#(and on the third hand a lot of the time i just have to get from car to store but on the fourth hand i sometimes go for long walks or bikes

[madamechrissy]

Just Friends!?

-Art in the banner from nek0zuu_ on X-

Pairings- Former Nerd! Gojo and popular F! reader

Summary - Satoru Gojo was the biggest nerd EVER in high school with you, next door neighbors, study buddies, you were the best friends in the world. Never having the courage to ask you -the 'popular girl' out- you never knew he felt for you. He ended up leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- getting famous with a modeling career, and lost touch with everyone from his old life. While you're working the family pub to help out your parents, years later, he finally comes back to visit, just to have you making his drink. Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin. You feel he's so accomplished now, and you're just a small town girl, but little do you know, you've never left his mind.

Warnings - Nerdjo turned famous and cocky, but he's still just a Nerdjo deep down hehe- this chap - lots of tension, angstyyy, misunderstandings, emotional, some kissing and heavy desire but mostly this chap is sfw, mutual pining, lots of feelings - Tag list closed

Based HEAVILY on the 2005 Rom com Just Friends - part of my amazingg moot @indiewritesxoxo's Friday night flicks! 🌙

<<<Part Four - Masterlist - Part Six>>> (coming soon)

Part Five

It’s been two hours since Satoru said he’d meet you, and you are as dressed up as you have been in years, hair curled to perfection, beautiful dress that’s hugging every inch of your body, pretty and dark red, long sleeves with lace all over them, and black tights underneath with thigh high boots. Your parents had been gushing over you when you’d walked out, doing a little spin and giggling.

That was two hours ago.

Now you’re touching up your highlighter, blinking mascara coated lashes that are far longer than you’re used to. He was used to models, so surely your skills wouldn’t be that level, but you wanted to at least try to look pretty for this… date. Yes it was going to be a date. He's only seen you casual so far, you're literally wearing lace panties and not Sailor Mars this time too.

The thoughts of last night make you blush, even as the moments tick by. To feel like that underneath him, so fucking beautiful and desired, with the boy you adored? It seemed worth whatever hurt that was coming when he went back home. You want to believe him, that he won't forget you again, but as the clock ticks it's hard to know if he's staying true to his word.

You call again, it's the third time in two hours, you hope it's not too much but now you're almost a little worried, shooting him a text instead, biting your lip as your fingers dance across the cool screen. 

Satoru, are you okay? It's fine if you can't make it! Just let me know you're safe, the roads are covered in snow.

You sigh, setting down the phone as your mom walks in where you're sitting by the window, watching the snowfall gently. “Hey honey, are you staying for dinner?”

It's your mom's sweet way of distracting you. “He might still come, mom.”

“Absolutely! But I am getting ready to cook, you know.” She puts a hand on your shoulder, gentle now. “You're so stunning.”

“Aw, mom...” You look back to see her blinking emotions, making your heart ache.

“He'd only be so lucky to see you like this. You know that?”

You look down shyly. “You see him. He's a whole model.”

“And you're you. And that's special too. Don't get too upset if…” She trails off a bit no. “Just, seeing you like that after he left was really hard for me is all.” You stand now, hugging her and inhaling the familiar scent of her as she blinks back emotion.

“You're scared I'll get hurt again.” She nods, sniffling now as you brush aside a tear.

“That was worse than watching any breakup. I'm really scared for you, it's not that I don't still love Satoru. I promise it's not that. But you're doing so good now.” you smile sadly, remembering the days you laid in bed after, crying and not leaving your room for weeks aside from essential needs.

You wouldn't get that way again. Even if he…

“Just watch your heart, it's a million sizes too big.” You smile tremulously up at her, holding her hands now.

“Get that from you two.” You both smile now, and a knock sounds at the door, making you jump in excitement, rushing to where your dad was opening the door now, and then pausing.

“Sukuna how have you been!?” Your dad says, and Sukuna chuckles, coming into view as he puts his hand on your dad's shoulder.

“I've been good, how about you, old man?”

“Old man!? I'll show you ‘old man’. Got a football you know!”

“Oh yeah? I'm down for a challenge.” He grins, and your mom blinks in surprise, looking at you, then at the door, when your dad invites the tall man in, and his ruby eyes catch you, making him falter, his lips parted.

“Sukuna…” You trail off, while his gaze drifts over you, heating you up with his look, before clearing his throat, walking over to you.

“I was right in the neighborhood and thought I'd say hi to the family. You look… beautiful, shit.” He rubs the back of his neck as he murmurs it, and your dad shuts the door to the cold, leaving you all basking in the warmth of the well heated home.

Beautiful, Sukuna had never said that sort of thing when you dated - maybe sexy, hot or whatever ridiculously horny statement he used to make, but then he had changed a lot. So had Satoru Gojo, and here you were, still the same girl, with two famous men back in town showing up, the doubts creeping as you realize how excited you were for it to be Satoru at the door.

“Are you going out or… getting back?” He asks then, you watch as snowdrops dissolve on his black overcoat, he brushes some off his pink locks, just a little damp from them melting.

“Thank you, I’m so delayed in my responses.” He chuckles as you get just a little flustered, he’s eyeing you so intensely right now, while you’re fidgeting with your hands in front of your lap. “I had a date but… he hasn’t um, showed up or answered the phone. So I don’t know my plans.”

“Idiot.” You glare, and he sighs. “Sorry, but only an idiot would not show up.”

“He could be… caught up with the show, or something. So I don’t know, he should still come. But for now, um… I may help mom cook?”

“Looking like that?” He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear, as your parents walk up now, and your dad has busted out his football, Sukuna chuckles over at him - he’s much thinner than he probably remembers, but he’s so much stronger than he was years back. “You’re ready to get your ass kicked, old man?”

“You’re a pro, but I’m old school.” Your dad winks over at you, and you giggle just a bit. He’d always loved Sukuna, where your mom was not his biggest fan, they had some weird male football bond happening.

But you haven’t seen your dad so excited in forever, he was a huge fan of Sukuna’s team, so you’re sure this is a trip for him. “You came to see my parents, or me?”

Your soft question earns a raised brow and an arrogant smirk, smacking you right back to the girl fawning over him in high school. “Both, I didn't know if you’d be home or not, but I was hoping. But also I wanted to… see him too, if that’s cool?”

“Of course it is.” You grin now, a hand on his broad shoulder, and he exhales, leaning a little low. “How are you two gonna play in the snow!?”

“Tch, it’s nothing brat.”

“Brat!? No, no. Not calling me that again.” You shove at the big man, as your dad starts bundling up, and you look at him with concern. “Dad are you okay to…”

“Honey, let him. He needs this.” Your mom whispers, and you nod then, smiling as your dad looks at you curiously.

“You worried about your ‘old man’?” He teases, kissing your head affectionately, and you’re so thankful for Sukuna then, something you’d never thought you’d say.

“Don’t catch a cold, now! Sukuna, take it easy on him.”

“Psh, no way.” Sukuna grins deviously as the two men run outside in the cold like psychos in the darkening sky, you stand by the door and giggle as you watch them, the sky a snowy mix of purples and pinks as nighttime comes.

“You’re awfully popular again, I feel like I need to make these boys ask permission again.” Your mom teases, you roll your eyes, hugging your arms as the brisk air hits, then peeking back at your phone.

No response.

But your text was read.

You swallow a bit, feeling sick to your stomach - was he… with Samantha? He said he wasn’t interested, but they had a history. This morning you’d laid in his bed for longer than you should have, inhaling his scent, lingering memories flitting through your mind until you’d finally left - and it took far, far too much effort, that room really felt like you and Satoru’s personal snowglobe.

“I’ll call one more time,” you say, and your mom nods understandingly, bundling up in her jacket now. “You headed outside?”

“I gotta see your dad like this for a few. Then we can cook dinner together, maybe Sukuna can stay?” You nod and smile at her, hand shaking when you’re left alone, pacing nervously. Your heels click on the old hardwood floors as you do, as it rings and rings and rings.

Did Satoru break his promise?

*****

“Shit, shit, shit. No reception. Fuck, do you have any, Samantha?” The blond model pouts, brushing back her blong locks.

“No, I wish! Ugh this town is so fucking stupid! Why aren’t we moving!?” She leans out of the window then, screaming out - “Move, townies, I have to take a fucking piss!”

He’d been stuck in this car in traffic for an hour with her, barely moving inch by fucking inch from some really bad accident, a four car pile up according to the radio - which is the only thing that’s working. Neither of them have reception, and no internet access on any of their devices in this particular area, maybe because of the storm, he’s not sure.

But this is hell.

You’re going to think he broke his fucking promise, you’re probably already giving up on him coming, and he had everything perfectly planned, for it to all start to fall apart, and now in this car with a psycho brat and nothing to pass the time, just the windshield wipers and the fucking heat blasting, with some fuzzy radio. He peers at his phone again, glaring at it.

“Boring, so boring! Ugh this whole trip! I can’t wait to fucking get back home, out of these backwoods.” She rolls up her windows and pouts, pressing closer over to the heat that’s blasting from the vents.

“Yeah, yeah I know. You’ve hated being in a ‘small town’ you yap about it enough.” She scoffs, crossing her slender arms and scowling at him.

“Well you’re no fun, all fucking broody over the little girl from the bar.”

“Yeah we are not talking about her.” His jaw clenches, blue eyes flashing, and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re just gonna fuck her, so do it and get on with it.”

“What!?”

“It’s what you do - fuck women, leave them. Or fuck them when you feel like it if they’re cool with sharing. Lucky for you, I didn’t give a fuck, because I had my own roster,” her words are the first serious things he’s ever heard from her, while she looks out the windshield, hugging herself under her jacket. “But that girl won’t.”

“What are you even on about, you didn’t want more than sex,” Satoru trails off then, when her eyes meet his again, softer than he’s used to. “You were fine just fucking, we never dated.”

“Well yeah, you don’t date, everyone in the industry knows, you have serious issues, you know?”

“Me, issues!? Samantha-”

“No. You do. Soon as we fucked you had a ride waiting for me as if I was some… escort? And all my friends say you did the same. Ever think it made any of them feel shitty?” Satoru’s stomach twists, looking back down at the phone and then at the road, avoiding her gaze. “Well, it did.”

“You felt great under me, all of you did. I’ve never had a complaint in the bedroom, okay?” She laughs a bit, sighing.

“You are a superb fuck, but if that’s all you’re gonna do to her, leave the poor girl the fuck alone.”

“You don’t know shit of how I feel for her.” He scowls at her, and she just shrugs a narrow shoulder, a nasty smile on her face.

“I know you, I know men like you, you’re an industry standard.”

“And so the fuck are you.” She snorts now, rolling her eyes again.

“Sure am, but I know what I am - you’re trying to act like you’re any better. Go fuck her then, and leave her like you do. Think that’ll be good? She’d be better off with me.”

“With you!?”

“Mmm, yes. At least I’d give her some affection after.” Satoru’s heart races as her words hit. “I kept fucking you because I liked you, I really liked you - until I realized you’re shallow.”

“You are not calling me shallow, you tell everyone in the city they’re poor because they don’t wear designer clothes. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You’re as shallow as me.”

“You know, shut the fuck up please.” He keeps peering at the road, as the cars finally start moving, he checks the time and curses.

“Best you don’t make it, save her the heartbreak.”

“You’re suddenly really deep, Samantha. I don’t like it anymore than you being annoying as fuck.” She looks out the window, shaking her head.

“You don’t know any of the women in your bed. You don’t bother to.”

Satoru can’t argue it, he knows Samantha is right, and she’s read him like a fucking book, her words swirling through his mind - would he just hurt you? No, it’s different, you’re different, you’re the reason he became this way. The hurt that day, the rejection he thought he was going to get, along with Sukuna and everyone, it had made him high tail it and run.

And he changed.

Fuck who was he? Sometimes he’d look in that mirror at his perfect features and contemplate just that - who was he? Satoru Gojo, a model, a famous man on the runway with endless women, or was he that nerdy boy, the one who laughed with you till your tummies hurt? Who made popcorn and oreos for the two of you - the weirdest thing ever but you loved it - and watched movies in your room?

Could he ever be that boy again truly, was last night any sort of real attempt, or would he fuck it all up and hurt you again?

He can’t live with himself if he does.

“You’re right,” his murmur brings her attention to him, he’s exhausted from the shoot and the drive, and so is she, but her eyes soften a bit. “I was a dick to you, and everyone.”

“Understatement.” He just sighs, clenching the wheel with tight hands.

“Were you different before you were famous?” He asks, he’s never asked shit about her, it’s true - she was just fun when he wanted a psycho in the bed, he didn’t even see her as a person.

Sure she was indeed insane, but he didn’t have to treat her like shit.

“No, I’ve always been this way honestly. I didn’t change because I got famous, but I grew up rich.”

“Ah.” It’s quiet, as he takes a breath now. “I feel a lot for her.”

“I know, it’s written all over your face when you talk about her.” He looks at her once more, before focusing on the road again. “If you feel something, say it, I never hold back shit I want to.”

“No you don’t.” He laughs a bit and so does she, shifting a bit, eyes brightening now.

“I have internet, oh fuck yes. I can drown out your moody ass.” He sticks his tongue out, and she returns it, slipping in her ear buds as they come to a red light, and he pulls up his phone finally, seeing your missed calls come through and texts.

Shit, shit, shit.

He picks up the phone, calling it finally, but it keeps ringing, and he hangs up and tries again, only for it to do the same thing, making his stomach twist in knots. Did you think he wasn’t coming!? Were you upset, or mad? Were you ignoring his calls- god a million what ifs occur as he tries to focus on driving, to get Samantha back to the hotel so he can see you.

*****

“Oh god, yeah I remember that! So embarrassing!” You’re covering your face as your mom starts getting the plates ready and you have busted out your old pictures, Sukuna and you in football and cheerleader gear.

“You sucked at cheer, you were only allowed because you were so pretty.” He teases, and you gasp, shoving at him playfully.

“Oh whatever!? No way!” His hand comes to the small of your back as he grabs the plates you can’t reach, pressing him too closely against you.

It’s been another half hour or so, and at this point your phone was just by the entryway, you couldn’t keep calling and texting, you would come off super pathetic, so you’re just enjoying the ambience of being with your parents and Sukuna. He’s made your dad damn near giddy, and you’re thankful for that, but your mind keeps drifting to Satoru.

“I think everything is ready! Drinks?” You say then, and Sukuna smiles a little. “Let me guess, beer?”

“I’ll drink whatever you’ve got.” His tone and eyes make you tremble just a bit, as you remember being with him - sex was never your problem, your problem was Sukuna was a little shit then. He was your first, and the memories hit your mind a little too vividly, and he seems to notice, leaning low. “What ya thinking about?”

“Nothing!? Nothing. Um…” The doorbell rings now, you figure at this point it’s a neighbor, your hopes of Satoru are just shoved back so it doesn’t hurt as much.

“I’ll go get it.” Your mom says then, smiling over at you two, when Sukuna brushes his rough, calloused fingers against your delicate cheek.

“Kuna…”

“There’s that nickname?” You glare, and he just chuckles, tilting your chin up to make you look at the tall man then. “What is on that mind? Memories?”

“Of you being a dick.” He sighs, dropping his hand then.

“Yeah, I was. A big dick to you. An idiot.”

“No, I mean, look at your life? It’s amazing.” His jaw clenches a bit, hands gripping the counter a bit tightly as you hear murmurs coming from the living room, but your heart is hammering in your ears, blocking it out.

“It’s not all amazing, okay? I thought of you alot. I wanted to reach out-”

“Satoru is here, honey.” You blink in shock, as you turn to look at Satoru Gojo, for once a complete disheveled mess, breathless almost as he smiles at you and then it falls, as he sees your proximity to Sukuna. “Sukuna came over and is having dinner, do you want to join us?”

Satoru wants to kill him, he wants to rip his arms off for being near you - which is irrational, it’s stupid, but it brings back every memory of longing and need while he watched the girl he loved in Sukuna’s arms. When Sukuna dated you he stopped being an ass to Satoru, it wasn’t until after the split he started being a dick again - a big dick to many people too, just particularly Satoru.

The hatred and resentment burn him so badly, he hardly notices you until he blinks it away, sighing, seeing your gorgeous dress. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, you’re so fucking beautiful tonight, dressed to go out and dressed to kill, that dress hugging every curve he was dying to touch, to hold, to kiss upon. Earrings dangle off your pretty ears, reflection against your dress as you look at him.

“I am so sorry, I… can we talk?” He asks then, softly, and you nod, trying not to let your hurt or worry make you angry at him, you need to hear him out.

“Sure. Just a minute, Sukuna.” He nods then, and you walk out to Satoru, he takes your wrist gently, pulling you over by the stairs, exhaling as he eyes you up and down slowly, as if he was caressing you with his blue eyes.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, my god.” You look down nervously, biting your lip a bit, and he tilts your chin, leaning low, making you vividly remember his kisses. “Absolutely stunning.”

