#I mean that pack did feel slightly lighter so maybe it’s on me that I didn’t notice right away

[bobthebenevolentpirate]

Thanks to the asshole who used a bunch of the roll of stick on wallpaper but left just enough to wrap back around the foam so it looked like none had been used then returned it to Lowe’s, who then put it back out onto the floor where I purchased it without knowing I needed to open it up to make sure the entire roll was actually there. Thanks that was a fun little surprise today

[satoruxx]

PARACOSM OF THE GODS.

PAIRING: gojo satoru x f!reader, geto suguru x f!reader | 11.5k words

SUMMARY: ok here we go, canon au, angst, fluff, best friends being in love, stsg being whipped but unable to express it, reader is clueless as usual, timeskips, canon compliant deaths, bittersweet, longing, mutual pining, emotionally stunted teens, dad!gojo makes an appearance, hopefully that’s it i'm tired of typing

RHEYA'S NOTE: highkey lowkey stressed posting bc this has been sitting in my wips for 4 years now. i honestly didn't have to add much to it i basically just proofread. but yeah when you maladaptive daydream and create a plot where you're a character in jjk and you're also in love with gojo and geto this is what happens. a little sad to let this go but it's time !! plus i can add more parts later. but anyways pls lmk what you think, i'm super curious to know <33

i. the unknown

satoru's first impression of you is anything but kind.  

his words come casually, free into the wind without care, and they aren't meant for you to hear. instead, they fall only to suguru's ears, evoking a deep chuckle and a slight shake of his head. his bangs swish a little with the movement, but satoru is too busy eyeing you over the frame of his shades to notice. 

you're lucky to have not heard it, because the intent with which it was said would have probably made your brow tick with frustration. he says it without a thought, as if he hasn't the slightest bit of interest in you as hints of arrogance fill his tone. 

"who's the rookie?" 

satoru and suguru sit outside against the patio railings of the classroom they had chosen for the day. it overlooks the grounds of the school, where they have a clear view of who approaches the main entrance. suguru absentmindedly clicks his lighter—shoko had gone to get another pack of cigarettes. 

it is from this higher point that they have a clear view of you. you're so obviously new to this, satoru thinks as he watches how you awkwardly stand in front of yaga sensei. 

he already wants to label you as a side character. it's mean, he realizes—cruel even, but he can barely bring himself to care. 

"yaga sensei mentioned that there'd be a new student joining us this week," suguru says, fingering the bangs hanging in front of his eyes. they roam over you with only slight interest before uttering your full name, just as his teacher had said it.

satoru repeats it with a hum. "not a big name or anything. a small-sized family of sorcerers i think." he shrugs carelessly. "but honestly i never really paid attention to all those stupid clan and jujutsu family lessons." 

suguru only responds with a good-natured chuckle, tearing his eyes away from the scene to look at his friend. "no shit." 

the two sit in quiet silence, watching yaga's lips move in structured, emotionless greetings as he shakes your hand. satoru is especially focused on the hunching of your shoulders and the way your eyes nervously dart around. 

suguru is the first to interrupt the peace. 

"maybe she's strong?" 

"are you kidding?" satoru scoffs as he stands up straight, shoving his fists into his pockets. he turns his nose up slightly. "that's not the attitude of someone who's confident in their abilities." 

ii. routine 

"can i ask you guys a question?" 

a cool breeze tickles your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake, and you suppress a shiver. the smell of the air tells you winter is fast approaching. 

"you just did," satoru hums, his snowy hair splayed out against stems of green grass. suguru's chuckle reverberates deep in his chest, and you have to push back an exasperated smile. 

"another one then," you press, leaning over satoru's face to force yourself into his view. his blue eyes pierce through yours over the dark-rimmed frames of his glasses, and even after seeing them so many times, they still feel as dominating as the first. he hums again, and you take that as your cue. 

"what did you first think of me when we met all those months ago?" 

satoru sits up quickly, and you can already feel your shoulders dropping when you catch a glimpse of the teasing smirk on his lips. he shifts so that he's directly facing you, leaning close so that the two of you are barely a palm's distance from one another. 

"thought you were an annoying little rookie~" he sings and you immediately shove at his shoulder.

"'m not a rookie anymore," you huff, and satoru laughs joyously. suguru only grins, his eyes darting between the two of you happily. satoru moves himself into a proper sitting position, digging his long fingers into your bag of chips and popping one into his mouth. you swat at his hand, even though you don't mean it, because though you complain about gojo satoru all the time, you would give him the whole world if you could. 

you and satoru take turns reaching into the bag. you wonder if the sound of crunching disturbs suguru. he's not asleep—he's just doing that thing where he keeps his eyes closed and escapes to his own land of tranquility. you'd like to give him as much peace as you can, so you stay quiet. satoru does too, but you think that's just because you aren't talking to him. 

the quiet is nice when you're with them. sometimes silence makes you feel alone—paranoid. it feels like there is some impending doom hovering over your shoulder, and all you can do is wait for it to come. but with them it is different. you know that any danger in the quiet will be caught by the two of them. maybe that's why it's so easy to let your guard down around them. you trust that they won't let you die.  

"i thought you were weak," satoru pipes up after a few minutes of silence. "you didn't seem like you were confident in your abilities, and that's a sign of weakness." 

after spending so much time with satoru and suguru, the word weak has permeated almost every one of your conversations. later you learned how much more significant it was for them to label someone as strong. you chase after the word—crave it.

"and turns out that wasn't true." suguru adds with a smile, his head leaning back against the trunk of the tree. his eyes are still closed serenely and you wonder if he can feel the way you're gazing at him. 

"yeah and now you act like some big hotshot," satoru grumbles, as though he doesn't want to admit to his old mistake, but you can hear his smile. it annoys you, the way his once degrading little nickname has now somewhat turned into a term of endearment. you would rather die than admit that you like hearing him say it. 

"well, I'm glad that i was able to prove you both wrong."

the conversation ends there. 

shoko returns a few minutes later, tossing you a can of soda and suguru a pack of cigarettes. as soon as she sits down in her spot under the tree you're forcing your head into her lap and kicking your feet onto satoru's legs. you ignore his complaints, because you know that in just a little bit he'll quiet down and his hand will rest over your ankle, fingers soft but firm. they'll occasionally drum some rhythmic tune, or draw nonsensical patterns against your skin.

shoko's fingers thread through your hair, just like they always do, and you know that in a few minutes you'll doze off in her lap, just like you always do. it's clockwork, this thing that you have with them. they make the days keep going—time doesn't stop for you. 

a part of you wishes you could freeze time at that moment. 

but you can't. 

iii. halcyon

"hey suguru?"

"hm?"

"how come you always do your hair the same way?"

suguru glances up from his book. he's seated at your desk, and for a minute, the breeze pushes your curtains so that they block your view of him. satoru groans lightly from your left, turning on his side to snuggle deeper into your pillow, and slumber overtakes him once more. him and shoko remain quiet, faces free of worry as they dream in a land that is so unlike the real world you live in.

"what do you mean?" suguru asks in response to your question. he has an amused smile on his face as he places his book on your desk, though his thumb and pointer finger keep his page.

"well…" you suddenly feel stupid for asking, but he's looking at you so intently now. "you have such nice hair. you could style it in so many different ways."

"are you saying you don't like my hair the way it is?" he frowns.

"no no!" you scramble, shaking your head emphatically. quite the opposite actually you think he's so so attractive—how on earth did you screw this up so badly? "that's not it i just—"

he laughs, tilting his head fondly. "i'm just messing with you, hotshot."

you blanch, before crossing your arms with a huff. "asshole…"

he chuckles, before lifting a calloused hand up to finger the tie that holds his hair in a bun. he glances back at you, before a michevious smile settles on his face. he gives the tie one sharp tug, and the bun falls away. black hair drops, resting on his shoulders, and you stare at him—oddly parched. wind brushes through the open window, tickling your curtains, tickling his now open hair. you had seen his hair down before, of course. in the few seconds after a sparring session when the bun had gotten loose, or when too many strands escaped the tie and fell in front of his face (he always pushed them away with an agitated huff). but now he looks different—good, you realize. he looks good.

"how should i style it then, hotshot?"

his question shakes you out of your daze. you hum in contemplation. "i don't know."

he laughs quietly, as to not wake the other two. "didn't you just say there were so many ways to style it? enlighten me then," he teases, reaching over to grab a small scrap of paper from your desk. he slots it where his fingers are holding place, and then closes the book. he swivels in the chair to face you completely, rolling over so that he's right in front of you.

"well…" you start, biting your lip in thought. "a ponytail maybe?"

suguru bunches his hair into his fist, holding it up against his head. "and? how do i look?"

you grin, eyeing the new style with a stifled laugh. "fantastic."

he laughs again, louder this time, before dropping his hand.

"it looked good though!" you laugh and he rolls his eyes fondly.

"yeah yeah," he dismisses with a wave of his hand. he looks back at you, eyes tracing over your hair before he grins wide.

"i like yours."

you blink. "mine?"

"the way you did your hair today," he points to the half up-half down style you've thrown together. a dark blue ribbon holds the hair in place—satoru had said it matched nicely with your uniform. suguru's eyes gleam as he appraises it. "it's nice. it looks really pretty on you."

something in your chest feels like it fell off a cliff.

"oh—" you stumble, before smiling at him because that's all you can do when he makes you feel like this. "thanks suguru."

"do mine like that," he says quickly.

once again, you blink owlishly and all you can manage is a stupid "huh?"

"do my hair like that," he repeats, getting up from the chair to sit at your feet, back towards you. he crosses his legs and puts his hands in his lap, patiently waiting.

"you can't do it yourself?" you tease, scooting closer to the edge of the bed.

"i can," he replies and you can hear the easy smile in his voice. "but i want you to do it for me."

"okay then!" you laugh before gently parting sections of his hair out. and then you work in silence, putting more effort into his hair than you've ever done with your own.

iv. fragility

"lady riko does not have any relations. when she was young, her family was involved in an accident…since then, i've been her caretaker. so please let her at least spend time with her fr—" 

"—so that makes you her family then." 

suguru's words seem to stun kuroi, the weight of riko's situation finally making itself clear as her face crumbles. 

"…yes." 

you listen to the way her voice wobbles, and try to suppress the poisonous lump forming in your throat. 

"then we do everything we can to make her happy," you say solemnly, leaving no room for argument. suguru seems to agree and says nothing—some deeper part of you feels something more than thankful towards him. 

"you're awfully sensitive for a jujustu sorcerer, you know that?" satoru comments offhandedly. you turn to look at him, meeting his piercing gaze over dark rims. 

"maybe," you concur. "is that considered weak?" 

satoru seems to ponder his answer, before shrugging, a light smile on his face. "to some people, maybe." 

you manage to smile back, and he takes in the expression with an odd look on his face. "say what you want, satoru. but you agree with me, don't you?" 

he looks away, eyes gazing out to the distance where you know riko is currently in class with her friends, trying to live the life she wants, and something in them softens considerably. 

"we'll do things the way she wants us to." 

it's one sentence, said without a smile or laugh, but hearing it fall from satoru's lips makes you beam at him. 

that's just your kindness, isn't it, satoru?

your heart leaps when you notice the tips of his ears tinge with rouge. 

v. longing

riko's hand is warm against the coolness of your fingers. your body feels hyperaware of your surroundings, toes deep in hot sand and salty air sticking to your skin. for some odd reason, you can't seem to relax. unconsciously, you tighten your grip around the young girl's palm. she glances up at you, but when you look down at her, she's wearing the biggest smile you've ever seen. 

satoru's presence makes itself known behind you—his shadow looms over yours in the sand. "it'll be fine," he says.

you can't see his face, nor can you see suguru who stands at his side, but your shoulders drop slightly, and you find yourself smiling back at riko. 

"i'm getting in the water!" she squeals eagerly, before dragging a helpless kuroi with her. satoru laughs—a clear, pristine sound—and follows after her. you watch the three of them with a fond smile, something akin to content settling deep within you.  

"and what are you planning on doing?" suguru asks. you turn to look at him, watching the way his heavy eyes stay focused on you. 

"hmm," you quirk a brow mischievously. "build sandcastles with me?" 

suguru blinks owlishly before he breaks out into a good-natured laugh. 

"deal." he walks closer to the water's edge, where the sand is damper, and crouches down. he turns to look at you over his shoulder. "don't make me do all the work, hotshot." 

you stand there, taking him in—really taking him in. he's just as clear as the sky behind him, and the sun shining on his face makes his smile glow. you want him to continue smiling at you like that well into the future. the waves crash onto the shore, as though the ocean is chasing his radiance, and an overwhelming feeling of unfiltered affection swells in your chest. 

your feet carry you forward, and you think that they might always lead you back to him. 

the sun rises as time passes, and occasionally you spare a glance at satoru and riko, who are screaming as they splash water at one another. and then you catch a glimpse of kuroi, who stands with her feet in the water, a soft smile on her face. 

and in that moment, nothing can be ruined. 

"what's wrong?" suguru's voice calls out, and you tear your gaze away from the others to look back at him. he stands behind you with two strawberry ice cream cones in his hands. 

"nothing," you hum, a serene smile on your face. "everything's perfect."

his eyes trace your face, stopping to linger on your smile, and they soften. "it is, isn't it?" 

he turns to the ocean, watching satoru and riko, and his eyes sparkle. "i hope it stays like this always." 

"me too." 

he bends down to take his place at your side before he hands you a cone. you take it from him. suguru's eyes drift away from you to look down at his castle. 

"i think it looks great," he expresses, before taking a lick of his ice cream. 

you roll your eyes with a huff. "yeah, because you made it look so nice. you're unnecessarily good at this, suguru." 

he laughs, waving his hand dismissively. "no no, we did it together! and yours is nice too!" 

"maybe," you grin, looking at his castle. "but yours is extra pretty." 

he smiles back, before pointing at a small hole in his sand tower. "see this room? it's yours." 

"mine?" you chuckle.

"yeah, all yours," he hums softly. "this is my castle and you get your own room." 

"oh? and why's that?" 

suguru's gaze lingers on you, and his dark eyes soften considerably. "because you'll always have a place in my home." 

you stare at him, speechless—something hammers away at the inner crevices of your chest. 

"and this one—" he points to another hole a few inches away from the first. "—is my room." 

"well in that case, that room is mine too!" you declare.

"what?" he barks out a laugh. "how does that work?" 

"well…" you grin at him, the sun burning into your cheeks. "because my home is wherever you are!" 

suguru's cheeky smile fades and his eyes widen. he looks at you, mouth agape, and you're about to say something else before sticky coolness trickles down your wrist. 

"ack!" you hurry to wipe away the strawberry ice cream dripping down your skin and you completely miss the red that creeps up his neck and seeps into his ears. 

vi. ice bath

shoko's fingers are unbelievably soft. you're grateful that you were unconscious through most of her procedures on your battered body—you don't think you would've handled the pain too well. she's quiet as she works over the large wound that now covers almost half of your torso. the man with the scar on his lip had done quite the number on you, and you don't think you'll ever forget the searing ache of his blade slicing through your flesh. he had left you in a bloodied pile, isolated, and you hadn't seen what had happened to suguru after the man shot riko. you could only lay there, vision swimming as a bitter taste filled your mouth—a reminder of the life you failed to protect.

the pain had been the only thing you could focus on, until satoru was on his knees at your side and tightly gripping your shoulders. your hazy focus was drawn to his lips as he spewed curses and insults at you. 

"why didn't you run away, you little shit," he had shouted, a feral look in his eyes. there was something different about him—a change in his very being that you could see even in the throes of death. "shoko's coming, do you hear me? for fuck's sake, keep your eyes open, hotshot!" 

you swore you saw his eyes shine behind that look of uncontrolled anger. he had been talking a mile a minute and your focus had waned until you could only see his lips move, no sound reaching your ears.

you've never thought satoru looked more godly than he did at that moment.

suguru eventually found his way into your field of vision—knelt at satoru's side. his large hand had squeezed your limp fingers in a death grip. he was sweating, and his eyes were darting back and forth between your pale face and bloodied torso, something akin to guilt swimming in them. you wished that you had the strength in you to squeeze his hand in return. the last thing you remember seeing is his dark hair falling in front of his face as he turned to shout at whoever was approaching.

now you're awake. disoriented and bleary, but awake, and all you can look at is the way shoko's bangs fall over her furrowed brows. she's taken care of the bleeding, and now all that's left is a dull throbbing, reminding you of how close you had toed the line with death. you don't know this yet, but the scar will remain for the rest of your life, and that dull throbbing will be a permanent reminder of your narrow escape. 

shoko hasn't said a word since she noticed your eyelids flutter open. you want to ask her so many things. important things that cannot wait: 

where's satoru? how about suguru? i saw them both. satoru's alive, right? and suguru, too? the man—with the scar. where did he go? he said that satoru—riko….where is riko? and—and kuroi…i—i..couldn't save riko. when did you get here, shoko? and why am i the only one who's being taken care of by you? 

you want to ask her. but she's making a very odd expression as her hands ghost over your body. you've never seen it before, this odd quirking of her lips. her teeth sink into the bottom one, and she chews and bites and nibbles like it's some kind of nervous tell. 

"shoko?" 

it's all you can manage to say—all you dare. your voice is dry, shaky, and sounds almost foreign to your ears. you're going to ask more, at least one of those thousand questions you had asked in your head earlier, but you don't get to because she speaks before you. 

"shut up," she spits, and the wobble in her voice has you pinching your lips shut and feeling closer to death than you did before. 

vii. acid rain

the sound of clapping is deafening. you don't think you've ever heard a sound so horrid in your life before, and you feel as though your ears are bleeding heavily. you can faintly make out the conversation between satoru and suguru, your ears struggling to pick out the tones of their voices. 

"no…" you hear suguru say quietly. "it doesn't matter if I'm fine…"

you can feel satoru's eyes roam over your motionless body, watching the way you gaze out into the crowd impassively. 

"let's get out of here, guys."

your feet carry you numbly, and you aren't aware of anything except the way riko's arm is swinging in front of you lifelessly. there are no mirrors around—no way of catching the track of tears cutting over your cheeks. the places where the salt touches burn like acid. you say nothing. 

satoru's gaze feels intrusive. he doesn't need to ask you anything—he just knows. it's like your body is radiating the emotions tumbling around in your gut. 

you're awfully sensitive for a jujutsu sorcerer, you know that?

"do you want to…kill them all?" 

the question stuns you, and for the first time, you can shake yourself out of your daze to look at satoru directly. blood is smeared over the left side of his face, cerulean eyes dimmed, as though something had pulled the shine out of them. red seeps into the fine hairs of his restless eyebrows. 

"right now, i probably wouldn't even feel anything," he continues, staring at you listlessly.

you think satoru might be feeling just as numb as you are. you don't know what happened to him yet. the last you had heard, gojo satoru had been killed by the man with the scar. he had boasted about it to you before he attempted to kill you too. but then satoru was at your side again, completely alive as he ran your battered body to shoko like a crazed man. 

you'll find out later who the man with the scar on his lip was, and what kind of legacy he had left behind. but for right now, all you see is a teenager with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and you know your answer.

satoru could help the pain go away; he'd be able to make the clapping stop—maybe then your ears wouldn't bleed anymore. but you couldn't ask that of him. 

"forget it. it's pointless," suguru mutters, and you're glad he's on the same page as you. not because any of these people deserve pity, but because satoru deserves a break—one less burden for him to carry. 

you hear suguru say more, but you can't focus. you continue to listen to the sound of the clapping, and once again lose yourself as you stare at riko's bloodied fingertips. 

"pointless, huh?" satoru mumbles in response to suguru's answer. "does there need to be a reason?" 

"of course. it's important," suguru's voice doesn't carry the same pleasant tone it always does. instead, it sounds strained, and tired beyond belief. unsure. "especially as jujutsu sorcerers." 

satoru doesn't respond, but you know that he's measuring the weight of his friend's words. that's how it was with the two of them. they both balance each other out—their moral compasses influenced by one another. but then you feel satoru look up from riko's body and turn to you. suguru follows suit, and before you can wonder why, it hits you: satoru had asked you both. 

you suck a deep breath in, feeling unusually breathless. the flesh of your stomach tingles with a painful reminder of what might've been, and you make up your mind. 

"killing them won't change anything," you say, breaking your silence. the tears on your cheeks have dried, but they leave a rigid trail in their wake—a trail that still stings. "let's just leave it at that." 

viii. fever dreams

satoru lies next to you. 

a few nights have passed since riko's death, and you've chosen to stay holed up in your room. you're not sure why—death has always played a big role in your life. you don't understand why it's different this time. 

tonight is different as well. while you've maintained a distance from everyone since that day, save for classes and passing by people on school grounds, today you've decided to let someone in. satoru's the lucky one, mostly because he would've pestered you until you opened your door for him anyway. 

it's strange though. he had knocked over and over, and when you finally opened up with a snappy jab at his annoying personality, he had brushed straight past you and laid across your bed. he hadn't said a word since then, and you've found yourself lying next to him in silence for quite a while. 

his hand stretches out in the darkness and you can feel his fingertips brush over the skin of your arm. it's delicate, like he's testing his limits, but you understand. it's just to ground himself—to know that you're still here, with him. to be sure that you're still alive.

you think the scar that goes down your body bothers him a lot more than it bothers you. 

"'m here," you mumble sleepily. your fingers reach up to bump against his knuckles, and you hear him inhale deeply. his voice is throaty when he replies. 

"i know." 

ix. doubt

satoru learns that you've never been kissed before and he teases you for it.

not in a mean way, but in a way that has your cheeks heating and your eyes avoiding his. suddenly it feels like the gap between ages 16 and 17 is huge. he's barely even a year older than you and you're in the same year, but it feels as though he knows so much more about the world than you do. you want to ask suguru if it's bad that you've never had a kiss, but you don't. suguru rarely talks these days. sometimes he'll have conversations with you but won't look in your eyes when he speaks. 

"hey listen, hotshot. if you don't get a kiss by…" satoru hums, an eager smile on his face as he swings an arm around your shoulders and contemplates his words. "…let's say 27, then i'll give one to you!" 

there's an odd note of glee in his voice. 

"shut up, toru," you groan, heat flooding your cheeks. "quit joking around." 

he laughs loudly, pulling your cheek teasingly. "aw, i'm just playing. it's not a bad thing i promise!" 

your shoulders relax slightly as the snowy-haired sorcerer continues to speak. 

"i just thought that you would've kissed someone by now," he shrugs. "wasn't there that one guy you went on a few dates with? the one you met when we went to yokohama?" 

there's an almost sour expression on his face as he speaks, but you're too frustrated to care. "just because i went on a couple of dates with him doesn't mean i kissed him!"

a broad teasing smile appears on satoru's face. "is that so?" 

"ugh, i'm only 16!" you hiss, shoving him away from you. "besides i'm saving it for someone special!"

"good," you hear suguru speak up, and you turn to look at him. his fingers are interlocked, elbows resting on his knees, and he's staring down at his hands like they hold the answers to some deep questions he has. "it is something irreplaceable after all." 

x. shadow

satoru's grin is proud as he stands before the three of you, his loose shirt billowing in the summer breeze.

you stare at him, heart thumping as shoko lets out a confused gasp. "huh? what the hell was that?"

