#may or may not draw how he’d react

[mysteryanimator]

I spedran this prompt so fast

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Hello!! I’m not sure if this has been done before, but may I request how Trey, Cater, Azul, Rook and Idia would react to their s/o plays with their hair when cuddling with them?

Also, I wanted to say that I really like your writing. It feels like I’m reading a masterpiece, and whenever I get a notification from your blog I can’t help but feel giddy and wonder what masterpieces have you written today!! I hope you are taking care of yourself though, it’s not good to strain yourself!! :c

(I did this for Cater which pretty much feels like the same thing!

and thank you so much dear <3)

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul struggled hard with intimacy and even something as simple as running your fingers through his hair would take some getting used to. It’s better to announce what you want to do, not just because you get the gift of Azul’s flustered face, but because it gives himself a chance to think about it. He’ll normally allow you to at least try, as long as there’s an agreement that the minute he said no you’d stop, but he found having his hair played with wasn’t all that bad.

Idia Shroud:

Idia is trying not to sweat too much from cuddling, let alone you lovingly playing with his hair like you’re the most wholesome couple on the planet. He quickly realized that the visual novels ARE right, that having your scalp massaged and your hair twirled was the greatest feeling in the world. He wondered if he could employ your services as sometimes when he was in a raid he could get so tense he became tilted, but thought twice of it since you’d turn into an even bigger distraction.

Rook Hunt:

Rook is like a purring cat, unable to deny the draw of your soft, skilled hands as they worshipped his silky locks of hair. He chuckled as he thought about your natural smell passing along to him from how much you touched, the gentle breeze blowing making it seem like you were present when in fact it was just your remnants left over on his skin. It’s not an unpleasant thought, as smell was often used to mark territory, and you’re completely lost as Rook rambled about how honored he was to have you mark him up.

Trey Clover:

Having you play with his hair had always made Trey laugh, as it wasn’t quite long enough to do much with but you always seemed entertained by it. It was always so soft and lovely, you couldn’t help yourself, and sometimes you’d massage his head when he had a headache just to get your hands in his hair again. Trey couldn’t find it in him to complain, thinking that as long as it made you happy he’d fake a headache or two just to give you a reason.

[justporo]

Astarion doesn't know how to cook, but wants to make Tav a romantic dinner. He enlists the help of Gale and regrets it near instantly. Do with this what you like :3

My dear mushy, this is a wonderful prompt, so thank you so much for that. (I loved that it had me write another one of the companions!)

It is in fact so wonderful that it will turn into a short little two-part thingy (because it makes sense in my head and also I can split up the parts, so I can go to bed now, hihi)

So, have: Gale and Astarion pissing each other off in this part and find out if Tav actually does get her romantic dinner in the second part of:

A Night of... Shattered Glass and the Smell of Burning?

“Dinner? Oh Astarion, all these months on the road and all this time since we’ve come to Baldur’s Gate. And you only ask me now?”

“Not with you, you idiot, with Tav!”

Astarion was standing in the wizard’s study – in the place Gale had obtained after your joint adventure to stay a while longer in the city. The wizard was sitting behind his massive desk, Tara on his lap who purred excessively because of all the head scratches she received. And in front of the desk stood Astarion, arms crossed over his chest and an displeased expression on his face. His body was halfway turned towards the door as if he wanted to be ready to leave the room and this place – forever – whenever the need arose.

Gale grinned at the vampire’s uneasiness but didn’t say anything to soothe his former companion – he was relishing the moment way too much for that. So he opted to just stare at the elf and make him suffer a little while longer.

Astarion sighed in defeat and pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and index finger before he let them stretch out, pressing into his closed eyes. “Gale, don’t make me regret I’ve come here, please”, Astarion pressed out from behind gritted teeth.

Tara stretched out on Gale’s lap, yawned deeply and jumped off her owner’s lap to saunter around the desk. Gale let her, keeping his gaze on the vampire: “No really, you have to give me at least this one moment in return, Astarion, just one teeny tiny moment of you coming to me for help. You’ve actually grown so much over just such a short span…”

Astarion zoned out while the wizard rambled on trying to have his superior moment of being sarcastic and sassy – Gods, it had been a horrible idea to come here. He felt the wizard’s cat stroke around his legs then, rubbing her head against his shins and looking up at him expectantly.

So, he bowed down to lift her up and started to pet her to which Tara responded with arching her back into the vampire’s careful touch and starting to purr loudly. At that a smile crept onto Astarion’s face. He’d always liked cats – fierce and beautiful creatures.

“…and I feel so honoured that you would ask me out of all people, Astarion – really!”, ended the wizard his sarcastic speech and was finally silent. Astarion rolled his eyes: “Now go and write it all into your journal and draw pink glittery hearts around it while kicking your little feet. Are you done now?” Gale lifted one finger and narrowed his eyes with raised eyebrows: “Allow me one more question.” Astarion groaned. “Does Tav know?”, the wizard asked.

“No”, hissed the vampire in response and stared angrily at Gale “and if you’re going to tell her, I am going to rip your godsdamned throat out.” Gale reacted with lifting his hands defensively: “Alright okay, I’m done. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Some of the tension left Astarion’s body. “So will you help me or not?”, he asked while focusing on the cat in his arms instead of the person he was asking something off – openly committing to wanting help, talking about a weakness – and may it be something as inconsequential as this – was not something he had learned awfully well to accept; perhaps he never really would.

Gale’s gaze softened a little and he stood up from behind the desk to walk around it and leaning against it in a relaxed pose. He crossed his arms over his chest: “So… come again, what exactly is it exactly that you’re planning?”

Finally, Astarion lifted his gaze to look at the wizard. His eyes was full of suspicion after Gale had at first opted to tease him about a genuine demand. And it had already cost him an enormous amount of pride to swallow to actually come over and voice his request for help. The wizard sighed: “Okay listen, I’m sorry, I was a dick about this – it’s just… I wouldn’t have expected this from you, is all…”

Astarion didn’t say anything in response, his reluctancy had not yet left him. And so an awkward kind of silence stretched between the two men – unable or unwilling to be more open and sincere; at least for the time being.

“Listen”, Gale started again “I’ll help you, I promise. But you have to tell me what you want to do or else I don’t know how.”

Astarion looked down again at the purring cat in his arms. After a few heartbeats he sighed and said: “In a few weeks, it will be six months since… Tav and I are official. And I thought after all the peril she, I mean we all, but she especially has been put through and after everything she’s done for me…” The vampire’s words trailed off and he threw Gale a glance. There were no more words needed in this instance, Gale had been there beside him and Tav when they had walked into Cazador Szarr’s lair.

The wizard felt his throat close up at the memory – as much in dread, as he remembered, as in compassion for his… friend.

“So”, Gale coughed and readjusted his position against his giant wooden desk, before he went on in a more animated manner, “you thought a nice romantic dinner would be a nice opportunity to show her a little bit of your gratefulness and also celebrate your love.” “I see we are finally on the same page, my wizard partner in crime”, Astarion replied then cheerfully – thankful for the change in mood.

“And the problem is that it’s been a while, naturally, since you had the pleasure in the kitchen”, Gale went on. Astarion cleared his throat: “To be honest, even before… let’s just say food had just always come on a plate.”

“Hah, and now it always comes from a neck, right?”, Gale tried to crack a joke and failed miserably. The vampire looked ready to leave once more: “Please leave the jokes to me, Gale. Else I’m leaving – and taking the cat.”

Gale let his head fall back until he was facing the ceiling. “This won’t be easy”, he whispered under his breath. Then he lifted his hands as he let himself look at the vampire once more that had started cooing at Tara in his arms – making little kissy faces at the cat that was stretching out one of his paws as if in a gentle caress of the elf’s face.

“Let’s just get to the point. What did you have in mind then?”, said the wizard and made a few steps towards Astarion how was now stroking Tara’s face with a single finger as if she was a baby. Only when Gale was almost in front of him did he notice that the wizard had asked him another question.

The vampire gave another sigh and then shortly bent down to set down the animal which protested softly but then just kept stroking around his legs. “I thought you could teach me some stuff. Show me to make some dishes so I can prepare the dinner for Tav myself…” “Yes okay, but what does she like – I mean, back on the road we all made do with what we could get our hands on, but if you want to surprise her with something shouldn’t it be something to impress her?”, Gale interrupted, immediately getting into planning mode. His head was already turning on how to get organised and starting. “Well, Gale, from what I’ve heard the last time you wanted to impress a woman it didn’t go all too well, didn’t it? Maybe tone it down a little”, the vampire bit out. But a sparkle had entered his red eyes, nonetheless, at the thought of actually pulling this surprise off.

Gale though was back at looking at the ceiling, cursing whatever had put this flatulated vampire in his path. “Alright”, Gale sighed, “first thing we have to settle is that we can’t go for each other’s throats all the time – VERBALLY, verbally”, he exclaimed with raised eyebrows and pointed a finger at Astarion when the vampire had started smirking at him in a kind of way.

“I didn’t start – at least this time”, the vampire shot back. “Astarion”, Gale drawled annoyedly in a tone that might’ve been used many a time towards his cat – which did actually look up at her owner and cocked her head at him.

“Fine”, Astarion agreed in the same tone. “So, let’s figure out the desired menu first, shall we?”, Gale said to put them back on track. “What’s Tav’s favourite food, what dishes does she like – sweet, savoury?”

Do that Astarion put a hand to his chin and started to think. His brows furrowed and his gaze was suddenly miles away: “Her favourite thing are strawberries by far, but that does only work for dessert. Maybe with something chocolate-y, she really does have a knack for sweet stuff.” At that point Gale opened his mouth to crack another joke but shut it immediately when he realised how genuine Astarion had become all of a sudden.”

“She likes hearty foods – nothing needlessly complicated or pretentious. And she always goes on about how she’d love to have more fish but that it’s so complicated to prepare sometimes, hmm.” Astarion was still lost in his thoughts and kept rambling on about every last detail he could remember about what might work and what they had to avoid.

Gale’s face split into a huge, warm grin, bewildered by Astarion and how much he knew about these small little details about his soulmate and how much genuine care and love shone in his eyes as he kept talking about her.

Gale put out his hand to lay on Astarion’s shoulder who was still somewhere else, still talking. At the light gesture the elf flinched and shock filled his eyes for a short moment before he realised is was only the wizard. “Second rule, don’t just touch me”, he hissed at the man who was still smiling warmly at his friend behaving like a feral street cat.

“Agreed. Let’s just get to work, Astarion. I’ll make a chef out of you in no time. Let’s go.” And with these final words Gale went off towards his kitchen.

Astarion expressed his doubts in the wizard’s self-impression but followed closely behind.

[akanemnon]

If you had to draw how/what you think both Berdly’s and Queen’s reaction to the whole Twitter and rebranding thing, how do you see each of them react?

(Specifically Queen and Berdly due to Queen being a literal computer connected to the internet, and Berdly cuz I love(d) the jokes I’ve seen about Berdly being the mascot bird of Twitter, and I don’t think he’d take that loss very well, regardless of how much of a bullet he may or may not have dodged by being replaced)

It's a talent

[mrswint3rs]

Hello , i hope you're doing well . Can i request a step dad kakashi x reader non con with degradation please. Have a good day and dont feel pressure to write my request

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐂𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐍𝐨 ( drabble )

pairings- step-dad kakashi x fem! reader

content/warnings: non consensual somnophilia, slut shaming, degrading language, obv age gap but reader is always of legal age. hinted corruption kink, daddy kink, pure smut, breeding kink, very brief oral sex (r! recieving), unprotected sex, baby trapping…

a/n: title ib ’figured you out’ - nickleback! thanks for requesting anon!! hope you enjoy ^.^ also sorry this came before the boyfriend’s dad fic because it’s not flowing how i want it to atm!!tried a new style kinda?? but as always not proofread so lmk!

Hands roam across your body, feeling your every curve. You couldn’t deny him anything now. Not while you were fast asleep, as usual wearing nothing. Blankets were barely even covering you and the door was left wide open. He had every right, didn’t he?

Constantly you teased him. Teased everyone with your skimpy little outfits, frilly little skirts and the shortest, tightest tops. You’d prance around, flaunting all you had to show. You’d go out of your way to draw attention to yourself. So obviously wanted his eyes on you. But the second he gave in? Shut down. Called him the pervert because he was your stepfather.

Clearly, you were just confused. Needed some guidance and he’s more than happy to oblige…

Wet as he imagined, even when you’re unconscious you react to his touch. Needy little thing. Why did you bother trying to conceal your true intentions? During the daytime it’s almost like you get embarrassed when your eyes meet. Yet you clearly wanted them to. There was no denying the way you craved him, and he craved you just as much. Only you can’t put up a barrier now. Can’t tell him ‘no.’

His hands pry your thighs apart, revealing his goal. Too bad it’s dark and he won’t get the chance to see it bare. All the times you’ve bent over in front of him were more than enough for him to get a relative idea. But he wants you in full. He deserves you, not his overworked palm.

Lips trail up your legs, starting at your calves and beyond, towards your inner thigh to your dripping cunt. His tongue drags in your slick, just getting a taste of what’s rightfully his. He groans as you flood his senses, like the sweetest honey.

He dives back in, sloppily lapping you up without worrying about waking you. Even if you were to wake up, nothing was pulling him off of you. Every part of him needed this.

His fingers fish around your inner walls, scissoring you open and prepping you for him. May not feel it now, but you would in the morning. He sucks and licks through your folds until he’s gasping. Until his dick is so hard it hurts.

He aligns with your entrance, plunging his cock all the way into you with no remorse. He didn’t have to control himself.

“Nasty little slut,” he groans, pummeling into your tight canal with fervor. “So fucking wet for me. Making such a mess on daddy’s cock.”

Obviously you can’t hear him. But it makes him feel good imagining that you can. He wishes you could hear and feel all the ways he’s violating you.

He ruts into your depths, racing to finish. He had to sneak away from your mother and into your room for this, he’d rather not deal with the repercussions of getting caught screwing his stepdaughter. He’d never get to see you again. To feel you again.

He wouldn’t dare risk that.

“Gonna stuff you full with my babies,” his hands grip your hips bruisingly tight, using them to support his movements. “Such a whore no one’s gonna know it’s mine.” Not even you.

Each roll of his hips, the bed creaks and your body moves in delay. Your face is buried in your pillow, soft whimpers escaping you every now and then. The small reactions he did get out of you sent him over the edge. You whined like you were having a bad dream, so oblivious to what was really happening.

“Take daddy’s cum, baby. Making me feel so good,” he groans out, breathing staggered and his jaw slacking as it all pours out. He lets out a deep groan, feeling the way your insides throb around his length.

He stays buried inside, making sure to fuck every last drop of cum into you. Not letting anything go to waste before pulling out with a sigh.

His eyes peer down at you, looking at the result of his actions. Only then does he notice your hands desperately gripping the bed sheets. Face flushed and looking right back at him.

[little-diable]

Labour - Tommy Shelby

This came to me as I listened to “Labour” by Paris Paloma, and boy, do I love love love this story. Be aware that this is somewhat loosely set in S2, but it doesn’t really follow the shows plot line. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: While Tommy keeps pulling away from his wife, she gets tangled in a web of lies to protect her husband, making deals behind his back with his enemies.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unrotected piv, troubling relationship but with a happy end, mentions some fighting and misogyny

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (3.5k words)

header by @deathofpeaceofmind

Why are you hanging on so tight, to the rope that I'm hanging from?

“Oh (y/n), isn’t it lovely how naive you women all are?” Inspector Campbell’s voice echoed through the small side street, lips pulled into a grin that made bile rise in (y/n)‘s throat. Her eyes didn’t dare back away from the contact he held, not wanting to come off as scared. 

“I have no time for games, inspector. It’s the same deal as always, you’ll pull your men away from our area tomorrow, and you’ll get your money, easy as that.” Her fingers searched for a cigarette in the pocket of her warm coat, sighing in relief as she finally felt the familiar paper against her fingertips. He watched her light the cigarette with his sharp gaze, forcing holes into her skin like bullets made to kill. 

“Do you really think your money still satisfies me?” He took a step closer, but (y/n) didn’t move, she held her ground, blowing the smoke of her cigarette into his direction. With the click of his tongue he came to a halt like Hades himself coming to claim Persephone, forced into a bond that held more power over her than she liked. “We both know how much your husband loves you, but how will he react to your betrayal? How will he react once he hears about the deals you force his enemies into?” 

She wanted to laugh at his words, finding amusement in the way he imagined her marriage, full of love that had once been but no longer was. His cold hand found her chin, gripping it all too tightly. With a growl rumbling through her, (y/n) pulled away, throwing the burned out cigarette to the ground. 

“Your threats may work on others, but not on me, Campbell. We both know you need the money as much as a child needs its food. I have no problem with asking others who like to do business with me to take care of you and the pathetic excuse of a life you live.” He clenched his jaw, hands balled into fists as his tongue kissed his teeth. For a few seconds neither of them spoke up, letting the silence rest heavy on their shoulders. 

“Fine, we’ll keep your streets empty tomorrow, I’ll expect the money by Friday, not one day later.” The inspector turned from the now grinning woman, disappearing in the dark shadows lingering around them. Only as (y/n) knew that he no longer could see her did she wipe away her fake smirk, back clashing against the nearest wall, bracing herself. 

