#but in any other land it is all fair game !

[gutsby]

Cowboy Killers

Pairing: Cowboy!Joel x Reader

Summary: On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Warnings: 18+. Drunk-Assholes-to-Enemies-to-Lovers. Oral (m!receiving). Road head. Age gap. Daddy kink.

Note: My favorite sub-genre of country music is ‘I’m Gonna Fucking Kill My Husband,’ and I think Miranda Lambert’s ‘Gunpowder & Lead’ is a perfect representation of that.

Word count: 4.1k

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and—

“I’m about to lay this motherfucker out,” you announced.

Across the line, your friend laughed.

“Yeah? You see him?”

Of course you saw him. Who else would be wearing a Carhartt flannel and jeans in ninety-four degree heat? Not a soul in this world but your friend’s own lying, piece of shit, hopefully-soon-to-be-ex boyfriend, you guessed.

The game that Old Fuckstick Miller had decided to play tonight was a dangerous one—he was dumb as shit, and you were drunker than a skunk. He was dating your best friend, and she was not present at the Tipsy Bison to see the barefaced clusterfuck taking place before you now.

She was home, over thirty minutes away. He had told her that morning he would be working late, and not to wait up. You were here, at the bar, approaching one A.M. with a Redbull Vodka clenched in either fist and a Texas-sized frown on your face, seeing the very same man with his hands all over a woman that wasn’t your friend. You’d wanted to puke as soon as you saw them. You knew you could never trust a man who claimed to be an Austin native and couldn’t name a single George Strait song.

Your friend had only been dating the guy for a month, and you’d just seen his face in pictures up until now, but from what you could see less than twenty feet in front of you—slightly blurred from all the drinks you’d had—this guy was him. A dick. There, cheating on your best friend.

And no man would get to do that and walk out unscathed if you had anything to say about it.

Your grip tightened on either one of your fizzy drinks and, barely managing to cradle the phone between your head and your shoulder, you gestured over to another friend.

“Dave. Take it,” you said, words slurring a little.

Dave York cocked an eyebrow but said nothing as you passed him one of your RBVs and shimmied off the barstool. By the time he was able to pose his question, your ass, your phone, and your one remaining drink were already wobbling the other way. Vaguely, you heard him:

“Where ya headed, hon?”

You turned and raised your drink, then seriously doubted he would be able to hear you over the blare of the music, but yelled back anyway, ‘I’M GONNA KILL SOMEONE!’

The age-old pro-forgiveness aphorism continued to thump in your brain as you made your way over and began to contemplate every feasible method of murder.

A gun in the face would’ve been too simple—and besides, you’d never owned or shot a firearm in your life.

Poison could be fun, but from the way you were approaching the man now, you seriously doubted he’d ever let you get within a mile of his drink. You nudged the phone closer to your ear and took a sip from your own.

“Closing in,” you told your friend simply.

She’d already given you the go-ahead to execute the confrontation and beat his ass any way you pleased after the fact. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ you’d finally get to encroach on this little loved up scene at the other end of the bar. The man had had his back turned to you, and the stunning redhead hanging off his neck, likewise, had no idea what was coming. You smiled.

“Promise you won’t go to jail this time?” your friend said.

“Will you bail me out again if I do?” Your grin got bigger.

“Well, duh.”

“Good deal. I’ll be the shitfaced inmate with ‘Fuck Men’ tattooed on her forehead. Wait for Travis County to call.”

“I love you, psycho.”

“Love you more.”

You ended the call.

And you were fully ready to end this man’s life when you saw him lean in to kiss the woman’s neck—that was sick.

You weren’t thinking straight. You weren’t seeing straight

You yelled out, ‘He-e-e-ey, honey!’ without blinking.

The couple turned.

As soon as the man had done a full 180, you flung your drink in his face and made sure the cup struck his nose.

“You cheatin’ FUCK!”

He flinched, sprayed by your vodka-infused energy juice.

The music overhead was loud, but not so deafening as to prevent the bar from hearing your shriek. From the front of the room, a band was playing ‘Gunpowder & Lead,’ and you couldn’t help but feel the song had been fate.

“What the f—” the adulterer started, evidently stunned.

You knocked the Shiner Bock out of his hand and spat:

“Working late, are we?!”

And spilled another patron’s beer reeling back.

“Got a little caught up on the way home?”

Gesturing toward the green-eyed beauty to his left. At first, the girl fixed her stare on you as if you’d sprouted another head, but then, by turns, she was tilting it to him.

“You have a girlfriend?” she hissed.

Cheater McFuckstick was wiping his beard with his hand

Shaking his head.

“Hell no, I ain’t never—”

“LIAR!”

Channeling your inner Representative Wilson circa 2009, you let your mouth fall open and stared at the big, burly man like the Congressman had once done to President Obama all those years ago. The semi-stranger in front of you was far less composed than his political counterpart.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he snapped.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

“Is she your girlfriend?” would-be mistress said, shrill.

“NO!” you and been-knew asshole yelled together.

You saw the man’s nostrils flare, and at the same time, the woman beside him departed. Quickly. A few people around you cleared the way, while others still stared, gawked, and murmured amongst themselves. The Miranda Lambert cover band continued on without a hitch, though you could tell there had been a stir in the crowd. They probably thought the worst of it was over.

They thought wrong.

“You’re a dick,” you seethed, unrelenting.

You almost expected the man to turn and leave.

You thought wrong.

“You’re a cunt.”

And the man chucked a stray whiskey sour in your face.

The $15 spirits splattered on your skin like the meanest insult of all. His aim was better. Though he didn’t let go of the cup, as you had with him, he did make sure to coat the whole of your twisted look with the liquor, and once it landed, he had had the nerve to do something else, too.

He brought the glass to his lips then drank what was left.

“How’s it feel?” he sneered.

You stood in wet, sticky silence for half a second; arguably, you’d earned that cocktail to the face.

On the other hand, who the fuck did he think he was?

You grabbed a random can of Keystone Light and flung it at his chest to give him a hint—and catch him off-guard.

“You’re a bitch, Tommy Miller!”

“Wh—”

“Maria’s my best friend, you absolute f—”

“What—”

“—and you cheated on her for what? All so she—”

“What did you just call me?!”

“A BITCH!”

“No, the NAME!”

“TOMMY MILLER!”

“I’M JOEL!”

Oh.

Oh.

You and Joel were shortly escorted out of the bar.

Joel’s name, and a trace of bourbon, were still fresh on your tongue when you found yourself stranded in the middle of the Tipsy Bison parking lot two minutes later. You leaned into a car beside you and held your stomach.

“Someone drop you on the head as a baby?” Joel barked.

Presently, for you, the world was tilting sideways, and your head was throbbing at a nauseating tempo.

“Go around slingin’ drinks at any old man you—”

Green. Green must’ve been the color of your face as you braced your hands on your knees and assumed a stance as if to scream at the ground. Rather than expecting any noise to ring out, though, you had only to squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto a hunch for something much less pleasant. And viscous.

Reeking mostly of Red Bull and regret, if you had to guess.

Joel took a big step back, and then he took another.

“Da-a-adgummit, girl, what the—”

He turned away just in time to miss the sight of you emptying your guts on the ground, but not quite fast enough to be spared the sounds of you retching. They were loud. Joel Miller was known to be a largely imperturbable force around these parts, but even he was made to feel queasy hearing that. Out of habit, he clapped his hand to his own gut and stumbled off. He stared at the bar, then at his car, then at the gravel crushed under his feet for what felt like the longest time. Then his gaze lingered to his lower half, and he thought:

‘Please, please don’t gimme no daughters. Please.’

He was forty-five. The time for making babies and raising daughters to be anything like a woman of your ilk was probably long past him. All the same, he kept his gaze on his crotch and sighed. Balls, you better not betray me.

When he heard the crunch of rocks, he turned around.

“HEY!”

Oh, no. No. Not tonight.

You were staggering to your car, keys in hand.

“Hey!” Joel called again, jogging after you.

It seemed the second shout had done him no more favors than the first. You were fumbling to get the key inside the door, and you looked as determined as ever.

Over your shoulder, you tossed back, careless:

“You ain’t the boss of me, Tommy Miller.”

You got the key to turn. You opened the door. You were just about to climb inside what looked to Joel to be the ugliest Dodge Ram pickup he’d seen in his life, when he grabbed your arm.

“It’s Joel,” he growled. Pinching your elbow tight as he tugged it back, “And you ain’t driving anywhere tonight.”

Somewhere in front of him, tilted away from his line of vision, you must’ve been grinning, because the next thing he heard from you was the scoff of a laugh.

“Oh yeah?”

Joel flipped you around to face him.

“Yeah,” he snapped.

Feeling a bit like a kid for mimicking your tone.

What were you, twenty-two? Twenty-three? You couldn’t have been a patron of a place like Tipsy Bison for very long, or else he would’ve recognized you tonight.

Then again, you struck him as the type to have had a fake ID since you were fifteen, so he really couldn’t know.

“I’m twenny-wuh-un,” you slurred up at him, exaggerated, once he’d made you step down from the running board and onto the ground. Answering his last unspoken question with the same, sleepy grin as before. Then lifting one of your hands to wag a finger in his face, “I can drink legal anywhere I want to in this country.”

“Not there,” Joel nodded to the interstate.

You looked to where he’d gestured and whistled. Standing and staring, like he had done to his crotch.

“Well fuck me-e!” you said next, dragging out the sound a childish amount, “You the law or somethin’, Mr. Joel?”

“Ain’t no cop.” Joel rolled his eyes.

You kept smiling. Then you turned on your heels.

And instead of trying to climb back into your truck, you sauntered off—in what direction, Joel couldn’t tell. You were more so bumbling about, turning in circles like the world’s most scantily-clad, semi-intoxicated ballerina. And then you stopped. You put your hands on your hips.

“‘Cause I’m the law,” you resumed in a slow, deliberate drawl. The twang you used was mostly feigned, “And you cain’t beat the law. Don’t nobody get away with that, not even a bunch’a Alabama smart alecks, believe you me.”

Joel didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about. The man was Texas born and bred, and you knew it.

He communicated as much by pinning you with a wide, bewildered stare, and something in that seemed to amuse. You stared back, making your eyes bug out too.

“It’s a quote from a movie,” you said, after a beat, “You’ve never seen Fried Green Tomatoes before?”

Joel couldn’t say that he had.

Joel reckoned there was a lot more than just movies he didn’t share in common with you. Miss Twenty-One. Barely a year past the age he’d been when he’d moved out of the house and tried to make a living on his own.

This woman, this girl he saw twirling out in front of him now probably couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel if he’d asked you to. Joel shook his head and moved his feet, frown etching deep.

“Alright, princess. Up.”

You didn’t seem to understand, until he’d lifted you. Up.

You were thrown over his shoulder and carried to a truck much nicer than yours in less than fifteen seconds or so.

“Stinks in here,” you said as soon as he’d set you down.

Then, sniffing the air—and grinning:

“Aw, hell, Miller…you smoke?”

Joel wished he’d said no.

Wished he’d rolled his eyes and told you to pipe down, stop asking him questions. It would’ve made the drive a whole lot easier, and more peaceful. Nowhere near as painful, either, if he were being perfectly honest—the strain in his jeans had already gotten to be more than he could bear, and all you’d asked for was a pack of smokes.

“They call ‘em Cowboy Killers,” you said, matter-of-fact.

“I know what they’re called,” Joel grumbled in reply. Flicking the radio on and hoping to find a tune that would drown out the too-lovely, cloying voice you’d assumed as soon as you thought you might win a cigarette off of him. More chatty now than ever.

And for one, blissful moment, Toby Keith had you beat. The calm was fleeting. As soon as ‘Who’s Your Daddy’ started to drift through the car’s old speakers, you reached across and turned the knob to the left.

“Gross,” you muttered.

“What?”

“Got a light?”

“Blow me.”

Joel’s harsh, clipped tone was deliberate. The way he’d made himself mean—meaner than he’d been around a woman in a long, long time—was a choice. He couldn’t let your faux sweetness win him now. Not after you’d thrown two drinks in his face, mocked his truck, and foreclosed any possibility of getting laid by way of all your publicized infidelity philippics and shit-talking. Giving in to your charms from where you sat in the passenger seat now would only sink him further in his own esteem. Simply put, Joel’s ego couldn’t take it.

“Okie doke,” you said presently. Shrugging.

“Now keep your—HEY!”

Joel nearly swerved his truck off the road and into a ditch. Your deft little hands had slipped into his lap—and started palming his crotch through the denim.

He’d just managed to right the vehicle before jerking a look your way, staring at your hand, then your face:

“What the fuck was that?!”

“You said ‘blow me,’ Joel!” you huffed, and you seriously appeared as distraught as he was, “Sorry for listening!”

Joel grit his teeth with all the force of a cold steel trap.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts.” He gripped the wheel even tighter.

“I’m aware.”

“Where the hell do you live, anyway?”

You told him.

Your hand slipped down to the seat beside him.

And just as Joel let out what felt like the tiniest sigh of relief—he knew where that was, and the address sounded vaguely familiar—he yelped again. This time, he managed to keep control of his truck, but it was hard.

Your fingers had returned, and they were kneading the bulge under his jeans. Joel flushed from head to toe.

He didn’t have so much as half a mind to make you stop. He didn’t want to see you slink back over to your side of the car. But you were twenty-one, and he was forty-five. And you were both under the influence to some degree. And he was driving, for fuck’s sake. Shit like that only worked in dreams—not on a highway in a town like this.

He turned the radio dial to 75. At length, he heard it loud:

‘WHO’S YOUR DADDY? WHO’S YOUR BA-A-A-ABY?’

He saw you cringe.

“C’mon, Joel,” you groaned, “That’s…yuck.”

The fingers of the one hand kept digging, rubbing, but the other reached out and turned the music down again.

Joel shifted in his seat, feeling the pleasure start to bloom from the pit of his stomach, but not wanting to let you off that easy. Briefly, he looked from the road to you.

“What? You got a problem with Toby Keith?”

“I got a problem with anyone sayin’ ‘daddy’ like that.”

You unzipped his fly. Popped the button of his jeans from underneath the soft shelf of belly hanging over it, and held him, finally. You could only cup his erection through his boxers at that point, but the friction was enough to send a shiver through the whole of the old man’s body. He hadn’t been touched like that by a hand that wasn’t his own in…he couldn’t remember how long. He sighed.

“That why you’ve got your hand down the pants of a man old enough to be your father?” Joel quipped.

He couldn’t help it.

Your hand only gripped him tighter. From the passenger seat, you’d leaned over and started crawling. Scowling.

Your knees swiftly planted themselves on the old, upholstered cushion of the bucket seat, and you slipped a touch beneath the waistband of his underwear. With a hand that was smooth and soft and eager to please, you wrapped your fingers around that base and leaned in.

“You sound like you want me to say it,” you whispered.

Under your hand, he pulsed. His gaze stayed on the road.

“Don’t make no difference to me, sweet pea,” he said, and was amazed how even he was able to keep his tone:

“But those ‘Cowboy Killers’ you wanted…”

Your fingers curled tighter. Your head sank lower.

“…they don’t come cheap, y’know.”

Oh, you knew. He saw a smile snag at the corners of your lips as you brought them to his lap, and he had to force himself to look at the road again. It was empty and dark.

The tarmac stretched out for days. The fields rolling past warned sternly, ‘Don’t let her win,’ and something more in between each tree seemed to invite deliberation—remembrance, maybe. Joel was far too focused on the feel of your mouth to give the woods a second thought.

You’d worked the first inch between your lips in a slick, obscene sort of kiss; you made room for just the head and then toyed with a bead of precum leaking out of his slit. You licked it, squeezed the shaft in your hand, and hummed while the first real moan rumbled through him.

Joel turned to putty with just that flick of your tongue. He didn’t have to see your face to know he was losing.

On the wheel, his grip grew tighter, and he choked out:

“Ain’t your fuckin’ lollypop, kid.”

Then, dropping one hand to push down on your head—make you take him to the back of your throat in one go.

“Daddy wants you to suck him like a big girl, hear?”

At the base of his cock, he felt you gag. From the bottom of his heart, Joel knew there was no sound sweeter than that. He ran his fingers over your skull and tapped gently.

“If you want those smokes,” he told you—and really, with all the warmth and moisture of your mouth enveloping him now, he’d had to try to sound rougher than he was, “You’re gonna do what daddy says and suck him right.”

You gagged again, then squeezed his denim-clad leg with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his member.

Joel yanked you by your hair and made you look up.

Your cheeks were already smeared with spit and tears. Much to his surprise, he found your eyes alight and soft.

Suffused with desire, too, from what he could see.

“Yes, daddy.” You grinned up at him.

Joel knew if he let your gaze stay on his a second longer now he’d either crash his car, blow his load, or fall in love—and he simply refused to let you succeed on any of those fronts, so he shoved your face back down.

You sucked him obediently. Greedily. Mouth growing more pliant and wet by the second, as if your jaw and salivary glands had contrived to get him as close to release as possible, as quickly as they were able.

Joel took a left onto a road he had only a dim recognition as being connected to yours, and he got that feeling again. You were bobbing your head, taking him further, flattening your tongue along the bottom of his member when his pleasure swelled inside him. At the same time, he felt a sense of dread. His hands were shaking on the wheel. He didn’t dare steal a look down to the sweet, soaked, perfect little mouth sucking him dry, because he knew that feeling would only strike twice as hard. He had to cum, or make you stop, or bring his truck to a halt.

As it was, he felt five tiny crescents sink into his thigh as you gripped him tighter, and a noise bubbled up in your mouth. Your breathing went shallow, and your lips stretched wide—you were trying, and succeeding, in deep-throating his thick, throbbing, much-too-old-for-a-girl-her-age member down close to your windpipe, and Joel could feel it. He hit his blinker, not thinking, and saw a sign that marked your street. Trepidation hit him again.

Fully, this time, in a feeling that was more like terror.

He didn’t have another second to question it, either. By the time he had the old, lone farmhouse in his sights and his heart nearly halfway up his throat with fear, your own throat pulsed, and opened the last two inches to him in. Your nose found their home in the rough, grey, wiry hairs at the base of his belly, having swallowed him whole, and Joel quickly sensed the start of what he knew too well.

He came down your throat in one, two, three, four, five long spurts, and didn’t let his foot off the gas even once.

He saw your house, approaching closer now, and paled.

No fucking way.

You’d wanted to skip the whole way up your drive.

Spit still drying on your cheeks, cum resting comfortably in your belly, and a smile as bright as the sun on your face as you waved to the F-150 pulling off toward the road, you’d never felt more alive—or smug—in your life.

“Is your dad…Lucien Flores?” Joel had asked no more than a second after his dick slipped out of your mouth.

“The one and only.”

Somehow, his face got even paler. His jaw visibly clenched, and his palm hit the top of the wheel. Hard.

It was then that you’d learned your father had hired Joel Miller on as a full-time ranch hand sometime last week.

He’d remembered the address, vaguely, but didn’t connect the dots until he’d pulled up in front of your house and damn near punctured your windpipe with his pulsing dick from how fast he’d jumped up—and cum.

His spend had almost shot through your nose with the force of it, but you didn’t mind. Once he’d revealed the wild, gory, and admittedly hilarious details of his newfound employment, you were too busy laughing your ass off to care if he’d torn your throat in two with his dick.

