#i kinda hate tennis

[schumiatspa]

If he said outright "I'm a big fan of Jannik" his sponsors and Juanki would have a stroke, so he knows he has to settle for Carota Boys

[sonego]

celebrate it in the right way!

for liz @jansinner

[avianii]

gonna be playing my old doubles partner from last year for 3rd singles on varsity in like...an hour

no idea how this is gonna go but I have a lot of feelings about this match lmao

[chaoswillcalmusdown]

ngl i'm obviously grateful for the fact that medication exists that can make me function as a human without the extreme period cramps once a month and without the vomiting due to pain.

but the fact that the medication instantly and very obviously also made me. like. fully numb to life. is really not fun and i really don't think it's fair that those are the two like........... options... that exist

[notveryshrugemoji]

I called out of work today and UGH it was a good decision I am back in bed. I might go to the gym later hahahaah

[thechildisgone]

not Roger Federer retiring so soon after serena!!

[i-regret-a-lot]

trying to decide on a question for a 1400 word essay and it is making me want to tear my brain apart because i just cannot get anything to click and it all feels impossible

[eraenaa]

Imgonnagetyouback

Inspired by the song "Imgonnagetyouback" by Taylor Swift

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: The plan is clear. Get Rafe back after your breakup. 

Warnings: Possessiveness, Jealousy, ¡Kinda Biased Towards the Reader!, ¿Kinda Toxic Relationship?, Violence, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Fingering, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 3,826

Two weeks. Two fucking weeks since Rafe broke up with you, and only now did you begin to spiral. It was not as if it was your first breakup with him; you would admit you two had a handful of breakups during the duration of your relationship, especially when you consider that you two had been dating since middle school. But this instance was different; this was the first time that Rafe was the one to initiate the breakup. Before, it was always you who called it quits, and he would come to you on his knees, begging you to take him back. However, now, he was the one to leave, and a fortnight had already passed, and no word was heard from him, leading you to become inwardly frantic. 

“So this one’s official now, huh?” Sarah asked as you filed your nails, staring harshly at your phone, willing it to light up with a notification from your best friend’s brother. “The audacity he has to do this to me! Did I tell you how he broke up with me?” You asked, and Sarah said no, even though you had ranted to her the story at least twice. “We were just sitting here, watching a movie— we had not fought for at least a month, and then he just said, ‘Let’s break up,’ and fucking got up and left!” You groaned, remembering how you stayed up later that night waiting for Rafe because you did not believe his words and the ludicrous way he ended your relationship. “I hate him! I should smash up his bike to teach him a lesson. He’s so fucking immature!” You groaned and heard Sarah sigh, “I’ve told you that years before and hundreds of times after, but you just ignored my warnings.” You groaned once more and tightly shut your eyes. You feel Sarah go to where you sat, “What are you gonna do now?” She asked and you took in a deep breath. “I’m gonna get him back.” You stated, and from the side of your eye, you saw her expression grow confused. “What?”

“I’m gonna get him back,” You declared once more. “I’m gonna get him back then be the one to break up with him— a real break up this time. Like, totally over.” You say but that did not aid Sarah’s confusion. “He does not get to be the one with the final say. He does not get to be the one to end all of this.” You say. “No offense, Sarah, but I’m going to crush your brother’s heart.” You turn to her and watch her lips twitch. “Do you need help?” She asked, and that earned a genuine laugh from you after weeks of being stoic as you did not know if you should mourn your relationship or wait for Rafe to be standing with flowers at the other side of your door. “I’m gonna get him back so bad.” You say once more as your mind was already thinking of the ways to take your revenge. 

You played in the tennis court with Sarah, her already luring in Topper, and with Topper came your now ex, Rafe. They just came from a round of god, and you try your best not to grow distracted by his presence, you willed your stubborn heart not to admit that it had missed him. You bounced the tennis ball, waiting for Sarah to finish her conversation with Topper. You smirked to yourself as you felt eyes on your ass. Specifically wearing Rafe’s favorite tennis skirt of yours. Your mind conjured the memory of him almost drooling as he watched you step out of the fitting room, fashioning the tight, lilac skirt. Just like a moth to a flame, Rafe threaded towards your direction. 

“Hey,” He greeted; in his hand was a can of cold beer, and you urged your gaze not to be entranced by the veins on his rather attractive hand. There was just something about how he gripped things. “Hi,” you say, tilting your gaze upward and squinting your eyes as the sun is beaming down harshly. “How are you?” He asked, his voice holding an edge of tension and awkwardness. “Pretty good, we’re three, love,” You say and watch as his lips part as you intentionally use the nickname you used to call him in a phrasing that was completely ambiguous. It was exactly why you asked Sarah to lure them here to the tennis court, knowing it was the only appropriate setting where you could execute at least three parts of your plan to get him back. “Love?” He asked, his voice lower, and you nodded. “Yeah, love. Zero,” You say, your demeanor relaxed as if you were not at all affected that he ended your six-year relationship. 

You watch him wet his lips and take a chug of his beer. “About the uh… the— our break up,” He stuttered, and you gazed top at him innocently, “What about it?” You asked and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, your eyes catching the way the ball on his throat bobbed, his lips parting, and you could practically see his mind trying to form his words to address the situation. “That’s it?” He asked after a while, and you bit your lip, knowing he loved it when you did that action, convincing him that you, too, were trying to think of a response even though you already knew how the scene would play out. “Yeah, I suppose. I mean, ours was a middle-school romance; it has run its course.” You said and watch intently as how hurt flashes in his eyes before quickly covering it with cool detachment. “Why? Did you think this would end up in like a marriage or something?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, noting how Rafe’s jaw clenched. 

Every word you uttered was like a bullet into Rafe’s chest. He must admit he broke up with you for no particular reason other than just being petty. The sudden breakup was just a result of his pride being wounded. Topper and Kelce had reminded him of the times you broke up with him and him being quick to go down on his knees and beg for you back. His ego could just not stomach the way they called him a ‘simp’ and ‘fucking whipped’ that he made a rash and ill-thought judgment. He was waiting for you to contact him, a call, a text, even a fucking smoke signal, just anything as long as you did the first move first. But two weeks had flown by, and not a word came from you. Now, to hear you say that you’ve expected your relationship to end— that you were practically just counting the days before its demise presented Rafe with sorrow, regret, and, greatest of all, rage.  

“Did you think this would end up in like a marriage or something?” The sentence echoed through Rafe’s mind. What the fuck did you mean by that? He remembered all too well the times you gushed about your futures. About how your wedding ceremonies would play out. What dress you’d wear. Where your honeymoon would be. The number of kids you two would have. The house you two will live in. Every specific detail of your future was thought of and was embedded in his mind, and now here you go, disregarding all of those sacred plans. 

“Rafe?” You called as he stood before you unmovingly, but you could feel him seething internally. You stepped closer and placed your hand on his arm to get his attention. You bit your cheeks as you feel his skin grow riddled with gooseflesh, a reaction that only you could elicit from him. You stared into his eyes, intense blue orbs that were starting to think twice about his decision. “Hey asshole, get out of the court, we’re trynna play!” You hear Sarah scream from a distance, and you step back and steal away your touch from him but not your eyes, as you wanted him to get the message that there was no apprehension or sadness in you about his decision to end things. Rafe stomped over to the side, standing next to Topper, him obviously agitated and tense. You turned to Sarah, and a knowing smirk appeared on both of your lips as the laid-out plans were going well. You were so gonna get him back. 

After your round of tennis at the club, the group decided to go back to Tanneyhill. You made yourself comfortable at the estate that was practically a second home to you. “Hey, Wheez,” You greeted as you went to the kitchens to grab a bottle of water. “Oh, you’re back!” She cried, and you laughed as you were enveloped in a hug by Rafe and Sarah’s sister, who was practically yours, too. “I heard about the breakup,” she whispered as she parted, but her hushed voice was moot as her older brother still heard her words. You were not quite sure what to say, but luckily, Wheezie spoke once more. “I mean, it’s not like it was unexpected, but still! I can’t believe you ended it; you were supposed to be my sister!” She exclaimed, devastated. 

“She didn’t end it,” Sarah came, and you watched as Wheezie abruptly turned to her brother, who stood next to Topper, who was hindering from laughing. “You idiot! You let her go?!” She exclaimed at Rafe, and you just stood there as Wheezie expressed her disbelief at her brother. “Shouldn’t you be out playing,” Rafe gritted as Wheezie’s reaction was only solidifying his regret. You bit your lip and perched yourself atop the counter as you watched the three Cameron siblings argue, Rafe trying to be rid of Wheezie and Sarah coming to their little sister’s defense. You turn to Topper, the two of you being a constant audience of this little family affair. 

In the end, Rafe, who was urging Wheezie to be the one to leave, was the one who stomped away. “Well, that went better than expected,” Sarah said. The three of you girls were left alone in the kitchen as Topper followed out his friend. “Still can’t believe that he was the one to break it off,” Wheezie said. You simply shrugged, “That’s why I’m trying to get him back,” You say. “So I can be the one to really end it.” 

“Wait, so, if you two aren’t dating anymore, who are you going to take to Midsummers?” Wheezie asked. And you feel your lips part as that did not even cross your mind. You and Rafe had always gone to Midsummers together. The event connected to many memories and many firsts for the two of you. “I guess no one,” You say. “But what if he takes someone else?” Wheezie asked, and you turned to Sarah. “We need to find you a date,” She quickly said, and you nodded. “Wait— but aren’t you trying to get him back to get back at him? If you bring a date, wouldn’t that like piss Rafe off more?” Wheezie asked as you three headed towards Sarah’s bedroom. “Exactly. Haven’t you noticed Rafe likes things better when he can’t have them?” Sarah asked, and you nodded along, recalling the times Rafe’s determination to acquire things that were dangled before him but were just beyond reach. 

“So, who would you take to Midsummers?” Sarah asked, “That’s an easy enough problem to solve; what I need now is something to wear for the party later,” You say and watch Wheezie and Sarah frown. “You’re going to that? You hate house parties.” Sarah frowned. “I do. But Rafe is going and it’s important for him to see that this whole ordeal is not at all affecting me,” You explained. “What? You’re going to flirt with other boys?” Wheez asked, and you smirked, “Duh,” 

 Rafe watched steely eyes as you sauntered into the room, taking the drink some dude handed to you and flashing him with a smile that had always been meant for Rafe. His fist clenched around his cup, effectively crushing the red solo cup as he watched you entertain the guys he had always kept a distance from you. His heart throbbing in his chest and his rage consuming him as you let one of them lead you towards the dance floor. Letting him stand behind you and let your bodies be flushed— letting him take Rafe’s place. 

