#apparently i have more to say than i thought

[madamechrissy]

Your best friend's dad Toji headcanons

Pairings: Toji Fushiguro x fem reader

Content warnings- ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS interacting with this, heavy NSFW! Big age gap (Toji late 30s, reader is 21) some manipulation (both of em lol) masturbation (toji) and oral sex (both recieving) obsessed Toji, the oneshot will be much more in detail lol. If you don't like Toji being called 'daddy' don't read lmao, taboo ass themes.

Gonna be a full oneshot, comment to get tagged when it drops!

Your best friend's dad Toji who used to be so affectionate, but the past couple years he's been... closed off, indifferent to you? He had Megumi so young, it was more like he played a big brother role, really, you used to talk to him about anything. But lately he just grumbles a hello and pats your head, much to your dismay.

Your best friend's dad Toji is so hot you've had this crush on him forever, but of course you try to hide it, and eventually you have it under wraps- when you're about nineteen or twenty you start catching his looks, the ones he doesn't think you see, and you may or may not wear next to nothing when you stay the night, just to sleepily smile at him in the morning, watching dark green eyes dilate.

Your best friend's dad Toji can't stop thinking of all the ways he'd treat you so good, when he listens to you crying about a break up, thinking these pathetic dudes probably couldn't even get you off, in fact he's sure that they haven't. You don't look well fucked, like you should, with your shy little smile and the way your tits just sway in those tank tops with no bras, driving him insane to no end, so that now he just avoids you.

Your best friend's dad Toji has lost how many times he's stroked his cock to the thought of you, especially when you sleep on the couch, you spend all kinds of time here instead of your dorm with your roommate who apparently always has guys over. More peaceful for you here, and instead of tucking you in he openly stares at your parted lips, at how your tank top twisted and your tit is almost out. He'd throw a blanket over you and head to his bed, stroking himself and trying to stifle the moans, picturing how he'd make you cum over and over again.

Your best friend's dad Toji has girls over at times, and you can't help but feel upset when you see them, which is so stupid, but here it is, these feelings that arise, knowing they're going on dates with him, wondering if he'll see you any other way. One day after a particular date he comes in the dark kitchen, startled to see you sitting in one of the seats, sipping on a beer. 'The fuck, doll do you ever go home? And are you old enough to drink this shit?' you uncross your legs, and damned if your shorts aren't loose enough that he sees a hint of your pussy. 'I'm more than old enough, you know, I'm Gumi's age' Toji scoffs, cracking open a beer and leaning against the counter 'yeah, a fuckin kiddo still'

Your best friend's dad Toji pauses with his lips almost to the bottle when you step closer, fingers trailing up his dress shirt, his dark hair falling over his brow as you tilt your head, looking at him for the first time how you've wanted to. You've lost count how many times you have played with your pussy, how many times under boys you pictured Toji instead. 'Did you get off, Mr. Fushiguro?' Toji sputters now, how you make a man like him speechless is diabolical. 'the fuck you say, doll?' Toji manages, and you smile as your hand trails lower. 'You've helped me so much, I could help you cum if you want' he scoffs, gripping your wrist then 'don't fuckin' tease me, won't end well for you'

Your best friend's dad Toji shows you just how well it ends, when you're on your knees in the kitchen, and he's shoving his cock deep in your eager mouth, fucking your throat so good tears prick your eyes. 'F-fuck... s-so good I.... shit...' he's stuttering, as you take his cock down your throat, your nails gripping at his thighs, looking up at him then. 'Gonna cum if you- stop, shit you-' you keep sucking his veiny length, throbbing and twitching as he yanks on your hair, pulling you off before he busts, just in time for the door to click, and you both seperate before a sleepy Megumi finds you.

Your best friend's dad Toji doesn't come to you like you'd expect, no he avoids the shit out of you even more, and soon you're imagining this was all some odd dream. He doesn't even acknowledge it, so you go back to dating your ex, and try not to come over anymore, Toji misses you, fuck he does, but he's trying to not engage with whatever demon mouth his kids bestie posesses. Toji even sees you out while he's on a date, his jaw locking when you're at the other table, young and seemingly in puppy love, your eyes lock when you see him, and Toji's date is fading into the background just a bit. When you get up to go to the bathroom, Toji excuses himself, just to come behind you and press you against the counter, barring you with his strong arms, as you murmur- 'Mr. Fushiguro..."

Your best friend's dad Toji mutters 'so did you get off on your lil date, doll? with the kid?' you hear it, the tenseness, the jealousy, as his huge, strong hands slip up your little black dress, and you whine out just a bit, before glaring. 'What if he did? what if he gets me off so good, Mr. Fushiguro- ah!' Toji's done with you then, he's got you turned so you see your own blush and glittering eyes in the mirror, slipping his hand down between your thighs and rolling rough fingertips on your clit, towering over you, taking over your senses in this bathroom. 'Bet he ain't got shit on me' he murmurs, before rolling your clit in circles and hearing you hiccup, whimper, head falling back as his other hand grips a breath 'tired of ya fucking teasing me' he then leaves you there, gasping and needy, sucking on his fingers and moaning about your taste.

Your best friend's dad Toji does not like it when you bring your boyfriend over, even if it is Megumi's other friend, not when you're sitting on his lap and kissing him while the three of you game, all giggling. He scowls right at you, only for you to give him a knowing little smile, one he thinks about fucking right off you, until you're just open mouthed and drooling. He's jerking his dick right off in the bathroom while the three of you spend time, endlessly thinking of positions he'd put his kid's best friend in, bend you over, drink your pretty pussy up, make you call him daddy. As his cum squirts out of his reddened, drooly tip, he exhales, trying to pull himself together, surely two can play at your stupid little game.

Your best friend's dad Toji starts to go to every one of Megumi's games now, he used to catch a few, but he loves to go every time because he knows you cheer for the team. You kiss your little boyfriend's cheek and bounce around in your cheerleading skirt, all while you see him with a new girl in the stand all the time, acting so unbothered by you. When you're asking Megumi about it, he shrugs muttering 'they don't come home after the games, maybe he's trying to look hot to the PTA moms? he's weird' huh you think to yourself, seeing his glint in narrowed eyes, which only makes you want him more, the shithead that he is.

Your best friend's dad Toji watches as you 'drop something' just to bend over in your cheer skirt, with nothing under it like it should be, making him lose his mind when you smile brightly at him, talking about a party all of you are going to after. Toji can't stand it when he's at home, waiting, imagining everything you're doing, fucking dying to have you, he jerks off so much it starts to hurt, and it's all your fault, which you would delight in knowing truly. When you come back over in the damn cheer outfit the next day, and Megumi isn't home yet, you sigh. 'Oh, then I'll come back later-' Toji stops you then, locking the door with a click. 'Oh you'll cum alright'

Your best friend's dad Toji has you up on his kitchen counter, thighs spread, pulling your panties up so that your wet spot darkens them, and he sees the plump lips of your pussy. 'real slutty, where's your shorts huh?' you smile at him, then gasp as he grips your chin, and your head falls back against the wall. 'I want you to see' you finally admit, and he glares at you. 'and why the fuck you torturing me!?' you gasp at him. 'it's you who torture me!' 'nah, doll, you know what you're doing, and I'm tired of it, gonna shut you the fuck up' Toji yanks your panties off as you gasp. 'gonna make you forget any dumb college boy has ever touched you' he says, before he sinks two thick digits, moaning as he watches your pretty face get fucked out.

Your best friend's dad Toji laps at your little clit, as your hands entwine in his inky hair, and he feels like it's so wrong, you're like at least sixteen years younger, your his kids best friend. Shit you practically lived here, but once he gets a taste of your slick pussy, he's done for. He's got you cumming all over his fingers in minutes, and you're drunk off it, as he keeps licking, scar brushing your inner lips as you pull him closer. "Mr. Fushiguro..." You're whining out, and he smirks, pulling back and spitting right on your pussy, watching it drip from your twitchy clit to your soppy little hole. 'don't call me that right now, not when you're about to cum all over my face again, huh?' you eagerly obey, earning his chuckle 'guess this is how I get you to listen'

Your best friend's dad Toji slurps up more of your cum, obscene in the little kitchen, and you're fucking his face, his fingers, all while his cock his throbbing in his sweats, and you're whispering 'Toji!' he slaps your pussy then, loud in the room, with wet sticky fingers, you scream out at it, cunt throbbing around nothing, ready to be filled by him. 'Please, please...' he chuckles again- 'please what, doll?' you're shattering as he scissors his fingers in and out of your soppy hole 'please fuck mee, please!' he moans against your cunt, rubbing himself where the precum has leaked out past his boxers and even to his sweats, nipping at your clit as you cum again. 'want me to actually fuck you, huh? show you how a man does it?' 'please Toji...'

Your best friend's dad Toji carries you to his bed, the place he so frequently pumps his cock to the thought of you, eyeing your already fucked out face, smirking down at you as he spreads your thighs. 'then need to ask me properly, huh doll?' you blink in confusion, as he leans over you, cock still under his clothes, gripping your wrists as you wriggle, aching for him. 'I said please though!' he presses a kiss to your lips, and you taste yourself on him, moaning into his mouth. 'say please 'daddy''

Comment if you wanna get tagged in this freaky shit lol

Permatags- @alt--er--love @seeing-stars-alt @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @makingtimemine @cuntphoric @loafteaw @aldebrana @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @labelt-san @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster

[evermoreness]

hi lovely!! i had a random idea for a fic where reader is harry’s kindergarten teacher and he lets it slip to you that single dad james thinks she’s pretty? im just imaging a little 5 year old letting that information slip like it’s the most casual thing in the world and meanwhile james is dying of embarrassment hahahha. i just thought it would be cute :)

— This idea is so cute! Thanks for sharing with me, hope you like it! @iloveremmy

secret crush | james potter

pairing: james potter x muggle!reader

summary: dad!james is definitely ready to love again after some time, he just didn't think it would be harry's kindergarten teacher.

obs: feel free to send any requests!

masterlist

The small classroom was filled with laughter, crayons, and the chaotic energy only a group of five-year-olds could create. The walls were covered in colorful drawings, some resembling actual objects and others looking more like abstract masterpieces only a parent could pretend to understand.

At the front of the room stood y/n, the most beloved teacher in the entire kindergarten. She had a natural warmth about her, making every child feel special. She was also quick-witted and funny, always finding a way to make the most mundane things exciting. Her students adored her.

And at the center of it all, sitting on one of the tiny chairs like he was some kind of prince, was Harry Potter.

Harry was an interesting child—smart, playful, and with a sass level that could rival a teenager. He had a mop of messy black hair that never seemed to stay put, big green eyes that sparkled with mischief, and a personality far too charming for a five-year-old.

He had been extra sassy today, insisting he was "way too advanced" for their ABC exercises and that "Uncle Moony reads him much harder books." You had learned by now to just nod along when Harry said bizarre things like that.

You had taken a particular liking to him. Not that you played favorites (at least, not openly), but something about Harry made you want to protect him even more than the other kids. Maybe it was the fact that he was being raised by a single dad, or maybe it was the way he always looked at you with that cheeky little grin whenever he was about to say something absurd.

Right now, that cheeky grin was in full force.

"Miss y/l/n," Harry said, swinging his legs under the table as he colored.

"Yes, love?" you replied, crouching down to his level.

He leaned in as if he was about to share the most confidential secret of his life. "My dad thinks you're pretty."

You blinked.

Oh.

Oh!

You opened your mouth to respond, but Harry, apparently very pleased with himself, continued. "He says you're too young to have this many kids"

Well, you definitely held back the laughter, but as you didn't have an answer to that, you just changed subjects. You leaned over to glance at Harry’s drawing. It was a messy but clearly heartfelt attempt at a stick figure version of himself and his dad, complete with what looked like… a broomstick?

“That’s a great drawing, Harry!” you praised, ruffling his hair. “Is that you and your dad?”

Harry nodded, proudly holding up his masterpiece. “Yeah! That’s me, and that’s Daddy, and he’s flying really fast on his broom because he’s the best at Quidditch!”

Let's say Harry Potter was a really imaginative kid. He would always say some really funny stories about witches and sometimes, he would full on create new words. Like he was just doing now. You found it cute, but little did you know that it was actually all true.

You grinned. “I bet he is.”

Harry’s little legs swung as he beamed. “Yeah! And he says he used to be the best Seeker at Hogwarts! I wanna be like him when I grow up!”

“That’s a great dream,” you said, genuinely warmed by how much Harry admired his father.

James was tall, lean, and had the same messy hair as his son. He was dressed casually, but there was something effortlessly charming about him. And then there were his eyes—warm, hazel, and currently widening in horror as he realized what his son was in the middle of saying.

"And my dad also said—oh, hey, Dad!" Harry greeted, as if he hadn’t just delivered a verbal nuke seconds before.

James, who had clearly heard enough, looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. "Harry," he started, his voice a little strained, "what exactly have you been telling Miss y/l/n?"

Harry, completely unfazed, gestured at his teacher. "I was just telling her how you think she's pretty."

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. You found it cute how a grown man was becoming all flustered right now.

“I mean—” James rubbed the back of his neck. “I might have said something along the lines of you being… you know… a good teacher.”

Harry frowned. “No, you didn’t.”

James glared at his son. A warning look. A look that screamed drop it, drop it now, child.

Harry, of course, did not drop it.

James let out an awkward, nervous laugh, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Yeah, um, I don't know where he got that from—"

"You said it last night," Harry reminded him. "When you were talking to Uncle Pads and you said—"

"Okay, that's enough, kiddo!" James cut in quickly, picking up Harry like he was a sack of potatoes. His face was an interesting shade of pink now. "Time to go, say goodbye to your teacher!"

Harry, enjoying this far too much, gave you a knowing look before waving. "Bye, Miss! See you tomorrow! Oh, and it's okay! My dad only likes you a little bit."

James groaned. "Oh, for Merlin's sake—"

You, to your credit, simply gave James a bright, amused smile. "It’s fine. Kids say the funniest things."

James, still trying to compose himself, let out a breath. "Yeah. They do."

You tilted your head, studying him for a second. "Though, I have to say, you do have a very smart kid. And very honest."

James gave you a sheepish smile. "Yeah… unfortunately, he gets that from his mother."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes—something sad, something that made you instinctively soften your tone. "She must've been wonderful."

James nodded. "Yeah. She really was."

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between them. Then, because James couldn't handle any more embarrassment today, he awkwardly cleared his throat. "Right. Well. We'll be going now. Before Harry decides to share my entire life story."

You grinned. "That’s probably a good idea. Have a good evening, Harry. James."

James hesitated for half a second, then nodded. "You too."

As he walked out, still carrying a smug-looking Harry, you couldn't help but shake your head, laughing quietly to yourself.

James Potter, huh?

This was going to be interesting.

As soon as they were outside, James crouched down and gave Harry a look of pure exasperation. “Alright, Prongslet. Why?”

Harry just grinned up at him, utterly unapologetic. “I like Miss y/n. You like Miss y/n. Uncle Padfoot said you should talk to her more. I was helping.”

James dropped his head in his hands. “You and Sirius are banned from talking to each other ever again.”

The aftermath

James Potter was dying.

Not literally—he had survived multiple Quidditch accidents, a war, and Voldemort himself—but right now, standing outside of Harry’s kindergarten classroom, he was convinced that actual death would be less painful than the secondhand embarrassment he had just experienced.

His five-year-old son, his sweet, traitorous, utterly clueless son, had just casually exposed his very real, very secret crush on Miss y/n.

He was never showing his face in that classroom again.

…Okay, that was a lie.

He’d be back tomorrow.

And the next day.

And the day after that.

Because Harry loved school, and James definitely wasn’t going to pull him out just because he got caught being a pathetic twenty-five-year-old with a schoolboy crush on his kid’s teacher.

But, Merlin’s beard, how was he supposed to look you in the eyes again?

But instead, he found himself standing there like an idiot, because—screw it—he wasn’t actually opposed to talking to you.

At first, James had been mortified, barely able to meet your eyes when he picked up his son. But as the days went by, he found himself lingering a little longer each time. It started small—asking how Harry was doing, if he was behaving (spoiler: he wasn’t), and if he was making friends.

But then your conversations stretched longer.

“So, uh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I actually wanted to talk to you about Harry.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

James nodded, trying to look serious. “Yeah. His, uh… behavior.”

You blinked, looking at Harry, who was currently playing with another student and doing absolutely nothing wrong.

“…His behavior?” you echoed.

James cleared his throat. “Yes. It’s, uh, very concerning.”

You folded your arms, clearly humoring him. “What exactly is concerning about it?”

James hesitated. “Well. You know. The talking thing.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “The talking thing?”

James sighed, knowing you weren’t buying it. “Yeah. You know. The way he just… talks. No filter. Says things. About me.”

You did laugh then, shaking your head. “James, you do realize that’s completely normal for his age, right?”

James groaned. “I was hoping you’d say there was a cure.”

You grinned. “Afraid not.”

James huffed, but there was a smile playing at his lips now. “Brilliant. Well, at least tell me—how do I make sure he doesn’t casually ruin my life every time he opens his mouth?”

You shrugged. “Sorry, but I think you’re doomed.”

James sighed dramatically. “That’s what I thought.” He glanced at Harry again, who was still happily playing, then looked back at you. “Well, I guess I should be glad he didn’t say anything too bad.”

You smirked. “Oh, no, just that you think I’m really pretty and smile a lot when you talk about me.”

James groaned. “Merlin’s sake, why would you repeat it?”

You laughed. “Because it’s funny.”

James shot her a look. “For you, maybe.”

You tilted your head, grinning. “Oh, come on, James. It’s not that bad.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You do realize that I’m going to be forced to relocate and change my name now, right?”

You snorted. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” James deadpanned. “I’ll be John Smith from now on. You’ve never met me before in your life.”

You shook your head, still laughing. “Well, John Smith, if it makes you feel any better…” you hesitated for a second, then shrugged, your voice softer. “I don’t mind what Harry said.”

James froze.

Your eyes were warm, teasing but also… something else.

And suddenly, James realized—maybe this wasn’t as embarrassing as he thought.

Maybe Harry had just given him the best excuse in the world to talk to the woman he’d been secretly crushing on.

And maybe—just maybe—he was okay with that.

For the first time that day, James grinned.

“Well then,” he said. “In that case, I think I can survive the humiliation.”

You chuckled. “Glad to hear it.”

From that day forward, James’s routine of picking Harry up from school became a little different.

At first, he told himself he was just being polite—nothing wrong with staying an extra minute or two to talk to Harry’s teacher, right? Totally normal. Every parent did that.

Except every time, those one or two minutes stretched longer.

And longer.

Until one day, he realized he was actively looking forward to pick-up time—not just to see Harry, but because he’d get to talk to you.

Getting to know each other

James had fully intended to keep his distance after the Incident—as he now called it in his head. He had absolutely not planned to linger when picking up Harry, nor did he intend to talk to you for longer than necessary. But that's not exactly what happened since they had been talking a lot lately.

"Everything good today?" James would ask, standing at the doorway.

"Harry was a little sassy during storytime," you would say, amused. "He insisted he already knew how it ended and started narrating over me."

James sighed, rubbing his temple. "Of course, he did. Did he at least get it right?"

"Surprisingly, yes," you said. "Honestly, he’s way too smart for a five-year-old."

James smirked. "He gets it from me, obviously."

"Oh, obviously," you teased, raising an eyebrow.

And then, the next day…

"Harry told me today that he was going to ‘summon his broom’ to get out of naptime."

James coughed. "Uh. Kids have wild imaginations, don’t they?"

"Mhm," you said, amused. "Though, I have to say, that’s a very specific thing to imagine."

James quickly changed the subject.

And then, the next day after that...

He found himself lingering near your desk, watching Harry shove his tiny arms into his backpack with all the grace of a rampaging hippogriff.

“So,” James started, leaning against the desk, “should I be worried about his academic future, or is struggling with backpack logistics a phase?”

You grinned. “Don’t worry, it’s a phase. I think.”

James sighed dramatically. “Merlin’s sake, that’s a relief. I was beginning to think I’d have to enroll him in some kind of Backpack Etiquette for Beginners course.”

You chuckled. “Well, I do give him stickers when he remembers to pack up neatly.”

James blinked. “That’s brilliant.”

You shrugged, smirking. “Bribery works wonders at this age.”

James laughed. “Noted.”

And just like that, their conversation stretched past the usual parent-teacher exchange.

James found himself not in a rush to leave.

You didn’t seem to mind.

And Harry, for once, didn’t interrupt with any more mortifying revelations.

A win for James.

A week later, James arrived earlier than usual and found you organizing a small shelf of children’s books.

“Expanding their literary horizons?” he asked, stepping closer.

You looked up, smiling. “Trying to. Some of them are still convinced books are just really boring building blocks.”

James smirked. “Ah, yes. The tragic underappreciation of literature.”

You chuckled. “Exactly.” you tilted your head. “Did you like reading when you were a kid?”

James shrugged. “I liked it. But I wasn’t the sit-quietly-and-read type. That was Remus.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Remus?”

“My best mate,” James explained. “Loves books. Absolute nightmare when you try to pull him away from one.”

You grinned. “Sounds like the kind of student I’d love to have.”

“Oh, absolutely,” James said. “Meanwhile, I was the kid causing problems in the back of the class.”

You pretended to gasp. “You? Causing trouble? I would never have guessed.”

James smirked. “Shocking, I know.”

You fell into easy conversation after that, sharing stories about school, books, and the different kinds of students you had over the years.

James barely noticed the time passing.

Neither did you.

"Alright, I have to ask," you said one day, arms crossed as you leaned against the doorway. "What’s up with Harry and the ‘Uncles’?"

James blinked. "What do you mean?"

"He talks about Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony constantly," you said. "Are they even real people?" you said, knowing that those names were definitely not usual. Maybe they were imaginary friends.

James tried not to laugh, he couldn't explain it to you in a detailed way, you were a Muggle after all. "Padfoot and Moony are my best mates. They are very real. It's just their nicknames. Padfoot is Sirius, Moony is Remus."

You smiled, trying to understand why they were even called that. "I swear, sometimes Harry sounds like a tiny old man when he quotes them."

James laughed. "That… yeah, that tracks. They’ve been around his whole life."

You smirked. "So, which one gives the worst advice?"

"Oh, definitely Sirius," James said immediately. "He told Harry once that he could read his mind and my poor kid spent the rest of the week scared to think"

You burst out laughing. "That’s terrible!"

"I know!" James said, grinning. "Remus had to be the voice of reason that day, convincing Harry that his uncle couldn't read his mind"

The small talk everyday was becoming a habit.

James would ask about your day, and you would roll your eyes and dramatically recount whatever chaos had ensued in your classroom—kids throwing crayons, glue disasters, the occasional crying over absolutely nothing. You were expressive, funny, and had this energy that James found… comforting.

You, in turn, asked about James—not just about Harry but about him. His work, his hobbies, things he liked. And James found himself telling you, actually enjoying your chats instead of awkwardly stumbling over his words like he thought he would.

But, of course, Harry noticed.

"Dad," Harry groaned one afternoon as James leaned against the classroom doorway, chatting away with you while other parents picked up their kids. "You’re doing it again."

James blinked down at his son. "Doing what, Prongslet?"

Harry huffed dramatically, grabbing his tiny backpack. "Talking and talking and talking."

You burst into laughter. "Oh no, Potter, you’ve been caught."

James narrowed his eyes at his son. "Maybe I like talking to your teacher, kiddo."

Harry groaned even louder, stomping toward the door. "Ugh, come on! We're always the last ones now!"

You laughed, nudging Harry’s nose playfully. "Oh, come on, am I that bad?"

Harry sighed dramatically. "No, but Daddy talks to you too much."

James cleared his throat. "Well, I just—y’know—parent stuff. Making sure you’re doing okay."

Harry squinted at him. "Uh-huh. Sure, Dad."

You smirked. "Guess I must be very interesting, huh?"

James ran a hand through his hair, looking away. "Uh… yeah. I mean, no—I mean—"

You just chuckled and waved at Harry. "See you tomorrow, little tornado."

Harry grumbled something under his breath about adults being annoying and led the way out.

James followed, but not before sneaking one last glance at you.

Getting some advice (from the professionals)

By the time a couple of weeks had passed, James knew he had to do something.

Because this? This standing-in-the-doorway-every-day-for-way-too-long thing? This was not normal behavior. He wasn’t just talking to you about Harry anymore. He liked talking to you, period.

And that? That was terrifying.

You were the first person he’d felt anything for since Lily. It wasn’t the same—Lily had been his great, big, all-consuming love. But you? You were warmth, laughter, easy conversations, and teasing smiles. And that was something.

Which meant he was going to do the scariest thing he’d done since facing off against Voldemort.

He was going to ask you out.

Sirius and Remus, of course, had opinions.

"You just gotta charm her, Prongs," Sirius said confidently, lounging on James' couch. "Lay it on thick—tell her she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen, maybe throw in a ‘your eyes shine brighter than the stars’—"

Remus snorted from his chair. "Yes, James. Do that. That definitely won’t make her think you’re a lunatic."

Sirius furrowed his brows at his boyfriend "Hey! I think it worked wonders when i charmed you to like me"

Remus gave him a look "When did exactly you charmed me, pads?"

Sirius was quick to answer "Second year, of course, and it worked!"

Remus was trying not to laugh "Do you actually know that it didn't work, i just liked you back?"

Before Sirius could even snap back, his face surprised, James groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "I don’t need to charm her. I just… need to not make a fool of myself."

Sirius smirked. "Well, that’s impossible. But, hey, shoot your shot."

James was pacing his living room, gripping his hair. "I can’t do it. I can’t do it."

Sirius was looking deeply amused. "You, the James Potter, too scared to ask a woman out? This is history in the making."

Remus, sitting in an armchair, gave a long-suffering sigh. "James, it’s just coffee."