“So you really are a cowboy, then,” you’d said, giggling.

Joel had scowled. Rolled his eyes. Practically turned the color of a tomato when you leaned in and kissed him.

Now you were waving to him from your front door.

Joel’s truck was slow to go. The taste of him was fresh.

And there, weighing light in your back pocket while you said goodbye was a brand new pack of Marlboro Reds.

2:21 AM

You were safely in bed. You checked your phone.

Aside from fourteen missed calls, you saw:

1:09 AM – Maria

DUDE

1:09 AM

TOMMY JUST CAME HOME

1:09 AM

THAT’S NOT HIM AT THE BAR

1:13 AM

IT’S JUST JOEL!! HIS BROTHER!!!

1:13 AM

ABORT ABORT ABORT

1:42 AM

DAVE SAID YOU BEAT JOEL UP???? CALL ME

1:54 AM – Dave York

Ur gonna fuck that old dude aren’t u

[alexiroflife]

sukuna would kill for you….

just a thought, mentions of assault, violence, but also fluff if you squint

… and not just in the cutesy, romantic way that held no weight to the promise. no, sukuna will plot and execute someone’s death for you over and over again. as easy as it has been to kill for centuries, it only becomes easier when he’s killing for the sake of your protection

it doesn’t take much to get sukuna riled up on your behalf. he’s quick to jot down names and addresses when you approach him with tears in your lashes, upset over harsh, misogynistic words from your boss or frustrated over an acquaintance who constantly antagonizes you for no reason. it takes one look into your sad eyes and he’s off on a manhunt

you normally advise sukuna not to kill people who have done little things to push your buttons, but that doesn’t stop him from rousing them up a little bit for good measure. he’ll track a rude encounter down, corner them in a secluded area, and beat their ass to a pulp until they’re begging for mercy. only then, when they plead for their life, does sukuna decide he is done and returns home to you. though the fools are beaten so badly they can hardly see out of their swollen eyes by the time he is done, he hasn’t technically killed them so it’s fair game

there is a time, however, when sukuna ignores your wishes and acts on his own accord, and that is when any guy decides to hit on you and not take no for an answer

you’re fuming when you march into his room, face red and fists clenched tightly at your sides. sukuna looks at you with a cocked brow, asking what the hell happened to get you all worked up. you tell him that on your way to his place from work, a man stopped you in your path to ask for your number. you had politely declined, but when you tried to walk past you could feel his hand grope your backside. you were quick to spin on your heel and land a stinging slap to his face that sent his had snapping into the other direction, and then you ran off to sukuna

the king of curses stares ahead and says nothing for moments that feel like hours, then stands abruptly. “what did he look like?” “where was he going?” “where was he coming from?” you barely get the chance to detail his features and the area the interaction occurred in when he’s cutting you off and telling you that he will take care of it. you catch his arm, eyes glossy as you plead him to stay with you and not get himself caught up in too much trouble. he can only promise the former, as he lets you take him to bed for the night

the next day, sukuna finds your assaulter with uraume’s assistance within twenty minutes. your description of his face in addition to the location you saw him hanging around allowed him to discover his LinkedIn profile, which took him to his place of work. sukuna waits outside of the building all day in dark sweats until he sees the culprit leave. he follows silently from afar until he arrives at his nearby apartment. he watches from an alley as the man disappears into the building and minutes later a light flicks on in the third room to the right on the second floor. sukuna knows he’s got him when his face appears in the window to close the blinds

sukuna waits for him to leave his apartment again to go out to grab food, then seizes his opportunity. he scales the building and climbs silently into the home through the window, then waits for his return in the dark. when the front door swings open, it takes your assaulter moments of shifting through the darkness before he finds sukuna’s shadowy figure sitting in his chair, red eyes aglow. he yelps in fear, reaching frantically to flick on the light. sukuna’s teeth grind together, the sight of this scum before him making his skin crawl

“w-who are you?! what are you doing in my house?” sukuna stands and the man stumbles back, cowardice revealing itself. he presses himself against his now locked door as sukuna approaches with a blank face and dark eyes, glaring down at him over his nose. “please! is it money you want? you can have it all, just- just don’t hurt me!”

christ, how pathetic. sukuna watches him tremble, eyes wide and lips quivering as he shivers in the corner of his own home. sukuna clicks his teeth. “what I want is for you to keep your fucking hands to yourself.” he snatches the man’s wrist up in his tight grasp, claws sinking into his skin. the man writhes in horror upon seeing the blood drawn from sukuna’s fingers digging into him. “why don’t we start by getting rid of them, hm?”

sukuna leaves the now blood spattered apartment unit the same way he came, brushing a gunk of brain matter from his sweatshirt with gritted teeth. he wants to come home to you, annoyed with his day out

when he shows up at your door, he lets you wrap your arms tightly around him in relief. his cheek rests on your shoulder boredly as he 'tolerates' your affection. when you ask him where he has been all day, he shrugs and says: “out” and leaves it at that

sukuna would kill for you any day with no hesitation but bides by the one rule you have to keep his hands clean when it comes to insignificant matters. yet when it comes to someone threatening your safety, comfortability, and body all in one, sukuna thinks it’s only right for him to break his promise to you and slaughter the pathetic lowlifes who even so much as think about laying a finger on you

sukuna’s love language is violence. while he may be poor at refraining from making you mad or gaging when to give you verbal affection, he will put somebody in the ground for you in a heartbeat

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Woot! I finally played Kingdom Hearts Talisman and it was so much fun!

I lost horribly, though, because I had the worst luck in this game in the history of the world. Still adore it, though.

[pyrrhiccomedy]

A DM��s Fair Play Guide To Plot Twists

I love running a game with a lot of surprises. The challenge to pulling this off well is that, unless you’re playing a one on one game, your players outnumber you: and between them, they have a good chance of figuring out what’s going to happen, no matter how sneaky and clever you are.

The first way of dealing with this - which I’ll just call the bullshit way - is to not give your players the information they need to solve the mystery. Don’t let them find out about the secret society until it’s too late. Don’t give them any reason to suspect that their NPC ally is planning to kill them. Don’t let them find the murder weapon, don’t let them locate the witnesses, don’t give them the chance to skip to the end of their investigation.

This sucks, and if you run your games like this, you’re going to piss off your players. Because it isn’t fair.

In mystery literature, a “fair play mystery” is one where the reader is given all of the information they need in order to figure out the solution before the Big Reveal. It’s what makes the reveal good: that GASP, the “oh shit, the knife! the knife from the party! that was hers! I forgot!”

Pulling off a twist in a fair play game is an incredible feeling. Your players will think you’re a genius (or an absolute dick bastard, which is just as good) and they’ll respect it more when they land in hot water that they plausibly could have avoided. So how do you run a fair play game without your players figuring out the twists ahead of time, given that you’re definitely not smarter than all of your players put together?

By fucking with their expectations.

Here are some things that I keep in mind, to keep my players guessing. And it’s important, with all of this, that if your players see through something, let them have it. They should figure out a lot of things on their own! But if you’re regularly seeding your stories with all of this stuff, eventually your players will miss something. Those are somethings you can build on. The same way that a low level enemy who gets away once can keep coming back again and again until they become an important antagonist, a misapprehension your party proves to have a blindspot for can grow and develop until they get smacked with a breathtaking twist. 

What’s a twist if not the sudden overturning of an assumption you never thought to question?

1: Make your powerful friendly NPCs know a lot...but not as much as the players think they do.

Player characters often end up with powerful allies. It would be very convenient for the party if those allies always had accurate information. Make sure they don’t always enjoy that convenience.

It’s a balancing act: you want your powerful NPCs to be powerful. You want this alliance to be meaningful and beneficial to your players. But give your NPC an Achilles heel of some kind, when it comes to the information at their disposal. The Noble General commands powerful forces and knows the lay of the enemy’s land well...but that doesn’t mean he knows what every squadron and scouting party is up to. The Political Mastermind may know the ins and outs of the court, and have keen insight into the motivations of others: but he has an enemy who pisses him off so much that he loses all objectivity around her. The Powerful Wizard can call upon great magic to aid the party: but his divinations aren’t as accurate as he thinks they are, and he’s prone to finding, in his signs and omens, what he wants to see, more than what’s actually there.

Most of the time, their information should be good! That will make it more likely that your players will trust them the one time when it isn’t.

2. Let (apparently) less powerful NPCs sometimes know more than the players think they do. 

Most NPCs aren’t the Noble General or the Powerful Wizard. Most NPCs are Daves, designed to get the players from place to place. Most of those Daves know about as much as you’d expect them to. But some Daves have plans of their own.

You don’t always have to signpost with big blinking lights which of your NPCs are ‘important,’ and which ones are ‘unimportant.’ Sneak in a crafty Dave from time to time. That assistant they talk to, every time they go to see the prince? That bitch knows everything, and she’s almost ready to make her move. 

3: There is no such thing as a completely reliable witness. 

If the players only get information from one person, that information should be flawed in at least one, potentially small, but important way. Smart players will seek a second opinion, or at least allow for the possibility that their information may be incomplete. But even smart players get out over their skis sometimes.

4: Let your NPCs be aware of the power of a first impression. 

If an NPC gives a strong first impression of being a particular kind of person, it’s because they’re comfortable giving that impression. That might be because it’s who they are. But maybe not.

One of the first characters the PCs met in a VtM campaign I ran was Gawaine. Gawaine was a good old pine-scented man’s man, with salt and pepper stubble and a blue Ford truck. He listened to AC/DC, and talked about the war. He was affable and honest and willing to lend a hand. You already know Gawaine. Everybody knows a Gawaine. Gawaines are trustworthy, salt of the earth types. You don’t necessarily think to question a Gawaine.

That’s exactly why Gawaine was such a useful persona for Krystiyan, the Tzimisce Voivode, a cruel and alien sculptor of flesh who “never left his haven.” There were plenty of clues that they were the same person, but that campaign was in its endgame before the players put them all together.

5: Sometimes, dangerous and villainous NPCs should be helpful and cooperative. 

Not even necessarily because they’re manipulating the players, or even deceiving them about their true natures, but because their interests and the players’ interests genuinely align...for the moment. 

One of the easiest levers in your players’ brains to exploit is the expectation that people who help you are your friends. Even if your players know, consciously, that they shouldn’t trust this person, most of the time they kind of can’t help it, if the NPC is genuinely helpful to them and at least a little charismatic. 

6: Sometimes, good and valuable NPCs should be unhelpful and uncooperative. 

No matter how mature your players are, there’s a natural tendency to react to uncooperative NPCs with a reflexive, “Hey, fuck you! We’re the protagonists! This guy is an asshole!” so from time to time have a helpful, honest, good-aligned NPC have a wholly justified but as-yet-unknown-to-the-party reason to flatly refuse to deal with them.

7: Every NPC should have a secret. 

Not necessarily a bad secret. Were it to be revealed, it might even make the party like them more! But for their own reasons, the NPC does not want their secret to come out, and they will lie to the party to protect it. Players go crazy when they realize they’re being lied to, and often jump to some wild assumptions about your NPC’s motivations. I’ve had an NPC lie about the opening hours of a shop, and had the PCs assume that they were black market dealers for the villain when the dude just wanted to be able to close early so he could go smoke weed in the park.

8. As a DM, it’s polite to remind your players of the common knowledge their characters would possess...even when it doesn’t reflect the truth.

We all know it’s tedious when the DM calls for a roll when you’re just asking for common knowledge. I shouldn’t have to make a roll to know the dumb space word for plastic in a Star Wars game. I shouldn’t have to make a roll to know who the Holy Roman Emperor is in a game about medieval vampires. The DM should supply common knowledge for free, whenever it comes up.

That doesn’t mean common knowledge is true.

This is different from just lying to your players, because you don’t put the weight of DM word-of-God behind it. It’s not “You would know this guy is a Ventrue, based on XYZ.” It’s “it would be a common assumption that this guy is a Ventrue, based on XYZ.” He might not be a Ventrue. It might in fact be extremely important that he is not a Ventrue. But if it is commonly assumed that he’s a Ventrue, that is - word for word - something you can share with your players. If they don’t look any deeper than common knowledge, that’s on them.

9. Obviously untrustworthy NPCs provide great air coverage for less obviously untrustworthy NPCs.

The obviously untrustworthy NPC might or might not be planning to betray the party. But if you introduce two untrustworthy NPCs in the same storyline, and one of them seems normal and cool and has a genuine plot-related reason to be there, and the other one is Jaffar, Jaffar’s gonna get clocked, but Susan over there will probably slip under the radar, and might even get tapped to help out with the whole Jaffar situation. They might get Susan’s number, by the end of the session. Susan might become an ‘ally.’ Susan might even get romanced by a party member. Play your cards right, and Jaffar might just end up a footnote in the introduction of Susan, Scourge of Worlds and most hated NPC in the entire campaign.

10. Your villains should always have a secret plan B.

Your villain isn’t stupid, right? And your villain probably isn’t so arrogant that it is inconceivable to them that their plan might fail. They’ve been planning this ritual for ten thousand years, after all. It’s always possible that some plucky band of heroes could show up at the last minute and murder your high priest, or steal your amulet, or seduce your second in command. So what does your villain have in his back pocket to make the players go, “Oh, shit - he planned for this!”

This may mean that there is a whole separate plot happening, running alongside the main story. This is great, because when weird things happen, the players have to figure out whether this is part of Plot A or Plot B, and working out who did what and why gets a lot more interesting. If they end up foiling Plot A, great - your villain was also secretly behind Plot B the whole time, and will transfer all of his resources over to that. 

Sometimes your players will figure out that Plots A and B were both the same plot the whole time, with the same villain at the head, and they’ll feel like the smartest people on the planet, and it will be their favorite moment of the entire game. That’s great! You gave them that!

Sometimes, they won’t. And when the villain of Plot A, apparently defeated, starts laughing and reveals that he was also the mastermind behind Plot B, which is now too late to be stopped, that will probably be your favorite moment of the entire game.

[girlgenius1111]

turbulence

barça!teen reader you hate flying, and you hate planes. normally, you manage a fair amount of control over your anxiety, but when you run out of your anxiety medication just before leaving for the preseason games in the US, you lose control, and have no choice but to turn to your teammates for help.

-

Air travel was just part of your job. It was something you’d never quite gotten used to, but also not something you made a big deal about. At least, not normally. 

You had your plane routine; take your anxiety medication, sleep the whole flight if you could, and at the very least, close your eyes all through take off and landing. It was common knowledge among the team that you fell asleep very easily; a bus ride longer than 20 minutes, and you were out cold. No one really batted an eye, then, when you pulled your eyeshades over your face almost as soon as you got in your seat on the plane. However, when one of the steps of your routine failed, the rest of it toppled over like a set of dominos. 

A 12.5 hour flight was bad enough to begin with. It wasn’t possible to sleep the whole time, but you’d downloaded a few movies and brought a book with you, so there were suitable distractions. It was manageable, though not ideal. 

Until you checked the little pill bottle just before you left for the airport, and realized you were out of your anxiety medication. How it had slipped your mind to refill the bottle after the last flight you’d taken was beyond you, but you genuinely didn’t recall running out. 

There was nothing you could do. There wasn’t time to refill your prescription, you had to leave to meet the team in 5 minutes. You stood frozen for a moment, the prospect of not just one flight, not two, but three entire long flights completely unmedicated quickly sending you into a spiral. 

Alexia’s voice broke you out of your stupor. 

“Chica! It’s time to go!” 

Any other day, you would have been annoyed that your captain used her key to let herself in, but today you didn’t have it in you. You were resigned to your fate, grabbing your bag and taking a deep breath, before you headed out to the living room. 

Alexia was waiting impatiently, though she grinned when she saw you. “Ready?!” 

You tried to match her energy, though her smile faltered, and you were sure you failed. “Yeah! Let’s go!”

The blonde studied you as you walked down to her car with her, and you tried to act as normally as you could, even though internally, you were freaking out. You and Alexia lived in the same building, which was one of the conditions for living alone at 18 that the club had set. She checked on you constantly, showing up unannounced to drag you to dinner at her apartment, or bringing you a protein smoothie that she’d just happened to make extra of. Alexia took her job of watching out for you very seriously, and you couldn’t imagine how much more intense she would be if she found out how bad your anxiety could get. 

It didn’t seem like something a professional footballer should have, in your head, so you pretended you didn’t have it. You took your medication, you went to therapy, and you dealt with it all yourself. You didn’t keep many things from Alexia, as she’d quickly become like an older sister to you, but this one thing you just couldn’t bring yourself to admit. No matter how much you wanted to break down and tell her everything you just… couldn’t. 

You could feel her worry growing as you got on the bus and bypassed your friends to sit by yourself. They all exchange looks, knowing you to normally match their hyperness and excitement. The seat Vicky was saving for you remained empty; she was practically bouncing in her seat with excitement, and Alexia expected the same behavior out of you. Today, though, you just sunk into an empty row and pulled out your phone. 

While Alexia watched you carefully from the front of the bus, you were too busy to notice. You were crafting a text to your therapist, hoping for her to give you some advice for the plane ride. There were only around two hours until take off, and you could feel your nerves grow and grow as you neared the airport. 

All through security, the whole way to the gate, and in line to board the plane, you were so quiet and so unlike yourself. It drew the attention of several of your teammates, in fact, until Irene appeared next to you, a very motherly worry on her face. 

“Are you alright? You’ve been acting strange today. You haven’t tried to trip Mapi even once.” Irene asked quietly. The teammates near you in line grew a bit quieter, curious as to what your issue was. 

Feeling several pairs of eyes on you, and still not feeling particularly like sharing the issue, you just shrugged. “I didn’t sleep well. Just tired.” You lied, conveniently yawning just after you finished talking. It was an anxiety thing, actually, a weird thing you did more often when you were anxious. Of course, no one else knew that. 

They all relaxed slightly at your response, especially Alexia, confident that they’d discovered the problem, and it wasn’t much to worry about. As you stepped onto the plane, though, you knew the opposite to be true. There was plenty to be worried about. 

-

“Chica?” Pina asked, realizing you hadn’t been listening to her long, very drawn out story of the mischief her and her sister had gotten into during her last visit. 

You hummed quietly, eyes fixed out the window. As a general rule, you tried not to look out the window when you were in the air. It never made you feel anything but panic. You were running out of coping mechanisms that worked, though, and in a last ditch effort to avoid a complete panic attack, you looked out the window. You thought, maybe, it would reassure you to see the plane moving steadily through the air. 

It didn’t. Instead, you felt your stomach plummet, to what felt like the earth underneath you. The ground was so very far away. It was likely your imagination, but it felt as though the plane dropped slightly, and you clutched at the arms of your seat, sitting back rigidly in your chair. Eyes shut, inhaling as much as you could through your nose, and out through your mouth. 

You felt Claudia’s hand tapping on yours, vaguely heard her voice repeating your name. Pina was the last of your worries, though, and any will you had remaining to keep your embarrassing fear a secret had flown out the window, along with the last of your composure. You were trapped in your head, anxiety swirling around until you couldn’t tell up from down, didn’t know anything except for the fact that you were terrified. 

