#button mashing bitches

[queensharotto]

Time to boop mash

[sunnibits]

obsessed with the fact that I’ve used the same “dishonorable lil coward bitch” method to win at least three different baldur’s gate fights now that I was pathetically underleveled for and it’s worked every single time. face your enemies head on?? NO, CLOUD OF DAGGERS BOTTLENECK!!!! FUCK YOU!!!!!!

[eggpea]

The boss fights in Adventure 2 are very easy, just spam the attacks, you'll eventually land a hit

[lordprettyflackotara]

dollhouse || jeff the killer

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. PLEASE READ TW LIST: MURDER, YOU ARE A CREEP/MURDERER, blood kink? kinda?, choking, hate sex, enemies to prob lovers trope, orgasm denial, etc etc. yes there will be a part two ;) <3

part two

“God fucking dammit!”

The screech left your mouth involuntarily, your hand gripping the back door and slamming it shut. The sound echoed through out the kitchen, your vision borderline seeing red. You continued to mutter curses under your breath as you stormed into the living room. Ben nearly bent his neck backwards trying to look at you from the couch, “Uh, something wrong?”

Your eyes were shooting daggers as you looked at him. The blonde would’ve cowered in fear if he didn’t find you tragically attractive. (Considering you’ve made it very clear you are off limits from any mansion residents). “I got a fucking assignment like i’m a goddamn proxy,” You grumbled, stomping into the living room. Lazily you flopped down on the couch beside Ben, running your fingers through your hair.

Ben playfully elbowed you. “Oh cmon, that’s not that bad. Every creep has had to go on a mission for Slendy at one time or another,” He said cheerfully, resuming his button mashing on his xbox controller. You slumped in your seat, sighing as you propped up your head.

“Yeah, but not every creep has been paired with Jeffrey Woods.”

“Don’t flatter yourself sunshine, i’m not happy to be paired with you either,” Jeffs cold voice rang from the staircase. Ben looked back and forth between you to, pausing his game. “Oh and call me that again and i’ll slit your throat,” Jeff barked. He casually strolled down the stairs, parking himself in his usual chair by the window. You refrained from looking at him, his face making you physically sick. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about either. If I were you i’d be dropping my fucking panties and praising Slender,” Jeff continued. His rambling was growing tiresome, your patience becoming thinner.

You and Jeff were equally as aggressive, which led to many disputes and many more fist fights. Jeff never knew when to shut his mouth and you never knew when to stop throwing punches. “You single handedly have the best killer on your team and you’re still running your mouth. At this point it’s a mystery why your folks didn’t stitch it shut,” Jeff snickered. Your ears twitched visibly, your eyes widening at the sound of him mentioning your human family. Your human life.

In a swift motion you dug the (carefully thought out) emergency knife from the couch, throwing it at his head. You were known for your aim, your accuracy. The blade whisked past Jeff, digging into the wall. “You’re gonna break a window!” Ben screeched. Jeff frowned, glaring at the knife in the wall behind him. “You missed doll face,” He seethed. You grinned your petty scheme paying off.

“Did I?”

A warm liquid began trickling down Jeff’s ear, his fingers reaching to identify the source. Crimson red blood stained his fingertips, the lobe of his ear nipped by the launched blade. “You bitch i’ll kill you!” Jeff yelled, rising from his seat. You matched his energy, standing up immediately. Despite Jeff’s tall size you refused to let him intimate you, your gaze always burning with a sincere hatred. Ben was quick to hop around you, wedging himself in between you both.

“Guys let’s think about this, you know Slender’s rules,” The blonde suggested. Typically Ben didn’t give two shits about Creeps wrestling it out. Shit, last week he let Masky throw Toby into the coffee table. (Shattered it, by the way.) But he genuinely liked the both of you, considering you both his best friends. Your eyes flickered past Jeff for a moment, landing at the disney princess clock Sally had requested.

“Shit we’re late. Clean yourself up and let’s go.”

\/

One key thing was to be known about Slender missions: if you had any questions, you kept them to yourself. This is what you tried to convince yourself as you pulled on a set of scrubs. Cosplaying as a nurse was not on your bucket list, certainly not like this. “Could you be any slower?” Jeff huffed. You both stood in the back alley of the hospital, a keycard having been delivered to you to gain entry. Jeff stood on the other side of the car, facing the wall. You threatened to scoop his eyes out if he looked at you changing, the mere threat alone leading to half of his annoyance.

“Oh im sorry, maybe if your face didn’t look like it went through a meat grinder you could’ve been the doctor,” You spat, venom lacing your words. You shoved on your face mask, your key card pinned to your shirt. You rounded the car, shoving Jeff his sunglasses and blue face mask. “Do I look legit?” You asked. Jeff scowled as he shoved on the sunglasses, shoving his hood over his head. “I wouldn’t trust you with a walnut, nevertheless my life,” He snarled. You had learned long ago to discard anything Jeff said to you, no matter how hurtful or spiteful it seemed to be.

But he noticed your eyebrows briefly furrowing, your eyes flickering with concern you didn’t look nurse like enough to complete the mission. “But yeah I guess you look like a healthcare professional,” Jeff finished, shoving his face mask on. You locked the car, shoving the keys into your scrubs. Jeff’s part was to play a sick patient, one you were taking to the emergency wing. The same wing where they had a lab with copious amounts of blood bags. Again, you were never supposed to ask questions. But you couldn’t help but wonder what or who Slender would be feeding with these bags.

“Why did you make me wash my hoodie again? The blood on it could’ve looked like I was coughing it up,” Jeff asked. Jeff was notorious for not wanting to wash his hoodie. You figured it was an ego thing, pride always seeming to drip off of him when he paraded around in his victims blood. Grabbing your keycard you bypassed the pitiful security system, the door unlocking with a click. You grabbed him by his shoulder, assertively guiding him inside. “Yeah we would’ve wanted you to look like you were coughing up blood, not coming back from a murder scene,” You whispered. The bright hospital lights were borderline overstimulating, your vision narrowing as you struggled to remember instructions.

Jeff sensed this, fake coughing and jerking his head towards the sign. West wing. Great. You led Jeff through the busy hospital, nodding respectfully at any medical staff that made eye contact with you. No one seemed suspicious, just another human nursing a sick patient back to health, right? The journey felt longer than it was, your nerves gnawing at you. It wasn’t the fear of being identified necessarily. You and Jeff (if you managed to work together as a team) could certainly slaughter this entire hospital floor and get away. It’s not like many would try to fight you both off either.

Creeps were not to make spectacles of themselves by having their identifies revealed to humans. Camera systems were in place, people had cell phones, police were nowadays just one click away. If you both failed to remain secretive, you’d violate one of Slender’s rules. And if you cared to live another day with more than three brain cells in tact, you did not disobey Slender.

Finally reaching the west wing brought instant relief, both of you reaching your destination. You swiped your keycard, both of you pushing into the room. A middle aged man stood at the counter, turning around to see who had entered. He briefly turned back around, before realizing Jeff did not appear to be medical staff. You shoved a metal cart in front of the door, Jeff quick to take out the threat. “Go to sleep,” He snickered, slitting the man’s throat. You rolled your eyes, grabbing a trash bag from under the sink.

“gO tO sLeEp,” You muttered mockingly. You wondered when he’d retire the corny catchphrase. You threw your mask aside, tired of playing pretend. Jeff strolled over to the fridge, yanking open the door. Blood pooled on the floor beneath his shoes, staining them as he crouched down. Jeff wasn’t bothered in any capacity, reaching out to grab a trash bag. You both began shoving the bags into the bag, grabbing each and every type. “Wait did Slender want the different blood types in different bags?” Jeff asked. You sighed, ignoring him as he stopped and looked at you. He yanked off the mask and tossed aside the sunglasses, his obsidian eyes boring into yours. “He didn’t specify,” You shrug, grabbing another row of bags.

“He didn’t specify? So why wouldn’t you do it then?” Jeff asked. You rolled your eyes, dropping your hands. “What does it matter? We’re putting bags of blood into trash bags and delivering it like we’re in the twilight zone. We don’t even know what this is for,” You argued. You went to grab another bag, Jeff’s pale hand harshly grabbing your arm. “Exactly, we don’t know what it’s for. Meaning we should play it safe,” Jeff debated. You yanked your arm away from him, disgusted by his touch. Angrily you dropped the trash bag, standing up.

“You just want an excuse to argue. I knew you would fuck this mission up,” You growled. Jeff rose to his feet, towering over you as he did so. “I’m fucking up the mission? You’re the one who’s being sloppy,” He said, poking your chest. You shoved his shoulders, hating his touch. “You’re the sloppy one. Yeah Jeff get your shoes stained with the humans blood so they can look for it later. We’ll just have to burn it in the middle of nowhere,” You said, gesturing to his shoes. Jeff rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Them knowing my shoes, which by the way, are converse, which half of the planet owns, is not a big fucking deal,” He said mockingly.

You threw your arms up, exasperated. “Yes it is! Because then they’ll link it to any other crime they’ve captured with a stupid pale guy in converse and it’ll be all over the news, and you know how Slender hates the media-” You began, before the hallway light stopped your sentence for you. Two nurses shoved their way inside of the room, both of you freezing. Shit.

Jeff grabbed both of them by their scrubs, yanking them inside and slamming the door. He shoved his hand over the first one’s mouth, slamming her onto the cold floor. Your victim seemed dumbfounded, her eyes widening in the same fear that dripped off of every victim of yours. “Dont scream bitch, whatever you do, don’t scream,” You suggested. You didn’t look visibly armed, maybe she’d listen to you. As Jeff repeatedly stabbed her coworker in the chest, she changed her mind. A shallow gasp left her lips before you were on her like a wild animal, your pocket knives blade stabbing her from the underside of her chin.

Not your preferred method, gallons of her blood pouring down onto you and your scrubs. Her eyes went blank as the soul left her body, her life officially drained. Crimson paint coated your entire front side, the skin on your arms stained with the color. “There is no fucking way i’m going to be able to walk through the hospital like this,” You seethed. You turned to Jeff, tossing the nurses limp corpse aside. “You should’ve been keeping a lookout instead of picking an argument!” You exclaimed. Jeff rose to his feet above his own victim, her organs on full display as smashed lumps of meat.

“Nothings ever your fault, is it sunshine? Maybe take some responsibility for your fuckups instead of pinning it on me,” Jeff spat. You hated him. You hated him beyond belief. You also hated that he in one way or another, was right. You let him get in your head and distract you from the mission. In a fit of rage you shoved at his chest, the pale killer having enough of your hissy fit. He shoved you back, pushing you against the counter. Slipping on the blood beneath you, you instinctively grabbed handfuls of Jeff’s hoodie, dragging him with you.

His body smashed into yours as your back hit the counter, both of you breathing heavily. You glared up at him, his body not deserting yours. He licked his dry lips, observing you from above. Your chin and neck were coated in blood, along with the rest of you. When Jeff came to think of it, you didn’t look half bad when your mouth was shut and you were covered in his favorite liquid. Glaring up at him you noticed he was stained the same way, splatters of blood painting his face. “I hate you,” You seethed. Jeff leaned in closer to you, his face an inch away from yours.

“I hate you too sunshine. Don’t ever think for a moment I don’t,” He replied. You could feel your heart beginning to race, the close proximity making your stomach do back flips. “Why would I think you don’t?” You asked. Jeff hesitated, knowing what he was about to do would change everything. But fuck he could not resist a hot chick covered in blood. “Cause of this,” He huffed, smashing his lips into yours. You were surprised to find yourself kissing him back, clashes of teeth ensuing more than a traditional kiss. His large hands helped you onto the counter, the pale killer wedging himself between your legs.

You wrapped your arms around Jeff’s neck, bringing him closer. You both were willingly jeopardizing the mission, all for a sweet release. Because you both knew deep down that you both were the same, cut from the same cloth. Jeff’s hands slid up your thighs, reaching for the hem of your scrubs. Your lips refusing to stray from his, awkwardly lifting your hips to help him take them off. Jeff’s tongue slid into your mouth, the faint taste of a monster energy drink dancing across your tongue. Jeff was quick to pull down your pants and panties, leaving you completely exposed.

“We don’t have much time,” You panted into his lips, nibbling on his bottom lip. Your hands reached for his pants, fiddling with the belt. Jeff rubbed two fingers up and down your slick, sickly satisfied with how wet you were for him. “You’re fucking drenched. I knew your slutty ass wanted me,” He snickered. You glared up at him, wrapping your legs around his waist. Without thinking you raised an open hand, slapping Jeff across the cheek. The stinging electrified him, his cock throbbing with a more intense desire.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” He seethed, shoving two fingers inside of you. You let out a groan, your hand slithering down to your clit. “Who are you supposed to be pretending to be now? Ben?” You asked, relishing in the sight of his pale cheek turning pink. He curled his long fingers inside of you, your eyes fluttering shut as you moaned. “You greedy bitch, pay attention,” Jeff growled. His spare hand flew to your throat, harshly gripping at the sides. Your eyes burst open, meeting his dark orbs. “Thats it, look at me as I ruin you,” Jeff ordered.

You began drawing quick circles around your clit, biting your inner lip. “You gonna make me cum or just keep talking?” You huffed, grinning as his grip on your neck tightened. Jeff continued finger fucking you, your groans music to his ears. “You sick bitch. You like me choking you, huh?” He taunted. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your orgasm threatening to wash over you. Jeff could sense so too, releasing your throat and yanking away your hand from your clit. His fingers emerged from your cunt, just as you were teetering on the edge of cumming.

“You fucking asshole, fuck you,” You seethed. You spat in his face, your saliva coating the same cheek you slapped. Jeff picked you up off of the counter, slamming you against the closest wall. Aggressively he pulled down his pants and boxers, his lips meeting yours again. For such a prick he was intoxicating, his lips working wonders against yours. “Be patient for once you brat. You’re gonna cum on my cock like a good whore should,” Jeff grumbled, rubbing his shaft up and down your slick. He forcefully shoved himself inside of you, your body splitting in half as his dick bottomed out inside of you.

You gripped his blood stained hoodie, your palms covered in the liquid you could never escape. You swallowed as you screwed your eyes shut, attempting to adjust. Your body was tense and still, your breathing heavy. You expected Jeff to be a prick and move, ramming into you the way he wanted to. But he didn’t, his eyes watching you intently. Slowly and unsurely he grabbed your chin, forcing your head towards. His touch seemed too caring to be real, his lips working against yours again. Your body slowly relaxed, his lips bringing you ease.

Jeff hadn’t expected you to be overly experienced, your walls squeezing him like you were a virgin. An uneasy silence flooded between you to as you fully adjusted, your eyes fluttering open. “Jeff, move,” You ordered weakly, straying away from his heroin laced lips. The pale killer wanted to deny you, to make you beg for him. But as your victims blood pooled at his shoes once more, he knew he didn’t have time for that. He began moving quickly, his thrust rough and reckless. His cock abused your g spot just like his words abused your sanity.

“You’re bigger than I thought you’d be,” You huffed, unable to stop yourself from insulting the man who was providing you euphoric pleasure. Jeff laughed dryly, burying himself in the crook of your neck. “You’re tighter than I thought you’d be. I thought you’d be so desperate as to let EJ fuck you and stretch out this cunt of yours,” He rambled, jealousy ensuing. He hated how well you got along with EJ. He hated how seeing you laugh with him made him feel. He didn’t understand it. That nagging feeling. He couldn’t understand it. He didn’t want to understand it.

You licked your lips as you tried to contain your sinful noises, Jeffs name finally straying from your lips as he abused your cunt. “Thats it, moan my fucking name,” He praised, a sick satisfaction making his hips snap into you faster. His breath was hot against your neck, the twisted fucker licking the side of your neck. The taste of sweat and blood was intoxicating to him, the killer only more turned on by the taste. You could feel yourself finally close to the finish line, your hands combing into Jeff’s shaggy ash black hair.

“Fuck, right there. Please don’t stop,” You whined, unable to stop the plea from falling off of your lips. Who was Jeff to deny you of that? Your walls spasmed around him as you came, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Jeff came with a grunt, huffing into your neck as his warm seed flooded your cunt. You both were frozen for a moment, the realization of what had just happened washing over you. You shoved Jeff’s chest, pushing him away from you. The pale killer backed away, removing himself from your cunt.

He watched as you shoved your clothes back on, grabbing the trash bag.

“Get dressed bitch boy, we have a mission to finish.”

[to-the-stars8]

The Waynes' Nanny

Batfamily and Reader/ Bruce Wayne x Reader Chapters Ao3 Originally, I was going to make this a half-chapter because I wrote this on my phone while at work, but I decided I'm a bitch who doesn't do half-chapters. Anyway, here's this one. Sorry for any mistakes, it was slightly rushed because I wanted to get something out there since I've been away from the keyboard for a good moment!