By now (y/n) was all too used to making deals with those that could interfere with her husband’s business, taking over the work he didn’t know about, believing that everything was simply working out in his favour. But fate hadn’t been nice with Tommy Shelby, at least not till (y/n) had stumbled into his life, slowly taking over, working in the shadows Tommy found no interest in. 

It was a dangerous game she was playing, set on giving her life for the man she loved more than any words could describe, walking closer to God than any other woman she has ever crossed paths with. 

All for a man who asked more from her than he’d ever be able to understand, drawing away from his once loving touches, fully focused on his business rather than his failing marriage.

Who fetches the water from the rocky mountain spring? And walk back down again to feel your words and their sharp sting and I'm getting fucking tired

……

“Where have you been?” Tommy’s voice echoed through their dark bedroom, naked upper body bare to her now wide eyes. She hadn’t expected him to come home tonight, preferring to stay away from their quiet home that had once been filled with love. (Y/n) stood in the middle of their bedroom, shaking off her coat with a sigh rumbling through her.

“I was at Margret’s, you know how much she struggles with her new baby.” The lie rolled off her tongue all too effortlessly, even though his piercing eyes didn’t leave her features once, trying to figure out if she was speaking the truth. Slowly (y/n) laid down next to him, no longer used to feeling Tommy this close. Without anticipating his next movements, (y/n) flinched away as his hand found her chin, grasping her just like Campbell had done, digging into the forming bruises. 

“We need you here, it was your call to take over the household, this home needs its woman, just like I do.” His voice had an almost threatening touch to it, forcing a sharp inhale of cold air into her aching lungs. (Y/n)’s hands tightened their grip on the warm blanket, searching the comfort of the bed she had been sleeping in alone for weeks that have felt like years.

“What is a home with a woman without a husband to share her marriage with? Don’t you lecture me on my whereabouts when you’ve been hiding from me like a scared boy for weeks, Thomas.” (Y/n) turned from Tommy before he could reply, squeezing her eyes shut with her teeth buried in her lower lip. In these moments she desperately wanted to speak up, and wanted to lay all her deals on the oblivious husband that didn’t even notice where his money was going. And yet she kept her mouth shut. 

She felt his eyes on the back of her head for a few more moments before Tommy shuffled around in their bed, wordlessly placing his arm around her waist to draw her into his naked chest. And with a squeeze of her hand, the both of them gave into the call of darkness, searching for some much needed hours of sleep. 

And the silence haunts our bed chamber, you make me do too much labour

…���

“Please sit, love. Tea?” Alfie Solomon’s voice echoed through the new apartment, leaving (y/n) smiling. She nodded her head, sinking into the comfortable chair with a sigh. “You look tired, is your husband keeping you on your toes lately?”

“I barely see him around these days, so there’s not much going on to keep me on my toes. How have you been, Alfie?” The man fumbled with his glasses, watching her as if he was expecting (y/n) to strike any moment now. 

“You see, a smart man knows to never cross a woman like you, your wicked mind will one day force us all to our knees, if it weren’t for your eyes.” She pondered over his words for a moment, head slightly tilted to the side, wondering what the man was talking about.

“It’s as if God himself had spoken to me, Alfie, he’d say, she’s dangerous, worse than any enemy you’ve ever killed, but her eyes tell you all about her sadness, about the help she needs but won’t ask for.” A laugh bubbled out of (y/n), eyes fluttering close to let go of a tired sigh. Her hand found her forehead, rubbing her temples to get rid of the headache that kept tourmenting her, robbing much needed hours of sleep from her. 

“You’ve always had a talent with words, Alfie. Can’t believe the young Jewish boy I once shared my bread with is now trying to lecture me on my way of living.” Alfie’s throaty chuckles reverberated through the room, welcoming the warm memories of the moments he and (y/n) have shared all those years ago. Once they’ve been nothing more than oblivious children, searching for the comfort one another could offer. 

“Tell me, what is it this time you need? I’m meeting your husband tonight, so you better tell me now if you want me to kill him, yeah? I always told you, you should have married me, would certainly have saved you from all these struggles.” Her hand found his, squeezing the fingers she had always been reaching for, needing the man she loved like a brother close, though keeping their relationship hidden from the husband that didn’t know anything about the dark past she had been forced to live through. 

“It feels as if something is going to happen, I can’t lose him, Alfie. Who did you do business with lately?” Their eyes didn’t break contact, not as he took a sip of the hot tea, not as he leaned back in his chair, eyes flickering from hers to the big windows. Rain was pouring from the dark sky, pitterpattering against the windows that gave off a view others would pay too much money for, not knowing what else to invest in. The end was near, both could feel it, even though they wouldn’t share the same end, ripped away from one another by wrongdoings that were still buried six feet under like rotten corpses. 

“The business is rough, you’ve got to survive somehow, yeah? Always remember that, love.”

……

The cold lingering in her home had something almost amusing to it, a clear reflection of her relationship with the man who had once lured her into this house, promising her a life that had been nothing more than a game, a dream so fulfilling she couldn’t help but ache for it. (Y/n)‘s feet met the ground, staring at the watch that told her there was still enough time till evening would roll upon her, wondering how the meeting between Alfie and Tommy would play out.

“(Y/n)?” Tommy’s voice left her frozen, head whipping towards her husband. 

“What are you doing at home? Two days in a row, did something happen?” With his hand stretched out for her to take, he slowly pulled her closer, gently cupping her cheek. Tommy studied her for a few moments, the confusion swimming in her gaze, the tension clinging to her body. She quietly thanked herself for covering the bruises on her chin with enough makeup to hide what had happened from the man with eyes so piercing he’d outshine the stars twinkling in the night sky. 

No words left him as he kissed her, making her gasp at the almost unfamiliar touch. Her arms found their way around his neck instantly, not daring to break the contact she had been aching for. Tommy tasted of cigarettes, of expensive alcohol, and of secrets he never intended to share with her, not knowing that she knew more about the business than he ever will. He tasted of everything he once hadn’t tasted of as their paths had crossed years ago, changing into a ruthless man that toyed with those keeping him company.

He pushed her against their dinner table, forcing her to sit on the expensive wood with her legs wrapped around his waist. Moans left the two that tugged on one another’s clothes, needing to scratch the itch that forced them to keep on moving, hands not daring to let go. She was trembling with anticipation thumping through her veins, trying to silence her thoughts, not wanting to pull away from the husband that hadn’t touched her in weeks.

“Don’t, just fuck me, please Tommy.” Her words drew his fingers away from her already soaked folds, undoing his trousers as her lips found his again. The kiss managed to distract her from the feeling of his cock nudging against her entrance, slowly sinking into her tightness. Both moaned in unison, needing to adjust to one another’s body for a moment before they could give in.

“Fuck, I almost forgot how perfect you feel.”

(Y/n) wanted to speak up, wanted to scold him for keeping his distance, but no word managed to leave her, nothing but moans filling the seconds fading by. 

His hips snapped against her middle with every rough thrust, perfectly teasing the swollen spot that made her see stars so bright (y/n) feared she’d end up blinded. The moment wasn’t sweet, wasn’t even loving, but it was everything they needed, distracting them from the racing thoughts that would eventually force their skin from their bones. 

(Y/n) clawed her fingernails into his neck, keeping him close as their moans clashed against one another’s lips, wordlessly communicating their arising high. Soon they’d give in with trembling limbs, racing hearts, and swollen lips, an inferno so strong it’d burn their bodies to the ground.

“You’re mine, don’t you ever forget that.” The possessiveness dripping from his words left her aching her back, head thrown back as she fell over the edge with his name leaving her. Tommy gave it a few more ferocious thrusts before he released himself inside her, painting her walls white. His heat filled her system, clinging to her like a second layer of skin, forever remembering this very moment. 

“I have to leave for some meetings, do me a favour and stay at home tonight, eh?”

I know you're a smart man, and weaponise the false incompetence, it's dominance under a guise

……

“(Y/n)?” Arthur’s voice echoed through the home, luring her from the quiet garden back inside. The older Shelby brother studied her with an unreadable gaze for a few seconds before he cleared his throat, avoiding her gaze. “Tommy wants to meet you at the Garrison, I’ll drive you there.”

Wordlessly she followed Arthur outside, fetching her coat before stepping out into the brisk afternoon, wrapping the fabric tightly around her body. She didn’t dare ask any questions, not wanting to distract the man she had shared too many drunk conversations with, turning towards him whenever Tommy left her behind to mingle with those she’d meet in the dark shadows of side streets even the most ruthless gangsters would avoid. 

The houses they passed grew bigger with every street they turned into, housing families that desperately tried to overcome the ruins war had pushed them into, financial struggles that left them drowning in debts. (Y/n)‘s heart ached whenever she walked past those struggling more than her mind could even begin to imagine, living a life filled with sorrows, with fear, with anger. A life she wouldn’t ever want to live.

“Cigarette?” Arthur pushed the cigarette into her hand before he opened the car door for her, allowing her to walk into the all too familiar pub. Only as she set her foot inside did she begin to notice that the pub wasn’t filled with its usual crowd, no, but an unexpected duo was watching her every step. Her insides screamed at her to turn around, breath hitched in her chest.

“Sit.” Her husband pointed towards the chair in front of him, smoking his cigarette with an unemotional expression tugging on his features. Arthur gave her a slight push, forcing (y/n) to walk closer. Her eyes didn’t part from those she had held contact with ever since she had been a child, heart clenching in her chest as she began to realise what was about to happen. 

For a few seconds they were surrounded by nothing but silence, with four pairs of eyes watching the woman, waiting for her to speak up, to ask questions, but (y/n) knew better, keeping her mouth shut. Her eyes fluttered from Tommy to Arthur, to John, and lastly to Alfie. 

“I called Margaret this morning, tell me, (y/n), why did she tell me that she hasn’t seen you in weeks?” Tommy’s sharp voice left her tensing, tongue running along her lower lip to find the right words to speak. But she couldn’t, her throat was too tight, mouth too dry to even articulate a single word threatening to leave her pressed together lips. “You see, at first I didn’t think any of it, it’s true, I pulled away from the marriage I should have paid more attention to, but if I’d known that my own wife would betray me, I would have locked you up in our bedroom. Tell me, how deep does your betrayal run?”

A scoff left (y/n), ignoring her husband’s words as her eyes focused on Alfie. She tilted her head to the side, just like she had done the day prior, thinking through their conversation again before she finally broke the silence, “This is what you call surviving, Alfie? Going against your oldest and most trusted friend? And don’t you dare to tell me God fucking told you to go against me. What are you even getting out of this?” 

She couldn’t help but pick up on the confusion now swimming in Tommy’s pupils, gaze flickering between (y/n) and Alfie.

“It’s like I told you, yeah, surviving is always what you should focus on. Your husband here is a bit slow, but he asked questions you gave me no answer to.” Alfie kept his voice calm, keeping details from her she’d have to beg for. She had always known that he was giving into more deals than any other gangster she knew, eventually betraying those he treated like his own family. But not once had (y/n) even dared to think that he’d betray her. 

“Arthur, John, show Alfie Solomons the way out, I have some things to talk about with my wife.” Tommy’s eves didn’t leave hers, not as Alfie rose to his feet, coming to a halt next to (y/n) to try and squeeze a shoulder, a touch she flinched away from, not as Arthur and John disappeared outside with Alfie slowly following them. And once again (y/n) and Tommy were engulfed by the all too familiar silence they’ve grown to accept, but today it had an uncomfortable touch to it, making her skin crawl. 

“Solomons and who else? Who else did you do business with?” She kept quiet, squeezing her eyes shut as Tommy smashed his palm flat against the table. Anger flushed through his veins, too blind to see through the fog of confusion he was trapped in, not understanding what she had done and why she had done these deals after all. “Fucking speak to me, woman!”

“Fuck you, Thomas. Do you even understand what I did for you? I saved your life too many times to count. I managed to hold Campbell back as much as possible, I stopped Alfie from giving into deals that would have ended your life before you could even begin to understand what he was doing, even the fucking Italians. But you had to fuck this up, you had to boast your fucking ego, while you were too blind to even realise that your own fucking wife, the one you left behind like some used whore you forgot to pay, was the reason your business kept growing.” She rose to her feet, walking past Tommy to pour herself a glass of bourbon, drowning the shot in one go. Her eyes fluttered close as the alcohol burned down her throat, welcoming the distraction from the pain that forced her heart to clench. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? We could have worked together.” No longer did his voice carry any anger, almost quiet as if he was whispering. Slowly she turned back towards him, keeping her distance with her back pressed against the bar. 

“Work together? You pushed me away whenever I tried to speak to you about the business. You were simply too proud to work with your wife, so I had to take matters into my own hands before your pride would kill you.” He lit a cigarette, pulling it from his lips to reach it out for her to take. It took (y/n) a second to snap into motion, walking towards her husband with slow, calculated steps. His hand snapped out to grasp her wrist, pulling her into his lap before she could turn away. 

“What shall I do with you, woman?” She deeply inhaled, letting the smoke flush through her lungs, leaving deathly marks that would eventually be her death call, should the business she was now fully trapped in not catch up with her first. “You won't tell those you do business with that I know about this, perhaps we can use this to our advantage. But I need you to be honest with me from now on, are we clear?”

“Who would have thought we’d ever end up doing business with one another, mister Shelby.“ He took the cigarette from her, placing it between his lips for one last drag, watching her with curiosity filling his pupils. „I have one condition though.”

“Come home to me, Tommy, I won’t endure the silence in our home any longer.” 

[lorelune]

dawn instinct

|| satoru gojo x reader || E (18+) || foreplay, smut, & hurt/comfort || wc: 6.1k  || ao3 ||

Even sorcerers make time for 'simple' trysts— Satoru Gojo is no exception.

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

a/n: oooh man it's the gojo smut 👀 i set out to write some pwp and it became this piece!!! oh to explore intimacy with such a guy!! thank you to the lovely cielo for beta reading 💕 enjoy!!! 💌

CW: soft smut, hurt/comfort, panic/anxiety attacks, intimacy issues/discussion around intimacy, a wittle angst if you squint, cheeky satoru

“Can I take this off?”

You tug at the elastic of his eye mask. It’s silken under your fingers and feels a little too tight under his ears.

Satoru sucks in a breath and chews his lip. You watch his expression shift, the skin of his cheeks drawing up to crinkle his hidden eyes. You draw shapes over his temple, trying to calm down his rabbit’s heart.

You know this is a lot for Satoru. You can feel it. Your fingertips are pressed to his skin, top. him. Satoru Gojo, strongest, is letting you touch him. The divine layer around him is gone and replaced by this. Warmth. From void to heat. 

There’s a subtle shift of his thighs under yours as he muses over your question.

“You don’t have to, “ You assure him, setting your arms over his shoulder. “This all must be… a lot.”

If he’s more comfortable covered, you’re content with that. The expectation to bear oneself in such a way is new for Satoru. Self-imposed expectations, you’re almost sure will crush him as they have before.

You truly want nothing but him, in whatever way he allows you close. If he lets you close.

It’s only the second time you’d been perched in his lap like this, the second time his infinity has been lowered for the sake of intimacy. You wonder, quietly, how long it’s been since he’s shared the heat of human touch. You consider yourself lucky to have the opportunity to know the feel and firmness of his skin. You get to be close to him. It’s such a novel thing, really, but it feels a bit sacred with him.

(The dance prior had been a rite. A ritual to open a space between the two of you, one that could be inhabited by both of you. It was a careful back and forth, smoldering embers and climbing flames that stretched with crooning words and easily seen through lies.)

(You are a good dancer, and you reap a god for it.)

“Nah, it’s fine,” Satoru’s pinched expression falls away. He’s still strained, feigning, as he pulls the silk away from his eyes and over the top of his head. Gossamer hair falls flat, laying gently over his forehead and just barely covering his undercut. You don’t meet his gaze yet. You instead inspect the curve of his jaw to his ear, tracing a fingertip over the bone.

He’s beautiful, you think.

Before you’d met Gojo, you’d heard him described as such. An earthen god with beauty to match it. Atrocious personality, but nice to look at. The rumors weren’t… wrong. Satoru found a way to be both cloying and avoidant while remaining one of the most breathtaking people you’d ever seen. The high praise he receives isn’t in jest.

You adore him, you think. You can’t ever let him know— not to your feeling’s true extent. He’d never let you live it down.

His palm, large and warm, cups your chin and turns you toward him. He knocks his forehead against yours. It’s a bit clammy.

(A spark of pride warms your belly. His infinity has only been off for a few minutes. The room is temperate. The sheen on his forehead is from him reacting to you. Getting a rise, even if only bodily, from Gojo Satoru is exhilarating.)

But Gojo knows exhilarating, doesn’t he? He knows combat and strife, but it’s tenderness that's foreign to him.

If you were in his place, you may have broken a sweat too.

You keep your eyes lowered. You can feel him, looking into and through you. You’re still fully clothed, not bare in the slightest, but Satoru still strips you in a way beyond cloth. The only skin-to-skin contact you have is through your light touches around his neck and the point where your foreheads meet. 

It still feels like a lot.

“You can touch me more, ‘ya know,” Satoru prods you, grabbing your wrist and placing your hand on the back of his neck. “I like when you do. Have you done this before?”

You stifle a snort, “You’re toying with me now? Getting impatient?” 

Satoru hums, and shrugs, “With you? I always am.”

