#And even if they did it still doesn’t equal hate | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cumironi · 6 months ago

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THE CLOWN HAS BEEN FOUND s. gojo

★ sum. the baggy clothes, the glasses, the book, the brain— sum : a nerd, that’s what you are. a center of attention, but not because of how beautiful and popular and everyone wants to date you— no, but because you are a loser. and the popular boys have a bet who’s get to sleep with you first and pop the cherry.

warning. college au, ōral ( m & f receiving ), fingēring, dirty talk, hair-pulling, bit name-calling, petnames, praise, cherry pop mentioned, unprotected sēx.

the four of them—geto, gojo, toji, and sukuna—sat sprawled out under the big willow tree on campus, a prime spot they’d claimed as their own. the tree’s branches hung low, providing shade from the afternoon sun, and it seemed to be the perfect place for them to lounge around, their laughter and conversation echoing through the quiet space. they were the popular boys on campus, infamous for their looks, athleticism, and wealth, and equally notorious for their cocky, careless attitudes—a magnetic combination that somehow made them both admired and hated.

they were deep in some joke, laughing obnoxiously, when toji’s gaze drifted, his laughter fading as his eyes settled on something—or rather, someone—in the distance. his smirk widened as he cocked his chin in your direction, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“look at her,” toji muttered, loud enough for the others to hear. the way he said it held a certain bite, like he’d just stumbled upon something amusing.

the other three followed his gaze, their eyes landing on you, sitting off to the side with a thick textbook open in your lap. you were tucked into yourself, shoulders hunched slightly, completely absorbed in whatever you were reading. your clothes were baggy, drowning your frame in layers that did little to give away any shape. the oversized hoodie practically swallowed you, sleeves pulled down almost to your fingertips. your glasses kept sliding down your nose, and every now and then, you’d push them back up absently, clearly too lost in your book to notice much else.

“oh, the classic nerd look,” sukuna sneered, his eyes narrowing as he looked you over, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “cute,” he added mockingly, though there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he found the whole thing entertaining.

gojo let out a low snort, shaking his head as he took a long drag from his cigarette, smoke curling around him in lazy spirals. he leaned forward, one arm bracing against the grass. his eyes still on you, but there was a mocking amusement dancing in them now. he exhaled slowly, a smirk pulling at his lips as he glanced over at sukuna, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“what’s this, sukuna? into the nerdy type now?” he taunted, tilting his head as he raised an eyebrow. his tone was layered with mockery, his smirk widening as if the very idea was too ridiculous to believe. “thought you had a thing for a girl with big tits.”

sukuna rolled his eyes, but his smirk didn’t waver. “naaah, not my type,” he shot back, his gaze flicking back to you briefly before he shrugged. “just saying she’s… amusing. probably jumps if someone even looks at her.”

“oh, definitely,” geto chimed in with a chuckle, folding his arms as he looked you over with a lazy curiosity. “bet she’s terrified of guys like us.”

toji laughed, shaking his head as he looked back at the others. “please, she’d probably faint if you even said hi.” they all shared a laugh, a mixture of arrogance and amusement, reveling in the thought. to them, you were just another quiet, unassuming girl in a sea of faces, someone they could easily overlook—or mess with, if the mood struck.

gojo snickered. “hell, she probably doesn’t even know we exist,” he taunted, his smirk growing ever more patronizing as he puffed out another plume of smoke. “probably spends her nights in her room, surrounded by books and stuffed animals. bet she’s never even been to a party.”

geto chuckled, leaning back with a mocking smile. “oh please, she’s probably never even been kissed.”

toji smirked, adding to the barrage of mockery. “god, she’s probably never been touched by a guy either, huh?” he chimed in, his words dripping with lewd undertones. he took another drag of his cigarette, then glanced back at you, eyeing you up and down again, his smirk widening into a leering grin. “bet she’s a complete virgin.”

there was a collective burst of laughter from the three of them, their voices loud and harsh in the otherwise peaceful afternoon air.

sukuna, his smirk still firmly in place, leaned back against the tree, his arms crossed. “yeah, she’s probably saving herself for her dream guy,” he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “probably wants some perfect fairytale romance. what a joke.”

toji let out a low, dark snicker, his gaze flickering back to you as his smirk widened into something almost predatory. he leaned forward slightly, the cruel glint in his green eyes sharpening as he watched you, completely oblivious to the way they were talking about you.

“oh, please,” he drawled, his tone dripping with mock amusement. “give me an hour with her, and i’d pop that cherry first,” he said, his scarred lips twisting into a wider smirk, a glimmer of cruelty evident in his gaze.

the other guys laughed again, their voices mingling in the harsh, arrogant way only they could manage. for them, it was a game—a chance to mock and taunt someone so outside their world.

geto snort, “yeah, right.”

gojo chuckled, his smirk widening as he took another casual drag from his cigarette, shaking his head at toji’s words. “big talk, man. you are too scary, let me take the ‘pop’,” he said, his voice laced with a mischievousness.

sukuna let out another sharp huff of laughter, his gaze trailing over you disdainfully, his smirk a mix of mockery and condescension. “yeah, good luck with that,” he snorted, rolling his eyes. “bet she’d faint if you even came close to her.”

but toji didn’t seem worried, his smirk only growing wider, a cruel gleam in his eyes as he continued watching you, a dark challenge present in his expression.

“oh, i’d get her,” he said, his voice oozing a dangerous sort of confidence. his eyes darkened, his smirk turning almost feral as he looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers idly.

“she wouldn’t even know what hit her.”

sukuna raised an eyebrow, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he leaned in, matching toji’s dark energy with a glint of excitement in his own crimson eyes. he crossed his arms, tilting his head with a look that practically dared the others to take him up on his idea.

“let’s make it interesting, boys,” sukuna drawled, his tone laced with twisted amusement. “how about a little wager? who’s gonna get to pop the cherry first?”

the idea hung in the air, laced with a sense of cruel playfulness. the others exchanged looks, smirks widening as they took in the challenge, their gazes flickering back to you as you remained completely unaware, hidden in your book and blissfully out of earshot.

gojo’s smirk only widened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the idea. he took another puff from his cigarette, eyeing sukuna with amusement, clearly intrigued by the proposal. “a wager?” he asked, his voice tinted with a hint of curiosity. “what’s the prize?”

geto chuckled, the idea clearly appealing to him as well. he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he chimed in. “i’m in,” he said, his smirk mirroring the others.

sukuna shrugged, an amused gleam flashing through his crimson eyes as he glanced over at you, still utterly engrossed in your book and completely unaware of the bet unfolding among the boys. his smirk deepened as he looked back at the others, his tone casual yet laced with dark amusement.

“anything you want,” he replied smoothly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. he paused, his gaze flickering back to you for a brief moment before adding, “but there’s one condition—whoever wins has to take a photo as proof.”

the challenge hung heavy in the air, each of them exchanging glances, their smirks widening in unison. the thought of the twisted little game gave them all a sense of cruel excitement, feeding their arrogant thrill as they eyed you once more, already imagining how they’d play this out.

gojo let out a low snort, his smirk growing into a smirk of his own. he took another draw on his cigarette before tilting his head slightly, his expression shifting into one of agreement. “deal.” he said, his tone laced with a hint of determination.

geto chuckled softly, his eyes flickering to you once more before he nodded his agreement. “i’m in,” he added, his smirk mirrorring the others, clearly liking the idea of the bet.

toji chuckled, a cruel gleam appearing in his green eyes as he looked at the others, the idea of the bet stirring something wicked inside of him. he leaned back, his smirk growing wider as he nodded. “i’m in,” he echoed, his voice lower than before, filled with an almost excited tension.

it had been a strange week, to say the least. the four most popular boys on campus—geto, sukuna, toji, and especially gojo—had suddenly taken an interest in you, a stark contrast to the way they’d mostly ignored you before. they’d pop up in places they normally wouldn’t be, go out of their way to hold doors open or throw you playful smiles, and act… almost charming. but you weren’t buying it, especially not gojo’s relentless attempts to convince you to tutor him. every time he begged for your help, you’d shut him down without a second thought.

today was no different. you were tucked away in a quiet corner of the library, lost in your studies, when you heard the sound of a chair being pulled out beside you. you didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. with a heavy sigh, you rolled your eyes and refocused on your notes, determined to ignore him.

“oh, come on,” gojo drawled, leaning in close with a pout as he rested his elbows on the table, clearly unfazed by your cold response. “i really need help, you know. i’m hopeless without you.” his tone was dripping with exaggerated desperation, but there was a playful glint in his eyes as he watched for any reaction.

you kept your gaze fixed on your book, trying to block him out. “then maybe you should try actually paying attention in class,” you muttered, flipping a page, hoping he’d take the hint and leave you alone.

but gojo just leaned closer, his voice dropping to a softer, almost persuasive tone. “come on, i’ll owe you one. just one study session. i’ll even buy you coffee,” he offered, flashing you his signature charming smile, like he thought that was all it would take to wear you down.

“not interested,” you replied flatly, turning another page without looking up. you could feel his gaze on you, persistent as ever, but you were determined not to give him the satisfaction.

gojo’s smirk widened, his eyes narrowing slightly. he leaned even closer, his lips almost at your ear, as if daring you to ignore him. “come on, please?” he begged again, his tone dripping with fake desperation, his voice low and tantalizingly close. “just one little tutoring session. i’ll do anything.”

you froze, your pen pausing mid-word as the warmth of gojo’s hand slid down to your thigh, his fingers grazing just under the hem of your skirt. his touch was light, teasing, and you could feel your heart race at the audacity of his move. irritation flared within you, but when you turned to him, ready to give him a piece of your mind, you were met with that damn smirk of his—a look of pure, unbothered confidence.

his face was so close that you could feel his breath, warm and steady, as he whispered, “please?”

his voice was soft, almost seductive, and despite the irritation simmering beneath your calm facade, you could see the glint of amusement in his narrowed blue eyes, fully aware of the effect he was trying to have on you. your eyes narrowed, meeting his challenge, and you gave him a cold, leveled stare, unfazed by his proximity.

you lifted a brow, voice cool as ice. “is this your idea of begging, gojo?”

his smirk didn’t waver; if anything, it grew wider, clearly thrilled by your reaction. “i can be very persuasive,” he murmured, letting his fingers ghost over your thigh, just enough to keep your attention.

he leaned in even closer, his smirk widening further. his lips grazed your ear as he spoke again, his voice low and smooth, like silk. “and i can be very convincing,” he whispered, his hand sliding further up your thigh, leaving a trail of heated tingles in its wake.

you inhaled sharply, his breath hot against your skin as his words lingered in your ear, and you could feel your resolve slipping, his touch relentless and daring as his hand slid further up your thigh. the warmth of his fingers, the confidence in his voice—it was infuriatingly hard to ignore, and you could tell he knew it, that smirk of his only growing as he watched your reaction.

you turned to him, catching his gaze, meeting his smug look with one of quiet defiance. the words were barely a whisper as you muttered, “fine.”

his eyes lit up, triumphant, as if he’d known all along you’d give in, but you held his gaze steadily, a hint of warning still lingering there. “just one session,” you clarified, your voice firm, trying to reassert control even as you felt a flicker of warmth in your cheeks.

gojo’s smirk deepened, seemingly satisfied with your response. his hand paused, still resting on your thigh, his fingers gently caressing the soft skin, sending chills through your body.

“just one, huh?” he echoed, his voice low, thick with satisfaction. he leaned in closer, his breath hot on your neck, his lips practically grazing your skin as he spoke again. “don’t worry, i’ll make it count.”

he paused, his fingers tracing small, slow circles on your thigh, the gesture almost innocent, yet the meaning behind it clear. he looked at you, his gaze almost challenging, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes as he noticed your slight shiver at his touch. he leaned in further, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

“my place or yours?” he purred, his tone dripping with suggestion, his hand gradually making its way higher up your leg.

and that’s where you are . . .

gojo smirks down at you, his eyes roaming over your nerdy appearance hungrily, knees on the floor inside his dorm room. “thanks for coming to tutor me today. i really appreciate it,” his voice drips with false sincerity as he palms himself through his jeans.

“i’ve been struggling with this subject and i’ve heard you’re the best at explaining things.” gojo leans back on his hands, spreading his legs wider to give you an even better view of the bulge straining against his zipper. “why don’t you come closer and we can start going over the material? i’m all yours, baby.” his thumb pinch your chin, the soft pad of his finger trailing off your skin before slipping past your swollen lips into your mouth.

he chuckles softly, a wicked glint in his eye as he watches you squirm. “aww, what’s wrong? you look nervous. there’s no need to be shy around me.”

you swallow hard, your heart pounding in my chest as you kneel before gojo, feeling small and insignificant compared to his tall, muscular frame. your glasses slip down your nose slightly as you gaze up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“oh, um, t-thank you gojo-kun,” you stammer out, your voice quivering slightly. you shift nervously on your knees, very aware of how vulnerable your position makes you feel. and when gojo’s thumb pushes past your lips, you instinctively close your mouth around it, sucking lightly from habit before realizing what you were doing. a deep blush spreads across your cheeks.

“i’m just a bit overwhelmed, to be honest,” you managed to murmur, voice muffled by his thumb.

gojo’s smirk widens as he feels your warm, wet mouth envelop his thumb. he slowly pumps the digit in and out, mimicking a lewd act. “mmm, don’t be like that, cutie. i promise i won’t bite... much.” he winks salaciously.

his free hand reaches out to cup your burning cheek, calloused fingers brushing over the delicate skin. “you’re so cute when you’re flustered like this. it’s adorable how innocent you are.” gojo leans in closer, his hot breath fanning over your face. the musky scent of his arousal fills your nostrils.

“tell you what, why don’t you put that clever tongue of yours to good use and help me relax a bit before we dive into studying?” his thumb presses deeper into your mouth insistently.

you whimper softly as gojo’s thumb invades your mouth more insistently, your tongue automatically swirling around the invading digit. your mind races, trying to process the sudden intimate contact and the heavy implication behind his words.

“i’m not sure if this is appropriate, gojo-kun,” you manage to say around his thumb after pulling back slightly, your voice muffled. “we should focus on the tutoring session...”

despite your weak protests, you can feel your body reacting to gojo’s proximity and touch— a traitorous heat pooling low in your belly, your cunt starting to clenching around nothing in your skirt. you squirm uncomfortably on your knees, hyper-aware of your submissive posture before him.

“what exactly did you have in mind?”

gojo chuckles darkly, amused by your feeble attempt at protest. he grips your hair, tugging your head back to expose the slender column of your throat. “oh, i think we both know this is exactly what we came here for, isn’t it?”

his other hand moves to palm his aching erection through his jeans, the thick outline unmistakable. “i had something much more... educational in mind than boring textbooks.”

gojo leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers huskily, “why don’t you be a good girl and put those pretty lips to work? show me what that smart mouth of yours can do besides spouting facts.” he uses his grip on your hair to guide your face towards his crotch, rubbing your cheek against the prominent bulge.

gojo groans softly as he feels your soft cheek pressed against his throbbing erection. he grinds subtly against you, seeking more friction. “fuuuck, you feel so good already. i bet these nerdy little lips will wrap around my cock perfectly.”

with his other hand, he starts unbuckling his belt, the metallic clink seeming obscenely loud in the quiet room. he pops the button of his jeans and slowly drags down the zipper, letting them gape open to reveal the waistband of his boxers straining over his massive bulge.

“gonna ruin you for anyone else,” gojo growls possessively. “by the time ’m done with you, the only thing you’ll be able to think about is choking on my dick.”

the idea was overwhelming— the thought of ruining you and winning the bet performed a cloud in gojo’s head. you gasp sharply as gojo forces your face against his clothed erection, the heat and hardness searing into your cheek. your eyes widen at his crude words, a shiver running down your spine— equal parts fear and reluctant excitement.

“g-gojo-kun, please...” you whimper, your voice high and thready. “we shouldn’t... i-i’ve never...”

despite your halfhearted protests, you find yourself leaning into his touch, nuzzling almost imperceptibly against the thick ridge of his cock. the scent of his arousal is dizzying this close, musk and sweat and pure male essence flooding your senses. trembling fingers come up to tentatively brush against his hipbones as his zipper lowers with agonizing slowness.

gojo smirks cruelly as he hears the tremor in your voice, relishing how easily he can affect you. “shh, it’s okay baby. i’ll teach you everything you need to know,” he croons mockingly.

he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and slowly peels them down, freeing his enormous, rock-hard cock. it springs out, slapping against your cheek with a meaty thwack. the thick shaft pulses with need, the flared head an angry purple and leaking copious amounts of precum.

you let out a choked moan as gojo’s huge, throbbing cock slaps against your cheek, leaving a smear of sticky pre-cum on your soft skin. your eyes widen in shock at the sheer size of him, intimidated but undeniably aroused.

“open wide, nerd. i’ve got a big load for you,” gojo taunts crudely. he fists his hand in your hair again, using his grip to angle your face towards his weeping cockhead. “stick out that clever little tongue. i want to see you worship every inch of my big, fat cock like the desperate slut you are.”

“oh god...” you whimper, your tongue darting out to unconsciously lick your lips. the salty-sweet taste of his essence explodes across your taste buds, making your head spin. with trembling hands, you reach up to grasp his muscular thighs for support as he forces your face closer to his imposing manhood. your glasses fog up slightly from your quickened breathing. “i’ve never done this before,” you admit in a tiny, scared voice.

gojo grins wickedly, his eyes gleaming with sadistic lust as he sees the fear and reluctant desire warring in your expression. “that’s alright, that’s why i’m here, you’re about to get the fucking of a lifetime to your virgin pussy,” he grunted.

he rubs the swollen head of his cock all over your face, smearing your cheeks and lips with his slick precum. the musky scent fills your nostrils, making your head swim with overwhelming pheromones. “open up, baby, take my cock like a good girl. promise it feels good, do you trust me?” sweet, his honeyed voice suddenly heavy with sweetness.

but despite that, he thrusts his hips forward, pushing the broad tip past your lips and onto your tongue. he groans at the wet heat engulfing him, head just a beat throw back before snapped, eyes lock with your lips taking the half of his cock. “fuck yes, that’s it. wrap those pretty lips around me.”

you let out a muffled yelp as gojo suddenly pushes past your lips, his thick cock stretching your jaw painfully wide you almost sure the edge of your lips stretch open. your eyes water as he hilts himself inside your virgin mouth, the bulbous head hitting the back of your throat. you gag reflexively, throat spasming around his girth.

“mph!” you try to pull back but his grip on your hair tightens, holding you in place. tears leak from the corners of your eyes as you struggle to accommodate his impressive size. your small hands come up to weakly push at his thighs, overwhelmed by the intrusion.

after a moment, you force yourself to relax your jaw, breathing heavily through your nose. you start to experimentally suckle at the head, your tongue swirling clumsily around it. the taste of his skin and the musky scent flooding your senses is dizzying.

gojo throws his head back with a deep groan as your inexperienced mouth envelops him, your tongue clumsily lapping at his sensitive flesh. the sight of your stretched lips wrapped around his thick cock, tears glistening on your flushed cheeks, is incredibly erotic.

