#THEY ARE NOT ON YOUR SIDE THEY HAVE NEVER BEEN ON YOUR SIDE THEY WILL NEVER BE ON YOUR SIDE

[adiadagaki]

heianera!sukuna observed you in your chair, reading a book, engrossed in a world of your own. You spent most of your time nestled in the arm chair by the fire, waiting patiently for whenever Sukuna would call you over in need of service.

Oddly, you didn’t miss the kitchen, most of the time Sukuna was no issue, his commands simple, and he was never violent. All in all, he was a pretty good employer and you were happy.

“Pet.” Your head lifted without hesitation, your book softly falling closed. “Yes, my lord.”

“Come rub my back.”

You froze, perplexed by his ask. Surely one of his concubines would be better suited for such a task, but who were you to question a King? After all, Sukuna always knew what he wanted.

“Rub your back, my lord?”

“Yes. I have new oils I wish to try.”

Setting your book aside, you stood, the ruffles of your work skirt swishing around your thighs. Sukuna licked his lips at the sight. He loved your uniform more than anything in his palace, forever making you look like a sweet treat.

Settling by his bed, you stood awaiting further instruction.

“Undress me, little one.” If you had seen Sukuna around the other servants you’d know he didn’t have pet names for them, not even his concubines, it marked you as special, and you didn’t even know it.

With slightly shaky hands, you removed his kimono, neatly folding it and placing it off to the side. Even with all of his muscles bare, you were polite and didn’t stare, as, after all, that wasn’t part of your job.

Sukuna frowned at the sight.

Maybe you’d be harder to tease than he thought.

Adjusting himself so he was led on his stomach, he nodded his head, indicating to his back. “Sit, pet. The oils are on the bedside stand.”

“Do you have a preference, my lord?”

“Whichever you choose is fine, little one.”

Deciding on a random bottle, you crawled onto the bed, sitting by his side, preparing to unscrew the cap. Sukuna tutted playfully, drawing your attention.

“My lord?”

“How do you suppose you can give me a massage properly from the side?” He quirked a brow and your lips parted, but words didn’t find you.

“Sit, pet.” And this time you understood perfectly what he meant.

Slow in your movements, you kicked your leg over him and straddled his lower back, saddled on the natural dip of his spine, your sex right over Sukuna’s muscles. Your mind didn’t go to such a place, but the Kings did.

Oiling up your hands, you set out on your task, finding it a little odd but not speaking up, knowing your place. Plus, a slightly compromised position or not this was a professional craft for many and it didn’t always entail such lewd endings.

Sukuna had other ideas.

Every time you worked a certain muscle he let out low, drawn out moans, praising you for a job well done. It brought the lightest flush to your cheeks because anyone could walk in and get the wrong idea about all of this.

Seeing the pink on your cheeks, Sukuna decided it was time for step 2. Flexing his back muscles, he watched from the corner of two eyes as you stilled, confused and utterly adorable in it.

You were questioning yourself. Had you made it up? Had the King done something? Had you done something?

Sukuna didn’t comment.

And then he did it again.

This time you were certain he had moved, you’d been still as a statue since your mind had decided to play tricks on you. What was his angle?

Deciding it was better to end this massage sooner rather than later, you put the last of the oil on your hands and made haste.

Knowing what you were up to, Sukuna upped his game, shifting his hips up off the mattress and grinding back against you, earning him the smallest hitch of your breath.

You were definitely getting worked up by his antics. Brilliant, a few more shifts of his hips and you should be-

“There you are my lord. Hopefully the oil is to your liking. Call me if you need anything else.”

Sukuna growled. You had climbed off him, having finished the massage far quicker than he would have liked. But the King was not to easy to give up, he was already plotting how he could have you soaking those white panties again soon.

You were destined to be his, for better or for worse.

Part 1 Part 2

[cavillscurls]

joel miller is an ass man.

[nsfw. mdni. f!reader described as curvy. lil spank. ass play. oral (f receiving) implied. gif by the amazingly talented @perotovar. idk what this is but enjoy]

and he loves to fixate on yours. especially once the threshold of any uncertainty has been crossed in your relationship, and his growing affection can manifest physically. he’s a polite man; born and raised a southern gentleman, but he’s certainly handsy with what’s his.

when words can’t quite form, or when they’re unneeded, you’ll always feel the trace of his fingers at your lower back, or an impatient hand reaching for yours. and when he’s feeling bold, maybe a beer or two in him, that mischievous hand will always slide down and rest firmly over your backside. sometimes, he’ll even pull that slick move of sinking his fingers into your back pocket. makes it a little harder to get away (not that you’d want to). and when he’s almost certain no one’s looking, a little squeeze or two here and there, just to make sure you know he’s thinking about you, never hurt anybody. the feel of it in his palm is just too good; his personal little stress ball.

when the seasons start to change, he thinks he’ll absolutely lose his mind. because god forbid you wear one of those flimsy little sundresses. the ones that are always swaying around your pretty thighs, threatening to reveal something precious underneath, something he’s seen a thousand times before but he wants it now, and he’s huffy that he can’t have it. even worse, those fucking jeans. that very specific pair of devastating jeans that cling to your curvy hips and thighs as if they were stitched just for you. and he’s almost jealous. jealous that everyone else gets a peek of what’s his, and suddenly, that southern charm is lost to the kind of hunger he’s only known since you.

so when you’re home that evening, laying stomach down on your shared mattress, one of his t-shirts and your cotton panties the only thing keeping you from him, joel wastes very little time in his pursuits. he’s on you, an all-encompassing force from behind, bracketing his thighs around your legs and yanking up the t-shirt to eagerly grip both full cheeks.

“joel!” you squeal, startled, dropping the book you had been reading and snapping your head back towards him. the adorably surprised smile on your lips only riles him up more.

“nuh uh,” he tsks, shaking his head when your try to squirm away, giving a playful little spank to one side before he digs his fingers firmly into the soft flesh, admiring the way it squishes between them. “been waltzin’ around teasing me all fuckin’ day. need my fix.”

then, he’s yanking your panties down in an instant, spreading each meaty cheek apart until that pretty little puckered hole and your already leaking cunt are on display, dipping his head down, tongue wet and wanting for a taste. <3

[flipthepaige]

driver, roll up the partition, please!

includes. SMUT 18+, paige bueckers x fem! reader. public setting still somewhat private, oral, drunk and nasty, little bit of sub paige, praise and begging, grinding, makeup smudging, just all over each other…

about. after your girlfriend gets drafted number one overall, neither of you have the patience to wait until the afterparty. surely the driver won’t mind if paige celebrates a little early… right?

ju speaks. incase you didn’t know, i am @ohbueckers :) mama had to make a whole new blog, but she’s back! this is a bit of filth but i haven’t wrote any good smut in so long so i poured it all out here lol. p gets drafted in less than a month, let’s cope the right way, amen!

“Driver, roll up the partition, please!”

She says it all politely, like her lips aren’t as red as a cherry and swollen, like your hands haven’t untucked and found their way up under her dress shirt, nails scraping over the ridges of her abs, like she hasn’t been grinding against you for the last two blocks, all while tasting like champagne and every bad decision you were always going to make tonight. Your leg is hiked up over her lap, and she’s been kissing you like she doesn’t give a damn that the limo is still moving, that you’re supposed to be on your way to the afterparty, that there’s a whole world outside this car waiting to celebrate her—number one overall, finally Dallas’ rookie.

The second she stood up, walked across that stage, and held up that jersey, she was already thinking about getting back to you. And when she did, when she came striding over, still grinning like a kid on Christmas, the most anticipated person in the room but still just your girl, she grabbed you like she needed proof this was real.

Her arms slid around your waist, pulling you in like she was scared someone might try to take you from her. You smiled up at her, and expressed how proud you were, of course. Her lips brushed your forehead, and she made sure you heard the six words that followed, whispering into your hair, “couldn’t have done it without you.”

This time, your mouth is on her neck before she even finishes her sentence, nipping and sucking at her skin, breathing in her Valentino like you can pick apart every ingredient in it. Too eager for manners, and way too far gone to care, you don’t even hear the driver’s muttered response, not even the hum of the partition sliding up and clicking into place. No more audience. No more distractions. Just you and her. Atleast for a couple more miles.

And Paige? Back like she never left, like she needed that barrier up before she could really lose herself in you. “Ain’t even gon’ take ya time with it?” she teases, smiling as her hands slide down, find the swell of your ass, squeeze like she’s been dying to do it all night. “Fuck, y’so impatient,” she mutters, tilting her head back just enough to let you work, and when you bite down just right, she shivers, the pads of her fingers tightening against your shoulder for some sense of stability.

“Mhm?” You grin against her throat, licking over the marks you just left. “You wanna do something about it?”

Paige groans, large hands already pushing the fabric of your dress up over your hips. The amount of need in her movements is overwhelming, because she’s been too good the entire night. She’s been sitting pretty at that table, shaking hands, doing interviews, feeling your eyes on her and knowing she couldn’t do shit about it. Not yet.

And now she’s got you all to herself.

Paige never does anything halfway, and that includes kissing you like she’s trying to ruin you. Your tongues move all sloppy, the sounds even nastier than the kiss, and you swear you hear the music get louder, vibrating against every corner of the vehicle, the driver clearly trying to drown out the obscene sounds of Paige Bueckers losing it in the backseat. But fuck, you’re not quiet either.

You let two of her fingers push your panties to the side, gasping as they run through your slick. You grip onto her tighter as Paige hoists you fully into her lap, straddling her leg as she whispers filth into your ear.

Big hands, rough from years of handles, crossovers, midrange shots that got her here, but gentle where they need to be—slipping between your thighs, spreading you open like she already knows what she’s gonna find.

Her fingers are slipping through the mess you’ve already made for her, slow at first, just to get you going, because she knows how much you want it, because she likes making you wait. But then you whimper, and it hypnotizes her to do exactly what you wanted her to do.

Paige is fast, but she’s precise despite being intoxicated, two fingers sinking inside you like your pussy was made for her. Your breath catches, body jerking forward, head tipping back against the seat, but she keeps you secure, pressing down on your stomach. “That’s it,” she urges, free hand gripping your thigh, keeping you open for her. “Lemme hear it, baby.”

“Mfmph, there.” Your fingers wrap around her wrist while hers curl just right, pressing against that spot that has your thighs shaking, your back arching from her chest. The blonde watches you intently, her pupils blown, lips slick and kiss swollen, owning every reaction like it’s another trophy for her collection. “Right there, P” you drag out.

The music gets louder, and you can’t even make out the lyrics, just the beat of something that never falls low. You’re sure you’d have some remorse for the driver if you weren’t about three drinks in and a little fucked out, but you can’t find it, because Paige wants all of it. Every sound, every plea, every desperate, breathless, “Paige, please.”

And, oh, do you give it to her.

Paige groans at the way you say her name, like she can feel it straight between her legs, like it’s fueling her. Her fingers keep working you open, hitting every spot like she knows your body better than her own, because truthfully, she does. She’s mapped you out a hundred times before, but never like this, never this drunk, never with the high of being number one mixing with the high of you.

“That’s my girl,” she praises, watching the way her fingers disappear in and out with half-lidded eyes, bottom lip caught between her teeth. “Look so pretty takin’ it, baby. Knew you would.”

You tremble, a moan breaking past your lips, and Paige just grins, like she’s putting on another show, something like the one she just left from. But this one? This one is just for her.

“Almost there?”

You nod frantically, nails digging at her wrist, trying to keep yourself together—but fuck is it hard when she’s all over you like this. She speeds up just a little, the wet sounds of her digits working you over and making your cheeks burn, but Paige loves it. She leans in, licks up the side of your neck, tasting the wreckage.

“Paige,” you pant, eyes fluttering.

“Say it again,” she rasps, her forehead pressed to the side of yours now, her fingers still moving, hips subtly grinding against nothing, like she’s as desperate as you are.

“Paige,” you whimper, and you wish you could say it was voluntary. “I—”

You don’t even get the chance to finish, because Paige presses down on your stomach again, just right, and your whole body reacts—clenching around her fingers, thighs twitching like she just stole every bit of your sanity. You really think she might’ve. Maybe she’s been taking from you this entire night—the air in your lungs, the thoughts from your head, the control you thought you had.

“Yeah, I know,” she talks you through it, lips brushing against your temple, her fingers still working, still curling inside you, playing you like a highlight reel. “Go ‘head, ma. Give it to me.”

Your release crashes into you, body locking up before breaking apart, your moan swallowed by Paige’s mouth as she kisses all of it out of you, eating up every last sound like she needs it, like she wants it dripping down her chin. Her fingers never stop moving, making sure you know she did this to you.

She pulls away with a bite of your lip, savoring the remnants of her own name on your tongue, and for a second, you think she’ll let you breathe, let you come down from the high she just sent you to.

But then she shifts against you the same way she’d been doing all night, grinds her hips up into nothing, and you feel it.

Paige Bueckers, all six feet of her, usually so composed, the one who calls the shots in bed and most of the time out of it—is crumbling for you now, fists gripping at the leather seat like she’s barely holding on.

Your fingers slide down slowly at the realization, popping open her belt, then her slacks, pushing them down just enough to expose the waistband of her boxers.

All you need is five minutes.

So you move. Drop to your knees right between hers, push her legs wider as you settle between them, dragging your palms up her thighs when she breathes out your name in her gravelly Minnesota accent. You let your nails creep up under her shirt, scratching lightly against her lower stomach. Too much teasing for the blonde, not enough mouth.

Paige growls, actually growls, and before you can blink, she grabs your wrist, pressing your hand right over her, rolling her hips into your palm. “Ain’t in the mood for allat,” she mumbles, jaw clenched, pupils dilated. “You know what the fuck I want, baby. Stop stallin’.”

You listen.

Partly because she’s just had the biggest night of her life, the kind of night people dream about. Winning a National Championship just a few weeks prior to getting your name called first for the draft, becoming the face of a franchise, name solidified in history. She worked her ass off for it too, and tonight? Tonight, she made it.

So you listen. You don’t stall, and you swear you hear the music get louder again—like the driver knows exactly what’s about to happen.

The minute you start mouthing at her, you can feel her muscles jump under your lips. Paige inhales, one hand sliding to the back of your neck, rubbing at your skin. The limo rocks slightly, the bass from the speakers rattling through your ribcage, but none of that matters. The only thing you care about is the way Paige is falling apart in your mouth.

She tries to hold out, tries to keep it together, but the way her thighs twitch when your tongue moves just right? The way she shudders when you suck?

“Fuck,” she groans finally, head tipping back, body lunging upward on instinct.

And she loses it.

Because Paige has never been one to sit back and just take it.

Her hips start moving, rolling into your mouth, and you let her, let her use you, let her chase what she needs because you need it too—the way she sounds, the way she tastes, the way her legs start to tremble, thighs pressing against your cheeks and smudging your makeup because she can’t help it.

She’s ruined and a little helpless, mumbling half formed curses and praises that don’t even make sense. You swear you could come again just by listening. “Been needin’ you all night. Keep doin’ that.”

She rides it out while your tongue works in circles, fingers digging into her thighs to keep her there even though she can’t be still, her body shaking along with her hands that can’t decide whether to pull you closer or push you away.

You flatten your tongue, holding her down a little rougher when she bucks up against your mouth. She’s so close, right there, her body trying to outrun her own orgasm, but you don’t stop.

“Please—please, baby—feels s’good,” she whines, her fingers tugging at your hair just the way she knows you love, hips stuttering, moans guttural. “Just like that—don’t stop, don’t—”

She chokes on her next breath, her body breaking just like yours did, just like she’s so deserving of.

And when she finally slumps back against the seat, spent, her chest still heaving, her thumb lazily stroking over your cheek, she grins down at you, tired, satisfied, definitely not ready for the whatever afterparty diorama is waiting for her like a coronation.

“Yeah,” she breathes, licking her lips as she pulls you back up into her lap, kissing you like she could go another round, tongue sweeping into your mouth to taste herself.

“Number one pick, baby,” she slurs. “How that sound?”

Like trouble. Like a whole dynasty in the making. Like she’s already on top of the world, and somehow, that ain’t high enough.

You giggle, pressing her cheeks between your fingers as you peck at her lips. “Fucking great. How’s it feel?”

“Feel like I could do this all night,” she mumbles, hips rocking up into you, her need reigniting just like that. She masks it as a slight shift, but you know better. “What about you? Think you got another one in you?”

Like she even needs to ask.