Oh, god, what an admission. To be wanted in such a way by anyone, let alone Gojo. It makes your gut twist with something equally sweet and sour. There’s something to it— you’re not used to it. You’re not used to it. You’re not used to accepting someone’s desire for you. To be perched in someone’s lap, someone you equally desire? Feels like a new experience, even if you had been in this position at some other point.

“Needy,” You grin, and finally look at him.

Satoru, you realize, hasn’t taken his eyes off you. You’re not sure what he’s seeing (the way your cursed energy is melting in pools, the rapid beat of your heart, the tremor in your hands—), but you assume it’s all. You’re at his mercy, in that way. There’s nothing you can hide from him and it's daunting. You’re at such a disadvantage in knowing, but it’s familiar. 

Satoru’s pretty. Especially pretty in his face. Everyone talks about Gojo Satoru’s fabled crystalline eyes, but they really don’t do it justice. You don’t want to stare too much, but it’s the first up-close look you’ve gotten at him, and you’re enraptured. For most of your trysts, Gojo kept his blindfold on for ease. You were never afforded the chance to ogle. His eyes cut, blue topaz, set in a human skull. You swear they refract light from the inside. 

“Go on, stare some more,” Satoru grins, sitting back against the cushions. “I’ve got all day.”

You raise an eyebrow, sitting back on your haunches in his lap, balancing with a hand on his chest, “I’m happy to. You’re beautiful.”

Satoru whistles, “Buttering me up? You’re sweet.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” You say with no edge. You flash him a smile. “You knew that already. You couldn’t keep your size ego without knowing you’re stunning.”

Satoru doesn’t reply for a moment. He licks his lips, chews on the bottom one for a moment. You almost open your mouth to redact a word or two. You are being presumptuous, and perhaps a bit mean. Who knows, maybe Satoru actually has no idea—

“It’s different, since it’s you,” Satoru says, settling his big hand on one of your hips. 

There’s a wealth of unspoken secrets in such a phrase. Satoru’s built too guarded to show you them, and you half-doubt he ever will. You’ll have to settle for your own conjecture. You’ll have to settle for the way such admission makes your heart pound. You’ll have to settle for how his words are followed by a soft squeeze of your ribs in his warm palm. 

To be special to someone, someone who seems so above such connections— it makes your insides melt down your spine.

You kiss him, to let him know you heard him. You lean forward suddenly, half-tipping over into his lap. It brings you chest to chest, where Satoru easily wraps an arm around your waist, tucking you close, holding you there without give. 

And you kiss him like you’ve wanted to for god knows how long. 

It’s not like the chaste touches you’ve had in the past. It’s nothing like the hungry looks you’ve caught Gojo flashing you from across campus. It’s neither entirely carnal, nor pure. It makes your insides, from your brain to your toes, turn to mush.

You press into him, winding a hand into his hair.

Satoru holds you steadfast. The grip he has around your waist is unwavering and keeps you chest to chest. You can feel his expand against your own, even the pounding of his heart in an earthly rhythm.

(As much as you claim to know Satoru, it still shocks you, occasionally, how human he is. His heart beats, thumps and thuds when touched like something fragile and precious. It’s endearing, in a way.)

You cup a hand over his chin and stroke your thumb against the sharp line of his jaw. You curl your nails behind his ear, and nearly die when you feel Satoru shudder beneath you. The half-moan he hums into your mouth has your thighs clenching around his own.

Satoru is nothing if not competitive, even knowing he will always win. A loss is a feint with him, and you forget this in the moment.

He breaks the kiss, only to trail his lips down your neck, deftly unbuttoning your top and sliding it down your shoulders. It settles against your biceps as Satoru lays kiss after kiss against your skin.

“You’re so,” He says, suddenly. “So—”

He cuts himself off and smothers his face into your neck. It takes you a moment to realize he’s pouting. His grip on you gets tighter, and there’s not a smidge of space between you two.

It’s overwhelming, maybe.

You’re not used to this. Your mutual lifestyle rarely left time for things like this, and when they were shared, it was quick and quiet. There simply isn’t enough time of respite for a sorcerer to be so indulgent. There are lives, people— souls left out in the cold if you’re too selfish about this. 

For that reason, you wonder if Satoru has much experience at all.

You know his history, his place, his status (even in this position, the miasmatic knowledge of such things will not leave you.) You can’t decipher whether such things would make him more or less likely to experience physical intimacy. You’ve heard rumors, sure, but you don’t think Satoru has the room in his schedule to be as much of a slut as whispers would have you believe. 

Regardless, you feel special, getting to be so close to him. You covet him too much, probably. It’s been drilled into your head since birth, so you can’t fault yourself too much. 

“You’re thinking so hard,” Satoru kisses your neck again. “Your cursed energy’s going crazy. What’s on your mind?”

You pause. 

“... You.” You answer honestly.

“Oh, wow, me? I’m flattered.” He noses up to your jaw and nips, before grabbing your face in one large hand and dragging you together again. “But, I’d prefer if you were here with me, right now. Think you can manage? I’ll make it easy.”

“I’ll try,” You say, letting Satoru kiss over cheeks. 

Satoru hums, “You will. You’ll stay here, with me.”

...

He does make it easy, notably. 

Satoru drags you close as can be and devours you— there’s no other word for it. He kisses and kisses and kisses until you feel saliva dribble from the corners of your lips. He nips at your bottom lip and tugs more than once. It hurts in a good way. It’s the kind of pain that you want more of. 

Satoru must understand, because he bites your lip and you swear he must bust it to bleeding. You nearly thank him as sparks of pain mix with heat and pleasure like its own heady drug. 

Your grapple onto his shoulders, encouraging him to shrug off his uniform top. It’s shed easily, quickly and he’s down to a tight white shirt that leaves little to the imagination. You run your hands up and down his chest, unabashedly feeling him up. Who knew Satoru was so broad? (tits) Shoulders too. Satoru towered over nearly everyone he met, but he never struck you as anything other than a beanpole.

But now? You can feel the muscle on him. You can feel it tensing and relaxing in rhythm as he massages the meat above your hips. You can feel him and how strong he is. 

It’s exhilarating. You want to drown in him.

“You’re excited,” Satoru breaks away to tease. 

You hum, kissing the corner of his mouth, “So are you.”

That much is obvious. You’ve skillfully been ignoring how hard Satoru is against your inner thigh, even through his trousers. It’s taken a fair amount of willpower to not grind in his lap senselessly. 

Satoru’s grip slips lower, cupping your ass and dragging you down against his clothed cock. He nips at your jaw, up to your ear, and dares to whisper, “I want to feel you.”

You swallow, thick and hard, and Satoru belts out a laugh. You slap his chest for it, hoping the dark of the room distracts from the heat in your cheeks. You know Satoru must notice how your hands tremble as you grab his shoulders and grind down into his lap. You bow your head, hiding in the crook of his neck and fucking take.

It’s shameless, really. 

There are still several layers of clothing between you, yet it feels like so much. Maybe you’re touch-starved, maybe you’re enthralled with the idea of Satoru Gojo and his cock being interested in you, maybe— it just feels good and you’re chasing the feelings. 

Satoru bucks his hips up while holding yours down, letting your circle and grind on him to your heart’s content. Little whines drip from his lips, huffs of breath barely loud enough for you to hear but god, you feel weak for them. The sounds meld with your own. You scratch at his shoulders, cursing under your breath.

Satoru drags you up by your scruff to kiss you, mumbling against your lips, “‘Think you soaked through your panties.”

He confirms this by slipping a hand down your front. Satoru cups your cunt, feels you, and curses under his breath. You don’t have time to process how he’s touching you more gently than you imagined, more carefully, maybe even tenderly— before he’s winding a hand in the hair at the base of your skull and hauling you back.

You’re forced to keep your back arched. You’re bare. Your shirt pools around your waist and one of the straps of your bra slips down your shoulder. It’s obscene, you feel filthy despite being covered to some degree. You’ve probably got the front of Satoru’s trousers filthy—

Satoru pulls you from your thoughts.

He cups your jaw with his free hand and runs his fingers up and down the planes of your face. Cheeks, jaw— down the bridge of your nose before pressing his thumb to your lips. 

He’s a difficult person to make eye contact with. He’s infamous for it. It’s rare anyone actually has the opportunity to meet his gaze, but even when folks do, it’s hard to meet him on his level. Satoru doesn’t need to look at you in such a way to really see you. For him, you imagine direct eye contact must be like a dance, a challenge, and a way to make people squirm under the weight of an immeasurably powerful being. 

You force yourself to look at him and find Satoru looking back at you. He’s tracing your features, up and down, taking you in a way that looks more human than any other way you’ve seen him look. 

“... You okay?” You ask, softly, words slurred by the thumb Satoru has yet to remove from your lips.

He hums, musing, before fully pressing into your mouth, down onto your tongue. You let him, and suck and nip at his thumb. 

“I’m great,” Satoru says. “Basking, a little bit.”

He has a dopey smile on his face as he switches from his thumb to his ring and forefinger. You stay relaxed as he presses further and further back to your throat. He only stops when the tips of his fingers meet soft flesh and your gag around him. 

“You’re so good,” Satoru preens, nearly pulling his fingers from your mouth, before pressing them forward once more. “You’re precious.”

He says ‘precious’ like it's endearing and demeaning, and for some reason, it turns you on even more. You whine around his fingers and struggle for friction against his lap. Satoru clicks his tongue. 

“So needy,” He grins, letting go of your hair in favor of undoing the buckle and zipper of his trouser, rubbing himself over his boxer briefs. He continues to fuck your mouth, smile getting wider when spit dribbles from the corners of your mouth and slips down your chin.

You slowly sink closer, holding yourself up by your thighs and sheer willpower. You are needy— you desperately want to be in Satoru’s lap. You want to be sitting on his cock until the sun rises and sets again. You can see in the dim light that Satoru’s bulge is not small, rather large perhaps, even against his hand. 

You swallow. The thought of stretching around Satoru’s cock’s girth has you clenching around nothing and moaning around his fingers. You get impatient.

You fumble your grip against Satoru’s chest and reach downward. You get as far as his waistband before Satoru shoos you with a laugh, giving you a particularly hard thrust to the back of your throat. You choke.

“Let me take my time,” Satoru hums. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, letting tendrils of thick drool connect from your lips to his fingers. “I want to savor this.”

And the fucking bastard shamelessly pressing his fingers into his own mouth, sucking your saliva from them while not breaking from your gaze. 

“Y-You’re a menace,” Your voice lacks any bite as you speak.

“I’m sure I am,” Satoru looks so smitten as he palms his cock, pulling at the zipper of your uniform skirt with his free hand. You wriggle out of it and it's discarded somewhere beyond your comprehension. 

Satoru uses one deft hand to finish off the buttons of your shirt, peeling it away until you’re skin and heat in his lap. You hold onto a shred of modesty in just panties and a bra. Satoru ogles you all the same, chewing his lip as he traces your figure up and down, and up and down once more. 

Despite your last two garments, you feel naked. 

You can’t help it— you feel shy, even. You wrap your arms around your middle and avert your eyes down to his chest. You can feel that Satoru’s going to say something about it, prod you for being bashful when you’re going to be open for him in moments, more than likely. You distract him by grabbing the bottom hem of his shirt, tugging until he peels it off. 

“I can’t tell if you’re eager or dreading this,” Satoru laughs, but the end of the sound is rotten. It makes something in you shrivel and twitch. “Enlighten me?”

“I...” Your voice dies in your chest and you take a shaky breath.

You grab his hands and hold them in your own.

For someone whose hands never actually touch their opponent, Satoru’s are worn. There are calluses around his fingernails. Worn, dry skin on his palms and knuckles that you run your own scarred flesh against. His hands are warm and a bit clammy, which makes him feel a little more human.

“It’s been a while,” You murmur. “It’s scary to be so bare around someone.”

You refuse to look at him for a moment. 

Satoru hums, adjusting his grip so his palms cup your own, “It is.”

Of course, Satoru gets it. 

“I want it. You—” You hiss out a breath between your teeth as Satoru’s grip trails higher, squeezing on his way. “But, I can’t shake the feeling that being so close to someone won’t result in some tragedy.”

Satoru is silent after you speak. His eyes shine glassy and glazed, fixed somewhere else beyond the room. You don’t attempt to pull him back, not yet. He keeps massaging you, hands finding purchase on your hips. 

You suppose Satoru must be familiar with this distinct feeling as well. You both deal in tragedies. Your profession demands it, and so it is. You must purge away that which is addled in suffering, you must go hand-to-hand with grime and hate and everything rotten with the world, so that there’s, perhaps, a chance for someone, somewhere to rest easier.

The thing you are closest to is tragedy. You spar with suffering and feel it in your open palms every day. 

It makes sense you’d anticipate closeness, regardless of its intention or context, as something to be wary of. Frightening, if you really got down to it. Terrified that pleasurable touch is a farce, and that the next moment you’ll be faced with your guts on the floor, and something in you wounded beyond repair. 

“Satoru?” You say his name softly, tugging his face to your chest. His cheek rests against your sternum and his warm breath fans over your skin. “You there?”

“Yeah,” He answers immediately, nuzzling into the heat of you. “You’re better with words than you give yourself credit for, probably.”

You don’t get a chance to reply or process Satoru’s confession. He startles you when he shifts his grip under your thighs and hefts you up. He stands, adjusting you, and whisks you off to a bedroom nearby.

The room you’re brought to is dimly lit, enough that the shadows obscure any of the decor. There’s only a small lamp atop a dresser that gives off the barest bit of warm light. Hardly enough to make out any of the furnishings. You have to rely on feeling as you are set on the bed with a gentle bounce, and pushed into the sheets. They’re cool and buttery beneath you. The mattress is harder than you would expect from someone with Satoru’s tastes.

Any other thought you could have is quickly chased away by Satoru. He’s up over you within moments, settling over your hips and kissing you harder than before. 

He’s handsy, feeling and squeezing anywhere he can get a hold of. No part of you is spared from the heat of his palms and strength of his grip. He’s a bit more forceful, a bit bolder, now that you’re laid out underneath him. He’s big. Broad in the shoulders and narrow in the waist and easily keeps you down and pliant.

You meet him where you can. You wind a hand into his hair, tug him closer and try to drink him. It’s a sloppy thing, messier than you’d ever admit. And you like it. The spit pooling out of the corner of your lips and the desperate little noises you exchange warm your guts in a way that feels foreign and welcome all the same.

“Satoru,” You say his name like a smothered prayer, caught between half-breaths. He outright moans when you call to him.

“Fuck, you sound so pretty saying that,” Satoru pulls away to drop his hand to your collarbone.

You run a hand down the nape of his neck, squeezing, “Your ego is showing, be careful, Satoru.”

He makes a choked sound and chomps down on your collarbone. You squeak and slap at his shoulders. Your scolding doesn’t deter him, if anything it eggs him on. His lips trail lower, deftly removing any remaining fabric as he does.

You claw at him, trying to drag him into your skin. You want to mix together, dissolve into a puddle, and never be anything but that. It’s indulgent to think about, and you can’t help the giddy sound that bursts from your lips as Satoru brushes past a particularly sensitive spot on your navel.

“That’s a cute sound,” He peaks up from his lashes, long and silver and he looks fucking angelic. You drop your head to the pillows, steeling yourself as he works. You adjust your leg over his shoulder, tucking him between your thighs and Satoru makes a contented sound that has you thrumming from the inside out.

The heat of Satoru seeps into your skin, making you pliable beneath him. Satoru lies half off the bed and his lower half slips to the floor below. He drags you by your calves. You yelp, grabbing the sheets and regarding him with wide eyes.

Even kneeling on the bed, Satoru is tall. The figure of him sends something stirring in you, some feeling that’s both intimidating and lust, rolling into something hot on the back of your tongue. Satoru tilts his head with a smile that gleams, adjusting you as he pleases. You let him, let him, let him—

He props your hips up with a pillow, leaving you off-kilter and exposed to the cold air of the room. He works off the rest of your uniform skirt, leaving your panties and knee-highs intact. Satoru seems to settle, eyeing your clothed sex with that same smile. He traces a nonsense pattern over your hips, teasing with the tip of his finger.

Blood rushes to your skull and you feel woozy with it. With him. It’s so much. You feel exposed like this. He has hardly touched your cunt, only prodded the parts he could lavish, goading you on. You should’ve met him more, he can’t—

You shoot up, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, “I’m sorry—”

Satoru pauses, raising an eyebrow and withdrawing. 

“Sorry? For what?” He retains an air of mischief to his voice, but it feels hollow. You feel a ringing start in your ears.

You’re scared.

You’re scared.

It’s too close.

You twitch. Your impulse is to grab a weapon, wind up with cursed energy, and punch. The urge claws up your chest in the form of breaths that catch in your nose too fast. Sweat beads on your forehead and you make a tiny, dying sound.

You feel Satoru’s cursed energy crackle and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise. You scramble upright on the bed, away, away.

It’s instinct, really.

Your heart pounds, the feeling of violence so thick in your blood that it clouds your vision. You’re nothing but a specter, why would you bother with physical pleasures? You feel foolish and you clutch at your throat.