"Just coffee? Moony, I haven’t dated since Lily!" James threw his hands up. "What if she says no? What if she thinks I’m a terrible father for even thinking about dating?"

"Mate," Sirius said, sitting up. "I promise you, the last thing she’s thinking is that you’re a terrible father. She likes you."

James scoffed. "She doesn’t like me."

Sirius smirked. "Oh, yeah? Then why does she always smile at you? And laugh at your terrible dad jokes? And talk to you for an eternity?"

"That’s just—she’s nice!" James insisted.

Remus gave him a knowing look. "James. Just ask her."

James groaned. "Fine. But if I make an idiot of myself, I’m blaming both of you."

He was really going to ask you out.

Taking actions

It was a Friday afternoon. James had spent the entire day hyping himself up. This was it. No more standing around like an idiot. No more pretending he was just talking about Harry.

He was going to ask you out. Casually. Coolly. Like a totally normal, smooth person.

(He was absolutely not smooth.)

"Hey, y/n," James started as he leaned on the doorway of the classroom, trying to look relaxed.

You, who was organizing a chaotic pile of paper, looked up and smiled. "Hey, Potter. You’re right on time for the usual end-of-the-day complaints from your son."

Harry, currently sulking with his backpack, threw up his hands. "They played ring around the rosie today! Do you know how boring that is?!"

You laughed. "What, not exciting enough for you?"

"No!"

James smirked. "That’s tragic, mate."

Harry crossed his arms. "Can we go now or are you gonna talk for twenty years again?"

James cleared his throat. Now or never.

"Actually," he said, looking at you, "I was wondering if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime."

You blinked. "What?"

James internally panicked. "Casual coffee. Like—like two people, drinking coffee, talking, existing in the same space—"

You raised an amused eyebrow. "Are you asking me out?"

James wanted to die. "I—I mean—yeah? But, like, you don’t have to—"

You grinned. "James."

He swallowed. "Yeah?"

"I’d love to."

James froze. "Wait. What?"

You smirked. "I said yes, Potter. You good?"

James stared at you, processing, before a slow grin spread across his face. "Oh. Well. That’s… good. That’s great. That’s—"

Harry groaned. "Finally!"

James turned to him. "Oh, what now?!"

Harry threw his hands up. "It took you forever to ask her! I thought you were never gonna do it!"

You laughed. "Seriously?"

James groaned. "Can’t anything be a secret in this family?"

You just smirked. "Apparently not."

James, still grinning, nodded. "Alright then. Coffee it is."

And for the first time in a long time, James felt something that wasn’t just surviving. He felt happy.

[hyunbelievable]

Painted in Sin

Part one.

Summary: a heated one night stand in your new city leads to a world of hurt

This is the new story I’ve been working on! It will be an ongoing series as I write it, and I’ll be posting chapters often. This is NSFW, minors/ageless blogs will be blocked.

Genre: College AU, Non-Idol AU.

WARNINGS: NSFW, MDNI. Swearing, one night stand, unprotected sex, fingering (f receiving), biting, marking/hickeys, alcohol consumption, student/teacher (college level 18+), overall tame but will become heavier as story progresses.

WC: 3.6k (lmao oops)

Chapter One:

The bar was dimly lit, jazz notes floating lazily through the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clinking of glass cups and silverware. You sit at the far end of the counter, one leg crossed over the other, your sketchbook perched on top of the bar, still infuriatingly blank.

With a defeated sigh, you press your pencil to the paper, tracing shapes without committing to any. It felt ironic to be an art student struggling to create, but something about the overwhelming newness of the city combined with the weight of tomorrow, left your mind empty.

You wince as the alcohol burns down your throat, tilting your head forward to let your hair fall like a curtain as you scan the room. The place wasn’t packed, but it had its share of interesting characters: a man in a suit nursing a scotch, a couple tucked into the corner laughing over shared secrets, and… him.

He sat a few stools away, one large hand wrapped around a glass of red wine, his head tilted slightly as if lost in thought. Shoulder length dark hair framed sharp features, and his eyes were observant; though they seemed focused on something far beyond the confines of the bar. He was the kind of man who looked effortlessly put-together, like he didn’t belong at this hole-in-the-wall bar, yet somehow, still fit in perfectly.

Your gaze lingers a moment longer than it should have.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s not polite to stare?,” he asks suddenly, his smooth voice teasing as he turns to pin you with his dark gaze.

Heat claws at your neck, but you refused to squirm. “She did,” you pause before adding, “But she also taught me to be observant in unfamiliar surroundings. I’m just being cautious.”

Full lips curve upward in a smirk as he shifts to face you fully. “Yeah? Consider me curious. Do I look like someone you have to be cautious of?”

You shrug, biting back the smile that threatens to bloom. “I haven’t decided yet.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and low, as he tips his head toward your sketchbook. “What are you working on?”

You glance down at your sketchbook, still covered in nothing more than little scribbles. Shutting it quickly, you lean back in your seat. “Nothing, apparently.”

“That’s a shame,” his voice softens, almost thoughtful. “You look like someone with something to say.”

Something about his comment tugs at you, a mix of curiosity and annoyance. Who the hell was this guy? Before you can come up with a witty retort, the bartender appears with a fresh glass of wine, sliding it across the counter with a hopeful expression. She grabbed the near-empty glass from his hand; her fingers deliberately brushing across his in the process.

But his eyes don’t leave yours.

She exhales a quiet, dejected sigh before walking off to tend to other patrons.

“New in the city?,” his voice was closer now, and when you glance over, you notice that he’d moved into the seat next to yours.

You blink, caught off guard by his accuracy. “That obvious?”

A soft hum escaped him, his dark eyes trailing over your face and lingering on your lips for just a moment too long.

“I’m observant too,” He murmurs, a corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. Then, his gaze flicks back toward the bartender. You follow his eyes, watching as she works her subtle charm on the other patrons. “She’s either very, very desperate for male company, or she’s brilliant. She knows a little flirting means bigger tips.”

You breathe out a soft laugh, “Well, she’s gorgeous so I highly doubt she has trouble getting attention.”

Time slipped away after that. Hours passing in a blur of laughter and clever observations, the two of you taking turns making inferences about the other patrons. The warmth of alcohol burned through your veins, loosening you and making everything feel lighter. For the first time in days, you’d forgotten about your empty sketchbook and the crushing weight of tomorrow.

It wasn’t until you checked your phone that reality slammed back into you. Your stomach drops slightly as you straighten in your seat. It was well past midnight, and you had an early morning looming ahead.

The room tilts when you turn toward him, a laugh bubbling up in your chest as you reach out, steadying yourself with a hand on his bicep. He was solid beneath your touch, the heat of his body warming your palm. Leaning against him to push yourself up, you nearly lose balance, your fingers slipping down his arm further as you catch yourself.

You open your mouth to apologize, but the words die on your tongue when your eyes meet his.

His gaze was heavy-lidded, dark eyes hooded from both the late hour and the alcohol. Hiding beneath it all, there was something else. A slow burning heat, as he watches you closely, as if waiting.

Your tongue drags slowly across your lips, wetting your dry mouth. His gaze drops instantly, following the movement, darkening further. Lazily, he skims a hand up the side of your leg, fingers trailing a heated path before resting on your hip. His grip tightens, further steadying you. When his eyes meet yours again, the air between you shifts. Charges.

The next few minutes blur together, flitting through your mind like a stop-motion film.

The two of you leave the bar, his arm wrapped around you securely. Drawn together like magnets, your hands roam over his broad shoulders; tracing the hard lines of his torso as you wait for the Uber. In the backseat, he lifts you into his lap, meeting you halfway in a passionate kiss. The kiss is hungry, urgent, a mess of bumping noses and clashing teeth that leaves you breathless. His hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt, branding your skin as his fingers trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine.

The Uber jolts to a stop outside his apartment and you pull apart, practically spilling out onto the pavement, laughing against his lips.

His hands never leave your waist. Instead, he chases your mouth with his own, barely breaking away long enough to slide his key into the lock. When the door clicks open, he doesn’t hesitate. He walks you backward into the dimly lit apartment, kicking the door shut behind him.

His grip tightens on your hips as he lifts you effortlessly, settling you onto the counter. You respond instantly, locking your legs around his waist, pressing him closer. His thumb grazes along your jaw before tilting your chin up, coaxing you to meet his gaze.

His dark eyes hold yours for a lingering moment before he lowers his mouth to yours again. This kiss is different, less urgent but no less consuming. The slow, deliberate press of his lips ignites a heat deep in your stomach, and you sigh softly, letting one hand drift to the hem of his shirt. Your fingers trail across the warm skin just above his waistband, eliciting a low, pleased groan from him.

He slides a hand around your neck, fingers threading into your hair before giving a gentle tug, tilting your head back as his tongue sweeps between your parted lips. Your hands push beneath his shirt, exploring the hard planes of his torso. He breaks the kiss just long enough to strip the fabric over his head, tossing it behind you. His touch follows soon after, fingers tracing up your thighs before stopping at the hem of your skirt.

Dark eyes meet yours once more, a silent question lingering within them. Do you want me to stop?

You answer without hesitation, guiding his hands beneath your skirt while holding his gaze. Don't stop.

Like a fraying rope pulled taut, his restraint snaps. He pushes your skirt up, lips trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck as his thumb presses against the damp fabric covering your core. A breathless sigh escapes you as anticipation coils tight in your stomach. His other hand skims across your waist, tugging at your shirt. You lift your arms to help him strip it away, leaving your chest bare beneath his heated gaze.

His lips part slightly as he takes you in, appreciation flickering in his expression before his smirk returns. He presses his thumb against your clit through the thin fabric, rubbing slow, teasing circles. A whimper escapes you, your legs trembling against his sides as he watches you unravel beneath his touch.

“So responsive,” he murmurs, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth. Then, without warning, he withdraws his hand.

A strangled noise leaves your lips at the sudden loss, and his dark laugh follows as he lifts you from the counter. One arm supports your back while the other pushes open a door, guiding you down a dimly lit hallway. The world around you fades into the background until you feel the cool press of satin beneath you. His bed.

You push yourself up onto your elbows just as he settles between your legs, knocking your thighs apart with his knee. He drags your skirt down your legs before deftly undoing his belt, freeing himself of his jeans and underwear in a single smooth motion.

His hands find yours, pinning them beside your head as he lowers himself over you, lips capturing yours in another heated kiss. He rolls his hips, the rigid length of him pressing against your center, separated only by the thin barrier of your panties. Even through the fabric, you can feel the heat of him grinding against you, pulling a desperate sound from your throat.

A low growl rumbles in his chest as he rocks into you again, creating a delicious friction that leaves you breathless. He releases one of your hands, trailing his own down to hook a finger under the waistband of your panties. With a slow tug, he slips the fabric aside, his fingers slipping between your folds.

You gasp as two long fingers sink into you, curling and stroking with precision. His palm drags against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure racing through you. He hums in approval, finding you slick and ready. His mouth slants over yours, swallowing your moans as he picks up the pace, working you open with each plunge of his fingers.

Your hips move instinctively, chasing the heat building within you, thighs trembling once more as your walls begin to flutter around his touch. Just as your pleasure peaks, he withdraws his hand.

A groan of frustration escapes you, your chest rising and falling with short, shaky breaths.

“I was —” you barely manage to pout in protest before he interrupts you, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I know,” he soothes, slipping his fingers into his mouth, tasting you with a deep hum. “I just needed a taste. I’ll make it up to you.”

His hands return to yours, pinning them back down as he positions himself between your thighs. You barely have time to steady your breath before you feel him, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. A shudder races through you, anticipation building within you. The second you open your eyes to meet his, he rolls his hips, sinking himself inside you in one slow, powerful movement.

Your lips part on a choked moan, back arching at the divine stretch as he fills you completely. He starts at a tortuous pace, rolling his hips in slow, deliberate strokes, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you. His gaze remains locked on yours, pupils blown wide, dark eyes nearly black with desire.

You can’t look away, transfixed by the way his expression shifts. Brows furrowing, lips parting as if in awe, his chest pressing flush against yours, heartbeat thundering against your own. You ground yourself by wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. The shift allows him to sink deeper, and his groan vibrates against your skin.

“Oh, fuck,” he growls, burying his face in your neck as his hips snap into yours harder. His fingers tense, gripping yours tighter as he lets out another low moan against your neck.

He releases your hands only to shift, pulling you with him as he leans back against the headboard, guiding you into his lap. His grip on your hips is firm as he helps you sink down onto his cock, groaning as you take him in. Your nails dig into his chest, tiny crescent-shaped marks marring his heated flesh.

You bring your lips to his throat, kissing and nipping a path to his ear before biting down gently on the soft skin of his earlobe. He hisses, head falling back against the headboard as he watches you through pleasure-hooded eyes. A smirk plays on your lips as you take advantage, sucking a mark onto the side of his neck.

He retaliates instantly, fingers tangling in your hair as he tugs, forcing your neck to arch. He brings his lips to the sensitive skin of your neck, marking you in return before dragging his tongue over the bruised skin to soothe the sting.

Your breath catches as he shifts beneath you, his cock hitting a spot deep inside you that makes stars spark behind your eyelids. He catches your reaction and chuckles darkly before repeating the motion, thrusting up into you with deliberate attention.

“Just like that,” you whimper, voice breathless as you let your head tip back. His hand slides between your thighs, thumb circling your clit in tight circles, keeping in rhythm with his punishing thrusts.

The tension inside you snaps suddenly, a choked cry tearing from your throat as your body clenches around him, pleasure coursing through your veins. You feel his cock twitch inside you as his breath stutters, his grip tightening as he gives a few more shallow thrusts before he follows you over the edge. A low groan escapes his lips as he spills inside you, and your body goes slack, muscles giving out as you collapse against his chest, body trembling.

You lie together for a few long moments, your heavy breathing the only sound besides the steady pounding of his heart beneath your ear.

Slowly, you sit up, easing yourself off of him. Before you can rise and begin the inevitable search for your discarded clothing, a warm hand slides around your waist. He tugs you back toward him, and you don’t resist, settling beside him and resting your head against his chest once more.

“It’s late. Why don’t you stay?” his voice is low, fingers tracing absentminded shapes on your skin.

Your eyelids are heavy, and your head begins to throb. The promise of sleep is tempting, but morning looms too close. Staying would be a mistake.

You force yourself upright, immediately missing the comfortable warmth of his touch as your feet hit the chilly hardwood floor. Plucking your skirt from the floor, you tug it on before slipping out of his room, navigating the dimly lit hallway toward the kitchen. Crossing your arms over your bare chest, you squint into the darkness, searching for your shirt, but it’s nowhere to be found.

Light floods the kitchen, and you wince. You turn to the doorway, where he stands with a smirk tilting his lips and your shirt dangling between two fingers. Wordlessly, you take it, slipping it on under his amused gaze before busying yourself with your phone, pulling up the Uber app.

His dark laugh follows you as you awkwardly step out into the cold, your breaths visible in the crisp air.

—

By the time the Uber drops you off at your apartment, you barely have time to shower and fix your hair before heading out for campus.

Hooking up with a random guy from the bar wasn’t exactly how you pictured spending the night before starting at a new college. The lack of sleep is evident in the dark smudges beneath your eyes and the dull throb of a headache pulsing through your skull. Easing your car into a student parking spot, you take a deep, steadying breath.

With a coffee in one hand and your phone in the other, you navigate the campus. The layout is pretty straightforward: art majors grouped with music and performing arts. Your nerves settle once you find your first class of the day: Art History.

The day passes in a blur. You move with a group of fellow art students like a school of fish, eventually arriving at your last class: Studio Arts.

Walking into the room, two things become clear immediately. One, this class will undoubtedly be your favorite. And two, whoever designed this space put an incredible amount of care into making it beautiful.

The scent of paint and pencil shavings lingers in the air as you take in the room. Individual desks are arranged in a semicircle around the perimeter, leaving a wide open space in the center. Sunlight streams in golden arcs from the floor-to-ceiling windows along the expanse of the far left wall; illuminating the small easels, pens, paintbrushes, and palettes set atop each workspace.

But the most stunning feature is the wall behind the grand oak desk at the front. Spanning its entire length is a breathtaking mural — flowers of all kinds overlapping and blending together to create a striking cascade of bleeding-heart blooms.

Other students file in, each pausing to admire the display before claiming their desks. You hurry to one set near the large windows, sliding into your seat beside a petite girl with a black pixie cut and bright blue eyes. She tilts her head, offering you a small smile, which you return in kind. You open your mouth to introduce yourself, but the door swings open again and the words die in your throat.

A man strides in, a bag slung over his shoulder and a laptop clutched in one hand. His steps are confident, purposeful, his attention locked on the desk at the front.

The girl beside you hides a giggle behind her hand, leaning closer.

“Oh, he’s cute. I think this is gonna be my favorite class,” she whispers conspiratorially, echoing your earlier thought, though for a completely different reason.

You don’t respond. Your jaw tightens, teeth grinding together as your gaze stays fixed on the man who has yet to look at the class.

Because you know what you’ll see when he does. Dark eyes filled with amusement and full lips curled into an ever-present, cocky smirk.

Panic grips your chest like a vise, squeezing the air from your lungs. The room feels smaller, as if the walls are pressing in. No. There’s no way. Impossible.

But then you see it — the incriminating smudge of purple peeking from beneath his collar. A perfect match to the one you’d hidden beneath your turtleneck sweater. Dropping the bag off his shoulder, he turns, casting his gaze around the room.

His eyes widen when they meet yours, just a fraction, the only crack in his carefully composed expression. But it’s enough.

Shit.

He recovers quickly, setting his laptop on the desk with an infuriating calmness. Meanwhile, your mind is in shambles and you’re sure it’s written all over your face.

His voice cuts through the hushed murmurs of the students. That voice. The same one you’d heard only hours ago, low and rough against your ear.

Those eyes, once dark with desire as he wrung pleasure from your body.

Those lips, once curved into a cunning smile as they bruised your own.

“Welcome to Studio Arts. If you’re in the wrong class, now’s your chance to run screaming.”

He pauses. His gaze sweeps across the room, assessing. You sink deeper into your seat, heat rising to your neck.

“I’m Professor Hwang. If you’re feeling brave, you can call me sir.”

Chatter breaks out amongst the students, a few girls giggling nervously.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re a world renowned artist or you’ve never held a paintbrush in your life. In this classroom, everyone is equal.” He leans back against his desk, arms crossing over his chest. “All I ask is that you show up and put in the work. So let’s get right into it. I’m not here to drone on and on about a syllabus.”

His eyes dart briefly to yours, and a nearly imperceptible smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“I’d like each of you to introduce yourselves, to me and to each other, through your art. There are canvases and supplies on your desks. No rules. Just express yourself however you see fit.”

Uncrossing his arms, he stalks behind his desk and eases himself into his chair, his gaze sweeping around the room, locking onto each student one by one. When he reaches you, his gaze lingers.

“Show me who you are without using a single word.”

A moment of silence. Then, students begin sorting through their supplies, selecting different mediums for their work. You glance around, then down at your desk. Your fingers tighten around a granite pencil, the canvas before you offering nothing but a mocking expanse of white.

Blank. Just like your mind.

Your mind should be filled with ideas, but it’s empty. Focused solely on the feeling of those dark eyes burning into you from across the room.

What. The. Hell.

Fuck.

It’s only the first day of classes and you’ve already earned a reputation in your mind that you never wanted. You’re the girl who’s slept with her professor.

—

As always, thank you reading! This is something I’ve been working on for weeks, and although I’m nervous to share it, I hope you enjoy!! 💓🤭

Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are all greatly appreciated 💓💓

—

💓 TAGLIST: @jeonginsleftcheek @inniesfanblog 💓

—

© hyunbelievable, 2025. All rights reserved. Unauthorized reproduction, redistribution, or adaptation of this work is prohibited.

This is a work of fiction. It is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to depict actual events or real-life personalities. I do not know or have any affiliation with Stray Kids or its members. Any similarities to real events are purely coincidental. No harm, defamation, or infringement is intended.

[heavyhitterheaux]

Wifey’s reaction to the pro bowl content? 👀👀

This is a little sneak peak into her and Taylor Rooks Podcast The Woman Cave

You and Taylor were sitting across from one another filming yet another episode for the podcast you both share when the conversation started going into the direction of the pro bowl and she quickly asked you about your husband.

“I see your other half actually went to the pro bowl this year? And participated!?” Taylor said as if she was surprised.

Because she low key knew how he was.

“Yes, he actually went but it did take a lot of convincing. He changed his mind about fifty times. After the season ends, that man stays up under me. Not that I mind, but I'm convinced if he could find a way to actually attach himself to me or crawl into my skin, he would.” You told her as you laughed when you thought about how Joe barely let you do anything by yourself when you both were home.

“And apparently doesn't like mascots?”

With this came the most intense eye roll followed by you shaking your head.

“He is literally such a diva and so dramatic. And he is definitely going to get me for saying that, but Wifey Shiesty said what she said. When I heard his mic’d up clip saying that he tells the Bengals mascot to get away from him, I lost it.”

“That actually doesn't surprise me. But it seemed like he didn't get a lot of time for his portion in the skills part on Thursday.”

“That's why I should have done the trivia because I knew every single answer and he would have won. No shade to Jared obviously. But Ja'Marr always would laugh at me and say that I know his playbook better than he did as well as players stats across every team in the NFL and I still do.”

“Which a lot of people tend to be surprised by.”

“I think that people don't realize that more women actually watch football than men do and we actually know what we're talking about. Some of them are intimidated because we end up knowing more than they do.” You told her and she quickly nodded as she agreed with you.

“Did his answer change once he knew your twin was going?”

You couldn't help but to roll your eyes and smirk.

“Of course it did. Those two together usually send my stress levels through the roof. But they look out for one another and have done that since they were both at LSU and I know it's going to always be that way. I'm definitely grateful for that.”

As soon as the last word left your mouth, you let out a yelp from being startled by Joe's arms wrapping around you, picking you up and him sitting down where you were while placing you onto his lap. His hands protectively went over your baby bump and leaned over to kiss your cheek.

“Hello to you too, husband. Aren't you supposed to be with my twin and Justin!? See what I mean Tay?” You said as Taylor was laughing at the two of you.

“I heard you were talking about me so I figured that I should come pay a visit.” Joe told the both of you as Taylor smiled at him.

“Well, while I have you here….” She started to say as Joe nodded.

“You're my favorite interviewer besides this one right here so go for it.”

“How would you describe your feelings about this season overall?”

“Hmm, speaking from an individual standpoint, I'm happy with the numbers that I put up this year coming back from an injury. Overall, it's disappointing that we didn't make the playoffs but just have to do certain things to keep certain people and I know the front office will make that happen so we can all continue to play together.”

“Yes, put the pressure on them. Now, I remember when you signed your record breaking contract. Are you willing to negotiate in order to keep certain people in Cincinnati?”

“Absolutely without a doubt. Might have to pick up a part time job to make up the difference because my wife is expensive though. You two hiring?”

“Just for THAT comment, absolutely NOT. Your resume is going in the trash. And it's called The Woman Cave, not The Woman Cave plus Joe Burrow.” You told him as you pouted and crossed your arms across your chest.

“And you call me the dramatic one?” Joe asked and you tried to scoot away from him, but failed miserably.

“Ever since I met the two of you, I knew that you were made for each other. Now let me ask you this, NFL Honors?”

“I know I'm not winning MVP…”

“But he's definitely MVP in my eyes.”

Joe had a small smile on his face before continuing.

“But I'll still go and show my face. Always love going down there. It's like a family reunion with my LSU family and with my wife's family.”

“And who are you predicting will win the big game on Sunday?”

“I hope they both lose. But if I HAD to pick, definitely going with Jalen.”

“NOT you saying you hope they both lose. Babe, it doesn't work like that.” You told him as he shrugged.

“I'm using one of your lines, I said what I said.”

“You've definitely been around me too long.”

[maeintree]

blushes and bruises | l. laufeyson

Summary: Loki never cared for Midgardian traditions—least of all Valentine’s Day. But when the God of Mischief finds himself enamored with the Avengers' beloved nurse, he begins to question everything he thought he knew about affection. Pairing: avengers!Loki x nurse!fem!Reader Word Count: 1.2k Author's Note: made a valentine's day fic! i know it's a little early and i literally just posted.. a few hours ago? and i love brotherly banter. what can i say? i love writing. hope you enjoy this one lovies!

Loki had never been one for sentimentality. He prided himself on being logical, composed, and above all, untouchable. Yet, when it came to you, he found himself unraveling in ways he could not comprehend.

It had started subtly—at least, that’s what he told himself.

A passing glance that lingered too long, an inexplicable urge to listen when you spoke, an unwillingness to look away when you laughed. That laugh—light, melodic, effortless—had a way of sneaking into the darkest corners of his mind, lingering long after you had left the room.

You were different from the others. There was no fear in your gaze when you looked at him, no wary glances or hushed whispers behind his back. Instead, you regarded him as if he were just another person, as if he hadn’t once tried to claim dominion over Midgard.

It was infuriating.

It was intoxicating.

He caught himself watching you far more often than he should, drawn to the warmth you exuded, to the way you moved through the Tower as if you belonged among gods and warriors alike. And perhaps, in some ways, you did.

The others adored you, their affections apparent in the way they sought you out for comfort, for care. Even Thor, his ever-boisterous brother, held you in high regard.

Thor had always been perceptive when it came to his brother, and lately, he had noticed something rather amusing. Loki, the ever-composed God of Mischief, had developed an irritatingly obvious habit—his gaze lingered on you more often than it should. Whether you were speaking, laughing, or merely passing by, Loki's eyes would track your every move, and Thor, being the loving older brother that he was, found endless entertainment in this revelation.

One afternoon, as the two brothers sat in the common room, Thor leaned closer to Loki with a knowing smirk. "Brother.. I do believe you have taken quite the liking to our dear healer."