Nanny in The Attic

Alfred had asked you to get some spring decorations from the attic, and you were happy to oblige. You loved decorating; it brought a sense of wonderment to your life that was otherwise filled with the endless tasks of being a caretaker. So, you took to the attic like a moth to a flame. There were boxes upon boxes, old coats strewn about, a creepy-looking rocking horse in one corner, and copious amounts of dust. 

“The box is labeled but I couldn’t tell you where the damned thing is,” Alfred said as he flipped on the light. “If you like, you could wait until I return. It might be easier.” 

You waved him off as you ventured further into the room. “No, no. You’re a busy man, Alfred. Plus, the kids are at school, and this will give me something to do today.”

“Very well, then, have at it,” The old man said, heading towards the attic stairs. “Master Bruce is working from home today, and there’s an intercom on the wall over there if you want to call for help should you need it. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind lending a hand.”

An intercom. Of course, there was. You wandered over, pressing one of the buttons just for fun. At one point, Bruce's voice came through, crackling. Squeaking, you said a quick "never mind" and pressed another random button.

“This place,” you said, glancing at the panel, “is either really old-fashioned… or ridiculously fancy.”

“Sometimes it’s both,” Alfred said dryly as he descended the stairs.

"Thanks, Alf. I’ll see you later," You called after him.

With a wave, he left.

You began to pull apart the attic in search of the alleged spring decor, and it seemed almost hopeless. There were just too many boxes. There was Christmas (which you couldn’t wait to see), Halloween, and just about every holiday decor that had ever existed. Some boxes were full of pictures and jewelry. One box had photo albums from the last thirty years, and curiosity won as you momentarily battled with yourself.

Flipping through them, you found a small version of Bruce—bright-eyed, unsure, and almost soft. Damian looked just like him. And Bruce? He was practically a mirror of his father. Eerily so. That had to do something to his psyche.

His mother was a beauty, too. You found her headshot sitting right under one of the photo albums. She had curly copper hair and deep blue eyes that reminded you of Bruce’s. Mr. and Mrs. Wayne were a handsome couple with the world at their feet, but that was cut short the day they died. 

You remembered the tragedy in fragments. You were young, but you could still recall a relative bursting into the kitchen to announce that the Waynes had been murdered. You hadn’t understood then that the boy left behind would grow up to be this Bruce Wayne.

“Poor Bruce,” you said to yourself before putting the albums back. “Now, where in the hell is that box?” 

You looked around the room, eyes scanning, when you saw it. The box was high up on a shelf labeled ‘spring’ in black Sharpie. You made a clearing, set up a step ladder, and started climbing. It was going to be so easy and perfect, you thought. 

The box was just out of reach.

You supposed that the shelf could support some of your weight, so you lifted your leg to step onto it. What you didn’t see was a broken vase tucked between some boxes. It sliced into your leg before you even felt it. Then came the pain, sudden and sharp. With a cry, you fell back hard onto the floor. 

“Ow, ow,” you hissed, pressing a hand over the wound. Blood was already pooling beneath your fingers. Alfred was going to kill you. Limping over to the intercom, you mashed buttons blindly.

“Mr. Wayne,” you would say when it sounded like you got through to a room. “Mr. Wayne, are you there?”

Finally, after about ten minutes, you got a voice coming through the other end, “Everything alright?”

“Aha! Mr. Wayne, I cut my leg pretty badly and think I need a first aid kit. Could I trouble you to bring me one?” 

“I’ll be right there,” he said. Before you could say anything back, the line went dead. 

Grumbling to yourself, you made your way to the attic stairs to sit and wait for your rescue. Blood was pooling between your fingers, and you could feel it slowly getting closer to your sock. 

“I’m here,” Bruce called as he bounded up the stairs with the med kit. “Alright, let me see.”

You moved your hand to the side, but couldn’t bring yourself to see just how bad it was. Bruce knelt in front of you, his hand steady on your knee—large, warm, grounding.

“Luckily, you don’t need stitches, just a clean-up and some bandages.” 

“What should I do?” You asked, hands already going for the kit. 

Bruce didn’t let you get close enough to grab it. He didn’t say anything as he picked out the hydrogen peroxide, some ointment, and bandages. Pouring a little of the hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball, he slowly started to wipe at your leg. You yelped from the sudden sting and pushed his hand away. 

“Stop it, that hurts,” you said meekly. “Ow! Bruce, please.”

He paused, looked up at you, and his thumb brushed soft circles against your knee. “Sorry, just hold still. It won’t take much longer.” 

He began to dab the cotton ball back on the wound again, and this time, you were prepared for the sting. You stared at him as he worked on you. Mr. Wayne wasn’t just a handsome man; he was pretty, too. He had the type of look that befitted a character in a fantasy novel rather than a traumatized rich boy. His eyes, though, were such an intense blue that they were hard not to look at.

You thought out loud, “You have your mother’s eyes.” 

His hand froze. Slowly, he looked up at you. “What?” 

You tried not to let the embarrassment show through. It was a fact that just so happened to slip from your mouth. “You have your mother’s eyes. I saw a picture of her earlier.” 

Bruce looked down, resuming the cleaning, but more gently now. “Oh.” 

“Do you remember your parents?” You asked. 

“Yes,” He said after a minute. “Everyone said I looked like my father, but he saw more of my mother.” 

You giggled and took his hand when he offered to help you up. “She must have loved that.” 

“Oh, she did.” For the first time, you saw Bruce smile genuinely. A smile for himself instead of the kids or you. “That’s why she wanted a girl after me, but they never got around to it.” 

“Can’t picture you as an older brother,” you said as you wandered over to the shelf. 

Bruce didn’t say anything to that and changed the subject. He offered to get the box down for you, saying that you didn’t need to be reaching up or doing anything else on your leg. You weren’t going to complain and let him get the box. 

“Good thing you called me,” He said with a grunt. “It’s heavy. Now, where do you want it?” 

“The living room would be a good place to start,” you said before you checked the time. You still had a couple of hours before the kids got home, but you thought that perhaps you could wait. “Maybe I should wait for the kids. They may want to help.” 

“Alfred would rather burn the manor down.” 

You could imagine it. Mr. Wayne brought the kids up in a way that they were very creative, and you could only imagine how that would transfer over in the decor. Alfred was too neat a person for that. 

Mr. Wayne set the box down on the living room coffee table, making a cloud of dust come up from the box, before turning to you. You smiled kindly and thanked him. He turned to leave but paused halfway.

“Make sure you clean your wound, you wouldn’t want it to get infected.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne.” 

He nodded before finally leaving you. You looked back down at the decoration in your hands and huffed. It’d be a lot of work, but you'd be damned if you didn't get it done.

Later that day, when Alfred returned with the kids, he nearly dropped the groceries at the sight of the house. Spring had exploded. Florals, pastels, garlands, and twinkling lights filled the manor. You only told him you had magic hands before you went to tend to the children. They were happy to see you, all of them clamoring about, and noted the bandage on your leg. 

“I got in a fight with a bear today,” you said proudly. 

Dick rolled his eyes. “You’re such a liar.” 

Bruce suddenly popped into the kitchen where all of you were. “It’s true. I was there. I helped fight off the bear.” 

“Are there even bears in New Jersey?” Jason asked curiously. 

Duke, on the other hand, looked horrified. “Why are there bears in the backyard, Dad?” 

You were quick to tell him that the two of you were only kidding, that the cut really just came from an accident. Duke seemed relieved, while the other kids were a bit disappointed. As they ran off, Bruce stopped you with a hand on your arm.

“Next time you decide to decorate, let me know in advance.” 

“You don’t like it?”

“On the contrary, actually. What I don’t like is you getting hurt. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

You nodded, trying to reason with yourself as to why you had butterflies in your stomach. 

[luciacaminoz]

NEW GAME+ (2.6k)

"Third law of Kindred kinematics," Julian calls, voice slicing through smog and car-horn-choir blare. He taps his temple. "Momentum's a bitch until you become the bitch."

March 2021

Sol crouches, calves coiled, eyes tracking the labyrinth of rooftops and laundry lines spiderwebbing across Colonia Independencia. The night market’s cacophony—braying norteño accordions, sizzling cabrito, vendors hawking bootleg PS5s, Cartier replicas, Trump piñatas—thrums five stories down.

A neon crucifix above the club, Carnicería Diablo, dominates in cherry-red over the green glow of OXXO and farmacia signs this side of the district. Monterrey’s greater skyline pulses in the distance—a sodium vapor haze of LED billboards plastered with Tecate, telecom scams, and a vaping Santa Muerte.

She takes off running, sneakers pelting sun-baked aluminium, the warehouse rooftop groaning under weight as she vaults an HVAC unit. Julian echoes ahead:

“Castillo!” His silhouette leans on a satellite dish two buildings over, backlit by the Fundidora smokestacks and a yellow sickle moon. “The whole point is that you’re supposed to keep up!”

She snarls, rousing the Blood—reigniting veins like struck matches. The leap sends her arcing over a yawning alley where dumpsters reek of lye and rotting carnitas, and for three glorious seconds, flight feels possible…

Then her knee buckles on impact.

“Fuck—!”

Sol slams into a small water tower, claws screeching against rusted metal. Julian’s laugh bounces off the Banco de México’s glass facade as he zips onto a fire escape, effortless.

“Oh man. Gotta stick the landing, chica.”

“Eat shit!” She flings a loose bolt at him. He ducks, still laughing, and jumps the railing straight into a sprint across the steel bar latched between tenements.

Sol grits her teeth and pushes off the tower, vitae drumming in her ears; dead nerves lighting up, stretched puppet-taut.

The city becomes a strobe—glimpses of a meth cook’s startled face in a garret window, feral cats scattering from overturned buckets, Julian’s black windbreaker flapping like a raven’s wings. He hurdles an electricity box with arrogant finesse before he’s a glitch, rocketing ahead.

“Left!” His voice comes from everywhere and nowhere.

She swerves hard, nearly clotheslining on a low-hanging cable. A Chihuahua yips from a rooftop garden, tiny teeth snapping where her ankle just was.

”Wrong left, Solona!”

She pivots back, claws gouging mortar as she flings herself onto a wrought-iron balcony. The metal shrieks. Her knee slams into a potted bougainvillea—petals explode like confetti.

Julian’s perched another storey up, hood pulled low over his eyes, grinning down.

Dick.

“You’re thinking too mortal. Flow with it.”

Flow with it.

Jesus, she wants so badly to fuck him off. Instead, she leaps for the drainage pipe.

Her foot slips.

Julian’s hand clamps her wrist mid-air—then a sickening full-body lurch as he yanks her up beside him.

“Relax,” he says. His thumb brushes her raw knuckles. “You’re forcing it. Let the Blood lead.”

She shoves him off.

“I am.”

“No. You’re button-mashing then panicking. This isn’t Protean, Sol—and you aren’t manipulating vitae with Sorcery. Celerity’s about rhythm. You’re all…” His palm slaps the low wall of concrete beside them in an unpleasant staccato. “When you should be…” His fingers dance smooth up her arm, light as a MIDI beat.

Suddenly she’s trying hard not to smile.

“Stop flirting with metaphors.”

“Who’s flirting?” Julian pulls her in by the elbow, pecks her nose. “Again.”

———

First foothold: crumbling concrete. Second: a railing crusted with pigeon shit. Her muscles scream, legs pistons with stripped screws—every part of her body suddenly fledgling-fresh, mortal-clumsy. The world blurs at the edges, colors smearing like wet ink, and—fuckfuckfuck—she’s overshooting—

—Until Julian’s arm hooks her waist.

“Solona. You’ve gotta feather the gas, not floor it.”

Sol jostles free.

“I know.”

“Do you, though?” He twirls what looks like a USB, taunting. “Because that was—”

She swipes for it. Julian fucking dissolves, reappearing six feet away atop an AC unit.

He tuts and pockets the drive, phone (matte black, graphene-thin, quantum circuitry prototype) already in his other hand. He points with it. “One more time. From the PEMEX sign.”

“Julian—”

His phone chirps a Mario power-up sound.

“Again. C’mon.”

———

Vitae’s still humming wrong—like chewing foil, like fucking in someone else’s skin—as she sprints along the gas station’s platform onto the farmacia. For a second’s stretch, she flies by spires gutted into strip dens and nightclubs, over cartel-owned taquerías, above abuelitas pushing strollers around the plaza of Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de la Soledad. Julian flickers between adobe and solar panels, occasionally pausing to mock-applaud.

Gravity remembers her once she’s airborne.

Sol hits the next roof’s edge too hard, too fast, ribs audibly cracking against parapet, claws scrabbling for purchase. Mortar dust fills her mouth as she dangles, legs kicking over a sixty-foot drop.

“Fuck!”

Julian’s there instantly, hauling her up by the scruff of her hoodie.

“Fucking Looney Tunes Discipline. I hate it,” she spits.

“Hate it faster.” He fires the thumb drive-sized device into the air—it sails across another gap, lands with a clink in a zinc chimney. “Next one’s got a timer. Tick-tock.”

———

She almost clears.

Almost.

Her shin splats against the ledge. Vitae sprays. She eats shit, claws shredding concrete until she grinds to a stop.

Julian’s waiting, picking at his nails with his karambit.

“Six seconds.” He checks an imaginary watch. “That grandma with a walker down there could’ve outrun you.”

Sol coughs gravel out of her throat, then rubs the rest from her palms.

“Fuck your metrics. And fuck that grandma.”

“Fuck your form.” He holsters the knife, looking at her, serious. “You’re burning through blood like a Toreador at Coachella. Short bursts—controlled, yes, but let vitae carry you. Observe—” He demonstrates, blurring strides with preternatural precision between each frame of movement, “—then reset. Like, y’know, checkpoints.”

———

So that’s what two miles round of AC units become—blink to the first, pause, blink to the next. Her vision swims in technicolor motion, kaleidoscopic afterimages—Mexican flags, flailing limbs, Julian’s smirk—astigmatisms of her own making.

Here, the EDM lounges of Zona Rosa war with Bad Bunny bleating from armoured Suburbans stuck bumper to bumper; here, diesel rain and fried masa cling to the humid Spring night.

“Better,” Julian says. “Now add a wall run.”

Add a wall run—wh—motherfu—

He launches himself at a neighboring building, sneakers hitting brick at a 70-degree angle, displacing air so seamlessly it’s pornographic.

And then he’s gone—no tell-tale, footsteps barely kissing rebar.

Sol—still jagged, coltish; arguably a little more fluid—follows only the idea of Julian Sim until the last of Monterrey’s colonial corpse gives way to the cranes of half-built luxury condos and mirror-chrome high rises.

Her young Sire’s a suggestion in techweave and neon-trim when he slows, rippling back into her line of sight to drape them both in the not-there. Light bends as they pass security cams, Julian staying within range to better flex Obfuscate. It probably would’ve been the easier choice of Discipline for her arsenal too, if—

“Keep the pace!”

Short bursts. Checkpoints.

They slalom through Calle Morelos’ circuit board esophagus of pristine tech start-ups, soldered with glass walkways, six lanes of headlights, screaming ads for Pacífico and VPNs. Julian dances ahead, but Sol’s not lagging far behind.

Her next leap sings smooth as a struck bell, braid arcing like a scorpion’s tail, rust flakes kicked up behind her on sheet metal. Julian's piercings flash when he glances back, grin softening at the edges.

She rolls, liquid shoulder-tuck; comes up running, bones intact—vitae burning through marrow like fucking nitrous, laughter unfurling wild in dead lungs.

Julian whistles.

"There she is."

They gain storey upon storey, the Haqimite electric, the Caitiff stick-shift, racing through the carcass of opulence—future penthouse suites now just I-beams and Ethernet cables.

Sol vaults on gazelle legs over a pallet of marble, soars through a cloud of fiberglass dust, and lands a neat meter from where Julian perches like e-boy Icarus, sneakers swinging above oblivion on the 18th floor.

A crane hook scrapes idly against naked concrete, plastic sheeting snapping in desert winds. Distant gunfire, three blocks east, percussive as a bassline. Suburbia sprawls for miles to the south, narco-mansions manicured and glittering all through the foothills of Sierra Madre in the north.

“Admit it,” he says, leaning back on his hand. “You missed this.”

“Missed your bullshit? Like a fucking migraine.”

He laughs. The wind whips her hoodie tight when she turns. His gaze lingers. She pretends not to notice.

Sol makes a point of surveying their midnight spread of Nuevo León once more as Julian chatters—about the city, the safehouse, their ghouls. Not the op. When she does flop beside him, feet also dangling, she stares ahead.

