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i-cant-sing · 9 days

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Time Traveller AU pt3

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Find the AU masterlist here! Check out my MASTERLIST here.

"This is so unnecessary" you whispered to the man sitting behind you. "Everyone's staring." Your eyes scanned over the mass of people in town, as your horse passed through.

You thought you would get your own horse, but Baldwin had other plans apparently, as he just picked you up from your armpits and plopped you in front of him on his horse.

You could feel him smiling from ear to ear. "I think they're just in awe of your beauty. I would suggest getting used to the stares, now."

You rolled your eyes. "Dont flatter me. I know how I look, besides- I was referring to us sharing a horse. Its unnecessary and its why everyones looking at us."

"I think its unnecessary to get another horse for you. You dont know how to ride them, and believe me when I tell you- these horses are wild. I dont want you to get hurt when they kick you off." He teased.

You scoffed. Alright, maybe you werent an equestrian, but how hard would it be to ride a horse anyways? Didnt Baldwin learn to ride one when his right arm was paralysed and he had to do with his thighs mostly to control the horse?

"Still, I couldve gotten a carriage. Or better yet walked? Maybe even ride a horse with someone else-" You quieted down as you felt a pair of lips peck behind your ear.

"Dont even think about it. Why would I let anyone touch you, be this close to my princess-" his arm snaked around your waist and pulled you back closer to him. "Wouldnt you prefer your soon-to-be-husband to help you instead?" He whispered as his hand slowly found its way to rest on your belly, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Heat rose to your cheeks as you pulled his hand away and smacked it when it tried to touch your waist again. "Behave, Baldwin." You admonished with a smile as people looked at you. You dont want to create a scene (especially not one where history would report some lady smacking King Baldwin).

You getting flustered and angry only made him chuckle, as he leaned down to give the back of your head a kiss.

Enough with the PDA already. Arent medieval times supposed to be more conservative?

Ugh. Your lips formed into a thin line. Maybe he'll back off when you reach Salauddin and he sees how other Muslims act.

With some entourage accompanying you guys, you travelled away from the kingdom for almost an hour or so until you crossed that one sand dune beyond which Salauddin and his people were camping.

Before reaching the dessert, you had asked Baldwin if he had something that you could cover yourself up with. You want to adhere to the customs and not accidentally piss off one of the greatest Muslim rulers. Sure, you could've worn something more concealing before leaving the castle, but neither of you wanted people to know that you two were going to meet Salauddin.

Baldwin nodded and in one swift motion, he had removed his cloak and wrapped it around you, bringing the hood over you.

"But- what about you?" you looked back at him with wide eyes. People didnt just wear full length clothes back then just because of modesty, but also to protect their skin from sun damage.

He smiled. "I'll be fine, princess." No, you wont. And you're not risking yet another historical change by having the king of Jerusalem getting skin cancer.

Immediately, you tore off the bottom of your tunic and made a keffiyeh (a headdress) which covered both his head and his face. "There, now we can go."

From the keffiyeh, only his eyes were visible, which crinkled up. "Did you cover me up because you dont want women staring at me in awe?"

"What? Of course not. You just recovered from leprosy. Your skin would be sensitive to the harsh sun and heat of the desert-" He cut you off by laughing lightly.

"Whatever you say, princess. Whatever you say."

As you neared the camps, you saw men dressed in battle armour coming out of the tents, and you from the way he walked, the way he dressed, even his mere presence could make you recognise Salauddin from a mile away.

The horse stopped and Baldwin got down first before helping you down. You followed him as he walked towards Salauddin, who was standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. An erie silence settled all around you, the sound of air whooshing being the only thing audible for a few moments. Salauddin stared into Baldwin, while men from both sides glared at each other, one hand on their swords, ready to fight.

"Salam alaikum." Baldwin spoke first.

Peace be upon you.

You heart dropped for a second when Salauddin didnt reply back immediately. With your hood covering your face, you couldnt exactly see his expressions, only resorting to his body language and sounds to anticipate his mood.

Salauddin's lip quirked up. "Walaikum asalaam." He opened his arms and both men embraced each other for a few moments and you could feel the tension around you finally melting away as men from both sides finally started conversing with each other normally now that their kings were talking amicably.

Salauddin patted his back and raised a brow at you. "Who taught you the keffiyeh to cover that sore face of yours?" Baldwin chuckled. "My fiancee- Y/n, princess come here will you?" You walked closer to Baldwin. "This is Y/n, and we're both here today to invite you to our wedding. Darling, say hi, will you?"

You gulped. "Assalamu alaikum".

Salauddin's ears perked up. "Walaikum asalam. That was perfect pronunciation. Have you been taught by Arab scholars?"

"About that..." Baldwin chuckled nervously. "Y/n, why dont you go there with the ladies? They seem pretty eager to meet you." Salauddin nodded his head and a couple of women, all wearing burqas approached you. "This is princess Y/n. Take good care of her." Salauddin told them as they took you to their tent, where only women remained.

Meanwhile, Salauddin let Baldwin in to his tent.

"So, whats the secret?" Salauddin asked as he sat down, beckoning Baldwin to do the same.

He took a deep breath. "Y/n is... a Muslim."

Salauddin blinked at him. "What?"

"She's Muslim." He repeated. "So could you just tell me about the Islamic wedding ceremony? Nikkah, right?"

Salauddin stared at him. "Are you joking?"

"No."

"You cant marry her, Baldwin."

"Why not?"

"Because she's a Muslim and you're Catholic!"

"So? I havent seen it stop Muslims from marrying non muslims."

"No- only muslim men can marry non muslim women. It doesnt work the other way around."

"Salauddin, thats sexist."

"Its not sexist- nevermind, I cant help you understand it. But no, you cant marry a Muslim woman."

"What if... shes not Muslim?" Salauddin gave him a puzzled look. "I... believe Y/n may be using religion as an excuse not to marry me."

"If she doesnt want to marry you, why do you wanna marry her?"

"She does want to marry me, she's just... confused. Look, Salauddin. She cured me- CURED leprosy. This doesnt happend to anyone. She- she has something holy about her. How else do you explain this miracle?"

"So what? You think God and what- Jesus? chose this girl for you? That they gave her healing hands to cure your disease? You think shes of divinity?"

Baldwin smiled softly. "I do." Salauddin rolled his eyes. "Youre infatuated with her, Baldwin. Its temporary. She performed some magic, or tricks and you think she's divine? Do not make a fool of yourself."

"Then explain how I suddenly got well, Salauddin. Youve travelled the world, you sent me your best Arab healers, you believe in sciences- explain to me how I was cured of my incurable disease."

Salauddin gazed at the young king. "Let me guess, she claimed that she's been sent by Almighty God to cure the King and save Jerusalem, and in return, you must marry her or give her your throne to fulfil some prophecy?"

Baldwin chuckled, leaning back against the ottoman a bit. "Actually, she's been denying that she did anything to help me, she keeps on making excuses to marry me, she avoids my affection- and if I'm being honest, attention." Salauddin's eyes furrowed a bit. What game are you playing?

"Maybe... Black magic?" Salauddin is well aware of witchcraft, its been mentioned by his religion too.

Baldwin shrugged. "She's far too angelic to be associated with that. I'm sure there would be prominent signs if she was involved in any sort of magic or witchcraft."

Salauddin was about to reply but just then, his guards came running in.

"Salauddin! There's a sandstorm coming!" Immeadiately both kings sprung up.

"Tie up the animals! Tell everyone to get in and take cover!" Salauddin barked orders at his men.

The women in your tent were immediately informed of the situation and they quickly started taking measures, with the men outside helping to nail down the tent and gathering the baby animals and children, bringing them inside the tent.

You got up to leave and go to Baldwin, but the women pushed you back down, telling you its not safe to leave.

"The storm is here! You can't leave now!" Well, alright then. You plopped back down on your seat, when you heard someone cry out loud and your eyes immeadiately saw the liquid on the floor.

Of course it was the pregnant lady.

The woman had went into labour and everyone rushed to help her. Everyone but you. Nuh uh, youre not meddling in this time, lest anyone else accuses you of having magic healing hands.

Another harrowing scream pierced through the room, with the harsh winds threatening to blow away the tent adding on to the tension.

Maybe I could just stand near them, just to make sure they are using proper hygiene. Or actually just to see how midwifes worked in the past. Yes, its for science.

You stood near the midwifes, out of their work field because you dont want to be an obstacle. Of course, you may have had caught the sight of the poor woman and her... vagina, which youre ashamed to say has made you sick to your stomach because child birth is not a beautiful phenomenon and fuck this shit youre never having babies.

After almost an hour, the baby was finally out. The stench of sweat and blood and the nightmarish sights you'd caught glimpses of had made you want to throw up when suddenly the enviorment turned gloomy. And it hit you.

The baby wasnt crying.

The mother who was previously crying from labour, was now crying due to a different kind of pain.

You felt for her, you truly did. Carrying a child for 9 months, making sure to take every precaution, not to mention the constant prayers for a healthy baby (and for some, specifically a boy) otherwise the mother would be blamed.

The midwife put the dead baby in the bassinet beside you before tending back to the grieving mother, who was still bleeding from down there.

"Poor Fatima." You heard one of the women whisper to her friend. "To wait for 8 years before she finally conceived... only for her child to die before he could even take his first breath."

Your heart broke as you heard them, the woman sobbed inconsolably. You turned your head to look at the baby in the bassinet and subconsciously, you wondered what went wrong.

Doesnt look like he was choked by the umbilical cord... and he doesnt look cyanotic either, so he probably wasnt dead inside the womb. Your eyes widened. Maybe-!

Your hands went to pick up the baby before halting mid air. No. No. I cant interfere- I cant mess with history more than I already have. I cant save a child who was destined to die-

Your head whipped to the woman who let out a shrill, devastating cry, begging God to let her son live.

Fuck it. You picked up the baby. Maybe this baby was destined to live.

Immeadiately you checked for breathing before putting the baby on a table nearby and placed two fingers on the left side of his chest, starting compressions.

"1. 2. 3-" you muttered under your breath, trying to recall what was drilled into your head when you were attending first aid classes. Pinching the baby's nostrils, you breathed into his mouth, eyes watching as his chest rise and drop. You repeated the compression set 2 more times when the baby finally took a huge breath and began crying.

Picking up the baby, you ran towards the bucket of water and started cleaning the baby's head and face off the mix of blood and amniotic fluid, while massaging his back and his feet to encourage him to breathe on his own.

After a few minutes, you turned around to cover the baby with a cloth swaddling him up nicely and thats when you finally looked around you.

Everyone was staring at you in shock, the sound of the baby crying echoing the silence.

Shit. You rocked the baby gently as you handed him to his mother, who also looked at you in shock with tear streaks on her cheeks. I hope... they didnt see me do CPR.

Yes, damage control. Thats what you need to do. You cleared your throat. "Um- yes, Allah has blessed you with a beautiful son. Lets be grateful to Him." And the women slowly began talking again and agreeing, some saying that they'll go give sadaqah (charity to please God) while others were going to go pray.

When you turned around, you saw Baldwin and Salauddin standing at the entrance of the tent, the former having a beaming smile while the latter looked in surprise.

Maybe it was the stench of sweat and blood in the room, maybe it was emotional situation you went through (high key nauseating), or maybe it was the mix of amniotic fluid and blood on your mouth from when you saved the baby, but the next moment, you lost consciousness.

When you woke up, you noticed you were in a different, much bigger tent. Rubbing your eyes, you sat up with a groan.

"You're finally awake." You looked up to see Salauddin sitting at his desk in the other corner-

Salauddin? Your hands went to draw your hood over your face but you realised your (or well, Baldwin's) cloak had been replaced with a cotton niqaab that veiled your entire face except for your eyes.

Standing up, you looked in his direction. "Where's Baldwin?"

You heard him chuckle darkly. "He left."

"He left?" You heard him walk over to you, and instinctively you took a step back, narrowing your eyes at his audacity.

He towered over you, face neutral as he looked down at you. His hand gestured to his right, where a chess set was placed on a table.

"Do you play?" He asked, eyes never leaving yours.

Hesitantly, you nodded. He sat down, beckoning you to do the same.

"Ladies first." He let you start the game. "I should tell you though- if you wish to leave out of this place alive, you'll have to win."

What the shit? Is this some sort of psychological game? Or is this actually happening? I mean, people in the medieval times were crazy. Just because he's muslim shouldnt excuse him from insanity.

You picked up the white pawn. "Where is Baldwin?"

"I told you, he's gone." He moved his black pawn. "He sold you to me."

You looked up at him. What? "Focus on the game. You do not wish to know what will your fate be if you were to lose this game." You immediately picked up your bishop and moved it.

Salauddin clicked his tongue as he took your bishop. You moved your pawn again. "Why- why would he sell me? I'm his fiancee." You asked, your eyes never leaving the board. You're playing for your life here.

"Well, when we saw you use black magic to save that baby- oh, I took your other pawn too, mhm-" He smiled as he looked at your furrowed brows. "And then I told him that you cant be a muslim if you were using black magic."

"Black magic? When did I use it?!" you asked exasperatedly as you lost your knight.

"We saw you muttering something when you were "saving" that child." Muttering? When was I muttering? "One of the ladies even said they heard you whisper some repetitive words to a tune too."

Repetitive words-? You wanted to bang your head against concrete when you realised he was referring to you doing compressions to the rhythm of Stayin Alive by the BeeGees. This one is not your fault because the instructor taught you guys that.

"I was not doing black magic. Even so, who are you to decide if I am a Muslim or not?" You moved your other knight.

"I am Salauddin Ayubi-"

"So?" Salauddin looked at you.

So? So? No one has ever dared to ask him questions.

"Your real name is Yusuf. Salauddin is just a laqab, hm?" Your eyes never left the board as you made your move. "Do you think you're above me? Above Baldwin? Above anyone?" You didnt let him answer as you gestured at him to continue the game. "I dont recall you being a prophet. I dont remember you being a caliph even. So, Salauddin tell me what gives you the right to judge if I'm a muslim or not?" You asked as you took his pawn.

Salauddin narrowed his eyes at you, making his bishop take another pawn of yours. You didnt let it deter you as you practically snatched the same bishop of his with your rook. "Just because youre a muslim, you think you have the right to judge me?"