“Woah, woah there,” Satoru puts his hand up, still kneeling. His brow creases with concern. Gone is the desire and mischief. Caring. Satoru Gojo cares about you, about the way you’re sure he can see how your body and cursed energy are spasming. You’re scared, you’re scared—

This is it, isn’t it? Why you so rarely indulge in the carnal. It tastes bitter. Its bile, rising from your gut and you have to swallow to keep from drowning in it. It’s a fear that’s so fucking hard to place, hard to verbalize, certainly to someone outside of your profession. Even to another sorcerer, you’re not entirely sure you could force yourself to put into words the tangled, horrific feeling that you can’t seem to escape in these moments.

It pulls you. Tugs you. It’s going to tear you apart—

Satoru says your name, sharp and clear, and it brings you back to the room. You’re in Satoru’s low-light bedroom, probably. The sheets are soft. Satoru smells good. There’s a dead stick of incense on a holder on the dresser.

Satoru grabs your cheeks in his hands and drags you nose to nose. You feel the heat pouring off of him.

And you look at him.

“There you are,” Satoru says with an edge of relief you’ve never heard from him. “I lost you for a sec there. Take some breaths with me, ‘kay?”

“S-Sure, yeah,” You reach for Satoru’s wrist without thinking and hold. You ground yourself on the feeling of his pulse and bone.

Satoru counts in little murmurs, coaching you through a few moments of deep breathing. The first ones wrack through you, dragging out sounds you wish you could’ve quieted. Satoru doesn’t seem to mind. He keeps your attention, expression schooled open and inviting, and doesn’t waver until you’ve settled.

“There we go, back down to earth,” Satoru lets out a sigh. Perhaps, of relief, even.

You expect Satoru to pull back and create distance in some way. The necessity for closeness has passed and there’s no reason for him to linger—

(You forget, so easily, that you’re in the exchange of desire. You’re tender in a dance of skinship that you’ve never left, not even for a moment.)

Satoru shifts, dragging you up and pressing you against his chest. You’re both so bare— you’d forgotten. The sudden amount of skin-to-skin contact, superheated and sensitive, makes you jolt. Satoru shushes you, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you flush against him.

You don’t say anything for a while. You deflate from rigid to slack over some length of time you’re too fuzzy to measure. Satoru is mostly quiet. He only hums in what you can only assume to be approval, with each chest-heaving exhale that leaves you more relaxed against him.

It’s easier to bend now. The heat of the situation has dissipated, and the post-adrenal haze makes it easy to crash. You can feel embarrassed about it later. You’re lulled by bugs that sing night songs in the estate’s courtyard, and the gurgling of the stream that cuts through the property. 

“... You know, it happens to everyone,” Satoru says nonchalantly. He hooks his chin over the top of your head. “I don’t know a single sorcerer I’ve consistently fucked who hasn’t melted down at least once.”

“... How many sorcerers is that?” You surely must validate his data, see if he’s pulling your leg out of pity.

He laughs, “Is that a roundabout way of asking for my body count? You dog.”

You snort and shake your head, “No, I’m asking seriously.”

“More than a handful, less than a dozen,” Satoru answers after a moment of thought. “It’s normal, though. I have my moments too.”

He doesn’t elaborate, just squeezes you. 

You haven’t bedded too many of your colleagues, and even when you had, you hadn’t thought too much about their potential panic (you were too busy quelling your own enough to enjoy physical release.) 

Like all things of this nature, your dance is mutual.

“Huh,” You lean up to look at him, craning your neck. “Comforting. Glad to know the strongest sorcerer in the world cries during sex sometimes.”

He gives you a look, “Hey, I never said that—”

You lean away from him, cupping your hands around your mouth, “Hey world! Did you hear that ‘World’s Strongest Sorcerer’, ‘Well-est Endow-ed’, Gojo Satoru cries during—”

He jabs at your sides and you sputter around your words.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re in for it—”

And Satoru sets upon you, your ribs and sides and tummy with the tips of his fingers in what can only be called a minor war crime. You snort and gasp between giggling fits and streams of ‘no, no— Satoruuuuu!’s. He relents, eventually. Satoru goes from tickling to petting you as you catch your breath.

“Asshole.” You huff without any bite.

 He kisses your temple, “You started it.”

“Maybe, perhaps.” You jab your elbow into his ribs. You preen at the little ‘oof’ of air Satoru lets out. Victory.

“Do you want to continue? Or is the mood totally ruined.” You ask matter-of-factly. 

You’re still shaken, just a little. But you wouldn’t mind trying again. The silliness of things worked away some of your latent tension. You’re not boneless, but you wouldn’t mind being, you know, bone in if that’s what things led to. 

“The mood’s not ruined,” Satoru squeezes your hips and you shift higher in his lap. “I’d love to see where things go, if anywhere, if you want to continue.”

You adjust, sitting up over his hips. 

“I want to try, even if we have to stop again.”

And in the low light of the bedroom, you come nose to nose with Satoru Gojo yet again. You’re level.

“Perfect, sweetheart,” and he thumbs over your bottom lip before kissing you so soft and gently, it almost cracks your chest in two.

...

Your night continues until it becomes a dawn, and then a morning. 

It’s not a seamless tryst, surely, but your stumbles and brief panics are quelled now that Satoru knows what to look for, and you’re more vigilant of the things that will send you spiraling.

(Satoru says your cursed energy begins to curl around your chest and climbs to your throat in little wisps. You avoid your middle being exposed and vulnerable.)

Satoru holds his own— very well, in more ways than one. His own hiccups in intimacy aren’t panic, like your own, but rather awe. He has moments where he looms above you, eyes glassy and almost unfocused, where you can tell he’s somewhere else. He doesn’t seem scared, just slower, more out of body than the strongest allows himself to be.

(It’s reverence, really. He touches you in those moments like you’re a sculpture at a shrine, a sacred thing to pray to.)

He takes his time. You take yours. It’s a mutual crawl, but a pleasant one. Satoru stretches you open on his fingers, one after another until you swear the fucker is prepping you to take his fucking fist and not his cock. 

(“I’m just being thorough!” There’s a playful lilt to his voice. “— Didn’t you already call me ‘well-endowed’?”)

You try on top of him, first. When Satoru finally considers you prepped ‘enough’ that you could fit his cock into your cunt, you straddle his lap, brace yourself over his navel, and try—

(He’s too big. He’s too fucking big.)

Even sinking down with the help of gravity, and the incessant need to be filled and fucked and anything other than teased, it hurts. It’s a tight fit, and you only get halfway impaled on his cock before the angle and pressure have you tipping off of his lap and away in defeat.

(Then, Satoru makes you come at least three more times— you start to lose count after that. You’re more pliable, soaked through and fucked out without even being properly filled. Satoru easily shifts you onto your stomach and lifts your hip with a pillow or two.)

When Satoru takes you like that, you know you won’t be able to walk for a half day. His rhythm starts slow, to give you time to adjust, wriggle about, and find whatever angle satisfies both your cunt and your bent spine.

(It’s good, it’s sooooo good—)

Satoru comes inside you, which is fine. Unplanned, but fine. You prepped for such a possibility prior. You’re only half-lucid when Satoru’s pace shudders, and he fucks you with a few short thrusts before spilling into your cunt. 

(You can’t remember the last time someone came inside you. Even when he pulls out, and flops next to you, you still feel full of him.)

Satoru gets clingier after that. Less wordy, less mouthy (well, in the traditional sense of the word.) He tugs you to his chest, lets his refractory period pass, before fucking you slow and hard, back to chest. 

The rest of the night passes much the same way.

You’re liquid, by the end of it. You’ve only taken a break or two, mostly to gulp down water, or sit up briefly and kinesthetically reorient yourself as the bodily force of Satoru Gojo’s fucking you rewired your brainstem, maybe. 

When there are threads of hot, gold light spilling in from his bedroom window, you’re only half aware and a quarter awake. Almost dreaming.

Later, you’ll remember this morning. You’ll remember the exact hue of the sun rays, the smell and thread count of the sheets, and him— Satoru. Who looks equally as wrung out, tired, but sated. He looks content and you’ll be forever grateful you burned the image of him like this into your mind. You’ll savor in the worst of times. In your grief.

Satoru’s moving around, somewhere. Maybe in the bathroom? At some point, you’re lifted carried there yourself, and literally set on the toilet— (“You’ll thank me for this when you don’t get a UTI.”)

Satoru helps you back to bed after, now laid with fresh sheets and linens. It’s cool when you flop face first and take a whiff of whatever detergent he uses. It’s fresh, if not a bit minty. Maybe eucalyptus or tea tree? Some scent that clears your sinuses and skull enough to regard Satoru outside of a sleepy or lust-filled haze.

“Busy tomorrow, I’m assuming?” Today, you silently add. You know his answer before he speaks. 

“Yup!” There’s a hollow echo of cheer to it. “Don’t worry about that now, though. We’ll rest, and get something sweet for breakfast in a few hours.”

“... Sure, sure,” You nod into the buttery sheets. You know he’ll treat you to something decadent. 

You crawl up toward the headboard, closer to Satoru, until you’re snug against his side. You wrap yourself around him shamelessly, and let his easy chuckle that follows be the last thing you hear as you slack and fall asleep. 

[fictionalmenxyn]

Heya! I hope you're doing well 🫶🏻🫶🏻 may I request some hcs about how would tf141, könig and alejandro react their s/o is single mom? Also I thought it'd be funny like they swear and their s/o just says "tsk, don't use that word again"

Of course I can do this for you! :)

Ghost

At first he’s hesitant not to be in a relationship with you

But rather to meet your kid/s he thinks they aren’t going to like him or find him scary

But you reassured him and told him you have mentioned what he looks like

As soon as he felt confident enough the kid/s met him

They loved him completely they found him cool as of what he does and that he does the same thing as their mom

He shows them cools things like in the garden and teaches them to use stuff to make hits or whatever

They love him and he loves them

Not just he teaches them stuff but they teach him stuff

Like their favourite games, play football or even play on the x box

And once he found out there are army games he was happy to play on the x box with the kids

Soap

Instantly in love with the fact you have kids

Definitely buys them things before they meet him

And when you mention what they like he keeps a note on it

So if they liked drawing like him he’d buy something related or if your read or play games he’ll buy something like that

When he meets them they enjoyed how entertaining he is and how energetic he can be

He was particularly one with the kids

Like if they want to play a prank on you he’s definitely a part of it and helps them

If they want a bed time story he’ll read to them and let you have a rest as he knows it can be hard as a single parent

Sometimes if the kid/s have worn him out he’ll read the book and fall asleep laying next to them

He’ll make pancakes and help you with cooking, sometimes even get the kids to help

Gaz

Definitely first saw them on FaceTime first before in person

And they lived chatting with him so much they got his number so they can FaceTime together

If they are almost a teen they definitely send him funny TikTok’s

When he meets them in person it’s like they already knew him

They have so much fun together it honestly warms your heart

If they are young and heard him swear or you and they say it in front of him he’ll say something like ‘oi, that’s my word I coined it’ kinda like Tony from avengers endgame with his daughter Morgan

Definitely let’s then lay on him if they are little so they can watch Netflix on his phone while you cuddle to Gaz’s side

Let’s you do whatever as he like Soap can guess that being a single mom is hard so he’ll look after then while you do your daily routine especially in the morning

The kids love when he takes them to school they like to show their friends that he’s their ‘step dad’ and he feels proud when they call him that

You allow the kid/s to call him ‘step dad’ and only because Gaz is comfortable about it

Price

Your kid/s are somewhat shy so when he got to their level he spoke ‘don’t worry I won’t bite. Besides I have a gift for you’

Buys them something like a small toy or sweets to win them over

After a hour they came round and loved him cause like who doesn’t? He is such a father figure that Gaz isn’t just his ‘child’ but your kid/s are now his kid/s

He makes them breakfast and lunch if you are busy to go to your other job or if you were packing their pe kits

Definitely tells them things and tells them to tell you. Like he’ll say ‘go tell mom she’s pretty’ and then the kid/s will run to wherever you are and tell you

Tells them cool stories of his past or ‘war’ stories. You make the kid/s hot chocolate so they can have it while listening cause you know the stories are somewhat long

Watches movies every Friday night as it’s a new tradition in the household

Can’t say no if your kids give the puppy dog eyes. He caves every time sometimes he comes home with them after a day out and they have ice cream over their faces and a toy in hand

Loves when it’s like a presentation thing or a school play as he loves seeing the kids faces light up when they see you two sat in the audience

He’s also there for them no matter what. If they need to vent he’ll go to the living room or somewhere private so your kid can tell him everything and he’ll comfort them and then help find a solution

Alejandro

They didn’t know he was Mexican but once they found out they found it quite interesting and fascinating

As every kid would do they’d ask him to say somethings in Spanish and they’d find it so cool and he loved that

They’d most likely ask to teach them

He’d definitely get them to try new food that he would make and somehow managed to get your kid (if they are picky) to eat any type of food

Definitely loves taking them to the beach if it’s close by. Definitely helps make sand castles while you sun bathe and then will grab some water in the bucket and him and the kids would tip it over you for a laugh

Tries to help you and the kids as much as possible. If your getting ready still he’ll take the kid/s to school. He’ll help them get changed or make their lunch

Definitely like Gaz when it comes to trouble making. And obviously he will get away with it just by giving you a quick kiss and saying ‘only doing it cause the kid/s wanted me to’

Takes them to play places with you. You two will have a chat and a drink while they ran around and get all their energy out

Definitely fun and the kids are obsessed with him

Definitely in love with you even more and loves the kid/s

König

Honestly he’s more shy than the kids and nervous cause of his height he thought he’d scare the kids away

When he first met them your kid/s went up to him and introduced themselves

He found that they were quite polite and friendly so he became more comfortable

If they are a girl he’ll go into the garden and make daisy chains or plant flowers

and if it’s a boy he’ll play games or take them out of a bike whatever they want to do he’s fully up for it not matter the gender or interest

He wants to try his best as he has never been a ‘father figure’ before so he was nervous but he tries his best and you can see that

Loves taking them to ice cream shops or parlours anything sweet related he’s up for it as he has just as big of a sweet tooth as your kid/a do

Loves cuddling up and watching movies together. You on one side and the kid/a on the other

Definitely likes to watch animal documentaries with them especially Sir David Attenborough. For some reason since he’s been with you and you were to watch it he was fascinated by the show and Sir David’s voice

Overall, he is a brilliant father figure to the kids and loves them with all his heart he is glad they like him and want him around

Hope you like it!

Sorry it took so long I haven’t had as much time or motivation but it’s finally here. Also I am open to requests again and just to know that it won’t be out exactly the next day but it would be out soon.

Have a good day/night!

[fancifulplaguerat]

Something I struggle to reconcile with Daniil’s character is his attitude towards violence, because he’s this impassioned doctor claiming he wants to save everyone but at the same time is pretty quick on the draw across all three routes. E.g. in the Bachelor Route, the player can say that Daniil doesn’t want others to die for him; that it’s his job to preserve lives, not waste them; and tells Saburov that Artemy couldn’t be a killer, because why would a *doctor* kill anyone? but then the next conversation he’s expressing delight when Andrey tells him he can kill marauders with impunity. Thinking about it more, though, I don’t think it’s necessarily that dissonant given how Daniil’s character is constructed within this “destroyer” idea, and I think his motivations are pretty consistent as well. 

I feel Daniil is the most emotional healer—he’s very wear-it-on-your-sleeve and seemingly easily swayed by emotion, considering how he reacts to Simon’s death/Aglaya’s betrayal. He’s not altogether impulsive, since he’s conscientious and sometimes even refuses to act without ensuring whether he’s right, but he’s clearly partly motivated by emotion. For one, he often to lashes out at people—there are frequent dialogues in his route where he can snap at someone and then say a variant of “Sorry, I lost my temper.” I don’t think Daniil is necessarily an angry person, but reactive and in a situation where he’s constantly under pressure/being prevented from doing what he needs to be done, so obviously he’d often be frustrated and angry. I also don’t think him acting violently is  because he wants to take his anger out on others, and rather his sense of justice allows him to justify violence on the grounds of who “deserves” to be punished or to die. For example, in the Haruspex/Changeling Route he only threatens to kill Artemy or use violence against Simon Kain’s murderer because eye-for-an-eye; the killer deserves to be punished, because that’s just. Daniil also expresses anger and disdain towards those who kill others, so it seems to him, killing a murderer is just righting a wrong. 

Outside his motivations, I also think Daniil’s tendency towards violence works within his broader characterization as a fighter/destroyer. He’s indirectly characterized as an apt fighter in both the Haurspex/Changeling Routes, and rhetoric of ‘fighting’ is constantly used to describe his research and actions within the town. On Day 1, both Maria and Katerina describe his fate as a battle—Maria says, “a truly terrifying battle is ahead of you [...] You will fight a foe that few can defeat” and Katerina says, “I’m talking about a very particular battle... You are one of the combatants, Bachelor Dankovsky [...] you will have to fight to the death.” I also want to point to this dialogue with an herb bride, which I know is in common, but: 

Herb Bride: How are you smart? Smart people are four-eyed nerds... bulgy heads on stunted legs. Cunning, cautious, weak, old even... no, you are not a smart man. You are a warrior.

Player: You can be both.

Herb Bride: Really? I thought you can only have one. Your eyes are throwing needles, and your teeth are clenched fast. You've got the face of a man who can sweep down anything that stands in his way. The face of a destroyer.

Player: Correct. This is the true purpose of smart people [...] I destroy death. 