Claudia looked around in panic, having watched you go from somewhat stressed to completely out of it in just a few seconds. She had been trying to distract you from whatever had you acting so odd, but it clearly hadn’t worked. She caught Mapi’s eye, who was sitting next to Ingrid across the aisle. The centerback immediately sat up at the concerned look on the forward’s face. 

Gently, Mapi shifted Ingrid’s head off her shoulder where it was resting as the Norwegian slept, and leaned across the aisle, towards Claudia. 

“You okay, Pina?” Mapi inquired, resting a hand on the younger girl’s shoulder. She didn’t really spare you a glance, assuming that you were out cold, as you normally were on flights. 

“Something is wrong, I don’t know what happened.” Claudia said quietly, nodding her head over to you. Mapi looked closer, noticing for the first time how labored your breathing was, how tight your eyes were shut, how hard you gripped the arms of your seat. She’d never seen you like this before, and it scared her. 

“Up, Pina.” The Spaniard instructed, sliding into the younger girl’s seat. Pina took Mapi’s old seat, watching anxiously as the older woman placed a hand on your arm. 

“Cariño?” Mapi wondered quietly. Your eyes remained shut, your head shaking side to side just slightly. “What’s wrong?” 

Maybe you should have told your teammates about your fear of flying. If not right at the beginning, definitely before you tried to take this painfully long flight unmedicated. Now, it was too late. You’d lost completely the ability to speak, not even really able to focus fully on Mapi talking to you. You were stuck, completely out of your depth and with no way to calm yourself down. The only thing that could help was to be safely back on solid ground, and there was simply no way to make that happen right now. 

Before Mapi could say another word, a hand fell on her shoulder, tapping impatiently. She looked up, finding her captain looking down at her with a frown on her face. 

“Mapi, go back to your seat. You can’t switch seats on an airplane.” Alexia whisper-yelled, clearly grumpy at having to get out of her seat to scold her friend. Surely, she’d made that rule up, but she didn’t have it in her to deal with your and Mapi’s antics, especially not on such a long flight. 

Mapi looked at her nervously, though, gesturing back towards you. “Something’s wrong.” 

Almost instantly after looking at you, Alexia’s face went from grumpy to dead serious, able to recognize that you were very much not okay. “Up, Mapi.” Alexia instructed, grabbing the defender's arm and hauling her out of her seat. Mapi grumbled indignantly, before she did the same thing to Pina, sending the young forward back to the captain’s empty seat.

Sitting down beside you, your captain tried not to panic herself at the state you were in.

 Alexia had seen you upset before, of course she had. Once, you’d knocked on her door in tears after reading some particularly cruel comments about yourself online. Another time, she’d come over to invite you to dinner only to find you curled up on the couch, desperately missing home. When Mapi took her teasing too far, or you sustained even a minor knock during a match, Alexia was always right there to pick you up and help you dust yourself off. She was reliable, she was safe, and she knew how to help you. 

Except now, she didn’t. She called your name a few times, but you didn’t react. 

For your part, you had no idea who was sitting next to you. It was all you could do to stay planted in your seat, and not go charging up the aisle and into the cockpit to beg the pilot to land. Logically, you knew how ridiculous that was, but your ability to be logical was slipping. Quickly. 

Your lungs burned as you hyperventilated, chest pounding and ears ringing. Your body was begging for some kind of relief, anything to get your nervous system to stop overworking itself, even for just a minute. You needed help, you realized. Help you couldn’t give yourself. Forcing your eyes open, you looked to where Pina had been sitting, or had that been Mapi? Either way, you found Alexia staring back at you, her lips moving, but no sound reaching your ears. 

“Chiqui, what are you feeling? Are you sick?” Alexia asked gently, reaching across the divider to pull your hand into hers. It was clammy and shaking in her grip, only reinforcing Alexia’s assumption that you were ill. “It’s okay if you feel unwell, just tell me. I can try to help.” 

Never in your life had you regretted something as much as you regretted not telling Alexia about your anxiety. Not only did she not know what the issue was, but even if you communicated it to her, you thought it to be terribly unlikely that she’d be able to help at all. 

“Come on, talk to me.” Alexia encouraged. If you’d had the ability to do so, you would have shouted at her that you couldn’t talk, obviously. You couldn’t even breathe. Instead, you dug your nails into the palm of your free hand, and forced yourself to suck in a breath. 

“Not sick. Anxiety.” You choked out. There was terror written in your voice, so much so that Alexia felt a sharp pang of fear go through her. Just then, the aircraft jolted slightly. It could barely be called turbulence, so minimal that most of the people around you hadn’t even blinked. Your grip had tightened painfully around Alexia’s hand, and understanding dawned across her face. 

That was all she needed, and thank god, because you were seconds away from asking the flight attendant for a parachute and taking matters into your own hands. 

“Okay, okay. I’ve got you.” Alexia brought your shaky palm to her chest, pressing it right over her heart, before she took a ridiculously exaggerated breath. “Like that, big breath. All you have to do is think about breathing.” 

You tried, inhaling and exhaling so quickly you weren’t even sure any oxygen had entered your lungs. Your vision started to go dark around the edges, and you let out a dry sob, clutching even tighter to Alexia’s hand. 

“No, no, you’re okay. Stay here with me.” Alexia soothed. She let your hand fall from her chest, instead shoving the armrest in between you both up and out of the way. Scooting closer, she pulled you into her arms and squeezed. 

At first, it was suffocating. You were in a plane, an enclosed space to begin with, and you didn’t need that space shrinking any more. You squirmed, trying to escape her grasp, but Alexia held tighter. 

“I’ve got you. Focus on the pressure of my arms around you, feel me breathe. Try to match it. You’re okay, cariño. Everything is okay. ” 

Not really by choice, your body collapsed against your captain, and you tried to do as she’d instructed. You focused on her, the tight hold she had on you. It felt safe, if you thought about it hard enough. 

Safe, not suffocating. 

Her chin rested on your head, her hand rubbing up and down your arm. You could feel her every breath with the way she was holding you, and unconsciously, you began to match it. 

You gasped in breath after breath in time with the rise and fall of Alexia’s chest. Slower, slower, and slower still until your lungs no longer burned. 

In and out. In and out. 

Until your fingers and toes stopped tingling, and your muscles began to relax. 

Your ears stopped ringing, and you could hear again. The white noise of the plane engine was loud, but you could still hear the crinkle of Irene’s water bottle, and a low voice from somewhere in front of you asking if everything was okay. 

Most of all, you could hear Alexia. Still held securely in her arms, she kept up a running dialogue, not allowing herself to fall silent for even a second. 

“There you go, nena. You’re going so well. We’re almost there, and we’ll be off this plane, and everything will be okay. You’re safe, you’re okay. Everything is okay.” 

It was only now that you’d calmed down a bit more that you could process the past few minutes, or however long the period of time you’d panicked had been. Alexia had known exactly what to do, almost as if she was going through a list in her mind. 

She’d tried to get you to listen to her, to breathe. When that hadn’t worked, she’d put pressure around you, hugging you tightly even as you resisted for a moment. She’d stayed calm herself, keeping her breathing and her voice steady. She’d know just what to say, just what to do, and you’d never been more glad for anything in your entire life. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, pulling away from her slightly so you could reach for your water. Alexia beat you to it, unscrewing the cap and handing you the bottle, though you were still shaking slightly. You chugged a few sips, feeling your face grow redder and redder as you realized how much of a scene you’d probably caused. 

“Of course.” Alexia replied, taking the bottle once you were done and tucking it back into your bag. She draped an arm across your shoulders, giving you a comforting squeeze. And while you were embarrassed, there wasn’t much fight left in you to shake her off, and honestly, you still really needed a hug. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, this time a stray tear sliding down your cheek. You wiped it away impatiently, wishing that Mapi would stop staring at you from across the aisle, and that  Irene would stop turning around to check on you. 

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.” Alexia dismissed. “You had no control over that happening. It just happens sometimes.” 

“Do you have them too?” You wondered, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Alexia shook her head, and you felt yourself blush harder. Of course she didn’t. 

“No, my sister does though. And a few teammates.” 

That last part surprised you. “Really? Teammates?” 

“Mhm. Even footballers can have anxiety, cari.” Alexia chuckled, though she frowned when you didn’t laugh with her. “What happened today?”

You found that you couldn’t look her in the eye, shifting out from under her arm and sinking down in your seat. “Panic attack.”

You didn’t need to be looking at her to know that she was giving you a look. “I know that. Why did it happen today? I didn’t even know you had panic attacks.” 

Swallowing roughly, you continued to stare at the seat in front of you. “I ran out of my medicine. I normally take it before flights.” 

Alexia blinked at you. “Before every flight? And you never told me?”

You could hear the hurt in her tone; she’d gone out of her way to be there for you, to be someone you could trust, and now she felt like she’d failed. 

“I wanted to tell you, Ale, I just… I was embarrassed. I shouldn’t be like this, especially not about flying. It’s part of our job. Normally, I have it handled.” 

Alexia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “Cariño, you don’t need to be embarrassed about this. It’s not your fault, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I wish you’d told me, because you don’t have to handle this all on your own.” 

“I know, I know.” You sighed. “I’m sorry.” 

Alexia shook her head again, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Don’t be sorry, please. Just know I’m here.” 

You nodded, letting your head rest on your captain’s shoulder. You felt better, definitely, but anxiety still twisted in your stomach. It was better, though, because you knew you weren’t alone. You were never alone with this team, and never alone with Ale around. 

You’d be reminded of this, repeatedly, on the remaining flights around the US. When Mapi threw M&Ms at you across the aisle, trying to see how many you could catch in your mouth. When Irene bought you a stress ball, and Pina made a list of movies she thought you should watch. And when Alexia held your hand through take off and landing, sticking close by you until you were safely back on the ground in Barcelona. A plane ride and your anxiety had nothing on the determination of your captain, and you should have never doubted that. 

-

this is short and i most certainly despise it but it's been a while since i've posted a fic so :) i hope you enjoy and aren't disappointed!

[liillyliilly]

No Free-Solo

kenji sato x reader words; 10021 synopsis; from high school on, kenji couldn't do it alone, especially not when she was there for him.

“You’re missing me with that busy shit. You’re missing me with your whole ‘I can’t come over tonight’ act.” Kenji sat in what she liked to refer to as his dungeon, his lair, his Ultraman den. His too large for life couch made of black leather was cold and the emptiness was expansive in his mansion. He wanted her near, he wanted her to come back.

“I really can’t come over, I’m helping out Ami with Chiho tonight.” She tried to let him down gently, but he huffed through the phone.

She wasn’t a nanny per se, but she did do a fair amount of long-term babysitting for lots of people, mostly for Ami, occasionally for other busy mothers. She had a certain touch to the whole watching and raising kids thing, entertaining the child while also educating them.

Chiho was snoring in her bed. Ami was out with her fellow reporter boyfriend. And she, well she was watching movies in the family room of Ami’s house. Drawings that Chiho had done were covering the walls, plenty of Ultraman pictures to Kenji’s amusement.

She knew the Sato family through a long-winded connection by friendship shared between mothers. Kenji’s mom was best friends with her mom. In terms of maturity though, she was light years ahead of Kenji even when they were in high school. Back in America, when life was typical (meaning lacking in Kaiju and Ultraman responsibility) and the LA Dodgers still reigned supreme in Kenji’s head. They had met for the first time right before her junior year and his senior year.

She would be the youngest junior at the school and he would be one of the oldest seniors at their Los Angeles high school.

Her mom had insisted they visit her good friend the summer before her junior year started, and that she would need to help the son out in adapting to American High school since they had just moved from Japan.

She was worried due to a potential language barrier, but her mom assured her that he would be fluent in English. But how would her mom know that? Her anxiety was off the charts. She spent hours studying basic Japanese, which she found was probably going to kill her, why a language needs more than one writing system was beyond her.

“Ah! It’s so good to see you, Emiko!” Her mom went in for a big hug, and the petite Japanese woman returned the hug with as much enthusiasm as had been given. Her mom muttered about the separation between Emiko and Hayao, and Emiko gave a strained smile, leading them into the house.

Kenji was lounging on the couch, which she soon learned that he loved to do, a tendency to sprawl due to his height and lankiness. He was switching TV channels, until he landed on a baseball game and committed to watching that.

Her mom ushered her over to him, telling her to make conversation and get to know him. How she expected her to do that despite not knowing him at all was a wonder. She didn’t suspect that they had anything in common, and with the zeal he was watching the baseball game, she also suspected that he wasn’t going to be a huge fan of her preference for movies and shows over sports.

So she mustered up a greeting in Japanese from a textbook she had picked up. She had missed the way his eyes glinted with amusement, it was at that moment he decided to play just a small inconsequential game. A game where he pretended he didn’t know any English.

He responded in Japanese, and she realized she really knew nothing at all about Japanese. He sat up and patted the seat next to him. The moms left the main living space in favor of drinking some tea upstairs on a balcony, leaving her alone and incapable of communicating.

Pointing to herself, she said her name with a forced smile. He said ‘Kenji’ while pointing to himself and saying a variety of other words that she had no idea meant anything at all. At least Japanese sounded pretty, so she started thinking about the linguistic history and design of the syllables. He waved a hand in front of her face and she snapped out of her mini history lesson to herself.

Pushing his joke a little further, he used his head to point to a door near the stairs. She raised an eyebrow. He spoke for a few more moments, and she could only stiffly smile and nod in return. When he grabbed her hand and went to the door she thought she was going to die.

Inside the door was his room, and she really thought that this was the end of her sanity, her childhood, her innocence. She had fandangled herself into an intimate relationship with someone who didn’t even speak English and her heart was going to burst at the seams. Trying to recall all the words she had memorized, she was mad that she never learned the words for; no, stop, or I’ll kill you.

It was when she began to slink towards the door and hold her arms across her body in a cross shape that he realized maybe he should drop the joke. Her ears seemed like they were burning and her breathing had increased to a mile a minute in pace.

“Relax, I just wanted to show you my baseball cards.” He held up a binder and opened it to reveal a collection of player cards double sleeved and tucked neatly into a sheet protector.

“I thought you didn’t speak any English!” She frowned and put a hand to her heart. He laughed and she realized she had fallen for a trick.

“My bad.” He holds his hands together and puts them up near his head with a slight bow to apologize. Kenji pushes his bangs back and licks his top row of teeth, “Do you know if our school has a baseball team?” He asks.

She nods. “We’re in the top bracket for playing, it’s super hard to get onto the team though, my friend tried-”

He raised a hand to get her to stop speaking, then he informed her of his inherent athletic prowess, “Believe me, I’ll get onto the team.”

And he had. He’d even qualified to play on the varsity team.

A few months into the school year, while she was eating in the library with some friends, Kenji came bustling into the open space with his pack of baseball players. They always tagged along behind him, treating him like some sort of fancy foreign exchange kid, which she realized was exactly the situation and so her mental analogy didn’t end up working out and she clicked her teeth.

But the majority of white boys at the school did tend to lean a little too hard into the racial stereotypes and unfunny jokes. All Kenji could do sometimes was purse his lips and keep eating his natto. They thought because they had an Asian friend it was an excuse for their behavior, why Kenji never stood up to them and told them off was a huge confounding plight in her eyes. Kenji himself didn’t quite understand it either. Not even when they shortened his name into just Ken for ease and convenience.

Before she could tidy up her comparison and dissection of Kenji Sato, he was leaning on her desk, eating her carrots and searching for her eyes to meet him. He said something in Japanese, and she tried to remember how the words sounded so she could look up what he had said.

“I need your help.” He stole a bite of her sandwich, then drank some of her water. Before he even took it without asking, she offered her pastry to him and he ate the whole thing in one bite and mumbled a ‘thanks’ with his mouth full. He finished chewing and swallowing.

“I need you to pretend to date me so I can get these guys off my back.” He stuck his thumb in the direction of his teammates.

“Absolutely not. No way in hell, Kenji.” She started to pack up her bag, but he just put his hand on her bag and pressed it hard against the desk. With his other hand he gently grabbed her by the chin, and tilted her face up to his. Inches away. Her eyes went wide.

“Pretty please?” He licked his lips and she tried to bring her own face back to avoid his tongue getting to her lips.

She thought about what her mom said, telling her to help out Kenji if he needed it. This couldn't apply though, right?

“I’m going to need so many favors.” She groaned, managing to get her bag out from under his hands.

He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, ruffling her hair and heading out with his friends who began to goad him for keeping her a secret for so long. He had just taken her first kiss and it didn’t seem like it bothered him at all. She was too busy pressing her hand to her lips to even notice the way his ears were a scorching hot red.

When she went to research what he had said to her, she thought she must have misheard him because the proposed English translation was something along the lines of, ‘please let this work out in my favor’.

Continuously, she called in favors, and he was there to meet them. Getting books off the top shelves in the library. Sharpening pencils when they were studying. Even helping her learn just a little more of his language.

“No, no you gotta give each syllable its own beat. Copy me.” Kenji went over the blended ‘r’ and ‘l’ sound that felt clunky in her mouth.

She did replicate what he was saying, at least to her own belief that that was her best ability. He laughed a little and she frowned.

“Okay, move your tongue a little, right behind your front teeth, but also not touching your teeth, just let your tongue kinda do the sound in the middle.” Kenji opened his mouth a little so she could observe. She tried again but it sounded even worse than the first attempt.

“I wish I could just move your tongue for you so you could get the motion right.” She looked quickly side to side, biting her bottom lip. Kenji backtracked immediately, “That didn’t come out quite right, I think that’s enough Japanese for one day.” She nodded rapidly and closed the journal she was using to take notes.

He said that they could go get food, she agreed and they got burgers and milkshakes at a run down family owned diner. He paid, despite her insisting she could pay for her own food. Saying that that was apart of the whole fake dating thing.

“You know, you do a lot of things under the guise of our not dating, dating thing.” She sipped her milkshake. Kenji took a bite of his burger, musing about what he would say.

“Well, we’re friends as well right?”

“Yeah, we’ve been hanging out since you basically arrived here. We’re friends, but honestly, we behave more like best friends.” She finished off her shake and cleaned up her area.

That was something he liked about her, her consideration for cleanliness and organization. But also her appreciation for others around her, cleaning up her stuff so that the likely overworked waitress didn’t have to. A person who thinks about other people. Now that was his type he decided.

“I’m happy with being best friends.”

In all fairness, he was probably the best fake boyfriend that a girl could’ve asked for. They had settled on knowing their relationship was best friends, but for others they had the additional label of dating. Sometimes though, he’d do something like grab her hand or wrap an arm around her. When those situations presented themselves, she always looked for possible viewers, his teammates. But based on her data, he only did things like that around 20% of the time when his teammates were actually watching. Meaning that the other 80% of the time he did the physical acts of affection, no one was around to watch.

While his English was practically perfect, he had the hardest time in social studies and history, so he got her help with his U.S. government class. He claimed that because he hadn’t lived here at all, and because he had Japanese citizenship that this class was completely useless for him. His defeatist attitude towards history made her roll her eyes at him.

One day, when she was intending to come over to help him, Emiko crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe as he cleaned up his room. He threw his baseball socks and jersey into the dirty clothes hamper.

“She’s coming over then?”

He mumbled an affirmative answer.

Emiko got giddy, saying she’d make a good rich curry tonight for dinner and that he’d need to tell her to stay for dinner. He gave a wave and kept picking up his room.