Loki barely spared him a glance, feigning disinterest as he continued reading. "You are insufferable."

Thor chuckled, undeterred. "Admit it, Loki. You fancy her. I have seen the way you look at her."

Loki’s grip on his book tightened. "Ah, so this is what your royal tutor meant when he spoke of speaking fiction and succumbing to delusions.. you see nothing."

"That was only one time, and, ah, but I do! You, my dear brother, are smitten." Thor grinned, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You watch her like a lovesick pup. It is quite adorable, really."

Loki shot him a venomous glare. "If you value your teeth, I suggest you cease this ridiculous—"

At that moment, you entered the room, completely oblivious to the conversation taking place. You greeted them with a smile, a soft "Hello, Thor. Loki," before continuing down the hall.

The second Loki caught sight of you, his frustration boiled over. Without thinking, his fist swung—directly into Thor’s face.

"Oof!" Thor reeled back, clutching his mouth. "Brother! That was uncalled for!"

You turned at the commotion, eyes widening as you rushed over. "Thor, are you okay?"

Loki, ever the quick thinker, straightened and cleared his throat. "Yes, well… he was choking on a piece of food. I was simply assisting him."

Thor shot him a bewildered look. "I was not—"

Loki elbowed him sharply, offering you a smooth, collected nod. "See? Crisis averted."

You blinked at them before shaking your head with a small smile. "Alright, if you say so. Just try not to kill each other."

As you walked away, Loki crossed his arms smugly, while Thor glared at him, rubbing his jaw. "Oh, you are well and truly doomed."

Valentine’s Day in the Avengers Tower was always a spectacle. The team found ways to celebrate, whether through grand gestures or friendly banter, and this year was no exception. Heart-shaped decorations had mysteriously appeared in the common room, and Tony had been on a mission to outdo himself with extravagant gifts for everyone.

Loki, however, found himself feeling out of place amid all the festivities. Despite being allowed to roam freely within the Tower, he still felt like an outsider.

The concept of Valentine’s Day was foreign to him—another Midgardian tradition that seemed needlessly sentimental.

And yet, there was something about it that intrigued him. Or rather, someone.

You.

The team adored you, and for good reason. As a nurse who had been working with them for quite some time, you had a warmth and kindness that made even the most guarded of them feel at ease. Even Loki, with all his sharp wit and cold exterior, found himself drawn to you in ways he couldn’t explain.

He hadn’t meant to grow attached. He had fought it, convinced himself that it was nothing more than fleeting curiosity. But every time he found himself in your presence—whether it was a passing conversation in the infirmary, a fleeting glance across the room, or the way you always seemed to see right through him—it became harder to deny.

Which was why he was currently pacing in the hallway outside the infirmary, muttering to himself as he tried to form the right words.

Thor had told him—rather enthusiastically—that Valentine’s Day was a time for mortals to confess their affections. It was a day for lovers, for gestures of devotion, for warmth.

Loki scoffed at the notion, yet here he was, battling the unfamiliar weight of uncertainty in his chest.

When he finally gathered the courage, he stepped inside, clearing his throat to get your attention. You looked up from your work, a warm smile instantly gracing your lips.

“Loki,” you greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He hesitated, shifting his weight slightly. He had practiced this. Rehearsed the words over and over again in his mind. And yet, standing before you, they seemed to abandon him entirely.

“I… I was informed that today is a day where… gestures of affection are exchanged.”

You raised an amused brow. “That’s one way to put it.”

He exhaled sharply. “Yes, well. I… was considering if, perhaps, you would…” He trailed off, frustration flashing across his face as he rubbed his temple. He loathed this. The vulnerability, the uncertainty, the way his pride and fear warred within him.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “Forget I said anything.”

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you. The mighty Loki Odinson, reduced to fumbling over his words like a nervous schoolboy? It was endearing.

“Sure, Mr. Odinson,” you replied easily, your eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’d love to.”

Loki’s gaze snapped to yours, as if he hadn’t expected such an easy answer. He searched your face for any sign of mockery, but all he found was genuine warmth. For a moment, he simply stared, his lips parting slightly before pressing them together again.

“…Right,” he finally said, straightening. “Well then.”

You shook your head fondly. “Come on, Prince of Mischief. I think you owe me a Valentine’s date.”

For the first time in a long while, Loki allowed himself to smile—a real one.

The date itself was surprisingly pleasant—dinner on the Tower’s balcony, candlelight flickering between you. Loki, despite his usual skepticism toward Midgardian customs, had gone through the effort of making the evening special. And just as the night seemed to settle into something warm and comfortable…

The Avengers walked in.

Or rather, Tony led the charge, with Steve and Natasha in tow. “Okay, tell me this isn’t borderline ‘back in the cell’ behavior?” Tony deadpanned, before Steve elbowed him.

“Let the man court in peace, Stark,” Thor grumbled.

Tony clapped Loki on the back. “I'm watching you, Edgelord Supreme.”

Loki groaned. You just laughed.

honestly really wanted to make him flustered out considering i have a headcannon where girls usually fawn over him and he takes it so he didn't really have to ask someone out, ehhh love soft!loki aha

likes, comments, and reposts are much appreciated! hope you enjoyeddd.

[jybyls]

Haunted feelings || T.C

Masterlist

Synopsis: Fear turned out to bring out hidden feelings. (Thanks @darkpoetdreamer for the idea)

Warnings: Fluff, strangers to friends (?) to friends to lovers, haunted house, bad writing, not proofread, I think that's all.

Words: 2.3k

- 📜🎧🍂 -

Sam, Chad, Tara, and you were sitting in the living room, bored to death. You had no ideas of what you could possibly do, so you were all just minding your business on your side. Well, I'm not really minding your own business. You kept glancing up at Tara every now and then.

You wanted to talk to her but you didn't know what about, it's not like you guys weren't friends, actually you guys were basically best friends but lately it's been oddly hard to act normal around her and you couldn't figure out why. Yes, you did not use your brain on that one.

"Guys !! I have plans !" Mindy exclaimed as she ran into the living room, almost slipping down. Y'all looked at her excited frame, wondering what she had in mind, "What, Mindy ? Wanna do a horror movie marathon ?" Chad mocked his twin sister, which only led to her giving him a dirty look. You slightly giggled at the scene in front, looking at Mindy to hear her answer.

"Don't say this. I might consider it." She said and that ended up with all of you screaming 'no' because you're sick and tired of watching the same horror movies Mindy propose, "No, please, let's not consider that as an option of a plan. What was your main idea ?" Tara spoke up, but your brain didn't listen.

It just went, 'blah, blah, blah, proper name, place name, background stuff..' Safe to say you're a simp. It didn't go unnoticed by Sam. Her older sister sense has been tingling toward you for a moment now.

She definitely knows something is up with her sister and you. She kept her suspicion to herself, tho.

"Will you all shut up and listen to me ? My plan is to visit a haunted house. Y'all are down, or are you too afraid to follow me ?" Mindy exclaimed with a teasing tone, taunting you to follow her in her amazing idea.

"If we don't agree to come with you, you won't go. You're too afraid to go by yourself, that's why you're asking us." Sam, more than calmly, explained her point, which was true, but the shorter twin would never admit it. "That's not the point ! Are you coming or what ?" She shouted, distracting you from Sam's words. You all laughed at her.

"You know what ? Fuck it." Tara said, "Where's that haunted house of yours, anyway ?" The younger Carpenter mocked her friend, not really believing that place existed. "It's down town." Mindy grimaced and Tara reciprocated it, "Very mature of you, girls." You sarcastically said before standing up to get your jacket. They watched you with a dumbfounded look on their face.

"Well ? We're going or not ?" You asked. The twin immediately smiled and screamed, "YES ! Let's go, bitches." And with that everyone is outside, walking to that haunted house. Chad and Mindy were in the front, arguing, Sam was right behind them, not even listening to their faded words, while Tara and you were awkwardly walking next to each other.

You quickly became friends when she moved to New York. You were going to the same college and had the same classes most of the time. You didn't know Tara's story, you didn't know what she experienced, well, at the beginning of your school year you didn't even know who was this Carpenter girl and why was everyone whispering stuff about her and her apparently psychotic sister.

You didn't really care, tho, you thought it wasn't your problem until one morning in your English class your teacher assigned the class for a group project and you got teamed up with Tara. Everyone's eyes were on both of you, but again, you didn't care. You didn't know her, how could you judge her ?

By the end of this class, you came to the conclusion that you liked her. She wasn't mean, like students said. She was actually sweet. She did come up strong at first, but how could you blame her when the whole world wouldn't listen to her until she had nothing left to say ? Well, you couldn't.

You couldn't blame her for anything. And you felt like that when you just met her, so it's safe to say that now that you're down baf for her, it made it impossible to blame her.

Even with her trauma and her sister's advices for some reasons she trusted you. She quickly opened up to you and talked about what happened to her in Wosboro. She talked about Ambet, her sister, her parents, everything. You know everything about her, and you took care of that information. Obviously, you trusted her equally.

You told her everything she needed and wanted to know about you. And ever since you never left each other's side. Eventually, Sam learned to appreciate you, and so did the twins. Oddly enough, everyone agreed with Tara when she suggested that she should be part of the group.

It's been three mot hs now that you're part of the group, and they can all easily say that they like you a lot. You're trusted, and your company is always more than welcome.

You've currently all arrived at the so-called haunted house, holding you phones up with the flash lights on because of the darkness inside. Tara and you stayed close to each other, Sam was behind the two of you while Chad and Mindy were walking to the front, but they quickly backed up with a jump once they heard a noise.

"Did you hear that ?!" Minday whispered-yelled to all of you with a hint of dramatist, "Yes, I fucking did ! What was that ?" Her brother answered with the same tone. "It's the floor." The short brunette rolled her eyes at their dramatist, "It's cracking." You continued, slightly laughing at their reactions.

They huffed, "Yeah. No, yeah, we knew. We were trying to scare you guys." The boy answered with fake confidence, trying to stand taller. "Sure." Sam tried to hold back her mocking smile. You and Tara weren't has strong tho, not only were you mockingly smiling but also directly laughing at them, shamelessly making fun of their sudden fear.

The twins rolled their eyes, huffing again but eventually gave up. They knew they couldn't win with Tara as an enemy. The brunette might be small, but God knows she can and will bite back. With no mercy whatsoever.

You all walked, trying to call in any spirit, but obviously, nothing happened. The scariest thing you saw was a drawing of penis probably made by some teenage boys who found this place before you. The twins kept getting scared by random noises, and they also kept claiming not to be, which was quite ridiculous but strangely funny. It gives Sam something else she can mock them about, and that's enough to make this woman content.

Midnight suddenly hit your watch. You wanted to go home. However, you didn't want to ruin everyone's fun, so you stayed quiet. You lazily follow your friends around. Your mind was far away, thinking about a thousand different things but mostly one thing. Actually, one person. Your best friend, Tara Carpenter. This girl has been haunting all your thoughts.

At first you believed it was nothing, 'It's just because she's my new best friend. That's why I'm always thinking about her.' You told yourself, trying to get some sort of reassurance even tho you knew you were lying to yourself.

Because you knew damn well you're not supposed to think about what your best friend's lips taste like, neither are you supposed to think about her hands on your body and yours on hers. But since you didn't want to ruin your friendship with her, you closed your mouth.

Whenever you felt like telling her she looked pretty, you didn't. Or you'd just say something like, 'cool outfit' or 'cute haircut', when in reality you wish you could tell her how stunning she looks, how you can barely brung yourself to believe that she's real because of her beauty. You wanted to ramble about how much you loved her freckles, how you wanted to kiss every single one of them.

But you couldn't. That was the best you could do. Small, furtive compliments. You were to fucking scared to say too much and risking making her uncomfortable. Or worst disgusted by you. That'd be the end of your world. And your world resolve around her so it's easy to say that if she rejects you in any way you'd be a heartbroken mess.

Little did you know that the girl you were crazy about was head over heals for you. She wouldn't admit it to anyone, she barely even admitted to herself to began with but damn was she down bad for you.

She didn't want to say anything by fear of ruining your friendship. You were so dear to her she would never forgive herself for losing you. So instead of trying any kind of move on you she decided to stay quiet and cherish every second she gets to spend with you.

"Can we head back home or do you still want to walk around like idiots ?" Sam spoke up, clearly tired of this little adventure. You immediately nodded, "Yes, let's go home. I'm getting tired of this." Tara followed you, "Yeah, we're going home." Mindy whined however she agreed.

"Alright, alright. Let's go home. This place's a dump anyway." Chad led the way out of the building, Mindy on the other was terribly disappointed. She wanted to see a ghost or any spirit so badly but nothing happened. Sad for her, but good for all of you because it meant you could head home with a quiet Mindy.

The walk back home was full of teasing against the upset girl who kept huffing and rolling her eyes. You and Tara didn't participate much to the teasing since you shared earplugs with your shared playlist blasting in your ears. To make sure the earplugs wouldn't fall you stayed close to each other, your fingers brushing against one another. Your heartbeat went faster as you hardly blushed, thanks to the darkness it wasn't visible to anyone.

You hesitated for a moment before taking all your courage and interviewing your pinky with hers. You were about to pull away but she was faster to react, squeezing your pinky with hers. You looked down at your hand, a shy smile appeared on your face. You bit your inside cheek, trying to suppress your smile as you looked in front of you.

Beside you Tara was shamelessly smiling, evidently happy about what just happened. Neither of you spoke a word, the simple yet loving gesture meant more than anything.

The older Carpenter had a suspicious look on her face when she saw you and her sister hurrying upstairs the second everyone got home. She trusted you enough not to worry about anything, but her older sister instinct was hitting like crazy. She knew something was going to happen in this room. And she wasn't wrong.

You closed the door behind you as Tara connected her phone to her speaker, soft music was playing in her room. You sat on the chair of her desk while she sat on her bed. For a short time neither of you spoke, enjoying the calm music until Tara broke the slight awkwardness of this moment. "I think we need to talk." Her tone was eripus which cause you to panicked, "What-? What about ?" You faintly stuttered, your eyes widened a little bit. "About what happened earlier." She knew she was making you panick and this brat was savouring it.

You were overthinking like crazy, 'Did she just held my pinky by politeness ?', 'Did I make her uncomfortable ?', 'Oh my god. Did I just loose my best friend ?' Were one of the few questions that went through your brain when she mentioned what happened some minutes ago.

You shakingly breathed out, "What about it ?" You anxiously fidgeted with your rings, waiting for her answer but your mouth had other plans. "Did you not like it ? I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I really didn't mean to. It's the last I ever want to do. I love you too much for that."

Fuck.

Maybe you should learn to think before speaking in anxious situations. You both froze at your final words. You tried to speak again but nothing came out of your mouth. Oh, you definitely screwed it.

"You love me ? Like love me, love me ?" Tara asked but again you couldn't find any words to answer so you just nodded. She was dumbfounded. She didn't know how to react. She dreamt of this moment but never expected it to actually occur.

A long silence came between you, even the music couldn't make the situation less awkward. You were so incredibly ashame. You felt like you were burning. You finally found some words, "I should go. I'm sorry." You stood up however it wasn't in Tara's plan to let you go anytime soon. "No, no. Sit back down." Her tone was enough to make you melt. You listened without thinking twice, sitting back down on your chair.

The brunette shook her head and tapped the empty place next to her on her bed, quietly telling to sit next to her. You understood her command and moved to sit next to her.

As soon as you were next to her, her hand found yours. "You didn't make it uncomfortable. Yes, I liked it. And I love you too." She gently whispered, her soft smiled grew on her face, "Like love me, love me ?" You murmured, you barely had the strength to find your voice. The whole thing was unbelievable.

Tara chuckled then nodded, "Like, love you, love you." She nudged your shoulder which caused you to follow her chuckle. "How long have you liked me for ?" You quietly asked, "For too long. So what do you say we stop waiting, hm ?" She smirked as she looked at you. You instantly nodded, "Yeah, that sounds great." You smiled, squeezing her hand.

Waiting this long was worth it, you're finally with the one you love.

- 📜🎧🍂 -

A/n: Rushed end because I'm tired. This was supposed to be a Halloween fic- my bad lol. Have a good day/night. I hope you forgive me for how bad this is. Love y'all <3

[suzukiblu]

Day four of February’s second weekly WIP behind the cut; “mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“You ran really fast, like I’ve never seen anybody not a Flash run that fast, like I think you might’ve actually been faster than Jai and Irey and like my dad just flies when he’s moving that fast!” Jon rambles, kicking his feet against the bottom of his seat and seeming excited again, and Kon doesn’t really have the heart to interrupt him. The kid doesn’t seem as freaked-out or scared as he did before, so if spending the drive raving about watching a giant croco-dude get his shit rocked is enough to distract him from worrying about what’s going on, Kon’s not gonna cut him off. 

Just it’s–weird, kinda. The version of Jon he’s used to is a much quieter, more reserved guy, and he’s never known the dude well enough to figure out if he’s holding back or masking his reactions or if he’s actually just like that. The whole “volcano-trauma” thing would imply the former, but Clark doesn’t even seem to think Jon’s all that fucked-up from it, so, like . . . maybe he was quiet like that as a kid too? 

Or maybe, like, Clark is once again totally failing to see somebody else in an “S” being, like . . . fucked-up and needing help themselves for once. 

Not that Kon would know anything about that, or anything. 

Like, definitely Batman’s version of you don’t get to fuck up in this line of work is a lot harsher-looking, and definitely it’s not soft by any fucking stretch of the imagination, but it sure as fuck was a day when Kon’d first had the thought that Batman expects the other Bats to live up to standards that he’s spent weeks and months and years personally teaching them, and Clark kinda just . . . expects other Supers to be up to Superman-standards, but not in a way where he really ever, like . . . taught them those standards. Like–they were just supposed to fucking know, apparently? Like that’s a thing they all just came pre-installed with no matter how they got made or where they grew up? 

Also, Clark literally never taught him a fucking thing about his powers, and not really Kara either as far as he knows, and sure as shit didn’t give Kenan or even Mae and Linda back in the day all that many tips or whatever, and it’s like . . . at least Batman fucking tells people what he expects. Like, mostly, anyway. Batman has fucking dossiers of what he expects.

Maybe Jon got that, though. Got–told shit. Like, found out what the fucking standards actually were before they were immediately relevant or it was already too late or they were getting a disappointed lecture over shit they hadn’t known even mattered, much less mattered enough to be a fucking problem. 

Or like, how literally any of the goddamn Kryptonian powers worked. 

There’s a reason that Kon runs like a speedster; a reason that a very significant chunk of the fighting techniques and tactics that he knows are Greek or Bat in origin, if they’re not either Cadmus-uploads or tips he got from Guardian when they were working together back in the day. 

Or, like, that he got from Knockout, but “yeah I think that throw came from Granny Goodness” is, like, not a conversation he’s ever wanted to have with anyone. 

There’s also a reason that most of the shit he says that people assume he got from Superman he got from Ma and Pa in the, like . . . two lousy years he spent getting in their way at the farm, not Clark. Mostly he doesn’t repeat the “lessons” he heard from Clark, because he doesn’t like remembering how shitty he felt hearing them and really doesn’t wanna make anyone else feel that shitty either. 

It’s whatever, anyway. The League doesn’t really cross the streams or whatever, but the Titans have learned a little from each other, and Young Justice has learned a little more from each other. That’s all. Comes from, like, actually growing up together or whatever, he’s always figured. The Leaguers didn’t team up ‘til they were all real stuck in their ways, and they built the League around those ways, pretty much. And like, whatever, they’re the greatest heroes on the planet. 

But also if somebody told him he had to pick a speedster for a stealth mission, he’d definitely pick Bart or Wally over Barry Allen. 

Kon is really letting his brain run off on a fucking tangent here, but in his defense, it kind of feels like self-defense right now. It's think too much about shit he can't change and never could've or it's think about a version of Jon grinning up at him like he's the coolest thing he's ever seen, like he's–like he–

The kid thinks he's his fucking dad, Kon reminds himself harshly. He doesn't know who the fuck he is. Hell, he apparently doesn't even have a version of him in his reality. So like–obviously he thinks it's cool to see his “dad” fist-fight a crocodile dude in the middle of a fucking interdimensional crisis. Like–obviously, yeah. Very much so obviously. 

He's not seeing . . . anyone else when he sees him. 

Anything else. 

Like–the kid's just seeing his dad. Not his . . . anything else. 

Well, his own Jon doesn't see him as anything else either, so that's pretty SOP either way.

[errriiie]

The last practice before nationals

poly!yellowjackets x fem!reader minors DNI, all characters are 18 y.o

TW: smut, gangbang extra tags: porn with plot, praising, bodyworship, sharing is caring, fingering (r! receiving), oral (r! receiving), oral (r! giving), little bit of spanking word count: 5.1k not proofread english is not writer's first language! you've always been so nice and sweet to Yellowjackets, the one and only soccer team in your school, Wiskayok High. But you also were naive and innocent enough to constantly overlook the fact that every single girl on the team wanted your attention. And when, the last day before their nationals, they finally decided to make things clear between you and them.

When Coach Martinez first introduced you to the girls, they weren't too impressed. Average hair, average eyes, average height. Nothing special or anything to look at more than usual. You weren't even, roughly speaking, a full-fledged part of the team. At least that's what Taissa said. She was always like that - confident and sure of her opinions, even if they were somewhat offensive.

But you didn't mind, and even agreed. You were just an equipment manager, and you only became one because your mother and father were very close with Coach Martinez and asked him to find you a place out of old friendship. Of course, the coach made up a different story for everyone about how you came to be on the team - but every time you remembered the truth of your presence here, you wondered if you had the right to wear your signature yellow and blue bomber jacket. You felt ashamed, even though you didn't act like someone who got in because they got a pass. You were responsible, punctual, but you didn’t forget about empathy and responsiveness when communicating with girls. Over time, you began to be noticed by more than just Misty Quigley, who shared the same position with you.

Misty Quigley herself wasn’t too bad. Well, she was… weird. But you decided that everyone had their own cockroaches in their heads and she was just trying to make friends this way.

"You know, if we ever run out of food, I’ve always wondered what human flesh tastes like. I mean, they say it’s like pork, right? Maybe we should start taking notes just in case." Misty once said while you were cleaning up the cones after practice. You looked at her with wide eyes, full of confusion.

"Excuse me? Misty, this is a little weird…" You awkwardly continued to do your job, while Misty burned a hole in you with her gaze. Misty tilts her head slightly, her expression shifting from playful to earnest.

"Oh, come on! I was just joking… mostly. But think about it—survival is all about adapting, right? It’s just a thought experiment! Besides, we’ve got to keep our spirits up somehow. Want to talk about your favorite horror movie instead? I promise I won’t suggest cannibalism this time!”

But Misty didn’t always say such creepy things. She could talk about history, especially about Roman emperors, about her experience in first aid and medicine in general, about her interests, of which there were quite a few, but no one except you, apparently, wanted to listen to her. You didn’t understand the reasons and were patient with her. Misty immediately began to appreciate this - she did not throw away potential loved ones. Then Natalie Scatorccio appeared. Natalie did not have much experience with love, including the manifestation of care towards her. You didn't know anything about her, except that she lived in a van and was an extremely good and promising soccer player. But the more Misty shared the good news about your "endless love and care", trying to brag that she had such a tasty morsel and not the rest of the team, Nat couldn't help but become interested in you. People who lack love often don't quite realize how much they subconsciously want to find it.

She caught you after practice once and started talking to you. Nat herself didn't understand why she wanted to come back to you more and more every day - was it your manner of speech or how brightly you smiled at her after silly stories? She wanted to blush under your gentle gaze, and her heart beat strangely when you waved at her after she made a good pass to the other team members. But of course it wasn't always like that. The more attached she became to you, the more she focused on looking into your unexpectedly deep eyes, rather than at the ball.

"Natalie, don't you want to start playing properly? What are you constantly distracted by?" Lottie narrows her eyes when Natalie refuses to pass the ball to her and tries to dribble the ball to the goal herself, but hits the wall.

"Forget it, Lots. I'm just having a bad day." Natalie waved it off. It was odd that for someone having a bad day, she was smiling so stubbornly and persistently in the wrong direction. Lottie couldn't help but realize that she was looking at you. Perhaps you needed to have a heart-to-heart talk.

So, Charlotte Matthews quickly became next.

After practice, she caught you doing your job as you were supposed to, and called you out on it. She was annoyed, but more curious about your relationship with Natalie. You were blushing and apologetic, and it was hard to deny that you weren't to blame for Nat's deteriorating performance.

And then Lottie discovered that your shy face was extremely hard to get out of her head. Inadvertently, you began to talk after and before practice, Lottie sharing some details about upcoming parties at her house and inviting you. You, of course, refused. Your parents expected you to be decent, and Lottie didn't like rejection and didn't know what rejection was, being a rich girl. So she made it her goal to get you at least once. Or twice. So trying to get under your skin, subtly courting you, and trying to get through to your difficult parents was already routine. Including giving expensive gifts.

"Tai, have you seen the new hair clip in Y/N's hair? Those things cost a lot of money, I tell you, I saw it in the window of that expensive jewelry store." Vanessa was amazed at the new accessory you now had.

"I didn't really pay attention to it, to be honest. What do you… mean? Do you want one like that? I didn't think it was your style." Taissa chuckled, and Van rolled her eyes.

"Haha, very funny, but that's not what I mean… Hey, Lottie! Does Y/N have a rich mommy and daddy like yours?"

Lottie, passing by, chuckled, clearly filled with pride. "Not really. That was my gift. Y/N is very nice, you know. You shouldn't have doubted her, Taissa."