He scoffed at your words, making his move but you took yet another black pawn. "I am a Muslim. I was born in a Muslim family-"

"Exactly." You took more of his black pawns as he took your white ones. The board was mostly empty now. "You were born in a Muslim family. Do you honestly believe your Lord is happy with you because you were born in the right family? Is that the essence of what being a Muslim is?" Salauddin now looked at you but you didnt let your eyes stray away from the chess board. "Are you a Muslim because you were born in a Muslim family? Or were you born in a Muslim family because Allah knew you wouldnt find your way if you werent? If you were born in a catholic family, youd be a catholic? Lets say you are a Muslim, how do you know youre a good enough Muslim who can judge me? How do you know Allah will let you in heaven when youre on Earth declaring so and so is doing magic and isnt a muslim? Only Allah can judge us, not you Salauddin Ayubi." You stated calmly as you made your final move. "Thats checkmate."

You finally looked at him, your eyes holding satisfaction at his distressed face, though he masked it well.

How you wished to reveal to him that he was playing against a grandmaster whose parents made her take chess as a hobby since she was 6 because they believed it would make her smart and get into good colleges (it did. Thanks mom and dad.)

"Salauddin, we can play chess all you want but dont lie to me. You know I wasnt doing magic, and you know that I know that Baldwin wouldnt just leave me behind. So please, tell me, where is Baldwin?" Before he could reply, you continued. "Remember, lying is a sin."

At this, his eyes finally showed amusement. "He's outside, helping the women sew a niqaab for you. He wants to embroidery a flower in or something." You rolled your eyes at that. Of course, leave it to Baldwin to do cute romantic stuff.

Salauddin leaned back in his chair as he studied you. "So, how did you bring the baby back to life?"

"I prayed to Allah." He quirked a brow at you. "I also cleared his nostrils. They were plugged with fluid, so he didnt know or couldnt breathe with his lungs. Then I just warmed up his body a bit and he was crying- the baby was never dead. You know that no one can be saved from Azrael if Allah has written for that person to die."

Angel of death.

He gave you a nod, though his eyes watched you curiously. "How were you so sure that I knew you were a Muslim?"

You shrugged. "I just did." Why wouldnt you know when he was playing chess with you to check your psychology? Not to mention, he allowed you to be covered with a niqaab even when you were unconscious and let you stay in his tent? If he even doubted that you were a non muslim, you more than likely wouldve been treated far badly.

Salauddin chuckled. Of course, youd keep your secrets. "Then you know that as a Muslim woman, you cannot marry anyone of another faith."

"I dont plan on marrying Baldwin." You scoffed. "I already rejected him and have tried to sway his mind, but hes set on his decision. I think he actually believes that Im an angel or something divine."

He quirked a brow at you. "So he's forcing you to marry him?"

"I wouldnt say force- well, actually I would say that. But he doesnt treat me badly or anything. He's very sweet, even when I avoid him."

Salauddin clicked his tongue. "I could help you." You looked at him. "You are a Muslim, a part of the ummah. I could-"

"No. If youre suggesting starting a war, no." "Well, not a war, youre not that important." Damn. He grinned at your offended eyes. "I meant, I could send some people to sneak you out or-"

"No, if Baldwin finds out youre involved in any way in my escape he would-" you cant risk an extra crusade happening because of a damsel in distress, aka you. It would put the fate of Jerusalem at risk as well as the fate of the Ayyubid dynasty.

Wait. Ayyubid dynasty. They ruled over Egypt, Syria, Palestine, Yemen and so on. But Egypt was the learning center of the Islamic world during this time because they focused on arts and education which meant they hosted the world's greatest scholars there.

"Salauddin, can you get me to Egypt?" The king of Egypt, or sultan of Egypt looked at you quizzically. "I can, but why? Do you have family there?"

"What? No, I'm not running away to Egypt. Look, I just-" you cant explain to him about your escape plan that you were going to use the help of scholars to help you make the tools which you can use to fix your broken time machine. So, you lie. "You're someone who enjoys learning, right? I know you like history and sufism, and I would just love to get to know more about it."

With his head resting on his palm, he studied you. You intrigued him, and although he sensed you had ulterior motives, he agreed. "I cant take you there personally because I am busy here, but I could send you there with some trusted men." You smiled under your veil. This is exactly what you want. And almost as if he could sense your glee, he continued. "Your madly-in-love fiance wont send you alone, or at all."

"Let me worry about Baldwin, and he'll agree because I'm not running away. I'll work on my escape another way in which no one has to die." You said, finally standing up and walking out of the tent to find Baldwin who was sitting with the other veiled women, his eyes focused on the needlework.

"Baldwin." You called out with your hands behind your back as you walked upto him.

He looked up and his eyes practically sparkled at the sight of you. "Princess!" He stood up and immediately went to hug you but you stopped him before he could, nodding your head at onlookers. "Oh right, sorry." He smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head, ears turning pink as the women giggled.

He then picked up the niqaab he'd been working on, the blue cloth matched the color of his eyes. "Look, I made that flower." There was embroidery done on the sleeves. And of course, amongst the mass of tiny, delicate pink and white flowers, Baldwin made the biggest, slightly wonky flower.

It brought a smile to your lips. Gosh, he's such a-

You shake your head. No. No. You cant.

"Its beautiful, Baldwin. Thank you." He grinned at your praise, nodding his head as he folded it up. Still holding the embroidered niqaab in his hand, he walked over to Salauddin and shook his head. "We should get going now. Thank you for hospitality, Salauddin." The Kurdish nodded. "Of course. You're always welcome. And if you have any more questions about our traditions and rituals, dont hesitate to reach out to me. Although your wife to be seems quite knowledgeable on the subject herself." Your eyes widened every so slightly. Did Salauddin- did he just acknowledge that you're not as dumb as he thought you were.

Baldwin smiled before leading you towards his horse, helping you get on it.

Salauddin watched as your entourage left, and his mouth twitched.

You have piqued my interest, Y/n. He called his right hand man.

"We still have spies in Baldwin's castle, right?" The man confirmed. "Excellent. Have them find out all they can about lady Y/n. And prepare a small entourage ready to go to Egypt."

"Wont we be staying here, sultan?" The man asked, confused as to why Salauddin would be leaving Jerusalem this early.

"We will, but I will make a short trip in between."

Of course, Salauddin cant just let you go to Egypt alone. The sultan will have to make proper arrangements to welcome you there.

And to find out what you're really there for.

He returned to his tent, his eyes landing on the chess board. Walking upto it, he looked at how you had defeated him.

Salauddin smirked, using his finger to knock down the white king.

It'll be fun to make Baldwin jealous.

#yandere king baldwin #yandere male #yandere baldwin #yandere baldwin iv #baldwin iv #king baldwin iv #yandere #kingdom of heaven #the leper king #koh #yandere salauddin #yandere oc #yandere ocs #time traveller au #yandere x darling #yandere x reader

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dbs-scans · 20 days

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April Fools’ 2024

This is our translated version of the event held on AidaIro’s twitter account for April Fools’ Day 2024. We hope you enjoy!

(Read it on twitter.)

You're a member of a certain occult forum. Among the various spooky stories posted every day, you find one a bit stranger then usual... Almost as if it were a cry for help—

――Hello, is anybody there?

POLL:

There is ✅

There isn't

Thank God, somebody replied!

I know this is out of the blue, but will you hear my story?

POLL:

Sure ✅

No thanks

When I woke up, I was sitting in an unfamiliar train. Instead of what I usually carry, there was an old cellphone in my pocket along with a piece of paper that said "Use when you're in a bind." There's no service, so I can't call anyone or anything like that, but for some reason I can access this website.

I heard about this once from Teru-nii... But this is THAT website, isn't it!? The anonymous forum for talented freelance exorcists!? I mean, everyone's name here is "Anonymous Exorcist", after all!

POLL:

That’s right ✅

We’re regular people

Sweeeeet! In that case, I'll tell ya what's been happening over on my end, and you exorcism experts can tell me what to do! Thanks for the help!

First off, it looks like I'm inside of a train. I don't take the train to school, so I don't know what line I'm on or anything... About 30 minutes have gone by, but it hasn't stopped at any stations yet. It's hard to explain, but something’s off...I get the feeling this is no ordinary train.

POLL:

You should take a good look around the train car ✅

You shouldn't move around unprepared

Got it! I'll take a look around the other cars, then.

... I've explored around 2 to 3 cars by now, but it's about the same everywhere. Like me, a number of other people are riding the train, but they all seem to be asleep.......Ahh!!

Excuse me for the outburst, I just recognized one of the other passengers. I'll try waking him.

Rise and shine, bud. Now, how'd you wind up in a place like this...? "I just woke up here"...? Guess I have no choice but to take you with me, then.

Oh, looks like the train's stopped. I'll see if we can get off now.

Looks like this station's been deserted. Nobody's here, and it's weirdly quiet, too...gives me the creeps. Now how do we get home...?

There's a signboard with the station's name on it, but it's so worn out that I can't make out what it says... It's made up of 4 hiragana characters, though. Do you have any ideas, my expert exorcists!?

POLL:

Ki 1️⃣

Sa 3️⃣

Ra 2️⃣

Gi 4️⃣

Ah, so this is Kirasagi Station! Yeah, now that you've said it, I remember thinking it was that... You guys are insanely in the know...but who would expect less from a group of exorcism experts!

By the way, while I was waiting on your replies, I took a look around the station and found a telephone box. I only have a single 10 yen coin on me, but...I'm thinking I should try calling someone. Who's my best bet?

POLL:

You should call a family member

If you have one, maybe a dependable upperclassman? ✅

An upperclassman...? Got it. I'll give them a call. I can't talk long, since it's only a 10 yen coin, but...hopefully I learn something useful!

――Brrrring brrring... click! ???: "Hello? Who's this...?"

Nene: "Kou-kun!? Why are you calling from a suspicious number!?" "You're lost in a mysterious train station...? O-oh nooo!" "Hanako-kun, what do we do!?"

Hanako-kun: "Hey, kid. You in trouble again?" "I have two pieces of advice for you:" "First, if you want to go home, then you should follow the train tracks." "Second..."

Hanako-kun: "The signal's weak inside the tunnel, so be careful, okay?" Click! Beeep, beeep, beeep...

It disconnected. I hope I didn’t worry senpai... Anyway, for now I'll just do what Hanako said and follow the train tracks. He may go out of line at times, but despite being an evil spirit, I don't think he's all bad...but uh, that's a story for another time!

Come on, Mitsuba, let's go! ...I'm a can't-function-without-instructions earring?? Look who's talking! Now shut up and follow me.

... ..... ...Hm?

There's someone on the tracks just ahead. A forest surrounds us on both sides, so the only way through is forward...

I feel like they're trying to tell me something... ...Do you guys know?

POLL:

It's someone you don't know

It's someone you know ✅

Someone I know...? You mean someone in trouble like we are? ...No?

???: "---eyyyy. Heyyyy!"

Huh!? That's...hey, that's Hanako! But I just talked to you on the phone...and now you're lost? In that case, you can come with us and...

???: "It's dangerous to walk on the train tracks." "It's dangerous to walk on the train tracks." "It's dangerous to walk on the train tracks."

W-what!? You're not Hanako!!! L... Let's get outta here, Mitsuba!!!

???: "It's dangerous to walk on the train tracks." "It's dangerous to...."

Th-that was close... Looks like he isn't...chasing after us... I never would've expected a fake Hanako to show up! We've gotta proceed more carefully next time... Sh-shut up, Mitsuba. I wasn't scared!!

We've been walking for a while now, yet we haven't come across a single station... Hm? Is that-- ...A tunnel?

We can't see what's up ahead, but me and my buddy here are gonna go ahead and check it out anyway. I'll update you guys after we've gotten inside!

POLL:

Just don't let go of their hand, alright? ✅

Who is that beside you?

The road splits into two from here. I can’t see the end of either path… Right or left, which should we choose……? Let’s ask the experts!

Huh? I can’t post anything anymore. Maybe there’s no signal here... Hm? What is it, Mitsuba?

You can hear festival music coming from the left path? Flutes and drums? “It sounds lively and fun”? But I don’t hear anything...

…You want me to come with you?

...No. I'm not going left with you. You know what...

💻

POLL:

Kvu'a sla nv vm opz ohuk. (Don’t let go of his hand.) ✅

Sla nv vm opz ohuk. (Let go of his hand.)

You...

You're coming with me!

I see light! The exit's near! Just a little fur--

--THER!?

???: "I can't follow you any further. So long, Minamoto-kun." "Take care of yourself, alright?"

......

...Huh? I'm at...the neighborhood tunnel? What was I doing all the way out here? I feel like I was just with someone, too, but I can't remember who... Hm? There's something in my pocket...

It's a broken cellphone. Maybe someone lost it. It ain't mine, that's for sure... --Oh, crap! It's gotten really dark outside. I better hurry home...

Thanks for all the help, guys! ...? Uhh, who am I thanking exactly...? Eh, who cares.

I'm hooome!

🚃 The End 🚃

#tbhk #jshk #jibaku shounen hanako kun #toilet bound hanako kun #aidairo #twitter #jibaku shonen hanako kun

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tteokdoroki · 8 months

Note

❛ i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making. ❜ with isagi and any kink !!!!!!

☆༉ — YOICHI ISAGI: 0-800-HOT GUY-HOTLINE.

line. ❛ i’m sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making.❜

extension. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact. public humiliation, free-use, voyeurism + fem!reader, nsfw.

things to note. RAAA !!! luna im sorry this is so late but i was excited to do this one pls enjoy i missed isagi saur much !!!! <3

your boyfriend, isagi, is sometimes prone to selfish tendencies.

being the japanese football league’s diamond in the rough and all-star player has meant that all the best and softest parts of him have become more rigged and hard around the edges. he takes what he can get, even if it means leaving other people behind — you have to be selfish to be at the top, it’s something that you understand.

your boyfriend is never selfish when it comes to making you feel good.

if yoichi can help it, he has you creaming on his tongue, fingers or cock at least twice a day when his games are at home. it’s almost double on the days that you visit him while he plays away or accompany him to tournaments. he can’t keep his hands off you, can’t stop himself from needing you or claiming you — his good luck charm. especially after he wins a match, even more so if he loses one. come rain or shine, isagi is selfish with how he teases and uses your body…even in front of his friends and fellow teammates.

“y-yo…yoichi s-stop!” you gasp, face hot and voice strained.