"did it automatically choose the target for your technique?" suguru asks.

"yep!" satoru stresses the word, spinning the pencil suguru had thrown as he explains. "though i am the target. i've pretty much automated what i used to have to do manually."

your head is spinning.

"now i can tell an object's danger levels based the strength of its cursed energy, its speed, mass, velocity, shape—whatever. i want to be able to discern poisons too but that's pretty hard right now." satoru's voice is even when he explains, though you can make out the hints of pride that permeate his tones. you think his voice has gotten a little deeper too. "basically this is gonna allow me to keep my limitless technique active all the time!"

"that's gonna fry your brain!" shoko interjects, shaking her hair out of her eyes.

"yeah but i can do it while i continuously generate energy on my own. that way my brain stays fresh."

you can't help but let out an amused scoff. "what brain?"

satoru chucks the eraser at you, and you laugh as it bounces off your shoulder harmlessly.

"i've been working on shortening my hand signals so i can activate red and blue simultaneously." he continues, lips twitching upward as he gives you an exaggerated glare. "after this the only things i need to work on are domain expansion and long-distance teleportation. which i should be able to do if we set up some training courses here at school."

you think if someone examined you closely, they would see the stars in your eyes when you look at satoru.

"shoko~" he calls out, grinning eagerly. "think you could get me some lab rats?"

shoko groans as satoru bounds over to pester her more emphatically. you watch him, thinking you've never seen a person quite so magnificent.

god personified into a 17-year-old body. and yet it is a body that stays so close to you—well within your reach. maybe there's nothing so godly about that at all.

"don't you get tired of getting stronger and stronger, jeez?" you complain, crossing your arms as you raise a brow at him. satoru wets his lips as he throws you a smug smile.

"don't worry hotshot, you'll catch up to me someday!" he gives you an exaggerated wink over the frames of his glasses, and you shake your head somewhat fondly.

"no way! i never want to be at your level," you huff. "i'm very comfortable living in your shadow, thank you very much!"

a strange look passes over his face, almost puzzled, but the dip in his brows melts away as he approaches you. "well—" he slings an arm over your shoulder. "if my shadow makes you happy then you're more than welcome to stay there."

you don't have time to reply. pale lashes flutter at you—a backdrop of cerulean. you think white and blue may be the prettiest combination of colors in the world.

"suguru?" satoru's voice is casual, yet the amusement has dropped from it. his arm is heavy around your shoulders. "have you lost weight? are you okay?"

you look up, seeing tired eyes behind dark stands of hair. suguru's cheekbones are prominent, and you have the sudden urge to reach out and trace your fingers over them.

his lips twitch upward weakly. "it's just the summer heat…"

his lavender eyes drift to your face as he says it, and he tilts his head as he scrutinizes your worried expression. "…i'll be fine."

xi. hellfire

you hear suguru before you see him.

his breaths come loud as he pushes the door to the morgue open, the metal clanging heavily. his eyes bore into your back, taking in your clenched fists and raised shoulders that seem to tremble.

you wonder who told suguru you'd be here. maybe nanami, who was here not long ago, and had sent you a text that merely said: the mission went badly.

or maybe it was satoru, who had been chatting with you near the entrance of campus when he saw the myriad of emotions pass over your face as you read the text. he had probably called suguru as soon as you left.

it doesn't matter—you can't bring yourself to care.

you can only think about the way haibara had smiled at you before he left that morning.

now that smile is covered by a dirty white sheet, and you can't tear your eyes away from it. the taste of blood and vomit is heavy on your tongue.

suguru says your name quietly. you can't even look at him—you're scared that you'll cry if you do.

you don't ever want to cry in front of him. or satoru—so weak in front of those who are so strong.

"he asked if i wanted to go with them and i said no because i was lazy," you hiss, teeth clenched as you spit out the words with venom. "if i had just stopped thinking about myself for a second—"

your fingers dig into the flesh of your palms—deep, deep, deeper.

you hear suguru click his tongue, and his hands wrap around yours. he yanks your fingers apart fiercely, thumbs smoothing over the bloodied indents you've made in your own skin. you tear your eyes away from the body to finally look at him.

"don't—" his breath catches as his thumbs still over your flesh, eyes going hard as he takes in the blood.

he blurs in and out of focus. his head whips up when he hears you sniffle, and his lips slant ruefully. "you—"

"i'm fine," you interrupt, blinking pointedly and taking a deep breath. "it's fine—i mean it's not fine—but i c—"

"stop." suguru grabs your shoulders, giving you an even stare. you don't know how you didn't notice it before, but he looks thinner, older. there are dark circles under his eyes—poison seeping into his skin. "you need to rest."

you stare back at him silently, but you don't feel like you agree. something about this is making you feel restless, like there is so much you need to make up for. his grip tightens, before he's wordlessly leading you to take a seat—he finds his place next to you.

"satoru took over the mission." he stares at the lifeless body on the table as he speaks. you lower your gaze.

"and nanami?" your throat feels like it's closing. suguru inhales deeply.

"he went back to the dorms."

"okay."

you try to figure out if there is any meaning in having this conversation. despite everything, weren't you expected to wake up tomorrow morning and head out on a mission once more? and when you return, you're sure that there'll be another faceless body taking haibara's place.

the cycle continues—clockwork. it scares you, just how replaceable you are.

haibara, nanami, you, another, nameless—interchangeable.

not like satoru. not like suguru. not like the strong.

you lean your head against suguru's shoulder, fingering the hem of your uniform skirt. the fabric is cool to the touch—it seems darker, heavier. heat radiates from the body next to you, and there's something about him that's making your stomach churn with nerves. "suguru?"

his voice sounds far away. "hm?"

"are you okay?"

he stiffens and you suddenly fear you've said too much—nosy, intruding, out of place. you stumble. "it's just, we haven't talked much lately."

"i'm fine," he answers, and you can hear a smile in his voice—whether it's real or fake you can't tell. "just a little tired."

you know there is truth to this. but it scares you, how this tiredness of his has lingered for months. you don't know how to tell him that.

"okay…" your voice is barely a whisper, heavy with unspoken words that you don't know how to formulate. somehow you find that silence has always been your only option.

but like usual, silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable.

haibara's smile burns behind your eyelids.

"it should be a relatively simple mission. if you're not doing anything today senpai, would you like to come with us?"

his voice tickles your ears.

"that's alright! i'll get going then! oh right, today's mission is a little farther than usual, so we'll probably be back late! what would you like me to bring back for you?" 

hypoxia crushes your lungs, your blood burns. selfish selfish selfish. you've only ever cared about yourself.

suguru's arm curls around your shoulder before you even realize you're crying. his palm is warm as it smooths over your hair, and all you can worry about tainting him with your ridiculous tears.

you don't ever want to burden him—just want to quietly live in his shadow.

"i don't—" you internally cringe at the throaty rasp of your voice, swiping a hand at your nose. "i shouldn't be so sensitive about—"

"it's not your fault." he quietly hushes you, grip tightening imperceptibly. through your tears you can see him adam's apple bob, and for some reason that makes you feel worse. you're too scared to look at his expression, even though his voice is resolute. "none of this is our fault."

something has changed in the way he speaks now. something has settled, a confirmation of some idea that has been brewing for a long time now.

you don't say another word, but somehow he manages to sear himself into your very being. he's warm, and fuzzy, and he smells like sandalwood and incense. 

you don't know how long suguru let's you pathetically sob into his shoulder.

but you think you're embarrassed that he has taken pity on a wounded animal's cries.

xii. split

he looks different, but also the same. you've seen him wear that sweater before. it's plain black, no patterns, and you know that there's a loose string on the inside of the left sleeve that he was always too lazy to cut. you've always liked that sweater—always liked the way he looked in it. 

you liked it so much that you've even stolen it a few times yourself. 

but now it looks different. older and dirtier—as though soiled by some unknown curse. 

that's what everything came down to, right? curses. 

suguru stands in front of you, almost no trace of emotion on his handsome face, and his expression makes you want to turn and run. you miss the calm serenity that normally graced his features, wishing that you had some kind of cursed technique that could turn back time. but you aren't blessed like that—you wonder what sin you might've committed in a past life that made you so unlucky in this one. 

"you look confused," he comments. you reel at how casually he speaks to you, like it's just another afternoon sitting under that stupid tree. like he's leaning his head back against the trunk and watching you and satoru bicker with that fond look in his eye. 

"suguru," you speak, an odd strain in your voice. you struggle to comprehend this odd turn of events. you've had time to understand that he's now a different person than the one you once knew. you know that he's responsible for killing 112 innocents, including his own parents. you know that he's now an enemy to jujutsu society and you know that you should kill him right at this moment.

but he looks so much like suguru, like your suguru, that you can only manage to stand there, frozen in place. his eyes drift over your body, taking in your pajamas, the bath towel in your hands, and the small drops that trickle from your hair, and you can see the familiarity settle in his expression. 

"why are you here?" you choke out. you feel an overwhelming sense of danger in your gut, knowing that your family is just a few rooms over from where he stands now. 

"at your family home, you mean?" he asks casually. a small, almost amused smirk appears on his face. "you said i was always welcome." 

you did say that. sometime last year or the year before, when you had invited satoru, suguru, and shoko over to visit during one of your quick holidays. suguru had sat across from you at your dinner table. he complimented the food and your father smiled one of his rare smiles. you had chewed quietly to hide your grin.

you don't know what to say to him now. 

"everything they said about you," you whisper, taking a step toward him. he remains rooted in place, but his eyes follow your movements. they shift when he catches your fingers gripping your towel tighter. "is it true?" 

"do you think it is?" he asks, and you gulp. it feels like he's baiting you into some kind of trap. 

"i don't want to believe that it is," you answer, voice shaking. "that you would ever do something so…"

the sentence hangs in the air, and he tilts his head imperceptibly. something in his eyes changes as he focuses on the drops falling over your shoulders. 

"well i'm sorry to squash your hope," he raises his arms in a shrug. "but everything you heard is completely true." 

your head aches, but you're not surprised by his confirmation. "why would you…?"

suguru hums, a dark look falling over his face. "do you remember the conversation we had after haibara's funeral? do you remember what i told you when he died?" 

anger flares in your gut at the mention of haibara, and the bath towel crumples in your hold. "don't say his name," you hiss through gritted teeth. "don't act like he's the reason—just…don't bring him into this. please." 

suguru licks his lips, eyes going soft before he tries again. 

"everything used to make sense back then," he sighs. "back when the strong existed to protect the weak. but it's not true." 

"suguru—" 

"the reason why we suffer is because of them," he interjects evenly, though frustration is clearly evident in the curve of his brows and the volume of his voice. "we clean up their messes. they create problems and we die for it." 

you're stunned into silence, at the way he's raising his voice at you, at the way he's speaking so firmly about this horrible topic, at everything. he seems to realize the effect of his speech, and he quells his anger to speak quieter. "that's why i'm doing this. i'm going to create a world without non-sorcerers, so that sorcerers like you and i can live peacefully." 

a lump forms in your throat because god, he's right. he's so right. your life would be a thousand times better without curses. non-sorcerers were the reason curses existed. but the way he's going about this…

"suguru," your voice shakes, but you press on. "i get it. i really do—" 

"i know you do," he interrupts. "you always have. even back then…" 

he takes a step closer to you, reaching out to finger the towel in your hands. "but you don't agree with the way i'm doing it, right?" 

you bite your lip, and he smiles at the sadness in your expression. "you're so easy to read, hotshot." 

you ignore the way the nickname stings. "i just—how could you kill innocent people like that? your own parents, suguru."

he looks away from you, steely resolve in his eyes. "if i made exceptions for my parents, that would kinda make me a hypocrite, wouldn't it?"  

you don't know what to say to that. he doesn't seem to have anything else to add either. 

he looks around your old bedroom, eyes sparkling as they catch a picture of the four of you from your first year. satoru's arm is slung around shoko. the dark-haired female has her elbow resting on your shoulder, her tongue sticking out playfully. you're clinging to suguru's arm, and satoru's free hand is squishing your cheeks together. the four of you are laughing. 

nobody has laughed in a while now. 

you tear your gaze away from the picture frame to look at him. he's so unbelievably close, and he's gazing down at you with this foreign look in his eyes, the picture forgotten behind him. 

he slips his fingers into your hair. his palm is large enough that it can brush the side of your face, and you wonder why your body doesn't flinch away from those bloodstained hands.

"it's okay," he mumbles, a faraway look in his eyes. they remain trained on your hair, but it feels like he's looking straight through you. like you're nothing more than a ghost he wants to erase. he's so close—you can count his dark lashes as they brush against his cheeks. "it's difficult. i don't expect you to understand." 

his words incite a sudden flare of anger in your gut. it burns something fierce, and in that moment you hate him. 

"no, i don't," you reply indignantly. he pauses, now really looking at you, and his brows quirk upward in what seems to be surprise, because—well, he's never seen you make such an expression at him before. "you never tried to help me understand. you just left." 

a strained silence follows. his fingers twitch against your cheek.

"this doesn't concern you," he says finally. "i don't need you to understand my actions." 

you recoil, as though he's physically hurt you, and your expression falls so hard that it almost makes him regret saying it. almost. 

"if it doesn't concern me, then why are you here?" you ask again, and you see suguru's shoulders drop. "you know that i have orders to kill you. i might not be able to because you've always been stronger than me. but you know that i'll…" 

go down fighting you, is what you want to say, but the words leave a nasty taste in your mouth. but suguru seems to know what you're implying because a wry smile appears on his lips. his fingers twirl a strand of your wet hair. 

"i'm here to say goodbye," he says finally. another tense silence fills the space between you both, and suguru can see the way your fingers shake between the folds of your towel. 

"you're a little bit late for that, aren't you?" you choke out, a strange tilt to your voice as you break eye contact with him. "you left school weeks ago, and you didn't say a word to me then." 

"better late than never, right?" 

the softness in his tone makes you turn to look at him again, and you desperately want to ingrain the features of his face into your head. the gentle slope of his eyes and sweetness of his smile. he almost looks like the suguru you once knew, and you suddenly have the urge to mourn his death. 

his face becomes blurry, the edges becoming less pronounced, and you can see the way his expression falls. 

"i didn't come all the way here to make you cry." his hand drops from your face and he takes a step back. your fingers hurry to wipe at your waterline, and you shake your head. 

"'m not crying." 

suguru smiles ruefully, and his eyes suddenly look devoid of life. he takes another step back—your heart plummets.

he says your name once, quietly, and it hangs in the air as you wait for him to say more. 

he doesn't. 

"you know that I'm not supposed to let you leave alive, right?" you mumble, fingers toying with the towel in your hand. "but i can't—i mean—"

"hm," he chuckles. "still as sensitive as ever, huh? s'okay…" 

he moves toward you again and his hand gently cups the back of your neck. "i think it's your best quality. makes you better than most people in our world."

he presses his lips to your forehead tenderly, and you feel your eyes widen behind your tears. 

you probably could've stopped him, because you're aware that he's now suddenly behind you, and that he's raising his hand. you can stop him, but a part of you thinks that if it's death at suguru's hands, maybe it's not such a bad way to go. 

you accept your fate then and there. 

you'll find out later that suguru never had the intention to kill you then. perhaps he was waiting for a more opportune time, waiting for there to be a meaning behind it. you're not sure. but when you wake up tucked in your bed cozily, you'll feel the remnants of him lingering around you.

he was warm, and fuzzy, and he smelled like sandalwood and incense.

xiii. sanctify

satoru's at your door again. 

you've memorized his knock patterns. he always knocks three times, then leaves a pause, then twice more. for someone so erratic, he can be quite predictable. 

"what's up, satoru?" you call out, not looking up from your busy hands. there are a couple of empty cardboard boxes open on your bed, and you've been placing things into them all morning. things that should've been put away a long time ago. you pause on one of your old test papers, and in suguru's dark, blocky handwriting you read: 

YOU GOTTA STUDY MORE DUMBASS.

underneath it, satoru had scrawled: 

hotshot failing class now huh? :P

and shoko had added: 

both of you stfu you're failing too 

you had drawn a heart next to her name. 

"whatcha doin'?" a familiar voice chirps. "spring cleaning?"

satoru stands directly behind you, peering over your shoulder. you can practically feel his aura shift when he notices the items you're putting away. 

"cleaning of some sort," you sigh, before turning to look over your shoulder. "i've been…putting it off." 

he doesn't move—just continues to stare down at the paper in your hands. you think maybe you shouldn't have let him in. sometimes you forget that satoru might have his own sensitivities—you've always viewed him as the strongest.

a few strands of his hair tickle your cheek, and you scrunch your nose in response. he then turns to you, eyes blinding as he studies you over the frames of his shades. 

"want help?" 

"please." you don't intend to sound so needy, but the way you whisper the word has him immediately grabbing your wrist and sitting you down next to him on the bed. 

"how are we sorting this stuff?" he asks, his voice oddly calm. he hasn't let go of your arm yet, and some quiet part of you is grateful. 

"i was putting our old school stuff in that box. books, papers…" you answer softly, and satoru nods in understanding. "and in the other box…" 

you inhale deeply through your nose. satoru waits, strangely patient. you're not sure if you're imagining it, but you think he squeezes your wrist. 

"…are all of suguru's things." 

there's a moment of silence—a quick mourning for what is no longer there. 

"it's stupid stuff that he left behind, you know?" you chuckle, even though nothing is funny. "some old shirts from when you two would sleep over, his old textbooks, a few pictures from our holidays—shit like that." 

satoru hums. he's not looking at you—instead he's staring at the box, a frown on his face. 

"i guess he didn't really need those things for where he was going. or for wherever he is now," you mumble. 

"guess not." 

you're not sure what's going through his head. satoru's reaction to suguru leaving had been chaotic at best. it was so hard to tell how he felt about it. you knew he was angry, confused, betrayed. but he never showed things like that. you think it might have to do with being the strongest. you're not sure though—you never were strong like him.

you wish there was a way to tell him that he could share his feelings with you, but you can't think of a way that won't be awkward. 

a ticklish sensation crawls up your wrist and you look down to watch satoru's first two fingers tap against the inside of your palm. his thumb brushes against yours as he lets out a heavy exhale. 

"let's get started then, hotshot." 

he looks down at you as he says the words, and you think you might cry. but you want to be strong, like him, so you offer him a smile. he gives you one in return. you realize there isn't that much warmth in it, not like it used to have—you're sure that yours isn't that warm either. 

but it's enough for the two of you. 

"you look tired, toru," you chuckle wryly, reaching up to brush a few strands of hair from his face. his eyes flutter at the touch, and you honestly think this might be the most vulnerable you've ever seen him. 

"so do you." 

"i am," you admit honestly. 

"'s okay," he mumbles. his fingers tap against your palm once more. "'m here." 

"i know," you answer. you always are.

nothing more is said as satoru stands up. he makes his way over to your desk and pulls one of suguru's old sweaters from your chair. you watch him fold it neatly, smoothing out the creases with care, before placing it into the box—you smile once more. 

you think the scent of sandalwood tickles your nose, but it's gone in an instant.  

both of you work in relative silence, sorting through the things in your room quickly. you're surprised at how bare it looks as you're nearing the end, as though there's nothing more to your life than old high school recollections. 

you finish putting the last few polaroids into the box when satoru speaks up. 

"hey." 

you look up and find him staring at you, so you turn to face him completely, giving him your full attention. 

"zenin toji—" the name sends a painful tingle up your body. "—left something behind." 

you frown. "what are you talking about?" 

"a kid. he's got a kid. and i was gonna go meet him today," satoru shrugs. you try to read his emotions, but as usual, he's giving you nothing. "the old man said something about the zenin clan buying up his kid before i killed him. i was gonna go see if there's something i could do about that." 

you sigh before raising a brow, an amused lilt to your voice. "and why have you kept this a secret?" 

satoru's trademark smirk appears, and he walks over to sling an arm around your shoulders. "who knows?" he quips nonchalantly. "guess i was waiting until we were bored. we need something to do now, don't we?" 

you glance at the packed boxes on your bed, and then look around your empty room. everything is always changing, but satoru is constant. 

"i guess so," you grin. his eyes shine, and for a second you see a familiar teenager at the beach, and then a familiar teenager under an old tree. you think you hear waves, and the crinkling of a bag of chips. 

"good," he chirps, walking you to the door, the arm around your shoulder secure. "his name's megumi, and we're gonna make sure he gets strong."

xiv. idyll

it takes you a little over four months to get used to megumi's eyes. they aren't unsettling or invading, like a certain snowy haired sorcerer, but they do give you chills when you first notice them. chills and a fleeting feeling of metal slicing up and down through your flesh. you just have to steady your breathing and remind yourself that the son is not the father.

tsumiki is an angel. you didn't think that kids that age could be so emotionally competent, but she's a pleasant surprise. she had been awfully protective over megumi, fidgeting with a firm hand on his shoulder as you and satoru invaded their space and upturned their lives. even after they had settled into the humble apartment satoru had purchased, tsumiki was still so overly cautious. it was obvious she still didn't trust either of you, but you thought it was admirable of her, and you relay this thought to satoru one day.

"think they hate us?" he asks, squishing his cheeks between his lithe fingers as he eyes the different milk cartons over the rims of his glasses.

"i'm pretty sure they just don't trust us that much," you reply, placing a few packs of instant ramen into the cart. "can you blame them? we're just random strangers who came up and basically kidnapped them."

"i'd like to say adopted!" he points out with a grin, before he sighs. "but we've already proved we're just doing this to help them. but they still barely talk at all."

"they're just being careful. megumi's still a little young and he looks like he doesn't give a shit about most stuff anyway," you chuckle as you remember the expression on the first grader's face as he spoke to your cocky friend. "and tsumiki's being cautious for both of them."

"she doesn't need to be cautious of us!" satoru dramatically whines, pulling out a carton of whole milk and placing it into the cart. you shiver as the cold air hits your skin, eyeing the sorcerer with an exasperated smile. he shuts the door with a huff. "i've been such a good dad!"

you roll your eyes, shoving his arm as he starts pushing the cart down the aisle. "she definitely should be cautious of you, you creep."

satoru looks down over his shoulder, appalled, though his eyes sparkle with mirth. "and why do you say that?"

"have you seen yourself? crazy 19 year old man that kidnaps kids," you mutter somewhat sarcastically, falling into step with him like it's normal. satoru grins at that—amused.

"i think it's pretty cool of her to be that responsible though," you continue, voice going softer as you think about them, and satoru hums in what you think might be agreement. you suddenly grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks and he turns to look at you.