“that’s it, take it deeper,” he growls, fisting his hand tighter in your hair. with a sharp thrust of his hips, he buries himself to the hilt in your convulsing throat. your nose presses against his pelvis as he hilts inside you, cutting off your air supply completely.

“that’s good baby, goood job,” praise after praise fallen from gojo’s pretty, pink lips. he holds you there, savoring the feeling of your constricting esophagus fluttering around his cock. after several long seconds, he finally pulls back, allowing you a gasping breath before plunging in again.

gojo sets a brutal pace, fucking your face with deep, powerful thrusts. each snap of his hips drives his thick cock into your throat, forcing you to swallow around him. drool escapes the corners of your stretched lips, dripping down your chin as he uses your mouth mercilessly.

“you’re doing so well for your first time,” he praises mockingly, voice strained with pleasure. “such an eager little cock sleeve, aren’t you? born to choke on a cock.” he pulls out abruptly, his spit-shined cock bobbing obscenely in front of your face. gojo smacks the heavy shaft against your tear-stained cheeks, smearing them with your own saliva mixed with his precum. “strip,” he commands gruffly, releasing his grip on your hair.

gojo looms over you, his chest heaving with exertion and arousal as he watches you intently. his eyes rake over your disheveled form, drinking in the sight of your reddened cheeks, puffy lips glistening with spit, and the way your glasses sit askew on your face.

“come on, slowpoke. i want to see every inch of the body hiding under those ugly clothes,” he growls impatiently, one hand coming down to roughly palm himself through his open fly. the other reaches out to grab the hem of your shirt, tugging insistently. but, instead of slipping out of your ‘ugly’ clothes, you stand there, eyes widened innocently the way you look up to him.

“don’t make me rip them off. you wouldn’t want me to damage your precious belongings, would ya?“ a wicked smirk plays at the corner of his mouth, eyes glinting with mischief and barely restrained hunger.

you tremble under gojo’s hungry gaze, acutely aware of how debauched you must look— face flushed, glasses fogged, lips swollen and slick with spit. with shaking hands, you reach for the buttons of your shirt, fumbling to undo them one by one.

as more of your creamy skin is revealed, gojo’s eyes darken with undisguised lust. he licks his lips, watching avidly as you shrug the garment off your shoulders and let it fall to the floor. underneath, you wear a plain white lacy bra, the fabric straining slightly over your bust.

next, you stand on wobbly legs to shimmy out of your skirt, letting it pool around your ankles before stepping out of it. your panties match your bra, simple cotton with lace. “gojo-kun..” you murmur, hands hovering over your bra and panties, hiding yourself.

gojo’s heated gaze roams hungrily over your newly exposed body, lingering on the swell of your breasts straining against the delicate lace of your bra. he steps closer, crowding into your personal space until the hard planes of his body press against your softer curves.

“fuck, you’re even hotter than i imagined,” he rasps, calloused fingers trailing up your sides to cup your tits possessively. never in a million years had he found a loser nerd like you could be this hot, and it seems like his cock agrees with the way it’s twitching. he squeezes the soft mounds, thumbs flicking over your nipples through the thin fabric until they pebble beneath his touch, pushing a breathless gasp out of your throat.

with a wicked grin, gojo reaches behind you and deftly unclasps your bra, tossing it aside carelessly. cool air hits your bare skin, pebbling your nipples further as they’re bared to his intense scrutiny.

“perfect.”

gojo hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties and yanks them down your thighs in one swift motion. the flimsy material catches on your knees briefly before falling to your ankles, baring you completely to his hungry gaze.

he takes a step back, drinking in the sight of your naked body with an appreciative hum. his eyes linger on the cute, neat patch of curls crowning your mound, the slight flare of your hips, the gentle swell of your ass. “goddamn, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs reverently.

without warning, gojo drops to his knees in front of you, large hands gripping your thighs to spread them apart. he leans in close, his hot breath ghosting over your most intimate parts. “i bet this sweet cunt tastes divine,” he growls, dragging his tongue along your slit in one long, painfully slow stroke.

you can’t help but let out a startled moan as gojo’s warm tongue drags along your most intimate folds, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine. your knees buckle slightly and you have to brace yourself against the wall to keep from collapsing under the intensity of sensation.

“g-gojo-kun!” you gasp, fingers tangling in his silver hair as he laps at your slit like a man starved. his tongue delves between your lower lips, seeking out your entrance and circling it teasingly. you squirm against the invasion, thighs trembling with the effort to hold still.

gojo chuckles lowly, the vibrations making you shudder. he seals his lips around your clit and sucks hard, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue. “ah! ahh!”

gojo moans into your pussy as you grind against his face, his tongue delving deep inside your fluttering walls. he laps at your juices greedily, the obscene slurping sounds filling the room. “mmm, you taste even better than i imagined,” he growls, the rumble of his voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh. “so fucking sweet.”

his hands grip your ass, kneading the supple globes as he eats you out with single-minded focus. he alternates between thrusting his tongue in and out of your clenching hole and flicking the tip rapidly over your throbbing clit. the lewd wet noises echo off the walls, mingling with your needy whimpers and gasps.

“oooh! m-my god!” you writhe helplessly against gojo’s relentless assault, fingers digging into his silver hair as waves of overwhelming pleasure crash over you. your hips undulate shamelessly, grinding your aching core against his face as he devours you like a man possessed.

“that’s it, ride my tongue,” he grunt, the words muffled against your soaked folds. you throw your head back with a keening cry as gojo works you over with his skilled tongue, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. your fingers tighten reflexively in his hair, tugging sharply at the silvery strands.

“ah! g-gojo-kun!” you gasp brokenly, toes curling against the cool tile floor. your inner muscles flutter wildly around his invading tongue.

gojo growls into your pussy, the sound sending delicious vibrations through your core. he doubles his efforts, sealing his lips around your clit and sucking hard while simultaneously thrusting two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your spasming channel.

“g-gojo-hng!” you sob brokenly, hips continue to roll shamelessly against his face. you mewl helplessly into the filthy kiss, when gojo’s tongue dominating yours as he claims your mouth thoroughly after he stands abruptly.

you can taste yourself on him, the musky flavor making your head spin with renewed arousal and it sends a fresh wave of heat flooding through your veins. his hand slides up to palm your breast roughly, calloused thumb scraping over your sensitive nipple.

when he finally breaks away, you’re left panting and dazed, lips kiss-swollen and tingling. gojo grins wolfishly down at you, pupils blown wide with lust. “god, so fucking beautiful when i’m ’bout to ruin you,” he promises darkly, voice rough with desire. “by the time i’m done, all you’ll be able to think about is my cock splitting you open."

his hand slides down your body to grip your thigh, hoisting your leg up to wrap around his hip. the new position leaves you feeling deliciously vulnerable, your slick folds rubbing directly against the rigid length of him.

gojo’s heated gaze rakes over your flushed form, drinking in every inch of newly exposed skin. he licks his lips slowly, savoring the taste of your essence still coating his tongue. “fuck, you look good enough to eat,” he growls appreciatively, palming himself once again, smearing his precum all over your thigh, the biting lips to stop the moaning betraying his own desperate arousal.

with a few quick movements, gojo shucks off his shirt, revealing the lean lines of his torso. his pale skin is littered nothing but softness. he kicks off his pants next, leaving him fully naked now.

slowly, torturously, gojo sinks into your welcoming heat inch by excruciating inch. gojo grunts as your slick folds slide along his shaft, coating him in your essence. your slick walls stretch deliciously around his girth, molding to every ridge and vein. by the time he’s fully seated, you feel impossibly full, stuffed to the brim with hard, throbbing cock.

“fuuck!” he snarls, eyes squeezing shut at the exquisite sensation of your velvety walls gripping him like a vice. he holds himself there for a moment, letting you adjust to the sudden intrusion. “p-pussy sooo-shit! good.” the feeling of your gummy walls suffocating his cock almost making gojo’s feel bad for using you as a bet, but fuckkk! you feel so good.

you let out a strangled moan as gojo hilts himself fully inside you, stretching you wider than ever before. your slick walls flutter and clench around his thickness, trying instinctively to accommodate the sudden intrusion. the sensation borders on painful but the dull ache only serves to heighten your pleasure, stoking the flames of your arousal higher.

“ah! s-so biiig,” you whimper breathlessly, fingernails raking down gojo’s back. your hips twitch restlessly, torn between the urge to pull away from the intense stretch and the primal need to take him deeper. gojo groans at the feeling of your scorching heat enveloping him so completely. his pelvis presses flush against yours, ensuring that not an inch of space remains between your bodies.

gojo once again, groans deeply as your velvety walls ripple along his length, the exquisite sensations threatening to undo his control. he wants nothing more than to rut into you mindlessly, chasing his own pleasure. but he forces himself to hold still, giving you time to adjust to his size.

“shit baby, you feel incredible,” he rasps, voice strained with barely restrained lust. “so fucking tight...” he rolls his hips experimentally, pulling out just an inch before sinking back in. the drag of his thick cock against your sensitive nerves makes you both gasp. gojo sets a slow, deep rhythm, letting you feel every inch of him as he strokes your inner walls. his hands roam your curves possessively, mapping out the dips and swells of your body.

you arch into gojo’s touch, craving more of his addictive caresses. your nails score down his back, leaving red welts in their wake. the sting only seems to spur him on, his thrusts growing harder and faster as he chases his own pleasure.

“too muuuch,” you cry, tossing your head back as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back to urge him deeper. “hurt, ah! too big.”

gojo snarls, the sound feral and hungry. he leans down to capture one pert nipple between his teeth, biting down just shy of too hard. you yelp at the sharp jolt of pain, cunt clenching rhythmically around his pistoning length.

gojo grunts as your inner walls clamp down around him like a vice, the added pressure sending sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine. he knows he should probably slow down, give you time to adjust, but the way you’re writhing beneath him is just too enticing.

“you can take it,�� he growls, punctuating his words with a particularly brutal thrust.

once again, gojo snarls against your breast, tongue flicking out to lave over the abused bud. “don’t worry baby, i’ll make it feel real good,” he promises, harmonizing his words with a particularly vicious thrust. the blunt head of his cock kisses your cervix, making you see stars.

your slick walls spasm wildly around his girth, fluttering and clenching as if trying to push him out even as your body betrays you, hips rolling shamelessly to meet each punishing stroke. the wet slap of flesh echoes obscenely in the room, mingling with your wanton moans and gojo’s animalistic grunts.

gojo lets out a low groan, eyes fluttering shut as your slick walls ripple around his thickness. “fuck, your pussy is milking my cock so good,” he grunts, hips snapping forward almost violently. one large hand snakes between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bud. “come on, baby. squeeze this cock just like that,” gojo urges gruffly, increasing the pressure on your clit. “gonna fill this pretty cunt up real soon.”

you throw your head back with a guttural moan, fingers tangling in gojo’s hair as he works you closer to the edge. your thighs tremble, muscles quivering with the strain of holding yourself open for his relentless assault. sweat beads along your brow, plastering strands of hair to your face.

“please,” you keen desperately, unsure what exactly you’re begging for anymore. more? less? harder? faster? all you know is that yo’'re teetering right on the precipice, balanced precariously between agony and ecstasy.

gojo grins wickedly, sensing your desperation. he leans in close, hot breath ghosting over the shell of your ear as he whispers filthy promises. “that’s it, cum for me baby. gonna pump you so full of my seed, you’ll be dripping for days.”

but before you reach that peak, that climax you desperately need, gojo abruptly stops moving. hands trailing down your tights before throwing your body to his bed. a gasp of surprise tears from your throat, followed by a whimper— a subtle sign of protest.

gojo chuckles darkly, reveling in the delicious sight of you sprawled out before him, flushed and panting. he takes a moment to admire the view— your chest heaving, breasts bouncing with each labored breath, the glistening evidence of your arousal painting your inner thighs.

gojo smirks down at you, taking in your confused expression with a glint of mischief in his eyes. he trails a finger down your sternum, circling one dusky nipple teasingly for a second. “what’s wrong, baby?” he coos mockingly. “didn’t get your fix?”

he shifts slightly, the movement causing his half-hard cock to brush against your thigh. you shudder at the contact, a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you. gojo hums approvingly at your reaction, leaning down to nip at your jaw.

“mmm, look at you,” he purrs approvingly, trailing a finger through your slick folds. “all spread out and ready for me. such a goood girl.” without warning, gojo flips you onto your stomach, hauling your hips up until you’re presenting yourself to him like a bitch in heat. he runs a proprietary hand over the curve of your ass, squeezing roughly. “this ass though... fuck, i could play with it all day.”

gojo’s eyes rake over your prone form appreciatively, drinking in the delectable sight of you splayed out before him. he takes his time exploring your curves, fingers tracing idle patterns across your skin. when he reaches the swell of your rear, he gives the supple flesh a firm squeeze, kneading the plush globes like dough. this might be the first and the last time he has you in his bed, might make it memorable.

“such a perfect little peach,” he praises huskily, spreading you wide to expose your most intimate parts. cool air wafts over your heated flesh, making you shiver. gojo hums in approval at the sight of your dripping cunt, flushed and swollen with need.

he leans in close, hot breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. “look how wet you are for me,” he murmurs, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. you let out a soft moan, squirming under gojo’s intense gaze. his rough hands map out every dip and curve of your body, igniting sparks of pleasure wherever they touch. you arch into his caress, silently begging for more.

when he finally reaches your aching core, you buck your hips eagerly, desperate for friction. “please,” you whimper, voice high and needy. “i need—”

gojo cuts off your pleas with a sharp smack to your rear, the stinging impact making you yelp. “ah ah, none of that now,” he tuts disapprovingly. “you don’t get to tell me what you need, understand? it’s an honor y’know, for me to take your virginity, so you don’t get to tell me what you need.”

he punctuates his words with another firm swat, watching with rapt attention as your skin blooms pink under his palm. but even so, gojo couldn’t stop the spinning from his head, the sigh of you, the feel of your cunt tightly grip his needy cock making him all desperate and losing his shit to you, a fucking nerd all out of other girl.

gojo grins wickedly, clearly enjoying your predicament. he traces a finger through your soaked folds, gathering some of your essence on his digit before bringing it to his lips. he makes a show of licking it clean, savoring your unique flavor with a satisfied hum.

“mmm, you taste divine,” he purrs, voice dripping with lust. “like the finest nectar.”

gojo lines himself up with your entrance once more, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at your slick opening. he teases you with shallow thrusts, barely breaching your entrance before pulling away again. your walls flutter around nothing, trying desperately to draw him in deeper.

“beg for it,” he demands huskily, giving your rear another firm smack. “let me hear how badly you want this cock.“ he grabs your hip, fingers bent to your flesh the way he drags you to the edge of his bed and your feet touching the cold tile.

his one arm sneaking down to your thigh, lifting it off the floor while the other hand relentlessly teases your needy cunt with the swollen tip of his cock— kissing your clit.

you writhe beneath gojo’s ministrations, a litany of needy whimpers and pleas falling from your kiss-swollen lips. “please,” you beg shamelessly, too far gone to care about dignity. “gojo-kuuunn . . i need you inside me, filling me up. i can’t take it anymore!”

your hips buck frantically, seeking friction against his maddening teasing. you’re so empty, aching to be stretched and filled by his thick length. gojo just chuckles darkly at your desperation, continuing his torturous game. his chest raining with pride and happiness for taking your virginity, him, not another man. him.

“oh? and why should i give you what you want?” he taunts, rubbing the tip of his cock against your entrance without pushing in. “maybe i like seeing you like this— alllll spread out and begging so pretty for me.”

gojo leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a brief, teasing kiss. “you taste sweet when you’re desperate like this,” he murmurs against your mouth, tongue flicking out to lick at your lower lip. “makes me want to devour you whole.”

he pulls back slightly, his gaze intense as he watches your reactions. “but since you asked so nicely...” with a slow, deliberate push, he sinks into your heat, groaning at the velvety tightness enveloping his cock.

gojo pauses for a moment, savoring the feeling of being buried deep within you. then, with a gentle roll of his hips, he begins to move, setting a slow, sensual rhythm. he savors each drag of your slick walls along his shaft, relishing in the exquisite sensation of taking your virginity. his hand leaving another handprint on your ass, digging his dull nail into the skin.

a gasp tears from your throat as gojo finally sheathes himself fully inside you, the stretch both painful and exhilarating. you cling to the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as you acclimate to the foreign intrusion.

but as he starts to move, long, languid strokes that fill you to the brim, you begin to relax into the pleasure. a low moan escapes you, vibrations humming against gojo’s lips before your head falls to his bed. “ahh... yes... just like thaaat...”

your hips start to rock in tandem with his, meeting each thrust with eagerness. the sensations build rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly. you can feel every ridge and vein of gojo’s cock as it slides against your inner walls, sending jolts of electric pleasure through you.

“more,” you breathe out, voice ragged with need, causing the man to leave your reddened ass to find your hair and take a fistful of the locks while the other arm tightens around your thigh, making a perfect symphony the way he pounds into you from behind.

gojo’s fingers dig into your scalp, tugging roughly at your hair as he pistons into you with reckless abandon. the bed creaks and shifts beneath the force of his thrusts, a rhythmic beat that echoes the pounding of your hearts.

gojo growls in approval, the sound muffled against your ear as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. his hips snap forward with renewed vigor, driving into you with a primal intensity that steals your breath away. the force of his thrusts sends the headboard thudding against the wall, a rhythmic beat that echoes the pounding of your heart.

“you’re so fucking tight,” he grits out between clenched teeth, his grip on your hair tightening almost painfully as he uses it to pull your head back, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat. “i can feel every inch of you milking my cock. this cunt feels like heaven, fuuuck.”

gojo’s words are punctuated by the lewd slap of skin against skin, the obscene sound only serving to heighten your arousal. his fingers tighten in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp. the slight sting only serves to heighten your arousal, your body craving more of his dominance. gojo's other hand grips your thigh firmly, holding you steady as he pistons in and out of you with relentless precision.

your mind goes blank, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of gojo’s possession. every nerve ending is alight with sensation, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins. you can feel yourself teetering on the brink, precariously close to the edge.

a hoarse cry spills from your lips as gojo hits that spot deep inside, the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes your vision blur and toes curl. “ahhh! oh god, right there!” you wail, hips bucking wildly to meet his punishing pace.

a sharp cry tears from your throat as gojo’s grip on your hair intensifies, the pain mixing deliciously with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins. you arch your back, offering yourself up completely to his dominating touch.