“Oh, thank you Satoru. I didn’t know where you… were… taking me.” Your pause speaks volumes, and he sighs, pulling out his phone now.

“I called so many times after I got service, there was a horrible accident and we got stuck for hours. I’m so sorry.” You hear it then, the desperation, as he shows you his phone. “Your messages didn’t come until then, I am so fucking sorry, I tried to get here as quickly as I could. But… I guess I’m too late.”

“What, no, no. You’re not too late.” You step closer, and he exhales, pulling you against his chest now, resting his head against yours. “Sukuna came to see my parents, we’re not on a date or anything.”

“Fuck…” His relief makes his shoulders slump.

“Were you… worried about that?” Your whisper makes him laugh softly, pulling back to look into your eyes, cool hand cupping your face.

“Yeah. I was.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He repeats, while your hands cling to his soft sweater under his black jacket. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“How serious can we get if you leave soon?” Your voice is full of hurt, full of worry, and he can’t blame you one fucking bit, especially after soaking in what Samantha said.

“I will never just abandon you again.”

“Will you forget me again?” Your tears swim in your eyes, and you step back, shaking your head. “Fuck, ignore me, I’m tired I guess.”

Your words crush his heart, he feels it, the pain he put you through now, blinking back his own emotions. “I never forgot you, how could I?”

“You did.” You look away, and he turns you back to him, you fall again and again, over and over, body reacting, heart gravitating toward him against any better judgement you should have.

“No, I never fucking did.” His husky declaration is met with your mom peeking out now, concern on her face.

“Are you all going out or staying for dinner? There’s plenty, Satoru.” He clears his throat, watching you rub your arms nervously, a million things he’s dying to say to you, to tell you, all stuck in his fucking throat.

“We could just hit the movies and eat here, what do you think?” You say to him then, looking back up, as he runs a hand through his white locks.

“Think you look too beautiful not to take to a fancy restaurant, but I also think I’d love your mom’s cooking again.” You smile tremulously at his answer, sighing and trying to compose yourself.

“Then let’s go.” You take his hand, it feels too good, your little one engulfed in his warm palm, while Satoru sets his jacket and pulls out a chair for you, glaring over at Sukuna, who just smiles.

“Satoru, I should… say sorry for being a dick.” He says then, making Satoru blink in surprise.

“What?”

“I was a dick. Football makes us go to therapy, it’s really making me a little bitch but, here it is. I’m sorry.” He blinks once more, while he sits on the other side of you.

“Shit um, thanks I guess.” He mumbles, he still hates him, but he’s not going to keep the tension at the family table. Sukuna reaches around you to pat his shoulder, smiling a bit.

“It’s like a reunion huh?” Sukuna says teasingly, hand now finding your thigh under the table, making you look wide eyed at him, burning over your black tights. “It’s kind of nice being here again.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Satoru’s hand comes to your thigh now too, and you shift just a bit, Satoru’s is higher, thumb brushing circles on your soft inner thigh.

Some reunion.

“It’s nice to see you all getting along, and seeing you all again. I know she really missed you a lot, Satoru.” Your dad says then, and you hear it, the tone. Your dad was very protective, and he was never cool with his daughter being hurt - with Sukuna you both mutually broke up, but Satoru…

He really just left.

Satoru feels it in his gaze, sighing now. “Yeah well, certain people made High school shit for me. So I left.”

Sukuna looks away, sighing, and you feel the pain in his voice. “Not everyone was so bad.” You say softly, he nods then, hand on your thigh squeezing as Sukuna’s eases off.

“No, someone was amazing, and I shouldn’t have just left her.” His words are said in front of the room, and the tension eases, your dad smiles just a bit.

“She is amazing, you know.”

“Dad!”

“She is.” Satoru agrees, then he nibbles on the food in front of him, sighing. “I’m losing my abs this week.”

“You are not, silly!” You giggle with him, as all of you begin to reminisce, to talk softly, until food is done, and you’re going to help your mom clean up, but she stops you.

“You have a movie to get to, go on.” You smile at her knowing gaze.

“Satoru, have her home safe.” Your dad says, and you roll your eyes.

“I’m twenty six!”

“Still!”

“I’ll have her home safe. Unless she… wants to stay at my place again. But we’ll let you know, promise.” He nods then, hugging Satoru firmly.

“Please do, the roads are slick, be careful you two.”

“We will be, dad.” You look to see Sukuna saying his goodbyes as well, and Satoru glares at him, he can’t help it, the jealousy raging.

“Let me warm up the car, mmkay sweets?” He says softly, and you nod, but he shocks you by planting a kiss right on your cheek in front of everyone, making your skin heat up against his lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Thanks, Satoru.” You go to grab your jacket, but Sukuna has already gotten it, gently placing it over you as you two step outside into the cold, and you look up at him in the now dark night, just the porch light illuminating his silhouette. “Thank you so much for coming over, Sukuna. Truly.”

“I had fun catching up, your old man’s strong, he’ll be fine.” He pats your head affectionately, when you hug him tightly.

Satoru watches from his car and feels sick. He can’t hear a word you fucking said, but Sukuna showing up when he was supposed to already left him one step behind. Sukuna wraps his arms around you, you literally disappear in the big man’s embrace, while he gets the heat going, looking away before he does get sick.

He wants you to be his.

Is it selfish, is it fucking foolish? What future could you two even have? And you were a girl who needed a future, security, loyalty. You weren’t a girl he could just have and ever let go, but all he can think of is having you, over and over. All he can imagine is his lips bruising and marking every inch of your skin, not leaving the bed for days and just ordering food when you need it, fuck he’d hand feed you.

Shit Satoru Gojo has never thought of doing.

“You’re welcome, brat.” Sukuna says softly, after you thank him for spending time with your father.

“No, it meant alot. Truly. You’ve changed so much, but you weren’t all bad back then you know.” You tease, he chuckles then, sooty pink lashes lowering over those ruby eyes as his breath comes out in a puff of condensation.

“I fucked up with you. If you ever… figure out… all that.” He gestures his head to the car, and watches as you blush furiously. “And it’s not what you want, you have my contact info now. I’ll always answer your call, okay?”

“Sukuna, that's corny!”

“Fuck off, I know.” He glares, and you giggle again.

“That therapist should be famous.”

“Bye, now, brat.” You giggle and smack a kiss on his cheek, up on your tiptoes, watching a blush form on his cheeks. “It’s an open offer.” He says, husky toned, you nod then.

“Please drive safe!”

“You too, be careful tonight.”

“I will. Good night, Sukuna.” He nods with a half turn of is lips and walks over to his own sports car as you get inside the warmth with Satoru, smiling and then gasping as he yanks you against him. “Satoru?”

“I’ve been dying to do this all day.” He whispers huskily, before pressing his lips against yours, holding you against him in the warm confines of the car. He drinks up your sighs as you melt in his embrace, those shocks coursing through your veins from his plump lips, from his touch.

“Mnh…” Your soft cry makes him throb in need, but he tries to hold back, taking a breath instead, looking down at your now swollen lips, caressing them with his thumb.

“I never forgot you.” He repeats what he said earlier, you kiss him again, eagerly, tenderly, and he moans as you do, tongues dancing as lips keep pressing, melding against each other. “How could I?”

“Toru, I’m scared.” Your whisper makes him pause, he pulls back a bit, hands on your face now, shaking his head.

“I know. And I’m sorry you are. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing when I forgave you long ago, just… don’t hurt me again. Okay? I can’t handle it.” He nods, feeling your vulnerability, and you then relax, kissing him over and over, until he presses you against the door, leaned over, his hands dragging down your body, you whimper so sweetly he almost devours you there in that car.

“Shit, shit. I need to…” He backs off, watching your breasts rise and fall, he has never felt this, the insane need, once you all kissed he knew it was over, but every kiss drives him more out of his mind, as he falls just as bad as he had then. “I’ll fuck you right here if we don’t go.”

“In front of my parents!?”

“Full high school nostalgia.” You laugh then, and so does he, to break the tension, as you shakily put on your seat belt.

“None of that, gonna give my dad a damn heart attack. He has enough shit to deal with.” He presses one more kiss before he backs out of your driveway, an arm over the seat, brushing against the back of your neck.

“He looks healthy and good, I was really glad to see that.”

“Sukuna cheered him up playing football.” Your words are innocent and sweet, but he feels it hit - the inadequacy. He was supposed to be your best fucking friend in the world, and an ex had a better connection and was more involved.

The pain and guilt eats at him, and it’s quiet then, as the snow lightens up, and Satoru drives carefully in the night, you put a hand on his thigh, and his falls right over yours, squeezing it tightly. “Thank you for even going out with me tonight.”

“Of course, I want to… spend as much time as we can.” Your soft voice hits his ears, as you lean close, pressing a kiss on his neck.

“Me too, I was so stressed out, god being stuck in the car with Samantha was torture.” You laugh a bit, but he can hear it’s tense. “Sweetheart,” you two come to a stop, and he looks at you now, the streetlights casting a red glow over him while the snow finally stops falling, and the look he gives you makes your breath catch. “I only want you, okay?”

“Satoru you don’t-”

“No, I do. There’s nothing between me and her alright?” You nod then, swallowing nervously, as he kisses your forehead far too sweetly. “I used to sleep with her. But we never dated, I… never dated anyone.”

“Never?” You asked quietly, and he laughs without humor, looking back at the road now.

“Never. I guess I had someone in my head. I guess I had someone’s faded picture in my pocket.”

“You… what?” He taps his pocket, and you reach down now, emotions hitting your throat when you see it, the last picture he’d taken of you. You’re bright, cheerful and so, so happy. “You kept this?”

“You didn’t like it, and were gonna throw it out, remember? I got mad about it, so I swiped it. It was beautiful.” Your tears fall on the faded, crumbled up polaroid, taking several shaky breaths now as the meaning sinks in.

“I didn’t like it then, but… now I do.” He smiles, the weight off his chest while you put it back in his pocket. “Why didn’t you reach out?”

Satoru sighs, pulling up to another light, hand on yours gripping tightly as he studies you with that lidded gaze, with his plump lips parted just so, eyes that you have always loved looking into. But now they’re different, they’re jaded eyes yes, but there’s so much unsaid in them, so much it makes you falter, when he takes your hand and kisses the back of it, lips brushing your knuckles.

“I was terrified of feeling it all again. Every feeling I had for you, I just… thought it was best to shove down. But, I guess they never left.” The words in the yearbook flash across your mind now.

Did he mean them?

“I guess I never shared all my feelings, either.” You say softly, he is driving once more, but keeps your hand up by his lips.

“You have no fault in anything, here. You were just… you. And I love that, how you’re you. You are still you.”

“You’re still you, too, Satoru.”

He blinks a bit, sighing again. “Am I?”

“I think so.”

You hope so.

You wish it so.

You have never felt what this is, even with him before, the intensity of just being near him enough to drive you insane, every breath and motion leading you deeper into the abyss that is Satoru Gojo. Opening your heart to someone who could so easily crush it all over again, who can tear it all apart so casually, but it’s as if you would take it all if it meant having him for just a bit.

“What movie are we seeing, hmm?” Your whisper breaks him out of his thoughts, of how the fuck he could make this work, of how he could express everything that’s been bottled up inside. Of how he could be that Satoru for you again.

He looks over at your gorgeous face, bathed in moonlight, as beautiful as the day he first met you in school, the inner beauty just radiating with your kindness, your heart, all too much to even look upon. Momentarily stunned he doesn’t compute your question at first, instead just drinking in the love in front of him, the love of his life that he shoved aside like she was nothing.

He’s not even sure he deserves you near him, but he’s not going to fuck this up, aside from life literally already fucking the first part of the evening up.

“It was your favorite, they’re doing a whole re-run of it. And we have time to catch the last showing.”

You bounce just a bit in your seat, so cute then, he fucking melts, he aches, your smile so precious he can’t fathom how he lived with just the memory of it. You’re brightening up his heart, his world, as he just stares at you, so enamored that he has to get honked at to drive at the light again.

When the two of you arrive in that movie theater, he can hardly focus on anything but your laugh, your glittery eyes as you two settle with your snacks in the old theater, that hasn’t changed one damn bit. He’s so lost in you he can’t remember what the movie is called, or what it’s about, an arm wrapped around as you nibble on popcorn, snuggling up.

It feels too perfect, and Satoru can’t fuck this up. Knowing he’s had you for years existing across the country and could have had this the entire time makes every bit of money he’s had feel hollow. His phone keeps going off, he keeps ignoring the vibrations until you pull back curiously.

“It may be important, Satoru, check it.” He sighs, looking now that it’s his manager. “Go ahead, take a call, I'll be fine.”

“Fuck it, he can wait.” He says then, checking the texts and his heart drops as he sees it.

He has a shoot coming up tomorrow night and then he has to get back to Hollywood for a magazine interview and photo shoot for Vogue. One more measly day with the girl he’s been missing like a piece of his heart? How the fuck could he even tell you?

“What’s wrong, Toru?” You whisper, he just turns the screen off, leaning close and kissing you, tasting salty popcorn on your lips and licking it, making you laugh breathlessly.

“Nothing, it can all wait.” His words reassure you, despite the lingering concerns, as he pulls you back against him and reclines the big black leather seats, the two of you snuggling under the blanket he’d brought as you fall into your favorite movie.

But you also fall deeper for him, for the boy you knew and the man you’re trying to learn, who’s heart thuds steadily under your cheek.

Could you handle him leaving you again, or just enjoy this while it lasted, savor every moment, could you let him go again?

Next chap will be smutty AND emotional AND angsty, yayyy hehe

taglist #1- @pinkyvomit @saitamaswifey @kachowness @vraiao @artbligh @psychoartiste @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @bsenpai @simp-for-wanderer @rjreins @emonaculate @myahfig4 @casua11ycrying @psycren @blushedcheri @ureuphoriasworld @frozenmallows @kanaojacksonofc @rcveriees @xlilycoco @yukimaniac @sypnasis @tokina @sharkubi @tztuoo @hyori2 @yesdere @gradmacoco @gamerhere @seikamuzu @xinsonyax @vvaoo @angie420 @ria54sworld @blue-musingss @mysticmyth @asimpinamillion @arabellasolstice @ilovebeansyay @notme000 @emochosoluvr @iv-vee @heh123321 @fushikamo @danilovesboba @spookyy-gracee @satorusleftnut @clqxuds @femaholicc

[on-the-clear-blue]

Some more angst, but with some fluff, not a lot tho

Leslie, after promising that Bruce hadn't made a deal with a devil or done mad science to bring Jason back, had given the boy a check up, running proper scans that couldn't be done at the Cave (yet.)

Even if Jason's fatal wounds had been mended, there were many that wasn't, not to mention the damage he had done to his hands digging his way out of the grave.

(Bruce had gone there one night, after Alfred had been sworn twice over to be by the boys side at all time, he saw the muddy trail leading away from the dug open grave, the shards of wood coated with blood, if Bruce was any other man he would have thrown up by the mere sight of it all.)

From Leslie's tests, (and the autopsy report that he had never was able to make himself read) Bruce learned the extent of what his little son was suffering, X-rays showed his hands had broke at his escape, his wrists which had been broke before he was buried barely mended and brittle.

A head CT showed why Jason struggled to speak, brain damage barely healed enough for him to function, leaving him in state of a continuous concussion.

The rest of the boy's body followed much like his hands, barely put back together, like a broken porcelain doll glued back together and played with before the glue had a chance to set.

---

Jason wasn't the same, Bruce couldn't help but notice as he got used to having his son back with him, his boy struggled so much now. The simplest tasks now herculean with the amount of effort that he had to put in with it.

Bruce helped as much as he could, always getting up to help his son stand, carring him up the long staircases of the Manor (Bruce would never admit it but he loved the closness of those little moments) though Jason was still his little spitfire underneath all difficulties he now faced.

Jason always managed to dress himself, though now most of his clothing were much more loose, easier to slip on and off, with no buttons his shaky hands struggled with nor zippers that his aching fingers couldn't properly zip.

He still was able to feed himself, though it took time for him to learn how to again, the now constant tremors he was plagued with caused more woe that Bruce liked to think about.

Not all of Jason was able to peak through though, the boy hardly spoke anymore, and when he did, his voice was weak and ragged, smoke and dust of the explosion leaving their mark on him.

Another issue Bruce had noticed was that Jason struggled to read, he would sit and stare at a page for long minutes, managing only a single chapter in the time Bruce knew that he used to be able to tear through the whole book.

Bruce had to intervene, sitting next to his son and pulling him close, the man settled him on his lap (something that Jason protested minorly), and after pressing a soft kiss to the crown of Jason's head, Bruce read for his boy, letting him close his eyes and just listen for that moment.

---

It was a month later when Bruce finally got up the courage (as well as a weak pleading look from Jason, and a single raised eyebrow from Alfred) to finally reach back out to Dick.

It had been nearly 6 months since he had heard from his eldest, though that didn't mean Bruce hadn't kept tabs on him.