Then Taissa Turner and Vanessa Palmer appeared. They were already in a relationship and were amazed to see how quickly you changed the team's attitude for the better. And yet, from the very beginning, you were a black sheep for Taissa. Van, however, did not treat you with great disdain. She preferred to give people a chance to prove themselves first, and only then draw her own conclusions. However, they quickly liked you. Taissa was surprised that you had previously attended law and jurisprudence classes, and these topics interested her greatly. Van was pleasantly pleased with your taste in films and comics. You complemented their couple with something that they could not complement each other with on their own, after all, no relationship can simply be perfect. It was a matter of time before they both wanted your attention more than was possible. Van often invited you to her home to read or watch something, and Taissa loved to discuss social issues with you. You turned out to be more than either of them could have thought.

"Tai, I'm sorry, but I've already taken up Y/N's time for the evening with myself." Van smiled tenderly at Taissa.

Taissa raised an eyebrow in surprise, seemingly hoping for something. "Damn. How did you manage to come to an agreement with her faster than me? Maybe you'll take me with you?" she said with awkward hope. "Of course, I don't understand a damn thing about your conversations, but still…"

"No way, babe. You'll steal her attention again." Van shook her head.

"Why do I keep hearing everyone talking about Y/N from every corner of the room?" Jackie folded her arms in displeasure as she found herself next to the couple. "I understand that she's new and all that… but what's so unique about her? I swear, we won't get to nationals like this."

Jackie Taylor was annoyed by your popularity within the Yellowjackets. She could see the effect you had on the girls - they were going crazy trying to get a piece of you. She wasn't interested in you at all, but she had a feeling that if she didn't get a little bit closer, they would dethrone her and make you the team captain and even make you their mascot. She had to do something, and fast.

One day, Jackie stayed with you after practice, kindly offering to help you clean up the equipment. When you both walked into the warehouse, she almost pinned you against the wall, demanding answers to her questions.

"Y/N, I can see something's going on. I understand that you want to be friends with everyone, sure, but… we're trying really hard to get to nationals. And you're being way too… outgoing, you know? You need to stop. For the good of our team, as captain, I'm asking you to…"

"Your hair looks great today. Even after playing so hard." You blurted out, unable to contain your genuine respect. "Oh. Sorry. Keep going."

Jackie froze, her combative attitude seeming to completely falter. "You… you think so? Finally, someone sees how much I work on this hair, trying to get it just right every morning! I use powder and hairspray literally all the time, and no one has even bothered to compliment me… until you, of course."

Jackie took pity on you after that. Not when you were willing to spend hours shopping for clothes with her, stealing your clothes and trying on what she told you to try on, making you her model. No one had ever shown such steely restraint with Jackie Taylor, and every time she put on your makeup, it was so hard for her to resist the pounding of her heart and the strange desire to cover your lips with hers. But there was a catch to being with Jackie. The amount of time you spent together didn't sit well with Shauna Shipman. She was the only one who showed no interest in you at all. She didn't care about you, and that was surprising. She never, not once, approached you. You doubted she even knew your name, although considering Jackie told her everything, your name was the only thing she knew about you.

And the fact that you were a real suck-up. That's what she called you when she decided to have it out with you.

"What do you have with Jackie? Do you think I can't see how you're trying to pull the wool over her and everyone else's eyes?" Shauna narrows her eyes, looming over you. "What is it about you? Are you such a good suck-up?"

You felt hurt, but even more so, you felt a seething injustice. "I don't know what you're talking about, Shauna, I was just trying to be friends with everyone. It's not my fault they saw something in me."

Shauna snorted, unsure of what to do with you. "Well. Fine. Just stay away from Jackie, okay? And you'll be fine." Shauna had already turned away from you, about to leave. She adjusted her backpack, but a book fell out. You quickly picked it up.

"You dropped…" You looked at the cover, sighing in surprise. "Pride and Prejudice? That's my favorite book!" You exclaimed, surprising Shauna. She rolled her eyes, simply taking it from you, pretending not to care, but in reality, she was even a little impressed. You were left standing in the hallway, not quite sure what you did wrong.

And then you were surprised when Shauna came to you wanting to discuss the book, as if nothing had happened. Perhaps she was so eager to discuss her interests with someone that she decided to choose the worst option of all - you (Jackie, as expected, did not like reading books at all). You liked to read in your spare time, and Shauna was pleased that you had read a lot of female writers from the 18th and 19th centuries. She sometimes shared her thoughts on them with you, but the main thing was that at one point she made you a playlist of songs named after you. You were flattered and too busy enjoying the gift to notice how much Shauna blushed as she tried to hold your hand.

You didn't even know it would be like this. It seemed like almost all the girls on the team were literally tearing you apart. You'd never received so many gifts, compliments, and, it seemed, hints? Of course, you were pleased. You were a girl, after all. And you suddenly had little free time. Sometimes you spent time with two or even three girls at once a day. Of course, sometimes this led to conflicts between them, but they never dragged you into it. You were untouchable.

But you didn't expect that they would all decide to fix it in one day.

Despite everything, training for Nationals continued. Luckily, the Yellow Jackets team still managed to get their game together and win the filtration game that determined their participation in the competition. Everyone, of course, was incredibly happy. As were you for your favorite team.

There was just one thing. Your parents forbade you to fly with them. You begged as much as you could, but they were adamant. They wanted you to stay home and use your free time from your team to good use, studying and preparing for college. You shed so many tears in front of them, almost begging, but nothing worked. Sometimes you wanted to curse your parents.

Tomorrow, everyone was supposed to fly to Nationals. You entered the locker room, terribly dejected. You were immediately noticed, and the girls were insanely worried. Lately, all of them had been very attentive to you.

"You don't look well, Y/N," Natalie said, her smile from earlier quickly fading.

"Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Maybe a stomach ache?" Misty jumped up to you as if your life depended on it.

"Get away from her, Misty. Y/N might need some space." Vanessa shook her head, and was just as concerned about you.

"I-it's okay…" you sniffed. "It's just… I couldn't convince them. I did everything I could, I begged as hard as I could, and they still refused me. You… you'll have to celebrate your victory at the nationals without me." your eyes sadly looked around at everyone. The shared sadness touched every girl present.

"Y/N… I'm so sorry." Lottie took your hands in hers, looking at you sadly, but Jackie quickly jumped up to her.

"How so? Do they not care at all that you want to fly with us?" she snorts, angry at your family. Being spoiled by her own parents, she did not understand this attitude, especially towards you.

"At least you will be here when we return." Taissa tried to find the positives, although she was disappointed too.

"It does not make much sense, she will not be able to share the joy of us taking the first place in the moment." Shauna said, shaking her head. There was silence between all of you. You were so upset that you didn't even notice how all the girls were looking at each other meaningfully and nodding silently. Suddenly Lottie ran a gentle hand down your cheek, took your chin.

"Don't be so upset, Y/N," Lottie said softly, looking soothingly into your eyes. "You know… in all this time that you've been part of our team, we've grown attached to you. You've always been so kind to us. I think we can come to an agreement and find a way to thank you properly."

You were very embarrassed, and suddenly you felt a little awkward. "I was just being myself, you don't have to do anything for me." You, of course, felt pleased. But you were surprised when you felt hands behind you, and out of the corner of your eye you could see blonde strands of hair, and then you heard the familiar voice of Nat, who decided to come up to you from behind.

"Don't be such a shy princess. Why don't you let us comfort you?" she almost purrs in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. It felt… oddly pleasant, like a wave of excitement had washed over you.

"I, um… I don't know… how are you going to do that?" you ask. You can already see and feel Misty wrap her arms around your right hand, stroking it, looking at you in awe.

"You see, Y/N, you have some kind of influence over all of us." Lottie continues. Jackie glares at Matthews, apparently annoyed that Lottie is in charge. While she's busy burning a jealous hole in someone else's body, Shauna approaches you, her hands stroking your neck, and you shiver, vaguely aware of where this is all heading.

"We feel an irresistible… attraction to you. It's hard for us to share you between us. Haven't you noticed how hard we try to please you?" Lottie asks, genuinely concerned. "And you still wouldn't give in to any of us. We tried to figure out what you wanted, but we failed every time. So we thought you'd have to try each one before you figured out which one of us you wanted to be with."

Your brain was already running out, and now that Van's hand was stubbornly touching your thigh, and Taissa was holding your waist, whispering something in your ear, you completely stopped thinking. You were surrounded by a crowd of girls with whom you spent all your free time so happily, and they were trying to get you all the time. Was it all of them? Each of them wanted you to be their girlfriend? These thoughts left you shocked and you didn't even know how close or far from the truth it was. You, of course, dreamed about them. About each of them at least once, though about some more than others. But for you it was not serious, you did nothing! Did they really want it that much?

You yourself do not notice how you let out a quiet sigh when Shauna kisses your neck. She does it roughly, as if she is having difficulty containing the desire that is accumulating in her. Shauna is silent, examining, analyzing and suppressing in herself, and then explodes like a time bomb. And now she wants to explode at any moment.

Misty's hand undoes the button of your pants in irritation, and Van and Taissa pull them down. You are brought back to reality, and you feel panicked. You were definitely not prepared for being undressed.

"W-wait, there's no need to go anywhere-" you break off with a groan. Nat, still standing and supporting you from behind, bites your ear, licks it, makes your sensitive earlobe wet. You sigh at the newness of this strange, disorienting sensation.

"Don't worry, sweet thing. Everything is going to be just fine." Natalie purrs, and you can't tell if she's stoned or not. Your pants are thrown to the floor. And then your panties. You are naked for all the girls, and they are looking at you so mesmerized, like this is the best thing they've ever seen in their lives. Even Jackie and Lottie, standing behind you, are watching you in awe.

This time, Van is first. Her tongue touches your already wet cunt, and she circles it, tasting you. You moan, and Natalie tugs your hair a little, exposing more of your neck. Taissa gives you a couple of loud slaps on your ass, interested in seeing your reaction. You shudder and your hips jerk, because you like it. Misty's hand goes under your shirt and gropes your breasts, pulling your nipples almost painfully, while Shauna leaves wet marks on your collarbone from her mouth, wanting to leave marks on you that will definitely last until their collective return from Nationals.

You are so turned on, and you feel stimulation from all sides. Your hand wants to reach for Van's red head, to press it harder, but Nat, watching you like a hawk, pulls you back.

"Let her do it herself." She whispers in your ear. You nod frantically, it's best not to argue with them. A few more movements of Van on your clit, her skillful tongue, which had probably done the same with Taisa before, could easily bring you to orgasm. You moaned more actively, your chest moved a hundred times more intensely, and then she pulled away.

"She's ready, Lottie." Van said, wiping her mouth. It was hard for you to understand what was happening, and you just whined, saddened that you were not allowed to come. For a moment, everyone broke away from you. Everyone was listening to Lottie.

"We'll help you after you help us, Y/N," Lottie says with a smile that sounds like she's some kind of prophet. "We've been waiting so long to get your attention. We think we deserve to come first. But I promise you won't regret it."

You nodded at her, mesmerized, but you felt like this wasn't quite the Lottie you knew. She was so mysterious, and you couldn't tell what was on her mind.

"Get away from her, all of you." Lottie commanded. "And you, Y/N, sit on your knees, please. Put something down so it won't hurt her to sit on the floor."

Van and Nat dutifully laid out their own jackets so your knees wouldn't hurt from what you were about to do. It was a pleasant moment of care. You obediently settled down on your knees in front of Lottie. You were literally being eaten with their eyes, and you were ready for what was to happen.

Lottie was already reaching for her shorts, but Jackie spoke up. "Sorry, Lottie… but I'll be the first." She said, raising her chin high. Jackie's voice was filled with nervous confidence, and she tried to withstand Lottie's and the other girls' piercing gaze. "I'm the captain of our team, and I want to be the first one to do this. What made you think you could lead?"

Lottie was silent, and you couldn't even understand what she was thinking right now. Then she nodded, and her voice was cold. "Okay. Be the first. But don't ruin it too soon."

You didn't understand the meaning of the words, but Jackie frantically replaced Lottie, pulled down her shorts, and the taste of her cunt quickly imprinted on your tongue. You didn't know what Jackie really wanted to achieve by this - to let you fuck her first or she just felt depressed because of how Lottie quickly took control and everyone, even Shauna, was ready to obey her. In any case, you didn't mind. You devotedly licked her pussy and tried to watch Jackie's reaction, just to please her. In your fantasies, you tried many times to make Jackie as good as you could. In your mind, Jackie was not the type to give - she liked to receive more, and if she had to be on top in your fantasies, she was so gentle and timid, afraid to make an extra move, that it only excited you more. But here she was — trying to have your whole mouth, like she had been fantasizing about it for so long that you were almost dizzy with the realization. Your drool and her juices were running down her thighs while she moaned, and the others were watching, some daring to stick their hands down their own shorts. A couple of minutes passed and Jackie came convulsively, sitting down on the bench. Now she wouldn’t object. She had no strength.

Shauna was next. She was never patient, not with what she liked - her hand grabbed your hair (no one protested, everyone decided she deserved it for scoring the final goal during the nationals qualifiers) and she pulled herself roughly-gently towards her vagina. Your eyes rolled back and you almost got lost in her thick dark pubic hair, but fuck, she was delicious and you were ready to continue as long as it took. You even forgot how to breathe sometimes - Shauna was a little rough, muttering something harshly under her breath and moaning, repeating your sweet name. She came quickly and took a step to the side, pulling up her shorts and retreating to the bathroom, apparently to rethink something.

Then there was Taissa… and Van. They were both allowed near you at the same time. You were dumbfounded, not knowing how to cope with taming two pussies at the same time, but you didn't even have time to wipe the saliva and cum from your mouth, as the red vagina was in your mouth. You had to change one pussy to the other every 15-20 seconds, trying to lick both like never before. You were forbidden to use your hands, but they both frantically encouraged you as best they could, while your tongue circled their clits, and the dirty noise filled the locker room, already filled with heat and languid sighs.

"You're holding up great, Y/N… Come on, help Van a little…" Taissa whispered, tearing you away from her pussy, because you stubbornly did not want to stop. However, upon hearing her order, you quickly set to work on Van, drawing a sigh of excitement from her, and ten seconds later, an orgasm. Taissa followed.

Then there was Nat. You licked your lips, ready to receive her. You were surprised that her pussy was shaved, maybe she was getting ready and wanted to please you? This thought caused a sweet warmth in you. And Nat's pussy tasted sweet too. You sucked on her clit, wanting to please her in a way that no guy had ever done. Natalie moaned surprisingly softly, and it excited you so much that there was almost no dry spot left in your panties. She let you use your hands, and you held her by the hips, because she was shaking while your wet tongue caressed her tender folds, and the hot air from her nose came straight to her pubis. Needless to say, Nat came quickly, but for some time she did not want to leave your mouth? Misty didn't even ask your permission. Her head was wrapped around yours, her fingers tangled in your soft hair, and she was holding you to her bushy pussy like she was dying without it. You were taken aback, but that didn't stop you from wanting to please her, even if her actions were met with disapproval from the other girls. No one wanted to be played with more roughly than the rest. You licked her, trying to please her as much as possible - Misty looked like she was not easy to please, but she was whispering so sweetly in your ear, praise and advice, that your arousal literally flowed out of your panties.

"Yes, t-that's it, Y/N… That's just perfect, oh, you're so beautiful. You're just an angel, a little perfection." She muttered selflessly, her glasses falling to the tip of her nose as she came loudly in your mouth.

You were exhausted, but Lottie was still there. She was the last one. You looked up at her, tired, sluggish, and excited. She gave you a quick smile, but there was undisguised triumph in her eyes. She had you after all. Did we mention that Lottie hated rejection and not getting what she wanted?

Lottie lifted your chin, gently stroked your hair and tidied it up, wiped the tears of pleasure from your eyelashes. She let you dive into her pussy yourself, start licking it yourself, as if you were in some kind of licking contest and were going to take first place there. She let you keep glancing at her, watching every movement of her moaning mouth and trembling hands, just to please her. Your heart was beating so fast and it was so hot and you wanted to please her so much, plunging your sweet tongue into her pussy over and over again, that you had a hard time holding on. Lottie took the longest, savoring every second and apparently holding herself back. Eventually she pulled your head away from her, pressed her pussy to your forehead and came, covering you even more with her wetness. You were all for it.

"You did well, Y/N. You love us so much, you were ready for everyone." Lottie said tiredly. She nodded to the girls, and they sat around you. "Now you've earned a reward, huh?" You nodded vigorously, needing release. You were so wet, and almost whining with excitement. Your head ended up in Shauna's lap, and Nat, Misty and Jackie quickly found themselves at your feet. Misty nibbled on your calves and thighs, often not hesitating to do it quickly and hard, while Jackie, on the contrary, licked them like a kitten, gently nipping at the sensitive skin. This crazy contrast made you breathe quickly and roll your eyes, and all for the sake of Shauna watching this cute picture. Nat touched your pussy with her tongue, her two fingers slid inside your wet cunt - after such a long abstinence, taking two fingers at once was not at all difficult. You moaned, letting them all work on you while the others watched. Natalie's tongue was trying so hard to please you, playfully sucking and pulling on your clit, playing with your labia and purposely quickly driving her fingers into you, wanting to bring you to the peak and play on you like guitar strings.

"We love you, Y/N, such a gift for us." Jackie purrs, watching Natalie fuck your helpless pussy.

"You're the best!" Misty agrees with a smile, biting you and licking it slobberily.

"All that's left is to cum." Shauna says calmly, not hiding her smirk, constantly keeping her eyes on herself. "Come on. Nat's mouth is waiting for it."

As if on cue, you spill into Natalie's mouth with a loud moan. Everyone exhales relaxedly, and Natalie cleans your pussy with her tongue. "You're just sweet, princess." She smirks at her own abilities.

You let yourself sink into the girls' arms, catching your breath. You don't know yet that later they'll help you get dressed, each of them will kiss you on the lips, and you'll tell them to talk about it after Nationals. In the end, you still can't seem to choose one. You love them all, and you're waiting for them to return to Wiskayok, safe and sound, with victory in hand.

[plaidos]

honestly transmasc lesbians are the biggessstttt offender but amab nbs have been acting like that too lately im like bffr..... if you want to dissociate urself from womanhood dont be surprised or offended when lesbians dont want to fuck u?? like theres been a real uptick in amab people iding as boygirlfagdyketwinkwhatevers and getting offended when trans lesbian spaces are like.... well sure you can do whatever you want but the individuals here might not wanna fuck you or befriend you cuz this is about... women.... especially trans women... and ur not a trans woman...... and i always feel sooo bad for them on some level bc theyre rlly clearly doing it to fit in with the theyfab lesbian shit? like they want to be accepted and fit in rlly bad?? but theyre never going to bc those ppl r transmisogynistic as hell and in reality they just end up being shitty to their lesbian sisters and isolating themselves from transfem stuff that could b very useful in unpacking their internalized transmisogny.

nah this is different. you’re pulling the ladder up behind you & being cruel to people who oftentimes do legitimately have a more complex relationship to gender than you can apparently comprehend. lesbianism is totally inaccessible to most non-binary people assigned male at birth — the fact that they would want to be included, imo, is a pretty big hint that they might actually be feeling some type of way about a gendered experience explicitly barred from them. fundamentally not the same, and you Should feel bad about being catty about it. stop being a cunt to other trans people without an identical journey to yours. i was one of those non-binary people once. idk why you thought i’d be sympathetic to you saying people institutionally barred from womanhood struggling to identify with non-binary lesbianism are the same as transmasc cryptoterfs.

[theyluvpeach]

chasing you.

you avoid him. he catches you. dealer!reader x client!chris blurb <3

He's starting to think he's the problem. Those are words Chris never thought would form in his brain—But here he is, trying to figure out why hasn't seen you all week.

It doesn't make any sense. You're always around campus, yet when he's actively looking for you, you're nowhere to be seen. Chris doesn't even want to talk to you. He just wants to give you your shit back so Matt will stop bothering him about it.

Even though he's your friend—And he was the one to even invite you to the party in the first place—He has to return your heels cause apparently, Matt has better shit to do then chase you around all day.

He's been all around campus looking for you. If you're not at the campus cafe, he's gonna launch your heels at Matt's head.

Matt is so lucky you're here.

You're in the corner at a booth with tons of books and your computer in front of you. You're not your usual neon colored self. There's no star clips in your hair. You don't have on an overly tight top. No flared jeans. You're unrecognizable.

He can see the fear settle in your eyes as he walks up to you. So, you were avoiding him.

"Chris." The tension in your voice is quite frankly, insane. That night, after leaving you in his room, all he did was talk to Matt about what to do with you and then passed out on the couch after the party was over. What could he have done in that time?

"Kid, I know you were shitfaced last week, but I can't believe you forgot all about your stuff." You blink at him multiple times. "What?"

He shoves your heels and tights that are stuffed in them to you, "Y'know? All this?"

You slowly take them, your face lighting up. "Oh... Oh!"

"Huh?" He's confused. You were all gloomy just a second ago, and now you look like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Mh....I thought we fucked, if I'm being completely honest." He watches you tuck your heels away into your bag. "This reminded me we didn't, thanks."

Chris, for once in his life, is speechless. You were avoiding him because you thought you guys fucked. Honestly, he'll take this over you being all over Aiden. He wonders if you remember that... he's not gonna bring it up.

Huh. This is probably how the girls he sleeps with feel after they wake up alone in the morning.

"Nah, I don' fuck my brothers friends." You tilt your head at him, annoyingly, and raise your eyebrow. "Michelle."

"Doesn't count."

"Brittany."

"Also doesn't count."

"Vivi—"

"You friends with all the girls I fuck or somethin'?" You laugh, loudly. Bringing attention to yourself, but you don't care. You're definitely back to your usual self. "Some of them. They're wondering why I'm hanging around Mr. Community Dick."

Chris rolls his eyes. "Matt deserves that title."

"Eh, you guys are tied." You smile at him. And he gets that feeling in his chest again. The one that makes him feel like he's dying. When you start looking at him like he's crazy makes him remember that you guys are having a conversation and process that's he's staring at you.

He awkwardly coughs. "Whatcha' got all these books for anyway?" You groan, resting your forehead on the table. "Ecology."

He blinks.

"Plants." You sit up, resting your head in your hands, "Its the study of how living organisms interact with their physical environment—"

"We get it. You're smart. Trust."

"Well—" You flush at the compliment. Maybe not pissing you off gets him places. "That's just the definition!"

He eyes the stacks of books at your table. "You got a test, or are you just a nerd?"

You scoff. "I'm not a nerd. We have a test, and since my teacher writes questions like she hasn't talked to a human being in years, I'm doing some light reading."

"Light reading?" He teases. "Whatever." He checks his phone as you roll your eyes, well shit.

He spent way more time talking to you than he thought he would. He's gonna be late to the class he promised Nate he'd go to for the first time in forever.

"Gotta go," He says, beginning to walk backward towards the exit, "Don't drink so much next time, alright, kid? Not tryna chase you around again."

"I would've remembered eventually!"

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @whore4mattsturniolo @domizzzsstuff @sosasturns @drewswife

[chilling-seavey]

Lessons in Lust and Other Illicit Desires (gr63) —EIGHT

↳ A/N So apparently I really can't keep to a word count goal. But this is one of my favourite chapters thus far!!

↳ Series Summary: Sensible, wise, and a hopeless dreamer, Rosaline was used to men not giving her a second glance. She soon discovered it was merely those mundane college boys who were nothing more than simply intimidated by her intellect. What she needed was a man — someone who could impart knowledge beyond the Classics and guide her in discovering her own confidence as a woman. The thrill of sneaking around with the ever-so-charmingly handsome Professor Russell was certainly a bonus.

↳ Pairings: OxfordProfessor!George Russell x Innocent!Student!OC, Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc (background)

↳ Chapter Word Count: 7.1k

↳ Chapter Warnings: 18+, nsfw, exhibitionism, fingering, slight dirty talk.

“This project is bullshit.”

Max’s notebook paper looked about ready to tear in half with how aggressively he was erasing yet another incorrect formula. He tossed his mutilated eraser onto the wood table and raked both hands through his already tousled blonde hair, fingers clutching onto the roots as if to figuratively and literally pull his hair out. The warm light of the lamps dotted along the library table reflected in his blue eyes that were narrowed towards his page under furrowed brows and a steadfast expression of distaste. 

Rosaline and Tabitha glanced at him from their spot on the opposite side of the table but before they could say anything, he was off on a tangent, “The other engineering class gets to study and design a part of a Formula 1 car of their choosing which is fucking cool. What does our class get? An assignment to create something that will help farmers be more efficient in their harvesting techniques.” 

Max scoffed and tossed his pencil down as he slouched back in his chair with a huff.

“This idiot professor is so old he probably has never seen a car in his life.” Max continued, his tone full of seething disgust, “Still wouldn’t even have a clue even if the fucking RB19 hit him going full throttle down the Monza straights.”

From his right, Charles snickered from behind his phone screen, his eyes darting over to his agitated boyfriend. Anyone else might have been a little put off by Max’s very aggressive delivery of a borderline threat of life to an elderly professor, but their little group could only smile fondly at his frustration. 

Charles spoke up, “Do you think a person would just…explode if they were hit by the RB19 going full throttle?”

“Yes.” Max answered without hesitation, his gaze still focused on his wrinkled notebook paper and open textbook. 

Charles stared at his profile for a moment as if in thought, debating the validity, and then looked back to his phone with a satisfied and simple “hm”.

On the other side of the table, Rosaline and Tabitha looked at each other and then shared amused chuckles before turning back to their own work. 

Around them, the aged dark wood shelves of the Bodleian Old Library housed a few dozen students spending their Thursday night with their noses in dusty books and reliable laptops. Rosaline and her friends were among them, luckily having snagged a spot at one of the long centralized tables in the heart of the main hall, surrounded by well stocked shelves that stretched up two storeys to the intricately carved wood paneled ceiling.

