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inkbybambi · 7 months

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bodyguard!simon riley who takes a bullet for you —

words: 2.9k rating: e warnings: nightmares, guns/shooting, gunshot wound, hospitals, smut, creampie, cunnilingus, mentions of threats against reader, threat against reader, lowercase writing — please let me know if i missed any! notes: 18+ content, minors dni. warnings have been provided.

he's been assigned to you for two-ish years now. you weren't thrilled at first, and neither was he — but he didn't make it as obvious as you did.

"i don't need a babysitter," you had damn-near hissed when he was introduced.

"i wasn't hired to be one," he counters coolly, which only serves to irritate you further.

actively ignoring his presence — as much as you could when your company moved him into your apartment — even though you begrudgingly made room in the counters and fridge for his things, even going as far as investing into a better kettle so he could make his tea and clearing out an entire cabinet for all his tea, sugar, and steeper.

he trails you quietly as he was hired to; keeping close enough to always have you in his sights but far enough away that people wouldn't be able to clock his association to you — or so he thought.

six months into his contract with you — an unknown amount of time left, as price never answered and soon he stopped asking — he wakes in the middle of the night from a scream he never thought would come from you.

he rushes into your bedroom, gun in hand with his finger resting on the side and not the trigger. the front door is locked as he had left it, windows unbroken. he almost thinks he might've associated it with one of his own nightmares, until he sees you.

curled in on yourself, face tucked into your knees, fingers threaded through your hair as you struggle to breathe properly, hiccups and sobs breaking between your stuttered breaths.

he knocks gently on your door, not wanting to startle you. you jump just a little, regardless, but lift your head to look at him.

"'m sorry," you mumble, voice rough, "i didn't mean to wake you."

and you hadn't. you thought you were done with these awful nightmares, the ones gnawing at the edges of your mind during the day.

"'s'alright," he replies, tucking the gun into the waistband of his sleep shorts, walking carefully towards your bed. "you okay?"

the look he receives damn near breaks his heart.

he learns, that night, that an attempt had been made on your life before. more than once.

they never got close enough to do any harm, you say, but then swallow thickly and clutch your bicep where simon sees a scar that he never took notice of previously. they didn't get close enough to do anything worse, you amend, chancing a look at him.

"i had security then, too," you explain, wiping your tears with your hand, playing with the blanket. "it didn't change anything."

something shifts after that.

he starts cooking for you — with you, when there's time — and you bring him a cup of tea each morning. the bookshelf in the living room, previously only half-filled, collects simon's books. you give him the login to all your streaming services, and ignore the pointed look he gives you when he sees some trashy reality tv show in your "continue to watch" queue.

he doesn't complain much when he stands behind you during an episode, arms crossed, asking a question here and there. you sigh, exasperated at having to explain everything, telling him to sit down and you start the series from the beginning.

nine months into his contract, your nightmares become more frequent, and worse. you don't understand why. you were getting better, you cry in simon's arms after a particularly rough night.

"sometimes these things happen," he tells you softly, gently carding his fingers through your hair, tucking you under his chin.

"make them stop, please," you beg, even though you know he can't. he wishes he could.

he starts sleeping in your bed.

he's so warm, your cheek pressed into his chest, feeling more secure than you have in months when the weight of his thick, tattooed arm slings around your waist. he presses a kiss to your forehead at night, and you burrow into his side.

he starts taking the balaclava off at night.

a morning where you blessedly don't have to be up early, grey clouds hang in the sky, the promise of a storm later.

"g'mornin'," he says, voice rough with sleep, feeling him flex and stretch beneath you, groaning as his body relaxes. a flash of heat snaps through you.

"morning," you reply, only half-awake, tilting your head up to drag your lips across his jaw, prickling with stubble.

his fingers are in your hair, thick and comforting, tilting you back until his mouth slants over yours. he cradles the back of your head as his tongue slips into your mouth, hot and heavy.

the sheets rustle as he moves to lay over you, free arm resting by your head as your legs hook on his hips, trying to draw him closer to you.

he nips at your bottom lip as he rolls his hips, the heat of his cock through his boxers frazzling your brain. you mewl, his tongue back in your mouth, moving his hand to grip your waist and drag you up against him, moaning low in his throat when he feels the wetness seeping through your panties.

"fuck," you breathe out as his mouth moves over your cheek, down your jaw, kissing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"say please," he rumbles.

"simon, please," you whine, fingers curling at the base of his skull and scratching, and he snarls against your skin, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck as he tears your panties off, pushing his boxers down enough to free his cock.

you're so wet for him, slick coating your thighs as he drags his cock through your folds.

he usually takes his time — using his fingers and tongue to open them up first, wanting to feel the wet heat of their cunt and the spurt of their release to know they're relaxed and ready for him. he eats pussy like he'll die if he doesn't, will happily spend hours between your legs if you let him.

but you? he feels feral with need.

"it's big, sweet thing," he rasps into your skin, right above the mark he sucked into your skin, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. he's not trying to brag, it's just a fact.

you claw at him, the sting of open scratches burning his skin so pleasantly.

"it's okay, don't care," you pant, gripping him hard enough to leave deep crescent marks in his skin, angling your hips up to draw him into your cunt yourself.

he grips your hips with both hands, slowly pushing his thick length into you, nails digging even deeper the more he pushes in.

"feels so fucking good," he says, tongue laving over your throat to collect the thin sheen of sweat that coats your skin. "could fuck you forever," he groans, your breath hitching.

you make a strangled noise low in your throat. it's been awhile since you've fucked anyone, and you've never fucked anyone as big as him before.

the stretch feels so good, though. your cunt clenches around him as he sinks in deeper, mind glazing over as you focus only on him.

"fuck," he whines when he finally seats himself fully into you, nuzzling into your neck, overwhelmed by the heat and slick, "good fucking girl, taking me so well."

he swallows thickly, waiting a couple heartbeats to enjoy this — it's been awhile for him, too.

"think you can take it, love?" and his fucking voice. you would agree to do anything as long as you could hear that rough accent along your throat, teeth skimming your skin.

"yes," you breathe out harshly, moving to wrap your arms around his shoulders, needing him close, close, closer.

for a man of few words, simon has a filthy mouth as he fucks into you, accompanied by groans and growls into your collar.

"never had a cunt this perfect." "fuckin' made for me." "can't wait to get my tongue in you, feel you cum on my face." "no one else can have you." "you're mine."

and you, normally far more verbal than him, are reduced to nothing more than mewls and pleas and moans for more.

you mouth and nip at his jaw when you can, wanting to mark him just as much as he's marking you. you'll be his forever if he lets you, but you'll be damned if anyone else gets to have him either.

"simon — " is the only warning you give before you cum on his cock, head thrown back as you moan through the waves of pleasure, release coating his legnth and thighs.

"that's it, baby, good girl, give it to me," he says, blunt nails digging into your waist as he grinds himself deep into you. you feel so warm and pliant, the pleasure numbing your mind as he rocks himself into you.

"wanna feel you give me one more, angel," he bites at your throat on the other side, wanting to give you matching marks. he hooks your legs over his shoulders, fucking into you deeper, hitting that spot inside you that has you seeing stars and your toes curling.

you grip at him again, clawing as he fucks into you, the sound of your wet cunt taking each thrust creating a symphony with his groans and your cries. he feels so fucking good, splitting you open and making you whole, desperate for him to cum inside.

the way your nails dig into his shoulder is the sign that you're getting close, and he thrusts just a little harder, a little meaner, your cute whines growing more desperate as you walk the precipice of another orgasm.

no one's ever made you cum more than once — sometimes, not even once — and you've never been able to do it yourself either.

but simon? fucks a second orgasm out of you like it's his life mission, ankles tightening around his neck as pleasure lines your veins, shaking as he continues to hit that spot inside you as you cum, prolonging it as much as he can.

"baby — " he chokes out, sharp teeth on your shoulder, thrusts getting sloppy. the slick of your two releases sounds so loud in your bedroom, feeling the desperation as he thrusts, deeper, harder.

"cum inside," you mumble against his cheek, nails scratching at the base of his skull as he thrusts once, twice, three times — the warmth of his release flooding your cunt.

he fists the sheets in one hand, nails dragging down your thigh as he pumps deep into you, your slick and his release seeping out of your hole, dripping down his balls and your asshole.

you stay like that, lips brushing, breathing in each other's air as you slowly come down from the high.

simon gently — so gently — lowers your legs, carefully watching your face for any signs of discomfort, settling them on his hips, hands moving up and down your thighs. "y'alright?" he asks. you swallow thickly and nod, both hands now at the base of his skull, affectionately scratching at the nape of his neck.

he slowly pulls out, and you miss the stretch and the warmth immediately. you push up on your elbows, watching as the mixture of your pleasure leaks out of you, biting you lip.

"fuckin' beautiful," he says almost reverently, mesmerized.

he spends the next hour cleaning you up, and you think your nails create permanent marks on his shoulders.

time bleeds together.

his contract renews on the twelfth month.

he heard rumors that price might switch him out for another guard.

you're at the meeting — it's your bodyguard, after all, they figure you should get some input. price has two separate folders prepared. a sharp look from simon is all price needed to know about how he feels. the tongue lashing you give your higher ups has price raising his eyebrows, and simon sits forward a little more should he need to haul you out over his shoulder.

he wouldn't mind that too much, he thinks, but he'd rather not.

ten minutes later and you're angrily signing his renewal papers, a blotch of ink at the start of your name as you didn't even read the contract before signing, lungs burning from your rant about personal safety and what the fuck are you thinking and i didn't just buy an entirely new tea set for nothing.

you grip his wrist as soon as he signs himself, dragging him to the nearest bathroom.

his hand covers your mouth as he fucks you deep and slow.

"don't worry, darling, 'm not going anywhere."

eighteen months into his contract, and he's never felt so little control before in his life.

he's meticulous, prepared, tactile.

there's a gun in his holster for distance threats and a knife in his sheath for those who dare get too close.

he makes sure to memorize the exists before you even get to the venue, now making no effort to conceal himself.

he's like a shadow, or a guard dog.

you've never felt more secure. more protected.

until —

he doesn't know how it slipped past him.

he let his eyes linger a little too long on the curve of your neck, where a new diamond pendant lay with his initial engraved on the back. he admires the dip of the dress you wear, open-back that shows the enticing expanse of your back, the dress covering you above the curve of your ass. you look back at him briefly while whomever you're with speaks, eyes sparkling in the bright light of the room, a smile reserved just for him.

he hears the cock of a hammer and his eyes snap to a gentleman who brandishes a gun like he's never held one before in his life. his eyes, though. his eyes are like fire, black with rage, staring at you with such hatred.

you look one second too late.

simon is on you right after the click of the trigger, pushing you to the floor and caging you with his body.

"stay down and don't fucking move," he growls as he reaches for his own weapon, up in a flash.

you can't hear anything except white noise and screams that sound muffled, heart pounding and making it hard to breathe. two shots ring out, in tandem, and there's the telltale sign of a body hitting the floor.

simon is by your side, eyes scanning, frantic, looking for any signs of harm.