You gritted your teeth as Rafe made no move. He only stayed on his spot by the side with some girl from your school who had always been over him since he was in the third grade and you were in the second. But even then, even though you two were just children, you two had always been drawn to each other. You huffed as you felt the vile feeling rising in you as a random dude kept dancing against you, and Rafe made no move— at this point in time, you miss his violent jealousy that you used to frown upon. 

You feel your heart still as your eyes locked with his. The silent language between you had gone mute and was now forgotten. Your heart clenched as he did nothing, only turned away from you and draped his arm around the shoulders of another girl. You staggered back as his actions stunned you and stung your heart. “Wanna get out of here?” The guy behind you dipped down and whispered in your ear, tugging at your hand. Your lips parted as you looked between him and Rafe, you waited a moment, willing him to turn around, but he didn’t. Is it really over now? You swallowed thickly and squared your shoulders, turning to the guy you were dancing with. “Yeah, sure,” You say meekly, and he grinned, pulling you away from the crowd and towards the bonfire lit by the shore. 

Rafe felt appalled to have his arms around another girl, but he had these theatrics to get you back. He turned back his gaze to the dance floor, searching for your gaze and making sure that the guy you danced with did not step a foot beyond bounds. Rafe felt his heart fall out of his chest as he realized you were gone. He quickly removed his arm from the random girl beside him and searched for you. “Sarah, where is she? Did she go home? Tell me she went home alone.” Rafe asked as he saw Sarah with her boyfriend. “Who?” She asked, feigning innocence. “Don’t fucking play with me, where’s my fucking girlfriend?!” Rafe seethed, eyes franticly searching for you. “You don’t have a girlfriend, Rafe. You broke up with her, remember?” Sarah asked, enjoying the panic in her brother. Topper laughed beside her, and Rafe shook his head. “Fuck you two, you really do deserve each other,” Rafe gritted and headed towards the beach. 

Rafe thought he had already uncovered every level of anger within him, but he was wrong. Nothing would compare to the rage he felt when he saw the guy you were dancing with holding you by your arms, trying to keep you still as you pushed him away as he tried to kiss your lips that were meant for Rafe. “Get the fuck away from her!” Rafe charged toward the guy and landed his fist on the guy’s jaw. Your eyes widened as Rafe suddenly appeared. You just stood there in shock, watching Rafe let out his rage on a guy who finally deserved it. It took a moment before your mind registered the severity of what was now happening; a crowd appeared and circled as Rafe and the guy fought. None even made a move to hinder them. You looked around and saw Kelce and Topper by your right, urging them to get Rafe, who was not at all phased by the crows that suddenly appeared. “You fucking force yourself on her! Fucking cunt!” Rafe screamed as his punches never missed his target. He was not at all tired of beating the guy who dared touch you, his mind not registering anything around him except the rage he felt. 

You feel your heart drop as the distinct sound of a siren sounded out, the crowd that had gathered quickly dissolving, but the presence of authority did nothing to sedate and calm Rafe. He was relentless in punching the guy even though he was already on the brink of unconsciousness. “That’s enough! Go home!” The sheriff screamed, and two other officers pulled Rafe away from the bloodied and bruised body of the guy. “This was not supposed to happen,” You whisper to Sarah as they push Rafe against the cop car and handcuff his wrists. You found yourself being dropped off at the station to post bail and explain to the sheriff what had happened. “He was just defending me; that guy was forcing himself on me, and luckily, Rafe was there to stop him.” You explained and turned your gaze to Rafe, who was in holding, staring blankly at the wall, his jaw and fists still harshly clenched. “Well, he did more than stop him,” The sheriff muttered with a sigh. “He’s not pressing charges, so your little boyfriend’s free to go,” the sheriff added reluctantly. You nodded and quickly moved to go to Rafe, whose cell doors were being opened for him. 

Tense silence surrounded the both of you as you stepped out of the station, and it followed the both of you until you reached Tanneyhill. You turned to Rafe, lips parting to speak, but he cut you off by placing his lips upon yours and cupping your cheeks with both of his battered hands. You melted at his touch, finally relenting and admitting to yourself that you had greatly missed him. When you two parted, you stared deeply into his eyes, deciphering clearly the thoughts he always struggled to word out. “You still love me,” You breathed out and felt your stomach twist as he nodded his head. “Of course I do,” He answered and kissed your lips once more. You wrapped your arms around him, your fingers lightly scratching his skull, his buzzcut hair prickling and tickling your soft palms. You feel him grip your ass once more, the telltale sign that warned you where this would lead. And though you missed feeling your body tangled with Rafe’s, you still needed answers. You were still deciding if your best-laid plans should be set on fire, skeptical that all of this was just his sleight of hand. 

“Why’d you break up with me?” You asked, parting your lips. Watching as Rafe huffed and tried to kiss you again, but you turned away and urged him to answer. “I was being petty,” He mumbled, and you heard him groan as you frowned at him and removed your touch. “Baby, please,” He said as you stepped backward, your eyes narrowing at his words. “What?” You gritted. “Look, I’m sorry. It was a stupid decision. The guys were giving me shit about how you were always the one to call it off! I just… I wanted you to be the one to come to me and ask for me back…” Rafe trailed as he had no better word to explain his reasoning for breaking up with you. “You broke up with me because of your fucking pride!?” You almost screamed in anger. “I’m sorry, baby, please; I was so stupid.” Rafe sighed and tried to pull you to him; the big man he was had gone for the moment as his blue eyes pleaded with you. 

You took in a deep breath and your senses were consumed by the smell of him. Your ears rang with the sound of his voice begging for your forgiveness. Your skin tingled by his touch. You breathed heavily and shook your head. “You’re so immature,” You sighed and pulled him down by his shirt to kiss his lips. Rafe smirked against your lips and savored the taste of you that he had longed for. “Am I forgiven?” He panted as you two parted; you stayed silent for a moment. Gazing at his eyes that were alight with hope. “Depends on how many times you make me come tonight,” You whispered against his lips, watching as his blue orbs turned dark. You shrieked as he hoisted you up and made you wrap your legs around him, hurriedly bringing you back to his room just to show you how truly apologetic he was. 

You hummed in delight as Rafe sucked your tit, his other hand pinching the other bud. His body pushed you against the back of his bedroom door, and your hips moved to seek friction. “I missed you so much, baby,” Rafe groaned between the valley of your chest, biting and sucking your skin, leaving it red and most probably bruised. You bit your lip in anticipation as he tossed you on his bed. He watched you with a smirk as he removed his shirt, the moonlight illuminating his muscled body. “Like the view, my girl?” He asked and slowly crawled atop your body, his fingers finding the zipper of your dress, but he was slow to undo it. “Stop teasing, you’re still not forgiven,” You groaned as his hand was trailing the inside of your thigh. “Oh, right… I’m sorry, baby,” Rafe hummed once more and placed kisses on your neck as his hand cupped your cunt. His fingers draw circles on your cloth-covered nubbin, his lips peppering kisses on your neck. 

You bit harshly on your lip as you pushed your underwear aside and finally felt the wetness he had caused. “So wet… you wanted me back as badly as I wanted you, huh, baby?” He hummed and watched as your eyes rolled back as he abruptly inserted his two fingers inside you, curling the digits and taking your breath away. “Rafe— I need you now,” You cried as his thumb laid flat on your nubbin. “Whatever you want, baby,” Rafe hummed and obliged your pleas. Stealing away his fingers and replacing them with his length. “God, so fucking tight," He grunted as he thrust into you. You could no longer hold in your moans as he pounded into you, the tip of his cock perfectly aligned with the spot in you that made you see stars and spew out moans that you were certain would be heard by those in the hallways. But you could not find care as Rafe fucked you senseless and made you reach your peak in record time. 

You panted as you came down from your high. Your boyfriend is looking at you through his hazy, lust-filled eyes. “Am I forgiven?” He asked, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, forcing him to lie on the bed and for you to be atop him. “Not yet.” 

[undermine-the-instinct]

Stop looking at me with those eyes!! Jjk Pt l | Pt ll | Pt lll

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Yuuta, Nanami, Shoko, Toji, Naoya.

Warnings: Spicy times are alluded to/insinuated. Naoya gets his own warning, lol.

* ☆ * ☆ * ☆ *

{Satoru} never wears his blindfold when he's around you. He's stopped wearing it early into your relationship, let's his hair down and his shoulders untense.

And you cherish these moments together, the comfortable silence, the air around you two quiet and languid. You're kinda creeped out though by the way Satoru stares at you.

"Stop looking at me with those eyes."

"What eyes?" He grins, his face in his hands. If he had a tail, you think it would be wagging.

"You know what you're doing."

"I'm sure I have no idea."

Ever heard of the blue eyed gaze? People with blue eyes tend to keep their eyes wide open, which you thought was weird and fake, but Satoru eyes are practically tennis balls.

"Stop staring at me like that. I can't concentrate with you giving me those puppy eyes."

"Oh? Get over here then and give me some attention." You scoff, but it's cut short by your laughter.

"You're not even trying to hide your motives, are you?"

"Nope!" He pops the 'p' and grins at you with those sparkling eyes, his pupils two twin dark spots of gravity, pulling you into his orbit. You don't even notice how absorbed you are, till he grins and his pupils dilate, big and round like marbles. You blush, and shake yourself out of your reverie.

You must resist.

"...No. After I'm done with the chores. You won't let me go once I'm in your clutches."

"Oh kitten," Satoru shakes his head in faux pity. "I'm not letting you go ever."

* ☆ * ☆ * ☆ *

{Suguru} doesn't try to hide how often he stares, but he's so sly with it you hardly notice. When you do notice though he smiles, slow and wide, eyes dark and almost sultry.

You know his work is dangerous, and you know he will die doing it. You savor the way he looks at you, even if you're too shy to say it out loud. But he knows how he makes you feel.

"Stop looking at me with those eyes." Suguru's smile is lax and mischievous, like a cat that just got the cream. He tilts his head and his hair falls over his shoulder, dark silk you want to feel between your fingers.

"Do you really want me to stop, honey?" See? He knows what he's doing. Your face flushes red and his smile turns sharp and teasing.

"..."

He snickers, and your gut flutters.

"Yeah, I know."

"You think you're so slick, don't you?" You try to cover up your embarrassment with irritation, but Suguru sits up so suddenly, and quick as lightning snatches you from the far side you were standing beside. You're in his arms, squeaking and struggling and laughing, squirming to get free but there's no escape.

Suguru watches you, soft and fond till you're out of breath, huffing against his chest with a pretty red face. He leans down and smacks a wet kiss to your forehead, laughing at the way your face scrunches.

"Yes. Yes I do."

"I hate you."

"I love you too hun bun."

