#according to the rest of the party anyways.

[six-improbable-things]

Of the ~8 dnd/pf characterters I've played in the past 2-3 years (including oneshot characters), 4 of them have rolled a crit (success or fail) on their first ever rolls:

Rook: Nat 20 Perception(??)

Avra: Nat 1 Stealth (she's a rogue with expertise which makes it worse.)

Odynia: Nat 1 Initiative (paladin with -1 dex so total of zero, lmao.)

and now Tasya: Nat 20 Attack (trying to "prove herself" for a mission)

And this is literally their first ever roll. It makes for either a very cool or very funny introduction.

[eluvion]

daredevil is so well written that I get whiplash when I try to write dd fic within the larger mcu

[800db-cloud]

spare some spy hcs? 👀

OKAY. ok. so i have been putting off answering this ask because i’m admittedly very shy and very afraid of sharing my headcanons. and also because i have A LOT OF THEM.. but here we are!

here are my headcanon spies :) René works for RED and Jacques works for BLU!

where to start, where to start… i have a LOT of headcanons for them, i’ll be talking for FOREVER here. i’ll just start with story because why not! xP

René’s parents were also agents/spies, so he was always destined to be one as well. And he lives up to his parents’ legacies! He’s most notorious for destroying gangs and mobs and the like from the outside in. He was brought to America years ago to take out a dangerous mob boss, but unfortunately found himself infatuated (and involved) with the boss’ daughter. Luckily for him, the boss’ daughter wanted the guy dead, too.

René’s story is honestly a lot more fleshed out than Jacques’, but here goes anyway:

Jacques’ father was a very rich and powerful man in politics. Jacques himself was the result of an affair, and to keep it hush-hush, his father decided to raise him. Raise is a strong word, though— but he did help his father gain intelligence and blackmail on opposing political parties. Jacques proved to be a promising spy since childhood.

If anyone has any suggestions/ideas for Jacques’ story, let me know haha x) he didn’t have the greatest upbringing per se…

last thing on this section i wanna talk about is the Scouts. René is related to both of the Scouts; he’s RED Scout (Jeremy)’s biological father, and he’s BLU Scout (James)’ adoptive/step-father. Jacques has no relation to either scout, but acts as a guardian figure to BLU Scout.

anyway, this is the part where i continue talking about other miscellaneous headcanons! and these come with doodles :)

You couldn’t catch René DEAD without his mask, or his suit! He’d neeever take them off around other people (‘other people’ is mainly just Scout. For obvious reasons.) Meanwhile, Jacques is pretty lenient in letting his teammates see his face! Everyone on BLU’s seen his face at least once.

A big part of why René refuses to strip down is also due to the fact he has a LOT of tattoos. No doodle for this one because I’ve yet to decide on what tattoos to put on him (ideas are very welcome!!), but yeah! Most of the tattoos were ‘forced’ onto him/he had to get for jobs and ‘fitting in’ with bad crowds, but a good few of them were of his own accord, too.

Jacques doesn’t have tattoos, but he has a myriad of another thing: scars! Lots and lots of scars on this guy. Faded and old, sure, but they’re there. Most prominent ones are the one around his neck (from when the RED Medic beheaded him) and the ones on his forearms (those are from the LAST time he was imprisoned— looong story…)

René doesn’t cook very often for his team, but when he does, everyone’s always BLOWN AWAY by this guy’s cooking! René’s really bad at taking compliments, though— (“Cooking food that’s remotely edible isn’t a compliment, it’s basic survival.”) —but rest assured he’ll be thinking about it for the next month. Jacques, however… Do NOT let this guy into the kitchen. Ever. The BLU base has a special fire extinguisher “In Case Spy Decides To Turn On The Stove”

oooh, this one is an hc and a HALF to me. René much prefers working alone. It’s just in his nature, being isolated and whatnot. He likes to deal with things by himself– maybe he doesn’t want to burden others? On the contrary, Jacques NEVER works alone. It’s a trait he’s had even before being hired to BLU. You never know when things could go wrong, so it’s best to have someone else to fall back to… or someone else you can blame!

these hcs both have something to do with how René and Jacques show their trust in other people :) it’s a bit convoluted but it gets there:

René is, amusingly, very bad at remembering names. Almost laughably bad. There have been many-a-story of his days before RED where he’d get a target’s name wrong, even after he’d repeated it in his head dozens of times over. Names are difficult for him, so if he remembers yours, it means you mean a lot to him! He prefers using his teammates’ names rather than their titles. René is unaware of how charming this specifc trait is to his coworkers (they saw how much work and effort it took for him to memorize their names, they’re just happy with how far he’s come!)

Jacques has a… to put simply, very complicated relationship with food. But the one thing he’ll never turn down is sweets. His favorites especially being chocolate bonbons. Jacques has a hard time eating in front of others, let alone sharing his food! But if he genuinely likes and trusts you enough, he’d have half the mind to share with you. Admittedly, he hasn’t brought himself to share with most of the members of his team yet, except for a select few. Mostly BLU Medic and BLU Sniper.

—

and of course, eventually, EVENTUALLY, these two also become friends! it took a little bit but believe me, they both respect each other’s skill in their job :)

AHHg i could go sooo much longer about them— from things like their physical traits (how much teeth they have? it’s a pressing question) or different periods of their life (why did rené have to leave his family? why was jacques imprisoned for the last time?) BUT this post is so… so, so long. My fingers hurt from typing

If you’ve managed to read through this Beast, THANK YOU RAAHH!!! thanks so much for asking this, too. i hope to spare more hcs someday. hehe ^_^

[juicybeetz]

So after staring at this thing for a half hour or so, here are at least the first few lines from the Marriage Agreement in Beetlejuice Beetlejuice:

By signing the contract (below?) the above party Lydia Deetz agrees to enter into an eternal, everlasting marriage of love. Lydia Deetz agrees to marry the irresistible Beetlejuice in a marriage a long time in the making and agrees to becoming the loving wife of Beetlejuice and satisfy all his needs. By signing this contract “I Lydia Deetz agree that I am of sound mind, Beetlejuice is the one I want, the one I have always wanted and needed. I love that man, and I cannot wait to finally marry him.” By signing this contract, Lydia Deetz agrees to declare her (something) love and affection for Beetlejuice and declare void any previous (something) between the two of them (and I can’t make out the rest of the sentence… not sure if it’s voiding previous marriages or voiding any negativity between the two of them). Lydia Deetz agrees to remain a committed wife of Beetlejuice in life, death and afterlife, and will remain by his side through every living and dead circumstance. This agreement shall be governed by and constructed in accordance with the laws of the afterlife.

I would try to decipher more but doing just that part above gave me a headache. 😵‍💫 The text is unfortunately very blurry and the film grain on top of it doesn’t help. There’s a part I really want to read about that talks about what would happen if any code violation would occur between either party, but, again, I am in pain just trying to decipher the first few lines. 😆

The only part of the movie where some of the text is easily readable (easier than in the church scene above, anyway) is when he signs Lydia‘s name on the agreement (see below). The only problem is that it’s just the right side of the agreement that’s visible. Sigh. Really wish that they released the whole document somewhere because it’s pretty cute and I bet there are more funny things in it.

[tteokdoroki]

ೀ⋆OCT 3RD MEAN GIRLS ━━ katsuki bakugou + free use !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. katsuki bakugou + free use. on october third, he asked you what day it was. btw, in girl world, halloween is the only time of the year when katsuki bakugou can slut girls out and no one can say anything about it. boo, you whore! (4.9K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, characters aged up to 20s, college!au, free use, dub-con, cum-play, voyeurism, humiliation, manipulation, dacryphilia, no prep, public sex(ish), unprotected sex, suprise guest appearance from shouto as aaron samuels, fem!reader, reigina george coded!bakugou.

୨୧ — director’s note. "it's october third." and you know what that means! another nasty kinktober fic for you all! i hope you enjoy this one, its probably my favourite...because uh hello!? reigina george and bakugou? name a more iconic duo! anyways enjoy mwah! - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

halloween is the only time of the year where anyone can dress like a slut and not get called one for it. 

in the world of the conventionally attractive (or the plastics), the kings and queens of the social jungle, it means ditching the guts and gore in favour of skin tight lingerie with a little fake blood that drips calculatedly through the valley between your breasts — just for a little bit of added attention. it’s the one night of the year where self-objectification becomes acceptable, and you by all means, were not planning on missing out.

for you, a well spent Halloween consisted of tooth rotting candy corn, bad movies and trying to avoid the feeling of fomo (fear of missing out, fyi) building up like fluid in the lungs of a sick person. you’ve been an a-grade loser all your life and you’ve never had the chance to experience a proper friend group, high school, (and now) college experience. 

however this year would be different. this year you would be ditching loser-ville for boobs and bunny ears and the shortest dress you could find. because you finally had a friendship group who did these kinds of things and you had an invite to the biggest festive rager hosted by the hottest guy on campus — shouto todoroki. 

the rest of your friend group, the college renowned plastics, had warned you not to get involved with the half and half campus jock. he already had relations to your beloved ring leader, katsuki bakugou, and your involvement would be breaking several laws of girl and guy code — according to dumb blonde kaminari (he swears he has ESPN or something). katsuki was the head of U.A. university, ruling over the entire student body with an iron fist, an attitude so mean you’re sure you’ve seen professors cry and a glare so sinister he could turn milk sour if he tried hard enough. 

bakugou was the definition of the picture perfect guy and he knew it. it was almost as if his face had been ripped straight from a vogue magazine, his shoulders broad, waist slutty and tiny, abs to die for too — you’d be a liar to say you hadn’t thought about him a few times before bed. katsuki was a king bee (if bees could even have kings) and you were a nobody lucky enough to have been indoctrinated into his group of flawless friends — taken under the guidance of his wing. 

your own friends had told you not to fall for the glitz and the glamour that seemed to follow the barbie blonde everywhere he went. but you couldn’t help it, you were enamoured by everything that katsuki did — turned a blind eye to his bitchy persona and twisted mindset. you hardly believed the rumours about him, blissfully ignoring the truth behind the gossip because katsuki was nice to you. just the other night he had been kind enough to offer his help in setting you up with shouto. even if kirishima had tattle told on you.

regardless, katsuki had your back — you knew that. he was even talking to shouto right now, admist the full swing of the halloween party. how could anyone ever hate bakugou? he was so kind, so considerate, treating you like family from the moment you got here. you see shouto look your way fondly as they chatter about you, his lips curling perfectly around your name while he sends you a wave that makes you feel like the only girl in the world. 

“she likes you, yanno.” the shorter blonde purrs, the corner of his perfectly plump lips twitching up into a knowing grin. he says your name, glowering at the way his ex perks up at the mention. 

shouto blinks slow, mismatched eyes filling with affection the longer he looks at you awkwardly swaying to music you’ve never heard before. “yeah? she does?” 

“it’s adorable, really. she writes your fuckin’ name in the corner of her notes with little hearts. even has the name of your future brats written in a cute little list.” the lie slips from bakugou easily, as if manipulating people is second nature to him.

“don’t bother with that, katsuki.” 

when todoroki’s gaze on you lingers for too long, he kicks it up a notch pressing the head of his body into his ex’s side. “listen, half ‘n half,” with his eyes dark and sensual, the blonde allows his voice to slip into deeper, more mocking tones — playing up this innocent act. one that shouto falls for every time. “i know that she can be a little fuckin’ weird but, she’s my friend…so be nice, yeah?”

men are such fickle creatures — for all it takes is a pair of sweltering, red puppy dog eyes to drag the jock under his spell. shouto nods slowly, his own topaz and granite eyes glossing over with some form of obedience, a loyalty to bakugou that no one else would understand. “yeah, alright.” 

“good,” bakugou purrs, the sound causing his brain to short circuit. “such’a good friend, half ‘n half.” the tail end of his words are replaced by the sloppy sound effect of his lips on shouto’s, tongues beginning to clash and hands possessively gripping waists. 

your rose-tinted window shatters at the sight. 

background conversation falls away as your friend and your crush begin to make out right in front of your fucking eyes. “you know who’s  looking fine tonight, neito monoma.” kaminari squeals, shimmying in his little mouse costume. 

“denki, that’s your cousin.” kirishima frowns. 

the blonde shrugs. “yeah! but he’s my first cousin…that’s not right is it,” 

you don’t have time to dwell on their chit chat — you feel like someone has thrown your entire body  out of whack. you feel like you’re drowning as the realisation hits, katsuki bakugou doesn’t give a shit about you or your feelings. storming away from the scene, you make for the nearest bedroom, hurt and confusion swirling around in the tightness of your chest.

“what are you doin’ in here sweetness? ‘minari and kirishima have been looking everywhere for ya.”

you’re still crying like a sore loser when the king of the plastics finds you hauled up in one of shouto’s many rooms. and you hate that it’s katsuki who’s come to comfort you, sitting beside you on the queen sized bed as his hand slips over your bare thigh.  

but you shrug him off, barely keeping your cool. after all, you’re still mad at him for making out with your crush. “don’t touch me, katsuki.” you snarl, doing your best to sound menacing. “i saw what you did. how could you? i thought we were friends?”

he clicks his tongue, ruby red eyes rolling as if he gives a fuck. “oh, you mean that thing with icyhot?” you don’t understand how the blonde can be so nonchalant, tossing around the situation as if it weighs nothing — costing not an ounce of your feelings. “he came onto me, sweetness. i’d never do somethin’ like that to you.” 

denying katsuki bakugou is never an easy feat, he’s a man that knows where his strengths lie. in the deep timber of his rumbling voice and those eyes, with the blood lust curled around each of his pupils. katsuki is a well trained hunter, and on this occasion, you are his prey. a large hand smooths over the meaty swell of your trembling thigh, pushing the likely pair wide open for him to make room between them. “i’m a good friend, r’member?”

his hands roam your blistering hot body, gripping and grabbing at your flesh from over your costume — it feels good, you feel wanted and melt like a lump of butter in a pan at every cascading touch of his. 

you’d be smart to come to your senses, before you’re snapped up in the unrelenting jaws of a hunter. but you’re entranced by those insanely red eyes, the perfect slant to his lips and all-knowing smile — it’d be useless to escape when you’ve fallen this deep. “you’re not…” your bottom lip wobbles, the achy feeling in your chest now submissive to the liquid lust katsuki has spent months conditioning you to feel. “you’re a bad friend.” 

“d’aw…you don’t think i am?” dropping his tone into a sultry coo, bakugou leans in real close and you instinctively follow the tilt of his head. he looms over you, just enough so that you can see the smear of pink eyeshadow across his eyelids, the plasticky glisten of lip gloss masking the true colour of his plump lips, along with the spark of lust swirling through the brown flecks in his eyes.

you shake your head no. “no, you’re not.” big mistake. 

the of temperature of the room rises just from his proximity and you find yourself willing to let the king of the plastics swallow you whole. “i don’t think i like the way yer talkin’ to me, sweets.” he growls darkly and in warning. “i should make you apologise for bein’ so fuckin’ mean.” 

his breath is warm and wet against your cheek, grip rough on your waist and you can’t help but think how mean he is to you. katsuki gaslights you like it’s second nature or another one of his five senses, manipulates you with ease, putting himself on you when you know you can’t say no. because without him you would have been in social suicide, you wouldn’t have any friends, you wouldn’t have had the college experience. you would have just been ordinary.

“gimme a kiss, gorgeous.” the blonde bites down on your lower tip, tugging it away from you because he misses the metallic taste of golden blood on you — the taste of blossoming obedience in your bloodstream. 

you push back, but it’s no use — bakugou’s closing the gap before your brain can even catch up, fizzing like candied pop rocks while you sink further into debauchery. 

“c’mon…” he forces his tongue past the seams of your lips, bursting through with only the darkest of intentions. you briefly seize up, because your body knows this isn’t what you want, at least not 100%.  but katsuki knows how to work stubborn, prude little things like you — squeezing down on your waist heartily as he leads you into a stupid-drunk kiss. “that’s it, there we go…good fuckin’ girl.”

the world tilts on its axis and you grow lightheaded at the blonde’s praise — you should be mad at him for kissing your crush but at the same time, you’ve never wanted someone so bad. mewling against his watermelon and alcohol flavoured lips is like sealing your fate, giving up little pieces of yourself just to appease your ring leader.

“katsuki, i don’t—“ 

his thumb digs into your cheeks, preventing you from pulling away — not that you’d want to. wet sounds from your kisses vibrate through you and cause a twinge in the heartbeat between your thighs. “i wasn’t askin’, i was tellin’.” he grunts into your drooling mouth, wide open to echo your sweet and pliant voice. it’s with those words that you remember your place, being a plastic requires sacrifices — for you to give up pieces of yourself in order to stay by katsuki’s side. 

including letting him use your mind, body and soul freely. 

“so fuckin’ pretty when you’re obedient for me,” he’s snarls, hot under the collar and eager to steal more from you. he grins at how your eyes roll back just from a couple of half-hearted words. leaning back, katsuki shrugs off his shirt, revealing his  perfectly carved hips and washboard abs, golden skin that only the gods could have blessed him with. the sight of him is enough to make your quivering cunt deep juices into the crotch of your panties. “let’s get back at sho, huh? for playin’ us both.” 

the lines of morality and dissoluteness are often blurred when you’re with him — you become a vessel for his pleasure and you don’t even think to mind. somewhere amidst the messy, sensual lip locks bated breaths, katsuki has managed to get you onto your back and tear through your skimpy little halloween costume to suck his claim into your neck. painting you with deep mauve and midnight blue hues. his eyes dilate, roaring obsidian black taking over his mean, rage filled red eyes in a way that lets you know how bad he wants to fuck you. 

it’s when the sharp edges of his canines graze your pulse point that you remember just how much of a wild jungle college is. you remember that katsuki has the ability to make your life a living hell, the power to take a bite and rip your throat out at any second. in this world, you are nothing but a meek gazelle and katsuki bakugou the lion ready for a feast. 

irrespective of how much the very fact may frighten you, you ignore bakugou’s talons as they sink into your chest and leave indented crescent moons on against each breast. he rips apart the costume you worked so hard on and pushes your hands away from your body when you attempt to cover yourself up. so, from that moment, you let lust slither over your brain so you can arch yourself into him for more pleasure, and remind yourself that even if you're being used — it feels good. katsuki feels good. 

you like that he’s a little mean, a mean girl. all teeth and tongue and biting when he licks into you and breaks the strings of honey saliva that tie your tongue to the roof of your mouth. you love how he roughly grabs you by the meat at your hips and tugs you up to meet the grind of his cock against your underwear. you adore how he pulls the very fabric apart like they’re nothing, rolling you onto your stomach and positioning your hips in a way that makes your back arch.

you don’t even realised that bakugou has kicked off the lower part of his costume until you feel the heat of his firm thighs against the backs of your own and the sticky tap of his flushed cockhead on your ass cheeks — smearing white globs of precum over your hot skin. the blonde groans at the visible twitch of your cunt, the way it glistens and spews lightly for him. 

“oh sweetheart,” he laughs through the coagulated feeling of prurience in his throat. “so fuckin’ wet for me, hah?” he manages, spreading your ass cheeks apart hungrily, a curious finger running through your slick folds and dragging your wetness over your pulsating clit. “s’kinda embarrassing. barely even touched you.” 

the situation is embarrassing, humiliating almost and a fresh set of tears burn at your waterline — mascaras already tracking down your cheeks. you don’t fight bakugou as a muscled arm snakes it’s way around your waist and pulls you onto him until your sex is flush against bakugou’s thick cock — your hearts beating in sync, heavy breathing in tune. his dripping dick slips and slides a through your quivering pussy lips, grinding against the pulse in your clit before easing the mushroomed tip through the tight ring at your entrance. 

“f-fuck!” you squeak, a little out of turn. fuckdolls don’t talk. katsuki is quick to growl and remind you, collapsing his entire weight into your body while you take him with ease. no prep required whatsoever. there’s a delicious burn as his girth stretches you wide open and he fucks you with just the tip — a pleasing buzz layering itself over your logical thoughts. the ones that tell you this isn’t right. the ones that tell you that you’re more than just a plastic play thing. 

bakugou squeezes your hips harshly when you push back onto him, desperate to be fed more of his cock. “keep fuckin’ still, alright?” the king of the plastics rasps, taunting you as he thrusts all the way into your tight heat with no warning. you ooze at the sudden stimulation, basking in the weight of his dick against the insides of your crying cunt and fluttering walls. “sho’s gonna love this, maybe he’ll really want you then.” he continues to purr, jamming a thumb past your swollen lips to press down on your tongue. his other hand grasps at his phone once lost in the sheets, talking a picture of your teary face while you suck on his digit to soothe yourself. 

like a baby sucking on a pacifier as it cries.

sending the photo to shouto, bakugou takes a few more selfies of you like this. his favourite is the one of your face squished between his large fingers, covered in salty tears and sticky drool. “don’t cry sweets. ‘m gonna fix this, help you get together. what are friends for?” 

his voice is soft, nose nudging against your cheek in a reassuring manner. 

but it’s all too good to be true.

briefly, there’s a second where everything is calm, where the blonde lets you relax around him between gentle juts of his hips forward and affectionate kisses peppered against your skin. you should have realised that katsuki’s pleasure is always above your own. because he suddenly finds the motivation to pull out of your snug, sensual heat to pound into you properly, dragging is seedy cock along all of the spots along your ribbed walls that make you see stars. 

you feel like a pocket pussy, only one that comes with crybaby wails and pitiful hiccuped noises. it’s all music to katsuki’s ears, blending seamlessly with the intense base from the party’s music and thump of the headboard smashing against the wall all from the sheer force of his thrusts into you. it’s easy to forget how humiliatingly loud you’re being, you can’t find yourself to be worried about someone catching you either. even if the door is wide open. 

why not? because katsuki claims you willingly, over and over again with each brutish brush of his leaky cockhead against your g-spot. “s-suki! please.” you slur around his fingers that fuck your drooling mouth in perfect rhythm with his dick that plunged in and out of your puckered, creamy hole.  

“yeah, yeah. i gotcha. give into me, sweetness.” 

where he had been keeping you pinned against the sex-soaked cheeks — bakugou pulls  his sweaty chest away from your back and adjusts the roll of his hips, letting them crash into you like waves on a shoreline. to support his body weight above you, his toned arms cage you in, head tilted to the side to watch you sniffle on his dick, red rimming your watery eyeline. “you’re so fuckin’ pretty when you cry, sweetheart.” he moans condescendingly against the shell of your ear, painting a chaste kiss against your wet cheek. “what a pretty fuckin’ girl, suckin’ me in… takin’ my cock. oh fuck.” 

if you could see him, will yourself from the pillows you take purchase in and use to muffle your salacious screams — you would notice how an evil smirk as spread across the blonde’s lips while he ravages you, fucks you beyond the stars and back. “you my pretty girl, yeah? fuckin’ sweet thing.” the praise has you spiralling and simultaneously soothes the burning hatred you have for katsuki in your chest. “why you cryin’ so much? is it over him, or over me?”

the answer to his question slips out of you faster than your sex-crazed brain can catch up. “o-over you!” it’s like you can’t even think for yourself, make any choices for your body outside of what bakugou has planned for you. you’d do anything to please him so that he keeps fucking you, so that you can forget your feelings and keep your place amongst the socially elite. maybe that makes you selfish, maybe it makes you dumb — that you’re a whore for katsuki’s bully cock that churns up your guts and uses you for ecstasy filled relief. 

“y-yeah? mmhm, just like that baby,” katsuki stutters, licking his lips while you throw it back on him. the weak snap of his voice (caused by you clenching down on him) has you gushing nastily down bakugou’s length. bathing him in your juices, dripping down his balls as they clap against your ass, and swing against your clit. 

“yeah…yeah…y-you’re my friend, k-katsuki! didn’t wanna lose you…”

satisfied with your response and feeling a little mean once more, the king of the plastics brings a heavy hand down against your ass before gripping it tight, forcing you back and forth on his creamed dick. you hiss at the newfound pain blooming underneath your skin, blinking back more tears. 

“that’s right sweets, you’ll let me do anythin’ to keep me right? stay bein’ friends.” bakugou barks salaciously into your shoulder blade. greed and power and control sparks between your bodies that move in sync with one another, your hips shakily attempting to catch up with his rough pace.

you gasp when he hits a spot that’s got you howling at the moon. “y-yes, god, yes!”

“even let me fuck your crush? let me fuck you in front’a him?” 

all you can do is nod and gargle in response, passionately sucking on his fingers. “get ‘em nice and wet for me. wanna play with you, gorgeous.” he nips at your skin, leaving the imprint of his canines against you before his red eyes laser focus on where your bodies continually meet. “lift your hips. atta girl.” 

a heinous squeal escapes you, borderline pornographic as katsuki fumbles between your body and shouto’s high thread count sheets. his sticky fingers press into your pleasure nub in tight, calculated circles and he rewards the sound of your choked moans with another barrage of love bites to your neck. ones that you won’t be able to cover up. ones that show how much you’ve been used. 

you wonder if his appetite for your dedication will ever be satisfied. even though your pussy works it’s way back onto him and swallows his cock down like fucking magic — bakugou still wants more of you. he grins sinisterly at the bruises that form just under your skin, that make you hiss when he licks over them and spills his curse words over against that sensitive spot underneath your ear. the sensitivity makes you yelp loudly, despite the people that walk by. 

including none other than shouto todoroki. 

“you’d even let him watch as i creamed your cute cunt, wouldn’t ya? so pathetic. it’s adorable, sweetness.” the blonde goads, pulling back so that he can get a better view of your ass bouncing against his slender hips. spreading you apart with large hands, he drools down onto his cock and your asshole, spitting onto the point at which his shaft slips inside of you — watching the white froth mix in with your viscous nectar and disappear into the creaminess of your tight hole. 

your crush audibly gasps as he enters the room — mismatched eyes drinking in the view of you being absolutely wrecked from behind by his ex. shouto can’t help but admire your puffy face and equally puffy folds while he settles on the bed next to katsuki. he has no idea how his feet even carried him there. 

“bakugou what are you—?” 

the tail end of shouto’s words slip away when you clench down hard on bakugou, his head falling onto the latter’s shoulder while you share shaky moans. “oh my god,” katsuki pants, pulsing against your silken walls and driving his dick upwards into your sweltering mound. “you’re fuckin’ obsessed with me. with him. you just won’t let this dick go, will ya?” 

admitting that you like shouto watching you get fucked by bakugou would be just as embarrassing as admitting your crush on him. it doesn’t matter if you’re crying too hard to confess the matter with words, both of them know it. they can tell by the way your pussy spasms around katsuki’s bulbous cockhead as it bullies it’s way into you with every thrust.  “see icyhot, told ya she was a weirdo,” He chuckles down at you menacingly. “letting me be the one t’stretch her pussy open even though you’re the one that she wants. s’so embarrassing.” 

todoroki let’s out a noncommittal grunt, equally amused by the situation like his ex. “yeah… so weird…”

he reaches around to grab at the fat of your waist and tugs you back onto katsuki so that his dick never leaves you. so that your clit is smooshed up against perfect abs, that contract with every thrust and overstimulate you. 

maybe it’s not such a bad thing to be used by the king of the plastics, if it means shouto gets to touch you too. 

“i think she’s about to cum, katsuki.” the two-toned haired jock states as if it’s obvious, his voice husky and low as the scent of sex trickles into the air. “you’re gonna make her cum, baby.” 

“can fuckin’ feel it, she’s ‘boutta make a mess of me.” they share a lustful look behind you, that leads to them sharing sloppy, uncoordinated  kisses as if you’re not even there. truly treating you like a sex toy to be used whenever, wherever. 

the sounds of their kisses ring in your ears, cause heat to burn at your cheeks and shame to settle in your chest once again. but this time, you don’t fucking care — not when you’re close to cumming, not when both of the people you adore in your life are using little old you. 

forcing you back and forth over katsuki’s dick even faster, shouto finds it in himself to address you, moaning out your name. “a-are you close?” he simpers, tongue rolling over his ex’s.

“i— i am. p-please. let me cum. lemme cum. lemme c-cum—!” you chant as if it’s the gospel, voice tapering off into a set of whistle tone simpers as you finally hit your high. black spots dot your vision, katsuki using a last burst of energy to canter into you, slamming against your g-spot over and over again. the dam breaks before your brain can register it, release trickling out of your fluttering hole like a flash flood after a vicious storm. it soaks his soft tuft of blonde pubes and soils the sheets below, your body wracked with shakes and aftershocks. 

katsuki's cock against your cervix being the epicentre. 

the two men behind you share a sick little laugh when you collapse into the sheets face first, both of them leaning down to kiss either of your cheeks soothingly. 

“so fuckin’ cute ‘n loyal,” bakugou coos in a twisted tone, pulling out of you to jerk himself off over your quivering body. 

shouto smiles and rubs soothing circles in the small of your back in an attempt to calm you down — taking pleasure in your tiny sniffles and hiccups while you come down from your high. 

“your turn, bakugou.” he purrs slightly, using his arm to prop himself up on the bed for a perfect view of you both.  

“mmfuck, shit ‘m so close.” colourful curses spew from between bakugou’s perfect, cherry bitten lips just as he hits his peak. slick sounds accompany the movements of his rough palm up and down his length, coaxing himself towards orgasm. he cums with a shout, a feral growl tearing his chest in two with how loud it is. all while ropes of his blistering hot and white cum land on your ass, pussy and back. 

he collapses next to shouto after that. 

you feel a finger drag through the hot mess on your back and turn around just in time to watch bakugou feed a scoop of his cum to your crush. todoroki sucking his fingers happily. “go get her a towel, icyhot.” he demands, and like a slave to the crown, todoroki follows — disappearing from the room in search for a rag to clean you up with. surprisingly, the blonde helps you to sit up, taking you into his chest so you can snuggle against it. “don’t cry sweetness, s’okay. i forgive you for thinkin’ i was a bad friend.” 

tilting your chin up, you’re rewarded with a firm chaste kiss — swallowing katsuki’s moans as he tastes the saltine tears in your lips. “you’ll never do it again, right?” 

“r-right…” you reply meekly, flinching at the blonde who boops your nose almost affectionately. 

he busies himself with fixing your costume until shouto returns with a wet rag to wipe the cum from between your thighs and the rest of you. you try not to let it get to you when they share another passionate kiss, sucking on each other’s tongues and mussing up each other’s hair until they’re all rosy cheeked and short of breath. 

you would be a fool to think that you ever stood a chance with shouto todoroki after tonight. 

much like you, he’s just another piece in katsuki’s game of chess. he’ll never escape the toxic cycle of their relationship when things keep going like this. 

“you look sexy with your hair pushed back, icyhot.” katsuki says to shouto once they come up for air, ruffling his silky locks out of place. his ruby, crazed, gaze slinks over to you next, a coy smirk playing at his lips. “sweetness, tell him, icyhot he looks sexy with his hair pushed back.” 

katsuki bakugou is terrible. evil. conniving. but he’s all you’ve got, even if he is a mean girl. 

“shouto…you look sexy with your hair pushed back.”

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[lloydskywalkers]

three sword style

Or, Lloyd and his evolving relationship with what it means to choose a weapon, as supervised by Kai. listen I know Wu technically gives them all their new weapons in season 11 according to some random book referenced in the ninjago wiki (or at least Lloyd’s sword) but you know who ACTUALLY has a degree in making weapons and canonically has made a golden sword SO. My canon now. (also spot the brain rot I infected myself with in the title) 

Lloyd grows up in a world of weaponry and at the speed of light. 

There are worse ways to grow up, maybe. There are also better ones — one where kids get to grow up instead blasting into teenager-hood in the span of seconds — but Lloyd doesn’t like to complain about where he’s ended up. 

Second to the speed of light thing, though, the weapons part is pretty big. 

Weapons determine the single biggest turning point in his life, after all. It’s the Golden Weapons that make him the Green Ninja, a title that’s a lot more important than Lloyd’s ever been. It’s also that particular title that makes Lloyd the weapon, so that’s fun. Ninjago’s prophesied emergency failsafe, the Green Ninja — that’s him. 

On a nicer note, it’s the Fangblade that gets him a big brother, and proves that there’s someone out there who cares about Lloyd over some stupid weapon, so hah. 

Getting back to the point, though—

Weapons. Lloyd’s been making do without one, and he’s been making pretty good do, thank you very much. He’s got his power, and he’s got himself. That’s all the weapon Lloyd needs. 

But no one else seems to agree, and since ninety percent of the time whatever prophecy-of-doom crops up this month involves cursed weaponry of some sort, they all figure it’s a good a reason as any to stick Lloyd with a reliable weapon. 

And while wielding all the elements is one thing, wielding every kind of weapon at once would be kind of difficult, even for his dad. 

So Lloyd finally gets an actual, for-real, decision that he gets to make all by himself. 

It’s a monumentous occasion — and yes, that is a word, Nya, Lloyd knows some stuff — so if Lloyd was smart he’d treasure it and take his time. 

With that in mind, it takes all of thirty seconds for Lloyd to choose. This is only mildly insulting to some parties. 

“Fine, sure, go with the most basic pick in the world,” Jay scoffs. “Swords. Boring.”

“Sounds like you’re just jealous,” Kai shoots back.

“Jealous of swords? Please. I just thought Lloyd was a little more creative than that.”

“I like swords,” Lloyd says, at a loss. 

“Jay is only relieved that no one will one-up his nunchuck expertise, now,” Zane smiles. 

Jay sputters indignantly. “No one’s one-upping me, I’m the best there is!” 

“Uh-huh,” Cole shakes his head. “Well, if that’s what Lloyd wants, that’s the end of it.” His mouth quirks. “Means more training time for Kai, anyways.” 

“More training to be better than you,” Kai retorts. 

“Like the rest of you, Lloyd will continue to work toward mastering at least the basics of any weapon,” Sensei Wu sighs. “A ninja confined to one weapon alone—”

“Is a dead ninja,” Jay nods.

Sensei Wu cuts his eyes at him. “That is not how I was going to finish.”

“The point stands though, right?”

“The point,” Sensei Wu pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is that while Lloyd will continue to train with all of you, focusing on swordsmanship will become the priority. So yes, in a way. More training for Kai.”

Lloyd rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry…?”

“Why are you sorry?” Kai beams, more proud than smug. “I finally get an official katana apprentice. We’re gonna be awesome.”

And that alone, Lloyd thinks, makes it worth all the complaining. 

“Great,” Jay throws his arms up. “Now we’re stuck with two slice ‘em dice ‘em ninjas.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Cole says. “It’s Kai, how dangerous can he be.”

“I resent that,” Kai says. “Just because you beat me once or twice—”

“Try thirteen times, and counting.”

“—it does not mean I’m not as dangerous as you,” Kai narrows his eyes. 

“Oh yeah? Wanna prove it?”

“Bring it on, rock man.”

“Not in the kitchen, for FSM’s sake—“

Whether or not Cole beats him (which he does, pretty badly, because Cole is kinda terrifying like that) Lloyd knows that to some degree, Kai is dangerous. Very dangerous, with or without his swords.

It’s hard to think of Kai like that, though. When Lloyd thinks of Kai, he thinks of warm arms wrapped tight around him in the Fire Temple. Thinks of the first hugs he’s gotten from someone other than his father that felt like home. Thinks of protection — thinks safe. Thinks family. 

He’s wanted to be like Kai for a while, now. So yeah. It’s an easy choice. 

Plus, swords are way cool.

______

Kai starts training him in Dareth’s dojo. It takes about a week for them to get banished to the roof of their apartment, which is mostly Lloyd’s fault — but Kai’s the one supposed to be teaching him, so he can take the blame this time. 

…well, maybe Lloyd’s the one who keeps losing his grip on the katana, but that’s not quite his fault, either.  

Kai is better than basically any swordsman on this side of Ninjago in years, if not all Ninjago. Lloyd knows this because Uncle Wu told him so, and because Kai wipes the floor with him the first, second, and twenty-ninth time they spar.

“The point is to keep your grip on the katana, you know,” Kai says, as Lloyd retrieves his sword from where it went flying (again). “What kind of hold it that supposed to be, butterfingers deluxe?”

“You said not to grip it too tight,” Lloyd complains. 

Kai rolls his eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause you had it in a death hold. I didn’t say, ‘let go and let it fly’.”

“I didn’t let it fly, you knocked it out of my hand!”

“Aha, so you’re admitting I won. Again.”

“N-no!” Lloyd protests. “I’m just warming up. I’ll show you this time.” 

But as Kai takes his stance again, his own katana held with a kind of grace Lloyd has zero idea how to ever accomplish, Lloyd thinks he might be a bit of a lost cause. 

It’s difficult, because every time he goes to swing his sword, his power thrums in his blood, in his hands, always ready to lash out. It’s quickly become a habit, to start every fight slinging green blasts around. Lloyd’s already grown fond of the little bell-like sounds his power makes, the steady pulse as bright green builds in his palms. 

Lloyd is the Green Ninja, after all. His power is what makes him, well, him. He’s his own best weapon — he’s the one the prophecy needs to make things right.

Kai keeps putting weapons in his hands, anyways. 

Training katanas, mostly. He got to hold the Sword of Fire once, before his dad took it. It was beautiful — Lloyd kinda gets why Kai’s so up in arms about it getting stolen.

That and the whole don’t-give-Garmadon-the-Golden-Weapons thing.

Kai seems confused that Lloyd remembers it, which is weird because the Golden Weapons are kind of a big deal, but Lloyd decides to chalk it up to all the other weirdness in his life. 

The first true katana Kai ever gives Lloyd is…not quite as cool as the Sword of Fire, and definitely not as beautiful, but in a way that Lloyd likes. 

“We’re kinda short on weapons,” Kai admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I don’t exactly have access to smithing equipment right now, which means you’re stuck with one of my old ones. Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Lloyd adjusts his hands around the hilt, taking an experimental swing. “This is a great sword!”

“Yeah, okay, liar — and don’t swing it around like that, you look like you’re waving a pool noodle.” 

Kai grabs his hands, forcing Lloyd’s arms to hold steady.

“Like this, okay?” Kai says. “We’re gonna start by practicing single movements.” 

“Aw,” Lloyd visibly wilts. “More katas? I thought I was gonna get to learn some cool moves.”

“This is a cool move. If you’re good, you finish things in one hit,” Kai says. “One strike, and the fight’s over.”

“Like a headshot,” Lloyd nods.

“No,” Kai rolls his eyes. “This is not a video game. This is a real sword, and you’re going to learn to use it right.”

“And then we can do the cool moves?”

Kai narrows his eyes. “Do your katas or I’m firing you.”

Lloyd sticks his tongue out at him. “You can’t fire me. I’m the Green Ninja.”

“Yeah? I’ll demote you to Green Washer-of-Dishes for the rest of the month.”

“No! You can’t, Nya and I have a deal!” 

Jokes aside, Lloyd is sure to remind Kai, as he scrubs dishes and Kai dries them, that he does take training seriously.

He takes all his training seriously. It’s kind of his only job. 

Lloyd practices hits until his knuckles split and scab, masters high kicks with shins colored violent blues and purples, forms green starbursts in his hands until his fingers crack and bleed. 

When his palms blister from the sword hilt on top of it all, Kai makes him hold still until he’s wrapped the first-aid bandage around his hands at least five times, then shoves his old gloves on him when he starts to form calluses.

He wants to argue that he doesn’t need them, but Lloyd still wears the gloves everyday and tucks them away each night, storing them with the other few, treasured things he’s been gifted.

______

The longer he trains with swords, the more Lloyd gains calluses and nicked fingers and perpetually smells a little like cloves. 

That last part Lloyd enjoys, though he’ll never admit it. He’s not about to go and tell people he enjoys cleaning stuff, no thanks. 

But there’s something nice about helping Kai take care of the katanas, in a relaxing sort of way. The wood-smoke tang of cloves smells like home, which Lloyd treasures, because home isn’t something he’s very used to. 

Treasures is probably an understatement. Lloyd latches onto it like he’s starving. Part of it’s because this is something he gets to have with Kai, all by himself. He’s never had something like that before, either — a special thing that’s shared just with him. 

Well, maybe besides the green gi, but the Green Ninja is something that belongs to everyone. Whatever Lloyd does when he puts the green gi on is everyone’s business, since it determines the fate of the world or something like that, and it doesn’t really even feel like his. Not yet, at least. 

But sitting cross-legged in the weapons room while Kai teaches him how to clean katanas without damaging them — that belongs to Lloyd. 

He learns a lot with it too, because Kai always starts rambling about ten minutes in — not the confident, cocky way he does sometimes in front of everyone else, but in an honest way that Lloyd isn’t entirely sure he even means to be. 

“—not the best oil, but it works when you’re in a pinch. S’what my parents left behind, at the shop, so it’s good enough.”