"you okay?" he asks, carefully outstretching his hands to let you stop him from touching you should you want. you don't.

"fine," your voice cracks, and you can't stop shaking.

"you're okay, you're okay," he says, cradling your cheeks, thumbs wiping under your eyes. "i'm so fucking sorry," he adds, guilt heavy in his chest.

you grab his wrists lightly, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look him over. you gasp, unable to catch a real breath, unable to look away from his stomach.

"simon — " you say, horror laced in your voice.

he looks down, seeing the red seep through his shirt.

fuck.

at least it wasn't you, he tells himself.

nineteen months into his contract, and he isn't dead.

while he's been shot before — a fact he tells you, assuming it would comfort you, but only got him a venomous glare in return — it's been awhile.

the hospital, the stitches, the gauze and needles. he hated it then and he hates it now.

price comes to you in the hospital — they're keeping simon for a little, to make sure there's no complications with his healing — offering another guard in the interim while simon recovers.

you've never shot down a proposal so quickly in your life. the nerve.

twenty-two months into his contract, and the last of the moving boxes are taped shut and labeled. some of them in your writing, the others in his. the keys to your new house are tucked into his pocket, alongside a black velvet box.

"why do we have so much shit," you whine when packing, only two boxes deep and so many rooms left to go. you're too busy stuffing a manatee shaped steeper into a box — mana-tea, you giggled when he opened it, him rolling his eyes fondly in reply — and don't see him pause, looking at you softer, never hearing "we" before like that. never dreaming he could hear it like that.

a lot of stalling on your part and encouragement on his, and the last box is packed and placed in the back of the truck.

he laces your fingers together as you drive to the new house, a bottle of champagne already chilled.

twenty four months into his contract, and you come home with something hidden behind your back.

you smile like you have a secret, which would be a first.

it's awkward to bring around from your back, but there's a large german shepard puppy wiggling in your grip, tail wagging furiously.

he feels his heart stop for a moment, unable to take his eyes off the puppy, and then the band that's sitting around your finger. he touches his own subconsciously.

you set the ball of fur down, who immediately launches at simon, whining and wiggling and trying to give him kisses.

there's a collar and tag already there, and you watch with your heart beating faster than ever, unable to stop the smile on your lips, as he wrangles the pup enough to read it.

riley.

#ink by bambi #simon riley/reader #simon riley x reader #ghost/reader #ghost x reader #simon riley/you #simon riley x you #modern warfare imagine #modern warfare fanfic #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #mondern warfare smut

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zzprompto · 7 months

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☆ our teachers are gay?!

gojo satoru x male reader [he / him]

sypnosis: you and gojo are both teachers at tokyo jujutsu high. your students start catching up on little things about the two of you, coming to a conclusion that their teachers are gay, but is that the truth? (meant to be viewed as romantic, hints at an established relationship.)

the lowercase is intentional !

satoru and [name] had been teaching at tokyo jujutsu high for a few years now. the two have made memories, had laughs and even arguments during the time. the students loved their teachers, always finding them amusing.

this years first years were a first, though.

"he's definitely gay!" a student yells. "no, he's not! he definitely has a wife and two kids!" another student yells. the person that they were talking about? [name]. itadori and nobara were arguing about whether or not they thought their teacher was gay for their other teacher or not, whilst megumi just sat there listening to their bickering. nobara thought [name] was gay, whereas itadori thought he wasn't.

megumi just sat there, listening to his friends arguing. it was constant, but he knew it was just banter after all. megumi had a small smirk on his face as he listened.

megumi knew the truth, well, half of the truth. he knew of gojo's feelings towards [name], but he never knew of [name]'s feelings towards gojo. megumi and gojo were practically father and son, not that megumi would admit that, so he could tell how gojo felt. megumi was the only reserved first year, so he learnt to pick up on people's emotions and feelings quickly, which included gojo's.

it was clear, by megumi's perception of the world, that gojo was definitely into [name]. gojo always tried to, and not so subtly in fact, flirt with [name]. yet, it always ended up in [name] saying a bunch of curses with a red face. maybe [name] did like gojo back? but, how was megumi going to know? he's not [name] and maybe the red face megumi always saw was just his teacher embarrassed, not flustered.

megumi also noticed how close the two teachers were. there were always together eating lunch or talking or supervising training sessions where they also talked more. perhaps it was because they could only talk to eachother, they were the only teachers there excluding the principal. or.. maybe it was something else? it did seem like there was more of a rivalry going on between the two men in megumi's eyes, but who knew. only gojo and [name] did.

a certain someone clears their throat after hearing all the bickering down the corridor. "and what are you three talking about?" the voice asks, and it just so happens to be gojo. itadori and nobara are in big trouble now.

itadori looks at gojo in horror, already accepting that he's been caught. nobara just looks at gojo with a small, innocent smile, hoping itadori won't mess up and say something wrong.

"uhm.. we were just talking about [name]'s love life-" itadori starts before nobara jabs him in the stomach to get him to shut up. "we were discussing what places we can visit in tokyo during our days off!" nobara cut in. gojo had a smirk plastered on his face. it was so obvious that he knew the truth about what they were talking about.

megumi sighed and he rolled his eyes at his two friends. "you idiots.. look at his face. he knows what you two were talking about." megumi muttered under his breath, shaking his head at how stupid his friends were. "plus.. his six eyes probably sensed you guys were talking about [name] anyway." megumi decides to add his own snarky comment.

"ah, so my suspicions were true." gojo chuckled. "if you really want to find out more about [name], why don't you ask him yourselves? although, he'd probably want to punch me if you told him i suggested the idea.." gojo spoke his thoughts aloud.

as if on queue, [name] steps into the room with a confused look on his face. "what are you all standing around here for? i thought training was meant to start ten minutes ago.." he sighed, a hand resting on his hip. the three first years all look at eachother before rushing out of the room to go to the field.

[name] just shook his head as he watched his students leave. "what were you doing in here with them, satoru? because it definitely wasn't reminding them that training was about to start." [name] said, looking at gojo as he spoke. gojo just shrugged at [name]'s question, starting to follow the first years out to the field.

the first years quickly got to training. they were practicing their cursed technique skills and hand to hand combat whilst [name] and gojo kept a close eye. the two teachers were standing close together, smiling as they occasionally made small talk.

"so, what about that date i was talking about earlier?" gojo pipes up, smiling at [name]. [name] just scoffed in response, punching gojo in the shoulder. "don't ask me about dates whilst we're infront of our students, satoru." [name] chuckled and gojo joined in.

gojo then snaked an arm around [name]'s waist, pulling him in closer and giving him a small kiss on the forehead. "okay, okay. but we're still going on that date after work, right?" gojo asks. "you're not helping yourself!" [name] replies, pushing gojo away with a huge smile on his face.

of course, the three first years saw this play out. when gojo and [name] thought they were being so subtle, they were caught in the act. the three first years stopped what they were doing and stared at their teachers in shock.

gojo and [name] just watched their students with smiles on their faces. gojo still had his arm wrapped around [name]'s waist as he pulled his lover in for a kiss, not caring about their students. they had already been caught, so what was the harm in sharing a kiss in the end?

"see! i told you he's gay! you owe me big time, itadori!" nobara yells out, starting to chase itadori around the field.

☆ author's note: ill try get requests done soon, sorry if you're waiting on one. do request some more, i have barely any ideas of my own.

☆ request ▪︎ masterlist

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x male reader #gojo x male reader #x male reader #gay #foryou #x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen season 2 #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x male reader #gojo #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #satoru x reader #tokyo trio

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aurora-starwars · 4 months

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Oh my gosh your requests are open! I’m so hyped. Can I maybe request like a Dad! Jake Sully x Daughter! Reader where reader is just so much like Tsu’tey, stubborn and always spites him but they still get along? I can picture Jake missing his na’vi brother and his daughter is just him all over again. I mostly think of Ghost by Justin Bieber to be Jake trying to relive the short time that him and Tsu’tey get along.

Grief Is The Price We Pay For Love

Pairing: Dad!Jake Sully x Daughter!reader (platonic)

Summary: Jake can’t stop seeing Tsu’tey in his oldest daughter

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: mentioned violence, like one or two curse words

Word Bank: Kuru - Neural Queue; Olo'eyktan - Leader of the clan; Ikran - banshee, large flying animal; Iknimaya - rite of passage for the Omatikaya; Omatikaya - na’vi clan on Pandora; Pa’li - direhorse, horse like animal; skxawng - moron, idiot;

A/n: It has been a while, and for that I am truely sorry, life just kept sweeping me away. But I enjoyed writing this! Thank you for requesting! Please enjoy!!!!!!! <333333333333

Masterlist

As soon as she was born, her yellow eyes seemed to pierce Jake Sully’s just as Tsu’tey’s used to.

Born alongside Neteyam, [Name] bore the distinct features of the Na’vi. Kuru starting at the top of her head, prominent lack of eyebrow, three fingers. All features he should associate with his mate, Neytiri, the mother of the twins. But as Jake watches her grow, he can’t help but see his fallen Na’vi brother.

Jake thought it would fade away, that it was something from his past haunting him and his daughter didn’t actually look like the reincarnate of Tsu’tey at all. Besides, if he were to see Tsu’tey in anyone, surely it would be his remarkably Na’vi son, who bore many of the same traits of his sister. But as they grew, Jake and Neytiri both could see just how similar [Name] and Tsu’tey actually were.

It started early, when they were teaching Neteyam, Kiri, and [Name] to walk, a fairly simple and necessary step for any child. This didn’t stop little [Name], who was a little less than a year old, from being stubborn. Neytiri and Jake started by holding their arms, lifting them up onto their feet so that they could stand. When they could stand, they would let go, moving away slightly in hopes they would follow. The ‘they’ was just Kiri and Neteyam. When they tried to help [Name], she only swatted her hand away and pouted, giving the most hateful glare one could receive.

Regretfully, Jake laughed at this, earning a smack to the shoulder from Neytiri. How could he not have though? [Name] looked just like Tsu’tey like that, acted like him too. Jake smiled fondly at his oldest daughter, who soon after tried to stand on her own, feeling left out from her siblings.

Another time Jake saw Tsu’tey in [Name] was when he was teaching [Name] and Neteyam how to hunt. They weren’t very old, five or six max, and they still had a lot of learning to do. This, however, did not stop [Name] from trying to teach Neteyam how to use a bow, despite hardly knowing how to use one herself. It was day three of teaching the kids and [Name] was on Neteyam’s back about his posture. She kept hitting his belly, telling him that he had to tighten his muscles, hitting his arm, telling him to raise his elbow. While she was right, Jake couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, how many times did Tsu’tey mock and criticize his form? Too many to count.

By the time Jake came to the present, Neteyam had half-heartedly thrown his bow down, huffing in frustration before running up to Jake and hugging his leg.

“[Name] is making fun of me!” Neteyam’s weak voice whined.