“You did good,” he says.

Their hands brush, then Julian’s pinky hooks hers. The motion itself is a relic.

Sol stiffens but stays. She glances at him.

He’s already looking.

A car backfires.

“Last stretch.” Julian nods toward the next buildings cutting smog. Smaller, plainer apartment complexes that will no doubt extort based on location alone once complete. “Race you?”

———

Sol’s surge is crystalline.

Julian’s right—Celerity isn’t Protean’s feral lunge, or Blood Sorcery’s calculated simmer. It’s rhythm.

She sees him ahead mid-vault, one arm outstretched behind, hair fanning like ink spilled in zero-G. Sees her own hand reaching—

Their fingers brush.

Julian's smile unfolds frame by frame: the curl of his bottom lip, the tapered apple of his cheeks, diamond-cut incisors—mesmerisingly symmetrical.

Sol's chest hits his back—

—and they’re a double helix spinning weightless—

—the city dilating below—

—a Bosch triptych halogen-spotted—

—gravity reasserts.

They crash through a skylight into an unfinished loft—glass explodes, shards spattering like prismatic shivs in the rich gleam of Monterrey’s nightlife.

Julian’s laughing.

He manages to land in a crouch for that microsecond before Sol hits half-sprawled on top of him, talons buried in the meat of his thigh.

"Fuck!"

"Sorry!"

He grabs her wrist, yanking her claws free.

"Put those things away. They’re banned.”

And then Sol’s laughing, righting herself to straddle him.

Shared Blood syncopates; rushes to pool where cold skin meets cold skin—an old tug of vitae, ten years frayed, easier to ignore now… uneasy in its familiarity. Julian's hands rest at her hips; one thumb digging into the hummingbirds there, the other circling. Her Beast purrs under his attention.

Below, in the neighboring apartments, a señora screams about flying demons.

"You really gotta work on your dismount,” he murmurs.

Sol’s eyes are flame-flecked staring down at him, pupils still slit with Protean bleeding through. Julian’s are black holes, event horizons.

The world narrows to:

The tick of her nail against his earring as claws retract.

The rogue strand of black hair stuck to his temple.

The tremble in her lower lip.

The way his Blood suddenly thrums beneath her palm, sparking warmth, simulating life—for her.

Julian’s hand rises—a languid arc, giving Sol every chance to pull back—and cradles her jaw.

“Solona…” has never sounded so much like surrender.

Time collapses honey-thick.

Slow as gangrene, sweet as sepsis.

The kiss unfolds in negative space—

Her mouth finds his.

His lips part.

She bites down just enough to taste the salt-iron synaptic burst, wintergreen gum of him, and Julian groans, low and wrecked, flicking into her fangs. His tongue drags deep along hers, insistent, sucking gently.

Dust motes spiral around them, suspended in strips of moonlight like Denver’s snow. She fists his jacket and grinds down where they’re pressed together—he makes that noise, that fucking noise, the one that starts in his diaphragm and splits into a whimper. His hands slip under her hoodie, skating up her waist, ribs, spine; Sol breaks the kiss to wrench the thing off—

A laser dot blooms red on Julian’s temple.

Celerity—him? her?—tears them sideways before the shot cracks reality back to real-time.

The Beast rattles caged and violent through bodies in a startled feedback loop. Sol’s shoulder dislocates with a nauseating pop as they go rolling across subflooring. The round pulverizes the pillar Julian’s head had just been in front of.

“MOVE—”

She’s already on her feet, dragging him by the arm into a sprint. Three more shots web the walls as they drop through holes between floors.

They hit the first intact emergency staircase by the 8th landing, Julian hacking the whole fucking grid with one hand while Sol half-hauls, half-guides him with the other. A door blows inward from another round—she feels the heat blister her cheek and panics, hissing and spilling back into a service corridor.

Fuck—neither of them have Kevlar tonight.

“Incendiary! What the fuck do we—”

“Left! Left left LEFT—”

Julian’s free hand vise-locks around her wrist as he pivots. Sneakers skid in tandem through standing water and discarded safety netting.

The corridor dead-end’s with an empty elevator shaft, car stranded above between floors. Bullets stitch the air behind them.

“JUMP!”

Maybe her equilibrium short-circuits.

Maybe Julian pushes her.

The ground tilts.

A drunk’s vomit hangs mid-air, chunky and iridescent, far across the lot.

The first delicate clinks of Modelo as a toast is caught in bird’s eye tableau.

An organillero’s note warps infinite, final fermata, outside fine dining.

Windshear.

Fear and velocity braid with the Blood.

Two Kindred ricochet off galvanized support beams like fucking pinballs.

The trumpet blows.

Laughter; someone drops their beer—more laughter.

Vomit splatters cobblestone.

Sol’s knees give way at the bottom. Julian catches her elbow, pulls her up running. They hit a clean sprint through the ground level, emerge out onto the construction site.

“See? Rhythm!”

“Fucking move your ass!”

Police sirens wail across downtown’s throb of traffic and tourists; more gunfire—not sniper rounds; seemingly unrelated—popcorns in a favela alley.

Somewhere, the norteño band butchers Depeche Mode for a bachelor party.

Somewhere, a shovelhead gets their throat torn out.

A quarter-second burst risks them through a gap in tail lights.

Neon smears at the marquee—7-Eleven green, taco stand orange, strip club pinks and violets.

Kine-slow, predators blend with prey: a crowd of football fans stumbling from a cantina; Julian’s hand still grasping Sol’s wrist.

They slip under a gothic arch into community gardens. It’s a chessboard of terracotta and steel to the rooftops. They drop down on the other side—an empty backstreet lined with dumpsters—and Julian flicks the not-USB from his pocket.

Hunger gnaws at Sol’s broken ribs.

Both vampires are a mess—plaster and scratches all over their hands and faces; her leggings and hoodie torn where she snagged on rebar and fell through glass, the outer thigh of his joggers partly shredded from her nails.

“Fuck, we were sloppy.”

“DAAE?” Sol scans the balconies above.

“Not that simple,” Julian snaps, eyes glued to his phone. Blood trickles from his nose.

“Then who? Sabbat? The fucking cartel?”

“Safehouse first.” His fingers fly over the custom rig. Sol keeps watch, claws out and twitching. “There’s an entrance into the sewer system beneath the grate here; two tunnels come up the other side of the Santa Catarina, but—”

“So come on—”

“Almost…” Julian mutters.

“Julian.”

“Got it.” He stabs a final key.

Ozone.

The district plunges into darkness.

Screams, gasps, shouting, car alarms, backup generators, trumpets, four wasted white guys still singing Personal Jesus at the top of their lungs—noise dulls to a submarine hum.

Julian’s mouth is fever-hot on her, Blush boiling beneath his skin.

Light calluses skim her cheeks; the faint ridge of scar, catch in her baby hairs. His fingers thread into where waves have frayed loose from braid, tugging her head back to deepen the kiss. Her moan vibrates through her molars and he echoes it; she feels it when he stops thinking, stops scheming, stops being Julian Sim, fucking Messiah of the Masquerade’s Collapse—and for a moment, it’s the turn of the millennium and they’re fledglings again: Sol too-eager, too-hungry, too-curious, pressed against the Geo’s hood under a Sonoran night sky, Julian’s nervous little laugh in her ear—“I mean, we’re technically dead but I guess—”

He pulls back now, forehead to hers.

“Safehouse—”

She drags him in for one more kiss.

When they separate, Julian’s grinning, all fangs and fuckery.

“To be continued?”

“Get in the sewer.”

"Told you there'd be a jacuzzi."

¡BIENVENIDOS A MONTERREY!

[previous prompt]

[all prompts]

each time i tried to paste all this into the ask my app exploded but thank you so much T_T i continued on from cicatrix for you but ended up cutting the real hot tub part bc it was getting far too long (explaining the layout of the safehouse & having nadia/elena interactions & building on some of the story here). had to split it—there is a smutty part ii coming for this one (yes i need plot with my porn…)

(btw ive two more prompts in my inbox rn but if anyone wants to send more feel free i love these. doesnt have to be a kiss prompt either it can be whatever ^^ hypothetical sudo the chihuahua custody battle etc)

[peppertoastuniverse]

more than a late night snack – gojo satoru chapter 7: congee   

contents: gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru & reader, ieri shoko & reader, extreme friendship, swearing, fluff, gojo being really whiny this chapter, gojo calls you babe.

summary:  a healthy satoru gojo was already annoying, but a sick satoru gojo is almost unbearable. shoko comes up with a plan, while you and gojo learn about the things that you have in common.

wc: 5.2k

previous chapter ll master list ll next chapter

“oh my god, gojo.” you deadpan, shaking your head. “cmon babe, answer the question.” he whines between a mouthful. you roll your eyes, abruptly moving to get up. ughhh. why did he have to tease you all the time? his dull eyes widen at the prospect of you leaving, “nononono, okay – okay, you don’t have to answer … just stay, please?”

ieri shrugs off her covers in a huff, irritation oozing from her restless body as her phone dings yet again. groaning as she got up, she snatches her phone from her desk, the brightness from the phone making her squint. she mashes the call button with disproportional aggression –  it was way too early for gojo’s bullshit, even for her.  “what the fuck do you want? do you know what time it is?” she spits out, hearing gojo’s familiar huff on the line.  “’was just textin’ you, boo! you didn’t have to call, that was your choice!” ieri rolls her eyes at this audacity, noting that his usual baritone sounded strange. “i cant sleep when all I hear is constant dinging, dude!” ieri deadpans, she hears gojo sneeze, her eyebrows raise. “why do you sound like that, satoru?”

“uhh, like what? handsome? hot? attracti–“  “no, you sound sick.”  “no im not, I never get sick.” he snaps, “if you just wanted to hear my voice, shoko –“

a mischievous smile full of realization stretches across ieri’s face, “oh shit – you’re sick aren’t you?” “don’t be an idiot, i’m not sick – i don’t get sick.” he grumbles.    “is a little cold knocking out the gojo satoru?” ieri teases, sitting back down on the side of her bed.  “i swear, you’ve been hanging out with me and suguru too much – “   “heh, were you up all night thinkin’ about your cute babe? is that why you got sick – ” her voice lights up with glee at the prospect of teasing gojo.    “hey!” gojo nearly shouts irritatingly, “you know that isn’t true, sto–“

“oh man so it is true, I fucking cant wait to tell suguru –”

“shokooooo!! just shut up and listen! i’m just tired is al–“ gojo interrupts himself with a coughing fit, in time with ieri’s snickering.  

 “okay, don’t come to class, gojo. you’re actually sick I can already tell.” ieri grimaces.

“aw, are you worried about lil ol’me?” he answers voice hoarse, sounding more and more congested by the minute.  she scoffs, “ugh gross, no. I just don’t want to get sick. stay away from me.” ieri hangs up before gojo could whine. she lies back into bed with a heavy sigh, a healthy satoru gojo was annoying, but a sick satoru gojo was diabolical. he was going to make this everyone’s problem.

gojo satoru: ur so rude to me, u need to fix that ( ｡ •̀ ᴖ •́ ｡) (5:11am)

ieri shoko: wow bitch after I was going to get you soup later?  (5:12am)

gojo satoru: ( ˶°ㅁ°) ! nvm u r my fav don’t tell sugu ily <3 <3 <3 (5:12am)

ieri shoko: see that’s what I thought go sleep now srsly (5:13am)

gojo satoru:   (⸝⸝⸝･ᯅ･⸝⸝⸝)◞♥︎ (5:14am)

ieri takes a screen shot of the text message, glow illuminating her tired face – oh this will come in handy someday. diving back into her plush mattress, ieri’s thoughts move back to gojo, confident that he was pouting miserably in his room. she shuts her eyes with an amused scoff at gojo’s dramatic antics. rolling over into a more comfortable position, she quickly conjures up a wicked plan before falling back to sleep with a grin on her face.

“really, suguru?” you moan as you watch him take some of the bok choy from his own bowl before placing it into yours. “I said that I was okay!” shooting geto a pout.  “stop being such a fucking–“

“hey, you literally just ate one piece.” he judgementally comments as he meets your challenging eyes, silently encouraging you eat more.

“I can serve myself!” you huff as you lean your chin on your closed fist.

“yeah, how are you gonna kick his ass tomorrow if you don’t eat enough?” ieri teases, eyes on her phone.

“I can pin him without it!” you mumble, catching geto’s amused head shake. you easily take a bite of the vegetable courtesy of the big mother hen seated next to you, playfully knocking your knee to his.  

geto really worries too much.

as you swallow the last bite of your bok choy, you look around the table, eyes settling briefly at gojo’s empty chair.

“satoru still feeling like shit?” geto asks catching your loaded gaze, to which ieri groans as she puts her phone down with a clatter. “idiot has a fever but doesn’t want to rest,” ieri says between a mouthful of rice, “he fucking woke me up at 5AM today!” while suguru sighs, mumbling “yeah sounds like him. when I brought him medicine a few hours ago, he was just playing games on his phone.” geto rolls his eyes. “ah shit – that reminds me, i actually should go pick him up some soup or something after this.” ieri sighs, drumming her nails on the kitchen table, “ughhhh yaga wants me at the morgue in 40 minutes though.” you wrinkles your nose, “I never know how you can eat and then go straight to doing… what you do.”

shoko shrugs nonchalantly, taking a bite of the sauteed pork. “mhm, you get used to it.”

“you’re still eating, though – I can go pick it up? I have to grab something from the combini anyway.” you suggest.

“mhm? you sure?” ieri mumbles, still focused on her meal. “if you wait a couple of minutes I can go with you?” geto suggests. “nah suguru it’s fine, you’re still eating anyway and you have a mission in like 2 hours.” you say quickly taking out your phone to check the time. “what were you going to get for him, ieri?”

“oi! how many times do I have to tell you, it’s shoko!” she throws her crumpled napkin at you, earning her a sheepish smile from you.

old habits are hard to break. and you were stubborn.

though you haven’t been close to her for a long time, you liked ieri. she was outwardly straightforward, smart and determined. ieri had a bluntness to her that you found refreshing albeit a bit harsh at times. often balancing gojo’s playfulness with an iron fist, she would steamroll him and geto when their mischief got too far or more often than not, encourage it when she thought it would be entertaining to watch. like that last week where gojo and geto tried to steal all the clocks at the school, but ieri suggested instead that they turn back all the clocks in the school 2 hours back because she wanted to get more sleep. unsurprisingly she got what she wanted.

but inwardly, you knew ieri as being understanding with a kind forcefulness that you found charming. recently she got into the habit of pushing you to hang out with everyone when all you wanted to do was rot in bed. she’d complain that you were being a “boring old man” and that you should “start acting your age with them,” recently she would even arrive at your door with takoyaki and magazines promising a night new founded laughter. 

her friendship was coarser than geto’s, encouraging you to make mistakes with the background promise of helping you pick up the pieces while berating you for your stupidity. she was the type of person that would have your back but would yell at you if you were making a stupid decision– she fought for you even if that meant fighting against the moronic version of your past self.  friendship was generally a new thing that you were getting used to, but with ieri’s friendship you felt lighter.

“the congee with ginger and chicken broth or something. it’s good for his congestion.” she answers as you take out your phone to type in a note. ieri’s eye catches the silvery gleam of your phone charm dangling from your hands, a knowing smile reaches her lips.

“y’sure? I won’t be that much long – “ geto starts before shutting up immediately as ieri’s foot violently wacks into his shin under the table, earning a repressed grunt.

 “... you good, suguru?” you ask, settling your phone down on the kitchen table. you meet his violet eyes, eyebrow cocked.

“he’s fine!” ieri answers sweetly. geto’s eyes narrow at ieri before she meets his questioning gaze in exasperation. oh my god, suguru – look at the charm! large light brown eyes directing his annoyed gaze to the table. looking at your phone adorned with a familiar silver star, his sly mouth hides the beginning of a shit eating grin, understanding immediately colouring his features. ah, I see.

stretching your neck to the left, you get up with a huff. the chair behind you slightly screeching as you move to collect your dirty dishes and wash them in sink.

“alright, I’ll see you guys later then.” you add brightly, whiping your hands before glancing down your phone screen opened gojo’s contact. quickly slapping your phone closed.

“be safe later, suguru,” you say patting his shoulder, catching his reassuring grin before walking out of the room.

“shoko, that fucking hurt.” geto hisses dramatically after ensuring that you’ve left. his chair moving back with a screech as he rubs his shin, shooting ieri a questioning look. “do you keep rocks in your shoes or something, god.”

ieri sighs. “you know what’s more painful? watching those two idiots! ugh, they need to figure their shit out.” ieri groans reaching across the table to steal a sauteed carrot out of geto’s bowl.

he chuckles, a warm sound reverberating around the corners of the room. “knowing them though, they probably don’t fully know it themselves.”

