i understand (on paper) why companies are anti-piracy but its funny when random individuals are also strongly anti-piracy. like how does it negatively affect your life if someone you know downloads a cracked torrent of sims 4. you dont work for EA. EA isnt gonna pay you for this. you lose nothing. its fine. chill out.
° warnings: ig like a teeeeeeny bit of angst if you squint?? just a small fight that gets resolved, not explicit but suggestive content for sure, cussing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of being drunk, maybe a little ooc uramichi? but i imagine him to be stiff through text, mentions of marriage :3, reader is lwk a menace
° notes: i'll keep this fandom alive guys don't you worry, not proofread! fuck it we ball.
synopsis: patching up james’ wounds after another one of his fights.
word count: 2.5k
info+warnings: fighter!james, fluff, unestablished relationship & discussions about it, description of injury, cheesy dialogue, petnames, flirting, skinship, kissing, not proofread
“Ow—ow!”
James’ hands came flying up to grip your wrists and halt your movements, the antiseptic held in your hands floating just millimetres from his cut lip.
"Hold still," you said flatly, trying to pull free. "I'm not done."
"Pretty girl, I think you're trying to finish me off yourself."
"Don't call me that when you're bleeding on my bathroom counter."
He loosened his grip just enough for you to resume dabbing at the wound. His jaw tightened, a sharp hiss escaping through his teeth, but he didn't attempt to pull away again. He let you work, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, tracking every flicker of concentration and worried crease between your brows.
"I won, you know," he finally spoke, the words slightly garbled as you pressed the cotton against his split lip.
You pulled back, examining your work. The cut was deep but clean now, you'd done this enough times to know the difference between a wound that needed stitches and one that could be managed with butterfly bandages and a prayer.
"Sure, baby, sure," you said flatly, reaching for the bandages whilst barely sparing him a glance.
"I'm serious." His hands dropped from your wrists to your waist, settling there like they'd been made to fit. "You should have seen the state of him, big guy, thought he was tough."
"Mmhm."
"He's probably still trying to figure out which way is up."
You pressed a fresh cotton ball to the gash above his eyebrow, and he hissed through his teeth, eyes snapping shut.
“Warn me next time.” He grumbled as his head shifted back in an attempt to escape the pain, but you only pressed the gauze harder onto the wound, hand winding round to the back of his head to keep him in place.
“Maybe if you stopped getting hit in the face it wouldn’t hurt so much.”
His eyes finally open and instantly lock on yours, a playful glint in them as he spoke. “Where’s the fun in that?”
You didn’t dignify that with a response, simply choosing to narrow your eyes before bringing your free hand back around, palm cupping his chin and tilting his head to allow a better angle for you to mend the eyebrow wound. He went pliant under your touch, even allowing his cheek to nuzzle slightly into your thumb whilst his eyes never left your face.
The bathroom was small, and the proximity was inevitable. You stood between his legs, his knees bracketing your hips, his hands warm and heavy on your waist. You could feel every breath he took, could smell the blood and sweat and something uniquely him beneath it all.
“You’re so cute.” He mumbled, more to himself than for you to hear but you just about caught it.
“Am not.” You answer, trying to fight the smile that was creeping onto your lips.
"Are too," he insisted, his voice soft and almost drowsy despite the adrenaline that must have still been coursing through him. "Your nose is all scrunched up and worried, it’s cute."
"Shut up or I'll make this hurt more."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
He laughed, then immediately regretted it as you began to press firmly again. "Ow—okay, not laughing."
You finished the eyebrow, pressing a butterfly bandage over the cut before then stepping back to survey your work. His lip was patched, the bandage above his eye was secure, and you'd wiped away most of the blood from his face. He still looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a truck, but at least now he looked like a clean person who'd gone ten rounds with a truck.
"There," you said, dropping the supplies back into the first aid kit and positioning yourself to step away. "You'll live."
"That's it? No bedside manner? No sweet nothings?" His hands on your waist tightened just a fraction, a whisper of him not wanting you to leave just yet.