“yes, oh god, just like that!” you moan, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “fuck me harder, gojo-kun!”

gojo’s eyes flash with triumph and possessiveness at your wanton cries, his grip on your hair and thigh tightening reflexively. he slams into you with renewed ferocity, the force of his thrusts rattling the bed frame and sending the headboard crashing against the wall.

“that’s it, scream for me,” he snarls, his hot breath fanning over your ear as he leans in close. “let everyone know who’s fucking you senseless.” gojo’s free hand snakes around to cup your breast, pinching and rolling the nipple between his fingers. the dual sensations of his ruthless pounding and the pleasurable tug on your sensitive bud send you spiraling closer to the edge.

as if sensing your impending climax, gojo redoubles his efforts, pistoning into you with wild abandon. your world narrows down to the searing heat of gojo’s body, the relentless thrusts of his cock, and the intoxicating scent of sex that fills the air. you’re lost in a haze of pure, unadulterated pleasure, every fiber of your being focused on chasing that elusive peak.

the pressure builds and builds, coiling tighter in your core until you think you might burst. gojo’s harsh commands and the brutal pace of his fucking only serve to heighten the tension, pushing you closer and closer to the brink.

with a keening wail, you finally tumble over the edge, your orgasm slamming into you like a freight train. your inner walls clench around gojo’s throbbing cock, rippling and fluttering as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

“fuck, fuuck! gojo-kun! ’m cumming, cumming!”

gojo lets out a guttural roar as he feels your pussy clamping down on his cock, the vice-like grip triggering his own release. with one final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his seed erupting in powerful spurts as he fills you up.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!” he chants, his hips jerking erratically as he rides out the waves of his climax. his hips jerking erratically as he rides out the waves of his climax. gojo’s grip on your hair and thigh remains unrelenting, holding you in place as he marks you as his, claiming you utterly and completely.

overwhelmed by the intensity of your shared orgasms, you collapse onto the mattress the heartbeat his grasp on you loosened, your body still trembling with aftershocks. gojo’s continued pulsing inside you, coupled with the warmth of his release coating your insides, leaves you feeling utterly spent yet deeply satisfied.

as your breathing slowly returns to normal, you become aware of gojo’s hands gentling their hold on you, his fingers stroking soothing patterns on your skin. a soft, contented sigh escapes your lips as you melt into his touch, basking in the afterglow of your passionate encounter.

he leans forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the bed, his chest pressed against your back. his breath is still a bit ragged, but you can feel his strong, steady presence behind you. for a few moments, all you hear is the steady, calming sound of your combined breathing, the only indication that both of you are slowly recovering from the intensity of your shared passion.

after a few moments, gojo breaks the comfortable silence, his voice low and still slightly husky. “you okay?” he murmurs, his lips brushing gently against the shell of your ear.

his hands slide down your sides, gently encircling your waist, his touch tender and light. the weight of his chest against your back is reassuring, and you can still feel the heat of his body radiating through your clothes. he shifts slightly, his chin resting on your shoulder, and you can practically feel his intense gaze on you, as if he’s silently assessing how you’re feeling.

a soft smile curves your lips at gojo’s gentle inquiry, your body relaxing further under his comforting touch. “mhm, i’m good,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly to rest against the soft material of his blanket. “just... really sated right now.”

you let out a contented little sigh, enjoying the warmth of his embrace and the intimate closeness of his body pressed against yours. slowly but surely, the feeling of his softened cock slipped out of your cunt, taking all of your cum and his down to your thigh and floor.

gojo chuckles softly in response, hearing the hint of satisfaction in your tired voice. he plants a soft, feather-light kiss on your neck, his lips lingering there for a moment. “that’s good,” he says, his voice laced with a hint of pride, “i’m glad i exhausted you that much.”

he pauses for a moment, his hands gently rubbing your sides, before speaking again. “need anything? water, a towel, or just... rest?” he asks, his tone genuinely concerned.

you let out a soft sigh, the tension of the past moments slowly melting away as you murmured, “just rest.” your voice was quiet, tired, and gojo, ever attentive, hummed in agreement, his lips brushing softly against your cheek in a gentle kiss.

“say no less,” he whispered with that same reassuring tone, his arms immediately wrapping around you. he shifted you both onto the bed, pulling you into his embrace and letting you rest your head on his chest. his warmth surrounded you, grounding you at the moment, his heartbeat steady beneath you.

gojo made sure to cover both of you with the blanket, tucking it around your bare body with care, his movements slow and deliberate. despite the weight of the earlier events, his presence was steady, a soft contrast to the tension you’d felt before. outside of the bet, outside of the teasing, the games, and the complexities of it all, he seemed intent on giving you comfort—giving you the space to just rest, without further complications. his fingers gently traced circles on your back, a quiet reminder that, at this moment, there was nothing but a reason you were on his bed simply because of a bet— the bet he’s going to win.

gojo held you close, his arms encircling your body snugly under the soft warmth of the blanket. he continued tracing light circles on your back, the soothing repetitive motion a silent reassurance of his presence and care.

his chest rose and fell in a steady, calming rhythm, and you could feel the faint thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear. his body offered a solid, comforting presence, grounding you in the aftermath of the eventful night.

gojo remained silent for several minutes, simply holding you close, his touch gentle and nurturing. after a few moments, he leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. “get some rest,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

he shifted slightly, adjusting his position so that both of you were more comfortable. his arms remained wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest, a silent promise of protection and comfort.

you simply nod.

gojo feels your nod, his lips curving into a small smile against your forehead. “good,” he murmurs, his voice soft and low.

he lets out a deep, content sigh, his body relaxing further into the bed, his arms still holding you close. his breathing slows, a steady, measured rhythm that seems to lull you into a sense of peace and security. the room is enveloped in a comfortable silence for a while, the only sound being the steady beat of his heart against your ear.

gojo’s gaze softened as he looked down at your peaceful face, the soft rise and fall of your chest the only movement in the stillness of the room. he stayed like that for a while, just watching you, making sure you were fully asleep, your breathing steady and relaxed. he could feel the weight of the day, the tension from earlier, and he knew you needed this rest, even if you didn’t quite realize it yet.

once he was certain you were asleep, gojo's fingers slid beneath the pillow, pulling out his phone with careful movements. his smirk returned, a wicked gleam flashing in his eyes as he unlocked the screen and opened the camera. he took a quick snapshot, the sound of the shutter a soft click that was barely audible in the quiet room. his eyes flicked down to the picture, his smirk widening as he admired the photo of you, completely unaware, asleep in his arms.

“this is mine,” he muttered quietly to himself, the excitement of the bet reigniting within him. he knew he was going to win, and as much as he enjoyed this rare moment of calm with you, there was no denying the competitive streak that ran through him. he tucked the phone back under the pillow, settling back into the warmth of the bed, still holding you close, but his mind already racing ahead to the next step in his game.

gojo’s gaze remains fixed on you, admiring the innocent, vulnerable expression on your face as you sleep. he takes several more moments to just watch you, his gaze flickering over every detail of your face—the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks, the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the slight part of your lips as you breathe in.

he lets out a soft sigh, his fingers gently tracing your skin, his touch almost reverent. “god, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs quietly, the words slipping out involuntarily.

gojo’s eyes lingered on your peaceful, sleeping form, an unsettling mixture of admiration and satisfaction bubbling inside him. every detail of your face seemed to draw him in, each soft breath you took making his heart twist. he couldn't help but trace the curve of your cheek with his finger, as though savoring the image of you in your most vulnerable state. god, you're beautiful, he thought, the words slipping from his lips in a quiet murmur, but they were tinged with something darker.

as much as he tried to shake it off, a faint flicker of guilt gnawed at him. just a tiny sliver, a whisper in the back of his mind, reminding him of the bet, the cruel game he was playing with his friends. was this really what he wanted? to use you like this, to take advantage of your innocence, your trust, all for the sake of proving something to them? the thought scratched at his conscience, but it was fleeting, quickly drowned out by the more dominant, selfish part of him.

he couldn’t help it—he wanted to win. he wanted to show off, to prove that he was the one who’d conquered you first. the idea of rubbing it in toji, geto, and sukuna’s faces, seeing their reactions when he revealed that he was the one who’d claimed you, made his chest tighten with dark satisfaction. the guilt? it was easily buried beneath the hunger for victory.

monday couldn’t come soon enough.

sukuna leaned back, crossing his arms with a sly smirk as he glanced at gojo. “you’re so damn stupid,” he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “just get to the point, genius. we’re here to talk about the bet, not hear you babble on like an idiot.”

the mention of the bet caused a shift in the group. toji’s smirk sharpened, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he leaned forward, clearly ready to pounce on whatever gojo had to offer. geto, normally the calmest of them, looked intrigued, his gaze steady and expectant. sukuna’s own smirk widened into a mocking grin, savoring the thrill of competition, ready to lay down his own proof and claim victory over the others.

he let the tension build, basking in the eager anticipation hanging thick between them. then, without further ado, sukuna reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and casually waving it in the air. “alright, boys. one... two... three,” he counted, then turned his screen toward the group with a triumphant look. displayed was a photo of you lying next to him, fast asleep, vulnerable and unguarded. sukuna’s smirk grew wider, reveling in the victory he thought was his.

as sukuna’s countdown reached three, he confidently pulled out his phone, an air of smug triumph around him as he turned the screen to reveal the photo of you, asleep in his arms, your peaceful face nestled against him. for a brief moment, he savored the victory, certain he’d be the one to claim the title. but as he looked up, expecting awe and frustration from the others, he found something else entirely.

geto’s face, usually so calm, had twisted into a look of sheer confusion, a frown creasing his brow as he looked down at his own phone, then up at sukuna, and back to his phone again. in his hand, on his own screen, was the exact same photo—down to every last detail. his jaw clenched, and he turned the phone towards sukuna without saying a word, letting the image speak for itself.

toji, who’d been leaning back with a predatory smirk, felt his confidence waver. he, too, checked his phone, and the smirk fell, replaced by a dark scowl. “what kind of joke is this?” he growled, his fingers gripping his phone tightly, a mix of anger and disbelief in his eyes as he flashed the identical photo.

and gojo, who’d initially met sukuna’s countdown with smug amusement, suddenly felt the blood drain from his face. he looked at his own screen, the same picture staring back at him, taunting him with an illusion of victory. his lips pressed into a thin line as he glanced at each of the others, his usual cocky grin now replaced with a frustrated grimace. “so… none of us won anything, huh?” he muttered bitterly, his voice low, laced with irritation.

a tense silence settled over them, their expressions twisted with disbelief and anger. each one felt the bitter sting of having been outsmarted, the pride and triumph they’d anticipated now twisted into something sharp and uncomfortable.

sukuna clenched his jaw, the victory he’d tasted turning to ash. “this is ridiculous. how the hell—” he began, but was cut off by toji’s dry, humorless laugh.

“guess none of us were as clever as we thought,” toji muttered darkly, his voice edged with anger and annoyance.

sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his pride deeply wounded. “tch,” he scoffed, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “so we all lost? pathetic.” they sat in a tense, silent circle, each stewing in their own frustration and realizing they’d been played.

gojo let out a frustrated sigh, the realization of the situation sinking in. none of them had won, and worse, they'd all been tricked. he glanced again in your direction, a mix of irritation and confusion on his face. the realization that you, sweet and innocent as you seemed, had somehow outsmarted them all was a pill too hard to swallow.

“well, this is just great,” he muttered, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “we’re all idiots.”

the four men turned, spotted you a few benches away, looking completely at ease, chatting with none other than nanami. his composed, polished demeanor stood out even in the crowded cafeteria, and as you held your phone up to show him something, you looked every bit like you were sharing a private joke. they saw your face light up with that familiar, radiant smile as nanami rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, his expression softening in a way they rarely saw.

then, to their surprise, nanami sighed, pulling his wallet from his pocket and handing you a couple of bills. your smile grew even bigger, the kind of delighted, unguarded grin they’d each hoped to earn themselves. from a distance, they couldn’t make out what you were saying, but the playful exchange and easy familiarity between you both were clear as day.

their eyes widened when nanami leaned down, just slightly, his hand resting on your shoulder as he pressed a brief but gentle kiss to your lips—completely unfazed by the cafeteria full of students. the kiss was neither rushed nor hesitant, just natural and unapologetic. as he pulled away, he sent a pointed, almost warning glance in their direction, his gaze cold and unyielding, as if daring any of them to even think about challenging him.

you turned then, catching their gawking stares and raising the cash in your hand with a sly grin that practically dripped with triumph. they could only sit in stunned silence as you waved the money at them, your expression smug and knowing. your gaze lingered on them for a second longer, a little glint of mischief in your eyes, before you turned your attention back to your phone, completely unfazed by their reactions.

the four men sat there, speechless, their jaws hanging open in shock at the scene unfolding before them. they’d expected you to be meek and naive, unaware of their little bet. instead, here you were, giggling with nanami, a man known for his aloofness and strict nature, casually taking money from him in exchange for a kiss. your confident wave and smug smile only added to the shock.

toji was the first to snap out of it, his eyes narrowing as he watched you with a mixture of anger and surprise. “what the hell was that?” he sputtered, his voice strained.

sukuna’s face contorted with pure disbelief, a rare look of complete shock crossing his usual smug features. he couldn’t believe that the girl they’d all so casually thought they were playing had flipped the entire game on them. his jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as he muttered under his breath, “unbelievable… she played us.”

toji, on the other hand, looked downright irritated, his expression darkening as he watched nanami give you that casual, easy kiss. his pride stung, and he forced out a low, sarcastic laugh, shaking his head. “so much for thinking she’d be easy to handle,” he growled. “guess we’re the ones who got handled.”

geto was silent, his usual calm mask slipping just enough to reveal the flicker of surprise in his eyes. he prided himself on being perceptive, but seeing you there with nanami, openly flaunting the victory they thought was theirs, left him speechless. his lips curved into a grudging smirk, though, as he muttered, “gotta hand it to her… didn’t see that coming.”

gojo felt his face flush with a mix of frustration and lingering embarrassment. he leaned back, running a hand over his face and letting out a soft, defeated chuckle. “well, this is just fantastic,” he murmured, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he watched you wave the money with that smug smile on your face. “we’re all idiots, and she knows it.”

the four men sat there, each lost in their own thoughts, the reality of what had just happened sinking in. they’d underestimated you, treated you like a naive little toy to be won, but you'd turned the tables on them. and the fact that you’d done it so effortlessly, with such a casual smirk on your face, only added to the collective sense of shock and irritation.

gojo, in particular, couldn’t shake off the burning sense of embarrassment. you’d made him look like a fool, and that stung. him, who was never one to be outplayed, felt a strange mix of anger and admiration at your audacity. it was both aggravating and irritating, but there was an undercurrent of grudging respect. you’d made all of them look like morons, yet there was something about your confidence, the way you casually took nanami’s money, that he couldn’t help but find intriguing.

gojo clenched his jaw, his own competitive nature burning within him. “that smug little…” he muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for the others to hear.

geto shot him a bemused smirk, sensing the competitive fire flaring up in his friend. “looks like you’ve met your match, genius,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “and judging by the look on your face, you’re not handling it too well.”

lost in a whirlwind of shock and confusion, they barely noticed you approaching until you were standing right at their table, an amused, knowing smile on your lips. with a graceful, almost lazy flick of your wrist, you dropped a small stack of polaroids onto the table, each one falling face-up, showing exactly what they dreaded to see.

each photo captured the same damning image: them, fast asleep, completely unaware, while you sat on their waist, looking down with a mocking pout. your lips jutted out in an exaggerated, fake crying face, as if mourning their obliviousness. their faces, peaceful in sleep, were juxtaposed with your taunting expression, turning the tables in a way none of them could have expected.

toji’s eyes went wide as he flipped through the pictures, his smirk quickly fading to a tight-lipped grimace. sukuna’s jaw clenched, a flush of irritation darkening his cheeks as he processed the fact that you’d played him, all of them, so perfectly. geto let out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head, unable to hide a mix of amusement and frustration at your brazen boldness.

gojo, usually quick with a snappy comeback, could only stare at the photos, stunned into silence. he glanced up at you, his gaze a mix of admiration and disbelief. you’d outwitted them, effortlessly.

you leaned in slightly, resting one hand on the edge of the table, flashing them a wicked grin. “hope you enjoyed your little nap, boys,” you teased, your tone sweet but dripping with smugness. with one final smirk, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving them speechless, the photos in hand as a constant reminder of the game they’d lost to you.

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ruestheday · 6 months ago

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one of the biggest lies the fandom will tell you is that alfred pennyworth is a good man.

he’s horrible. people just don’t realize he’s horrible because they’re all too focus on the superheros.

not many people in the fandom know this, but alfred literally has a daughter. her name is julia. why does no one know about julia? BECAUSE HE ABANDONED HER. it’s canon that he chose the waynes over his OWN CHILD. when she’s introduced in the comics she hates her dad because he abandoned her in england to raise a child that wasn’t even his.

the infamous jason “a good soldier” memorial? yeah, alfred did that. bruce wanted it taken down. alfred also left jason’s destroyed robin suit on display.

alfred is the reason tim is robin. dick and bruce are trapped by two-face and alfred just… gives tim a robin costume and sends him on his way. no formal training. no anything.

ever blame dick for damian becoming robin? wrong. it was alfred. dick was against it. alfred is the first one to give damian the robin costume, like he did to tim years before. dick did eventually choose damian as his robin, but that was while damian was ALREADY ROBIN. (he even tells tim that he doesn’t pick tim to be his robin because he considers tim to be an equal, not a sidekick, but i digress)

when bane breaks bruce’s back, alfred literally packs up and leaves. he travels. he just drops everything and goes to explore the world, until dick eventually hunts him back down.

it’s also a common theme that alfred couldn’t find the right balance between being a father figure and a butler, so he was constantly enabling bruce growing up (and still does) because technically bruce was his boss… even though he had custody of him.

edit: actually technically (in some runs) bruce’s uncle has custody of him but literally makes being absent an olympic sport But you get what i mean

edit two: fixed the spelling mistakes that text to speech tiktok made me aware of. u guys are fake for not telling me. anyways fuck ai content farm accs

#everytime an angst fic is actually just something alfred did #i die a little #that man is making children save his son #batman #dc #dcu #robin #dc comics #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth

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enhaflixer · 1 month ago

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ENHYPEN ASS vs. TITS - ENHA HARD HOURS MDNI 18+

cw: smut obvs like so much, but also riki's has a lil ass eating at the end so if ur not comfy w that don't read it, i personally think its hot sexy mwah mwah mwahiasd ydgwieudnoedoqwim asf so...

HEESEUNG — TITS MAN TO THE POINT OF SPIRITUALITY

He loves them. Loves them.

Big ones, small ones, soft, perky, natural, fake—he’s an equal opportunity worshipper. But yours? YOURS?

He treats them like holy ground. Kneels for them. Sleeps with his face in them. Whines when you wear a bra like it’s a personal attack.