Knowing right when Dick usually took a break from his work, Bruce pressed the call button, his eyes squeezing shut as the phone started to ring.

It rung once, twice, and a third time, before it was finally cut off. At first Bruce thought that Dick declined the call before he heard his sons clipped tone.

"What do you want Mr. Wanye."

Those words sunk into his chest like an arrow, and Bruce had to take a short breath before speaking.

"Richard...Dick I...I need you to come home. Something has happened and I-"

"Home? Do you mean the Manor Mr Wanye? Because I think last time we spoke you said it would never be my home. That it was a mistake to take me in." There was a growl to Dicks voice as he spoke, and Bruce could only imagine his sons clenched fists, knuckles white as he resisted the urge to yell.

Guilt built up like a tidal wave inside of Bruce, much like the bile that was rising in his throat, he had said that didn't he? He just wanted Dick to get away, to leave before Bruce's defections grew even more into his son, like a mold digging deep into the core.

"Dick please...I..." Bruce struggled with words, his throat felt tight, but he wanted...no needed to speak to Richard.

"Its Jason. He is alive. Something happened and he is back. I...I understand that you don't want to speak to me but...But please...he misses you."

Dick was silent on the other end, the only way Bruce knew he was still on the call was the shaky breaths that sounded through the receiver.

"If you are lying I will break both your arms and leave you in Arkham to rot like the insane, narcissistic bastard that you are. Don't be at the Manor when I get there."

Bruce wasn't able to get a word in before he heard the call drop, and he was left standing in his study, looking down at his phone as the guilt grew and grew.

---

And when Dick arrived Bruce was no where to be scene.

The first Robin, freshly his own man stepped back down onto the dark pavement of a place that he swore he would never return to.

Alfred was waiting by the steps, grabbing him into a frim hug before pulling back, his normally professional passive mask was gone, and a sad smile instead adorned his face.

"Welcome home Master Richard...welcome home..." and at that moment, Dick felt that maybe it was once his home. But not anymore.

Sighing slightly but returning the hug, Dick pulled away from the older man, a frown set on his face, "Bruce told me...Alfred is it true is he-"

Dicks words died in his throat as he saw movement at the front door, first assuming Bruce was coming out, that he was actually at the Manor, but...no.

It was Jason, God it felt like Dick was sucker punched in the gut, breath left him as he stared up at the boy from the steps, his eyes taking in every detail

The boy looked rough, there was scars across his face, jagged and still fresh looking, and he had a sickly palor that just seemed wrong.

"J-Jaybird? Is...holy fuck it's you..." Dick was moving before he could even think, taking the steps two at a time to get up by the door even quicker.

Jason smiled weakly, shuffling a bit over to him, letting out a soft "Hi Dickie" as said man wrapped Jason in his famous octopus hug.

Dick took a while to pull off of Jason, tears prickling at his eyes, but practically jumped back when he heard the soft whimper of pain come from Jason. "Sorry sorry...Fuck I am sorry your..." thousands of words wanted to spill out all at once but Dick stopped himself, just staring down at Jason, watching as the boy took the walker that Dick didn't even see Alfred fetching.

"I-its okay Dickie...J-just squeezed to hard..." Jason tried a smirk but it only came out as a grimace, but that turned into a frown at the look of panic on Dicka face.

"S-stop that. I...I get enough pity from D-dad." Jason said, stopping to cough half way through, which only caused the panic to shift to anger than guilt.

Alfred sighed softly as he watched the brothers, Dick looked worse than he did the last time he was at the Manor, his hair longer and tangled, dark bags under his eyes and seemed to favor his right leg, and the older man was sure that if he tapped the left it, Dick would crumple in pain.

"Gentlemen, Might I suggest to continue in the parlor? It is not too wise to have Master Jason standing for longer than he needs."

Jason gave another frown, squinting at Alfred while Dick hurriedly agreed, trying to usher Jason back into the place he once called home.

---

Bruce watched from the Cave, the security cameras of the Manor playing the live footage of his sons, and Bruce could only feel anguish as he watched the two of them sit, Jason laying his head on Dicks chest, watching as his oldest froze, the way Dick was practically forced by the hurting young boy to card his fingers through his hair, as if Dick though that if he touched Jason wrong the boy would dissappear.

Bruce though the same, that if he looked away for just a moment that he wouldn't be there, that Jason would be dead all over again.

The man held his face in his hands and wept. Because Bruce knew that deep down, that in the depths of his soul that he deserved this pain, that the suffering he caused to his little sons to endure for his foolish crusade meant that he must sit on the side lines, watching as his sons are reunited again.

---

And after hours, after Jason falls asleep and Dick spent that time acting as his human pillow, long after Bruce had cried every tear he had and dragged himself away, donning his regalia once more to be the Bat, and after Dick had left to patrol his own streets.

A young boy watched, eyes glistening with tears, joy and relief welling up in his heart as he watched through the lense of his camera, his Robin was alive. Robin was magic.

He came back.

Just like he promised he would

I am thinking about, what if Jason, fresh from the grave, actually managed to get to Wanye manor?

Like, some Gothamite stumbles upon this kid in a muddy silk suit, with hands bleeding and bruised, whos hollow looking eyes are filled with tears, trying to draw in weezy breaths and let's out a long desperate whimper that sounds like..."help me"

But instead of running and calling the police because clearly the dead are starting to raise in Gotham and that is like, actually the worst, they notice something, they have seen that face before, fucking hell nearly all of gotham had, maybe a little younger, maybe with a happy smile and a twinkle in his eye even in a black in white photo put out by the newspaper, cus that's the Wayne kid, that's Brucies little boy that got killed.

And they take him home, to the Wanye Manor clearly some bullshit happened, because in Gotham the even the dead arnt allowed to rest it seemed.

Even if nobody ever made it past the front gate, everyone knows where the Manor is, it's the seat of power for like, the most important family in Gotham, criminal or otherwise.

And they feel horrible ringing the gate bell, they would wince because it sounds like a sick joke to just to roll up, and say "I got your dead kid, you want em back?"

Imagine the pain that Alfred has to go through hearing that? Some stranger has just rung in that they have his youngest charge grandson who Alfred personally dressed in his finest to be laid to rest. The same Alfred who did the same for Thomas and Martha, who cried over their bodies in secret just as he did Jason.

He let's the stranger through the front gate, while Master Bruce has a rule against killing, Alfred is more than willing to, and his shotgun is loaded as he watches a older car slowly wind up the long driveway.

He is standing at the door, gun lowered as the stranger pulls to a stop, they don't even look surprised at the gun in the old man's hands, simply nodding at it before heading to the back seat of their car and-

Dear God they dug up his boy, anger pulses through him, the gun raises to shoot down this utter scum before...the body twitches as the stranger speaks to it, gently shaking it and...and Jason blinks awake, a strangled gasp coming from his chest before coughs, and Jason is stumbling out of the back seat.

Alfred can't move for a second, can't think as he sees Jason alive once more, the boys pained expression lessens slightly as he seems to spot thr butler, and a soft, hoarse whisper came from his lips, "A-Alfie..."

Imagine Bruce, drunk beyond the point where it should kill him, laying in Jason's bed, the curtains drawn closed, leaving the room pitch black, the only lights coming from the smattering of glow in the dark stars, done up in constellations across the ceiling, and a small night light by the door.

His son still needed a night light, his darling boy was still young enough to fear the dark, even if it was at an instinctual level.

Bruce felt disgusted by himself, hatred of the pathetic excuse of a man that he was, his son was gone gone GONE.

The lights of his life was gone, and he deserved it, he shouldn't have been so greedy, so selfish to want Dick in his life, so what if Vruce saw himself in the boy, commerserated with the searing pain of his parents, Bruce should have kept the child away, to not allow Dick to become anything like him.

It was good that Bruce was pushing him away, making the wonderful young man Dick turned out to be hate him, Bruce only deserved that, it hurt so much to turn his back on his son, but Bruce couldn't allow anymore of himself to befoul the boy he loved so dearly.

The man longed for another drink but he refused to bring the bottle into Jason's room, he wouldn't desecrate his sons space with something he had hated so much.

It was the only reason Bruce rolled out of the bed, his body felt like lead, numb and dull to the world, and as he opened the door into the hall, he saw him.

There Jason was, yet more to hunt him, his child's phantom back to torment him again.

Mind clouded with pain, Bruce would stumble up to that ghost the figment of his imagination that sought to torment him, stopping only a foot away and falling to his knees, fresh tears sting at the man's eyes. A gutteral sound of agony tearing through him as he wails in sorrow, of a future, a life snuffed out.

Only to be silenced by a weight on his shoulder, followed by a smaller body drapped across his own, the cry of pain was choked out by shock, eyes that shut fly open to see that the phantom, the ghost of his son...was not just a figment of his foul mind.

And Jason's body was not cold, not stiff with rigor mortise, it was warm and soft, the thrum if a weak heart beat pounded across his back where his sons chest was across him.

With shaky hands Bruce would, almost reverently, reach out to touch his son, pulling his hand back as if he was burned went he felt the boys body.

In a moment the man was latched onto the boy, holding onto him as if he let go Jason would fade away and he would lose his son once again.

Of course they run tests, though Bruce is never not in arms reach of Jason, always trying to keep the boy in his eyesight, and went they come back that it really is Jason? That their boy is returned? Bruce clings to his son once more, tears renewed, this time filled with relief not sorrow.

Though sadly, we don't get this, instead after digging himself out of his own grave, Jason gets hit by a car and gets kidnapped by a murder death cult and gets dunked in the evil mountain dew before getting turned against the people that love him, fed lies to fuel his pit madness and then set off on a killing spree of revenge.

[bettelaboure]

⊹Stolen peck?⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

third part in series "Course in Chemistry"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

⊹ Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x Reader

⊹ Warnings: mature language, sexual tension, teenage awkwardness and embarrassment, light discussion of intimacy and consent, some emotional sensitivity around academic self-worth

⊹ Summary: the reader reluctantly agrees to be tutored by awkward and quiet Seung-Hyun, she fullfil her side of the deal to be the one teaching him life’s more intimate lessons

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

“There’s a lot more to attracting girls than just looking good and throwing out some lazy flirtation,” you said, arms folded. “Sure, that works on some people, but if you want to really be seen — like, remembered — you need more than surface-level charm.”

Seung-Hyun swallowed. “How much more?”

“Kissing, for example.” You leaned forward slightly. “If you’re good at it — and I mean really good — a girl will lose her breath and assume that what you’ve got going on with your mouth is just the beginning. Trust me on that. And I’m going to teach you.”

“Kiss you?” His voice cracked at the end, eyes wide.

You nodded. “Unless you'd rather keep practicing on your textbooks.” Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had.

“N-No. I just... I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I mean, I don’t even know you that well. What if you, like, have some disease? And I didn’t even take a mint, and I kinda don’t want my first kiss to be—”

You cut him off with a quick kiss. A single second. He jolted back like he’d been electrocuted.

“What the hell, Y/N?!”

“You didn’t die, did you? Sit the fuck back down.” You rolled your eyes.

“You kissed me without asking!”

You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? That was barely more than a preschool peck. And what did you think this deal meant? I’m not about to hand you a fucking textbook on kissing, flirting, or sex. This is your part of the deal — like the grammar drills are mine.” He opened his mouth, but shut it again. He knew you were right.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you added with a smirk, “my first kiss was in first grade. Some kid with a runny nose smeared his snot all over my cheek. Be grateful you didn’t get that.”

He laughed, and some of the tension drained from his shoulders. “Sorry, I was just… surprised.”

“It’s okay.” You patted the spot next to you. He sat, more relaxed this time.

“So… was it okay?”

You snorted. “You mean that blink-of-an-eye moment where our lips barely touched? Yeah, sure. I’m Niagara Falls.”

He laughed, hand dragging nervously through his hair. The silence between you both stretched for a few beats before you spoke again.

“I’m going to kiss you again. And this time, longer.”

He looked at you and nodded, slowly.

“Relax. And for the love of God, breathe, Seung-Hyun.”

You shifted closer. His breath ghosted over your face, warm and shaky. You hadn’t expected to be nervous — it was just a kiss — but something about this felt strangely intimate. No tongue. No grabbing. Just… a kiss.

You pressed your lips to his again. He froze, but softened a little under the pressure. He was trying, but not responding. You pulled back.

“Now I want you to kiss me back this time.”

“How?”

“Just do what I did. Mirror it. Your body knows what to do — it’s instinct.”

You kissed him again, slower this time, giving him space to respond. This time, he did — hesitantly, but sweetly. He was picking it up. Fast.

“That was good,” you said softly. “Visual learner, huh?”

He shrugged. “I guess, when it comes to… physical stuff.”

“Figures.” You didn’t know anyone who’d learned to dance from a textbook.

“Ready to move on?”

He nodded.

“Okay. This next one’s like a middle school make-out. Nothing intense. Just follow my lead.”

You explained: kiss for a few seconds, pull back slightly, tilt left. Repeat. Then tilt right. It was a pattern. One he could follow.

He leaned in slower this time. He was watching your mouth, and this time, you could see he wanted it.

Your lips met again, and this time it felt… right. Natural. He responded in rhythm. No overthinking. Just instinct. His hands stayed stiff at his sides, though. You noticed.

Without speaking, you reached for one and guided it to your mid-back. His fingers spread automatically. Warm. Steady. The pressure of his palm pulled you closer.

There was a subtle taste of apple juice on his breath, barely there — like a memory lingering.

You let yourself melt into the kiss. His confidence grew. You felt his hand press firmer against your back. Your body leaned in naturally, mouth beginning to part, ready to go further—

—and then your phone blared, violently yanking you both back into reality.

You scrambled for it, saw the name: Jae-mi. Perfect timing.

“I need to…”

“Yeah. It’s okay,” Seung-Hyun said, straightening his shirt with shaky hands.

“What?” you snapped, answering the phone.

“GUESS WHAT THAT BASTARD YOUNG-BAE DID!” Jae-mi screamed. “You know how I got the whole drama club to vote for me for ‘Best Student’ in the yearbook? Well, guess what, he’s screwing the lead actress and telling everyone I had HERPES in sophomore year. HERPES, Y/N!”

You blinked, stunned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! I have no votes now! They’re all voting for him! My life is over!”

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” you sighed, already grabbing your bag.

“Hurry!”

You hung up. “I have to go,” you told Seung-Hyun.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Girl drama.” You gave him a small smile. “I’ll see you next time.”

—

“So… how was it?” Jae-mi was relentless the next day as you sat on the bleachers.

“How was what?”

“Smart and awkward — Seung-Hyun.”

You smirked, thinking about his flushed cheeks, his warm hands. “It was fine. We didn’t do much.”

Jae-mi raised a brow. “What did you do?”

“Kissed.”

“Like a makeout?”

“Kinda.”

“Tongue?”

You snorted. “Does he look like he can handle tongue?”

“Fair point.” She hummed and went back to her textbook. “When’s your next session?”

“Tomorrow evening.”

—

You stared at the cover of the book on the desk. Your stomach twisted.

“A 7th grade English book?” you said slowly.

“I think it could help.”

“For a 7th grader.” You glared. Was this a joke?

“I talked to Mr. Kim,” Seung-Hyun said. “He gave me some of your test papers—”

“You what? That’s a violation of my privacy!”

“I was trying to help! And I think I found the issue. You’re fine with future tenses. It’s the past and present that trip you.”

You stared at the book again. It looked childish in your hands. Weak. You hated how it made you feel — stupid. Small.

“I don’t want it.”

“Y/N, stop being stupid. It’s just a textbook.”

His words slammed into you. Did he even hear himself? You looked away, blinked hard.

People always said you were dramatic. Overreacting. But something about this just hurt.

“Can we do something else?” you asked, quietly.

He hesitated. “This… this was the plan.”

“I’ll just go, then.” You got up, grabbed your bag. But he followed.

“Wait!” he said quickly. You turned.

“What?”

He looked nervous again, shifting, hands gripping the ends of his sleeves. “What about your part of the deal?”

You stared at him. His flushed cheeks. The way he couldn’t meet your eyes. Maybe you did need to burn off the sting. A distraction.

You put the bag back down. “Okay,” you said softly. “Come sit.”

He did.

“What... what are we doing?”

“Tongue.”

His throat bobbed again. “Oh. Okay.”

You scooted closer. “I’m going to kiss you.”

He was ready for it this time.

When your lips touched, you immediately tasted mint. That little shit planned for this.

He kissed you back gently, awkwardly. One hand hovered uselessly, the other gripped the headboard. You pulled away.

“I don’t know what to do with my hands,” he admitted.

“That’s okay.” You took one hand and placed it on your back. The other, to your cheek. Warm. Steady.

“You okay with touching me?”

“Do you not want to touch me?”

“I-I…” He exhaled. “I do. I want to know.”

You nodded. “Then trust me.” You leaned in.

This time, when your lips met, neither of you hesitated.

You leaned in again, and this time, Seung-Hyun didn’t hesitate. The nerves were still there—you could feel them in the slight tremble of his fingers on your back—but he kissed you like he was listening. Not just to your words, but to your rhythm, your breath, the way you tilted your head and parted your lips like an unspoken invitation. He took it.