“It’s not my fault you suck!” [Name] laughed, her small hands on her hips.

Ever since then, [Name] seemed to beat out Neteyam in every subject. In skill, she beat all of the young warriors her age. She was quickly becoming one of the best warriors of her age, of the clan! Jake was more than proud. Proud of not only his daughter’s success, but just how Na’vi she has become. Na’vi, just like the most Na’vi person he knew.

Tsu’tey.

No matter where she went, [Name] would always remind Jake of Tsu’tey. Remind him of when they got along. And when they didn’t.

Like the day after her Iknimaya.

Jake knew he shouldn’t be worried, she wouldn’t be alone, and yet he did not want her to go out riding ikran with her friends. Her friends where nice kids, all warriors like her, that he has taught, but she just bonded with her ikran, the bond was new, and he did not trust [Name]’s ikran just yet. He remembers Bob, it took a few days, at least a week for them to completely trust each other. He did not want [Name]’s ikran to get spooked by something and leave her for dead.

[Name] did not take this news very well.

She was just leaving their family home, a wide smile on her face, when Jake stopped her. He knew she was so excited to attempt her Iknimaya and was even more proud to have successfully bonded with her own ikran. That is why he was not surprised to see her smile fall, her ears pin back, and shoulders slump.

“What? Why?” she wasn’t unreasonable, if her father had a good reason, she would respect his commands.

“Baby girl, I have said you cannot go, do not argue with me,” unfortunately Jake was not great at communicating.

[Name] gave him a piercing glare, shooting daggers that seemed to wound Jake immediately. But he could not show it, would not show it. He is the Olo'eyktan, he must act like it.

But does not stop the pained look that washes over his face once she had walked away.

Later that night, Neytiri scolded him lightly for preventing [Name] from enjoying time kids her age for once, instead of taking care of her siblings or training. While Jake was still apprehensive about the situation, feeling as if his fears were justified, he felt his rules might have been too strict this time.

It was good timing for this resolution because not even an hour later, [Name] arrived back to the family hut, having been gone all night riding her ikran with her friends.

Jake stood up immediately, making his way to the entrance of their home, waiting for [Name]’s eyes to meet his. When they did, [Name] seemed to have more composure than him, he almost felt threatened by her eyes. As if he was the one to do something wrong, not her.

“Where have you been? I thought you were with your siblings?” Jake was more than confused, was she not just sleeping in her room with her siblings?

“Dad, we both knew where I was, no need to do this,” she did not seem angry, but she did stand her ground like the grown warrior she was becoming.

“Do not worry, Father. I have been watching the others,” Neteyam remarks, walking out of the Sully kid’s shared room.

He lays a hand on his father’s shoulder, “If anyone can go out alone on ikran and be fine, it is my sister. If anything, she was protecting the others, and you know they fight well.”

Jake smiles at his son, patting the hand on his shoulder. Jake nods, looking down as if thinking before looking back up at his daughter. He smiles at her, extending a hand, an invitation.

Her piercing gaze drops, her smile reaching her face again as she breaks out into a warm laugh, taking her father’s hand. Jake pulls his daughter and son closer, bringing them into his chest, where they rest their heads.

Later that night, all Jake can think about is how [Name] seemed just like Tsu’tey in that moment.

Tsu’tey patted Jake on the back, a harsh sort of pat, one you would give if you secretly wanted to do harm to the other.

“Jakesully, you do not understand our ways, you will never be one of us,” as much as his words sounded serious, with the smile on his face and the light tone in his voice told Jake that this was more affectionate than hostile.

Jake aimed his bow again, taking in a deep breath, eyes locking onto the makeshift target. He sucked in his stomach, raised his elbow and let go.

“Ah, pretty good,” Tsu’tey nodded, looking at the bulleye. “For a dreamwalker,” he teased, playfully smacking Jake’s shoulder.

Jake noted Tsu’tey’s smile was light, out of character for the Na’vi who usually wore a piercing glare around him. The smile was unusual but welcomed and only helped Jake prove to himself that he was, in face, becoming one of the people.

But what really sealed the deal for Jake, was when he assigned Lo’ak, Neteyam, and [Name] as look out for Lo’ak’s first mission.

He only let Lo’ak join because he had become awfully annoying with his pestering. Always on about how if [Name] and Neteyam could go, why couldn’t he? Jake figured that Lo’ak would lose interest or get too scared to do anymore if he let him join. How wrong he was.

Lo’ak was a pain in the ass as always, and Neteyam and [Name] were doing their best to keep him inline. The whole way to the checkpoint was full of non-stop chatter and jokes about how he was going to destroy the RDA, how he was going to beat them all up all on his own. [Name] though her eyes might get stuck with the amount her eyes would roll.

“Lo’ak, shut your damn mouth or I will tell mum what you keep in that basket in our room,” [Name] practically barks.

Lo’ak goes quiet, and [Name] can see the purple of his cheeks, even from where she is on her ikran. Neteyam smiles at her, and she takes that as a thanks.

The problem came when they arrived at the checkpoint, bombs went off, the train went off track, and Lo’ak decided he wanted a piece of the action, diving his ikran in the direction of the pa’li riders.

[Name] just held her hand up at Neteyam, telling him to keep on look out, and she dove to join her youngest brother.

When she landed, she found Lo’ak holding a gun, letting out a battle cry.

“Lo’ak!” [Name] came running, eyes dark and her ears pinned, straight for Lo’ak.

“Put that thing down,” she ordered, shoving the gun into someone else’s arms. “Today is not the day to be a skxawng, let’s go,” [Name] grabbed him by the ear and dragged him back to his ikran.

Jake watched this from where he was stationed, feeling a glimmer of pride for his daughter in his chest and a sparkle of deep annoyance for his son. But he was left little time to think before Neteyam warned him of an incoming RDA aircraft.

When they made it back to base, the three young warriors lined up, all three practically unscathed but their sisters still came and checked on them.

Jake looked into his eldest daughter’s eyes, he saw a warrior, a warrior that cared for her loved ones, one that did not take BS. He saw Tsu’tey. His na’vi brother. He looked into her eyes, yellow eyes filled with focus and determination, and he brought his hand from his forehead downwards in a smooth motion.

“I see you, daughter.”

Master-list

A/n: Thank you so much for reading! My requests are open so please feel free to request! <3333333

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @adrunkskeletonsduck @luvlykrispy @tainted-artist4161 @gamorxa @valentineheartzz @nighttimemoonlover

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sinistcrhood · 7 months

Text

like/reblog this post if you'd like an angst-driven starter! please message if you'd prefer a specific muse

#starter call #open starter call #indie rp #indie roleplay #angst roleplay #( have this while I work on a new pinned post and then sleep )#queue me after six

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kvtie444 · 5 months

Text

⋆‧₊˚ TEACHERS PET pt. 3

A/N: ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER 18!! ITS ESCAPISM SZNNN, sorry this was late I had a bubble bath and zoned out

Summary: Reader has a new teacher and finds herself falling for him blahblahblah teachers pet by melanie vibes xoxo

Warnings: NSFW, alcohol, swearing, smut?????!!!!!!

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Madi F:

What are you doing tomorrow night? x

Navigating the familiar path to my dorm, keys in hand, I type my response with a single hand.

Y/N:

Hey! Nothing why?

Upon entering my dorm, I secure the door and toss my keys and bag onto the bed. My journey continues to the bathroom, where I prepare for bed. Placing my phone on the sink, I secure my hair with a headband as I cleanse my face, as I hear to Madi's text buzz.

Madi F:

Some of us are going clubbing. I know it's not really your scene, but wanna come? X

Contemplating the proposition while washing my face, the enjoyment of clubbing has faded, but the realization of my limited social circle nudges me to consider the offer. Another unexpected message interrupts my thoughts, expecting it to be Madi, my jaw drops upon seeing Matt’s name.

Matt S:

Did you get in okay?

His simple yet endearing message prompts a smile as I respond, tapping my nails against the screen.

Y/N:

Yeah, thank you. Thanks for the lift, by the way. Can I send you money for gas?

Returning to Madi's chat, a surge of confidence prompts me to embrace the social opportunity.

Y/N:

I think I'll come. If you want, we could do pres at mine.

A sense of pride accompanies the message. Madi's enthusiastic reply further boosts my spirits.

Madi F:

YAY!!! 😁😁🩷

After completing my night routine, I collapse onto my bed. Leaning over and retrieving Matt's book from my bag, I begin reading, engrossed in the story for hours. As the clock strikes 12:05, I get a notification with Matt's delayed reply, a smile creeps over my face.

Matt S:

No, don't worry about it. It's fine. You're a student Y/N, you need to use your money wisely.

His reminder of my student status elicits a slight frown. Seeking a change of topic, I send a lighthearted message.

Y/N:

I like the book.

Matt S:

I knew you would.

A smile graces my face, and despite my inner voice to end the conversation, the thrill of talking with him literally makes me kick my feet. I decide to just leave it, switching off my phone, I toss it aside and close my eyes, embracing sleep.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Saturday night arrives, and Madi is on her way. Nervous anticipation lingers as I gaze into the full-length mirror, carefully selecting my outfit. Wearing my hair straight with a full face of glam, I don a black deep V-neck cropped tank and my favourite mini skirt, complemented by mini black platforms. The rare chance to dress up invokes a sense of confidence. I capture a few pics before I hear Madi knocking.

Walking to the door, the clacking of my heels announces my approach. I open the door to find Madi and six other girls. "Hey!" Madi exclaims, initiating hugs. Pleasant introductions follow, and the girls bring drinks. With music playing from my speaker, we engage in small talk whilst I sip my Malibu and pineapple juice.

About an hour and a half later, we decide to head to the club. Ordering Ubers, we gather outside the club, reputed as the biggest one frequented by college students. As we queue up, the effects of our drinks start to kick in, dizziness taking control of me. By the time we enter the club, the music resonates loudly. Heading to the bar, one of Madi's friends engages the bartender, securing 7 shots for us all. Jaeger bombs in hand, we down the shots, and the pulsating taste lingers on my tongue. Next thing I know, Sexyy Red starts, and we are pulled onto the dance floor. Madi and I sway and sing together, but a presence behind me interrupts the moment – a hand on my hip. Turning, I encounter a random blonde guy. Am I drunk enough to lower my standards to a 6/10? No.

Looking back to Madi, I s hoot her a look before she drags me back to the girls. after a few more songs, I decide to get another drink. Approaching the bar, I order a double vodka Red Bull, tapping my card and waiting. I look around and my heart drops – no less that 3 feet away, I see Matt, paying for a drink. Our eyes lock, and I grab my drink, attempting to walk straight past him, but he’s quick to stop me.

"Hey," he says, placing a hand on the small of my back. The touch sends shivers down my spine. Looking up at him, I smile, "Hey. What are you doing here?" I ask, tilting my head. He downs his shot before responding, "Clubbing?" he replies with his brows furrowed, chuckling at my apparent surprise. I giggle, feeling a blush creep up.