[neimaami]

You dream about me? (M)

SYNOPSIS: Jungkook takes you out to eat...except food isn't the only thing he's having tonight. aka, he fucks you against his bike :)

WARNINGS : SMUT, unprotected sex (this is purely fantasy! I condone safe sex), dirty talk, titty sucking, fingering, multiple orgasms, JK pretending he's a bad boy but he's actually a sweetheart, FLUFF, non-establish relationship, friends to lovers (?)

word count: 5.3k

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Your usually neat and respectable bedroom was an absolute disaster. 

The one thing your parents had drilled into your head, over and over again since the moment you were born—was how to behave like a woman. You had old parents. A mother and father who were two whole generations behind yours. Parents with mindsets set in stone—unchanging, no matter what. It wasn’t exactly torture growing up with them, but it did come with a whole lot of expectations—ones that no longer fit into modern day society.

One of them being, ‘a lady should have a clean room no matter what, in order to appear civilised and educated’ two words come to mind - fuck that. You were a woman through and through, whether your room was in pristine condition, or if your room looked like a pig sty, which was currently the latter. Putting together an outfit you never imagined yourself wearing wasn’t easy—especially one that went against everything you’d been taught. So why did something so wrong feel so damn good? 

Usually, your closet was full of bright, pastel colours, ones that rightfully represented your outgoing and bubbly personality. Even though most of your articles of clothing were picked out by your mother, somehow your tastes aligned…for the most part. Sometimes she’d show up with a shopping bag full of crocheted ponchos and actually expected you to wear them. That is one thing you refused to wear - ponchos. They were unflattering, baggy, uncomfortable, hideous even - and they hid everything you had going for yourself. 

Ponchos? A big no.

This time you were in search of clothing on the complete opposite side of the spectrum. Jungkook had invited you to go out to a diner with him. You weren’t exactly sure what it entailed, he didn’t specify, but in your mind it was a date, at least it’s what you hoped it was. You wanted to impress him above all else, you wanted a jaw dropping, show stopping outfit that would land you in his bed - tonight. Thinking back on all the times you had spent in Jungkook’s company, you had learned that his usual attire consists of black leather and worn out jeans. Even though you were sure he’d tease you relentlessly for ‘stealing his lingo’ as he likes to call it, you wanted a change. You used Jungkook’s name as an excuse, because truthfully, for the longest time, you have wanted to break this continuous cycle of being a notorious rule-follower. Even if it was as silly, as simple as an outfit change, it was a step in the right direction. One that you wanted to - no, needed to go in.

As you rummage through options on the floor, you feel your phone buzz in the back pocket of your sweatpants. You reach behind you and drop your gaze to the home screen of your iphone. Your heart races in your chest at the sight of the contact name; there is a singular text message from Jungkook: 

omw princess, wear something sexy for me, yeah? ;)

Oh sexy you’ll give him, alright. Then the words ‘on my way’ dawn on you and realisation strikes you. Shit, you hadn’t even picked out an outfit, let alone showered and done your makeup. Thankfully you had already picked out 3 suitable options for clothes and had tried them on countless times. The hardest part was picking out which one out of the three was best. But you didn’t have time to dwell on the options, Jungkook would be showing up at any second. 

“Arlight, let’s do this shit.” You mutter under your breath, walking over to your messy bed and eyeing the three options wearily. It was almost embarrassing how seriously you were taking this - especially for someone who you weren’t even dating, but alas, this was Jungkook, the hottest man you have ever had the privilege of seeing. Your hand instinctively reaches out for option 2. The outfit consisted of small leather shorts that stopped just below your ass, and a tight, below the shoulder black top.

The moment you step foot outside, a chilly breeze greeted you—not surprising for 8:35 PM. You muttered a curse under your breath, annoyed at yourself for forgetting a jacket. As you walked down the pavement and rounded the corner of your apartment building toward the parking lot, your eyes landed on Jungkook. Leaned back against his sleek black motorcycle, he looked as sexy as ever. His black hair pushed back, tattoos giving him that edgy look craved to want. You caught the slight raise of his eyebrows, surprise evident as you approached.

He lets out a low whistle, straightening up and taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “Fuck…look at you.” He drags his eyes over your figure, desire simmering beneath his gaze, a look so intense that it sets your whole body on fire. With a flick of his fingers, he tosses the cigarette onto the gravel, embers glowing for a fleeting moment before fading. “Are you trying to impress me, baby?” His lips curl up into a cocky smirk, taking yet another step forward - his chest grazing against yours. 

“Depends…did I succeed?” He hums in response, reaching out to grip your hips with his big hands and pulling you further against his chest. You couldn’t help but admire the colorful, intricate designs of his tattoos covering his left arm, it made you want to trace them with the tip of your fingers. They especially popped under the soft glow of the moonlight. You remember him mentioning how he was going to get them re-colored - and by the looks of it he has. The parking lot was relatively quiet, with only a few people locking their car doors before heading out.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate on anything tonight with you looking like this” Your heart flutters at his words. It’s almost laughable how just a few sweet words from the man in front of you can stir such strong reactions from your body. His thumbs run smooth circles on the small strip of skin between the hem of your top and the waistband of your leather shorts. 

“Maybe that was the goal” You flirt with a teasing smile, your hands run over his arms, feeling the way his muscles ripple beneath the palm of your hands. He wore his usual white wife beater - it was skin tight and displayed his bulky stature perfectly. He lets out a raspy chuckle, leaning in to press a featherly light kiss to your cheek, his lips barely grazing the warmth of your skin.

“Yeah?” He smirks against your cheek “you wanted me to look at you, didn’t you baby? To notice you…” He lifts his head up to meet your gaze, one of his hands reaching out to softly grip your chin - forcing your eyes to lock on his. He lets his gaze wander over your face tentatively, noting the way your cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. He was definitely making a mental note of this moment. It made his smirk widen, a hint of cockiness pooling within the depths of his eyes. “Well I see you…here, in my thoughts, in my dreams…” His voice is low and sultry, using his thumb to pull down on your bottom lip. At this rate you weren’t sure if the both of you would be making it to the diner.  

“You dream about me?” you whisper - eyes wide and shining under the moonlight, you press a light kiss to the tip of his thumb, all while your eyes are locked on his. The cocky smirk on his lips falters slightly at your action. His eyes intensify, boring deeply into yours. Your breath catches in your throat as the world around you stills. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, his cocky, playful side coming back out.

“I jerk off to you too” He smirks and shoots you a wink, clearly feeling very proud of his quick wit. You groan in annoyance and take a step back, crossing your arms over your chest. Slightly disappointed. 

“You ruined the moment” You complain, to which he lets out a boisterous laugh, his bunny teeth coming to view. The sight alone momentarily distracts you from any frustration you had been feeling. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here, princess…” He wraps a hand around your wrist, fingers curling against your pulse point, as he tugged you towards his motorcycle. That darn motorcycle, you were afraid he’d choose that piece of machinery over you one day. You couldn’t help but think back to the day where he so trustingly gave you permission to drive his motorcycle around the block of his apartment. He had been a nervous wreck, babbling on and on about how you should be careful, that if you got so much as a scratch on the paint he’d kill you. It wasn’t your first time driving a motorcycle, so you had somewhat of an experience, you weren’t blindly going at it - which had given him a sense of relief. Still, Jungkook remained a nervous wreck, his chest had pressed against your back as he hovered his hands over the handlebars of the motorcycle…just in case. You smile at the fond memory.

He grips your hips and lifts you up to straddle the leather seat of the machinery, before swinging his own leg over the seat. He hands you one of the protective helmets.

“You okay to put this on? Or do you need help?” He says as he reaches out for his own helmet. You roll your eyes and successfully tug the helmet on and tighten the strap beneath your chin.

“I’m not a child, kook. I know how to put on a damn helmet.” He shoots you a smile over his shoulder, not at all phased by your remark. The dimple on his left cheek popped out momentarily. Your heart races in your chest.

“Sass. That’s what I get for trying to be a gentleman.” He scoffs as he successfully puts on his helmet and revs up the motorcycle.

You snort and wrap your arms around his waist, scooting forward on the leather seat to press your chest against his muscular back. “The last word I’d use to describe you is ‘gentleman.’” It was a teasing jab, no real cruelty behind your words. 

“I never said I was, I said I’m trying to be.” With that he kicks up the stand. You tighten your arms around his waist instinctively, it was always quite nerve wracking sitting on the back of Jungkook’s motorcycle - he was unpredictable in more ways than one. The tires crunch against the gravel as he eases out of the parking lot, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows over his sharp features. Then, with a smooth twist of the wrist, he takes off, the wind whipping past you as the city blurs into streaks of neon and asphalt.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

“You drive me crazy-” Jungkook rasps out, his breath fanning across the shell of your ear. “Can’t get enough of you…” His hands reach down to grip the back of your thighs, arms flexing as he hoists you up effortlessly and walks all the way back towards his motorcycle. He wastes no time latching his lips onto the side of your neck, sucking deep dark, purple marks. You were a whimpering mess against him, your hands gripping onto his shoulders for dear life, your legs tightening around his waist. You didn’t even care for the fact that the two of you were just about done exiting the diner, that the owner could catch you both if he so much as looked out the big windows. Apart from him, the parking lot of the Diner was empty, the two of you had been the only ones left inside.

The date had gone better than expected, you laughed, talked, kissed, but the both of you didn’t last much longer - couldn’t last much longer. The long gazes, the lingering touches, it was becoming all too much to handle. Jungkook had treated you like a princess all night, not that you were surprised. From the moment you met Jungkook a couple of months back, you have always had an inkling feeling that Jungkook wasn’t this ‘badboy’ everyone said he was. Not with the way his doe-eyes shone big and wide as they looked into yours, head nodding with each word you spoke. You didn’t expect the way he treated you so delicately, so softly, like you might break if he said the wrong thing, touched you the wrong way…He truly was a gentleman, no matter what others may come to believe. Or maybe, just maybe, he was this way with you, and only with you. 

He sets you down onto the leather seat of his black motorcycle. His hands squeeze the muscles of your thighs as he settles his body between your spread legs. His chest molds against yours - His growing erection pressing directly against your clothed clit. You bite your lip to stop the moan threatening to spill from your lips. You tighten the grip of your hands on his shoulders. He couldn’t help but let out a low groan as he started to grind his hardened cock against you. The tight confines of his jeans were starting to feel like torture. The friction was so delicious it made your brain turn to mush. You spread your legs even further, bucking your hips up to grind your hips against his, as a result he throws his head back in a deep, drawled out moan. His eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. Your heart stops in your chest at the unforgettable sight. This man was going to be the death of you. 

“Fuck…you’re gonna make me cum in my pants if you keep doing that” He rasps out, his hands moving up your body to grip your tits over the black top you wore, giving the mounds a good, rough squeeze - Your strangled moan echoes across the empty parking lot. With gritted teeth and a clenched jaw, Jungkook tugs the material down your arms, letting the fabric pool against your waist. You shiver  when the cool air hits your newly exposed skin, nipples pebbling against the fabric of your bra. 

“J-Jungkook…we’re still outside…” You remind him nervously, taking a quick peek behind his shoulder for any living soul. He doesn’t seem to even acknowledge your words - his hand already sliding around your body to toy with the clasp of your bra. He cursed under his breath as he struggled against it for a couple of seconds. You couldn’t help but let out a giggle to, which he shoots you a glare before the bra successfully unclasps. The cool air of the night only serves to send a shiver down your spine. 

“Relax, there’s nobody here…” When your bra falls to the dusty ground, he leans in to capture one of your rosy nipples into his mouth. Your brain is suddenly too fuzzy to even remember what you were worrying about as you felt his tongue on your skin. His hands gripped your waist tightly, pushing your tits even further against his face. You reach out to thread your fingers against his black locks, giving it a rough tug as his tongue swirls around your sensitive nub - teeth grazing against it. 

“Hmmph…Kook…” You moan out breathlessly, your hips moving on their own accord against his growing erection. He releases your nipple with a small ‘pop’, a string of saliva connects your nipple to his lips before it breaks. He stands up straight, looming over your smaller frame. 

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” His breath comes out slightly ragged, his hooded eyes darkening at the sight of your reddened cheeks. “So sensitive…I love it when you blush for me.” He whispers under his breath, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, taking a couple seconds to admire the way your tits rose with every breath you took.

“Touch me kook…” You whimper, hands desperately reaching out to grip the waistband of his jeans and giving it a good tug towards you. He’s impossibly close now, his pelvis pressing tightly against yours. Gripping the back of your thighs, Jungkook forces them to wrap around his slim waist. “Or are you all talk no bite?” You challenge, to which he raises a brow - surprised at your sudden confidence, A smirk tugging at his lips. He leans down, breath fanning across the shell of your ear.

“Oh I’ll touch you alright, maybe even fuck the attitude right out of you while I’m at it.” He releases his grip on your breasts, settling them against the cool leather of his bike instead. He grips the edge of the seat, one arm on either side of your body, caging you in. His face was now inches away from yours. “Is that what you want, baby girl?” He whispers huskily “Does the princess need a good, rough fuck?”

Your cheeks bloom at his lewd words, the palm of your hands already feeling clammy with sweat. You could only nod dumbly, your eyes shining with pure, unadulterated lust. This man could so easily reduce you to something resembling a brainless zombie. He lets out a dark chuckle, the deep sound sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body. “So eager” He hums, leaning in and placing his lips on your uncharacteristically softly. You moan against the warm, soft, pillowy lips, his teeth grazing your bottom lips enough to where your breath hitches in your throat. His big hand cups the side of your face, tilting it slightly to the right as he deepens the kiss. His tongue sliding against yours naturally. It felt so right, so good. He suckles on your bottom lip before pulling away.

“Tell me baby, what is it you need from me, hm?” His voice is a breathless whisper, grinding back against the heat of your core that pressed intently against his painfully hardened cock. One of his hands travels between your bodies, to cup your pussy over the leather of your shorts, the palm of his hand grazing over your clothed clit. You could only gasp at the feeling, the warmth of his skin seeping through the fabric.. His lips continue their torturous graze across the skin of your neck. “Want me to taste this sweet pussy? Maybe use my fingers on you?...” 

You shake your head, your arms shooting out to grip his biceps. He pulls back with a tilt of his head “No?” He questions, his eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion. Had he done something wrong? Maybe he had misread the situation? He pulled his hand away in case you were second guessing yourself.

“I don’t want to wait.” You reach out to pull his hand back, the other already reaching down to toy with the button of his jeans, he quickly captures your wrist in his hand, pulling it away from where he needed you most. “Wha-” You look up at him in confusion.

“I don’t want to hurt you” His eyes softened ever so slightly, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest at the sight. “I’m not exactly…small.” He could have easily said that for an ego boost, but looking deeply into his eyes you could tell this wasn’t the case, all you could see was concern…care. 

“I’m not a virgin, Jungkook.” You argue back, mind still fuzzy from lust, clearly not reading the situation or reacting to it as you probably should have. Using your other hand, you reach out to toy with the button of his jeans impatiently, successfully undoing it. He shakes his head, face scowling in disagreement as he captures your other wrist in hand, gripping them in one of his large hands.

“That doesn’t matter.” His voice comes out slightly frustrated, but mostly caring, he releases your wrists to grip your waist instead, pulling your chest to his. “Just because you’ve had sex before doesn’t mean you don’t need the proper foreplay-” 

“But I’m so wet for you, kook…” You whimper.

That makes Jungkook short-circuit. He swears he almost came in his pants.

With not so much as a word he pulls the zipper of his jeans down enough to where the fabric pools down to his ankles, leaving him in his white wife beater and tight boxer briefs. “You’re positive?” He eyes you wearily, eyes raking your face for any sign of regret or reluctance.

You gave him a reassuring smile and nodded “Positive.” You promise. “Just please…touch me kook, I don’t think I can wait much longer…” desperation was evident in your voice as your hands raked your nails down his back. He visibly shudders at the feeling.

“Fuck…you’re going to be the death of me” He groans, pulling the waistband of his boxers down enough so that his cock sprung free. Your breath gets caught in your throat. He wasn’t lying, he was huge. His cock was girthy, long and had veins running up the base. You could see the way it shot straight up, slapping against his abdomen. The tip is bright pink, shining with beads of pre-cum that slid down to lube his shaft. You gulp.

“You okay?” He asked in concern, reaching out to cup the side of your cheek, thumb rubbing smooth circles against your skin.