“yeah, fucking six eyes my ass.” shoko grumbles, taking an aggressive bite out of some broccoli. geto picks out some of the vegetables from of his bowl, chopsticks moving them easily into ieri’s. “give them some time.” ieri takes out her phone to type out a quick message to gojo.

ieri shoko:  you can thank me later  (5:43pm) gojo satoru: for what? ( •̀ - •́ ) FOR WHAT? ????  shokoooooooooo  (5:45pm)

you shrug your long scarf off with a sigh, juggling the bulging plastic bag in hand. your rosy cheeks sting from the cold, you huff to keep your hair out of your face. you sigh before knocking on gojo’s door gently. “gojo?” you call out, knocking louder. foot now tapping impatiently, rolling your eyes “gojo! dude, I brought you foo– you know what, i’m coming in,“ turning the handle, your eyes widen at the sight before you.

gojo was sprawled out diagonally on his bed, limbs falling in different directions like he had just fallen from the sky. his dark blue comforter half on him, an arm propped up cover half his face, dark glasses discarded somewhere, offending eyes shut tight, eyebrows scrunched up sadly. the cold sunlight outside, streaming in from his half-opened window illuminates gojo’s white hair, the messiest you’ve ever seen it. he looked like pathetic fallen mop.  

“gojo?” you whisper, moving deeper into his room, his foot twitches at his name. placing your scarf and plastic bag on his messy desk filled with volumes of manga, stray pens, packs of opened digimon cards and this week’s half finished homework. if you looked closer you saw that he had some rather impressive doodles of curse -hybrid yaga on it and what you thought was a fox version of geto. on the corner of the desk was a small bottle of cold medicine and a box of tissues, probably evidence of geto’s visit earlier in the day.

“gojo..? hey?” you hesitantly move closer to his still figure, the rise and fall of his chest catches your eye. you hated the break the peace, but he had to eat so you gently shook his shoulder.

“mhmmm, hey babe…” he mumbles voice deep and scratchy, blue eyes squinting at you, still tinged in sleep.

“i brought you something to eat, have some before it’s gets cold.” he rolls over onto his front with a groan, speaking into the pillow. you sigh, ill prepared for an even whinier gojo. “I cant understand you when you’re mumbling.” “mmprfff don’t wanna. s’too bright, hurts my head.”

you move across the room to close the window and shut his blinds, “yeah dumbass, the blind are open,” you scoff. moving back to his desk, you rustle through the plastic bag of food, pleased to see that the congee was still hot. retrieving a spoon, a bottle of hot green tea and some napkins as you approach gojo’s bed with purpose.

“don’t be mean to me – im dying.” he hoarsely whines, sniffing.  “you’re not dying, don’t be a drama queen.”

he sneezes loudly, shaking his frame.  “alright, can just sit up? you’ll feel so much better after you eat...”

“m’not hungry.” he plops back into bed, turning his back to you, shrugging his comforter over himself to counter his slight shivering.

you sigh heavily, small hands rubbing your eyes, “i’m not feeding you, c’mon.”

he mumbles noncommittally – a strangled noise between a whine and a grunt– he dramatically adjusts his thick comforter around his strong shoulders. you narrowed your eyes to take in gojo’s appearance - he really didn’t look so good. he was paler than usual, his usual rosey cheeks void of colour, his messy hair, slightly sticking to his clammy forehead.

“gojo, please?” you ask, voice tilting up. “you have to help yourself too, y’know?” you add quietly, a strange softness in your tone that he barely recognizes. turning his head he meets your eyes and for a second you see his eyes shine a little brighter.

he sighs, moving up to lean his back against the headboard, legs crossed, pouting up at you, his hair ruffled like a sad cockatiel. you turn around quickly to hide your giggle at his childish expression and helpless state, instead busying your hands with the plastic bag.

“careful,” you mumble as you place the plastic bowl of congee into his clammy hands, dipping the spoon into it. “it’s hot.” he murmurs his thanks with a sniffle, allowing the warmth of the plastic bowl to ease his discomfort in his body. the fact that you were here – in his room – was a big comfort that he couldn’t deny.

after you watch him carefully swallow a few spoonfuls in approval, you look at him with a frown on your face. “you know why you got sick? because you didn’t wear a warm enough coat in sapporo.” you nag.

he weakly grins “yeah, because I was warming you up on the floor, maybe next time it should be the other way around, eh?” you breathe in sharply, cheeks burning at the memory of you how woke up next to gojo in your hotel room in sapporo last week. his soft breathing comforting you, his right arm was out stretched welcoming your smaller frame as you settled comfortably by his side. he was warm but your cheeks burned even hotter when you remembered gojo’s yelp as you accidentally smacked in the face in surprise as you struggled to create some distance. Gojo was too close for your liking. you sighed in relief as your alarm you had set on your phone went off, a loud disturbance snapping you back to reality and saving yourself from the awkward discussion. you had hoped he wouldn’t bring it up again.  “i’d rather swallow a curse.”  you deadpan, shuffling your feet, crossing your arms across your chest.

“even like that super ugly one that suguru swallowed?”

“i’d swallow the ugliest curse.”  you retort immediately. gojo whines your name as he shoots you a dirty look in exchange for your too proud grin. “really, babe? that’s so rude. …what about that slimy one last week?” “you mean that gross slug thing that ieri said looked like you?” you snicker. he huffs, “it did not look like me! that thing had like 6 weird humps.”

“those weird humps were probably the reason why suguru threw up for like 2 days after.” “heh, he said it was one of the worst tasting. ‘member how he complained that it tasted so bad for only a second grade? then he ate all my melon gummies after.” you laugh at the memory of geto ferally tearing open the gummies and pouring them into his mouth to gojo’s incredulous’ gawking. “hey,” he sniffs. gojo pats the to the side of his bed, a silent invitation to sit. “you’re making me nervous just standing there, grumps.” he croaks.

you hesitate, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “I swear gojo.. if you get me sick – “

“i wont!” he whines. “god, babe. cut me some slack.” gojo pouts. usually gojo’s dramatic pouts had no effect on you, you’ve seen them time and time again, his pouts almost a permeant fixture on his face. it’s efficiency fading with it’s increasing frequency.  but this time coupled with his low energy and his pale face emphasizing the dark rings around his eyes - you have the decency to feel a little bad.

you gingerly sit on the side of his bed, careful to not jostle his dinner too much. you watch gojo grab the spoon and gently blows on the rice porridge before bringing it to his lips.

 “… thanks.” he says meeting your eyes as he stirs around the congee with his spoon.

“hm?”

“for this,” he motions at his bowl of still hot soup.

 “s’okay. im only here because ier – uh shoko asked.”

he drops the spoon dramatically. “what, so you’re saying that you don’t care about me?” he coughs, tone sharp and wounded. “oh my god, gojo.” you deadpan, shaking your head.

“cmon babe, answer the question.” he whines between a mouthful. you roll your eyes, abruptly moving to get up. ughhh. why did he have to tease you all the time? his dull eyes widen at the prospect of you leaving, “nononono, okay – okay,  you don’t have to answer … just stay, please?”

you weren’t used to gojo asking you for things so sincerely. he must feel terrible to be this open with you. you study his face, perhaps you would be merciful today.

“you don’t really shut up, even when youre sick, eh?” you grumble.

gojo visibly brightens when you flop back down beside him onto his bed, lying on your back stretching out slightly with a groan. “nah not really, even when I was a kid.” he coughs.

“…did your servants take care of you when you got sick?”  you mention casually, picking at your nails. “mhm yeah, but I never really got sick that often.” he says thoughtfully. “they made sure I was always healthy, I had to take those shitty vitamins all the time. something about how important it was to train and fully harness the gifts given to you blah blah blah…”  

“yeah but when you did I bet everyone knew about it.” “what can I say? i’m kind of a big deal.”  

“more like a big pain in the ass.” he scoffs, placing his half full bowl of soup on his beside table. blinking slowly.

 “heh, I know you like this as–“

 “hey. finish your food. i walked in the cold to get that for you!” craning your neck to see how much he’s eaten.

“m’full.” “gojo. ive seen you eat like 6 burgers in one sitting, you can’t possibly be full.”  “don’t want it. i feel bad.” he whines softly, laboured breath, the mattress jostling as he lies down beside you.

you prod his shoulder, sighing. “at least take your medicine.”  “don’t want it. tastes gross.” he mumbles turning his back on you one more, shrugging his head into his shoulders as if to hide from you.

“just a few more bites –“ “nuh uh.” he buries himself in his comforter, moving it over top of his head.

you palm your forehead. you had to be patient. gojo was sick, he couldn’t help it, right?

“if you take it… I’ll give you a surprise.” you try, lips slightly moving up in approval as the blankets shift, his ears perking up. “… a surprise?”

“mhm. a good one.” gojo’s imagination runs rampant. he was never one for material objects, he got whatever he wanted when he was young. whatever he asked for - even mentioned in passing - it would magically appear the next day. but this was different. this was something from you. something with him in mind, whatever it was he knew that he would cherish it, pin it up on his wall so he could look at it every day if he could.  gojo knew you were thoughtful, he’d see the way you listened to ieri offhandedly mention her coffee order at break only for you to arrive to class with her perfectly made coffee the next week. gojo had recalled the time geto had mentioned that you had packed some of geto’s favourite homemade umeboshi onigiri for a mission with the excuse of “you always forget to pack lunch on early missions and I already had the ingredients.” gojo didn’t even know that geto liked umeboshi onigri. you were a deadly combination of quietly thoughtful and observant, but he noticed that you strangely went out of your way to refuse anything in return. perhaps his surprise would be a slice of cake or, maybe a pack of digimon cards! or maybe a promise to accompany him to jinbocho get some manga with him, something he’s been nagging you to do for weeks. but if he was being honest, he fostered a silly fragile hope that the surprise could maybe, just possibly be a soft brush of your lips on his cheek -  “take it or leave it. it’s a really good one, i promise.” promise? those are big words coming from you. you were never one threw around words so carelessly.

sensing victory in his hesitation, you move to get the medicine on his messy desk that geto had left there. shaking the pills playful, you glance at his hopeful face. sighing, he sticks out his hands as you cheekily deposit 2 pills into his large palm. he swallows the offending antidote, while you hand him the bottle of green tea to wash it down.

“now, where’s my surprise?” he says as you lie back into his messy bed.   “stick out your hand.”

obediently, he quickly reaches his hand out.

you smack you’re palms against his, in a shitty high five. you laugh in gojo’s face of betrayal. “ah, aren’t you the luckiest guy in japan, not everyone gets one of those from me.” but satoru gojo was a sore loser, he was always going to force your hand. he easily loops his fingers through yours, hands settling on top of the covers. your eyes widening ever so slightly at the sudden movement.

“so stingy with me, babe.” he comments under his breath. still holding your hand gently, his thumb moving back and forth on the back of your hand. he was warm, warmer than usual – maybe his fever was returning.

almost instantly you snatch your hand back, your senses coming back to you, mumbling something about how he was infected. in the warm lighting of his room, he relishes in the slight blush decorating your cheeks, his hazy grin shining the brightest of all. you frown lightly as gojo usual’s soft triumphant laugher came out as wheezy huffs. he sounded like he was getting worse.

crossing your arms across your chest, you turn slightly away of him as you take in your surroundings, trying to focus anywhere but the irritating boy beside you. it was your first time in gojo’s room. it was neater than you had expected albeit your expectations weren’t high. he had a shelf full of volumes of mostly shonen manga – but your eyes catch a few familiar romance manga titles pushed to the very edge of the shelf –  spines bent and well read. he had a comfortable looking chair piled with spare uniforms and that light blue hoodie you remembered he wore in sapporo.  he had a small tv in the corner hooked up to a game cube, multiple game covers stacked in a pile, probably where him and geto spent most of their time. despite all of the gojo’s little toys, his room was almost bare of any personal touches, no letters from home or photographs of the gojo estate or with his parents.

“was this taken at the beginning of the year?” you ask, eyes landing on a the sole photograph in his room: a photo of shoko, geto and gojo haphazardly pinned above his desk. “yeah, I think maybe 4 months before ya arrived? we really need to do an updated version with you in it too.” he murmurs, voice muffled by his arm covering his closed eyes. humming you take in the photograph, your eyes dart to  geto to the left, his sleek eyes closed with a soft grin on his face, head tilted towards a much shorter ieri. you almost laugh as you see that part of gojo’s head was cut off due to his height and probably fact that ieri was taking the photo, her smile bright, brown eyes sparkling. on the left gojo had his arms around geto while his right-hand flashes a peace sign as his wild smile echoes his slightly longer messy white hair blowing in the gentle breeze, his dark glasses perched on his face. this was probably taken around early summer last year judging by the lush green trees in the background. they looked so happy despite knowing each other for only a few months. it was strange to you how they could be so close in such a short amount of time. “…it’s weird isn’t it?” he asks, eyes still closed.

“hm? what is?” “having friends.”

it was almost irritating at how easily gojo could catch you off guard, always two steps in front of you. his reputation as the strongest shining true.  you turn your head to meet his tired half opened eyes. “.. yeah, it – it is.” “I had to get used to it too, but it’s fun though, right?” he grins at you, “suguru hated me in the beginning.” “suguru?” you laugh incredulously. “yeah he was so fucking particular about the stupidest shit. i got along better with shoko initially – she was more straightforward and she let me have her pineapple buns in the morning.”

“it’s probably because you’re cocky and annoying,” his eyes full openly your scalding comments.

“hey, I’m not an–“ “ – and you always get him in trouble.” you add thoughtfully.

“me?! he’s the one who comes up with half of the plans! laxatives in yaga’s coffee? suguru! the random evacuation last week because of flooding on the second floor? not me - suguru!”  he starts to chuckle but it turns into a cough, he settles into lie on his side to see your face better. “gotta admit, those were good though.”

“‘member when ya first arrived and no one was allowed to be left alone of the cursed weapons shed? yeah, exactly. not me! baby’s not so innocent, he definitely has some evil ideas, babe.” he sniffs, adjusting the covers to cover himself better.  

you snicker, that sounded right to you. you could see geto’s chaotic streak when he sparred with you, often yelling out random things to catch you off guard and annoyingly they worked. while geto was sly about his mischief, quietly fostering chaotic ideas and plans, gojo was boisterous about his chaos, wearing it proudly on his chest – they really did compliment each other well.

“sure, gojo –  but you’re the one who encourages his ideas.”

he pouts, but before he could retort he feels you shift closer to him to creep your hand onto his forehead, the gesture causing gojo’s heart to beat erratically.

“you’re really warm, dude.” gojo has to quickly swallow the purr that threatens to escape his tongue, as your hands brush his bangs out of the way, sweeping his scalp gently. with your soft skin tingling on his, he finds that he’s disappointed that your touch retreats too quickly.

“yeah, you look like shit,” you tilt your head back to get a better look at his flushing face, “you’re really red, are you feeling okay? ” you say, eyebrows furrowed, “do you want me to get you more tea or something?” propping yourself up on your elbow. with his eyes half closed he shakes his head softly, “nah, m’okay.” “then fully close your eyes, dude. try and get some rest. your body clearly needs it.” “don’t wanna. s’too boring.” you tsk at his at his stubbornness, noting that he was already drifting off.

he's so fucking stubborn.

he falls asleep gently and then all at once.  if you were held at gunpoint and you had to choose your favourite version of gojo it would be of the current one lying in bed.  in the daytime, gojo was constantly vibrating with excitement, a never-ending flow of energy overflowing from his over the top presence. you could sense his cursed energy if he was within a 10-foot radius. it was blinding and overwhelming, easily engulfing you, it’s strength powerful and overbearing – just like him. gojo. but here in his room, he was quiet and free from his cocky smile and smart tongue. in this light he was bathed in a gentleness that seemed entirely out of place with the honoured one. you thought it was almost selfish that you preferred him this way, softer, unguarded – weak. even gods have an off day, you suppose.  but lying on his bed while he felt so unwell, you couldn’t help but see him for what he really was – just a boy. a teenager who chattered about his favourite foods, complained about homework and wanted to hang out with his friends. satoru. this realization felt heavy, being with him in this moment, there was an unfamiliar pull you didn’t understand. Lying beside him drowning in his scent as you see his unguarded slow breathing, you’re more aware of his memories surrounding you, enclosing you in this space. to distract yourself, you decide to tidy up his room.

careful not to wake him for a second time today, you roll off his bed. collecting his container his half eaten food, you place the barely touched bottle of green tea on his bedside table beside the bottle of pills. finding his glasses on the floor you place them on his desk as you plug his phone in to charge, softly playing with the silver beads of his phone charm. after clearing his desk, you turn to adjust his comforter softly. gently you raise his blanket to tuck him into bed, ensuring that all his gangly limbs were covered. your eye catches gojo’s soft sleeping face, he way his lip juts out slightly in his slumber mouth slightly open, his fair eyebrows scrunching like he was thinking about something. did he dream? you wondered what he could possibly dream of when he had the world at his fingertips. you hoped that if he did dream, they were peaceful ones. you hesitantly reach out to touch his cheek, convincing yourself that you were just checking his fever. you were relieved that he wasn’t as warm as he was did before, silently enjoying the way his cheek felt on your palm. “get better soon, gojo.” you whisper, watching his face relaxing at your touch. sighing, you quickly retreat your disobedient hand as you move to turn off his lamp. quiet strides to move across his room before shutting his door gently. you were already halfway into your room when you laugh softly in realization:  you did care about satoru gojo. when did that happen?

snackies!tags: @starmapz @ghost-buddies

a/n: all hail queen shoko!!! i'm so glad to finally get to write her. this chapter had some intense friendship moments that were fun to write. hope ya'll enjoyed this thick juicy chapter - head image credit: Toradora! dividers from: @/adornedwithlight

[seat-safety-switch]

People stop me in the street. They want to give me ideas for my next brilliant invention. Thing is, the common man (and it is almost all men, just saying) cannot possibly comprehend the process of invention. A true genius receives messages from the universe. Taco printer? No, friend: tamale printer.