"I didn't see you as the clubbing type," I say, leaning in slightly due to the loud music. He shrugs, "I enjoy my drinks, I feel his eyes scanning almost every inch of my body due to how little I was really wearing. He licks his lips before looking back up to me. He leans as his hand remains on the small of my back, warm breath teasing my skin, "Wanna go somewhere more quiet? Can barely hear you." He asks me, I nod, absolutely dumbfounded by his presence, and he guides me through the crowd, hand on my waist.

The realization hits me – maybe this isn't a delusion. He leads us to a quieter hallway, still audible with music, and a few others scattered around. His hand leaves my side as he leans against the wall opposite me. I mirror his stance, facing each other. Crossing his arms, his slightly cropped shirt rises, revealing the waistband of his Calvin Klein boxers. He had such a slutty waist. My gaze drops to my hands, fiddling with my nails. He breaks the silence.

"Did you come here with a guy?"

"No, just some of the girls. Can't stand guys my age," I mumble, meeting his eyes. His gaze moves down my body before staring deeply into my eyes.

"Why’s that?"

"They're all immature," I start. He begins stepping closer, narrowing the already small space.

"And they don't know how to treat me right," I continue. He hums in agreement.

"Is that it?" he asks, now standing directly in front of me. Our bodies would be touching if I stood up straight, I bit my lip.

"Guys my age don't know how to touch me," I say, the alcohol boosting my confidence. His jaw clenches as he lets out a heavy breath. His tattooed hand moves to my waist, the other reaching up to my face, thumb rubbing my cheek. Panic sets in - what have I gotten myself into? Am I really going to cross this boundary?

"Want me to show you how good I can make you feel?" he says, his grip firm, eyes locking onto mine. I nod, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah."

Before I know it, he grabs my arm and drags me to the accessible bathroom stall, kissing me passionately. The euphoric sensation of the kiss overwhelms me as he pushes me against the wall, kicking the door shut behind him. Pressed against the wall, I willingly surrender to his dominance, allowing his tongue to explore and claim every inch of my parted lips.

His kisses travel a path down my jaw, leaving a trail of hickies. He explores down to my collars with a mixture of gentle sucking and teasing bites, each touch setting my skin ablaze. A soft moan escapes my lips as his hands find their way to my hips, pulling our bodies together bruisingly tight.

Returning to my lips, he intensifies the kiss, his hands sliding up beneath my thighs effortlessly. He picks me up, making me gasp, he hoists me up as though I weigh nothing, seamlessly carrying me across the small space to the sink.

Sitting me on the smooth surface, he maintains the seamless connection between our lips. The heat of the moment pulses between us, his hands trailing down to my hips, pulling me closer. The rhythmic dance of our bodies becomes a symphony of desire, with his lips never parting from mine. The sink counter becomes a temporary throne of passion as our connection deepens and the world outside the stall fades away. His hands trace a heated path down my body, gripping my ass with an assertive pull, drawing me tightly against him. The pressure of his hard on against my stomach sends a shiver through me, and a soft whine escapes my lips in response to the overwhelming desire.

My hands instinctively find their way into his hair, entwining my fingers as he pulls away, his gaze locked with mine. His hand boldly ventures up my skirt, fingers cupping my pussy, teasing, and pressing against my entrance. The sensation elicits an involuntary moan from me, and I tilt my head back, lost in the intensity of the moment.

"M-Matt, please, “I whimper breathlessly, aching against him. "Please, what, baby?" he teases, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches my desperate state. "Please, I need you," I shamelessly beg. He smiles, his pink lips pressing a quick kiss to my jaw, before pulling my underwear to the side. I wince as the cool air meets my exposed skin, his thumb brushing against my eager lips. "Open," he demands.

Parting my lips, I willingly comply, and he slides his thumb in. I suck on it as he pushes further, evoking a heavenly groan from his lips. "Good girl," he murmurs, withdrawing his thumb and shifting it down to my clit. Initially, he presses against it, not yet moving, drawing a whine from me. I grab his arm, yearning for more contact. He smirks as he gradually begins circling my clit with his thumb, causing me to throw my head back against the mirror behind me.

His pointer finger slips inside me while he continues to circle my clit with his thumb, making me let out a loud moan. "Look at me," he orders, bringing a momentary pause to his movements. I open my eyes to meet his gaze, and he bites his lip, smiling, resuming his movements. "So wet for me, angel," he remarks, moving down to kiss my neck. I tilt my head to grant him better access, gasping as he adds another finger and proceeds to suck hickeys into my sensitive skin.

Tugging at his hair, he groans, the knot in my stomach growing tighter. I clench around his fingers, whimpering, "Matt." He urges, "Shit, come for me, princess," against my collarbone. I moan, releasing my pent-up pleasure, his fingers slowing down in response. I grab his wrist, pulling him out of me, then guiding his fingers to my lips, sucking them clean.

As I look into his eyes, his once blown-out pupils abruptly contract. He withdraws his fingers from me and steps back, muttering a soft curse to himself. I stand up, my legs slightly aching, and adjust my underwear. He turns away and begins walking toward the door. What the fuck?

"Matt?" I almost yell. He freezes for a moment, turning his head to glance back at me. However, he doesn't linger, opening the door and leaving. Confusion floods me. I can't help but feel tears welling in my eyes. Everything happened so quickly—what the fuck did I do wrong?

I remain frozen until a man barges into the bathroom, heading for the toilet and gagging. I scrunch my face in disgust, walking out, my heels loudly clacking against the floor as I make my way towards the exit. I need to get out of here. The music grows louder, and a tightness grips my chest, making my breathing difficult. Someone grabs my wrist, and I turn around, relaxing when I see it's Madi.

"Where have you been, girl? Shit- Who gave you those hickeys?" she says, smiling and inspecting my neck, blissfully unaware of the gravity of the situation. "Don't worry about it. I'm just getting some air," I lie, quickly turning away and walking out of the club. Fuck. I open my phone and book an Uber. While I wait, I open Matt's chat, debating whether or not to text him. Fuck it.

Y/N:

Wtf happened tonight? Can we talk?

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Read. He left me on fucking read. It's been three days, and I've been dreading today - I have a lesson with him. I walk to my class, pushing the door open to find he's not in yet. I take my seat next to Madi, who stays silent. I think she knows I need space just judging by my presence - hoodie up, headphones still on, slouched in my chair with no books out.

About five minutes later, Matt comes in. He teaches as if nothing's happened, and throughout the lesson, he doesn't even look at me once. What a dick. The final bell rings, and I get out of my chair, walking behind everyone else. Right as I reach the door, our eyes meet. Shit. I quickly look away, pettily slamming the door shut behind me. Hold on. You know what? I'm not going to let this man USE me and then completely IGNORE me? Who does he fucking think he is? I turn around, slamming the door open. He looks up as if he's just seen a ghost, and I hear the door shut behind me.

"What the fuck is your problem?" I say, my brows knitted together. "Y/N, you need to go," he says. "No, I deserve an explanation. Do you think it's okay to just use girls, then fucking leave them?" I yell, stepping closer. He looks down, tongue in cheek. "I've got essays to mark."

"I don't give two shits, Matt," I reply hastily. He looks up at me, and his face softens at the sight of the hurt on my face. "Did I do something wrong?" I ask, feeling more vulnerable. He sighs, stepping closer, his hand coming up to my cheek.

"No, Y/N, shit, I panicked. I like you, Y/N, like a lot, but you're my student. You saw what happened to Kennedy. You think I want to get fired?" he says sweetly. I sniffle and look down, before he lifts my face back up with his hand.

"I'm not stupid, Matt. You're the one who told me how smart I am. No one's gonna find out about this," I reply, biting my lip. "It was just a one-time thing, right?" I continue. He looks at me.

"Would you like it to be a one-time thing?"

"No."

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

tag list!

@iloveneilperry @bernardenjoyer @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @daddyslilchickenfingers @mbbsgf @sturnvilmed @sturnphilia @s1urnioloslvr @mattsbratt @mangosrar @christinarowie332 @recklesssturniolo @bluesturniolo333 @flowerxbunnie @kenzieiskoolaid @pepsiskiess @poopydroopt @byechristopher @soursturniolo @m6ttsturniolo @lustfulslxt @stardustmf444 @thankyounextt @glossyfx

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #imagine #angst #chris sturniolo x reader #fluff #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #smut #Spotify

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usedpidemo · 6 months

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Shangri-la (Oh My Girl Yooa)

Thank you for the commission! I hope it's to your liking.

—————

“What the?”

What welcomes you inside the bedroom takes you by complete surprise. It’s the kind that leaves you with more questions than answers. She had been very vague about the whole ordeal, skittering around the details. she was completely straightforward about one thing: to get fucked. That’s the main selling point.

Her inviting tone, her sultry expression, her lust—it’s still freshly imprinted on your mind from an hour ago. You’ve heard those words—their many variations—a handful of times, but hers is by far the most enticing and the sweetest sounding:

“Wanna have sex with me tonight?”

—————

Admittedly, it was never on your bucket list to attend a concert, let alone a group who sings primarily in foreign. It was supposed to be just a kind gesture for a roommate.

He’s your resident nerdy K-pop fan, the kind that gets bullied in real life and on the internet. He’s the full package; posters on the bedroom wall, a book full of photocards, and a shelf of albums and lightsticks which he considers as his sacred temple. You were never meant to go beyond a toe’s dip into this unhealthy obsession he’s engrossed himself in; completing his homework was enough exposure.

If there was one takeaway from your observations, it was quite obvious: the girls are really hot. And that’s all that you needed to convince yourself to go.

Besides, you were his roommate—and his only friend. Out of the kindness of your heart, you have an obligation to be there for him, at least until you graduate.

For the most part, the show was entertaining. Again, the girls were pretty attractive, and they were dressed in outfits that flaunted their bodies exceptionally well. Your friend’s relentless screaming accustomed you to the crowd’s energy, which was no joke. Even in a small, intimate venue, there were several moments where you felt that the place might collapse off the audience’s deafening shouts alone. At least you came prepared with noise canceling earplugs.

It’s not a huge surprise when he suddenly vanishes after the show. He’s been in and out of sight the whole time; getting freebies, merch shopping, taking numerous bathroom breaks, to the point where he just straight up forgets he left his phone with you before running off again.

To make things worse, it’s the dying moments of the night, when everyone in the VIP section, the two of you included, gets to greet the members for only a brief passing moment. He’d been acting like his entire life has been building to this moment, completely neglecting the fact you were his ride home.

Of course you’re not entirely sure about who’s who in this group. Six equally pretty girls, all wearing the exact same shirt and short skirt combination, down to the colors, with equally warm smiles. You didn’t have enough time to familiarize yourself with each of their names; the internet in the area has been failing you for hours. The staff was strict with phones the closer you approached them. It didn’t help that everyone screamed through their introductions, too.

