#who simply needed to put a little more effort into standing right

[fatal-blow]

sometimes i really don't think we've fully absorbed the realization that humans are animals. we keep trying to find new and spectacular ways to delineate between us and them, even as we try to deconstruct the beliefs of past western science

first we were put above other animals, who in the name of science were declared nothing more than organic automatons devoid of personality. today we know this isn't true, that every animal is the culmination of billions of years of chance and choices, and then a lifetime of experience to fine tune the rest.

so the discussion moved to the question: why are we different? breaking ourselves down to try to separate out the True Human Experience. we have tools--but so do other animals. we build homes and cities--likes termites and coral. we are intelligent--but then, what even is intelligence? we have culture--and yet again, so do other animals.

so we venture in vain to other traits. humans must be uniquely violent, destructive, upheaving the ecosystems of the world in a way no other creature has

but hundreds of millions of years ago, photosynthesis evolved and spurred one of the worst extinctions earth has ever seen. a species can encounter a new habitat and spread like wildfire, sometimes as destructive as one as well.

so surely our systems and our hierarchies set us apart in their depth and complexity. but it's myopic, naive even to think that other creatures don't form their own complexities outside our purview. we see our complexity because we are born and raised in it, but it's hardly what makes us different.

and in this journey to find out what makes us so different, instead we've found out the many ways that we are similar. the way our brains are similar to those of other mammals, how our bodies are all stretched out from the same general base tweaked and formed over an inconceivable number of generations. how the further we trace ourselves back, the more and more animals we share ancestors with.

i don't know where I'm going with all this. i think im frustrated with our medicine, how so much of it is grounded not in biology but in our own culture.

when we see a human not performing well, we call them lazy. when it's an animal, then something must be wrong. we understand the physiology of other animals and treat them within those bounds, yet despite what we know about the human body the way we discuss it seems frustrstingly disconnected.

maybe it's because we can talk to each other and so we assume that we can verbalize the problems we're experiencing, but language is a dismal thing to base healthcare on when most of us don't even use the same words to describe things. it's a subjective, moving target, and it assumes that the patient themself knows what's wrong. we rely too much on the ability of a patient to describe what they are experiencing, and not enough on observations of their behaviour.

my dad's shoulder hurts. he dislocated it a while ago, and it never stopped bothering him. but when i watch him he holds both shoulders forward and tense. slouching has for a long time been deemed lazy and improper, but it doesn't line up--the way my father strives for a healthy, active body but can never seem to make it work. the way he loves to be active, the way he wants to exercise, to walk and run, but it seems no matter how hard he tries he can't.

he told me his shoulder hurts, but the more i watched the more i saw that he doesn't move with the relaxed, easy movements that a man who's as active as he is should be. a human is an animal that loves to walk, and in many ways we've developed anatomy to this end, from the balanced efficiency of our bipedal forms to the way we utilize momentum as the driving force of our movement. we have science that says all this, so why does this not seem to hold true for some people? and why are we looking at them and calling them lazy? why aren't we looking for something gone awry, like the way we would a dog with a limp? we wouldn't blame the dog for not standing up the way a dog should, so why does this not hold true for humans?

[dcxdpdabbles]

Could you do more cave boy Danny please? I really wanna see what you have in mind for the direction you want the prompt to take 👻

The first thing that registers for Danny is the flouting feeling that he often relates to flying. To him, it always felt like being in the water, perfectly balanced with his arms and legs spread out, letting himself be weightless and left up instead of fighting gravity.

He allows himself to be taken by the sensation. It's not often he can fly just for enjoyment, especially in recent months. The Waynes were far too observant.

It is only when he tries to move into a more comfortable position that he notices the restraint.

Unlike in the water, he does not move slightly up and down with waves so he knows he's not flying in his ghost form. There is nothing that ever hinders him, even if slightly.

This is a different sense of flying.

It's caused by medication.

Danny's eyes snap open, fearing men in white suits, and instead gets a teenager in black and red-leaning his head into his hands. There are no restraints or a containment pod, instead, there are soft warm blankets and a large bed.

There are beeps from machines and a tube inside his arm, tapped to the top of his elbow. He's not sure what is in it but he hopes it to help with his pain and not to....see what his DNA is made of or something.

Thoughts are....hard right now. Like trying to grasp sand but it only slips through his fingers. He is aware but not. Did someone steal his brain? He is usually a much better thinker.

"Brucie!" The red and black teenager grasps, throwing his head up. Danny squints at him, wondering if his black wings are alright. They didn't explain or even react to his movement.

Danny should contact Frostbite. His Yeti can fix up those right up.

"It's a cape" The other laughs but his voice is soft with sadness. Danny squints at him trying to pinpoint why he would be so sad. It might be because he hasn't shifted into a butterfly yet.

"I'm not a butterfly." The other laughs a little more amused.

Danny's eyes widened. Was the teenager a mind reader? That's a scary thought. What if he learned all of Danny's secrets?

"Brucie....who's Danny?"

Nah, Danny wasn't risking it. He was going back to sleep. He had to escape into his dreams that way they would be just as confused by them as he was. He chuckles to himself, knowing that they won't know what to do against the giant green dog that guarded his dreams.

"Goodnight Brucie. Enjoy your green dog"

________________________________________________

Hours later Danny wakes up again but this time he is much more lucid. He glances around the room, eyes flickering over the machine and wires attached to him with little care.

He can recognize the room the Waynes gave him with ease. Everything from the posters he had put up in an attempt to look like an average teenager- even if he did only put up posters of Batman and his crew- to the random nick-nacks he left behind in his escape.

It was a bit bare from when he took everything but it's still the room he called home for a while.

How in the world did he get back to Wayne Manor?

Danny needs to get out now.

Standing up on uneasy legs, he rips out the wires as fast as he can, uncaring of the loud alarms that ring the moment he does. He rushes for the door, vision blurry, having to force all of his will into getting one step and then another.

Danny is forced to take small pauses every now and then because his body simply can't handle moving too fast. His legs shake from the effort it takes to keep him up right but he pushes through anyway.

It's only when he manages to get to the door that he remembers his powers. Danny flexes his abs into a clench that he had come to associate with activating his powers. For a brief second, twin rings of light appear, but they only move z few centimeters before flickering out of sight.

It feels like all his energy fades with with.

Panting, he slides to the floor, his limbs feeling like lead and his head swimming with fog. His head falls to the side slightly, but he can see that the door is right in front of him.

Danny tries to reach for it but all that does is cause him to tumble over. There is a dull ache on his chin and chest, as he lays there on the ground breathing heavily, and small black dots start to appear in his vision.

He is likely going to pass out soon from his core's backlash. Danny can't afford that. Not until he's safely away from the Manor and back in his cave.

How in the world did he even get out of his cave? How did he end up here?

All questions he'll have to answer later.

Planting his forearms before himself and pushing one leg slightly to the side, Danny lifts himself up. He lets his legs relax, making sure they don't drag behind him, as he shifts one arm forward and then another, crawling towards the door in the army crawl his mom should him.

He makes it to the door in what feels like hours but is probably seconds. His hands reach upward to launch onto the door handle with all his strength. to heave it open.

There is a moment of pure unadulterated joy that he was able to get this far when Danny encounters a slight problem. There is a force field right inside the doorway.

He figures this out when he slams into an invisible wall. A startled yelp is ripped from his throat as he stumbles back, blinking owlishly at the flickering force field light that gleams and ripples mockingly at him.

For half a second, he thinks that one of his siblings had pranked him by putting up plastic wrap to have him walk into it.

Except for the man in a brown trench coat who is staring down at him with an open mouth.

"Brucie!" Bruce shouts pushing the stranger out of the way to kneel down. "What happened?"

"He activated my wares to keep out spirits....or in this case keep them in?" Trench coat is staring at Danny with a strange expression. It seems like a cross between intrigued and weary. "What are you?"

"I already told you, this is my counterpart from a different universe," Bruce says helping Danny into a sitting position. "We confirmed it the first night he was here. Both DNA and our multi-universal tests came back positive."

"Batty, I highly doubt you have the technology to test for dimension travelers-"

"I do. I used it on every Flash I have ever come across, every time I see them."

"......I know I call you batty but honestly Batty that's alarming."

Danny's eyes flicker between them before he activates his intangibility. It's an ability that doesn't require his full form, however just as he's starting to slip through Bruce's fingers his legs slam against a similar field just a few inches from the floor.

His knees pop loudly and Danny screeches.

"Brucie!"

"Yeah, I wouldn't do that. My wards are all around us. I put them up after finding your cave drenched in otherworld energy. Figured I was protecting you not capturing you."

Danny's yanks his legs up, trying to crawl away from the man. Bruce throws an arm in front of him and Danny foolishly presses himself into the older man's back, trying to shield away from the very alarmingly competent Ghost Hunter.

"You leave him alone. He is not a threat. He is just a civilian boy who happens to be a meta" Bruce's voice is low and dangerous. Danny has never heard him speak like that, even while dressed as Batman.

"Batty, whatever that is, it is certainly not a civilian let alone a boy. The amount of will it took just to keep my wards up by him hitting against them by accident is nothing to sneeze at." Trench Coat insists, pulling out a stone with a strange marking on it. Danny squints at the symbols and then gasps when he recognizes them.

ᛙᛁ⸜⸍ˎ⸜ᛍ╵╮ˎ◟ᛍ╵

It's Fenton Works spelled out in runes, medieval runes to be exact. Danny knows because Jazz and he had a bonding phase where they translated the family name and business. They would carve the symbols into hundreds of wood plates, to bond with their aunt.

"Yeah, even the Witch Boy flinched at this seal." The man smirks, holding out the plat as if he were warding off a spirit. Danny cowers more behind Bruce."You have no idea what I had to trade to get this"

"What the hell are you doing?" Tim's voice cuts through the tension. He is standing in the doorway, arms crossed and face dark. Behind him are the rest of the Waynes. None of them are looking friendly.

"Constantine." Bruce growls. "You are on thin ice. Backdown. Now".

"Not to be disrespectful Batty, but that thing is-"

"His name is Bruce Wayne, You will do well to remember it. " Damian cuts in. The blond man holding- his own carving?- tilts his head.

"But that's not your name is it?" He asks Danny, who swallows. He presses closer to Bruce and watches the Waynes slowly circle Constantine. It's obvious they are about to jump him and Danny-

Danny realized that he may have tried to run but that obviously wasn't going to work. He couldn't hide either, because they found him.

He needed to come clean.

"Wait." He says, his voice stilling the room in a way that only those with complete control. He scoots to the right leaving Bruce's protection. "Wait. He's right. I'm not Bruce Wayne. My name is Danny Fenton. I've been lying to you all. I'm sorry."

"Fenton?" Constantine repeats confused but he doesn't get to continue because Bruce pulls him back behind him.

"You aren't lying. We knew you had a different name, you're still my counterpart."

What.

"Yeah Danny, we kind of knew from day one that you were a version of Bruce even if it was under a different name" Dick laughs. "You told Tim your real name a few days ago as well as your universe coordinates. We already confirmed its location and Tim is working on a ship for you."

What

"We knew. You Bruce." Cass says looking right at Danny. "We since the day we found you."

That's....not right at all.

"No. I'm Danny Fenton. I'm not a version of Bruce. I can prove it!" He shouts, throwing his hand on Bruce's back. He makes his core glow, knowing no two people could ever have the same one unless they are variants of timelines.

That's why Dani's core won't glow with him but Dan will.

Constantine nods his head "A core glow test. That will prove that you aren't Bruce and are something that's pretending to be him. Claiming to be part of the King's family is also a bold claim."

"Look ma I never claim to be part of some King's family I only-"

Twin blue and green glows burst from Danny's and Bruce's chest and Danny's words die on his tongue. Constantine drops his hand in shock.

"See? You are Brucie!" Dick laughs as if he hadn't just shattered Danny's entire world viewpoint. He could only gape at the group of people before Bruce placed a hand on his head.

"I'm sorry. If I had known you knew where your world was located we would have gotten you home to your parents weeks ago. You must have been so scared. Don't worry. We'll have you home soon."

Again and with great feeling, he will say what!?

[inkyajax]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ sunday + grinding on his fingers while he works!

character: sunday warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem reader, extreme teasing, dom/sub power dynamics, pet names (darling, angel, sweetheart), tiny bit of degradation (needy slut), toxic relationship (sunday is a lil mean/controlling/overbearing), taps into sunday’s god complex  words: 1.4k

Thinking about Sunday’s fingers; long, slim, warmed by the gloves, his heat radiating off the thin material. Thinking about not even riding them, but humping them, using them while he deals with something far more important. He won’t put them inside of you, refuses to even take off his gloves as he wedges a hand between your thighs, claiming that this is more than enough to make you cum, sweetheart and he knows you can do it, he knows you can get off from just this. 

Because you’re such a needy little slut for him, aren’t you? Pathetic and acquiescent and willing to take whatever the fuck he’ll give you, even if it’s merely the very tips of his fingers, just scarcely brushing your throbbing clit. 

It’s up to you to do all the work—you’re the one who wanted it, after all; you’re the one who couldn’t sit proper and patient and wait for him to finish with his tasks and duties, too eager and desperate for the tiniest piece of him to stand it—and he declines to put in any effort at all, simply keeping his fingers still and stiff, a hairs width from your cunt. 

As such, it’s your responsibility to make yourself feel good.

He barely pays you a shred of attention throughout the entire tedious process, gaze prim and focused on the documents spread neatly across his desktop, his free hand leafing through papers and jotting down notes. 

But despite his cool, calm, seemingly unaffected demeanour, you know better. 

Because you can see it; his cock, hard and huge and straining against white trousers, just begging for relief. You can hear it; those gentle, almost imperceptible hitches in his breath—a subtle response to your own sweet little noises, whiny little mewls and airy little moans, sounds that melt in the heat of your mouth, sugared frustration on your tongue.  

Every brush of your clit against his fingers pushes another one from your pouty lips, features pinched and tight with concentration, muscles coiled and tense as they work and flex, desperate to achieve your goal. 

Yet despite what Sunday had claimed, it truly isn’t enough, each soft swipe of his fingers only working to fuel the fire roiling in your belly, spritzing kerosene on the flames but never fostering an explosion. 

“S’not enough, Sir,” you whimper after nearly an hour of this routine, a heavy ache beginning to settle deep within your flesh, 

“It’s not enough,” he corrects you, not sparing you a glance. “And I assure you it is, darling. Come, now, be a good girl for me, and show me that you can cum from just my fingertips.” 

“I can’t, I can’t,” you hiccup, lids squeezing shut as tears nip at your vision, aggravation budding at the corners of your eyes. “I need more!”

“Don’t get greedy, now,” he chastises, an implicit warning woven into the sentence. “You’ve already taken one of my hands away, and considerably slowed down my productivity, interrupting my workflow with your neediness. Isn’t that enough?” 

A flash of guilt sears through your stomach, bitter and sharp, and you lip juts out even further,  puckering your chin. 

He’s right—You know he’s right. He’s already making a sacrifice for you by just giving you this—time is money, time is power, time is control, and you’re eating up a substantial amount with your disgraceful desire. How much more selfish could you possibly be? 

“M’sorry, Master,” you slur out, eyes shut tightly enough to crinkle your lids as you attempt to scrape together the tatters of your concentration. “I’m sorry.” 

Sunday says nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitches, curls upward with something sick and sadistic, thick authority cracking in the atmosphere around him. 

With renewed resolve, your hips begin to swivel again, grinding your swollen clit against sheathed fingers. His fingertips flutter softly, just teasing, and your movements speed up, rocking into his feathery touch, the motion just shy of satisfying. 

Something similar to vexation chokes in your throat; a half-stifled groan smothered by your determination to be good, to obey. 

You will not complain again. 

The quick, light drumming of his fingers against your clit ceases a mere moment before your pleasure crests—it’s a curse, how proficiently he knows your body, how perfectly he can decode those precious little gasps, slipping unwittingly from your lips and tinged with exasperation, and those pathetic little ruts, pelvis stuttering as it chases his touch, stomach muscles coiled and clenched. 

He can read you so well, too well, almost as if he made you himself, took blood and bone between his palms and molded it into flesh, into his personal little angel—he is your creator, and you worship him flawlessly. 

It’s obscene, just how wet you are, copious amounts of arousal soaking through the cotton of his gloves to prune his fingers, turning the material slippery, puffy clit gliding over it with fluid ease.

It’s embarrassing, just how wet you are, thick dribbles of slick streaming down Sunday’s drenched digits to collect in little pools on the webs between his knuckles. It’s overflowing, leaking onto his palm slow and steady to seep into the fabric, now stained with evidence of your desire clinging to his hand. 

You’re saturated in sweat by the time you finally manage to orgasm, thin linen of your dress plastered to your form, contouring every dip and curve of your body, outlining every heave of your chest. A garland of tiny beads is strung along your hairline and collarbone, glistening dewdrops streaming down your cheeks and neck and leaving pretty shimmering trails of damp salt in their wake. 

Strands of matted hair stick to your temples, your thighs still tensing around Sunday’s now rigid hand, hips continuing to gyrate in sloppy little circles as you chase residual sparks of pleasure, quick jolts of overstimulation rippling your flesh. 

But despite the dull, dense ache in your muscles, heavy with exhaustion and filled with sand, and the prodigal sparks of pain-dyed ecstasy, pushing sharp hisses through the gaps of your clenched teeth with each bout through your blood, you just can’t seem to stop.

“Th-Thank you, Sunday, Sir, thank you, thank you,” you’re babbling out in hiccups, words hitching in time with the motions of your hips. 

So polite, his sweet little seraph, so devoted to making your gratitude known—it is, in essence, only right to thank your god after he grants you a tiny piece of heaven, a single taste of bliss, Sunday knows. And your reverence will not go unrewarded. 

Because your reverence far exceeds great respect and high regard; your reverence bleeds into veneration, obsession, addiction. Your love knows no bounds. 

Your love is voracious in its worship, devouring any morsel of attention or affection he grants you and being grateful for it—even something as small and insignificant as a fingertip. 

It’s fucking exhilarating to experience such power, and it sends a heady shot of rhapsody straight to his brain, dazing him and infusing his blood. He can feel it oozing out of every pore, clinging to his form like a protective shield, reinvigorating his hegemony and reaffirming his authority.

Yearning against his pants, his cock twitches, the stitches threaded across the groin stretched taut with how hard he is. 

His hand is doused in you—your cum and your sweat and your arousal—and he pulls it free from your flexing thighs to examine it, holding it up in front of his face and turning it; first this way, then that, leisurely admiring the way every inch of his glove gleams in the diffused sun spilling past the stained glass. Sheathed in you, it almost looks like a shimmery satin.

“Such a mess,” he grits out, the words wispy and ragged. “Such a pretty mess you made for me.” 

A pair of gloved fingers tap together in a scissor-like motion, slow and controlled, pupils blown wide with awe as he watches the slick material stick to itself, glimmering in the setting sunlight and separating with minimal effort, strings of your cum strung between the appendages, webby, quivering slightly. 

You’ve since slumped against him, face nearly buried in his bicep as he appreciates the gift you’ve given him. Your breath is hot and humid against his neck, panted out through parted lips in uneven little huffs and stammered by soft whines.

“Rest, angel,” he murmurs, cheek laid against your head after he’s peeled the soiled glove from his skin and stashed it away in a desk drawer for safe keeping. “You did well.”

He knew you would. A god is never wrong, after all.

[nanamiscocksleeve]

"I don't know why people complain about sloppy seconds" with pervy professor nanamin after his favorite student shows up to class already creampied by someone else >_< pervy prof nanami drives me crazyyyy

My god people talking to me about pervy professor Nanami are gonna drive me insane, I love him so much. Are you the same anon that participated in the game and mentioned pervy Nanami with the ropes?

(it might be kind of obvious how much I enjoyed writing this. can't help it. I'd be his cum dump if I could).

"I don't know why people complain about sloppy seconds"

--------

You were his student. HIS STUDENT.

Kento knew better than to get involved with you but something just drew him to you like a moth to a flame. Maybe it was how you were so close to graduating but still looked like an innocent doe-eyed thing, your cute little skirts too short, those thigh-high socks you liked to wear so coquettishly inviting.

He knew you had a boyfriend, he'd seen you two hanging around campus, barely hiding his envy as the two of you got handsy and made out shamelessly in view of everyone. It should be HIM gripping your thigh like that. It should be HIS lap that you sat on while you made out. But with gritted teeth he kept his composure, keeping a cool attitude towards you whenever you were in his class.

Today however, he was distracted the moment you came in. You were walking differently, almost gingerly, like you were holding in a breath. You took deliberate, slow steps to your seat, putting your bag down then turned to talk to a friend, leaning your upper body on the desk. He swears you're doing it intentionally to tease him, to make him lose his goddamn mind, and that was when he saw it; your too-short skirt hiked just high enough to flash him a little strip of your adorable pink panties, a stain of moisture visible, bleeding into the back part of the crotch.

Jealousy hits him in the stomach like a strong punch, practically leaving him winded. You had dared have sex right before his class? With that annoying frat boy who was barely keeping a passing grade? And then had the nerve to flaunt your used cunt in his classroom? Oh, that simply wouldn't do. With a huge effort he grits his teeth and starts his lesson, unable to ignore how you kept squirming in your seat, clearly struggling to keep whatever load your boyfriend had given you inside, to keep it from dribbling into your panties and down your thigh...

It was merciful when he was able to dismiss the class. But he called your name. Your heart skips a beat as you hear his gruff voice but you turn around, wide-eyed and sweet looking, and he feels his cock tighten painfully in his pants.

"Kindly close the door and lock it."

Your breath hitches and you feel like your legs are wooden but you follow his instructions and approach him at the front of the class.

"Is something wrong?" Oh you poor, sweet, lamb, standing there without a clue as to what's going on in your professor's head.

"You need to be more careful of your attire," Kento clips out, not failing to observe the way your nipples hardened under your shirt as he spoke. So he did have an effect on you.

"Excuse me?" you ask incredulously. "Who are you to tell me what can and can't wear?"

"I can if half your cunt can be seen from under your skirt. Yes, that's right," he adds with a smirk as your face reddens. "I saw a lot more of you than appropriate. Were you being intentionally provocative, or are you unaware what an inappropriate length all your skirts seem to be?"

"You-you...!" You gasp at him in embarassment and slight shame, but heat pools in your belly at the knowledge that he had been privy to your upskirt flash. "You perverted old man! I'm telling the dean that you're preying on your students!"