“stop? oh i don’t think so,” isagi growls, speeding up his skilled fingers as they dance over your slit and press his name into your clit. “i don’t think you want me to stop, precious. whatever happened to ‘yes, yoichi.’ ‘whenever you want, yoichi.’, hm?”

choking on your own words, the spit that weighs down your tongue as you drool dumbly from the pleasure — you relax back into your boyfriend, fluttering around the circumference of his leaky cock as it breaches your tight, wet walls. “good girl, relax for me. let me fuck that princess hole open, hm?” he kisses the side of your face, peering down between your soiled shaky thighs to watch the way you selfishly suck him in, your cunt dribbling slick down his shaft and balls. “i love you. so fucking much.”

isagi’s hands slip up your shirt, exposing your perky nipples, all hard for him, to the rest of the van to see. his teammates, your friends. as far as locker room talk goes, all of the blue lock boys know that you and yoichi have a particularly wild and active sex life — but they’ve never been around to see it. except for bachira, and sometimes rin.

from across the van you can see ten sets of eyes watching you as if you’re a fountain of cold water isn’t he middle of a scorching desert — a sweet mirage for them to drink in as if they’re dying of thirst. kunigami respectfully looks out of the window when he catches your teary bambi gaze, though he does nothing to conceal the fat erection he’s sporting. nagi writhes in his seat with pink cheeks and parted lips, the front of his joggers already soiled by his leaking cock. and if you squint hard enough, you can see the way that bachira already fists his painfully hard dick to the rhythm of isagi’s shallow thrusts.

shame intertwines with the lust that simmers in your lower tummy, coursing through your veins and spreading like a cloud over the thoughts in your brain. you like this, you like being watched while your boyfriend ravages you in front of his friends, cream frothing at the base of his shaft as it twitches inside of you.

you’d be absolutely miserable right now if you weren’t getting fucked a million ways to cloud nine — isagi’s hand on your blistering hot mound, spreading your folds and exposing your budding clit to the cold world and cruel stares. “‘ichi,’” you whimper pathetically despite bucking your hips down on him, chasing the delicious burn of his girth stretching out your sloppy walls as his cockhead glides over your g-spot. “i-ichi please…’m embarrassed… they’re watching!”

“what’s that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making.” he seethes, teeth sinking into your earlobe as he forces you to listen to the salacious, sticky sounds your pussy makes as he fucks himself into you. “listen to her cryin’ for me, you’re tellin’ me you want me to stop?” you can only imagine how long isagi would keep you on the edge of orgasm if you said yes.

when he was like this, fuelled by his excitement for the next match — he would get mean, toy with you like a cat with a ball of yarn. he twists his fingers along your sensitive clit you, winds you up from the inside and you let him. “you’re so naughty, baby. letting them look, pretty girl. you want them to see what they can’t have. what winners get when they play right.”

gasping, your head falls against isagi’s shoulder — followed by his breathy chuckle. his hands cascade along your body, pinching and pulling, tracing your dips and curves and scars. he might be selfish enough to take you in front of the people who know you more innocently, but he’ll still prioritise your orgasm over his own. he knows just what makes you tick, how to get your pretty hole spluttering and clenching around his thick dick like there’s no tomorrow.

“you gonna cum for me, baby?” yoichi breathes hotly, his sticky fingers, the ones coated in your juices, coming up to grab your neck tenderly — guiding your gaze up to meet his feverish midnight blue stare. his cherry bitten lips slip into a soft smirk while he languidly rolls his hips into you — feeling your arousal slide down your slit, his balls and even between your cheeks to create a slick slapping sound with the intensity of his thrusts. “go ahead, you’re such a good girl. wanna see it, make me proud, ‘kay?”

that’s all you really need to hear before your vision starts to shake and your body siezes up all at once. feathery and high pitched moans bubble up on your wet lips, your hand tangling in isagi’s sweaty dark locks while he rocks into you through your high — your juices splash out against the seat in a never ending stream — only fuelled by the team’s grunts and accompanying moans from watching you cum.

“yoichi…” you whine, back arching away from his chest and hips lifting away from his.

his lips drop to your neck in a loving and reassuring kiss as his hands settle on your waist to pull you back down onto his aching cock. “so good, precious.” he goads condescendingly. “‘m right behind you, keep that orgasm going for me.”

it’s not long before your fluttering cunt is flooded with a pool of thick, white seed — tacky and warm against your ribbed walls. isagi muffles himself by biting down on your salt-licked flesh, panting happily against you as whe rubs approving circles into your hips.

a silence in the van follows, only interjected by the bother boys and their own highs. “s-she just lets you use her like that?” kunigami mumbles, red in the face and embarrassed by the fact that he just nutted to his best friend’s girl.

isagi wraps his arms around you, soothing your fatigue with sweet kisses. “i mean yeah, we talked about. it’s something she likes.” he squeezes you possesively as you drift off. “we both do.”

“lucky,” bachira grins sickly, tucking his own wet dick away. “when do we get a turn, isagi?”

“when you’re dead.” your boyfriend retorts, selfishly, which makes you smile sleepily into his chest. “she’s mine, and will only ever be mine.”

sometimes your boyfriend can be selfish — but you’re mostly grateful for it because it means your chest fills with love and warmth whenever he’s possessive over you.

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lotus-n-l0ve · 10 months

Text

𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐀 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐳𝐞𝐞

— Peter Parker x Stark!Female Reader

☯ SYNOPSIS : When Peter's girlfriend pays him a little visit in Midtown High School and meets his long time bully, Flash Thompson.

☯ WARNINGS : Au, stark!reader, Peter is barely present in the fic, cursing.

☯ NOTE FROM LOTUS : Hey guys. I have been having such a bad writer's block that I couldn't write anything for past few weeks. I'm writing this to, hopefully, get over my writer's block.

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 || 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The red Saleen S7 car, parked outside of Midtown High School, gaining curious glances from the students and passersby. You wait, sitting on the driver's seat, with your phone in your hand. The past week you were out of the country with your father so you had not seen him for the past seven days and barely got to talk to him.

So when you came back today, you wanted to give him a surprise visit. You came here, all confident, but now you were doubting your choices. Maybe you should just wait till school ends?

Fuck it. You are Y/N Stark, girl. Since when do you get nervous?

You checked yourself last time in the back mirror. Perfect as always. You throw yourself a flying kiss and put on your favourite pair of glasses. The car door opens with a click and you get down. It was not long before you were walking down the halls of Midtown High, making everyone stop what they were doing and gawk at you.

You chuckle in your mind. Of course you loved being the centre of attention. You were Tony Stark's daughter after all. Now there's one problem. You don't know exactly where Peter is. You look around the hall before your eyes fall on a boy, sitting with two girl on each side.

Without any second thoughts, you walk up to him, "Hey, do you know where Peter Parker is?"

Flash tore his eyes from the beautiful girls in his arm to the legs standing in front of him. He raised his eyes to your face. His gaze so disgusting that made you want to throw up.

"Talking to me, angel?" Flash stood up, abandoning the girls.

You roll your eyes at his pathetic attempt of flirting. At least he got the angel part right.

"I asked if you know where Peter Parker is." You deadpan.

"Peter Parker? Oh! You mean penis Parker. What do you need with him? I'm sure I can help you way more than he can." Flash wiggled his eyebrows at you, giving you a suggestive look.

You just stared at him, completely unimpressed and now angered. This pathetic flirt has the audacity to call your baby penis— wait a damn minute. Penis Parker? Something clicked in your mind.

"Are you Flash Thompson?" You ask before you could stop yourself.

Surprise flashed on his face before a smug smirk appeared on his face.

"Wow! I know that I'm famous but not much. Damn!" He said, running a hand through his hair.

You giggle at his ignorance as you take off your glasses. Folding it and keeping it safely in your hand bag, you step towards him, closing the distance between you two.

"Listen here you little shit." The smirk on his fell at your words, "If I ever hear from Peter that even got anywhere near him, I'll kidnap you, shave off your head, leave you on a deserted island and post your disgusting nudes all over the internet."

"Wh—"

"Shut up and listen." Flash gulped with fear, his face covered in sweat. The menacing aura around you looked scarier than the monster under his bed.

You say while jabbing on his forehead with your pointer finger, "Don't think of him, don't look at him, don't walk on his direction, don't breathe on his direction. Don't go anywhere around my boyfriend. Got it, you failed experiment of a chimpanzee?"

"Y-yes, I....um, I-I..... I under-understand." He nodded his head vigorously. Anything to get away from you.

"Good." You back away, giving him space to finally breathe in relief. Fuck! He didn't know Peter's girlfriend was this scary.

"Y/N?" The familiar voice of your boyfriend called from behind and your demeanour changed like lizards change colours.

"Hey, Pete." You walk up, giving him a quick kiss, "let's go, you are skipping class today. I missed you."

You linked your arm with him and started dragging him out of the school. Peter complied with you because he did miss you a lot too and skipping one day was not going to do any harm on him.

"I missed you a lot." Peter smiled down at you.

You left the school, leaving behind a embarrassed Flash. After you two left did Flash realised the crowd of students circling around him in the hallway. And they were chuckling while looking down at his pants?

Flash looked, "FUCK!"

His blue jeans were now dark blue, water spread on the floor around him. He had peed in his pants. His face turned red with anger and embarrassment. He should not have fucked with Peter.

FUCK!

All the rights and credits of the characters, gifs, songs and pictures used here belongs to their rightful owners.

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ceilidho · 9 months

Text

prompt: ex special forces ghost working as a “travel companion for hire” and reader hires him because she’s too nervous to go solo travelling

It’s not the first time you’ve been somewhere on your own, but it’s the first time you’ve realized that maybe solo trips aren’t for you.

It’s in Germany, three drinks in and stumbling back to your hotel room, paranoia gripping you every time you pass a dark alleyway or take a right onto a deserted street. It’s the man walking your way on the same side of the street that has you stuffing your hand into your purse, clammy fingers gripped tight around your keys.

On the flight home, you’re wiped. Beat. Finally untethered from a week’s worth of anxiety slowly reaching a boiling point. You’ve traveled on your own before, but it’s the first time you can remember being acutely aware of your vulnerability. Granted, before this trip, it’s not like you’d traveled all that much on your own, especially outside of the country.

Ghost comes as a recommendation from a friend of a friend. You’d hemmed and hawed about the whole ordeal the Monday after getting home from your trip—working the front desk at an auto-body shop means that there’s no shortage of people to talk to. The guy picking up his car (fender bender, a wicked crack down the front that’s since been fixed) listens to you gripe with an absent look on his face, but you’ve learned to tune those out. People will listen to you even in spite of their indifference when there’s nothing else to do.

“Y’know, I know a guy that does stuff like that,” he says, cutting you off halfway through another half-baked rant about airline fares these days. Your mouth puckers into something quizzical. Tell me more, it says without saying. “Ex-special forces. Left because of some medical thing, I think. Dunno. Anyway, he’s been all over the world—built like a brick shithouse, that one—and last I heard he was, uh, renting out his services.”

“Services?”

“Like, he’d go with you, hang back while you do your thing, but basically the muscle. There to back you up if someone fucks with you.”

You’re just fresh enough off your vacation (an entirely miserable week, lest you explain the whole thing all over again) to give him your number. He promises to put you in touch with the friend of a friend who’ll put you in touch with one Simon Riley. He then gives you shit about the price on his bill and you knock ten percent off begrudgingly because the piece of paper with your number written on it is still crumpled in his palm.

No good deed goes unpunished or whatever.

“He’s not actually in the country right now,” Laswell, the friend of a friend, explains over coffee, Biscoff cookies spread out on a little tea plate between the two of you. “Or the continent.”

“Where is he?”

“For the rest of the month? Indonesia. He’s supposed to be back on the ninth. Should I let him know that you’re interested in his services?”

It’s a toss up at first. The thought of sacrificing your dignity (he would be more or less your babysitter) for adventure is tricky. With the way the dates line up—when you plan on traveling and when he gets back to the UK—you also won’t have much time to make his acquaintance before setting off.

But there are places you want to go, sites you have scribbled down in a pocket-sized notepad folded up in the inner lining of your backpack. So you give her your permission and promise to join her and her wife for dinner sometime (repayment, and also it’s only been a few months since you moved, so you currently have a dearth of friends in your life anyway).

The first time you see him when he stops by your workplace, you can’t help the double take. It just doesn’t seem possible. You know from Laswell and the guy at the body shop that Ghost is ex-military, but you’d been expecting some buzz-cut, slightly smarmy army reserves guy, maybe six-foot and decently muscled. What you don’t expect is the tatted beast that’s near twice your size. Only the top half of his face is exposed, the rest hidden beneath a black mask; you think briefly of asking him about it, but chicken out under his withering stare.

He doesn’t seem impressed when he meets you. “What’s your list?”

“Um…just around Europe. I haven’t thought about it too much.”

He stares down at you. “You wanna hire me just to run around the continent?”

“I haven’t thought about it!”

“Well, best give it a think fast, doll. Haven’t got all day for you to figure it out.”

You do have to think fast. He doesn’t leave until you’ve spelled out exactly where you want to go, until he’s watched you book plane tickets over your shoulder, heavy at your back while sweat beads at the nape of your neck. He’s entirely too intimidating to be looming over you like that.

You watch him whip out his phone and fire off a couple of texts; your phone pings with an email telling you that you’ve been reimbursed for his flight and when you protest, he brushes you off by saying that he’ll invoice you for everything at the end of your trip.

Then what was promised falls into place. Free of burden, free of anxiety or restless energy, new possibilities open up to you: countries where you don’t speak the language; countries where the sites you want to see are spread out across a wide enough area that it warrants having a man packed beside you in a too-small taxi, his thigh a hot line against yours; hiking trips through national parks, where you don’t feel like you might slip down a hill and twist your ankle, stuck without water or cell service.

You only have two weeks worth of vacation, so you use them wisely. A week traveling across Switzerland and Austria, and then a week in Cairo to see the pyramids.

Ghost hangs back most of the time while you traipse around and do your own thing. You can feel him at your back when you approach the stands where the local vendors have set up shop, perusing silver trinkets and jewelry, only returning to your side when someone stands too close to you.

He fists a hand in a pickpocket’s shirt when they try for your purse, giving them a shake and sending them off.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you mutter in his direction as you watch the young man scurry away. Not sure if you’re blushing or sunburnt.

