she’s going with this.

“I think Chris Sturniolo will be in the starting 11.” she says, way too casually.

I roll my eyes immediately. “Please stop.”

“What?” she grins, “It’s a valid take.”

“I swear, if you lot start this again-”

Maya, who’s only just moved in from Utah this semester is still catching up with everything, so she raises a brow. “Wait, what’s the deal with Chris Sturniolo?”

The girls all look at me, waiting for me to explain.

I sigh. “We knew each other a few years ago. We were in the same school year, he used to try it with me constantly. Like.. wouldn’t let it go. But I never gave in. Ever.”

Tasha sniggers. “Yeah keyword is tried. Girl was made of stone.”

I laugh, because it’s true. Chris was.. persistent, to say the least. Always smiling like he knew one day he’d get what he wanted.

But he’s a pro footballer now. One of Houston’s most talked about rising stars, considered a wonderkid. But to me? He’s still that same guy who never took no for an answer, and always thought he could change my mind.

Still, I can’t help but wonder if he’s actually starting Sunday.

“I actually don’t hear much about him anymore, like.. on a personal level” I say, almost more to myself than anyone else. “Soccer fans absolutely idolise him now, but it’s weird not seeing him pop up anywhere else.”

Maya tilts her head, as she looks up from her phone. “Does he have a girlfriend?.. I mean.. he is a goodlooking boy.”

The rest of us shake our heads in sync like it’s a reflex.

“Nope.”

“Never.”

“Not a real one anyway” Liv adds, stretching her legs over the edge of the bed. “Chris was one for hookups and hookups only.”

I shrug, grabbing my cup off the floor. “That’s why I never went for him. Even back then, he just seemed like one big player. Flashy smile, smooth talk, always surrounded by people, and never the same girl twice.”

“Sounds like half the team then” Maya mutters, making us laugh.

“But seriously..” I continue, “he was the kind of guy who made you feel like you were the only one in the room.. and then did the exact same thing with someone else five minutes later.”

Maya whistles. “Yikes.”

“Exactly, I’m not falling for that one.”

Still, part of me wonders if he’s changed. Fame does that to people, sometimes for the worse, sometimes for the better. Or maybe he just got better at hiding it.

I shake the thought off. It doesn’t matter. I haven’t spoken to him in years, and after Sunday’s final, he’ll be off doing whatever pro soccer players do in the off season. Probably in Miami, probably surrounded by beautiful women.

But all in the same breath, curiosity gets the better of me.

While the others argue over who’s going to score first on Sunday, I quietly grab my phone and search Chris on Instagram.

It doesn’t take long, his account pops right up, verified tick and everything.

His page is exactly what I expect. Clean, posed, very.. athlete. Rows of football photos, in uniform, mid training, post match grins with a mix of gym selfies.

As much of a player as he was, I have to admit it, it’s nice seeing someone from here actually make it.

Houston raised. Houston playing.

It’s not often a local boy gets the opportunity to be the hometown hero.

I scroll a bit more. He’s gained a ton of followers, influencers, fitness pages, fans from all over the league. Probably girls from everywhere too, which is why I tell myself if I hit follow, it’ll go completely unnoticed.

So I do.

Just a little harmless follow.

Nothing more.

I zone back into the conversation, locking my phone and tossing it to the side like I hadn’t just deep dived into Chris Sturniolo’s highlight reel.

The girls are still chatting, this time full swing into pregame plans.

“I’m thinking we start at Liv’s place” Tasha says, already listing off who’s bringing what. “She’s closest to the stadium anyway.”

“I’ll have shots ready before we leave” Liv nods with full commitment.

“And where are we going after?” I ask, taking a swig of my water and trying to act like I hadn’t mentally wandered off for five minutes.

Maya lights up. “Oh actually! My cousin said if they win, the team’s hitting Fire.”

“Fire Fire?” I repeat, eyebrows raised.

She grins. “Yup. Fire Nightclub. The whole team’s planning to go with the cup and everything. Shots, DJ, bottle girls, the works.”

“Oh we’re definitely going then” Liv says, already pulling out her phone to make sure her outfit's still sitting in her cart.

“Imagine getting a pic with the cup” Maya laughs.

“Or with Chris Sturniolo” Liv teases, looking directly at me.

I roll my eyes hard enough to see my own brain. “Don’t start.”

But part of me knows.. if Houston wins and Chris ends up at Fire that night.. the chances of running into him just got very real.

Just as Livs finishing her smug little smirk, I hear it.

Ding.

I glance down at my phone, lighting up beside me on my bed.

I look down.

Chris Sturniolo followed you.

Then, ding again.

Two notifications in such a short time.

A message.

Chris Sturniolo: “What’s up Y/n”

There's no way he’s just text me.

a/n : before we start i dont know how the MLS truly works and calling it soccer is making me SICK

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel  @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit @mattswrinkleton @asmine @sagesturns

[inmydr3amz]

Could you write a bailey's sister! Make out with benj nielsen?

°⋆｡right in front of you

​🇧​​🇪​​🇳​​🇯​ ​🇳​​🇮​​🇪​​🇱​​🇸​​🇪​​🇳​

✦ synopsis: in which benj realizes the right girl has been right in front of him all along

⟡ content warnings: none just fluff!

✦ word count: 1223

✮⋆ a/n: sorry this took me so long ive been busy w school 😭😭 also idk if this is what u had in mind. If not, feel free to drop another request w more details!! ⋆✮

p.2

You hate your sister for a lot of things: the fact that she doesn't let you wear her make-up, or her clothes, the fact that she's embarrassed to be seen with you, the fact that she still calls you her "baby sister" even though you're 15 now and only a year younger than her anyway, the fact that Benj has been in love with her for years even though she has this weird push and pull thing with him where she treats him like shit but then acts like she likes him when she doesn't actually give two shots about her him and just like the attention all the while you've always been right there.

One thing you don't hate about her, though, is the fact that she drops you off at the Nielsens' when she picks Alyssa up to hang out because it comes with a perk—you get to spend the day with Benj.

You've been best friends your entire lives because while your sisters were casting you off to the side, you were hanging out with each other.

And still, the idiot has heart eyes for the one sister who doesn't look his way, when all you've ever done is see him.

Your sister is a stupid jerk, you're sure of it, a damn toxic bitch, too—pulling the sweetest boy you've ever known along for the flattery then tossing him away when she's bored, or finds someone else, or simply when they're at school because she's embarrassed to be seen around Freshmen when she's literally just a Sophmore.

Sisterly love and all that—but that doesn't mean you have to like her.

It's getting to you now, like it always does, and it's bubbling up, up, up, 'till it just comes out—

Saturday afternoon. Rainy. Cold. You're laying on Benj's bed, staring at the ceiling, legs draped over the edge. You're wearing one of his sweaters. You listen to the sound of the rain tapping against the window, the glass cold to the touch.

He's sitting next to you, so close you can feel his body heat, and the mattress dips under your head whenever he bounces his thigh. He has his lower lip between his teeth, muttering little swears. Hands grip the controller, eyes trained on the shooter game displayed on the T.V. in front of him.

He groans and mutters a soft "Fuck." as he loses, tipping back a little.

You just can't take it. You really, really can't—

"Hey, Benj?"

He pulls one side of his head seat away from his ear. "Hmm?" he hums, looking down at you.

"Why do you like my sister?"

His face flushes—not because you're not supposed to know. He knows you know; he told you himself. You still remember the day: 4th grade, when he'd started chasing frogs. His face was red from running around when he met you under the slide at recess. Bailey and Alyssa were on the seesaw. He'd leaned over and said, "I like someone." You got excited because you thought it might be you. And then he said it was your sister. Your relationship with her has been strained ever since.

No, he just didn't expect it. You can tell because he's choking on air when normally he loves talking about Bailey.

He coughs one more time to clear his throat. "What?" he asks, strained.

You sit up to be eye-level with him and play with the sleeves of his hoodie you're wearing. It even smells like him—shampoo and lotion and vanilla.

"Bailey. Why do you like her? She's a bitch."

"Oh, come on," he says, and there's an amused glint in his eyes. He knows you and your sister don't get along. He and Alyssa don't get along very well, either. "I know o don't have the best relationship with my own sister, either, but don't you think you're being a little mean?"

"Benj, seriously." You're sounding upset now.

He was going to start a new game—but he stops short hearing your curt tone. He puts his controller down and hooks his headset around his neck. "Y/N, what's going on?"

You take a shaky intake of breath, feeling tears start to prick at your eyes—and your jaw start to set the more you think about your sister. "How do you like Bailey? She doesn't even like you. Hell, she's embarrassed by you!" you exclaim, throwing your hands around.

His face furrows with confusion, then intense with a flicker of pain. He slumos back. "You're being mean," he says softly, defeated. You hate seeing him defeated. He's too nice to look defeated.

You chew on the inside of your cheek hard to fight off how queasy you feel. "I'm not trying to be mean, Benj. I just don't think you should waste your time on her." When I'm right here.

When I actually appreciate you.

When I actually love you.

Even with that sad, puppy dog face, he still has a little awestruck glow in his eyes. "Because she just . . ." He sighs dreamily. "She's great, you know? She's pretty, and funny, and—"

You've taken this for years now. You can't. Not today.

You kiss him.

It's mindless, really. Your body leans forward of it's own accord, driven by the way you yearn for him.

His eyes widen and he just freezes, holding his hands up like he's scared to move. When it ends, and you look at him like you're a little shocked by your own actions, it hits him: he's fucking in love with you.

Sure, there's always been that Baily infatuation—but that was always the chase of the unattainable thing. It's easier to want someone you know you'll never have a chance with because then when you're rejected you don't have to confront the forever-hungry fear that maybe you're unlovable. It was never real.

But you? Oh, you . . .

You've always been real.

"Benj—" you go to say when he grabs you by the elbow and pull you into a bruising kiss. There's no hesitation this time, no freezing up. You flow right into it, melt under him as he shuffles, hand on the small of your back as he guides you to lay down. Your lips move against his like they have a mind of their own. The kiss is messy and unexperienced and it doesn't matter because it's good and it's Benj.

God, nothing has ever felt so natural.

You fist his shirt and pull his body against yours. He's half against you, holding himself up with his forearm next to your head, that hand absentmindedly playing with your hair, the other hand grabbing your waist and shifting you in time with his shifts under him and all you can think is hands, hands, hands.

Benj's hands.

Hot hands.

Hand placement.

That hand slipping under your (his) sweater to hold your bare skin.

He lets out a little desperate sound before pulling away, panting and eyes glazed over. You're panting too, loosening your grip on his shirt to press your hands flat on his chest.

Benj blinks, wets his lips. "I really have been wasting my time with Bailey," he quips breathlessly.

[sugrhigh]

BOY NEXT DOOR 2 - ( c.s )

part one

summary- you and your roommates live beside a bunch of senior hockey players, one of them being the infamous team captain chris sturniolo. he’s effortlessly flirty and undeniably attractive, but he’s also a pain in your ass. you find that you have to fight between lust and hatred as you finally get to know the boy next door, whether you want to or not.

warnings- swearing, kissing, that’s it i think

neighbor/hockey!chris x fem!reader

a/n: PART TWOOOOO!!!! i hope u guys like this series i’m having a lot of fun with it (and s/o to my girl @cutenote for letting me use her name). self-indulged this chapter and made the reader a flyers fan so SRY but anyways, enjoy! next thing im putting out is a matt request and then i’ll be working on this series and the tattooartist!reader x matt series. if you have other reqs, questions, confessions, etc, my inbox is open 🫶🏻

@cutenote @mattsmunch @mattybsbitch @breeloveschris @st7rnioioss

your stomach flips as you stare in the mirror, twisting and turning every which way to make sure you look alright. you’re in one of chris’s jerseys, repping the scarlet and white colors of boston university, complete with the little ‘C’ emblem for captain.

he left it in your mailbox earlier on his way to the arena, demanding that you wear it instead of the BU sweatshirt you had planned on going in. so you listened to him, even though you’re not really sure why.

your hair and makeup are all done, contrary to the last time chris saw you, when you were in his house threatening to call the cops. it feels performative, getting all dressed up for something you don’t even want to go to.

but what the hell, you hadn’t seen the team play at all this year, and if you look your best you’ll feel your best. at least, that’s what you convinced yourself would happen.

“are you done up there? we need to leave, games gonna start soon!” one of your roommates calls from the living room.

you sigh and turn away from your own reflection so you can head for the stairs. cassidy and ramona are both waiting for you on the couch as you round the corner, also decked out in BU merch.

you’re just lucky you had been able to convince them both to come with you, so you don’t have to stand by yourself.