"Hmm go right ahead," Kento says smoothly. "And I'll tell him you're flashing your cunt to everyone that will see. With the way you're dressed, I'm sure there will be no questions left. And to make it even more interesting, I might add that there were...questionable body fluids all over your panties. As a concerned professor, I was only expressing my concerns for my student's well-being." The smile on his face could not be more smug and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his handsome, chiseled, face.

"Is that all? You wanted to lecture me about my clothes?"

"Are you aware how inappropriate it is to come to class with another man's semen in your cunt?" He grins as you look gobsmacked, spluttering.

"I-but I!"

"You were very uncomfortable for the length of the class. I could see you squirming." The grin is positively wolfish now.

"How dare you! You have no proof."

"Then you wouldn't mind showing me your panties? Since you're so keen on proving your innocence."

His words send a thrill down your spine straight to your clit which throbbed under his scrutinizing eyes. You could've said no. But the predatory way he was looking at you, jealousy barely contained made you want to do something shocking and brash. With a huff, you stand.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Kneel on that desk chair." You do so, feeling a little turned on as you do so, then try not to react as Kento's large hands hike up your skirt, revealing the pink panties that were stained with another man's cum.

"So utterly shameless," he growls before bringing his hand down on your ass, the resounding smack satisfying to his ears as your cheek stained red, your squeal of shock echoing through the classroom. Kento covers your mouth and spanks you again, your squirms futile as the slaps filled the classroom. When your ass was perfectly red and bore signs of his handprints, he stops. There were tears in your eyes and you sniffle.

"Aw, is the little slut crying from getting a much needed punishment? Will you remember not to enter classrooms full of cum from now on?"

You gasp as he pulls the panties off, running his hands over your thigh-high socks, then coming to your front to cruelly pinch your nipples.

"Have you ever been fucked by a real man before?" One of his hands drops to your cunt and traces your lips. You whine and try to move, which only results in your earlier creampie trickling out of your cunt, dripping obscenely onto the chair. Kento's eyes go feral at the sight.

"Shameless cumdumpster of a whore," he whispers into your ear, almost lovingly. "Let me show you what it's like to carry a real man's load."

You hear his zip being undone and you find that you don't want to resist him. Your hot professor wanted to fuck you, and you were damned if you said you hadn't thought about it before. His tip lines with your entrance and he slowly spreads your folds apart, splitting you into two and he fills and stretches you. You whimper at how thick he is, how good he felt inside you.

"I don't know why people complain about sloppy seconds," he growls in your ear as he starts to thrust. "Pussy is all nice and wet and slick. You'd been needing a second fuck today hadn't you?"

You moan as he begins to rut into you with abandon, the noises filling the clasroom. "Professor..."

"Professor..." he repeats in a high-pitched mocking tone, the humiliation adding on to your arousal. "That's right, I'm your professor. And I own your cunt. You think your pathetic keg sucking boyfriend has any idea how to please a woman?"

His fingers find your clit and begin to circle it and you cry out, your vision going hazy.

"That's right...real men not only fuck their whores, they satisfy them too."

He continues to firmly stroke your clit and to your embarrassment, you cum sooner than you thought you would, the orgasm hot and intense, something your boyfriend had never been able to achieve. You sob in delight as your pussy flutters around his cock, setting his teeth on edge.

"That's right. Let it all out you pathetic slut. How many times were you fucked and left dissatisfied? When you could have been on my cock, getting off?" He sloppily thrusts into you, lewd wet noises filling the air, then with a bark, feels his ball tighten satisfyingly before emptying themselves into your pussy, hot ropes of thick cum filling the cavern.

"Don't waste it," he says as he withdraws, watching your hole pucker in an attempt to keep it all inside you.

"Now you can go to the rest of your classes knowing what it means to be properly fucked. Tell your boyfriend I said hi later, when he tries to eat you out and tastes only me."

(I am now horny. Any hot professors need a cunt?)

[pantherxrogers]

unforgettable - choi san x fem!reader

🧡 pairing: choi san x fem!reader

🧡 warnings: angst, reader and san are married with a son, possible mispelling of korean words for "mom" and "dad" (so sorry! please leave feedback in the comments), fluff, separation

🧡 summary: san kinda fucked up. you're still married but not totally convinced he can balance work and your family. you sent him away for a few weeks, but he can't live with that. you're unforgettable, and he'll do anything to get his family back together.

🧡 a/n: this is 100% inspired by the movie "obsessed" with beyonce and idris lmao. but there is absolutely NO cheating involved. or any mentions of cheating. only inspired by one scene lmao. iykyk. plus second-chance romance always hits different.

hope you guys enjoy! 😚

my masterlist

This is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent real events or the actual personalities of any K-pop idols mentioned. All characters and situations are purely imaginary. This story is created for entertainment purposes only, and no harm or disrespect is intended toward the idols or their fans. Enjoy!

"bubble, are you ready? daddy's here at the door!" you call into the house, angling your body away from your husband.

"i'm coming, mommy!" jun shouts, little footsteps echoing around in the background. you can tell he's in the toy room, trying to grab even more things than what you've already placed in his weekend bags.

"you look gorgeous, honey." the honesty in san's voice makes your heart flutter. but, you can't bring yourself to show it.

"okay, san," you mutter, trying to keep the grin off of your face. but, he knows you well. even if he can't see your face right now, he hopes his comment had some effect on you. because he really does mean it.

when you finally face him, emotion swirls in your chest. simply put, he looks good as hell. standing on your doorstep, the sunlight melts into his golden skin, accentuating his beauty. he's wearing his hair in your favorite style, obviously intentional. no one should look this sexy in a simple black shirt with jeans, but choi san always finds a way.

and it's hard for you to miss the wedding band still firmly in place on his left hand. you don't even realize you're smiling. but, of course, san does.

"you know it's my birthday on saturday, right?"

"you've only mentioned it a thousand times."

"have dinner with me?"

it's the same request you've heard repeatedly. but, he really is making more of an effort. san has always been a loving father and husband, but your marriage is in a rough spot right now.

before this comeback with ateez, he promised you that he'd make more of an effort to balance work and your family. but, the final straw was when he missed your son's piano recital. he's only five, but you'll never forget the disappointment on his little face when he saw san's empty chair.

so, you'd told him that you'd had enough. it might seem a little dramatic, but you needed to make a point. it's been three weeks since then. he's been staying with wooyoung. for san, every day has been torture. he wonders if you feel the same.

you're lost in thought when the soft patter of jun's footsteps get closer.

"omma, i'm ready!" his excited squeal makes your heart burst. you turn around to scoop him up, planting him on your hip. you try to close the door on san, but he sticks his boot in the way. with a little grunt, you face him again, cradling your son.

"hi junebug! you've gotten even bigger since yesterday!" san exclaims, prompting a giggle from your son.

you love the way they light up in front of each other. the love between them is palpable. you've never once questioned his love for you or your son. but sometimes love isn't enough.

"hi appa!" his squishy arms reach for his father, who smoothly takes him from you. san's touch leaves gooesbumps on your skin, which makes pride swirl in his chest. no one could ever deny the chemistry between the two of you.

"i'll be right back. let me go grab his bags," you explain, turning to walk back into the house.

you feel san's eyes on you. he's talking animatedly with your son, but it's impossible to ignore the way he shamelessly checks you out. you smirk to yourself, retreating further into your shared home.

okay, so maybe you wore this outfit on purpose. but, who can really blame you? after all, you don't want your marriage to end. but you want him to make some real changes. wearing his favorite sundress might be a little over the top, but who gives a damn. a little tease never hurt anyone. judging from the way his eyes roamed all over you, it's safe to say san doesn't mind.

making your way back towards the door, you struggle to hold all of the bags. your son always insists on bringing so many toys with him, even if he's only staying with his dad for a few days,

"hold on champ, let me help mommy," he murmurs, placing your son down. both of them make their way over to you, san smoothly grabbing everything. your son looks a little pouty, always wanting to prove his strength.

"appa, i can help too," he whines, tugging on san's denim.

"i know, buddy. but, i want you to have your arms free to give omma a hug," he explains. this time you're unable to keep the fond smile off of your face.

"c'mere june bug," you hum, sweeping him into a bear hug. you press several kisses on his squishy cheeks, delighting in his happy little squeals.

"i love you, bubble," you whisper, trying to fight the wobble in your lip. san's heart breaks a little bit. he knows neither of you will ever be able to get used to this. and he doesn't want you to. it's just more motivation to get his family back together.

you hug jun tightly before lowering him back to the ground, leading him and san towards the door.

"he'll be back before you know it." the warmth in san's voice makes you smile. he always knows what to say when you need it most.

"i know. i'm just a big crybaby," you whisper, not wanting jun to notice your sadness.

"no. you're just a great mom," he answers honestly, locking eyes with you. it's a direct hit, cracking through the tough exterior you try to put up around san. but maybe you don't want to anymore.

"c'mon bud, let me get you buckled in." san turns his attention to your son, heading out towards the suv he arrived in.

you stand at the door, watching your son babble to his father, likely filling him in on everything he got up to in the last 24 hours. san nods along enthusiastically, hanging on his every word. he puts the bags in the trunk, freeing up his hands to strap jun into the car seat. he jogs to the front seat, turning the car and ac on, before he lets jun's window down.

"bye omma!" his little voice carries across the yard. you make a show of blowing a kiss to him, which he grabs and holds near his heart. you wave and turn your attention to san before the waterworks start again.

to your suprise, he's jogging over to you, one hand behind his back. when he stops in front of you, he reveals a beautiful bouquet of flowers, a small white note sticking out the top of it.

"um?"

"beautiful flowers for my beautiful lady." his shameless flirting makes your cheeks heat up again, feeling like a school girl with a crush. instead of responding, you reach for the note.

have dinner with me? don't make the birthday boy eat alone.

you don't hide your smile this time, looking up to see the bright blush on his cheeks.

"bribing me with your birthday now?"

"you're the only gift i want."

you forget how to breathe for a second, the seriousness in his tone takes you back. regaining your composure, you respond with a curt nod.

"i'll have dinner with you, san" you state, unable to say no to him. and why should you? he really has been making more of an effort. taking off time from work to stop by and see jun (and you, of course).

he does a little victory dance, handing the flowers over to you. he's just as silly as ever, and you can't help but giggle at his antics.

"so, i'll pick you up saturday at 8?"

"i'll call the sitter."

"don't sweat it. woo would die if he knew we paid someone else to watch jun." you giggle again, unable to hide your giddiness. you really do miss laughing and joking with him like this. maybe you're more excited for dinner than you're letting on.

"okay, i'll spare him. i'll see you saturday," you murmur, looking at him through your lashes. san sweeps one last glance over you, like he's committing it to memory and storing it away until he can see you again.

"i'll see you saturday, baby."

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Dom!Simon "Ghost" Riley x sub!reader, John "Soap" Mactavish x reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" Mactavish, reader

Summary: When a one time sexual encounter leaves you wanting more, but the rules were set the moment he entered you and now he does his best to avoid you, what is a girl to do to get what she wants? That's right, make him jealous. And if it works a little too well maybe he will give you the night of your life. Good thing you have a flirty Scotsman to mess with, perhaps if you can't get your way, you can still have fun. Only time and a bit of effort on your part will tell what goes down.

Word Count: 12.7 k

Warnings:

Part 2: What's Mine You'll Never Have

You knew what you were getting yourself into before it even started. The rule was simple enough: this was a one time thing, a no strings attached fuck that would end and never be spoken of again because it just so happened to be with a man in a higher rank than you who had a reputation to uphold. Agreeing was the easy part; honestly, you would have done whatever was asked of you in that moment for a ride  as the heat between you both rose, his touch sending shocks down your limbs, and if one and done was all you got you were going to jump on it with complete pun intended. It wasn’t as if you care for him; really you could barely stand him on a good day, though you would have been a liar to deny there wasn’t something erotically toxic about him.

Your superior office was a fucking beastly specimen of masculinity: broad, full chest, arms big enough that they looked like they could bend steel, thighs so fucking thick and juicy you could comfortably ride his massive cock for hours. Though you had never fully seen the face of this quiet and serious man nor knew more than the most basic information about him it did not matter, you knew before you ever saw it that what was rubbing against your thigh as he pinned you to that wall was mouth-filling enough that you needed to get your hands on it and by god you loved when were absolutely right.

That one random night had found you at the right place and the right time, when tensions were high along with his aggression and a good screwing would help take the edge off of an otherwise frustrating and fruitless mission. Things went fairly quick from when he had grabbed you by the waist and before you knew it you found yourself naked in his bed, filling the room with your whimpers as muscles pumped, bodies writhed and bucked, and sweat stained the sheets along with the rest of your combined fluids. You were made to come several times as your lieutenant unleashed himself upon you with a voracious appetite for your body that didn’t let up until your poor little cunt couldn’t take another orgasm. Exhausted and satisfied, you left him in bed with a cigarette pressed to his smirking lips set free from his mask and that was that; you’d go about your merry way a little more satisfied than usual, but otherwise not putting up a fight about the arrangement.

…Or so you thought.

It was only a couple of weeks later that the ache really set in, that one deep inside you that no matter how many times you touched yourself with those sore fingers stroking away for what felt like hours, you simply could not satisfy. Shit, you were feral with desperation for Ghost's fat fucking cock and thick tongue to make your pussy their property once more and you needed to rectify the situation fast before you developed carpal tunnel. Since your lieutenant was avoiding you like the plague ever since that night, only being near when absolutely necessary and nothing more, you would have to take matters into your own hands. 

There was so much you did not know about Ghost when it came to more personal matters, but he was a man after all and though they came in different flavors, they all could be manipulated in the same ways. You owned all you needed to bring them to their knees and with your devious little mind always working overtime you were easily able to concoct your plan to make that hulking man jealous enough to hopefully break the terms of his agreement. These were indeed desperate times and that is when desperate measures are called for. Nothing is more desperate than using jealousy as a weapon and that meant pitting two men against each other to get what you wanted, but you would deal with the moral ramifications of your actions later.

You first needed someone to use in your quest of jealousy and it was completely obvious from the moment the thought entered your mind the exact person you wanted to use to get Ghost’s attention, one that the sting of seeing you with him would hopefully cause him to act  irrationally and that person was none other than Sargent MacTavish. The two officers were close, well as close as anyone could get to Ghost, at least you were certain it would be enough that if you pulled out all the stops and put all your effort into flirting with the Scotsman, it would surely light a fire in your target. And if not, maybe if you started to give him the extra attention he seemed to want, Soap would be down to help you alleviate your little ‘problem.’ It wouldn’t be exactly what you wanted, but if you couldn’t have your first choice, then you wouldn’t be picky.

It wasn’t a huge secret around the base that the mohawked pretty boy had a bit of flirtatious nature when it came to you and so it would be nearly effortless to play into that to get the effect you wanted. Briefly you had the thought to actually tell Soap what it was you were up to, but you concluded that that left too much up to chance; what if he didn’t agree to helping you or what if knowing that you were intentionally flirting with him to get to Ghost made his reactions not as sincere or worse yet he actually tried to sabotage you? No, this had to seem spontaneous and so you kept everything tight lipped. Settling on your victim, now all you needed was a place for this little show to happen. It had to be public, preferably somewhere that alcohol was involved; liquor always heightened emotions and made for bad decisions to magically come true. If that’s what it took for Ghost to give in to you, then that was absolutely fine. 

There were times when the entire task force would venture out into the night for a bit of fun, usually after a successful mission when the mood seemed just right to let loose, so all you had to do was wait for something to happen that would be a cause for a trip to the local bar and that was the part in all of this that nearly broke you. Nothing you had done up to this point had ever been harder; your poor vibrator was begging you for a damned break and you were sure the thing would fall apart before you got the chance to implement your plan.

Finally though, you had your sinful prayers answered and you seized the opportunity with both of your devious hands. The mission you had just returned from had not been easy in the slightest, but in the end it was a success and after all the preparation and execution that had happened over the course of a few weeks, the whole team was ready to let off a little steam. The minute you heard Soap suggest the usual group outing, your filthy heart skipped a beat.

Soap was the one to ask you himself if you were going to be joining on this little rendezvous as he caught up to you right after debriefing. The way he made sure to specifically invite you stuck out as odd, as he had not done anything like this before now, but you let the thought slip to the back of your mind as the timing was just too perfect not to take full advantage of as a certain someone just so happened to be within range when he asked. 

“C'moan, lassie,” he picked, giving you a playful shove and plastering that sad puppy dog look over his face. “Please. Wilnae be na fun witoot ye.”

Just out of the very corner of your vision, you could see that brooding tower of man watching this conversation like a hawk stalking a mouse through the grass. You wondered if he could hear everything being said as well as he could see what was happening and just in case you laid it on thick; can’t waste him being around to see you getting a bit more friendly with the Sargent, given how you usually interact. 

“And what’s in it for me?” you picked back.

“Th' chance tae git wit a charmer who’s guid at chattin,” he was quick to shoot back as if the response had been rehearsed. 

You smirked. “Oh, and when will I meet this good conversationalist? Will he be joining us there?” God you were laying it on with a paint roller.

Soap shook his head with a chuckle. “Ye know as well as ah that a nicht oot wi' me is yin tae rememer,” he met you with the same energy. “ 'sides, it’ll be lonely 'ere a' by yersel' sin a' body is goin'.”

“Everyone?” you repeated, pretending to give the idea some serious thought. Waiting a few more seconds you finally gave Soap your brightest smile with a firm nod of your head as if you had just decided right then and there and hadn’t been plotting all this time like the devil you were. “Alright, I’m in. A night off base sounds like just what I need anyway. It’s about time we go out.”

“That’s whit ah lik' tae hear,” he beamed, glad you had accepted the personal invitation. 

You gave him a playful nudge from your elbow. “I just can’t say no to you, ya know? Not when you look at me like that. Just makes me fold every time.”

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Try as he might to hide it, there was no stopping the physical signs that triggered whenever you were around to give away the thoughts inside. “I’ll come grab ye at 8 'n' we kin head ower th'gither, if that’s a'right. Don’t want ye aff goin' after dark a' by yer lonesome.”

“My protector,” you gave his bulking bicep a short hug. “I’ll be waiting for you.” With a nod you parted ways and headed back to your barracks to get ready as a certain skulking member of 141 went stomping off back in the opposite direction to his own quarters in a rush.

And just as promised, right on the dot Soap was there knocking, ready to escort you off into the night. The moment you opened the door to your barracks he was stopped dead in his tracks at your appearance; it wasn’t often you got the chance to wear something other than the tactical gear that covered you from head to toe and you definitely put in the effort tonight to look your best. Your light blue crop top hugged your tits just right and matched the way your jeans clung to the curves of your hips and down the lines of your toned legs. You opted to wear your hair down with a loose curl to it and you had put on just the hint of makeup to play up your eyes and make them sparkle. It wasn’t over-the-top, but it was enough to make Soap pause and that meant you had done a good job.

“What?” you asked with a light-hearted laugh at his reaction, even though you knew exactly what it was that had left him speechless.

“Nothing,” he said while diverting his gaze. “Ye just look nice is all.”

“Don’t I always?” you sassily replied.

 Nodding his head with a raise of his eyebrows, he agreed. “Weel, can’t argie wit' that. Ye could mak' a garbage bag look guid.” 

“That’s what I thought,” you shot him a playful smile, making his temperature rise. 

Soap had to clear his throat before he could respond, already getting flustered before anything had actually happened. “Ready a' go?” he asked.

“Let’s do this,” you said as you both went off, ready to let the liquor take your cares away.

There was already a gathering at the bar when you both arrived, others getting there, grabbing a table large enough for the entire group, and diving in to the drink to get the night started. Luck, or a very well timed conversation, was on your side tonight as surprise, surprise, you found Ghost himself in tow with the gang. What made him break his streak of isolation was of no consequence, all you cared about was that this had the best potential to work and you were confident that what transpired here would make your tight hole soon be filled to the brim with him.

He sat at the opposite end of the table from you, though opting to sit on the side that gave him the best vantage point to keep his eyes on you if he wanted. His usual over-the-top skull mask had been exchanged tonight for a simple black balaclava with a white painted jaw bone structure on the bottom of it. It was interesting to actually see more of those autumn-colored iris’, though he still had his customary eye black rimming them to keep them dark and mysterious. He had also opted for jeans and a black shirt with matching jacket, something that showed off more of his body and especially that spectacular ass; fuck, you had to remember not to salivate.

The moment you and Soap walked in Ghost’s sight was drawn to you, making him freeze with his glass half raised to his lips as he took in what exactly it was you were wearing. It had been a hot fucking minute since he had the pleasure of seeing more of your curves being accentuated by something other than bulky tactical gear that hid away all this delicious full figure from his gaze. It wasn’t very hot inside the bar, but a cold sweat began to spread out across Ghost’s body as you joined the group with a playful smile on your lips, effortlessly falling into the light-hearted conversation happening around him.

It had stayed pretty innocent through the first part of the evening until you began enjoying a rousing game of Never Have I Ever that included Captain Price nearly having an aneurysm and Ghost choking on his drink when you gleefully lifted your glass to your lips for the statement “never have I ever masturbated while on night patrol”, but you weren’t bothered. There was no room to be shy when your teammates were mostly comprised of men and especially when you needed to make one squirm.

“Are you serious?!” Gaz asked astonished that you had been bold enough to admit such a thing.

You nodded your head and you downed the last of your beer. “Look, you gotta do what you gotta do when you’re bored,” you smirked and you were sure Soap was going to pass out from all the blood gathering in one particular area from the image being conjured in his imagination. The night really got fun after that with mini raucous arguments exploding over who was the better at accents, with contest to match, and which song was the best to get you pumped for a raid and soon you realized you had downed another couple drinks as the laughter flowed as good as the liquor.

“Anither round boys?” Soap joyfully asked around at all present as the night had continued on. This was about round three or four, you couldn’t rightly remember at this point. He turned his attention to you sitting at his side, wanting to ask you personally with an inebriated smile spread across his lips. “How aboot it, ye up fur annur? Don’t tell me you’re gonnae tap oot noo, th' nicht is aye young.”

His eagerness to be in your close company all evening was indeed charming and if you didn’t have your eyes focused on the man who could use you like a rag doll and not even break a sweat, you might have liked to see where this would lead, but the heart wants what it wants. Or rather you should say the cunt, as that was the organ calling all the shots now. 

Shaking your head, you shot him a smile back. “Never,” you stated firmly. “I’m still in it as long as you are, pretty boy.”

“Atta lassie,” he praised enthusiastically as he got to his feet to go order another round with the bartender, hoping you wouldn’t notice how strong he was coming on; the liquor was hitting a bit harder than he realized and it was becoming increasingly obvious that he was struggling to hold it together, but you didn’t mind; in fact, you kind of liked the way it sounded. If Ghost didn’t do anything by the end of the night then you were sure you could easily get Soap to take you back to his private quarters.