Herb Bride: Oh... So that's why there are always sparks of hatred in your eyes. And that's why your smile is so spiteful.

I’m still debating my opinions on the implications here, but I feel it’s partly related to the game’s pessimism about miracles/utopias. Specifically that in Daniil’s attempt to attain utopia:defeat death, he can only cause more destruction, as in Kaspar’s infamous “You may mean well, but you bring evil and destruction all the same [...] Your heavy hand will crush us all—even if you were only grabbing us in order to pull us out of the abyss.” The sentiment that Daniil is solely a destructive force even when he tries to do good is echoed all over the game, which frankly makes me upset because I’m too attached to this tortured little fellow. Daniil does what he thinks is right just as Artemy and Clara, but he doesn’t even get the privilege of attaining his goal like the others do in their endings. The Bachelor ending is really only a symbolic victory for Daniil; Thanatica is burned down and he hasn’t really gotten any closer to beating death. For all intents and purposes, Daniil loses even in his own ending, and I have all sorts of thoughts about that but. I shall tuck it away for another day 

[bsxcrxts]

out of the woods yet // Steve Harrington x librarian!reader

chapter five

Summary: Steve and reader fool around in the library after he catches reader with a trashy romance novel. 

Content Warning: this is explicit!!! DNI if you are not 18+! more specifically this fic contains: thigh-riding, groping, teasing, fingering, a hand job, dirty talk, etc. no spoilers for s4! it takes place between s3 and s4.

Word Count: 3.2k !!!!

A/N: Well shit y’all I didn’t finish it before the premiere, but I’m only three hours late! The romance novel in question that Steve reads passages from is inspired by a real book, though technically that irl novel was written after this fic takes place lol. Also, I have changed the quotes to be cringier but the inspiration is there, so credit where credit is due. *cites smut in MLA format*

BTW: you don’t have to read the other parts first to understand this, but it’d be cool if you did! Here they are:

Series Masterlist

“What’s this?” Steve asks, mischievously grabbing the book that you’d just thrust quickly onto the book cart sitting by the front desk. Something about the way you practically threw the book out of your hands when you caught a glance of him approaching has his interest piqued. Steve knows he’s accidentally startled you a few times since he started coming into Hawkins Public Library after his morning shifts end at Family Video, where he had semi-successfully secured a job working with Robin after some clever conniving on her part, but he’s never seen you react like a kid caught with their hand in a cookie jar before.

Accidentally interrupting you with his presence while you’re off in your own world is nothing new for Steve. Before the two of you started hanging out regularly, and then dating, he’d see you close your sketchbook, journal, magazines and various novels once you spotted him entering the library, often with a bit of absent-minded urgency, as if you’re nervous that if you don’t stop and pay attention to Steve, he’ll disappear. After the two of you got closer, you’d sometimes show Steve what you were reading, writing, or drawing, and he’d sit and listen to your impassioned rambles about whatever was important to you the most at the moment, even when he didn’t quite get it, which was around half the time.

In fact, Steve has learned a lot about you. He’s learned your family moved to Hawkins at the end of May because of your parent’s jobs, one year before your brother was set to graduate from high school, and that you actually went to a university halfway across the country for two semesters before dropping out (you haven’t told him why yet; he doesn’t know if you ever will, and seeing as how college is a sore spot for both of you, he doesn’t press the issue). You played volleyball in middle school, you hate licorice candy, and you prefer The Beach Boys to The Beatles. Your family only has one car and you really hate driving it. In contrast, you seem to really love making out with him in his car when he takes you on dates after your shift. You got the job at the library because you prefer how quiet the environment is, and it’s Steve’s belief that you also were hired because you read faster than should be humanly possible, but he’s not sure if that’s just his opinion because he’s never been a quick study at school work. You’ve been attempting to convince him that reading can just be for fun, but Steve’s not so sure yet.

Or at least, he wasn’t sure before.

When he looks at the novel you’d scrambled to place on the book cart and he looks at the cover, Steve has to resist the urge to laugh. Not because he wants to make fun of you, but because the art on this book has got to be one of the cheesiest things he’s ever seen. There’s no way this thing has any academic merit. A scantily clad, muscular man with long, flowing locks clings onto the legs of a woman who is perched on a bed, her head thrown back in pleasure, her dress slipping off her shoulders, her breasts almost spilling out of her corset. The title is scrawled out in loopy, mock-elegant typeface in a bright, gaudy pink, and the tagline proclaims something about conquest and surrendering to love. He’d recognize one of these anywhere; a trashy romance novel, something grandmothers and aunts everywhere yank away from prying eyes and hide in their bedroom dressers.

Steve looks up, raises his eyebrows and smirks at you. “Scandalous,” he starts, unable to even get another word out before you start fumbling for an excuse.

“Someone just returned it,” you offer, folding your arms in front of you.

“Really?” Steve laughs.

“Mhm,” you affirm.

“Because I’m pretty sure I just saw you reading this.”

“I was not,” you say, mock offended.

“Then you won’t mind if I read some of it,” Steve taunts, “and see what all the fuss is about?” He starts to walk backwards, putting distance between himself and the front desk where you sat. He begins flipping through the novel, looking for any specific passages that might be more likely to make you blush.

You brace yourself and lean forward on the desk, obviously watching his every move. Good, Steve thinks, exactly how he likes it.

“Come back here with that,” you instruct, “I have to catalog it.”

“Is that what they call it these days?” Steve jokes.

“Steve,” you whine.

“Come get it then,” Steve calls, already halfway across the room, “if you want it so bad.” He’s not sure he’s still talking about the book as he runs off deeper into the library. He’s fairly certain there’s no one else in the library anyway, because it’s near minutes to closing time, and the only sounds he’s heard are the banter between you and him; still he chooses to duck into one of the more secluded aisles. Steve waits a beat or two before he starts scanning the book more seriously, not ready to give up the game yet, identifying and turning to a dog-eared page that he hoped wouldn’t lead him astray just as you rounded the corner.

“What took you so long?” he asks playfully.

“I locked the door,” you answer matter-of-factly. Steve’s heartbeat kicks up, knowing that’s as good as your unofficial blessing to continue his shenanigans. “Are you gonna give it back now?” you ask. 

“Nope. Good that you locked the door though,” Steve continues. “Wouldn’t want anyone else hearing what you were reading in this naughty little book, I guess.”

“Steve–”

“Let’s see, here’s a good part. ‘He tore off the rest of his clothing, his gaze on his wife all the while–’” Steve starts. You lunge at him and swipe at the book, but Steve dodges and turns his body away, too fast for you. He watches the flush on your face grow even when you laugh as you miss your chance to snatch the book from his hands.

“Or how about this paragraph?” Steve teases, turning the page. “‘He thrust into her over and over, mindless now to everything but finding his peak. The bed rocked with his powerful thrusts.’”

You practically pin Steve to the shelf behind him with your body, pressing against him and grabbing at the wrist of his hand that held the book, though he easily breaks free. Steve’s already worked up at the idea of his girlfriend reading explicit romance novels, but with your body is firmly up against his own, and the way you’ve almost turned the tables on him, he’s halfway to hard as he wonders who’s actually in charge of the situation at hand. You’re still reaching for the romance novel that he’s now holding above his head to avoid letting you grab it. He glances up at the pages and keeps reading.

‘She knew she was falling apart in his embrace. She didn’t care. She called his name as ache after ache of pleasure washed over h–’ ohh” Steve cuts himself off with a moan. You’ve unexpectedly started kissing him, sucking a hickey into the junction of his jawline and neck, gently biting at the skin there. Between the friction of your body against his, and the feeling of your mouth on him, Steve’s brain short circuits, and he practically forgets instantly he’s trying to keep anything away from you at all. You stop kissing him when Steve relaxes, bringing his hands down to run along your arms. Steve is blindsided when you gently grab the book from him and stop your motions.

“There’s more than one way to get what you want,” you smugly murmur against his ear, tapping him on the chest with your newly-won prize. 

“That’s not fair,” Steve insists.

“Oh? You want me to stop?” you ask.

“Absolutely not,” Steve mutters against your lips as he pulls you in for a kiss, hands grasping at your ass as you press even further into him, rolling your hips against his hardness, before you begin sliding a hand in between your two bodies, surprising him as you lightly squeeze the hard outline of his cock through his jeans.

“You’re fucking filthy, you know that?” Steve says to mask a whine, doubling down on tormenting you. “Reading a book so dirty at your job.” His jeans are so tight that he’s actually uncomfortably trapped in them, and he feels his cock twitch against your hand.

“I’m filthy?” you laugh, “You’re the one getting off on the thought of me reading those novels. That’s so perverted, baby.”

“Yeah, well, you’re getting off to the thought of me, getting off on you,” Steve says, even though it hardly makes sense, even to him. He’s struggling to maintain conversation with you, and he quickly maneuvers the two of you to sit down at one of the tables next to the shelf so that he can get a second to breathe. You straddle his lap, perched on one of his legs. Once you’re settled, you kiss him passionately and rock on his thigh a little bit. Steve groans, feeling your warmth and wetness even through your clothing and his jeans.

“Condom?” you ask as Steve divulges you of your sweater, running his hands up your shirt and under your bra. He’s so distracted with touching your tits that he barely registers the question. When he does, he kicks himself for not thinking of bringing something like that with him at all times anymore. He blames his stupid dry spell internally, then shakes his head.

“Oh well,” you say, running a hand along his still-clothed erection, “you’re so big, anyways. Don’t know if I could even take it all unless you played with me first.”

It goes straight to his cock. You’re serious even though your tone has a teasing lilt, and Steve moans, partly out of surprise, but also because you’re really, really turning him on. His cock twitches embarrassingly violent in your cupped hand, and you unzip his jeans, rubbing him over his boxers as you grind your pussy into this thigh.

“You liked that, didn’t you? Wanna hear about how I daydream about your cock? So big, Stevie. I can tell.”

Steve’s had enough. He has to take charge of this situation before he creams his pants, and he’s rapidly approaching the reality of that being a possibility. 

“You daydream about a lot, apparently,” Steve snarks, batting your hand away from his dick. “I can feel how wet you are, did the book get you like this, princess?” He’s fishing for compliments now and he knows it, a tiny seed of doubt in his mind that maybe you’re not as into him as he thinks if you’re wasting your time on horny novels.

You shake your head. It’s not enough. He wants to hear it.

“Who makes you this wet?” he pushes you to answer as he grabs a hold of your hips and roughly guides you, forcing your clit to rub hard against his thigh. 

“You do,” you gasp. The admission makes Steve go crazy. He needs more, more, more, wants to hear every little dirty secret you have and then some. He never thought about the possibility you read cheesy, trashy romance novels, and now he wonders what else he’s never thought of that you’re into.

“So why don’t you sit there and grind on my thigh and prove it?” he smirks, leaning back into the chair and taking you with him. He pushes his boxers down, pulling out his cock with one hand and stroking it slowly, making a show of touching himself in front of you. His other hand wanders back and forth between touching your tits and guiding your hips. You lean forward to touch him, looking positively feral, your eyes blown and mouth open, but as tempting as you are, Steve doesn’t want you to touch him yet. He thinks he’ll spill in seconds if you do. 

Your body moves in sinuous rolls as you drag yourself along Steve’s thigh. He can’t see it, but he can feel that his jeans are ruined, you’ve soaked through your panties and are basically dripping on his thigh. He has no clue how he’s going to leave the building like this, but he isn’t thinking about that now.

“Better than your book?”

“Yes, fuck,” you swear. “Steve, please. I-I can’t– ”

Steve takes a moment to tease you. “What’s wrong? Can’t come like this? You need me, princess?”

“Fuck!” you cry out, grinding your cunt against him especially hard. Steve is playing with you, but you’re rapidly approaching the point of no return. “More, please, I need you.”

Steve finds that’s exactly what he needed to hear. He abandons his throbbing cock and uses both of his hands to assist your grinding motions, moaning as he watches your face screw up with pleasure.

Steve’s own heart is pounding in his ears, but he knows you have to be closer than him. Just to see what would happen, he bounces his thigh a little bit, leaning into you and sucking kisses into your skin.

“Jesus,” you choke out.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” Steve echoes your words from earlier.

You’re too far gone to quip back. Instead, you delve into more whimpers and moans as Steve speeds up, bouncing his leg at rate that’s almost causing vibrations through your body. Steve watches as you get increasingly more desperate.

“Don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop, oh, oh, oh!” you almost shout, and Steve can feel you clench around nothing as your climax hits you and you finish all over his thigh. It makes his cock leak, and he bites his lip to keep from coming himself. He lets you ride your orgasm out, falling forward into his arms, but then he can’t stop himself before he’s picking you up and laying you down on the tabletop. 

Steve leans over, kissing down your neck, before he strips your skirt and panties off completely. You’re still blissed out, clinging to him and sighing at every bit of stimulation he gives you. Steve can’t help but admire you, pushing your shirt and bra up as he runs his hands down your body and gropes at you. He thinks you’re maybe the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen like this, relaxed, but still needy, as you grab at him to pull him in for a kiss.

The way you lick into his mouth has him groaning. 

“You’re beautiful,” Steve says against your mouth when he takes a moment to breathe. He has to tell you. It’s a matter of the utmost urgency. You pull him in for another kiss, this time much sweeter than the last, and Steve knows you’re thanking him for his words.

“Think you can give me one more?” he asks when you pull away, already running a finger through your sopping folds.

“Mph! Yes!” you gasp, the stimulation sending shocks throughout your body.

“God,” Steve almost whimpers, “you’re being so loud. Can you imagine what would happen if someone walked in right now?”

He knows, logically, that can’t happen, since you locked the door. But the idea thrills him, and his cock is throbbing where it rests against your stomach, leaking pre and he’s maybe the hardest he’s ever been. The eroticism of the fact that the two of you have basically made it to third base at your workplace does not escape him as he pushes a finger inside of you and begins slowly thrusting. Your previous orgasm has you open and dripping on his hand, and he adds another finger almost right away.

“You wanna share me?” you ask, tentatively.

No, no Steve does not. He wants you all to himself, but he doesn’t think the idea of others catching a glimpse of you strung out on his fingers is too bad, especially if the point is to prove to everyone how much you’re into him. He shakes his head.

"Just want everyone to know you’re mine,” he growls.

“That’s hot,” you whine.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

He speeds up his thrusts. The sound of your pussy around his fingers is pure debauchery, and you clench around him as his mouth comes down to kiss and suckle at your breasts. Steve is lost to giving you pleasure; he doesn’t know how he’s managed to ignore how painful his dick is becoming as he’s denied himself in favor of chasing your orgasm, but the only thing on his mind is the urge to see you coming around his fingers.

He re-positions his hand to allow himself to rub at your clit and you tense up and bear down on his hand, grinding on him as he gives one, two, three swipes across your sensitive spot. This time he feels you fluttering around his fingers, imagining how you’d feel around his cock. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you finish, and the slight, stinging pain and marks he knows you’ll leave behind push him impossibly closer to the edge.

The moment you recover, he can’t help but begin to beg.

“Touch me, please,” Steve vocalizes his need, “I’m so, I-I need you to touch me.”

Steve nearly goes cross-eyed watching as you spit in your hand (he can hardly imagine you need to, he’s been practically dripping for a half hour, but it’s really fucking hot) and reach down to touch him. He’s leaning over you now as you lay on the table, stroking his hard cock above you and looking up at him adoringly.

“Been so good to me,” you coo, “I really wanna see you come on me, baby.”

That’s all it takes. Steve gasps and lets his eyes roll back, his cock twitching in your hand as he finishes across your stomach and chest, narrowly missing your blouse and bra. He’s not sure he’s ever come this hard as he practically sees stars; you keep touching him until he taps your hand away, signalling he’s had enough. He lets the aftershocks take over his body, almost collapsing on top of you before realizing he should let himself down beside you to avoid getting his own spend all over his shirt. A few moments later he notices you slowly sit up and cast your gaze towards him.

When the two of you make eye contact, he notices you stifling a giggle. 

“What’s funny?” he asks, smiling gently.

“I can’t believe we did that,” you laugh.

“Hey, you’re the one who started it by reading the dirty novel,” Steve winks at you.

“Mmm no,” you say playfully as Steve positions himself next to you, “I hadn’t even gotten to the explicit part yet. That is all you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Of course it is,” you say, leaning in and kissing him softly. Steve throws an arm around you and kisses the top of your head.

“Speaking of,” Steve mutters. “Where did the book even go?”

The two of you glance back at the romance novel, lying not even a foot away on the table, its cover torn, and a suspicious wet spot painting half the pages.

“Shit,” Steve says.

You both burst into laughter.

[theheraldsrest]

Hey! I really really love your blog! If I may request, during downtime, how would the members of the inner circle react to find the Inquisitor drawing/sketching them?

“Companions react to Inquisitor drawing/sketching them”

After our *cough* little thing with Bull, let’s have some fluff, shall we? Thank you anon for the ask!

-Lord Lex

Cullen

“You did this? It’s certainly…it’s…how did you even…it’s amazing.”

-So surprised, no words. It makes him feel a little special that you’d choose to sketch him but also very embarrassed. In return, he tries drawing you. Might not be as good and there are a few rough sketches that were thrown in the fire, but he wanted to return the favor. 

Josephine

“Oh! Look at the detail and the softness! I wouldn’t have even thought it was me from how stunning it is!”