“took you long enough.” cassidy mumbles under her breath as she stretches her legs and stands up.

mona mimicks her movements, but not without shooting her a glare. “be nice, she’s obviously nervous.”

“no i’m not!” you protest, and now they both give you an eye roll as they pass you to get their coats from the closet.

“your voice just went up ten octaves.” cass snarks.

you are anxious, but it’s just because of the unknown. you still haven’t figured out what chris is angling at, besides maybe sleeping with you, which isn’t gonna happen. well, probably not at least.

no, not ever. oh my god.

“i’m not nervous. i just wish i could back out.” you double down, turning to see them both pulling on their big winter jackets.

“you used to love hockey, you just don’t like chris. one game won’t kill you.” ramona replies.

“and you also didn’t have to agree.”

this accusation makes your face flush, in embarrassment and in denial. “he wouldn’t have stopped that party if i didn’t. and you know i could never actually call the cops.”

ramona stays silent as cass laces up her shoes. “whatever you say babe. you look cute in his jersey either way.”

“cassidy!” you whine in exasperation.

“i’m honestly not sorry.”

the entire walk to the get to the game is spent harassing you, which is a solid twenty minutes because you live off campus. ramona does try to keep it to a minimum, though you can’t really blame them for the questions. you have them too.

it’s always been weird with you and chris. you hate his attitude, how people fall to his feet like he’s some sort of god. you can’t stand the way he talks to you like he can read your mind, or how you always catch him staring at your lips just so he can pretend like he wasn’t.

he does it to every girl, and you don’t know why he’s taking all of these extra steps to try and get you into bed.

maybe because you see through it, and you don’t want any part of him. he said it himself, he doesn’t want a relationship, and you’re not looking to get an STD, so you don’t know why he’s bothering.

you finally arrive at the facility, and your stomach flips. tons of people are out tonight, of course. the sun is long gone with it being winter and all, so the lights are extra overwhelming as you step inside.

you head through security and scan your passes, ones that are specifically right beside the student section in the very front. chris gifted them to you for free since you didn’t get season tickets, right by the glass so he knows where you are.

even when you were a pain in the ass and insisted you needed two more for your roommates, he made it work. it was a little impressive.

you find your seats, and the boys are already on the ice warming up. you spot chris from the jersey number, 3, and you can see his long hair poking out from underneath his helmet.

he’s focused on taking a practice shot, but as he skates by the glass afterwards you see him looking, like he isn’t sure if you showed up. but then he finds you, and you can actually see his stupid smile.

he waves, just a tiny one, before he goes right back to drills. you’re thankful he didn’t make it dramatic, because you know there’s plenty of girls in the stands who want him, and have probably already been with him.

you each take your coats off and hang them on your chairs. you know the fact that you having his last name plastered across your back doesn’t help the attention, but people can think what they want.

you don’t give a fuck. cassidy was right, it’s cuter on you anyways.

they head into the locker room quickly after your arrival, and even more people fill in to watch the show. the student section is loud as the facility finally goes dark, and the team skates back onto the ice moments later.

spotlights flood the stadium, highlighting different players as both teams line up along the neutral zone. you cheer extra loud when they announce the starting lineup and call chris’s name, even despite your vendetta against him.

no use being a shitty fan if you’re already here.

they get ready for the face off after the national anthem, and BU gets the puck. it’s back and forth for a while, and you find yourself groaning and cheering with the rest of the crowd during every play.

the first goal of the game is scored within fifteen minutes, by one of his other roommates ben, of all people. you and your friends are jumping around like maniacs, and you can see him laughing at you guys after they’re all done celebrating on the ice.

it makes you wonder if chris told them you’d be here, but you force yourself to eat the popcorn cass bought and stop thinking about it.

the second period begins and BU keeps possession for most of it, pretty much dominating their opponent. in the final thirty seconds, chris drives down the rink to score another goal.

you throw your hands up without thinking, and you let the excitement take over. “fuck yeah!”

cassidy and ramona are screaming too, shaking you by the shoulders wildly.

he comes skating over, pointing right at you as he does a lap near the student section. heads turn, and you can literally feel people staring at you now, even despite the noise and the chaos.

but you’re alive, and you can’t get enough of this environment, so you keep cheering for him regardless of the burning feeling of eyes on you.

“that was cute.” ramona nudges you with a genuine smile, and you’re fighting your own grin as you shake your head.

“whatever.”

the rest of the game is swift. your goalie makes a couple great saves, and a guy named dylan, who you’ve met before at parties, scores the final point of the night.

it just twists the knife further, because it’s a total shutout. the fans go wild as the final buzzer sounds, and you’re right there with them. you relish in the lights, the feeling.

you really did miss watching hockey in person. and you can’t even say you necessarily hate watching chris anymore. there’s just something about the way he skates, so locked in on the game.

he’s a threat, to be completely honest, and you kind of love it.

“that was fucking crazy.” cassidy is beaming happily as you guys gather your things ten minutes post-game, and ramona nods along.

“we’re gonna have to do this more often.” she glances at you with hope.

“hey, don’t look at me. i’m in it for the free tickets, and i’m not sure how long that’ll last.” you’re lying through your teeth, because you enjoyed it just as much.

but again. who knows what he’s really trying to do here.

“you could give him the benefit of the doubt.” mona suggests dryly.

“does he really deserve it? he’s going to think he’s the shit either way.” you point out, and she goes quiet.

“maybe that’s true, but i’ve never heard of him doing whatever that celebration was with other girls.” cassidy takes over, and she’s honestly check-mated you.

it is strange, because when you watched games last season, before you had chris as your neighbor, before you even really knew of him, you hadn’t ever seen that. and from current knowledge, you’re pretty sure he had a short term girlfriend during one of those months.

“touché, i guess.” you grumble, and as if right on que your phone vibrates in your pocket.

chris

wait for me, 15 mins max

ramona and cassidy take the bus home, leaving you on your lonesome as the crowd clears out slowly but surely.

you can hear girls whispering about you as they walk by, but it’s not even worth it. you’re not scared of what they have to say. maybe when you were younger, you would have reacted, but it’s just displaced jealousy anyways.

they don’t even know the truth.

finally, after what feels like a painful amount of time, you get a text from chris with directions toward the locker rooms.

it’s far more quiet now as you make your way to the ground level of the arena, headed to the section of the rink you know is closed off to pretty much everyone else. there’s a guy standing there, dressed in his black shirt with the facility logo on it.

he goes to stop you, but chris comes strutting through the hall, out of uniform now. his brown hair is all messy, and he’s dressed down in a matching black sweat set.

“she’s cool, i have a pass for her.”

he walks right up to you, looping a red lanyard over your head. his fingertips brush the skin of your neck as he collects your hair with his hands, flipping it out from underneath the string for you.

it’s a small thing. his touch is barely there, and yet it still burns.

the security guy smiles at you as you follow chris down the hall. you’ve never been back here before, and you have to admit it’s kind of cool.

you can see where the arena workers go on and off the ice, and the large garage type doors that let the zambonis in and out.

“so.” he breaks the silence, and you almost jump at the sound of his voice.

you were in your own world, and you kind of forgot what was actually going on here.

“so.” you parrot, waiting for him to continue as he leads you around a corner.

“looked like you actually had fun for once.” chris jokes, and you shove his shoulder half-heartedly.

“shut up, i’ve always liked hockey. you though? i’m not so sure.” you give him a look and he opens his mouth like he’s shocked.

“come on, i pointed you out after my goal and everything. you’re telling me you didn’t like it even a little?”

you liked it more than you care to admit, so you don’t. “it’s gonna take more than that to impress me, christopher, but i will say it was a good game.”

“you might just be our lucky charm.” chris glances at you out of the corner of the corner of his eye as he slows to a stop in front of the locker room.

you cross your arms over your chest. “now you're just patronizing me.”

“always assuming the worst.”

“well, you make it easy.” you tease.

he pauses to look down at your defensive stance, at his jersey all scrunched up around your body, and you can tell by his smirk that he’s loving it a little too much.

you clear your throat to try and alleviate some of the tension and chris snaps out of it, turning to head through the little entryway.

“i’m gonna grab my bag, don’t go anywhere.”

“you’re my ride, dumbass.” you remind him, and you hear his chuckle reverberate against the walls as he disappears.

a few players head out as you wait, ones you don’t recognize, and they nod at you politely as they chat amongst themselves. it actually takes you by surprise, but you try not to show it.

chris comes back into the hall a minute later, bag slung around his shoulder. he’s got a black bruins beanie on now, and you raise an eyebrow instinctively.

“why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, waving his hand so you follow him further down the wide corridor.

“your hat.” you point, and he looks offended.

“what’s your problem with it?”

“not everyone who goes to school here is actually from boston, genius. i’m a flyers fan.” you smile at him sweetly, and he literally groans.

“how did i not know this?” he asks as you guys reach the door that leads to the team parking lot.

“because you don’t know me.” you reply swiftly.

chris pushes the door open and holds it for you, another move you don’t expect. “i know more than you think.”

you shiver slightly as you step past him into the cold, wrapping your coat around yourself a bit tighter.

“if it helps you sleep at night.” you chirp over your shoulder.

you know his car, a black jeep grand cherokee that you’ve always been a little jealous of, and it’s sitting in the middle of the lot. not many others are still here, and you can hear both of your feet kicking up gravel as you walk.

chris picks up his pace so he can beat you there, swinging the passenger door open before you can do it yourself.

“wow, chivalry’s not dead.” you say blankly, sliding into the seat so he can close you in.

“what can i say, i’m a real gentleman.”

the interior smells like a pine air freshener, which actually isn’t a bad touch. chris walks around so he can toss his bag in the back and get behind the wheel, starting the engine and peeling out of the spot.

it’s quiet for a moment, aside from the music, and you can’t help but peek over at him sitting across from you. the shadows accentuate his striking features as he mumbles lyrics under his breath, nodding his head along ever so slightly.

he looks pretty, and you don’t like it one bit.

“i can feel you staring at me, you know.” chris turns to glance at you for a brief moment before he puts his eyes back on the road.

it makes your palms sweat, because he caught you in the act and now there’s no shying away.

deny, deny, deny.

“just wondering why your face looks like that.”

“what, devilishly handsome?” he smirks.

“i was thinking gremlin-esque, but sure.” you deadpan, and he just shakes his head and laughs lowly.

“so scared of your own feelings. it’s cute.”

it’s a major call-out, and it normally doesn’t phase you. but tonight it’s different. he’s being so fucking strange, and it’s clearly been messing with your head.

“i’m not scared of shit, because the only thing i feel is sorry for all the girls who have actually fallen for this.” you retort, and the frustration is clear in your voice.

“other girls don’t get the princess treatment like you do.” his self-satisfied demeanor doesn’t falter for a second, even despite your low blow.

“yeah, right. i’m sure i’m really special.”

chris grips the wheel tighter as he turns onto your street, and you have to rip your eyes away from his long fingers.

“well you’re the only one who’s ever worn my jersey, so that’s something.” he admits, scratching his neck absentmindedly.

you’re not sure whether you believe it, but this time he actually does sound genuinely nervous. well, nervous for chris.

“and i wear it best too.” you brush some imaginary dust off of your shoulder as he pulls up into his driveway and puts the car in park.

“won’t argue on that one.” he shrugs, shooting you an easy grin.

“that’s surprising.”

you step back out into the crisp night air, slamming the door shut behind you. you meet chris at the front of the car and try to move around him, headed for your own place.

he takes a step to block you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “where are you going?”

you put some distance between your bodies, because he’s once again too close for comfort, and it’s hard to focus on your words when he’s inches from your face.

“home, obviously.”

“why? i thought we were going to hang out.” he frowns.

“nothing good ever happens in your house past nine p.m.”

this makes him smirk. “very good things happen in that house past nine p.m.”

“your charm is irresistible, truly.” you bite back sarcastically, maneuvering around him as you try to ignore the fire burning in your stomach.

you’ve only taken two steps before chris grabs your arm, pulling you back into his chest quickly. his other hand goes to hold the side of your face, tangling in your hair as he leans in close.

his lips ghost over yours, just barely. you can smell the cologne he must have put on after the game, can feel his slight stubble scratching your face, and it’s all too much.

you haven’t been kissed in so long, and right now it doesn’t matter that it’s chris, and that it goes against everything you stand for. your eyes flutter closed and you fill the gap, pressing your mouth against his hard.

it shocks him, so much so that he almost forgets how to do this properly. chris can taste your berry chapstick, and your lips are so much fucking softer than he even imagined.

his tongue slides against yours skillfully, deepening the kiss as he presses his body flush against yours. you can feel his thumb brushing your cheek as your mouths clash together continuously. its passionate and angry and intense, and you can’t believe it’s happening.

why is this happening?

the thought snaps you out of it, and you put your hand on his chest to force him away roughly. chris is surprised, and you’re both slack-jawed and breathing heavily as your body tries to catch up with your brain.