“Y-yeah…on second thought…maybe I do need the foreplay…” You bite your lip nervously, slightly embarrassed - you take in the way he let out a breathless chuckle. He reaches down to unbutton your leather shorts, you raise your hips off the leather seat of his motorcycle to help him slide them off. He easily slides them down the expanse of your legs, placing the material across the leather seat - not much could be said for your bra. 

“What do you need?” It was a simple question really, but your mind was going miles per hour. Too unfocused for coherent thoughts. He decides for you, slipping his fingers into the waistband of your panties as his fingers graze over your slick folds. You let out a shuddering breath. He leans his free hand back down against the leather of his bike, pressing his chest to yours as he rubs your clit in deliberate circles. The calloused pads of his fingers run up and down against your slit, coating them in your wetness before circling your entrance. His eyes remain locked onto your face at all times, searching for any signs of discomfort.

“Please…” Your eyes flutter closed, voice coming out in a breathy whisper, almost inaudible…but he heard it - oh he heard it alright. His cock pulsed painfully in his jeans. He began to slip two of his fingers inside you, hissing at the way your walls tightened around them. He easily glided them knuckles deep inside you. You were so damn wet there was practically no friction.

“So tight…” He rasped, slowly starting to pump his thick fingers in and out of you. His fingers curled and motioned a ‘come here’ sign. You shudder at the feeling, letting out a small, breathless moan against the side of his neck. Your right hand comes up to cradle the side of his cheek, pressing your lips against the side of his face. Your warm breathy pants fanned his scorching skin.

“That’s it baby” He coos, his fingers working even faster inside you, watching transfixed at the way your face morphed into one of pleasure. The tips of his fingers curl to find that spongey, soft area inside you, the area to which he begins to slam his fingers against, over and over again. You let out a surprised sound, a loud moan tearing from your throat as he begins to part his fingers in opposite directions, scissoring your pussy open, stretching you out for what was to come. “You’re so fucking wet…all for me, isn’t that right?” His voice dripped with oozing confidence and overpowering lust. His fingers only picked up the pace while his thumb worked in tangent, applying just enough pressure to your clit that leaves you a whimpering, moaning mess. The parking lot was still empty, still dark, the two of you caught up in your own little bubble.

“Ohh my…oh god-” You gasp, throwing your head back, his eyes narrowing to the sensitive skin of your neck to which he takes the opportunity to latch his lips against, sucking even more deep, purple marks. His breath hitches when he feels your velvety walls clamping down against his fingers, your hands were a scrambling mess against his body. Gripping his hair, shirt, wrist, arms…anywhere you could latch onto, bracing yourself. 

“That’s it pretty girl, that’s it…let go for me princess” His deep voice encourages, leaning down to crash his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, his tongue swirling against yours. You hum into the kiss, your body trembling against his as you feel the growing burn in your lower abdomen. His lips against yours muffle the moans that threaten to spill as your orgasm finally crashes over you. The hand gripping onto his hair only tightened as your eyes rolled back in your head, your pussy spasmed around his fingers. He pulls back just enough to see your face contorted in pleasure, he groans at the sight. 

“Fuck yes, so sexy baby” He slurs, his eyes dark and hooded as he slows down the frantic movement of his fingers, helping you ride out your mind-blowing orgasm. When your breath calms down he extracts his fingers from inside you, bringing them up to his mouth for a taste. Your cheeks redden at the site of his tongue swirling around his coated fingers. He hums deeply at the taste before pulling his fingers out from between his lips and crashing them against yours. “I can’t wait-” His voice was muffled against your lips, reaching down to give his painfully hard cock a couple of fast strokes. 

  He stands up straight, gripping the back of your thighs and using his strength to manhandle you, scooting you towards the edge of the seat. He brings your thighs towards your chest, tapping the back of them. You reach down to grip the back of your thighs.

 “I’ve got you, baby” He says through ragged breaths, his eyes filled with lust - one of his hands gripping your hip, the other gripping the base of his cock as he slaps it against your slick folds. You moan at the lewd slapping sound. “You’re on birth control, yeah?” He pauses, eyes on yours.

When you nod he groans and presses the tip of his cock against your entrance. He let out a shaky moan before pushing inside. The initial stretch is a lot, almost painful as your nails dig into the skin of your thighs. His grip on your hips tighten as he lets out a whimper. Your whole body shudders at the sound. Never in a million years would you think Jeon Jungkook was the type to whimper. 

“Ssooo…” He hisses, shuddering as he bottoms out inside you. “Tightest pussy ever.” He strains, a vein popping out from the side of his neck, chest rising and falling rapidly. His hooded eyes locked onto where the both of you were connected. “Can I…?” 

“Please” You breath out impatiently. He pulls back just enough to leave the tip inside before slamming back down against you, taking you to the hilt once again. He throws his head back in pleasure, eyes shuttering closed. 

“Oh fuck-” He chokes “I’m gonna…” He bites his lip, stilling his cock inside you, the grip on your hips tightened. Your eyes widen at the implications of his words.

“W-we can take a break, kook” You let go of the back of your thighs and circle them around his waist instead, reaching out to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. He leans his forehead against yours as he shakes his head. 

“Shut up-” He growls in frustration and embarrassment, a pretty pink blooming across his cheeks. His hands snake around your body to grip the globes of your ass. You let out a strangled moan as he uses his grip as leverage, slamming his cock inside you in fast, rough thrusts. He groans against the side of your neck, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as one of his hands lets go of your ass and grips your thigh instead. He throws it over the crease of his elbow before leaning his hand back against the edge of the leather seat. His hips never faltered their relentless pace.

“Oh Jungkook!” You cry out in ecstasy, your fingers digging into the skin of his back, clutching onto his wife beater for dear life. He nips the lobe of your ear, teeth grazing against the skin,  only further igniting the assault on your senses. The cool air around you only dropped in temperature the darker it got. It was practically pitch black except for the singular street light which lit up just a small circle of concrete below it. The diner lights closed, the both of you completely isolated in the public parking lot. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed throughout the empty lot, except for the moans and groans spilling from both your lips, lost in the throes of passion. His lips were on yours, silencing your needy whimpers as he picked up the pace of his thrusts, his balls slapping against your ass. He groaned deeply against your lips as he felt you tighten around him, your walls squeezing him so hard his hips stuttered. He pulls back from the sloppy kiss, his nose brushing against yours with each thrust of his hips. “You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” His voice comes out ragged and out of breath, eyes hooded and dark. You nod through heavy pants.

He reaches down to rub fast, hard circles on your clit, adding just enough pressure to drive you insane. With a last shuddering whimper, the second orgasm of the night washed over you, coating his cock with your juices. He let out a strangled moan at the feeling of your juices dripping down his shaft and onto his balls. With a couple more deep, hard thrusts, he pulls out with a reluctant groan. He fists his cock in his hand, throwing his head back as he strokes it hard and fast. Spurts upon spurts of thick, hot cum land on your bare tits, some on the black top that was still bunched up around your waist. Jungkook looked like he was in pain - in the best way possible. His head was thrown back, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips slightly ajar.

As both of your orgasms start to subside, he pants and gives you a one-over. A goofy grin broke onto his face. You couldn’t help but smile back. “What is it?” You giggle breathlessly.

“Oh nothing…” He shrugged, reaching down to grab your bra, using his hand to remove the dust as he handed it to you. As you take the bra you raise a brow at him suspiciously. He reaches down to pull up his boxers, tucking his softening cock back inside. He then adjusts his baggy jeans into place. He reaches down into one of the pockets to hand you a kleenex packet. You gratefully take it and start to wipe yourself clean before clasping your bra in place. 

“Tell me.” You press even further, sliding your hands into the sleeves of your black top before hopping off the bike, the gravel of the parking lot crunching underneath your black boots. You quickly put on your leather shorts. He takes a step forward, reaching out to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest. 

“After that…I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you” His teeth grazed against the lobe of your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “You’re mine now, baby.” He presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “My girl.” 

[maskedbyghost]

The fight had been pointless. Like always, it started with something small, but the frustration kept building until it finally boiled over. You barely even remember what set it off. Something about Simon shutting you out again, about him always leaving when things got too heavy instead of talking things through. You’d snapped, voice raising in your shared home, demanding to know why he always ran.

And then he’d snapped back, eyes dark, jaw tight. "Maybe I leave because I don’t wanna say somethin’ I’ll regret."

It was a low blow, but so was your response. "Maybe you already did."

The silence after that was to much. Simon had let out a breath, and without another word, he grabbed his jacket and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Now, the house is too quiet. You sit in bed, arms wrapped around yourself, staring at the ceiling. You’re not even that angry anymore, just exhausted. Fighting with Simon never felt productive—he never wanted to talk, never wanted to express his feelings. He just walked away, like he was afraid of what might happen if he stayed.

You roll onto your side, pull the blankets up, and tell yourself you’ll deal with it tomorrow.

Simon doesn’t plan on drinking much. He just needs air, needs noise that isn’t the echo of your voice in his head. He finds a pub—not too crowded, not too quiet—and takes a seat at the bar, ordering whiskey. Price doesn’t matter. Taste doesn’t matter. He just needs the burn.

He still keeps checking his phone even though he knows you won’t text.

Then the man sits next to him. Mid-forties, maybe older, eyes bloodshot, a deep crease in his brow. He orders another round, then turns to Simon, as if deciding he’s the one to unload on.

"You ever have a fight with your missus?" the man asks, voice thick with alcohol.

Simon doesn’t answer right away. Just tenses, fingers tightening around his glass.

"Yeah."

The man lets out a bitter chuckle. "Mine was pissed at me the other night. Said I never listen, that I take her for granted." He shakes his head, staring into his drink. "We went to bed mad. I thought we’d be fine." His throat bobs as he swallows hard. "She never woke up."

Simon freezes.

"Now she’s gone," the man mutters, voice breaking. "And all I got left is this pint and an empty fuckin’ house."

The words hit Simon like a bullet to the chest.

He shoves his glass away and stands so fast the stool scrapes against the floor. The man calls after him, but he doesn’t stop. He pushes through the door, out into the cold night, and starts walking—fast, then faster, until he’s almost running.

His heart pounds, breath coming quick. His mind is screaming at him—what if that was the last time? What if you don’t wake up? What if the last thing you remember of me is me walking out that door?

He can’t get home fast enough.

The house is dark when he gets back. For one horrible second, it feels too dark.

His hands are shaking as he unlocks the door and steps inside. "Love?" His voice is rough, too loud in the silence. No answer.

His stomach twists. He moves through the house quickly, checking the living room, the kitchen. Then he sees the faint glow of light from the bedroom. He exhales sharply, then makes his way there, pushing the door open.

You’re curled up on your side, your back to him, buried completely under the blankets. Asleep—or at least trying to be.

Relief crashes into him so hard he has to steady himself against the doorframe. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve you waiting, doesn’t deserve to come back to you after walking out like that. But he can’t help himself.

He kicks off his boots, shrugs off his jacket, and crosses the room in quick steps. The bed dips as he climbs in, and before you can roll away, he’s there—arms wrapping around you, pulling you flush against his chest.

His face presses into the crook of your neck, his breath uneven. "’M sorry," he murmurs, voice wrecked. "I’m so fuckin’ sorry."

You stir, shifting slightly under his grip. "Simon—"

"Please don’t leave me," he breathes, words tumbling out too fast. "I love you, I swear it—I don’t wanna be angry, I don’t wanna fight, I just—fuck, I can’t—" He presses his lips to your shoulder, his whole body trembling. "I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you."

You’re fully awake now, turning in his arms to look at him. His mask is gone, his face open and raw in the dim light. His eyes are desperate, terrified.

Your chest aches. "I’m not going anywhere, Simon."

He exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath for hours. He cups your face, tilting your forehead against his. "Didn’t mean to walk out. I just—I needed time to think."

"I know."

You reach up, brushing your fingers over his cheek, his jaw. He leans into your touch like it’s the only thing keeping him sane at the moment.

"Stay?" you whisper.

His grip tightens around you, holding you like you might disappear. "Always."

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

Something similar happened with my boyfriend and me, and I just want to say this to the guys out there—fucking talk to your partners. Stop bottling shit up and actually communicate instead of acting like a little bitch.

@daydreamerwoah

[fireinmoonshot]

misunderstanding | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: When you overhear Joaquín talking about you being clingy, you assume he secretly hates that you have been lately. Joaquín sets out to make you realise it was all just a misunderstanding. Warnings: Mentions of food. Word Count: 3.1k A/N: This was requested and I loved the idea so much so I just had to write it. It took me a few days but I've gotten around to it. I love how it turned out as well – it ended up being one of my longer Joaquín fics!

“So, is Joaquin your boyfriend?” Cass Wilson, Sarah’s oldest son, asks.

You’re sitting in the living room at Sarah Wilson’s house with her two sons sitting on either side of you on the couch. You’d offered to babysit them for a bit while Sam and Bucky took Joaquin out for some training and Sarah finished up with her shopping in town. For a while you’d been watching something on TV, but then the boys had gotten bored and started an interrogation instead.

“He is,” you confirm.

AJ, the youngest, nods, as if pleased by your answer. “Are you an Avenger too?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m not an Avenger. I’m just a normal person.”

“That’s a bit boring,” AJ sounds a little disappointed.

It’s then that you hear the sound of a car door closing outside, followed by the sound of laughter – Sam, Bucky and Joaquin are back from training, saving you from a possibly awkward conversation with Cass and AJ. You stand up from the couch. 

“It sounds like your Uncle Sam is back, I’m gonna go open the door for them, okay?”

Your hand is on the door handle, about to open it, when you hear what the men are talking about. It makes your heart drop into your stomach. 

“Yeah, she’s really clingy lately,” Joaquin says, his voice unmistakable. “It’s kinda weird cause she never was before, but after everything happened and I was in hospital for a while, she has been.” 

Your hand falls away from the door handle and as you hear footsteps coming up the stairs, you step backwards away from the door, feet leading you away before you can think too much about it. You walk straight through the living room, ignoring AJ and Cass’ confused voices asking you why you were going in the opposite direction of the front door, and head upstairs, going straight for the bathroom – one place you can trust Joaquin isn’t going to barge in looking for you when he notices you’re not downstairs. 

With a deep breath, you lock the door behind you and put your hands down on the edge of the sink, trying to calm yourself down and slow your heartbeat. Joaquin’s words are on repeat in your mind. She’s really clingy lately. Had you been? You hadn’t really meant to be. It was true that you’ve never been a particularly clingy girlfriend before, but after almost losing him, maybe you had become one of them. 

And Joaquin doesn’t like it.

Joaquin, who is quite possibly the most clingy boyfriend on the planet, doesn’t like having a clingy girlfriend. It’s almost laughable. You stop yourself from actually laughing out loud, which ends up being a good thing when you hear a knock on the bathroom door.

“Angel, you in there?”

Your head snaps towards the door and you stifle a groan. While Joaquin wasn’t going to barge into the bathroom looking for you, it clearly wouldn’t stop him from knocking and sussing out where you were. There are only so many places to hide in this house.

“I’ll be out in a second!” You call, trying to keep your voice steady and not show how much you’re hurt. You don’t want Joaquin to know that you overheard him, but it’s clear to you now more than ever that you can’t be clingy to him anymore. He wants his space or he wouldn’t have been telling Sam and Bucky all about how clingy you are.

When you exit the bathroom, after splashing some water on your face to try and calm yourself down a little more, Joaquin is still out in the hallway, leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom and scrolling on his phone. He looks up as soon as he hears the door open, a smile on his face. 

“How did training go?” You ask, trying to be casual about it.

Joaquin puts his phone back in his pocket and walks towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist in greeting. It’s only been two hours since he last saw you but to him, two hours is basically the equivalent to two months. He can’t help but notice the way that you don’t drape your arms over his shoulders like you’d usually do.

“It was good,” he replies. “I kicked Sam’s ass, actually. Bucky was even impressed.”

You give Joaquin a tight lipped smile and extract yourself from his arms. “That’s awesome, baby. I’m proud of you.” You can hear voices downstairs – Sam, Bucky and Sarah, who has obviously returned back from town while you were in the bathroom. “Is that Sarah I hear downstairs? I promised her I’d help her with dinner tonight.”

Before Joaquin can so much as utter another word, you’re walking down the stairs. He watches you, confused, and shakes his head as he follows you downstairs to the kitchen where Sam and Bucky are helping Sarah put away the groceries. 

He really had had a good training session. It was nice to spend some one on one time with Sam and Bucky like that, to learn different things from each of them and watch them sparring together. If he was even a little bit of a better fighter after it, he’d consider that a win. 