Lloyd looks up at him, curious. He keeps quiet — Kai and Nya don’t talk much about their parents, if at all. Lloyd gets it, of course, but it makes the little tidbits they share valuable. 

“I don’t remember a lot about my parents,” Kai continues. “But I remember some things. About my dad. He was a great smith, I know that much. Could make about anything. Swords were his favorite, though.” 

Uncle Wu’s candlelight casts Kai’s eyes with a glow that makes it seem like he’s on fire himself, flickering and fading. He looks very far away, all of the sudden, and Lloyd has the urge to grab for his arm and make him stay here. 

“Guess I latched onto that,” Kai smiles ruefully, and he’s back again. “Never could reach his level, but I learned how to make an okay sword.”

Lloyd chews on his lip. He knows all about latching on to your parents — wanting to be great at the things they are.

That maybe, if you’re good enough, they’ll be proud enough to come back. 

He doesn’t think that’s a happy thing to say, though, so he tells Kai instead, “I think your swords are great.”

Kai’s lips quirk. “Uh-huh. Then you better treat them like it.”

“I do,” Lloyd protests. He gestures at the katana across his lap. “See? I did it perfect this time.”

Kai nods his head at a spot Lloyd noticeably missed. He flushes.

“Almost perfect.”

“Practice, young student,” Kai says, in a gravely voice that’s probably supposed to sound like Uncle Wu. “A thousand hours of practice for you.”

“Ugh,” Lloyd groans. “All I do is practice. Practice practice practice, and then I’m still not enou—”

He cuts off. Oops. Maybe Kai’s honestly is a little too contagious. 

Kai goes quiet, hands stilling on the katana. There’s a deep furrow between his eyes as he stares at Lloyd, in a way that makes him feel a little like a bug under a microscope. Or that Kai can see right through him, which is bad, because all Lloyd’s got in him is a bunch of tangled thoughts and worries and nothing an actual ninja should have. 

“You know,” he says, carefully. “We probably need to stock up on the good oil. I’m kinda running low.”

Lloyd knows darn well Kai has enough choji oil to get them through an apocalypse. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kai nods. “If we go now, we can probably hit the convenience store, too. Get a sugar boost before—”

“I’m in!” Lloyd shoots to his feet before he can stop himself, any protests forgotten. Training has included a healthy diet lately, so Lloyd doesn’t collapse and pass out because his blood’s eighty percent sugar — Zane’s words, not his. 

If he needs to get his blood sugar up, why can’t he just eat sugar all the time? It makes no sense. 

“Do not tell the others,” Kai hisses, as they make their way into the city. “Especially Cole, if you don’t wanna lose your sweets before you can take a bite. We’re just getting polish for katanas, as far as you know.”

“I know nothing,” Lloyd says obediently. “Hey, do you think we could use olive oil on the katanas?”

Kai’s stare could heat iron. “I’ll kill you.” 

“It was a joke! A joke, heh.”

______

For all that Lloyd’s life revolves around training to defeat anyone and everyone, the guys are still weirdly protective. Over anyone and everyone, including Lloyd himself. 

“C’mon, I can handle the cool attacks,” Lloyd complains, as Kai drags him into place.

“They’re not cool — okay, they’re kinda cool — but that’s not what we’re learning now,” Kai sighs. “You’re learning Aikido. Well, a form of it, technically. It’s focused on defending yourself, but in a way that lessens the chances of injuring your attacker.”  

Lloyd frowns. “Isn’t that counterintoo — counterintuitive?”

“Big words today,” Kai mutters. He shakes his head. “And it’s counterproductive, by the way, but — no,  because now that we’re training, half your attackers are us, and I’d like to leave practice with my arms intact.”

Lloyd grins. “So you’re admitting I’m better than you.” 

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Kai says pointedly.

“Don’t need to. You’ve already admitted defeat.”

“And, brat—” Lloyd yelps as Kai digs his knuckles into his hair. “Defending yourself is incredibly important.”

As they settle back into position, Kai pauses, a muscle in his jaw working. He looks as if he’s having an internal argument with himself, before finally sighing. 

“The thing about any weapon, but especially swords,” he says, correcting Lloyd’s grip on the katana. “Is that they can be used a lot of ways. But the one thing you never, ever want to forget—”

And Kai’s tone grows serious, his jaw tensing again. “Is that they can kill.”

Lloyd looks down, to the sharp edges of the blade. It suddenly feels a bit heavier, and the room just a bit darker. 

“The way we’re training you, the way we were trained, we don’t always — we try to avoid it.” Kai’s voice wavers, and for a moment, Lloyd remembers that Kai isn’t all that much older than he is. 

Well, now, especially. 

“But sometimes, it’s…you don’t really…well.” He lets out a breath. “This is a sword. It can take a life really quick, if you aren’t careful. And sometimes, you don’t get the choice to be careful or not.”

Lloyd swallows. He hasn’t thought about it much — hasn’t wanted to, but it lives in his mind like a terrible itch he can’t get rid of. 

He’s no stranger to the idea of killing someone. Darkley’s was blunt as it was cold. But as a ninja, it’s suddenly realer than it ever was in school. 

As the Green Ninja, with his destiny drawn out in front of him, it’s pretty much unavoidable. 

He’s going to kill his father, or he’s going to die. 

Kai’s hands grab tight around his shoulders. “We’re gonna do everything we can to make sure you don’t end up in that situation, okay?” He gives Lloyd a small, strained smile. “Don’t ever feel like you have to change who you are, just ‘cause you’re a ninja now.”

How do you know who I am, Lloyd wants to ask. How do you know I’m not a murderer? How do you know I’m not awful? 

Kai’s eyes are impossibly kind and far, far too knowing. 

“But,” and his tone grows serious again. “If it’s your life or theirs.” 

Lloyd feels a bit like the oxygen’s been sucked out of the room. 

“Promise me. You have to promise — you will always, always choose your own.” 

Lloyd stares back. Kai gives him a little shake.

“You promise me?”

Finally, as if moved by puppet strings, Lloyd nods. 

“I promise,” he rasps. 

Kai looks relieved, but it’s not quite in a happy way. “As long as you come back alive, that’s what matters. I don’t care what else happens — you come back alive, and we’re good.” 

“Okay,” Lloyd says. His eyes feel wet. It’s strange, someone caring so much about something like that.  

“Which is why,” Kai says, finally stepping back as his tone lightens. “You’re gonna nail that block this time. Or I’m making you polish every weapon in the dojo again.”

“Oh, no,” Lloyd stares at him in horror. “I’ve been practicing that stupid move for hours!”

“And you’ll be cleaning weapons for hours if you don’t get it.” 

“You suck,” Lloyd grumbles. “Worst teacher of all time.” 

“Uh-huh,” Kai claps him on the back, and Lloyd lets out his own sigh of relief at the lightened atmosphere. “You’re the one that picked swords, buddy.”

______

Kai’s a hypocrite, though, and Lloyd could hate him for it, because as they slide down the snowy mountain-side, Lloyd’s body clashing against his family in ways he’d never, ever let it if he had control, he has to watch as Kai — again — chooses a life other than his own. 

Because Kai doesn’t have the experience Morro does, but he’s better with a sword, he’s better than anyone Lloyd knows, and he loses. And Lloyd’s arm drags the Sword of Sanctuary up and Kai is a stupid, stupid, stupid hypocrite—

Lloyd’s angry enough that tearing control back from Morro is easy. 

He knows a thing or two about swords himself, and Morro’s holding it wrong, anyways. 

______

Training had already taken a hit after they lose Zane, for obvious reasons. Everything had taken a hit after they lost Zane, and between the tournament and Morro and everything else Lloyd’s pointedly ignoring, it’s suddenly been ages since he’s had a proper sword lesson. 

Kai decides to make up for it by finally teaching him the fun stuff. 

“Don’t — call it that in front of Cole,” Kai grunts over the loud screech of metal on metal. His knee bends, just the slightest tell—

Lloyd falls back, dancing away from Kai’s returning strike. He knows now, just how dangerous Kai can be — he’d like to forget it, but it’d be doing him a disservice. 

Besides, Lloyd’s had his body dragged left and right over Ninjago, used as the worst kind of weapon to hurt the people he loves, and they still trust him. Being on the dangerous end of Chen’s stupid staff is nothing to being on the dangerous end of a katana Kai’s made himself, and Lloyd’s determined to hold onto the faith he’s had since that day in the volcano. 

Kai won’t hurt him. 

He’ll kick his ass in training, though, so Lloyd had better get back with the show. 

He retaliates with a feint to the right — too obvious for Kai, but enough to steal his attention for Lloyd to land a high kick to his side.

“Watch that,” Kai scolds, forced two steps backs. 

“Why?” Lloyd grins over the edge of Kai’s blade as he catches his blow dead-on. “Scared I’m gonna beat you too soon?”

Kai snorts. “You aren’t beating me at all, shortstack—”

“Not short—”

“And,” Kai’s katana moves so fast Lloyd barely manages to dodge, rolling into a somersault before surging back up to meet his backstrike. “You’re advertising your weak point.”

Lloyd frowns. “S’not a weak point.”

Kai’s katana flashes — Lloyd moves right just before he realizes it’s a feint, cursing himself — then the hilt of his katana is smacking hard against a bone in his right ankle. 

There’s a hot flash of pain as his body completely betrays him, his ankle buckling and sending him stumbling with a yelp.

Kai’s expression isn’t gloating, at least. On the downside, he has that sad kind of look that usually means he’s feeling guilty. 

“It’s not usually that bad,” he tries, even as his cheeks flare hot. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kai shakes his head. “You need to protect that. Make sure no one knows it’s a weak point but you. Putting it in reach of your opponent is a bad way to do that.” 

Lloyd grits his teeth, but he knows Kai’s right. He’ll never regret pushing himself the way he did, clambering up the tower steps on a broken ankle. The fate of Ninjago was a lot heavier on his shoulders than any thoughts of consequences. 

It still sucks, that it’ll never heal quite right. 

But it isn’t like he’s the only one with an old wound turned weak spot, he reminds himself, as he wraps his aching ankle once again. Jay’s got zig-zagging lightning scars all down his arms that ache during heavy rain. Nya can only rotate her arm so far before her shoulder goes numb, a souvenir from a broken arm. Cole’s the worst, maybe, with how he’s strained himself lifting impossibly heavy weights, fractured fingers and broken bones that throb in the cold. 

Kai’s got his own share of weaknesses, though he works hard to hide them. Lloyd’s managed to pick out most — some of them he’s helped treat himself.

He doesn’t like to think about those times, though.

“So I’ve got an idea for a move,” Kai grins at him, once Lloyd’s ankle is stable. “It’s gonna take some timing, but since I don’t have a weak spot there — you’re gonna run and launch.”

Lloyd tilts his head. “Launch off your right ankle?”

“No,” Kai rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna go down for a handspring. When my legs are low, you’re gonna jump on, so when I shoot up—”

“Ooh, I go flying,” Lloyd concludes. 

“Exactly.” 

“Let’s do it! I’m gonna look so cool—”

“Okay, but we’re gonna look stupid as it gets if we don’t get the — timing, timing!” 

It takes about five tries to get it right. That’s all they agree on admitting to — the less said about the forgotten sixth and seventh tries, the better. 

But on try eight, Lloyd finally feels his left and right foot connect with Kai’s just as he hits the lowest point of the handspring — and this time, he remembers to bend his own knees and launch up, and with a sudden weightlessness, he’s flying. 

“Slash, slash, don’t forget to slash!”

 Years of training are the only reason Lloyd’s able to get his arms to obey him fast enough, the wind-up pulling on his shoulders before he sweeps the katana down, slashing out—

“Yes!” Kai’s cheer abruptly turns to a yelp as he loses his balance, crumpling to the floor. Lloyd’s already sprawled across the training mats, since landing was a whole lot harder than he’d planned for — but the training dummy is cut in half. One perfect hit. 

“Now, if we can just manage that in an actual fight, we’ll look awesome,” Kai grins.

Lloyd glances at him. “Are you gonna fall flat on your face then, too?”

Red stains his cheeks. “No,” Kai sputters. “That was — you didn’t see that.”

“Uh-huh,” Lloyd snorts. He tilts his head, considering the unfortunate training dummy. “Y’know, I bet I can manage a flip in there,” he mutters. 

Kai shrugs. “Yeah, probably.” He lips quirk up. “It’d look pretty cool. Y’know what, let’s go for it. I wanna see the look on Jay’s face when you flip down on him during sparring.”

______

It takes Kai all of ten minutes into the next fight to start regretting that one. 

“Got a runner!” Jay calls, as one of the thugs they’ve been rounding up breaks loose from where Zane’s kindly explaining the terms of surrender and Cole’s standing with his lava punch ready to show them what happens if they don’t agree. 

“I got ‘im!” Lloyd calls, darting after the masked man. 

He tugs his katana free from its sheathe, mind already racing. The time spent on his own, guarding his own back, gave Lloyd the rare opportunity to learn things in ways the guys probably would’ve had his head for.

With the lessons Kai’s drilled into him, the steady form of swordsmanship driven into his nerves, Lloyd’s found a creativity in tweaking things to match his style. 

So when the thug sprints past a number of abandoned boxes, scrabbling as he narrowly avoids stumbling on the concrete, Lloyd’s already got the perfect move in mind. 

Step, step, jump — tuck in tight, so there’s enough momentum to rotate at least twice — and bam, it’s like a wind-up toy. The more spins he gets in, the harder his landing is, disarming the guy with a perfect slash while kicking his teeth in. 

Neat and effective, in Lloyd’s opinion.

Sadly, his opinion is not shared. 

Kai sputters. “What was that?”

“Cool as heck, that’s what it was,” Lloyd grins. 

Kai is supremely unimpressed. “What did I say about wasting movements?”

Lloyd shuffles. “Don’t…do it?”

“Then why, exactly, did you feel the need to flip three — not one but three — times before striking?”

“Because,” Lloyd says. “It was cool. As heck.”

Kai pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Lloyd valiantly bites back any comments about him taking after Sensei Wu. 

“There’s a difference between adding your own flare,” he finally says. “And squandering your energy like a spinning top.”

“Squandering — spinning top—” Lloyd sputters. “Hey, I got the guy just fine, didn’t I? I didn’t squander anything.”

“And what’re you gonna do if someone wises up and snipes you mid-flip?”

“Who’s gonna snipe me, there are no snipers around, dummy—”

“There could be, hypothetically!”

“Hypothetically, please. You’re just jealous ‘cause you can only do two flips—”

“I can do sixteen if I want, I’m just smarter—”

Despite his arguments, Lloyd does resolve to try for restraint. Unfortunately, Lloyd’s also got the memory of a goldfish, so Kai should really know better. 

He just can’t help it. The next time they clash with a run-of-the-mill villain who’s stealing secret plans for bombs or whatever ridiculous thing it is that week, Lloyd finds himself on one building with the criminal on the next. 

The solution is obvious. Kai doesn’t agree. 

“FIVE FLIPS?! THAT WAS A THREE-FOOT DISTANCE!”

Lloyd carefully places the now-unconscious criminal on the rooftop, stands back up, and wisely back-flips the heck outta there. 

______

As his sword movements grow more complicated and the green power take a near-constant presence in his veins, the gentle pulse of energy as familiar as a friend, Lloyd grows stronger, too.

This kickstarts an entirely new problem, because Lloyd can’t go five steps without ruining something, it seems. 

In his defense, he doesn’t start breaking swords at a criminal rate until after Morro, so Lloyd’s gonna blame it all on him.

He stares blankly at the katana in his hands — or the remains of it, to be exact. Half the blade is somewhere across the street, where it went skidding after Lloyd’s final hit snapped it clean in two. 

Kai stares just as blankly when Lloyd wordlessly offers the pieces up. 

“Okay,” he finally says. “Maybe I went wrong with the balance, or something? This was probably just a fluke.”

He turns it over, frowning. “Wouldn’t hurt to reinforce the next one, I guess…”

Reinforcements or not, it takes the third shattered sword for Kai to wise on. 

“I’m so sorry,” Lloyd warbles tearfully, the remains of Kai’s careful metalwork cradled in his arms. “I don’t know what happened, I was just swinging it, and it went — it went—”

“It went in six different directions, apparently,” Kai mutters. 

Lloyd slumps. “It was only four this time,” he mutters. 

“I guess this is what we get for training you as well as we did,” Kai says. “Cole and his super strength, I’ll never be free of it.”

“Didn’t he beat you by tripping you flat on your face?”

“I don’t wanna hear it from you, oh cruel destroyer of my swords,” Kai scowls. 

“I didn’t mean to!” Lloyd protests. “I tried really hard this time, but the last guy had this giant bat, and I thought I could cut it in half, but I swung so hard I screwed up my strike and went…in six…different directions…”

Kai scrubs a hand over his face. He glances at Lloyd, eyes searching. 

“But you beat him?”

“Duh,” Lloyd says. The faith people have in him.

“And you didn’t get hit yourself?”

Lloyd shakes his head. “Not a scratch.” It’s not even a lie this time.

“Then I guess it was a noble sacrifice,” Kai sighs. “I can live with that.”

The katana’s sad remnants join the equally sad — and steadily growing — pile of scrap metal made by Lloyd’s awful sword skills. They have a pretty fun time melting it all down though, watching the metal bubble as Kai starts drafting the next run of layered steel he’ll shape into a katana. 

“I’m gonna be a master katana maker at this rate,” he huffs, wiping at his forehead. Lloyd, who’s hanging over the forge to watch the different colors the liquid metal makes, taps lazily at his knee with his foot. The forge flares brighter as Kai’s fire does, and he mumbles a distracted thanks. 

“A master hothead,” Lloyd says. Kai rolls his eyes. “If I ever figure out how to be a master swordsman, maybe you can take a break and figure out how to make other weapons.”

“Hey, I’m great at making other weapons.”

“Yeah, like ‘block of metal’ and ‘triangle of metal’ and ‘weird rectangle of metal’, and—”

“You’re gonna get a stick for next battle if you keep that up,” Kai growls, but his lips are twitching.

“Hypotenuse of metal,” Lloyd whispers.

“The heck, that’s not even a shape—” 

The forge grows steadily hotter as Kai works, bright sparks popping and steam hissing up in little curling wisps. It doesn’t bother Lloyd too much — ever since that day in the volcano, the press of heat is more like a second skin. He’s nowhere near as durable as Kai, of course, who could probably hop in the forge and come out with only a sunburn, but it’s enough to feel cozy instead of sweaty and dizzy. 

“Y’know, you don’t have to use a sword,” Kai says hesitantly, as he inspects a hammer. “There are a lot of other weapons that would fit your style. If you ever wanna try out a spear like Nya, that might suit you pretty well.”

“No!” Lloyd says sharply. Biting his tongue, he amends, “I’ve already been training with swords for forever. I don’t wanna change my whole style for something else.”

Kai eyes him shrewdly, but his lips finally twitch up in amusement. “If you say so,” he says. “But I swear, break my sword again and you will get a stick for your next weapon. Or chopsticks. A butter knife—”

______

Lloyd gets a new sword, of course. And another one. He might grouse and complain, but Kai doesn’t truly get angry about the swords. He does, however, get very angry over Lloyd’s total idiocy with what happens to said shattered swords. 

His first mistake is the usual one — Lloyd swings a bit too hard at a sloppy angle and there’s a high-pitched screech as the sword dies a sad death, splitting in two. 

Lloyd stares blankly at the now much-shorter katana in his hands, which is his second mistake. The delay costs him, and he scrambles to duck the thief’s vicious punch, their own sword having been knocked away in the scuffle. Their boot comes up, swinging for his head, and Lloyd springs back, landing palms-first on the floor and launching himself out of range. 

He also, unthinking, drops the broken katana — mistake number three. 

His fourth mistake is the worst one possible, because Lloyd brings his hand up to block what he’s sure will be another punch, only to get slashed by the jagged end of the katana he just dropped.

A sharp, burning pain explodes across his hand, and Lloyd stifles a shriek. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid move. 

The thief comes in for round two, Lloyd’s own snapped katana glinting in the fluorescent building lights, and Lloyd freezes. It occurs to him that he should probably just go ahead and hit the thief with an burst of green, but that’s also when Kai mows them down with a viciousness that reminds Lloyd — Kai always goes easy on him in training. 

“I had him handled,” he still protests, after the thief’s been hauled off to prison (or the hospital, possibly).

Kai ignores him, sheathing his katana and storming his way. 

He grabs Lloyd’s hand before he can protest, pulling back the torn fabric of his glove and slapping his own hood against the gash on his hand to stem the bleeding. 

“What did I say,” Kai says angrily. 

Lloyd flinches at the stinging pain in his hand, and tries to glare back. 

Kai’s having none of it. “Your sword is supposed to take the hits,” he snaps. “Not you!” 

“It did take the hit,” Lloyd finally throws back. “I just broke it, and — I was fine!”

“You hand’s bleeding all over my hood, that is not fine!”

“Then take your hood off and it won’t get blood on it!”

“My hood isn’t what I’m worried about!”

By the time Zane’s stitched Lloyd’s hand up, wincing barely kept at a minimum, Kai’s cooled down.

Somewhat. 

“It was an accident, okay?” Lloyd says, for the billionth time. “I didn’t realize he had a weapon. I wasn’t trying to sacrifice my hand, or whatever.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Cause that sounds a lot like something you’d do.”

“Coming from you, that’s somewhat hypocritical,” Zane murmurs. 

Lloyd snickers. Kai turns to Zane in utter betrayal. 

Of course, this means that Lloyd’s next lesson is how to treat sword wounds in emergency situations, in painstaking and excruciating detail. His hand stings every time he grasps the katana handle for solid week, though, so Lloyd takes equally careful notes.

______

Lloyd goes and breaks another three katanas after that. At this point, he kinda thinks Kai should just give up and let him go into battle weapon-less again. You don’t need weapons to do Spinjitzu. The green power won’t break, and Lloyd certainly won’t split into six pieces.

(He hopes.)

Kai keeps putting swords in his hands anyways. 

Lloyd could always just say no — he’s supposed to be leader or something, he can make his own decisions.

But he thinks of sparring sessions and smelling like cloves every other evening, thinks of the tiny dragons Kai still takes the time to carve into his katana handles, and throwing all that away would feel as great as sawing off his own arm. 

So he picks the katana up, does his stupid katas, and promises to do better this time.

That doesn’t magically fix things, of course. 

“How,” Kai says blankly, staring at the katana that now lies in a record eight pieces. 

“Um.” Lloyd twists his fingers together. “I definitely didn’t use it to prop open a door like you said never to do.”

Kai gives him a smile that shows exactly all of his teeth. 

“You have five seconds to run.”

______

All that training on treating sword wounds pays off. Possibly more than learning how to fight with a sword in the first place, when Kai drops in the middle of battle with a wicked slash across his lower thigh. 

“Of all the — stupid, embarrassing—”

“Shut up,” Lloyd says tightly. He’s already focusing half his energy on not throwing up at the amount of blood soaking between his fingers where they’re pressed tightly over Kai’s leg. “Stop moving, I gotta see if it — if it hit an artery.”

“It better not have,” Kai pants, wincing as Lloyd presses down harder. “If it hit an artery I’m screwed.”

“Shut up.” 

Lloyd’s heartbeat is a thunderstorm in his ears, panic welling up in his throat as Kai’s blood swims in his vision. 

“Hey, hey,” Kai’s hand falters, then clasps Lloyd’s own. “M’gonna be fine. Takes a lot more than a stupid leg wound to take me out.” 

“That’d be so lame,” Lloyd breathes, somewhat hysterically. He’s torn his own belt off for a tourniquet, which is step one, he thinks — hood can go around the actual wound, and if he steals Kai’s belt, then he can double reinforce it— 

“I can always cauterize,” Kai says shakily, sounding like he’d rather do anything else in the world. “It’ll be — move!”

Lloyd manages to roll them both out of the way as the assassin who nailed Kai comes in to finish the job, sword scraping sparks across the rooftop. Lloyd flashes a furious glare over his shoulder, mind racing as he holds himself in front of Kai. 

“Here.” The familiar hilt of Kai’s katana slaps against Lloyd’s open hand — the other is quick to follow suit. “Remember, double wielding — better for defense.”

Lloyd nods on instinct. He adjusts his grip on both swords, the blood on his fingers making the hilts tacky and sticky. It’s going to be a pain to clean later, a vague part of his mind notes. 

Of course Lloyd remembers dual wielding. It is better for defending, but you lose power on striking and reach — he can deal with that. Kai does. 

And it’s exactly what he needs, right now. The assassin won’t even get close to Kai.

One spin, then another. The katanas’ weight is familiar, balanced in the slightly-weird way Lloyd likes best, the way Kai makes all his swords. He finds his footing, finds the stance, and moves.

When Kai fights, he fights like the first flash of flame from a match strike — quick and bursting, fast enough it all but blinds the enemy. 

When Lloyd fights, it feels like dancing — slower to start, picking steps deliberately, building to that bursting strike faster and faster. 

It only takes one strike, after all. And Lloyd’s got two swords. 

Silver flashes across the rooftop, a piercing screech as one of his katana meets the assassin’s broader blade, forcing it back—

The assassin drops with a cry before falling silent, the shattered pieces of a katana scattered around him. 

“Saw that…one coming,” Kai moans. 

Still breathing heavily, Lloyd tries not to cringe.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, after Kai’s securely in a hospital bed and enduring Nya’s forty-five minute lecture about the many ways your arteries can kill you. 

Kai waves his hand, slightly cross-eyed and loopy from medication. “Y’know what? I wanted a new sword anyways. You saved me, so…skip the lecture and we’ll call it square?”

Lloyd lets a small smirk crawl up his face. 

“You know, I feel like there’s something very important you should keep in mind, about your weapons taking the hit, instead of you—” 

“When I get out of here, you’re toast.”

______

“I think I know where I’m going wrong,” Kai says. 

He’s spent the weekend with his father, the two of them either shut up in the forge or buzzing and forth about blacksmithing. It leaves Lloyd feeling a little weird — some mix between happy for Kai and achingly jealous, which then leaves him mostly just sad, which sucks. Lloyd sucks — it’s terrible to feel that way. Everyone was happy when Lloyd got both his parents back after that first battle, and even if he’s lost that — the least he can do is be happy for Kai and Nya. 

It ends up working out pretty great in the end, because Kai looks a little like he’s unraveled the mysteries of the universe right now. 

Half his right eyebrow is also scorched off, but Lloyd decides not to mention it for now. It’ll be funny to see the look on his face, when he notices. 

“I was talking with my dad, who’s got a lot more experience with this stuff, and he suggested something,” Kai continues. He fiddles with whatever he’s got hidden behind his back, and Lloyd has to stifle the urge to dart around him and see. 

“No more katana,” Kai says. “You’re good with ‘em, but I think we need a change-up.”

“You mean good at breaking them,” Lloyd mutters.

“If the sword breaks on you, it’s my fault,” Kai says. “I’m not exactly the world’s best blacksmith. Y’know, you should really think about getting someone else to—”

“No.” Lloyd bites his tongue immediately, aware of how bratty he sounds. 

And selfish. It’s not like Kai has tons of time to just make Lloyd swords all the time. 

As if reading his thoughts, Kai scuffs his hair. “Stop that. I like making swords.” The small edge of a smile pulls at his lips. “I worked pretty hard to become a blacksmith. So it feels kinda good, that someone appreciates the work for once.”

He shakes his head. “Anyways! Meet your new battle buddy. This is called a dao sword.” 

Lloyd stares at the curved, silvery blade Kai’s handed to him. It’s thicker than the katana he’s used to, the blade growing broader at the end before tapering off. 

“Historically, it’s better suited for quick slashing, but it’s fairly versatile,” Kai continues. 

Lloyd carefully lifts the sword, his eyes widening just a bit. 

“And heavier,” Kai grins. “Which means it’s gonna be at least a little more difficult for you to shatter.”

His hands fit easily around the handle — there’s plenty of room for a two-handed grip, and enough balance if he wants to switch back to one. 

“The guard’s a bit better with protection, and it’s got this tassel here you can wrap around your hand — yeah, like that — to help keep it steady. Or just look fancy.”

Stepping back, Lloyd adjust his hold. Normally he’d do something silly, or needlessly complicated, just to make Kai roll his eyes, but something about this one feels heavier — he doesn’t want to mess it up. He takes a single, experimental swing instead. 

“Oh,” Lloyd blinks. “It’s sharp.”

“I’d hope so. What do you think I am, a half-rate blacksmith — don’t answer that, by the way.”

Lloyd simply grins, taking a few more swings. It is heavier than the katana he’s used to, broader and chunkier — but it feels at home in his hands. 

“It’s incredible,” Lloyd says, turning back to Kai. “Thank you.”

Kai colors, just a bit. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying! I love it. It’s perfect.”

“Well, as long as it holds up, that’s good enough for me,” Kai says, rubbing the back of his head. “Wanna give it a test drive?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd says. “I bet I can do even more flips with it.”

“And stab yourself in the leg in the process, but sure, go ahead, squander my gift—”

______

Lloyd’s careful, more so than ever, with the dao sword. When they all split across Ninjago, Lloyd clings to the piece of his family and tries to remember Kai’s instructions, making sure his hands are firmly wrapped and his right ankle always stays low. 

So when it breaks on the river with Harumi, Lloyd wants to cry.

He wants to cry for a lot of other reasons, but it still hurts — another thing he cares for that Harumi’s managed to break so easily. It hurts that they all work so hard, time and again, and it always ends up shattering around them anyways. Hurts that they pour themselves out for this city again and again and it’s still not enough. 

(Hurts that he’s never, ever going to outrun that worthless little kid in the snow.)

He learns, later — he’s got much more to lose to her than just a sword. 

It hurts all the same.

But the sword’s broken and Lloyd’s on a one-way collision course with his father, and it’s much too late to turn back now. 

Lloyd enters Kryptarium Prison with nothing but himself and his power. It was enough the first time, it’s got to be enough this one as well. 

Lloyd was enough the first time — if he isn’t enough now—

If he isn’t—

______

He isn’t.

He throws himself against his father and shatters his heart with every hit. Then the rest of him goes and shatters too, ribs cracking and skin splitting as he’s battered through walls and bruised against stone. His power sparks and screams as it tries to save him, pushed to its limits.

A part of Lloyd finds it funny — he can’t even keep his power together. He wonders if he’ll snap into six pieces and fly everywhere, just like Kai’s poor katanas, with nothing left but broken pieces of Lloyd to melt down for scrap. 

Kai doesn’t find it funny in the slightest. Not the muffled voice Lloyd hears breaking as his family tries to put him back together, not the filthy embrace Lloyd gets when it’s finally over, not the multiple hour-long lectures Lloyd’s forced to sit through even three months out. 

“I don’t care how many swords you break,” he hisses, giving Lloyd a shake that’s forceful enough his teeth almost rattle. “I don’t care if you shatter a thousand. They’re supposed to protect you. You’re supposed to choose yourself. Don’t you ever, ever, put yourself out there to break again.” 

Lloyd must’ve broken a hundred promises by now. He can’t seem to do anything right, truly — not being the Green Ninja, not being a good brother, not being Garmadon’s son.

But, as he nods and makes another promise, he can try. 

For Kai, he’ll try. 

______

Things are different, after his father, but it’s the same way things are always different after their family escapes by the skin of their teeth. Each new threat leaves another lingering wound, but Lloyd likes to think it stitches them closer in the aftermath. 

With everyone’s attention so laser-focused on Lloyd after everything, it makes it easier for him to spot the others’ bad days. 

It only takes him five minutes to track down Kai this time. Lloyd carefully lowers himself cross-legged next to him on the floor, katana laid across his lap.

Kai tenses, as if preparing for another speech. 

Please. Lloyd’s methods are way sneakier — and better — these days. 

“So,” he starts, as he dips the edge of a rag in Kai’s choji oil. “I was patrolling today, and I saw like, a demon cat, I think? I mean, it was definitely a cat. It looked kind of like the one Zane used to feed when we lived at the apartment, all stripey and stuff. I was gonna try and pet it, ‘cause patrol was pretty boring and what was I supposed to do, ignore it? So I did the whole pspsps thing, and it was not a fan — and I swear, it hissed at me, and it looked just like my dad. When he's all Oni, y’know? Which is rude, cats are supposed to be comforting, not traumatic—”

Lloyd’s rambling grows more and more nonsensical as he goes, jumping from topic to topic as he works on the katana. He can feel the tension seeping out of Kai where he sits beside him though, bit by bit until Kai’s finally leaning against his shoulder. 

“Missed a spot,” he speaks up suddenly, his voice only cracking a little.

Lloyd squints at the sword. “Where?”

Kai taps a bandaged finger on the blade. 

“Oh,” Lloyd blinks. He adjusts the rag. “Thanks.”

 Kai speaks up again, after a minute, “You’ve gotten good at this.”

“Had a good teacher.”

There’s a faint snort. “Debatable.”

“With who?” Lloyd says. “I’m your number one sword student. And your only one. I win automatically.” 

“The others use swords. Sometimes.”

“Yeah, and Jay still whines every time the super special weapon-of-the-week to defeat evil ends up being a sword again,” Lloyd says. 

“S’cause Jay’s better with nunchucks. Totally different concept.”

“But he isn’t better with a sword.”

“Definitely not better than me.”

“I’m your best student,” Lloyd says. “Jay can’t be better than me. That’s illegal.”

“If the Green Ninja declares it,” Kai says, but there’s an edge of laughter in his voice, a thawing out of the numb blankness he’d worn earlier. He slumps, just a bit heavier, against Lloyd.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Kai mutters. 

“‘Kay.” Lloyd turns the sword over, squinting at his reflection. “Sometime, though?”

“If you can manage not to break anymore katanas before I finish your new weapon, maybe.”

“You guys won’t even let me out to fight,” Lloyd grouses. “It’s not as if I’ll have a chance to.”

Kai makes a huffing noise. “Maybe if you’d sit still long enough to heal—”

“I don’t wanna hear it from you,” Lloyd scowls. “Look, I know I messed up with — with her, but—”

“That’s not what this is about,” Kai says sharply. “It’s about you being okay.”

Normally, Lloyd would protest. Should protest — he doesn’t deserve to get off that easy. But Kai’s gone tense again, so he lets it go, just this once. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs anyways. 

“No, don’t. You’re doin’ good,” Kai sighs, and he sounds so very, very tired. “Just…take it easy, okay? ’Til I get your sword done.” 

“Sorry for breaking the old one, too,” Lloyd says. “I really did try to keep it safe.” 

“I’ll make you a hundred swords,” Kai says. “A thousand, if I have to. Just keep using them, okay? Swords are your weapon.”

Like Lloyd’s ever going to forget that, at this point.

______

It’s only after the Oni are more a memory and Lloyd has been subjected to an unholy amount of recuperation that Kai allows him to even see the sword he’s made this time.

It’s well worth the wait, though.

“It’s gold,” Lloyd murmurs, reverently holding the new dao blade. 

“Yeah, well,” Kai shrugs, a little bashful. “I thought you should match us, at some point.”

Lloyd has to try very hard not to pretend that doesn’t make a small, lingering part of him want to tear up.

“Is this jade?” he says instead, carefully tracing a finger over the single panel of green that decorates the blade. 

“Technically it’s jadeite, and no, you don’t wanna know where I got it,” Kai corrects. 

“I don’t care,” Lloyd says. “I love it. It’s the best sword ever. I — thank you, so much—”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Kai says quickly. “You’re welcome, or whatever, just — you’ll use it, right?”

Lloyd gives him a long, flat look. 

“You’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.”

“You are not allowed to joke about that—!”

______

The golden dao sword never breaks. 

It takes Lloyd several fights with it to stop holding back, but once he realizes this sword won’t shatter to pieces in his hands, he lets himself get creative.

And the sword holds, again and again. 

Against Aspheera’s burning soldiers, against the bitter chill of the Never Realm, against the Skull Sorcerer’s monsters in the depths of Shintaro, against the heavy weight of water and cold crystal — the dao blade holds.

Kai tells him it’s because Lloyd’s finally learned how to stop using his weapon as a glorified baseball bat. Lloyd thinks it’s because Kai knows blacksmithing for ninja better than anyone else in the world.

His powers grow, too — along with his options, which he’d really have preferred to just…avoid. 

Real fun that it wasn’t the many years of pent-up anger issues, but crippling traumatic grief, that’s the key to unlocking his shapeshifting abilities. Hilarious. 

It still stings, a bit, that no one ever bothered to tell him he was walking around with the blood of two mythical beings just chilling in his veins, Would’ve been nice to know, maybe, before he got stuck having a whole crisis about it smack in the middle of another world-ending crisis. 

Oni, dragon, Green Ninja. Like he needs another title.

In the end, it doesn’t matter much what he thinks. Everyone moves on and Lloyd is a multi-bred freak of nature, or something. 

His father thinks he should hone his Oni powers. Sensei Wu thinks he should listen to his father but also remember his dragon side. His mother thinks he should read the eight-hundred page historical brick of a book about all known history of the Oni and the dragon. He doesn’t have a clue what his great-grandparents think of him, except that a family reunion would be world-ending levels of terrible. 

Lloyd, who’s grown attached to looking like himself and happens to like being human, keeps reaching for his dao blade first. 

Swordsmanship is something he’s proud of. He’s worked hard for it, through blisters and bruises and blood. It’s something that belongs to him and Kai, something shared and freely given. Something passed onto him, something taught and earned, something treasured.

Lloyd doesn’t have a lot of things like that, so he treasures it all the more himself. 

Treasures the humanity of his family, and how lucky he is to be part of that.

Treasures the things he’s learned from them like family heirlooms he’s never had.

Treasures the fact that they’re there—

Treasures the—

______

The monastery is so quiet, Lloyd’s starting to understand how people lose their minds.

Not really. He hasn’t started talking to himself yet, so that’s a good sign, right? It doesn’t count, if you’re yelling for other people. Doesn’t count if you’re screaming curses at your stupid grandfather who let your whole world split apart and tore away the only people that were yours. 

“It doesn’t count,” he whispers to the sword in his lap. 

Lloyd stares dully at his reflection in the dao sword, marred by the splotchy wear and ugly chipping at the blade’s edges. It’s in miserable shape, worn down and neglected.

A lot like himself, maybe. 

He shudders, drawing in a breath. Sulking won’t sharpen swords. And when Kai gets back — which he will — he’ll be so disappointed that Lloyd’s gone and treated his sword like dirt. 

The smell of choji oil makes his eyes sting, but the familiar sound the rag makes across the blade soothes it. 

He’s glad he took the time to sharpen it up, too, when he visits the city. More than glad when he finds himself atop the train, his missing hood leaving him distinctly uncomfortable as he prepares to fight. 

Lloyd’s hands have warped and twisted, burst in purple and grown claws sharp enough to slice. If he can make them his own again, after that, he can make them hold steady now. 

The handle of the dao blade is worn and familiar, the fraying tassel the same bright green where it brushes the back of his hands, and Kai’s voice yells in his head as loud as ever as he swings it once—

One flip this time, he decides. One flip, one strike.

Swords are his weapon, after all. It’s important for him to remember that.  

And even if he doesn’t—

______

Lloyd’s grown up in a world of weapons, and far faster than he probably should. 

But with every sword swing, every familiar callous carved into his hand, Kai’s there to remind him that his sword is the weapon.

And Lloyd, power or no power, is just Lloyd. 

[randomshyperson]

Party Monster - Wanda Maximoff Kinktober #01

Summary: A Halloween party takes an interesting turn when Wanda reunites with her ex-girlfriend. Maybe she'll learn a lesson or two, or maybe she'll still be terrible at following orders.

Warnings: (+18), Dom!Reader with Brat!Wanda, ex-girlfriends who are not over each other at all, really rough smut with teasing and orgasm denial, a lot of cursing, power dynamics, toxic behavior, unhealthy relationship (implied), the “cheating vs we are on a break” dilemma, mentions of a party atmosphere but no explicit alcohol consumption mentioned, Ghostface mask during smut scene ‘cause I’m a simp for Amber Freeman. | Words: 2.688k

A/N- Someone needs to get slasher movies away from me, but I thought this would be a good theme for kinktober. And we started with dom!Reader too because it’s a tradition. Good reading by the way, your horny people.

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

It was definitely a bad idea.

Terrible, poorly thought-out, and reckless.

But Wanda finished putting the costume together and the final touch - the black gloves - made her take a deep breath, trying to gain a little confidence in her Halloween costume.

In the bedroom mirror, there was still a photograph that she knew she should have taken from there to at least fool herself that she could move on, but just as she had done dozens of times before, Wanda adjusted the item to prevent it from falling. 

Your smiling figure stares back at her, and Wanda sighs softly, ready to party.