“i…i’m gonna go.” you mumble quietly, because you have no idea what else to say.

“or you could stay.”

“i don’t want to.”

“you’re a terrible liar.” he counters, and you can see how raw and red his lips are even in the moonlight.

you shake your head and turn toward your own front porch. it’s too hard to continue meeting his fiery gaze, because he’s looking at you like he actually needs you.

“goodnight, chris.”

“this isn’t over, you know. one day you’ll finally admit it.” he calls after you, and you don’t gratify him with a response.

there’s nothing that’ll change his mind, especially after you had actually caved in during that moment of weakness. it was so unwarranted, and you’re angry that kissing him didn’t feel as wrong as it should have.

you take the steps two at a time and hurry through the door, closing it behind you and pressing your back to the wood.

your fingers dance across your lips, and you swear you can still feel his mouth on yours.

[sunnieray]

Bait

(or)

Your biggest regret just completed a patient intake form.

4.7k words

Pairing: Johnny MacTavish x f!Cybernetics Specialist!Reader, slight mention of ghoap(you'll have to hold a magnifying glass to it i fear)

Tags: non/dub con, dry humping, sci-fi au where advanced bodily augmentations are a thing, post-soap's headshot, AFAB reader, sci-fi terminology

Chapters: 1: Command | 2 | ?

You flip through the patient’s file for the third time, drawing curious stares from the 2 doctors stealing lollipops from the kiddie bowl. The yellowed, flickering lights cast a depressing hue over the main office. The murmur of the tail-end of the mid-day rush recedes from your periphery. What the hell… 

“Something weird about this… John MacTavish?” Startled by the voice too close to your ear, you press the clipboard to your chest and whip around. “Woah. Jumpy. I just wanted to see what was holdin’ you up. Your 2 o’ clock is ready to see you.” You level the new receptionist, the clinic director’s nephew, with a silencing look.

Unaffected or perhaps powered by the ignorance of youth and nepotism, he continues. “Special, then? He’s got some pretty unique Addendums. I didn’t know Mensa made civilian-grade, well, anything.” His voice lightens into a whisper. “Also, he doesn’t seem very… present by the smell of him. It must’ve cost him an arm and a leg just to get the base cerebral." He looks at you with a gossipy smile. You lick your fingers and flip through the papers again. 

His hair’s grown out. Dark locks frame darker lashes and light eyes. You take in his lopsided, toothy smile and recognize it as one that’s surely hurting his cheeks to fake. At least he looks healthy. Your lips twitch up before you internally reprimand yourself. Your focus returns to the conversation at hand. “Mensa took a military contract after Amend bought them out years ago. They used to specialize in cosmetic and somatic addendums. Also, please remember to keep comments on the patients’ financial situations to a minimum. If any of them hear you it could discourage them from seeking the aid they need.” You glower at the receptionist. Your flat tone kills the topic. The other doctors shift uncomfortably in their seats.

“Is Mr. MacTavish still in the waiting room?” You say it as more of a statement than a question.

“Yes.” 

He grunts when you shove the clipboard into him. “There’s plenty of servicing clinics licensed to work with Amend’s subsidiaries. Which I should remind you, we are not. He can find somewhere else easily.” You brush past the stunned man who smells faintly of flowers and head to your office. Your measured steps quicken into an almost jog, lab coat whipping behind you. You burst through your office and quickly lock your door. 

“What the hell. What the hell. What thee hell.” you whisper-scream. You wrack your brain for any logical reason why your (very well kept, thank you very much!) past decided to schedule a walk-in. The only words you two shared were in one-sided cognition tests. He wasn’t even conscious! He’d purposely mislabeled his mods to suit the clinic's requirements. The excuse you gave to pawn him off was flimsy at best. It was an open secret that you’d work on any Amend product for the right price. It’s what keeps the clinic’s lights on. Your frantic eyes catch on the various obsolete models of metal limbs that hang from the ceiling frame. Just do your job. A voice that’s not yours rattles through your head. As much as you hate the one who said it, they’re right. You’ve got to fit a few limbs to their owners before you can afford to take a break. The mechanical equipment needs to be maintenanced. Next, you need to call around for a decommissioned rotator so Mrs. Egwin can bend down again. Then, you’ve gotta organize a queue of people that gets longer and longer as augmentations advance. The wall monitors displaying cybernetic diagrams hum in your ears. Inhaling the lingering scent of metal polish and rubbing alcohol, your mind settles.

 Fuck this job.

-----

You finish the day out anyways. 

Your body aches as you lock down the clinic. You don’t imagine the director would care if you were to take a quick nap on your treatment table. Today involved a lot more energy than usual. Manual fixes and pre-chip models are a lethal combination. You were able to relax a bit when the receptionist told you MacTavish left without a fuss, though. It doesn’t sit well that he’s found his way to you. If your old boss is looking to fuck with your career for a third time you’ll actually kill him.

A familiar rhythmic metallic tapping hits your ears as you near your lightless office. The maintenance program you were running on the equipment must’ve hit a snag! For the second time that day, you find yourself rushing into your office, it’s door falling shut with a soft click. If you were a bit more focused, you might’ve remembered that the program finished perfectly just an hour ago. You might’ve smelt the lingering scent of a perfume you hadn’t worn in ages. You might’ve paid more heed to the nostalgic melody rumbling just low enough to make your hair stand on end. Instead, you see a pod speaker on the floor and the enshadowed form of the man you know everything and nothing about.

Your pulse spikes but you find yourself rooted in place. Instead of running, you manage to evenly say, “Mr. MacTavish.” The humming stops.

“Mrs. MacTavish.” he replies. You see his muscles shift under his black, long-sleeved shirt as he bends to cut the noise. His huge forearms rest on his thighs, the speaker cradled in his rough hands. He levels you with an expectant look. 

Your lips purse together, cheeks heating at the title. “Johnny, then.” you correct yourself. His body shifts up in the chair, coming to attention.

“Doctor.” As your eyes adjust, you can make out that too-wide smile and light eyes dancing with desperation and unadulterated glee. How could you let yourself think that was fake.

“Johnny, I am… gladdened to see that you are in good health.” you think you see him shiver. You continue after a beat. “It is my hope that you’ll accept our earlier reject–”

A sharp sound of amusement cuts you off, making you jump. “You cannae talk like a person when you’re nervous. Just like I thought.” His eyes drag up your body and settle on your warm face.

You take a step back and his face goes hard. “I wouldn’t do tha’.” The pod speaker in his hands starts to feel a lot more menacing.

You raise a hand. “Calm down, Johnny. I’m just getting a seat. You took mine.” Keeping your voice soft, you point to the corner to the right of the door.

“Ah.” He visibly relaxes, an easy smile gracing the sharp angles of his face. “Looks like I cut the cameras for nothin’, then.” At that, you’re officially the second-most scared you’ve been in your life.

You pull the seat over, leaving a reasonable distance between you two. Not reasonable enough, unfortunately. When you sit, his steel-toed boot hooks around the chair leg and slowly drags you closer and closer. The squeaking of aged metal stops as your knees touch the edge of his seat. Toned thighs spread to accommodate the seat’s new spot between his legs. They're long enough to cage you and the chair between them. He moves with a grace you thought you’d never get to see. His breath is slightly unsteady as he studies your face. You lean back, partially at the intensity of his stare but mostly because the flowery scent of the perfume you used to wear is wafting off of him in heavy, saccharine waves.

You clear your throat. “Like I was saying, I’m sure the receptionist told you we specialize in discontinued civilian cybernetics. A military-grade Addendum should be handled at an Amend-partnered practice. They’ll have the proper facilities to avoid any unfortunate accidents or botched jobs. I’m not sure you need me, specifically. I’d be happy to recommend some places I trust.” You suggest, powering through even when his head falls into his hands and he begins to mutter harshly under his breath. “I’m sorry but there’s little I can do beyond that–” 

“Don’ lie to me.”

“I’m not–” Your voice is strained.. 

“I know you are.” His face whips up to look at you and he presses his index into your sternum. “You need to take responsibility for what you did to me.” His voice wavers with exhaustion through clenched teeth. All at once you notice the bags under his eyes and stress rings in his irises. When you’ve seen someone at their worst, any improvement makes them look perfect.

“‘Did to you?’ You mean resurrect you from the dead?” you say with unrestrained derision. “If anyone owes you anything, it’s the men that signed off on the procedure. I don’t even work for them anymore. If I touch one line of code, the security system will brick the entire augmentation. You’d die for good.” Exasperation laces your tone by the end and you place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t have the tools or the license to take responsibility for anything having to do with Amend or you. I don’t understand why you’ve come after me.” You force the anger to leave your voice.

He stands abruptly, desk chair clattering to the floor. His hand shoves the long hair covering the left side of his head back, the other tearing at the false skin there. The silicone peels back, revealing the unassuming metallic face of the most complex augmentation in the western hemisphere. And you'd be the first to know. 

“Because you’re the one who put this fuckin’ thing in my head!” His booming voice silences any retort. Regret flashes over his visage and he quickly lowers his volume to a whisper. “I can’t sleep, I-I can’t think. Only thing that works is my body, but I’m too exhausted to put it to any good use. Please, I need someone that knows what the hell they’re doing. These doctors– they just play in my head. The first few ‘tweaks’ were fine. They said they were necessary and I believed them. But the more they ‘fixed’ the worse I got. I ended up going back one more time, my old CO took me and spoke to the doctors for me. After that, I was walking on clouds, until I wasn't. The pain came back worse, and the doctor was more interested in how I was feeling than how she could help me. ” He grips your shoulders and sinks to his knees. “I can feel them fucking up your good work. I’ve already gone to everyone I could, you’re the only one that can fix this.”

Your chest goes tight at the misery in his voice but satisfaction blooms with it because he’s right. You’re the only one on this planet that can put him back together. The pride that got you blacklisted is revived with a vengeance. “Ok. I’ll do it.” Your hand delicately brushes his dark strands away to get a closer look. Your thumb presses into the model number, MX - 00. You feel confident enough in your decision. Relief washes over his features and he leans in. You think he’s going for a kiss… 

Until he buries his nose in the crook of your neck and takes a deep whiff. 

Immediately, his weight sinks into you, tension fleeing his muscles. “What are you–” you start before you feel the familiar vibrations of your childhood lullaby. Ohhhh. Now how do I explain this…

“When you hear my voice, how exactly do you feel?” his pulse quickens as you speak.

“Right. I feel right.” he says absently. His lips brush the fluttering vein of your neck. A warmth sparks between your legs. Focus! Do your job!

“Come.” you say, quickly extricating yourself from his hold.” Let's get you on the table.”

-----

 

You adjust him so he lies flat on the treatment table. Your foot presses into a gap in the chair’s platform. A gust of cool air brushes over your feet as a metal rack rises from the temperature-controlled, hidden compartment in the floor. An assortment of sleek tools hang from the bars. It’s a mix of what you were able to sneak from Amend before your termination and a few lucky finds from shiftier channels.  

“I knew you were the lying type.” He chuckles. You shift to hooking him up to the monitors.

“You’ll feel a slight sting.” you say as you fold his ear up to plug the port hidden behind it.

His body jolts, shaking the exam table as you do your best to hold him steady. A fresh layer of sweat gleams in the blue light as his skin pales. When the episode passes his chest heaves.

“You call that shit slight? The fuck happened ‘do no harm’?” he says through gritted teeth.

“I had to send the connection through your natural brain so it wouldn’t trip the firewall.”

“That sounds.. easy to fuck up.”

“It is.” You hope he misses the exhilaration in your voice. “One wrong move and your grey matter would be goo. It’s a good thing I’ve spent hundreds of days learning all about yours, specifically.”

Johnny smiles up at you with a level of fondness you struggle to categorize. It’s strange and a bit foolish in hindsight. In all the time you spent rebuilding his psyche, you didn’t consider that he’d remember you anymore than one would a dream. You try not to think about why you’re glad he did, opting to look at the flashing monitors behind you.