-Absolutely gushing over it. Josey’s always had a fascination for the arts and to be the subject of the piece from someone close to her? Adores it, even asks to keep it. She has it tucked away in one of her favorite books. Will always compliment your art even when talking to dignitaries.

Leliana

“I commend you on your artistic talent. Though, I’d ask you not to sketch me. Perhaps one of the ravens would make better practice?”

-Like Josephine, Leliana has an eye for art. She loves looking at the little details in your sketches and finds it a surprise that her face is amongst the papers. As much as she appreciates it, she’d rather her face remain a secret. She is your spy master, after all. Though, if she becomes Divine, she keeps the sketch as one of her favorite pieces of her. 

Vivienne

“Darling, as much as I’d like to say you're wasting your talents by leading the Inquisition instead of honing your skills, you are equally talented in both. Most usually fail to make me look this stunning.”

-It might not show on her face or in her words but she loves it. Several times people have been commissioned to paint her yet none come even close to your level of detail. More points if it’s of her smiling or laughing, the lines on her face as well as the wrinkle around her eyes gives her a sense of…normalcy. If she becomes Divine, she commissions you to do her portrait, no one else.

Varric

“You drew me? I think that’s gotta be one of the scariest pieces of your art I’ve ever seen! When you're done, can I keep it?”

-Though it doesn’t sound like it, he brags about it constantly. Even when he’s making fun of his slightly crooked nose or how his eyes might seem smaller than other dwarves, he’s complimenting the skill you put into the very minute details of his face. Varric will try to pay you for it even if you refuse, later trying to commission a drawing of Hawke when they come around.

Cole

“Oh, it’s me! Not really, but it’s Cole. But you’re trying to draw me…I can still remember his face, then.”

-He’ll stare at it for hours, his shoulders down. It’s been sometime since he’d been able to see his own face, forgetting that he even had a face. To see you draw that face, the real Cole, just from looking at him makes him happy. Will ask to look at it every now and then, just to make sure it’s still the same.

Solas

“I must say, you are quite talented and steady with your hands. It does allow others to see how the artist sees. You certainly make me seem…at peace.”

-From one artist to another, he gives you high compliments with very few complaints. It is unusual to see him drawn in such a way since he’s so used to seeing only the mosaics. He meant to get rid of it when he left the Inquisition, but just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Cassandra

“Inquisitor, though your craft is very beautiful and I admire how you can make these pieces, I must ask you not to sketch me.”

-Don’t get her wrong, she loves seeing your sketches but it’s mostly out of formality (and somewhat embarrassment) that she asks not to be your subject. If she becomes Divine, it’s one of the only pieces she prefers over the paintings. Though she does ask you, if you have the time, to draw something for her. When you give her a perfect picture of her brother and her, it’s one of the few times she truly hugs you.

The Iron Bull

“Holy shit. I’m alright when it comes to sketching, but you make it look pretty damn easy while so complicated! You even got my scars and the detail on my patch! Damn, boss!”

-Bull is used to doing quick sketches, usually of small details to make sure he could track someone or to remember something easier. Never had he really seen himself drawn so picture perfect that it completely baffles him. He looks at all the details with a smile on his face.

Dorian

“I can’t believe you managed to get my good side! In all honesty, though, this is remarkable. And not just because it’s me.”

-He had studied some art pieces before and never really found any he liked, but he has now found one of his favorite artists. Constantly asks if you’ve done any new pieces just so he can look at the heart that goes into them. Ask if you could teach him to sketch as such so that he can add better drawings to his research notes.

Sera

“What the fuck! That’s me! How the fuck! How did you do this! You even got my eyes to be lined up! How the hell did you do that?!”

-We all know Sera’s drawing style. She keeps saying the same things over and over again because she’s at a loss for words. Except for cuss words. Along with the rooftop hangouts, she insists that you two just draw together sometimes. Some of the goofiest drawings come from these times, especially one of a cartoonish Coryshit falling from a very detailed tower.

A little speech bubble near it says “Oh shit, I shat myself!”

Blackwall

“I…I’m honored to be one of your subjects. Not to blow my own horn, but this looks stunning. You really are something special, hm?”

-Blackwall has done a lot of sketching himself and finds your art a breath of fresh air. Other than looking at bits and pieces of his reflection, he usually tries to avoid seeing himself. So when he sees your drawing of him, he almost doesn’t recognize himself. You both trade sketches of each other just for fun and even sketch together.

[jamisonwritestf2trash]

In the spirit of Valentines Day, I come bearing headcanons. Specifically, the mercs favorite flowers, plus how they'd react to getting said flower as a gift! Also, bonus Miss Pauling because I like her too.

————————————————————

Demo- Buttercups

I'd like to think that when Demo was younger, he lived in a house near a field that had wildflowers. Like he could look out his window and just see flowers, and out of all of them, he found himself being drawn to buttercups. I think yellow is his favorite color, so he was naturally drawn to them based off color but something else draws him to them that he can't describe.

He will cry if he gets a bunch of these. He knows that buttercups aren't a traditional flower to get in a bouquet which means, the person giving him them had to, not only remember whatever one off drunken comment Demo made about his favorite flower, but also had to go out and spend time picking flowers for him.

————————————————————

Engie- Hyacinths

I think he’d be a big fan of hyacinths because they were his mom’s favorite flower and now, seeing them reminds him of her. He may have not had a great home life growing up, but something about seeing small things to remind him of his old home does make him very happy. He likes blue hyacinth more than any other, which do represent loyalty and patience, so that’s fun!

If he receives flowers he’s immediately a little pink, the whole, “Aw, you shouldn’t have.” schtick, he is very happy to have received any gift at all. Not happy about how out of the way this must have been, but knows better than to argue when presented with a gift. He likes how they, at least a little bit, brighten up his work space. 

————————————————————

Heavy- Marigolds

I genuinely think he just really likes how they look. No deeper meaning. He just thinks that they are one of the prettiest flowers he’s ever seen, and he adores them. I think he really just likes flowers in general, and it’s hard for him to pick a favorite. This man just appreciates the beauty of the world! I think he is a little drawn to the color and shape, he thinks it's such an interesting flower. Something about it is unique in a mundane way. I also just think he’s read a lot of books on flowers and plants and has always been drawn to them.

If he got flowers as a gift he would be very appreciative. I think at first he wouldn’t really realize someone put the effort into buying him his favorite flowers. I like to think that his sisters would pick wildflowers for him when he was younger and he would always be appreciative of the “Thank you for thinking of me, this is the eight time this week you brought these, where are you finding these.” type of way, so he’s conditioned to feel that way at the sight of flowers as a gift, but is genuinely very happy when he realizes that someone remembered his favorite flower and bought them for him, small things mean a lot to him.

————————————————————

Medic- Chrysanthemums

Similar to Heavy, he is also a big fan of plants and flowers! I think he definitely minored in botany at one point after developing an interest. I think he actually grew to love chrysanthemums specifically because when he was going to college, he found that there was a small patch outside his dorm window, and he would occasionally watch the flowers moving, the life around them just living. He used watching the flowers as a break, a distraction, so his mind just associated them with good times.

He is posed with a… situation. He appreciates the gesture immensely! But… he does have birds, and as smart as the birds may be, they are still a little stupid, and he would prefer his plants NOT to be eaten. Also, he can’t risk coating his gift in blood, despite how much he loves the stuff, he knows that a blood bath probably isn’t the best for flowers. Fret not, however! He most likely keeps them in his room, or in a common area. He is very meticulous in caring for them, if he puts them out, the gift giver may see him watering and caring for the flower as often as he can between his other work. Maybe a bit more stress than originally worth it, but he definitely appreciates the effort!

————————————————————

Scout- Roses

Scout is a fan of roses, like his mother actually. He isn't aware of the symbolism of the color of roses though, he just always knew orange was his favorite color for roses, for some reason. It's just interesting that orange roses can represent energy and pride.

If he finds himself on the reviving end of these roses, he will get very defensive. He totally doesn't like them, why would you get him these, he doesn't want them, no, no no wait don't take them back- He keeps those flowers around until they rot, and even then he doesn't want to give them up, he loves the gesture.

————————————————————

Sniper- Tiger Lilies

Sniper likes flowers well enough. He’s more of an animal fan than anything, but he can appreciate the beauty of nature in all forms. I wouldn’t say tiger lilies are 100% without a doubt his favorite, I think he just likes seeing them a bit more than others. They represent prosperity and positivity, and he’s fine with having a little bit more of that in his life at any given time. Might give a half smile at the sight of one,

Hey, no, no no no, HE is the gift giver! Very uncomfortable receiving gifts. He’s appreciative, yes, but it;s just very hard for him to express that! People remembering things about him is very…new. He’s already very quiet and reserved, so the fact that someone managed to remember something so insignificant (in his mind) is confusing, but not entirely unwelcomed. He’s not very good with plants, so hopefully the gift giver won’t take offense to the fact that they might already be wilting by the next day.

————————————————————

Spy- Lily of the valley

A mix of a few things makes this Spy's favorite flower. I think Spy became attached to them after receiving them a couple of times. He attaches to them because any time he's given a gift, it changes a little part of his brain. Also!! Lily of the vally are symbolic of rebirth, and maybe Spy has always been ready for change.

If you managed to find out his favorite flower, you are instantly a threat (/hj) Spy does NOT like people knowing about things he likes, nor does he like them being “used against him” (<- having to feel an emotion one time), He’ll take them with the promise of not keeping them, so your money was a waste and you’re stupid for even doing this- he keeps them in his room along with the other plants he keeps. He loves the gift, like Scout, would rather die than admit that.

————————————————————

Soldier- Forget Me Nots

Calling these his favorite flower is almost a stretch, I don't think he particularly cares for flowers. I just don't think he really pays attention. But if he finds himself sitting on the ground, most likely with Demo, his eyes will be more focused on these than anything else.

If given as a gift, he doesn't really understand what the sentimental value is supposed to be, but he is grateful for the present. He most likely keeps them on his nightstand or somewhere where he can see them regularly. He enjoys looking at them and reminds him he's being thought of.

————————————————————

Pyro- Daisy

If given as a gift, immediately joy! They will definitely reciprocate with flower crowns made from the daisies. Just enough for it and the gift giver to have matching ones. They definitely like being given flowers to make crowns with, but much like Soldier, probably doesn't exactly understand the sentimental value of someone remembering/gifting it's favorite flower

It adores daisies! Something so simple but so beautiful makes them really happy. It really enjoys them and definitely always has some laying around either in a vace or just lying around. Gives them in all forms as gifts regularly, either by leaving them in the places each other merc is at the most, or by giving them it directly.

————————————————————

Miss Pauling- Lilac

Probably not the most original, but whatever! I think her favorite time of the year is a mix between spring and summer already, and when it's just getting hot enough to have warm, breezes and flowers blooming, she KNOWS lilacs are going to come out and she is so excited!! She loves the smell more than anything, the sights are also beautiful and make her very happy.

She never really gets flowers as a gift, who would have guessed, but she is overjoyed if someone gets her a bouquet of lilacs. Something about people remembering her favorite flower makes her feel... cared for and just a little less stressed out. She will smile at those flowers each time she sees them.

————————————————————

Went heavily on the symbolism, hm?Anyways, I am SO glad I finally wrote something and that I feel motivated again. Hope you guys liked them! Now, I'm going to bed.

[cerise-on-top]

Hank with an Eldritch Horror Reader

Here's another thing I wrote two years back! It was an interesting concept which I really liked, so I actually really enjoyed writing this request!

Hank J Wimbleton was a grunt of many things, but not one to be scared unless he had a good reason to be. There were many things in this world he did not understand, you were one of them. Upon meeting you, his first instinct would have been to either fight or run away - who could blame him, it was all he knew. No matter how many times you reassured him that the very last thing you wanted to do was to harm him, he’d draw his weapon, uncertain of whether or not he should believe your words.

Once you show no resistance towards him whatsoever and simply restrain him using your powers or other methods, that’s when, thrashing around as much as he could, he would start listening. You may or may not have seen a grunt up close, but this was your chance to finally examine one. As you scrutinise him from every possible angle Hank realises that you were simply curious about his being and finally lowers weapon.

Your voice would likely hurt his head and freeze the blood in his veins, so you might have to resort to telepathy or speak through a marionette, if you can find one. Though, once Hank’s interest in you has been piqued, he’d be more than happy to find you one. A lot of people in Nevada seem to be redundant in the first place. Regarding telepathy: You will be able to have a two-way conversation with Hank like that, but, for the most part, he doesn’t think in words. Still, he can do so, if needed.

If you’re on the rather small side, he will make an effort to pick you up, or hold you, and bring you back to base. Depending on whether you can float or not, this might be rather difficult, but he’ll try. If you’re large, however, then he will simply “tell” you to follow him. As an eldritch being you could likely either change your form or scare away anyone in your path in the first place, so he doesn’t particularly worry about anyone being stupid enough to attack you.

Spend time with him, he’ll get used to you more and more and, eventually, grow a bond with you. Proud, he’ll show you to Doc so he can figure out what you are, but do not be fooled. Hank wants to know what you are to some degree too. Once comfortable with you and certain you won’t harm him, he’ll start observing you, touching you to some degree. See how you react, how you feel, how you are.

Despite your conversations being, for the most part, one-sided, Hank will ask you directly what you are and if you’re some form of eldritch deity. Since you’re an amicable creature he can’t exactly wrap his head around, it’s worth a try.

Although he would like to do so to some degree, he won’t take you with him on missions. It’s his way of saying “I care a great deal about you, I don’t want you to die or worse even if you are capable of defending yourself.” If you really insist on aiding him, he will let you, begrudgingly. But beware that he will have your back. In fact, having you around will give him a greater reason to fight and improve his overall performance. Though, it will also be a major stress factor to him if something were to happen to you, so choose wisely.

[spinchip]

BEEN THERE ONCE BEFORE AND I WISH THAT I NEVER DIED

Pairings: none Word count: 6500 Warning: Graphic depictions of violence and death. Gore, murder, Ear trauma and limb loss tw

Summary: Zane would do anything to keep the ninja safe.

*

There is a pot of tea between you, sitting in Master Wu's private garden right outside the door to his room, and it’s some sort of oolong blend with a sweet smelling screen hanging over it. Osmanthus flowers float in your cup and you trace their pattern, watching them shift idly in what little breeze this summer day has brought you. The tea is too bitter despite the honey you’d added, over-steeped and thick on your tongue.

There is a sword on his lap, a sleek red sheath and neatly wrapped handles. There are no adornments on this blade, it is plain and unassuming, a tool for its master and whatever that may entail. Master Wu had asked you out here, months after the desperate fight for Ninjago at the corridor of elders (even longer after you had been torn apart by a power that was never yours to hold,) and the rattlesnake smile he’d offered as he’d led you out vanished the moment you were hidden from prying eyes. He makes your tea silently, and he burns it.

He looks at you in a way that makes you bristle, with eyes that no longer see you as human. Your silver skin itches, your tea tastes like ash.

“Do you know what a ninja is, historically?” He asks you finally, his voice quiet but clear over the space between you.

You do not, but you could look it up in an instant. You don’t do that either. He does not expect you to answer.

“They were said to be assassins. Hired blades sent to the house of the lands lord to slaughter them- the last recorded deaths by these assassins was years and years ago, but that was not the end of the era of the ninja. They snuck between the shadows, they pulled their hidden weapons, and they eliminated their targets cleanly and efficiently.” He waits, gauging your reaction. You can feel his eyes sit heavy on where your hands are deceptively calm around your tea cup, assessing, searching for something like he had that day he’d first laid eyes upon you in the frozen pond.

A phantom of a red flashes across your HUD that screams DANGER- and despite how there is no real warning clawing its way across your eyes, you know you should be afraid anyway. Tread carefully, you are in dangerous territory. Do not react. Control.

“Is this a history lesson?”

“Perhaps.” Master Wu murmurs, finding something in your expression with those dark eyes.

“The best way to defeat my enemy is to make him my friend.” You can’t help but say, a parrot of his own words, your eyes calculating.

“And if your kindness is rejected?” He does not skip a beat.

You hesitate, the clink of your cup as you set it down on the table too loud on your ears.

“You are no longer a child, Zane. Your innocence died with the Overlord. The others still have that innocence.” You jerk, the reminder of your death bruising on your soul, but he doesn't handle you with kid gloves, “You’ve killed once, to protect them.” Sensei Wu does not touch his tea, and there is a rising sickness in your stomach, “Can you do it again?”

He draws the blade and it’s blood red, holding it out to you, handle first.

To protect them?

His eyes are dark and there’s a danger there, but he has always been kind to you. Like a father when yours had vanished, warm smiles and encouraging words flashing across your eyes. Visions of fire and blood and death color your head along with it, superimposed on top of your friends and family. You’d do anything to protect the people you love, wouldn’t you?

The sword is a healthy weight in your palm.

---

Police tape surrounds a dilapidated old building, great yellow swathes of it wrapped down the sidewalk into the street and officers at each corner standing vigil over the body slumped half in the gutter and covered by a sheet. News vans line the street waiting for the opportunity to film once the coroner has packed away the gore and it’s mostly family-friendly for the afternoon broadcast. Flood lights and lamps are set up around the premise, little yellow evidence markers salting the earth down the doors of the warehouse and up to the body. Apparently deceptively unassuming, the Mechanics home base is filled to the brim with his lackeys and stolen tech- or, it was.