The fact that he couldn’t stop talking about you on the way home had probably lost him a few points with Sam and Bucky, though. He couldn’t help it, though – you’re the love of his life and you’d offered to look after Sam’s nephews so they could go out and train. He’s always thinking about marrying you and starting a family with you, so to see you do something like that just made him love you even more. 

Even though he really would have loved to have you come and watch him train. 

When he’d mentioned that to Sam and Bucky though, they’d given him a strange look. 

“You two aren’t one of those couples that can’t ever be separated, are you?” Bucky had asked, looking a little disturbed at the idea. 

Joaquin snorted. “Did you not just notice that I spent two hours away from her so I could go and train with you guys?” 

“Yeah, and talked about her for at least an hour of that,” Sam added.

“It’s no secret that I’m clingy as hell when I’m around her,” Joaquin shrugged as they got out of the car and started walking towards the house. He had a skip in his step just at the thought of you being inside the house. “But to be fair, she’s been really clingy lately. It’s kinda weird cause she never was before, but after everything happened and I was in hospital for a while, she has been.” He paused to smile to himself. “I love it though. She should be clingy with me more often.” 

They’d walked inside then and the first thing Joaquin did was ask the boys where you were. They said you’d just run upstairs, so Joaquin assumed you were in the bathroom and headed straight upstairs to check on you.

Now, as he walks into the kitchen behind you, he doesn’t even think twice about placing his hands on your hips as he stops behind you. He’s glad when you don’t immediately shake him off. You’re standing next to the counter, right by the door, watching as Sam and Bucky argue over which cupboard salt goes in.

Sarah rolls her eyes and snatches the salt from Sam’s hands before putting it in the correct cupboard in an attempt to stop the men from arguing in her kitchen. You laugh a little as you meet Sarah’s eyes and she just sighs and shakes her head.

“You want me to help you and Sarah with dinner too? I don’t mind,” Joaquin says in your ear, his hands still on your hips. He’s completely unaware that you’re fighting your instinct to lean back into his chest and also trying not to pull yourself out of his grip.

“It’s fine, baby,” you say, voice only loud enough for him to hear. “Sarah and I will work better once all of the men are safely out of the kitchen.” It’s a little harsh but it’s true.

Joaquin laughs, the sound making you feel warm and comforted. “Yeah, I’m actually gonna agree with you on that one, angel.” He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek before stepping away from you. He doesn’t want to leave, but he can sense that you’re not yourself and until he can get some alone time with you, he doesn’t want to push you. “Guys, lets go show AJ and Cass that new move you taught me and leave the ladies alone for a bit, yeah?”

Somehow, his words actually work and Sam and Bucky leave the room after Joaquin. It’s remarkably more quiet inside now that they’re gone and Sarah lets out a breath of relief.

“I’m actually impressed Joaquin didn’t join in on that and managed to get them outside,” Sarah admits. “That kid can usually talk more than Sam and Bucky combined.”

You chuckle and walk further into the kitchen to help Sarah finish unpacking the groceries that Sam and Bucky hadn’t gotten around to. “Yeah, you’re right about that one.”

Outside, Joaquin is smiling as AJ and Cass freak out over how cool the new move is after Joaquin shows it to them. But in the back of his mind, he’s still worried about you. Something is off – with the way you’d pulled yourself out of his grip upstairs and the way you’d been less affectionate with him downstairs. Has he done something wrong? He can’t think of anything off the top of his head. Everything has been normal with you until now.

“Hey Cass,” Joaquin starts, pulling the older boy to the side as AJ asks Sam and Bucky to show them some more cool moves. “Did something happen with my girlfriend while we were out?”

Cass looks up at Joaquin, confused. “No, we just watched a show and talked. Then she said she was gonna go open the door for you guys and then she came back through and went upstairs really quickly.”

Joaquin thinks. What were they talking about as they were walking towards the house? It hits him, then. He was talking to Sam and Bucky about how you’d been clingy ever since he’d gotten out of the hospital. You had to have overheard him… had he said something that had hurt your feelings? Whatever it was, he needs to fix this right now. 

He doesn’t even bother to tell Sam and Bucky where he’s going, just thanks Cass and heads straight for the house, ignoring Sam as he calls out to ask him where he’s going. There’s only one thing he needs to do right now and it’s not out here.

You’re still in the kitchen, mid-way through washing some of the vegetables that Sarah had gotten to cook dinner with tonight. Sarah is cutting up the ones you’ve already washed. She looks up as Joaquin walks in the room, a little breathless from having basically ran back inside the house. 

“Everything all right, honey?” She asks him. 

“Yeah,” Joaquin nods. “Can I borrow your sous chef for a second though?”

From your spot at the sink, you put the vegetables down and grab the hand towel to dry your hands. You hadn’t expected Joaquin to come back in so soon, letalone to ask to talk to you. But maybe you hadn’t been as successful at hiding your hurt as you thought you were.

“Of course you can,” Sarah says, watching as you walk over to him.

Joaquin reaches down and grabs your hand before tugging you out of the room and up the stairs towards the bedroom that you’ve been sharing while you’re visiting Sarah and the kids. He’s a little surprised that you don’t resist him, but once the bedroom door closes, you drop his hand just like he’d expected you to do since he first took it.

“What’s this about, Joaquin?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

He looks at you for a moment, trying to read your expression but failing. “I owe you an apology, angel. I think I said something earlier that hurt your feelings. That’s why you brushed me off earlier and have been kinda short with me, right?”

Joaquin is more perceptive than you’d thought and there’s no point in trying to deny it when he already somehow knows that he said something that hurt you. 

“You did,” you admit. “I didn’t think you minded that I’ve been clingy with you since your accident, especially because you’re so touchy with me. But I’m sorry, Joaquin. I never meant to make you uncomfortable or make you feel like I don’t give you space.” 

You watch as Joaquin opens his mouth, then closes it again. He furrows his eyebrows and runs a hand through his hair. “Wait, what the heck are you talking about? When did I say that I didn’t like you being clingy or that it makes me uncomfortable?”

“Earlier,” you frown. “When you were coming back inside after you went out with Sam and Bucky. I was at the door and I heard you telling them that I was clingy. That I never used to be but ever since you were in hospital I became that way.” 

Joaquin laughs softly and runs a hand over his face. “Okay, angel. You didn’t hear everything I said, did you? When you ran off upstairs like the boys told me, you left before you finished hearing what I said.” He steps towards you and takes both of your hands in his. “You missed the part where I said I love you being clingy with me. That you should be clingy more often.” 

For a moment you just stare at him, a little confused. “Are you just saying that to try and make me feel better or something?” You ask, apprehensive.

He shakes his head. “You can even go and ask Sam and Bucky if you don’t believe me. They heard me say it,” he says. “I mean, come on, angel. I’m clingy with you, why would I not love it when you’re the same to me? I love it when you touch me, when you put your hands on me or when I hold you and you lean into me. I love that you’ve gotten in the habit of randomly kissing me whenever you see me and texting me in the middle of the day to check in whenever we’re not together. I mean that.”

Much to your dismay, tears start to form in your eyes. The second Joaquin sees them, he drops your hands and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. One of his hands rests on the side of your head, stroking your hair gently.

“Angel, why are you crying?” His voice breaks a little. He can’t help it. Joaquin always gets emotional whenever you do. It’s something deep within him that he can’t control.

“I feel like an idiot,” you mutter into his chest, your hands balling up in the back of his shirt. “I misunderstood what you were saying and I’ve been treating you badly for it ever since you got back without even hearing your side of it. I just assumed.”

Joaquin sniffs, rubbing your back. “You are not an idiot. If I’d heard you saying something like that, I probably would’ve jumped to conclusions as well. Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay?” 

You pull back from the hug a little, but keep your arms around him. You don’t want to let him go, especially when you see the tears sliding down his cheeks. “Joaquin, why are you crying?” Your eyes widen, one of your hands moving to his cheek to wipe away a tear.

He lets out a breathy laugh. “Cause you’re crying! And I’m the reason you are.”

“No!” You shake your head. “I’m the reason I’m crying, baby.”

“Yeah, but I’m part of the reason,” he mutters.

You wipe another tear as it falls down his cheek and he does the same for you, gently swiping underneath your eye too. You stare at each other for a moment before both of you begin to laugh. 

“I bet we look ridiculous right now,” you grin up at your boyfriend. “Both of us, standing here in the middle of the room crying our eyes out. It’s a good thing you picked this room for us to have this talk rather than the backyard, for example.”

Joaquin laughs. “Yeah, Sam and Bucky would think we’re going insane.”

You lean up and press a kiss to his cheek, still a little wet from the tears that had been falling down it only moments earlier. “You are not the reason I was crying, Joaquin. I shouldn’t have assumed that you hated it. I should’ve finished listening to what you were saying before I ran off and hurt my own feelings. You’ve never made me cry.”

“I hope I never do,” Joaquin mumbles, tightening his arms around you. “I’m still sorry that something I said hurt your feelings, even if I didn’t mean to, angel. Do you accept my apology for that? I’m not gonna be able to drop it unless you do.”

“Yes, Joaquin. I accept your apology.”

He lets out a breath of relief. “I suppose I should return you to Sarah,” he sighs.

“Not just yet,” you shake your head and move closer to hug him again, resting your face against his chest. His warmth spreads through you, giving you comfort after all the stress of the last hour or so. It’s a good thing Joaquin is a quick thinker because if you’d had to sit and stew on all of this for a bit longer, you would’ve been a bigger mess. “I just want a few more minutes with you now that you’ve told me you like me being clingy.”

Joaquin smiles. “You know I’m not gonna leave you alone for the rest of the night once you and Sarah are done cooking dinner, right? I’m gonna be glued to your side. Sam and Bucky might tease me about it forever but it’ll be worth it.”

“Good,” you hum. “I missed out on some of my favourite kinds of PDA when I was hurting earlier, so we have a little bit to make up for. I want a hand on me at all times. You got that, Torres?” 

He chuckles softly. “I think that can be arranged.” 

[star-sim]

japanese denim ☆ riki nishimura

☆ non-idol! riki x fem! reader ☆ summary: that one time your shower and heater broke down in the middle of winter, so you had to enlist the help of your neighbor... but since when was your neighbor so handsome?! ☆ genre: fluff, neighbors! au, high school! au, childhood friends to lovers, awkward crushessss ☆ word count: 3.6k

enjoy!

"Hi, I think my shower is broken, can I use yours?" Your nose scrunched as these words left your mouth.

There was no use feeling embarrassed. Especially in front of Riki Nishimura, your next door neighbor who you’ve known since you were a child. 

“Yeah,” Riki said simply, his raspy voice sounding indifferent as always. “Just make sure you have your own towel.”

Although it’s embarrassing to admit, this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. You lived in a dinky little apartment complex, one with pipes and plumbing so crappy that it would randomly break. All it took was a prayer and maybe a few nights and it would somehow work again.

Riki Nishimura, a boy your age, was your next-door neighbor. As you’ve lived in your current apartment since you were a child, you’ve known the boy since childhood as well. In fact, both of your parents were at work more often than not. So, on the nights where either of your parents weren’t home (which was most nights), there was an unsung agreement to watch out for each other.

Sometimes if you heard too much crashing and movement from Riki’s side of the wall (oh, damn those thin walls), you’d just give him a little shout.

It wasn’t an ideal living situation. In fact, it was messy, annoying, and sometimes downright scary. And yet, this was your life, and there was no escaping it.

Tonight wasn't anything special. 

Your shower had broken down once again, and of course, as you always did, you appeared at Riki’s door, in a bathrobe and slippers with your shower caddy and a towel. Cold and shivering, you cursed under your breath. 

Why did your shower have to break down on the coldest night of the year??

As children, you and Riki had a casual relationship. You actually went to the same elementary and middle schools— and now the same high school. You’d end up walking together to and from school everyday. So many days where you’d get ice cream or milk cartons together, and so many more days where you’d inevitably come over to his apartment to play on his gameboy because he wouldn’t shut up about it. And of course, you’d have to help each other out sometimes. 

He was a quiet guy, not someone who had a lot to say, but easily riled up. He was never great at getting along with people. 

You’re not as close to him as you used to be. He's rather lonesome and brooding, though he has bursts of energy and you're reminded of his fiery personality that stuck with him even through childhood.

Still, he was your friend. You were all grown up now, but it didn't mean that you weren't comfortable around him. If there was anyone that you felt comfortable around, it had to be Riki.

But, something has been weird lately.

You couldn't put your finger on, but lately, you couldn't look at Riki the same way. Sometimes it was normal, but some other times, you'd feel an uncharacteristic feeling of shyness around him. You simply couldn't wrap your head around it— but you just felt so, so, so weird around him

It was strange.

Walking with him to school every morning, you had a heightened awareness of what words he said, and more importantly, the way his raspy voice sounded. When the cool winter wind blew, you'd pick up the scent of his cologne, and for a moment, you'd think that he smelled nice.

Sometimes you'd accidentally brush your hand against his. For someone that you used to take baths with as a kid, it shouldn't be weird. But now it was.

Maybe it was just teenage hormones.

As you slowly undressed, you took a glance at Riki’s bathroom sink. Other than his toothbrush, his deodorant bottle, and maybe a few colognes, his sink was practically empty, very different from your own that had makeup, skincare, and the like cluttered around the sink. 

You folded your clothes neatly before stepping into the steaming shower. 

Since Riki’s apartment was in the same complex, it was identical to yours in build. And as you basked in the warm water, humming a tune from your favorite song, it almost felt like you were in your own bathroom.

You were almost forgetting that you were in Riki’s shower when you heard a little click! and suddenly hard rock music was blasting from the other side of the door.

Immediately, your eyes shot open.

“Will you turn it down?!” you shouted, though you were certain from the reverberation and echo in your voice that you were muffled. Geez, how rude of him to disturb your peaceful shower! You swore you heard Riki laughing his ass off from the other side. Asshole.

You relished in the warm shower on your skin, as best as you could despite Riki’s music. 

It felt normal for a few moments, until you were suddenly hit with that weird feeling of shyness. Riki's laugh rang in your head, the melodic tune of his hard rock bouncing off the walls. Has his laugh always sounded like that? 

You huffed, pushing it to the back of your mind.

Don't be weird about him, the little voice in your head said. It's just Riki.

You’re lost in thought as you finish your nice shower. The bathroom is still steamy as you step out of the shower, drying yourself off. 

Dry off completely, put on some body lotion, and maybe do some skincare, and now it's time to put on some clothes and—

Wait.

Where are your clothes?

You swore you brought your pajamas when you came knocking. Right? 

You were in your robe and bath slippers, and you made sure to bring in your caddy your body wash, lotion, and— oh my God, you 100% left your change of clothes in your room… instead of taking it with you!

So now you either put your bathrobe, which was soaked already, on…. or do the unthinkable.

Ugh.

Slowly, holding your towel tightly around you, you peeked your head out from the bathroom door. You felt your cheeks heating up as the boy snapped his head toward you. No longer the little boy you knew him as, he was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, scrolling on his phone and jamming to his music. 

Your gaze fell over his features—his once round and star-filled eyes now sharp, and his once squishy cheeks replaced by a strong jaw. 

Your heart skipped a beat. He looked so different, yet the same as you always remembered.

When did he grow up?

"Riki..." you stammered. The way Riki's face immediately contorted, morphing into a highly questioning expression as he fixed his gaze on you. And you didn't know why, but when his eyes met yours, you felt a newfound feeling of shyness. Something that you never felt around him of all people. "Riki, I—I think I left my clothes."

Your neighbor stared at you for a few moments, and for a second, you could almost swear that he was boring holes into you. You shifted uncomfortably, leaning into the doorframe to hide yourself. It's that odd feeling toward him again.

Then, he clicked his tongue, before sighing exasperatedly and getting up.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Where did you leave them?"

You squeaked. You thought back to earlier, just before your shower broke down. Did you lay out a fresh pair of pajamas to wear?

No, you didn't.

"U-Um," you stumbled over your words. This was really embarrassing. Your cheeks burned. "I didn't leave them—Canyougointomyroomandgetmyclothesfrommydrawers?"

Riki stared at you again, his slim eyes narrowing. He sighed again, muttering something under his breath that sounded too much like, "You're an idiot."

You murmured a thank you, and as he left the room, you shouted after him, "My front door's unlocked!"