You watch the lines of code run down the screens, most of it’s familiar. There are some irrelevant changes sprinkled throughout. Nothing raises your alarm bells until you reach the section of code that controls the more nebulous parts of the mind. An old anger flashes up your gut. What did they do to your baby? Months of work hacked apart with juvenile precision. It looks more like a group brainstorm than the polished tapestry you left it as. Notes between the various editors, most are names you recognize but there are some you don’t, suggesting an assortment of modifications. “Keep deleting. Find the bare minimum he can function with.” The most recent reads. It’s dated three months ago. Your brows pinch. 

There’s a lot wrong with this. Enough that you’re sure you’ll need a good month to clean it all up. It’ll take even longer when you add in your shifts at the clinic. As ready as you were to help, you’re not sure you can handle being around him that long. Johnny “Soap” MacTavish may be your greatest achievement but he also embodies everything negative that you’ve tried to tamp down. 

“I’ll be able to get you feeling better by the end of the night. After that, I ask that you leave me be.” If they’ve followed the treatment plan you wrote up, he’s overdue for another check-in with Amend. The more delicate work will have to go unfinished. With a build as rare as his, too many changes will alert the next tampering hand of your interference. 

 You right your toppled seat and roll it over to your desk. “I’m sure you know the drill. Just remember to keep answering my questions as best you can.” Your fingers fly as you begin to restore your magnum opus.

“So, I have a vague idea, but I’d like to hear from you how you think you’ve managed this long.” Your mind falls into a familiar space. Hundreds of hours were spent just like this, except he was a husk and you were a promising new face in your field. 

“Don’ think that's a question, pretty.” His voice carries a humor that’s cowed by his earlier pain. 

“Adapt to the implication, Johnny. I worked very hard to make sure you could.” You click your tongue as you come across a particularly egregious function.

“It helps.. when I use the gifts you left me.” At least he can still follow instructions.

“You mean the lullaby and the perfume.” you see him nod the corner of your eye. “Words, Johnny.” 

 He sucks in a harsh breath. “Yeah. At first I only knew that I liked the smell of one of the nurses.” Your typing slows but regains its speed soon after. 

“Is that right...” you’d beaten yourself up for losing the last of your custom scent. It was disgustingly time consuming to make. Seems it wasn’t lost at all.

“She was helping me with physical therapy. Real nice ass, that one.” You hear the teasing smile in his voice. “I spent the night at her’s after I was discharged and snagged the bottle. When I met up with her again it just wasn’t the same.” 

“From there,

“That must’ve taken a while.”

“Wasn’t doing it alone. A friend helped me.” You don’t miss the slight hesitation before he says friend. Deep brown eyes and a hulking form flash in your mind. You can barely imagine that behemoth holding an egg, let alone mixing scent notes. You smile inwardly.

“What about the lullaby?”

“When I woke up, I already knew it. Felt more like myself when I hummed it.” You hear him shift and the heat of his gaze warms the back of your head. “When you do it, though, I feel human again.” Your typing falters as a tingle of shame squirms in your gut. 

-----

By the time you’ve finished, the evening has bled well into the night. You pivoted to less personal questions after the intensity grew too much to bear. Hours of innocuous queries didn’t stop Johnny from bringing the focus right back to your effect on him.

“I’m going to run it with my edits now. Ready for another sting?” you rasp, already losing your voice, eyes glued to the monitor. Your palms have gone clammy and your posture has caved in a way that warrants scolding.

“Whatever happened to ‘do no harm’?” he grumbles before giving you the go-ahead. You initiate the altered program. You’ll have to get him a lollypop. Sitting for hours in stasis is one thing, being fully conscious is another. 

Johnny?” You turn to see his body tensing off the table as it works to accommodate your modifications. The initial jailbreak should’ve been the worst of it but it seems that few things are going to plan today. 

You’re at his side in a flash moving around the platform to see both him and the program’s progress. Veins bulge from his neck and forehead as he releases a strangled exhale. His hand shoots up to rip out the cord connecting him to the equipment and it takes both of your’s latching to his wrist to stop it. 

“If you need something to hold onto, use me! But don’t you dare touch that cord!” At that, his other hand wraps around your back with such force that it sends you both to the tiled floor. You do your best to angle the fall and manage to keep him connected at your hip’s expense. You let out a moan of pain as it bears the brunt of both your impacts.

As Johnny’s body writhes in your arms, you somehow manage to adjust so that he’s cradled to you. Your left arm wraps supportively around his upper back as your bent legs act as a cushion for his lower torso. Your right hand is clamped in his and you swear you feel your bones creak. His left fists the back of your coat, ripping a seam.

Your gaze flicks back to the monitors. Interrupting the run now would cause him more harm. You grimace as you watch the completion meter slowly tick up in percentage. Johnny’s huffs and groans of pain overlay the mechanical hum of the room.

Without thinking, you angle his head into the crook of your neck and begin to sing the full lullaby. Just as you knew it would, his body sags into yours once more, shaking with the remnants of it’s earlier pain. The grip on your hand loosens but doesn’t pull away completely. You shiver as his other palm slides up the line of your spine and rests on the back of your neck, index pressing into the vein.

His eyes remain closed and his breathing is haggard by the time the program completes. His pained expression slowly dissolves as you finish out the song.

“It would seem I’m out of practice.” Your throat aches with overuse. The man snorts at that and then coughs. “If it weren’t for your reaction to the lullaby, the update couldn’t have pushed through without ample damage.”

His eyes peek open. They struggle to regain focus as they land on you.

“You were made to save me.” His quiet words settle on your skin and they feel wrong. He looks at you, again, in that way that makes you nervous of his expectations. 

“No, Johnny, I Pavlov-ed you.” you say flatly, hoping to shake off the feeling. “That tune was one I hummed while I worked on you. I had to sit by your bedside for weeks on end, singing it helped me keep my own company. Your body associates your rise to consciousness with not me, but the consistent elements you could smell and hear. Like that nurse–”

“Don’ care. If I'm a dog, least I’ve got a master that knows what she’s doin.”

A cheeky grin stretches across his face, boyish red starting to beat away the pallor of his cheeks. You groan, the exhale tinged with a mix of relief at his recovery and exasperation at his stubbornness. "I already have a dog, and she doesn’t need a playmate.” You draw back but don’t make it very far.

The hand he’d placed at your nape turns to hot iron as it holds you in place, thick index burning into your rising pulse. His playful eyes darken with heady intensity. A look so striking it sends a violent flinch wracking through your body, settling in your core. Even if you could perfect his mind in one night, he wouldn’t leave you be. He’d keep coming back until you forgot what it was like to be without him. “Then make me your man. I can take care of ya. You’d never want for anything.” his voice goes lower and lower until it settles at a panting rumble  “I’d make you so happy.”

Your arms wobble, unsettled by the sudden change in him. “Johnny, you’ve done very well, today. Why don’t you–” He uses your lapse to slam your lips together, your teeth clack painfully against his mouth. His grip on your nape turns bruising as he switches your positions, flipping you both around until his arms could lock your body to his. One secures your arms to your sides while the other slinks around your head to press a rough finger into your mouth, pushing it open. You clamp down hoping to break more than skin, your teeth meet the unforgiving sting of metal instead. They grind painfully and uselessly against his synthetic thumb. He coos into your lips when you let out a pathetic whimper, forcing it deeper until saliva pools and spills from the side of your mouth. He chuckles running tongue along your clips, catching any spit, before unceremoniously shoving it back down your throat. Your thighs squeeze together as your tongues marry, wet and embarrassingly loud. Flashes of hot and cold surge though your core and make you squirm. Your vision blurs as he sucks and nips at your swollen lips. 

Above you, Soap grunts and shifts his hips. You find yourself moaning absently at the feel of his hard length through both your jeans’. You’re nearly consumed by him. The feel of his tongue fucking your mouth removes all your needs save for the most carnal. Then adjusts himself so he’s slotted between the curves of your ass. That first hard grind against you tears a highpitched mewl from you that mingles with the string of needy, wanton pleas falling from his mouth. His hips start to rut into your backside, the force of them knocks you out of your kiss fueled stupor. Your hips shoot off his lap, running from the sudden, direct assault on your overly sensitive clit. A long whine morphs into a frustrated growl as he chases the exquisite heat of your clothed cunt. All the air runs from your lungs as he shifts his full weight onto your back, trapping your ass between his pelvis and the hard floor. He finally breaks the kiss, removing his fingers from your mouth. Not that it matters. You can’t formulate a sentence let alone a word. The pressure on your body lightens as he braces on his knees. His hands travel up your sides possessively, tracing the backs of your arms, then your hands, and finally lacing their fingers with yours. 

“Don’ run, pretty. Don’ run from me.” He says in a whimpering tone, it’s the only warning you get before he resumes rolling his hips into you. His cock catches at a point that makes you gasp, causing him to focus his efforts as his hips pick up their frenzied pace. His sweat-slicked forehead nuzzles into the crook of your neck, stubbleed chin dragging over your skin. You feel the heat of his panting breath hit your ear. The force of each thrust pushes you into the ground and leaves you aching for more. More friction. More of him. You let out a frustrated and defeated noise. You barely recognize your own voice. Fuck it. You find yourself pushing into him before you can think better of it. The sensation of relief floods your body as you move in tandem with him. The groans that spill from his lips are threaded with pure joy and exhilaration at the small victory. Your slick has surely coated the outside of your jeans. The pressure in your gut builds as breathlessness overtakes you. Tears well in your eyes, pleasure reaching a fever pitch. They squeeze shut as bliss washes over you in waves. Your stock-still body carried through the feeling by Johnny’s uncompromising pace. When the pleasure turns to overstimulation you whimper and hazard a hazy glance at Johnny. At some point, he must’ve moved back to watch you lose your mind and any semblance of restraint along with it. Lust-darkened eyes immediately burn onto yours. And the fucker cums with your name on his lips. 

As you come down from your high, a cool wave spears through your veins. All the feelings that lust fogged sink into your bones with grim reality. The sting of bruises forming on your arms, hips, hands, and the base of your neck. The uncomfortable chafe of wet denim against the soft skin of your inner thighs. And most pressingly, embarrassingly, humiliatingly, the unerring pulse of dissatisfaction. A craving for everything he had coupled with the understanding that he’d give you exactly that. 

Without question. 

He smiles and runs his tongue across his teeth. 

“Johnny,” You say, voice hoarse but steady. His eyes flutter at the sound of his name. “You’ve done very well, today.”

He blinks. “Ah well,” His hands release yours and move to your waistband. “I do try my best.” 

Your hands clench into fists. “Take a rest.” You say through your teeth, anger spiking. His eyes sag with exhaustion. 

“...what’s…goin’...?” is all he manages before his body tips to the side and hits the floor, fast asleep. At least he had the decency not to land on you. You push up to a seated position and crawl over to the treatment table, leaning into it. The cool feeling of the metal on your forehead helps settle your thoughts. After a few steadying breaths you look over at the crumpled form of John MacTavish, resisting the urge to kick him in the ribs for sleeping so soundly. 

The clinic will open again in a few hours and the warm embrace of sleep won’t find you until you can deal with him. It was a hunch, but it looks like he still follows your commands like he did when he was in stasis. You run a hand down your face and wince at the blooming bruise on your cheekbone. The director’ll be mad at you for calling out on such short notice but you’ll have to risk it. As you close your eyes and try to decipher your next move, a familiar thought crosses your mind.

Fuck this job.

[arlestial]

hi, could i please request nagi, isagi, bachira and chigiri when they forgot a date and accidentally stood up their s/o?

❝Break me like a promise❞

synopsis : Life is sometimes difficult, keeping them busy and away from you; until it turned to take you away from them.

pairing : Nagi Seishiro, Isagi Yoichi, Bachira Meguru x genderneutral!reader •— Blue Lock

tw : angst

word count : 2000 words

author-note : Hi !! As I said before, I’ve never been aware of my requests in my ask-box so here I am writing them 1 year after they’ve been given 💀 Sorry for the long wait, hope you still like it :) Took me a lot of time to write for my food wars ask so writing for this one was not my priority at first 😭 If you want a part 2, I’ll gladly do it 🫶🏻 I’ll do Chigiri in another post !! take care of yourself ♡

ISAGI YOICHI was, once again, lost in his thoughts. Soccer was keeping him busier than he’d like admit, sometimes leading to ghosting you for one day or two - but it was rare, fortunately for you. He was the sweetest, really. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, calling you at random hours in the night “just to hear your voice”, murmuring sweet nothings with this tired, hoarse, yet, mesmerizing voice of his. And then, no news for 4 or 5 days, if you were lucky enough. Sometimes, you felt like you were too clingy, too lovey-dovey, but he immediately was shushing your words by peppered kisses on your face, between giggles and intertwined fingers. And then, no news for 5 or 7 days, if you were lucky enough. This has been going on for months, and you were slowly - and painfully - becoming tired of it. You decided to confront him, puzzled by his sudden change of behavior. Was it Blue Lock ? Or you ? Why was he so distant ? One night, you took your phone and called him, concerned, fidgeting with the hem of the oversized shirt he gave you last time he came home.