"you think we should get another carton of milk?" you question, tilting your head at him. "megumi's been drinking it every day after he comes back from school and tsumiki said she wanted to try making milkshakes."

satoru blinks at you, eyes widening before an amused chuckle escapes his lips. you're about to ask what is so funny but he gestures back down the aisle. "go get some."

he waits for you as you go grab another carton, leaning against the cart easily. when you make it back and place the extra milk in the cart, satoru slings an arm around your shoulders. you raise a brow, but he just continues to push the cart with his free hand and says nothing.

so you don't say anything either.

the two of you continue shopping, trying to remember the things you've noticed the kids enjoying because you know they'll be too uncomfortable to outrightly request them. for every sweet snack satoru puts into the cart, you add something that can pass as somewhat healthy, and he hides a teasing grin behind his fist each time.

when you're almost done, satoru motions to the shelves of snacks, raising a brow at you. "what do you need, hotshot?"

you look up from where you're analyzing the contents of the cart. "hm? oh i don't wanna buy anything for myself. i'm good with the stuff i have back at the dorm."

"great," he shrugs with a subtle shake of his head. "except you're not buying anything this time, i am. so pick something."

"what?" you frown, walking over to him. "we're supposed to split groceries for the kids."

"we can split next time." satoru rolls his eyes at you, as though annoyed by your insistence. "i just got paid yesterday and i wanna waste money. pick something."

you groan. "but there really isn't anything i want. if you're gonna pay yourself then let's just go. i think this is good enough."

satoru looks unamused, his eyes boring into yours—bright, dominating, mesmerizing. "oh really? nothing you want?"

you stare at him in confusion as he walks over to the frozen section and opens the door. after a few seconds of rummaging, he pulls out a box. "not even this?"

your shoulders drop. he's holding a tub of strawberry ice cream.

he casually places it into the cart, eyes trained on your expression as he bends down. "it's your favorite, isn't it?"

your voice comes out throaty, and you wet your lips nervously—his eyes follow the movement at lightning speed. "how'd you know?"

satoru scoffs out a haughty chuckle, reaching up to knock a knuckle at your forehead—it's cold. "i know everything about you, hotshot."

he moves to grip at the cart's handle, standing close enough that you can feel the energy radiating off of him. the side of his hand touches yours, still cold. "now we can go."

he sticks by your side, pushing the cart towards the counters as he casually looks around the store. you briefly realize that his shadow doesn't cover you when you're at his side like this. the thought both scares you and pleases you in a way you didn't think was possible.

"thanks toru," you mumble before you can stop yourself. his gives you a sidelong glance—assessing.

his lips twitch. "it's just ice cream."

"no, it's a lot more than that." you're not really sure why you say it so tragically, and satoru inhales sharply. you notice that his knuckles have turned white as he grips the cart's handles. once again, his eyes dart rapidly over your face—between your eyes and then further down.

then he lets out a hushed laugh, nudging your shoulder with his. "as long as you share with me, hotshot."

everything is always changing, but satoru is constant.

you can't help but smile. "always."

you two don't say much as you head to the counter, taking turns placing all the items on the belt. you quietly watch satoru dig into his wallet, feeling oddly content doing so. you think the stars in your eyes will never disappear.

the clerk eyes you both, and suppresses a fond grin. with your close proximity, shared cart, and satoru's easy going smile, you realize that she's probably misunderstanding, but you don't really know how to correct her. satoru says nothing—he just continues smiling, oddly pleased.

he smiles all the way to the car. you catch yourself doing the same in the rear view mirror.

xv. retribution

the first thing you notice when you kneel in front of suguru is that he's bleeding all over the place. you have the strongest urge to scramble and grip his fingers tightly, just as he had done for you so many years ago—but you don't dare. you're too scared that touching him will ruin you completely.

he says your name quietly, and yet it's the loudest thing in the universe to you—crashing over your ears until you've lost all sense of self.

and then he leans forward, his gaze heavy, and his hand comes up to tangle in your hair. his palm rests on the side of your face just like it did when he visited you at your family home. the last time you saw your geto suguru.

except this time he moves further—crosses a line. presses his lips to yours.

he tastes like blood. you don't pull away.

the feeling of his lips shocks you though, and you stay permanently frozen in place as you feel your eyes glaze over with something you can't put into words.

suguru kisses you slowly, deeply, like he's been waiting but wants to savor it. maybe you've been waiting too. you're not sure. you're so confused.

you don't even process the way his tongue slips past your lips, tasting almost eagerly like your mouth is some kind of conquest he's trying to claim.

it's intrusive, but not unwelcome. slow, but not gentle.

you whimper quietly, feeling acid sting down your cheek as he pulls away and his eyes flutter open. he takes in your expression, and a million emotions pass over his face.

a quiet chuckle. "that bad, huh?"

you shake yourself out of it and try to push away the flush creeping up your neck. "w-what?"

"you're crying," he announces, his furrowed eyebrows paired with a sweet smile that makes him look so unbelievably tragic. "the kiss was that bad?"

your face burns, and you raise a shaking hand up to your cheek—it's wet.

"it wasn't—i didn't—" you struggle. "i mean—"

he smiles ruefully. "i'm sorry. you were saving it for someone special, right?"

there's a charged silence that follows as you scour your brain for the conversation he's referencing. when you find it, your heart sinks.

"you've always been special to me, suguru." your voice comes out quiet, but he hears it all the same. his eyes widen fractionally and you can see a light pink dust his cheeks before he laughs. it's soft, hushed, and looks like it's painful, but he lets it run its course.

it reminds you of a laugh from so long ago, at a beach, with childish screams echoing against the sound of waves. you think you can feel strawberry ice cream dripping down your wrist.

his laughs die down and he's left smiling softly at you. his lavender eyes sparkle with mirth as he tilts his head. "i'm glad. that you were the one i gave a room to."

you can hear waves in your ears, crashing crashing drowning. sand is in your hands, in between your toes, in your eyes.

he coughs, and his palm shakes against your cheek. you wonder why he doesn't just let go already dammit suguru.

you inhale sharply, trying so hard to breathe because what is that stupid thing that's clogging your throat and preventing you from speaking? there's so much you have to say to him. so many questions. so many things left unsaid. your words are failing you.

but silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable, right?

you raise a shaky hand to press against his where it lays against your neck. "do you regret it?"

he licks his lips, smiling faintly, as though he's enjoying the new taste of you on them. "no."

"why not?" you whisper. your body unconsciously shuffles closer to him, chasing his warmth because gods is he warm. he's always been so warm, even now, in the throes of death.

"my feelings are still the same. i still hate the monkeys for everything they've done, all the crap they cause." he shuts his eyes, smiling that serene smile. you wish he was leaning against a tree trunk. "i still have no resentment to those at jujutsu tech. and you, i still…"

he doesn't continue. you don't think you want him to. there's a flush crawling up his neck, the faint pink a stark contrast to the red of blood. it makes you nauseous.

another deep inhale, and his thumb slides over your jawbone, before brushing under your bottom lip. he stares at the flesh heavily, letting his finger press into it. his tongue swipes over his own lips, eyes darkening further.

and then something shifts in his face, and he smiles mirthlessly. his hand drops from your face—broken contact.

he doesn't tear his gaze away from you, committing your face to memory. it's almost like he wants to say something, but decides against it at the last minute as he slumps further into the wall behind him and shuts his eyes.

when he speaks again, you know that it is all over.

"you're late, satoru."

[frmisnow]

total loser. ⊹₊⟡ nsfw.

summary. crashing a party just to unwind? yeah, that was the plan — until you end up sharing a smoke with the lead singer of that metal band. turns out the ‘playboy sex god’ image? total myth. awkward, tipsy, and apparently… a virgin?! this night just got interesting !

warnings / includes. all fictional ofc, smoking, drinking, suggestive themes, soft!dom reader

damned be after parties.

but long live your connections and well.. pretty face, that's what gets you in one of these special parties, pretty privilige is alive and breathing!

for the fact that this was an after party of a last tour show for one of the biggest metal bands right now, you'd imagine it to be a lot more expensive. these red plastic cups just don't cut it, and whose idea was it to squeeze so many people into one little room? that's the charm of the metal industry, i guess.

apropos charm of the metal industry?

you'd think somebody put something in your drink, the way you see the jungkook in front of your eyes right now? leaned up against a wall, nursing what looked like his fourth shot, hair messy like he just got of stage.

one of his bandmates stumbles past, slapping him on the back, and jungkook nearly loses his balance. He mutters something, barely audible over the music, brows drawn together in this adorable mix of annoyance and confusion. his eyes trail over the room before ultimately settling back onto the man in front of him, patting his back, a cigarette pack in his hand.

you made your way through the people, way to much sweat and way to close might i add, did you look obssesive? maybe. but the cold night air sounded heavenly and you could use a good smoke. plus, you'd rather come of as a groupie then get suffocated on the dance floor.

with each step, you felt the chaos of the party fade a little more. the fresh air hit your face like a slap, and you welcomed it, relishing the brief moment of solitude. But you weren’t the only one seeking a breather.

jungkook pushed off the wall, nearly colliding with you as you stepped outside. the cold night air was a relief, sharp and refreshing, cutting through the haze of noise and sweat. he fumbled with the cigarette pack, almost dropping it as he tried to shake one out, his fingers clumsy from the alcohol.

"need a light?” you offered, pulling your lighter from your pocket.

he met your gaze, a hint of gratitude in those dark eyes, before quickly looking anywhere else but you, “thanks. I usually don’t smoke, but—” he paused, taking a deep drag before exhaling a cloud of smoke. “i guess i just get… scared. so, i drink. and then i drink some more and then i start smoking, it's a bad habit.”

silence fell over the both of you, you didn't decide to pry since that'd just be rude. even though there were quite a few thoughts in your head. why was he scared? rather, who was he scared of?

after a while (and plenty of drags), jungkooks voice cut through the carefully established silence, small and quiet, a mumbling-like tone that made him seem tipsy, "i don't know i just want to feel something.." he trails off, shaking his head, clearly oversharing, "i mean no, i feel something when i'm on stage i just-"

he took a breath, taking another drag before ultimately stupping it out with his shoe, giving him another oppurtunity to not stare at you, "would you have sex with me?"

the next thing you knew, you were standing outside jungkook’s apartment, the door slightly ajar, a hesitant light spilling into the hallway. you weren't proud of it, but you also didn't have time to really think it through? teaching a hot rockstar virgin how to have sex? that sounds ai-generated and it was simply something you couldn't pass up on.

he fumbled with the keys, his fingers still shaky from the drinks or maybe that was just him, you'd seen his feet tap onto the floor multiple times throught the uber and his eyes never quite seemed to settle. maybe he was just a naturally anxious person, that's the impression he gave of.

the place was small but cozy, with a faint scent of lingering smoke and rock posters plastered across the walls, giving it an oddly inviting charm.

"i think you're really pretty." he managed to hold eye contact this time around, though he was clearly fidgety.

you smiled, genuinely, a rush of flush going straight to your cheeks, fuck weren't you supposed to be the compsoed one? yet he was so sweet in a way. "flattery won't get you anywhere but it's a nice start."

he grinned, walking ahead of you intot he kitchen, the small amount of alcohol he had in his system making him lose some balance in his step but he quickly recomposed himself, his eyes lingering on you for just a second longer then last time, "would you like some water?"

you don't think you've ever had anybody ask you if you wanted to drink water during a hookup, but you welcome the thought. see? so sweet, how would you even teach him sex?

"sure." you respond, shrugging, as he pours some in, "can i kiss you?"

he nods, the water in the glass swirling in small circles as he takes a step closer towards you—he's so close you can feel his breath on your skin, each one of his exhales and inhales—his eyes on you, "yeah."

his tone is quiet, but firm and his free hand slowly reaches to your waist, "can i touch you?"

you hush a 'yeah', closing the gap between the both of you, pulling your shirt of yourself.

as he grasped the lace of your bra, he hesitated, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. you guided his hands, gently tugging him on, the material falling away effortlessly.

"oh.." he gasped, like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs, eyes taking a quick glance on the now exposed skin in front of him—all of the tension he was carrying in his shoulders quickly disappearing.

he put the glass down on the nearest surface, "sit on the couch." he mumbled, breath shaky as he gently pushed you back.

"woah commanding now?" you raised your eyebrows, genuine surprise written over your face though you grin, walking down the hallway, sitting down.

"i'm a quick learner." he muttered, his eyes on you as he followed behind, quickly making his way on the couch, sitting incredibly close to you. he leaned forward, his body hovering over yours before he quickly put his mouth on your neck, leaving small kisses on the skin.

you encouraged him, tugging him closer, your fingers weaving into his hair as he found his rhythm. with every kiss, he grew bolder, his hands exploring the curves of your body like he was savoring something sweet.

you pulled him down with you, laughter escaping your lips as he stumbled slightly, catching himself with a grin.

“okay, maybe I’m not a pro at this,” he said, his cheeks slightly flushed. You smirked, enjoying his awkward charm.

you guided his hands, showing him how to touch, how to tease. the couch squeaked under you as you shifted positions, getting more comfortable. his kisses became more confident, more demanding, each one igniting a fire within you.

as his clothes started to come off, the atmosphere became charged. You watched as his eyes widened, a mix of surprise and desire flooding his expression. he was eager, and you were more than willing to lead the way.

you tangled your fingers with his, showing him what felt good, how to respond to your body. he mirrored your movements, following your lead, the shy, awkward dweeb from earlier replaced by someone more daring. you sucessfully managed to change a rockstar; that'd look good on a resume.

[celabi]

I’m super glad you’re back! :D

I’ve got a ton of little prompt ideas floating around in my head for scummy scara but I don’t want to dump them all out at once so I’ll just bring one for now:

what if reader asked scara out on a date?

bonus points if reader shy and stuttering because yes

here’s a gold star for your awesome writing ⭐️

Hello!! I’m semi-returned to writing!! I’m still in the hospital but I feel better then I did before so I’ll be trying to clear out some of my drafts !! 🫶 sorry, this is really short, I didn’t know how to write it 😭😭

Asking Scummy Scaramouche out on a date! ☆彡

The lesson had just wrapped up for the day when Scaramouche feels a light tap on his bicep. It’s you, when he turns his head to the side— and with a cute little smile plastered on your glossy lips no less. He blinks slowly, and momentarily halts his actions of packing away his stationary so he can provide you his full attention— even going as far to prop up his elbow, leaning his red tinted cheek on his palm and returning your grin. “Yes, [name]? Would you like me to walk you home today? I truly mean it when I say that my time for you is unlimited.” ‘Please say yes, please say yes, please sa—’ his eyes slightly crease and shoulders visibly drop in disappointment when a head shake is what he receives in return, but he still nods back to you in understanding. “Oh, okay… no worries.”

He watches in curiosity as you turn your gaze and look anywhere but towards his dazed stare— awkwardly coughing into one of your fists and softly tapping your fingernail on the surface of the desk. “Ahem… it’s actually because I was wondering if you… uh, wanted to like, you know, hang out t-together, instead.” The first thing he takes notice of is the way your voice is in a much lighter tone then normal, which he mentally coos at. ‘She’s acting shy now… did I do that to her? Does— does she love me too?’ Giddy, that’s what he found himself feeling— and even though he knows he shouldn’t get so far into his deluded fantasies, he can’t help but to imagine you getting all flustered over him. Him. “We could go to the… movies? That’s always fun. Or maybe we could go to the park, i-if you’d prefer to talk, or something…”

“Like a— a date? You and me? Us? T-together?” Scaramouche has to make sure that he’s not misunderstanding your intentions and jumping to conclusions, because god he would be so upset if he accidentally managed to embarrassed himself in front of you if he happened to be wrong. He gulps down the lump in his throat, and reached up the tug at the collar to his shirt as he had started to feel slightly light headed from this whole ordeal. It can’t just be a regular study session, could it? The term was almost over, and he can’t rack his brain and recall if the professor had assigned any new assignments as of late. (Either there really was no new work to be completed— or he was just too busy staring at you every period and couldn’t bother to listen to the teachers words.)

The thought out you just asking him to hang out like friends would, enters his head— but he’s too delusional to care about that. And you’re so nice that he wouldn’t even think you’re trying to mess with him, there’s no way. Still, you both hang out all the time and you aren’t usually so fidgety and bashful around him, so this… this just has to be you asking him out romantically, right? He hopes so, he hopes so bad that his fantasies are coming to life and he can finally have you all to himself. Hell, he’s shifting around in his seat excitedly just thinking about it.

When you nod shyly in response to his clarification, Scaramouche is one hundred percent sure he would just Aww at just how adorable you look right now— if it weren’t for his heart almost bursting from his chest. This isn’t a dream, it’s real— he‘s sure it is from how much he’s sweating. You like him back, and though it’s a stretch, he thinks there’s a chance that maybe you love him too. You want to date him, to hug him, to kiss him, like he does you? Of course you do, why else would you ask him out. Duh.

He lets out a breath, and you take notice of how shaky it sounds, and how he looks like passing out. “Uh… if you’re sick, we can reschedule, o-or just not go at all if that’s what you pr—” you don’t even get to finish your sentence before he’s straightening up in his chair and whipping his head into your direction, a panic look overtakes his previously dreamy one.

“No, no! I’ll go, I want to!” He interrupts, and waves his arms around in embarrassment, before looking down into his lap shamefully from his sudden outburst. “I mean… I would like that… if you took me out on a d-date. Please.”

“Pftt… okay, Kuni, follow me then.”

He only nods, a love sick smile on his lips as he stands up and trails behind you, reaching for your hand and even forgetting to grab his bag on the way out because of his excitement. Loser 😔

[matcha-kathrin]

STRANGERS

Summary: You meet a stranger, share a smoke, and talk a bit about life in the chilly damp streets of New York.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader. Now until these two actually introduce themselves you could literally imagine whomever you want, while I was writing i was thinking about Pedro (how weird!). So feel free to interpret this one however you want.

Word Count: 3k

Notes/Warnings: No warnings, this is all pretty mellow, a bit retorical and a bit philosophical. This is a standalone piece, I consider it to be complete and imo it proves what i was trying to say by itself. I will however, be posting other parts of this that in no way influence it, so if you want to know what happens next tune in!

~*~

STRANGERS - Chapter One

It was a chilly night. The sky dark with lights decorating the edifices above you. You had decided to take a night for yourself, leaving the comfort of your apartment to hit the small bar that stood a few blocks from it. Every time you walked by it looked so inviting, the rough old exterior and the colored lights inside made your heart buzz. It seemed like a speakeasy, a place where they would hold live music nights, any and every genre depending on which night of the week you happened upon it. So there you were, much later in the evening than you expected, standing in front of the bar to light a smoke. 

You were relaxed. More relaxed than you had been in weeks, it seemed all you needed was a drink and some live music to give you some peace of mind. As you took out a cigarette from the pack hidden in your jacket pocket you heard the bar door open next to you, signaling someone had the same craving as you did.

You turned and acknowledged the stranger with a short lift of your brows, who raised his hand slightly in response. Patting down your pockets you searched for your lighter, not finding what you were looking for.

“Need a light?” The stranger asked next to you, not close enough for you to hear him clearly but not too far either. You gave a slight nod approaching him, keeping a good distance between you as you would with any person you didn’t know. He lit up his zippo lighter and offered it to you, you bent down, cigarette in your lips as you took a few puffs to get it well lit.

“Much obliged.” You said, taking a few steps back to get the same initial distance, though somehow it felt as if you two were standing closer than before.

You didn’t really get a good look at him, the one thing you did notice was he had sunglasses on, big and thick rimmed, covering half his face. You found it odd, but you found everyone odd in this city. Sunglasses at night was the least of it. 

He also had a messy head of hair, a leather jacket with a loose fitted shirt, he looked tired that much you could tell. Either that or he was tipsy just as much as you were.

“It was stuffy in there, wasn’t it?” You said just a moment of silence later. You never really did initiate conversation but maybe since you had been sitting alone inside for the past few hours you needed a bit of socialization. A little couldn’t hurt right?

“Yeah, I was desperate for a cigarette break.” He groaned, feeling your sentiment immediately, you smiled, neither of you looked at each other but just stared at the empty street in front of the both of you. If it weren’t for the passerby cars driving a few streets over and the music booming from the bar behind you you’d be all alone in the silence. 

“It always gets stuffy at some point. I think cigarettes are just an excuse to go outside and take a breath of fresh air without looking lost.” You continued without thinking, getting a bit too taken by the conversation solely about cigarettes “Don’t mind me, I’ll shut up now.” 

 “No, no I mean-“ he seemed to struggle to find the words “there’s something nice about talking to strangers isn’t there? People who know nothing about you.”  He waved one of his hands slightly around as he spoke, he was holding a beer in his hand, the liquid sloshing around with his movements. You nodded in agreement, taking another deep puff of the cigarette.

“People who won’t judge you.” You replied.

“Actually, strangers are the ones that judge you the most.”

“You think?” You frown at him and he just shrugs “You don’t?”

“Not necessarily,” you tilt your head in thought “I mean since a stranger doesn’t know you they can’t be influenced by any opinions that they have for you- or feelings. They have no reason to judge you.” 

“They don’t need a reason to.” He answered taking another hit from his own cigarette.

“That’s the problem with strangers, without knowing you they have every possibility to judge you without feeling guilty or mean, so wouldn’t it be easier for them?” He turned to you slightly as he gestured sluggishly, you could hear the slight playful tone in his argumentation. You were glad he was having as much fun talking nonsense as you were.

“Not really, sometimes it’s easier for us to feel entitled to our opinions when we know the person they’re directed to.” You tried to sway his mind but he just pressed his mouth in a tight line, not convinced.

 “Take us for example. You know nothing of me, I know nothing of you. Yet we found common ground in our appreciation for smoke breaks. That being said it doesn’t mean I know you any more, meaning that your opinion on the matter of judgement does not faze me, therefore I don’t judge you for it.” You laughed when you saw his exaggerated confused expression.

He seemed familiar the more you spoke with him, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. The glasses and the dark lighting were definitely not helping. Plus, everyone looked familiar in this city.

“I mean we’re proving my point each passing second!” 

“Mmmh I dunno, how can you be so sure you won’t judge me for-” he looked at himself trying to find something to use as an example “-how I stand?”

“How you stand?” You repeated, he nodded lifting his arms to the side to let you judge the way he stands. You lifted a brow, amused by his perseverance in proving you wrong.

“Why should I judge you for how you stand? You might have a bad back, or better yet you might be tired, or who knows maybe you even have a fake leg.” He gasped dramatically and you laughed, wondering if he was being serious. 

“So you’re saying I stand in a bad way?”

“No! You just look tired.”

“See? You judged me.”

Rolling your eyes you frowned “That’s not judging that’s being observant.” You corrected.

He lifted his arms in a shrug once more, offering you one of his own cigarettes seeing you had finished yours, you happily obliged, thankful he lit it for you too.

“How do you tell the difference?” He mused, and you realized you had turned from being two people minding their own business to an unlikely pair. You didn’t know his name, didn’t know his age but he definitely looked older than you, and you didn’t really want to know. He was just another person living in this city just like you. 

 “Easy. Judging is always mean. If I say you look tired that’s not being mean, it’s being observant.” 

 “I’ll give you a pass on that just because I am actually tired.” He groaned; you laughed in agreement. So were you, you always looked tired. You couldn’t help it, you were working yourself to the bone, so of course you were dead tired the one night you decided to take some time for yourself.

“Tell me about it.” You mumbled, he just chuckled alongside you, then you turned with a frown. “Why did you come out? Why not just stay home and rest?”