She crossed the campus in half an hour, alone because the girls went ahead and honestly, Wanda wasn't that close to her friends nowadays. Not since the break-up anyway.

"Hey, Wanda!" The male voice shouting her name startles her for a moment. But she forces a smile as she is enveloped in a strong hug, Steve Rogers entering her field of vision in the next second. He looked drunk when she got a closer look. "Glad you could make it."

The forced smile begins to bother her face, so Wanda stops, swallowing dryly and trying not to look so uncomfortable. 

"Yeah, thanks." She mumbles awkwardly, nodding towards the open door, where the party seems even fuller and livelier. "Stark sure knows how to throw a party."

Steve laughs. "That he does." He says, looking ready to start small talk. Usually, he's as out of place as Wanda in crowded environments, but now he's got enough alcohol in his system to seem cool compared to the rest of the team's jocks, who stand out at parties with their eyes closed. "The guys are inside, come say hi and we can get you something to drink."

The non-existent details of the exact people who constituted the " guys " Steve was referring to made Wanda's stomach turn. But the blond had already grabbed her hand and was pulling her into the crowd, and frankly, Wanda wasn't going to make a scene.

She could handle the possibility of you being at the party, even if she hadn't seen you for four weeks. And three days, nineteen hours, and according to the clock by the beers, fifteen minutes.

"Guys, look who showed up!" Steve announces to the group at the ping pong tables. Wanda remembers the first year when you first visited the fraternity house and you made a joke about the number of expensive objects in the place, and she laughed even though she didn't really get the joke. God, she was so whipped back then.

The whole group looks at them at once. Wanda almost giggles at the scene, all the creative costumes are a sight to behold. Natasha in leather outfits similar to her sister's, or Tony in some kind of colorful armor. Thor dressed as the god after whom he was named, and Clint as a green archer. 

And then there was you, with a ghostface mask around your neck so you could get to taste your drink.

You almost choke on the liquid when you meet Wanda's gaze, and she could consider it a personal victory. At least you looked as affected as she was.

It's obvious that the atmosphere gets heavy. Everyone there knows that you two broke up and that it wasn't a pretty thing. Or easy.

And maybe that's why Yelena hides a tense laugh behind her glass of drink and Natasha rushes over to greet Wanda and put an end to the scene.

The only person Wanda really wants to greet tonight puts her mask back on. You drop the glass and leave without saying anything, making the mood even worse. 

Natasha clears her throat and strokes Wanda's arm gently. "Don't mind her, I, we, are happy to see you, sweetheart. I'll talk to her, enjoy the party."

It's sweet of Natasha to worry, but as the night goes on and you don't exchange a word, and you keep ignoring her, Wanda doesn't feel a bit better.

She tries to have a good time, but her gaze keeps seeking out your figure, which manages to evade her curiosity masterfully. 

You disappear for a good few minutes after beer-pong, and Wanda begins to consider leaving. So she dismisses Bucky Barnes' story about a mess with the rival team and decides to be miserable in her bed instead of at a party full of strangers.

She turns into the corridor and there's a Ghostface cornering a pretty girl at the bottom of the stairs.

Anger blooms and dominates her actions before she can think about it. She lunges forward and grabs the figure by the cap of the costume, hard enough to almost knock the couple over.

The male's shout makes her wince.

"Are you fucking mental?" Complains the stranger in confusion and indignation.

"I-I, shit, I thought it was someone else" She stammers with wide eyes, walking backward, away from the confused couple. 

The scene attracts the attention of a few people around, but she feels her back hit somebody and before she can turn around, two hands come around her waist and push her away from the angry guy.

Wanda blinks, and you shove him away harshly. "Back the fuck off, motherfucker." 

The man snorts indignantly. By now, half the party is staring at the scene.  "What the hell? She started it."

"And I'm finishing, fuck off." You cut him off coldly, and you probably wear that costume better than he does, because the guy hesitates and turns away to grab the girl's hand behind him, leaving without saying another word.

You turn your masked face to Wanda, and she feels hers burning with shame. All you do is shake your head in disbelief and take the hard way upstairs.

Wanda follows you without thinking about it.

She stops the bedroom door from closing with her hand and ignores your protest.

"I'm sorry-"

"I don't want to talk to you." You cut her off, holding up a finger. "I don't even want to look at you, Maximoff. Get the fuck out." You advance but Wanda is quicker. She closes the door behind her, and you end up pressing her into the wood by the arms. 

You sigh heavily, as affected as she is. 

"I thought it was you." She confesses in a shaky whisper, her hands trapped behind the body you kept squeezing. "I don't know what I'd do if I saw you with someone else."

You chuckle dryly, taking a step back. "Apparently you'd try to throw me to the ground."

Your attempt to pull away completely is interrupted - Wanda grabs your wrists, trying to get you to wrap your arms around her again. It becomes a struggle of pushing and impatient grunting. Until Wanda is forced against the bed, and her apologies break down into a dirty moan.

Your hand around her neck - in an attempt to get her to shut up and stop repeating what you don't want to hear - has a very different effect. 

You're on top of her, pinning her to the mattress with your own body. Wanda thinks you can feel how wet she is against your thigh.

"Don't make a fucking sound. I don't want to hear you, understand?" You warn, the loosest grip on her throat to allow her to breathe. Wanda nods obediently and has to bite her lip hard when you pull up her skirt, only to grope for her panties. 

Silence is an impossible task, especially when your fingers, so eager and familiar, thrust into her without warning. She squirms, throbbing in your fingerprints, and the sigh of pleasure is yours.

"Fuck, I've missed your pussy." You pant, fucking her carelessly, hard, and deep. The sound of Wanda's soaked arousal makes her ears burn - but she doesn't mind. She's busy trying to keep still, even when you're driving her over the edge so quickly. You notice, of course, and pull out as soon as she's ready to let go, and Wanda breaks into a loud whimper, her hips thrusting restlessly into the air.

You let go of her throat to grab her cheeks. "You're not going to come, Wanda. You don't deserve it. And you know why, don't you?"

Her pussy is throbbing, enough to be almost painful, knocking her out of orbit. All she can do is whimper, nodding; you let out a wicked chuckle. "And why don't you deserve it, darling?"

Of course, you'd make her admit it. Because everything so far hasn't been hell enough. Wanda turns her face away, and with her silence, a slap hits her pussy. She spasms, moaning loudly, her back arched in the mattress. 

She almost came in one go. Holding onto the edge at the last second.

"Oh god please." She whimpers shamelessly, and you grunt, watching the wetness ooze down her thighs, her pussy clenching against the emptiness in front of you. Wanda wants to come so badly that you almost feel sorry for her. "Just... one time. I'll do whatever you want."

You chuckle, and spread her legs a lit more to fit your body, pressing her against the bed. The friction between your joined hips makes her groan, trying to grind up onto you, but you remain firm, holding her still.

"Tell me." You demand. "Why aren't you allowed to come?"

She shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "I... I can't."

You sigh impatiently and walk away at once. Wanda almost cries at the lack of contact.

"Get out of my room."

"N-no, please-"

"Then say it!"

Despite her shame, Wanda swallows her tears. "I fucked up."

You chuckle coldly, busy opening a drawer. "Clarify it." You command, and Wanda only obeys because she knows very well what's in the last drawer of your bedside table, she can feel herself clenching for the feeling. With a dry throat, and looking brazenly at what you're wrapping around your waist, she retorts: "I fucked someone else." She murmurs, biting her lip when the hardness is properly fitted. You laugh dryly.

"Hm, and why did you do that?"

Wanda spreads out on the bed, a bait. You don't fall for it. She pants in anticipation. "I wanted to get a reaction out of you. We're on a break. I wanted you to regret it."

Your hand begins to slowly masturbate the dildo and Wanda lets out a shuddering breath, becoming even more aroused by the image. 

“I’m the one who will make you regret it.” It is your final clarification. But Wanda gasps.

"Take your mask off, I want to look at you."

But you chuckle again, darkly enough for Wanda to shudder. "What you want doesn't matter to me anymore."  You retort, and Wanda has no room for hurt now, the lust and longing for the feel of your body on hers taking over all her senses. "Get on all fours, you’re gonna watch yourself."

Wanda moves on trembling limbs, her face burning. She tries to ignore the mirror in the corner of the room, but as soon as you're behind her, your hand grabs her hair and forces her head up. 

The Ghostface mask stares back at her. "You're going to watch me fuck your needy pussy and you're not going to cum, Wanda. No matter how much you want it, how much you beg for it." You warn sternly, your free hand adjusting the toy at her entrance. "Because petty, selfish girls who ruin a three-year fucking relationship don't deserve to come, do they?"

She shakes her head, at this point, she thinks she'll agree to anything you say. And you must understand that pleasure has gotten the better of her because you start masturbating her entrance with the tip of the fake cock and it's enough for her knees to give way. She whines in a plea.

"Please-"

You sink into her at once, filling her to the brim and Wanda moans throatily, her hands clutching the sheets. The last time you were this deep, playing power games, Wanda squirted on the new sheets, and she's not sure that after going a month without touching you, she can stop it from happening again. "God."

You chuckle hoarsely, seeming to have the best time in the world with this. You pull out of her only to enter again, slow enough for Wanda to let out a sob. "Hold it."

"I-I can't." She cries out, choking on her own breath, and instead of taking pity, you sink in again, picking up a rough pace. Wanda would have fallen onto the mattress, but you grab her hair again and force her to watch what's happening.

"Look how beautiful you are when you're being properly fucked." You tease, your hips never failing against her. Wanda can only moan in return, each second more impossible to stop the knot in her belly from bursting. "I know no one makes you this wet, Wanda. No one knows your body like I do." To prove a point, your hand slips between her legs, and eager fingers flick her neglected clit exactly in the way that makes her squeal to the ceiling. 

Thank God for the loud sound of Tony Stark's parties.

Wanda is sure she's going to cum by now, and you can tell because you've been through this hundreds of times, and you know her body like the back of your hand. The fake cock slides out the second she's ready to let it go, and Wanda collapses flaccidly onto the bed with the lack of your hands while unable to hold back her tears.

"Fuck you, I hate you, I fucking hate you, you bitch." She babbled breathlessly, the frustration of her second stolen orgasm of the night making her groggy. You chuckle as she squirms on the bed, hugging her own body, and Wanda doesn't even notice that you've moved away just to lock the door.

Wanda is still trying to catch her breath when you remove the mask in one pull and kneel in front of her on the bed, between her legs which you pull open. 

You don't give her a chance to prepare, you move in and start eagerly fucking her pussy, ignoring how Wanda writhes on the bed and muffles her moans in the mattress. 

"Oh my god." She meows, her knuckles clutching the sheets, and the only thing stopping her thighs from closing against your head are your hands holding her tight. "I c-can't hold it, detka! 'can't-"

You stop again, and Wanda thinks she might kill you. This time, you sigh into her. "Hold it, or I swear to God I'll switch to another college."

Wanda is forced to chuckle at that. It's stilted and hoarse, and she knows there's a grain of truth in your words, but she does it anyway. Even more annoyed, you stand up. 

She despairs but is giggling nervously. "No, wait, babe, I'll behave, I promise."

It's your turn to chuckle, in disbelief at the scene. Wanda clung to you as if your departure was the worst thing in the world. 

"You're a lying brat, Wanda." You say, and despite the harsh words, your hand gently strokes her hair. Wanda sighs shakily, the redness in her cheeks showing how much she enjoyed the words. You push her hands away and take two steps back. Far enough, you quickly untie the item from around your waist. "I'm going back to the party. And if you want to cum tonight, you'll stay here. Waiting like a good girl."

She opens her mouth to protest, but you hold up a finger in warning, and the seriousness in your gaze is enough for her to know that if she disobeys now, you'll send her away.

Swallowing dryly, she lets you go, and when the door closes, she throws herself back on the mattress. 

Her body’s on fire, and the traces of your shampoo on the pillow don't help. She moans low, adjusting to touch herself. 

Maybe, just maybe, you won't mind if she comes while looking at your picture on the bedside table. 

[jetii]

Playing Pretend

Pairing: Wrecker x Twi'Lek fem!Reader

Words: 16,373

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fake married, (not) unrequited feelings, Wrecker yearning x1000, some negative self talk, big "get your hands off my wife!" energy, some minor jealousy, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink obviously, light dom!Reader

Summary: The mission is simple: infiltrate a lavish party, plant a bug, and get out. The only problem: Wrecker has to pretend to be married to you, and he's not so sure he can hide how much he likes it.

A/N: Happy Wrecker Wednesday! This is definitely the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written, down to the nonhuman reader bc I'm getting a little bored with humans. With this, we've officially reached the end of the fics I wrote before creating this account, and we're going out with a bang (literally).

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

This mission is going to be a disaster.

It's not that Wrecker doesn’t trust you, quite the opposite. You’re quiet, quick, and resourceful, and you’re one of the smartest people he’s ever met. You're built for infiltration, for gathering intel, and as far as the Batch is concerned, you have yet to fail a mission. So no, there’s no doubt in his mind you're the perfect spy.

It’s his own ability that gives him pause.

Hunter, Echo, hell, even Tech would’ve been a better pick for any sort of espionage mission over him. When Hunter informed them Wrecker was the one that was going with you, Wrecker laughed. A full belly laugh that brought tears to his eyes and left his face aching, because the very idea of him sneaking around, being stealthy, well, it was ridiculous.

It was so ridiculous he was sure Hunter had meant it as a joke, but when he saw the serious look on his face, the one that told him his brother meant business, Wrecker began to sweat. He hasn’t really stopped since. 

Lying and pretending are two things he’s truly terrible at, coupled with the fact that he’ll be alone with you, playing pretend with you, and he‘s been on edge ever since.

It doesn't help that Cid insisted the only way you could get close to the target is by posing as a married couple. One that are newlyweds, at that. 

Wrecker knows this is a job, just a job, but it's still you. 

He's still going to be touching you, and not because you need him to, or you want him to, but because the job requires it. And the whole thing just has him feeling weird. He knows you can fake being a couple, but he's not sure if he can.

As much as Wrecker hates lying and pretending, he really doesn't hate you. If he's being honest, he probably likes you too much. So that's why, when Hunter told him about the mission, and then later asked if he was alright with the details, Wrecker had said yes.

The look Hunter gave him told him that he didn't quite believe him, and Wrecker wasn't even sure he believed himself. After all, it's no secret he doesn't have the greatest poker face. He doesn't like lying, especially to his brothers. But he also doesn't like disappointing them, or disappointing you, and he's willing to do just about anything to make sure you're safe.

The rest of the night before the mission was spent planning and strategizing, which meant he didn't see much of you. He wanted to check in and make sure you were feeling good about the plan, but he never got the chance. 

Now, here he is, in a small, nondescript hotel room with you, the rest of the squad holed up in the Marauder and waiting on your signal. The room itself is nice, but small, and there's only one bed. He’d felt his nerves spike when he first saw it, but he forced himself to relax. If everything goes according to plan, you won't be sleeping in it.

There are other things he's more worried about, anyway. Like how he's going to pull this off, and how he's going to manage not to fuck up, and most importantly, how he's going to manage spending the entire mission trying not to get too wrapped up in you.

That last part is the hardest.

He's sitting on the bed, the holomap spread out on the small table beside it. Your target is a small-time gangster, and he’s having a party at his penthouse tonight, so it's the perfect opportunity to sneak in. All you have to do is go through the party, find the main office, plant a few bugs, and then get out. 

Easy peasy.

At least, that's what Tech said.

Well, he said a lot more than that, but Wrecker had kind of zoned out around the time Tech started talking about security cameras and frequencies. 

What he does know is the bugs need to be placed somewhere in the office, and the two of you will have to blend in and seem as natural as possible until you can make your way there. Easy for you, but Wrecker knows he'll stick out like a sore thumb, even if he isn't in his armor.

“You alright, big guy?” 

Wrecker nearly jumps at the sound of your voice, heart in his throat as he feels your hand gently grab his arm. He tenses underneath your touch. 

He can’t remember the last time you touched him, or even the last time the two of you were alone together. Probably because it hasn’t happened. He thinks he would remember if it had, because it feels electrifying. Your manicured hand, complete with a wedding ring, slides against the fabric of his suit. It takes everything in him not to shiver.

Then he turns to face you fully, and his eyes nearly fall out of his head. 

No, he’s not alright.

You look absolutely stunning.

It's not like you don't look stunning every day, you do, and even when you're in armor, or covered in dirt and grime, Wrecker thinks you're beautiful. But this...this is something else. It's not fair.

You’ve shared a bit about Ryloth during your time together, and you’d mentioned that ever since you left the hot planet, you felt cold. He’s never seen you without a jacket except that one time you’d been shot in your shoulder, and even then, he was more focused on keeping pressure on the wound and getting you to safety than on what you were wearing.

But right now, he can't focus on anything else.

He, embarrassingly, tends to ogle whenever any inch of your vibrant skin is on display. He walked straight into a wall the time you stretched in front of him, and your shirt rode up to reveal a hint of the curve of your stomach. When he saw your legs in a dress at 79s, he shattered his glass. He couldn’t help it. That was one of the first times he realized he had a problem, but it certainly wasn't the last.

You're just...so much, all the time, and you don't even realize it. He's gotten better at being discrete, or at least, he's better at hiding his reactions.

But this is so, so much.

Made of some fancy shimmering black fabric, the top of the dress left nearly your entire chest exposed along with your arms. With two thin straps to hold it up, he doesn't know how it's staying in place, but he's sure if he looks hard enough, he'll find out.

A deep cut runs down the middle of the dress, starting right under your clavicle and ending in a point just below your stomach. It's long, coming all the way down to your feet and flaring out, and there are two slits up either side of the dress, exposing your thighs as you move.

There's no denying it, the dress is tight, and Wrecker is trying so hard not to look, honestly, but it's like his eyes are glued to your body.

You mentioned you would have a weapon on you just in case, but looking over you now — admiring the way the expensive fabric clung to every curve of you — he struggles to imagine where it could be.

He swallows. Hard.

The hand on his arm lets go to reach up and hold one of your lek, shifting it so both were draped over one shoulder. You’d gone all out with decorating them as well. Sparkling straps of black crisscrossed up to a velvet headpiece that takes the place of your usual bandana, all coming to a point high on your forehead, where a deep blue jewel sits at your crown. It shifts slightly with the raise of your eyebrows, and he realizes he's been staring, and he’s still not saying anything.

Wrecker forces out the first words on his mind.

“Wow! You look—wow..."

You give him a small smile, a hint of color darkening your cheeks, and his heart thuds in his chest. He wants to make you blush all the time.

He reaches out and grabs your hand, lifting it above your head with ease. Wrecker turns you into a spin, and he’s rewarded with your cute laugh and the sound of the dress swishing as you spin. And then he sees your back, entirely exposed all the way down to the dimples at the base of your spine, just above the curve of your ass.

Holy shit.

He has to look away, letting go of your hand to rub the back of his neck, feeling a little light-headed. This is already not going well.

“You clean up well yourself, handsome,” you say between a laugh, and he blushes more than he already is.

Wrecker doesn't consider himself all that good-looking, especially compared to his brothers, but you've told him once or twice he's not hard on the eyes. You've also told him he has a nice smile, which had him grinning like an idiot for a solid day. He's still smiling now, because hearing you call him handsome makes his heart pound in his chest.

Still, he's not used to all the compliments. It's a lot, especially when they come from you.

"Tech and Echo did the best they could, I guess," Wrecker shrugs. The motion stretches the threads of his dark suit, and he grimaces. It's itchy, and too tight, and he hates it. He doesn't get how people wear these things all the time. "Not really used to the fancy stuff."

You tilt your head, looking him over. He resists the urge to squirm.

“C’mere," you tell him, beckoning him with your hand.

Wrecker does as he's told, and your hands grab his tie. The feeling of you tugging him closer by the silk sends a rush of heat through his veins, and he can’t help but grin down at you as he watches you adjust it for him. 

Your mouth is pursed, nose wrinkling slightly as you concentrate on getting it just right, even though you both know he'll likely mess it up in a matter of minutes anyway. You’re so cute, and you're so close, and it would be so easy for him to lean in and kiss you.

He's thought about it a lot, and he's almost done it once or twice, but then you'd pull back, or one of his brothers or Omega would come into the room, and the moment would be gone. It was probably for the best, considering he doesn't even know how you feel about him.

“Thanks," he mumbles.

You're still standing close, your chest practically touching his.

"Of course." The words are soft, and they leave him feeling hotter than ever. 

He looks away from you, and catches sight of the two of you in the mirror. Wrecker has always been a bit of a sucker for a good romance, and this? This is right out of one of his favorite holovids. You're both dressed in the finest clothes, him in a suit, you in a gorgeous dress, and it's just the two of you against the world.

Except, this isn't real.

There isn't any grand romance, and the feelings that threaten to burst from his chest are his and his alone.

“You really do look beautiful," he says, his voice a little rough, but honest.

You meet his eyes in the mirror. He watches as the corner of your lips quirk up, and you look almost shy. It's adorable, and a little confusing, because usually, you're not so modest. He wonders what changed.

"I—thank you, Wrecker."

"And I'll keep sayin' it till you believe me," he adds, because it's true.

"Oh, I believe you," you laugh, and the sound warms him to the core.

"Yeah?"

You nod. "Yeah."

"Good. 'Cause you really do. You look—" Wrecker swallows, and then shakes his head. He's getting distracted, and it's not good, not when the two of you have a job to do.

"So do you."

You give his tie one last tug, and then take a step back. Your hands smooth down the front of your dress as you look down at your shoes. He can't tell, but he swears you look almost bashful. It's so unlike you that he wonders if you're actually okay.

"You sure you're good?" he asks, concerned.

You hum an affirmative, and then you mutter, “Just already looking forward to taking this off."

The words are mumbled, barely audible, and he doesn't think you intended for him to hear. Wrecker blinks, and his gaze travels down the length of your body, and his mouth goes dry. His mind can't help but wander. It would be so easy for him to reach out, hook his fingers in the thin straps holding your dress up, and just...

"Yeah, me too," Wrecker admits quietly, the words falling from his mouth without thought.

A second passes. Two.

Wrecker's brain catches up to his mouth. He sees the shift of your jaw and the bob of your throat, and he wishes the ground would swallow him up.

"Uh, yeah, I mean," Wrecker starts, trying to backtrack and failing, "because I hate this thing, and it's not very comfortable."

It's not the worst lie he's told, but it's pretty far up there. Still, the look of relief that crosses your face tells him you believe it. Your arms are crossed over your chest, holding yourself in a way that suggests you feel vulnerable, and the realization makes his gut twist.

Wrecker doesn't want to make you feel uncomfortable, and he feels terrible that he has. He didn't even realize that the dress, and the mission, could bother you. You always seemed so put together, and confident, and not bothered by much, that he just assumed you would be okay. But, you're not, and now he feels bad, and stupid.

"We don't have to do this," Wrecker offers, rubbing the back of his neck.

You shake your head, and he can see you forcing yourself to relax. "I can handle a few hours."

Wrecker isn't sure what to say. He knows you're capable, and he doesn't think you would offer if you didn't think you could do it, but the way you're standing makes him wonder.

"But you know if you don't wanna, that's fine too," he adds, because it is.

Hunter would probably give him an earful later, but you were the priority, and Wrecker would deal with whatever punishment was necessary to make sure you were safe and comfortable. He doubted Hunter would be mad, anyway. They're family, and family looked out for each other, and you were part of the team, too.

You look at him, and then down at the floor, and then back up at him.

"It's fine."

Wrecker bites his tongue, but only barely.

You're not fine, and he can tell, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out why. There's a reason you've always been the one chosen for missions like this, even back when you were still an intelligence officer and he was barely more than a shiny. It's not just because of your training and experience, but also because of the way you look.

The thought makes him angry. It isn't right, and he hates that you've been forced into this position. Until tonight, he'd held out some misguided hope that you wouldn't ever have to be put in a situation like this again.

He knows you can handle a lot more than most, but you shouldn't have to.

"Really, Wrecker, I'm fine," you say again, and it's only then that he realizes he's been staring at you.

"Are you sure? ‘Cause if—"

You step forward, putting a hand on his chest and looking up at him. His eyes catch on the shine of your lips, and the warmth of your hand against his chest makes his heart race.

"If you keep asking me, I'm gonna start to think you don't want to be my husband," you tease.

"I'd love to be your husband," Wrecker replies without missing a beat, and he means it.

The words are true, even if the context isn't. It's the closest thing he'll get to a wedding with you, and that thought makes him want to scream. Instead, he settles on smiling, even as his heart races and his palms sweat.

"I'm sorry, I just don't wanna make you feel—"

"I'm kidding, ma sareen," you say, shaking your head, "I know. But really, it's okay."

He gives a slow nod, not sure how to respond. You've called him that before, and while he doesn't speak Ryl, he does know it's a term of endearment. One that he's overhead Suu say to Cut a few times, and one that you've used with him, and only him.

Every time, it makes him smile. But it's one thing for you to say it casually, and another entirely to say it in front of strangers, pretending to be married to him. He doesn't know why the thought makes his heart pound in his chest, or his ears grow warm.

"And hey, at least I have someone who can protect me, right?"

He grins proudly, and nods. That, he can do.

"You got that right."

"Then what's there to worry about?" you ask, a smile on your face.

That I might embarrass you, is what Wrecker wants to say, but doesn't. Instead, he follows you towards the door. You pause just before stepping through, looking up at him expectantly. He doesn't quite understand until you reach out and hold your hand palm up.

"Well?"

"What?"

"Give me your hand, Wrecker," you laugh.

"Oh, right," Wrecker stutters, slipping his hand into yours.

His hands are rough and calloused from years of fighting, but your hand is soft and gentle, and he tries his best not to squeeze too hard. You lead him out of the room and to the lift. You lean against him, your head resting on his shoulder, and his breath catches in his throat.

"Relax, big guy, you've got this," you whisper, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Wrecker hopes you're right.

He's not sure how long the two of you have been here. An hour? Maybe two?

Whatever it is, it's long enough that his face hurts from fake smiling. His shoulders are tense, and he keeps a steady hand on your lower back, not willing to let go.

As soon as the two of you had walked through the door, the guards had taken your weapons, and it had been the first time Wrecker had felt truly unsettled since leaving the ship. Not only was he unarmed, but now, you were as well, and he was responsible for keeping you safe. They'd even taken the knife you'd tucked into the holster on your thigh.

They'd also frisked you, and while it wasn't the first time, or even the first time for him, it was the first time he'd seen it done like that. The guard had run his hands up the inside of your thigh, his thumb dangerously close to places he never should've been touching, and Wrecker had seen red.

The man was lucky all Wrecker did was grab his wrist and pull it away, his grip tight enough to bruise. The guard had stumbled, his face red as he tried and failed to apologize. It didn't matter to him. The bastard wouldn't be able to use that hand for a while, and Wrecker hadn't felt bad at all.

After, he'd wrapped his arm around your waist and held you close. He knows he probably shouldn't have, but he needed the reminder that you were safe. He could pretend it was just for show, but really, it was to comfort himself.

It doesn't help that every eye in the room has been on the two of you since you arrived, and while the stares are likely directed at you, Wrecker still doesn't like it. It makes his blood boil, and his skin crawl, and all he wants to do is get out of here. He hates how uncomfortable and vulnerable it makes him feel, and the fact that it's affecting him at all is embarrassing.

You seem to be doing just fine, chatting with various people, laughing and smiling and, unfortunately, flirting.

Not with him, no. With all the men and women around you.

It's the nature of the job, he knows that, but it still sucks.

You're doing your best to blend in, and it's working. He just tries his best to keep up with you. He doesn't trust any of these people, not even for a second, and the tension in his shoulders doesn't ease, no matter how hard he tries.

This is the first time he's been in a party like this, and he doesn't think he likes it.

When Tech had said the target was having a party, he'd expected loud music, maybe some dancing. What he got was an old-fashioned cocktail party, the type he's only ever seen in holovids, and the kind where the rich and powerful mingle and talk about politics and money.

It's boring, and the people are rude, and the lights of the chandelier make his eye twitch. But worst of all, no one can take their eyes off you, and he can't blame them. Even after the initial shock of seeing you dressed like that has passed, his eyes can't help but trail down the length of your body. And while you're definitely the most beautiful person in the room, he thinks there's a part of him that doesn't want anyone else to see you.

At least there's good food. And drink. And while he would never dare touch you without permission, it's nice to know he can do so now.

So he's taken every opportunity to do just that, to let everyone around know that you're his. He's kept his hand on the small of your back, the curve of your hip, the bend of your waist, and he's made sure to be close to you at all times. You don't seem to mind, which is the best part, and it makes his chest swell with pride.

Your arm is tucked around his, your fingers laced with his own, and he loves the way you lean into him, like you need him, like he's a safe place for you. He doesn't know if you do, but it doesn't stop him from wishing.

Wrecker looks at the ring on his finger. It's a simple gold band, nothing fancy, and it reminds him that this isn't real. It's just for the job, and he has to keep reminding himself of that. Because if he doesn't, it'll be easy for him to lose sight of that. And if he loses sight, he might do something stupid, like kiss you, and he's not sure if he'd be able to stop.

"So, where did you two meet?"

Wrecker tears his gaze away from you and to the Twi'lek across from him, her blue lekku adorned with jewels. He has no idea who she is, but the two of you are getting along so well he doesn't want to interrupt. You're the only Twi'leks in the room, and he thinks that might be the only reason the two of you are talking at all.

"Oh, it's a little embarrassing, actually," you answer, a shy smile on your face.

You squeeze his hand and glance up at him, and his stomach flutters.

"Not really," he mumbles, cheeks warm.

"You don't think so, but I might," you giggle, and Wrecker can't help the way his mouth quirks up in a smile. He wants to kiss your forehead, or your cheek, or your lips, but he doesn't.

The Twi'lek woman laughs and sips her drink, leaning in close to listen.

"C'mon, tell me, I'm dying to know."

Wrecker's not sure what story you've told everyone else, so he's not sure if this is part of it, but the way you look up at him makes his heart skip a beat. You squeeze his hand again, and he wonders if it's supposed to be a sign. It's a little distracting.

"Well, um, we met when he saved my life."

Wrecker nearly chokes on his drink.

The Twi'lek raises a brow, glancing between the two of you. "Really?"

"Mhm."

"That's not embarrassing."

"Yes, it is. Because he saved my life, and instead of being grateful, I called him an idiot," you tell her, a blush rising to your cheeks.

It's the truth. When you were still an officer, your unit was under fire. You'd been separated from your squad, pinned down, and Wrecker had found you. He'd pulled you from your hiding spot and out of the way, and the two of you had barely escaped unscathed. But the first words you'd said to him were, 'You idiot, you almost shot me.'

In his defense, he was a little distracted at the time.

"What did you say to that?"

Wrecker shrugs, taking a sip of his drink. "Not much."

You look up at him, your eyes shining. "I mean, he did save my life, so I apologized, obviously."

"Obviously," the woman nods.

"And, um, well," you stumble, and Wrecker wonders what's making you so nervous. It's not like you to be caught off guard, but you seem almost embarrassed. "He's the kindest man I've ever met, and I was immediately charmed by him."

Wrecker can't hide the surprise that crosses his face, but he does his best.

"It was hard not to fall for him," you admit, a softness in your voice that wasn't there before, "and, well, here we are."

Your gaze meets his, and the tenderness in your eyes takes his breath away.

"So romantic," the woman sighs, and you nod in agreement.

"Yeah, it's...it's somethin'," Wrecker says quietly, his chest tight.

He doesn't think anyone's ever talked about him like that, let alone in front of a bunch of strangers.

You lean into him, a soft smile on your face. Wrecker's hand slides from your waist to rest on the small of your back, and his eyes linger on the curve of your lip, the slight shimmer on your cheek. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and your eyes drop down to watch the motion, and his heart thuds against his ribcage.

He can't help but wonder if maybe there's some truth to what you're saying. It's not like you've been lying the entire time, and Wrecker isn't naïve. He knows this is all part of the act, but the way you're looking at him makes him feel like you might mean it.

Wrecker can't help the way his mind wanders, or the way his stomach flutters when your lips brush his ear as you whisper, "You alright, darling?"

His breath hitches in his throat, and it's hard not to shudder as you trail a finger up his arm.

"Yeah, m'fine," he manages, the words shaky.

Your lips brush the shell of his ear, and he has to fight the urge to groan.

"We've got company," you whisper.

Wrecker tenses, scanning the room. It takes a moment for him to realize you mean the target. He's making his way through the crowd, and it's only a matter of moments before he's approaching.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kasta," he greets, an air of confidence in his voice, "welcome."

Wrecker nods at him, keeping his mouth shut. He doesn't trust himself not to say something stupid. He's already fucked up a few times tonight, and he doesn't want to embarrass himself. Besides, you're already taking the lead, smiling brightly at the man.

"Thank you for having us, Mr. Dralig," you tell him, giving a slight bow.

"Please, call me Bohme," he insists, returning the gesture. "Always a pleasure to meet such an esteemed couple as yourselves. You look ravishing, Mrs. Kasta."

You blush, and Wrecker fights the urge to roll his eyes. You are the most stunning woman in the room, and he can't imagine how this asshole could think otherwise, but the compliment still makes him bristle. He can't understand why you don't seem more annoyed.

"Well, thank you," you say, a hint of laughter in your voice.

"I do hope you're enjoying yourselves," Bohme continues, "the food, the music, the view."

The man's eyes linger on you for a moment too long, and Wrecker doesn't have to be a genius to figure out what he means.

"Oh, yes, very much so," you reply easily, ignoring the implication, "thank you."

Bohme nods, and then turns his attention to Wrecker, giving him a quick once-over. Wrecker tenses. The man is short and thin, his features pinched and pale, but his eyes are sharp, and his mouth is curved up in a smile that's almost predatory.

"I must say, I was a little surprised when I learned the Kastas would be joining us tonight. I was told they were unable to make it."

Wrecker narrows his eyes, watching the man carefully.

"Yes, well, our schedules opened up, and my husband was able to move some things around. It's rare we get a night off, so I jumped at the chance," you tell him, reaching out to grab Wrecker's arm and squeeze it.

He's glad you're playing the part so well. It's definitely not something he's capable of, and he can't help but feel a little useless. But he can at least make sure you're not alone, and that this guy keeps his hands off you.

"Well, I'm glad you could make it."

"We're glad we could too. The party's been wonderful."

"Glad to hear it."

Wrecker shifts slightly, feeling the weight of the man's gaze. There's something unsettling about him, and Wrecker's never been able to hide his disdain for the people they're forced to work for. But Bohme's the mark, and so he tries his best not to stare, but he's never been good at playing nice.

"If I'm being honest, I thought the rumors were exaggerated."

Wrecker frowns, and you look a little surprised.

"Oh?"

"I see the scars aren't," Bohme adds, gesturing to Wrecker's face.

Wrecker doesn't reply, only glares. The scars have never bothered him, not really. Sure, sometimes people stare, or ask him about them, and sometimes that's more than a little awkward. But he doesn't hate them. He mostly just forgets they're there until he gets one of the phantom pains, or someone points them out.

This man, though, he's staring, and not with curiosity, but with judgement, and it makes Wrecker’s skin crawl. He clenches his jaw, looking for the words to tell him off that won’t make the entire operation fail, but thankfully, you're quicker than him.

"No, but I quite like them," you say, reaching up and brushing a hand over his scarred cheek.

Wrecker swallows, his head tilting down to meet your gaze. Your touch is gentle, your thumb brushing under his eye, and he watches as your eyes shift from cold fury to something warmer, kinder.

"They remind me of just how brave and selfless my husband is," you tell him, the words soft, almost as if they're just for him.

Wrecker blinks, his lips parting. He wants to respond, but his throat is dry, and he's not sure what he would say even if he could.

"And I would be lost without him," you add, your fingers sliding across his jaw.

He knows this isn't real, that it's just for show, and he's just a means to an end, but he can't help the way his heart races in his chest. Because the way you're looking at him isn't fake, and neither are your words. He doesn't know how he's so sure, but he is.

He can't find his voice, and he doesn't trust himself to speak, so instead, he takes your hand and presses his lips to the inside of your wrist. You gasp, and your mouth parts, and he's so focused on the warmth of your skin and the way you blush that he barely registers the sound of Bohme's laughter.

"Oh, to be young and in love."

Wrecker doesn't pay attention to the rest of the conversation. He doesn't care. All he can focus on is you. The way you look up at him, and the softness in your eyes. The way you're pressed against him, and the way his arm is wrapped around you, and the way it feels like you belong there.

You've always felt right in his arms, like you fit perfectly, and every time you touch him, he wonders if it's the last. That's how it is now. Like it could end at any moment. So, he's memorizing everything, every detail, the feel of your skin, the sound of your voice, the scent of your perfume.

Because when this is all over, he'll never be close to you like this again, and he'll never forget it.

"Ma sareen." 

He snaps out of his trance at the sound of your voice. "Hmm?"

"Could you be a dear and get me a drink?"

"Sure thing, sweetheart."

Wrecker leans in, pressing his lips to your temple, and he relishes the way your cheeks turn red and the sound of your breath hitching in your throat. He doesn't know what he's doing. All he knows is that it's worth it to see the look on your face, and the way Bohme looks like he's swallowed a lemon.

He gives your waist a gentle squeeze and turns, making his way through the crowd to the bar. It's the furthest place from the door, and the longest walk of his life, because his head is swimming, and his heart is pounding, and it’s giving him too much time to think.

And when he does, all he can think about is you. He's not blind. He can see the way you've been looking at him tonight, and the way you're touching him. It's driving him crazy, and the more time he spends here with you, the harder it is to convince himself that you don't feel the same.

Maybe you do feel the same, and he's just been missing the signs, too afraid to see them. Maybe he should do something about it.

The thought is scary. What if he does, and he's wrong?

But then he remembers the way your fingers slid across his cheek, the way you leaned into his side,  and the way you blush whenever he calls you sweetheart. It's enough to give him hope.

"What can I get for you?" the bartender asks.

Wrecker blinks, glancing down at him. He'd forgotten why he was here, and his cheeks warm as he fumbles for an answer. Champagne seems like the right call for you. You'd both had a few glasses earlier, and it was fine, but he needed something much stronger if he was going to have a chance at getting through the rest of the night.

"Whiskey, neat.”

He doesn't pay attention as the bartender pours his drink. He turns around toward where couples are dancing, scanning the room for you. When he finally finds you, his stomach twists, and he has to force himself to breathe.

Bohme has his hands on your hips, and your hand is on his chest, and the way his head dips toward yours sends a flash of anger through him. The two of you are dancing, swaying back and forth, and while Wrecker knows it's a mission, and that you're just playing a part, it still makes his stomach churn.

Because even from here, he can see the look in the man's eyes, and it's not one of someone who's just playing a part.

"Is that all?" the bartender asks.

"What—no, no. Give me another," Wrecker mutters, grabbing the first glass and downing it in a single gulp.

It burns his throat, but it's the distraction he needs, because the two of you are getting closer. He's not sure if Bohme is going in for a kiss, but he knows he's not going to be able to watch it happen.

The second glass goes down just as quickly, and Wrecker winces, slamming the glass back on the bar and turning around. He doesn't know what's come over him. He's not a jealous person. Never has been, not even a little. He's been on plenty of missions with you, and seen you get close with other men, and while he didn't like it, he's never felt this.

Wrecker pushes past the dancing couples and walks toward the two of you. As soon as Bohme's hand slides lower on your back, Wrecker knows it's too much. You've gone along with the plan, but Wrecker's not going to stand here and watch you be taken advantage of, not by him, or anyone.

He storms up to the two of you, ignoring the startled looks on your faces and those around you. Before he can even think about what he's doing, Wrecker wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you close. His hand settles on your lower back, your skin warm and soft against his palm.

"Can I cut in?" he growls, his voice low and gruff.

"Uh—"

"I was talking to my wife," Wrecker snaps, his eyes narrowed.

The man's face pales, and his mouth drops open. He glances down at you, and then back up at Wrecker, and then steps back, holding his hands up in surrender.

You press your hand to his chest, and the motion is so familiar and comforting that his shoulders relax. He looks down at you, and his breath catches in his throat. There's a hint of a smile on your face, and you look happy, and his stomach flutters.

"Of course, darling," you murmur, your fingers curling into his shirt, "we were just having a nice chat, weren't we, Bohme?"

Wrecker glares at the man.

"Yeah, sure, we were," the man replies, taking a step back.

Wrecker knows he should leave it alone, and let you take care of it, but the whiskey has loosened his tongue, and the man's wandering hands have left him feeling more than a little possessive.

"Don't get any ideas, pal. She's married," Wrecker tells him, his voice a deep growl.