Your lips met and lingered. You deepened the kiss slowly, coaxing rather than commanding. His lips softened under yours, no longer stiff with uncertainty. When you parted your mouth just slightly, he mirrored you. His tongue brushed against yours—a little clumsy, hesitant, but there—and you let him feel what it meant to truly kiss someone, not just perform it.

You reached up and threaded your fingers into his hair, letting your nails gently graze his scalp. He shivered under the touch. Encouraged, he pulled you just a bit closer, hand pressing into your lower back, holding you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. He was learning fast. His other hand, the one cupping your cheek, shifted slightly, thumb brushing against your skin with something that felt almost reverent.

You smiled into the kiss. He tasted like mint and something inherently boyish, like the vague sweetness of fruit and chapstick. You tilted your head and deepened the kiss again, letting your tongue slide over his just briefly before pulling back enough to breathe. His eyes were wide, his lips slightly swollen and parted, pupils blown with surprise—and something else. Want, maybe.

“Good,” you murmured, voice husky from the intensity. “That was good, Seung-Hyun.”

He looked like he was trying to find air. “You’re... You’re really good at that.”

You gave a short, amused laugh. “I’ve had practice.”

He swallowed hard, eyes flicking down to your lips again. “Can we... do it again?”

The question came out shy, almost embarrassed, but the way he looked at you told you he wasn’t asking just for technique. You didn’t answer with words—just leaned in and kissed him again. Slower this time. Deeper. His mouth responded in kind, more confident now, his hand exploring with more intent, spreading heat wherever he touched. His fingers flexed on your back like he couldn’t decide if he should pull you closer or hold still and memorize everything.

This kiss lasted longer. You felt yourself sinking into it, melting into the way his body molded to yours, his mouth moving with increasing ease against yours. When he kissed you this time, it wasn’t just copying—it was intuitive. He was getting it.

Eventually, you pulled back again, both of you breathing heavily. There was a beat of silence between you, charged and thick.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He nodded. “Yeah. I just... I didn’t think kissing could feel like that.”

You smirked. “That’s because you’ve never done it right.”

He laughed, eyes bright, cheeks still flushed. “I’m starting to think this tutoring thing might be the best decision I ever made.”

You raised a brow. “Don’t get cocky. We’ve still got work to do.”

His lips quirked into a crooked smile, one that made your chest feel unexpectedly tight.

“Then I’m ready for the next lesson.”

You kissed him again—slow, deep, unhurried. You wanted him to feel it, really feel it. The way a kiss could pull someone under like a current. And he was feeling it.

This time, Seung-Hyun didn’t just react—he responded. His hands were more assured now, one at your waist, the other still cradling your cheek. His tongue moved cautiously, but with intent, matching your rhythm. The room felt smaller, warmer. His body pressed against yours and you let it, your knees nearly brushing.

That’s when you felt it—something shifting between you, not just metaphorically. He flinched slightly, as if even he only just noticed it, and you felt the sudden tension in his muscles.

Your lips broke apart, barely a breath away from his, and your eyes fluttered open.

His eyes were already wide, panicked. He realized you’d noticed.

You bit back a grin, but the slight twitch of your mouth gave you away.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, pulling back suddenly. “I—I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t—shit.”

He pushed off the bed so fast it almost made you fall back, stumbling across the room and fumbling to adjust his sweater lower. His face was beet red.

“Seung-Hyun.” You laughed, sitting up properly.

“I’m sorry!” he yelped, waving his hands like you were accusing him of something criminal. “I didn’t plan for that to happen! I swear!”

You couldn’t hold back the chuckle that bubbled up, genuine and amused but not unkind. “Relax. It’s literally a natural reaction.”

He shook his head frantically, already halfway to the door. “I’m gonna go splash cold water on my face. Or jump off the balcony. Haven’t decided yet.”

“Seung-Hyun—” You stood up, crossing your arms with a smirk, but your tone was softer now. “Hey. Come on. Don’t be dramatic.”

He turned back slightly, cheeks still burning. “You’re laughing at me.”

“I’m laughing because you’re cute when you panic,” you said honestly.

That only seemed to make it worse.

“God. Kill me.”

You stepped forward, stopping a few feet from him, still giving him space. “Look. It happens. Like… all the time. You’re a teenage boy and we were making out. What did you think was gonna happen?”

He opened his mouth to answer but clearly had no idea how to justify himself. You watched the gears in his brain try and fail to spin fast enough.

You shrugged, casual. “I’m not grossed out. I’m not offended. You’re fine.”

He groaned and hid his face in his hands. “I’m never going to recover from this.”

“Seung-Hyun, it’s just a boner. You didn’t confess your love to me or trip in front of the whole cafeteria.”

He peeked at you through his fingers.

“…That’s not comforting.”

You laughed again, walking over to pat his shoulder gently. “Go. Splash water. Breathe. Then come back and we’ll talk about boundaries next time so you don’t sprint across the room like I lit you on fire.”

“Noted,” he muttered, still dying inside.

“Also?” you added, smirking as you turned toward the door. “If you ever want to try kissing like that again… I don’t mind.”

You could practically hear the steam rising from his ears as he fled down the hallway.

Taglist: @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277@ldydeath

[muttoncon]

ambulance bay blues

so this was something i started writing for a little 5 + 1 but auuugh i dunno if i'll finish it

Addiction, Frank knew, was something he was genetically predisposed to. His mom survived his childhood by clinging to white wine and Diet Coke while his dad couldn’t be found without some tobacco dip in his mouth or a cigarette in his hand. Frank felt a lot like his dad when he stood outside in the ambulance bay, smoking a cigarette and bitching under his breath about his aching back. 

He started smoking in rehab. One of the counselors suggested it when she saw how restless (aka twitchy) he could get. Some days he’d be accompanied by McKay or Dana. From them he started smoking menthols; patients complain less about the smell than typical cigarettes. Most of the time he tried to be alone; it was his quiet time, his moment of clarity amongst the chaos that he couldn’t live without. Every inhale and exhale of his white trash Kool menthols felt like a meditative practice. Still a disgusting habit, no matter how good it made him feel, but one that wouldn’t cost him his job. 

It had been a shitty day. Not in a PittFest sort of way, but for some reason it was like every annoying, shitty adult decided that today was the day to go to the ER. Frank was on his third smoke break in 4 hours, silently fuming over the father of a colicky baby who asked him if he could give the poor thing some “baby Xans” so he “could go back to playing COD with the boys in peace.” Ungrateful asshole. 

His annoyed musings were interrupted when Mel stormed out onto the bay, actually stomping with her fists clenched at her sides. 

Frank – in the privacy of his mind – thought she looked cute when she was angry. Her brows would furrow, twisting up her sweet nose and pouty mouth. She’d huff and tap her foot on the ground like a rabbit. He knew that she’d most likely hit him if he told her this, she had a bit of a thing about being called “cute.” (“I’m an adult, Frank. Just because I’m- I’m a little… emotional doesn’t mean I’m a child.”). Mel apparently didn’t know he was out there, jumping a bit when she saw him staring. He just cocked his head to the right, hoping she’d get the hint and join him up against the wall. Instead she shook her head and started to pace in front of him, wringing her hands together over her stomach. 

“You okay?” She stopped pacing for a second and turned to face him. Pausing, her eyes closed before she heaved a huge sigh that turned into an angry groan and she started up pacing again.

“I have a patient - Gina - and her parents are driving me crazy. She’s 12 and quite obviously has autism. Her parents brought her in because she couldn’t stop throwing up. They won’t stop getting onto her for stimming, not making eye contact, the way she speaks, basically every fucking thing she does–” and god if Mel swearing doesn’t get his face feeling a little warmer– ”and I keep trying to not upset the parents while also keeping Gina calm. I just can’t stand how someone can call themselves a parent when they don’t parent, they just berate their poor child for not fitting into every box they deem ‘acceptable.’ I mean, why even have a kid in their first place if you aren’t willing to consider the risks of potentially having a mentally disabled child?” 

She doesn’t stop moving until she’s out of breath. She’d faced out into the street, Frank watched her shoulders rise and fall with her huffs. He couldn't say a word before she’s reached into her pocket and pulled out a fucking vape. He was half convinced he was hallucinating as he heard her inhale and then exhale a decent sized cloud of smoke. Just as quickly as the vape appeared, it was back in her pocket. As Mel turned around, she'd started to giggle at Frank’s dropped jaw and the cigarette that threatened to fall out of his limp hand. 

“Am I fucking hallucinating? Is this a really late symptom of withdrawal that I don’t know about?”  

[moonknightly]

lost in a moment, every moment when we touch—

poe dameron x afab!reader

word count: 2.8k+

warnings: porn with really no plot, alcohol consumption (and poe's kind of pushing it without really pushing it), rough sex, idk nothing special it's just drunk sex with your boyfriend after you leave a shitty bar for the night, i use “fuck” a lot because “kriff” just wasn’t hitting the way i needed it to

notes: happy may the fourth babies<3 i haven't written for my man in years but here he is

It’s rare that you find yourself able to step away from the fast paced, chaotic world this never ending war has brought upon the galaxy. You hardly have a moment to breathe before jumping from one mission onto the next. 

Not that you mind, of course you don’t mind. You knew what you were signing up for when you joined the Resistance. 

So of course you look a little out of place when you wind up with a night off after another successful mission and end up at a questionable bar with your comrades. The music is loud but so different from rapid gunfire, and it’s dark but not like the endless galaxy outside of your X-Wing. The stimuli are so completely unfamiliar while harboring traits you should be accustomed to. 

One thing that you think will always be familiar, however, is Poe. 

He looks relaxed. Sure of himself. Confident. You know better than to believe that the man never feels nervous or out of place like you’re feeling now, though he could’ve fooled you—he always seems so stoic, so sure, even when he has to fake it. 

But you know that he’s not faking it now. He really is just relaxed, taking the full opportunity of a night away from the Resistance and the Order to let himself be. The crowd doesn’t bother him, the burn of alcohol sliding down his throat isn’t as foreign to him. He looks as comfortable here as he does when he’s flying. 

And it’s hot. You have to fucking admit, you find it so hot. 

Maybe it’s the shot (two?) that he’s ordered for you, maybe it’s leftover adrenaline, you’re not sure. You think it could be because he’s just…hot. You’re allowed to objectify your boyfriend, right? It feels like you’re objectifying him. Oh Maker are you-

“How many shots is it going to take to loosen you up, baby?”

His voice shocks you out of your thoughts. Your eyes flash towards him and fuck, the way he’s looking at you-

“Are you trying to get me drunk, General?”

“Maybe.” He says it so nonchalantly, like he’s not doing something kind of questionable, something that should’ve been a red flag for you. 

But it’s Poe. You trust Poe. 

He clears his throat when you don’t answer and your attention is brought back to his infuriatingly handsome face. He’s always handsome, Gods he is so so good looking but the alcohol has you wanting to crawl into his lap and wrap your legs around his middle while he tangles a hand into the back of your hair and you wonder if you’d be able to taste traces of booze-

You had to have made a face. Had to have. Poe looks amused and he’s chuckling, watching you with that certain fondness in his stupid brown eyes that he only has for you. 

“Can we get a third?” Poe asks the bartender (so it was two) as they make their round. 

You laugh quietly under your breath, cheeks warming just a bit. “So you are trying to get me drunk.” 

“No baby,” he hums, easily slipping his arm around your waist, pulling you closer into his side. His body feels like it's on fire, he’s always so warm and inviting and sturdy. You’re able to release some of the tension that seems ever present in your body when he’s holding you. “I’m just tryin’ to get you to relax is all.”

“That so?” you hum, allowing your hand to inch its way under his shirt so you can gently touch the small of his back, craving skin to skin. He shivers. 

Poe only hums, his smile turning into more of a smirk as two shots are placed down in front of him. He slides yours across the bar towards you, raising the small glass to his lips just as you did, timing his shot so you take them together. You’re getting used to the burn, but it still causes you to pull a face. Poe however, looks completely unphased by the scorching liquid sliding down his throat. 

And he missed a drop. It’s rolling down his neck, mingling with leftover sweat and oh no, oh no. You want to catch it for him before it dries and turns his skin sticky. You want to lean forward and lick the column of his throat and relish in that sweet and salty taste on your tongue that could only belong to him, you want-

You let your thoughts run wild for a moment, and again you would probably feel bad about some of the things you’re thinking but he’s your boyfriend, it has to be okay. 

When that shot hits your bloodstream and that drop is still near his collarbone, you indulge in those not so innocent thoughts. 

You lean forward and grip the edge of his shirt gently, tugging it to the side, just enough to expose more of his collarbone to you. Poe watches with curious eyes and a tilt of his head, lips pursed, and he’s about to ask what you’re doing when your tongue hits his warm skin and his words dissolve into the quietest of moans. You gently lap at the spot, only soaking his skin further and when you finally give him a little bite, let your teeth graze against his skin, he loses it. 

He’s the first to pull away, keeping his hands on your waist, eyes dark and locked on yours. You glance at him, looking him up and down once, twice, and you don’t remember his pants being so tight when you’d walked into the bar. 

“What are you trying to do baby?” he husks, voice strangled, trying to control his desire and failing miserably. 

You shrug, trying to keep it innocent. “I was just trying to clean you up.”

His mouth falls slack, just a little, and his pupils are completely blown. He licks his lips and what should’ve been such a simple action isn’t. His wet tongue peeking out of his mouth, running along his bottom lip…you’re struggling to keep your composure, just like him. You still don’t have the upper hand.

And Poe notices. Oh, of course he notices. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking about honey.” 

He perches his elbow on the bar, tilting his head to the side as he regards you carefully, intent to hang onto your every word. 

But your words escape you. Completely escape you. He’s winning this game of cat and mouse and he knows it. 

He’s sure another round will get you talking, so he orders you each your fourth. You reach for the glass to throw it back but Poe stops you, easily plucking it from your fingers. 

“C’mere,” he purrs, leaving his own glass on the counter as he grabs your chin and forces your head back. You open your mouth without him needing to ask, without needing to even think about it really. 

It’s so interesting, how you obey him even when there’s no verbal command given. 

Poe brings the glass to your lips and slowly starts to tip it back, letting the stinging liquid flow down your throat slowly this time, prolonging the burn. Once you’ve finished the shot, Poe moves his grip from your jaw to the hair at the back of your neck and he pulls, bringing your lips crashing onto his. He smirks into it when your hands meet the tops of his thighs, and he thinks he’s finally going to get you into his lap so he can discreetly grind against your ass while you makeout at the bar. 

But you dig your nails into his skin instead, pausing again, holding still. 

He groans quietly in the back of his throat and pulls away, just enough for him to look into your eyes, the furrow between his brows prominent. 

You’re smiling, just a little bit, cheeks flushed and eyes a little wild. You lick your lips before you speak. “If we start this here I don’t think I’d be able to stop you from bending me over the counter in front of everyone.”

Poe tilts his head, as if he’s considering how right you actually are when the reality is, yeah, he knows he would. If he could get away with it, if he was on a planet where nobody knew his name, he would.

“So?” he asks, unable to keep the amusement off his face and the little bit of humor out of his tone. “You’re saying you don’t want everyone to watch you get split open on my cock?” 

You hit his chest, attempting to chastise him for his vulgar words but he’s said worse, and you don’t actually hate it. Poe just laughs because he knows as much. 

“Fine, fine,” he chuckles, shaking his head as he runs his hands up your thighs, fingers grabbing onto your hips. “Then why don’t we get out of here before that happens, hm?”

You don’t need him to ask twice. You’re just as eager to get him somewhere quiet and alone. 

Poe throws a handful of credits, enough to pay for your drinks and probably more, down on the counter before standing with you. He reaches for his last shot, still untouched on the counter in front of him, and throws it back. He doesn’t even flinch, again, and his hand immediately falls to your lower back as he starts to guide you through the busy bar. Nobody looks your way, nobody pays attention because this isn’t anything new. Poe’s only been going home with you for a long time now.

You’d already reserved quarters for the evening, knowing you wouldn’t want to fly back to base after getting hammered. The room isn’t anything fancy, but it’s clean and the bed is softer than anything you’ve laid on in years. Poe doesn’t even worry about taking off your clothes before he’s pushing you down onto it. 

He kisses you and somehow his lips are even more frantic than they had been at the bar only ten minutes before. He moans as he licks into your mouth, familiar and warm, bringing one hand up to cup your jaw and keep you still for him. You’re completely pliant underneath him while he kisses your breath away, letting him take the lead. 

His lips break away from yours though, sooner than you’d like, and you whine but it’s quickly replaced by a sharp gasp when he nips your collarbone. He closes his lips around your skin, sucking gently at first but then you can feel his teeth start to sink in. When he pulls back, he traces the small, red bruise with the tip of his finger.

“That’s for not letting everyone watch,” he teases gently, his smirk playful. “I thought it would be a good reminder, but this will have to do.” 