“You hired me to deal with this shit my way. Don’t get mouthy now.”

You think it might be the former because while you might not be the best at reapplying sunscreen, Ghost has been gentle-parenting you this whole trip. He pulls you off into corners and growls down at you while squirting a dollop of sunscreen into the palm of his hand to spread across your face. You close your eyes when his rough hands trace over your face and breathe out heavily when he spins you around, big hands engulfing your shoulders and spreading down your back.

You don’t think it could get worse. It gets worse.

He won’t spring for his own room. You stare at him in disbelief in the lobby of the two star hotel where you’ve booked a room with a single bed. There’s a vending machine in the corner of the lobby that only sells coke (all of the other buttons are broken). One of the ceiling lights flickers on and off, an ominous buzz filling the room. Ghost doesn’t so much as blink.

“You didn’t tell me—I didn’t know that was my job,” you rebuff, anxiety a fist in your throat. You’ve already asked the front desk for another room, but they’ve been sold out for weeks, the woman at the front desk informed you with no small amount of pity. It’s the busy season; even two-star hotels get booked up in the dog days of summer.

He cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Never had to before. My job isn’t to book shit.”

“I sent you my itinerary.”

“That’s not how I work, love. Where’s your room?”

It’s nothing short of humiliating to have him follow you back to your shabby little hotel room. Your hands shake when you unlock the door, opening it to something no bigger than a closet. You’d purposefully gotten a smaller room than you usually would, anticipating the cost of Ghost's invoice at the end of your trip. No good deed goes unpunished.

He ushers you into the room with a hand on your back, shutting the door behind him. You flick on the only light in the room, a bulbous thing hanging from the ceiling. No bedside lamp.

When he settles on the end of the only twin bed in the room, the bedframe groans under his weight. Your hands are already clammy. He’s already making himself at home, unbuckling his belt with a single hand; it makes you almost dizzy to look over at him so you try desperately to avert your eyes.

“At least wait until I’m in the other room,” you hiss, rifling through your suitcase faster to get your clothes for after your shower.

“Quit moping, love,” Ghost scolds, resting back on his elbows and toeing off his boots. “We’ll make it work. Just gonna have to get comfortable together.”

You scurry off to the bathroom with your pajamas clutched tight to your chest, paying no attention to the fact that he doesn’t sound as upset as you thought he might.

#cod mw2 #ceil writing #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #cod simon riley #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost/reader #ghost cod

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myuroll · 2 months

Text

balding buddies — gojo x fem!reader summary: satoru messes up megumi’s hair and tries (and fails) to hide it from you! fluff, crack, teenage/highschool!gojo, you guys are dating, reader is referred to as mom/seen as a mother figure

stop ik ive literally only written for gojo BUT I'M MAKING A LDS ZAYNE ONE AND CHOSO !! idk which comes first but theyre on the way trust !! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

wc: 1.5k

"oh. fuck."

"what did you do?" the little boy asked, his voice tinged with concern, as he reached his hand to the back of his head. before he could touch it, satoru smacked his hand back down.

"nothing! it's okay! it's totally okay…" satoru said, giving an unconvincing smile to the boy through the mirror as he placed the shaver on the bathroom counter.

"then why did you curse?" megumi asked, turning around to look at satoru and making another attempt to reach the back of his head.

"that's a very good question, megumi! but you know, sometimes you just keep those questions in that big head of yours!" satoru replied, reaching to grab megumi's wrists and holding them together.

megumi tilted his head slightly to get a glimpse of the back of his head through the mirror. when he saw the bald spot, his jaw dropped in disbelief. as if he had stumbled upon a tiny desert in the middle of a lush green forest.

"what the hell did you do!? i'm in 1st grade! people are gonna think i'm balding like you!!" megumi rambled on, while satoru scratched the back of his head and let go of the six-year-old's hands.

"hey! i am not balding!" satoru protested, emphasizing his words as he reached to feel his head. "and it's not that big of a deal. you can just say all your hair is still growing in!" he continued.

with his hands on the back of his head, feeling the bare skin, megumi stared up at satoru with a shocked expression, lost for words. his face twisted in a mix of confusion and shock.

"see! it's such a good idea that i've left you speechless!" satoru beamed, his smile stretching from ear to ear, and playfully bopped megumi's nose, causing the boy to scrunch up his face in response. "now, how do we hide this from mom?" satoru pondered aloud, turning to look outside the bathroom, searching for something to hide this.

"we? nuh uh! i'm telling on you," megumi declared, shaking his head from side to side.

satoru immediately spun around, his jaw dropping to the floor.

"what? what do you mean!? i’ve been so kind and gracious! i have helped you out too, don’t i should get the same treatment in return! just this once! help me outtt!!! '' satoru exclaimed, speaking quickly and spewing out any excuse that came to mind.

rolling his eyes at satoru's desperate babbling, megumi pushed past him and made his way out of the bathroom and into the attached bedroom. satoru followed closely behind, rambling on and on about how he should help him fix the situation.

just as they reached the bedroom, they heard the front door open, causing satoru to freeze in panic.

"satoru! megumi! i'm home!" your sweet voice echoed through the entryway, its melodic tones filling the air with warmth and affection.

megumi felt a small smile form on his lips as he turned around, wearing a smug expression in anticipation of satoru's impending demise.

"hey, hey, hey!" satoru blurted out, panickingly squatting down to megumi's level and gripping his shoulders with desperation. "i'll get you anything! anything you want, just name it and it's yours! please, help me!"

"anything?" megumi replied, his voice tinged with delight.

"anything!" satoru instantly agreed as he shook his head up and down rapidly.

"i'll think about what i want, but i'll help you or whatever. deal?" megumi responded, unable to hide his joy.

"deal!" satoru happily exclaimed. "now, because she's already here, do not leave my side. i'll hide your bald spot!" satoru explained, his tone serious.

as they both walked into the living room to greet you, satoru hovered weirdly over megumi, desperately trying to shield the crime. you were hanging up your coat on a nearby rack when you turned around and beamed at the sight of the boys.

squatting down to greet megumi, you wrapped an arm around his torso and the other on the back of his head.

the back of his head.

…

the back of his head usually had black flowing locks, but now… now it was as if a barren wasteland stood in the far left side of his head. you continued to feel the area, feeling the small prickles of tiny hairs. clearly a bad job of shaving.

you pulled back, looking at megumi with a perplexed expression, while he straed right back at you with a scowl as he side-eyed satoru. then your gaze shifted to satoru, who immediately stared up at the ceiling, pretending not to feel your stare fixated on him.

"megumi… can you turn around?" you asked, your voice laced with worry. you could sense satoru's body tensing up and notice his fingers fidgeting nervously.

megumi turned his body so that his back faced you, and as your eyes laid upon the tennis ball-sized bald spot, a gasp escaped your lips. instantly standing up, you shot a disapproving look at satoru.

"what happened!? i told you we should've just gone to a barber!" you exclaimed, the frustration evident in your voice.

"that was an option? and you let this freak do it instead?" megumi retorted, scowling at satoru.

"what did i say about calling people names?" you interjected sternly, your gaze shifting from satoru to megumi.

"sorry…" megumi mumbled quietly, still wearing a scowl on his face.

"hey! it's not even that bad! i did a good job at the front, no one looks at the back anyway," satoru defended himself, attempting to salvage the situation.

"not if you have a bald spot!" megumi shot back, his glare fixed on the white-haired man.

sighing, you ignored satoru's feeble attempts to justify his actions and extended your hand to megumi. leading him back to the bathroom, satoru followed closely behind, his head low and a pout on his face, fully aware of your disappointment.

to satoru, the silent treatment was far worse than getting yelled at. at least with yelling, he would receive some sort of attention! but the dreaded…silence treatment!? how would he ever survive such a thing?

upon reaching the bathroom, you retrieved the shaver from the counter, contemplating your next move. satoru timidly placed his head on your shoulder, hoping to break through the wall of silence, but you barely acknowledge his presence.

"baby, i think you have to go bald," satoru suggested cheekily, hoping to elicit a response.

you looked at him unimpressed. "satoru! imagine if that happened to you!?" you retorted, crossing your arms and looking at him with furrowed eyebrows.

"i mean, i would rock it! my handsome face is all that matters, outshines all the other outstanding features," satoru boasted.

both you and megumi rolled your eyes in unison at satoru's egocentric comments. it was like he was trying to piss you off.

"you're going bald," you stated matter-of-factly, your tone devoid of any emotion as you brought the shaver closer to satoru.

megumi couldn't help but let out a small giggle, while satoru's face drained of color upon hearing your words.

"i-i didn't make him go bald! it was just an oopsie! i swear! this was hypothetical too! tell her megumi!" satoru rambled nervously, taking a few steps back with a forced smile and looked to megumi for help.

"i'll make it a reality," you replied, as you pulled him back into the bathroom and switched on the buzzer, the loud buzz filling the room.

“hmmm? does anyone hear something?” megumi said, cheekily as put his hand behind his right ear teasingly.

bzzz

soon the bathroom light cast a beautiful glow on satoru's pale head..

"so, about that deal of ours…" megumi asked, a smug expression adorning his face.

“shut up.”

──────────── extra:

"now, how do we hide my bald spot?" megumi fretted, his hand anxiously exploring his bald spot.

you pondered the predicament, as you reached out and gently tilted megumi's head down, examining the size and shape of the bald spot.

"maybe if you just drench your hair in water, and just keep your hair like that until it grows back you can hide it better?" you suggested, your tone laced with curiosity.

before long, megumi found himself with his head lowered, positioned under the showerhead as water cascaded down, drenching his hair. as he raised his head to meet your gaze, you and satoru froze simultaneously.

in that moment, a chilling flashback to a certain man with jet-black hair and a distinctive scar by his lip swept over both of you.

"NO!" satoru erupted, his voice piercing the air.

"do not do that! do not do that! do not do that!" he repeated in a frenzy, his words echoing with a mixture of fear and sheer panic.

perplexed by the sudden outburst, megumi stood there, his expression a mix of confusion and bewilderment.

“let’s just wear a hat…” you said in a quiet tone.

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number1jeonginstan · 2 months

Text

A/N: Based on my hard thought I made here!!!

WC: 2.4k

Pairing: Changbin x afab!reader

Warnings: oral (fem! receiving), unprotected sex, cum eating, changbin calling reader bunny, they didn't know each other before this, slight creepy behaviour idk!

Your body was sore, your muscles were tight and your entire body felt like jello. This usually never happened to you because you worked out every other day, but you were so busy with work the other day, that you didn’t have time.

You usually went to your friend's gym, 25 minutes away from your apartment. After all, you had seen this cute guy there, which you admitted was stupid because you barely saw his face, it was covered by a mask, but the way his muscles were taught and stretching out his compression shirt, his curly hair on the top of his head, you were whipped.

You had started going there every other day, hoping to see him, which you did almost 95% of the time. You never talked to him, but you did know his name, Changbin.

You overheard it from his friend who looked a chipmunk, with round cheeks and a small waist. And since then, you kept crawling back, hoping that he would start the conversation first, too scared to make the first move.

You entered the almost deserted gym, placing your water bottle and towel next to the Stairmaster, only to be met with the sound of the clanging of someone pushing weights onto a bar. You slowly turned around to be met with a man with grey sweatpants and a black compression shirt. It was Changbin.

You didn’t expect him to be in your apartment’s gym, hip-thrusting what seemed to be roughly 200 pounds. You stood there, in shock, at first mesmerized by the way his hips thrust the bar in the air, sweat dripping down his body, but at the same time, you were confused.

How was he here out of all places, did he live in your same building this entire time, and if he did, how did you not notice him? On top of that, why did he drive 25 minutes every single day? While you were racking your brain around all these questions, you didn’t notice how he looked up, taking a break from his set only to see you.

While you were having your crisis, he was just as confused. He had never seen you down here, he came on the off days of your schedule, memorizing it to a tee. He knew what days you went to that gym, what workout you were going to hit, and even how many sips of water you took.

That was how in tune he was with your gym schedule, it wasn’t perverted, right? He just took a liking to you, your laugh, your ass. Fuck, your ass, he groaned to himself taking a look at it.

You weren’t at the gym yesterday, so he couldn’t take any videos of the way it stretched out your leggings as you bent down to stretch or did squats. He loved the way you pouted when you had to adjust the weights because someone before you didn’t put it back.

You were just so cute, he couldn’t get enough of you, and now to think you were in the same building as him all along, he needed to know you better, to know what you smelled like, how you lived, and what your drawer full of workout clothes that you loved to strut around looked like.

“Hi, sorry to bother you” he walked up to you, his training belt still wrapped around his torso. “Could you spot me please, there isn’t anyone else in the gym, and I really could use the help because I’m about to peak”

“Oh yeah, of course, let me just put my phone down” You haphazardly put your phone next to your water bottle, and went over to where he was squatting, walking around the bar so you were met face to face with him.

“My name is Changbin by the way” he grinned, pulling off his mask and allowing you to see his face. He was one of the most attractive men you have ever laid eyes on. With a sharp jawline and a beautiful nose, you looked at him in awe until you snapped out of your trance as he coughed out loud, checking if you were ready.

“Ready?” he asked, a grin on his face as you nodded your head. He began to squat, your hands on the bar ever so slightly to ensure it couldn’t slip through your fingers.

He did 12 reps in one set, you knew this from constantly watching him. “I’m done with my set, do you want me to spot you?” he asked, a grin splayed on his face.

You nodded, ready to take the extra plates off the bar, but he stopped you. “I got it” he whispered, carrying them off and back to their place. How he knew exactly how much you squatted confused you, but you didn’t think much of it, rather setting yourself under the bar while he was in front in the same position you were mere moments ago.

“There we go” he grinned as you did your first rep, your muscles tightening seeing as it was your first time squatting in a couple of days. Your form was slightly off, causing him to tsk’ out loud. “Can I help you?” he asked, walking around so your back was towards his chest.

“Of course” you replied as the cool touch of his hands met your waist.

He slowly pressed his hands firmer into you, allowing you to complete another rep, his body bending with you, your ass pressing right into his crotch.

“There we go sweetheart” he groaned, feeling the plush of your ass hitting his cock. You looked back, watching his eyes flutter slightly at the sight of you. “Did you only do this to touch my ass?” you whined, trying to escape his grasp, placing the bar down.