Voices carried easily in those ancient buildings of Oxford so they spoke in hushed tones while the rustle of students pulling literary texts from the shelves sounded magnified and shiver-worthy. The sounds of knowledge, of a desire to learn, to imagine and to dream. Rosaline felt so at peace in the Oxford libraries. It felt as though the history was only heightened in those spaces; something about the lingering coating of dust on the covers of centuries old books making the past feel more alive. 

As if on cue, Tabitha turned away and sneezed as quietly as she could manage into her elbow. The sound echoed. A few students glanced over. 

Charles sighed dramatically and dropped his phone onto the table with a loud thud, his head lolling back to look up towards the ceiling. Being a music student, there wasn’t much work for Charles to complete in a library but he always came along to keep the rest of their group company. It always panned out the same way - he was quiet and busied himself at first but then quickly got restless.

He sighed again to the ceiling and then lolled his head to the side to look at Max who had since hunched over his books again, announcing, “I’m bored.”

Max barely offered a grunt in response, biting at the end of his pencil as his mind worked a mile a minute to try and solve whatever problem was currently vexing him.

Charles sighed again. Tabitha shushed him from across the table. 

Heaving himself from where he was draped back in his chair, Charles leaned his arms on the table towards Rosaline, asking her in a loud whisper, “So when do we get to know of your secret lover?”

Rosaline met his gaze over her laptop and she broke into a small smirk at his nosy question before replying, “I don’t know.”

“C’mon,” Charles pleaded, “I can keep good secrets.”

“No, you can’t.” Max piped up without tearing his eyes away from his books. 

“Chut.” Charles playfully shot at his boyfriend. 

Despite her hand furiously writing out notes, Tabitha smiled at their bickering. 

Charles continued to press Rosaline, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Rosaline shrugged, “Not really. We’re just…keeping it casual.”

“What is “keeping casual”?” Charles asked with air quotes, “Kissing? Or more?”

Rosaline licked away her smile, folding her hands together under her chin as she humoured him with a little detail, “Well, I made him come in his pants last week.”

Charles let out a surprised squeak so loud it could almost have passed as a scream and he smacked his hand over his mouth as a few nearby students glared at him. Max’s pencil was suddenly dropped at her statement, his attention taken from his work to be entirely focused on her instead.

“You made him what?” he asked as firmly and seriously as he could. 

Rosaline smiled almost proudly, “You heard me.”

“Putain, Rose.” Charles breathed, “I need to know now!”

“No, you don’t.” she chuckled.

“Uh, yes, we do.” Max backed his boyfriend up, pointing a finger at her, “Start talking.”

Tabitha sighed and set her pencil down too, “Will you guys stop gossiping in the library? I’m sure everyone can hear you.”

Charles and Max both held up a hand to her to silence her. She rolled her eyes. 

“Where did you say you met this guy again?” Max asked.

Rosaline shrugged, twisting the truth only slightly, “In one of my lectures.”

Max nodded slowly, staring at her as if trying to catch her out in a lie, “Uh huh…”

“What? You don’t believe I can find myself a man without your futile attempt at wingmaning?” Rosaline countered. 

“Frankly, no.” Max replied, deadpanned. 

Rosaline shot him a pointed glare.

“What’s his name? What’s his birthday? What’s his GPA?” Max asked, trying to catch her out in a lie.

“Not telling, I don’t know, higher than yours.” she answered easily, looking back at her laptop. 

Charles’ eyebrows raised, “You don’t know his birthday?”

Tabitha chuckled from her spot across from him, “That’s what you’re concerned about? Do you even remember my birthday?”

Charles opened his mouth defensively but when he honestly couldn’t think of the answer, he shut it into a firm line. 

“Wow!” Tabitha gaped. 

Max simply narrowed his eyes at Rosaline, his voice calm and serious, “Fine. Keep your secrets. But I hope you will be honest with us - your best friends - eventually.” 

Rosaline shrugged without looking up from her laptop, “Eventually.”

As the hour wore on, the group continued working on their independent assignments. It wasn’t long before Charles’ restlessness was driving Max far more crazy than any impossible engineering task could so they said their goodbyes and left. Charles carried Max’s bag for him over one shoulder, smiling his dimpled grin as they walked hand in hand down the main hall of the library together. 

About thirty minutes after Charles and Max left, Tabitha checked her watch, announcing that she better head back to her dorm too. Rosaline watched her pack up and, upon her friend’s concern, assured her she would be able to make it back to her dorm on her own later once the library closed and she was inevitably kicked out. The two shared their good nights and soon Rosaline was left alone at the table with only the click of her laptop keys as company. 

Most of the students had gone by then, leaving only a straggling few at the far end of the spacious hall. Rosaline wasn’t a stranger to making herself comfortable in the libraries of Oxford until the librarians had to kick her out to close up. So, she felt perfectly at home with the company of the books and the warm light of the lamps on the worn wood table tops, the rest of the campus fading into darkness behind the large paned lancet windows of the library. 

“Rosaline?”

The gentle call of her name had her looking up from her laptop, turning over her shoulder to see George walking in her direction with a modest stack of books in his arm. The sight of him in the warm moody lighting that bathed the dark wood library made him look effortlessly more handsome than normal and one glance at him and her heart skipped a beat. 

“George…” she breathed at her notice of him, a small calm smile coming to her lips, “What are you doing here so late?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” he countered smoothly, coming to a stop at the head of the long table that had once been taken up by students and her group of friends. Now empty, it was only the two of them left. 

Rosaline answered first, gesturing to her laptop, “I’m just finishing up some work for some of my lectures. I have a comparative essay due next week for my Greek and Roman Mythology course.”

“I see,” George glanced down at the various texts she had opened on the table around her, colour coded sticky notes with scribbled ideas dotting the various pages, “The ancient classic literature; not my cup of tea but an important foundation to all that we know and love nevertheless.”

Rosaline leaned back in her chair to look up at him, returning to her initial question she had asked him, “And your excuse?”

George smiled a symmetrical modest smile to the stack of books in his arm, his free hand gently patting the top one, “Ah, just returning some of these. Some for lecture preparation, some for pleasure.”

“Of course, the lush libraries of Oxford could never keep a literature professor away.” Rosaline replied playfully. 

“You caught me there.” he chuckled warmly. 

They were quiet for just a moment. The awareness of how empty the library hall was suddenly settled around them. 

Then, George asked calmly, “Would you like to accompany me in returning these to their shelves? I can tell you a bit about them if you’re interested.”

Rosaline’s hand was shutting her laptop before she could even reply, “Yes.”

The well-stocked shelves of the library guided them through centuries of lives and stories tucked away in worn dust jackets and creased paperbacks. The lingering scent of dust was a familiar presence in the heart of Oxford’s many libraries and it was a generally off-putting smell that Rosaline was very quite fond of. It simply added to the ambiance of the gorgeously hand carved wooden book shelves and the glimmering stained glass lancet windows that were now dimmed with the nightfall. 

Rosaline had left her packed bag behind at the table at which she had sat, wanting to have her hands free for this little journey with George to return the precious books to their rightful homes. She followed behind him closely, her eyes soaking up his broad shoulders and back in his ironed button up shirt and, shamelessly, the curve of his ass in his slacks. It was their first time alone and away from their responsibilities as mentor/mentee since their little agreement and the concept of this had Rosaline’s heart racing. She wondered if he could hear it through the silence of the library. 

George guided her through the organized shelves with practiced ease as if he had been navigating them for his entire life. He knew exactly where every book he held belonged and barely needed to give the stocked shelf a skim before he knew which two he needed to nestle the chosen one between. He spoke to her about each one as they strolled through the library together, hidden amongst the books and ornately carved wood trim and edging. Some were more philosophical, some were more fiction, there were one or two books of poetry.

It seemed that with every book he returned to its place, he could recite at least one line, one passage, one poem from its pages. He spoke in a whisper with his voice as enticing as steaming morning coffee, rich and sensual and delicious. She wanted to taste his words; the way he spoke every beautiful constructed line of literature. Wanted to lick her way into his mouth and taste his verses until his sonnets were hers.

When he was down to the final book, he led her down the final row to its destination, “And the descriptions truly had me right in the main character’s shoes, feeling exactly what she was feeling at any moment in time. I find so many students think excess adjectives and lengthy blocks of text is what makes for successful descriptions but in reality, if done well, even a single sentence can take the place of an entire paragraph.”

They fell to a stop and George crouched down to skim one of the lower shelves, his loafers creased slightly across the toes from how he was balanced on the balls of his feet. 

While he looked for where the book belonged, Rosaline continued their conversation, “I once read this novel in which the author compared the light from a police flashlight being shone in a dark room like ‘spilt milk’ and it stuck with me. The simplest simile but it did a shiver-worthy job of putting you in the scene.”

“Bel Canto, wasn’t it?” George asked as he slid the paperback book between two hardcovers, leaving it with a pat to its spine. He glanced up at Rosaline from his spot, a knowing smile on his face, “By Ann Patchett?” 

Rosaline’s face lit up, “Yes, that’s the one.” 

He stood up again, adjusting the wrinkled fabric of his slacks around his thighs, “That’s a good one. Not too well known.”

“I’m surprised you knew it from just my brief mention of that line.” Rosaline agreed with an impressed smile, resting her hip against the bookshelf they stood beside, her arms casually crossing across her chest. 

“It must have stuck with me just as strongly.” he smiled in return. 

“It was that line that made me really want to write that one line that sticks with my readers for the rest of their lives.”

There was a beat of pause between them and then George took a step closer, “Close your eyes for me.”

Rosaline let out a breathy chuckle, “Why?”

“We’re going to practice your descriptions.” 

Rosaline wanted to argue why closing her eyes was going to help them with practicing her descriptions but his handsome, princely face in the warm light of the library lamps had her entirely entrusting him. She let her eyes flutter closed. She felt him step a little closer. 

“Pretend you are your main character and this library is your setting,” George instructed softly, voice low and coaxing, “We often depend too heavily on sight in our writing, merely showing the reader what the character sees. But the most compelling descriptions go beyond the visual—they pull the reader in by engaging every sense. So, with your eyes closed, I want you to immerse yourself fully. What would the main character be feeling right now? Let your other senses guide your words.”

Rosaline thought for a moment, taking a second to take in everything around her in the darkness of her eyelids. She uncrossed her arms and set a cautious hand on the shelf she was leaning against, shifting as she spoke slowly, softly, “Well, I feel the worn wood of the bookshelves…the uneven hardwood floors under my feet.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Rosaline, with her eyes closed, and George just watching her, studying her. The library, almost entirely void of other students or faculty rested in near silence. 

Rosaline spoke again in a whisper, “I don’t hear much…it’s quiet. Calm.” 

She thought for a moment, really trying to focus to pull anything out of her setting. If she listened hard enough, she could hear the faint tick, tick, tick of the analog clock over the librarian’s desk near the entrance, the sound echoing through the high ceilings. 

“I hear the clock ticking in the distance.” she whispered. Her attention drew back to the man in front of her, trying not to find herself a little ridiculous standing there with her eyes closed in front of him, all too aware that he was watching her, “I hear you breathing.”

George let out a small encouraging, “Mhm.”

Rosaline took a deep inhale, breathing in the scents of the library she loved so dearly, pouring out her findings in an exhale, “I smell the books, the ink, the parchment. The floor polish. The dust. I smell…your cologne.”

She could hear his soft smile at her last addition. 

Then, he spoke, “What comparisons can you make between these findings-”

Rosaline opened her eyes under a furrowed brow, interrupting him with, “Wait, I didn’t do taste yet.”

George blinked, caught off guard by her sudden reply, “Well, I don’t know how you’d-”

She didn’t know what overcame her; maybe it was the dim, moody lighting of the historic library or the simmering impatience she’d been battling since they formed their agreement. Whatever it was, it sent her hand shooting out, fingers curling around the back of his neck as she pulled him into a kiss.

He tensed under her touch at first, the shock of it surging between them. The feeling of his hesitation sent a rush of pride through her veins—he was reacting to her, thrown off his careful control. But it only lasted a moment; soon, his hands were framing her face, large and warm, as he surrendered to the kiss, meeting her urgency with a sudden shared and undeniable hunger.

George stepped towards her a little more and Rosaline stumbled slightly before her back hit the cool wood of the bookshelf. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, a soft moan escaping her lips as his mouth moved against hers with a familiarity that felt effortless, as if they’d been doing this for years. He was only a few inches taller than her, barely enough to matter, yet she found herself rising onto her tiptoes, instinctively seeking every inch of closeness between them.

Pinned between his broad body and the sturdy shelves, Rosaline felt utterly consumed by him. Shivers raced down her spine, and warmth pooled low in her belly—a heat that was impossible to ignore. It was almost embarrassing how quickly she found herself growing aroused by only the slightest of his touches, each sensation magnified by her inexperience and the thrilling realization that this was no longer a fantasy. Oh, and it was just as good as people had always told it would be. 

In the back of her mind, she was aware that they were in a very dangerous position by doing this in the open library. They were risking getting caught by any of the handful of students still working across the spacious hall or by the librarian who would be closing up shortly. Despite this, she had no desire to stop. Every atom in her body burned for more. She already had her first taste of him, a hint of the pleasure that he could bring her without even using his hands, and now, like that, she wanted to push the limits just a little bit farther. 

Rosaline’s hands cascaded over his broad shoulders and down his chest, feeling the arches and valleys of his muscle through the thin linen fabric of his button up shirt. He was so real. She offered up another small moan into his mouth. That only urged his hands to move on her face, one of his thumbs dropping from her cheek to slide over her jaw and to her chin, gently guiding her mouth to open a little wider into their kisses so he could brush his tongue against hers. 

Her fingers grasped onto his shirt, her tongue eagerly pushing back against his between hungry kisses, their steamy moment hidden away between the towering shelves of books. She wondered if this had ever happened before in the centuries since this library had been founded; some pair of literaries making out in the shadows of the books that surrounded them. Maybe this was far too salacious for the figures of the past to even dream. Maybe the authors of the Classics that overlooked them from their pages were rolling in their graves at this sight. 

Rosaline’s fingers tugged at the front of his shirt to pull him impossibly closer, their bodies naturally moulding together until his leg was nudged between hers. His closeness was dizzying and she felt the heat of desire throbbing through her body. She tossed one arm around his shoulders with her other still grasping at the fabric at the side of his shirt, keeping his chest against hers. 

George moved with her, taking his hands from her face to slide down her waist and to her hips, gently pushing her fully back against the bookshelf, pinning her entirely there with his body. Her arm tightened around his shoulders, licking her way into his mouth at a rhythmic pace of lips and tongues and the slightest rock of her hips against his thigh. She felt dizzy. So pathetically needy and dizzy and overwhelmed as the world fell away around them. No more library, no more books, no more risk; just them floating in a cloud of promises. 

Every move George made was skilled and hesitant; it was if he was afraid to push her too far or to do something she didn’t like. His hands stayed firmly on her hips but his fingers itched to move and she could feel his hesitation as they twitched against her sides. With another roll of her hips, he followed the movement of her body to trail the shape of her curves until his hands rested on her bum. 

Rosaline shivered at his touch, the way his large hands gently kneaded her flesh over her jeans and slid down the back pockets to grab another handful. His insistence had her body pulled closer to him, the heat pouring through her at the way he rubbed her body in slow tantalizing circles over the shape of her figure. 

She knew they didn’t have long. If she wanted anything more than just kissing, she was going to have to take the jump and ask for it before the librarian came wandering the aisles to close up. 

Rosaline tilted her head back to break their steamy kiss, gasping softly to the high wood ceilings of the historic library. George didn’t hesitate before moving down her neck, his plush lips trailing soft open mouthed kisses over her flushed skin. 

“It aches,” she breathed, barely a whisper, with her hands grasping onto his biceps, “Please touch me.”

George let out a small groan against her neck at her words and then pulled away just enough to look at her, their noses almost touching from how close they stood. His hands gave her hips a squeeze, his voice coming out low and warm and laced with a balance of hesitation and lust, “This is supposed to be going slowly, darling. I don’t…”

She blinked at him, her eyes pleading with him, wearing on his hesitation with her flushed cheeks and kissed-swollen lips.

“I don’t want to do something you’ll regret.” George finished softly, rubbing his hands over her waist. 

“Please, George,” she nearly begged, “I really need you to touch me.”

He looked left down the aisle they were in, and then right, and then over his shoulder as if someone could have been peeking through the shelves at them. When he deemed the coast was clear, he looked back at her and swallowed up her lips in another hungry kiss. 

Rosaline gasped faintly into his mouth, clutching onto his biceps, letting him lead them into another tongue-led kiss. His fingers moved from her hips to the front of her jeans, and he blindly undid the button and tugged at the zipper. The hurried movements had her body jolting against his, every pull and shift sending her rocking back against the bookshelf, unsteady and breathless as she clung to him for balance.

Her heart was racing in her ears, her breath falling in anticipatory pants as his lips parted from hers for a moment in his concentration. They breathed into each other’s mouths in steady time, chests rising and falling as one. Her eyes met his as his hand toyed with the waistband of her panties and the lacy hem that was found there. 

“Tell me to stop if you need.” he reminded her sternly, his voice still barely a whisper. 

Rosaline nodded in agreement. 

Then, George’s slender fingers slipped down the front of her jeans and over the thin fabric of her underwear, his eyes locked on hers as he did so. She tightened her grasp on the sleeves of his shirt, her breath halting in her chest as his warm fingertips ghosted over her clothed swollen clit. 

“Spread your legs a little wider.” he instructed against her cheek. 

She shuffled her feet farther apart ever so slightly, staring into his eyes as she followed his instruction. 

“That’s it.” he praised.

She couldn’t help but let out a little gasp at the faint friction of his touch, watching the way he studied her in their impossibly close proximity. His breath fell against the apple of her cheek as his fingers touched the damp fabric of her underwear hidden down her jeans, his touch testing and exploratory. 

Rosaline’s face turned towards his, ghosting her lips over his as their breaths mingled together, her hand grasping at his shirt around his back to keep him close. His nose bumped hers, melting into her, his fingers starting to move slowly in firm back and forth motions over her clothed clit, giving her just a little bit of friction that had her biting her lip. 

Rosaline clutched onto him, staring into his eyes like she couldn’t look away even if she tried. That hazy dreamlike feeling was clouding her senses again, where the whole world fell away and it was just them in this secluded corner surrounded by nothing but the scent of his cologne and the aged books, bathed in the warmth of the lamplight. 

His arm pulled back a little, lifting his hand from her pants, and she let out a small whimper in protest. George simply hushed her softly against her cheek as he lifted his fingers to his mouth to suck on two for just a second before he was guiding them back down her jeans and, this time, slipping inside her panties too. 

Her eyes widened in realization, watching the way his lips pricked up in an almost cocky smirk at her expression. George rubbed his fingers between her legs, gliding the length of two of them between her slick folds, letting her arousal mix filthily with his spit before he was lazily rubbing his fingertips over her clit. 

Rosaline’s eyelashes fluttered and her whole body twitched for a second at the unfamiliar sensations. It never felt like this with her own hand; her own touch was so boring and expected. Now, under the control of someone else, his every action was unpredictable and electric and the anticipation which coursed through her veins was pure heat. 

No one had touched her like this before, never before had she thought herself to be brave enough to so easily let someone in to touch the most sacred parts of her. In all twenty-two years of her life, after years of failed attempts at love, the voice in the back of her mind that nagged at her innermost self-consciousness had her wondering if her pussy was even attractive. Now, hidden in the shadows of her favourite room on campus, with the first man to ever give her a second glance, she was so easily offering herself up to him and he was so glady taking it. 

George spoke in a hushed whisper, his lips dusting over hers with the formation of his syllables, “This okay?”

Rosaline nodded almost eagerly, creasing the fabric of his shirt in her white-knuckled grip. She raised up on her tiptoes a little more as she pushed her hips towards his hand, not quite sure what she wanted but knowing she just wanted more. Her little whimper fell against his cheek, her arm tossing around his shoulders before they so easily fell into another passionate kiss. She let out a small hum into his mouth, her eyebrows furrowed as she succumbed to the feeling of his hand moving a little stronger down the front of her pants. 

They shared a few sloppy kisses in the secrecy of the library aisles, hidden in the shadows of the shelves and walls of stocked books. Her soft moan was muffled by his lips as his fingers moved a little harder against her swollen clit, his tongue easily tasting the pleasure of her sounds. He fell into her a little, taking a half step forward, pressing her back against the shelves by his body. 

George’s fingers drifted lower, caressing strongly over her warm cunt and gathering more of that wetness that pooled almost uncontrollably from her. He groaned softly into her mouth before pulling away from their kiss long enough to praise her with a purr, “You’re soaking my fingers.”

“Can’t help it.” she mumbled in reply, her words dizzy and slurred with lust. 

“Mm, yeah? Does it feel good?” he whispered against her cheek. 

Rosaline nodded again with a small, “Yeah.”

Her mind was short circuiting to the point where she didn’t have the capacity to worry about if he liked what he was feeling—if he thought it was weird that she wasn’t entirely waxed and bare down there. But the moment she caught a glimpse of George’s handsome face close to hers, saw the way his eyes were blown wide with lust as he looked at her, all those insecurities evaporated, dissolving into nothingness in the heat of his gaze. His breath was hot against hers, swallowing her lips up in another steamy kiss that had her eyes fluttering shut and her body surrendering to him with ease. 

His whole hand was nestled between her legs to the point where every caress of his fingers over her cunt had the heel of his palm rubbing against her clit. A little faster, a little faster, she broke away from his kiss with a choked cry.

“Shhh,” George hushed her against her cheek, his lips peppering slow open mouthed kisses along her jaw. His other hand rested on the edge of one of the shelves beside her head, keeping his focus on her body and the way he moved down the front of her jeans. 

Rosaline bit her lip hard, trying to keep herself quiet in the midst of their salacious rendezvous. When his hand started to move just a little bit faster, she clutched harder at his shirt, tugging him closer so she could bury her face in his neck, her body arching up against his. 

George’s large hand moved from the shelf to cradle the back of her neck, holding her, hushing her sweetly against her ear as she whimpered against his collar, and he breathed out a reassuring, “Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah-” she stumbled out in a trembling exhale. 

“Yeah, you’re such a good girl.” he praised against the shell of her ear, keeping his pace down the front of her pants. 

Rosaline’s hips jumped against his hand at the way his fingertips caressed her clit in fluid motions, exploring her in gentle strokes. Little by little, she found herself loosening, unraveling from the tight grip she’d kept on him, surrendering to the unfamiliar pleasure that was slowly consuming her.

Soon, her eyes were finding his again as she leaned back against the shelf but with a possessive arm still around his shoulders. Her breaths were falling laboured as he moved his fingers a little faster, burning tingling pleasure up her spine that had her toes curling in her sneakers. 

“Fuck-” she squeaked softly, struggling to keep her eyes open and on his. 

“That’s a good girl.” George praised lowly as his hand let go of the back of her head to rest on the shelf again, steadying himself while his other hand worked strongly down her jeans. 

She was lost in the rhythm of his fingers, surprised how much she could feel from his touch when her fingers herself never offered her much sustenance of anything. There was something about George that was entrancing and spellbinding, like he knew just how to touch her to get her exactly what she craved. 

Rosaline was so out of her mind that she could barely hear her own voice as she breathed out a pleading and pathetic, “Put your hand around my throat.”

George’s eyes flickered with a moment of hesitation, a play of lust hazing the momentary uncertainty, although his hand down her jeans didn’t stop even as he asked, “You sure you’d like that?”

She nodded almost eagerly. 

He took his hand from the shelf beside her head and gently wrapped his fingers around her throat, his thumb and fingers nestled under her jaw. When he squeezed ever so slightly, her eyes fluttered and her swollen lips let out an angelic breathy, “Yeah. Yeah, I like that.”

Rosaline had written far more salacious scenes before, but experiencing it for the first time herself was a revelation that left her mind spinning. George’s grip was light, almost tentative, as if he was afraid of pushing too far or crossing a boundary. Yet even that gentle pressure around her throat was enough to amplify every other sensation in her body, making her nerve endings tingle with an intensity she had never imagined.

“Naughty little contradiction, aren’t you?” George tutted with a prideful smirk to his tone, his voice hushed and his breath falling against her cheek as he pinned her against the shelves, hand still moving down the front of her jeans, “Just full of surprises.”

Rosaline parted her lips as if to respond, but all that escaped was a soft, quivering moan. A blush crept across her cheeks, warmth flooding her face as her self-control crumbled. She could feel her steady composure slipping away, unraveling under the mounting pleasure that drowned out any coherent thought.

“Cover your mouth if you need to.” George reminded her quietly, his velvet voice echoing in her ears, “Stay so quiet for me.”

Rosaline needed no convincing as if she were moving robotically by instructions, taking her hand from her white-knuckled grip on the side of his shirt to press her palm over her mouth. She couldn’t stop staring at him despite how her cheeks burned, her attention captivated by him and the way he looked at her, the way he clenched his jaw in concentration, his handsome face slightly shadowed as he towered in front of her and hid her away from the warm lamps of the historic library. 

A few more whimpers and moans fell uncontrollably from her lips, smothered by her hand over her mouth and the gentle squeeze of his around her throat. Her body writhed against his ever so slightly, rising up a little more onto her toes as the pleasure built up stronger and stronger through her veins, coiling that unmissable warmth in the pit of her stomach, everything suddenly feeling like too much. Oh, but she wanted it so badly, she needed him to rid that ache from her body, to give her what she craved. The bookshelves pressed into her back. 

“That’s it,” George purred, undoubtedly feeling the way her pussy started to throb against his slick fingertips, keeping his pace going, right at that angle that got the best reaction out of her, “Feel all of that pleasure and let it all out for me. Nice and quiet now, like a good girl, come all over my hand. That’s it, darling. Come on.”

Rosaline’s thighs were trembling, barely keeping her upright if not for the sturdiness of George’s body keeping her pinned snugly against the bookshelf. Her breaths were coming out in strong uneven pants through her nose with her mouth still clamped shut, her heart racing with desperate need to cum. She was so close, right there, the heat pouring through her and burning her skin under the faint pressure of his fingertips against her throat. 