“Mm, I don’t think anyone really needs a reminder,” you chuckle. You can’t help but dissolve into a quiet laugh, but the sound is cut short when Poe kisses you again. 

This time, he doesn’t pull away. Not until you’re panting and writhing underneath him, lips glossy and swollen, eyes glazed. His cock is so hard in his pants, it’s a surprise the zipper didn’t bust. You rub your thighs together, trying to clench just right so you find some sort of relief. You’re both more than ready, just from a little kissing and what you’d call foreplay at the bar. 

You’re pretty sure Poe Dameron could look at you a certain way and you’d be ready, though. The thought makes you laugh again as he grabs your hips and easily flips you onto your stomach, dragging your hips up and back until your ass meets his clothed dick. He doesn’t ask you why you’re laughing, too preoccupied with tugging your pants down from your waist to your thighs, and just like before the sound is cut short again, replaced with a sharp gasp and a moan as his hand falls to your ass in a stinging slap. 

He smacks your ass a second time before you hear the soft clanking of metal, and you know he’s undoing his belt. You bite your lip in anticipation as you feel him notch the tip of his cock at your entrance, but he doesn’t push into you any further than that, not yet. He wants to hear you whine for it.

And you do. You whine and you moan quietly and try to push yourself back onto him, but he doesn’t let you. Poe sighs, feigning disappointment, and not a second later you feel his hand wrap around your neck and he’s pulling, pulling you up until your back meets his chest and his lips land at the shell of your ear, his breath hot and heavy. 

“So kriffing needy,” he hums as he finally slips all of the way inside of your tight body. “So warm, and so kriffing, kriff-” 

“I think you might be the needy one,” you whimper, turning your face to glance at him over your shoulder, except he never lets you, his fingers around your neck holding you effectively in place. 

Poe huffs, drawing his hips back before snapping them forward again, just once. Just to give you a taste. “I think you might want to hold onto something before I blow your back out.”

Except he never lets you do that either, not before he’s started a relentless pace against you, his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust and you wonder briefly if he actually could blow your back out like this. You wouldn’t be surprised. He’s almost brutal, the way he fucks you but it’s exactly how you want it. Rough, fast, heated. You want to be completely surrounded by him. 

“That’s it baby, just take it. Just take it.” 

He has one arm wrapped tightly around your middle to keep you upright and close while his hand that had previously been around your neck drifts down to the hem of your shirt. He tugs the fabric over your head with as little difficulty as he can manage, bra coming with it, pace never changing. He watches your tits bounce over your shoulder as he fucks into you from behind, fingers slipping down to play with your clit. 

Your eyes roll back as he plucks pleasure from your body with each little stroke of his fingers and the delicious drag of his cock inside of you. His moans in your ear shoot straight to your pussy each and every time, and you feel like you can’t breathe. He’s fucking you so thoroughly, so deeply you feel like you can feel him in your throat.

It’s quick, and it’s exactly how you need it. It’s not a night full of pleasure and cumming your brains out until you’re so cock drunk you can’t remember your own name, although you can’t seem to think of anything other than his. Or say anything for that matter.  

He rubs your clit faster, applying just a little more pressure as he angles his hips up, bullying that spot inside of you over and over again. 

“Kriff, baby, come on,” he moans, tongue swiping out to lick along your ear. “I’m gonna cum, I need you to cum too.” 

You’re so close. Right on the edge of falling into oblivion but you just can’t quite get there. A little cry escapes your throat, one that makes a growl tear from Poe’s. 

He collapses forward suddenly, caging you in under his body as he continues to rut himself into, chasing both his and your release like it’s the most important mission he’s ever completed. It’s then, once you are actually completely surrounded by him that you let go. 

You’re not sure if the sounds leaving your body are moans or screams or some combination of both. Your hearing fades and your vision turns stark white behind your eyelids. You’re not sure how long you stay there, suspended in absolute bliss before he lets you come down, slowly slowly slowly, fingers still playing with your clit as he finally stills inside of you. You can feel Poe’s warm cum leaking out around him and dripping down onto the mattress below.

His lips are still at your ear, and you let yourself focus on the sound of his breathing as you try to remember how to do so properly. You’re covered in sweat, but so is he, and your limbs feel like they weigh twice as much as usual. It’s so hard to move, and you don’t want to. You want to stay in this little bubble, trapped underneath him where all you have to do is lay there and take it like he tells you. 

You let yourself live in that little daydream as Poe settles on top of you, too tired himself to even pull out or roll over but you don’t mind. Not at all.

The war can wait.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Gojo Satoru’s Public Display of Wife Theft

F!Pregnant Reader x Gojo Satoru x Nanami Kento

Previous Oneshot Chapter [Tumblr/Ao3] | Main Series [Tumblr/Ao3]

A/N: This fic contains horticultural crimes, public indecency, and the emotional collapse of a man who just wanted his compost bins rotated correctly. Approach with caution and lemon water. Songs can be switched for whatever you feel would be appropriate.

Gojo Satoru leaned against the marble railing like he was posing for a cologne ad called Chaos, by Dior. Loose white shirt open to the third button, hair swept back by wind or ego—probably both. He watched you with a smirk that hovered just south of dangerous.

You stretched slowly. Purposefully. Back arched, spine poised like modesty was a myth you’d never subscribed to. The hem of your silk lounge set inched up your thigh—Gojo’s gaze followed it like prey. He whistled low.

You blew a kiss at his jaw, just enough to make him twitch.

With a muted groan, he tugged you into his lap as he sat back on the garden bench. One leg draped lazily across the stone, the other hanging down. You straddled him, silk brushing against linen. His fingers sank into your waist.

You giggled, nuzzling your nose against his cheek like a kitten trying to get adopted.

He blushed.

And that was the bait—because Gojo didn’t blush unless he had an audience. A very specific one. A blond man in linen slacks with a spreadsheet for a soul and a headache in his brow.

Nanami hadn’t looked yet.

So Gojo escalated.

His hands slid up your thighs, slow enough to measure time by. A chuckle, soft and smug, vibrated against your chest. “Sweetheart, you’re too cute. Don’t make me melt like this. I’ve got a rep to protect, y’know?”

You scoffed, slipping your hands under his shirt to rest against the flat of his stomach. “Please. Your students already know you’re insane.”

He laughed. “Fair. We’re a little unhinged.”

Nanami Kento stood at the edge of the south garden, beneath the pergola, arms crossed, sleeves rolled to the elbow, gold watch flashing like judgment under the sun. His hair was perfectly parted. His patience, not so much—hanging by a thread thinner than moss silk. He was scolding the head gardener over mulch ratios like he was running a hedge fund, not horticulture. The man was sweating—not from guilt, but because Nanami’s rage was quiet. Surgical. He didn’t yell. He corrected.

“…And if anyone uses pesticide within three meters of the vanilla orchid bed again, I will personally—”

The staff nodded like saints, not one daring to mention that their employer’s shirt was halfway to indecent or that his voice dipped into something almost intimate when discussing soil pH. Because just behind him—strategically obscured by floral trellises—your bare legs were wrapped around Gojo’s waist like an ancient curse.

“Sweetheart,” Gojo murmured, nuzzling your neck with a grin that was boyish and vile. “You know me too well. You’re right—I do like it when you’re wild. Keeps things interesting. And damn, you’re sexy when you’re about to get us caught.”

You laughed—low, dangerous—as your hand wandered under his shirt. “You protect everyone. I protect you, Toru.”

He pulled you closer, one hand low on your back, thumb just beneath your waistband. “That’s right, sweetheart. I protect the world—but you, my darling, you protect me. You’re my personal guardian angel.”

You cupped his cheek with both hands, smearing your gloss on his skin just to piss off Nanami later.

Gojo’s fingers slid under the hem of your blouse like it was muscle memory. “You love us a lot, don’t you?”

“I do,” you whispered, lips brushing his jaw. “Always will. And if I don’t—then I’m dead. RIP, lol.”

He chuckled, leaning his forehead to yours. “Exactly. So no dying allowed, okay? You have to stick around for me.”

“You too.”

His voice dropped. “Of course. You’re stuck with me forever.” A pause, then that grin—feral, sweet. “Because I have no intention of letting you go.”

Then he kissed you—slow, warm, and wildly inappropriate for a home with windows.

Your hands found his ass, unapologetic.

From the front of the garden, Nanami’s voice faltered. “…and that is why we rotate the compost by season. Because if—”

His eyes flicked. His jaw tightened. He didn’t speak of it. Wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.

But he knew.

Gojo smirked. “You get excited over such small things, baby.”

You pressed your lips to his. “I get excited over you, Toru.”

Gojo’s laugh rang like a wind chime in a storm. “Sweetheart, you have no idea what you do to me. You’re the tease that turned the strongest into a devout.”

You leaned in close, your breath brushing his ear. “Strongest, huh? Then why are you wet from just a little friction, baby?”

His breath hitched. “Because, sweetheart, you’re one hell of a tease. And when you’re this close—” his fingers dipped lower, “—I can’t help it.”

You and Gojo were sitting a distance away on the sun-warmed patio couch, technically out of earshot, definitely not out of all the gardeners line of sight. Gojo’s shirt was halfway unbuttoned, your ass grinding slowly over his lap like sin.

There was a lemonade on the table. It was untouched. The real thirst was elsewhere.

Gojo glanced at Nanami. “He’s tense,” he murmured, voice a low purr. “You think it’s because of the irrigation issues? Or because I said I’d eat you out on the kitchen island this morning?”

You leaned forward, slowly, letting your robe slip just enough for the silk of your skirt to cling like a second skin. Your lips grazed Gojo’s jaw. “He hasn’t looked away once.”

Gojo’s smile curled like smoke. “He’s pretending he doesn’t see us. You know what that means?”

You hummed, kissing just beneath his ear.

Gojo turned toward you fully, fingers brushing your cheek like you were something sacred. “You know, you always get so bratty when you're bored. It’s adorable.”

“Bratty?” you echoed. “You’re the one moaning at every little touch. I just breathe near your collarbone, and you get all squirmy, baby boy.”

He chuckled, low and hot. “Sweetheart, you're dangerously close to finding out what happens when I stop being soft.” His hand slid along your thigh, thumb stroking slow, teasing circles.

Behind Gojo’s shoulder, Nanami cleared his throat. Loudly.

Still mid-lecture. His jaw clenched.

He was trying so hard not to acknowledge you. But his knuckles tightened on the garden knife.

You’d seen that twitch before. The one that always came just before he snapped his pen in half and dragged you both to the nearest private room for a conversation in adult language.

Gojo smirked. “I think he’s cracking.”

Nanami’s pen broke.

The staff flinched.

Nanami didn’t even look down. He just turned, slowly, and met Gojo’s eyes with the heat of a dying star.

“Excuse me,” he said coolly to the gardeners, voice like polished yellow sapphire. “I need to discipline two feral animals before they make my backyard the next site of a zoning violation.”

And just like that, the gardening staff collectively found urgent tasks elsewhere.

Gojo’s grin stretched. “Told you he’d break.”

You palmed him. “I think I deserve a reward for good behavior.”

Gojo breathed in your hair, deeply. “You haven’t even started behaving.”

You reached up and whispered against Gojo’s lips. “Tell me what song you’d fuck me to in front of him.”

Gojo’s voice dropped. “Earned It. Because I know you love when I act like you don’t deserve me, even though I’d let you ruin my whole life.”

You pulled back, your face twisting in mock disgust. “God, no. That’s so shallow. You’re not a fuckboy. Or... whatever that is.”

He laughed. “Then pick for me, sweetheart,” he challenged, eyes gleaming.

“Losing Dogs by Mitski,” you decided without hesitation. “Or if we’re going sexy? Trance with I Know layered under it. And when you’re pissed—”

“Infinity Funk.” He finished for you, grinning. “You love me feral.”

“I like you alive more,” you corrected.

But his forehead was already resting against yours, voice dropping. “I love you,” he whispered. “You always know what to say to make me feel good.”

“Fine. Your song’s Losing Dogs,” you teased, pushing your thumb into his mouth.

“Depressing,” he murmured, licking your thumb, slowly.

“You asked.” You took your thumb back—and licked it yourself.

His eyes darkened as he stared at your mouth. “And when I’m in your bed?”

“Then it’s just your heartbeat,” you said, tone shifting to breathy, “and that sinful breathing you do... that drives me insane.”

He stared at you like you’d stopped his heart. Like the love was going to break him apart.

You grinned. “You’re the only one my lame flirting works on.”

“And you say that like it's a bad thing. I'm glad it works on me, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I don't want anyone else's flirting to work on me. Just yours. Only yours. Always yours.”

Then came the cough.

Low.

Unamused.

Fatherly.

Nanami had finally arrived.

He stood behind Gojo; the gardening staff wisely dismissed.

His expression was blank.

Dangerously blank.

“Are you two finished?”

Gojo turned slowly, still holding you against him. “Oh hey, Kento. Fancy seeing you here.”

Nanami’s gaze swept over the kiss-swollen lips, the rumpled silk, the posture that was anything but... “You’re worse than teenagers.”

You smiled up at him. “We missed you.”

Gojo smirked. “Yeah, Daddy. We missed you.”

Nanami’s brow twitched.

He stepped forward, ready to deliver the lecture of a lifetime.

But Gojo caught his wrist.

You slid off his lap and tugged Nanami closer by the belt loop.

Once he was seated on the bench, you straddled him smoothly, like this was always the plan.

“We were trying to get your attention, Ken,” you purred, guiding his hand to your hip. “You’re always so focused on everyone else. We got jealous.”

Nanami blinked. “You—what?”

“Shh.” Gojo kissed the side of his neck. “You talk too much.”

And that was the last coherent sentence for ten minutes.

Nanami was supposed to scold.

He was supposed to reestablish control.

But somehow—somehow—he ended up bent slightly over the edge of the koi pond wall, breathing hard, his composure shattered.

Gojo bit his shoulder, laughing softly, while you whispered sin into his ear.

Then you kissed up the ridges of his spine, your fingers dancing along the edge of his waistband. “You were saying something about compost cycles, darling?”

Gojo grinned, lips close to his ear. “Something about proper rotation?”

Nanami grunted. “I hate you both.”

“You love us,” you said sweetly, palming him through his trousers.

“I do,” he groaned. “God help me, I do.”

Then kissed you.

From the kitchen window, Angela dropped a spoon. “They’re feral again.

---

A/N: Nanami deserved better. But you deserved to ride him like a rented horse. If you laughed, screamed, or mourned Angela’s lost spoon, leave a comment. Tumblr lurkers: I see you. Say something before Nanami files an HR complaint against me personally.

Previous Oneshot Chapter [Tumblr/Ao3] | Main Series [Tumblr/Ao3]

Next Chapter - Polycule's aftercare rituals - [Tumblr/Ao3]

All Works Masterlist

[rika-mmendmethings]

HELP IM FINDING THIS RN IM SO LATE AND VERY APOLOGETIC ABOUT IT 😭 Anyway, tysmmmm @blessdunrest for the tag, appreciate it very much, lovely 𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡

Name: While I can't give my name here for some reasons, one of my most used nicknames is Rika and that is why I go by it. In lads, I go by ae-ri which is just the middle part of my name flipped if that makes sense (Im crazy sry)

Vibe: a finance student doing part time internship in a corporate with a heart of literature because my mum is a lit prof. Fridays are the days where I give a damn about the world cuz there's too many files and my manager thinks I'm the second-coming of a supercomputer or shit and can sort them last minute. Always late, never ugly. My jewelry game never misses and I take pride in that. Very bubbly and a yapper until a migraine hits me.

Your favorite trope you'd die for: ANGST WITH A HAPPY ENDING (or not) Listen I'm probably the most carefree person you could meet but god my reading choices need to wreck me emotionally. Enemies to lovers, second fav period. I suck with a capital S while trying to write it and not get frazzled in the process (Mirage is an example) BUT I do love me a good yummy enemies to lovers. My third favorite trope has to be friends-to-lovers which is basically my love life in a book trope lol. I started reading murder mysteries a lot which also makes it also one of my fav tropes. I have lots and lots of more tropes that I could list here but it'd get too long.

The unhinged fic idea you haven’t written yet but think about daily: Listen fam, I have... lemme count... 21-25 fic ideas for all LaDS leads in my head rn, including series and one-shots. I'm a Sylus and Raf girlie through and through but also love each Ll's characters and wish to write for each one of them in future. Currently, the most prominent one in my head is a Sylus series where reader is a surrogate and ova donor for MC and Sylus' baby and a series of events follow during the one year she lives with the Qin family. I'll write a few filler chapters for this before releasing it.

Trauma dump (optional): My loyalty gets tested a lot and I usually find myself as the only one trying to keep friendships for a little longer. I have trucks of emotional trauma from my family mainly and I try to become more understanding but sometimes it becomes very hard not to break down. It's like this for me: "If I cry, who will wipe my loved ones' tears?" Academics is very stressful especially since I don't usually get that motivational drive but I manage. I have subjected myself to self-harm before when things got out of hand but am finally bringing myself out of that void.