Here's a cold, hard scientific fact for you. Tamales are mostly made out of soft matter. You know what else is soft? Melted plastic. A 3D printer's poop chute is already 100% prepared to extrude hot, fresh tamales on demand. Just thinking about it is going to make me cry all over again.

Well, why not burritos? They're also tube-shaped and linear in nature. Not so. The problem is the wrap at the back. If you don't seal a burrito up just perfect – and my fellow scientists believe putting it in a press and wrapping it in foil to let it rest is part of that process – it will just explode everywhere. Plus, the texture is a whole thing. You want entire peppers in that son of a bitch. You need that tooth of medium-rare seared steak. That'll jam the printer.

There's a lot of bugs to work out in the prototype. One of them is freshness. Not only is it bothersome to keep reels of compressed ingredients refrigerated and available, but you often have to keep cleaning the extruder and bed. Ask anyone with an air fryer how often they wipe out the little basket. Yeah. It's just too easy to mash the button every morning without cleaning up from the night before. Mm, coffee tamale. Maybe another. How about a third? Before you know it, it's night again, and the damn thing is attracting ants.

Trust me. One day the tamale printer is going to hit the open market. We'll have figured it all out, and finally humanity will be freed from the cruel oppression of wanting to eat tamales, but not having any on hand. Sure, you'll still have to pop to the store to get extruded pork tenderloin filament, but that's just the price we pay for progress.

[megalony]

Don't Tease

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine, based on a few anon requests I've gotten. I hope you all like it, any feedback always makes my day.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii  @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme

911 Masterlist

Summary: While out at the park with Chris, someone takes an unsettling liking to (Y/n). He decides to try and follow them when they leave so (Y/n) leads him to the fire station.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reaching out, Eddie swatted his hand around until he found the alarm clock that was blaring out his morning alarm. He bashed around to hit each button until the alarm ended. He didn't exactly need the alarm to wake him up this morning when he was already wide awake, but it was necessary to remind him that he couldn't stay in bed all morning.

He could feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck towards his shoulder blades and he knew his skin was starting to turn blotched red and flushed. The heat was radiating from him as his chest heaved to catch his breath back.

Eddie let his weight drop down onto his forearms and his chest that heaved as he leaned down onto (Y/n). He tried not to drop his full weight down on her when she was laid, caged up beneath him as he rested between her legs. His head tucked up into the crook of (Y/n)'s neck and he attached his lips to the side of her neck, nipping at the skin until her nails scratched along his arm.

A melting smile spread across (Y/n)'s lips while she dragged her nails up along Eddie's arms and moved to wrap her arms around the back of his neck.

She could feel him softly kissing the bruises he had just bit up and down her neck a few minutes ago. Her fingers slowly pulled and traced along the short hairs at the back of his neck, causing him to groan into her skin which sent shivers up and down her spine.

Her stomach tensed and her chest ignited when Eddie bucked his hips up and let them flop down onto her pelvis. The feeling was crushing but somehow safe and secure at the same time, with his groan mashed into hers. (Y/n) tensed her thighs and squeezed her legs around Eddie's hips. Her legs were aching and her hips were burning from bending outwards to accomodate her husband laying between her thighs like this.

"Do you have to leave me now?" (Y/n) whispered the words into Eddie's hair and moved her hand up to tangle in his curls that were starting to become damp and flop around his temple.

She could feel his lips curving into a smile despite the groan he let out into her shin that had her shivering and shuddering beneath him. Especially when she felt the vibrations rattle up through his chest and down into hers.

She didn't want him to go. (Y/n) wanted him to stay right where he was, laid on top of her, preventing her from moving an inch away from his intoxicating kisses that he was peppering up and down the side of her neck and jaw. If it was her choice, they would stay here in bed all day with no interruptions or work to get in the way.

But they both knew they had to get up soon. Eddie needed to get ready for work and Chris was starting to move around so (Y/n) would have to get up to be with him. She had to get him ready for the day and Eddie had to get ready for a long double shift.

"Hmm, I wanna stay here." Eddie kissed along her jaw until he was hovering over her enough to reach up and peck her lips, gently at first. Then again and again until he was pushing her down into the pillow, devouring her lips like they were the air he needed to breathe. His tongue swiped over her lower lip and his right hand moved down until he could grab her hip and give her flesh a tight squeeze.

"I know baby-" (Y/n) let her eyes fall closed when Eddie leaned down to kiss her again. "-But we have to get up," Each word meshed against Eddie's lips and she squeaked when he rutted his hips down into hers.

Her hands moved round from his neck to cup his face and her thumbs brushed across his stubble he was trying to grow out. She pressed a quick, simple kiss to his lips before she attempted to push up against him but it didn't work. He tensed up his chest and pushed down, effortlessly pinning her back against the mattress so she stayed beneath him. Right where he wanted her.

"Don't wanna leave, mi amor."

Eddie shifted his weight onto his left hip that pressed down into the bed between her thighs, He wormed his hand down from her hip to hold the underside of her thigh and he used it to his advantage and hiked her leg higher up his side.

He could skip his morning shower. He could get breakfast at the station rather than hurriedly make something to eat on the car ride there. He could shift a few things to spend an extra ten or fifteen minutes in bed with his wife. And if Chris was still in his room, then they had time. It took Chris a while to pick out his clothes, get dressed then head to the bathroom to get ready.

"You don't like being late." (Y/n) hooked both arms around his neck and pushed her weight up into him until he relented and moved to sit up.

But it didn't go in her favour.

Eddie knelt up in the middle of the bed, letting the cover fall away from them so he could sink down on his heels. But instead of letting (Y/n) move, he curved his left arm around her waist like an iron bar and pinned her into his chest. With her legs around his waist, she was effectively sitting on his lap, clinging to him even though she knew they both had to get up very soon.

"I don't like leaving you." He muttered against her plump lips that he felt addicted to. His voice was low but his lips formed a smile as his thumb brushed in rhythmic circles against her thigh, squeezing the flesh every now and then.

"Can't go two days without me, hm?" (Y/n) tilted her head to the side as she dragged her thumb across his bottom lip that had turned a very dark shade of crimson. She loved the hooded look in his eyes and she knew it was risky to tease and wind him up, but she couldn't help herself when he looked at her like that.

"Nope." He wasn't ashamed to admit it.

She tilted her head down and attached her lips to the underside of his jaw until she felt him pull in a sharp breath. She sucked and bit down until she could feel him practically shaking against her, growling her name through gritted teeth. He was breathless when he felt her lips kiss and nip down his throat, something they both knew would turn him to jelly.

"What am I gonna do tonight without you?" Her voice came out shallow and quiet against his throat.

(Y/n) squeaked when she felt his short nails puncturing into her thigh and his other hand moved to cup the back of her neck. He tilted her head up so she could no longer kiss his throat and he hovered his lips half an inch away from hers. There was something devilish and daring in his eyes, it made her unsure whether he was going to tease her in return or throw her down on the bed for round two.

She could feel his fingers tangling in her hair to stop her from trying to tilt her head down and look away from his hooded eyes and his panting lips.

"Are you trying to wind me up?" Eddie didn't need to ask, he could see the look burning in her eyes and the sultry way (Y/n) bit down on her lower lip made his stomach clench.

Of course she was.

"What? You know I don't sleep when you're not here, in bed all alone-" She leaned forward out of his grip and managed to bite his lower lip before both his hands moved. He gripped her chin between his thumb and finger and held her head level with his while his other hand shifted up from her thigh to swat down on her bum.

"Stop teasing."

Adrenaline sparked through Eddie's chest when he felt (Y/n)'s fingertips trace along his shoulders and up the side of his neck, making him shiver. He pinched her chin tighter but she only swiped her tongue out across her lips and tried to inch closer until he could feel each breath panting against his lips.

"Make me."

He moved so fast (Y/n) felt stars blinking behind her eyes and her head spun when she was tossed down on her back. Both his hands gripped her wrists that he held either side of her head and he pressed his abdomen down into hers to pin her in place beneath him.

She had done it now. She would have to explain why Eddie would turn up late this morning.

***

"Alright baby, what's first?"

(Y/n) squeezed Chris's hand and swayed his crutches in her other hand. As soon as they walked through the park gates, he handed the crutches over to his mum. He didn't use them when he was here, he shuffled around in a hyper state and used them when they were walking home when he was tired.

She watched the way he looked around, trying to precisely pinpoint what he wanted to do first. Although Chris loved his routines and they helped him keep control, he never had a strict routine at the park.

Mostly because he couldn't do everything in order and count on other kids not being in his way. But because the park was something fun, Chris was able to be flexible and go with the flow here and relax.

(Y/n) could feel him bubbling up beside her. This was the part she loved, when Chris would start to gear up and get riddled with excitement for letting off his energy. He gained a lot of sensory feel from being at the park, especially the roundabout which had a small rainbow bench to sit on and it didn't go very fast because it was old. It was perfect for Chris so he didn't feel too sick or dizzy but it gave him a great amount of stimulation. He would sit there for hours and let (Y/n) push the roundabout until her back ached and she had no breath left.

"Swing,"

It was clear by his voice that he was the tiniest bit annoyed that the big net swing was in use already. That was the one he wanted to go on, but the normal swings were free and they would do until Chris could get on the other one.

Reaching over when they got to the swings, (Y/n) hoisted him up onto the seat, making sure he was holding on tight before she started to push him. Chris did help a bit, he swung his legs around and leaned forward a lot to stim, but he was starting to get heavy now he was eight.

"Higher mummy!" Chris tilted his head back to try and look at (Y/n) and his grin widened when (Y/n) tugged the chain back before giving a bit more oomph into her push. If he could, Chris would swing higher and higher until he could touch the clouds and fly with the birds.

He loved it when he had his dad with him at the park because Eddie had a lot more strength and eagerness to push Chris as high as he could. Eddie and Chris seemed to egg each other on until they had (Y/n) frightened with how high Chris went. Chris knew his mum was more cautious and with her asthma, she wasn't always able to push him as high or as long as Eddie could.

But she tried.

(Y/n) took a step to the left and caught her breath back, moving her left hand to press down on her chest while she kept nudging Chris forwards every time he flew back near her. He was as high as she could get him now and he was stimming so much she barely had to push to keep the momentum going.

He started to nod his head back and forth and squealed happily after about five minutes of full-on swinging. But then he started to squeal and jump up and down on the seat. She didn't like him doing that because he frightened her. He had stimmed too much when he was swinging little over a year ago and fell off.

She reached out and grabbed the chains, pulling on them to slow him down a little before he had an accident.

"Baby, you-"

He started to wriggle from side to side until (Y/n) slowed the swing down again until it was barely moving.

"Swing! Mum swing, quick." He jumped off as soon as the swing was almost stationary and he did well to keep his balance before he was off straight away. He pointed and moved as quick as he could to get to where he wanted to be with (Y/n) following behind when she realised where he was going.

The net swing was free and Chris was determined to get to it first. Even without his crutches, he was as fast as lightning, arms stretched out and legs kicking rapidly to reach the black and blue roped swing. He grabbed it and leaned his tummy on the rope edge, laughing at his triumph although there were only two other parents and children here at the park.

"Alright baby, up we go."

Holding his hips, (Y/n) lifted him up and watched him shimmy into the middle and flop onto his bum. He slouched back, half sitting, half laying back and held onto the tough rope edge to keep steady like he always did.

The moment (Y/n) started to push the swing, Chris shuffled down and laid on his back with his knees bent up and his arms stretched out holding the rope. His mouth hung open in a wide grin and he stared up at the clouds overhead, watching how the colours and shapes changed as he moved. And every time the swing went forward, he caught a glimpse of his mum behind him, sticking her tongue out and pulling funny faces at him just to see him laugh.

(Y/n) could feel her arms starting to flag and her lungs burned from how long Chris had been sat in the swing. If he could, she knew he would stay here all day.

It was such a sensory feel for him to be swaying like this, feeling the breeze on his skin and the way his head felt woozy and tilted back and forth. His tummy rumbled up and down and he loved it, like he was going up and down hills on a bumpy car ride.

He had been in the swing for ages by now and it was starting to get tiring for (Y/n).

"Sweetheart, can we try something else now?"

"No. Swing, mummy swing," Chris stayed laid down in the swing, even when (Y/n) let it naturally slow to a stop.

"I'm starting to get tired baby. I promise you can come back on this one before we leave." (Y/n) moved round to lean against the metal pole beside the swing and folded her arms over her chest. When she silently patted her hand against her chest, Chris smiled. He knew that meant her asthma was stopping her. Chris had seen (Y/n) have enough of her asthma attacks and using her inhaler to know what it meant and know it was serious.

It happened on his school sports day last year.

Parents had been encouraged to join in and Eddie had been at work which meant (Y/n) was the only one that could join in on behalf of Chris. She had done a sprint along with the other parents and came second place before she had an asthma attack at the end.

Eddie hadn't been best pleased when Chris told him what happened.

Chris sat up with a grin and nodded, holding out his arms so she could pick him up and settle him down on his feet again. As long as he could have another turn later, he wouldn't make a fuss. (Y/n) only hoped she could get him off the swing later when it was time to leave. Eddie normally distracted him with something if he wasn't agreeable.

Last time they had all been at the park, Eddie pretended he got an important phone call and started to walk away. Chris soon hopped off the swing and followed after him to find out who he was talking to. Distracting was always the best way to go about getting Chris to finish a game or project or get ready to go home if he was in one of his stubborn moods.

Once he was on his feet, Chris pointed towards the slide which was currently empty. It was something he could do without (Y/n)'s help and she could sit on the bench nearby and keep an eye on him.

(Y/n) moved towards the bench and sat down, dropping Chris's crutches by her feet along with her bag. She crossed one leg over the other and folded her arms over her chest, smiling when Chris looked her way and waved. It had taken them quite a while to be able to get Chris up the ladders on the slide on his own. But he was very proud that he could do it unassisted now, but (Y/n) always watched.

She had a fear that one day his foot would slip or he would let go of the rail and fall down.

"Hi there,"

(Y/n) turned to her left and let her eyes do a quick sweep around just to make sure it was her who was being addressed.

Who was he? (Y/n) was sure she didn't recognise him from anywhere. He wasn't someone she had spoken to before and she didn't recognise him as one of the parents she had seen here before or seen at Chris's school.

"Hi," She smiled kindly and nodded her head but her heart jumped into her throat when he sat down next to her. Did he think she was someone else? Did he think he knew her from somewhere? It was a little strange if he didn't know her but had decided to sit down with her anyway.

The man was older, quite a bit older than (Y/n). He had short silver hair drizzled with flecks of white and maybe one or two brown hairs added into the mix. He had quite a bit of stubble around his chin and down his neck that made (Y/n) want to shiver. He didn't suit the look. Not like Eddie did. He had dark brown eyes that raked her up and down in a way that made her feel uneasy and his smile wasn't exactly kind. It was wolfish.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing here?" He flashed his teeth as he spoke and stretched his arm across the back of the bench.

(Y/n) let her head turn back towards the slide and she managed a more natural smile when Chris came down the slide. He banged the heel of his shoes against the slide, liking the way the metal echoed around him before he got up and moved round to go again.