His encouraging whispered words faded into a murmur as she reached that precipice, feeling her entire body tense right up, her arm around his shoulders digging her nails into his back through the fabric of his linen shirt. George grunted faintly against her cheek as she toppled into her orgasm, her clit throbbing against his fingers as he kept her going through it. Her head fell back against the bookshelf with a dull thud, her hand still clamped tightly over her mouth to smother the whimper of pleasure that threatened to spill over and give them away.

The moment the peak of her orgasm tapered off and her body buzzed with sensitivity, she dropped her hand from her mouth to grab his wrist between them instead, halting his hand down her jeans. She was panting, her swollen lips glistening and red, her wonderfilled eyes staring at him, sparkling behind the thin lenses of her glasses in the dim library lighting. 

“Jesus Christ.” George breathed, his forehead resting against hers as he slowed his hand to a stop down the front of her pants and slowly retreated. His hands rested on her waist and rubbed the curve of her lean body for a moment, disconcerted by the glistening wetness on his middle finger that smeared faintly against the fabric of her shirt and left a damp, telling trace, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Rosaline exhaled, reaching between them to button up her pants again.

“That wasn’t too much?” he asked, staring into her eyes as if trying to pull the truth out of her with only a glance. 

“Promise.” she assured him, resting her hands on his chest, “I would have told you otherwise.”

“Okay,” George exhaled as if in relief, a tame smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his large hands gave her hips a squeeze, “good.”

Rosaline slid her hands up to the sides of his neck and timidly pulled him in to meet him halfway for a breathless kiss. Her heart was racing, mind whirling, in disbelief that they had just done that. It was no mind-numbing, earth-shattering orgasm as often expressed in books or movies; instead it had fallen over her in warm waves of pleasure, calm and satisfying, and filled her with a buzz of euphoric relief. She hadn’t expected to be able to come so easily from just his fingers—hell, using her own fingers did next to nothing—but there was something about the way George touched her, knew just where the most sensitive spots were, that had her entirely satisfied. 

Seconds later, when Rosaline broke away from his lips for a breath, she rested her forehead against his with a sighing, “That was…so incredible.” 

“Mm,” George let a faint smile dust across his lips in his agreement, “Can’t say I mind helping you with your research anytime.”

Just then, approaching footsteps had them breaking apart, George taking two steps away to stand casually at the opposite shelves. The librarian appeared at the end of their row.

“The library is closed now,” she told them kindly, “If you can make your way out, that’d be great.”

George offered her a polite smile, “Of course. Thank you.”

She disappeared again. 

Rosaline looked back at George, the two of them facing each other across the narrow aisle of shelves. Their expressions broke into small amused smiles and Rosaline pushed herself away from the bookshelf with a bashful bow of her head as they got ready to leave. They walked side by side back towards the table at which Rosaline and her friends had once sat and studied. The library was completely empty apart from them by then, all students disappeared back to their dorm rooms and homes. She picked up her bag from the chair where she had left it and tucked it over her shoulder. 

“This was risky,” George whispered to her, his voice quiet and gentle yet firm, “we cannot do this again. Not in a place like this.”

Rosaline replied softly as she turned back to him, “Well it’s not like I can take you back to my dorm.”

There was a moment of hesitation on his face before he finally spoke a gentle offer, “Come to my house. Tomorrow night.”

Rosaline’s heart did a little somersault in her chest and her momentary shock at the invitation and the weight it might have carried must have spread itself across her face. 

Almost right away, George was assuring her, “Just for drinks. Nothing more. Just to be away from prying eyes.” 

Rosaline couldn’t deny that the concept of going over to his house held a sense of excitement and curiosity. She pulled a timid smile and nodded in agreement, reaching into her bag to pass him her notebook and a pencil so he could scribble down his address for her. 

She stared at his profile in the dim light of the library, the shadows across his face and the crisp line of his jaw, the way his fingers cradled her pencil as he dragged the graphite across the lined page. Those same fingers that had been down her jeans only moments ago. How was this real? How was he real?

George handed her notebook back to her with a handsome smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah,” Rosaline exhaled, taking her notebook back from him, “See you.”

She watched him walk off towards the exit of the library and, before she too made her way out, she looked down at the page of her notebook again. In his precise curling cursive, he had written; 

30 Richmond Road — 4pm x

♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)

♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

[feinyan]

I need more Damon's boyfriend text....or whatever. anything, I'm starving for a Damon content 😭😭

ROMANCE TROPE featuring. damon maitsu, kai monteago and wolfgang akire

more below the cut .. no texts but this has damon so.

# damon maitsu

hear me out on .. sort of enemies to lovers with the ultimate debater himself ?? damon and you who bicker constantly, always comparing and teasing amongst yourselves.

i can see damon thinking of you as someone lower than him, someone whose time shouldnt occupy his own oh-so important time. i mean, he has soooo much more important things to focus on. but eugh, your conflicts, your constant bickering, led to … weird, thrilling feelings, something that led to wanting more. this need grew overwhelmingly frustrating, which interrupted his thoughts. his mind could no longer find itself hyper focused on debating and studying despite his best attempts, because now, he always found that you were somewhere in the back of his mind. small reminders of you would spark a disruption within his head, one that led him to feel a hot, annoyed feeling in his chest.

pushing the tip of your finger into his shirt, you tilted your head to the side, a smug grin tugging at your lips.

“oh! would you look at that. what happened to your cocky attitude? not so confident now huh, mr debater?” you’d hummed, a sheet of paper firmly held within your fingers, waving it back and forth in front of his eyes. he’d narrowed his eyes in exchange, gaze flickering between your own and the wall behind you.

a huff escaping his lips, he’d finally regained his composure, his flustered face cooled down at least a little. “.. oh shut up, you managed to finally get a grade higher than me, congrats.” his muttering was sarcastic, clasping his fingers around your wrists and pulling them away from himself.

“for once? im pretty sure last exam i—“

“.. yeah yeah, that’s enough from you.” he’d interrupted, letting go of your wrists and instead throwing a hand over your mouth to prevent your sentence from being finished. with a muffled protest, you raised an arm to tug at the hand covering your lips with a struggle. damon couldn’t help but snicker at this, eyes making contact with your own helpless ones. finally managing to pull his hand away, you took a step back, annoyance apparent in your face.

turning around, prepared to make your way to your next class, you paused in place for a moment. “start focusing on your grades more, you’ve been lazy recently.”

a sigh from damon could be heard from behind you, accompanied by the shuffling of his pants. probably him putting his hands in his pockets. with a grumble, he responded. “it was by 4%. i’ve been busy with other things.”

“hmm, do you need encouragement? let me think,”

he remained quiet.

“if you get a higher grade than me on the next assignment, you can take me out on a date.”

“… the- huh? the hell?” he stammered, for a second, he was almost certain he’d heard wrong. but when you only replied with a giggle, beginning to make your way through the hallway, your words were surely made clear. gross. he didn’t know how that made him feel, yet a hot feeling began to consume his insides at the thought you’d offered into his mind, one that tugged at his heart — a feeling he disliked. one that pissed him off. he’d remained quiet in place, mouth slightly hung open as he watched you skip off all innocently. yet the pounding in both his chest and head was one that he couldn’t stay quiet about.

“you idiot .. y/n, wait up.”

# kai monteago

kai is the biggest secret dating troupe ever .. do you hear me. hello. guys. please hello!!!

kai — who shouldn’t have a partner to begin with. his fans are .. pretty obsessive to say the least, and getting a partner would totally make him lose popularity! therefor, when he met you, despite how desperately he wanted to show you off to the world, he was pestered until he finally agreed to keep it silent. his conflicting feelings though, were ones he never shut up about.

“… kaaaai,” you muttered, stretching out your body in attempts to free yourself from his tight grasp. it didn’t work. he clung to you harder, wet lips pressing against your cheek and lips time after time. this drew a giggle from your lips, turning your head to the side so you’d have the opportunity to speak.

though, kai spoke first.

“babyyyyy! i couldn’t kiss you aaaall day! let me have this!” a dramatic whine arose from him, burying his head into the crook of your neck with a huff. a sigh left your throat as you placed your head atop his own, rubbing his back with your hand.

“.. you’re such a baby, kai.”

# wolfgang akire

im not really sure but maybe arranged marriage ?? the idea of the uncomfortable, awkward feeling of marrying someone who you don’t know, yet wolfgangs display of kindness and tender actions despite the situation slowly causing you two to form a sweet bond. things like cooking you breakfast every morning no matter how early he’d have to wake up, buying you little gifts and treating you even though he doesnt need to.

sitting across from wolfgang, you kept your eyes on the food. an awkward silence always lingered whenever the two of you shared a meal together, yet slowly but surely, its been getting lighter.

“did you enjoy the breakfast id made you this morning?” his words came off in a gentle tone, interrupting the silence between the two of you. lifting your head, your eyes immediately met his eyes. eyes that were already staring at your own, and had probably been for awhile now.

taking a moment to respond, you nodded with a smile. “yeah, thank you, i really like strawberries.” you’d hummed a cheery response. he gave a smile in exchange to your last comment.

“is that so? i’ll try to include them in more of your meals then.”

a kind offer, but you shook your head. “.. ah, you don’t have to make me meals. you wake up really early for it. i do appreciate it a lot but—“

he cut you off with a shake of his own head.

“no need, you’re my spouse, its the least i could do.”

@ feinyan

[chuellas]

Initiation | I is for Intimacy

⤷ Ft. Nakahara Chuuya

V. A. L. E. N. T. I. N. E.

Warnings | Fem!Reader, N.SFW, 18+ only, use of the names “Doll” and “Baby”, physical and emotional intimacy, oral (Reader rec), fingering, unprotected sex, WC: 2.2k

A/N | This one is a lot tamer than the rest and once again I got wayyyyy too carried away but can you blame me? My baby deserves the world 😔

His hands tremble slightly as you both reach your apartment building’s entrance. The two of you have been dating for about 3 months now and Chuuya has held off on being physically intimate with you up until now. But he could tell your patience has been waning and tonight was your tipping point. You’ve been hinting to him all night that you want him to follow you up to your apartment. The extra touches that linger just a little longer than usual, the longing gaze at any part of him you find attractive, which apparently is every inch of him. 

You fiddle with your fingers and keys, watching them before steeling yourself and inviting him. “Y’know, it’s still pretty early…Why don’t you come up? We could have a cup of tea or a glass of wine and watch a movie?”

Your eyes are filled with so much hope, how is Chuuya supposed to say no to that?

He doesn’t of course, as a matter of fact he’s quick to accept your offer and follows you anxiously to your apartment. The Port Mafia executive couldn’t figure out why he was so nervous. He’s slept with plenty of people before this. He’d even goes as far as to say he’s skilled in this subject, never having left a partner dissatisfied. 

So why are you different? 

Realistically Chuuya knows why but he doesn’t want to admit it to himself because if he does that then it means all of this is actually real. It would mean he cares for you far beyond anyone he’s cared for previously. So he’s avoided the subject with you altogether, letting himself stew in denial.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t also incredibly excited. It’s depraved, the amount of times Chuuya has fucked his hand to the thought of you, playing the little voice memos you like to send him every once in a while when you’re at work and typing takes too long. He always comes at the sound of your fluttery giggle, the sound casting a spell over his body every time without fail.

He wonders briefly, what the real thing will do to him when he’s nestled inside of you. 

The ginger can feel himself getting worked up just at the thought of it. He needs to calm himself down. The two of you just got to your apartment. You let him into your home and he’s immediately greeted by a small cat that can’t be more than 6 months old. He’s never been too keen on cat’s but the little ball of fur takes to him immediately and you let out an incredulous laugh.

“She usually hides when I have company, you must be really good with animals.” You crouch down and hold your finger out for the kitten to sniff, just as expected she does so and rubs herself against your hand, clearly recognizing you as her owner. “This is Rika. She may not look it, but this little girl is feisty. She started out as a foster but I fell in love with her and couldn’t fathom the thought of life without her anymore. Sorry, I should have asked if you were allergic before bringing you up…”

Chuuya smiles fondly at you and the small creature, crouching down and mimicking your actions to gain the kitten's trust. “Nah, don’t worry, Doll. I’m not allergic, just- Never been the biggest fan of these guys. She’s cute though, just like her owner.”

You let out a groan and fall onto your butt, knees still bent, to make yourself comfortable on the floor. Rika starts at the movement but once she realizes that it was just you, she continues to headbutt Chuuya and even starts to purr. His attention is still on you despite the little furballs attempts to get him to pet her. 

“That was so cheesy.” You’re covering your face with your hands and peek through them to look at Rika, then back up at the ginger. “...but, I suppose, she’s quite fond of you…just like her owner.”

Chuuya lets out a chuckle of his own because, yeah, that definitely sounded awfully cheesy now that he heard you say it. Yet, it still calmed his previous nerves. The Port Mafia executive stands up and offers his hands for help. You take them with an appreciative smile and he hoists you up. He’s aware that he used far too much force than he needed to but it’s entirely on purpose. You stumble into him and he’s ready to steady you, grip firmly set on your hips to hold you against him.

His lids droop down to look at you through his lashes and the air in your apartment thickens. Your lips part, Chuuya thinks you were going to say something, but he doesn’t give you time as he dips his head down and steals a kiss from you. Then another.

And another.

He continues to kiss you until you both find yourselves stumbling almost blindly into your room. You toe the door shut and start ridding Chuuya of his clothes with trembling hands. You’re nervous too, somehow that makes the ginger just a little more confident and he aids you in taking off his jacket and lifting his shirt over his head. He watches your reaction closely, the way your chest quickens with your breath, the way your pupils dilate in excitement, and most of all the way your face flushes in the prettiest way.

Chuuya is in trouble. Normally his interactions like this are only filled with desire and pleasure. Something only transactional or to itch a certain scratch. That’s it. But this is clearly different. 

The ability user wants to take his time with you, wants you to feel good. He wants to touch and kiss every surface of your skin. Chuuya wants to mold your insides to only take him, to remember the shape of only his cock.

You're the most dangerous person Chuuya has ever encountered and you don’t even know it.

Chuuya makes good on his desires, slowly and carefully peeling your clothes away, making sure to kiss every bit of new skin being exposed. You aren’t as patient but you have no control over what he does right now. The ginger had a plan and you weren’t going to deter him from it. 

When the executive gets you down to your underwear, he makes work of your bra first, expertly unclasping your bra with the snap of his fingers. You let out a pained whine, clearly enjoying just how easy it was for him to take off the usually tricky garment. He wastes no time in cupping your breasts in his now ungloved hands and kneading gently at the plush skin. His fingers run over your nipple and you let out a broken gasp. 

A grin stretches at his lips, he can’t help it, pleased with the reactions he’s drawing out of you when he hasn’t even come close to touching you how he’d like to. 

The ginger drags his hands down your abdomen at an agonizingly slow pace and you squirm impatiently in his hold. “Chuuya…Please, just- oh my god- just fuck me already.”

Your breath catches in your throat when Chuuya flips you around and has your back crashing into his chest and he dips his head to leave a trail of kisses down your neck.

“Gotta be patient f’me, Doll. I gotta make sure you’re ready to take me. Can’t have you uncomfortable, now, can we?” Your head falls onto his shoulder as you let out another whine.

You’re walked to the edge of your bed before you’re being flipped back around and pushed onto it, your legs hanging off the end. Chuuya kneels and pushes your legs together so he can guide them to one side of his head to slip your underwear off with ease. The ginger pries your legs apart once more and settles your legs on each of his shoulders. 

When you’re finally fully exposed, slick cunt practically drooling for Chuuya, he lets out a groan. He has a physical reaction to the sight of you, his cock jumping in his very tight pants. If you would let him, he thinks he would be content with drowning in your pretty glistening cunt. 

You reach for the ginger’s hair and let out another whine. “Chuuya…”

“Fuck, Baby. You been hiding this pretty little thing from me this entire time? A damn shame I’ve let this go to waste till now.” He doesn’t let you respond, diving right in and helping himself to your taste.

With expert precision Chuuya finds your clit with one swipe of his tongue up your folds. He’s quick to attach himself to the sensitive bud and starts sucking on you and then releasing, creating a delicious rhythm with his mouth. You grip at his hair with trembling fingers. It’s cute, really, how worked up you’re getting. The executive has a sneaking feeling you’ve never had someone who actually knows what they’re doing eat you out like this before. 

As if you could read his mind you gasp out, “How- shit- how are you s-so good at that? It feels s’good…”

The ginger knows better than to deem that with an actual response, so instead he brings a hand up to your entrance and coats his middle finger in your slick before inserting it and immediately pumping it in and out of you. It happens fast. You pant out his name and twist your body as you try to almost crawl away from the pleasure building up in your stomach. Chuuya doesn’t let you, of course. He makes sure to bring you flying off the edge. You cum without warning and the sounds of Chuuya drinking you up bounces off the walls. 

You twitch from the oversensitivity and subconsciously push at Chuuya's head. He gets the hint and pulls away. His face is a mess, lips, cheeks and chin glistening with your juices. What's worse is he licks it all off like a parched man, not satiated until he’s licked all of it off.  

Chuuya finally pulls down his pants and climbs over you, dragging you up all the way onto the bed. He takes another moment to admire your lucid state. Body sheen with a small layer of sweat, hair splayed around you in a halo, chest flushed and heaving from your pants. You’re more beautiful than he could ever have tried to imagine. Whatever Chuuya had previously pictured, was put to shame tenfold with you here finally bare right in front of him. 

He gingerly strokes some hair stuck to your face out of the way and lets his finger linger, traveling down the outline of your face. “Think you have one more in you, Doll?”

Chuuya doesn’t think he’s ever had to ask that question before. His usual partners are always selfish, having no problem asking for what they want. You on the other hand? You were far too soft, too kind to ever ask for more when this is your first time getting into bed with him. 

Your eyes close momentarily and he watches your intently. Your eyelashes flutter as you lean into his hand that’s now cupping your face tenderly. When you open your eyes to look up at him through your lashes Chuuya swear he almost cums right then and there. How the hell is he supposed to survive the night with you when you look so stunning underneath him like this?

“Yeah. I want you, Chuuya.” You’re killing him—you really will be the death of him he swears, no dramatics, it’s simply factual. 

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Okay, you got me, all of me.”

Chuuya leans closer into you and rests his forehead on yours before guiding his tip to your entrance. He swipes himself through your folds a few times, making sure he’s wet enough to slip into you easily before finally sinking into you. Your eyes screw shut and your arms fly to his back, desperately looking for something to slutch onto as he stretches you so deliciously. Your mouth drops open but no noise falls out. 

Instead of letting himself get overwhelmed by how velvety and warm and inviting your walls are, Chuuya distracts himself by crashing his lips to your. You finally let out small whines and whimpers and while he’s running his tongue across your lips, asking for another entrance, you impatiently roll your hips. He lets out a surprised grunt but gets the hint and starts a slow but pointed pace. 

Chuuya is used to having sex, he’s slept with countless people thanks to the nature of his job. It’s been seen as a skill for so long that he forgot that it could feel like this. This was something more than just a physical connection, it’s also emotional. 

Chuuya thought he knew everything there was to know about sex, but he has a lot to learn about intimacy, and he doesn’t think he’d want to learn it from anyone else other than you.

[keraawrites]

Because I'm pretty

Summary: College UA, Frat boy Bakugo loved them curvy; he also loved them bratty, and you were as bratty as they come. ۶ৎ Bakugo x black fem reader ۶ৎ

Context: Belly button piercing, tattoo, use of pet names (daddy, mama, baby), Oral (female receiving), underage drinking, weed, rough sex, use of the word Nigga, bratty reader, mean Bakugo, unprotected sex *Meg thee stallion reference*

Word count: 6.4k

What would you say if everyone complimented you from a young age? Told you you were good at everything? You would sure as hell have an ego as big as Bakugo’s. Everyone knew him on campus; he was smart, star athlete and every girl's wet dream. In a nutshell, he had everything he wanted.

Yet, he was bored when he started college. Bored of what? He didn’t know, all he knew was that something in his life had to change and it needed to happen soon.

He remembered when he got his first taste of that change, it was a girl that flirted with him at his first frat party. She was a pretty petite black girl who had curves to die for and he knew from then on he would have a large appreciation for thick girls.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved every type of woman but black girls had a special place in his heart. Or maybe it was just you.

He would never forget the first time he met you, you were a transfer that made her way up the social ladder fast. Became cheer co captain in two months, became a sister for the biggest sorority on campus but what really caught his eye was the way you curved everyone, especially him.

He would have given up if it was anyone else but you were to die for and he would die before giving up. His mind came back to the screams of everyone around him, the cheers of the cheer squad and the celebration coming from his teammates as he just won a championship game, but his eyes locked on you, in your short uniform skirt and cropped top that showed him enough to get the glimpse of your belly button piercing.

He watched your hips sway as you finished the final cheer for the game.

“Bakugoooo, I can’t believe you made that throw— actually I can.” The blonde tsk’d as he watched his friends celebrate in front of him, his mind still on you but his eyes couldn’t find you again.

“Whatever shitty hair.”

“Not whatever man, scouts are gonna go hard the next game. Now come on, we got a party to throw.”

You smiled at the girls who waved hi to you as you walked out of of the locker room, you were out of breath from the cheer you had just done for the winning game.

Your school ‘The Falcons’ took home the championship cup and you and the rest of your squad gave a performance of a lifetime and you were tiredddd.

Your bag, slung over your shoulder with your uniform and some school books packed away. You had quickly thrown on a pair of gym shorts that were snug against your ass and your matching sports bra that sported your school colours were much more breathable because lets be real, your ass was bigger than your boobs.

Your brain was racking with the thoughts of the day, your fresh set pressing against the keys on your phone. Mina (your sorority sister) was telling you about the party that the football team would be throwing tonight.

You rolled your eyes at the thought process, they had already been planning this party way before the finals— apparently knowing they would win. But you had to give it to them, they did win and you knew the party would be epic.

As your fingers continued to tap away on your iPhone, you failed to realise you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings. A couple cuss words flew from your lips when your body slammed into a hard exterior, your eyes raking up the large body that stood in your way.

“Tch. ‘Bout time you noticed, brat.”

Your stomach did that annoying flip it always did around him, but you ignored it, lifting your gaze to meet sharp, almost crimson-like eyes. Katsuki Bakugo stood there, arms crossed over his broad chest, his usual scowl in place. His dirty blond hair was still damp from the game, sticking up in chaotic spikes, and his sleeveless compression shirt clung to his frame, showing off every defined muscle.

You arched a brow. “Noticed what?”

His eyes scanned you like he was sizing you up, a stupid grin on his face. “You normally pay attention, yet here you are-- head in your phone not noticing shit. You’re lucky it was me and not some extra tryna get your attention.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting your weight onto one leg as you crossed your arms. “But to me, you are just an extra Bakugo." You teased, your lips pulling into a smirk as you noticed the twitch in his eye.

His scowl deepened, but there was something else there too—something smug, something that you were all too used to.

“Tch. Fucking brat.”

“Only for you,” You shot back, voice dripping with mock sweetness.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening for half a second before he smirked. The expression was sharp, full of challenge. “Yeah, I know.”

You hated that he was right. Hated it even more that he knew it.

This was something you were all too used to with Bakugo, you remember when you first transferred here a year ago.

You quickly made friends with the right people, and joining the biggest sorority on campus also added to your popularity and with popularity came a whole lot of attention from guys, especially the quarterback of your college's football team.

You heard the rumours about him, he had made his way through a lot of girls and his taste quickly changed a couple months before you came to campus from tall leggy blondes to short curvy black girls.

He was a God and he knew it too, but you weren't gonna make it easy on the guy by falling at his feet like the other girls. So here came the back and forth game between the two of you.

“So,” he started, stepping closer, his presence almost suffocating, "You're coming to my party tonight."

You scoffed. “Not even gonna ask?”

“Don’t ask people shit,” he muttered, voice low, eyes locked onto yours. “And I already know you’re gonna show up.”

You let out a dry laugh, shifting like you were about to walk away. “Mm, I don’t know. I think I’m busy.”

He tsked, eyes narrowing. “Quit playin’. You like pissing me off too much to not show up.”

The grin on your lips was blinding. You stepped past him, letting your fingers barely graze his arm as you walked away. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see, huh?”

His chuckle was low, rough, the kind that sent a shiver down your spine.

Summer Walker softly played through your speaker, the scent of vanilla body butter and cocoa-shea lotion mixing with a hint of perfume in the air. Clothes were scattered across the bed, a sign of the usual struggle of finding the outfit, but Mina sat comfortably in the middle of it all, legs crossed, scrolling through her phone like she had all the time in the world.

“Girl, if you don’t stop overthinking and just put on the outfit I picked, I swear to God,” Mina groaned, glancing up to see you standing in front of the mirror, hands on your hips, eyes scanning your reflection with a critical gaze.

You smirked, turning slightly. “And why should I let you pick my outfit Mina? Because it’s Bakugo’s party?”

Mina’s grin was instant, eyes lighting up with mischief. “Who said anything about him? I’m just making sure you look good. Which, babe, you already do, but I have vision.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Mina had always had an eye for styling, and you weren’t above letting your best friend work her magic.

Mina was as stylish as they came; her hairstyle was always different, but the colour always stayed the same. The girl sported pink like it was made for her. “Alright, fine. Show me what you’ve got.”

The pink-haired girl perked up instantly, reaching over to the bed and holding up her carefully chosen pieces. “Here, don’t ask just do.”

You looked down the clothes, surprised as you expected something more skimpy. “Jeans and a top?”

Mina scoffed, pressing a hand to her chest dramatically. “Not just jeans and a top. You need something that says, I didn’t try too hard, but also, I look so good you’ll be thinking about me all night.”