You watched him go, letting your eyes linger on his objectively fine looking taut ass, before you managed a sideways glance over towards the other end of the table where he sat. Your eyes hadn’t even fully clocked Ghost yet and you could already feel that grumpy, silent, mask-clad man’s eyes boring holes into you as if he were trying to set you ablaze. There was no seeing any of his features other than his eyes through the mask, but his agitated body posture alone was evident enough that he had taken notice of your closeness with his colleague.   

Time to turn up the heat and really stick it to him; Ghost was going to regret ever taking away the pleasure of his body from your immediate access by being forced to watch you give away your own to someone else. The night was still young and you had ample opportunity to make sure he knew just how far you were willing to go to get his attention. 

Soap returned moments later with a slew of beers in hand, distributing them around those still partaking, but saving the last for you specifically just to give you that bit of extra attention. You gratefully accepted it from him, your fingers lingering over the backside of his hand as you took the glass into your grip. 

Across the way you noticed one of the two pool tables had suddenly become free as the two older gentlemen playing had called it a night. Now that’s one game that can get two people close real quick, especially if one of them pretended they didn’t know how to play at all and would need a lot of help. Soap had tried to get you to join a game with him and Gaz or Price on several occasions, but you had always said you enjoyed being a spectator more than a player, so you never took him up on it… until now.

Soap’s attention was still on you as he took a swig off his glass and you used that opportunity to nod over towards the now empty table. “Seems we’re in luck,” you pointed out and he followed your eyeline over. “Maybe it’s a full moon or some shit, but I’m in the mood to try something new and I know how many times you’ve tried to get me to have a go. Feel up to finally giving me a free lesson?”

“Ye don’t hae tae ask me twice, lassie,” he smiled. There wasn’t a chance in hell he wasn’t going to jump at the opportunity and jump he did, setting down his drink with a slosh and pushing out of his chair quick before grabbing your hand to drag you over so that another group couldn’t claim it for themselves first.

Back across the room your eyes locked on to Ghost’s and you raised a seductive eyebrow menacingly at him. It was obvious the way his upper body bristled as Soap came back with your cues and stood close beside you; it was about to get even more intimate when he showed you how to hit the billiard balls and both of you currently eye-locked knew it. Don’t like it, do something about it bitch, the look in your eyes challenged, but sadly he still sat there nursing his whiskey, though with more aggression than he had previously.

You were handed the wooden stick and you held it uncertain in your grip. “You are gonna have to start at the very beginning with me,” you chuckled, “I have no idea what I’m doing and the liquor isn’t helping.”

Soap chuckled and gave you a look. “I’ve git ye, don’t ye worry.” 

And got you he indeed did. After quickly explaining the scant amount of rules in excited and quick fashion, he demonstrated the stance you would need to take as he broke up the balls to start. Now it was your turn and you would have to be convincing. 

“Like this?” you questioned as you leaned over the table; you left plenty of room for improvement by not fully getting it right.

“Almost,” Soap said as he walked back over to where you stood in front of the shot you wanted to take. “'ere, let me hulp.”

Leaning against you to marionette your body where he wanted it to go, he maneuvered you around until you were in better form. Your back was pressed to his chest and you could feel the muscles brace against you through his t-shirt. He fit perfectly against the curve of your spine as you both tilted your bodies lower over the table and the warmth that hit your back half felt nice. Those bulked out arms covering your own definitely didn’t feel bad either. 

Not too shabby, Sargent, you silently praised. 

“Lik' this,” he said. “Ye juist pull back 'n'…”

Just as he was about make your cue strike the ball, you pretended to accidentally step back so that your ass got firmly pressed up against his crotch, making him twitch and completely butcher the hit. The stick made contact with the cue ball and sent it flying just off the edge of the table to roll across the floor away from you both. 

“Sorry,” you feigned innocence. “I fucked that up royally.”

“Nah,” he laughed with a wink as he went to grab the ball and return it to the table, “just git a unique technique is a'. We kin wirk oan that, bit ah think yu''ll need tae let me hulp ye a bit mair.” 

You both devolved into flirty laughter before continuing on with the game, Soap taking every available opportunity to correct your form just to be close to you as much as possible. And you didn’t shy away from ‘accidentally’ grinding against him from time to time just to watch him get flustered all over again. For a moment it felt nice for someone just to enjoy the pleasure of your company along with your body. 

It wasn’t until nature called that you said that you had enough for one night with a promise that you’d pick this up another time before you headed off to the bathroom to relieve yourself. It gave you a good chance to check and make sure you looked as good as you did when you got here. Although the rose had bloomed in your cheeks from the heat and the drink, you still looked just as you hoped and giving yourself a satisfied smile in the mirror, you left.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you began to head back to the table when you noticed that all the seats seemed to be filled suddenly. You counted heads, but there was one that you hadn’t seen before. Some tart had decided to take the moment to chat up Gaz and so you had no place to sit… or did you? Honestly this could not have gone better if you had written it out because now you had an excuse to do what you did next, not that you needed one, but damn was it too perfect not to take advantage of.

Ghost’s eyes were already on you again as you made your way across the bar floor and for the second time tonight you pointedly locked eyes with him, raising your eyebrow cockily, before stepping up next to Soap. As soon as he looked up to see who it was, you swung a leg over him and then the other until you were sitting in his empty lap. You could feel him freeze beneath your ass as he was surprised by this sudden change of events, but he didn’t protest this new development. Instead, one of his strong arms scooped itself around your back to your hip, making sure that you were secure on his lap so you wouldn’t think about leaving it too soon. 

“Hi,” you mischievously flashed him a smile, your faces close together.

He cleared his throat, trying to calm himself from your contact and the perky breasts near his face he was currently trying not to stare at. “Hi back,” he stammered out.

In a smooth motion, you laced one of your arms around his shoulders. “I hope this seat wasn’t taken, seems mine was though. Can’t expect me to stand the rest of the night, right?” 

“I’m nae complaining,” he admitted, giving the exposed small of your back a rub with his thumb; he felt weak at how soft your skin was beneath his touch.

“Good, that’s what I like to hear,” you gave him a subtle wink as you situated yourself better on his lap. “It’s a pretty good seat anyway, very comfortable. Plus it doesn’t hurt to being this close to you, get a better look at the scruffy mug.”

“Och is it?” he smirked, watching you struggle to grab your now half-empty glass and reaching across, handed it back. “Well, it's aye open tae ye, bonnie, as lang as ye lik'.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” you said, taking a sip. 

You swallowed fast as you felt him risk more of a touch as he slipped his fingers just inside the back waistband of your jeans. “Nah, that’s reserved juist fur ye.”

That was it; without warning, Ghost slammed down his drink so that it splashes liquid onto the surface of the table and he quickly stood from his chair. He didn’t address anyone that had turned towards him at the outburst or even give some bullshit excuse for his departure, instead just storming out into the night without a sound. You weren’t entirely sure, but you could swear his fists were clinched tight down at his sides and nothing made you more ecstatic; that was exactly the sign you had been looking for that gave you hope that all this had not been in vain.

After another lengthy round you feigned exhaustion and made your excuses to the group to leave, commenting about how your bed was calling your name as you could barely keep your eyes open. Soap was definitely the most visibly saddened by your decision to call it a night already; he wanted to ask you to stay with him longer, but ultimately decided to keep quiet about it. Perhaps he didn’t want to rock the boat and ruin an otherwise spectacular evening spent in your company by complicating things or maybe he had gotten the vibe that there was something more to Ghost’s sudden outburst and exit, but whatever it was he gave you a smile and a wish that you get back to base safely and sent you on your merry way.

All the way back to your barracks you had a smirk plaster across your inebriated face, certain that your little ruse had achieved the outcome you had been plotting for and now all you would have to do was wait for your lieutenant to get riled up enough to come crawling back to you. Your wicked little mind wondered if his hand was already down his pants, frantically stroking his cock in an attempt to rid his mind of you or if he had already taken several ice cold showers to stop his body from burning for your own.

It filled you with a malicious glee to have this effect on such a stoic and impassible man and as you reentered your quarters, inebriated and full of yourself, you found your bed and fell back against the surface with a slew of delightful images concerning your lieutenant’s neediness floating around your head to keep you company as the alcohol wore off. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been daydreaming for when you heard the door to your barracks open. That wasn’t uncommon as it was a shared room, but what happened next absolutely was. 

*SLAM*

The force with which the door was shut rang through the room loud enough to shake the walls. The noise startled you, though you could probably take one single guess as to what the reason for such an intrusion could be and you’d be correct. Turning your head you could see all 6’4” of your superior standing there, taking up the entire doorway with his impressive form. Seems that your little ruse had worked to perfection and you could not help feeling smug about making him crack.

Ghost clocked you in your bed and could plainly see you had noticed his entry and yet you had not moved from your spot, even though decorum dictated you get to attention since he was a superior officer. Fine, you weren’t going to do as you should then you were going to be given orders and be forced to.

“Come here,” he demanded shortly, those intense brown eyes staring back at you unblinking from behind his balaclava. 

That devilish grin spread out all across your entire face as you sat up and crossed your arms over your chest. “Or what?” you pushed back to your masked superior. “It’s late, after hours in fact. Right now we are off the clock and I believe that means I don’t have to.”

One low, gravely chuckle was released from him. “Keep this up, luv, and you will find out what it means to disobey,” he threatened, his voice metered and firm. “I’ll give you one more chance before the consequences of your actions get you in fucking deep water. Come here, that’s an order.”

Doe-eyed and playing dumb you stared back before rotating your body until your legs were hanging off the side, but still you stayed seated. “What did I do, hmm?” you asked with a tilt of your head, playing pretend, but not exactly trying hard to hide the fact that you knew what it was you were being accused of. 

“Don’t you sit there and act like you don’t know, you little bitch,” he snapped, his scolding tone harsh and biting. “Everyone there tonight could see what you were doing clear as day, so there is no use in denying it. Making a spectacle of yourself and disrespecting your place on this task force.”

Shaking your head, you glared him down. “And why, sir, do you care? Didn’t like the show?” again you boldly fought back. “There is nothing saying that I can’t have a bit of extracurricular excitement with those on this team. Did Price send you to reprimand me? Cause if not I don’t see what problem you have. Or is there more to it than that that I’m just not getting? Wanna come clean about anything, sir? Was it really about what I was doing or was it more who I was doing it with. You jealous of MacTavish getting a little action?”

What had gotten in you today? You hadn’t had this much fight in you in quite a while and though he secretly enjoyed your fire as it was what drew him to you in the first place, you had disrespected him and that came with consequences. The way you used ol’ Johnny boy for your sick fucking attempt at clearly making him jealous had worked and he was not pleased with the amount of control you seemed to hold over him because of it. His cock had been hard as a rock since he left the bar and he could do nothing to ease the ache; you were going to pay for that by the end of the night.  

“Get. Up.” he growled with enough power behind it to send a shiver down your spine. “Now.”

The authority in his voice boomed through the room, intimidating enough to make you follow orders as you knew he had reached his limit and you could do nothing except genuinely fold and comply out of sheer intimidation alone. He meant business.

“You want to act a brat and sass me, then you get punished as one. Or did you forget I am still your superior?” he seethed as he gripped your wrist and yanked you towards him once you were within range. His grip around your arm was strong; there was no way you were getting out of his grasp even if you fought it. “You’re coming with me and I don’t want to hear any arguing, so don’t try it. Fight me and you will regret it.”

“And just where are we going?” you asked. If this was really a reprimand for your behavior, wouldn't your barracks be just fine? No, this was something more.

He whetted his lips under his mask, but ultimately kept quiet. Talk could come later once you had gotten to the destination, right now he had to focus on not loosing his mind before he had a chance to let you have it for what you did. You watched wide eyed and silent as he dragged you out of your barracks and through the facility back to his own private quarters, not caring who saw what, and once there he was pulling you inside and bolting the door behind the both of you. No one would be hindering his disciplining now, nor what he planned to do to you afterward. 

Satisfied that the entrance to his room was secured, he threw your back against the door, the sound from the hit ringing through the silence. Another bang sounded from his tattooed forearm also hitting the door just above your head as he rested it there so that he could lean down enough to get into your face. His chest was almost pressed to you and you could feel the heat radiating off of him along with a strong scent of whiskey and cigarette smoke on his breath and gunpowder on his fingers that all mixed together to drive you mad. 

“What the fuck do you think you are doing, hmm?” he spat angrily in your face, the outline of his lips just visible through the fabric of his skull-painted balaclava. “Throwing yourself at Johnny like a fucking trashy whore. The whole bar could see you being a pathetic mess and for what? I knew I was right in going tonight to keep an eye on you because you just can’t help yourself, can you? How fucking dare you pull that shit in front of everyone.”

You kept your eyes on his, never letting his gaze drift from your own. “So what if I did? Like I already said, it shouldn’t matter because you don’t own me. I didn’t make you come keep an eye on me, you did it all on your own and now you have to suffer the consequences.”

Being this close to you again was agony, your body within his reach that all he had to do was take what he wanted, and the ache in his cock that started in the bar was too much to ignore anymore; goddamn the pressure was enough that he felt himself about to explode. There was no more waiting if he wanted this interaction to last longer than a few minutes, and he definitely wasn’t going to be letting you go anytime soon, so reaching down the front of him he undid his pants with his free hand. 

Buckle jingling and the audible zip of a fly lowering hit your ears and he was able to release that thick, fat cock of his. He looked back up into your eyes with a predator’s gaze and groaned low and guttural as he gave his phallus several drawn out strokes, wetting his length with the bit of precum that had dripped out of the uncut tip.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” he snapped as he seethed at your audacity. “You are on thin ice so I suggest you stop while you are ahead.”

His anger only confirmed it for you that you had gotten under his skin. A short, quick breath was pushed out of your nose as you shook your head. “With full disrespect sir,” you breathed, “why don’t you make me.”

Oh you had done it now. “You wanna tease me like the dirty slag you are, deliberately misbehaving clearly just to get my attention, then you have to accept the consequences when you get it the way that you did,” his words were sharp and firm, punctuated with grunts as he worked himself. 

“Let me guess, sir, I’m gonna have to suck it to make up for my act,” you balked with a sassy roll of your eyes, still a bit of fire in you that he had yet to quell. “How creative.”

Ghost shook his head with a low, malicious laugh. “You that greedy for me, princess? Gonna take whatever you can get your lips around? You are pathetic.” 

He knew just how to take care of a bratty little bitch like yourself; he was a true master at knowing exactly how to make bad girls fold and come to heel for him. “Don’t stand there and act like I don’t know how much you would enjoy that, choking on this fat dick until your eyes are watering. I remember how your makeup ran down your cheeks that night and how it felt like you’d rather suck me off then breathe. If you think I’m about to give you exactly what you want, you’re fucking mistaken baby. No, I have something worse in store for you.”

Tucking his throbbing cock back into his pants, he grabbed both of your bare wrists in one of his large hands while the other went to his belt. With a sharp tug, he wrenched it free from the belt loops and quickly wrapped it around your wrists to bind your hands together before opening the door just enough to place the tail end in between the top of the door and the door frame, shutting and locking it again once he had it secure. A sharp jerk as he pulled it tighter around your wrists made the leather dig into your flesh and you gasped at the feeling.

Once he was sure you weren’t going anywhere, Ghost slid himself off of you so that he would have full unbridled access. Nothing could stop him now from taking the hem of your jeans and yanking them down without undoing the button and off your legs, leaving you exposed to him in nothing but your delicate panties, the same ones he remembered from that damned night that sealed his fate now. 

“You want to come clean about what you were doing at the bar or will I be forced to fuck the confession out of you?” he asked. “Say that you did all that just to make me jealous and I may go easier on you.”

Slowly you opened your eyelids to him, tilting your head upward with a devious smirk. “I don’t have to admit to shit,” you returned with bite to your tone, “not when whatever the answer could be is irrelevant; all that is important is that it worked.”

He shook his head side to side; he should have known you were still too spicy to come to heel yet, but you would. By God you would bend to him. “ Suit yourself, sweetheart. You are about to be taught a good, hard lesson; brats like you need to be disciplined well or else they get too full of themselves. You should have never made me watch that disgusting display of you throwing yourself at another man,” he growled angrily. 

He wasted no time in collecting the crotch of your delicate panties with his fingertips and wrenching them to the side. He didn’t stop until he had ripped them from your body and tossed the delicate shreds away behind him. “I could smell the desire leaking off Soap like goddamn cologne, just as much as I smell the scent of your arousal for me now. I was so close to caving his skull in to see him put his hands you on like that and you just fucking let him. Baby girl, you need to learn who it is you belong to right here and fucking now.”

Shit, you may have just bratted yourself too close to the sun on this one, but there was no turning back now. You knew the consequences were going to be dire as that primal side of your lieutenant took over and you would simply have to accept every single delicious bit of his wrath that he gave you. Oh no, how horrible it would be to get exactly what you wanted. 

There was no warning about what he was plotting until you felt his hand slip down between your thighs, parting them easily as a knife in warm butter, and one of those thick fingers sliding between the petals of your sex towards your entrance, gathering as much of your slick as he could on his digit before inserting it fully into your core up to the knuckle. “Greedy bitch, I can feel you taking in my finger like it’s nothing,” the backhanded praise sent shivers down your spine as he began to work feverishly at your G spot, with rough and intense movements; there would be no easing into this, you did not deserve that luxury. 

Rhythmically he pumped that finger in and out of you as his opposite hand held your pelvis in place while you writhed and arched your back against the door. Instinctively, your hips bucked against his hand, trying to make as much contact with him as possible as you struggled with your hands above your head; you needed more, you needed it all. You had waited too long for this.

“Does my greedy girl need another?” he asked slyly, though not waiting long enough for your reply before slipping in another digit into your already dripping cunt.

“God,” you groaned, head back and mouth open as you were deliciously stretched out even further.

Ghost chuckled at how easy you were breaking for him. “God isn’t here sweetheart. You’ll have to deal with me right now.”

His pace was relentless and even with those tough, calloused fingers he knew how to use them better than any toy. It was too much to handle and your body responded in kind, your back arching wildly each time he struck that lovely little bean over and over again, the sweat clinging to your forehead as your body took every bit of his relentless assault on your sanity while your toes curled against the hard floor. Minute after minute, his full attention focused solely on you, each stroke along that incredibly sensitive bundle of nerve endings drawing you increasingly closer to that razors edge and threatening to violently throw you off. 

There was no need for you to speak it aloud first, Ghost knew you were close just by the way your body spoke to him: your head falling back against the surface of the door with eyes fluttering closed and your breathing quickening as that pressure built to the peak. It was in that moment where your orgasm was in sight that you whispered its arrival was near and he made his move; you were going to regret confirming it for him. Suddenly his fingers were ripped completely out of you, leaving you mewling for the feeling of him again as the sensation dissipated. 

“Goddammit, I was so close,” you snipped at him, shooting daggers through your irate glare.“I thought you liked me and then you pull this shit.”

The absurdity of your statement made him scoff. “And what would ever give you that idea? I don’t have to like you to fucking own you sweetheart.”

“Fuck you.” Your body shook as you squeezed your bare thighs together tightly, hoping that the friction would be enough to finish it, but the moment was gone and you were just left frustrated. 

Ghost’s knee found your thighs and slipped between them to kept them separated as your wetness soaked into his pants leg; you weren’t going to come yet until he was ready for you to and that would be some time as your penance had not been paid in full quite yet. “That is the goal, isn’t it babe? Why you went to all this fucking trouble? That’s why you’ll stand there and take what I give you like the good little whore you are and maybe when I’m finished I’ll give you what you crave most and stuff you completely full.”

From the moment you left him that night weeks ago, his cock still slathered in your cum as he sucked down cigarette after cigarette to calm himself from the intensity of that first encounter, he instantly regretted making you agree to this being a one time ordeal. No one had ever made his body come alive like that, nor had anyone been able to keep up with his incredible stamina like you could. The moment he buried himself in you he was addicted and desperately needed more and try as he might to keep himself sane by jacking off at a rate that would rival that of a teenage boy, it would never come close to the way your silky, tight walls felt clamped down around him. 

“And what if I don’t?” you shot back. “What if I continue to push you for making me go to all this trouble to get you to fuck me again? You were the one who set that fucking ridiculous rule about it being one time and yet the moment I try and get my fix somewhere else, here you come again.”

“I can bloody well change my mind,” he stated firmly, laying down his ruling to supersede everything else that had come before. “The way that watching Soap touch you made my blood boil, watching him take something away from me that I alone had, I cannot let that slide not even with him. I want to be the only one that knows that you feel like, what you taste like, what you fuck like. No one can have you, no one can touch you, ever again. I don’t give a fuck what I have to do, I will make sure that you belong to me and only me, little girl.”  

Pulling up his balaclava just above the tip of his nose as leaned over your body, his raw, yearning mouth latched on to the thick of your hip as he sucked and bit down at the place he had seen Soap’s hand touch, removing any trace of him from your body and replacing it with visible marks that belonged to him. There was no stopping there, though; he wanted markings across all parts of your body so that everyone could see where he had been, where you had been claimed by him, and he wanted you to be reminded each time you looked in the mirror. 

“This is mine and this and this,” he whispered desperately as he released your skin from his mouth intermittently to breathe as his handiwork continued along up and down your burning flesh. “No one can touch you like this ‘cept me.”

Already being stimulated and denied release, every single embrace of his mouth left you reeling in pleasure and the way those soft lips caressed your body mixed with the sharp pain from his bites left you a puddle in his hands. “Please,” the plea fell from your lips before you could clamp your mouth shut to keep it from escaping.

That whimper sent a trail of goosebumps across his skin, making Ghost moan deep in the back of his throat. Hearing you beg was the most beautiful music that had ever graced his ears and it only added fuel to the fire raging inside of him. All at once his shirt felt ungodly hot clinging to his body and so releasing you from his mouth he stood up and wrenched it off quickly over the top of his head to throw it away haphazardly to the floor. 

There it was, that fucking gorgeous broad chest lightly covered with a sparse amount of blonde hair amassed in the center of his pectorals that thinned out as it spread and continued in a line down his wide torso and into his pants, leading directly to that glorious appendage. His line of work made sure to keep him in top physical condition so that he exuded a virile energy that made your fucking knees buckle out from under you and even though his chest was a mix of scars and marks like a road map of the type of life he had lived, it did not matter; he was a god amongst men and you would do anything for even a single glimpse of that mouth-watering happy trail. You could not take your hungry eyes off of it. If your hands weren’t bound you would have already been running your fingers along it before your lips could follow.