“Why would you trap them like that?”

“They need support.”

“I support them. Every day. Emotionally. Spiritually.”

You’re doing dishes? He’s behind you, groping.

You’re getting dressed? He’s on the bed, hands behind his head, smiling like an idiot while watching them jiggle into your bra.

You take your shirt off? He sighs, like something’s been healed deep in his soul.

He’ll pull your top down mid-makeout just to cup them gently and go:

“Sorry, I needed that. I’m better now.”

In Bed? He’s feral.

Titty-fucking? Yes. Every time you offer. Sometimes when you don’t.

He’s panting the second you squeeze them around his cock, groaning “oh my god—your tits are so fucking perfect—” while leaking all over them. He’ll finish on your chest and just… stare.

Sometimes traces your nipples with his tongue and mutters praise like a man possessed:

“So soft. So pretty. Look at you. Let me suck on you, baby. Let me have you.”

He cums harder when he’s touching them. Moans louder. Cries a little if you let him fuck them and your mouth at the same time.

Soft Hours? Heeseung, Please.

When he’s falling asleep?

Face planted right between them.

Wakes up and kisses them before he kisses your mouth.

If you ever even joke about disliking them?

“Hey. Don’t do that. Not to my favorite girls.”

He holds them during cuddles. Talks to them sometimes. Probably has a little name for them. Definitely has a favorite boob.

If you ever walk in wearing a loose tank top, no bra, all soft and sleepy?

He goes feral.

Like, drop-the-controller-in-the-middle-of-a-game feral.

“No. Come here. No, I’m not joking. Get over here. You look like that and expect me to focus? Be serious.”

JAY — ASS MAN TO THE GRAVE.

This man is not okay about it.

He tries to play it cool. He tries to pretend he’s above it. But his eyes? They betray him every. single. time. You bend over in front of him once and he forgets his name, his birth date, his purpose in life.

“What did you say?”

“I said pass me the—”

“No, I’m sorry. I blacked out. Say it again but maybe… don’t arch like that this time?”

You walking around the house?

He’s watching.

Not even subtle. Doesn’t blink.

You turn around and catch him, and he just smirks like—

“I paid for dinner, I get to look.”

If you wear leggings or those tiny shorts he hates but secretly loves? He’s groaning the second you leave the room.

If you wear nothing? He’s hard before you even speak.

In public?

You’re his plus one at a fancy dinner. You lean forward to pick up your bag and his hand is immediately on the small of your back.

“Don’t bend over in that dress. Unless you want me to ruin it.”

He’ll whisper filthy things in your ear just because he knows your thighs will clench.

“Gonna have to remind you who that ass belongs to when we get home.”

You do not make it home.

In bed? Jay doesn’t play.

He lives for taking you from behind.

Spreads your cheeks just to stare. Smacks it once. Then twice. Then again—just because he can.

“Look at this fuckin’ view,” he groans. “Tell me who it’s for.”

He grabs handfuls of your ass while pounding into you, low moans spilling from his lips with every bounce.

“That’s it, baby. Make it clap for me.”

He’ll cum and stay inside, pressing his palm to the curve of your back like he’s still claiming it.

If you’re riding him in reverse? He’s DONE. Gripping your hips, whispering, “that’s it, baby, give me the show,” while he holds your ass open and watches himself disappear inside you over and over.

Soft Hours? He’s down bad.

He walks up behind you when you’re brushing your teeth, wraps his arms around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulder just to grind the smallest bit against your ass.

“Just letting you know I’m thinking of your ass.”

Worships it like it’s art. Might kiss it before kissing your lips. If you’re lying face-down on the couch, he’s kneeling beside you and purring.

“This is where I wanna live. Right here. I’ll build a house.”

Bonus Jay Dialogue:

“If I die and come back as anything, I want it to be your ass.”

“You’re unwell.”

“No, baby. I’m obsessed. There’s a difference.”

JAKE SIM AND THE TITTY ERA™

It starts as a joke.

You’re lying on the couch, wearing the tiniest tank top known to mankind—braless, of course. Jake’s head is resting on your chest, dead silent, completely still, until—

“Left one’s Luna,” he mumbles.

“I’m sorry??”

“And the right one’s Veronica. Luna’s a little softer. Veronica’s got attitude.”

You blink.

He looks up, dead serious.

“What? I see them more than I see half my friends. They deserve names.”

From that point on—it’s over for you.

Jake is no longer a man. He is a titty prophet. A chest scholar. A boob poet.

And he has zero shame.

When You’re Just Hanging Out

He’ll be cuddled up next to you, arm around your waist, hand casually resting on Luna like she’s his comfort plushie.

“Veronica’s in a mood today. She keeps poking out.”

“You’re insane.”

“You’re just jealous you don’t have Veronica and Luna.”

He will say good morning to them.

He will say good night to them.

He will literally bow to them when you take your shirt off.

When Things Get Heated

You’re on top of him, tits bouncing in his face, and he’s fully whimpering.

“Oh my god, look at them.”

“They’re literally just—”

“No. No they’re not. Don’t disrespect them in front of me.”

He talks directly to them while fucking you.

“That’s my girl. Look how good you look. You’re stealing the whole show.”

And then moans like he’s being blessed.

He sucks on one, then the other, then goes back and forth like he’s trying to make them jealous of each other.

Titty-fucking? Oh, baby.

It’s not a kink. It’s a calling.

He’s panting, groaning, fully worshipping the view with his cock between them and his fingers gripping your sides like he’s trying to survive it.

“Luna, you’re an angel. Veronica, stop staring at me like that—fuck—fuck.”

He finishes all over them, then kisses the tops like a gentleman.

When He’s Being Soft™

He lays his head between them to fall asleep.

Literally nuzzles like a baby.

If you move, he groans dramatically and pulls you back in.

“You’re squishing them.”

“Good. That’s where I wanna die.”

When you’re feeling insecure?

He gets angry.

“Don’t talk about them like that.”

“Jake, I’m just saying—”

“No. No self-slander. They’re iconic. They’re powerful. They’re literally the best part of my day.”

He’ll kiss your chest over and over until you melt.

Then look up with that soft, sleepy smile and go:

“Tell them I said thank you.”

SUNGHOON — TITS MAN. DEADPAN. UNWELL.

“I wasn’t staring.”

He says.

While blinking at your chest.

Not moving. Not breathing. Just… evaluating. Deep in thought. Like your tits are a visual exam and he’s making sure he gets every answer right.

The Outside: Composed. Cold. Deadpan.

You walk out of the bedroom in a braless tank top? He doesn’t say anything.

Just glances once. Looks away. Then glances again.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

Stares harder.

You lean forward on the counter. He zones out so hard he doesn’t hear what you said. Eyes locked. Hands twitching.

“Are you even listening?”

“I’m trying not to lose my fucking mind, actually.”

The Inside: Imploding. Exploding. Melting.

Sunghoon’s not dramatic. But your tits?

They undo him.

He acts like he doesn’t care, but you catch him gently adjusting his sweatpants every time they bounce under your shirt.

He tries to make it your problem.

“Why would you wear that?”

“I live here??”

“Okay but you know what that top does to me.”

When you finally take your bra off in front of him?

Silence.

Eyes wide.

Lips parted.

Then:

“…Yeah. Okay. I’m gonna need you to come here right now.”

In Bed? He’s Possessed.

He doesn’t even go for your mouth at first.

Just pulls your shirt up and moans the second he sees your chest.

Stares. Palms. Thumbs your nipples until they harden. Watches you squirm.

“Sensitive?”

“Yes—fuck, Hoon—”

“Good.”

He loves sucking. But not sloppy. Not rushed.

Slow. Purposeful. Alternates between kisses and tongue. Stares at your face while doing it. Groans when you moan.

“Keep making those sounds. It makes them feel appreciated.”

You ride him? His hands are locked behind his head, watching them bounce with that lazy, half-lidded gaze like he’s hypnotized.

“You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Making them bounce like that. You’re evil.”

Sunghoon’s Tits-Man Greatest Hits:

“You were talking and I heard nothing. They were bouncing and I panicked.”

“I’ve been really good today. Can I put my face in them?”

“They’re prettier than I deserve. But I’ll worship them like I do.”

“If they had their own fanclub, I’d be president, secretary, and treasurer.”

“I come for you. I stay for the tits.”

SUNOO — THE SNEAKIEST ASS MAN ALIVE

He is so unserious about it.

Pretends it’s not that deep.

But if you bend over in front of him, he gasps. Loudly. Like it’s the most disrespectful thing you’ve ever done.

“You can’t just do that while I’m eating!!”

“I dropped my phone!”

“I dropped my soul???”

Around the House? He’s Acting Up.

You’re in shorts? He’s watching.

You walk away? He hums under his breath like he’s rating it.

“Mhm. That’s a solid 9.6 today.”

If you so much as climb onto the bed in front of him, it’s over. He’s crawling after you. Hands out like a cartoon character.

He doesn’t even pretend he’s not obsessed. If you catch him staring?

“Yeah. And? I bought dinner. I get ass privileges.”

Loves pulling you into his lap just to squeeze. Always sits with you facing away so he can rest his head on your back and just hold. The ass. Casually.

“This is therapeutic for me.”

In Bed? He’s OUT OF CONTROL.

Sunoo doesn’t just love your ass.

He performs rituals on it.

Spanks it lovingly. Stares like it’s art. Spreads it slow and dramatic just to whisper:

“This is my happy place.”

Loves when you ride him in reverse so he can watch. Bites his lip, tilts his head, and says the nastiest shit in the softest voice.

“Bounce like that again, baby. Just like that. You’re showing off, aren’t you?”

He’s fully vocal. Gasps. Whines. Might literally sob if he finishes while holding onto your hips.

Loses all composure when he takes you from behind. Like—whimpering, full-body shaking, face buried in your neck groaning “you’re too good to me—”

Sunoo’s Ass-Man Greatest Hits:

“This outfit is so disrespectful and I support it fully.”

“No offense but if I die it better be face-down in that thing.”

“You jiggle when you walk. That’s poetry, actually.”

“It’s giving… distraction. It’s giving… girlfriend tax.”

“Bend over one more time and I will moan. I’m warning you.”

JUNGWON — SWEET. TEASING. CRAZY-IN-THE-HEAD. ASS MAN TO HIS CORE.

He’ll help you clean the house, fold your laundry, and refill your water bottle like the perfect boyfriend he is…

…then immediately pull you into his lap while you’re still wearing your cute little shorts and whisper:

“Sit still, baby. Let me feel it again.”

Sweet on the surface… always.

He’ll come up behind you while you’re cooking, wrap his arms around your waist, and nuzzle your neck.

But it’s not romantic.

Because his hands are gripping your ass the whole time. He’s swaying his hips into you, barely hiding his hard-on, mumbling:

“You’re doing great. Just… keep standing like that for a few more minutes.”

But once his brain short-circuits? He’s GONE.

You bend over once—to pick up a sock, fix the blanket, anything—and his hands are on you.

Not playful.

POSSESSIVE.

Spreads you apart with both hands like he’s checking if you remembered who you belong to.

“Pussy's dripping already?” he murmurs, smirking. “Told you it missed me.”

Loves watching his cum leak out of you—loves it—mouth open, eyes wide, licking his lips like he’s about to dive back in.

“Look at her. it's still hungry, baby.”

He will eat you out from behind just to stay close to her.

Face deep. Hands gripping. Moaning like you’re his last meal.

He groans when you cum, tongue flat and wide and messy—then keeps licking just to overstimulate you, hands spreading you wider until you’re whining.

“Don’t run. You wanted me back here, didn’t you?”

“W-Won—”

“Nah. Be a good girl. Let me finish worshipping you.”

Jungwon’s Wild-Ass, Sweet-Boy Ass-Man Dialogue Greatest Hits:

“Spread your cheeks for me. That’s it. God, look how pretty that is.” “you’ve always been a lil slutty, haven't you? You’re leaking just from my tongue.” “You said you wanted soft tonight, but your ass says otherwise.” “I’m serious. If you keep arching like that, I’m not pulling out.” “I’ll kiss your ass good night every day if you let me.”

RIKI — UNBOTHERED. UNHOLY. THE MOST CASUAL ASS OBSESSION ON EARTH.

He’s quiet. Chill. Always lounging.

But his eyes?

They never leave your ass.

You turn around and he’s already smirking, legs spread, head tilted back like—

“Damn. Look at her go.”

And by “her,” he means your ass. He says it with his chest.

So casual it’s actually terrifying.

You walk past in sweatpants?

He stares.

You bend over to grab something?

He groans.

You sit in his lap, all soft and cozy, and his hands immediately slide down to squeeze—hard.

“What?” he shrugs. “She said hi.”

He talks to her like she’s got a personality. Blames shit on her.

“I wasn’t trying to get hard. She was grinding.”

“I wasn’t staring. She winked first.”

And in bed? He’s… not normal.

He flips you over. Spreads your cheeks.

And just stares.

Doesn’t even blink.

Tilts his head. Brushes his thumb across your hole.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he says quietly. “She’s so needy. You feel that?”

He lives to fuck you from behind.

Hands on your hips, pulling you back onto him like a toy. Mutters things like:

“Look at her swallowing me. Damn.”

When he pulls out and watches his cum leak out?

He presses your cheeks together and moans.

Takes a picture. Doesn’t ask. Says:

“This one’s for her. She earned it.”

And he eats ass like he’s trying to win a gold medal.

Doesn’t warn you. Doesn’t stop.

He’ll lick everything with slow, lazy circles—palms keeping you wide open, breath warm, tongue deeper than it has any right to be.

He loves how sensitive you get.

He teases. He talks through it.

He chuckles when you shake.

“You always this shy, baby?”

“You’re licking my—”

“I know. She’s delicious.”

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daryltwdixon · 21 days ago

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Chapter 1

series masterlist Summary: In the time between when he took you to now, something changed. His hands grew gentler. Your fear turned quiet. And somewhere in the stillness, love kindled. || angst, trauma, captor!joel, raider!joel, a little bit of dark!joel, kidnapping, dark themes, morally gray comfort, Pre-Boston QZ, slow burn, I know this is different than what I usually write but just hear me out okay, mentions of reader's body being thin / starved, promise she won't hate him forever ||

“Come here.” His voice commands. Though it’s…soft. Not cruel, not mean. Not anymore.

You move without hesitation, the old floorboards warm beneath your skin as you settle in front of him. The fire crackles before you—not roaring, not needed, but kept. For cooking, maybe. For comfort. For the hush it brings. Its glow paints you both in amber and shadow. His old armchair groans when he shifts, knees spread, a hand already reaching.

His fingers are warm and gentle when they gather your hair, no longer forceful or angry. The brush is missing bristles, its wood worn soft with time. He drags it through your hair from scalp to ends in slow, even strokes. It used to make your chest seize. Now, it soothes.

The brush catches slightly on a knot near the base of your skull. Your breath hitches. Slowly, his fingers work to ease it loose, and the fire shifts—another log settling into embers, sending a soft crackle through the room.

Your eyes stay locked on the flames as you exhale. They flicker and split, burning low and orange, lapping up dry pine with bursts of ember. You watch one flare brighter than the rest, then fade back down.

It’s calming, in a way. Destruction that doesn’t scream anymore.

You don’t scream anymore either.

“No!”

“Stop fightin’ me, you stupid girl.” he said, hauling you inside the cabin. Your fingers scrabbled for the frame of the door, nails catching and tearing on splintered wood. It bit into your skin, but you held on anyway, fingertips screaming in equal protest as your lungs.

“Please!”

You thrashed in his grip, every breath a sob.“I’ll be good—I swear—I swear—I won’t tell anybody, just—please—”

He slammed the door shut with his boot, and the sound echoed through the empty house like a warning.

Then he dropped you.

Your knees hit the cold wood with a sharp crack that made you cry out again, but he didn’t flinch. He stepped around you, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the goddamn world. He set down his rifle next to the dusty chair, peeled off his gloves, and sat down. Dust exhaled into the air as he made himself comfortable, knees spreading as he sat forward.

“Come.”

You did no such thing.

“Please–” your voice broke as you cowered away, “please, just take me home. I won’t say anything. No one will come after you.”

His face turned cold, lip curling into a snarl as he reached forward for you, hauling you between his knees.

“No!” you yelped, bracing your hands on his shins. But to your surprise, he turned you around, your back to him as he held you by the hair.

“Stay.” he said, voice deep and rough before releasing you.

He rooted through his bag until he pulled out a battered old hairbrush. You saw it coming and tried to move, but he yanked you back by the collar.

“Don’t make me hurt you.”

That stopped you.

The first pass of the brush was rough—tugging, catching, dragging through the nest of knots like they were punishments. You whimpered, tears falling down your face, but he didn’t pause.

He kept brushing.

“You think they give a rat’s ass where you are, girl?” he grumbled, the brush catching on one especially nasty tangle. He tried to force the knot to loosen, your head snapping with every brush through.

“I saved you from those fuckers,” he growled.The brush yanked again and your breath hitched, a fresh tear tracking down your cheek.

“You took me,” you whispered, voice shaking.

The man didn’t answer right away. Another brutal pass through your hair. Another wince.

“I did what needed doin’.” he said, low and final. “You were already dead there. Damn skin and bones. They just hadn’t finished the job.”

You didn’t understand. Not really. Not then. You were too raw—scared down to your bones. His words were smoke in your ears. Meaningless. All you knew was the pain. The cold floor biting into your knees. The sharp tug of each stroke through your hair.

“You’re hurting me,” you whispered. Small. Barely there.

But he paused.

His hand came to the nape of your neck, and you flinched—but he didn’t grab. Instead, he cupped your hair in his calloused palm, bracing it so he could brush again without jerking your head back anymore. It was still rough, but no longer violent.

Eventually, the brush stopped. You didn’t move besides the trembling in your body, tense in fearful anticipation.

He didn’t say a word. Just took your hair again, fingers scraping the back of your neck as he pulled it together. Goosebumps rippled across your skin. You squeezed your eyes shut.

The only sounds in the room were the pull of your hair being gathered and your own quiet sniffles, the rustling of his pack. He dug for something, muttering low under his breath as he pulled out a strip of some sort of material. He fastened your hair and let it drop back down onto your spine. Without thinking, you reached back to feel it.

Your hair was pulled neatly into a three-plait braid, tied off at the end with some kind of string—maybe leather. Maybe cloth. It didn’t matter. It was tight. Secure.

Your fingers lingered over it, uncertain.

“Look at me.” His voice cut through the stillness—quiet, but sharp. It made your stomach lurch.

You stayed staring at the cold, empty hearth.

“Look at me, girl.” More firm now. A command.

You sniffled again before hesitantly looking over your shoulder.