He's being harsh, but he doesn't care. You've had to deal with this asshole enough for one night, and Wrecker's tired of watching him touch you, and talk to you, and look at you.

"Of course, I would never," Bohme says, shaking his head.

Wrecker's not convinced, but he's not going to start a fight over it. As much as he'd like to knock the guy's teeth in, he doesn't. For your sake. And for the mission's, though he's caring less and less about that as the night goes on.

"You alright, sweetheart?" Wrecker asks, his tone gentler, more concerned, as he leads you away.

"I'm fine, darling," you answer, giving his arm a squeeze.

He's not sure if he's imagining it, but he swears you sound a little breathy. Wrecker's not surprised. If his heart is racing from the adrenaline of pulling you away from Bohme, then yours probably is, too.

"Sorry I forgot your drink," he mutters as he picks up his pace, "that guy just rubs me the wrong way."

"It's okay," you say, looking up at him with a small smile. As the two of you get further and further away, you add, "I was kind of hoping you would."

He stops walking, his brow furrowing. "What?"

"Nothing, ma sareen."

"Wait, were you—" Wrecker glances over his shoulder, and the realization hits him. You'd known the whole time, and were counting on him to notice, and he had. He's not sure if he should be mad, or embarrassed, or something else entirely. "Oh."

You tilt your head, looking up at him with an amused expression. "Yeah, oh."

"That's why you wanted a drink, wasn't it?"

You bite your lip, a blush rising to your cheeks. "Well, I was thirsty."

"I—"

"I knew you wouldn't leave me alone with him."

"I wouldn't," he says, shaking his head, "not in a million years."

You look down, and his grip on you tightens. He doesn't mean to, but he's still shaken up, and your nearness is a comfort, even if it shouldn't be.

You lean into him, and he takes a step forward, pulling you close. His other hand comes up, his fingers brushing your cheek, and his eyes drop to your lips. He doesn't mean to touch you like this, but now that he has, he doesn't want to stop.

"I know," you say softly, your breath warm against his palm.

"Good," he murmurs.

Your hand slips down his chest, and Wrecker shudders. You're standing so close, and your face is only inches from his, and your eyes are shining. The words leave him before he stop them, his voice a low rumble.

"And I don't want anyone else touching you, either.”

The sound that leaves your mouth sends a rush of heat through his veins, and he has to fight the urge to kiss you.

"Good," you whisper, the word nearly lost to the music.

"Really?"

You nod, looking up at him through your lashes, and his heart skips a beat. "Mhm."

Wrecker lets out a shaky breath, his hand sliding down to cup your cheek. His lips are only inches from yours, and he's not sure if it's the alcohol or the dress, but he feels bold. Too bold.

"Then, is it okay if I—"

You press a finger to his lips, silencing him.

"Yes," you tell him, leaning closer, "but not here."

Wrecker freezes. Did he hear that right? Or is he imagining things?

"Why not?"

"Because," you start slowly, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "if you kiss me, I'm not going to want you to stop. And we're in the middle of a party, and the mission's not over."

Wrecker doesn't even realize his mouth has fallen open until you reach up and close it for him. Your touch is gentle, and his cheeks are warm, and the softness in your eyes makes him melt. 

Your hand drags down to adjust his lapel before you slip something into his pocket.

"Got his keycard," you whisper, patting his chest.

Wrecker doesn't care. You could've told him you'd stolen the man's starship, and it still wouldn't have mattered. Not with the way you're looking at him.

"You're really somethin', y'know that?" he asks, and if he sounds a little breathless, he doesn't care about that either.

"So are you, ma sareen," you answer, smiling softly, "so are you."

"Almost done," you say, your voice soft, but urgent.

Wrecker is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze locked on you. He's careful not to touch anything in Bohme's office as you make your way around. His eyes are on the sway of your hips, and the soft curves of your body, and it's all he can do not to reach out and pull you against him.

You'd managed to slip away, and while Wrecker is a little disappointed the two of you had to leave, he knows the sooner you're finished, the sooner you can be alone.

"Anythin' you need help with, sweetheart?"

"No," you answer, "I got it."

You're bent over, looking for something, and the view gives him a perfect view of the curve of your ass. It's a bit distracting, and his mind is wandering. He's thinking about how nice it would be to hold you in his arms, and kiss you, and the things he would like to do if he had the opportunity.

The list is getting longer by the minute.

"Just need a few more seconds."

"I'm not in a rush," he answers with a shrug. His eyes are locked on your ass, and the way it moves as you work. You'd asked him to keep watch, and that's what he's doing, just keeping watch.

"Yes, you are," you say, a teasing lilt in your voice.

"Maybe," he admits, not bothering to deny it.

He doesn't care if it's a little pathetic, or desperate. He doesn't want to hide his feelings anymore. Not from you, and not from himself. He wants you to know, and to understand.

You glance over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his. You're wearing a smile that makes his stomach flutter.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask, a sultry note to your voice that makes his head spin. You walk over to the lamp on the wall and unscrew the glass. One of the bugs Tech had given you slips into the empty socket before you replace the bulb.

Wrecker blinks, his mind foggy.

"You."

You look surprised, and for a moment, he wonders if he's gone too far. But then, you smile, and he knows he's made the right choice. "Yeah? What about me?"

"Just how lucky I am," he tells you, the words sincere.

"Lucky?" you ask, raising a brow.

"Mhm."

You shake your head, letting out a soft laugh. "I think I'm the lucky one."

"I dunno. Pretty sure I'm the one who gets to take you home," Wrecker points out, a grin on his face.

Your eyes widen, and your lips part, and for a moment, you just stare at him, stunned. You let out a shaky breath, your face falling, and it's then that Wrecker realizes his mistake. You’re worth more to him than a quick roll in the sheets, and while he wants you, and the thought of it makes him hot and bothered, he's not interested in a one-night stand.

"I, uh, I didn't mean it like that," he stutters, his cheeks growing warm. “I—“

"Don't worry, darling, I know what you meant," you say, a hint of disappointment in your voice.

"It's not like—"

"We should go, Wrecker. The others are waiting."

"Right," Wrecker says quietly.

He doesn't like the tension in your shoulders, or the way you won't look at him. He's not sure what to say to fix this. All he knows is that the moment is over, and his heart is pounding.

When the two of you step out of the office, the door slides shut behind you, and he grabs your wrist. You don't stop, and you don't turn around. But you don't pull away, either.

"Hey, c'mon, just wait a sec, please."

You stop, letting out a quiet sigh. "It's okay, Wrecker, you don't have to—"

"But I want to."

You look up at him, your jaw set, and there's something in your eyes that tells him you don't believe him. It breaks his heart a little. Because it's true. He's been wanting you for a long time, and even if you don't feel the same, he's not going to let you leave without knowing it.

Wrecker takes a step toward you, and another, and another, until he's pressed against you. He lets go of your wrist, and his hand settles on your waist.

"Wrecker, what are you doing?"

"Trying not to be an idiot."

"You're not an—"

"Yeah, I am," he interrupts, a soft smile on his face. "I'm not good with words, and I don't always know the right thing to say. But I'm gonna try."

"Wrecker," you whisper, your eyes wide, "you don't have to."

"But I want to. I wanna tell you the truth."

"The truth?"

He nods.

"And what's that?"

"That I think you're the most beautiful person I've ever met," he tells you, his voice soft. "I think you're the bravest, and the kindest, and the smartest. I think you're the best, and I wish I was half the person you are."

"Wrecker, you're—"

He squeezes your waist gently. "Not done yet."

You smile up at him, a fondness in your eyes that makes his heart race, and you nod.

"And I know I don't deserve you, and I know you're probably just being nice, and that maybe, I'm reading into this too much, but I don't think so."

You look like you want to interrupt him again, but you don't. He's grateful.

"I think there's something here. Between us,” he says. “And I've never been good at keeping my feelings to myself. I think about you all the time, and I can't help it.”

"Wrecker, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I dunno.” He shrugs. “Maybe. Probably."

You shake your head, laughing. "Wrecker, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to tell me you have feelings for me."

"Well, that's because I do."

"What?" you ask, sounding almost as surprised as he felt earlier.

"Have feelings for you. I have a lot of 'em," he tells you, a smile on his face. It feels good to finally admit it. "I've had them for a while."

"How long?"

"Pretty much since I met you."

"Really?"

He nods. "Really."

"That's...a long time," you murmur.

"Mhm. So, that's the truth," Wrecker says. "And if you don't feel the same, or if I'm wrong, or if I'm misreading things, then just tell me, and I'll never bring it up again."

"I don't think I could," you answer, "not now, after all that."

"So, then, maybe—"

"Wrecker," you whisper, his tie and pulling him closer. Your lips brush his, and he has to fight the urge to groan. "I have a lot of feelings, too. I just didn't know you did."

"Yeah?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah," you breathe, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't bother fighting the groan this time. He can't. Not when you're this close. Not when he can feel your breath against his skin. Not when your lips are ghosting over his, and the scent of your perfume is filling his nose, and the warmth of your body is pressed against him.

"Then, does this mean—"

"You can kiss me," you murmur.

Wrecker doesn't hesitate.

His mouth crashes against yours, his hands slipping down to your hips and pulling you against him. You let out a whimper, and it's all he can do not to moan.

He doesn't want to push too far, or scare you away, so he holds back. He kisses you with restraint, with tenderness, with love. Your lips are soft, and pliant, and your fingers tighten in his shirt as he deepens the kiss. It's even better than he imagined, and he's spent hours imagining it.

He doesn't care that anyone could see you. He doesn't care about the mission, or the bugs, or the fact that the others are waiting for you. He only cares about you, and the way you feel in his arms.

"Wrecker," you mumble, breaking the kiss.

"Hm?"

"We should go," you remind him, your voice soft.

"Right," he says, "just one more."

"One more," you agree.

Your lips are on his again, and it's just as good as the first time. Wrecker doesn't want to stop, and he doesn't, not until his comm buzzes, and his brother's voice rings out in his ear.

"Wrecker, status report. We need an update."

Wrecker groans, pulling away from you. "Tech, not a good time."

"Now is precisely the time," his brother replies, sounding exasperated. "What is the status of the mission?"

Wrecker glances at you, and you look back up at him with a soft smile on your swollen lips. You reach up, cupping his cheek, and the feeling is so comforting and sweet that his chest aches.

"It's good," Wrecker answers, smiling. "The mission is going really good."

"Good?" he hears Hunter repeat. He's not sure if it's confusion or disbelief in his voice. Maybe a little bit of both.

"Great," he corrects, leaning down to kiss you again. "Really, really great."

"Oh," Tech mutters, and Wrecker can hear the gears turning in his head. "I…did not expect that."

Wrecker smiles down at you. "Yeah, well, neither did I."

“I see.” There's a pause, and the sound of shuffling, some muffled voices, and then Tech adds, "In that case, we will let you get back to your, ah, mission."

"Thanks, Tech."

"Mhm," his brother hums, sounding a little awkward. "You’re welcome. We'll see you both when you return.”

The comm clicks off, and Wrecker sighs. "Guess we should get back to the ship."

"Yeah, we probably should," you agree, though neither of you move. "Or..."

He perks up. "Or?"

"Or, we could go back to the hotel," you suggest, a playful note in your voice. "We did pay for the night, after all. It would be a shame to waste it."

"A real shame," he nods, his voice grave.

"Besides," you add, your hand sliding down his chest, "we could use the extra time to...discuss the details of the mission. Make sure we're on the same page, and everything."

Wrecker bites back a moan. The feeling of your hand on his chest, and the sound of your voice, and the suggestion in your words, and the glint in your eyes. It's enough to make his knees weak.

"What do you think, ma sareen?"

"I think," he murmurs, kissing your neck, "that's the best idea I've ever heard."

The two of you barely make it through the door.

As soon as it slides shut behind you, Wrecker’s lips are on yours. His hands haven’t left your hips since you entered the elevator. He guides you backwards, his hands roaming across your back and sides. His teeth scrape against your bottom lip, and the sound you make sends a rush of heat straight to his cock.

Your back hits the wall next to the door, and Wrecker lifts you up, wedging a thigh between your legs. The dress is riding up, and his hand slips under it, and he's never been more grateful for Tech's insistence on getting a hotel room.

His tongue slides across the roof of your mouth, and he swallows the gasp that leaves your lips. Your nails dig into his shoulders, and you roll your hips, grinding against his thigh. The sound that leaves his mouth is embarrassingly needy as his hand moves higher, squeezing the soft flesh. Your knife has been safely returned to its holster, and his fingers run along the strap.

He wants to take his time with you, to make sure you know how he feels, but he can't stop touching you. You’re so soft, and he's been wanting to do this for so long, and the dress makes it so easy to find new places to explore.

"Wrecker," you whimper, arching against him.

He nips at your neck, and the soft whine that escapes your throat makes his knees weak. His hand squeezes the back of your leg, and his mouth travels lower, his teeth dragging across your collarbone.

"You look so fuckin' good in this," he tells you, his lips brushing the swell of your breasts. "Drivin' me crazy."

"Yeah?" you ask, reaching up to loosen his tie.

"Yeah," he grunts. He leans down, pressing his mouth to the tops of your breasts. You make a soft noise, and he smiles, his hand slipping up your thigh and pushing the hem of the dress higher. "Been thinkin' about taking it off all night.”

"Well, why don't you, then?"

Wrecker pulls away, and you look up at him, your eyes half-lidded and dark. Your cheeks are flushed, and your chest is rising and falling, and you look so fucking gorgeous, he can't stand it.

He doesn't respond. His lips find yours again, and he pushes your skirt up higher, his hands bunching the smooth fabric. He tries his best to be gentle, but it's hard. The thought of ripping the dress from your body, tearing it off and tossing it to the side is appealing, but he won't. It's not his to ruin, and he doesn't want to make you mad.

"This okay?" he asks, breaking the kiss.

"Yeah," you answer, nodding. Your hands join his, and together you pull the dress over your head, and toss it aside.

He nearly drops you.

He doesn't, but it's a close thing.

"You—oh, fuck," he groans, his head falling to the crook of your neck, "you weren't wearin' anythin' underneath?"

You let out a breathless laugh, and the feeling of it makes his head spin.

"Surprised?"

"Uh, yeah."

He's not sure what to say, or what to do.

The only thing he can think about is the way your bare pussy is pressed against his thigh. Your nails drag across his scalp, and he shudders. He’s pretty sure his brain is short-circuiting, because all he can do is stare at you.

Your makeup is messy, your headpiece a little crooked, and your chest is rising and falling in short, shallow breaths, and you're looking up at him with a smirk that makes him want to drop to his knees and worship you.

"What's wrong?" you ask, tilting his chin up. "You can't talk now?"

Wrecker grunts. You're teasing him, and he can't even pretend he doesn't like it. He likes it too much.

"You're not playin' fair," he complains, his voice gruff.

"No?"

"Nope."

"Well, neither are you," you say, rolling your hips. The motion drags your pussy across his thigh, and the dampness on his skin has him groaning. You lean forward, your mouth next to his ear. "So, what are you gonna do about it?"

He growls, and you gasp as his hands slide down, grabbing your ass. He hoists you up, putting your chest level with his face.

"Gonna show you," he rasps, "just how much you drive me crazy."

He's never seen anything hotter than the way you're looking at him right now, and he's not sure he ever will. He doesn’t want to close his eyes, doesn’t want to blink, but he can’t help it when his tongue darts out and his lips close around one of your nipples.

The soft sound that escapes your mouth makes his cock throb, and he presses your back against the wall, holding you up with ease with one hand as the other comes up to fondle your other breast. His tongue is hot and insistent against your skin, and your breath catches in your throat when he drags his teeth across the sensitive flesh.

"Fuck," you hiss, arching into him.

"Told ya you look good," he mumbles. He nips at the swell of your breast, and a moan escapes your lips. "Good enough to eat."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," he hums. "Can I?"

"Please."

You let out a squeak as he hikes you up further, his lips ghosting over your ribs, and then your sternum, and then the soft swell of your stomach. Your thighs are draped over his shoulders, and his hands are on the backs of your legs, holding them up and apart, and the sight of you above him is almost too much.

"You smell so fuckin' good," he growls, burying his face between your thighs.

You're already wet, and his nose bumps against your clit as he presses his mouth to your pussy. You're so warm, and soft, and when his tongue slides against you, you moan, the sound desperate and needy.

"Shit, Wrecker," you gasp, your hands coming down to grab his head.

"Just relax," he tells you, his tone a little patronizing. "I gotcha, sweetheart."

He dives in, his mouth eager and unrelenting. He licks and sucks and nips at the sensitive skin, and when his tongue pushes inside, you arch your back, rolling your hips. Your thighs squeeze around his head, and the noises that are leaving your lips are sending sparks down his spine.

He does it again, and again, and again, trying to coax more of those sounds from your mouth. He wants to see what he can get you to do, wants to know what makes you cry out, and moan, and scream.

You're trembling above him, and your pussy is so wet, he can feel it running down his chin.  

"Oh, fuck," you curse, and he can't help but grin.

Your hips buck against his face, and he grabs your ass, squeezing the soft flesh. His fingers sink into the plush skin, and he spreads you apart, his tongue circling your clit. You shudder, and your thighs tighten around his head. He can tell you're getting close, and he can't wait to feel you fall apart, to see your face twist in pleasure, and hear his name on your lips.

He's never been good at this. He's always felt a little out of his depth, a little awkward, a little clumsy. But he's learning. He's watching your reactions, listening to the sounds you make, feeling the way your body responds. And he's paying attention, because he wants to be the only person who can make you feel like this.

He knows it's possessive. He knows it's a lot, especially since the two of you haven't talked about what this means. But he doesn't care. Not right now. He just wants you, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to make sure that's what happens.

You're writhing above him, and he can feel the muscles in your thighs tensing as his lips close around your clit. He makes sure he's got a good grip on you with one hand before sliding the other in between your thighs, and he pushes one finger inside you, and then another.

"Wrecker!"

He's pretty sure that's the hottest thing he's ever heard.

He doubles his efforts, his fingers pushing deeper and deeper. He's not even sure if he's hitting the right spot, but from the way you're writhing, and moaning, and cursing, it seems like he's doing something right. Your walls are squeezing his fingers, and he curls them, trying to find the spot that will make you scream.

You do.

Your whole body tenses, your thighs clamping hard around his head, and you throw your head back, crying out. He watches in awe, his eyes wide, and his mouth slack as you come apart above him. He can feel it, can feel your walls tightening, and the rush of heat as you climax, and he can’t resist the urge to press a kiss to the soft, swollen flesh.

"Wrecker," you choke out, your voice cracking, and he knows he's never going to get enough of this. 

He keeps his fingers buried inside of you as he pulls away from the wall. You cling to him, and he carries you over to the bed, lowering you onto the mattress. His fingers slip out of you, and he watches in fascination as you clench around nothing, your body still trembling.

"Fuck," he groans, dropping to his knees and burying his head between your legs again.

You let out a noise of surprise, and his hands push your thighs open, keeping them spread wide.

"You did so good, sweetheart," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your swollen lips. He licks you clean, his tongue swiping through your folds. You squirm, and his grip on you tightens. "Gonna make you come again."

"Oh," you whimper, letting out a shaky breath.

"Just breathe, cyar'ika," he tells you, his lips trailing up your inner thigh. He can't get enough of the taste of you, or the way your body is reacting. You're still shaking, and the knowledge that it's because of him is making him delirious. He's pretty sure this is the best night of his life.

"I'm gonna make you feel good," he says, his voice soft and low. "I promise."

"You always make me feel good, Wrecker," you whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," you hum, nodding. "Always."

Wrecker grins and leans back, shoving his suit jacket off his shoulders. He's not sure where you want him, or how far you want to take things, but he's happy to follow your lead. He’s happy to do this all night, every night, for the rest of his life, if you asked.

He unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and rolls up the sleeves, his eyes never leaving you. You're looking up at him, your cheeks flushed, your chest rising and falling. He can't believe he gets to see you like this, so vulnerable and trusting.

"What is it?" you ask with a tilt of your head. The motion moves your lekku, and Wrecker's gaze follows. He's fascinated by the way they shift, and sway, and twitch. He wonders what they feel like, if you’ll let him touch them, if they're as sensitive as he's heard.

"Nothin'," he answers, shrugging.

"Liar."

"No, really," he says. Then, a grin spreads across his face, and he can't help himself, "I just like lookin' at ya."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"What about me do you like looking at, ma sareen?"

"Everything," he tells you, and the sincerity in his voice seems to catch you off guard. "Everythin' about you. You're gorgeous, and I'm lucky as hell."

"Wrecker, you're not just saying that, are you?"

"Never," he promises, "not when it comes to you."

You bite your lip, and the way your teeth sink into the plump flesh sends a rush of heat through him.

"You're too good to me," you mumble, a fondness in your eyes that makes his heart swell.

"Could never be too good to you," he replies quickly, shaking his head. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and leans back down, kissing the curve of your stomach.

"Wrecker," you sigh, your hands settling on his shoulders, "you're such a gentleman."

"A gentleman?" He laughs, his forehead resting against your hip.

"Mhm," you hum.

He glances up at you, his brows raised. "Sweetheart, I've had my face between your legs for the past fifteen minutes, and you're tellin' me I'm a gentleman?"

"Maybe I like a man who knows how to treat me," you suggest.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

Wrecker chuckles, and then he kisses the top of your mound, and then the crease of your thigh, and then your knee. You make a soft noise, and his eyes flick back to your face.

"So, do you still want me to keep treatin' you?" he asks, and if the words come out a little nervous, he can't help it.

"Of course," you say, a hint of surprise in your voice, as if you can't believe he would think otherwise. You smile sweetly, and the weight in his chest lifts. "I want everything with you, Wrecker. Always."

"Good," he sighs, the tension leaving his body. "Because I want everythin', too."

Your head falls back against the pillows, your hands slipping from his shoulders to his head. You pull him closer, and he's more than happy to follow your lead.

"Then, come on, darling," you murmur, lifting your hips and spreading your legs wider, "give me everything."

Wrecker swallows thickly.

"Yes, ma'am."

His mouth is on you again, and you don't hesitate to let him know how good he's doing. You're not shy, and you're not quiet, and you're not afraid to take what you want.

And, gods, does Wrecker like that.

He's still a little in awe, a little dumbstruck by the fact that this is happening, and that it's not just some fantasy he's making up in his head. This is real, and you're here, and you're enjoying yourself, and the sound of your voice, the way you move, the softness of your body is so fucking overwhelming, it's making him delirious.

He wants to do this every night, for the rest of his life.

Your scent fills his nose, and your taste coats his tongue, and the slick, wet noises his mouth makes as he eats you out are driving him crazy. You're shaking beneath him, and your legs are draped over his shoulders, and your nails are scraping against his scalp. Your heels dig into his back, and his hands move down, holding you steady. He's not stopping until you tell him to, and from the way you're moaning, he doesn't think that's going to be anytime soon.

"You're so fucking hot," he groans, his teeth scraping against your folds. "Gonna make you come again. Gonna get you nice and ready for me."

You whimper, and he knows he's made the right choice.

"Sound good?" he asks, voice muffled by your cunt.

"Mhm," you nod.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," you moan, "yes, please, please, I want you to fuck me."

"Oh, I'm gonna," he growls, his lips brushing against your clit, "but first, I'm gonna make you scream."

He's not sure where he found the confidence, but he doesn't care. He doesn't even notice. He's too busy trying to get you to come for him again. He's licking, and sucking, and kissing, and nibbling, and it's only when you're begging him to fuck you that he finally pulls away for air.

"Not yet," he says, pressing a kiss to the crease of your thigh.

"Please," you whimper, "please, Wrecker, I need it. Need you."

He chuckles, his stubble scratching against the inside of your thigh. "I know, sweetheart, I know. Not yet, though. Just a little more."

He slips two fingers inside you, curling them, and your whole body jolts.

"Wrecker, please, I'm so fucking wet, just—"

"I know," he grins, pumping his fingers in and out of you. Your pussy is soaked, and the sound of him fingering you is obscene. It makes him want to shove his cock into you, to feel how tight and warm you are. "Gettin' you nice and wet for me."

"Don't—don't tease me," you huff, and Wrecker laughs, kissing your clit.

"I'm not," he insists. "Just tryin' to make sure you're ready."

"Ready?"

"Mhm." He pushes his fingers deeper, and he can feel the way your walls are already fluttering, the way your muscles are twitching. You're close, and he can't wait to see what you look like when you fall apart. "Wanna make sure you can take me."

"I can," you assure him, "please, I can."

"I'm gonna make you come again," he says, his voice soft. "And then, when you're all nice and relaxed, and you're beggin' for my cock, that's when I'm gonna fuck you."

"I'm begging now," you whine.

"I know, baby," he murmurs, his tongue pressing flat against your clit. "Be patient. It'll be worth it, I promise."

"Okay," you say, and the sound comes out strangled, like it's hard for you to talk. The way your voice breaks, and your chest rises and falls has him grinning, and he leans down again, his mouth eager and insistent.

"Fuck," you gasp, "oh, fuck, Wrecker, I'm—I'm gonna—"

"Go ahead," he encourages, his voice husky, "lemme see.”

Your head falls back, your whole body trembling as you come for the second time that night. It's even more beautiful than the first, and the way you pull his fingers deeper has him moaning against you. He doesn't stop until you're pushing him away, and even then, he doesn't go far.

Wrecker pulls back, slowly, his eyes on yours. You're breathing heavily, and your cheeks are flushed. Somewhere along the way the headpiece you were wearing had come loose, and it's resting on the pillow next to you. Your eyes are hooded, a dazed look on your face, and you look absolutely gorgeous.

"That was so fucking hot," he tells you, leaning down to press a kiss to your inner thigh.

"Wrecker, that was..." you trail off, letting out a quiet sigh. "I've never come twice that fast before."

"Really?"

You shake your head, laughing breathlessly. "Nope."

"So, I guess I did a good job?"

"Good?" you repeat, looking almost offended. "Darling, it was incredible."

He grins wide and presses a kiss to your stomach. You cup his cheek, and your thumb brushes his lip. It's damp with your arousal, and the realization sends a wave of heat through him.

"I'm just glad I made you feel good," he says.

"Trust me, you did," you assure him, and the earnestness in your voice has his cheeks flushing.

"Glad to hear it," he murmurs. He nips at the underside of your breast, and you whimper.

"Wrecker," you mumble.

"Mhm?"

"Come here."

"Why?"

"Because," you answer, sitting up and grabbing his tie, "I want to kiss you."

He lets out a laugh. "Is that all?"

"No," you say, and the honesty in your tone makes him shiver. You tug on the tie, pulling him towards you until your lips meet in a messy kiss. He's careful not to put his weight on you, keeping most of it on his forearms as he presses closer. Your tongue is hot and insistent against his, and when your teeth scrape his bottom lip, a groan escapes his throat.

"Please," you mumble against his lips. "Please, Wrecker, fuck me."

“Was hoping you’d say that,” he grunts, a smirk on his face.

He kisses you again, and it's rough and needy and a little clumsy. Your hands are roaming across his back, and when they tug on his shirt, he reaches around, pulling the hem out of his pants and working the buttons open.

He doesn't have the patience to undo them all, so he tears the shirt and tie off and tosses them aside. He breathes a sigh of relief at finally being free from the restrictive fabric, only to suck in a sharp breath as your nails scrape his sides. The sensation sends a shiver through him, and he buries his head in the crook of your neck, panting.

You don't let up, your hands exploring the planes and divots of his bare chest. His skin is on fire, and his muscles are flexing beneath your touch. Your mouth finds his neck as your fingers move to undo his belt, and his whole body jolts.

You hum, pleased, and Wrecker knows he's in trouble.

Your teeth sink into his shoulder, and your tongue swipes over the marks, and when you press a kiss to his pulse point, he has to remind himself not to get carried away. He's not even inside you yet, and he's already on the verge of losing control.

"Wrecker, I'm tired of waiting," you whine, your hand sliding under his pants and squeezing his ass. "I need you."

"Shit," he curses, his cock twitching in his boxers. "I need you, too."

"Then, what are you waiting for?"

"Nothin'," he says, sitting up. "Absolutely nothin'."

He gets to his feet, pulling off his shoes and socks faster than he's ever undressed in his life. He shoves his pants and boxers down, and his cock springs free. You let out a quiet noise, and he feels a surge of pride as your eyes move down his body, and widen.

"Oh, Wrecker," you breathe, and the awe in your voice is so fucking satisfying. "You're..."

"Yeah?"

"It's so big," you murmur.

He feels the tips of his ears burn. He knows he's big. He's bigger than most, and he's always been worried about scaring people off.

"Do you think you can handle it?"

"Yeah," you say quickly, nodding.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

He's not convinced. "It's okay if you can't, y'know."

"I know, Wrecker," you answer, sounding amused. "I can handle it."

"I just don't want to hurt you."

"I know. And it's sweet. But if you don't come here and fuck me right now, I'm going to go crazy."

"Well, we can't have that," he mutters, a smile playing on his lips.

He climbs back onto the bed, and you move to meet him halfway, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you kneel together. Your chest presses against his, and you're so warm and soft, and he feels like he's going to melt.

He kisses the tip of your lek, and you let out a squeak, and the sound is so cute, he has to kiss the other one, too. He wants to kiss every part of you, and he plans to, someday. Right now, though, he's got something more important to take care of.

His mouth finds yours, and he cups the back of your neck, holding you still. You're pressed together, skin to skin, and he can feel the heat radiating from your body. Your hands are moving over his shoulders, down his chest, across his stomach, and when your fingers wrap around his cock, his hips buck.

"Fuck," he groans.

You give him a slow, languid stroke, and his eyes nearly roll back.

"You're beautiful," you whisper, your hand moving up and down, spreading precum along his length. You press a kiss to his shoulder, and then his collarbone, and his jaw, and his chin, and his mouth.

"I—ah," he grunts, his forehead falling to rest on yours, "You're kiddin', right?"

"Why would I be kidding?"

"You've got a lot more goin' for ya than me," he replies, his cheeks flushing. "A hell of a lot more."

"Nonsense," you say, shaking your head. Your grip tightens, and his breath catches in his throat. "You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen, and the things I want to do to you are..."

"Are what?"

"I'd rather show you," you admit, and there's something in your voice that makes his heart skip a beat.

"Well, go ahead, then," he encourages, giving you a toothy grin. "Show me."

Wrecker lets out a surprised yelp when you grab his shoulders and push him back, his back hitting the mattress. He laughs, and then you're on top of him, and his laughter dies, his breath coming out in short, shallow gasps.

You're straddling his waist, and the sight of your naked body above him is the most incredible thing he's ever seen. His hands move on their own, running across your thighs, your hips, and your ribs.

"This is a good look for you," you say, smirking.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mhm."

You lean down and kiss him, and he can't help the way his hands wander, one moving up to squeeze your ass, and the other finding your breast. He can't get enough of you, and he doesn't know if he ever will. He squeezes, and rolls, and fondles, and when his thumb brushes your nipple, you break the kiss with a soft moan. You pull away, and he chases after you, his lips pressing against yours.

"Wrecker, stop," you giggle, swatting his hand away.

"I can't help it," he tells you, leaning up and pressing a kiss to your neck. "You're too kriffin' sexy."

"I need you inside me," you say, pushing his shoulders back. "And I'm not going to be able to get there if you keep distracting me."

"Alright," he sighs, falling back against the mattress. "Go ahead, I'll be patient."

"Good boy."

His eyes go wide, and his cock throbs at the words. He knows he likes being praised, and he's not ashamed to admit that, but the way it makes him react is almost embarrassing.

"Oh," you grin, and the mischief in your eyes has his heart racing. "You like that?"

"Yeah," he nods, his cheeks flushing.

"What else do you like?" you ask, leaning forward and grinding against him.

He swallows thickly. "Um."

"Wrecker," you say softly, and his eyes dart up to yours.

"I—" he stammers, his gaze flicking back down to your cunt. "I, uh—you know, I've never really had anyone ask me that before."

"Well, consider this the first time," you tell him, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Tell me."

"Uh."

"Come on," you urge, kissing the other side, "tell me what you like."

"I like makin' you feel good," he blurts out. "I like it rough, I like bein' told what to do. I like knowin' I'm doin' a good job. And I like you, so—so just...tell me how you feel, or somethin', and I'll be happy."

"I can work with that."

You sit up, and the motion brings your pussy closer to his cock. He watches with wide eyes as you raise yourself up and guide his cock between your folds, the tip brushing against your entrance. His hips twitch, and his hands come up to grip your waist, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

"Kriff, you're gorgeous," he breathes, his eyes on the place where his cock is just barely penetrating you. "You're amazing."

"So are you," you reply.

He's not sure he agrees, but he doesn't have time to argue, because you're sinking down onto him, and his brain stops working.

You let out a quiet sigh, and Wrecker tries his best to keep his composure, but the wet, hot, tightness is too much. His hands tighten, his fingers digging into your sides before he realizes what he's doing. He relaxes his grip, his palms sliding across your skin, his eyes still on where your bodies are joined.

"Shit, sweetheart, I'm sorry, I just—"

"Don't apologize," you interrupt, your hips shifting, and his cock pushes a little deeper.

"I can't help it," he huffs, "I don't wanna hurt you."

"You're not hurting me," you promise, one hand settling on his chest. The other takes his hand, and you lift it up to your mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "I'll tell you if you are, alright? So, don't worry. Just relax."

"Okay," he nods, taking a deep breath. "I can do that."

"Good boy," you praise, and Wrecker feels a wave of heat crash through him.

Your hips shift, and you sink down another inch. He lets out a shaky breath, his fingers curling into a fist. Your mouth is hot and insistent against his knuckles, your tongue swiping over the sensitive skin. You kiss his fingertips, and then his palm, and then the back of his hand. You nip at the fleshy part beneath his thumb, and he hisses, the sensation sending sparks up his arm.

"Fuck," he groans, and his hips buck, and his cock slides a little further inside.

"You're so big," you murmur, your hand sliding up his arm and over his chest. Your nails scrape his skin, and he trembles. "So fucking big, Wrecker."

"Yeah?"

You nod, your mouth open, and your cheeks flushed. Your eyes are a little glassy, and your breathing is shallow, and he can't believe how lucky he is to be here, with you, in this moment.

"I'm gonna—gonna make you feel good," he promises, and you laugh, your walls fluttering around him.

"Oh, darling," you sigh, lifting your hips and sinking back down, taking him a little deeper, "you already are."

His eyes squeeze shut, and his grip on you tightens. He tries to remember to breathe, and not to buck his hips, and not to pull you down and bury himself to the hilt. You're still kissing his hand, and the softness of your lips has him melting, his shoulders falling back against the bed.

"Look at me, ma sareen," you murmur.

Wrecker does.

The sight that greets him nearly sends him over the edge. You're hovering above him, his cock buried inside you, your lekku dangling in the space between your bodies. The lights in the room are dim, but the glow is bright enough to highlight the curve of your breasts, the swell of your hips, and the way your skin seems to shimmer.

You're breathtaking.

"You're amazin'," he says again, because he doesn't have anything better to say.

"You're so sweet," you chuckle, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I love that about you."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

You kiss him again, and his mouth opens under yours. He groans when you bite his bottom lip, his hands moving to your hips, guiding your movements. You roll your hips, and his cock slips out of you, before sliding back in. You do it again, and again, and again, until the tip of his cock nudges against the end of your channel.

"Oh, shit," you gasp, sitting up, and bracing your hands against his stomach. "Oh, gods, Wrecker, you're—you're so fucking deep."

"Does it feel good?"

"So fucking good," you whimper.

He sits up and wraps his arms around you, holding you close. He can feel the tips of your lekku resting on his chest, and they're even softer than he imagined. He presses a kiss to the base of one, and then the other, and then he's kissing your neck, his stubble scratching against your skin.

"Ah," you sigh, your hips rocking. "Wrecker, fuck, it feels so good."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Good," he growls, and then he grabs your ass and pulls you down onto his cock.

You let out a surprised cry, and then you're moving faster, grinding down on his length. He thrusts up, his hips meeting yours. Your hands are everywhere, roaming across his back, his shoulders, and his chest. You're not shy about it, and you don't hold back. You squeeze, and stroke, and touch every part of him, and it's making him dizzy.

"Fuck, you feel so good," you moan, and Wrecker grunts, his teeth scraping the base of your lekku. "So fucking good, Wrecker."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," you hum, and then you're pulling away, and his chest aches at the loss. You push him back against the pillows, and he stares up at you, his lips parted as you ride him, bouncing up and down. Your hands are planted on his chest, and your nails are digging into his skin.

He watches in awe as you take him, his cock disappearing between your legs. No one's ever taken him like this, no one's ever been able to handle him the way you are. You're not afraid, and you're not shy, and you're not afraid to get what you want.

"You're kriffin' perfect," he says, and then he's reaching for you, his hands cupping your face.

Wrecker kisses you, and the sound that leaves your throat is so needy, and desperate, that he can't help but thrust up into you, harder and faster. His tongue slides into your mouth, and you suck on it, drawing a groan from his chest. He's trying to hold on, to last as long as he can, but it's not easy. Not when you're riding him like this, and making him feel like this.

You pull away with a gasp and bury your face in his neck, and the warmth of your breath makes him shiver. He can't see your face, but he can feel the way you're shaking, can hear the quiet noises you're making.

"You like that?" he asks, his voice rough.

"So much," you whine.

"Gonna come for me?"

"Yes, please, yes," you whimper.

"Gonna scream for me?"

"Oh, Wrecker," you moan, your teeth sinking into his shoulder, and the pain goes straight to his cock. "Wrecker, you're making me—I'm so close, please, harder."

He doesn't hesitate to follow your orders.

He lifts his legs, spreading them wider, and you slide a little further down his length. His hips snap up, and your whole body jolts. The first slap of skin against skin has him groaning, and the second has him cursing, and by the time his balls are slapping against your ass, you're begging him not to stop.

He's not sure he could, even if he wanted to. He thrusts again, and again, his pace building. Your cunt is dripping, the wetness seeping from your entrance, and the lewd squelching sound fills the room.

His hand cups the back of your head, holding you close. You nuzzle against his shoulder, your lips pressed to his collarbone, and the sensation is so fucking intimate, so sweet, he's not sure how much longer he's going to be able to hold out.

"Sweetheart," he grunts, and he doesn't have the words to continue, doesn't know how to tell you he's going to come, doesn't want this to end.

"You're so good," you whisper, and he can feel his balls tightening, "so fucking good, Wrecker."

"Can I—I'm gonna come," he warns.

"Oh, fuck, me, too."

"Where—where do you want me?"

"Inside," you whine, and Wrecker has to grit his teeth to keep from coming on the spot. "Wrecker, inside, please, fill me up, I want it, want you."

"Shit," he groans, "fuck, fuck, sweetheart, you're—oh, shit, I'm—"

Your body goes stiff, your walls fluttering around his cock, and his mouth falls open. He's not prepared for the feeling of your pussy gripping his length, or the sound of your breathy moans. He's not prepared for the way your thighs tremble, or the way your back arches, or the way his name spills from your lips.

He's not prepared for the orgasm that crashes over him, the heat and the pleasure that rushes through his veins, and the way his whole body shudders as he comes inside you.

He can't remember the last time he came this hard, the last time he lost control like this. The feeling of your cunt around him is too much, and his head falls back, his eyes squeezing shut. The only thing that keeps him tethered to reality is the sound of your voice in his ear, a string of words in a language he doesn’t understand falling from your lips.

Wrecker holds you, his arms wrapping around you, and his hips buck, his cock twitching. He can't get enough, can't stop coming, can't stop fucking up into you. Your moans are soft, and gentle, and it's not until his own climax has subsided that he realizes you’re slumped against him, your breathing heavy, your face pressed to his neck.

"Shit, sorry, cyar'ika," he mutters as he realizes his grip has tightened. He moves to pull his hands away, but you reach out, taking his wrists and placing his hands back on your waist.

"No," you whimper, "please."

"Sweetheart, I'm hurtin' you."

"Just a little longer," you tell him, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the base of his throat.

He's not sure why, but the request brings tears to his eyes. You want him. You want him to hold you, and touch you, and the realization makes his heart swell.

"Alright," he agrees, and you sigh and nestle closer.

He lays there, his softening cock still buried inside you, his arms around you, and his fingers find their way to your lekku. He strokes them gently, and you shiver, your body trembling.

"Is this okay?" he asks.

"Yes," you answer, your voice barely above a whisper. "It feels nice."

"Good," he says, smiling. "I like touchin' you."

"I can tell," you laugh and press a kiss to his chest.