“Turn around,” he order roughly, breaking you out of your stupor at his bare chest, “face the door and arch your back. Now, princess.”

It was a struggle to rotate yourself around with your hands locked above your head, but with the promise that he was about to fuck you senseless you got into position before him, rotating your body around and putting enough curve in your back that he could enter you easily. You waited not so patiently to have that feeling of his hands digging into your hips so that he could thrust into you, but what you found instead was the sharp sting of his palm connecting with your bare ass, making it vibrate. 

“Fuck, so beautiful the way it bounces like that,” he groaned as another smack was placed directly on top of the first. “You body was made for punishment. Isn’t that right, baby? Let’s get in a few more for good measure.”

Another smack, but the sting did nothing other than make you whine for more as that large mitt of his cupped the entirety of your backside. His intensity was obviously best when he was given free reign to do what he deemed necessary, even his discipline felt like ecstasy as the sting of it mixed with the pleasure coursing through your veins to make you delirious and ride that razors edge between pain and desire. A few more swift smacks and his handprint was a bright red sign upon your cheek; he couldn’t help but smile at his handiwork and knowing you’d have a glaring reminder tomorrow of him when you couldn’t sit down properly without wincing. 

You were ready to take as much as he was willing to give when you felt him pulling your hips forward a little more so your were on the balls of your feet before he  dropped down onto his knees. His face was now perfectly aligned with your as and  with a firm grip he spread your legs open as far as he could comfortably get them before he was leaning his face in; he needed a fucking taste. Those full lips placed a few quick kisses to your silky, bare petals before his wide tongue opened you up slowly and deliberately as he dragged it the length of your sex to collect as much of your juices as he could on his tongue. Goddamn you were so fucking sweet. 

“Mmm,” he hummed, his vocal chords vibrating against your entrance as the taste of you filled his mouth and tingled on his taste buds. The pad of his tongue hit your clit and your jolted into the door, the over-stimulation sending shock waves through your needy body. The lieutenant became no better than a dog lapping at you with reckless abandon, a man possessed and intoxicated by how the heat from your thighs felt against his face as he absolutely worshiped that sweet little pussy. Those fingertips digging into the meat of your hips tingled as his hunger for you consumed him; he would have been content to lap at your juices for hours until his face was smothered, until he couldn’t breathe and his mask had your scent fused into the fibers.

Even faster than before, the feeling of that beefy tongue playing around your clit with his nose nudging eagerly against your entrance brought you back to the edge of your orgasm. Tears streamed out from the corner of your eyes and onto your chest as your overstimulated sex yearned for completion, hoping that at least this time you would be allowed to come all over his mysterious face. You gripped your finger tighter in your bound hands to hold on for dear life.

“That tongue is gonna kill me,” you cried out, your legs shaking as they did their best to keep you upright. “Fuck, yes baby, make me come.”

That was the one thing that Ghost did not want to hear yet, as it meant that his feast would have to end even though he wasn’t done with his teasing yet. He meant every single word of the promise he made to discipline you for your disrespect and he intended to keep it; you weren’t going to leave his bed this time without being completely and utterly obsessed with him and all he could do for you. With a frustrated but ultimately satisfied sigh, he pulled his tongue away and locked your hips into place with his hands to keep you from backing up against him until he was clear of your cunt. 

You whimpered and whined so pathetically you did not even care about sounding tough anymore. This was too much for anyone to handle and all you wanted was for him to give you your deserved release. Burying your face against the hard surface of the door, you continued your barrage of annoyed and desperate sounds until a gentle touch helped you to turn over to face him once again.

As he came into view, you could see just how much damage had been done to the beast of a man before you. That mask of his was soaked from your juices and his saliva had rolled down to his chin making him look feral. The fabric was so stuck to the center of his face that it was gonna be a bitch to remove, but that twisted grin plastered on his face let you know that he had enjoyed every last second of being buried between your legs. 

“Are you going to behave for me from now on?” he growled as he wiped his exposed mouth with the back of his hand. Silently you nodded, but that wasn’t enough. “Use your words, baby girl,” he demanded. “Say ‘I will be a good girl for you’, say ‘I’ll never stray again’.”

You licked your parched lips. “I will be a good girl for you,” you whined. “So good, I’ll never stray again.”

“Say ‘I belong to you and only you’. Moan it, loud. I want them to hear it outside that fucking door.”

“I belong to you and only you, I promise baby,” you reassured as loudly as you could, not giving a fuck who heard it and secretly wanting someone to. “I don’t want anyone, but you.”

“You’re fucking right, luv. You are my property. Mine,” he growled and just like that it was over; you had served your time and now you both had earned that little death that would drown you in ecstasy.

Those lips that had touched everywhere except your own finally connected as Ghost leaned into your trembling naked body. You could taste yourself on his mouth as his lips danced aggressively with your own, pressing so hard you could feel a swelling from the pressure; another part for him to needlessly claim as it was already his. Reaching above your head he undid the restraints to let your wrists fall free, returning your arms back to you. Immediately you made your way to the waistband of his pants still loosely hanging on about his waist and hungrily tried to push them down off his hips; that cock was yours and you weren’t taking no for an answer anymore. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he scolded as he held your hand against his hip, “you want me to fuck you good and proper, you know what I’m going to want.”

Fuck, your clit was so swollen you thought you would pass out, your body sweaty and aching something fierce. All you wanted was to relieve the pressure, have him to throw you onto his bed and open your legs so that he could rut into you like the absolute cum slut you were. You whimpered when you realized he still had enough sense to continued to torture you. 

Simon leaned in closer, his chest firm against your scant top so that your breasts were pressed to him. “Just start moving those beautiful lips for me,” he purred in that gravely tone that he played up for the effect of making you throb harder for him, “and beg. If you want me to get that fucking ache deep inside, I’m going to need a bit more from you.”

There was no more fight left in you to disobey him; whatever he wanted you would give in without question just to have him let you come. “P-please,” you said with agitation that you had been broken. 

His strong, rough grip found your jawline to hold still as he ran his large thumb across your lips before he leaned in forward. His warm breath hit your earlobe as he rested at the side of your head. “Please, what?” he pushed, his voice lowering into that register that made you wild. “Use your words and say my name; I need you to get used to using it. You’ll be screaming it often after tonight. Say: Fuck me Simon, please.”

Through gritted teeth you tried to remain sane. “Please, fuck me Simon,” you repeated the phrase he had given you to parrot. This was the first time you had ever used his real name and fuck did it feel perfect tumbling off your tongue. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, “that wasn’t good enough.”

He scooped you up in his arms and quickly moved you both over to his bed where to shoved you down onto the surface while pulling your crop top and bra up over your head in one move. Those pants that had somehow stayed put around his hips all this time were finally shoved off the curve of his ass and onto the ground, leaving him exposed in all his beautiful glory as he took his seat next to you on the mattress. 

Roughly you were pulled directly over his lap, his throbbing phallus waiting impatiently between your dripping thighs. He took one leg into each of his large hands to spread you wide and tilted you both back so that he could better position himself under your entrance and when he was aligned he situated his cock between your petals and rocked you back and forth to coat him as he teased your core. You squirmed in his grasp, trying to move your hips so that he would enter you, but it was no use; he had you in his grasp and at his mercy.

“Now,” he cleared his throat, breathing deeply to slow his rapid heartbeat as he stroked himself through you. “Repeat it again or you will have to wait longer, luv.”

Goddamn him for having so much fucking control. How could anyone be expected to be anything less than a fucking mess when a giant of a man is encompassing your entire body with his massive one as his cock was teasing your aching hole by being so close and yet so far from hitting the back of your cervix? Under those circumstances you were doing quite fucking well. 

“P-please, Simon, fuck me,” you said louder and more enthusiastically this time. “Fuck me until I can’t take it anymore. Until the walls know the sound of my moans, until the entire unit knows how well I scream your name. Fuck, please baby I need it.”

Those hands holding up your thighs dug in further to the supple flesh with strong fingertips enough to make you gasp. “Good girl,” he praised. “You’re such a fucking whore for me, aren’t you? And now I am going to ruin you for anyone else.”

He rocked you both back and then forward quickly to where you were pushed down over top of his cock as he thrust upward with his pelvis. The action made you take him in down to the hilt all at once and filled you completely until you could not take another centimeter. 

“Fuck,” he groaned forcefully as you took him all in… so tight, so wet, he could feel his muscles strain as he bottomed out inside you.

You mewled at the feeling of him stretching you out so quickly, his girth almost more than the walls of your pussy could handle. Fuck, you were so full of him that when he finally pulled out of you it would feel so goddamn empty it would physically hurt. A twitch of that ungodly thick appendage inside you made you whine. 

“That’s right,” he praised, “take it all, I know you can, you little bitch. Uuugh…goddamn.”

Those powerful arms locked themselves around your waist as he used your body as his own personal fleshlight, making you bounce with force up and down on him at his unyielding pace; you may have been the one to be punished, but making him wait was just as much torture and he had to reclaim every last second of time he was not inside of you by fucking you with a ferocity that left you completely destroyed. You could only sit and take every last delectable inch that he gave you as his massive girth stretched your walls with every thrust of his pelvis upward. The room was filled with the wet, sticky music of your bodies slapping against each other as he worked your hole as if this was the last chance he would get to fuck you and he needed to make it count. This wasn’t love, not something tender, but only pure animalistic lust and the more he stroked in and out of you the more he needed. Simon’s mind was consumed with only you and how you made him feel in that moment: powerful.

“I should call Soap in here and make him watch you get fucked like this by me,” the gravel in his thickly accented voice getting even deeper with the ungodly feeling of you wrapped so tight around him as he pounded slow and hard into you over and over again. “Would you like that, hmm? Making your little boy toy watch you get fucked by a real man, letting him know that what he got tonight is all he is ever going to get from you? You want him to hear you screaming my name while I fill this sweet pussy with all I got?”

Fucking hell he was voracious in his need to claim you and it made your body shiver from being overwhelmed with animalistic prowess. No one had ever wanted you this much, especially a man at the peak of his masculine power, and the exhilaration of being so completely desired beyond reason was overwhelmingly euphoric. 

“Yes,” your slack-jawed mouth breathed out. “I want everyone to know I’m yours. That they can’t touch me or else. I want to show everyone what a good girl I am for you and only you.” 

“Oh, fuck baby,” he whimpered as your words made your body respond by contracting around him as you bore down with the conviction of your statement, “I can feel you clenching around me. My little whore loves to think about everyone knowing our secret, doesn’t she?”

Goddammit, that was such an erotic thought, making Johnny or anyone really watch as he owned you. It was like the type of domination a dog feels when marking its territory; Simon would have loved for the whole damn team to see your tits bounce as you rode his cock, your cries of pleasure being the soundtrack to the show.  

Harder and faster, his frenzied pace drilled his cock into you relentlessly as those thoughts  filled his mind and made him ravenous for the sensation of your body. He had waited so long for this, dreampt of this, pleaded for this, and it felt just as exhilarating as that first time if not more because now he knew he could have this whenever the fuck he wanted. If he could have kicked his own ass for trying to deny you both from this bliss, he would have in an instant, but never again would he let this go.

Those strong arms wrapped around your middle to keep you steady as he held on so tightly you felt your torso being crushed, but it did not matter as the angle of his penetration hit its mark consistently each and every time. You leaned fully back into him, your arms wrapping backward around his shoulders so that you could rest your head on them while your ear was filled with the sound of his primal grunting. 

His view was instantly filled with your perky chest jiggling as each of his thrusts sent shock waves through you to make them dance and goddamn was it a delicious sight. Since your arms secured you more to him, he was able to release one of his from around your waist and it slithered up so that his hand could find it’s place around your neck; such a perfect necklace for his special girl, one befitting of your unique tastes. 

“Do you even know what I would do for you? Do you know how deep my lust for you goes? How much I want to possess you?” he growled as his hand tightened around your slender throat. 

Without warning he had pulled out of you only briefly so that he could aggressively flip you over onto your back, getting into position by kneeling in front of you as he threw your legs onto his broad, sculpted shoulders before he gripped your hips and instantly reentered you. The new position helped him to reach even deeper and you mewled loudly, your head flying back as your hands clenched his sheets in your fists at the sensation. You pulled your head up to look into his eyes as he again picked up his desperate pace, his abs glistening with sweat as they contracted and released after each thrust. Those brown eyes sparkled with a fire you had never seen before and you loved it. 

“I would burn this place to the fucking ground just to bury myself in that perfect cunt as much as I please,” he growled deep and primal. “Fucking hell baby, I won’t be able to ever get enough.” 

Those words were the catalyst for the warmth now spreading out from within your belly to making your limbs tingle as everything was focused on your orgasm. It was so close you could taste it and you felt confident that this was the time he would let you finally release; there was no way he could stop himself, not with the way his hips were pounding into you. 

“I am yours to use whenever you please,” you groaned as your body writhed wildly. “Use me, fucking use me.”

You keep talking like that and you wouldn’t be able to perform your duties for the 141 because you’d be kept far too exhausted to function by him making sure you stayed plastered around his dick constantly. That wasn’t a bad idea at all, having you at his beck and call whenever he needed it: after a stressful mission, during the middle of an uneventful one, at all hours whenever he needed a quick fix where he could simply pull you into any secluded space. This was the start of something destructive, but screw it this is what he wanted and god did that put him on the very edge of his own orgasm.

“Oh God, oh fucking God, Simon,” your husky breath carried the words upon it for the third and hopefully final time, breaking him from his thoughts as your cries to the heavens could only mean one this.  

And shit did that make Simon smile; after all the time he had edged you this night there was no chance in hell you wouldn’t come with fury. “That’s it, luv,” he praised as he kept the pace steady, “you going come for me? Your orgasm belongs to me and I demand it.”

“Fuck, Simon, just don’t stop,” you whined.

That is exactly what he did, not changing a single thing that would disrupt the gathering sensation of ecstasy inside your core. No, this train was barreling down the tracks faster by the minute and he craved above all else to be brought to his own end by your climax alone. To feel those silky walls flutter around him before you clamped down hard, squeezing him just right so that he would be forced to come; he wouldn’t settle for anything less.

“Come for me,” he demanded as he tried desperately to hold off from bursting, “let me feel that pussy clench.”

A few more pumps of him deep in your core and that was it, like a hot flash of white light you cried out in shaky whimpers as your orgasm tore through with such force you nearly shot off the bed as your back arched and your hips bucked harshly into him. “Goddammit Simon, fuck.”

Through your cries he picked up the pace and finally the warmth that had been building shot through his body, coursing like a burning river of fire through his veins as he ripped his cock out of you and through your thighs from your legs still perched on his shoulders to cover your stomach in his steaming hot semen. The roar he released as his body shook while he drained his cock dry over top of you until he had no more left in him to give sounded like a wild animal and you could not have enjoyed it more than you did; you were the one to make him come with such force he was reduced to his more basic instincts.

Simon’s head hung slack against your calves as his unsteady breath slowly returned to a more tolerable rhythm and only then did he remove your legs from his shoulders and rolled over to sit beside you, an exhausted sack of flesh completely sated for the moment. Leaning over he reached under the edge of the bed, producing an old t-shirt out from under it which he handed to you so that you could wipe his milky fluids off your torso.

He was already sitting back propped against his pillows with a cigarette in his mouth by the time you finished up and you moved back in the bed to join him. Holding out his fingers with the lit stick of tobacco between them, he offered you a hit and you graciously took it; this was an intense night worthy of a bit of nicotine to take the edge off. 

With a more relaxed gaze he looked upon  you, admiring the bright flush of your cheeks that was also spread across your chest and the contented glisten in your eyes, all evidence that he had done his job. Bringing his hand up he combed his fingers through your hair until he reached the back of your head where he held them wrapped in the strands a moment. “You did so well for me baby,” his stern praise soothed. “And are you going to continue to be my perfectly little slut?”

You nodded your head, just gazing back into those amber eyes that looked on your wrecked state as if you were a masterpiece. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the corners of his mouth upturned slightly as he took back his cig from you to take another lazy drag. “I suggest you rest up now sweetheart because once I can get it back up we are going to go at least one more round before I’m finished. We still got plenty of night left and we are going to take full fucking advantage of it.”

A main course and dessert? That was more  than agreeable, considering how long you had waited for this to happen in the first place. “Fine,” you said as you rolled onto your side, resting your arm on your hip with a sudden renewed sense of entitlement quickly coming back on, “but this time I will be the one on top. Otherwise you can kiss this sweet ass goodbye as I walk right out that door.”

Simon chuckled. “Oh you are a tough one to crack, sweetheart. Best be glad that precious little cunt you have resting between those legs is more than worth the trouble. And that I am a man that loves a challenge. This whole thing is just getting started and I am more than confident that by the end I will have broken this feral kitten into a perfectly docile house cat.”

You hoped he would fucking try cause what a ride that would be, but if anyone could break you it would be him. He handed the cig back to you one more time and you again accepted it. “We shall see, sir,” you breathed out the smoke from the side of your mouth. “We shall see.”

Challenge accepted. 

*** 

On the other side of the door, a set of unaware prying ears had caught wind of noise as they passed by. They had not meant to, but curiosity is a bitch of a temptress and soon they were within range enough to clearly hear the moans and whimpers, the groans and growls, currently reverberating off the walls of the room. The person had not realized where it was they found themselves as they had simply been taking a walk to clear their head, but soon it became apparent that this was the private quarters of that misanthrope of a lieutenant. 

At first they couldn’t help but snicker under their breath, congratulating the quiet man at getting some action because why not? It wasn’t until the voice of the female had actually began to speak instead of moan that their blood pressure rose and they could feel their heartbeat in their ears. It was you that Ghost was currently making come and that did not sit right with them, not at all. 

Who said he got to lay claims when they were the one putting in all the effort, when there had clearly been chemistry between you both? No, this wasn’t how it was going to be. He would not take this lying down, rolling over and showing his belly in intimidation by the much bigger officer as he stole you away all to himself. The eavesdropper had as much stake in you as him and if Ghost thought he could simply take you as easily as that, then he had another thing coming.

A mohawked head quickly turned about face and headed back to his own quarters, drunkenly promising himself that it did not matter what Ghost had made you promise or what you had just declared through your sated ecstasy, he would show you that he could be just as every bit as good as the old lieutenant himself.    

[kneelingshadowsalome]

what if engel is a virgin but insanely boy crazy 👁👄👁 and she will/can never not be

Hoooo boy!

NSFW below the cut

So, um. Reader never told König if she's experienced or not (if she was a virgin then my thoughts and prayers are with her.) Part of König's hostility in the crazy mating scene comes from his belief that Engel is not a virgin. He is extremely jealous of everyone reader might've had before him, so he guides his frustration to heated, possessive sex, stripping her with a knife, and so on.

But if we imagine you told him it's your first time, then things would go slightly differently. König would be much more delicate with you!

And good God… He would be even more enamored. You're kind, you're sweet, you're innocent and you're a virgin too?

König can’t believe his luck. You're just perfect. He can’t stand the thought of you with other men so finding out you're in fact untouched is only a blessing. König wants to be the only one who makes you scream and sigh. And what an ultimate fantasy: he gets to corrupt a pure, pristine virgin (of course König would never put it this way. He's simply introducing you to pleasure. Nothing wrong with that, right? He has good intentions! He's the best choice if you wish to feel good, ja ❤️)

So, König tries to keep his cool as he asks if this is what you truly want (yes? please say yes) and if this is the right time (this is as good a time as any, you just need to trust him!), is he truly the man you want to give yourself to? (tell him he’s the one, you will not regret it.)

He tries to be a gentleman and at the same time can't keep his hands off you. Hands steal their way under your clothes as he tries to persuade you by whispering things like: "I will be good to you, there’s no need to be afraid. I will be gentle, I promise…" But it’s difficult to believe anything he says because his hands are trembling, the whole man is trembling and throbbing and panting already.

If and when you're willing to have sex, König will take you in a classic missionary. No pounding from behind, no crazy unhinged mating press. And he prepares you first! With his tongue, perhaps pulls out an orgasm or two so that you will be relaxed and ready for him. It’s very likely that König pumps himself through an orgasm too while pleasing you with his mouth because he’s waited so long for this moment. Your taste and the sounds you make as he licks you to ruin are far too much. He will erupt in mere minutes and then be hard again in no time for the main event.

König tries so, so hard to control the urge to just plow you until your eyes roll in your head. He tries his best not to simply pound himself straight into oblivion. He wanted you before, sure, but now his want is doubled. Tripled. He fears he will hurt you and basically shakes from the effort to restrain himself as he finally enters you.

He goes a little over the top with the praise, too... You feel so good, nothing has ever felt better, you're such a good girl when you said yes, Lieber Gott you look cute like this, he knew you were made for him, etc. And he wants to know that you feel good. Not just to check if you're ok, but to hear how he makes you feel. Does he give you pleasure? Do you like it when he does it slowly? He can be more rough if you want. How does it feel to have a man inside you for the first time?

He's sweating from love and frustration, the hunger becomes all-consuming as he approaches his peak, and you get to see a sliver of who this man truly is underneath all that fake composure. As sad as it sounds, there's a chance he is so lost in you that he cums before you. He just can't help it. But he will make sure you get all the pleasure you need before the night is through and be extra attentive with the aftercare ❤️ (Also he would definitely be one of those guys who check if there's blood after you did it because he thinks it's a given that there is)

[loveindefinitely]

O b s e s s e d with need to listen to me. I can't get it out of my head.

I mostly can't stop thinking of soap who is so disgruntled and moody after the whole ordeal. Just absolutely pent up, so he starts acting out, snapping, talking back, that sort of thing. As promised price extends his punishment and it only breaks soap down more and more until finally he's sobbing and begging price to please do Something.

I have no idea where to go from here I just love the mental image of soap acting out when he doesn't get what he wants, maybe price extends ghost and gaz's punishments as well. Says something like "you can thank him for this" and now they're All huffy and upset.

Reader's the only one who is spared so they take out their frustration on her.