That's all about me. Tell me sum about yourself. Don't really have any tags in mind rn I'm drowsy sry but whoever wants to join, feel free to do so!!! ✗♡✗♡

Tell me:

Your name (or just your vibe)

Your favorite trope you’d die for

The unhinged fic idea you haven’t written yet but think about daily

Or honestly? Just how you’re doing. Be feral. Be soft. Trauma dump in the tags. I’ll probably relate.

𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐄

[ 𝐚𝐤𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 ]

Hi besties!

Since I'm currently procrastinating on my thesis in the most academically valid way (read: blogging about it instead of writing it), I thought now's the perfect time for a little get-to-know-me post!

Pull up a chair. Bring snacks. Let's trauma bond.

𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 : Elisabeth Eve (yes, it sounds like a tragid heroine, I'm doing my best to live up to it).

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 : She/Her

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧 : Pisces ♓—aka: intuitive, emotionally wrecked by fictional characters, would 100% fall in love with a brooding ghost in a crumbling manor. I cry about my own WIPs. No regrets.

𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐞 : Haunted victorian literature student, but she owns lip gloss and maybe a sword.

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈'𝐦 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 : Currently writing my english lit thesis on female sexuality in popular BookTok books—which is important, necessary work... that unfortunately requires me to say things like "breeding kink as empowerment" in front of my very, VERY male, very buttoned-up advisor who has definitely never read a romance novel in his life.

Every meeting is a delicate dance where I try to explain why it matters that women are allowed to be horny in fiction—without actually saying the word "horny." Spoiler: I fail every time.

He once asked, with the most innocent confusion, "And... these books... are popular?" and I had to sit there, maintaining eye contact, while explaining the plot of a 500-paged romantasy (with a shadow daddy) that sold out in Target.

The thesis itself? Genuienly about how female readers are carving out space to explore desire without shame. The process of writing it? 60% passion, 40% praying my advisor doesn't ask me to define "breeding kink" again.

𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞 : Emotinally constipated men. Unresolved tension. Slow burns that drag everyone to hell and back—me included.

My stories are 50% poetic thirst, 30% internal monologue spirals, 20% lace, and 100% repressed longing.

If no one is whispering something devastating in the dark and then losing their entire will to live over a single wrist touch, did I even write it?

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐢'𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 :

a 6k Sylus fanfic that was supposed to be "just a drabble" and is now emotionally unwell.

a vampire x reincarnated soulmate novel where no one is okay, least of all me

hydrating like an adult.

𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞�� 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐞 :

Enemies to lovers but they cry about it later.

"Touch her and die" but he's the one begging for scraps of affection

Lovers seperated by time/war/miscommunication/his repressed trauma

One bed, hand brush, forbidden glance, painful silence that says everything.

𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 :

I get emotionally attatched to one line of dialogue and it ruins my week.

I cannot write a single kiss without someone suffering first.

I will romanticize anything if you give me long enough and a vaguely dramatic soundtrack.

I hoard beautiful words like a magpie hoards shiny trash.

Okay but now I wanna know about you.

Who are you? What are you writing? What fictional character is currently living in your head rent-free and eating all your snacks?

Tell me:

Your name (or just your vibe)

Your favorite trope you’d die for

The unhinged fic idea you haven’t written yet but think about daily

Or honestly? Just how you’re doing. Be feral. Be soft. Trauma dump in the tags. I’ll probably relate.

Reblog with your answers, yell in the replies, or just send me asks like we’re already mutuals. Let’s emotionally spiral together 💌

@someprettyname @blessdunrest @wolfofcelestia @lovenstan @tsukiimonster OR anyone else who wants to hop on this little “get to know me” train—please. I’m begging. Distract me before I start monologuing to my thesis again. — Sylus Little Crow (aka Elisabeth Eve)

[mythorhuman]

Playing Pretend

The last bell echoed through Mystic Falls High like a warning shot. Students poured out of the double doors in droves. Bonnie slowly, deliberately, left the building. Each of her steps rehearsed like a scene in a play she hadn’t wanted to write.

The target was already watching.

Across the lot, Matt leaned against his truck, arms folded. Elena stood next to him, her expression tight with concern. And Caroline? Caroline wasn’t saying a word. She was staring toward the far edge of the parking lot—toward the glossy black SUV.

“That’s the third time he’s picked her up this week,” Elena said, voice low.

Matt shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. Bonnie hates him.”

“People don’t make out with people they hate,” Caroline snapped, eyes locked ahead. “I heard them yesterday, in the woods. The giggling. The moaning. She’s not even trying to hide it anymore.”

Elena flinched. “Are you sure it wasn’t—?”

“It was her. I know her laugh. And his voice.” Caroline’s lips curled into something bitter. “She’s with him. Sleeping with him. Letting him in her head. Or worse—her bed.”

Matt scowled. “She wouldn’t. Not Bonnie.”

“She already did,” Caroline said, her voice barely a whisper. “And she’s doing it again.”

And there he was. Klaus, stepped out of the car casually to greet his favorite pracitioner of magic. He stood confidently, arms crossed, eyes locked on Bonnie as she descended the front steps.

“My little witch,” he called, only loud enough for anyone with supernatural hearing to pick up.

Bonnie didn’t smile. Not yet. But she walked toward him with purpose, hips swaying. It wasn’t seduction. It was strategy.

“Still loitering like a creep, I see,” she teased, stopping a breath too close to him.

Klaus reached out to touch her arm. “Still pretending you don’t love the attention.”

“You’re blocking traffic.”

“I’m blocking temptation,” he murmured. “Very different thing.”

Bonnie rolled her eyes. “You’re exhausting.”

“And you’re irresistible,” Klaus said. His fingers slipped beneath her chin, tilting her face up with slow, practiced intimacy. “But let’s not argue in front of your classmates. You’re causing quite the scandal.”

“You’re the scandal,” she said, voice lower now. “I’m just collateral damage.”

Behind them, Caroline’s jaw dropped.

“She’s flirting with him,” Elena whispered, horror creeping in.

Matt looked stunned. “That’s not flirting. That’s like verbal foreplay.”

“She’s grinning at him,” Caroline added, her voice rising. “Bonnie is grinning at Klaus Mikaelson. What the hell is happening?”

They weren’t wrong. Bonnie was smiling now. Just a little.

Klaus leaned in to whisper in her ear. “They’re watching.”

“Good,” she hummed back. “Play your part.”

“Oh, darling,” he purred, caressing her cheek with his fingers, “I was born for it.”

Without warning, he dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the corner of her jaw. Bonnie gasped just audibly enough for vampire ears, and lightly pushed against his chest.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she warned.

“Too late,” he said, hand settling on her waist.

Bonnie turned toward the parking lot where her friends stood frozen in disbelief.

She waved.

Caroline turned away.

“Well,” Klaus said brightly. “Shall we, sweetheart?”

She didn’t reply and just let him open the door and slide her. A few moments later, they were rolling out of the lot. It wasn’t until they’d crossed town lines that Bonnie finally exhaled.

“They’re completely convinced,” she muttered.

Klaus smirked. “You’re quite the actress.”

“You kissed me.”

“You leaned into it.”

“I did not.”

“You didn’t pull away.” Klaus glanced sideways.

Bonnie gave him a long look. “You’re lucky I haven’t set you on fire yet.”

“Ah, the sweet thrill of foreplay,” Klaus drawled. “How long are we keeping up the ruse? Because at this rate, I may have to make it real just to stay in character.”

Bonnie snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. You talk too much.”

“And you let me.” He grinned. “How noble of you to fake a sordid affair with the town’s favorite villain. All to keep your little friends safe.”

Bonnie’s smile faded. “If they think I’m compromised, they’ll keep their distance. That’s what matters.”

“And what happens when the enemy realizes it’s an act?”

“Then I stop pretending,” she said quietly. “And burn everything down.”

Klaus looked at her then with curious eyes. And his smirk changed.

“Remind me,” he said softly. “Which one of us is the monster again?”

Bonnie looked out the window. “Guess we’ll find out.”

[randopersonidk]

Ayyyy imma throw my own opinion to @metalprincessxoxo post on their blog asking what each of the Diaboys would smell like

Credit to: @metalprincessxoxo

Shuu: I have ALWAYS said that Shuu probably smells. My man doesn't move. doesn't cut his hair, his nails, wash his face nothing. He just puts himself in a bath with his clothes. Dont even use soap, dont even dry himself. like GIRRRR YOU KNOW HE SMELLS LIKE WET DOG💀💀. Sorry to people to always say that he smells like oranges and fresh linen I just gotta be fr with yall 😭 ( the dandruff would also be WILD on this man )

Reiji: Tea and Hand sanitizer ( or just any chemical smell). Reijis smells like when a Dr office adds a air freshener to the room so it smells nice but the undertone is still like disinfectant. Why? Because with all that tea? Yeah he smells like it you know he does. AND he works with chemicals all day. Those 2 smells are LINGERING to his clothing fabric so yeah.

Ayato: I don't why I immediately think grease. Like when yall walk into a buffet or your around food stalls in public the air of grease cooking hits you. Yeah that's what I think he smells like. Ayatos messy, I mean look at his room. So he probably doesn't smell clean but I can also see him being grossed out whenever he does smell or if he's sweaty and he'll take a shower. But with all the takoyaki he eats, and he's mentiond that he'll visit multiple Takoyaki places to try them. I can imagine he smells like food consistently ( big back big back )

Kanato: Candy. Come on yall saw this coming 😒. His room and him probably smell sweet like a vanilla kinda smell because of his sweets and tea that he has whenever he has tea parties with some linen mixed in from all his clothes and stuffed animals. Think of a vinatge store with a sweet aroma that was sprayed before you walked in. So I'ma give him a THIRD smell because I can't help it. Sweet and dainty but a undertone of iron or rot because remember this man taxidermies women.......so....yeah under all that vanilla smell you can catch some blood or rot on him 👀 don't walk run baby.

Laito: My man my man my man 🤭 the one and only Bitch-Kun. PERFUME heavily. To the point that you can't even detect a specific aroma is just perfume in its entirety. Like your walking in a mall and BAM you hit the Victoria secret aisle and it's just a overwhelming fog of smell. This is from that one DL Cd when their looking for socks and they get to Laitos room and they cover their noses because his room just reeks. Also because he probably comes home smelling like a lot a women ( this happend in his MB route ) also to probably hide any other odor in his room or to create some sort of ambiance in his room because hey it's Laito. Like this man probably has a drawer full of different smells that he wears, like tell me that's not something you can see Laito doing.

Subaru: Probably legitimately smells like dust and lint because he's constantly in his coffin. I honestly do think he showers and doesnt just stay locked down like Shuu because Subarus honestly more reasonable then his brothers. He's just a chill guy what can I say ( sometimes * looks at his walls *) but yeah this man smells like dust and linen and that's it 🤷‍♂️ that's all I can imagine him smelling like. He probably occasionally smells like wood and fur if he hangs out with the woods and come across an animal at times but I mean other than that yeah.

I might do a Mukamki version of this at some point but yeahhhh, Besitos 👋💋💋

[acotar-girly]

Night's sister

Heyyyy babies :)

Sorry about the loooong wait, but I'm back babyyy (with a fresh hot update for my seriessss)

Really am sorry about the long wait though :(. I was in a dark place, slipping back into old habits, and I was just really stressed with school and all.

So, here it is. Hope you enjoy, because this is an honest to god part of my soul.

(also lol with the rise of the use of AI (ew) in writing, I just wanted to clarify that THIS IS ALL MY OWN WRITING. Please do not reword it and use it as your own, tell people it is AI, copy it and claim credits or ANYTHING that steals my work. If you want to repost it, please do. If you want to post it somewhere (AND GIVE ME CREDITS), feel free to do that :). There has been NO, and I repeat no, AI use in this post. All my ideas, from my own fucked up brain. I hope you enjoy.)

Summary: You’re Rhysand’s little sister, who escaped the spring court when your mother and older sister were murdered. The only living Princess of the Night Court. Rhys is High Lord, and your close sibling relationship is something everyone, even enemies (unfortunately) are aware of. You live with Rhysand. You haven’t met Cassian and Azriel yet, as Rhys is trying to keep you safe and protected. You’ve only ever heard stories of them, and you’ve never worked up the nerve to want to meet them. You’ve been kidnapped, by Rhys’ enemies, while he’s fighting in a war and he left you at home.

In this post: The consequences of trying to escape

TW: kidnapping, graphic SA, graphic violence, gore, describing torture, (but also somehow a lot of fluff later on???)

-please tell me if i’ve missed any triggers and i’ll add them.

The days dragged on, each one melding into the net in a haze of aching muscles and relentless silence. At first, he had been constant with the torment. Pain, isolation and cold. But recently, there had been a shift. It was subtly, imperceptible. But she felt it, as deep as her pain, all the way to her bones. Her captor- no, that's too nice of a word- her tormentor, had changed. Less frequent visits, his touch less rough. And by The Mother it was pathetic, but she was grateful for his gentler voice cooing words (albeit mocking), as if the cruelty of the past was fading, replaced with something... softer. What game was he playing now?

She couldn't quite trust herself to trust it, but a small foolish part of her allowed herself to believe for a fleeting moment that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as invincible as she had initially thought. Maybe he was starting to underestimate her.

That was her first mistake.

When she saw the faintest shift in the way the door opened that evening, slightly wider than usual, something inside her stirred. She should've known better. She should have known it was too good to be true. Her chains were lighter today. Or had he let his guard slip? The thought settled into her bones, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Bella allowed herself a single moment of reckless hope.

That was her second.

Her gaze flickered to the window, to the small crack of light- the only light she's seen in months. The only constant, the sunlight peeking in everyday. Her heart pounded with the foolish hope. I can get out. I can get out of here. She gritted her teeth against the constant throbbing ache in her limbs, forcing her body into motion, her hands trembling with effort as she tested the shackles again. Loose, lighter. Her thin wrists slipped out with ease. Maybe she had a chance. Breath quickening, heart racing, she summoned a fraction of power left in her, slipping out of the door. One chance- and she couldn't waste it. As her bare feet finally hit the cold, hard ground, the world spun beneath her, pain flaring through her unused limbs. Feeling the air against her sensitive skin, in that moment, was enough.

Thinking she was free was her third, (and last) mistake.

His amused laugh echoed behind her, the sound sending gooseflesh erupting across her body. She froze, every muscle screaming at her to run. But her mind- the little rationality left- is telling her it's too late. It was all a test. One that she failed.

"I knew you'd try." Came his voice, a mockery of sweetness, like honey laced with poison. His smirk was maddening, knowing, as though he’d been waiting for this moment the whole time. “I think you'll learn your lesson, won't you?” he said, his voice soft but dark. “You really should’ve stayed put.”

Before she could react, his hands were on her again—gripping her with an ease that stole the breath from her lungs. His grip was firm, too firm, and he pulled her back into the center of the room, like a doll being placed on display.

Her limbs refused to obey, the pain too much, the fear too overwhelming. She wanted to scream, but the sound caught in her throat. The door was still there, so close—but unreachable.

“I’m disappointed in you, Bella,” he said, his voice a soothing whisper in the chaos of her mind. “But don’t worry, darling. You’ll learn to never try that again.”

And when he's done? She feels like she'll never be sane again. And to really sweeten the honey pot? The *connection* with Rhys. It takes too much of her energy. But it's useful to him. He's chained her to a torture table, taking way too much delight in her pain, cooing sweet words at her, breath drifting on her face. He forcibly extends the connection from her mind to Rhys', amplifying the mental connection. And through that connection, through her groggy and pain fogged mind, he sends Rhys a vivid image of her current state. Bleeding, bruised, broken. At his mercy.

Body pinned down, her captor's hand firmly on her throat, wings sprawled out behind her, limp and drenched in her crimson blood. His voice enters their minds as Bella tries to scream, her helplessness reverberating through the mental link painfully. “Isn’t it sweet, High Lord?” He says, his voice dripping with venomous amusement, “Your sister thought she could escape me. But now she knows better. This is your last warning. Come to me, or I will make sure that she remembers every attempt to leave for the rest of her life.” And with powers stronger than any of them can understand, amplified her pain, making her feel it through the mental connection. Screams of agony hit Rhys in full force in his own mind, and he collapses to his knees, wincing, violet eyes burning with tears.

He removes his hand from her throat, grinning, leaving her crumpled in pain. He lets her just barely recover- shaky breaths and tears- before speaking again. "Try again," he says softly, "and I'll make you regret it." The threat hangs heavily in the air- a dare to defy him again. His hand finds its way into her tangled, blood matted hair, making sure Rhys can see what he's doing, before speaking, tugging her hair sharply backwards. "You'll stay right here, right?" He coos.

She lets out a small sob of pain, beyond words. But the sharp pull of her hair makes her choke out a small, whimpered response. "I'll stay. I pr- promise. I- I'll stay."