"I, uh, I'm here with my boy."

"No, you don't look old enough. You're one of those hot mums then?"

Her lips pressed together and she turned to look back at the slide, refusing to answer that. It was one of the worst pick up lines she had heard in a long time and (Y/n) had been subject to a few. The only ones that ever worked were the Spanish ones Eddie used on her.

It seemed a bit strange to ask what she was doing here when they were at a local park. There were only so many things she could be doing that wouldn't be classed as strange or creepy. And since she didn't have a dog with her and she wasn't trying to paint a picture or do some exercise, it seemed plausable that she was sat here because she was with a child.

He, on the other hand, didn't seem to be with anyone. He wasn't looking around like he was keeping an eye on a kid and he wasn't looking to try and find someone or wait for someone.

Something about him seemed strange to (Y/n) and it was making her feel anxious.

"Fancy a drink, with me?"

Her eyes darted away from Chris shooting down the slide to look back at the stranger beside her who seemed to be leaning a little more her way. She could just about feel his fingers gliding over her shoulder and it made a shiver crawl up her spine. As slowly and carefully as she could, (Y/n) inched to the right until she was pressed up into the metal arm of the bench. She couldn't put any more space between them than this.

"Oh… that, that's very sweet, but I'm married." Her left hand moved to scratch along her neck, silently giving him a view of her engagement and wedding rings on her fourth finger. She wasn't lying to try and get him away although she had every right.

She was happily married, she wasn't here looking for someone to go home with or go out for a drink with. (Y/n) had everything she ever wanted and needed with Eddie.

"So?"

A soft hum passed (Y/n)'s lips that curved into a smile as she remembered this morning's events with Eddie. She could still feel the bruises down her neck that she had done her best to conceal and the bite marks and hickeys littering her inner thighs that squeezed together at the memory.

"My husband isn't the sharing type." Eddie wouldn't take too kindly to this guy not accepting no for an answer. He wasn't possessive but he could get very protective.

"Who's gonna tell him? Let me get your number, beautiful." His voice turned as sleezy as his words and it made (Y/n) suddenly desperate to have her husband here with her.

She could feel her heart dropping down to her stomach and her throat tightened up like she was about to have an asthma attack when he suddenly moved. He slid across the bench until their legs bumped together and his hand reeled down from the back of the bench to land on her thigh. If given the chance, (Y/n) was sure his hand would have slid beneath her dress and moved up a lot higher.

But she didn't give him the chance. She doubled forward to grab her bag and Chris's crutches and as quick as anything, she pushed onto wobbling legs and took a few careful steps forward.

"I have to get going."

"I didn't get your number-"

"Chris, baby come on we're late." A flurry of words rumbled past (Y/n)'s lips as she moved towards the slide and held her hand out when Chris slid down towards her.

She could see the confusion in his eyes. He didn't know what they were late for. They usually spent a good hour at the park and then went on a long walk before they went home on the weekends like this. They hadn't been here long and he wanted another go on the swing. But the thought of being late for something intrigued him too much to sit and panic.

He reached out for her hand and let his mum guide him very swiftly away from the park and towards the path.

"What we late for?" He slid his hands into his crutches and leaned closer when (Y/n) moved her hand to rest on his back, keeping him safely tucked into her side. Now she had to think up an excuse. She had to give Chris some sort of explanation.

She could take him for ice cream and say they were late for a treat. Or go to the shop and find him a new game or some new toys for this afternoon.

But when (Y/n) dared to look over her shoulder, her hand latched tighter into Chris's shirt and she could feel tears welling up in her eyes. He was following them. He was a few yards behind them, a safe enough distance, but he had trailed across the same patch of grass (Y/n) did instead of going the long way round to the path. He was following her exact steps and with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched up, he looked menacing.

Oh God. She couldn't let him follow them home. What if he started to hang around? What if he tried to approach them or knock on the door? (Y/n) couldn't take Chris home.

"I- I thought we'd go visit daddy at work, we can catch him before he has to go out on an important call. What do you think?"

"Yeah!" Chris was already picking up the pace without needing to be asked.

He loved the station. He had been down the pole, taken a ride in the fire truck and the ambulance and watched everyone go out on a call. Chris loved everyone at the 118 and he especially loved seeing his dad hard at work in his uniform.

(Y/n) didn't want to take Chris unexpectedly like this in case it unsettled him. They planned all their visits because if not, Chris had a tendency to get attached to Eddie and then he would start to have a meltdown when they had to leave. But the station was their safest bet right now. This man couldn't follow them there and if he did, (Y/n) would be surrounded by her close friends and family who could help.

There would be nothing this man could do if she and Chris walked into the station, He couldn't follow them in without being caught and Eddie wouldn't let him hang around if he tried.

(Y/n) just had to get her and Chris there before the man caught up to them.

She was desperate to reach into her bag and fish out her phone to call Eddie, but she couldn't risk it. Calling Eddie would either lead to him being on a call and not answering or becoming panicked. Or he would answer and (Y/n) would breakdown and go into a panic attack which wouldn't help either of them.

It would be safer to just arrive at the station and see who was there. She knew the team, as long as someone was there, (Y/n) and Chris would be safe and they could wait for Eddie to come back and sort things out.

(Y/n) could feel her chest tightening up when she turned to look behind her and noticed that he was still there.

He was getting closer.

Her hand moved to curl around Chris's middle and she pinned him into her leg, trying not to squeeze him too tight but she couldn't help it with the amount of anxiety coursing through her veins. And (Y/n) knew Chris could sense her panic when they crossed the road and she didn't slow down like she normally would.

"Fuck." He was close enough that he could call out to her now and if he moved two paces quicker, he could reach out and grab her. "Come here baby." (Y/n) bent her knees without properly breaking her stride and scooped Chris up. She let his arms and crutches swing around and land on her back and she felt him coil his legs around her waist while she started to hurry.

"Mummy! What you doing?" Chris leaned his cheek on (Y/n)'s shoulder and nuzzled his face into her neck.

He was all for cuddles and being carried, but usually he had to beg his mum to carry him. She didn't normally scoop him up and start speeding like this and Chris didn't like it, she was making him nervous. Eddie was always telling him that he was getting too heavy to carry but his mum was breathing very fast as she practically ran with him in her arms. She hadn't done this often and each time Chris had been having a meltdown or it was a bad situation.

"Hey! We're not finished."

His voice made tears well up in (Y/n)'s eyes and she held Chris tighter as she started to run. The station was around the corner. She had to run before he cornered them and did something rash. If he was chasing after her, something had to be wrong with him and he could be violent for all (Y/n) knew.

"Mummy, he's shouting-"

"Don't- don't look at him baby." (Y/n) could feel herself running out of breath as she rounded the corner and saw the station.

She pushed her legs to move faster and carry her quicker but she could barely keep breathing and her chest was starting to burn all the way up her throat. The back of her throat felt dry and on fire and right down her sternum it was pounding and igniting in pain. Her lungs were heaving, she couldn't get enough air past her lips and she felt Chris smash his face into her neck as he started to mumble 'bad man' over and over into her skin.

He could sense they were now in a bad situation.

Tremors rattled through (Y/n)'s whole body and her hands started to turn cold and numb when she felt Chris lash his arm out behind her, trying to whack the man with his crutch when he got close.

"Buck!" His name fell from (Y/n)'s lips in a horrid, wheezing sort of scream when she rounded the door and stumbled towards him.

He was the closest person she could see as he stood near one of the engines with a clipboard in his hand. His eyes darted up towards her and a wave of panic flooded his eyes. He put the clipboard down and jogged towards her, as did Bobby when he looked across to see what the commotion was all about.

He hurried over but when he noticed the way (Y/n) was trembling and wheezing, Evan reached his arms out towards Chris. He lifted Chris up into his own arms while the eight year old continued to mumble 'bad man' over and over. Chris dropped his crutches to the floor and bound his arms around Evan's neck.

As soon as he was out of her arms, (Y/n) pinned her shaking arms to her chest and moved to stand behind Evan and Bobby. She could see stars dancing in front of her eyes and someone had their hands curled tight around her lungs, making it impossible for her to breathe.

"He f-fo… followed us, started c-chasing us here." (Y/n) moved her hand to drag through her hair as she leaned forward to try and catch a proper breath and stop her head from exploding. She wasn't overreacting or being silly. He had started running to catch them up and he was now stood in the doorway to the station, clearly panicking about being caught.

He couldn't play this off when the people here clearly knew (Y/n). Chances are they would know her husband too and he couldn't lie his way out of this situation. His best chance would be to leave.

"Excuse me? Where are you going?" Bobby squeezed (Y/n)'s shoulder before he set off in a jog to try and catch him up when he stranger turned around and bolted.

"Baby, what are you doing here?"

Surprise flooded Eddie's face and he jogged down beside the truck when he caught sight of his wife. He recognised that cream and silver coloured dress and that hair anywhere. But the closer he got, the more panic he started to feel bubbling away in his chest. Something told Eddie she wasn't here to surprise him or tease him like she did this morning.

His smile faded into a morphed look of panic and anger when he looked at his wife. She had her arms bound around her chest and one hand scratching at her throat. Her body was shaking and tears were now falling freely down her face. Someone had made his wife cry and put her in a state of distress. Eddie wouldn't let anyone get away with that.

He briefly looked to the right over at Evan and he tried to assess Chris and check if he was alright. He was clinging tightly to Evan and he was muttering something, but he wasn't crying or screaming or about to go into a meltdown. Evan was gently swaying him from side to side and running a hand over his back, telling him it was all okay now.

"I'll take him to get a drink."

Eddie managed to nod and he was grateful for Evan distracting Chris because it meant Eddie could give all his attention to (Y/n).

"What's happened mi amor?" Once he was close enough, Eddie reached out and cupped (Y/n)'s face in his hands. He took a deep breath when her hands reached up to clamp around his wrists and she had him shaking along with her. He tensed his arms to try and stop them both shaking and let her press her chest up against his. "Baby, breathe… breathe with me look?"

He nudged his nose against hers and took a deep breath in and tried to keep his breathing slow so she would copy him. She was going to go into a panic attack at any moment. His thumbs swiped across her cheeks and brushed away the tears he hated to see on her.

"I… I c-" (Y/n) snapped her eyes closed and pressed her temple against Eddie's when copying his breathing didn't help.

She started to dig her nails into his wrist until she could move his shaking hand from her face down to her throat.

She couldn't breathe.

"Fuck… fuck baby let's sit down, hm? come're, it's okay."

Eddie wrapped his arm around her waist when his other hand felt how tense her neck was and how badly she was struggling. She was starting to have an asthma attack. He moved her hand to rest on his chest while he carefully eased her down to the floor with him. He sat down and pulled her into his chest, sitting her between his thighs with her back slouched down against his chest.

Her head slumped back on his shoulder and she let him swipe her bag from her shoulder so he could tip it open on the floor beside his leg. Eddie rummaged around until he grabbed her inhaler. His left arm stayed curled around her waist with his hand flat on the middle of her chest and his right hand gently parted her lips after he shook the inhaler.

"Deep breath baby, here we go." Eddie pressed his lips against her temple and waited a few seconds before pressing the inhaler again. He placed it down on (Y/n)'s thigh and waited, feeling her chest to make sure she was taking bigger gulps of air and that she was actually breathing this time.

Her head turned to the side until her nose brushed against his neck and he could feel each gasping breath she took. Eddie almost jumped when (Y/n) latched her fingers around his wrist that was resting on her chest. She tried to smile when she felt his thumb brushing over her chest and his free hand moved to cradle her jaw.

"Can you tell me what's going on baby?" He hovered his lips over her temple and moved his hand down to (Y/n)'s arm when she began to breathe deeper into his neck. She was still wheezing and he knew in a minute she would need the inhaler again, but she was at least breathing now.

He wanted to know why she and Chris were here in a panic and why she had gone into a sudden asthma attack.

"We were a-at the park…"

"Hm,"

"A man tried c…chatting me up, I said no. But he followed us, he started running s-so we came here." (Y/n) could feel the way Eddie tensed behind her and his fingers got tighter around her arm. It felt like Eddie would be the one who would need the inhaler next as he started to growl and shake and hold her tight.

"Did he hurt you? Did he grab you or Chris?" Eddie leaned back so he could look down at (Y/n) in his arms. He wasn't sure he was ready for the answer if it was yes. He didn't know what he would do if she said yes.

"No, he tried b-but Bobby went after him."

Eddie turned his head and pressed his lips against her temple again and he let his hand tangle up in her hair and hold her closer.

She could feel the relief rolling off Eddie in waves and she gripped his arm tight when he slowly pushed up and helped her to her feet. She could feel her head spinning and her knees would of buckled if it wasn't for Eddie's arms tightly wrapped around her waist. He perched his chin on her shoulder and pecked her neck, but he straightened up when he saw Bobby heave back in the station.

Bobby's hands planted down on his hips as he caught his breath back but his grave expression and the shake of his head told them he couldn't catch the guy.

A shiver rolled down Eddie's spine and his jaw clamped shut when (Y/n)'s fingers dug into his arm and he could feel her starting to shake again. Tears welled up in her eyes and her throat started to close up like she was about to have another asthma attack.

(Y/n) tried to hold her breath to stop it from running away without her but when she turned around to face Eddie, the tears started to fall faster and she couldn't stop them. What was she supposed to do now? How could she take Chris back to that park if there was a chance he could turn up again? What if she saw him again in the street and didn't get so lucky in escaping him?

"Baby-"

"What… what if I bump into him in the street? Or if he's at the park again? If I can't get me or Chris home quick enough he-"

Words tumbled past (Y/n)'s lips before she could stop herself and she could see stars dancing across her eyes again the more she spoke without really taking a breath. She might not get so lucky next time. He might grab her or Chris, he might get nasty or do something rash. What was (Y/n) supposed to do if she couldn't get away from him if she saw him again?

Another shiver rolled down her spine but for a different reason this time when Eddie's hand moved to cup her face. He brushed his thumb beneath her eye to clear away the tears and she could feel each steady breath he took when he tilted his forehead down against hers.

"He won't find you, I'll make sure of it. I won't let him get anywhere near you mi amor. I promise."

Eddie would find him. He would make sure he managed to find whoever it was that had frightened his family like this. He wouldn't let someone get away with this or frighten (Y/n) and Chris to the point where they didn't want to go out to the park anymore. That was one of their routines, one of Chris's favourite places.

Eddie would keep them safe.

[a-chip-in-inosukes-nichirin]

Flash, Flirt, Fuck

Fandom: Demon Slayer/Kimetsu no Yaiba

Rating: Mature/Explicit - Minors DNI (18+ only)

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Sanemi/Reader

Tags: College AU, flashing you classmate, oral sex, penis in vagina sex, unprotected sex, spin-the-bottle, truth or dare, light banter, AFAB reader, mildly dubious consent (due to alcohol), wingman Makio, switch reader

Wordcount: 3.4k

Flash your crush or eat your friend's potentially hazardous takeout leftovers? The dare is a no-brainer, even if your crush happens to have permanent resting bitch face and has made a few of the college freshmen almost piss themselves in fear. You know he's not all hard edges, so what's the harm?

Cross-posted from my AO3 account.

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“I dare you to flash Sanemi,” Makio slurred, the four drinks she’d slammed starting to affect her speech.

You laughed, taking a sip of your spiked lemonade- the only alcoholic drink you could handle as the lightweight of your college group. You were barely on your second and already feeling quite the buzz; chest light and a weightlessness to your limbs that would turn to lead once the booze began to wear off.

“You want me to walk all the way to the boy’s hall to flash Sanemi? The resident hardass?”

Makio grinned, bringing the amber bottle to her lips and keeping eye contact while she took a deep pull. It was always astonishing to watch her retain most of her fine motor skills even when sloshed to high heaven while you would fail a drunk driving test sober.  You’d already missed your mouth once, resulting in a rapidly drying spot on your shirt that still smelled like booze.

“You gonna take the penalty instead?”

“Ew, no,” you waved your hand, cringing at the idea of having to eat whatever leftover (and probably moldy) food was stuffed in the back of Suma’s fridge. The girl had a habit of forgetting takeout and growing new strains of bacteria that should probably be classified as hazardous waste and disposed of as such. “I like my life, thank you.”

“It’s not that bad!” Suma sipped her drink, lip wobbling. “I cleaned it out last month. You guys are so meaaaaan!”

“Get going, then,” Shinobu waved you off, smiling lazily and swirling the glass of wine she was nursing. “And one of us will tail you to make sure you don’t chicken out.”