After a few minutes of waiting in Riki Nishimura's bathroom, with your heart beating uncharacteristically fast, and in nothing but a bath towel, you finally heard the front door of the Nishimura apartment open and close.

"I have your clothes," Riki said coolly as he knocked on the bathroom door.

"Oh, thank you, Riki!" you cried in joy, the door much wider now. "I really owe you— T-Tomorrow I'll buy you a milk."

Maybe a little joyful.

Because you didn't notice your bath towel slipping down from your body and your chest was mere centimeters from being exposed—

Riki's hand jerked, immediately zapping out to grab the hem of the towel wrapped around your chest, gripping it tightly so that it stayed in place.

You squeaked again. "R-Riki?"

"Your—Your towel," he mumbled, and suddenly, his eyes that were so focused on you looked straight at the floor.

"Oh." Your cheeks flared with warmth. You snatched the sloppily-folded clothes that Riki got for you. You flashed Riki an awkward smile. 

"Thanks!" and then you shut the door immediately. 

How embarrassing! 

You rested your back against the bathroom door, holding your clothes close to your chest. Your eyes glazed over the way Riki had folded them, though it was a poor job. You snickered. One look at Riki's room, and it was clear that he wasn't the most organized person. But just because he knew you liked to keep things neat he folded your clothes just for you. How sweet of him.

You were about to forget the abnormal feelings of discomfort and shyness that you harbored toward him, when there was another knock on the bathroom door.

"[Name]..." Riki's voice was shaky, the shakiest that you've ever heard him. You hummed in response. "I think I— I think I forgot to give you your panties."

Oh my god.

The door barely cracked in and Riki threw you your panties, before the door slammed shut again.

Actually mortifying.

When you were done with your business, you took all of your belongings, carrying them out. Since the only way to get to the bathroom was to go through Riki’s room, the condensation and steam, scented with your body wash and shampoo, diffused through his room, filling the space with a sweet scent.

Riki, who was now sprawled across his bed, was reading manga, his head buried between the pages. Like always.

"Your body wash smells like strawberries," Riki remarked plainly as you left the bathroom and entered his room. 

"Yeah," you scoffed, pointing at the big lettering on your body wash bottle, reading strawberry-scented. "That's the point."

You could hear Riki snort. Slowly, he poked his head out of the manga book. His slim eyes stared into you, before you felt them travel down your body.

You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip. There it was again. That weird feeling of shyness.

He threw his manga aside, before he stood up and inched toward you.

Has Riki always been this tall? And big? You don't remember him being that much taller than you.

Before you knew it, Riki was right in front of you, with his neck bent down to stare directly at your chest, eyes squinting.

"W-What are you looking at?!" you cried.

"Is that my shirt?"

"Wh—"

"I swear that's my shirt," Riki said, bringing his face even closer to your chest to get a better look. Mind you, it was the shirt that he picked from your closet to bring to you. It was an old Naruto shirt, and you couldn't remember when you got it. "Did you take my shirt? When did you get this shirt?"

"I don't know!" You put one hand on his head, pushing him away. You hear Riki yelping, followed by complaining, but you tune it out. "Stop looking at my boobs and maybe I'll tell you!"

Riki shut up. His eyes stared at you, widened and with his lips parted. Your cheeks felt hot, burning hot.

"I— I'm sorry," Riki stammered, and unfortunately, Riki was incredibly bad at hiding how he was feeling... because you could feel his eyes darting toward your chest again. "I didn't mean to—"

"Shut up!" you cried. Embarrassment took over. "I'm a girl, you know! You can't just stare at me and expect it to be okay!"

Riki, just as embarrassed as you, cried back, "Well, I forget that you're a girl sometimes! So cut me some slack!"

You groaned loudly, storming out of his apartment, tuning out his yelling while trying to ignore your own embarrassment.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

Riki Nishimura is so stupid. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

You stormed back to your apartment, slamming the door as loud as you could. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your cheeks feeling as if they'd been lit on fire. You marched right to your bedroom, ignoring the sound of your broken shower dripping. You threw everything aside, plopping straight onto your bed.

You were so embarrassed you were near tears, shoving your face in your pillows.

Why did Riki make you feel this way all of a sudden? On a normal day, you'd fight back, maybe even throw the first punch. But why were you now so resigned?

And you're just about to scream into your pillow and maybe do some stress-relief strategies when you hear a giant crack, another crash, and then suddenly your apartment was cold. You let out a shriek.

Freezing cold.

Usually it would take some time to notice that your heater had broken. In fact, in the summer you wouldn't even notice. But tonight was arguably one of the coldest nights in the entire year. So you noticed the way your home began to seemingly freeze over almost immediately.

You curled up under your blankets.

On nights like this, you always knew what to do: knock on Riki's door, and stay the night at his place. At least, under the assumption that his heating system didn't break down either.

But after what happened earlier, you didn't want to see Riki. Not now, not ever.

He's stupid and childish and insensitive! you thought. 

You huddled under your blankets. Shivering, you tried your best to ignore the cold. But without an internal heating system, you swore ice was going to form in your house.

Maybe you should go ask Riki...

Your mind drifted back.

His slim eyes, his annoyingly smug face that contorted into one of embarrassment. His sharp jaw and his steely gaze. Your heart sped up. It was just yesterday that Riki was a little boy. And now he was handsome. Really handsome, that it intimidated you.

You still felt like the little girl that would play fight with him and squish your cheek up against his. But now that you were grown, it didn't feel right to touch him the same way that you used to. There was a wall now.

Riki has always been Riki. He's never been anything more to you than just Riki. But now he was attractive.

And it was frustrating you.

You're pulled out of your thoughts when you hear banging at the door and a familiar voice.

"Oi, [Name]!" It was Riki. You squeaked at the sound of his voice. "You good in there?!"

You didn't respond.

"I heard a scream, did something happen?" A few moments pass, and you still don't respond. Except, Riki is smarter than you think. "I know you're in there. I'm not going to leave until you say something!"

You huffed again. With your blankets draped over your shoulders and dragging behind your feet, you trudged to the door. Damn him.

"What do you want?" you squeaked as your door flew open, your eyes looking everywhere but into his. 

Riki cocked a brow at you, and you huffed again. "Fine, my heater broke. Not a big deal."

"Why didn't you call me?" Riki's brows crashed together. "It's near-freezing outside."

"It's not that cold," you murmured, but Riki scowled, clicking his tongue. He was observant, and you knew he knew you were lying when his eyes fell down to your feet covered in layers of fluffy socks and to your legs that were shivering under the blankets.

"Stop lying, I know you're cold," he scoffed. "Come over. My heater's fine."

"I don't want to."

Riki reached out, your hands falling into his. "Your hands are freezing, come on."

And you'd object, if it weren't for the way his warm hands felt in yours, if it weren't for the way you already felt warmer with Riki.

Contrary to popular belief, Riki Nishimura was actually a pretty difficult person to read.

Well, at least, that's what he hoped.

It's no secret to anyone that Riki cared deeply about you. Riki's annoyed easily and he's a loner but that doesn't mean he's emotionless. Even though sometimes he feels like you view him that way.

Though, that seemed to be the general pattern.

Everyone knew that Riki was enamored with you. And yet, you didn't seem to realize that in the slightest. Because you're dense and just as stupid as he is. And to be fair, he tends to be quiet when he's around you.

One day Riki woke up and he realized that you weren't just you, but a very pretty girl, too. And the next thing he knew, you were all he could think about. You had always kept him at an arm's distance, and frankly, Riki was okay with that. As long as he got to keep you in his life, he was happy.

Maybe a little cynical for a boy his age, but Riki was so sure that he'd never have a chance with you. You were sweet and pretty, and he was everything but.

"Why are you still wearing just pajamas?" Riki couldn't help but scold you, rummaging through his closet searching for a hoodie for you to wear. "It was freezing in your apartment!"

You didn't say anything.

"And why didn't you come to me? You know my heater never breaks, and—"

You just sat on his bed, both your and his blanket over your shoulders, completely silent, eyes staring at the ground.

Riki bit the inside of his cheek.

Had he made you uncomfortable earlier? It killed him knowing that he did.

Riki sighed. His stomach pitted.

He glanced at your face: pretty as always, but awfully vacant.

Damn it, he thought. Did he just ruin it?

Riki inched toward you, a hoodie in hand. He murmured something under his breath, placing the hoodie down next to you on his bed.

His chest felt heavy.

He never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable. In a world full of weirdos Riki always wanted to be your friend.

"Hey," he started, his voice soft. "I'm really— I'm really sorry about earlier."

Your eyes gazed up at him, blinking slowly, and before you could respond, Riki continued.

"I... I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," his voice stayed quiet, but Riki kept his eyes on your face. "I- I—"

"Wait what?" You finally said, your face contorted. "You didn't make me uncomfortable."

"But..." Riki's brows furrowed together. You looked at him, your eyes locked together. You stared at him for a few moments, before you huffed. 

"Just shut up," you muttered, before curling further into Riki's bed, turning your back to him.

Riki stood there, staring at your back. He dug his nails into his palm. It was so weird, for it to be awkward between you and him.

"Aren't you cold too?" you asked slowly after a few seconds. 

"Right," Riki blinked. "Can I— Should I lay with you? Or..."

Riki watched your expression twitch. "I-It's your bed. You can do whatever y-you want."

"Right."

So awkward.

Both you and Riki laid in his bed, like planks, refusing to get to close. Which was weird, because you and him used to nap together all the time as kids.

The two of you laid in silence, until you broke it.

"Riki, is your heater on?"

He hummed. "Yeah. Is it not warm enough?"

You sniffled, and now that Riki heard your voice, you sounded raspy and dry. "I think I.. I think I'm coming down with a cold."

Riki could feel you physically shaking beside him, shivering like crazy. His hand reached out for your face. You let out a small eep! as you flinched away.

Riki jerked his hand away from you.

You stared at his startled expression. "S-Sorry."

Riki's hand crept closer to your face again. "Can I?"

You nodded, and Riki brought his hand up to feel your forehead.

"Shit, you're really warm," he muttered. "Do you feel feverish?"

You shook your head. Riki was about to bring his hand away, but you clutched his wrist, keeping his hand there on your forehead. 

"Don't," you said, as your eyelids fell shut. "You're so warm."

Riki watched with a warm face as you nuzzled into his large hands. Under his palm, you still shivered with such ardor. 

Like when you were kids, Riki's arm slithered down to your shoulder carefully. Before he pulled you closer, with his voice as low as a whisper, he asked, "Can I?"

You only hummed, and that was all Riki needed to pull you into his embrace. You were still trembling, and despite being buried under layers and layers of blankets, your skin was so cold to the touch.

You let out a small squeak, before you pushed your face closer into him.

"So cold," you said into his chest.

"I know," Riki whispered. "I know, [Name]."

Your breath was now slowing down, your words slurring as you mumbled a small thanks under your breath.

"Of course," he said back, chuckling as you seemingly tried to dig yourself into his skin.

"Love you," you murmured, and everything froze for Riki. "Thanks for everything, Riki."

And with that, you were asleep.

Fighting the stupid grin that was taking purchase on his face, Riki could only breathe into your ear, "I love you, too."

[seumyo]

todoroki shouto and his 8-month-old son having identical pouty faces.

It becomes trouble when your husband and 8-month-old son are quiet as you’re about to finish preparing dinner. You could sense it, like a superpower you could only unlock when you reached a certain milestone in life.

“It’s just a piece of soft biscuit. Maybe we can give him only a little—“

“No, Shou.”

You had only denied your son a snack once, and yet, the betrayal in his big, watery eyes made it seem like you had committed an unforgivable crime.

Your eight-month-old son, snug in Todoroki’s arms, was pouting hard—his chubby cheeks puffed out, lips trembling, and his tiny hands curled into fists against his father’s chest. Tears clung to his thick lashes, threatening to spill at any moment. He was the very image of pitiful distress.

And Todoroki?

He wasn’t much better.

He’s holding your son with an almost identical expression—unmistakably sulking, his lips pressed together in silent protest (but he knew he could never win this war against you). It didn’t help that your son was his near-perfect replica, down to the way his tiny eyebrows furrowed in quiet displeasure. The only major difference was this little boy inherited your eyes.

Thank the heavens, because you almost came to the conclusion that Todoroki reproduced by himself via asexual reproduction.

Because it was dangerous how alike they looked.

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. “Oh, come on. It was just one snack.”

Todoroki’s grip on your son shifted slightly as he responded, voice flat but clearly displeased. “It was just a small piece.”

The baby, as if understanding that his father was taking his side, whimpered softly and nuzzled closer to his father’s chest, letting out a tiny, heart-wrenching sniffle.

“Dinner is literally a minute away. He’ll survive.”

“He might starve and lose his healthy body,” Todoroki tells you warily.

“Shou, take one good look at our son. He’s chubbier than any of his older cousins, plus, we feed him formula 5 times a day, he eats solid food twice, and even gets a snack when he wakes up from his naps—so don’t tell me he’ll starve when he eats more than we do combined.”

Your husband didn’t argue further, but his silence spoke volumes. He gently rubbed your son’s back, sighing as the little boy let out another sniffle. You knew this game—Todoroki might not be saying anything, but his entire posture screamed, “I think you’re being unfair, but I won’t push it… even though I’m clearly upset.”

“The pouting isn’t going to work on me.”

Todoroki blinked, expression unchanged. “I’m not pouting.”

“You are,” you told him. “And he’s just copying you.”

At that, he finally glanced down at the baby in his arms. Your son blinked up at him, sniffling again before sticking his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“…I think this is just his natural expression,” Todoroki finally said, deadpan.

“Uh-huh. I don’t think we’ll ever need a DNA test to prove that he’s yours.”

“Why would we need a DNA test when I’m the only man you’ve ever been with? And our son also looks like me—“

“Oh, Shou. It was a joke,” you sigh lovingly.

“Oh.”

Todoroki hummed, shifting your son slightly so he could wipe away a stray tear from the baby’s cheek. “Your mother is strict,” he murmured, speaking softly to him as if he wasn’t right in front of you. “Very heartless.”

“Excuse me?”

The baby hiccupped, seemingly agreeing.

Todoroki glanced up at you, the slightest hint of amusement evident in his eyes. “It’s true.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Unbelievable. If I left meals to you, he’d be living off of cold soba and whatever random snacks you keep in the fridge.”

Todoroki didn’t deny it (for the most part).

“But I do take cooking classes now...”

“Mhm.”

He gently bounced your son in his arms, his gaze softening as your baby yawned, snuggling closer to his chest now that the dramatics had settled.

You sighed, stepping forward and pressing a kiss to the top of your son’s head. “You’ll thank me later, little pouty boy,” you murmured before glancing up at your husband. “And you—stop ganging up on me with him.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he replied, completely straight-faced.

You gave him a knowing look. “Uh-huh.”

A comfortable silence settled between you before you turned back to the stove, giving the curry one last stir. “Dinner’s ready.”

He smiled. “Finally.”

You shot him a playful glare, though there was no real heat behind it. You took your son from his arms, adjusting him on your hip before pressing a small kiss to his chubby cheek.

“Alright, come on, little pouty boy.”

Todoroki followed closely behind. “Which one?”

You laughed at that.

“Both of you.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Delicate

Sinister! Mark x GN!Regenerator! Reader

A/N: After -> this <- post by @kikiiguess, thanks for matching my freak on a catastrophic level!

⚠️Contains Comic Spoilers⚠️

18+ disturbing content

Synopsis: After escaping from the wasteland dimension, Mark has developed a concerning appetite... Warnings: angst, blood, injury, hurt/comfort, masochism, literal cannibalism, this is oddly sexual charged

It was way past midnight when you woke up finding the bedplace next to yours empty once again, starting to wander the barely illuminated hallways in search for your lover.

A few days prior he had finally returned to your dimension after weeks of absence - yet what exactly happened or how he was even able to find his way back remained a mystery.

All you were sure of is that he had returned a shell of his former self, completely driven by inferior instincts.

From what you could understand of the scraps of information he provided in between demented nonsense, Mark and several of his alters got stranded in a dead universe, with no access to food or water...

...so naturally, as time passed and their hopes of rescue were dwindling, their last option was to start eliminating each other in their desparation for survival.

Truth be told, you were almost 100% sure it was your Mark that made them all turn on each other in the first place.

You've had it all with this man, so you were confident to say it was definelty in his range of possibilities - though this was a new low, even for him.

Damn it, how many times did you tell him to not trust Angstom of all people?! He had been a pain in the ass in your dimension, and now you found out the hard way that goes for this one as well.