“Careful now, the more you ask the less we’ll be strangers.” He warned playfully, you looked at him unbothered “I didn’t ask you why you were tired I asked why you chose to go out despite being tired.” You corrected him once more, for being someone easy to talk to he really did seem to need a lot of correcting.

“Aaaah and that makes a whole difference.” He teased, you shook your head at his tone.

“Of course it does, I won’t know any more about you if you tell me why you decided to come out here tonight.”

“There’s no going back.” 

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

He scrunched up his face, giving you one more moment to stop him. But you didn’t, you just stayed there with one brow raised, waiting for him to reveal such a fundamental truth about him. Why he had decided to go out.

“I needed a break.”

“I feel like I know you better already.”

“Oh, shut up.” He chuckled and you laughed with him, shrugging when he gave you a look from underneath his sunglasses, he had brown eyes, that much you could tell from the split second he lowered his head to look at you from beneath them. Again a flash of recognition hit you, but you couldn’t pin point where or when or how you had seen him. You were sure you had never met him. Not to raise your ego but people usually took notice to you, rarely did people forget your face, you were more the forgetful one.

“I needed a break from…everything.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and looking back out to the street. You hummed, waiting for him to continue.

“Remember how you said it always gets stuffy at some point?”

“Yeah that was 5 minutes ago.” You smiled, he just waved his hand as if to tell you to go with it, so you just nodded. 

“That’s how I feel. Stuffy. Not just in nights out at bars but in general. Like I can’t really get away from where I am right now, no matter how many cigarette breaks I take.”

You hummed, but he just cleared his throat nervously, not sure if to continue or just shut up all together.

“So, you feel stuck?”

“Stuck- yeah. Like in a- in a box.”

“Caged almost.” You mumbled. That’s how you were feeling. Stuck, trapped, caged. You desperately wanted to resurface from the deep abyss you had swam down in, but it was harder and harder. You had almost forgotten all about it until the stranger brought it up.

“I guess…all I can say is you’re not alone?” He chuckled at your words and you pouted, you sounded so unsure you almost laughed at yourself with him.

“I mean, everyone says that. And a lot of times it doesn’t really help to hear that. But I do feel the same as you. Stuck, trapped, sometimes lost even. Am I doing all of this right? Or have I just been circling around it this entire time? Will I leave the routine I’ve inevitably found myself in or will it change? I don’t know if that’s what you feel but, that’s what it makes me feel.” You whispered the last part solemnly.

You didn’t mean to go so hard on it, but it was true, every word. It was weird how easy it was to say these things to him. A man you didn’t know, didn’t care to know. But he was staring at you intently, listening to every word, watching your eyes as they looked around as you spoke, as if you were unsure. But your voice was strong, clear, in the 10 or so minutes you had been conversing you had planted your feet on the ground, not being swayed in the slightest by every ridiculous notion he was throwing at you. He liked how you corrected him, he liked how your voice sounded. He could listen to it all night, no matter what you were talking about.

You didn’t seem to read all these thoughts he had as you waited for him to reply. 

“It’s not exactly what I feel but…it’s close. Especially the part of being responsible for being stuck in the first place.” He sighed, sipping his beer he had almost forgot he had.

“I said inevitable, not responsible.” 

“Same thing.”

“Maybe,” you lulled, taking out yet another cigarette, and he quickly took his lighter as he saw you. You chuckled, even if he was turned he noticed your cigarette, he was aware of you. That much you could tell. 

Again you placed your lips on the cigarette, puffing a bit as he lit it, looking up to him from below.

That look made his chest do a summersault all of a sudden. You looked…divine. He hadn’t really taken much notice to you when he had stepped out for air, then you started talking and it grabbed his attention, but now he was fully immersed. Noticing how your hair framed your face, how your dark eyes looked at him, acknowledging his presence and help as he lit your cigarette. Then you got up from your slight bent position, blowing out the smoke that was in your lungs, giving him a nod in appreciation.

“Or maybe you can’t distinguish when something is inevitable or solely in your control.” You teased, he huffed shaking his head as he lit his own cigarette, already losing count of how many he’s had.

“Careful, I might think your judging me.”

“Maybe I’m just observant.” 

“Then proceed, observant little stranger.” 

His voice came low, making you shiver when he called you little. How dare he? You liked it, but how dare he? Strangers weren’t so familiar with each other; strangers didn’t make you shiver for any other reason than the cold. Yet he was. And all he had to do was laugh, tease, or call you a little stranger to make your heart beat even the slightest bit faster.

“You have control over your own actions,” you explained, gesturing your hands in front of you as if explaining things to someone oblivious. He loved it.

“not to be confused with your feelings. You have no control over those, unfortunately.” You mumbled bitterly; he raised a brow at your tone.

 “Your actions on the other hand are solely yours. Complete control, even if you are driven by emotion you rationally always have the final say. What you don’t have control over, is others.”

“Others?” He mused, leaning against the brick wall of the bar, making you hesitate as you watched him lean in so casually, so intimately. You followed suit and leaned your back to the wall as well, not wanting to face him completely but still wanting to seem interested.

“Other people. You have no control over them, over their reactions, their choices. Let’s face it we have no power over anyone, sometimes we don’t even have it for ourselves. And once we accept that fact can we distinguish between the inevitable and what was purely our responsibility. So many times we’re defined by the things others say or think or do. Sometimes it’s…”

“Inevitable.” He finished, repeating the perfect words that expressed your sentiment. Your eyes fluttered to his sadly, feeling melancholy creep up in his voice as it was doing in yours 

“Inevitable.” You repeated, staring into his glasses, knowing he was staring into your eyes too. And for a moment, it was just the two of you, not like it had been until then but even more. As if there was no music behind you, no cars in the distance, no lights on the street except for the warm one above both your heads. Again, he was a stranger, but when he looked at you, you felt…understood. As if by just lighting your cigarette and listening to your mindless thoughts it was enough. You didn’t feel so alone, even if you had gone out by yourself, even if you had wanted to be alone, at least you didn’t feel lonely.

“Well then stranger,” you whispered finally after what seemed like an eternity but was probably just a few seconds of a staring contest “I better be going. Time won’t stop just because I want it to.” Standing up from your leaning position against the wall you took out another cigarette, looking at him expectantly “One last time for the road?”

He was in a daze, after what seemed like the most beautiful conversation he had ever had with anyone in his life he was just about to ask you your name, but you had stood up, so nonchalantly, so calmly. As if you knew your night had come to it’s inevitable end, like all things did, and you both would have to part ways. Never to be seen again.

He didn’t want that.

“Will I see you again?” He asked, lighting your cigarette. Making you chuckle.

“Careful now, the more you ask the less we’ll be strangers remember?” You warned him, throwing his same words back at him.

“I don’t have to know you to see you again do I?” He teased, and you shrugged.

“Maybe this time your right.”

“Only this time?”

“Only this time.” You laughed, taking a few steps away from him, ready to walk the five minutes it took to get to your place. He didn’t offer to walk you back home, he knew what you would say, he could already tell what you were thinking. Maybe you weren’t that much of strangers in the end. 

“See you around, stranger. I’ll be there the next time you need a break.” You called as you walked away, waving a hand, and turning your back to him as you slowly walked down the damp, chilly street.

“I’m counting on it!” He called out to you, but you didn’t turn, just kept walking, the fatigue of the day finally settling into you. He watched as you disappeared slowly until you turned onto another street. 

He cursed, he should’ve asked your name, your number, anything. The city was huge; he might never see you again.

But that was the whole point. Strangers were supposed to never see each other again, they were supposed to meet at a random point in time, exchange a few words of wisdom to guide each other on their own path, and then part. That’s how it was. That’s why it was beautiful.

Nonetheless, you counted on seeing him again too.

[gmanwhore]

"fun" little TNMN oc fic. Me when. Me when Nightmare Mode.

The angel sat their desk, checking over the list one last time. They were sure they had let in everyone in for the day...and they were not expecting anyone else. Still, they weren't shocked when their nightly visitor came.

"I am impressed, Sunny. Not many people have tried to kill me."

The angel readjusted themself, and began to clear the desk. They didn't look up at the clown, his huge grin making them very uncomfortable. He took out a pack of cards and began to deal them.

"You're really no fun."

The angel looked at their hand of cards, scrutinizing them. Their body went from their usual vibrant pink and green to a dull greyscale. The clown laughed at this.

"Is your hand really that bad? You have no luck, do you?"

A searing anger went through the angel, and they glared over at their beloathed visitor.

I have fine luck, thank you. I am just readying myself.

"Yeah, sure. You haven't won a single hand yet. It's actually kinda funny, since this is your world and all."

The angel's colours began to shift again, the darker grey slipping into black while the lighter grey flashed into bright gold. They stood up from their desk, a second away from grabbing their flaming sword and striking him down. They didn't, though. They just stood there, fuming.

"Wow. Touchy subject?"

The clown moved like he was going to take a peek at the angel's cards, and they smacked his hand away. A burning smell filled the room, but neither being flinched. For a long, tense moment they just stared at each other...completely silent...the angel's colours filled again as the took a seat again, playing their first card.

"Thank you. You know, I believe in you. You get stuck but you're one stubborn bugger."

He winked as he put down a plus one. The angel played their card, and the turn taking went on until...

"What? No, I just had one..."

The clown grumbled as he picked up a card, then another, then another...

"You slimy little...there!"

He finally picked up a card he could play. The angel then played their final card. They expressed nothing. Having a head that was just a bright sun would do that. The clown fumed for a second before dealing again.

"Fine! I go first this time!"

This time, the game got close. The clown grinned madly as he was down to him last card...then the angel played a plus one. He slammed his fist against the table, then grabbed a card.

"You're never this lucky!"

The angel emptied their hand again.

Maybe I'm learning.

The clown gathered up his cards, and leaned forward.

"I don't know what you think is going to happen, but you aren't going to escape. You made this happen. Everything that exists here is your fault."

The angel's head brightened slightly, but they didn't respond.

"That's right. I know exactly what you are."

The clown got up, and almost walked away but stopped.

"See you tomorrow, doorman."

The angel watched him leave passively. Once he was gone, they stood and walked to the bed.

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

The doorman sat up sharply in their bed. They covered their mouth with their hand, suppressing a sob as the stood up and hobbled to the bathroom. They stood at the sink, splashing water on their face. They hadn't meant it. It had been an accident, they didn't even know they could-

They stared into the mirror. The angel stared back. The doorman felt their hands go clammy and cold, their heart beat faster...and the faceless angel just stared. Their head was so bright, it made the doorman feel like their eyes were frying out of their head.

"I AM NOT YOU!"

Before they knew what they were doing, they drove their fist into the mirror. It shattered everywhere. The angel stared back from each piece of glass, a million shards containing a bit of that horrifying caricature.

You did it to yourself. The nightmare is yours.

The doorman gripped their hair.

"I didn't mean to! I didn't!"

The angel's voice sounded almost bored, but it came from everywhere.

Your thoughts made it true. You are a monster. A monster who wants everyone else to be one too.

The doorman had no response to this. All the could do was sit on the floor amongst the shards on their mistake and bury their head in their arms. The angel faded from the glass shards, leaving them all alone in the dark bathroom.

"...I didn't know I could do that..."

[tadpoledyke]

A short,sensual little story from the pov of an autistic butch drag king.

You just want your shift drink. A cold bourbon and coke is what you need after prancing all over the stage with a cakeload of makeup on. The bar being so packed does not help either. There usually wasn't this much of a turnout at Amatuer drag kings and things night.

The girl in front of you in line leans over the bar. It's hard to keep a respectable distance between you and her peachy ass, peeking out ever so slightly from her miniskirt. You're starting to think maybe you should have taken that harness off before you went to get a drink.Youre now worried your hard pack is going to give her a nasty surprise. She looks back at you, batting her long pretty eyelashes and popping her butt out even more. “Just a shot of jack and … can I get you anything?” She asks, turning back to look at you. You blink, puzzled. “Oh … no..” you chuckle. “I’m a performer, the bar comps my drinks, it’s fine.” You worry that that sounds too harsh so you tack on a“I can't let you spend money on me like that, not in this cost of living crisis!”

The bartender Brendan slides the girl her drink and gives you a knowing look. He is one of your oldest friends. Having known each other from when you both left your small towns for the freeing but terrifying city.

“you were really good, by the way,” she says, sweetly smiling up at you. She delicately picks up the shot glass, droplets spilling, dancing around her beautiful slender fingers, emphasized by her Barbie pink acrylics. Almond tip, you think they're called. Yeah because they are almond shaped.

> “oicunt! Are you gonna gonna get anything or you gonna keep staring into space?”

>

He is getting annoyed. The girl has now downed her shot and left.

You smile applogeically and order your bourbon and coke. “you got it girl” he says, gracefully turning around to make it. You find your gaze fixating on the direction she walked off in.

Brendan hands you your glass. “You've always liked femmes who like brown liquor hey”

“huh?”

“I made it nice and strong for you now fuck off I've got a line”

You grab your drink and leave. What the hell did he mean by I've always liked femmes who like brown liquor what does that even -

You head out to the balcony,strung with cheap fairy lights. She”s there, leaning on the rail. You have the opportunity to look at her up and down now. The moonlight dancing off her warm brown skin. Every curve hugged so perfectly by her outfit. Her curly hair messily piled on top of her head, but it looked so intentional. She catches you staring and meets your gaze, smiling slightly.

You smile back awkwardly and find a place to have a cig. Oh shit, you left your fucking lighter in the dressing room.

“need a light, handsome?” She giggles,offering a refillable lighter encrusted in rhinestones. “Ohh thank you!”you take the lighter and she puts a hand around your cigarette, shielding it from the night air. Her sweet, earthy scent cuta through the cloying butterscotch and strawberry notes from god knows how many gays vaping on that balcony . It mingles with the smoke as you take a drag. “Do you want some?” You ask, holding it out so she may take it. Instead of taking it with her hand like you expected, she leans in to you, putting her lips to the filter. You gasp a little, your fingers are so close to her lips now. You're getting so lost in her beauty. “You're very pretty …” you whisper, before you can even think. She takes a drag and smiles. “Thank you, you’re not so bad yourself” she replies seductively. You feel her pussy press up against your strap, through your sweatpants. She gasps. You grit your teeth and let out a tiny moan. She seems surprised, even though she saw you up on stage in nothing but that strap harness and nipple tape about ten minutes ago. Her hands caress your buzzed head, the pressure of her nails so perfect, so euphoric.

Your moan flows into her mouth as she kisses you. Your hands rest at her waist and you lose yourself in her warm lips.

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #630

Top Ten Chocolates

Well, there’s chocolate. And, there’s chocolate. But! Only Wonka makes your confidence sky-rock-a-let. So put your hand into your pock-a-let, grab yourself some Wonka chocolate!

Ahem.

The problem being, of course, that Wonka Chocolate doesn’t actually exist. Well, okay, there’s something called Wonka Chocolate, but let’s face it, it doesn’t make you fart hummingbirds or whatever. Sadly, proper Wonka Chocolate remains the province of tall tales and masterful musicals that shockingly didn’t even get nominated for a single Oscar, despite having several of the best songs of the year.

Yes, even better than I’m Just Ken.

Where was I?

Oh yes, Easter. A celebration of renewal, of springtime, and of course the inspiration for the classic film The Life of Brian. So in a moment of spiritual solemnity I’m going to focus on the true meaning of the season by writing a list about chocolate.

This is no hifalutin list of blends and flavours; oh no sir. I did consider that, but then I thought that sounded both like a lot of hard work and also a bit pretentious. No, this is just chocolate products that taste really nice. Not cakes or anything though; basically bars. Chocolate bars. And stuff.

And that’s all there is to it. Now let’s all eat like we’re in the Ironic Punishment Division.

Dark Chocolate Orange: I like dark chocolate, I like orange-flavoured chocolate. There’s also something about the size and heft of the Chocolate Orange slices (segments?) that gives them a bit of gravitas; they’re small enough to have a few, if you feel like it, but also substantial enough to feel like a decent bit of chocolate on their own. Essentially, they tick all the boxes.

Dairy Milk: it’s classic, right? Now, generally speaking, I do prefer dark chocolate; I love those sexy Lindt bars and even a Bourneville. Those aren’t on this list though, but take it as read: they’re great. However, you really have to hand it to the simplicity and verisimilitude of Dairy Milk; it goes with everything. Snapping off a square from a big bar is one thing; but Easter eggs. Is there anything nicer than the shape and consistency of Dairy Milk Easter egg chocolate? I don’t care what comes with the egg, just give me several enormous Cadbury’s ones.

Starbar: going onto actual chocolate bars now, and I do like a bit of something in it. Starbars are great because they are soft but substantial; chewy, crunchy, and really jut have a lot going on. They feel light enough that you don’t get post-choc guilt attacks, but they also have their own bit of weight and substance regardless.

Cadbury’s Caramel: don’t give me any of that “Dairy Milk with Caramel” nonsense. This is its own beast. Dairy Milk chocolate, yes, but with really nice caramel within. Simply the best choc-and-caramel combo; sorry, Galaxy. And does anyone else miss the curiously sexy bunny?

Maltesers: I think I’ve become more and more drawn to the simple elegance of a Malteser as I’ve gotten older. The chocolate may not be Cadbury’s, but it’s sweet and light, and the soft, sugary sensation of dissolving one in your mouth borders on the sublime. I could probably eat a boxful if I allowed myself.

Peanut M&Ms: the connoisseur’s cinema snack of choice. There was a time when my wife and I could not be caught dead without a pack, either at the flicks or just in the car. However, they’re kinda expensive and very sweet and also the kids might have choked on them. But maybe they should make a comeback.

Crunchie: a thick, sturdy block of delightfully sweet honeycomb wrapped in a thin layer of chocolate. One of the most enjoyable chocs to eat due to its combination of subtlety and lightness and also it’s chonky boi energy. Can be soft, can be sharp, always tasty.

Boost: lower down the list than perhaps it really deserves. I really love a Boost, but they are superficially similar to the rather lighter and slightly more flavoursome Starbar. Their comparable heftiness can be what you’re after, and they are tasty. Plus – let’s not forget – they’re slightly rippled with a flat underside.

Reece’s Pieces: I struggled with how to rank these, because the actual Reece’s Pieces – the M&M-style things that Elliot feeds E.T. – aren’t that exciting and have that fake US chocolatey taste. But the other stuff they do – the bars and peanut butter cups and all that jazz – are amazing, probably the best synthesis of peanut butter and chocolate. So taken all together they rock. Despite being American.

Mint Aero: just pipping a Toffee Crisp at the post, because I couldn’t not have mint chocolate. I love mint chocolate, but it is something to be savoured, not an everyday delight. Whilst there are nicer chocolates and better incorporations of a minty flavour, there’s something about the softness and airiness of an Aero that makes it compelling.

Just bubbling under: Viscounts, Rolos, Munchies, and Kit Kats. And, of course, the aforementioned Toffee Crisp. Who’s hungry?

[the-fiction-witch]

Curl Up

Media Pistol

Character Malcolm

Couple Malcolm X Reader

Rating Sweet

Concept Aftermath

Warnings For fights and Abuse

I stood in my apartment listening to my records as I worked on dinner. It wasn't much but it would do for now. Often hearing people shouting in the streets and cars rushing around in the dark outside my window. I jumped a little as I heard a knocking on my door. Perhaps the neighbourhood got locked out again or something so I set everything to simmer and headed through the living room and down the long corridor to my front door unlocking it and opening it to see a sight I didn't really expect. In the pale concrete corridor of my apartment building stood a very frustrated Malcolm.

In his usual shoes, his leather trousers tight to his thin legs, his off-white sleeveless shirt with the two cowboys touching tips, his leather jacket over him, a duffle bag beside him on the floor and another bag of some sort over his shoulder, blood dripping down from his temple.

I didn't need to be a genius to figure out what happened here.

"Viv kick you out?" I asked and he nodded a little sheepishly "fine" I sighed opening the door to let him in he picked up his bag and headed inside so I shut and locked the door behind him "at this point I'm gonna have to start charging you" 

He dumped his bags and sat on my sofa stealing my lighter to have a cigarette so I went over resting my hands on my hips 

"What happened?"

"Some cunts thought a brick through the window" he says having a long drag of the cigarette 

"Oh god" I gasped "didn't hit your head?"

"No. Viv did that. Technically a lamp but" he shrugs 

I sighed going to my bathroom to get my first aid kit sitting on the sofa with him giving it a clean up even if he complained "you don't need stitches luckily just a graze" I told him as I began bandaging it for "so I'm assuming there's some in-between of the brick through the window and the lamp to your temple?" 

"Not really the brick came through she accused me of putting her and the kids in danger, sent them to there room, started going off at me about the shop and about every I said don't like it get the hell out, she said it's her apartment I should fuck off I'm putting the kids at risk, I said I don't give a shit about her kids but your not keeping my son from me, she said I never see him anyway and threw the lamp at my head, so I packed my stuff and she threw me out. again." 

"I mean… I'm not saying you deserved a lamp to the head" I sighed taking my first aid kit back and returning to cooking dinner adding some bits and bobs as I guarantee he hadn't eaten yet "one of these days she going to kick you out and not let you back in" 

"Oh I'm sure of it" he sighed "at least I have you" he says coming and wrapping his arms around me having dumped his jacket on the sofa leaning his chin on my shoulder

"My sofa that cosy?"

"No it's the second most uncomfortable place I have ever slept. But it's nice to be able to come here and have you clean me up. It helps"

"Helps what?"

"Helps me…feel better"

"Naawwwwww" I Cooed 

"Shut up" he sighed 

"Adorable Malcolm"

"I mean it, it's nice having somewhere else to go. Else I'd end up in Denmark street sleeping on Steve's spare mattress"

"Ohhh yeah I don't even sit on that thing I'm afraid I'll somehow get pregnant just from sitting on it"

"So do I" he sighed "thank you for letting me stay"

"It's fine can't send you out onto the streets" I smiled softly petting his hair twisting my fingers in the slightly knotted curls 

"No? You won't kick me out into the cold like an alley cat?"

"No you can stay. Maybe if you have a shower you can snuggle at the foot of my bed" 

"Tempting, I always end up in your bed anyway" he Cooes 

"I know something that help you feel better"

"Ohhh? Don't keep me in suspense" he smirked nibbling at my neck

"Ice cream?"