"You're on my bathroom counter—that's not a bed, and I don't do sweet nothings."
"Liar." His hands tugged you closer, his thumbs tracing circles against your hip bones. "You're the sweetest person I know, you just pretend to be tough."
"I'm not pretending."
"If that’s what you say, baby."
You glared at him. He beamed back, split lip and all.
"Kiss it better?" He asked, tilting his chin up, his eyes going soft and hopeful.
"Absolutely not. You have an open wound on your lip."
"So?"
"So I'm not kissing you while you're leaking blood."
“But you fixed me up!” James whined like a child, attempting to pull you even closer with his hands.
“Baby, it will do you no good. In fact, it will probably make it hurt more.”
Your reasoning fell on deaf ears
He tugged you forward until you stumbled against him, your palms bracing against his chest to keep yousrelf from crushing his ribs. The heat of his skin seeped through his shirt onto your fingers, and you could feel his heart hammering beneath your touch. He was still running on adrenaline—you realised, still wired from the fight that ended only an hour ago.
"James—"
"Please?" His voice dropped, all the playfulness bleeding out of it. "Just one. I don't care if it hurts."
Your eyes scanned his face, your internal battle holding little power over how he was gazing so desperately at you. You noticed the butterfly bandage above his eyebrow was already starting to curl at the edges from the sweat on his skin, and you reached your thumb up to gently press it back onto his skin.
"You're such a doofus," you whispered.
"I know."
"You're reckless and stupid and you just appear at my place all bashed up like it's nothing."
"I know."
"And you think you can just—bat your eyelashes and get whatever you want."
"Is it working?"
You hated that it was.
"Close your eyes," you said and he instantly followed your orders, a slight smirk appearing as he did so.
You leaned in, so close that your lips were barely a breath away from his. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the smell of the antiseptic mingling with the copper of his blood flooding your senses. He stayed perfectly still, waiting, his eyelashes fanned against his bruised cheeks.
Then gradually you pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth, right where the skin was still intact. A soft, featherlight kiss that barely lasted a second before you pulled back.
He exhaled shakily.
"Was that supposed to be the kiss?" He asked, eyes still closed and lips beginning to form a grumpy pout.
"You asked for one kiss, I gave you one."
"That was a cheek kiss."
"Technically, it was the corner of your mouth. That's close enough."
He opened his eyes, and the look he gave you was equal parts exasperated and adoring. "Baby, you're killing me."
"Good. Maybe next time you'll think twice before getting your face punched in."
"Not a chance."
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling, and James used that moment when you were slightly distracted to loop his arm around your back and pull you straight into him.
You let out a small yelp as your body collided with his, your hands flying up to brace against his shoulders. His grip was firm around your waist, anchoring you in place between his thighs, and his face was suddenly right there, inches from yours, his breath warm against your lips.
"James—"
"Shh." His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and there was something intense flickering beneath the usual playful bravado. "Just let me have this."
"Have what?"
"You here, patching me up and looking at me like I'm worth fixing."
Your throat tightened at his words. "You are worth fixing."
"Am I?"
"You're an idiot, James. A reckless, stupid, beautiful idiot who shows up at my door bleeding and expects me to kiss it better." You cupped his jaw, your thumb brushing over his uninjured cheek. "But you're my idiot, and I'll always patch you up—I'll always be here."
He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours like he was looking for the lie.
"Pretty girl," he breathed after a moment.
"Shut up and kiss me."
"But my lip—"
"You wanted it, now you've got it."
His grin was wolfish, even with the split lip. "Yes, ma'am."
He leaned forward just slightly and his lips were quick to meet yours.
It was soft at first, mindful of the wound, his lips gentle against yours. But then you melted into him, your fingers threading into his hair with your weight shifting onto him gently, and something in him seemed to break. He kissed you deeper, one hand sliding up your back to cradle your head, the other pressing you flush against him whilst tracing the very curve of your spine.
When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes still closed, a stupid, dopey grin on his face.
“Did it hurt?” You finally ask, eyes scanning his features for any hint of pain.