"Good girl." taglist (if you'd like to be added please tell me <3): @saltedcoffeescotch @whatasweetgeorgiapeach @nyotamalfoy @zanaorian

[superhoeva]

Adding to the freak! Jack Abbot thots…Jack Abbot who does anal with his freak gf…yeah…NEED DAT IMMEDIATELY! I’m talking he eats ass, uses plugs, double penetration, and fucks you in the ass after you beg him for it. Yeah…Yeahh. And yes; we already have DMs about this but idc I need dat man bad!

tw: language, smut, porn with a little plot, freak!abbot, butt stuff/anal, bodily fluids (mentioned), f!reader, oral (f receiving), rimming (f receiving), toys (plugs), unprotected sex, creampie; please remember this is fiction <3 mdni/+18.

there’s an odd sense of beauty in the fact that jack senses you’re ready for it before you do. the man has eyes everywhere, and with most of them pointed at you, it doesn’t take long for him to pick up the hints that your body bares free to him.

though he waits until you actually say it to take the next steps.

little by little, jack breaks you open. slobbering all over your pussy and thumbing at your ass until you're sobbing out a beg for him to stick something inside you. dragging the slick from your slick down to your puckering hole with the tip of his tongue, and circling it with soft laps.

he damn near cums in his pants the first time he fingers your ass. god, the noises you make as he uses lube and gentle gotta relax for me, darlin's to coax you open well enough to take two of his fingers. it takes a thumbs and a few wet kisses of your clit but you do just as he requests–relax enough through a few waving orgasms to take his third finger.

even jack switching from his fingers to plugs is a process.

he tongues your hole and stretches you with his thumb before sliding in the plug with the help of a mixture of spit and lube. soon after taking a moment to admire how the protruding jewel looks against you, he slides into your pussy, and fucks you at the edge of the bed from behind.

you make jack's head toss and hands grip at your hips like he'll never let you go whenever you cry out how full you feel. how much you like how full you feel. he fills your pussy that night, afterwards slipping out the plug at the same time he slurps his dripping load from your slit.

the first time he fucks your ass, there's a literal ton of lube and you're in charge. you control it all and he doesn't move until you tell him. he's already breathing hard breaths through his nose with just the head inside but he doesn't push anymore until you whimper out for him to keep going.

you both groan loud when he's fully inside.

you're shaking at the stuffed feeling, while jack's clenching his jaw and trying not to burst. his cock moves slow but firm inside you, only able to pull out a third of the way before he sinking back balls deep.

it's after a few thrusts that jack has to pause with a hand on your stomach.

"s'alright if you can't..." he starts, huffing through his strained timbre with a pinched brow. "...but i need ya to relax, gorgeous, or i'm not gonna last worth a damn."

"'m trying," you whine out, and he can barely rip a hand from your waist to cradle your face. "it's just a lot."

jack would chuckle if he could think of something other than the manner of him twitching inside your ass.

"i know, baby. i know," jack nods, "but i can't–fuck... i'm, like, this close to losing my god damn mind..."

shit. now, there's a twinkle in your eyes that tells him he probably shouldn't have said that–

a long fuuuck groans out of jack at a shifting of your hips, cock pulsating as a wave of unexpected static eclipses him. a broken, beautiful chorus of moans exit him. in fact, a few borderline on being whimpers.

he doesn't realize the tender thrusting he's started until he sees you halfway through his climax, your body jerking with rolling eyes as his balls empty themselves inside you.

he'd have a half a mind to lean over and grab the vibrator but the fingertips he's slathering over your sopped clit are enough to get you there. pussy leaking and spasming around nothing, you're coming with a clench tight enough to make jack lightheaded.

"hoooly shit," he has to blink a few times, collapsing half his weight on top of your body as you settle in the w.

the both of you are trembling, and jack makes you take two more deep breaths as he inches himself out of you. his cock slides free a mess, covered in a mixture of his cum and stringy lube, and he shakes his head when he looks at you to find you already peeking down at the sight with a pleased grin.

jack snorts, exhaling an astonished huff before kissing you deep.

"sorry," he mumbles, forehead glossy with a layer of sweat. "i'll try to last longer next time..."

(spoiler alert: he does not.)

freak!abbot tag | freak!abbot asks

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[ao3holidays]

May 3, 1808

Day depicted by Spanish painter Francisco Goya in his "The Third of May," which he paints in 1814.

Related Tag: Past Character Death

meanwhile, the wild geese by bacondoughnut

Jason killed the Joker, but it turns out he still has a long road ahead of him to work on healing. In the meantime, he just hopes he can help Damian find a little bit of the peace he's found since coming home. And not having assassins after him or his family might be a nice touch, too. aka; The one where the family takes on the League of Assassins, Damian learns a thing or two about belonging, and Jason gets a dog. Not necessarily in that order.

the courage of stars by merils

Kon stares down into his tea. Lois’s hand is warm on his shoulder. “Kal,” he says, hollow. “…Do you ever… Do you ever wish you didn’t come back?” He can feel Lois stiffen, can hear both of their heart rates increase. They exchange looks over his head, but he doesn’t care enough to look up, shame sitting heavy in his gut. “What do you mean, Kon?” Kal asks. His voice is gentle, but Kon knows him well enough to hear the fierce worry, the protective steel beneath it. After so long being held in, the words all but pour out. Kon swallows a too-hot sip of tea that doesn’t scald going down. “I was made to be like you,” he says. “You died saving the world. I was—don’t you get it? Kal, I was made to die saving the world. I was made to die. And I did. So—” His voice cracks. “So why am I back?”

In the Event of An Emergency by Luvo

Jason’s back in Gotham. He’s back from the dead, he’s killing people, he’s helping people, he’s avoiding the people who used to be his family, he’s besieged by a couple of pint sized new vigilantes, and is being haunted by the ghost of his past. Literally. There are a lot of things Jason can't seem to avoid. The new Robin, for one. His past as Robin, for another. The question: When you’re separated from your past life by miles of traumatic life changing (or life-ending) events, when you’ve changed so much from the person you thought you would be, when you just haven’t spoken to someone in years– how do you know they will still love you? It’s a Jason returns home fic!

Of House and Home by Kestrealbird

When Hal comes back to Oa after a mission, the last person he expects to see sleeping in his room is Barry. He proceeds to have a lot of feelings about this development

Gift my left ear to my brother by Luvo

Going home is one thing. Staying there is another. (Coming back to life is one thing. Actually living is another.) So. Jason’s back. Yay! He might have failed to realize exactly what that would entail. He’s trying his best. So is everyone else. He just has a couple questions. What is he supposed to do with the family he’s trying to have again? How does he support his almost-kind of-distant-clearly going through something-older brother? How does he support the younger siblings he never expected he’d have? It’s weird. It’s awkward at times. It’s painful at others. It’s joyful as well, when he lets himself see it. They’re all trying together. They’ll figure it out in the end. Post returning home: where do you go from there?

[pwblant]

back home - l.cy

synopsis : your childhood was full of playful memories, but one constant void was the absence of your parents, who were always wrapped up in work. to fill that gap, you spent most of your time at your mother’s best friend’s house, where you befriended anton lee—a dino obsessed kid. things were great until they suddenly migrated to the states, leaving you and your family behind. fast forward 11 years later, you’re scrolling through the exchange student program listing and a familiar name you recognize catches your eye. as fate has it, they just so happen to be your partner as well.

wc. : roughly 3.5k

pairing : childhood bff! anton x f!reader

—

your childhood was filled with fun memories—just like how most childhoods usually are. however, aside from all of the fun things in your life, there was always this one inconvenience—your parents were never home. they were always caught up with their work, leading to overtimes that made them return home by midnight. more often than not, you would end up spending most of your time hanging out at your mother’s best friend's house. in their house, you had one playmate around at all times—anton lee. he was this short, chubby, and nerdy kid who you’d always end up playing with; although, you weren’t entirely sure if he appreciated your presence for the first few times you came over to their house. but, since you started staying over at their place more than your own, it started to feel like your second home. it was not long either until anton started warming up to you as well.

“hey y/n, wanna read this book with me? it’s about my favorite dinosaur!” anton kindly offered, book in hand, getting ready to sit on his playmat.

“eeew noo, dinosaurs are boringgg!” you playfully tease with a disgusted expression on your face.

“don’t say that!” he said with a pout plastered on his face. “dinosaurs are cool too.”

you laugh and point at the face he made, which resulted in the two of you giggling from each other’s expressions.

things were like this most of the time, that is, until you received the news one day that they’ve left for the US.

the news undoubtedly broke your heart—how could it not? why did they suddenly leave? why didn’t they tell you earlier? who was going to play with you now when mom and dad aren’t around? where are you staying when they need to go to work? why didn’t they ever mention it so you could say goodbye? you couldn’t process all the questions and emotions running through your little head, and just like that, you dozed off.

time skip — 11 years later

it’s been 11 years since your childhood friend migrated to the US, you’re 19 now. school is fine. things adjusted and soon went back to normal—your parents ended up finding you a babysitter, which wasn’t the worst, but you definitely preferred being with anton and his family. you missed him a lot. you just wished the two of you kept in contact despite the distance, even though you were just kids when they left. he fully disappeared from your life, leaving basically no trace behind.

now, all you’re preparing for is the exchange student program wherein students from all around the world come to your school to study for a while. you had the role of helping the new students adjust into the school.

“hey y/n, have you seen who you’re handling for the ESP (exchange student program)?” your friend appeared in front of your study desk, sounding ecstatic. “i got an “andy park”, i hope he’s cute! his name already is.”

you giggle at your friend's enthusiasm. “no, not yet, where do i find the list?” you ask.

your friend links you the website where all the pairings were listed down. the pairings went like this: one student with one exchange student.

your eyes scan the crowded list, finding the name “l/n, y/n” amongst all the other names on the list. you finally find it located at the third page.

“ah i found it .. so my partner is—“

you stop.

“anton lee.”

“anton lee?” you repeat to yourself. memories of your childhood started popping up in your head. reminiscing “your” anton lee made your heart sink. “come on y/n, it’s probably not him. it’s not like he’s the only anton lee ever.” you thought to yourself.

you shake your head, dismissing all the thoughts and possibilities popping up in your brain.

“uhh.. are you okay?” your friend asked, confused by your sudden silence.

“yea sorry i was just thinking.” you assured.

even if it’s been such a long time since the two of you lost contact, you haven’t stopped thinking about him. again, you still missed him deeply—the chubby little boy and his never-ending love for brachiosauruses. the same kid who used to cry when you teased him, but would always start giggling when you’d start laughing. the same one who would lend you his favorite sticker book when you were having a bad day.

but still, your heart races at the thought. you bite your lip, your curiosity for tomorrow basically eating you alive.

—

the next day, the campus was buzzing with excitement—banners all over the courtyard welcoming students, luggages rolling on pavement, and chatter in different languages and accents filled the air.

your eyes scan the place as you hold your clipboard, trying to look as professional as possible.

“okay maybe its not him,” you whisper. “but if it is i—“

“y/n?”

you freeze.

you turn slowly, and — oh.

there’s the anton lee you were looking for, standing in front of you. it almost felt like background music was playing and time slowed down. he was much, much taller than what you remembered. his once chubby cheeks turned into sharp but ethereal features. his skin glows with a tan like he’s spent hours under the sun. his hair is neatly styled, his eyes—still soft and kind, but was so much more confident now. you could still tell it was him.

but the thing that really makes your breath hitch? his smile—the same exact warm and gentle boyish smile from all those years ago.

“y/n l/n?” he repeats, this time with a small chuckle. “you got taller.”

you blink. “I got taller?” you gape at him. “anton!”

he nods, sending you that warm smile you’ve been missing all these years. “long time no see.”

you drop your clipboard and practically rush into his arms, wrapping yours around his torso.

he lets out a breathy laugh, hugging you back, strong arms enveloping you into a warm embrace that seems weirdly new but familiar.

“i missed you,” he mumbles against your hair.

you pull back, eyes glossy. “you’ve grown so much! what happened to my little dinosaur nerd?

he flashes a smile, showcasing his perfectly straight teeth. “still here,” he taps the strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder. “i brought my dinosaur plushie with me, he’s just retired from daily playtime.”

you chuckle, “you’ve definitely changed, but also.. not really!”

he pauses, eyes softening. “and you’re still the same y/n who’d make fun of my dinosaur obsession.”

you suddenly feel shy, “you know, i didn’t think i’d ever see you again.”

he looks at you, sincerity written all over his face. “i promised myself, that if i came back to korea, i’d find you.”

he laughed. “guess i didn’t even have to try.”

the two of you hit it off immediately, it was like no time had passed.

“i can’t believe we, from all the other students here, managed to get paired together. fate really has its way of doing things, don’t you think?”

anton chuckled. “i’m just glad we ended up together, i really missed my y/n,” he said,

his words made your heart skip a beat. damn. where on earth did he get these words from? HIS y/n?

“your y/n?” you repeat, raising a brow at him.

he smirks, the playful glint in his eyes makes it clear that he knows exactly what he’s doing. “yeah. my y/n. got a problem with that?”

you scoff, crossing your arms. “did moving to the US come with an attitude?” you tease.

he gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “i don’t have an attitude!”

as the two of you were bickering, you noticed the crowd starting to disperse. they must be heading to the dorms. you glance down at his luggage and realize that you should probably lead him to his.

“okay come on lee, let’s get you settled in.” you say, grabbing his schedule and signaling him to follow you.

“already bossing me around?” he teases, walking beside you.

“yeah, and expect more of it.” you say.

you drag him by his pinky, leading him towards his dorm room. despite all the lighthearted banter, you can’t shake off the warm feeling you get in your chest when you’re around him. anton is here, your childhood best friend, and wow was he hitting different. even though he’s changed, there’s still so much of him that still feels the same.

the walk to the dorm felt surreal. every now and then, you’d steal small glances at anton, still trying to reconcile the memory of how he used to be like with the tall, broad-shouldered guy now effortlessly rolling his suitcase beside you with one hand—his other hand’s pinky occupied with yours.

“so,” you start, trying to keep your voice as casual as you could. “you never contacted me. no text, no email, no call, no nothing?”

anton slows his walking pace slightly, his lips forming into a straight, shy line. “i just.. didn’t know how to get a hold of you. we were just kids when i left, neither of us even had phones at that time. i didn’t forget about you,” he says softly. “not even for a day.”

he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “i wanted to reach out, but—my parents seemed so busy with their new jobs—i didn’t want to disturb them and ask for help on how to contact you. plus, i thought maybe.. you had moved on. that you had gotten a new best friend. i was scared you forgot about me.”

you stopped walking, forcing him to stop too. “anton,” you say, your voice gentle now. “i could never forget you.”

his eyes flicker with what looked like a burst of relief before a small, almost hopeful smile tugs at his lips. “good,” he murmurs.

as the two of you finally make it to his dorm, you hand over his keys. “so, are you my official guide for the whole program?”

you nod. “yep, lucky you.”

he hums. “i’d say im pretty lucky.”

you blink, caught off guard by the mix of playfulness and sincerity in his tone. but before you could form up a reply, you saw him already unlocking his door and stepping inside.

“hey y/n,” he calls out just before you turn to leave.

you move your head closer to see him inside his new place, “yeah?”

his gaze softens, his lips forming into a charming smile—something you could never get sick of. “i really did miss you,”

you feel your stomach do another stupid little flip.

you grip the doorframe, trying to not look as affected by his words as you feel. “alright, got it. now go unpack, lee. i’ll meet you here tomorrow?”

“noted boss,” he chuckles. “goodnight, y/n. dream of me tonight.” he says jokingly.

“whatever you say. goodnight anton.” you grin, walking away.

looking back at that encounter as you walked down the hallway to your dorm, you hated how it took him so little effort to make your heart turn into a frenzy and get you all flustered. it’s ridiculous. he just got back, yet he’s already got you wrapped around his finger like you’re still those two kids playing on the floor of his childhood house.

once you reach your dorm, you flop onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. your roommate, scrolling on her phone while waiting for you to come back, glances at you with a knowing smirk.

“you okay there?” she asks, putting her phone down on her comforter.

you groan into your pillow. “no—maybe. i don’t know.”

“does it have anything to do with the jaw droppingly hot exchange student you hugged at the courtyard today?” she sits up.

you tilt your head just enough to send a judgemental glare at her. “i hate you.”

she lets out a snicker. “so, that’s a yes?”

“it’s anton. like the anton from when i was a kid.” you confess.

“wait. that’s him?” your roommate pauses. “so.. you’re saying he grew up and became… eye candy?”

“unfortunately,” you faceplant back onto your pillow. “dude! how did that even happen..”

—

the sun shines brightly outside and you're up getting ready to leave. you promised the night before to meet up with anton at his dorm, but since you had a few minutes to spare, you decided to make a matcha drink with oat milk—your favorite.

you step foot out of the doorway and walk towards his dorm. your rooms were pretty near each other, so it didn’t take much time to reach his. you knock on his door.

one knock.

and then another.