"Ice cream sounds perfect" 

[absolutesort]

day 28 — frankie & josh.

setting : bedroom /   casa amor.

time :  after the breath holding contest  /  race  /  pool orgy / post adela.

featuring :   josh  /   @graftisms

frankie.

it isn’t in frankie’s nature to sit and wallow. she doesn’t tend to get to bogged down by feeling upset in the first place, preferring to laugh things off rather than take them to heart. irritation she can do, anger she can do, but sadness is a feeling she tries not to vibe with, if she can help it. luckily, adela’s snapped her out of her brief dip in mood. frankie’s on her way out of the bedroom — sans towel, slightly perkier, and in a new bikini ; one of adela’s sexy little strappy things, which is a touch too small, but who’s looking — when she half-collides with josh, his shoulder brushing hers on his way past. “hey, josh, watch where you’re—” she pauses, clocking his expression, like the lights are on but nobody’s home, clearly in a world of his own and not necessarily in a good way. “hey,” she starts, closing in on him, blocking his path. “what’s going on? you have to tell me, or i'll tell mali you're in the cult of scientology.”

josh.

maybe josh should've felt worse about starting shit with marcus, but he doesn't. instead him and mali had another drink in the kitchen, long enough to bide time for whenever josh entered the villa again, marcus hopefully wouldn't be anywhere in sight. just because he doesn't regret anything he's said doesn't mean he's in the mood for round two so soon. he's trying to be quiet as he goes to grab his things to shower, but in light of being stealthy be manages to nearly collide with frankie, who seemingly comes out of nowhere. "sorry," his hand reaches out to steady her, only to draw it back in when she starts the third degree. "what? frankie, get out of the way. i need my shit to go shower." his eyes roll at the mention of the bombshell. "i doubt she'd care, considering the way she was just grafting me." despite making a scene with marcus right before. "where have you been, anyway?"    

frankie.

“woah!” frankie’s hands are snapping up in front of her, an exaggerated display of offence. “um…that's rude.” as if she can talk.  “im not…” swallowing, she feels an itch of anxiousness burrow in her stomach. she likes josh, and most of the time she’s friends with josh, but sometimes she feels like they’re too similar to have a friendship that ever resembles tenderness, butting heads every time one of them feels a prickly vibe and doubles down on the heat by fanning a flame that probably would be extinguished if they simply attempted to listen. “don't get up in my grill, josh. i was just trying to look out for you because the vibe you're giving off right now is majorly off. you’re like, skulking about the place like fuckin’ nosferatu.” maybe they both just need to take a breath, deal with their respective shit, take the aries energy down a notch. inhaling, she focuses on a water drop hanging on his collarbone. presumably from the naked orgy in the pool. “uh, ive just been…” she gestures vaguely, not really wanting to address the reason why she hadn’t felt like diving butt naked into a pool with a bunch of strangers. "between planes. cosmic hopping.” adopting a new york accent, she bats away the question. “ey, fuggetaboutit!”

josh.

"you're not...?" eyebrows raise a little higher, though he's not too much of an ass to not see the caution in her eyes. wherever she was, she doesn't want to tell him. if it was sex, he'd like to think she'd be a little more smug about it. a little less... whatever this is. so he doesn't push, instead heading over to where his bag is packed to grab his things. "i'm not in your grill," he laughs to himself, head shaking. "i didn't know people still did that. and i'm fine, seriously. had a fun little chat with marcus, called him out for kicking romi to the curb and laying one on naomi without a care in the world, but frankly, i feel lighter than i did at the start of the day. have you seen my moisturizer? it's not in my stuff." did jenny not pack it for him? he'll kill her.

frankie.

"i'm not trying to get in your way?" she concludes, though as soon as it's evident josh isn't trying to fight her, she calms down a little. snatching her towel up off layla's bed, where she'd left it when she was talking to adela, she starts to squeeze out some of the dampness in the ends of her hair. "wait, what?" her reaction comes fast and furious when josh begins rambling about marcus, and kicking, and laying it on naomi, and suddenly she feels like she's eight leagues behind and needs a mario kart rocket boost to catch up. "slow down, marcus did what to naomi?" she'd suspected as much, obviously. she isn't blind. she sees the way marcus looks at her. maybe that's why his face had been so swollen. had she hit him? jesus christ. "you can borrow mine," she says, going to her own case and pulling out a day & night all-in-one job that she slathers on whenever she remembers. "that's like, a lot..." frankie notes, offering him the bottle. "what did you say to him?" why hadn't she been there to calm things down?

josh.

he doesn't bother looking at her for a reaction, knowing that frankie will probably chastise him for hurting the villa sweetheart or some shit. instead he grabs the clothes he's looking for, before rising to his feet. "marcus kissed naomi." no use keeping that a secret, since it's bound to spread eventually. "or he tried to, but she headbutted him instead. the night of the party, after romi and maddox." which is a fair time to have done it, but it's not just about marcus trying to say fuck you to romi by kissing her friend. even if marcus refuses to acknowledge josh's three week relationship with romi, he think he's well in his element to be annoyed. "thanks." realizing this is going to be a ~discussion~ josh takes a seat on the edge of his bed, somewhat begrudgingly. "i said what i just told you," he speaks slowly, as if frankie missed it. "it wasn't cool of marcus to end things with romi the way he did, and someone had to tell him."

frankie.

mentally, she's trying to put a map together of when this happened, though she needn't bother — soon josh is telling her anyway. after the dares game, then. after she'd kissed marcus. as a dare, but still. it doesn't matter. the kiss with callie had been better, obviously, there's just a part of her that likes it when she's wanted, even if it isn't real. "okay," frankie reponds, lips pursed. "i never really spoke to marcus about what actually happened... just that they were broken up. i'd always assumed it was romi who did the dumping." it would make more sense to frankie, but then everything she knows about romi could fit on the back of a postage stamp. it's a shame, because out of all the girls, romi was the one she thought she'd get along best with. "yeah, no i get that. just... i thought you guys were friends." she can't tell if it speaks volumes about josh's loyalty (to romi) or his disloyalty (to marcus). "we don't have to talk about this. you should take your shower before someone beats you to it."

josh.

"that's not what happened," josh says plainly, not really sure how much he wants to get into this with her. he told her because he respects frankie and she asked what was up, but that doesn't mean he necessarily wants to go into romi and marcus' personal life. he's grateful she offers a backdoor to exit the conversation, though the comment before irks him. "i thought we were, too." fingers run through his hair, knowing it was going to get washed in a few anyway. might as well dirty it with his physical irritation. "maybe i'm dumb, but friends don't kiss their friend's exes, without at least warning them or telling them after, rather than keeping that shit from them. nah, marcus doesn't give a shit about me. he's too far up naomi's ass to see me as anything other than the villain in her story." which he doesn't even think naomi views him as, frankly.

frankie.

frankie’s about to make a comment about how this is love island, and literally everybody’s swapping partners like a game of musical chairs—that he can’t seriously be angry at marcus when they’re all here for the same reason. but then she doesn’t really get the extent of josh and naomi’s situation, having only come into the villa when the two of them were on the out. somehow, she bites her tongue. “i think he’s just confused. about the romi situation. about what or who he wants. but i get why you’re mad, he should’ve told you straight away.” he hadn’t told frankie when she’d tucked him in, pressed a cold compress to his head. she’d just assumed it was dejan being dejan or something. “look… i’m not going anywhere.” she couldn’t if she tried. she’s already strayed towards the borders and been ushered back on more than one occasion, and it’s the first day. “go have your shower. if you wanna talk this shit out later while we hit the heavy bag, we can do. but don’t let it ruin your night.”

josh.

"the romi situation," his eyes roll. josh should take the opportunity to shower now, but frankie's firing him up again, exactly what he didn't want. "what, you mean when he dumped her because her ex being on the show was too hard for him? i know he's a kid and all, but give me a break. i've barely been in relationships, and that's not what you do when you actually care about someone." he hopes marcus is getting a villain edit on the outside, though in reality, josh is aware it's probably still himself that's the villain. he reminds himself to ask layla later about it, unless the producers are going to put him in timeout over it again. he's annoyed them enough in the past twenty-four hours. "it's not ruining my day." he stands up to prove a point, clothes in a pile in his hand. "i probably pissed off marcus more than it pisses off me. just wanted to make sure he know he screwed up. might take you up on the heavy bag tomorrow, though." if not for anger than to let out some of his sexual frustration.

[petersbaby]

You can’t stay? - soft/subby Billy x reader

The premise for this was derived from a fic that I read called “being good” by @roanniom!

Warnings: male and female masturbation, mommy kink, alcohol/drinking mention and drunkenness

A/N: I can’t stop making Billy soft. I can’t help it 😫 I’ll try next time to make him act more like his character. Bro has mommy issues so he probs has a mommy kink. Just a guess, a mere speculation lol. AHHH I don’t know how I feel about this one but if it’s cringey, I have to embrace the cringe and own it.

-

It was about 1:00 in the morning and you were done babysitting your drunk boyfriend at this random house party. You decide it’s time to go. You come up to him to pull on his arm, to tell him to get to the car so you can drive him home. He was the type of person who couldn’t just have one drink, he couldn’t drink casually. He went all out, particularly when it came to beer kegs. You most often opted not to drink at these parties, just to be sure billy got home safely. He is, unfortunately, the type of dumbass who would attempt to drive under the influence.

It was quite iffy, what would happen. Sometimes, when he’s drunk, he turns sweet and super clingy, maybe even a little emotional. Other times, he gets rowdy, hyper. He could also get boisterous and angry, picking fights with random guys for no reason other than to assert his dominance and remind everyone how he can and will kick ass any time.

Tonight, you could tell you were getting the first option. He came with no problem, letting you pull him out of the party and out to the car. You let go of his wrist, trusting him to follow you, but he doesn’t like that. He immediately reaches for your hand and holds it in his as you walk.

You get to the car, he plops down in the passenger seat while you go around to the drivers side to start the car. It was a little chilly, so you turned on the heat and billy holds his big hands up to the vents to warm his freezing fingers and you smile. Once he was satisfied, he reached into his jacket pocket and dug for his pack of cigarettes as you drove. He lights one, taking a big hit and slumping back into his seat.

“You know the deal, Hargrove. Give me one, be nice and share.” You hold out your hand and he hesitates at first but pulls another out to hand it to you, then the lighter. You figure it’s the least he can do for you driving him home and watching him like a kid. You lit your cigarette, tossing the lighter in the middle console.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, genuine confusion in his voice, eyebrows knitted together. You look over and chuckle slightly at him. He has a worried expression on his face.

“What do you mean, pretty boy?”

“You sounded…you just seemed…mad. Did I do something wrong?” He questions.

“I’m not mad. Promise.”

You spend the rest of the drive reassuring him.

You finally pull up to his house, a shitty trailer in the same park as Eddie’s. It looked like nobody was home. You made sure you got him to the door, and told him you loved him and would talk to him tomorrow. He looks as if you had just broken his heart when you say goodbye. It was a rare instance where his parents weren’t home, so you had just assumed he would want the place to himself. Probably to listen to music really, really loud.

“You can’t stay?” He asks sadly.

“Oh, I mean- I can, I just didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

He responds by taking your hand and pulling you through the front door as you giggle in surprise. He has the wit to lock the door behind you both and he starts towards his room. You tell him you’ll be right there, knowing he wants to be cuddled and probably have you play with his hair. It was rare to see such a soft side to him and you treasured every minute of it, so you were glad to.

He wasn’t ever mean to you, but always sort of on edge, something that had come naturally built in from living the life he’s had. It was good to see him just relax, let his guard down from time to time. You grab a cup out of the cabinet and make him a glass of tap water, carefully coming to his room and not spilling any. When you arrive, he’s kicking off his jeans, struggling just a little bit which made you laugh. He looks up at you.

“Can’t get these- fuckin’ things off..”

“Just sit down and pull them off. You’re just standing, trying to balance on one leg and it isn’t working.” You suggest.

He does, and that works quickly. He kicks them away, sitting back on the bed.

“Here. Drink this.” You give him the water, ready to hear him protest about how he doesn’t need it. This time he doesn’t, immediately drinking it all down like he’d been stranded in a desert for days. He sets down the empty cup on his nightstand and crawls into bed. You kick your shoes off, climbing in next to him. You were tired enough in that moment to drift away right there, but you were pulled back to reality by your clingy boyfriend.

He opens his arms and you settle into them, resting your head on his chest with your own arms wrapped around his torso in a lazy hug. You sit that way for a little while, the otherwise silent air being filled with bugs chirping and trilling outside and faint music and television playing from somebody’s house.

Eventually, he sighs dramatically and you pull away.

“What??” You ask, pretending to be annoyed.

“Want a kiss.”

You smile, pressing one onto his lips. When you tried to disconnect from him, he grabbed your face and held you there, kissing you deeper. It gets hot and heavy really fast, and before you know it you’re breathless and panting for air in between kisses only to meet his lips once again, because it felt so good.

Beer and cigarettes don’t sound like a good taste, but just because it was him, it was amazing. You must’ve made out for five minutes straight before he takes one of your hands. You try to interlace your fingers with his, innocently thinking he wanted to hold hands. Naïve. Instead, he starts to guide it down further and further until it reaches his crotch, and you immediately feel the massive hard-on he has. You pull your hand back, and he whines in disapproval.

“I’m sorry, we can’t. You’re fucked up.”

“I am not, swear I’m not. Need you.” He was pretty evidently still drunk.

“You are. Shouldn’t have kissed you like that, got you all worked up.” You lean over to kiss him on the cheek and cuddle up again, hoping he forgets about it. He doesn’t, though, because his hand returns to that place, palming his cock through the thin fabric of his boxers in which it was basically standing up.

He lazily touches himself, grunting and whining here and there as he searches for relief.

“Please, help me, mommy.”

Your instinct takes over once hearing that word.

“Poor thing, so desperate, aren’t you?” You coo.

“Y-yes..”

“Well like I just said, mommy can’t touch you right now.”

“Fuck, I need you to. Please.”

“No. Gotta touch yourself. You can do that, yeah? Looks like you already are.”

“Not enough.” He complains.

“Okay, pretty baby, here’s what we can do. You want a visual aid?”

“Please.”

“Good boy. Good manners.” You speak softly to him, moving to sit in front of him. The room is dim but still glowy, light from the street lamps shining through the bedroom window mixed with moonlight. He pulls his cock out of his boxers through the hole in the middle, that you had never actually seen anyone use. You shake away from that thought and focus back onto him, sweaty and desperate and just waiting for your next move.

“Give me your hand,” you instruct, and he holds it out. You let a good amount of saliva pool in your mouth before spitting, letting it drip down onto the palm of his hand which he brings to his dick and starts fully stroking himself.

“Lemme see you, please..”

You pull your sweater over your head, taking your bralette with it, exposing your bare chest to his needy eyes and he strokes faster.

“Doing so good. Just imagine it’s me you’re fucking instead of your fist, go faster. Harder.”

He groans at your words and continues, and you start to become aware of how horny this is making you to watch.

You wished nothing more than to jump on him, slide down onto his cock and bounce on it, but you couldn’t do that morally. You were all about consent, it was an important thing but you wanted to help him how you could without taking advantage of him. This was the next best thing. You move to stand up, pushing your pants down your legs and returning to your spot, sitting down and spreading your legs.

“Fuck.” He comments when he catches a glimpse of your sticky cunt beneath turquoise lace.

“Wanna cum with you, pretty boy, okay?”

“Mh…mhm.” He nods. You can tell he’s putting every last bit of focus and strength he has to do this. You slip your hand between your legs, pushing your panties to the side and circling your clit a few times. You feel like you’re already close somehow with barely any stimulation just from how hot it was to watch him do this to himself. You moan out loud for him to hear, and he loves the sound, just like he always does. The sound of your voice makes him shut his eyes in bliss but he quickly opens them back up when he remembers what he was missing by doing that.

His gaze is laser focused on your wet cunt, you could feel his eyes boring into your heated center as you slipped down further and dipped a finger into your hole. You start with your middle finger, it disappears inside you with ease in the blink of an eye and you quickly add a second finger to it.

You watch the desperate, whining, and sweating mess of a boy in front of you while fucking yourself with your fingers faster and faster, curling them every now and then. The sounds that filled the air between the both of you were disgusting, obscenely wet. You feel like you could do this forever, or at least until you feel an orgasm starting to creep up on you. You pull your soaked fingers out of your pussy and back up to your clit, rubbing quick circles over it.

“Fuck, gonna cum.” He chokes out.

“Wait on me, I’m close too.” You respond, eyes focused on his fist flying up and down his shaft with fervor until you fall over the edge, moaning out and throwing your head back. Even though you didn’t have time to give him the verbal cue, he couldn’t hold it any more. Watching you fall apart, he busts his load and it spills out and impressive amount all over his hand and drips down it to soak the fabric of his boxers.

He looks up at you with lust clouded eyes fading away and you catch your breath.

“You did so good.” You praise him. You look down to where he still had his hand wrapped around himself, unsure what to do with the mess he made.

“C’mon, you should take a shower. Just a quick one, at least, okay?”

“Ughhh” he groans, his sleepy eyes already starting to flutter shut.

“I’ll take one with you.”

That brought him back, and he hops up to follow you to the bathroom. You roll your eyes and smile, knowing that would work to entice him.

You both remove the underwear you had on and you wait for the water to get hot, testing the temperature with your hand before getting in. When it’s to your liking, you step in, and he steps in right behind you.

You let the water rush down the front of your body, and over your face. You close your eyes, reveling in the warmth, and a pair of rough and chiseled arms wrapping around your waist from behind. You lean back into the embrace, letting your head rest back onto his shoulder.

Once you’re both done, you wrap yourself in a towel and then toss one to him, leaving him in the bathroom while you head to his room to find an outfit to steal. You find a pair of dark grey sweatpants, and you slip them on, tying the drawstring tight around your waist.

Then, you search for a shirt that isn’t ripped or sleeveless, which was hard. You did, though, finding an old Chevy graphic tee and pulling it on. You get back into his bed, truly worn out now, and drift away to sleep.

Billy had stayed in the bathroom crying his hair for a while but finally came back to you, seeing that you were already asleep so he tried to quietly find some clean clothes to put on. Once he does, he slips into the bed next to you, wrapping his arms around you tight. He fell asleep faster than he ever could before when he had you next to him.

[piecksz]

three’s a crowd | (m)

pairing: reiner x fem!reader x eren

warnings: nsfw, oral sex (female recieving), cuckolding, male masturbation, penetrative sex, voyeurism, slight degredation, slight angst, light mention of drugs, explicit language

summary: reiner’s attempt at hiding his attraction towards you fails, but lucky for him, eren’s feeling generous.

words: 4.6k

a/n: this was so much longer than i planned for.....well.....shit LMAOOO

a/n x2: I FORGOT TO ADD if you guys wanna listen to the song i looped like 47 fucking times while writing this, bc i feel like it fits reiner in this one shot kinda well, u can listen to recognize by partynextdoor (feat. drake) :p enjoy

Reiner hated Eren.

He hadn’t gone into living with someone he’d never met in person before with innumerable expectations, but he wasn’t banking on his roommate to be his polar opposite. He hated the sound of Eren’s riotous music into the early hours of dawn. He hated the unbearable malodor of his marijuana dependence, and he hated the way he carried himself with an intolerable air of arrogance, but as much as Eren’s living habits irritated him, it was the fact that Eren had you that presided over all of his grievances.

Being a witness to it made Reiner sick, knowing that you were leagues above Eren, and surely you deserved someone respectable, but somehow he’d charmed you into a long-term relationship, and Reiner wondered how he’d managed it. If by some miracle it had been up to him, Reiner speculated that he would be a viable match for you--that was if he had those sentiments for you--and he reassured himself he didn’t hold any promiscuous feelings towards his roommate’s girlfriend.

Yet it was hard for Reiner to rationalize the obscene thoughts that pervaded his mind at 2 AM. His clock displayed the time in bold red numbers, an indication that he should have been fast asleep, but you had decided to spend the night, and he already understood what that entailed.

The walls in their apartment were thin and did an insubstantial job of muting the noise that traveled between rooms. Reiner boasted the privilege of having his room right next to Eren’s, which meant he could hear everything that happened on the other side of the barrier. He heard every whimper, every groan, every time Eren praised you for taking him so well, and every time he admired how irresistible you looked while he fucked you from the back. The sound was so lucid he could count exactly how many rounds you guys had gone, and it was usually two, three if Eren hadn’t seen you in a while which was rare.

You two were hard to ignore, no matter how hard Reiner had tried, meaning he was also up late, listening while you two coupled. Your cries of stimulation, however, he didn’t mind as much. In truth, Reiner was always tempted to slip his hands into his pants and get himself off to the sound of your enticing whimpers, but he would discourage himself, deciding it was against his better judgement. Instead he would opt to cover his ears with his pillow, flipping over onto his side and dedicating his total effort to falling asleep.  

Of course, Reiner had long established that he didn’t like you, but he swore he could make you feel better than Eren could.

It was around midday when Reiner returned to their apartment after committing his morning to helping his long-time friend, Pieck, pack up the furniture at her studio in preparation to move. They were halfway finished with stowing away Pieck’s belongings before she realized they didn’t have enough boxes and apologized, asking Reiner if he’d be willing to return the following day to help her load up her remaining things. He obliged, guiltily happy that he was being dismissed early.

Reiner kicked off his shoes and ambled into the kitchen to set down the food he secured on his way home, but he paused momentarily to scrutinize the condition of the living room, discerning Eren’s obvious trace.

The TV was on, but it sat idly, blinking images of some prime time movie Reiner couldn’t recognize, and Eren’s drug paraphernalia was left scattered on the coffee table, his bong alongside his stray lighter and grinder.

“Eren!” Reiner had prompted him on several occasions, reminding Eren that just because he thought electricity was a necessary utility and should be free, didn’t mean it was, they still had to pay for it. He also requested that he put his bong away after he was done smoking since it wasn’t permitted in their building, but Eren seemed heedless to that demand too. “Eren!”

Reiner anticipated a response, but huffed when he received only silence. Leave it to his roommate to blight his good mood in record time. He mumbled inaudibly, swiping the remote off the table to turn the TV off, and then reluctantly bending down to tidy the space of Eren’s things.

“Hi, Sunshine. You’re up and about early.”

Reiner straightened himself out and turned around, unaware that you’d been over. He missed your approaching footsteps. Had you stayed the night? He didn’t hear anything from Eren’s room the previous evening which was unusual to say the least. Maybe you’d stopped by earlier that morning while he’d been out.

“Hey,” he replied meekly. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were here.”

Reiner’s eyes looked you over swiftly, slightly startled at the lack of clothing covering your bottom half. You were only wearing a loose shirt that stopped dangerously at your hips and a pair of lace undergarments, but naturally, you didn’t seem the least bit phased. You’d practically lived with them. When you weren’t in class or at your part-time job, you were at their apartment, leading Reiner to wonder if you forgot you had a place of your own. 

“It’s fine,” you smiled. “Sorry Eren left all of his shit out. I don’t know how I know the house rules and he doesn’t.”

Reiner snorted. “He knows them, he just doesn’t care.” His voice was casual although he walked hastily into the kitchen to avoid looking at you. He stored Eren’s bong in the vacant cupboard above the microwave before throwing his other tools into a miscellaneous drawer.

As if on cue, Eren wandered out of his room languidly, carelessly shrugging a jacket onto his unclad upper body. Reiner took that as a sign that his lunch would be best enjoyed in his room. He was already irked, and wasn’t in the headspace to deal with the current atmosphere.

“What’d you get?” you questioned, leaning over the counter with mirth. You paid little attention to the way Eren came up behind you, circling his arms around your waist and resting his chin in the curve of your shoulder. You looked more interested in the alluring smells wafting from the paper bag in Reiner’s hand.