"....Love you too Suguru."

* ☆ * ☆ * ☆ *

{Yuuta} is the definition of lovesick. He's got those shoujo heart pupil eyes whenever you so much as breathe in his direction. And that's how it always is. Whoever he's talking to, whatever he's looking at– even if he is in the midst of battle, face angry and eyes pinprick focused, he turns soft when he looks at you.

And you're such a sucker for that face that it makes you crumble everytime you see it. And he doesn't even use it to exploit you, he just uses it to get you to take care of yourself, or let him take care of you!

"..."

"Please?"

"Not now."

"Just a small break. Please, you've been working so hard."

"Not now, Yuuta. And stop looking at me with those eyes."

Yuuta doesnt reply and you try to be strong, you try, but you crack and take a peek. Immediately those eyes attack your heart, and you sigh through your nose, already defeated.

"..."

"..."

You just stare down at him and you both know it, you can see the hope in his face, but you also see the patience. He's kneeling next to you, willing to wait this out, (because you always fold) no matter how long it takes, and you sigh all over again.

"You know I fold like wet cardboard with that face Yuuta."

"But it works?" Sweet bastard. "So may you…? Please?"

"Ugh, fine. A quick break." His face breaks out into a smile like the sky dawning.

"Thank you, sweetie."

* ☆ * ☆ * ☆ *

{Nanami} shakes his head, gentle but adamant. "No."

"..."

"I said no."

"..."

"We'll have to run if we want to make it to that cafe in time. You're wearing heels and I can't carry you with all these bags." He had to do some juggling just to be sure he could hold your hand, no way both you and the bags can fit in his arms.

"Love." You don't answer.

Nanami says your name and sighs hard in the same breath, pinching his nose.

"We have enough already, and we've already gone well above our budget today."

"That's never been a problem before. You don't have to get everything for me, y'know. I have my own money. We can run, and i'll pay."

Nanami's head turns so he can look at you like you're crazy; he takes you out, he pays. He understands the issue of feeling indebted, or feeling bought (of course you're not) but you're his (willingly) and what is his is yours. But as soon as he turns and opens his mouth to speak he knows he's made a mistake.

He was only holding out because he was only holding your hand, and not your gaze. But you perk as soon as he faces you and turn onto him all the charm and endearment you can put into your eyes.

Doe eyes. It's annoying whenever the eccentric Gojo, who acts like one of his students tries to do this, and he's not swayed (too much) when his students do the same.

You though? God damn it. Your eyes are wide and sparkle and plead with him and he sighs, crumbling like a sandcastle in a storm.

"Fine. We can make it in time. I'm paying."

"Thank you honey! But you don't have to pay."

"And you don't have to wear that lingerie you bought but you want to," Nanami starts pulling you along, gently, and smiles back at you as you follow along. You smile back, fluttering your lashes prettily.

"And I don't have to pay, but I want to. So I will. End of deal." You grin at him, practically skipping, happy.

The big doe eyes always work. Hopefully they'll work later tonight too.

* ☆ * ☆ * ☆ *

Siren eyes. Even as a youth {Shoko} never had a doe eyed gaze, and she never had the dark levity for sultry. Her dark eyes are like pools that you drown yourself in, and it's often you caught staring at her. She'd flick your forehead and tell you to let her get back to work, because no good deed goes unpunished. You grin and ask the doctor for a quick check up.

"This is your fourth check up of the day."

"It's for my health, doctor. You can't just leave me like this." Shoko rolls those pretty eyes of hers, and it takes your all to not sigh like some besotted schoolgirl. You can't hide your affection in your eyes though, and she raises an eyebrow.

"Hey, no. Stop staring at me with those eyes. I have work to do."

"Is there something in my eyes? Come closer so you can check it out." She shakes her head at you.

"Yeah, no, you're not slick."

"It could be a serious case!"

"Yeah, it is." She steps closer, the click clack of her heels matching the staccato of your heart.

She presses a quick kiss to your mouth, and another, and moves back before you could press for more.

"Yep, I knew it. A very serious case of I-need-attention-so-I'm-gonna-keep-bothering-my-lover-from-her-very-important-work."

"...itis." She mushes your forehead and walks off so you can't see the grin spreading on her face.

"Oh shut up."

* ☆ * ☆ * ☆ *

{Toji's} got a staring problem. You have chores to do and you know you can't make eye contact because then he'll come over and he won't let you leave.

It's a game of pretending you don't see his eyes, and the longer you go the wider his grin becomes because he knows you're cracking, he knows and it's so damn cute to him. You know you never last long.

And oh my God, (and he does this on purpose) when his eyes finally leave your face, and trail slowly over the rest of your form, sliding over your curves and angles and lingering on the places he best likes to touch….. If you make it past this Toji whistles, and leans back in his seat, arms and legs spread. He looks so big and inviting.

"You're holding on strong."

"Chores, Toji. I held them off long enough, they should have been done yesterday." God damn his eyes. Dark and alluring, he is every temptation and vice crooning your name.

You think if Sirens could exist out of the ocean, Toji would be volcanic, his eyes are ash and his hands are fire on your skin, melting you, all soft and pliant in his hold.

You're like chocolate around him. Melting and sweet and dripping in his hands.

"Yeah, yeah we were busy." Okay, stop thinking about that. Don't think about how long he kept you in that room, in that bed, lounging and kissing and touching and tasting–

He laughs, loud, head tilting back and his scar stretching with his mouth. When you finally turn to glare at him he laughs harder, at the red flush that's spread past your face.

"Yeah, get the hell over here baby," he wipes a tear away and opens up his arms, beckoning you over.

"You held on long enough."

* ☆ * ☆ * ☆ *

You don't know whether sometimes {Naoya} is giving you the bedroom eyes or just glaring at you. Sometimes it's both. You think it's both.

"..."

"...?"

"..." He's still glaring, but he definitely looks more angry now. Too bad. Its late and you have a skincare routine to finish. And you can't read minds, even though you can tell what he wants from the heat in his eyes, the stiff way he's holding himself.

He sighs hard, and your mouth twitches. He sees this, and frowns deeper.

"Are you done with your ridiculous routine? Get yourself over here."

"No love, I'm not. You're going to have to wait a few moments more." You hear a sharp intake of breath, because how dare you leave your husband waiting, and you can help it! You giggle.

"....How audacious you are."

"And how so dear?" You see his face turn pouty, before he smooths it back down to irritation. It's funny how angry he gets. He could just ask.

"You know what I want."

"Well you're going to have to wait. I'm busy."

"Exactly. Audacious. You are supposed to serve your husband. Not to leave me bereft."

"I also have to make sure I look my best, because that reflects on the both of us. I'm sorry baby, I know you want my attention." You grin, and you think if you were anyone else you would be dead already. You think Naoya would have killed them.

But you're you and you're amazing and your husband only puts his hands on you if you want him to. He knows he'd be damned to the lowest level of hell if he really spoke to you with and expected all that misogynistic bullcrap, so it's fun to play like this sometimes.

You sigh and set down one of your bottles. He perks, even if he tries to hide it, and you turn to him.

"It's Friday, so I'm doing a mask. I can't rush this routine." He opens his mouth to protest, but you hold a hand up. The power you hold.

"Lay down. Untie your hakama." The power you hold. Naoya looks at you like you're crazy, but he does just that, leans back and lets you see how the low lamplight tints his skin gold.

You gesture with your chin and his eyes widen as he catches on.

"Go on. You're so eager, right? Maybe if you put on a good enough show I'll join you." You smile. "Go on."

A/N: I sincerely think if Naoya had a poc partner, sorcerer or not, they fr could've set him straight. HES SO HANDSOME AND FOR WHAT???

[pettydollie]

brat tamer matt x yn ?

hi!! to the other anon who req headcanons for brat!tamer matt, those'll come out later !

matt's little brat ♡

summary: matt giving the reader silent treatment to teach her a lesson bc shes being bratty :C warnings/notes: cursing, matt is kinda giving sugar bf vibes, silent treatment from matt, reader is a brat obv she may even get on UR nerves a little, NOT PROOFREAD!! wc: 1k

lets say you're out at the pool. matt's been ready to go, but he's let you have your fun. but he's tired and you guys have been out for hours!

you work hard too! he acts so big and tough as if he does all the work around here. yeah sure, he goes to work all day. but.. you uh.. you do...

you know what, let's just move on :)

when he's finally had enough of your excuses to stay, he snaps. "i said, let's go." his stern voice and impatient face makes you want to stomp your foot on the ground like a child. but you don't, you simply keep the annoyed look on your face. you fold your arms before snatching your stuff and walking to his car. he follows you, a small grin on his face.

you hate being pushed around, liked having freedom. matt always waited for you to say the 'lets go'. but not today. you begin to rant in the car when he's driving home. "i don't understand why i had to go! you could've left and i coulda caught a cab back. or i could've called nate."

the last part of your irritated ramble got to matt a bit. he frowned. nate, his best friend, always had a little bit of a thing for you, though he never gave him any trouble for it. nate's a good guy and he'd never step where he knows he's not welcome. but if you said the magic words, he'd totally try to get with you.

you're usually a good girl, however. you're aware of nate's feelings for you which is why you brought his name up to push your boyfriend's buttons.

this is when he starts to give you the silent treatment. not to punish you, though. he's just waiting for you to cool off. you continue to bitch and whine about how he was barely even interacting with you at the pool. he was on the lounge chair for most of the time and you were in the water by yourself like a loser. little do you know, he was busy on his phone looking at tiffany tennis bracelets to buy you for your one year anniversary

once you arrive at his apartment, you don't wait for him to come around to your side of the car to open the door for you. no, you grab your belongings and swing the door open aggressively. a small agitated pout has formed on your face and you rush into the lobby, leaving him behind (not really because he quickly follows you)

he can't really hold in his smirk anymore. he thinks its adorable when you get like this. all cranky and annoyed. his little brat ♡

you see this and it just makes you even more upset. but what really does it for you is when you two step into the elevator and he doesn't touch you at all. it's just you two and he's not giving you a sloppy kiss to get you all flustered. he doesn't even wrap his arm around your waist.

you practically sprint out of the elevator when you reach his floor. you get to the door and realize you left the key at your house, so you have to wait for him. you turn towards him with your arms crossed and suck your teeth impatiently. he doesn't make any effort to walk quicker though. he just smiles lazily, flinging the keys around on his finger.