Ok i'm done thank you so much have a good day

-🐭

you are a GENIUS omg. ily. this is sososo canon in this mini poly141 verse.

warning. nsfw drabble (cont. ntltm)

because you're so right. soap would be a total bitch afterwards. needy and pent up and kinda jealous that you two are the only ones that got to get off, even though he put so much effort into eating you out. homeboy is stressed.

cue the next morning, where he's grumpy, whiney and just overall being a frustrating guy to be around.

ghost is in the kitchen, fixing up breakfast in the mess, and soap would just come up behind him, nuzzling his head into his neck and pressing his dick against simon. rutting into him kinda, before ghost shoots him a vicious glare. he backs off.

but then, he sees gaz walking in, and he rushes over to him, pulling him into a deep hug. one that was a bit too much for their usual morning interactions.

that's when you stumble in, weary eyed and still kinda lethargic from last night's ordeal.

and soap's not mad, not really, but he's frustrated that you got the better end of the deal.

so, he pulls you in, hands at your hips, before he's assaulting your mouth with feverish kisses. they're frantic, and you can feel how hard he is where it presses against your stomach. you try and pull away, and when you do, the man huffs like a disgruntled pup.

when it's price who comes in next, soap is pissed off beyond relief.

rising a brow, a challenging one, price would ask how he slept. soap would roll his eyes and mutter something under his breath that would have your eyes blowing wide, a little shocked, a little dismayed.

gaz would blow out a deep exhale, extracting himself from the situation, walking quietly over to ghost. which, for once, would be the safest option out of you four.

and price would narrow his eyes, daring soap to keep up his pissy attitude. soap would, of course, because this man has absolutely ZERO self preservation skills.

he'd then have the nerve to ask if he can bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you. just, openly asking, as if you yourself aren't standing right there.

price would simply tell him that he won't be allowed to stick his dick in anything for the rest of the week.

then, he'd stride over to the other two men without another word, tell them the same thing, and get to work cutting up some spinach.

and you'd be left there, gaping, confused, as soap stands with a similar expression. as if he wasn't fully aware that his actions held consequences, and he really shouldn't have been such a brat after last night.

he'd narrow his eyes at you, snarky, saying something about how you yet again evaded punishment.

say something about how price 'dinnae said nothin' 'bout bendin' ye over, aye?" and he'd forcefully bend you over the table, rutting into your back like a mutt, using your body without inserting anything anywhere.

and, with a moment of clarity, you'd realise that gaz and ghost are watching, with a glint of envy in their eyes.

you'd been in for a long week.

this is absolutely shit btw because halfway through writing this my BED BROKE and i think i may have also broken my toe. so this is coming from a place of pain and distress. great idea tho !! thanks for enjoying my writing mwah mwah

[natalchartnurtures]

PAC: How can you wear your "Big Boy" pants right now?

Sometimes we need reminders that we can in fact, be "big boys" in our lives and take responsibility to change what we don't like about our lives. Happy reading!

_________________________________________________________

Pile 1:

There's a lot you CAN do. In fact, you have been doing a lot by yourself, weathering proverbial storms all on your own. Unfortunately, you haven't been conscious enough to acknowledge all the effort you've been putting in to simply push through. Let me be the one to give you the kudos you deserve, Pile 1. You've been doing way more than you think, albeit these are mostly internal efforts (like maintaining a headstrong attitude in the face of a challenge). You currently feel challenged to take active steps in your external life, though. You might find it hard to apply things you learn to your life or simply lack the discipline to see your (quite excellent) plans through. You need to be reminded that you do have the free will to choose to make all your plans come to life :) You have what it takes, sweetie; you really do.

Bonus - How do you need to go about it? One thing that can EASILY help you execute your plans is to bring in help (trigger warning though). You all seem Independent AF, and I get it, sweets. With everything you've been doing, of course, you can handle anything, but you definitely need some support too right now. Especially if you struggle with something like discipline (or whatever challenge you're facing right now). Bringing in even just ONE person (or multiple) to help hold you accountable to your plans, with compassion, would help you a lot (that person/people don't have to be real too; you could bring in a bot from an app or AI, I don't care) as long as you feel like you have a buddy, you know? Somebody who makes you feel like your plans matter. It's an excellent way to pour into yourself right now and show yourself some TLC ✨️ You deserve to make your plans a reality and have a bit of fun on your path towards it.

Love, light, and hugs!

_________________________________________________________

Pile 2:

Doing things your way and rejecting convention might be a BIG step for you, to be honest, but it's well worth it, Pile 2. Celebrate yourself, basically. Slow down and enjoy yourselves a little bit. Maybe you've been living your life BY THE BOOK so far, and now you're going to put your big boy pants on by letting loose and doing things differently for once. You're not abandoning yourself and your needs nearly as much anymore, and so you're quite stable in your own skin as a result. That's really impressive, Pile 2! You have lived in fear (possibly a fear of failure), and I'm sensing some mommy wounds maybe? This is where your fear stems from, and this fear has kept you from really truly living. You might identify as a workaholic too. Maybe you prefer to keep yourself busy as a coping mechanism to ward off any feelings of anxiety. This has a direct correlation to childhood wounds of yours. So put your big boy pants on and put an end to conforming to standards that don't respect you and what you stand for, Pile 2.

Bonus - How do you need to go about it? I feel like this pile needs extra guidance on how to exactly wear their big boy pants. Start by acknowledging that you do have wounds from childhood, specifically those from female (motherly) figures, if not your mother herself. Take a radical approach to your healing journey right now. Look into the concept of mothering yourself and come up with customized ways to do just that. You got this, Pile 2 :)

Love, light, and hugs!

_________________________________________________________

Pile 3:

It seems like you've already been wearing your big boy pants, Pile 3. Good job! Looks like you've been on a healing journey, and you're now at a point in life where you can reap the benefits of all the inner work you've done. You've reached a level of mastery over the mind, and now it's time to make room to tend to your heart. You need something that your authority figures couldn't give you readily, and that's unconditional compassion. Show yourself kindness even when things don't go as you'd like them to. Hold yourself through the thick and thin of life, as you would a child. This should open up a brand new way of living and viewing life that you never thought possible. It has always been waiting for you and your attention. Nurture yourself on a whole new level and be ready to receive 10X from the universe. You're going to feel so spoiled, I love it, haha! 😄

Love, light, and hugs!

_________________________________________________________

[bokettochild]

I just saw a post asking which Link would make the best villain and....

It's Time guys

Like, I love the man, but let's be real; he's a second from snapping and committing atrocities.

Twilight is so thoroughly traumatized by the vision the spirits gave him and Fi's judgement of him that he literally can't stand messing with magic that isn't actually his own or connected to him. And while, sure, he doesn't need magic to be a villain, let's be real, it'd take something magical to force him to turn his back on everything he's ever fought for.

Similarly, Wild fought and died for his kingdom, and his people. There is nothing and no one worse than what he's already seen that could possibly make him turn his back on it all and throw his work down the drain just to destroy everything he'd built himself.

Legend is the same. he's been doing this far too long to ditch now. Granted, he's a grump, but if you look at his games, you see he's a highly empathetic and caring person. Unlike the others, who were tasked with saving the world by a mentor or friend, or had to go and save a friend or family member, or who where sworn to duty; Legend was literally some kid who was asked by an utter stranger to help, and did. Six times. No way someone like that is going to go and destroy everything.

And Wind! Wind is a moral guy, with a good heart. he set out for personal reasons and saw in his journey that there were bigger fish to fry, and he fried them. He had no reason to take it on, no call of the goddess, no responsibility, no reason for him, a child, to go and save the world as well as his sister, but he did it anyway.

Sky and Warriors are simply too devout. Warriors to the kingdom and it's people; with everything he suffered for them, you can't tell me the man isn't dedicated to serving his country. And Sky is loyal to Sun, who is Hylia, so he literally would never go against her. And by the law of the Zelda universe, villains are those who go against Hylia and Hyrule.

Four is an iffy one. Most people might say "but Vio was a villain!" but let's be real; if you read the manga, you know Vio was bluffing all along. If Vio, part of Four, didn't bow even under Shadow's influence, and Vaati's, and Ganon's, then again; who and what would drive this man to become a villain? Granted, the persuing of dark magic to bring back his lost friend could be argued, but is more likely to lead to his corruption than his attempting to take over Hyrule and kill innocents.

Hyrule is tough, since we have very little to work off of in cannon, but come on, even if Hyrule did turn to evil, he wouldn't exactly be able to do much. Hyrule's already in ruins in his time, and the monsters wouldn't hear of working beside him. He'd have everyone against him, and even if he does hold the triforce in it's entirety and thus could do all sorts of horrible things, he has neither motivation nor reason to turn away to becoming a villain.

Time though......

Time has watched the world burn and all his efforts be turned around and lost. He has lost everything so many times, usually with no reward or reason. In the end, Time, though a good man, cares more for the individual than the country. He cares about his wife and his boys, and based off the scars, we can only guess what lengths he's already gone to in order to accomplish his goals.

Time, if faced with the right issue, has every risk of dropping from defender to threat. Hyrule be damned, this man cares for his wife, his kids, his home, and if you threaten that, no matter who you are, he will go after you. He's one second away from going after Hylia and all she has done to him and those around him. He detests the Blade of Evil's bane, the symbol of Hylia's blessing. He borders every moment on the precipice of taking power beyond mortals to fulfill his own wishes, even if it is to help those he loves.

Put Malon in danger, heck, one of the boys, and Time won't let something silly like morals stop him from doing whatever it takes to protect what little that is still his and hasn't already been taken from him. He will fight tooth and nail not to lose anything else, and he won't let even the goddesses stop him.l

[sheenashifts1217]

Pick a Pile No.1

Welcome to my first Pick a Pile :)

This is a collective reading so it may resonate more for some than others. Take what helps you and leave what doesn’t. 💗

If you’d like a personal reading, I currently have a deal in my shop for a free five song channeled playlist with any purchase of an s/o reading. Check my pinned post for more details.😊

What Advice Will Aid Your Shifting Journey

Choose pile 1, 2, or 3

Take a breath and simply pick the one you feel most drawn to.

(Top left pile 1, top right pile 2, bottom pile 3)

Pile 1

Lyrics standing out:

“You b**** ain’t like me

Dance in the breeze

A man with the sleaze

Stop it, get another topic

I got the nerve

And I block it

You’re a brat

Cause I never repeat

Do what I say like Simon

I’m a VIP

Sorry I’m pretty and easy to hate”

Okay pile 1, I SEE YOU GUYS!!! 💅🏼 This pile is short and sweet because you all know what you need, self aware queens. You all know your power, and as you should. For those of you in this pile who really know your power, own it more, step into it, actually practice it.

It feels like you all know what you need to do and you know you can shift, you’re just being lazy. PUT THE WORK IN. But frl, it seems like you guys really just need to set some time aside to focus on shifting and your DR because you know what to do, you just feel too busy. It’s okay to take a breath. Some of you all in this pile may also be rushing yourself. Allow yourself to accept what your experiencing and just let it flow. It’s already yours, you already have all of your desires.

Overall, pile 1, you guys are baddies whether you know it or not. Step into that power, own it, and use it. Make time for yourself and slow down a little. You don’t have to experience everything at the same time, that’s why you have a life, spend it.

Confirmation: 222, 444, Aquarius, ford mustang, hot pink, purple number 4, Elmo?, Sesame Street, Disney, neon green nails

Pile 2

Lyrics standing out:

“Trying to cover up my face

Try and stay calm

Something missing

I think looks wrong

When pretty isn’t pretty enough

What do you do?

I could change up my body and change up my face

You can win the battle

Insecure

Try to ignore it

I don’t know why I even try (I see the starfish position)

Just feel like sh*** over and over again”

Hi pile 2! You guys are giving me 2020 shiftok vibes. A lot of you probably started to practice shifting around 2019/2020 and were fed a lot of misinformation and now you feel like that is stopping you, but it doesn’t have to, let that go. You are in charge of your own reality so take that misinformation and use it as a learning experience. Don’t be discouraged because it was false or didn’t work for you, that’s good because now you’re one step closer to knowing yourself and what does work for you!

You may be a person that is on social media a lot in general or just hyperaware of others lives and you’re comparing yourself to them. STOP IT. Everyone’s experience is their own. When you see someone else’s success or experience, you don’t know what went down before that. Focus on yourself and what is meant for you, will happen. Accept it and take charge of it. You may be one who relies on others success for your own motivation as well, this is your sign to rely on yourself. Connect with your higher self and trust your intuition.

Keep going pile 2! You guys have put in time and energy this far, what’s a little longer? Your efforts are not in vain. You’ve got this. Trust yourself!

Confirmation: tiktok, iPhone, 13, dodge, dodgers, football, Dallas cowboy cheerleaders, red white & blue, Olympics, gymnastics, toe nails, 12

Pile 3

Lyrics standing out:

“Light headed

For some reason I find myself lost in what you think of me

And too confused who I should be

In a big old world

We’re so alike

When I cross that line

It’s been a point of contention between myself and this body they stuck me in

Am I pretty enough to lie to you

Let me be the void you fill

I am quantum physics

My witness brings me to existence

So I can be your girlfriend boyfriend”

Hello my lovely pile 3! You all feel trapped either in your bodies or just to this reality in general. You have put shifting to your DR on a pedestal or even a part of you doesn’t want to accept that it’s real because you may not feel worthy. Remind yourself that you are constant, flowing energy.

Some of you have been so focused on “finding yourself”, that instead you have used the 3D to define who you are in the 4D. Make the two align.

Try to focus more on the “what” of shifting, instead of the “how”. Feel those connections and emotions you have in your DR. Maybe focus on one in particular that is important to you. Focus on one DR at a time. You have overwhelmed yourself with the thoughts of wanting to shift and being everywhere at once. Take your time and enjoy your CR as well. Shifting is an act and a journey, it’s real life, so make sure you’re still taking care of yourself.

In summary, you are more than your body. You are your thoughts and emotions and your actions, your love and energy you spread. Own that energy and use it for your benefit. Focus on who you are and what it is you want. Try to have a clear idea of that, then connect to it. Once you feel that connection, that’s it. Congratulations it’s now yours. Forget the 3D and just know it’s already yours.

Confirmation: red, Taylor Swift, (Taylor’s version), reputation, Niall Horan, train, Liam Payn, 2222, lock and key, hearts, stars, moon, “go piss girl”, dress to impress

[cheesus-doodles]

Star-Crossed by Choice: Chapter 3

Yandere Raihan & Leon with Champion Darling

Pokemon SwSh and SV Crossover

‎

<< Chapter 1 | 2

Masterlist

‎

apologies for the sudden hiatus yall ;-; i've been pulling midnight days almost every day for the past month for work on top of dealing with quite a severe writer block - things has been calming down somewhat so I look forward to ramping up my writing again! thank you for your patience :3

“You ungrateful little whore,” Raihan all but snarled out, the whites of his gritted teeth glinting in the dim street light as he stared you down.

Your body instantly reacted, attempting to stumble back and away despite having collapsed on the ground, your trembling gaze all but locked on Raihan’s icy teals, unable to turn away. If looks could kill, you wouldn’t be dead, no - the fate that awaited you was so much worse than the kind embrace of death. Your Cinderace let out an uncertain trill as it looked back at you, quickly followed by an annoyed one as it shifted to block your view of the gym leader. The astute Pokemon you had the honor to call your partner was more than well aware of the situation, though its efforts did little to stop the shivers that wrecked your body as you tried and failed to force yourself to get up and move.

Raihan was hardly deterred. “After all I’ve done for you, after all you’ve put me through-” The taller man took a step forward, his towering shadow falling over you, eyes almost seeming to glow in the dark and he stared you down. “This is how you repay my love?” 

It was as if your Cinderace barely existed between the two of you, those narrowed eyes piercing straight past the Pokemon and into your soul, a shot from a harpoon that hooked into your flesh and froze you in place. There was no right answer to his question, even if you could muster the words to reply, because there wasn’t supposed to be one; you were never right. Only wrong. 

The town of Cortando was predictably quiet at this time of the night, with residents and student visitors having long retreated into their beds to prepare for the coming day. You envied them - and you always had - having the freedom that the new dawn would bring to look forward to. And even though you treasured every day you could roam the rolling hills of Paldea, free from the shackled throne you were forced to sit upon in Galar, it wasn’t without needing to constantly look over your back for the monsters that lurked in the shadows.

And now, the freedom you had so carefully constructed for yourself was threatening to shatter before your eyes. 

You gulped, pleading eyes sliding to glance at Nemona, who was still staring blankly at the whole ongoing shitshow. What now? Could you simply give all this up? Go back to the safety of what you knew? You had to, your mind screamed at you. Concede now, surrender and return peacefully before it’s too late, and you could maybe still enjoy some semblance of the miniscule comfort you had before your abrupt escape.

But it was your heart and the sinking feeling in the base of your gut that told you the truth. That it was already too late for you: you had forced the Hammerlocke gym leader into giving up all pretense of playing the persona he was so loved for, and like an awakened dragon, the man you faced was now one usually reserved only for you and your transgressions against him. Allowing others to lay eyes on such a private side of him would hardly be kind to you if Raihan got his way.

“Hey! Eyes here while I’m talking to you,” the man snapped, and your gaze immediately jumped back to meet his, the hair on the back of your neck standing as you realized that you had been too obvious in allowing your attention to waver away from Raihan. If Cinderace hadn’t been between the two of you, you were sure around your neck was exactly where the other’s hands would be at this precise point in time. “Do I mean so little to you now, princess? Just trash to be cast aside, huh?”

What now? What else?

‎

Yet that was hardly the whole sum of your issues at the moment. Allowing your eyes to slide away from Raihan once more as the man continued to vent and rant to himself, and there in the dim yellow light waited another patient pair, Leon looking deceptively relaxed from where he was leaned against an unassuming lamppost lazily scanning his surroundings, just a stone’s throw behind the hoodie-touting gym leader. And as if he could feel your wide-eyed stare, the ex-Champion looked up, catching your eyes lingering on him. Smirking as he dropped whatever it was that he had been tossing from one hand to the other, the purple-haired man leisurely strolled over, clapping one hand over an unusually agitated Raihan’s shoulder. “Calm, Raihan,” Leon smirked, golden eyes having never left yours. “She’s still here.”

Raihan let out an annoyed tsk, shaking Leon off of him, though the gym leader did take a deep breath and calmed down. 

I’m still here, you repeated mentally. So close where they could almost grasp you, your eyes flickering between the two as their shadow only seemed to grow longer and longer, swallowing you up and dragging you further from the light, yet so far away. Your chances to get away were only getting slimmer with every passing minute. Having to shake Raihan off was one thing, with the blue-eyed man’s seemingly dragon-like senses and his ability to read you like an open book, but adding Leon into the equation was a whole different ball game.

But you had to try. Giving up and returning to that life that awaited you, it simply wasn’t an option, if not for you, then for your beloved Pokemon friends. You’ve already beaten them once, you tried to reassure yourself. All that time ago, when you had become Galar Champion, and then again and again every Championship. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, you shifted your hand, dipping into your pocket to pull out a small clicker, all the while wrecking your brains to come up with a plan. You just had to beat them again this time. Give up, those nagging voices at the back of your mind urged again.

Far from the rage that Raihan had worked himself into, Leon was still calm and collected, the tanned man with a mob of purple hair reaching out towards you, offering one ungloved hand as if an olive branch. “It’s time to come home, love,” he reassured. “It’s not too late. Everything’ll go back to normal, same way it always was, if you come home with us now. I promise.”

A lie. You know better to fall for those honeyed words - that hadn’t been a question but an order. You closed your eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. It was all too much for you.

Those amber eyes moved to lock onto your Cinderace. “And you. Return to your Pokeball.”

Your partner pokemon bristled, letting out a warning growl.

‎

Leon had always frightened you, more than Raihan ever did. The Dragon gym leader had always been very obvious, very deliberate with his actions, never bothering to hide his intentions, to the extent of making it public to his leagues of fans the moment you were in his grasp. But you hadn’t even noticed the once-undefeated Champion’s claws wrapping around you until he already had you trapped.

The glimpse of purple hair you kept catching from the corner of your eye had you momentarily thinking of Hop, your oldest and dearest friend that you had left behind in Galar. You wondered how he was doing, whether he still thought of you like you did of him. Whether he had already achieved his goal of researching rare pokemon. Whether he still looked up to his older brother after what Leon had done to him the day you toppled Goliath and became reigning Champion.

You thought about writing to him from time to time, especially during those lonely nights when you camped out in the far corner of some field, stoking a crackling fire under the twinkling stars with your Pokemon fast asleep around you. You remembered when Hop would join you to feast on curry when the two of you were kids, when neither had any worries beyond homework and whether the channels would have the latest episode of your favorite show. But you had always decided against it at the end of the day, worried about being tracked down should Leon get a hold of one - and you could only offer simple wishes up to whatever deity was listening that Hop was doing well. 

Fat load of good that did you.

Your hand moved fast, tapping away on the converted morse paddle key hidden to the side of your body: non-verbal instructions to your Cinderace. Not only was it a system that both you and your Pokemon were well accustomed with, having practiced it again and again throughout the course of the Galar Championships and beyond, but it also took advantage of Pokemon’s natural heightened senses and your two self-established “guardians” inability to understand. And you knew your partner heard you loud and clear, the bunny Pokemon’s ear twitching in acknowledgement despite keeping its back turned to you.

Though despite your best attempts, your unspoken communication didn’t go unnoticed. Leon’s face darkened, in step with Raihan snarling. “Not going to use your words?” “What did I say about clicking?”

Fortunately, right on cue, Cinderace took a quick swipe at them, forcing the two men back a few paces to avoid the tip of its feet before your partner retreated back to stand guard in front of you. 

The breeze had picked up once more, carrying with it the calls of Hoothoot and the rustle of grass from outside of town, the fields alive with nocturnal Pokemon. You shivered in the warm wind, your mind racing. One step down, countless more to go. Could you pull it off?

‎

‎

It was far too obvious that you weren’t giving up the fight just yet, Raihan mused, sharp eyes lasering in on you as you kept your gaze downturned and focused on the ground, his grin only seeming to lengthen with the shadows that danced in the night. Sure, you had always been on the timid, shy side, even to the point of being a selective mute, but he could tell this was one of those rare times where your instinct to struggle against the current bubbled to the surface. You had always been a crafty little thing when you needed to.

Yet the scales were still tipped in his favor.

“Fiery,” the Hammerlocke gym leader all but purred out, pulling your attention out from your thoughts. “You sure you wanna do that though?” He reached into his pocket, and you flinched on instinct. Good.

 Pulling out an all-too familiar Pokeball, the orb was clutched in one tanned hand held halfway out, just enough for the light to catch its top. 

You turned pale, staggering to your feet immediately, your eyes locked on that ball. No doubt you would easily recognise the Pokeball he now held as your own: the once-glossy red surface painstakingly decorated with cute little details that he imagined you carving with the tip of a knife in the light of a campfire once upon a time, far out in the Wild Area and away from prying eyes. “You know who this is, don’t you, lil champ?”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away, tears beginning to well in the corner of your already swollen eyes as you tried to shake your head, attempting to plead silently to spare you the pain. 

Ah that helpless, what a sight for sore eyes indeed. If only you could voice that plea.