But sadly your boyfriend was a fatal combination of both greedy and bored - so being able to expand his empire across the multiverse seemed like just the kind of diversion he needed.

Maybe you if you had been more assertive, then none of this would've happened...

Not much later you finally run into him, hunched over the corpse of your comrade and holding a severed limb as his teeth scraped off the flesh. Witnessing carnage of this extent wasn't really new for either of you, but the context made it just so much more gruesome.

Ever since he came back he's nothing short of instable, however not in the way you were used to. It had always been subtle, well hidden behind a charming facade and skilled manipulation tactics.

There had been method to his madness up until now, but the isolation and sheer hopelessnes of his situation made the last remnant of his sanity slip away like sand between his fingers.

At times his mind conjures voices and other hallucinations, making him even more paranoid than usually. And more often than not he thinks that he's still trapped in that very same wasteland dimension. Well, back then his only solace was imagining himself back home by your side, and now it had become impossible for him to differentiate...

...not to mention, he seems to be plaqued by an aching hunger that can never be quenched.

The doctors claimed it was psychosomatic, caused by the trauma, and that he will most likely adjust to normal food again...

...and yet he hasn't gotten any better, no matter what you tried.

"Want some?" Mark's voice cut through the silence like shards of glass, and you shot him a both disappointed and sympathetic look before shaking your head. "Thanks, I'll pass..."

"I was just so hungry, you know?" You hear a bone creaking as he munches on it, and you feel like throwing up. "Always hungry...it never goes away..."

As much as it pained you to see him this way, in the end you prefer to have him like this than not at all.

Finding him here was no coincidence, surely. He always deliberately fled from your side, whenever this vile urge became too overwhelming. Harming you - the one and only person he evidently cared for - was out of the question.

The old Mark was still hidden somewhere in this delirious menace, you were sure of it...

...you just needed to find a way to lure him out.

"Come" you whisper softly, understandingly, yet also cautious - like you were trying to appease an unpredictable beast that could lash out without warning shall you make one wrong movement. "Let's go to bed."

For a split second a panicked aggression flared up in his eyes, although he didn't act upon the impulse he developed to ensure his survival. He mustered your outstreched hand suspiciously, as if not quite knowing what to do with it, but after a while of whatever his disturbed mind was contemplating, he accepted your offer.

You mutely led him the way back to your shared chambers, with him leaving a trail of blood from the carnage left behind. That's a problem for tomorrow you - or preferably someone else - to clean up.

Right now all that counts is being there for the man that would- no, has conquered entire civilizations in your name.

You owe this to him!

There was no use trying to reason with him about getting cleaned up, so you gently guided him onto the mattress and climbed in right after. Blood from his clothes, hair and skin was soaked into the sheets, drying into a deep shade of crimson. He was entirely covered in it, mixed with his own saliva as it dripped down his chin.

You cradled his face into your hands, pecking a kiss on the bridge of his nose before smearing the proof of his earlier slaughter into nothing but a fading red.

"I didn't plan to be last, I swear..." your boyfriend uttered as he wrapped his arms around your middle, his scruffy beard tickling the crook of your neck. "It just continued not to be me. Maybe I don't look tasty? I don't want to not look tasty..."

You let out a shuddered breath, continuing to let your fingers comb through his messy hair but getting tangled in the dried blood. "I'm just glad to have you back."

Mark had always cursed himself for being so pathetically attached to you. He never intended to fall in love, downright refused this foreign feeling long before he even understood them.

After having spent his whole life in solitude, indifferent to anything 'normal' people seemed to value, he convinced himself that it was actually a sign of superiority.

...and then he met you.

A plaything, a pastime at first.

Back then the GDA had messed with the pain center of your brain, so you'd be more effective in battle. After all, regeneration isn't helpful if you feel every single hit, especially after getting severely injured.

However those experiments came at a price - it caused the side-effect of mistaking pain for pleasure instead.

That's what makes the two of you such a great match: You can basically never break under the weight of what it means to be a sadistic sociopath's spouse. With you he can go all out, implement his dominating power without any consequences.

Who would've thought that the first battle he would ever lose was the one with his own heart?

In a certain way, that other dimension was better. Easier. Absent of any irrational social rules or confusing emotions he couldn't get behind. It was survival of the fittest - a concept he as one of the strongest beings in the universe was very fond of.

Back there, his lack of empathy wasn't consiered monstrous there - it was an advantage. Finally a reassurance that he wasn't broken or wrong.

He was the one that made it out alive, after all.

"How-" Mark's voice is raspy, wild eyes boring into your skull as his fingers tentatively wrapped around your neck. "How do I know this is real? Have you ever been real?!"

You were oddly calm despite being at a madman's mercy, but frankly you were used to it. He increases the pressure on your windpipe just enough to be uncomfortable, but you can feel the barely contained violence behind his grip.

Why didn't you think of this earlier? The solution is so obvious!

"...take from me and find out."

"...no." Mark's voice is firm in a brief moment of clarity. "No" he repeats, "I can't-"

"Why not?" You ask, tone almost offended that he'd reject your generous offer. If he wasn't currently slightly out of mind himself, he would've definetly called you out on this ridiculous behavior.

But his answer stands. There's lines even he does not cross, at least when it came to you. Hypocrite.

"Your folk has less than 50 pure-blooded Viltrumites left, and you just eviscerated one of them...but me? I can take it, I swear."

Your boyfriend had always shared the Viltrumite mindset that humans - except for certain individuals like you were one - are inferior creatures, not much different from cattle or vermin even. Many times he had hunted them for the sheer fun of it...

...but now he didn't even stop at his own people. If he continues, the Viltrumites will eventually turn against him no matter his royal heritage.

Things can't go on like this.

Maybe it's time for more drastic measurements.

"Stop being stubborn" you coo, invitingly batting your lashes but he shuts you up with a glare.

"No, you stop!" He rubs his face frantically, attempting to become at least somewhat clear-headed again. "Even your regeneration has limits. What if I-"

"You won't." Without hesitation, you dig your nails into your forearm, deeply enough to break the skin.

The sheer sight of it leaves him utterly conflicted, exasperated as he's sure once he gives in, he might not be able to stop himself. You see it in the way his hands tremble, barely hovering over your body, and his jaw clenching so hard that you hear his teeth crack.

You dare to cup his cheek, pouring all of your affection into the smile you gift him alongsdes with the essence of your very self. "I love you, Mark. And...I trust you with my life."

"Shit...why are you doing this to me...?" Mark carefully takes ahold of your wrist and brings it to his mouth, lips slightly parted as the intoxicating scent of your blood drings to his nostrils.

It's not the first time, and by far not the last.

Initially he's only licking across the wound, incredibly mellow as if he only wanted to clean it...

...but when the liquid finally graces his dry throat, he lets out a low growl and immediately straddles your waist, pouncing on you like a starved animal. He rips apart your sleeping shirt and lets his canines sink deeply into your exposed shoulder, tearing off the first layer of tissue.

You fail to suppress almost inaudible moans escaping your throat, having the love of your life causing you such delightful pain being almost too much to handle. And when his keen senses make him aware of your reaction, it only spurs him to go further.

"Ohhh..." he almost groans in pure ecstasy, ferociously covering your body in bites and craters of missing flesh. "You like that, huh? Nasty thing."

Mark's hands explore every inch of your body alongsides his mouth, the uncertainty of whether his next move will be mending or hurtful only adding to your excitement. He observes you intently, pupils blown wide by this sheer addicting deed.

His tongue forces your mouth open, the metallic taste of your own blood invading your senses. He can feel your pulse spiking up, as if that feeble little heart of yours wanted to remind him it knows exactly who it belongs to.

Good.

The others tasted so fucking disgusting. But you...

"Fuck" he panted against your skin, drunk on the feeling of having your mind and body submit to him so easily. "So fucking perfect...taking it all so good...it's like you were made just for me..."

Finally he could be as close to you as he deep inside always dreamt to be, and you were enjoying this twisted kind of love.

Part of you is now incorporated in him forever. Poetic.

After what felt like both an eternity and a flash of time, your boyfriend kissed a spot that had just healed for the last time, licking his lips in satisfaction and pulling away.

At long last, he was satiated.

Sitting up, Mark was practically beaming at you, with a look like you had hung the moon just for him. "Damn, babe" he cackles, the metaphorical fog around his soul finally lifting. "You're a freak, you know that?"

"Takes one to know one." You roll your eyes with a wide grin on your face, and the endearing sight makes him crash his lips over yours once again, sighing contently into your mouth.

Before you knew it, your boyfriend began trailing more sensual kisses across your body - from your neck down to your collarbone, chest and finally down your navel, making you shiver the further he descended.

A wolfish smile is playing on his lips as he settles between your legs, his teeth softly nipping into your thigh, mischievous eyes never leaving yours.

"Hope you're ready for dessert..."

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Scarabia and Octivinelle boys when they find out/overhear that their crush was meant to be in an arranged marriage after they graduated back in their world

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul can’t help that the arranged marriage gnaws at him, planted firmly in the back of his mind; if his thoughts were to clear it stood there like a beacon in the night, reminding him that you were promised to another. He wondered the details, was it some type of business deal, or perhaps your parents were simply good friends? And how would he stack up against this so-called future spouse of yours? He tried to gather more information, saying it’s for the sake of knowledge and to satiate curiosity, while hiding his own insecurities and jealousy that sparked each time he thought of you with another person.

Floyd Leech:

Floyd has never met this person and doesn’t display much interest in knowing who they were, even though his mood darkens when it’s brought up by someone around him. He might not ever have the chance to meet this person yet he still feels the need to take his irritation out on others, wondering how you might feel if he squeezed the fight out of them as a warning. He hoped they weren’t thinking of still being with you now that he was around, as he was fully prepared to make a point with as little words as possible.

Jade Leech:

Jade can only theorize about the type of person you were to marry, wondering if they fit your ideal type or if you thought you might fall in love with them if given enough time. He doesn’t have a strong opinion on marriage but he can’t seem to agree with an arranged one, perhaps hinting at the deeply romantic side of him that he keeps well-hidden. It’s always difficult to tell his true feelings even when asked directly but it’s clear he’s willing to help you get out of said arranged marriage, no matter the cost.

Jamil Viper:

Jamil is shocked to hear that, for once, something had worked in his favor. To know fate had helped him win your hand felt like an irony he could hardly wrap his head around, but he’d accept it for what it was. He’s not interested in the terms or why your marriage had been arranged, preferring to focus on your future together. Your previous destined partner was irrelevant, after all, and Jamil would assure that they stayed that way.

Kalim Al-Asim:

Kalim rarely, if ever, gets jealous, but this is one instance where he feels his heart sink into his stomach. To think that you were almost promised to another, meaning you never would’ve fallen for him and he never would’ve had the chance to fall for you, was heart-wrenching. You had changed his life in such amazing ways and every day with you felt like dancing under the warm sun, he couldn’t imagine a life without you in it and he’s thankful that his own parents accepted his distaste for an arranged marriage.

[mayakern]

hello!! im sorry if this is too much trouble, i know hiring models costs money and im not sure if the cost depends on the amount of photos so i understand if it isnt possible right now, and im sorry for the long ask too haha, but:

im a rollator user (four wheeled walker with a seat) and i often sit on the seat to rest when im out and about. i would love one of your midi skirts in the future when i can afford one, but im not sure how the length and how the various patterns would look while sitting down...

about half of my time spent in public (where i would wear a skirt) is spent sitting to rest, so its really important to me to like how i look sitting too!

so that being said, i was wondering if it would be possible for you to have photos available of models (or yourselves!) sitting down, preferably from a front and side view, just on any average chair, while wearing your skirts?

i imagine it would also be helpful for wheelchair users, for anyone who sits a lot at work, and just in general!

again, i dont know if you pay your models per photo, so i totally understand if this isnt an affordable expense right now! and i dont expect you to go back through on every skirt and add new pics, haha. i just thought i would ask, never hurts to wonder :}

(ps i LOVE your work (the way you draw people, especially peoples hair, and your rendering on your illustrations inspires me to work on my own art SO much), and i hope you and your whole team have a lovely day!)

hi, thank you for the kind words! we've previously done quite a few sitting photos in our skirts, so i'll show some of those below for the meantime. a lot of our designs have similar compositions so hopefully this should help you visualize what various designs might look like sitting!

i'll keep in mind to try to get more sitting photos again in the future, but right now things are super hectic and overwhelming and i may forget, so please don't hate me too much if that happens. 😅

recently devin and i moved across the country and between that, money being tight, and our social media manager quitting, we've been short on both funds and spoons. we're back to shooting photos of us on our phones in our own house and i'm back to working two jobs (doing the art and the social media)

[neeeooon]

Hello!! May I request, where the reader traces the bllk chars' (Sae, Kaiser, Nagi, Reo, Rin) veiny hands without even noticing it, and they will have this reaction, either curious, shocked, or something? They either be in a relationship or just friends.

Thank you!! I hope you understand my grammar, English is not my first language. This is my first request, I really love your stories!!

thank you for the request!! and your grammar is great! 🩵

when you trace their hand veins

new relationship/friend bllk x clueless!reader. slightly suggestive in sae’s, reo’s, rin’s

itoshi sae

-> your relationship with sae was strictly platonic. yet you despised the thought of going on a date or spending time with someone who wasn’t him, and you had an inkling that he felt the same way about you

-> you’re cooking dinner together and chatting about your days. per routine, you’re in your normal spots: you at the stove, sae leaning against the counters to your left as he preps the food

-> he finished earlier than you, hands resting on the edge of the countertop. while waiting for the water to finish boiling, your hand mindlessly drifts over his arm, tracing the bulging veins from the way he’s leaning

-> your best friend is anything but subtle. “keep touching me like that, i’ll think you wanna be more than just my friend, y/n.” his words startle you at first, but when you look up and catch the way his eyes are deeply trained on you, you can’t help but step closer. “and be what instead, hm?”

michael kaiser

-> kaiser is always telling you how he hates the feel of hands on his skin, and you’ve seen how he flinches away from touch. however, he never complains or moves away when you curl into his side during movie nights

-> you only just started going out, so you’re surprised that he has so much patience and seems so comfortable with you. he told you in the past that you have a calm and inviting energy about you, but you don’t really know why

-> you’re watching an indie film, cuddled into his side without touching his skin too much, when your fingertips graze against his forearm. you don’t think anything of it, too immersed in the film, but kaiser feels your touch everywhere. and he doesn’t pull away

-> when kaiser flips your hand to clasp it and tightly intertwine your fingers, you finally realize what you were doing. “i’m sorry! i didn’t—“ “keep holding my hand..?” at the softness in his ask, they’d have to pry your dead body away to separate you from him

nagi seishiro

-> you and nagi were barely friends, but besides reo, you’re the only person who ever makes an effort to talk to him. his responses are usually short, but he always looks at you as you ramble about your day or a book you’re reading or what you ate for lunch

-> your class is traveling together for a field trip, and you decide to sit next to nagi on the bus. anxious about the trip, you find yourself subconsciously tracing the veins on nagi’s hand, which is pressed on the seat beside your thigh

-> he never says anything, so it takes a while for you to realize what you’re doing. once you do, you panic. “oh gosh, i’m sorry, nagi! that was super creepy of me, i swear i wasn’t doing that on purpose!” “‘s’okay. i don’t mind.”

mikage reo

-> you were waiting at his desk with your textbooks to study when reo returned from the gym. “oh, hey y/n! i forgot we were studying today.” “uh, yeah..!” you couldn’t pull your eyes from his arms if you wanted to. “gimme a sec to shower, and i’ll be right back!”