Unsurprisingly, nothing substantial came of your interaction. A series of repetitive, awkward bows and near-silent whispers of “hello.” You’ve been putting off Duolingo for months, and it showed. It should have been a forgettable affair, considering the hundreds of people they’re greeting just from tonight’s queue alone. It’s not like you particularly stand out from the rest of the crowd; a casual shirt and jeans combo that’s indistinguishable from the dozens in attendance, and you don’t have anything on you that screams ‘overly dedicated fan.’

So when you’re pulled aside by the same staff closely watching the queue during the meet and greet, asked to head backstage as part of some secret lucky draw, you’re not surprised. There’s an age-old superstition that states that you’re more likely to meet celebrities the less you’re familiar with them. It rings true, and you have first hand proof.

You’re led to this singular door in what’s basically an unused narrow hallway. The kind that criminals use to trap their victims. Definitely safe. The staff member instructs you to head in before leaving you there alone. Nothing more, nothing less.

Instead of your friend, you find one of the members you just met, waiting on the other side. You have so many questions, but she she gives you another to entertain:

“You wanna have sex with me tonight?”

Much to her amusement ,you’re taken aback. At first, you’d think she was pulling some kind of prank. By the way she smiles and laughs, it’s a reaction all too familiar to her, like this is some kind of cliche. It’s not a surprise to hear those words from any girl, knowing your experiences at college parties and bars, but from a traveling singer? Simply put, it’s quite ridiculous.

“You’re joking right?” you say, hand close to the door you just entered, ready to make a beeline for it. You glance around the enclosed, compact space, searching for any possible hidden cameras recording the scene.

She shakes her head, taking a step forward. “Not at all. You should consider yourself lucky.”

“Do you do this all the time?” you ask, her reply not easing you in the slightest. Your hand inches a little closer to the door. It’s not like she’s going to hurt you; if anything, her thin figure’s probably what should worry her if you dare to even breathe heavily on her, let alone touch.

“Yeah. Every stop. You look really cute,” she says, reaching her hand out to you. “And you look like you can give me a good time tonight.”

There’s something flattering about her words, coming from an idol singer, complimenting you that hits a chord harder than other girls. Her sincere tone, doll-like eyes twinkling, and expressive lips certainly help. It’s alluring—devastating—to a casual like you; how much more to someone who worships her.

Then, here comes the killing blow:

“So, what’s it going to be?” She kisses you on the chin, wrapping her arms around your neck. It’s not suffocating, not in the slightest, but you might as well be entangled by them. Her eyes, sharp and fiery, are daring you to say otherwise to her seemingly coarse question.

Leaning your head against her shoulder, her scent and soft skin prove to be intoxicating. You can’t get enough. That hand you’ve been pressing on the door is no longer there; it’s coiled around her back, taking inventory of her slim waist and arched back, then teasing at the fabric of her shirt. Even if she wasn’t the girl you just watched perform on stage, she’s too gorgeous to turn down. And it isn’t like you’ll find your friend, anyway. Perhaps this is your way of getting back at him for being insufferable all throughout.

“Here?” you ask, whispering in her ear, playing with fire.

She holds you by the cheek, tilting an eyebrow. Shaking her head, she drags her tongue on the ridge of your ear. “Somewhere nicer.”

—————

It’s only you and her in the backseat of one of their vans, windows tinted and the front closed off that it’s safe to assume that the driver can’t hear you—perfectly convenient. He probably doesn’t know you’re even there.

It’s inside the car that you finally become familiar with each other. YooA, or as she’d prefer you to call her, Shiah, and you have this light bulb moment where you put it all together. You bring up this collection of photocards in your friend’s book holder; you recognize her face on some of the cards. She laughs. Heartily. Her face lights up, honored at the thought, and it’s a sincere look. Other artists would simply wave it off and move on, but she appears intrigued by the effort to obsess over her.

She calls it a bias, and you call it an obsession. In the other’s eyes, you’re both strange. To you, it’s unhealthy and strange; to her, it’s part of the appeal, part of the culture.

So it’s all the more surprising when you admit you’re simply there because of him, that you would have looked the other way otherwise. And in response, she has this warm, wholesome smile; she doesn’t appear offended by your candidness. You don’t know a thing about them, other than they’re delicious eye candy.

“So this is your first foray into K-pop? I hope it was a good one,” she says, flashing you a cute pout. “That means a lot for all of us.”

Yeah, you nod, your eyes wandering down her slim body, draped in darkness, only brought to the light by passing street lamps. You notice how slender and lanky she is. It doesn’t change the appeal; she’s unreal. “I should go more often if that’s the case.”

Shiah chuckles. “You didn’t pay, then. I bet you’re getting more than what he bargained for.”

To which you nod, barely holding in a particularly uncharacteristic grin. She catches it. An opportunity to twist the knife.

It’s a casual affair when you reach the hotel. There’s a surprising lack of fanfare upon your arrival. You assume idols have as much popularity as any other celebrity, but you’re both left alone—and without security, walking past the front desk without a care or a question. Tension gradually builds as you climb floor after floor, until you step out that elevator and into her room, away from prying eyes.

What welcomes you inside Shiah’s bedroom catches you off-guard.

“What the?”

The person sitting at the center of the bed turns to your direction, shouts out your name. You can recognize that voice anywhere.

“Hey! There you are!”

You immediately turn to Shiah, who replies gleefully, “Of course I knew. Your friend told me everything. He wanted me to invite you along.”

Forget that your friend orchestrated the whole ordeal. It’s the fact that he wants you to join him in a threesome. You expected him to be greedy with the rare opportunity to have a beautiful idol all to himself, but instead, he’s somehow still involving you in the action. There’s a lot to take in, and you don’t exactly know where to start.

“Is this even allowed?” you ask, unsure of your place in this room. You’re slowly soaking up the scenery; none of it makes any sense. Scattered on the bedroom floor is Your friend’s shirt and his bag, freebies and personal belongings alike,, while Shiah casually saunters around the mattress, gradually removing pieces of jewelry from herself and placing them on the nightstand.

“Of course, dude!” says your friend. His energy hasn’t waned in the slightest. You’re amazed his voice hasn’t changed at all, let alone his ability to speak. He had been screaming beside you for the entirety of the show, you’d probably go deaf because of him if not for your earplugs. “I wouldn’t have asked her if she wasn’t allowed to, or if she didn’t feel it.”

“He’s right,” adds Shiah, unbuttoning her jeans. Looking at her again, she grabs your attention with the casual stripping of her pants, pooled around her ankles, leaving only pale colored panties that leave nothing to the imagination. “Plus, I haven’t tried having a threesome before, and tonight seemed like a good idea to try that.”

Surely, you’ve heard weird things before, but none were as out of pocket as this.

“C’mere dude,” says your friend, gesturing to you to take the spot beside him on the bed. “We’re going to fuck an idol tonight. And not just any idol, my freaking bias!”

Your eyes continue to linger on her. Shiah, now undoing her top, candidly tossing them aside. The one time you regret not having your phone on hand to capture without obstruction. Her tits are bite-sized handfuls, nipples firm and on full display, and her figure is so paper thin, you’ll break her when you hold her by her ridiculous proportions. The only thing missing is some fragile warning label plastered on her skin as a reminder to handle her with care.

This is the most awkward you’ve been with your friend since you first met, when he first moved into your dorm. Seated on the mattress, you’re anxious of what’s about to happen. You worry she won’t be able to handle you two; he worries that he won’t be able to ruin her to the fullest extent.

She meets you at the center in nothing but panties. She scans you both from head to toe, and notices your contrasting expressions. Facing you, she says, “Hey. I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’t confident about the idea. If you don’t make me unable to walk after tonight, I’m gonna be quite disappointed. So chin up.”

Reassuring of a tone it may sound, it doesn’t ease your worry even a little. It doesn’t discourage her either; it’s part of the challenge.

She drops to her knees, and that’s when you come around on the idea. Her fingers make work of your pants; yours first, then your friend’s. With eagerness written on her face, your hard cocks hang between her tiny face. Pausing, undecided, she takes a moment to think which one to satisfy. The way she eyes both yours, then your friend’s—you can tell how hungry she is: how she wants them shoved inside her mouth, down her throat, taking all that delicious load. If she could fit both at once, she certainly would.

“Which one should I take first, boys?” she asks, innocuous sounding, her doll-like eyes pleading up with a playful pout. Knowing full well she already has this whole thing already planned out. You and your friend swallow hard, telepathically aligned, thinking of the same idea, based on the rather silent response.

Shiah has your eyes fluttering, hands already gripped to the edge of the bed, lips letting out a string of delightful moans. It sounds like relief, agony, and ecstasy all at once. She’s leaving soft kisses on your tip, her tongue running circling around your length, and her fingers slowly pumping at your base. All your doubts and hesitations, gone in an instant. The very few glimpses you catch of her, her eyes speak to you, staring, telling you to take it all in.

She feels so good, handles you deftly, as if she’s already acquainted with your cock, even though it’s the first time. Pushing all the sensitive, perfect spots and getting you into a steady rhythm.

“See? I told you it was gonna be—fine—fuck—”

Your friend folds just as quickly as you do, if not faster. His words, instantly reduced to echoed grunts, groans, and curses, his hand palming Shiah’s scalp. She’s focused, taking turns with each cock, kissing and teasing you both with the prospect of shoving it down her needy, thirsty throat. One hand on your dick and the other on his, stroking you at near-synchronized tempo, then vice versa. You wonder exactly why she’s even hesitant and nervous about taking two at once when she’s clearly a natural at satisfying cocks.

She’s well aware that she has only one mouth to fulfill her craving for cock. There’s a look of regret every time she stops sucking one cock in place of the other. It’s almost as if she’s failing, even though the pleasure-ridden expressions on your faces say otherwise. “I hope this is good enough,” she frowns, taking a moment to plant another direct kiss on each cockhead. “I wish I could fit you both in my mouth, but I—”

“Shhh.” Your friend interjects, tugging harshly at Shiah’s dark locks, then rubbing his hand around her forehead. “You’re doing so fucking well, so much better than we hoped—”

Suddenly, he finds himself slowly crumbling. Precum coating around her dainty fingers, while he loses grip on his consciousness, lying flat on the bed. If there’s anything you’ve learned in the very short time you’ve had Shiah on her knees, it’s that she’s particularly gentle. You can feel she’s not going to ruin you instantly and that she’s nowhere close to crushing your cock, unlike some of the girls you’ve known in the past.

This is all new to your friend, after all. It shouldn’t be surprising.

Still, she continues to pleasure you both, taking a moment to slip his erection inside her throat, slurping and swallowing his cock whole. Her eyes instantly slam shut, mumbling a songful hum, finally soaking in the taste after intentionally restraining herself from her lust. Turning to your side, your friend clearly can’t take her; his mouth agape, his chest heaving, breathing heavily, his eyes widely staring at the ceiling in a useless effort to distract himself. In his mind, she’s relentless, overwhelming, cruel.

Her eyes slide in your direction, brows furrowed, apologetic. You shake your head, smile lightly, perfectly understanding of the situation. It’s not that she’s ignoring you; her other hand’s pressing on the base of your cock, down to the underside, pressing on your balls. She’s already left her mark on you even though she’s doing the bare minimum. The layer of precum on her fingers is clear proof. That should be more than enough.