And with a quick toss, it was clear to the hooded trainer that he had only confirmed your worst nightmares, Lapras bursting forth and manifesting before Cinderace with a cry. Back when he had let his guard down and allowed you to escape from his grasp back in Galar, you had managed to slip away with just six of your Pokemon - your prized Pokemon to say the least, given those six formed the core of your Championship team. But, Raihan smirked, casually sliding both hands into the pockets of his hoodie, it was no secret you cared deeply for all your Pokemon, and those you left behind were still in his and Leon’s possession. 

Even your Cinderace seemed uncertain of the evolving situation, breaking its fighting stance to glance between you and its former ally. 

Now, what were you going to do next?

‎

‎

Your world felt like it was on the brink of imploding, the very air just a wrong touch away from collapsing around you. That wretched thick black collar that hung from Lapras’ neck, one you were all too familiar with - you could barely bite back the whimper that you felt threatening to escape from your throat. Whatever you did, one wrong move and you would once again be the sole cause of the world of suffering Lapras would be put through.

You shaking met Lapras’ eyes, to which the Pokemon let out a mournful sigh, and Cinderace returned a sad trill. It wasn’t the first time both had found the other on opposing sides since you had your living arrangement forcibly updated at the end of the Galar Championship, but neither liked the outcome. Maybe Leon and Raihan were right. Maybe you should just give in and end the pain. 

“Just leave her alone already!” A sudden interruption that sliced through the silence of the night like a hot knife through butter, and Nemona came stomping over from behind him, an uncharacteristically furious expression painted across the usually cheery girl. “She doesn’t want to go with you!” With a distinct lack of fear in her eyes and a lack of care for who your two pursuers were on the world stage, your friend marched past them without a second glance, putting herself squarely on your side and in your corner.

The Champion-ranked trainer turned to you. “Don’t get me wrong, I most definitely want to have a battle with you once all this blows over,” she declared, pausing for a moment before continuing on. “And I want to know everything. But I’m on your side. Got it?”

You simply nodded.

There was little question that Raihan and Leon would be angry, and you didn’t need to look to know just how downright pissed they were. Instead opting to turn your gaze to Nemona then to the ground, it was as if your mind had connected the dots faster than you could have realized, and you had to take a second look at the uniform-clad girl. Right before it hit you like a charging Rhyhorn, the sudden realization instantly shaking your entire perspective and turning your world upside down. 

You were no longer in Galar. 

Yes, there was no doubt that Raihan and Leon were still Master Class trainers that have conquered the World Coronation Championships, and were most definitely famous even here in Paldea as the famous Dragon Gym Leader of Hammerlocke and the former Galar Champion. But missing were the leagues of women who would throw their weeks away to comb every inch of grass for signs of you on Raihan’s command. And gone were the nosy trainers who would be more than happy to turn over information on your location just for a word of praise from Leon, or the crowds of your self-declared fans who could recognize you turned inside out from a yard away.

They were as good as nobodies here, and so were you.

‎

And now all the wheels began to turn. The modified morse paddle key that served as your clicker went into overdrive as you tried to get your thoughts out to Cinderace as fast as your fingers could go.

You could get away. There was still a way out for you.

Raihan seemed to have caught on to the sudden hope that surged in your veins, the toothy grin on his face dropping as he narrowed his eyes. “Lapras, Hydro Pump,” he ordered.

Lapras resisted, letting out a defiant cry as it rebelled against his orders. Your countdown has started.

Two clicks, and your Cinderace leapt forward, foot extended to land a Double Kick.

You didn’t look to see if the attack landed, attempting to turn out all external sounds from your buzzing ears; the butterflies in your chest already made it hard enough to keep breathing. Instead, you cleared your throat, your mouth moving as you tried to force a word, a sound, anything from your vocal chords. “S-St-” You exhaled, shuddering, your efforts going unnoticed amidst the chaos of the moment.

The Dragon Gym Leader had withdrawn a small remote, a promise, not a threat. “Lapras, use Hydro Pump,” he ordered again.

It wasn’t enough. A full word. All you needed was a single full word. If not for yourself, then for the hell that your Pokemon had been through - there was no other choice. You had to do it.

Nemona’s eyebrows were furrowed as she watched the battle go down, the other three trainers paying little attention to you as you carefully tiptoed over to retrieve your backpack off the ground, the clock in your head ticking down slowly but surely. Tick tock, the nagging voices in your head whispered to you. Tick tock.

There was little time to decide what the right move was, whether you did the right thing; you simply rationalized that you should pick whoever you wouldn’t mind being stuck with again should you have to return to Galar. Raihan did treat you like royalty whenever he wasn't angry at some unspoken rule that you unknowingly broke, and would only increase should you pick him, with the downside being the numerous eyes and constant spotlight that followed the popular trainer around. While no doubt that Leon’s treatment of you would improve greatly if you picked him, the man had always been very demanding, holding you to an impossible standard.

Reaching into your backpack right for your Pokemon as Cinderace dodged the jet of water aimed at him, everything that happened next took but a blink of an eye.

‎

All you could muster the strength to mutter was a single word, yet it was enough. A broken whisper of a single syllabus, mumbled by a hoarse voice that didn’t seem to see much use. “Raihan-”

Both men instantly startled, amber and aqua eyes snapping straight to yours as their jaws dropped. But it was all the distraction you needed.

Click. Your Vileplume manifested, instantly using Stun Spore, with both Vileplume Cinderace being recalled to their respective balls before the yellow dust even touched the ground.

You grabbed Nemona’s arm, yanking her backwards with surprising strength as you clutched your backpack tight to your chest. Another shrill song as Gardevoir manifested, the Psychic pokemon lightly touching its green sleeve-like arms to you, using Teleport.

And in under a minute, your little group was gone, vanishing without a trace from Cortondo.

‎

‎

“She-she said my name,” Raihan mumbled again and again, sounding very much star-struck. “My name. M-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Leon snapped back, annoyed.

Being left sprawled on the ground waiting for the effects of the paralysis to fade didn’t help much with the former Galar Champion’s mood, even less so when you had been just an arm’s length away. One grab away from going back to how life had been with you. And now, Leon had to live with the fact that after years and years of patience, waiting eagerly for a chance to hear your elusive voice. Soft and gentle, like the trickle of a river, your voice had been everything he ever imagined and more - and it was his rival’s name that left your lips first. 

It must be her, the purple-haired man fumed, a soft glow of red as an equally paralyzed Lapras was recalled to its ball by a giddy, giggling Raihan. That stupid Champion-ranked girl with the green highlighted hair. All his time and effort, taming and training you into his love - and she had broken his perfect you the moment his back was turned. All his work for nothing, gone like sand art at high tide.

Letting out a groan as Leon finally felt control of his body return, he could only slam the back of his head into the dust once in frustration before standing. 

Raihan had won this fight, but Leon sure as hell was going to make sure he wins the war.

[planetsano]

↻ 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: a gripping tale of love as the reader navigates a complex relationship with the infamous toji fushiguro OR toji fushiguro being a shit boyfriend should be a case study!

↻ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: age gap (20’s ↝ 30’s), toxic relationship, smut.

↻ 𝗯𝘆𝗿: female reader, female bodied reader.

You see, the thing about Toji Fushiguro is that he’s always been unapologetically and shamelessly him— he’ll always be a man that will be forever stuck in his own ways. He’s selfish, crude, insensitive, and would do anything no matter how foul and evil to put him forward.

So.. it’s cute— no, admirable that you thought you could change him. A pretty, young thing in her twenties dealing with a wreck of a man like him. How sick is that? Really, your first red flag should have been him wearing a shirt three times too small.

Yeah, the age gap was certainly.. more than a few years, which heavily attributed to the mental disconnect in the relationship. You were bright-eyed and naïve, so much life in you and hadn’t experienced a drop of what real life was like. You often romanticized life, finding beauty in the simplest of moments and weaving dreams from the fabric of everyday experiences. Your vivid imagination painted the world with colors unseen by most, turning mundane occurrences into enchanting adventures.

You held on to the “love could conquer all!” and “I can fix him!” mentality or something like that. But your optimism was a double-edged sword, pushing you to cling to the relationship while also blinding you to the reality that perhaps you both needed different things in life. You needed a life partner and he needed a tight cunt to fuck.

It’s ironic because you approached him first.

“Mister Toji..? What’s your wife like?” You shyly played with the ends of your hair, avoiding his gaze like the plague. “Ah?” Toji raised a brow at you, slightly surprised by the forwardness of your question. “Oh right, ‘don’t have a wife.” “Oh..” You feel your face and the tips of your ears become hot with embarrassment. “Well maybe I could.. make you dinner sometime..?”

Toji liked the appeal of having a woman half his age on his arm. But what he simply could not stand was the amount of energy required for it— oh, don’t misunderstand, he never put forth any real efforts anyway, but it was simply the.. expectation. Toji didn’t give a fuck about dates or anniversaries, all he cared about was emptying his balls inside of your pussy, the hot dinners you make for him and cozy shelter you provide.

You liked to play housewife in your own silly little delusion, finding comfort in the make-believe world where everything was picture-perfect. The idea of being the nurturing, organized, and devoted partner gives you a sense of purpose, shielding you from the harsh realities of what really was. It was a cozy escape, a refuge where you could pretend that all your worries were mere fiction.

Yet, there were moments when the illusion began to unravel, and a whisper of doubt crept into your mind. Were you truly content with this role you had assumed, or were you sacrificing your true desires in pursuit of an idealized version of yourself? The nagging ty made you question if he really loved you as much as you were in love with him. Or at all for that matter. He was a busy man but would returning a call really hinder his day? Would a text twist his arm so much? You never ask though, you would hate to upset him or come across as “immature.”

But if he’s just so horrible, this.. big, bad man who found it annoying that you..? That you wanted to hold hands in public! What made you stay? Why stay with a man that seemed to only have his best interest in heart and you were a second, sometimes third, or forth.

His cock.

That cock was an addiction that you had no intention of quitting. The way this man fucked you was enough to liquidate your mind— leaving you nearly brain-dead as his warm seed oozes from your hole. The width of his cock alone made you stretch an absurd amount, teetering the edge of comfortability. His tip relentlessly gives your cervix a beating— bruising it and leaving a delicious soreness that lasts for nights.

Toji’s physical presence was undeniably imposing and large, that alone makes you feel like a delicate trinket, one treasured and protected. Yet, paradoxically, the way he handled you was anything but delicate. His hands, strong and calloused, held a certain roughness that spoke of a life lived on the edge, battle-hardened and weathered. He folds your body as though you were a ragdoll— regardless of your size.

When he’s gone for days on end, you find yourself yearning for his fulfillment— no hand or toy will satisfy you the way he does. Toji’s ruined sex for you.

Toji withheld affection from you whether it was intentional or not. So when he did praise you it felt as though you were a pretty princess— chemically altering your pretty little brain more than a little bit.

He often kept his emotions locked away, leaving you hesitant of where you stood in his heart. The lack of affection was a constant ache, leaving you yearning for even the smallest crumbs of his praise. Yet, when those rare moments arrived, it felt like a euphoric rush, flooding your mind with a mix of serotonin and dopamine.

His praise, though infrequent, had an intoxicating effect on you. It was like soaring to the highest of heavens, as if the whole universe had aligned in your favor. In those fleeting instances, self-doubt dissolved, and you basked in the warmth of his approval, feeling valued and cherished.

But the hesitation lingered, a cloud of doubt that never fully dissipated. You wondered if his praises were genuine or merely an act of throwing a dog a bone, a way to keep you satiated so you wouldn’t throw one of your fits. The chemistry of emotions within you danced between soaring highs and daunting lows, creating a rollercoaster of feelings you couldn’t control.

You found yourself seeking those rare moments of praise like an addict craving their next fix, yearning for his validation and acceptance. The intoxicating mix of emotions left you captivated and vulnerable, making it hard to see beyond the haze of his allure and your love goggles. You chose to believe a ring is on it's way at the end of the day.

“You did a good job today, lovebug.” “Really?” “Mm.”

And you jump, just like a lap dog. But don’t feel bad, I would too if I had a man as fine as Toji. Woof. ♡

[megu-meow]

romeo - Gojo Satoru

gojo x fem. reader

Summary: you're upset and Satoru has to find a way to cheer you up.

Warning: suggestive at the end.

Everyone has bad days, even the Strongest. Satoru knows not everything can be as perfect as he is, but he tries to brighten the lives of the people around him. He's the type of person to mask his own feelings with his silly and playful personality, but not everyone operates like him. So he notices straight away that something is wrong with you. You're not laughing at his lame jokes like you usually do, there's a dullness to your eyes that he identifies as a product of your sadness and he notices your lack of enthusiasm as well. At first, he's mad. Not at you, he could never, but at the source of your bad mood. Who or what dared to hurt his little mochi, the lover of the Strongest?

During one of his classes, he just tells the kids to practice some sparring so that he could come up with an elaborate plan to brighten your mood and get you out of your slump. Firstly, he has to identify the source of the problem. His first thought is that he did something to upset you, but he brushes that idea away instantly. He would never do anything to make you sad, he takes pride in how amazing of a boyfriend he is. Moreover, whenever you're mad at him, you give him the silent treatment, but you were acting normally that morning - trying to hide your bad mood from him, you gave him a kiss and told him you loved him before leaving the house, so that cannot be it.

"Gojo-sensei!" he hears his name being called by Megumi. He looks in his direction, the raven-haired boy is standing by his side, staring at him with confusion written all over his face. "What is up with you today? You're unusually silent."

"There's nothing wrong with me, Megumi." he answers curtly and the kid is not convinced that he's telling the truth at all. Suddenly, Satoru remembers something and puts his bulky arm around the Fushiguro kid's shoulder, despite his efforts to dodge the side hug. "You were out on a mission with y/n yesterday, right? Did something happen that made my little mochi upset?"

Megumi cringes at the nickname and rolls his eyes, but he tries to remember everything that you said or did during the mission. You were awfully quiet, but he just thought you were simply tired. He didn't think it was a big deal, but maybe Gojo was onto something. The mission was a huge success, but you were unfazed by the great outcome, which should have alerted the raven-haired sorcerer.

"Yeah, now that you're asking, something seemed to be wrong, she was very quiet and didn't even want to celebrate our victory with us."

"Hmmm, that's not good." Satoru says, his right hand scraping his chin like he's deep in thought. "So by the time you went on your mission with her, she was already upset. Do you know what she was doing before?"

"No, she didn't mention anything about her day. Although, when we met up with her she was with Nanami-san, maybe he knows something."

"Thank you, Megumi!" he says in a chipper tone "Class is dismissed!" he shouts and he leaves the kids flabbergasted, as he teleports to the blonde sorcerer with a new found purpose.

"NANAMIN!" he exclaims, not caring that the said man is currently in the middle of a meeting with the principal.

"Gojo, this behavior of yours is unacceptable, we're in the middle of something here!" says Yaga.

"Oh, so it's the perfect time to take a break!" he says nonchalantly, and both Kento and the principal start rubbing their forehead annoyedly.

"What do you need, Gojo-san?" asks Nanami, giving into his shenanigans.

"Did you do something that could've hurt y/n yesterday?"

"ARE YOU SERIOUS GOJO SATORU?! THAT'S YOUR REASON TO INTERRUPT OUR MEETING?!" Yaga exclaims and the white-haired sorcerer mumbles the words 'ew, scary' under his breath, annoying the principal even more.

"No, Gojo-san, I just walked five minutes with her from the main building to the gate, where Megumi and Ijichi were waiting for her so that they could leave on their mission. We engaged in some small talk, but nothing out of the ordinary." said the blonde.

"Okay, that's boring. Did she tell you what she was doing before that?"

"Yes, she was out for coffee with Ieiri-san."

"Thank you, Nanamin!" Gojo said, teleporting away instantly, leaving the two infuriated sorcerers to finish their meeting.

"Shoko!" he arrives in the healer's office with a huff, the woman not even batting an eye at his sudden arrival.

"What do you need, Gojo?" she asks, without looking up from the document she was reading.

"Why is y/n upset?" upon hearing his words, Shoko slams the file in front of her shut, glaring at the desperate male standing in her office.

"She's really upset?! I told her it wasn't a big deal..."

"Shoko, tell me what happened, NOW!"

"Ok, Romeo, be patient. I need a smoke, let's go outside." she says nonchalantly as she fetches her cigarettes and lighter from the pocket of her coat, walking out slowly, without any care in the world. Trailing close behind her, like a lost puppy is Satoru, trying to get her to finally talk, but the woman enjoys keeping him on the edge, so she doesn't say a word before lighting her cigarette and taking a puff out of it.

"The barista at the cafe told her she was annoying and she took it to heart." she finally explains and Gojo is in shock. Why would anyone call you annoying? You're the nicest person he's ever met, there's not a bad bone in your body.

"Is that all?" Gojo asks, because normally this isn't something you would be this upset about.

"The guy might have told her, that no one would ever tolerate her attitude in a relationship." she adds and puts out her cigarette with an exaggerated huff of air. Gojo finally understands and thanks Shoko while he leaves in a hurry, taking long strides.

Throughout the following days, Satoru does everything he can to make you feel better. First, he gets home to you, scooping you up from the couch into his warm embrace, showering your face with kisses, claiming how much he missed you, despite seeing you just that morning. He trails behind you as you shuffle into the kitchen to make some tea, keeping his hands around your waist, softly stroking your side under your shirt. He cuddles up to you, his grip possessive and strong around you and he reminds you of how much he loves you, before falling asleep.

He prepares some tasty sandwiches for your lunch and you're surprised to find a colored drawing of the two of you holding hands with a ton of red hearts in the air around the two poorly drawn stick figures. It makes you smile for the first time since the incident and you stuff the piece of paper into your clear phone case for everyone to see. It warms your heart every time you put your phone down and you remember to kiss your boyfriend lovingly on the lips when you run into him on the training field. He can already see that you're in a better mood, but he doesn't stop there.

He speedruns all his missions of the day, getting home early so that he could prepare a scrumptious meal for the two of you to share for dinner. You're surprised to find him in the kitchen, a huge bouquet of peonies sitting on the counter, and the dinner table decorated with candles and rose petals.

"What's the occasion?" you ask curiously, your smile reaching your ears as you take in the sight in front of you. Satoru is out of his uniform jacket, the white button-up shirt from underneath covering his torso. The sleeves are rolled up, highlighting his muscled arm and a few buttons are loose on the top, showing off his prominent collar bones. His blindfold is also missing, his eyes sparkling as he looks at you in awe.

"There's no occasion, little one. I just thought I would surprise you with something nice. There's no need for special events to show my girlfriend how much I love her." he slowly walks up to you, bringing you closer as he gives you the bouquet, leaning down to kiss you on the lips.

"Thank you, 'toru! I love you!"

"Don't thank me, silly! It's what men do when they're in love." he explains like he would to a child, and his high and mighty attitude makes you giggle, a sound he was dying to hear in the last couple of days. During dinner, you laugh at his silly jokes, which he considers as the ultimate win. You are finally back to normal, there is no sign of you being upset in the first place and he pats his own shoulder as he follows you into your shared bedroom. "I'm gonna draw a nice bath for the two of us to enjoy, alright baby?" he asks and he has a mischievous smile on his face.

"That would be nice, 'toru!" you smile and he disappears into the bathroom and he gives you clear instructions to stay out until he tells you otherwise. You wait patiently for him to finish and he sprints out of there on his sock-clad feet, picking you up easily from your comfy bed and he runs back into the luxurious bathroom that is connected to the bedroom. The lights are dim, the whole space is decorated with candles and petals just like the dining table, the bath is full of hot water and bubbles, the scent of vanilla lingering around. You're left speechless, but Satoru knows how to take advantage of that: he kisses you passionately, savoring the sweet taste of your chapstick. He pulls away slowly, looking into your eyes with adoration.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me, baby. Please, don't let others make you believe otherwise. You are smart, kind, polite, and funny, no matter what anyone says. You also are the most beautiful person I've ever seen, my six eyes can be the proof of that. I will love you forever, even if you get old and wrinkly."

Your eyes swell with tears of joy, as you cup his face, bringing him closer so that you could invite him into a loving and passionate kiss, expressing how much his words and little deeds mean to you.

"Thank you, Satoru! I love you, more than anything!" you respond, leaving a small kiss on his chest, above his heart that's thumping rhythmically.

"Good. Now, can I see your titties?"

[waklman]

Fake it

Chapter Four: Waste My Time

synopsis: a pair of best friends, one apartment, and one fake dating ploy to get jake’s ex girlfriend back, will end well right? wrong.

pairing: jake seresin x female reader.

warnings: no use of y/n, mentions of drugs, talks of binge eating, one instance of masturbation, mentions of vomit, jake and reader are both 20. this blog is 18+.

word count: 7.7k

college au, fake dating trope, roomate trope

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If Jake had known prior to his shower—where he planned to attend to his morning problem—that his best friend would be on the forefront of his mind, he would've truly chopped his dick off with the kitchen knife you stowed in the bathroom cabinet. 

You had been convinced it would come in handy, in case an intruder conveniently found either of you mid-shower. And maybe it was a good idea to leave it there after all, because he might actually make use of it. 

Raking a hand through his wet hair, Jake tosses his head back, allowing the cold water to run down his face. But it doesn’t do much to get his mind off the issue at hand. There is no way he’s about to rub one out—not when your face is currently being screened behind his closed lids. 

“This can’t be real,” he groans in disbelief, dragging a hand down his face, his heavy head dropping forward with it. 

Warily, Jake opens his eyes to the water running down his toned stomach, practically guiding him to look at the veins lining his thighs, and the untimely hard on he’s sporting between them. And though, he's staring straight down at a very clear problem, he feels the weight of his other predicament wash down on him instead.

His ex-girlfriend was far gone by the time he reached you last night—yet Jake still went ahead and kissed you, for longer than he anticipated too. Simply because he just wanted to. And if he was being honest with himself, this hadn’t exactly been the first time he’s wanted to either.

But in his defense, it had been years since he sensed that bleary feeling in his chest, the one that gave him the uncontrollable urge to just lean in and kiss you—and who would’ve known it would spawn again?

Actually, Jake should’ve known. 

Like clockwork, that urge flares up when his mind is mostly cluttered—when every part of him is riddled by heartbreak. And Jake knew you’d always be there whenever he was on the chopping block, and it’d be wrong if he went looking for affection from you everytime he was. Because that's weird. You were his best friend—not some fling he could swap spit with each time got out of a failed relationship. 

So instead, he learned to wean himself off the compulsion by simply touching you.

Whether it was pinching the back of your sweater when the elevator rattled, holding onto some part of you to make sure you didn’t linger far, or coaxing you to sleep by gliding a hand along your spine. 