“I’m glad you all will be enjoying this,” you stood, almost toppling over as the floor swayed. “Because I’m 100% sure I’ll be getting chewed out for flashing my tits instead of the thanks I deserve for blessing him with this view.”

“You can cry yourself to sleep later,” Makio called after you, laughter from the large group echoing behind you, a stupid, drunk smile still on your face.

The boy’s hall was one floor down, and you didn’t trust yourself on the stairs, so you had to wait for the elevator. Heat rolled off your skin from the warmth of the room you’d just left- it had been near suffocating with the bodies of all your friends pressed together in a game of Spin-the-Bottle. The suggestion had come from Mitsuri, and the rest of you agreed, eager for some fun and laughs. The dares had started off simple, as had the truths, devolving into more debauched and crazy requests as the alcohol hit everybody’s systems.

The elevator doors finally opened, and you entered, mashing the button for the floor below yours while leaning against the wall languidly.

It was Hinatsuru who’d actually gotten you into this predicament, if you really thought about it. The conversation had turned to the boy’s hall earlier on in the game, around the time you’d chosen truth on your turn.

“Fuck, marry, kill,” Hinatsuru said. “With Tengen, Sanemi, and Kyojuro.”

Your answer had surprised everyone, leaving mouths agape around the entire circle when you chose to off the infamous lady-killer Tengen, marry the college heart-throb Kyojuro, and fuck Sanemi Shinazugawa. No explanation was provided in the following uproar, but you hadn’t been so drunk as to miss the devious sparkle that lit in Makio’s eyes. She’d been waiting for you to choose “dare” and pounced the moment the words had left your lips.

Now you were stumbling down the hall, counting doors until you reached room 413. You paused for a fraction of a second, wondering if you should think through the all the possibly embarrassing outcomes, but didn’t let the hesitation sway your resolve. Rapping on the door, you tucked a stray hair behind your ear. A few moments passed and you wondered if maybe Sanemi was out, and you wouldn’t have to complete the dare. Maybe you’d get a pass (and also wouldn’t have to consume any of the potentially fatal food from Suma’s fridge).

The universe had other plans, however, as the door opened to reveal a scowling white-haired man. The black sweats he wore hung low on his hips, a white undershirt clinging to his torso and leaving his shoulder bare. The jagged scars across his entire body did nothing to hinder the butterflies starting to dance in your gut at the sight of him.

He’d been your crush since you started school, and until tonight you’d hidden it pretty well.  Almost everyone thought he was a grumpy asshole (which he could be sometimes), and you’d even been half-frightened to death the first time you’d seen him, his sharp voice making your heart stutter in fear, but the trepidation quickly faded as you watched him interact with faculty and some of the younger students. He was respectful, if blunt, and even if he was a bit harsh on the new kids, he went out of his way to make sure they got to the right classes. You’d caught the tail end of his conversation with what you assumed was his younger brother a few weeks back that solidified your perception of him to be correct: he was a big softie underneath that prickly exterior.

It also didn’t hurt that Sanemi was gorgeous to look at. He obviously took good care of himself, and had stunning features: lavender eyes, white hair, and long lashes. He wasn’t as tall as some of the other guys in school, like Tengen, but you didn’t give a flying fuck when his body looked like that and his voice had that raspy growl when he spoke.

“What do you want?”

The flat tone broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to reality where Sanemi stood with his arms crossed and a bored look on his face. As much as you felt like throwing up from the way your nerves were turning the butterflies in your stomach into poisonous slugs, you grabbed the hem of your shirt and flipped it up. The cool air of the hall raised gooseflesh on your stomach and tits, and you almost shivered.

The look on Sanemi’s face went from blank, to confused, to alarmed in less than a second, and you wished you could have recorded it to watch later. You dropped your top back down, tilted your head with a coy smirk, and clasped your hands behind your back as you took a step back, turning on your heel to head back to your friends without a word, dare complete.

“What the hell-”

A hand encircled your wrist and you paused, looking back at Sanemi.

“Yeah?”

Sanemi looked lost, an expression you hadn’t expected to see on his face after your little display. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the faintest blush dusting his ears and the high point of his cheek bones.

“What was that for?” he demanded, finally finding his voice.

“A dare,” you shrugged, answering before your brain caught up with your mouth.

He let go of your hand, straightening and recovering his usual pissy frown. You stayed rooted to where you were, staring at him with a curious gaze.

“Just a dare? Not… ‘cause you wanted to?”

He sounded borderline petulant if your ears were hearing things right. You kicked aside your nerves to step closer, meeting his eyes and getting uncomfortably close to him.

“Can’t it be both?”

He swallowed, eyes flickering down to your parted lips.

“Is… it?”

You lidded your eyes, grinning up at him, a breath away from his face. His own eyes were starting to grow a bit hazy with want, sending a thrill through you.

“Why don’t you use some context clues?”

“Why don’t you spell it out for me?” he countered, hands coming up to rest gently on your hips.

You caught your lip between your teeth, sliding your fingers under the edges of the narrow white straps of his tank top and tugging him closer.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Sanemi’s arms were around you before you realized it, and your world was literally turned on its head as he picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder. A doorframe passed your view, and the creak and slam let you know that you were inside his room before he threw you onto the bed, eyes filled with lust.

“Say the word,” he caged you in with his arms. “And I’ll stop.”

“What do I say to make you keep going?” you asked playfully, sliding your hands down his chest.

Sanemi made a noise in his throat, surging forward to capture your lips with his. His tongue danced along your teeth and you nipped at his lower lip, wrapping your arms around his neck. Sage green covers crumpled under your back as you writhed under the feeling of his thumbs rubbing circles just above your hip bones.

“I didn’t get a good look at these earlier,” Sanemi pulled back breathlessly, hooking his fingers under your shirt and lifting it to your chin. “Open.”

You obeyed, and Sanemi stuffed the hem of your top into your mouth, making you hold it up while he dropped to lavish your breasts with attention. One calloused thumb pad brushed over the pebbled nub, sending sparks throughout your body, whimpers escaping around the fabric clenched in your teeth. His tongue pressed against the other nipple, enveloping it in heat. You tried to draw your legs up, but Sanemi forced them apart with one knee, pressing into your crotch. You squirmed against it, trying to get friction, not caring if you looked desperate.

Sanemi pulled back, relieving you completely of your shirt as he tugged it over your head. Your mouth finally free, you propped yourself up on your elbows to chase his lips. He obliged you, letting the taste of his mouth fill yours, a hand dropping to trace your skin with blunt fingertips. Everything was heady from alcohol and lust, and you giggled against his touch. It was like a dream: you and Sanemi.

The hunger for more was quickly sinking its teeth into your stomach.

You pushed yourself up, forcing Sanemi’s compliant form back until he was sitting on his knees. Hands found their way to his waistband, and he assisted in removing the offending fabric. Hot, moist breath fanned over his erect member, one of his hands already buried in your hair. You pressed the flat of your tongue to the underside, licking up and reveling in the sharp intake of breath above you.

“Fuck,” Sanemi groaned.

You took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the dark pink head to hear those lovely noises that he tried desperately to hold back escape from his throat. Scarred hands had threaded through your hair and gripped tightly, controlling your movements. Spit dripped down the sides of his dick and clung at the corners of your mouth as Sanemi fucked your face, eyes locked on where his cock slipped in and out of your swollen lips.

“Shit,” he cursed, pulling you off of him after a particularly deep thrust that had left you gagging around him. “Are you-”

“Good,” you assured him, eyes half closed in contentment, flickering downwards as you caught your lips between your teeth.

“Lay down,” Sanemi instructed, an amused smile creeping onto his face as you scrambled to obey.

He moved to between your legs, a hand dropping to slide against the bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex. You whimpered, wriggling against his touch and clutching the sheets with both hands.

“Touch your tits,” Sanemi said. “Since you were so intent on showing off earlier.”

You flushed a deep ruddy color, hands hesitantly coming up to brush over your breasts as a sliver of embarrassment wormed its way into your brain. Sanemi watched your face, your own gaze obscured by lowered lashes and intent on staring at his hand moving at your core.

“Look at me,” he commanded, drawing your eyes to his. “Say my name.”

“S-Sanemi.”

Now that Sanemi was controlling the situation, you found yourself more nervous and unsure of yourself, not used to having the attention on you like this during sex: his smoldering intense gaze and demand for eye contact unsettled- but also thrilled- you.

“Again,” Sanemi pressed one finger against your entrance.

“Sanemi…” you swallowed, body tensing involuntarily.

“Relax,” he lowered himself down until his breath warmed your neck, pressing kisses against your throat. “Say it again.”

“Sanemi-”

Your voice pitched up at the end of his name as his finger plunged into you, velvet walls clenching at the intrusion. Sanemi swore under his breath, rolling his hips against the mattress in time with the slow thrusts of his finger inside of you, slowly pressing another in alongside it after a minute. Your whole body rippled and clenched, searching for more stimulation and touch, arms wrapping around Sanemi’s broad shoulders.

“More, please,” you whined into his hair.

“Already? You sure you’re ready?” Sanemi asked, lifting his head to look you in the eye.

You nodded, furrowing your brow and frowning. Sanemi tried to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his lips and cleared his throat to cover a laugh at your pout. His fingers withdrew from the warmth of your body, making you gasp. He readjusted, positioning himself at your entrance, and you could swear you saw his hands tremble from excitement.

“Fffffu-” Sanemi’s swear was cut off as you clenched around him.

As much as you tried to relax, the pressure between your legs made your body flex and tense. It wasn’t making Sanemi’s job any easier- although from the look on his face, you assumed it wasn’t exactly a bad thing.

“Shit, you’re so- fuck-”

The garbled praise stroked your ego. You wiggled your hips, feeling a bit of satisfaction when Sanemi grabbed them to keep you from moving, face turning pink as his mouth fell open.

“D-don’t do that. Give me a second.”

“Aww,” you crooned, teasing a bit. “Pussy too good?”

“Shut up,” he scowled (not a true scowl, you noted with delight) and pulled his hips back, snapping into you with a ferocity you didn’t expect. A gasp escaped your lips and your own cheeks pinked.

The pace was slow but steady; deep strokes dragging against your plush walls. Each time he plunged into you it felt like he pressed farther in, hitting deeper and deeper until you were sure he couldn’t get any more in your guts than he was, only to be proven wrong. You were breathless as each thrust forced the air from your lungs in a choked whimper, Sanemi’s hips bruising the back of your thighs with the amount of force he applied in retaliation for your teasing.

Your eyes threatened to roll back into your skull, mouth open in a silent cry, tits bouncing with each slap of skin.

“What’s the matter?” Sanemi taunted, throwing your words back into your face. “Dick too good?”

You whimpered a reply, digging your hands into the covers that had rucked up around your head from all the movement. The ridges of the ropy scars adorning his hips were quickly imprinting themselves into the skin of your backside from the harsh impact of each thrust. Sanemi’s pale skin had flushed across his chest and cheeks from the exertion, heat rolling off his figure in waves. A faint sheen of sweat covered both of your bodies, glittering in the low light of Sanemi’s bedside lamp as lewd sounds filled the air.

Your keens began to pitch upwards at the end as Sanemi adjusted the angle he fucked into you at, curling his body over yours and pressing his lips against your collarbone as you released the sheets to anchor your hands in his hair once again. Dark marks painted the column of your neck and along your decollete, purple and damp from Sanemi’s mouth. His hips stuttered against yours, movements starting to become frantic and erratic as your legs instinctively locked around his waist, drawing him closer. He snaked one hand down between the two of you, fumbling fingers flicking your clit with a marked lack of the earlier finesse he’d displayed.

You legs flexed, core winding tighter until a well-timed thrust had you spilling over the edge, his name tearing from your throat. The fluttering of your lush walls around him as you came was Sanemi’s undoing, his own orgasm ripping through him as he groaned your name in a hungry desperation, hips still rutting into you even as the bliss began to fade. It was as if he didn’t want it to end, pushing himself impossibly closer to you and locking his arms around your neck in an embrace as his body slowed to a standstill, half-crushing you under his weight.

“Stay for a bit?”

The faint request was mumbled breathlessly, almost inaudible. You cracked open your eyes, which had fluttered shut in ecstasy earlier. Sanemi was propped on his elbows, half-hovering over you. The tension rose again, something in his eyes melting your heart into a warm sludge that settled in your stomach.

The moment was shattered by a loud voice shouting just outside Sanemi’s door.

 “You have five seconds to become decent before I come in!”

Shinobu’s voice wasn’t hard to recognize, and your face went white. Sanemi threw his shirt at you, grabbing his pants and shoving both feet in, comically wiggling them on. His shirt was just long enough to cover up the important parts on you, even if your nipples were a bit visible through the thin material. The door flung open (Shinobu had granted you an extra second, which you were thankful for) to reveal the dark-haired woman standing with one hand on her hip, the other holding the door wide. The rest of your friends were accumulated behind her, peering around and over her shoulders in varying degrees of shock and delight at your compromising position.

Sanemi glanced between your embarrassed face and the group of girls blocking his door. You could see him put two and two together in his head.

“Did you all have to tail me?” you covered your red face with your hands.

“I take it I have one of them to thank for that dare?” Sanemi’s resting bitch face was back in action as he left the bed, striding over to the group.

“You’re welcome,” Makio raised her bottle in a lazy salute.

“I’ll send you a thank-you card later,” Sanemi took control of the door back from Shinobu. “In the meantime; I’d appreciate it if you’d stop clogging up the hall.”

“I can’t believe she’d rather fuck you than Tengen,” Makio shook her head, pushing off the wall.

“Tengen?” Sanemi raised a brow.

“She chose to kill Tengen in Fuck, Marry, Kill,” Suma offered. “And to Fuck you.”

“Suma!” you groaned. “Can you all just leave?”

Sanemi leaned lazily against the door.

“So is that why you dared her to fuck me?”

There was a chorus of laughter, none louder than Makio’s. Sanemi raised his brows, watching the woman doubled over in laughter.

“We never dared her to sleep with you,” Makio finally straightened, wheezing. “Just to flash her tits.”

The door slammed in their faces, Sanemi’s back to you as he locked it. You swallowed, hands holding the hem of his shirt down over your thighs as you sat in his bed. Sanemi’s shoulders heaved as if he was taking deep breaths.

“You… didn’t get dared to fuck me?”

Sanemi spun on his heel, in front of you before you realized it. His lavender eyes locked with yours. It took a second for you to notice the cocky smile playing on his lips.

“No, but I wanted to, though,” you wet your lips, eyes roving over Sanemi’s face. “Does it matter?”

His lips pulled back to reveal a full smile, something you’d never seen before. His hands came up to either side of your face. When his face was a fraction away from yours, he paused, rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Hell-fucking-no,” he growled, surging forward to catch your mouth with his.

Outside the room and down the hall, the gaggle of girls waited at the elevator, voices not exactly quiet.

“Why did you make her flash Sanemi?” Mitsuri asked Makio. “You know he can be… rough around the edges. What if he’d… not been into it.”

Makio laughed.

“A little birdie told me Sanemi had a bit of a crush on a certain someone,” the blonde tossed her empty bottle into a trash receptacle. “And I had a perfect opportunity to play matchmaker. Why shouldn’t I?”

[dalishious]

Gamer bros on twitter are bitching about the no death mode and how anyone who plays on that shouldn’t even be playing the game. 🙄

Heaven forbid someone wants to play differently than them, on a SINGLE PLAYER game.

Wow. Gamer bros really just like to rehash the same shit over and over again when it comes to Dragon Age, huh.

Remember when they harassed Jennifer Hepler after DA2 with death threats towards her and her family, just because she stated that she likes story modes in games, to the point where she had to abandon all her social media? Like, I'm no major Hepler fan because of the ableist comments she's made about Anders, but the way she was treated by these people was absolutely horrific.

Not every game has to be a Dark Souls game. People enjoy games for different reasons, and having options like a no-death mode is a great feature for those who are interested in experiencing the story without having to worry about anything else. Also, it's straight up an accessibility feature for people who can't quick button mash!

[rubra-wav]

do you think vox would play videogames,, do you think you'd be able to play videogames on him,, and if you could, what would it be like for him?

OMG imagine you're playing some game on his screen, and you ask him if he can get closer because you can't see the game properly, he complains but gets closer anyway, you say he's still too far, he gets pissy and insults your eyesight because he's already close enough, so you take the matter into your own hands and pull him into your lap‼️ then the game crashes because he gets flustered

sorry for the ramble but i've been thinking abt this for SO long 😭

- 💫

Vox x reader: 'Frontseat gaming' oneshot

A/N Reader is playing Stardew Valley bc I say so (it is peak)

Vox would 100% be the type of gamer to just go "You're bad" at every step and bully you when you fail, and I will not hear anything less

Cw: SFW, gn!reader, just vox getting seriously flustered (we love to see it), romantic/crush reader

Here's me also just kinda discussing more onto this topic but not in drabble form.