And when you find your friend completely unresponsive, breathing through his mouth, you tilt your head at an angle and make this poor sleeping impression—something he hasn’t had in over 24 hours. It’s the command that causes Shiah to slip his cock from her mouth with a silent pop, his dick throbbing with her spit dripping from the tip. Her focus turns over to you; her eyes meeting yours, her hands pressing on each knee, and your fingers brushing loose strands of hair aside to see her pretty face, flushed but flawless. It’s now just down to you two.

She gives your head a playful swirl, and you lift your brows in approval, subtly biting at the lip to show her you like it. Her eyes lock in, scanning through each subdued wince, waiting for the go ahead.

It’s the slightest head motion that nearly ends you. You’re uncertain if you even said yes or no.

Shiah looks so much better with your cock in her mouth than anyone else’s. She knows, too. You pause to take the sight in—your length buried deep in her mouth, occasionally poking her throat, her cheeks hollow, her eyes looking wide at you with a fiery glint, begging you to take her, use her, ruin her. You’re perfectly positioned to work her; your hand is palming the back of her head, giving her this assertive stare that appears demeaning, but you can tell she prefers to be seen that way. It would be criminal to have her on her knees and not have your way with her.

And you do just that.

You hold her still, using the little increments of strength to motion her into a bobbing motion. She surrenders herself into your control, moving her head back and forth with the grip of your hand. Like the swing of a pendulum, you watch your base disappear and appear between her lips. You’re nowhere close to burying yourself entirely in her mouth, but she feels so incredible, so intoxicating, she may as well be deepthroating you.

It’s not the firmness of her luscious lips kissing your cock nor her lewd expressions that shake you, but her suction. She hums this wistful note while sucking your cock—a song of satisfaction. In contrast to the steady rhythm you’re attempting to impose, she drags your length along her tongue, forcing you into this playful tug-of-war whenever you draw your cock back, directing where your cum should land. She envisions it: the notion of your hot load collected on her cheeks. Her fingers point where she wants them, using her pleading eyes and brows to entice you.

And you’re not going to deny her request. She’s too charming and expressive to turn down. Even more so when your cock is lodged between her lips.

You utter this particularly incomprehensible mix of a groan and a grumble while your throbbing cock unloads the warm cum she desires. Without wasting a single drop, she takes it all, puffing her cheeks with your seed while carefully pulling your cock out her mouth. Your hand is no longer resting on her head but rather around her shoulder and collarbones. She plays with the load in her mouth, gargling, swishing, before swallowing it all. Afterward, she sticks out her silky tongue, face completely flustered, showing you the aftermath: leftovers of your cum painting her mouth.

“God, Yoo—I mean, Shiah—” you breathe, lightly falling back on the bed as your legs go numb. Your flaccid cock isn’t enough to show how much she’s drained you in one fell swoop. “How are you so—”

“I told you I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t so confident about it,” she remarks, rising to her feet before pushing you down on the sheets, straddling herself on your lap. Her energy remains steadfast. It’s infectious. Winking and pouting, she adds, “Now fuck me till I can’t walk.”

You’re completely sold on the idea, but you can’t do it alone.

Pushing Shiah off you, you shake your friend back into consciousness. You’re holding her by the shoulders, giving her lips a quick kiss. A soft gesture telling her to be a tad patient. Her eyes clue you in; she’s dying to be fucked, to be used, to be ruined. Your friend looks around, feeling hazy, completely unaware of what transpired, even though it’s only been less than 10 minutes.

“What’d I miss?” he asks, still trying to make sense of things. The last thing he remembers is Shiah on her knees. Now he sees you and his bias in each other’s embrace. Surprisingly, he’s not fazed in the slightest. The bed’s tremors—rumblings—are good enough indicators.

You’re unable to completely look him in the eye, and you don’t know what to answer, so she does it for you: “Your friend blew a nice load inside my mouth. We were just about to have round two. Join us.”

To her amusement, the reply has you staring at her utterly gobsmacked. It’s not the fact that she’s telling it straight, with zero sugarcoating, but her candid, conversational delivery and deadpan expression, as if they’re close friends catching up on lost time. He doesn’t seem bothered, nor does he ask any further questions. Knowing him, he’d be disappointed if you didn’t.

Really, what’s there to question when given an opportunity to fuck an idol without any conditions or red tape. He’s not making the most of the moment as you have, and the hurried jump off the bed to take position behind her indicates he’s not going to waste any more time. You’re scared you might get into a confrontation over how you’ll take her.

“Say the word and I’ll move aside,” you tell him, calmly.

“Let me have her tight ass,” is the reply, straightforward. Chalk it up to tension, but there’s a hint of harshness in his voice, as though some bitterness is leaking. He subtly pulls her away from your side, prompting you to let him take full control.

You aren’t surprised at where he ends up taking her. The bed is the comfiest option, but in his mind, the safest and the most cliche. A shower to ease the tension and stress in the muscles—that’s a good one too, on top of having her possibly pressed against the panels and the idea of soaping her tits while fucking her in the wet. This luxurious suite, which feels like walking from the one end of a parking lot to the other on weary legs, has a handful of mirrors to watch her get railed on. None are as captivating and inviting as the biggest one—the large glass windows that overlook the city, lit up by lights from nearby skylines and the illumination from the living room.

He presses her tiny frame against the window, then on air, giving her tiny butt a firm slap. Followed by another. Something about Shiah with her back arched, yelping with each spank, arouses him. Her too. She whines, biting on her lip, hands trying to latch to anything. There’s plenty to claim—from her bite-sized chest, to her slinky waist, to her soiled panties. Something he slips down to her ankles.

In the moment, your friend doesn’t acknowledge you. He’s all up in her hair, licking the shell of ear, a set of clenched digits digging into her warmth. Her eyes fluttering, she whines, pressing a hand around his waist, mumbling, begging, “Fuck me, please, fuck me.”

You can tell she’s apologetic, wants to be punished and manhandled like a naughty girl. Your friend has this glare in his eyes—a look of hunger. His fingers pump away at her core, without care for pace or comfort, just the satisfaction of hearing her cries and the need for her to cum. Bumping her against the window, he’s kissing her, claiming her as his own. Red marks form everywhere on her neck, collarbones, and back. Her entire body. All his.

You let him. You watch. Not out of guilt, not out of arousal. It’s his moment.

He looks over his shoulder and finds you just watching. “C’mere,” he growls between muted groans, tone low. It should be awkward (it is) but all that tension disappeared the moment she got on her knees. Approaching the twosome in such a strange fashion, he continues to finger Shiah, shifting her away from the window, binding her from behind by one hand. He’s suppressing his tongue, teasing his cockhead against the entrance of her pussy, barely able to restrain himself.

When you’re in front of her again, you’re greeted by a hot mess. Her juices are dripping down her thighs, pooling around her feet. His coated fingers line around her warmth, around her tight hole. His lust is on full display, cussing out a storm about how incredibly wet and tight she is while she prepares herself to get fucked into oblivion. It’s not the first time you’ve heard him say these things; he talks a loud talk about how he’d fuck his biases in explicit detail, writes particularly concerning essays about the positions they’d be railed in, how they would cum, and how many times he would make them cum.

At the end of the day, it was none of your business.

And ultimately, he might have been onto something.

You let out this loud unsuppressed moan burying yourself inside her tight cunt. She’s suffocating, overwhelmingly tight—the kind of heat that can make you cum almost immediately. You’re still recovering from your first orgasm, putting you on the backfoot. Still, her walls are too inviting not to get hard again. Meanwhile, your friend, who’s been eager to fuck Shiah’s ass for the longest time, is in no rush. His cock is barely entering her tight hole, slowly easing himself inside her with deep breaths. He’s grabbing a handful of her flesh, openly moaning and grunting taking her.

“F-fuck, Yoo—” he mutters, grabbing at her petite cheeks with an ironclad grip. Pulling her closer to his body so his cock can split her in half. He’s growing greedy—and desperate.

Everything you’re doing to Shiah can be seen in the window’s reflection: you pounding into her tight cunt, your friend’s cock spearing her from behind, her body practically sandwiched between your twosome. The combined weight is more than capable of crushing her slim frame, her skin like tire marks on both your chests. Neither of you move with an understanding of working as a team, and it shows; your collective strokes are unsteady, erratic, chaotic.

This isn’t good for your back—at all. Shiah’s bent forward in part to your friend’s slow, deep thrusts into her delicious ass, rippling with each stroke. She’s clutching to your shoulders for support, screaming from the absolute depths of her lungs getting doubled up. The uncomfortable position is mostly clouded by the overwhelming sensation of your cocks tag teaming on her two sensitive holes. You’re leaning, steadily falling back. That inescapable warmth—that intoxicating heat—keeps you coming back for more, friction be damned.

God, Shiah’s pussy is so fucking perfect.

And that’s what you end up muttering. In an endless choir of ecstasy-charged moans, profanities, and wet sloppy slaps of skin against skin, you throw those words out to the wind. So good, so tight—those doubts you had entering the room, now just thoughts from yesterday. She’s everything you want in a satisfying fuck; your hands intertwined with her waist, rocking her frame with every plunge, savoring each entry into that needy womb.

It’s no surprise then that she cums so soon.

It’s been slowly building to this moment. The signs were there all along; the blink and you’ll miss it patch on her jeans, the phallic object in her purse, the wet puddle forming on her panties, the not so subtle gestures she’s giving fans between performances—she’s been desperate to cum on a cock and her wish can finally be granted.

In dramatic fashion, she’s all over you. Clinging to you like her lifeline, showing you how you’ve ruined her. Body trembling, legs quaking—the ripples send shockwaves through your body, also in the process of falling apart. Throwing out her hips, a new layer of juices coat both cocks, dripping to the floor. You’re there to break her fall, but you have nothing to stop yours.

Passing through deaf ears, her screams revert to soft pleas. “Cum, cum in me—please—fuck—” she whines in bursts, riding out her climax in waves, waiting for you two to join her over the edge. You’re preoccupied with the raging fire in your loins, restraining your urge to release your seed inside her needy cunt prematurely. At this point, you’re almost done, holding onto the last of your resolve not to spurt right then and there. The layer of her slick coating your cock doesn’t do you any favors, either.

Propping her body straight, your thrusts remain relentless. Steadied pace, at your own will, rocking her senseless—that’s how you want to finish inside her. You want to keep her in that position: cupping her tiny chest, wrapping an arm on the neck, resting a hand on your light shoulder. Shiah’s body is the perfect plaything.

All of that is too good to be true.

“Cumming, gonna cum—” you mutter, rather ashamedly, though you’re holding up better than anyone ever expected, especially after already orgasming once. You press her to your friend, almost a flat out shove. The line couldn’t be any thinner. “Shit—”

Your legs are on the cusp of crumbling, but at least they’re generous enough to let you savor this moment. Spilling your pent up need, you fuck that remaining cum into her. It’s fulfilling, euphoric. All the proof is down there, dripping between her legs and on your cock. The sight of her splayed, wrecked hole, oozing with seed, tempting you to stick a thumb around her slick core. She squirms at your sensitive touches, still needy and in want.