He was scary. Broad and thick and scarred. His worn, weathered face carved by years of hard living. There was a horizontal scar deep across the bridge of his nose. His jaw was clenched, the muscle twitching with restrained fury. There was a permanent crease between his brows, like the world had never given him a reason to relax.

He looked like violence wrapped in denim and flannel.

But God—He was beautiful.

Not soft, not safe. But striking in a way that made your throat tighten. His features were sharp and grounded, the kind of face you’d see in an old war photograph, kept in someone’s wallet long after the man was gone. There was something ancient in the set of his mouth. Something sad, maybe.

And his eyes. Hazel, a thousand colors flecked in them: gold, green, something earthy. For a moment, you wondered what they’d look like on a summer’s day.

Then he pointed to the floor beneath you.

“This is your home now,” he said, voice cold and sure. “You run, you try anything—I will find you. If you don’t do as I say, there will be consequences. Do you hear me?”

You swallowed, breath shivering as his words soaked into your skin like ice water.

“When I speak, you answer, girl.”

Your lips parted. You couldn’t think. Could barely form sound. The fear was still there—thick, in your lungs—but underneath it, something else was rising. Something wrong.

“Please, sir,” you whispered. “Why are you doing this? Please take me home.”

His face didn’t change. But his eyes—they dimmed a little. Like you’d said something that hurt.Or maybe something he didn’t want to admit was true.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Just looked at you.

And then, quiet and final:

“I saved you.”

The minute he stepped into another room, you ran.

It didn’t matter that your feet were bare, already torn open from the icy ground and jagged underbrush of late winter. It didn’t matter that every root, every thorn, seemed hellbent on keeping you close—slashing, snagging, clawing at your legs like the woods themselves belonged to him.

It didn’t matter that you had no idea where you were.

When he’d taken you, your panic had been so complete, so loud, that he’d had to knock you out just to haul you over his shoulder. You remembered the swing of his elbow. The flash of sky. Then nothing. Just waking up at the edge of this old cornfield, body limp against his back as he brought you here.

But now—now your hands were outstretched, heart slamming in your chest as the tree line formed in front of you.

Freedom.Freedom!

You could almost taste it. Cold air in your lungs. Your braid whipping behind you, your knees buckling but still moving, still flying toward the shadows of the woods, the camouflage it would give you. Even if you got lost. Even if you died of frostbite. You’d take that over this.

But fate had never been that kind to you.

A shadow surged behind you. Too fast. You didn’t even have time to scream before an arm looped tight around your waist, hauling you backward mid-step. Your body crashed against his hard chest, heavy breath, arms like chains locking you in place.

“Let me go!” you shrieked, thrashing in his grip. Your nails clawed at whatever you could reach—his arm, his coat, the skin beneath. “GET OFF ME!”

“Stop it—” his voice was a harsh bark in your ear. “Stop.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You threw your elbow back, aiming for anything that would give. You screamed like an animal, legs kicking, dirt flying beneath you.

Then your momentum shifted and he lost his footing. You both went down hard, bodies hitting the cold ground in a tangle of limbs and breath and fury. He landed on top of you, the weight of him knocking the air from your lungs. You tried to crawl forward, to squirm away, but his hand slammed against the dirt beside your head, pinning you there. His other arm looped under your chest, dragging you back into his body as you bucked and sobbed.

“Get off me!” you sobbed. “Let me GO! You’re a monster—you’re a fucking monster—”

“I told you not to run,” he snarled, face pressed to the side of your head. “I told you.”

You writhed harder, but he held you firm. His grip was bruising. His breath hit your cheek in hot, angry bursts.

“Dammit, girl. I told you not to make me do this.” he growled, and suddenly his weight was off of you, but as you tried to pull yourself up, something hit the back of your head.

And suddenly, there was nothing.

Your head throbbed.

Not just pain—a pressure. Like the inside of your skull was pulsing against your skin, trying to split itself open. A migraine made of lightning. Every breath sent a bolt of nausea down your spine.

You tried to move, to shift onto your side, but something stopped you short. Your arms tugged, and a scraping sound echoed beside you. Your wrists were bound, fabric biting at tender skin, looped through the cold metal bars of the rusted radiator beside you. One good yank and you’d dislocate something—but you tried anyway.

Panic flooded in like water through a crack.

You kicked, scrambled, your back pressing flat to the wall, shoulder blades scraping rough drywall. The room spun too fast, too bright, too loud, and your stomach turned as you realized the weight of the restraint wasn’t going anywhere.

You screamed.

It was a ragged, broken sound, high and wet and animal.

“LET ME GO!”

No one answered.

You screamed again anyway, throat raw, vision doubled, bile creeping into your mouth.

There was a mattress in the corner, no frame, no sheets. A chipped dresser near the boarded window. A dusty mirror leaning against the wall, turned away. This house was dead, abandoned, stripped of anything good.

You curled tighter into the corner, knees drawn up, arms pinned awkwardly by the ties at your wrists. Your breathing was shallow, rapid. You were crying and you barely realized it.

But above the sound of your shallow sobs, you heard something more terrifying. Heavy footfalls on the hardwood, floorboards creaking, and you flinched when the door opened. It creaked on warped hinges and let in a blade of silver light from the hallway.

He saw you curled there, eyes wild, lip trembling, and his mouth twitched—but it didn’t turn cruel. Didn’t even turn cold. It was something else. Weariness, maybe. Or guilt.

You hoped it was guilt.

“I brought food,” he said simply.

You lurched backward into the wall as he moved towards you with a tray in hand. Your legs kicked uselessly at the floorboards, and your voice exploded out of you before you could stop it.

“Don’t touch me!”

He didn’t. Just crouched low by the door, setting down a dented metal cup and a chipped plate. Bread. Dried meat. A few slices of canned peaches still glistening in syrup.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, slow and quiet.

“You did hurt me,” you spat, voice cracking. “You fucking hit me—!”

“I know.” His eyes didn’t leave yours. “I’m sorry about your head. I brought some painkillers.”

You didn’t believe a word of his sorries. But your eyes were already on the cup of water. Your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. You hated him. You hated him. But you were so thirsty it felt like your chest was full of sand.

He picked up the cup, took a long sip, then held it out to you.

“Not poisoned,” he said quietly, holding it toward you.

You didn’t move. Just glared. But your hands were bound, you couldn’t take it. So he inched closer, slow like approaching a scared animal.

“I’m gonna bring it to your mouth. Understand?”

You said nothing, but he moved anyway.

The rim touched your lips. You almost jerked away. But then—your tongue worked before your mind did, poking out to touch the cold of the rim of the cup. You nearly let out a sigh of relief, your mouth opening and throat soothing. The water was lukewarm and a little metallic, but it was clean. You drank, coughing halfway through but gulping it anyway.

When you finished, he set the cup down and picked up a slice of bread.

You clamped your jaw shut.

There was a long pause. He sighed, setting down the food again.

“What’s your name?”

Your head throbbed harder as your teeth clenched. He sighed again.

“I tied you up ‘cause I had to,” he said. “You ran. You wouldn’t listen.”

You didn’t respond. You just rolled your eyes, tears shining there, looking out into the sky that beckoned to you out the windows.

“You can live here,” he continued, voice quieter. “We can live here. It’s quiet. Ground’s good for crops. Don’t think this area gets many Infected. Found a well, too.”

Then his voice hardened slightly, just enough to cut through the quiet.

“But there are rules, girl.”

Your head snapped toward him. Your eyes locked with his in a glare that was wet and burning. His gaze didn’t flinch. There was no cruelty. Just seriousness. Like he was stating the facts of gravity.

“You don’t run. You don’t fight me. And you don’t lie.”

You swallowed dryly, throat raw. Then he started to stand, turning away from you.

Your voice stopped him. Barely a whisper. “Are you going to…”

The words died before they could reach your lips. Your stomach knotted hard, rising with nausea. You knew what you were asking. You just couldn’t say it.

He paused, back still to you.

“I ain’t gonna touch you,” he said. “Not unless you ask.”

And something in you snapped.

Your foot lashed out, catching the plate. It skittered across the floor and slammed against the toe of his boot with a loud, hollow clatter.

“Don’t go counting the days, asshole,” you snarled. “I’m not your fucking pet.”

He sighed. Not angry. Just tired. He crouched to pick up the plate, glancing back at you one last time.

“The name’s Joel,” he said quietly, and then added, “Goodnight.”

You didn’t eat.

Not the first day, or the second. He did move the mattress from the opposite corner to underneath you, though. And brought you a blanket. Small comforts. You still hated him for all of it.

He kept bringing you food—bread, dried fruit, whatever he could find—but you stared at the far wall, your lips tight, your arms limp at your sides. The knot at your wrists chafed worse now. The fabric was stiff with blood. But you didn’t complain. You didn’t speak. You wouldn’t give him that.

You were tired, but not hungry. Not for anything he brought you.

On the third night, he opened the door again. This time, the smell hit you before he even spoke.

Roasted meat. Maybe rabbit or deer.

Your stomach cramped violently, and you hated it. Hated the way your body responded, hated the betrayal of saliva in your mouth. You hated him. More than ever.

Joel crouched beside you, setting down a plate and a tin cup. You didn’t look at him.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then: “You’re not starvin’ yourself,” he muttered. “Not here.”

You clamped your jaw shut, but your stomach groaned in betrayal.

The scent from the plate was thick and nauseating from your intense hunger. The meat smelled like it was cooked in its own fat, crisp at the edges, seasoned with something smoky and wild. It smelled like life. It smelled like care.

You didn’t move. Then suddenly, the mattress shifted beneath you.

Joel’s hand grabbed your face. And not gently.

His fingers dug into your cheeks, tilting your head back hard enough to make your neck pop. You squirmed, instinct kicking in, but your hands were tied, and his grip was firm.

You snarled, a sound more beast than girl.

Joel’s face was close now. Too close. His voice was rough and low and full of something tight.

“You wanna die here?” he snapped. “You think that’s gonna prove something?”

You tried in vain to shake your head out of his grasp, but he was stronger.

“I ain’t gonna let you waste away ‘cause you’re feelin’ proud. You hear me?”

He grabbed a piece of meat off the plate and God, it looked so juicy, still steaming, and shoved it toward your mouth.

You fought it. Lips closed, jaw locked.

“Open.”

You didn’t.

Then his voice broke, barely above a whisper.

“Don’t make me do this.”

It was the way he said it. Like he wasn’t angry anymore, just tired. Like he was pleading, but didn’t know how.

You went still.

Slowly, shaking and furious, you opened your mouth.

He slid the food between your lips.

You chewed as tears stung your eyes. The flavor hit your tongue and your body melted around it. It was good. It was so good it hurt.

You hated him for it. Hated him for making you want the next bite. But when he offered it, you took it, lips barely grazing the tips of his fingers. He released your face as you accepted more. He fed you in silence, one bite at a time. Like you were something fragile. Like you might break in his hands.

When the food was gone, he lifted the tin cup to your lips. You drank.

Then you leaned back against the wall, chest heaving like you’d outrun something you couldn’t see. The plate was empty, the ache in your belly softer now.

Joel wiped his hands on his jeans and sat back across from you.

He didn’t speak. There was no smirk, no gloating, just those unreadable eyes on you. And for the first time, you felt something in your chest uncoil. It might not have been warmth or safety, but it was a kind of stillness.

Like surrender. Like a storm just passed.

“I’m gonna boil some water for a bath, alright?” he said, voice low, softer than it had any right to be. He stood slowly, the plate now empty between you. He watched you for a beat longer than you liked, then turned toward the door.

Your eyes followed him as he moved, as he reached for the knob. And before you could stop yourself—before you could remind yourself not to care—you spoke.

“Why are you doing this?”

He paused.

Didn’t turn around. Just looked out the small window beside the old door frame, face lost in shadow.

For a moment, you thought he might answer. But then his hand fell to the knob, turned it, and he stepped out without a word. You sat there, silent. Drowsy.

The food in your belly settled heavy and slow, a warmth you despised your body for enjoying. It made your eyelids heavy, your thoughts fogged. You were still tied, still bruised—but your body was full for the first time in days. Maybe weeks, really.

By the time he came back, you couldn’t even summon the energy to fight. The bindings at your wrist tugged gently as he pulled you to your feet, his grip firm around your forearm.

“Come on now,” Joel murmured. “Nice and easy.”

The hallway was dim. The floor cold under your bare feet. He guided you with careful pressure, down a few steps and into a narrow bathroom—walls faded yellow, mirror cracked in the corner, clawfoot tub steaming gently in the center of the room.

That’s when your mind caught up. You realized what this meant.

You stiffened. Began to squirm, breath picking up fast. He caught your movement instantly, hands tightening just enough to still you.

“Hey.” His voice dropped low in warning.

“I’m gonna untie these, alright?” He nodded toward your wrists. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

You opened your mouth—panic sparking again—but he cut you off, though not unkindly.

“I’m leavin’ you in here. Alone. Against my better judgment.”

That made you pause.

Your eyes met his—wide, wary. And again, he looked so much bigger. You thought of how easily he’d thrown you over his shoulder. How quickly he’d knocked you down in the woods. How he could still do it now, even tired, even softened.

You swallowed, but eventually you nodded.

“You’ll be good?” he asked.

Your voice came out small. “I’ll be good.”

His gaze held yours for a second longer, like he was searching for the truth in it.

Then his hands softened and he began to untie you. The rope fell away from your wrists with a soft tug. Your skin stung where it had rubbed raw, but you didn’t look down. You could barely will your body to move.

Joel straightened.

“I’ll be right outside,” he said. “Don’t make me come in after you.”

And then he left.

The door shut behind him, and you stood there, breathing. Still.

Steam curled in the cold air, and the smell of the soap, old, sharp, something like cedar, lingered near the tub. Your fingers ached. Your knees were stiff. But the water…

It looked so inviting.

You stepped in slowly after you undressed, the warmth biting at your skin in the best way. It climbed up your calves, over your thighs, and then you sank into it—sighing before you could stop yourself. Like your body had given in before your heart could.

The soap was just a sliver, set beside the tub in an old chipped dish. You picked it up with shaky fingers and began to scrub—at the dirt, the blood, the sweat from days of fear.

You didn’t cry. You just kept washing. Kept breathing.

Kept wondering why it felt more like being forgiven than being cleaned.

The soap slipped from your fingers and clattered softly against the porcelain edge of the tub. It echoed in the small room like a slap.

That was when your shoulders started to shake.

At first, it was just a breath. A short, sharp inhale that caught in your throat like something you'd forgotten to swallow. Then another. And another. Until your chest was heaving, and the tears were falling before you could stop them.

You pressed your face into your hands. Tried to muffle the sound. But the sob escaped anyway—wet and broken, punched straight from your lungs like a wound torn back open.

You hated him.

God, you hated him.

You hated how he fed you, how he touched you gently like it made any of this okay. Yes, he’d been rough with you at first—grabbed too hard, snapped too fast, yanked you around like you were a problem to solve instead of a person. But that was before. Before you began to understand him better. Before his cruelty dulled into silence, into careful hands and fewer threats. Before the rhythm of the house made space for you. He let you bathe. Gave you warmth. Let you sleep on a mattress like you were some stray dog he’d half-decided to care for.

You hated how your body was starting to believe it was safe here.

You curled tighter into the water, forehead resting against your knees as the tub slowly cooled around you. Steam faded into the air. The silence pressed against your ears.

And in that silence, you made a promise.

The second he leaves you alone again, you’ll go. No plan, no food, no map—just go. Even if it kills you.

Better to die in the trees than stay in this house and forget what the outside felt like.Better to be free for one breath than trapped for the rest of your life.

You wiped at your eyes with the edge of your palm and sat up straighter.

No more crying.

You would play along. You’d dry off, let him lead you back to that corner, let him tie your wrists again if he had to. You’d nod. You’d keep your voice soft.

And the second he trusted you—

You’d run.

#that house in nebraska #tlou #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller fic #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic #tlou joel #joel tlou

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deadghosy · 10 months ago

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☆BEING MATTHEO’S CHILDHOOD FRIEND TO LOVER ☆ male version||female version

COMPLETELY protective over you ever since childhood. He literally fought a kid back then because they didn’t like that you were a “girl” playing boy games with them. You were sensitive back then, so of course you cried to mattheo about it. And mattheo did something about it. He punched the kid and stole their teddy bear to give it to you.

He asks you about girl things so he can flirt and treat a girl better. You could be literally reading a romance book, and he wants to learn too. Please teach him or else he’s gonna whine about losing another girl.

“Sooooo what does a girl like for a guy like me to tap that ass…cause I got a girl on my roster..” mattheo says sliding by you in the library table you sat in. You were literally getting to the good part of where the two main characters were gonna kiss. “Why are you asking me these questions riddle…” you say with venom in your tone towards his last name. Mattheo frowned. “Actually my name from you is Matty, Matt, and matty bear. So please—”

“—Please kill yourself and never let your soul rest after.” You say getting up from the library table and walking away. Mattheo’s jaw drop as he followed you offended. He never interrupted your reading time ever.

When your period comes…he’s asking you “what the fuck that is” and “why is it hurting you” with a frown. He’s thinking he can solve it like any other with a wave of his wand…but it’s more complicated when you explained how your uterus is shredding itself and that’s all you can get out before mattheo started to gag and leave your dorm room like the overdramatic king he is.

He still loves you dearly so he got you tea and some materials you need for the rest of your week.

Sometimes when you two have a sleepover, which is just either of you two sneaking into the girls dorms or the boys. You two gossip like little girls ready to rip someone’s heart out.

Mattheo is 50/50 on you doing makeup on him. But if you really plead and want to do it. He’s gonna let you. He can’t say no to you sadly.

A guy had broken your heart once, so he broke his face in…and broke his dick. Don’t ask.

Couple of girls hated how close you were to Mattheo. He’s a handsome guy, so of course people may spread rumors around. And Mattheo doesn’t really like that, he’s going to the girl and showering her how equal rights have hands.

If you two ever argue, it leads to Mattheo apologizing first. He’s a sucker for you, he doesn’t know why. He just doesn’t want you to be mad at him.

It’s even worst when you talk to anyone else than him.

When you fully ignore him, no texting, no calling, not even talking to you in public and being by you makes him go insane. He’s smoking in the courtyard. Jaw tightened as he eyes you across. He can tell that you know he is staring. He can tell you know indeed when you shift a lot.

The way you feel his burning gaze on you, it made you feel warm. You always loved mattheo, but with him always “going after” girls…you just thought that maybe he wouldn’t love you back.

Jealousy is something mattheo has built into him. He doesn’t know why, so when a ravenclaw student tried to ask you out. He couldn’t stand it. He had to take you away. He couldn’t bare to lose you. He ushered you away from the student, taking you to an empty classroom. He couldn’t handle not being near you, he hated it the most. You are his other part.

He hates it.