“I guess the Mechanic got tangled up with the wrong guy.” Kai says breathlessly, spooked as the camera pans over the overflowing body bags being loaded into the coroner's van.

The Commissioner taps the remote to his VCR on his leg anxiously, “You heard on the news already, i’m sure, but we suspect the unsub used a long blade of some kind,” He’s visibly shaken, “A sword, perhaps- the evidence was very…” he makes a slashing motion from his throat, miming blood striping the wall behind him.

A blood spattered window, the killing so brutal a heavy streak of gore laced up the glass, is still visible to the probing crime scene photographer.

The graying man slides a manila folder thick with printed pictures across the table and Jay pointedly pushes it away from himself, looking queasy. You reach out and pick it up with hands that seem to float endlessly away from your body, but you’ve felt like this since stumbling home two nights ago when the moon was full and no one else was awake. You don’t hesitate to open it, staring down at the first photo with mild surprise.

Cole jerks away before steeling himself and glancing back over. The picture shouldn’t surprise you, but it does anyway. It looks so messy. The body in the street can barely be recognized in the photo, too mutilated- the only identifying feature being the mechanical hand resistant to the blades of a sword. The mechanic had been reduced to mince meat, blood seeping up through shredded flesh and broken bones. Blood flows in a river down the stairs of the warehouse, down onto the sidewalk, flowing into the gutters.

“This seems… motivated.” Lloyd grimaces at the image but doesn’t look away.

“That’s certainly one word for it,” The commissioner huffs, “We’ve been calling it ‘unhinged.’”

You flip to the next image. Bodies piled on top of each other, strewn across the room, throats slit and bellies gutted and in one particularly horrific scene brain matter and skull fragments rendering a man unrecognizable.

Your memories of that night are fuzzy and nebulous.

Nya takes one of the photos, “Who would do something like this?”

“We were hoping you knew,” A beat- the man sighs, “The mechanic, he’s hard to keep tabs on. We didn’t really know who his enemies were other than those present, and you all had the most contact with him, but it’s too much to hope you have a lead for us, huh?”

He blows out an explosive breath, “Tell me, does the attack itself look familiar in any way? Anyone who comes to mind who has the capability to do something like that?”

You shake your head, blue boring holes into the eyes of a henchman who died trying to hold his intestines inside his gut, “No,” Your voice doesn't waver, “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

---

Wu touches your shoulder firm and bruising but your skin cant purple under his nails anymore, “It gets easier.”

---

You stand in the threshold of the jail cell, the body in the room covered by a sheet. You had wondered if that really happened, bodies covered up by the police like in television dramas- this is the second time you’ve seen it. It won’t be the last. It’s interesting to know how fiction gets it right, sometimes. Kai distinctly can’t look, turned away, but you haven't been squeamish in a long time. You crouch low, reaching for the edge of the blanket to see, and Nya makes a disgusted noise in the back of her throat when you lift the sheet to look.

This death is far more refined than the massacre you’d investigated this month- A clean cut across his throat, blood coating his sleep shirt and dried to the corners of his mouth. Droplets of red sprinkle his face where he’d tried to breathe through the ruined hole of his throat, coughing a plume of blood into the air that rained down on him as he died. His skin is waxy and his eyes glazed and clouded, he’s been dead for hours- but you knew that already.

Nya coughs, “Can you cover him up, please?”

You oblige, “I was trying to see what Information I could gather.” the sheet falls back over his face, hiding him away. There’s no reason to cover him up, the other inmates are locked in their cells until the investigation finishes and the body is removed. Privacy is a moot point, but maybe it’s about respect.

Lloyd turns away from where he’s shifting through the inmates belongings, “Well, anything?”

“He was killed hours ago. He’s been dead for a long while.” How much to say? “The murder weapon was a blade.”

“Same as the Mechanic.” Jay says from where he’s outside the cell and out of line of sight, the dead body and blood making him sick, “Did Fugi-Dove and him have any connections?”

“Not that we know of.” Nya frowns, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to convince everyone she’s unaffected by this, “Only us. It just seems so weird- He’s a small fry compared to the mechanic, why kill him? He’s harmless!”

“He broke Jay's elbow last week,” You remind her, “He was not harmless. Perhaps he had more secrets than we thought.”

“Who found him?” Cole murmurs, carefully keeping away from touching the crime scene.

“Eight AM guard round,” You answer him, standing up, “The four AM patrol missed him. Both officers were interrogated, but nothing came of it. It doesn’t appear to have been an inside job.”

“The culprit snuck into kryptarium prison, killed a man, and snuck out with none the wiser?” Nya snorts, “This place has gone to the dogs.”

Jay taps his foot impatiently and it echoes down the hallway, “Well, it’s not like Warden Noble runs a very tight ship around here, despite what he wants you to think. How many escaped convicts do we deal with on a weekly basis?”

“So what do we do about this?” Kai asks, frowning at the lump on the ground.

Fugi-dove was half slumped off his bed, his back flush to the ground and his legs still thrown over his bed and tangled up in his bedsheets. He’d been awake when he was attacked, his cheeks bitten to hell as if he’d attempted to scream through a hand sealed over his mouth that only let go once his vocal cords had been slashed through, and in his desperate attempt to stop from bleeding out or drowning in his own blood he’d thrashed himself right to the floor.

“We’ll look at the tapes and see what we can find.” Lloyd answers casually. Darkleys prepared him for death and gore, it didn’t bother him like it should.

“I thought officer Pey told us we were in a blind spot,” Cole points out, stepping out of the cell followed by Lloyd.

“Warden Noble used to be the principle of Darkleys,” the green ninja waits for you to join them on the other side of the cell. You feel cold all over, “And if there’s one thing I'm certain of, the man has eyes everywhere.”

“Does he?” You ask, fingers going numb.

Lloyd nods and locks the cell door behind you, “There will be tapes. He should be here any minute now, Officer Pey says he comes in at 10:00 on Saturdays.”

As if on cue, the Warden appears in a frenzy, tearing into the hallway and bee lining for the cell. He grimaces at the covered up body, “I leave Pey in charge for one night…” He sighs, pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes, “Great.”

“Good morning, Warden.” Jay greets cheerfully.

“Says who?” The man replies darkly, “The media is gonna tear me a new one. This is going to lower our reputation even more.”

“Let us help you put the culprit behind these bars,” Lloyd offers, stepping forward with green ninja grace.

“I don’t think that’d do any good, he already got out once.” Kai mutters.

The warden graciously ignored Kai’s comment, “I haven't even had coffee yet.” He complains, running a rough hand over his mouth as he glares at the body.

“You had hidden cameras?” Lloyd pushes and the Warden nods, motioning to an inconspicuous looking fire alarm.

“It’s fake,” He tells him.

You walk towards it. A strange sense of doom washes over you, numbness following it. A camera. Evidence. How clearly would they be able to see the killer's face?

“Let me be of assistance,” You offer, casually making it to the alarm first. The moment you manage to open the glorified nanny cam and your fingers close around the USB, you focus a concentrated pulse of electromagnetic energy and wipe it clean. Anything saved to the storage space will have been obliterated, gone, corrupted and unsalvageable. You can feel your hands again.

“How could this have happened?” The warden asks, clicking through the empty USB over and over looking for footage that no longer exists.

Lloyd glances at you, but there’s no suspicion, “Was there anything weird about the camera? Had it been tampered with?”

You touch your chin and try not to let your hands shake, “No, but it was not a very complex mechanism. It could easily have been opened by someone familiar with this type of surveillance.”

“Someone from Darkleys?” Nya suggests.

Lloyd hums in thought, “I don’t know. It’s worth looking into.”

“When did we become detectives?” Jay complains, “Can’t you guys just call us when you need us to spinjitzu this guy?”

“Don’t be a baby.”

Jay pulls a face at that, “I’m a ninja! I shouldn’t have to put up with all this- this blood!”

“Do you know what a ninja is, historically?” you murmur.

No one hears you.

---

There are four more deaths the following month, both somewhat well-known villains with a penchant for collateral damage. The same slashing wounds as the last. Lloyd is the only person in the group who doesn’t look affected by the barrage of gore he’s being subjected to- other than you, of course. He’s reading over the newest police report that’d come their way with a hum, “He’s getting bolder.” He concludes, flipping through the crime scene pictures at the end.

“Bolder?” Cole questions, “It seems to me like he’s winding down. His first kill was the Mechanic and everyone working under him- 16 deaths on that one alone. Now he’s down to one.”

“The Mechanic was messy,” he examines the pictures, noting just how clean the newest death was. Not a drop of blood out of place other than the pool growing under the body, “He was surprised by all the people- he never intended to kill anyone other than their leader, that’s why that kill was so disorganized. It’s why the mechanic was nearly able to escape, before he caught him in the street. The bank barely needed to mop the floor for this one. He’s refined his skill.”

“He left Reflectras sidekick unharmed.” Kai pointed out, “What’s different between then and now?”

Lloyd flipped a picture his way- it’s a still from a grainy security camera. Reflectra is already dead in the photo, her blood turned black on the monochromatic footage. The teen girl she’d been toting around with her was cowering under the teller counter, and standing just outside the blood was a figure dressed in all black. From the girl's testimony, the gray toned lion's mask he wore was red and gold in person, lips drawn back in a snarl that showed off fangs, a thick head of coarse blonde hair coming out of the mask to hide any other possible identifying features.

“He is wearing a mask.” You say, peering down at the picture.

“He’s hiding his face.” Lloyd clarifies before banging out a few words into the computer's search engine, pulling up a street festival that happened two weeks ago and swiveling the computer screen around so everyone could see it, “And it's a new purchase.”

Staring back at them was a picture of downtown Ninjago filled with people, food stalls and other vendors lining the sidewalks as people milled about. Half the people walking the street were wearing the same exact lion mask as their killer, now in vivid technicolor. You could see the stalls selling them- masks lined wall to wall. It seemed everyone was buying them. It wouldn't have looked out of place at all for the murderer to buy it for himself and squirrel it away for his late night acts.

“He killed the Mechanics goons because they saw his face. He doesn’t want witnesses.” Nya connects, “Aimi was only spared because he has a way to kill anonymously.”

“And with a virtually untraceable origin. That mask is everywhere, now.” Jay continued with a frown.

“It’s not a total dead end. We can still talk to the stall owners, maybe see if they noticed anyone strange buying from them.” He navigates to the festival's website, opening up the vendor list.

There are twelve souvenir stalls in total, and five of them are solely dedicated to masks.

You make a surprised noise in the back of your throat, “Saori Sato. I recognize that name. I believe I taught her son when we were working at the school.” You comment, “I have a rapport with her, I should be able to get her to speak with me easily.”

Lloyd accepts your lie with a nod, “The rest of us will work on the others, then. Hopefully we’ll have some luck.”

You don’t go to see Saori Sato. You sit on the rooftop of her apartment complex and meditate. You try to meditate. There’s a peace that’s absent in you, now, that doesn’t let your mind slip into calm like it used to be able to. There’s always a buzzing under your skin, in your wires.

You brought your sword, the one with the red blade.

You sharpen it until your mind stops racing. It’s like a razor blade now, and you imagine the sting it would cause as you run your metal fingers up the sharp side. You can perfectly imagine how blood would drip down it, now. You go home.

Everyone comes up empty, of course, because Saori Sato sold that mask, and you didn’t speak to her.

---

“You seem unphased with the murders.” You say to Lloyd, after the others have gone to bed and it’s just the two of you up, pouring over the case files. When Lloyd goes to bed, so will you.

He shrugs and sips at his coffee- filled to the brim with cream and sugar, “Darkleys wasn’t just about ruling the world in the big picture. They taught us the small stuff too, including desensitizing us to death.”

There’s nothing to say to that, so you don’t respond. You go back to looking over the papers again, pretending to search for an angle they hadn’t considered yet.

“You want to know something funny?” He says with a little laugh, staring down at the Mechanics' torn up body.

“What is it?” You ask.

A darkness settles over the room, thick and viscous. It seems to flood your mouth and fill your chest. Lloyd looks at you with bright eyes that pin you in place, “I checked your roster. I went through all the kids you taught at the school- and I didn’t find any Satos in the class.” he says with a lopsided smile, eyes burning your skin, assessing, searching for something, “Isn’t that weird?”

Your coolant has turned to ice in your limbs and your body feels numb, “Not at all,” You say cooly, “Sato is her maiden name. Her son has his fathers last name, Maeda.”

He finds something in your expression and- his shoulder slump, “Oh,” He says, blinking. “FSM, i’m sorry- I just-”

“It is alright, Lloyd.” You say graciously, “This has been stressful for us all, and you haven't been sleeping. Perhaps you should get some rest.” rising from your chair, you go to his side and help him to his feet. He allows you to walk him back to his room.

“Let’s start fresh tomorrow.”

“That sounds good.” Lloyd allows with an exhausted yawn. He disappears into his room.

---

Everything hurts.

Your eyes are blurred and blocked by another pop up- WARNING! WARNING! DAMAGE- you dismiss the banner as quickly as it arrives, but that doesn’t stop you from miscounting a step and slamming into the stone staircase, all your weight cracking down on the pointed edges. You scramble to hold onto the steps with your working arm before you can go tumbling back down to the bottom, taking a few breaths that you don’t need to take to help center yourself.

Clambering back to your feet, you check you haven't splattered coolant or oil on the stairwell before you continue up. Clean.

Reaching the monastery, you avoid the main gate. Instead, you shimmy up the courtyard wall and slink silently across the roof until you’re standing above your room. It’s easier with two hands, but you manage to swing yourself off the roof by the tiles and onto the window ledge, barely finessing your way inside without causing a commotion or accidentally falling off the cliff face. You don’t collapse no matter how badly you want to.

First things first- you pry up the loose floorboard under your nightstand and stuff the sword and mask inside, sliding the stand on top of the hiding place. You strip the bloody clothes off and grit your teeth as you peel it away from the mess of your left arm, refusing to scream. Not even allowing a whimper. You’ve had worse- this- this is nothing. Loose pants, loose shirt- long sleeve, of course, just in case anyone was up late getting a glass of water.

It’s late enough that even Jay should be asleep, and the empty garage confirms it.

It takes you two hours to knit the delicate machinery in your arm back together, and another hour fitting a new plate cover so nothing would seem amiss. You take the ravaged pieces of your arm up stairs and pack it under your nightstand too, so there’s no chance of evidence possibly being found.

You collapse now, face first on the bed, and not three hours after that you’re shaken awake.

Nya looks grim, “There’s been another murder.”

In your exhausted, near delirious state, you barely manage to catch yourself before you say I Know.

---

It’s cold this time of year, and it shows. The others are bundled up against the incoming chill of the season, coats and scarves worn on top of their ninja suits. You’re wearing a sweater too, but there’s a cold in you that will never be warm. You’re all behind Laughys Karaoke bar deep in the alley while the police guard the mouth of it, refusing to let reporters or curious civilians get a look.

There’s a detective with you, hanging back and allowing you all to examine the scene.

“Who is this guy?” Cole eventually asks, resisting the urge to nudge his face into view.

The detective steps forward, “His name is Killow. Ninjago PD have had their eye on him for a while- he’s been arrested for petty crimes in the past, but from the intel they’d begun to gather he’d joined an up and coming gang and had climbed pretty high in the ranks. They called him the Big Man.”

‘Big” was an understatement. The man was a brick house, every muscle worked until it bulged. It seems his gym habits had helped a little, even if the end result was still the same.

Lloyd examines his throat, “The first cut didn’t go deep enough.” He comments. There's blood splattered all over the alley, obvious signs of a struggle. Trash was everywhere, torn open bags and the big blue dumpster was dented from Killow slamming the assailant into the metal, more chipped bricks and dented cans revealed just how close Killow had come to walking away from this attempt on his life.

That same dumpster with the largest dent was where Killow had dug his fingers into the murderer's arm and torn through it, spraying metal and wiring across the ground with barely a flick of his wrist. No one knew that but you, and you didn’t share it. The area had been scrupulously cleaned.

“He got him.” Kai commented, “He hurt him pretty bad.”

“How do you know that?” Nya questioned.

Kai gestures to his hands, “Look at his nails. He scratched him, and no one is walking away from that unscathed.” Killows nails were broken and bleeding, torn and snapped off nearly at the cuticle with how hard he’d fought.

“It didn’t help him enough,” Lloyd sighs, standing up, “The second cut was vertical, sliced right through the artery from cheek to chest. He bled out."

“Poor guy.” Jay commented, slowly getting used to the sight of death as he frowned down at the man.

They didn’t know who he was, or what gang he was in- if they did, they’d understand why he had to be put down. The Sons of Garmadon was new and already it was strong, the ranks thick with people who didn’t care about harming others if it furthered their own goals. They were excellent at keeping a low profile while they gained power. It doesn’t escape your notice that the detective avoided naming the gang he was part of. Killow was a bigger cog in that machine, but he wasn’t the only leader the gang members looked to. Your research and surveillance had revealed three of the four ringleaders to you- Killow, Ultraviolet, and, a man you had never seen but had heard referenced several times, Mr. E. They reported to the highest ranking member of the gang, the Quiet One. All you knew about her was that she was a woman.

You stare down at his body and feel no sympathy.