"hurry up." you demand

he breaks eye contact, unlocking the door. you push past him to get inside first. you throw your stuff down on his leather couch and run into the en suite, locking the door when you get inside. he scoffs, his tongue swiping over his teeth in amusement.

almost two hours later, this little charade is still going on. you're only half as mad as you were before. to be honest, you were kinda tired of this act. you wanted to crawl into his lap and kiss his pretty face. but you're too petty to give in so easily

"you're so fucking mean!" you whine out, rolling your eyes when he looks up from his laptop with both eyebrows raised. he still doesn't speak, quickly removing his attention from you and back to his screen. "stop ignoring me." you spit. you're used to getting what you want from matt, so this really bothers you.

he chuckles. "mean, hm? aw, baby. you're gonna make me cry." he toys with you, pushing you further. whatever, you don't care. atleast he's talking now. you scoff, "i hope so!" though your words have no malice. he pushes his laptop off him and to the side. he pats his lap, testing to see what you'd do.

you fold your arms again and huff. you shake your head, your mouth closed shut. he sighs and mutters an "okay." he turns off his lamp and goes back on his computer. now you feel terrible. you want to beg for forgiveness and apologize for being such a punk. you're sleepy and there's no way you're gonna be able to without his comfort.

your forced angry face slowly contorts into a sad pout. your eyes get glossy and you get in bed next to him. "matt." you whisper, pulling gently on his arm. he holds in his smile, turning to look at you. you rest your head on his shoulder. "m sorry.. you're not mean at all. you're perfect."

he kisses your head sweetly. "that's okay, my love. you were just a little cranky today, huh?" he coos, and you nod your head tiredly, your vision already beginning to falter. he sees this, turns off his laptop, and puts it down on his nightstand. he pulls you to lay down so you can sleep. you rest your hand on his cheek, his stubble pricking you.

you slowly lean in to kiss his lips. his hand grabs your hip, licking your bottom lip. you pull back shyly and smile. he toothily grins. "such a bratty girl, aren't cha?" he teases, poking your side.

THIS IS KINDA SLOPPY SORRY </3 i have so much thoughts abt brat!reader x matt rn so theyre all kinda jumbled hehe

tags!! <3 @stargirlsturniololover @junnniiieee07 @mattsneezing @freshloveee @freshsturns @emma4eva

[sonego]

i wanted to share this video i found of jannik and translate it too for those who don't speak italian because i am soooo fond of this jannik... low voice, talking about how he loves spending time with fans, being happy about milan winning, smiling almost shyly, joking.

for context this was after the first round at roland garros in 2022 and it was right after milan won the league (scudetto) for the first time in 11 years so obviously it was very special and you can clearly see it in jannik's eyes <3

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 15 - Noncon

Ghost x Reader - 4.6k (on ao3)

summary: You find yourself cornered in a Maze of Mirrors. (Reader POV)

cw: noncon everything, face fucking, pussy slapping, degradation, kinda a wedgie? like a front wedgie? is that a thing?, orgasm denial

note: if you like this (or hate it but like the concept) read Halloween Haunt by Harley Laroux <3 her erotica is top tier

You’ve always loved Halloween - always been the kid with the scariest costume in class, always had the house decorated with uncomfortably realistic decorations. When your sorority sisters dressed up as black cats and sexy witches, you spent hours painting the most realistic zombie makeup you could. (Your sisters complained for months that you ruined the pictures, but the frat boys had all thought your makeup was far more interesting than theirs. God, you do not miss college.)

Regardless, you’ve always been known to love any and everything scary. There’s something about the thrill of a scare - the creeping horror as you start to realize what’s coming, the ultimate reveal - that always gets you a little squirmy in your seat. Your first crush was Skeet Ulrich in Scream - specifically the scene where he’s covered in blood, licking his fingers. 

You get all those ooey-gooey good scared feelings as your friend drags you through the decently crowded fairgrounds. The actual fair - the one that comes yearly, that no one ever calls anything but the fair - had left only two weeks ago, so this travelling fair had set things up in mostly the same arrangement and, you suspect, to trick certain people into thinking they were the same company.

You’ve already forgotten what your friend said the event was called. She hadn’t needed to give many details to convince you - you heard travelling circus, horror themed, interactive workers, and you were in. The branding isn’t very strong anyways, the only place the name was displayed was the entrance booth, and none of the workers seem to wear any sort of logo, so you don’t feel too forgetful for letting it slip your memory so easily.

You’re not very impressed with the fear factor so far. You hadn’t done too much makeup (hadn’t wanted to risk being mistaken for a cast member) but since it’s the night before Halloween you’ve got a half-done costume on - a clown. Just some white face paint, black lips, and overdrawn triangles around the eyes, a little smudged to make it look like you’ve been chasing someone down and working up a sweat. Your hoodie and tennis skirt look a bit out of place, but you’d wanted to be comfortable since you hoped you’d be spending your night running from actors.

But even a face full of makeup feels like it might’ve been too much effort for this place. Most of the costumes look like they’re from Party City at best - some of them even look very lazily hand-made - and none of the workers seem particularly interested in scaring people. Still, the crowd is easily amused and even a wave or a feint towards a customer has shrieks ringing in the air every few minutes.

You sigh a little disapointedly as you and your friend linger on the edge of the fairgrounds, off to the side and in the dark so you don’t have to deal with the crowd. She pulls out a cigarette and offers you her light.

“I’m sorry,” she says, lighting the stick between your teeth when you lean forward. “I really thought it would be scarier than this. Some of the posters…” she exagetates a shiver. “I thought they’d at least have better costumes.”

You eye a man in a werewolf mask across the pathway, pissing into the dirt. He’s got a flannel and jeans on, and the mask is a little bit crumpled like he pulled it out of a Walmart bin this morning. You’d bet money the flannel was just a happy coincidence he noticed when he showed up for work.

“Yeah,” you sigh, blowing out a lungful of smoke and watching the actor try not to get his dick stuck in his zipper. “Not really your fault, though, these things always look scarier in the ads. Wanna get out of here soon?”

You pass the cigarette to her. “In a bit,” she replies. “I want to try and find some food first. You hungry?”

You shake your head with a grunt. “I wouldn’t trust anything cooked here, honestly. Might just pick up something on the way back.”

She passes you the cigarette for one last breath. “Well I’m too hungry for that. You good on your own for a bit?”

You crouch down a moment to stub out the cigarette, leaving the butt in the gravel. “Yeah, sure. Might see if these fun houses have anything worth seeing in them.”

“You should!” She smiles over her shoulder at you as she starts off to a more well-lit section of the fair. “You never know, maybe they stick the real scares in there!”

You give her a final wave and shout, “Here’s hoping!” at her back as she leaves. 

You linger outside for a little longer, scanning the few structures nearby to decide which one you want to waste a few tickets on.

There’s a Freak Show, but you already know you’d be horribly disappointed if you went in there, something labeled a “House of Horrors” that you’re sure is as much a scam as the freak show, and a few games that have cheap prizes lined up above them.

Across from you, with no lights around it and just one attendant - slumped over, hopefully sleeping - at the front, is a House of Mirrors. Figuring it’s the least likely to be a waste of time (and knowing the kid won’t wake up to charge you), you head over to the building.

The closer you get the more you worry about if he’s asleep or dead, but his snores rattle the little tickets resting on his desk so you figure he’s just a slacker. It’s almost too easy to get by him with all your tickets safe in your pocket. There’s no one else around the darkened corner of the fairgrounds, but you’re quite sure no one would bother snitching on you this late at night. All the parents with little kids left hours ago, leaving mostly teenagers and adults of varying ages left to wander the park.

There’s music playing from speakers that you can’t see, an old clown-themed song that sounds like it’s playing on a scratched up DVD. You’re pleasantly surprised as you make your way through the dusty lobby and into the main section of the building, creatively labeled MAZE OF MIRRORS.

Their branding could definitely use some work, but you’ll give them points for ambience - the lights are turned so low that it’s nearly too dark to see, making all of the mirrors even more difficult to spot. You find yourself a little spooked as you start to make your way through the maze, grinning to yourself.

It’s a shockingly difficult maze, you quickly discover. The music is so loud in some spots that you can hardly hear your thoughts, and so faint in others that you think it might be turned off. The maze itself is a series of either tight, tiny hallways or large open rooms. Whoever designed it clearly knew how to take advantage of the space they were given, the maze feels ten times bigger than it looked on the outside as you wander through.

You know the trick to mazes - keep one hand on the right wall and eventually you’ll find your way out - but it’s fun to just wander around the place, so you let yourself get stuck wandering in circles. You’re glad your friend isn’t here to see how many times you manage to walk into a mirror fully confident that it’s not there, only to whack yourself in the face. For how low maintenance the rest of the fair is, you’re surprised that the hall of mirrors is what they focus their upkeep on.

You’ve been in the maze for about five minutes when you see him.

He scares the shit out of you at first. You spot him behind you in a mirror - one you’d just walked into, which is the only reason you can see well enough to notice him - standing at the entrance to the hallway you’d turned down. He’s clad in all black, except for the skull mask over his face. You think he’s just something taped onto the wall with the way that he blends in, but then that mask titls to the side and you’re struck with the bone-deep knowledge that you’re being watched.

“Shit!” You shout when it first registers that he’s not a piece of paper, one hand coming up to clasp at your erratically beating heart while the other steadies you against the mirror. He doesn’t move past tilting his head a bit further, and after a moment you relax.

You don’t turn around, but you study him a bit in the mirror. It’s too dark to see much more than the outline of his body, but he’s big. He looks like he’s wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans with the mask, and he must be wearing gloves to cover his hands since you can’t see them.

You huff out a laugh as you let both of your hands fall to your sides.

“You got me good,” you call, glancing over your shoulder. You almost jump again - he’s closer than you’d realized, but too far away for you to touch. “I didn’t even see you follow me in here.”

He doens’t say anything. You turn around more fully, leaning back against the mirror and crossing your arms across your chest.

“You gonna start chasin’ me now?” You ask, cocking an eyebrow. You’re playing up the sass, but it’s always fun to mess with theme park employees.

The man takes a few steps forward, heavy boots thudding against the cheap wood flooring. He really is an intimidating bastard, far scarier than any of the other actors you’d seen so far.

“Well?” You call out, standing up from your spot. “Do I get a head start?”

Still no answer. He rolls his head on his neck, then steps to the side and walks into one of the connecting hallways without sparing you a glance. When you step closer to see which direction he’s chosen, he’s already gone.

You huff another laugh to yourself, shaking out your limbs and bouncing a few times on your toes.

Now that you know there’s someone in here with you, the thrill of a scare is starting to get you worked up. You hope they don’t have any rules against physical contact between actors and customers, just imagining the skeleton man tackling you has shivers running up your spine.

You don’t bother to be any quieter as you keep wandering through the maze. You bump into just as many mirrors, continue to question the speaker placement, and keep an eye out for any skeleton masks lingering behind you.