“I don’t know who that guy was. But you’re mine. Okay? You’re mine, you always have been even if we both didn’t recognize it. Shit, I know I’m dumb to think to just push my feelings away from you. But I can’t help but love how you are so amazing…” he says slowly at the end. Kissing your head and closing his eyes. You smile slowly. Your heart swell with warmth, taking a deep breath in as you wrapped your arms around him too. You loved him just like how he loves you. He loves you as if you were the made the creation of his favorite food. He loved you like making new potions. He loved you like music to his ears.

He always has been a gentleman before you two dated. He made sure he opened doors for you. He made sure you were comfortable with things. He would even sacrifice his cloaks if you were cold.

He’s like a puppy in love as he just lights up seeing you.

He loves his girl very much. You are the prettiest thing he could ever ask and give for.

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originalwinnerfanfish · 8 months ago

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Well, I did it

Megatron - I love his tfp design. Probably one of the best iteration of Megs. He is huge, heavy armoured, his face covered with scars… He doesn’t looks like an ordinary military leader who is only capable of giving orders, but like real warrior who can destroy any enemy with his bare hands.

So, in the WOF version, he definitely shares some features with Princess Burn, not only because of his might, but also because of his horns shape and dirty-dark scales (that absorbed blood of his enemies)

Starscream - Boy, I hate him so much 🤣… but in the good way, trust me! In my opinion, when the show's creators make you feel such strong negative emotions towards a villain, it means they've done a great job. Also, I think that his animation in the show was absolutely incredible, because even though he's a 3D model, he still manages to move like a 2D character, which is amazing!

I feel that in my design he still looks more like a skywing, than an icewing (which is kinda logical)

Soundwave - This one was tricky. I couldn't figure out what his mask would look like, so I just made his face a really dark color. I think Soundwave has both gifts of the nightwings, and he’s equally great at telepathy and a future vision. So he doesn't really need equipment to predict enemy movements, which makes him an ideal communicator in the WOF setting. His Laserbeak is part of the armor enchanted by Shockwave, and it might also allow him to open portals (but I'm not sure with this one)

Shockwave - My favourite evil genius. He would definitely have animus magic and mind reading. I think Shockwave is the only one who has advanced the study of magic so far, precisely because he combined it with scientific knowledge and created safer methods of using it, that don't damage the mind. It's like if a Mastermind got animus magic in books.

I also like to think that he didn't heal the damaged part of his face just so that his enemies would fear him more)

Dreadwing - This man deserved better! It's really a shame that he was removed from the show so quickly due to financial problems. It would be great if his arc got a proper conclusion in season 3.

Considering that I didn't want to make him a hybrid, it was difficult to choose a suitable color palette. So let’s just say, that I tried my best😅

I don’t think that he would have any nightwing powers, but honestly it doesn’t even matter - this guy can make a bombs, what else does he need to be cool

Arachnid - Did anyone even doubt that she would be a hivewing? Damn, she even got her own “Othermind” virus. Her design was the easiest to work with - just a little poisonous ass (suspiciously similar to Maleficent).

Just like Starscream, I hate her, but in a good way. She's one of the creepiest characters in the entire series, who’s acting like a fucking heartless monster, especially with Arcee, but even so, there's always was something mesmerizing about her. I just really like strong female villains

Knockout - Wery bright and charismatic guy, definitely one of my fav cons!

I tried to draw him as handsome as possible. Worked a lot on the face shape and coloring, and as for me it turned out pretty nice (finally).

Most decepticons think Knockout is as stupid and lazy as all the other rainwings. And it's not like he completely disagrees with that. Of course he’s not stupid and lazy, but if it’s means less dirty work on the battlefield, well, he’ll continue act like a tipical rainwing

(I also believe that Megatron keeps him as an “art”)

Breakdown - Fun fact: "Operation Breakdown" was the very first thing I saw in this series. And it was an interesting experience for 8 year old me. Maybe that's why I'm so scared of eye gouging scenes in movies now…

I think that he didn't have any siblings initially due to his parents nature, and even after meeting Bulkhead, he felt uncomfortable among the other mudwings. And this is why he later chose the side of the decepticons. And maaaaybe because of one cute rainwing influence)

P.s.

I think that, being mostly nightwings and icewings, the decepticons are much more concerned about purity of their blood and rarely accept half-breeds into their ranks.

During the war, there were many animus dragons among decepticons, which is why they have so many artifacts that allowed teleportation and communication at a distance. But, honestly, I still can't imagine what Nemesis would look like in this AU

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regressionschool · 8 days ago

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Big Girl Rebellion

I used to be potty-trained.

I mean, really trained. I had sparkle undies with cartoon kittens, knew when I had to go, and even wiped all by myself. I used to feel proud of that—smug, even. Big girl Sophie, the girl who didn’t need help. The girl who didn’t wear diapers like the other littles.

But that was before.

Before they decided I needed to be “reminded” of my place. Before the charts and the baby bottles and the locking potty lid. Before the first thick diaper was taped onto me while I screamed and kicked and swore I’d never use it.

Spoiler: I did.

And now? Now I’m sitting in the middle of the playroom, legs spread wide by the swollen padding between them, surrounded by plushies I didn’t choose and building blocks I’m expected to play with. I’m wearing a pastel onesie that snaps between my legs, stretched tight over a very obvious, very used diaper.

And I’m not letting Nanny Clara change me.

“You’re stinky again, Sophie,” she says gently, kneeling in front of me with the calm, patronizing tone they all use. Like I’m some baby who doesn’t know better. “Come on, sweetie. Time to get you cleaned up.”

“No,” I snap. I turn my face away like the toddlers do when they’re being bratty. “I like it.”

She blinks, but only for a moment. She’s trained for this. “Sophie,” she tries again, more firmly this time. “You’ve been sitting in that diaper for almost an hour. I can see it hanging between your knees.”

I spread my legs wider on purpose, grabbing one of the blocks and banging it on the floor.

“So?”

“So,” she says, biting back her sigh, “you need to be changed.”

“No, I don’t.”

She pauses. “You used to be such a big girl…”

I round on her. “Exactly. Used to. But you took that away. You put me in these. You made me sit in the corner until I messed myself. You’re the one who clapped when I did it. So now? Now this is you getting what you wanted.”

I shift deliberately, the mush shifting with me, and watch her flinch just the tiniest bit.

Deep down, some part of me loves it.

Nanny Clara puts the wipes and clean diaper back in the basket, standing slowly. “Fine,” she says, her tone still syrupy sweet. “You can come find me when you’re ready for a change, okay, sugarplum?”

I ignore her. She walks off.

Good.

I hate her. I hate all of them. I hate that they took away my panties, made me ask permission for everything, from snacks to TV time. But mostly, I hate that I stopped fighting.

Because now? I’m… getting used to it.

The padding between my legs feels natural. The squish doesn’t bother me anymore. The smell makes people wrinkle their noses and call me names “stinky butt,” “messy miss,” “diaper girl” but I’ve started to like those names.

When people talk down to me, coo at me, lift my skirt to check if I’m wet—I feel small. Powerless.

But safe.

That’s the worst part.

“Hey, diaper girl,” a voice calls.

I glance up. It's Brandon, one of the caretakers. Young, tall, broad shoulders and sleeves rolled up to show his arms. He’s smiling, crouching to my level, and he’s got that teasing twinkle in his eye.

I shift a little, letting the weight of my messy diaper tug at my hips.

He wrinkles his nose. “Yup, that’s what I thought.”

“What?”

“You filled your pants again, huh?” he says. He’s not mad. He’s amused. Like I’m a toddler who just finger painted on the walls.

I look down at the blocks, pretending not to care, but my cheeks go pink anyway.

“Did you already tell Clara no?”

I nod, sulking.

“Figures,” he chuckles. “You’re always so stubborn. Used to be the big bossy girl, remember? Telling everyone you were too old for naps and that only babies wore diapers.”

“I was right,” I mutter.

He leans in. “You still think you’re not a baby?”

I glare at him.

His eyes flick down to the bulging seat of my diaper.

“Coulda fooled me.”

I should hate that.

But I don’t.

I like the way he looks at me now. Not like an equal. Not like a girl with control. But like a helpless little thing who can’t even keep her pants clean.

And maybe I am that now. Not because they forced it on me but because I let them. Because it’s easier to lean into it than to keep fighting. Because it’s soft and warm and oddly comforting to give up the grown-up fight and just be… soggy.

“Come on,” he says, scooping me up like I weigh nothing.

I squeal in surprise, my arms going around his neck on instinct. “I didn’t say yes!”

He smirks. “You didn’t say no either.”

He carries me easily, one arm under my bottom, not even flinching at the squish he’s got his hand pressed against. The air shifts as he walks, and I catch a whiff of myself, sharp, thick, unmistakable.

He definitely notices. But he doesn’t stop holding me.

“Bet you’re proud of yourself, huh?” he murmurs, bouncing me slightly. “Filling your diapers like a good little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl,” I whisper, but it’s weak.

“Coulda fooled me,” he repeats, echoing himself.

He lays me down on the changing mat in the nursery, the crinkle of the plastic loud under my onesie. I stare at the ceiling as he un-snaps me, exposing the bulging diaper underneath. His hand hovers.

“Still want to say no?”

I glance down at the disaster I made in my pants, and I actually smile.

“Maybe just five more minutes,” I say softly. “I like how it feels.”

He raises a brow, but he doesn’t argue. Just gently re-snaps my onesie and sits beside me on the mat, tousling my hair.

“Guess you’re really one of the littles now, huh?”

I nod.

No shame. No fight left.

Just a warm, squishy diaper and the soft hand of someone who treats me like the messy little girl I’ve become.

And for the first time, I don’t want to be anything else.

#ab/dl diaper #diaper stories #regression school #ab/dl stories #ab/dl girl #wetting diaper #diaper bulge #ab/dl

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doodlenoodleboi · 9 months ago

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Sally face head cannons

Authors note: If you don’t specify I’m gonna pick for you most of the time it’s gonna be headcanons, they tend to be easier and quicker to write.

TW: Not professional, might have misspellings and improper grammar, I just do this for fun. Nsfw, mentions of drugs, stoner Larry, Larry is 2 years older then Sal, some non accurate writing I haven’t watched or played Sally face in years but remember the general plot. Btw when this wrote Sal is 17-19

SFW

◦ Sal doesn’t have the best relationship with his father.

◦ Sal tends to get misgendered a lot to the point he doesn’t even correct people he couldn’t care less anyways and hates unnecessary confrontation.

◦ Sal keeps his glass eye on his bedside table and one nice he actually drunk out of the cup.

◦ Sal isn’t the best at saving money when it comes to video games. He doesn’t spend his money on much In high school besides games for his game boy and other systems.

◦ Sal loves rock music and listens to music whenever he can, he owns an old stereo along with a walk man and mp3 player. (Keep in mind his teen years are in the 90’s)

◦ Along with his hair Sal also ventured in make up in skincare.

◦ Because half of his face being disfigured he tried his best to at least look normal with make up and help it heal better with skincare.

◦ Sal has the worst split ends and uneven layers because he never actually had his hair cut properly he always has done it himself.

◦ Sal is rather geeky when it comes down to it, owning as much technology as he could by in the 90’s.

◦ Sal is most comfortable showing his face to Larry among anyone else almost like a big brother to him of sorts.

◦ Sal gets rather socially awkward when it comes to people liking him so you would have to be in his friend group to have a chance of a relationship or some established connection before hand.

◦ Once you and Sal become friends as he’s comfortable with you expect things like him painting your nails and rocking out to music

◦ If he does later show romantic interest in you before he shows you his face he will be anxious about what you’ll think about him after he shows you.

◦ He’ll even teach you how to play his guitar if you’re interested.

NSFW

◦ Sal Is obviously a virgin it’s hard to get close to him let alone take of his mask so you’ll have to have patience to get to this stage.

◦ For-play could be longer then the actual sex for the first time and he might back out from nervousness before you guys can even start.

◦ Sal is not a shy guy maybe introverted but not shy but moments like this make him extremely vulnerable so he’s flustered and embarrassed.

◦ If you find the courage to kiss him he has his mask on he’s whipped. He would be a flustered and embarrassed mess and he might even tell Larry about how exciting it was. You were probably his first kiss as well.

◦ Sal would be around 5 inches 5.5 hard (let’s be realistic here ain’t nobody taking much past that.) Just enough to reach the back of you’re and make you gag.

◦ Sal even if he’s isn’t pornhub but still likes to prep you, after all sex is a rather sacred thing so he tries his best to treat you with care even with his inexperience.

◦ He would probably be a nervous teenager at the back of Spencer’s trying to find lube (that doesn’t get used) and other things trying not to be seen. Covering up this purchases with a rock album or something of equal value.

◦ Sal is big on after care asking you how it was if it wasn’t obvious, he would be nervous after and still not realizing he actually did that.

◦ Sal isn’t big on giving hickeys but he doesn’t mind being especially on his jawline and neck. When talking to his friends he will just say it a bruise or injury just that’s always been there. But it’s almost obvious that it’s not.

◦ Once you’ve done it once he’s nervous to ask for you to do it again so he does enjoy make out session to keep him down.

◦ Sal didn’t heavily masturbate before hand honestly rarely doing it at all until he had sex once and now that’s all he thinks about ever since.

◦ He loves laying kisses against you when doing it but never hickeys as he’s a bit scared of hurting you.

◦ He holds your hands during sex for comfortability.

◦ His favorite positions would probably be missionary and cowgirl he’s a pretty vanilla switch.

◦ Mostly a service top and a shy bottom, it’s not like he’s generally shy he just gets embarrassed seeing you on top but overtime he gets used to it.

Sorry i accidentally deleted the request!

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oopsiedaisydeer · 2 months ago

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ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴜᴛᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴍʙ

…𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘴

fluff, awkwardness, friends to lovers?, light flirting, unintentional flirting, banter, miscommunication, teasing, mild sexual innuendo, lighthearted, platonic? feelings, silly

word count - 1.2k

You’re mid-sentence when it happens.

“I just don’t think the moon landing was real,” Chris says, stretching his legs out on the couch in his room. “Like, yeah, sure, space exists or whatever, but you expect me to believe they had the technology to land on the moon in the sixties? People barely had color TV.”

You roll your eyes. “You wouldn’t believe in the moon landing.”

He gasps, clutching his chest. “Are you saying you do?”

“I’m saying I’m an innocent until proven guilty kind of girl.”

Chris shakes his head like he’s disappointed in you. “This is ridiculous.”

And then, just as you’re about to throw another sarcastic comment his way, your phone lights up. Noticing its low battery, you roll onto your side on Chris’ bed, plugging it in. Unbeknownst to you, your oversized shirt rides up, exposing your sleep shorts. Chris doesn’t mean for it to happen, but his gaze flickers and then his brow furrows, his head tilting just slightly.

As you turn back around to face him, Chris can’t help but blurt it out.

He clears his throat. “You have a cute butt, you know. Very round, nice, compact-”

You freeze mid-laugh, blinking at him. “Chris, what the actual-” You can’t even finish the sentence. Did he seriously just say that?

The room falls silent. You blink at him, utterly stunned, while he stares back at you like you’re the one who just said something weird. It takes approximately three full seconds for his own words to catch up to him, and when they do, his face shifts into something between mild horror and begrudging realization.

“Oh. Oh, wait-” He holds up a hand. “That sounded kinda-”

“Insane? Wildly inappropriate? Like something I should slap you for?”

Chris huffs, crossing his arms. “It was a compliment!”

“It was about my butt!”

“Yeah, but in, like, a normal way-”

"There is no normal way to say that, Christopher."

Chris huffs, crossing his arms, but his mind is already racing. It was just a compliment, right? He tries to push the weird feeling out of his chest, but it’s there, like something’s stirring under the surface. It was a compliment.

He clears his throat anxiously. “It was a compliment!” he repeats, trying to sound convincing, but the way her eyes narrow at him makes him second-guess himself. Maybe that wasn’t the best way to phrase it… You’re so smooth, Chris. Real smooth.

“Right.”

“Whatever, man. I was just making an observation. Like, just, you know, being honest.”

“You sound like Jake Peralta right now.”

“What? No, I don’t.”

“You literally just recreated a classic Peraltiago moment. ‘Your butt is da bomb. There will be no survivors,’ Christopher.”

“Okay, first of all, that’s a compliment. Second of all, your butt is da bomb- wait, no, that sounded worse.”

You sigh dramatically, before an idea comes to you. “First of all, compact? As a compliment? What does that even mean?” you ask, gesturing wildly. “Second of all, if we’re making observations, let’s talk about your butt. Very, uh… symmetrical. Good proportions.”

Chris chokes on air, his Pepsi not even having reached his lips. “What- wait, seriously? Are we doing this?”

“Yeah, I mean, if we’re handing out compliments, it’s only fair” you say, teasing, but also grimacing.

His ears go pink, his voice a little less certain now. “That’s- not the same thing.”

“Oh? So now you see the issue?”

Chris groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate you.”

You shake your head, grabbing your water bottle and twisting it in your hands. The moment lingers, Chris still sulking over your lack of appreciation for his totally normal and platonic compliment.

And then, as if to pivot into something equally bizarre, you mumble, “When I couldn’t sleep as a kid, I used to try balancing my water bottle on my forehead.”

Chris lifts his head slightly. “What? Actually?”

“Yeah, like, I’d just be lying in bed, eyes wide open, and I’d think: What if I could balance my water bottle on my forehead for a full minute? Just... to see if I could.”

He stares at you like you’ve just confessed a strange, deeply important secret. “And?”

“I could do it. Didn’t help me sleep though.”

Silence. Then Chris sits up, slow, thoughtful as if he’s considering your childish admission seriously. “You think you could still do it?”

You narrow your eyes, leaning forward just a little. “Are you… challenging me?”

“No, I just don’t think you can do it.” He smiles at her, his tone doubting but playful.

The water bottle is in your hands before he even finishes speaking. You lie down completely, looking up at the ceiling, and carefully place the bottle on the center of your forehead. Chris watches, elbow on the armrest, chin resting against his palm, looking equal parts skeptical and intrigued.

For a few glorious seconds, you think you might actually pull it off. But then Chris stands up and flops on the bed next to you.

“Hey-”

The bottle wobbles once, twice, and then tumbles off your face, and you catch it with your hand. Chris bursts out laughing, practically folding over, and you groan in annoyance. You throw the bottle at him, the movement dramatic, not even trying to aim. It bounces off his shoulder and hits the floor with a soft thud.

“Okay, rude,” he wheezes, still grinning. “Not my fault you have terrible focus.”

You scowl, but you’re smiling too. “Not my fault you say weird things about my butt.”

Chris opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, then stops. Shuts it. Tilts his head.

And then, for the first time since this conversation started, his brain finally catches up.

“Wait. Hold on.” A little crinkle appears above his nose, like a thought is just starting to bloom. He stares at you for a beat longer, eyes flicking back and forth as if he’s sorting through his words. “Did that… what I said before… sound like flirting?”