-> reo’s arms are still angry when he returns, making you feel all sorts of ways for your friend. sure, you’d been “talking” for a little while, but he was still only a friend

-> you’re seated close, forearms practically touching, as reo teaches you about business statistics. you’d never been as focused on market equations as you were with purple hair tickling your shoulder and cheek

-> “um, y/n?” “hm?” you pull your thoughts from how pretty reo is to follow his gaze, which is set on his arm. your fingers on his arm. tracing his veins. you nearly fall out of your chair with how fast you yank your hand away. “i’m sorry! how long was i doing that?!” “maybe fifteen min—“ “sorry, got to go! good night, reo!”

itoshi rin

-> you were curled up on the couch beside your childhood and longest best friend rin, dozing off while watching cartoons with him

-> trying to stay awake, you decided to fidget with your hands, which turned into fidgeting with his hand

-> you’re half asleep and unsure what’s happening. rin can’t turn his head in your direction because he’s afraid you’ll see how warm his face is

-> “pretty arms,” you mumble sleepily when you realize what you’re doing. rin only nods in response, praying you fall asleep before you realize the effect your touch has on your friend

[dairogo]

As far as I'm aware, this is a shift in fandom culture over the years. When I started in fandom in the early 2000s, it was fairly frequent that people would comment with "I love how you blah! Oh, but what about this? And there was a typo here if you want to fix it. But it was so good!", and I think that's because fanfiction dot net didn't call it commenting. They called it reviewing. That word literally set the tone for you putting in pros and cons. It may be that a significant section of the fandom never saw it this way, but "reviewing" in my mind always allowed the balance of pros and cons so long as it was couched in friendly terms and the goal was to give the writer encouragement alonside a small, achievable thing to work on, NOT to tear them down. I did this with friends and made friends this way because it was an understanding we had. I thought it was how everyone viewed it. Maybe they did, maybe they didn't.

Then there were flames. That's when someone reviewed your work but in such an aggressive, non-constructive way that it was just demoralising. This has always been discouraged on fandom platforms, as far as I'm aware.

Ao3 calls the interactive section "commenting", not "reviewing", and this to me marks the specific difference. It denotes a place for community-building, not craft-building. The intention is not for writers asking for con-crit, but people sharing what they enjoy together. If writers are looking for constructive criticism they can note it in their author's note, but it's best to assume they're not looking for it and won't welcome it, unless you know them well enough to make that judgement separately.

I took a while to adjust when I swapped from ffn to Ao3. I have commented on people's things with what I believe to be constructive criticism, but because it is a comment section, not a review section, the reception of these comments was significantly different from how it was on ffn in the early 2000s. Constructive criticism cannot be received well if a person isn't anticipating it. Like when you're venting and someone tries to solve the problem. You might be saying something helpful, but they're not ready to hear it and it's not the purpose of the conversation.

I miss the casual and conversational concrit of ffn - it helped me grow a lot as a writer, and it taught me how to be empathetic in confrontation on either side of the situation. But it's not what Ao3 is, and I wouldn't want to force it to be. Ao3 has a different purpose and it does it very well.

I just saw a Tik Tok that said writers on AO3 are not looking for constructive criticism in their reviews. I have no audience on this platform so I have to know if this is true? I've always left my pros and cons when reading a fic and now I'm concerned that the authors didn't like that.

Yeah writers are Not looking for criticism, constructive or otherwise. Unless they specifically ask for it, it’s considered rude and honestly a bit hurtful. In the least bitchy way possible, don’t do that. It’s unwanted.

[sierrale8ne]

something about you / juju watkins x fem!reader PART OF THE $$$4U COLLECTION ‘ i’m tryna do something explicit. you askin me what i like about you, girl how long you wanna sit in this kitchen? ’

summary a few substances and some conversation has juju realizing that no time apart is gonna stop her from wanting you. warnings sexual content, smoking, fingering from lena “in the morning” yeah yeah i’m a liar we already knew that next 🙄🙄 here’s the first post of my lil collection and my first juju fic because y’all alr know… that’s my lil shit.

The chime of the bell is what causes your attention to shift from your spot behind the counter. You’ve been working at the smoothie bar on campus for quite some time now, any chance to get more money in your pocket and your roommates off your back.

It was a slow day today, luckily for you, the wind of southern California kept majority of your peers bundled up and in their own dorms rather than the commons or in the store.

Until now.

You’re cleaning the counter top, paying attention to every crumb that lands on the floor that you’ll have to sweep— when you see her.

It was hard not to recognize her, the typical baggy jeans and graphic hoodie, her Nike dunks thudding across the floor as she walks in, and a slicked back bun, different than her everyday game bun. Anyone on campus would be able to see her and point her out, the Juju Watkins.

But you recognize her for other reasons, as the only person in the world who knew you like no one else did.

You haven’t seen Juju in a few weeks, all thanks to her efforts in bringing home a national championship. But still, even through all that, she never once made you feel left to the side. You were involved in every moment of her life— texts, calls, FaceTimes— Juju made an effort to show you that she really did like you. That she cared.

She walks towards the counter, one hand gripping her wallet and the other tucked into her pocket.

“What’s up, baby?” She smiles, and it makes you smile at how her eyes scrunch together. Juju’s perfume travels over the expanse of the counter and to your nose, smelling just as good as you remember she did.

“What are you doing here, Ju?” You ask. It takes everything in your body to hide the blush growing on your face. By second nature, you start ringing her up for her smoothie— mango and peach with extra vanilla protein.

She shrugs, digging in her wallet for her card. “We ain’t linked up in a minute. I gotta pay my girl a visit, y’know?”

You nod, watching the way the girl never takes her eyes off you, even as she pays for her smoothie. Her card lazily held in the tips of her fingers. “Your girl?”

“Stop playing.” Juju shakes her head.

“Judea. You just tipped me 20 for a six dollar drink.” You groan. She was never shy to make a show of how much she liked you, even if you made it clear that money wasn’t the way to do that. It seemed to have fallen on deaf ears, though.

The only lights left in the store are the ones low ones over the tables and the white light over the blenders, dim, but just enough for you to see the red haze over her eyes. “Maybe it’ll make you work faster so we can get outta here. I just wanna see you tonight.” Juju explains.

“I’m closing tonight, love.”

“Okay? When you finish?” She questions. You ignore her briefly, enough to turn your back and start on the athlete’s smoothie.

It gave Juju the opportunity to run her eyes over you. You wear black leggings that hug the curve of your ass perfectly. Your uniform shirt is cropped just enough to give her a view of your lower back. The bright lime green of your apron is nearly blinding, but also looks beautiful on your skin. She can’t seem to take her eyes off you.

“I get off in 30!” You yell over the sound of the blender, looking over your shoulder to see that nothing you said has registered in her head. “Ju?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. You said what, mama?” Juju blots her lips together, glossy and slightly rosy. They look plump and a part of you wants to jump over the counter and kiss them until all the breath in your lungs gives out.

Her eyes meet yours, and just by the look in them you know she’s not lying about wanting to see you. It’s something, almost a sparkle, that you haven’t seen in so long. She wants you.

“I get off in 30.” You repeat, handing the girl her drink.

“I’ll wait right here then.”

You cradle Deuce in your arms, the dog being quite happy to see you in Juju’s apartment again. Her hoodie is long gone, tossed somewhere on the couch which leaves her in a cropped shirt that puts her abs on display.

The seat of her kitchen counter gives her only a few inches over you as you both talk. That seemed to be what you guys did often, picking each other’s brains apart for any and everything.

“How’s school goin’?” Juju asks in between puffs of smoke. The joint rests lazily in her fingers, teasing her bottom lip. Her eyes are already low, raking over you like you were candy. And the slope of her lashes was not helping you keep your cool.

That’s how it always seemed to be with Juju, she could do nothing— but also doo too much— and you still be completely enamored with her.

“It’s alright. Stressful, but s’nothin’ I can’t handle.” You nod, darting your eyes to the joint she passes off to you. “And you? Though I doubt you’re even focused with all this basketball shit.”

You take a puff, the drug swirling through your lungs and messing with your head before you breathe it out. The slight haze traveling through the yellow light of the kitchen.

“What? I’m focused. Sometimes.” She hums and you let out a laugh.

For as long as you’ve known the athlete she’d claim that school comes first, and then as the season continues it becomes pushed to the back burner. She had one goal— or really two— win a natty, and get the girl. You.

“Just sometimes?”

“Why else do you think I play worse when I see you? You’re the distraction, mama.” Blushed. You’re blushed fucking red. And Juju can’t help but smirk at it, she finds you adorable.

Deuce fights in your arms, and you make quick work of setting him on the floor. “Can I ask you something?” You question her, passing over the joint back.

“Of course.”

Your tongue tingles at the thought of the words about to come out of your mouth. You and Juju liked each other, that was clear— but what wasn’t was why things were still kept under wraps. Why she never asked you out officially and honestly why you didn’t do the same.

“What do you like about me, Ju? ‘Cause you keep sayin’ you do, but we’re not moving anywhere.” You trail off, feeling a little small under all six feet and two inches of her.

She ashes the joint, crossing her arms over her chest before making her way over to you. The tension is thick, almost too thick to even focus on anything other than the warmth that spreads through your body.

“How long do you wanna sit here, baby? I could talk about you for hours. It’s just… something about you, got me hooked from the minute I met you.” She explains. You look at how she plays with her fingers, almost like she was nervous. But you know her, Juju doesn’t get nervous. Especially with you.

“I-I dunno, I just feel like—”

“You don’t think I want you?” She wonders. Juju trails closer, hands pressing to the counter on each side of your thighs. “‘Cause I do. I could show you?”

Don’t do it don’t do it don’t do it. The words repeat in your head over and over again. But she’s standing here, smelling like lavender and something else that’s distinctly Juju Watkins. Her eyes are serious, telling you that everything she’s said isn’t a lie. And then you’re thinking about how long it’s been since you’ve even kissed her, weeks, maybe even a full month.

You remember it like it was tattooed in your brain. Just before Valentine’s day. She came to your job with flowers, much to the dismay of your coworkers. You two drove around for hours, Brent Faiyaz and Frank Ocean filling the car until you stopped at the beach. She kissed you with a purpose, so much so that the air left your lungs and all other thoughts left your brain.

You miss it.

“Show me, Ju.” You murmur, widening the gap between your legs for her to stand there.

Juju doesn’t even waste time. She grips your thigh with one hand, snaking her other into the crook of your neck and pulls you in. Your eyes flutter shut and her lips meet yours. Soft and even sweeter than you remembered.

Her lips glide against your own— slow— like she was savoring the moment. And she was, the tournament was approaching and it wasn’t clear the next time she’d be able to have you like this.

She breaks the kiss and you groan in disapproval, chasing after those plump lips before you can even think not to.

“That’s good enough? Or—”

“More.” You sigh, tugging her back to you by her jeans. “I want you, and I want more.” Juju presses her knee closer to your cunt as the kiss grows hungrier. Her mouth opens further, tongue darting out to slide against your own tongue. Like she was begging for more, begging for entry with a small whine. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you dizzy with need.

Juju digs her hands into the band of your leggings, snapping the elastic onto your hip. “Can I?” She mumbles against you.

It’s your turn to break the kiss, licking the saliva string between you both. Her eyes stare into your soul, deep and full of longing. She’s yearning for you, you see it how she grips your clothes, how her legs just slightly buckle.

“Yes. Please.” You whine, spreading your legs further.

The athlete leans into your neck, sniffing the fruity scent that lingers on you from work. Her lips find your sweet spot as she kisses along your skin. “Smell so good, baby. Taste even better.” She smiles against you.

“Ju, I need—” Your plea is cut off by the feel of her fingers inside your pants. She trails them down to your clothed cunt. Copping a feel of your clit through your panties.

“I know. You’re soaked. Just need me so fucking bad, yeah?” Her voice rings in your ear while her middle finger applied the kind of pressure that made your legs shake. You gush almost instantly, more of your slick drenching the fabric.

You nod fast—anything to get her to speed up—but you mean it. “Need you so bad, pretty girl.” Your hand holds the back of her neck, fingers toying with the flyaways of hair that reside there. “Please?”

“I don’t know, baby. I wanna make you my girl first.” She teases. Her fingers don’t stop, still running up and down your covered slit.

“Ask me.” You pant. Your hips buck up in need, free hand clutching the hem of her shirt.

Juju’s face comes back to view, looking down at you with a smirk she can’t hide, not in the slightest. “Y’sure? Here? Like thi—”

“Fucking ask me, Ju.” You stutter, and she doesn’t miss it.

She can’t miss it. How your mouth hangs open and your pants huff into her ears. You’re dying for it, for more. For anything she can give you.

“Will you be my girlfriend, beautiful? Please?” She smiled. Her fingers hook into your panties, tugging them to the side. Enough for the air to make you shiver, but not enough for her to touch you fully. She was leaving you on edge.

“You make your girlfriend feel good?” “You joke.

“Y’know I will, mama.”

“Then yes. Yes, baby, I’ll be your girlfriend.” Juju’s fingertips brush over your clit. Once, twice— and then the third time, she’s slipping her middle finger inside your pussy. Biting her lip as she does so.

“Take your shirt off.” She orders. Her voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it, at least when she was with you. So you listen. Dragging your hands off her body and to your work shirt. It hits the floor with a thud that is ultimately drowned out by the sound of your moan.

She’s good. Better than you even imagined. Her finger is long, brushing along your g-spot with nearly every stroke. And when she curls them, God, it makes your eyes water.

“You feel so good.” You whimper, gripping the edge of the counter like your life depends on it. Juju relishes in the sounds you give her, not even the moans but your cunt. It’s loud, ringing in her ears as she slips another finger inside.

“Yeah? Who’s makin’ you feel this good, mama.” She asks, holding her bottom lip between her teeth.

Your head falls back, eyes rolling as she speeds up. “Y-you. You, baby. Only you, Ju.” You babble.

“Remember when you used to say you ain’t want me?” She starts, twisting her fingers in and out until your panties are all sloppy and you’re soaking your leggings. “Look at you now, legs shaking. Pussy just screamin’ for me.”

“Juju! Oh, fuck.” You grunt, meeting her halfway with each push of her fingers. Her hand trails up to your chest, squeezing your breast with a haste that makes you want to give her any and everything that she pleases. “I can’t—”

“Can’t take it? Really? ‘Cause I know you’re not a quitter. Ain’t nothing you can’t handle, right?” She hums, pressing her plump lips to your cheek.

You can smell the weed off her breath, the mango of her smoothie. And it’s all overstimulating.

Juju curls her fingers, and she knows she’s hit your spot when you nearly fly into her hold, arms wrapped tightly around her neck.

Your breath hits her ear, alongside the pleas of her name. “I’m so close.” You all but cry.

“Imma make you cum?” The question is rhetorical, she knows the answer. The way your body says all the words you don’t. “Yeahhhh, gonna make it feel good for you, baby. I promise.”

“Fuck, don’t stop! Don’t, Ju.” Your moans nearly make the athlete go blind with arousal. Soaking through her own underwear and they thought of having you finish here. On her kitchen counter.

“Lemme feel it. Cum, mama.”

It takes one more push of her fingers to make you nearly fall off the counter. Your legs tremble and your hands clutch Juju’s shoulders like a fucking life line. She works you through it, leaving kisses along your earlobe until she finally drags her coated fingers out of you.

They travel to her mouth, where she makes a show of licking them clean of you. Your eyes make sure they’re fully open to get the view, you’d rather die than miss it.

“Goddamn you taste good.” Juju groans, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Just something about me, I guess.”

🔖 @thaatdigitaldiary @rosemariiaa @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @bueckersbitch @d3arapril @wbbgetsmewetter @ryywyd @tndaqlwifwy @ykylalex @ohmybueckers @flipthepaige @janaelalfysblunt @cherryswisherz @courtsidewithlani @vamptizm @bdbueckers @makethemhoesmad @omg-imtumbling @avvwritesstufff

[shikaizer]

after a long day of taking care of your kid, you cant help and sulk at your wife,but paige made sure to comfort you in a way you have been needing.

♡ : alcohol, high, kinda chaotic, strap on, SMUT.

the echo of your childs cry celes has been going on over and over, you have been rocking her back and forth to lower the noise and rock her to sleep, shes having one of her terror nightmares again, its the middle of the night and you badly wanted to rest.

you have been moving your ass off since early in the morning, doing the laundry, cooking breakfast to dinner, taking care of your child, every single house chore, i mean you never complained but without paige it seems to be harder.

your also annoyed that she decided to choose her friends celebrating their win, but again, you didn’t complain but you understood her.

but its so late at night and shes not home yet.

you caressed celes head while she wailed hitting your chest, you squeezed your eyes shut hoping she would just get tired on her constant tantrum and would suddenly fall asleep.

somehow, you managed to calm your child down, once you did you set her on her small bed, you sat on the edge and checked for your phone to see if she updated you, seeing no single message, you opened instagram to scroll and the first thing that popped up was a picture of paige.

both her arms are wrapped around a two chicks, side by side, you felt your heart drop gripping on your phone tight, you sighed and opened your message with paige, her last chat was her saying ‘i’ll be home early i promise’ what a dick.

you typed ‘dont you even dare go home.’ you knew she would be intimidated by this and she was a huge loser when you get mad.

it didn’t take one minute for her to reply.