He continues, his fingertips tracing a path down the side of one, and then the other. He doesn't know how much time passes. He's lost in the feeling of you, in the warmth of your body, in the softness of your skin. He doesn't even realize his eyes are closed until he hears you laughing.

"What?" Wrecker asks, opening his eyes and looking down at you.

"Are you asleep?"

"No," he answers, shaking his head, though the blush on his face gives him away. "I was just restin' my eyes."

"You sure?" you ask, and there's a teasing tone in your voice.

"I'm sure," he says, and then you're pulling away. His arms drop, and his cock slips out of your cunt, and his mouth falls open. Your combined release is leaking out of you, dripping down his cock and onto his stomach.

"Wow," he breathes.

"Is it a bad 'wow' or a good 'wow'?" you ask, your teeth sinking into your lower lip.

"The good kind," he answers, his eyes roaming over your body before returning to your face. His brows furrow. "Can I kiss you?"

"Wrecker, you don't have to ask," you tell him.

"Well, um," he starts, his cheeks turning pink. "It's just, I'm not really good at this part."

"What part?"

"The after part," he tells you. "I mean, it's always been, you know, in the dark, or quick, and I don't know how you feel about kissing and cuddlin' after, and I just...I dunno, I just like you, and I want to do it right."

"Oh, Wrecker," you laugh, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I like kissing and cuddling."

"You do?"

"I do," you nod, a smile on your face. "There's nothing more I'd rather do than kiss you, and cuddle with you, and hold you, and fall asleep with you. That is, if you'll have me."

"Oh.” He blinks. "Yeah, um, I'd like that a lot."

"Then, by all means, darling," you tell him, "kiss me."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," you nod, grinning. "Please."

Wrecker leans forward, his hand cupping your cheek, and he presses his lips to yours. He licks into your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours, and the soft moan that leaves your lips makes his heart soar.

"You're incredible," he breathes, and the smile on your face is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"You are too," you murmur, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "I hope that was everything you were hoping for."

"It was even better," he says, his hand moving down and resting on your hip. "Can we do it again?"

"Right now?" you ask, and he can't help but laugh.

"I was thinkin' tomorrow, maybe," he tells you, his thumb stroking your skin. "I'm gonna be honest, sweetheart, I don't think I'm gonna be able to go again for a while."

"Me either," you reply, laughing.

"But," he starts, his grip on your waist tightening, "when I am, you want to?”

"Of course," you tell him, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his neck. "I have some other ideas I'd like to run by you, if you're interested."

"I'm very interested." He grins. "Lets get cleaned up, and then you can tell me all about ‘em.”

"Mm," you whine, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “But I don’t want to move.”

“Not a problem,” he replies, and before you can say anything, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you against him. You squeal, your legs wrapping around his waist, and he slides off the bed, holding you against him.

"Wrecker, put me down," you giggle.

"You're the one who didn't want to move," he reminds you.

"Put me down," you say, but your voice is full of laughter, and you’re smiling.

"No," he teases, shaking his head.

"Wrecker," you sigh, rolling your eyes.

"Sweetheart," he replies, mimicking your tone. “I’m a gentleman, remember? And a gentleman always carries his girl to the shower."

"In that case," you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face against his throat, "thank you, sir."

He walks toward the refresher, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, and his chest is bursting with pride. You're smiling, and laughing, and holding onto him, and it feels like a dream.

Wrecker sits you on the edge of the counter, and you wince, a soft hiss leaving your lips.

"You okay?"

"Just a little sore," you admit.

"Shit," he curses. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, no," you shake your head, your hand finding his wrist and squeezing. "It's a good sore, I promise. You were wonderful."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mhm," you nod, biting your lip. "Best I've ever had."

He laughs. "That can't be true."

"Well, it is," you tell him, and he can see the sincerity in your eyes. "I mean, I've never felt anything like it."

He smiles, leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours. You reach up, your fingertips brushing against his cheek, and he turns, kissing the palm of your hand.

"You're not just sayin' that, are ya?" he asks.

"Why would I?"

"I dunno," he admits.

"Wrecker," you sigh, your thumb brushing across his lower lip, "it's been a long time since I've felt anything for anyone. The truth is, I've had a crush on you for months. You're sweet, and kind, and funny, and the things you did tonight...the way you made me feel, the way you treated me...I've never felt so safe. Or special.”

"It was nothin'," he says, his cheeks flushing.

"It wasn't nothing," you insist, and he knows the look in your eyes means you're not going to let it go. "You made me feel beautiful, and wanted, and cared for, and I'll never be able to thank you enough for that. And it's going to take a lot more than a rough fuck to get rid of me."

"Yeah?" he breathes.

"Yes," you say, pressing a kiss to his chin.

"Okay," he nods. "So, we're gonna try this, huh?"

"Do you want to?"

"Are you kidding me? Of course I do," he laughs, his hands coming to rest on your thighs. "I just didn't want to push."

"Well, consider this your official invitation," you tell him, your hands sliding down and squeezing his biceps. "I'm all yours."

"All mine, huh?"

"Yep."

"Good," he nods, and then he's scooping you back up and carrying you toward the shower. "Because I'm all yours, too."

"Even better," you laugh, and the sound is like music to his ears.

Wrecker kisses you again, his hands gripping your thighs, and your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. You smile against his lips, and he can't help the grin that spreads across his face. He's not sure how this happened. He's not sure why you picked him. But he doesn't care.

All he cares about is the feeling of your lips against his, and the sound of your laughter filling the room. All he cares about is the taste of your mouth, and the warmth of your skin, and the way his chest swells every time you look at him.

He doesn't know where this is going, or how far it will go, but he knows one thing.

He wants it. All of it. With you.

Translation: ma sareen = Ryl for "my sweet"

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

[hannahhook7744]

Why Franklin and Maryann Portman are the Worst™ (Part 1)!;

I want to preface this by saying that I know that by no means Franklin and Maryann Portman are the actual worst parents in fiction or in this series even. 

Of course they aren't. 

But that doesn't mean that I can't still refer to them as the worst™ for them being shitty. Even if I do believe that on some leave that they do care about/love their son. 

I also wanna point out that it's been awhile since I read the books so I'm going off my memory and the wiki for this. So I may forget some context of why this or that happens, and if I do that, feel free to comment it down below respectfully. And if I forget something that you find shitty that they did, also feel free to reblog or comment it down below because I would love to talk about these characters and fandom more.

Am I saying that Abe Portman is 100% perfect and did nothing wrong whatsoever? No, that would go against how his character is betrayed in the books—as a flawed traumatized man who did his best to be there for his family and keep them and himself (as well as others) safe and went about some things the wrong way. 

 Now that that's out of the way…

According to the wiki:

“Jacob was born on Halloween, and up until he was eight years old was convinced by his parents that trick-or-treating candy was birthday presents (something apparently revealed in Hollow City).” 

These people are rich. 

R-I-C-H. 

Rich enough that Jacob’s dad can study birds and volunteer and write mine books that he never publishes without the worry of them not having anything to eat. 

R-I-C-H enough that Jacob comments that “I did love her, of course, but mostly because loving your mom is mandatory, not because she was someone I think I'd like very much if I met her walking down the street. Which she wouldn't be, anyway; walking is for poor people.” And rich enough that they gave their kid their four year old sundan so that they could get a brand new car. 

And for eight years, they had their son believing that candy was a birthday present. 

1. Now, look. I get it. Birthday shopping is hard, especially for a little itty bitty kid but not actually having the money to buy your only kid gifts and choosing not to because people are handing out candy on that day anyway? That's not a very nice thing to do for that long. 

They let him go through three years of school thinking that and we never learned how he found out that was a lie. That's not even including the fact that the rest of their extended family let this lie continue (assuming they knew). 

Can you imagine if Jacob found out because he mentioned this to his classmates or a teacher? Maybe a teacher or family member could salvage the situation but little kids can be brutal, especially towards other little kids who they think are wrong and considering we know that in that same year, Jacob was pants-ed causing him to stop believing anything Abe said…. It's not entirely out of the realm of possibility tl believe that one of Jacob's classmates got in a fight with him over it and caused some kind of embarrassing, painful memory. 

Though I guess it's a good thing they didn't get Jacob birthday presents that early on considering my second point. 

2. The birthday scene. 

Look at his birthday scene. 

This scene? Shouldn't really exist. 

Not because I hate birthday scenes but because Jacob literally told his parents he didn't want a party which under normal circumstances is a reasonable ask within itself. But these? These aren't even normal circumstances. 

Jacob doesn't want a party because the one person he'd actually want there, in his own words, is his grandpa. His grandpa who died in his arms nine months before and who Jacob has been viciously mourning for said nine months. His grandpa whose death caused Jacob's ‘mental breakdown’. 

Whose house they had also cleaned out recently, doing shit all for the now sixteen year old’s mental health and grief. 

But what do his parents do? 

Throw him a surprise party.

A surprise party.

For their jumpy traumatized son who found his grandpa bleeding out in the dark after getting attacked by a monster (or ‘rabid dogs’) and who has been sleeping in the fucking laundry room. 

Why on earth would going against his wishes be good for him? He said he didn't want a party and under these circumstances, it's even more understandable. If you really want your son to socialize or to celebrate, then get him a cake or some food he likes and invite his friend over. Talk to him. 

Don't throw him a party he doesn't want and don't throw the kid who's been having non-stop nightmares about the monsters who killed his grandfather a fucking surprise party. 

To make matters, in this party:

One of his uncles he’s not close to tries to spring a summer trip to his house on him, listing shit that he likely knows Jacob doesn't like with no previous warning to the kid himself (his parents were just planning to ship him off, whether he wanted it or not). 

They're calling Jacob's apparent disorder ‘his thing’. 

And nobody is actually getting him anything he wants. Just shit they've been gifted and are trying to get rid of. 

Gifts like CD's of country Christmas music or subscriptions to Field and Stream (because his Uncle Les thinks he's outdoorsy, this one I can understand slightly since Jacob did want to be an adventurer but still). 

The only exceptions being:

 1. The key to the family four-year-old sedan, which Jacob is embarrassed to be receiving in front of Ricky (who Jacob hasn't talked to in a long while after a fight they had). 

And 

2. A camera Jacob had been wanting for ages (since last summer) from his parents….who likely only gifted it to him because of his dad's new book.

Which leads to his mom drunkeningly making front of her husband at her sixteen year old’s birthday party…. Real classy. 

Oh and 3. A book that belonged to Abe that Jacob's parental Aunt Susie snagged trom the house when they were cleaning it out. A book titled “The Selected Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson”. 

She gave this to him, saying it was from Abe because he'd written Jacob's name in it. 

Thoughtful right? 

Well everyone else doesn't think so because they go quiet. Jacob's mom, Maryann even while drunk, tries to say it was thoughtful and that she didn't know Abe was a reader.

Meanwhile Jacob's dad, Franklin, is barely hiding how pissed he is. 

Like dude. 

Dude. 

Do you really hate your own dad so much that you don't want your grieving son to have even just a book of poems that the only member of the family who he was close to left for him? Are you still, even after that disastrous day where you cleaned out the fucking house with him there and fought with him, refusing to let him have any ties left?

To be fair, you can say that this is because of his own history with Abe and that it's because Jacob is in a worrying state. But that doesn't really hold up considering that they let Abe babysit Jacob often and fill his head up with stories they thought he embellished  due to his own trauma and because they thought that Jacob was well enough to handle trashing and donating all of his dead grandpa’s stuff. 

Sure, they don't take the book from him but the fact Franklin can't even hide how pissed he is is shitty. 

That's not even considering this little tidbit here:

“My mother leaned toward me and in a tense whisper asked if I needed a drink of water, which was mom-speak for keep it together, people are staring.”

….

Do I even need to say anything?

The fact that Jacob thinks this probably means that his parents—or even just Maryann—have said this to him before. Frequently so, even. To the point where he's trying to escape the room, feeling like he might cry, and instead of thinking that his parents (or anyone in this family) might be able to potentially comfort him in this hard moment, this is what he's thinking. 

It's infuriating.

But not as infuriating as my last point for now!

3. Franklin sent his then fifteen year old son to deal with what he thought was his dementia ridden, war world 2 veteran father having a PTSD attack/episode. 

Franklin gets called when he's volunteering at a bird rescue in what is either early afternoon or night by his worried fifteen year old said who tells him that Abe called him ‘flipping out’. 

He asks if he's taken his pills today and Jacob tells him Abe wouldn't tell him. 

At this point, any reasonable adult would go and help their poor ailing father who may be having an episode or PTSD attack about the war, what happened to his family. The monsters. 

At this point, any reasonable adult would send their son home out of danger and call up a friend or sibling or in-law to go deal with the situation. 

What does Franklin do?

He sends his fifteen year old, who is at his job, to go check on Abe. Who again, Franklin thinks is having an episode. 

Now, even if there was a chance that Abe would still recognize Jacob and wouldn't be a danger to him, who would risk sending their son to check on an ailing relative by himself when there's every chance that when Jacob gets there he'll be having flashbacks to the horrors he witnessed. I mean, it's understandable if you or another adult is there and need help calming the man for you to maybe have your teenage son there. Especially if he may be caring for him one day out of choice.

But sending your fifteen year old there by himself to handle the situation when he probably won't know what to do and when he probably hasn't seen one before?

And doing that when you know that your dad was in a war and still has a sea of weapons hidden away behind lock and key (a key which you have) because you can't be half assed to tell the shelter your volunteering at that there's a family emergency?

Franklin literally sent Jacob into a traumatizing situation that could turn dangerous (for Abe or Jacob, if Abe didn't recognize his grandson) under the assumption that all of his paranoid dad's weapons are stored away. 

And what did Abe die with in his hand?

A box cutter. 

Which just proves that Abe had things lying around that he could use as a weapon if needed. Things he could improvise with. 

Just think for a moment about what could have wrong if Abe wasn't actually in danger from a wight but something he was actually imagining—a memory from his past. Imagine what could have happened to Jacob if Abe had mistaken him for a burglar or a wight or what Franklin thought he was imagining.

Jacob can't fight. 

It's dark. 

Things could easily go wrong.

And what would happen if they did?

Jacob would be hurt and traumatized or dead and Abe would likely be in a horrible place if he wasn't, all because Franklin didn't care enough about his dad to go check on him himself. Hell you can he didn't even care about Jacob enough here, because he didn't care about what Jacob could possibly see if he sent him to deal with his grandfather.

Like, not only is he being incredibly shitty to his son but to his own ailing father who was at the very least convinced he was in danger and who was actually in danger (for all Franklin knew his dad could have actually heard someone breaking in but he didn't even take the time to think about it). 

That's all I have time to write for today but there's several other things that they do that are pretty crappy where their son is involved that I will happily discuss.

Hope this doesn't disappoint, @kallmeweirdhprroe .

[caitchercatlady]

Sleeping Over at Ramshackle w/Jamil

*Note: I meant to start writing these when Jamil's new birthday card dropped, and I apologize for being late. I hope to get Ace's story done soon, so I can drop Jack's story for his birthday.

Kalim invited you over to Scarabia for a slumber party. What you failed to understand was that Scarabia slumber parties were not the usual slumber parties. There were no card games or spooky stories being told with the lights out. Every light in the dorm house was so bright that you would have thought it was four o’clock in the afternoon for eight hours of the day. Kalim thought it would be a nice gesture to let the other Scarabia students have a night off of training and studying. Per usual, he greenlit, organized, and commenced the party all without Jamil’s consent, and the poor Vice Housewarden was already preparing for an Astrology exam, which was going to take place the next afternoon.

Feeling awful for Jamil, you accepted Kalim's invitation to the party, but you also let Kalim know that you wouldn't be able to sleep the night over because you also had a test coming up tomorrow (You hated lying to Kalim, but you also owed Jamil a favor). At first, the Vice Housewarden was hesitant to leave Kalim alone with the rest of the house. (Knowing the naïve Housewarden’s reputation for taking charge while also accidentally forgetting safety and order, you didn’t blame Jamil.) You offered to spend your time at the party helping Jamil with organizing some security techniques around the dorm, and once those were in place, the Vice Housewarden could come over to Ramshackle and get the rest he needed for the test tomorrow. Though concerned, Jamil went along with your plan anyway, starting at six o’clock. When the clock struck nine, you said your goodbyes to your friends, and you snuck an already-packed Jamil through the Mirror to the school’s main campus, so you two could walk to Ramshackle together.

At the rickety, old dorm, once you convinced Jamil that the shower did indeed have running hot (and cool) water, you adjusted the guest bedroom once more, so that all of the sheets were rid of all of the wrinkles. You fluffed the pillows to their peak softness, hoping they met Jamil’s standards. As for blankets, you took the spare ones that Kalim gave you as a birthday present and set them at the foot of the bed in case Jamil needed them. In terms of temperature, Ramshackle was not the warmest.

Jamil finished his shower, and he was fully dressed in his comfortable athletic-looking pajamas when he was approaching the stairs. You heard his footsteps pass by your room, which was not what you expected.

“How was the shower?” you asked him.

He stopped in front of the open doorway. “Better than I expected. The silence was odd to get used to, but I spent the last two minutes with the water pounding on my face. I was so comfortable; I didn’t know I was doing it until I opened my eyes again.”

“You’re not getting into bed yet? It’s pretty late.”

“I want my hair to dry before I do. I was going to make myself some tea. Would you care for a cup?”

“I’ll make it for you. You are the guest here.”

“If you want to make it for me, I’ll teach you how to make tea the proper Scalding Sands way.”

You were not expecting Jamil Viper to bring his own tea to Ramshackle. Furthermore, you weren’t expecting to bring his own tea set. According to him, there was only one way he liked his tea, and no other teapot could do his drink justice. Jamil was correct for indulging in a cup before bed. The contents of it eased your body into a state of relaxation. He found you so cute when you yawned.

Jamil helped you back up the stairs and to your room. When he put you to bed, the chill of the room attacked each of your skins. Jamil looked at the circumstances of your bed, and said that you would be too cold if you didn’t have Kalim’s blanket presents for yourself. You tried to explain that it wouldn’t be fair to take them when Jamil’s room was also cold.

“Nonsense. You stay here. I’ll be back.” Jamil fetched the spare blankets from his guest room and began to arrange them on your bed.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand your way of working even when you’re outside your own dorm.”

“I consider it as asking for forgiveness of putting myself in your dorm in the first place, Prefect.”

“I was the one who offered my dorm to you firstly, Jamil. I couldn’t let you suffer with all the noise, especially with that important test of yours coming up.”

“I don't believe you know how grateful I actually am,” Jamil confessed. “If you let me…” He cloaked your frame in the nest of blankets. Once the arrangement was to his satisfaction, Jamil broke a clean gap in the layers to join you under the covers. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his embrace. “How is that?” he asked.

Your response was a deep, cozy sigh into the fabric. Your head leaned back into Jamil’s shirt, and he sat his chin on top of your crown, breathing slowly and deeply. The both of you were sure that tomorrow was going to be the easiest test day of Jamil’s life, and he had you to thank the most.

[writerslittlelibrary]

So, I'm not a prisoner?

masterlist part 1 part 2 part 3 extra

summary: you did not expect that your mission to take down the traitor, could end in such a difficult situation for you…

pairing: Natasha x Red Room teen reader

warnings: fighting, weapons, stabbing, blood, implied sexual abuse

genre: fluff, angst

words: 3073

a/n: I wanted to do a fic like this for so long!!!! anyway, I just kept scouting tumblr trying to find fics like this, so I figured I’d finally write one myself :)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

A quick in and out. That was your mission. How on earth did you manage to screw it up so bad. In and out. Assassinate the traitor and come right back. 

Dreykov would’ve been so proud. 

But that didn’t happen. No. Every single aspect about that night failed to go according to plan. You snuck into the event Stark had hosted, was able to blend in with the other party goers, and you were able to hide when most of the people started to leave. 

Once it was just the Avengers left, you stayed in your hiding spot, observing them. You were here to kill Natasha Romanoff, and Natasha Romanoff only. 

You could not afford any casualties, so you had it all planned out. 

You’d wait until the Avengers would leave, and you’d take Natasha out before she could make it to her living quarters. You knew that once she made it to the living space of the Avengers tower, getting to her would be a lot harder. 

However, against all odds, Natasha excused herself from the group quite early, saying she wanted to get a good nights sleep. 

You internally cursed yourself, hating that this wasn’t something that you had planned for. 

Around the couches were still some Avengers sat. You recognised all of them. Clint Barton shouldn’t be too much trouble. He was only a guy who’s good with a bow. For Maria Hill could be said the same thing, except she’s very skilled with a gun.

No, you were worried about the other Avengers still seated. Tony Stark could call upon his armour in mere seconds. Thor had the power of thunder for god’s sake. Wanda Maximoff has exceptional powers, and therefor, if you were to attack with her still in the room, you’d be immobilised in an instant. 

You were fairly certain you didn’t need to worry much about Bruce Banner. Sure, he could turn into the Hulk, but he didn’t turn often, and lately, the Hulk hasn’t been spotted in the battlefield, meaning he probably had many trouble turning into him. 

Pietro Maximoff shouldn’t bring you a lot of trouble either. 

Your main concern were Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. One Super Soldier you could handle, but two? While fighting the rest of the Avengers? That wasn’t going to work. 

Lucky for you, Wanda Maximoff had excused herself from the gathering a while ago. If you didn’t make to much noise, she wouldn’t be much of a problem. You could be outside before she’d even make it to the party deck. 

Your original plan was to just wait. Natasha Romanoff would have usually sat through a party until far into the evening. You’d know, you’ve been watching her for weeks. 

However, now that Romanoff has announced she was returning to her bedroom, a slight panic ran through your body. 

Dreykov gave your 5 weeks to finish this assignment. That’s longer than any assignment you’d ever been on. You could not disappoint him with this. You had to kill the traitor. 

You figured now was your only chance, and so, as Natasha Romanoff made her way towards the elevator, you followed her. 

However, not even to your surprise, she stopped in the middle of the hallway. 

“You know I’m an assassin, too? You’re good, but you’re not un noticeable,” she states, calmly turning around, being met with a gun to your face. The moment she stopped, you were wise enough to draw your gun, holding her at gunpoint for any sudden movements. 

You could see a slight surprise appear on her face, before her face returned to her poker face once again. 

“You’re just a child…” Natasha spoke slowly, seeming almost disappointed. 

“You’re a traitor,” you spoke, loading the gun, taking a step closer. Natasha simply shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she spoke, before leaping towards you. You shot your gun, but Natasha was too fast, avoiding your gunfire as she ran past you, back to the other Avengers. 

How on earth could you have missed that shot? She was right there.

Pathetic. 

You don’t hesitate to run after her, determined to finish this tonight. 

Very much not to your surprise, the moment you run back into the party hall, the Avengers are already standing up and ready. Ready to fight you.

You don’t hesitate to move forwards, and after fighting Clint Barton for mere seconds, you quickly realise they have no intention of hurting you. You could use that to your advantage, and you do.

You kick Barton hard, leaving him on the floor, heaving for air as you move forward, taking on Maria. 

However, the moment you get close to Maria, two strong arms wrap around your body, pulling you back. They’re holding you tightly, and it doesn’t feel like they’re planning to let go. 

You struggle in the hold, fighting against who ever is holding you as you try to break free. A small panic runs through your body. The fear of being captured by the Avengers taking place in your mind. You do not fear the Avengers, but the thought of being seen as a traitor by Dreykov hurts your heart more than words could describe. 

“Stop struggling. We can help you,” you hear a voice behind you speak, and you soon come to realise the person you’re fighting is Captain America himself. 

No wonder you couldn’t get loose. 

Knowing it’s a Super Soldier, you’re quick to outsmart him, making him think you’re getting tired, relaxing your body is his hold. Because of this, the Captain lightens his grip a bit, giving you enough room to wiggle your arm free, moving it backwards to hit him in the face with your elbow. 

Because of the surprise, he lets you go, allowing you to stand again. 

The moment your feet hit the ground, you dash forward, holding up your knife as you use everyone’s shock to your advantage. 

Everyone is surprised by your capability of escaping Steve’s grasp, not realising your already moving towards Natasha again. You reach her quickly, stabbing your knife into her stomach as far as it can go. 

Natasha gasps, and you pull the knife out, watching as all the blood starts to seep from her stomach. 

Slowly, Natasha sinks to the ground, Maria catching her, helping her down. 

You move towards Natasha again, determined to get the job finished, but are quickly stopped by another pair of arms wrapping around your waist. You immediately recognise the metal arm, knowing that the Winter Soldier holds you in his grasp. You can’t escape him. You never have. 

He pulls you backwards, pushing you to the ground as he tries to punch you. However, you regain yourself quickly, rolling away from under him and kicking him in the face. 

Suddenly, you’re moved across the room. You forgot the damn speedster…

You raise your knife quickly, stabbing him before he has a chance to make another move. 

“PIETRO!” you hear a voice yell, and you turn your head to the right. Shit. Wanda Maximoff must have heard the commotion and went down to take a look. You have to get out of there. You will never win a fight with her.

You move quickly, running towards the stairs. However, before you could reach them, you felt a stabbing pain in your left shoulder, the sound of a gun shot following soon after. You had been shot. Bucky Barnes had shot you in an attempt to slow you down. 

But you didn’t let it. 

Instead, you went towards the stairs a little quicker, dashing down the hundreds of flights of stairs to get to the main floor. 

Of course, all SHIELD agents on the main floor were already expecting you, and you were followed by Steve Rogers, but you were quicker than him. You knew that. 

You dashed past all the SHIELD agents, avoiding their gun fire as you made it towards an emergency exit. 

The moment you stepped outside, you started your escape route. You already planned it, knowing exactly which way to go, no matter which way you would exit. 

Steve followed you outside, but the moment he set foot outside the door, you were gone. You had disappeared into the night, leaving no trace. 

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

Back in the Avengers tower, the team was recovering from your attack. Natasha was in bad shape. Your strike had been an attempt to murder her, and you didn’t miss any organs as you pierced your blade through her abdomen. 

Pietro was much better. He was back on his feet quickly, seeing as though you stabbing him hadn’t been a murder attempt. You merely wanted to distract him. 

It didn’t take long for Natasha to get back on her feet either, even though she was advised to stay on bed rest after the surgery. 

Natasha was determined to find you, and she quickly got to work. 

Even though you had made it out of the Avengers tower quickly, you were still hurt, and some of you blood had fallen on the floor as you made your escape towards the stairs. Clint and Maria had collected that blood, running multiple tests, only to find out you were not registered anywhere. 

There was no record of your existence. Were you just another ghost story?

What they did find were traces of the Super Soldier serum. However, they were modified, almost as if they were genetically a part of your system. 

Did that mean you were just another Hydra experiment? Natasha did hear you calling her a traitor. That had to mean you knew Dreykov, right? Who else viewed her as a traitor. I would make sense. Sending a modified teenage assassin after her, knowing Natasha was above killing children. 

Even in the Red Room, she always hesitated when sparring against the younger students. 

Dreykov must have had a lot of faith in you to send you after her. Natasha can only hope you’re not a graduate yet…

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

After the incident in the Avengers tower, you had fled to Germany. You figured it was best to leave the United States completely. And why would they ever search for you in Germany? 

You had rented an apartment, loving the small town you had chosen. Dreykov had given you 5 weeks to finish the assignment, and now, you had only 1 week left. There is now way that you’re going to succeed in killing Natasha within the week. 

They know you are after her now, and they will be prepared for you to make a return. You screwed it up.

Sloppy. 

Right now, you were just heading back to your apartment. You had taken a walk, deciding to make the most out of the freedom you had in the moment. The week would be over soon, and the moment Dreykov would send for your return you are certain you will not be seeing daylight any time soon. 

After you arrived in the apartment building, you instantly felt watched. 

Had the Avengers found you?

You made your way up to your apartment, pushing the key into the lock and walking through the small hallway. Someone was in here, you could feel it. 

You walked into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water, keeping your back towards the living room. 

“There are not a lot of places to hide in this apartment,” you spoke aloud into the emptiness of the apartment. Soon you heard a set of footsteps, and you felt another presence enter the room. 

“You’re very skilled for your age,” you heard a voice behind you say, and you immediately recognised it as Natasha’s. 

“And you are stronger than you look. I mean, even for you, I didn’t expect you to be on your feet so quickly,” you stated, turning around slowly. Natasha wasn’t holding a weapon in your face, something you were definitely expecting. 

You scanned her quickly, seeing the weapons she held on her belt. 

She didn’t come unarmed. Good. She’d be stupid to. 

“I don’t mean you any harm,” Natasha said, taking a small step forward as she held her hands in the air, showing you her every movement. 

You didn’t look impressed, instead just staring at her as she moved. 

“Then you are a fool,” you told her, and you spotted a small smirk flashing over Natasha’s face. “And you are very full of yourself,” she said, moving towards the kitchen island, leaning on it. 

“I can’t say I blame you. You took on a lot of the Avengers on your own. Even two Super Soldiers. That’s impressive,” she stated, giving you a small smile. You didn’t return it. 

“What? Jealous someone better took your place when you betrayed us,” you asked Natasha, determined to get on her nerves.

Natasha’s smile dropped quickly. 

“Quite the opposite, actually. I hoped no one would ever have to go through it again,” she told you, a hint of regret almost identifiable in her expression. Now it was your time to give her a small smile. 

“You think you’re so important that everything should’ve ended with you?” you asked her, moving towards the kitchen island as well, setting your glass down, still holding onto it. 

Natasha shook her head.

“What I am curious about, however, is the genetic Super Soldier serum that runs through your DNA,” Natasha paused, adjusting her stance before speaking again. “Tell me, was your dad a Super Soldier?” 

You let out a huff of amusement, surprising Natasha. 

“You think I believe you’re just here for a conversation? There are SHIELD agents placed on every corner of every street. Don’t think I didn’t notice it. The lovely young couple, drinking coffee at the restaurant downstairs? Amazing disguise, if you were trying to trick nine year olds,” you stated, finishing your glass of water. 

Natasha smiles, clearly impressed with your observations. 

“You’re right. I’m not here for just a conversation, although I do hope we can prevent violence,” Natasha started, but before she could continue you interrupted her. 

“You’re here to bring me in.” 

Natasha nodded, and the look on her face was almost apologetic. 

“No one needs to get hurt. If you just come with me, there’s a big chance you could avoid confinement,” Natasha explained, yet you just scoffed and shook your head. 

“Avoid confinement? Yeah right. There is no way, that after what I have done, your people won’t lock me away.” 

“I can be very persuasive,” Natasha simply replied. 

There was a small silence. Natasha knew you were debating your options. You didn’t seem like a brainwashed sheep. She knew that you knew better than trusting Dreykov’s lies. Sure, you still believed she was a traitor, but there is no way that you didn’t see that what Dreykov is doing is wrong. 

“You know going back after a failed mission will result in punishment,” Natasha started, trying to get through to you. Trying to give you that little push you needed to go with her. “If you go with me, you’ll never be punished like that ever again,” she finished. 

You looked up, deep in thought.

“How could you be so sure?” you asked her, and Natasha didn’t hesitate to respond. 

“We can keep you safe-”

“I found you. I nearly killed you. Who’s to say some other Widow won’t come after me as well?” you replied, and Natasha gave you another small smile. 

“I escaped the Red Room when I was 20,” Natasha started. “It took him 12 years to send someone after me. We will make sure we’ll take him down before he even has the chance to come after you.” 

“How many times, did you try to kill him, exactly? Because I believe you attempted his murder twice already, both of which you failed. You blew him up in Budapest, and then another time when you took the air facility down. Do you honestly think you’ll succeed now?”

Natasha shook her head, seemingly recollecting her thoughts. 

“I failed twice, and that was sloppy, but both times I didn’t have the Avengers on my side. You ran the moment you saw Wanda. You know what she is capable of. Taking down the Red Room for good shouldn’t be too difficult with the Avengers on our side,” Natasha explained, yet you just shook your head. 

“I’m not like you,” you told her, yet Natasha just looked at you in confusion. 

“I’m not some disposable widow like you were. I’m more important,” you explained, and Natasha gave you a sad smile.

“Everyone is just a disposable widow to him,” she started, but you interrupted her. 

“I’m not. You tested my blood. You know I carry the Super Soldier serum. I’m not just some girl he picked up from the streets,” you explained, and Natasha gave you a small nod, encouraging to keep going. 

“I can’t explain it, but he won’t just let me walk. He put too much time in my creation. He would never just let it go to waste,” you finished, looking down, avoiding Natasha’s gaze as you turned around, putting your glass by the sink. 

“We’ll help you. I know that we can,” Natasha tried. 

“Is it worth the risk? My life is not great, but it’s not terrible either. Dreykov values me, and I am not treated like a piece of meat, unlike you might suspect.” 

“So the punishment is worth it, then? Knowing that in three days time, Dreykov will have you be recollected, and once you return to the Red Room, you’ll be punished severely for a failed mission,” Natasha paused, allowing you to let her words sink in. 

“Or, in three days time, you could know you can go to bed without worrying about someone joining. You could know you can be safe, and sleep through the night without anyone disrupting you. Knowing that, is the choice really that hard?” Natasha finished, and you were almost at your breaking point. 

Was it worth it? Was going back the best decision? Dreykov would hurt you, you knew that, but you deserved it. Didn’t you? 

“Please, just come with me. We can help,” Natasha spoke, nearly begged. 

You sighed deeply. 

“Fine, but if you put me in a cell, I will go on a murder streak,” you told her, and Natasha let out a chuckle, before seeing your facial expression, and realising you were dead serious. 

“Duly noted,” Natasha said, before motioning you towards the door. 

What had you done…

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @simp-erformarvelwomen @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @mxximoffswifey

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Change

childhood best friend!soap x reader

There was nothing better than a family get together than at the MacTavish household. There was always an abundance of good food that you got to partake in because according to Johnny's mother, "You're just as much as family as Johnny is."

You tried to ignore the way you always got butterflies in your stomach when she implied you and Johnny we're practically dating, and instead waved it off to the fact that the two of were best friends.

Everyone in the family knew you and Johnny seemed to pride in that fact. He beamed when someone said they were happy to see you for another party and when they said they hoped to see you again.

You thought everyone knew you until he showed up.

It was a normal get together until one of Johnny's cousins, who was much older than the two of you and one that you had maybe seen once or twice in your entire time of knowing Johnny, showed up.

At first you didn't think much of it, especially when everyone was happy to see him.

"There's the kid. Steamin' Jesus, you've grown," he greeted Johnny when a big hug.

He didn't pay much attention to you.

Instead he talked Johnny's ear off. Caught up with him as if the two talked regularly, told him a couple stories about his recent military excursions, which explained the absences, and joked with him.

You tried to join in, showing interest since Johnny was and since it was his family, but they talked over you, as if they both had forgotten you there.

As if Johnny had forgotten all about you.

It stung a little but you couldn't blame him, it was his cousin. This was a family get together he had a right to spend it with his actual family and not you.

So instead you left them alone without excusing yourself and talked to someone else. You got more food, played games with his other younger cousins, and eventually found yourself anxiously waiting alone.

It was late and you were supposed to be back home because you had to be up early tomorrow. Johnny was supposed to drive you, but after waiting for nearly an hour and a half, you came to the conclusion that he had forgotten.

"Oh, pet are you still here?" His mother gave a concerned look but you gave her a weak smile. "He's still talking with his cousin..."

You just shrugged. You were more hurt now and too afraid to open your mouth in case it gave it away.

It was his cousin, you reminded yourself. He hadn't seen him a long time.

"I can take ya home, it's dark out." His mother offered but you shook your head.

"It's not a far walk."

You didn't miss the worried look she gave you or the underlying annoyance she had in her eyes that wasn't directed towards you.

You closed your back door when Johnny called you. You didn't say anything when you answered.

"Mam said you walked home, I thought I was taking ya?" He asked immediately and you clenched your jaw.

"It's fine." You dismissed him with the best neutral voice you could.

On the inside you were hurt. He ignored you all evening and only said something to you as soon as you were gone. You weren't sure if you wanted to tell him off or just brush it under the rug.

"Anyway, I wanted to tell ya that I'm going Herefordshire with ma cousin this weekend-"

"I thought we were going to the lake this weekend?"

Silence. You could feel and hear your heartbeat in your ears your vision slowly blurring.

"No, that's not-oh it was this weekend." He sounded almost...disappointed by the thought.

You were ready to just end the night.

"It's fine," you lied and swallowed the lump in your throat.

"You sure?"

You wanted to say no, that you were a little hurt and pissed off he not only ignored you the entire evening but was now ditching the plans the two of you had made weeks in advance, but you didn't.

In hindsight it wouldn't have made a difference.

"Yeah." You lied again.

"Thanks, bonnie!" You could hear the smile on his face. "I'll see ya at school tomorrow."

"Okay-"

Johnny ended the call before you could even say anything.

You spent the rest of the night in your room clutching your bunny very close to your chest, unable to sleep due to your racing mind.

masterlist

A/N: i took some inspo from his wiki

[zreamy]

nothing to lose

pairing: jay park x fem!reader

summary: after a hockey party, a football game, and a near perfect first kiss, jay is humbled by his (practically silent) friend sunghoon, who reminds him that he has nothing to lose.

genres: university / college au, friends (uni crushes) to lovers, smut, fluff

warnings: minors dni, vaguely (very?) british undertones..

word count: 24,064 .. sorry.

playlist: awkward sza, do you like me? daniel caesar

author's note: please just be nice to me and let me know your thoughts (positive / negative / anything as long as ur not mean abt it) .. thank u @asahicore my rock, my bestie, my beta reader .. <333 hope u enjoy !!!

When you pair his kind eyes and charming smile with his ever-positive outlook on life, it’s easy to see why Park Jongseong is heavily popular amongst the student body; even described by your flatmates (and the rest of his fan club) as the stuff of dreams. And in your dreams, you know exactly why he’s staring in your direction with a sweet smile on his face. In real life, however, you have absolutely no idea and it’s kind of weird. Not his smile itself, no, his smile is.. really pretty, but it’s kind of weird in the sense that it’s directed at you. 

You think. 

Most of the library’s population sits across the room in the computer lab and based on your seat, at an empty table, in the (also empty) far corner, he’s either smiling at you or at the wall that your head is resting on. It’s not until the two of you lock eyes that you feel you should smile back, though your brows knit together at the way he whips his head around in the other direction when you do – a move that seems out of character for the Park Jongseong that you know. Or rather, the Park Jongseong Jay that you knew.

The Jay you knew was a (more than) pleasant enough guy who grinned in a way that pushed a dimple into his cheek every time he got to class and sidled his way through the aisle to sit in the seat next to you. The very first time he did it he’d mistaken you for someone else, his smile faltering slightly as he sat down anyway, a large hand extended to you.

“Jay,” he introduced himself, nodding thoughtfully when you told him your name and holding on to your hand for a split second longer than what was comfortable. And even though it was clear that he’d been sitting in the wrong seat, at Na Jaemin’s end-of-year party months later, you acted shocked when he told you about how he’d forgotten to put his contacts in that morning. Nonetheless, he continued sitting next to you in that class for the rest of the semester.

From your current seat in the library, you watch him curiously, wondering if he might look over again. For two minutes, he leans against a shelf in the reference section, completely unaware of his audience (you) as he types on his phone. You can’t take your eyes off him until the sudden vibration of your phone startles you, your hand reaching for it immediately thinking (hoping?) it might be a text from him.

yj: hockey mixer tn 

yj: what are you guys wearing 

You feel relieved to see that it’s just Yunjin in the group chat, though, as you read the messages, you struggle not to roll your eyes seeing that she (captain of the hockey team) is still trying to convince you (non-member of the hockey team) to go to the hockey mixer. By the looks of things, the field hockey team is the last to take advantage of the space that the student union building has to offer. Functioning as a nightclub over the weekend (and on select weeknights), The U is the place to be if you’re looking for a good time for a good price.

Unlike the other club parties, tonight’s hockey mixer is Yunjin’s answer to concerns raised by members of the students’ union about binge drinking on campus. According to her: “A mixer is an informal gathering where people mingle, interact, and get to know each other. And a party is,” she paused, fixing her eyes on the ceiling as if waiting for divine inspiration to strike. “Fun.” She didn’t seem pleased when you asked if this meant that the mixer would be boring and eventually confessed that the hockey party would be a mixer in name only.

You lock your phone without responding and lift your gaze back to references only to find that Jay is gone; stuck to the part of the bookshelf he was leaning on, you notice a lopsided poster featuring two crossed field hockey sticks and a ball over a green gradient, and a chill runs down your spine. If Yunjin is one thing, she’s bad at graphic design persistent. 

Unfortunately, in all your time spent not working, you find that your laptop hasn’t begun doing your research paper for you, and the Google Doc looks exactly the same as it did when you last edited it one hour ago, with only the intro from the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals website pasted into it. In the bottom left corner of your screen, a white box tells you that it’s 467 words long, and, feeling a rare bout of motivation, you get to work paraphrasing and attempting to condense the text.