When the doorbell rang, he ran to the door. Emiko chastened him and told him to calm down. He let her in, and she greeted his mom, giving Emiko the box of fruit her own mom told her to drop off. He complained in Japanese that she always went straight to his mom instead of greeting him first. Emiko in turn smiled at her while scolding her son again in Japanese.

Watching the conversation unfold, she shrugged, Japanese was just not her strong suit.

“How hard is it to understand a constitutional federal republic?” She looked over his essay answer to a prompt she had given him to practice for his upcoming test. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, chewing the end of a pen. She was leaning against his bed frame, reading papers and marking up his essay with her red pen. Each time she made another red mark, he grumbled. Of all the people she had tutored though, his handwriting was the best.

“Correct these things first, and then I can edit again with my orange pen.” She held up said pen while handing the paper back to him. He just mimicked what she had said, holding his own pen the same way she had held up hers, even going so far as to bring his shoulders upwards to make him appear smaller.

In response to the insulting imitation she grabbed her notebook and hit him repeatedly on the knee. He let out a pained ouch, and she felt bad, so she put the notebook away and just patted his knee instead.

“If you really loved me you’d just write out the whole essay and then I could just memorize it and cross apply the right parts for the actual prompt Mr. Henry gives in class next week.” Kenji adjusted his body position, and her hand wasn’t on his knee anymore but dead center of his thigh instead. He smirks, and she immediately retracts her hand.

“Good thing I don’t love you then.” Kenji presses his hand to his heart and sighs, falling back into his pillow. “Just do the essay Jiji.”

He lifted his head and repeated what she had said, “Jiji?”

“Kenji.” She says his name and enunciates the two syllables cleanly.

“I like Jiji, I think it suits me. It’s a cute nickname.”

He finished rewriting the essay while she poked around his room. Photos of him with his mom and dad, which she already knew not to ask about because last time she did he went total silence for two weeks. But then he felt guilty about ghosting and took her out to get a sweet treat everyday after school for one week straight. Trophies from his old school back in Japan for his baseball achievements. Multiple MVP awards from the games he had played here.

The other photos that were in his room were mostly of him and his teammates. He just didn’t look too happy in those ones, so she tried to skim them, but failed. His teammates did their best to make him seem like he was a part of the group, but it just didn’t click all the way. Kenji always looked too serious in the photos, or it seemed like he was actually looking at the baseball diamond instead of the person taking the photo.

There was an adorable little figure, made either of acrylic or vinyl, of a little superhero with a red and silver supersuit and a blue circle on the chest. She picked it up and inspected it. What she assumed was Kenji’s name was on the foot of the toy. She bent the arms of the toy and moved it around like it was flying midair.

Kenji had completely paused writing his essay in favor of watching her dart around his room. He clenched his jaw for a second when she picked up the Ultraman toy, then eased his body language when she started making the toy fly around. If only that’s what Ultraman really was, just a toy. Just a toy and not an impending responsibility to protect and serve the people of Japan from Kaiju monsters. He wondered if she’d ever want to live somewhere besides Los Angeles. Tokyo for example.

“Kenji! Curry! Get the applesauce from the cabinet please!” Emiko called out.

She set the toy down and turned around, but Kenji was already standing right behind her. He had only meant to watch her movements a little more closely, but now this was entirely too close. He played it off like he was adjusting the Ultraman doll, smiled and then opened his door for her to exit and head downstairs.

When he heard the steps trailing down, he silently screamed and raised his hands to the sides of his head. Then he dragged a hand down his face and carded fingers through his hair. He envied the self he saw in the photos, cool and nonchalant.

“So, are there any boys you think are cute at school?” Emiko ate another bite of katsu that was drenched in curry sauce.

She swallowed thickly for a second, “I- uh, no. There’s not many good options for dating material at a hyper-athletic school.” She laughed to cut the edge off the conversation.

Emiko drank some water, but then prodded a little more. Kenji wished the earth would open and swallow him up.

“Not even at a school full of athletes? I would’ve sworn there were some good options for you on Kenji’s baseball team. What was his name? Eric? Eli?”

“Ohh, Ezra Johnson?” She supplied, eating some applesauce and then tapping her mouth with a napkin.

Kenji looked to her, then to his mom, then back at her. He was trying to stuff his face with his food so he could exit the conversation and then drag her and himself back to his room. She seemed insistent on blocking out the whole fake dating thing from his mom’s view and perception.

“Yes! He’s a really nice kid! He actually greeted me when I went to the first game. It was so sweet of him. His mom and I got to know each other a little bit. I can send you his details if you want?” Emiko grazed the back of her phone.

“No!” Kenji burst. His mom and his fake girlfriend both looked at him. “Uh, Ezra is talking to this girl named, um, Claire. Yeah, Claire.” He held his plate up and his mom nodded.

Rinsing his plate off he put it into the dishwasher, then from behind his mom’s back he tried mouthing to her so they could go back upstairs but she was too busy still talking to his mom to notice anything.

When she finally finished eating, she said she needed to go back home.

“What about my essay though?” Kenji rested his forearms on the kitchen counter while she was busy doing the dishes despite having to gently fight with Emiko about letting her even do the dishes in the first place.

“I gave you enough content to work with, just do the corrections and you’ll be good to go.” She bumped the dishwasher with her hip to close it, and he wondered what her bumping into him would feel like. And then he groveled a little that he wanted to be a dishwasher for even a split second. “I need to do my own homework now, tell your mom thank you again for me, okay?”

She rubbed his arm to comfort him slightly, but he took his chance to reach to her hip, tugging her lightly into him.

“What are you doing?” She hissed at him, trying to keep her voice down in case Emiko was still lurking around.

“Saying thanks for the help, goodbye, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” He grabbed the hand that she had on his arm and held her hand for a second, then brought it up to his mouth to press a light kiss to her knuckles.

She smiled, then pushed his shoulder.

When she had left the house, he flung himself onto the couch and giggled a little. Kicking his feet that were dangling over the arm of the couch. His mom peeked downstairs to see Kenji wriggling around and muttering. She just laughed a little. Maybe her instigation had worked out in the end.

The next week, she was hounded by baseball players after school.

She kept holding up a hand to cover her face, but they would not relent. Asking questions about her and Kenji. What Kenji was like outside of school, outside of baseball. If Kenji ever stopped being serious and aloof for even a minute. At this point they were just crowding her and not giving her the space to breathe.

She kept giving short curt answers, tugging her backpack straps closer and closer to her. At one point, one of them stepped on her foot and she winced a little.

It was like some kind of sonar sensor, Kenji could tell something was wrong. When he turned the corner, all he could see was his girl getting cornered by a bunch of idiots who didn’t even have his best interest at heart. The only reason why he asked her to fake date him was so that he could get out of dates with the girls his teammates had thought would suit him. The secondary reason was so she could avoid his teammates entirely. But clearly, the second reason did not go as planned because his teammates were a bunch of no-brainers who didn’t even really care about baseball.

“Hey, let’s go, I’ll drive you home today.” Kenji stuck his hand in between two of his teammates, and she grabbed it, so he was able to pull her out from the crowd they had made around her.

He strung two fingers around her jean belt loop and guided her to his car. When they finally sat down, and Kenji had started the engine, she let out a shaky breath. He put his hand behind her seat, and then moved his hand so he could lightly touch the back of her neck at her nape.

“Are you okay? I had no idea they would do something like that, I mean, it’s just completely ridiculous. I don’t even talk to them that much, if at all. And they treat me like some kind of foreigner, which I may be yeah, but really come on. That’s just herd mentality to the max. Ridiculous behavior, so childish.” Kenji kept talking while driving, she thought that maybe he needed a chance to really unload everything and mitigate the tension that had built up around him.

When they got to her house, he apologized again. And again.

“Don’t let it eat you alive, it’s all good, no harm no foul, if it makes you feel better, they totally reeked of body odor.” She chimed in after he finished his long wind of apologies. “And, um, what time is your game on Wednesday? My mom asked, she wants to hang out with your mom.”

“And here I thought you just wanted to see me completely kill the opposing team.” Kenji tried to lean out of the car just a little more, but his seatbelt kept him from getting his head out of the passenger side window. “I’ll text you. Get to your house safe ok?”

To her house from the car was approximately seven steps. The smile she gave him wrinkled her eyes and creased her nose just perfectly. He slid his hands up and down the wheel, smiling to himself as he started home.

The game went perfectly, he stole practically all the bases, and he made two home run hits. And an LA Dodgers scout was there. Once he got the documents and the scout shaked his hand, he was over the moon excited to play for the best team in the United States.

When he saw her with her mom and his mom, he just couldn’t hold himself back. In a second, he was hugging her and ranting about the scout continuously just repeating the experience over and over. Since his mom knew she would have a hard time prying Kenji off of his best friend, she just had to listen in to what he was saying, and she clapped when she had finally heard it all, celebrating from just far enough away to let them enjoy the moment.

His graduation was boring, she sat with his mom in the stands waiting for him to get his name called out. There were a lot of speeches, and she recognized the valedictorian from various library encounters, but for the most part everyone was a stranger to her. Emiko kept getting a call from an international number, but she didn’t try to ask about it.

Kenji barrelled through the crowd of graduates to get to his people, his mom and his best friend. When he started to talk about what he was going to do over the summer, his baseball camps and training, getting to meet the members of his team. His mom put a gentle hand to his shoulder, and he furrowed his eyebrows at the serious environment his mom had suddenly crafted. She backed away a little, but Kenji grabbed her hand and shook his head, telling her to stay for whatever his mom had to say.

“Kenji, your dad, he’s, your dad wants to talk to you. He’s, he’s on the phone.” Emiko couldn’t help but stutter a little, unnerved with how Kenji would react.

Kenji shook his head no, pulling her closer to him trying to use her as a crutch to prevent an interaction with his father from occurring. She looked between Kenji and his mother for a moment. Emiko with her tightened face and hand gripping the phone tightly said more than what her original request was saying. Emiko wanted Kenji to answer the call. So, she in turn encouraged him to answer it.

“Jiji, just answer the call. It’s your dad.” He felt betrayed.

“I’m not picking up the phone, I’m not talking to dad, and I’m getting a ride with a friend.” He pulls his hand away, despite missing her touch, and leaves his mom and her standing and stunned from his reaction.

Emiko pulled her into a side hug. “Thanks for backing me, you’re much more mature than I think people give you credit for. I have udon at home, call your mom and let’s have a girls night. I don’t think he’ll be home for a while. I’ll let him blow off steam today, but don’t think I’m soft on him, he’ll have some hell to pay when I catch him tomorrow.”

Patting the back of her head, Emiko went to the small electric van. She stood for a second, thinking about the space Kenji had just occupied. Maybe the family dynamic in the Sato household was more complex than she had anticipated, Emiko seemed to still love her husband despite them being separated. Kenji seemed adverse to and angry with his father, but Emiko didn’t carry any slight of resentment.

Girls night was a blast, including face masks and bad romance movies. Kenji got back around midnight, just as her mom and her were leaving his house. When she left, he was the one who closed the door after her. He gave a short pained smile and a wave. In her mind, it was a win because at least he wasn’t upset with her for taking Emiko’s side.

Summer was hot and burned the apples of her cheeks, leaving both sunburns and memories in it’s fragmented state. Kenji was busy conditioning for baseball practically everyday. Somedays he’d invite her out just to watch him play, so she could sip some icy lemonade and sit in the shade instead of being cooped in her house doing whatever it is that homebodies do.

It would be deceiving to say that she didn’t enjoy just watching him play. The way his baseball jersey would bunch at his elbows and shoulders when he hit the ball. Or the way he would run the bases each time he missed a throw from the ball machine. He still needed to get a haircut, so his bangs would completely cover most of his face, until he ran a hand through his sweaty hair and his almost snake-like eyes would study her from afar.

The best part was when he told her to move her legs a little, so he could sit on the row of bleachers in front of her. Eventually positioning himself to settle in between her legs, resting his arms on her thighs and his head was leaning on her torso. Although his sweat would lightly mark up her shirts when his hair dripped from his practice rounds, she still loved to be there for him in this capacity.

Either he was here with her or he would be at the diamond alone and angry. When he came alone, he would throw his bat when he made a mistake instead of just brushing it off and doing a lap. Somehow, doing baseball training alone while waiting for official LA Dodgers’ orders made him all pent up and out of control. So when she came to observe, it felt like he had more things in his control, his ability to manage.

“How are you gonna survive without me next year?” Kenji rolled his shoulders before getting his water bottle and guzzling down the IV infused liquid.

“Well, as far as everyone knows, we’re still dating, so I’ll have another year of free solo-ing the romance world at a hormone ridden cesspool.” She slid her backpack on, ready to start the trek home.

Kenji slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, then quickly switched which shoulder his bag was on once he saw which side she let her bag rest on, so that their bags wouldn’t bump into each other as he walked her home.

“You’re not gonna tell people we ended it?” Kenji sucked in some air through his teeth, readjusting the bag’s weight placement a little.

“Nah, it’s just easier that way. At graduation though if anyone asks how we’re doing I’ll say you found a supermodel that preys on greenie Pro-Baseball players.”

He nods, accepting the route she was going in order to terminalize their fake relationship.

“I was a good boyfriend though, right?” Maybe he asked so that he could feel out the possibility of a real one, or seeing what he could do better when he finally worked up enough courage to ask her out for real and for forever. For now though, he knew that friendship would satiate most of his yearning for her time and attention.

“Comparatively, to what I heard other girls went through, you were practically a saint. I mean, you never did press me into a couch so we could make out. Ruby held that over my head for the whole year once her girlfriend did that to her.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad actually,” Kenji stroked his chin, “One last boyfriend duty for me to do before I get too busy, ya know?”

“Kiss me without permission and you're a dead baseball boy.” He held up his hands defensively.

“That was one time.”

“In the middle of the library, in front of a good majority of my friends, right after I had been begged to be a fake girlfriend.”

Kenji raised his eyebrows, and tilted his head, “I do not recall begging.”

“You definitely begged,” She clasped her hands together and turned towards him, pausing their pace on the sidewalk for her to parody him, “Pretty please.”

She fluttered her eyelashes and pouted dramatically.

He rolled his eyes and tugged her hands so she would keep walking.

The postseason began around October for Kenji, and he made his official debut into the stage of professional baseball. Around the fifth game he played, he snapped. And that’s why he was sitting on her bathroom counter holding a bag of peas to the side of his face, while she dug through the closet just outside the bathroom looking for a first aid kit.

The catcher had just stepped out of line according to Kenji, messing up his at bat routine with his comments about his age, his inexperience, his lack of genuine talent. The first punch was Kenji’s, the second punch was the catcher’s and it rocked Kenji immediately.

Tasting the metallic blood in his mouth, he was just glad all his teeth were okay. He did feel bad for going to her instead of going home. But he knew that his mom would’ve killed him for hitting another player. The only reason why his mom wasn’t at this specific game was because she had some research files from years ago that his father needed, so she was spending the time trying to transfer data from floppy disks to USB drives.

She should’ve been asleep, or studying for her upcoming exams. He felt like an inconvenience and like a child who was being coddled, but he did feel like he was being fawned over by her which he could live with. Even the way she had reacted to him texting her and asking if she could help patch him up a little. She had sent nearly thirty messages, mostly angry, but also laced with worry.

“This might sting a little.” She reached up and pressed a cloth to his lip. He lurched away from the disinfectant, and she almost fell over due to having to reach up to get to his face.

“Hold on, give me a second.” Kenji got off the counter regardless of her complaints, she stopped complaining and was silenced once he swapped their positions, her sitting on the counter and him in front of her with his hands on either side of her hips, placed on the edge of the counter. “Better.”

She hummed a little, pressing the cloth to his face again, he tried to not lurch away this time. She put some triple antibiotic ointment on his lip and temple where there were some cuts. Putting some small star shaped bandages on his face where the cuts were biggest.

“All done!” She put her hands on his shoulders and gave a big smile.

Maybe he leaned in, maybe he didn’t. But their lips were definitely touching. When she pushed him away he realized he must have made a fatal error. So he decided to play it off.

“Sorry, a little faint from the fight earlier, not in my right mind.”

“Yeah, you, uh, you were just trying to, yeah.” She chewed the inside of her mouth.

Kenji helped her off the counter, and walked to her front door, ready to head out.

Holding onto the door, she stuck her head out and commented to him before he got too far away from hearing distance, “No more fights okay?”

He threw her a thumbs up before leaving her house. When he was safely back in his car, he did something that was all too familiar when he slipped up around her, he silently screamed and gripped his hair.

Years went by.

They stayed close, and he made sure of that. Baseball was going great, but no championships under his belt. She had graduated college, working at an office as an assistant. She moved out of her family home and got a shared apartment with some college friends who also worked in the main part of Los Angeles

Then, his dad hurt his leg, and everything went to hell. Hayao had called, telling Kenji it was finally time to take the name of Ultraman. He now needed to bear the gauntlet, the responsibility of keeping his home country safe. His mom just agreed, putting her hands on Kenji’s knee. Telling Kenji it was finally time for him to go home and be who he was supposed to be. And he was supposed to be Ultraman?

Baseball was his thing, he knew baseball and he was good at it too. Baseball felt like home, LA felt like his home, she felt like his home.

On top of all that, within a week of his father’s request and his mother’s urging, his mother had an accident. He had no idea what happened. Just that one day, Emiko was there and then she wasn’t.

He was depressed, and so he drank. His house was a mess. Dirty dishes piled up in the sink, he was wearing the same clothes from four days ago. His toothbrush had become unfamiliar. He didn’t bother turning on the lights, staying in the dark and sulking.

When her mom found out about Emiko’s disappearance and presumed death, she called her daughter and told her to check in on Kenji. He had been distant lately, and she knew that the distance was a result of his grief. Her stomach twisted into knots, and she realized she hadn’t reached out to him in a few weeks.

His front door was locked, she had a basket of fruit and a stack of tupperwares filled with lunches and dinners for an entire week. She tried to think about what food were both comforting and had a lot of protein, so she made a variety of pasta dishes with extra meat.

“Kenji?” She knocked repeatedly, checking her phone only to see that her messages had been left on read. She called out for him again, knocking harder. “I know you’re in there Jiji.”

Opening the door made her grasp the gravity of the situation he was in. His hair was covering his face, he seemed to have recoiled into himself, wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt instead of his typical jeans and jersey thrown over a solid color tee. He smelled too, not of his usual mintiness and clean linen, but of all and any sort of alcohol. With eye bags darker than dirt, and hollow looking features, he just left the door open as he lurked back into his blacked out house.

Setting her gifts on his kitchen counter, she turned on the lights, and got to work. First the dishes, and then she picked up all the clothing and started a load of laundry. She made him a plate of the food she had brought, and a big glass of water and some Advil for the inevitable hangover he would have.

Lying on the couch, Kenji played with the hem of his sweatshirt. He tried to take another sip straight from a bottle of red wine when she stole it out of his hands. Whining, he told her to give it back and turn the lights off. She clicked her tongue.

“Eat this,” she handed him the plate, “Drink this,” she sat the water and pill on the coffee table. She tapped her foot, her arms folded in front of her chest. He groaned but did as told.