You see him a few more times, always behind you, always just out of reach. He gets progressively closer everytime you spot him. You're reminded of the Weeping Angels from Doctor Who - every time you look away, he gets closer.

It’s fun. More fun than you’ve had all night.

He finally catches up to you what you guess is about half an hour later. Youre just turning another corner, thinking about how it’s been a bit since you’ve seen your shadow, when a hand plants itself firmly between your shoulder blades and shoves.

You’re sent to the ground with a cry, palms scraping against the floor. There’s a gloved hand collaring your throat before you can think to do much more than catch your breath, hauling you up and holding you in the air.

Your eyes fly to the mirror less than a foot away, staring wide-eyed at the image reflected.

There’s you, in your messy clown makeup and hoodie, being held up by a giant swath of black behind you. He’s not ducking down at all, his feet planted on either side of your splayed legs as he towers above you. The way you’re being held up, your head doesn’t even reach his belt buckle. The contrast of your shock and discomfort to his plastic mask has your thighs clenching, just a bit.

He doesn’t duck lower, just tilts his head in that now-familiar way of his and pulls you a little further up. His hand is absolutely massive, thumb resting beneath one ear and his fingers resting below the other. You choke a bit as you’re lifted, knees scrambling beneath you.

This close to the mirror you can see his eyes - bright blue, surrounded by black paint, and staring back into yours.

He lowers his head, his free hand tugging your hair until you lean back and look straight up. The hand on your neck shifts to hold you in that position, his other hand lifting to pull the black part of his mask up.

He’s white, with thin lips and a broad jaw. You pant as you stare up at him, incapable of processing what’s going on.

His jaw works for a moment, lips twitching, and before you realize what he’s about to do you feel something wet splatter against your cheek.

He spit on you. Who the fuck does that? Being tackled and manhandled is one thing but spitting? You recoil reflixivley, lips curling as you reach up to try and wipe disgusting liquid off.

“What the fuck-” You start, but before you can even finish your sentence you’re yanked forward by your neck.

You yelp as you’re thrown from between his thighs, hips twisted awkwardly and head slamming back against the mirror. You cry out at the sharp pain at the back of your skull, but before you can think of doing anything there’s a hand around your neck again, a body crouched in front of you - over you - keeping you from doing anything.

You gape up at the actor, panting and surprised. None of the other employees even got close to touching customers - half of them didn’t even look like they wanted to be there - what the hell is this guy’s problem? Does he just take his job way too seriously

He’s far too close to you now, your nose nearly brushing where his shoulder be, his boots on either side of your thighs, his chest pressed so close that you can’t do anything with your hands.

The hand not around your neck comes up to your cheeks, grabbing them both in one hand and pinching until your lips pucker up. You squirm, letting out a noise of surprise and pain when his thumb and pointer finger dig in between your teeth to force your mouth open. One eye squeezes shut at the ache, but there’s nowhere for you to go with him caging you in.

This time when he spits, it lands right in the little hole he’s made for himself. With how close he is, you see the way his lips twitch up in the corners.

You try your best to get out from under him, hands pushing at his shoulders and legs desperately kicking. But he’s like a statute above you, hard as stone and immoveable. 

He leans so close that his lips nearly brush yours, meeting your glare with a spark of amusement. 

“Like how it tastes?” He purrs, chest rumbling against yours.

You make a noise somewhere between offended and annoyed, trying to throw yourself every which way for even an inch of freedom. All you manage is a tighter grip on your jaw and neck, leaving you wincing.

“Lots more where that came from,” he promises.

It’s insultingly easy for him to manhandle you, and you curse all the times you swore to yourself you’d finally start taking self-defense classes. You can barely manage a single blow, and when your hands or feet do make contact he doesn’t even flinch.

There’s absolutely nothing you can do as you’re wrestled to the floor. He gets you flat on your back then kneels over your head, his knees so close that you worry he’ll squeeze them together and pop your head like a berry.

He doesn’t give you a chance to sit up, planting one heavy hand in the center of your chest and leaning his weight forward, knocking the air out of you. You finally regain the ability to speak when his other hand moves to his belt, undoing it right above your face.

“What are you-? No, no, get the hell off me!” You shout, desperately pushing at his arm and trying to get enough leverage with your feet to squirm away. “Don’t you fucking dare- help! Somebody help!”

Your screams go ignored, blending right in with that stupid clown music and bouncing off the mirrors just to come straight back to your ears. Your noise doesn’t deter him at all, and he’s got his belt off and jeans yanked down despite your resistance. 

“No, no, no, don’t- stop, please, you can’t-” you gasp, eyes flying wide as you find yourself staring up at his cock above you. 

He doesn’t give you any warning, just grabs your jaw, holds it open, and sheathes himself down your throat.

Your limbs spasm, every instinct in your body screamin to get away as he slips right past your gag reflex. You’re terrified that you’ll vomit and choke on his cock, the fear dousing you in icy cold and leaving you limp for a minute. All you can think about is breathing around the intrusion in your throat, finding some way not to suffocate and die on a sticky mirror maze floor.

“Finally,” you hear him grunt from above you. He grabs both of your wrists, easily ignoring your weak pulls and tying them together with his belt. “Somethin’ to shut you up.”

You try and make a sound around his cock, yanking your hands away and panicking even more when you feel how firmly tied they are. You make another sound, insitively trying to cry out even with something stuffed in your mouth.

He moans above you, lowering himself to his elbows over your body. “Yeah, just like that,” he pants. “Mouth feel’s fuckin’ heavenly.”

You go silent, determined not to give this piece of shit anything he wants. Tears pour down your temples and across the tops of your ears, and your throat burns.

His hips move slowly against your face, grinding himself as deep as he can get before pulling out just a few inches and sliding back in. He’s got an unfairly large cock, and there’s already an ache developing in your jaw from just seconds held so wide open.

His foreskin catches on your teeth when he pulls the whole way out just to fuck back in, and you’re sharply reminded of the fact that you have teeth.

When his cock bottoms out, his balls resting against your eyes, you bite down, praying it’s enough to break skin.

It’s not. Instead of blood pouring into your mouth and a screaming man falling off of you, you hear the man snarl, pulling his dick out entirely and slamming it back down your throat so harshly that it feels almost like he’s punched you in the face.

“No fucking teeth,” he snaps above you, and you feel his weight shift back onto his knees, then his hands grab at your thighs and throw them open. He flips your skirt up and before you can think to bite down again lands a stinging slap against the gusset of your underwear.

You nearly scream around his cock, hips snapping closed to try and smother the pain. He only growls another sound, using one hand to hold you open and the other to rain down a series of progressively harder smacks.

Your breath hitches as you sob, hardly able to get any air in around his thrusts as he starts them back up again. Every time he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, he lands another hit to your poor pussy. You can’t help but wail around him.

“There it is,” he moans, the sound loud and unrestrained. “God you feel good screamin’ around my cock. Good fuckin’ hole, huh?”

He punctuates the last four words with slaps, leaving his length inside your throat and going back to that horrible grinding against your face. You go silent again, using all of your willpower to keep from screaming. What little thought is left in your head is used to figure out how best to breathe through your nose without choking on snot.

He doesn’t smack you again, but you feel his fingers trace around the edges of your panties. Your hips wiggle against your will, just trying to get away from the violation. One of your legs is pinned to the floor by the thigh, but the other oscillates between going limp and trying to get leverage and force your body up.

His fingers hook around the gusset of your underwear, but before you can even worry about him touching you there, he pulls them up towards your body.

He does it with such force that you’re left squealing, hips flying off the ground to try and lessen the pressure against your clit. His hand pulls so far up that you feel it resting nearly at your belly button. You can’t help the little gasping, gagging noises as he starts to thrust in and out of your mouth again.

You hear - you feel - him laugh, swaying his hand from left to right. Your hips try to follow naturally, just desperate to alleviate any of the pressure you can.

“Like a little puppet,” he murmurs, yanking even further up, moaning when you scream.

He lets them go only a few thrusts later, big hand smoothing the fabric down over your cunt. You can feel that it’s stretched out, a little looser around the meat of your pussy, and the thought only makes you cry harder.

But you go silent again. It’s the one thing left in your control - even pinned to the floor, hands tied, legs useless, mouth stuff, you can decide how much noise you make.

He doesn’t like that. He groans a little when you go quiet again, tapping your thigh sharply.

“No, come on, make your little noises again. Feels real nice on my cock.”

This time you’re ready for the smack against your vulva, and you remain silent. You stay silent for the next three too.

His hips work with a little more force again, balls smacking against your face and leaving you to squeeze your eyes shut. After the next slap his hand doesn’t lift again, just rubs over your vulva slowly.

It’s pure luck on his part that he happens to rub over your clit. It’s a pure lack of luck on your part that you moan at the sudden and unexpected pleasure, completely taken off guard.

He stills above you, then slowly repeats the movement. You’re helpless to the little whimpers coming from your throat, and you curse the fact that you’ve always been loud during sex. He zeros in on exactly how to rub your clit unreasonably quickly, fingers sure through the fabric of your underwear.

“That what you need?” He rumbles a laugh above you. “Pain won’t make you noisy, but pleasure will? I can work with that.”

Before you can even begin to question what that means, your underwear are tucked to the side, and there’s a face buried in your pussy.

He doesn’t bother taking any time to explore or try and learn your body, just dives tongue-first to your clit. His technique of lick first, figure out what feels good later unfortunately works on you, and you’re left writhing beneath him, eyes rolled back in pleasure and moans muffled.

He groans agaisnt you, too, lips vibrating against your clit in a horrible and delicious way. “There you go.” You can barely hear him over the sounds of your own choking, especially with his own voice muffled in your folds. “That feels good, keep going.”

You don’t want to, but the magic he works against your clit leaves you no choice. You can’t help the hitched cries spilling from your lips, even if they make you cry all that much harder as you hear them.

He doesn’t take much longer to come, and you’re torn between resenting the fact that it’s your sounds that get him off and being glad that he does so he can get off of you.

He comes with a loud groan, sent right into your cunt and dragging you far too close to an edge you do not want to see, and sends thick ropes right down your throat. It’s almost a kindness that you can’t taste him, only have to swallow as quickly as possible so you don’t choke. The movements of your throat only draw out his orgasm though, and you’re locked in a terrible cycle for what feels like an eternity.

He doesn’t get you off. You’re not sure if you’re thankful or not.

You gasp when he finally pulls out of your throat, taking uninhibited breaths for the first time in far too many minutes. You can’t shut your jaw from the pain, but you also can’t kick your legs when he kneels up more fully.

He’s silent as he takes back his belt, and no matter how much you beg your arms to move, they remain still on your stomach. He shifts off of you, and you whine wordlessly when he grabs a handful of your hair, wiping his flaccid cock off in it.