Another thing he hated about Eren was his shameless PDA. It appeared he adored showing you off, letting everyone know that you were his, but God--how could anyone forget when it seemed he was incapable of keeping his hands off of you. Reiner himself recognized that you were a prize, from your lively eyes that were a marriage of subtle hues to the way your lips curled upwards when you grinned. He even noticed the curve of your breasts’ shape through your shirt. If Reiner had you, he’d want you all to himself.

He shook the thought out of his head.

“I just got something small on the way home.” He forced a smile. “If I’d known you were over I would have gotten you something too.”

“Why do you treat Y/N better than you treat me?” Eren asked, sounding only a little bit offended.

Reiner pretended to think before he responded. “Ah, maybe it’s because I don’t like you.”

You laughed at Reiner’s reply, and Eren only smiled, but Reiner detected something else behind his expression. Mischief.

“Do you like Y/N?”

Reiner creased his eyebrows together. “Of course.” He hadn’t read too much into the question. He did like you. You weren’t just easy on the eyes, but you were great company too. That was the only reason he didn’t mind lending their apartment to you as a second home, he enjoyed being around you.

You let out an exaggerated aww after he answered. “I like you too, Reiner.”

Reiner chuckled, shaking his head, but inside he was telling his heart to calm down. You didn’t mean it like that.

Eren hummed absentmindedly, swaying side to side slowly while you rocked along to his movement.

“Do you wanna fuck her?”

Reiner gripped the bag in his hand tightly, and his smile faltered in shock, reeling from the bombshell of Eren’s question. “What?” Did he hear him correctly?

You looked just as surprised, exclaiming your boyfriend’s name and craning your neck to look at him.

“I’m kidding,” he dismissed, but Reiner could tell he wasn’t from the way Eren’s eyes didn’t waver from him.

What Reiner didn’t know was that Eren had caught onto him. He’d known for a while, which was why he was particularly touchy with you around Reiner, showing you off, not caring whether you walked around their apartment scarcely dressed, it was because Eren enjoyed having something that someone else wanted. He saw the way his roommate acted around his girlfriend, reserved and quiet, more than he usually was, and he even noticed the way Reiner’s eyes dipped down to your chest in the moment because Eren was exceptional at paying attention to detail.

You must have detected how uncomfortable Reiner felt because you delivered a brief jab to Eren’s ribs with your elbow.

“Eren, that’s not fucking funny,” you chided. “Do I need to put you in time out?”

“It’s fine,” Reiner interrupted quickly. He didn’t want you defending him because you were oblivious. It only made the situation more embarrassing than it already was since, truthfully, the thought had crossed his mind more than once.

Eren reiterated his question, eyes narrowed at Reiner. “So do you?”

You sighed heavily and looked at Reiner apologetically. He could feel his face growing hot, and he prayed it wasn’t obvious he was as flushed as he felt. He just wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.

Reiner released a humourless chuckle. “Grow up, Eren.” He slipped past the two of you, but he didn’t get far.

“I’m only asking because I’m feeling charitable. You wouldn’t mind, would you baby?”

Reiner could hear Eren pressing a series of ticklish kisses against your skin, causing you to laugh through your answer.

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind if Reiner doesn’t mind.”

Reiner brought his teeth down hard on the tip of his tongue. He was surprised that Eren was so secure in his relationship that he would willingly allow another man to have his way with his girlfriend. He wasn’t sure if his suggestion was insane or ingenious, because Eren had taken control of the one thing that threatened any relationship: infidelity, something so unvirtuous wouldn’t stop him from loving you. You and Eren were so committed to each other that a simple fuck meant nothing.

Reiner hesitated, but figured an opportunity like this was rare. He had both Eren’s permission and yours, yet he still didn’t believe his sincerity until you were in Eren’s room, starting to strip out of your clothes.

His chestnut eyes drifted over to Eren, slouched lazily in the chair he casually pulled out from his desk. “You’re gonna watch?”

Eren lifted a thick eyebrow, resting his thumb under his chin with an index finger against his cheek, looking unimpressed by Reiner’s obvious reservations. “You think I’d let you fuck my girlfriend without me here?”

Reiner slid a tense hand over the back of his neck, rubbing away the uncomfortable heat that creeped up his back and diffused to the tips of his ears. He figured that was reasonable considering the circumstances, after all, he was only fucking you because Eren had allowed it.

There was nothing more intoxicating to Reiner than your bare form, scanty pink lace clinging to your hips the only thing preventing you from being completely naked in front of him. His gaze dipped from your simpering smile down to your collarbones and then down to your breasts, perfectly sculpted to your figure.

Reiner made no efforts to move despite his insatiable urge to grab you in his arms and make certain that you were left satisfied. He feared he’d look too eager to Eren who was observing from the sidelines, but you paid little attention to your audience of one as you sauntered towards Reiner, closer and closer, until your arms slid around his neck and you pressed your chest to his torso.

Reiner’s body was strung so tightly, he was afraid he might snap. It seemed you took notice of the way his muscles tensed once your delicate fingers ghosted over the nape of his neck because your suggestive expression waned, and instead, your eyebrows creased with sincere concern.

“You okay?”

He couldn’t respond, but to be fair, it was because his heart was hammering against his chest and he wasn’t sure how to make it stop. He looked over at Eren again, who, fortunately, didn’t seem to pay much attention to him. Instead, your boyfriend’s stare was fixed on your backside, likely admiring how luscious you looked from his perspective.

“I’m over here.” You laughed and pressed a gentle finger to Reiner’s chin, redirecting his focus back to you. “Just relax.”

He swallowed, chuckling to soothe his unease. “I’m trying.”

Reiner wasn’t sure why he felt so unassertive in your presence. He didn’t hold a record like Eren did, but he also wasn't abstinent by any means. This, though, felt different. He was dealing with several months of pent-up sexual frustration that could only be satisfied by you and no one else. He knew because he’d tried.

Reiner drew in a ragged breath as you leaned into him, breathing heavily through his mouth until you closed the space in between you two, then he continued breathing heavily through his nose. At first, he made no efforts to close his eyes, afraid that the imagery in front of him was a mirage inspired by his own imagination and would disappear if he so much as blinked. His lips were timid, body taut under your touch, but you seduced his mouth, reining him in until he melted into the kiss.

He pushed back against you with fervor and desperation, outlining the shape of your bottom lip with his tongue before nipping at the soft flesh. You released a quiet whimper, intensifying the lust swelling in the pit of his stomach, and Reiner forced his tongue past your teeth, claiming your mouth while his wandering hands settled audaciously against your ass.

Your hands slid over his shoulders and crafted biceps until they tugged hastily against the hem of his shirt, and Reiner immediately understood your cue, withdrawing his mouth from yours to give himself just enough time to slip out of it. He dipped down again to deliver another kiss, but he was deterred by the feeling of your palm against his chest.

“What? Is something wrong?” he questioned quickly, eyes darting back and forth between your hand and your face, worried that he’d done something to overstep your boundaries.

Instead of the troubled expression he expected, you looked rather intrigued. Perhaps impressed was the better word. Your curiosity was held by Reiner’s physique, a living work of art. Eager fingers traveled down the built ripples of his abdomen, chuckling once you felt his muscles flex under your touch.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathed. “Nice, Braun.”

A snicker emitted from the corner. This, miraculously, Eren allowed.

Reiner's mouth quirked upward in a subtle smile before he surrounded you with his arm, pulling you in for another kiss. He walked you backwards until you collapsed onto the mattress, and he fell on top of you, strong forearms holding up his weight. It was then that Reiner realized he allowed his lust to win in the war against himself.

He pulled away to recover his breath, winded pants fanning over your face. His surveying eyes searched yours before they lowered to your swollen lips. God, you were even more mesmerizing up close, heavy-lidded and studying him through a curtain of eyelashes. Maybe for once Reiner would admit he was jealous of Eren. He was fucking envious, bitter, and spiteful that you were his. He’d been a goddamn idiot to let things go this far, agreeing to Eren’s offer, because he knew one fuck wouldn’t be enough to fufill his need for you. He’d barely gotten a taste, and he could already promise that nothing would ever compare to this.

He found your throat and pressed a fleeting kiss to your pulse, moving further down until his lips met your collarbone. He nipped at the delicate skin, taking notice of the way your grip in his hair tightened. His eyebrows arched while he peered up at you, delighting in the way your head rolled back and forth against the duvet. He really wanted to suck at your skin, leaving dark bruises that decorated the path from your earlobe down to your breastbone, but he knew Eren would kill him.

Reiner dipped lower until his lips brushed lightly against your beaded nipple. You made a small sound of protest, but held his head closer, letting him know what you really wanted. His heart beat erratically against his ribcage as he curved a large hand around your right breast and suppressed a groan, but you released a breathy whimper.

He could feel the sound wreaking havoc in his brain. His balls were so damn tight, it would take barely any effort for him to cum, but he wanted to prolong your coupling as long as possible. He didn’t know if he’d ever get another chance like this.  

His thumb ran over the erect peaks of your breasts, captivated by the magic of watching your back arch and your body become aroused under his touch. He dipped a finger into his mouth, glazing it with his saliva before using it to flick back and forth at your nipple.

“Fuck, Reiner,” you mewled.

Reiner replaced his hand with his lips, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth. The tip of his tongue swirled around it, coating it generously with his spit, while you made no attempts to conceal your intense cries of pleasure.  

Eren released an entertained sigh, swiveling back and forth in his chair. “She whines like a bitch, doesn’t she?”

Shit. Reiner had almost forgotten he was there, but he still released a hungry grunt in agreement, sending vibrations over your chest. He tugged at your nipple with his teeth, releasing it, and then soothing the sting with the flat side of his tongue.

He trailed down your abdomen, pressing hard wet kisses and stopping to leave a quick lick to your navel. He grinned against your skin when you gripped the sheets and breathed his name again, this time quieter, as if you meant it only for his ears. He liked to think so.

Once he reached the waistband of your panties, he licked along the fabric, immobilizing your rolling hips with strong hands.

“Enough with the theatrics, Reiner. Just do it already,” Eren groaned, sounding irate.

Reiner assumed Eren’s groan was only to stress his impatience, but once he looked over to him, he realized he wasn’t just giving directives from the sidelines. His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth, and his hand was moving steadily against the noticeable tent in his sweatpants.

He was enjoying this just as much as Reiner was, getting off to the sight of his girlfriend under another man, his roommate nonetheless.

Reiner suddenly felt strange. What the hell was he doing providing entertainment for Eren?

“Reiner,” your needy voice pulled him out of his reflection. His attention drifted back to you, watching while you propped yourself up on your elbows and slid your unsteady hands over your chest to tweak your own nipples, as if you were trying to hold yourself over.

He wished you hadn’t looked so tempting, even with your disheveled hair and sweaty skin, your vulnerable eyes fixated on him, and he was powerless.

Reiner hooked his fingers around your underwear, kissing a trail down the inside of your thighs as he pulled your panties down to your ankles before slipping them off and letting them pool on the floor.

“Spread wide baby, let him see that pretty pussy,” Eren stirred, cock now thrust out the top of his grey sweats and his swollen tip glistening with precum. His hand was wrapped firmly around his stiff length, moving slow while his breathing quickened.

For once, Reiner agreed with him, and he pressed his fingers into your thighs to aid you in parting your legs. Your pussy was slick with your own arousal, squelching as you tightened around nothing. You were even prettier than he’d imagined.

“Fuck,” Reiner breathed, extending two fingers to part your folds. Was he still sure he wasn’t dreaming?

He wrapped his built arms around your legs, pulled you closer, and lowered his head. He fixed his lips to your swollen clit, allowing his tongue to lap and circle around the tender bud every few seconds.

“Oh my god,” you cried, writhing against the sheets.

If he hadn’t secured your legs in his grip, he was certain you would have smothered him between your thighs out of reflex. He could detect the way you fought against his hold, but he far overpowered you in strength.

When he plunged his tongue inside you without notice, that was nearly enough to send you over the edge. You pulled on the sheets with a frenzied grip, producing a shrill cry your neighbors had certainly heard. There was no doubt about it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you murmured, chest expanding and falling with labored breaths.

Reiner wanted to spend a few more generous minutes tasting you, he couldn’t get enough, but he also wasn’t sure how much longer he would last. His cock was hot and hard in his pants, and he needed to feel you around him. Even if Eren wouldn’t let him cum inside of you, he needed to experience at least that much.

He rose to his feet, working quickly against his pants’ zipper while trying not to tease himself by looking at you. He was worried the mere sight of you on the bed, spread and ready for him would be enough to bring him to a climax, but he’d made the mistake of looking at you anyways, hand between your legs, delicate fingers rubbing at your clit while you stared up at him.

Fucking hell. Kill me. Reiner thought. Fuck. He felt the throbbing heat of his cock, and he wished you wouldn’t look at him like that. He really wished you wouldn’t look at him like that.

“Look at her, so desperate to be filled. It’s almost pathetic,” Eren laughed, but it was clear he was feeling your effect too. He lolled his head forward, long brown hair spilling over his shoulders and obscuring his face while his palm worked fast against his cock.

Shut up, Reiner thought. His head was growing hazy, and he couldn’t think. He needed to be inside you, and he couldn’t wait a second longer.

Reiner let himself free while his pants and underwear hung low around his knees. He couldn’t even find time to delight in the way your face melted into bliss once you laid eyes on his thick cock, leaking precum in sinful amounts because all he could think about was his ache. He leaned over you, positioning himself at your entrance.

He’d been waiting for this for so goddamn long.

Reiner exhaled when you said his name again, hips undulating against his cock and wet folds stroking his tip. He watched as he pushed himself into you, filling you to the hilt, and once he was inside he hung his head forward, eyes shut tightly in a painful sort of ecstasy.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Reiner grunted breathlessly.

He groaned, pinning your hips down with his once you attempted to fuck yourself onto his cock.

“Stop moving,” he pleaded. “Jesus christ--please don’t move.” He stayed still for a moment, waiting until his sensitivity subsided before he started rocking his hips against you slowly.

Reiner couldn’t dedicate his focus to anything other than the feeling of your slick walls clenching around his cock every time he pulled out, and the way he stretched you out every time he thrusted back in. He wondered if you could feel the depth of his desire.

“Harder,” you whispered once, and then begged louder. “Reiner please, fuck me harder.”

At first, Reiner was worried. He wanted to be gentle, he wanted to savor you, and he wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt you, but your request had him picking up the pace, ramming into you until the familiar slapping sound of sweaty skin filled the room.  

You unraveled and became completely undone, letting out loud moans every time he drove his cock into you. Reiner thought the sound was incredibly euphonic as it fell upon his ears. You were like this because of him.

“How’s this?” His voice was husky and deep beside your ear.

Reiner was pleased by your lack of response. You could only nod, overwhelmed by the dual sensation brought on by him and the feeling of your quick fingers against your clit. You secured an arm around his neck again and wrapped your legs around his torso, clinging to him like he was all you needed. He wished that was how you really felt.

“Close…,” you murmured, and Reiner deduced you were warning him that you were near your orgasm. He could tell by the way your walls began to spasm.

Reiner felt the small of his back tighten, and he knew he was close too. He was torn between his release and holding himself back, not ready for this to end just yet, but his body betrayed him and he felt his cock twitch inside you.

Luckily, you reached your climax first, and Reiner watched in awe as your body seized underneath him, breasts bobbing with every jolt while you worked your clit into overstimulation. It wasn’t long after your orgasm that he made his last rueful thrusts. He quickly pulled out and clasped himself in the curve of his hand. He pumped his length until he released in quick spurts onto your stomach, covering you in his hot seed, and he kept pumping until he made sure he emptied himself of every drop.

His eyes quickly darted over to Eren, not to be odd or anything, but again, he had forgotten he was there. It seemed Eren had already satisfied himself. The creamy, white liquid decorating the bare skin of his abdomen and dribbling down his loose fist was evidence of that. Now that he had appeased his urges, he seemed disinterested as he reached over his desk and plucked a few tissues to clean himself up.

Reiner collapsed beside you, listening to the loud thudding of his heart as it delivered a few ecstatic beats while he caught his breath and began to calm down. He stared at the pivoting fan blades, and then his eyes dropped down to you lying next to him, sweaty and fucked out.

You were laying there with him, and goddammit he wanted to reach his arms out and wrap them around you, pulling you close so he could hold you and feel your heartbeat against his chest. He’d press kisses to your salty forehead, and then tell you how much he loved you. He wanted to stay like this.

Reiner's ideal vision dissolved once Eren stopped at the edge of the bed and extended his hand for you to grab.

“You wanna join me for a shower, baby?” Eren asked.

Of course, you took it, allowing him to support you until you were sitting up.

You released an exhausted laugh. “Yes, please.” You then turned to Reiner and arched your eyebrow in surprise. “By the way, not bad, Braun.”

Reiner gave you a small smile in return, but said nothing as he watched you cover your breasts with your arm and let Eren hoist you off the bed. You two slid past him and headed out of the room, but not without Eren looking back over his shoulder, shooting Reiner a shit-eating grin, as though reminding him who you’d always belong to.

[manjirowned]

KEISUKE BAJI | YOUR PLACE ON THE GROUND.

lucky lover: baji keisuke (x reader)

cw etc: swearing, mutual pining, cigarettes, this is love, the briefest mention of weed

all about: you, baji, your old bic lighter, and cheap menthol cigarettes vs. the wind at your private little hideout.

there’s a slight shiver next to you, coldness protruding from the boy on your right, arms huddled to his chest as he looks forward. the light from the moon rests on both of your fingers, creating panels as yours move to grab at the box in your bag.

you can’t remember how the conversation even started, the wind covering the accents in his words when it rustles through the trees or accentuating his insults when it dies down a little.

“i hope that asshole gets in a wreck on his way home.”

“so you’ve been saying for the past thirty minutes, baji.” he scoffs at the annoyance in your tone; sees over it and carries on with his rant, sprawling his legs before him as his hands move down to rest atop the wood he’s sitting on.

the log under you two is worn, bark faded slightly under the wear and tear of the weather and quite probably your tobacco addiction— but it stays in its place on the ground, waiting for you two like it’s ritual.

you’d found this spot roughly six months ago, aimlessly hiking, or looking for a place to maybe pack a bowl before you’d settled on a semi-open patch in the woods, secluded in trees with slivers of city lights poking through from a distance. the oaks you’d found months before had shed now, leaves brittle and hidden under the soles of your shoes, but they still provided enough coverage to feel alone.

shortly after finding it, you became enamored with it. the walk was pretty short all in all and you knew it wouldn’t feel remotely as long with keisuke by your side, bitching about whatever stranger had so much as looked at one of you two wrong.

your hands fumble against the packaging, tearing the plastic off before tucking it into the boy next to you’s pocket, an argument about how ‘littering in your spot is even worse than regular littering’ resting on the tip of your tongue in case he noticed. when he didn’t— he definitely did, you’re just the only person he’d let use him as a human trash can—, you hit the box against your palm a couple times out of habit, even though you never really understood why people did that.

“if you vaped or something we wouldn’t have to freeze to death, you know that right?” your eyes roll, head finally snapping in his direction.

“fuck you mean freeze to death? i dressed for the occasion, dickhead.” your hands gesture down to the fabric engulfing your figure, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with your own. “see how that didn’t even hurt? hoodie privileges.”

“pretty sure that’s mine.” his grumble is quiet, caught under his breath as he rubs his fingers together, trying to rid himself of the brittleness the cold has brought to his skin.

it’s easy to ignore him, passing him one of the squares and grabbing your own shortly after, resting the recently bought box at its honorary spot on your leg. it’s still too windy for an easy light, but that’s never really stopped you before.

“if it bothers you so much you don’t gotta come with.” you’re turned away from him again, head catching warmth from your bag while you fish around for your lighter.

“shut up.” you exhale a laugh and this is easy, too. it’s always easy with baji, whether you’re in an overly crowded environment or alone in your own little world. your breath spills from the bag, tumbles over and heats up the skin on your wrists, moving up in clouds to your palms.

“oh, got it.” it’s self assured and then you’re back in the present, looking at him, over exaggerating your movements as you motion your gaze from his eyes to his hands. it’s a dance the two of you do, towing the line of unspoken competition before you break in premeditated annoyance.

“cover for me? not gonna be able to light for shit.” it’s habitual; a routine process where his hands act like a barrier between your little flame and the world, and yours for his. at this point he should be ready and willing by the time you pull out your pack, but it’s almost taunting how he makes you ask every time.

“‘you don’t gotta come with’.” he mocks your previous comment, hunching over slightly nonetheless to cup his fingers— his long fucking fingers— over your cigarette. “you wouldn’t even be able to get a drag without me.” you don’t see his reaction, your eyes preoccupied with wearing down your paper under the fire, but you’re sure he’s got a harsh smile, a smirk with a snicker set up just for you.

there’s something unsaid in your friendship with keisuke. it shows up in abstruse ways; like when his attention stays on you for just a second too long or you slip away from your day to day responsibilities just to see him. he’s not the subtlest, but that must just mean you’re not the smartest. or maybe— in some twisted, childish little way— you like it more like this, all unspoken and yearning and nerve wracking.

you’re not sure how long it really takes you to light it, but your thumb is worn from the spark wheel and the metal pricks at and forms a little callous on the pad of skin and you’re just a little bit irritated.

“fucking annoying.” you grumble against the butt once you finally light it, puffs of smoke slipping past the corners of your lips. he pulls back, or maybe you do first, and you lift your hands up in return, cupped while you balance your cig in your mouth.

he leans down to try to run from the wind, head closer to your thighs, spine curving in a hunchback, hair falling uncomfortably over his head, and it’s unfair that he still looks good. your heart thumps louder than the repetitive catch of the lighter, the way it sounds over and over as he tries to work it in spite of the weather, but his muttered swears outdo your heartbeat as you exhale from the side of your mouth again.

“motherfucker,” he leans up too fast, almost hits you with the sheer speed of it, and shakes the lighter against his ear. “it empty?” he looks stupid like this, features pink from the harsh feel of the weather, eyes pointed into a glare at nothing specific as you move to flick the ash off the end of your cigarette now that he’s not actively attempting to light his. and, in a way, it’s like you won— because even though you invited him here to begin with, and even though you bought the cigarettes with your own dime, yours is lit and his isn’t.

“i think it’s empty.” yours is lit and his isn’t. dammit.

“no, you’re just shit at this.” you spend a lot more time than you’re willing to admit admiring, or analyzing as you’d like to think, baji. it’s important to know your friends, so it can’t be bad you want to know him, and it’s not romantic that you’ve picked up and memorized all the different ways he reacts and what each of them mean. so you’re not surprised when there’s a rumble in his scoff, voice sticking itself in the place where the air leaves his lungs.

he tosses the lighter onto the ground next to his feet. “this is fuckin’ stupid.” it takes a second, you think, for him to realize the lighter wasn’t his and he scrambles in an almost passable nonchalance to scoop it off the earth again. baji isn’t the brightest, but he’s smart. he’s smart when it comes to people and when it comes to you; even if there’s this rundown ploy between the two of you, even if neither of you could pull a real confession out from the other if you wanted to, and he knows you have a soft spot for him hidden behind all the light hits and titillating insults. he has it, too, he knows it festers like a disease— so he grins a little as he looks at you, hand reaching out in front of your face.