As morning turns into afternoon, the library starts to get busier and busier, and despite the low hum of several different conversations creeping in through your earphones, you’ve gotten into a flow with your work and don’t let anything distract you. That is until Jay himself lets his backpack thud onto the table across from you, brows raising a little at the sudden noise, before pulling out the chair and sitting down. 

“Need a study buddy?” he asks, a tentative hand on the zipper of his jacket. 

You take a moment to observe him; the way he asked to join you after having already joined you, settling into the seat before you’d had a chance to say anything. A part of you wants to say “no,” just to see how he reacts, but, with a smile on your face, you take out your earphones and say, “Sure.” 

A grin spreads over his lips as he mumbles the word sweet, shrugging off the oversized coat and letting it drape over the back of his chair, revealing a chunky pair of headphones sitting around his neck and a thin gold chain with a hook pendant on it. His dark hair sits flat on his forehead and he rakes a hand through it twice before taking a textbook out of his bag. He doesn’t touch it, though. Instead, he lets his elbows rest on the table in front of him, biceps flexing slightly under his sleeves as he crosses his forearms. “What are you working on?” he asks.

“A report on the integration of renewable technology in buildings, for my sustainable development class.” 

Jay hums, brows raising slightly. “Renewable tech like solar panels and shit, right?” 

“Right.” 

Another grin, pretty, sincere. “It’s cool you’re getting to learn about the stuff you care about,” he tells you, and even if you hadn’t been looking at him, you’d have been able to hear the smile in his voice, light, sweet. Jay is sweet. The statement trickled out of his mouth so simply, so casually, a small detail that you have to rack your brain to recall sharing with him; still just as attentive as you remember. “Really.”

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling too. “Exactly.” 

There’s a distinct comfort that rolls off of Jay in waves as the two of you chat, and the scene feels familiar. It’s reminiscent of the nights you’d spend together last term, at a table like this one with the notes from your shared Property Law lecture sprawled out in front of you while pretending to study. The two of you would find anything else to talk about, and constantly received dirty looks from the laughter you’d struggle to stifle. 

It’s not until Jay reaches for his textbook that you properly check it out, and as a non-fashion student, you’re not expecting to know what subject he’s studying but you’re pretty sure that Nutrition, Energy, and Human Performance are not part of his curriculum. “Excercise Physiology?” you ask, reading its title.

“I picked it up earlier for Sunghoon. He’s at the rink all morning,” he nods.

“So why are you studying it?”

Jay laughs, shifting in his seat. “It’s, like, the only thing I have in my backpack. I just came over here ‘cause I wanted to say hey.” 

It takes everything in you not to say “aww” out loud; his sweetness palpable, his smile contagious, and his eyes so bright and warm that your heart soars in your chest when you look at them. “Hey,” you say after a beat. 

“Hey,” he chuckles. “How was your break?” 

“It was good! I went home for a week, or so, and then I got bored and came back to hang out with Chaewon,” you tell him, grinning despite yourself at the memory of poorly mixed cocktails and days spent lounging by the pool at her family’s holiday home. “85% of the summer was just us running around being stupid.” 

“And the other 15?” 

You feel more than a little awkward about telling him that you spent the other 15% fooling around with Jaemin, so with a forced smile you tell him, “Just more running around being stupid.” Hopefully, he can’t sense your mild discomfort and thinks you’re scratching your neck because it’s itchy and not because of the slight guilt you feel. “How was yours?” 

“Minus Chaewon, I had, like, the exact same break.” He pauses, breaking out into the widest grin you’ve ever seen. “Oh, and I went to the Yuuri show! It was crazy.” He runs a hand through his hair, sitting up a little straighter in his seat. “I was gonna text you but I didn’t wanna bother you during break or anything.” 

“Oh,” you say, dragging the vowel. “Right. So you’re bothering me during term time instead?” You tease, though with the way Jay’s eyes widen and his brows knit together, it doesn’t seem like he’s caught on to your joking tone. “I’m kidding, tell me all about it,” you add as quickly as you can manage, a huge smile on your face. 

Relief washes over you as Jay laughs, his shoulders shaking, and his nose crinkling, showing off the scar across its bridge that you’ve come to like so much. After calming down, he watches you carefully, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Right,” he finally says, taking a breath before talking with excitement and at great length about the concert. 

But it isn’t without slight interruption: Jay’s phone vibrates against the table a few times, and he ignores it, eventually turning it on do not disturb before squinting at you. “You’re not allowed to laugh. Pinky promise me you won’t laugh.” He holds his hand out to you, wagging his pinky finger in your face. There’s a smile on his lips when you link your finger with his, his skin rough against your own when he squeezes your pinky. As much as his tight grip is starting to hurt, you (unsuccessfully) fight off a smile when you realise that the two of you are effectively holding hands. 

“I’m not gonna laugh,” you promise.

A beat passes before Jay lets out a chuckle. “That’s my girl,” he says, voice low as if he didn’t want you to hear him. You wish you didn’t hear him. 

When you try to let go, he doesn’t budge, only easing up a little so he’s not cutting off your circulation anymore; just holding it lightly with his. Across the table from you, struggling to meet your eyes, Jay wears a sheepish look. “He threw his pick out into the crowd at the end of the show, and I caught it!” he tells you, looking away. “And I cried..” His voice thins out into practically nothing though you think you hear the words “home,” and “Heeseung,” before he stops talking completely. 

Jay’s sentimental side has tugged at your heart for as long as you’ve known him, and given the way he’d sobbed quietly in his seat at the cinemas when you’d gone out to watch a late showing of Spider-Man 2 together, you find it easy to imagine him welling up over catching Yuuri’s guitar pick. 

For some reason, much like the tears he’d shed over Peter Parker, you find the thought quite cute, and a smile teases at the corners of your mouth as you make a mental note to finally listen to some Yuuri songs later on. Jay looks at you expectantly, and before you have the chance to speak his phone starts to ring, vibrating incessantly against the table, though Jay doesn’t take his eyes off of you. 

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, unable to suppress the snort that makes its way out. 

Jay shakes his head. “You promised me. You’re still promising me,” he says, lips curving into a frown as he makes a show of waving your still-linked hands.  

“No, it’s cute that you cried.” 

He seems shocked by this. “Really?” 

“A little.” 

His mouth falls open in a silent gasp as he furrows his brows at you. “A li—” He’s cut off by his phone vibrating once again, and he releases your pinky to check it. Jay sighs lightly, reading the messages from his screen and picking up the textbook. “Sorry, Hoon’s on my ass about this thing. I gotta go.” 

Disappointment weighs lightly on your shoulders at his words, though you do feel better when you see the little pout on his lips, hoping that it means he doesn’t want your conversation to end either. “I get it,” you say, shooting him a smile that you hope is convincing as he puts the book in his bag before pulling his jacket back on, and standing up from his seat. 

“I’ll text you,” he says cheerfully, waving at you before leaving. He looks over his shoulder a few moments later, waving again with the same smile from earlier on his face. 

You can’t help but watch as he retreats, captivated by the air of confidence he somehow exudes even without showing his face, until he disappears into the mix of students by the entrance, becoming just another bag and shoulders in the crowd. 

Without Jay to chat to, the idea of sitting in the library becomes jarring, and suddenly it’s time for you to leave too. You don’t hesitate to grab your phone when it vibrates twice next to you, an odd combination of the relief from earlier and slight disappointment hitting you when you see that it’s Yunjin — texting you directly this time. 

yj: if you wanna ignore me turn off read receipts 

yj: open bar for girls on the team

you: sounds like the hockey girls are gonna have a good night

yj: i’ll get you a jacket

you: don’t bother i’m not going. 

SWANG rattles through tinny speakers in the student union and with every free drink you knock back, it gets harder and harder to pretend to Yunjin that you’re not having a good time. The team jacket she snagged for you and Chaewon to share fits a little big over your shoulders as you conclude that Number 20 is a lot more popular than you thought if the vaguely disappointed look on many faces when they see your face is anything to go by. 

Sitting in a booth towards the back of The U, you and Yunjin mumble along to the song with a shot in each hand as she starts a countdown from 3! and you wonder whether or not you’ll be able to make it to class in the morn—2!—ing given how much you’ve had to drink and how much of the night is still left to happen 1! The formerly rancid tequila goes down like water the first time around, and gets caught in your throat the second time. 

“I’m so happy you came tonight!” she yells in your ear, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, choosing to gush while you cough into the crook of your elbow. “I always have the most fun with you but you never come out.” Her drunkenness is evident in the slightly higher pitch that her words take on and the way most of the consonants come out almost the same way the vowels do. 

As sweet as she’s being, you can’t ignore the alarms blaring in your head hearing that your best friend would describe going out (at least) two nights a week as “never” going out, but you chuckle along anyway, locking your hand with hers. 

With a smile on his face, Lee Jeno brings Chaewon back to the booth in one piece, ruffling her hair a little before raising a hand to salute you and Yunjin, and disappearing back into the crowd. 

“The period at the end of that last text almost convinced us,” she says as she takes her seat beside you. “But I new your little crush on Jay wouldn’t let you miss a chance to see him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Chaewon rolls her eyes, backing a shot before leaning over you to get closer to Yunjin. “She’s pretending again.” 

With a scoff, Yunjin unlocks her phone and pulls up her camera roll to an album titled with an unfortunately cute ship name. “I can’t stop thinki–” You cut her off, snatching the phone from her hands and placing it under your thigh. 

“Okay, okay,” you relent, letting your head fall back as you groan. “I may have had a.. thing for him last semester but I’m over it now.” 

“Do you think he’ll swipe up if I post a song he likes?” Chaewon reads between laughs. 

Flustered, you sink into your seat after hearing the text that you sent two nights ago, hoping with all your might that the booth will open up to swallow you whole. 

To your utter devastation, it does not. 

The universe chooses to soothe you in a different way by sending an angel Kazuha to drag you all out onto the dance floor. With intertwined hands, the four of you “excuse me” and “sorry” your way over to where Sakura and her friend Mark are dancing a little closer than usual with one another. 

His hands are on her hips as he holds her back to his front, the two of them grinding to the music, but she’s quick to smack his hands off of her and break away from him when she sees you guys approaching. Using a hand to push hair out of her face, Sakura laughs at nothing, smacking Mark’s chest playfully while he glues his eyes to the floor. 

“We missed you at pres,” you say, wrapping her in a hug. 

“Right, sorry, Mark had a thing at his place!” 

Despite understanding why she does, you ignore Chaewon when she nudges you at the mention of Mark and his place before hugging him too, agreeing when he says that you guys should come next time. 

The six of you form a circle after greeting one another, jumping around while yelling obnoxiously to the music blaring into your ears. Over Mark’s shoulder, you see Jay nodding at a friend before leaving the clu—“I’m actually gonna go get some air,” you blurt out. “Alone!” you add before Yunjin can offer to come with. 

Despite the way the breeze nips at your legs, the fresh air is a welcome slap in the face when it hits you; the previously ear-splitting music reduced to a pathetic mumble now that you’re outside. A few girls that you recognise from some of your classes stand opposite the, now short, entry queue, waving you towards them and blowing cigarette smoke over their shoulders. You shake your head when they offer you a draw, though (against your better judgement) you do accept a few hits of a polar menthol flavoured juul while chatting distractedly about your “new spot” on the hockey team and trying to find Jay — which doesn’t take you very long.

Not too far from where you’re standing, he leans against the building’s grey brick while looking at his phone. Its OLED display casts a slight glow over his features, showing off the crease of his brow, the slope of his nose, and the tiny little pout set on his lips as he types. 

You can’t help but stare as Jimin and Minjeong plan the rest of their night, which includes afters at Yizhuo’s if she doesn’t pass out, and extend an invitation to you and your friends — “I mean, we’re still gonna go. She’ll probably need us more if she does,” Minjeong says, stubbing out a cigarette under her shoe before both girls head inside. 

Waving goodbye, you let yourself find Jay again and take a deep breath. For a moment, you attempt to strategise in the way you and the girls always do together. A few possibilities play out in your head and right when you think you’ve found a good opener—“Hello!” You find yourself saying as you stumble walk over to him.

As you’ve come to expect, his mouth curves into a smile when he looks up at you. “Hello,” he says, laughing through the word. In the short time it takes you to reach him, and lean about an arm’s length away on the same wall, he slips his phone into his jacket pocket. “Since when are you a hockey girl?” 

With a smile of your own, you roll up your left sleeve to refer to a watch that you’re not wearing. “It’s been a few hours.”

Jay’s teeth press down on his bottom lip as he chuckles, before mumbling an apology and pulling his phone back out. You don’t mean to peek at his screen when he opens the messages app, but you do anyway. And can’t help but feel bad at the sight of your name at the top of the second message thread — the memory of Yunjin taking your phone so you couldn’t text back forcing your stomach to turn a little. 

Lifting your gaze back up to him, you sort of hate how pretty he looks as he ruffles his hair before putting his phone back in his pock—You turn your head immediately, finding sudden interest in the lamp post that irregularly flickers a pale yellow over his shoulder. For a split second, it seems like you managed to stare at him without being caught, but if the little laugh he lets out is anything to go by, your neck jerk wasn’t as subtle as you’d hoped. 

“You’re cute,” he grins, stepping a little closer. “It suits you.”

It’s a struggle to backtrack and remember what the two of you were even talking about as the faint scent of his cologne hits your nostrils. “F-field hockey?” you offer. 

“The jacket,” he clarifies, a sweet laugh slipping past his lips as he speaks. 

“Ohh, you too.”

He cocks his head to the side. “You think this suits me?” 

His hand comes to one side of his denim jacket, holding it out slightly and allowing you to catch a proper whiff of his cologne and a glimpse of his bare shoulder. You worry a little about what might come out of your mouth if you open it, deciding for everyone’s sake just to nod and pray that he’ll leave the damn jacket alone. 

“It’d probably look better on you.” 

An audible smile tugs at your lips. “No way.” You shake your head, trying and failing to keep your giggles to yourself.

“You wanna prove me wrong?”

With a tilt of your head, you turn the offer around in your mind; a pros and cons list starting to take shape. 

Pros: getting to wear Jay’s jacket, having an almost permanent reason to keep chatting with him throughout the night, and getting to see Jay in a vest — arguably the biggest pro of them all, given the amount of IG stories he’s posted in the gym recently.

Con: losing free drinks privileges; which doesn’t really seem like a huge deal because Chaewon can just wear the hockey jacket and get drinks for you like she’s been doing for half of the night so far. 

Under the weight of Jay’s stare, you shift on your feet, realising that he’s clearing his throat for the second time since he stopped speaking and you still haven't said anything. “But then I’d have to pay for my drinks,” you say in an attempt not to seem too eager. The words slur a bit on their way out, though you’re too caught up in the way Jay’s lips tug into a grin to fuss over it. 

“Not if you stick wi—” He stops short, cut off by a voice from a few metres away. “Jongsaaaaaaeeeeeeng!” it yells. And if not for his silver head of hair, you’d never have believed it was Park Sunghoon screaming like that. 

“Poor guy kept icing himself,” Lee Heeseung calmly explains, walking ahead of Sunghoon and, what looks like, Sim Jake who’ve been giggling with one another since the cry left the younger’s mouth. 

Despite not knowing Sunghoon very well, from what you’ve heard about him, it’s easy to imagine him hiding bottles of Smirnoff Ice to ice one of his friends, only to lose track of where he’d put them and find them himself later on, thinking one of his friends was icing him. The thought makes you stifle your laughter; you like the fact that Jay laughs too. 

Before dapping Jay up, Heeseung offers him the confiscated Smirnoff Ice that Sunghoon had made quite a dent in, only shrugging when he declines. Jay watches as his friend wraps an arm around your shoulder in a polite side hug while asking if you want to finish the “smice”. You let a beat pass before telling him that you’ll think about it. 

For a while, you listen as he fills Jay in on what he missed at pres, smiling at Jake and Sunghoon as they get closer, and wondering when it would be appropriate if at all, to introduce yourself to the three boys that you’ve only ever walked by at parties or on campus. You find a window when the two arrive, waving a little when you tell them your name. 

Jake’s lips curve into what looks like a smirk as he looks over at you. “We know,” he says, eyes darting quickly over to Jay before looking back at you.

Sunghoon says nothing. 

The boys are quick to get back to their conversation, and Heeseung glances in Jay’s direction, nodding his head before making a show of unscrewing the cap on the smice and skying it. After an impressive chug, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, holding up the empty bottle like a trophy before putting it in the bin. 

With a slight frown, you realise that you didn’t even get to tell him that you didn’t want it. 

There’s a grin on his face as he wraps his arms around Jake and Sunghoon’s shoulders. “See you guys in there!” he says before guiding the two boys away and into the club.

With the two of you on your own again, you become hyperaware of your proximity, of the fact that if you moved your hand even a centimetre it would brush his. The heat from his body is dizzying, and with his body leaning down towards you, Jay is already watching you when you look up at him. His lips rest in a small smile that only widens at the sight of your face, seeming unbothered that you’d caught him staring. That it wouldn’t take much to bridge the gap between your faces. Between your lips.  

“The offer still stands,” he says. “To wear my jacket and drink for free.” 

A somewhat familiar 808 beat rattles through tinny speakers in the student union.Jay’s jacket fits pretty big over your shoulders as you try not to say anything ridiculous while he holds your hand, leading you through the crowd. Now that your hands are actually clasped, the butterflies you’d felt over having linked fingers for a pinky promise seem silly, completely eclipsed by the feeling of your heart clattering against your ribs. After every few steps, he looks over his shoulder at you, your cheeks burning hotter and hotter with each smile he throws your way.

Upon your return to the booth, you drop the team jacket in Chaewon’s lap, praying that your friends won’t say anything about Jay or the fact that you’re wearing his jacket — or the fact that despite having reached your friends safely the two of you are still holding hands. By the looks of things it seems as though telling her to move up isn’t enough of a signal to her that you’d like to sit down; though maybe she’s just too busy trying to shrug the jacket back on to move up. You tell yourself that she’s just too busy trying to shrug the jacket back on to move up. 

Chaewon wears a wicked grin on her face, making no effort to be discreet about staring at your intertwined fingers. “YN? Why aren’t you dancing? You love this song!” she says, opening her mouth to wink obnoxiously at you and nudging Yunjin.

“I don’t know this song,” you say, liking the way Jay laughs beside you, squeezing your hand a little. 

For reasons unbeknownst to you, Yunjin sees this as the best opportunity to chime in, tilting her head before saying, “Whaaaaaaat? This is your favourite song! Trust me, Jay, she loves this song!” 

“And she’s such a good dancer,” Chaewon adds. “Have you seen her dance, Jay?” 

You stand around dumbly, mouthing the word “stop,” at your friends and leaning up towards Jay when he leans down to you. “How about a drink?” he asks with a voice as smooth as velvet, soft lips grazing the shell of your ear. 

“Please.” 

After telling the girls that you’ll be back, and flipping them off with your free hand, you let Jay lead you back through the dance floor to the bar, letting an elbow rest on its surface. When you look at him, he’s watching you, his lips quirked up ever so slightly while he does so. 

Letting your nails drum against the bar, you smile back. “Sorry about my friends,” you say, unsure as to why you’re apologising but feeling like it’s the right thing to say. 

“Sorry about your friends?” Jay asks. He grins. “Sorry about mine.”

You want to tell him that you liked his friends, that they seemed nice. Even though Sunghoon didn’t speak, and Heeseung finished the drink he offered you before you even had a chance to let him know that you wanted it. But he’s already distracted. 

His eyes scan the bottles that line the shelves behind the bar, and you busy yourself doing the same thing, the sight of almost every rum brand bringing up memories of past nights out with your friends. Two palm trees on a white bottle of “MarkLeebu” leave you suppressing your laughter as you think about Sakura’s friend falling asleep - standing up - against the wall of a club after drinking two bottles of Malibu to himself on a dare. 

Jay’s breath fans your ear when he speaks, “What are you having?” 

“A jäger bomb.” 

With a nod, he orders your drink and a whiskey for himself, and as per his suggestion, the two of you toast “to third year” before drinking. 

Jay makes good on his promise. One shot becomes two becomes three, and a cocktail in a comically large pitcher before you wake up the next morning to Sakura hogging the duvet, and no memory of anything beyond sitting down at the bar. 

While lying on your back you curse two versions of yourself: the first for leaving the window open before you left, and the second for having so much to drink. Staring up at the ceiling, you attempt to go over your interactions with Jay using a fine-tooth comb to figure out just how badly you humiliated yourself last night. Given the fact that you don’t remember what happened after 1 a.m. (or so), this doesn’t take too long, and the corners of your lips quirk up into a smile as you think about the way his hand felt in yours. 

Your memory tells you that he smiled a lot, but this seems like an insignificant detail because Jay always smiles a lot. There was a pitcher. A big one. Inside it was a vibrant, sweet, too cheap to be true cocktail that you sipped, blinked, and opened your eyes to find yourself in bed. The unaccounted-for period fills you with a visceral sense of dread, leaving you unsure if you shiver because of the temperature in your room or out of sheer embarrassment. 

The notifications you find on your phone only make you feel more nervous, so you cover your eyes with your hand before checking them. You were mentioned in Chaewon’s Instagram story (which means you behaved catastrophically), and you have a text from Jay (which .. well you’re not quite sure what to make of this). Through the gap in your fingers, you start by looking at the story, uncontrollable butterflies in your stomach from what you see. A picture (on close friends) of you sitting in Jay’s lap with his arms wrapped around your wairs, and his chin resting on your shoulder; the two of you donning wide grins with THESE TWOOOOOOO 😍😍😍 written over it. 

Jay’s text is simple yet sweet: hope u got home okay, was realy nice getting to chill w u again &lt;3. You don’t even realise that you’re giggling until Sakura stirs next to you. 

you: i did thank uuuuuuu

you: sorry if i was weird though haha 

You say. Although all things considered, you can’t really think of anything to be haha-ing about but Jay’s reply comes so quickly that you barely have the time to dwell on this fact. “Nahhhh you were so cute dw,” he texts back. 

With your stomach doing somersaults, you turn over in the bed, burying your head in the pillow to muffle a squeal.

Sakura wakes up. 

While in the shower, you let the water hit you directly in the face for a bit with your eyes screwed tightly shut under the stream. And not a single thought occurs to you other than how cute Jay seems to think you are. 

jay: do you have class today

you: slept in

jay: L

jay: for me.. i wanted to see you again  

Your jaw falls open as you read the message, and over your shoulder, Yunjin lets out the gasp that you hadn’t been able to. “Oh, my God!” she says, watching as a cheek-aching smile creeps up on your lips. A small celebration ensues while the two of you squeal and kick your feet like children. And then your phone vibrates again.

jay: could still link if ur down?

jay: hold up 

Yunjin pulls air through her teeth. “Could still link if you’re down,” she reads before taking the phone from your hand. “Fuckboy text, ignore.” 

Knowing you’re not likely to win the argument that Jay’s not a fuckboy — even though he’s not one, you think — you roll your eyes. “So what if he’s a fuckboy?” you frown, pulling your knees to your chest. 

“If a fuckboy was supposed to be liked he’d be called a like boy,” Yunjin says as if reciting scripture. “Text Jaemin back if you want a fuckboy.” 

You don’t mean to groan out loud at her tone. “Jaemin’s not a fuckboy, he’s just.. a guy. Who.. likes to fuck.” 

The sound of the front door opening prompts you to pause the TV, and the two of you crane your necks towards the open doorway to hear what’s going on. It’s Chaewon giggling loudly before speaking. 

“Thanks for bringing me home.” 

A deep chuckle sounds through the hall. Jeno. Of course. “You’re my girl,” he says and his smile is audible through his words. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Chaewon giggles at this too, and, pressing play on the remote, you share a look with Yunjin as you hear the beginning of a wet kiss. Brooklyn Nine-Nine gets through an entire cold open and the theme song before she – looking fresher than ever in her boyfriend’s sweatpants – joins you both on the couch. 

“What’d I miss?” she asks. 

“Yunjin thinks Jay’s a fuckboy.” 

Chaewon lets out a snort. “Well, yeah, anyone could’ve told you that, dude’s best friend is Lee Heeseung,” she says, though quickly changes her tune as if remembering her audience. “It’s all just rumours though, people see a good-looking guy who’s overly friendly and flirts with everybody, and posts obvious thirst traps to his Snapchat story, and just assume he’s a fuck boy..” she trails off, sinking a little in her seat.

Somewhat disheartened, you nod your head. “Right.” 

“So what did I miss?” Chaewon asks again, pointing at the TV this time. 

Still in Yunjin’s custody, your phone vibrates in her lap and she gasps as she reads the screen. “A reformed fuck boy?” she says, holding the phone up for you and Chaewon to read. 

jay: would you like to hang out with me later? 

You grin despite yourself, reading the message and reading it again before telling him “yes”, and later can’t come soon enough. The time slips by like molasses and you finally meet up with Jay -four decades- two hours later, with no set plan, at the library where he approaches you with Jake and a smile on his face. 

Friendly as ever, Jake chats with you and keeps a pretty smile on his lips the whole time. “If you ever have a hard time with physics or math based classes, I’ve got you,” he offers, clearly happy to hear that you’re in STEM too. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you tell him, grateful as you remember the tears you’d shed over a Construction Mathematics lecture last year. 

With a wave, Jake leaves the two of you alone, saying “See you later” before walking away. He excitedly glances over his shoulder to where you stand with Jay a few times. 

After telling you that he “knows a spot,” Jay takes you on a bit of a walk, successfully distracting you from the distance by keeping you talking. He listens enthusiastically while you ramble about a show you started, and you like the feeling in your chest when he says he’ll check it out. 

With a “ta-da,” Jay extends an arm to the gate in front of you. A play park. “We’re here!” he says, struggling to mask the excitement in his voice as he walks towards the empty play area. “It’s no fun when there’s kids here so I brought us the long way.” 

As you follow him through the gate, you can’t help but feel a bit nervous. The last time you’d been sober at a play park you were probably 15 or so, cutting through the park on your walk home from school with your friends. You’d spin the roundabout at lightspeed cackling at the screams of terror coming from those sitting on it, and talk about your crushes while calming down on the swings. 

Jay sits on one of the swings and watches you, and even though you’re not too sure what to talk about, you’re pretty sure confessing your crush on him as you sit next to him might send him running in the opposite direction. Instead, you clear your throat and look over at him. “So your “spot” is a play park?” you ask, using your feet to rock you back and forth. 

He pulls air through his teeth, scrunching his nose and tilting his head. “Would you prefer it if I took you to CP in the Sky?” 

If Jay had his car with him, you might have hoped for that. Most of the boys in your city who drive, including Jaemin, have been known to take girls to a spot they know. Super quiet, private, and almost as pretty as you, they’ll say, and take you up to ‘Car Park in the Sky’; the city’s most notorious hook-up spot. Though, Jaemin hadn’t exactly been secretive about wanting to hook up and actually only drove there after you’d told him about it. 

You shake your head. “The park is good, it’s great.” 

Conversation ebbs and flows between the two of you, the sounds of nature and the swings creaking keeping you company. It’s nice spending time with Jay like this. Sober. And not holed up in the library or a cafe with assignments and deadlines on your mind. 

You don’t mean to gain momentum but you do, swinging about as high as you can, gasping when you see a car over the top of a climbing frame. 

“What is it?” he asks, laughing to himself when you jump off the swing. 

“I wanna take a drive!” you call out over your shoulder, jogging over to the wooden stationary car you saw.

Jay’s footsteps sound after yours, and he grabs you by the wrist before you climb into the driver’s side. “Did you get your licence yet?” 

You shake your head, watching as his mouth falls open, bracing yourself for a lecture on how a girl of your age should be driving already. 

He looks aghast, in genuine distress before he speaks. “What makes you think I’m gonna let you drive?” Jay nods his head to the other side of the car. “Go.” 

Letting out the most exaggerated sigh you can manage, you comply, dragging your feet to the passenger side and climbing in. Jay follows suit, sitting down next to you on the small connected seat built with kids in mind, and his thigh presses up against yours. 

“Don’t be upset, everyone knows passenger princess is way more fun than actually driving.” 

And rationally, you know he’s not specifically calling you a princess but your tummy turns nonetheless. 

“Whatever,” you mumble, faking a sigh and struggling to suppress your laughter when he buckles a fake seat belt. Jay gives you a disapproving look when you don’t move to do the same. “Are you serious?” 

“As a heart attack,” he says solemnly, though you can see the smile teasing at his lips. “Better safe than sorry, that’s what I always say.” 

There’s nothing behind his words, no hidden meaning but you read into them anyway, hoping he can’t hear the way you gulp at the thought that plagues you. For some reason, you’ve chosen this hill to die on, shrugging at him and turning to look straight ahead. 

Jay sighs dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose before leaning over you to grab your ‘seat belt’ and buckle in by himself. He takes his time though, and the way he looks you dead in the eye makes you wish you’d just done it yourself. His face is close to yours, his breath warm against your skin, creating a welcome contrast to the cold air around you. He lingers for a beat before sitting up straight and clicking the belt into place. 

“Finally,” he whispers, putting an imaginary gear stick into reverse and draping his arm over the back of your connected seat. You can’t help but watch as he looks over your shoulders before moving the car, liking the way his side profile looks under the rapidly setting sun. Something stops him, he looks at you. “I can’t focus with you staring at me like that,” he says, taking his hand from the wheel to touch your cheek.

Your breath catches in your throat. Jay grins, gently turning your face away from him. You stare over at the roundabout and feel just as dizzy as you would have if you’d taken him up on his offer to spin you on it. 

Jay gets on with all the necessary checks before ‘starting’ the car and ‘driving’ off. “What are you thinking about?” 

It probably wouldn’t be appropriate to tell him that you’re thinking about the way it felt when he put his fingers to your cheek. Or how gentle he was with you, only pushing you a little bit and then guiding you the rest of the way. So you keep that to yourself. “The movies.” 

You hear Jay chuckling next to you. “All of them?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. “The drive-in kind. Have you been?” 

“I went once.” 

You gasp, excited. “Really? What did you see?” 

Jay thinks about it for a while. He thinks about it really hard before shaking his head, “You know, I don’t think I was paying much attention.” 

“You spent all that money on a ticket and didn’t even pay attention? What were you doing?” The words rush out before you can stop them and you cringe a little thinking about the possible answers. 

He turns his gaze back out on the road. “Sleeping,” he mumbles, swallowing thickly. 

You wish you could go back in time to stop yourself from asking, finding an answer to the question: “Is it better to speak or to die?” 

“Hey, we can go to the drive-in right now! I just need to put this thing in park and we can watch any movie you want!” he says, stopping the car and turning as much as he can in his seat to face you. “Any movie that’s available with a Netflix subscription!” he adds, smiling when you do. 

Cramped together in the front seat of the stationary car, the two of you watch The Devil Wears Prada and get about halfway through before Jay’s phone hits 10% — and it’s probably the best movie watching experience you’ve ever had.  

You take Jay up on his offer to walk you home, and he chats with you about the movie, telling you how much he thinks it totally blows that Miranda Priestly isn’t a real person that he can work for after graduation, but he seems happy enough when you suggest that he could become Miranda Priestly.  

Reaching the familiar crossing by the student union, you look up at him. “If it’s easier, you can just head your way from here. I can literally see my building,” you offer, feeling bad about him walking so far out of his way. 

Jay scoffs like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “I’m not gonna make you walk by yourself.” 

“It’s barely five minutes,” you tell him, shaking your head. “You don’t have to.” 

“YN?” 

“Hm?”

A pretty smile spreads across his lips. “I want to, let’s go.” And Jay hardly gets to start telling you about his upcoming mock trial before you reach your flat. 

“This is me,” you say, pointing at the door to your building. 

He lets out a dry chuckle. “You’re kidding.”

You shake your head. He frowns, looking terribly cute with his lips turned down like that. Though it doesn’t last for long and he raises his brows when you gasp. “You know, we came from a place I’ve never been before, and I’m starting to think this might be the wrong street,” you say, struck by the sudden realisation. “We should probably walk around the block a couple more times, just to really be sure.” 

Listening to your words, Jay beams at you and it’s heavenly. “I heard it can actually take, like, 4 or 5 walks around the block if you want 100% certainty.” 

“Oh yeah,” you giggle. “I think I’ve heard that too. Should we make it 6?” 

“Perfect.” 

To your surprise, you’d both been wrong. As it would turn out, the required number of, very slow, walks around a student housing complex to be 100% sure, completely beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’re at the right place is ten.

“Hey, uh, how about we do one more lap? Just to make sure? For the absolute best measure,” Jay suggests, eyes twinkling under the streetlamp. He almost looks a little nervous, burying his hands in his pockets as he watches you. 

“Sounds good.”

Just like your last few walks around the student housing block, fallen leaves rustle under your footsteps, and the back of Jay’s hand still brushes against yours, but this time feels different. Maybe because there’s a finality to this; the last lap. You couldn’t possibly ask him to spend any more time walking around here. Could you? 

“This neighbourhood is so cute, all the student apartments clustered together like this, I love it,” he says, looking over at you.

“It’s nice knowing that some of my friends, and the people I like partying with, live so close, but it’s always so noisy around here,” you tell him, continuing when he doesn’t speak. “‘Cause it’s all just a bunch of 18–20–somethings that live here, and The U’s just down the street. The noise is fun when I’m part of it, but when I’m studying or just trying to sleep it’s annoying.” 

“Don’t you think it’s kinda cool though? There’s always something happening. So even if the girls aren’t down to go out, you’re not exactly short on plans.”

You’d never really thought of it like that. Probably because Yunjin is always down to go out. But you like the way he puts it. You nod, reminded of your classmates who live in the building right next to where you’re walking. “Yeah, I should probably text Minjeong more.” 

“And if not you can always hit me and see what I’m doing,” he says at the same time. 

You stop walking, and your heart — feels like it — stops beating. 

Jay, noticing this, stands in front of you, hands help up defensively as he shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that, obviously. I just thought it’d be cool if you weren’t doing anything and I wasn’t doing anything, maybe we could link and do nothing together,” he explains. “I’m stupid, sorry.”

This might be the first time you’ve ever heard Jay ramble like this, and your heart does a twirl just seeing his worried expression. “I think if I’m not doing anything, and you’re not doing anything, then it’d be cool for us to link and do nothing together, Jay,” you smile, liking the way he visibly relaxes, his shoulders falling slightly and an exhale curling out of his mouth and into the air.

“Cool.” 

When, for the 11th time, you reach your building, you turn to Jay and hesitate a little, unsure of what to say. Glancing at him, it looks as though he’s feeling the same way. A silence falls over the two of you. 

Finally, Jay speaks. “Goodnight,” he says, pulling you into a hug. 

Despite your surprise, you wrap your arms around his waist, holding him close. You hope he can’t feel the way your heart is racing. Or the way it starts to pick up when you catch a whiff of his scent. Warm and cosy, tempting in a strange way that you can’t quite put your finger on but you like all the same. 

When Jay lets go of you, you look up at him almost instinctively. You don’t mean to stare at his lips but you do, gulping at how close they are. You want to kiss him. Not any more than usual, but the urge is there. “Goodnight,” you say, taking a step back and walking up the path to the door.

Using your key fob, you unlock the door, turning to look over your shoulder and thankfully finding Jay still standing there, watching you with a stomach-turning smile on his face. “I had a really nice time tonight,” you say, smiling back. 

“Yeah?”

You nod. “We should hang out more.”

“I think so too.” 

“Cool,” you smile, biting your lip. “Goodnight, Jay.” 

“Goodnight, YN.” 

“Could you, text me? When you get home, so I know you’re, like, safe.” 

Jay beams at you, nodding his head. “Of course.” 

After a week (eleven days) of texting and hanging out with Jay when you can, you find yourself spending 3 hours of your Friday afternoon taking notes in your Sustainable Development lecture, and coming to the realisation that none of the course content is relevant to the report you’re trying to get through. 

Seeing Jay leaning on the wall outside your class when you leave is a welcome surprise; he wears a thin pair of glasses and a smile that makes your heart stutter a bit as he stands up straighter, greeting you when he sees you and quickly falling into your step. “I meant to ask you earlier, are you going to the game on Saturday?” A beat passes. “Football,” he clarifies. “First home game of the season.” 

“Maybe if my friends are going.” 

Jay seems to think about this for a moment as you round the corner at the end of the corridor and he holds the door to the stairwell open. “After you.” 

You mumble a thank you and count six steps before he speaks again. 

“I’m going,” Jay informs you, his hand meeting the back of his neck to scratch awkwardly at it. “I mean, I’m gonna be on the pitch but.. I’ll be there.” 

A breathy laugh slips from your lips at this added information; how sweet of the football team’s captain to let you know that he’ll be at his team’s football game on Saturday. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“I just think it’d be cool to see a friendly face in the crowd when I score the winning goal.” 

Given Jay’s unending kindness, you imagine that most of the faces in the crowd — or at least the ones from your uni — will be friendly, especially if he scores the winning goal. The thought causes a smile to itch at your lips as you consider that maybe he means that it’d be cool to see your friendly face in the crowd. And who could say no to that? 

The rest of the conversation goes smoothly and Jay slows down when you reach the second floor. “I have some admin shit to work out, but I’ll see you at the game?” he asks, watching you with hopeful eyes and chewing on his bottom lip.

Knowing full well that you’ll be there, you pretend to think about it for a moment. “Maybe.”

Jay chuckles at this, tilting his head. “Please?” 

“Maybe,” you repeat, despite already planning your outfit. Did you wash your white shirt or will you be doing laundry tonight? You wave at Jay when he waves and make your way down the rest of the stairs while clicking mindlessly through Instagram stories. 

Nothing interests you until you reach IG user onyourm__ark's story; a picture of IG user 39saku_chan in his football jersey. You hit the like button and pretend to believe that the song choice (Infrunami by Steve Lacy) was made purely out of sheer enjoyment of the artist’s early work.

With a smile on your face, you text the group chat to solidify your weekend plans.

you: are u going to the football game tmrw

cw: not even if u paid me

yj: hard no

yj: i’m going to the party AFTER the game though

yj: why?

you: it’s nothing dw

cw: ???

you: jay invited me..

The chill of October’s first evening is unkind on your face as you sit amongst the rowdiness of drunk uni kids, cheering and groaning in unison as the game trudges on, and somehow Kazuha manages to sleep through it all with her head on your shoulder. 

“Fuuuuck,” Yunjin groans, shivering in the seat next to you. “I hate sports.” 

“Says the captain of the hockey team,” you say, voice coming out muffled behind the top of your jacket.

“Playing and watching are, like, completely different.” 

You’re sure Yunjin’s right, she has to be, but you have to admit that there’s something more than slightly entertaining about watching a group of boys chasing a ball around and yelling expletives at one another, all while number 99 keeps a huge grin on his face, laughing at his teammate’s temper. Or lack thereof. 

However, the novelty wears off at around 8:45 when the ref calls for half-time; a chill runs down your spine as you’re struck with the realisation that university football games are full-length. But other than Yunjin’s teasing, there’s no use pretending that you hate the sight of Jay lifting the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face.

As the players retreat from the pitch and some students start to clear the stands, Yunjin gets up to stretch. She hums along to the song playing while you watch from your seat with aching knees, slightly envious and trying not to move too much and wake up Kazuha who sleeps soundly on your shoulder. 

With her arms above her head, Yunjin lets out a yawn. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but I’d really rather be doing a reading for marketing than be here any longer.”

“And I’d rather be helping you out,” you say, frowning a little when Kazuha stirs. “Hey, what do you think they do during half-time?” you ask distractedly. 

She thinks about it for a beat, eyes flicking to the pitch before looking back to you. “We usually strategise, use the bathroom, get water — quick things like that,” she says, raking a hand through her hair, watching as you shift a little in your seat to get your phone from your pocket when it vibrates. “They have a lot longer than we do though.” 

jay: are you having fun?

you: yeah you guys are great, good game so far :)

Yunjin scrunches up her nose as she reads the exchange. “God, you’re so boring,” she sighs, taking the phone from your hands, and typing something before showing the screen to you. 

“We should link at the party later,” you read, scoffing as you take it back and delete the message. “I’d never say that.” In those words. 

jay: hahaha i think you might be my good luck charm 

A dramatic gasp comes from a now-awake Kazuha. “Don’t reply!” 

You heed this advice, joining her as she stands up to stretch as well. 

“Look how much fun they’re having,” Kazuha sighs, pointing over at Sakura and Chaewon in their seats close to the pitch. They dance along to the music blaring through the speakers and laugh so loudly you can hear them despite their distance. “Why didn’t we join them?” 