Jake just needed to feel you. 

Strangely, it was enough to tame that bizarre feeling that struck him once in a while. But despite his best efforts, he didn’t stick to his usual methods last night. Kendall's disparaging remarks must’ve really got to him. And there you were when it finally spilled over, standing there like your sixteen year old self did once before, waiting for him. 

Making the choice to just let it go, Jake assures himself that he was just confused, again. All thanks to a girl in a skirt so short it could pass as a belt—and Jake pitifully notched onto that tiny belt of hers. 

With that matter put to rest, he swallows thickly—returning back to his original point of concern. His frustration seems to have gone straight to his dick today. By no means, was waking up hard, unusual for him, but it’s particularly more difficult to ignore this morning. 

Now, he’s left staring down at his, not exactly little, problem. But the longer Jake stares—the more the self-restraining thoughts trickle out his ears, joining the stream of water running down his body, and mazing through the patterns of the rubber bath mat underneath him. 

“Fuck it,” he whispers to himself, roughly spitting into his palm. 

This is so wrong—but this is so—the only time he’s doing this. The blond had only joked about wringing one out while you were still home, but now he’s seriously following through. 

“Ah shit,” he hisses, rubbing the wad of saliva over his tip, brows pinched in concentration. 

Bringing a rough palm down his aching length, Jake’s breathing labors as he starts to work himself in already desperate strokes. Maybe it’s because your strawberry body wash is sitting on the edge of the bathtub. The muscles rippled on his wet back contract from the movement. Maybe it’s because your pink toothbrush is sitting next to his by the sink. 

Gritting his teeth, Jake puts more focus on getting this over with, coiling his calloused hand even tighter around himself. Maybe it’s because his ex is making it hard for him to understand anything. 

With the repetitive graze over a sensitive vein, Jake’s eyes snap shut, breath hitching in his throat—concentrating on that sensation. Maybe Jake likes kissing you more than he thought he would. 

The sound of low grunts and heavy panting permeates the bathroom, overpowering the echoing of water droplets panging against the shower floor and trickling down the drain. And just as he’s nearing his edge, overworking his forearm in quick motions—there’s an urgent knock at the door, followed by your muffled voice. “Jake? I really need to pee. I can’t hold it in…And you’ve been there for so long.” 

The end of your plea comes off as a whine, forcing him to immediately rip his hand off. 

Jake’s eyes flutter open to blink hastily, lungs burning as they expand, forcing himself to overcome his haze as quickly as possible. God, he hopes you didn't hear a single second of that. 

“Shit, um. Sorry, Princess,” he rasps, clearing his throat immediately after.

“Doors unlocked, you can come in,” he establishes, hitting his flushed chest with a fisted hand to clear his throat again. It takes him a second, but he finally pulls himself together. 

With a soft click of the doorknob, Jake assumes you’ve scuffled inside. A faint clattering by the toilet can be heard before you desperately yell out, “Cover your ears!”

“...Hurry! I’m—I might piss on myself,” you squeak, curling your toes against the tiles.

The warning directed towards the shower curtain is useless, because Jake's already cupping both hands over his burning ears. “They’re covered,” He spurts out a short laugh, turning his head, shouting the confirmation back at you. 

The automatic response had been programmed into him from the countless times your bladder coincided with his showers—mostly during the trips your families took together.

Maintaining the nostalgic positioning of his hands, Jake recalls the one time you slipped off the porcelain toilet at his beach house and refused to let him jump out the shower to check on you. At one point during that incident, you had thrown a roll of toilet paper at his pruney fingers when you spotted them curling around the shower screen to pull it back. 

Jake’s ear nearly fell off at the reprimanding he received from his mother, following that—when he decided to joke about massaging your sore butt during dinner.

With uncanny timing, Jake’s hands fall from the side of his head as your bold thumbs-up breaches past the shower curtain, coming into view in front of him, signaling that you’re done. 

He prods the inside of his cheek with his tongue, staring at your tiny hand that’s lined directly in front of his lower region. 

“Hey now. You sure you wanna be stickin’ a hand in here baby?” He taunts, with a teasing head tilt—even when you’re unable to see him. 

Baby. Your hand. In the shower. Where he’s naked. 

At that, you immediately withdraw the arm you stuck in there. Then, your small voice bleeds past the small crack of the curtain. “..I don’t want to know what you meant by that.” 

“Step inside if you do, though,” he shamelessly offers, stretching his jaw to control his amusement, but the playful lilt in his voice gives it away.

“I..I am not doing that!” 

Before Jake can add on to your fluster, you’re trotting off.

With your faded footsteps nearing the door, you make your exit back to your bedroom with a huff and a whispered complaint under your breath. Jake laughs at that, tipping his head back into the water as more memories come flooding in. 

You really haven’t changed from the time you clumsily tumbled off the rim of his toilet seat.

Considering the fact that the only people you ever spoke to on campus were either frat affiliates, or freshmen who occasionally needed directions—you never really caught the chance to make friends with other girls at school. It wasn’t intentional, of course. You had just grown so attached to Jake, that you found it difficult to harbor that kind of friendship with anyone else. 

However, that disconnect from girls your age didn’t mean you were that different from them. You had an idea of what any other girl would do if they were in your situation. It would only make sense that they’d do a healthy amount of snooping on Kendall’s social media—and all her friends’—and perhaps her parents’ too. For research purposes, obviously. 

But, maybe that was not the best way to start off your day.

After an alarming amount of online stalking, you’re quickly swept up by a sudden frenzy. Because how was it physically possible for someone to shine through their pictures? She quite literally radiated in every single post you zoomed in and out of. And the flood of comments you scrolled through made sure to remind her too. 

There was no point in denying that she won the genetic lottery either. And apparently you weren’t one of the lucky winners. Because, if you were, then maybe clothes wouldn’t sit on you like it was your enemy—either strangling or suffocating you. There was sadly no inbetween, really. But, it looked like she got along swimmingly with her clothes.

Was building an alliance with your own outfits, something you had to work on now?

At that revelation, you clumsily dart towards your closet, nearly tripping over the blanket still clung to your legs. And it must’ve taken a whole twenty minutes of you combing through overworn shorts and a thick stack of failed crochet hats, to successfully track down an old denim skirt you bought over a year ago. 

Batting off unvoiced doubts, you squeeze your legs into the stiff material and hastily throw on the oversized sweater Jake bought you—praying it would hide the fact that the skirt was two sizes too small. The light layer of makeup you quickly apply next isn’t your best attempt, but it’s enough to make you look alive. 

You realize that it seemed a touch ridiculous to be suddenly concerned about how you looked, but given that you were playing as Jake’s new girlfriend—the stress was very much warranted. His ex’s instagram was a testament that if she were to sport a potato sack, she’d still outshine you by miles—many miles actually, probably enough miles to wrap around the entire earth twice. It’s only natural that you would make an effort to appear somewhat decent in comparison. 

Mentally running through your plans for today, you unintentionally wander into the kitchen and start an attack on a tub of icecream—without even realizing it. It’s only when you’re half way through the container—that Jake finally steps into the kitchen, hair slightly damp from his lack of towel drying, a pair of gray sweats sitting loose around his waist, and another variant of his black hoodies clung on his upper half. 

“Oh, there you are.” He cranes his neck to see what you’re so focused on.

Jake feels a slight sense of disappointment creep in when you don’t give him a single sign of acknowledgment. Even with the lame attempt to louden his footsteps, you’re still quietly standing by the counter, back turned to him. 

Coming to a halt behind you, he briefly gives the back of your head an unimpressed look, before casually resting a palm onto the table top in front of you. 

The ends of his hoodie drawstrings start to dangle over the top of your head when you unconsciously lean back into him. Jake hums contently, steadying his feet so you could comfortably lay your weight onto his chest. The disappointment from before lifts, slightly.

“Thought you were gonna join me in there. You coulda’ scrubbed my back or something,” he playfully laments. All you do is wriggle against him, silently making yourself comfortable. 

Out of nowhere, Jake feels the steady pace of his heartbeat begin to pick up, though, he’s not sure if it’s from the horrifying remembrance of being interrupted a little bit ago, or because it feels kind of nice to have you on him like this.

Again, with no answer from you, he looks down past his nose, eyes landing directly onto the silver spoon that’s sticking out your mouth. Jake only squints when he’s met with his own wacky reflection at the end of the utensil. 

“Okay then,” he says to himself, tracing his gaze down the shiny metal. Reaching the end of the spoon, he catches the blank stare you’re giving that tub of ice cream under those curled lashes of yours. Jake bites the inside of his cheek at the observation. 

He’s not even sure what to make of your sudden change in behavior. Not long ago, you were cutely pawing at the bathroom door, and now you’re all dolled up underneath him, raw dogging a container of ice cream. 

Gently, he pinches the end of the cold handle between two fingers, slowly pulling it from your lips. All you can do is blink dumbly at the large hand that breaks your vision, letting him take it from you. Your eyes scrunch when the sunlight trickling through the kitchen bounces off the bowl of the spoon, momentarily blinding you. 

“You gonna let me have a taste?” He genuinely asks, dipping his head down to whisper the question in your ear. He does it softly enough so it doesn’t startle you. 

You blink a few more times before rushing to nod your head. 

Permission granted, Jake dunks it back into the tub to get himself a generous scoop, pressing the spoonful of vanilla flat against his tongue, licking it clean above you. “You left some of your lipgloss on here,” he lamely shares, while eating off the sticky residue. It should gross him out, but it’s just you, so really, he couldn’t care less.

Setting the empty spoon down against the counter with a soft clatter, Jake hands end up on the front of your pants, again—for probably the third time this week. The soothing action is happening more frequently than it ever should, but you haven’t chewed him out on it—yet. And it’s not his fault he needs to wean himself off. 

“What’s with the makeup? Thought you were just hittin’ up the grocery store today.”

All you do is give him a small shrug, he takes it as an answer for now. 

There were times when Jake stumbled on his older sisters prancing around the house at random hours of the night, faces full of makeup. Out of curiosity, he’d asked them why they decided to start their enrollment in clown school—and he’d get the same response—an eye roll and annoyed exclamation of Girls just like doing their makeup randomly Jacob! You don’t get it! 

And for someone who was considered ‘a green flag’ on paper for having two sisters, Jake didn’t reap the benefits at all. Unfortunately, he was largely unaware of the things a guy should know if he grew up around girls. 

Discreetly pulling you in closer, he inhales through his nose. The taut muscles on his back relax once the scent of your strawberry body wash reaches him. “Why do you randomly do your makeup?”  

You stare at the shine of the melting desert in front of you, mildly confused by his abrupt question. 

Sure, Jake had pestered you with random questions about girls, given that you were one. But they always followed the lines of—Does this text mean she’s mad at me? or Why the fuck does she need me to pick out a nail color every two weeks? And get mad at me when I say blue? Never has he asked dumb questions in regards to you—but it’s not like he needed to anyway.

“Oh, um. I don’t know,” you bite your glossy lip, contemplatively. It takes you several seconds to come up with a better explanation than Oh, um. I don't know. Because that’s stupid, you sound stupid. 

“It just…feels good to do it, like—a confidence booster of sorts,” you finally surmise, partially honest with him. 

“Feels good, huh.” Jake repeats, trailing off as he absently runs his thumb around the rim of your metal button. 

While you weren’t aware of his large hands flirting with the entryway of your skirt before, you’re pretty much noticing it now. 

No matter how much you try to downplay the habit, it undeniably made you slightly nervous—okay, it actually made you very nervous. Because what if he accidentally pulled down your zipper—or worse—what if he saw the stupid day of the week underwear that you still wear. 

You’re not sure if you could ever live that down if he does. 

“I–um. Yeah, feels good,” you incoherently mumble, hands pathetically slick in sweat at your sides. 

He hardly gets a chance to register the mental turmoil going on under him as his brows suddenly furrow. The subtle engravings on the button of your shorts feel different, unfamiliar even.

WIth that, he stills. And without so much of a warning, Jake drags one hand around to the small of your back, pressing his palm flat against the bunched up fabric of your sweater, dragging it upward to check what shorts you decided to wear. You stagger forward, forced to crash your sweaty hands down onto the counter as he pushes you off him. 

This whole time, you were wearing a skirt.

And it’s not like Jake Seresin was opposed to the idea of girls wearing something too tight for comfort, but the dark washed band is curling into your flesh. Jake was opposed to that.

You gulp, the skin of your cheeks growing hot. Jake practically has you bent over, butt pointing up into the air. Warily, you attempt to continue the conversation as if he wasn’t checking out your skirt, in the worst way possible. “You could’ve, um, I dunno, just asked me what I’m weari–”

“This shit is digging into you, Princess,” he cuts you off firmly, flipping you around with that hand. 

Jake silently watches you, waiting for an explanation once he has you facing him. It’s quiet as you dodge his eyes. Of course, he thinks it looks weird on you. 

Eventually, you choose to look down at his front hoodie pocket like a scolded child. “I just…had too much to eat. Dairy makes me bloated,” you meekly supply, worming your hands into the empty pouch. Nervously, you begin to pick at the tiny tufts of cotton glued to the inner lining of his pocket. 

Ignoring the new feeling stirring in his stomach, Jake intently dips his middle and pointer finger into the front of your skirt, trying to get an estimate on how tight it was. They’re already losing circulation between the pudge of your tummy and the band. 

“What?” Jake scoffs incredulously, eyes rolling up and down your figure.

“You don’t eat too much. Don’t even try that with me,” he sternly cements, disapproving of your excuse. “This shit is just—not your size.” 

Using the two fingers hooked into your skirt, he tugs you forward in demonstration, causing you to let out a startled yelp. Seeing how the movement easily sends you launching forward, Jake sighs and retracts that hand from your waistband, holding you still by the hip instead. 

Moving to grab your face with his other hand, he forces you to look up at him—and your stomach bubbles, maybe because of the ice-cream. 

“I’m not gonna tell you what and what not to wear outside, ’cause my mom would fucking kill me,” he clarifies. “But, really?” Jake’s voice drops to a softer tone, considering that you look somewhat embarrassed, and not in the way he liked. 

You nod once in his hand, “I like it,” you manage to argue, cheeks squished by his fingers. If you like it, Jake can’t seem to hate it. But what Jake hates—is that he knows you’re about to head out, by yourself. 

“Okay.” His eyes flick down to your new choice of apparel. “Let me come with you today, Fuck Bradley,” he proposes, dismissing his upcoming plans with the brunette this afternoon. 

If you wanted to play dress up around him, that’s fine, but if you were going to walk around the supermarket aisles, without him trailing behind you, looking like this? He would rather go through his frat hazing twice over just so he could tag along. Your parents would kill him if he didn’t make up some excuse to watch over you. 

Somewhat bothered by your bare thighs brushing against his knees, Jake drops both hands down to pull at the sides of your skirt, but the stubborn fabric doesn’t budge. Again, he yanks it to no avail. Jake blows air through his nose, because he just needs your upper thigh to be covered at least. That’s what your mom would want, for him to look after you and all. 

“Jake,” you warn, bringing his attention back to your face. “We never end up buying what we need ‘cause you play around too much,” you put forth, glaring at him.

Jake gives your skirt one final jerk before giving up, weaving his fingers into the belt loops instead. However, under the weight of his hands, the band glides from your waist down to your hips. It covers more of your legs now. 

“I’ll behave,” he confirms, looking down at you. The specks of seriousness in his eyes says he will. But his inability to leave you alone for more than five minutes says, he won’t. 

“You never behave,” you tiredly argue, cracking your knuckles in his front pocket, accidentally pulling him closer by doing so. 

Jake cocks his head. “So? That’s what makes us work. You do all the important crap,” he points out, forgoing his seriousness from a second ago. “While I keep things fun. Don’t start pretending you don’t like it.” 

You look off to the side with a sigh. 

“I actually don’t like it,” you start, matter of factly. “And you’re not coming,” you finally conclude, brushing off the sudden memory of him keeping things fun last night. 

Rationally, you should be relieved that he remembers kissing you, it was clear in the way he wouldn’t stop teasing you about it during the entirety of the walk home. But all it does is fill you with unease. 

“My girl’s playin’ hard to get. That’s fine, I can handle you,” he continues, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. Yeah, he’s definitely not getting the permission to accompany you if he’s being so coy, this early on in the day. 

Rolling your eyes, you pivot your head to look at him again, only to realize that it’s a mistake to do so. Because you instinctively cower—when was he standing this close to you? And when did he slip his fingers through your skirt’s belt loops?

Jake’s eyes dart across your features, taking in your nervous falter. “What? You like when I call you that?” His grin only stretches wider. 

You hate that you’re still not used to his new pet names.

“What? No—no, I don’t.” You hurriedly defend yourself. 

You also hate that you can’t handle talking about said pet names without sputtering like an idiot. 

The moment you fill your cheeks with air, Jake takes it as a sign to not test his luck with you. Keeping quiet, he intently watches you let out that breath while you start to digress.

“You can join me next time, ‘cause it’s rude if you cancel on Bradley, I’ll just…come over after I’m done.” Reminded that Bradley kind of smiled at you last night, you assume he wouldn’t mind if you invited yourself over. He’s oddly let you through the door before, anyway. 

As you finish speaking, you gently nudge at Jake using the hands you still have resting in his pocket. The thick fabric, combined with his body heat, has been keeping your fingers so warm—that you almost forget the way the cold tub of vanilla felt between your hands from before.

Weirdly, Jake doesn’t say anything. 

Instead, there’s something unfamiliar that flits in his eyes, the dumb grin he’s wearing quickly fades and all he does is stare at you, like he’s unsure about something. Jake Seresin, unsure of himself, in what world?

“Promise me you’ll actually be there. Need to hear you say it,” he gently demands—suddenly.

Jake trusts you to stick to your word, but there’s some part of him that needs to know that he’ll see you again during the day. And he wasn’t going to hang out in Bradley’s room all afternoon, and have it possibly stretch into the evening—if you’re not going to show up at some point. 

You pause, lips parted, searching for any signs of his impending teasing. Because where did that come from? The last time he was this deliberate in what he said, he had asked you to be his girlfriend. 

You wonder how your sixteen year old self would react—she’d probably put on some Coldplay song and grab a nearby pillow to cry into it, if she knew he didn’t mean it in the way you wanted him to. And for some reason, you feel a twinge of her hurt flicker through your chest, when you think about it.

Above you, Jake remains still, letting you curiously scan his face. A thick lump forms in your throat when you come to the realization that he’s being serious. 

You swallow, giving him all your sincerity. “I promise.”

That unfamiliar look flashes in his eyes again when you assure him, and you instantly look down once you notice it. “Now can you, just—let me leave. We have no milk left and you can’t have your cereal dry,” you fumble, caught off guard by his sudden seriousness. 

Jake clears his throat. “Okay, yeah. I can…do that,” he starts, slowly. 

Letting his concern for your outfit drop, Jake moves off you so you can go. The weird tension in the air wrapping around you two, simply dilutes with that. 

Jake feels more confused when he watches you fetch your keys. He’d only wanted confirmation that you were seeing him later, thinking it would calm his protectiveness over you. But, it didn’t do jack shit, really. You didn’t get dressed up for no reason, nor did you wear things like that when you did.

The realization that he should’ve tried to probe more, crosses his mind when he hears you go through the front door. In the midst of his silent brooding, Jake eventually decides not to fault himself for it—because when has he ever had to pry an explanation out of you? You always told him everything. 

But as he comes to that conclusion, Jake fails to notice what you quickly pop in your mouth when you scurry out. Maybe it was because you couldn’t stop thinking of your younger self—but you reached for that reflective baggie you stole from last night’s snack table. It should do the trick to soothe that growing ache in your chest. 

“Motherfuck–” Bradley bites his lip in focus, capping off his insult. “Takin’ off half my health. Get your ass back here,” he harshly narrates under his breath. Leaning closer to his computer screen, he expertly moves his fingers against the lit up keyboard in precision with his mouse. 

Jake came over a few hours ago, and what started as a conversation between two friends—turned into Jake leaning back against Bradley’s headboard while the brunette busied himself with rounds of Fortnite. 

“I’m telling you, she wore that shit on purpose.” Jake huffs, retelling his encounter with his ex. Truthfully, Bradley’s baffled that Jake was able to stretch out the topic for this long. 

Hour five into the rant, you had tiredly strolled in the room after being let in the house by Bob. There was hardly any greeting before you immediately dove for the mattress. In a matter of seconds, you were curled around Jake’s leg like it was some life line, left cheek squished against his thigh and an arm thrown across his knee. 

Neither of them said anything about your peculiar arrival, but it wasn’t like they caught the chance to, because you had already dozed off. 

“Okay? The hell you want me to say to that.” Bradley grumbles, eyes still trained on his monitor. For the first time in his life, Bradley finds himself jealous of you. If he had to cuddle with Jake in his sleep to get a ticket out of this, then so be it. 

Before Jake can say anything, Bradley is rapidly clicking his mouse and jerks it across his mouse pad in zig zags. “No, no. Fuck—Shit. Oh fuck you.”

The gruff shout at his computer causes you to stir a bit. 

“You died?” Jake stupidly asks, cupping a hand over your ear, muffling the noise. 

Slowly, Bradley swivels his chair to face him. “No. My character just got shot in the face.” 

“Right.” Jake doesn’t care. “Anyway, you should’ve seen the skirt she was wearing,” he pauses to re-evaluate his next words. “Actually, don’t even start to imagine it.” 

“Just know it was bad,” he says flatly, hoping Bradley gets the point. 

Entirely unimpressed by his friend’s idiocracy, Bradley’s eyes dart between the skirt you're wearing and the idiot playing with the shell of your ear. Maybe if he aimed it correctly, he could chuck his wireless mouse at Jake’s thick forehead without it landing on you.

“Same skirt that your little girlfriend has on right now?” Bradley presses, lazily raising an eyebrow. 

Jake’s eyes snaps to your outfit and he roughly grabs a blanket to cover you entirely. 

“What is she, Goldilocks? Passing out on someone’s bed after going out on her own. Should’ve gone with her, dumbass,” Bradley insults. 

Jake gives him an incredulous look. 

“Bro, I fucking tried but you know how girls are.” If anyone should understand, it’s Bradley—the guy who had a hoard of sisters himself. He of all people, should know that talking to girls was like trying to communicate with a mob that was already angry at you. You say one thing wrong, and you’re getting chased by pitchforks and torches. 

“Look at that. Another girlfriend who’s tryna’ escape you,” Bradley swipes a tongue over his growing smirk, amusing no one but himself. 

“I’m glad you’re finding this funny. ‘Cause I don’t.”

“Thanks.” Bradley says offhandedly, in his usual uninterested tone. 