“Come on sweetheart, we both know you only go to that gym for me” he replied, watching you through the mirror, your back still towards him. He slowly came closer his arms wrapping around your torso, kissing your slightly sweaty neck, savoring the taste.

“Please” you whined, his cock rutting against you through your leggings. He simply nodded, taking off his belt, throwing it god knows where before picking you up and placing you on a bench, your back arched in the air, your forearms and knees pressed against the bench.

“Such a perfect ass” he groaned, you shook it slightly in an attempt to entice him. “It’s all for you” you giggled as his hands ran over each and every curve of your hips and thighs.

“Such a pretty little bunny, all for me, even wearing my favorite color” he grins, taking in your bright pink leggings and sports bra. “I’ll wear it more often, just for you” you grinned as he slowly pulled down the pink pants down, groaning at the sight of your cunt.

You weren’t wearing any underwear, you never did at the gym, and for the first time in your life, it was a plus. Your pussy was soaked, your folds glistening under the gym light. Changbin slowly pulled out his phone from his pocket, taking a picture before throwing it with his belt and diving straight into your cunt.

He lapped at your folds savoring the taste as he slowly took your clit in between his lips, first kissing it, then sucking at it, eliciting the tiniest moans from your mouth. “Feel good bunny?” he asked straight into your cunt, the vibration causing you to jolt forward slightly.

“Feels so good Changbin” you whimpered as he slowly brought his hand up to your thighs, spreading your folds wider with his hands to get better access to your pussy. You were clenching around nothing, in need of more stimulation.

“Poor baby, such a pretty cunt, but needs more than my tongue doesn’t it?” he asked, your head turned back to look at him. You hummed a yes in response as he brought one of his fingers to your hole, slowly inserting it inside.

“Fuck bunny, you are so tight, how are you going to take my cock?”

“Gonna be a good girl and take it, promise Binnie” you whined as he thrusted his first finger inside of you, meeting a bit of resistance.

“You have to be relaxed for my baby, can you do that?”

“Yes Binnie”

You slowly felt your walls unclenching around his finger, allowing him to insert another inside of you, his fingers scissoring in your cunt to prep it for his cock. He knew that you wouldn’t be able to take it unless you were properly prepped, despite your whining that you could.

“Can take it, Binnie, I don’t need anymore prep, just need your cock please” you begged, needing to feel him inside of you.

“Be a good girl and take my fingers or you won’t even get my cock” he growled as he went back to lapping at your clit in hopes of making you cum to provide extra lubrication for his cock.

You nodded as his finger hit that spot inside you that drove you wild, your walls clamping around his finger as you came, your body shaking. He didn’t stop, overstimulating you as his fingers continued to thrust inside of you, lips still sucking your clit.

“Please, can’t take it anymore” you pleaded for him to stop, but he didn’t. He needed to consume every single drop that your cunt could give, it was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted.

“You want my cock?” he asked your fucked out body as you slumped into the bench slightly, your body covered in a sheer sweat. “Please” you whined, not able to come up with a coherent sentence after cumming so hard.

As you regained concessions of your body, he pulled down his sweatpants, a patch of his pre-cum staining through his boxers and sweatpants allowing you to see.

“You weren’t joking when you said you were huge” You looked at him with your jaw drop. He wasn’t long by any means, but he was girthy. No wonder he told you he had to prep you, you had no idea how he was going to fit inside of you.

“Fuck, I don’t have a condom” he whined, stroking his cock to release some of the tension so he didn’t cum on the spot.

“You can fuck me raw, I’m clean and on the pill” You looked at him, your doe eyes pleading causing him to have an internal battle with himself.

“I’m clean too, but I just want to be sure, I don’t want to do anything you are uncomfortable with” he whined, not wanting to pressure you.

“Says the dude who just fucked me with his fingers so hard I almost blacked out in the middle of our apartment’s gym, just put it inside of me please, I can’t wait any longer” you whined, praying that he would fuck you.

With that confirmation, he slowly ran the tip of his cock along your folds, capturing as much of your wetness as he could before slowly stretching out your hole with his girthy cock, you moaned as he barely inserted the head inside of you.

“Is it good bunny?” he asked, running his hands along your thighs, making sure you were comfortable.

“So good, need more” you whine, pushing yourself back on his cock just slightly, the stretch causing you to moan loudly.

“You like it?” he whimpered, pushing the entirety of his cock inside of you, his hips pressed against your ass.

You could only moan in response as he slowly began to thrust his hips, slowly pulling his cock almost all the way out of your cunt, only leaving the tip before slamming back into you, the two of you moaning at the same time.

“Fuck bunny, it’s like your sweet little pussy was made for my cock” he moaned as you fucked yourself back on his cock.

“Fuck, keep doing that” he groaned, slapping your ass.

You moaned as you felt him hit a particularly deep spot inside of you.

“Going to cum soon bunny? Going to cum on my cock?” he whispered into your each, the new position causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. “Fuck, yes I’m cumming” you whined as he abused that spot inside of you.

It didn’t take him far to follow behind. “Fuck, going to cum, where do you want me to cum sweetheart?”

You quickly pulled yourself off his cock, turning around so you could suck his cock, sucking on the head slightly as your hands fondled his balls, his own hand stroking his cock, causing him to cum.

Your cum as well as his mixed in your mouth, causing you to moan around the tip of his cock. “Fuck” he groaned, pulling your head off of him. The two of you fell to the floor of the gym.

“Let me take you out on a real date? Please bunny” he whined, kissing your lips as you lay back on the gym floor.

“As long as there is good food” you whispered back, wrapping your arms around his torso. “We should get up first though” he grinned, picking you up bridal style, causing you to squeal.

“Want to come up to my apartment, I can teach you new ways to work out your glutes” twirling you around, a boyish grin splayed on his face.

“I would love to!” you giggled back, as he grabbed your stuff in his hands, placing you back down on the floor.

—

“You should just ask her out” Jisung groaned, as he let the lat bar slip through his hands, “you’ve been fawning over her for months”

“You know what, I just might” Changbin grinned, walking over to where you were finishing your reps and kissing you right there and then.

Jisung’s jaw dropped, as Changbin walked with you hand and hand back to the lat pull down. “Jisung, meet my girlfriend” he grinned, your face splayed with a light blush.

“You have got to be kidding me, you pulled before I did” he whined, causing you to giggle.

“Yah!” he shouted, before chasing him around the almost empty gym, your giggle filling the void. Maybe skipping the gym was the best course of action.

#ju <3 writes #stray kids #skz #skz smut #straykids x reader #skz x reader #straykids smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #skz changbin #changbin x reader #changbin smut #seo changbin #seo changbin smut #seo changbin x reader

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theminecraftbee · 7 months

Text

There are several things Martyn realizes, all at once, when he opens his eyes:

He is dreaming.

It's one of those in-between dreams, the ones that aren't quite dreams.

He is sitting at a green felted table. It is sitting on a stage. The lighting is dim, and no one is watching, but out of the corner of his eye he can see the stagehands dressed in black, waiting.

He is not the only one sitting at the table. There is a Watcher, draped in purple. There is a Listener, draped in yellow. There is someone he recognizes in a red sweater. There is someone he thinks he should recognize, but can't quite, shuffling a deck of cards.

"Right. What's all this, then," he mutters.

We are playing blackjack, the Listener says.

We are deciding the rules, the Watcher says.

"It's not like we have anything better to do. Honestly, I'm glad you're here. Do you know how boring these guys are?" Grian says, and Martyn decides to quietly file Grian away as a dream-Grian, as opposed to real-life-Grian, so he doesn't go insane and/or stab him when he wakes up. He waits for the almost-familiar dealer to say something. He does not. After another few moments of awkward nonsense dream-silence, Martyn sighs and leans forward on the table.

"Sure, this might as well be happening," Martyn says. "Deal me in. How's the betting work, again?"

"You put your bet on the table. If you beat the dealer, you get to add it to the game," Grian explains. "If you don't beat the dealer, it takes it."

"Yeah, but like, that's abstract, isn't it? What does that mean, exactly, me losing what I bet if I don't beat the dealer," Martyn says.

Grian shrugs. "Don't ask me. To be honest, I'm hardly the storyteller you are."

"Me? Why are you acting like I have any control over these things when you're--"

Are you ready to play?

Martyn shuts up, looks at the Listener, and sighs. "Yeah, sure, I'm ready to play. Why not."

The dealer looks to its left. Grian sighs. "Why are you making me bet first. Again. We should rotate where we're sitting--fine, fine, I know it's an advantage because I'm the worst at this. Uh. Hm. No trading or giving away lives again. Not even as time or something. It makes the dynamics all weird, and I think we could use a nice straightforward death game next time."

(Martyn wants to roll his eyes. Nice and straightforward. Sure.)

The Watcher goes next. I would like there to be deep and wonderful bonds between the players. I would like those bonds to seem unbreakable.

"Coming from you, that's ominous," Martyn says.

Can I not just miss the alliances of the early days? the Watcher says.

"Never left the desert," Grian says, rolls his eyes, and looks at Martyn in commiseration. Martyn just stares back. So sue him, he's a bit more worried about this whole concept than an eye roll and a pithy phrase. Things Watchers want are rarely good.

When the bonds are enforced, they're less interesting, complains the Listener.

Martyn looks over sharply. Hey, wait, he thought--

I didn't say they had to be enforced by rule. I said they had to be deep. Encouraged, as opposed to discouraged.

Just saying. You'll never recapture Third Life.

Martyn swallows. His throat is dry. Weren't the Listeners supposed to be the good guys, here?

Besides, what I want is for each death to be meaningful again. They've felt too meaningless, lately, the Listener continues.

Martyn thinks the dealer raises an eyebrow, but it strikes him he's not exactly sure. Grian snorts. "Meaningful deaths. That's rich for you to say. I mean, I guess they're meaningful sometimes? I don't know, Martyn's the one who understands dramatic sacrifices, I just like killing things."

"Why do you keep on looking at me when you say those things," Martyn says.

"Look, you wouldn't be here if you weren't helping write," Grian says.

"What?" Martyn says.

We're here to play our cards for the story, the Watcher says. Aren't you also one of the authors?

"Me? What? No, I'm--what are you talking about," Martyn says.

Oh, well. I also hope your meaningful deaths make it in, the Watcher says the Listener.

Thanks, even if I disagree on the bonds, the Listener says.

"They hardly ever talk about real, concrete rules they want," complains Grian. "It's easier to understand the consequence if they bring up actual rules. Like boogeyman or no boogeyman."

"We're all just betting on cards!" Martyn says, throwing his hands up. "You're giving me a headache!"

It's your bet.

"Fine!" Martyn says. "Fine! You know what? Screw all of you. I hope this is the last one. I hope we never have to go back to that stupid death game. I hope it's miserable to watch or to listen to or to play and everyone just gives up. How's that for a bet?"

You're no fun.

Is that what you really want?

"Suit yourself," Grian says. "Honestly, if I still had that to bet, I guess I probably would."

"What do you mean, if you still had that to bet?"

"Well, I mean, that's not how blackjack works, is it? I don't just get back my in when I play it."

The dealer nods, and then silently, with a long bony hand, deals the cards.

Grian is dealt the four of diamonds. The Watcher is dealt the nine of spades. The Listener is dealt the five of clubs. Martyn is dealt a jack of spades. The dealer deals itself a seven of hearts. The dealer deals Grian a six of clubs--

"Hey, isn't that supposed to be face-down?" Martyn asks.

"Not here," Grian explains. "They're all face up so we can't touch the cards. So we don't have to. So we can't cheat."

"Who said anything about cheating?" Martyn says.

"Please," Grian says.

The dealer makes a hand motion. Martyn, grumpily, falls silent. He supposes they're playing by casino rules, then. He hasn't been in a casino since--he wouldn't know. Hard to remember anything that isn't this, isn't it? Isn't killing and dying and things out of his control and things very much in his control and, apparently, bizarre dream sequences designed to make him want to strangle Grian.

Anyway. Grian is dealt a six of clubs, giving him ten. The Watcher is given an eight of spades, giving it seventeen. The Listener is dealt a king of hearts, giving it fifteen. Martyn is given a six of clubs, giving him sixteen. The dealer deals its own second card face-down. Martyn stops to try to speak, and then shuts his mouth. Right. Dealer's advantage.

He stares at the numbers.

Grian sighs. "Well, I've got to double down, don't I? Fine. I want the whole 'red lives can kill' thing to be enforced somehow. I don't care how. There's my double down."

The dealer nods.

"Why would you want that," Martyn says blankly.

If we all win, that will be interesting with the bonds, the Watcher says mildly.

Grian shrugs. "I mean, we've enforced red names not befriending green names, but not the murder thing before. Figure we should switch up the game, right?"

"Why?" Martyn says again.

Well, it wouldn't do for it to be boring.

"No, not that. Just... isn't it easier to handle when the rules are laid out properly?"

Martyn throws his hands up, but stops arguing. The dealer gives Grian a face-down card. The dealer moves to the next party at the table.

The Watcher looks over at the dealer and makes a cutting-off motion. I stand.

The dealer moves on. Hit me, the Listener says, and is dealt the queen of diamonds. The Listener gestures to Martyn. It seems I bust. Pity. I suppose there will be no guarantee of meaning, then. Not what I'd prefer.

The dealer looks at Martyn. Martyn looks at the other hands. Martyn pauses.

"Wait, this is like, casino blackjack, yeah? I'm only playing against you, not the whole table?"

"Why would you be playing against us?" Grian says. "Writing's a collaborative process."

Martyn looks entreatingly at the Listener, but the Listener is a little too caught up in the bad hand it has been dealt. Martyn looks entreatingly at the Watcher, but the Watcher just looks somehow confused.

"I was under the impression that, I don't know, you all were adversarial."

Why? All we want is the same thing as you: the story to be told a certain way.

Martyn's not sure if he's furious or just numb.

"Fine. Got a sixteen, don't I? Hit me."

Two of spades.

He's furious. He wants to win against the dealer. He wants to win against everyone. He wants his idea to make it through. He has an eighteen, though. There are only two numbers in the deck that will not bust him, and he's no fool. Hitting on sixteen is a risk enough; if he wants his stupid bet of everything finally ending to make it through, he's got to hold here.

"I hold," he says through gritted teeth.