You blink. “Chris”, you warn.

“No, but, hold on.” He suddenly looks very, very deep in thought. “Because I was just saying it, like, observationally, but now I’m thinking about it, and…”

Your heart skips a beat at the way his voice falters, and you find yourself wondering if you’re just imagining it. Was he really…? You shake your head. No, this is just Chris being Chris, right? You tell yourself, brushing it off.

“Chris, oh my God.” You throw your head back with a groan, smacking his arm before standing up and walking toward his bathroom.

He calls after you, still stuck in the rabbit hole of his own making. “But wait! If I was flirting… hypothetically… would it have worked? Like, actually?”

He says the last part slower, like he’s genuinely trying to piece it all together, his gaze fixed on you.

You call back out to him. “You’re never getting an answer to that!”

Chris stares at the ceiling, groaning internally. He can’t decide if it was the best thing ever or the worst mistake he’d made all week.

They were friends, he reminds himself. But it was just a half-assed attempt to comfort himself as he waited for you to come back.

thank u rose for the dividers!! @bernardsbendystraws

a/n: this is me coming out as a silly girl. let me know if u enjoy!

taglist: @blushsturns @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturnshood @sturns-mermaid @chrissweetheart @cowboylikenat @recordeeznuts @camzeecorner comment if u would like to be tagged in my main (non-au) works!!

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kaxserlvr · 2 months ago

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Toxicbf!kaiser who always puts soccer above you. He doesn’t think twice cancelling dates for training or matches if it would mean becoming the best.“You should’ve known what you were getting into”

Toxicbf!kaiser who avoids serious discussions. He hates emotional confrontations, can’t handle them and will dodge it or dismiss it completely. “We’re doing fine, why ruin the atmosphere?”

Toxicbf!Kaiser whose ego is his biggest flaw. He will constantly prioritise himself and make you an afterthought not an equal completely disregarding your feelings . May even seem like he’s looking down on you. “You should feel lucky you’re with me”

Toxicbf!kaiser who doesn’t apologise. Even when he knows he’s in the wrong(which is rare lol) he’d prefer to straight up ignore it or buy expensive gifts in hopes you’ll forget. He hates the feeling of being vulnerable.

Toxicbf!Kaiser when you start to pull away from him will act like it doesn’t bother him(it does). He thinks you’re just trying to get a reaction from him, he’d call it “cute” He fully thinks you’ll come back(until you dont)

Toxicbf!Kaiser who feels something disgusting stir in him when he sees you talking to someone with a smile you no longer show him. He suddenly has a strong urge to be near you to show you’re his glaring at the person.” Are they bothering you,hm?”

Toxicbf!kaiser who starts to panic when he realises you’re genuinely getting tired of him. He’ll try to act like it doesn’t bother him but starts to notice how you don’t wait up for him at night, you dont try to start small chats, you no longer look at him,you no longer send him cute messages on how he’s doing. He’s starting to sound desperate.”Talk to me” “where are you?”

Toxicbf!kaiser who uses anger as a defence. He’ll try to blame you for his issues since it’s hard for him to take the fault. Truth is beneath all the anger is fear-fear of losing the one person that makes him feel something. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna give up on me?”

Toxicbf!kaiser who finally breaks and apologies. Seeing you slip away for good causes him to drop the act. No more looking down,no more games. He looks desperate and his usual cocky voice is replaced by something quieter “I’ve never done this…I- I don’t know how to be…I don’t want to loose you..” hed swallow his pride and admit he’s wrong if it means not losing you “I know I messed up and should’ve treated you better..I’m sorry”

Toxicbf!Kaiser who’d give you space but still be available. Texting you so he can remember you’re still here “have you eaten?” “What did you do today?”

If you choose to leave him for good …he’d take it hard and he wouldn’t be the same. Hed spend most of his time on soccer to try forget everything and his emptiness. It does pay off as he improves even more and becoming the best of the best but when he scores the winning goal and everyone cheers for him he instinctively looks for you in the crowd-to see your not there-he realises how bad he lost

But if you choose to give him a chance…you can see he’s nervous he will mess up again by the way he fidgets more around you. You two would have a talk and Kaiser would open up about his fears and insecurities he’s had and hed promise to work on himself and you promise to help communicate more so you guys can grow from this for the future.

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toms-cherry-trees · 10 months ago

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Cracked || Jacaerys Velaryon x Twin!Wife! Reader

Summary: No one ever said duty would hurt like this

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: Twincest targcest (Velaryoncest?), angst, spoilers if you haven't watched S2E2, for anti hating purposes is not explicitly stated but all characters are above 18.

Author's note: Won't you look at me, 7 months since my last HOTD fic! That scene with Jace tearing up definitely did something to me. My very first time writing for Jace, hopefully won't be the last!

Also a massive massive thank you and all my devotion to @moris-auri for beta reading this!

No one welcomes him when he lands in the Dragonmont.

The flapping of Vermax's leathery wings is amplified, booming throughout the massive cavern, swirls of steam rising from the cracks on the dark stone. The only ones to witness his arrival are the dragon keepers, but even they are distracted, their focus on the exhausted dragon and not his equally drained rider. When they stride past him, they don’t acknowledge him at all, almost as if he doesn’t exist. Jace wonders if he is a ghost, because only in death could someone feel the agony that seeps from his bones and still be standing.

He feels like a foreigner in this place.

Even though he has lived on Dragonstone half his life, he feels like a foreigner. The fortress is not theirs. He doubts it never truly has been. They are just keepers of these ancient walls and the history they carry within. Dragonstone is a relic that will stand on that island for a thousand years to come, as welcoming as a gush of Northern wind on bare skin. The only warmth comes from its very core, from those who habit it and who've made the great fortress a home.

But the home he left weeks prior is not the one he now returns to. The warmth has been snuffed and the hearth has been shattered.

He walks with his head held high and his back straight, gaze always ahead and chin lifted in a gesture of near arrogance. He walks like an heir, because he is. He is now his mother’s heir and he must play his part, even if all he wants to do is lay his head on her lap and weep like a boy of ten.

A moon ago he was just Jacaerys Velaryon. He was a son, a firstborn son, but with no more responsibility than studying and learning, mastering skills that would serve him purpose in 30 or 40 years. His greatest concerns were training Vermax properly, what desserts would be served after supper, and how to avoid falling into another of his siblings’ silly pranks. He had been betrothed long ago, but marriage itself was something distant, something that could wait out a few more years.

He was a brother of five with another sibling on the way; a sister. While most in the castle pined for a son, another boy, he secretly supported his mother’s longing for a little girl.

And now he is Jacaerys, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to his mother’s throne and crown. He is more Targaryen than Velaryon now. He is an envoy, a messenger, a warrior if needed be. He is a strategist and a politician. He is an asset and a threat; someone who has forged great alliances, but also has found strong enemies, their weapons aimed directly at the target behind his head, target painted there by his grandsire many a year before his birth. A wedding , hastily arranged, to strengthen their cause and their line of inheritance.

He is a brother to just four now, and the crib has been left empty.

Cregan Stark had been the one to break the news to him. Standing on a cramped lookout on the edge of the world, nothing but whiteness as far as the eye reached, Lord Stark had said that the Wall did more than keep savages and ice at bay. It held back death.

But death came nonetheless.

Jacaerys had managed to maintain his stance as a man and a Prince, receiving the news with unyielding stoicism, even when his knees felt weak and his body chilled, like ice had spread down his spine. But this ice was nothing like the one surrounding him, there on the edge of the North. This one burned, burned like dragonfire while stabbing him with a thousand knives, leaving him to bleed out while not allowing him to die. It stole the air from his lungs and the blood from his veins, and filled him with snow. His lungs couldn’t breathe, his heart couldn’t beat yet somehow he didn’t drop dead right there where he stood.

He recalls little of what occurred after, nothing more than brief, precise memories. Receiving Cregan’s condolences, and feeling the firm squeeze of the older man’s hand on his shoulder. Northerners parting silently to make way for him in the courtyard, where a restless Vermax awaited, his screeches rattling the windows of the nearby towers. Someone handing him a parcel, hastily wrapped, containing a sleek wolf pelt as a present for their Queen. The thunderstorm he traversed in the Riverlands, and the toll it took on Vermax to fly through it.

The painful tightening on his throat as he wondered if he had encountered a similar one, not far from home.

Servants and courtiers make way for him, as he approaches his mother’s chambers. They bow and curtsy, and offer words of courtesy, lamenting the loss of the young Prince. Some stare out of the corner of their eye as he passes, waiting to see if the new Prince of Dragonstone will crumble like sand before their very eyes. But he never betrays himself; not a tear brimming in his eyes, not a wobble of his lips. The occasional flaring of his nostrils is the single telltale of the sorrow that simmers just beneath his skin.

He hesitates briefly, pausing at the end of the vast hallway where the royal apartments are. Up the winding staircase, past the single set of double doors to the left, his mother awaits. No, not his mother, the Queen. She stopped being his mother the day the crown was placed atop her head, and the court of Dragonstone bent the knee before her. Grief and loss shaped her, morphing her into the leader and ruler she had been born to be. Jace can only admire her, and hope that he will be able to embrace his new role as effortlessly as she has done hers.

The double doors are pushed open by Ser Erryk. The Queen sits alone, gaze downcast and thoughts troubled, that much Jace can tell by the nervous fidgeting of her hands, twisting her rings almost compulsively. When her eyes rise to meet his, Jacerys sees in them a mirror of himself, the same exhaustion, the effort to push back and bury the wrenching misery, the bleeding wound left behind by their loss.

They are alone, just the two of them in that silent alcove. Jace could break down, weep like he hasn’t done in years and lay his head across her lap; let her slender, motherly fingers card through his hair as she assures him that all will be well in the end. But he can’t, he can’t because she’s more Queen than mother now and she’s grieving too, grieving deeper than he is and if she can keep it together then so can he, because he is her heir and he has to make her proud and be a man worthy of respect.

The Prince doesn’t cry; the heir doesn’t cry.

A man remains immovable and imperturbable.

He straightens his back, head held high and hands laced before him as he recounts his triumphs, the Houses he convinced to pledge for them and what each one has offered and asked them in return. This moment should have been his shining glory, with himself striding through the castle with pride and confidence, ready to announce to the council how he had secured the allegiance of the Vale and the North for their cause. He would bask in his wife’s admiration, drink the praises from her lips and show her he was ready to one day be a great King, with a great Queen by his side.

Instead it is just them two, hidden behind doors, picking up the pieces falling from their carefully built masks before they completely fall apart. He brings good news, great news, but they matter little and now taste like ash in his mouth, burning and bitter. His victories mean nothing to him because his little brother is dead, gone 60 years before his time, and they don’t even have a body to burn and Jacaerys feels it should have been him, because he is the eldest and he should have protected him better. He should have faced their rageful uncle and died instead, but he didn’t and now he stands there, moving and doing because if he stays still the grief will swallow him whole and bury him in a pit of sand.

And then his voice breaks, the facade cracks and they both stop pretending, because pretending hurts, like gripping a white hot rod with both hands and refusing to let go even if it’s hurting you.

Her embrace is warm; her arms feel like home. With his head tucked under her chin, his cheek pressed against her chest, he feels young again. He feels the sobs racking her body, the tears dampening her face and his hair, her fingers digging on the fabric of his cloak. They sway slightly, rocking from side to side like when he was a babe of just a few days old, fussy and restless, keeping the whole holdfast awake at night because he refused to settle anywhere but on his mother’s arms.

But now Jace suspects the motion is meant for her more than for him, to transport her to days past when she held her babes in her arms and they were safe under her wing and no one could harm them because she would sooner tear the world to pieces. Discreetly the places shift, now it's her forehead against his shoulder and his arms holding her steady. Jace feels the tears stinging his eyes and the lump blocking his throat, but he cannot break down because his mother is broken and someone must stand strong and whole and it has to be him.

Soon, too soon, his mother has dismissed him, sending him to his chambers to bathe and rest because they will have the funeral at sunset and they must not show weakness before the court. The cracks must be patched and hidden, no matter how deep they run. Not a single piece can fall out of place.

He drags his feet now; the weight on top of him has grown heavy. His posture slackens, his shoulders slump, the pretence is harder to hold. Sunset feels like a death sentence, because a funeral makes it real. It makes it true. Burning what they have because there is not even a body left behind to burn. That way he can no longer pretend that is not happening, that is all just a tale. And then, he will crack. No willpower will keep him whole because his brother, his little brother is dead and he has to face a future where Lucerys will not be a part of it.

He pushes his chamber door open with one shoulder, his mind blank of any thought; the encounter with his mother affected him deeper than he had anticipated, because even she is cracking and now is just him holding it together because he has to.

And then he sees her.

His wife sits before the hearth, so ethereal with the glow of the fire illuminating her face. Her head turns as soon as the door opens, and he immediately notices the red around her swollen eyes. At first he thinks she’s mourning, but she’s had her time to mourn and Jace knows she’s crying for him, crying because she feels the agony straining to break through his flesh. Just like they have felt each other’s every emotion for as long as they have lived, have anticipated each other’s words and read their thoughts. Connected by a bond that runs deeper than marriage, because they are of the same blood, come into the world together.

The last time he saw her before his departure, they had an ugly fight. Jacaerys had convinced their mother to keep her at Dragonstone rather than allow her to fly as an envoy, claiming they could not leave the fortress unguarded and with the larger dragons going in and out on their missions, they had to pile up their remaining strength. The Queen had agreed, and her word was final.

She could not argue with Her Grace, but she certainly made Jacaerys know how she felt about what she perceived as a betrayal and lack of trust in herself and her abilities. Jace pleaded with her to see reason, to see things from his perspective. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in her, he would never dare to doubt her strength. But he didn’t trust the men she would encounter on her journey, nor did he want her to risk taking a long flight on her dragon and run into danger. She, always the hot headed one, had called him every name under the sun and refused to see him off, choosing instead to sulk in her chamber. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, to leave on bad terms with her, but he trusted they would talk it out upon his arrival. That all would be well and their problems would be solved.

He stands silently before her, and for the first time he feels small. So small and diminished, unwilling to look her in the eyes. His gaze is fixed on the floor because the tears are winning the battle and if they do he will crack open like a dragon egg, but no great beast will emerge, only his insecurities and his failures.

His lower lip wobbles, and he bites it so hard he leaves the imprint of his teeth. His nails dig deep in his palms in his attempt to steady their accusatory trembling. He breathes in and out, slow and steady, his eyes squeezed shut as he feels himself losing control. He cannot allow himself to lose it, not in front of her of all people, not when he is supposed to be her pride, not her embarrassment.

He hears the sharp drag of the chair as she stands, the thud of the heavy tome she had been reading being thrown rather carelessly over a table. Her steps are slow and calculated as she moves across the stone, approaching him cautiously like he is some wild beast ready to lash out. Like he is some fragile thing, so fragile that a gush of wind could break him apart.

Her hands are soft and warm as they cradle his face, gently coaxing him to look up, to meet her eyes. But he can’t, he fears he will see disappointment in them, he will see accusation, he will see her blame him for Luke’s death, for forcing her to remain back when it was their little brother who needed his protection the most.

For failing the family.

He succumbs in the end, brown eyes gingerly rising to meet her own, bracing himself for the worst. But he sees nothing of what he expected. He sees no anger, no resentment, no pity. Just worry and tenderness, and a desolation that matches his own.

The first tears he has been holding back since Winterfell finally escape the barrier of his willpower and roll down his cheeks. He attempts to blink them away but they cannot be stopped, nor does he have the strength to stop them no more. His wife brushes some away with her thumbs, and smoothes back his hair in a tender gesture

“Jace.”

That little world, the call of his own name coming from her lips is all that it needs for the dam inside him to burst. The violent sobs rack his body, tears blurring his vision and he chokes on them, while also feeling like he’s breathing for the first time since that raven arrived at the Wall. He tries to hide his face but she won’t let him, and tears shine in her eyes too and that only makes the crying worse, because his wife is suffering and he cannot console her because he’s also suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

His legs weaken and his stance falters. The same apology falls from his mouth, the small words tumbling over each other and getting lost in the incessant weeping. His knees falter and he drops down; his forehead rests against her body and his hands are on her hips, fearing he will lose her if he lets go. He sobs onto her dress, not caring anymore about being the perfect Prince and heir, about being the man everyone will respect and be proud of.

His wife drops to her knees too and holds him close, allowing his head to lay against her shoulder. The scent of her body fills his nostrils, aroma of camellias and toasted sugar. It smells of happy memories and easier days, and it evokes a sense of safety in him, of tenderness, of the happiest days of his short life. His cry doesn’t stop, but it is not only for Lucerys now. It is for his mother, for his younger brothers, for himself and for all the losses to come. He cries for his twin, his wife, for now the fear of harm coming her way has increased tenfold, and the mere idea of her being cruelly ripped from his side tears a gash on his heart.

He cries until he’s sure there are no tears left to cry. Until the weight has been lifted from his chest and he is sure he can breathe again. They remain there for what feels like mere seconds and a lifetime at the same time, locked in each other’s embrace. Her fingers card through his hair and her lips press tender kisses to his temple; his arms wrapped around her, hands pressed against her back to keep her close, as close as he can to his own heart. He would gladly stay there forever, spend the rest of his days encased in her warmth and basking in her love. But the moment is broken all too soon when a servant knocks on the door to let them know that courtiers are already gathering in the outskirts of the castle for the funeral.

Jace lets himself be guided by the hand like an obedient child to sit before her vanity. She moves around him silently; unneeded words would only break the feeble spell of calmness surrounding them.

She takes care of everything for him. Wipes his face clean with a damp cloth, presses a cool spoon to his eyes so they will not appear swollen and bloodshot. He changes into a fresh tunic, and allows her to comb his hair and powder his face to disguise the redness of his cheeks and nose.

They stand together before the ornate mirror, both of them dressed in matching red and black. She helps him pin the cloak onto his tunic, fastening it to his right shoulder with a silver dragon brooch. Jace holds her gaze in their reflection, hoping to convey with gestures the emotions words fail to do. She understands; she always does.

He is rewarded with a kiss on the cheek, and while it does not manage to coax a smile out of him, it fills his veins with a pleasant tickling warmth, the same he felt after their first kiss and the one he hopes to feel until his last breath.

Her fingers run up his arms gently, tracing the embroiders and trimmings of the doublet. They come to rest on his shoulders and gently push them back, straightening his posture and puffing out his chest. The right index continues the ascent, tracing the curve of the neck and the still sharpening line of the jawline before settling under his chin, pushing upwards ever so slightly to lift his head. Urging him to hold himself with pride. To unapologetically show the world that he is cracked, but not broken.

She comes to stand before him at last, smoothing down nonexistent creases from his clothes until nothing but pure perfection remains. They hold each others’ gaze for a few moments, before she reaches up to steal from him a gentle kiss.