Still, you don’t move.

He stands and redoes his belt silently, the jingle loud even with the clown music still playing. You stare up at him, and he holds eye contact with you. For some reason, you can’t look away.

He crouches down again before he leaves, and you can’t help but flinch away. He doesn’t touch you sexually again, though, only reaches out and pushes your jaw closed with two firm fingers.

You hate that he still has the mask pulled up, because it means you can see his smirk.

“That was fun. Maybe we’ll do it again sometime.”

He’s gone before you manage to understand what he’s said, and the tears start all over again when you do.

—

It takes you a while to scrape yourself off of the floor. You only catch sight of yourself in one mirror before you stare at the ground.

Your makeup is ruined, teartracks running down your temples and both cheeks. There are smudges along your jaw where his hands grabbed. Your lips are swollen and red. It could not be more obvious what’s just happened to you.

You plant one hand on the wall to your right, and keep your eyes firmly planted on your sneakers as you leave the maze. You feel almost detached from yourself, unable to truly understand what happened, what it means.

The throbbing between your thighs is distracting. You worry you might chafe from how soaked your panties are.

It doesn’t take long to find your friend once you finally make it out. She takes one look at you and laughs, teases you about having fun without her. You can’t bring yourself to correct her, and she picks up on your tone quickly, dropping the subject.

The two of you walk silently to your car. You hate it, but you can’t help but scan every actor. Thankfully - or maybe not thankfully? You don’t know anymore - none of them are even close to as big as the masked man in the hall of mirrors was.

You tuck your hands beneath your armpits as you finally make it to the parking lot, walking as quickly as you can get away with without running. Your limbs go a little looser as you get to your car, mind relaxing as it recognizes how close you are to safety. 

You freeze when you finally make it to the driver’s side door, lungs going still and heart beating so quickly you worry it’ll pound right out of your chest.

There, sitting in the driver’s seat, is a skeleton mask sewed onto a balaclava.

[arachine]

cross-court . . . (๑>◡๑)

synopsis :: after a long day of patrolling, bakugou wants nothing more than to unwind by taking his furry companion on a stroll near the park. what he doesn’t expect, though, is to run into you. genre :: mature warnings :: smut (18+), characters are in their mid-twenties, phone sex, bakugo is lowkey a creep, maybe just a tiny bit of a loser, mentions of alcohol word count:: 3.7 k note:: this is a really old fic that i edited a bit. couldn’t be asked to edit it further! just wanted to get smth out >_<

The soreness in his bones is definitive proof of a hard day's work. He’d been summoned earlier that afternoon to patrol the perimeter of Kyushu (well, he was asked to pick up a shift for Kirishima and felt obligated to comply), and hadn’t caught a break since. Bakugou expected this much, though. The days and nights were growing warmer, which could only mean that there’d be a significant increase in crime—to his disdain. 

Although he spent most of the day chasing down criminals, there was currently only one thing occupying his mind. And if he could successfully (and quickly) get to his apartment without any obstacles, then he’d have a little more time to see…you. 

He’s not exactly sure when he first noticed you. It’s something that he tries to recall often, but he only ever comes up short, ultimately guessing that you were always there in the background on the days he wasn’t paying attention. The earliest memory of you—and the only one he can vividly remember—is sometime last spring. There you were at the community tennis court, with your racket in hand, dashing gracefully across the cement and skillfully obstructing your opponent’s strokes. 

If it were any other day, sure, he might’ve paid you no mind, but the way your eyes gleamed with determination—like you were certain that you’d win—is what made his stare linger a little longer. Your force on the court was fierce, and care-free, and all encompassing, and if he had a say, he’d say that you were in your own little bubble. So, that’s what he associates you with now. Spring. The season that brought warmth, and clear skies, and cool breezes, and cherry blossoms. 

The elevator ride up to his apartment is short, just as short as the conversation he had with the pro hero who happened to enter the elevator with him. He responds to their attempts at small talk with half-hearted grunts, and sometimes he says nothing at all. Honestly, he doesn’t know why people even bother. Soon, the elevator arrives on his floor with a ding, and he exits without saying a word. 

“Yeah I—oh! Have a good day, Dynamite. Nice tal-” T he elevator shuts before they can finish their sentence. 

As soon as he jiggles his keys in front of the door, his ears pick up the familiar sound of heavy paws and excited barks that belong to his furry companion. Instantly, he’s greeted with slobbery kisses and licks. 

“Alright already…y’damn mutt,” Bakugou hisses, pretending to hate the affection, “quit actin’ like I haven't seen ya in days.” After a minute or two of playing around, he kisses his teeth to call the dog over to where he stands with its collar and leash. 

“Where are we going? Are we going on a walk, girl?” he smoothes a hand over her coat after adjusting the collar around her neck, “we gonna see that pretty girl? Hm, Nala? Yeah we fucking are. Let’s go.” 

He takes this route often just to see you. It’s pathetic, really, and it’s also embarrassingly far from his apartment complex. Makes him feel like one of those creeps who frequent the park to get a glimpse at you—which was what he was kinda already doing—albeit, he liked to persuade himself into thinking his intentions were of pure heart. 

At first, he told himself that he just liked watching you because you were good. You were strong, and fast—quick on your toes and quick with your words. Sometimes, he’d pick up on the shit talking between you and your opponents, and he’d laugh. All low and hearty, nodding his head like he was on the receiving end of the jab. But then he realized one day how odd he must’ve appeared to passerbyers like himself who probably witnessed him laughing along. 

You reminded him of himself, though. And as much as he tried to tell himself that this—or whatever this really was— was just pure and unadulterated admiration, he knew it was just bullshit. Because now he wasn’t just noticing things like your strength, and your quick-wittedness, and your drive for triumph. No, he was starting to take interest in other things—other thoughts. Thoughts that were beginning to sound a whole lot like: ‘I wonder what color panties she’s wearing’ and a lot less like ‘she’s so cool’. 

Soon, every thought at the forefront of his mind was becoming sullied with fantasies of you. He was gradually becoming hyper-aware of the fact that you had a body. And yes, you had arms, and hands, and legs, and feet, and skin—in the way that everyone does—but he was starting to notice something. Your figure.

The cords of muscle in your calves (sinewy and taut, in the way that only muscles can be), your neck, the sleekness of it—a precursor to your chest, and your torso, and your ass. God, your damned ass, and your damned, stupid fucking tennis skirts. It drove him crazy. Seeing you frolick all around the court, in those little skirts that did fuck all at keeping you covered. 

And as much as he wanted to pretend that seeing a flash of your cute little panties for a modicum of a second was the biggest of his concerns…He can’t. Because regardless of his faux disdain for your prancing around in tight clothes, it’s what keeps bringing him back. And he’d keep coming back. Again, and again, and again, and…again, until he worked up the nerve to say something. 

Today he finds that nerve quickly. Not intentionally, unfortunately, but by force. Because today? Today the odds were working in his favor. Today his dog’s dumbass ball happened to roll a little too far in your court. Far enough for it to roll all the way under the gate and to your feet, presenting itself like a silver platter.

Fucking great, he thinks. He wasn’t prepared in the slightest to talk to you, at least not today. But today wasn’t just a day; today was the worst of days, and shit was hitting the fan fare more than he would’ve liked. He’s pulled from his reverie when Nala gets the bright idea to run after the ball, and before he notices, she’s already up and tackling you over. 

So much for first impressions. He’d damn her straight to hell if he could (he wouldn’t), but then he figures he ought to thank his furry companion for piquing your interest because instead of freaking out (like a normal person would after being tackled by an unaccompanied dog), you receive her with open arms. All pets and giggles, praises and kisses. Nice, Nala. 

Now he’s standing there awkwardly, making that one ultra-specific face that owners make when their pets get loose and they don’t know whether to run pathetically after them or let them wreak havoc. Yeah, that one. All he can muster is a slanted smile and a wave of his hand, though from this far, he supposes he just looks weird. 

In a last-ditch attempt, he tries to lure Nala back to where he stands, but to no avail. She’s enamored with you. Giving you paws and kisses, exposing her tummy to you, wagging her tail–but most importantly she’s ignoring him! Maybe he would damn her to hell. 

“Phwt, Nala,” he whistles, rather badly, “stop ignoring me y’damned traitor. I’m your owner. You’re supposed to listen to me…” The last bit comes out in a whisper reserved for himself, but he guesses he wasn’t as quiet as he thought he was, because now you’re making eye contact and rising from your haunches. 

Fuck, you were coming. 

You jog over to where he stands stupidly in his tracks, yelling a loud, “hey, is this your dog?” from across the court. When you get within his proximity, he thinks you’re stretching your hand out to greet him (to which he offers his own), but your limb strategically misses his, and he freezes as he watches you drop the ball in his hand. The blond feels stupid, but he quickly fixes his composure, forcing a stiff smile on his face, trying not to gag at the amount of slobber on his hand. 

“Sorry about that, I get a little carried away whenever a dog’s around” you confess, looking down amicably at the furry giant. Bakugou shakes his head in response, mumbling a cool ‘it’s fine’ under his breath. You’re the first to initiate small talk—a pleasantry he finds vexing—but he finds himself hyper-fixating a little too hard on your lips that are spewing words of triviality. Every now and then, he remembers to nod his head, and then he subconsciously tells you his name when the question arises. 

His irises shift from your plump lips, to the dip in your collarbone, and then finally, they settle on the dew droplets of sweat that trickle down your chest. The pro hero notices that he hasn’t heard a damn thing you’ve said for the entire duration of this conversation. But now you’re looking at him, and your lips aren’t moving, and fuck, you were definitely waiting for a response. 

“Do you wanna fuck?”��

It takes him a second to register you’ve said something, and then it takes him another second to register if what he heard was truly what you’d said. 

“I'm sorry, what?” he queries, wrapping the leash around his hand once, then twice. 

“I asked if you wanted to exchange numbers?” you smile innocently, holding your phone out. 

“I've seen you and this pretty girl,” you start, bending down to pet the excited pup, “walking around for a while, and I figured…I don’t know—that I could play around with her some time. you know, if that’s alright with you…” 

Oh, so he must’ve heard you wrong the first time, he thinks. Looking down at his pup, the two make eye contact briefly before the furry companion barks in approval, wagging its tail eagerly. 

“Yeah, sure,” he nods and gestures for you to hand over your phone. After he punches his digits into your phone, you’re quick to exchange your phone for his, undergoing the same process of punching in little numbers.

When the two of you part ways, he opens his phone again to look at your contact. A small chuckle leaves his lips once he sees the name you saved your number under.

“Tennis girl,” he whispers to himself. 