Satisfied with his actions, she dragged him upstairs and told him to take a shower. Hearing the water running, she looked around his room and cleaned it up. His passport, along with a one way ticket to Tokyo for one month out, was on the floor, covered by blankets that were strewn around. Opened letters were lying on the floor as well, pictures and clippings of ‘Kaiju’ attacks in Japan. Maybe she needed to brush up on her international news instead of staying in her little bubble.

Coming out of the shower with baggy clothes on, he dried his hair with a small towel.

“What are you doing?” He saw her holding the letters his dad had sent. He reached out for them, but she held them back and to her chest.

“What are Kaiju?”

Soon, he was sitting on his bed with her as well. He had the Ultraman doll in his left hand and a stuffed animal that she had given him some years ago in his right hand.

“Basically, I’m this, by blood,” He shook the Ultraman doll, “And I’m supposed to fight these back home. Since my father can’t anymore.” Laughing slightly, he slammed Ultraman into the stuffie repeatedly.

Her eyes were wide. She may not have understood everything about what he was, or what he was supposed to be doing, but she knew it was important to him to some degree. It was irrelevant that his dad needed him, the only thing he cared about was that his mom had asked him to take the step to become something he wasn’t sure of.

But the idea that her best friend was going to be a superhero? That he could change into some kind of robotic monster slayer? She had to disconnect a little from reality just to process the whole thing.

Suddenly, he thought of something that could possibly get him out of his funk. Something that could make his time in Tokyo, living an entirely new life bearable.

“There’s some extra rooms at the place I’ll be living in. I know that you want to go to some kind of graduate school. There are really good graduate schools in Tokyo.” He scratched the back of his head, if she said yes, then he would be truly mortified that she had seen him like this but he would also get to have neverending time with her on a day to day basis if she agreed.

“I remember none of the Japanese you taught me, I’d need to get a visa,” She started listing off all the things that would keep her from leaving, “But, uh, I think I’ll go with you. Yes.”

“I can handle the visa thing, you’re just going to need to sign some papers and have an interview with some people, and you’ll need to wear a ring on your ring finger. As for the Japanese, I’m a better teacher now than when I was 18.”

Getting married was not on her bucket list, but at least she could get better tuition at her graduate school for technically being a form of naturalized Japanese national. Her mom was glad to see her living away from LA, and she was grateful for Kenji going with her daughter. Her mom just didn’t know about the marriage for a green card/visa situation, and honestly, she didn’t plan on telling her mom.

The whole flight to Tokyo she was practicing her Japanese with Kenji. For the first time in a long time, he was actually happy. Not ready for the whole Ultraman thing, but ready at least to leave home and be out of LA. Los Angeles reminded him of his mother, every street sign, every restaurant, the greenery and flowers, it all came back to his mom.

What he had explained to her as the Ultrabase wasn’t just some place that he was staying at, it was a literal industrial modern masterpiece of a mansion. The sleek design ebbed and flowed into the molding of the island it resided on. Ceilings higher than a museum’s, she traced her finger along every surface trying to soak in the elitism of it all. He reclined himself on the ginormous couch, watching her observe the surroundings.

To him, she was the best feature of the homebase. Where most things were cold and stricken with a detrimental weight of his responsibility, she was like a beam of no expectations. She gave him the space to just exist without pressure. That and she was always fighting with his robot assistant MINA which also made each time returning back from fighting a little easier to endure.

“Listen MINA, I just think that you’d be more effective if you were pink, also can you pass me my pencil case.” She was sitting at the kitchen table, snacking on candy and working on an assignment from one of her professors on her Master’s Committee. MINA used an extended robot hand to fly over the pencil case that had been in her backpack.

“If I was pink, it would detract from my integrated design.” MINA floats around her head, observing her completed work thus far. “Your work is completely correct, why are you changing the grammatical structure?”

“For the love of the process MINA, for the love of the process.”

Kenji just ate another bite of his New York Strip, enjoying the free entertainment. When he finished his meal, he asked if she wanted to go out for an adventure.

Matching helmets, black and gold design with her wearing one of his extra leather jackets just in case. For safety he justified. The cool Tokyo air felt even colder as they rushed around the streets, lane splitting and cutting in between cars. The headphones had built in bluetooth so they were listening to a shared playlist they had made. Blending rap, RNB, pop, and EDM crafted the right ambiance needed for a late night drive.

In some ways, Tokyo was similar to LA. She reasoned that it might have been the lights to a certain degree, but here, the lights were brighter and bolder. Neon signs and air pollution were the common denominators between the two cities.

He takes a corner just a little too hard, and she instinctively tightens her arms around his waist, tucking her head a little closer to his shoulder.

They end up taking a break for a minute, pulling off the side of the road to grab some vending machine drinks. Tea for her, coffee for him.

That’s when his watch begins to blare red. She fidgets with the ring on her hand, she didn’t need to wear it around he told her, but the cool diamond gem had grown on her. Just as a precaution if the case workers came around to check on their ‘marriage’, that was the explanation she gave to him for why she always had her ring on. They never talked about why he always kept his on too, despite interviews asking and continuously pestering him about the ring. The baseball world had just concluded it was either a secret wife or for the style since he never gave an answer.

“I think you have to go do your whole superman thing.” She pointed at his watch that he was trying to ignore.

Kenji groaned a little, calling for a ride so she could get back to his place. MINA had already gotten to them by the time the watch had started to blare.

“Ken, it is time to mitigate the primary conflict in Shinjuku.” MINA did a bow with their robot body. She tried to throw a pebble at MINA to test for reaction time, that being said MINA caught the rock. She shrugged.

Back at the dungeon, also known as the Ultrabase much to her distaste for a name like that, she was surprised to see an elderly man with a crutch sitting on the couch in the central living room.

He was watching a big hologram screen, which now clearly looked like Kenji (in Ultraman form) fighting with a pink monster dragon thing. When he got a particularly nasty body slam she sucked in some air through her teeth.

“Ahh, hello strange girl in the Ultraman base.” He circled her for a moment, his crutch slowing down his assessment of her.

“Ahh, hi strange grandpa in the Ultraman base.” She waved, and the older gentleman introduced himself as Professor Sato.

“Kenji’s dad?” She checked.

“Yes, I’m his father.” She nods, getting a glass of water.

When Kenji gets back to the base, that’s when things get a little crazy. What was once a slimy egg turned into a cute komodo dragon mutant baby. She was all over the baby in an instant, trying to get to know it better.

“She’s adorable. I love her.” She was tapping the glass of the containment cylinder, cooing at the infant Kaiju. The baby seemed to respond positively, making little coos back and stomping around a little.

Kenji just folded his arms and took it all in. He was still trying to get rid of his dad, despite his father’s willingness to help out. He just couldn’t balance it all without Hayao’s help, he realized. Especially when Emi needed more assistance, and help avoiding the KDF’s insistent attacks. She loved Emi, despite the Kaiju having the ability to totally crush her, Emi reciprocated quickly to her. Considering the contrast in how long it took for Kenji to demonstrate that his Ultaman form and his regular self were the same through systematic desensitization.

They became a family, even if a family consisted of a pro-baseball player, his fake wife/best friend, an estranged but loving father, a Kaiju baby, and a robot assistant.

A learning curve consisted of a lot more mistakes and complaining, but at the end of it all, Kenji had to commit. He was Ultraman now. He needed to protect Tokyo. At least now he had a support system he could rely on. Slowly, changes occurred with him. Putting others before himself, really truly thinking about life and the value of other human beings. The catalyst was a Kaiju baby named Emi, especially the way that said Kaiju baby loved openly.

The misadventures of raising Emi were wild and laced with KDF fights, but in the end, Kenji and his dad were brought together by defending Kaiju in a unique way. The monsters weren’t intentionally villains, humans had just made them out to be like that. That’s life though, people defining and categorizing things into concepts and schemas that made sense to them.

That’s what his dad was doing when he and Emiko separated. Hayao was trying to find ways to open human eyes to the world and beauty of Kaiju. Living in tandem with them may not have been immediately possible but why shouldn’t it be ever given a chance? Professor Sato, his dad, wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, he was trying his best to make the world a little bit better. Forgiving a father who he once believed left him wasn’t an easy road, but it was a path that needed to be traveled.

Saying goodbye to Emi was rough, yet, the Kaiju Island was close enough to go and visit on occasion. Baseball was great, winning the championship and going into a post-season diffusement.

Yet, Kaiju still came and wreaked havoc, and Kenji still had to fight and protect Japan. Even if that meant coming back to the base bloodied and bruised. She was almost always there, wrapping his arms in white bandages and wiping off blood with towels. Running ice baths and making cold soba noodles.

Which is what she was doing at this moment, rinsing the noodles in ice water and stirring a sweet sauce for Kenji to pour over rather than dunk his noodles into.

He was resting a frozen water bottle on his shoulder, hoping it would numb the pain, the Kaiju just had to try and rip his good arm off didn’t it?

“Hey, can I come in? Got your soba.” She knocked on the bathroom door using her elbow, since both hands were carrying bowls of soba with sauce containers precariously resting on her lower palms.

“Yeah, I’m wearing swim trunks.”

“Good because I’m not ready to see you naked, like, ever.” She chuckled, but pulled a chair next to the ceramic tub, breaking her chopsticks and saying a quick itadakimasu. He copied her, immediately drowning his noodles in the sauce she set on the edge of the tub. She rolled her eyes at his action.

He laughed a little, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, “What, it tastes better like this.”

She hummed an affirmative sound, but her eyes glinted with an agree to disagree conclusion.

The noodles had been fully digested, but she was still there, dipping her fingers into the water and making small swirls. The frigid temperature makes her fingers feel detached from her body.

Kenji lowers himself in the tub for a moment, getting his hair wet. When he came back up, she was pushing his bangs away from his face, smiling. Her hand stayed in his hair, brushing the strands away from his face as they dropped droplets down the back of his neck and then into the tub again. The ice cubes bumped into each other, melting slowly but steadily.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, uttering a few words, “Hot tub?”

She nods and heads out of the bathroom to get a swimsuit on.

The pool on the second to bottom floor of the base had an attached hot tub. He turned on the low lights, leaving the space in a warm brown shade of yellow light. The glass wall gave an outlook over the city and the ocean that surrounded the base.

MINA zoomed into the pool area, “Shall I put on some smooth jazz Ken?”

“No. Do not do that.” Kenji waved off MINA with red stinging his ears. MINA states they were just trying to speed up the whole process, and quoted one of her favorite phrases adding an addendum of MINA’s understanding and AI learning, “For the love of the process, especially if it's about love.”

The hot tub was warm, not quite boiling, but warm. She rested her arms on the outside ledge of the tub, looking out through the window. Kenji came to her side and replicated how she was positioned, before remembering that his shoulder hurt and gave out a small sound of displeasure. She giggled a little, rubbing the back of his shoulder where there weren't any distinct injuries.

“You’ve changed a lot since we were in high school.” She closed her eyes and dropped her head so that it was on her crossed arms.

“That’s what happens with time.” He wants to ask why she brought up his self-improvement. But she cuts him off before any words settle in his mouth.

“Yeah, but you’ve made a lot of great changes. You’re actually friends with your teammates now. And you’ve taken on this whole responsibility for an entire country. You aren’t just Kenji Sato, you’re also Ken Sato, and Ultraman, and I like to think you’ve fully embraced your father again, and not to mention our friendship.” She looks up at the ceiling, “You’re like an actual adult now.”

“I’ve been an adult for way longer than you.”

“But not like this, like an actual responsible person. You can juggle everything now.”

She sniffles a little, “Which is why I can understand if you don’t want me to stay once I finish my program you know?”

Kenji grabs a hold of one of her hands, “What the hell? Why would you ever think I’d want to kick you out?”

She shrugs.

He continues, “I hate to say it, but I think you’re stuck with me. You know too much about my dark secrets.” She smirks in response to his teasing tone.

Kenji dives deeper into things he wished he would’ve said earlier.

“I mean, you already have the ring to prove it too.” Her mouth gapes open a little, raising an eyebrow.

It would be amiss to say that this wouldn’t alter everything, but it was time.

“I know that we’ve only ever been friends, but you need to know what I feel.”

“I think I already know.” She cups the side of his face, and he pulls her into him, and makes her face him. She’s sitting on the expanse of his thighs, and he looks up at her from how he’s leaning back onto the wall of the hot tub.

Wrapping arms around his neck, careful to not rest too much of her arm on his shoulder, she brings their noses to brush against each other.

“Mine now? Right? You’re mine now?” When she doesn’t respond he continues, “Pretty please? Mine?”

“I thought you said you never begged?” She grazes his lips with her own and he sighs with a light shudder in his chest.

“I’ll beg for this, for you.”

“Fair enough.”

He tightens his grip and pulls her flush to him. Angling his neck up and tilting his head, he kisses her. She smiles too much for it to be a proper kiss, but he keeps pressing against her mouth. When she stops smiling and starts responding with her own pressure of lips to lips, he has to suppress the hunger to bite her.

His tongue brushes against her bottom lip and she opens her mouth for him, he runs his tongue along the inner lining of her mouth before biting on the tip of her tongue when she tries to take her turn. He chuckles when she pulls back a little, nose crinkled and lips wet.

“C’mere.” He trails kisses down the side of her face, going to her neck and collarbones, glad that her swimsuit was low cut enough for him to graze the top of her chest, where the rise of her curves began. She just presses kisses to the top of his head while her hand tangles into the hair at his nape, twisting the locks into fake curls.

When their fingers were wrinkled from the water in the hot tub, they showered and curled up on his bed, watching a meaningless show.

“So, my thoughts are that we can just skip the dating thing and go straight to marriage since legally we already are.”

“My mom will kill me.”

“Good thing she loves me, just say we eloped.” He wraps his good arm around her and pulls her down to lay on the pillows. She snuggles into the silk blend pillow cases and murmurs a little, tired from a long day. He caresses the side of her face and rests his hand on her hip.

MINA flits around the base, erasing specific footage from the recordings in the pool room, for everyone’s benefit.

Kenji paced back and forth in the base, waiting for her to get back from babysitting Chiho, hoping that Ami’s date would end shockingly early for his benefit.

He’s still on the phone with her, “I don’t want to wait to see you.” He kicks a throw pillow that had fallen on the ground from the couch.

“Have patience, I’ll be back around one AM.”

“This is spousal abuse.”

“It really isn’t”

MINA chimed in and agreed with her, so she exclaimed and said that even a robot knows the truth that Kenji was just a little clingy.

“I think you should stop watching other people’s babies and come take care of your family. And by family, I mean me.”

“I know what you meant.”

He looks to the clock, three more hours of waiting would be excruciating. But at least she’d be back in time for him to wish her an extremely early happy anniversary with the new ring he got.

[beenbaanbuun]

cock warming w/jongho

words - 🫣

genre - fluff, nsfw

warnings - cockwarming, dom!jongho, sub!reader, kind of non-sexual intimacy (cockwarming but not necessarily horny), a single spank, praise, guidance, it’s just very cute

you cant convince me that jongho doesn’t absolutely love cockwarming. like there’s just something about the intimacy of it that really gets him going. mix that with the casual dominance of it all - him pinning you down with a strong arm, spanking your thigh if you begin to grow restless, mumbling sweet nothings into your ear as you lay your chest against his in a dizzy haze - and he’s going practically insane.

it’s movie night, just you and him, and for some unknown reason he decided to use that feature of netflix that picks a random film for you

of course, after 4 or 5 tries, it lands on nothing good (because it never does) and the two of you decide to settle for whatever random film it decided on

it starts off with you two making fun of the poor editing and direction of the film, picking at all the plot holes until you were both giggling incessantly

that little game lasted a while, but it didn’t take long for it to become boring and the two of you were plunged into a comfortable silence once more

until, of course, a sex scene!

in the grand scheme of things, it had no relation to the film whatsoever and was quite frankly incredibly poorly made

like you don’t know who those moans were coming from, but they didn’t match up with the mouths of either of the actors

but just as you were about to make fun of it to jongho, you noticed a little something of his lap

well, more like a big something, and you couldn’t help but gasp

“this is making you hard?” you scrutinise, eyes narrowing as you pull them away from the tent in his pants to instead look at his face

you expected him to be embarrassed or ashamed, but he wore a stoic expression as he shushed you

again, you gasped and sat up from the position you were in, leant up against him

“first you get hard to the worst sex scene i’ve ever seen, then you shush me?” you scoffed, “just say you hate me, next time.”

you watched as he rolled his eyes, finally tearing his gaze away from the screen to look at you

“i’ve been hard for the last 20 minutes,” he grumbled, “you just didn’t notice so i didn’t say anything.”

oh… that’s weird

it’s not like you’d been doing anything to try and make him hard, and it’s not like the film had even been remotely sexy in any way shape or form

like you’d understand if you were lay there in lingerie, but you were in what you described as your ‘grannie nightie’, curled up against him like you would be on any other night

you frowned

“well, why are you hard?” you asked

“am i not allowed to be?” he replied

it was a fair response, but you still wanted answers

“well there has to be a reason…” you mumbled

“i’m sorry, why don’t you just call the erection police?” his voice was dripping in sarcasm, “hello? 911? yeah, i was being cute around my boyfriend and now he’s hard. come arrest him please!”

at this point the film was just background noise as the two of you went back and forth bickering about his penis of all things…

“wait, your erection is because of me?” you cock your head to the side in confusion

again, your pyjamas were hardly the sexiest thing in the world, unless you’re an 80 year old man and this is the most thigh you’ve seen in years

but jongho wasn’t 80, and he saw your thighs on a daily basis

fuck, he saw a lot more than thigh on most days

“well who else would’ve caused it?” he glanced between you and the screen, “you can’t seriously believe this shit show made me hard?”

“oh,” you mumbled

“yeah, oh…” he rolled his eyes

and you thought that was it for a moment before his hands were on you and you were being tugged onto his lap like you were nothing more than a rag doll

you squeaked in surprise as his strong arms pinned you to his lap, erection digging into your thigh

you squirmed, but the look he gave you quickly stopped you in your tracks

“you want to know why i’m hard?” he mumbled into your ear, a soft smile gracing his lips

he looked so innocent, and you would’ve believed it if it weren’t for the obvious

you nodded

“you’re just too cute, baby,” he chuckled deeply into your ear, the sound heading immediately south, slicking you up a little, “in your cute little nightie, making your cute little comments. sue me for being attracted to you…”

“but that’s not…” you trailed off, “i’m not being sexy, am i?”

“you don’t have to be, baby,” he cooed, “you don’t have to make yourself sexy for me to want you. i want you just as much now as i would any other day.”