The dealer silently deals itself another card. A three of hearts. Distantly, Martyn's ears rush. He could have taken that. He could have taken the hit. He could have won. He could have had blackjack, and he doesn't know what the extra payout for blackjack even means in a game like this one, but he could have had it, and he held back, he didn't take the risk, he didn't--

The dealer flips up its cards. Seven, eight, three. Eighteen.

Martyn's heart pounds. A stand-off.

Grian flips up his own card and groans. It's a five of diamonds. "There goes that bet," he mutters.

The dealer makes a sweeping motion around the table. The Watcher smiles, a terrible, terrible thing. Martyn, all at once, realizes that he can't ask again. He can't say 'this is guaranteed to be the last one' again. He backs out of his chair. To the sides, he sees the stagehands change the lighting. A spotlight, on him and the dealer--

"That isn't fair," he says. "It's a tie. I should get my bet back, right? It's a tie!"

THAT IS WHERE WE DIFFER FROM THE HOUSES IN VEGAS, the dealer says, and Martyn's heart stops.

(The voice is familiar. Familiar, but he cannot place it.)

YOU SEE, IN THIS GAME, THERE IS ALWAYS ONE THING THAT HAS AN ADVANTAGE. ONE THING THE STORY IS ALWAYS PLAYING AGAINST. ONE THING, THAT INEVITABLY, AFTER LONG ENOUGH PLAYING, WILL WIN.

There, the dealer looks Martyn in the eyes, and Martyn, all at once, knows exactly what the dealer must be.

AND THAT IS ME.

Martyn stares Death in the eyes.

Then, in a cold sweat, Martyn wakes up.

He does not sleep again for a long time.

#trafficblr #martyn inthelittlewood #grian #the watchers #the listeners #a bee fic #this is me getting ALL OF MY MOST PRETENTIOUS URGES OUT before i go write more giftfic #literally all my most favoritest pretentious tropes. death personified. weird audience/writer avatar watchers and listeners. cards.#the series abstracted as a stage show. martyn being tired and confused.#really really ominous portents of the next game that hasn't actually happened yet #this is what self-indulgence looks like. if you're me.#there could not be. a more me fic.#anyway. ANYWAY. martyn doesn't understand why he's here. but why WOULDN'T he be here?#out of everyone in the series he's one of the ones who shapes the narrative the most after all

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roosterforme · 4 months

Text

The Intern Part 3 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley had an easy way about him that you appreciated. Working for him all summer sounded promising, and you were determined to make it fun for both of you. But as you dipped your toes into getting to know one another on the flights from San Diego to Lisbon, you ended up closer to him than you ought to be, both conversationally and physically.

Warnings: Language, brief mention of drugs (eventually 18+)

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

The Intern masterlist. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner by @mak-32

"I still can't believe someone is paying me fifty thousand dollars to spend my summer on a yacht," you mused as the private Cessna jet gained altitude over the California desert landscape.

Bradley turned and looked at you from his plush leather seat across the narrow aisle and smirked. "You needed the money that badly?"

"Don't play games," you told him, and he laughed. "My point is, I would have done this for free just to get Ted off my back."

His fingers tightened a bit on his armrest, knuckles growing white as he closed his eyes and said, "Now you tell me. My department budget could be looking a lot fatter right now if it wasn't for you."

You could feel the airplane leveling out as the flight attendant, a woman named Melissa, stood and made her way back toward the two of you. "Oh please," you groaned, earning one of those grins from him that made you feel light inside. "I know how much the shareholders make, Mr. Bradshaw. It's not like it's not listed on the Nasdaq Composite if you dig deep enough."

"Can I get anything for either of you?" Melissa asked.

"I'll take an Old Fashioned, please. Hold the cherries," you replied while Bradley just shook his head in a jerky motion.

When Melissa disappeared behind the black curtain, you asked, "Why are you so tense? Have a drink and relax."

He huffed out a laugh. "It's eight in the morning. A drink is not going to help me."

You leaned a little closer, and his gaze definitely dipped down to your unzipped sweatshirt. "Don't tell me you're into something harder?" you asked, already thinking you'd be disappointed by his answer. You'd been there and done that. Hung out with and dated guys who were users, and it was not something you wanted to be around. Even out of your sorority sisters, there were only a handful who weren't high all week during grad school.

Bradley looked at you with alarm. "I'm absolutely not going to allow drugs on the yacht, Ivy League."

"Good," you replied right away, already feeling more at ease as Melissa dropped off your cocktail. "Thank you."

But she was looking at Bradley now as she said, "Please let me know if I can get you... anything."

He waved her off as you took a sip of your mediocre cocktail. Melissa had gone a little heavy handed with the bitters, probably because she was too focused on your hot boss to measure things correctly. "Take a sip," you told him, reaching across the aisle with your glass. "You look like you need it."

He grunted and accepted the drink, and a few seconds later, he had downed the whole thing. "Thanks," he whispered. "I hate this part of traveling to Europe for Avio. The flights are going to take forever."

You narrowed your eyes at him and took back your empty glass while he white knuckled the armrest again. "You were an aviator, Mr. Bradshaw."

When he looked at you again, his cheeks were a little flushed as he softly said, "You don't have to call me that. Bradley is fine."

"Bradley," you said with a smile, and his face softened a little bit. "Why don't you like the Cessna? I mean, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't also hoping for something at least a little more luxurious from Avio, but it's not that bad."

He shook his head at you, something you were pretty sure you were just going to have to get used to for the summer. But his mustache twitched as he licked his lips and said, "Maybe chartered flights are normal for you, Ivy League, but I got used to being the pilot. Of something much less comfortable than a Cessna Hemisphere. So this just feels inherently wrong to me. I mean, I just drank a cocktail."

"Inhaled," you corrected. "And technically it was my cocktail," you said, waving to Melissa and holding up the glass and two fingers.

"Semantics," he grunted. "I miss my Super Hornet right now. Not only were there no drinks, there wasn't even a bathroom."

You watched Melissa duck behind the curtain again, probably to forget how to make a cocktail again. "Well, we'll be there soon," you told Bradley.

"I doubt these pilots can do Mach 2, so not fast enough for me."

You sighed, knowing this would probably be a lot easier for him if you could get him to drink a second Old Fashioned, but when Melissa dropped two more of them off, they were both garnished with a cherry. "I asked you to hold the cherries."

"Oh, yes. Sorry," Melissa muttered. "I can remove it for you."

"I'm allergic, so I'll actually need you to remake mine," you replied, and Bradley started to hand his back as well.

"Remake hers, and mine too," he grunted, suddenly looking far less nervous about the flight as he made to stand up. "Fresh glasses and everything. I don't want cherries anywhere near her." You looked up at him in surprise as he kind of rolled his eyes and followed Melissa. "I'll make sure she does it right," he whispered, and you watched him walk up to the curtain, as confident as he usually was.

"Thanks," you replied, even though nobody was there to hear you now. Well, he had promised he'd do everything he could to keep you safe and comfortable. You watched as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, and you pressed your lips together. That blue Oxford shirt was the exact best color he could possibly wear, and you wondered if he knew it or if it was an accident that he chose it.

When he met your eyes, you didn't look away. You didn't really care if he knew you were checking him out. Until you did. Because when he walked back with two new drinks, you realized how little you knew about him. "Here," he grunted, voice deep and raspy. Then he clinked his glass to yours before sinking back into the aisle seat opposite yours again and buckling his seatbelt once more.

"Thanks for doing that."

He smiled at you. "Can't lose my intern on her first day. Especially since I've never had one before."

You perked up, loving that you'd cornered the market. "I'm your first intern?"

"Yeah." He was back to downing his drink and looking miserable now, practically throwing the empty glass aside in favor of gripping the armrest. Abandoning your drink after one sip, you stood and stepped over his outstretched legs, his eyes following your every move as you eased yourself down into the window seat next to him. "You okay?" he asked, looking a little amused now that you were just inches away from him.

"I am, but you're not," you told him with an air of authority. "Just relax," you added as you took his hand from the armrest and held it in both of yours. His brown eyes went a little wider, and his lips parted like he wanted to say something. Probably question what you were doing. But you said, "You'll feel better in a few minutes," as you worked your thumbs along the pressure points in his big, rough palm. And then he closed his eyes and without a word, he leaned back in his seat with his hand cradled in yours. Soon he was sound asleep.

-----------------------

Bradley woke up to an almost pleasant humming sound all around him. His hand was warm and wrapped up in something soft, and when he opened his eyes, your face was just a few inches from his as you slept. His body thrummed with something akin to desire as you pursed your haughty lips in your sleep, long lashes grazing your perfect cheeks.

Shit. His hand was resting on your body, fingers tangled up with yours and wrapped in your designer hoodie. His knuckles were pressed to the soft skin which was exposed between your high waisted pants and your damn sports bra. And based on the way the plane was started to descend, he'd taken a five fucking hour nap all cuddled up with his intern. With Ted's goddamn daughter.

Hands off. He'd been telling himself to keep his hands off of you, and just a few hours in, he was literally doing the exact opposite. But you'd been sweet to him, carefully massaging the pressure points in his hand until he was able to fall asleep. You must have drifted off then, too. And now he was loath to remove his hand from your body or look away from you.

He needed another fucking drink. Or several. He leaned carefully over you, and sure enough, he could see the New York skyline coming into view through the small window. And he could smell your perfume. And that was when you opened your eyes, immediately sitting up a few inches and nearly bumping noses with him.

"Sorry," he grunted. "I was just trying to see where we were."

"Where are we?" you asked, your voice soft and a little rough from sleep. Jesus, he liked the way that sounded.

"Almost to New York. Want me to ask the pilot to circle back to Philly so you can wave to your alma mater?"

You laughed and sat up a little more, arching your back, but you didn't immediately let go of him. "No, thank you. I've only been gone for a week, so I'm sure the City of Brotherly Love is enjoying this break."

Bradley found himself continually laughing at your words, but now you were looking at his hand all linked with yours, so he started to pull his free. You didn't stop him, and when you looked up at him, you even asked, "Did you sleep okay?"

He nodded his head once. "I did. Thank you. For making me feel better."

You sat up the rest of the way and stretched, and he had to look away as you said, "A good intern is good at everything."

Your words weren't dirty, so why the hell were his thoughts? He should be trying to find out more about your father, not imagining you wearing a fluffy white bathrobe while you drank an Old Fashioned sans cherry next to his bed. He was miles away in his mind when the plane touched down on the runway before taxiing to the refueling spot. His stomach was growling wildly now as Melissa walked back and offered them a very late lunch.

"I didn't want to interrupt anything," she said, looking between you and Bradley like the two of you had been all over each other. When she turned away to get the salads and sandwiches ready, you climbed over him to use the bathroom, and Bradley watched you ignore a phone call as you went. He also realized that he'd have to tread very carefully around potential clients over the next few weeks. It was one thing for Melissa to make a comment like that, but it would be something entirely different if a line like that got back to Ted.

While the plane was refueled and the pilots switched places for the longer flight from New York to Portugal, you and he ate in companionable silence. You'd returned to your seat across the aisle, and you ignored another call before tucking your phone away in your bag. Bradley also used this time to drink a gin and tonic in the hopes he'd be able to sleep again, slightly afraid you wouldn't join him on his side of the aisle to make him feel cozy again.

"We'll be taking off again in five minutes," Melissa informed him as she cleared away the meal and brought pillows and blankets. Your phone was out again now, and you ignored yet another call as Bradley shook his head.

"Are you going to keep me up at all hours of the night on the yacht yelling at your little boyfriend on the phone?"

You scoffed and looked right at him as you said, "I don't date little boys. Are you going to keep me up calling your wife and kids back in San Diego?"

He didn't want to laugh at the way you talked to him and kept him on his toes. He also registered that the way you'd let him hold your hand while he slept had only come from a platonic place if you were just now asking if he was married. "I don't have a wife or kids."

"Why not?" you asked, leaning on your armrest with your tits smashed together. "You could be married. If you wanted. You're tall and you have all your hair."

"Are those the only prerequisites?" he asked, trying not to look anywhere other than at your face. God, your little bikinis were going to be the absolute death of him if he didn't get fucking laid soon.

"No," you replied without missing a beat. "You're smart, too. Handsome. Tons of money. And you seem nice. Good manners. You make me laugh. Seems like someone would have snapped you up off the market by now."

His cheeks felt warm again as he tried to figure out how to answer. You'd just complimented him nine different ways, and he was reeling a bit. "Because I was in the Navy. Nobody in their right mind would trust a Navy guy with that level of commitment."

"Why not?"

"They lie and they cheat," he said, repeating the lines women had been telling him since he was twenty two. "Nobody you'd want to settle down with."

But you didn't look convinced as your smile tilted a little higher on one side. "Are you a cheater?"

He knew somehow he wouldn't get away with speaking anything but the plain truth to you from here on out. "No."

"I didn't think so." You looked satisfied as you settled back in your seat, about to snuggle under your blanket. The sky was a little darker now, and there was nothing below except for the Atlantic Ocean.

He had a slight buzz from the gin, and he felt a lot better than he had earlier this morning. He reached for his bag and pulled out his laptop before crooking his finger and coaxing you back to the seat next to him. "We have a little work to do, Ivy League."

While he expected you to complain, you didn't. Rather you popped out of your seat with your pillow and blanket, climbed over him and settled in the window seat once more. "What is it?" you asked eagerly, and when he logged in to his email account, he saw something from Ted right away. Just a reminder to keep himself on track.

"I'm going to teach you a little bit about the Avio software we will be marketing, so by the time we land in Lisbon, you'll know as much as I do."

You curled up with your pillow and blanket and looked at him, your words doing more to him than you probably intended. "Don't test me, Sir, or I may end up knowing more than you."

"You're a brat."

-------------------------

This time when you woke up, it wasn't to Bradley's touch or his brown eyes. This time it was to Melissa's laughter and Bradley's soft voice. "When are you flying back to the states?" she asked him as you cracked your eyes open.

"Not any time soon," he replied smoothly. "We have a lot of work to do."

"Well I hope I'm on your flight back," she said flirtatiously as you propped your head up.

But Bradley wasn't paying attention to her now as he turned your way. "You're up," he mused, and you just nodded, wishing you'd had time to shower or check how you looked before he saw you. "We'll be landing soon. And then we'll get you and your designer luggage to the yacht."

You watched Melissa roll her eyes at you before she stood. "I'll be right back with coffee and some breakfast."