“is he still sleeping? that gu—“

anton swings the door open, wearing only his pajama pants, toothbrush in his hand.

the ice cubes in your drink clash with one another. you almost spilled your drink with how quick he opened the door. “what the heck anton, put some clothes on!!” you roared, covering your eyes with your spare hand. who knew swimmers had such great.. you know what, never mind.

he laughed. “come inside, y/n. let me just get ready.”

you rolled your eyes, accepting his offer. “we just met again after over a decade of not seeing each other, have some decency, anton!” you say lightheartedly, plopping yourself on his couch. “what if it was someone else knocking on your door and you just showed up like that!”

he chuckles once again. “then i wouldn't have done it, ‘cause i would’ve known that it wasn’t you.”

“what?” your cheeks grew red, your stomach doing ten more flips. trying to hide your face, you took a sip of your matcha. where the hell did he get this boldness from??

he finally gets himself ready and comes back to the living room to meet you.

“is that matcha?” he blurts out.

you nod. “yeeah. matcha with oatmilk.”

ugh. you should have made him some before you left, what a bad mentor! you thought.

“i love matcha, but i’ve never tried it with oatmilk before. is it any different?” he politely asked.

“depends. do you wanna try?” you say, reaching out the cup to him.

“oh sure,” he was taken aback, he didn’t expect you to offer it to him. “can i..?” he says, asking for permission to take a sip from the opening.

you nod. you didn’t really care. you used to share things all the time when you were kids anyways, you thought.

“hey this is good,” he said, licking his lips and savoring the taste along with its creamy texture.

“right?” you smile, watching his expression change into one of a pleasant surprise. “a game changer.”

he hums in agreement, eyes flickering between you and the cup in his hands. “i might start having it like this from now on.”

“you should,” you say, taking the cup back and sipping from the same spot he just drank out of without even thinking about it.

he notices it, though.

his lips part as he watches you take another sip, his grip tightening around the strap of his bag. normally, no one would notice this kind of thing—considering the fact that it all happened so fast. but, for some reason, it managed to catch his eye.

you don’t seem to realize it, licking the drop of matcha on your lip before you flash him an innocent smile. “ you can come over and help me make matcha for the two of us.”

he swallows, rubbing the back of his neck while trying to ignore the sudden warmth creeping up his neck. “yeah,” he murmurs, his voice a little softer now. “for sure.”

and for some reason, that warmth had nothing to do with the matcha.

—

the two of you walk down the school hallway together after class, your books enclosed within your arms. “so, i see you’ve joined the swimming varsity? i didn’t expect you to like swimming.”

“well i’m pretty good at it, i was in the swim team back in the US too. somehow they let me into the swim team here too.” he began. “speaking of that, i have swimming practice later .. wanna watch?”

“sure! then i can see how good you really are.” you tease, a little laugh following after.

“you’ll be surprised, y/n.” he said shyly.

—

after a long day of classes, you find yourself seated on the bleachers of the school’s indoor pool. you’ve hardly been there, the scent of the chlorine-filled water hits your nose hard. your chin rested on your palm as you observed the swimmers cut through the water like well-trained dolphins. but really, your eyes were only focused on one swimmer—anton.

his strokes were clean, powerful, smooth, and confident—he really looked like someone who belonged in the water. everytime he’d lift his head up for a breath of air, you swore your heart would skip a beat. the passion, the skill, all these made him look so cool.

you didn’t want to say it out loud, but he looked good.. like, olympic-good. and you? you were just trying to not stare too hard.

he spotted you the moment he got out of the pool, his hair still dripping wet as he reached for his towel to wipe it. you could see a playful grin tugging on the corners of his mouth as he made his way over to you.

“so,” he panted slightly, water dripping from his hair to the ground. “what did you think?”

“you were alright, i guess.” you raise your brows, trying to keep your cool. “maybe a seven out of ten.”

he gasps dramatically. “a seven? wow, harsh critic.”

“you’ll live.” you say, standing up while handing him a towel which he accepts gratefully.

“could i.. bribe you with post-practice snacks to make that rating go higher?” he offers, slinging his towel over his shoulder as he walks next to you.

you squint. “depends. are we talking street food or convenience store?”

he grins. “whichever gets me to a nine.”

you both end up at a convenience store, the one you’d both go to when the school cafeteria was full. everything felt warm and the way anton grabbed two choco pies from the sweets aisle “just because you used to like them” made it all feel cozy.

sitting on the curb outside, knees almost touching, he nudges your shoulder. “hey.”

you look over, a piece of fishcake halfway inside your mouth. “yeah?”

he’s already looking at you, this kind, genuine expression lingers on his face—the kind that makes your stomach flip for no good reason. “you know, i wasn’t lying when i said i missed you.”

you blink, caught off guard again. well, it’s not the first time he’s said it, but this time it felt more.. sincere. was he testing the waters or trying to hint something?

“i missed you too,” you say softly. “a lot.”

you fall into a comfortable silence, something you’ve never experienced with anyone else before.

you rest your head on his shoulder and continue to eat your fish cake before it gets any colder. everything feels so right and perfectly in place—the sharing of food and the occasional sarcastic comments. the sun began to set, casting a gentle glow across his face. It feels too perfect, and you don’t want it to end.

—

over the next few weeks, things start to shift—subtly, but definitely visible. anton starts saving you a seat at the lecture hall. you start bringing an extra cup of matcha with oatmilk. he walks you to your dorm even if his is closer. you make fun of how he looks in his swim cap. he borrows your pen and “forgets” to return it. every little thing with him becomes something you’d constantly look forward to and wait for.

one night, as you’re both walking back after a long day at the library, he suddenly stops.

“hey,” he says. “remember how you used to say dinosaurs were boring?”

you chuckle. “of course. i was and still am right, by the way.”

he doesn’t respond immediately, just watches you with this thoughtful expression. “i used to hate that,” he admits. “but i liked hearing you say it. it served as a reminder that you were there.”

you stop walking.

the air hangs still between you for a second, like time paused to hear what he’d say next.

“i’m glad we got paired up,” he says quietly. “because i think i would’ve spent the rest of my life wondering if I’d ever see you again.”

and there it is—that warm, honest feeling again. no grand gestures, no big confessions. just this quiet, sweet ache that’s been growing between the two of you all along.

you don’t say anything at first. instead, you reach for his hand—intertwining your fingers with his just like when you were kids; however this time, it meant something else entirely.

he looks down at your joined hands then back at you, smiling softly.

“so, you finally admit dinosaurs are cool?”

“don’t push your luck, lee.”

but aside from all the sarcastic replies, the two of you were smiling and blushing. just being in each other’s presence was enough to make you feel content with everything.

[thevibraniumveterans]

@trickster-archangel your response has intrigued me and I’ve been thinking about it for the better part of the last 24 hours.

So, your first point. Yes, 14 months is a very very long time, for sure. I’d imagine that when Sam heard the news on TV or something that Val announced the name of the new team, he would have had (almost) the same reaction that Bucky had upon hearing Sam gave up the shield. Confusion, anger, even. While I do hope that neither Bucky nor Sam have a falling out, the fact that the initial announcement seems to really have done a number on Sam isn’t really helped by the other fact that Bucky had talked to Sam about it. Doesn’t fix anything though. I’ve said it before, but I don’t think Bucky was the one who put together the team. When he was at home and on the phone with Mel, didn’t she basically worry about not having any powered group to save the world when needed, and he told her that “we could be the ones that are coming”? And what’s funny about this is, that’s even BEFORE he goes after the others, at that point Bucky doesn’t even know who they are, or that Walker is even involved. Who is this “we” that Bucky is referring to? I’m assuming this means that he wants to get some people together. I’m aware that’s what Sam should have been doing (when watching Ryan from ScreenCrush break it down, he notes that yes, it’s been over a year, had Sam not gathered his own teammates yet?), but I digress. Yeah, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows between Bucky and Sam, that’s for sure, but Bucky didn’t name the new team, he started off not even knowing who this “we” was gonna be! He wanted to stop Valentina, and Mel just gave him the info on who the four people he’d be collecting were, if he wanted to achieve his task. Val certainly didn’t factor Bucky into her plans; he, like Alexei, was a wildcard. The government certainly didn’t say “okay Bucky, go join this team!” They didn’t. The team was formed inadvertently. He just collected four of them on his own under his own accord without any orders from anyone. Nobody told him to do it, he chose to of his own free will.

Your second point. I see that one of your tags is #antinewavengers. That’s okay! In fact, that’s valid, and now, ALSO CANON! Well, the tag isn’t canon, but the sentiment behind it is. The mid-credits, right? Those “fictional” headlines? There are people INSIDE and outside of the MCU who don’t like this new team, coming up with headlines like “Not my Avengers”, “Nope!”, “The ‘Huh?’ Heard Around The World”, “B-Vengers”, that basically tell us how confused they were. They’re used to the old type of Avengers, the OG6, the paragons of virtue who can do no wrong, not this new batch of b-rated formerly villainous losers who don’t exactly have much credibility. Even Walker admits that he’s seen a lot of “nasty memes” about the group.

Your third point, it’s not Sam’s fault; I’d never once insinuated so, it’s not even Bucky’s fault. Did Bucky go and collect Walker, Alexei, Yelena, and Ava? Of course he did, but nobody told him to do that. He just decided to do that himself. Not Val, hell no. She didn’t tell him to do anything. The whole teamup was likely her idea, but as mentioned, Bucky and Alexei were wildcards.

Your fourth point. Yes, Bucky is confused at the fact that Sam took the announcement “poorly”. Again, no fault of Sam’s; he’s got every right to be upset at a number of things, such as 1) he’s the one who should be forming a team of better people, not Bucky netting some second-raters with bloody ledgers; 2) freakin’ WALKER is on the team, has Bucky forgotten what went down?? (Bucky certainly hadn’t.) That would be a strike against Bucky in Sam’s book, right? And so on. On one hand, Bucky wouldn’t be a good candidate for Sam’s potential team, no matter how good of a friend Bucky is to Sam. Bucky has always done things differently, and that would not mesh well with whoever else would be on Sam’s team. But what is Bucky guilty of? I’d argue that he’s not guilty of anything at this point, but maybe he’s just feeling guilty at upsetting Sam with the news and the probable subsequent explanation of said news. Did Bucky upset Sam? Arguably yes. In some way. I’m sure it hurts him to know that while it’s not his fault for rounding up Walker and the others, Bucky is at fault (well, feels like to him anyway) for hurting Sam’s feelings. And he feels guilty about that, I think.

Your fifth point about Bucky being a lap dog for Valentina? Ehhhh….. I don’t quite think so, although I can see where you’re coming from, I get it. Bucky was suspicious of Valentina and certainly wasn’t on her side; remember he rounded up Walker, Ava, Alexei, and Yelena just so they could help him take her down? Bucky doesn’t like Valentina and thinks she is sketchy as hell. Describing him as her lapdog is not quite the term I’d use, though I understand the whole he-should-not-be-wanting-to-operate-under-the-government’s-orders thing, I get it, I really do. Bob was Valentina’s priority. She saw Walker, Yelena, and Ava as potential collateral damage, and did not look happy when they started teaming up together. Bucky didn’t team them up. They did that themselves. Alexei was just along for the ride and Bucky just scooped them up himself off the record. Then it must’ve been surprising for them and Bob to realize what Val has done, that she’d tricked them again, and she announced them as the “New Avengers”. This was not something on any of the team member’s minds! She was the one revealing them as a group, this isn’t Bucky’s fault.

Your sixth point about Sam wanting to work not FOR but WITH the government is valid, yes. Which brings me to the next thought; didn’t Sam ask Ross about the Sokovia Accords, and Ross basically went “well screw that, we need a team that can keep America safe”? I don’t think anyone on the New Avengers team likes taking orders. Think about it. Bucky has had no choice for the better part of a century, Ava didn’t really have much of a choice with SHIELD either, we don’t know much about Alexei’s background but it’s safe to say he was the USSR’s puppet (again, no choice), Yelena grew up a child soldier (no choice), Walker was chosen (again, not much choice there) to be the new Cap and had no say in the matter when the title was stripped from him. Not even Bob had much of a choice in his life and the decisions he made that resulted in him being where he is. So it’s safe to say that literally NOBODY on the team had much of a say in how their life went. They didn’t much have a choice, but at least right now, they know they can do some good, so even if they’re working for Valentina (no matter how weird that sounds considering their backgrounds and MUTUAL DISTRUST of that woman), at least they can use their powers for good and help people, even if their reputations may be held against them.

TLDR, this is a fascinating topic to discuss, I think. There’s so many layers to so many things and characters in this movie that hinges on previous MCU entries. I’m more than happy to share more of my thoughts about all this.

thunderbolts spoilers

bucky and sam’s argument was offscreen so the only thing holding me together is the idea that it was more of them throwing jabs at one another like they do a lot bc i truly don’t think two characters who are very close friends would have a big and dramatic argument over something this stupid

[arolesbianism]

Sometimes I just look at Isabeau and just know that if isat came out and I got into it when I was like 16 he would be my favorite character and I would've gone absolutely buck wild over this man and feel like he was laser targeting me. But alas Odile has a grip of steel on me rn due to her virtue of being a middle aged woman

[oensible]

Article also available at The Hockey News Archive (subscription)

Transcript below the cut.

PROSPECT REPORT

[Lede image description: Elevated shot looking down at Worcester Sharks (AHL) goalie Tyson Sexsmith as he reaches out to make a glove save in his crease.

Caption at upper right: FEET FIRST Tyson Sexsmith focused on his skating while playing as both a forward and goalie growing up.]

Quick, Slick Sexsmith

Sharks' AHL goalie is one of many enticing prospects looking to get his shot in The Show with San Jose or elsewhere

BY RORY BOYLEN

(Page 46 | JANUARY 30, 2012 THN.mobi)

Tyson Sexsmith always wanted to be a goaltender, even if his parents weren't as keen. He began donning the pads around the age of seven, but Mom and Dad always wanted him to be a strong skater, so as a kid Sexsmith played the first half of his Okotoks minor hockey practices as a skater and the second as a goalie. "I liked the gear and I like to be different," he said. "Having my parents want me to keep playing forward and be a good skater definitely helped my game as I feel I've probably been one of the stronger skaters on every team I've been on."

It's certainly a trait that has allowed him to excel in the famously successful Sharks goalie factory. He's risen to become one of the American League's best netminders with Worcester and earned an all-star nod. At 5-foot-11 and 195 pounds, Sexsmith doesn't follow the big-body trend we've seen in the NHL lately and will never be the same type of goalie as 6-foot-3 Carey Price or 6-foot-5 Pekka Rinne. However, it's his skating ability that helps make up for any size disadvantage. "He's got a real thick lower body, really strong legs," said Tim Burke, San Jose's director of scouting. "I'm not comparing him to Mike Richter, but he also had a thick lower body and guys with explosive lower bodies are already in place and they don't have to extend and chase pucks."

Sexsmith, a 2007 third-rounder (91st overall), is establishing himself as an elite prospect, but he had to endure some difficult times over his first two as a pro. In November of 2010 with the ECHL's Stockton Thunder, he was about three minutes away from a shutout when Bakersfield goalie Josh Tordjman skated down and challenged him to a fight during a post-whistle scrum. While Sexsmith won the tilt, he broke his hand as well. And two years ago, his rookie pro season was interrupted by a hernia, so he's already played more games in the AHL this year than he had in his first two campaigns.

But the San Jose crease is as crowded as ever. With three goalies already on the pro roster, other intriguing prospects such as Alex Stalock and Harri Sateri are fighting for depth-chart positioning. Stalock's season-long leg injury opened up an opportunity to start in the AHL and while Sateri has been strong in his own right, Sexsmith has been otherworldly in earning a few more starts that his Finnish counterpart. "It's definitely frustrating," Sexsmith said about the number of goalies in the system. "It's something you just have to deal with – it's out of your control. You know there will be someone to take your job if you're not willing to perform. You have to take it as a challenge."

And history shows he is up to the task. In his first year of junior with the Vancouver Giants, Sexsmith served as a backup on a Western League championship team. He became the starter the next season and, under the weight of expectations, led his team to a Memorial Cup championship. When his junior career ended, he came out of it with a new WHL and Canadian League shutout record. "He was technically very calm and positionally strong," Burke said of what turned him on to Sexsmith. "And a lot of people said 'well, he's playing in Vancouver, they have a good team,' but the reality is Ken Dryden had a good team, too. Tyson won a lot of games."

And while there's a lot of competition in net, Burke says all of San Jose's goalies get their opportunity. "We make them believe in the way we train them that they're all going to have a chance to play because history says we've had a lot of goalies play in the league," Burke said. "And if any of them don't, we're not saying they can't do it. We're saying we have to find a way, whether it's mentally or physically, to get them to that point."

As Sexsmith refines the little things in his game such as day-in, day-out mental focus and picking up the handedness of an oncoming shooter, "that point" doesn't seem too far off.

A scan of the article from the goalie issue of the Hockey News about San Jose Sharks’ prospect, Tyson Sexsmith.

His mask reads “Sexy”.