“so you want to fuck me because i’m not sexy?”

he scoffed, “i want to be close to you, baby. it’s not the same.”

it sounded the same to you, but still you nodded as if you understood

“want me to take a seat?” you grounded down once and he groaned

his eyes rolled back into his head in pleasure, but just as you were about to do it again he stopped you

“not if you’re not going to be a good girl and sit still for me,” you barely registered the sound of the slap until the stinging sensation spread though your thigh a moment later, “i said i didn’t want to fuck you, and here you are grinding on my dick like you can’t understand basic instructions!”

you stilled at his comment, a frown forming on your face

now you really didn’t get it…

he seemed to notice your sudden change in demeanour and sighed

“i don’t want to fuck you, but that doesn’t mean i don’t want to be inside of you,” he explained slowly, desperate to make you understand, “i just want you to be around me, sweetheart. no expectations, i just want to be close to you.”

oh…

you supposed that made a little sense

with a slightly less confused look, you nodded

you didn’t move though

you misunderstood him before, now you wanted him to guide you through it so you didn’t get it wrong again

luckily for you, jongho took more than a little pride in telling you what to do

it boosted his ego, and he couldn’t deny how sweet you looked when you followed his every instruction

so he gave you a sweet smile before setting his hands on your waist

“straddle me, baby.”

his hands never left your sides as you followed his directions

“good girl,” he praised, making you puff your chest out a little with pride, “now i need you to pull my bottoms down, hm?”

and you did it, because jongho was right - you were his good girl!

you reached your hands down and shuffled back a little to give his dick enough room to spring free

and when it did spring free, you couldn’t help but sit in awe of how pretty it was

you’d seen it before, but you were still shocked at how perfect it was every time you saw it

a decent size lengthwise, but thicker than most

a pretty pink tip that leaked pearlescent precum in little droplets

jongho chuckled

“you done staring, or do you want to take a picture?” your eyes widened and your gaze shot up to his face again.

he wore a wide smirk as you mumbled an apology

“it’s okay, sweetheart,” his thumbs rubbed circles over your sides, “now, can you slip your panties to the side for me? i want you to sit on me…”

and again, you did as he asked because you were good and you wanted to behave for him

so your fingers slid south and pushed the thin cotton to the side (ignoring the way you had to peel them away from your gooey wetness) and you shuffled forwards until your core was hovering above his cock

you slid down slowly, the stretch almost painful but not quite

it took a moment for you to bottom out, his tip snug against your cervix and your thighs resting against his own

the temptation to start bouncing was certainly there, but at the risk of no longer being his good girl, you decided not to

not that you could anyway, not when he brought his arms around you, pinning you to his chest and holding you there like it was just any regular cuddle on any regular day

like his dick wasn’t resting heavily inside of you

like you weren’t so close to disobeying and seeking out your own pleasure

a big hand came up to the back of your head to hold it against his shoulder, fingers lacing themselves in your hair and giving it gentle, rhythmic tugs like he always did when you needed to chill a little

his fingernails scratched against your scalp in a way that was so soothing, it seemed to turn your whole body to jelly

and suddenly, the horny tension that laced itself up within you dissipated like it was never there

well, it wasn’t completely gone - you still had your boyfriends dick in you, after all - but it was duller, more manageable

you moaned as you relaxed into his warmth that surrounded you from every angle possible, and he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle

“do you get it now, honey?” he whispered into your ear, “do you understand what i mean when i say i want you close?”

you just nod

“oh, you’re so precious, baby,” he gave you a particularly tight squeeze with his thick arms, “so good for me, hm? letting me hold you close like this. i expected it to take you longer to settle down, but you’re such a good girl, right? shouldn’t have doubted you, baby…”

his words made your mind cloud over as you sank into the praise that he spoon fed to you

you just lay there with your head on his shoulder, staring up at him like he was your entire universe, eating up every single word he said to you

“love you, bear,” you mumble into his neck

he chuckled

“love you too, honey.”

[hanasnx]

fell in love without you

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: everyone’s nineteen. WARNINGS: f!reader | you have a favorite twin | sexual content with said fave twin | dubcon kiss

FRED WEASLEY stands before you alongside his brother George. A seemingly world famous smug air about them, having charmed themselves by their own wit. Arms crossed, towering tall above the random passersby as they absentmindedly drone to their next class. Your hesitation spurs the twins on, exchanging a knowing and triumphant glance that says all as you tilt your head at them.

“Are you serious?”

One twin feigns offense. “Deadly serious.”

The other mimics him. “Gravely.”

“S’only fair, innit?”

“Game of guess the twin, guess wrong and you’ve got to give a kiss.” he repeats the game rules.

“For hurtin’ our feelin’s.” the other agrees.

You narrow your eyes with a huff through your nose. “You haven’t got any feelings. Now let me pass.” you demand, and attempt to cut through them but they’re connected at the shoulders to block your way from your corridor.

“Now that’s what you win if you guess right!” they say together. Did they rehearse this? You frown at them as you recoil, throwing your arm out to your side until your book pats the outside of your thigh.

“What? You scared? We both know you’ve got a little thing for me.” One shrugs.

“And me.” the other adds.

“We’re only helping you along.” they speak at the same time, in annoying twin-synchrony.

You give in. “Do you really think I can’t tell you apart?” Lazily, you point to the boy on the left. “Fred.” It transfers over to the boy on the right. “George.” They exchange another look amongst themselves, and adopt a crestfallen expression as their heads bow, stepping apart so you can enter. “See?” you taunt, passing them by. “Was that so hard? I’ll see you boys later—“

“Not so fast there, birdie.” You halt in your tracks at the sound of him speak. “I’m George.” You sigh hard and hang your head.

“I’m Fred. C’mon then, give us a kiss.” They’d faked you out, or they’re lying. Either way, you concede in order to satiate their egos, drawing back to the place where they wait for you. It’s only a kiss on the cheek anyway, and besides it wouldn’t reveal your true feelings towards your favored twin. You’re just friends, and that’s how it should stay. “Tha’s a good girl. Look at her comin’ back, George. She wants this just as much as we do.”

“A foolproof plan there, Fred, well done.”

“It’s practically your only pick-up line, boys. You could do far better.” you tease, and drop your satchel to the ground where it flops flat hopelessly, and toss your book to land onto the leather. “C’mon then, lean down.” They’re both much taller than you, sort of imposing if they weren’t so approachable when they wanted to be. George goes first, stooping to offer his cheek to you. Sweetly, you hook your arm around his neck for stability when you raise yourself to your toes, planting a chaste peck onto his cheek. His skin warms your nose, and he recedes as you do. When you meet Fred’s gaze, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you, and you feel yourself heat up in anticipation. He does as George did, stooping but it’s a little gentler, dragging it out. There’s a mischievous curl to his lips and you sense he plots something. So you idle while you figure him out, until he interrupts you.

“Oi, wha’s wrong with you? Go on, pay up.” and you snap out of it, doing as you did with George. Your arm hooks loose around his neck, hand splayed on the cuff of his shoulder. While you raise yourself to meet his cheek, the tips of your toes bearing your weight, and things seem to move in slow motion. An arm straps around your waist, arching you into him as he turns at the last second, drawing you into a kiss. A real one. You emit a noise of surprise as he deepens it, seizing the opportunity to slip his tongue between your lips during your squeak. Out of shock, you take a fair bit of time to register, eyes flying open as you pat hard against his chest. You can’t push him off, but he pulls back after he’s made his point.

Hastily, you adjust your uniform with a gaping mouth. “Fred!” you scold while they snicker, you took notice of how George averted his eyes beforehand, so he’d known of Fred’s trick. Perhaps Fred put him up to it. Some innocent game that allows Fred an in to make a proper move on you. Or some sort of malicious advantage over your feelings. Out of embarrassment or fury, your hands pat hard on each of them, banging your fists against whatever is within reach as their laughs feather out when they flinch and try to catch your hands. When they escape, and you realize you’re desperately tardy, you have to let them go, calling out your vow of revenge after them.

“Where’s that vow of revenge now, ey?” breathless words spoken into your ear as Fred ruts into you. Hidden under the hot covers of your bed, he keeps you close with strong arms encasing you, pressing you to him as you lay on your sides. You claw the sheets for purchase, clutching onto the fabric to keep yourself grounded as he moves inside you. Careful, gentle, deliberate. Everyone’s sleeping. If anyone found out a boy snuck into your girls’ dormitory you’d be toast. His breath sends tingles up your spine, squeezing your eyes shut in the dark as you focus on where your bodies conjoin. Sticky and wet, Fred sheathes fully with a buck of his hips, and involuntarily you whimper. A large hand cups your mouth to silence you. “Keep quiet,” he whispers and you nod against him. “Didn’t take you for a bad girl, birdie, you’re a proper troublemaker.” he tells you, barely audible, his lips moving against your ear as his hips circle, welcomed by your sex, he can’t help but soak a second. “You wanna get caught, don’t you?”

You can’t answer, shaking your head against his hand and you feel his teeth nip at your earlobe. “Is that right?” he goads, unconvinced. He shifts, gradually picking up a steady pace. “Should we give ‘em a real show then?”

[wikiangela]

"I'm going to ask Tommy to marry me." Buck says out of the blue one random evening, sitting in Eddie's living room, spread out in the armchair, sipping a beer, eyes on the TV, where Eddie and Christopher are playing a video game. His tone is even and firm, not even a hint of hesitation, it's not a huge revelation, or even a decision he's made just now. He's been thinking about it for weeks, maybe months. He doesn't know why he says it now, it just slips out - maybe he just needed to talk to his best friend about it.

"Really?" he hears a hint of surprise in Eddie's voice, but when he looks at his best friend, he's still focused on trying to beat his son at the game. He's smiling, sparing a glance at Buck. "That's great, Buck."

"Yeah?" he breathes out, feeling even more settled now. He wasn't nervous, exactly, but still felt kind of like he did when he came out to Eddie. Like he just wanted his best friend to approve, to support him - and he had no doubt he would.

"Of course," Eddie answers easily. "You guys are perfect together, and you love each other, and if you're sure you want to spend the rest of your life with Tommy, yeah, go for it. I'm happy for you," he adds, finally looking at Buck, a soft, genuine smile on his face. Christopher uses this moment to win the game, and Eddie groans at his triumphant yell. "Aw, not fair, Buck distracted me." Both Buck and Chis laugh, while Eddie pouts for a moment, before a smile breaks through anyway.

"Well, I won." Chris shrugs with a grin. "And I think it'd be so cool if you and Tommy get married," he adds, moving his attention to Buck.

"Yeah?" Buck repeats, his smile even wider now. Having two of his favorite people not only really love his partner - Buck's pretty sure Tommy's the first one to spend so much time with all of them together, and it feeling so right - but also approve of Buck wanting to tie him into their family forever.

"Duh, Tommy's the coolest." Chris rolls his eyes. "Better lock him down while you can," he jokes, and Buck gasps in surprise. He's such a teenager.

"Wow, rude. He's not going anywhere." he shakes his head with a laugh. That much he's sure of, for the first time in his life he's not scared of getting left, of his partner getting bored or fed up. He knows Tommy's gonna be right at his side no matter what.

"Not if you put a ring on it." Eddie joins his son's teasing. Laughing, Buck reaches over to the table to pick up a chip from a bowl and throw it at Eddie, who dodges it as it lands somewhere on the couch. "Hey!"

"But seriously, you don't think it's too soon?" Buck asks after a moment, a little bit of nerves seeping into his tone. He's more than sure about wanting to marry Tommy. He's just a little scared that he's gonna freak him out. They have talked about this, about their future, what they want out of this relationship, out of life, but they never really discussed any timelines, and Buck might be a little in his head about this. Hence why he needed to talk to someone about it, probably.

"Buck, you've been together for over a year. Some people get married after less." Eddie raises an eyebrow. "When you know, you know." He shrugs, and Buck releases a breath. Because he does know. He has known for a long time now.

"So you think he'll say yes?" Buck asks, but he knows the answer before Eddie has a chance to roll his eyes with fond exasperation. Tommy loves him. He loves Tommy so much his heart wants to burst out of his chest and live in Tommy's. Tommy is his forever, he's sure of it, and he knows that when he asks, and it's going to be very soon, he'll get a positive answer.

"He'll say yes." Eddie says with a small shake of his head and a wide smile. "Now, two important questions from me: who's gonna be your best man, and do you need help planning and picking out a ring?"

[coryosbaby]

— ɪ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴀɴ ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛ, ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀꜰꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ !

cowboy! Coriolanus snow x fem! Reader

synopsis: you meet a handsome, mysterious cowboy at a carnival.

content warning . western au, dumb choices, handjobs, cunnilingus, age gap if u squint ig

When you first lock eyes with him, it’s at a county fair.

How cliché it is, but in a small southern town of Kentucky it’s not that uncommon to meet your lover at such an event. Everyone from your town knows each other, knows every name, face, and house. It’s a wonder that anyone has any privacy at all.

But the man you’re looking at, you’ve never seen him around these parts before. His brown curls are hidden— you know he has brown curls because of the way the brunette locks peek out from underneath his cowboy hat. He’s wearing a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, suspenders, and the usual pants you see on every other man. But he wears all of this so exceptionally well that you can’t take your eyes off of him.

And he’s looking at you.

You shiver as you watch him watch you. Your momma stands beside you and gossips with her church going friends, and you hope she doesn’t notice the eyes you’re giving this perfect stranger. She’d pound your hide for sure. You smooth down your dress, your eyes wondering to the man’s muscle-ey arms. He must be very fit underneath that outfit.

He moves, walking towards a ring toss game and winks at you. Heat creeps down from your fingers to your toes, your bloomers become drenched with arousal. You want to talk to him— of course you do. Who wouldn’t? Your momma is busy, anyway, so what harm could it really do? You say goodbye to her and tell her you’re going to go play a few games. You’re not exactly lying about that. Your heel clad feet make their way across the dirt as you subtly take your place beside the man. He smells like soap and cigars, and you’re thankful that he isn’t like the smelly men that plague your location. He turns to look at you, a smile playing on his lips.

“Do you wanna play?”

His voice has a soft southern drawl, not as vibrant as yours but still there. He must be from somewhere more up north.

“I’m not that good at these games,” you sheepishly reply. “But I’d like to watch you, sir, if that’s okay.”

“Sir, huh?” He seems amused, and his big hands toss a ring that lands around an old milk bottle. “I’m not that old, y’know.”

You nervously fumble on the balls of your feet.

“I jus’ turned twenty.”

He looks at you again, taking in the sight of your lipstick smeared lips.

“Thought you’d be younger,” he teases, and you smirk.

“Is that a problem?”

“Not for me,” he laughs, throwing another ring and once again, landing it onto the milk bottle. You wonder what else his hands can do besides play carnival games. “I’m twenty five, sweet thing.”

A slight age gap, but nothing you can’t handle. He tosses the last ring towards the bottles, and it lands again. The man who’s monitoring the tent lets out a loud whistle.

“First winner of the night,” he says. “Which stuffed animal d’ya want?”

At the mention of the wall of prizes, your eyes dart to all of them. They land on a brown bear with a pink bow wrapped up around its neck, and you frown when you realize that you weren’t the one to win the game.

But to your surprise, the man beside you smiles with his shiny white teeth and points at the bear.

“That one, right there, for this pretty lady.”

Excitement floods through you as the man grabs the bear from the shelf. He hands it to you and you squeal, hugging the bear to your chest.

“Thank you, sir!”

You’re talking to the one beside you, not the vendor, and he chuckles.

"Coriolanus,” he says, and it rolls off of his tongue like honey. “My name is Coriolanus Snow.”

You smile at him as you reveal your name. His hands are cold against your skin when they brush against your shoulder.

“Well, [y/n],” he starts. “Do you wanna get out of here for a little bit?”

It’s against your better judgement to go off from your family for the comfort of a stranger. But this man— Coriolanus— he’s different. Your undergarments are soaked, too, you know they are.

“My momma told me I shouldn’t be alone with strangers,” you chastise. “Promise not to hurt me, Mr. Coriolanus?”

He leans in close to you, something dark drawling in his voice.

“I’ll do my best to take care of you.”

—

You didn’t tell your family where you went. They were probably going to be occupied for the rest of the night, anyway. Your feet pad against the ground as Coriolanus leads you out to his pickup truck. It’s a bit rusty, but it’s a lot better than the vehicles you’re used to. He opens the door for you— a gentleman— and you climb into the passengers seat with little struggle. You lean back in the seat and place the stuffed bear in between the both of you as Coriolanus takes his place beside you. The ride to this mysterious destination is shorter than you expect. He turns into the woods— a little creepy, but you have a switchblade in your corset so it’s fine. When you arrive in front of an opening in front of a lake, your eyes light up.

“You can swim, right?” Coriolanus asks you.

“Of course.” You reply, opening the car door. You skip over to the edge of the water, dipping your hand in to get a feel of the temperature. It’s a bit cold, but nothing you can’t handle. You’re so distracted by the scenery that you hardly notice the sound of Coriolanus’ belt buckle until you turn around. He’s unzips his fly and begins to unbutton your shirt. A humored smile spreads across your lips.

“Skinny dipping? Really?”

“Don’t do it if you don’t want to,” he shrugs, pulling his pants down past his thighs. “Unless you’re a coward.”

You gasp, lifting yourself back up and putting your hands on your hips.

“I am not a coward, Coriolanus Snow. I’m just a lady.”

“A lady who snuck off from her momma to be with a boy she barely knows?”

He has a point with that, and you let out a frustrated noise. You try not to blush as he slips his shirt off, left in nothing but his underwear. He takes his hat off, too, and his hair is just as perfect as you imagined. You finally give in, beginning to unbotton the top of your dress.

“You’ll have to help with my corset, I hope you know. This thing is such a hassle to unlace.”

“I’d be happy to.”

He seems smug when you pull your dress over your head, your bloomers and corset being revealed to him. You pull your hair into a makeshift ponytail and turn around so he can undo the laces on your corset, and his fingers strategically remove the strings in a matter of a few minutes.

“Seems like you’ve done this a lot, Coriolanus.”

He hums. “I guess you could say that I don’t lack experience.”

You scoff, turning around and sliding the corset off of your shoulders. Coriolanus gapes at your now bare chest, your hardened nipples on full display and your chest full and inviting.

“Neither do I.”

You move towards the water, and like a puppy dog Coriolanus trails in after you. The water goes up to your chest by the time you’re done moving, and Coriolanus pulls your half nude body close to him. You giggle, feeling like a giddy child, feeling free. He presses a kiss to your neck, then another, and another. It’s like you’ve known him your whole life. His lips brush over yours, not quite touching but just enough to give you the impression of his desire.

“Can I?” He asks, sweet and gentle. You nod, your head spinning, and his mouth molds to yours perfectly. His hands wrap tightly around your waist to hold you to him, and your arms come up to grasp the locks of his hair. He breathes heavy, pushing his hips against you, and you laugh against his lips when you feel his hardness press against you.

“You’re a filthy man, Coriolanus snow.”

He rolls his eyes, his palm coming down to rub over your breast. You gasp against his mouth, your mound pressing against his bulge, and he chuckles.

“Me?” He chastises.

“Mmm..”

Your hand reaches down, not shy to a man’s body as you move past his waistband. Your hand grips his cock, your tongue coming out to lick your lips when you feel how thick he is.

“Big boy, aren’t you?” You say with a throaty breath. He groans, his face burying itself in your neck as you begin to stroke him.

Your hands are like magic, your skill magnified tenthfold because it’s been a while since Coriolanus has been touched by a woman’s hands. His hips buck against you, precum dripping out of his swollen cockhead, and when your thumb brushes over the underside of his cock he lets out a deep, gravelly moan.

“You’re so good at this,” he breathes out, his grip on your waist the only thing keeping him up. “So good, darlin’, Fuck.”

You whine against him, his praise making your knees buckle. The water around you is still cold but it’s warming now because of your adjustment and your shared body heat. You can feel a few rocks poke at the bottom of your feet, but you can’t think about that right now. Coriolanus’ pleasure is like your own, and with the way he’s feeling… you don’t know how you’re still standing.