You think about it for a bit, filled with regret. “At the time, pregaming before the game and then pregaming again before the party seemed intense but..” you trail off, watching your friends clutch their stomachs in laughter. “Next time.” 

“Next time,” Kazuha repeats, slouching in her seat. “I’m clearing your drink supply when we get back.” There’s a frown on her face when she speaks but she’s quick to perk up at the sound of your text tone, grabbing the phone for herself. 

jay: are you coming tn? got a feeling that congrats will be in order

you (technically kazuha): wouldn’t miss it !!! 

“Three exclamation points? I’m not that desperate,” you say defensively, nudging her in the ribs. 

As if on cue, Yunjin reads another text. “I saw his notes again, his handwriting is so cute and ugly, agh I’m literally clutching my chest, he’s perfect,” she says, her voice high-pitched and mocking. 

Hearing your typed words out loud from someone else’s mouth is troubling, especially because “It never seems that bad when I’m typing,” you frown, immediately checking your phone when it goes off. 

jay: awesome :) see u there 

jay: !!!

The game’s second half goes by much quicker and in the end, they lose 5-3, leaving you and Yunjin struggling to keep your laughter to yourselves at the sight of the FIRST W OF THE SEASON banner hanging up in the living room of the house that most of the footballers share. With linked arms, the two of you make your way to the kitchen to get something to drink. Already feeling the buzz from pregaming, you settle on a cup of lemonade which Yunjin rolls her eyes at. 

“Shut up,” you say, eyeing her over the rim of your cup. 

Yunjin holds her hands up defensively, spilling a few drops of her tequila-vodka concoction. “I didn’t even say anything.” For a couple of minutes, you pretend to listen as Yunjin tries to come up with a game plan for the night, nodding and humming along when she pauses, and trying to decipher the animal code names she’s using. A gasp. “I see him! Black cat and penguin sitting out on the half wall.” 

You watch as she leans over the sink to get a closer look out of the window. “I feel like saying exactly where they are makes the code names redundant.” 

“I feel like you’re redundant.” A beat passes. “Just be yourself, and if he says something funny, laugh and put your hand on his bicep while you do.” 

“Noted.”

Yunjin doesn’t let you go outside without taking a sip (or three) of the poison in her cup, and after you gag over the sink, the two of you make your way into the garden, sights set on the half wall where “black cat” now sits alone. A potent mixture of the scent of tobacco and weed hits you the second you open the back door, and the two of you leave the house to make a beeline to Jay, apparently to Yunjin’s displeasure, given the way she asks you three times to play beer pong with her when some of the basketball boys start setting up cups for the next round.

“No,” you say. Three times. 

As if sensing your presence, Jay whips his head around right before the two of you reach him, a bright smile gracing his face as he waves at you with his whole arm. He seems to glow against the darkness of the night, bright, dreamy, an unreal quality that leaves you feeling fuzzy around the edges. Jay, you think, over and over and it starts to sound made up. Jay. Jay. Jay. Until you reach him. He stands up when you guys are close enough. “You’re here,” Jay says with a smile, pulling you into a hug. With his arms around your waist, his hold is somehow both tight and gentle. Secure. Safe. 

“Hey,” you say, voice muffled by the fabric of his hoodie. A whiff of his scent hits you, flooding your senses. Fresh, citrusy, and undeniably Jay. A dizzying combination, so light, and distinctly him in a way that makes your heart beat a bit faster. 

When Jay lets go of you to hug Yunjin, you take the last sip of your drink and almost wish you’d taken her cup instead; your lemonade is sweet to the tongue but does absolutely nothing to boost your confidence. You watch as they greet each other while Jay sits back down. Standing in front of him with your arm against Yunjin’s, you feel as though you've missed the window to sit down too and opt to continue standing next to her. 

“We like your banner,” you say, pointing in the direction of the house behind him. 

Following your finger, Jay lets his head whip around towards the back of the house. Yunjin uses the time he spends looking over his shoulder to nudge you, nod her head in his direction, and mouth the word “sit” at you. So you do.

If he’s surprised to turn back around barely a second later and find you right beside him, Jay doesn’t show it. He gives you a warm smile and knocks his knee against yours before speaking. “What, first w of the season?” He tilts his head. “And here I thought you were a good luck charm, twenty,” he says with a chuckle when you nod. 

Yunjin’s brows raise, and you feel yours rise too. “Twenty?” she asks. 

“The hockey jacket,” he answers without missing a beat. “Speaking of, when’s your next game?” 

“Oh, we’re playing the Foxes next week,” Yunjin rakes a hand through her hair. “TDU, you know?” 

Jay nods, turning his attention back to you. “Can I look forward to seeing you on the field, twenty?” 

Tilting your head, you pull air through your teeth. “You know what, I actually just got benched, like, right now,” you say, liking the way Jay laughs. “I’m out for the rest of the season.” 

After clapping a hand to his mouth, Jay points at you. “Did they get you on a drunk and disorderly after the mixer?” he asks through a laugh. 

In horror, you watch while Yunjin’s head falls back with laughter as she lets out cackles that only unsettle you. “That’s exactly what happened!”

“I was not.. disorderly,” you say meekly, finding sudden interest in the hem of your skirt.

It sounds as though Jay says: “You didn’t tell her how she got back home?” though you’re finding it difficult to focus on much other than trying to recover your missed hours after the hockey mixer. 

You’ve gone on countless nights out, spent many mornings after vowing never to drink again, and, on multiple occasions, have gotten too drunk to enter the club. But even then, in the past, your memory has only ever been.. spotty, nonlinear. Never completely void for hours at a time, and it’s concerning. After tonight, you really won’t drink again. 

Except on birthdays. 

And when you go to the club. Or to parties. Or when you’re bored with the girls. But again, apart from that? Never. 

“How did I g—” you start, though Yunjin cuts you off. 

“I think Zuha’s lifting her leg again, hold on,” she groans, looking over Jay’s shoulder at the glass doors leading to the kitchen. Yunjin disappears back into the house and it’s not until you watch her slide the back door shut behind her that you remember Kazuha having too much to drink at pres and having to stay in with Chaewon. 

When you look at Jay, he watches you with knitted brows. “Kazuha’s doing what?” he asks. 

“Ballet,” you explain. He nods. 

Neither of you speak for a moment. While you chew on the inside of your cheek, you can’t help but wonder if you should’ve followed Yunjin, or if you should’ve had less to drink at the mixer. You reckon the fact that Jay’s still talking to you must mean you didn’t do anything that you can’t recover from, but you can’t shake the feeling that your trip home that night was less than pleasant. 

“Hey,” Jay says quietly, catching your attention with concern lacing his features. “What do you look so down for?” he asks. 

Though terrified of the answer, you repeat your earlier question. “How did I get home?” you ask, wondering if the Earth usually opened up to swallow people whole or if you’d have to put in a special request.

Jay licks his lips, using his hand to push your shoulder playfully. “I have no idea,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I was talking to Yunjin at the library on Tuesday, I think, and she told me you can’t remember anything. I just wanted to freak you out.” 

You feel heat under his touch and relief from his words, though something about him talking with Yunjin seems to jostle you slightly. “Yunjin was at the library?”

Briefly, what looks like disappointment flashes across Jay’s face, replaced quickly with a pretty smile, light, playful. “You care more about Yunjin being at the library than me asking your friend about you?” he asks.

“You were asking my friend about me?” 

“Yeah, I think you’re cute,” Jay says sweetly, smiling at you in a way that makes your cheeks burn even when you look down at your lap. 

There’s something about the way he says it, so casually as if telling you the time or today’s date, that throws you off. It doesn’t make any sense to you that some of the most vivid sensations that Jay makes you feel are just that: sensations. You know that your stomach doesn’t actually have butterflies in it and that your heart isn’t really twirling in your chest, but it sure feels like it. You wonder if he also feels like that sometimes. You earnestly hope that if he does, it’s because of you.

He seems nearer than before when you look at him, and for fear that you might kiss him if he gets any closer, you bring your empty cup to your lips, lean back a little, and pretend to sip. Its emptiness isn’t lost on Jay, however, who chuckles, asking if you want a refill. While walking towards the house, you listen as he tells you what the team normally get up to during half-time (mostly strategising and pretending not to hear Heeseung’s snores), and silently beg your cheeks to cool down. His hand is heavy on the small of your back as he ushers you inside first, sliding the door shut behind him, and gently pushing you towards the kitchen island. 

You let yourself lean against the counter, ignoring the fluttering in your stomach as you watch him reach for a visibly sticky bottle of your favourite drink without asking what you’d like. Though before actually touching it, his eyes widen. “Wait, I have something for you,” he says, holding out a hand for you to take. “Come on.” 

Jay weaves his fingers with yours, leading you through the house and up the stairs into a bedroom. He closes the door gently behind you, stepping over a couple of backpacks before sitting on the end of the bed, and tugging at the zipper on one of them. 

For a moment you watch as veins appear on his hands and have to physically tell yourself to drag your eyes to anything else, eventually settling on the walls. Walls that are covered in countless glossy 4x6 prints, some shots of landscapes, groups of people, out-of-focus beer bottles and.. “You have a lot of photos of Mark Lee in here,” you comment, scanning the room around you. “And it doesn’t look like you’re.. in any of them,” you continue as you notice a grainy polaroid stuck to the wall next to the light switch — a picture of Mark making out with his best friend, Sakura “give me a break, a boy and a girl can be just friends” Miyawaki, and make a mental note to bring it up later. 

Jay glances at you as if you’re the one sleeping in a Markkura shrine. “Yeah, ‘cause it’s his room,” he chuckles. “You can sit down, you know,” he adds after a beat, moving over a bit on the bed. 

With a nod, you look at some more of the pictures as you make your way over to the spot next to him, a photo of Mark and Jake with their middle fingers to the camera catching your eye. And holding it for so long that you trip a little over one of the backpacks before sitting down and pretending nothing happened. Thankfully, Jay doesn’t seem to notice. 

“It’s not much by the way, don’t get your hopes up,” he warns, his hand still hidden by the fabric of his bag. 

“Got it.” 

Despite his earlier disclaimer, he makes a show of the whole thing. “Ta-da!” His voice is a little singsong as he brings the obje—bottle of Smirnoff Ice into view. 

“Thank you?” The bottle is cold in your hands when you take it from him, reading the ABV 4% on its label and wondering how many of these Sunghoon must have had to drink to have been stumbling the way he was that night. You also can’t help but wonder what reason Jay has for buying you a bottle and then taking you into the privacy of Mark’s bedroom to give it to you.

“Yeah,” he trails off a little, letting his hand come up to scratch the back of his neck. “You looked pretty crushed the other night when Heeseung finished that one bottle.” 

You can’t help the scoff that comes out. “Crushed? I mean, I might’ve frowned.” 

“Frowned? You were near tears, I was worried about you.” 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m serious, every time I looked at you, you had this.. upset look on your face.” 

“Well, maybe you should stop looking at me so much.”

Jay’s eyes sparkle under the light, flicking back and forth from your eyes to your lips as he brings a hand up to your face, tucking some hair behind your ear, his fingers hot on your skin, unmoving. His eyes lock with yours. “Come on,” he says in a low voice. “You know there’s no stopping that.” 

A smile tugs at your lips. Jay bites his. His gaze drops back down to your mouth. Lingers. And in what almost seems like an alcohol-induced hallucination, he leans in. Slightly. As if testing the waters. As if waiting for a sign that you want him to stop. A sign that you want him to continue. Anything. His hand is heavy on your cheek when he cups it in his palm, skin rough against yours. 

Mere inches away, Jay’s lips seem more tempting than ever. Separated only by the distance of a breath and your nerves, you try to settle yourself. To put your heart at ease. But how could you relax when he looks at you like that; his gaze soft, tender, all of his attention on y—The bottle slips from your hands, cool against your thighs, reminding you of its existence. Jay flinches when you do. 

“Let’s have a drink!” you suggest, though the absence you feel when he takes his hand from your face makes you wish you hadn’t.

“Sure.”

The cap screws off the bottle with a few satisfying clicks, and Jay, amused, shakes his head when you offer him the first sip. “After you,” he says. 

Without a second thought, the bottle touches your lips and the sweet, sweet taste of Smirnoff Ice touches your tongue, coating your mouth and leaving you wishing the alcohol content was higher. 

“Do you mind if I put my lips on it?” he asks while you pass the drink to him. 

You shake your head, determined not to think of a double meaning, and watch as his lips connect with the bottle’s opening, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat while he drinks. When Jay pulls it from his mouth, he lets his tongue dart out to wet his lips. You wonder if it will taste different in his mouth, if his lips, wet from the drink, taste as sweet as they look. 

Now that you realise you’ve shared an indirect kiss, you kick yourself for passing up the chance at a direct one, deciding that if you want him to kiss you, you’ll need to get closer. Step up your game a little. Maybe you’ll say something about his necklace, ask to get a better look.. And hopefully, he’ll take the hint and kiss you because you’re not really sure what else you could say. 

Of course, you could opt to skip words altogether, taking his face in your hands, and pressing your lips to his. You’re sure that’s what Yunjin would do. And you’re sure that would be her advice to you if you asked her.

Jay hands the bottle back to you and you close it, determined to feel his lips on yours if it’s the last thing you do. And you quickly open the bottle again, one last sip for good luck. The soft laugh he lets out is breathy, and it’s hard to tell if the heat in your stomach is coming from the drink, or from the way you see him looking at you in your peripheral. 

His straight teeth bite at his bottom lip, and he shakes his head when you offer him another sip. This time when you close the bottle, you do it for good, setting the glass on the floor so it doesn’t interrupt you again. 

“I really like your necklace,” you say, off to a good start, following the plan. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“Aw.. thanks,” he says, choosing now, of all times, to stop being a conversationalist. 

In the quiet of the room, you realise that you hadn’t planned anything beyond the compliment. You let your eyes focus back on the charm hanging from his neck, trying to picture him with a fishing rod in his hand, and wellington boots on his feet. It doesn’t really work. “I didn’t realise you were so into fishing,” you blurt out, and the way he knits his brows together makes you wish you’d just grabbed him and planted a kiss on the lips he purses to the side while watching you. 

“Me?” 

“Yeah you, with your cute little hook on a chain.” 

Jay squints at you. “Hook on a chain?” he repeats. 

You let a hand reach up and press on the hook pendant on his necklace. 

His shoulders rise and fall dramatically as he sighs, his hand coming up to wrap around yours, holding it to the base of his neck as the small (not) hook warms in your fist. “Why does everybody think it’s a hook?” 

“It isn’t?” 

“It’s the letter J.” He lets go of your hand to lift the charm. “See?” 

You squint your eyes, leaning a little closer to him, gaze fixed on the little gold hook letter sitting near the base of his neck. “Ohhhh, right,” you say, but even from a few inches away, it still looks like a hook, and from this close, you can hear the way his breath hitches in his throat.

With an inhale, you find yourself lingering. Sticking around just long enough to make out the woodier notes of his cologne before moving back a little. Finally, you draw your eyes away from his neck, wanting to meet his gaze but finding yourself stuck on his lips instead. They sit slightly ajar, pink, pretty, sort of chapped in the way they always seem to be. His breath tickles your forehead. You sit straighter, noticing the way his eyes burn holes into you. 

“Quit staring,” you mumble hypocritically. 

Jay’s brows quirk up for a split second as he sits back on his hands. “I’m not.”

“You are.” 

“Well, you’d have to be staring at me to know.” 

“Do you want me to stop staring?”

He seems to consider this for a second before shaking his head. “No,” he tells you. 

“What do you want then?” Your voice is soft when you ask. 

“I wanna kiss you.” 

Jay’s lips don’t move but you hear the word “really” being spoken out into the room like a question. Your voice doesn’t feel like your own and doesn’t fully register until Jay says: “Yeah,” so softly that it’s practically a whisper. 

Jay wants.. to kiss you. You feel your breath catch in your throat and it seems even more ridiculous to think it than to have heard it from him. To see his lips move to form the words. I wanna kiss you, he’d said. You’d heard it. You’d seen it. It happened. He wants.. to kiss you. 

“Do you want me to do that?” he asks, leaning in slightly, his hand rising to cup your cheek. Slower, gentler than last time. 

You let your gaze meet his; regret flooding you immediately. Just as kind and soft as the rest of him, Jay’s eyes stare into yours, warm, and inviting, but, still, you can’t shake off your nerves. More than anything, you want to say yes; to say of course, can’t you tell? but you don’t trust yourself enough to open your mouth and speak to him. Instead, you nod, so slightly that for a moment you wonder if he even noticed. And then, there, in the dim privacy of Mark Lee’s bedroom, while your heart beats out of your chest, Jay kisses you for the first time. 

His lips are warm against yours, the sweet taste of Smirnoff Ice only amplified as he holds you close. Soft, gentle, kissing Jay is everything you’d imagined it would be. You feel as though you might melt under his touch as his hand grabs your waist to pull you closer. So close that you’re nearly in his lap as he deepens the kiss, his tongue moving along yours.

It doesn’t feel real, it can’t be. 

As if thrown by your thoughts, Jay pulls away. While attempting to form a coherent thought, you catch your breath, once again, regretting looking at him. He looks down the bridge of his nose at you with half-lidded eyes, and his pretty, pink lips sit parted, wet and plump from kissing. Jay leans in almost immediately, the moment cut short by his lips on yours once again. 

It’s tangible this time; you couldn’t possibly make up the way his hand grips your ass or the way he groans softly when you whine into his mouth. He’s real, and he’s kissing you, and you only feel yourself growing dizzier, and dizzier the longer his lips move against yours. A gasp pulls you out of it and the two of you separate.

Looking in the direction of the now open door you see Sakura and Mark hand in hand. You can’t help the slight embarrassment that hits you at first, hating that, of all people, it had to be Mark to walk in and find you making out with someone on his bed. 

Though you get a bit distracted seeing him and Sakura like this, they look cute together. His football hoodie covers her form completely, much longer than the dress she has on, as she leans into him, and a giggle slips from her lips when he lets go of her hand to wrap an arm around her waist instead. 

Somewhat belatedly, and needlessly, Mark apologises, his eyes focused on you when he speaks but you can’t get the words out to respond to him. Jay chuckles at this, shaking his head and telling him not to worry about it as he stands up from the bed. You follow suit. Jay picks up your drink from the floor and takes you by the hand, telling Mark he’ll text him later while leading you out of the room. When you glance at Sakura, she’s grinning at you, mouthing: “Sorry,” before smacking your butt. 

Jay hands you the bottle when the door closes, his hand slipping out of yours. A beat passes. And then another. He chews at his bottom lip. You clear your throat and the silence continues. It’s a shame to be standing around like idiots on the landing like this, you think. 

“I..” he trails off, wiping his hands on his pants. He points over his shoulder with his thumb. “I should get back to the boys.” 

Your heart sinks as you hesitate, unsure how to respond. Slowly, you nod. “Right, yeah,” you say.

“Later,” he mumbles, holding up his hand to wave stiffly at you before turning around to leave. 

Deflated, you lean against Mark’s door while you search for your phone to ask Yunjin where she is. Maybe if you’d waited for a moment, you’d have seen the way Jay stopped at the top of the stairs to look over at you, seen the frown on his face when he saw that you weren’t looking at him. But instead, you read 2 texts from Yunjin. 

yj: dude heso into u 

yj: flirt more = hv fun upstairs 

You spend the next three days pretending nothing happened at the party, avoiding Jay, and dreading going to uni. It’s just unfortunate that for you, pretending nothing happened looks like zoning out in the library while replaying the kiss in your head until your elbow slips off the desk. And avoiding Jay seems near impossible, given his tendency to show up everywhere. Or rather, your tendency to see Jay in everything. 

Like the tiny little black cat you saw perched on the fence outside your apartment building, and the busker singing Harry Styles in the city centre. And the half-full bottle of Smirnoff Ice from that night that sits on your dresser with your perfume and jewellery, displayed with about as much sentiment as a trophy won at school for a random achievement. 

Impulsively, you post a selfie to your Instagram story before hiding your phone under your pillow and leaving the room entirely, making yourself comfortable atop the kitchen counter and waiting for someone to come back home. 

Chaewon gets home first, and quickly, arriving with a groan as she shrugs her jacket off and shuts the door behind her. “I hate uni,” she mutters. “I hate studying, I ha— Hey.” She jumps a little when she sees you in the kitchen. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, where’ve you been hiding?” 

“My room.” 

She nods, leaning comfortably against the doorframe. “You’re not going out tonight, right?” 

You shake your head, amused by the look of relief that paints Chaewon’s features as she whispers thank God. “I’m gonna shower, and take a nap,” she informs you. “But when I wake up, it’s you, me, pizza, and whatever story Yunjin has from practice.” 

“Can’t wait,” you say sincerely, stepping down from the counter. 

With a wide smile on her face, she salutes you before dragging her feet to the bathroom. Completely endeared, you decide not to comment on the salute even though you think it’s sweet that she’s starting to copy her boyfriend. 

The sounds of student housing on a Wednesday evening seep in through the open window as you pour yourself a glass of water, unable to stop wondering if Jay saw your story; and what he thought about it if he did. Wondering if he’d notice that the picture was from Saturday night. 

Filling up your glass again, you take it to your room and pull your phone out of hiding. Along with a message from Yunjin telling you and Chaewon to order your food so it comes shortly after she gets home, you find that Jay hit like on your story. Then sent a reply ten minutes later saying: you’re sooo gorgeous.

With a smile on your face, you type out various forms of “thank you so much, you’re perfect,” before settling on a simple: thank uuu :D, and Jay’s response is immediate. 

jay: i don’t think i’ve said that before

jay: how prettty i think you are

The heat that rises to your cheeks is troubling, yet despite your best efforts, you can’t get it to pass. Especially not when you read and reread Jay’s message. You press your eyes shut, willing the heat to pass, willing the grin on your face to fade. Neither works, in fact, they only worsen when you open your eyes to see the new messages waiting for you in the chat. 

jay: it’s a lot bte 

jay: *btw 

You let out a romcom-worthy sigh, clutching the phone to your chest and laying down on the bed. A glow-in-the-dark sticker stares back at you from its spot on your ceiling, a single star that you’d won as a set of two at the arcade with Kazuha in December. The memory brings a smile to your face, even though you remember being a little annoyed after she turned down the other star when you tried giving it to her.

Another message from Jay makes your phone vibrate in your hands. 

jay: sorrry 

you: it’s okay 

You tell him. Even though you’re not sure what he’s apologising for. Just like before, Jay reads the message immediately though this time his reply never comes.

With Yunjin now home from practice, and freshly showered, you sit on the couch with your flatmates, talking and laughing over the sound of the TV for hours until Netflix asks if you’re still watching, and Yunjin’s passed out with her cold, wet hair on your shoulder.  

Pressing a wet kiss to your cheek, Chaewon retires to bed, whispering “Goodniiiiiiiiight,” in your ear before abandoning you. Tired as you are, a part of you feels bad about waking Yunjin so you decide to sit a while longer, moving the blanket from your lap to cover her up properly. But of course, this is the movement that wakes her up. 

In a soft voice, you tell her goodnight, standing up from the couch to stretch your arms above your head. 

“You never told me what happened on Saturday,” Yunjin says tiredly. “Kkura told me you and Jay were busy in Mark’s room.” 

The mention of his name takes you back to that night. Back to Jay and the way his lips felt against yours, the way his hand held your waist, and the way he’d ditched you outside Mark’s room. A pit forms in your stomach; and as if reading your mind, Yunjin asks if you’re okay.

You sit down on the other end of the couch, bringing your knees up to your chest and telling the story from top to bottom. After recounting the night in detail from after she left you guys alone, you find yourself hyperaware of the differences between you and Yunjin. For you, the highlight of Saturday night was Jay kissing you and then running away after. 

“Wait, Sakura and who?” she asks when you’re done. 

For Yunjin, the highlight of the story seems to be Mark’s presence. 

“Mark.” 

“She told me she went on her own, what were they doing?” 

Although you have some idea, you think it best to keep your knowledge to yourself. “They were looking for her phone,” you say, pleased to see that Yunjin accepts your answer and moves on. 

“So then what?”

“He texted me hey on Sunday morning, which I ignored, and then a couple hours ago he replied to my story and told me how pretty he thinks I am,” you say, pausing to take a breath. “Then ignored my response.” 

Yunjin sits silently, seeming to take in everything she’d just been told. Her eyes are focused on the TV screen ahead so you look over at it too. It had gone into standby mode, displaying nothing but an indistinct impression of the two of you. 

And the silence continues. 

In the TV’s cast, you can just about make out the way she tilts and then turns her head to look at you. “Maybe he’s just.. frazzled, or something, from being walked in on. How did you feel?” 

The answer takes a while to come up with because for you, the night exists in two parts — Before kissing Jay, and everything else that happened when you left the room. This whole time, you’ve been so focused on him leaving, that you’ve barely given any thought to how you felt when Sakura opened the door. Frazzled, you think. Probably the best word to use. Embarrassed suits a bit better though. 

“I was embarrassed about it, but only because it was Mark. If it had been you, or Chaewon, whoever, it would’ve been different because they’d walk in and go “oh sorry” or something and leave, but obviously, when it’s Mark going into his own room, he’s there for something, you know?” you explain, chewing at your bottom lip.

“Maybe that’s how he feels too.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t embarrassing enough to leave and never talk to him again.” 

Yunjin exhales heavily. “I want to be on your side, really, I do, but isn’t that kinda what you did?” she asks, her voice hesitant as she tilts her head. “He texted you the next day and you didn’t reply, what do you think he’s thinking about right now?” 

“He’s the one who said he should get back to the boys.”

“What if that’s just because he spoke first?” she suggests. “Obviously we don’t know what you would’ve said if you spoke first, because you didn’t, but I feel like you would’ve been like “I-I’m gonna get back to the girls” and ran away.” 

Always correct, Yunjin is your worst enemy and your best friend rolled into one. Oh, how you hate her. Well, she’s correct about the fact that you would have said the same thing. You think. You press your lips together in a straight line and sink into your seat. 

She sighs when you don’t speak. “Look, he talked to you today, and told you how pretty you are, which is a win, right?” 

You nod reluctantly. 

“So let’s celebrate that, celebrate the fact that you kissed Jay! Even better, the fact that he kissed you.” Yunjin pauses, for what you think is dramatic effect, before speaking again. “Just.. don’t sweat the small stuff, okay?” She stops again to yawn. “And text him back if he reaches out, or, text him first.” 

Leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, you brush your teeth, watching as Yunjin does the same, sitting on the edge of the tub with her eyes shut. While gargling mouthwash, you think about the conversation you’ve just had and decide to take matters into your own hands. By pleading with God to put Jay in front of you and have him tell you that he likes you back. 

Once again, the higher powers seem to be on your side. Kind of. Jay does end up in front of you to tell you that he likes you back. Kind of. But only after learning that you’ll have to start your report again; which, given that you’d only gotten through 800 of the required 4000 words, wasn't exactly criminal. It was an irritation that settled in you, mainly, as all of your research and the sources you’d found were now redundant in the face of such adversity. 

Nonetheless, with heavy feet, you leave the lecture hall, trying to come up with a way to fake your graduation ceremony next year so you can secretly drop out. You draw a blank and find Jay waiting in line at the vending machine near the library’s entrance. 

Even though you’d spoken with her on Tuesday night, here, today, on Friday afternoon, Yunjin’s words echo so clearly in your mind you almost want to peer over your shoulder to see if she’s there. You do. She isn’t. 

Your formerly heavy feet lead you right over to Jay, who greets you with a smile. “How’s the report coming?” he asks, his tone light, easygoing, and clearly oblivious to the fact that his question strikes you like a knife to the gut. 

The two of you shuffle forward slightly, now at the front of the queue. Waiting for your response, he punches E6 into the machine that rattles loudly, delivering his bottle of Lipton lemon. 

“Not great,” you tell him, feigning nonchalance and watching as he presses E4 before squatting down to collect both drinks. “Are you heading to class?” 

Standing up straight, Jay holds out the new(er) bottle of Lipton peach towards you. “What happened?” 

Holding the drink in your hands, you fall into step with him and sigh despite yourself. “I have to start over.” 

Jay’s eyes widen and his jaw drops slightly at your words. Dramatic. Cute. “Nooo,” he says sincerely. “How come?”

“I read the question wrong.”

“Oh,” he says. “That’s okay, at least you found out now rather than later. And you still have until December to get it done, that’s almost two months! I’m sure most people haven’t even read the question,” he tells you in a gentle voice. 

There’s a fuzziness in your chest, and Jay’s words make you feel like everything will be alright. Even though you weren’t exactly cut up about the report, something about talking with him about it leaves you feeling soothed when you look up to give him a warm smile.

“I don’t have classes today, I’m just here to study,” he says, answering your earlier question as he leads you to a table. 

You watch as Jay sits down, and decide to take a seat across from him, dumping your bag on the floor at your feet. His brows quirk up when you put the drink down on his side of the table, confusion evident in his voice when he says: “You don’t like peach tea anymore?” 

All of a sudden your heart is pounding, and you grin despite yourself. Oh, Jay, you think. “It’s my favourite.” 

Matching your smile Jay slides the bottle over to you. “It’s yours,” he says.

You can’t explain the overwhelming sense of gratitude you feel over a barely cold, 500ml bottle of tea, but it beams brightly on the table between you; radiant, glowy, the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. “Thank you,” you say sincerely in a soft voice, lest you knock the bottle out of its haze. 

The deepest part of your brain romanticises the scene around you even further, and the table you sit at, in the smallest library on campus, starts to seem like something from a kid’s storybook. From a mythical land where the iced tea is luminescent, and you get to study with an angel who wears Chrome Hearts pants and olive green 6s.

“Can I read it when you’re done?” His question cuts through your thoughts. Surprised by how genuine Jay sounds, you glance back over at him to find him already looking at you, his lips pushed up into a soft smile that spreads flutters around your chest.

It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to realise what he’s talking about, but you tilt your head when you do. “You wanna read my paper on wind turbines and solar farms?” you ask. 

Jay’s eyes widen briefly as if shocked that you’re even asking him that. “Of course I do,” he says, sounding almost offended, defensive maybe. 

You eye him from across the table, sceptical. Jay seems to pick up on this. “Why wouldn’t I want to know about the UN’s advances towards net zero by 2030?” he asks, chuckling to himself when you raise a brow. He shrugs. “I got curious after you mentioned it.” 

With burning cheeks, you watch him as he continues to talk, neither of you making any effort to start on the work you’re there to do. As much as you feel it’d be useful to get work done in the library — because it’ll allow you to go home and do nothing without guilt — you don’t see the point in half-assing your research and absentmindedly chatting with Jay, when you could ditch the research completely and fixate over the way his lips move to form his words. 

“I lost my student card so I need to read while I’m in here. I think it’s better though; easier to stay focused, less distractions,” Jay tells you when you ask what brought him to uni just to study alone. “Usually,” he adds, gaze flicking up to meet yours with a teasing smile crossing his lips.

Jay’s words hold a flirtatious undertone that isn’t lost on you or the butterflies that take flight in your stomach. “I’m not a distraction,” you say, frowning slightly. 

“I never said you were, but I had no problem getting my work done until you got here.” 

Jay’s words remind you of your first test for Property Law in February. The two of you sat together at a table in the campus cafe, empty mugs and printed slides scattered across the space between you. For four hours, you highlighted sentences and rewrote notes to keep your hands busy until Jay walked you back to your flat, where you pulled an all-nighter so you could actually study. You got a 61 and slept for twelve hours afterwards. 

“If it’s getting to you that much, I can go,” you offer, really, really, hoping he doesn’t take you up on it.

“No, please stay. I like spending time with you,” Jay admits with a slight downturn at the corners of his lips. 

You try to work out how to echo his sentiment without sounding like a lovestruck fool, though you draw a blank, distracted by the way he– “Are you batting your lashes at me?” you ask through a chuckle.

Jay squints. “Is it working?” 

You shake your head. 

“Well, neither are you,” he points out, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that almost makes you feel scolded despite his light tone. You think you like it. 

An overly dramatic sigh huffs its way out of your mouth as you roll your eyes at him, fighting a smile at the sound of his breathy laughter. “Whatever. Starting now, I’ll work on my paper. You focus on your reading, no distractions,” you suggest.

“Right, no distractions,” Jay repeats, his eyes falling to your lips. 

Sticking to your word proves much easier than you’d initially thought and you manage to sit, mostly undistracted, for more than a little while, putting the paragraphs that can stay in italics, the bits that need to be amended in bold, and deleting the rest. 

Your workflow is broken only when Jay speaks softly, “Is it cool if Heeseung works with us?” he asks, sending a text after you tell him that it’s okay. 

And as if he’d been waiting around the corner, Heeseung shows up seconds later. “Jongseongieeeeee,” he coos when he sees Jay, extending a hand to pat his head and ruffle his hair. 

Unable to hide his irritation, Jay’s face scrunches up at the interaction and in an attempt to stop the sudden attack, he grabs Heeseung by the wrist, seeming shocked when it works. You watch him fix his hair in his phone camera. 

In the same playful tone, Heeseung says your name too, sitting down in the seat next to Jay. “I feel like I haven’t seen you since the hockey mixer.” 

You can’t help the breathy laugh that comes out at the cute pout on his lips. “Because you haven’t seen me since the hockey mixer,” you say, smiling at Jay when you notice him looking at you. 

“You weren’t at the football party, were you?” Heeseung asks, his eyes widening right when the words leave his mouth. “Riiiiiiiight, you were.” He mumbles to himself before covering his mouth with his hand. “I’m just..” he trails off, pointing at his laptop with his index finger before opening it and sinking in his seat. 

There’s a nasty pit forming in your stomach while you watch Heeseung all but disappear behind his screen. And in the black screen of your laptop, you stare at yourself, pretending that: 1. The fingerprints and smudges don’t bother you, and 2. That you don’t notice the way Jay’s looking at you. Or rather, the fact that Jay’s looking at you. If you’d noticed the way he was looking at you, you might have picked up on the softness of his gaze. But you didn't, so you don’t. 

Instead, the fact that Jay’s watching you only makes you feel worse. Though at least it looks like your hair is sitting nicely today, you think, glad to have at least one thing working for you rather than against you. Like the pit in your stomach, or the Lipton peach that tastes like nothing when you take the first sip.

In the presence of Heeseung - and the things he said - the three of you manage to get on with your work, free of conversation. 

Reluctantly, you let the two boys walk you back to your place when you’re ready to go home. Heeseung leads the conversation, thankfully, with no more mention of the football party and even hugs you goodbye while Jay watches from a few feet away. Judging by the expression on his face, you’d think the person he’d liked for months kissed him and then ran away. 

“Sorry,” Heeseung whispers, pressing his lips into a straight line. 

With your key in the lock, you watch as they retreat, Heeseung nudging Jay when he reaches him and mumbling something that you can’t quite make out. Neither of the girls are home when you get inside and, sprawling out on the couch, you look for your phone to make plans. 

you: we should go out tn

cw: tmrw ! i have a deadline

yj: broke friday or .. j*emins party 

Too broke for broke Friday, the two of you find yourselves stepping over the legs of a sleeping Sunghoon to reach the open door to Jeno and Jaemin’s apartment. There are people everywhere, including the hall outside, but you suppose this is the benefit of student housing; none of your neighbours can complain about noise because they’re too busy being part of the commotion. 

Jake almost spills his drink when he sees you both, saying “heyyyyy,” with a giggle and eyes that linger on Yunjin while he talks though he quickly excuses himself to take water to poor Sunghoonie. 

The night is largely uneventful, much the same as every other night out you’ve had since starting college. Except for the part where Jay shows up,a massive grin on his face to greet your friends. Sakura, Yunjin, and Kazuha all get a “hey” and a brief hug. Jay regards you with a nod and a small smile. At least Kazuha seems to believe you when you tell her that you’re crying in Jaemin’s bathroom because you hate your outfit.

After a weekend of self-pity, you spend Monday at a coffee shop with Sakura, watching as she studi—“You could at least pretend to study, you know?” she sighs. “Every time I look up you’re either staring at me or using your phone, it’s distracting.” 

With a frown on your face, you touch your mug to see if your coffee is cool enough to drink yet — it’s not — before flipping your notebook to a blank page and trying to write out some of the key points that you remember from Friday’s lecture. A part of you feels bad for neglecting your Architectural Practice class but it’s just not as interesting, and you tell yourself that you’ll dedicate all of your time to it after finishing your report. You definitely will not come to regret leaving three months worth of work to the very last minute. 

You study with Sakura for a few hours until deciding that you simply cannot continue, and the two of you leave the cafe in favour of a Mcdonald’s drive-thru, eating your dinner in the dark parking lot before she drops you off.

On Tuesday night, you’re thankful that Yunjin and Kazuha don’t push you to go out with them when you say you’re tired, but when Netflix asks if you’re still watching Modern Family at almost 3 a.m., you wish they had. 

You push yourself out of bed to do your skincare, and hear the two girls coming back home as you apply your last pimple patch. After Kazuha all but yells something about a huge pair of shoes by the door, it seems like they settle in the kitchen. 

They’re sharing a bowl of cereal at the table when you get there. Feeling bad, you make instant noodles for them while Yunjin hugs you from behind. Both of you try your best to laugh quietly at Kazuha’s story about some box blond figure skater who completely blanked her when she tried flirting despite staring at her all night.

Once the food is ready, you sit up on the counter, watching them eat straight from the pot. Trying to talk to those two while they’re so invested in dinner is a waste of energy so you busy yourself on your phone instead, scrolling aimlessly until both girls kiss you on the cheek to thank you for looking after them. Kazuha gratefully drinks the glass of water you give her, and Yunjin, as you expect, is stubborn about it; taking three small sips before running away to her room. 

The argument you can hear through the open window keeps you entertained as you wash the dishes, and you check your phone on the way to your room, finding two texts from Jay. 

jay: i know it’s late but can we talk in person if you’re up

jay: it’ s important

They came in four minutes ago and you chew on your lip trying to figure out what he wants to talk about. 

you: are you okay?

jay: can you come outside 

With not even enough time to hit send on the three question marks you’d typed out, the distinct ring of a FaceTime call surprises you. Though what you find more surprising is the sight of your building’s door behind Jay’s face which just about fills the screen. Lit dramatically by an orange street light, he looks beautiful. Looks cute when his lips pout slightly around the words: come quickly and dress warm, as he successfully convinces you to leave the comfort of your bed.

Through the glass in the main door, you see him. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, he looks up towards the sky and puffs visible breaths into the air above him. Jay turns around at the sound of the door opening. You feel your stomach lurch because he doesn’t smile when he sees you. 

“Hey,” he says after a while, watching you intently, inspecting almost, as you shut the door softly behind you. His face softens, the smile he hadn’t given earlier coming through now. “Are you wearing my jacket?” His voice is soft too when he speaks, breathy enough for the smell of alcohol and vague peppermint to hit your nose. 

“I thought I should probably give it back,” you nod. “Sorry I kept it so long.”

Jay shakes his head, hair shifting on his forehead from the motion. “No, I love it on you. Please keep it,” he pauses, taking a step towards you. “I want you to keep it.” 

Thank God, you think. You hadn’t really been meaning to give it back, and you weren’t really sorry to have kept it so long, it just felt like the right thing to say. 

The space between you is so small that you wonder if he can hear the way your heart rate starts to pick up. In the time you hadn’t talked, you’d seen him around campus, in the corners of story posts, but seeing him here in front of you is almost overwhelming. A gust of wind ruffles the jacket Jay has on and his scent unfurls right under your nose; warm, lived in, mixed with faint sweat and what you think might be tobacco. It creates a musk that leaves you weak at the knees.

“It was milk and cookies night,” Jay continues when you don’t respond, digging into his pocket and holding a plastic-wrapped cookie out towards you. “You like white chocolate chip, right?” 

Hearing that it was milk and cookies night makes you wonder if you’d been too hasty when you turned down the girls’ invitation. 

Despite the cold, Jay’s hand is warm when your fingers graze his. Letting your touch linger, you thank him sincerely, touched by the little things he seems to remember about you. 

Even though you’re aware of the other students coming home from various nights out, and end up having to move out of the way so some of them can enter your building, it feels like the two of you are in your own world. You notice that his sights are locked on the cookie, on the spot where your fingers touch, allowing you to admire him freely. 

Standing almost directly under the lamppost now, you notice that his cheeks and the tips of his ears are dusted with red. You feel a little bad, he must be freezing, you think. Your gaze falls to his lips that sit parted, chapped like you expect, and now you’re thinking of kissing him. 

Clearing his throat, Jay moves his hand from yours to put it in his pocket. You do the same. 