“Honey ? Hi. What’s up ?”

“Hi, Yoichi. You busy ?”

“’Need to sleep soon, we have a big training tomorrow. Why ?”

“Am I a burden to you, Yoichi ?”

Isagi frowned on the other side of the phone, looking at the screen, as if he was checking he was calling the right person.

“Wait what- you’re speaking nonsense, are you okay ?”

“I am. Do you still love me ?”

“Obviously. Why are you asking me this ? Did I do something bad ?” His voice broke a little, your heart tightening slightly.

“Yeah- I mean, no. It’s complicated. I feel like you’re avoiding me all the time. You’re here, and right after a call or a text, you’re disappearing, ghosting me afterwards. I legitimately don’t understand. Is it my fault ?”

“N-No, not at all ! Blue lock is just keeping me busy, love. You don’t need to worry.”

You don’t need to worry. You never have to worry with Isagi by your side. However, the time, you couldn’t help but feel a knot in your stomach. This weird sensation caused you to keep your mouth shut; and it was visibly concerning to the raven-haired boy.

“Love ? You’re still here ?”

“Y-Yeah, sorry. I’m just a little bit tired, that’s all. You don’t have to worry about me,”, you nervously chuckled, before murmuring a small “love you” like you always did before ending a call with your lover.

After some time overthinking your entire relationship, you decided to talk to him face to face; meaning you had to head out directly to Blue Lock buildings. The following morning, you woke-up rather early, rushing your usual routine to take a random bus, supposed to drive you to the famous quarters.

You felt the knot in your lower stomach again; sweetly palms grabbing your tote bag to keep it from falling, opening the doors of the building. You gulped as you made your way to the receptionist, asking her if you could see your boyfriend just for some minutes. She refused several times, visibly quite annoyed by your presence. After endless pleas, a woman with sort of chocolate-brown hair appeared, scolding the receptionist for “the lack of respect she showed”. She apologized and introduced herself, Anri Teieri, Jinpachi Ego’s assistant, co-director of the Blue Lock project, as she walked in the large corridors, gesturing you to follow her.

So, you did, eager to see your boyfriend, your steps and Anri's echoing on the bare walls. You finally arrived to the dorms, and Anri knocked on the door, making sure nobody was changing or something. When she was assured that the room was safe, she flashed you a smile and opened the door for you to enter. You immediatly spotted a surprised Isagi, turning his head to look at the person who entered their shared dorm. When you two made eye-contact, a huge smile appeared on his features, and he ran to you, engulfing your form with his strong arms.

"Y/N ?? Gosh, I'm so relieved to see you. I missed you so much." Several shared kisses later, Isagi promised to take you on a date the following day, saying he had Ego's permission to take a break from training. So, as he said, you waited in the restaurant he booked the day prior. Anxiety was beginning to fill your mind as you desperately stared at the front doors, hoping with your entire-being for your boyfriend to show-up. But he never did. After one hour and four pity glances from the waiters, you left, your heart heavy in your chest.

Little did you know, that Isagi was actually playing a training game against professional players. When his teammates had asked him to join them on the field, he had bit his lower lip, letting his thoughts wander between you and the human yet unreachable figures he always admired. With some sort of "fuck it, I'll deal with the consequences later" curse, he let go of his bag and hurried to the changing rooms, not realizing what decision he had just taken. But it was an occasion he couldn’t miss, right ?

And when you saw him on the screen of your phone, more precisely, with the Blue Lock broadcast channel, in his blue jersey, tossing the ball to Nagi, the knot in your stomach disapperead.

Giving way to a boiling anger. And a message on his phone, lying on the bench of the field,

10:49p.m. | y/n ♡ : guess you made your choice then.

NAGI SEISHIRO was a bit lazy. It was his personality; you loved him that way, and you weren’t going to plead him to change his lack of motivation for you. But when he refused again to go on a date with you, you had just enough. And sighing was not an option. Your arguments with him were quite rare, because Nagi always found a way to shut you up and apologize sincerely. But this time, it felt like he genuinely wasn’t understanding your point. For the nth time that night, you growled in frustration, your face in your hands. Nagi was lying on the bed, not even bothering to turn off his phone when you were talking to him. He kept humming quiet “mmh”, “yeah”, too busy with his new phone game to actually listen to you.

“Nagi, please ! I’m sick of it,”, you cursed under your breath, fists clenching in order to keep your boiling anger to yourself. You didn’t want to lash everything on him right now. “Can’t you just look at me when I’m talking to you ?”

He frowned; hearing his last name instead of the usual petname for him seemed to get him out of his thoughts.

“What ? I’m listening.”

“You’re not. You’re never listening. That’s the problem with you.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes. You crossed your arms, lifting an eyebrow, clearly not amused by his nonchalant attitude.

“Really now ? Hey, come here. I don’t know why you’re so annoying, I guess it was a long day fo-”

“The hell ?? I’m not- you are the fucking issue here, Nagi. You’re always refusing everything.. I can understand that you’d rather stay at home but at least, can you grant me some quality time ? Grant us some quality time ?”, you sharply said, trying to keep your tone as calm as possible, rubbing your temples. He turned off his phone, giving you a hard glare.

“You knew I wasn’t the romantic type of guy when you decided to date me. You did anyway, so why are you complaining ?”

“Because I don’t want to be constantly the second choice, for fucks sake ! I can deal with your hobbies, with your passions and all. I’m just asking for one moment with you without your phone, or your stupid videogames, or-”

“Okay okay, quit it, I get it. I’m sorry, baby.”, he slowly approached you, gently stroking your cheek. “I’ll make it up to you, ‘right ?”

With that, you both fell asleep cuddling. The next morning, you woke up to a cold bed; Seishiro must’ve left early in the morning with Reo to train, you thought. You stretched, used to his absence. But you were glad that he had promised you a date tonight, telling you to wait for him at home. So the day goes by, doing your own activites, a smile on your face as you wandered about what you were going to do with your boyfriend later.

But your smile quickly vanished when you saw Reo’s story on Instagram. Angry tears covering your eyes as you threw your phone on the mattress. You were sending texts to Nagi for 20 minutes now, asking him when was he going to arrive. And you discovered - much to your dismay - that he was hanging out with his Blue Lock friends, sat on a couch of what seemed to be an arcade. Apparently, he was going to enjoy a long night with his friends, considering the story caption, “stayin up all night w homies”.

4 or 5 hours later, Nagi entered your shared appartement with a yawn. He called for you through the kitchen, frowning when he noticed you weren’t answering. He quickly went to the bedroom, searching you everywhere.

And suddenly, it triggered something in him; he forgot. He forgot about you. Again.

BACHIRA MEGURU was clueless. Clumsy. It was the main issue in the relationship; sometimes, he’d act before thinking, or say things he’d regret some time later. It’d lead to arguments, sobs, quivering lips and broken sorry’s, foreheads against each other. As much as Bachira loved you, he was still the bubbly man who often forgot things. Usually, you’d have laughed, his brows furrowed until you gave him his wallet, now smiling and kissing your cheek with a thank you. It was funny, earning a chuckle from you here and there, right ? Until you were the forgotten thing waiting for him. You felt useless, insecurities eating you alive as you cursed them constantly. Looking at the calendar, a red line encircling a somewhat random date, your couple’s anniversary. Well, not so random. You prayed, over and over again, that he would remember about it. Bachira was hard to read when it came to inner feelings : you tried to drop some hints, hoping he’d reciprocate them in a kind of way.

3:21p.m. | y/n ♡ : hi, meg :) ready for tomorrow ?

- read at 3:24p.m.

3:25p.m. | meguru ♡ : hi !! for tomorrow ? wdym ?

- read at 3:26p.m.

3:28p.m. | y/n ♡ : uh

well that’s awkward

Nevermind

- read at 3:29p.m.

3:30p.m. | meguru ♡ : no wait ! Sorry, did I forgot something ?

sunshine I’m sorry :( was it important ?

Your stomach churned at the question. You bit your lip, taking a long breath.

- read at 3:33p.m.

3:34p.m. | y/n ♡ : no it wasn’t don’t worry

just an hair appointment :)

- read at 3:35p.m.

3:36p.m. | meguru ♡ : don’t forget to show me then !! I have a surprise for you too !! &lt;3

- read and liked at 3:39p.m. by y/n ♡

You felt your mood lighting up. He remembered ? Maybe he faked it from the beginning ? You smiled to yourself, now completely delusional; your brain was fully aware of it, but your heart kept hoping naively.

So when he showed up at your door the following day, you dressed up in your favorite clothes, ready to spend a day out with him. He greeted you with a hug, tilting his head to the side when he caressed your hair.

“You changed the color ?”, he questioned, perplexed.

“I canceled.”, you lied, a little too easily for your own taste, “It’d have been a waste of time, we have a lot of things today.”

“Not really, tho. It’s just a regular day, after all ! Isagi told me about a new restaurant he wanted to eat into. Want to join us ?”

“You.. Meguru, you don’t remember ?”

“About what ?”

He hummed; a smile displayed on his face . Yours quickly fade, your heart clenching. Oh. The pain was still here, even though you knew it from the very first start.

“Our anniversary. You don’t remember about our anniversary. Again.”

His smile faded at your words, faded at the sight of your wet cheeks. His mouth opened, trying to form words to express his sudden turmoil. You walked back inside your house, closing the door on a distraught Bachira. He tried to apologize. He really tried. He spammed your phone in calls, drowning you with apologies texts, but could you forget again his clumsiness ? Love is keeping a promise no matter what; and he broke it too many times for you to stay at his side.

[meowowstar]

i take it back. i dont ship zutara anymore. I dont care if you do, but so many things are weird about the ship. also, i dislike the idea of firelady Katara, why would Katara want to help run a nation. I just dont like zutara. especially with how bad a lot of the shippers are. the mischaracterization. and the babyifing and adultification of characters. especially since i saw a tweet(Its tweet and twitter. i will deadname the app) talking about a scenario where Katara is Zukos slave?? (which is romanticizing slavery)

and especially, since they turn everything aang does with katara into one of them being entitled. arguements i've seen(yes, from the past):

"sorry to all the kataang shippers out there but kataang genuinely skeeves me out like

hes 12. shes 14. thats so weird to me. thats so Gross to me. thats a sixth grader, a kid brand new to middle school or even still in elementary school depending on location/school district, and a freshman in highschool."

a 14 year old is a 8th grader. the age gap is not that big. she genuinely likes him. there was no such thing as "freshman" or "6th grade" in this era. he "It’s what I’ve always said. Creepy incels who hate women also tend to hate Zutara 🤷🏻‍♀️🍵" this is generalization. ^o^ !! its weird to call someone a name because they dont like a ship. "confirms what anti-kataang people were saying all along. It's a weird, self-inserting, kid-has-a-crush-on-minor-babysitter, dynamic that focuses only on Aang's perspective and attraction." Katara has never shown interest in being aangs babysitter or mother, nor is she his babysitter. and by making it seem this way, its actually watering down both characters. "With kataang you just have a friends (with a mother-son relationship) to lovers. That's weird... and boring if you ask me 🤷‍♀️" Katara has never shown interest in being aangs mother. nor is their dynamic that. in the fortune teller episode, Katara is blushing and asked Aang how she looked. if she is a babysitter, then i'd be concerned. considering "Aunt Wu not seeing anything about romance for Aang while she DOES see it for Katara is strange to me if we're to assume he's the man she's ought to marry, because like? Wouldnt their fates be intertwined? Which is why it's a good thing I fully don't believe she WAS talking about Aang, and this episode unintentionally serves the anti-Kataang narrative so well its not" 1. Aunt Wu also said that shes going to marry a powerful bender. now last time I checked, Zuko isnt that. 2. The avatars destiny is the same, so im guessing since most avatar destinies are the same there is nothing about romance because the avatar was made with one goal 3. Aunt Wu is only right because the person who shes telling the fortune to consumes themself to that fortune. an example is the red shoe guy. 4. Aunt Wu was wrong about the lava, sure she was right about other things but thats because the people believed the fortunes. "*enjoys seeing Aang get smacked in the face by reality that Katara is not his "forever girl", act salty and jealous about her and Zuko, and finally get called out for his flaws*" 1. Aang would never do that. 2. I think Aang would be able to handle Katara not being his forever girl. 3. which flaws? yes, he has flaws, but none of this actually is good for your arguement at all.