“That wasn’t—okay,” Jake bites his tongue, not wanting to spark an argument that might wake you. 

“Why are you so hung up on this chick anyway? What do you even like about her?” Bradley suddenly presses, trying to gain knowledge on why his friend is so infatuated. 

In the years he’s known Jake, yeah, he’s been a serial dater, but he never went back to the same girl—over and over again. And he never employed you to help him do it either. Bradley never got the impression that Jake would do that in the first place.

“I like everything about her,” Jake finally punches in his answer, focusing on the way you’re clinging to his leg. 

It’s a simple question, one he should know how to answer. But his attention drops to you when he racks his brain for a valid reason—as if you were going to wake up and give him the response he was looking for.

“She made me feel good. I don’t fucking know dude. I just liked her more than I liked anyone else.”

Bradley inwardly winces at that.  

Jake slowly turns his head to his friend who’s leaning back into his chair, and dismissively shrugs. “Everyone said we were good together and I just thought so too.” 

Despite his attention to the conversation, Jake has a far off look in his eye—his brain is wandering off somewhere. 

Bradley shakes his head, in disagreement. Clearly, his strategy of getting Jake to catch you with someone else at the party failed, so maybe he has to switch gears. “Dude, just because some fucking randoms said so, doesn't mean—”

“...Gummybear.” 

Both of them put the conversation on pause, snapping their necks in your direction. Another minute of quiet passes until you mumble the phrase again, paired with a groan this time.

Jake shifts around, no longer slouching against the headboard. The duo watches closely when you sleepily untangle yourself from him and sit up for yourself.

Scrubbing your eyes, you distribute a guilty look between Bradley and Jake through blurry vision because you feel your mouth slowly being filled with the pre-vomit drool. 

You’re one second away from showing them both your lackluster breakfast and cannabis laced gummies you had the bright idea of eating.

Perhaps, it wasn’t the best course of action to have one—or two, but you thought they were supposed to make you feel calm—because isn’t that why people buy them? How were you supposed to know that having more than one would make you feel so sick?

“I don’t, um, feel too good.” Your throat bobs and you slap a hand over your mouth.

Jake lunges forward, shoving away the pillows blocking you from him. He visually pales when bend over against him, aggressively gagging into your palm, unable to swallow back the burning acid rising into your throat and spilling onto your tongue. 

With you on the brink of vomiting in his lap, Jake keeps his eyes on you as he hurries Bradley to find something for you to dump your guts into. 

“I said I can’t fucking find it!” Bradley’s already shot out his chair, rapidly throwing dirty laundry over his shoulder once he’s bent over in the spot where his trash bin should be.

From the way he launched himself out of his seat, the gaming chair is flung halfway across the room. And with the sound of your retching and Jake’s useless instructions, Bradley picks up the pace and hastily reaches into piles of junk in hopes that he’d unearth the tiny bucket.  

“Aim on the damn floor if I don’t find this thing,” he grits, sweating as he continues to dig through his pigsty.

And aim at his floor, you did. 

“I threw up all over his room.” You mumble into Jake’s hoodie, punishing yourself over the turn of events. 

Since bringing you home, Jake’s been actively trying to get your mind off what happened. But all you’ve done is guiltily fixate on the fact that you barfed like a sick puppy, leaving a plop of mush right onto a Victoria Secret bra sitting in Bradley’s room. 

What if the girl who owned it came looking for it—just to find a fat stain sunken into the cup? Bradley would probably have to tell her that his idiot friend hurled on it because she didn’t know her tolerance was incredulously low. And you’d probably won't stop thinking about it for the rest of your life.

“Who cares? You gave Bradshaw a reason to clean. Now turn around and tell me what you want,” Jake prompts you, looking ahead at the open snack pantry in front of him.

The high clearly kicked in while you were in the snack aisle, because why else would there be five party sized bags of chips staring back at him. 

Jake narrows his eyes, straining to make out the flavor you bought. The dim lighting makes it nearly impossible to read the big lettering written across the shiny plastic. But then again, he hadn’t bothered to turn on the main lights, choosing to depend on the trim of fairy lights lined throughout the apartment. It was safe to assume that you preferred those, so he stuck to that. 

Rather than complying, you wrap your arms tighter around Jake’s torso, shaking your head in refusal against his chest. “Don’t want anything.” 

Redirecting his attention to the top of your head, he hugs you back with one arm. “C’mon sick puppy, take a look.” 

The last time you writhed in guilt like this, you had swung Jake over the head with your neon pink hydro-flask at his beach house—when he was the one who purposely scared you. Though, he took it as a win, considering that you cradled his head all night, giving him an excuse to sleep in the same room as you. Back then, it came at a perfect time since his fling that summer recently ended in disaster. 

“I’ll just throw up again if I eat anything,” you quietly whine, replaying the defeated sigh Bradley heaved when he stared at the pathetic beige goo sinking into the lace of the bra. 

Using the arm he has around you, Jake gives you a squeeze. “No? Don’t even want some gummies?”

When he’s met with silence, Jake lowers his head to kiss the top of yours, but the gesture goes unnoticed by you. For a second, he thinks you managed to fall asleep standing up. “Done talkin’ to me Goldilocks?” 

Jake’s voice pulls you out of your deep analysis of the way Bradley sighed in disappointment. But, with the reminder that you had also shamelessly napped in his bed—brought on by your desperation to sleep off the high, you fist the back of Jake’s hoodie in both hands and bite down on your lip to hold back a screech of embarrassment.

“Won’t you look at that, the little lady didn’t like my joke,” he lightly teases, glad that your useless talent of falling asleep anywhere didn’t spur into action. 

Detecting the spike of heat from your flushed face against his stomach, Jake refrains from making any more jokes and lifts you slightly, positioning the bottom of your feet over the surface of his own.

Once he drops you to stand on his sock-clad feet, Jake begins to carefully advance into the bathroom, unbothered by the pressure of your heels on his toes as he walks. 

“If you want nothin’, we’re hanging out where we did this morning.”

In one swift movement, he both peels you off his front and moves you off his feet. Letting him guide you to sit at the edge of the tub, you attentively look on while he crouches in front of you, face perfectly leveled with yours—despite the raised height provided by the bathtub. Did he place you here because you fell off the toilet that one time? 

“Why did you randomly take those? Mickey puts a shit-load in there,” he questions, referring to the gummy bears that eventually led you into buying a life time supply of Jake’s favorite chips, Smoked Barbeque. 

If it wasn’t for the soft yellow string of lights you taped around the bathroom door frame, you would’ve missed the puzzled look he’s wearing. The light pinch of his brows and the concern tightening his jaw makes you feel guilty for the second time tonight. 

Instinctively, his hands reach towards your waist, thumbs coming close to meeting at the center as his palms settle on your sides. A shiver runs down his spine when he comes to notice how you fit in his hands—but he pushes the new sensation aside. 

“I’ve been doing a lot of random things today,” you broadcast, unsure of the rationale behind wearing makeup for a mundane outing—and unsure as to why you were compelled to level with a girl who could clearly look down at you from where she is. 

“Yeah, you have, haven’t you?” Jake says softly, watching your eyes flick down towards his hoodie. It’s an exact replica of the one keeping warm from the night before—and the same one he gave you for the sole purpose of announcing that you were his.

“Oh. I forgot to give your sweater back to you last night. I’ll wash it and—”

“Keep it, we didn’t break up yet,” he cuts you off, the unfamiliar look from this morning passing through his eyes, again.  

Oblivious to it, you simply nod at him, bringing your parted lips to a slow close.

Then, it goes quiet as you two take the time to recollect your thoughts.

After several minutes you both meet back in a silent agreement that you’re ready to continue the conversation. Jake nods his head at you, encouraging you to speak first. 

“I ate it because this didn’t feel good,” you suddenly confess, lips bunching to the side of your mouth. Knowing what you meant, his attention drops to that skirt he caught you in this morning. An unsettling feeling swirls in his stomach, it looks even tighter on you now.

Jake liked to think he knew how to read you.

Whenever his ears picked up on your nervous laugh, he knew to stalk over to see which one of his nosey aunts were pressing you about having a boyfriend. Whenever you nervously dug the toe of your sneakers into the floor, he knew to start comparing shoe sizes with you as a distraction. But when he finds you in something you don’t usually wear, Jake doesn’t know what to do. 

He wonders if you felt like you needed this stuff to feel pretty. And he also wonders why he’s so unaware of it until now, if you had. 

“Think I threw up because it’s so tight. Maybe Mickey’s gummies aren’t so bad,” you attempt to joke with a light laugh, wanting to ease the tension off his face. 

In front of you, Jake’s stare is still unwavering towards the engravings of that button. In a way, this is kind of disorienting for him, what you’re wearing is so familiar to him. Yet, seeing it on you is unfamiliar if anything. Because this isn’t you, it’s the girl he was just arguing with last night. 

The only reason he even started this whole thing with you, besides Kendall’s unexplainable jealousy towards your friendship, was because you were different to her in every way. So, if you were going to change that about yourself, Jake didn’t like it—because it was unfamiliar to him. For his whole life, he kept tabs on little things about you that no one else bothered to learn. It doesn't sit right with him, that you’re keeping things from him now.

“I…don’t like this,” he delivers carefully, enunciating each word to you purposefully, leaving no doubt in your mind that he says it to be mean. And like always, what he really wants to say translates to you—I don’t like the way it makes you feel either. 

“...Can we take it off then?” you insert with the same careful delivery.

He draws in a deep breath, and you mimic the action unknowingly. 

Then, with a flick of his thumb, Jake unfastens the button of your skirt, dislodging it from the denim slit that kept it tightly wrapped around your waist. When you go to lift your butt, he pulls the tiny scrap of fabric down your legs. His eyes trail it, keeping his attention off your underwear. In his peripheral, he spots your half-full bottle of strawberry bottle wash. 

With you moving to sit back down on the cold ledge, he’s briefly greeted with a pink cursive lettering. Tuesday.

Surprisingly, it’s not awkward to be sitting in nothing but the poorly constructed sweater he said looked good on you and a pair of your day of the week underwear. Maybe you were being dramatic, thinking that you would die if he saw it. Because this isn’t so different from the days you spent walking around in your bathing suits, in the lifetime full of summers you spent together.

“You never needed that,” he shrugs, relief settling in his chest now that it’s off of you. 

“I never needed it,” you repeat back.

While your entire lives were filled with inside jokes and probably too much bickering—there were small lapses in time where that all drops. You’re not sure when it had even started, but for as long as you could remember, whenever either of you voiced something worthy of importance your counterpart naturally echoed it back. I was a dick. You were a dick. Jake, not right now. Okay, not right now. You never needed that. I never needed it. It was something your friendship naturally adopted. 

And like all other friendships, you two also knew how to shimmy your way out of a vulnerable moment like that, without making things weird. 

Jake leans into you a bit, suppressing a cheeky grin. “It says Tuesday, today is a Saturday,” he whispers.

Shoving him back with one hand, you break out into a smile. “You read my underwear!” 

“It read itself to me,” he finally grins, prompting you to smack your palm over his eyes in embarrassment. 

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” You chant between your laughter. “I’m never wearing these again.”

“No? Not even for me?” Jake starts to wrap his fingers around your wrist. It’s not too firm, but it’s enough to lower your hand from his eyes. Your laughter begins to die down at how gently he handles you. 

Another silence settles in the bathroom again when he leisurely traces a path from your wrist up to your palm, entwining his fingers through yours. Then, he drops your connected hands between the small gap between you two. 

But as quickly as he holds your hand, he lets go of it. And strangely, that tinge of your sixteen year old hurt sweeps through your heart when you lose that warmth against your palm.

Jake suddenly clears his throat. “I should uh, leave. You know, so you can shower.”

Pushing down the confusing swirl of emotion in your chest, you nod. 

This time, Jake’s the one to walk out of the bathroom, leaving you alone with your best friend at the forefront of your mind.

note: im so sorry for taking forever to update! so please enjoy this accidentally long chapter as an apology! as always, reblogs & thoughts are greatly appreciated, thank you for reading! & gently ignore any spelling/grammar mistakes for now

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[opossum-rights]

A Cursed Place

Cursed Spirit Gojo x Reader

You’ve always been deemed ‘weird’ by your peers. You’ve always seen things that aren’t there.

When you try to get away from it all you come face to face with something you never thought possible. The first one to seek him out in so long, he decides he doesn’t want to let you go.

<<Next Part>>

Word Count, 2.5k

Dozens of years ago, the building was used as a temporary shelter for civilians impacted by some sort of natural disaster, one of the worst in recent history. Its still halls and rotted walls were festering in negative energy from unpleasant memories.

Of course, you didn’t know that at the time. You didn’t know what things were drawn to that type of stale environment. You’d been using the place as a sort of safe haven. A place you could go to be totally alone. No one else in your town dared to trespass, the tragic history of the place gave rise to many rumors of ghosts or spirits. It was frightening the first time you stepped through the rusted doors, but with time you got used to it, having made the place your own.

You were forced there, that first day. By the time you learned to keep quiet about the world around you, the things others couldn’t seem to see, you were already ostracized by your peers.

Through the years you’ve tried repairing your reputation, but eventually something would happen: one of those things standing in the corner of your sight, or getting attached to those around you. It’d draw a reaction out of you despite your best efforts at keeping cool, convincing your classmates that there was something wrong with you.

Normally they’d stay clear of you, sure they’d sneak glances and let out a couple of chuckles behind your back, but there was never any violence directed your way. You guessed with exams coming up that they needed a stress ball.

Getting later in the year, the sun was making its way westward, dragging the light with it through it was only mid-afternoon. A couple of boys in disheveled uniforms were waiting near the gate. They were glancing at you, smirks on their faces, but being used to that type of reaction you thought nothing of it. Keeping your head down, you walked right past them.

The only warning was a single footstep. A hand harshly gripped the back of your uniform dress shirt, collar slightly choking you. You were pulled into their little semi-circle. The one who grabbed you then put his arm around your shoulders, it felt more threatening than friendly. One of them told you how this little game would work, you’d run, they’d chase after and try ‘tagging’ you. The look in their eyes told you that they would do more than simply tap you.

Not giving you much time to think, they shoved you away and started counting. You ran. A dozen yards away you could hear the dull sound of sneakers on pavement. You turn. They must be toying with you, you think, as there’s no way you could out run them for as long as you have been. They must like the sound of your panting, the frantic looking in your eyes as you glance over your shoulder to see them only feet away.

This proves to be a fatal mistake. You feel your foot connect with concrete and turn your head just in time to see that you tripped on a stair, letting you thrust your arms out to catch your fall. They slow to a walk behind you, laughing at your mishap. On shaking palms you try to push yourself up; a shoe connects with your back, doing the opposite.

They surround you,

Fucking Freak, A shoe is driven into your side, making you wheeze.

They break out in laughter as you use a hand to hold the spot you were kicked, wincing at the throbbing pain. They back up, giving you enough time to stand back up on unsteady legs. Again, you run. Again, they follow. You know you don’t have it in you to run all the way home, the pain in your side is already causing you to slow down.

On the right side of the road, you catch a minor gap in the trees. You know there’s a small path beyond, and past the overgrown grass there’s a building. You know that there’ll be a place to hide.

Quickly, you make a sharp turn. Sacrificing your speed to watch for sticks under foot and branches overhead. A structure comes into view. You believe it’s an old storage facility. It’s run down, doors rusting and a majority of the windows broken. Turning around the side, you find a window close enough to the ground that you can climb in. It aggravates your side, but you manage to hoist yourself through.

The inside isn’t much prettier. Dirt and grime cover the floors, broken pieces of furniture scattered here and there. There’s a shout coming from outside and you know you don’t have time to look around. Going through an empty doorway, you find a staircase. It’s rusted and broken in some places, but you can hear the doors being forced open, metal grinding against concrete.

You skip up, two stairs at a time. At the top, there are a series of doors. The sound of them yelling for you, more aggressive and less playful than back on the street, echoes throughout the building as you try to open and close a rotted door as quietly as you can.

There’s an old wooden cupboard, not in as bad condition as everything else you’ve seen, that you duck into. You fold your knees to your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible. The air is heavy; it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

On the ground floor, your pursuers spread out to look for you. You can hear only one set of footsteps make the stairs creak as they ascend. They still as he reaches the top, presumably picking a door to start with. He chooses the one right next to yours, the one that shares a wall with the cupboard you’re in.

You hold your breath.

There’s the sharp sound of the window breaking. There’s the piercing sound of the boy screaming.

The floor beneath you begins to shake, you curl up tighter into a ball. The others downstairs shout for each other, you think it’s an earthquake. Items and furniture rattle around and fall to the floor. The lights flicker on and off forcing you to tightly shut your eyes. You can hear the other windows on the top floor break and you cover your ears at the sound.

A minute passes and the shaking stops. You open your eyes and uncover your ears. You realize two things then; that the only lighting in the room comes from the window, and that there’s no sound in the building anymore.

Despite how frightened you are, you don’t leave the building until the sun has gone down. Only having a cell phone as a flashlight, you step over flung items and broken glass. The main doors are still open. Standing at the edge of the road, you take one look back down the path. You may have just been imagining it, but deep through the trees, you can see small lights blinking. Six of them, light blue.

The next day it’s almost as if nothing happened. The boys who gave you such a hard time yesterday didn’t even glance at you. No one ever tried getting physical with you again.

/

It’s a month later when you decide to go back.

You can’t stand the pity in the eyes of your parents, the disappointment when you come right home from school everyday by yourself. At dinner, your mind moves faster than your mouth. You’re going to be staying late at school tomorrow, to study with a couple of classmates. They’re ecstatic to hear about some friends in your life, or at the very least acquaintances. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

The next day, you take longer than usual to pack your things, trying to think of somewhere to hide for a couple of hours. You know your classmates disperse to the various parks and restaurants around town, so those aren’t an option. You rack your head for a place where you can be sure that no one who knows you would see you. Then It comes to you; the old storage facility.

Walking down the overgrown path, you start to feel nervous. You haven’t been back since that day; hadn’t even thought about the place. Now you think back to the strange events that took place. A part of you insists it was just a mix of an earthquake and panic attack, and you’re inclined to believe that explanation. What else could it have been?

Through the branches, you can make out the front of the building, doors gaping open just as you left them. It makes you pause. The sunlight almost drops off after the entryway, leaving the inside barely visible. If the sun isn’t invited inside, who’s to say you would be.

Shaking your head to get rid of those silly little thoughts, you pull out your phone and turn on the flashlight. You reach the doorway, taking a moment to shine your light around. There’s broken glass and broken furniture thrown about, just as there had been a month ago.

There are footprints on the ground. You’re surprised, knowing that there has been harsh rain and wind, but the footprints made of dirt mere inches away from the door are perfectly clear. Thinking about it, that’s another oddity of the place. There doesn’t seem to be any weather damage; no mold growing along the floors and walls, no leaves or grass blown in despite the broken windows. The filth on the floor seems to have only been tracked from the feet of people and animals.

Cautiously you move from room to room, checking for signs that someone else may have been around. Once you make your rounds, your shoulders relax. Nothing looks like it’s been disturbed recently.

In one of the backrooms the floor is clean enough that you lay an old blanket over it to make a seat against the wall. It’s not the most comfortable, but it’ll do for now.

You bring out a folder from your backpack, opting to get started on some homework. Dumping out your container of multi-colored pens you decide to use the dark blue one, grabbing it and leaving the others scattered around you.

That’s how you spend the next half hour or so, marking here and there, trying to explain your reasoning, all the usual for language arts.

Soon enough you find yourself stuck on a point, pen cap between your teeth as you think. A soft howl rings out as a gust of wind blows through the window, carrying your paper across the room.

You hurriedly make to grab it, cringing at the thought of it dirty. Glancing across it, you find something has been added to your paper. Not dirt smeared on the back like you were worried about, but six light blue dots placed in the margin.

At first you think nothing of it. Though when you try to brush it away it only smears like pen ink. You slink back to your seat, taking a moment to look outside and admire the stillness of it all. Not a single leaf seems to be moving.

That’s something you like about this place; Always still, always quiet.

Looking back down you find that multiple spelling errors had been corrected with a light blue pen. You don’t remember doing this at all. In fact, you couldn’t have done this. Not only did the handwriting look completely different to your own, when you grabbed all your pens you found that the light blue was gone.

“What? Who’s here?” Looking back, it was a pretty stupid question-the paper was always in your sight if not in your hands, but you were genuinely baffled.

Another gust of wind came blowing through the window, taking the paper from your hands to the center of the room. A chill shivered down your spine. Taking a quick glance outside the window freaked you out all the more, as the trees outside indicated it wasn’t windy at all.

You crawl towards the paper, seeing it’s blank side up. With a slightly shaky hand you turn it over. Your breath gets caught in your throat. Written right after your own name in the corner is:

Satoru Gojo

“Satoru Gojo… is that who you are?” You ask in a hesitant whisper as you twist your head trying to catch a glimpse of him. Turning back to the paper, a small :) was drawn next to his name.

You yelp and drop the paper as if it burnt you. Backing up, you jump as your back hits the wall. It hits you that either you’re completely losing it or something supernatural is messing with you.

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll leave!” In your panicked state, you can only assume that he’s some ghost that’s going to kill you now that you’ve figured it out. That’s what they do in the movies.

You hurriedly shove all of your things back into your backpack.

“AH-“ You scream as something brushes against your arm. You harshly flinch and look down to see the paper with something new scrawled on it.

You scared?

Is he mocking you? You’d hate to say he’s right, but your rushed breathing and hurried movements make it more than obvious. You almost fall multiple times as you grab your bag and race to the door. Twisting around a corner, you find something that stops you for a moment. The main doors are closed. You yank and pull on them but they won’t open.

Spinning around to look for another way out you see your paper on the wall of the hallway you just came from. Slowly, you inch closer and closer until you can read what was written on it.

Don’t forget this!

You take the paper off the wall, and as soon as your fingertips touch the edge, light spills out from behind you. The doors are open. Grasping the paper so hard it crumbles, you sprint outside and don’t stop until you’ve hit the main road.

Once you stop, it takes you a moment to catch your breath, legs already sore. You spare a glance back to the woods, but of course, nothing is there. Adrenaline wearing off, you make it back home and manage to put yourself together before your family can see you.

Later that night, you find you can’t sleep. Going over the events of the day again and again; paper in your hand all the while. You rely on it to convince yourself you’re not crazy, that something was there.

The next morning you figure you should reorganize your backpack, having left it a mess in your haste to leave the warehouse.

You can’t find your light blue pen anywhere.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I had this sitting around since Halloween, and only recently came back to it. I’m sorry if the writing got a little wonky halfway through.