“I know I said I wanted to talk, but I just wanted to see you,” he says, looking you right in the eyes. “I wasn’t sure you’d come if I said that.” 

You frown, wondering if this whole time he’s been avoiding you because he thought you didn’t want to see him. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Jay only shrugs in response. 

From over your shoulder, you hear the door opening. Jay’s eyes flicker in its direction. You turn your head to look too. A boy with pink hair frowns when both of you tell him you don’t have the lighter he’d been looking to borrow. 

“I’m sorry about leaving after we kissed. And for avoiding you. That was stupid,” Jay says as soon as the door closes. “It was childish of me to do that instead of just telling you how I feel. I wasn’t gonna say anything, because I know you only see me as a friend, but I have to let you know that I like you, a lot.” 

You stand around limply for a beat, staring up at Jay and trying to take in every single detail about this moment before you inevitably wake up. But this ‘dream’ doesn’t cut off where you’d been expecting it to. Instead, you feel your heart thudding against your ribs, your stomach flipping. The only thing you can get yourself to do is blink at the boy in front of you. The boy who likes you. 

A lot.

“It’s just that, after Heeseung said that shit in the library and you couldn’t even look at me, I knew I didn’t have a chance with you and I just.. am trying to figure out how to be near you and pretend like I don’t want to drop everything and kiss you.” 

“What’s stopping you?” you ask, surprised that your voice even comes out properly.

Jay’s gaze drops to your lips. Without noticing, the two of you had gotten so close that your chests are barely an inch apart; they’d probably touch if either of you took just one deep inhale. A beat passes. His gaze flicks up to meet yours and your breath hitches in your throat. You want to kiss him. You must. Right when you start to lean up towards him, to put your lips on his, he steps back. 

“Fuck,” Jay mumbles, his brows knitting together as he shakes his head. “I’m sorry.” 

The ability to hold his liquor is something that Jay sees as both a blessing and a curse. 

On the bright side, he can drink as much as he wants and won’t say or do anything he wouldn’t say or do when sober. His delivery might be a little off when he’s drunk but the point still stands.

On the not-so-bright, catastrophically dim side, however, Jay wakes up the morning after drinking with a vivid memory of everything that happened to him at whatever party he’d been to. Plus a killer migraine. 

And so, since drunkenly showing up at your place with a cookie in his pocket and his heart on his sleeve two weeks ago, Jay’s been quietly pitying himself and gently encouraging Jake to work harder on physics so he can get some sort of time machine up and running. 

Though it seems like you’ve been able to go on as normal. So normal, in fact, that Jay starts to believe the whole thing was just an elaborate dream. So elaborate that when he scrolls through your text thread, he finds the messages that you’d ‘exchanged’ that night. He finds the thought of having developed self-awareness in a two-week-long dream to be a greater comfort than the reality that you don’t like him back. 

You would have said if you did. Right? Or at least brought up what he’d said. Asked if you could talk about it. You’d be so excited to see him again, sober, that you wouldn’t even be able to say anything except: “I like you too!” Right? 

But you haven’t. So unless you’re going through trauma-inflicted amnesia, or someone has finally come up with the technology to invent The Neuralyzer, you really don’t like him back.

Jay had been so sure, certain that you liked him back. It just seemed so obvious; like the way you seemed to find him at every party, and how anytime you saw Jake in the engineering block you’d ask about him. Surely it wasn’t all in his head. The way that Chaewon and Yunjin had been teasing you at the hockey mixer, and how Yunjin made up that excuse to leave the two of you alone at the football party. It was all so.. like-y.  

Even today, when you texted him asking to hang out. He was sure that you were finally (finally!) going to tell him you liked him too. So sure, he’d even told the boys that he’d be coming back home as someone’s boyfriend. As your boyfriend. 

But instead, Jay finds himself climbing the stairs of his apartment complex wondering how the fuck he’d been so delusional. In his back pocket, his phone vibrates. Twice. Texts; both from you. 

you: i forgot to say but lmk when u get home lol

you: and if u have time to hang out before ur game tmrw !

His heart twists in his chest as he reads your messages. 

jay: okayyyyyyyyyyyyy, i can chill for a bit

jay: what did you have in mind? 

After fishing his house key from his jacket, he twists it in the lock and crosses the threshold before texting you once more: home now :). You heart the message immediately. The laughter that Jay could hear in the hall quiets as soon as he closes the door, and heavy footsteps thud towards the living room’s open doorway. Sunghoon. 

“It’s Mr YN YL—” he stops short. “Oh.” It’s not until Sunghoon looks over his shoulder and shakes his head that Jay even notices the stupid shutter shades he’s wearing. And when Jay joins his friends in the living room, he smiles despite himself seeing the way they’d decorated the space. Streamers dangle from the ceiling, hand-drawn A4 posters with both of your names written in lopsided hearts are stuck to the wall, and Jay ignores the thought of losing the security deposit to appreciate his friends; they’re good to him. 

On the way to his usual seat, an armchair in the corner of the room, Jay stops to wrestle a bottle of Desperados from the open six back sitting atop the coffee table and kicks a balloon that was in his path before sinking into his chair. 

Knowing there’s no use giving them a play-by-play, Jay recounts the last few hours as briefly as he can. He makes sure to leave out small details; like how he felt weak at the knees when you hugged him and told him you loved him after he won you a Hello Kitty plushie from the claw machine that you swore was rigged. Or how you’d worn his jacket out and his heart started racing when he noticed that your perfume had started to mix with his cologne. Unexpectedly, the guys seem hooked on the story right until its end. “So it’s not like it went badly or anything, I just.. didn’t tell her.”

Somehow, all three of them speak at the same time: “What do you mean you didn’t tell her?” 

Jay stares at a spot on the floor, noticing a hole in the toe of Jake’s sock. He’ll make fun of that later. “I just couldn’t get the words out,” he mumbles, shoulders drooping as he slumps further and further into his seat before taking the first sip of his bitter drink a—“Fuck, why does anybody drink these?” 

“Cheap,” Sunghoon mumbles, scowling after sipping from his own.

Clearly.

“Unless I’m missing something, this doesn’t seem like the end of the world. Just tell her tomorrow, tell her now, text her,” Heeseung sighs, letting his eyes fall shut. 

The other two boys seem to agree, echoing the sentiment and adding their own ad libs to it. Jay watches as Sunghoon leans over to get another drink from the table, admiring his commitment to beer drinking even though he doesn’t like it. He waits for silence before speaking again: “I already know she doesn’t like me that way. And it’s only been two weeks so it doesn’t make sense to confess again so soon when I know the answer.” 

“Again?” Sunghoon asks, raising a brow. 

Ahhh, Jay knew there was something he’d forgotten to do. Though he's struggling to figure out how he’d withheld this information, considering it was the main thing on his mind at all hours. “Yeah, after milk and cookies I went to hers and told her I like her,” he says, attempting to feign nonchalance, shoulders rising and falling in a stiff shrug.

“And you kept that to yourself because..” 

Jay scrunches up his nose, genuinely unsure. “I didn’t go there to confess, I just wanted to see her and give her the cookie I got for her,” he admits. “But then she came outside, and she had my jacket on, and she just looked so pretty. The only thing on my mind was oh, my God, I can’t go any longer without telling you I’m in love with you.” Jay pauses, taking a long sip of beer before telling them what happened outside your building. 

As if he wasn’t feeling bad enough already, Heeseung bursts out laughing. Hard. It’s not long before Jake and Sunghoon join in and Jay wants to vanish into thin air. Feeling slightly left out, he also wants to ask what’s so funny, but the fear of being slated holds him back. 

It’s the eldest who calms down first, sitting up straight in his seat. “So you go to YN’s door, tell her you like her, almost kiss her, then explicitly tell her not to say she likes you back, run away from her, again, and you’re wondering why she didn’t say she likes you back?”

With the story being laid out so simply, Jay starts to see the flaws in his logic. Though too stubborn to admit that he’s wrong in front of Jake, he nods his head. “Exactly.” 

He presses his lips into a straight line when the boys call him chronically stupid. 

“You need to call her, talk to her, figure your shit out before it’s too late,” Heeseung says with a firm tone. 

Jay thinks about it, biting at his bottom lip before replying, asking in a small voice: “But what if she says she doesn’t like me?” 

As much as not having confirmation is killing him, there’s a part of Jay that likes not knowing how you feel about him because it lets him play into his delusions. Lets him feed himself with thoughts of you being excited to see him because you like him and not because he makes great platonic company. The thought of you checking up on him through Jake because you’ve been thinking about him, but feel too shy to ask directly. And Jay knows when you properly reject him, he won’t be comforted by such thoughts anymore. They’ll only hurt him. 

Though after hearing what may be the wisest thing he thinks Sunghoon has ever said, Jay starts to see the situation a little differently. It’s casual. Spoken through a yawn. “You already don’t have a girlfriend. Nothing to lose, right?” 

The walk to your apartment building is longer than he remembers, but the cool air feels good on his neck as he tries to figure out what exactly he should say. Jay only starts to consider that this may not be the best idea when he stands face to face with your apartment building and feels a little too nervous to buzz your flat. What is he doing? 

A grating screech comes from the heavy door when it opens, and Chaewon’s boyfriend steps outside with squinted eyes. “Jay?” he asks as the door thuds shut behind him. “YN didn’t say you were coming over.” 

An awkward chuckle slips from Jay’s lips and (for the first time in his life) he does jazz hands. “Surprise?”

Jay feels better when Jeno’s lips spread into a grin. “Ohhhh,” he says, nodding and extending an almost empty deck of cigarettes in his direction. 

“I’m good,” Jay declines, shaking his head. 

Though if things go poorly up there he might have to take Jeno up on his offer. 

Holding his cigarette between his lips, Jeno uses a fob to open the door for him, and Jay can’t help but feel comforted by the way Jeno pats him on the back and says: “I’m rooting for you.” 

Standing at the door to your apartment only unleashes a new sense of nervousness. His hand rests on it, balled into a fist, waiting to be pulled back. But something stops him. Jay lets his hand slip down the door and takes a step away from it. He’d been standing too close. Now, he stands shifting his weight from foot to foot, and the toes of his shoes are just touching the doormat. 

Reminding himself that knocking isn’t the hard part, Jay takes a deep breath and knocks three times. 

A few minutes pass and it’s now that he remembers he doesn’t even know for sure that you’re home, or awake. He counts ten seconds before knocking again and the second his fist touches the door, he hears the sound of a lock clicking and the door creaks open. 

Like something from a dream, you stand in the doorway, looking so beautiful with his hoodie on that Jay has to put in effort to keep his jaw from falling to the ground. 

“Jay?” you say quietly, brows furrowed. “Is everything alright?” 

“Do you like me?” Jay blurts out, pressing his eyes shut immediately as all plans of a proper conversation go to the wind. From his spot on your doormat, he can hear the sound of the TV quieting and a terrible silence settles over the two of you; lasting eight whole seconds before you speak. 

“Do you wanna come in?”

Jay steps into the apartment, taking off his shoes at the door while mumbling a greeting to Yunjin and Chaewon who (definitely heard him) lay on the couch with wide grins on their faces, and follows you to your room where you close the door behind him. 

“Sorry, I had, like, a speech ready and then I saw you and I just..” he trails off, standing awkwardly near the door and looking at everything in the room except for you; he struggles to tear his eyes away from a polaroid picture of the two of you with huge grins. It’s only when you talk that he manages to look over at you instead. 

“You can sit down,” you say, patting a spot on the bed next to you. Without saying anything, Jay crosses the room to sit beside you — if sitting at arm’s length can be considered as beside you. “Tell me about the speech,” you say, and Jay shakes his head while trying to convince himself that your chuckle isn’t patronising. 

“Do you like me?” he asks again, not wanting to waste any more time. 

“I like you.” 

Your words, simple and quiet, leave Jay winded. 

“You look surprised,” you say, tilting your head. “You really didn’t know?”

Immediately, he relaxes his face. Clears his throat. Jay’s not entirely sure what he did and didn’t know, but he doesn’t think it matters. Nothing could possibly matter more than you do right now. “Doesn’t matter,” he says, letting out a sigh of relief. “I like you too.” The words sound regular when he says them, though he does like the lightness in his chest knowing for sure that the feeling is mutual. “Can you say it again?”

“Jay,” you start, resting your hand on his knee. Jay wonders if this is supposed to comfort him and clasps his hands over his lap as discreetly as he can manage. “I like you,” you tell him again.

Under the weight of your words, Jay feels his heart cinch a little in his chest. Why does everything sound so perfect coming from you? He can’t help but lean in, finally kissing you after what feels like an eternity. Jay didn’t think anything would feel better than your first kiss, but having your lips move softly against his, and knowing that you like him back, might just be the best thing ever. How did he go so long without this? Dazed and lovestruck, he lets his forehead rest against yours to calm down, to catch his breath. “Again?” he whispers, hopeful, one step away from begging.

You let out a chuckle, soft, breathy, fanning his lips. “I like you,” you say after a while, quietly, a whisper, just for him before kissing him again.

Jay’s not sure when it happened, he’s not even sure he notices that you’re sitting in his lap until you grind down on him; the feeling overwhelming despite all of the layers between you. A whine slips from your mouth into his when he rolls his hips up towards yours, and he can’t help but hate himself a bit for not just confessing sooner. 

You pull away from him, a smile on your face as he chases your kiss. “Please touch me,” you whisper, hiding your face in his neck when he chuckles at your request, calling you cute under his breath.

He feels oddly thankful that you’re not grinding on him any longer because he was about two more movements away from cumming in his pants. His hand slips under your shorts, finding your clit and pressing on it through your underwear, liking the way your breath fans his skin when you sigh. The wet patch on the fabric only starts to spread when he starts rubbing you. “You like that?” 

“Yeah,” you tell him on an exhale, letting your hips roll against his hand, whimpering at the friction. 

Your mouth quickly finds his again, and you let your hand clutch at his shirt, balling it up in your first before tugging at it, parting to take it off of him. With wide eyes, you gape at his torso, the word “Shit,” falling from your mouth while you let a hand rest on his stomach. 

When he tries pushing your panties to the side, the soaked material sticks to your slit slightly, and Jay groans despite himself. You’re absolutely drenched in slick, sopping wet to the core as you let out a broken whine from the feeling of his finger slipping into you. Curling his finger towards your belly button, his eyes fall shut, cock throbbing against his thigh when he thinks about how you’d feel around his shaft, how you’d look under him.

“You’re so good,” you whisper, awestruck and trembling in his lap.

The way you watch him makes him feel a little under pressure when he opens his eyes, but, determined to make you feel good, Jay attaches his thumb to your clit and everything is so slick that his finger slips around a bit before he can help it. You squirm in his lap, your head falling forward into the crook of his neck, forcing Jay to hiss when you bite on the skin of his shoulder. Your whimpers turn into cries and you mumble that you’re close, your walls tensing around him a moment later as if to prove your point. 

Jay pulls his fingers out, holding back a moan at the way they glisten in the light, coated in you— “Nooo,” you whine, sounding audibly distraught. 

Though he’s too busy tasting your cunt on his fingers to grace you with a response. In the quiet of the room, you sit up properly to look at him, watching with parted lips as Jay sucks on his fingers, humming at the way you taste. You barely give him a chance to put his hand back down before pressing your lips to his, moaning into his mouth as you taste yourself on his tongue. 

Getting a tight grip on your waist, he moves around a bit to lay you down on the bed. Resting on his forearm, Jay leans over you, kissing you again. He lets his hand trail down your body, liking the way you spread your legs when he dips his fingers into your waistband. You nod eagerly when he asks if he can take them off, and his cock throbs when you tell him to take your panties off too. 

With no unnecessary fabric in his way, his finger drags up and down the length of your pussy. Already close, it doesn’t take long for you to start whimpering and squirming underneath him, your walls stuttering once again as you cum, hot and hard on his hand. 

Ever the gentleman, Jay stands up to place himself between your legs, groaning at the sight of you, pulsing and wet. “Such a pretty pussy,” he says. Deciding not to waste another second, he uses his thumbs to spread your lips a little before burying his face in your cunt. 

It doesn’t take much for you to writhe under his tongue, and as soon as he kisses your clit it’s a wrap. He feels his cock leaking a little when your clit starts to throb between his lips, and he can’t help but groan when you tug at his hair. 

You stutter through the words: “Too much,” and Jay tears his mouth away from you, letting his forehead rest on your inner thigh while he catches his breath, savouring your taste on his tongue. It doesn’t last long though; your scent drives him crazy. When Jay leans back over your face, he presses kisses to your cheek, mumbling to you about how pretty you are, and how good you taste, all while playing with the drawstrings of your hoodie. 

He likes the way it looks on you, way better than it does on him. Likes it so much, he almost objects when you sit up to pull it over your head. Jay’s glad he doesn’t. He gulps at the sight of your breasts, surprised to see that you weren’t wearing anything under his hoodie, his dick somehow growing harder just from looking at you. 

Jay feels an intense desperation to suck on them, but your hands reach back up to his face, pulling him towards you to kiss him again. He settles (ecstatically) for holding one in his hand, pinching your nipple with his fingers. He’s relaxed, he’s happy; not torn up about it because he has all the time in the world to feel your tits in his mouth. 

He thinks. 

Jay pulls away from you. “Wait,” he says, feeling butterflies when you smile up at him. “Can I be your boyfriend?”

Your giggle sounds like music and he feels warm all over when you say, “Of course,” the words somewhat muffled by his lips on yours again, he could make out with you all day. But he stops for a moment, looking down at you, into your eyes and revelling in this moment. Revelling in you, his girlfriend, and the way you look at him. Like he put the stars in the sky or moved mountains; like you want him just as much as he’s wanted you all this time. And he wonders what he’s done to deserve it. 

Overwhelmed by emotion, Jay kisses you, lets his tongue run along the seam of your lips as he considers just kissing you for the rest of the night. It almost seems like he’s trying to, and you speak once more against his mouth. 

“Are you gonna fuck me?” you ask, moving your head to the side. “It’s okay if you’re not, but I’d like to know.” 

Jay smirks at you — pretty cocky for a guy whose dick is throbbing against his thigh just from hearing you talk. “You want that?”

“Mhm,” you hum, nodding. “Need it.” Your gaze burns into his as he tries to process your words. You look distractingly beautiful with a thin sheen of sweat on your forehead, lidded eyes, and kiss-plumped lips that you press up against his once more. “There’s condoms in the second drawer.”

Leaning up off of you, Jay reaches into his back pocket to show off the two condoms he’d brought with him.

“Classy,” you tease, though there’s an excitement in your eyes that drives him mad. 

“Responsible,” he corrects, standing up to pull his pants and underwear down. Slapping against his stomach, his cock throbs when he hears you gasp. Jay lifts his head in your direction, trying not to cum on the spot from the sight of you leaning up on your elbows, staring at his dick with an open mouth. 

Taking a deep breath, Jay reminds himself that he has all the time in the world to find out what your pretty lips will feel like around him, choosing to busy himself with putting the condom on instead. “How do you want it?” 

If the way you stop and stammer through the word “However” is anything to go by, the question seems to catch you off guard. Making his way back over to you, Jay racks his brain trying to figure out how he wants this to go, but seeing you on your back with your legs spread for him makes it clear. He hovers over you, lips drawn to yours like a magnet, using his hand to run the tip of his cock up and down your pussy, all while you whine against his mouth every time he pushes past your clit. 

“Don’t want to wait any longer.”

Your words make his stomach turn. He pulls away, his brows knitted together. “How long have you been waiting?” 

“Months, Jay,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, eyes screwed shut in a tortured expression. “Please.” 

Satisfied with your answer, Jay guides his cock to your slit. Pushes just a little. “I won’t make you wait like that again,” he tells you, and he means it, pushing in as much as he can before you cry out. 

Worried, Jay stops, leaning close to press a kiss to your cheek. “You okay?” 

“I just need a sec,” you tell him breathlessly.

Jay nods. As good as he feels, quitting while he’s ahead seems like the better option at the minute — he needs a sec too, but with the way your walls clench around him, it doesn’t really feel like much has changed. He finds himself having to hold his hips back after a while, as you get used to the feeling of him inside, your pretty little cunt starts trying to suck him in and his breath hitches in his throat when you look him in the eye. 

With a hand on the back of his neck, you pull his face back down to yours. “I’m good,” you mumble into his ear. 

“Yeah?” he asks, grinning when you nod in response. 

You stretch around him so easily that Jay whines as you take him in, deeper and deeper, inch by inch until he bottoms out. “Shit,” he mutters. How did he go so long without this? The sting of your nails digging into his bicep makes him hiss and he all but passes out when you moan. Falling from your mouth on a loop with every move he makes, his name is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard; you cut yourself off with a gasp, breath hitching in your throat.

“There?” Jay asks, even though he knows he’s hitting your spot. 

You look up at him through fluttering eyelids, becoming more and more dazed each time his hips smack yours. “Mhm, I—close,” you mumble. 

Jay takes this as a sign to hike your leg up around his waist, making sure to hit it each time he pumps into you. It seems like it’s working. “Cum for me, baby,” he whispers, using his free hand to push some of your hair out of your face. 

Your whines turn into broken sobs and you hide your face in the pillow next to you, muffling your screams. Although he thinks your consideration for your flatmates is coming a bit late, he leaves you be, finding the sight sexier than he cares to admit. 

Sexier still is the way your body tenses before squirming again, your walls pulsing uncontrollably around him while you cum. Jay’s stomach starts to tighten as he fucks you, spurred on by the look on your face as you orgasm, and the sound of his cock filling you up. With a few more thrusts and a jagged moan, he spills his load into the condom, just about collapsing on top of you. 

Considering how fucked out and sleepy you’d been while Jay cleaned you up, he isn’t surprised to find you fast asleep when he gets back from cleaning himself. He does his best to join you in bed as softly as possible but it’s no use because you wake with a large yawn, making his heartache from a weird mixture of guilt and how cute you look. 

He lays on his back, grinning to himself when you rest your head on his chest, making yourself comfy with an arm and leg slung over him. You talk drowsily about watching The Devil Wears Prada in full after his game tomorrow and nod eagerly when he asks if you want to wear one of his jerseys to come and watch him play. Jay keeps his eyes shut until he hears you snoring faintly, and looks forward to teasing you about it in the morning.

When he stares straight ahead at your ceiling, a fuzzy feeling rises in his chest. “I put my star on the ceiling too,” he whispers, knowing you can’t hear him, but feeling happy nonetheless.

Huddled up under Jay’s jacket, you sit on the half wall outside the football house with Chaewon, watching as Jeno blows smoke from his super king over his shoulder. Though given the way that the wind blows it back in your faces, the two of you may as well have taken him up on his offer to share. 

Letting Chaewon rest her head on your shoulder, you take a sip of your drink and feel thankful to the version of you from five minutes ago who let Jay fill your cup with lemonade instead of vodka. The two of you laugh along with Jeno until you see Yunjin rushing out of the double doors and into the garden. 

“Is there anything wrong with my outfit?” she asks, giving the three of you a twirl so you can check and mumbling a “thank you” to Jeno who reaches his arm out to stop her from falling over in the process. 

Yunjin’s outfit looks fine. At first. Until you notice the massive hole in the left side of her skirt; the sight of which leaves you and Chaewon wiping tears of laughter. Through cackles and a slight stomach ache, you manage to ask what happened. 

“I got caught on something, like, an hour ago, and I wasn’t hurt or anything so I forgot about it, and then I went out front and felt the craziest breeze on my thigh and I looked down and.. half of my skirt is just.. missing,” she explains, pausing only to take a draw from Jeno’s cigarette. “Does it look intentional at least?” 

You almost choke on your drink when Chaewon suggests using her acrylics to make an identical hole on the side, telling her to market the holes as “cutouts” and try selling it on Depop. 

“Vintage, Y2K, I.AM.GIA, Destiny’s Child, Britney Spears,” she says, although she’s had so much to drink that it all comes out as one word. “Don’t laugh at me, write it down! Babe, quick, take pictures!” 

Yunjin poses dramatically while Jeno takes product photos on her phone, and in the space between them, through the double doors, you see your boyfriend standing next to the dining table, his friends laughing around him while he stares over in your direction with a sweet smile on his face. 

And even though you can’t say for sure, you’re just glad that here, tonight, you have a pretty good idea of why Park Jongseong’s smiling at you.

© zreamy (2023), all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, or plagiarise my work. do let my know your thoughts !

permanent taglist: @asahicore

[cupidzgf]

NEW YEARS EVE | SATORU GOJO

☁︎‎‎‧₊˚ summary: when things don't go according to plan, satoru has to try to get home in time for new year's eve, but will he make it?

contents: no pronouns, mentioned the reader is wearing a dress, angst, no curse au, rich!gojo, fluffy ending, this isn't that good guys help 😭 w/c: 1.4k a/n: happy new year!!!

despite everyone in the room, new year's eve is indescribably lonely.

SATORU had left that morning, a promise on his lips of returning in plenty of time to accompany you to geto's party in light of the celebration of the new year.

only night had drawn, the sky periwinkle-turned black by the setting sun, and you had spent hours anxiously waiting for your boyfriend's arrival. in the dress he had bought for this occasion and with your knees bouncing restlessly, the door had never seemed so daunting until then, as hundreds of scenarios filled your mind of why he wasn't responding to any call or text.

however, when the clock hit 10, geto and shoko had called to encourage you to come anyway and leave the penthouse that felt too big without satoru and his personality, in a dress growing more uncomfortable with anxiousness prickling your skin. dread wasn't the right word for how you felt, but the range of emotions raving, cumulating, and racing through your mind filled you with a foreboding sense of apprehension. you agreed, despite your inhibitions.

you arrived at suguru's place, every bit as fancy as your boyfriend's, with a champagne bottle you two had picked up the day before. shoko had been the first to answer the door and welcome you in, apologizing immediately with a grumble about how gojo couldn't be on time, even if it killed him.

though you neglected to tell her he was always on time when it came to you, you took it in stride and were welcomed in by everyone else. all of them were friends from college, though you would have never guessed from the mix-matched group of people. toji and sukuna were playing on the xbox, suguru was sipping champagne along with nanami, and at the same time, choso watched the other tv displaying the new year countdown. the rest were off with family, leaving your get-together to be small and humble.

"is that her?" toji glanced back to confirm it was you. "gojo here? he owes me money."

when the rest finally realized that you came here alone, the pity hung like a dark cloud. you had tried to enjoy yourself regardless, but the fact that no one else had heard from him made your hands shaky and the lump in your throat a little harder to swallow.

toji and sukuna had been quick to invite you over to play mario cart with them to take your mind off things; though they never said as much, you were grateful to them regardless. the rest of your friends had even joined in, resulting in a lot of yelling and laughing during leiri's repeated wins and choso's losing streak. as midnight approaches, your mind still manages to wander back to him, landing you where you are now.

the reporter on tv stands around with others in shibuya on the crossing while the clock ticks down to the last five minutes of the year. toji and sukuna have put down the games (what fun was there playing when sukuna kept winning?) and joined the rest of you congregating around the tv and getting as drunk as possible. though you were doing so a little more than most, to the point where geto politely cut you off.

gojo was still a no-show, and playing off how his absence affected you had worked initially, but the facade was now torn with holes too big to hide the vulnerable part of yourself that couldn't stop texting him. while everyone else had assured you he wouldn't miss new year's and was probably caught up in traffic, hope dwindled into thinly veiled fear the longer your texts went unread.

3 minutes.

excitement bubbled in the room. drinks were being set down, party poppers were being brought out, and yet you were as uneasy as ever without satoru.

choso was quick to come to your rescue and loosen up your nervous disposition by pulling you into the conversation, teasing you about how he'd have to kiss you when the clock struck midnight. you didn't have the heart to tell him the notion made you even more miserable.

1 minute.

the volume on the tv was turned up, each of them eagerly watching the screen as tension rose. shoko smiles brightly as suguru pulls her to his side in a friendly manner, taking her alcohol-filled glass away despite her protests.

the volume was enough to cover the sound of the door knob jingling and the door opening from the other side of the room.

10 seconds.

someone shouted your name.

it is as if the world stopped spinning, and time stood still for this fraction of a second. you can't even get a word out before satoru leaps into your arms and spins you around just as your friends echo the numbers.

5…

he puts you down.

4…

he looks positively breathless, and yet he still grins widely.

3…

you return his contagious smile with your own, your heart pounding so loudly against your ribcage that you can't feel anything else.

2…

appreciation swells over you like a crashing wave while fireworks begin to explode in the sky beyond the expansive windows of the penthouse. rainbows of light scatter in the sky, reflecting in the window and dispersing across his face. they highlight his sharp features and gleaming eyes in a second, so cinematic you can't look away.

1…

he pulls you in.

"happy new year!!!"

your lips crash into satoru's as fiercely passionate emotions take over your senses and fill them with everything that is him. his lips are raw from being bitten, likely from anxiousness, but soft and moldable as they claim yours. squeezed tighter into his body, he pours out every ounce of love, devotion, and hopefulness that tastes sickly sweet on your tongue.

all too soon, however, you both pull away to recover your breaths, panting in a strangely rhythmic way.

"you're here," you whisper in disbelief, white tuffs of hair flopping over his forehead while you search his cerulean irises, bright and alive, to yield an explanation, only to witness them soften imperceptibly.

before you can analyze him and every thought and ugly emotion he's suppressing, he presses his forehead against yours, holding your face in a manner so intimate your throat closes with emotion.

"i'm sorry. fuck, i'm so sorry, sweets. they kept me in a meeting, and i tried to get home as soon as possible, but my phone was dead, and traffic was horrendous…" he inhales deeply, your scent fluttering through his senses delicately. the booms of fireworks, the shouting on tv, and the sounds of celebration dissolve into white noise. his wiry arms pull you impossibly close to his chest.

a soft side, raw and revealing, everything he's been taught to cover with flesh and muscle is bare for your eyes alone. vulnerability is a word he's come to know as he silently pleads for your forgiveness in the wake of his confession. no matter how he hides behind humor to cover emotions, he needs this, he needs you. you are everything he strives to be, a version of himself broken free from the shackles of the gojo empire, from society and its expectations of strength.

you're his everything, despite having never admitted it, and if giving you the gift of the new year makes you smile, he would stop time itself to give you this day again and again.

"a text would have been nice," you chuckle sadly, and his adam's apple bobs.

"yeah–"

"you guys done yet?" the both of you freeze, slowly turning to find your friends staring at you with varying expressions.

"finally decided to show up, huh?" suguru raises an eyebrow, and you can feel gojo's exasperation beside you.

"it wasn't my fault! they trapped me in a meeting, my phone died, oh and don't forget the traffic!" he whines, listing it off on his fingers.

shoko and suguru shake their heads, nanami and choso roll their eyes, and toji pays his gambling money to a very smug sukuna (he bet satoru wouldn't return before midnight).

it catches your boyfriend's attention as he shouts in disbelief, "hey! did you bet on me?!"

the rest of the room descends into chaos, but with him at your side, your hurricane, and your rock, you silently speak your new year wish to the heavens. you take a second to watch the room like an outsider looking in, to let every emotion sink into memory before immersing yourself back into the action.

you've never felt more at home than the one you created with the people beside you.

©2023 cupidzgf. do not copy, translate, modify, or repost my content onto other sites without my permission

[hellsslibrary]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚NSFW Alphabet with Azul Ashengrotto˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

DNI : minors.

!!Warnings : switch!top!male!reader, switch!bottom!Azul, size difference kink, oral, toys, cock warming, praise/humiliation kink, power dynamic, ink(I'm not sorry).

#a.n. : While everyone is writing kinktobers, I'm still trying to finish this. But wait after the alphabets, there will be kinktober... In November, to make it more convenient (and maybe earlier, if I try). Also, no pictures today because I want to redo the decor, and I'm writing this part of Azul for two beautiful ladies, so...(I'll add them later)

A = Aftercare (What are they like after sex?)

He is embarrassed about this (just a little), but he will help put things in order in what he and his partner have done. Prefers to rest a bit before cleaning, but if his partner starts, he will certainly help too. Especially if he was in a dominant position.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part as well as their partners)

Well, in your body it would... Certain parts. He definitely has a kink for the size difference (you can't argue with me, I want to pin him against the wall). And he will love anything if it is bigger than his body parts? Palms, muscles, if any, tongue, di—. Yes.

Honestly, he really likes his chest, and not just the nipples specifically, he likes it when his partner touches him anywhere on the chest in general. I just have a headcanon that he has very petite chest, even for a guy and well... Sorry.

C = Cum (basically anything related to sperm)

So... His sperm has the most ordinary consistency. It is released quite a bit during orgasm, but it tastes quite salty. There is his ink in the sperm (fanfiction with the overblot form of Azul is always in my head, maybe I’ll write them too someday)

Mmm, I think he likes it when people cum in his mouth. Fish sperm, according to internet experts, is simply disgusting. So he likes this taste, definitely.

D = Dirty Secret (Self-explanatory, their dirty secret)

He is the power bottom almost always, simply because he is flattered by the idea of control. But damn, he has moments where he just wants you to take it all into your own hands and take it as you please, mostly without considering his opinion (but still having his consent to it, of course).

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they are doing?)

... No. Simply no. He's definitely a virgin. I doubt he even knows much about sex in theory. Well, dick, hole there, sperm, orgasm. That's all, okay?

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy style~. Don't lie to me that you didn't want to bend him over his table in the VIP room, I won't believe you (it's not exactly doggy style, but who cares). He mostly refuses to look you in the face when you're dominant, so why not.

If he is dominant... Missionary position? I just like the idea of a dominant bottom underneath a service top and well... Azul would be a good fit. He likes to be snuggled anyway.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious at the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

Extremely serious, but with a hint of playfulness, if that makes sense. For example, if he has sex with a partner, it means that they literally mean the world to him and he is exposing a part of himself that is really vulnerable, so he likes it if both parties take it very seriously, but he also likes to have an opportunity to tease you and pull your strings just to see how you react.

H = Hair (How well groomed is it? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I wouldn't say he's shaved, but his hair is definitely short, so there's no real need for that. The color is absolutely identical and they are also slightly curly, just like this hairstyle...

I = Intimacy (How are they feeling at the moment? Romantic aspect.)

He is very romantic in general. As I said earlier, he exposes a part of himself that is truly vulnerable, so when his partner takes it seriously, he feels very loved, generally respected and accepted, so he becomes much more romantic both sexually and in general .

J = Jack off (Main canon of masturbation)

He has a lot of stress in his life, you know? So, fuck... I think he would like to do this more often, but he doesn't do it often anyway. He still prefers your hands.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He probably likes to be humiliated and praised at the same time, and I can't explain it for the world, but I know it. Also likes power dynamics, likes to be bossed around and have less power than the other person, but still respected. But when it comes to dominating you—... For now. He also loves getting your cock warm (sorry). Well... I like to attribute this kink to all busy characters, except for Vil, what will you do to me.

L = Location (Favorite places to do things)

Very personal to him, so the only place he could really do this is either his room, his partners room, or some motel if he's really desperate. Specifically and for the most part, this is his room because he knows where everything is and he has certain toys that he can just pull out whenever he wants. Although... With a lot of persuasion or no choice (if one of you was EXTREMELY horny), he would agree to have sex in a less secluded place

M = Motivation (what turns them on, turns them on)

When he and his partner have a truly romantic relationship (that is, serious) or when you start whispering all sorts of dirty things in his ear and touching his thighs, for example.

N = No (Something they wouldn't do is disabled)

Hmm, I should at least list with someone no (with Vil there will be a direct list, lol), but Azula will also receive this honor. Rape, he also really doesn't like threesomes because he feels it's more about getting laid than actually caring about each other and wants to dedicate all his love to one person in particular. And also his real form until a very distant moment in the relationship.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Receiving. You can't tell me otherwise because this man looks like he was made to be flexed, especially with his skinny waist like...(sorry, I got carried away) and he probably doesn't mind either sit on your face (if that’s what you’re into, of course). The ratio would be something like this: 60% for you, 40% for you.

He's not particularly good at giving blowjobs, but it's all made better by his enthusiasm to bring you to orgasm as quickly as possible... As long as he's not teasing or denying your orgasm, of course.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He is slow and sensual as he loves to enjoy every moment he can spend with his partner in this way. Also wants to make sure that the other person knows that he loves them for real, and not just for sex.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickie games, how often, etc.)

Doesn't like quick games, but if he's really busy and his partner wants to do it, he'll agree to one. Well... Actually, they happen quite often, if I may confess.

R = Risk (are they playing with experiments? Are they taking risks? etc.)

Willing to take risks, but very quickly draws a line under what he doesn't like to do (he absolutely doesn't want many things until he becomes comfortable with his boyfriend/he has more trust in him). He wants to spend time with his partner as fully as possible.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they last? How long will they last?)

He becomes very weak in this position, so can usually only last about 7-10 rounds at most (still a reminder that this is a magical world, kittens). He actually only tries three or so, but if his partner wants to try a few more, he's more than welcome. True, only a few.

T = Toys (Do they have toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He probably has a dildo that he pleasures himself with from time to time, but he only really uses one. He takes good care of it and always makes sure it's properly cleaned so he doesn't get an infection or get sick or anything like that. Not a big fan of toys in general, but if that's what you want, he's okay with it.

U = Unfair (How much they love to tease)

He really likes both sides of the coin. He enjoys both teasing his partner and receiving teasing from him. Loves it when he squirms under his partner and he starts making comments about it, although he always complains about it, he likes it. And I also like the completely mirrored version.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Very loud because he often forgets to be quiet, the only thing he can really think about is his partner at that moment so nothing else matters. Although, if you persuade him to have sex outside of your rooms with him... He will hardly utter a sound, he is too ashamed.

W = Wild Card (random character headcanon)

He... Loves... Jerk... You... With...His... Tentacles. Okay, listen to me. When in the end, you gain his trust completely, he will agree to many things in his form. And damn... The tentacles are clearly faster and more skillful than his arms (even if they are quite chubby).

X = X-ray (Let's see what's going on under those clothes)

12 cm/just under 5 inches. He has a mole on his balls. His balls are surprisingly quite large and plump.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Like I said, his sex drive is quite high considering his stress level, but on average... He's fine with about 2-3 times a week. Although, what if you want more? He's all yours.

Z - Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep later)

Doesn't fall asleep right away, he likes to compliment his partner or talk a little before he falls asleep. If his partner is asleep, he can simply lie there for 10-20 minutes and come to the realization of what he just did before falling back to sleep.

[veveisveryuncool]

kine is based off mola mola sunfish, which are about 6ft in size!!therefore i raise you: mola mola sunbathing party!! (+ the slightly more realistic animal friends :DD)

OKAY i did a lot of research on animals for this one!! feel free to read my notes under the cut 👇

kine: is a mola mola/ocean sunfish, specifically from pacific waters! i'm in love with the idea of this six foot behemoth next to all the tiny creatures of dreamland, and as someone with a crippling obsession with fish, i had to draw him :] pacific mola molas match the distinctive petal-shaped clauvus (not a caudal fin!) that kine has, but don't have a lot of iconic lip action, which is why i tried to make it seem like a... discolored snout? molas are typically one color, and the blue color could seem natural from an angle, so let's pretend that real!kine just has lots of cool barnacles.

coo: is taken from @starflungwaddledee's dusky eagle owl notes! they literally look so much like coo it's insanee + i added the stripes to his wings. finding the bird-to-cartoon ratio was kinda hard actually 😭 birds are hard to draw what

rick: is based on a golden hamster (aka syrian hamster)!!! he's exactly the type of hamster you think of when you think of a normal hamster. golden hamsters are technically one of the largest hamsters, but still only stand at about 7 inches— so i decided to use his cartoon logic to keep him somewhat relative to coo

chuchu: SHE'S A FLAPJACK OCTOPUS SHE'S LITERALLY A FLAPJACK OCTOPUS!!!! scientists actually wanted to name the species "adorabilis" and just look them up please they're so cute!!! you can tell that DL3 character designers had flapjack octopi on their minds when they designed her. their fins look similar to a bow, and i obviously couldn't get rid of that, so i gave her both :]]

nago: is a calico cat. he's not overly cartoonish in his game design in regards to how he looks as a cat— he is undeniably a cat. i let my middle school warrior cats obsession take over for that one. calicos are almost always female, so i also raise you trans nago 🫶

pitch: resembles a warbling white eye, according to wikirby. i tend to draw him similar to one anyways, thanks to adeleine's slightly more realistic drawings in the DL3 credits. he's definitely also been sized up to fit in with the rest of the cast, since a 4-inch bird wouldn't exactly be visible.

thanks for listening to my rambles about animals!! i tried to keep a good mix between realism and video game designs just for kicks and giggles, hopefully it doesn't fall into a weird uncanny valley haha :] ✌️