"#katara was practically aang's adoptive mom i mean......#she always nagged on him and yelled at him and treated him like a child#she was the mom of the group#also aang is a pubescent child.. and katara is like literally a teenager... um?#i just... dont understand why people ship this?#anti kataang#katara#also its weird because katara took care of aang and looked out for him in a motherly way and kinda him in a sense#so for them to end up together is just...... idk man yall weird#oedipus complex" 1. she never felt that way. 2. she doesnt see aang as a child but as a child. 3. 12 is literally the age when you start going through puberty??? 4. She doesn't want to look after him in a motherly way. an example, in the episode blind bandit when Toph and Katara argue because of the scams. Toph mentions to Katara that she acts like a mom DESPITE Katara being a kid like them. Katara doesn't want to be the mom friend, she doesnt want to be the mom figure, she is offended by Toph calling her motherly and when she nags the boys. its supposed to be a funny little haha. why do you guys think shows want everything to be deemed seriously?

"Katara having certain physical preferences for men, and ended with her beginning to consider Aang, who did not fit those preferences, as a romantic interest, simply because Sokka called him a powerful bender." I would like to see those preferences, also. Aang is a powerful bender(literally the avatar). i think they're talking about the fortune teller episode. "So it suggested that women should not have preferences in men. It suggested that Katara was shallow for not noticing Aang at first, and that by the end of the episode, she had “learned her lesson”. what lesson did she learn exactly?? she seemed to be happy in and out of the episode. she trusted the fortune. she also seemed to be into Jet, but she didnt like him, why? because he wasnt a good person. was she shamed for liking Jet? "you know, for a show that claims kat/aang was “planned from the start” and “in its DNA” it sure is weird that we didn’t get a single scene of them discussing the fact that they’re both the last of their respective peoples. like, it’s a significant source of trauma for both of them and yet the show not only doesn’t spare even a moment for them to bond over it" last time i checked, you're not a show writer. and also, considering they both focused on their own things they had no idea for this type of scene. "it also gives the deep-rooted emotional connection over shared trauma plotline to katara and zuko, the… *checks notes* non-canon couple who are completely, totally, 100% platonic besties :)" yeah. sometimes shows make types of scenes that are supposed to be romantic, or angsty different or add a twist or make it different. some things can be explained that the show writers clearly didnt think that much into it. some things are explained that this is a 12 year old or a 15 year old or a 16 year old. like, you do not have to like the ship. but i cannot find

"Kataang = Sparity"

yes, yes. a 15 year old and 12 year old liking each other = a young adult(the mane six are confirmed to be young adults im pretty sure or atleast teens) and a BABY dragon dating.

"You see this? This here? This pissed me right off. Where does he get off? They've been travelling around the world to help him master all the elements and the Avatar State -specifically to end the war, mind you- and and this is the first time he's thought about HOW he's going to defeat Ozai? And he's shouting at Katara, like it's her fault he waited until the night before the assignment was due to think about how he was going to do it?" he is a 12 year old stressing out after hes procrastinated. im not saying he was right, but hes also TWELVE. he is not going to be reasonable. and yes, hes probably been trying to distract himself from the fact hes about to put himself in a near life or death situation with a guy hes meeting for the first time.

"At the end of Book 3, the fandom asks Bryke what is Katara's ending (that scene from Barbie)

Katara Stans: Hey, what about Katara?

Bryke: What do you mean?

Katara Stans: Yeah, what about Katara? What does she get? What is her ending?

Bryke: Oh, that's easy. She's in love with Aang.

Kataangers: Aww

Zutarians, Single Katara & Sapphic Katara stans: No, that is not her ending.

Bryke: [grunts frustratedly] No! She's supposed to be with me- I mean Aang!"

I saw something about TSR where Aang bottled up his feelings as well. hes a pacifist monk, he forgave them. forgiving is not the same as bottling up. he doesnt want Katara to bottle up her feelings, but killing would hurt her more. "? why don’t katara and aang ever bond over similarities in their cultures?" they could've, just because it wasnt shown didnt mean it didnt happen post-avatar: the last airbender. again, this is a show for KIDS(Yes. kids. it can be interesting to adults and teens, but the target audience is little kids.) and also. Katara would leave if she wanted to, she would NOT let a man get in the way of her feelings . if she didnt share feelings, she would be able to talk about it. "Aang wouldn't understand if Katara said no!! " 1. the monks quite literally teach people respect, he would understand. 2. you think Katara wouldn't put him in his place? I though yall thought Katara was independent and should be able to do what she wants. "They don't ever address how messed up it was for Aang to kiss Katara without her consent TWICE" that is messed up. but you know how shows make another character kiss another to show their love? many shows do this. "The “Katara and Aang are both genocide survivors so they can relate to each other better” idea might hold up if, the one time Katara actually got the chance to meaningfully talk about her trauma, Aang didn’t tell her to forgive her mother’s murderer and compare her to a madman who attempted to flood a village full of innocent civilians when she pushed back" Aang compared it because the goal would be the exact same: Revenge. and, she didn't have nor did she forgive her mothers murderer, but she didnt kill him either. and also, she didn't 'meaningfully talk' about her mother to Aang, she literally just asked for appa and said she was going to go track down her mothers killer. i dont know if thats very meaningful but wtv. also someone in the comments compared how he didnt see his people get killed but Katara saw her mother get killed. and im not trying to compare trauma. both of them had traumatic past and are still trying to get over it. but Aang LOST all of his people while Katara lost a family member. not that Katara is invalid for that. "Kataras a trophy wife!!!" "Kataras a babymaking machine!!!" I swear you guys really hate actually learned about the monks. Aang would never put his hands on katara with consent(no. those kisses do not count. Katara loves her kids and was happy to have them. Katara also is not a trophy wife. this is mainly from my perspective as a kataang, so you can take this from a grain of salt. but you can dislike kataang but by making up random and false allegations you're making things worse.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 108 (New Year, New Friends...)

New Year's Day. A time of hope and renewal: this is how Heather and Conrad chose to meet the changing year. Unfortunately, a new year still meant trying new foods with Lavender was a chore, but this morning, Conrad forged ahead with a jar of peas.

Outside, Heather worked away at an easel she'd always ignored. But Ash's interest in art, and her friend Spencer's recent raves about the pastime, must have encouraged her to give the artistic outlet a try.

Before she left with Neal to return to Henford, Daisy checked in with her daughter while she painted what looked a little like an abstract olive.

"How have things been for you and Conrad lately?"

"They've been good," she said, but a hint of trepidation marked her voice. "He's still stressed, but the police detail's doing their job discreetly enough Ash hasn't noticed them - even after that prank call."

"Conrad will figure it out. Something will crack the case open. New year, new hope. Right?"

Heather nodded. "Right."

Inside, Lavender glanced up at her father with betrayal after they both learned she disliked mushy peas, so he switched to a more reliable plate of Oaty-O's - which she got all over her face, instead.

"You're a mess," he laughed, lifting her from her high chair to clean her up.

That evening, Ash returned home from San Myshuno, and he answered the door for a local boy doing a town survey for a school project. His name was Isaac Harms and he was much bigger, but Ash was outgoing, and he answered the boy's questions about local activities for kids until his parents called him inside to get ready for bed. Ash had school in the morning, and the young genius needed a good night's sleep before he returned to school with his friends on Deadgrass Isle.

(Isaac glitched out using an adult tablet totally autonomously and I wanted to share it because it's so weird, but I'm treating it as canon because he's five or six years older than Ash and I wish we could have kids who grew taller over time, or just a preteen stage. But I recently downloaded redheadsims preteen body preset so we'll see how that works out when I have sims the right age.)

In Henford-on-Bagley, Heather's sister Hazel greeted the new year alone at the Gnome's Arms. Her wife, Nicola, had gone to bed early after grading papers all night, but they'd spent most of the holidays together - and hated it. Hazel needed a night out.

Without her.

She ordered a screwdriver from the pub owner and bartender, contemplating her life as she thumbed the rim of the glass.

"Is this stool taken?"

A pretty blonde smiled when Hazel snapped out of her ennui. "No. No one's sitting there," she stammered, as the blonde held out her hand.

"My name's Suri. Suri Romeo."

"Hazel Nesbitt." (It's actually Moody-Nesbitt but oh.)

Suri glanced at her ring finger. "Is your wife here tonight?"

"No...She's sort of a homebody."

"And you're more of a...body magnet?"

Hazel nearly spit out her drink as her lips curled into a foppish grin. "You're not from around here, are you, Suri."

"I'm from San Myshuno, but my mother was from Henford and I moved here recently to learn how to be a great chef from my grandmother Clara."

Hazel perked up. "Clara Bjergsen? My parents took me and my siblings to her farm-to-table bakery after each one of our graduations. It was tradition."

Suri smiled. "I'm sorry I never met you there. I came out to stay with them and work a few summers while I decided being a chef was my calling."

Hazel laughed. A calling. Suri seemed young - twenty-one. Hazel was only 24, but at Suri's age she'd just started at the mayor's office. She was a newlywed and the rest of her life seemed so exciting. But it hadn't panned out as she imagined, and now she was here, sitting in a bar imagining what it would feel like to pin Suri against the wall and- ...She stopped herself.

"I hope this doesn't seem too forward, but I'd like to give you my number. Maybe you could show me around Henford sometime. As a friend."

Hazel smiled, and they exchanged numbers just as she spotted the local reverend and her sister's old friend, Everett Pancakes, come in from the cold. "Hey Laura! Got any leftover cottage pies for the church bake sale tomorrow?"

The bartender finished mixing a drink and smiled. "I'll give you three cottage pies if you'll also take this fish pie off my hands. I'll never say no to a Finchwick Favour, but I'll never eat one of those pies, either."

Everett laughed. "Hand it over. If nothing else, we'll feed it to the llama."

With Suri's number in her phone, what would be unhappy Hazel's next move? ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Hazel's next move will have to wait for the Cozy Celebrations posts. Originally planned them for one day on Christmas Eve, it's now three days long instead of too much at once, and starts on Sunday! We're hanging with the Nesbitt-Gordons for the rest of the week. Tomorrow is reserved for Lavender to become a toddler, and Conrad gets a phone call...

TOWNIE TREE NOTES: Sofia Bjergsen says hi! Suri's mom was actually at the Gnome's Arms this same night and I pretended she wasn't. But Suri is the daughter of Sofia and Sergio Romeo, granddaughter of Bjorn and Clara, niece of Elsa. The Bjergsens have been in the save this whole time and, until now, haven't crossed paths with the Nesbitts.

Sofia moved from Henford to San Myshuno as soon as she graduated high school but never quite made it. But she's happy, and raised three children with Sergio in an apartment in the Fashion District. She and Sergio are nearly empty nesters now, with Malachi graduating high school soon-ish; Suri is the middle child, sandwiched by brothers Camden and Malachi.

[marpiled]

my spin on nat killing ben... except it's yuri. doomed yuri. lottienat doomed yuri.

part 2 is here!

full chapters published on ao3 here!

warnings: suicidal ideations, depression, begging for death, consensual murder?? heavy angst, fluff then ur gonna cry, they like eachother, lottie matthews needs a hug. when i refer to "it" i mean wilderness. everybody is happy except lottie and nat. beginner writing— i don't know what im doing

this was suppose to be much longer but 1. idk how to write and 2. i lost motivation

started on may 29 3.38 pm

finished on may 30 4.20 pm

chapters are very short & sweet. i'm a beginner writer, bare w me

chapter 1: fate is sealed

Summer had come around how christmas would've. Slow and steady, it took its time. Winter felt as if it was years to the girls. Now that it's summer, they lay around in barely any clothing. Drama had been stirring amongst them, Melissa liked Shauna, Mari and Shauna had secret-not-so-secret beef. Either way, one thing that hasn't changed since the beginning of summer, since winter, since the crash. That being— the emptiness in Charlottes heart.

It was no secret to anybody. Lottie tried staying quiet to make herself seem more content. But she'd never be content, she knew that deep down. It was all about convincing herself that she'll make it out. Not just out the wilderness, but out her head. Out this life, I must say. Her heart was burning, yearning for something. Her nails dug into her skin subconsciously as if they were searching for meaning within her deep, thin bones. She pondered everyday if something out here was going to give her depth within something like life, something so vague. It felt as if only lighting herself on fire would make her feel seen, or make her feel something. She belonged in the wilderness, her soul was devoted to the trees where it felt as if nature developed meaning throughout their thin branches. Lottie was always told that she was extremely aware of things, and she believed it. But right now, she wished life could be on pause. Maybe even wished for it to end. Was she meant to die in the crash?