You reach past his cock for a moment to feel up his balls, soft in your palm, and the sound he makes is so guttural it’s almost as if you have killed him. His cock kicks, you can feel it and hear the water below you splash as your hand moves faster and gets him closer. He keeps spilling precious moans from his mouth, and you think you could spend everyday with him like this, even though you’ve only known him for a few hours.

“Gonna cum…” he whimpers out, his legs shaking. “Gonna cum all over your hand, baby.”

And you’re perfectly fine with that. You bite down on his earlobe, letting out a tiny giggle.

“Cum for me, Coriolanus. Cum.”

It’s an automatic command that has the boy thrusting one final time against you before he spills inside his underwear. Thick ropes of cum squirt against your hand, sticky and hot. You let him ride out his high before you press a wet kiss to his neck. He sighs against you, and he knows his body would be nearly limp if he wasn’t so fit. After that sigh he lets out a laugh, serotonin flooding his brain as you pull your hand out of his underwear. You smile at him.

“How was that?” You ask him. He tilts his head, biting teasingly against your cheek.

“So amazing that I need you up on that shoreline, darlin’. I needa touch you, too.”

You bite your lip, nervous as you reply.

“You don’t gotta do that. I know some men don’t like to.”

Coriolanus’ brows furrow, a look of disgust crossing his features.

“No man hates eating pussy. What kind of boys have you been hangin’ around?”

You stutter, trying to come up with a response but Coriolanus just shushes you and guides you back to the shoreline with his hands. His back muscles ripple as you watch him from behind, and you wonder what a wanderer is doing with muscles like that.

When you both get back to shore he tells you to stand and wait. He comes back soon with a blanket in his hands and spreads it out on the shore. You lay down on it, trying to calm your beating heart. Coriolanus takes a spot in front of you, sitting on his knees in between your legs. He smiles at you, his thumbs moving to the waistband of your bloomers. You nod to him, and with callused hands he pulls them down past your ankles. He throws them in the sand, the smell of your pussy hitting his nostrils and making him groan. His nose scrapes against your inner thighs, his hands holding your legs open as he begins to mouth closer and closer to your pussy.

“Coryo,” you whine, the nickname making his cock twitch. “Please? Y-You don’t have to, but I.. I really, really want you to.”

“Want me to do what, honey?” He says, his mouth hovering over your dripping slit. “Eat this pretty little pussy? Is that what you want?”

You cry out, nodding your head, begging for it now, and finally Coriolanus licks a long, wet stripe up your juicy cunt with his tongue. His eyes roll back at the taste of you, and he dives into your pussy like a man starved. His tongue moves up and down before probing your hole, slipping just the tip in as his nose rubs against your clit. You desperately hump against his face, riding his strong nose and squeezing around his wet tongue. You’ve never been eaten out before, never in your life. Not even with the handful of men you’ve lain with— none have ever wanted to do this or try to. You’re practically in heaven right now.

“Nghhh..” you moan, tears beginning to pool in your eyes. You jump when his finger brushes up against your entrance, slipping it inside next to his tongue and scissoring, and fuck, you never knew this could be so good. Your legs try to close around Coriolanus’ head but he grabs one of them with his free hand and pushes it down. Your legs hitch up, a sob spilling from your throat, and the man below you can’t stop humming and making precious sounds. Slurping noises echo throughout the empty, wooded area, and you can’t help but fantasize about being caught. How hot it would be, someone walking in on this, on this hot cowboy devouring your pussy like it’s his last meal, your fingers gripping his curls like your life depends on it as he drives you closer and closer to the edge like no other man has.

Coriolanus slips another finger inside you, removing his tongue from inside you and making his way up to your puffy clit. He captures it in between his teeth, suckling with everything he has, and without warning your body is seizing up and you’re cumming, a sob escaping you, your hands yanking on his hair, your legs shaking. Coriolanus drinks up your spend, his chin dripping with your release as he pulls away and wipes his mouth on his wrist. You look down at him, and a grin spreads wide on his face. You grin back at him, the post orgasm clarity overtaking you as gets up and digs in his pants pocket. He lays down beside you, taking out a cigar and a match as he lights it up. He takes a long drag and a silence overtakes the lakeside, the only sound the light summer breeze and the crickets in the woods. You turn on your side, the moonlight reflecting off of Coriolanus’ jawline. He turns to look at you too, passing the cigar off to you. You take it, trying not to cough or embarrass yourself because this is your first time ever touching one of these things. When you clumsily inhale and exhale, you give it back to him with curiosity on your face.

“What’s a man like you doin’ around here anyway?” You ask him. “You some kind of outlaw?”

He chuckles, his fingertips grazing your thigh as he looks up at the full moon in the sky.

“If I was, would you tell on me?”

He knows you wouldn’t, but he teases you anyway. You shake your head.

“I wouldn’t. It ain’t my business.”

He sighs.

“Maybe I am. And I think that’s why I need to tell you to stay away from me from now on.” He explains. His finger grips your wrist, tickling you. “I’m bad news, sweetheart.”

“I can handle it, cowboy.”

He rolls his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans back again and closes them. He changes the subject.

“Do you need me to take you home?”

You shrug, grabbing the cigar from him.

“It can wait a few more hours. My momma’s gonna be livid when she sees me.”

And it’s true. Because when Coriolanus drops you off in his pick up truck with a promise to see you again (after your persuading), you show up at your front door barefoot, the teddy bear in your hands, and without a corset— Coriolanus had taken it from you as a souvenir, and he said he didn’t intend to give it back. In return, you had taken his hat and perched it on your head as a reminder of his touch. You give him a small thumbs up when you watch him get the hell out of dodge.

Your momma is furious when she opens that door, but you don’t regret this night one bit.

[nightwngz]

Older bat! Damian with super or wonder reader who's like sheltered and oblivious to the real world and they go on a mission or smith together and the whole times she's just doing whatever he says because that's what she's used to and he's just like damnn and finds that really attractive

— 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 ! ☆

older!damian wayne x fem!reader

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀… drabble smut. porn with a plot. dirty talk. fingering. Damian uses Arabic nicknames.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁. . . no copying of my work is allowed. Free translation is allowed as long as I am credited.

𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲. . . as I said in my other posts, English is not my first language. I have tried to make corrections with the translator, but as you all know, it is prone to making mistakes, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or if anything sounds weird.

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲… I don't know how I feel about myself today, but I decided to write this for you anyway. I hope you like it. <3

It was one of the first times you, a young girl exiled from the real world and born on an island paradise inhabited only by women, had contact with what was considered 'the real world.' You were not yet accustomed to many things, especially the existence of men, or perhaps men like Damian Wayne.

On Themyscira, you were used to following orders. When the Queen or your trainer told you to "do this," you knew exactly what to do. But when you joined the Justice League and met Batman, you initially believed you were supposed to act the same way. You soon realized that maybe you should have listened when Jon told you to ignore him completely.

At that moment, Damian Wayne, now known as Batman, was the last person you wanted to be trapped with in a situation like this. The two of you were locked in a reinforced room with no way out, where neither your strength nor your wits could help you get out. So you found yourself trapped with the one man who liked to bark orders like he was the king of Gotham.

— You really don't know what to do? — He asked, annoying you again. — Before, Wonder Women were effective.

However, you tried to heed Jon's advice; thus, you responded to him without intending to participate in his game.

— Yes, and in my land, men didn't even exist. So I'm just getting used to working with the inefficiency of one.

Damian slowly approached the box you were sitting in with an annoying grin on his face.

— In fact, I am a detective. Of course I know how to get out of here.

Your confused expression made him smile even harder at your confusion. You weren't sure if it was fair to feel like a complete idiot, but that was exactly how you felt at that moment. Besides, you didn't like him at all.

— And you never thought to open the door, or are you just trying to annoy me by making me live with you?

— Actually... — He replied, moving even closer to you. — I'm testing you. Go and open the door as best you can — He finally ordered.

And as if it were a sacred word, you stood up, determined to open the door to the room at any cost. At first, you tried to break it down with blows, but your strength wasn't enough. It was probably made of some incredibly strong material, possibly of alien origin.

— Try pulling the doorknob with your lasso — he suggested, and once again, you listened.

Damian couldn't help but find the way you obeyed like a trained dog incredibly attractive. Deep down, he felt that he had you at his mercy and that no matter what he asked you to do, you would listen.

Totally exhausted from the effort, you knelt on the ground, but you didn't give up. Feeling sorry for you, he reached over to stroke your hair, trying to calm you down.

— Pretty obedient little thing. — He flattered, lifting your chin so you could look him in the eye. — You don't know how to say no, do you?

A wave of intense heat enveloped you. Perhaps it was the first time you had ever found yourself in an intimate situation with someone, as you had always believed that your body was trained solely for an impending war. Yet, when Damian was around, that was the one purpose of your training you occasionally forgot.

— If I asked you to take off your underwear, would you be so obedient, habibati?

Your cheeks reddened immediately. You knew you should avoid this kind of situation, but having been trained on the island, you understood that you had to follow the orders of a superior. Batman was more experienced than you, making him your superior, and you felt obligated to obey him.

Immediately your panties fell down under the metal skirt of your suit, exposing your pussy to the man in the room.

From what you knew about men, you noticed they often looked for specific qualities in women. However, Damian had never shown any boldness towards you. As time passed, the 'sexual tension' that Jon had mentioned began to feel more like an annoyance.

When he saw that you were listening to him, he smiled as usual. But his smile was not one of despair; it was one of desire.

He knelt down to be at the same height as you. Gently, he slid a finger down your soaked pussy while keeping his eyes on yours, watching for any reaction on your face.

You understood what he was doing and how he was touching every part of the anatomy between your legs with precision. What you didn't understand was how he was so skilled at it.

You couldn't hold back your moans as you felt him gently pinch your now throbbing clit. His touch drove you crazy as you felt waves of pleasure crash against you.

— Damn, what a good girl. Sorry to tell you, Habibati... I have a weakness for obedient women.

[drenched-in-sunlight]

I didn’t want to write this out this early because I’m sure there are even more to discover, but people are already reblogging my previous art of Marika and Messmer & saying Marika doesn’t love him, so I write this out as a guideline that all my art is drawn with this theory in mind.

(While the DLC has changed the way I feel about certain events and characters, my view on Messmer and Marika remain unchanged. In fact, I think Marika skyrockets into my most fav in the game now. lol.)

* Beware of endgame spoiler under the cut

Please note that I wrote this without providing the item descriptions I use to develop this theory, because I want to make a proper post later with all evidence after I’ve played through all of the DLC. But those items exist and could be found in game.

Here is how I view Messmer and Marika’s relationship (he is her most beloved child):

For starter:

*the winged serpent - Messmer’s symbol, is considered a wise creature and is his friend. It is NOT the snakes that are viewed as traitors to the Erdtree, since the Serpent Crest shield was even made to commemorate his crusade. It’s also DIFFERENT from the evil snake he was born with.

*this is not to defend their actions, they are still horrible people, but I want to show that they have depths and are well-written characters with stories and emotions. My unhinged mother and son duo 😔✊

—-

I like the poetry in Marika starting the war against the Fire Giants in part as revenge for Messmer (it’s implied the Fell God is the Outer God that cursed him / it’s outright stated that he hated his fire), & now Messmer leading the purge against the Hornsent as revenge for Marika and her people (it’s implied the disappearance of her village has sth to do with the spirit calling rite the people at the Tower were doing).

I actually think Marika raised Messmer in her home village for a while too. She didn’t throw him to LoS alone, she was raising him in secret in her home, fearing people will judge him for carrying a malevolent snake. The two Tree Sentinels before the village dropped Marika’s Blessing. Yes. the Blessing she made specifically for him.

When you zoom in the Marika statue in his boss room, she was smiling when hugging him. I think ppl tend to forget that Marika, like Malenia and Miquella, carries tree/ foliage motif. RADAGON IS WEAK TO FIRE. If Messmer was cursed with fire and it started to manifest around him … of course she couldn’t embrace him anymore. It was physically hurting her, and Messmer wouldn’t have wanted to cause her pain as well. The soldier ghost at Ensis castle was begging Marika to embrace her child again, implying it’s sth that he yearns for. But couldn’t have now. Because of his damned curse.

If you look at the story that way, Messmer’s death dialogue makes perfect sense. It’s his lament that he’s gone from Marika’s precious (presumably firstborn) child, a source of her happiness, to a curse against her (*point to Radagon’s hair as another connection to Fire Giants and their curse). Robbing her (and himself) of the close bond they used to share.

It’s why Messmer alone has more blessings *directly* from Marika than any other Demigods. His army also receives more blessings than any other faction on the Lands Between, and they all refer to Marika as dearest Mother and Fair Mother.

Hell, after Messmer, Marika couldn’t connect to any of her other children again. This is like the ultimate doomed mother and son. Whatever I expected from them from the beginning, Fromsoft cranked it to eleven. Jfc.

[theemporium]

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“Nope.”

“Max—”

“What?” 

“You have your own jet. How the fuck are you not a part of the mile high club?”

Max frowned a little before shrugging. “It isn’t exactly my priority when I’m on a plane, schat.”

There were many perks you learnt that existed as a Formula One driver after you found yourself in a relationship with two of the best drivers in the world. From invitations to countless exclusive events to brand deals with high-end designers, from travelling the world for their job to having a comfy paycheck to be the best of the best. It was a whole new world your boyfriends introduced you to, and it never failed to make you head spin no matter how long you had been dating them.

But the materialistic perks were some of the easiest to spot—the prime example being the fact Max had his own jet that he travelled in when he flew around the world for the different races.

It had been another one of those races that you were currently flying out to. It had just been the three of you for the long haul flight and the boys had been trying everything in their power to stay awake for a few more hours so they wouldn’t fall victim to horrendous jet lag by the time they landed.

You had decided to try passing some time with games. But UNO was quickly abandoned when Lando kept trying to wind Max up with ‘+4’ cards. And ‘truth or dare’ was a bit pointless when you were stuck in the sky. You didn’t really want to start a full ass game of Monopoly (or question why in loving fuck one of the boys brought it in the first place), otherwise you’d be fast asleep before either of them. And every round of ‘two truths and a lie’ lasted less than a few seconds because you knew each other well.

You were left with a game of ‘never have I ever’ but it slowly stopped being a game, and somehow became some weird competition between the boys to try to outdo one another. Which, to be fair, was very amusing for you to watch. 

Until Max had dropped the bomb on you and Lando that he had never had sex on a plane. Ever.

“But,” you paused before gesturing to the plane around you. “You have the perfect setting!”

“The setting is always a plane,” Max stated bluntly. 

“Yeah but usually you’re both locked in a little bathroom, trying to be quiet and not break anything because you’re literally fucking in a box,” Lando jumped in.

Max shot him a look.

“Hey, just talking from experience,” Lando said as he lifted his hands. 

“But you have the whole fucking jet to yourself,” you continued. “You could fuck as much as you please! In any position you want!” 

He raised his brows in amusement. “Thought about it a lot?”

“Yes,” you replied without a moment of hesitation. “You don’t think about fucking us on a plane?”

“It isn’t the first place my mind goes to,” Max confessed with a shrug.

Lando’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though he was lost in thought. “Do you wanna fuck us on a plane?”

Max paused. “Like right now?”

“We need to preoccupy ourselves,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders, trying to bite back the grin that was growing on his lips. “I can think of a few things we could do.”

Your grin matched his, a glint of mischief in your eyes. “What do you say, baby? Wanna join the club?”

“We’ll teach you the ropes,” Lando added teasingly. 

Ten minutes. The teasing and the taunting and the goading lasted all of ten minutes before Max had you both wrapped around his finger. Because despite your big mouths and all your talk, it took one glance and a hand tugging your hair back before you were putty in Max’s hands, ready to comply and obey with whatever he wanted because he always seemed to be in control.

“Is this what you wanted, schat?” Max groaned as he gripped your hips, bouncing you back on his dick at the speed he desired. His cock was deep inside you, pressing against the spot that made you squirm and moan—though your mouth was otherwise preoccupied. “Wanted me to fuck you on my private jet? Wanted to show my staff what a fucking slut the two of you are?”

“Shit,” Lando whined, his hands tugging on his curls as his cock hit the back of your throat. “Max—”

“Hold it,” Max gritted out, his hands tightening on your waist as his chest heaved with soft pants. “Did I say you could come?”

“But—” Lando started, only to be cut off by his own moans.

“I said no,” Max huffed out with a shake of his head, his chin tucked into his chest as he watched the way your greedy pussy took his cock with such ease. The debauched noises echoing through the cabin only seemed to egg him on further. “Don’t be a fucking brat.”

“Please,” Lando cried, his hips bucking up into your mouth as you gagged and choked.

“Both of you are so fucking impatient,” Max grumbled as he squeezed the fat of your ass. “So quick to brag and cry. And now look at you. Two fucking whores.”

“Just for you,” Lando muttered out breathlessly. 

“Of course you are. All mine. All fucking mine.” Max groaned, his voice low and rough as he felt a rush of pleasure run down his spine. “And mine to fucking control. You come when I say you come, and I don’t think either of you deserve it yet.”

You whined, the sound muffled and pathetic with Lando’s cock down your throat, but it was enough to warrant a slap to your ass. 

“Careful, schat. Or I won’t let you come until the plane lands.”

.

[the-thing-withfeathers]

home away from home

requested

a/n: my first emily fic y’alllll 😫😫😫 i love her so bad i just had to write for her she is sooo foine. tysm anon for giving me the chance 🤸

pairing: unit chief!emily prentiss x f!reader

warnings: mention of gore, murder, blood, sensitive imagery & topics. smut!!, cursing, getting caught

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

“wheels up in 30.”

as much as you loved your job, you hated being away for extended periods of time. you hated airplanes and you hated the long travel, it stressed you out. your home— your house, specifically, was your safe place. you hated leaving it for too long.

your family was also back home. with the job came a lot of paranoia that something would happen to your family. you’d seen it happen with your co-workers, you were sure you weren’t an exception.

you grabbed your go-bag from under your desk, sighing and slinging it over your shoulder. you didn’t look pleased at all.

you were about to walk towards the doors when you were stopped by emily. you had been seeing the woman for a while now, you didn’t have an established relationship as you both were incredibly busy and valued separating personal life and work life. but you would be lying if you said you didn’t care for her.

“hey, what’s wrong?” she asked, her brows furrowed as she placed a hand on your shoulder.

“nothing, i just hate being away from home so much.” you rubbed your forehead with your pointer finger and thumb.

“i know… but we all go on break soon. it’s just a little bit more.” she frowned. “i’m sorry, i know you get worried about your family.”

“it’s okay, it comes with the job. it’s what i signed myself up for.”

she pulled you closer, you almost folded into her warmth but you realised you had others around you.

“it doesn’t make it any better.”

“you’re right… it doesn’t.”

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

you sat next to emily on the plane. you usually kept yourselves distant as you usually sat with spencer and derek, goofing about like you all usually did.

today was different, you needed to be around her. she gave you a comfort that nobody else was capable of. you tried not to let your feelings take you so harshly but in this case, it was all feelings.

spencer eventually set up a game of chess, gesturing to you across the plane. you nodded and stood up, needing to take your mind off things. emily watched you as you made your way to spencer.

you were no match for him during the game. you were only really at your learning stage, but he was impressed with you nonetheless. you always did your best with the resources provided, and that was what he valued the most.