The door to his apartment swings open swiftly, and he unclasps the leash around the dog’s neck before meandering over to the fridge to grab a beer. The first sip is pure elation. He doesn't drink everyday, but he likes to keep a case of this liquid-gold relief at his disposable. 

Before he can indulge in another sip, his phone buzzes with a notification. Nobody usually has the balls to bother him after his shifts, but he doesn’t think much of it. Not until it buzzes for a second time, then a third, and now he’s agitated enough to rest his drink on the counter. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he seethes, clobbering over to his room where he threw his phone. The screen flashes brightly from across the room and then fades to black. “Who the fuc—“

He taps the screen to see one message, two image attachments, and a voice memo, all from you. Skeptically, he opens his phone and clicks on your contact to see the messages. The first message says ‘figured you might like these’ and then his vermillion eyes flicker over to the two pictures. 

One is angled low enough to show the bottom of your ass, and the other is of you bent over with your hand pushing your panties to the side, cunt front and center, and dripping. Your face isn’t in either, but he knows it’s you because of that damned skirt. 

The longer he stares at the pictures, the more his face riddles with confusion, and the more his sweats become impossibly uncomfortable to be in. Then he remembers the voice memo. There's a brief silence before a familiar voice begins to speak. It's low and breathy.

“You know—shit—you’re so fucking clueless. I've s-seen you ogling me for months, and t-today I caught you staring at my chest,” he’s almost certain he can see you playing with your pussy with the lewd sounds that are coming through his phone. 

“I asked if you w-wanted to fuck, but you were—fuck—were too caught up in being a p-pervert. Guess you missed your chance...”

The voice note ends there. He utters a few proclivities into the air, sighing frustratedly as he falls back into the marshmallowy plush comforter of his bed. The tightness in his pants is annoying, really fucking annoying, but the dull ache in his cock is much more convincing than the small voice in his head. 

Fumbling to untie the drawstrings, he quickly pulls his sweats, along with his boxers, down to rest at the apex of his thighs. His cock is heavy against his abdomen, the mushroomy head burning scarlet and dripping with silk. God, he hated how easily he had fallen victim to your trickery. He was observant, and quick-witted, and could generally tell when a chick wanted to sleep with him. 

But this? He’d never expected this. Or whatever this really was. He'd watched you from afar all these months, overheard your many idle conversations with friends as you tied your tennis shoes on the bench, and he often caught glimpses of the smile that graced your face whenever you scored a point. You were innocent, then. at least, that’s the conclusion he came to after clandestinely peering into fleeting moments of your life—but now he figures that’s what you wanted him to see, allowed him to see. 

Bakugou's heart begins to thump a little faster with each firm tug to his length, the fixed lub-dub murmur of the organ now something completely unrecognizable. Just as he’s about to shut his eyes, he sees a flash of white from his peripheral view. It’s another text from you. 

tennis girl: left me on read :(

tennis girl: you touching yourself rn?

The boy huffs out a breath and throws his head back, continuing his ruthless ministrations on his aching cock. His ears perk up to the sound of yet another notification. 

tennis girl: want some help ;) 

“The fuck?” His eyes narrow into slits as he reads the message, but he’s too concerned with finishing to respond. When he thinks you’ve finally given up, you once again, prove him wrong. Instead of a few intermittent buzzes, his phone now rings irksomely. You’re requesting a facetime call. He stares at his reflection on the phone, uncertain if he should indulge you or finish without your ‘help’, as you put it, but impulsively picks it up. 

The camera is already flipped once the call goes through. You’re sitting on your bed with your legs spread, and a dildo nestled in your cunt. He hears the creak of the bed as your body thrashes and contorts from pleasure, and he hears the pretty moans that spill from your mouth. Of course, you’re the first to break the silence. 

“‘M so wet ‘cause of you,” your voice is sultry and sweet, “couldn’t wait to get home ’n touch myself…wanna touch you so bad.”

“Yeah?” he asks, you can’t really see him in the dimness of his room, but you know there’s mischief laced in his voice. “Y’wanna touch me? What would you do?” Bakugou squeezes his girth just before bringing a cupped hand to his mouth to spit. 

“Go on, tell me, and then I'll tell y’what I've been dying to do to you for months,” he flips the camera, smoothing the warm spit down his length. 

“Been thinkin’ about taking you to my apartment since i first saw you,” you bring the dildo out momentarily, “and you fucking me like this,” you slam the silicone back into your cunt. The dildo wasn’t nearly as big as he was, but the sight of it disappearing in and out of you made his dick jump pathetically. 

“That all, princess?” he mocks, like he’s unimpressed by your reply. You vehemently shake your head but realize he can’t see your face, so you open your mouth again to speak.

“No…I think a lot about sucking you off too,” you confess, “and how bad I want you to finish down my throat.” 

“So this whole time you’ve been thinking about me like this? What a dirty little slut,” he breathes, a light chuckle leaving his wet, bitten lips.

“Guess it’s my turn now, huh?” Your eyes flutter closed so that you can hone in on his words. 

“For starters,” he says matter-of-factly, “you might wanna get a bigger dildo, ‘cause my dick’s a lot bigger than that.”

“Really?” you pull the dildo out of your cunt and opt to use your fingers instead, resting the cold pads on the swell of your clit. Slowly, you circle the flesh, a few whimpers emitting from your throat. 

“Yeah, it’d—shit—stretch you out b-better too,” his breathing quickens as he begins to reach his peak. “Been wantin’ to dump my load in that pretty little cunt for a minute.” 

“What else?” there’s curiosity nestled under your tongue. You wanna say more to coax him on but find it rather difficult to form a coherent thought. 

“‘Bout your thighs wrapped ‘round my head, and stuffing you full of my fingers,” Bakugou’s calloused  grip is tighter now, sloppier. You assume from his occasional grunts and curses that he’s close to finishing, and judging by your intermittent pants, he comes to the conclusion that you are too. 

With determination, you continue your brutal ministrations on your clit, the nub wholly numb and engorged beneath your fingertips. For a second, you almost forget about the man’s presence, utterly too focused on reaching your own climax, not even paying mind to the fact that your eyes had been glued shut. The sound of slick skin, rubbing against slick skin, reverberates through your phone’s speaker. You’d like to imagine the expressions he’d make if he were here with you now. Would they be soft? Hard? Plain? Or would they be an amalgamation of each. Your imagination doesn’t get the chance to wander too far, because soon, he flips the camera towards his face, almost as if he’d heard your inner monologue. 

The light in his room is still dim, save for the bits of the sun peaking through the blinds that aid in exposing half of his face. Most of his features are subdued by the darkness—all but his eyes (and his flushed cheeks)—which seem to hold so much expression in them. Even with just half of his face on display, he still looks pretty. You attempt to see if you can make out any of the rest of his features, but to no avail. 

“Turn your camera around, wanna see your face,” it comes out more like a demand than a plea. You do as he says and flip your camera. When his eyes find your own, he sits up against his headboard, the second half of his face now uncovered. Seeing all of his features work harmoniously to make a lewd expression was enough to tip you over the edge, and it wasn’t helping that his open-mouthed pants were growing more and more provocative. 

“S-So close, ‘m gonna come!” 

“Fuck, go ahead, baby,” he weakly ruts into his fist, “Show me the face you make when you come.” 

You feel the knot in your lower abdomen begin to wind tighter and tighter, the pressure on your bladder becoming almost unbearable. Your flicking and circling never falter, that is, until you press down on the spot where your bladder resides beneath, and feel an abundance of pleasure wash over you like an unruly tide. The essence that drips from your core stands out starkly against the dark linen of your bed. 

Bakugou watches intently as you whimper and pant through the screen, your chest rising and falling like rose petals in the wind. Your tired, sultry eyes alone are more than enough to make him finish, but then you flip the camera to show your bed and now he’s really close. 

“Look at the mess, you did this.”

“God, you’re so f-fucking dirty,” he grits through bared teeth, “Show me your pretty pussy, yeah?” 

Once his vermillion eyes meet your cunt, dripping and convulsing, he reaches his peak. The boy releases a strangled moan, falling tirelessly onto his back as his cock streams liquid hot white onto the expanse of  his stomach. He uses whatever energy he has left to fist the appendage a few more times, groaning into his neck once he sees the globs of cum coating his knuckles. 

The gentle breeze sneaking in through the window aids in cooling down his hot skin. From the window he can see cherry blossoms dancing in the air; his heart slows as he witnesses a single petal stick to his window. Bakugou is brought back to reality upon hearing your voice. 

“Hope this isn’t the last time,” your face is softer in the afternoon glow, “don’t think I’ve ever come this hard.” There’s some lingering hope hidden in the obsidian of your eyes. He can’t help but to laugh, of course this wouldn’t be the last time. Not after he’d been dreaming of this for months.

“You won’t hafta hope for nothin’, princess. Next time you’ll be gettin’ the real thing.” 

The call ends promptly, and as soon as it does, you get a text. 

Bakugou: Free next Friday night at 8. Come to this address.

Bakugou: xxxxx xxxxx Apt.

Your lips upturn into a mischievous smile. He has no idea…

© arachine 2023

[justgrey]

Hello! I’d like to request the mercenaries with a fem mercenary reader who is a shapeshifter and has a pretty chaotic personality? Basically Nimona from the movie Nimona lol

Watched the movie finally, and now I'm gay for ballister. Thanks for that xoxo. be on the lookout for something on him because i want to chew him and hit him like a tennis ball

Also, it's safe to say I got a little stupid with this one 💀

Mercs with a chaotic! reader

Warnings : swearing, light mentions of gore, talk of body parts, medic.

CHAOS CHAOS CHAOS *jevil laughter*

Probably get along really well with Pyro and Scout not gonna lie because Pyro likes to burn shit (Even though I'm pretty sure they think they're spreading joy and colour) and Scout is pretty hyper in general, willing to go along with anything as long as it's fun.

*burns down barn*

"huddah huh huu hud."

"Yeah, loving the colour too, pally. Really makes the wood boom." *evil chuckles*

As soon as Pyro learns about your shapeshifting ability, they're all over you. They want you to play 3 different characters at their tea parties simultaneously and transform into a unicorn so that they can ride you into battle and fulfill their wildest dreams

"Hud hudda hu hubuh huuuuh HUDDAH!!"

"Okay, okay, fine!" *transforms into a unicorn* "Get on."

*excited hu noises*

"HUDDAHHHH!!"

Besties 💗🌈🔥✨️

Some of the older and quieter mercenaries are NOT gonna be having a field day with you and your silly little personality.

Sniper hates it THE MOST. He doesn't like people that much in general and can barely keep up with the hyperactive chaos that is you, so he mainly sticks to watching you burn shit down from afar.