Her patience was running thin, she was running thin. If something so meaningless was still going, why not make it rest? Was it life that was meaningless, or was it her life specifically that was making life seem as if it was pointless?

chapter 2: dry locks

All the girls have been itching for something to do, and daily tasks have been finished since forever ago. The annual tag game has come back just in time, alongside summer. They had to do something to keep their soccer skills up, right?

But as usual, Lottie didn't join. Wasn't really her thing, so she decided to stay with Nat in one of the huts.

Nat dug her shoes into the ground, wiping sweat off her forehead. Lottie came around the entrance, opening her mouth as if she was about to say something, hesitating before sitting next to her.

"Quite a chaotic day, huh?"

Natalie giggled, having a smirk cornered on her lip as she nodded. "Too much moving for a day this hot." She put her legs against her chest.

"Can I ask you something weird?" Lottie turns her head to Natalie, who quickly nods. "Yeah, of course." They make eye contact before Natalie looks at her shoes moving through the dirt.

"Do you ever.." Lottie takes a pause. The silence almost made Natalie die inside.

"Do you ever think about what would have happened if I.." She quickly corrects herself,

"Well, If you or me died in the crash. You know, instead of adapting to all this.. wilderness..?"

"Uhh. Depends. Do you?

Do you think about it, I mean." Nat questions, Lottie instantly sighs after.

"I mean, do we want to be alive? Think about it. Our home lives aren't any better than how we are doing here."

Natalie groans.

"I love you, you know that I love you Lot. But i'm not dealing with this bullshit right now."

She stands up abruptly, dusting off her knees before walking out.

Charlotte hummed, trying to silence the thoughts in her head. She lets out a faint whisper,

"Lottie, oh. That's not."

She sighs, her hands instantly fidgeting with her dull hair.

So much unspoken words, and she can't even blame it on time. The clock isn't even ticking, time is all we have. That is, if we are excluding lottie. She doesn't have much time.

chapter 3: echoing branches

Asking for things wasn't something very easy for Charlotte. She'd always find a way to get what'd she want, even if it meant not saying a single word. But ever since they got into the wilderness, it has taken a lot of communication. Communication, something that always seemed so natural to everybody but so forced when it came to Lottie.

Mari was missing ever since the fight with her and Shauna last night. Maybe it was a technique of some sort? Who knows. Natalie commanded everybody to go on a search for her. Tai and Van start to scurry off before Natalie stops them . . .

"Hey, um." Natalie clicks her tongue awkwardly, "Can I come search with you guys?" Natalie adds. Van looks at Tai, searching for her answer.

Tai nods, smiling. "Yeah, of course."

Lottie steps forward, her hands tangled within eachother.

"I need Natalie for... just a bit." Lotties voice seemed to echo for a second, Vans eyebrow raised before Tai nodded suspiciously. So Tai and Van went off, leaving Nat And Lottie alone.

"What?" Natalie asked, turning to look at Lottie.

"Just follow me, I won't hurt you."

And so they went into the depths of the trees, the thin branches from earlier suddenly feel thick. The air feels thick, everything but her bones are thick with blood. Lottie yearns for blood, the blood being her own . . .

chapter 4: i love you, you know i love you.

Natalie follows behind Lottie into the cave. They settle down.

Lottie sets down the lantern next to her and puts her legs against her chest while tampering with her dress seems.

"I can't keep doing this, Nat." She spits out, her voice shaking.

"Do what?" Natalie questions, looking at her.

"This. I can't bear being in my mind any longer. This is.. This is torture." Lottie suddenly reaches for something folded in her many layers.

"Lot?" Natalie stands up quickly, her voice becoming alert. "What are you doing."

Lottie reaches out her hands, tilting her head.

"I love you. You know I love you, I'm not gonna hurt you." Her voice steady.

"I won't hurt myself either.

You'll hurt me." Her voice quickly transitions to something so simple yet intense. That sums up Charlotte, she was underwhelming but so overwhelming at the same time. She wasn't meant to be this major.

"You need to kill me." Lottie mumbles.

"Please." She begs.

Natalie, bewildered.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I feel my fate has closed already. I don't belong here, Nat." A tear rolled down her cheek.

"But you're right. We don't belong here, we are going to make it out." Natalie fidgets with her tangled hands. "I promise."

"I don't belong anywhere. I belong to It.

But It doesn't need me anymore." Lottie swallowed, her words instantly falling down her throat.

"I don't give a shit about It. I need you, Lottie." Nat spits out, her words contradicting from her actions.

Lottie exhaled— "What?" She whispered.

Natalie suddenly leaned in, holding Lottie's harsh hips before gently kissing her lips. Gentle was all Lottie needed. Natalie's warm yet harsh lips soothed something in Lottie.

Natalie tipped her head back, letting Lottie's loose hips go.

Lottie's tense, shaky fingers slowly handed Natalie the knife.

"Natalie, It needs you to do this." She murmurs.

Natalie's breath shortens. She looks down at the knife, her breath hitches.

"I can't do this to you, Lot."

Natalie's voice echoes throughout the empty cave. Everything seemed to be hollow. Their

heads, the cave, the trees.

"I love you.

Do you love me?" Lottie whispers, and Natalie nods.

"Please." Lottie mumbles under her breath, trying to hide the tears.

Natalie takes the knife, she hugs Lottie.

"I'm sorry." Natalie spits out with a shaky breath. "Do you want this?"

Lottie confirms— "It's all I've ever wanted.

It's what It wants, Nat."

"I love you." Natalie mumbles before stabbing the knife through her heart. Her hand goes to almost try to help Lottie, but Charlotte quickly denies the help.

"Thank you, Nat."

Nat hugs Lottie.

"Thank you for providing warmth to my cold corpse."

Charlottes eyes shut, and Natalie's eyes open wide.

"Oh, Lot. What have I done?"

She moves the hair that was stuck off Charlottes forehead, before leaving a kiss on it. She holds her cold hand for a second before dropping the knife onto the cold, hard floor of the cave.

She lays her head onto Lottie's chest.

Her fate has closed.

This is what It wanted.

But was "It" just Charlotte?

[edmarienism]

Some thoughts about Edvin's insane behaviour

now that I'm able to think a bit more rationally I'm realising just HOW insane edvin's thought process is lol.

he took a huge step back from the fandom and social media. he likes his privacy. he doesn't like his sexuality to be talked about. he wanted to calm down the shippers and to protect his gf from getting hated on even more. this was his entire agenda the past year.

(smart people like us on this blog who know the truth have connected the dots in a way in which we know that one reason for why he overcompensated and over exaggerated his behaviour with turtle soo much is because he was very hurt after the hookup and wanted to act like he completely moved on).

and he knows how insecure and jealous turtle is about the shippers.

so now he....

flies to London a day after his bday without his gf after spending his bday together with MJ and his gf at some random film premiere??? also 2 days before he denied going to o's concerts at the qx gala.

he must've dmed Omar's team days/weeks prior asking them if he's allowed to come on stage to surprise Omar??

and then.. he acts so insanely GAY and IN LOVE as hell on stage. going WAY WAY overboard.

he could've just chosen to attend the concert like he did at cirkus... being very supportive but secluded. or he could've chosen to surprise Omar during Simon's song bc yes the song fits them both of course... but that still doesn't explain all of THAT.

but he knows what this would look like? he knows the reaction this would cause??? how the shippers will go insane? how his gf will go insane??

of course he could also be in London for a work thing or something. but there's nothing that explains behaviour as irrational as this lol

another realistic explanation is that he only planned to stay on the balcony and then spontaneously got talked into coming on stage by omar's team. seems very realistic. but still doesn't explain them acting like this.

some brainless haters will now bring up the arguments that "e is hungry for fame" or that this is all "omr beauty promo". but I hope everyone can agree that these arguments seem very weak and absolutely do not explain the depth of such insane behaviour.

now other people are already claiming that both edvin and turtle stole their stories from the movie premiere from edvin's bday from someone else? and weren't acc there?... seems very weird. but smth to keep in mind maybe.

Edmar are both great actors. but neither of them can fake something like this.

In conclusion:

no straight guy with "no feelings" acts like this. there's no logical explanation for someone to behave like this. the only explanation is when your feelings are so strong and you're so head over heels for a person that you fail to think your actions through. and this is what's happening to Edvin. if I were turtle I would genuinely be very mad, it feels like disrespectful to her. lol. obviously I personally love this behaviour from him :)

about Omar's behaviour I can only say one thing: he's absolutely down bad and can't hide it LOL.

[mocca-and-stars]

Roomies

Hwang Yeji x Male Reader

Yeji it's a weird kind of roomie... She isn't a bad company, but most of the time it's like she isn't there, you don't hear her walk, or eat, or anything, she usually gets in his room and you don't hear anything about her, you don't have a idea of what she can be doing, and also, she is a good girl... But for the little things you knows, it's your dream girl, you are usually the one who cook's, and you have no problem with it, you always make sure to make food for her, and you knew that she alway eat, because in the morning nothing lefts.

Your life usually is University-Home, you don't go so much to parties and celebrations, but you usually go out to rest in parks, you have a favorite one.

One day you planned an outing to the park, and you go to Yeji's room to advice her that you going out.

You opened his door, and you get surprised, she was crying, so bad, you didn't know what to do, she looked at you, lost, but she didn't seem disgusted or upset, so you tried sitting on her bed.

—Hey— you tried softly —what's happening princess—, "that sounded stupid" you thinked for yourself, she didn't response at all, but she changed his look, like she felt... Aroused? But know she smiles a little, you did something good.

She take his time, but she responded —I'm tired, I'm in this shitty situation, training and giving everything of me, but still not being enough for the people around me— you thinked your response, but after a deep breath, you finally close your eyes and tell her —i see, you have fear of deception, and reject, but instead of that, maybe you should get round by people who really appreciate who you are— her eyes are glowing, you can see it clearly.

You helped her to get up —Let's go, i will take you to a special place— she nodded, of course, you don't know what are you doing, your friends will kill you, but who cares? You are about to taking in a date a sexy girl who was your roomie for like three years and you barely talked to each other.

You get to a "secret" cafeteria, usually there are only 2 o 3 guys, and you bring her there, because there is where you go when the world is consuming you.

You two asked for a coffee and talked for HOURS all the time you didn't talked in the shared place you talked there, now you are sure that she is your dream girl.

How could you complain if she looks like that? You two go back to the shared place, everything felt better, like always has to be like that, you two were taking hands, you feel incredible, for the first time in years you were with a women, and THE women, before you two entered to the house she stopped you.

—Thank you— she said —but now we aren't roomies anymore— you didn't understand what she mean, but she responded your doubt with the best thing you could ever imagine, she is kissing you, right now, in this moment, your roomie is kissing you and it felt so right, you loved her, that's for sure.

For a moment you think maybe it's too soon to think about sleep with her, but in the next moment she was on top of you, on his bed.

She took out his white sweater, that was crazy enough to block any thought in your mind, you taked out your t-shirt, response, she was professionally mounting you, his hips were devouring devouring your hardened she, you desired her, but not only in the sexual way, you wanted to make her yours, and also to belong to her, so you grabbed his hips, to catch his lips in a passionate kiss, finally decided to remove his pants.

When both of you are only in underwear, the things were heating up even more, you reach her breasts without the need of asking, in the moment that she doesn't hesitate, you knew that she was trusting in you, you played with her breasts until she almost beg you to stop —Please...— was the only plea you need to hear to remove her bra, and look to her hardened nipples, she blushed a little, but your were too sure to stop, your mouth taked the pace, she taste so good, and her cute moans wasn't helping at all.

While you were eating her nipples, she was touching herself, you felt a little bit angry, and taked her wrist to pin her against the bed, she was in love with your form of dominance, of course if you will restrain her self pleasure, you will have to take care of that, you slide through his panties, you just looked at her, waiting for confirmation, after a nod, you got that pretty girl naked for you, that dream girl was begging for you, for your touch, for your love.

You slide between her legs, you eated her so well, his pussy was so perfect, it tasted so good that only motivated even more to make a better job, see her moaning and happy was the only thing you needed.

When she felt confident enough she regained control to take out your underwear, and suddenly start to suck your cock, maybe you wasn't THAT big, but she look happy, and that's was everything, enough for both of you.

Then you take her to get in missionary, everything it's ready, it's the perfect moment.