“All ready, My Prince.”

This time, he smiles.

#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jace targaryen x reader #jace velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x twin #jace velaryon x twin #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #prince jacaerys velaryon #prince jacaerys #prince jacaerys targaryen #marsie writes

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chansdoll · 3 months ago

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현진 ─── the night we met 2

♡ pairing ៸៸ fratboy!hyunjin x afab!reader genre ៸៸ fluff, angst(ish) ៸៸ cw ៸៸ college!au , kissing , oral (f. & m. rec.) ♡ synopsis ៸៸ hyunjin asks for your forgiveness after the incident in the library. [ 3.9k words ] part one here a/n ๑ this is just to tie up loose ends from the previous part // a bonus smut scene. smut scene is at the end so its skippable if you'd like. also i am so sorry if this seemed rushed. i have covid and i feel like its affecting my ability to produce good writing :( ♡ masterlist

winter break passed, leaving behind a mixture of restlessness and anxiety about returning to campus. you’d buried yourself in family dinners and late-night movies, trying to distract yourself from the gnawing thoughts of hyunjin. but no matter how hard you tried, his face—and that moment—lingered in your mind like an unfinished sentence.

the day you returned to campus, the weight of reality hit like a freight train. you tried to focus on unpacking, on preparing for the semester ahead, but the knock at your door pulled you out of your thoughts.

when you opened it, hyunjin was there, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. his expression was unreadable—equal parts hesitant and determined.

“can we talk?” he asked softly.

your first instinct was to slam the door, but the look in his eyes stopped you. there was something raw and unguarded there, and as much as you wanted to hate him, you couldn’t deny the tiny part of you that needed answers.

you stepped aside reluctantly, letting him in. he stood near the door, as if afraid to intrude further.

“i owe you an explanation,” he began, his voice steady but laced with guilt. “i know what you saw in the library. and i’m not going to lie—it looks bad. it was bad. but it’s not what you think.”

you crossed your arms, leaning against your desk. “then what was it? because from where i stood, it seemed pretty straightforward.”

hyunjin winced at the sharpness in your tone but didn’t shy away. “the girl you saw… her name’s mira. we used to date. it ended a while ago, but she reached out recently, saying she wanted to talk and clear the air between us. i didn’t think much of it, so i agreed to meet her.”

he paused, his gaze dropping to the floor. “when we were talking, she said she still had feelings for me. i told her i didn’t feel the same way, but… she kissed me. i didn’t expect it. i didn’t even know how to react at first. i was caught off guard.”

you narrowed your eyes. “you didn’t exactly seem to be fighting her off.”

“i froze,” he admitted, his voice heavy with regret. “and i hate that i did. the moment it happened, i knew how bad it looked, and i should’ve stopped her sooner. but it didn’t mean anything to me, i swear. i pushed her away afterward, but by then, you were already gone.”

silence hung between you like a fragile thread, and hyunjin took a tentative step closer.

“i should’ve come to you right away, explained everything,” he continued. “but i didn’t know how. i was afraid you wouldn’t believe me—or worse, that you’d believe me and still think i wasn’t worth trusting.”

you felt a lump rising in your throat, a war waging inside you. his words sounded genuine, but the memory of that kiss was still fresh, a bitter sting you couldn’t shake.

“why should i believe you now?” you asked quietly.

hyunjin met your gaze, his dark eyes filled with earnestness. “because i care about you. i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t. i know i messed up, but i’m willing to do whatever it takes to fix it—to earn your trust back.”

you bit your lip, torn between anger, hurt, and the flicker of hope his words stirred.

you studied hyunjin’s face, searching for any hint of dishonesty. his eyes didn’t waver, and the weight of his words hung heavy in the room. still, the ache in your chest wouldn’t let up so easily.

“i don’t know, hyunjin,” you said, your voice quieter now, the edge in it dulling. “i want to believe you. i really do. but that doesn’t erase what i saw or how it made me feel.”

he nodded slowly, his shoulders sagging as though he’d been expecting that response. “i get it. i do. and i don’t want to pressure you into forgiving me right away. i just… i needed you to know the truth.”

you turned away, fiddling with the edge of your desk. the silence stretched, broken only by the faint hum of your heater. “this isn’t just about the kiss,” you admitted, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. “it’s about trust. and i don’t know if i can just snap my fingers and have that back.”

hyunjin exhaled sharply, as though your words had hit him straight in the chest. “i don’t expect you to,” he said. “but i’m willing to work for it, if you’ll let me. even if it takes a long time. even if it means starting over.”

you turned back to him, unsure of what to say. his sincerity was disarming, but the weight of your emotions made it impossible to make a decision in the moment.

“maybe,” you said carefully, “i need time to figure out what i want.”

hyunjin nodded again, though disappointment flickered in his eyes. “take all the time you need,” he said softly. “i just hope you know how much you mean to me. i’ll wait, no matter how long it takes.”

you swallowed hard, his words tugging at something deep inside you. “okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

hyunjin gave you a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “i’ll leave you to think,” he said, stepping toward the door. “but if you ever want to talk—or even just yell at me—i’ll be here.”

he left without another word, the door clicking softly behind him.

as soon as he was gone, you sank onto your bed, burying your face in your hands. you wanted to cry, to scream, to let it all out—but instead, you sat there, staring at the space where he’d been standing moments ago.

your heart was at war with your mind, but for some reason you just couldn’t let it go–let him go.

you watched the door for a long moment after it closed, hyunjin’s words echoing in your mind. he’d been honest—at least, it felt like he had—and his remorse seemed genuine. still, the hurt was fresh, and the memory of him with someone else still stung, even if you two weren’t an established couple.

but deep down, you couldn’t ignore the tug in your chest, the part of you that didn’t want to let him go.

before you could overthink it, you got up and swung the door open. hyunjin was just a few steps away, his head down, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“wait,” you called softly.

he froze, his shoulders tensing before he slowly turned around. his eyes searched yours, hesitant, as if he didn’t dare to hope.

you stepped into the hallway, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to shield against the vulnerability of what you were about to say. “i’m not saying i’m not hurt,” you began, your voice steady but soft. “and i’m not saying this won’t take time. but… i don’t want to lose what we have.”

hyunjin’s eyes widened slightly, the weight of your words sinking in. “you mean that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

you nodded, feeling your chest tighten. “i do. but you have to understand, hyunjin, trust isn’t something i can just flip a switch on. you’ll have to earn it back. and i need to know you’re willing to do that.”

“i am,” he said immediately, his tone firm and unwavering. “i’ll do whatever it takes. i just—thank you. for giving me this chance.”

you offered him a small, tentative smile, still guarding your heart but allowing a flicker of hope to shine through. “don’t make me regret it.”

“i won’t,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “i promise.”

the two of you stood there for a moment, the air between you heavy but no longer suffocating. slowly, hyunjin reached out, his hand hovering just over yours. you hesitated for a brief second before letting him take it, his warmth grounding you in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

the weeks following your decision to reconcile with hyunjin were a quiet, steady process of rebuilding. things didn’t instantly return to what they were, but there was a new foundation to work from—one based on honesty, slow steps, and open conversations. hyunjin had shown you through his actions that he was serious about making things right. it wasn’t just about words anymore; it was about proving his commitment.

at first, it felt like a delicate dance, both of you carefully navigating the space between you. you found yourselves texting more frequently, and the conversations were different this time—deeper, more thoughtful. he would ask you how you were feeling, not just about school but about life in general. and, in turn, you asked him about the things he usually kept private: his passions for art, his childhood memories, his fears.

there were moments where you still hesitated. small things would trigger a reminder of the hurt you’d felt, and in those moments, you would pull back slightly, needing time to recalibrate. but hyunjin respected that. he never rushed you, never pressured you. instead, he was patient. every time you would let a wall down, he would respond with kindness, not with expectations but with understanding.

one evening, after a quiet dinner at your place—just the two of you—hyunjin turned to you with a soft smile, a quiet sincerity in his eyes. “i meant it, you know,” he said, his voice steady but carrying that vulnerability you had come to know. “i’ll keep proving i’m worth your trust.”

you met his gaze and nodded, your heart opening in a way it hadn’t before. "i know," you said softly, a genuine smile curving on your lips. "you’re doing just that."

it was the small, everyday moments that slowly reknit the trust between you two. he would walk you home after late study sessions, his hand resting casually on the small of your back, a simple, comforting gesture that reminded you he was still there. you would study together at the library, him occasionally glancing up from his books to catch your eye with a smile that made the weight of midterms feel lighter.

in time, the hurt that once lingered began to fade, replaced with a deeper connection. you shared more—your thoughts, your dreams, your fears—and hyunjin reciprocated with an openness that made you feel closer to him than ever before. you realized that he hadn’t just kissed the other girl on impulse; there had been something else beneath that action, something he had to reflect on and learn from.

one afternoon, as you and hyunjin sat on a park bench near the art building, you turned to him, watching him sketch the sunset. the golden hues of the sky reflected in his eyes, and for a moment, you simply took him in—how much he had grown, how much you had grown.

"you’ve come a long way," you said quietly. "and i have, too."

he glanced up, meeting your gaze, his lips curving into a soft smile. "yeah. i think we both have."

you leaned in slightly, the space between you two comfortable and easy. hyunjin's fingers brushed yours, and for the first time in a while, there was no hesitation—no uncertainty, just the trust you had both worked so hard to build. you knew, without a doubt, that you were on the path toward something real, something lasting.

as the weeks turned into months, your relationship deepened. you celebrated the victories, like making it through tests or a successful art exhibit hyunjin had been part of. and you supported each other through the challenges—nights when stress weighed heavy, when old fears resurfaced, but you faced them together.

it was one night, after you two came stumbling into your dorm, both a little tipsy from wine and full from the dinner he paid for, when hyunjin decided to take the next steps with you. he clung to you as you both maneuvered around your dorm, giggling and muttering sweet words in your ear.

it wasn’t until you felt his hard on pressed against your back that you realized just why he was being so touchy.

hyunjin’s arms circled your waist from behind as he rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. his hands, firm yet gentle, explored the curve of your hips, making your pulse quicken.

"you’re so beautiful," he murmured softly, his voice low and full of adoration. his lips brushed the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

you turned in his arms to face him, your cheeks flushed from both the wine and the intensity in his gaze. his eyes, dark and full of unspoken emotion, searched yours, silently asking for permission.

“hyunjin…” you whispered, unsure of what to say but unwilling to pull away.

he cupped your face, his thumb tracing your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart race. "tell me if this is too much," he said softly, his forehead resting against yours.

you hesitated for only a moment before nodding, your hands finding their way to his chest. “it’s not too much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

his lips danced with yours, and you were both tangled on the bed, hands roaming each others bodies within mere seconds. hyunjin rubbed the back of your thigh, his hands barely grazing your skirt. “are you sure? we don’t have to, you know.”

you nodded, running your fingers along his hair, then caressing his cheek. “im not quite ready to go all the way, but.. that doesn’t mean we cant do anything, right?” you tilted your head as you asked, a small smile on your face. hyunjin grinned and nodded, giving your thigh a squeeze. “right. we can do whatever you want.” his eyes searched yours, slightly hopeful.

he wanted you. he wanted to make you feel good.

“ill tell you if i want to stop,” you said quietly, before leaning in and connecting your lips with his once again.

hyunjin’s hands continued their exploration, his touch gentle yet firm, as if he was memorizing every inch of you. he kept his movements deliberate, mindful of your boundaries, but his eagerness was evident in the way his breath quickened and his lips grew more fervent against yours.

his fingers traced the edge of your skirt, sending shivers down your spine. when his hand slid under the fabric to rest against the fabric of your panties, you gasped, your body instinctively arching closer to him. he paused, his dark eyes locking onto yours, gauging your reaction. he slowly rubbed your clit through your panties, letting out a choked groan feeling the wet patch.

“tell me if this feels good,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low.

“it does,” you whispered, your fingers tightening their grip on his shirt.

his hand slid under your panties, making you blush and squirm. he broke eye contact to look where his hand was, between your legs. your wetness greeted him immediately, coating his fingers and making his movements slick and quick. “so wet,” he dipped his middle finger against your entrance before bringing his fingertips back up to your clit.

you moaned, too flustered and worked up to respond to him. however, you did open your legs more for him, making him smirk. he leaned down, pressing kisses to your neck. he fought with his inner conscience, debating on if he should move forward with what he was wanting to do.

he gave your lips one last kiss before sitting up and pulling his hand out from your panties. you whined from the loss of contact, but the sight in front of you just spurred you on once more. he sucked your essence off his fingers, pulling off them with a wet pop. “fuck, you taste good..” he kneeled in front of you on the bed, rubbing your thighs. “can i go down on you, baby?”

you squirmed at the boldness of his words, but you nodded. within an instant your skirt was tugged off your legs, along with your panties. hyunjin’s mouth watered as he pried your legs apart, exposing your wet, needy cunt to his gaze.

without hesitation, he laid on his stomach, kissing your inner thighs before planting a kiss right on your mound. he leaned down and inhaled your scent briefly before licking a stripe along your slit. you shivered, the delicate stroke of his tongue making your head spin.

you had never been in this position before, so vulnerable. and you had definitely never felt these sensations before. it was almost too much for you to handle in one night.

hyunjin gave each of your lips a soft suck before his tongue flicked on your clit, making your thighs shake and snake around his head. you let out a whine, your back arching. hyunjins arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you down and against his eager face.

you squirmed, almost running from the intensity of his tongue’s movements. he wrapped his full lips around your clit, giving it a small suckle. you cried out, throwing your head back. he smirked against your sensitive flesh, burying his face into your cunt and suckling more for you.

within mere moments, you came undone, your thighs clamping around his head, daring to suffocate him between your thighs. “o-oh my god,” you panted, your thighs trembling intensely.

he licked you clean, humming at the taste of your nectar before releasing from your lips with a wet pop. he sat up, and ou tugged him back down immediately, needing more kisses. you were all dazed from your orgasm and greedy for more of his touch. he chuckled against your lips, petting your hair gently. “you okay?”

you nodded, your eyes glassy and twinkling with lust. you felt his length prodding against your thigh, and you looked down to see it. the size of it made your tummy twist. hyunjin knew where you were looking, and the sight of you acknowledging it made his cock twitch against you.

“you’re.. so.” you trailed off, licking your lips and looking up into his eyes. “yeah,” he lay next to you, rubbing circles on your hips. “i can help,” you said eagerly. you wanted to make him feel good as well.

he smiled a little, then nodded, laying back as he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. you swallowed nervously, looking him over. he slowly pushed his pants and boxers down, making his cock spring up against his slightly clothed tummy. he looked up at you, sensing your nervousness.

he reached down and stroked himself, looking you over. “have you.. done this before?” he asked, his tone soft and unjudging. you blushed, shaking your head. you knew you wanted to help him, but admittedly, you had never messed around with a guy before. you didn’t even know where to start.

he nodded in understanding, his hand slowing on his shaft. “show me.” you said, just above a whisper. “show me how.”

hyunjins stomach flipped at your words, and he got impossibly harder. he nodded, reaching out for your hand. “okay.. wrap your hand around like this,” he guided you, his hand wrapped around yours as he showed you how to grip and stroke his cock. it was hot, hard, but also strangely squishy.

you quickly got the hang of it, and he let out a low groan, his head falling back into the pillow. “f-fuck, like that,” he muttered, watching your hand pump up and down with more and more confidence. your fist reached all the way up to his tip, gripping and massaging it deliciously. he let out a louder groan this time, his hips bucking.

you blushed, his reactions making heat and wetness pool between your legs again. you felt proud that you were able to make him feel so good with your hand alone, but you wanted to push your limits, you wanted to use your mouth on him too.

so, you leaned down, catching him by surprise. you cautiously licked the bead of precum off his tip, making him shudder. “you don’t have to,” he cupped your cheek, making you nuzzle his palm. “i want to,” you objected, leaning down and licking his tip again, lightly digging your tongue into his slit. you swirled your tongue around, gauging what he liked and what brought you the best reactions.

it didn’t take long for you to have his cock head fully in your mouth as you stroked him. you suckled just the tip for him, your hands stroking the rest of his length. “fuck, you’re a natural,” he muttered, his eyes rolling back as he braced himself for his orgasm. “gonna make me cum already.”

his words spurred you on, and you redoubled your efforts, hollowing your cheeks and suckling with more fervor.

he growled, his hips bucking as he tried to hold back his orgasm. “i-im cumming,” he warned you, his cock twitching in your mouth/hands. you pulled your mouth off, still stroking him through his climax. he fucked your fist, his hand gripping your forearm as he rode out his high. a slew of profanities and babbles left his lips.

his load spurted onto your hand and his tummy, making quite the mess.

for a moment, hyunjin lay there, boneless and spent. however, he didn't want you to sit there with his mess on your hand, so he reached over to your nightstand and grabbed your tissues, helping clean himself and you up.

you both cleaned yourselves up and put on any remainder of clothes that was needed, then you lay together, cuddling for a bit before he spoke up. “did you like everything? it wasn’t too much, was it?”

you shook your head no, smiling up at him. “not at all. it was perfect. thank you.” you beamed, rubbing his chest. he tightened his arm around you, kissing the top of your head. “good.”

the soft glow of the early morning light crept through your dorm curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. you lay nestled in hyunjin’s arms, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing you. for a moment, the world outside your little bubble didn’t exist—no classes, no deadlines, no worries. just the quiet, comforting presence of the boy beside you.

“stay a little longer?” you murmured, your voice still groggy from sleep.

hyunjin glanced at the clock and chuckled softly. “i think i can manage that. besides,” he added, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “i don’t think i’m ready to leave just yet.”

you smiled, closing your eyes as his fingertips traced gentle patterns along your arm. this felt right—easy, natural, and full of something unspoken yet undeniable.

the two of you spent the morning like that, exchanging quiet words and lingering touches. hyunjin opened up about his childhood memories and his dreams of hosting his own art exhibit someday. you shared your aspirations, your fears, and the small, silly details that felt too trivial to tell anyone else but seemed to fascinate him.

eventually, the world started to intrude, as it always does. your phone buzzed with notifications, and hyunjin’s reminder alarm went off, signaling that time was running short. he groaned dramatically, burying his face in your shoulder.

“duty calls,” he sighed.

you laughed softly, nudging him to sit up. “i guess so. but thank you… for everything.”

he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “thank you for trusting me. for letting me be here with you.”

as he laced up his sneakers and prepared to leave, hyunjin paused at the door. his gaze met yours, and there was something in his expression—vulnerability, affection, and a promise unspoken.

“i’ll see you later?”

“definitely.”

tags: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek @babigriin

part 2 taglist: @anniexx17 @gnabnahcbby @skzam03 @stayjinnie @ppeachyttae @merve0320 @micr0c0soms @stay-forever4419 @fallenangel7777777 @hyyunjinnn

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