Only after the orgasm does your vision clear again. It’s an amusing scene; your friend is still pounding into Shiah’s tight ass at a feverish pace. Last one in, last one out—at least you think, that’s how the saying goes, until he lets out this guttural groan, indicating he’s reached his own climax too. If not for the setting, it’s an accomplishment worth cheering, the kind that’s worth a celebration of a life milestone. Cocks buried to the hilt, the sight of her holes spilling seed never grows old.

At least you both can agree on one thing: staying inside the welcoming warmth that is Shiah’s heat. Neither of you want to leave, even when you regain mobility in your legs.

You’ve got the rest of the night to ruin her, leave her room hobbling or crawling on her feet. Your friend has a bucket list of positions to fuck her in, so it’s the least of your worries. Besides, both of them know you have no intention of leaving. And in the middle of this non-existent conundrum, while your friend is leaving soft kisses all over her back as a victory lap, she takes a moment to glance at you both. Noticing the similarity of smiles on your faces and your supportive nature towards your friend, she’s reminded of something she shares with her members, apart from the fact they’re getting railed at this very moment:

True friendship.

—————

(A/N: Expect a bit more crowdedness aka more-somes over the next few fics. I also haven't written an Oh My Girl member since Arin in over a year, so that's one off the list! This one took a while, had a whole other story involving roadtrips and hitchhiking, which I ultimately scrapped. Thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can ask for a commission :D)

#smut #kpop smut #oh my girl #yooa

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gallusrostromegalus · 8 months

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You ohhhandedly mentioned tessai livong through ww2 and… wow thats true there were a lot of characters that got a first row seat to both conflicts, even if only the second was really impactful on japans history. Does urahara, yoruichi, tessai, the vizored or any of the shinigami have any specific feelings on ww2/the nuclear bombs? I know its a wild fucking question but it literally just occurred to me and i cant stop thinking about it.

Yeah WW2 is an entire 5-chapter arc in the fic because apparently Kubo is from Hiroshima, and Karakura town is based on his memories growing up there. Stuff that happens during that arc:

The Soul Society's sole warning that something catastrophic might be coming is the arrival of an irradiated and enraged Coyote spirit from the Trinidad test site. It's up to Newly-appointed captain Komamura to calm it down and explain what happened, and Mayuri is able to work out that atomic weapons are real from it's descriptions. He gives Soul Society about a month before the humans drop one on a city.

Unfortunately, he's correct.

***

Urahara and the Visoreds use the fact that they're already dead to mitigate some of the damage from the bombing by walking into the epicenter and shoving carbon rods into the most radioactive points, stemming much of the radiation damage, but there's nothing they can do for the initial wave of destruction.

It involves going through a new gigai every trip and learning what if feels like to have the flesh actually melt off your bones, but Hirako Shinji and the other Visored are no cowards, least of all about Hard and Dirty Work.

Tessai makes Ururu and Jinta out of spare parts from Urahara's Gigai experiments to house a heavily damage Kitsune and Tanuki spirit pair from a shrine that was destroyed. Ururu is the Tankuki, and the older one- Jinta seems a bit more 'organic' because Tessai learned a lot making his sister, and because as a Kitsune, he's a better actor.

***

Soul Society is in major trouble though.

with the sudden influx of souls- first from the bombing, but then from the radiation sickness and the famine that followed, the living and spirit worlds are in danger of becoming unbalanced.

It's a Major Crisis!

Fortunately for them, people with sociopathy tend to operate really well during Crises, and I realized the reason Mayuri hasn't been fired or killed by the time Ichigo shows up is that when shit hits the fan, Mayuri's lack of emotional response to the suffering of others means he can buckle down and fucking DELIVER.

Expansions to the pocket dimension that the queue of incoming souls is housed in? He didn't sleep for two weeks to get it done on time, but there was more than enough room when the bomb dropped and for the few months after as casualties continued.

Emergency rations for all these incoming factory workers that know nothing about farming? Behold, Nutritionally complete meals that you can eat right out of the box! And smaller, friendlier ones for the kiddies!

Hell, the 12th division even makes instructional propaganda videos about how safe and tasty these new foods are, featuring The Grand Clown Himself, and distribution centers featuring his likeness, so Mayuri enjoys a peculiar popularity in the Rukongai, not unlike an off-brand and sometimes educational Krusty The Clown.

Just ah. Stop asking questions about the ingredients list.

***

"I'm not fucking killing civillians." Says Kenpachi when Yamamoto begins to bring up the historical method that the Shinigami have used to balance out sudden influxes of souls from the living world.

"Oh?" Yamamoto glares at him. "You have a better idea?"

"What's them big fuckers that come outta tears sometimes? Hundred feet tall, black, bird faces?" He asks, waving as he tries to remember the names.

"...Menos Grande?" asks Ukitake, who has gotten remarkably good at interpreting for the man next to him at meetings.

"Yeah!" Zaraki grins, patting his six-foot-tall colleague on the head like a small child. "You said they're like... combination creatures of a thousand souls each right?"

"Zaraki is correct." Pipes up Tousen, who is also extremely eager to not murder civilians and even more eager to absolutely fuck up the army of Menos Aizen has been gathering in Hueco Mundo. "-It wouldn't be *easy* but dispatching approximately Five hundred Menos in the next week seems much more doable and much, much more morally sound than killing five hundred thousand civillians. Sir."

Kaname can feel the curse nails on his back starting to bleed from Aizen's glare but he presses on.

"-There appears to be a significant population of them gathered on the far eastern edge of Hueco Mundo. It would probably take most of the 11th Division's forces but-"

"IKKAKU!" Zaraki is already bellowing out the door to his lieutenant. "TELL EVERYONE TO PACK AN EXTRA PAIR OF PANTIES, WE'RE GOING ON A HOLLOW HUNT!"

There is a distant but enthusiastic whoop form Ikkaku in reply.

"An excursion into Hueco Mundo is exceptionally dangerous." Unohana notes, voice placid as he returns to the table.

"-and? I don't do this job because it's safe 'n' easy." Zaraki shrugs.

Her neutral expression softens just a bit into a small, affectionate and perhaps ever-so-slightly lascivious smile. "May I suggest that a detachment of the 4th Division accompany the 11th? It won't make the work easier, but it will mitigate some of the risk."

Yamamoto groans, aware that the decision has been made for him.

"Fine." He grunts. "Take a detachment of the Ninth too, you can use that newfangled radiodar whatsit to keep me updated."

"Pardon?" Mumbles Kaname, slightly woozy from blood loss.

His circulatory situation is not helped when an illusion-blind-to-the-blood Zaraki grabs him about the middle and starts carrying him off under his arm in exactly the direction the 9th and 11th are not like a particularly bewildered purse Chihuahua.

***

Aizen... almost strays from his path.

The Hogyoku is slow and tiresome, his first plan to barrage Karakura with Menos to create the Oken is being trashed and actually being forced to work his job of Rukongai Management is- Well, it's reminding him just why he started this quest to Dethrone God.

What loving creator would make an afterlife of squalor, where the 'lucky' are cursed to outlive everyone they know and love? Not one worth worshiping, surely.

But actually being out here, setting up emergency food distribution, implementing the latest in civil engineering from the newly arrived and seeing it immediately improve the quality of life, uniting families and... actually helping people? it's making him question his path. Perhaps- Perhaps God is not some uncaring regent on a distant throne. Perhaps God is something that lives in all souls, a kindness and goodwill towards one's fellow man, and to spread the will of a loving creator, one must Act to Enact God's Will...

Gin Panics.

He has not spent the last 300-odd years dangling the Hogyoku in front of Aizen, stuffing him full of spiritual energy to feed to the machine that generates reality like he was fattening up a goose for Pate, only to have him give up his quest for divinity NOW.

He's gonna have to do something drastic.

He's gonna have to convince Aizen he was right all along, and that he needs to keep using the Hogyoku.

He's going to need to use Aizen's own Illusions against him, and convince Aizen that the souls of the citizens of the rukongai aren't worth playing a Benevolent God for. That the whole thing needs to come out and be replaced.

Sure, it's a dick move

but those are his specialty.

***

It's the night before the 11th and the two detachments are supposed to leave for Hueco Mundo, and Yamamoto's been doing some thinking.

He is also in Zaraki's quarters at midnight sharp. "Captain-General." Nods Unohana, pausing mid-activity to acknowledge him. "Bruh." Zaraki grunts to indicate they were busy. "I need to borrow Zaraki for an hour or so, and then you may continue." he says, and then steps back outside so the man can get untied and dressed.

"This better be good old man, I know you haven't been married for a few centuries but REALLY-" Zaraki grumbles, emerging and putting his sandals on. "Don’t worry, it’ll take twenty minutes tops, all you have to do is stand behind me and don’t hide your rage." Yamamoto explains. "-We'’re going to go see the central 46." Zaraki pauses mid-sandal, slowly looking up at him with an intrigued arch to his brow. "Yes, it’s forbidden." Yamamoto says, not tearing his gaze away from the moon above them. "-But I've received reports that the Central 46 has acquired blueprints of the... Device. Used in the living world earlier this month and I'm nipping this at the damn bud." Zaraki grins, and finishes putting his sandals on.

The Central 46 are alerted to the Presence of Yamamoto and Zaraki by the main gate to their district being kicked through the wall of the council chambers.

"Hello, Sages and Wise Councilors of the Soul Society!" The Old Man greets them as he steps through the hole he just made, and The Barbarian squeezing through after, sword casually over his shoulder. "Well isn't this a surprise, everyone here in a full meeting at One in the Morning on a Teusday!"

"Wh-What is the meaning of this?" one of the head councilmen sputters, mustache bristling. "Shinigami are forbidden form this place, I'll have you both execu-!"

"Shut up." Yamamoto glares, and sparks fly from the corner of his eye. The hem of his Haori is starting to smolder and singe as well as he approaches the table the councilors are crowded around the blueprints from the living world.

"Now, we are all good and honorable people here." Yamamoto says, casually waving a hand in what would normally be a placating gesture but now only made his sleeve flicker as Ryujin Jakka grew hungrier. "-But I've been around long enough to know how Power corrupts."

"And we've all been exposed to a new, horrific level of Power."

"Oh, of course, you would never! It's unthinkable to sink to such a level!"

"...but it's been a few weeks. The initial shock has faded, and you're starting to understand the full toll of the destruction." he explains, strolling up, the diamond insignia on his back spreading across his shoulders as the Haori singes. Behind him, Zaraki is following with an unpleasantly carnivorous stroll, yellow eye lazily moving from face to face, taking stock of all those present. "...and you are perhaps developing a new standard of devastation and suffering to wish upon your enemies."

There is some muttering, some protesting, and worse, some agreeing. They are silenced by a sudden electric crackle of Energy from Zaraki.