"Hold the cherries! Please!" you reminded her, just to be obnoxious. When she pretended she didn't hear you, Bradley chuckled. "You know, it's kind of refreshing being given an attitude. Is this how you feel when I give you one?"

His eyes went a little wider. "Don't make me call your father."

"I thought you valued your intern," you replied with a smirk. "So don't make me spread that nasty little rumor around Avio that you went to the University of Bumblefuck."

"Virginia," he snorted.

"Whatever."

Melissa dropped off mugs, a carafe of coffee, cream, sugar and pastries. "No cherry," she said blandly as you reached for a blueberry muffin.

"Much appreciated," you replied as you peeled back the wrapper and took a nibble while Bradley ate an apple danish in two bites before he poured coffee into both mugs. Clearly the two of you were hungry. You also had no idea what time it was. You had to put your phone on silent since your dad wouldn't stop calling you, even though you told him you'd talk to him when you got on the yacht.

"How do you take your coffee?" Bradley asked as you silently chewed. You went to reach for the creamer, but he pulled it away and looked at you.

You swallowed down your muffin and said, "Cream and sugar, but you don't have to do it. I should probably be doing it for both of us."

He shrugged and got your coffee fixed up exactly the way you would have made it yourself, as he said, "You and I will be working in close proximity, and I feel like this is the kind of detail I should know."

"Well how do you take your coffee?" you asked, but he set down the cream and sugar without adding anything to his. "Black, no sugar."

"Black, no sugar," he confirmed before taking a sip. You watched the alluring scars on his neck as he swallowed, once again surprised that he wasn't married. He didn't seem as helpless as your father, but he seemed like the kind of person who should have someone warm at home when he returned from work each night. Someone to look after him.

You took a sip of your own coffee and smiled, because it really was perfect, especially for something that was made on an aircraft. "Thank you."

"Any time," he responded, and you eased back in your seat and looked out the window as the Portuguese coastline came into view. You drank your coffee and picked at the muffin, watching as the very early morning sun made the Atlantic Ocean glitter. There were marinas filled with yachts and sailboats, and you wondered if Avio's was amongst them.

"Were you on the yacht with my dad last year?" you mused as the plane dipped lower in the sky.

Bradley set his mug down, and maybe it was just you, but his features suddenly seemed a little guarded. You'd always been good at reading people, which made it easy to get a favorable response when you needed one. But he'd never looked at you this way before. "For a few days. One of my buddies from the Navy was there too. Jake Seresin."

You blinked and his expression was neutral again. "The name sounds familiar."

Bradley laughed as the plane touched down. "The face will be familiar, too. Soon enough. He's champing at the bit to get onboard for a few days here and there this summer."

You set your mug down as well and said, "Don't worry, Sir. I'll dazzle him to bits during the dinner parties."

Bradley's nostrils flared, and his pupils grew wider. "I don't doubt that."

When you laughed, he smiled before looking down at his hands. "Well, Bradley, I don't know about you, but I can't wait to get on the yacht. I wonder what kind of caviar the chef will serve for lunch."

You unbuckled your seatbelt, prompting him to do the same. "There are different kinds of caviar?" he asked, one eyebrow raised as he picked up your tote and handed it to you.

"Don't embarrass me, Bradley. The other interns will all laugh at me behind my back."

But he just shook his head as he moved to the side and said, "After you, Ivy League." So you led the way to the front of the aircraft, thanked both pilots and Melissa, even though she clearly didn't like you, and you climbed down the stairs onto the warm tarmac.

You shouldn't and absolutely couldn't keep reacting to Bradley the way you were, but when he placed his hand on your lower back and said, "This way," you nearly moaned. You looked up at him as he tried to guide you toward the waiting limousine. "Go climb in. I'll grab the bags."

"I can get my own bags," you insisted.

"I know you can, but you have nine hundred of them, and I'm still hungry, and I can do it faster."

"Fine," you replied, and you could feel his gaze on your back as you walked toward the driver who was holding the back door open for you. "Thank you." As you slid across the leather seat, you watched Bradley effortlessly lift multiple pieces of your luggage at the same time while you bit your lip. What the hell was it about him? You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but he was enjoyable to watch. His voice made you feel a little fuzzy. He was raw and genuine like your favorite pair of well worn Levi's which were tucked away in your Dior suitcase he was carrying with one massive hand.

You looked away. You counted to ten. You already knew this was going to be an issue, so you weren't sure why it was hitting you now. When you glanced his way again, he was bringing his own two, nondescript pieces of luggage to the limousine trunk, and then he was sliding across the seat next to you.

"Twenty minutes to the marina from here," he murmured, his hand coming to rest on the seat next to your thigh. "And then we can get to work."

You pursed your lips. "I was under the impression we would be playing, too."

He chuckled as you started to look through the compartments next to the seat. "We can play a little bit."

You opened what turned out to be an ice chest, and ran your fingers along a bottle of chilled Dom Perignon. "We can start with this," you said, pulling it free from the ice and holding it up.

He was looking at you, not the bottle, but that little twitch of his mustache was his tell. Even though his eyes seemed stern, he held out his hand, and asked, "Think we can finish it in twenty minutes?"

You smiled brilliantly as you handed it to him. "Don't ever ask me that again."

"Sassy," he muttered, unwrapping the foil and slowly twisting the cage loose before wiggling the cork free with his big hands until it popped. "Here you go."

"No," you insisted as the driver pulled out onto the main road. "You first. Drink to a successful summer."

Bradley nodded once and took a sip before handing you the bottle. His eyes were on your lips as you pressed them to the bottle where his had just been. "To a successful summer," he echoed, his voice a deep rumble as the city went by in a blur. You couldn't stop smiling, and neither could he, and approximately eighteen minutes later, when he helped you out of the limousine, his cheeks were flushed pink.

"Is that it?" you asked, very slowly removing your hand from his as two men rushed your way in matching gray shorts and navy polos. There was a massive yacht with Down to Business lettered across the back and Avio Technologies along the side.

"That's it," Bradley confirmed, slipping his black sunglasses on as he reached to shake hands with the two men who introduced themselves as Antonio and Nikolai. Bradley told them your name, and they both took your hand in turn. "She's my intern for the summer," he said smoothly, and then they started to unload your luggage.

"Let's go," you said, glancing back at Bradley as you started down toward the marina gate, and then he was right next to you again with a few long strides. "I hope you can find your Armani swim shorts quickly, because that pool is calling my name."

"I can, actually. One of the benefits to only bringing two suitcases." He helped you over the gap, and as soon as you were on the yacht, you felt at home. You knew this was going to be the summer you needed.

"Let's go meet the captain," he murmured, his hand finding your back again.

"Do you think he has more champagne?"

"Ivy... it's nine in the morning."

"I'm still on San Diego time."

Bradley paused for a beat while he did the math. "It's one in the morning back home."

"Exactly," you told him with a little pout that you knew wouldn't actually faze him. He just smiled as he guided you past the pool you couldn't wait to jump into and an enormous jacuzzi. You walked through a dining room that could seat twelve people and past a fully stocked bar. It was like the best offerings from your sorority house and your dad's estate all rolled into one.

"Welcome aboard!" boomed a voice with a French accent. "We've been expecting you. I'm Captain Marcell." He was probably in his sixties with gray hair and a matching beard, and he reminded you a bit of your favorite professor at UPenn.

"Pleasure," you replied, shaking his hand after Bradley told him your name.

Next to him were lined up two friendly looking women, one with short brown hair and one with long brown hair. Beatriz and Lucia, the stewardesses, would be taking care of everything you needed. And next to them was an attractive man wearing a bit of a scowl.

"I'm Rocco. The chef. I can make anything. I don't like changing the menu at the last minute."

Oh, you liked him already as you shook his hand. And then your heart fluttered as Bradley said, "I need to speak with you about removing any cherries from the yacht before we leave the marina."

"Cherries?" Rocco asked, scowling deeper.

Bradley glanced at you as he removed his sunglasses, and his mustache twitched. "Yes. Can't have any onboard. That applies to the kitchen and the bars. My intern has an allergy."

"I'll take care of it," Rocco replied before turning away, and you'd never been more certain that someone would take care of something in your life. Then Captain Marcell handed Bradley a folder.

"Rough itinerary. Weather report for the week. List of phone numbers. Please let me know how long you'd like to spend in each port. I can of course adjust anything as needed. Now if you will select your cabins, Antonio and Nikolai will deliver your luggage."

"Thank you," Bradley replied, handing the folder to you. "You're in charge of this. Now why don't we head down so you can choose a room?" He nodded his head toward a wide set of stairs.

You walked down to the lower deck, and once you and he were alone again, he pointed to the left. "The sooner we get settled, the sooner the swim trunks come out?" you asked softly.

"Something like that." His soft chuckle was right behind you as you stopped at a mint green door with gold trim.

"Is this my room?" you asked, placing your hand on the doorknob. There was a little keypad next to it.

"If you want it to be," he replied. "Or, there are three others you can choose from."

"Which one are you taking?"

His eyes flitted from your face to a spot a little further down the hallway. "White door."

When you turned to investigate, you saw a pink door directly across from that one. "Wouldn't it be easier if my room was near yours?"

"Probably." His expression was neutral, but that damn mustache was giving him away.

"I'll take the pink one."

"Very good. I'll get the room codes from Beatriz, and I'll tell them where to deliver the luggage."

"Great," you replied, still standing close to him, but he didn't move.

"Perfect," he said, brown eyes focused on yours. The hallway was narrow, and now he was placing his hands on his trim hips, taking up even more space. "Try not to get into too much trouble while you look around."

Finally he turned toward the stairs, but you called his name right away. "Bradley?" He glanced back over his shoulder with a questioning look. "Thanks for mentioning the cherries."

"Sure," he replied easily. "I got you, Ivy." Then he was walking back up the stairs and out of sight.

---------------------------

We are about to set sail. Let's get into a little trouble. Let's have a little fun. Already feeling a little tension between Bradley and Ivy League. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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sato111u · 6 months

Text

teen gojo, who has a massive crush on reader!

pure fluff ahead

“let’s goooo guys, what is taking so long!?” gojo was annoying his two best friends again, deeply insisting in going to the coffee shop down the street.

“why are you in such a hurry, the coffee shop closes at 9PM, it’s currently 4:36PM!” geto was sick and tired of gojo whining.

“yeah satoru? why are you so eager to visit this coffee shop mhm? i heard it’s not even that good.” shoko knew why. she knew exactly who the reason was.

it was you.

gojo wanted to see you, even if it meant sitting in the coffee shop just to take a few glances here and there. you always spent your free time studying or simply hanging out with your best friend in this coffee shop, it was your favorite place.

shoko and geto had give this situation a thought, and were dedicated to help gojo, without him knowing.

they left their lecture hall, and began walking to the coffee shop.

as soon as they come in, gojo’s head scans the entire room in order to find you.

there you were. definitely not a coincidence.

gojo tries to hide his grin, and looks at the counter, to figure out what he was going to eat. he needed his friends to think that he was actually here for the solo purpose of trying their delicious deserts.

as soon as the three best friends order, they try to find an available table to eat.

luck was on gojo’s side, since the only two tables available were only a few meters from yours.

as soon as the three of them settle down, shoko gives geto a mysterious look, and he nods.

“hey satoru, isn’t that y/n? the girl that went to the same high school as you? and she goes to our college right? different major??” shoko said in teasing manner, making gojo blush hard.

“yeah satoru, you should definitely go say hi.” geto added making gojo’s forehead sweat.

“no um she looks busy.” gojo tried not to stutter.

“that’s so rude! what if she already saw you walking in, that’s not how your mom raised you!” shoko said.

“oh shut up, yesterday you asked me and geto to hide you cause you saw a guy you used to be friends with!” gojo bit back.

“it doesn’t matter satoru. you should say hi, i’m pretty sure she saw us walking in.” of course geto was going to knock some sense into gojo’s head. shoko nods agreeing with geto.

“alright! i’ll go say hi, you guys are annoying.” gojo got up angrily, but throughout each step his body softened. he was didn’t want to seem unpleasant or angry in front of you.

…

it has been half a year since you guys had talked. seeing each other for the last time at prom.

you were a friend of utahime’s, who was also a friend of gojo. however, utahime probably wouldn’t agree. gojo’s parents and utahime’s parents had been friends for a long time, which forced them to create a friendship. their relationship was weird, consisting in gojo annoying utahime while she rolled her eyes in return.

you guys chatted a few times, always interrupted by utahime begging gojo to leave them alone.

during prom, utahime had more patience for gojo, since she was busy talking and taking glances at shoko, who was there as gojo’s plus one. one hour in, and those two where no where to be seen.

this opened the opportunity for gojo to getting to know you better, without utahime getting in way.

you guys spent the rest of the prom night on the school’s football field, talking about random topics, such as your mutual love for deserts.

your conversation was interrupted, when shoko called gojo, announcing that utahime was super drunk. of course, as her plus one and best friend, you and gojo quickly went to her rescue.

gojo’s opportunity to ask you number was ruined with your quick departure.

and of course, whenever gojo asked utahime for your number, she always said no.

…

“y/n? heyo!” gojo mentally slapped himself. who says heyo?

you giggled.

his heart felt warm.

“oh my god! satoru!” you got up from your chair and opened your arms, initiating a hug. gojo was not ready for this.

you wrapped your arms on his back, arms going underneath his arms. he quickly hugs back, placing his hands innocently in your middle back.

you smelled so good. his legs felt weak. he never wanted this hug to end, his body almost gave up, almost dropping his head in the crook of your neck.

you are the first one to let go of the hug. the cold breeze that passed through your bodies woke gojo back to reality. making him pull himself together.

“how have you been?” he asks, hoping you didn’t notice his nervous tone.

“i’m good! i haven’t seen you around! utahime told me we were attending the same college, and i was so excited to see you!!” you said. gojo’s stomach was doing cartwheels at this point, and his palms were sweaty.

“i have seen you around sometimes, but you always look pretty busy! but today i really wanted to say hi to you. haven’t talked to you in a while and i missed you” gojo’s confidence was slowly coming back, making you the nervous one.

“well i’m glad you came to say hi! do you wanna sit or are you here with someone else??” you invited.

“i’m here with you geto and utahime, wanna join us?” gojo asks. he wanted to spend more time with you, but he wasn’t going to leave geto and shoko by themselves, after begging them to come with him.