- Your little character entered the mines, you frantically switching between squares as you fought monsters flying at you from every direction.

- ...Then you promptly died because you couldn't see properly.

- You inhaled deeply in irritation as you watched 3000 gold empty from your wallet, pressing a hand to your forehead before looking somewhat in annoyance at the demon in front of you.

- "Could you move closer, please? I can't see properly when you're that far away, man." You complained.

- Vox had snickered when you died, then did so again as you asked that.

- "I'm literally a metre away from you, and you 'can't see properly'? Just admit you're.. how do you say it?" Vox pretends to think as his mouth and eyes and brows appear overlayed over your house. He snaps his fingers, then raises his brows with a smug look down at you. "Fucking coping at this point."

- It was very rare of an opportunity for Vox to allow someone to play anything on his screen. He thought it would be a somewhat entertaining opportunity, however (him getting to have you stare at him in concentration for a prolonged period of time and having the excuse to stare right back at you)

- The plug-in process for your keyboard and mouse was a little awkward, to say the least, but it went off without a hitch apart from that.

- You grumble out curses at him and shuffle closer to him when it's clear he's not moving his ass to be a bitch about it, about 2 feet in between you now.

- Vox's face disappears again with one last condescending 'mhmmm' and leaves you to continue.

- It's better, and you can see more, but you once again are met with a death screen with even more of a loss then last time.

- "Goddammit!" You yell, smacking your keyboard not hard enough to damage it but hard enough for the buttons to mash loudly under your fist. Vox laughs loudly, shoulders shaking as he tries to contain himself.

- "You're so fucking bad, how are you this bad at the cute little farming game, (name)?" He teases you, sharp smile coming into sight over the death screen.

- "Shut the hell up, Vox! I still can't see jackshit. Come closer!" You demand, which in turn has Vox's laughing mouth fall into a frown, eyes coming back into sight with a clearly irritated expression.

- "It's not my fucking fault your eyes are that shit. Don't you fucking talk to me like tha-"

- His scolding and eye getting ready for hypnosis is interrupted as you angrily grumble, leaning forward to grip his hips and pull him closer.

- Vox's face starts to heat up, him stuttering out in disbelief as a sound similar to fans turning on to cool a computer slowly cracks to life as Vox suddenly finds himself pulled into your lap, either one of his legs resting splayed out behind your back.

- "There. Now I can see just fine." You sigh out with relief, concentration now on your face as your hands gently wrap around either side of his monitor to pull it down to face towards you.

- You notice his surprised expression glitching out finally and feel the way his screen has heated up massively under your hands.

- ...Then watch as there's promptly an error message with a loud 'dun!' sound.

- "Oh shi-!" You snort, poking his screen a couple of times. "Earth to Boxhead~" you sing out, and then you're met with a very flustered Vox once again coming back to his senses.

- "Fucking stop that!" He swats your hand poking him continuously away lightly, prompting you to once again laugh.

- It's silent for a couple of seconds outside of you laughing at his sour expression, face now just normal outside of the bright blue blush across his cheeks resembling a heart monitor beating with what was undeniably his own heart's current slowing frantic rate.

- After calming down a bit, Vox hesitantly does something that surprises even himself.

- He wraps his legs around your waist to bring himself closer to you.

- It was your turn to blush now as his face was just barely inches from yours, your gamer rage wearing off into embarrassment at realising the position you had pulled him into.

- "There," Vox's voice is lower than usual, more unsure than you've ever heard him you think. "Can you see me clearly now?"

- You somewhat get the feeling that he's not exactly talking about your game being displayed on his screen with the way his red eyes look down at you, blue pupils rather large under half lidded eyes.

- You gulp, then force a laugh. "Y-yeah. This is good, thanks." You shakily pick up your mouse again and begin pressing at the keyboard now next to you two.

- Your mind isn't exactly on the game as his eyes and mouth once again flicker off the display to show just your game, and you once again die.

- "See? You're just bad."

- "Shut up!"

Me when I set up a literally perfect kiss scene and then don't give it to my readers

Masterlist

[yuma-mukami-garden-god]

Scenario! The new bride or SO, is a gamer who does have a channel as well just plays in the house for fun. They realize this when people at school recognize her. (She also consistly tries to play games with the boys because she thinks their opinions are funny and she enjoys doing something she likes with them)

Sakamaki Brothers

Shu

He finds out when a human classmate asks for an autograph and a selfie with his bride. Shu raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say much—until he hears her channel playing from one of the human’s phones. “That’s… her?” he mumbles, mildly impressed by how different her energy is on camera. He won’t admit it, but he watches her stream from time to time, lying across the bed with earbuds in, silently entertained. He groans dramatically every time she begs him to play with her, but he’ll give in if she lets him nap on her lap after.

Reiji

He’s skeptical at first, deeming video games a waste of time. But after seeing her strategic mind during puzzle games or mystery-solving horror titles, he starts to respect her intelligence in a whole new way. He’s dry and sarcastic when she convinces him to play, and she loves his salty commentary. Secretly, he starts brushing up on lore and mechanics to beat her next time. “You won’t be mocking me when I surpass your high score.”

Ayato

“CHICHINASHI YOU’RE FAMOUS?!” Screams it across the school hallway the moment someone brings it up. He insists he should be the main character on her streams now. Ayato becomes a chaotic gaming partner who button-mashes and trashes everything. His commentary is golden—pure ego and nonsense. He loves the way she laughs at him, and when fans start making memes out of his gameplay disasters, he gets way too proud.

Kanato

He’s mad she didn’t tell him. “Were you hiding it? Hmph... What else are you keeping from me?” He’ll sulk until she includes him in a spooky game, where he becomes terrifyingly immersed. Her fans are divided between being horrified and fascinated by his disturbing in-character ad-libs. Kanato doesn’t care about games—but if she’s smiling and clapping like that next to him, he’s suddenly obsessed.

Laito

“Oh~ so Bitch-chan’s been naughty, keeping secrets~?” He finds out by stumbling on some rather NSFW fanart of her avatar. Cue possessive Laito who now insists he’s her “co-host,” bringing chaotic flirt energy to every collab. She laughs at his commentary, and it strokes his ego in just the right way. He loves how unbothered she is by his jokes, even when he “accidentally” makes everything a double entendre.

Subaru

He’s flustered when someone mentions her gamer tag at school. “W-Wait, you’re that streamer?” He thought she just played for fun! Once she drags him into a game, he’s competitive but awkward—yelling at the screen, slamming the controller, and then going quiet whenever she laughs at his outbursts. “S-Stop laughing! I’m trying!” He lowkey enjoys it, though, and watches replays when she’s not looking.

Mukami Brothers

Ruki

At first, he’s disapproving—“Livestreaming is hardly dignified for a bride.” But after watching how intelligent and creative her play style is, he’s a little too intrigued. He starts giving her tips from the sidelines, then joins in just to “demonstrate better decision-making.” He ends up getting way too into the lore and starts planning strategy nights with her. She enjoys teasing his perfectionism on-stream.

Kou

“Oh my god! Babe~ you’re trending!” Kou’s a public figure too, so he gets a little possessive—especially if her fans are too thirsty. But once he appears on her stream, the audience explodes. Kou eats the attention up and becomes her chaotic gaming partner-in-crime. Her laughter at his antics becomes the highlight of every session, and he lowkey starts planning couple content because he thinks they’re cute together online.

Yuma

“Yer tellin’ me people watch ya scream at games for fun?” He doesn’t get it at first, but when she hands him a controller and challenges him to a farming sim, it’s over. Yuma loses hours yelling at pixel crops and chickens, completely absorbed. He’s LOUD and messy but magnetic on camera, and she loves how naturally funny he is. “This game’s bullshit!—Wait, why’re ya laughin’ so hard?!”

Azusa

“...You look happy… when you play.” He’s fascinated by how bright she becomes when gaming. He doesn’t care about games, but if it makes her feel safe, he’ll sit beside her and quietly watch. Sometimes she’ll put a controller in his hands and help guide him through it. He’s soft-spoken but weirdly good at horror games, and her fans adore his calming presence. She thinks it’s cute when he asks, “...Did I do good…?”

Tsukinami Brothers

Shin

Finds her channel before she tells him and teases her relentlessly. “You act so sweet here. Didn’t know you had that filthy gamer mouth.” He’s obnoxious when she asks him to play, but eventually caves for something competitive. She ends up laughing so hard at his overly dramatic reactions and snarky jabs that it becomes addicting. He loves that she wants him involved—and he starts pushing to join every session.

Carla

Initially dismisses it. “Such mortal pastimes are beneath you.” But once he sees how much joy and confidence it brings her, he quietly supports from a distance. He’s not great at games, but he’ll humor her if she insists. And when her heightened senses pick up his dry, deadpan one-liners, she loses it with laughter. He’s a bit stiff, but her joy is infectious—and it intrigues him more than he lets on.

Kino

When he finds out? He’s annoyed—at first.

He discovers her secret when one of his spies reports that humans at school are whispering about his bride being some kind of “chaotic gaming gremlin with a cult following.” Curious, he watches her stream. At first, he’s irritated. “Tch. Why do you waste your time on that human nonsense?” But then… she laughs. Genuinely, joyfully. And she laughs at him too—especially when he mutters sarcastic, bitter commentary mid-game.

“You think I’m funny?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Even when I’m insulting everything around me?”

She just grins. “Especially then.”

He doesn’t admit it, but he likes being dragged into her chaotic co-op games, especially ones where he gets to blow things up or betray NPCs. He starts showing up uninvited on stream, sitting behind her, making dry, morbid jokes that the fans start quoting religiously. He pretends he hates it—secretly, he’s addicted.

Karlheinz

Karlheinz already knows. Of course he does.

He knew before she ever moved in. He watched her streams. He saw her spark. Her intelligence. The way she could analyze game mechanics, unravel narratives, and laugh in the face of failure. It intrigued him. That playful, defiant joy... it reminded him of something lost to time.

He’s too dignified to appear on her stream, but he watches every second in the background—sometimes even pulling strings in-game. If she’s playing a fantasy game and suddenly a new secret path opens? That was him. Her chat thinks it’s a glitch. She starts calling it “Daddy Magic” without knowing why. He smirks.

She tries to get him to play with her. At first, he declines. “My dear… my influence lies in reality, not pixels.” But she insists. And eventually, he joins—for one evening only. When he plays, he’s eerily calm, strategic, too good. The fans go wild. She begs him to play again. He never agrees outright, but somehow, he's always near when the camera turns on.

Richter

Richter finds out when some low-tier vampire dares mention his bride’s channel in front of him with a little too much interest.

“What did you say? She’s—popular?”

Jealousy. Burning, bitter jealousy. First his brother, now the whole internet has eyes on her? Oh no. No no no. That’s his precious bride. He storms into her room mid-stream and demands, “Why didn’t you tell me about this? Are you… hiding your popularity from me?”

But then she giggles. And pulls him in to play a game with her. He sulks and huffs but agrees. And that’s when everything clicks.

He’s dramatic, competitive, easily flustered when the chat calls him “the angry silver fox.” His commentary? Gloriously unhinged. He becomes a reluctant icon of chaotic rage-fueled gaming. She adores how intense he gets. “You’re ridiculous,” she says through laughter.

“You like watching me unravel?” he growls.

“Every time,” she grins.

After that, he pretends he’s only doing it to “protect his reputation,” but secretly? He starts streaming with her once a week, every week. And he loves every second.

[youshouldhavepaidattentiondad]

“It’s basic courtesy, John,” Eric states as they walk up the drive of a lavish, two story house, “We were invited, so we’re going to show up.”

John sighs. He’s dressed smartly, in a sage colored button down and a pair of khakis. “Yes, but you know how I feel about Seth. He’s just so… obnoxious.”

Eric rolls his eyes. “We can’t all be stoic little soldiers, John.”

They reach the door. Eric reaches a hand up and rings the doorbell before John can say anything.

The door swings open, revealing a petite woman with cascading, curling red hair. “Eric! John! So glad you could make it!” she greets as she steps back to let them inside.

“Good to see you, Sandra,” Eric answers with that winning grin of his. John merely nods as he follows his husband inside.

They’re led to an elegant dining room with walls of deep burgundy. An ornate, crystal chandelier hangs over the table where a man with sandy blond hair sits, sipping from a glass of red wine.

At the appearance of the two men, Seth sets his glass down and stands. “Eric, you son of a bitch! Glad you could make it!” He rounds the table to shake Eric’s hand. He turns to look at John. “I see you managed to pull this one away from work,” he laughs, “Though it looks like he couldn’t leave the military greens at home for even a night!”

John forces himself to smile. It feels more like a grimace. “I’m just dedicated to my job and country.”

“You should be dedicated to your husband! Don’t let one of the interns snatch him away from you,” Seth jokes, gently nudging John in the ribs.

Frowning, Eric raises an eyebrow. “Seth, that’s enough.”

Seth raises his hands defensively. “I’m just saying, I see how some of the incoming interns look at you.”

“I said that’s enough,” Eric repeats firmly. He settles in one of the chairs at the table and John quickly sits beside him.

Seth opens his mouth again, only to be cut off when Sandra enters from the kitchen, carrying a basket of dinner rolls. She sets them on the table before scurrying back into the kitchen. It’s a quick procession of dishes being carried in: a large roast, candied carrots, and mashed potatoes.

Sandra serves everyone before fixing her own plate and finally sitting down.

“Wine, John?” Seth offers, holding up what John can only imagine to be an expensive bottle of merlot.

“Please,” John confirms, holding up his glass so Seth can pour into it. “Everything looks great, Sandra,” he compliments.

“Oh, thank-” Sandra starts, only for Seth to cut her off.

“Wine for you as well, Eric?”

Eric offers his glass, a small frown on his face. “Thank you.”

After the wine has been poured, Seth settles back into his seat. “So, did you hear about Anderson and the mess he’s in?”

John quickly tunes out their legal talk, choosing instead to pick up his fork and begin eating. He tunes back in as Sandra reaches for a dinner roll when he hears Seth say, “Do you really think you need those extra carbs?” he chastises.

Gritting his teeth, John opens his mouth, only for Eric to subtly nudge him under the table to stop him.

Meekly, Sandra shakes her head before setting the roll back in the basket.

“I’ll be right back,” John says as he sets down his fork before standing from the table. He goes to walk out of the dining room, stopping when he hears Seth’s voice.

“What’s the matter, Johnny?”

John turns around, hand reaching for a firearm that isn’t there. Seth visibly flinches from the force of John’s glare. “Don’t call me that.”

He turns again, ignoring Seth’s stuttering apology, before heading for the front door.

Once outside, he pulls a pack of cigarettes and his lighter from his pocket. He pulls out a cigarette, placing one between his lips before lighting it and taking a deep drag. Sliding the pack back into his pocket, he runs a hand back through his hair.

“Stressed, Johnny?”

Blowing out smoke on a sigh, he turns to see Wiley leaning back against Eric’s expensive sports car. “What do you want?”

“A lot of things.” Wiley’s eyes seem to glint in the glow of the streetlights. “Mostly, I want that kiss you cruelly denied me the other night.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re not getting it.” John turns away as he takes another hit off the cigarette.

There’s a low chuckle directly behind him. A familiar hand brushes John’s hair away before lips press against his neck.

John closes his eyes and counts to five. “Stop.”

“Why should I?” Wiley teases. He grabs John by the shoulder, spinning him around. “You’re mine, remember, honey?” he asks as his fingers dip past John’s collar to grab the chain his tags hang from. “It’s why you still wear this.”

Swallowing heavily, John shakes his head as he steps back out of Wiley’s reach. “Not anymore. Whatever we had died the day you went through the portal.”

Wiley laughs, a loud, harsh noise. “We both know that’s a lie, Johnny. Is that what you tell yourself? Does that help you sleep at night, pretending you’re over me?” He takes a step forward. “We both know you’ll never get over me, Johnny, no matter how much you like to play make believe with Eric.”

The sound of the door opening catches John’s attention. He turns to look and, out of the corner of his eye he sees Wiley disappear.

“John? You alright, my love?” Eric asks as he steps outside, closing the door behind him.

Flicking the ashes off the end of his cigarette, John steadies his voice as he says, “No. Seth is an asshole.”

“He is,” Eric agrees. He comes to stand beside John, rubbing his back soothingly. “Let’s just make it through dinner then we don’t ever have to come back, alright? I promise.”

Sighing, John takes one last drag off the cigarette. “Fine,” he agrees.