"I’m just here to tell you all-" Yamamoto continues, unperturbed. Or perhaps so perturbed he's warped all the way around to a deep, ruthless peace.

"If I hear any ONE of you has taken steps to develop a weapon like this-" he points a finger at the blueprints, which singe and then burn, a low, slow flame that reduces them completely to ash.

"-I’m going to kill all of you."

"Actually," he explains, as the blueprints finish burning and the table catches as well, fire blooming and crackling, lighting him from beneath. "I’m going to kill all of you and your families. By which I mean, I’m figuring out who all your ancestors were going back Five generations, Kill them, and kill all their descendants."

The table burns, and the floor is threatening to catch, but nobody can move to ring the fire alarm or grab a bucket of water.

"-Because that’s the kind of indiscriminate destruction these things cause." he explains. "It's a damn shame to say this, but this is the first time we've been able to settle whole families in the same town- because five, six, even seven generations of families, from great-great grandmother to the newest infants were burnt together in an instant."

"So if you want to wield that kind of destruction, you best be prepared to deal with those kinds of consequences." he growls, and suddenly sweeps his hand over the fire, which snuffs out immediately.

Slowly he turns to go, and regards Zaraki behind him.

"Oh, and just in case any of you had thoughts of hastening my retirement in regards to this matter-" he speaks up, and points to Zaraki "-Near as I can tell, this asshole is immortal and indestructible, so if I happen to be dead, he'll do it for me, won't you?"

"Yes, sir." Zaraki Nods, eye fixed on the head councilor, committing his face to memory, blade and crackling eagerly.

"-and he's nowhere near as speedy and clean a killer as I am, so I suggest you don't test either of us." Yamamoto grins, and Ryujin Jakka can't help but flicker off his brow for emphasis.

"Goodnight, and go fuck yourselves." Yamamoto bows, and exits through the same hole he entered.

The walk back to the 11th is largely silent, but Yamamot can feel the pleased-yet-curious thrum of reiatsu from Zaraki.

"Question, boss-" he suddenly speaks as they approach the 11th.

"You're not supposed to question orders, Zaraki." He sighs. He'll make a proper shinigami out of him. Eventually.

"...Request for clarification, Boss-" Zaraki tries again, and Yamamoto nods. "-Why me?"

Yamamoto arches an overgrown brow at him.

"Not complainin'-" Zaraki explains, pointedly looking up at the moon and scratching his neck in deferment. "-But Byakuya's got more sway with them and Gin's definitely better at terrifying first impressions."

"Hm." Yamamoto nods. "It's in the follow-up, not the impression, you see."

"I do not." Zaraki says. For all his faults and frustrations, Zaraki sure keeps Yamamoto on his toes about not being lazy and actually explaining himself.

"-I am very serious about you killing them and their descendants if they ever think about making one of those devices." he sighs and Zaraki nods, waving a hand for him to continue. "-So I picked the Shinigami most invested in a peaceful future to make sure my orders would be carried out."

Zaraki still looks confused.

"You're my only captain with children, Zaraki." Yamamoto explains. "I know you only give half a rat's ass about the court guard, but I've seen what you'll do for Yachiru."

Zaraki nods understanding now, and a few more paces of silence pass between them.

"...Thank you, Sir." Zaraki mutters, bowing his head and using the honorific with genuine intent for the first time since Yamamoto had known him. "-For understanding."

"Thank you, Captain Zaraki." Yamamoto nodded slightly, stopping before the gate to the 11th. "-For understanding as well."

"-Now get back to Captain Unohana before she schedules some sort of blood test of a thousand needles for me!" Yamamoto grunted, prodding at Zaraki with his cane, and the man didn't need to be told twice.

#AEIWAM #an elephant is warm and mushy #bleach #bleach fanfic #zaraki kenpachi #mauyri kurotsuchi #kisuke urahara #genryusai shigekuni yamamoto #kaname tousen #retsu unohana #long post

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earthtooz · 11 months

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x : COUPLE HUNDRED MILES :*+ﾟ

in which: you're a few minutes away from boarding a flight when an unexpected mikage reo appears and spills his heart to you.

warnings: 1.4k words, swearing, gn!reader, reader sits on reo's lap towards the end, fluff, previous rejection turned romance, bad writing :P, reader and reo are uni students and 20-ish

a/n: this was me practicing to get back into writing bc i am approaching sem break soon and have a lot of things to get out on my plate... but this was also me... being absolutely in love with reo... so... enjoy!

in a few minutes, you’ll be boarding a flight that takes you abroad for six months.

six months of not seeing your friends or family physically, six months of immersing yourself in a new culture, and six months away from the country where you confessed your love to mikage reo, only to be embarrassingly shut down.

boarding passes and passport in hand, you cringe at the haunting memory once more, but the overhead voice of the airport speakers pulls you out of your misery to announce that the boarding for your flight was open.

remaining rooted to your seat in the terminal, you calmly watch as other flight-goers scramble to be the first ones in the line. being apart of the rush was never something you preferred, always lagging behind to find your seat over

you never really liked being apart of the rush, preferring to lag behind and find your seat whilst everyone was sitting down rather than joining the uncomfortable push and pull of airplane aisles.

the queue moves at a moderate pace and when there’s only 30 or so people left, you grab your luggage to secure a spot.

but, a yell of your name reverberates through the airport and you, like many other shocked passengers, turn around to see where the commotion was coming from… only to see reo running right up towards you.

the other passengers didn’t gasp like you did, didn’t have their hearts plummet to the ground like yours did, and most certainly didn’t feel the bout of panic that rammed into you like a bullet train.

what did you do in a past life to deserve this?

you had confessed your pure-hearted, genuine affections for reo only to be met with the stinging palm of rejection slapping you across the face. when he told you that he liked someone else, and in the next breath asked if you could stay friends, the only response you had was to mutter a pathetic ‘sure’ before turning on your heel and walking away from the boy you’ve been longing after. you’ve been ignoring reo since, avoiding him where possible, pretending like you didn’t see him when your paths crossed, and perpetually ignoring all texts of his.

now he manifests right in front of you, having followed you all this way to the airport. this six month cleanse was not starting off on the right foot.

he’s red and sweaty and empty handed and you’re wondering when you’ll be able to stop seeing mikage reo as a gift from the heavens. it’s unfair for him to look good whilst puffed out, but you think that’s what makes him all the more unreachable.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” you hiss.

for a second, you don’t think reo will reply, too entrenched in the idea that this person in front of you is nothing but a trick of your mind. karma for running (more like flying) away from your problems.

against the haziness of your mind, this reo responds. “i need to tell you something.”

“could you not have texted?” you gesture to your phone for emphasis. “what could be so important to make you run all the way out to an airport? and how did you make your way into the terminal?”

“because i’m catching a flight.”

you raise an eyebrow.

“-to your heart.”

“don’t joke around with me like that,” you mutter, a stupid smile making its way to your face, causing you to hide your giggles behind your hands. you still have the capacity to take his jokes lightheartedly. reo thinks that is a good sign. “why are you actually here?”

“because i’ve realised something.”

“what does that have to do with me?”

reo inhales sharply before exhaling a quick “i like you too.”

your mouth drops. reo shifts his weight between his feet awkwardly. the person behind you in line with his wife and kids coughs awkwardly and you grab your luggage and reo and pull them both to the side, face hot. there’s only a few minutes before your flight leaves, but there is a disaster on your hands and a whole lot of questions you need answered.

“what do you mean you ‘like me too’?” you ask, any hostility previously in your tone disintegrating as you meet reo’s gaze. he looks at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“it means that i like you, and i think we should go out.”

“but… why the change of heart?”

he rubs the back of his head awkwardly, “because you ignored me for three weeks and i didn’t like it. i didn’t like not being able to talk to you and not being around you.”

“what about the person that you liked before?”

he cringes at the mention of them. “let’s not think about that, i’ve moved on.” it sounds like there’s more to the story than reo’s letting on, but you don’t pry, not yet at least. “all that matters is that i like you- a lot, and i would like another chance if you’d allow me.”

“i… don’t know,” you murmur, watchful of the gate and how little people there were left in the queue, meaning that you should probably get a move on if you didn’t want to miss your flight. “you know what, we’ll talk about it when i land-”

“-i have two first class tickets.”

“what.”

he shows you the boarding passes proudly, splaying them out to reveal that there was, indeed, two first class tickets.

“so… you… bought- hold on, you weren’t joking and the flight you need to catch is mine? how did you-”

“-i worked my magic,” the purple-haired winks at you, shooting an arrow straight through your heart. damn his boyish charms.

“that’s not at all a good answer!” you hiss. “reo, please tell me you’re not getting on that flight.”

“i am.”

“university starts in a week!”

“and?”

“i’m- what do you mean, ‘and’?”

“and? i’ll be back in time for it to start. you matter more.”

you huff. “you’re not getting on that flight, reo.”

he smiles at the roll of his name off your tongue. “but i am.”

“no you’re not.”

“well you can’t stop me.”

you deflate, dropping your shoulders. he’s right.

“besides, can you really say no to first class?” the purple-haired waves the tickets in front of your face and you have half a mind to push them out of the way.

sparing a glance over to the gate, you realise just how little people are left in the line, leaving you no choice but to agree. stupid reo and his negotiations. you look back at him. “you didn’t have to do that, i would have been fine in economy.”

“yeah but i would not have, and first class would be a lot better with you in it.”

you push his shoulder lightly. “spoiled brat.”

“maybe, but you like this spoiled brat, and we’re going to miss the flight if we don’t hurry so,” he gestures to the gate, “after you.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you murmur fondly and he grins charmingly. “we’re definitely talking about this later.”

“we’re going to do a lot more than just talk, c’mon.”

EXTRA SNIPPET:

“so you’re going to stay the week with me as i settle in for exchange? our semester starts next week, are you sure you’ll be back in time?” you ask, halfway into the flight. reo had decided to invade your pod and now made himself comfortable with you sitting on his lap. you can’t decide whether you like how comfortable he is with you (you like it; a lot).

reo has always been touchy with you, even when you were ‘just friends’. draping himself around you, holding your hand to ‘keep them warm’, and offering piggy-back rides were normal, but now that it was established that you two will be something more than just friends, his affection truly has no bounds.

“even if i’m not then what’s the harm? some of my classes are online and don’t mark attendance,” the purple-haired hums, taking a sip of the cup of coffee he ordered.

you sigh. “you’re horrible.”

“maybe, but we’re young and we deserve to live a little.”

“true.”

“and what if you meet someone there? i can’t have that happening. i need to establish myself as an oligopolist- market dominance in the sea of potential competitors.”

the purple-haired stares at you expectantly, and you’re not exactly sure how to respond to his sudden spiel apart from a helpless: “i can’t believe i like a finance bro.”

for whatever reason, he giggles. “i can’t believe you like me.”

#reasons i like this:#NONE #reo mikage x reader #reo x reader #mikage reo x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #reo mikage #mikage reo #reo fluff #reo x reader fluff #blue lock

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