"Mhmm," he answered, not even bothering to open his eyes, that lovesick smile still resting on his lips.
You smacked his arm in response.
"Ow—ow!" His eyes flew open, his hand coming up to rub the spot you'd hit. "What was that for?!"
"You said it hurt! I was leaning on your ribs!"
"Not like that!" He pouted, looking genuinely offended. "I meant the kiss, pretty girl. But the kiss was worth the pain. Not worth—" he gestured vaguely at his arm, "—whatever that was."
"Consider it payback for scaring me half to death showing up like this."
"Payback?" He gaped at you. "I'm injured! I'm a wounded man! And you just—" he made a smacking motion with his hand, "—assaulted me!"
"You're fine."
"I am not fine. I'm fragile, delicate, bruised and battered—"
"James."
"—and my own girlfriend is attacking me—"
"I'm not your girlfriend."
He paused mid-whine, his head tilting in mild confusion. "You're not?"
"We've never talked about it."
"Well, I'm talking about it now." He grabbed your hips and pulled you flush against him again, his grin returning full force despite the split lip. "You're my girlfriend. You patch me up, you kiss me better, you let me sleep in your bed—"
"You invite yourself."
"—and you smack me when I'm being annoying. That's girlfriend behaviour."
"That's exasperated behaviour."
"Same thing." He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your nose, then the corner of your mouth. "Girlfriend."
"James—"
"Girlfriend." Another kiss, this one to your forehead. "My pretty girl."
"Stop—"
"Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend—"
You smacked his arm again, causing him to immediately halt his movements.
"Ow! Okay, okay!" He laughed, wincing as the movement pulled at his ribs. "I'll stop. For now."
"Thank you."
"But only because you're my girlfriend now, and I'm a gentleman."
You sighed, shaking your head. "You're impossible."
"Whatever you say." He grinned, utterly unrepentant. "Girlfriend."
"James."
"What? I'm just stating facts." He pressed another kiss to your cheek, quick and playful. "You're my girlfriend. I'm your boyfriend. We're a thing. A couple. An item. Partners in crime—"
"We're not partners in crime. I don't commit crimes."
"You patch up a criminal, that's accessory after the fact."
You stared at him. "Did you just—"
"Legal jargon." He winked. "I'm full of surprises."
"You're full of something, that's for sure."
"Romance. I'm full of romance." He pulled you closer, his hands sliding down to rest on your lower back. "And you love it."
"I tolerate it."
"Same thing."
"It's really not."
"Sure, baby, sure."
You glared at him, and that seemed to only make his grin widen further before you stepped out from between his legs, moving to stand in front of the counter beside him as you organised your first aid box.
"You can ask me to be your girlfriend when you're not bleeding onto my bathroom floor," you said, not looking at him as you neatly arranged the bandages and antiseptic.
The silence that followed was unusual. You glanced briefly over to find him staring at you, his expression caught somewhere between surprised and hopeful.
"Wait," he said slowly. "Really?"
You shrugged, snapping your eyes back to the first aid kit. "Maybe if you ask nicely, and if you're not covered in blood."
"And bruises?"
"You'll always have bruises."
"Fair point." He was quiet for a moment, and you could practically feel him scheming behind you. "So you're saying there's a chance?"
"I'm saying you should probably focus on healing first."
"I can multitask."
"James."
“Fine, fine.” He grumbled, but his eyes fell back onto your figure and you failed to notice how they softened before he mumbled to himself.
“Pretty girl. Gonna make you mine.”
“Did you just say something?” Your gaze fell back on him as he just shook his head innocently, feigning surprise and absolute confusion, not realising that you had in fact heard him and it was taking everything in you to suppress the blush that was creeping up your cheeks
You returned back to organising the first aid kit, fingers fumbling with the bandages as you tried to compose yourself. Behind you, you could hear him shifting on the counter, the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusted his position.
You could feel his eyes on you. They always found you, no matter where you were in the room: tracking your movements, cataloguing every small gesture, and even though you refused to turn around, you knew exactly what expression he was wearing. That soft, adoring look that made your stomach flip and your heart stutter.