“you’re not a good opponent. we’re at completely different skill sets.” you rolled your eyes in defeat.

“well if you never play against someone with a higher knowledge of these things, you’ll never improve.” he said, leaning back in his chair.

“i suppose you make a fair point.” you huffed.

you got the announcement to prepare for landing and made your way back over to emily. she was on her phone, looking through the digitized version of the case file.

you sat down next to her and buckled up your seatbelt. you looked around the room, when you saw that everyone was focused on something else, you reached for emily’s hand. she intertwined your fingers and you squeezed her hand as the plane landed.

you hated planes.

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

the team made their way to the precinct, you were assigned with dave and derek to investigate the crime scene.

you felt yourself hesitate, holding back like you would be sick to your stomach upon seeing the crime scene.

“an entire family dead. they were all facing each other, tied up to chairs.” penelope said, flicking through the picture. you felt your head spin, cases that involved families made you feel the ultimate amount of discomfort.

you shook the thoughts in your head away, walking into the household behind dave. the bodies were moved but the chairs were still there. you walked around the scene, seeing the symbols and words written in the family’s blood.

you felt absolutely sick, like you might throw up. you let dave & derek take the lead on examining the scene, only chiming in every now and then.

you stayed to the side as they took pictures. david walked over to you.

“what’s on your mind, kid?” he asked you. you always allowed yourself to be honest with david.

“it’s just horrible… two of them were so young.” you whispered. “it’s disgusting that someone could just do this to them.”

“it is… is it hitting close to home?” he was too good at reading you.

“a little bit. i just worry about my family.” you shrugged.

“that’s fair enough. you’ve been working a lot of hours too, i’m sure you miss them.” david nodded. “you’ll have to see them when you’re back.”

“that’s the plan.”

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

you all met back at the hotel for the night. you gathered in dave’s room to share information before retreating to your rooms.

you and emily were paired together. this was a normal occurrence nowadays, you knew emily was riggging the rooms so you two would be together. the thought made you smile— the first one you’ve cracked all day.

she slid the card into the door that allowed you to enter your bedroom.

the entire team had rooms with two beds, including the two of you, but you usually ended up sharing the bed anyways.

you chucked your bag onto one of the beds, plopping down onto the other one. you groaned softly and didn’t even take your clothes off and just tucked right in.

“you tired?” emily asked, tilting her head and joining you on the bed.

“not really, just mentally drained.” you clarified, opening the blanket to let her in.

“i’m sorry. anything i can do to help?” she asked, slipping in beside you and immediately wrapping her arms around your waist. her hand slipped underneath your shirt, drawing lazy circles on your back.

“you could… keep doing that.” you said, another smile forming on your lips.

“oh really?” she chuckled. “does someone need some extra affection after today?”

“mmhm.” you nodded, placing your head on her chest but looking up at her. you gave her your famous puppy dog eyes. “i’ll take anything you give me.”

the woman rolled her eyes at you, “okay, now you’re just pushing it.”

“maybe i wanna push it.”

“hmm… you’re testing me now.” she turned to look down at you.

you stared at her for a second. you had a mischievous grin on your face and connected your lips for a kiss. you lifted yourself up a bit and moved so that your body rested on top of hers. you had your hands on her cheeks while hers were on the back of your thighs.

you sat up, your legs at her sides. you started unbuttoning your shirt, pushing it off your shoulders. emily sat up to unclasp your bra, kissing your chest. you ran your hand through her gray hair, you loved the color.

you let out a few fluttering sighs while she left open-mouthed kisses on you, she was definitely going to leave a few marks.

“em…” you shifted a bit, starting to feel yourself drench the fabric of your panties.

“mmhm?” she asked, muffled.

“i need you.” you sighed out.

she flipped you both over, causing you to yelp softly as your back hit the bed. in one swift motion, she was on top of you.

you placed your hands on her shoulders, wriggling under her and pulling her in for another kiss.

she pushed her own blazer off. you loved how she looked in her business attire. you could dress as casually as you wanted— with exceptions of formal meetings, but with emily being the unit chief, she was always in something that screamed authority. you found it incredibly attractive.

her hand slipped under the waistband of your pants. she found your wet core and smiled at you, you knew she was about to make fun of you.

“i haven’t even done anything.” she mocked you, grinning.

“shut it, will you?”

“you talk to your chief like that?”

“no, i talk to emily like that.” you huffed, rolling your eyes at her.

“well— i’m not so sure emily likes that either.” she made a tsking noise with her tongue clicking. she applied some pressure against your cunt with her fingers. you hissed at the sudden contact. you started throbbing against her, and she felt it.

“well maybe if emily fucked me, she wouldn’t have to deal with the back talk.” you said, pulling away and crossing your arms.

“as you wish then.” she said, pushing your panties aside and slipping a finger into you. you gasped, your hands going straight to the back of her neck.

you let out soft moans as her finger moved in and out of you. none of your clothes were even off but you just needed her too much. her hand moved against the fabric of your pants, being pushed back into you by the resistance. you started to build up a sweat as you both were still clothed and under the blanket.

“keep going, em.” you whimpered out, your bottom lip between your teeth.

“oh fuck, yeah… yeah, keep going!” you cried out.

click.

“hey guys, i have the key to your room—“ spencer said, walking into your room without warning.

“oh fuck!” you said softly, pushing emily off you and trying to pull the blanket over your bottom half. you grabbed your phone and tried to play it off like you were showing emily a video on your phone.

she fell into position, looking over at spencer with a glare.

“you could have knocked?!” emily said, a mild rage in her voice.

“well i didn’t have anything to worry about. it’s not like you two are hooking up.” oblivious boy.

“we could be!” you protested, teasing emily at that point.

“you? and emily? sure…” he said, rolling his eyes and tossing the key card on the table.

“which one didn’t you guys use?” he asked, pointing between the two others.

“the one on the left.” you said. he picked it up and made his way out.

you both let out a breath that you didn’t realise you were holding.

“christ…” you mumbled, pushing the blanket off and forcing your pants off.

“now where were we?”

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

a/n: part of me lowkey wants to make a part two where they get discovered or sumnnnn

[kujiba]

★MAY THE LAND CONCEAL YOU, DEAR GRACE

୨୧ — ꒰ gn!reader | they/them prounouns | Sagau | cultish behavior

୨୧ — ꒰ wowee, thanks alot for 100+ likes on part one! Hope you enjoy part two :]

[PART ONE

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

-YOU DIDNT NEED TO BE A GENIUS to get an idea of what was happening. Your lower body brushed against the soft yet sharp grass, it felt all too real. Your (e/c) eyes narrowed its way to a tree. An ordinary tree with many ripe fruits; one of it being able to take your attention.

Your hand circled on one of the fruits bottom and plucked it carefully, it matched exactly as your expectation. A plump fruit that seemed to be full of its juice and taste, an appearance that resembled a beautiful like sunset furthermore having a sweet and gentle aroma that is able to energize an individual.

Your lips slowly made its way near the side of the familiar fruit, the texture and feeling were soft yet hard. The aroma itself made your mouth faintly water, you swallowed your saliva having a high expectation out of this. After all, you always wanted to see what it really tasted like after collecting so many.

"Thank you for the meal." You lastly said and took a bite.

Your eyes widened a bit, this was far more than what you expected. The flavor was sweet but not too much to be like a candy. It was juicy enough to make you feel more hydrated than ever. It didn't take you long to start devouring the whole fruit at once

"Better than i had thought." Your back laid against the tree, all of its fruits gone for it was rapidly consumed by someone (you).

You wiped off the fluid on the side of your face. A small smile looming over your lips "I feel more.. Refreshed than ever." Your tone consisted of slight suprise and satisfaction "Still, i cant seem to get my head wrapped around whats happening.." You mumbled quietly to yourself, having your fair share of the internet you were well aware on the many fanfictions and AU the game GENSHIN IMPACT had, but it having to actually become a real life situation is something too impossible to even happen.

Your feelings felt too mixed and unorganized. Half of what you felt was being thankful, because out of all the things you were gonna reincarnate in. The gods or whoever did it brought you into a more PG game; sure it had killing.. And some questionable things but as long as you live like an NPC things will go in the right track!.

With a goal set in mind you dusted off your hands following with walking down the dirt path that led to the gates of the iconic town MONDSTADT. you could remember it like it was just yesterday when you first played genshin. A feeling crept up to you, something similar - that you've walked down this path for millions of times and that muscle memory just took in. Deja vu didn't leave your mind until you were met with two guards infront of you.

"Halt. Who are you and what is your business here in mondstat" One of the guards spoke up, eyeing you up and down incase you were bringing any dangerous or threatening items to the city.

The guards other companion putted his hand on top of his friends shoulder "Wait, ___. They look familiar dont they?" His tone filled with suspicion, he couldn't shake it off as just a normal coincidence.

"What? What are you even saying ____. I believe you're making a far stretch in this one, i clearly remember that they have (opposite color) hair." The guards companion replied back with confidence in his answer. And it soon didn't take long for it to turn to a long and repeating argument on what was the appearance of the person they were arguing about.

"Jeez, who even is the person their saying. They must seem complicated" You thought to yourself while at the same time, was rubbing the back of your head - all you wanted was to slip into the city of Mondstadt but it seems to be much harder than you had thought in mind.

During the time the two guards were still rambling about the appearance of a certain someone. a silhouette of a girl with long silky brown hair, complimenting her appearance with a bright crimson bow that anybody could see from a mile away.

"Huh? I wonder whats going on over there.. Better go check it out!" The mysterious girl exclaimed, swiftly jumping down the soaring cliff. The moment her feet left the ground, wing like designs appeared behind her back which helped her safely land on the ground yet again.

"Whats going on here?" The mysterious girl walked between the two guards to stop their argument. Both her hands placed on her waist as she looked at the two with confusion.

"Oh- Outrider amber. Good to see you today" The guard greeted the named girl, AMBER. Amber exchanged the guards greeting with a smile "Good to see you today too. Now, will anyone care to explain what's going on?" She questioned, her hazel eyes glancing at the three people infront of her; You noticed how her gaze seemed too be longer on yours - as if she had something on her mind.

"I'll explain"

"Let me explain"

"So basically.."

You and the other two guards were caught off guard by the sudden synchronization. "Uhm, I can explain the situation" You spoke up while (e/c) eyes looked at the two.

"No, I've got a more grip and understanding standing on the situation, allow me" One of the guards replied back, his other companion raised a brow on what the other had just said.

"Please. I remember the details on the situation more clearly, I'll be telling you what happened Outrider Amber." His companion argued back to the other

"I'm doing you a favor so allow me."

"You're gonna leave out some parts so just let me do it"

"I'll do it"

"No, I'll do it"

"Guys.."

"So.. What you're all saying is that this person just wanted to get inside mondstadt?" Amber questioned;it took a long while till you just decided to explain to amber what really happened. Still, you couldn't shake off the feeling how intensely she was staring at you for - it creeped you out badly but you tried not to make it too obvious.

"Thats basically what happened" You confirmed giving her a small nod. Amber's expression seemed to be in deep thought for some moments till she gave you a smile in return.

"Seems like theres no problem then! You don't seem to pose as a threat, uhm.." Amber trailed off not really having to get your name yet. "Oh! It's (Name), pleasure to meet you" You kindly greeted her

You expected a positive greeting back but instead, your body jolted slightly. Seeing her shocked expression staring at you deeply for a moment and soon returned to normal.

Amber's expression calmed down and she gave you a apologetic smile "Oh sorry bout that... Just go right ahead" She offered, her fingertips gently wrapping around the back of her neck as her gaze were on the floor. You questioned her abnormal behavior earlier but the thought of going inside THE city of Mondstadt that you've dreamed ever since you first played made you ecstatic. Not to mention that you just met with one of the main side characters (amber) made you forget her strange activity just a few seconds ago.

You gave her a nod "Alright. Thank you!" And without hesitating you quickly walked inside the city of Mondstadt. The aroma of dandelions waved through the surroundings as people were joyful and free; something that you've craved since your 'previous' life.

Today is a brand new page in a book, where you're the one holding the pen and get to be able to write whatever you desire! WELCOME TO MONDSTADT

Two pairs of hazel colored eyes followed your body whilst you gleefully strolled from shop to shop. Her gaze not leaving you for even a second, for fear shrouded over her. Fear that you again would leave her sight.

".. They can't be..."

"You've felt it too huh?"

"... Get the others.

"We can't let them get away"

[A/N: HOPE YALL ENJOY PART 2. SORRY IT SEEMED SHORT, I'LL TRY TO MAKE PART 3 LONGER. ANYWAYS PROLOUGE IS DONE, MONDSTADT ARC WILL START NOW

[msschemmenti]

My Way

Emily Prentiss x Reader

Wc: 1335

a/n: crack drabble to get back into writing in general that was inspired by a reel or tiktok storytime i saw

Prompt: Emily and the Crew head to their usual bar to unwind after solving yet another case. Emily is approached by a woman she’s never seen before but she can’t help but to admire her confidence.

“Anyone up for drinks? I think I could use a couple of rounds.” Derek called eyeing everyone as they gathered their things from their desks. They’d all just returned from a rather long case in Florida, which was always a reason to get drunk. Garcia and JJ were the first to agree, followed shortly by Rossi, and after a little peer pressure, even Reid agreed. All eyes landed on Emily expectantly, she raked her brain for an excuse but knew she’d be piling into the bar with the rest of the team. “Oh alright, I’m in.” 

With a triumphant fist pump, Derek led the way to the elevator and to the team’s usual bar. They piled into a booth toward the back of the room and commenced their usual routine of drinking, games, and unwinding. JJ had made her way over to the darts board and seemed to be schooling some men. Garcia and Reid were locked into what looked like an extremely serious conversation at one end of the booth. Rossi and Morgan were both eyeing the bar for what could only be considered their next conquest. And then there was Emily, watching them all nursing her drink in what could only be described as brooding. 

Suddenly Emily felt eyes on her. She gazed around the room hoping to catch whoever’s eye she caught. It wasn’t abnormal for her to meet someone on these team nights out. It wasn’t as frequent as Derek or Rossi but she got her fair share of phone numbers. She was just less likely to act on those approaches. The dating scene in DC was already such a difficult thing to navigate, and being on this team was not very helpful either. She was still surveying the room when she felt Derek nudge her shoulder gently. 

“Honey at one o’clock been giving you the eyes for a while now.” He grinned nodding in that direction. Emily discreetly followed his motion with her eyes and instantly met warm eyes. And they were in fact on her. She watched as the woman twirled a loc of her between her fingers and eyed her over the rim of some fruity drink. The woman smiled sweetly and floated a wink over to their table. Emily smiled back and nodded her head in greeting. Before she could even think about her next move Derek let out a whistle of appreciation. “Oh, I think you might’ve hit the jackpot tonight. I was hoping she was eyeing me but looks like she’s got different tastes.” 

“It’s not my fault you and Rossi are striking out tonight. Maybe it’s a sign it’s time to retire.” Emily grinned in jest causing both men to scoff in offense. 

“It’s a shame too, you probably won’t even take her up on any offer,” Rossi grumbled rolling his eyes. 

“Hey! You don’t know what I might do.” Emily protested earnestly. She moved her eyes back to the woman and watched as she talked with her friends. The bar they went to was a pretty popular spot for post-work drinks and the woman seemed to have come from some office job. She and her friends were all standing and sitting around a high-top table, some with tumblers of dark liquor and others with bright drinks like the woman. The women were all conventionally attractive, yes, but she had to be honest in the fact that she was very attracted to the woman eyeing her. 

“Princess, when was the last time you indulged? I know you’ve had plenty of offers.” Derek asked. 

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” 

“Oh sounds like she’s practicing celibacy.” Derek chided. 

“I indulge plenty.” Emily protested. 

“Oh yeah? Prove it.” Morgan goaded with a grin. “If your bed is so popular, what’s stopping you from welcoming another?” 

“Morgan, just because a woman smiles at me from across the bar doesn’t mean she wants anything from me. Especially an invitation to my bed. Unlike you, I’m not desperate for any action.” 

Morgan’s eyes widened in shock and he brought his hand to his chest, “Oh you wound me. You wound me.” Before Morgan could continue his poking, Rossi cleared his throat to get their attention. 

“Behave, children. We’ve got company.” Rossi smiled as his eyes roamed to the end of the table.

“Please, don’t stop on my account.” The young woman called as she let the smirk settle on her lips. She stopped at the end of the booth and let her eyes settle on Emily. 

Derek was the first of the two younger agents to wake from their stunned silence. “I think we can be on our best behavior in the company of someone so beautiful, right Princess?”

Derek nudged Emily playfully but it really didn’t do much good considering she was absolutely locked in on the younger woman leaning against the booth. Her eyes slowly scanned her face in interest. Now that she’d come closer, Emily really couldn’t see any reason not to at least entertain the idea of spending an evening with this mystery woman. If she was lucky, she might even get more than just an evening.

“Princess, huh? Well, can I treat the Princess to a drink?” She smiled sweetly reaching a hand out toward Emily. As soon as the words left her mouth she could hear Morgan snickering next to her.

With a roll of her eyes, Emily took her hand and slid her empty glass to the center of the table. “I think I’d like that.” Allowing the younger woman to pull her toward the bar, Emily looked over her shoulder at Morgan and Rossi (and now Reid and Garcia) and stuck her tongue out tauntingly. They’d spent the entire night with no interest from anyone and she was getting a drink with a very attractive woman. All that talk with nothing to show of it.

Once at the bar, seemingly an equal distance from both of their parties, the woman turned to address Emily. “What’ll be?” 

Never having been one to submit, Emily grinned over the woman’s head and waved her hand toward the bartender. As the bartender made his way over to them Emily caged her arms around the younger woman and leaned over her shoulder, her body screaming dominate in every way she knew how.

“Let me have another beer and one of those fruity things for…” Emily ordered next to the woman’s ear. 

“Y/n.” 

“A fruity thing for Y/n.” Emily finished with a smile, never letting her eyes leave the woman she’d trapped between the bar and her arms. The bartender nodded and got the drinks out relatively quickly and they moved to the far end of the bar– out of the way but still just as close to each other. 

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say your name isn’t Princess.” Y/n started as she twirled the straw in her drink and gazed up at Emily through her lashes. 

“It is not. I’m Emily. My friend is just being a sore loser that I seemed to have caught the attention of the most attractive woman here.” Emily shrugged watching as Y/n’s cheeks tinted pink under her grin. 

“Well, I know what I want,” Y/n said, running a hand over the rim of her cup. 

“And what is it that you want?” Emily challenged. 

Y/n chuckled and allowed her hand to trace Emily’s jawline with a sweet smile. “Well if I have it my way, which I normally do, you’ll be wrapped around my finger before the night is over.” 

Emily raised an eyebrow as she allowed a smirk to take over her face, “Is that so?” Y/n didn’t answer at first and brought the straw of her drink to her mouth pulling Emily closer to her body. 

With their chests flushed and their eyes locked, Y/n grinned sweetly and whispered “You’ll see.” Securing Emily’s attention for the rest of the night, and potentially the future.