“let me take a pull,” his palms— that he’s noticed you like— lay flat, fingers curling up into tiny fists over and over as he waits for you as if you owe him anything. “gimme.”

“fucker— no.” his posture flops to dejected with minimal effort.

“this is bullshit,” he starts, huffing like a petulant child as he retracts his hand. “cold as fuck and i don’t get one drag? not one?” part of you is proud of yourself for moments like this. you’re grateful, even if you’d never tell him, that you get to watch him act incredulous like this. he pouts so often, but not in that cute little way people always talk about, and it tugs at your heart; but more than anything is swells your pride up beyond large at the fact you’re the one he lets see him like this.

it takes you forty-six seconds to suggest it. you’d thought of it before he’d even asked to share yours, you’d thought of it for so long without a presented opportunity, and now that you had it, you waited a whole forty-six seconds to spring your plan into action.

“here,” you lift his hand up to his mouth, guiding the butt back to his lips, spoon feeding him his cigarette. “move and you’re an ashtray.” your voice is quiet in your warning, words meshing together in your murmur and it’s like a little undeclared admittance to your nerves. the embers on the end of your cigarette deteriorate and you literally can’t daly if you want to enjoy the rest of your smoke in peace.

you balance it in between the crevices in your fingers, steadying it as you shorten the distance between the two of you and you think your heart is genuinely in your ass. you’re not sure if your stomach hurts from anxiety or the smoke, but you shake just a little bit when you approach him. this is nothing. this is a friend helping a friend, you’d even go as far as to say an addict helping an addict. nicotine addiction is a serious illness, and you’d never want to deprive someone of their little high after you offered it to begin with. you’re just being considerate; you don’t want to feel his breath on your face, or the way his hair brushes soft against your shoulder, you’re just helping out a friend.

you decide to close your eyes so you don’t have to watch him watch you. in retrospect, it’s probably a bad idea because you can’t line your squares up properly, but he tweaks your chin a little to make the connection. and his hand’s on your face, and yours is on his thigh— you don’t remember how it got there—, and your other is holding the half smoked stick, and your cigarettes are touching.

and he doesn’t inhale. idiot. you’ll slap him once you’re done, but for now you settle for tapping under his jaw, urging his throat to take in any oxygen while you wait, giving him all of yours. when he gets the hint, when you feel his jugular retract under his inhale, you grin around your cigarette, eyes opening and crossing to focus on the way the little spark passes between the two of them.

when you pull away from him, for once, he doesn’t say anything. you’re now watching him, and he’s still watching you, and it’s another external competition between the two of you: who’ll break first, who’ll utter the truth first, who’ll move past this redundant bullshit.

everything reeks of cigarettes, but you don’t really mind because keisuke ends the almost eye contact first, turning his chin up slightly to exhale. it’s embarrassing how speechless it makes you, as if you were even saying anything, and your ribs ache with jealousy at the trees for their ability to see him at any angle they’d want.

the wind has grown on you now as it pushes your smoke against baji’s features whenever you breathe out. it fills up the silence, whispers your divulgences so neither of you have to, and makes itself company amongst the two of you.

your eyes flicker to him and you know his flicker to you, and you wonder how the two of you would look to anyone that saw you. you wonder if the oaks that provide you your solace think the two of you look like quiet lovers sharing in an unhealthy habit, or if they think you’re friends without a real purpose decomposing after a long day. you don’t vocalize your thoughts, neither of you say another word until both of your cigarettes are out and gone and nothing but a filter; but you don’t mind much, sitting in silence in your place on the ground with keisuke.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hey lad! Its it ok to ask for some Garcello headcanons (or a fic if you want! ^^)? Let's say he wakes up from a nightmare that was about losing his s/o (or if you want you can make it about him dying before them, due to his smoking), and just needing to wake them up to make sure that they're ok.

I hope this is fine! I've been having a hard time recently because of random mood swings so I kinda needed some comfort, thank you! ^^

Went the fic route for this one (also hurt/comfort trope go brr). Hope you feel better soon!

...........

“Maybe dating a junkie like you was a mistake.”

“Wha..?” The cigarette slipped from Garcello’s lips as he heard you speak. But he didn't bother to pick it up. He was just frozen in shock at your words. “[Y/n]..I-”

A cough interrupted him, one that hurt more than previous ones--to the point where he was clutching his chest as he gasped for air.  It was so painful. His lungs felt like they were on fire.

But nothing could compare to the pain he felt when you continued, a disgusted expression on your face.

“Look at yourself, you can’t even talk. You always push others away, especially me. And all you care about are your stupid little drugs. You don't even care about US anymore!” 

“Baby, I’m so--sorry..." He rasped. "We can..I can-”

“Pretend that we never met? I think that's best for both of us. Enjoy the rest of your miserable life, Garcello.” You turned your back on him and walked away, seemingly vanishing into the dark shadows that surrounded you both. It was like they swallowed you whole.

“W-Wait!! Please stay..I can't do this..!” As Garcello tried chasing after you, he didn’t get far as he stumbled and collapsed to the ground, his breath labored. “H-Help..” He began choking on sobs as he curled up.

For once he was actually terrified of death...this was the one cigarette that did him in.

But why were you being so cruel to him? In his last moments alive? 

Was this punishment for his addiction? Did you truly hate him that much?

Maybe he deserved this.

.......

“Ghh!”

Garcello sat up in bed with a start, panicking slightly as he grabbed the cigarette pack and lighter on the nightstand. It was out of pure instinct--something he always did whenever he had a nightmare.

But he looked at the pack logo in hesitance, putting a hand to his chest. He sighed, realizing he was able to breathe easy now. The harsh words you said back in the dream made him reconsider as he put the items back on the table.

Then he noticed you were asleep beside him, and he couldn’t help but wonder...

Were those words your true thoughts? Did you only date him out of pity? Was he burdening you?

He didn’t know. And he needed to know right now.

So he shook you awake, as gently as he could, eventually stirring you from sleep. “..Gar? What’s wrong?” You mumbled as you sat up.

“[Y/n]..” He shuddered with relief, grateful that you still called him that same nickname. It crushed him when you used his full name in the dream, since you only did before you two started dating.

"Do you ever...regret meeting me?”

“Huh..? That's a pretty deep question at..3AM, don’t you think?” You chuckled tiredly, rubbing your eyes. “I have a lot of regrets in life.” 

But you then heard a sniffle and glanced at him, seeing the tears now streaming down his exhausted face.

Shit. You made a mistake.

“O-Oh hun, that doesn't mean you! I’m sorry.” You brought the shaking man into your arms, feeling your shoulder growing damp as he cried quietly, and ran your fingers through his hair. “I don’t regret meeting you at all. You've made me the happiest I've ever been."

“I did..?”

“Yeah. Now..what made you suddenly think that?"

“Well...” As Garcello hugged you back, he explained his nightmare to you--recalling everything you said and how you basically left him to die. 

You were shocked, knowing that you wouldn’t dare say such terrible things...not even if you got into an argument over his addiction. You’d never weaponize it and hurt him that way.

Once he was done talking, you reassured him that those aren't your true thoughts of him whatsoever. Nightmares do tend to overexaggerate one's worst fears after all, so you promised him all of it was false.

He had similar ones before--with peers and people he grew up with--but he never woke you up and had a smoke outside to calm down.

This time though..you were the one taunting him and he needed to make sure you didn't hate him.

After holding him for a little while longer, and giving him a ton of kisses as proof of your love, he was willing to go back to sleep. The urge to smoke had long passed, so you let him get situated in your arms before he soon dozed off.

For once he didn't turn to a cigarette for comfort, but you instead.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Twisted 20 - The Compass [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, blood.

Word Count: 4000

Summary: Coming home can be unpleasant.

After getting a phone call from the FBI, you were now sure of one thing:

Karma really needed another hobby other than messing with you, and this break up was definitely not going the way it was supposed to go.

For starters, people who broke up with each other were not supposed to see each other this much. You had different lives, different social circles, different jobs and somehow universe kept pushing you two in each other’s space.

To make things worse, the last time you talked to Garcia she had offhandedly mentioned Luke dragging Spencer to a nightclub much to his displeasure and introducing him to a friend of his. Naturally, your mind was full of images of Spencer in a happy relationship, eventually moving to a house in the suburbs with her and having kids and all that.  

“I don’t know what Luke is thinking,” Garcia said, “But I’m two seconds away from pulling him aside and giving him a piece of my mind. Reid is obviously still not over you, ambushing him to introduce him to a girl won’t change that.”

Needless to say, you had been in a terrible mood for the last couple of days.

“What’s taking her so long?” you checked your wristwatch and Nolan looked at you over his newspaper.

“Oh she’s talking to the board of the charity auction,” he said, “There are some last minute changes, apparently.”

You heaved a sigh and checked the time again, “I can’t stay for long,” you murmured and Nolan raised his brows.

“Oh? In a hurry?”

“Me and Spencer and…well, some of his team will go by the woods,” you said, “They found some bones near dad’s cabin close to the weekend house and they think it might help me remember where the rest is buried.”

He made a face, “That’s disturbing.”

“Nah, I thought going on a dead body remains hunt with my ex in the woods near one of my childhood trauma places would be romantic,” you deadpanned, “You don’t do that with your exes?”

“Not really?”

“Oh man you’re missing out.”

He let out a chuckle and shook his head, “I take it things haven’t improved on the heartbreak front?”

“I wouldn’t know, apparently his friend is setting him up with someone.”

“Mm, let me guess,” he mused, “Your plan is to do nothing about it?”

“No, I’m actually following your example,” you smiled at him sweetly, “I’ll just wait for decades and hope the girl turns out to be a serial killer.”

He tilted his head. “Touché.”

“Aw thank you,” you pushed at the food in your plate, “No seriously, what can I do? I can’t just go to him and tell him not to date other people. We broke up— I broke up with him.”

“You could explain the reason behind that.”

“I can’t do that.”

He clicked his tongue, “Well then, I suggest you get ready just in case he happens to ask for your help planning his wedding.”

“You’ve been absolutely no help at all Nolan, I appreciate that.”

“I’m offering you my wisdom and you’re not taking it,” he held up his hands, gesturing surrender, “I also suggested to get his superiors to fix a meeting with him to talk to him about certain boundaries and mistakes but…”

“Get his superiors— I’m sorry, what?”

“I play poker with the head of the department he works under.”

“Of course you do.” You sipped your coffee, “When did you suggest that exactly?”

“Oh not to you, to your mother,” he nodded to himself as he saw the look on your face, “Yeah. But then I saw how it could not only damage some professional relationships, but also it’s better to let young people solve their own problems, no matter how easy it is to solve them with an outsider’s influence.”

You pulled your brows together.

“Try again.”

“I asked your mother and she said no.”

“Oh thank God.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, “Yeah no, don’t do that. We’re not in high school, you know?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he smiled slightly at the scandalized look on your face.

“Whatever,” you waved a hand in the air, “It’s strange that mom said no though. She doesn’t really like him nowadays, and she keeps listing all his….disadvantages whenever I talk about him.”

“Disadvantages?”

“Mm hm. The other day she said it was maybe for the best in the long run, because he’s an FBI agent so considering his paychecks, we would eventually fight about our future children’s tuition fees.”

Nolan thought for a moment, “She does have a point, considering what FBI pays their agents…”

You blinked a couple of times, “Right,” you said, “That’s exactly why I broke up with him. Because who would be paying for our hypothetical future children’s future tuition fees, yeah. Deal breaker, that one.”

“It could be a contributing factor though—“ he started but you heard your mother’s heels approaching and soon enough she walked into the living room and pressed a kiss on your cheek.

“Darling, I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting,” she told you before pecking Nolan on the lips, making him smile, “This whole charity auction, honestly…”

“Do I have to come to that thing?” you looked between them, your brows pulled together in an attempt to make them take pity on you but your mother tilted her head.

“Yes you do.”

“It’s just that…” you heaved a dramatic sigh, “You know, I’m going through a break up—“

“You’ve been going through a break up for more than a month now, you’re not allowed to use that as an excuse.”

“My heart is broken!”

“Good, focus on charity then.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to Nolan, “What’s the real reason she’s dragging me to this?”

“Oh no, I’m not getting caught in this crossfire.”

“Mom?”

She cleared her throat and sipped her coffee, “The other day when I visited Nolan at work, he happened to introduce me to this very handsome Chief Marketing Officer who’s handling—“

“Oh no.”

“Keep in mind that we pay him more than what FBI pays his agents.” Nolan stated, laughing up his sleeve as if he found it hilarious and you scrunched up your nose.

“Nolan, I know you were born in the eighteenth century but that’s actually not a problem we have these days.”

“He’s single,” your mother said as if she wasn’t even listening and you threw your head back, letting out a whine, “He loves dogs and squash—“

“Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t worry, he’s not sitting at our table,” your mother said, “I fixed another surprise for you at our table, and I figured you’d want to keep your options open.”

“Besides, if your ex boyfriend is moving on…” Nolan trailed off and your mother raised her brows.

“Oh, Spencer has a girlfriend now?”

“No!” you said way too loudly and then cleared your throat, “I mean—I don’t care. But I don’t think so, I would’ve heard it.”

“See? More reason for you to meet other people.”

You pouted, “I hate this so much. I can’t believe I’m being dragged into this nonsense only because you guys are making me, this is seriously bullshit…”

“Y/N, do you want some cookies?” Nolan interrupted your grumbling, “One of my assistants brought them from France the other day.”

You scoffed, “How old do you think I—” you paused for a moment, then shrugged your shoulders, “Actually yeah, I’d love some cookies right now.”

                                                  ***

Unfortunately, when you left your mother’s house you had overestimated the traffic and how long it would take you to get there so by the time you had pulled over by the road leading into the woods, you could only see one FBI car. You didn’t have to wonder who was in it when your eyes caught the sight of Spencer leaning against it and your heart skipped a beat.

“Fuck…” you murmured to yourself and considered for a short second to drive away until others got there, but it was too late. Spencer turned his head, saw your car and stopped dead on his tracks so you heaved a sigh and pushed open the door to step outside. You looked around before you pulled yourself up to sit on the hood before you fished your cigarette pack out of your purse.

“You’re early.” Spencer said and you raised your glances to look at him for a second before lighting your cigarette.

“So are you,” you put the lighter back into your purse, “Came by yourself?”

“Luke is talking with the police.”

“Lovely,” you exhaled the smoke and he crossed his arms, looking up at the sky for a moment before stealing a look at you.

You had no idea what to say to him. After that one day of truce, it was like you were back to being enemies and ignoring each other. The fact that he might have been ready to date another person made you feel even worse if it was possible, especially after that phone call between you. He had said that he was a mess just like you were, he had said you had taken a part of him when you left him, and—

You didn’t even know what you hoped for. You knew it wouldn’t change anything, and yet the thought of him being with someone else was more than enough to make you feel like you were falling off a cliff.

Maybe it was just the truce talking. Maybe he didn’t mean any of that.

Your phone vibrating in your purse made you snap out of your thoughts and you looked at the caller I.D., then frowned and answered.

“Hey, I’m a little busy at the moment.”

“On a Sunday?” Lincoln’s voice reached you, “Who’s the workaholic now?”

“Still you Linc,” you said and Spencer’s head shot up, “What’s up?”

“I just called to let you know that they just moved me to your table.”

You pulled your brows, “I’m sorry, what?”

“At the charity auction. My table was 3, they just e-mailed me to say I’ve been moved to 1.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re the surprise?” you asked, pinching the bridge of your nose, “Somebody needs to stop my mother.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” you said, “I…That’s great, we’ll sit together then. If you like sulking the whole night, we’ll be just fine.”

“Come on, it could be fun.”

“I doubt that.”

“Hey, at least you’re not alone.”

“I’ll drink throughout that night, you sure you can keep up?”

“Do you even know who you’re talking to, you amateur?”

“Oh it’s on.” You smiled slightly and he chuckled.

“I’ll see you at our table then. With drinks.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” you said before you hung up, and put the phone back into your purse before you felt Spencer’s burning gaze on you, so you looked up at him.

“What?” you asked and he scoffed a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“Nothing.”

“Professor.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he said, his gaze fixed on the woods and you tilted your head.

“Fine.”

He sucked a breath through his clenched teeth, as if trying to decide whether to say anything or not before you could ask again, Luke approached you two, another car pulling over by your car.

“Hey there.” You greeted Luke as you jumped off the hood and he tilted his head.

“Why are you shorter?”

You motioned at your sneakers, “I figured since we’re going into the woods, heels would be a bad idea.”

“Is this the first time I’m seeing you without heels?”

“Probably.”

“Should we get going?”

JJ stole a look at Spencer and you, then turned to Luke, “Actually, do you mind coming with me to the car for a moment? There’s this file I want to get your opinion on.” She nodded at you, “You guys go ahead if you want.”

You pulled your brows together for a second, trying to understand what was happening but then decided you wouldn’t question it and stepped into the woods, a shiver running down your spine.

It looked way too familiar.

You gritted your teeth and started walking, and it didn’t take long for Spencer to catch up with you.

“So I never got to ask you,” you managed to say after almost ten minutes of complete silence, “That…that blood vial in that petal bowl, whose blood was it?”

“Anthony’s.”

“Right,” you murmured as you kept walking, “Was it….was it something my dad did back then?”

“No.” Spencer said curtly and you looked over your shoulder.

“So then what does it—“

“Are you dating other people?” the words left his lips in a hurry as if he didn’t know how to stop them and you stopped dead on your tracks.

“I beg your pardon?”

He opened his mouth for a moment like he was trying to find the right words but then he closed it and shrugged his shoulders.

“Never mind,” he murmured, walking past you and you gawked after him for a while before you rushed after him.

“No, what was that?”

“Nothing.”

Maybe your whole theory about Spencer being a genius therefore not being able to be jealous wasn’t exactly the truth.

“I’m not— is this about Lincoln?” you held up the phone in your hand before you sped up to catch up with his long strides, “There’s this stupid charity auction bullshit and we’re both attending it, that’s it.”

“Alright,” he murmured, still walking and you let out a breath.

“Spencer!”

“What?” he turned around to look at you, that fire burning in his eyes again, “I said never mind, okay?”

“I’m not dating Lincoln!” you exclaimed “And I— even if I were, at least he’s not someone I met at a nightclub my friends forced me to go, unlike some of us.”

“What does that-” he started but it hit him in a second, “Garcia told you.”

“It came up.”

He raised his brows, “Yeah? How?”

“It just did.” You managed to say even if your cheeks were burning, “So what? You’re going to stand there and ask me that when you’re moving on already?”

“I’m not moving on!” he said as if you had just insulted him, “Besides, you broke up with me remember?”

“Yeah and you wasted no time Spencer, congratulations.” You murmured as you walked past him but as soon as your eyes caught the sight of the huge cabin by the small hill, your breath got caught in your throat and you took a step back, the memory flashing through your mind so fast that the headache hit you out of nowhere.

Your father tugged you by your hand through the woods as you yawned, rubbing at your eyes.

“Are you sleepy honey?”

You nodded, looking up at him, 

“Daddy I thought we were going to come here tomorrow, with mom and Mina.” you said as you hugged the huge teddy bear you had brought with you when your father had woken you up and told you that you would be taking a small trip to the cabin.

“We are,” he said, “We will go back home after our hunt is done here.”

“Yeah but mom says Mina and I can’t be outside the cabin at night,” you murmured, “The lake is too close, remember? We might fall in, she says.”

“She’s right, no leaving the cabin by yourself when it’s dark outside,” he said, “Or else no chocolate for a week, you know the rules.”

“Okay, okay…” you yawned again, and your father knelt down so that you could look him in the eye.

“Petal honey, I want you to pay attention,” he said, “Look around. Let’s say you’re in the woods by yourself and you’re hunting. You know how we hunt, right?”

You took a deep breath, “Stab the prey, twist the knife, pull it back and watch them bleed.”

“Very good,” he said, “When you’re hunting in the woods, what’s the first thing you do?”

“Look up at the sky,” you said, “That’s how I know where I am.”

“Good start. How about if your prey is running to get away from you? How do you chase them?”

“People aren’t calm when they’re being hunted,” you repeated what he had told you, “They make noises. I follow that, and wait for them to tire themselves out.”

He nodded, then you both climbed the stairs to the front door of the cabin.

“And what’s the one thing you remember?”

“To stay calm and patient.”

He smiled at you and opened the door to the cabin so that you could see the bloodied person tied to a chair, screaming through the gag.

“Good,” he said, “Let’s go over what we do with the prey, shall we?”

“Y/N!” Spencer’s voice cut through the memory, almost grabbing you and pulling you back to the reality and it was only when you realized you weren’t standing anymore, instead you were on the ground on your knees, gasping for breath.

“I can’t—“ you choked out, pressing a hand over your chest “I—I can’t breathe—“

“Yes you can,” he helped you sit and lean your back to the tree trunk, “You just need to focus on me, alright? Can you breathe with me?”

You sniffled, trying to match your breathing with his and he nodded,

“There you go,” he said with a smile, “You’re doing great. Is it okay if I touch you?”

You nodded your head, still desperate to cling to anything that would protect you from that memory and he entwined his fingers with you.

“Keep your focus on me,” he said as he wiped the teardrop off your cheek with his free hand,  awakening a fire right beneath your cheekbone, “Here’s what we’re going to do, you will inhale when I squeeze your hand, exhale when I stop. Can we do that together?”

You inhaled when you felt his grip tightening around your hand, then exhaled when it became loose again.

“Y/N?”

You let out a shaky breath, “Hm?”

“Why are public proposals so bad?”

A teary laugh escaped from your lips, “Professor…”

“No, I want you to tell me,” he said as you inhaled again when he squeezed your hand, “Why are they so bad?”

“Because they—“ you exhaled, “They’re not private.”

“They could be romantic.”

“But they’re not,” you protested, “They’re not romantic. They’re pretentious.”

“Pretentious?” he squeezed your hand once more and you took another breath.

“If you need an audience for something like that, you’re pretentious yeah.” You said as the nausea slowly retreated and he pushed your hair behind your ear before his knuckles brushed over your neck, it lasted only a moment but it was enough for you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled and he offered you a small smile.

“Anytime.”

“Brings back the memories, huh?” you leaned your head back to the tree trunk and he nodded.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “Yeah it really does.”

You pressed your lips together, “Spencer, why are you helping me?” you asked him, taking him by surprise, “With….all this. I thought you hated me.”

He swallowed thickly,

“I can’t hate you,” his voice was almost a murmur, “I wish I could. Trust me, I tried.”

“Guys?” you heard Luke’s voice and you turned your head to see them approaching, “What’re you—what happened?”

“We’ll meet you there in a second,” Spencer said, shooting JJ a look and she nodded.

“Okay,” she said, “Come on Luke.”

They walked past you to the cabin and you looked up at the sky for a couple of seconds before willing yourself to focus on him again.