You eyed the clothes, then sighed and grabbed them, slipping into the outfit. The low-waisted, distressed jeans hugged your curves perfectly, emphasising the dip of your waist, while the brown backless top fit like a second skin. The neckline was low enough to tease but the bare of the back showed off the tattoo you had just above your ass and the sheer fabric gave subtle glimpses of your toned stomach under the right lighting.

Mina clapped her hands. “See? This is what I was talking about. Casual but lethal.”

You turned to the mirror, smoothing a hand down your waist. The dark fabric contrasted beautifully against your melenated skin, making your golden undertones glow effortlessly. You had to admit—Mina knew what she was doing.

“Alright,” You said, feigning indifference. “It’s decent.”

Mina gasped. “Decent? Girl, please. You look so good it’s actually rude.”

You giggled but didn’t deny it. The two of you began to sing along to the low tune of ‘Heart of a woman’ as you both finished up your hair and makeup. You had fresh bundles sewn in your hair and it fell bone straight down you back, it layered as it framed your face nicely.

A warm-toned highlighter dusted over your cheekbones, collarbones, and the bridge of her nose, giving you a sun-kissed glow. A soft brown lip liner, blended into a sheer, brown lip gloss, made your full lips pop effortlessly.

Mina looked you over as she finished getting ready. A smirk on her lips as she sized you up. “Girl if I wasn’t a mess for Ejiro’s dick I would be all up on you.” You kissed your teeth at Mina's antics but blew her a kiss as the two of you left your sorority house.

The moment you stepped into the fraternity house, the atmosphere hit them like a wave—warm, electric, and pulsing with the bass of a Kendrick Lamar song shaking the walls. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, faint traces of cologne and perfume mixing together, and the occasional hint of weed drifting through the crowded space. The lights were dim, neon glows from LED strips casting everything in a hazy glow.

You and Mina navigated through the throng of bodies, brushing past sweaty football players, overexcited freshmen, and girls who stepped out with barely anything on, all vying for attention. You could feel the moment eyes zeroed in on your back, your hips had an extra sway to them.

“Two shots, babe,” Mina declared, dragging you toward the kitchen. The counter was already lined with bottles of tequila, vodka, and an assortment of mixers, and a few guys stood nearby, eyeing them with interest. Denki and Sero were already high or tipsy as they both grinned at you two.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Denki teased, nudging Sero. “Damn, y’all took your time.”

Mina rolled her eyes, pouring two shots with practiced ease. “Perfection takes time, boys.”

Sero whistled, eyeing her up and down before throwing an arm around Kirishima, who had just joined them. “Yeah, well, Kiri over here doesn’t mind waiting, does he?”

Kirishima chuckled, slipping an arm around Mina’s waist and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “Nope. Worth it every time.”

Mina beamed, shooting him a playful look before tossing back her shot. You followed suit, the burn of the alcohol settling in your chest.

You could feel Denki's eyes burning on your lower back, you turned towards him, head tilted as your eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Yes Denks, how can I help you?"

"When are you gonna let me take you out pretty?" You giggled at his outburst, he tripped over his own feet, trying to style it out as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

Across the room, Bakugo sat on the worn leather couch, drink in hand, scowling at nothing in particular. The party was loud, annoying, and full of people he barely tolerated, but it was for his team, so he had to be here.

His boys had left to do shots not too long ago, but Kirishima made his way back over with his girl on his arm. His eyes scanned the room lazily until something—or rather, someone—caught his attention.

His eyes zeroed in on you, you wore some low-rise jeans that clung to your ass nicely, he couldn't make out the top but he could see how it also clung to you like a second skin, the way you moved—fuck.

His grip tightened around his cup as he watched you spark a blunt. He eyed the way you moved slightly to the music like it was second nature to you, the glow of your skin under the dim lighting making something in his chest tighten. Then came the moment that really set him off—you giggled at something that dunce face was saying and he swore he felt his blood pressure spike.

“Tch,” he scoffed, leaning back. “Fucking hell.”

Kirishima, sitting beside him with Mina tucked under his arm, followed his gaze and grinned. “Ohhh. You got it bad, bro.”

Bakugo’s scowl deepened. “Shut the hell up shitty hair.” He downed the rest of his drink before making his way into the kitchen.

Your eyes sparkled as you looked over Denki's shoulder, turning your attention back to the electric blonde in front of you. “Looking like a damn dream tonight. Who’d you get all dressed up for, sweetheart?”

You tilted your head, smirking. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Denki chuckled, giving you back the blunt after he took a draw without breaking eye contact. “Maybe you should give a guy a hint. I’m great at keeping secrets.”

Before you could respond, a sharp presence entered the kitchen—Bakugo, his expression thunderous as his eyes locked onto Denki.

“The hell do you think you’re doin’, Dunce Face?” Bakugo growled, stepping between the two of you.

The spiky haired blonde held up his hands in mock surrender, chuckling. “Relax, man. Just being friendly.”

Bakugo narrowed his eyes, and though Denki was grinning, he got the message loud and clear. With a wink at you, he backed off, moving to find someone else to charm.

With Denki gone, you turned your attention to Bakugo, tilting your head. “What was that about?”

The blonde scoffed, crossing his arms. “Tch. Like I’m lettin’ some dumbass flirt with you.”

You pouted playfully. “Aw, jealous?”

His eyes darkened, jaw tightening. “Watch it.”

You licked your lips, grinning when you noticed how quickly his eyes darted towards them. “Watch what? I didn’t do anything.”

He stepped closer, “You keep runnin’ that mouth mama...”

You batted your lashes, pulling one more drag from the blunt that lay between your fingers, you stood on your tiptoes and blew the excess smoke into his face. "There's so much I can do with my mouth."

He short-circuited; he never in his life thought a girl could leave him tongue-tied, but here you were. All he wanted to do was get his hands on you but he stalled, you were already off on the dance floor as some song by sexy red blared through the speakers.

He watched as Mina began hyping you up on the dance floor, his eyes glued to your ass as you began to twerk against the girl. He felt the way his jeans tightened, the telltale sign of his hard-on pressed right against his crotch. He growled as he watched some lowlife try to get between the two of you. he didn't even realise he pushed the extra away until he was on you, a rough hand gripping your waist and yanking you against him. His breath was hot against your ear.

"I'm done with this, take your ass upstairs before I drag you there myself," You felt your stomach flip, smirking lightly as you faced the your friend—his dick pressing up against your ass. You rolled your neck to the side, feeling his hot breath against you; you knew your panties were a mess.

You could say no, you knew you could. But why would you? You had been playin' this boy for damn near a year and you were finally ready to give in.

You didn't say a word to him, but you winked at Mina before strutting your way upstairs. Bakugo didn't hesitate to follow behind you, leaving all but 10 seconds between your departure. He seemed to be annoyed by the pace in your steps because you soon felt his palm on your bare back, his thumb gliding along the base of your butterfly tattoo as he guided you to his room.

He barely acknowledged the few people loitering in the hallway as he pushed open his door and yanked you inside. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind you, the muffled bass of the party now nothing but a dull thrum against the walls.

Your back hit the wood before you could take another breath. You looked up at the blonde, his hands planted on either side of your head, caging you in as his scent—smoky caramel and the lingering spice of his cologne—wrapped around you, drowning you. His breath was hot against your cheek, his chest rising and falling with the force of his restraint.

Your eyes scan his room, you didn't expect for his room to be this organised but it was. You didn't have enough time to admire it as you felt his hand grip the sides of your face, forcing you attention back on him.

"You done with that shit now?" His voice was dark as it hung in the air; you looked up at him through your lashes, your bottom lip rolling between your teeth.

"That depends. What's in it for me?" You barely got out the words before your hands and face were pressed against the food , the blonde kicked your feet apart. "Hey--" Your ass stung from the palm coming down hard on your ass, your breathing array as your stomach tightened.

"All the games you've played with me over the year, it's only fair we play one final one here, don't you think?" You moaned slightly as you felt his finger graze the wings of your tattoo; his touch was much softer than earlier. You heard him shift behind you, his knees hitting the floor beneath him.

He mumble a quiet 'fuck' before his lips grazed your skin. Your eyes rolled back softly as his lips softly worked against your back, you could hear him mumble quiet praises mixed in with curses which caused your pussy to flutter in your jeans.

"You walk around here acting like you own the place, teasing me, acting fucking bratty..."

Your moans grew louder; he was standing behind you now-- his hands around your stomach as his fingers grazed the waistline of your jeans. He hadn't even done anything yet you were a fucking mess.

"If I were to put my hands down your jeans, how wet would you be?" Your head rolled to the side, his nose buried in your neck as he inhaled the strong scent of coco butter that seemed to be mixed in with your YSL perfume.

"Yo-your ego is too big. Who says even if I am wet, it'd be because of you?" You knew you were playing with fire; the blonde was like a dynamite waiting to implode and you just loved playing with matches.

You felt his hand around your throat before you could blink, he squeezed enough to send you a warning but not hard enough to completely cut off your airways.

"So not only are you a brat, but you're a slut too." You would normally flip out on a nigga if he called you out of your name but not him. Katsuki Bakugo was the perfect exception.

You moaned; you don't know whether it was from his words or his touch. The way his fingers glided along your skin, the way your boobs fit perfectly in his hand, it was all perfect.

Your head rolled to the side, his mouth sucking on the sensitive skin of your neck as he played with your nipples.

You pulled away from him, turning to face him. His brows raised as he watched you—waiting for your next move. Smirking, you pushed past the angry blonde, making your way towards his bed. You put an extra sway in her hips, moving slowly as you could hear the slight bass of the music downstairs.

The music was nothing more than a dull thump, barely noticeable under the thick, charged silence of Bakugo’s dimly lit bedroom. The only glow in the space came from the red LED lights tracing the ceiling, casting everything in a deep, sultry haze. It made the shadows darker, the air heavier.

But the only thing Bakugo was focused on was you.

You stood in the middle of his room, body humming with liquid confidence.

He sat back in his desk chair, legs spread wide, jeans stretched over thick thighs, his dark shirt tight across his chest. His elbows rested lazily on his knees, but his grip was tense—like he was holding himself back. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, his eyes burning with something raw, something dangerous.

But he didn’t move.

Not yet; he'll let you have your fun.

The heavy beat from the speaker wrapped around you, slow, seductive, built for movement. Built for control.

And right now? You were in control.

You started to sway, rolling your hips to the rhythm, slow and deliberate. The brown backless top you wore clung to every curve, the soft fabric pressing against your skin like a second layer. The deep colour only made the warmth of your brown skin stand out more, glowing under the red light, catching Bakugo’s attention like a damn magnet.

His fingers twitched.

He bit his lip as he watched you twirl softly, getting a glimpse of the tattoo on your lower back every time you moved. He remembers when he first noticed it, you were at cheer practice, wearing these tiny ass little shorts that hugged your ass nicely and when you bent over into a stretch, the sun hit the tattoo like a fucking halo. Funny, for something so fucking sinful.

He thought he'd cum in his pants when he first saw it. His gaze often tried to find it whenever he could; he watched when you turned away, the sharp edge of his jaw tightening like he was clenching his teeth.

You turned, giving him your back, letting your hands trail down your waist, slow and teasing, fingertips brushing over the tiny, silver belly button piercing that gleamed under the red light.

You dipped low, rolling your hips in time with the music, and you swore you heard his breath hitch.

A slow smirk curled on your lips.

Still swaying to the soft beat, you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your jeans and began to peel them down, inch by agonising inch. The soft denim clung to your curves, sliding lower over your hips, over your thighs, until it finally pooled at your ankles, leaving you in nothing but your brown top and the black lace thong hugging your body just right.

His breath came out harsh, like a punch to the chest.

His gaze dropped.

And then, it stayed there.

On your thighs.

Thick, smooth, gleaming under the red light, your skin's deep warmth making his mouth dry. The contrast of the black lace against your skin made something in his gut tighten, something feral clawing up his spine.

Fuck, he could see everything. The soft dip where your thighs met your hips, the plush, toned shape of them, the way they pressed together just enough to make his fingers twitch.

He wanted them— he wanted his face buried between them, feeling them shake as you came apart. Fuck he was going to make it happen.

The muscle in his jaw ticked. His fingers curled into tight fists, his whole body felt tight, like a wire pulled too thin, like a matchstick ready to ignite.

And you? You knew exactly what you were doing.

Stepping out of your jeans, you turned, trailing your fingers along your own waist, your hands palmed your ass but not for long because they were already buried deep in your hair as you continued dancing for him.

Then, because you were a fucking brat, you dragged your hands up the sides of your body, arching your back slightly, letting him take in every curve, every dip.

He didn't even give you a moment to breathe because he was on you.

There was nothing soft about the kiss. Nothing hesitant. This was raw, heated, unrestrained.

Bakugo kissed you like he wanted to consume you.

His lips were hungry, moving against yours in a way that left no doubt. One of his hands tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, deepening the kiss as his other hand gripped the small of your back, keeping you flush against him.

You moaned into his mouth, and that only made him rougher.

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, sharp and teasing, his tongue demanding, coaxing you open, stealing every breath, every sound. It was desperate, wild.

And fuck—you loved it.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his dark shirt as your body pressed against his, rolling against him, taunting him, teasing him. The way his grip tightened, the way his breath hitched—he felt everything, and it was driving him insane.

His hands were rough as they roamed, trailing up your sides, his thumbs brushing the edge of your top, teasing the sliver of skin beneath.

Fuck.

He pulled away just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, both of you so close, so desperate. His cyes were wild, wide with want, with possession.

"Take off your top, lay on the bed with your legs pushed up to your chest."

You blinked as you still tried to catch your breath, "What?" A cry left your lips and the blonde pinched your covered nipple, his eyes still dark as they watched you.

"Did I stutter? Get on the bed, legs to your chest, now."

You didn't hesitate this time, quickly getting rid of your top you followed suit to the bed, laying down in the centre you pulled your legs up to your chest, your nails resting on the back of your knees.

You heard him mumble something but the race of your heart got in the way. All your liquid courage had gone out the window. You were getting what you wanted but you couldn't ignore the feeling in your stomach, scared or excited at what he might do? You didn't care anymore.

He kneeled by the edge of the bed, pulling you closer to him, but your legs stayed where they were. His lips began kissing the inside of your thighs, ignoring the one place you wanted him most. Your pants and whimpers grew louder, and you swore you heard the bastard chuckle.

"Katsuki..." You yelped once you felt a bite on your thigh, you knew tomorrow there would be the indentations of his teeth against your brown skin causing you to curse.

"’M’Sorry mama, didn't expect to hear my name come out of your pretty mouth." His tongue continuously swiped over the mark but you could feel the smirk against your skin causing you to suck your teeth.

"Make it up to me and eat my pussy then."

His chuckle was dark before you felt his lips kiss your clothed slit before his teeth tore through the fabric. "Oh baby, I'm going to devour you."

His heated breath ghosted across your sensitive flesh, his tongue tracing teasing circles around your clit before dipping lower to taste you properly. Your eyes rolled back as moans laced your tongue, your hands leaving your thighs to find their way in his hair but the blonde wasn’t having it.

"Keep your legs up there, you’re a fucking cheerleader—don't get lazy on me now." You groaned as he began kitten-licking the area around your clit before you complied.

His deep groan vibrated against your core as he savoured your sweetness, his hot breath making you shiver with each exhale. His hands found your ass, pulling you closer as he devoured you with increasing intensity, drawing out those sweet sounds he'd only dreamed of hearing.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he groaned against your sensitive flesh, his voice rough with desire. "Knew you would give up the act, your too much of a slut not to want me to ruin you." His thumb found your clit, circling it with deliberate pressure while his tongue delved deeper, claiming every inch of you. Your fingers began to leave impressions on your skin from how hard you were gripping, he worked you closer to the edge, his movements becoming more intense with each passing moment. His roughness only heightened the passion, every touch and growl reminding you of the fire that burned within him.

"Shiiiit, Katsuki-- I'm gonna cum." Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, moans slipping through your lips as he continued to work his tongue through your pussy.

He loved the way his name flowed from your lips and your mouth shaped it—a masterpiece in motion. Your voice, a melody, and your lips, a work of art. To be the one who heard it, the one who brought you this joy? It made him smile to himself, lost in the bliss of it all.

You felt two of his fingers roughly pull in and out of you, drawing louder moans from your throat. "Eh, who told you that you could cum without asking me?" Your hands leave your legs, not having enough strength and willpower to hold yourself up any longer, but Bakugo helps you out. One leg had been pulled over his shoulder, and the blonde held a bruising grip on your other thigh while his fingers and tongue continued to pull an orgasm out of you.

"P-leaasee, please, please." Your fingers gripped his locks pulling his face closer to your cunt. He nibbled on your clit, his face looking up at you, his grin wide as he watched you come apart on his fingers.

"Go on then baby, cum for me." And your body followed his command, all you could hear was his continued praises as he worked you through your orgasm.

You heard him chuckle as he reluctantly removed his fingers from your sopping cunt. Your vision began to clear as you watched him pull his shirt over his head, you moaned from the sight, the definition of his torso, every sculpted ridge of his abs—he was built like he was made to destroy, broad shoulders tapering into a lean, cut waist.

And those arms?

Thick, veined, carved to perfection—you wanted those arms around you as he fucked you into oblivion.

He smirked when he caught you staring, chest rising and falling with every controlled breath.

“You done eye-fucking me?” His voice was thick as he watched your thighs rub together to release some friction. You watched as his hands pulled down his jeans and boxers, his cock slapping against his stomach before it stood bold and proud in front of you.

Fuck.

Of course, he was that fucking big, he had the fucking ego for it.

He started to kiss up your legs as he made his way up your body. You pulled yourself up on your elbows before your lips met his, your tongue forced its way into his mouth, you moaned as you tasted yourself on his lips. The kiss was messy, desperate, and utterly consuming, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before he bit down gently, drawing a gasp from you.

You hadn't realised your head hit the mattress, he threw your leg over his shoulder, his lips leaving yours, grazing your ears as the head of his cock tapped against your clit, drawing a sharp jolt from you, and a wicked smirk tugged at his lips before he slowly pushed inside. You both moaned from the feeling of him bottoming out, your walls clenched around him, sucking him in and squeezing him so tightly it made his breath hitch.

A guttural groan escaped his lips as he nearly collapsed on top of you, your nails raked down his back, leaving faint red trails, "Wanted you for so fucking long, but you walked around like you were too fucking good for me." He rasped, his voice thick with need. He delivered a hard thrust, stretching you to your limit as a strangled cry escaped your lips.

"That's it," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he pulled you against him. Your walls clenched around him, sucking him in and squeezing so tightly it made his breath hitch. "So fucking tight," he growled, his hips snapping forward with rough, punishing thrusts that left you gasping.

He pushed your right leg up towards the headboard, his thrusts got deeper, your moans grew louder as you felt him deeper in your cervix, your eyes travelled down to where you two met. Moaning as you watched his cock pull in and out of you, his chuckle broke you out of your trance, eyes finding his as he angled his hips, driving into you harder, faster, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body.

"So tight, so pretty," he purred, his lips trailing up your throat. His teeth grazed your pulse before he bit down, marking you.

Meeting each of Bakugo's powerful thrusts, you felt yourself gush around him, your arousal soaking his thick length each time he pulled back before slamming down again. The lewd sounds of your connection filled the room, mixing with your desperate moans. Your stomach coiled tight with building pressure, toes curling as the intensity becomes almost too much to bear. Your hands pressed against his chest, overwhelmed by the sensation. "Wait! Katsuki... I-" Your words dissolved into a cry as your walls clenched around him violently. "I can't... it's too much," you gasped, even as your body betrayed you by pulling him deeper, your legs now wrapped around his waist.

"Too much?" he growled, his voice laced with taunt, his grip tightening on your hips as he maintained his relentless pace. "This is exactly what you needed, isn't it? That’s why you act so fucking bratty, just wanted to me fuck it outta you. " His voice was rough with desire as he watched you fall apart beneath him.

"This pussy is so perfect," He growled, his eyes locked on the way your slick walls clung to his cock, creaming and squeezing him with every thrust. "It's like it was made just for me. Tell me, baby, whose pussy is this?"

"Yours, Daddy," you slurred, mind a haze, voice trembling as the overwhelming pleasure built to a breaking point. Your body was on the edge, your pussy aching to release as his relentless pace drove you closer. He chuckled darkly, his hips snapping forward even faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your lips parted with continued moans, "You know long I've been wanting to fuck the brat outta you?" He rasped, voice dripped with need, "And look at you now, drunk on my cock calling me daddy. I think you're ready to cum now. I want it all on my cock. Can you do that for me, mama? Or is that too much for your sweet little pussy to handle?"

Before you could even respond, the pressure inside you exploded like a tidal wave, your juices spraying against his thighs in a messy, uncontrollable release. Katsuki groaned in appreciation, biting his lip as he watched you come undone beneath him. "Good girl," he muttered, his voice rough and low, as you gasped for breath, your body trembling in his grasp.

The blonde above you continued to drive into you as he chased his own orgasm, you moaned as your walls welcomed the hot ropes of his cum. You winced when his body left yours, you could hear him whispering rough praises to you, unable to piece the words together but you could feel the warm cloth as he began to clean you up.

The room was hot, the air thick with the scent of sweat, skin, and sex. The sheets beneath you were a tangled mess, your body still humming from everything that had just happened.

After he cleaned you up, the blonde lay beside you, eyes glued to you, your eyes closed as your body hummed from your orgasm. His chest rising and falling, your skin glistening under the dim light making you look like a fucking brownie. His arm was draped over your waist, pulling you closer, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your skin.

Then, his voice—low, rough, and possessive—broke through the silence.

“You finished with your game, you gonna be mine now?”

A statement, not a question.

You smirked, rolling onto your side to face him, eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh yeah?” you teased, voice sultry. “Why would I do that?”

His red eyes darkened, jaw tightening as his grip on your waist flexed, his fingers pressing into your bare skin. “Because you were a slut for my cock, you started calling me daddy.”

You bit your lip, clearly enjoying the way his dominance flared. “Mmm, I don’t know, Katsuki. Could have been a lapse in judgment."

You giggled as he flipped you over onto your stomach; pulling your ass in the air. You knew he would continue to drag multiple orgasms out of you until you said you were his.

And you smirked into the sheets, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted him.

Hope you like it x

Keraawrites ©

[thefixations-ofmine]

Mister June and the globetrotter

Bucktommy | 3.3k | Rated G (sexual inuendos) Entry for the @bucktommywinterfest, round 10 February 2-8: Tommy in the firefighter calendar and Buck 1.0 meets closeted Tommy This Idea comes from this post right here, with a twist. Note: Bold italics are texts. Dash changes POV, star cuts time.

Main Masterlist | Winter fest Masterlist | AO3

So, were you hoping for anything from this date? Buck reads the text, surprised. The person on the other end - who isn’t Jodie - has definitely been woken up at three in the morning on a Wednesday and wants to keep talking? Well, he’s bored and could use the distraction, considering he just lost a very good fuck opportunity, so he goes on in good-old Buck fashion;

Not really. I don’t ever give it too much thought. It’s just sex for now. Buck presses send and then realizes that makes him sound shallow. Pot meet kettle. He goes on to defend himself: I move around a lot, settling down isn’t in the 5-year plan. The little white lie reaches its destination, then he sets his phone down to get the shower started.

I see. I guess that’s fair and keeps people from having expectations. Has to feel lonely though, no?

Buck reads the messages and there’s a pinch in his heart he can’t control. Yes. ‘Yes’ is the answer but he’s never said that to anyone, even to Maddie because he doesn’t want her to fuss over him on top of everything else - much of the reason he’s running around is to stay out of people’s hair.

The only thing he can come up with is to be Buck, again – or rather this persona he’s allowing himself to be – so he takes a photo of his naked chest from a low angle and sends it with a caption: Wouldn’t be lonely if you wanted to join. 

He feels himself grow hard as a pavlovian response to the sexual chase, and his brain absentmindedly captures a few extra shots, one precisely showing his back in the mirror down to the dip of his ass crack and sends them. His thumbs linger over the screen to add another quirky line, but the dots on the other end appear, and disappear, and this goes on too long for his liking. Before he loses his entire rhythm, Buck decides to leave it at that and jump into the shower, the scalding water feels good on his back, his hand finds refuge around his dick, the comforting gesture sending a jolt up his back and his low hum carries the desperation of a long day.

-

Tommy’s body goes so warm when he receives the pictures he swears he can hear the AC start running in the room. One photo shows the dips and valleys of his abs perfectly, and Tommy loves that he’s not dried-out and cut either. Despite the very short attempts at flirting when he was younger, this was the first time he got such explicit pictures and his body shudders when he goes back down to the edge of the screen where a very apparent bush peeks barely.

The second photo breaks his composure but his hand is quick enough to shut off the groan that creeped up his chest. That kid (Evan - his name sits in the raunchy greeting at the top of the conversation) is giving him everything he wants and it’s pumping up blood around his body at an alarming rate. He studies the way Evan’s back arches against the counter and how Tommy’s thumbs would look amazing in those dimples, and fuck-

This is affecting him more than it should. He usually has to go digging through pages of porn to find a body he likes and he shouldn’t, but he lets himself linger a little too long for his liking. He shifts in bed, not entirely sure what to do or even what to say.

He wants to play along, ask for more, but the poor guy probably thinks he’s volleying with a pretty woman and Tommy’s a fan of not building expectations. And, well, nobody knows Tommy is gay, maybe not even himself entirely but the way his hands are getting damp feels like a very autonomous bodily response to him, so he has to do something about it. Or nothing at all. Pot meet kettle, again.

He needs to push himself to do so but Tommy sets the phone down on the little table next to his bunk and forces himself to wait this out as he tries to catch up on sleep. He usually has no trouble falling asleep, but he finds himself counting sheep this time. Or maybe it’s to keep the impending truth he was growing in his pants at bay.