‘babe no’

‘please im sorry’

‘im on my way’

you rolled your eyes leaving her on read, you made your way to your bedroom, plopping your self down on the cold bed relaxing, train of thoughts came in your mind, the coldness of the room and the darkness that lurked.

as you drift in a long sleep, you felt so relaxed that you payed no mind to the arm that snaked on your waist, the silent mutture behind your neck and the soft kisses that follow.

you whimpered stretching your body, you pressed yourself closer to the warmth behind you “babe..” paige whispered caressing your waist.

realizing it was your wife, you clicked your tounge and shifted away from her, she huffed pulling you closer again. “babe come on, im sorry, i tried to come home early i swear.” paige quietly whined and you peeked at your led digital to be met with a deadpan. "its fucking four in the morning paige." you stated seriousness in your tone, you can feel the pout on paige's face.

"but i swear— i didn't sense the time." paige assured and your not taking any bullshit, it was obvious that she had a huge ass chug of some alcohol, she reeked of it and your about to baff, its not like you dont like the smell of it and like she stinked, but when the scent was coming out of your wife who clearly assured you that she will keep the drinking unelevated, it was such a bullshit to you.

"did you even shower?" you finally turned your head to look at her and she was on some sugar rush, her face says it all but there was a hint of worriedness coming out of her. "i had to check you first." she stated and you sighed.

"come on lets take you to shower." you sat up and paige was quick to pull you back to her pressing her chest on your back. "do i stink?" paige whispered and you shaked your head.

"no— its the alcohol sticking on you." you huffed and she smirked giving you a kiss on neck. "doesn't it turn you on baby?" you cringed but you found yourself squeezing your thighs, honestly your not really turned on but the tone in her voice and the rasp made you jump.

"fuck no—" you clicked your tounge, paige had caught the way your legs squeezed each other and theres no point on denying now. "lying babe..." she whispered teasing as her warm hands starts to trail under your shirt.

pressing your body closer on her warmth, she squeezed your hard tits her lips leaving soft kisses on your nape.

"paige you seriously need to shower.." you cut her off, the alcohol was seriously too strong for your smell but paige took it as a offense, she bit your nape hard and you gasped. "stop, i dont even stink." she held you closer and you rolled your eyes. "i didn't even say you stinked." you stated with a breathy laugh.

"shut up." she smacked your hips and shifted your position, now shes on top of you pinning you down.

you stared at her for a seconds hunger in her eyes, she now leaned in giving you a deep kiss while she caressed your waist up and down.

breaking the kiss, you spoke up. "think you'll be able to fuck me right now? seems like you have no energy." you whispered and she leaned back looking at you. "oh you think so?" she asks while she fumbled with her belt removing them with ease.

"yeah" you smirked giving her a little tease, she cocked her head to the side reaching for the strap that the both of you had done sinful things with.

"you sure you wont be loud?" paige asked obviously putting you down on how weak she will make you and you scoffed with confidence.

"oh please— i might even dose off to sleep while your at it." you chuckled and she buckled the strap around her hips never leaving her stare at you.

she was quick to pull your shorts down with ease, revealing your cunt, you didn't wear any panties and this made paige amused. "dirty girl."

she shaked her head and spat on your clit making you whine at the quick contact, she bought the tip closer to your clit rubbing them slowly making you moan.

"not even inside yet." she teased and you rolled your eyes bucking your hips up. "get on all fours, now." she demanded, while you at it, she was spitting at her hand rubbing the liquid at her cock.

when your on your fours, she held your hips. "ass up pretty girl." she whispered and you arched you back turning your head to look at her, you realized at this position, she tends to be rougher so you scooted back a little and she was quick to grab you.

"dont back down." paige chuckled amused, she slid in her cock wasting no time slamming deeply inside you.

"shit—" you gasped breathing deeply, she gripped on your hips both hands, while she thrusted in and out without any mercy.

your mouth was left agape, the constant knotting in your stomach was the only thing you could focus on, paige observing your demeanor took the opportunity to tease you more.

"whats wrong?" she cooed caressing your ass cheeks. "nothing..." you whispered covering up a moan and she laughed. "gonna drift off to sleep now?" she asked slamming inside you deeper and you moaned more. "noo paige.." you breath out and she bit her lip her pace getting more faster.

"think my energy is too low?" she ask again with a teasing tone, you groaned gripping hard on your pillow like it was your only life support. "nooo..." you shaked your head whimpering when she suddenly smacked your ass while she slammed relentlesly.

"fuck gonna cum—" you screamed, the more she gets faster the more the bed squecks, the knot in your stomach was unbearable and finally, you have came while her cock was still inside.

breathing heavily, paige pressed her body on your back trailing soft kisses. "love you.." she whispered her warmth clinging on you.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST @janaelalfysloml @gabbyygoo @brenwritesss @addl0vee @sharksmom69 @bellaprintz25 @leiyanzyves @belsouza21 @apbueckers @loviingsunflower @luldejamleer @simpf0rriddle08 @paige05bby @scarrr5 @shootingstarrrrr @rosemariiaa @leslienjazzy @liviyy @weluvwbb @vicsstufff @taylynbueckers44 @yourmom-25s-blog @d7dream @paigesbasketball @sevikasleftbicep @azzisbueckers @bribadoobeee @tndaqlwifwy @dalilahissilly @bethsleftnip @fitecuddles @uwupaige @melpthatsme

[specialgradefckr]

it's been two days, and nerd!gojo is nowhere to be found.

as his one and only bully, you can't help but be worried.

did he get hurt when you shoved him in the locker that one time? did he get sick when you made him eat out of the trash?

weak nerd with his weak ass immune system. you should've been feeding him more dirt.

more importantly, what if you get in trouble for his skinny, frail, weak ass?

not on your watch.

you tell the teacher that you'll deliver gojo's homework to him, which she completely believes for some reason ("oh, how sweet! you two are always together") and she gives you his home address, too, with a wink.

weird, but whatever.

when you get to his house you want to beat his worthless ass all over again. ugh. of course gojo lives in a beautiful, massive house in a super upscale neighborhood you're sort of embarrassed to be seen in.

you think about your clothes, second-hand, not quite fitted right. your worn but comfy shoes. just... ugh.

but there's an intercom, and after you say your name, school, and class that you're delivering gojo's schoolwork for, the door gate opens.

when you get in, it's immediately obvious which room is gojo's - he's got an asuka poster on his door. it's completely out of place in the modern, sleek decor. only gojo could be so tacky.

you don't waste any time striding up there, throwing open the door and glaring at the pitiful wet paper towel of a boy on the bed.

and, well... he is sick, of that you have no doubt.

laying back in bed, half-propped up on pillows. his pale skin looks even paler with the dark circles around his eyes, his red nose, a pile of crumbled up tissues on either side of him.

there's a dampness on his shirt, a graphic tee, and an empty water bottle at his bedside.

"you look like shit," you say, shutting the door behind you and setting his papers on the table.

gojo half-laughs, but mostly it just comes out as a cough.

"no, it's just the flu. been going around. i think i got it from the housekeeper, actually, she took some time off recently."

a housekeeper? fucking gross. you hope he dies. rich people. ugh.

but you can't help but notice. there's no more water, plus you can't see any food around here. and gojo looks absolutely miserable.

you've only been sick once when you were a kid, but it wasn't so bad. things were different back then, though.

"well, since i'm here." you plop the homework in front of him, generously allowing him your pen, "get to work."

he's staring, blankly, at the sheet. eyes scrunching as if in consternation.

before he can insist that you need to work on it together, you stride out of the room.

a faint "wait!" sounds behind you as you shut the door, but you don't mind it.

it's a quick trip to the kitchen. you spend a couple minutes searching through cabinets full of wine glasses (wine glasses? seriously, in his home kitchen?) until you find a cup.

you fill it with water, and then, in a fit of generosity, you fill up a second cup for gojo. let it never be said that you hit a man while he was down.

somehow, when you come back up, gojo is still contemplating the homework sheet as if it held the secrets of the universe.

"hello?" you say out loud. gojo blinks, looking over at you with that blank, dopey expression.

"did you get anything at all done?" there's nothing on the paper. "drama queen."

"ah," gojo says, sniffling, eyes wincing shut, "sorry, it's hard to concentrate... i have a raging headache."

absolutely useless. you set the water down beside him, but gojo slumps back against the pillows.

he looks up at you with big, blue, pleading eyes.

"can't reach... help me?" his voice is high, his expression utterly pitiful. like some kicked puppy.

maybe it's because his throat actually does sound pretty raw. his hair is even more unkempt than usual, in a greasy, scraggly way, his tired eyes and miserable expression squeezing a drop of undeserved sympathy out of your stony heart.

mostly it's because you want him to do your homework that you begrudgingly hold up the water to his mouth and tip it carefully for him to drink.

"what," you grouse, "mommy and daddy not here to coddle you?"

gojo takes a long gulp, swallowing heavily, and letting out an exaggerated ah~ afterwards.

"the housekeeper does that," he says, shifting against the pillows to get comfortable, "but she's not here. i really was dying before you arrived. you saved me," he crows, somehow proud of his utter display of weakness and ineptitude.

you stare at his legs pointedly. "do you have a cold and leprosy? at least go get yourself some medicine."

the puppy dog eyes, again, "i tried! but i got lightheaded and dizzy! it's in the bathroom cupboard, the one closest to my room, pleeeeease-"

"what, now i'm your errand girl?" you snap, already standing up.

something flashes in gojo's eyes, and he keels forward, lurching to grab you by the hand.

"wait, wait! i didn't mean it like that, please don't leave!"

the tone in his voice sends a pang through your chest.

"...i have to leave to get the medicine," your voice comes out awkward, like something's stuck in your throat. "idiot."

gojo's so easy to read, relief on his face clear as day. "oh! okay! we can - we can order delivery, too! my treat! you just have to pick it up for me!"

"i get to choose the restaurant," you grumble, and gojo's already on his phone.

it's a pretty good deal. even though you'll have to endure his presence for a while. and do your own homework without help.

but whatever. it's not like you couldn't do it yourself. you just didn't want to, and it was better having gojo check your answers.

there's just... something weird about this.

"gojo," you ask, hesitant. "i told the intercom i had your homework for you and it let me in. are your parents home?"

he shrugs, "oh yeah, probably."

then why aren't they helping, you want to say - for once in your life, you stop yourself.

why aren't they helping their precious perfect son? what, do they think he's a loser as much as you do?

the thought prickles inside you, uncomfortable, unwelcome. you try to brush it aside. it's none of your business.

maybe gojo's parents find him as unbearable as you do -

even that thought seems a bit too harsh. he's not actually that annoying.

your walk to the bathroom is uneventful. you don't run into anyone, but you do see it - a light under a door at the end of the hallway.

"...if he needs to go to the hospital... no, he won't, a classmate came by with his schoolwork."

the voice is distant, faint. unconcerned.

"...so they want to meet tomorrow night? i'll have to get the reports ready..."

what a drama queen. even his own parents aren't worried about him.

you ignore the bad taste in your mouth as you re-enter gojo's room, where he's looks far too chipper for a sick person.

satoru smiles at you, quickly maneuvering his phone underneath his blanket.

getowo: stop crying, you big baby, i'm on my way over. satoruwu: nvm!!! dont come satoruwu: youll never guess who came to nurse me back to health getowo: so you're hallucinating satoruwu: im not! my bully does house calls <3 we're gonna eat together hehe~ getowo: i'll be there in ten. satoruwu: I TOLD U DONT COME

"gojo?" he drops the phone in his lap, internally cursing.

"yeah?" satoru slumps back, sniffing again, giving you his best pathetic face.

you roll your eyes, "I got your stuff. what did you order?" actually, you don't care. "i want pizza."

"i know this place that makes the best soup," satoru pulls his phone right back out again, "i can get you pizza, too, what kind?"

when you tell him your favorite, he tells you his.

"why are you telling me this? i thought you wanted soup?"

"yeah, but now you know what my favorite is~ we should order some for one of our study dates. we can do halvsies! actually, your fave sounds good-"

you cut him off (so decisive! super hot of you) and tell him to just put in the order. he puts the pizza idea in his notes app, just in case.

"help me take the medicine?" satoru says, half-hopeful, giving you his best puppy dog eyes.

"if you can order delivery, you can drink some water," you say, setting your homework on his desk on the other side of the room.

it's way too high, which makes sense, for his freakishly long limbs -

"oh, it's height adjustable! there's a button, you can lower it!"

you take in his words, leaning back, and you see it. there's an electric whirr as the table falls down. "huh." neat.

"nifty, right!" satoru coughs extra pitifully, "do you think you could help me out? just for a minute?"

you ignore him. it's so obvious he doesn't actually need your help. why is he even asking? it would be faster to do it himself.

whatever. he'll do it when he wants to.

you snatch one of his pens and start working.

it's silent for a bit, the sound of pen scratching against paper filling the air. a little sniffle from the far corner interrupting you.

"...please?" his voice sounds terribly small.

you take a deep, sharp breath. then you stand up and walk over to him.

just to shut him up, obviously. he's so whiney.

only, when you sit down next to him with the cup of water and the pills, his big blue eyes gazing up at you while he gives you a weak smile, that assessment feels a little... mean.

whatever. so you feel a little sorry for him. fine, he's sick. and he's playing it up, too, although his skin does feel a bit feverish when you touch it.

you press the back of your hand - chilled from holding the water glass for him - against his forehead, and gojo sighs in relief, slumping back into the pillow.

he really should be sleeping. he probably needs a shower and a change of clothes, but you're not sticking around for that, and if he needs your help taking meds, he'll need your help with the soup, too.

absently, you run your fingers through his hair. it's so white. and soft, but you can feel some dampness from the fever.

gojo's eyes flutter shut, and he gives out a gentle sigh.

he's quiet for a moment, and you almost think he's falling asleep.

"...can we watch neon genesis evangelion? i have the latest movie."

naturally, his room has a giant flatscreen in it. it's not that messy, either, but you attribute that to the housekeeper.

you roll your eyes, "god, you and your freaky anime. fine, whatever you want."

he's eager, then, lighting up at your words. it's such a weird look on him, all exhausted and sick but still happy.

"we can start from the first one, so you know what's going on!" gojo babbles, "i bet you'll love asuka. she's just like you - "

your cheeks flush, "it's fine! we can just watch your latest movie. i don't need a whole marathon."

you'd looked it up in your free time, just to see what gojo's rambling was about. and maybe you'd gone through some of it online. just to know how bad his taste was.

it's not a bad night, though.

maybe you don't get your homework done - you'll have to get to it tomorrow - but you sit there, next to gojo, on his super comfy (probably super expensive) bed.

the soup arrives before the pizza. you're hungry, and you take great pleasure in blowing on the spoon, pretending to guide it into gojo's mouth, then diverting it to yours at the last moment.

but you're generous enough to feed him, after. it's all with the movies playing in the background.

gojo started with the first evangelion movie, but you're not about to give away that you know.

he likes to narrate over it, and it's fun telling him all the reasons why his takes are wrong. but you have to tell him to shut up once his voice grows hoarse.

then the pizza comes. he looks at you so sadly whenever you head to the door. like a dog watching its owner go to work. ugh.

so maybe... you lose track of time it's a comfy bed, comfy pillows, nice soft blankets once you clean up all his used tissues and the takeaway boxes.

definitely no funny business or anything. you wouldn't be this close to him if he weren't deathly sick.

he says he's deathly sick. maybe this feels like dying for a crybaby like him, you don't know.

but you know, briefly, with your shoulder pressed into his; you're tired. you ate way too much pizza. it's warm in here, safe - gojo is a wet paper towel most days, and today, he's a used tissue, totally unthreatening.

so if you lose track of time and fall asleep... well. nobody will care anyways.

when satoru wakes up, he has to admit - he feels a lot better.

last night was pretty great, even if he'd been sick. it was like a dream! he got to spend all that time with you! just relaxing and watching shows and being hand-fed!

and you even got him water and medicine! and you helped him eat!

it was a while before suguru got out of school, and this night was worse than last night. with the housekeeper gone, he could barely get up for water or food.

even suguru wouldn't have been able to stick around. he hadn't been looking forward to spending the night sick and miserable and all alone in his bed, body full of aches and pains and hunger.

but you saved him! you even stayed the night - heheh. in a way, you basically slept with him, right?

suguru might not ever believe it, but satoru knows. you're really warming up to him. you actually like him, deep down -

when he looks around, though, you're already gone.