“it’s okay then!! i think i’ll stay here and continue studying!” you say.

“how about we hang out soon? then we can both talk more. it can even be at this cafe” gojo already took the first step of getting the courage to talk to you, he was definitely not gonna waste this opportunity to ask you out. as friends ;)

“yeah that sounds nice!” you replied.

win win

“okay okay, can you give me your number, so we can text details?” gojo confidently asked.

“yeah of course” you said smiling.

you grab a small piece of paper and write you number on it, signing y/n and a small heart. you gave the paper to gojo, whose heart warms after the cute touch.

“i’ll text you when I get home! bye y/n, stay safe! and don’t study too much!” he said, making you both laughed at his concerned self.

“bye satoru, you too!” - there it was, the sweet way his name came out your mouth.

gojo smiles and goes back to geto and utahime, mentally congratulating himself.

his smile was big. gojo’s heart truly felt warm.

geto and shoko watch him, as he sits back down on his seat.

“soooo?” shoko asks.

“i got her number” gojo says confidently.

“so you do like her! it was so obvious anyway” geto teases him.

“shush, let’s eat, i need to hurry up home so i can have an excuse to text her.” gojo said, before taking a huge bite of the chocolate muffin he order.

gojo’s text 🩵

DO YOU GUYS WANT MORE?!?!?!?! LIKE A MINI SIRIES

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callsign-joyride · 1 month

Text

Slice of Your Pie - Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: Bob moves into your neighborhood and you bake him a pie as a welcome gift. He comes over to thank you for it, and doesn't end up leaving your house until morning.

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x f!reader

Content warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), fingering, grinding, unprotected p in v (reader is on birth control), fluff

The nieghborhood that you lived in was small enough that you always knew when someone was moving in. You were enjoying your coffee on your porch when you saw a few trucks pull into the recently sold house right nextdoor. A few people stepped out of the first car, and some good looking guys got out of the moving trucks. You tried to subtly watch as they unloaded things into the house before walking down your driveway to get the mail. As you were checking the stack for anything that might’ve been junk mail, someone tapped you on the shoulder.

“Hey, I’m Bob. My friends are helping me move in, but I wanted to introduce myself before you went back inside,” he said. You smiled and introduced yourself, tucking the mail under one of your arms to shake his hand. You learned that he was in the Navy, and that he loved Star Wars. That fact made you smile, since your pajamas were currently a Princess Leia shirt and athletic shorts.

“Hurry up, Bob! This couch isn’t gonna unload itself!” Someone yelled.

“That’s Coyote. I gotta go, but it was nice talking to you.”

“Wait, Bob, do you like pie? I can make you one if you want.”

“Sure! Key lime is my favorite.”

“That’s perfect. I have a lime tree in my backyard. Oh, and my lemon tree occasionally hangs over your property so feel free to pick a few lemons whenever.”

“Thanks! I have a really good lemonade recipe so I might have to take you up on that.”

You went back inside and looked at the recipe in your grandmother’s cookbook and realized that you didn’t have the right limes for the pie. Getting them was easy, though, it just took a trip to the grocery store. The good thing was that it was a Saturday, so you had the day off from running your family’s business. It was a bookstore and cafe, and all of the pastries came from your grandmother’s cookbook. There had been talks of turning it into a bar at night, but that was going to be a long process.

Making the pie only took about forty minutes, but you had to let it cool in the fridge for at least a few hours. All of the moving trucks were gone, now replaced with a few cars in the driveway. You could hear laughter coming from the backyard, and it made you happy, because the last neighbors were close to the end of their lives and didn’t have guests over very often.

You were able to drop the pie off at around 6, and Bob had mentioned that everyone was getting ready to eat and that it would be the perfect desert. He even invited you to join the cookout, but you had already ordered a pizza and the delivery driver was on their way. You exchanged numbers before you went back to your house so that you could keep talking. Once you had disappeared from ear shot, Fanboy started talking about how hot he thought you were.

“Don’t make it weird. She probably has a boyfriend or something,” Bob said.

“I don’t think so. She spent her day making you a pie. A day that she could’ve spent with her boyfriend, might I add,” Phoenix said.

“But that’s the neighborly thing to do. Bring the new neighbor a pie or casserole. My mom always did it for our neighbors.”

“Most people aren’t working on Saturdays. I’m just saying that if I didn’t have to work and I had a boyfriend or girlfriend, I’d be spending my day with them. Anyway, let’s try this pie.”

Everyone had a slice of it after they finished with dinner. Even Hangman, who didn’t really like desert to begin with. Rooster thought it was so good that he kept coming back for seconds and thirds, soon passing out on Bob’s couch from all of the food that he ate. Bob waited for mostly everyone to leave before he texted you to see if you were still awake, since it was almost midnight. To his surprise, you responded that you were still awake, and you got too invested in your book so you lost track of time. He was at your door within five minutes, and you had a different set of pajamas on.

“Hey, I wanted to thank you for the pie that you made. My friends and I thought it was delicious.”

“You’re welcome! Would you like to come in for a drink? I was just about to pour myself another glass of wine.”

“Sure.”

Bob followed you inside and took his shoes off by the door. You poured him a glass of wine before sitting on the couch and using your phone to play soft music. As you got to know each other more, you discovered that you had a lot in common, and you were both single. The dim lighting of the living room, combined with the wine and music, made the sexual tension stronger. He told a bad joke, but you started laughing anyways. He used that as his moment to gently kiss you.

You were into it right away, pulling him closer by wrapping your arms around his neck. He groaned into the kiss as he slipped his tongue in your mouth and you started grinding on his hard cock. He broke the kiss for a moment to take his shirt off, and you quickly followed. He put his hands on your tits as you continued to grind on his cock.

“I’d love to continue this, but can we go to your bed? I’ve never really been a fan of having sex on a couch,” he said. You chuckled and grabbed his hand, leading him upstairs to your bedroom. He laid you on the bed, continuing to kiss you as he took your shorts and underwear off. He rubbed your clit and started to finger you while you were moaning and writhing underneath him.

“God, you’re so wet,” he said.

“It’s all for you. Holy shit, it feels so good,” you moaned.

Once he figured out that you were ready enough for him, he took his shorts off and threw them by the bed.

“I don’t have a-,”

“I have an IUD and I’m clean.”

“Okay. You ready?”

You nodded and felt him slowly push himself into you. You moaned in pleasure and pulled him down to kiss you as he started thrusting faster. You could tell that he was close as he started rubbing your clit so that you could both release at around the same time. The fire in your stomach was burning hotter until you finally released, and Bob quickly pulled out before releasing on your stomach. He rolled over and reached for the box of tissues that you kept by your bed before cleaning both of you up.

“Do you want to stay the night?” You asked. He chuckled and nodded his head, cuddling with you until both of you fell asleep. When you woke up the next morning from your alarm going off, Bob was still holding onto you.

“I have to be at work in an hour and a half,” you said.

“Oh, okay. Do you want me to make you something to eat or some coffee?”

“No, I usually have my breakfast at work. Thanks for the offer, though. Do you want to shower together?”

Bob nodded his head and followed you to the bathroom. The shower was intimate, but not sexual, something that you enjoyed.

With your bag over your shoulder, you stepped outside of the house and walked to your car.

“I really enjoyed last night. Maybe we could go out on an actual date next time, though,” you said. Bob started blushing, and he stammered out a “yes” while nodding his head. You chuckled and got into your car to go to work. The day went by quickly as you did multiple things around the little bookstore. Not very many customers came in, but it was a Sunday, so people were usually doing other things. You heard the bell of the door ring as someone walked in, so you finished putting copies of Frankenstein on the shelves before heading to the front of the store.

“Hi, can I help you with anything?” You asked as you walked to the register. Bob was standing there, smiling.

“I didn’t know that you worked here,” he said as he tried not to laugh.

“I own the place, it’s my family’s business.”

“Oh, nice. I guess I’ll have to come by more often, then.”

“Yeah, I guess you will.”

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anachronistic-falsehood · 1 year

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Vash and Femininity: Trigun Stampede and its Themes of Bodily Autonomy, Exploitation, and Vague Gender Fuckery

alright sit the fuck down. we're gonna talk about THEMES

I was on Twitter- terrible idea usually, but a couple people I follow made some tweets that got me thinking about Trigun's overall themes, and here we are. So let's talk about some themes in Tristamp! And I'll take a couple looks at Trimax as well, just for fun :3

Let's look at how the showrunners utilize gender roles and exploitation of feminine characters to show how unhealthy Knives' obsession with his ideal of Vash is, and how horrific his exploitation of Vash and the Plants is.

Vash, from the beginning of Tristamp, is someone who cares about people's choices. When people kill others in front of him, he reiterates that whether someone lives or dies is not another person's choice to make. This is something he learned from Rem (a prominent female figure in his life). He refuses to kill people because that is not his choice to make. To kill someone is the ultimate removal of their bodily autonomy. They can no longer make any choices at all; they're dead.

Vash is also someone who has almost no choice in what path his life takes. He's constantly dragged around by outside forces, namely situations that are caused by Knives (which we'll get into later). Vash doesn't make things happen, things happen to Vash. The majority of events that occur are not his fault. He's pushed and pulled in a thousand different directions. His entire life is completely out of his control.

This can be seen as early on in his life as the Fall, something he had no control over and had no idea he even had a part in. Even later, in the ship with Luida and Brad, after he's been rescued from the desert, he's kept in handcuffs right up until he's shown to be of use to them and the Plant on their ship. After that, he could theoretically say "no, I don't want to go to other ships and heal their plants," but he doesn't. He's Vash. He's helpful and nurturing at his core, and these people have done so much for him just by letting him stay, so he'll do whatever they ask, no question.

This carries over into his adulthood. At Jeneora Rock, he goes to look at their Plant at one simple request, doesn't protest when he's dragged into a duel-- he doesn't take initiative unless someone's life is immediately at stake. He lets people tell him what to do and lets himself get dragged around by the wrist. He doesn't even pretend to have control over his life like Trimax Vash does, which I mean. Fair. Why pretend to have a grip on your existence when it's impossible to do anything without a gun pointed at your head?

Vash is a very passive character. He's nurturing, kind, gentle- he's a guy that fits a lot of very typical feminine character stereotypes. If you wrote this same story but made him a woman, I wouldn't bat an eye (but I would definitely be looking at it a lot more critically, what with the amount of stereotypically nurturing/motherly female characters in media already.)

This contrasts directly with Knives. He makes a decision and carries through no matter what stands in his way. He takes initiative. If Vash is a passive character, Knives is an active character. Wherever he goes, he leaves a lasting imprint. He makes shit happen! If outside forces make things happen to him, he'll go out of his way to make sure that particular force doesn't affect him again.

These two tweets I saw are what got me thinking about this originally. I just feel like here's a good place to put them as a segue into talking about episode 11.

Episode 11 is where a lot of this feminine imagery really just. Explodes in your face. IT'S RIGHT THERE. You can't dance around it if you try. And it kind of reaches a peak when the connection reaches 100%, the gate opens, and. well. THIS happens to the Plants.

Plants, in both Trimax and Tristamp, are almost always typically feminine-looking. Knives and Vash are the only two who are male or even masculine at all. Knives, as the most masculine out of all of them, is the one trying to take charge, and mould the world as he sees fit, to a degree that is detrimental to both him and everyone else. And Vash-- passive, feminine, kind and nurturing, whose Angel Arm in the manga always sprouts decidedly feminine-looking Plant parts-- is the one being exploited for Knives' plans. It's no mistake that they made the giant plant formation at the end of ep 11 look like a giant woman that almost resembles Rem.

Vash wants people to make their own choices and keep their autonomy when it comes to their bodies and lives. Knives is the exact opposite. He wants all Plants to become independent and he uses Vash to achieve that goal, without asking what Vash wants or even knowing what the Plants themselves would prefer. He exploits Vash for the soul purpose of trying to make these Plants have Independent Plant babies. He's completely incapable of seeing that his choices are not for the greater good! He thinks he's saving them, but none of his actions are for the good of anyone but himself. He’s just violating them for his own gain.

They're really leaning into gender roles for these guys, but in a way that screams "HEY, LOOK AT THIS! ISN'T IT FUCKED UP? LOOK AT HOW FUCKED UP THAT IS. LOOK AT THIS, AND BE UNCOMFORTABLE, AND KNOW THAT IT IS FUCKED UP."

Because it is! It's so extremely fucked up. They're using this imagery and these roles, something that makes most of us intrinsically uncomfortable, to drive home how unhealthy Knives relationship with his ideal of Vash is. That's the point. We're supposed to be uncomfortable with this.

Now of course there's some nuance to it. Like, you could see Knives as somewhat of a feminine and/or queer-coded figure as well, ESPECIALLY if you look at some of his panels in the manga, which could in turn lead to themes about infighting and control within marginalized communities, but that might be something for another post. :3

And there's definitely different ways you could take this! Vash, with all this feminine imagery, could be either transfem or transmasc coded, depending on what way you'd rather see it, which could lead into themes of how people outside the norm constantly face a lack of bodily autonomy and are exploited for purposes outside their boundaries. We could also look at Wolfwood and his lack of choice over joining the Eye of Michael and becoming the Punisher, and how masculine men (particularly men of colour) are often forced into violent roles against their will. If we look at Trimax, the exact same could be said for Livio/Razlo and people with disorders such as DID/OSDD.

There are many different ways you could spin these themes, some of which I don't feel personally qualified to discuss. If anyone who is qualified to talk about Wolfwood or Livio/Razlo or even other characters related to these themes, then god PLEASE add onto this post or make a post and tag me or something. I would love to read it!

Anyway, in conclusion: Vash is a feminine figure constantly taken advantage of and exploited and and he's so incredibly trans/nonbinary-coded that it drives me insane. Thank you

#whiskeys word soup #trigun #trigun stampede #HI. HELLO. THIS DRIVES ME INSANE PLEASE READ THIS #and seriously if anyone wants to make a post about wolfwood or livio/razlo or any other character exploring these themes of bodily autonomy #on GOD. lemme know i wanna read it #well aware that some of this is probably me digging too deep for things that aren’t there but still!!! fun to look at #what is media analysis other than putting on ur queer glasses and picking out trans allegories within stories #it’s been a while since I’ve made a full analysis essay kinda post!! this is how i normally format them bc it’s easier for me to read

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