Slowly you get inside of her, she hugged you from the neck, moan and squirms made you go slowly, until you filled her, completely, she was so relieved and relaxed, pounding her slowly she started to moan, as you move, you start to play with her clit, after some messy minutes, both of you finally came, ending your rommie relationship ship to get a lover, a couple and everything that you needed.

[fox-bright]

Rage Cheesecake with Oreo Crust, Whipped Chocolate Ganache Frosting, and Home-Grown Tart Cherry Topping

I took recipe-bits from all over and changed them into something that sounded more like what I wanted, so here's what I did today instead of committing a felony!

RECIPE BEHIND CUT

Oreo crust part:

* 25 Oreos

* 5 tablespoons of melted butter

* Pan--pie pan or springform, depending on how deep a cheesecake you want. This makes a nice, not-too-deep cheesecake in a nine-inch springform; it would be Too Much Filling in a pie pan, which would mean you have extra, and that's always fun too. An eight-inch springform is probably perfect.

1. Preheat oven to 350.

2. You may eat TWO OREOS. Crush the remainder. I have the best time with this when I use a food processor, but if you are *particularly* spirited today, this is a good place to take out some aggression. Just pulverize the things, filling and all, until they are all reduced to the consistency of sand.

3. Add melted butter and mix until it's like *wet* sand.

4. Put buttery chocolate sand into your chosen cooking dish. I use a little jar and push push push pat pat pat until it's all nice and level from the center of the dish to the edge and has no holes.

5. Bake for eight to twelve minutes. You want it to still look a little moist. Do not overcook!

6. Remove from oven and let cool. Don't move the pan around too much before it's cool or you risk fracturing the crust.

Cheesecake part:

* Two packages of cream cheese, room temperature unless you like cream cheese chunks in your cheesecake. No judgment, some people are into that.

* 2/3C white sugar

* 3 eggs

* 3 cups of sour cream (this is a very moist cheesecake!)

* Vanilla to taste

1. Preheat oven to 325F, that's 25 degrees LOWER than for the crust.

2. Cream sugar and cream cheese until smooth.

3. Add eggs, one at a time, mix until just blended.

4. Add all sour cream and vanilla, mix until just homogenous. Don't overmix or you get weird dry pillowy stuff instead of nice dense cheesecake.

5. Cook in prepared crust for approximately 50 minutes, until it's set at the edges but a little jiggly yet in the middle.

Note: Properly you'd do this in a bain marie, but I don't have one, so I wrap the bottom of my springform pan in aluminum foil and set the whole kit and kaboodle into a sturdy cookie sheet, put all that into the preheated oven, and pour water into the cookie sheet once it's safely on the oven rack. If the cheesecake starts to overcook on the top before the center is set, cover it with aluminum foil.

6. Remove from oven; let rest in bain marie/rigged pan for ten minutes before removing springform pan to clean towel. Let rest *there* until it's cool enough to put in the fridge. Cover and chill for two to four hours.

Cherry topping part:

* Sour cherries that have been frozen since last year, or a bag of cherries, or fresh cherries, whichever, approximately 4.5 cups which is too many for just this cheesecake but it's nice to have around anyway

* Granulated sugar to taste

* Corn starch

Or just pick up a can or two of cherry pie filling, in which case you can skip this whole step.

1. Defrost cherries. If you don't do this in a pot, there's a good chance that they will leak precious juice all over your clean counter. Don't be me; thaw that stuff in the pot you'll heat it in.

2. Once they're not a singular ice block but instead a bunch of big ice chunks, turn the temperature on low, maybe around a 2.

3. Once the cherries are separate from each other, add sugar to taste. This changes a lot depending on your cherries' tartness; I eventually used nearly two cups of sugar for around 4.5 cups of cherries. Usually I'd use a good bit less, but they're very tart this time.

4. Cook and cook and cook until the liquid is reduced by about a third.

5. Add corn starch. For those measurements I added about a tablespoon and a half. Remember to make it a slurry before pouring it into the pot; you can either do this with a little water, or you can spoon out some of the cherry syrup (don't burn yourself!), mix that into a little bowl along with the corn starch, and then pour it all into the pot. Bring back to a good bubble for four or five minutes, then remove from heat and allow to come to room temperature.

Whipped chocolate ganache part:

* 1 part heavy cream to 1 part chocolate (I just use Toll House. Everyone says not to do that. It's been fine).

1. Put the chocolate in a heatproof bowl.

2. Warm the cream on the stove until it's juuuust about to start bubbling. Stir frequently so it doesn't get a skin.

3. Remove from heat, pour into heatproof bowl over the chocolate.

4. WALK AWAY. I'm serious. Don't touch it. Don't poke at it. Do not, do NOT, attempt to stir it. Walk away.

5. After five minutes, come back and stir, stir, until it's all one thing. It should be like a very good, very thick chocolate syrup. You *can* just eat this, with a spoon. You can pour it over a cake, or dip strawberries in it. Chilled right as it is, it is a dessert on its own.

6. Let it cool to room temperature.

7. Come back and use your hand mixer or stand mixer to whip it up. This should get to a pipeable consistency; if it doesn't, you may need to incorporate powdered sugar. If you add butter and powdered sugar, you'll get a very stable buttercream.

Finishing part:

1. Remove springform edge from nice cold cheesecake.

2. Pipe or dollop whipped ganache in ring atop the cheesecake.

3. Fill the ring with cooled cherry filling.

4. Garnish further if you'd like. I used decorative Sixlets and some more crushed Oreo.

5. Finished!

[krakenbait]

bragging rights bracket update #2

hello hello bracketeers!

the nhl bracket app was having a stronk when i was trying to get the updated rankings last night. i bet if someone took a close look at the code on that thing there would literally be a hamster on a wheel running it.

anyway, we had another three eliminations yesterday. luckily for a good chunk of participants (including me), the avs forced a game 7, so they are not included. first, vegas knocked out minnesota, bringing an end to the wonderful, prank-filled career of marc-andre fleury. then the toronto maple leafs claimed victory in the battle of ontario over the senators. lastly, the la kings fell victim to their old nemesis the edmonton oilers once more.

commentary, as always, is under the cut. once again, if i don't know which bracket belongs to you, just leave a comment or message me or something. it's more fun when i can make my roasts personal :)

75 points

ki's confusion - i feel like you always take an early lead but usually end up just off the podium... tbd if history repeats itself.

66 points

djoker's bracket - add one more 6 and it's a solid score for a devils fan

59 points

Do It For Stromer ( @stromesquad) - happy month of may

56 points

here we go again :| ( @morganfrost) - you're the only one in this year's pool to pick the oilers all the way. it's either brilliant or extremely dumb.

53 points

jt's kombucha tap ( @assistantcaptainmitchmarner) - huh, guess the amulet does protect against first round exits. maybe the la kings should look into that.

50 points

witchmarner ( @connordewar) - 🎵 there's an axolotl on the pink stairs

@builthebobder's bracket - 🎵 is an axolotl supposed to be there

@andreisvechnikov's bracket - 🎵 if you ask an axolotl if they'll be back tomorrow

49 points

MLE's bracket - 🎵 a penguin waddles in and then the axolotl's gone

define insanity ( @tavaresfucker) - and you're all welcome for getting that stuck in your head now!

43 points

the mcstrome agenda - if i had a nickel for every dylan strome bracket here, i'd have two nickels. which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice.

abeja's bracket - kings sweeping the oilers was a bold choice. LA has lost to edmonton in the first round in four consecutive years now.

40 points

Baracket ( @donnorcewar) - wild to the cup finals was... a choice.

33 points

nat 2 serious ( @natashastarkk) - where were the cab-o-reras?

NewJerseyNates ( @puck--off) - *scribble scribble scribble* CAPYBARAS!

Carpe_history's bracket

that's on you for trusting the minnesota mild. sad to see fleury go!

so that's a nope ( @shea-theodore) - partial nope? you're at 50% accuracy right now.

Infinite Jets - the rangers didn't make the playoffs, that's insult enough.

ottawa state of mind ( @arsonandhockey)

you talked a big game but still busted in the first round. it appears working for a hockey team does not improve your brag-cket chances.

30 points

i want this. yes. - you are one game 7 away from deep trouble.

23 points

deepest desire - bad sandwiches, neurotic girlfriends, no longer for this man!

one lost bruins fan ( @patron-saint-of-boston-hockey) - theoretically i could bring back out the fleury stab picture, but for entirely different reasons

20 points

brackeT, t stylez ( @imperatorrrrr) - you're doing much better in music league than the brag-cket

several "hey"s later (me) - there's a reason i'm a women's hockey insider.

13 points

Blasphemy! Heresy! ( @circle--of--confusion) - how's the weather down here?

[ichorblossoms]

honeybee year two recap

it's 4/20. it's easter. it's a friend's birthday. and on top of all that today also marks two years since grimm and yarrow appeared damn near fully formed in my brain, took up residence, and still have not left. and i feel like rambling about what all i've been compelled to do

(year one recap post here btw)

but also before you go under the cut i made a whole entire animatic so look at that too tee hee :3c

okay also before i get into little details and stats and stuff i just wanna give a HUGE thank you to everyone who follows this blog and is cheering me and this story on it genuinely means so much to me that people like what i'm doing and are in some way invested in it! what the hell!! it's such a treat to be able to talk about ocs with friends and all that :,,,>

art

well. i drew them a lot. serena for reference bc she's my oldest oc. also a year ago grimm and yarrow were at 61 and 51 images respectively. art fight stuff and gifts count towards this total so it's not all my own stuff but. it's fucking dire

as for some of my favorites i liked how these in particular turned out hehe

also those short animations but those are gonna copypaste weird

they got proper ref sheets!

i'm currently on my. fifth sketch/artwork file (blank one is the current one i'm just weird abt how i save things)

mailed out prints of them!!!! and internationally!!!! my silly little cowboys are out and about in the world what the hell..........

getting more comfortable drawing Adult stuff of them but i have a lot of other ideas competing for my focus at any given time so it's not a priority dghkldfh

comics! not as fruitful as last year but i've done....eight! whole comic pages of them! tbh i have more in the works either thumbnailed or half-sketched but the animatic took over my last little while so. not as many comics

sorry i'm gonna mention that fucking animatic again bc i have never done anything like that before. dunno if/when i'll do another but ! i made one !!

story/writing

i also made a 50-slide powerpoint about what the fuck is going on in honeybee. just like in general. feel free to look at it btw

also i gave that presentation to friends a total of. three times. they willingly opened that can of worms though idk

i got a physical notebook to tease out plot shit in and that's about....halfway full already? like at least fifty handwritten full pages of thoughts in that fucker. this is where i do most of my hooting and hollering about ideas

the first draft is currently up to 83k words !! which means i wrote nearly ~50k words this past year !

started sharing my writing for occasional wip wednesdays !! i'm still pretty picky about what i share and also just like. very aware i'm still a pretty amateur writer hdgkldf

that being said, writing feels a lot easier now than when i started !!

made some posts sharing details about things! but honestly i still struggle with talking about oc stuff unprompted even when This Is My Blog Where I Do That

some story developments i figured out this past year or so: grimm backstory stuff, yarrow kills at least two people before p3, the beginning of all three parts have been reworked or are in the process of it, p3 has more meat and direction (still fizzles out to disjointed scenes at another point, but that's a matter of writing things out), yarrow actually realizes grimm's humod when they first meet but grimm thinks it's hiding it, rappock's mining union is going to play a larger role in p1/2, grimm's run out of town in p1 bc of money, not the killing, grimm's p1 client is who hunts it down at the end of p2, lucy comes into play later in p3 than i first imagined

other stuff

i've been getting more tags where ppl recognize grimm n yarrow and i'm like?? bewildered by that? people know my fellas?

goals/plans

as it is right now, honeybee is a passion project. i mostly work on it in my free time outside of my work hours and that's probably how it's going to be for the forseeable future

with how large of an undertaking this story is, my sssort of plan is to: write out the first draft (i am here) which is organized chronologically, write the second draft in the actual story order, have people beta read that draft, edit the story accordingly, then begin the process of actually making the final story with illustrations and all. this will take me several years even without getting sidetracked

that being said i would like to get the first draft to 100k words by the end of the year, which seems pretty plausible!! reachign for the stars goal is finish the first draft within the next year but i'm not holding myself to that one

also wanna do more comic stuff this next year. like i said i have a few other ideas but also there's some illustration stuff cooking away too

my plan honestly is just to keep consistently working on things as they interest me. i want to see this story realized how i envision it, but i truly do not know what the next year has in store for me so! i continue to ball