A call comes in just before his alarm, twenty minutes before they would all be free to go home. Chim grunts from the bunk below, seemingly more aggravated by the situation.

“Rise and shine, superstar,” Tommy teases, grabs his phone and jumps into his boots before running to the truck. The call came from across town so he gets a few minutes to scroll through his aviation forums as the engine carries them out. When the screen turns on, a notification tag shows that Evan had sent him four texts during the night. He can’t say he has forgotten about him, the pictures still haunting his thoughts, but Tommy hadn’t come up with an escape plan either. He has a quick look around and holds his breath even though Chim and Hen are sitting across from him - from the way things were headed, he could definitely have a dick pic waiting for him. He lets his thumb unlock the screen.

Shit. I’m sorry. That was too much.I guess I was still in the mood, you know…Fuck, I shouldn’t say that either. I’m a douche.Anyway, um. I have to be up early to catch a flight. So maybe talk later?

Tommy grins stupidly and the breath he held comes out in a broken chuckle. Evan has to be in his twenties. Early twenties, even, because if the pictures weren’t indication enough, that rambling nailed the coffin. And Tommy does want to keep talking to him, for selfish reasons or to see how this pans out, he’ll have to figure that out, but he has to be honest about the situation, for Evan’s and his own sake.

So, he sends a few texts and puts the phone in his turnout, not expecting an immediate reply;

All good. I get the fun behind this.I need to be honest though, I’m a guy. My name’s Tommy. I’m 36 and a firefighter in LA. I’m still up for a chat, just thought you should know.So I’m sorry you sent those photos, but they’re safe with me.Oh! And I have a safe flight, Mr. Globetrotter. ;)

Tommy feels the vibration of hope as soon as the phone hits the bottom of the pocket, and his heart picks up a few beats per minute knowing he might have a text from... No, Tommy shakes his head, don’t go there. Not a second ago he was trying to convince himself this whole deal should be left to a short and silly conversation about a wrong number. The truck pulls up to their destination and he can focus on doing what he does best.

It’s only two hours later when Tommy can have another look at his phone, and his stomach flips when the notification on the screen is just a random email. He chuckles, really shouldn’t be that bummed out, he thinks as he opens their conversation. His thumb hits the three dots next to the number and he goes to add Evan’s name as a contact.

Yeah, he’s fucking done for.

*

Evan puts on the blue LAFP t-shirt and lets his hands run down his front, admiring the color on himself and it’s evident how hopeful he is for the road ahead. He starts the academy in less than a week and it’s nerve wracking, but Tommy has been sure to guide him through the steps like a great mentor. And it’s been great finding a reason to keep talking to him, finally. 

“Tuck in the shirt. I know it’s not the army, but they still care about little details,” Tommy says over the speaker as he watches Evan try on the uniform. He loves how eager he is. He’s already noted that down on his recommendation letter. When Evan had mentioned moving back to LA, things just clicked and Tommy was the one to start talking about the job.

“Uh, yeah. Th-thank you, Tommy.” Evan proceeds to fix the uniform and huffs proudly as he twirls in front of the mirror. Tommy still thinks the boy is in on the joke and is trying to see where his self-control will break, then Evan grabs the phone and smiles and Tommy knows he’d forgive Evan anything. “What would I do without you?”

“You want an honest answer?” Tommy says and they both laugh easily.

They facetimed once or twice, or maybe five times over the last weeks, and each time the conversation gets deeper and more genuine, and Evan doesn’t know it yet but him being careless about his sexuality is doing wonders for Tommy on his end of things. He had been more than okay with seemingly sending risky photos to a man, and he even complimented Tommy at large when he got a basic selfie back for a profile picture. There was still one thing to figure out;

“Want me to drive you to your interview?” Tommy offers boldly, only slightly regretting it. They hadn’t had the talk about meeting in person and that could be crossing boundaries. Maybe Evan saw the wince on his face just then because he starts giving him an excuse.

“My sister, um Maddie, she just moved to town also. We haven’t really seen each other in a while. I asked her to come with me.” Tommy nods and smiles. Still, he waits for the moment Evan realizes he’s being pushed against a wall, like Tommy is out to play some trick on him. “I’d much rather see you at my graduation. If you’d like. Of course, um, no pressure, I-”

“I will be there, Evan.” Tommy says the words calmly even if his mind screams of excitement. He promises himself to tell him he’s gay before then. Maybe even let the station in on it as well; if he wants to believe in chosen families, he’s going to need to be honest and open.

It’s five months. He can do it.

“O-okay. I gotta go. I have a few things to do before I get there.”

“I’ll see you around, Evan.”

“Honestly, I never thought I’d love to hear my name out loud so much,” Evan answers and dips his head down. Tommy melts when he does that. He wants to kiss the top of his head and tell him he’s being so adorable. Then Tommy wonders how Evan’s name would sound coming out like thick honey on his tongue as he moans and okay, Tommy needs to end this video call right now or risk embarrassing himself.

“Think of a nickname, then. I call dibs on your name,” he adds with a wink and ends the call.

Tommy goes back to his living room where a pile of paperwork waits for him. The forms to be recertified for flying had been in his office for months, maybe a year, and talking to Evan had made him realize that every dream deserves a chance. So when Tommy convinced Evan to join the firefighting academy, Evan had dared him to get into flying again. Then Tommy talked to Bobby, and things started to piece together like a puzzle. He’d be transferring to Harbor station just before Evan graduates, and perhaps Tommy used his charms and wits to make sure his empty spot was warm and ready for Evan to make his probation.

-

“Maddie, you don’t get it. I-I don’t want to make a bad impression!” Buck waves his hand around as he refills his sister’s coffee. He sits at the end of the table and prepares for the older-sibling advice to be laid on him.

“Evan, I’m not sure I understand, didn’t you just meet Tommy? Actually, you haven’t even met him.”

“Well, it’s been months now technically. The academy alone lasted five months! And-and he’s been there every step of the way, I just-”

“Okay, okay. But let me say that again. This is the first time you’ll see him in person, Evan-”

“Buck! Um- ha. Everyone at the academy called me Buck, and I think I like the nickname.” Maddie sighs, annoyed. But she smiles anyway and proceeds;

“Buck,” she says the name with a faint grimace, “I just want to make sure you’re not expecting too much. I mean it’s one thing to get along over the phone a few times a week. Maybe it won’t be as sugar-coated in person. I want you to know that.” Buck takes a sip of coffee and a bite in his bagel. A quick look at his watch: two hours left before the ceremony. He needs to iron his uniform and grow out some balls. And convince his sister that he’s not reading too much into it even if his stomach does a weird thing now - like when he eats something that disagrees with him - whenever Tommy says his name because it’s his to say and that perhaps he recorded one of their conversations so he could listen to it on repeat while he fucked some pent-up anger into his cheap fleshlight. Shit.

Maddie is right, this could all come crashing down. Buck never thought he would find such a connection with someone, but it seems so obvious now; Buck had never given anyone a flying chance at a conversation, let alone parts of his brain he had never exposed. He’s not certain what that says about him just yet, but he’d lie if he said he didn’t hope for this to pan out well. Knowing someone in the LAFD right out the gate will be detrimental, and hopefully the coffee dates will also be fun.

“Anyway, I appreciate this, Maddie. I do. He’s just a friend. Someone I can rely on and who’s made substantial efforts to help me. I need that in my life. Everything is so volatile.” Buck feels all lovey-dovey now, and he reaches for his sister’s hands. “And I need you. So tell me, how do you like LA so far?” 

-

Tommy fidgets. Tommy never fidgets. But he’s sitting on a little white wooden chair in the back rows of this open-field ceremony and his leg won’t stop bouncing and he’s biting the inside of his lips and he’s looking around frantically and… maybe Tommy does fidget now. The ceremony is about to start and he needs to get his shit together because Evan will be one of the firsts to come up alphabetically and Tommy knows he’ll be scanning the crowd for him. It doesn’t help that today of all day the sun decided to be a menace to humanity. His hands are damp and his collar scrapes around his neck and Tommy needs to remember that he’s not at an army boot camp and he’s safe and sound.

He looks at the gift he brought to ground himself, but he wonders if that or his eagerness might freak Evan out. Then again, he’s meeting the man who shamelessly sent him pictures bordering on nudes for the past month and he hadn’t returned the favour, so he hopes that this gift can bridge the gap.

“Why does this feel like some reality TV show and you’re about to meet someone your mom picked out for you?” Chim jokes beside him, obviously aware of his nerves. He pondered bringing someone with him, but this was a good idea - Buck would have his sister, so he could have support as well. Who better to take that spot than mister comic-relief himself.

Plus, Tommy had made some efforts on his end, as he promised himself, so he came out to the station over one of Bobby’s amazing dinners as well as letting them know about the transfer, reinforcing how proud and privileged he feels to be part of this house. Their acceptance and encouragement had both been amazing and heart-breaking, bringing Tommy back to his childhood and how he wished someone had hugged him the way Bobby did. Tommy didn’t cry often either, but he did that day.

“He hasn’t been picked out for me. It was a weird turn of events, Chim. We’ve been talking for months. It just… feels like it could work out.”

“Yeah, some like to call that fate!” Chim proclaims with a nudge of the elbow. Suddenly, some bells ring and both of them startle, dragging their attention back to the stage. Tommy sits up straight and glares at Chim when he feels his shoulders bounce against his.

*

Chim is chit-chatting with Evan’s sister as they all wait for him to come out of the building. Which he does, twenty minutes later and suddenly Tommy wishes he had taken longer. He needs to calm the hamster doing a marathon in his brain. He needs to go back home and wear more ample clothing and leave the goddamn gift on the kitchen island, but those long legs straddle quickly and Evan joins them before Tommy can even swallow his fears.

The itching on his neck comes back but Tommy is good at ignoring it. He bounces on his heels a couple times as they lock eyes and let the rest of the world fade around them. He knows Maddie says something cheerful to him, and perhaps Chim joined, but for now Evan is beelining towards him and Tommy’s mouth falls open.

“Hi, Evan.” He finds the courage to say.

“Hi,” he whispers before crashing his face against Tommy’s and backing them into the truck. The kiss is clumsy and heated and perfect. Tommy curses the damn gift in his hands as he can’t let them roam over Evan’s back the way Evan’s exploring his chest. They pull apart just before the rest of Tommy’s body could start to respond.

“Was, um. Was that okay?” Evan asks, eyes amorous and fixated on Tommy’s mouth. Tommy manages to look around then and finds their guests gleefully looking at them. He never wants to leave this bubble, but-

“I’m so sorr-”

“No.” Tommy realizes he hasn’t said a word. “No, fuck, that was. That was… how did you know?” Evan gives him a face then and the details of their conversations come crawling back, or maybe Tommy knows he wasn’t very subtle on the ogling despite being behind a screen. His body feels heavy and grounded and he wants his lips back on Evan’s.

“Listen,” Maddie chimes in. “It’s warm, and it’s just shy of happy hour. You guys wanna join us for beers?” Us? Oh. A double date? Yeah, Tommy can do with that to ease the nerves and get a more sensible conversation going. He nods, then turns to Evan.

“Y-yeah, that’s okay,” the young man answers and before he can head to the car Tommy grabs his wrist.

“I have this for you. Special graduation gift.”

“The firefighter calendar?” Evan looks perplexed despite the smile on his face.

“Well, I never sent any spicy photos back so… I’m mister June,” Tommy says. The knot in his gut tightens when Evan’s cheeks go flaming red and he chokes on a laugh.

“I promise to make good use of it!” Tommy and Chim start laughing and it takes a moment to register in his mind. He goes; “Oh, no! Not what I meant, I-”

“Please. I hope so.” Tommy can finally bring his hand to the back of his neck and close the space between them in another searing kiss. One that promises so much, yet leaves everything to be discovered. Chim whistles and that’s a good thing, because Tommy has years to catch up on and he’s not above using the spacious back seat of his truck.

tags: @weewoo911 @hmg621, @chococara25

[tozettastone]

Okay, the results of my Bleach OC character poll specified: Hollow, needs a little treat, bad eyesight, causes catastrophic plot derailment.

Here's a very rambling draft (about twice as long as it needs to be lbr) of how that might begin. I've named her Espina Espinosa, but her name doesn't come up at all in this which I guess is part of how you know it's a first cut draft lol.

---

Sometimes, you just need a little treat to get you through the day. Or, in my case, the night: in hueco mundo, it was all night, all the time.

You know, I thought when I dropped out of my university classes in a wash of shame and humiliation that my life was basically suffering. It was as if, having forsaken my higher education, I was then destined to be trapped in my one room in a sharehouse and stacking shelves all night for my pittance forever.

Spoiler: it was not forever! It was barely six months! And then I got hit by a train, crossed over to the other side — which was apparently a fucking anime, by the way, more on THAT later — and lost years and years to scrabbling around in the desert like an animal. I didn't remember who I was until I emerged from the Forest of Menos as an adjuchas, trembling like a newborn foal and panicked about my weird undead body.

And then I really knew what it really meant to say 'my life is suffering.'

Suffering is being a fully grown human personality stuck inside an undead lizard, living in a lightness hellscape and eating other undead animals just to survive.

I got more humanoid over time. Once I finally hit vasto lorde, the hunger was way less demanding and the risk of regressing and losing my personality was eliminated. Vasto lordes did not regress. They just died.

...If something could kill one.

Today's reasons as to why I deserved a little treat were as follows:

- My vasto lorde body was clearly designed by Kubo Tite. I was a nightmare of spiky armour and claws, with no real face, but god forbid I get around without built-in high heels and smooth, round, pendulous boobs. My adjuchas form had been a spined lizard. I was not even a mammal. Why did I need boobs? What were they for? Why were they the size of my head? Just the demands of the story in which I found myself, I was pretty sure.

- I had minimal access to goods or services of any kind, because Hueco Mundo, right? And it was hard to stay long in the human world to get anything because just showing up tended to freak the shinigami out. Like, vasto lorde-class menos were nigh mythological, we were so rare, and even if I suppressed my presence so people on the ground couldn't sense me organically, shinigami researchers had instruments for this. Ugh.

- I was constantly hunted by other hollows, especially powerful adjuchas on the look out for advancement. Eating a vasto lorde basically guaranteed they'd get the power they needed to become one. Today, one of them had left a nasty bite on my spiky tail and I'd eaten him, as he deserved. But it hurt, and I cried about it, because... I was still a giant baby who cried when I got hurt.

- Bored, bored, oh my god, bored. So bored.

- I'd broken my glasses, AGAIN, because I had no goddamn ears to keep them on, and my mask was a... challenging surface.

Most hollows somehow didn't seem to get bored in hueco mundo. They roamed the sands, ate each other, fought a lot, made occasional uneasy alliances, and napped.

But I had a very good memory of my last life, back when I was not an unrealistically buxom masked lizard woman, and all this shit was just a daydream from a manga.

I got so bored. I wanted something to do other than running away, lying down, or smacking weaker hollows.

So every... period of time? ... well, once I presumed the shinigami had stopped worrying about it, anyway, I took a little jaunt to the human world and treated myself. And, like, what was a little shoplifting if you were already dead, am I right?

I had a sweet tooth, and I liked jewellery and books. Hueco mundo was boring and lightless, but if you could curl up in a cave with a heavy duty flashlight, a pile of candy and a novel, you could just about pretend you were somewhere else for a while.

But visiting the human world and getting stuff was a pretty full-on operation. I had to pick places where there was enough ambient reiatsu to hide what leaked through my suppression, and there were not many of them. Then, it was often better to visit in the middle of the night, because if I tried to shoplift while surrounded by people — look, a vasto lorde has a lot of reiatsu and human beings are, on average, fragile. It was better to browse a dark shop after hours. And the last thing was: there was no optometrist in hueco mundo, because it was just kind of full of cannibal demons who wanted to eat me. I just had to stop by a chemist that stocked glasses and guess my prescription based on vibes. It sucked. A lot. And then when I inevitably broke them again, I stopped being able to read my little stash of novels and got quite sad.

So on that night, with my busted glasses and six Vampire Hunter D novels waiting in my cave, I decided I deserved a little treat and I did something kiiiiiind of stupid.

Despite knowing that it was exactly where the plot of Bleach was hiding.... I went to Karakura in Tokyo.

It wasn't as stupid as it sounded, you know. Sure, I knew they monitored for every garganta, yes. But I also knew that there was so much reiatsu in Karakura. If I crushed mine down enough, I was absolutely certain I could hide beneath the suffocating blanket that was Kurosaki Ichigo.

I opened my garganta for maybe half a second and slipped through with my reiryoku squished into a tiny ball inside my belly, so scrunched up it left my claws tingling with cold. From the sky, I pinpointed two pretty obvious locations: the Urahara Shoten and the hospital. Then, because I wasn't goddamn suicidal, I picked the furthest point away from both of them that still fell within the range of Kurosaki's spiritual pressure and made that my landing point.

There was a big labyrinthine train station, a bunch of warehouses huddling miserably behind it, and a series of cramped stores all piled in on each other lining the nearby streets, poised to catch commuters as they went by. A few of the bigger ones were still lit up from the inside, bright lights glowing out. But it was very late indeed, and almost everything was closed. The local 7-eleven was apparently open from 7 AM to midnight, a rarity even on the outskirts of this twenty-four hour city.

I couldn't find a good chemist, but there was one of those travellers' shops next to the station that stocked an array of low-prescription glasses, which would do in a pinch. I looked both ways — as though there were any cars on the streets at three o'clock in the morning, and as though any could damage me if they were — and scuttled up to the darkened window.

After a quick inspection to confirm the existence of glasses inside, I tapped my claws on the reinforced glass. It cracked, one long jagged line through the glass. I tapped again, and it shattered into a multitude of glittery pieces.

I hopped inside, heedless of the glass. My skin was next-level tough, even among hollows of my class.

Very likely the cameras wouldn't catch me at all, but what they would see is floating glasses, which wasn't necessarily much better for the humans' peace of mind. Ideally, I'd get this done and nobody would be any the wiser about any mysterious activities relating to a break in. I paced the shop, squinting around for cameras.

There was an alarm system in place. It was armed, so it started wailing about thirty seconds after the glass broke, flooding the dark street with noise. A few lights went on above stores, but mostly it remained dark — this wasn't a residential district.

There were two, blinking green lights from either end of the store, so I jumped up and ripped them both out of the ceiling, sending a rain of plaster dust down upon me to get caught in my spikes. Who knew what the owners would make of that, but probably they wouldn't automatically think it was a hungry ghost.

Glasses were stored neatly on a circular stand, ordered by strength — which, of course, I couldn't read, because I needed glasses. I plucked pairs at random and crammed my mask's eye holes up against five of them in quick succession. The fifth let me read the prescription information, so I decided that was good enough to be going on with.

My mask did not come off, obviously — trying to get out off hurt like all hell, and I didn't know if I needed to be an arrancar badly enough to go through with that — and it was covered in angular, stylised spikes, and I had wide useless little horns but no fucking ears. So my new glasses were sitting kind of lopsided, but as usual when I got a pair, I was excited about how much I could see with them.

The humming of a drinks fridge attracted me, briefly, on my way out, the way a fire attracts a moth. Did I want a soft drink? I did like the ramune ones with the little marble... And I could read the labels, which was a huge novelty.

I'd spotted a 7-eleven on the way, though, and I wanted to see if they had a slurpee machine. They were pretty rare in Japan, generally, but if they didn't have one I'd still be able to get a different sugary drink there.

I hesitated for a second, thinking about the wisdom of this plan. I should get out of here, probably, but... If I'm honest with you, my spirit rebelled. Did I truly not deserve a slurpee? A single fucking slurpee?

So, anyway, I broke into the 7-eleven. No, I didn't need to. Fight me. (But, er... don't, actually. I am a delicate flower.)

I stepped outside the store and — okay, listen, in my defence, the shop's alarm was really loud and I was busy clutching my slurpee in my clawed hands and marvelling at my semi-okay vision through the only-slightly-lopsided glasses I'd swiped. I did not immediately hear him, and I wasn't actually looking for shinigami using persquisa because I'd carefully marked where the Urahara Shoten and the Hospital were, and I had avoided them so carefully.

So, from my perspective, there was no reason to worry about shinigami, until I came out of the 7-eleven squinting at the text on the side of my slurpee cup, and then almost walked straight into one.

And not, like, a little one, either. It was a lot like being surprised by the sudden introduction of a spider — like, you know, if it's a little house spider, you might twitch, but if you turn around and see a twelve inch birdeating spider on the wall, you might actually just shit yourself.

Anyway, I slunk out of the seven eleven store, ignoring the alarm, completely absorbed in my slurpee, and then almost walked face first into Hirako Shinji.

He was actually perfectly recognisable from canon. He was about an inch shorter than me, skinny, and wearing a long grey coat, presumably because it was the middle of the night and cold enough to freeze your nipples off. (Still warmer than hueco mundo.) His blond hair really did fall in a perfectly smooth pageboy down past his chin, like it was all one meticulously styled piece. It probably wasn't. It was like my lizard tits: demands of the setting. Loads of people had hair that looked styled and required no styling.

Just in case you're wondering, on the Unexpected Spider Encounter Scale, Hirako was probably, like, one of those Colombian giant tarantulas.

I froze.

He stared at me.

A vasto lorde was scary shit in her own environment, so I was probably worth a stare. However! (A huge, flashing neon 'however'!)

A veteran shinigami captain was scarier.

Especially since I was a pretty weak vasto lorde, all things considered, and Hirako was... well, if I remembered right, he was not necessarily one of the weaker shinigami captains.

I was used to fighting adjuchas who were aggressive, hungry and bestial, and I mostly got around them by being like... marginally smarter than they were. I distracted them or trapped them.

I did not highly rate my ability to trap or distract Hirako. For one, he was an actual military officer.

For the first time I realised exactly how unfair Aizen must have been to his little arrancar army. Hollows were killers, but we weren't soldiers. Our only training was in appetence and its satisfactions.

I stared, frozen, at Hirako and blinked rapidly.

In hindsight, I would eventually come to understand what this looked like from his perspective: he came to investigate the unsteady flickering of hollow reiatsu and the alarm, but discovered a surprise vasto lorde — already so vanishingly rare as to be basically mythological — wearing lopsided reading glasses and clutching a slurpee like her life depended on it, outside the broken window of a 7-eleven at three in the morning.

"...I saw that, Hollow-san," he said slowly, looking at the broken window. His eyes drifted from the window to me and back.

I squeaked. My claws dug straight through the cardboard slurpee cup. "Um," I said, slowly. "Do you... perhaps... also want a slurpee?"

With both slurpee-clutching hands, I gestured towards the store and the source of the screaming siren.

Hirako tapped his zanpakuto on his shoulder, squinting at me like I was something new and strange and he had not quite settled on his opinion of me yet. I did not like that.

"Think I'll pass," he drawled. His Kansai Japanese was actually pretty new to me; there was no need for me to ever go to the Kansai region. What was even there? Osaka? Was there a Soul Society version of Osaka? "You came to the living world for a slurpee?"

I inched sideways so maybe my back could not be to the building and I could get a clear path of retreat by which to mcfucking book it down the street.

"As you see," I hedged, holding the cup out like it would protect me from him. It would absolutely not protect me. His zanpakuto would go through it, and probably also me, like fucking pudding. "Slurpee."

His facial expression was doing something super complicated. "That... might be the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"Well, it feels dumb now," I muttered.

The alarm seemed so so loud. I would have wrinkled my nose but, unfortunately, my face was covered in bone. Hollow problems.

"Look, Shinigami-san, isn't it a global chain? They'll have insurance for break-ins." Probably. "I'm just here to get my glasses and my slurpee."

"Insurance," he repeated. The sword went tap-tap-tap. I could see the tendon flexing in his wrist where the cuff of his shirt did not quite cover it. "Uh-huh. Sure. They got insurance. They're teaching you about insurance in vasto lorde school now?"

Vasto lorde school was just regular school, was the rub there: hollows were all just human souls, after all. Fucked up human souls, but just human souls. I didn't say it.

"You're giving everyone in a twenty kilometre radius nightmares," he pointed out, mouth tugging down.

In my defence, I simply couldn't prevent that, just like I couldn't prevent the yowling cats. Besides, what was one bad night's sleep? Nothing, honestly. Come on. Don't be such a coward!

"Sorry?" I offered. Obviously, I was not sorry, but his expression made it seem lke I should at least lie about it.

He opened his mouth to speak and gestured — with his sword. Seeing the zanpakuto swish in the air made me jump. My new glasses, absolutely predictably, flew right off my mask and hit the pavement with a heart-rending crack.

"No!" I gasped, and nearly dropped my slurpee on top of them. I crouched down to grasp at them but the lenses were, of course, already fucked. I couldn't see it very clearly, but I could sure feel the jagged cracks with my fingertips.

"No, no, no," I chanted. "Nooo."

In a flash, the horrible future unfolded before me: long periods of endless night, alone, unable to even pass the time with a book, stuck in a cave. It would be ages before I could creep into another human city with another garganta. My reiatsu suppression just wasn't good enough to hide from the technological sensors the shinigami used, and a vasto lorde in the human world put them on highest possible alert.

Karakura was probably the only exception, because Ichigo, but now there would be other shinigami here expecting me. If I tried to come back here, surely I'd be getting a face full of another vaizard, or maybe Urahara.

It all seemed so overwhelming. I really just wanted to have a slurpee and read my book. Didn't I deserve that much?

I made one of the more pathetic noises it's possible for a hollow to make, a sad little multitonal keen.

Whatever Hirako had been saying (to which I had naturally stopped listening, due to the tragedy that had befallen me) stopped abruptly.

"Are you crying?" His voice was unflatteringly incredulous.

I probably was, though. I patted my mask. It was kinda damp, yeah.

"No," I lied, with a highly telling warble in my voice.