"Did'ya really have ta' do that much?"

"Yeah. Why, you not liking it, pissboy?"

"..."

"That's what I thought. Don't be a hero, buddy."

Although he doesn't appreciate your snarky attitude, he likes how you can shapeshift. He really likes animals and will sometimes scope in on you when you transform, nodding with approval and whispering a little, "cool" that he hopes nobody hears.

Spy thinks you're a nuisance around the base but definitely sees the usefulness in your shapeshifting abilities since he kinda almost does the same damn thing, just with his goofy masks. He respects you for that, if anything, at all.

Do not ever expect to replace him or get remotely close to him in espionage, though. If you are at the same level as Nimona, you're not great at directly impersonating humans, and he will tease you about it.

"What was that, today?

"What was what?"

"The 'Oh Mon deu! Ack! Oohh! I dropped my baguette' if that was meant to be an impersonation of me, know that it was terrible, and my lawyer will be contacting you."

"I dunno, I think it was pretty accurate." *shrug*

Medic loves you. Sorry, not sorry. Loves you. Does get tired of you sometimes, but not all the time. He's generally also very *bzzz bzzz chaos organs* so he's happy to indulge in whatever you want to do which usually involves the absolute destruction of everything.

Medic is also incredibly fascinated by your shapeshifting ability. Do not sleep around this man while shape shifted because he's poking and prodding everywhere while you're out.

"Ohoho... how peculiar" *pokes open nerve*

"YEOUCH WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"

*nervous chuckle as he hides a bucket of blood and from your view*

Engineer tries to be that guiding light he thinks you need. He's a friend, a father figure, a colleague, whatever you need. He's a nice Southern gentleman with a slightly insane twist. Encourages you to be careful around the others, but if you aren't, he's not complaining. Makes the job easier if everyone listens.

Heavy is pretty chill with you. He's neither annoyed nor pleased that you're around. He relatively keeps to himself, medic, and his guns.

Actually, do not touch his gun. Do not pretend to be his gun either.

Soldier and Demo like your charisma. You can be a pretty fun drinking partner for demo, and a nice soldier when you're willing to follow orders (which isn't usually) but as long as you get the job done with as much destruction as possible, Soldier is saluting you almost as much as he does the American flag that is hanging next to his bed.

"ANOTHER GREAT DAY, TODAY! KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK AND I MIGHT RAISE YOUR STATUS, CADET!"

"SIR YES SIR! or something I dunno, fuck this is weird..."

*walks with soldier, ignoring the screams of the dammed behind you*

He makes you transform into an eagle and has you sit there on his arm for a while, admiring you fly. It's brought him close to tears on many occasions.

Whenever he gets married to Heavy's sister, Soldier is making sure that you are THERE as an Eagle. He'll pay you to fly across the sky and make majestic bird noises.

Overall, some very mixed experiences. But a fun concept either way.

[kozmicmizuu]

at this point expect random lil senecios and headcanons just popping up 😔🫶

also is it obvious i have a favorite trio????

(a lil uzuigiyuu, rengiyuu, uzuren, actually just put three together uzurengiyuu)

————————————————————————

Kyojuro: Tengen doesn’t deserve you.

Kyojuro: If they don't treat you right by now, you're gone.

Giyuu: I'm gone.

Kyojuro: Now go chop their dick off!

Kyojuro: sapnu puaS.

Tengen : What??

Giyuu: What language is that.

Kyojuro: Turn your phone 180 degrees.

*Kyojuro was removed from the groupchat*

Giyuu: Kyojuro, you do remember when we agreed we were better off as friends, right?

Kyojuro, naked in Giyuu's bed: No, I absolutely do not.

Giyuu, already taking off their clothes: ... Me neither.

Tengen : There are 20 letters in the alphabet, right?

Giyuu: Nope, there's 26.

Tengen : Ah, I must have forgotten U, R, A, Q, T.

Giyuu: Aww, that's cute, but you're still missing one.

Tengen : You'll get the D later ;).

Giyuu: No.

Giyuu: I’m the sexiest bitch in this therapy waiting room.

Kyojuro: Don’t preach to me about romance, Giyuu. I had a three-way in a hot-air balloon.

Giyuu: I know, i was there and so was Tengen.

Kyojuro: Oh yeah.

Kyojuro: What are you in the mood for?

Giyuu: World domination.

Kyojuro: That's a bit ambitious.

Giyuu: You are my world.

Kyojuro: Aww...

Giyuu:

Kyojuro:

Giyuu:

Kyojuro: OH.

Giyuu: My bad…

Giyuu: We need a diversion. I say Kyojuro gets naked.

Tengen : No.

Giyuu: I could get naked.

The squad: NO!!!

Tengen: I mean… if you really want to-

Kyojuro: NO DONT THATS ONLY FOR US TO SEE

Giyuu: WHAT

Kyojuro: There. How do I look?

Giyuu: Like a cheap French harlot.

Kyojuro: French?!

Tengen: If we were in prison you guys would be like my bitches.

Kyojuro: Of course we would, right Giyuu?

Giyuu: Yeah, i mean we already kinda are.

Kyojuro: What’s your body count?

Giyuu: Do you mean sex or murder?

Kyojuro: I hate the fact that i have to specify which one im taking about.

Kyojuro: Is there a cactus where your heart should be?

Giyuu: What’s up your ass this morning??

Tengen : *walks in* ...Hey.

Giyuu: Hmm… nevermind.

Kyojuro: WAIT NO

Giyuu: *sucking on a popsicle*

Kyojuro: Pfft, you practicing for when Tengen gets here?

Giyuu: *takes a huge ass bite out of the popsicle*

Kyojuro: *Concern*

Giyuu: don’t worry he’s into that.

Kyojuro: Oh ok- WAIT WHAT

Giyuu: look Tengen , I'm not slut shaming you but...

Giyuu: Actually yeah, I'm TOTALLY slut shaming you.

Tengen: SHUT THE FUCK UP

Giyuu: What did Tengen do this time?

Kyojuro: More like WHO did Tengen do this time?

Giyuu: *Nodding in agreement*

Tengen : I like your top, Kyojuro!

Giyuu: I have a name, you know.

Kyojuro: *sighs* Why. Why are you like this.

Giyuu: I thought is was funny ngl.

Tengen : Sorry, I'm late to the party. I've been doing things.

Kyojuro, entering in an unbuttoned shirt: I got caught up doing things too.

Giyuu: Wow, Tengen was late too! What a coincidence!

Giyuu: I committed all 7 deadly sins in 30 minutes.

Tengen : Wow, I've gotta hear this.

Giyuu: I was angry and envious of my neighbor so I lazily seduced his wife and ate all his groceries and didn't share.

Tengen : You forgot pride.

Giyuu: No, I'm pretty proud of this.

Giyuu: Why is everyone so obsessed with top or bottom? Honestly, I’d just be excited to have a bunk bed.

Tengen :

Tengen : I'm gonna tell them.

Kyojuro: Don't you dare.

Tengen : Who do we know that has handcuffs?

Giyuu: Well Kyojuro and I-

Kyojuro: *elbows Giyuu*

Giyuu: ...wouldn't know.

Tengen: Damn i didn’t think you’d be kinky Kyo!

Kyojuro: Why single me out!?

Tengen: Quiet people are always kinky.

Giyuu: Nuh uh

Kyojuro: Bonjour, Giyuu. Voulez–vous coucher avec moi?

Giyuu: No, I don't want to sleep with you.

Kyojuro: Is that what that means? Oh, man, I had a really gross tennis instructor.

Giyuu: Know why I called you in here?

Tengen : Because I accidentally sent you a dick pic.

Giyuu: *Stops pouring two glasses of wine.* Accidentally?

Tengen , with a headache: Advil me up, daddy.

Giyuu: I will short out the language centre of your brain if you say anything like that ever again.

Kyojuro, bursting into the room: You two are having sex!

Tengen , not looking up from their book: Really? Giyuu, why didn’t you tell me? I would have put my book down.

Giyuu: I thought we were having a sleepover..

Kyojuro, gardening: Hey, can you bring me the hoe?

Giyuu: Yeah, sure.

*A few minutes later*

Giyuu: Here you go.

Kyojuro:

Giyuu:

Tengen : Why am I here?

Giyuu: I’m so funny.

*At a speed dating event*

Tengen : Oh wow, people are really shallow.

Giyuu: Consider it a background check. For example: Do you have a death certificate?

Tengen : *Checks their pulse* Sorry, not yet.

Giyuu: Good, I'm not fucking a ghost again.

Tengen: Again?

Giyuu: Being a medium is an experience.

Giyuu: Do you think sex without love is a sin?

Tengen : If it is, I’ll see you in hell.

Kyojuro: Why are you two like this?

Tengen : Priest kink is definitely a thing and I am afflicted by it.

Giyuu: Go to church.

Giyuu: WAIT—

Giyuu: Oh look who got laid last night.

Kyojuro: That’s right chumps, missionary accomplished!

Tengen : Heh, Giyuu sneezes like a girl.

Giyuu: How about I pound you like boy?

Giyuu: That didn’t come out right.

————————————————————————

Sigh i’m not well, but i love them sm. They are severely out of character but that makes funny. that’s there dynamic now fr fr. Don’t worry they can wholesome.

[girlcrushart]

The other day my friend @celebration-of-pretty sent me some pics of Grace Charis, who I'd def seen before but never knew who she was. As I was looking thru the pics I suddenly realized she was the girl in the topless golf video I'd seen many times (and watched many times every time I'd seen it) on my dashboard. I'd never figured out who she was tho. Admittedly, I thought she was a basically a model who did a golf-themed shoot the way models often do Tennis-themed shoots because tennis is sexy. I don't much care for playing tennis, but I do agree that it's sexy. Golf, on the other hand... not really sexy to me. But Grace Charis is definitely changing my mind! Turns out, while she is a model (obviously), she's also basically a pro golfer, and a golf influencer. Honestly, the whole influencer thing is kinda ridiculous and I'm personally rarely influenced by anything those people promote. I've never really understood it tbh. But Grace Charis is making me understand how someone can be called an influencer in a specific category. Because, truthfully, I hate golf. It's elitist and generally played by old rich white dudes. It's a total catastrophic ecological disaster. Golf courses require so much water (that is needed for much more important things), and horrible chemicals to keep them looking the way they do. So I've never liked it. But, seeing pictures of Grace swinging a golf club wearing a half-removed skin-tight onesie has most definitely influenced my feelings towards golf. For brief moments there I think golf is amazing ;) Oh, and because I'm a hero, I made way too many gifs of that most influencing video and posted them here, and here, and here. You're welcome. Today's girlcrushart guardian is Grace Charis.