---

“Is there a reason you don’t want me in your head?” Pixal asks bluntly one day, once you’ve gone to visit her at Borg Tower.

Once you’d gotten back to Ninjago City proper, you’d dropped her off with her father with every intention of picking her up later. She’d offered to stick around in your mind for a while, and you’d been happy at the idea- but then Master Wu gave you that sword, and things got more complicated. She hadn’t brought it up for the past few months, but each time you left her without a hint of bringing her along, she had certainly noticed. Now it was her breaking point. She stopped you in the doorway with her words, on your way out.

Your heart had turned numb the moment you took the sword from Wu. In another life, you could have loved her like she deserved.

“My feelings for you…” You turn back to the room, to the screen she's projected her image to so she can look you in the eyes, “…Have changed.” you finish hollowly.

She blinks. She’s perfectly still, “I see.”

“Thank you.” You say softly, “For everything.”

There’s a pause as she studies you, “Is this the end? Will you no longer come to see me?”

The part of you that wants her in your life twinges in pain, the first emotion you’d felt in days, “I believe that is for the best.”

You won’t take her down this path with you.

“Goodbye, Pixal.”

“I will respect your wishes,” She folds her hands in front of her, the perfect picture of poise, “Goodbye, Zane.”

---

Humans are so fragile. Ultraviolet liked to pretend she was tough, like she could take hits others couldn’t- but when it came down to it, her throat sliced just as easily as any others. Her hands were coated in her own blood from where she’s grabbed at her throat, but it was too late, and the slice was too technically perfect. Her knees had hit the ground first and she’d tried to twist, searching for something, eyes wild and mouth gurgling with words that couldn’t form around the blood in her mouth. She fell sideways, skin turning even paler than it already was, and then everything had stopped. The sprinkling rain washed the blood off her lips and diluted the river flowing from her neck. She almost looked like she was sleeping.

You stand over her motionlessly.

“Hey!” A voice cracks across the cool night air, and you turn to the side. You’re on the sidewalk in front of a motorcycle store that Ultraviolet had been intending on robbing, in plain sight. Across the street, up the road, is Nya. She’s not dressed in her ninja suit and her hair is down loose, the wet jeans and soaked hair hindering her sprint as she tears down the road to get to you.

You’re moving before you can think, clambering up the front of the store and up to the roof in record time, purposefully doing something that would be nearly impossible in skinny jeans to deter her. You don’t hesitate to race across the roof and leap to the next, jumping down the fire escape to the next alley and slipping through a thin corridor between two buildings. The sounds of the chase fade to nothing as you outpace her, weaving through back alleys and neighborhoods you’d become intimately familiar with that she didn’t know. After ten more minutes of running, you spin around and head straight for the monastery.

Nya wasn’t expecting to see you, or be witness to the next murder- it was raining- she wouldn't have her phone. That’s your only salvation. She didn’t have her phone.

You take all the shortcuts you know, running until your screen flashes with warnings. You recover from any stumbles in a millisecond. You get home in record time, basically throwing yourself into your room and ripping the mask off. Flinging your mask and sword into your closet and stripping off your wet turtleneck, you close the closet door and dive into bed. The blankets get yanked up to your shoulder and you close your eyes, feigning sleep, and wait.

Android stamina will always outpace humans. You beat Nya home.

She shouts for you all the moment she's through the door, throwing open your doors in her haste to get you up and mobilize after the murderer. She opens your door to you sitting up in bed, clearly woken up from sleep and giving her an openly bewildered expression.

You jump out of bed and throw on your ninja suit, joining the others on the porch as you all gear up.

---

You don’t find the murderer. No one else does either.

Kai looks at you, once you’re all home and exhausted after the all night search. Everyone is soaked and ready to go to bed, dispersing with low spirits and tired eyes. Kai stands in the entryway, dripping wet, and he really looks at you.

You give him a questioning eyebrow raise.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” He says finally, “I won’t judge you.”

“…I know.”

He stares at you, eyes smoldering. He’s in pain. “There’s blood on your collar.” He says finally.

You look down at it- it’s barely noticeable. There must have been a few droplets on your chin that ran down with the water. If you’d been wearing black, he wouldn’t have been able to tell. Your ninja suit is white.

“It’s oil.” You say softly, the patch is just old and watered down enough that you could pass it off for brown.

“Okay.” Kai says. He looks like he’s going to cry.

He looks like he’s afraid of you.

---

Mr.E vanishes after Ultraviolets assassination. You look for him during SoG meetings and you keep an ear out, but he’s nowhere to be seen or heard. The gang is falling apart, half the newer members jumping ship- chances are Mr.E saw the writing on the wall and got out before his neck was next. You could respect that. You might even thank him for it, because if he hadn’t abandoned his post there’s a chance you would have never found out who the quiet one was.

There’s three totally unqualified people at this meeting so far, the members that had ranked directly below the previous three. Their skills were lacking, but their loyalty was rock solid. That was the Quiet Ones main priority after Mr.E’s Irish goodbye. The three were clearly nervous even though they were trying to appear tough- the taller girl even attempting to do tricks with her butterfly knife to appear cool and intimidating. It might have worked if she didn’t drop the blade every other trick.

A door opens and shuts in the silence, the black night outside offering no clue to the newcomers identity. She doesn’t leave them in suspense, though, striding into the light with a stormy expression. She starts talking immediately, taking their names and offering her own.

“You may call me the Quiet One.” She instructs them.

“You’re really the quiet one?” The man says, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Yes. Is there an issue?”

“None at all, ma’am.” He responds gruffly, dipping his head.

That’s all the confirmation you need. You slide to the edge of the exposed beam you’re sitting on, swinging down by your arms before you drop straight into the middle of the group. Your feet slam onto the table and the things tilts- you hadn’t anticipated it, so you end up going left instead of right. Instead of the single clean kill you came here for, you’re thrown into butterfly knife girl and the scene becomes a lot more grisly. Your stumble gave them time to process your intentions- you relied on surprise. Now this would get messy.

Knife girl stabs you in the chest. Her knife gets stuck. While she’s trying to rip it out of your skin, you sever her hands at the wrist. She screams and doesn’t stop.

The bigger male lunges for your throat and you hold your sword up so it plunges straight through his chest, his own momentum forcing it through muscle and the delicate capillaries in his lungs. That doesn’t stop him and his hands are on your throat- it doesn't do anything, of course, because you don't need to breathe. He keeps squeezing, and your neck strains. He could pop your head off if he tried. Your sword is buried in his chest and you can’t back up enough to get the space to pull it out.

You reach up and fumble for the butterfly knife, ripping it out of your chest and whipping it around to slam it directly into his ear. He howls in pain, releasing your neck to scrabble at his head before you use the knife to slice him from ear to collarbone. He collapses and the sword slides out of his body.

Knife girl has gone silent, bleeding to death from the ruined arteries in her wrists.

The other woman throws something the moment her shot is clear and on reflex you catch it. It’s a throwing knife and dangling from the handle-

You dart it back at her before you can finish understanding the word bomb. She’s not expecting such fast reflexes, so she’s not prepared for the knife to bury itself in her chest.

Then it explodes.

You spin around, preparing for the Quiet One to attack you next-

The door is open, and she’s gone.

The worst part about all of this is that you didn’t recognize her. Running her face through your facial recognition software came up empty too- so did cross checking any and every news outlet, hoping to see her face maybe in the back of a crowd. Nothing.

That could have been your only chance.

---

“I have been in your shoes before, I know this is hard. You must be prepared to do everything to protect them.” Master Wu had said after you had vomited up your dinner the night of the Mechanics murder, “This path will cost you everything.”

“Everything?” You questioned, staring down at the toilet bowl.

“But they will be safe.” He reassures you, gripping your shoulder tightly.

---

You don’t let the two parts of your life overlap. You don’t. The nights you go out, you are a serial killer. The next morning you are Zane, elemental master of ice, the titanium ninja. Zane is not tainted by all the blood and death and gore. Zane is not a murderer. You don’t ever use your sword as Zane, and you never use your shurikens as the serial killer. Everything would fall apart if you couldn’t keep them separate.

As you stand in the palace and the emperor introduces his daughter, your hands twitch for your sword the moment she opens her mouth. The face paint. You weren't able to discover her identity because of the face paint. Caked on so thick that her bare face looked like a completely different woman-

The emperor's daughter Harumi, and the Quiet One. Two parts of her life that aren't supposed to overlap.

“-Zane: The cold and calculating android.” She names you sweetly, voice honey thick. There’s a manic, wild edge to her eyes that the face paint can’t hide.

It makes sense. Her three most trusted advisors were murdered or abandoned her, and their replacements were slaughtered immediately after. The Sons of Garmadon had begun to collapse, fractioning off into smaller gangs with their own leaders. The main faction still had a substantial number of die-hard loyalists who were growing more and more extreme by the day. Robbery, assault, murder- they were wreaking havoc on Ninjago. They even managed to steal the Oni Mask of Vengeance. Now, her eyes slid over to Lloyd and locked onto him. She slipped a new mask on, one that was shy and flirtatious. The Quiet One wanted Lloyd wrapped around her finger.

But Harumi and the Quiet One weren’t supposed to exist at the same time.

Neither were Zane and the serial killer.

Inevitably, though, two worlds will always collide. Maybe the two parts of her and you were never supposed to live separate forever. Maybe you shouldn’t have taken that sword from Wu. Maybe you should have brought it with you so that Zane didn’t have to use his shuriken.

“Thank you for this opportunity,” You say clearly into the cold, cold room. Or maybe you’re the cold one, “I will not let it pass me by.”

There’s blood on your shuriken.

You collect your mask and your sword from underneath the floorboards in your bedroom and run.

They’re safe. They’ll always be safe.

[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

Headcanons for @chantillymoon

This was really fun to do! I am currently up to episode 261 of One Piece (Water 7) so please keep that in mind while reading. Because I haven't officially met Brook yet, all of my headcanons are based on what I've read in fanfics and a bit of research so hopefully I'm not too far off.

Platonic headcanons on the rest of the Straw Hat crew can be found here!

Fandom: One Piece

Characters: Brook and Usopp x gn! Reader (separate and platonic)

I see Brook as someone who’s always got a song stuck in his head. And he’s going to make it everyone’s problem. But is it really a problem when he actually has the voice for it? Yes. Yes, it is. Especially when you’re listening to him humming the same part of that one song for the tenth time that day.

At the same time, he’s great to have around if you’ve got a song stuck in your head. Brook knows so many songs that you’d be hard pressed finding one he couldn’t sing for you. And if he doesn’t know the song, he’s pretty good at picking up tunes quickly.

Have sore muscles? Those bony fingers are great for digging into twisted muscles and sore spots. Brook may have gone through a lot because of his Devil Fruit but he’s glad he can do something with it to help his friends.

He’s got a surprisingly good eye for fashion…if he had eyes! In all seriousness, please take him with you next time you need to go shopping for clothes. Between him and Nami, you’ll get back to the ship with a whole new wardrobe full of amazing clothes that suit you perfectly.

Whether you’re quiet or talkative, Brook loves just being in your presence. If you’re on the quiet side, he likes the tranquillity of sitting in companionable silence with someone. And if you’re talkative, he enjoys listening to everything you have to say.

Similarly, Brook’s great to talk to if you want to get anything off your chest. He’s a good listener and won’t spread around anything you’ve told him unless he thinks it could harm the crew (even then, he’d most likely keep it secret for a while). He also gives really good advice.

Brook missed out on a lot during his time in the Florian Triangle so he enjoys having a younger friend to help bring him up to speed. That being said, he’s an absolute menace with the way he mixes slag from his era with modern day sayings. Think something along the lines of “oh, they know their onions, they're no noob” and "ok you cad, time to catch these hands".

If you want to learn how to play an instrument or sing, Brook is more than happy to help. He’s had decades of practice and, even though he’s a bit rusty at explaining things to others, he’s patient and dedicated to teaching you.

Everyone has that one artist friend. And Usopp definitely falls into that category. He’s constantly got a sketchbook with him and will draw anything and everything. If you’re also into art, you’ll definitely bond over that.

Will absolutely hid behind you in battle. Whether you’re taller than him or not, he feels comfortable enough around you to chose you as his hiding spot.

Makes up stories about your bravado and wild adventures as well. While the other straw hats might react badly to Usopp telling stories about them, even if they are meant to improve their reputation, he hopes you will react differently.

In the same manner, Usopp would love to practice his pre-battle speeches with you and get some feedback. He’s a theatre kid at heart but he needs someone he trusts to work on his lines with. As one of his closest friends (and someone hopefully less judgmental than Nami), you fit that description.

He is also the perfect person to tell you stories about the other straw hats, especially if you joined later. He’s an entertainer and, even if he exaggerates his role in events, you’re able to piece together their adventures to date.

Much like Brook, Usopp has a good eye for fashion, but more from the perspective of figuring out what colours and patterns go together. If you’re struggling to put together an outfit, he’s more than happy to give you his two cents worth.

Gossip buddies! If you like gossip or have a way of knowing things about people, you, Usopp, and Nami are the designated “gossip squad” of the straw hats. Usopp is always a good source of information, even if he tends to embellish sometimes.

If you have long hair and don’t feel like tying it up, Usopp should be your first port of call. Sure, Sanji’s amazing with styling hair but he’s usually busy in the kitchen and Nami and Robin usually wear theirs down. Usopp has the free time and skills to help you out. Fair warning though, he may get carried away by his creative tendencies.

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[kalinysu]

so; imagine lower moon reader taking a big interest in gyutaros physique and ever since they got the chance/luck to watch him at his work, lower moon reader draws his body structure, different poses/posture and movement when he battles/rests!

one day they didnt pay enough attention/mind to notice him sneaking up on them since they we're to drowned in their doodles.. and he snatches it 'nd reader gets embarrassed and tries to clarify since they never really had interaction

𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐌𝐄? — Gyutaro x F!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: None.

𝐍𝗼𝐭𝐞𝐬: Cute idea, and so sorry i took so long! I’ve been pretty busy and may not be able to write again as soon as i’d like to.

You had always been an artist, even in your human years. Now up until you became a lower moon. You stayed dedicated to your job as a 12 kizuki of course, but you couldn’t help but draw everytime you got the chance. Especially now that you’ve discovered the existence of upper six. At first, you didn’t know that they were two demons. You thought there was only one, the girl. But soon after you came to find out she had a brother, Gyutaro.

And sooner or later, you took an interest in his physique, and just the way he looked. You were quick to make sketches of his battle stances and even just the way he sits. You had never seen anyone like him, of course. So naturally you were very curious about him. You admired his build, and the markings on his face. Even his hair, you took a special interest in. One day, you were sitting alone in the infinity castle, scribbling away in your notebook.

You didn’t speak much to the other demons unless absolutely necessary, so nobody really approached you. You figured you were safe to draw the demon once again since you supposed nobody would come near you.

You shifted to a more comfortable position to sit in, until you noticed a shadow over you. You had been so focused on drawing you didn’t even realize. You hesitated for a moment, before looking up, only to be met face to face with the very man who was filling up all the pages in your sketchbook. Your eyes widened, and before you could react your journal was gone, and Gyutaro was faced away from you, looking through it. “—W-wait, give that back!” You said, jumping to your feet to try and retrieve it. He simply shoved you away, his face buried in the book.

You couldn’t tell how he’d react, but you were afraid he might not appreciate you drawing him. “Is this me?” He asked with an amused chuckle, his palm pressed against your forehead to keep you from getting close to the book. You froze, no longer trying to get it back. It was far too late. “U-uh.. Y-yes but—“ You stutter, clearing your throat a bit. “I-I just thought you looked cool and.. thought I would draw you..” You said, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

He didn’t say anything, continuing to flip through the pages. Honestly, he was impressed. Nobody had ever drawn him before, and on top of that you thought he was cool? That’s something he’s never heard in his life. “Can I have these?” He asked, looking down at you. You stared in shock. Have them? He wasn’t mad? “U-uh—Of course!” You said, feeling a little more confident. He handed you the book, not wanting to rip any of the drawing with taking them out. You carefully took a few pages out and handed them to him. “How come your only drawing me? Am I that weird looking?” He asked, using his free hand to scratch at his skin.

“N-no!! Not at all! It’s just.. Your.. Really, really cool..” You mumbled. He was shocked, really. He leaned down to look at your face, tilting his head. “You mean that..?” He asked. You nodded, looking away from him. Your cheeks flushed pink from the sudden closeness. “That’s.. Intriguing.” He said with a small grin, followed by a chuckle.

“Do you think you can draw me more?” He asked. You looked back at him, feeling your heart skip a beat. “M-more?” He nodded. “Yeah, can you do that?” He questioned. “Y-yeah! I can!” You said, moving back to where you were sitting before on top of a cushioned platform. He followed, sitting slightly behind you. You were a little nervous, having the person you were drawing for so long watching you. You picked up your pen and began to draw, eventually, you felt his head resting on your shoulder.

He still couldn’t believe that someone like you would want to draw someone like him, and actually took an interest him. He was always labeled as ugly so naturally he didn’t understand. “Why me?” He suddenly asked, causing you to look at him from the corner of your eye, turning your head a little. You smiled. “Why not?” You said. “Why would you want to draw someone as displeasing as me?” He asked once more, genuinely curious. “I don’t think your displeasing at all.”

“Man, you’re a weird one.” He said with a chuckle, before focusing back onto your drawing.