“You remembered something,” he said and you nodded.

“A memory,” you managed to say, “I…Spencer, there are dead bodies in there.”

“I know, we found bones in the backyard—“

“No,” you cut him off, “You don’t understand. There are dead bodies in the cabin.”

He pulled his brows together and you pulled your hand out of his before standing up on shaky legs, still holding onto the tree for support.

“Y/N, we can wait-” he said but you shook your head and made your way to the cabin until you reached the stairs. Every cell in your body was screaming at you to run away, but you managed to force yourself to climb the stone stairs and stopped for a moment at the door as Spencer stepped to stand next to you. Everything looked exactly the same as you had left them all those years ago right before your father was arrested.

A shudder went down your spine, the same as the one you had gotten when you woke up in your apartment after being drugged. Something in here was way too dangerous for you and it wouldn’t rest until you were at its mercy so you had to get away before it could dig its claws under your skin, but-

You had to do this. You could do this.

You had been through much worse than this before.

You had survived your father, you had survived his copycats, you had survived everything thrown your way so far, you could survive this as well.

You rolled your shoulders back and stepped into the huge living room, the memory pushing at your mind but you shook your head, forcing yourself to focus.

“We can leave if you want,” Spencer murmured and you dug your fingernails into your palms hard enough to hurt.

There was a reason why police couldn’t find anything in this goddamn place when they first checked. You had repressed the memory just like you had repressed the rest, and now that you were here…

The memories about the cabin were swirling in your head, each more terrifying than other.

“Luke.”

Luke turned his head, “Yeah?”

“Do you mind stepping aside for a moment?” you asked, “Actually, if no one could—if no one could stand on the rug that’d be ideal. Thanks.”

JJ shot you a look but nodded at the two other agents walking around the living room and you slowly approached the magnetic chess board by the coffee table, holding out your hand over the pieces for a second. Panic roared through you but you gritted your teeth and moved the pawn, then put the bishop where your father taught you to put it way back then.

“It’ll be like a treasure hunt, but you need to keep it a secret,” he had told you, “Pinky swear?”

You turned the queen in hand your for a moment, then put it right next to the bishop and the small basement trapdoor which was impossible to see even if someone was looking for it clicked under the rug. Spencer froze for a moment before he and Luke pulled the rug off the floor and pulled open the hatch but the smell coming from downstairs made you cover your mouth.

“Stay here,” Luke told the agents as he went downstairs and Spencer followed him right before JJ did. You stalled there for a moment, trying to repress the fear pinning you to your spot before you stepped closer to the stairs leading down to the secret basement.

“Miss—“ the agent said but you ignored him and made your way down. JJ and Spencer already had their flashlights on as Luke held his gun, ready to pull the trigger at any unexpected movement.

“You can’t be here.” Spencer told you but you weren’t even mood to snap back at him. You dragged your fingertips on the wall until you found the switch and turned the light on, the smell getting worse and worse.

There were three huge boxes by the wall, all tightly shut and you had a feeling—

No, not a feeling. What you had was a memory and you knew exactly what was in them.

Spencer turned to you, apparently ready to tell you to go upstairs again but as soon as his eyes caught something over your shoulder, he froze, his jaw clenching. You could feel your heartbeat getting faster and faster as Luke stopped dead on his tracks.

“Y/N, go upstairs.” Spencer said, his tone way too controlled until you turned your head, “No wait, don’t look—“

But it was too late. The bloodied message on the wall made you gasp as you took a step back, unable to look away as that familiar dread filled you once more, the simple line causing goosebumps to rise on your skin;

Welcome home Petal.

                                 Chapter 21 

[mae-gi-writes]

Yūgen | Sunwoo (The Boyz)

Yugen (n.) a profound, mysterious sense of the beauty of the universe that triggers a deep, emotional response. 

Requested by anon! In which Sunwoo, the ace of the volleyball team, is curious about what you’re drawing all the time. Until one day, he stumbles upon a drawing of himself made from yours truly. 

Genre: fluff, volleyball player! Sunwoo and art student reader, shy love, softness, and inspired by haikyuu because I have been obssessed with the anime lately TT__TT  A/N: It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve posted here! Slowly but surely, I’m going through my inbox and replying to your requests. Thank you for your patience, stay safe loves, ily all xx 

-----

Sunwoo wasn't artistically inclined.

But that never stopped him from admiring those that were. He was always so curious as to how just a flick of fingers managed to create a shadow, or how just one glance at a subject made it through onto paper without so much as an effort to remember the details. It was like it was automatically recorded into one's brain, hands already registered to mimic the curves and the folds and the shadows that turned into nothing short of a miraculous piece. So when he caught sight of someone drawing, it always piqued his interest. He stumbled upon you one late afternoon after his volleyball practice, with sweat dotting his forehead and his training bag slung casually over his shoulder. He was about to direct his way to the parking lot upon exiting the gymnasium, only to spot a lone figure huddled upon the bleachers and curled into a ball that caused Sunwoo to frown. Slowly sidling up to the stranger in question and peeking over the railing to catch a glimpse of your face, his eyes are instantly driven to the sketchpad in your hands.

You didn't notice him though, so absorbed in your own world with earphones blocking out reality that a tsunami could've gone unnoticed. So Sunwoo took advantage to climb over onto the opposite bleacher and, after ensuring that your back wouldn't turn to greet him, leaned over the separation to catch sight of a lone figure cartwheeling freely over the page. Woah. You were talented alright. There was nothing else to describe the fluidity of movement you caught with your pencil. It made Sunwoo's breath catch in his throat. He had the sudden urge to know exactly what kind of face hid behind the visual mastery manifesting before his very eyes. After all, there must be other things for them to see rather than the boring literal reality that most people settled for. What kind of imageries were they creating in their heads? What beautiful stories were they crafting? Worlds they got lost in? You moved then, causing Sunwoo to jolt back and scurry away with his heart beating out of his chest, deciding that it was enough spying for the day. After that day, he made sure to seek you out every time after practice although he noticed you never strayed too long in the same place, always moving about like a shadow lingering in the corner, invisible yet omniscient. Sometimes you would find a quiet spot in a patch of sunlight by the tennis courts. Sometimes you'd be found on the bleachers, alert eyes observing every pass, every move, every twist of a body like  camera taking everything in. Sunwoo never approached you. Not that he didn't want to, but he found it awkward to just come up to you and present himself as the guy who'd been stalking your drawings. So he admired you from afar instead, relished in the passion of your dark coffee coloured eyes and in the attentive focus dipping your eyebrows in a soft frown, lips paeted slightly in concentration. "Do you know her?" He'd asked one of his friends from the volleyball team once, during their lunch break as he saw you line up at the cafeteria. Changmin took a peek at your face before he shook his head, "she might be in one of my electives." "Which one?" "I think it's art." Sunwoo forced his face to remain in a mask of calmness as he grabbed a steak sandwich, no fries, "do you know her name?" "Nah. I don't think she's ever spoken in class," Changmin's eyebrows quirk up then, "why'd you ask?" "No reason." Changmin's pointed look defined anything but that.  Although he did have the decency to drop the subject as soon as the rest of the volleyball team joined the table. Sunwoo got his answer a few days later when he practically toppled over you and your drawing crayons. It was his mistake. He'd been leaning too far out from the top of the basketball bleachers, struggling to get even the smidgest glimpse of what amazing piece of art hiding under your jacket sleeve, only for his foot to slip. Down he went with a curse, crashing straight into your body and quickly scrabbling to wrap his arms around your head, a pathetic attempt to cushion your fall as you fell into a heap in front of the bleachers. "You--you okay?" He huffed out, breathless and heart beating like a time bomb. Pulling his arms away slowly, gently, he finally met your gaze straight on and --oh my, your eyes were not coffee coloured at all.  But more of a honey-brown, wide open and framed by soft lashes. Currently dilated in panic. "I'm fine! What--What about you? Oh gosh, I'm so sorry--" "No it was my fault," he made a grab for your sketchbook and scattered pens only for his orbs to register the face messily etched onto the paper. His breath caught. For a minute, he could do nothing but stare at the replica of his face made in charcoal. Those were his eyes, his slightly crooked nose. The scowl he wore during his soccer matches. That was him. The resemblance was akin to that of perfection. That was before your hands snatched away the sketchbook before you quickly slammed it closed, cheeks blazing red, "that's-- I swear I"m not a creep, I-- I just do that for practice--" "It's amazing." Your head-- which had been bowed this entire time for fear that anger would be his response -- shot up in surprise, "what?" "It's amazing," Sunwoo repeated. He wouldn't mind repeating it forever, he realized, if that meant he got to see that aforable blush of yours. He reached out with his hand, "can I look at it again?" So you allowed him after some slight hesitation, and if he noticed, he didn't comment. Fingers brushing against yours slightly, he handled the sketchbook with utmost care as he flipped through the pages with child-like awe. He'd seen your drawings, sure, but mere glimpses here and there, a sneak peek, always accompanied with the fear of being found. But now, he could take his time and actually relish in the soft tracings of your crayon, admire the gentle shadings that made up the tip of his nose. You had managed to capture that frown -- the one he used whenever he concentrated -- to perfection and for a minute he swore he'd fallen in love with himself. "You're really good," he murmured, though that definitely banalized the array of praises popping through his head, "you should keep doing them. I mean it." "So, you're not--" you paused, "mad?" "Well I think you'd have more reason to be mad if you knew I was stalking you from before." "What?" Oh Sunwoo, you idiot. Your eyes had tripled their size and you were looking at him like he'd just grown a second head. He lifted his hands as defence, "that sounded so much better in my head. I swear I'm not that creepy, or a stalker, I just--well you're always drawing and I got curious but I can't really come over and tell you to show me so I had to hide and peek and--" You burst out laughing in his face and despite the fact that he was the cause, he couldn't help joining in with a small chuckle, a grin spreading across his features at how alive you looked at this very moment. "You can ask me next time," your grin settled into a soft smile, "I don't bite." "Your words, not mine," he said, tone lighter and teasing. He helped you gather your belongings and as the pair of you started towards the school gates, he asked for your name. "Y/N," you answered, "and you?" "Sunwoo," he noticed the sky was darkening into purple, a sign that twilight was approaching. Usually, he'd be in a hurry to catch the last bus of the evening to avoid the pain of traffic after six. But it was like his body was slowing down on its own to join your pace, as if he was automatically tuning in to the rhythm of your steps. He found he didn't mind. "So why athletes? Any special reason why you like drawing them?" He asked as you reached the gates. "I just like watching the way they move. It's ...graceful," a hand went to rub the back of your neck, "and they come in handy for figure practice." "I mean, we're not that graceful when you're on the pitch ready to get blown away," he chuckled, "but thanks. At least we know we don't play like animals." "Oh god no. The volleyball team's pretty good. The rugby team on the other hand..." you sigh before you shake your head, "that team is nearly impossible to draw." His shoulders shook as he laughed, "well I don't think they aim for graceful. They look like a pack of wild dogs. Even I don't understand how they play." You had reached the said bus stop by then before you spotted your mother's car along the sidewalk, "oh, my mom's here," you turn to him, "where do you live? Maybe we can drop you--" Meeting your mom? On the first day of meeting you? Sunwoo's hands flew up, shaking them wildly in response, "oh no no, that's not necessary. I'll see you tomorrow!" Thank god for the bus that pulled up at the right time so that he didn't have to linger longer than he needed to. But he didn't miss the small wave of your hand as you watched him go, the smile on your face warming his heart even when it was one of the coldest winter days of the year. From that day onwards, Sunwoo made it a must to make his presence known whenever you were deep in your sketches, always observing, sometimes silently keeping you company and sometimes getting so wrapped up in conversation that your pens would lay forgotten by your bag as you bantered back and forth about subjects that would've made people throw you looks of concern. It became routine to have Sunwoo's head pop up from behind the bleachers or to see him walk up the path to your special hiding spot, right where your gaze would meet the tennis court. You sketched him more and more, folding your drawings into your bag so that he wouldn't see although the urge to catch his face on paper was a growing addiction you couldn't ignore. Even your friends had noticed his lingering presence, proceeding to prod you with questions reflecting their curiosity. "He's from the vòlleyball team isn't he?" Yeji asked one time during lunch, upon noticing the way the said young man's stare lingered over the back of your head before turning away just as quickly, "do you know him?" "We've spoken once or twice." "How do you know him?" Your other friend, Saeron, nudged you with a wriggle of her brows. You brushed her teasing away, "we bumped into each other and then he saw my drawings." "Oh right, you do sketch athletes," Yeji leaned forward, mouth full of bread, "did you sketch him?" "I did, actually." "Oh awkward," Saeron giggled, "he's handsome though, can't deny that. You gotta introduce us sometime." You mumbled out an agreement even though you sat with them just for the sake of having people around. It wasn't that you didn't appreciate them. You did. But they seemed to speak a language you couldn't quite grasp. You would rather sit in your own silence, enjoy your own company if that made sense. Maybe that was why it was so surprising, that you allowed Sunwoo to linger as long as he wanted to. There was something authentic about the way he reacted to your words, an unguarded expression that made you comfortable enough to speak up without fear of judgment. Spending time with Sunwoo was listening to water trickle down the river. Smooth and free. Peaceful. But Sunwoo seldom knew of your high regards, was not aware of the tiny sketch of his figure in mid-spike that was hidden in the pocket of your school skirt so that you could take a peek whenever you felt out of place or nervous. It calmed you down to admire his composure, even if his expression was a mere mimic that could not replace reality. "Do you have any material in particular that you like to use?" Sunwoo asked one cloudy afternoon, breaking the silence while huddling a little closer to peek at your newest sketch of Lee Juyeon; a basketball star player known for his quick reflexes and adept playing style. Not only was his skill on par with that of a Nationals team, but his looks had garnered him quite a fanbase from the get-go. Sunwoo would've liked to say that he wasn't jealous of the way your thumb gently applied shade to Juyeon's lower lip. But the spike in the middle of his chest proved him otherwise. "I like charcoal the most, it's the easiest to work with," pausing to admire your work, your eyes glanced over at him, "do you draw?" He scoffed, "like a five year old." "Wanna try?" "No way. I'll ruin it. I'm okay with admiring it from afar." You hummed an unknown tune as you pulled back your sketchbook, "how is practice?" "Alright. Could be better. We won a practice match last week so we're kind of taking it easy." "That's good though isn't it?" Your gaze met his. His eyes were various gradients of warm maroon and you wished-- at this very moment -- to paint his features into memory. That was when you realized how close you were. You shuffled slightly back and didn't notice the frown Sunwoo threw you in response, "it is. And I'm happy we get to rest. The team deserves it." "You're pursuing it in College?" Your eyes tried not to linger too much over his lips, "volleyball, I mean." "Depends," he smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes, "if we make it to the Nationals." "You will." "Someone's confident," he chuckled. "Well I'm no pro but even I can tell you're talented, Sunwoo," you peeked at him from behind your fringe, glad that you could blame the cold for your red cheeks when just the intensity and closeness of his entity made you want to squirm, "so if there's anyone who can do it, it's you." It was impossible to keep eye contact after such a confession. You lowered your gaze, glad for your sketchbook that acted as a distraction. It was at that very moment that the paper tucked so neatly in your pocket slipped out, causing Sunwoo to quickly make a grab for it. You made a noise of protest before trying to snatch it back, but the boy only chuckled before unfolding the creased page so that there he was, depicted in all his glory. "Is that--" his voice was hoarse and you took this as your chance to steal it from his grasp, reddened cheeks burning and fingers shaking as you folded it back to its tiny square shape, "is that me?" "Y--yes." "You--you keep that with you?" "I--I do," you lifted your chin up defiantly, though you felt your limbs trembling. His eyes, they pierced your own, piecing together a coherence that caused your stomach to fill with butterflies. When he spoke next, his words were a mere murmur. "Why?" "I--I don't know," eyes darting towards the ground, you mumbled, "I just like watching you...play." A pause. Then, Sunwoo shifted a little bit closer. "You like watching me play? Or do you like," he cocked his head, "watching me?" If you were red before then you were probably the colour of a fire engine truck by now. Averting your eyes and turning your head away were instinctive responses due to the blood rushing through your face. "Stop flirting with me," came your mumble. Laughing softly in response, he scooted himself a little closer, so close that his shoulder brushed your back. He leaned over, head tilted to catch your expression. "Cute," his lips broke out in a crooked grin and you swore you felt your heart explode. Flustered, you shoved him away out of instinct but he wasn't having any of that. His hand grabbed your wrists and with a yelp, you were dragged even closer to his chest. "You like looking at me that much huh?" His tone was teasing while his eyes glimmered with playful mischief, "why is that,Y/N?" "You ask as if you don't know," you mumbled out through jumbled words and you were glad he actually understood you. But instead of laughing some more, his features softened into a smile instead as he proceeded to gaze down at you with an expression you couldn't quite place. It was in your normal behaviour to admire people. Not the other way around. And at this very moment, you felt way out of your comfort zone. "I don't know." Your orbs flew up to his in surprise and what you found in those coffee-coloured pupils made your breath stutter, heat coiling through your abdomen. "It...it calms me down," your whisper was barely louder than a breath but by the way Sunwoo's smile widens to reach his eyes, you could tell he heard you just fine. "I like watching you too," he replied. A strand of your hair caught in the wind and he raised his hand to curl it around the back of your ear, his touch ghosting with sparks wherever flesh bumped into flesh. You felt warm. He didn't pull away. Didn't bother hiding the slight dust of pink in his cheeks either, as he slowly allowed his palm to cradle the side of your face. Gently. As if he feared you might run away, recoil back. But you didn't. Even with your breaths going staccato, even if your heart felt like a wild animal. You calmed yourself down with the knowledge that he seemed just as nervous as you were and suddenly, out of a stroke of boldness, your hand went up to hold on to his, pressing it close to your cheek. His breath hitched. You shivered. The wind blew against your figures, a gentle reminder that the day was coming to an end. You weren't exactly sure what changed that day. There were no verbal agreements, nothing that suggested your relationship had changed. Yet, the subtle touches of his hand against your back, your shoulders, moving your hair from one shoulder to another, complemented by his gentle doe-eyed stare that made your toes curl, these changes were small, but significant. And you couldn't find it in your heart to say that you disliked it. What are we? The words lingered at the tip of your tongue, as bitter as the aftertaste of coffee as you stole small glances in his direction. You were sitting comfortably under a tree that overlooked the tennis court where Sunwoo had decided to join you. He'd fallen asleep halfway through your beginning sketch and was now leaning against the tree trunk, face relaxed and body leaned towards yours, close enough that you could admire his face. Countless hours you had spent tracing Sunwoo's features on paper. Countless times you had imagined tracing his lips with your thumb, wondered whether they were as soft as they looked. Maybe it was just curiosity or maybe you had let him walk into your heart so easily that you hadn't realized it yourself. But if there was one thing you could swear your heart upon it would be that you could no longer imagine every day without Sunwoo's presence at your side. As if on instinct, your fingers took a life of their own as they reached up to push a few strands away from his face. They gently carved a path down his cheek, landing at the corner of his jaw. Dangerously close to his open mouth. There was no denying it. Sunwoo was beautiful. Handsome. Had those features on par to that of a model's. You were so focused on edging your way to touch his lower lip that you didn't realize you had been staring, until you glanced up to see his brown orbs fixated on yours. You froze. Shit. "Like what you see?" He murmured. Then, before you could scramble back and probably run with your tail between your legs, his own hand grasped your own and he pushed himself off the trunk before his head angled towards yours, finding your lips. Soft. Sunwoo's lips were soft. You panicked. Not used to the closeness. The fire that sparked between your lids. But his other hand went to clasp your jaw, holding you close as he kissed your next protest away and unconsciously brushing his thumb against your cheek. Shivering in his touch, there was no running away from the way his mouth molded against yours so snugly, and you didn’t want to. You found yourself addicted to the sweet pressure of his upper lip meeting your lower ones and soon enough -- without realizing -- you melted into his touch. 

Sunwoo made a noise that sounded like a soft grunt, his other hand lacing around your waist to pull you closer so that you tumbled halfway into his lap. With embarrassment suddenly flooding through you, you let out a squeak that he answered with a chuckle of his own before distracting you once more with a series of kisses that left you gasping.

Your hands, initially balled into fists in your lap, went to rest against his chest and you didn’t realize that you were gripping onto his school shirt until you parted for air. Only were you aware of your compromising position, of the hard ridges of the young man’s thighs, of the firmness of his chest against your palms, of the way he seemed to be so much bigger than you even though he was a lean athlete, meant to be light and as speedy as the wind. 

Breaths coming out ragged, you tried to slow the beating of your heart. Though it seemed to be quite the challenge, given how lovingly, how intense, Sunwoo seemed to be in making love to your neck, nibbling on your pulse point and causing a soft whimper to fall from your lips. 

A whistle blew in the distance.

The soccer team. They’d be crawling up the hill any minute now.

“Sunwoo,” you breathed out, eyes hazy with mixed feelings of desire and embarrassment. You feebly tried pushing against his chest, to no avail. He merely groaned, head tilting upwards to catch your mouth into another kiss. 

“Sunwoo,” you groaned against his lips. But he held on for dear life, one hand clasping the back of your neck, tangled into your locks. The other around your waist, pressing you as close as he could possibly get you to be. 

“Just one more,” he mumbled in-between kisses, hooded eyes fluttering closed and head slanting to kiss you a little deeper, a little harder.

Your body was on fire. You weren’t used to this intimacy, nor all of the affection he was raining down upon you. 

But it felt good. It felt amazing. Eye-opening.

He finally relented after what seemed like an eternity and you quickly made a move to scramble out of his lap. Though he wasn’t having any of that, grip made of iron as he held on. You looked up to snap at him to let go before everyone saw but was faced with his pout instead, which was enough to bring down your defences. 

“Please,” his pout deepened and your heart practically vaulted through your chest. Cute. Cute. Cute. Stop. Burying his face into your neck, he whispered, “I just wanna hold you.” 

So he did. And thank god the team had decided to take a different route so that you would avoid their imploring, questioning gazes. Though Sunwoo admitted that he’d already known they would go up from the other side of the gymnasium, considering they did that every other week to train their stamina in the process. 

That earned him a light smack on the side of his head, making him whine, “What did I do to deserve this Y/N?” 

“You knew!” You wanted to throw him a glare, but it was impossible when you were busy fighting the grin spreading across your face. 

He grinned back at you, that crooked smile that always resulted in a burst of butterflies roaring through your abdomen. Just like now. 

“So, since you have a drawing of me that you keep staring at every day--” his words died into laughter when you tried smacking his arm, proceeding to cage your wrist with his hand before kissing your knuckles. You squirmed as he continued, “does that mean I can get a picture of you?”

You let out a noise of protest, “that depends,” you mumbled, unconsciously finding refuge in his neck.

Chuckling, Sunwoo grasped your chin lightly to pull you back so that his brown orbs gazed right into yours with a gentleness that had you weak at the knees, “on what?” 

“On what I get in return.” 

“What if I say I’ll take you on a date?” he said wickedly. 

You couldn’t help your smile. 

“I guess that could work.”