Your fingers brushed against the antiseptic bottle, and you found yourself smiling despite everything that had happened tonight: the blood on his knuckles, the bruises blooming across his ribs that he had managed to keep hidden from you, the fact that he'd shown up at your door at midnight, broken and reckless and so achingly him.
He was going to ask you eventually, properly, with no blood involved, and likely partnered with flowers and a dinner because he was dramatic like that.
And you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were going to say yes.
You pressed your lips together, fighting the grin threatening to break across your face. The blush had reached your cheeks now, warm and undeniable, and you knew he could see it and was probably grinning like an idiot behind you.
You finally turned, a retort ready on your lips, but the words died in your throat when you saw the way he was looking at you so softly, like you were the only thing in the world worth seeing. His hand reached out, catching yours and bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
You moved to step back between his legs, and his hands found your waist immediately, pulling you close. You pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart, feeling its steady rhythm beneath your lips, his hand moving to cup the back of your head once more whilst he gently pulled you into a hug.
You realised with startling clarity in that moment—with his arms around you and his warmth seeping into your skin—that you were completely, and utterly done for.
Remember when joining fandom as a younger person meant lurking for a bit and figuring out the vibe and etiquette instead of coming in on day one and calling people weirdos for liking weirdo shit in the weirdo factory.
╰₊✧ when you piss off your girlfriend so she decides to drain you dry tonight┊0.5k words
contains: smut!! 18+) dom reader & sub jinu┊demon stamina, established relationship, jealousy of rumi and possessiveness, creampies/breeding, roughness and scratching
➤ author's note: i saw this prompt on twitter and just had to write it for someone but it’s short because i typed this all out on my phone
making you jealous was one mistake.
making you jealous, pointing it out with a chuckle, and then brushing it off as nothing important was a death sentence.
it wasn’t his intention to belittle your feelings, he swears, he was just being stupid because his mind is all over the place between gwi-ma, his past, his half-blood enemy, and his new occupation as a kpop idol. he didn’t think fans in the human world shipping him with the purple-haired demon hunter was going to bother you so much. he found it to be completely harmless, but you clearly thought otherwise and decided the best punishment was to let out your frustrations on him.
his head was spinning at this point, thrown back into the plush pillow as another useless moan fell from his lips, unable to keep track of the number of rounds you two had done and how many more were to come. all he knew was the non-stop pleasure you’ve been giving him for the past hours, the fire of ecstasy burning in his soul with each drag of your velvet walls along his cock, the smell of sex, the pain of your nails scratching at his chest, how beautiful you were on top of him with your skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat and the intricate patterns drawn all over your body glowing were every time he hit your spongy sweet spot— he didn’t even remember why you were so pissed off at him in the first place.
through his half-lidded eyes, he could see evidence of his previous peaks oozing out of your tight little cunt where the two of you met, leaking out a little more with every raise of your hips and getting pushed deeper into you each time they slammed into him. he wouldn’t even be surprised if he’s fucked a baby into you at this rate, but the thought of it combined with unnatural stamina kept him rock-hard despite the fact that he’s been shooting blanks for the past fourty mintues. he doesn’t know if he still has it in him, but he knows you aren’t going to relent until he’s properly drained and all of the underworld knows that you’re the reason why he’s screaming so much.
your hand traced up his torso, tracing the design up his abs and chest, leaving feather-light touches all over, from his board shoulders where you left sunken bute marks so deep that it was a wonder there was no blood to the dark purple marks you left on his fair neck up to his sharp jaw. the possessive glare you gave him made shivers shoot up his spine, and he swears he came again with how his vision went completely white and his entire body stilled for a moment.
that was, until he felt you lightly smacking him in the face multiple times until he opened his eyes and saw you smirking at the pathetic state he was in. “aw, are you going to tap out already, jinu? you look so cute when you’re all fucked out like this… i’m so glad it’s a sight that only i am able to see…”
god, he’s so in love with you. his hand cupped yours, looking up at you as the only one for him. “right, only you… i’m yours, forever and always…”
